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cherryheartssblog · 26 days

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CAMGIRL PRINCESS

Summary: Y/N has been friends with best friend for years now. Trying to have extra money aside while being away from college she finds a camgirl job. She'd never guess her best friends dad would be her number one fan.

Pairing: camgirl!reader x bestfriendsdad! negan smith (3rd POV)

Warnings: 18+!, smut!, recording sexual activity!, mentions of posting sexual activities!, posting nudity!, oral sex (f rec), rough sex!, male masturbation!, daddy issues!, slight family issues mentioned!, daddy kink!, reader has a tattoo!, OnlyFans! account!, porn mentioned!, fingering!, mentions of different kinks!, mentions of partying!, Negan is a professor!, talks of other people having sex!, drinking!- reader my be tipsy during sex it is really not mentioned!, mentions of drinking!, choking!, cursing!, age gap! (reader age is not mentioned!, Negan is in his late 40s)!, mentions of spanking!, mentions of bruising! , Negan calls reader pet names but also slut- a few times!, and not fully edited.

A/N: boarders is by @saradika-graphics. I been using a lot of them lately, all of them are super cute! I been creating a few of my own practicing myself with my stories I usually try to tag the page if I use them! I hope you love this little one shot I threw together, I love you all!✨❤️

angelprincess6924🥰🥵🍑🪽 posted recently! Check out the feed!👀👀

Negan groaned to himself, having the phone underneath his desk at work; his shift was five minutes past over. He couldn’t bring himself to get up yet. This feed, this damn OnlyFans, he shouldn’t listen to his best friend Simon to get. Recently going through a dry phase, he had been trying to find ways to get off.

Negan had not had sex in a year, perhaps a little bit longer. He did not know why; he was not interested in anyone. He tried the dating thing, even the fling thing, but nothing worked out for the older bachelor. A few months ago, while bar hopping with Simon after teaching a class at the local college, his friend showed him the OnlyFans app.

Through the few months, Negan found a few pages he liked, but this one page, this angel princess, whoever the fuck she was, had him wrapped around her finger. Her face was always hidden in the pictures, maybe some of her plump lips and her hair, but not once had he got to see this woman’s face. He felt stupid being this attracted to a woman over an app, even without seeing her face. Her body was just perfect; each part of her he saw knew could not get more perfect. What he noticed is the tattoo high up on her thigh, that fuckin flower on her curvy thighs.

He wanted to squeeze, leave bruises on, and mark her. God, this was fucked up; she could be a fake person for all he knew. But when the videos hit his pag of her, he knew she had to be real somewhere out there.

Negan’s finger was hesitant, clicking over the link, opening his private web, and taking him to the app. It only took a moment to load before a video of this woman’s covered breast was on the camera. Her hair is right above her perky tits so perfectly. The black laced bra had them pushed together; Negan palmed the front of his jeans, feeling uncomfortable each moment. Her voice was low; she was talking had not done much talking before.

She seemed to be shy, Negan loved that.

Negan raised his volume, listening to the woman's voice. Her body was in full view, and her plump lips were seen before the rest of her face was cut off. The older man's ear perked up; that voice was sounding more familiar. His face furrowed, fubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans and bringing the phone closer to him.

“A lot of you been wondering what I look like,” Her voice sounded so sweet; Negan watched her smile as her fingers ran through her hair, “I thought I could give my special fans what they wanted.” Negan knew this video was for the premium users; his stomach twisted, and he was excited. He actually should hate himself right now.

The woman's fingers traced down to her bra straps, stretching them out down her body. Her head was thrown back a little, revealing some of her necks, throwing her head back for her face to be seen.

Negans face dropped along with his stomach, but eyes widened eyes never left the screen. His daughters best friend of all people was on that screen, almost having her bra off and a clear view of her beautiful face.

Negan cursed at himself under his breath, wanting to close out of the app, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted more. Her voice was as clear as now, too; how had he not recognized it before?

His jeans were tightened, and his member was still rock hard. Negan should not feel this way, especially knowing who this woman was. This was his daughter's best friend; she would spend nights with them. He knew he had always found Y/N attractive, but now he did not know how he would resist her, especially when around her.

Negan sat in his office, staring at the empty classroom through the open door. The silence was only broken by the clock ticking on the wall. He had just finished teaching his final class of the day. He could go home, but his eyes were still fixated on the screen. The temptation kept growing; her bra slowly slid her perky tits out for the camera. Y/N gently squeezed them, pushing them up more, continuing to trace her hands along down.

Within a few seconds, Negan had his hardened cock picked through his underwear and jeans. With a few strokes, he gave his cock already had pre cum dripping from the top of his dick that was red. His dick was pulsating with each stroke he gave. His eyes would shift to close sometimes, imaging Y/N; he knew it was wrong. This whole situation is fucked up.

He was digging himself deeper by the minute.

Negan was giving himself a handjob in his office chair, watching Y/N slowly undress herself. The underwear she had on slowly slid down her legs, revealing her plump ass, which Negan wanted to slap. Have her bent over his knee; she would deserve it, too. Negans pace was going faster, and feeling himself spew out as he came, he hoped he did not stain his jeans, feeling himself be released for just a moment.

His hands could only do so much.

Negan felt like a helpless horny teenager, he should just say fuck it and fuck her, but he knew he could not just do that. Negan groaned to himself, looking down at his sticky-covered cum self.

Negan soon felt an itch crawl back, and his eyes moved to the screen, Y/N’s body in full view. This woman was a gem; each part of her was perfect.

And just like that, Negan was hard again.

“Dad! You're home!” Emma exclaimed, giving her dad a quick hug. “Yeah, sweetheart, sorry I'm running late.” Negan played it off with a warm smile, heading to his kitchen, “Had a few late tests to grade.” His daughter was home for the summer from college; such a bright daughter he had.

“S’kay, dad.” Emma smiled warmly at her dad, “Look, Y/N is coming over soon. Is that okay?” Emma asked; she knew her dad loved all her friends, especially Y/N. Emma knew he should not say no, especially the smile she gave him. Negan almost choked up hearing her name, clearing his throat with one of his famous smirks.

“Sure, that's okay, sweetheart.” Negan lied straight through that smile, chuckled nervously, trying to hide it all with his smile, “Just order us a pizza tonight for dinner, yeah?” His daughter quickly agreed, heading back upstairs to call the local pizza place for delivery. Negan groaned out once his daughter went upstairs, heading over to the fridge for a beer, quickly popping the top open. He got a few gulps in before heading to the doorbell.

Negan knew exactly who it was and had no idea how to keep his composure. Keeping the beer bottle attached to his lips, he prayed his daughter would answer the door. When that thought crossed his mind, “Dad, get the door!” His daughter's words were like knives in the ears.

His grip could have broken the beer bottle off tighter once heading to the front door to answer like the gentleman he was. Negan cleared his throat, breathing in, gathering his smile together. “Hi’ ya sweetheart, you doing okay?” Negan answered the door to reveal Y/N; once he saw her, a lump formed in his throat. Her top had her chest in full view; Negan could not stop imagining that black lace bra with her perky tits.

A skirt complimented the shirt that rested on her upper thigh, which gave him access to her legs to gaze upon. Negans eyes wandered over her for a moment, giving her a smirk. “I'm okay, Mr. Smith.” Y/N seemed so innocent when saying those words; Negan could have come from those words, however. Negan rolled his eyes playfully at the woman, inviting her inside. “Y’know to call me Negan now, doll.” Negan assured her, closing the door and welcoming her into his home, “Emma is upstairs; by the way, we should have pizza on the way.”

Y/N had an overnight bag, it seemed, with her, holding tight against her. She'd been friends with Emma for a few years, meeting her in college. Y/N got into an OnlyFans account just for a few bucks on the side while she was in college. She did not realize how much money it could bring her. It ended up getting her a lot of money to quit her job at the coffee shop to do things online.

Sure, she wasn't ashamed of it. She did not care one bit. It gave Y/N a certain confidence.

Y/N was never really close with her parents, especially her father. Once she had a chance to run from home, she took it, especially with a whole ride to college, which meant that when holidays came up, she went home with Emma sometimes.

That's how she met Emma’s bachelor of a dad, Negan Smith. Every woman wanted him, but he seemed uninterested. Y/N always found him attractive. She shouldn't; she may even feel guilty at times. However, how could no one find this man attractive?

“Well, Negan..” Y/N tried to fight back a flirtatious smile, already feeling shivers down her spine from his stare, “Thank you. I'll just-uh- head upstairs.” She knew she stuttered; she hoped Negan would not notice. Y/N trailed upstairs to Emma's room, who was already gossiping about the boys in class.

“Thank Gosh, you’re here; I have so much to tell you!!” Emma trailed off about Josh and Garrett she hooked up with last week, how one dick was more significant than the other. Emma also compared each orgasm she got from them to how many Josh gave her. She almost had a heart attack at the number four times in a row. Y/N choked on the wine drink she had once, Emma told her, sitting on her bed watching Sex and the City together. Y/N knew a guy never gave her that number; barely any man gave her any orgasm at all.

Y/N finished her wine glass and let out a laugh, sitting back with her friend. “I swear Josh, can fuck so much better.” Emma breathed out, the women already on their fourth wine glass.

They talked for a few hours, watching their show and eating pizza. It had been a quiet evening; Y/N knew she was feeling the wine already. Emma soon was dead asleep beside her in the bed, with a wine glass still full on the table beside them. Y/N noticed her empty glass, taking her sleeping friend's drink, making it her own, and heading to the bathroom to change into her PJs. She scrolled through her phone, through her OnlyFans messages and gifts.

Putting on a slick pair of boxer shorts and an 80s rock band t-shirt to match the shorts, Y/N still had her wine glass in her hand, heading downstairs to clean up their dishes. Emma was usually always the first to sleep; wine was like cough syrup to her and made her sleep like a baby. Y/N knew wine may been a wrong choice, but maybe she could have some alone time with Negan.

She knew she shouldn’t want that. Y/N knew she secretly wanted him to find her profile, but why would Negan have an OnlyFans anyway?

Y/N trailed down the stairs, seeing Negan still awake, watching TV in the living room. His legs spread open, and a beer rested on his thigh. God, she knew she could hop on his lap right now and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. She was a horrible person thinking this way, especially about her best friend's dad. She tried not to stare long at Negan heading to the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Sweetheart, let me help you.” Y/N jumped at the sound of Negan’s voice. She gasped, standing up from bending down. She tried to stand straight with a warm smile. The older male was quick by her side, inches from her, where his skin could brush against hers—taking the dishes from her, helping her load them up. Negan glanced over her half-full glass of wine; she still seemed to be drinking.

“Emma’s already out, huh?” Negan snickered, shaking his head, “She always gets put to sleep drinking; guess got lucky with that.” Y/N laughed with Negan, sipping her glass and handing him the last dish to put into the washer. “Yeah, she’s been out for a bit,” Y/N answered. She felt like the room was spinning, not from the wine but from Negan. He was making her weak to her knees, just standing in front of her.

It should be a crime to look so good as he did, though. Negan had his comfy clothes ready for bed, plaid pj pants with his tee shirt, and toned arms up for plain view. Y/N was in love with his tattoos, too, how she wanted to run her hands up all over them. She knew she’d been eyeing him for a bit. She probably looked like she was eating him alive.

Y/N cleared her throat, shifting her eyes quickly away from gazing over him. Negan's lips pierced, and trying to hide his smirk, he noticed her wandering eyes. Y/N wine glass was quick in her hand, moving away from Negan’s presence. “I-Thank you, Negan,” Y/N stuttered. She knew she was flushed. She would blame it on the wine, though, “I’ll head back upstairs .” It felt so awkward; the tension felt so high.

Y/N tried to get herself to move upstairs, but she was glued to the floor. Her eyes did not move from Negan’s, whose lips curled up into a smirk. He leaned against the kitchen counter behind him, crossing his arms; Y/N felt like she was starting to sweat. Once she finally got her feet to move, Negan’s words again stopped her.

“So, uh, have you found anything else since the coffee shop?” Negan questioned, trying to see what she would say or even come up with. Y/N’s face widened at his question. She knew she had to come up with a lie. How the hell would she tell this man she had an OnlyFans account? “Uh yeah, I have been doing little things here and there, online stuff, nothing too big.” Y/N laughed nervously, giving him a quick smile, shifting in place. Her stomach was twisted with nerves; the urge to jump on Negan right now was getting more complicated.

Especially the way he was looking at her, the way his tongue went over his lips slowly. God, his mouth looked terrific. God, Y/N knew she was down for it. And the wine was certainly not helping the situation either. “Online stuff, huh?” Negan didn’t seem like he was asking or even talking directly to her. He seemed to be saying it to himself, laughing out loud momentarily. Y/N was confused for a moment; her eyes soon widened.

Negan knew… he must have knew.

Y/N's breathing increased, watching Negan walk over to her. Y/N tried not to show any emotions, but she knew her face was widened. She knew her hands had to be shaking. Her body was shifting back and forth. Her nerves were making her even feel nauseous, with the butterflies growing in her stomach.

“I know you have an OnlyFans, Y/N.” His words could have made her faint; she knew her face was white as a ghost. She couldn’t form words; her throat tightened. “I know I’m a huge dick, too, for still wanting to look once I figured out it was you.” Y/N cleared her throat. Her eyes scanned his eyes for a moment. “You paid for the membership to see?” Y/N quietly wondered, her nails digging into her skin.

“Had to see that one where you show your pretty face for the first time today.” Negan watched her blush quickly for the compliment, her eyes shifting down. He was now inches from her, standing in the kitchen entrance. His fingers wrapped around her chin, having her look up at him. “You? Negan Smith? You should post, too.” Y/N told him, which made him laugh, still having her chin in his grip.

Negan’s lips grew closer to hers; her breath slowly rose, her eyes falling to his lips, falling into his touch once his lips met hers for only a moment. Their lips moved in sync before he gently pulled away, taking in the moment.

“Follow me if ya’ want to, sweetheart.” Negan purred, patting her cheek gently and giving a smug smile, walking past her upstairs. Y/N was like a lost puppy following behind him, trailing up the stairs. Emma’s door was closed; she knew wine would knock her out all night.

Nothing would wake her up.

Nerves still kicked in, though, and butterflies formed in her stomach. Was she about to enter Negan’s bedroom with Emma across the hall?

Hell yeah she was.

Y/N watched Negan hold open his door for her, letting her walk in first, quietly shutting the door behind them. “Let me show you something, doll.” Negan went to his closet, digging into a box on the shelves.

His room was very plain but relatively clean. His bed was made with just blue sheets and two pillows. There was hardly any decor out, just a few family pictures. Negan turned around and pulled out an old camcorder, handing it to her to examine. “What’s this for?” Y/N asked, her lips curled up into a smirk, getting the camera to turn on. “You like to record yourself, correct sweetheart?” Negan raised a question, taking back the camera from her and making sure a new tape was in. The younger woman’s face furrowed with confusion, but nodding to answer his question.

Negan's request took Y/N off guard. She felt her face flush with heat, and her mind went blank. She wanted to say something, anything to break the tension in the air, but Negan's piercing gaze held her still. "Would you let me record you, Y/N?" he asked, his voice low and serious. Y/N knew she trusted Negan. He had always been fair and respectful towards her. She looked up at him, and his eyes held a hint of darkness she hadn't seen before. Despite that, she still felt safe with him.

“Do you trust me, doll?”

“Yes, I do.” Y/N did not hesitate with her answer. She saw the light on the recorder blink red. She knew she was being recorded now; Y/N always felt confident through the camera now that Negan was watching her.

As she stayed in her place, she noticed his gaze fixed on her. It was unlike any other time, for he seemed to observe her features. She scanned down her body to her bare legs, keeping the camera on her. “Don't go camera shy on me now, sweetheart.” Negan teased, his eyes eating her up, “Strip for me.” She gulped; she felt so nervous. Negan noticed her actions. He wanted her to be confident. She deserved to be; there was nothing wrong with this woman before him.

Her curves was perfect.

Her tits was perfect.

Her ass was perfect.

Everything about her was perfect.

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” Negan turned the camera off, his face softened, “How confident you are in those videos you make is how you needs to be now. There's nothing wrong with you, Y/N.” Her face reddened with a playful eyeroll. Negan started to record again, drawing out a long breath. “You're just making me nervous; I've never done anything like this before.” Y/N’s voice seemed shaky, letting out a laugh, keeping a smile on her face. Her hands rested on the top of her tee, her eyes meeting Negan.

"Let me see those perfect perky tits, baby." Negan's words sent chills down her spine. Y/N bit her lip, slowly pulling the top over her head. She let the shirt hit the floor beside her; Negan loved the sight before him. He was finally getting to see her body in a natural person. Negan knew they had to be quiet; the guilt he once had was slowly turning more into lust. "You want the shorts gone too?" Y/N asked, her head tilted in curiosity. She was sure she knew the answer to what Negan wanted; all he did was nod and gesture for her to remove them.

Y/N stepped slowly out of her boxer shorts, revealing no underwear underneath them. Negan groaned, and the grip he had around the camera tightened. He used his free hand to rub the scruff growing on his face; she looked amazing. Y/N still felt a little uncomfortable now being full-ass naked in front of Negan, who was recording her, and he was fully clothed, though. Negan laid the camera on the dresser, still facing them, his feet dragging the ground, growing closer to her. Negan was now in the camera view, cupping her cheeks and bringing her into a deepened kiss.

"Can I record us, doll? Are you still comfortable?" Negan wanted to be reassured. She knew she had a few drinks tonight as well. He always found Y/N attractive, wanted her, and craved her. From the tension building up over the couple of years of knowing each other, it seemed she wanted him. "I do, Negan-just-." She stuttered for a moment; her cheeks were stained red. His forehead rested against hers, his eyes closed soon, waiting for her to answer. "Tell me, baby, what do you want?" He asked, groaning and pushing up against her. Y/N had him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a kiss, and both stumbling over to the bed behind them. His hands were all over her.

"A dirty lil' slut ain't ya, doll." Negan chuckled; it was deep and dark, maybe almost sinister. Y/N smirked into his kiss, pulling his tee off. Her hands started down his pants and up his chest, not missing any part of him. She wanted to feel everything, run her hands all over him and through his curls. She whimpered, feeling his hands trail up her bare thigh, her legs staying wide open, wanting to feel his touch. "I'll be anything you want me to be, Negan." Y/N entirely gave in to him; Negan loved her submissiveness.

"Really?" Negan drawled out, his hands cupping her throat. His free hand cupped her pussy, that almost made her choke up. "You'll be daddy's little slut?" Y/N cried out; Negan calling himself made her even wetter than she was. She barely could talk; she felt so helpless, but she always stayed confident in her videos. This man was making her a hot puddle of a mess.

"Yes, Daddy, please just touch me." She begged; Negan shushed her, his fingers resting on her lip that was just cupping her pussy. "Be quiet, doll." Negan commanded gently, his finger drug down her lips, "Do you feel how wet you are on your lips?" Y/N scoffed slightly; he was not wrong, however, feeling his wet fingers cup her face again to bring her into a rough kiss.

Negan's fingers teased her bare clit; she had her hands going down to his pants to pull them down along with his underwear. His cock was hard; Y/N looked down, even seeing the tip slightly red, already leaking pre-cum. His lips kept attached to her soft lips; he could taste her wine mixed with her lip gloss. “I want to taste you," He moaned softly against her lips, "I'm craving the taste of you so much right now, baby." His thumb rubbed against her lip softly, pulling it down, keeping his eyes deep into her eyes. Y/N couldn't help but moan out just at the words of what he wanted to do with her.

"Please..." She started to beg the man, "Please, Daddy, I want you too." Negan loved when she would beg even more when she called him daddy. His touch from his hands made her squirm. Negan kneeled in front of her, her legs wrapped around his neck. She wanted to push him closer to her with her legs, but his hands around her thighs kept her from moving. He slowly placed light kisses from her left knee up to her clit.

Her head rested on the pillow behind her; her eyes moved to the camera still blocking red across the room. Her eyes rolled back into her head, almost seeing stars. Y/N's hands ran through his hair as his tongue slightly licked her folds. Her moans were choking out, covering her mouth. “We don't wanna get caught, doll.” Negan chuckled, licking straight up, making her gasp, “Be quiet, or I'll stop,”

She felt his nails digging into her thighs, but she did not care. Y/N knew he was trying to keep her still, but she could not help but squirm underneath his tongue.

“Please, don't.”

"You taste so good, Y/N." He complimented her, feasting on her more. He was more aggressive this time, keeping the tip of his tongue flicking on her clit. She dug at his hair, "Please don't stop." Y/N moaned quietly in pleasure. Y/N covered her mouth, moaning against her hand. She knew she was already close to Negan's tongue.

“Oh, sweetheart, you're a mess.” He shook his head, playing with her clit, placing more kisses on her thighs, “I’m enjoying this just as much as you.” Y/N groaned out, feeling his lips suck on her clit, his tongue still against her clit. She could feel that pit in her stomach grows; every time he made her cum, it just got better and better.

“I’m so close, Daddy, please- Daddy.” She could barely get words out, and her fingers loosened in his hairlocks. That pit in her stomach burst. Y/N shook beneath Negan’s mouth, feeling herself cum. He licked her all up, making sure he tasted every bit of her; Negan knew he could do this all night to her. He rose to place his lips on hers; she could taste herself against him.

“Why did you wanna record, huh?” Y/N giggled, her arms around his neck. Negan chuckled, running his hands through his hair, sweat forming on his head. “You gonna post this on some porn site?” Negan almost could have cried in laughter, shaking his head at her comment and giving her neck small kisses.

“This is for me, doll. And only me.” Negan seemed firm, maybe even a little tent of jealousy in his voice. “You're mine.” Y/N's lips pierced; she tried to fight back a smile. She loved hearing. His sweet lips moved against hers. “Let me help you out,” She cupped his hardened member, and Negan groaned when she slightly squeezed it. “Next time, sweetheart, I want you now.” He growled as she pulled his boxers down. Negan placed kisses on her breasts.

His uncovered member teased the tip of her clit right above where she wanted him most, his hand wrapped around he’d throat, going into her.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

She moaned, feeling her walls stretch, her nails digging into his back. Negan thrust into her, keeping his pace slower; she kept her moans soft in his ear. She could hear by his breathing he was enjoying her, enjoying this. He lifted her legs more as his dick reached more inside of her, both moaning out.

“I wanna be able to record your loud moans, doll,” Negan admitted, her nails dug deep into his back, his free hand covering her mouth from the moans. “I know some of your little cute whimpers have been picked up, though you can't keep quiet.” Y/N shook her head; his thrust picked up. She knew her nails would leave marks.

“Are you gonna come around, daddy cock?” Negan asked her, his hand slowly moving from her mouth. She bit her lip, keeping her whimpers soft. “Yes, Daddy,” Y/N muttered; her eyes rolled closed, and her forehead laid against his.

“Aw, is it too much for you to handle baby girl? Can’t take daddy’s dick?” He teased Y/N as he thrust deeper into her. “You goin’ cock dumb on me?”

Y/N shallowly moaned and whimpered out.“Fuck-No, I can handle it, daddy. Fuck- you-uh-make me feel so fucking good!” Y/N knew she was getting close. No one had ever made her feel this way. She barely could speak; she bet she did sound dumb. Negan could feel her clenching around his cock, knowing she was close.

“Go on, baby, cum all over daddy’s dick,” Negan commanded, feeling her let her body go; Y/N had her second orgasm washing over her body, seeing more stars behind her eyes. She felt her body go limp, shaking as she rode out her high.

Negan groaned as he came to a climax as well; she felt the hot cum coating her walls. Both were out of breath, their sweaty bodies stuck together shortly. “You okay, doll?” Negan fingers ran through her hair, slowly pulling out of her. He fell to the empty spot beside her, and Y/N breathed out a laugh.

“Im ‘kay, I just uh- probably need to return to Emma's room.” Y/N hoped they were not too loud, too into the moment. Negan had himself covered up with the bed sheets, still naked underneath. He laid back, his hands resting on his head, giving her a lazy smirk.

“Wish you could stay here, doll, but I know you're right.”

Y/N only stayed for more minutes in Negan's room to clean herself up; she knew she could blame her flushed face on the wine if Emma were somehow awake. They had not heard anything, but that could be good or bad. Negan and her agreed to keep this all a secret; even Negan wanted to do it repeatedly.

Y/N's hands were shaky opening Emma's door back up, seeing her still asleep in bed. Her mouth was slightly open as the TV was still quiet playing in the room. She breathed out a little sigh of relief, taking her steps quietly to lay back down her friend like she just did not fuck her dad in the room over.

With a camcorder on... fuck was she was a bad friend?

Y/N had a guilty conscience, but the fact she was she liked Negan.

Man, she was fucked.

The following day, Y/N's head was quite heavy. Her eyes adjusted to the lit room, and she groaned out, rising out of the bed and looking beside her, seeing Emma was not there anymore. She reached for her phone, going through several social media apps to wake her up. She heard noises from Emma's bathroom, and soon the shower turned on, clearing the mystery of where her friend was.

Y/N's mind, though, trailed off back to last night's events with Negan; she still felt like she could feel cum dripping out into her boxer shorts. She groaned out softly, hating how the craving came back for him checking her emails.

An OnlyFans notification popped up on her phone that caught her attention. The name almost made her heart stop.

daddysmith44😘😉🍆 has sent you a private message.👀👀

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

Note

nsfw dom valeria 🙏🙏🙏, anything that comes to mind honestly, u can use y/n if u want, this is terrible i’m sorry i’ve never done this before n i’m high so i’m struggling 🗣️🗣️

Summary: Valeria uses you as a way to relieve her frustrations.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), established relationship, p^rn with little plot, oral sex, fingering, AFAB!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: this is my first time writing for Valeria (＃＞＜) also I don't speak Spanish, so I apologize for grammatical errors

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ VALERIA MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Following Orders

It was the perfect evening; rose-scented candles illuminating only your faces, silky curtains covering every inch of the high walls, and the quiet chatter of Las Almas high society as they dined. This environment was something out of your element, like you were watching yourself from above, all while you stuck out so easily. Despite wearing the fanciest, most premium clothing she’d bought you, you were like a deer in the headlights.

She’d sent a bottle over, as a distraction while she handled her business. The “nicest bottle they have” according to her. It was a nice bottle, if only you’d gotten to savor it in silence.

“Estarás muerto por la mañana si no sigues las órdenes.” Valeria coos into the phone as if she wasn’t threatening the life on the other line. Her legs are crossed, while her unoccupied hand is tapping on the table.

Another gargle from the other line and she’s hung up, finishing off her glass of wine in one gulp. She’s looking at you through hooded lids, still seething with anger—glaring as if you were the henchmen disobeying her moments ago.

“It’s not easy being king, hm?” She sneers, noticing the awkward shifting in your seat, and the tight grip you have on the neck of your wine glass.

The phone thrown atop the tablecloth chimes again, forcing her to check it. Her jaw tightens at whatever bad news has popped up, and next, she’s wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin, and to her feet.

“We’re going home. Now.” Her snarl reaches deep, causing you to set aside the plate you barely picked at.

She doesn’t bother to pay the tab, nor leave a tip for the server. She’s gripping the flesh of your forearm and practically dragging you across the pavement. The valet has come to a stop under the carport as soon as the both of you exited as if waiting for her hand and foot on her.

She opens the side door closest and slams it as soon as you’re inside. She climbs into the other, and gives the driver two taps—then he’s kicked the engine, dodging traffic, and approaching her main compound in record time.

—

The large oak doors have come to a slam, and the control panel is in her hands. Her electric blinds are slowly whirring downward until all of the windows in the foyer have been covered. In replacement of the porch light no longer coming through, she’s slowly turning on the pendant chandelier above the dining space.

You’re standing in the middle of the foyer, still clenching your wallet tightly. She’s been silent since she told the guards to split, and now she’s standing across from you, casing you with her hard-eyed gaze. She’s had her fair share of explosive mood swings and heated phone calls, but it's never been this intense.

Her pink fingernails grip onto the strap of your wallet, and it’s ripped from your grip with force. Next, it’s holding onto your chin, while the other is gripping onto the loose fabric of your night clothes, shoving you backward toward the dining table.

Each time you’re going to topple, or your ankle twists from the imbalance, her hands grip tighter, until eventually, the curve of your spine hits the thick, rough edge of the dining table.

That cocktail attire, the piece that clung to your frame so tightly, the one you were beginning to admire the way you looked in, was now fraying under her the dig of her nails. Now that she was towering over you, with your back laying on the dining table, the rip of the fabric comes quickly.

From midsection to thigh, there’s a large rip in it, revealing your bare body underneath. Your bra and panties provided little to no cover, and it didn’t last long.

Her tongue traced a circle around your belly button, until eventually, it was at the waistband of those panties. Valeria yanks them down, nibbling on your thighs until her mouth finds your core.

“Hijo de putas… can’t follow orders…” Her curses are muffled by the warmth of the flesh she’s licking on.

Any form of protest, or grunt from her roughness, and her stare hardens, only compelling more snarls to come from her plump lips. She will take her frustrations out one way or another—tonight you’re the target in her crosshairs.

“What if someone comes in?” Your voice comes out a murmur, as you’ve propped yourself up on your elbows, as if checking the mansion for any unwanted visitors.

“Then they’d be disobeying me.” Her voice is more hoarse now, but still soft around the edges. “That would be a mistake wouldn’t it?” Her question echoes through the large dining room, but she’s not talking about the guards; she’s talking about you. You disobeying her and facing the consequences.

When her men disobey, they end up with a bruised ego and a black eye, or worse. But you, you’ll forget your name by the time she’s done, without even finishing once.

You shake your head quickly, figuring you’ll take your chances with some aggressiveness over being teased for hours.

“Good.” Her response is simple, and she’s amused. She delves her tongue into your folds again, this time with a quicker pace. When you’ve writhed too much, or clenched your legs together around her head, one of her hands clamps down on a thigh, pinning it to the table.

Each whine, each reaction to her skillful mouth, is a climb to her ego. The unoccupied hand finds its way to your entrance. You’re slick enough—a mixture of her saliva and how her voice already had you dripping back at the restaurant.

The first finger glides in with ease, but you’ve tightened around her with each thrust of it. There’s nothing she enjoys more than how your back arches, how you can barely speak when her head is between your thighs.

Next, it’s her ring finger, successfully stretching you out. Her ability to multitask carries way beyond her work. She’s still swirling around your clit with the tip of her tongue, all while her two fingers have curled into a ‘come here’ motion deep inside you.

She’s satisfied you’ll stay where she wants you now. The dig of her fingertips releases, and now her thumb is in between your lips, giving you something to occupy your mouth with—something to drool and moan around.

Her tongue has pulled away, but her digits haven’t. Now she’s above you, using her knee to hold your legs open against the table. The centerpiece has tipped over in the process, but she’s paying it no mind.

Now that she’s at your eye level, she can watch as your lips wrap around her thumb, how your eyes are clenched shut one second and rolling back in the next. Every movement she’s making with her fingers causes a ripple of pleasure through you, only encouraging her to quicken her movements.

“Such a mess, hm?” Valeria chuckles, an amused grin spreading on her reddened lips. Now, the only sounds are your damped whimpers and the wetness coating her two fingers, sliding in and out continually until you’re trembling.

The torture drags on. Every time you feel the pleasure become too much like you’re going to finish, she slows down slightly, so it’s just enough to be stuck in purgatory.

Her thumb, now dripping with your own spit, slides out of your mouth with a moist pop. She wipes the saliva away on your cheek as if you were the bandana around her neck, but instead, it's your cheek she’s using to wipe the mess away.

Valeria’s no longer curling her fingers, only thrusting them in and out agonizingly. “Are you going to finish loud for me? Make a show of it?” Her brow is cocked, and she’s not going to proceed until you respond.

As soon as you’ve murmured a ‘yes’, she’s back on her game—harsher than before. Her fingers find your chin again, gripping it tightly to keep you still as her fingers begin to drill in and out, curling against your pulsing walls.

You can’t hold it much longer now, you never can when her trained fingers are this deep inside you. Despite how well you’ve been able to conceal your sounds before, now they’re bouncing off the walls, muttering small praises for how well she’s taking care of you.

She could take her hands away any second, and leave you a wet mess on the dining table, but she’s relishing the sight of you under her control too much—especially with her sour mood to fuel it.

Finally, the thrusts of her fingers have sent a spark from your core all the way up your spine, allowing your release from all the build-up. Her digging grip on your chin remains as you ride it out, and her fingers stay idle as the trembling subsides. She’s amused, very amused by this.

The pants had soon turned into deep breaths, ones where you were recovering from the high. Finally, she removes her fingers, this time wiping the aftermath off on her bandana instead of your cheek.

Now it’s playing with the frayed fabric of your gown. She was so blinded by anger before, she’d forgotten she nearly tore the whole piece off of you. To her, it was a small deduction from her riches—nearly nothing for her to replace.

Valeria leans down again, slowly pulling up the panties that were rolled to your mid-thigh; the one piece of clothing she hadn’t managed to ruin in her previous haste. Then, she returns above you again for one last tease.

She purrs into your ear, giving your exposed flesh one more glance before the pin of her knee is withdrawn. “You should see what’s going to happen to the other guy, amor.”

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #valeria mw2 #valeria garza #el sin nombre #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #call of duty #los vaqueros

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thelittlediaperidol · 8 months

Text

Found this while thrifting! Game Boy Color case for 8 USD! I removed the strap and it fits conveniently on my belt and it’s perfect for carrying my phone and a few bits of candy 🍭 :3

I might actually use it for my game boy color one day but it makes my cell phone harder to steal than my back pocket!😇

Credit to Shibuimods for this photo ⬆️

#littlediaperidol #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl girl #ab/d #ab/dl #ab/dl babygirl #ab/dl blog #ab/dl caption #ab/dl fiction #ab/dl kink #diaper pokemon #pokemondiaper #diaper anime #diaper pikachu #ab/dl couple #ab/dl relationship #diapered adventures

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lexa-griffins · 4 months

Note

How would camgirls clexa use that breeding bench in their show 👀

Clarke likes to make a show of it and uses it for as much as she can.

Of course, all of this was tested and done before the show in private, they always do it, making sure Lexa can handle being tied down for that long and that she can take whatever Clarke throws at her.

They start the show with Clarke strapping Lexa down, there is something to watching Lexa being strapped down and Clarke kissing her hard once she is fully tied down that gets their viewers going.

Clarke uses that bench for just about anything.

She spanks Lexa, who has nowhere to run. Her legs are shaking by the time her ass is a pretty purple and yellow color, feet and hands squirming to get free.

Facefucking her until she has tears in her eyes and her cheeks are red, unable to pull back for air. Lexa staring up at Clarke like she is begging for something, not even sure herself if she's begging her to pull out or to never stop. Clarke will make sure to show the audience her face before Lexa swallows, sticking her tongue out. The kiss Clarke gives her, one that steals a moan from Lexa immediately putting a smile of Lexa's red and tired face.

Forcing Lexa to cum over and over again, be it with a wand on her clit as Clarke eats her ass or fucking Lexa's ass with a plug with her tongue buried inside Lexa's cunt. Lexa isn't gagged so she'll moan and cry and beg for more and for less, unable to retrieve herself from the overwhelming pleasure, her entire body shaking from being forced to have orgasm after orgasm.

And then of course, using it for what was intended. When Lexa's already a mess wetness and hand prints all over, body limp but still held in place by the restrains, Clarke will climb in behind her, giving the camera a premium view of her dick sliding in easily inside Lexa before she sets a quick rhythm as she fucks her, Lexa's entire body shaking at this point and Clarke doesn't last long before she is properly breeding Lexa. It surely is one hell of a shotnthe moment Clarke pulls out and her cums drips out from Lexa's red and swollen pussy, the redness of Clarke's fron agaisnt her ass joining the purple and yellow.

Clarke could have easilybsaid her goodbyes then and turn off the camera, but their audience isnt just there for the rough sex. They're there to see Clarke carely untie Lexa, kissing her while she praises how wonderful she is. They're there for the way Clarke pulls a shaking Lexa with tears in her eyes into her lap and kisses her softly, massaging her legs and arms, kissing her temple and her cheeks as she reads out loud the praise for Lexa in the chat and thanks them for any donations before asking Lexa to tell them goodbye, which she does with a smile and shaky voice, tired but oh so well fucked and well bred ☺️

#letter opened #au: cam girls #wanheda's dagger #✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

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banannabethchase · 1 year

Text

Seth wore a harness to night 1 of Wrestlemania. But it was Mox's idea in the first place.

Look what the hell do you expect me to do after Seth ripped open his big ass dress to reveal a hot pink harness? Be NORMAL about it? Be NEUROTYPICAL? I don't THINK so.

Mox literally bites his tongue when he watches Seth walk out. The spark of pink underneath the red…

And then he laughs. Because of course Seth did.

when I suggested a harness I didn’t mean on a pay per view

He hits send and watches, reminding himself to berate Seth for taking the damned harness off before even reaching the ring later. He half wants to be there, wishes he’d gotten a ticket to show up behind the scenes and remind Seth about who he really belongs to, but maybe it’s the right call he’s in a hotel room instead. He nearly breaks the remote at the shit Paul pulls, and finally lets himself relax when Seth gets the pin. He waits not so patiently for the text back.

It's a Premium Live Event

fuck off He grins as he replies to the text. get your ass to the hotel asap

Will do, Mister.

dont call me mister

Will do, sir.

“Oh, for the love of god.” Mox throws the phone down on the bed and makes himself comfortable. It’ll be nearly an hour before Seth gets back.

And it is. He watches the matches and particularly enjoys seeing Rey beat the snot out of that little shit Dominick, and hears a knock at the door around 9:30.

“You got a key,” he calls.

“Can’t find it,” comes a muffled voice.

“I gotta do everything around here,” Mox says, and he hauls his ass off the bed to get the door.

Seth is standing there, hair in a damp bun, with a slightly sleep smile on his lips. “Hi.”

“Hey, baby.” He takes Seth’s hand and pulls him into the room. “Good match. Better gear.”

“You liked it?” Seth asks, and there’s that light behind his eyes. Mox grins.

“Course I liked it.” Mox yanks him into the room. “How you feeling after that match?”

“Good,” Seth says, and he’s moving just a little bit stiffly. A little like…”That Paul asshole got me good a couple times, but I took him out in the end.”

“You did,” Mox says, distracted. “Seth…”

Big doe eyes look up at him, so knowing. “Mox…”

“Are you wearing the harness right now?”

A little smirk spreads across Seth’s lips. “You noticed.”

“I did,” Mox says. “Show me.”

“Hmm?”

“Take off your shirt,” Mox says, adding some force behind it, “and show me the harness.”

Seth nods. “Alright. Impatient.”

Mox watches as Seth slowly unzips the hoodie, and he’s pretty sure he starts salivating as hints of neon pink pop out. “Wait,” he says, reaching out. He stills Seth’s hands. “Let me.”

Seth nods, eyes big and trusting, and Mox is hit once again with the realization that he’s the luckiest man alive to be able to see this and touch it. He finishes unzipping the hoodie slowly, eyes lingering on the straps, and pushes the hoodie off of Seth’s shoulders so slowly it almost hurts.

“You look incredible,” Mox murmurs, fingertips tracing the harness. “Jesus, Seth, this even better in person…” He looks up. “God, you look good.”

Seth’s grin goes a little knowing, a little cocky. “I know,” he says. “Wore it for you, anyway.”

“I’m honored.” And Mox can’t decide if he’s teasing or serious. “I love it.” He grabs ahold of the two inner straps and hauls Seth by them. Seth goes willingly. “They hold up, too.”

“Of course they do,” Seth says, looking almost offended. “What, I’m going to buy a harness that won’t hold up to your manhandling? You think too little of me.”

“Don’t – don’t be annoying, you little shit,” Mox says. He tries another yank at the straps, and Seth collides with him chest to chest.

“You like it when I’m annoying,” Seth says, nipping at Mox’s jaw.

“Sometimes.” Mox trails his hand up the straps to the piece that encircles Seth’s neck. He slides his fingers underneath it, and steps away. “Sometimes, I think it’d be nice if you’d shut up and let me compliment you for once.”

“That would take all the fun away from it.” Seth stays right where he is. He’s waiting. Mox can tell in his eyes – he’s waiting for Mox to do it.

“Alright, well, if you’re not gonna ask.” Mox hauls him in by the neck strap and Seth stumbles into him. Mox slides his hand to Seth’s neck, to his jaw, turns his face so he can kiss the attitude right off of his lips. Seth hums into it, stepping into Mox’s space, arms circling Mox’s waist. Mox is thorough, deliberate, intentional, until Seth is a little heavy in his arms. “Your knees getting weak, sweetheart?”

“A little,” Seth murmurs. He sits back on the bed, catching Mox’s hand. “Um. I also have something else to show you.”

Mox and his dick are extremely interested. “Yeah?”

Seth nods and goes for the waistband of his sweatpants. He lifts his hips and Mox gets a glimpse of more hot pink, more straps, and –

“Holy shit,” he breathes. He looks at Seth, who has an incredibly annoying knowing smirk on his lips. “Were you wearing this through the match?”

Seth nods. It’s like he wants to be shy, wants to look a little hesitant, but can’t make it happen. “Thought of you. Like it?”

Mox reaches down to trace the pink straps of the panties. The fabric’s a little different than the harness, but the way they frame Seth’s cock, the way the pink stands out against Seth’s skin. It’s almost too much to look at, almost overwhelming. “I love it,” Mox murmurs. He looks up to see Seth’s eyes big and questioning. “Fuck, baby, you’re – you went all out, didn’t you?”

“Everybody would see the harness,” Seth says. “Only you get to see this.”

Mox can’t resist anymore – he dives onto the bed, laying himself across Seth’s body as he kisses him flat into the mattress. Seth’s half whimpering, fingertips clawing at Mox’s back.

“Keep it all on,” Mox all but growls into Seth’s ear.

“Will do, Mister,” Seth says, grinning.

“Would you stop that?” Mox laughs, leaning down and biting at Seth’s neck. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“You want me to call you sir again?” Seth asks. “Mr. Moxley?”

“I’d like it,” Mox says, grabbing ahold of the harness and lifting Seth up to him, “if you’d shut up.”

Seth laughs, eyes flicking to Mox’s lips. “Why don’t you –”

“Already ahead of you.”

Mox leans down and kisses Seth again, shedding his jacket, and he only breaks the kiss to pull his tee shirt over his head.

“Whoa, wait,” Seth says, grabbing the shirt from his hand. “Aw, baby. You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Shut up,” Mox says, smudging kisses against Seth’s collarbone. He moves the harness to the side to get at a nipple.

“I wear your harness, you wear my shirt,” Seth says, already a little breathless, “you do love me.”

Mox sits up, lets his gaze burn into Seth’s. “Yes. I always have. You know that.”

Seth’s mask cracks, just the tiniest bit. “Maybe I like a reminder.”

Mox smooths his hands over Seth’s body, fingertips sliding under the straps of the harness, of the panties, pink and smooth. “Seth,” he says, sure to keep his voice sweet, “I love you.”

“Why?” His smile is open, sweet. Real. “Tell me why.”

“Well, for one,” Mox says, sliding down his body, “you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to Seth’s inner thigh, sliding up to catch one of the straps in his teeth to snap it against Seth’s hip. “Two, you do things like this for me.” He runs his hand up the back of Seth’s thigh, grinning at the way Seth lifts his leg so Mox can get a handful of his ass. “And three, I just do. After all this time, why wouldn’t I?”

“Just like to hear it,” Seth says. “You gonna fuck me already?”

Mox laughs, biting at the soft skin of Seth’s thigh. “You gonna ask nice?”

“Please, Jonathan, will you fuck me ever so gently, you stud of a man?”

Mox rolls his eyes. “You know, I was gonna put my mouth on your cock, and now I think I just need to fuck the stupid out of you.”

Seth puts his hands behind his head, getting comfortable. “Works for me.”

“Keep the panties and the harness on,” Mox says again. Just in case Seth forgot.

Seth pleads, begs for more fingers, half sings Mox’s name as he fucks down on Mox’s hand, desperate.

“Jesus, you’re so needy tonight,” Mox says, adding a bit of a twist to his fingers.

“God fucking – missed this. So much.” His mouth drops open, eyes flutter shut. Mox wishes he could frame this moment. “Been too – too long.”

“Has,” Mox says, and he can hardly focus, can hardly keep it together, so consumed with the idea of burying himself in Seth’s tight heat. “So fucking – get over here.”

He slides his fingers out so fast Seth cries out, but he doesn’t give Seth too much time in misery. Mox throws his clothes god knows where in the room, and folds Seth practically in half.

“You ready?”

“Yes, of course, come on,” Seth says. It’s not begging, really, just being a demanding little shit, and it’s so good and so Seth that Mox doesn’t even have words. He just slides home, burying himself to the hilt. “Oh, god, yes.”

Mox presses a kiss to Seth’s ankle. “Glad you got the straps, baby. Gives me something to hold on to.”

Unfortunately, the panties don’t hold up to Mox’s desperate grasping, a tearing sound ringing out within seconds of him getting a grip of it.

“Aw,” Seth says, pouting. “Those were exp – ”

Mox doesn’t let him finish, fucking into him hard like he knows Seth likes, and Seth’s eyes half roll back in his head.

“No need to whiny, baby, I’ll get you some new ones.” Now that they’re torn, though, Mox leans into an urge he’s never had before and tears them all the way off, throwing the scraps to the floor.

“Jesus, go more caveman,” Seth laughs. He hums, bracing his hands on the headboard to give him more purchase. “I like it.”

Mox grips Seth’s thighs, drives into him until Seth can’t speak anymore, until it’s this keening sound, the one that says he’s begging to be touched, to come.

“Ask me, baby,” Mox says, not slowing the pace. It’s taking a toll on him, though. He’s about to let loose, about to come harder than he has in ages. He wraps a hand around the harness and yanks Seth up a little. “Ask.”

“Fuck, let me come,” Seth pleads, “touch me, please, I gotta – Dean, please.”

Mox laughs and drops Seth back down on the bed, trading the harness for Seth’s cock. He doesn’t know which Seth wears prettier.

It’s blindingly fast how fast Seth comes, shooting ropes across his chest, a little reaching his chin. It’s a cry of every name Mox has ever called himself, but they all sound like home from Seth’s voice.

“Yeah,” Mox says, his mind spinning behind his eyes as he races toward the finish line, “that’s – god, yes.” He’s coming next, Seth’s name lingering on his lips alongside love. When he can see again, he gently eases Seth’s legs back down to the bed as he pulls out and comes back to earth. “Fuck.”

“No kidding,” Seth says, moving his hands from the headboard. He shakes out his wrists. “I gotta stretch if we do that ankles up by my ears thing again. Not as young as I used to be.”

“Still just as pretty, though,” Mox says. He reaches out and unbuckles the harness for Seth. “Here. Turn over.”

Seth is as compliant as he gets, rolling over as Mox helps him out of the straps. He doesn’t open his eyes once.

“We should try to convince the companies to run shows in the same town more often,” Seth half mumbles.

“I’m in LA for Bloodsport, not AEW,” Mox says, snuggling up behind Seth and pressing his lips at the base of Seth’s neck. “Pretty sure Tony’d kill me if I suggested that.”

“Tell him I asked nice,” Seth says. He shuffles farther back into Mox so his hair gets all in Mox’s face. “He likes me.”

“He tolerates you,” Mox laughs, wrapping an arm around Seth’s waist. “Because of me.”

Seth sighs into the touch, and finally moves his head so Mox isn’t suffocating. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all about you.”

“Unless it’s about you, Mr. Glam,” Mox says. “How about next Wrestlemania you go out in a neon green thong?”

He means it as a joke.

Seth sits straight up in bed. “I gotta go call my stylist.”

#MoxSeth #HELLO IT'S DONE GET IT OUT OF MY FACE #wtf i like wrestling now???#in which Sara writes #madly in love with leather daddy jon moxley

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sisitrip · 2 years

Text

Zago, the Haven

.GIF by @mickeygifs

This is the third and final installment of the Mickey/Angie friendship exploration. I can’t even begin to express how embarrassed I am at the length of this one - it got away from me, but I did promise some Gallavich. These scenarios have gone on ad infinitum in my head for a really long time - retconned to hell and back.

Links to Part 1 and Part 2 (if for nothing else but to see how I progressively lost control of myself lol)

Warnings: Unbeta'd; delicious smut; length, the sheer length of it all (told y’all to tell me to fall back); brief hint at suicidal ideation (so brief); mention of drug use. 🖤💛 Tagging @jomilky @tsuga-of-mars @sweetbee78 @chicanomick @energievie @creepkinginc @ianandmickeygallavich and everyone else who liked this short series. Thanks everyone for being interested and your encouragement. This was so much fun to write. I have another work to be posted shortly on AO3 which is just Gallavich entitled “Underneath the Nickel” and it’s a one-shot that’s been percolating while I work on my longer form story “Sink Where We Stand.” Maybe we’ll all see each other at these works too! 😌

____________________

Mickey, 19 years old

“I know you got some, Angie,” Mickey mutters, scattering the contents on the top of her dresser with his frantic, searching hands. “Probably hid ‘em from yourself when you were strung out.”

She silently watches as Mickey destroys her room. It’s late and he’d come in like a tornado, hopped up and looking to wreck himself.

She’s scared for him and doesn’t know why.

Agitated, he opens dresser drawers and rifles through them, spilling clothes.

“Mickey.”

He ignores her, eyes tweaked wide and judging by the state of his reddened, powder-encrusted nostrils, he wasn’t just drunk.

“It doesn’t have to be premium shit. Don’t even need to be pharmaceutical grade,” Mickey jitters out, snatching drawers free and dumping their contents on the floor. “I just need a few, just need to-”

“Mickey, there isn’t-” she begins, careful and quiet.

He explodes and somehow it’s a relief.

“Don’t lie to me! Once a fucking pill head, always a fucking pill head!” Mickey bellows, yanking another drawer out and slamming it on the floor.

She flinches, eyes stinging from the hurled invective that she knows he doesn’t mean.

In her peripheral, she catches sight of her father hovering in the dark hallway, crowbar in hand. When he sees that it's Mickey, he lowers it. Apparently, she could be yelled at, but no one else was allowed to beat her.

She walks to the door and shuts it firmly in his face.

Mickey’s going through her small closet now, tossing out shoes, purses with broken straps and her hidden Amazon haul.

“Where the fuck are the pills Angie! I fuckin’ need them.”

She stands quietly among the wreckage of his pain and waits. He throws the last of the Adorime vibrators across the room and turns to her, violence painting his eyes a lifeless blue.

“M’not asking you again. Tell me where they are,” Mickey grinds out, nostrils flared and chest heaving.

When she doesn’t answer, he charges her and she backpedals to the wall with her hands up.

“I don’t fucking have any!” she yells, out of room to go further. She instinctively covers her face and waits for the hitting to start.

The blow never comes.

“Oh Jesus,” Mickey whispers.

Scared, she cries into her hands and when he touches her, she flinches. She’s never had to flinch from him before.

“Angie … Ang, shit, I’m sorry.”

She can’t lower her hands because the minute she does, their friendship is over. The only friendship she has.

She’s ashamed to do it, but can’t help herself. She starts to rock forward and back, already mourning the loss of him.

“No, don’t Angie. Don’t do that,” Mickey pleads guiltily.

She starts to bang her head against the wall, a habit Mickey knew she’d engaged in when she was too young to know that feelings could be let out in other ways.

After her second hit, the wall behind her head softens and warms, and she uncovers her face to see Mickey close, his arm curved as he holds his hand behind her head.

The gesture makes her want to sob with relief. He was still in there, her Mickey. Thank fuck.

“I should break every fucking finger you got back there,” she says hoarsely.

“With your hard head, that’s a real possibility,” he says, quiet remorse tempering his quip. “I’m sorry.”

She glares at him. “Were you going to hit me?”

“No,” he breathes out, eyes wide and apologetic. “I would never fucking hit you, you know that.”

“I know jack shit right now,” she snorts unkindly. “You come here raging, tear my room up and you charge me.” She shoves past him. “All that don’t add up to a soft pat on the cheek.”

She stops in the middle of the room and wipes her face, blowing out a slow breath. Whatever it was, Mickey wasn’t here because he’d gotten into another fight with Svet. This was old Mickey. The self-destructive Mickey she hasn’t seen for a while.

This was the "before Ian" Mickey.

She quietly begins cleaning up, expecting him to leave. Instead, Mickey comes over and helps her. She pettily wants to tell him to get out, but his shaking hands stop her. He wasn’t doing okay and would do worse if she cut him loose to the streets.

They work in silence for the next two hours. Mickey helps her pick up every piece of clothing, every hairpin and every bit of loot for her sex shop business

He grabs a box of spermicidal foam, looking at it confused.

“Sperm foam?” he asks, holding the box up.

“It’s a contraceptive. Mrs. Kopeczic’s husband won’t use condoms and wants her to keep doing the rhythm method. This keeps her from popping out a kid every ten months.”

He hands it to her and kneels to grab a stray sock peeking out from under the bed.

For two hours, she's tried to let him come to her with whatever it was. But, she’s waited long enough.

“I know it isn’t Svet, you could give a shit about her. I know it ain’t Terry. He’s been bragging about the wedding to everybody, my Dad says.” She takes a step toward him.

Mickey stills and balls the sock in a shaking fist.

“So what is it, Mickey?” Another step brings her closer. His profile is one of misery.

Head bowed, he opens and closes his mouth while blinking rapidly. When he does finally speak, his voice is little more than a whisper.

“He left.”

She knows immediately who ‘he’ is.

“Ian.”

She doesn’t need confirmation. Pale and haunted, Mickey looks like an underground dweller who’d been shown the sun only to be cruelly shoved back into a brooding darkness. He was destroyed.

“He found a way to join the Army. H-he’s going to be gone for four years. Four f-fucking years. He’s gone.”

Mickey slowly sags forward, pressing his face into the mattress of her bed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He holds himself around the middle as he cries.

Her heart aches for him. He has never looked so broken.

She pads over and sits next to him on the bed. With the gentlest of care, she pulls him over, resting his head in her lap. He clings to her, face wet and working as he fists the back of her shirt.

She cards her fingers through his hair and it’s only when his face is pressed into her belly does he vocalize his pain. The barking sobs are raw, jagged notes of grief’s music and she knows it all too well.

“I can’t get through this awake to it all, Angie.”

Mickey looks up, face swollen with heartbreak and wild with his desperation to fall into mindlessness. As much as she wants to help him, she can’t let him start down that path. It goes nowhere and it only ends when you’ve lost your soul to it.

“Mickey, you don’t want-”

“Please,” he sobs softly. “Please, I’m a fuckin’ exposed nerve. It hurts. Everything h-hurts.”

She holds his face in her hands, thumbing tears away. Faced with the severity of his agony, she starts to cry and prepares to add to his burden by helping get through this without the oblivion he thinks he needs.

She leans forward and kisses him on the forehead, her own tears dropping onto his face.

“There isn’t a pill that’s been invented that will take this hurt from you. Nothing can do that,” she comforts, as best and as honestly as she can.

“But, I promise you this,” she soothes, “That fucking sun will rise tomorrow and yeah, it will rise on another day filled with pain, but it will fucking rise. Just get to the next day. That’s all. Just get there.”

She slides down onto the floor with him as he fractures under her gentle hands.

“I can’t do this. I feel like my heart has b-been ripped apart.” Mickey’s almost hard to look at now, the anguish is so raw on his face. “I feel like my heart is broken, Angie.”

She strokes his hair back. “I know honey, I believe you.”

Bereft, Mickey bends his head, trying to hide what she already knows.

“It’s … it’s knowing I have to let him go,” Mickey weeps brokenly. “But, I don’t want to. Christ, please, I don’t want to.”

Mickey sags out of her hands and into her arms. She holds him as he sobs into her neck.

They stay that way for a long time, sharing the burden of his hurt in the quiet of her room.

When his tears slow and Mickey’s just weakly breathing into her shoulder, she gets him up and climbs into her bed with him. Quiet and concerned, she holds his hand until the soft bruise of hurt stamped into his face bleeds away as he falls asleep.

His eyelids, a soft purplish blue, jump as Mickey begins to dream and she watches him until her own scratchy and tired eyes begin to droop. As she falls asleep, she promises herself that when Mickey wakes, she'll offer him more than just her comfort.

She wants to offer him hope because without it, he’s not going to survive Ian.

_________________________

The sky is just starting to lighten and Angie’s soft snores are the only sound in the room.

He’s been awake for an hour, trying not to call Ian.

To say what, he doesn’t know. What could he possibly say that would make everything alright? He was married, having a kid and his life was as fucked as he always thought it would be. He’d tried to warn Ian off so many times that he’d lost count. He’d even tried to beat it out of Ian before he got married, nearly breaking himself in two with the pain of watching Ian writhe on the ground, bloody and broken because of him. Again.

That fight, short and brutal, had nearly killed Mickey. And that final kick, the low blow that had ended Mickey’s cornering, had not been entirely about waving Ian off - it had come from a dark place inside him where his shittiest self lived to destroy things. To destroy anything that could make him happy.

The guilt of that kick had propelled him to Ian’s place that same night, regret eating at him as he’d replayed the way Ian’s head had snapped back from his boot, mouth arcing blood into the air. He’d kept seeing those bloody drops fly over and over, each one an indictment that proved he was the scummiest piece of shit walking the Southside.

So, he’d told himself, as he pulled up on the block, that he was there to square shit with Ian. But, what he’d been doing was hoping for one more chance to be near someone he had no business needing.

He had been sitting in front of the Gallagher house for hours, completely sober after long minutes of replaying Ian’s broken and pained groans in his mind. He could still hear the crunch of the gravel as Ian struggled to recover from the ruthless rejection.

Yeah. He wasn’t just scum, he was the amoebic parasite that lived on the back of scum.

When Kev and V stumbled to their house and the lights in the upstairs Gallagher bedrooms went out, he jogged to their front door.

A drunk Fiona answered his knock, blearily eying him with disdain.

“You responsible for the three bags of peas and carrots I lost to black eye duty tonight?” she questioned icily.

He couldn’t look at her. “Is he still here?”

“No thanks to your steel-toe Cats.” She looked at his boots and stepped forward, face hard.

“Came to apologize. After that, he don’t ever have to worry about my boots again,” he said with quiet shame.

Fiona took another step into his space, breathing whiskey-scented fury over him.

“You’ve done us a favor with my uncle Patrick. Since we always pay our debts and because I want Ian happy even when what makes him happy isn’t good for him, I’ll let you in.”

She leaned closer and he looked up into eyes that were dark and cold.

“But, if you really are going to marry her, keep your fucking boots out of my house and out from under my brother’s bed after this. Let him go.”

She stepped aside and for a minute, he considered just walking away, letting his last bloody goodbye to Ian cap off a violent and doomed love.

His weakness for Ian wouldn’t let him. He walked inside and went straight upstairs, feeling the weight of Fiona’s judgment with every step.

The boys room was dark and he spied Ian on his back, one knee akimbo. His face in the streetlamp lit gloom was puffy and he was frowning in his sleep.

Mickey shed his coat, shoes and pants and gently moved Ian’s cocked leg aside and slipped in next to him. Ian woke with a start and surged up to cup his face in shock. Silent, Mickey let Ian push him onto his back. With a soft thumb, Ian traced his bottom lip, but didn't kiss him, waiting. Mickey broke the standoff, and kissed him first, eliciting a soft gasp from Ian.

That first kiss had been all it took to break Ian’s resistance. Ian devoured him, kissing him so deep, they provided each other oxygenated slips of tongue that set them afire.

They parted shakily, speed-removing the rest of their clothes, applying lube and an eon later he was full of Ian’s fingers, being stretched until he was gasping from it.

“Now,” he whispered urgently in Ian’s ear.

Without a pause, and almost like magic, Ian’s fingers slid out and suddenly he was filled to the brim, dazed by the utter lack of space left inside him as Ian fully seated his cock.

Faces close, they shared hot air, and were pressed so tight, daylight wouldn’t shine between them. He rarely let Ian have him this way, belly and emotions vulnerable to Ian’s ‘never miss a thing’ gaze. But, tonight, the sheer overwhelming Ianness swept him into something softer, slower.

Ian rocked him with short grinds, holding him down under the blanket, allowing no distance between their bodies or their mouths. Exposed by pleasure, the darkness gave Mickey no cover. He knew Ian could see him lit up inside. It felt like the light of his love was prickling underneath the surface of his skin and he was helpless to hide it.

He got close fast, drowning in Ian’s near constant kisses and God help him, Mickey loved how desperate Ian was for such a simple act of swirled tongues and wet pressing of lips. Ian’s warm palm gently held the back of his head as he devoured Mickey’s soft gasps, absorbing them with his mouth and his ferocity.

Mickey came first, sharp and unexpected, whimpering into Ian’s mouth and pulling hard at his thrusting hips. Mickey’s convulsions around Ian set him off too and he came in warm, thick pulses, huffing quietly against Mickey’s lips as he shuddered over him.

Shaking against each other, they kissed softly, tenderly as they came down. It was all head tilts and slow sliding of lips that made Mickey feel like they were floating in darkness, still connected and happily adrift.

He broke the deep warmth of their world by turning his head, a gargantuan effort that took minutes to accomplish because he’d forgotten how to breathe without air being kissed into him. Ian’s last kiss landed near his ear.

“Mick, I-” Ian began and Mickey covered his mouth.

He uncurled his legs and arms from around Ian and pushed him, needing distance for what was next. Ian, reluctant and sighing unhappily, pulled out and rolled off him.

Mickey dressed quickly, and bent to grab his boots from under Ian’s bed, huffing wryly and sparing a thought for Fiona’s earlier threat. He put them on while making good on his promise.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he whispered gruffly. “Shouldn’t have wailed on you like that.” He knelt to tie his boots. Huffing, Ian swung his feet onto the floor, caging him between his knees.

“So, what was this? An apology bang?” Ian whispered down at him, incredulous. “You fuck me like that and it’s nothing more than you saying sorry?”

“It’s goodbye. My situation’s changed, man. Take this last shot for what it was. We had a good run, but it was gonna end one way or another even if I wasn’t getting married.”

Ian leaned down and in the meager glow of the streetlight, Mickey pretended not to see the glitter of tears in Ian’s eyes.

“You can water this down in your mind to whatever lets you look in the mirror, but you don’t get to fucking do that with me,” Ian whispered furiously. “You wanna leave, then do it honestly. Be a fucking man and tell me the truth.”

Mickey looked at him silently for a long moment, memorizing his face although he knew everything about it, down to the freckle inside Ian’s lower lip. He stood and Ian leaned back to look up at him, irrepressibly hopeful and undeserving of what he’s about to say.

He bent and kissed Ian softly, looking at him without blinking.

“I don’t love you.”

He’d felt the lie scream through every part of him and realized what it must feel like to burn alive.

Ian’s chin started to quake and Mickey turned away abruptly, giving his back to the hurt he’d inflicted for what was hopefully the last time.

He walked out and the last thing Mickey heard was Ian’s stubborn recognition of the monstrous untruth he’d whispered in the dark.

“I don’t believe you,” Ian had said tearfully as Mickey shut the door.

He’d known Ian wouldn’t give up, but he’d tried to stop it that night. And he’d tried again the day he got married. Now, the one time he did try to stop Ian, the one chance he’d had to keep him would’ve only cost him a truthful answer to “Don’t what?”

The thing that lived in him, waiting to gleefully snatch away his happiness wouldn’t let him answer and it had cost him everything.

The bitterness of his memories sends him scrambling back to Angie and away from that remembered hurt. He pulls her hand over his eyes and holds it there as hot tears, fresh and fast, start to stream again.

Mickey stays like that until he falls asleep again, letting her soft fingers soak up his pain.

_________________________

She wakes up to Mickey tugging her bra strap onto her shoulder. He’s on his side facing her, face swollen from a night of crying.

“You’re obsessed with bras,” she whispers, rolling over on her side too.

“Fuck you, no I’m not,” he whispers back hoarsely.

“You are. You snap my bra strap or tug it up or tell me it's showing constantly,” she teases softly. “You even know Mandy’s bra size. You got tit envy.”

“The fuck I do.” He reaches out to snap her strap and she swats at his hand.

Although he’s got circles under his raw and irritated eyes, he’s not as thinly held together.

“Sorry for trying to fuck you in the middle of last night,” he murmurs. “Might’ve been a lil' distraught.”

“I tried to fuck you after that Colin shit. We’re square.”

They lie together, blinking slowly in the early morning light.

“He’s probably on his way to basic now,” he says, resigned. “Almost called him twice before the sun came up.”

“Why didn’t you?” She scoots closer and reels back. His breath is awful.

“And say what? ‘Please choose me after I didn’t choose you?’” Mickey mumbles, covering his mouth with his t-shirt. “He was already on demon time to get away from me, my wife, Terry … do I need to keep going?”

She laughs softly. “The whole situation is kind of pitiful.”

“You fucked me, then fucked and fell in love with my coke-head brother, then tried to fuck me again,” he deadpanned tiredly. “Tell me again, from that ivy tower, what the pitiful peasants should be doing?”

“Ah, suck my dick. I wasn’t judging you. I was just … calling attention to the crustiness of it all.”

She tugs his forelock and he jumps her, blowing morning breath into her face while she tries to cover her nose.

“The entire Southside is crusty. Quit acting like it’s your first day here.”

He falls off her and grabs her hand, hard.

“I need something.”

She goes very still.

“If it’s pills, you’re fucked.”

“No. Not that shit,” Mickey says, looking at the ceiling. ”Just … if I don’t come by. If I don’t call … just check alright?”

This is code again. This is the call for help, as serious as it gets.

“I can do better than that. Stay here. Just the week though or my piece of shit beater-in-residence will start asking questions.”

“Svet’s gonna-”

“Do what exactly?” she interjects coldly. “Wish she fucking would.” She softens. “Bring Mandy if you want. She’s pretty and crusty. We stan that around here.”

“I love you.” It’s soft for him and hard won for her. He’s family.

“Like you got a choice. Go get your shit. We're gonna exist in this room like the world is on fire.”

He tugs on her bra strap and hops up.

“Like I said, tit envy, Mickey.” She laughs when he drops a pillow on her head. Face covered, she listens to him open her door.

“Ang?”

She uncovers her face to see him standing just outside her door, head hanging low.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For all of it.”

“You’ve done the same for me.”

“Yeah. I guess I’m just sayin’ I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t put up with my shit. Not many people would.”

“Well, you don’t ever have to find out what you would do. I ain’t goin' nowhere.”

She sits up and jiggles her bra straps, grinning at him.

“Admit it. Tit Envy,” she sings conspiratorially.

Mickey laughs, flipping her off as he walks away. She falls back, smiling. He’s hurt. Really hurt, but he’s going to pull through.

“Love you too, stupid,” Angie whispers. “Love you too.”

#gallavich #gallavich fanfic #my fic #Angie Zago #mickey milkovich #this friendship

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