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guyfieriii · 7 months

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We’re going out in style, babe (I)

God, it’s been a WHILE. I really lost all zeal for writing for a little while, until recently I watched the tv series ‘Mr. & Mrs. Smith’ (it’s so so good, you guys!! everyone go watch it) and it got the ol’ wheels turning. This was supposed to be a one and done thing but I got carried away and I lack the stamina to write a big whole thing so this’ll be a two-parter.

Anyway. This is my little version of it with Price. Angst and some stuff. The usual business. Haven’t written anything in months so please read this with the lowest possible expectations. Ya girl’s rusty.

Pairing : John Price x F!reader

Trigger warning : Explicit Sexual Scenes

It’s almost romantic.

The sight of husband and wife lay bare, broken and bloody. Look closely enough to see past the gore, past the ugliness set in a halo of ichor to see a sense of deliverance. The gift of release knowing they’ve met their end, and they’ve met it together.

Well, almost.

You choke out a wretched cough seeped in blood. One you’d feel rip into you, bullet holes and all, if you just weren’t so tired. You can taste it, though — coppery and astringent.

Punctuating.

This is it, you think, feeling the curve of your spine slacken at the relief of what’s coming.

I’m sorry, John.

The words spume against your lips, the only sound making it past them is a wet gurgle.

You’re grateful, for once, for the tears mar your eyesight. They keep you from seeing the true extent of his pain. You can feel it though, his agitation, his helplessness simply in the feather-light brush of his fingertips against your own. It can’t be easy, watching his wife slowly bleed to death beside him while he does the same. Seeing the way your lips turn ashen under a cochineal film of blood, watching the space between each breath lengthen gradually until all that’s left is the in between.

It’s slow. Painful. Each passing second permeated in struggle.

But better him than you.

Let me be first to go, you think in your typical manner of self-service.

It’ll all have been worth it, if only you’re the first to go.

“Oh,” It’s the first thing you can think to say,

“You’re English.”

It’s not the first thing you notice about him, though. No the thing that catches your attention at once is his eyes. Clear, calm and oh so blue. The sheer depth of them, though. Stare into them much longer, and you might not be able to find your way back out.

“Disappointed?” The question is dipped in jovial cadence. Thank God. He’s not offended.

“No. Not disappointed. I was only expecting—.” You pause, uncertain on what expectations you had starting out. Whatever they were, you can’t really remember now.

“What were you expecting, love?” He asks, simply and you know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s sincere. It echoes in the resting timbre of his voice, in the sharpness of his gaze which is dulled only slightly by something you might confuse for affection if you didn’t know any better.

You can only stare in response. Wait for the punchline that never comes.

Jesus Christ. He really does wants to know.

It’s unfamiliar territory for you to be in. To hold someone’s concern in your grasp the way you do his. However, as hard as it is for you to accept, it seems just as easy for him to simply give it away.

The weight of it makes your heart beat faster. Harder. Suddenly your mouth is too dry and you fight the urge to blink and break the spell. If he notices your discomfort, he says nothing about it.

An odd thing, really. That the two of you were matched.

“I’d like for our first day of marriage to not be a complete disappointment.” He prompts, still expecting your answer.

“Listen, uh—”

“John.” He supplies with a tone that makes you think you’re missing out on a joke.

Yeah, it’s a fake name. Haha. I get it.

“Jane.” You reciprocate, awkwardly.

“I’m Jane. And you’re perfect — er, John.” You declare with a sharp inhale only to be met with the scent of him. A bonfire is the first thing that your mind puts up front and centre. A bonfire doused out by a the lightest drizzle, so the smell of smoke still lingers. Along with it, the wafting aroma of cinnamon. Chocolate. All things warm and inviting.

You decide, in that moment, that you really really like the way he smells.

“Starting off with perfection, am I? At least give me till our silver year to really nail it.” He states, yet again, with such utter sincerity you almost miss the joke entirely.

“Till our—? Oh. Right.” You glance away, sheepish.

“This is yours; I believe.” Through your peripherals, you see a ring dangling at the top knuckle of his little finger. A delicate gold band. Simple and suited to your style. You glance at the finger right beside and see that he’s already worn his.

Right. Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.” You reach out to take it, but he curls his finger back into his palm.

“Oh no, darling. Let me.” With the utmost care he grabs hold of your wrist, his thumb closing around your pulse — which much to your dismay is racing. It looks so slight, enclosed in his grip — which is paradoxically unyielding and yet so unbearably soft. A cushioned cage you might not mind being held captive in. You can’t bear to meet his eyes, so you keep your gaze downcast, intently focused on the way he slips the ring on your finger.

It’s not supposed to mean anything. Just work. Practicality more than something romantic. You’re spies and being married only makes it less likely that one of you will defect.

But for some reason it doesn’t feel that way. A moment shrouded in solemn intimacy. A promise. It feels that you’re bound to him, a stranger , just with the simple decent of a golden band down your finger. A covenant not meant to be entered into lightly — it’s an undeclared forfeiture of your life into the hands of another. So no, it’s not exactly romantic.

It’s something so much more.

“It’s official, eh? Mr. And Mrs. Smith.” Your hand still rests against the back of his and he makes no movement to release it.

You don’t much seem to mind.

You sleep in different beds, of course.

A habit formed with some difficulty, you’ll admit. There are times when you’ve parted ways in the hall like two men on the opposite ends of a duel — fingers curled around the trigger, waiting on the impulse to pull it. You’ve never given in but you’ve come close.

That fading post mission adrenaline leaves you pliable to your baser instincts, and you find yourself imagining all the ways he could make it better.

All the ways you could.

One night, in a hotel room in Verona, you found yourself skirting the precipice of giving in, with nothing but a 6 inch wall between the two of you.

You pictured it. Some other version of you, ready to take the plunge. This other you having the privilege of indifference in a make-believe realm wherein consequences don’t matter, and you tried to swallow the envy that rose up your throat like bile.

Tried and failed.

Your hands seem to move on their own accord as they slip between your thighs, your mind fabricating the illusion of his own taking their place.

A practiced dance of your imagination and dexterity that takes place often. More than you’d ever admit, even to yourself. You’d brand yourself in shame the morning after, and yet at night, all alone, you come at the thought of all the ways he’d take you.

He’s big. You know it.

You’ve caught glimpses of the outline of his cock in the bugle of his briefs like a voyeuristic pervert. He seemed big enough when flaccid, and you quivered.

You imagine the girth of him, hard and throbbing, promising all the ways he’d make it fit.

You use three fingers, push them deeper still and try to mimic the ways he’d fill you. You’re certain you fall short. He’d stretch you till your cunt had no give left, and then he’d stay there. Let you mold yourself to him, so he’d never feel the need to go elsewhere.

Knowing he’s within an earshot, you’re louder than you normally are. Much to the dismay of the men you’ve slept in the past, you were never vocal in bed. You’d reach orgasm, nearly mute and theatrics for the sake of male ego was something you couldn’t spare the patience for.

Tepid — that’s what they called you, disappointment oozing from each syllable.

You just couldn’t bare to disappoint John.

You put on what can only be considered a barefaced performance for the pure interest of his attention, expressing desires aloud you wouldn’t even dare admit in the privacy of your own self-contemplation. It spurs you on to climax, a fortissimo of vulgarity spewing from your lips.

In the aftermath you lay there breathless, caught unawares by just how far you took this little experiment of yours. Granted, it was all for John’s benefit but somewhere in the middle of it the pretence washed off you to reveal a gleam of authenticity.

Reeling from it, you’re unable to sleep a wink.

“Sleep well, then?” He asks you, the morning after.

“Uh huh. Some of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in my life, John.”

He looks at you like he’s about to call you out on it. Never does.

You resume your compartmentalized way of living soon after. Other than a shared fake name, your home, and the covert particulars of your questionable line of work, you two don’t share much.

Until a mission calls for it, you’ve managed to keep to yourselves a fair amount. You usually cross paths at mealtimes, which you never complain about since he wordlessly took it upon himself to do all the cooking, only letting you help clean.

Quaint domesticity at its finest.

“Safe to assume you chose high risk work as well.” He’d said over breakfast on your first morning there. “Why?”

You’d entered the kitchen to already find him there frying some eggs over the stove. You notice the little dining table to the side already set for two, a glass of orange juice poured for the both of you and toast points standing in their rack in the center of the table.

He gestured for you to take a seat before serving you a duo of over easy eggs and cup of coffee before taking his seat across.

Well, then.

Maybe there were some perks to this life of married domesticity after all.

“I thought I could use a challenge.” You offered him a half answer, as close to the truth as you could.

“And what was it that you did before this?” He asked

“Should you really be asking me that?” You countered.

“I think so, given that you’re my wife.”

My wife.

Enjoying the bit a little too much, aren’t ya John?

So were you, if you were being honest. But honestly never was your strongest suit.

“And why did you—?” You questioned him back in an effort to evade, “Pick high risk, I mean.”

“I’m ex-military, love. Figured I’d choose what I’m used to.” He answered you almost immediately, with not a hint of discomfort or thought of reserve. Either he was a fabulous liar—

Or he trusted you already.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

“I like my eggs scrambled, by the way.

“Glad to know you feel comfortable your preferences for eggs with me, Jane.”

“Small steps, John.”

Six months in, and aside from a few close calls, you and John seemed to make a good team.

You’ve found that while he’s quick to improvise. Almost always, there’s a wrench thrown in the works, and while you might grapple over a changed course of action, he’s already adjusted to the new circumstances.

You’ve also found that he hates being separated from you in the field. You used to think it to be a manifestation of suspicion, to constantly have an eye on you.

Not that you’d blame him if it was. You weren’t exactly a fountain of knowledge when it came to sharing things of a personal nature. It would only be natural for a little mistrust to brew between a set of spies.

Married, or not.

You were disabused of that theory all too soon.

“Status update?”

“Made it through. I lost them.” You wheeze out, just barely.

“You good? You okay?” The fear in his voice is palpable through your earpiece as you stumble through to an alleyway and try to catch your breath. With the adrenaline waning off you finally feel the bullet that grazed your shoulder.

Flesh wound. You’ll live.

“Jane, fucking answer me.” He rasps, urgent and desperate. Like his sanity depends on your well-being.

It pisses you off, sometimes. Just how deeply he cares. Would you dare call him out on it, though? Now that you’ve been fed on it for months till your belly was ready to burst, like a stray turned house cat. Would you survive without it?

“I’m fucking winded, John. Just need to catch my breath. I’ll be better if we could get the fuck out of here and go—”

Home.

“—back.” You say, instead. “Let’s rendezvous at—”

“I’m coming to get you. Just stay put, yeah?”

“Jesus C—” You hiss through clenched teeth, pressing down the base of your palm into your shoulder to help slow the bleeding down. The pain of it shoots down your arm like veins of lightning, only adding to your irritation. “I’m not a child, for fuck’s—”

“Jane.” The tone of his voice shuts you up. There’s not an ounce of anger or annoyance in it. Only supplication.

Well, shit.

You knew from the very first day you met him — John was a man rooted in conviction. Hard to sway, even harder to deny.

“Fine. I’m waiting.”

He finds you hunched against the wall not 10 minutes later and you can see him visibly sag in relief. The moment he turned the corner and his eyes fell upon your own, his contracted brow-line receded, the rigidity in his stance eased, and the look on his face—

If the deities could speak to a man’s worship, you thought, this is what they would talk about.

“How bad is it?” He offers you a hand to help you stand, the other immediately seeking to find the wound hidden under the crimson blotted front of your shirt, tugging slightly at the neck of it to get a better look.

“I’m sure you’ve seen worse.” You suddenly feel all too shy at the thought of a little exposed skin in front of the man who is your husband. When his thumb grazes the underside of the wound, an unsuppressed flinch jostles you in his hold and his grip tightens.

“You’ll need stitches.” He murmurs, his movements now zephyr-like, fingers mindlessly wandering across the span of your collar bone. You can’t help but imagine the way he’d help you undress, fingers caught at the bottom seam of your shirt being gently lifted. His thumb hooking underneath — maybe just to unassumingly graze against the skin of your abdomen. Maybe to see what the rest of you would feel like against the warmth of his touch.

You’ve caught him staring — whenever you’re dressed bare in nothing but a tank top and loose pair of shorts, the lace hem of which dances so gently across the smooth expanse of your thigh. You’ve witnessed him stop in his tracks, his gaze trained downward for a moment too long to not be considered improper and just then you find it. The effervescent unsheathing of his jealousy, towards a garment of all things. It doesn’t stay long; you could blink and miss it.

But you don’t miss much.

So, when he helps you undress, later that night, and tends to your wound—

Would he stop there, you wonder?

Would you maybe want to find out?

The first time he does fully undress you, is on the eve of your first-year anniversary.

You’re greeted with a gift — a bottle of Laphroaig, 40 and garment bags with a little something for the both of you. Enclosed within an envelope is the note:

Congratulations on a successful first year of marriage.

“Be a shame for rest of it to go to waste.” You say, when John immediately reaches for the bottle. His thumb swipes across the label in an appreciative caress while he tips the cap in your direction as a way of asking drink this with me?

“Keen to dress up for me, love?” He unzips your bag to reveal a hint of luminescent satin — deepened cerulean, to match his eyes.

“I—”

“Because I am.”

You see it unfold before you — the extent of his imagination. Unfurling like an iris in bloom. His eye-line coasting across the length of your silhouette, pausing at slight intervals — the slope of your neck, the curve of your breasts, the pliable swathe of your abdomen. His fists clench in a trice and you feel the pulse of it hammering in your core.

A building reservoir of desire you’ve held back behind a dam of logic that strains beneath the weight furthermore.

He makes you feel at a loss — seemingly unpulsed by this conspicuous display of obscene want. Hunger for what is continuously denied.

Either he takes it on the chin like too good of a sport, or he simply hides it better than you do.

Either way—

You might as well try to even out the playing field.

With a rapid maneuver fuelled only by provocation and guile, you crook a finger along the collar of his button down, the palm of your other hand placed securely over his chest.

“I will, if you will.”

This was it — the fracture in the levee holding back a year’s worth of self-deception. With the curtain drawn on every enciphered impulse, you could finally meet him on equal, honest footing. The kindling that lay bare now set alight and you can only hope you aren’t scorched by it.

And if you are—

You pray it consumes you quick.

The rest of the evening just kind of blends together — three finger pours, a little music, some dancing, if you could even call it that.

John’s generosity with the scotch turned you sloppy, with all your past attempts at decorum now semi-liquid — like a condensed pour of honey out the jar.

“Dance with me, Jane.”

“Just want to get your hands on m’, don’t ya? Clingy fucker.”

Pot, meet kettle, you think to yourself.

Drunk or not, at least you’re self-aware.

It’s in the middle of the night when you jostle awake, with a dry mouth and a hammering in your skull that you feel in your teeth. Somehow, you made it to bed. Still dressed.

You smooth a palm across the creased satin encasing your body, bunching the fabric into your fists absentmindedly.

“Couldn’t bare to take you out of it just yet.”

You’re caught off guard to find John lounging in the chair in the corner of your room, your dulled senses inhibiting the reflex to reach for your gun.

“Never sneak up on a spy, John. Could’a shot you dead if I wasn’t this fucking hungover.”

“Thank God for small mercies. You’d make an awful widow.” His tone bleeds irony but there’s an undertone to it. It’s one you don’t recognize.

He’s since rid himself of his jacket and cufflinks, with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed over his chest that rises and falls with every deliberate breath he takes. The picture of nonchalant inertia to the unknowing eye.

Not you, though.

You see the simmering thirst in a man who has been parched for too long, the certainty set in his eyes in search of an oasis—

And something else. An offshoot growing from the root of brackish resentment you can’t quite place.

And maybe, just maybe you worry you’re about to have your heart broken.

Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Fuck you.” You mutter, indignantly, massaging the bridge of your nose in an effort to ease the ache.

With lithe and measured movements, John approaches you. Through your peripherals you watch his feet get closer and closer with every step, until he’s inches away. With a firm-handed pull at your chin, he forces your gaze towards him— that indescribable tincture yet staining his features.

His head tilts imperceptibly, eyes narrowing in determination while he decides….what?

Whether to fuck you? Whether to leave you be and maintain the suffocating, acetic undercurrent you’ve maintained for an entire year in keeping your hands to yourself?

Whether to—

You stop your deliberations straight in their tracks as his hold on you tightens ever so slightly, his thumb disengaging from the rest to glide across your bottom lip.

Pulsing headache aside, you feel your entire being throb in anticipation.

“John—”

“Hush,” He takes advantage of your parted lips, probing the seam of them a little deeper. “Let a man savour a moment, for fuck’s sake.”

Seconds dissolve into minutes, as you wait with bated breath. Each lungful heavier than the last under the stifling pressure of a singular moment being pulled taut beyond belief.

“Jane, darling?” His voice is a mere whisper.

“Hmm?”

“How badly do you want to be fucked right now?”

A sizzle of defiance erupts deep in your belly. The urge to impugn stings the tip of your tongue when you see it. That look. That look that pummels down any defence you could even hope to construct. It demands sincerity, even when you can barely muster it on a good day let alone hungover and painfully aroused.

So, in the place of a rejoinder that would leave you both sexually frustrated and teetering the edge of combustion, you say the truth.

“So fucking badly, John. For months. Possibly from the moment we met.”

What hits you in that moment is disconcerting mixture of emotions: part relief at the unburdening of long-held truths, part self-consciousness at the ease in which just you’ve confessed them.

The latter dissolves almost immediately when you watch the resulting smile that etches itself across his face. A smile that screams pride. Absolution. The kind you’d find on a man who finally reached the peak of his dreams.

You were his Everest. Finally conquered.

“That’s my girl.”

His words leave you breathless. It’s not the first time he’s called you his, so it isn’t the novelty of the statement that floors you. It’s the fact that for the first time in a year, you recognize it to be true.

You’re his — been his for some time now.

The epiphany goes to your head like strong drink — and right on the heels of your previous state of inebriety, it’s all too much to take.

“Fuck, John. Just—” Whatever you might’ve said next is devoured by him in an abrubt dive to kiss you. It’s fervent and messy, all tongue and teeth leaving the viscid traces of saliva across your lips, jaw, and neck.

It’s an unremitting onslaught of his lips and hands — him touching you, tasting you at a pace you couldn’t dream of outrunning. Sometime in the midst of it, he’s managed to strip you both down without missing a beat. I’ll take care of it, my darling, he’d said when you protested to the number of layers that still lay between the two of you.

That was the thing about John. He’d not let a single demand of yours go unsatisfied. A depraved part of you wondered how far you could draw it out, test his endurance. Find the limit and shame him for it.

Needless to say, you never did.

Not out of decency, a trait of which you were always found deficient. It was only out of the fear of having had something unattainable only to eventually lose it. Fact of the matter is, there would be no limit to what you could ask of him.

Onto to simpler requests, then.

“Fuckin’ need you inside of me.”

His cock fills you up just as you’d expected— stretched to capacity, the head of his cock grazing against your cervix with a couple of inches to spare. You hiss through your teeth, your nails digging into his back to recompense for the building pressure.

“Shit, John. Fu—uck—” You pant, lungs convulsing beneath the strain of his weight pressing down on you, skin meeting skin at every possible junction.

“Should’a let me work you out first, then.” He grunts, lips latching on to the shell of your ear.

He forced an arm between the two of you, his fingers find your clit, drawing gentle circles. A direct juxtaposition to the shallow quick paced thrusts, while his other arm snakes around to border the crown of your skull. A preemptive measure for a good and thorough fucking.

Eventually the burn at the rim of your cunt subsides and you take more of him than you could’ve ever imagined. Right to the hilt. He draws back out, just halfway and looks, as if to admire his handiwork before slamming back in with a reverberant so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ good or some variation of the praise over and over.

A year’s worth of raked up want comes cresting over this one night— he fucks you once more with the privilege of leisure the second time around. When you’re fucked out, slack-jawed with a raw cunt dripping cum, he croons with self-satisfaction and promises you’ll take him again.

You do, naturally. Drunk on the smell of sex which weighs down the air in the room, obedience comes easy.

He’s gentler this time, softer in the way he touches you. Fingers raking over flushed, sweaty skin. His tongue gliding over every inch of you, twice over, like he means to really savour it. Catalogue what every part of you tastes like should this be the only chance he gets. He fucks you slow and deep, a litany of indebtedness perpetuating every movement.

There are things about him you commit to memory, as well. The lingering taste of his last cigar that glides across your tongue when he kisses you. The flickering pulse in his brow when he’s close. The weight of his cock sheathed within you, the sting that comes with it.

When the haze of prolonged unfed lust unfurls with a yawn of satiety, you find all that remains is a sense of premonition.

Of a tragic and bitter end.

#john price x reader #John price #john price smut #john price fic #TECHNICALLY I could end it with this but how rude would that be??

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kennarose1108 · 1 year

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My World (Negan Smith x Reader !DAUGHTER OF RICK) !PART 3!

PART 1 PART 2

*WARNING! THIS PART HAS GOES INTO DETAIL OF SEXUAL ASSAULT*

"I don't need an escort." You say with your arms wrapped firmly around your chest in anger. "It's a bodyguard and yes you do. I'm not arguing about this anymore." Negan says with a small roll of his eyes as he walks around the room, getting himself ready to leave.

"I'm a big girl Negan, I can handle myself." You say. Negan sighs in frustration, "Two people were killed on the premises. I'm not taking any chances." He says while throwing on his leather jacket. "Didn't the person who did that escape?" You ask. Negan sighed and held the bridge of his nose in annoyance before turning to you. "Enough Y/N. When my mind is set it is damn set and you know that." Negan says. You groan and throw yourself back down onto the bed so you are lying down. "...Can I at least pick who's going to be hovering over my shoulder all day?" You say while staring up at the ceiling. "No," Negan says without hesitation. You groan again. Negan sighs, "Listen, Arat is going to be with you as much as she can and you like Arat." Negan says while sitting down on the bed next to you.

"But Arat is one of my best, if not the best, solider I got. So I'll have to trade her out with other people." Negan explains. "Dwight?" You ask while turning your head to look at him. Negan chuckles, "No. Douchebag got himself into a hole for letting my puppy out." Negan says with a shit-eating grin. "Well, who does that leave? ...Oh god no don't say Simon, Jesus no." You say with a cringe. Negan chuckles at your words. "No. David will." He says. You groan loudly, "Ohhhh god! That's even worse!" You put your face into your hands and continue to groan. Negan smirks and leans his head back, "What's wrong with David?" Negan asks. "Jesus- what's not wrong with David? He's a creep, annoying, a weirdo, and he's loud and obnoxious." You say while looking back at him.

"Well, I'm loud and obnoxious too and you seem to like me." He says with a grin. "That's because you have a charm. David has no redeeming qualities." You say. Negan leans closer to you, his grin widening. "I have a charm?" He asks. You roll your eyes, "Ugh... Of course, that's the only thing you heard in that sentence. You totally missed the whole 'I hate David' part." You say. "Oh! How about Laura? I like Laura." You say with a hopeful look on your face. Negan slowly shakes his head, "Nope. She's gotta watch over Mr. Smartypants." Negan says. You groan again, "Goddd... I'll just lock myself in here forever." You say with a sigh. "Great. Problem solved then." Negan says while standing on his feet.

You glare a him, "That was supposed to make you feel bad." Negan chuckles. "I know." He says with a smirk before he bent down to kiss you on your lips. You turned your cheek to him and tried to suppress the smile that wanted to form on your lips. Negan chuckles, "Is that how it's gonna be?" He asks, just barely a few inches away from your face.

A smirk formed on your lips. Negan bent down further, his lips now barely above the skin under your ear as he whispered, "If you keep acting like a brat I'll have to punish you y'know..." As he spoke you could feel his lips brushing along your sensitive skin. A chill went down your spine and you suck in a shaky breath. "Maybe I want to be punished..." You whispered. Negan's grin somehow widened and he let out a low and dark chuckle, "Hm... Darlin'... I don't think you understand what you do to me." He whispers.

Negan then grabs your jaw and forces your face to look back at him. Before you could even react he slammed his lips onto yours, pulling you into a hungry kiss. The kiss was sloppy and rough. He kissed you like he was starving. Like he hadn't eaten in days and you were a four-course meal. But he couldn't do this forever, he had business to attend to.

Before he pulled away he bit down harshly on your bottom lip. You groaned in surprise and a bit of pain. When he pulled away a line of spit kept you two together until it broke when he was far enough away. You reached your hand up and touched your swollen and throbbing lip.

"Don't worry. I didn't break the skin." He says with a smug grin. "I'll see you later." He says with a wink while rubbing your cheek with his fingers. He straightened himself up, giving you one last good look before walking to the door and leaving.

"Douchebag..." You mumble under your breath.

After about an hour you were getting hungry. So you got dressed and walked out of the room. When you walked out you were met with David. He stepped in front of you with a smirk on his face, "Where you goin'?" He asks. You furrowed your eyebrows, "Really? He's having you guarding the door? Jesus..." You say in annoyance. "I'm getting something to eat. Move." You hissed while pushing him aside and walking down the hall. David followed closely behind and you tried to keep your annoyance suppressed but it was difficult.

You were walking fast, trying to keep your distance between you and David. "Slow down," David ordered from behind you. You rolled your eyes and ignored him. Then David forcefully grabbed your elbow and yanked you back. You spun your head around and snatched your arm out of his grip. "Don't touch me." You hissed.

"Or what?" He asks with a chuckle. You glare at him, "Don't. Touch. Me." You repeat in a more threatening tone of voice. "I wouldn't have to touch you if you listened," David says while stepping close to you and getting in your face. You glared daggers at him and you shook your head gently.

"Whatever..." You mumble before turning around and continuing to walk.

When you finished eating your breakfast you decided you wanted to walk outside to get some fresh air. This day was stressful for you and you wanted to get a breather. "Where are you going?" David asks with an annoyed huff. "Outside. Is that a crime now?" You ask. "Why the fuck are you going outside?" David asks. You stopped walking and turned to glare at him, "Isn't your job just to follow me around? Why the hell are you asking me questions? Just do whatever job Negan assigned you and stop talking to me." You say before turning back around and walking outside.

David glared at you before following you. As you walked around slowly outside around the gate you sighed in relaxation and enjoyed the feeling of the hot sun on your skin. It would be perfect if there weren't hoards of dead people walking around outside of the gate.

But your peaceful was so interrupted, "So... Y/N, I have a few questions." David says. You sighed in annoyance, "What?" David smirks. "Are you happy with Negan?" David asks. This question made you stop in your tracks. "Excuse me?" You ask while turning around. "Does he satisfy you?" David asks with a grin. You squinted your eyes and gave him a look of disgust. "None of your goddamn business." You say while turning around so you can continue walking... But David stopped you.

He grabbed your arms and shoved you against one of the sanctuary walls. "The fu- LET GO!" You yelled. "Oh c'mon... We don't gotta hate each other..." David says with a smirk. His hands squeezed tightly on your arms and you winced, "STOP!" You shouted. "I can make you feel good. Better than he can." David says while trailing his fingers along your side. "Fuck off!" You yelled while shoving him away. You turned to run off but he grabbed you again.

One of his hands grabbed one of your wrists and pinned them to the side of your head while his other hand forcefully grabbed your jaw and slammed your head back into the wall. You let out a small cry on impact as the wind was knocked out of you.

"Listen here you little bitch. The more you fight, the more I enjoy myself. So if I were you, I'd just do what you're told." He says angrily while squeezing your jaw tightly. His touch was so much different than Negan's... When Negan had his hand on your jaw earlier it was gentle and full of love... David's touch was harsh, cold, and full of anger.

"Just stop fighting and I'll give you the time of your life," David says in a low tone of voice. "Stop! I-I'll tell Negan what you're doing!" You say with fear in your eyes. "Hm... Who do you think he'll believe? The one who hates the other one and will do anything to get that person off their back or the one who's just trying to do their job?" David says with a chuckle. "He'll believe me." You hissed. "Mm... I doubt it." David mumbled. "You see, Negan has known me a lot longer than you sweetheart. Plus, when I'm done with you you'll be begging for more." David says with a smirk.

The hand that was on your jaw went down your body and he began to undo your belt. You took this opportunity to swing your head forward and smash your head against his nose. He yelled out loud and held his nose in pain as he stumbled back. You turned and ran back into the sanctuary. "FUCKING BITCH!" David screamed while storming back into the sanctuary behind you.

You ran through the sanctuary, David close behind you. You wanted to run to Negan, but you had no idea where he was. He could be anywhere or even not at the sanctuary at all. So, you ran to the only other place that made you feel safe...

The bedroom.

You were far away from the bedroom... You just had to make sure he didn't catch you before you made it there and he was catching up to you quickly. Adrenaline pumped into your veins which helped you run faster.

David yelled at you, telling you to come back. When you heard him right on your trail you finally saw the door to your bedroom. Your eyes widen with hope... But then David grabbed you again. He grabbed your upper arm and yanked you back. You screamed and reached back, scratching your nails across his face. He yelled in pain and stumbled back again. You quickly ran to the door and opened it before slamming it shut, locking it behind you.

David banged against the door and your breath was shaky as you slowly backed away from the door. He kicked the door one last time before giving up and grumbling to himself. Your body trembled in fear as you slowly sat down at the end of your bed. The only thought that went through your mind was;

'...How the hell am I going to explain this to Negan?'

As you waited for Negan you paced around the room, biting your nails nervously. This wasn't going to end well and you knew it...

The door knob jiggled and you froze and stared at it in fear. You thought David was trying to make his way back in again. "Darlin'?" Negan's voice says through the door. You sigh in relief and walk over to the door. You unlocked it and walked back to where you were previously standing. Negan opens the door and scans your body over. He saw how tense you were and how nervous you looked. "What's going on?" He asks curiosity and concern in his voice. "Um... Can... Can you sit down?" You ask while motioning to the edge of the bed. He squints his eyes and looks at you up and down, "Okay... Why?" He asks while leaning Lucille against the wall next to the door and slowly moving to the end of the bed.

"Um... Because this will be easier to explain when you're not looming over me." You say with a nervous chuckle. Negan continues to stare at you before he slowly sits down. You stared at him for a moment before pacing back and forth again nervously. You bit the nail on your thumb and tried thinking of the best way to say this to him without him getting all murdery...

He watched you walk back and forth for a moment before getting annoyed, "Y/N. Tell me. Now." He ordered, his eyes getting darker. You stopped in your tracks and looked at him nervously, "Promise me you won't get mad... Please." You begged, your eyes glazing over with tears. He squinted his eyes again. "Don't give me a reason to get mad then." He says. You give him a pleading look and he sighs deeply, "I promise..." He mutters.

You take in a shaky breath and lower your hand from your lips. "U-Um... Okay well... It started this morning," You say. "I got up to get some breakfast and David was guarding the door... When I left he was telling me to slow down and I ignored him. It made him upset and he forcefully grabbed my elbow and yanked me back..." You explain.

You couldn't make full eye contact with Negan, you just gave his eyes some glances before looking around the room nervously. But even in those glances you already noticed him getting pissed off.

You shift around nervously, "But... I held my ground and everything went okay until we went outside..." Your body began to tremble in fear. Fear of how Negan would react... Stupidly part of your brain worried about David's words... You were worried that Negan wouldn't believe you and take David's side. But the other side of your brain was scared that he would believe you... You knew he would raise hell upon David and everybody in his path.

"He started asking me these... Questions. Like if I was happy with you and if you," You swallowed the lump in your throat before continuing. "Satisfied me." You say with disgust and a cringe on your face. "What?" Negan hisses in a low tone of voice while standing to his feet. You take a step back and look around the room nervously, "This is where this issue ends right?" He asks, anger laced into his voice. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out... Negan's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose, "...What else happened?" His voice was low and menacing... Like he was ready to pounce at any second.

Your breath was shaky and you stood there nervously, "Y/N-" "He pushed me against the wall." You say while interrupting him. You had to get this out quickly. "He started saying things like he could make me feel better than you could. I tried fighting him off but he grabbed me by the jaw and slammed the back of my head into the wall." You say with your voice cracking with emotion.

"He said 'The more you fight the more I enjoy it'. I then told him I'd tell you and he said you wouldn't believe me and you'd believe him..." Your body trembled as you spoke, your gaze was to the floor and you didn't know what Negan's reaction was at the moment, and in all honesty... You didn't want to know.

"The hand that was on my jaw lowered down and he tried undoing my belt..." You say before pausing as your voice cracks while you fight back tears. You cleared your throat before continuing, "I was able to get out of his hold and run off. He caught me once before I made it here but I scratched him across the face. He banged against the door before giving up..." You felt a weight off your shoulders after you finished telling him your story.

As you sighed in relief after finally getting this over with a tear fell from your eye. The room fell into a deep, threatening, and slightly awkward silence. You finally built up the courage to slowly move your eyes up to meet his gaze. When your eyes met his gaze you were a bit startled to see him staring back at you with a blank look on his face. You two stared at each other for a moment before you decided to speak up... But he beat you to it.

"So... He tried to rape you?" Negan asks, the blank stare still on his face. You slowly nodded. He continued to stare at you for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking off to the side. He was thinking for a moment, about what you didn't know...

He then broke the silence again,

"I'm gonna kill him."

He turned to the door and grabbed the Lucille. "Wait! Please don't!" You begged while grabbing his wrist. He spun around with a look of fury on his face, "Don't? DON'T?!" He yelled. "The hell you mean don't?!" He shouted. Him yelling at you made you jump but you tried your best to keep up your confidence. "It's not worth killing him over!" Negan scoffs, "The hell it isn't." As he spoke the grip he had on Lucille grew tighter, making his knuckles white. "Rape is against the rules here, and he was stupid enough to try it on you?" He then lets out a sinister chuckle.

He shakes his head, "No. This shit ain't flying." He says while turning back to the door. Your grip on his arm tightened, "No! Wait, please! Please don't leave me alone again! I don't want to be alone." You begged. The tears that you were holding back came falling and you sniffled. Negan looked back at you and his face softened. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes for a moment. He was in a deep thought.

He then sighed deeply and placed Lucille back against the wall. He turned back to you and put his hands to the side of your head and placed a kiss on your forehead. "Listen to me..." He says in a low tone of voice while resting his forehead against yours.

"I need to take care of this. I will come back to you... And I promise I won't do anything to him today. But I at least need to get him under control... He knows something is coming and I need to get it under control." Negan says.

You look at him with wide pleading eyes that are filled with tears, "Please..." You mutter. Negan sighs and droops his head for a moment. "I gotta take care of this darlin'... I can't let this go for the moment." You shake your head. "No... Please..." You say with more tears falling from your eyes. "Baby... Lay down, relax yourself... I'll be back in less than twenty minutes I promise. Okay?" Negan says while gently grabbing your shoulders and making you sit on the bed.

You sigh in defeat and sit on the bed with your head low. "Be quick... Please." You say in a sad tone of voice. Negan leans down, cups your cheeks, and kisses your forehead. "I'll be quick." He says with a soft smile before pulling away and grabbing Lucille. "Twenty minutes max. Okay?" He says. You nod with a frown. He gives you a small nod before leaving the room.

About five minutes later Negan was sitting in the meeting room wiping down Lucille when there was a knock on the door. The person entered and it was Simon, "He's here." Simon says. Negan doesn't reply, his eyes are just fixated on Lucille. David then stepped in and Simon stepped out, making sure to shut the door.

Negan finished wiping down Lucille before turning to David with a smirk. "I assume you know why you're here?" Negan asks. David lets out a small chuckle, "I have an idea." David says with a smug smirk. Negan stands to his feet with a sinister smile. "Oh? Enlighten me then." Negan says while taking a step forward. "Your little girlfriend told a lie," David says. Negan's eyes widened, "Hmm... A lie? How was it a lie?" Negan says while stepping a few inches away from David while holding Lucille with both his hands in front of him.

"She hates me. That's obvious. I was a little mean... A little pushy. She threatened to tell you something that'll piss you off just to get me in trouble." David says with a wide smirk. "A little pushy?" Negan repeats with a small chuckle. "A little pushy means trying to shove your hands down her pants?" Negan asks, he is now an inch away from David's face. David scoffs, "Negan. You know me." David says with a confident and smug smirk.

Negan nods, "That's right. I do know you." Negan says. Negan pauses, his gaze neutral before it went into a fury. He took Lucille and shoved the top of the baseball bat into David's stomach painfully and harshly. David hunches over and groans loudly. Negan grips David's hair and pulls his head up to look at Negan.

"Did you seriously think I was going to believe you?" Negan says in a low and angry tone of voice with a glare that could kill. "I'm going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully." Negan hisses into David's ear. David stared up at him in fear.

"Rape isn't allowed here and you knew that and yet you thought it was a good idea to try and rape my woman," Negan says before chuckling sinisterly. "I don't know if you have a death wish or if you're just stupid..." Negan says with a grin.

"P-Please I-" "Shut up." Negan hisses, his smile wiped off his face and a furious glare replaced. Negan then shoved David towards the table and bashed his head into the edge of the table. David sits on the floor, yells in pain, and holds his bloody nose.

"Now. Simon is going to take you to the hole. I'll deal with you tomorrow." Negan says. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," Negan says with a small smirk before leaving the room and stopping next to Simon who's leaning against the wall outside of the room. "Bring him to the hole. No food. No water. No light. Nothing. That prick needs to suffer for the night." Negan orders and Simon nods. Negan walks off and heads back to his room.

When he enters the room he sees you lying on the bed on your side and facing away from the door. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn your head and look at him over your shoulder. Your face was smudged with tears. You quickly sit up and Negan walks over to you and sits next to you. He wraps one arm around your shoulders and the other goes around your head, his hand cradling the back of your head as he holds your head to his chest.

You begin to cry again before hugging him tightly.

"It's okay... I got you." Negan whispers. "You're safe... I won't let anyone hurt you again." Negan says while stroking your hair.

"You're safe..." He repeats.

PART 4

*JUST SO YOU GUYS KNOW I HAVE PLANS FOR THIS STORY ALL THE WAY TO SEASON 9 SO THIS WILL BE A LONG SERIES. ALSO I APOLOGIZE FOR TAKING SO LONG WITH THIS PART AND THE NEXT PARTS MIGHT NOT BE OUT FOR AWHILE AS WELL BUT THEY WILL COME OUT I PROMISE!*

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #dead city #glenn rhee #maggie rhee #negan #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #twd negan #negan twd #negan smith #negan smith x you #jeffrey dean morgan #rick grimes #twd dead city #negan x you #negan smith x reader

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bethanydelleman · 9 months

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New Year's Resolutions for Jane Austen Characters (mid-novel)

Emma Woodhouse: Find a new man for Harriet Smith No more matchmaking! Admit Knightley (and his brother) were right. Meet Frank Churchill, finally.

George Knightley: Just feeling thankful for everything I have. I don't think my life needs to change.

Mr. Woodhouse: Finally convince Isabella to live at Hartfield instead of with her husband. Poor Isabella!

Harriet Smith: Marry Mr. Elton 💗💗💗 *unable to read tear-stained writing*

John Knightley: Spend more time at home with my beloved wife. Why do people invite us places???

Elinor Dashwood: Find a way to get over the most perfect man I've ever met.

Edward Ferrars: Find an honourable way to get out of the engagement with Lucy (same resolution he's had for three years now)

Robert Ferrars: Build a magnificent cottage

Marianne Dashwood: Marry the most perfect man to grace this earth with his beautiful presence, John Willoughby. Also, read more poetry.

Colonel Brandon: *stares at the paper in despair because he cannot bear to give form to his ambitions which seem already impossible*

Elizabeth Bennet: I don't really think there's anything I need to improve about myself. I'm really a great judge of character.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: Remember that duty comes before ephemeral feelings of affection.

Jane Bennet: Find a way to get over the most perfect man I've ever met.

Charles Bingley: Buy an estate (resolution submitted by Caroline & Louisa)

Caroline Bingley: Encourage Charles to finally buy an estate (not in Hertfordshire), get Charles and Georgiana Darcy engaged, get engaged to Mr. Darcy, attend a party with at least three members of the nobility... (too many goals to record here)

Mrs. Bennet: MARRY OFF AT LEAST ONE OF THESE DARN DAUGHTERS

Anne Elliot: find a way to be less awkward around Captain Wentworth... Prepare myself for Captain Wentworth to marry Louisa... Try to endure Bath with a smile

Captain Wentworth: Get out of the obligation to marry Louisa Musgrove by any fair means. PLEASE GOD I AM BEGGING YOU

Captain Benwick: Mourn Fanny for eternity Marry Louisa Musgrove

Catherine Morland: Henry Tilney 💗💗💗💗 Henry Tilney, Northanger Abbey 💗💗💗💗 Henry Tilney & Mrs. Catherine Tilney 💗💗💗 *doodles ideas for wedding gowns*

Eleanor Tilney: Marry the love of my life (same goal for the past three years)

Henry Tilney: Keep being awesome

Frederick Tilney: Keep being awesome

General Tilney: Have all my children disposed in marriage to wealthy individuals (goal since Frederick turned 21)

Mrs. Allen: Purchase some very fine lace

Fanny Price: marry edmund Be as unnoticed as possible

Edmund Bertram: Marry Miss Crawford

Mary Crawford: Marry Edmund Bertram

Henry Crawford: Promote William Price, marry Fanny Price. Rub my excellent treatment of Fanny in the Bertram's faces.

Tom Bertram: *never wrote anything down, never does his years are always awesome*

Mr. Yates: Finally put on a production of Lovers' Vows third times the charm!

Mrs. Norris: Save more money than last year by furthering economy. Keep Fanny in her place. Become more necessary to the Bertrams.

Lady Bertram: sew a cute little jacket for Pug

Lady Susan: Keep being the best Gaslight Girlboss *kisses paper*

(if Christmas happened within novel, I tried to place the resolutions around it. If not, I made up a time)

#new year's resolution #happy new year!#jane austen #mansfield park #pride and prejudice #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #emma #persuasion #lady susan

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thezombieprostitute · 4 months

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Dragonfly - Part 2

Summary: Steve has just about everything he could ever want in life. He's got you, a baby on the way, and a successful Family. No one would dare interfere with that. Right?

A/N: Reader is female, pregnant. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: Death threats, Implied violence, Pregnancy. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

You’ve been stuck inside the house for days. It’s a beautiful house, you feel comfortable in it, but knowing you can’t leave makes you want out more than ever. You try to distract yourself by cooking and baking whatever it is the baby is craving but that only goes so far. Especially when you can feel Steve’s frustration adding to your own. Something needs to actually be done but, with nothing you can actually do, it’s just building up a lot of frustrated energy for both of you. He can at least use the home gym for some of his energy but all you’re allowed to use in there is the treadmill and it’s just not enough.

Bucky finally has some news and calls you both into Steve’s office. You vaguely recognize the person with him as God the Bounty Hunter, or GBH as he allows only his closest circle to call him. Steve sets you in the chair behind his desk, the most comfortable one in the office, before sitting on the desk facing the two men.

“GBH has been able to get an appointment with the person who runs the boards,” Bucky starts. Steve’s fists clench as he grabs the edge of the desk, fighting the urge to punch the faceless person. “It’s at the Cairo Hotel and I’m gonna recommend neither of you is there for it.”

“What?” Steve’s anger is evident in his clenched jaw.

“There are a few factors, Steve,” Bucky raises his hands. “Namely, I don’t think you can control yourself to follow the rules of neutrality at the appointment. We can’t afford to lose Pine’s support.”

Steve lowers his head in understanding. You get up and gently rub your hand between his shoulder blades, trying to help him keep calm.

“Another factor is my professional standing,” GBH adds. “I have a reputation and clout to uphold. These aren’t the kind of people you want to piss off. Anything happens to Mr. Smith at an appointment with me, I’ll be done for. And not just professionally.”

“GBH assures me that there is procedure for a target to remove their contract or for someone else to do so on their behalf,” Bucky offers. “It’s likely gonna cost a lot, but I know that doesn’t matter.” Steve nods. “Plus, it’ll keep her off of the contract postings for at least five years.”

“But I am highly doubtful anyone will get any information on who posted the contract,” GBH confessed. Steve turned to glare at him but the other man seemed unaffected as he continued, “again, lots of regulation and factors. Namely trust within the business. No one’s gonna post a contract if there’s a chance the target finds out they’re the ones who opened it.”

“Just business, huh,” Steve mocks.

You hug him from behind, “just getting the hit on me removed would be a major quality of life improvement.” You nuzzle your face against his shoulder. “And maybe we can send one of the Garbage Men to the appointment? They’re good at getting subtext and negotiations, right?”

Steve and Bucky both nod at your assessment.

“I was planning on just me and God,” Bucky admits. “Would it be acceptable for us to bring a third?”

GBH contemplates, “it shouldn’t be a problem. The key thing is that it’s at Pine’s establishment and he doesn’t have to worry about someone trying to hurt him in retaliation for doing his job.”

Steve’s grip on the desk makes his knuckles go white. He hates the idea of his wife’s life or death being a matter of ‘business’. But he knows that’s how it is for everyone outside his circle. It’s the kind of thinking that he’s worked hard to make sure he doesn’t fall into. “Whatever you need to do, do it. I want this contract burnt.”

It’s finally the day of the contract appointment and you do your best to distract yourself and Steve. He’s always been willing to do whatever you needed but it’s been magnified since your confirmed pregnancy test a few months ago. Thinking it might help both of you to relax a little, you ask him to help you out.

A foot massage for your swollen feet, keeping his hands busy and his thoughts focused on your moans of pleasure.

A warm bath to help your muscle aches, keeping his attention focused on your naked body and the temperature of the water.

Which, of course, led to the two of you in bed so he can properly worship your body. Part of you misses the rougher sex but you understand Steve’s hesitancy. And damn if he doesn’t still make you feel so good you forget your name.

Steve holds your sleeping form in his arms, gently rubbing your belly. He knows you’ve been trying to distract him and he’s so grateful to you. He’s barely been able to keep from punching walls and checking his phone every five minutes. But taking care of you really helped to settle him.

He hears the telltale chirp of his phone and moves as carefully as he can so that he doesn’t wake you. The message is from Bucky, Contract burnt. Possible lead thanks to Teach. His shoulders go lax as he finally feels the relief he’s been longing for.

He returns to his place in the bed, holding you close. You barely wake up, just enough to make yourself comfortable and kiss his neck. It’s not completely safe for you and your baby boy yet. But now that the overarching danger has been taken care of, he can focus on finding and crushing the source. Whoever Dragonfly is, Steve vows they will die in agony by his own hand.

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

Tags:

@alicedopey; @aryhyuuga; @cynic-spirit; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jamneuromain; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ktficworld; @leryg0; @rayofdawnworld; @rebekahdawkins; @talesofadragon; @texmexdarling

#mob boss!steve rogers #mob!steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #mob!steve rogers x reader

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redheartedtramp · 9 months

Text

Ruby: *on scroll* Hello, this is Ruby Rose. I'm calling about my order. Yeah, that order. Delayed? Low priority? No, no, I get it. Thanks for answering. Should I come pick it up? Oh, no, tomorrow's fine.

Blake: *comes from behind and hugs Ruby* Hey, babe, did you cut your ha- *sniff sniff* RUBY?!

Scene: Ruby has blonde hair.

Ruby: A little late, Blake. Also, wait, do you always need smell to identify people?

Blake: N-no! *backs off* It's just that you smell like strawberries and Yang usually smells like...okay, not important. What's with your hair?

Ruby: Oh, yeah, I ran out of hair dye and my latest shipment got delayed.

Blake: ...Wait, you dye your hair black?

Ruby: Uh-huh.

Blake: ...So the streaks just happen naturally?

Ruby: what streaks?

Blake: Nevermind. So you and Yang are both natural blondes?

Ruby: No, Yang-OH MY GOD, YANG!

Meanwhile, downtown...

Ozpin: ...Officer. What the hell is this?

Huntsman: It's...it's Raven Branwen. Just like she's on her bounty poster.

Ozpin: No. No she's not.

Huntsman: Are...are you sure?

Ozpin: Look, Mr. Smith, I know Raven Branwen. I trained her personally. I see her brother almost every other month and have him on speed dial. When I tell you "this isn't the Bandit Queen", I mean "Please uncuff Miss Xiao Long".

Yang: I fucking told you! *has black hair* My hair dye delivery was just delayed!

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby shitpost #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #Professor Ozpin

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starsandhughes · 11 months

Text

Penalty Box Series— Quinn Hughes Edition (nine)

ft. Wyatt Johnston

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: eight

next: ten

NOVEMBER 4, 2023

if you're not a stars fan, it's best to convert quickly

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, t.harley48, and 17,436 others

yourusername welcome back to my postgame penalty box update show: i finally saw a mason marchment fight live and quinn was also there edition!

after quinn's personal record of three trips to the penalty box night, he decided to be good! this was probably due to the fact that i will fight him over any penalty against the stars (hey, remember when you committed interference against robo on february 27th last season? because i sure do), but we'll pretend it was because he's trying to redeem himself since my baby daddy trevy-z is at zero. the war is strong with these two!

you know who did get a penalty? one of my new besties wyatt "johnny" johnston! his penalty was for holding mikheyev in the second period! (holding penalties aren't ones i hold grudges against, so you're in the clear! but also you do nothing wrong ever, so i wouldn't hold it against you anyways) (p.s. i wouldn't have been mad if you fought garly... i was kinda rooting for it)

other penalties include: (in time order) digi for holding against another new bestie harls, mr. captain jamie benn for hooking soucy which created 39 seconds of 4 on 4, craig smith for hooking friedman, and laffy taffy for hooking wyatt's dad joe pavelski all in the first, esa lindell for cross checking garly, hronek for high sticking my blonde prince roope hintz (he got reprimanded for this), and our two fighting majors between the blue eyed menace mason marchment and ian! (mason got an extra minor for unsportsmanlike behavior) (ian was reprimanded for his hit against matt "dutchy" duchene that started the fight)

my best friend, quintin, pulled a jacky boy and fell over nothing! the conversation between the stars broadcasters went like this:

razor: "he was having a moment back there!"

bogo: "he was playing billiards off the bottom of the net to himself!"

razor: "well, he wiped out first!"

needless to say, i was laughing my ass off when i rewatched this game!

special shoutout to demmer for continuing his perfect win streak against the stars and getting his second shut out of the season! i’m so proud of you @/tdemko35 ! (for those who don't know, he has a 7-0-0 record and just gave otter his first regulation loss of the season :))

quinny, i’m going to publicly say i’m sorry that otter caught every one of your shots on goal <3 and i’m proud of your 25 minutes and 23 seconds of hard work tonight! i love you way past infinity💙 keep it up, buttercup!

p.s. dear wy, harls, and delly, thanks for the great time before the game tonight! i hope you loved your postgame goodie bags! i’ll see you boys december 21st! peace and love, new besties <3 @/t.harley48 @/wyattjohnston_ @/tydellandrea53

tagged _quinnhughes and wyattjohnston_

view all 218 comments

_quinnhughes i have so many grievances about this post... but i still love you way past beyond

yourusername i didn't say one bad thing about you!! just one little tease that i teased jack at the same!!

_quinnhughes i'm sharing my post!

yourusername neither broadcast gave me much to work with, quintin! just be glad you're in it

_quinnhughes get out of my house

yourusername fine! i’ll go to petey's!

_eliaspettersson @/yourusername let yourself in and i’ll be back soon

_quinnhughes @_eliaspettersson i was teasing! she's good! she's staying with me!

colecaufield @_quinnhughes quinn, your possessiveness is showing

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield i don't know what you're talking about

yourusername @_quinnhughes awww, you miss me! sap

_quinnhughes i can't win

user14 god DAMN that fifth pic of quinn has me acting up🥵🧎‍♀️

trevorzegras your stars obsession is so cute when you aren't rooting against me❤️ i love you, forever, my precious weirdo (what are you private thoughts on quinn not scoring on otter?) (come home, i miss you)

yourusername i love you, always, my lovingly crazy boy❤️ (i plead the fifth) (i’ll be there before the game!)

_quinnhughes (we all know she's secretly happy i didn't score against her actual favorite team)

yourusername @_quinnhughes (you can't prove shit)

t.harley48 @/yourusername (what is up with the parentheses?)

yourusername @/t.harley48 (it's for private conversations!)

t.harley48 @/yourusername (everyone can read them?)

trevorzegras @/t.harley48 (she's quirky and we love her)

t.harley48 @/trevorzegras (i’m a big fan of quirky)

yourusername @/t.harley48 (then you're welcome that i exist!)

trevorzegras @/t.harley48 (i repeat: she's quirky and we love her)

t.harley48 @/yourusername (thank you)

_quinnhughes @/t.harley48 (you caught on quick, good job)

tdemko35 thank you, y/n/n! my two shutout trophies will be displayed in my living room. i love you, too!

yourusername you are every so welcome, king! keep gobbling up those pucks like they're fruit snacks🫶

tdemko35 yes, ma'am🫡

_quinnhughes @/yourusername why

yourusername @_quinnhughes "why don't you just be yourself?... no one can help but admire your spirit" (collins 121).

_quinnhughes @/yourusername YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE HUNGER GAMES BOOK ON YOU

yourusername @_quinnhughes i had to phone a friend

trevorzegras @/yourusername i think i’m more than just a friend

yourusername @_quinnhughes i had to phone a friend with benefits

trevorzegras @/yourusername WE ARE ENGAGED

yourusername @_quinnhughes i had to phone a friend with a future tax deduction

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras looks like you can't win either

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i blame the stars

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras me too

yourusername @/trevorzegras @_quinnhughes LEAVE THEM ALONE! THEY DIDN'T DO SHIT!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername you're right, they couldn't even score a goal

yourusername @_quinnhughes too soon, quintin. too. fucking. soon.

user21 wyatt's kinda...👀

user16 "and quinn was also there" sissy's keeping it real as always

wyattjohnston_ i’m honored to be a part of this, your majesty

yourusername i’m always happy to support my people! you deserve it!

wyattjohnston_ you're too kind!

tydellandrea53 @/yourusername and you're such a giver, princess! the guys all loved your postgame goodie bags

t.harley48 all hail the princess!

wyattjohnston_ all hail!

tydellandrea53 all hail!

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes what the fuck happened when these four met up before the game????

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i don't know i wasn't invited and i’m really glad about that right now

trevorzegras @/wyattjohnston_ @/t.harley48 @.tydellandrea53 send a disco ball emoji you need help

wyattjohnston_ @/trevorzegras we're good😂

tydellandrea53 @/trevorzegras we formed a gang

t.harley48 @/trevorzegras y/n's the princess, johnny is the duke, i'm the viscount, and delly asked to be a jester for some reason

tydellandrea53 damn right

trevorzegras @/yourusername you leave me for two days and decided to start a gang?! without me?!

yourusername @/trevorzegras no! delly started the gang! and just be happy you knew where i was this time!

wyattjohnston_ @/trevorzegras @/yourusername this time?

trevorzegras @/wyattjohnston_ she has a tendency to hop on a plane and not tell anyone where she's going

_quinnhughes @/wyattjohnston_ @/t.harley48 @.tydellandrea if she ever randomly shows up, do us a favor and tell one of us because there'll be a strong chance we didn't know she left

t.harley48 @_quinnhughes got it🫡

wyattjohnston_ @_quinnhughes will do

tydellandrea53 @_quinnhughes no promises

user27 sissy: ceo of "never let them know your next move"

_alexturcotte one fight wasn't enough for you? do you know how to be content?

yourusername nope

_alexturcotte at least you're honest

yourusername liars get their pants set on fire! the babies could get hurt!

_alexturcotte you make a great point, girly hughes!

jackhughes @_alexturcotte does she though?

_alexturcotte @/jackhughes she's carrying my future god child and their sibling. she could tell me that there's a new state and i’d tell her she's right

jackhughes @_alexturcotte sissy and z haven't officially named you as a god parent!

_alexturcotte @/jackhughes that's why i'm kissing ass!

yourusername @_alexturcotte the ass kissing is duly noted🤍

user91 i have been waiting for this post since the nhl dropped the game schedules

jackhughes @_quinnhughes do you want to ship sissy back to trevor yet?

_quinnhughes no i’m trying to keep her for the roadie

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes not happening

jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes i'm already having withdrawal symptoms

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale you two get her every day! i miss my sister

jackhughes @/trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes lukey and i never get to see her! we want a turn!

lhughes_06 yeah! our turn!

colecaufield @/trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/lhughes_06 I DESERVE A TURN

_alexturcotte @/trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/lhughes_06 @.colecaufield ME FIRST! i’m pulling the ahl card! i get to see girly hughes less than any of you!

yourusername you're all a bunch of SAPS

203 notes · View notes

preservationofnormalcy · 10 months

Text

[It is January of 2022. I’m entering a wing of the DC Office site that looks older than the others. The carpets are a strange brown, vintage looking, and the lighting casts an almost yellow pallor over the wood paneled walls. I can practically smell the cigarettes. I pass by an empty room labeled “social media office” - boxes piled up by the door. Maybe they’re going to be using it soon. They’ll need it.

I approach a door labeled Necrocommunications, knock lightly twice, then enter.

I am greeted with the sound of a voice drifting softly across the room. A few chairs and tables sit around me, the same vintage style as the hallway before, the same browns and yellows. A high desk is across the room, and a woman is seated at a control panel. She has black curly hair, done up in an old fashioned style, a polka dotted blouse, and though she’s facing away from me, I can see the edges of cats-eye glasses.

The panel she’s working at is huge, and resembles the type of switchboards they used to use in the ‘50s, dozens of physical wire connections crisscrossing the device and attaching via plugs. The woman has a headset, one ear covered in a bulky speaker, with a microphone near her mouth. She speaks casually, with an incredibly heavy New Jersey accent.]

I] Oh, him? He’s circled, babe. Taken as hell. Mhmm. And he still asked you? Ain't that a bite. So now you know he’s out of the question and yarding on. Dodged a bullet, hun.

M] Irene?

I] Oh, god, hold on. My appointment is here. Yeah. I’ll call you later, beautiful. Caio.

[She hung up the call, taking her headset off and turning to me. She looked like she was straight out of my grandfather’s high school photo album, including the color. Her skin was almost grey, it was so pale, but she didn’t seem like she was sick. She looked me over with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, leaning forward on her desk.]

I] Well, hello Miss Meghan Hendricks. What can I do for you, sugar?

M] I’m here to interview you for my audit, Ms Donofrio.

I] All business, aincha?

M] This is my job.

I] ….yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I don’t get cute visitors much.

M] Right.

I] Pull up a chair, hun.

M] I’ll just stand. This won’t be long. I came here because of your Occult Communication Tools poster.

[She sits back with a dramatic sigh.]

I] Yeah, took me forever to convince them to let me do that. We had agents using spirit boards, pendulums, casting runes, tarot cards, ghost boxes, all kinds of shit they brought from home. Bought from Walmart, or worse, a thrift store. I was always telling them, honey, baby, you gotta use our stuff, we maintain it, we disinfect it of ectoplasmic residue, lockout-tagout procedures, the works. It’s so, so unsafe to use anything but our tools. Sure, you gotta do paperwork when you check it out, but it’s better than somethin’ following you home…

M] Right into it, I guess. That’s what Necrocommunications does, right? Talk to the dead?

I] You bet, sugar. The dead, demons, angels sometimes when they ain’t on our plane or in realspace. Other little spiritual twerps and bugaboos.

M] I’ve been asking this a lot in the last few months, but…you can do that? Consistently?

I] Consistent enough to make it worthwhile. S’not perfect. Fails most of the time, depending on who you’re calling.

M] How so?

I] Well, some people don’t wanna be called. Some people are chatterboxes. We got a list of likely contacts who we suggest people contact, but…we do other people sometimes, too. Always worth a shot, I say.

M] How does it work?

[At that, Irene winced slightly and wagged her head from side to side.]

I] We got theories, but more importantly we got procedures. We know different things work for different people. Sometimes it’s cultural. The method that contacts Mr Smith may not work for Mr Chan, y’know?

M] It’s mostly for information gathering, then. Like the Board of Infernal Affairs.

I] Information gathering’s a big part of it. Someone died with a secret? See if they got loose lips now. Also, y’know, helps with hauntings or gettin’ rid of little jerk spirits.

M] You mentioned disinfection….

I] Yeah, yeah, there’s….risks, y’know. Sometimes the person you contact ain’t a fink, you know, and they start a whole new haunting. Sometimes one spirit’ll lie and say they’re another. Then they follow you home, start leeching your energy. Happens less when we cleanse the tools. Which is why there’s procedures for this, and every Office staff member in the building is trained on at least the basics.

M] Is it….is it only for Office personnel? Is it something I could…

[Irene’s face grows into a playful smirk as she hears the hesitation in my voice, leaning her face in her hand.]

I] You got fifty cents?

[She leads me into a back area of the office. Lining the walls in storage containers are row upon row of spirit boards, each box with a paper listing the dates each was used and then cleaned, along with the name of the person who did it. There are other items, too - pendulums, bags of runes, spirit boxes like you see on ghost hunting shows, and other devices and artifacts I don’t recognize. Irene’s attention, however, is on a phone booth at the end of the room. It’s clean but battered, clearly old and used. It has no door, but an open front, and above the phone itself is a depiction of a figure on a boat, with one word beside it: “Charon.”]

I] We confiscated these in the 80’s. It’s easier to use this one than have to sign out spirit board, y’know.

M] Weren’t you just complaining about that?

I] I complain about a lot of things, sugar.

[I approach, standing before the phone in disbelief. Irene senses my hesitation.]

I] Put in the money, then use the keypad to type out the person’s name. It’ll take it from there. Who you gonna call? Grandma? Mom?

M] My brother.

I] Ah. Shit, honey.

M] He died in California. Two summers ago.

[As I reach for the receiver, I see Irene’s face freeze in some sort of concern.]

I] H-honey, that…was he in—

M] Yes.

[I put my hand on the receiver, and I feel her hand on mine. She’s cold. She’s so cold and clammy that I jump slightly and look her in the eyes. Her face is sorrowful and scared, searching me.]

I] Honey…you won’t be able to—

M] You said—

I] If he was in…there’s no one there, sugar. He’s gone.

M] I know he’s gone, but you said I could—

I] No, no, he’s…if he was…he’s gone, gone. There’s nothing left of him. You can pump quarters into that thing all night long and you won’t get anyone.

M] H…how? I was…I was on the phone with him when it—

[As I watch, her eyes go wide, and she covers her mouth.]

I] Th-that’s how you remember, isn’t it? Thought you were just…in the Office but you hadn’t known about…that’s how you remember.

[I let go of the receiver. I can’t feel my fingers. I’m shivering, but not from the cold.]

M] I know how I remember. What I want to know is why everyone else forgot.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #interview #necrocommications #necromancy #microfiction #sci fi #horror #writers on tumblr

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 2 months

Note

colt seavers x reader fic please!!

something fluffy, him being jealous, pining, being flirty.. thanks!!

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, Anon!! Hope you like this!! I’ve really missed writing for Colt! Sorry for how long this took- my writing process is either very slow or very fast, no happy medium haha. Now, I really hope you like this interpretation- if not, feel free to send another ask!<3

Also, I ended up writing Jody out, it just made a little more sense in this story.

Other than that, still searching for a beta reader! DM if interested!!

Content Warnings: None aside from a little cursing! This is as Anon asked, very fluffy! :)

Also, this switches between the reader & Colt’s standpoint!

Enjoy! Xx

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••i

Reader’s POV

I’ve been working on my movie, ‘Dreams of Maybe,’ for about a year now. It’s to be my directorial debut, and because of that the pressure has been on. Debuts are a bit of a superstitious event for new directors: they either make or break your career, even if it’s only the getgo. Sure, some can get back on their feet if they get a second chance, and others end up making a name for themselves for solely directing god-awful movies, but I don’t have time for that. For a second chance, for none of it. This movie is a culmination of everything I’ve worked for during film school and even before, and nothing is going to deter me.

Now, despite its name, “Dreams of Maybe” is an action movie. Throughout the movie, the main character, a woman called Hyleia, wrestles with the turmoil of fighting the war her home planet, Kalythea, is engaged in. As per the title, she dreams of the “maybes” that could happen after the war-maybe settling down with the love of her life, N’era; maybe finally getting a Orundaw (this world’s version of a dog); etc. But, as a warrior, Hyleia knows that those maybes could also be poverty; her world falling back into fascism as it had been when she was young; etc.

Jenny Sikes, the writer and genius behind all of this, was still developing the ending, but I have extremely high hopes. And thus far everything’s been running smoothly. I had gone into this thinking I would have to have a stick up my ass and be “tough,” but thankfully that hadn’t had to happened.

If anything, I’m really enjoying the process. To the point that even if somehow this incredible film- sure, I’m biased, but it actually is that good- flops, the friends I’ve made and experiences I’ve had would almost make up for it. Almost because, you know, I’d be out of job. Details, details.

Aside from Jenny, who is probably my closest friend on set, I’ve also bonded with Kelly Newman and Kora Kline, the women playing Hyleia and N’era respectively; as well as man who was playing the leader of the fleet warring against Kalythea, a warmonger called Jöl. The actor’s name is Reed Smith, and contrary to his character he is one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met. And very handsome, at that- refined good looks with messily bleached hair that went with his character. He’s a proper Mr. Hollywood, minus the controversy and overall bitchiness.

My producer had also managed to get Fall Guy Stunts to sign on to the movie, which was phenomenal. Well, the producer just closed the deal. It was really our stunt coordinator, a man named Dan, who recommended the company as he’d worked with a man called Colt Seavers before, and claimed he was the best in business.

I didn’t end up meeting him until it was time for the indoor explosion. The scene itself is a red herring, a false sense of victory. Hyleia thinks she’s blown up Jöl inside of the negotiations building. Their leader was supposed to be the one to fire the bomb, but unexpectedly got shot down out of the sky and in a fit of adrenaline Hyleia detonated it from the ground, barely surviving. However, because of that she ended up having a target placed on her back by Jöl. It’s a whole thing.

Anyway, Dan and I wanted to go big on at least one stunt, and the producer suggested we do an indoor explosion- sort of a bigger, crazier one than the one in The Fifth Element.

I was a little skeptical, as indoor explosions are extremely dangerous and 100% real. Hence Colt Seavers being hired. “Best in the business,” or so says his reputation. The stunt was early in in the production and a last minute decision. At the time we didn’t think we were going to exceed what Reed could handle as far as stunts go, but we were wrong. Thankfully Colt owed Dan a favor- something about a Stallone autograph gone wrong- and the former was willing to step in as Reed’s stunt double with a 25% discount.

As it turns out, I had no reason to stress. Colt Seavers really is the best in the business, the statement was in no way hyperbolic. He literally got into the Guinness Book of World Records for it the stunt, which subsequently put our movie on the map. This was an enormous deal- the film had went from “just another sci-fi fantasy action drama” to “already on the map” within days, at least in movie buff circles.

He had managed the indoor explosion with ease, due to his own expertise and due to impeccable form. He looks like a walking action hero, and the sight alone is enough to take anyone’s breath away upon meeting him.

And if the sight’s good, the personality? He’s the sweetest, most easy-going, flirtiest man I’ve ever met with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a coffee addiction to boot. He likes plants and animals, musicals and Audrey Hepburn movies. He looks like the epitome of the action genre, and yet is actually a sweet man who is in touch with his feelings and interests. Extremely endearing if you ask me.

And sure, I might have a small crush on him. But I don’t think anything would come of it- we’ve made friends and that seems to be that.

But sometimes I do think about how nice it would be to sit at a coffee table doing puzzles with him, kissing his pink lips over the table as we go along.

But again, the magic “friends” word.

Reed thinks something will come of it, as Colt and I do spend a decent amount of time together, but honestly, I don’t know if I believe him.

Anyways, I’m currently outside of my trailer, sitting at a picnic table, in dire need of fresh air and a spark of creativity. Being outdoors has always helped me get the ideas flowing; maybe it’s the crickets and the birds. Maybe I subconsciously recognize what they’re saying and turn it into my own words. Or maybe I’m fucking freezing, because it’s the middle of winter in Canada and I’m inappropriately dressed. Who’s to say.

Although really, I should probably get my parka… the soft snow is beautiful, glimmering under the sun, but my sweater and leggings aren’t exactly cutting it.

The thing is, though all credit as far as screenplay goes to Jenny Sikes, I’ve actually been very involved in creating the story. Which means I’m also involved in helping find this elusive ending.

This stupid, needs-to-be-perfect, impossible, unattainable ending.

We’ve been spitballing ideas for the past few days now, but none of them feel right.

There’s the unexpected ending: Kalythea ends up getting destroyed by Jöl’s fleet alongside Hyleia and her lover. Sure, it would be depressing, but it’s certainly plausible given the pretext of the “negative maybes.”

Or maybe we use the too-good-to-be-true ending: Hyleia wins, gets the girl; Kalythea rebuilds itself for the better this time, doesn’t fall back into its well established patterns of fascism. That’s the most popular ending in the writers room as of now, but Jenny and I are still holding out for something better.

We owe the film something perfect. Something right. Something fitting.

We’re just running out of time to find it.

And I might be running out of time to live with how inhospitable it is out here. (Let it be known that I don’t much care for being cold.)

Just as I begin to recognize how cold I am, a comfortingly familiar voice breaks the silence. It’s low and soft, with a slight rasp to it that makes you hang on every word. And I love it.

“Y/n L/n, as I live and breathe,” Colt Seavers says by way of greeting, handing me a coffee. It’s in a (y/f/c) mug, which is honestly very endearing of him. I take it graciously in both hands, the warmth of the steam much appreciated.

“Colt Seavers, as I choke and die of hypothermia,” I say from behind the coffee, my teeth chattering.

“Aw, don’t do that,” he chuckles, his baby-blue eyes sparkling like the snow around us. He sits next to me, and I immediately feel warmer, his presence alone making me feel better.

“Why not?” I ask, turning to look at him, our legs touching.

“Cause then who would I have to talk to?”

“I dunno, Dan?” I suggest.

“Meh,” he shrugs, downing half of his own coffee. This man is an addict.

“You don’t mean that,” I gasp sarcastically.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he concedes. “Please don’t tell him,” he asks, dramatics in his voice.

“For now,” I wink, and we both share a soft laugh.

“You’re shivering- do you want my jacket?” he asks considerately, already pulling his puffy yellow jacket.

“Oh, that’s okay-,” I protest, not wanting to deprive him of warmth, but he cuts me off.

“Here, I knew you’d say that,” he smiles, handing it to me. I have to smile back at that, shaking my head at how well he knows me.

“Thanks,” I say, putting it on. It’s super warm, and it smells like him. I like it. I rest my head against his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

“Nah, it’s one of my stunt-guy superpowers,” he puts his arm around me, hand grazing up and down my arm to keep me warm. I gaze up at him, mesmerized by his eyes before realizing...

“Your lips are already blue,” I observe aloud.

“It’s my lip gloss,” he jokes through chattering teeth.

“Uh huh,” I agree with skepticism.

“H-how do you still manage to look g-g-gorgeous e-even while you’re drowning in my j-jacket,” he attempts to flirt, his clattering teeth most definitely ruining the effect he was going for. And yet still he makes the butterflies in my stomach come alive, just like he always does. I like when he flirts with me, I really do. But I also think that’s just how he talks with people, y’know?

But maybe…

Colt’s POV

I am so, so glad that Dan called in that favor all those months ago.

Look, having your own stunt production is great. Fantastic, even. You get to pick your own hours, do your own jobs, etc.

But being the owner means that you just sit around for the most part, assigning your crew to the good stuff while you just wait for the next call. And honestly, it’s so, so boring.

For a normal person, that might be the dream. Finally getting to relax. But my career has been anything but normal, especially after the whole Tom Ryder incident a few years ago. The dipshit was going to frame me for murder with the help of a producer I was once close to. As far as I know they’re both going to be behind bars for a while, but I had worked for and with them for about fifteen years. Finding out that they were such bad people made those years seem worthless, as if they weren’t real.

So, before Dan called me to work on ‘Dreams of Maybe,’ I was bored. Bored and itching for the next thing. I had fallen back into my habit of picking up as many random hobbies as possible- at the time I think I was most fixated on crocheting, especially those little stuffed animals. But, being ADHD means that I can’t stick with one thing for too long- it’s why my place back home is littered with fishbowls and puzzles, paint-by-numbers and table top sports among other things. And when Dan called, I was maybe days away from finding the next thing.

At the great thanks of my house he called, and for the first time I was back in the game. He had told me that I’d be doing stunts for Reed Smith, an up and coming a-lister who’s been in a lot of action movies as of late. I really liked him in “House of Ruins,” but the stunts were a little dull for my taste. But hey, that’s what I’m here for. For some inane reason I missed getting set on fire and thrown at walls.

The indoor explosion scene ended up turning out absolutely fantastically, and because of how good it was I decided to stick around, help the film get more prestige in the action-stunt world.

Not to mention that the literal world record wasn’t too shabby in of itself.

But it’s not even just the stunts.

I’m back in the saddle, but not only am I back in it but I’m back in it with my best friend Dan. I’ve missed hanging out with him, and how much I can trust him as coordinator.

Also, y/n. She’s the director of the movie, and wow. You know in the movies, when the guy sees the girl and his entire perspective changes? That’s how I feel about y/n. She’s incredible, she’s witty, and you know what? It’s cheesy, but she’s better than the movies could ever hope to be.

We’d hit it off after the indoor explosion, and it was like we’d known each other forever. We had a habit of going to the beach (back when it was warm) or getting coffee off set pretty much everyday, and it’s been pretty awesome.

I like to bother her, because it’s hilariously adorable when she gets flustered. It’s stupid stuff- I drive a little too recklessly sometimes (like stunt driving. I wouldn’t actually put her in danger) or I’ll sneak up on her and get a little jump out of her. Sue me, it’s fun.

Not to mention the tiny detail that I am irrevocably in love with her. I don’t really know when it happened- maybe it was from day one- but she just makes me feel so alive. I’ve been trying to get the balls to tell her, but as of now I’ve come to the conclusion that I won’t say anything if she does.

I think there’s a chance she could be into me, but honestly, I don’t know. If she is, it would be fantastic. If she’s not, that’s okay too, she’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. (Don’t tell Dan)

It’s just one of those things. We just… we have these moments, where it seems like maybe we’re a little more than friends.

You know, those long looks that dip their pinky toes into longing, laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny…

Or even just the way she lays her head on my chest, like today. She’s so comfortable there, my jacket far too big on her as she looks up at me with those gorgeous (y/e/c) eyes. She’s adorable, and I’m just fine with dying of hypothermia if it means I get to look at her as I go.

Okay, I’m not going to die.

I think.

You get the point.

“You know, you’re a lot smoother when you’re not freezing to death,” she tells me. There’s a slight note of concern behind the sarcasm, something you’d only be able to catch if you’ve hung out with her long enough.

“Wh-who n-needs to be sm-smooth when th-they’re t-telling th-the truth?” I ask, the cold stopping me from getting any word longer than one syllable out properly. Real attractive, Seavers.

Hypothermic climate aside, this is how a lot of our time together is spent. Drinking coffee in random places, me trying to flirt and her retorting with her endless supply of sarcasm. I wouldn’t trade anything for it.

“Mhm, let’s get you inside, champ,” she says, standing up. Already I miss the warmth of her resting against my chest, the closeness.

Good grief, dipshit. Get it together.

But once she extends a hand for me to take I’m back in cloud-nine, happy to be touching her.

See what I mean? I think I’m losing it. Or I’m just whipped like Dan says.

She leads me back to her trailer, barely ten feet from where we had been sitting. I can’t help but sigh of relief at feeling the warm air in the trailer. She laughs and gestures for me to sit on the little forest green sofa. I comply, setting my drink on the coffee table in front of the couch. She disappear into a little nook of the place before re-emerging with a big fluffy grey blanket that she must’ve pulled from her bed.

“Here,” she tosses the fluff over me, making my heart leap. I can’t help it, it’s just the y/n-effect.

“Thanks,” I say, shivering.

She walks over to her small kitchen space, and a few minutes later comes back with two mugs. She hands me one, then sits by me. Well more like on me, because there’s a whole sofa and her were touching everywhere. She’s adorable. And I love seeing her in my jacket… man, I’m going to have to tell her at some point.

I must’ve instinctively put my arm around her shoulders, because she hums contentedly and looks up at me. “Y’wanna watch The Fifth Element? I need something to get me in an ideas mood.”

Ohh, she must’ve been out there trying to figure out the ending. That’s what she does: she thinks outdoors. She finds it easier to think.

Of course, I’ll gladly watch The Fifth Element with her. Just as I’ve gladly watched it with her 7 other times.

“Of course,” I tell her, surprised that she can’t feel the way my heart is beating out of my chest from the smile she gives me. I genuinely get a little sad when she gets up to get the remote, but when she lays back against me any trace of negativity immediately dissipates. She’s got me wrapped around her fingers.

We watch a good chunk of the movie in comfortable silence, sipping our cocoa and staying under the blankets. She never takes off my jacket, and frankly I hope she keeps it; it looks better on her anyway.

“Wait, shit, what time is it?” she asks, suddenly sitting up and almost conking my chi with the back of her head.

“Uhh,” I check my watch. “Seven, why?”

“Damnit, I was supposed to meet the crew at the bar… half an hour ago.”

“Shit, I completely forgot about that.” Dan had invited me, it was supposed to be a hangout for the main actors and the rest of the “inner circle”- ie yours truly, Dan, y/n, etc. “We can take my truck?” I offer.

“But I’m so warm?” She protests, even though she’s the one that remembered we needed to go, which again, is adorable. Just like everything about her. Just like the way she’s wrapping herself tighter in my jacket which is at least three sizes too big on her.

“Keep the jacket, and maybe we can come back here?” I suggest, attempting to entice her.

She pretends to mull it over for a second, her hand tapping on her chin. “Can we finish the movie later?”

“Yeah,” I grin.

“Okay,” she mirrors the expression, and once again I’m feeling those damned school girl butterflies. When she takes my hand in hers to help me up it’s all I can do not to pull her back and kiss her senseless. But now isn’t the time.

Come to think of it…

When is?

Reader’s POV

We’re in Colt’s truck, as usual sitting unnecessarily close to one another under the guise of how cold it is.

I love wearing his jacket, being surrounded by his comforting coffee scent and his residual warmth in the fuzz. And he’s let me keep it- even if he only meant for tonight he’s not getting it back.

I love him. So much. And I want to tell him, but I also don’t want to put my foot in my mouth, y’know. And I can’t risk our friendship, it’s just too comfortable. Too comfortable to lose.

We get to the bar, and just like always he hops out of the car and quickly runs to the passenger side to open the door for me, extending a hand to help me down. I love his insistence on being chivalrous, yet another one of his endearing qualities.

We walk into Johnny’s, the bar that the crew regularly meets at, in comfortable silence. And again, we’re standing just a little too close, and again, I don’t mind- the proximity just keeps those butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

Reed waves at me from a booth in the back corner, sitting at the end of a bench capping Dan, Kora, and Kelly who are sitting in that order.

“Glad you made it!” Reed stands to greet us, giving me a hug. Dan also stands to let Kora and Kelly out, the both of which are presumably heading home. They both say bye to me before heading out arm and arm- the press doesn’t know it yet but they, just like their fictional counterparts, are very much in love. We get seated, and somehow Colt and I are separated- he’s sitting on the inside by Dan while I’m directly across from him sitting next to Reed. The latter gets a round of shots going for the table, and before we know it we’re all laughing about practically nothing, damn near shitfaced. Except, even in my buzzed stupor I notice that Colt’s gone uncharacteristically stony… weird.

I leen into Reed’s side, laughing about a story he’s telling about how he got stuck in the harness on one of the few stunts he did. Almost ripped his underwear off too.

Now before you get any ideas, I’m don’t sit super close with just anyone. With Colt it’s because I like him, like, like him; with Reed it’s because we’re just close. Not because we’re dating or have something weird going on, it’s because we’re friends. Also, he doesn’t swing my way to begin with. Another nugget the press has yet to pick up on, for better or worse. Except this little nugget is something that hardly anyone knows- I’m probably one of five-ish.

But I don’t like how sad Colt looks right now… did I do something? I really hope not. But he’s smiling again at something Dan interjects with, so maybe I just imagined it. I don’t know. I throw back another shot, hoping the additional buzz destroys whatever downer-mood is trying to creep in right now.

But the thing is, as the night goes on he still looks sad. He only gives me one word answers and hardly acknowledges me otherwise, and it hurts a little. So I just keep throwing them back until I’m a train wreck- and not just any train wreck, an upset train wreck. I really hope I didn’t manage to fuck something up here. I’d say he thinks there’s something between me and Reed, but why would he even care if there was? I don’t think he likes me like that. I wish he did, but I just don’t know.

I think I’m ready to go home.

Colt’s POV

I wasn’t expecting her to be into Reed, but so be it, I guess… it still hurts though. I’m already planning on buying some new puzzles to cope. I’m trying not to feel hurt, but I can’t help it. Jealousy is douchey but it’s still there… ugh.

But she’s just asked me to take her home, so of course I will. She’s drunk off her ass, and I’ve never seen her like this.

I can’t help but wish it was me when I watch her peck Reed on the cheek as goodbye. I need to get it together right now. She deserves someone good for her, and I need to be happy for her. Like a good friend.

And yet, my heart still hurts.

“Colt?” she snaps me out of reality. “I don’t feel so good,” her hand is on her stomach. Shit, she’s going to throw up.

“Alright, come on,” I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her throw the mass of people and saying goodbyes for her, thankfully getting her outside just before she throws up.

“This is like 10 things I hate about you,” she comments wistfully after she’s gotten it out of her system.

“At least you don’t have a concussion,” I quip, reminiscing the movie. That one’s one of my favorites, I can quote the entire thing by heart.

“Yeah,” she looks up at me, holding my hands. I can’t help but notice that she never took off my jacket and how cute she still looks in it, even if she’s just retched up her stomach. Our gazes lock for just a moment too long, and I cough to break the silence.

“Let’s get you home,” I nod my head in the general direction of where my truck is parked.

“Okay,” she agrees, only letting go of one of my hands. I can’t help but smile at that- I didn’t take her for a clingy drunk.

We cross the moon lit parking lot over to my truck, and I all but toss her in- gently, of course- before hopping in myself and starting the engine.

“Thanks, Colt,” she whispers before I put the truck in reverse.

“Yeah, of course, y/n,” I reply, driving off.

Twenty minutes later we’re back in the trailer, and I’ve helped her onto her bed. It took her about ten minutes to get some pajamas on, but finally she’s under that grey comforter.

“Alright, I should probably go,” I say awkwardly, feeling a little shifty.

“Wait,” she says, waiting for me to turn around. “Are you mad at me?” Her voice is tinny and sad, and it about cracks my heart into a million pieces.

“No, y/n, I could never be mad at you,” I tell her honestly, walking back over towards her and kneeling at the side of the bed so my head is level with hers.

“But you looked sad at the bar,” she mumbles.

Dipshit. My face must’ve given me away- I can’t help that it comes with subtitles.

“I wasn’t sad,” I gaslight her. I was just… happy for you and Reed.”

At that she starts laughing, a sound so infectious that I can’t help but smile. “What?” I ask.

“Me and Reed?!” she slurs. “He doesn’t even swing my way… shit I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Wait. You’re telling me that Reed’s gay? How stupid am I??

“Wait…”

“Colt, I like you,” she says, her voice the los tour together it’s been in a few hours. “Like, like you.”

Wait.

She…

She likes…

She likes me?!

It’s all I can do right now not to pump my fist and and loudly say ‘yes!’ as if I’ve won a sports championship. Any trace of sadness is completely dissipated, because y/n l/n likes-like likes- me.

“Colt?”

Oh, right, I haven’t said anything.

“Look, y/n, we can talk about this more tomorrow,” because I’m not going to influence her while she’s still drunk, “but I need you to know this: I really, really like you. And I have for a long time,” I confess, and if the smile she gave me was my last sight I’d die a beyond happy man.

“Okay,” she whispers, looking me in the eyes.

“Okay,” I tell her. “I’m going to let you get some rest, but we’re going to talk about this more tomorrow, okay?” It’s not that I want to go, but I know it’s better to given her state of mind right now. Plus, the sooner I pass out the sooner I wake up and the sooner we can talk about this.

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Goodnight, y/n,” I stand up, but before I can walk away she grabs my hand. I turn to look at her, a little confused.

“Colt?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you maybe stay with me?” and again, her voice is too sweet to say no to. Like, I would do the indoor-explosion for free if she asked me like this.

I mull it over. I’m not a douche, I wouldn’t do anything while she’s drunk. Maybe I could just sleep on the couch?

“I can go sleep on the couch?” I suggest, parroting my thoughts.

“Noo, here, please,” she pats the bed beside her.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea right now, y/n.”

“Please?” she asks me, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, fine,” I grumble, as if displeased with the notion of being able to lay next to the love of my life. But she doesn’t even seem to notice my tone as she turn around to face me laying on the bed.

“I like you,” she whispers, before promptly passing out.

I shake my head amusedly. “I like you.”

So, so much.

Reader’s POV

I wake up, expecting to have the gnarliest hangover of all time. Except, by some miracle, all that’s there is a slight headache. Thank everything.

I’m a little groggy at first, but I register a weight draped over my side. Huh?

But then I open my eyes and see Colt, with his messy hair and his peaceful face, sleeping. He’s holding me close, as if I’m some sort of teddy bear. And that’s when I remember our conversation: I told him, and he likes me back!

I smile to myself.

“Hey there, smiley,” his voice comes out groggy, heavily taunted with sleep. I love the way it sounds.

“Hey yourself,” I say, still grinning.

“What are you so happy about?” he teases.

“You. And I’d kiss you right now but I think I have bad morning breath.”

“Well,” he mumbles, getting close. “Morning breath be damned, I want to kiss you too.”

“Well, in the case…” I lean in and press a soft peck to his lips. And it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. And now I know it for sure: I’m in love.

Wait.

Love.

The movie.

“The ending!” I shout, reaching over to my phone to text Jenny.

“Wha-,” he asks, obviously confused.

“The ending of the movie. They kiss before the planet blows up.”

“Wait… the planet’s not going to blow up because we just kissed… right?” he jokes.

“I dunno,” I shrug, sending the text and throwing my phone on the chair. “Sorry. I was thinking about the planet blowing up when I thought you were upset with me yesterday, and then this-,” I kiss him again, and he smiles. “Finished the thought train.”

“Huh,” he says, pulling me close. “I like you, so much,” he says, his voice sweet.

“I like you too, so much,” I agree, kissing him again. And one things for sure: I will never get tired of kissing Colt Seavers.

I can’t wait to be able to do everything we’ve always done, just as a couple. Puzzles and paint by numbers where we kiss each other over the coffee table. Maybe he steals one of my books and tries to recreate the scenes. Maybe he kisses me after doing donuts in the truck.

But no matter what maybes come true, the thing to remember is that love is the best part of it.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the line that flashes at the end of the movie, post credits.

Who knows?

All I know is that I love Colt Seavers. And he loves me.

The End <3

#colt seavers #colt seavers fanfiction #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers x you #ryan gosling x reader #the fall guy 2024 #save me colt seavers #fic request

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crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington · 2 years

Note

hi, i really love your art!! (it's so cute and is singlehandedly feeding my RE obsession fr, thank you so much ^_^) do u have any playlists or songs that remind u of the games/characters?

OH YEAH BABEY I WAS WAITING FOR THIS!

ethan:

when i was done dying - dan deacon

evil - interpol

SAD- lemon demon

hermit the frog- marina and the diamonds

watching him fade away - mac demarco

the outsider- marina and the diamonds

chateu (feel alright) - djo

passing out pieces- mac demarco

dead or alive- oingo boingo *

poor grammar- roar *

chris:

gotta be a reason - alec benjamin

heaven knows im miserable now- the smiths

lonely zone- vansire

karl:

power freaks- jean dawson

community gardens- the scary jokes

kiss me son of god - they might be giants

eveline:

maybe- flower face

the tv made him do it- moon walker *

mia:

rules- the hoosiers

our word -36 questions

youth- daughter *

miss dimitrescu:

when a woman is around- unloved

mithan:

the truth -36 questions

MIA- chakra efendi

birds dont sing - TV girl

yr the best - carpet garden

care- TEMPOREX

no children - the mountain goats

lost kitten- metric *

rosemary: *

wild sage (cover) - claypup (the mountain goats)

wintersberg: *

evil side- the dirty nil

me and mr wolf- the real tuesday weld

( if i update i will reblog :3)

(* means recently added)

updated:

1/28/23: added a song to ethan, mia, eveline, mithan added rosemary and wintersberg section

(btw these arent songs that i think they would listen to, these r songs i could explain why every single line of lyrics relates to the charcter and how i can imagin a entire animation to it)

#ethan winters #chris redfield #karl heisenberg #eveline re7 #mia winters #alcina dimitrescu #mithan #resident evil village #resident evil #rose winters #rosemary winters #wintersberg

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thescarletnargacuga · 3 months

Text

PLAY PRETEND

A BUNNYDOLL ONESHOT

WARNING: unhinged Ragatha, SO much digital violence, NPCs die

~~~

"CUT!! No, no, NO!! Do it again! Do it right!" An NPC wearing a ball cap labeled "Director" threw a script down on the ground in frustration.

Jax dragged a hand down his face. "We've done this scene 87 times!!"

"And we'll do it 87 more times if you don't do your job and act right!" The NPC gripped the arms of his chair, fit to break. "Go again! Reset!" The movie set came to life with activity. People rushing to reset props and touch up make up on the actors.

"Jax, please, just do what he says." Ragatha pleaded. She was as tired as he was, plus she was standing in bad heels the whole time. At least he got to stay barefoot. "We won't be able to finish the adventure until the movie's finished." She coughed when an NPC powdered her cheeks.

"I agree. This is getting very dull." Kinger said from his position next to them. "Just go with it and it'll be over soon."

"But why did I get this part? Why can't you be the groom??" Jax tugged at the tight tux collar choking him.

"Because I play the part of an ordained minister better." Kinger said matter-of-factly.

"I'm not exactly thrilled about it either, Jax. I'd much rather kiss Kinger. At least he wouldn't complain the whole time." Ragatha sneered.

Kinger had a smile in his eyes. He looked to the maid of honor and best man. "You two holding up okay?"

"My legs are numb." Gangle whimpered. The dress she was forced to wear was heavy on her spindly body.

"I should have stayed at the circus with Zooble." Pomni muttered. At least she got to wear a suit, so she wasn't too uncomfortable.

"Hey! Could we fix the best man's hair?" The director called out. "He looks like he just crawled out of bed!"

"I'm a GIRL!!" Pomni snarled, only to be ignored. Another NPC rushed to her and adjusted her hair.

Jax sighed and pinched the area where the bridge of his nose would be if he had one. "Shut up, you little cross dresser. Yelling at the moron doesn't do anything. Caine made the director a bit too passionate about his movie."

"Tell me about it." Ragatha crossed her arms. "I read the script, we're not even in the final scene! There's a whole other act that centers around our characters fighting a horde of mutant unicorns"

"Say what?" Jax gaped.

"Yeah, once the wedding scene is over, a horde breaks in and we fight. Pomni dies in your arms, Gangle escapes with Kinger but we break into the church's armory and fight them off."

"There's an armory??" Jax grew increasingly interested.

"Yeah? Did you not read the script?"

"Of course not, I have you to do it for me." He grinned. "Do you know where the armory is now?"

"Yeah, it's under the altar behind Kinger." She arched a brow. "Why?"

"Things are about to get interesting. Hey, D-man, we doing this scene or what?"

"If you're finally ready." The director answered incredulously. "From the top! Quiet on set! Camera! Wedding vows take 88 and...action!"

Jax and Ragatha held hands, believably happy looks on their faces. Kinger opened his book that had nothing on it. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join two hearts and souls to be one in the eyes of God." Kinger raised his hands up, light poured in through the stained glass window behind him that had Caine as this movie world's proclaimed religion. Pomni subtly rolled her eyes. "Mr. Smith, would you say your vows?"

Jax cleared his throat. "Maggie, you've been by my side bringing love and laughter into my life when I've needed it most. I feel like I've known you forever. Maybe even in another life. You have a heart of gold that I intend to have and hold forever. I love you."

The director looked at the script. Jax was improving some of his lines. At least the scene was still moving along.

Ragatha was blushing for real and completely forgot her lines. Jax was so convincing when he actually tried. She almost missed her cue and winged it the best she could. "Oh, Jack, my love. You have been my rock. When life was too much, you'd bring me back to earth and tell me...it doesn't matter. You've put things into perspective for me when my mind would run away. You've stood steady fast against the world, no matter what it threw at you. Your bravery is inspiring, I will always love you."

The director checked the script again. "What..?"

Gangle and Pomni looked at each other, but stayed in character.

"The rings." Kinger said and Pomni handed them to Jax. He slid the rose gold ring on Ragatha's finger and said, "With this ring, I ask you, are you ready to kick some [%$!#]?"

"Huh?"

Before the director could yell "cut", Jax kicked the altar over and pulled out the first weapon he could reach. A good old boot-zooka. He aimed it at the director and fired. The director dove out of the way in time for the boot to turn his chair to splinters, and the crew scattered screaming in terror.

"Grab the camera!" Jax ordered as he reloaded.

Kinger slid over as fast as he could and hoisted the cinema camera off its stand.

"Whatever you do, don't stop rolling! We're finishing this movie our way!" Jax fired again at the director, who took it to the face and was thrown through a set wall.

"This is insane!" Pomni grabbed a random weapon, it looked like a weird water gun.

Gangle didn't grab anything, she hid behind Kinger.

Ragatha could hear frantic neighing over the calamity. She saw horses with an inhumane amount of paint and prosthetics plastered onto them tied to a far wall. They were apparently the mutant unicorns they were supposed to fight in the next scene. She dug into the weapons and found a huge butcher's knife. She looked at Jax, who had run out of boots and was grabbing a shotgun.

"For once, I agree with you. Let's get these [%$!#]holes." She wielded her knife and ran to the horses.

Jax grinned so much, his face hurt. "[%$!#] em up!" Security came to control the situation and Jax leveled his gun at the first NPC that tried to rush him. The gun exploded and a roll of dollar bills hit the NPC in the chest, downing him. "Buckshot. Heh, I get it." He racked another bundle and fired.

Ragatha cut the ropes tethering the frightened horses. One by one, they ran in random directions. They galloped off in straight lines and didn't stop for anything in their way; not NPCs, sets, walls, or Pomni.

"Everybody run!! They're mad!!" An NPC, who Ragatha recognized as the one who constantly did her makeup by shoving powder in her face, screamed. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." Ragatha threw the knife and it lodged itself in the NPC's head. They fell backwards to the ground. "By the way, your makeup skills are TRASH!"

She never realized just how much rage burned beneath the surface. It felt so good to finally let go, at least in the moment. She'd probably hate herself later, but right now, she didn't care. She yanked her knife out of the unresponsive NPC and looked for her next target. An NPC was baring down on Jax as he was fighting off three others. She ran up and started chopping.

Jax turned to see the absolute ruin Ragatha had left the NPC in. She was huffing, her hair was disheveled, and gripping the knife like an axe. "Anyone every tell you you're gorgeous when you're crazy?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him. "Someone has now." She tore at her wedding dress; losing the sleeves and frills. She ripped the skirt so she could move faster. She blushed when Jax wolf whistled at her.

Pomni whimpered as she shakily held her gun up at some advancing security NPCs. She pulled the trigger and hot glitter glue shot out and covered everyone in front of her. They screamed until the glue hardened, turning them into glittery gooey statues.

"Atta girl, Pomni!" Ragatha encouraged.

Pomni did not share Ragatha's enthusiasm. "ARE WE DONE YET!?"

"Do you see a portal? The movie isn't over! Kinger! Get this in frame!" Jax shot another NPC in the leg.

Ragatha chased another NPC past a supply closet. She stopped in her tracks when the word flammable stuck out in her periphery. The door was locked, so she hacked away at the handle like a madwoman. She opened it to find stacks of crates marked for various pyrotechnics and explosives. She gave a grin that would make Jax proud. "Jackpot."

The director was coming to after being booted through the wall. He groaned and climbed out of the hole in time to see Ragatha come out of the fire closet with an oversized roman candle. She fired at some of the few remaining security. Multicolor balls of sparking fire rained down on her enemies.

The director tried to scramble away but the butt end of a shot gun punted him into the supply closet. He crashed into the crates, one dumping half sticks of dynamite into his lap. He looked up in fear to see Jax looming in the doorway. "You know, without that hat. You're no more distinguishable from the rest. You're nothing but an annoying hack rack." He flicked the hat off the director's head with the barrel of his gun.

"Please...please don't hurt me."

"Oh, I'm not gonna do anything. You see, my bride is a bit pent up. You're all hers." Jax stepped back and dropped his weapon.

As if on cue, Ragatha came over and jumped into Jax's arms.

Jax caught and held her like the battle bride she was.

Ragatha aimed the giant roman candle at the director. "And they lived happily ever after!"

"Mother[%$!#]!" Jax held tight as the roman candle kicked back. It sent three colorful fireballs into the pile of explosive crates, blowing them and director sky high. The explosion blew back Ragatha's hair, silhouetting her against the fiery glow.

Jax couldn't help himself. In the literal heat of the moment, he kissed her. He expected to be punched or berated but...she kissed him back. She dropped her weapon and wrapped her arms around his neck. His grip on her tightened, holding her close until the kiss came to an end. They parted only enough to look each other in the eye.

"You don't have to keep pretending, dollface." The usually degrading nickname held a tone of endearment.

"I think we should both stop pretending." She kissed his cheek. "I think this could work if we let it."

"Yeah....maybe it could."

Kinger cut the camera. With the movie complete, the portal back to the circus opened.

~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or check out my blog for more TADC oneshots!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc fanfiction #tadc bunnydoll #tadc jax #tadc ragatha

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Portrait: V

Masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The final portrait session is heated and emotional

Warnings: mild dom/sub tones in places, masturbation, dirty talk, vaginal sex, woman on top. All sorts of emotions and a proposal for the future.

Word Count: 3.7 k

Authors Note: Well, these two idiots just can't resist each other, and yes, I'm as surprised by the emotions, particularly the ending, as you are <3 And thanks to @colettebronte who waded thru a messy draft of this.

The following morning you practically skip down the street to Benedict’s home, barely able to contain your excitement to reunite with this man who gave you the world yesterday—steadfastly refusing to dwell on the fact that this might be the last time you spend together privately. You just want to live in the moment for the next hour or so. Whatever lies beyond that, you will face when the time comes.

When you arrive, he is at the door, letting you in with a gracious nod - a perfectly acceptable greeting for any prying eyes. But the minute the door shuts, he crowds you against it, hoisting you up, kissing you as your spine presses into the wooden panels.

“I fear an hour will definitely not be enough again, my sweet,” he breathes into your kiss.

“Mmm, I tend to concur. Perhaps we should send word back to my family?” you suggest, raising an eyebrow. “They did not appreciate it yesterday. So perhaps forewarning would be prudent?”

He lets you back to your feet and calls out for his valet. However, as the man appears, he does not release his hold on you.

“Ah, Mr Smith. Please send a messenger to the y/l/n household with a note saying that I am running very late for my portrait session yet again and Miss y/l/n will need to stay longer. Please include humblest apologies, but state she is safe and waiting with my sister.”

Mr Smith raises an eyebrow as you attempt to muffle your giggle into Benedict’s shoulder and look the other way.

“Certainly, sir”, the valet replies dryly, “and will that be all?”

“Some wine, perhaps? You can leave it outside the door of my studio. It may be best that our painting not be disturbed,” his barely contained smirk makes it obvious that is not what will be transpiring shortly.

“As you wish,” is the seasoned reply as he leaves the hallway.

“That poor man,” you chuckle.

“Oh please,” Benedict dismisses, “Smith used to work for my brother Anthony; he has seen it all.”

Then he grabs both of your hands in his, walking backwards and smiling, leading you to the studio.

“Today, my sweet, I want to paint your other portrait,” he rumbles as he closes the door behind you.

You smirk, and your hands go to the bow at your side. You undo it as he stares at you covetously, whipping open your dress and dropping it to the floor. Completely nude beneath it.

“I am ready, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease and squeal in delight as he advances on you and picks you up effortlessly.

“Call me Benedict,” he smiles into a kiss.

“But I like calling you Mr Bridgerton sometimes. It seems so commanding somehow,” you sigh, feeling so at home in his arms.

“Would you like me to be commanding? Telling you what to do?” His ask is dusky.

“Maybe,” you volley back playfully, “try it.” Even though it was only yesterday that this man took your innocence, you trust him implicitly to lead you into new experiences and adventures.

He places you back on your feet and grabs your chin.

“Go lay on that chaise. Right now.” His tone suddenly clipped and utterly authoritative.

You scurry to obey, your skin prickling hot. As you do so, he sits in a nearby leather armchair, a sketchpad already there. You meet his gaze and then lay as you did the night you first stripped for him, with your left arm behind your head.

“Good girl.”

His dulcet voice is dark and sonorous, and the praise makes you inhale sharply, instantly aroused to a painful degree. God, you will do anything for him if he calls you that.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs, eyes glittering.

“Yes,” you stutter.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and your mouth falls open in surprise. “Go ahead,” he adds and begins sketching.

You let your right hand fall to your stomach, and with a nod from him, you allow your fingers to sink lower, slipping between your legs.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “give yourself pleasure. I want to sketch your face in the throes of ecstasy.”

“Benedict,” you gasp as you feel your body stirring, “instruct me.” You know what to do, but you want to hear him talking to you as you touch yourself, knowing it will make you burn so much hotter.

“Little circles with your finger,” he lectures, “right on that little button. Play with it until you feel it grow under your fingers. It should swell a little more. Although it doesn’t take much with you, does it? You were so aroused yesterday, your nub swollen and pulsing with need before I even so much as had it under my tongue. Does it feel swollen now?”

You are panting at the words he uses, speaking so matter-of-fact about something so private. It’s captivating. And indeed, he is right. Even as he talks, your clit engorges and feels harder under your touch.

“Yessss,” you respond, fingers slipping over it easily.

“Mmm, good. Don’t stop. Curl your fingers up and under it…” he pauses to ensure you are doing as he says. “Good girl. Feel around for a motion that is good for you. Usually, one side is more sensitive than the other, although no one quite knows why,” he chuckles, his eyes pinging between his sketchpad and your hand.

You hit a very sensitive spot, your leg kicks out, and your body convulses, eyes fluttering shut as you push up off the chaise, your head bumping the cushioned sloped end.

“Oh yes, that’s it, isn’t it?” he practically purrs, “now you’ve got it.”

You cry his name again, arching your back, writhing, longing for his large hands on your body.

“I need you,” you call out breathily.

“I’m right here.”

“I need you to touch me, Benedict,” you implore, your eyes blinking open to look over at him.

“That’s it! That’s the look,” he says triumphantly, “don’t you dare look away from me,” he orders.

And you do as bidden, staring him down, biting your lip, writhing on your own fingers as your body notches higher and higher. So very desperate for his touch.

“You can do this, my good girl,” he encourages. “This is what you will do every night when you are married. I want you to touch yourself and think of me, telling you what to do.”

You groan loudly and move faster, honeying over your own hand. “May I think of you fucking me?” you ask.

He growls. “Yes, do that. Think of me inside you, above you, making you feel like you need to scream. Do you need to scream right now, my good girl?” His voice is ragged, and his knuckles are white, gripping his sketchpad as he watches you.

You nod vigorously, biting your lip so hard, pleading silently with your eyes for him to give you that push you need. Skating the edge of a precipice, every inch of your body tense like it’s waiting to snap, blood boiling in your veins.

“Do it. Let go. Scream for me,” he commands gruffly, and you do.

Throwing your head back and vocalising loudly, uncaring who may hear as your body spasms, your pussy quivering, wishing he was inside you, bliss flooding your senses as you tense and release, your mind wiping out in sheer pleasure.

You slump back, breathing hard, eyes screwed shut, a dew over your body from the exertion.

“Oh my sweet, that was a masterpiece,” he says softly as you recover, back to his usual self.

“I… I can’t believe I did that,” you confess, still winded but sated.

“It makes the most arresting picture,” he assures. “One I will treasure forever.” He looks down again, concentrating on completing a few lines on his sketch.

You look over at him as he works and want to crawl to him and make him feel as good as you do. Before you know it, you are climbing to your feet, your legs a little unsteady as you first stand, and you go to him.

He seems to startle when you are right before him naked, the apex of your thighs in his eye line. His eyes trail up your body to your face, and with an insolent raise of an eyebrow, you pluck the sketchpad and charcoal from him and drop it aside. Climbing into his lap wordlessly but with a confident smile. He looks spellbound by your sudden boldness and groans when you reach down and rub a hand harshly over the bulge in his trousers.

“What are you…?” He begins, but you hush him with a bruising kiss.

While you tease him with your tongue lathing his, you wrench open the buttons of his trousers, not stopping until you can roughly pull down the front. And then your fingers are questing to his cock as it springs free. His moan is so loud as you fist him, as you learned yesterday, and move your hand up and down over his shaft, slowly teasing at first and then becoming more insistent.

He breaks the kiss and stares up at you wildly.

“Innocent no more, my sweet,” he pants, impressed.

You feel powerful and alluring, your smile victorious as you experiment with new angles and pressure with your hand, using his wonderfully expressive face as your guide. He moans as you find a slight twisting rhythm. You breathe his name, goading him to push up into your grip.

You have an all-consuming need to shuffle forward from where you sit perched on his thighs and take him into your body. You have no idea if the act can be done in this position, but you can see yourself perhaps bouncing in his lap. So you do so. Shuffling forward and his face is a picture as he realises what you are doing, lining up his cock and sinking so his tip is captured by your body.

He sounds wrecked, babbling words like my sweet and my darling girl while his hands grasp the arms of the chair, almost as if he is afraid to touch you as if it would break the spell.

The invasion is just as overwhelming as yesterday, but with no sense of apprehension or fear of discomfort—just sheer pleasure. You move to grasp his shoulders as you slowly reach your hilt, him feeling so deep inside you.

“Look at you climbing in my lap and crawling onto my cock like this. My god, you are a wonder,” he sounds utterly enthralled, awed even. “You insatiable little sweet wonder, I took your innocence only yesterday and here you are now, sitting speared open on me. What is next, my sweet? Will you ride me? Take what you want from me?”

“Yes,” you whisper, loving how he is so complimentary about your actions, not shaming you for following your instincts, urging you to take pleasure from him. “Show me how Benedict?” you ask.

Large hands crest your hipbones. “Rise up, my sweet,” he lilts against your temple. You do so, feeling him withdraw from your body; just as his tip is nearly out of your body, he speaks again. “Now sink back down,” and you follow his teaching.

Both of you groan at the feel as he surges back into you so very deep. Glancing over a spot that makes you gyrate your hips as you are fully seated on him, addicted to the spike of pleasure it causes.

“Perfect,” he praises through slightly clenched teeth, obviously holding back from taking control and pushing up into you. “Now, keep doing just that.”

So you do. Begin a rhythm of rising using your thighs as leverage and sinking back down. You grab his face and draw him into a sloppy, almost artless breathy kiss as you adjust to the motions and the feeling in your body. Still a little mindblown from your orgasm, you feel so decadent and powerful as you grip his shoulders and ride him in his oversized chair, sunlight dancing warmly on your skin from the window behind you.

His hands sweep up over your back and encourage you to lean away a little, and when you do, curving backwards over his legs, he buries his face into your chest, his lips finding your nipple and biting down gently. It makes your whole body pulse, and you cry out his name. He growls encouragements, telling you not to stop; that you are a goddess, a wonder; teeming words of praise that make you move faster, ride him harder as he pushes his hips up to meet you now, breathing rapidly, muscles aching from the exertion, body slick with sweat and arousal.

As you move together, so much of the world makes sense; why people say intimate relations are a bedrock of marriage. You feel a bittersweet wave at the injustice that this man, who feels so right when inside you, is not the one you will get to spend your future with. It seems so unfair. You bite your lip and press your cheek to his, burying your hands into his hair as you both climb higher, the poignancy lending an air of desperation to your movements, chasing the most sublime feeling you have ever had.

He pulls back slightly and touches your face reverentially as if needing a moment of connection where your gaze locks. You are certain your eyes are glassy, but his seem the same, a sheen over them that dances in the sunlight, the intense rays catching the warm chestnut tint in his hair and reflecting the lightness of his teeth as he smiles up at you. You are smiling back, and your hand slips from his hair to cup his jaw. This doesn’t feel like something only physical, a means to an end; it feels like a connection, a meeting of kindred spirits.

“You are a work of art,” he murmurs, his tone worshipful.

It feels dangerously close to something so fundamental. To what you can only describe as love… love like you have read about in books. All that elegant prose and poetry making so much more profound sense now you feel it, see it mirrored in his face. Even though you have only spent a few hours in his company, you can see your future with this man as clearly as day. Watching him paint, standing proudly by his side as his work fills galleries, bearing his children, a loving family in a little cottage out in the peace and quiet of the country. Tending a garden of flowers and foods, reading books, educating your children. And every night, laying by his side, talking, laughing together, making love and growing old together. Always together. Tears prickle hot in the corner of your eyes at the thought that this vision, so clear, so utterly beguiling, will not be your future.

“Come for me, my sweet, my beautiful muse,” he appeals, sotto voce, as if intuiting you need a physical release to soothe your turbulent mind.

You wrap yourself around him tightly, his heated forehead pressed into your throat as you do just as he asked. Press your pelvis hard into him, tilting your hips so you catch your clit on his body as you rise and fall, pushing yourself towards completion. Every fibre of your being alive with light and exhilaration. His name trembles across your lips as you start to fracture around him, feeling so filled as you convulse deep inside. He is moaning, his hands seemingly everywhere, mapping your body with his touch, passion in his movements, as if he cannot hold enough of you at once. You float far away as your senses blot out, riding a wave so strong, so utterly singular, it feels like you have died a little and come back resurrected, rearranged, altered in some elemental way by this interlude you have shared.

As you go pliant in his arms, you feel him forcibly withdraw, and a warmth splashes on your inner thigh as he reaches his peak too. And yet you do not want to move; you want to stay with him, surrounded by him. He also senses it, wrapping his arms tighter around your body, pulling you closer into him, your tacky skin melding together as you recover, resting upon his shoulder. A silence that feels at once evocative and comforting, only punctured by your joined ragged breathing. His lips drop delicate kisses along your shoulder as you curl tighter, not wanting this moment to be over.

The faint chime of the hour on the mantel clock pulls you from your trance.

“Oh gosh! What of my official portrait?” you suddenly sit up in his lap, startled. “This is supposed to be our last session! Benedict, we are already overtime!”

“Calm down, my sweet,” he pulls you back into his arms and nuzzles your cheek. “I finished it last night if you must know, from memory.”

“You did what?” you gasp, moving to observe his face.

“I did not need you here, my muse, to complete your portrait. You are clear as day in my mind. As if you are always with me.” he smiles softly.

“Benedict… I….” Words fail as you fall forward and claim his lips briefly. “Show me?” your ask is timid.

“You wish to see?”

“Of course I do! If you will allow me.”

With a grin, he helps you out of his lap and hands you your chemise, which you throw on as he climbs back into his trousers, then walks to the other side of the room. It’s only now you notice his easel is draped in fabric, concealing what is on it. He turns the structure to face you and then slowly pulls off the cloth.

You are speechless.

Utterly speechless.

It is the most exquisitely rendered version of you that you have ever seen and better than you could possibly have imagined. Your skin glows, and your expression looks alive and filled with wonder. This painting, and there is no other expression you can think of, feels like a love letter—to you. And you don't want anyone else to own it but him.

“Oh, Benedict….,” tears prickle the corner of your eyes yet again, emotion bubbling over with every second that ticks away. “It's… it's wonderful.”

“I just paint what I see,” he shrugs, a modest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “With you, all I see is beauty, goodness and light.” Poetic words just fall out of him as easily as breathing.

You can't help it; you run to him, throwing yourself into his arms. He laughs happily and hauls you up, your chemise riding up around your hips as you twine your limbs around him like a vine, chanting thank yous into his neck and squeezing him with all your might.

“Benedict I… I love you,” you confess into his ear, unable to stop your mouth from running away with itself or to hide your true feelings.

“Oh my sweet, my love,” he pulls you away to look into your eyes, his face a picture of surprise and devotion. “I love you too.”

You are soaring at his declaration and trembling as he places you gently onto your feet and sinks to his knees before you, clutching your waist.

“It has only taken five hours to know you are the only person in this world for me,” he admits, and you start to cry before he continues. “Please, do not marry that other man. I know he is your intended. But he is not worthy of you. I’m not sure anyone is, including me. But, please, just do not.….”

“I could not… not now,” you vow, grabbing his face, blurred through your tears, his hands moving to encircle your forearms tenderly as your thumbs swipe his cheeks.

“...would you do me one last favour instead?” he asks, his voice tremulant.

“Anything, I would do anything for you, Benedict,” you whisper fervently, honestly.

The moment seems both teeming with desperation and sentiment but also something light, like hope, even though these are to be your last private minutes together. He takes your hands from cupping his jaw and holds both of them in his, looking up at you with adoration in his glassy eyes.

“Would you please do me the honour of being my wife?”

His proposal is simple, heartfelt, improvised, a total surprise, but everything you could hope for. It makes your heart leap; leap out of your chest, into your throat, and then beyond, flying to him.

“Yes, oh god, yes, yes, yes!!!!” you squeal and haul him back up to his feet so you can be in his arms again—melting into his lips.

You stand for what seems like ages, wrapped together, coiled around each other—a little cocoon of soft teary smiles and endless kisses. Your heart singing with the idea that all those visions of a future with this man could perhaps come true.

“I…. I have a ring,” he admits as your mouths part.

“You do?” You grin in surprise.

“I saw it in the window of a little jeweller the day we met, and it made me think of you. So I went back yesterday after we, well….” You smile at his sudden modesty. “I heard you yesterday. After I closed the front door, I heard what you said. And I had to buy it. Even if you had said no, it would have been my parting gift to you, a reminder of what we shared, even if only for a few days. But I always held out hope it could be a betrothal ring.”

You are teary again as he reaches for the shelf of the easel and, right there, is a tiny navy blue box. He flicks it open to reveal the most exquisite small sapphire stone surrounded by a halo of tiny pearls.

“Oh, it is beautiful,” you gasp and hold out your hand shakily as he delicately pushes it onto your ring finger.

It's a perfect fit for you—just as he is.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

Portrait-only taglist: @mysticwitchcraftco

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