#they only allow you to watch a tape once in your life

[phierecycled]

new bucket list item: become a member of the new york public library so i can watch the pro shot of falsettos obc a single time

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[comfortscripts]

A Glimpse Of What I'd Do For You l Coriolanus Snow

Plot - As the First Lady of Panem, it is your duty to protect your husband. Even if it means dirtying your hands. But what is a little blood when the reward is so sweet? Pairing - Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Female!Reader Warnings - Heavy plot + light porn. They are both mad, but sweet for each other. Murder/execution with guns, blood, body worship (??), nipple play, toxic language (??), light aspects of oral (fem receiving), softdom!corio. I fully believe he would be a total simp for someone on his wavelength Word Count - 1,288

Check out the rest of my kinktober fics

“Darling, could I trouble you for a moment?”

Words breaking through the tense atmosphere that Coriolanus has cultivated in his private office. Harsh oak furniture, meticulously organised bookcases, swirls of browns and reds with faint hints of a cool gold. The help liked to say the cold of the room matched Mr. Snow’s frozen heart, but even the ruthless President of Panem couldn’t help the way his shoulders relaxed at his wife’s delicate words.

“You are never a trouble,” he spoke with the push of his sturdy throne-like chair against the floor, punctuating his words. “Come in, my snowdrop.”.

The First Lady of Panem was nothing if not obedient. Perhaps that’s why Coriolanus allowed you into his kingdom after six months of marriage.

Wordlessly, you rounded the desk to perch yourself upon his navy-blue-clad leg and perfectly placed a light kiss against his lips. The kind of kiss that tempted him to become entangled in your sweet web regardless of duties. Piercing blues too busy consuming his prize, thinking of all the ways to corrupt his pretty petal. Not even noticing you slide a sleek silver tablet onto the desk.

“I have a gift for you, Corio.”

A glossy black screen stared back at him with a barely visible play button. Those pale digits broke from your waist to start the show before returning to their previous position. He could feel the shift of your body and took close note of how you were biting back a smile.

Suddenly a face that has haunted his dreams appeared: Lucy Gray Baird. Coriolanus could feel the bile rising in his throat at the sight of that traitor. Despite the fact she was strapped to a chair with thick masking tape covering her sickening mouth, he felt uneasy.

“What is this?”

“Freedom. Keep watching, my love.”

The tense grasp on your waist must have been aching, almost as if he was punishing you for showing him this she-devil. But it was soon alleviated as he saw your graceful figure walk into the cell of Lucy Gray. Stark white gown, as pure as snow, standing there inches away from her. Stoic guards either side of your regal stance, part of Coriolanus compared your image to the Queen being flanked by knights on his chessboard staring down a lowly pawn.

“Firstly, I'd like to say thank you, Lucy Gray. If you hadn’t betrayed the only good thing in your life, I wouldn’t have my darling husband. Truly, I appreciate it.”

This wasn’t his snowdrop. Never had he heard your voice that dominant and cold. Part of him preened at the words being spoken, yet he feared what was to come. Who had he married?

“You were very difficult to track down. See, originally, I wanted you gone because I knew he loved you, and I don’t like sharing. But then I found out that you wanted to destroy him. Drive him insane with your silly little tweety songs. And, well, no one can drive him crazy except me.”

Just as his mind caught up with the intentions of your words, a glistening of his father’s legendary pistol came into focus. Pointed between the eyes of the witch who once trapped his heart.

“Goodbye Lucy Gray. No one will remember you, and the Snow family will live forever.”

The bang of the bullet felt like an earthquake, but the image of you, his innocent little petal, with blood seeping into your porcelain dress was enough to silence all thoughts. Screen fading to black as the guards moved to remove the body.

“Did you like my gift?”

It was so small, as if you had made him a cake and were afraid that you’d added too little sugar. This was the wife he knew, and the wife he was growing to love. He always knew you were perfect; that is why he agreed to his marriage, but this was more than he could ask for.

He craved loyalty, obsession, ruthlessness, and compliance. You were everything he would ever need, wrapped in a pink bow. Finally, an equal, someone to love him the way he wished to be loved. Coriolanus would get rid of anyone you wished, and to know he has your devotion makes him feel invincible.

“It may be the best present anyone has ever given me. Let me thank you for it properly.”

Spider-like touches tingled down your spine before feeling the cool air prick your skin as Corio relieved the zip of its job, allowing your dress to pool in your lap. Three abrupt taps on the desk said everything, and within moments, you settled your bare body against the chill of the wood. There was nothing better than feeling his eyes map your body with such hunger. Swirls of lust flush through his eyes as he lightly runs his long digits over the exposed skin.

“Who knew my sweetheart could be so fierce? Those hands weren’t made for killing; they are far too pretty. And who would have expected those callous words to come from such beautiful lips? But you did it for me. Everything you do is for me.”

Standing to attention, he traced the expanse of your collarbone with featherlight touches. Eyes wide watching him in anticipation, every touch made your arousal swell. Never would you rush him; he ruled Panem and your heart. He was your purpose. He was yours. Coriolanus intoxicated you. Faint scents of leather and brandy washed over your senses; the heat of his body against your as he placed calculated kisses against your skin made you dizzy. With so little, he made you feel so much.

A gentle moan fell from your lips as the young president found his mouth on your taunt nipple, carefully flicking the tip with his talented tongue. Oh, how you wish that scandalous mouth was somewhere else right now. His appreciation was felt full force. Those large hands groped at your skin as if he were trying to consume you. Leaving a litter of marks and nips across your chest, as if he were an artist and you, his canvas.

“I would do anything for you, my dear. You gave me freedom from that whore, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have your love. You are my only obsession. So tell me. Name it, and it is yours.”

A sense of shock washes over you; he has never once asked what you wanted in the bedroom. As with many things in his life, Coriolanus was not open to advice or direction. Images flashed of what you wanted but your tongue tangled as you went to voice it. So caught in the moment, it felt impossible to string a coherent sentence.

“I want- I want you.”

“Be specific, my snowdrop.”

He knew what you wanted. Sinking to the floor as one arm curls around the thickness of your thigh, pulling you closer to his body. That smile told you that he knew, he always knows. Coriolanus wanted to see whether your boldness extended past the video.

“Tell me, Mrs. Snow, how can I please you? You have pleased me so, and I want to show my appreciation, so tell me. Now.”

The feeling of his breath against the wet patch growing on your panties sent a shiver down your spine, feeding the need for his mouth on you. You needed him carnally. Hands wrapped in those icy locks, pale fingers curling inside, and him acting as if he were a man starved.

“I need your mouth- your fingers. Please Corio. Thank me with your mouth. Worship my pussy with those fingers, please, my love.”

Fingers hooking the corners of your underwear, gently discarding the elegant lace. Stormy blues and a haunting smirk told you that he'd be thanking you for hours to come.

“As you wish, my love. I am yours to use, as you are mine.”

A King is only as good as his Queen.

[daryldove]

Watch Me

kinktober #3: sex tape

nsfw, daryl x gn!reader

Life in the Commonwealth brought back many old luxuries. Your love for photography being one of them. Daryl, your incredible husband, had saved up enough to buy you your first camera not long after arriving; a cute little polaroid camera. From there your collection only got bigger, especially once you started up a freelance business.

The latest addition was a simple digital camera, bought with the idea in mind to capture memories for later. You're leaning against the kitchen counter in your small apartment, an upgrade your job allowed, reading through the instructions. The door opens behind you, thick arms wrapping around you waist soon after.

Daryl buries his face in your neck. When you first started dating, you were initially surprised at how clinging he was. It seemed so out of character from the standoffish Daryl you knew. But you learnt quickly that's just how the real and comfortable Daryl acted. It meant he finally felt safe enough to be himself. Valuing touch so much meant he could hardly go a day without missing you. You press back against his chest with a sigh.

“Hey handsome.” He just grunts in response, not wanting to draw away from your scent yet. You knew he hated his job, hated being away from home. You pull up your intertwined hands to kiss across each of his knuckles as he finally peers up from your neck.

“‘s that,” you have to resist a shiver at his rough voice against your ear.

“This? Video camera, thought it might be nice, you know? Show the others everything they're missing…” Your voice fades out as Daryl's teeth graze against your neck, and you suddenly notice a hardness poking your ass. “Seriously?”

“Couldn't stop thinking about ya all day…” He starts tugging on your shorts, as if demonstrating his neediness. Snorting at the thought of him being forced to train while pent up, you drag him towards your room. You had a sudden idea if he was open to it. Thank god Carol is picking up the kids tonight.

You push Daryl down onto the bed with a hand on his chest, giggling as he lands with a huff. Once sliding your shorts off, you immediately crawl on top of him.

“Why ya still have that?” His eyes drop to the camera in your hands.

Leaning to kiss him once, you whisper against his lips. “Maybe I wanna film us… if that's okay.”

His expression is a mixture of curiosity, interest, and mild unease. You kiss down his jaw as you reassure him. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable, but you knew well by now that sometimes he just needs a little boost. “No one's gonna see it but me and you.”

He shrugs you off, but there's a growing blush on his cheeks as he continues to think about it. This isn't the first time you've done something like this. He owned several scandalous polaroids of you. His eyes follow the camera as you place it on the bed beside you, close enough to reach if he decides to. You turn your focus to pulling off your shirt and unbuckling his belt.

It's only once your hips are hovering over his, pressing his tip into you that Daryl's attention is drawn back to the camera. This time, he picks it up without reluctance, and you stop immediately to watch him with a slightly smug expression. “Change your mind, big boy?”

The archer doesn't answer, instead thrusting his hips up slowly as he turns the camera on. You gasp in surprise. What a tease. He rests the camera on his chest, making sure the angle is okay before guiding your hips down with a rough grip. Something about the way he borders between caring and primal when he is this desperate turns you on drastically.

Your fingers run down his chest, arms, mapping any part of him you can reach again and again as you grind against him. Whines and grunts fill the air as you set a swift pace, almost completely forgetting about the camera capturing it all. Daryl's hold on your hips grows tighter as he grows closer, his heavy gaze narrowing as he admires the way you're lost in ecstasy. He grunts in brief annoyance and tosses the camera to the side, caring more about feeling all of you. He shifts to hug you against him as he fucks up into you harder. You whimper against his shoulder, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

“So close-” You barely even finish before you're tensing above him, toes curling as his thrusts turn deep and sharp. You must cum together, because he stills and hugs you closer once you collapse against him. The last five seconds feel like a complete blur, but your body tingles from the aftermath.

You both lay there, panting and basking in each other's arms. Daryl rubs a warm hand over your back, listening as you start mumbling about the video probably not being any good.

“Guess we'll have to try again.”

[gojoacedia]

Katsuki Bakugou was getting increasingly less patient with the current case he had to work on. All across Japan, a villain was kidnapping and killing quirkless women while mocking all of the heroes going after him. What got to Katsuki was how similar the villain's mindset was to his old mindset.

“Why are you trying so hard to protect these quirkless wannabes? I’m doing the world a favor by making sure these genetically inferior women will never be able to reproduce! Don’t you want to live in a world where people can protect themselves and not just be damsels in distress?”

After Izuku lost his quirk, this topic was extremely sensitive for Katsuki. It was obvious this villain had never actually talked to or associated with quirkless people. This was the reason why he was so enthusiastic about leading the operation to save a woman who was recently kidnapped. He was going to take the villain down, save the girl, and give this villain a piece of his mind before he rotted in prison. That was the plan, anyway.

What he didn’t expect was for the villain to be as strong as he was. Katsuki’s biggest weakness was underestimating people who he felt were inferior, and he had fallen victim to this mindset once again. The second he stepped through those doors and saw you, bloodied, beaten, and tied up, white rage blinded him for just enough time to get caught himself.

“So nice of you to join us, Dynamight! You came just in time for the killing!” The villain teased as he put Katsuki in quirk-suppressing handcuffs. Katsuki inwardly raged at himself. Here he was, forced to watch you bleed out in front of him. He couldn’t help but feel hopeless. It was obvious the villain was going to take his sweet time with you. But you had other plans.

You had been observing the villains’ behavior ever since you were kidnapped. You knew you couldn't escape by yourself, even though the flimsy duct tape around your wrists could be ripped off in seconds. Unlike Katsuki, you were ecstatic to see he was kidnapped also. This meant you had a fighting chance.

The second the villain left the room to get supplies for your murder, you snapped the tape off of your wrists and undid the rest on your mouth and ankles. You searched the room for any kind of weapon, ultimately landing on a metal stool your kidnapper watched you from. You hid behind the door until you saw him come out, swinging the stool as hard as you could at his head. He hit the floor within seconds. It seemed his biggest weakness was also underestimating people he thought were inferior. You took this time to search his person for keys to unchain Katsuki, who was your real way out of here.

Katsuki watched in awe as a quirkless woman saved his life. He watched as you problem-solved your way out of your restraints before immediately going towards his. He watched as you ignored all of your injuries like you couldn’t feel a thing. He watched as your hands flipped through each key on the key ring, trying each key on his restraints without even a slight shake in your hands. Most heroes he knew weren’t as professional as you were. Who were you?

After finally unlocking Katsuki’s handcuffs, you allowed yourself to finally let your guard down. You knew he would protect you from there. What you didn’t know was how much blood you had lost. As soon as your body relaxed from undoing his restraints, you passed out in his lap.

—

You woke up to bright fluorescent lights and the smell of disinfectant.

“Doc, I think she’s waking up!” you heard a muffled voice call out beside you. You tried to bring your arms up to rub your eyes, but they were too sore to even move. You winced at the feeling. “Hey- it’s okay, you don’t have to move,” you heard the same voice murmur from your side. You felt a hand on your arm which you grabbed, knowing the only form of communication you had right now was from physical touch. You squeezed the hand gently to say ‘thank you’ to whoever was watching over you all this time. As you heard the nurse walk in you drifted back to sleep.

The next time you woke up it was dark outside. The weight of the person previously next to you was gone. You were just glad you could see and hear properly now. You looked down at your body, starting to examine all of the injuries you had somehow survived. You were wrapped like a mummy from head to toe. Multiple IVs were sticking out of your arm with fluids you didn’t recognize. It was going to be a long healing process.

“Ah, you’re awake again,” you heard from the doorway. You looked up to see the pro hero Dynamight holding a cup of coffee.

“Dynamight…” was the only word you could muster. He tried to hide his smile before walking back over to where he had previously sat.

“You’re (y/n), right? I was sent to save you from your kidnapping, but you ended up saving me instead,” he explained in a low voice, scared of his ego being damaged by someone else hearing. You shook your head ‘no’.

“I didn’t save you… if you didn’t show up I would be dead,” you spoke to him weakly. He shook his head.

“You were more professional out there than most pro heroes I know. You didn’t look scared at all. How did you do it? Who are you?” He finished his questioning while sitting down and putting his coffee on your bedside table. You let out a small laugh. Of course, a pro hero would never understand.

“I don’t expect you to understand, but being quirkless my whole life has put me through some pretty awful situations. I worry every single day about being kidnapped, murdered, or worse. It just so happens that today was that day,” you explained to him nonchalantly. Something clicked in Katsuki’s brain. While he chose every day to put himself in danger, you didn’t. You were used to it. Ever since you were in Izuku’s position, getting beaten for the simple fact that you were quirkless in elementary school.

“I’m sorry,” Katsuki whispered. You looked at him in confusion. What did he have to be sorry for? “I put myself in danger every day to protect people like you and I think it makes me a hero. You are in danger every day, and you don’t even choose to be. That’s why you’re more heroic than all my coworkers. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize something so simple. I’m so sorry,” he spoke to you while grabbing your hand, making sure you knew he was sincere. He looked up at your face and saw tears streaming down your cheeks.

“My whole life… I just wanted someone like you to understand. I didn’t think it would be a big deal or anything… but it means a lot, Dynamight,” you cried while wiping your tears with your arms.

“Please call me Katsuki.”

A/N:

This was inspired by living as a woman. If you’re a woman reading this, ESPECIALLY a black woman, I want you to know that you are seen and heard by me. You go through hell and back every single day, and I want you to know that this only makes you stronger. You are so much stronger than you think you are. I was recently in an emergency (nothing as bad as kidnapping lol) and every single person in that lecture hall was shocked I knew how to deal with it in a calm and composed manner. It’s because I live in anxiety and when something bad happens, I’ve already planned for it 1000 times over in my head. I promise there’s a point to what you’re going through, and you will come out stronger.

[chelseypprimrose]

Home Movie / Negan x Reader / S7 / 18+

Warnings: daddy kink, oral, unprotected/rough sex, slight dom!negan, talk of masturbation, Negan references himself as “the big bad wolf” (cringe but I love it), creampie, forbidden attraction, talk of voyerism, use of derogatory language, glove/leather kink (slightly)

Summary: Negan finds a smut tape of you on the video camera at Alexandria and makes it his mission to seek you out.

A/N: I got this idea in my head while I was watching the episode of season 7 where the saviours first visit Alexandria with Negan and he finds Rick’s confessional video as he’s emptying the houses out. also inspired by another Negan series called Polaroids by @reevesdriver on here as it’s one of my faves ever! 🫶🏼 I just had to write a Negan imagine in the TWD universe again bc as much as I like pre apocalypse Negan, I needed to write apocalypse Negan because there isn’t anything sexier to me than a murderous man swinging a barbed wire bat and talking about his dick, hope u enjoy 🤍 x

“Goddamn it.” You huffed out, a long breath leaving your lips as you shoved the deer that was on your shoulders further up to prevent yourself from dropping it on the ground. You’d been gone since the crack of dawn, with Daryl gone at this point in time, you were one of the best hunters that Alexandria still had. While you felt some type of way about putting in so much effort for someone else to just take the shit you’d risked your life for, you knew Rick needed people on his side at the moment. It would be foolish to try and be defiant right now, too much blood had been spilt recently and you didn’t want to be the reason it continued. Yeah, you’d played your part in the attack on the outpost but you’d all been in acceptance that it was just that outpost. That once that was cleared, you were rid of the foreboding threat that was the Saviours. How wrong you’d been in that moment, it was only the beginning.

You were now dealing with the aftermath of Negan, having to risk life and limb, bend over backwards to make him happy, the asshole. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d had to hold your tongue to stop yourself from verbally berating his people, knowing what the consequences of giving them a piece of your mind would be. You hadn’t been there when he had killed Abe and Glenn, only hearing the horrid, sordid details after the fact.

The blood from the deer that you’d managed to kill was seeping into your white tee, making your shoulders feel sticky and matting up in the tips of your hair. You signalled a high pitched whistle, waiting for the large dark beige gate to be opened, allowing you enter back into Alexandria. Your eyes found the large sign, “Alexandria Safe Zone: Mercy for the Lost. Vengeance for the Plunderers.” You scoffed, how fucking ironic. The gate began to be moved, revealing three large vans parked up just a couple feet away from the entrance, the Saviour vans. “For fuck sake.” You thought, what could that bastard want with you now, you couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous.

“Negan, you’ll want to see this.” Negan turned to look at the saviour approaching him, holding out a small silver video recorder. “Well, what do we have here Grimes? Got my fingers crossed for a little freaky deaky!” He grinned, crossing his fingers in front of Rick’s face. He slid his hand into the leather handle of the camera, a video of Rick coming into view, looking a lot more threatening than he did now. He could barely make out it was Rick, with the massive beard grown on his face he wasn’t used to seeing. “Woah! Is that you? Underneath all that man bush? Holy shit, I would have not of messed with that guy… but you aren’t that guy anymore. Are you Rick?” He grinned, Rick stood with a stern look on his face, not moving. Negan continued to watch the interview, Rick speaking candidly about the amount of people that he’d killed. The video started to go static, indicating there was a tape that had been recorded on top of the original. Negan’s eyebrows furred in confusion, before his eyes widened at what the camera had blessed his eyes with. He watched as you were stood in-front of the camera, a light pink lace open cut babydoll set on, your breast sat in the cups, nipples on show for the camera. You started posing for the camera, running your hands through your hair, holding it up Pam Anderson style. A large sexy smile on your lips, turning to do a 180 spin, your smooth backside coming into view for the camera, Negan pulling the camera closer to his face, almost not believing what he was seeing. He didn’t recognise you, maybe it had been someone that used to be in Alexandria, wasn’t a member anymore. He growled lowly, that would be just his luck, the sexiest woman he’d seen in recent history just missed by a couple weeks. He moved his attention back to the camera, now watching you spread out on the bed, playing with your nipples while starting to rub your folds underneath your panties before the camera cut out, showing Rick’s interview once again.

“Fuck! Just when it was getting good!” He cursed, snapping the cameras screen back into place. A fire now in his stomach, his jeans now contracting around his hard bulge. He couldn’t get you out his mind, he knew he’d remember if he’d come across you before, so who the hell were you?

You’d managed to get the deer half way back to your house before being stopped by one of Negan’s minions, asking what you were doing. You ignored him, just wanting to get back, the saviour hadn’t liked that, grabbing you by the waist, dragging you towards the circle of people that were gathered around one of the vans. You could hear Rick talking about some guns that he’d found, apparently Negan thought you were trying to stash items, to prevent having to hand them over to his people.

“Negan. Got a rude bitch here for you, was about to run home, sneak this thing back with her.” You slightly rolled your eyes. “How am I meant to sneak a deer back, smartass?” You questioned, not believing someone could be so stupid. The man’s face contorted into a rage fuelled look, his hand raising up to you, before he had the chance, Negan whistled. “Hey! We don’t raise a hand to a woman, you know the fucking rules.” He stepped forward, now coming into full view of you, his eyes glancing over your body, looking like a kid on Christmas. You were still here, he couldn’t believe his luck. Lucille sat on his shoulder, his one gloved hand wrapped tightly around the bottom of the wood. “Now I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Negan.” He smirked, holding his free hand out for a handshake, his large frame towering slightly over you. You were met with a slight musk, you recognised it as an old spice fragrance, masculine and powerful. You looked at it, questionable look on your face before your hand met his, engulfing you from the size of it. His rough skin a stark contrast from the softness of yours, the movement felt foreign, you shouldn’t feel this way, especially when it’s him.

You saw Rick tensing up as he watched on from the sideline, wondering what Negan was up to, showing such civilness to you. “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Y/N.” You stated, his smirk getting wider. “Sir? Oh, you my dear, are like the gift that keeps on damn giving!” He exclaimed, bewilderment sitting on the faces of those around you and yourself. What the hell did he mean by that? “Load em up, we’re leaving.” He commanded, the saviours starting to retreat back to their vans, Negan not moving from where he was stood.

A few of the Alexandrian’s moved away as well, not wanting to be in his presence for a moment longer than they were required to. “Now doll, take that damn thing off your shoulders, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” You reluctantly agreed, placing the deer just behind you, before Negan nodded at two remaining men, them coming behind you to take your prized find. You scowled, fury raging inside your soul, you’d risked your life trying to get just one actual nice, fulfilling meal for everyone, just to have your hard work stolen off you. “I believe that’s mine.” You spat out, the fire showing from your eyes as you glared up at him. “What’s yours is now ours doll, or hasn’t Rick drilled that into you yet?” He asked, aware of the sexual innuendo of his words, his tongue rolling across his lower lip. You huffed, knowing if you talked back further, it wasn’t going to end well for you. You felt like you were tasting blood from how hard you bit down on your tongue, fists balled up.

Negan walked over slightly to the back of the last truck, the doors open, a load of stuff that you recognised from peoples homes in the compound. Picking something up, he walked back over to you, Lucille still sat on his shoulder. You saw the small video camera, not thinking much of it, not knowing there was a tape inside that you probably would have never wanted him to see. He placed it on your chest, it digging into your skin, sat just on top of your heaving breasts.

“You should be careful with such sensitive material, never know what kind of perverts going to come across it!” He joked, your eyes widening in embarrassment as you finally understood what he was talking about. You got a look of disgust rise on your face, you couldn’t believe he’d seen such an intimate piece of film. You went to grab the camera from him before he gripped tight on it, making it harder to move. “Now doll, it’s a good job I found this before any of my men did, you know that right? They would have taken this back with them and sat around in a circle jerk together, I however am returning this to you, soooo… How about a thank you, Negan?” He demanded playfully, leaning closer to your face, nose almost touching your cheek. You gulped shallowly, your hand moving over his that was holding the camera to your chest. “Thank you, Negan.” You managed to get out, the words tasting like poison to you.

He laughed, letting go of the camera, allowing you take it back with a yank. “You are more than welcome, baby. Also, in case you were wondering, you are most definitely my favourite Alexandrian now.” He winked, walking backwards before getting in the truck, holding his head out the window, giving a small wave to you as they drove out the front gates. You huffed, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you held in your throat.

It had now been a couple weeks since Negan’s last visit, he’d sent groups of his saviours in between but never actually visiting himself. You were thankful that this had been the case, you’d found yourself thinking about what could have been. You’d began to let your mind wonder to the scenario of meeting Negan in another situation, you couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He was one of the most attractive men you’d ever come across, it was just a shame he was also the most evil men you’d ever come across.

Unbeknown to you, he’d found himself thinking about you too, that fucking video. He’d managed to score some old age dvd porno films from supply runs over the years but he couldn’t even watch them to get off anymore, only thinking of your little smut tape. It wasn’t even like you’d done anything massively explicit on the tape, it shutting off before it managed to get that far but he had concluded that was probably worse. It allowed his mind to run at all the different possibilities, what did you sound like when you moaned, what would you sound like whimpering out his name as he was filling you up? What did you look like when you reached climax? All these unanswered questions racing through his mind as he got out his sexual frustration on his wives, not caring which one it was as all he pictured below him was you. Moaning out your name instead of theirs, the women not caring that much as they were only there to be used by him, no affectionate feelings connecting them to him.

You were currently in the garage, clipboard in hand, biting on the end of your pencil in anxiousness as you went over inventory. You were expecting another visit today, making you want to double check over everything to make sure there wasn’t any discrepancies in the numbers. That was the last thing you needed, especially since you were now actively trying to get plans in place to take the fight back to the Saviours. You were just finishing up when a loud knock startled you, the garage door vibrating at the motion. You put the clipboard down on the side, bending down to pull the door up.

“Well well well! If it isn’t my favourite Alexandrian. I’ve missed you, doll.” It was Negan, that signature grin on his face once again, eyes raking over your body. You felt sheepish under his wandering eyes, now knowing he’d practically seen you naked since he’d come across that video of yours. You sighed, hands resting on your hips. “What do you need, Negan?” You asked, him walking into the garage now, the door slamming back shut. The anxiety started to kick in as you were now alone with just him, as he looked over the shelves, picking up random items and studying them. “Nothing really, just wanted to see your pretty face. I just cannot stop thinking about you, doll! I wonder why that is, huh?” He laughed, you knowing what he was alluding to. He noticed how you crossed your hands over your chest, almost trying to shield yourself from him.

“Oh no no no! There’s no need for all that, I’ve seen those pretty babies already, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, doll.” He sauntered over to you, towering over you again like last time, practically feeling the heat from his body on yours. You couldn’t take your eyes off his, the way he looked at you making you get slick. He wasn’t one to hide his true emotion, his jeans getting tighter as he imagined you as he saw in the video, putting on a little private show for him. “I’ve gotta know, what made you film something like that? You must of known someone could come across it, why take the risk?” He questioned you, hand coming to rub over his bearded chin. “In this world, there’s not much opportunity to feel sexy. I just wanted something to look back at when I felt down about myself.” You squeaked out, feeling very intimate. Here you were telling the leader of a rival camp your biggest insecurities, possibly giving him ammunition to further torment you and your people.

“Oh doll, you could be covered in damn walker guts, and I’d still think you were the sexiest thing on this damn shithole planet.” He purred, grabbing you slightly by the chin, making you smile slightly. You shook your head, pulling yourself out of his grasp. “What are you doing Negan? We can’t be thinking like this. I can’t be thinking like this. You… you are the enemy.” Your hands resting on the lapels of his leather jacket, the slight coldness of it sending shivers down your spine. You leaned dangerously close to Negan’s lips, his beard scratching the surface of your skin. “Rick would fucking kill me, he’d fucking kill me, if he knew I think about you the way I do. Think about you when I touch myself, wishing it was you.” You whispered, getting more confident in your tone, your eyes staring at his lips, then back up to his dark eyes, your lips partially open as you let out shallow breaths, anything you could to try and lower your heart rate that was pumping under your chest. The silence in the room was deafening, you started to get nervous again, like you were just waiting for him to recoil away from you and laugh at your confession, that this had all been a massive joke to humiliate you further. “Goddamn it doll, looks like great minds think alike because I’ve been doing the same damn thing since I saw that little treat on that fucking camera.” He chuckled, picking you up in one swift movement, placing you on top of the workplace bench.

“Did you think about me claiming your pussy, doll? Fucking you until you can barely remember your goddamn name? What would Ricky say if he saw you submitting yourself so easily to me, the big bad wolf?” The dark tenor of Negan’s voice caused you to whimper in half fear, half pleasure. You could tell his personality was darkening to the more intense side, the jolly joking and fucking about traits were completely absent. You didn’t feel terrified though, like you did when he committed some of the horrific atrocities in front of you, the feelings of excitement causing your hairs to stand on edge and your pussy getting wet with every word that spilled out of his mouth.

“I did, god I want you inside of me.” You confessed, as Negan’s hands ghosted over your cleavage that was exposed by your tank top, before he pulled it over your head, your breasts spilling out of your lace bra. He shoved his gloved hand into your mouth, commanding you to suck. You obliged, your hands holding his arm in place as you swirled your tongue around the two thick fingers, head bobbing up and down as you did. The leather of the glove rubbery on your tongue, causing you to moan onto his fingers.

He grinned at you, a deep grunt as he leaned over capturing your right nipple into his mouth, suckling it, swirling his tongue around and biting it with his teeth causing you to moan and pull his head against your chest as you kept sucking hard on his fingers. He did it again, giving you light bites and licks, alternating between your two erect nubs. Negan removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop, bring them down to give one final pinch to your nipples, the wetness of his one hand causing the cold air to make your nipple more sensitive.

“Get on your knees, I want to see your mouth full of my dick, doll.” Negan grinned with a wicked smile, his hands undoing his jeans, letting them fall to pool at his boots. You felt your mouth salivate, eager to take him as slid off the table onto your knees. You started to lick him, going from bottom to top slowly, teasing him like he did to you with his dirty sweet nothings in your ears, hearing his low groans. You sucked the precum from his tip and swirled your tongue under his head, and then looked up at him, making sure you held eye contact with him, opening your mouth and taking him in little by little, bobbing your head up and down. Your mouth was being stretched wide, you started to move a little faster, sucking him, licking him, taking him deeper and deeper until you felt him in your throat. He was big, causing you to gag a little as your eyes began to water, your throat starting to get a sore feeling within it as he fucked your throat at a quick pace. He gave a slight gasp and his hand took a firm hold of your head keeping you in place, as his hips bucked, making it his mission to get as far down your throat as possible.

“I need to fuck you now, doll. Get up here.” Negan pulled back to your feet, slamming you stomach down onto the table, almost ripping your jeans as he pulled them down your thighs, your moist panties now on show, one tug and the flimsy material broke in two halves, now fully exposing your slick entrance to Negan. He rubbed his dick up and down your slit eliciting a pleasurable moan from both of you, pushing his length inside and then pulling out and rubbing it down your slit again.

“Please... Negan! Please!” You whimpered out, pinching your nipples, trying to get some relief from his teasing. He smirked down at you, that dark gaze watching your every move. “Please what? I want to hear you saying you want daddy's dick. I want to hear you beg me. Come on little girl, say it.” he demanded as he rubbed his length along your wet slit. “Please daddy! I want you deep inside me, please fuck me!” He groaned and pushed himself hard inside your walls, with no hesitations. You screamed, even being sopping wet, you were too tight around his shaft. He leaned on top of you and started to kissing your neck, biting lightly. Negan felt you getting used to his girth, you started to move your hips against him, wanting friction. He started to thrust in slowly, checking for your reaction to his movements. “I'm fine, please, fuck me daddy!” You moaned out, Negan pulling almost all the way out of you and then thrusting in hard making you gasp.

“You're loving this doll, aren’t you? Yeah, you're loving having my dick inside of you. I’d love good old Rick to walk in right now, see you bent over for the big bad wolf.” he chuckled, turning you on even more. Thrusting again and again building up speed, going faster and harder, just like you had imagined he would in your dirty dreams, but so much better than your imagination. “I'm going to fuck you like the slut you are and you are going to thank me for it.” He whispered in your ear, pulling your hair with one hand and holding your hips firmly with the other as he snapped his groin into you, making your ass ripple with the powerful movements. “I want to hear you doll, thank me.” You almost rolled your eyes at the narcissistic request but your brain was too blank to comprehend it. “Thank you, thank you Negan!”

You focused on the obscene sounds of your bodies echoing around you, amplified by how small the garage was. Negan continued fucking you rough and hard, until you felt the orgasm surging inside of you, building fast and strong. When it finally hit you, you screamed with the intensity of it, your body shook with the pleasure waves, running through your core. Negan released your hair to hold your hips so he could keep fucking you. His thrusts shortened, you clenched around his length, a groan leaving his mouth, feeling him finally release just after you. Negan pulled himself out of you, watching as his cum spilled out of your hole, dripping slightly onto the concrete floor below you. He leaned on top of you, leaving small kisses on your spine, body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“Y/N! We need you out here! Negan is on his way!” You turned to Negan, a confused look on your face, he’d snuck into the compound to fuck you and now you had to act like he wasn’t even here.

[glassmermaids]

angel — t. duncan x fem!reader

basically a second/extended part to my sugar mommy blurb because I didn't lie when I said I couldn't stop thinking about it.

You've found yourself breaking out into laughter often these last few days, simply because the idea that you were where you are right now was enough to have you snickering softly to yourself. It all has felt like a dream you had no intention of waking up from, a life that once felt so fat out of reach now at the very tips of your fingers.

Like now — as you float aimlessly in the neon blue waters of the pool, you can't help but laugh to yourself because you're not just in any pool, but in a pool on the other side of the world, a private pool on an even more private estate, floating around as the hours tick away till you get to play in the arguably one of the biggest tournaments of your life.

The agreement of spending the few weeks at this impressive estate had come from a mindless comment you once made about not being a fan of hotels, and as if it was completely rational, Tashi had arranged the use of one of her vocational houses as accommodation for you. If it were anyone else, they would've just told you to suck it up for a few nights, but not her. The bizarre nature of the situation itself makes you laugh to yourself once again.

"What's so funny?" The voice startles you so bad you splutter around in the water like someone who's close to drowning, head briefly disappearing under the water before it reappears again and you finally find your footing. Tashi stands close to the edge of the pool as she looks down at you in the water. "You alright?" she asks with a small smile, and you almost want to push your head back under water, just to escape the way she looks at you. "I'm fine," you say, pushing hair from your forehead where it sticks to your skin, "you just startled me a little."

"I'm sorry," she says softly as she makes her way to the edge of the pool. She crouches down briefly, taking off her shoes before she sits down completely and dips her feet into the cold water. Wordlessly, you swim a little closer until you're nearly at the edge where she sits, just out of her reach.

"Your shoulder still hurt?" she asks looking over at the medical tape that now hung by a thread, strategically fastened around your shoulder. "Not really," you say, rolling the joint a few times for good measure.

She nods wordlessly, eyes following the soft ripples of the water around you until they find yours again. Her eyes are like deep pits of brown that pull you into their depths and keep you there, not allowing you any chance to ever escape. Not that you'd want to anyway, because there's something very special about being under Tashi's gaze, a very special feeling that runs through your body like static and makes you feel things you're too scared to ever admit aloud.

You feel it when she watches you practice, scrutinizing every move untill theres nothing left to scrutinize. You feel it when her eyes follow your rapid and precise movements on court, the scalding and unforgiving sun only thing that can combat the heat of her unwavering gaze.

And you feel it now as she stares at you while you aimlessly float around in her pool. The feeling is heavy as it hangs in the air between you and unspoken, and it makes any possible words lodge in your throat, any rushed confession or admission stuck right there. So instead of letting those unspoken words hang in the air, you say the next best thing that comes to mind.

"I need a new laptop."

Tashi only nods in understanding and lets out a affirmative hum. "Okay," she says softly, "we'll take care of that once we get back home, okay?" You want to scream at the way she simply complies, you want to pull her into the pool and grab her by the shoulders and shake her, screaming at her and pleading for her to tell you what is was she was doing to you. What this wordless agreement between you has come to, why she does the things she does, if she feels even a fraction of what you're feeling. But you don't say any of that, instead you laugh again, this time with no real humor in your dry tone.

"Do you know what my friends call you?" you ask softly, voice a mix between humor and extreme sorrow.

"A bitch?" she answers with a scoff and you can't help but giggle a little at that. "No," you say (they have called her that, you'd never tell her that, though) "They call you my sugar mommy," you say, the words bittersweet in your mouth now that they no longer sat lodged in your throat.

It's silent for a few moments after that, and for every quiet second that passes, you can physically feel the way your heartbeat speeds up rapidly as if trying to escape the comfort of your chest. Your stomach is twisting in knots, and your first instinct is to run away, jump right out of the pool with some lame excuse, and make your way to your bed to call it a night. But you're tired of running, so instead, you're silently moving in the water until your practically between her legs, watching as her gaze shifts from her feet in the water to your face as you stare up at her expectantly.

"What do you think about that, Tashi?" you ask bodly, mentally giving yourself a pat on the shoulder for not cowering away from the situation. You've long since given up on trying to call her Miss Duncan or even Misses Donaldson before that, it never felt right anyway.

"What do you think about that?" she finally speaks, but you only shrug dismissively. "I asked you first," you retort, once again getting lost in the endless abyss of her eyes. She once again stays silent, hand rising from where it had been gripping the edge of the pool and meeting the side of your face with a gentle touch. Her other hand mimics the movement, and she gently moves the hair from your cheeks, smoothing it behind your ears before her hands return to the sides of your face, and she simply holds you in her embrace as if you're made of glass or some other precious stone.

The bright blue from the pool casts the hue onto your face, and Tashi thinks you look otherworldly, like some kind of higher being out of a sci-fi movie or an angel she had the privilege of touching and embracing with her mortal hands. She feels the coldness seep through her jeans from where you now grip her upper legs, eyes looking at her pleadingly, begging her to give you any reprieve from the torture she's unknowingly put you through.

That reprieve is found at the feeling of her pulling your face closer until your lips finally meet in a kiss. It's soft and timid, and it's everything you've ever wanted and needed. You could cry at how good it feels, hands unknowingly gripping her thighs so hard your nails might just tear through the denim. You open your mouth for her without a second thought and when she deepens the kiss you're preening, a neady moan escaping your mouth and right into hers.

Suddenly, she's pulling away, and you feel like you could sob. She watches the way you try to chase her lips, eyes only opening once you notice she had pulled away almost completely, the warmth of her hands still permeating through the skin of your cheeks. She takes a moment to really take in your features; your lashes still wet from the water and soon wet from the unshed tears that now sat shallow in your lashline along with the sad pout on your lips, mouth sealed yet ready to beg if necessary.

"Please don't be up too late, you have a big day tomorrow," she says softly, hands retracting from your face and already you miss the heat against your cheeks. You already miss the way her lips feel against you. You're sputtering, thinking of anything to say to make her stay but she's already completely out of the water and grabbing her shoes, before she silently makes her way back inside, leaving you behind as the tears stain your now cold cheeks in wet tracks.

[radioactiverats]

Mistletoe: Ratchet x reader

Ratchet's brows furrow when he sees the haphazardly taped sprig of nature taped to the doorway. It must be a human custom, but he has no idea how a human would have managed to tape it to the top of an autobot-sized doorframe... unless, there was help. What was this about, anyway? As far as he knew, "Christmas" was when humans gathered together with their family. What did a sprig of their planet's natural flora have to do with it?

"Ratchet!" he hears you call, some time later. He turns round from his desk to acknowledge you, and sees you're wearing that customary red hat and a beaming grin, cheeks flushed red with cheer and mulled wine.

"Merry Christmas!" you greet, and even though he doesn't quite understand the festival just yet, it seems polite to return your greeting, since you've come all the way across the base, away from the party, to share the spirit of the festival with him. At the very least, seeing you so happy warms his spark - it's a nice change after a period of watching you struggle with work, with life, constant dark circles and that vacant look in your eyes.

You sway a little, tipsy from the wine, catching yourself on the doorframe. "Ep, ep, ep," Ratchet scolds, even if it's more out of concern than anything. Already, he's striding over to steady you in his warm servos, and you flop into them without a second thought. When had you become so comfortable around each other?

You gaze unabashedly at him from where you're lying upside down in his servos, silly grin still on your face. Ratchet brings you level with his faceplate to ex-vent exasperatedly at you, but the look in his optics is fond.

"I missed you, Ratchet," you say, shifting clumsily to sit upright in his cupped servos. "Won't you join the party?"

His optics widen for a nanoklik - you've never been this honest about your feelings with him. Sure, it was you he spent the most time with, and he'd privately allowed himself to bask in every second of it. But he'd assumed that there was an unspoken boundary that could not be crossed, and the fact that you showed up every day and the fact that his optics softened when he saw you spoke for itself. You missed him? You miss him?

"Yes, well," Ratchet says gruffly. He's never been good at this. "I had some work to finish."

"Always so hardworking," you scold, even if you admire him for it. "In that case, I'll just have to stay here with you, won't I?"

The atmosphere around the both of you can only be described as warm - you looking cheekily up at him, and a small but genuine smile on his faceplate. You flop back again, preparing to be carried to his desk - and Ratchet sees your eyes suddenly lock on something above you.

He glances up as well, and - ah. He'd forgotten about that sprig of flora taped above the doorway. "What is that?" he asks, curious after all. It's a surprise, though, to look down and see you blushing bright red - humans do that when they're embarrassed, don't they?

"It's mistletoe," you answer. You sheepishly glance away as you fumble through the rest of your explanation. "There's a custom where whoever gets caught under the mistletoe at the same time has to kiss."

You've long accepted that you have a raging crush on the autobot medic, just as you've long accepted that he probably would never reciprocate your feelings.

"Is that so?" Ratchet hums. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to partake in human traditions this once."

Your head shoots up at that. Did you hear that correctly? Maybe he was just indulging you, unaware of the implications. But you meet his optics, and the look on his faceplate is so soft, gazing at you like... like he wants this too.

You scramble up onto your knees, closer to him. "Are you sure?" you can't help but ask, not daring to believe that there might be a chance.

"Why don't you show me how this tradition of yours works?" is what Ratchet says in response, and that's your cue to lean forwards and gently press your mouth to his intake in a chaste but sweet kiss.

Ratchet makes a noise, as if surprised by how soft your lips were - and then he's bringing you closer to initiate another kiss, spark warming at how you laugh breathlessly against his intake and respond in kind.

"Merry Christmas, Ratchet," you breathe, as you press your forehead to his helm. There will be a lot to talk about, but for now, your hearts are united under the mistletoe.

[wilwheaton]

I have a small part in the 1987 television movie (failed pilot) version of The Man Who Fell To Earth. Lewis Smith played the titular character. Beverly D'Angelo played my mom, his love interest. (Fun Star Trek connection: Bob Picardo is also in it).

My character was a Troubled Youth, which I gotta tell you was not a stretch for me at all. I was deeply, deeply hurting at the time we made it. I was struggling not to suffocate on all the emotional and financial burdens my mom put on my shoulders, and fully aware of just how much my dad hated and resented me. You need a kid who doesn't want to be an actor, whose eyes can't hide the pain? I'm your guy.

Anyway, one of the scenes I was in took place in a record store, where Troubled Youth steals some albums, before he is chased by the cops and saved by the Man Who Fell To Earth, who uses a glowing crystal to save his life from ... some scratches on his face.

We filmed the interior of the record store at Sunset and La Brea, in what I think was a Warehouse, and at the end of the day, I was allowed to buy some records at a modest discount.

I was deep into my metal years, on my way from my punk years to my New Wave years, so I only bought metal albums. I know I bought more than I needed or could carry (I was making a point that I was allowed to spend my own money, mom), but the only ones I can clearly remember are:

Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind

Judas Priest - Turbo and Defenders of the Faith

W.A.S.P - The Last Command

(I know this was in March of 1987, because Turbo had just come out.)

Of those, Piece of Mind is the only one I never really stopped listening to, even through all the different it's-not-a-phase phases. I still listen to it, today.

Ever since I became an Adult with a Fancy Adult Record Player And All That Bullshit, I have kept my records in two places: stuff I want right now, and stuff I keep in the library because of Reasons.

Generally, records move in one direction toward the library, even if it takes years to happen. I just don't accumulate albums like I once did, because I'm Old and set in my ways.

Earlier today, I decided that I wanted to listen to an album while I cleaned up the kitchen, and because I wanted to make my life more interesting, I opened the library cabinet for the first time in at least five years.

There was the very same W.A.S.P album from that day in March, 1987. I don't have any of the others -- I looked -- but The Last Command was right there.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I put it on the Fancy Adult Record Player and dropped the needle.

I watched four decades of dust build up with a satisfying crackle, and there was something magical and beautiful about hearing all the skips and the scratches, realizing I remembered them from before.

The title track was just as great as I remembered it. It struck all the same chords in me that it did in the late nineteen hundreds. The rest of the first side was ... um. It just didn't connect with me, and for the few moments I spent trying to find a connection, I don't think it ever really did. I would remember.

But I did remember how much I loved making those mix tapes, and what a big part of them that song was. I did remember how empowering it felt to not just spend my own money that I earned doing work I didn't want to do, but to spend it on music my parents hated, right under their noses. I did remember how impressed Robby Lee was, when I showed him my extensive heavy metal album collection.

Remembering all of that, in one of those cinematic flashes of rapid cut visuals and sped up sounds, told me why I kept this record, while I gradually sold or replaced the other records I bought that day with CDs, then mp3s, then lossless digital files, before finally coming all the way back to records, where I started.

I didn't listen to the second side. I didn't need to. I took it off the Fancy Adult Record Player, and put it back into the library, next to the George Carlin records.

[mt-oe]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐—modern mizu x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Thank you so much for appreciating my fics. I honestly didn't expect to receive requests for a part 2 and ya'll are making me melt aaaaaa <3

Link for the first part? Mwa!

I hope you'll enjoy this one too!

Enjoy, love! Mwa mwa :*

warnings: not proofread, smut (mdni!), very mild violence, alcohol, misgendering (bc mizu appears masculine), she/her for mizu and implied afab reader

I don't really know if she knows or not But I left some things in her jewelry box And she's wearing out my rings Taking the compliments meant for me

"Damn...I look like absolute shit."

You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself after waking up from a post-cry nap. Your eyelids were very puffy and your lips chapped despite being slightly swollen. The eyes that were once filled with life were like empty pits, holding no emotion.

It had been a few days since you've retrieved your items from Mizu's apartment. Thankfully, your friend had a spare room in hers and allowed you to stay for a few months until you were ready to be on your own again. If it weren't for your friends, you'd probably have a hell of a time trying to recover from your break up.

Well, you were still struggling but at least it's a start.

That wasn't to say that the moving out process was any easier though. Seeing Mizu's frown when she opened the door made you want to pull her down and kiss her until the corners of her lips turned upward. But you couldn't, your relationship wasn't like before anymore.

Her eyes watched you as you carefully removed the trinkets you had placed on her shelf. The little neon characters and toy babies were now in a cardboard box as if the two of you didn't joke around about them being your 'babies'. Your clothes were already in separate box. The goofy t-shirts she had given you as a way to make you laugh were taped shut.

"Are you really going to take everything home?" she sighed out, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. The frown on her face never left and her eyes remained as aloof as ever.

You glanced at her briefly before turning your attention back to her shelf. Fingers running across the wood, past her jewelry box, trying to remember if you had left anything else. "Don't talk to me."

Mizu rolled her eyes at your cold response. It was understandable, but that doesn't mean it didn't annoy or hurt her in any way. She pushed herself off of the wall lightly before walking off to the kitchen. The feeling of you being this cold was not something she could bear at the moment.

As she left, your fingers traced back to her jewelry box and opened it. The earrings, rings, and necklaces you always wore were still there. Your throat tightened at the sight, remembering how you had bantered with Mizu for being so 'unfashionable'.

Before you, she had only worn plain silver bands around her fingers, saying that 'she didn't need anymore than that' and 'they're just rings, no need to be special'. But of course, you knew her long, slender, yet rough hands were too beautiful for the bare minimum.

It took a while to convince her, mainly because she secretly liked seeing you try so hard for her, but you finally got her to try out your rings. The feeling of having more accessories on her hand was odd to her and there were definitely times the accessories got snagged on her hair, clothes, and other things. However, the feeling of having a bit of you with her comforted her. It was adorable honestly. You even ended up leaving the rings she often borrowed from in her jewelry box.

And now, you were staring at the same rings placed snugly in the velvet-y confines of the jewelry box. A sigh escaped your lips as you took your earrings and necklaces back, but for some reason, you really couldn't bring yourself to take your rings back. A small tug in your heart felt that maybe she'd wear them and remember you.

"It is what it is," you mumbled, trudging back to your room. Your room looked like a shit storm. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor, the trinkets you once displayed on Mizu's shelf were now scattered on random surfaces, and the books you bought but never read were...well they were still rotting on a random corner.

As you were about to lay down, your friend knocked on your door before opening it. The sight of you merely rotting in bed made her eyebrows furrow but it quickly disappeared as she walked in. "Want to drink somewhere?" She leaned sideways against the wall, cross her leg over the other.

You were about to refuse but the image of your exhausted self and the aching loneliness bothered your mind. Nodding at her, you stood up again. As if silently communicating with you, she gave you a relieved smile before leaving the room to give you some space to get ready.

Once the two of you had arrived to the club, you immediately sat down, waiting for your drinks to arrive. The music was blaring through the speakers and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and the mix of people's perfume lingered around. You were usually up for some partying but the ache of your heartbreak drained you this time around.

As your drinks arrived, you poured yourself a shot, not even bothering to wait for your friend. She was probably already dancing with someone somewhere. Your eyes scanned the crowd, people-watching as you downed the shot, the burn of the alcohol making you cough a bit.

Some how, it was peaceful for you despite the dancing, hollering, and even the strangers making out with who ever. Even your friend's return to the table, clearly having stolen a bottle of beer from another table, didn't bother you. Maybe you were finally attaining peace for the first time in a while. Maybe all you really needed was some alcohol to forget about Mi—

"Hey, isn't that Akemi?" Your friend asked, pointing at the sofa near the center.

What the fuck?

And although I think I'll miss them At least there's proof of my existence A captive little soldier on her fingers Deep behind enemy lines

You almost spit your second shot out, the alcohol almost traveling to your nose, making you retch over as you coughed in attempt to get the liquid back to your mouth again. Your watery eyes scanned over the crowd once again until you finally saw her. It really was Akemi. If she was here, Mizu was bound to be here too, right?

Panic with a bit of anticipation settled in you as your eyes tried to find your ex.

No. She wasn't here.

A sigh of disappointment escaped your lips upon sitting down.

Wait. Disappointment?

The hell?

"I-I'm going to dance for a moment," you told your friend. There was no way you're disappointed in Mizu's absence. You were going to find another way to move on.

As you made your way through the crowd, dancing and mingling with others while you sipped on your beer, a woman approached you and began flirting. The interaction made you feel awkward at first. A mix of panic, intoxication from the alcohol, and slight flattery was boiling inside you.

The woman flirting with you invited you to their table, to which you agreed. She introduced her friends to you, sharing drinks and stories. Some time later as you were interacting with them, she had slung an arm around you and pulled you close. It wasn't a touch that you were particularly comfortable with, but another shot with a Heineken as a chaser fixed that.

While you continued to interact with them, you noticed the lady's eyes staring at someone through the crowd. "His rings look expensive," she told you, pointing towards someone. Your eyes looked at where she was pointing at and widened.

Fuck it was Mizu.

And she was with someone else too. The woman she was with continued to play with the rings on her hand as they sat down, giggling and talking to her. They looked so happy and your ex looks like she had moved on. You continued to stare, not believing the sight, until your eyes met. You quickly sat back down, trying to calm yourself down.

Your vision was blurring either from the tears or from the alcohol or maybe both. The music ringing in your head as it continued to boom throughout the venue.

The lady you were with looked at you with concern before leaning closer to your ear. "Let's take this somewhere else," she whispered, giving you a smile. You nodded and stood up with her, making your way outside onto an alley beside the establishment.

I still have your lighter I still have your book I still have everything you brought, but you never took

The lady watched as you took out a cigarette, placing it between your lips before you began rummaging through your bag for a lighter. "You don't seem like the type to smoke," she joked in an attempt to ease your mood.

She was right. You weren't the type to smoke. In fact, you only started after your break up. The same night, you bought a carton of Marlboro Blue because you saw Mizu smoking it when she was still just your hallway crush. The image of her leaning against her motor bike, smoking while smiling lightly at the sight of her friends bantering was one that never left your mind.

"I learned from someone." You lit the cigarette with the lighter you had found in your purse before inspecting it. Your eyes widened as you realized that it was Mizu's lighter, making you choke on the smoke.

"It's him, right? The tall dude with the nice rings? The one with the blue eyes." The lady patted your back as you continued to cough, frowning when you nodded. She watched you smoke for a moment before moving closer towards you.

Your eyes looked...Bothered. Like you wanted to go back in there and thrash the table, to ask Mizu who the fuck she was with.

The turmoil in you continued to brew, rising and rising until it was almost overflowing. The image of Mizu with another woman burned into your memory. You wanted to storm in, to make a mess, to ask her how was she able to move on so fast while you...

You were still collecting the pieces of yourself that had fallen apart.

In midst of your thoughts, the woman you were with had grabbed you by the shoulders and pinned you against the wall. "Let me teach you something better." She placed a chaste kiss on your lips before lifting your shirt, placing a trail of kisses from under your bra until she was kneeling down, face-to-face with the button of your jeans, looking up at you.

You sighed, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips before you took another puff from your cigarette. This felt wrong. The idea of hooking up with someone while you were still in love with your ex felt wrong.

"I...I can't do this.." You lightly grabbed her by the chin, moving your hips away from her. A look of confusion flashed on her face before she moved slightly closer. "Oh c'mon, just on–"

"She said back off," a voice cut her off.

You know where to find me And I know where to look

Before you could even utter a word, a ringed hand had pulled the woman away from you, prompting her to stand up. Deep blue eyes narrowed at her before roughly letting go of the woman's shirt.

"Now get lost."

The woman glared at Mizu, seemingly sizing her up for a fight. But Mizu was tall, well-built, and quite intimidating. Everything you wanted in a person, but clearly not someone you'd want to fight.

A 'tsk' left the woman's lips before she raised a middle finger, storming off. Mizu then turned to you, raising an eyebrow at the cigarette between your fingers. "I thought you didn't smoke?" she scoffed, eyes narrowing at you. " ...And blues? Really?"

You merely stared at her, unable to form a word. Maybe it was the alcohol or the nicotine making your brain lag but there was only one thing running through your mind: She was here. She was with you. She pushed a woman away from you. She was questioning why you were smoking. She..She..She...

Shit.

She was here. In front of you.

Mizu's eyes narrowed further at your lack of response. "What?" She moved closer to you, towering over you. The distance between the two of you was so small, it was like she was suffocating you against the wall.

"Why are you here?" you asked trying to keep yourself calm, breathing the smoke out through your nose. She glanced away for a moment, looking a bit guilty before turning back to you. "I...Akemi told me she saw you here."

Your eyes widened in surprise. You expected her to be with Akemi, but you didn't expect her to come just because Akemi told her you were here. "And that matters why?" you asked, eyes now narrowing.

She sighed and moved away a bit, more of the guilt appearing on her face. "I wanted to see you."

The beating of your heart increased as you looked at her. She wanted to see you? Why? You dropped the cigarette you were smoking before stepping on it, grinding the heel of your foot on it more than you needed before looking up at her. "You're joking," you said in a serious tone, looking intensely at her.

"I'm not I–" She was quickly cut off with you giving her a shove. "I saw you with that woman. I'm not stupid, Mizu."

She looked at you for a moment, clearly puzzled which made the rage in you boil much more. "The woman you were with. The one play with your rings. My rings." You clenched fist as you shoved her once more, glaring at her.

Your eyes started tearing up and you began smacking her arm, a mix of your emotions and alcohol making you lose all inhibitions. "You have no idea how much pain I've been in because of you! All I wanted was for you to be there for me and you fucking left me!" she yelled, your careless smacking progressively getting more forceful.

"Then, when I'm finally trying to find some fucking peace for myself, you waltz in with some woman and act all chummy chummy buddy buddy in front of me?! And now you expect me to fucking talk to you and welcome you back?! I'm not a fucking idiot, you motherfucking bi–" She cut you off by placing you in a loose headlock and shoving a hand over your mouth, glaring at you.

"You mean Kaji's daughter," she stated calmly, letting you go once you stopped thrashing around, clearly confused. "Oh for fuck's sake–Akemi's friend. She asked me to pick her up as payment for telling me where you are." she groaned, rubbing an annoyed hand across her face.

Oh.

You still glared at her before looking away, shoulders slumping. "Well why didn't you say so earlier?" you asked, frowning at her. She looked at you with mild annoyance, wanting to argue that you were too busy smacking the shit out of her arm, before suddenly chuckling. The annoyance melting into fondness and amusement, Damn, she missed you like this.

Her arms gently wrapped around you, pulling you closer as she buried her nose against your hair. "I miss you," she mumbled, closing her eyes. You couldn't help but freeze before finally softening up and sobbing, leaning closer to her. "Why'd you leave me?" you sobbed softly against her shoulder.

Her throat tightened at the sound of your crying and sniffling. Making you cry was the last thing ever wanted to do. "I was wrong. I thought we both needed a break from each other but I...I ended up missing you," she sighed out, holding you tighter. "I guess I took you for granted and I'm regretting it so much. I'll do anything to get you back." A hand wiped your tears away before lifting your chin up. "I'm sorry.."

You looked at her, gulping the lump in your throat. The apology was so silly to you. Mizu apologizing to you in such a horribly put together yet sincere way was not something you expected to see and it amused you. "Just kiss me, you fool." you giggled before pulling her head down and planting your lips together.

She kissed you back almost immediately, placing a hand behind your head and the other on the small of your back, pulling you closer than ever. It felt so good to be held like this again. To have Mizu in your arms and you in her's. The kiss deepened as your tongues explored each other's mouth before pulling away, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips.

Without another word, you knelt down in front of her, hands clumsily unzipping her pants. "W-Wait." She pushed your head back gently, covering the lower half of her face with her hand to cover her blush. "What's wrong?" you asked, looking up at her.

"I don't think I deserve to be treated like this right now especially after what–" You cut her off by continuing to undo her pants and pulling it down along with her panties slightly. Your nose buried itself against her bush, making both of you groan, her's slightly louder.

Using your thumb, you spread her folds open before sticking out your tongue and giving her cunt a long slow lick, relishing the moan that came from her. Despite being such a quiet person, Mizu really was loud when it came to intimacy.

The hand she previously used to push your head away was now gripping your hair, encouraging you but not pushing you. You began licking her clit slowly, drawing circles with the tip of your tongue and flicking it occasionally. Your other hand gathered the wetness that slowly dripping out of her, using it to coat your fingers before slowly pushing it in her hole.

Her grip on your hair tightened as her face scrunched up in pleasure, moaning loudly as she leaned back against the wall. You curled your fingers inside her, massaging that area you knew made her see stars. "Fuck, dove...y-you're so fucking good at this," she moaned out, bucking her hips closer to you.

You smiled against her cunt before giving her another long and slow lick, sucking the bundle of nerves towards the end. Your eyes looked up at her as your tongue began licking her clit faster. She was panting and moaning loudly, blue eyes half-lidded, and a dust of pink covering her cheeks.

"'m so close...holy shit," she moaned almost desperately, hand now pushing you closer. With her head tossed back slightly, she climaxed onto your fingers, letting our a loud choked back moan against the back of her hand.

She panted for a bit before looking at you as you pulled your fingers out slowly. You stared back at her, gazing into her blue eyes as you licked the cum off of your fingers slowly, sucking on it before releasing it with a wet pop. "Good girl..." she panted out before pushing herself off of the wall and pulling her pants up.

As soon as you stood up, she looked at you with a soft gaze before pulling you closer to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I guess...we're back together now?" you asked, intertwining your hand with hers, walking out of the alley together. "'m kinda glad you took me away from that woman earlier though," you laughed.

"Kinda feels like thievin' or stealing," you added. An amused grunt left Mizu's throat before she placed a short sweet kiss on your lips.

"Just felt like taking what's not mine," she mumbled against your lips.

That's thievin', stealin', takin' what's not yours

[agaypanic]

Mike Schmidt 😍 can u write reverse comfort? Like reader comforting him over his troubled past 💀

Give You My Shoulder (Mike Schmidt X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: It’s not uncommon for Mike to have a nightmare, mainly from reliving the trauma of his brother being taken. Luckily, he doesn’t sleep alone anymore.

***

When you moved in with Mike and Abby after a year or so of dating, they were both ecstatic. Abby loved you; you were by far her favorite babysitter. And Mike was finally able to spend more time with you beyond seeing each other for a few minutes during lunch breaks and before you left the house after babysitting. Now that you lived with them, he could come home without having to deal with the sadness of you leaving.

But the nights took him a while to get used to. He, of course, loved being able to hold you and be near you while you two slept. But Mike had become so used to reliving the past when he was dreaming, usually waking up frustrated and scared when he realized he was once again unable to save his little brother. 

You knew about all of this: the dreams, losing his brother, his traumatic life. You always did your best to comfort him, but you could only do so much.

When you moved in, he did his best to stop going through his memories. He kept the sleeping pills and nature sounds tape in his nightstand drawer. He’d wrap you in his arms and fall asleep to the feeling of your nails dragging through his scalp, listening to your breathing.

But old habits die hard.

You and Abby were dead asleep in your rooms when Mike came home. He had gotten home late at night after work, completely exhausted. He couldn’t wait to sink into his mattress beside you.

He tried for about an hour, laying in every different position and squeezing his eyes shut. But it was no use. Despite being tired, he couldn’t fall asleep.

Mike turned to lay on his back, sighing in frustration. And that’s when he saw it.

The Nebraska poster.

He looked over at you, watching your peaceful sleeping form. It couldn’t hurt to just do it one time.

As quietly as possible, Mike opened his nightstand drawer and took out his bottle of pills and tape player. He sat up and took one of the pills before playing the tape. He took a deep breath as the sounds of nature filled the room, letting it overtake him. Mike laid back down and looked up at the Nebraska poster, gently grabbing your hand as he waited for the moment he would drift off, back to Garrett and his family.

Before he knew it, he was back at the camping grounds, a kid again. Garrett ran around with his toy plane, and Mike and his parents smiled at the sight. Mike went through the memory like he always did, filled with nostalgic joy as if he didn’t know what was gonna happen next.

And then it happened.

Mike ran, yelling for Garrett as his brother waved at him from the backseat of the car that drove off. He tried looking for new details: a face, a definite clue, anything. But when he looked around, the woods became empty. The only living things were him and the trees.

His name was faintly called out, catching him off guard. This was something new, which should have excited him. It should’ve given Mike hope that this new thing would lead him to his brother. But instead, he freaked out even more, wondering where the voice was coming from and why it was the only thing he could hear.

“Mike!” 

The man jolted awake, gasping in surprise as he frantically looked around. He was back in his bedroom, with you looking at him in concern and talking softly.

“Mike, honey, you’re okay.” You whispered to him, squeezing his shoulders to try to get his attention. “You’re okay. What happened?”

Mike slowed his breathing, trying to calm down. He felt ashamed that you were seeing him like this, yet all you did was look at him with love and a listening ear.

“I tried to find him…” He said sadly, and you immediately knew what he meant. You bundled Mike up in your arms, allowing the few tears that he let slip to fall on your shoulder. “I was supposed to look after him.”

“It’s not your fault.” You whispered, wishing you could take away the guilt that constantly weighed on Mike.

“I could’ve saved him.”

“Just because you couldn’t doesn’t mean you didn’t try, Mike.” You tried to look at him as best as you could, with his head being in the crook of your neck. “I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to live what you’ve lived through. You’ve been through things that no one deserves. I know you couldn’t save Garrett, and that it probably eats away at you all the time.” You petted Mike’s hair, which was slightly damp from his sweat. But you couldn’t care less. “But I think you’ve been given a second chance.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked, picking his head up from your shoulder but still leaning into you.

“You have Abby. I know she’ll never replace your brother, but I don’t think he’d want you living in the past trying to find him again… Healing from what you’ve been through won’t be linear, and there might always be a part of you that’s hurting.” You rubbed Mike’s back, feeling his body slowly relax against yours. “But you could honor Garrett and his life by doing the things you never got to do with him with Abby.”

Mike was silent, taking in your words. You worried that maybe you overstepped, or said something wrong.

But then Mike squeezed your hand. He nodded slowly before giving you a quick but gentle peck on the lips, as if to say thank you. He laid back down, urging you to do the same.

“I love you.” He said softly while looking at you, eyes still glassy from his tears. You wiped the ones that had fallen off of his cheeks.

“I love you too, Mikey.”

[eatommo]

Coach [r.k.]{kd12}

Dirty talk / breath play

Cw: coach!Roy Kent, coworkers, inappropriate use of coach, lots of kissing, p in v, teasing, swearing, rough sex, mentions of shower sex, implied age gap (though not large), mutual pining

Moving across the world to chase a childhood dream, per request of your brother’s football coach, had been working out so far.

Futbol had always been your passion, you would get up at odd hours to watch your favorite teams, and your favorite player perform, even begging for channel packages so you could watch matches live. So when Coach Lasso offered you a position on his coaching staff for Richmond, the landing place for your favorite grumpy futbol player, you jumped on it.

Ted had an incredible ability to make everyone around him cherish life a little bit more every single day and life in England really did cast a spell on your small town American heart.

Roy, had been full of surprises himself. You and your dad used to bond over his no nonsense attitude, and his passion that was evident in the way he left his entire life on the pitch every single game, even the occasional meltdown.

Meeting him had been difficult at first, but during your first conversation you quickly established yourself as something more than a baseball fan, or as he put it so nonchalantly “a pretty face.”

You always had a crush on him, sure he was a bit older than you but his personality was addicting, and the subtle nuances of his love for the boys didn’t go unnoticed. You once watched him talk Danny through his emotions after a movie night where the team had gathered together to watch When Harry Met Sally. He helped Jamie grow to his full potential, albeit through gritted teeth, but he did it because as shy as he was to admit it, Richmond had become his home.

“Mmmmm.” Roy Grumbled as he walked into the coaches office. You sitting at your desk on the other side of the room from him, his fist clenched as he threw himself into a chair across from you with a grunt.

“What happened this time?” You half expected some Blaise excuse like his car getting dinged by the kitmans bike.

He looked across the desk at you, giving you a small eye roll. Mumbling back at you, he replied. “Players. Don’t show up properly to train. Don’t focus on the exercise, just a pain in my ass really.”

You hum in agreement, “I know, if only we were still allowed to bend them over a desk maybe you could return the favor.” You taunt, with just a hint of warmth in your cheeks, unable to stop the out of pocket phrase.

“If only.” He joked back to you, his grumpy tone now changed to something more lighthearted with a small grin. “I swear sometimes they try to do this stuff on purpose just to mess with me- And what am I even supposed to do with a player who can’t even get their kit on right. Sam had his shirt on backwards, the hell are we supposed to do with that?” He let out a frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair.

You chuckle, “Do you really think they do it on purpose just to fuck with you? I know I enjoy watching you get all grumbly.” Mumble with just a hint of suggestiveness in your voice, but shifting your attention back to the tape you’re cutting into a highlight reel for tomorrow’s practice.

“They better not be doing it on purpose.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “Or I swear I’ll be out there making them do extra drills after their extra drills. I swear if they wanna mess with me they’re really not gonna like my attitude tomorrow.” He leaned forward, and given the threatening tone his voice still never raised at you. He was always respectful of your space, and never would do anything to intimidate you on purpose.

You smile, clearly enjoying the grumpiness of him today, and tease him just a hair further, “Easy old man, I don’t want you to waste all that energy on the boys.” I say in a coy and insinuating to save some for me with a short pause, before continuing “We have a yoga class we can’t miss.”

His eyes widened for a brief moment, surprised by the comment and the tone you used. He could tell your were teasing, but it didn’t stop the thought from popping into his mind about saving energy for you. “Oh shush.” He replied, his tone trying to act as if he was unaffected, but the way his breath went a little faster said otherwise, “I’m looking forward to it.”

You’ve been flirting with each other for weeks, getting along better than most people typically do with Roy at least right off the bat, and the reality of it is you think when Roy is sexy when he’s angry. “Everyone needs an outlet for stress, I like yoga among other things.”

He let out a breath, his arms still crossed as he looked at you across the room. “I swear we’re supposed to be professional.” He mumbled with a bit of a chuckle and rolling his eyes, as he knew both him and you weren’t exactly doing the best job at being professional.

You smile knowingly, “I have reason to believe we wouldn’t be the first ones to break that rule.” I look at him up and down, not trying to hide my intention anymore, watching the veins in his neck strain, longing to make them pop.

He raised an eyebrow, listening to your suggestion. He couldn’t deny that the idea was tempting, and it would definitely relieve some of the frustration he had. He stared at you for a moment, considering the suggestion, before finally speaking. “Are you propositioning me?” He smirked, crossing his arms again with a raised eyebrow, still playing a bit coy, but the twist of his mouth is stuck in place.

You shrug, simply stating, “You know how much I like you, I think we’d have good chemistry off the pitch.”

He chuckled a bit at your words, the idea of ‘relieving stress’ with you becoming even more tempting. He knew that there was chemistry, everyone could tell in the locker room. The way you always seemed to make him laugh and feel lighter, while also managing to send his heart race with your playful teasing. He was tempted, not for the first time. He smirked again and tilted his head to the side. “You think so?” He taunted, his voice low. Leaning just a bit closer to your desk.

You hum again, standing slowly and circling the desk, perching on the edge and getting a close as you’ve ever been to him apart from a few celebratory hugs during matches. “You know what helps me relax?”

He smirked, the sound you made already sending a chill down his spine. He was already sold on the idea, but seeing you move to the front of the desk and letting out that phrase definitely sealed the deal. He walked closer to you slowly, moving around the desk until he was standing in front of you. “Enlighten me.” He said smoothly.

“A nice warm shower…” you reach out slowly, giving him every opportunity to move before you touch his chest gently with a lifted eyebrow in question.

He let out a breath as you reached out, his heart beginning to pound in his chest at the idea of finally getting to do something with you. He watched you closely, eyes following your hand to his chest. He had no intention of moving, wanting to keep this going.

A small smirk appeared on his face as he watched you. “A nice warm shower,” He said, taking another step forward.

He chuckled softly, leaning forward slightly, so he was standing right in front of you. “You are a tease, you know that?” He said in a low tone, his hands going to the edge of the desk on either side of you, caging you against it. “A right little tease.”

Him being so close to you is intoxicating, you can smell the oil he puts in his beard, he smells like sage and sweat. Your breath picking up as the anticipation of his touch draws closer, you look down into his dark brown eyes.

The sight of you enjoying this was almost enough to make him snap. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. “You like getting this reaction out of me, don’t you? Teasing me, making me want you?” He murmured, voice low and rough.

“Yes,” you pant, your hands twisting in your lap. “I have a feeling you’re rough in all aspects of your life.”

He chuckled breathlessly, his heart pounding even faster as you confirmed his suspicions. God, the thought of the two of you doing other things together was almost enough to make his brain short circuit. He took a moment to regain his focus, trying to respond in a way that wasn’t just a bunch of stutters and breathless words. “Is that right?” He replied softly. “You’re just dying to know the reaction you’d get from me in other situations, ehh?”

I smirk, leaning forward so our lips brush ever so slightly breathless, “So how about that shower?”

The slight brush of lips alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine. God, he was already a mess, and it was all your fault. He could feel the desire and need running through his veins. He let out a short huff, his hands gripping the edge of the desk tighter. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He whispered huskily. “Let’s go.”

Your faces meet, coming together in a clash of teeth and hunger, your lips moving against each others in a frenzy.

Roy groaned into the kiss, his hands quickly moving from the desk to grip your hips as your mouths pressed together. He allowed you to dominate the kiss for a moment, letting you lick into his mouth, his eyes closing as he enjoyed it.

After a moment, he began to grow more aggressive, his tongue meeting yours hungrily and his hands pulling you closer against him. You groan eagerly, feeling the tight grip on his hands all over your body. Partially wondering if you’ll even make it off your desk.

He let out another quiet moan as your hands moved to grip his hair, the feeling sending a spark of pleasure through him. He broke the kiss for a moment, only to begin trailing kisses up and down your jawline.

He nipped and sucked the skin, leaving a trail of love bites along the side of your neck. One of his large, rough hands snuck up under the hem of your shirt, wanting to feel your skin.

His hands are calloused and warm, and part of you should care that he’s leaving a trail of marks in the wake of his mouth but if you weren’t lying the idea of wearing these mark, his marks, in front of so many people makes your pussy throb in need.

Roy’s hands come down to your hips, squeezing and pushing more of his body against yours, you can feel the hard outline of his need in his trousers.

Roy runs a hand over your ribs, and you shudder in response. “How much longer is training?” You say, as you throw your head back and begin kicking off your shoes.

“Half hour, then Beard is holding a checkers competition in the team room.” He lifts your shirt up and over your head, “we’ve got your office to ourselves for at least an hour, we’ll have to be quiet to keep the kit man away,” he kisses you again, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra,”You can be a good girl and keep quiet yeah?”

“Yes coach.” You pull away, to free him from his shirt, and pressing your chests together. “Tell me what you wanna do to me.”

“Fucking minx.” He swears fingers finding your nipple and tugging on it harshly, “Filthy fucking thing calling me coach.” His eyes are dark with desire, breath hot and full of desire. “I’m gonna fuck you on this desk.”

His fingers dip into the waistband of your joggers, grabbing fistfuls of your ass as he envelops you with his mouth again. You moan coach, against the press of his mouth.

As you repeat the title, calling him coach again, he groans against your skin. His hips press forward, practically grinding himself against you for a moment to get some much needed friction, a low hiss slipping from his lips. He pulls back, his breath coming out in short huffs as he looks you in the eye.

“Say it again. Keep calling me coach.” He practically growls out. He pushes your paperwork onto the floor, urging you to lay further back onto the desk and to give him space to remove your clothes.

You comply, leaning back and lifting your hips so that he can pull the soft material from your legs. Looking down between your legs he sees a sizable patch of wet fabric clinging to your skin.

“Fucking filthy girl, you want this cunt filled don’t you?” He lets the pad of his thumb tap your clit through the thin cloth of your panties, and your eyes all but roll back into your head.

You nod vigorously, feeling so hot and dazed, knuckles clinging to the edge of your desk. Catching a glimpse of the sizable bulge in his trousers, you reach down to slip your hand around him.

He continues to press a finger to your clit, and takes a hand and twists into your hair tugging from the root. You hiss in pain, squeezing his shaft in response to the pain, “Please coach.”

His resolve breaks, pushing the top of his trousers down just enough to let himself fall free. In a single breath the head of his cock is working you open and his hips saw back and forth stretching you around his size.

Once he’s bottomed out, he pauses for a moment. Taking in the way your mouth is parted in a pant, and the way the muscles in your legs quiver around his waist.

“You said rough yeah? Tell me if you need me to stop.” He said, sober as a saint for a second making sure to establish himself as in control but giving you what you need to feel comfortable.

You nod, biting your lip as he shifts his heels to angle his hips up, he hits something inside you that makes you squeak.

His large palm wraps around your throat, squeezing the artery there and making your brain lull into the field of pleasure he gives you.

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xxiii

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: Tara and Sam rush you to the hospital. You see a familiar friend.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, graphic violence.

word count: 4.9k

a/n: let me know what you think, love you guys as always ;)

In all her life, Sam has never seen so much blood.

It’s everywhere. All over the back of her hands, in her hair. It’s all over the floor, all over the ceiling, all over Tara.

All over you.

Everything is soaked crimson red.

She presses her hand a little harder against the wound in your stomach, trying to stop it. 

But it spills out, flushing the floor like it’s a red sea.

Tara’s sobbing.

Her hands are on your face, your eyelids have long fluttered shut. There’s a pulse, Sam can feel it, but it's faint. Barely there. 

And there's nothing Sam can do but watch as she listens to her baby sister wail for you to open your eyes.

“Tara,” Sam murmurs. She’d touch Tara’s shoulder, try to snap her out of her grief infused trance, but she’s too scared the moment she lifts her hands you’ll bleed out all over the basement floor.

Tara rests her forehead to your cheek, the water from her eyes staining with the blood on your face, turning it a light shade of pink.

She murmurs something Sam can’t hear. Presses her lips once more to the side of your cheek.

“Tara!” Sam says, a little more forcefully.

The ambulance should have been here by now. Sam had called ahead of time and then again once more. The moment you’d passed out.

But it’s been ten minutes and there’s no sign of them.

“Call them again,” Sam instructs, once she’s sure she has Tara’s attention, “Tell them she’s bleeding out.”

Tara’s bottom lip wobbles, but she does what she’s told.

She sinks her face back down into your neck and presses her phone to her ear, her words a desperate mumble.

The ambulance arrive not five minutes later.

It’s a flurry of lights, and stretchers and crime scene tape as the police follow, not long after.

These are Millwood police officers, and Sam doesn’t recognize a single face.

But for all their questions, they don’t get much out of either one of them. Tara’s at your side, hurrying out with the EMT’s as they pull your limp, bloodied body onto a stretcher, hooking an oxygen mask around your face and taking Sam’s place putting pressure on your wound.

Sam follows, not wanting you or Tara far from sight.

“Is she going to be okay?” Tara asks, voice frail as they pile into the back of the ambulance. Sam presses her hands to Tara’s shoulder in support.

They’d very nearly kicked Sam out. The ambulance isn’t massive, and Sam had half-expected to be relegated to riding in a squad car on the way to the hospital. But Tara’s near hysterical, and the only thing slightly calming her down is Sam’s hand wrapped tight around her shoulders.

“We’re doing our best, honey,” Says the EMT, not unkindly, “But we need to focus on her, right now. Okay?”

There’s a thick layer of gauze pressed to your stomach to soak up some of the blood. But within seconds it’s coated through.

The EMT’s barrel off to each other, almost speaking in code. Heavy medical terms Sam doesn’t understand. But she gets the gist.

It’s not looking good.

She squeezes Tara’s shoulders a little tighter as Tara’s whimpers break out into sobs.

-

When the ambulance pulls into the hospital they take you away.

You’re rushed through the cool linoleum floors, whisked behind a pair of swinging doors that Sam and Tara aren’t allowed through.

You’re going straight into surgery, is what the EMT had said. It could be hours before there’s news.

It had been a fight to stop Tara from barreling in after you.

She stands now, looking horrific; covered in blood, sweat, and her own tears as she argues with the receptionist. Bloody shoeprints follow in her wake.

“There’s a viewing platform,” She says, voice shrewd, leaning down onto the receptionists counter, “There’s a viewing platform to watch surgery. I’ve seen it in Grey’s Anatomy. I need to be there.”

“Ma’am,” Says the receptionist, looking pointed. Her phone is pressed to her ear, no doubt trying to call for security, “There is no viewing platform. That’s a TV show.”

“Tara,’ Sam murmurs, tugging at her sister’s arm, “Come on. We can’t do anything now. We just have to wait-”

Tara shakes off Sam’s hand, shooting her an angry glare.

“My girlfriend needs me,” She says, voice desperate, “If there’s no viewing platform, can’t I be in there? I’ll take a shower. Where one of those hospital gown things. Please.” Her voice cracks, “I have to be in there. I have to be with her. If she dies and I’m not there…”

Her voice trails off. She looks like she’s about to cry again.

Sam reaches out, presses her hand firm against Tara’s back.

The receptionist looks up, pity overtaking her features.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” She says, “You need to let the doctors do their job. I’ll have them update you when they can.”

-

She doesn’t call security.

Tara deflates like a lead balloon. Sam is alert, on guard, a little concerned Tara might take matters into her own hands and careen through the hospital in a sprint to find you.

But instead she lets Sam take her by the hand and lead her to the waiting room.

And then, she promptly takes out her phone, shoulders seizing in aggravation. Anger overtakes her features. The tears promptly stop, like someone has just turned off a hose and replaced it with a flamethrower. 

“I’m suing the hospital.” Tara says, voice a growl. She’s swiping through google for lawyers.  Sam bites her lip and welcomes the distraction. Better Tara take out her emotions via google than swinging a punch at the hospital receptionist. 

“Okay, Tara.” She says, voice tired. Her knee bounces. Sam had called Woodsboro hospital, and your Mom and Dad had been rushed to the emergency room, their fate not dissimilar from yours. It feels wrong to be sitting. Sam feels like she should be pacing, or checking on you or doing something. 

But there's nothing she can do except sit. Stew in her own panic. 

“I’m suing the police, too.” Tara says, looking up, “What kind of police force doesn’t know their Sheriff is Ghostface?”

Sam hums.

Usually, she’d argue. In the overarching sense of morality, she often ends up on the opposite side of her sister.

But privately, she agrees.

How could no one have seen the town Sheriff had been Ghostface all along?

Tara drops her phone. The anger, quick as it had come, evaporates. Her lip quivers. 

“Sam?” Tara asks, voice small. Sam looks up. Tara’s eyes are red, a little puffy. She’s wiped most of the blood from her face but speckles of it still linger in her hair.

She looks as if she might cry again.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

It’s not a question so much as a plea for comfort. Sam scoots a little closer, draws Tara’s head onto her shoulder.

“She’s in the best place,” Says Sam, voice a little hesitant, “They’ll do everything they can to make sure she’s alright.”

She doesn’t want to lie. In truth, it had looked bad, and Sam has no idea if you’ll pull through or not. Tara sniffs against her shoulder, and Sam feels the thin material of her t-shirt soak through with Tara’s tears. She rubs Tara’s back, comfortingly.

“If she dies, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Tara murmurs. She loops her hands around Sam’s arm, clinging to her like a baby koala in a tree, “If she dies, Sam, I’ll die.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Sam says. She squeezes Tara’s shoulders once more, “And let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s in surgery, she’s not gone yet. Okay?”

Tara says something inaudible. Her grip around Sam’s arm tightens. She settles for resting her head against Sam’s shoulder, and Sam’s heart soars.

Tara isn’t affectionate, not with her.

She’d be lucky to get a hug out of Tara most days. They snipe at each other like sisters because that’s what they are. When they were kids it was hair pulling. Silly, bouts of sibling rivalry. But Sam’s older now, and that isn’t what she wants their relationship to be.

It’s more than sisterly for Sam. It’s maternal. Their own mother off god knows where, not a care in the world her youngest daughter is covered in blood and falling to pieces in a dingy hospital waiting room.

And so Sam will be the mother Tara needs. She presses a quick kiss to her sister’s head, and closes her eyes. She doesn’t believe in God, not really. But she prays hard now.

Because if she doesn’t pray and beg and cry she knows her sister will never be the same.

Please, God, she thinks, desperately, please let her wake up.

-

When you wake, you’re in a meadow.

You blink up at the pale blue of the sky, not a cloud in sight. You sit, rubbing at your eyes. 

This isn't Woodboro, is all you can think. Woodboro is winding suburban streets and million dollar houses. This is a grassy field in the middle of nowhere. 

You turn, confused, looking for any sign of life. 

And then you see him. 

Clear as day, standing over you. His expression is mild, he looks almost pleased to see you. 

And you can't think of why. 

"Wes?" You ask. You blink, then clamor to your feet. He doesn't move, or speak, or make any effort to acknowledge his name. You step a little closer, mind whirling. 

“Are you real?” You ask, wide-eyed.

He looks real. Floppy, blonde hair. Searing blue eyes. Stubble dotting the round of his chin. His lips, slightly chapped, they way they always were. You can smell him - that cologne he liked, you can feel the warmth from his body.

You blink.

Wonder if he’d be weirded out if you touched him.

But you do it anyway.

He smiles, a little lopsided, as you graze the skin of his forearm.

“You’re real.” You breathe out in wonder.

Then you frown.

“But you’re dead. I-”

Killed you.

His smile fades.

You swallow.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, as if you'd just realized she isn't here. 

The look on his face is pained.

Panic surges through you. You whirl around, looking for her. Grass blooms as far as the eye can see. There’s nothing else. No roads, no signs. No power poles, nothing.

No sign of anything else. Anyone else.

“Where is she?” You ask again, “Wes, tell me where Tara is. Has something happened to her?”

You rack your brain, trying to think of the last time you’d seen her. But your mind draws a blank. You don’t remember anything. Nothing but her and her pretty smile.

You grab at Wes’ arm, shake him.

He blinks. And suddenly, the look in his eyes is mean.

“You’re not going to see her again,” He says. His lips purse, “You’re not going to see anyone again. And it’s your fault.”

And then he disappears.

His body crumbles like paper under water. You falter forward, your grip on his arm the only thing keeping you upright.

You cough, eyes watering as the ash hits your mouth.

You look up, desperately.

The birds chirp. A pleasant breezes settles through the blades of grass. You panic.

“Tara!” You cry out, wildly fumbling your way through the meadow, “Tara, where are you?”

You break out into a sprint. But the meadow doesn’t end. You run and run and run. A mile. Two miles. Until your chest is heaving and you’re covered in sweat. And then you collapse to the ground. Your stomach aches like someone is twisting metal through your insides.

You pant, tug your shirt up to see a bare patch of skin. There’s nothing wrong with you. Your eyebrows knit together as you start to cry.

You don’t know where you are, or what’s going on.

You can’t remember yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that.

You just think of Tara. You wonder where she is. She wouldn’t leave you alone in the middle of a field. She loves you.

Surely, she’s looking for you.

And then a soft voice draws you out of your stupor.

There’s a road behind you that certainly wasn’t there before. You blink, mouth falling open. It’s Chase, eyes sparkling. He’s in his old pick-up truck, the one with the paint peeling off the sides and the stupid ‘ladies man’ charm hanging off the rear screen mirror.

“Hey,” Chase says, with a smile on his face, “Get in.”

-

Tara had settled for maybe thirty minutes.

She’d closed her eyes, and for a moment, Sam had almost thought she'd drifted off to sleep. And then, inevitably, someone had to ruin it. 

"Samantha Carpenter?" He'd called. He's wearing a uniform, a Sheriff's badge pressed to his chest. The badge is old, looking a little rusty. Sam frowns, and sits slightly upright. 

Tara rises at the same time. 

“Who are you?” Sam asks, frown on her face. 

The man charges forward, a little awkwardly. He accidentally bumps a coffee table, sending a slew of magazines careening onto the ground. 

"Sorry," He says, as Sam and Tara blink up at him, "Should have introduced myself. I'm the new Sheriff. Well, the old Sheriff. The old old Sheriff. I've been asked to step in." 

He reaches down onto the ground and fumbles with the magazine. 

His smile is sheepish. 

“My name is Dewey,” He says, “Dewey Riley.”

“Okay, Dewey,” Sam says, frowning slightly, “This really isn’t a great time. My sister's girlfriend is in surgery." 

The look on his face is apologetic. 

"I know," He says, "I'm sorry." 

He reaches into his pocket and draws out a small notebook, "We didn't get a statement, back at the house. I know it was a little - hectic. But we really need to get an account of what happened." 

“What happened was your Sheriff was a raving psychopath who kidnapped my girlfriend and tried to murder her,” Growls Tara, "What happened was she stabbed her so hard she's been in surgery for the last three hours-" 

Dewey purses his lips.

“I understand,” He says, “I’m sorry this happened. I know it must be very traumatic.” He lets it hang. Sam frowns.

“I know you,” She says, suddenly, it all coming at once. His face is so familiar, “You knew my-”

Father. Is what she wants to say. She catches herself just in time. Tara doesn’t know. Nobody knows. And it’s not the time or place for family revelations.

“You knew the original Ghostface.”

Dewey tilts his head.

“And the one after that,” He says, with a weak smile on his lips, “And the one after that. And the one after that. I know what it’s like to survive a Ghostface attack.”

He touches Tara’s shoulder, sympathy on his face.

“Like I said, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m suing you,” Tara says, quietly. Hatred brews behind her eyes, “I’m suing the entire Woodsboro police force. For all I know you were all in on it. I’m not talking to you without a lawyer.”

Sam pinches her nose.

“Tara, he’s just doing his job-”

But Dewey smiles.

“It’s all right, I understand.” He says, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, he sits down. Tara stares, “But it’s a bit conspiratorial, don’t you think? A police force of Ghostfaces’? Logistically, it’d be a nightmare.”

Tara blinks.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Dewey says. He leans back in his seat, “But if you don’t, they’ll send someone else. Maybe the state police. Maybe the Feds. And they won’t do it here. They’ll take you to the station, keep you in the interrogation room for hours. The death of a police officer is a very serious matter.”

Sam swallows.

“I think you should stay here and be with your girlfriend,” Dewey says, quietly, “I think she’ll want you here when she wakes up. But that will only be the case if you can tell me what happened.”

Tara’s quiet a moment.

And then she speaks.

“It all started four weeks ago.”

-

Infuriatingly, Chase doesn’t say anything for a long while.

He hums along with the radio, taps his fingers against the wheel. Ignores you staring at him. 

Ignores your barrage of questions.

“Where am I?” Is the one you keep repeating.

This reality isn’t reality. That much is obvious by now. You’ve been in an endless field talking to ghosts all day. Tara is nowhere in sight.

Chase looks over at you.

“You’re nowhere.” He says. And then he smiles again and tilts his head back. Mumbles along to Bryan Adams’ “Heaven”.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” You snap. You lean forward and shut the radio off, “Is this heaven? Is that where we are?”

Chase laughs.

“You really think you’re going to heaven?” He asks, bemused. His eyes twinkle.

You swallow.

“So, I’m in hell?”

Chase shakes his head.

“No. Not yet, at least. You’re nowhere.”

You grind your teeth, frustration overtaking you. Chase and Wes are some incredibly unhelpful ghosts.

“How can I be nowhere?” You ask, “Am I dead? Is this- limbo, or something?”

Chase looks over at you. He tilts his head, taking pity on you.

“You’re in your own head,” He says, softly, “You’re dreaming. This isn't real. None of it is real.”

You blink. This doesn’t feel like a dream. It’s vivid. You can touch, feel, smell everything around you. You press your hand to the dashboard. It’s solid under your hand.

“I’m dreaming?” You ask, confused, “So this isn’t real? You’re not… real?”

Chase shrugs.

“I’m dead, remember?” He says, “But I guess, dead or alive, it doesn’t matter when you’re dreaming."

You close your eyes and picture Tara. You want her here now. You want her to take you in her arms and kiss you and tell you everything’s going to be okay.

But when you open them, it’s still Chase staring back at you.

“If I’m dreaming, then I want her here.” You say a little accusatory, looking at him as if he’s the one keeping her from appearing.

“That’s not how a dream works,” Says Chase with a quiet hum, “You might want her here, but your subconscious doesn’t.”

“Every part of me wants her, especially my subconscious.” You growl.

“I think the point of a subconscious is you’re not conscious of it.” His eyes twinkle again. You huff, irritated.

“Are you a ghost or my psychologist?” You grumble under your breath. You stare out the window. That damn meadow still rolls in its wake.

“Neither,” He drawls. His hands tighten on the wheel, “Maybe I’m your guilty conscience. Him and me, maybe we both are.”

You draw in a breath. Remember Wes’ eyes. Blue, so blue. Trusting right up until the moment you’d turned your knife on him.

“But we don’t have to talk about that,” Chase offers. His smile is sad, “We could pick up where we left off. Like we’re best friends again.”

You hadn’t thought much about Chase, if you were telling the truth. You hadn’t thought much about any of them. Tara’s good at that, making you forget.

It hadn’t occurred to you that it might not necessarily be a good thing.

“I’d like to wake up now.” You declare, loudly.

Chase peers over at you.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Is all he says.

You frown.

“Something’s really wrong.” You murmur. You don’t know it but you feel it. Your stomach aches once more. Desperately you try to remember.

But there’s nothing.

Not a single fleeting memory from the last time you’d been awake. Vague memories, all cobbled together. Like the time your father had taught you to ride a bike. The first time you’d scraped your knee. Your first kiss with Tara.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Ghostface, something about Ghostface.

But you can’t quite work it out. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, your thoughts not quick enough to keep up.

Chase turns the radio back on and belts out the rest of the song. 

-

Dewey doesn’t stay long.

Tara talks quietly, but quickly. Like she’s trying to get him out of there as fast as possible. She tells Dewey about Richie, about the attack at the house. She tells him about that time he’d stabbed her, about how she and Sam had worked it out.

The Sheriff had taken them down to the station and left them in her office.

Tara had seen the suspect board, the dotted lines drawn between the victims. And then she’d remembered something that had sent her flying out of her seat.

Stab 2, the only clue Ghostface had ever left you.

The movie where Ghostface had been the mother.

He leaves with his well wishes and a promise to follow up when the investigation had started. There would be more they had to do, he assured. Witness statements, likely long talks with the state police. But he’d hold them off for a while. Allow them to wait for you in peace.

Tara returns to her seat, hands twitching in her lap.

And Sam’s quiet as she thinks.

Through all the frantic panic of the last few hours she hadn’t allowed herself to think of why.

Why had the Sheriff targeted her sister? Why had Sam’s own boyfriend joined her? Why had the Sheriff killed those poor kids - Sadie, Aaron, Amber, Chase, Sam. They were children, after all. Eighteen year old children.

And then she thinks of her father.

Some people are just bad, Sam, he sneers at her now, some people just want to cause hurt.

Sam thinks of her own sister.

Tara had been violent, so so violent.

She’d taken the knife out of the Sheriff’s throat and all but used her as a pin cushion. She’d screamed, and cried, the look in her eyes terrifying as she’d taken what little life the Sheriff had left in her.

Tara got angry sometimes, this Sam knew.

But not like this.

Sam swallows. She leans forward and touches Tara’s arm. The Sheriff’s blood is dried now, but it seems to be the least of Tara’s worries. As if, sitting here, covered in blood is an everyday occurrence.

“Are you…” Sam thinks, trying to phrase it the right way, “Are you alright?”

She fails, clearly.

Tara looks over at her as if she’s an idiot.

“Am I alright?” Tara asks, eyebrows knit together. Her voice rises. The other people in the waiting room look over, “My girlfriend is in hospital. She has a stab wound in her stomach and no one will tell me what’s going on. Am I alright?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Sam says, hurriedly, “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

Tara shakes her head, expression sparking with annoyance.

“I’m going to talk to the nurse again,” She says, standing, “Before you ask me any more stupid questions.”

And she’s back. The sister Sam knows so well.

Sam rubs her eyebrows and tells herself not to think so hard.

Tara approaches the receptionist once more. Sam watches, eyes squirting as she tries to make out their words. When Tara hurries back in a sprint, Sam’s heart leaps.

Tara’s eyes are wide as she approaches.

“She’s out of surgery,” Tara says, and her voice can’t hide her excitement, “She’s not awake, not yet. But she’s out of surgery, Sam.”

-

You feel sleepy.

Sleepier than you should, considering you’re in a dream.

Chase is humming again, his hand sprawled across the back of your seat, the way it always was. Like he’d just wanted to be close to you.

One of his few, fatal mistakes.

It had been so easy, then. Just you and Chase, taking on the world. Laughing at dumb twitter memes, watching movies together at his house. The days when he’d been staring with puppy dog eyes and you’d be too blind to notice he’d been looking at you.

You try to think about a reality where you’d never met Tara. Never fallen in love with her.

You imagine yourself in the 1950s. Chase would have been your sweetheart. You’d go out with him on weeknights and drink milkshakes, and hold hands, and make out in the back of his truck just down the street, so your Dad couldn’t see.

No Tara, no murder.

Just life.

And it makes your stomach turn.

“I would have never been happy with you.” You murmur. He looks over. There are those puppy dogs eyes again.

“I would have never been happy with any of them.” You continue. Not Aaron and his pretty eyes. Not Sadie and her sweet laugh.

Pretty, sweet and boring.

“No,” Chase agrees. He’s slowing down the car, but you barely notice. Your eyes are drooping, “You wouldn’t have. You’re too fucked up for that.”

You can see Tara now. Almost feel her. The ghost of her lips brushing yours. Her hands in your hair, brushing it back. Her eyes wide, desperate. Like she’d give anything in the world to see your eyes open.

“Wake up, baby,” She’s murmuring. Quiet, like it’s just for you, “Wake up and come back to me.”

You hum. That sounds nice. Chase withdraws his hand from your seat. He touches your arm, smile sad. Like he’s about to leave.

“I’m sorry that you’re dead.” You murmur.

You’d say it with more reverence but there’s no point. He is, after all, a figment of your imagination. You’re talking to yourself.

Chase leans forward. Presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“Me too.” He says. He squeezes your hand.

“But I think it’s time for you to wake up now.”

-

When the nurse tells Tara the room they’re keeping you in, she breaks out into a sprint. 

Not a quick walk. Not a light jog. 

A sprint. 

The nurse stands in her seat, screaming at her to slow down. Sam scrambles up out of her seat, apologizing quickly to the nurse and hurrying along after her sister. 

Hallways pass by in a blur. Doctors shout as Tara barrels past them. She shoves everything out of the way. A stretcher is sent careening into a window. Medical supplies burst and are sent sprawling all over the floor as Tara charges a rolling cabinet out of the way.

She all but shoves a little old lady in a wheelchair out of the way in order to reach the elevator. Leaves Sam there, apologizing profusely as she does.

But Tara doesn’t care.

There’s only one thing that matters; you.

She’s out of breath when she finally reaches your floor.

There’s a nurse by your bedside, plugging you with an IV drip.

Your face is white, so pale, you almost look as if you’re made of marble.

Chest heaving, Tara approaches. She ignores the nurse and sits down at your side, taking your limp hand between her own.

“It’s okay, baby,” She murmurs. Her lip trembles. Her heart is racing. She reaches over the bed and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now.”

The nurse retracts from you, studying her.

“You must be the young lady who’s been giving our receptionist hell.” She says, but her voice is light, teasing. She reaches out and squeezes Tara’s hand.

“I’ll send the doctor in to give you a rundown of the surgery,” She says, “But don’t worry too much, sweetheart. We fixed her up. She’s going to be alright.”

Tara’s heart sings.

She looks up at the nurse, wide-eyed. Her lips are chapped, her face still stained with blood. She looks terrible, frightening. But her eyes spark with hope.

“Promise?” She asks, with all the energy of a small child asking for a bedtime story.

The nurse squeezes her once more.

“I’ll send in the doctor.”

And with a wink, she turns on her heel and closes the door behind her.

The heart monitor beeps, steadily. You don’t move. Your eyes firmly pressed closed. Tara touches the tip of your jaw, working her fingers along the ridges of your face. Your chin, your nose. Your closed eyelids.

You look perfect, Tara thinks, even like this. Her beautiful, perfect girl. 

She settles on your cheek and cups it, moving in closer to press the softest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you so much,” She murmurs. The heart monitor is in tune with her own heartbeat. She links her fingers with yours and presses a kiss to the back of your hand, “And it’s over now.” She promises, “No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll die before I let anyone ever hurt you again.”

She wants to climb into bed with you. Take your frail body in her arms and hold you close. Curl her hands through your hair and cradle you into consciousness. Wake you with soft kisses and soft words and never let you go ever again.

But she doesn’t.

There’s a tight bandage around your midriff that has her wary.

Instead, she scoots herself as close as she can possibly get, and rubs her nose against yours.

“Wake up, baby,” She coaxes, voice soft. She presses another soft kiss to your lips, “Wake up and come back to me.”

The heartbeat monitor beeps.

And then you feel it all at once.

Color drains back into your cheeks. There’s air in your lungs. Your throat is dry, like sandpaper. Pain, and drugs pump through your body.

You groan, your eyes flitting open.

And the first thing you see is her pretty brown eyes staring back into yours. Her eyes are wide, loving, hopeful. Like she's just witnessed a miracle. 

“Tara.” 

[popcornforone]

… Which Ignites

Day twenty of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge

A Javier Peña Fic

MASTERLIST

Suprise!!!

If you were here a couple of hours ago you will have seen I’ve already published something for today, a poem. But as I was writing the poem full of Javiers angst, I was like what would the reader truly see, what would be their heavenly view… so here we are. An actual fic.

Synopsis:- You stumble upon a heavenly sight at the gym.

Word count:- 450

No real warning until the last sentence, a bit of injury detail & pining & ogling, but nothing much more.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this, it won’t be happening again but I’m glad the poem made me write an actual fic. & I had to publish them both for you today. Cheers @berryispunk & @lady-bess for allowing me to do 2 for the price of one today. @fanfictionoverload for all the prompts.

Normal service will be back tomorrow. Click here for the poem

The gym smelled like leather & sweat, the faint clang of weights & the hum of the air conditioning filling the otherwise quiet space. You had come to escape your demons, hoping to find solace in the rhythmic pounding across the treadmill. But then you saw him.

Javier Peña.

He stood in the corner, illuminated by a dim beam of light that somehow made him seem like a sculpted god. His eyes burned with focus as he taped his hands, knuckles already raw from hours on the bag. You paused as you got to the machine, breath hitched, mesmerised by him.

& then it began.

The first punch landed with a crack that echoed across the gym. You flinch but couldn’t look away. His movements were fluid, each jab, each hook, calculated, a controlled fury channeled into every strike. The heavy bag swung wildly, as if it were trying to escape the force of his blows.

It wasn’t just the strength that held you captive, there was plenty of that. It was the rhythm, the quiet poetry in his movements. He fought as if the bag represented every mistake, every regret, every shadowed figure in his past that he couldn’t let go.

You watched as sweat darkened his pale pink t-shirt, clinging to his chest & shoulders. His hair glistening, damp & a mess, but he didn’t pause. The only thing that mattered was the next punch, direct & strong.

For a moment, you forgot yourself entirely, lost in the scene unfolding before your eyes. It felt intimate. There was no audience here, no applause waiting for him at the end. This was just Peña & his fight. But you are the audience secretly enjoying each second .

He paused briefly, rolling his neck with a grimace, & he caught you staring. Your heart thudding like a drum in your chest. His dark eyes met yours, unreadable, but something flickered there, amusement, maybe, or a quiet acknowledgment of your admiration. You wished you could look away but you just couldn’t Instead, you tilt your head, blush, a hesitant smile.

He nodded, just once, before returning to the bag. The connection was fleeting, but it felt significant, like a bridge built between two lonely souls in a world that often demanded too much.

As you left the gym after your work out, the echoes of his punches still resonated in your mind, along with a single thought:

There’s something heavenly about watching a man fight not for glory, but for himself.

Whereas Javier mind is thinking of something else:

Who was she, this heavenly Angel, & how can I get her handcuffed to my bed post?

[zestylunch]

whoopsie!

boyfriend! soap x afab! reader

TW: cheating, violence, hitting with frying pan, being tied up, anger, angst? idk, anger, betrayal, but also kind of happy ending lol,

NO SMUT but mdni probably

theres not really any pronouns for the reader but he calls her bonnie and shes just very girly so i would say she's a girl or afab!

disclaimer this is probably so bad like i just had an idea and here it is also ive never published anything on here so yeah...... erm idek if anyone is even gonna like this might delete this highkey this is probably so corny or something help

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tongue running over your top teeth, your jaw clenched as you read the messages.

Johnny: I’ll meet you with the money. ;) 

Allie: cant wait ! <3 

Johnny: I’ll be in the black pickup. Let’s make this quick, can't have her noticing. 

Allie: :)

The messages, shared shamelessly between your boyfriend, Johnny, and your best friend, Allie. You seethed with burning anger, hatred, and a sad feeling of betrayal. 

How could they do this to you? you had thought to yourself, running over mental images in your mind.

Were you not enough? 

Your lip curled in disgust at the laptop screen. Your boyfriend's phone was connected to your shared MacBook, allowing you to see all of the texts between them. Fucking idiot, you thought, scoffing at his stupidity at getting caught.

He would get home very soon. In an hour or so, you knew.

You hopped onto your own phone, blocking your best friend's number, not wanting her to ever be able to reach you again.

And, it's not like you had read any previous messages. These were clearly messages that you weren't meant to find. You had seen enough from these two, you wanted both of them out of your life. To think that you were merely a bridge for their connections? They met through you, and you had only facilitated their abilities to be around each other! They're both fucking traitors, leeches, at best! Oh, God, you had thought. I'm so naïve.

You practically snarled at the thought, a nauseating feeling appearing in your stomach, festering from the years of pent-up emotions buried deep within. Great. Another thing to add to the list of things haunting you.

You plopped down lazily on your loveseat couch, tears welling in your eyes and a familiar feeling of defeat revealing itself to you. A tear slid down your cheek, icyhot, making it's appearance in the darkness of the room. You stared over at the MacBook that was still open, the screen now on standby mode, colorful bubbles bouncing across the screen.

Something dreadful pulled you from your entranced bubble-following, and you jumped up at the sound of his pickup pulling into the driveway of your house. Scurrying over to the kitchen, you grabbed a frying pan out of your cabinet, holding it up in self-defense.

So help me, God, you thought, I'm gonna knock this motherfucker out.

You watched from the darkness of the entryway of your kitchen, stealthily hidden between the wall and your trashcan. You observed the door opening, him throwing his stupid fucking scarf over the ledge in the entryway, happily smiling, only to find the house... dark. He caught sight of the MacBook, and furrowed his eyebrows. "Bonnie... I'm back," he spoke, looking around, as he stepped further into the foyer.

He searched, listened, for any sign of you, but didn't seem to get one.

"My love?"

"You're home early," you said, quickly, as he walked by the entryway of the kitchen, before you swung the frying pan and hit him straight in the head with a whack, forcing him to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once his eyes peeled open, a terrible pounding at his head engulfed him. He tried to move, but he was... tied against something. A chair.

At first, the soldier he was, he believed he was captured for an interrogation, and immediately flooded with panic at the thought of you not being alright. He started to wrestle against the duct tape holding him, desperately looking around.

But he was met with the sight of you. Looking down at him, seemingly... angry?

"Bonnie!" he gasped, looking up at you, relieved to see you okay, before furrowing his eyebrows. "What's- what's thi-" he started.

"Shut your dumb fucking mouth," you hissed, leaning down to his level.

"Allie, huh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My best fucking friend? The person I trusted the most in this world that wasn't you!" you spat, eyes narrowing angrily.

Looking confused, and, a bit terrified to say the least, he peered up at you, his eyes glossing over.

"Bonnie, I really don't-"

You interrupted him again, slamming your finger down on the space bar of the MacBook, waking the screen up to display the text messages between the two of them. Shoving it in his face, your face twisted into an angry frown.

His glistening, blue eyes scanned over the screen of the laptop, taking in what he was reading. He didn't respond, only looking up at you with a sad look in his eyes.

Did you not like surprises, maybe?

"B-but, my love-"

"Mouth shut," you spat, again, shutting the laptop.

"Oh, the glory. The glory of being a soldier, Johnny MacTavish. A sergeant, you are. I bet everyone loves you, like I do, the funny, smiling in everyone's face, laughing and joking, Johnny. I bet your Captain wouldn't approve of you being a lying, conniving, evil fucking traitor!" you yelled, kicking his shin.

"Bonnie, what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"How can you act like you don't know what I'm talking about?" you choked, flopping down in a chair next to him.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he said, quietly, looking hurt and tired.

"Oh?" you asked, perking up, a sarcastic smile on your face.

"A surprise? Boy, am I fucking surprised! Hey, y/n, look, surprise! I'm fucking your best friend, and I'm paying her for it too!" you mimicked.

"What?" he asked, looking confused and horrified.

"Oh, come on!" you replied, angrily.

"Release me from this-" he peered behind himself, observing his wrists tied together at the back of the chair, "from this tape, right now, y/n."

"Not until you admit you've fucked up. Then, once I untie you, you have an hour to get the fuck out of my sight."

"What? N-No!" he hissed, fighting against the duct tape.

"If you think, even for a second, that I want you in my sight after this, you're fucking insane," you declared, inching around behind him, until he couldn't see you anymore.

"Admit it. Admit that you're a liar, and a cheater."

"But M'not," he said, struggling to turn his head and look at you.

"Really tempted to knock you out with this pan again."

"You hit me with a pan? Is that why my head is poundin-"

"ADMIT IT!"

"NO!"

"I'm raising this pan," you whispered, and he watched the shadow of it raise behind him with horrified eyes.

"Bonnie, how much of those messages did you read?" he asked, swallowing thickly.

"Oh, I decided I'd seen enough sexting after the first four messages I'd read," you spat.

With a snap, the tape securing his wrists broke, and he scrambled out of the chair, backing up against the wall away from you. Huffing and puffing, he observed your form- angry, disheveled, almost, hair stringy and draped over you, in your summer frock that you enjoy gardening in. His heart melted a bit at the sight, but it was quickly swallowed by his fear of you rushing at him with the pan.

He caught your arm before you could bring the thing all the way down on him, and snatched it away from you with a grunt. He set the pan down quickly, not wanting to appear any harm to you, and raised his hands.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, unlocking it. He tapped the screen a few times, and set the phone down slowly on the table before looking up at you, eyes glossy.

You approached slowly, arms uncrossing themselves, and leaned down to read the messages, the screen lighting up your tired face in the darkness of the dining room.

Johnny: Hello, is this Allie? This is Johnny, y/n's boyfriend. I was wondering if you'd be able to help me with something. I know you're good with surprises, y/n has told me about your surprise party antics!

Allie: hi! yes, that's me :)) what's on your mind, then?

Johnny: Well, I was planning on proposing to her.

Allie: OHMYGOD!!!! YES! :0

Johnny: Haha. I was thinking the beach as the destination, but I can't find time to go and pick up the ring from the jeweler, so do you think you could grab it for me? I'll pay you back!

Allie: yes, i'll be able to. how much should i bring?

Johnny: $1,450

Allie: no problem! just bring me the cash right after, if you don't mind. then we can discuss the whole party thing

Johnny: Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Read 4:57 p.m.

Your breath hitched as you read through the messages, and you peered up at Johnny, eyes wide with surprise and sadness.

"Oh," you said, quietly, standing there dumb and aimlessly.

Johnny reached into his pocket, pulled out what appeared to be a red velvet box, and set it down on the kitchen table. It was briefly lit up by the phone screen until the screen went dark.

Silence fell upon the both of you. Awkward, guilty, hurt, confused, shocked silence.

"This was supposed to be a surprise," he sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs at the table, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm- I'm sorry," you said, quietly, avoiding his gaze, guilt plaguing you. I mean, shit, you'd whacked his ass with a frying pan and tied him up. And he wasn't even guilty.

"I forgive you, Bonnie," he shook his head, smiling up at you, before reaching to the side of his head where the radiating pain was coming from.

"Though my brains are probably mush, by now. You got me good. Serves me right, though, I suppose, how I made that look," he huffed, a sad smile on his face as he looked up at you from where he sat.

"I understand if you don't wanna marry me, now," you choke, wiping your eye swiftly to prevent a tear from escaping.

He didn't reply, a solemn sigh escaping him.

"I would've never done this if I had known. I'm sorry I ruined the surprise, I ruined everything, I broke your trust probably-" you started, choking as you began to cry.

You covered your face in shame, hiding away from him, guarding yourself. You sobbed, frantically, realizing that you'd probably just fucked up two of the best relationships ever gifted to you by the heavens above.

Unbeknownst to you, Johnny stood up, and grabbed the velvety box, opening it up. He knelt down to the floor, and, with the sound of his rustling, you uncovered your face, blinking down at him. You let out another sob at the sight.

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, y/n?" he asked, quietly, solemnly, but shakily. You could hear the fear in his voice.

"Get up," you huffed out a laugh, softly, before letting another sob out.

"And yes, I'll marry you, even with a dent in your fuckass mohawk from the frying pan."

He stood up happily, and engulfed you in a loving hug, seemingly forgetting about the entire ordeal earlier.

"Hey, my mohawk is not fuckass. Also, that was my favorite frying pan," he huffed, before dipping down to plant a soft, loving kiss on your lips.

[umnitsa]

You should mess with Jim - 4

Summary: Big Jim thinks of you at work. You watch him and give in to an impulse

A/N: Sex workers are awesome. This is all written in a badly informed place of admiration. This one got away from me. Not proofread, I hope it's all right. I really hope you like it.

Pairing: retiredpornstar!Hopper x fem!Reader

CW: PIV, lots of sex, but not with Reader.

Jim missed the gonzo days. He wondered when did he stop having fun. It used to be easy, just tape some fun between two willing attractive people. Some make-believe with a guy holding a camera between your legs, while you wonder if your asshole is on the shot.

People were mostly high on everything then.

But things changed, somehow.

At least the production value could be a bit higher now. He smiled, looking in the mirror. He was a police officer a few weeks earlier, and now he was a teacher.

This was a producing company he liked to work for. Mostly fetish scenes, good pay, good viewing base, and they enjoyed him. The comments were crazy. The comments on the previews in the free sites were crazy.

He still had something.

Thank heavens it allowed him to pick and choose his jobs.

Well, it didn’t help he was smart and saved, the moment he realized it wouldn’t last forever.

He moved to the set, an office room, with a sofa. Jim felt thankful, it wasn’t really comfortable to fuck on a desk. He always preferred beds, but sofas were doable.

He suddenly felt old.

“Come on, buddy.” Jim muttered to himself and stepped into the set. The light makes it hot and just slightly uncomfortable. The tie didn’t help.

The fact that his partner looked like you helped even less.

Jim didn’t even need the help of his hand to get hard.

The cameras started rolling and if he had to be honest, he just didn’t pay much attention to the acting. Her eyes looked just like yours, her invitation lacked your intensity.

He could fool himself for an afternoon. Empty his balls, get over his tension, and have some fun.

The sofa was more comfortable than it looked. He decided as he sat, patting his thigh. The girl crawled over him, her ass to the camera, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He slid his huge hand over her ass, his cock hard, pressed against her side, as he imagined you in the same position.

Jim has to admit he wants to spank you for teasing him unwittingly, and he’s suddenly glad to have this girl.

His hand struck hard, and he squeezed the asscheek, enjoying the sight of the red skin between his fingers. Jim slid his hand over the girl’s back and grabbed her hair, pulling her back, making her back arch. With the girl still arched, he used his free hand to spank the untouched asscheek.

She whimpered.

“Look at that…” He pulled her thong aside, exposing her pussy and her ass to the camera. He gave into his little fantasy and brushed his thumb along her slit. She squirmed, moaning, and his fantasy was crushed, it just wasn’t your voice. He decided to get back at life by swatting at her ass.

He fingered her ever so gently, slowly adding fingers, until he had three knuckle-deep inside her.

He got a sign to carry on, keep moving towards the end of the shoot. With a pointed look at the director, he shakes his head and twists his three fingers inside the girl.

She needed to be prepared.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

He didn’t want to hurt you.

She moaned loudly, pushing her ass back, against his hand. He twists his fingers once more, then again and again and again… She trembled on his lap, her body relaxing. Good. Better.

Jim pulled his fingers, taking a moment to suck on them, as the girl slides to her knees between his legs. She grabs his thighs, hands moving to his belt seductively. He knew that was a good moment to take some beautiful images. Fuck, she really looked like you. Hell, maybe she didn’t, maybe he just wanted her to look like you, but… Right now, as he looks at his cock, the thick, angry red head pulsing precome against her lips, he can only see you.

She sucked Jim for the camera. He used his hands to frame her face, to cup her head, composing the image. He knew how his thick fingers looked, wrapped in hair. He knew his part in composing the picture. Jim tried to push his cock into her mouth, wanting a pretty image of your lips around his cock. She moaned again, and once more the illusion is shattered. It’s not your voice.

Jim growled, frustrated, and tugged on her hair, receiving a whimper in response.

He stood up, then grabbed the girl’s hair, and thrust his cock in her face’s direction. She took the hint and goes back to sucking. He looked down at her, with a stern face, pulled the tie off, then opened the shirt.

He closed his eyes, feeling her hands on his hips. Eyes closed, he can go back to the fantasy of you. On your knees, in front of him, your mouth on his cock, your hands on his hips, on his balls, grabbing his cock, squeezing his ass.

Blessed be your sweet beautiful soft delightful hands. He grabs one of them and makes you stretch your arm up high. He leans, pulling back from your mouth, and licks the tip of your fingers. He suckled on them softly, as he feels you licking the head of his cock.

The girl stops sucking and he takes a deep breath before opening his eyes, releasing her hand, breaking the fantasy willingly this time. Jim grabs his belt as she takes her clothes off as fast as possible. With one swift movement, he pulls the belt from his pants, then rolls it against his hand. With the tips of his fingers, he opened his pants, then took them off. She kneels on the sofa, ass up.

Jim had a scowl the whole time he spanked her with the belt. It made him look almost scary. A treat for the spectators. He knew it always made an impression, especially if he is playing more dominant.

He tries to get through the spanking as fast as he could, without hurting the girl. Belts were sexy but he preferred using his hands.

After the spanking, he kneeled on the floor, letting the cameraman come over his shoulder, take a shot of his hands on her ass, thumbing her pussy. After the camera moved back, he pushed his face into her pussy. The girl starts moaning loudly, repeatedly, as he licked and nuzzled her.

Jim made sure she was wet, before standing up again. He pulled the girl’s labia apart, exposing her hole to the camera, then pressed the head of his cock against it, making sure the camera could get how tiny her holes looked compared to the girth of his cock.

He pushed the head gently in, slowly. She grabbed his arm and squeezed, her whole body tensing, then a trembling moan comes out of her lips.

“You wanted it, didn't you?” He said, sternly, trying to buy her some time to adjust. “Now take it.”

He could feel her squeezing him, soft noises coming off her lips. The pleasure of working with someone who enjoys the scene. He pulled back and thrust again, fucking her with just the tip of his cock, until she pushed back. He stopped moving for a moment, he wanted her to impale herself on him, cock hungry is always a good look for the girls.

His cock slid halfway in and she howled in pleasure.

“I know, I know…” He caressed her back gently, rocking against her the moment she relaxed. “But I’m sure we can make it fit.” Jim grabbed her asscheeks, pulling them apart, letting the camera take a close-up of her hole stretched around his cock. “You can take it.” He pushed, getting himself fully inside.

It was a beautiful sight, her body arching, a sweet desperate moan coming from her mouth.

How would you sound? He wondered as he started to thrust, gently at first, then faster. He put her in all the usual positions and fucked her, over and over and over, until it got hard for him to keep his cool. Jim huffed and grunted with each movement of his hips, enjoying the girl’s moans and whimpers.

He got the sign to end the shoot; he leaned, covering the woman’s body with his and whispering in her ear.

“Wanna come?” He grunted, too low for the mics. She looked at him wide-eyed and nodded. He raised his voice, back in the scene. “Come for me.”

Jim moved so he could rub the woman’s clit with his fingers, gently experimenting until he could feel her squeezing, sweet whimpers coming from her lips with every thrust, until she came around him. He tried to be gentle, but her pussy, so wet, tight, and warm, was getting him too close to coming.

He pushed the actress to the floor and positioned himself quickly over her, hand moving fast on his cock, sliding easily as he was covered in her slick.

Jim closed his eyes, frowning, head back. He growled and grunted, coming on her tits, each spurt an ocean. He moaned, babbling incoherent praise.

His thoughts were on you. Your sweet smile, and the way you blushed.

***

You hadn’t seen Jim in a few weeks, and you didn’t want to be weird about it, so you didn’t say anything. You decided to settle for an early evening, the little devil inside you pushing you into some porn website.

The little devil also begged you to look for Jim in it.

There was a new preview, five minutes. You couldn’t help but watch it.

Fuck, he looked perfect. You threw your mobile on the bed and changed into a big t-shirt, almost in a trance. You quickly grabbed a six-pack of beer and a big bag of chips, and all but ran to Jim’s house.

You hesitated before knocking, a small prayer on your lips. Please, be there.

You shifted from one foot to the other, anxiously. You just wanted to be around him, to have his attention, to hear him, just to breathe the same air as him. You wanted the focus of his blue eyes on you, to watch him laugh at your awkwardness, and you really wanted it right now.

He opened the door, in his pajama pants, shirtless.

You felt your mouth watering at the sight.

Jim blinked, cocking his head to the side, looking down at you, curiously.

“I thought we could hang out a bit.” You raised your hands, the beer and the chips an offering at his altar. He laughed, delighted.

“Sweetie, you’re something.” He opened the door, inviting you inside. “Are you high?”

“I’m completely sober right now.” You said as he lead you to the sofa.

“Let’s rectify that,” Jim said, grabbing a beer and opening it. “C’mon, sit down, I’ll get a bowl for the chips.” He lighted a cigarette and moved towards his kitchen, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. You sighed, looking at the expanse of his back.

“Ooooo, fancy.” You sat on the sofa and opened a beer. You took off your shoes and crossed your legs, holding your can with both hands.

“C’mon, you’re visiting, I have to have at least a little class.” Jim came back with a large bowl. He placed the cigarette on the ashtray, and his beer on the little table; he opened the bag, threw the chips on the bowl, then folded the package. “I didn’t know you were that kind of girl.”

You giggled, leaning towards him. You felt lightheaded in his presence, your nipples and pussy tingling with arousal.

“You know I’m not blind,” Jim said, licking his lips. “You come here, all flushed, wide-eyed, with those pleading eyes. You’re wet, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” You said, a bit ashamed, but not finding a reason to lie.

“Why did you come here?” He leaned, looking into your eyes. “Don’t lie.”

“I…” You hesitated, his command was intimidating. Almost in a good way. “I just wanted to be around you.”

“Fuck, darling…” He groaned, moving to cup your face. “You’re too sweet.”

The sofa was huge, big enough for Jim to lie down. It was a giant comfortable piece of furniture. He took the beer from your hands, leaving the can beside his own, and held your hands, tugging you to lie over him.

Jim slid his big hand over your back, rubbing slow, lazy circles. He felt so warm, and he seemed everywhere. You rested your face on his chest, kissing his chest a few times, on a whim. He tasted like sweat.

“What was that for?” He rumbled, looking down.

“For the way you make me feel.” You said softly, looking up into his eyes, then kissed his chest some more. You nuzzled him softly then finally rested your cheek against him. “Thank you.”

Jim chuckled, petting you slowly but firmly. You relaxed against him. His warmth and the pressure of his hand sent tingles over your body, you could feel your arousal pooling in your lower belly.

You didn’t move, afraid he would stop.

You stayed, quiet, your arousal mounting until you couldn’t help but whimper.

“You should stay the night.” His voice rumbled deep. “Did you lock your door?”

“I am not sure but I’m not moving.” You whined, squirming a little. You felt his cock hard along your thigh and you moaned. “Fuck, Jim.”

Jim grabbed your ass gently, enjoying your pleased noises. You slid your fingertips over his chest, nuzzling him.

“You’re too sweet.” His voice vibrated through your body, the sadness palpable in his voice.

“Everybody deserves some sweetness.” You said, gently. “Even people who think they don’t deserve it.”

Jim pulled you from him, to look into your eyes. He just stayed there for a long time, you felt he was looking into your soul.

“Why do you want me?” He asked, gravely.

“You’re gorgeous.” You said, softly, without even thinking. “How can I not? You’re a god.”

“Dramatic.” He chuckled, his expression softening. He looked almost shy, all of a sudden.

“Have you seen yourself?” You moved up his body, kissing his cheek, his chin. “I don’t know. I can’t explain.” You kissed him lightly on his lips. “The fact you’re gentle and nice doesn’t help either.”

Jim’s hand moved to the back of your head and he pulled you to him. His lips covered yours, the mustache tickling your face. It was a deep kiss, his tongue moving against yours, gentle in ways that could bring tears to your eyes. He broke the kiss, smiling, his eyes focused on yours.

“I’m really tired.” He said softly. “Sleep here. With me. We’ll see what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded, your mouth drying up. Jim nudged you to stand up and took you to his bedroom.

The huge bed was the first thing you noticed. You blushed, thinking of what could happen. Jim placed a hand on your lower back and nudged you forward.

He stopped you right beside the bed and tugged on your shirt until you raised your arms, so he could take it off you. He then knelt, tugging on your shorts, pulling them off.

“Thank you.” You said, climbing on his bed and getting comfortable.

Jim nodded, looking at you with a soft smile. He then climbed beside you.

You hesitated, for a moment considering how you should position yourself, and Jim just grabbed you, making you rest your head on his chest, your body half laying over his. His arm cradled your back, his hand on your back, keeping you against him.

He kissed the top of your head, and you felt all warm inside.

“G’night, sweetie.” He muttered against your hair. His deep breathing lulled you into sleep.