#practice pt 2

[lustfulslxt]

Practice Pt. 2 - Chris Sturniolo

summary : chris practiced oral on you, leaving you both wanting more.

warnings : sex sex sex

Practice Pt. 1

—

“Care for some more practice?”

Chris looks up at you, hunger clear as day in his eyes. He hadn't expected you to agree with him practicing on you in the first place, much less wanting to take it even further. However, he was not complaining.

"You want me to fuck you?" He asks, staring intently into your eyes.

You gave him a nod, your big doe eyes staring back at him as you reply, "Mhm. Show me what she's missing."

Chris didn't wait another second before climbing on top of you, suffocating you in a passionate kiss. He kissed you like you were a breath of fresh air. He savored every lick of your tongue and tug of your lips.

Your hands wrapped around his soft locks, combing and tugging gently. With every little tug, he seemed to get a tad more heated. His mouth was now dominating your neck, sucking and biting on your sensitive spot, causing you to let out slight whimpers.

"Can't wait to feel you." He groaned into your ear as you palmed him through his pants.

Your light and delicate touch had him wanting to rail you. His knee was placed right between your thighs, putting pressure on your warm and wet pussy as you quietly moaned against his lips. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he couldn't get enough of you.

He left wet kisses down your neck and along your chest. He took your free hand in his and gripped it while his other hand massaged and tweaked your nipple, taking the opposite one in his mouth. You could feel your stomach stirring in pleasure once again.

His hard dick, cladded in his boxers, was poking your inner thigh, begging for attention. Your finger slipped through the waistband of his bottoms, and you pulled then let it snap back. He groaned against you, pulling away to take them off.

His dick sprung up, free from its restrictions. It was bubblegum pink with a nice curve, throbbing as precum dribbled from the tip. You reached out, engulfing him in your hand, rubbing your thumb across his slit. You collected the warm cum and brought it to your mouth to taste him.

"Mmm." You hum, licking your lips over.

His stare grew darker with lust, his jaw slightly dropped. His cock was twitching, wanting nothing but you wrapped around him. Without a second thought, he had your legs in the air as he was slowly but firmly sinking into you.

Your mouth went slack as he stretched you out. You hugged around him so perfectly; he was shuddering above you. It was a hot and wet fit, your juices lubricating the two of you.

He began thrusting into you, starting off slow and hard, but picking up the pace shortly after. He was digging into you so deliciously, hitting you exactly where you needed him. Your head turned to the side, your face scrunched up in pleasure as you gripped the sheets.

"Aht, aht! Look at me when I'm fucking you." He says, grabbing your face and turning it back in his direction.

You were a moaning mess as he continued to fuck into you, holding intense eye contact. His stare alone was enough to make you squirm beneath him, but the way he was digging into you, had you on cloud nine.

"Fuck Chris." You moaned out, breathlessly in pleasure.

"You like the way I fuck you, don't you?" He asks, lifting your legs over his shoulders.

You were so disoriented, ridden with euphoria. Your eyes kept fluttering as your eyebrows furrowed, taking in the way he made you feel. You could only give him a slight nod to answer his question. It wasn't good enough.

"I asked you a question." He reminds you, "You like when I fuck you like a little slut, don't you?"

"Yes, fuck, I love it!" You damn near scream as he repeatedly hit your g-spot over and over again.

You were unraveling so quickly, ready to let go all over him. He wrapped one of your legs around his waist as he held your other one against your chest. With his free hand, he reached up and grasped your neck. He gave it a slight squeeze, before his fingers trailed up your jaw and grabbed your chin.

He leaned forward, meeting your lips in a hot kiss as he continued to fuck into you. After a moment, he pulled away, a string of saliva attaching to both of you. He gripped your jaw a little harder, pulling it down a bit as he spit into your mouth.

"Swallow." He tells you, his voice holding a slight rasp to it.

You did so with joy, feeling nothing but ecstasy. You couldn't help the loud moans that were rapidly pouring from your mouth at this point. He was making you feel too good to even attempt to contain it.

"F-fuck." He groans, tossing his head back as he continuously rails you.

"I'm about to-" You start, only for him to cut you off.

"Do it. Let go, baby. Cum all over your dick."

And you do. More than you've ever done before, you released all over him. As he watched you orgasm, he couldn't help but do the same. You looked so perfect, and the fact that he was making you writhe in pleasure, made him twitch as he fucked his nut into you with a loud moan.

He continued thrusting for a moment, until it was too much for both of you. He pulled out, hissing sharply at the sensitivity. He groaned once more, dropping to the bed next to you. He looked over at you with a smirk, watching as you recover from your climax.

"Maybe we should practice often?" He offers.

"I don't think you need anymore practice, Christopher." You say, still panting. "But if you wanna keep fucking me, just say that."

"I wanna keep fucking you." He blatantly states.

--

a/n : finally pt 2. sorry it’s superrr short && sorry for the wait! hopefully it was worth it, love u guys <3 send requests!!! see what i did there bestie? *insert smirk*

[grimesgirll]

heyy could you write Negan smut, with them both fighting for dominance while they fuck, taunting each other; Maybe because they known each other before the apocalypse so she isn’t as intimidated by Negan like the rest.

you have to be the hottest thing he’s seen in quite sometime.

negan, simon, and dwight had heard the gunshots from your shotgun and stumbled upon you; all alone, fending off a few dozen walkers.

simon had insisted that they leave and not risk their safety for “some broad”, and negan was on board until he realized that wasn’t just any broad - it was you.

the three cut through the horde of walkers at negan's insistence. braving bloated corpses and trudging over the trampled isn't a simple feat - even with guns. minutes pass until you're finally face to face. half dazed, you did a double take once your eyes suddenly met the disgraced gym teacher's.

then you hit the ground.

when you woke up, mr. smith was there. you were shocked to see him and even more surprised to learn that he was the leader of an up and coming survival group.

“what about your wife?” you’d asked. “mrs. smith is really cool.”

made slightly dramatic by age, the pained twist of the former faculty's face has you regretting your question.

mrs. smith was really cool.

mr. smith had once been too. kind as well. negan is looks cool, and you can't deny that there's a cult of personality that can't be beat with him. not kind though.

no, you'd learned your first week that the gym teacher who had once teased you about college partying on the playground was now a certified psychopath. as a teaching assistant and faculty shadow at the school, you'd befriended negan easily. the two of you pulled off witty banter as you dropped the kids off for gym, even accepting invitations to join the day's activity.

mr. smith was no more and negan's now burning faces off. you'd seen that. just like you'd seen the floggings, the beatings, the spankings, and even the wall. waking up one day to see the nurse you'd grown fond of outside wandering as a walker was enough for you to tweak.

“what did she do?”

negan looks up from a map of northern virginia to grin at you. “hey, doll! what’s goin��� on?” he kicks his feet up on the desk. “don’t see much of you around here.”

“yeah, because i can barely get by your goons.”

he shrugs. “seems like you got up here just fine.”

you’d sideskirted fat joey when he left his post to top off his dr. pepper. it was easy enough to walk your way to negan’s office to confront him.

“why is the woman who trained me walking around the front yard as a zombie?” you question, not breaking eye contact with the smirking leader. “what could she have done to deserve that?” you let out an exasperated breath, reigning it in with another deep umhals before asking, “don’t you think that’s fucking extreme?”

if negan softens, you really can’t tell. all that comes from the man is a laugh. “you mean the nurse who was planning on robbin’ us all blind and hightailing it with nearly all of our narcotics?”

you don’t even have the care to gawk at him. “could she not have been rehabilitated?”

he scoffs at you. “once an addict, always an addict.”

a sudden wave of dread comes over you, and for a moment you think it may be your lunch coming back up but one look at your former fellow faculty member and you know it’s purely disgust.

“she was my friend!”

“you’ll make more!”

“she was my only friend here,” the words croak out of your mouth.

negan just chews on his lip and shrugs. “sorry, honey, you’ll just have to start bein’ friendlier then.” a smirk spreads across his leather-like, aged face. “might have to drop the whole resting bitch face.”

you’re fuming. the column of rage growing from your belly pangs with no place to go. “for you freaks?”

your outburst has fat joey huffing and puffing his way through the threshold of the door.

“everything, okay, boss?” the grunt looks from your red face to his relaxed leader. “sorry bout’ her. she shouldn’t be up here.”

negan waves a hand. “don’t worry about it, joey. i can handle her.”

joey nods when a “handle me?” is flying from your mouth and negan just shoots him a cheeky grin.

“let me walk you back down there, doll.” negan insists.

when he rises from his desk, you realize how he towers over you, something you’d never clocked despite how often you two had been in close quarters back at school. you’re glaring up to meet his dark eyes - the ones that glint in the light like he hadn’t subjected a young woman to the most gruesome death - not including her life after death.

“this way, you,” negan is shepherding you with a hand on your back and all you can do is grumble as you pass his lazy goon.

once the two of you are in the hallway, you slap his hand off of him. “don’t touch me,” you sneer.

he chuckles. “whatever you wish, princess, just stop interrupting me from my important shit with your emotional shit, ‘kay?”

you shake your head. “what would mrs. smith think of all this? surely you don’t think you’re in the right. your wife would’ve hated this.”

negan gestures to the empty, desolate stairwell the two of you are descending. “she look like she’s here?”

“doesn’t matter. what happened to your morals?” you spit, stopping in your tracks to turn and face the taller man, standing on a higher step so that you’re both at eye level. “you were a school teacher.”

“yeah, and you would’ve been dead if we hadn’t brought you in.”

“so i should be happy with the freak show you’re putting on here?”

the expressive leader throws his arms out to motion to the compound. “look around, it’s bread and circuses!” he says simply. “you work, you get a bed, and a safe place to live.” a devious expression overtakes his countenance. “and a show!”

“i hate it here.” you declare nastily.

he snorts. “you hate not being in control, and all the safe little assurances we had before. things are different now.”

“no,” you counter, face coming closer to his. “you’re different now.”

“gotta be to survive nowadays, darlin’, now hurry it up. you need to get back to stitchin’ up my men so they can go out and bring you back ravioli, morphine, soap, toilet paper, all that shit you’re bitchin’ about having.”

“you’re a psycho,” you huff at him as he ushers you down the stairs, another level, and the familiar way towards the infirmary.

“you’re just not adjusted yet. just stick to changing bedpans and we won’t have a problem,” negan instructs with a hand on your back again.

you brush him off once you two have entered the sterile, white infirmary where doctor carson is talking quietly with one of negan’s goons.

“what’s goin’ on here, doc?” negan questions, startling the two.

negan’s man is pale - and sweating buckets. the doctor stands from his bedside to face negan.

“hello, negan, we were just finishing up.”

“finishing up what?”

the pit in your stomach grows when you notice the sickly man on the bed scurrying to fold the fabric of his shirt back over his stomach. the doctor has a pokerface but you didn’t need them to answer to know what was going on.

“what’s goin’ on, dan? feelin’ alright?” negan doesn’t give the doctor a chance to answer before he’s next to his commissioned scavenger, towering over him now.

dan nods. “feelin’ fine. just scraped up and tired as hell after gettin’ back from carolina.”

“i bet!” that loud voice booms throughout the room. “mighty long trip that was. thanks again, man.” the clap to dan’s back from his leader almost has him buckling. “but you don’t look so good, bud. got something to tell me?”

“negan-,” the doctor starts but he’s quickly silenced by a simple raise of the leader’s hand.

“nope, doc. i wanna hear it from dan here.”

the man’s nervous eyes flicker from doctor carson and to you. you want to crumple where you stand. though his eyes are pleading, there’s nothing you can do. only manage your growing disgust as you watch negan reach for his sidearm.

then negan does something that surprises you, he leans down to embrace the man in a hug.

“thank you, it was just a long trip.” dan’s bumbling, but negan shushes him.

“don’t worry bout’ it, dan.”

that’s when the bullet departs the chamber and implants itself in dan’s brain.

the man who’d just been alive slumps down and falls onto the newly bloodied bedsheets. the white wall behind him is sprayed with brains and chrome. the salt and pepper haired leader stands from the bed and yawns, stretching as if he wasn’t leaving a mess of blood and trauma for you and the doctor to clean up and process.

“back to work. keep an eye on her, doc.”

“negan, you sick fuck.”

this time, negan’s holding his council and heatedly harping on gregory.

the man lets out an exasperated breath. “who the fuck wasn’t watching the door?”

his legion of doom is bewildered to see the sullen nurse standing in the doorway. dwight’s apathetic as always, but is the first to offer to escort you out while simon’s telling gregory to “shut the fuck up” and laura’s looking at you as if no one could be more annoying as to drag this meeting on.

“joey!”

one shout and you hear heavy footsteps thudding down the hall. breathing raggedly, the guard wraps himself around the doorway and drops his sandwich at the sight of you.

“so sorry, boss. she really sneaks in!”

the older man just shakes his head. “don’t let it happen again or gregory gets it.”

laughter erupts from the room. everyone at the table is dropping their dauntless demeanor as if on cue. the only one not laughing is gregory of course.

“negan, listen-,”

“ah!” negan interrupts him, straining against his leather jacket when he turns his body towards him. “you shut it! i hate having my shit interrupted, and i hate having supply drops interrupted far more than meetings.” he directs his attention from the man from hilltop back to you. “why don’t you just take a seat, honey? we’ll be done soon.”

you shake your head. “i’m not trying to stay here any longer than i have to. i need this sorted out now.”

“if you wanna talk, doll, you’ll have to wait your turn. i’m talking to gregory right now.”

“i don’t even want to talk to you.”

he exhales flippantly. “then why are you here? interrupting my important meeting.”

“i came for my shotgun.”

negan chuckles, crossing his arms. “you think you’re gettin’ that thing back? after the mood you’ve been stirring up here?”

you do your best to ignore the way he’s laughing and dismissing you or how he’s manspreading all over the chair he’s parked in.

“i need my stuff now. i’m leaving tonight.”

it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. you can see negan’s jaw tighten in real time, and the room stiffens. waiting for a reaction is half the angst but you don’t have time for it. don’t even want to defend your decision, especially in front of everyone here.

“out!”

chair legs scrape against the ground as some of negan’s senior partners in psychopathy begin to egress.

gregory is just looking flabbergasted. “but we had a meeting?”

“everyone, out. now!”

all it takes is a “negan doesn’t like to repeat himself” and dwight is shuffling gregory out of the room, simon taking up the rear.

“see you soon, hun’,” he taunts to you.

you don’t have enough time to process his words because he’s shutting the door behind you and probably mentally rescheduling this meeting. you could care less.

“enough, negan smith.” he blinks at the full name callout. “i want my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair. you won’t have to worry about me.”

negan’s off his feet again and sitting on top of the table now. he points to the chair next to the head. “sit.”

“i don’t want to sit.” you insist. “i already told you, i don’t want to talk, i want to go.”

“yeah, well we’re gonna talk first, so sit your ass down.”

you don’t want to spend anymore time in this nutjob factory than you have to but you want your shotgun back. so you walk across the room and you stand at the chair.

“what do you have to say to me?” you inquire.

“god, look at you!”

you roll your eyes.

“a few weeks after getting your life saved, getting your needs taken care of and you’re ready to go back to that?”

“i don’t want to be at your constant mercy.” you say plainly. “not that you can really call it mercy.”

with every retort from him being a laugh, your patience is growing thin. he snickers upon seeing your frown. “so, you want to take your chances out there instead of taking a little time to let me help figure out your problem?”

you throw up your hands. “figure out my problem? i came to you to help figure out my problem and you said to just deal with it. to ‘adjust’. well, i can’t. i can’t live like this. it’s not humane.”

“yeah, and it’s humane out there?”

“better than bitching in here.”

“well, i think i can help with that. won’t be getting your shotgun back.”

“oh, so you can’t help at all?” you snap.

he whistles. “never said that.” his eyes drop from your gaze down your torso to your thighs. he pats the table next to him. “come sit on the table.”

“no. i want to go. now.”

“alright then.”

“negan!”

you exclaim when he scootches off the table to scoop you up by your legs and middle and plop you down.

“let doctor negan see if he can help.”

“what are you-,”

“ah! look at that.”

“ah!”

the sudden sensation of a finger against your denim covered cunt has your face flushing and red. “been touched there in a while, honey?”

“just give me my shotgun,” you breathe, desperately trying with your eye contact to communicate that things aren’t going the way you expected.

“let me give you some reprieve, clear your head, and then we can see if you still want your shotgun.”

you shake your head as he starts pulling down your pants. “you think your wife would be okay with this?”

“she here?”

you curse yourself for giving him such an easy answer. you curse yourself for not doing anything other than pouting and wiggling once he’s at your waistband. you curse the little wet spot soaked though your underwear even more.

“god, i knew confrontation would get you wet.”

“so you planned this?”

the older man shakes his head, taking another moment to fully lock eyes with you, even as he towers over you on the table. “no, i’m thinking that we both walked into this.”

maybe you shouldn’t have walked in, you ponder as negan walks your undies down your thighs with his fingers and walks them right back to your dripping center. the hair you have down there is already slick, a damp curtain pried open by negan’s thick fingers.

“shit,” you rasp when a finger braves the pool of anticipation that’s only growing and delves further against your inner walls.

“want me stop there?” the fucker’s finger stills inside of you and the other dancing just above your clit comes to a halt.

you don’t respond, just lock eyes with negan and try to catch your breath. “that’s not fair,” you point out in a voice just above a whisper. “can’t stop now.”

“or can i?”

you shake your head. “don’t.”

maybe clearing the tension that’s been building like a twentieth century skyscraper inside of you will sort you out. or you could just say fuck it. the world’s ended anyways.

negan surely fucks a finger stationed inside of you back and forth. twisting and testing the waters before adding another. the extra finger curls inside you deliciously while he utilizes another to play around your clit.

the attention he’s paying to your once undisturbed nether regions is enough to have you creaking and moaning like an old door hinge and hinging forward into negan. he’s quick to let you fall forward into his arms. the sudden acceptance is all he needs to speed up.

“i know that feels good, honey.”

“mhmm,” you murmur into his shoulder.

there’s a spot inside of you that he’s massaging just right and another on your exterior; an x doesn’t need to mark the spot for him to rile up your clit. slow, lazy circles have you grinding against him on the table. how can you bemoan him when he’s about to pull the perfect release from you?

you know that because your breath is picking up again and you’re blubbering into his sturdy shoulder. those motions are telltale. mrs. smith’s memory hasn’t kept this man celibate.

the widower has his hand on your back again and the hand beneath you has its own task. the task at hand is executed with more skill than any boy you’d ever fooled around with in college or anyone who came after - not that there were many given how things had gone. you’d like to think that if shit hadn’t hit the fan, you would’ve settled down with someone like mr. smith but younger. this would have to do.

“clenchin’ so tight just around my fingers, baby. you always had the hots for me?”

you shake your head no truthfully. “this is the hots?”

“you feel hot down there baby, and my are you hot.” he lands the compliment with a kiss. you lean in, letting his tongue slip into your mouth because you’re too occupied with the build up brewing inside of you.

one glance down between you two and you see his fingers pumping. your heart rate jumps when you see the addition of another and now you’re being stretched out on his fingers on this table.

“god, you’re gorgeous. what a sweet little thing to have fallen into my lap.”

you curl further into his lap, legs now around him and his fingers knuckle deep inside of you. all he has to do is curl his fingers and you’re yowling. “mhm, they’re deep.” you say, brain just observing.

“too deep?”

“no.”

thus, they plunge further. until the extra finger on the outside is stirring up more than your slick and heat courses through you. you shudder against negan but that doesn’t stop his routine. the shape of his fingers change inside of you and you’re bucking against him to feel each one.

“fuck, i’m gonna come,” you don’t want to say it out loud but you do anyways.

“on my fingers?” negan sniggers. “you poor thing. c’mon now, i know it must’ve been a while.” he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit. “just let go, honey, it’ll help.”

and it does.

letting your lizard brain take the lead is all you need for your mind to go blank. if even for a second, it releases the anxiety and the anger that’d consumed you. you pulse and clamp down around his digits until suddenly he’s not moving at all but you’re rotating your hips against him.

riding out such a feeling, you blink the tears out of your eyes and do a double take once you notice negan removing his fingers and starting on his belt.

“what’re you doing?” you question, pussy still pulsing with a mind of its own.

“if you thought that helped you relax, this will put you to sleep. no more sleeping pills for you, darlin’.”

“how did you know about that?”

“doctor carson doesn’t keep secrets from me. he didn’t need to tell me you weren’t adjusting well either.” negan states matter-of-factly, then dropping his blue plaid boxers.

you’re not sure how you’re going to adjust to the sight you’re met with. the cock in front of you is larger than any you’ve ever seen before. if negan’s fingers had you losing it, this thing will ruin you.

“i don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you admit when his hands land on your hips.

the distance between your needy bare entrance and his thick dick is only inches now. you shudder at the longing that’s whipping you and your thoughts around. you moan when he slides his hard, veiny cock against your entrance, slapping it against you once for good measure.

“nope, you’re tougher than you think.”

you meet his eyes again as if to question him. sure, he feels good against you but this is next level. better than fiction but what would happen after you both got your orgasms out of the way?

there’s no time for you to speculate because his lips are on yours again and you feel him lining himself up against you. “you want me to fuck all those fears out of your head, honey? you wanna feel good?”

how can you say no to that?

one nod of your head and his tip is teasing you. it takes you telling him, “please, put it in. i want it,” and then he’s plunging inside.

your face scrunches as a little burn becomes prominent from his size, but he kisses the lines away from your face. your temple, your nose, your lips, your cheek, he’s kissing you, saying, “good girl. you’re doing fantastic.”

you just eat up the praise and look down to see your pussy devouring him whole. the first two or three inches were a struggle just from lack of use but your lack of pleasure - the near sexual deprivation you’d experienced since shit hit the fan - overcomes it, and is pleasantly fulfilled.

in and out of you, negan works his hips and you can’t be happier. could a man you’d branded a psycho just minutes before be so adept at addressing your pleasure?

seems like it.

“god, you fuck well for a gym teacher.”

negan won’t let the snide comment slide so he wraps up his tour of purple rain against your collarbone to simper at you. “yeah, and for a frigid bitch, this pussy is hot and ready.”

“maybe i’m one of those dumb girls who’s attracted to psychos and serial killers?” you ponder playfully and wrap your arms negan’s neck to pull him in closer.

“oh, i’m gonna fuck you dumb, honey, don’t worry.” and with a roll of his hips, you have no reason to worry he won’t live up to his words.

you whine when he suddenly rams into you. his girth juts along your tight, inner walls. you meet his gaze again and just looking at his smug face has you tightening around him.

“god, baby, did you just fuckin’ squeeze me?”

“can you adjust?”

he grunts. “can you?”

you don’t have time to ask what you could possibly have to adapt to next because negan’s turning you into your stomach onto the table, tossing his leather jacket down for you to bury your face into. his absence from between your thighs brings on another whine but one moment of motion and now you feel him flush against your back, filling you to the brink with his cock.

“yeah, bet that brain can’t even think about an escape plan with that dumb little pussy stuffed so full. you gonna’ be able to walk tomorrow, honey?” he asks you tenderly as if he’s not on the verge of taking out your cervix.

“ne-negan! sto-,”

“-stop what?” he gyrates his hips nice and slow into you, dragging on the sensitive insides of your poor, overstimulated little cunt. “stop fucking you? because the way your pussy is clampin’ down, i don’t even know how i’m backing out of here baby.”

“don’t!” you beg.

“what?” he leans down to take your chin in his hands and see the angsty, pleasure induced tear starting to roll down your cheek. “god, you even look pretty when you cry. fuckin’ face like that.”

hips are stammering and negan’s words burn straight through to your core. he moans like a motherfucker when he feels the squeeze of your clingy little core on him. haywire all of this had gone, and now your climax is taking you over the edge.

“negan, don’t stop. don’t stop. don’t be an asshole,” you’re pleading.

he’s back to spearing you on his cock, leveraging your hips and throwing his head back. “don’t think i could, baby. not with a pussy this fucking fantastic.”

the praise is what does you in for the second time. any thought of undead nurses or public floggings leaves your brain and all you’re left with is the molten hot pleasure exploding inside of you. negan’s hand drifts down to your clit to have you absolutely crushing his cock.

“god, doll, you’re fuckin’ tight. so fuckin’ hot when you come like that. gonna have me doing a fuckin’ one and done for now.”

the huskiness of his voice and the twitch of him against your walls only eggs you on. your eyes are shut tight but you he’s all you can imagine. head on top of his jacket, you breathe in his scent, musky with a hint of the same cologne he wore back at school, and you’re creaming around him.

“fuck, doll!”

and he’s shooting his cream inside of you. the warmth fills you up and you no longer have the energy to move. any gyration of your hips has halted. a few more thrusts and he’s in the same boat. he collapses atop you for just a moment before pulling out and padding towards the table against the wall laden with napkins and refreshments that were supposed to be for the meeting.

you don’t turn your head but you can hear him grabbing some paper towels off the roll and clutching some other things.

“just gonna wipe between your legs,” he instructs and you let him.

your forehead against the table and those pretty eyes squeezed shut has negan rethinking a thing or two. suddenly he’s regretting not fucking you like the sweet thing you are. you deserved better than a table - at least his soft, king sized mattress if not a cloud.

once he finishes, he pats your back and nudges you up where he’s waiting with a water bottle - already open with the cap off. you accept with no issue and gulp the mini-sized bottle down easily.

“listen, why don’t you have dinner with the girls and i tonight? i’m not gonna give you your shotgun back just yet, but might change your mind about some things.”

[kimtaegis]

SET ME FREE PT. 2 ✦ DANCE PRACTICE

[golden-jeon-jungkook]

'We Are Bulletproof Pt.2'

[adeleine-everyday]

day 54

found it

[leslieseveride]

"hyacinth, i do not think penelope can breathe" → "i cannot breathe" + the clock chiming after penelope passes out, ergo.... she does indeed actually stop breathing.

[swordfangs]

LIVE SELFISHLY (ref)

[akookminsupporter]

THIS PART!

This part is insane. The precision. The synchronisation between everyone. It looks like it's in fast mode but it's not. Jimin is an incredible dancer, Jimin is an incredible performer. 10 years into his career and he can still deliver performances like this, it's incredible.

[sparkleondoom]

i'm still flesh, i hold on to awful feelings

[rosylix]

latest rosy update is that pt 3 alone is over 12k words. what am i doing. what is going on.

[aricastmblr]

Jimin fotos oficiales de él, con su team jimin y portada de sus mv Choreography Dance Practice de su era solista. (ve los mv oficiales)

[CHOREOGRAPHY] 지민 (Jimin) ‘Set Me Free Pt.2’ Dance Practice

[CHOREOGRAPHY] 지민 (Jimin) 'Like Crazy' Dance Practice

[CHOREOGRAPHY] 지민 (Jimin) ‘Who’ Dance Practice

[bts-trans]

230405 Big Hit’s Tweet

[Episode] #지민 #Jimin #LikeCrazy #SetMeFree_Pt2 안무 연습 비하인드 공개!🐣🔥🕺 #노력이재능이라면_박지민은천재다 #Jimin_FACE #BTS #방탄소년단   (https://youtu.be/ih4NpgY-fsI)

[Episode] Take a look behind-the-scenes of #Jimin #LikeCrazy #SetMeFreePt2 Dance practice!🐣🔥🕺#IfEffortWasATalentThenParkJiminIsAGenius #Jimin_FACE #BTS

Trans cr; Annie @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

[kanmom51]

JM Set me free pt. 2 - dance practice

Wow wow wow wow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This move is mesmerizing.

We kind of missed him being pushed back in the MV.

And the butterfly...

[roaringroa]

they should make a life where you don't have appointments, work, school and scheduled events every single day for months on end

[topsyturvy-turtely]

OTP challenge - day 15

here it is! part 2/2! (because i simply suck at keeping myself short) -> link to part 1

[link to day 14]

TW: detailed description of needles and stitches. knife wound.

15: teaching each other how to do something

(pt. 2/2)

[Last sentence from part 1: But soon this something, that danced in the room to the tone they had played together, was interrupted by the thunder of upstairs-running kid's feet.]

***

That was last week. Tonight John had invited Sherlock over for dinner with him. Rosie had a movies night with her aunt Harry. (John seriously wasn't sure who whorshipped whom more. These two were soulmates, no joking.)

The doctor was determined to make Sherlock a nice proper meal. He didn't cook often, but he ought to get better at it, he can't keep ordering takeout with a kid at home. What if Rosie will never eat anything homemade?! That could end up into an embarrassing situation at a friend's house...

Lost in his thoughts he prepared his 'easy but fancy meal' (no, he hasn't googled this). He had ended up with Lasagna. The bechamél sauce was the difficult part about it, but he was confident it would work out. He heard the bell ring and - wiping his hands on the ridiculous apron Harry got him (it says 'BAMF' in pink, purple and blue colors on it. According to her that means 'bad ass motherfucker', which he thought was absurd, but, well, he didn't wanna get his shirt dirty) - he went to open the door for a very early Sherlock. Who has apparently just been in a massive fight.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What happened to you?"

"Idiot brought a knife to a gun fight. Still managed to cut me however, that imbecile."

"They cut you? How deep? Where? Let me see.", John Watson was in immediate doctor mode.

"Not that deep.", Sherlock said waving his hnd dismissively.

"Oh no! We are not doing this! Go sit down somewhere, I'll get my doctor's kit.", John commanded and went into the bathroom to wash his hands and get the kit.

When he came back, Sherlock was sitting on the couch, no coat and jacket on, limps spread out around him, right hand to his side, the blood running through his fingers.

"Jesus. Sherlock.", John was frozen for a second, anxiously staring at his friend, regretting he couldn't protect him anymore whenever he decided to run after a serial killer.

Then the feeling faded and with his usual professional tone he told Sherlock to take his shirt off. The great idiot detective sighed but obeyed. Meanwhile John put on surgical gloves and poured disinfectant onto a cotton ball. When he looked up and stared at his friend's freed stomach he gulped. Not because he hasn't seen worse, but because it was Sherlock who was the injured. What if he wouldn't get away so easily next time? John wasn't sure how he would take another one of Sherlock's funerals. A real one this time. Internally John shook himself and focused on his task.

"I'm gonna clean the wound and see if it needs stitches now.", John told his patient. When he started disinfecting, he heard Sherlock take in a sharp breath. That, and a few seconds of cleaning, made him realize, "Sorry, mate, but the wound is deep enough for sutures. I'm gonna call an amb-"

"No!", Sherlock immediately protested and his face was a mask of pain. "It's you or nothing at all."

John stared at him, he had done that often before, back in the days, but how could Sherlock still insist on John stitching him up? With a resigned sigh, because he knew there was no reason in arguing, he took off his gloves. "Alright, I'll get you some ice. It will help with the pain and the swelling."

When he came back, he sat back down and put on a fresh pair of gloves. "Listen. I hate you getting injured, and I am honored you let me have you stitch up but you will have to learn to do this yourself. I am not available 24/7 and I can't risk you passing out while having a fever dream from the blood loss, simply because you refuse to seek medical attention like a child. So you gonna watch, listen, hell- observe while I am doing this. You got me?"

Sherlock had a neutral facial expression, but stared deep into John's eyes. "Yes, sir."

"You already know who is in charge here, that's a good start.", John smirked. Then their eyes met and just how it always has been, there was a connection between the two men which took actual willpower to break. When they did, John started explaining, "Step one: sanitize and examine the wound. Deeper than half an inch? Sutures are needed.

"Step two: if the wound is swollen, ice it.", John nodded at the ice on Sherlock's stomach, while he disinfected the needle and thread.

"This will provide a numbness as well. Helpful, when there's no local anasthetics available."

"Step three, actually- step zero: wash hands, and wear gloves to prevent infection. Always wash your hands and wear gloves, hear me?", John fixed his gaze on Sherlock. The detective was determined to show no pain but he couldn't fool John. A simple nod satisfied John.

"Good. Step three: Disinfect needle and thread and the rest of the equipment. I use a needle holder, to ensure no infections will occur. Holding it with your hand may easily cause them." John was glad Sherlock had his voice to focus on. That he had given that genius brain something to fixate on, to save into a room or a file or whatever in his mind palace with every little detail. Because the stitches - even with the ice - are gonna add another pain level.

"Step four: with your forceps" - John grabbed them - "check the skin and determine what needs to be done.", John did as he was explaining, wishing he had a mask to further protect Sherlock from a possible infection.

"Step five: punctuate the skin and make sure the needle penetrates the skin up to 0.5cm, exit on the other side of the wound. The needle needs to be held perpendicular to the skin and you rotate your hands clockwise.", when the needle sank into Sherlock's skin, his patient groaned in pain. "For this you'll need to release the needle holder by pulling it right with your ring finger-", John did as he was explainig. "-and pushing it left with your thumb.

"Step six: hold the needle holder and pull the thread. Leave 3-5cm on the side of the wound. Step seven: hold the thread with your right - in your case left - hand and wrap it around the tip of the needle holder. Catch hold of the thread on the left of the wound using the needle holder. Make the wrapped thread pass out of the needle holder and tie it around the loose thread and then cut the excess thread.", John was glad Sherlock was a genius because when he had first learned this, he still had had a million questions.

Satisfied John looked at his work. "This was it - you had made a secure knot. Now, step eight: repeat this process by moving up the wound about 0.6cm to perform the next suture."

Sherlock was making pained noises while John performed step eight. "Do you think you can focus on my hands and describe what I am doing? Might be a good distraction.", the doctor suggested.

Sherlock gritted his teeth, nodded and did as he was told. Indeed, his pained sounds decreased and his observation-mode was turned on.

After a while John said, "There. Sutures are done. Now the final step is putting a sterilized pad and bandage on. Here, sit up."

Sherlock did and John wrapped the bandage around Sherlocks rib cage; tight but not too tight. His breath gave Sherlock's skin, that had broken out into a sweat during the suturing process, goosebumps. John followed them up... over side, arm, chest, nipple. John licked his lips. Then he cleared his throat and stood up. "I'll look for a shirt that will fit you. You hardly can wear that one over there." John pointed at the ripped and blood covered dressing shirt on the ground.

"Your clothing choice is a rather interesting one, too.", Sherlock countered, a hint of a raised eyebrow visible on his carefully controlled face.

For a second John was confused, but when he looked down at himself he remembered his 'BAMF' apron... John's eyes widened.

"Fucking hell!", he swore. John ran into a kitchen and already saw smoke coming through the oven. "THE LASAGNA!"

A bunch of further curses escaped John's mouth while he took the burnt piece of pasta out. Sherlock followed him into the kitchen. He leaned on the door frame crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Apparently bisexual Badass Motherfuckers can't cook.", he stated.

Waving around with a kitchen towel and opening a window to get rid of the smoke, John was busy with other things. But when Sherlock's words sank in he slowly turned around. "I'm sorry- what?", he asked incredulously.

Sherlock nodded at John's garment. "Your apron. It's in the bisexual pride colors."

With oven mittens on, palms up, John stared down at his apron. "Oh. Oh, Harry that absolute-"

"-genius lesbian with her evidently accurate observations regarding sexuality?", Sherlock finished, pushing himself off the wall. He slowly walked over to John.

"Hold on one second! How many times did i say I am not-"

"-Gay? No, but bisexual you are, my dear Watson.", with that Shelock stood in front of him, his upper body only wearing a bandage John had put on him only a moment ago.

The blogger shook his hands in denial. "I- I am not..."

But he didn't get further because Sherlock pressed his lips against his and John forgot what he wanted to say. Soft, cupid bowed lips, rested against chapped, thin lips. Until John pulled back and stared at a rather precarious Sherlock. And without another thought he ripped his oven mittens off and clasped his hands around this face, this familiar beautiful face and kissed Sherlock again. He was moving on pure instinct, none of this was his brain's doing, it was all his body's. It knew what it had wanted for years and now wouldn't let the opportunity slip. They kissed and gasped and pulled and moaned. Until Sherlock hissed in pain, because John had eagerly pulled him close and it hurt his freshly sutured wound.

John loosened his grip and they let air drift between their bodies again. "I- you-", John tried.

"Harry and I might have a point?", Sherlock said with cocky grin.

John sighed, laughed, and let his forehead drop into his hand. "Yeah. I suppose you might."

They caught their eyes and then started giggling, like they did after their first case.

Sherlock's gaze fell on the burnt lasagna behind John. "Takeout?"

"Starving", John replied with a soft but genuine smile on his face.

---

this time i have to thank my lovely friend (lol are we even friends?!) @safedistancefrombeingsmart for 1. telling me that John can't cook and should teach Sherlock how to make proper stitches instead. And 2. for her genius photoshopoed bi-colored BAMF sweatshirt. This oneshot would have been a lot less fun without you. Thank you, smartin'! ;)

this part required a lot of research (as i am an absolute no-hoper at anything medical). i must admit i partly directly quoted from the site. check it out if you're interested!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed 💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @boredsushi @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee

[jimin-updates]

The winner of our best Jimin dance practice poll has surpassed 12 million views!

Have you watched Jimin hone this masterpiece yet today?

Voting reminder: Faces of Kpop, Handsome Man