Some of my favorite words and phrases to describe a character in pain
coiling (up in a ball, in on themselves, against something, etc)
panting (there’s a slew of adjectives you can put after this, my favorites are shakily, weakly, etc)
keeling over (synonyms are words like collapsing, which is equally as good but overused in media)
trembling/shivering (additional adjectives could be violently, uncontrollably, etc)
sobbing (weeping is a synonym but i’ve never liked that word. also love using sob by itself, as a noun, like “he let out a quiet sob”)
whimpering (love hitting the wips with this word when a character is weak, especially when the pain is subsiding. also love using it for nightmares/attacks and things like that)
clinging (to someone or something, maybe even to themselves or their own clothes)
writhing/thrashing (maybe someone’s holding them down, or maybe they’re in bed alone)
crying (not actual tears. cry as in a shrill, sudden shout)
dazed (usually after the pain has subsided, or when adrenaline is still flowing)
wincing (probably overused but i love this word. synonym could be grimacing)
doubling-over (kinda close to keeling over but they don’t actually hit the ground, just kinda fold in on themselves)
heaving (i like to use it for describing the way someone’s breathing, ex. “heaving breaths” but can also be used for the nasty stuff like dry heaving or vomiting)
gasping/sucking/drawing in a breath (or any other words and phrases that mean a sharp intake of breath, that shite is gold)
murmuring/muttering/whispering (or other quiet forms of speaking after enduring intense pain)
hiccuping/spluttering/sniffling (words that generally imply crying without saying crying. the word crying is used so much it kinda loses its appeal, that’s why i like to mix other words like these in)
stuttering (or other general terms that show an impaired ability to speak — when someone’s in intense pain, it gets hard to talk)
staggering/stumbling (there is a difference between pain that makes you not want to stand, and pain that makes it impossible to stand. explore that!)
recoiling/shrinking away (from either the threat or someone trying to help)
pleading/begging (again, to the threat, someone trying to help, or just begging the pain to stop)
Feel free to add your favorites or most used in the comments/reblogs!
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.
Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale
Note: Tis the sleazins
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
You keep the small lamp next to the bed on through the night. You slip into a shallow doze, aware of Ernie’s deep breaths and your ears' thrum in the silence of the room. After hours of this, you finally dip beneath the threshold of true sleep. The deep sort that blocks out even dreams. You are thoughtless in the void.
A swirling sensation comes over you. A subconscious dizziness that weighs down your body. The achy paralysis of an all consuming fatigue.
The layers of your unconscious slake away one by one. Your breathing picks up, your eyes roll beneath their lids, your body tingles as your senses return to you. Little by little, you float towards reality.
It’s as if you’re being tugged between two forces. The dregs of your exhaustion battle with a sharp plucking you can’t place. Your voice tickles your ears, bringing you closer to the world. Your lashes flutter as you moan, a tremor between your thighs as heat brews in your pelvis.
Your eyes snap open and your head pops up. You choke as your dry throat catches the scream that rises from your lungs. First at the memory of where you are, then at the sight of the body between your thighs. The shoulders that keep you splayed as he man bows his head to your cunt.
You try to holler but again it shrivels to a pathetic whine. His tongue smothers your resistance as he laps at your clit, swiping and suckling, playing with you expertly. You fall back and grasp the pillow, back arching instinctively into him.
He chuckles, the noise rippling into you as his fingertips brush up your thigh. Rubbing and tracing along the flesh, closer and closer to their price. Your gasp as he feels along your folds, gliding between them as he hums and tastes, drinking up the pleasure slickens your lips.
He rolls your bud between his teeth playful as he prods at your entrance. He pushes, threatening to slide inside, then pulls back, roving up between your folds and down again. He does this again and again, each time sending a tide rattling through you.
He snickers and pushes a single finger into you. Easily sliding into his lowest knuckle, curling his finger as he tests your limits. He extends his finger again, measuring your depth and eases it out. This time, he aligns two thick digits and shoves them into you, a fiery stretch radiating into your stomach.
There’s that stubborn voice telling you to push him away, to kick and hit, to do anything but let him keep going. You can’t. It’s delectable. The short trim of hair on his lip adds just enough friction to make you writhe. How can someone so repugnant make you feel so good? Almost as good as your pulse vibrator.
You swing your hand down and latch onto his hair. You fist the strands as you put your other palm to the shave sides. You buck your hips, trying to control his rhythm as he slides in and out of you. He snarls as he wiggles his head, purring as he laps you up.
You feel your orgasm twisting and twisting. The tension knots in your muscles and curls your toes. It has you quiver as you shove his head down and moan. Your walls squeeze his fingers as a gush flows out around his knuckles.
He snickers and keeps going. You puff and push on his head as his tending grows overbearing. You try to roll him away from you but he pins you flat. He rams in as deep as he can, pressing against the sensitive ridge just behind your entrance.
You squeal and shake. Oh god, it’s too much. You don’t even think it’s him. It’s just the effort. It’s been a while since you were with a man who did more than wander aimlessly around your cunt.
He seals his lips around your clit and sucks. The pressure is immaculate. It swells and your climax spills over again. You drag your hands away from his head and brace the bed. You get lost in the whirlwind of your own pleasure.
He pops his mouth off of you. You spasm as your head lolls. You look down at him, unable to close your legs as he stays nestled between them. His mustache glistens from your stolen delight.
“Like that, kitten?” He winks.
“Wha…” you garble and push yourself up on your elbows. He keeps his fingers in you, wiggle them until you squeak.
“Those other dicks won’t treat you like a nine course buffet,” he rocks his hand at an easy tempo, “mmmm,” his eyes flick down to your cunt as he watches himself finger you, “Merry fucking Christmas, huh?”
“Wh- where–” you can hardly think straight. Something’s off, something’s missing. Is this some demented dream?
You flinch as a beep comes from the other side of the door. He doesn’t react or stop. The mechanism whirs back and the door opens. You drop your head and hide under your arm in shame before you can see who it is.
“What the fuck?” The other man exclaims, “Lloyd, get off her–”
“Breakfast, most important meal of the day,” he chuckles as his breath dances over your cunt and he leans in again. Before he can meet your cunt, he’s pulled away, his hand ripped unceremoniously from between your legs.
“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Andy snarls.
“Keep saying it and I might fucking care,” Lloyd retorts.
You close your legs and bend them as you pull down your skirt. You push yourself up against the pillows, folding yourself as small as you can as you stare at the men’s shoulders. Andy has Lloyd by the front of his black turtleneck as Lloyd grips his forearms in turn.
Andy inhales deeply and lets it out through his nose. He peeks over at you as you put your palms to your cheeks. You give a sheepish look, averting your eyes to the bedspread.
“Outside.”
Andy tries to move Lloyd. He can’t. The men stare each other down. The latter scoffs and shoves the other’s hands off his collar. The part, squaring their shoulders and posturing like animals.
Not a word passes between them as Lloyd raises his two fingers, “let me just get cleaned up.”
He sucks his fingers clean and you grimace, turning your head to hide behind your eyelids. He snickers again and a sole scuff before footfalls trail out the door. Another deep breath and another pair of steps pace away. The door closes and you’re left to silent confusion.
You look around the room as more of the previous night pieces together. You bounce to the edge of the bed in a sudden panic as you look around. Ernie!
You hear a scratch, then another, and a puff of nostrils. You spin to face the small door on the opposite side of the room. You round the bed and turn the handle, finding both your dog and an en suite bathroom.
“Oh, Ern, thank god,” you bend to hug him around the neck. He smells like bacon. You stand as you pat his head; he must’ve been lured in by the delicious cured meat. “Silly.”
You drag your hand away and turn to the room. You look around as you consider your options. There aren’t many. That door is locked and the walls are soundproof. You’re not going to be saved by some miracle hero. You’re also not going to fight off three men for much longer. Not through brute strength.
Give a little, get a lot. This isn’t a typical fight. It’s three against one. You’re outnumbered. You can’t win alone, but you also won’t gain any allies. There is something they say about that; the enemy of my enemy…
You go to the tall wardrobe and open the door. You pick out a red sweater dress with bell sleeves that ends just across your thighs. With it, you take a pair of similarly coloured panties; a thong but the least skimpy of the collection. You also grab a pair of black knee socks to keep your toes warm.
Ernie goes to the door and lays down in front of it. He’s always your little guard. Wherever you are, he puts himself between you and any entrance. He’s like a furry knight.
You go into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You flip on the light and take in the space. A typical bathroom; a shower with a completely transparent wall, shining counters, and a porcelain toilet beneath a silver set of shelves.
There’s a towel on the bar. You put the clothes on the closed toilet and undress. You crank on the shower and wait for the booth to fog up. You step inside and let the heat soak into you. It’s almost comforting, as much peace as you’ll find in this place.
You use that moment to think. You don’t have a clear plan. You can’t have one but you have an idea. As much as you can barely stand those men, they would say the same of each other. You can use that.
You use the body soap in the bottle with the cupcake as a cap. You smell like a candle as you rinse off. You turn off the flow of water and turn to the door. You push it open and step onto the mat, stopping short as you find someone waiting on the other side.
Andy sputters as his eyes rove up and down your body. You cross your arms, and hand over your pelvis as you gasp and shy away. He clears his throat and snatches the towel off the bar, holding it out as his eyes skim the ceiling.
“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to scare you–”
“It’s fine,” you assure him as you accept the towel and cover yourself. You gotta get your shit together. You have to let them think they have you cornered but you can’t really get yourself stuck. “I was just cleaning up, I’m sorry. I… I should’ve asked.”
“No, it’s okay,” he assures you, “I should be sorry. About Lloyd. He shouldn’t have… just barged in.”
“Oh, uh…” you look away. You’re genuinely embarrassed.
“He likes to do whatever he wants. Not anymore. I’ll make sure of that, honey. If he pulls anything, I want you to tell me, can you do that?”
You turn back to him. You meet his eyes. You see the strain around them. He’s fighting not to look down.
“Sure,” you agree.
“Good,” he says, “I…” He glances around, “I should let you get dressed. When you’re ready, you can come out and join us.”
“Okay,” you smile and sway back and forth, “Andy?”
He looks at you, his eyes alight, “yes, honey?”
“You said you won’t let them hurt me, right?”
He nods, his face softening, “I won’t.”
You let your lips tremble and squeeze the top of the towel, “promise?”
“I promise,” he assures you. “You’re precious to me. I…” he swallows, “I wouldn’t have done all this if you weren’t.”
“I… you’re right, it is a lot,” you go to the sink and look in the mirror before taking a bottle of expensive cream from the shelf over the toilet. You read the label, “you know, I could never afford this on my own. Ninety-five dollars an ounce.”
“I know,” he drones, “it’s why I got it for you.”
“You?” You hold onto the small tube as you peek at him.
“The others… they helped me get you. That’s it. Everything else, I did. For you.”
“That’s so sweet,” a tremor breaks through your voice, an unintended affect.
“Let me know if I missed anything,” he inches back slowly, “if you need… anything.”
“I will,” you turn back to your reflection. You know he doesn’t mean anything. If you asked him to take you home, you don’t think he’d listen.
You wait for him to go. You only realise when he’s gone that you really are shaking. You’re afraid. Even if these men are dumb, they scare you. You have to be very careful.
🎀
When you’re dressed, you find the door open, waiting for you. You go down the hall as you hear a commotion. Ernie’s paws tap on the floor as he wiggles in his pre-meal dance. He must be so hungry!
He drools as he threatens to jump up at Ransom who holds the open bag of kibble in his arms. You know by the torn top that it’s the very same from your cupboard. He fights to keep from spilling as he’s corned by the Saint Bernard.
“He’s going to bite me!” He yells.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Lloyd appears in the doorway, “you got one job, the dog food. So feed the damn dog.”
“You feed it,” Ransom slams the bag down on the table against the wall, “just watch your fingers.”
Ransom holds up his bandaged hand; Ernie’s work. You almost laugh. You’re proud of your boy.
“Ah, hello, pussy cat,” Lloyd turns his attention on you, “look who’s up from her cat nap.”
You blink at him dumbly. He smirks smugly and winks, pointing at you with two fingers. Those two fingers. You shudder.
“I can feed him,” you offer. “He needs a bowl.”
You head for the front room but Lloyd is quick to block you as he stretches his arm across the expanse of the hallway, “I’m still a bit peckish, can I get something to eat?”
You cringe and back up. Ransom comes closer as Ernie’s distracted by the bag of kibble, his nose pressed to the side. You gulp as the men zero in on you.
“She tastes like honey,” Lloyd comments, “you want some? I’ll bend her over and you can go through the back, huh?”
Ransom snickers as he steps up next to Lloyd, “how do you know?”
Lloyd growls and tilts his head, “how do you think?”
“How the fuck did you get away with that?”
“I didn’t,” Lloyd sneers, “Mr. Bossy Pants spoiled the meal.”
“Uh, oh, please, I… it’s Christmas,” you show your palms, “so I think we should, er–”
“It’s Christmas so why don’t you give us a present?” Ransom grins, “got a couple I can think of under that sweater.”
“I– but Andy–”
A sudden crash and scatter makes you all flinch. The men turn and you look between them to find Ernie tearing into the bag of kibble. You rush forward, elbowing the men as you race towards him. You pull him back by the collar, barely able to keep him from pigging out.
“Please, he needs a bowl,” you plead, “he’s on a controlled diet.”
“He’s a dog,” Lloyd sniffs.
“Yeah? And you gave him bacon!” You accuse.
“What’s going on?” Andy appears from the front room.
“Honey,” Andy ignores them, rushing to you, “are you okay?”
“No,” you pout, “if he eats too much, he’ll be sick.”
“Aw, it’s okay,” he rubs you back through the sweater. You note how eager he is to touch you. “I’ll clean up, you get him in the kitchen.”
“I’ll go with her,” Lloyd offers, “there’s knives in there.”
“Ransom,” Andy grits and rescinds his hand as he turns to glare at Lloyd, “you can take her.”
The other two men stare each other down, just like before. That argument isn’t over and you’re not sure it ever will be. Whatever their plan is doesn’t seem to be going as they expected. You can only hope that it doesn’t.
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event | kinkmas 2023
prompt | monster fucking
pairing | steve rogers x fairy!reader
warnings | me knowing nothing about fairies. reader is in "fairy heat"? bruce captured reader (potentially inhumane conditions for fairy-keeping?) soft sweet steve. size kink LOL. th-thumb riding? fingering. p-pinky fucking? stretching. multiple orgasms. squirting. praise and encouragement that makes me feral. pity kink? is that a thing? if it is, i think i have it.
an | i've never written monster fucking (or really anything super fantasy-oriented) so please be kind!! wasn't expecting to get sooo into this, but like there's just something about reader being literally so tiny that steve's pinky stuffs her to the brim that's making me all 🥲🫠😩
what if bruce was off working in some top-secret remote location and brought you back with him: a sweet little fairy he'd captured while working out in the field, just as you were entering your fairy heat 🫠
maybe you're just about 7 inches tall, with the body/proportions of a grown young woman. he's been conducting research on your species for quite some time, so he's able to determine basics like your age, your likely place of origin, etc. he's thrilled to have caught you at the start of your heat
what's your fairy heat? i made that part up simple, it's the span of several days that occur around the same time every month when your body's at its prime and looking to breed. you become insatiably horny, almost to the point of it being debilitating, and all you can focus on during your excruciating waking moments is fucking yourself on anything of appropriate size in sight
you're kept in some sort of incubator in his lab, a glass box that's a few feet by a few feet wide and deep. the bottom of the enclosure is made of a soft cushiony material, making any spot a good spot to lay down and rest. miniature food and water bowls are set out for you, and a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling of the box shines 12 hours a day. it's a pretty miserable existence, your makeshift habitat nothing close to the wide open flower fields and prairies you're used to, but it allows the scientist to observe you closely without any distractions or interfering variables. and since you're in heat, you aren't too worried about where you are or who's taken you. all you can do is writhe around on the soft floor of the incubator in desperate, horny agony
maybe one day bruce is out of the lab, but he told steve he could come check out his new findings and maybe keep you company if you'd let him. when he enters the room and sees you lying there, squirming and struggling weakly, of course the supersoldier's heart is instantly hurting for you 🥺
he approaches the incubator slowly, not wanting to startle you. but pretty quickly he realizes that you're paying him no mind; you're too preoccupied with your discomfort. he takes his time observing you, standing right in front of the glass box as his huge frame towers over you. bruce told him a little about your condition and the science behind it. it made him blush, but he accepted it like he would learning about any other species and their unique reproductive habits
"poor thing," he hums to himself as he watches your tiny body wriggle in distress. he's stunned by how pretty you are. you have the most delicate little face, and your translucent wings with their iridescent shimmer look like something straight out of a fairytale movie. you're completely naked- bruce removed your scraps of moss carpeting and leaf clothing when he found you. but it's not strange or offputting in the slightest to steve. he just thinks you're beautiful, such a stunning little creature that seems too precious for this world 💕
he notices the plugged openings in the glass wall that allow bruce to reach in and work inside the enclosure. carefully removing the rubber inserts, he reaches a large hand in, wanting to offer you some comfort if you'll take it. you're so tiny that you could nearly crawl right into the palm of his hand and curl up if you wanted to
but snuggles are the last thing you're looking for in this moment. when you see his huge hand lying there, palm up just a short distance away from you, you weakly crawl over, wings drooping in exhaustion. you couldn't fly at the moment if you tried
steve is a little surprised as you hoist yourself up onto his thumb, your tiny legs dangling on either side of it. it only takes him a moment to realize what you're doing- his cheeks turn bright red as you begin rolling your hips desperately, a faint feeling of wetness forming on the pad of his finger as you leak your glistening juices all over him
"oh doll-" his voice is dripping with pity and concern. he doesn't try to stop you, just watches as you so needily try to relieve yourself. as strange as the situation is, he can't help but find your primal actions endearing, in a way
he continues watching sympathetically as you grind your tiny little pussy down against his large digit. his heart swells at the way you place your hands down in front of you, trying to keep yourself upright as you rock at a steady pace. just a few moments later, he sees your little body spasming and realizes you've reached orgasm by merely riding along on his finger. "oh my," he hums thoughtfully, watching as your precious little toes curl in delight
your face is much happier after your climax. steve watches curiously to see what you'll do next, staying silent as you climb off of his thumb and move to the other end of his splayed-out fingers. as you lie yourself down on your back and spread your legs out on either side of his pinky, he's again blushing deeply. "o-oh, hey little one-"
he watches as you begin pushing down to press the tip of his smallest finger up against your leaking hole. seeing how much you struggle to maneuver against him, steve takes even more pity on you. "here, doll. let me help," he decides, bringing his other arm through the unused hole in the glass. he moves it over to lift your back up gently, supporting you in a sitting position as he carefully begins easing his smallest digit up into you, smiling affectionately as you let out a soft sigh of relief
"there you go. that's it," he's murmuring encouragingly as he carefully fucks you with his pinky. your little pussy is so tight around him, he's surprised he's able to fit. but you're taking him so well, and there's something so sweet about the way you look as you sit here in his hands, letting him stretch you out over the smallest finger he has 💕
"good, just like that" "such a pretty little thing you are" "that feel good, doll?" "just keep taking it, sweetheart" "so good for me, keep going" he's not sure if you can understand his words, but there's something he finds satisfying about talking to you this way
he can somehow feel your second orgasm approaching, your walls growing a bit tighter around him as he works up his pace a little more to carry you over the edge. "there," he's humming proudly, smiling as you manage to squirt out forcefully against him. your come ✨literally sparkles✨ as it coats his finger
as you're floating down from your high, he strokes your hair with his thumb as you lean up against the rest of his hand that's behind you. your eyes are droopy, your body no longer writhing in discomfort. as questionable as his actions might've been, it's clear he's taken care of much of your discomfort- at least for now
whyyy was this hot 🫠🫠 maybe i need to write fantasy shit more often lol
It’s Ari because he is the manliest, has the biggest dick, the most testosterone as he works out the most, all that pent up testosterone and manliness needs to come out, he’s usually walking around naked/shirtless so he’s already ready to go at it, he is very sexual, sensual, virile, and perfect and therefore has the highest sex drive. Have you heard the way he’s moaning and grunting as he does his pushups or pullups in the movie? That is pent up sexual energy. I could write a novel on how the correct answer is Ari but i will stop here bc we all know it’s Ari.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.
Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale
Note: How are these getting longer lol
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
You wriggle helplessly as the man straddles you. You kick your feet into the carpeted floor and grunt into his palm. He’s strong and heavy but you can’t give up. And if you can’t win, you won’t make this easy.
He plants his hand between your shoulders, pinning your chest as he leans his weight on you. He grunts as you shift under him, pushing your knees into the ground as you try to bounce him off. You only manage to awkwardly press your ass into his crotch.
“Hey, stay fucking still,” he squeezes your jaw, glove still flush to your mouth, “and shut the fuck up.” You open and close your teeth, trying to find a catch. He snarls and squeezes you between his legs, “are you trying to bite me again? What the fuck?”
“She’s fucking feral,” the driver tosses over his shoulder.
“Shut up,” the man on you barks back, readjusting to one knee as he brings his other over your back, replacing his hand with his leg.
He fumbles around as you try to see anything in the dim of the van’s compartment. His hand slips as his other comes around, a piece of rough fabric rubbing on your cheek. He pokes it into your mouth with two fingers and you nearly gag on the dry wool.
“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “balls, she’s hard to put down.”
“Wasn’t my first choice, trust me.”
“Who let that jackass have final say?” The man over you grumbles.
He drags you with him and reaches above you. You see the edge of the roll of tape as he keeps you trapped under his knee. He swiftly sticks the tape over your mouth so you can’t spit out your gag. Next he grabs your wrists and pulls his knee away.
You tug on your arms, resisting as you keep up your fruitless flailing. No, no, no. You’re not going to just roll over and give in. Get off!
He forces your arms together, winding the end of the tape around your wrists, again and again, until they’re bound taut behind you. He’s panting almost as hard as you are as he plants his feet, standing half bent over you beneath the low ceiling of the fan.
“Damn, well, I didn’t expect her to be so fucking stubborn,” he snickers.
You flip over and shoot your foot up, straight into his crotch. He chokes on his laughter and drops the tape. He cradles between his legs and falls to his knees. He croaks as he catches himself on one hand.
“Goddamn it, you bitch, I was half-cocked,” he contracts as if he’s about to vomit.
You puff through your nose and bend your legs, curling back on your shoulders and using your weight to throw yourself forward. You roll onto your feet, the momentum lifting your ass up but not getting you all the way up. You try again and get one foot and one knee under you.
“What the fuck’s going on back there?” The driver asks as the van rocks with your movement.
“Nothing,” the other man groans and sits up, “nothing at fucking all.”
He swipes his leg across yours and has you slamming back to the floor, this time landing on your shoulder. You grunt and twitch at the jarring pain on your joint. He grabs your arm and hauls you closer. You’re both breathless as he retrieves the tape and fights to bring your ankles together.
He secures your ankles and lets you go. You lean on your hands and watch him as he sits back and swipes his hair away from his forehead. In the small cloud of light from the front of the vane, you see the angle of his jaw and the shaved side of his head.
“God,” he puts his hand over his pants, “I feel that in my throat.” He shakes his head, “don’t worry, pussy cat, you will too. I’m gonna be so fucking deep–”
“Ugh, dude,” the driver mutters.
“Don’t be a fucking prude,” the man stretches his leg out and nudges you with the toe of his boot, “we all know what the hell this is.”
You close your eyes, holding back the hot glaze of tears. You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves as they cluster in your chest. A million questions race through your mind but you can’t bring yourself to even imagine the answers.
🎀
The van idles in one spot. You temper your breaths as you listen. The driver gets out as the man in the back with you picks his nails with a knife. He started brandishing a while back. Does he really think you aren’t already scared out of your mind?
There’s some sort of grinding nose and footsteps in the gravel coming back to the van. You move, trying to see the front as the driver gets back in, slamming the door and jolting the entire vehicle. The other man pokes you with his toe, his way of warning you.
“Fucking gate,” the driver mutters as he shifts back into gear and leans on the gas.
You garble around the fabric in your mouth, not making much noise as you wiggle and turn to look at the other man. He yawns and examines the long blade, only a shadow as the darkness invades the van. There’s not much light around to colour the world.
“Almost there, pussy cat,” the man teases, "Merry fucking Christmas… well, I think we still got a few hours before the clock tolls.”
You let your head loll. He’s so annoying. Maybe it’s just the situation or that he’s obviously a very bad person, but he irks you so much. Years of working with the general public and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this much detest for one person. Usually you could just shrug it off and go onto the next. Right now, you’re quite literally trapped.
The van follows what feels to be a curving road, bumpy as it jostles you against the rough carpet. Your adrenaline ebbs and flows as your eyes flutter one moment only to flick open wide the next. The tire treads mulch the snow, slowing, and stops again. It’s almost pitch black as the van shuts off.
The man in the back stands, you feel it in how the axle bounces. He comes close, boots edging along your side as you sense him close. The door slides open behind him and lets in the moonlight. He bends and grabs your feet, turning your body and dragging you towards the door.
You kick but can’t free yourself from his grasp. He shoves your legs down harshly and pulls you up by the front of your coat. In a second, he has you slung over his shoulder as he turns to the other man.
“Where is he?” The man holding you asks as you squirm. He has his arm hooked around you as his other hand comes up to pinch you, “pussy cat, you don’t start wagging that ass unless you want me to punish it.”
You still, stunned by the suggestion. He’s so gross. You whimper as his shoulder presses uncomfortably into your stomach.
“He’ll be here soon. We should get her inside.”
“We should throw her in the snow and see how long she lasts,” the man sneers, “she’s not as nice as he said.”
“We can deal with that,” the other assures.
A flashlight clicks on. You can’t see anything past the man’s jacket. You bounce on his shoulder as he carries you across the uneven ground. He trails the second man as you hear several electronic beeps and the whir of gears.
A door opens on cold hinges. You’re taken through a doorway as the night air follows you inside. The flashlight’s glare flicks around, illuminating the edges of your vision but offering little more. You hear a click and an overhead light suddenly casts brightly all around you. Still, you can’t see around the man who has you in his grasp.
“Put her in the room,” the other man orders.
“I got it. Don’t act like you’re the boss.”
“Take your own advice. My fucking house.”
“Yeah, and I got the van. Oh, I also came up with the plan, so I’ll say we’re even.”
“You talk a lot.”
The man holding you scoffs, “rich, coming from you.”
“Just like everything else about me. Go on. We gotta wait for him. Figure this shit out.”
“I got it figured out. Strip her down and show her what’s what.”
“We agreed to wait,” the other man insists.
“Oh, so he’s in charge?”
“No, you know he isn’t. I just think… what he said made sense. Go fucking put her in the room so we can talk real shit. I can’t focus with her ass in my face.”
“Tell me about it,” the man slaps your ass and kneads, “it’s like two inches from my mouth–”
You writhe and let out a hollow whine through your nose. He chuckles and falls into step. You lift your head up stiffly as he passes the other man and you meet his eye. You’re not sure if you know him but your gaze falls to the autumnal hued scarf around his neck. You know that scarf.
It can’t be. First Alan and now this guy. This is a conspiracy. It has to be.
You watch the floor change from slated hardwood to patterned carpet and again to dark teak. Down a hall and into another room. Only the light from outside limns your vision as you’re flung from over the man’s shoulder onto an unseen bed. You gasp at the soft mattress, expecting much worse.
“Pussy cat, you stop your hissing and pissing,” he warns as he backs up to the doorway, the light giving a better look at his features, “I’m gonna get to you. Count on it.”
You groan at how the tap chafes your wrists and the smell of the adhesive below your nose. You blink and focus on the man’s silhouette. You think you know him too but you’re not sure. That tuft of hair on his lip seems familiar. Before you can find the memory, his image is blocked out by the door and you’re plunged into sheer darkness.
This can’t be happening. You can’t be here. You have to get home. Who’s going to feed Ernie?
🎀
Your eyes slowly adjust to the dark but you can’t see much. There is not hint of a window to let in any light or even a slat to leak in under the door. More eerie than the deep blackness is the dearth of sound. You can only hear your own breath and the soft squeaks that slip out at your most fraught.
The walls block out anything beyond. That alone is oppressive. If you weren’t tied up, if you weren’t gagged, could anyone even hear your screams?
You wiggle, roll and writhing across the breadth of the mattress. You reach the edge and rock yourself until you can sit up. You inch over the side of the bed until your feet meet the floor. You lean your weight on them and brace yourself.
You’re already out of breath with the effort. You stand, swaying as you struggle to balance on your bound feet. Your knees buckle as you lean this away and that until you can straighten yourself. You hop forward, once, twice, and again. You turn yourself towards where the door shut.
You stagger as you land a bit too hard and you twist, hitting your shoulder on the wall. You huff and puff as the tap grows slick around your lips, the cloth make you gaggle. You sidle, arm again the wall and the handle hits just above your wrist. The metal leaves a thrumming pang in your flesh.
You pivot and lean your back on the door frame, grasp the handle between your hands, sweaty palms struggling to get a grip. You turn this way and that, each time meeting resistance. You squeeze tight and sake yourself and the handle as a croak escape your nose. You didn’t expect it to open but it’s still a defeat.
You slide down to your ass, bending your knees before you as your hands rest behind you on the floor. You hang your head and measure your breaths. You’re not just scared for you, you think of your poor puppy waiting for you. Of you never going home to Ernie. That sparks the fuse to full panic.
You ball your hands to fist and slide down onto your arm. You wriggle down to your back, lifting your legs to the door, setting your boots on it. You pull back and kick, the bang jarring you. You do it again. Harder. You won’t stop. They can’t just leave you here. They can’t ignore you.
A thump comes from the other side. A warning. You kick back, even louder. No response.
You’re exhausted, but you keep going. You kick until your damp with sweat and your legs ache. You bring your feet down over over and until you can’t any more. Then you lay in the blind silence, a sob trapped behind the gag.
Ernie…
You’re almost delirious. Disbelief, fatigue, adrenaline, you’re not sure which. There’s a beeping and a metallic grind. The door shifts, hitting your bent legs as it tries to open. A grunt comes from the other side as the push until you’re forced a few inches up. A light radiates over your suddenly.
You stare up at the white glass shade on the ceiling. The door shoves you further and further. A figure enters and looks down at you. A heavy sigh that tickles your brain. You know it. You look up at that man, Alan or Anthony, as he shuts the door.
He bends to pick you up. He takes you to the bed and puts you on your side. You let him. You can’t do anything else. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks you over. He sits cautiously on the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry, honey, I hope they didn’t hurt you,” he caresses your cheek and you wince, “I told them to be nice. Wish I could’ve come with you but… I had to sort some things out.”
You bat your lashes, eyes widening. He cooes as pets your hair. “It’s okay, don’t be scared.”
His fingertips brush along the edge of the tape and he slowly peels it away. You groan as he tugs at the corner of the cloth and frees it from your mouth. You cough, your throat raw and dry.
“I can untie you but you have to promise to be good. You don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?”
You close your eyes and nod. He crumple the tape and you hear him place it down. You suck in a deep lungful of air and let out a scream, “HELP!!!!!!!!”
“Hey,” he hisses and quickly smothers your mouth with his large hand, “honey, don’t do that.” He squeezes until you’re quiet, until your jaw aches, “no one can hear you.” He leans over you as your eyes flick open and meet his, “not even the others. Right outside that door and they can’t hear you.”
You search his face. Stern and somber. He looks honest but you would’ve said the same back at the store when he lied to your face. You nod and go limp. Despite his deceit, you believe that.
He reluctantly drags his hand away, “I want to untie you, okay? I don’t want you to be stuck like this all night but if you’re bad, the others… they won’t let me.”
You don’t say anything. You stare past him, to the crux of wall and ceiling. You don’t care about the others or about this man. You only care about one thing.
“I know you’re confused and probably angry. This isn’t a bad thing, okay? We’re not doing this to hurt you, honey,” he rubs your shoulder, “we want to help you. To give you everything you want. Do you really want to spend Christmas alone?”
You rasp as you breath deeply. You wet the roof of your mouth with your tongue then your lips. You keep your eyes averted as you muster your voice.
“You’re married,” you accuse, "you have a family."
He clicks his tongue, “and? You have no one.”
That stings. A deep cut you feel deep in your gut. Your eyes meet his sharply and you pull your shoulder away from his hand. You push your chin out defiantly as a heat rises behind your eyes. You might be alone but it doesn’t mean you’re unhappy. Still, the way he said it…
“That’s not true, I have someone.”
“Honey, don’t lie. I know you don’t. I know you live on Fort Street in that square yellow building. Apartment 325. Just you. It’s a bachelor at the corner–”
“Stop, stop,” you beg him. “How do you know that?”
“Does it matter how?” He says lowly, “Honey, i’ve been nice, haven’t I? If you’re nice, I’ll stay that way and I’ll make sure the others don’t hurt you.”
You crinkle your nose and give a fearsome snarl you know must look ridiculous. You don’t care about these men or what they want. You don’t even care about yourself.
“I do have someone,” you insist, “Ernie.”
“Ernie?” He echoes.
“My puppy,” you hiss, “and I’m not going to be nice–” You grit the last word through clenched teeth, “unless you take me to him right now.”
“The dog?” He wonders.
“He needs to be fed and walked. I’m his mama and I need to see him,” you demand, your emotion finally bubbling up to the surface, “and until you take me home, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” You dig your nails into your palms and let out a shrill shriek. The blood curdling type you hear in horror movies.
The man covers his ears and stands. You do it again as you bounce on the bed. You must look crazy but you don’t care. Maybe if you’re crazy enough, they’ll let you go. You suck in a third breath and scream even louder.
He grimace but doesn’t stop you. He backs up and stomps to the door. You keep going until it locks behind him.
They think you’re weak because you’re alone. You’ve worked retail, you can handle a couple of psychos.
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summary | andy calls you in for office hours, just as he’s done almost every week of the semester. you both know your grade in his class is the least of the worries that he hopes to address.
pairing | professor!andy barber x student!reader
warnings | ed themes mentioned: implied restrictive subtype, no real symptom talk/mostly just body experience descriptions (weak, dizzy, spaced out, confused), resistance to help andisolation, suggestive that reader is severely ill. angst; this is not a fic with a happy ending, this is not a fic headed in a happy direction. soft!very concerned!andy.
an | hi friends. this is one of those fics that i don’t really know how to write an introduction for. i think this was mostly written as a way for me to support myself when i wasn’t getting the support i needed. please heed all the warnings given; the topic of ed’s is very fragile, i know, and i want you all to be safe and make choices that’ll be healthiest for you. i wrote this originally after rediscovering a song i used to listen to a lot back in high school when i was in the worst of my anorexia; listening to it again after so long brought back a lot of memories, one in particular of one of the last times i was brought into the er. i was deteriorating heavily and i remember just lying there and staring at the ceiling, listening to this song and feeling like i was back at my childhood home, sitting by the open windows listening to the neighbors’ kids playing outside. idk, it’s a very vivid memory for me. here’s a link to the song (getting lighter, goldmund) for anyone who’s interested.
Sitting in your regular brown armchair, the worn vintage-patterned fabric barely bending beneath your shallow frame, your eyelids droop like flower petals heavy with rain; you could not focus on the man in front of you if your life depended on it.
Standing with his back to you, broad shoulders filling out the deep navy seams of his university sweatshirt, Professor Barber tends to the whistling kettle on the stove, carefully killing the heat as he asks his question again, “Y/n, are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?”
Eyes lazily resting on some point just beyond the tip of your own nose, you hum some sort of confirmation or agreement, though it isn’t enough for him to understand until he turns around briefly to look at you, his gaze softening in worry as he watches you watch… nothing. Pouring himself a mug, he adds a tea bag and joins you in taking a seat, picking his usual spot on the green sofa across the narrow office from you. Setting his drink down on the coffee table beside him, the man sets his hands in his lap, an expectant silence falling over the room as he looks you over carefully.
And you, are entirely somewhere else. Chapped bottom lip parted ever so slightly from the top, you draw in a shaky breath as something warm hits your cheek; you think it could be a tear before you realize the window is open right beside you, a gentle ray of sun shining in and landing just below your eyes. Closing them for a moment, you stop to listen, the distant sounds of blowing grass and voices from afar filling your chest with heaviness. The whole world feels so light, like you could step right off the ground and float up into the sky on the breeze. For a moment, just a moment, you begin to forget where you are. Everything sounds and smells like home; you wonder if the faint smell of tea leaves in the air is coming from your mother’s favorite olive-green mug.
Voice trembling, you manage to say, “It’s beautiful out.”
“It is,” Andy’s soft voice agrees through the darkness. Andy, he had told you to call him that. Sometime, weeks ago. You never knew why he kept calling you in to see him every Thursday afternoon, and he never offered any reason, and yet- you continued to show up, week after week. Or maybe, maybe you did know. Maybe you do. Maybe even, you know, that he knows.
“It feels like summer,” you admit, your own voice barely recognizable to you as you do your best to fight back tears that have for some reason built up; maybe it was the tenderness of his voice. Maybe it’s the familiar smell of the spring air. You realize that you don’t want to be here; this is a frightening place for you, sitting in the warmth of the early May sun. Your hands squeeze the armrests of the chair as you do your best to remind yourself of your surroundings, but you can’t help but feel like maybe you’ve fallen asleep; maybe you’re dreaming of home. Maybe you’ll never see home again.
“Do you like the summertime, y/n?” Andy asks, watching patiently as you continue to sit with your eyes fully closed, nostrils flaring slightly as you struggle to take in a breath that feels big enough.
Head still heavy with thought, you mumble an, “I don’t know.” I’d like to live to see another one, you think to yourself, but as always, the words just can’t seem to find their way past your lips.
Straightening himself a bit in his seat, Andy nods though you can’t see him, clearing his throat briefly before saying your name once more, “Y/n.” Your eyes open, gaze landing on the man as he sits just a handful of feet away from you, and the look on his face is something you’re not ready for; it’s full of concern. You can’t tell if that’s everything you’ve ever wanted, or everything you’ve been trying to avoid. “Do you know why I assign you here, every week?”
Breaking away from his softened gaze, you try to shrug off the question. “I am barely passing your course,” you admit.
Andy nods, though you somehow already know that’s not where he’s headed. “Of course. But you know that’s not why I ask you to come. That’s not why you do come, is it?”
Heaviness sinks into the tips of your fingers as you blink at his question; part of you knows there’s no point in answering. Though still, you find yourself confirming his guess, “No, it’s not.”
He hums with a nod, repeating your name once more. “Y/n…”
“I can stop coming,” you say quietly, everything about you: your voice, your body, your presence- suddenly feeling incredibly and dangerously small as your head drops in shame. “I-I can stop. I won’t bother you anymore.”
Shaking his head, Andy’s tone has softened as he tells you, “I hope you won’t stop. I hope you keep coming- I hope you’ll talk to me, y/n. I hope one of these days, one of these afternoons, you finally will.”
Swallowing down a lump in your throat, you can’t bring yourself to look at him again. You know you should get up, you should walk out before this can go any further, but there’s something too heavy about the sunlight on your face, the thick balminess of the air that keeps you trapped in your seat as you blink back more tears. You are stuck; there is no way out for you. And you think that you’ve probably been that way for a long, long time.
“I don’t want to talk,” though you’re expecting your voice to be full of bitterness, you’re surprised to find it’s more than anything else, just weak. Weary.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Andy acknowledges understandingly. “But don’t you think you should?”
“I-I can’t,” you say, eyes struggling up to meet his waiting gaze. “I just… I can’t.”
Smiling gently in defeat, Andy nods. “Well, I can’t force you, and I wouldn’t want to. But I will keep inviting you back, just in case,” he tells you.
As he shifts directions in the conversation, beginning to go on about something that happened the other day in class, the heaviness in your chest rots and blisters into a burning pain. Eyes clouding over as the man’s voice floats up and away, out of reach for your ears, something collapses a little inside you. Pressing your palms into the wood of the chair’s frame, you realize this’ll be the last time you sit here in this spot; next week when youre invitation arrives, you’ll ignore it. You have to.
Eyes drawing to a close once more, you inhale deeply, savoring the sounds of the world through the window as they grace your ears. You’re not coming back, and you won’t hear them again. And a part of you knows you won’t make it home for the summer.
in which Jim Halpert dares Eileen Hayward to prank Dwight Schrute, but will he fall for it?
"Uncle Dwight, it's me- Anna Schrute! It's been so long, maybe you can come over to Germany soon and we can have a harvest festival just like old times!"
"I don't know who you are, I don't know why you think this is funny, but there is no one directly related to me with the name Anna Schrute!"
"It's Anna Schrute, Uncle Dwight!"
"Leave me alone, I am completely opposed to harming women but I know karate and I wouldn't be afraid to make an example out of you."
Dwight was fuming from the office break room as he held his mobile close to his ear. His eyes frantically darting around the room to ensure nobody over heard the conversation.
"So you'll come over to Deutschland to make an example of me, Uncle Dwight? Das ist fantastisch! Auf Wiederhören Uncle Dwight!"
"I don't know how you got my number but leave me a-" The line went dead.
***
"I don't know why, and I don't know who, but someone has been calling me on my personal cellphone for the past month claiming to Anna Schrute. My brother has no clue as to who she is, but I' m starting to believe she is my niece... she knows a startling amount!" The camera crew, who had only been at the office for a few days stood behind the camera equipment as Dwight spoke, his mustard yellow top reflected in the view finder of the camera as he flattened down his hair.
"Dwight? Oh yeah he's embarrassingly gullible, I've been calling him directly to his personal phone for the past month telling him I'm his niece Anna Schrute," Eileen smirks as she looks at the camera "Jim bet me twenty bucks that he wouldn't fall for it, but I'm going to be twenty dollars richer soon."
***
Eileen hastily pocketed her phone as Dwight made his way back to his desk and pretends to have just gotten off a sales call as she picked up the receiver phone and put it down as soon as she was in Dwight line of vision. Her eyes met Jim's as his widened and his eyebrows raised as Dwight made himself comfortable in his seat once more.
"So, Dwight," Eileen started- picking at her nails, "what was that all about?"
"Oh just my niece calling from Germany."
***
"Ka-ching!" Eileen held up the twenty dollar bill to camera pulling at it lightly twice from both sides to accentuate that she won the bet. Her dimples were prominent as she grinned.
***
"Ahh, your niece you say? I wasn't aware you had a niece." Eileen raised her eyebrows as she spoke, turning to the side slightly to hide the smirk growing on her face.
"No, I wasn't either- but it truly is a blessing to know of another Schrute. It's good to know that the Schrute name is still being carried." Dwights eyes didn't leave his computer as he typed up an email, his glasses reflected the computer screen in front of him.
Eileen glanced over at Jim giving him a look that said 'this is funny but i feel bad'. The man struggled not to laugh at her cringing face and put a finger up to his lip to make her stay quiet.
"So Dwight, uh- what's her name?" The Halpert man had a dopey grin on his face as a laugh mixed with his words.
"I don't see how that is any of your business..." Dwight muttered as rearranged the papers on his desk, the pile making an obnoxious noise as he hit the stack on the table a paucity of times to make sure they were all in line with each other.
"Oh it really doesn't, I just wanted to take interest in one of my fellow salespersons lives..." He faux innocence as he busied himself with typing on his computer, scratching the back of his neck to add to his act.
"Her name is Anna Schrute, she speaks broken English, she is German, lives in Germany yet is confined to the time zones of Pennsylvania..." He pauses for a moment, before typing something into his computer.
His hand bangs onto the table as he pushes back from his desk and spins on his chair once. He stops and points at the woman in front of him, a glare besmirched on his face.
"You!," he pointed at her "It was you!"
"Huh, what?"
"You're Anna Schrute!"
"No, no- what?!"
"I knew I could hear typing in the background, she sounds exactly like you Eileen!"
"But Anna lives in Germany, was there any background noise- other than the typing?"
"There was traffic sounds- wait." Dwights eyebrows furrowed as he typed something into the computer.
A few silent moments later, everyone in the office can hear the sound of passing cars and the occasional German shout.
"Aw that's what Eileen listens to when she gets stressed," Phyllis began- pointing awkwardly at Dwights computer "She's stressed quite a lot..."
Eileen sucks her bottom lip in, and clamps her top teeth over it. Pointing her head down, her fringe covers her face but Dwight can still make out her silent laughter through the shake in her shoulders.
"Michael. MICHAEL!," Dwight starts standing from his chair "She's done it again!"
Michael can be seen leaving his chair, pinching his forehead as he approached his office door.
Dwight grins, exposing his teeth, and turns back to Eileen.
"You're fired! You are so fired!"
Their boss gets a hold of the door and pulls it shut much to the amusement of Jim who lets out a quiet 'ha'. Michael then proceeded to shut all the blinds in his office and return back to his desk.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!),smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink (he calls us whores, like three times??) shower sex, wall sex (?), age gap, and more..
important: English is not my first language so there will probably be a lot of mistakes but there is nothing to be done, and it is my first time writing smur so don't attack me!!!
characters: dbf!steve rogers x fem!reader
Steve Rogers was never as obsessed with a person as he was with you. He vividly remembers the first time he saw you, in that red dress begging to be fuckedYou were like a hurricane, bringing chaos and desire to every breath he took. He knew it was wrong, that you were taking him down a dangerous path, because you were his best friend's daughter, but he couldn't resist. With a penetrating gaze and a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. You involved him in your games, in your dark fantasies that scared and excited him at the same time.And that's how you ended up in this current situation, being fucked in the shower by your father's best friend.
Your parents had gone on a trip to celebrate twenty-five years of marriage, and even though you were 20 and completely capable of taking care of yourself, your father asked Steve to keep an eye on you.
“I've been dying to fuck you ever since I saw you in that tiny red dress, you were practically begging, weren't you whore? That's it, isn't it? You just needed a big fat dick in that cherry.”
His hands tried to hold onto the stall in a failed attempt as Steve frantically thrust into you, you could feel his balls hitting yours against your clit as he pushed harder and harder into you…
your breasts jiggled as you were thrust into you. Steve moaned hoarsely, you felt every vein, every tiny vein inside you, the complete sense, his hands held your waist while the hot water ran between the two of you, giving him more access to fuck you hard... you look over your shoulder with some difficulty and then you see him, his hair was messy, some strands stuck together, his mouth was being pressed because he was biting his lips heavily and at the same time making a face.
“FUCK” he moans loudly, starting to move quickly and forcefully, not giving you time to breathe properly... the butterflies were playing with you, his trembling hand even went towards your clitoris when he started to rub it quickly, giving you spasmsHis mouth opened in a wordless moan. The glans hit the depths of his intimacy, making his lower belly burn. You had no idea how many times you had cumHer body shook violently and Steve watched her cum on his dick.
“Tell me, whose little whore are you?” His hoarse voice echoed through the bathroom along with a loud slap, you just swallowed soundlessly when he started moving again.“Stevee” you moaned when he hit that spot, you were already sore“So it’s here? Hmm?" he asked and you moaned in response.
He growled in his ear before pushing his body onto the bed and starting to thrust making you scream in pleasure “Whaaat? Do not handle it? Weren’t you the one thirsty for cock?” laughed while you whimperedYou moaned in a sob when the older man pushed everything in, squeezing your neck with one hand and making you orgasm again in such a short time.Steve withdraws his member and you let out a sly moan.
He soon bends down watching the abused entrance dripping all his cum.Her swollen clitoris pulsed, her breathing was heavy, her legs were wobbly. When you thought it was finally over, he smiles and then goes back into the hot grip in a brutal way, hearing your surprised scream.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!),smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink (he calls us whores, like three times??) shower sex, wall sex (?), age gap, and more..
important: English is not my first language so there will probably be a lot of mistakes but there is nothing to be done, and it is my first time writing smur so don't attack me!!!
characters: dbf!steve rogers x fem!reader
I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! kisses
Steve Rogers was never as obsessed with a person as he was with you. He vividly remembers the first time he saw you, in that red dress begging to be fuckedYou were like a hurricane, bringing chaos and desire to every breath he took. He knew it was wrong, that you were taking him down a dangerous path, because you were his best friend's daughter, but he couldn't resist. With a penetrating gaze and a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. You involved him in your games, in your dark fantasies that scared and excited him at the same time.And that's how you ended up in this current situation, being fucked in the shower by your father's best friend.
Your parents had gone on a trip to celebrate twenty-five years of marriage, and even though you were 20 and completely capable of taking care of yourself, your father asked Steve to keep an eye on you.
“I've been dying to fuck you ever since I saw you in that tiny red dress, you were practically begging, weren't you whore? That's it, isn't it? You just needed a big fat dick in that cherry.”
His hands tried to hold onto the stall in a failed attempt as Steve frantically thrust into you, you could feel his balls hitting yours against your clit as he pushed harder and harder into you…
your breasts jiggled as you were thrust into you. Steve moaned hoarsely, you felt every vein, every tiny vein inside you, the complete sense, his hands held your waist while the hot water ran between the two of you, giving him more access to fuck you hard... you look over your shoulder with some difficulty and then you see him, his hair was messy, some strands stuck together, his mouth was being pressed because he was biting his lips heavily and at the same time making a face.
“FUCK” he moans loudly, starting to move quickly and forcefully, not giving you time to breathe properly... the butterflies were playing with you, his trembling hand even went towards your clitoris when he started to rub it quickly, giving you spasmsHis mouth opened in a wordless moan. The glans hit the depths of his intimacy, making his lower belly burn. You had no idea how many times you had cumHer body shook violently and Steve watched her cum on his dick.
“Tell me, whose little whore are you?” His hoarse voice echoed through the bathroom along with a loud slap, you just swallowed soundlessly when he started moving again.“Stevee” you moaned when he hit that spot, you were already sore“So it’s here? Hmm?" he asked and you moaned in response.
He growled in his ear before pushing his body onto the bed and starting to thrust making you scream in pleasure “Whaaat? Do not handle it? Weren’t you the one thirsty for cock?” laughed while you whimperedYou moaned in a sob when the older man pushed everything in, squeezing your neck with one hand and making you orgasm again in such a short time.Steve withdraws his member and you let out a sly moan.
He soon bends down watching the abused entrance dripping all his cum.Her swollen clitoris pulsed, her breathing was heavy, her legs were wobbly. When you thought it was finally over, he smiles and then goes back into the hot grip in a brutal way, hearing your surprised scream.
If you as a grown adult are in my inbox trying to justify why minors should be allowed on an 18+ blog, you are a dangerous freak who wants to get all of us in trouble. We block minors around here and y'all are lucky I'm not like @softcoreparadise who blocks anyone without some reference to their age on their blog because she don't play 😭
I agree with the importance of keeping minors out of blogs aimed at people over 18. Aside from the fact that it is illegal to provide inappropriate content to minors, it can also be harmful to the blog owners themselves. Allowing minors on an adult blog can result in legal problems, such as legal liability issues and online child protection regulations.Furthermore, on a blog for people over 18, the topics discussed and the language used can be completely inappropriate and harmful to minors. This can lead to legal problems with parents or legal guardians as well as authorities.I agree that it is crucial to keep minors off blogs aimed at adults, not only to protect children, but also to avoid potential legal issues and negative consequences for blog owners!!!
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)
Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
The visit from the detective quickly drifts to the back of your mind. You have enough to worry about without dwelling over the unfortunate victim of the break-in. It’s only Cole that reminds you of the strange early morning drop-in as he recounts it to Peter.
It’s just after noon as you set a fresh batch of cookies into the display and Cole wonders about the mystery intruder. Would they come here? Where did they break into? Why? Maybe he should look into a better security system.
Peter is more interested than you are. You continue to transfer the oatmeal raisin, one by one with the tongs, as soft instrumental flows from the new bluetooth speaker Cole installed to add to the atmosphere. It just makes you sleep, you suppose that would drive peoples’ caffeine addiction.
As Peter goes to grab his apron, Cole goes to replace the dark roast filter as a new batch is needed. You stop setting out the cookies to ring through a new customer. The steady flow helps keep you from thinking too much.
You hand over the medium roast and a muffin and watch the man still yammering to his Airpod leave. You turn back as there’s a sudden clamour and Cole gasps as he tears open a preloaded filter and the grinds explode over him. You really wish he would stick to the back office.
“Oh my,” you grab a tea towel as he coughs, turning to you with coffee all over his face. You can’t help but laugh through your irritation.
“What’s going on?” Peter comes out as he ties his apron. “Oh sh–” he guffaws as he points at Cole, “bruh.”
You tut and shake your head. You take the shredded package from Cole and toss it. You turn back to him and dust the grounds off his face with the towel, letting them fall to the floor.
“Get the broom, Peter,” you say as Cole’s blue eyes fixate on you. He keeps his hands slightly out as he watches you. His gaze bores into you hotly, as if he can’t look away. “Well, I think maybe it’s about time you go back and get some of your own work done,” you reproach.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t… I’m so clumsy,” he smiles, his cheeks rosy as you wipe away more of the coffee, moving down his neck to his collar and sweeping away even more.
“Well, you’re going to smell delicious,” you kid as you use your hand to dust off his shirt.
He steps closer, surprising you. More of the grounds litter onto the floor as Peter shuffles in the storage room. Cole seems to lean in but you’re quickly distracted as the cafe door swings open. You step back and clutch the cloth as you face the new customer.
“I shoulda fucking guessed it,” Lloyd lets the door fall open behind him, “I knew you were lying.”
Shit. You’re speechless as he struts across the room, stopping just on the other side of the counter, “kinda fucking funny you’d lie about working at a cafe but I guess I know why.”
Lloyd glares at Cole who stares back in confusion. “Uh, hello, can we get you something–”
“You can shut your mouth. This a conversation between me and her,” Lloyd shoos him with his fingers, “really, this jag off? You’re over here pushing coffee–”
“Please, just go, we can talk after I’m done–”
“No, no, I want the truth. I wanna know who I got in my home? Is it Mimi or a slut?”
“Woah, hey, hey,” Cole steps closer to you, palms out pleadingly, “hey, guy, calm down. You can’t talk to her like that.”
“And who the fuck are you? Shut the fuck up,” Lloyd snarls.
“Wait, wait,” Cole nudges you slightly behind him, “I know you– you broke my windshield.”
“Huh,” Lloyd scoffs and smirks, “that was you? In hindsight, I shoulda done more.”
“What the…” you mutter.
“Look, you’re going to have to leave if you’re not getting anything. And if you’re going to continue to harass my employee, we won’t serve you. So please, let’s be polite–”
“Polite? Polite?” Lloyd blusters, laughing like a hyena, “I’ll show you fucking polite.”
Lloyd grabs the tip jar before either of you can react. He whips it at Cole, hitting him in the jaw, before launching himself across the counter. You cry out as Cole recoils, thrown off balance as Lloyd latches onto his collar. They hit the espresso machine and grunt, rolling around against the counters and shelves as they struggle with each other.
“Peter!” You shout terrified as you stay back, trying not to get caught up in the entangled men. “Peter, call the police–”
Lloyd grunts as he head snaps back. Cole shakes out his fist as he detaches from the other man, and cocks his arm, setting his feet. He grits his teeth as Lloyd wipes the blood away from his nose and brings his own fists up.
“Wanna fuck around?” Lloyd snarls.
“Lloyd, stop!” You shout.
“I got farmer strength, buddy, don’t make me use it,” Cole warns. It’s a bit lame but you don’t think he could be mean if he tried.
“Woah, woah,” Peter rushes in, getting between them with the broom, pointing the handle at Lloyd, “who the hell is Mr. Caterpillar?”
“Stay out of this, boy,” Lloyd warns as he grabs the broom.
“No, no,” you exclaim and grab the broom, twisting it as you insert yourself between Lloyd and the others. Peter lets go and you jab the handle up, sending Lloyd’s hand into his jaw. He releases the broom as you hold it up defensively. “Leave now. Leave me alone. What I do is none of your business. That’s what you said. So go.”
He huffs and juts his chin out, cradling it as his nostrils flare. He looks behind you at Cole and Peter. His eyes search the room like a wolf searching for prey. He curls his lip and spits blood onto the floor.
“You’re fucking right we’re going to talk later,” he steps closer and you sense both the men behind you do the same, “keep up the hard work, Mimi.”
He enunciates the last two syllables venomously. He turns and grabs the milk frother, shoving it to the ground in a crash. You bring the broom horizontal to stop Peter and Cole as they try to charge him. You shake your head and whisper, stop.
Lloyd shoulders past you and hops back over the counter, his sole slipping on the tile and nearly sending him onto his ass. He growls in frustration and stomps to the door. He stops to look back at you, pointing at Cole then turns his hand to flip him off.
“Just you wait, bud, I got a spare tire iron with your fucking name on it.”
He rips open the door and storms out. You take a breath, shaking as you lower the broom. You hang your head and feel your insides crumple.
“I’m sorry, Cole,” you turn to the men, “and Peter, I’m sorry to you too. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”
“Who was that guy?” Peter asks.
“Don’t be sorry,” Cole undercuts, “you did nothing wrong. That wasn’t… your ex? The cop?”
"With a mustache like that, he definitely reads cop," Peter snorts.
You shake your head. You don’t even know how to explain it. You can barely think.
“Hey, hey,” Cole takes the broom gently from you, “hey, you’re shaking like crazy. Why don’t you sit down?”
Peter looks at the store front then back to you, “I should follow that douche–”
“Please,” you gulp as you let Cole take you by the arm and gently lead you away, “please, I don’t–” your voice cracks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
You can’t help but repeat the words over and over. Not just for them, but to the man in your head raining down punches on you and the man who just left. You’re sorry for all of it.
I haven’t seen the Priscilla film yet but the lengths people will go to defend Elvis and demonize Priscilla is insane. She was 14 when they met and began a relationship, and he was an adult.
A worrying amount of people claim that it was “normal back then”. We are talking about the 1950s/1960s, not the Medieval period (in which, by the way, most people still married as adults, with the occasional exception of royalty). It was not normal back then. This is a fact. Most women got married early to mid 20s, and men mid to late 20s, with the average age gap of around 3 years.
A lot of people use anecdotal evidence to “prove” this claim - yet actual statistics from marriage records don’t lie. I could refute their stance based on my own evidence, if we were going the anecdotal evidence route - one set of grandparents married in their mid 20s (same age) and one married at the age of 27 and 32, respectively.
The average age of first marriage was younger in the south - but even this typically had a minimal age gap: teenage newlyweds were typically both in their teens, with a small age gap, not 14 year old girls marrying 30 yr old men. Did it happen? Sure. Was it considered messed up even “back then” to most of the country? Yeah.
“My grandma married at 15 when my grandpa was 30!” ok then your grandpa was a creep. I guarantee you your grandma wasn’t as happy as you think she was. “They’ve been married for 50 years!” they lived in a time when divorce was frowned upon and women did not have many rights. Women could not get their own bank account until the 1970s. Marital rape was not considered a crime until the 90s. Your grandma did not turn out ok: at the very least she had a grandchild with worms for brains who can’t admit that their family member was a creep and relationships between teenagers and adults are always wrong.
It was just as fucked up and traumatic back then as it is now. People need to stop justifying it. I’m not saying you can’t like Elvis’ music, but to claim he wasn’t a predator is gross.
