#gonna be careful w joints n strains n shit

[fanficmemes]

Fun thing about having hypermobile condition is that as soon as you meet someone else who has one you immediately bond and share secrets of the trade

[hotwings0203]

Idk what this is but the thought of you being scared of Bakugos quirk is so hot to me

Tw:noncon, predatory behavior

“I swear he’s getting to be more and more like a villain every time I see him,” you giggle with Mina as you two walk out of the class. Bakugo had yet again exploded at one of your shared teachers for correcting him in his pronunciation of a word, and as usual it was quite a scene to behold. Chairs were almost thrown, his friends had to hold him back from leaping up while others egged him on, itching for amusement in their mind-numbingly dull class.

“Maybe Shigaraki was right,” your pink-haired friend snorts and you both collapse in wheezes, clawing and slapping at each other’s shoulders as the ludicrous image of Shigaraki being unable to reign in Bakugo comes to mind.

“Hey ladies, what’re you two laughing about?” A lilting and charming voice comes right at your ear, and you turn to see Denki, Kirishima and…Bakugo walking next to you.

Just because of his proximity and how you were literally just talking about him two seconds ago, you jump away from Bakugo’s glowering face and not so subtly hide behind Mina in a half playful jest.

“Huh? Whatcha ya jumpin’ around for?” Kirishima laughs and you exchange an embarrassed look with Mina.

“Oh nothing, we were just talking about how Bakugo’s quirk is totally villainous. We’re lucky he’s on our side,” Mina singsongs, but you slap her arm in alarm.

And well placed alarm at that, because Bakugo’s scowl deepens as he turns his head to you in a death-glare. You swallow hard seeing his expression and try to nervously laugh.

“But, uh, we were just joking. Right Mina?” You give her a pointed look and she deflects it happily.

“Nope! At least you weren’t, you’re half scared to death of him, isn’t that right Y/N?”

Denki interrupts before you can sputter in horror.

“Honestly, who isn’t scared of this dude?” He claps the other blond on his back and yelps when Bakugo’s hands start curling with smoke.

“Watch it dumbass.” He cranes his head to meet your eyes, but when he finds that you’re still avoiding eye contact with him he starts moving around his friends to better talk to you.

“My quirk isn’t that scary you idiot. It’s not like I care enough about any of you to blow you up-“

But with the smoke still curling form his hands and with the permanently intimidating scowl on his face reading closer and close to your, you can’t help but squeal and scrabble around him to sink your nails into Kirishima’s shoulders for protection.

“Okay, I get it! You don’t have to come any closer, I can see fine from here.” Your voice comes out too high and strained to be deemed as joking, but nonetheless everyone laughs at your dramatic show.

Everyone but Katsuki. Because he can see you’re actually scared, he’s seen it a hundred times on civilians who try to pretend they’re fine but still have that panicked glint in their eye.

“Jesus Y/N, with a reaction like that maybe he really is a villain. Bakubro, want us to send you back to Shigaraki’s place? Maybe you should reconsider his offer.”

And finally at Denki’s quip everyone including you this time laughs again in playful agreement, but yet again Bakugo’s blood starts simmering further.

Why the fuck were you being so obnoxious? He didn’t do anything to you before, right? So why the hell were you embarrassing him in front of all his friends and making him out to be this bloodthirsty monster?

Well, whatever. If a monster is what you want, then a monster is what you’ll get.

And so he waits for you after school, trailing behind you a couple hundred feet yet still keeping you in sight. He curses when you giggle with your friends, no doubt in his mind that you’re still throwing dirt on his name and he swears under his breath when you talk to Deku and his dweeb friends.

Of course when you hang around ditzy dorks like Deku he’s gonna look like a psycho in comparison.

But at one point you’re by the vending machine alone in a deserted hallway, fumbling with your coins and trying to quickly get a soda before your friends up ahead leave.

Too bad for you, because when he’s done with you they’ll never want to be seen with you again for their own safety.

You’re shoving money in the slot when he silently walks up a couple feet behind you.

“No friends around to gossip about me?”

You shriek and jump a good foot in the air at the sudden voice behind you. Clutching your heaving chest, you whirl around to see who it is.

Your blood runs cold. It’s Katsuki Bakugo, the absolute last person you want to be alone with in a deserted hallway.

Your feet move a step back.

Wrong move.

His nostrils flare and his eyes widen at your insulting retreat. You know he doesn’t take kindly to it, but with an expression like that how could you not?

“Uh, w-what do you mean?” You chuckle nervously.

He doesn’t laugh. In fact, he does something worse.

He matches your steps and moves forward a little bit.

At this you fully take a stride backwards and clash with the vending machine behind you.

He keeps advancing, slowly getting closer and checking you out, his head tilted as his eyes roam up and down your vulnerable body.

“Don’t move back. Why the fuck did you move away from me? That’s rude, we were just having a normal conversation.”

You surprise yourself by sounding level-headed in retaliation. “‘Kinda hard not to be a little uncomfortable when your conversation sounds so accusing.”

He lunges forward and you actually scream this time, throwing your hands up above your head in instinct to protect yourself from his proximity.

Bakugo doesn’t touch you but you can still feel his breath puffing on your head, can still feel the heat from his hands on either side of your body.

“You got a smart mouth don’t you? Is that why you embarrassed me earlier in front of everyone?”

“Embarrassed you-?” You squeak but immediately cut off when he thrusts his face right in front of yours, a manic look on his face as all his facial features stretch into a irate leer.

“I guess we’ll have to fix that tongue of yours. Put it to better use than to talk shit about me, right?”

Vermilion irises move from your face down your body, lingering on your chest and at the apex in between your legs.

Bile rises to your throat as he licks his lips and lets his lips ghost over yours, oh so close yet not touching.

And in the second before he descends, you shove him off with nothing but pure adrenaline feeling your fear and race past him, blindly running down the halls as fast as you can.

Surprisingly, you don’t hear anyone behind you. That doesn’t mean you don’t stop running though.

The real reason you don’t hear anyone behind you is because Katsuki Bakugo has an eerie smile on his face at your bolt. He languidly stretches his arms above his head and relishes in the popping of his joints, and in succession the popping of sparks in his hand. He kicks one leg out, then the other just to ensure you get a fair head start.

You’ve just made this so much more interesting.

He sets off at a light jog, and even in his carefree pace his strides are enough to eventually catch up with you, instinct like an animal’s guiding him through the winding halls and ending up catching a glimpse of your feet as you turn into another lane.

You’re panting, sweat pouring down your eyes as panic makes it hard to breathe or think rationally. The adrenaline that was pushing you is now dying down but at the worst time.

You take a quick glance back and your rapidly beating heart falters as you see him with a grin on his face as he practically jogs leisurely behind you. You’ve seen this same face on him when he’s in the battlefield, blasting through enemy hearts and blowing up heads as if they were fireworks.

He’s bloodthirsty. He wants you.

“Running away again? That’s not very heroic of you babe,” he calls out, and it’s terrifyingly infuriating how he’s not out of breath.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you half scream and sob, trying to run faster but failing miserably.

You see a bathroom sign out of the corner of your eye and frantically stumble towards it.

Katsuki knows you know he’s even you take a turn and he laughs to himself at how boringly easy this is.

Maybe he was scary.

He shakes it off and continues his hunt after you, coming forth until he faces the bathroom door in which you were cowering behind.

There’s a small window, and no other door. Just a couple of stalls, a terrified girl, and a psycho with the taste of revenge practically palpable on his lustful tongue.

He knock with faux politeness. “You wanna come out and do this the easy way or you want me to barge in and take you myself?”

You sob and wheeze in response, desperately pushing against the flimsy door in a pathetic attempt to keep him out. Bakugo merely crosses his arms and leans against the door, staring intently at it with a smile still on his face.

Judging by the weight pushing more at the bottom of the door, he can tell you’re probably sitting down in an effort to catch your breath.

You both know he can come in at any time he so well pleases, but he decides he’ll play by your rules for a bit longer, indulge you a little before your inevitable downfall.

He hums loudly and slides down to join your parallel position on the floor.

“I’m tryina be nice here, y’know. You acted so scared of me when I never even bothered you before. Aren’t I being nice right now by letting you choose for yourself?”

He sounds so conversational, as if he were talking to one of his buddies. You stay silent but your silence speaks volumes.

It serves as nothing but a means to piss him off further.

The two of you sit in silence for seemingly hours, even though it’s only around 20 minutes. Every second you feel like he’s going to break down the door any second and blast your face off, but miraculously he doesn’t.

You don’t know what you’d rather prefer: for him to prolong your strained agony by letting you be so close yet so far from him, or to end your suffering and get it done with.

But you needn’t sit in silence stewing in your own fear any further, for at the exact moment you begin to doze off with the dying of the light the weight on the other side of the door lifts and you startle awake at the scuffling on the other side.

You blink a couple of times and blanch when you see through the window the purple light indicating that you really have been here longer than you thought.

Bakugo cracks his knuckles and rolls his head, popping a few more kinks in his neck before breathing out and bracing for impact.

“Ready or not little bitch, here I come.”

“Bakugo, wait-!”

But your plea doesn’t last for more than two words. The door bangs open with such a sound that you actually think he’s blasted it straight off his hinges. You gasp and shield yourself, jumping backwards and covering your face.

“‘Thought I made it clear by now that you can’t run. So why’d you try to leave? Huh? Think you’re smarter than me? You think you’re stronger than me?”

He’s stalking forward again, and you’re left tripping back over your feet and whimpering at his salacious intent as he backs you up and corners you into a stall.

He already knows the answers to his rhetorical questions but he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear that scornful conviction in your voice about how big and bad he was that you used earlier.

With you tripping backwards into the cramped stall, his approach quickens in hunger at feeling you, feeling the fear radiating off your body.

Bakugo presses up against you against the wall and takes up the space around you, invading your personal bubble. He’s everywhere, growling in your ear, hands gripping your waist so tight you’re sure bruises sprout from his touch, his erect penis grinding on the inside of your thigh.

Your trepidation and terror rises to an insurmountable height as he smothers you.

When he suddenly grips your chin and forces your head to face him you gasp. His touch is even more callous than you thought.

“You lookin’ here bitch? Good.”

His palm is raised towards you and before you can even widen your eyes in realization his appendage starts sparking madly. You shriek and try to throw him loose as little bits of embers fly out and made your face, his voice rough as always yet dangerously low and soft.

“S’not so scary after all is it? You’re reacting better to it than I thought.” Bakugo Blanca you mocks your writhing figure as you desperately try to evade the mini explosions.

“Okay, I get it, please stop I don’t like it!” You shrilly cry out but his hand moves from your jaw down to your neck, and squeezes the last remnants of opposition out of you.

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad you get it. But honestly, I don’t care if you don’t like it.

Because I like it. I fucking love this quirk, ‘specially when you cower so prettily under it like you did earlier.”

You choke and try to scrabble at his hands but it’s like a butterfly’s touch to him, barely producing any fruition.

“I kept wondering to myself: why do I care if she’s scared of it? And then I realized,” he leans in and lets his lips brush over your ear, lets his hand lessen ever so slightly so that your main focus is his words.

“You just looked good enough to eat when you know you’re beneath me. When you know how dangerous I am.”

He pulls back and assesses the look on your face. “Makes you look good enough to eat.”

And without further ado he lowers his hand and starts rubbing his alit palm on your clothed pussy, his erection getting harder as your screams wilt into whines.

Your legs flail uselessly as he burns a hole through your pants and his fingers hook aside the band of your panties.

Bakugo thrusts his hips forwards and grinds his straining cock on your moist lips, taking in your blubbers and teary eyes.

You can’t even speak, you can only cry out like a child as he thrusts harder and harder, so hard that your back hits the wall painful and the stall walls rattle behind you.

“You-pant-fucking scared-pant-now slut?” He rasps, his head bobbing on rhythm with yours as he practically lifts you off your toes to match his pace.

Your clit is caught between the fabric and rolled cruelly pleasurable as his tip leaks precum, staining your own panties in the process.

With your attention rapt on his now-uncovered dick sliding in and out of your folds, he takes this opportunity to take his other hand off your neck and blast the wall next to your face.

The second you open your mouth in shock as bits of tile rain down on your face he slams his steaming palm over your lips, burning the soft flesh as you weep openly.

He sets off two more near your sides and another above your head, his own face aligned right in front of yours so you can see the mean smile on his face all the while he sets your heart racing at an alarming speed.

When the smoke clears and you can start feeling glass and tile imprint on your once-smooth face, he positions his dick up so that it prods at your hole and yanks your hair back.

His eyes practically glow with the mini fires preserved in the walls with his blasts, the impact of the air rushing around him makes his hair even spikier, his body is taunt and even more imposing than before.

His teeth gleam with the orange and red light next to you. His chest doesn’t heave, because he’s at ease with your terror.

“You think you know fear?”

With one swift movement he shoves up into you, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth.

“You haven’t met me truly yet.”

[pascalpanic]

hi angel 🥺 i’ve had some time to think of what i want to request and i’ve finally come up with something ;-;

do you think you could write something comforting (doesn’t have to be long!) where maxwell is caring for a reader who is a little tipsy or drunk? the reader is the kind of drunk who’s giggly and playful. and he’s super sweet and gentle with her. maybe they already have a pre-established relationship? maybe some slimy guy is hitting on her and he gets all protective and takes her home? and i’d neverrrrr object to smut either. but i’m leaving it up to you to write whatever you think works the best. i just miss reading soft and protective maxwell yanno ;-;

Overdoing It (Maxwell Lord x f!Reader)

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: alcohol obviously, sexual innuendo, Maxwell lifts reader so I know some ppl aren’t comfy with that

A/N: RACH MY LOVE I’m sorry this took so long but I’m glad I finally did it bc I love how it turned out! ALSO HAPPY WW84 DAY (July fourth) SO WHAT WONDERFUL TIMING!

You certainly had not intended to imbibe to the level you had tonight. The problem was Maxwell, really, although in the best possible way.

The man has a high tolerance; you, admittedly, have one considerably lower than his. You love seeing Maxwell when he’s tipsy. It’s rare that you get to see it and remember it. The times that he’s tipsy are the times where you’re next to vomiting.

But tonight was a celebration, and Maxwell spared no expense. You’d finally received a position in a job you’d dreamed of, one that caused the two of you to spend hours poring over applications and perfecting cover letters. It was a success for the both of you, you said, but Maxwell insisted that it was all you.

You’d said that takeout was just fine with you, so long as Maxwell was there, but he insisted that a bigger celebration was in order. You didn’t really mind; you love getting dressed up to go out. Max made a reservation at a nice place in downtown D.C. and kept the specific place a surprise from you until now.

As you walked inside, the gorgeous atmosphere made you lose your breath for a moment. Your eyes nearly watered as you looked at Maxwell, and he simply kissed your forehead. “You deserve it, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

The words aren’t exactly rare from Maxwell, but they mean the world to you. Having someone tell you that they love you is one thing, but having someone say they’re proud of you is a completely different one. “I love you,” you grinned and followed him to your table, lacing your fingers through his.

Dinner was wonderful, unsurprisingly. Maxwell had scanned the menu the last time he came here, with business cohorts, and been certain you would like it. The delight on your face as you scanned the menu confirmed it, and Maxwell mentally gave himself a little pat on the back.

You’d ordered appetizers and drinks, then more drinks with the main course (two to accompany the meal, to be exact), and then more with dessert. By then, you were starting to feel a little tipsy, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Slowly, as you left the restaurant, the alcohol sunk in. The drinks were stronger than they’d seemed.

Luckily, Maxwell has a chauffeur. He’d had as many drinks as you, but the man’s tolerance is quite high. He seems barely affected, if not slightly looser and more carefree. The two of you made your way outside, Maxwell holding his arm around your waist to ensure that you didn't stumble; just in case, he reminded you, but you didn’t believe him.

In the car, you snuggle into Maxwell’s side happily, resting your head on his shoulder. “Buckle please, love,” he insists and wraps an arm around you.

“No,” you whine, kissing the soft cologned skin of his neck. “You’re too cozy.”

Maxwell laughs and nestles into you. “I’ll excuse it this once, only because I trust Jeeves,” he teases you. “How are you feeling, love?”

“So happy,” you smile up at him, dazed but content. The alcohol has brought you to a state of bliss now; love for Maxwell, a full stomach from the wonderful dinner, pride in your achievement.

Maxwell nods. “Of course you are,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

“Ooh, do we have wine at home?” You ask, sitting up and looking at him. “You need a few more.”

“No, no more drinks,” he chuckles and pulls you back into his side. “I think we’re both done for the night, don’t you?” His hands slide over your shoulders, smoothing the bare skin that’s cold to the touch.

You pout at him and Maxwell turns his face away, smiling. “No, I can’t look at that. I won’t be able to say no.”

“Please, baby?” You plead with big eyes.

“We have wine at home,” Maxwell tells you, even though he’s unsure whether or not it’s true. Either way, he won’t be allowing you to drink any of it.

Sighing, you snuggle into his side, shivering. “Car’s cold,” you murmur.

Maxwell removes his suit jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, kissing your head and smiling down at you warmly. “How’s that?”

“Smells like your cologne,” you practically purr like a satisfied cat as you wrap yourself in the expensive fabric. “I love you so much, Maxie-poo.”

“I love you too, darling,” he chuckles. The chauffeur brings you to his house not long after, and Maxwell offers you a hand when you get out of the car.

Sitting in the seat, you frown up at him. “I’m fine, Max.” Standing in your high heels, your wobbly legs thanks to the alcohol send you falling into Maxwell, who catches you.

“Fine, yes,” he chuckles and lifts you back to standing. “Take off your shoes and let me help you inside.”

Sighing and crossing your arms, you step out of your shoes, calves screaming a thank you for removing them from those torture devices. He reaches down and picks them up, ass straining in his suit, and you can’t help but give it a smack, giggling.

“Oh, no, little miss,” Maxwell playfully chides and grabs your arm. “Let’s get you inside, tiger.”

Your legs lead your brain without any thought, drunkenly stumbling your way inside. Maxwell’s arms are your support, really the only thing to keep you from falling. He purposely steers you away from the path leading to the kitchen, knowing you’ll ask for more alcohol should you see it. When you reach the foot of the stairs, you groan and look at Maxwell with puppy eyes. You know his back has been bad lately, his joints ache when the humidity rises, but you can’t do this without him. “Can you carry me? Please?” You ask him.

Maxwell chuckles and kisses your head tenderly. “I suppose. Climb on my back.” He stands with his palms the wall, squatting for you to jump up on him.

The formal dress makes it difficult, but you hop up, both of you groaning as you latch onto him. “I love you so goddamn much,” you babble happily, kissing along the skin behind his ears.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” he grunts as he makes his way up the stairs, his knees aching from the weight of carrying absolutely anything on his back.

When he reaches the top, you get down and sigh, kissing him sloppily. “You’re the best.”

“I’m wonderful,” he sighs and rolls his eyes, leading you to the bedroom and letting you plop down on his plush California king bed.

You strip off his suit jacket and toss it at him, and he catches it without even looking. “Don’t even think about seducing me tonight, darling. You’re too far gone,” he chuckles.

His words make you frown and stop in the middle of unzipping your dress slowly. “I wasn’t gonna,” you grumble and stand, slipping out of the dress and getting under the thick covers of the bed.

“Sure,” Maxwell smiles and retreats into his large closet. He returns in pajama pants and the white tee he wore under his button-up.

He looks so soft like this, and even drunk, you recognize what a privilege it is to see him like this. His large suits hide his frame, but you can see the soft curve of his tummy, his broad shoulders and narrow torso. “We should get married,” you blurt to him, your heart-eyes penetrating through to his center.

“You’re drunk,” he shakes his head as he wanders to the bathroom. He returns with his thick-rimmed glasses on, and it completes the look, his highlighted hair messy and beginning to curl.

He sits on his side of the bed and hands you a glass of water and some painkillers. “You’re going to feel like shit in the morning, and you’re not allowed to blame me.”

“I won’t,” you pout and take the pills, rolling onto your side to face him. His legs are beneath the covers, and one of yours snakes to his and wraps your ankle around his.

Max smiles softly at the gesture. He recognizes it. You need his touch, want to snuggle tonight rather than keep to your own in his spacious bed. He lies down and you quickly scoot over to him, resting your head and a palm on his chest.

“I love you, dear,” he murmurs and kisses your forehead, his hand stroking your back lovingly. “You sleep now. Please.”

“I want to cuddle a little longer,” you frown and look up at him, face barely peeking out from the covers.

Max laughs. “Of course. We’ll stay like this, but at least make an effort to fall asleep. Your headache in the morning will be better if you sleep more.”

“Fine,” you sigh and scoot your body as close to his as possible, kissing his chest through the plain white t-shirt. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he repeats and sets his glasses to the side, letting himself sink into the squishy bed. He’ll surely have to care for you in the morning too, but he doesn’t mind. It’s worth it.

-

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[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

“Did we fuck last night?” Smut starter w/ our baby boy Santiago ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love your work :)

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt and the kind words! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for every reblog, comment, and like. 

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + (For language, oral (F! Receiving), vaginal sex, alcohol use NSFW

My Masterlist 

Last Night at the Party 

Unknown number: Good Morning. 

You: ...Morning...who is this? 

Unknown number: Santiago Garcia, ya know Frankie's friend. 

Fuuuuucccckkkkk

Santiago Garcia: Quick question...did we fuck last night? 

You groan and fall back into the bed, your hand thrown over your eyes as the sunlight fights to sneak through the crack in the curtains. Your head pounds from the amount of alcohol you consumed the night before. Frankie and his fiancé, not wanting to be apart even one night, had a joint bachelor/bachelorette party. 

You worked in the front office at the tour office. Frankie flew for and had quickly become fast friends. He was funny, sweet, and a wonderful friend. But with Frankie came Santiago Garcia, the man who stalked your dreams. He was handsome as fuck, with salt and pepper curls and deep brown eyes. His arms always straining against the fabric of his t-shirts. The man had an ass that was simply divine. Many a night, you had dreamt of kneading it in your hands as he slammed into you. 

But he never noticed you. Not at least in the way you wanted to be seen. You tried on the days you knew he would be coming by. Wearing tighter clothes or shorter dresses and attempting your best at flirting. The only thing gained by any of this was Frankie's amusement as he slung an arm around your shoulder and told you there were better men than Pope. 

That's another thing, the nickname; Pope. You once asked Frankie about it jokingly. Frankie told you it was because Santi in the army brought people closer to God, and all the women he fucked. You had just about given up all hope, till last night. 

********

The party was in full swing when you arrived—wearing a dark blue halter dress that stopped just above your knees, converse, and a black leather jacket. Frankie and his fiancee greeted you with a hug and gave you the rundown of the land. It was casual. They had rented out a private space in the local brewery. You could order anything on the menu and open bar. Thank fuck for that as you watched Santiago flirt with some redhead at the bar. 

You walk down to the opposite end, sit down, motion for the bartender, and ask for an IPA. You try everything in your power to keep from looking over at him, but your eyes stray without your knowledge. Gazing around at the way the denim hugs him in all the right places, the top buttons on his shirt opened up to see the sun-kissed skin peeking through. It's almost magnetic the way his eyes drift up to meet yours across the sea of strangers. You see him smile and turn back to his partner before he grabs his beer and heads over to you. 

"Is this seat taken?" his deep baritone snaps you out of your head, and you look at him, nodding. "You're the girl who works in Frankie's office, right? The secretary?" 

"Yep, that's me, the secretary," you take a deep drink from your beer and try to keep the passive aggression out of your tone, turning snarky instead. "And you're that guy who comes and talks to Frankie and interrupts my office with idle chit chat." 

He looks a little taken aback, but he brushes it off, grinning, "I never knew you had this much fire in you. What's your name?" 

You roll your eyes, "I have told you my name on four separate occasions, and now you want to know it again? Why don't you guess?" 

"Okay," he smiles, taking a drink, "how about ginger?" 

"I think your thinking about your friend on the other side of the bar," you laugh and gesture for another drink. 

"Fuck," he mumbles under his breath, going through a plethora of names, none of which is your own. You've finished two beers before he actually guessed your first name correct—each name sinking the knife deeper and deeper into your chest. 

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner," you sarcastically chime, and he smiles, a real genuine broad smile. Fuck him and his perfect smile. "With how many names you had to guess, I'm actually delighted you never noticed me. I'd probably have an STD." He spits out the drink in his mouth, coughing and patting his chest with his fist. 

He laughs, looking at you wide-eyed, "I do not have any fucking diseases. I get tested regularly." 

"When was the last time?" you can tell he's thinking back. 

"Tuesday," he says triumphantly, "and I haven't fucked anyone since then so." He takes another sip of his drink, grinning at you over the glass. 

"So if I wanted to fuck you, it would have to be tonight?" You casually sip your drink, staring at him, bold from the alcohol flowing through your system. 

He sputters and coughs again, choking on his drink. "Are you trying to kill me?" he puts a hand to his forehead and looks at you. "Are you serious?" 

"I want you to fuck me Santiago," you take his hand down the rest of your drink and pull him towards the back of the brewery. Your eyes connect with Frankie, and you give him a wink pulling a shit-eating grinning Santi behind you. He walks past you and pulls you into the cold night air of the alley. 

It was dark and deserted; the country music blaring from inside echoed off the exterior's red brick wall. For an alley, it was relatively clean. The sidewalk to the public wasn't visible from around the dumpsters. Not the most romantic spot, but when Santiago latched his lips onto the soft skin below your ear. The spicy scent of his cologne overwhelming your senses. 

"Does that feel good?" he whispers huskily in your ear, nipping the lobe lightly. The moan you release has him smiling against your skin, "that's a yes," he chuckles. 

"Stop teasing me," you whine as he gropes your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. He pulls away from your neck and tilts your chin up to look at him. 

"Do you want this?" he whispers, a ghost of his lips on your lips. 

You don't answer, only lunging forward and recapturing his lips in a moan. He uses the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth. You fight in a battle for dominance that he eventually wins. His hands moving beneath the shell of your leather jacket and running over the smooth skin of your exposed back. 

He takes his time moving down to your cheek, your neck, and then sucking hard into the skin of your collarbone. You are sure to have bruises tomorrow, but at this point, you don't fucking care. His hands move further down and cup your ass before moving under your dress, sliding your panties down slowly, he unlatches from your sensitive skin. Dropping to his knees and groaning, pulling down your panties over your converse before pocketing them. 

He throws your dress over his head and dives into your folds, his tongue working against your throbbing clit. You grab the side of the dumpster as you feel the scuffle from his face, scratch against your thighs, as he rocks his tongue back and forth over you. "Fuck," you moan as you feel him slip one thick finger slide into your pussy. Your head drops back, hitting the brick wall. He chuckles, and the vibrations draw another deep moan from inside as you pant. 

The sound of the backdoor of the brewery opening snaps your head to the side. Your bottom half is covered from the dumpster, and you frantically hit Santi on the head. Still, he doesn't stop, instead adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. Frankie's signature cap pops out into the alley, and he turns to look at you. You try your best to smile and bite down hard on your tongue, almost drawing blood as he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

"Hey! We're about to do speeches, and Santi's my best man. Have you seen him?" 

"N-n-no," you stutter, and Santi reaches a hand on your ass to push you even further into his mouth. "We came out here to talk, but he left like five minutes ago? Maybe he went out f-f-front." 

Frankie looks at you, questioningly, "Are you okay? You're acting kind of strange." 

You yelp, throwing a hand down on top of the dumpster with a laugh, "I am just fantastic, you know, if I see Santiago, I will be sure to tell him he's needed." 

"Okay, thanks," he throws out a wave going back inside with a click of the door. 

"Such a good girl," Santi chuckles from beneath your dress, and you feel yourself cum all over his tongue gushing around him as he adds a third finger pulsing inside you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, and he keeps licking and fucking you with his mouth. His nickname making more and more sense as you literally feel closer to God. You dig your fingers into his curls and pull his mouth away. Dragging him up to kiss you again, you taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you even wetter. 

He steps back and unbuttons his jeans pulling out his cock. He's thick and rigged, the tip spewing pre-cum. He grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom making you giggle. "Hey, every good soldier comes prepared," he laughs, pulling it on. 

He pushes you back further into the brick, bringing your legs up around his waist and bunching your dress up. He lines himself up, and you look into his eyes, stifling a scream as he slams into you. You've never felt so full in your entire life, clenching around him as he starts to slowly rock into you. 

You converse crossed against his back as he kisses you again slowly and passionately. Not the quick fuck you thought he would give you. For the location and the time, it was strangely intimate. "Are you okay?" you pants against your neck. 

"Yes," you gasp as he hits inside you just right, "just, please don't stop." He pulls away from your neck and kisses you again, licking into your mouth. 

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna treat you right." He picks up the place and reaches down between you to your sensitive clit rubbing it in time with his thrusts. 

"Oh fuck, right there, Pope," you moan, and he picks up the pace. The brick digging into your back as he furiously fucks into you. Your orgasm slams into you without warning, and you tug on his curls, throwing your head back as you stile a scream. 

"Yes, cum for me," he praises you through a second orgasm. Three more thrusts and he's cumming, biting down on your exposed shoulder as he groans. You both come down from your high, and he pulls away, smiling at you. You laugh at his mused hair, lipstick smeared across his face, he looks freshly fucked, and you feel a sense of pride knowing you did that to him. 

The awkward, you've just fucked a mutual acquaintance in an alley moment comes faster than you anticipate. He pulls out and ties off the condom throwing it in the dumpster and pulling up his jeans, relatching them. You straighten your appearance the best you can. Running your fingers through your mused hair. You search the alley floor for your panties hoping to throw them away or better burn them when you hear a whistle. 

Santi is standing before the back door holding your panties on the crook of his finger and smiling. "I have to go back and give my speech, but after… I would really love to buy you a drink. Maybe we can go back to my place for another couple of rounds?" 

You bite your lip, nodding, and he smiles, pocketing your panties and going inside. The door latches, and you sigh, closing your eyes and trying not to freak out. The door slams open; you jump as Santi runs back out and closes the distance kissing you again. The kind of kiss you feel down to the tips of your toes. He places his forehead against yours. "I really want to see you again, don't run away, okay?" he whispers before kissing you again and running back inside. 

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

You look at the text message again. The perfect night of passion with Santiago, and he doesn't even remember if you...The phone chimes again. 

Santiago Garcia: I'm a moron. I don't know why I said that. I know that we did. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life. 

You: Then what the fuck, Santiago?

Santiago Garcia: I want to take you to breakfast, on a date. It's the least you could do after bailing on me last night. 

You: Well, I'm not sure I want to. 

Santiago Garcia: Well, that makes this awkward. 

You: What? 

Knock Knock 

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @a-seeker-of-imagination @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @letoartreiides 

Also tagging @josepedropascal Oscar Train toot toot 

[lupinlutanic]

"Gone?" (Negan x reader)

Negan x reader

Hi guys! This is a repost of my first Negan fic because I feel like it was in the wrong blog. So enjoy, everybody who might not have been able to find it before. ☺ (Negan pov) It had been a looong day of fighting both the dead and the living. Some of the groups still had to be put in their place, but it usually wasn’t anything that a humorous threat couldn’t solve. Other than a few loosey goosies here and there the run had been overall successful. Food in their bellies, supplies for the Sanctuary, and guns for the amorey. Yep… a good day if he did say so himself. And he did, with a little grin. With a bit of a pep in his step, he headed upstairs towards the wives’ parlor room; Lucille swinging almost giddley in his grasp. “Well, hello ladies,” he drawled out as he practicling swung himself through the open doorway. They all turned at the sound of his voice, knowing that when Negan entered a room it was best to pay attention. Sauntering over to the bar, Negan poored himself a glass of scotch and tossed it back with a gulp. He chuckled as he wiped the moisture from his lips. Sharry approached cautiousley. It was very rare that their leader was in such a good mood, and the last thing that she wanted was to accidentally set him off. “Good day?” she inquired. He replied with a full toothed smile, “Hell of a fucking good one! Almost perfect, except for a few loose ends. But, Lucille can handle that kinda shit, heheh!” Sharry had to keep herself from rolling her eyes at his crude comments. She knew that the other wives would agree in that they didn’t want to know what Negan got up to when he wasn’t around. Breathing out an exaggerated sigh, Negan rolled his shoulders allowing tight muscles and sore joints to strech and pop. “Yep,” he said; popping the p at the end,“I believe a massage from one of my beautiful fucking wives will do me some good right before bed.” He almost laughed when they all went suddenly silent. He wasn’t bad to them, but he knew that any one of them would drop him, given the chance to do so. However; he couldn’t keep himself from needling them. “Aaaw, now don’t all speak up at once.” “It’s Y/N’s night,” Amber’s quick whisper broke the silence and all eyes turned to her hunched form on the couch. Hearing Negan’s happy chuckles, Sharry turned to face him with a glare. “Well, I guess tonight’s gonna end up pretty fucking perfect. AFTER. ALL,” he said emphasizing every word. With that he drug his tongue over his teeth until his lips landed in a devilish smirk. His version of a fuck you to Sharry. Pushing off from the bar he strutted out the door and down the hall, whistling as he went. Closer to his room was a narrow door that lead to the only other room up there. Y/N’s room. She hadn’t liked the idea of staying with the other wives so she had begged him for her own room, and it was getting to where he had a rediculously hard fucking time saying no to that woman. And, it was getting worse as he spent more time around her. The other wives simply sat in the parlor all day and were as content as could be wether he came around or not. But, he had known Y/N was different the moment he met her. Since her agreeance to being his wife about two years ago; she had convinced him to give her her own room, let her accompany him on his dailey walk abouts, show her how to use a gun and knife, and she’s even cleaned Lucille a time or two. She has him so God damn wrapped around her cute, little fucking pinky finger that he can feel the collar pulling tight around his neck every now and then. Oddly enough, he’s grown rather used to and maybe… a bit fucking fond of the feeling. Giving in to Y/N’s little demands reminded him of a simpler time that he usually didn’t like to be reminded of. Raising Lucille from her perch on his shoulder, Negan tapped the bat in a knocking motion on the metal door. “Open the fuck up, baby doll! Haha, you have the honor of dealing with my gorgous self tonight,” he chuckled. … No answer. Blinking in confusion, he tried again. Knocks a little harder; the bangs echo through the quiet hall. “Doll! Are you napping in there!?” … Silence. Grumbling curses under his breathe, Negan throws his weight into the door shoving it open and almost breaking it. He’s stopped short when he sees that the room is empty. The bed is made with no one in it, the bathroom door is flung open with no body inside, and the whole room is dead silent except for his breathing. Heaving a heavy sigh and running his hand through his hair, Negan walks out of the bedroom and down to his own. He opens the door and begins pulling off his jacket, scarf, and propping Lucille up against the wall. A large relief falls over his mind as he realizes that he knows where Y/N is, now. Back when she’d first moved into her room next to his, she had bad insomnia. And since he couldn’t very well have her fucking wandering around the damn Santuary at God knows what fucking hour, he’d offered her to sleep in his room so that she wouldn’t be alone. Thinking now, he couldn’t really remember when it had gone from Y/N crashing on his couch to her now crawling into his bed every other night. Now days if he didn’t find her in her room at about this time of day it meant that she had snuck into his for an earley nap. He couldn’t count how many times she had been waiting for him, whenever he got home. No one else ever waited or even cared if he got home at all. A small smile tugged at his lips as he walked over to his bedroom door. He knew that he’d find Y/N curled up in his blankets and hugging his pillow just like he always did when she’d chosen to spend the night with him. “You better have something fucking good for me in return for having to play hide and seek with your ass, doll!” he joked; pushing the door open. The door creeked open and his smile slowly left his face. The bed was empty and made as he had left it this morning. The bathroom door was open, revealing that it too was vacant. The room hadn’t been touched, which meant that Y/N had not been here. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t in her room. He didn’t know where she was!? WHERE THE FUCK WAS SHE!? Breathing heavy and labored, Negan turned and sprinted out of the room; knocking Lucille over in the process. But, he didn’t notice. He had to find Y/N! She wasn’t where she was supposed to be; she wasn’t where she always was! He jolted to a stop in front of the wives’ parlor. They all jumped when he slammed the door open. He was huffing and puffing from anger, exhaustion, and … fear. “WHERE IS SHE!?” The women only looked at him with fear and confusion. They didn’t know what he was talking about. He roared, “Y/N! WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE!?” He was losing his grip on what little patience he had. They all trembled, afraid that this was going to end in bloody punishment. Thankfully, Sharry stepped up. “We don’t know. We havn’t seen her all day.” The air left Negan’s lungs. His shoulders slumped as he ran through a million thoughts in his head. The wives didn’t know where Y/N was. No one else in the Santuary really knows Y/N, so none of the regular workers would be able to tell him where she’d gone, either. And, the only savior who knew her was Simon, but he had been on the run wih Negan today. He didn’t know where she was! And he had no way of finding out! With one thought in his head, Negan stormed out of the parlor and ran down the hallway until he reached the kitchen. It was around supper time so the big cafeteria was crowded with people waiting to be served and the cooks who worked in the back. Just a normal night. That is, until the big bad leader comes sprinting into the room looking like a ghost was on his tale. After placing himself in the middle of the crowded mess hall, Negan almost choked on his own breath as began to shout. “Y/N!” He was hyperventalating, and clawing his hands through his disheveled hair as he continued to search the crowd in a panic. “Y/N! FUCK, BABY DOOOOLLL!?” Everywhere he looked he saw faces fucking staring at him. Some that he recognized, some that he didn’t. But it didn’t fucking matter, because none of them were Y/N. Taking one last wheezing breathe and preparing to scream his lung out, Negan gave one final call. “Y/N!!” “Negan!” His head jerked in the direction of the sound. When his dark eyes met hers through the crowd, Negan felt as if gravity itself was forcing him towards her. He ran. He ran until he reached her and when her tiny body knocked into his chest he quickly locked his arms around her. With shaky breathes, he pulled back so he could look at her. Y/N was smiling like she always did whenever Negan would hug her or kiss her. Not a care in the world. But at the moment, he felt as if the world had just fucking shattered. And, he was still trying to put the pieces back together. Bringing his hands up to cup her face, to touch, to reassure himself that she was there; Negan let out a shaky breath, “W..Where the fuuck were you?” Y/N cocked her head, brow raised. Her wide eyes full of the innocence of a puppy. “I was with Simon,” she answered. Her voice was low, worried that she might further upset Negan. Just then, Negan realized that Simon was standing behind Y/N with a look of concern. With a small smile; the savior explained,“She found an apple tree just outside the gates. She came and grabbed me just as soon as we got back. We went and picked a few to bring back to the kitchen.” Sure enough, Simon was holding a small whicker basket full of green apples. A big smile broke out on Y/N’s face as she looked back at Negan. He felt her arms hug him tight as she spoke animatedly. “Me and Simon even found a bunch more trees! He said that if we could fence off that little space of woods that we could have our own orchard!” Her eyes were shining with excitement; she was so proud of herself. Negan could practically feel her bubbling happiness, and that had him smiling back at her. But, he could tell that his face was strained. After noticing this, Y/N suddenly fell serious. “Negan?” she asked; her head tilting in that inquiring way. “Y-yeah, baby doll?” he was still shaking; but his full attention was zeroed in on her. Eyes pleading, she gently intwined her tiny fingers with his own. “Can we go home?” In that moment, he would have given her anything. Hell, he would have given her anything at any fucking moment. So, with a tired sigh of both relief and exhaustion; he simply nodded his heavy head. Tightening his hold on her hand, Negan turned to lead them out of the crowded cafeteria when he realized that everyone was staring. “WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK ARE YOU ASSHOLES LOOKING AT!?” Of course, this quickly sent everyone into minding their own buisness. Shaking his head, Negan quickly lead Y/N through the halls and up the stairs until they reached his room. He closed and locked the door, not wanting any interruptions lest he kill somebody. He wasn’t exactly feeling his fucking fittest at the moment. “Lucille!” the squeel made him jerk around until he saw Y/N picking his prized possesion up off of the floor. “What are you doing on the ground?” she said as she held the barbed bat with gentle hands. Negan was always amazed at the amount of respect that Y/N showed Lucille. She didn’t know how or why the weapon was so important to him, but all that matters was that it was. So, he could only stare wide eyed as she carefully placed the bat in it’s designated spot. The chair by the window that nobody used. Honestly, Negan couldn’t remember if he’d knocked Lucille over or not. He had been in a fucking panic like no other. He felt bad that he hadn’’t even thought to pick her up. “Ready for bed?” asked Y/N as she turned away from Lucille. She could tell that something had been bothering him. Something major. But, she also knew that Negan would rather chew a pinecone than tell her. So, her best bet was to get him into bed and get him relaxed. She didn’t like how on edge being the leader made Negan. “Um …yeah,” he answered with a small nod. After the huge emotional cataclysm he’d just been through, his body and brain were a bit numb as the reconstruction was going on. Y/N giggled at his slow ass reply, before waltzing over and taking his hand in hers. “Let’s go then. I’m pretty tired too,” she said as she lead him to the bedroom. Negan followed; again, too fucking numb to really do anything else. Just like all the times that they had slept together before, they were completely comfortable with each other. Y/N stripped out of her day clothes and stole one of his white t-shirts that landed just bellow her ass. Too hot to sleep in anything more, really. Meanwhile, Negan lost everything but his tight fitting, black boxers. They both crawled into the huge bed. Him on the right side that had always been his, and her on the left that she had gradually claimed as hers. After flicking the lamp off, Negan felt a tug on his bare shoulder. He knew what she wanted, and sure enough, when he rolled over to face her in the dark he could still see her arms thrown out towards him. Reaching for him with adoration in her eyes. When his only reply was a cocked brow, Y/N stuck out that bottom lip and did her best God damned impression of a kicked puppy. She was fucking cheating! “Please, I need it,“she whispered; which actually meant that she thought that he needed it. And after the mother fucking day that he had had, he sure as shit needed it. However; he was not going to fucking admit that to anyone. So, Negan answered with an indignant grunt, "Fine.” Y/N smiled as he crawled over her; the bed dipping comfortingly beneath their combined weight. Negan finally let himself settle into her embrace. His head rested comfortably on her chest, just above her breasts. Their bodies were alined and pressed together from the stomach down. She held him close, arms wrapped around his neck. Small hands running absentmindedly through his hair. And, he held her even closer. Arms looped around her waist, pulling her tightly against his body. As he laid there with his ear pressed to her soft skin, listeneing to her steady heart beat; Negan thought about how bad today could have gone. It had turned out to be nothing but a shit ton of bad timing, but what if it hadn’t been? When he hadn’t found her in her room, Negan had immediately felt that tug of worry in his guts. He hadn’t liked it either, but it passed rather quickly. However; when he didn’t find her in his room either, his brain had jumped to the worst fucking conclusion. Y/N had been gone, and Negan had had no way of finding her. How was he supposed to have known if she was hurt or not? There was no way for him to fucking know, and he really hated that. He also hated how quickly he’d flipped his shit. Negan couldn’t really describe the feeling because he can fucking remember the last time he’d felt anything like it. But, It had felt like an ice pick was slowly clawing into his chest. Like he’d had a fucking noose around around his throat. Like all of the bones in his body were too fucking heavy to move. He’d felt … hopeless. Fucking hopeless! What if instead of Simon being with Y/N, he had come back alone? What if he had told Negan that she had run away?! What if she had gotten killed on a run?! Or … what if she had been bitten?! “Negan?” The voice was quiet but it still made him jump. He was fucked and he knew it. Y/N continued to speak still petting his head all the while. “I’m sorry for goning out today, but I took Simon with me just like you told me to.” Great. Now, she thought that she was in trouble. “I know baby doll. And I’m real fuccking proud of you for following my rules. But, do you think that you can follow one more?” he asked with his head still lying on her chest. Negan didn’t think he could face her with the level of fucking embarrassment that he was at. He felt her face nod against the top of his head. “You can ask me for anything, Negan,” she replied with pure sincerity. She knew that he always gave her what she wanted without thought, so it was only right to offer the same to him. God fucking damn, did his name sound sweet on her lips! “Fr-from now on, I want you tell somebody when you go out. I don’t care if it’s me when I’m here or Sharry when I’m fucking not. Just somebody, so that I can find out where you’re at. K?” Negan groweled at the fact that the situation had shook him so badly. He was supposed to be a mother fucking leader for Christ’s sake! Unaffected, in control, and fucking heartless! “K,” she replied as she yawned, “Were you worried?” Negan’s head popped up to face Y/N, his dark eyes met hers. Worried? That was a stupid fucking meaningless word that should have no place in his vocabulary after all the shit that he’s been through. But……. yes. He had been worried. Worried out of his fucking mind, when he couldn’t find her. Worried, when he’d thought that she was gone. “Yes” he said softly, before just letting his head drop back down to her chest. Negan just felt raw, and so he simply goes limp in her hold. Not wanting to think, at all. A couple minutes of blessed fucking silence later is broken by a quiet whisper. “I love you, Negan.” A content sigh left his lips when he felt a light kiss pressed to his forehead. Just like she always did after a rough day. Comforting him, and he never even thought of all of the fucking awsome things that he would miss about her if Y/N was gone. He placed his lips against her collarbone and released a quiet breath. “Well, I don’t know when or how or fucking why; but I love you too, sweetheart.” A little laugh escaped her mouth, and Negan knew that she had probably just been waiting on his stubborn ass to say something. She was smart like that. But she gave him the time to come to the realization on his own, because she knows that he had to accept the fact that he could still care about shit in this fucked up world. And,Negan did care about her. Haha! He fucking loved her! And today was just a small taste of how fucked he’d be without her. THE END If you liked this fic, feel free to request something