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studiopeached · 1 year ago

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THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

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destroyndecay · 9 months ago

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Teacher's Pet

Summary: You ask for a bit of help with your assignment. You end up getting some extra credit.

Genre: filthy smut hehe

Professor x Student!AU

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: i think college is corrupting me guys

You scowled and the rubric paper that had been placed in front of you twenty minutes ago. You sighed and put your head in your hands, leaning your elbows on the desk. Written in bright red ink in the top right corner:

65%.

Engineering had always been the career that you aspired to have. You felt that you were qualified for all of the other classes that the degree had required you to take, but you did not feel this way about your Beginner Woodworking class. The assignment was to make a simple tool caddy, but you could not get the hang of any of the simple techniques the class required you to use for projects. The walls weren't sanded correctly and the edges were jagged and uneven. It almost made you feel bad for the professor that had to meticulously grade it.

The professor, Mr. Dixon, had been perplexing to you since the first class a couple weeks ago. He was dressed in a professional-looking gray polo, tucked into black dress pants and black glasses framing his face. His brunette hair was wavy and fell down to his shoulders, normally shaped into a loose man bun to get rid of the factor of it being a safety hazard. But, he juxtaposed his white-collar demeanor with a straight from Georgia southern drawl, complete with incorrect grammar and a heavy usage of the word “ain’t.” He taught the class like it was second nature, answering every question that came his way.

But even with his calm nature, you still struggled. Not just with your low level of expertise, but with the way he looked at you during lectures.

You were sure that you were just being naive, but you couldn’t help but notice the little side glances he gave you with a slight smirk that could get him any girl he wanted. This made you attentive to other things, like the way his bulging arms looked underneath the bright overhead lights of the workshop. The way he gestured to the whiteboard with veiny hands that looked to be twice the size of yours. The way his gravelly voice consistently sent shivers down your spine, and when he gives you praise for answering a question right in class, you thought about the comment all day, wondering what that praise would sound like in other scenarios.

This is the reason why you had to hype yourself up to ask him for help. You felt a little embarrassed that it took you this long to simply ask your professor a question, but at least this was a night class and everyone else had gone home. So if you made a fool of yourself in front of your hot professor, you would only be a little mortified.

You sighed to yourself and lifted your head up to look at his desk in the far left corner. He was dressed in the same pants and glasses from the first class, but instead of a polo, he sported a more casual untucked black sweater, the sleeves rolled up to show his delicious forearms. He had also let down his bun, letting his locks cascade down his face, occasionally flicking his head to the side to get a strand out of his eyes. He was lazily leaning back in his chair, holding a packet of paper with one hand, and casually twirling a pen with his other hand. It must’ve been lesson plans for next week, considering his tongue that slightly stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. You definitely thought it was cute.

After much contemplation, you finally slid out of your chair and slowly made your way to his desk. He was alerted by your approaching footsteps, so he put both the pen and paper down in front of him on the desk and relaxed further into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. That action caused his pectorals to be pushed up, and you fought hard to keep your eyes glued to his sapphire ones.

“Mr. Dixon?” You asked tentatively.

His eyebrows perked up at the sound of his name. “Hm? I saw ya sittin’ over there for a while. Whatcha need, darlin’?”

You had to pause for a second.

It's just a common southern nickname. Don't make this weird. Just ask the damn question.

“Yeah I was just coming up here to see if I could get some sort of extra credit? I'm really not happy with the grade I got on the caddy assignment- I'm sorry I haven't been getting a hang of the techniques. If you give me something else to do, I promise I'll work hard and not do such a shitty job and-”

He cut you off with a slight raise of his hand combined with a light chuckle. “Woah, woah, slow down sweetheart, yer ramblin’.”

That simultaneously made you calm down and caused your heart to race.

He sat up slightly in his seat and pushed up his glasses. “How ‘bout this. I help ya make a simple cuttin’ board, and if you get all the techniques down, I'll give ya an 85 on tha’ caddy assignment. That sound fair?”

Honestly, you were ecstatic with his response. You had never expected him to say yes to your extra credit proposal, let alone him offering to personally help you with said project.

“Oh! Well, that would be very nice of you. Thank you, Mr. Dixon!”

He hit you with another smirk as he stood up and leaned on the side of his desk. “Ya don't have to keep up with all the professional shit. Call me Daryl. Now go on and grab one a those short planks a wood over there.” He motioned with a flick of his head to a table about ten feet away that had a bunch of leftover planks of wood from different students and projects sitting on it.

You turned to the side because you felt your cheeks heat up from him wanting you to call him by his first name. “Okay, Daryl.” You said, sounding amused but also sheepish.

You picked up a decent sized plank and turned to walk back. You were met with Daryl grabbing two pairs of safety glasses from his desk and meeting you by the table saw. He handed a pair to you and you thanked him quietly.

He even made safety glasses hot.

“I don't wanna risk going blind so I can't see my favorite professor.” You chuckled nervously at your poor attempt at flirting. He simply rolled eyes and huffed out a laugh.

“‘Kay. What I think yer mainly doing wrong is yer not goin’ slowly enough when cuttin’ yer wood, gives you those ugly, uneven edges. So. it's really important that ya go slow an’ ease into it.”

That comment made you think of other scenarios, but you pushed it out of your mind and nodded along. You needed that 85%.

With a flip of a switch, the table saw spun to life, and you gripped it firmly on both sides so they didn't slip, something that Daryl was very vocal about in the first class. You held it in position to cut it in half to make it cutting board size, but you briefly halted your movement when you felt Daryl step behind you, presumably to see if your cuts were precise. Not for the reason you hoped, at least.

“Remember, (Y/N), go slow. Take yer time.” His mouth was tantalizingly close to your ear, just enough so you could hear what he was saying over the buzz of the saw. Not only that, but his hands had traveled to the back of your arms to grip and hold them in place. Your breath hitched, but you remained focused, the loud whirring of the sharp saw snapping you out of your foul thoughts.

When you had finally guided the saw through all of the plank, you repeated the process with the corners, giving two of them a semi-rounded edge. Daryl released the grip he had on you to flip the switch to the “Off” position. He put the glasses up on his head, looked at the plank of wood in your hands, then back up to you.

“Better than th’ last thing ya made. Good job, sunshine.” He punctuated his sentence by taking the safety glasses off your face with a calloused hand.

You tried to keep your cool, but you let a stutter slip with that nickname combined with the sudden physical contact.

“Th… thank you, Mr. D- I mean Daryl. Sorry.” You let out a timid laugh, utterly intimidated while underneath his piercing gaze. You were met with another deep laugh that made your heart flutter.

“Yer good, (Y/N). Now go over to that empty table where the grit paper is. Ya need to sand it down. Don’t want ya gettin’ splinters.”

You did as you were told and strode over to the table that was free of any wood chips, with Daryl following suit. Taking the grit paper into your hands, you began sanding the left corner of your board, making sure that there were no jagged edges that could poke someone. You had expected Daryl to come into your field of vision, maybe he was about to suavely lean on a nearby cabinet that was next to the table to keep up the small talk. But to your confusion, you still felt his presence standing behind you. You didn’t question it. Maybe he was just checking his phone before continuing to critique you.

You had just finished sanding down the first corner of your board when you felt two hands grab your waist from behind, along with hot air hitting your neck.

“I can see what yer doin’, (Y/N.)”

You went rigid. Your hands stopped their sanding movement. You’re pretty sure you stopped breathing for a moment.

“Ya really think I don’t see the way ya look at me in class? So fuckin’ obvious.” His voice had taken on a new tone, one that you had never heard before in the several weeks you had his class. It was darker. Deeper. Hungry. You let out a pitiful, quiet whine at the sound alone as you put down both the wood and the grit paper.

Signaling he had heard your soft noise, he began to kiss and suck at your neck, and you could feel him smirking deviously against your skin. “I’m right, aint I? M’ voice doin’ somethin’ for ya, darlin’?” He rumbled the nickname right next to your ear and got back to working at your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise the skin, some already turning shades of purple. You nodded sporadically at the clearly rhetorical question, and breathed a small “yes.”

His teeth lightly tugged at your earlobe, then he purred, “Turn around. Wanna look atcha.” Wanting to fulfill his every whim, you immediately flipped around to meet his carnal gaze, leaning your butt against the edge of the table to try and steady your wobbly footing. It wasn’t working.

And he must’ve noticed, with the way he cockily raised an eyebrow while looking you up and down.

You're brows then furrowed in confusion when he turned to the edge of the table to where an armless wooden chair was sitting. He stepped over to the chair, easily picking it up with one arm while the other hand removed his glasses and placed them on the nearby table. He set the chair down a couple feet in front of you with a thunk. Sliding into the seat, he lazily spread his legs and set both his palms on his inner thighs, eyes half-lidded.

"I can tell yer knees are ‘bout to buckle, doll. C'mere and sit down." He beckoned you with two fingers, and again, you instantly followed his command like he had put you in a lust filled trance.

“Okay, Daryl.” You simply put it, not currently having the brain function necessary to come up with a more coherent response. You cautiously walked over to where Daryl was manspreading and swung one of your legs over to the other side so that you were straddling him. It took everything in you not to start grinding on his half hard cock.

“Y’know, yer good at doin’ what yer told.” You could feel his hand slowly snake around your throat and applying pressure, his way of demanding your attention.

“I think ya deserve a reward.”

Another whine spilled out of you, followed by a desperate, “Please.” Your hands looped around the back of his neck and settled on the back of his head to tug at his brunette locks. You were desperate for more of his touch. For him to be as close as he possibly could.

“Tha’ why ya stuck around till the end of class? Hm? Ta let me have my way with ya? I know it wasn't just ‘cause a that fuckin’ caddy.” His mouth ticked up in a triumphant smirk, knowing exactly what your sinful intentions were. His hand trailed up your thigh up to barely graze the place you wanted him most, all while keeping eye contact. You let out a pitiful groan and involuntarily started grinding softly.

He chuckled and disconnected his hand, settling it on your inner thigh. “So needy fer me already.” He rumbled in your ear in the same hungry manner he started with.

With his large stature, he was basically eye to eye with you, even with you straddling on top of his lap. In this case, you were on top only in technical terms. Daryl was truly the one who was leading and in control.

You squeaked out something resembling an “mhm” combined with a nod before ungracefully crashing into his lips. It was as if he had lit a fire inside of you, and the heat was reaching every part of your body that made contact with him. Another chuckle vibrated through your mouth, and it only made you more antsy. Daryl ran his tongue along your bottom lip, and you eagerly granted him access. Both your tongues were in a battle for dominance, and you were losing fast. Your hands were tangled in his hair and tugging lightly, and one of Daryl’s hands was on your hip, while the other was cupping your chin, seemingly to keep your head in position. It was wet, clumsy, and carnivorous. You couldn’t get enough.

But eventually, you had to pull back to get the oxygen that your lungs craved. Keeping your foreheads connected, you hungrily stared into his eyes while releasing rapid breaths, not currently having the energy to wipe away a small trail of drool that had run down your chin. His hand was still planted on the side of your face, and he used it to push it away from his forehead and to wipe the trail of drool away with his thumb, purposefully making the motion slow and teasing, gliding the pad of his thumb over your lips.

Suddenly, he grabbed your ass with both hands and harshly pushed you forward more onto his lap, and you gasped when you felt his full erection in his pants. He huffed out a laugh, enjoying the reactions he was getting out of you.

“Ya feel what yer fuckin’ doin ta me, girl?” He practically growled, the grip on your ass tightening while moving his hips up. This caused you to start consistently grinding softly, your breath turning into hushed moans due to the added friction. When he raised his eyebrows at you while huffing out rumbly breaths, you braced yourself by locking your hands around his neck.

He trailed his hand back to your groin, pressing harder on the clit and enjoying your squeaking and harsh gasps.

“You want this, hm? Want me ta fill ya up and fuck ya till ya can't think no more?” The continuous rubbing of your clit combined with his accent getting thicker had you speechless, the only thing coming out of your mouth being a whine, while you placed your forehead on his shoulder, overwhelmed with pleasure.

But your head was immediately and forcefully raised when Daryl lightly tugged on your hair, making you lock eyes with him. “I need words, darlin’.” His voice was coated with lust, but also combined with genuine care for you and your well being, wanting to know if you really wanted this.

You locked eyes with him, letting him know you were sincere. “Yes. Please, Daryl. Need you.” Your sentences were broken, but it was enough to get your point across.

He then leaned in to plant another kiss on your lips, but stopped a couple inches from your face.

“Tha's my good girl.”

Your eyes could've rolled back right then and there.

Hungrily, you latched back onto his lips, unhooking your hands from his neck to take off your baggy shirt, only disconnecting your lips from his long enough to pull it fully off over your head. You could feel his lips tick upwards at your needy actions. And as soon as he felt one of your hands grasp and tug at his collar, he followed suit, revealing his toned chest. You pulled away to marvel at the sight, your eyes going wide. You had only seen that chest in your dreams and now it's right in front of you. Shuffling down in the chair and leaning back, he teased, “Ya like what ya see, sweetheart?”

Another breathless “mhm” left you as Daryl started marking up your neck again working at the clasp of your bra. Once he got it unhooked, he immediately latched his mouth to your nipple, rolling the other with his fingertips. You yelped in surprise, but it quickly turned into soft moans from the stimulation.

He embraced you yet again, nipping at your lips, drawing out a surprised yelp that morphed into a moan. Soon, your moans got heavier as you felt his hands lift from your waist and you heard the high-pitched clattering of a belt buckle being undone. He lifted himself up to his pants down to a little above his knees, and you pulled back to shamelessly stare at the act. He had already started impatiently stroking himself.

In response, you ogled a bit more before shimmying your pants and underwear down to your upper thigh, Daryl watching with an unbroken gaze, grunting softly. His eyes then traveled down to his inner thigh that your cunt was currently riding, his mouth ticking upwards again.

“So fuckin’ wet for me already.” He trailed his free hand up to the back of your neck.

“Want you to fill me up, Daryl. Please. Been thinking about it all day.” Thoughts tumbled out of you with no filter, eager to feel his length inside of you.

He put two fingers to your slit, barely grazing the inside to tease you as much as possible. “Then get to ridin’, doll. Wanna teach ya a fuckin’ lesson.” You fought back a pitiful whine, a fast paced breath leaving your mouth in its wake.

Bracing yourself with your hands placed on his broad shoulders, you lifted yourself up, but stuttered your movement when you felt his already leaking tip touch your lips, intimidated by his size. Daryl cocked an eyebrow.

“Wha's wrong, sunshine? Thought ya were thinkin’ bout me all day.” He teased. You playfully rolled your eyes, both from the sarcasm, and a little from the pleasure.

Cautiously, you lowered yourself onto his length with a ragged breath. Daryl grunted at the squeezing contact and gripped the side of your hip in response, guiding you down. It took you a minute to adjust to his size, slightly grimacing from the lack of him stretching you out first. He noticed you taking your time and spoke up. “Y'alright? We can stop if y'wanna.” Your heart fluttered at him voicing his concern.

“M'fine. Just had to adjust.” You said between deep breaths, looking into his eyes to make sure he knew you were genuine.

Your legs moved up and you hooked your feet over his knees to easily move up and down, thanking your past self you put on a flexible material this morning. You tested the waters and moved up and down at the slow pace, and moments after moans started crawling out of you, getting lost in the feeling.

“Y'like that, sweetheart?” Both of his hands snaked over to your hips, rubbing his thumbs over your exposed skin. You could only muster an almost imperceivable nod.

“Then you best hold on, cowgirl.”

Your brows furrowed and you squeaked out a questionable hum.

The hum suddenly turned into a yelp as Daryl took your hips and guided you down in a swift motion, taking in almost the entirety of his cock as he bucked upwards. He did this at a consistent and steady pace, all while connected his lips to that sensitive spot on your neck. The moans that ripped through you were damn near pornographic, the sinful sounds of skin slapping echoed throughout the large work room. His name rolled out of your mouth like it was second nature.

“Fuck, feels so- feels… so good Daryl… fuck-” You breathed. A rumbly groan left him at the feeling of your tightness combined with hearing your pleasurable expletives. Teeth grazed your neck as he left marks all the way down to your clavicle, creating a trail of wet kisses and saliva down to your right nipple. He lightly sucked and bit on the sensitive flesh, rolling and teasing the other with his fingertips.

One of your hands was on his shoulder to ground yourself and have some stability, while the other was tugging desperately at his luscious brown locks. You were almost worried you were hurting him when he bottomed out and reached your g-spot, pulling his head in ecstasy. He moaned, but you had a feeling that it wasn't in discomfort.

“Bet y've been thinkin’ bout this fer weeks, huh?” He growled next to your ear in an accusatory manner, his breaths labored. “Gettin’ fucked by yer teacher all out in the open. Dirty little whore.” You felt your earlobe get harshly tugged by his teeth.

You didn't even have to think when you rambled out, “Yes… yes, Daryl. I have, I- fuck- I'm your whore. Only yours. Only yours.” He growled in approval, and somehow pounded into you at a more relentless pace. A familiar tightness in your core began to materialize, a feeling that only ever came to fruition in the dark nights of your dorm room, moans of his name getting muffled by the pillows beneath you.

“Fuck… ‘m close-” You slurred, your mind turning more and more to mush by the minute. Daryl was too, signaled by his thrusts getting sloppier and jerky.

“Cum on m’ cock, sweetheart. Wanna make a mess a ya.”

His consistent pounding combined with the gruff command sent you over the edge, painting his length with your slick. The sheer force had you seeing stars, and you had to put your forehead on his to keep you from collapsing.

Daryl wasn't far behind you, the feeling of you releasing around him being all he needed to reach his own high. With a few more pumps and a loud grunt, you felt him shoot inside of you, white and hot. A weak whine spilled out of you at the feeling.

“God damn.” He breathed out. “Yer gonna be the death of me. y'know that?”

He was met with silence, except for your ragged breaths. His brain raced with thoughts. Had he done something wrong? Was he too rough? Did he hurt you?

As gently as he could, he gripped your chin and lifted your head so you were eye to eye once more. “Y'still with me, darlin’? I didn't hurt ya, did I?” His voice was laced with concern, your well-being always being his first concern before anything else.

A dopey smile came over you and you caressed his cheek with your palm. “I'm fine, just got a bit dizzy at the end there.”

Pulling him in close, you stopped just before his lips. “It was perfect.” Your lips finally collided and, unlike the last kiss, this one was slow, but just as passionate. A kiss that conveyed feelings not yet spoken. Both of your lips were swollen and shiny by the time you pulled away.

He pressed a peck to your nose, then questioned, “Was I too mean? It felt too much. ‘M sorry if it was.”

“No no no! You're fine!” You assured. Suddenly embarrassed, you turned your head to the side and ducked it slightly. “That's uh… actually how I've imagined it going most of the time.” You ended your sentence with hiding your now hot face in the crook of Daryl’s neck.

“Oh yeah?” You couldn't see it, but you sensed his cocked eyebrow and shit-eating smirk. “I'll be sure to angrily insult yer work in class more often, then.” He felt you radiating heat against his bare shoulder.

“Asshole.” That comment couldn't sound more not irritated, an audible smile being picked up by Daryl.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and he lightly chuckled at the feeling of you nuzzling against the crook of his neck.

“Teacher's pet.”

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #professor!au #professor x student #sorry this took like several month

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