#but my dad's house is insulated a little too well apparently so here i am in a t-shirt and gym shorts no duvet on and sweating 🫡

[chanrizard]

surely if i stick one (1) foot outside the covers i'll finally regulate my body temp hah check and mate hot flashes

[angsty-aliens]

Counting Sheep

A fic that basically could be called, AND THEN THEY SHARED A BED. Thank you to @ninswhimsy for the hand holding. ***

It was a Friday night sitting round the fire pit near the airstream when Michael pops a few benedryl. Alex squints, “does that even do anything with your… chemistry? I mean do pharmaceuticals even work with alien biology?”

Michael shrugged, “a couple beers, two benedryl… it helps me sleep. It’s over the counter. It’s not like… bad. It just helps my brain get quiet.” He looked down at his hands, “I don’t… sleep. Not well. You know. My brain is too loud. Sometimes I just need a little help. It’s not even a sleeping pill. It’s for allergies.”

He plastered a cocky grin on his face and looked up, “I’m allergic to sleeping.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Two benadryl won't kill you. You tried any other things?”

“What other things, Alex? Yoga? I’m limber but I’d rather get my exercise other ways.” Michael leered and waggled his eyebrows before taking another sip of his beer.

He’s quiet a moment, stares at his beer bottle, tugs at the label. “I’ve tried a lot of things. Counting sheep doesn't really help much. I… I get bad dreams sometimes.”

Michael swallows, clenches his jaw and finally looks up. “I see my mom sometimes. Sometimes it’s memories of shitty foster homes. Mostly it’s stuff like Isobel getting put on a slab while I just watch. I’ve had that one since the first time I watched ET.” He laughs self deprecatingly “I cried so hard at that movie, Mrs Lincoln wanted to get me therapy. I mean no one ever did get me therapy. Who can afford that? And I was seven. I wasn’t really talkative at seven. It would have been a waste of time.”

He shrugs and looks down, “but yeah, Max and Isobel and Uncle Sam. That’s a classic one. The benadryl takes the edge off. It’s not a big deal.”

Alex resists the urge to brush his curls out of his eyes. He knows he might be pushing too hard, but it’s rare that Michael is in a sharing mood.”

“You weren’t talkative? I know the three of you didn’t speak English when they found you. When did you start talking?”

Michael shrugs. “Way Isobel and Max describe it, they were talking within six months of getting adopted. I took a little longer.”

His eyes dart to the side. Lying. Michael is a terrible liar.

“So you were…?”

Michael sighs heavily, mind made up. “Eight and some change. I was eight when I started talking too. Just I didn’t have much to say. And the foster parents liked that I was quiet. Everyone was happy. I mean they were all convinced I was an idiot, but that just made it easier to sneak out of the house when I wanted to.”

More than a year. That’s a year without a conversation. Without anyone hearing your voice. Without sharing anything meaningful with another person. Alex knew Michael was isolated as a kid but he didn’t expect more than a year of silence.”

“When I finally found Max and Isobel, I talked like I never stopped. I don’t know if Max and Isobel ever realized I didn’t feel like talking for so long before I finally found them again.” He laughed wryly, “I did a lot of screaming though. They couldn’t get me to say my A, B, Cs but I’d get mad and just scream. Super fun at parties! Made lots of friends!”

Alex pulled his chair closer and took Michael’s right hand (he didn’t like people touching his broken one), and he laced their fingers together. “Did you have friends?”

Michael threw his head back until it thunked against the back of his chair. “What is this? Sadness Hour with Michael Guerin? Give him a shake and see what sad childhood fact pops out! Ooo I hope we get the story about Mr Willis and his cupcake! That’s a fun one!”

Michael gently freed his hand and wrapped his arms around himself, “I’m kidding. That’s not a fun story. We’re not sharing that one. Should we start talking about Christmas at the Manes house or something? Daddy’s little tin soldiers all lined up?  Am I guessing this right?”

Michael got mean when pushed too far. But he wasn’t far off. Alex’s dad did like to line his sons up at parade rest and then read them their sins. If he deemed you worthy, you received a useful gift. If not, you didn’t eat. And there was no Santa Claus. Jesse Manes was the only voice of authority when it came to naughty and nice. Merry fucking Christmas.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Michael gazed at the fire, anywhere but at Alex and he shrugged a truce.

Alex watched the embers pop, “I don’t sleep well either. Apparently being in a war zone doesn’t really help you get your eight hours of rest. Sometimes it helps if I know immediately I’m not back there. Keeping my room really cold so I don’t confuse it for the desert. Playing music helps sometimes. Just something soft in the background so when I wake up I focus on that instead of whatever shitty memory my brain likes to focus on”  (like a hammer crashing down once, twice, three times. Unblemished bare skin streaked with red. The sight of tiny little bones on the outside when they should have been on the inside… he wanted to focus on anything but that.)

Alex said, “I just need my room to be different.”

They were silent for a moment before Michael looked open. “Do people help?”

“People?

“Yeah, like if I slept over would it help remind your brain you’re here not there?”

Alex shrugged, “I’m willing to try it if you are. Sleeping in your airstream months ago was probably the best sleep I got all year. And that’s high praise considering your mattress is tiny and a menace.

There was an awkward pause.

A plan had been made, but it’s one thing to abstractly talk about slumber parties and another thing to actually implement them. Michael was the one to take the first step. He breathed heavily and forced himself up from the shitty plastic woven chair. He offered a hand to Alex. “Want to take a nap?”

Alex hadn’t expected it to be as comfortable as it was. They were used to each other’s bodies. Laying next to each other while wearing boxers wasn’t something new. Usually they were naked, but they were trying this whole platonic thing where they talked about feelings instead of just fucking.

Alex liked having his back to the wall of the airstream. It was cold if he pressed back hard enough. The metal was never as insulated as Michael hoped for. It was hard to mistake your surroundings for a desert when your back was cold. And Michael liked being the little spoon even though he wouldn’t admit it. Alex knew he liked the feelings of arms around him, surrounding him, not letting him go. He could feel the heartbeat beneath his palm beating too fast.

“Guerin, relax… it’s just me. If this doesn’t work, no harm no foul.”

A disgruntled huff was his only response.

But the heartbeat slowed. And the breath quieted. And Alex felt him drift off to sleep, and found his own eyelids heavy.

They woke nine hours later and Michael smiled his slow easy smile as he stretched cat-like on the small bed. Alex covered Guerin’s mouth with his palm. “Don’t be smug.”

Michael licked him. And Alex smeared his wet hand on his cheek. “Gross. You’re so gross.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

[crashdevlin]

Zed Word: Ch. 4 Favorite

Zed Word Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3. This was inspired by a series of tweets between Jeffery Dean Morgan and Jensen Ackles…. Sam and Dean never found John, but everything went the same way anyway until Season 5. Adam never said ‘yes’ to Michael. The fight at Stull Cemetery never happened but Lucifer (jumping from vessel to vessel ‘cause Sam wouldn’t say ‘yes’) and Pestilence managed to infect everyone with Croatoan, turning everyone into zombies when they die. The boys have traveled the apocalyptic landscape killing zombies and saving people ever since.

Summary: Reader has been living in Alexandria since Daryl saved her life. When she ventures out of town for the first time in months, Sam and Dean save her life and she takes them back to Alexandria, a town on edge since Negan showed up. Dean takes an instant interest in the woman, and when Negan shows up again, he does, too.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Negan x Reader

Story Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, Non-con/dub-con, unprotected sex of a forced nature, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, PTSD, *THIS IS A DARK FIC*

Chapter Warnings: Non-con/dub-con sex, coercion, NSFW, 18 and over

Sam watched from the stairs as Dean and Maggie went over maps. It had ceased to be about tracking their father down and quickly become about finding the girl. Dean hadn't mentioned John since they started plotting locations and changed the topic as soon as anyone else brought him up. Sam was certain that it wasn't John. He remembered him, what an asshole he'd been. Pushy, demanding, obsessive, but not insane. He couldn't even imagine that monster the Alexandrians had described was actually the man who'd taught him how to shoot, how to hunt, how to help people. How to save people. No way in Hell does John Winchester murder people with a baseball bat and kidnap women to rape them.

A demon would. A shifter would. Almost any sort of monster. But not John. Sam stood and grabbed his brother's attention. Dean followed him into the front yard. "Dean... What if they're dead? We have to consider what we'll do in that situation."

"Y/n's not dead." Dean dismissed.

"Dean... that demon is obviously not taking any shit. If she fought him-"

"She didn't." Dean was certain.

"How can you know that?"

"Because that's why Dad took her! She's soft." He spat out, angrily. He sighed, heavily, looking around the green yards which matched poorly with the horrible reality of the situation. "She's sweet, innocent. Southern Bella in there said it, Sammy, she's a hider. She's never hurt another human being, never even put down a zombie. She doesn't have it in her. She won't fight Negan. She'll go along with whatever he says because that's how she'll survive. I just hope we can get to her before he does something that scars her for life."

Sam nodded. "You guys getting anywhere? The maps?"

Dean nodded. "We won't know anything 'til we check it out, but... Maybe getting somewhere."

Sam nodded. It wasn't hard to see why Dean was so obsessed with getting y/n back. They'd come across quite a few women as attractive as her since Lucifer unleashed the apocalypse, (admittedly fewer and fewer as the years passed) but none who'd survived purely on their wits and determination. Sam was impressed that she'd never taken out a zombie and it bolstered his faith in her survival skills, but... demons were vastly different from zombies. Zombies were slow and predictable, only really a problem in large groups. A single demon, however...  

Sam sighed and patted his brother's shoulder. "I'm hungry. See if I can't run down some food."

"Ask Eric if there's any spaghetti sauce left. I'll eat it straight if there's no pasta." Dean said, before hopping up the porch stairs to reenter the house.

*********************

You stayed in your 'room', watching peoples' movements and analyzing the building for hours before you left, new shoes insulating your feet from the cold concrete. You moved around the main building to the outside, checking every exit, committing every face to memory, making special note of which men were Negan's special guys. Which men were Negan. You spoke to a few people, quiet ones who seemed like they were just trying to survive. On the third day of your 'freedom', the fat man approached you. "Show dog, Negan wants you. Said to hit a shower, then come see him."

You fought to not show the cringe that went through you. "Only Negan calls me that, fat-ass." You said, clinging to a false bravado.

"It's 'Fat Joey', and I am Negan."

"Yeah, well, I apparently belong to Negan... but I don't belong to you, Fat Joey. So obviously, you're not Negan enough." You said, grabbing a pair of clean jeans and a clean white v-neck shirt and pushing past the man to go shower. The water was cold; hot water being a luxury for those who didn't work for points. You could've gone to the other showers but you heeded Dwight's advice about Negan's other women.

Your mind poured over the information you'd gained from your fellow meek Sanctuary dwellers. Negan wasn't as bad as he seemed. He saved them. The people who were originally here, they were dying and Negan and Lucille saved them. That's why he and his men were Saviors. Negan was a veteran, a Marine. Everything he did, it was for the good of his people. He had to keep his people alive first and, like it or not, you were one of his now. Just do what you're told, keep your head down, kneel when you see the man... become his favorite...

As you pulled a two blade, disposable razor up your leg, you imagined how you would've have reacted to this situation before everything went to shit. You were hit on by a lot of older men, mostly doctors who were old enough to need those little blue pills themselves, when you were a pharma rep, but none like Negan. Physically, the man was attractive in much the same way Dean was. Nice muscles, pretty eyes, a beautiful (if not completely psychotic) smile and his cock wasn't bad, not that you had a lot of reference. If you hadn't known he was insane, you were certain you wouldn't have any trouble with the man.

And that's what you clung to as you dried yourself off with your one allotted towel and put on your simple clothing choice, not bothering with a bra or panties. 'Every villain is a hero in his own mind'. Negan is a savior and not an evil man. He's just a man trying to do right by his people. A man, maybe driven a little mad by the power of ruling a group. It's one of the reasons why you traveled alone for so long.

You found yourself in front of one of Negan's rooms, your damp hair clinging to the back of your shirt. It wasn't where he slept, but it was where he entertained himself, where you would entertain him. You took a deep breath. You knew what was coming but you weren't sure exactly how. You knocked at the door, lightly, then dropped to one knee as you heard him approach the door. He chuckled when he opened it. "You learn fast, don't'cha? Stand up. Get in here."

Your eyes fell on the bed first, a mattress with pillows and a comforter, jacked up by several stacks of blond pallets. Your eyes then searched the room for Lucille. As Negan closed the door, you found her, tucked behind a television set playing a VHS of 'Cheers'. You breathed a sigh of relief. He was never without her, but at least the weapon was away from arms reach. "Want something to drink? A little Hunter's Helper?" He offered, picking up a bottle of whiskey from the counter. You nodded, hopefully not too eagerly, excited to have something to dull your senses. Even if it was Wild Turkey 101.

You gave a tight smile as he handed you a glass half-full and you took a gulp as you looked at the TV. "I used to watch this on 'Nick at Night' when I was a kid."

Negan sat in the recliner, but didn't look at the show. He focused on you, even as he took his own mouthful of liquor. "How do you like my Sanctuary?"

You bit the inside of your lip, taking a moment before answering. "It's not bad. I've lived worse places. My dorm at college was chaos, like an all-girl 'Lord of the Flies' without the pigs to hunt." You took another drink of whiskey, which burned the inside of your lip, where you'd apparently broken the skin. "You run a tight ship, which makes sense, I guess, since you used to be a Marine. That where you got the skills to keep people safe from walkers?"

"Not even close." He sat forward in his seat. "But it's not the zombies that are the problem. Zombies are useful. They guard our gates. It's people. People are the problem. I run a tight ship because I can tell which problems are fixable... and which problems get to guard the gate."

A copper taste brought your attention to your lip, which you'd taken to biting again. You took another drink, then continued on your 'military' line of questioning. "You know I, uh, I grew up in an Air Force town."

"Pussies." He interjected, somehow leaning forward more.

You forced a chuckle. "Yeah. You're right. But small town... Service was pretty much the only way out. Most of my friends went Army. Hoo-ah."

"This where you tell me you've decided to give me the benefit of the doubt due to my service to a now-nonexistent country about 20 years before you were born?"

"No, sir." You replied, squaring your shoulders. "It's where I tell you that Abraham Ford was Army and he'd be cursin' up a storm if he knew a fuckin' jarhead put him down."

He laughed, rather than make an angry move for Lucille as you'd feared he might. He stood, slowly, taking his glass over to the counter to pour more Wild Turkey. Then, he returned to his line of questioning. "You ever killed anybody?"

"No." You answered, simply, your tongue darting out to mess with the bite inside your mouth.

"You must've made it inside the walls of Alexandria fucking quick if you never saw any truly desperate people."

"I saw plenty of desperate people. They just never saw me." You set your glass next to the TV and leaned against the TV stand. "Daryl brought me into Alexandria just a couple months before any of us heard your name."

"You survived by hiding? What, from everyone? How'd Daryl get his hands on ya?" He leaned against the counter, mimicking your stance.

"Took a wrong turn in Albuquerque, wound up trapped in some warehouse in West Virginia. Ghouls were chasing me, I fell through a rotted staircase into this basement electrical closet. Broke my leg, cracked my skull. I laid in that basement for two days, completely certain I was dead. I mean, the barricade I put at the door was sure to fail before I dehydrated to death. I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did. I was pretty gone when Daryl busted through my barricade and came to find me. He said he knew I was there 'cause the walkers were acting like hound dogs or coon dogs or... something 'had a raccoon treed'. He put me on the front of his bike, tied me to his waist and hauled ass back to Alexandria. Denise set my leg, let the pressure out of my head and I was fine to meet new people for the first time in years."

"And then I showed up and started killin' 'em."

You shook your head. "We killed your men first." You shrugged. "They deserved it. Had to know folks would fight back when you try to take their shit."

"Not their shit, anymore. It's mine."

"Yeah, now, 'cause you broke Rick, but when Daryl blew up your men with a rocket launcher, that rocket launcher was Abraham's."

He laughed. "Rocket launcher! Fucking crazy as fuck."

You chuckled, relaxing a bit. Now that the liquor had started to warm you, he didn't seem so menacing, anymore. "Yeah... That was pretty fucking crazy."

"So, where were you heading in West Virginia?" He picked his glass up and began to drink again.

"Nowhere. Back then, I kinda just wanted to keep moving. Staying in one place just seemed like a bad idea. My parents died last time I tried to make a home someplace. What made you stay here?"

"Seemed as good a place as any. And these people needed my help. That's what I did back then, I helped people."

"And now?"

"Now, I help me." He pushed away from the counter, sliding his glass next to the bottle as he moved toward you. "I take what I want, when I want because that's how the world works now. The guy who can put down a herd of zombies with a baseball bat and some big cajones, he gets everything he's ever desired."

"Except his dead wife back." You whispered as he stopped in front of you.

"Yeah. Except for that."

"What was her name?" You asked, shaking a bit as he reached over and grabbed a piece of your hair, still damp from your shower.

"Mary."

"Were you together long? You said she died in '83?"

"I don't wanna talk about my wife. The dead one or the new one."

"Okay. I just... with Sherry, I know who I'm up against. I was just trying to get a feel for... what kind of competition I've got from the memory of a ghost." You reasoned. You lied. In fact, you were hoping that thinking of his first wife would turn him off from his plans for you.

"You vying to be Wife #3?" He ran his hand down the front of your v-neck, pulling the front hem up to expose your breasts.

"I have no delusions about my reason for being here, Negan. I-I'm here for just one thing and I can be the one you like most or... or I can look forward to wa-watching the gate." You covered.

"You're cute when you lie." He pulled the shirt over your head, twisting the fabric when it got to your wrists and holding your arms, tangled in white cotton, above your head. "You were trying to use Mary against me. Smart move. You know, I'm impressed by the manipulation..." You tried to look down, away from him, but his left hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look at his face. "...and how you picked up on the importance of Mary from, what, two mentions of her. I toss her memory around so people think I don't give a fuck. How'd you know?"

"It was a guess." You whispered.

"Lie." His left hand dropped to your hip, the thumb digging into your muscle, putting pressure on a sensitive point just above where your jeans sat. It caused your knee to buckle but he held you up by your wrists.

"Your eyes!" You squealed, shifting as much weight to your good leg as you could. "When you first mentioned her, the 'Doe-eyes' thing, you smiled, but not with your eyes. Your eyes were sad." You responded, quickly.

He ceased the pressure, but kept his hand in place, thumb tapping the spot which was sure to be bruised in a couple hours. "Damn. Would've been great at the investigation side, if the world hadn't ended." He mumbled to himself before untangling the shirt from your wrists and pulling it completely away from you. "She was beautiful, had a tough attitude, but motherhood softened her like butter. She was too good for me, even back when I was a good man." He dropped the shirt to the floor at your feet and let your arms drop to your sides.

"You... you could be good..." You whispered as he unbuttoned your jeans.

"You're not here to preach at me. I'm fine with the man I am, now. I have fun, so... you just need to get on board."

"I am. I'm on board with whatever you want of me. I, I want to be."

"I want you on the bed." He dropped your jeans to your feet and you reflexively stepped out of them as he pulled you toward the mattress. He lifted you, tossing you a short distance to the middle of the bed, your head somehow landing right below the pillows. He grabbed your ankle and rubbed a rough thumb across your shin. "You shaved for me. Even trimmed that pretty bush. Oh, and that gorgeous pink blush all the way down to your tits. Hard bitches don't blush." You closed your eyes, feeling the heat of that blush in your cheeks. His hand continued its journey up your right leg stopping at an inch-long, thick white scar on the outside of your calf. "Looks like a stab wound." He looked up at you as he ran his thumb up and down the small patch of discoloration.

"Um, there was a, uh, trap somebody set up in the woods in Alabama, where they sharpened all the thick twigs on a low-hanging branch and bend it back, tie it off. Mom walked into it, I pushed her out of the way, got a pointy twig in my leg for the trouble."

His hand moved up to your abs, where a thin, jagged scar ran from your belly button to just below the pressure point Negan had jammed his thumb into. "And this one?"

You chuckled, tightly. "Barbed wire fence got me. I wasn't willing to sacrifice my jacket to hold the wire down, so I tried to just vault over it... I'm lucky I was up on my tetanus booster. It could've been bad."

"No bullet wounds, no knife scars. Look at you. Hell, the only bruises on you are the ones I put there. You are near mint condition." He scoffed, but not derisively. He seemed almost awed by you. "Even nearly a virgin. There's that blush again." He slid his hand up, between the valley of your breasts, to lay across your collarbone. "You are not to move. This will be far less fun for you if I have to tie you down. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." You whispered, making sure not to move your head.

"Those manners..." He mumbled, before bracing his left arm on the mattress and vaulting his fully clothed and booted body onto the bed, straddling your nude form. He looked you over, before grabbing your hands and pulling them above your head. He didn't have to tell you not to move them from the pillow. You entwined your fingers together as he leaned over you and brought your earlobe between his lips, scraping his teeth across the soft skin. It wasn't until he'd kissed, licked and nipped from your ear to the crook of your neck, his beard rubbing against your skin as his hands dragged up and down your arms, that it dawned on you that it felt good. Why would he want you to feel good?

The question disintegrated in your head as he moved down your body to catch your left nipple between his lips. Your right breast came under attack from his left hand, grabbing it lightly and rolling it under his palm. You wiggled under the weight of his body, unable to prevent your body's search for friction. His ministrations stopped immediately, as he pulled back and looked down at you. "What'd I say?"

"I'm sorry. I, I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. I'll try harder." You were breathless.

"Aw. Am I neglecting something?" He asked, bringing his right knee between your legs and rubbing his jean-clad knee against your mound. You moaned, your hands clenched together while you tried to remind yourself not to move, not to rub yourself against the man. "What do you want me to do to you?"

You swallowed, unable to think clearly. "Whatever you want."

"Good answer." He dipped his head down to lick at your neck, his knee rubbing persistent pressure in between your thighs. He pulled it away, moving down your body, trailing kisses across your skin. He ran his tongue across the barbed wire scar, then dipped it into the juncture where your leg and hip meet. You jumped, his tongue suddenly drawing circles around your clit, but he didn't stop to reprimand you this time, instead putting his right hand on your abs to hold you down as he began to lick deliberate, rough stripes from your opening to your clit.

"Oh, god." You whined, squirming under his strong grip as the middle finger of his left hand sunk easily into you. As he added his first finger, you brought your hands down to cover your eyes, in an mad attempt to control something. With his fingers fucking you with expert precision and his mouth making obscene slurping noises against your womanhood, it was easy to forget yourself. Forget what brought you to the Sanctuary, forget the demeaning way he'd treated you since you got here, forget anything and everything except the man between your thighs, worshipping you with his mouth. As your orgasm built inside of you, it just didn't seem to matter.

It crashed over you, tendrils of pleasure snaking across your body as you tried to not hyperventilate. He slid away again, dropping off the bed and toeing his boots off as you nervously moved your hands back to the pillow. He dropped his jacket to the ground, followed by his shirt and pants, then crawled onto the bed, his erection dragging along the comforter beneath you. He looked down at you, before pressing a bruising, possessive kiss on your lips. "You don't have to worry. I already like you better than the others."

The noise you made as his cock found your entrance and quickly sunk into you, sliding in easily amongst the lubrication your body provided and his own saliva, was somewhere between a moan and a squeal. There was pain, of course. He was bigger than anything you'd had, even your old toys, definitely bigger than those two fingers he'd just had in you. He'd given you no time to adjust before slamming balls deep, so there was definitely pain.

But pain is fleeting and it was quickly dominated by the wholy unique feeling of fullness. "Shit!" He groaned. "Do that again."

"What?" You hadn't realized you'd done anything.

"That clenching, kegel thing you just did."

"Oh." You breathed out, before repeating the action.

"Ooh. Goddamn, if more women did that, we'd have no problem getting the population back." He reached down and hooked your legs behind his back, then took each of your hands in his, rubbing a thumb over each palm. "Now, you put these hands wherever you need to. You move however you want. Participation is not only encouraged, I'd say it's damn near required, at this point."

You nodded, tightening your legs around him and putting your hands on his shoulders. He put his left hand on your hip and put the other on mattress, next to your head for support. He gave you another moment to get ready, then, he began to move.

It was unlike anything you'd ever felt. His girth rubbed against the sensitive walls inside you, his cock head reaching your cervix with every motion. You moaned, your hands clutching at his neck and back. "Oh, my God!"

"You're a fuckin' dream, y/n." He grunted into your ear as he fucked you into the mattress. "So hot. So wet. So fucking pretty and pure." He pulled out, unhitching your legs and flipping you onto your stomach with ease. He grabbed your hips and pulled you up onto your hands and knees. "And you're mine."

You whimpered as he grabbed your hair and slammed back into you. "Yes." You whispered, your neck craning as he used your hair as leverage.

"What?" He demanded, pounding into you, his balls slapping against you in a quick rhythm.

"Yes! I'm yours. Negan, God... Yours."

"Damn straight." He grunted as he reached around to move his fingers, roughly across your clit. Your arms gave out as another orgasm slammed into your nerves, your head meeting the mattress. Negan continued to fuck you, picking up speed and pounding your face into the comforter. His hand tightened in your hair as he gave several more pumps, then stilled as his cock spilled inside of you, twitching happily within your walls.

He pulled out and collapsed to the bed next to you, both of you breathing heavily. "So..." He started, sliding his arm around you and turning you to lay your head on his chest. "Best you ever had?"

"Definitely." You whispered.

"Aren't you glad you got my attention?"

"Yes, sir." You weren't. Definitely rather be home in Alexandria, but... It could be worse. He could be more horrid. And that was a fairly amazing... workout session.

"I like that respect, y/n, but..." He sighed, deeply, satisfaction emanating from him. "As long as we're alone and I'm in a good fuckin' mood, I won't call you 'bitch' or a show dog name... and you can call me 'John'."

"Thank you." You relaxed against his chest.

"That was a workout. We're gonna need a nap before we get to work."

"Work?"

"Oh, sweetheart. Can't have my favorite girl walking around unable to defend herself. Hiding only gets you so far, y/n."

You sat up a little and looked down at him. "You're going to, what, teach me to fight? Aren't... Aren't you concerned I might-"

"Fight back against me? No. I'm not gonna teach you enough to kill me. And I'm certain that you don't hate me near as much as you did when you walked in here. Right?"

"Right." You responded, lying your head on his chest again and sighed. "You seem to be right a lot of the time, John." You experimented with his first name. It definitely didn't have the same fear factor as 'Negan', but neither did the man you were lying with.

"I try." He wrapped his arm around you tighter and adjusted the pillow under his head with the other hand. "Get some rest, gorgeous."

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 6 paragraph vii

The peculiar thing about Boris and Kotku was how rapidly their relationship had taken on a punchy, irritable quality. They still made out constantly, and could hardly keep their hands off each other, but the minute they opened their mouths it was like listening to people who had been married fifteen years. They bickered over small sums of money, like who had paid for their food-court lunches last; and their conversations, when I could overhear them, went something like this: Boris: “What! I was trying to be nice!” Kotku: “Well, it wasn’t very nice.” Boris, running to catch up with her: “I mean it, Kotyku! Honest! Was only trying to be nice!” Kotku: [pouting] Boris, trying unsuccessfully to kiss her: “What did I do? What’s the matter? Why do you think I’m not nice any more?” Kotku: [silence] The problem of Mike the pool man—Boris’s romantic rival—had been solved by Mike’s extremely convenient decision to join the Coast Guard. Kotku, apparently, still spent hours on the phone with him every week, which for whatever reason didn’t trouble Boris (“She’s only trying to support him, see”). But it was disturbing how jealous he was of her at school. He knew her schedule by heart and the second our classes were over he raced to find her, as if he suspected her of two-timing him during Spanish for the Workplace or whatever. One day after school, when Popper and I were by ourselves at home, he telephoned me to ask: “Do you know some guy named Tyler Olowska?” “No.” “He’s in your American History class.” “Sorry. It’s a big class.” “Well, look. Can you find out about him? Where he lives maybe?” “Where he lives? Is this about Kotku?” All of a sudden—surprising me greatly—the doorbell rang: four stately chimes. In all my time in Las Vegas no one had ever rung the doorbell of our house, not even once. Boris, on the other end, had heard it too. “What is that?” he said. The dog was running in circles and barking his head off. “Someone at the door.” “The door?” On our deserted street—no neighbors, no garbage pickup, no streetlights even—this was a major event. “Who do you think it is?” “I don’t know. Let me call you back.” I grabbed up Popchyk—who was practically hysterical—and (as he wriggled and shrieked in my arms, struggling to get down) managed to get the door open with one hand.

“Wouldja look at that,” a pleasant, Jersey-accented voice said. “What a cute little fella.” I found myself blinking up in the late afternoon glare at a very tall, very very tanned, very thin man, of indeterminate age. He looked partly like a rodeo guy and partly like a fucked-up lounge entertainer. His gold-rimmed aviators were tinted purple at the top; he was wearing a white sports jacket over a red cowboy shirt with pearl snaps, and black jeans, but the main thing I noticed was his hair: part toupee, part transplanted or sprayed-on, with a texture like fiberglass insulation and a dark brown color like shoe polish in the tin. “Go on, put him down!” he said, nodding at Popper, who was still struggling to get away. His voice was deep, and his manner calm and friendly; except for the accent he was the perfect Texan, boots and all. “Let him run around! I don’t mind. I love dogs.” When I let Popchyk loose, he stooped to pat his head, in a posture reminiscent of a lanky cowboy by the campfire. As odd as the stranger looked, with the hair and all, I couldn’t help but admire how easy and comfortable he seemed in his skin. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. ��Cute little fella. Yes you are!” His tanned cheeks had a wrinkled, dried-apple quality, creased with tiny lines. “Have three of my own at home. Mini pennys.” “Excuse me?” He stood; when he smiled at me, he displayed even, dazzlingly white teeth. “Miniature pinschers,” he said. “Neurotic little bastards, chew the house to pieces when I’m gone, but I love them. What’s your name, kid?” “Theodore Decker,” I said, wondering who he was. Again he smiled; his eyes behind the semi-dark aviators were small and twinkly. “Hey! Another New Yorker! I can hear it in your voice, am I right?” “That’s right.” “A Manhattan boy, that would be my guess. Correct?” “Right,” I said, wondering exactly what it was in my voice that he’d heard. No one had ever guessed I was from Manhattan just from hearing me talk. “Well, hey—I’m from Canarsie. Born and bred. Always nice to meet another guy from back East. I’m Naaman Silver.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Silver.” “Mister!” He laughed fondly. “I love a polite kid. They don’t make many like you any more. You Jewish, Theodore?” “No, sir,” I said, and then wished I’d said yes. “Well, tell you what. Anybody from New York, in my book they’re an honorary Jew. That’s how I look at it. You ever been to Canarsie?” “No, sir.” “Well, it used to be a fantastic community back in the day, though now—” He shrugged. “My family, they were there for four generations. My grandfather Saul ran one of the first kosher restaurants in America, see. Big, famous place. Closed when I was a kid, though. And then my mother moved us over to Jersey after my father died so we could be closer to my uncle Harry and his family.” He put his hand on his thin hip and looked at me. “Your dad here, Theo?” “No.” “No?” He looked past me, into the house. “That’s a shame. Know when he’ll be back?” “No, sir,” I said. “Sir. I like that. You’re a good kid. Tell you what, you remind me of myself at your age. Fresh from yeshiva—” he held up his hands, gold bracelets on the tanned, hairy wrists—“and these hands? White, like milk. Like yours.” “Um”—I was still standing awkwardly in the door—“would you like to come in?” I wasn’t sure if I should invite a stranger in the house, except I was lonely and bored. “You can wait if you want. But I’m not sure when he’ll be home.” Again, he smiled. “No thanks. I have a bunch of other stops to make. But I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna be straight with you, because you’re a nice kid. I got five points on your dad. You know what that means?” “No, sir.” “Well, bless you. You don’t need to know, and I hope you never do know. But let me just say it aint a good business policy.” He put a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Believe it or not, Theodore, I got people skills. I don’t like to come to a man’s home and deal with his child, like I’m doing with you now. That’s not right. Normally I would go to your dad’s place of work and we would have our little sit-down

there. Except he’s kind of a hard man to run down, as maybe you already know.” In the house I could hear the telephone ringing: Boris, I was fairly sure. “Maybe you better go answer that,” said Mr. Silver pleasantly. “No, that’s okay.” “Go ahead. I think maybe you should. I’ll be waiting right here.” Feeling increasingly disturbed I went back in and answered the telephone. As predicted, it was Boris. “Who was that?” he said. “Not Kotku, was it?” “No. Look—” “I think she went home with that Tyler Olowska guy. I got this funny feeling. Well, maybe she didn’t go home home with him. But they left school together—she was talking to him in the parking lot. See, she has her last class with him, woodwork skills or whatever—” “Boris, I’m sorry, I really can’t talk now, I’ll call you back, okay?” “I’m taking your word for it that wasn’t your dad in there on the horn,” said Mr. Silver when I returned to the door. I looked past him, to the white Cadillac parked by the curb. There were two men in the car—a driver, and another man in the front seat. “That wasn’t your dad, right?” “No sir.” “You would tell me if it was, wouldn’t you?” “Yes sir.” “Why don’t I believe you?” I was silent, not knowing what to say. “Doesn’t matter, Theodore.” Again, he stooped to scratch Popper behind the ears. “I’ll run him down sooner or later. You’ll be sure to remember what I told him? And that I stopped by?” “Yes, sir.” He pointed a long finger at me. “What’s my name again?” “Mr. Silver.” “Mr. Silver. That’s right. Just checking.” “What do you want me to tell him?” “Tell him I said gambling’s for tourists,” he said. “Not locals.” Lightly, lightly, with his thin brown hand, he touched me on the top of the head. “God bless.”

[hgfstreamchats]

Coraline

Welcome to the 'highglossfinish' room. thenightetc: *begins lurking* Zephra85: WOO I made it ontime! Knockout: Night human! Zephra human! Zephra85: Hi guys! thenightetc: Hello! Zephra85: I actually *own* this movie. Huge fave. thenightetc: I *have* read the book, but I understand there are some differences... Zephra85: I heard the book was even MORE hardcore Knockout: Dear Unicron. thenightetc: Well, that was nicely unsettling Zephra85: This movie masters unsettling in a very unique way Thebes: hi! Zephra85: Hi Thebes! thenightetc: *lil wave* thenightetc: RUDE Zephra85: DON'T GO INTO THE FAIRY RING Knockout: Hello Thebes human! spitshineandhammertime: HERE I AM! thenightetc: Hi! Zephra85: Impact! Hi!! spitshineandhammertime: 3:D Knockout: The life of the party is here! spitshineandhammertime: \o/ Knockout: Eugh, Pontiacs. Zephra85: The city, not the mediocre car

thenightetc: ...It's funny he thought she was from somewhere arid, because Michigan is... pretty wet. spitshineandhammertime: soggy! thenightetc: Yeah. spitshineandhammertime: seeds! Knockout: It looks like someone set it on fire. thenightetc: They don't wonder where that came from? spitshineandhammertime: they're not spacicious enough spitshineandhammertime: I like the music! Zephra85: It's gorgeous Knockout: It sounds like the rain. thenightetc: eugh thenightetc: Skis!  I wonder if those are theirs or if they came with the house spitshineandhammertime: SPACICIOUS DOLL Zephra85: There was a picture of them on vactation somewhere rocky, the family seems pretty adventurous when they're not busy/working thenightetc: Ohhh, a button key Knockout: What a miserable mother. spitshineandhammertime: She has stuff hanging around her bed like me! Knockout: This is true! thenightetc: Woah thenightetc: The chat window separated Zephra85: Her picture-frame holder was a preying mantis! Zephra85: She has interesting stuff Knockout: Except for the hideous charred doll that watches you recharge. You don't have one of those. thenightetc: (Flash crashed and... that happened) spitshineandhammertime: nope! no creepy dolls for me! thenightetc: (I didn't know it could do that) thenightetc: ...it's creepy how it moves thenightetc: *LEEEEAAAAANS BACK* thenightetc: I would not eat that food thenightetc: This is obviously some kind of fairy situation here Zephra85: Never eat fae food spitshineandhammertime: ther other mom's not eating anything! SPACICIOUS thenightetc: Is that stitching Knockout: She could have let her have more than three bites. Knockout: ...Is three bites enough for humans? spitshineandhammertime: nuh-uh! humans need way more than three! spitshineandhammertime: i know this from experience! Zephra85: I think she was too unsettled to eat much more thenightetc: And the mud's gone, too! ��And not smeared all over the blankets! Knockout: Convert that spread to Cybertronian fare and I'd eat it surrounded by decapitated, leering heads. spitshineandhammertime: magic tidy mud? spitshineandhammertime: HE WAS GONNA SAY BUTT thenightetc: "hey you need to keep your mice in your OWN apartment" Zephra85: AURGH spitshineandhammertime: mice warning! Zephra85: animals KNOW Lusey: fashionably late am I ;O spitshineandhammertime: \o Zephra85: Hello! thenightetc: Hi! Knockout: Hello there! Lusey: hi! How's everybody today thenightetc: ...aw man thenightetc: that's a little thenightetc: grim spitshineandhammertime: a hand! spitshineandhammertime: spooky fog! thenightetc: ...I wonder if that was hard to do with stop motion thenightetc: Or if they added it later...? Zephra85: Laika DOES add computer effects in their movies thenightetc: ...and the doll left in her place? thenightetc: I thought he said the doll was his Grandma's, or as old as Grandma, or something spitshineandhammertime: i think he said older than his grandma? Zephra85: Remember the beginning of the movie? Zephra85: The doll looked different thenightetc: ...That'd actually make more sense, yeah thenightetc: since it's being reused Zephra85: Somebody took off all the details and re-made it Knockout: Now see, that would be my clue to stop going through the sinister tunnel. thenightetc: So it *would* be older spitshineandhammertime: I'd listen to the mice! Knockout: Mice always know. Zephra85: Yeah but that's the thing about humans, especially adventurous humans Zephra85: Curiosity overpowers common sense thenightetc: That's a little......... alarming spitshineandhammertime: other mom's still not eating! thenightetc: Yeah.  The dad is, though thenightetc: !!! spitshineandhammertime: TAKING PEOPLE'S VOICES IS BAD, CORALINE thenightetc: Did she sew his mouth shut Zephra85: doesn't look like it Zephra85: ... yet Knockout: Maybe she took his tongue? thenightetc: Maybe it's glued shut thenightetc: It sort of looks like it Zephra85: IT POOPS POPCORN thenightetc: I definitely think he can't open his mouth thenightetc: ...if he HAS a mouth and it's not just like.  painted on thenightetc: "You don't mind if we all sit here and watch you sleep, right" Zephra85: 'UGH back in the real world' thenightetc: That's still so unsettling spitshineandhammertime: ...! spitshineandhammertime: it's like my air vents only mine aren't colorful and creepy! Zephra85: I think it's a bad sign when you start spending too much time away from the real world thenightetc: And hopefully aren't all.... soft. spitshineandhammertime: nope! not soft! spitshineandhammertime: just...big? kinda? small but big! Zephra85: This cat is so sassy thenightetc: I love the cat spitshineandhammertime: cats are GREAT Knockout: Sparks below, what's wrong with their mouths? thenightetc: The dogs'? Zephra85: weird little teeth thenightetc: I think the real ones have weird teeth, too Zephra85: Laika does NOT pull punches Knockout: ...I mean, to each their own ideal world? thenightetc: ..."nutritious"? thenightetc: "haha, something horrific!" Knockout: There's always a catch. spitshineandhammertime: YWA Zephra85: AhahahaihavetogolikenOW Thebes: That sure was pleasant thenightetc: WELL. spitshineandhammertime: BAD PIANO thenightetc: the worst thenightetc: ...well spitshineandhammertime: O_O Zephra85: HE SNAPPED ITS NECK thenightetc: He already sounded the alarm, though Zephra85: ... AND IT TURNED INTO A RAT thenightetc: ........nope Zephra85: yeeuch Zephra85: ... Her stars glow in the dark! Zephra85: I want that sweater spitshineandhammertime: glowy sweater! Zephra85: Having fun with the human tech yet, Knock Out? thenightetc: considering the other mother made that sweater, I don't think I'd trust it thenightetc: yarghhhh spitshineandhammertime: poor wybie! Zephra85: I always found it interesting that the Beldam's creations had wills of their own Knockout: The one thing she can't take from them? thenightetc: Maybe they have to, to be convincing spitshineandhammertime: KNITTING NEEDLES! thenightetc: That was unnecessarily alarming Zephra85: Oh now that's just sad Knockout: Oh, that was sad. thenightetc: it is spitshineandhammertime: 3:c Thebes: :< Lusey: my cat likes to do that Lusey: pap pap on the face spitshineandhammertime: mine too! thenightetc: GAH spitshineandhammertime: battle clothes! Zephra85: RESCUE MISSION TIME thenightetc: eugh, ti's all.... clothy thenightetc: Or like insulation thenightetc: ...Is he turning into a literal pumpkin Zephra85: Her magic/illusions are losing their lustre spitshineandhammertime: other dad 3:'( thenightetc: ...are they *powering* the... "wonders"? Zephra85: the essense of the children makes her magic stronger, perhaps Lusey: I need 20 of those Zephra85: Doggie-bats? Lusey: yeh Zephra85: Lookit 'em go! thenightetc: I guess they didn't want to be unmade. spitshineandhammertime: 3:'( Zephra85: Q_Q thenightetc: Gosh how tempting. Knockout: Except eyes, apparently. Zephra85: Laika legit does NOT pull punches on the creepy factor. thenightetc: nooooo spitshineandhammertime: CAT! 3:'D Zephra85: Sassy cat helped! thenightetc: Best cat thenightetc: ruuuuuude thenightetc: !!! spitshineandhammertime: GO CAT GO Zephra85: HER BUTTON EYES Zephra85: CLAWED 'EM RIGHT OFF thenightetc: GOOD Zephra85: intense spitshineandhammertime: i like her planet light! thenightetc: awww Zephra85: aww she got her the gloves spitshineandhammertime: cat forgiveness! Zephra85: d'aww Knockout: Rude. thenightetc: rude! Zephra85: Yeesh after all he did for you you could at LEAST clue him in on the plan thenightetc: Is even that enough, though Knockout: They couldn't just melt it down? spitshineandhammertime: they don't have a hot enough fireplace? thenightetc: Yeah, probably not Zephra85: Aaand Sassy Cat comes through for Coraline again! spitshineandhammertime: doggy has a pizza! thenightetc: That is a lot of tulips spitshineandhammertime: d'you think i could grow tulips? agooddistraction: Aw I missed it Zephra85: Wheeljack! Lusey: love this movie haha spitshineandhammertime: Wheeljack! 3:D thenightetc: Bet you could. :) agooddistraction: I was making out Knockout: I'm sure you could. We should look into getting some. spitshineandhammertime: out of what? agooddistraction: Hey kid spitshineandhammertime: YAY, TULIPS agooddistraction: Uh agooddistraction: Nevermind spitshineandhammertime: 3:o? Zephra85: Ohoho were you now >3 Lusey: with who :3c agooddistraction: 8) thenightetc: ...This music is familiar :o agooddistraction: With Bee Lusey: A+ nice thenightetc: This was good.  Thanks for streaming it! Knockout: My pleasure! spitshineandhammertime: Thanks, Papa~! Zephra85: Yes, thanks Knock Out! Knockout: Thank *you* all for dropping in! Thebes: thanks, it was fun! Lusey: always fun to watch with you guys ^^ Knockout: Have a good night, everyone! Watch out for suspicious buttons. Zephra85: Thanks for the stream! Zephra85: Say hi to Breakdown for me! spitshineandhammertime: We will! Knockout: Oh yes! Zephra85: Bye everybody!