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RWB Porsche 911
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enemies with benefits. || 1. - p.u.n.k boy!
warnings: swearing, fighting, you and hobie hating each other, reader gets slightly injured but nothing that bad, horrible british (i'm very sorryđ )
part 2 - wounded.
You were bold, abrasive, honest, and never afraid to fight for what was right. He was the exact same - if not even worse. Logically, it was obvious for people to assume youâd be best friends. But, they couldnât be further from the truth.
You heard a lot about Hobie. Mostly from Gwen and Miles rambling about âhow awesome he wasâ. They told you about his cool style, his badass attitude, how caring he was, and pretty much everything there was to know about him. When they said he was a great guy, you almost believed them. But, your opinion quickly changed when you met him for the first time.
Miguel had called you to see him immediately, without giving any context as to why. Logically, you were confused and quite frankly, a bit scared. Did something happen? Were you in trouble? Needless to say you rushed over to him as quickly as you could.
âY/n. New mission for you. Thereâs an anomaly thatâs broken free and itâs jumping from dimension to dimension, wreaking havoc. I need you to stop it from corrupting anything, alright?â his face remained stoic as he spoke in a low, orderly tone. You smiled. It was no secret to anyone that you loved to fight. Whether it be fighting a villain as spider-woman, or fighting a sexist scum as y/n. You loved to make the world a better place. And you looked sick as you did it.
âGot it. Just send me the location and consider it done.â you responded, eagerly. Miguel cleared his throat, which caught your attention. âNo, no, no. This is way more dangerous than your usual anomaly. You canât do this on your own. Which is why I've assigned Hobart to be your partner.â You looked at him, confused. âHobart? Who the fuck is that?â Without missing a beat, you heard the sound of rustling behind you. âMâright here.â you turned around, only to be met with a cocky smile, and a thick english accent. You quickly examined him. He was your stereotypical punk; tight jeans, combat boots, a sleeveless vest that was littered in pins and patches, and a guitar on his back. Everything about him screamed asshole. It was then that you realised he matched Gwen and Milesâ descriptions. There was no denying it, you were looking at the infamous Hobie Brown.
âYou must be Hobie.â you held your hand out to him for a handshake. But he pressed a kiss to it instead. âThe one and only.â he winked at you. You pulled your hand back, rolling your eyes at him. âGreat.â you thought to yourself. âHeâs one of those people. A selfish, self-absorbed, cocky flirt.â your head already jumped to conclusions, despite not knowing him for more than five minutes. You hadnât realised you had been staring at him until he spoke up again. âTake a picture. Itâll last longer.â you scoffed at him, turning to talk to Miguel instead. âYou canât be serious. You know I work alone. I always work alone. I can handle this by myself.â Miguel shook his head, not wanting to hear your complaints. âI know. But, this is a job for two people. And, I firmly believe that you guys will work together greatly.â As much as you wanted to fight alone, you knew Miguel was right. You sighed. Hobie opened his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off before he could spew another snarky comment. âIf you-â âShut up with your elitist bullshit. All of you punks are the same.â You turned around yet again to look at his face. He immediately perked up with slight anger. You were testing his patience. âAye. Iâm no elitist! I donât believe inâat crap! I donât believe in labels!â your smile got smaller, but it stayed there nonetheless. âYeah well I don't believe that youâre as cool as they say you are. Bet youâre just all bark and no bite.â his lips quirked up into a slight smile, completely disregarding what you had to say. âThey? Whoâs they?â his eyebrow raised, which made you notice his abundance of piercings. You'd be lying if you said they didnât suit him. âMiles and Gwen.â you answered, the tone of your voice was slightly annoyed. He lit up slightly at the mention of their names. âYou know Gwendy ân Miles?â âSo what if I do?â His eyes grew wide, you could see the cogs whirring in his head as he put the pieces together. âWait. Aâyou thaâ badass that kicked the teeth in oâthat group oâknobheads?â Ah. So, gwen and Miles mustâve talked about you as much as they did him. Fucking hell his accent was almost incomprehensible. âSo what if I am?â you crossed your arms at him. He scoffed. âAnd here I thought youâd be nicer.â you rolled your eyes and focused your attention on the portal you opened up. âCome on, we can finish this up later - after weâve beat this bastard.â You spoke, pointing inside the portal. For a split second you both shared a smile. âRight behind you, mate.â And with that, you walked into the portal, mockingly mumbling his accent as you did so. âmate.âÂ
You landed in the alternate earth with grace, quickly scanning the area to make sure no one was there. And then Hobie arrived. His chest bashed against your back, which caused you to almost fall forward. âWhoops. Sorry about thaâ'.' he smiled, but he wasnât sorry. His voice was laced with a teasing venom. You turned your head to look at him. âYou did that on purpose, prick.â you scowled at him, and his smirk got wider; cockier. âYeah, I did.â he admitted. You couldnât believe him. âWe donât have time for this. Letâs just get this over with.â you put your mask on and looked around for the anomaly, swinging your webs from building to building as you flew around. It was then that you spotted it; a big, scaly monster. Its skin resembled that of tar; sticky and black. Accompanied by a menacingly sharp smile, its fangs were almost as big as you were. Your eyes widened with subtle fear as you watched it engulf its surroundings. You signalled Hobie over to you, careful as to not make any noise. He followed, his once-teasing demeanour gone without a trace. He was much more focused on taking down the anomaly now. âFuckinâ âell. Thatâs a big one.â he stated, looking at it before attempting to jump at it. but, you grabbed onto his arm to prevent him from doing so. âAre you crazy?â you whispered. âYou canât just spring into battle without a plan!â he groaned impatiently, you quickly shushed him as to not catch the creatureâs attention. âRight then, whatâs your plan then, missy?â he crouched down next to you, looking down at the enemy from the rooftop. The spikes on his mask shimmered from the sunlight, almost distracting you. Almost.
You snapped back to reality and shared your plan with him. He listened intently to everything you had to say - for debatably the first time ever. He had no snarky comments to share. You almost thanked him for his maturity. Once you finished telling him, it was time to initiate the plan. âLead the way.â he said as he watched you walk towards the edge of the rooftop. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what was to come. Without any delay, you jumped forward, latching your web onto the nearest building and springing into the creature's field of view. Once it saw you, it instantly began to attack; sending a few of its tentacle-like arms(?) in your direction. You dodged each of its attacks, cutting off one of the arms in the process with a powerful kick. Hobie remained on the rooftop, waiting for your signal. He watched as you fought. Soon finding himself lost in his thoughts. You fought the creature with expertise, swiftly gliding through the air as you dodged each attack flawlessly. He was in awe. He had underestimated how strong you were. But, thereâs no way he was admiring you, right? He was just caught off-guard. Definitely. Which meant, it was his turn to show off. He wanted to impress you. And soon enough, his time came. You gave him the signal and he quickly sprung into action. He pulled the guitar from his back, holding it from the neck as if it were a weapon.Â
The two of you worked together to take the anomaly down. Although you hated to admit it, you made a great team. Miguel knew that, which is why he put you together in the first place. But, before you managed to successfully beat the monster, you got distracted. You watched as hobie ripped tentacle after tentacle from it and didnât notice the one that was flying right at you. It lashed you right in the chest, making you grunt in pain as you fell backwards. Hobie mustâve seen this happening because before you made contact with the rough concrete, a familiar web enveloped you, lifting you back up. âCareful, love. Wouldnât want ya ruininâ that pretty face oâyours.â You ripped his web off of you, and smiled through your mask. - grateful that he couldnât see it. âI didnât need your help!â you yelled at him, jumping back into battle. He laughed, which annoyed you even more. Successfully fuelling the energy you needed to knock the anomaly out. You delivered the final blow; kicking it right in its eye, which was apparently its weak spot. âWhew..â you let out, landing on your feet as you looked at it. Hobie landed next to you, placing his arm on your shoulder. âNice one,â he said. He sounded sincere. You nodded before going back to work, informing Miguel that you had successfully taken it down. Hobieâs hand stayed on your shoulder, tightly but not enough to hurt.Â
Although he was an asshole, he was starting to grow on you.
âHow âbout we get some dinner - on you, aye? itâs the least you could do considering i saved yâlife.â
âGet a grip, Hobie.â
Nevermind.
#. feb writes#ewb#hobie x reader#hobie brown#hobie spiderverse#spider punk#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie x you#atsv hobie#spiderverse#atsv#across the spiderverse#hobie brown x y/n#hobie brown headcanons#hobie brown atsv#spiderman atsv#atsv fic#hobie brown fic#hobie fic
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to dust and bones. part one â matty healy
they cross paths at a bar. heâs out for blood, and hers beat tantazingly beneath her flesh. (or the worst people you know are in the worst situationship in existence)
warnings: 18+, power games, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, choking, dom!matty, bratting, general toxicity, mentions of drug use, oc
part one of two
6521 words
Alana shoots back the bitter tequila, licking hot sauce off her sweaty hands. Her face scrunches in pain, head shaking. Her sinuses clear; her thoughts leak out of her head. Thereâs ear-splitting music ringing around herâ some god awful EDM shit sheâs drunk enough to dance to.Â
Crowded bodies push against her. She sways to the beat, hips rolling to some seductive rhythm drumming in the deepest parts of her heart. Her skin-tight black dress rises up her legs, revealing inches of tantalizing skin.Â
Alana feels rugged hands graze the outside of her thighs. She smirks to herself, leaning back against the hard wall of body behind her. Fingers climb up instinctively to her waist, spreading across her stomach, tugging her into him until theyâre flushed together, indistinguishable from the other.Â
Black curls tickle at her cheek. Heâs familiar against her; the muscles and dips of him unfortunately memorized in a corner of her brain she hasnât managed to blitz out even with all the coke.Â
Matty Healy. Dark angel leaning over her, nosing her perfumed neck.Â
âBuy a girl a drink first,â Alana whispers. Thankfully heâs closeâ too close to breathe properly, to make sense of her scattered thoughtsâ and he manages to hear over the DJâs techno beats.Â
âWhy would I?â Matty bites back, breath blowing against her ear. Alana forces down a shiver. âI can have her without.âÂ
She whips to face him, a furious dash between her eyebrows. Rage climbs up her spine, taking over her head, and itâs only the second most familiar emotion she feels with Matty Healy. What an insufferable asshole, looking at her all smug when he sees the anger spreading through her veins.Â
Cheeks red, head swimming with the alcohol and the drugs and the deafening music, Alana tries to come up with some scathing reply. She wants to leave him burning, skin red and raw where she lashed at him. Wants to dig her nails into him, tear his beating heart from two fragile ribs.Â
âFuck you,â is what she manages, of course, because the world is a blurry daze around her, and her brain is working slower than her tongue.Â
Matty smiles saccharine sweet at her. It feels awfully condescending on the cutting traits of his face. âBut you have, princess.âÂ
âYouâreââ He cocks his head, encouraging her with gleeful eyes. Alana breathes through her nose. âânot worth my time. Go do your horny act somewhere else.âÂ
She flips on her heels, marching determinedly to the crowded bar. Matty is hot on her trails, of course, leaning into her to tease, âHorny act? I barely even touched you.âÂ
âThe most you will.âÂ
âYeah, sure.âÂ
Alana pushes her way through the swarming crowd, digging her elbows in unfortunate places to get an in. People turn to her with a snarling face, but most seem to back down at the sight of her. Perhaps they recognize her, with flushed cheeks and cleavage dipping low. Perhaps they recognize the man towering behind her, following her godly parting of the sea of bodies like the privileged kid heâs always been.Â
She finally manages to get to the bar, hands slamming the counter victoriously. A pretty bartender bounces to her, upping her chin in question. âWhat can I get you?âÂ
Alana opens her mouth. Instead, Matty cuts in, âDirty vodka martini for her and a gin tonic for me.â The bartender nods, getting to work.Â
Alanaâs head flips to him, daggering him with a murderous glare. âI can order for myself.âÂ
Matty scoffs. âYou practically begged me to buy you a drink.âÂ
She stumbles over the words in sheer offense, shrill as she gasps, âBeggedâ Oh, you fucking asshole.âÂ
Two drinks slam over the counter. âPut it on my tab,â Matty says, kidnapping her martini and making his way out of the crowd. Alana follows him bitterly, already planning to rack up his bill now that heâs so stupidly offered it to her. Sheâll buy rounds for the whole club just to ruin him.Â
He leads them to the VIP lounge, nodding at the bouncer as he moves to let them in. What a douchey move, she thinks, climbing up the staggering stairs, holding the skirt of her rising dress.Â
The lounge is drenched in red light. Black leather couches and satin cushions scatter the place. Gray cigar smoke lingers above their heads. Some softer RnB plays, and Alanaâs ears find momentary relief. She bites her lip to contain a pleased moan.Â
Two dancers, impossibly tall and svelte in white lingerie dresses, move against two poles on a small stage. Theyâre languid and confident, swaying to a temperature rising rhythm, effortlessly seductive.Â
Matty sits in front of the dancers, legs spreading as he makes himself too comfortable. He rests the two drinks on a black table in front of him, looking up at the girls with a cheeky, provocative grin.Â
Inexplicable fire twists up in her guts. Alana drops beside Matty, practically sticking to his side, one leg crossing over the other to faintly kick his shin, which he takes in chuckling stride.
Her arm reaches over him to grab her martini. She places it between her lips, glass knocking her teeth gracelessly. He considers her, eyes following the land of skin she's uncovered through her new pose.Â
âArenât you gonna say thank you?â He teases as she finishes a new mouthful of her cocktail.Â
Alana offers him a deadpan look. âNo.âÂ
He rolls his eyes, grabbing his gin tonic, leaning an arm over the back of the couch. âBrat,â he shakes his head.Â
The lightning is low, casting red shadows over his face, but she can still see his dark gaze, hungry for flesh and those pathetic whines she can never hold back when heâs knuckles deep inside of her, penetrating through her skin. She draws a finger around the rim of the glass.Â
She hates it most when Matty gets that way, intense and greedy and so fucking clear. His stare is predatory, watching her every little move to pounce on. The game feels instantly more dangerous. Anxiety spikes; some fight or flight response she never chooses right.Â
Matty downs half of his drink, conspicuous Adamâs apple bobbing. She watches it religiously, remembering the purple stains she scattered around it just a few days ago.Â
âDonât drink so fast. We just got here,â she says warningly. She knows why heâs speeding this up.Â
Matty lowers his glass just enough to offer a burning stare, hotter than she can handle in this stuffy room.Â
Iâm gonna fuck you is written bright and clear in his eyes.Â
He finishes his gin tonic in another long sip, licking the last drop from his red lips. Heat spreads through her abdomen, clenching it guiltily. She flexes her hands around the stem.Â
Slamming the glass back on the table, Matty adventures two fingers over her naked leg. It tickles, raising the hair of her skin as she shivers openly. His palm swallows the meat of her thigh, the tempting skin she so freely offered him. His hand is cold, glacial against the fire licking up her limbs.Â
âDrink up,â Matty whispers, a devilish smile catching his cheek. She shakes her head, words completely lost to her.Â
âIâm not thirsty.â Alanaâs heart smashes against her ribs. Uncontrollable thing, careless thing. It always throws her into the worst situations, leaving her sober head to clean up its mess.
âNo?â Matty pouts, climbing his hand to the hem of her dress. âYou look a little flushed.âÂ
âItâs the light.â She stares up at the red fluorescents to prove her point, like he couldnât see the mood lighting reigning over the room.Â
âI think youâre scared,â Matty says. Heâs never been one to stretch his words, coat them in syrup to swallow easier.Â
She racks her throat. âWhy would I be scared?â Although she promised herself not to give him an inch more, Alana gulps some of her martini to shake off the nerves (not fear, just some pesky anxiety from the lingering drugs). Matty smiles at the action triumphantly.Â
âBecause you left me naked and tied up to my bed last time.â He leans into her, whispering playfully into her cheek. âBecause you didnât let me come, and now youâre afraid of what Iâll do to you.âÂ
More backless bravado than sense, she grins cheekily. âIt was funny. Itâs not my fault you canât take a little joke.âÂ
Fingers dipping under her dress. Alana bites her lip, hiding the breathy moan that wishes to slip her lips. Itâs useless; he sees right through. âOh, Iâll make you laugh.â He bites at her jaw, not enough to sting, but enough to know heâs serious. She scrunches her nose, tilting her head into him.Â
Matty leans away, grabbing the martini from her hand. He places it between her lips. Instinctively, Alana opens them, and he tips the glass into her mouth. âGood girl,â he teases as she drinks. Her eyes snap to his dangerously, some unmasked threat that sheâd spit it in his face if it wouldnât ruin some really good vodka. âSo feisty,â Matty tsks, amused.Â
He takes the glass away. She licks at the rim, catching some droplets as it falls down the cone. Matty swirls the leftover martini, staring down shamelessly at her wet lips.Â
âI could fuck anyone here,â he whispers. Clarity strikes through the flames, shaking away some of that daze. She frowns at him, taking a self-conscious peek at the pair of girls still twirling around their pole. Of course, Matty catches her moment of weakness, grasping it greedily as she scowls. âYes, especially them. Have them bent over the other for me, cunts opened for my cock. Couldnât you just see them, screaming in my sheets, rutting against each other?âÂ
âYou overestimate your skills,â Alana bites, though itâs mostly from anger at the unwelcomed images heâs forced inside her brain. âYou couldnât handle them.âÂ
He arches an eyebrow. âLike I canât handle you?â
She purses your lips, face crisping. She wishes it was true. That he didnât have enough hands and tongue and cock to work with all of her, with the mess of hair she throws back carelessly as she rides him, with the nails digging into his back mercilessly, with the hips he grasps between heavy hands as he bruises her skin. That the rage and the hatred and the head-twirling passion she throws at him wouldnât be caught, wouldnât be swallowed to spit back tenfold. That he wouldnât know what to do with all of her.Â
But he does. Goddamit, he does like no one else ever has.Â
Alana refuses to dignify him with an answer. Still, Matty doesnât need one, dipping the leftover martini in her mouth. His breath is hot against her ear, sticking on her sweaty skin.Â
âI could fuck anyone here,â he repeats, probably to martel home some complex sheâs not interested in diving into. âBut I want you.âÂ
Sheâd bite back something cheeky and snobbish, something near of course you do or who doesnât or some other grand words to deflect. Right now, sheâs too busy obediently swallowing what heâs giving her, but sheâs sure he reads them anyway in the burn of her stare.Â
As if to plead the last of his case, he raises his cold hand to the final stretch, meeting the black lace of her panties. Alana moans, alcohol dripping down her chin from the startled jump, something else dripping where his fingers meet the apex of her thighs.Â
âLet me fuck you,â Matty breathes, biting her jaw, this time to sting, to tear apart.Â
Finished with her drink, he slams the glass beside his, turning back to her quickly, afraid to miss even the smallest of shivers. âBegging already?â Alana pants, out of breath.Â
His free thumb wipes the alcohol off her chin, bringing it back to her lips, forcing them open. She sucks his finger into her mouth. He presses against her tongue, heavy and undeniable. Drool sticks to it as she releases it, red lipstick staining the knuckle.Â
His other hand, much more occupied, teases a delicious rhythm over her wet panties. She leans further into the cushions, manually stopping herself from dropping her legs open for this whole lounge to see.Â
âDonât give me ideas,â Matty warns. âYou know how I enjoy you begging. All those pretty sounds you make, whiney and pathetic.â
His spitful hand racks through the sweaty mess of her hair, tugging at the roots. Her head bends, throat barred. He grunts at the sight.
Matty canât stop himself any longer. He crashes his lips to hers, licking into her open mouth. Itâs a messy thing, more teeth and spit than anything romantic, hands still buried in her hair. He tugs it harshly, swallowing the pitiful moans she releases.Â
Alana clings to his shoulders, afraid sheâd drown in the satin if it wasnât for his buoyant body slithering around her. She curses his jacket, bulletproof vest to the claw marks sheâd litter on his skin. Black nail polish tainted red by the end of the nightâ but heâs safe for now.Â
Matty bites her lower lip, dragging it from her. She shudders in his arms, head swooping ecstasy climbing up her thoughtless brain. It must be the martini downed too fast. (Itâs him. Itâs always him.)
His hand releases her hair, finding the slope of her neck instead, digging into the skin. His thumb presses meanly at her jaw. Alana wonders if itâll bruise.Â
He pushes her further into the sofa, practically swallowing her whole under his lanky limbs. She canât make sense of the edges of him. Heâs everywhere, invading her flesh, slipping under her very skin, to the beating parts of her she wishes to banish him from. Hot pleasure drips down her veins.Â
Matty licks into her lazily. He tastes like gin, which he knows she hates. He does it on purpose, buying drinks sheâd never put to her lips just to spit it in her mouth. Alana canât stand the taste of it. She doesnât know why she craves the taste of him, faintly smokey from some expensive cigarette.Â
He thumbs at her clit vaguely, more as a smothered promise of what he could do than any real attempt at skill. Still, itâs enough to make dangerous fire course through her veins. She clenches around nothing, groaning.Â
âAre you gonna fuck me in front of everyone?â Alana rasps, biting and mean like heâs not playing her like his favorite puppet.Â
Matty hums indulgently. He presses his index into her clothed entrance, wet and sticky for him. âDo you want me to? Let them know how good you are for me even with all that talk? All those sounds you make just for me?â He nips at her jaw, climbing up to her ear. âWe can give them a show.âÂ
Alanaâs heart slams against her ribs, begging to be let out and fall to his booted feet. She breathes heavily, head falling as he continues some slow circle on her clit, never enough to wipe from her head the outrageous knowledge that itâs Matty Healy blowing the flames.Â
âBathroom,â Alana gasps, eyes scrunched close.Â
Matty laughs lowly, shaking his head in the side of her neck. âCoward.âÂ
Still, he sits up, dragging her body with his. Her brain knocks against her skull as she comes back, taking a deep breath of air. Reality feels very far away from the tip of her fingers. Sheâs drowning in him, in the smell of his cologne and that awful taste of gin clinging to his lips.Â
The walk to the bathroom feels like a dreamscape maze, more colorful mood lightning and stepping over leather shoes than any tangible thing.Â
The room is dark and clinical. The floor is black marble, sleek and easy to step on, heels clicking as she adventures further into the bathroom. The light is low. Alana has to squint to make sense of Matty locking the door behind them. He turns back to her, lion stride as he loosens his tie.Â
Heâs gonna eat her alive.Â
Matty crowds her space, pushing her against the sinkâs countertop as he noses her cheek. Alanaâs thighs hit the cold marble, shivering at the contrasting temperature. The tip of his fingers find her skin again, climbing up the goosebumps, driving under the hem.Â
Alanaâs own hands bury in the mess of hair at the nape of his neck. Black nails dig into the unruly locks, tugging vaguely. She breathes with him, the only surrounding melody in this musicless room. What a strange feeling to be so thoroughly abandoned by distractions.Â
Tired of wasting time, Matty grabs her thighs, throwing her carelessly on the marble countertop. Her legs spread wide, welcoming him in the middle of her, black heels kicking beside his knees. Hands rise to her waist, trailing greedily over her skintight dress. âFuck, youâre hot.âÂ
Alana grins. Compliments are always the worst moves, climbing up to her head and loosening whatever miraculous hold he had on it. She leans away against the gray tiles of the wall, cheeky and devilish, fingers slipping from his mane to the muscles of his shoulders. âSay that again.âÂ
Matty tries to dip for a kiss instead, but she dodges easily, turning her head into her shoulder. He groans at her childish antics, digging his nails into her ribs. âYouâre fucking annoying.âÂ
ââS not what I asked.âÂ
Matty buries his face in her offered neck, leaving wet kisses as he scales up her jaw, up her cheeks. Alana giggles, wrinkling her nose, shifting in her seat. âYouâre beautiful,â Matty finally whispers in her ear, gently biting the lobe. She hums, nodding at him. Roughly, he warns, âAnd if you keep playing these games, Iâll leave your ass so red you wonât be able to sit for days.âÂ
The threat should make a spike of anxiety hit her. Instead, languid fire pools at her stomach. She moans, closing her eyes, pushing her hips further into his. The angle is a little awkward, just slightly too high to really get anything working. She manages to roll her pleading hips on his belt buckle.Â
âGreedy thing,â Matty tsks. âSo fucking impatient.âÂ
âItâs not my fault youâre all talk.âÂ
Matty scoffs. âYouâve got a death wish.â
Alana flutters her eyelashes at him, pouting. âI thought you could handle me.âÂ
He groans, hands burrowing back into her skirt. Calloused fingers grab at her hips, digging into the black lace of her panties. He drags it out slowly, smirking down at her as Alana scoops herself up to help him. A brief ceasefire, just because he knows all the parts of her to press into.Â
She giggles in his open mouth, finding him again, embarrassingly giddy. Thrill beats in her veins, cunt throbbing for him, for the good part of this relentless chess match. He kisses her indulgently, shitty grin undeniable against her lips. Alana doesnât even have it in her to care.Â
In the corner of her eyes, she sees Matty shove the lacy thing in his pocket. She releases his lips like heâs burned her, scowling petulantly. âYou have to give those back. Iâm running out of underwear.â Every time they fall back into this poisonous push and pull, Alana loses a pair of her favorite lingerie, forgotten in the endless pockets and sheets of Matty Healy. Sheâd consider going commando just to spite him if he wouldnât like it so much, love knowing heâs gotten under her skin, made her change some known habit.Â
Of course, Matty shakes his head with a teasing grin. âNo.âÂ
âAt least buy me new ones.â
He cocks his head, considering her. âAre you gonna try them on for me?â
Alana rolls her eyes, just a little bit turned on at the idea of it. âYouâre such a boy.âÂ
Cockily, he racks her to the edge of the countertop, finally pressing her against his hard cock. Alana gasps at the sinful feel, eyes rolling back for completely different reasons. He grinds into her, the rough material of his trousers rolling against the most sensitive part of her. A traitorous whine leaves her lips; she bites it shut just a little too late.Â
Matty whispers smugly, âIâm a man.â
What a fucking douchebag. Alana canât handle this back and forth he coaxes out of her, always swaying between burning anger and choking desire like the worldâs most on-beat metronome.Â
She gracefully lets him have this one. Doesnât even come up with a jab or a glare in bitter answer. Of course, that might be because heâs sailing up her thighs, thumb pressing into her clit as jaw-dropping relief climbs up her spine. Her head falls against the backsplash, lips parted, rolling her hips against his fingers as he circles lazily at her.Â
Heâs fucking perfect. She wants to cut his fingers clean off, curse them for ever making her feel this way. Peeking her eyes open, Alana swears he knows this, gathering a pool of her arousal to smear it over her bundle of nerves. She gasps in the quiet air, uselessly kicking her feet.Â
âYouâre so wet for me,â Matty says in wonder, eyes locked to the way she grinds for him, dripping on the black marble.Â
âFirst time making a girl wet?â Alana tries to brat, but it comes out weak between two moans.Â
He smirks condescendingly at her, tracing her swollen lips with the tip of his free hand, coating her chin with tacky lipgloss. âWe both know the answer to that.âÂ
Without warning, he thrusts two fingers into her. Itâs embarrassing how quickly her cunt welcomes him home, insides rearranging to make room for him dutifully. Her face scrunches, crying against his jaw.Â
âFuck, Matty.âÂ
âYeah?â He arches an eyebrow, curling his hand to draw a feverish wave of ecstasy out of her.Â
She grips his shoulders, pushing the jacket off of them, trying to sink her claws into anything. Heâs relentless between her legs, thrusting and circling and working magic. Pressure builds inside her abdomen. She's mewling in his neck, panting in his ear.Â
Matty stares down at her in hunger. Heâs got her right where he wants her, Alana knows this. But why does he keep watching her like heâs about to rip into her throat? Smug and dangerous and voracious?Â
An inexplicable strike of nerves hit her. His fingers dip into her faster, swiping at her clit. The cold sink and his warm body and the feel of his rough fingers inside of her are too much. Pathetic moans spill from her lips, overflowing out of her. She wrinkles her face closed, then forces it open again. Just to keep an eye on him, on his flexed arm as he wrecks her from the inside. Bliss threatens the edges of her. She tastes it on her tongueÂ
Alana cries, âAre you gonna make me come?â Itâs pathetic to ask. Sheâd demand it in normal circumstances, holding onto his arm, a ruinous hand over his own guiding him into her sopping cunt.Â
Butâ She left him hard and sticky last time, screaming after her as she touched up her lipstick. And now heâs looking down at her like heâs got her exactly where he wants, brain melting out of her ears, begging for him.
He leans into her with a trickster smile, licking his teeth. âDonât you trust me?â
âNever.â
He pumps harder inside of her, adding a third finger. The world blurs around Alana. She screams, digging her nails under his white shirt. Rightâ
Matty thrusts out of her as quickly as he entered. A guttural cry rips from her throat, head banging on the wall from the stolen orgasm. Soaked fingers fall limply on her thigh, drying the slick on her skin. He grins, smacking her cheek with a sweet kiss.Â
âYou fucking asshole,â Alana bites, out of breath, fury swirling around her dazed head.Â
âWhat?â He finds her lips next, catching them with a biting kiss. âWere you close?âÂ
âIâll kill you.âÂ
âIâd like to watch you try.âÂ
Matty pushes the cups of her dress down, revealing her tits, flushed and peaked for him. He twirls two fingers around her nipple, greedily watching as another wave of pleasure hits her, as the uncontrollable rage smothers for ecstasy.Â
Alana is half-pissed to lose that sharp sense of anger, something to strike through the blur of him, to hold onto. Pissed that he can melt away all her hatred, make her putty in his expert hands.Â
He dives for her breasts, biting and licking and sucking on them like a starved man. Muted pain stretches over her chest. Alana racks a hand through his sweaty curls, gasping.Â
âAre you gonna ask nicely?â Matty whispers, starting that torturously cycle on her clit again. âI like when you ask all sweet and desperate.â Alana shakes her head, sloppily kissing at his jaw as he teases a finger over her entrance again. âCome on,â he chuckles lowly. âBeg for it.âÂ
âScrew you,â Alana bites, legs spreading wider for him in complete contradiction.Â
âYeah, I bet you want me to.âÂ
Matty dips a finger inside of her, pumping slowly, unbothered by her rushing him. Her hands are everywhere on himâ the mane of his black hair, the cut of his jaw, the buttons of his shirt, undone by her sloppy hands, the muscle of his working arm, the belt at his hips. Pressing and clawing and tugging at him, pleading with a silent hand to work faster.Â
Heâs uninterested in listening, especially when her mouth still refuses to grant him the sweet nothings she always moans for him. His pace is steady and consistent, entirely not enough. She smacks the counter uselessly.Â
âYouâre the worst,â Alana whines, head flopping around her neck. Tension builds meticulously slow inside of her. She throbs around his finger, wishing for more, but he continues to deny her. Â
âI just want you to be good for me,â Matty breathes, holding her head up with a heavy hand.Â
âJust fuck me, Matty.âÂ
Trying to speed it along, Alana pounces on his belt buckle, frantically trying to undo it with trembling fingers. Itâs a messy affair; he pries them away easily. His jaw clenches, clearly unhappy with her. He exhales through his nose. The air grows electric. Alanaâs pussy shamefully clenches around him.
Matty is a fucking sight. She desperately wishes it wasnât true, that he wasnât perfectly sculpted to fit around her stained palms. A fallen angel crashed to Earth just to lick the vodka and red off her lips.Â
âCanât you ever listen?â His hand moves again, slithering around the front of her throat. He presses meanly at the sides, blood rushing away from her head. Alanaâs lips part, but only quiet spills from them. âThatâs all that ever shuts you up, isnât it?âÂ
Alana laughs gleefully at his anger, managing a choked, âNot even,â just to spite him. He digs into her arteries, surely leaving a constellation of bruises for her to cover up.Â
âFine, princess,â Matty grunts. âWeâll do it your way.âÂ
In a second, heâs got three fingers back inside of her, fast and hard, curling just right. Itâs miraculous how he manages to be everywhere inside and outside of her, how he drowns her in the feel of him.Â
Her head disconnects from her neck. She gasps for air, purring in their shared breaths. Euphoria coils around her belly, hot and sticky and so, so close. Sweet oblivion. She barely remembers their names, barely remembers whatâ
âFucking hell, Matty,â Alana screams, slapping his shoulder with no force, missing his gone fingers. âJustâ Just let me come.âÂ
âBrats donât deserve orgasms. I thought you learned your lesson.âÂ
Matty takes a clinical step away from her. Breathing harshly, she tries to reattach herself to the firm reality that exists around her and not this dreamed-up land the cliff of a shattering climax brings her to.Â
Heâs so proper, still dressed while her dress bunches useless around her waist. So put together as she drools and drips and pants for him, unhinged and unmade. How fucking embarrassing.Â
Sheâd lash at him in retaliation, bring him down to her dirty level, make him feel crass inside. She has the urge to on the tip of her tongue, feels the burn all the way to her throat.Â
But what would Matty give her in return? Not what she wants. Not what she craves.Â
God, Alana hates when she has to fucking listen.Â
âMatty,â she sings, finding the lapels of his shirt and tugging him back into her. She flutters her eyelashes innocently at him, licking her lips. âIâm sorry.â He snorts at her. Itâs another bruise to heal tomorrow. âPlease, I mean it. Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â She grabs his cheek with one hand, kissing the other one religiously. âFuck me. Please, please, Matty, fuck me. I need you.âÂ
With her free hand, she coaxes him back between her legs, spreading his long fingers over her sopping hole. âItâs all for you. Itâs always just for you.â She licks his jaw, biting his earlobe. âYouâre the only one who can make me feel this way.âÂ
Alana presses his fingers into her entrance. They enter her together, a delicious stretch that has her sighing in relief. Itâs crowded and nasty and, oh, my fucking god, sheâs fingering herself with fucking Matty Healy.Â
He seems to be thinking the same whirlwind of thoughts, locked gaze on the spectacle of them between her thighs, working together for perhaps the first time ever.Â
Alana puppeteers him, pumping their joined fingers together. Sheâs quick to drive herself to the edge, already so restless and aware and turned on, constantly teetering the cliff he refuses to give her. She knows her best spots anyway, knows how to get herself off quick and easy.Â
âAre you gonna come for me?â Matty asks, still reveling in the sight of them. Alana nods eagerly. âAre you sure?âÂ
He rips their fingers out of her again. Alana smothers a sob, pain tingling the tips of her. She wants it so badly.Â
Matty sucks her wet fingers clean, twirling his tongue around her metal ring. âCome on, Alana. Donât you trust me?â She shakes her head childishly.
She thinks she might go insane. How fitting, completely going off her rockers because of Matty fucking Healy. Her entire body is in a frenzy, feverish and electrified, buzzing with stolen orgasms. He could blow on a bitten nipple and sheâs half convinced sheâd come on the spot.Â
But heâs not going to, is he? Alana pouts pitifully to herself, cursing the chess games she plays and then has to suffer from. She knows she put herself in this situation, pushed him too far and now has to watch as he whips back tenfold like a tense elastic.Â
All she can do is follow along, pleading and praying and begging for a release heâs just not giving her.Â
âOh, baby, itâs okay,â Matty coos.Â
âPlease. Please, I canâtââ Alana shakes her head. âIâm so close. Please, let me come.âÂ
He racks two hands through the tangled mess of her hair. âYouâre so pretty when you beg. If only they could hear you. If only they knew how fucking pathetic you are for me.âÂ
Alana cries, nodding just to please him, âI am. I am.â She throbs around nothing. âFuck me, please.âÂ
Matty pouts at her. âSee, itâs not so hard.âÂ
He pushes her from her perch on the countertop, catching her as her legs tremble beneath her weight. He leaves her no time to adjust to gravity again, turning her hips around and bending her over the sink.Â
She gasps at the cold feel of the marble on her tits. His hand presses strongly between her shoulder blades. Alana manages to throw a look back his way, mesmerized by the way he undoes his buckle with one hand, by the strings of curls falling over his forehead, by his swollen, red lips parting as he pants.Â
By his cock as he pushes his trousers just down enough to reveal it, hard and leaking, swerving just right.Â
Alana bites her lip, eyes rolling at the sheer idea of it.Â
ââGonna fucking ruin you,â he mutters more to himself than her.Â
Of course, she canât stop herself from breathing back, âHavenât managed to yet.âÂ
He tsks, spanking her naked ass. It rings deliciously down her leg. âCanât ever stop bratting.â She giggles giddily, shaking her head.Â
Matty grabs himself by the base, guiding himself between her thighs. His tip rubs at her dripping entrance, still teasing her when sheâs near ready to explode from the lack of him.Â
âMattyâŚâ Alana warns.Â
He chuckles. âGod, youâre impatient.â He thrusts into her, bottoming out.Â
A scream rips out of her throat. Alana slams her hand against the counter. How fucking right he fits, curving just perfectly inside of her. She bites her tongue, bliss loosening all her tense muscles.Â
No matter how fucking shit this thing with him is, this, him inside of her, will always be holy.Â
Matty grabs her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, and pounds into her. He has a wild, brutal rhythm going on, sliding in and out of her before she can register any of them, until all she knows is to moan, pleases and so goods and mores falling off her lips before she can think them.Â
His skin slaps against her, the rough leather of his belt hitting her ass with each stroke. Mostly, heâs silent for once, too. Pretty, mean words robbed from his throat as he grunts and whines openly. How victorious it makes Alana feel, drowning in the sounds of him like heâs not invading every inch of her. Like sheâs won.Â
Her tongue burns. Ecstasy weeps down her spine. She clenches around him, again and again. âMattyââ She warns, out of breath. Sheâs learned her lesson. âMatty, IâmââÂ
âI know, baby.â He whispers hotly, driving into her faster. âWhat a good girl. Are you gonna say please?âÂ
âPlease,â she yells, face scrunching, cunt throbbing as sheâ
Her walls close around nothing. Alana chokes at the lack of him, too sudden and too quick for her to register until itâs too late. Matty robbed her of an astronomical orgasm again.Â
She lays there pitiful, pillaged of all fight. Her cheeks feel wet and scratchy andâ oh, God, sheâs actually crying.Â
âOh, baby,â Matty coos, taking her arms and dragging her into the warmth of his body. Her head rolls on his shoulder, letting him play her like his favorite ragdoll. He wipes at her tears. âItâs okay. Itâs okay.âÂ
âItâs too much.âÂ
âYou can handle it.â He grabs a handful of her tits, using his other hand to guide her vision to the bathroom mirror. âLook at you,â he whispers. âLook how fucking beautiful you look.âÂ
Alanaâs hair is a nest, pretty layers tangled around her face. Her face is flushed; eyeliner dripping down her eyes, lipstick smearing her chin, cheeks red from leftover blush and those pathetic tears. Her chest is blotched scarlet, freckles of growing bruises littering her skin. Sheâs a mess.Â
Yet, Matty looks at her with devotion. Iâm beautiful. Iâm beautiful.Â
He works slowly into her. His hips grind against her ass, deliciously reverbing in her cunt. Just this is enough to send burning ecstasy down her limbs. Itâs this heady mix of pure pleasure and the striking fear that he wonât let her have it that reigns over her head.
Matty makes heavy eye contact in the reflection of the mirror. Pupils dark and penetrating, watching her every hitched breath with fascination. He wants her so much, it chokes her.Â
His strokes grow faster. Alana whimpers, gripping his arm, terrified of the orgasm building inside of her. Sheâs run out of words to beg with. All thereâs left is pleading eyes, still wet with tears.Â
Matty sees the message loud and clear. âShhh,â he whispers. âTrust me. You have to trust me.âÂ
Alana shakes her head. Trusting him is an impossible task, bigger and grander than heâs ever demanded of her. She canât. She canât let herself.Â
He snaps inside of her, cruel and relentless, building her back to that epic cliff. He noses the side of her neck, moaning over and over, âJust trust me. Come on, baby. You have to trust me.â He licks her cheek, shushing in her ear. "Just trust me. Just trust me."
She thinks itâs the meanest heâs ever been with her. Demanding her to trust him at her most vulnerable when itâs himâ and itâs herâ and she canâtâ and she has to.Â
He's irredeemably cruel. Doesn't he know that he's asking the world of her? How can he ask her to just trust him?
Still, that incessant burning edge. Pression building in her stomach. He presses over her belly, cooing, âPretty girl.â
She wants it so bad. She wants him so bad. He'll give it to her. She just has to believe that he'llâ
Her face scrunch andâ
Wiping waves of oblivion. Her head falls into his shoulder, jaw growing slack. Hot, white pleasure strikes the deepest parts of her. Her fingertips buzz, oxygen just a little sweeter, just a little lighter.Â
Her brain loses all coherent thoughts. Sheâs a mess of burning fire, licking up her limbs, screaming uselessly Matty, Matty, Matty. Itâs all her heart can chant, crashing down a cliff. She smashes to the ground, gracelessly and furiously. Doesnât stick any kind of landing; just pure, unfiltered ecstasy.Â
This is why Alana falls into him all the time. Why she keeps this ridiculous tango, choking and poisonous. For the momentary relief of not existing, of just being a body in his skillful hands. She purrs, relieved of any burden, relieved of him, even.
Matty follows quickly after her, spilling inside of her with the sweetest moans sheâs ever heard. She laughs happily, gravity still very far from her.Â
He lingers inside of her, dropping his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily against her naked skin.Â
âFuck, Alana.âÂ
âFuck, Matty.â He chuckles, rubbing his forehead lazily against her. Alana peeks one eye open, nervously watching the ruins of them after their catastrophic pass through each other. âWeâre a mess,â she laughs.
Itâs always strangely like this when theyâre done. Light and breezy. Easy.Â
Matty smirks, kissing her shoulder. âMostly you.âÂ
She slaps him, laughing an offended gasp. âShut up!âÂ
He thrusts out of her. Cum leaks down her thighs, which only makes her vaguely blush. Matty tucks himself back in his trousers, buckling his belt. He works at his half-unbuttoned shirt next, then his forgotten jacket kicked at their feet. Alana watches him solemnly.Â
When heâs done with himself, he turns her back to him. With gentle fingers, rough at the tips but oh so careful with her, he lowers the skirt of her dress, raising the cups over her bare breasts again. Itâs weird to have him like this. Sort of sweet.Â
He kisses her nose, then smiles ruefully. âSee ya.âÂ
Alana frowns as he steps away from her. âWhat? Thatâs it?âÂ
He looks back at her, tightening his tie. He arches a bored eyebrow. âWhat? Did you want to suck my dick clean?âÂ
Alanaâs lips part in affront. Fucking Matty Healy. Asking her to trust him just to slap her in the face. She can't believe she considered him any kind of sweet. Considered them anything but an unwatchable forest fire spreading in front of their very eyes.
âOnly to bite it off,â she spits, fists clenching in anger.Â
He smirks. âKinky.â He opens the door, stepping through. It slams behind him.Â
Itâs dark and cold in the bathroom. Alana crosses her arms, craving a drink and a cigarette. God, sheâs a fucking mess.
#THIS IS FOUL#terrible people being terrible and sexy together!!#goodluck yall#matty healy smut#matty healy#matty healy x reader#matty healy imagine#the 1975#the 1975 smut#imagine#smut#writing#to dust and bones#ewb
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Queer Reads: NR Walker
Continuing our Pride Recs, we have another author from the Southern Hemisphere.Â
N.R. Walker is an Australian author with quite a bit of range, and a solid backlog of books to read. Featured in the little graphic are EWB (Enemies With Benefits), Private Charter, Tallowwood, Threeâs Company, and The Men From Echo Creek.Â
EWB, Private Charter, and Threeâs Company are all contemporary romances. The first two are set in Australia, and the third is set in Florida. EWB is an enemies-to-lovers book that really did it for me. Itâs emotional and funny, and Walker really pulls off the âI hate you, but sure Iâll fuck youâ thing it has going on. Private Charter is about an executive who plans a romantic vacation with his boyfriend, who dips out last minute and wasnât really that serious anyway, and leaves the MC on a yacht with a super hot captain sailing him around for two weeks. Also, he only packed a white swimsuit. Threeâs Company is MMM with a couple and a third who hook up for a fling, and then develop all the feelings. Itâs very sweet.Â
Tallowwood is much darker, with a serial killer, a detective, and a local constable. Itâs definitely romantic suspense, and I was up late into the night finishing it, because you canât go to bed half way through a serial killer book. Seriously.Â
The Men From Echo Creek is Walkerâs first foray into historical fiction, but itâs Australian historical fiction, which was fun. Like, it reads like a pretty standard western setting (for US readers), and then suddenly theyâre eating wallaby for dinner. Itâs sweet, and soft, and both of the MCs are absolute cinnamon rolls who deserve lots of hugs.Â
Walker has lots more contemporary fiction, some more romantic suspense, and hopefully in the future some more historical work, so go enjoy some good writing.Â
And folks, read queer all year.
#sandi reads#happy pride đ#queer books#lgbtq books#read queer all year#nr walker#The Men From Echo Creek#Tallowwood#EWB#Private Charter#Threeâs Company
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ć¨ćĽç čą çˇŁĺçşđĽ´ çŽçŽĺé äš
éçä˝čŞżčłĺŠď˝ďź BENTLEY NEW BENTAYGA EXTENDED WHEELBASE ĺşćŹĺŽĺš 1380čŹĺ
辡 Azure čťĺ 1550čŹĺ
辡 #BENTLEY #ewb #azure #cornermax #NEW #BENTAYGA #EXTENDED #WHEELBASE #digimobee #EOSR6II #Canon #ç´ĺşçĄäżŽç迡ć #ăăăŤăăĽăŚăšăăăă #çŽĺĄä¸çĺĽĺšťć
ç¨ #Pikachu #çŽĺĄä¸ #Pokemon #粞é寜ĺŻĺ¤˘ #iphone13pro #loveyourself @nintendoproperty @Nintendo.hk @ăăăŤăăĽăŚ #ăăăŤăăĽăŚ @Nintendo #Nintendo @PokeĚmon #photo @PokeĚmon GOďźĺ¨ CORNER MAXďź https://www.instagram.com/p/CnDJg1ISMnZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#bentley#ewb#azure#cornermax#new#bentayga#extended#wheelbase#digimobee#eosr6ii#canon#ç´ĺşçĄäżŽç迡ć#ăăŤăăĽăŚăšăăă#çŽĺĄä¸çĺĽĺšťć
ç¨#pikachu#çŽĺĄä¸#pokemon#粞é寜ĺŻĺ¤˘#iphone13pro#loveyourself#ăăŤăăĽăŚ#nintendo#photo
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Rolls-Royce Phantom EWB âGoldfinger,â 2024. Rolls-Royce is marking 60 years of the James Bond movie Goldfinger with a one-off Phantom Extended. The yellow paint matches the colour of Auric Goldfingerâs 1937 Phantom III Sedanca de Ville. Other Goldfinger-inspired touches include a real gold bar on the console, a map of Fort Knox on the picnic tables, and gold linings for the front and rear console boxes.
#Rolls-Royce#Rolls-Royce Phantom#Rolls-Royce Phantom EWB#Rolls-Royce Phantom Extended#Rolls-Royce Phantom EWB âGoldfingerâ#Goldfinger#60th anniversary#James Bond#one-off#special edition#Rolls-Royce Phantom III Sedanca de Ville#2024#yellow cars
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i am both a phoenix kristoph enemies w/benefits truther and a phoenix and miles relationship develops softly in visits to europe truther no i will never elaborate on how it would work
#okay but to elaborate#i believe both options r plausible.#but different routes#phoenix/kristoph ewb would b a reality where phoenix is more cut off from everyone else#and has distant friendship with miles#but its kept minimal#its a lil bit more of a miserable 7yg#visits to europe is more of a 'knows what kristoph is much earlier and allows miles to help' reality#like trips over to europe under the guise of planning and sorting#i actually have immeasurable thoughts about the 7yg and phoenix like his character really could have taken any turn#i will admit. i have not finished AA4 so a lot of this is based off info i know#idk what the game implies about edgeworth and wrights contact during the 7yg#ace attorney#narumitsu#wrightworth#aa4 spoilers
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Last Line Tag
Thanks @cal-daisies-and-briars for tagging me!
This may be my most unhinged attempt at a wip yet⌠itâs something of a âwhat if Eddie had a sexuality crisis so embarrassing and messy it ruined multiple peoplesâ livesâ kind of story.
Eddie takes a deep breath. Time to get into why he really came here and demanded Joshâs lunch break time. âRight, but my issue is more about the why Marisol dumped me. She and I were, you know, in bed, when I... I said Tommyâs name.â He says the last words in a rush.
Josh stares, mouth hanging open. âBuckâs boyfriend Tommy?â He demands.
No pressure tagging: @aspecbuddie @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @lemonzestywrites @your-catfish-friend @inkmortal-trash389 @evanbegins @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @diazsdimples @epicbuddieficrecs @kitteneddiediaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @coatedpanda16 @nicotinewrites @estheticpotaeto @babytrapperdiaz @snowviolettwhite
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no but ghost with a guardian angel whoâs been protecting him all this time, and the only reason why he can see her now is because she lost her wings and was expelled from heaven for falling in love with him
it's the golden rule: don't harbor romantic feelings for your human charge
#°Ëâ§â(â°âżâ°)ââ§Ë° đ´đŞđŚđŻđŻďż˝ďż˝ đ´đąđŚđ˘đŹđ´#ewb!simon has my heart but the angst ahh yes#screaming because he sees the mutilated flesh on her back where her wings got cut off#and he has to clean them with antiseptic because she canât reach them herself#the tagline: did it hurt when you fell from heaven? yes immensely#she literally fell from heaven and the first thing she did was look for simon :(#how does she even explain herself to him?? idk IDK#still tries to watch over him even though she doesnât have her powers#worries about him 24/7#because heâs her purpose#as she adjusts to her new body and normal life
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enemies with benefits || 4 - girl (you really got me goin')
warnings: kissing, basically just making out, NO SMUT, just like very suggesstive, cursing, flirting, you and hobie 'hating' each other (wink wink), horrible british (im trying guysđ)
read previous part here -- series masterlist
Normally, the sound of the rain splashing onto your window was one that effortlessly lulled you to sleep. But, for some reason you couldnât. Your head rested on your pillow, eyes shut tightly, but you couldnât sleep. The alarm clock next to your bed shouted â2:32 a.mâ. You groaned, rolling over onto your side; hoping the new position would help you sleep. But alas, it didnât. If anything, it made it worse. You werenât sure why you couldnât sleep. You had a fairly busy day, and you were tired. â but you just couldnât. Feeling defeated, you rolled onto the other side, now facing the window. And you looked back just in time to see a familiar face climbing in through it. In comparison to the last time he had entered your room, he looked different. Exceptionally wrecked. While, yes, he wasnât injured like before, or at least you couldnât see any physical injuries, his face was different; anguished. He looked exhausted. And yet his eyes looked hungry as they darted over to your own. âHobie? Itâs late, what are you doing here?â you sat up from your bed and stood up. But he didnât say anything, he just muttered something before walking towards you, only stopping when he was a fair distance apart from you, looking as if he was debating getting closer to you.
âAre you alright? Are you hurt?â you asked, genuinely concerned as to why heâd decided to show up at this hour - uninvited. He stayed quiet. His eyes shifted down to the ground and his hands stayed in his pockets. Although it was subtle, he was slowly inching closer to you. You spoke again, almost desperate to hear him say at least something. âHobie, answer me. I canât help you if you donât tell me whatâs wrong.â âThaâs the problem.â he finally spoke out, now standing directly in front of you; barely leaving space between the both of you. âWhat?â you asked, growing more confused and concerned by the minute. He practically towered over you, having to look down at you slightly in order for your eyes to meet. Youâd be lying if you said it wasnât a little attractive. âYâtoo polite. Care too much âbout me.â his voice was low, and raspy; as if he were tired. âWhat are you talking about?â you asked, but he pretty much ignored it. âIt all makes sense now.â âAre you drunk?â you asked, trying to figure out what was happening. âNope. âM sober as can beâ âSo, Why are you here? Itâs almost 3am, Hobie.â âIf i wanted thâtime, wouldaâ asked you for it, sweetâeart.â a smile slowly started to grow on him as he looked at your confused state, admittedly checking you out. It stayed quiet like that for what felt like forever; just staring into each other's eyes, waiting for the next move. âWhy are you so fuckinâ irresistable?â he suddenly spoke out, which caught you off guard. Before you could question him furthermore, he continued. âI see what your doinâ,â he began, lifting his hand up to cup your cheek â which almost instantly turned bright red. âWalkinâ around, lookinâ all pretty, thinkinâ i âavenât caught on to how ya look at me with those pretty eyes. Dâyou know the effect ya have on me?â your eyes widened. âWhat are you saying?â you struggled to hide how flustered you were becoming.Â
âYou ruin me.â he said, smiling like a fool. âIs that so?â you asked. âSure is, doll.â you werenât sure if it was the insomnia talking or not, but you were suddenly feeling bold. âAnd what are you gonna do about it?â he chuckled, amused at the sudden change. His hand moved from your cheek to your chin, tilting it up to make you look at him. âWhat do you want me tâdo âbout it?â Instead of seeing the cocky smirk you were so used to seeing, his eyes looked determined - eager. maybe it was the lack of sleep that prevented you from being able to think straight, or maybe he was just being a fucking idiot. Regardless, he leaned down even more towards you, and never once broke eye contact. Before you could question what was happening, Your face was moving on its own, getting closer to his. You felt time stop then and there as you realised what was happening.
Were you really going to kiss your mortal enemy?
Yes. yes you were. you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, silently cursing his height and pulled him down to you so that you could crash your lips together. Hobie almost instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist, squeezing you. You raised your arms up to his head and rested them around his neck. You completely relished this moment. He kissed you with passion, and perfection. It was unbelievable. You practically melted away at his touch. Right now was more important to you than anything. You were too enchanted by him to even care about the fact that he was your sworn enemy. Your head was fuzzy, unable to think straight.
You turned him around and pushed him down so that he was sitting on the bed, and he wasted no time pulling you onto his lap.Your lips stayed together all throughout it. His arms slithered down your hips, his eyes sealed shut. You could barely believe this was happening. He tilted his head slightly as he deepened the kiss. The entire moment was pure bliss. He squeezed whatever exposed skin he could find, his hands reaching under your shirt. Your heart was racing. This was so wrong, but it just felt so right. It was his own fault for being such a good kisser anyways. and the way he so absent-mindedly slipped his tongue in, swirling around yours perfectly. It was the closest youâd ever been to heaven. You hated him so much. Every time your gaze was met with his instantly ruined your day. And yet, for some fucking reason you just wouldnât stop. You couldnât. The both of you were desperate for some kind of contact. you tried to get as close to him as you could, practically crushing your chest against his.
After a while you pulled apart to catch your breath, panting. You looked at him with a lovesick look in your eyes, pupils practically heart-shaped and lustful. At that moment, it was like the whole world fell silent. Until hobie quickly broke it up, laughing. You tilted your head at him, confused. âWhatâs so funny?â you asked, and he grinned. âItâs just - You talk all this big talk âbout âow much yâhate me, yet here you are.â he talked, his hands remained on your hips, not daring to move. You shook your head at him. âThatâs not fair! I do hate you!â you defended, but he wasnât having it. âIf you âate me so much then whyâre you in my lap right now?â He had a point. And you hated him for it. âWell- You know-â Your flustered brain could not come up with an excuse for the life of you, which frustrated you slightly. âExactly.â he said and you groaned.
âJust shut up and kiss me.â you said and he quickly obliged. How could he say no to that? He pressed his lips against yours once more; reconnecting them. It almost felt wrong to be doing this; kissing the âenemyâ. You shouldnât be doing this. You shouldnât be feeling this way towards him. But as the kiss deepened, you stopped caring. If it was so bad, why was it so perfect? Why did your lips fit together so perfectly if you were supposed to hate him? He raised one of his hands up to cup your cheek, the other still holding onto your hip tightly. He didnât go home that night. Instead, he stayed with you. Your head rested on his chest as you experienced debatably the best nightâs sleep youâve ever had. Although his intrusion was unprecedented, it did technically cure your insomnia. You had him to thank for that. Alright fine, maybe Hobie Brown wasnât that bad after all.
maybe one day i'll write a smutty version of this taglist: @hobies-wrld @elloelloello293874 @lavnderluv @ginseng-green-tea @ididntwantthisbutithappened @thatweirdgirlsposts @clown420cunt @sh-tposter2021 @wannabe-fic-reader @large-unit @pastelaine @babydollfoster @theleftkittycollection @sparklyphantom @arminsgfloll @myoifilm @fanboyluvr @fuckyouimthecrowman @ilovemymomscooking @fl1ghtl3ssdrag0n @c3f21 @1eonk @themetalbabygirl @captainloki1
some of yall cant be tagged as you can probs see so idk
#. feb writes#ewb#hobie brown#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie x reader#atsv#hobie spiderverse#hobart brown#hobie x you#hobie my beloved#spiderverse#spider punk#spider punk x reader#across the spiderverse#spiderpunk x you#spiderpunk x y/n#spiderpunk x reader#hobie brown x y/n#hobie brown headcanons#hobie brown spider punk#hobie fic#atsv x reader#atsv hobie#atsv fic#hobie brown atsv#spiderman atsv#across the spider verse
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omg⌠i need this enemies vision⌠badly
so do i bff!!!! now i must trek through the vertiginous feat of writing it
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The Day Will Come When You Won't Be
Enemies With Benefits masterlist
Word count: 5k
Chapter warnings: descriptions of everything that happens at the Negan lineup. If you can stomach that, everything else should be no problem.
The Saviors seize a hostage.
You should have never gotten on the truck.
But what could you have done, really?
âGot a new group out there givinâ us trouble, and Iâm in the mood to settle some shit. Wanna come?â
He stood lent against your doorframe just 4 hours ago, the Virginian sun still streaming in from the tiny crack of wall you called a window, and he had that grin twisting his features. Youâd been through enough of those looks to understand that, when it morphs his face, heâs not asking, and your skin had risen into those insistent, memory-laden goosebumps that come like Pavlovian instinct, forcing you to leave the scratchy linen of your sheets and pad across the frigid cement of your room.
In 10 minutes flat, you were dressed and loading into the seat youâre in now, and 5 minutes later you were peeling out of that hell-hole, a nonchalant humming coming from the man next to you as he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, one half of some long forgotten rhythm muffled slightly by the leather of his glove.Â
You keep your eyes on the flashes of trees as you ride on gravel roads. You donât want to look at him. Or at the mirror, where you would see Arat and the bat resting next to her. Youâre not sure if you can, souvenirs of its violence painting the metal wire. Knowing what will be happening once each checkpoint reports back, youâre not sure you could even handle the look of any of them.
Itâs been months since youâd been forced into those 4 suffocating walls youâd refused to call home, and though youâve lost a lot of yourself, your fear of Negan lingered no matter how much youâd wanted it to evaporate and disappear like the parts of you before it. Itâs been months since he held that goddamn bat against you, but it doesnât matter. That fear ignites at the worst times, knotting up your stomach.
You loathe it, but youâre powerless against it.
Maybe you hate that fact more.
There seems to always be an ever-present smirk on his face whenever it comes to âsettling shitâ, the promise of making a show of his unwavering power dangling in front of him and ramping up his excitement with each passing moment. You canât remember how many times youâve sat in this seat - the last group was a while ago, you think, the place with the huge house at the top of that hill - but as Neganâs hum changes into a whistle, that stupid overwhelming fear shoots through you, taking over your body for a second and banging your knees against the door when you flinch away from him.
The knock reverberates through the truck, the enclosed space doing you no favours when you take a sharp inhale at the pain, but the whistling stops, the crush of asphalt and the squeak of his leather jacket taking over as he turns to look at you.Â
âOh, câmon. Loosen up, princess. Itâs not like this is your first time.â
You bite the inside of your lip to keep from responding to his poorly hidden double entendre and that stupid nickname which has wormed into his vocabulary. It was a joke - at least it was when it was a throwaway comment from Sherry after she had one too many sips of cheap vodka - but Negan seems especially inept when it comes to how close he thinks he is to you. He had pinpointed it and insisted upon it being some playful replacement of your actual name, and every fucking time he said it, you feel your blood start to simmer.
But you know what happens when you upset him.
He makes a show of it in front of the furnace, and you remember the pain which tears through you, but in private - a handful of Saviors for insurance and away from prying eyes, in front of his own stovetop and his squeaky cupboards and his hidden drawers - thatâs what terrifies you.Â
Actually, no. What scares you is the fact he can do all that and then act like it never happened.
Heâd greet you in the morning like he was greeting an old friend, and just go on with his day.
âKeep your eyes on the road, Negan.â
Arat scoff does little to hide her smile - neither does he, an upwards curl of his lips before he turns away to do just that - and you let out a breath, shifting in your seat in an attempt to regain your bearings. Itâs like walking on eggshells, each time you talk to him.
Heâs volatile.
One day heâd brush it off with a laugh, but some days he would pin you into place with a look, and youâd go to bed with one more bandage than youâd had the night before. But heâs mellowed out since youâd first met him; either old age is taking its toll or heâs become comfortable in the status quo heâd hammered in with swings of Lucille and burnt faces by the iron.
âWell, shit, who pissed in your cereal this morning?â
You let the question linger, and Negan peels into the gravel-faced clearing before you can let silence fully steal the space between the three of you. He slams the brakes as he turns into his spot, and it sends your body forward. You barely have time to lift your hands to brace for the stop, but you manage enough, your forearms pressing against the dashboard.
âWhoops,â
He pulls the keys from the ignition then, pulling a laugh from his chest before you hear a click from between the two of you, and he gets out, resting his arms against the top edge of the truck before leaning in with a wide smirk.
âGuess you shouldâa worn your seatbelt.â
Asshole.
Youâre not sure at what point your abrasion had distorted in his head into banter, but, frankly, it pisses you off. It pisses you off because he couldnât be more obvious with the fact he doesnât think of you as a threat. As far as heâs concerned, youâre some angry chihuahua heâs ultimately got control over. Angry as all hell, but harmless at the end of the day. The more you think about it, the more it pisses you off, and though your mouth opens in the beginning of a retort, Simonâs static voice breaks through before you can form anything further.Â
The group reached checkpoint C first.
âPass me that, wonât you?âÂ
Grabbing the walkie-talkie from the cupholder, you chuck it at him without another thought, turning to open your sideâs door as it hits his chest with a thump, and he even laughs at that, not missing a beat before the push-to-talk is engaged and his voice rumbles into the microphone.Â
They reach a second checkpoint not much longer, the chained-up rotted soon after that, and radio silence follows after they reach the wall of burning trees. It must have freaked them out - it was Simon, after all, whose voice was the first and last theyâd heard. They would have had to have known something was coming at this point, even if his presence at the flames was purely by chance.Â
Sooner or later, they were gonna get sloppy. They were gonna get nervous - get desperate, and slip up - and they have no fucking clue whatâs in store for them.
As the sun inches under the horizon, you sip nervously from your water bottle, the carabiner attached to its lid tinking against metal as your hand shakes. The Saviors had started getting into position just after sunset - an order that was barked by Negan echoed by Laura when sheâd decided they were moving out a little too slow - but youâre stuck in place, your heart pounding in your chest and a lump in your throat that you canât get down no matter how hard you try.
Youâre leant behind a car, Arat sat in the driver's seat as she absentmindedly toys with the safety on her pistol, and youâre thankful for the Virginian night. It hides the shaky breaths visible from the chill after an unfamiliar RV pulls into the clearing, and it hides the flash of panic that crosses your face when Simon pulls out someone you canât quite make out in the dark.
Itâs starting.
You donât know how many people are in the group. Youâre sure Negan has told you - that big mouth of his never quite shuts up between the orders he gives you and the monologues he considers âconversationâ - but you never listen.
It canât just be him, though, youâre sure of it. One man canât have caused him to go all on the offensive like this.
Neganâs sat in that red-lined RV now, a short conversation with Simon wrapping up with a wolfish grin shot in your direction before slinging Lucille over his shoulder and waltzing into the open door, and you clip your water bottle back onto your belt, rubbing your temples to try and forget it.
It feels so pointless, every time youâre dragged to one of these stupid confrontations. You donât even do anything here. You donât grab automatics to âget shit doneâ - you donât douse cut-down trees in lighter fluid or tie up the infected for some sick psychological torture - youâre just some spectator in all this.
Every time Negan looks at you like that, that expression wiping across his face like that night youâd first met him, itâs like a taunt. Itâs like he knows, even without making you kneel next to the squelch and crush of a head, that he can make you break out in a cold sweat and make you remember the fear that coursed through your veins when you had been.
You hate that heâs right.
When you hear the first few whistles, your hair stands at the back of your neck, and you try to blink away the first few tears threatening your vision. The Saviors are close - they have to be, even grouped up, whistles canât get that loud - and as the two tones get even closer, you close your eyes and lean forward, putting your head between your knees as you prop yourself up against the trunk of the sedan.Â
It was only a matter of time before they were caught.Â
In the position youâre in, you urge your bloodflow to your brain in hopes that maybe - just maybe - itâll work well enough that it wonât make you think of the first time youâd heard those sounds. You hope that itâll melt the ice lining your muscles, but you donât have to hope any longer when the lights of the parked cars turn on, breaking you out of your spiral with the momentary flash of white as you squint your eyes to adjust to the brightness.Â
Despite the pain at your temples when you stare into the lit clearing, youâre thankful for it. It reminds you youâre here, not in a long-buried memory, and though you hate being here, you hate being there even more.
But you know this weirdly settled thankfulness wonât last long. As you watch them get onto their knees, whateverâs left of your morals are screaming at you to do something try to stop the way Negan swings open the door and waves Lucille like heâs at some pissing contest, but you know it wonât do anything. You know you canât do anything.
Youâre not sure if savior complex is the right word for what youâre feeling, but it feels funny when youâre in this type of situation.
Thereâs always an illusion of help - that maybe if you screamed loud enough or just spoke some stubbornly-ignored reason, you could be able to stop him - but you know you canât. As the first bash of Lucille breaks skull, you know thereâs no way to stop him. He swings and swings and swings, and itâs so silent save for the groupâs sobbing and the constant thunk of his strikes.
Youâre not close to them at all - the length of a car and several people separate you from the group - but you can see them well enough when you turn your head, your heart hammering against your ribs when you recognize that one of them is a kid and one of them looks so pale that she might pass out at any given second. The headlights illuminate them like some sort of demented spotlight, Neganâs shadow distorting across their bodies and their bloodshot eyes as he lingers the bat in front of one of them for too long.
You know what heâs getting at - heâs testing their fear, heâs testing how much more he needs to push before they crack and run back to their community with their tails between their legs - and you remember when you were there, a different type of acquiescing running through your mind. You knew you couldnât do anything when you were the one knelt on hard ground. You knew that there were too many guns pointed at you and there was too much violence in Neganâs eyes.
The only people who would act on that impulse would be the stupidest people in the-
Holy shit.Â
The only people who would act on that impulse are here. Or, at least one of them was.
He swung at Negan - that man who had blood running down his chest and blood covering his hands - made hard contact with the corner of one of Neganâs cheeks, and though heâs subdued in almost an instant, you canât look away. An odd sense of fascination keeps your eyes glued to the scene in front of you.
You donât remember the last time anyoneâs swung at Negan - let alone at a lineup - and you canât help the spark of a long-forgotten hope that sparks within you.
Heâs brave, that much is obvious.Â
But still, heâs stupid as all hell, held down to the ground as Dwight points a crossbow at him, staring straight at the barrel of it like a trapped animal, and you watch them drag him back into place, a sick feeling crawling into when Negan rises back to his feet.
You know whatâs coming. You were on the receiving end of this once, too.
You know defiance gets you nothing except another grave to dig.
And though youâre expecting it, your hands balled into fists at your sides as if to somehow cushion the consequences of not looking away, you still recoil when Negan brings Lucille down on a different man.
Itâs different, this time. This man doesnât use his last bit of consciousness for a well-deserved âfuck youâ to Negan. He uses it to tell someone that heâll âfind herâ - holds on to his coherence and fights the rushing blood and pain to try and get out more - but he canât, Neganâs voice filling the space with a mock of sympathy.
Then he swings again, and your stomach feels like itâs folding in on itself, rushing up your throat and through your lips. You turn back away from the scene, hoping that itâll erase you from whatever the hell is going on, but it doesnât and in a split second, youâre throwing up. Everything youâve just seen finally catches up with you and youâre really throwing up, but nothing is coming out except pieces of a granola bar and the ocean of water youâd tried to calm yourself with.
It hits the line between the gravel and the sparse grass, and you take a step back to avoid it, but nausea hits you like a wave and makes you stumble. The trunk of the sedan stops you from moving any further, and you place a hand on it to steady yourself before taking a step to the side and then another, leant forward with your arm in front of you until you can brace on a tree.
Jesus Christ, did you really manage to forget the reality of this? Did you really manage to forget how the air smells when itâs tinged with this much fresh blood? Or how fucking haunting the sound of so many people crying is?
It seems you have - at least, you forgot how overwhelming it was - and youâre not sure if youâre furious or happy that you have.
But now you remember. You remember kneeling and your ribs stinging with each breath you took. You remember the smell of your friendâs blood coming from right next to you. You remember the way your eyes burnt from all your crying and the way your chest hurt with each sob that ripped through you. You remember it all, down to each blade of grass.
Stop overreacting.
Thereâs always that voice in you that berates when moments like these happen. It curls its lips up in disgust at the fact youâve let yourself become so terrified, and you loathe yourself for it, a reminder of how it had all gone wrong that day and how youâd let it. It speaks tenfold, the image of that man even just trying to swing at Negan sharpening its words to a point and cutting you with its disappointment.Â
Even though you try to convince yourself youâre not there anymore, it all feels so real that you canât help but spiral.
God, youâre such a fucking-Â
âHey! Hey, yâalright?â
Youâre not sure how long youâd spent lent on that poor tree, the intensity pulling you from reality, but it doesnât matter because, when Arat places her hand on your shoulder, you flinch away, stumbling on your shaky legs. It feels like itâs been ages - your mouth is cotton and your ears are ringing - but it canât have been long, the sun barely starting to rise.
âYeah, fine. Great. Iâm great.â
Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you ease yourself back into a stand, blinking hard before looking around and ignoring the suspecting squint of Aratâs eyes. Youâre pretty far out, a couple meters past the closest vehicle, and when you spot the pistol strapped to her thigh, you canât help but wonder if you could just go.Â
If you just reached down and took it - if you just concentrated enough pressure to one spot at the side of her head - would she be knocked unconscious, giving you the opening to run?
But you know you canât. Well-aimed pistol whips barely knock people out as it is, and you havenât eaten anything substantial since the day started. There was no way youâd be able to do it. The second you bolt, Arat would tackle you. Even if you knocked her out, you wouldnât make it far, your legs would give up as if they knew he would end up finding you.
He always does.
âHere, eat this.â
A tiny plastic packet is pressed into your palm before she steps back, grabbing your arm and dragging you back towards the clearing. With the darkness ebbing away, the headlights have been turned off, and you can see everything without its blaring harshness.
The scene looks even sadder in natural lighting - tracks of dried tears and slumped shoulders lined up one by one - and all of them refuse to move their heads from where theyâre frozen.
But one of them is missing.
Leaning against the sedan, you rip open the packet with your teeth, your fingers still lacking feeling from what Arat had caught you in just moments ago, and you try not to look at the center of the clearing as you force down the crackers.
Itâs then when you notice the RV is gone, and itâs then when you realize Neganâs gone too.
It doesnât take long to connect the dots, and when you finally glance back over to them, you finally figure out whoâs missing.
Heâs the leader, then - curly hair and fur-lined jacket.
Break him, and everyone falls in line.
The sun comes up soon, lighting the clearing through the gaps between heavy-set trees, and the RV peels in not long after. You watch with the same pit in your stomach when Negan pulls him out by the back of his collar, and as he yells his demand of him to chop off his sonâs arm off - as he stops him before he really does it - everyone knows that, whatever Negan had set out to do, he must have done it.
Dwight loads the man who punched Negan into the van heâd come out of - and he shifts his weight when he gets in, swaying like an animal trying to escape - and you find yourself curious about him. You watch as Negan leans in just a foot away to talk to their leader before rising back onto his feet, and you learn that the manâs name is Daryl.
And as much as you hate agreeing with Negan, he really does look like a Daryl.
âWe'll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then, ta-ta.â
He throws their axe over his shoulder, a nonchalance in his gait, and heâs quick to hop back into the truck he drove over, letting out a theatrical sigh as if to say âall in a day's workâ without actually saying something. Though, knowing him, heâd probably love it if his voice carried for a moment more.
You contemplate where to go as you watch everyone start to disperse - if youâd asked, would Dwight be willing to let you sit shotgun in the car heâs keeping Daryl? Or should you follow to wherever Arat is going and try to figure out a way to thank her for the saltines that have settled your stomach for the time being? - but you donât have time to move your feet before you hear a familiar voice calling your name and banging against the car roof.
âGet on in, princess.â
Negan sticks his head through the driverâs seat window, and you pull your lips into a line before taking a deep breath and turning your feet in his direction. Heâs looking at you with an easy smile, but you keep your eyes on the ground instead, walking behind the wall of cars to mitigate some of the embarrassment you feel at any type of association with Negan.
You look over at the group before pulling at the passenger side handle, and some of them are looking back at you. The woman who had spoken up is studying you, so is their leader and the kid and two of the other women, and you feel shame course through you at their glares. You tear your eyes away from them and blink harshly before hitting the seat, and you slam the door shut, taking a deep breath as you refuse to look at Negan as he barks orders through the open window.
You watch them as all of the Saviors loads back up, and you canât stop yourself from wondering if this was what you looked like on that night, too. Was this what you would have looked like on that soccer field if he hadnât taken you before the sun rose?Â
You canât blame them for it, though.
Because itâs your fault for letting him push you around like this, isnât it?
Because youâre so scared of being out there alone, youâd do anything to survive, wouldnât you?
Because heâs scarred you enough times for you to think like that, hasnât he?
Swallowing hard, you try to stop that stupid voice from running by pulling your legs up to your chest and tapping a lazy rhythm onto your shin. Itâs comforting. It reminds you of the world before - when youâd slaved over schoolwork to it playing mindlessly out of your old cassette player - but also of how things were before you met Negan, its tune playing through that rusty old vinyl player youâd dug up.
You hadnât heard it since.Â
âHey, your little⌠blegh, during the shit that went down, you alright?â
Your eyebrows meet in the middle of your forehead as you turn to look at him, trying to figure out if there was some hidden motive behind what heâd just said only to conclude that there doesnât seem to be.Â
âYeah, fine. Doing great. Donât worry about it.â
Your face relaxes as you speak, and you shake your head to try and convince him to drop it. Turning back towards the window, you study the trees as they pass by once again, and it feels like youâre back in yesterday, blurs of green the same way theyâd been when heâd driven you to the clearing. Thereâs some peace to be found in the colour, but he breaks it before it settles.
âGo see the doc when we get back.â
It turns out that your response just wasnât convincing enough for him, so he tells you what to do, and you think about how this is always how it is with him. You think about how itâs never a suggestion - how you never get a say - and how itâs always an order youâre just expected to follow.
Guess youâre clocking into your shift earlier than expected.
âYou got some boyfriend I donât fucking know about or something?â
Scrunching your nose at his digging, you give him a curt response - âIâm not pregnant, if thatâs what youâre implyingâ - and when he speaks again, you can hear the way a corner of his lips turns up.
âYou havenât been screwing around?â
You donât dignify him with an answer.
Instead, you let an emptiness linger as you chew at the inside of your cheek, wondering if you really should say whatâs hanging on the tip of your tongue. It could get you in trouble - no, it could get you in a shit ton of trouble - but you do it anyways, some feeling gnawing at you to take a hint from that Daryl guy and just be brave for once.
âYou didnât have to kill the Asian guy.â
The silence that follows is deafening.
âI let you get away with a lot of shit, yâknow that?â
Then panic comes - it drips slowly, down from your hairline and stings from your forehead down to your chin - but you stave it off before it can shake your voice.
âIâm just saying that you-â
He interrupts with a raise of his gloved hand, the pieces of dried blood on it cracking with the open and close of his first, and for that second where you think he might hit you, you flinch away by instinct, pinching your eyes closed to brace for it.Â
It wouldnât be the first time heâs done it, but the impact never comes.
âIf you were one of the limp-dicks out there, I wouldâve thrown you in a cell for questioninâ my goddamn authority.â
Instead, he places his hand back on the steering wheel with a small smile, his words making you let out a breath, and you find yourself listening more intently than you care to admit.Â
âBut thatâs why I like you, isnât it, princess?â
Your jaw strains at the stupid nickname, but the playfulness thatâs wormed into his words makes your tensed shoulders relax just the slightest.Â
âPullinâ me back and really putting shit into perspective when that shit needs it. I like that, keeps me in line. It shows youâre really lookinâ out for the future of this place.â
It takes all the strength in you not to scoff, but some of it slips out, a tiny huff followed by a twist of your lips, and it doesnât take a genius to understand that itâs definitely not a smile. Thereâs no doubt in your mind that he knows youâre not looking out for the Sanctuary or the Saviors when you find the courage to mouth back at him. Why else would he keep dragging you out to shit like this?
Itâs to keep you in line, youâre sure of it. Itâs to keep you in line as if reminding you of that night would keep you locked in your room and stuck where he wanted you. Heâd dragged you back to the Sanctuary one too many times for him to just not care about you anymore.
âIt was just- it was just unnecessary, Negan. If you liked the balls on the guy who punched you, you couldâve just taken him and left and ended everything there. You didnât have to kill the Asian guy or do any of the stuff you did afterwards, either.â
The breath that escapes his mouth as a barely-audible whistle, his frown oddly approving before he questions you. His voice isnât condescending or accusatory, you donât think, but thereâs a dangerous edge to it, like something could go wrong if you answered it wrong.Â
âYou know what they did, right?â
But you donât have the right answer, so you just donât say anything.Â
âThey ambushed the whole fucking satellite station! Killed every one of them! The bloodâs on their hands, so I would say it was pretty fuckinâ courteous of me not to cut off their dicks and kill every last one of âem, wouldnât you?â
You canât find the words to refute that - not when his voice rises enough for the vibrations to run through the car and work their way into your bones, or when he gestures with that same gloved hand thatâs done more than its fair share of things to hurt you - but even if you did, he gives you no time to respond, anyways.
âSo you still wanna debate morals, princess? âCause I donât think you understand the whole damn scope of what they did.â
His voice drops down, but it doesnât hide his irritation, and you swallow down the spit thatâs made home in your throat. Nobody told you what that group did, but you think you know why, biting down the smile pulling at your cheeks.Â
Theyâre the only ones to have tried it and done it successfully.
âYeah, I guess I donât.â
The rest of the drive is silent.
#haruwrites#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon the walking dead#the walking dead#the walking dead daryl dixon#haru's ewb#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon oneshot#the walking dead daryl#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon x you
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shall we sing a song of annihilating one another?
pose ref from @adorkastock <3
#happy valentine's day#:>#carol danvers#dar benn#the marvels#brie larson#zawe ashton#mytrinkets#art#fan art#theyre so fwb to enemies to ewb#captain marvel#marvel#mcu#sapphic#wlw#finally got to rewatched with my parents. they liked it <3
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did I already send an ask in about the enemies w/ benefits progression? Did I make that up? Oh god did I send that to someone random!!? FICKKO ~ OZ
you sent it đ i was trying to think of a response my brain is shutting down today and i have no idea why >:(
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Sorry I haven't updated any writing for the past few days. I've been busy doing things with friends and family, then got busy with work. And any time I did have free time, I just....haven't felt any motivation to work on EwB (yay possible burnout)
I might take a small hiatus from writing for a bit. Or at least, maybe I'll just work on one shots, since those are easier. We'll see. For now though, I might switch over to drawing stuff.
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OPEN TO : m / f / nbÂ
âALRIGHT, youâve been pouting ever since i went out on that date . whatâs wrong ?âÂ
#indie rp#open starter#opens .#zeke / interactions .#this could be anything ... friends ; exes '; fwb ; ewb . the world is our oyster .
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