#anyway that aside this fucking expert witness was a fucking idiot how do you get played like this dude! you werent even here to talk

[vonlipvig]

i love this book, it's so ace attorneycore

[multiplefandomsblog]

Bomb Squad! S/o w/ Kaito, Kaito, Korekiyo

request; Kaito, Korekiyo and Rantaro with an SHSL explosives expert s/o? How would they react to seeing their s/o flying across the room because they’ve blown themselves up

warnings; gender-neutral reader, cussing, tw; explosives, tw; bomb accidents, bombs and getting harmed by bombs.

note; aargarhgrjgrhjsjah mod bread helped me a lot with this one!! i hafta admit, they totally carried-

Kaito Momota

◊ Kaito Momota, the luminary of the stars. Despite taking large pride in his ultimate despite never actually going to space, he gets intimidated by you. Though he’d never admit that; not even to himself.

◊ He’s not scared of you per se, he’s just intimidated by how cool and serious your ultimate is if that makes any sense.

◊ Well anyway, you’ll definitely hear many praises from this man; because, well, you save millions of lives from blowing up! It’s just all-around heroic! And- well yeah— bombs!

◊ He’s not an explosive person, so he wouldn’t really want to be too close to any bombs, though he’d definitely try helping at least once.

◊ which doesn’t go too well.

◊ the man will have shaky hands the entire time and dead-ass will have small tears in his eyes as he’s fiddling with it. It’s extremely silent other than a few whimpers here and there, so it gives you the perfect opportunity to—

◊ “BOO!” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-“

◊ now then... Let’s see how Kaito would react when you blow yourself up, yeah?

— Imagine this; Kaito wanders around the school, partially looking for an escape, but mostly looking for you. The astronaut hums a small tune under his breath as he walks around the pavement in his way too comfortable slippers.

“Hey now, you’re an all-star... Um, wait- how did it go? Put your… Put your-“ Kaito’s quiet and confused muttering had been cut short, as he suddenly jolted his head up to the sky- where he had seen—what he thought was—a shooting star.

Kaito gasped loudly, jumping back in surprise and scraping the heel of his slipper as he pointed at the star-shaped object in the sky, moving at an incredibly fast pace. Hm, though it could’ve been a meteorite judging from the smoke trail it left.

“Oh my god, a shooting star! Awesome!”

It didn’t seem to hit Kaito on how abnormal it was to see a shooting star in their situation. Especially one that had been flailing its arms around and screaming.

Kaito’s wide and amazing eyes seemed to widen more, though this time; in complete dread and shock.

You-

You were the shooting star.

“S/o!? Holy shit—“

The man would sit in between amazed and borderline scared for your life. Was he… Was he supposed to clap? You did tons of crazy shit, so he had no idea whether this was planned.

◊ Kaito would definitely sprint across the school to get to you, he was genuinely afraid if you had survived or not.

◊ Damn, giving the man a heart attack? How heartless of you smh

◊ Kaito has to restrain himself from hugging whatever life was left inside you, he wanted to feel if you were alive and safe.

◊ It definitely takes some time for him to become less worried about your safety 24/7, so get used to coddling and nagging from this man.

◊ He’s kind of an idiot, so he doesn’t know exactly what to do to ensure your safety other than a, uh,

Bicycle helmet.

◊ so just wear one of those, and he’ll leave you alone!

◊ As you two discuss your safety, Kaito ends up accidentally blurting out how cool you looked shooting across the sky. Yeah, he was worried about your safety; but you’re alive, right? Cut him some slack, the man witnessed a flying explosion, of course, he’s going to think it’s cool.

◊ S/o: “You thought I was a shooting star? What’d you fucking do? Make a wish?!”

Kaito:

S/o:

Kaito: “If I told you it wouldn’t come true.”

Korekiyo Shinguji

◊ Korekiyo would be intrigued by you, but also somewhat disturbed by you. Which only seems to fuel the fire.

◊ Korekiyo would enjoy talking to you about how bombs work; he enjoys listening to you talk about your passion, as well as taking in all the information about bombs. It’s entertaining for him to compare how bombs have evolved from the past to the current.

◊ though he loves you and your ultimate if you’re ever going to work on a bomb, stay far away from him. I head-canon that he doesn’t enjoy loud and explosive things, and just witnessing explosions in general. He’s a pretty chill and quiet guy, so it clashes with his vibe, you know?

◊ Sorry, this is so short, I have little to no idea how to write for this man—

◊ It would probably be near impossible to have this man witness your explosions up close. He’s always in his lab studying, so it’s hard getting him out of there, and you can’t exactly go into his lab with your bombs anyway.

◊ But let’s say you somehow did. After persuading him, or maybe he was just too tired to say no.

◊ So imagine this!

— Korekiyo would be sitting on his desk, a nice ancient book splayed out on the wooden surface, and he’d be muttering under his breath small phrases of other languages, as well as small words for himself like, “Humanity truly is beautiful-“

Famous last words.

A sudden explosion echoed out throughout his lab, causing Korekiyo to jolt up and almost crease the pages of his very precious book. Luckily, he did not.

‘I take that back.’

He had been more concerned about his book than the actual human being who had thudded against the bookshelf right beside his head, dropping on the ground after they had peeled off the shelf like processed American cheese product.

“S/o...” Korekiyo sighed, standing up from his chair to step over you and help you up. “You do know that humans were never meant to fly, correct?” He hadn’t even been looking at you when you flew across the room like a baseball thrown by Leon Kuwata, but the quick flash of movement he had caught at the corner of his eye told him what he needed to know.

It was as if he had gotten used to this despite never having witnessed such a feat before.

◊ Korekiyo would definitely give you a small scolding after bandaging you up; yes he was worried about his book and lab, but he had also been worried about you too. He wasn’t just scolding you, so he could avoid future possible destruction in his lab. Pshhh noooo...

◊ Korekiyo would put a sign outside his door after the incident, it’s definitely personal and very passive-aggressive, but he just does not want to witness that again. “Bombs and other destructive weaponry stay OUTSIDE.”

Rantaro Amami

◊ Rantaro wouldn’t be repulsed nor would he be extremely excited about your ultimate. He definitely thinks it’s an incredible ultimate; I mean, bombs are pretty incredible.

◊ But also pretty dangerous too.

◊ I feel like he’d always have to be given a reminder that you’re okay and not dead from your own explosions. Trust me, he definitely trusts you to be careful; especially since that’s your ultimate, of course, you would have lots of experience. But even so, he will still nag you about it. He means well, I swear.

◊ Rantaro would, despite being hesitant about it himself, always want to be with you when you work on a bomb. He’d wear the proper bomb suit and everything, but he’s mostly there because he wants to make sure you’re wearing the bomb suit properly too; please don’t be too reckless, he will take away all your bomb equipment if you are.

◊ You’d get a time-out from it for a couple of days. Yes, he has that power.

◊ You may or may have not made a mistake having him as your boyfriend— but seriously! He’s just being careful, he doesn’t want to lose you.

◊ God, now that I’ve said all this, you’re going to feel reaaaaal bad when I write the scenario for when you actually blow up.

— Rantaro would most likely be by your side the moment you blow up, worried green head over your shoulder as you reassured him, “Pshh, no, it’ll be fine!” Rantaro winced as the bomb you had been working on, made a sound. “Just be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Rantaro spoke with a soft, but scolding voice as his eyebrows seemed to crease further.

“Don’t be such a worrywart, it’s fine-!“ You seemed to be proven wrong, and Rantaro had unfortunately been proven right, as the both of you shot back, a large explosion noise following— Rantaro, on instinct, grabbed you and tucked you underneath his chest, clenching his eyes closed as he awaited the impact of the wall they were about to slam into.

The two of you had flown across the room, clutching each other tightly; if this had been a movie, that would’ve definitely been one of the more romantic scenes.

The air had been knocked out of the two of you, Rantaro more so as he had done the stupidly brave act of shielding you with his body.

Despite being disgruntled and slightly irked that you hadn’t listened to him, he seemed to throw that all aside as he had caught you wincing. “Did you get hurt anywhere? Are you okay? Any burns—?” Your strained groan—shockingly— turned into a laugh, “... That was so fucking fun! Can we do it again!?”

With narrowed eyes, Rantaro had given you the stare you tried your best to avoid being the victim to. The disappointed mom glare. The glare didn’t last long, however, as his eyes softened at the excited look you had on your face. He gets what he signed up for, right?

If this had been anyone else, they would have gotten an earful from him. “You’re insane.” Rantaro halfheartedly laughed, voice still laced with concern despite being playful.

“We’re not doing that again, you explosive monkey.” Rantaro shoved your head gently, only to receive a playful hit back.

◊ Rantaro would be extremely worried if you ever put yourself in danger like that. Unlike Korekiyo, he cannot get used to it when you blow yourself up. No matter what, he will always worry about you.

◊ Mom Mode: ON

◊ He is now more careful with you, the worry he has for you has now increased by 100% so yeah, good luck with that.

◊ the next time will not be as forgiving. Next time—if Rantaro even lets you have a next time—; you will be in scoldings galore.

[kaorusan241]

Notes: I’ve only got a half hour to write this, so bear with me / this isn’t my best. These prompts are great though, thanks! Hope you (both?) like this messy fic starter. TW for a bit of violence in the second section. _______ Han Seok swears he’s not going to get more involved than he needs to. He’s stirring up trouble, but that’s it.

He’s an expert by now at keeping Cha Young far away from him, for both of their sakes. God only knows what would happen if he had to witness her and Vincenzo traipsing around like lovesick teenagers right in front of him, rather than just through a FaceTime screen. He thinks it would be ugly. “What is it.” Cha Young rushes, wanting to get this conversation over with. “I have nothing to say to you, you fucking monster. Delete my number.” Han Seok feels a smile creep slowly across his face, despite himself. He’d missed her sharp quips at his expense, even though he’d killed people in the past for much less.

He hates Vincenzo to his very core, but grudgingly appreciates what the Mafioso’s influence has done for his darling Cha Young. She’s bolder now. Meaner.

“C’mon sunbae, don’t be so cruel.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m hanging up on you.”

“Wait - Cha Young...”, Han Seok says clumsily, cheeks reddening. He knows exactly how to reel her in, like he always does. This time though, Han Seok is determined that she won’t walk away from him. “...It’s about your mother.”

Static. Han Seok swallows dryly, reaching for his drink where it sits on the table next to his phone, wincing slightly at the burn as it scrapes down his throat.

“I’m listening, Han Seok.” Cha Young’s voice sounds slightly tinny through his loudspeaker, but is still calm, measured. The subtle, thinly-veiled anger in her tone is something Han Seok could only have picked up on from years working beside her. He relishes in it. He understands her. “I know who killed your mother. That Italian Mafia scumbag of yours was right - I am worse than him. But that’s what you need. I’ll help you find him. We can kill him.”

Cha Young scoffs, surprisingly quick. There’s no hesitation in her voice as she replies, “Let’s do it.”

**** “Han Seok”. The air in this underground carpark is chilly and he shivers, not used to hearing his real name falling like liquid honey from her lips. There’s a loud crack, and Cha Young half-heartedly nudges the body across the tarmac with the end of her baseball bat, adjusting the black cap on her head briefly. She takes a moment to flick her hair out of her face, before quickly scraping the ends into a bun using the hair-tie he had given her. That’s the downside of having long hair - blood tends to make it matted and tangled in windy weather. “What do you think. Has he had enough?” Cha Young crouches down, smirk vicious, tilting her head slightly. She’s not even looking at Han Seok.

The body groans beneath her in response, twitching.

Han Seok only raises an eyebrow, knowing already what her answer will be. “Hmm. I wonder. Did you stop to ask whether my mother was okay? When you stabbed her and robbed her on her walk home at night?"

Cha Young extends a gloved hand slowly. Han Seok watches, enraptured, as the man on the ground flinches away from her in fear, hardly able to move.

“Something tells me... that you didn’t.” Cha Young’s fingers are slender as she gently slides them into the man’s mouth.

She pauses a moment, before tugging his cheek aggressively upwards until he’s groaning in pain, the wounds on his face leaking and mixing with his drool as he tries to break free.

“Why so serious?” Cha Young laughs, lighter than air for the first time in a while. She shoves the man away roughly before standing up, turning to look at Han Seok. There’s humour in her eyes, they’re bright and glinting even in the ugly fluorescent yellow of the overhead lights. She looks beautiful, and Han Seok feels like he’s been struck.

“Thank you, for this.” It sounds genuine. Had Vincenzo really asked his angel to stand aside, when she takes to murder and violence so easily? That idiot. “Anytime.”

Han Seok truly means it, and he’s screwed. Cha Young smiles for a moment, before turning back to her victim. The man’s sharp gasps are quietened with a mere twist of her knuckles, the sharp nails embedded in her baseball bat doing their job quickly and efficiently.

Cha Young had walked away from Jun Woo, but she won’t leave Han Seok. He’ll make certain of it. ____ Notes: Anyway sorry this is rough and short lmao but my idea for this AU was that Han Seok has just picked some random guy on the street - it’s not the same one who murdered Cha Young’s mother at all. She knows that, but she doesn’t fully care. So he’ll keep picking guys up like ‘oh my bad, we killed the wrong one’, and eventually she just starts joining him in taking down Babel’s enemies because she enjoys being a ‘gangster’ with Han Seok more than being a lawyer. I always think about how he offered her the same treatment as Ms Choi, and what that could have meant for them, had Cha Young accepted.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 5

AO3

Beta reader was @thesnadger!

Some thoughts on where to go next.

Martin is as helpful as he can be.

Their business finished, Jon and Martin exchanged a friendly “See you tomorrow” and went their separate ways. Jon turned on his heel and took the first turn out of sight. Martin, still holding his groceries, pressed his head against a nearby building and said under his breath, “God, you’re predictable. Smiles at you once and you’re done for. Must be a record.”

It had been a nice smile, though. Maybe at some point he would get to see a non-nervous one, the kind where the person’s face seems to open up like- No, he was not going to fall into poetic daydreaming, not this soon. Good lord.

He stood up straight, fixing his hair and checking for any witnesses. With the coast clear, he started the long walk home. It was fine. Martin wasn’t a complete idiot. He would accept the good news that Jon didn’t despise him and would roll with it, trying his best not to muck it up with more stupid mistakes. Then, with either their time used up or the investigation completed, all three of them would be gone.

The thought struck him hard, and Martin almost stumbled from the emotional whiplash. It had been, what, a day and a half? Surely not long enough to miss them that much, especially the person who had only just started being nice to him ten minutes ago. But Martin knew himself better than that.

Jon had been nice, just as Tim and Sasha had been nice, and he was going to miss the company when they had to leave. It was natural to feel sad about it, he told himself, but eventually their leaving would be a relief. The one-sided affection would have no room for hoping or growing otherwise. At the same time, he might as well enjoy the company of interesting people. Interesting people who wanted to help him, even! Jon had said he’d wanted to work together to figure things out, so that’s what Martin would try to do.

As long as it didn’t get him fired. As long as nothing they did fucked over any chance of employment. As long as his place of work didn’t eat him out of a hunger for vengeance.

Pushing those sour thoughts deep into the back of his consciousness, Martin focused on the morning’s events the rest of the way home. Plans of action formed in his mind, most of them related to the task at hand, a few needing to be waved away as wishful thinking. There was work to be done.

It took quite a bit of digging through crumpled and disorganized paperwork he’d saved from many unsuccessful attempts at employment, but after lunch, Martin sat on his bed with his original work contract. At the bottom was the signature of Peter Lukas, and in the bottom left corner was the stamped Lukas family crest, which Martin had seen every day on a small plaque adorning the lighthouse interior, right over his desk.

It was a simple and rather generic image of a black and white shield, framed by an albatross and a laughably inaccurate seal that Martin couldn’t help but gawk at years after he’d first seen it. He wondered if the artist responsible had had to work with someone telling them what a seal looked like from memory or if the family just hadn’t cared too much for accuracy. Based on the strange ideas Peter would spout at times of how the ocean worked, Martin would bet on the latter. Maybe the whole family was just like that?

Either way, it was equal parts ridiculous and unnerving as it lurked over Martin’s shoulder during the work day but didn’t have much use to him otherwise. He was no expert on symbolism and there was nothing he could see that would relate the crest to the task at hand.

Martin leafed through the work contract, glazing over benefits and salary before stopping on the section labeled “Employee Assignments and Other Expected Duties”.

“Sec. III. The employee agrees to the following non-exhaustive list of duties:

-Be present at the premises between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm, Monday through Friday, including lunch break. -Complete bookkeeping for the employer, Mr. Peter Lukas, using materials delivered to the premises on Monday morning. Delivery will always be completed by the employee's set arrival time at 6am. If nothing is delivered, contact the main house for further instruction to procure materials. -Clean the interior of the premises at regular intervals, including the main entrance, bathroom, kitchen, and upper floors. -Between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm, complete the maintenance list of the top floor (see Sec. IV). This must be completed once every day of the week, including Saturday and Sunday, between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm. There is a zero-tolerance policy for lack of completion. -Inform unexpected visitors of the proper procedure for scheduling a paid tour of the premises (See Sec. V) -Accept packages and sign for if necessary.

Martin looked over the list, biting his cheek. He’d grown lax on staying until 4pm, but with Peter’s general lack of awareness, it had never come up. Otherwise, the duties seemed in line with what he remembered. He looked down to Section IV.

“As referred to in Sec. III, the employee will complete the following tasks during the hours of 6 am and 4 pm every day, including Saturday and Sunday:”

Following this was the list he had long ago written down and taped to his desk. There were no details relating to the purpose of each task, just procedure. He’d kept to the instructions consistently, every switch flipped and seemingly-pointless button pressed, though he’d been very close to missing the 4pm mark on several occasions because of the dreaded walk to the top. This list, again, wasn’t much help. He went over the document a few times then set it aside and flopped onto his back, scattering some loose papers to the floor.

He’d need to find some other angle. Research was a non-starter for him without experience, and as far as his town knowledge was concerned, it wasn’t wrong to call him forgetful in that area as well. It was likely he’d have to accept his part as an amateur tour guide. It didn’t feel like enough, but starting Monday, he’d be back to working and have no time to help anyway, unless their work somehow kept them late into the night.

Jon had been nice with all the working-together talk, but Martin knew he wouldn’t be of much use at all. If he wanted to be helpful, he should begin prepping for dinner.

-

As evening turned to night, Martin and his mother sat at the dining room table in silence, interrupted only by the light clinking of plates and utensils as they finished the pan-fried chicken and vegetables in front of them. Weekends were always better meal days, always leaving Martin feeling more satisfied with his cooking with all the time he had to focus on it. His mother showed no greater signs of enjoyment than eating without complaint.

“Mum, can I ask you something?” Martin ran his thumb against the smooth metal of his fork. “It’s about work.”

Martin’s mother paused from eating another bite of her meal. “What is it?” she asked, frowning.

Swallowing hard, Martin said, “How much have you had to deal with the Lukas family? There’s this research project being completed and it’s involving a lot of history, so I thought since you’ve lived here so long-”

“Long enough, yes.” Martin could see her nostril twitch. “They came in long before I did and will most likely stay until the fish run out. Otherwise, I kept to my business and they kept to theirs. No reason to get involved with people who wouldn’t bother walking down the hills on foot.”

“Right, it’s just-”

“I don’t feel like talking, Martin,” she said, her voice cracking slightly at his name. “My throat is too sore.”

“Right. Okay, I’ll get you some more water.” He picked up her glass to refill and bit back any other questions. Next to the sink was his mother’s pill case with the current day’s compartment still full. “We’ll get your meds done now, then. Should help a bit.” His mother didn’t respond, having already returned to her dinner.

Afterwards, she requested to step outside. “The night air is good for my lungs,” she argued as a matter of fact, and with no way to dissuade her, Martin completed their little ritual of walking out the door and standing in the fog-filled night in silence, his own face covered in an old scarf. His eyes watered in the dry, salty gale, and he wondered how much time it had taken for his mother to withstand the sting without any tears.

-

By mid-morning the next day, Martin had finished his duties upstairs. Sitting at the table, he listened to the group’s progress from after he had left them the day before. Spread across the table were photocopies of what looked like legal documents, some of the bare spots between them filled with used mugs of varying sizes.

“We weren’t able to stay there for long before it closed, but we were able to look up some records at the library yesterday,” Sasha explained, sifting through the papers. “Not a terrible archive, all things considered. We’re going to head there again tomorrow morning for a more in-depth look. We didn’t even get to looking for details on the construction of this place.”

“But!” Tim waved one of the copies above his head. “We did get some info on the Lukases themselves. Current residents in town, major stakeholders, that kind of stuff. And-” He pressed the sheet close to Martin’s face. It was a copy (of a copy) of a newspaper article featuring the lighthouse, with some figures standing at the entrance, including one Peter Lukas. “Martin, d’you know anything about the person who worked here before you? He’s one of the younger ones in the family, standing on the left.”

Martin scratched the back of his neck, squinting at the photo. “A bit? Evan Lukas, he was really nice from what I’d heard.”

Tim frowned, lowering his arm. “‘Was’?”

“Yeah, he passed away before I started working here. Peter said it was some heart thing. Runs in the family.” Tim slumped. “Sorry! I’m surprised the records didn’t say so. It was a pretty big deal, really shook people. It made the front page, though I never read the details.”

“Did you ever meet him?” Jon asked, tapping on the rim of his empty mug.

“Sort of? We went to school around the same time and were only a few years apart, which was weird since you wouldn’t expect him to go to a state school with a family like that? Anyway, that was years ago, but even after that you’d hear about him. He was gone for a while, actually, but somehow he ended up in this old place a few years back and, well, y’know.” Martin rubbed his hands.

“Hmmm.” Tim leaned back in his chair, flipping a pencil between his fingers. “Okay, well, that’s one person we probably can’t talk to outside of spookier means. Is there anyone who knew him well?”

Pausing for a moment, Martin said, “I think… no, yeah, he was engaged, but his fiancée left town pretty soon after he died. Don’t know anything about her except she wasn’t a local.” Silence stretched over them as Tim sat in his disappointment

“Well, shit,” Tim let out in an overblown sigh. Sasha patted Tim’s shoulder in sympathy. He grinned at her. “That’s all I’ve got, then. Time to call it a day?” he asked, earning himself a pinch on the ear.

“We’ll just have to go over the items we have until tomorrow,” Jon said, his sigh brimming with exhaustion. “Who knows, we might’ve missed something the first time. Before that, Martin, who was the person we missed yesterday? Would they be worth talking to?”

Hesitating, Martin responded, “Maybe? But if you’ve already got a way to look up historical stuff, it might be better to skip this one.” Jon raised an eyebrow at him and his stomach dropped at the attention.

“It’s just, he’s an eccentric person, difficult to track down, and while he knows the Lukas family pretty well, it’s only because their families do business. His family, the Fairchilds, they’re not a huge family in this town, but this guy, Simon, he’s, well. He’s this small, old man, right?” Martin tapped his foot, looking for something to say to end his babbling. “And you know the cliff behind the lighthouse? It’s got at least 150 meters straight down to sea?” The three nodded, and Martin smiled, his brows furrowed.

“Years ago, he dove right off the damned thing.”

-

Tim gaped over the railing, his breath floating over the edge. Sasha and Jon gaped slightly less, and from a safer distance, though that didn’t seem to save Jon from the effects of the harsh, cold wind that sent him shivering through a nothing of a windbreaker. Far below the cliff’s edge, down past the wind-worn rock and smattering of trees, through a thin layer of fog that cradled the seaside, there waited an incredibly harsh landing of sea and stone.

“But there’s a fuckload of rocks down there?” Tim sputtered.

Martin kept his gaze straight forward. “Yeah.”

“And even if he just hit water, I mean-”

“Made it out just fine.”

“And you were thinking of just skipping this guy? I don’t care if he’s unhelpful, I want to see if he can fly or something.” Tim stepped from the safety rails, giving one a good pat.

Sasha crossed her arms, eyeing the drop. “Do you know where we can find him?”

Martin scratched his face. “Most of the time he comes here to see Peter for business. Peter absolutely hates it since it’s usually out of nowhere, and Simon always claims he does it because he likes surprises, but I think he just likes to be irritating. Otherwise…” Turning to look at the lighthouse, Martin said, “I do know where Simon lives, and while I can’t guarantee he’ll want to speak to you about anything specific, he definitely loves to talk.”

“Is there anything he’s said to you about the Lukas family? Or the building?” Jon looked at Martin intently, clearly doing his best to not shiver.. “Anything that might’ve seemed like nothing more than gossip or reminiscing?”

With Jon staring at him, Martin’s brain sputtered to a stop. “I-I don’t think so? Like I said, he’s eccentric, so it’s hard to pick apart anything he says as being sincere or as a joke. He told me he was once a firebreather, and I still don’t know if I believe him. Sorry, I know that’s not super helpful.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck.

Jon relaxed his gaze, his corner of his mouth quirking down just a little. “It’s all right. If we can get a hold of him, we’ll ask him some simple questions and hopefully sift through any confusion. Right now, we can all stop giving ourselves vertigo and get back inside. It’s freezing out here.” Jon made a show of shoving his hands under his arms and walked back to the lighthouse.

“Poor guy’s circulation is shot, honestly. Could get hypothermia walking into a basement,” Tim teased behind his hand, not bothering to lower his voice as he leaned toward Sasha and Martin.

“Ha. Very funny.” Jon sent a withering glare over his shoulder and slipped indoors. They followed him back inside, and while the other three sat to discuss possible interview questions, Martin got another round of tea going. He had to have some of those to-go paper coffee cups somewhere in these cupboards, but no amount of looking revealed them. Instead, he managed to find one lonely travel mug and contemplated his options.

Would it be too obvious? Would Jon consider it him joining in on the teasing? At the thought of Jon stubbornly standing outside in a too-thin jacket, Martin resigned himself to whatever reaction he would receive. Either way, he'd get something warm in Jon’s hands so the little pang in his chest would go away.

When Martin brought him the mug, Jon looked suspicious but didn’t complain.

[citrinekay]

a prompt: holden's thinking of running a marathon or something, and it gets bill thinking about just how young holden is and some insecurities appear. what's their future like? wouldn't holden be better off with someone who could actually match his rhythm? sorry im just a sucker for some age gap h/c!

Hey don’t apologize! I live to serve and create the content this fandom wants and deserves - it also helps that this turned out really cute and sweet and I like it very very much. Thanks for the prompt! 💕

Golden pink sunset stretches across the sky, making the red rubber of the track glow a burnt orange, the grass a glistening, knife-edged green. The summer heat has slacked off into a comfortable warmth that’s accompanied by the slight breeze that cools that faint sweat on Bill’s brow. 

He glances down at the stopwatch as Holden emerges from the glowing haze of sunlight, running at a steady clip around the final curve of the track before he reaches the starting point again. Dressed in track shorts and a gray Academy sweatshirt, he’s sweating harder in the July heat than Bill’s stationary position could ever hope to achieve. 

Bill squints against the sunlight, once again baffled by how much Holden enjoys this activity. Wendy had first suggested some type of exercise to him to help deal with his anxiety, and Holden had taken to the task like a fish to water. For the first few months, he would come out where to the Academy track to run for his own enjoyment, but now that he considers himself an accomplished runner, he’s taken to training for a marathon at the end of the month. The preparation is taking up a lot of time, much more than Bill had expected; and his only recourse to steal as much private time with Holden as possible is to park his ass here beside the track with the stopwatch. 

As Holden drops down out of his run into a jog, and finally to a staggered halt, Bill jabs the timer on the stopwatch. 

“How long as was that?” Holden asks, his voice hoarse and fractured. 

“Seven minutes, twenty-five seconds.”

“Shit.” Holden whispers, leaning forward to clutch his knees. 

“You’re unsatisfied with running a mile in seven minutes?” Bill asks, incredulously. 

“And twenty-five seconds.” 

“I thought a marathon was about endurance not speed.” 

“It is. It’s a personal goal.”

Bill leans over to grab the water bottle from the grass, and tosses it to Holden. 

Catching it against his chest, Holden straightens and takes a stumbled step backwards as he lifts the bottle to his mouth. 

Bill watches him quietly, half-appreciating the sweat drenched ringlets plastered to his forehead and the way his throat glistens in the fading sunlight. 

“Well, I know one thing for sure. You’d leave me in the dust.” Bill says.

Holden drags the bottle away from his mouth, leaving his lips slickly pink. He swipes a hand across his dribbling chin, and saunters closer to where Bill is seated on the folding chair in the grass. 

“You could join me, you know.” He says. 

“Running?”

“Yeah. Anyone can do it.”

“What? So I can get out there and humiliate myself? It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Well, no one starts out an expert.” 

“Holden, we practically live together.” Bill says, gesturing to himself. “You are fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Holden rolls his eyes. “Oh, Christ. Is this about the other night when I wanted round two and you weren’t up for it?”

Bill scowls, “Okay, you didn’t have to drag that into it.”

“You were about to.” 

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Fine.” Holden says, capping the water bottle, and tossing it in the grass. “I’m going to do one more lap around the track to cool off and then we can go.”

“You want me to time that, too?”

Holden casts him a snide glance before spinning around and taking off toward the track again at a steady jog. 

Bill frowns watching him sprint into the melted glow of the sunset, his body shimmering like some moving work of art beneath the colors of the sky. It’s easy to forget that he’s going to be thirty-two in a few months, technically middle-aged, when he’s so virile and energetic. It’s like he has a bottomless well of initiative and drive, and his body … Well, Bill has been witness to all of the things his beautiful, toned, young body can do and endure. Running a seven minute mile is just the tip of the iceberg. 

Bill tries to set aside his insecurities as Holden circles the far end of the track and starts back towards the finishing line. He isn’t self-absorbed. He cares about his appearance insofar as it pertains to personal hygiene and professionalism. His current job doesn’t require extreme physical feats like running a seven minute mile or even running at all so why should it matter? Holden has his own personal goals and hobbies that he doesn’t necessarily have to share. It shouldn’t matter, but he knows why it does. 

When Holden comes off the track again, Bill hands him the towel to wipe the sweat from his brow. 

“Ready to go home?”

“Yeah.” 

Bill gathers their things, and leads them across the yard, through the student parking, and all the way back to their lot in front of the BSU building. The walk is long and silent, some disagreement rippling underneath that he doesn’t feel like addressing. Once they reach the car, Bill rolls down the windows, turns on the stereo, and lights a cigarette. Holden leans toward the breeze, the sweet tang of perspiration blustering in the air alongside the summer breeze. Bill figures they’ll both just let it go, but ten minutes into the drive, Holden turns back to Bill. 

“Is something the matter with you?” 

“What? No.”

Holden’s hands fidget in his lap. “I can tell when you’re pissed. Why don’t you just say it?”

“Holden, I’m beat. It’s almost eight and we’re just now going home after working for ten hours and-”

“Oh, is that why? Because I’m forcing you to stay out late?”

“You’re not forcing me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to come. I can work a stopwatch on my own.”

“Yeah? Then what do you need me for?”

The hasty retort slashes coldly through the humid air, leaving them both simmering in choked silence for a long moment. Bill flicks cigarette ashes out the window, annoyed with himself. There’s no basis for this argument, but they’re having it anyway. 

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is.” Holden mutters, “Are you just mad that I have an interest that doesn’t involve you?”

“No, of course not. You’re allowed to have your own hobbies-”

“Oh, you’re allowing me to have this hobby. How generous of you.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

They fall into silence again, but Bill can sense the electric hum of anger and the threat of hurt feelings arising. 

Just fucking apologize. He tells himself, trying to tamp down the bubbling insecurities that seem to multiply with every exchange. But his jaw stays stubbornly clamped shut. 

The next ten minutes pass in stifled silence until they reach Bill’s house. Holden’s car is parked in the driveway where he had left it over the weekend when a sleepover turned into a five-night affair. Bill figures that little foray is about to end right here. 

He throws the car into park, but lets the engine idle as they sit quietly, stewing. 

“Okay.” Holden says, finally. “I’m sorry I brought up the other night - the round two thing. That was uncalled for.”

“It isn’t that.”

“Really?” Holden asks, his gaze swinging across the car to strike Bill with withering severity. 

Bill takes a slow drag of his cigarette and focuses on the yard darkening in the impending dusk. 

“Bill, I have never had an issue with your age and my age, and-”

“Please, just stop.” Bill says, holding up a hand. The humiliation is already curling up his chest in fiery fingers, clutching at the back of his throat with debilitating force. The fact that he can’t suppress it is just as bad as the initial flinch of insecurity. 

“Fine. You don’t want to talk to me?” Holden says, impatiently. He unlatches the door and shoves it open with his shoulder. “I think I’m just gonna go home, and you can call me when you get your head out of your ass.”

Bill flinches as the door slams shut behind him, jarring the entire vehicle. He watches with a sickening feeling dropping to the pit of his stomach as Holden storms around the hood of the car towards his own vehicle. 

Get out and stop him, you stupid fucking idiot. 

Growling a sound of frustration, Bill rips off his seatbelt, and climbs out of the car just as Holden reaches the hood of his Nova. 

“Wait.” 

Holden’s determined pace cuts to a halt. They stare at one another in the falling dusk, a quiet standoff that Bill knows Holden won’t be breaking; he’s waiting for Bill to speak and be honest. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Bill puts his head down, and closes the space between them in a few strides. Holden turns slowly to face him, not resisting as Bill catches him by the hand. 

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, quietly. 

Holden nods. Still waiting. 

“Come on.” Bill says, scoffing against the clutch of emotion in the back of his throat. “Don’t tell me you never think about it.”

“I mean, yes. Objectively, I’ve thought about it because it’s a basic, indisputable fact.” Holden says, “I said I don’t have an issue with it.”

“Look, these past few months have been great.” Bill says, “But I think it would be a little selfish of me to not encourage you to think about your future. What do the next ten years look like? Don’t you want someone who can keep up with you? And are you going to be happy with this decision when our age difference really does start catching up with us?”

Holden’s brow furrows. “That’s a little pessimistic, don’t you think?”

“I’m just trying to be honest.”

Holden glances away for a moment, his eyes squinting against the fading light. Bill can tell that he’s seriously considering the conversation, and that acknowledgement alone eases some of the tightness in his chest. 

“You want honesty?” Holden says, his voice softening as he shifts his gaze gently back to Bill’s. 

“Yeah. Always.”

“Fine. Then this is the truth - I don’t care about our age difference, or round two. Some days I don’t even care about round one. That’s not what this is about, and it’s a little reductive to say that it is.”

Bill lets out a sigh and glances away, but Holden presses closer, cradling Bill’s chin in his hand to guide his eyes back up. 

“I know what the next ten years look like.” Holden murmurs, “Maybe not exactly, but I do know one thing - you’re here, with me. Whether you are running down a track with me or I’m pushing you a fucking wheelchair.”

Bill chokes on an unbidden laugh as Holden’s mouth stretches into a fond smile. He wraps both arms around Holden’s waist, suddenly not caring whether someone driving down the street could see the intimate embrace. He just wants to make this moment last - the moment when Holden melted the last of his fears and insecurities.

“Okay?” Holden whispers, clutching his cheek tighter. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Bill nods, trying to find a reply in the tangled knot of relief and joy in the back of his throat. 

Holden kisses him quickly on the mouth, a swift, reassuring gesture that the whole street might have seen, before he wraps his arms around Bill’s neck. 

Bill buries his face in Holden’s neck, impressing the warmth of his body and his embrace down into his quivering soul. When he draws in a deep breath, he can smell summertime and sweat on his skin. 

Clearing his throat, Bill draws back. “Do you, uh … do you want to get a shower first, before you leave?”

Holden chuckles softly. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Okay, let’s go in. It’s really warm out here.” Bill says, wiping sweat from his own temple. 

Holden clutches his hand as they climb the steps to the front porch. As they reach the door, he whispers, “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to leave.” 

Bill purses back a smile. “No?”

“No. Can I spend the night again… and possibly use your washer and dryer for my work clothes?”

“Of course.” 

They share a quiet smile before Bill unlocks the door and lets them inside. Holden’s fingers curl tighter around his hand, drawing Bill down the hallway towards the bathroom without another word. They move quietly, deftly through the house, muted anticipation rising. The sun has already set, golden light touching the door for the last time tonight. 

[mst3kproject]

607: Bloodlust

Guys.  For the sake of yourselves and everything you love, never look for material related to this movie by searching the tumblr tags for bloodlust.  Just don’t.  While you will find the odd bit that’s actually relevant, you will also find… look, I’m sure your imaginations are equal to the task.  Some of the bonus material this week will be stuff from the episode, but there will also be a few things I found in the tag that just made me go whaaaaaat?.  None of them are gross, I promise, they’re just… odd.

A couple of blond dumbasses, who I think are named Johnny and Betty, and a couple of brunet dumbasses, possibly Jeannie and Peter, decide to have a picnic on a tropical island.  Unsurprisingly this turns out to be the home of a transparently evil Vincent-Price-looking asshole, whose hobby is murdering his guests and taxidermizing their corpses (apparently ‘taxidermize’ is a real word – my spellcheck doesn’t underline it).  Vincent-at-half-the-Price’s drunk flunky and cheating wife have an escape plan, but once that’s been foiled it’s just these idiots against the world’s self-proclaimed greatest hunter.

I am apparently in a minority, but I think this episode’s host sketches are brilliant.  Pearl’s first appearance is classic and Crow ruining Mystery Dinner Theatre is great, but my favourite part is when the SOL’s hoedown descends into anarchy.  I can watch that over and over.  If I ever witness a riot I’m going to be very tempted to just shout, “and now promenade!” and see what happens.

Anyway, The Most Dangerous Game is one of those things they make you read in English class, and like many things I had to read in English class it left me mildly traumatized.  It’s a deeply distasteful story about man’s bloodthirsty nature and how the only way to overcome evil is to sink to its level, and every so often I’ll remember it, or Harrison Bergeron, or The Lottery, and it makes my day seem a little more dismal.  I’m pretty sure nobody ever reads it except high school students and the Zodiac Killer.

So if you were wondering why it took me so long to get around to reviewing this one… well, I felt like I had to revisit the story in order to do justice to a review of this movie, and I really really really didn’t want to do that.  Just thinking about it gives me flashbacks to things like Sonnet 116 and that horrible story in which the floor was both lava and snakes.  But I said every episode and so here I fucking am.

Anyway, my return to The Most Dangerous Game, or at least to its Cole’s Notes, proved very educational – it taught me that not only is Bloodlust a lousy movie, it’s also one of those adaptations that completely misses the point of the work it’s attempting to adapt.  The main theme of The Most Dangerous Game is how the only difference between the hunter and the hunted is which one is in a position of power. Rainsford is himself a big game hunter, and discusses this with his friend Whitney.  Upon finding himself on Zaroff’s island, he becomes the prey, because Zaroff is the one with all the power.  At the end, Zaroff had believed Rainsford is dead, which gives Rainsford the advantage of surprise and turns the tables again.

Bloodlust completely discards this theme.  There’s never any real discussion of the power imbalance. Worse, while Rainsford was an experienced hunter and fighter himself, somebody Zaroff considered a worthy adversary, these four clowns are just young people who blundered into this situation and aren’t even Vincent-at-half-the-Price’s preferred prey.  He doesn’t hunt them like he does his escaped criminals, because he thinks it’ll be a challenge, he does it because the only other alternatives are to straight-up murder them or to let them go, neither of which are acceptable to him.

Rainsford was an expert on traps and tracking, which meant he could offer Zaroff a meaningful  challenge. Of the four young people in Bloodlust, only one of them is kind of barely competent, that being Betty the judo expert.  She’s smart enough to figure out how to get away with breaking the window, and manages to keep her head and chuck the lackey into the vat of acid.  When confronted with the John the Baptist dude, however, she freezes and screams along with Jeannie.  The group survives through nothing but sheer luck.

It was luck that allowed them to get out of the house and then back into it without getting seen.  It was lucky that Vincent-at-half-the-Price chose to go after the drunken sea captain first and the boys later.  It was just good luck that Jondor survived the quicksand and showed up in the nick of time to take revenge on his master.  The supposed heroes are barely involved in their own salvation.  At the end of The Most Dangerous Game, Rainsford had to sink to Zaroff’s level and become a murderer.  The four idiots in Bloodlust just stand and watch.

The one kind of interesting spin the movie tries to put on things is when it takes some time to explore why Vincent-at-half-the-Price is the way he is.  He describes how war inured him to killing until he came to consider it a pleasure. This invites us to think about people who become murderers – prevailing opinion seems to be that people like the aforementioned Zodiac Killer are born without compassion, that their killing sprees are inevitable.  Some killers, like BTK or the Green River Killer, have stated themselves that they need to kill and couldn’t put it off forever, even when they managed to take long breaks.  It’s true that many of these murderers come from terrible backgrounds – but other people are abused as children and don’t grow up to kill people.

Vincent-at-half-the-Price’s killing spree is not inevitable.  He claims to have found it distasteful at first but it later became a pleasure as repeated kills eroded the value of human lives in his eyes.  This is actually a bit more thoughtful than Zaroff, who started out killing animals and moved up when it no longer offered him enough of a challenge.  He kills people because he thinks if they can’t escape him then they don’t deserve to live.  Once again, however, this change loses one of the points The Most Dangerous Game was trying to make, which is that killing animals for sport is brutal and pointless.  At the beginning of the story Rainsford and Whitney were on their way to the Amazon to hunt jaguars – not for food, or because the jaguar offers any threat to them, but simply because they can.

So while the source material may have left stains on my young psyche, it at least had something to say.  I will also say that it’s pretty suspenseful, and leaves you honestly worried for Rainsford as Zaroff evades his traps and closes in on him.  Bloodlust, on the other hand, is mostly just boring. You know they’re not going to kill off any of the four protagonists, because the movie just doesn’t have the guts to do it.  It can’t kill the girls because they’re girls, and it can’t kill the boys because then the girls would be sad.  Sandra and the two drunks are nothing but sacrificial victims, because the writers think you can’t have a horror movie without a body count.

Even aside of that, though, this movie would still be boring.  Sandra and Drunk #2 come to the girls’ room (not the boys’ room, because they couldn’t afford another set) to tell them a bunch of things we’ve already figured out for ourselves.  Vincent-at-half-the-Price monologues endlessly as if one of his tactics is boring his guests to death.  We never actually believe that Sandra and Drunk #2 mean to come back for the protagonists, so it doesn’t really matter to us when they’re killed.

I keep wanting to refer to the main characters as ‘the kids’ but I refuse to do so.  They’re at least not as annoying as the cast of your average 80’s slasher film, but they accomplish that mainly by being very bland.  Johnny is Brave, Peter is Nerdy, Betty is Tough, and Jeannie is Scared, and that’s it.  It’s really hard to care about any of them except Betty, who earns a modicum of sympathy by being the only really proactive one (and from my longstanding crush on June Kenney).  Once we realize the movie isn’t going to kill any of them we just stop caring.

I’m not sure what to make of Vincent-at-half-the-Price’s cheating. This seems like they’re trying to make some kind of point with it – he takes a crossbow with three bolts, one for each intended victim, and gives them a gun with one bullet.  This is supposed to be sporting.  But the gun has been disabled, and when he uses the bolts he pulls them out of the corpses, cleans them off, and recycles them.  Since the ending has him just pulling out a gun to shoot his cornered victims at point blank range, I guess the point is that for all he justifies it as a form of sport, really he just likes killing people.  The story managed to say that about Zaroff in other ways.

So yeah, this one really sucks.  Even Mike and the bots couldn’t save it.  There’s a few odd lines that are really funny but most of them are so-so, and there’s stretches when the movie just doesn’t offer them anything to riff.  Watching it without the intermittent relief offered by the host sketches was a chore, and it forced me to re-visit a bad experience from my childhood.  Fuck this movie.

[pedroscurls]

Title: Coach Negan

anonymous requested: Can you do a coach negan fan fiction where he looks out for one of his students because they're getting bullied or somet thanks x

Character(s): Negan and Reader (pre-apocalypse) Summary: Coach Negan takes a liking to you and after he witnesses the bullying that you endure, he shows you just exactly how special you are. Word Count: 3,448 Warning: SMUT!!!  Author’s Note: Thank you to the anon who sent this request in! I was so excited to write this story. I mean, a Coach Negan fic? Yes, please. So, I hope whoever sent this in, enjoys this one-shot! I figured I’d add some smut because I just couldn’t help myself lmao. Enjoy! :-)

Forever Taglist: @disfigured-it-out || @chunex || @jasoncrouse || @oceanicseries || @dixonsbait || @negan--is--god || @see-you-then-winchester || @sable-the-trans-ham || @k4veggies || @labyrinthofheartagrams || @purplemuse89 || @ladyynegan || @scentofpineandhazelnutlattes || @may85 || @a-girl-interupted || @spn-cw123 || @multireality || @ashzombie13 || @constellationsolo || @isayweallgetdrunk

(GIF Source: @mypapawinchester)

You had changed into your workout clothes, preparing yourself for another dreadful day in class. The only good thing about taking this physical education class in college was that it helped you get in shape and there was no need for a specific uniform. Besides, your professor made every class session unforgettable. There was never a dull moment whenever he was around.

Though, aside from the perks of this class, you didn’t enjoy that your fellow classmates had taken a liking to you in terms of bullying. It was a sixteen-week long class and the only thing you looked forward to was your professor and the good amount of exercise you got out of it.

You had thought that bullying was something that only happed in elementary, middle, and possibly high school. You never imagined that it would carry onto college, onto a four-year university where everyone that attended was supposed to be mature and respectful.

You were dressed in your workout leggings that sculpted your legs and butt, and a spandex-tight tank top with your usual running shoes. You parked your car in the parking lot of the gym and grabbed your bottle of water once you climbed out.

Once you stepped into the gym, you noticed Coach Negan dressed in his usual white t-shirt and black basketball shorts. Instead of the usual salt and pepper beard, he was clean shaven which only emphasized more on his dimples.

You had a crush on him from the moment you saw him. Though, there was no way a man of his age was interested in someone like you. Besides, you were the laughing stock of your entire class. You weren’t necessarily athletic, but you definitely tried. Apparently attempting a sport didn’t help you gain popularity points amongst your classmates.

“You’re early today, [Y/N],” Negan said, looking up from his clipboard to look up at you.

You nodded, walking over to him. You glanced around the empty gym and sighed thankfully.

“Seems that way,” you replied shyly.

Negan let his eyes trail over you. Usually, he wouldn’t get intimate with his students, but for some reason, your innocence lured him in. When your eyes met his, he immediately looked away. He didn’t want you catching him staring at your body.

“Want to know what today’s plan is?”

“Sure. Though, I don’t think I’ll do really good at it. A month into this class and I’m still struggling,” you said, biting your lower lip.

“Well, you’re looking good, so I’d say that you’re doing better than you fuckin’ think,” he commented, causing you to blush. “Anyway, we’re doing basketball today.”

You sighed, “Can’t I just run for the rest of the class?”

“Why? Can’t do basketball?”

“Apparently not. I get teased for even attempting some sport that you have us do, Coach.”

“You do realize that you’re in college now and what they say shouldn’t fuckin’ matter, right?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that their words don’t hurt.”

Negan sighed, “Well, do your best. If you need extra help, just call me over.”

You nodded, setting your bottle of water down onto one of the steps of the bleachers before grabbing a basketball from the rack. You glanced over at the door to see more of your classmates enter the gym, excitedly grabbing the basketballs.

You tried to dribble the ball, doing your best to not make yourself look like an amateur. Though, when you heard laughter, you looked up to see your classmates pointing their fingers at you.

“Why don’t you just drop this class, [Y/N]?” one woman said, the basketball tucked underneath her arm.

“Why don’t you just mind your own and stop focusing on what I’m doing?”

The woman looked you over and shook her head. She was wearing a sports bra and shorts and nothing but. You wondered if she was trying to get Negan’s attention. Sighing, you turned your gaze back onto the hoop and tried to shoot the ball, missing completely. You cursed to yourself and grabbed the ball, bouncing it against the hardwood floor.

Once the rest of your class made it to the gym, Negan blew on his whistle and motioned for you all to gather around him. You remained in the back, biting your lower lip as you listened to him speak.

“We’re going to do a warm-up run around the courts. Two laps then we’ll stretch.”

The class groaned, which caused Negan to arch his brow. “Want to make that five fuckin’ laps? Quit your whining and get to running.”

He blew the whistle once more, causing the group around him to disperse. You glanced over at him and he simply nodded. You bit your lower lip and began running around the courts, easily controlling your breath. You enjoyed running more than any other sport. It was something you were good at.

After the two laps, you stretched on your own. You bent at the hips, pressing your hands firmly onto the floor while some other classmates weren’t able to touch the floor like you were. Not only were you good at running, but you were flexible too. After the stretch, you noticed the same woman and her small posse surround you.

“So, Coach Negan said he was going to have us play a game. I asked him to just bench you. No one here wants them on your team anyway,” she laughed.

You looked up at her and bit your lower lip, clenching your hands into fists. “I can certainly try playing…”

“You don’t get it. You’re not good. At anything. Just quit now. No one wants you.”

“But –”

“But nothing! If you’re not going to stay on the bench, then I guess you’ll just make yourself look more like an idiot if you play with us,” she snarled.

“Do we have a fuckin’ problem, ladies?” Coach Negan appeared, glancing between the small group that surrounded you. You shook your head, pushing away from them to go back to where you had set your small duffle bag.

“What was that about, Amber?” he asked.

“Just put her on the bench. You and I know she can’t play any sports –”

“Last I checked, Amber, you’re the last person to be saying that. What makes you think you’re the fuckin’ expert?”

“I just –”

“Just what? You’re not in high school anymore. You can’t be the Queen Bitch. You’re in college, so grow the fuck up and act like it.” he quipped, walking away from her and deciding to walk towards you.

Negan watched as you grabbed the ends of your tank top to lift above your head, now clad in a black sports bra to match your tight leggings. His eyes trailed over your plump backside to the dimples at your lower back.

He shook his head and sat down at the bleachers, looking up at you.

“Hey,” he said.

“Oh… Hi.”

“You okay?”

“I’m used to it. No worries,” you shrugged.

“If it helps, you’ve got a hotter body than Amber.”

Immediately, you blushed. You looked over at him and noticed the smirk lining his lips, showcasing his pearly white teeth and dimples. You wanted nothing more than to straddle him at this moment, but instead, you just nodded.

“Thank you…”

“I know a beautiful woman when I fuckin’ see one. Now, how about you get on that court and play some basketball?”

“But I can’t, Coach Negan. Amber’s right. I can’t play sports…”

“Well, I suppose you’re going to try then, aren’t you?” he stood up, motioning to the court where Amber and a couple of more students were waiting. You sighed and began walking ahead of him, standing in front of Amber once you made it to her.

“Just a friendly game of basketball. Up to eleven. Afterwards, you may all leave.” he said, tossing you the ball. You caught it instantly, beginning to dribble down the court.

Amber was guarding you and you did your best to try and get away from her, so instead, you passed the ball to one of your teammates and ran across the court to give them space. When you were open for a shot, you caught the ball once it was passed to you and attempted to shoot the ball before Amber pushed you roughly.

You landed on your backside, resting your hands on the court as you looked up at her with widened eyes. She was towering over you, threatening you to stand up and fight back.

“[Y/N], I told you to stay on the bench.”

You cleared your throat, beginning to stand up. “Apparently Coach Negan didn’t listen to you, did he?”

Amber tightened her jaw and pushed you from behind, causing you to fall forward with a loud thud. “Stay down, bitch.”

You whimpered, tears stinging your eyes. You looked up at her and noticed that she and a few of her friends were laughing, causing you to stand up and immediately walk to your things.

Negan blew his whistle, causing everyone to cease their movements. “Everyone! Go the fuck home! Amber, may I have a word?”

Amber grinned excitedly, running towards him and releasing her hair from the hair tie. She ran a hand through her locks, trying to seduce Negan.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he yelled.

“Excuse me?”

“I told you. You are not in fuckin’ high school anymore. What you did to [Y/N] is un-fucking-acceptable.”

“Oh please. Don’t waste your breath on her, Coach Negan.” she spat, rolling her eyes.

“That’s it. I’m dropping you from this class. I’m dropping you and the rest of your fuckin’ friends. I’m not going to allow that type of behavior in my class.” he retaliated.

“What?! You can’t do that!”

“Oh, dollface, I can,” he grinned. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Amber and her friends stomped out of the gym, slamming the door shut on her way out. You glanced over at Negan and sighed, removing the hair tie from your hair as well as you grabbed a small towel to wipe the sweat from your body.

He walked over to you and rested a gentle hand on your lower back, causing you to tense up at the feel of his fingertips against your bare skin.

“She won’t be a problem anymore,” he said.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“She’s been on my last fuckin’ nerve since the moment she stepped foot in this gym. What she did was the last straw. It’s unacceptable. I won’t tolerate any sort of bullying.”

“Well, thank you, Coach Negan.” you smiled, looking up at him.

“How about a bit of one-on-one training? You can dribble pretty well, but you can’t shoot for shit,” he chuckled.

“Oh, uh, okay, sure.” you followed him to the court, standing at the free throw line. Negan dribbled the ball towards you, stopping just within inches from you. He stood next to you and demonstrated how to hold the ball.

“So, you have one hand in front of you and the other as a guide on the side of the ball. You bend your knees and release the ball on the way up. Sound good?” he asked.

“Right, yeah. Okay.”

Negan handed you the ball, biting your lower lip as you tried to move your hands exactly where he showed you. It felt uncomfortable and nothing like you were used to, so instead, you placed both hands on the sides of the basketball and released it, the ball missing the hoop completely.

“You weren’t paying attention,” he said.

“Well, no. I was, it’s just – It’s a foreign concept for me.”

“Okay. Let’s try this shit again.” Negan grabbed the ball and placed it in your hands, fixing it correctly. “Now, keep your hands there.”

You nodded, biting your lower lip. Suddenly, you widened your eyes when you felt Negan move to stand behind you. He was dangerously close and out of instinct, you leaned back against him, pushing your hips against him.

Negan smirked, looking down at your backside now that it was pressed against his front. He stepped forward, pressing his entire body against you. He reached around and placed both of his hands onto the ball over yours, his lips close to your ear.

“Now, focus on your balance. It’s best to keep your feet slightly apart,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky. Negan used his foot to spread your legs apart, watching as you planted your feet at shoulder width apart. He was still pressing against you and you could feel the outline of his length against your backside.

“Then, bend your knees,” he said slowly.

You nodded, bending your knees. You shut your eyes for a moment, reveling in the feel of him pressing against you.

“Then, release the ball.”

You followed his order and released the ball, jumping upwards. You watched as the ball sprang into the air and landed perfectly into the hoop, creating a quiet swish sound. You grinned, turning around to look up at Negan.

“I did it!” you said excitedly.

“See, you’re not completely incapable of playing sports,” he replied.

“It’s because I’ve got a good coach.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, stepping closer to you. Negan’s hand dropped to your hip, biting his lower lip as he stared into your eyes.

“Thank you for that…”

“It’s the least I could fuckin’ do. I mean, there’s more that I wish I could do, doll, I just need your permission.”

“What would that be?” you asked.

“Don’t act all innocent. I know where your eyes fuckin’ deviate every time you come to class,” he whispered.

“I – I,” you stuttered, looking up at him.

“All you have to do is say yes,” he added, leaning down to brush his soft lips against your jawline.

“Yes… Please, Coach Negan… Yes…”

Negan grinned. “Let’s go back to my office.”

You grabbed your duffle bag and followed him eagerly out of the gym and to his office. Once you made it to the small room, you shut the door and locked it behind you. You set your duffle bag onto the nearest chair and watched as he shut the blinds and turned the lights off except the lamp on his desk.

You slowly removed your sports bra, revealing your breasts and you bent down to pull down your leggings, gasping once you felt Negan press against you from behind. His hands came around to grasp your exposed breasts into the pit of his palms, causing you to emit a quiet moan.

“Coach Negan…” you whimpered, shutting your eyes as you felt his member press against you. You slowly rolled your hips, causing friction to run through your body. He stepped back to allow you to undress, gently slapping your backside.

“Undress for me, doll,” he ordered.

You glanced over your shoulder and stared up at him as you slowly lowered your tights and panties over your backside. Once your sex was revealed to him, Negan groaned and reached out to let his finger run along your soaking heat.

“You’re wet already?” he asked.

“I’ve been wanting this,” you admitted.

Negan grinned, “Oh, I’m going to have a fuckin’ good time with you.”

Once your leggings and panties pooled at your ankles, you bent down to undo the laces on your shoes and kicked them off with the rest of your clothing. As you stood naked in front of Negan, you looked up at him and noticed how his eyes were trailing your body in an animalistic way.

“Get up on my desk and spread those fuckin’ nice legs for me, [Y/N],” he demanded, growling lowly.

You obliged and slowly climbed onto the edge of his desk. You placed both of your feet against the edge of it, spreading your legs for him to see. He groaned, grabbing the end of his white t-shirt and removing it from his body.

You slowly dropped your hand down between your legs, rubbing yourself as you watched Negan undress. Once he pulled down his basketball shorts and boxers, you gasped immediately at the sight of his erected member. You hadn’t expected him to be this well-endowed.

Negan grinned at your reaction, stepping up to you. “What, doll? Never had something as big as my dick near that sweet pussy, huh?”

You licked your lips. You never really had much experience in your sex life aside from a few boyfriends here and there, but they didn’t match up to Negan whatsoever. His dirty talk was also something that you were oddly attracted to.

“I just – I didn’t expect it.”

With his grip on his manhood, he used his free hand to pull your lips apart, revealing your clit to him as he ran his tip along it gently. You moaned quietly, looking up at him and urging him to stop teasing.

“Why’s that, doll?”

“Well, you’re just – You’re a bit older than I am.” you bit your lower lip, feeling his tip enter you before he pulled out, causing you to whimper in protest.

“You know what they say about older men, [Y/N]?” he asked, looking at you as rested your hands onto the desk, keeping yourself propped up.

“No… What do they say?”

Negan smirked, his face leaning closer to yours. “They know a lot more in bed,” he whispered huskily, pushing into your tight heat abruptly.

You moaned, gripping the edge of the desk tightly as you kept your feet spread apart for him. He groaned, moving a hand to your cheek and the other to grasp onto your breast. Slowly, he began thrusting in and out of your depths.

Every inch that slid into your tight heat caused you to curl your toes. You shut your eyes and moved your hands to rest on his broad shoulders, your body moving against his. You looked down to see that his member disappeared and reappeared repeatedly, causing you to moan loudly.

Negan leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours, grunting at the feel of your tight walls grasping onto his throbbing cock. He slowly moved his lips against yours, flicking his tongue repeatedly. Once you moaned and parted your lips, he took this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth as his hips continued his rough thrusts.

Negan moved his hands to your backside, lifting you just slightly from the desk as he pounded into you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him as he continued his assault onto your core.

“Negan!” you moaned loudly, biting down on his shoulder to attempt to quiet yourself.

Negan smirked, slamming into you repeatedly. He gently placed you back down onto the desk, allowing you to lie completely onto your back as he kept your legs spread apart. He pulled out to his tip before slamming back inside of you, causing you to arch your back.

“Mm, fuck [Y/N]… You feel so good,” he whispered into your ear. His hands grabbed your arms and placed them by your sides, holding you firmly against his desk.

“Negan…” you moaned, shutting your eyes.

Negan smirked, slamming into you once more. He remained still, watching as you took initiative and began rolling your hips upwards impatiently. His hair at his base brushed against your clit repeatedly, causing your walls to slowly tighten. You felt yourself inch closer to your climax as Negan pulled back and began his thrusts.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he grinned.

“Yes… Fuck, Negan!” you moaned, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips once your climax hit you full force.

Negan groaned. He wasn’t expecting you to become tighter than you were. His thrusts became more erratic and sloppy, allowing you to ride out your climax.

Your body shook. You had never experienced an orgasm as intense as this one and you were sure that you were going to want more from Negan. His length continued to piston in and out of you, causing you to moan aloud.

Negan groaned, pulling out of you unexpectedly to release along your abdomen. You looked up at him, watching as his eyes had fallen shut and his mouth was slightly agape. You smiled lazily, leaning on your elbows to peck his lips.

Catching him by surprise, you stared into his eyes and dipped a finger along the release on your abdomen. You lifted your coated finger to your lips and sucked on it gently, causing a quiet groan to escape Negan’s lips.

“Well, fuck, doll…”

“Can we have more one-on-one sessions like today?” you asked.

Negan smirked, “Fuck yes. You are coming home with me tonight, [Y/N].”

“More sessions?” you bit your lower lip.

“One after the other, doll.”