#Kit Walker oneshots

[random-imagines-blog]

Personality Ransack {Kit Walker x Reader OneShot} 

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3130 Summary: The 'Serial Killer' newcomer is forced into close quarters with you. Is something going to come of this? Warnings: Depression, talk of self harm, evil doctors, Sister Jude, talk of serial killers, talk of murder.

The rumor mill was spinning at full force inside of the asylum. Bloody Face was coming. The serial killer that made the news that you caught snippets of occasionally from the attendants talking about it. One of them had even let you see a newspaper once, and you could remember the headline clearly. ‘BLOODYFACE ON A RAMPAGE.’ Killed women, skinning them. It was a horrifying thing and yet - you lived in one of the most horrifying places of all. Something like that was hardly enough to even phase you.

 

You caught a glimpse of him once, after he had arrived. He was a pale boy, handsome, with short blonde curls. He didn’t look like the monster that everyone thought that he was. You regarded him with interest, looking him up and down in the hospital gown that he wore, since he wasn’t trusted to have his own clothes yet. How demeaning. It was as if this place was built with the intention of creating monsters. That certainly seemed to be Dr Arden’s goal.  

Of course, Shelley was all over him before he could even get his bearings, that slut. You never liked her much, she’d do anything to get what she desires, do anyone to fulfill her desires too. You watched their interaction, your eyes rolling as she stroked the boy’s bare back, but chuckled to yourself when he pushed her away. Good boy. The whole thing got turned around, however, when Spivey decided to open his fat mouth. That was never a good thing and it ended up in the new boy being put in isolation. 

You forgot about him for the next couple of days. Time passed; it always does. And you have got someone new to observe in the meantime. Lana Winters. Like everyone else in here, she protested that she wasn’t crazy. That she didn’t belong here. You hoped that she would keep that spirit. She would need it. You knew better than anybody that no one escaped from here alive - either by release or by running away.  

It was time for bed, and you solemnly made your way to your room, shuffling like all of the others, blending in with them. This place had the amazing ability to just suck the soul out of anyone who stepped foot in it. That explained Sister Jude. But it also explained the rest of the patients here. Given sedatives instead of real medicine. The way that they never melted under your tongue ... it was enough to make you feel sick. To act sleepy to fool them and then spit them out. You slept better without them, relaxed better without the feeling of being paralyzed. 

You were not sleepy now, but for a moment, you thought that you might have been dreaming. For in your room, there was now another bed, with the new boy on it, the leather straps pulled tight around his wrists and ankles. Sister Jude stood by the bed, her hands crossed in front of her, that sour lemon expression permanently on her face. “Ahh, Miss y/l/n,” she said, as if you were old friends. “I’m glad that I caught you.” 

As if you had no other choice on where to go. You said nothing and looked at her, and then looked at the man that was on the bed. His eyes were wide, alert, staring right back at you with visible nervousness.  

“Mr. Walker here needs to be kept an eye on. As one of our longest-time patients, I think you are just the person to get him assimilated into life here, at Briarcliff. Teach him the rules, so he doesn’t get himself into any more trouble.” 

“Let me guess, the only open space among the men was with Spivy, and you couldn’t have them fighting again, could you? And no - you couldn’t put him in with Shelley for obvious reasons. Lana is too fresh; they might try to scheme. So, you stick him in here with me, because I’m tame?” 

Sister Jude’s expression seemed to become even more sour. You could see the wrinkles growing along her pursed lips. Her eyes narrowed at you, and you knew that she was going to give you a tongue-lashing, so you opened your mouth once more. 

“I believe it is time for bed, and wasn’t it you, Sister, who preached about the benefits of rest? I’d like to be left alone to pray for me, and for his poor soul before I retire,” You spoke, your eyes still on the old nun’s.  

“I’ll leave you to it,” Sister Jude said, folding her arms in front of her. “Do not even think about touching his restraints. They are for everyone’s protection - including his own.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it sister. I’m sure you’ve done what you feel is best,” you said, fighting the urge to roll your eyes once more. She didn’t believe you but at this moment, there was no other choice but to leave the two of you alone. She nodded, graciously, and then walked out of the room. It was closed and locked behind her, and you breathed out slowly, and walked up to the alleged serial killer. You looked down at him, your head tilted. “Hello.” 

“- uhm - hello,” he said, his accent sounding more southern than you had originally expected.  

“You kill all them girls?” You asked. “I have to ask, since we’re going to be sharing a room and all. I need to know if I can sleep around you.” 

He looked at you, bewildered, unable to calm all the way down. “I didn’t kill anybody. I swear.”  

“Alright,” You nodded. “I’m y/n, by the way. What can I call you? Bloody Face - just sounds stupid.” 

“My name ... is Kit." He told you. His voice was soft, too. Almost sweet sounding.  

“Hi Kit,” you said, letting the name roll on your tongue. You decided that you liked the way it sounded. “That doesn’t look comfortable, are the restraints on tight?” 

“A bit,” He admitted, trying to wiggle his fingers but having trouble doing so. You moved closer to his side, looking at the wrist restraints. They were clearly cutting off circulation, making you tut.  

“I can’t take them off because they’ll probably come check you in the morning but -” You unbuckled it, and then redid it so that it was a little bit looser. He was still confined, he couldn’t get his hand out, but he wasn’t struggling either. You went around and did it to all of his restraints. “There, that should be a little bit better.” 

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes focusing on you, dark brown and pretty, even in the low light. “Can I ask - what ya in here for?” 

Your face fell at the question. You were expecting it, of course he would have been curious. “Depression,” You explained. “I ... I attempted to kill myself and rather than take care of me, my family through me in here. That and my social anxiety, I never liked being around a bunch of people, I’m ... shy. And I guess that makes me different enough to be considered insane. But you don’t need to hear my sob story, I know you got one of your own, Kit.” 

He actually looked concerned for you. The one known as Bloody Face, was pitying you. It, like his voice, seemed almost like a sweet gesture. 

After adjusting his ankle cuffs as well, you went to your own bed, the uncomfortable cot with the thin and itchy blanket and the pillow that might as well not even exist. “I guess you’re lucky. I might be the least dangerous person here. If you want to kill me, skin me, well, I probably wouldn’t even put up a fight if I’m being honest with you. I might even thank you for it.” 

“I won’t,” Kit said, less tense with the restraints loosened, only by one hole but regardless. This was the first show of kindness that he had in days. That he could even remember having, since his abduction by aliens. “I didn’t kill nobody. And I’m not going to start with you.” 

“Alright, if you change your mind,” You hummed in the dark. “I don’t know why but - I believe you, Kit. You don’t seem like the other monsters I’ve met in here.” 

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely. “I’m not - I’m not like them. I don’t belong here. I’d never, ever hurt my wife, or those other people.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard this yet but - I’m sorry for your loss, Kit. Really.”  

“I - haven’t,” he said, slowly. “Thanks ... y/n.” 

“You’re welcome,” you said. “Now - try to get some sleep. It’s the closest thing to an escape that you can do here.” 

He sighed in response. You understood. The feeling of this need to escape from this hospital where even the highest floors felt like a dungeon was enough to build a fire in anyone. The horrible robe that served as ‘attire’ until you were given clothes that felt more like barbed wire than actual fabric. Trying to be okay when everyone and everything is telling you that you’re not. You wished him sweet dreams, though it was unlikely that he would have them. There was nothing sweet about Briarcliff. 

“How do I stay sane?” You asked, thinking about Kit’s question. You were just glad that the sisters and the doctors weren’t around in the common room to hear that. You were laying on the couch, your legs over Kit’s lap. After spending a couple of days bunked together, you had grown close. He had told you everything about his experience - the aliens, the memory of coming too. And he talked a lot about his late wife. It was enough to make you cry with him at night, if only because you wished that someone had loved you the way that he had loved his wife. Maybe you would have been happier. Maybe you wouldn’t have ever stepped foot in this place at all. “I just killed the memories of everything that is outside of these walls. If everything alive and vibrant out there ceased to be, then this place isn’t too bad.” 

Kit frowned at this, relaxing back against the rock-hard couch cushions of the disgusting couch. It’s probably as old as Sister Jude herself. Jokes were constantly being made that this was the couch that she was conceived on. Stains older than that were on it too. “That’s - horrible,” he said. “There are bad things out there, sure, but it’s plenty bad in here too. These nuns - I don’t believe that Sister Jude has ever had a good thought in her life.” 

“That’s why she married Christ. No man would ever marry someone like her,” You commented, licking your lips as the craving for a cigarette came on strong. Sister Jude was making you quit as a punishment for the last time that you had self-harmed. It might be the nicest thing she’s ever done but it sure didn’t feel like it. As you brought your nails up to bite on them - oral fixation increasing - you looked over to Kit and saw that his dark eyes were watching your lips carefully. Like a seed of something had just been implanted in his mind, before he realized he was caught, and his intense gaze moved up to your eyes again. He chuckled a little, though you weren’t sure if he had heard the joke.  

“Yeah, probably,” he said, absent-mindedly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know what I saw out there was bad - but I gotta believe there’s still good out there. That one day, they’re going to find the real Bloody face. Even if I were to escape from here now, everyone gon’ hate me. And they need to get caught. I don’ care if they’re aliens or the devil himself. They need to get caught and pay for what they did to Alma.”  

“I hope they do,” You nodded. “I hope that your big optimism doesn’t get deflated in here. Everything else does.” 

You stopped biting at your nails and instead, you dug your teeth into your lip, biting off the smallest bit of loose skin there. It was a disgusting habit. You knew it. Everyone around here knew it. But dirty habits were the least of anyone’s problems around here.  

“You’re not like anyone else here,” Kit said, as if this had just occurred to him. You chuckled at that, crossing your ankles. 

“Yeah - too bad no one with any power around here gives a fuck about what you think. To them, I’m the sad waste of space.”  

“No one says that” Kit said, his frown turning into more of a grimace now. His eyes kept flicking down towards your lips as your teeth made small imprints on the thin skin. “‘cept you. Maybe that’s why you’re in here.” 

“What, cause I tell the truth?” You asked, raising an eyebrow, thinking about it for a second, and then continued on before he had a chance to reply. “That would make sense. That’s why you don’t see many politicians in places like this, don’t ya?”  

“No, I mean - ya don’t but, that’s not why I think you’re here,” he said, his voice soft as he looked at you. There was a look on his face that you saw here a lot. Yearning. But usually that look was directed at the doors, or at the windows. To the city outside of Briarcliff. To freedom. “I think you’re here cause you aren’t seeing the truth. You’re not seeing how ... special you really are.” 

Your breath felt like it got stuck for a minute inside of your throat. Special. Now, you had been called special a lot, but it was always in a demeaning way. In the ‘you’re not like other people’ kinda way. In the ‘You’re special and you have to go to this special place for a time, but as it turns out, you’re staying there forever because we can’t be bothered to take care of you’ kind of way. “And how am I special?” You asked, skeptically.  

Kit remained quiet for a second, and then his hand went through his curls. They managed to keep their shape, their luster, despite the awful shampoo that they let the patients use. It was an all in one, if that told you anything.  

“Because you -” he said, and he looked a bit guilty as the words came out of his mouth. “You brought sunshine in the darkest place imaginable.” 

Once more, it felt like your breath just decided to stop in place, cause a pileup, cleanup in aisle esophagus. “No,” you said, shaking your head. “I ain’t ever done something like that. You just haven’t gotten used to me yet, I think. You haven’t seen all the gloom that I’m capable of.” 

“Even now,” he said, his eyes looking deeply into your own, making you gulp. He was leaning a little closer, his eyes so strong and exceptional, it was intimidating. You weren’t afraid of him, but you were growing a little nervous about the power that his words could have on you. That they could perhaps make you feel something ... real. It felt like he was ransacking through your personality, and trying to steal the bad thoughts that made you ... you. “Ain’t no question about it. You’re makin it brighter in here.”  

It almost looked like he was going to kiss you. Your hearts were beating in sync - you could feel his pulse through the small connections that your skin had. Through your legs. His hand coming down to rest gently on your arm. But before you could even blink your eyes closed, Sister Jude stepped into the room, the clicking of her heels bringing time back up to speed. Kit leaned back against the sofa, guilt in his eyes, not that he would let you look at them properly after what had almost transpired. 

You were all ordered to get to your therapy session, or to the bakery in some cases. Bakery was preferred, even though it was a lot more work. It was less emotionally exhaustive than meeting with the doctors. Fortunately for you this was where you were headed, but Kit had to go to see Dr Arden. 

“Hey,” you said to Kit, putting your hand on his shoulder. He still looked like he was avoiding your eye, but that was alright, as long as he stopped to listen to you. “Good luck down there. Arden is...” 

“Evil,” Kit said, hollowly.  

“Yeah. Actually. That’s a good way of puttin’ it. But rememba - he can only hurt your body, Kit. He can’t hurt your mind unless you let him get in it. Don’t let him in there,” You warned, and your grip on his shoulder turned into a light caress, sending visible shivers up and down his spine. His eyes finally reached yours, and you could see that he was feeling a lot in that moment. Guilt, and yearning, and fear most of all. That fear wasn’t a weak thing, it was perfectly reasonable considering where he was going.  

“I won’t,” He nodded.  

You nodded back and you let go of him. You were meant to be his friend, nothing more. No one ever finds more than that in a place like this, in a hellhole. Besides, he was still mourning his wife, his entire life, you had to remind yourself.  

“See ya tonight,” he said, though it was phrased more like a question than a statement. 

“I’ll be searching for ya if I don’t,” You promised. “People go missin’ around here sometimes, I don’t want that to happen to you.” 

“Well, I won’t go willingly,” he said, giving you a soft and sheepish smile. “Just know that.” 

“I’ll remember,” You nodded. “I’ll see you tonight ... roommate.” 

“See ya tonight,” He repeated, more resolute this time, putting our almost-kiss behind you, just like you ought to do. You finally let him go entirely and moved towards the kitchen before Sister Jude would take her bony chicken-like hand and drag you there herself to start making the bread loaves. But you looked over your shoulder one more time, only to see Kit doing the same as he stood at the top of the staircase that went down to Arden’s office. He nodded at you. You nodded back. A pact to look out for one another was forged, and no matter what the relationship between you two might turn into, it was going to stay that way. 

[smt-obsessed]

Kit Walker

☆ 24 ☆ infp ☆ taurus ☆ 5'11 ☆

Each symbol portrays a different genre.

💋= smut, 🚨= angst, 👑= darkfic,

🩹= sickfic, 🧸= fluff, 🌦= hurt/comfort

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☆ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

HEADCANNONS

Nothing yet...

ONE-SHOTS

"Babysitting For Your Neighbor." 💋🧸

Coming soon...

SERIES

Nothing yet...

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☆ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

✰Masterlist✰

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

[ahqkas]

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind. 

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

[my-own-walker]

requesting kit with younger reader, where he picks her up from college and takes her for a milkshake but then they have sex in his car and after he has to drop her down the street because her parents don’t approve of him

Oh! You Pretty Things

note: this is cuteeeeee. thanks for the spicy kit request. i was getting bored of writing inside-the-asylum kit hehe

warnings: sm*t, p in v, oral m receiving, teasing, cursing, kinda overstim, not really tho

+++

The second hand moved so slowly on the clock, I thought it might be broken. Class always went slower when I knew I’d be seeing Kit afterward. Thursdays were our day.

My parents didn’t know. They hated the idea of me being distracted from my studies by some silly boy. I was, in fact, sticking my neck out by going to college as a woman, so I had to succeed. But, the new decade called for liberation for us women. I was proving a point by being able to date and do well in school.

I digress. I met Kit after my father's car got a flat. He showed up in his tow truck to save the day.

'Scummy, those mechanics,' my father quipped as we drove away.

I walked to the gas station Kit said he worked at the next day, set on getting him to ask me on a date.

We'd been secretly meeting up for dates ever since. He'd come to pick me up after my last class of the day every Thursday and take me out somewhere. I could, at times, sneak away to see Kit on other days of the week, but Thursdays were a set date. My mother and father had no idea. They thought I would stay late to study.

In my daydreaming daze, I almost didn't notice my classmates getting up to leave. I gathered my things hastily and rushed out of the room and into the bright daylight of the afternoon. The sun's light on the pavement was nearly blinding. I shaded my eyes with my hand as I walked to the curb, looking desperately for Kit's car.

Within seconds, his shiny black car came slowly up to the side of the street.

'Hey, pretty thing! You goin' my way, doll?' he called out of his window, acting as if he were a creepy stranger. I giggled and got into the passenger's side.

'You have no idea how nice it feels to do this,' I sighed, kicking my shoes off as Kit drove off.

'Rough day, beautiful?' He wore his work uniform. Some jeans, a white undershirt, and his button-up with his name on it. His hair was perfectly tousled, and the shirt was unbuttoned so that part of the white undergarment was showing. He looked soft and warm, and his smile lit up his eyes.

'Just a very long one, and I'm starving.'' I said, drawing out the word 'very.' I flipped down the visor and slid open the mirror, smoothing my hair and fixing the line of my lipstick while regarding my reflection. I pulled the tube of peach lipstick out of my bag and touched up my pout, making faces at myself all the while.

'Havin' fun over there?' Kit laughed.

'I'm beginning to think this shade is old hat,' I sighed. 'Maybe I should try red like Marilyn.'

'I don't care what color they are so long as I get to kiss 'em,' he smirked, taking one hand off the steering wheel and placing it on my upper thigh. I didn't even notice how far my dress had ridden up my leg since getting in the car.

I blushed and giggled, tucking the front pieces of my hair behind my ears. I will admit, I was still in the lavender haze with him.

He pulled into the parking lot of the small roadside diner in our town. It was quaint, tucked away in some trees, filled with truckers from out-of-state and old ladies meeting for lunch. It was a stone's throw from Kit's job, and the perfect place to hide away. Somewhere neither of my parents would dare go.

We sat at the tall counter in the center of the place. This was part of our little Thursday routine. I would always come out of class absolutely ravenous. We'd pick far-away or unknown places to eat before truly spending time together.

'You want somethin', my pretty thing?' Kit asked as the waitress stood in front of us.

'Honestly, a milkshake would be a gas,' I smiled up at the waitress. 'Strawberry.'

'That's all you want?' Kit asked as she walked away. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, Kit, I'm alright,' I replied, feeling around in my bag for a light for my cigarette. 'Shit, I must have dropped my lighter somewhere. It's not here.'

'Don’t worry doll, I got you,' he drawled, flicking his own open and holding it under the cigarette clenched in my teeth. I took a long drag and exhaled. The waitress returned and placed my drink in front of me, and Kit's meal in front of him.

I looked over at Kit and caught him taking me in. He looked me up and down and chuckled softly.

'My, you are a dream,' he cooed, placing a hand on my chin to bring me in for a kiss. I went in for a peck and was alarmed to find that Kit wanted more.

'Baby, not here,' I said through gritted teeth, pulling away quickly. I looked around to make sure no one saw. 'You're an animal.' I laughed and he returned the smile.

'I just can't control myself around you, pretty.'

'Well then hurry up and finish your food so we can peel out,' I giggled, pushing his shoulder playfully.

+

There was an old abandoned schoolhouse in town 5 minutes away from my house. Kit and I would find ourselves in the back parking lot frequently. Tucked away from the public eye in his car.

As soon as Kit parked the car, he dragged me into the back seat with him. We made out furiously, like two caged animals that were finally set free. It was a small space, but we sure made it work.

I took over, immediately pushing Kit's back up against the door, placing my hands on his chest to hold him down. His white undershirt was soft against my palms. I could feel his heart pounding furiously beneath my fingertips. A pace that signaled to me just how much he wanted this.

We kissed for only a short time before clothes started getting removed. First, I aided him in removing his work shirt. Then, I worked to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. He slid them off quickly. I took that time to remove my panties, throwing them hastily to the front seat.

His erection was noticeable through his white briefs. My hand immediately reached to touch it, only for it to be held back.

'Not yet, sweetheart,' he smiled. He pushed me back into the door on my side and continued making out with me. His hands groped all over my body, paying particular attention to my breasts. 'Oh this dress just won't do,' he muttered.

My high-necked smock dress was fit for school, yes, but not for this. He reached behind me and unzipped the fabric smoothly. He tugged the material and it slid down to expose my bra. Kit smiled as he looked into my eyes, then turned his attention back to my chest. He peppered kisses all over my sensitive skin, making goosebumps raise all over my body.

First, he slid my left bra strap off my shoulder, creating a bit more slack and revealing more of my skin. He took his time to kiss all of the areas of skin he hadn't before, going agonizingly slow so that I would get hot and bothered. He loved when I was hot and bothered.

Next was the right bra strap. The ceremony continued. His ritualistic dance of adorning love to every inch of my body made every horrible minute spent without him worth it. His mouth inched closer and closer to the very edge of my bra. Eventually, I gave in to the teasing and reached back to unhook the damn thing myself.

Deciding I'd had enough, though, I pushed Kit back again. This time, all the way down so that he was laying across the back seat. My hand reached for his bulge and stroked it. He whimpered in pleasure. I took the waistband of his briefs in my fingers and tugged, making his dick spring loose.

I lined myself up with him and slid his throbbing erection into my slick middle, feeling every inch of it go deeper and deeper into me. I cried out involuntarily and began bouncing on it, feeling our two bodies connect naturally. My walls tightened around it. He moaned softly.

'Oh baby, yeah,' he spat through gritted teeth as I continued to ride him. I stooped down and kissed him passionately, still keeping a rhythm. His shaking hands reached up to grope my breasts again, this time more firmly. He slid his hands down to my waist and held it, almost as if he were trying to feel some sort of control over me.

I continued moving my hips atop his dick. His length went so deep within me, I thought I'd scream. I put both of my palms on either side of his chest to steady myself. His breathing got more ragged, and I could feel his heart racing still.

'Fuck,' Kit grunted, trying not to come so easily. He gathered what strength he had a lifted me off of his erection by my waist. I sat back and slid down to a laying position as he rose to position himself above me, both of us maintaining eye contact as we went. He wanted a turn on top.

I didn't even get a chance to settle before his large cock was inside me again. I yelped and screwed my eyes closed, existing at that moment at his very will. He held my wrists, which were resting just next to my head, down so that I couldn't move. I whined in protest but was silenced by his lips on mine.

Sweat formed on his brow. I could feel myself succumbing to the waves of orgasm. But, neither of us wanted to be the first to give in. I breathed heavily to steel myself, but it was to no avail. I came first, crying out and moaning loudly. He slid out of me and stroked my hair as the fits of pleasure overtook me.

Kit sat back against the door on his side of the car once again, breathing heavily. I regained my composure and sat up, sitting back on my heels. I stooped down and took his pre-cum covered dick in my mouth. I flicked my tongue over the tip and reveled in the whimpers and cries Kit was letting out. He grabbed and pulled my hair gently as I continued to suck him off.

'I-I'm gonna come,' he mustered, trying to warn me in case I wanted to stop. Instead, I let him blow his load directly into my mouth. I ignored the warmth and bitter taste as I swallowed. He moaned and threw his head back, eventually relaxing into his position. I wiped my mouth and sat back as well.

Recovered from his orgasm, Kit leaned forward and laid half-beside and half-on me, resting his head on my chest. I sighed in contentment.

'God, you're good at that,' Kit whispered, laughing softly. I laughed too. He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. He kissed the back of each finger as well to emphasize his gratefulness. He nestled closer into me. I nearly fell asleep listening to his breathing even out.

I gasped suddenly when I looked out the window and saw the sun setting. 'Shit, Kit, we have to get me home!'

We both worked quickly to redress. He helped me with the tough job of zipping up the back of my dress. I scrambled out of the back door and into the passenger door, slamming it shut and bringing the visor down to once again look at myself in the mirror. Kit clambered up to the front from the back seat and settled himself in.

He turned the key in the ignition and started the car up. He paused, though, before going. I looked away from fixing my lipstick for a moment to see what was the matter. Kit shifted in his seat and reached for something that was under him. In his hand was my panties.

'I uh, think you're gonna need these,' he chuckled, blushing. I smacked his arm and snatched them from his grip.

'Oh, hush! Stop! It's not funny,' I protested, half-laughing as well. I shoved them into my handbag demonstratively. 'Now hurry up and drive!'

+

The ride home was quick enough. The sun was still setting as Kit got to the end of my street. He had to drop me there to avoid my parents seeing anything.

'Are you sure you're gonna be okay walking over there this late? I don't need anyone snatching my girl,' Kit spoke.

'I'll be fine, Kit. No one really walks my street. Plus, it's not even that dark,' I assured him.

'Well okay, but I'll be parked here watching ya, okay?'

'Just don't be too obvious,' I warned.

He leaned over and grabbed my face, pulling me in for one last, passionate kiss. When I pulled away, my lipstick was all over his face. I just chuckled to myself and opened the door.

'I love you, you pretty thing,' he called after me.

'I love you too, Kit,' I smiled.

+++

Literally cannot lie I got a bit, uh, bothered myself writing this one LOL. Let me know if you liked this one!

[fayesia]

Day 3 - toys

"Escape" - Kit Walker x reader

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ warnings - use of vibrator (m and f), p in v, multiple orgasms, squirting

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ wc - 673

You and Kit escaped together. It was an expedition filled with experiences only the two of you could share. Both of you had only gotten closer since.

Close enough that you were positioned on your back while Kit thrusted into you, his dick stretching you out in a way you hadn't felt in a while.

"Fuck...yes keep going baby"

"Yeah, you like that, squeezing around me so tight."

His arms curled around you thighs, your eyes entranced by the way his biceps grew more defined. Leaning down, he whispered into your ear, hot breath blowing against your earlobe as he grunted with each thrust.

"Think it'd be a good time to try now honey"

Quickly nodding your head, any attempts to speak were cut off by your moans. Leaning beside you, Kit bent over to open your bedside drawer, pulling out your vibrator while you clenched around half of his dick still inside of you.

Bringing his attention back to you, he lifted one of legs to spread you wider, fully entering back into you while pressing the vibrator to your clit at the same time. Whining out your back arched, fighting to pull away from the stimulation but yearning for the need to be filled by Kit's cock.

"So good for me, taking me all in..fuck you're so tight."

Kits lips grazed from your neck to your mouth, the contact muffling your moans as he ups the strength of the vibrator. You felt like you couldn't breathe, the pleasure numbing your mind and weakening your limbs to the point where you had no control.

You could still feel the mess you were making though, your wetness coating the vibrator and both yours and Kits' thighs. His eyes followed the mess you made, watching his length disappear inside of you with a small smirk on his face.

Digging his face against the crook of your neck, you grabbed onto Kits hair while his mouth bit and nibbled against your skin.

"Omg I'm gonna come, wait..wait"

Pushing the vibrator up and down your clit you moaned out once more before releasing along Kits length, the liquid making the sex sound almost louder. The loud squelching was mixed into the rhythm of his hips smacking against your own thighs.

Standing back up, Kit's dick stood fully erect, watching him with a lulled expression while you caught your breath. Pushing your legs tight against your shoulders, you felt the strain in your legs but the feeling of the vibrator back against your wet pussy overrode the pain.

After a few more minutes of this Kit moved the wand away just before you were going to climax again, still dripping down your thighs, as he places his cock on top of your pussy. He moved in between your lips, mixing liquids which made friction easier. Shocking you when he placed the vibrator on top of his dick, Kits mouth dropping open to moan out at the stimulation against his tip.

"Oh fuck-right there. Feels so good honey"

You whimpered out feeling the vibrations as well, as his dick moved across you, his thrusting becoming faster and more furious. His red leaking tip rubbed against your clit when your eyes rolled back in absolute pleasure.

"Gonna cum baby, cum all over you..come with me please honey. God love you so much."

"Y-yes feels so good ahh"

Looking down, you watched Kits hips stutter as he tried to keep his pace up until finally he groaned out an almost animalisitic noise. His thick ropes of cum shot from his tip, spreading across the expanse of your stomach, almost reaching your neck while you at the same time came once more, the climax rendering you immobile for a few seconds as you whined out.

Moving off of you Kit threw the toy to the side of the bed grabbing some tissues to clean the two of you up.

"Guess there's no saving the mess you made on the sheets huh?"

Giggling you replied, "Guess not, but that's your fault isn't it."

Kinktober Masterlist

[envy-of-greed]

FANFIC WRITERS:

(Preferably smutty ones, but all are welcome:

Tomorrow is the most wonderful time of the year, why? It is the season of writing quick smutty Christmas present stories. I better open Tumblr to not ONLY smutty Christmas oneshots, but also sweet fluffy imagines. Do NOT disappoint me.

If you can, pass this along to your favorite fanfic writers, wish them a merry Christmas with all the presents and fictional characters under their tree.

@temporarywelcome @evansroses

[eventually27]

kit x female reader 🫣 like gentle smut pretty please

💛💚💙🩵

Morning bliss..

You wake up before kit has to go to work and express your love for each other.

(Warnings: smut, foreplay intercourse)

You turned around to look at the clock it was 4.30 am, You tried to stay still and not wake Kit as he had to get up for work soon, but you couldnt get back to sleep, you couldn't resist the urge, you turned so you could see Kits face, he looked so cute when he was sleeping, the moonlight illuminated half of his face, he looked so peaceful.

As you turned back over to try and fall back asleep, you felt Kit move, "suga you ok?" Kit stretched his arm over to pull you in to cuddle you from behind, "Sorry baby, I didn't mean to disturb you, I just woke up after a dream" you loved the warm feeling of being wrapped up in Kits arms, he was the greatest human blanket. "Don't be silly, baby, it's OK. This is way better than any dream I was having," he whispered gently in your ear. It sent goosebumps all over your body. You couldn't help but let out a small gasp. Kit ran his hand across your thigh, feeling your goosebumps. "Did you like that, darlin?" He covered your cheek and neck in kisses, he knew what effect he was having on you, your body covered in goosebumps, he could see your nipples hard through your vest top. Kit pushed his body up against yours, your cheeks pressing right against his semi hard buldge, you felt an ache between your legs, he kissed your neck slowly, all the way down to your shoulder and across your collar bone, you started to grind up against him, you could feel him getting harder which made your ache deeper. Kit moved his hand and pushed your knees apart. He ran his thumb over your pulsing clit causing you to moan, "you like that suga?" Kits whispered as he began to rub between your legs, you felt his cock twitch up against you as he felt the wetness of your underwear, "yes baby I love it", you turned your head so your lips could meet Kits, you kissed slowly but passionately, you loved the taste of him, the feel of his tounge. "Are you ready for me, suga?" Kit rolled you onto your back. You nodded while fixated of his beautiful brown eyes. You watched as he pulled his boxers down, his body lit by the moonlight, his hardness exposed, you couldn't wait to feel him inside of you, it really was different doing it with somebody you truly loved and who truly loved you. Kit gentle kissed you on the lips as he pushed himself inside of you. You both let out a harmonized moan as he got further and further inside of you. He fitted perfectly as if you were made for each other. Kit linked his hands in yours and pushed them into the mattress as he sped up his pace. He looked into your eyes. He loved to see the pleasure he was creating. You watched him, biting his lip, you wrapped your legs around him, to push him in as deep as he could go, you both let out a moan, every thrust was sending shocks through your body, his pelvis hitting your clit with every thrust, you loved watching Kit as he looked down to see himself slide in and out of you, "suga, you feel amazing I can't hold on for much longer, I want you to cum for me darlin" Kit placed his forhead on yours and kissed your lips, "cum for me baby" he whispered in your ear, this made your whole body tingle from head to toe, you felt the pleasure take over your body, you felt yourself tighten around Kit inside of you, he moaned as he also was consumed by pleasure, you both shared this moment together, moaning eachothers names until you were both paralysed by pleasure. "That's the kinda wake up call I could get used to." Kit laughed as you laid in eachothers arms.

[not-alien-girl-v]

hi please, could you right some sweet hurt/comfort about reader comforting kit walker? ty :)

warning: language, excessive gooey lovey dovey bullshit if that’s your thing, angst

note: this got sappy as shit in the end idc tho its cute

You hate walking home alone. You hate the way you jump at each unsettling noise you hear on the journey. The wind picking up leaves to scrape them along the sidewalk, some reptilian entity rustling around in a bush. It frightens you more than you like to admit to anyone, especially a smug Kit, who ‘insists’ on walking you home everyday, as if you wouldn’t beg him to otherwise.

The walk is brief, but its cold, and on a night like this, when Kit got caught up at work for a few extra hours after sundown, lonely. It was fine. He called you on the payphone at the shop, his euphonic drawl with an added rasp from the last cigarette in his pack smoked. You thought it was your lucky day, getting a call from the love of your life in the middle of a crappy workday, but less so when he revealed you would have to walk by yourself.

You can handle yourself fine, and you did, all the way home in the cold, in the dark, the middle of the night, and other downsides to the situation you’d have to remember to give Kit shit about when he got home. 

The night air swirls around you in a big gust of bone chilling wind, wracking through your body, blowing the skirt of your waitress uniform. You work 6 to noon on weekdays but 4 to 10 on weekends for the dinner rush at your local seedy diner. Sometimes Kit comes in before he heads in to work, half for a barely palatable cup of coffee, half so he can sit at the counter on a stiff stool and stare at you for 30 minutes.

He seemed so worn, so spent over the phone that you were under the impression he had a long stretch of work ahead of him before he could clock out, so you’re a bit confused when you see his truck in the driveway and the lights on in the living room through the window. 

Your key turns in the lock and you peel the open, hinges squeaking eerily like a scene from a bad horror movie. That damn door, you’d fix it had you obtained the ability to do so. That was more Kit’s area of expertise, but he’s been so busy lately, you didn’t want to stress him further.

He’s there, reclined in his favorite chair, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he must of had the time to run to the store and buy another pack, and television turned on to some kitschy old movie.

“Babe?” You ask, and he’s jolting awake from a light slumber, sullen eyes fixing on you, looking like a man much older than 25. He’s so often like this, so worried or stressed over things he looks years older than he is.

He scans you up and down, admiring for just a moment before panic sets into his face. “Shit, did you have to walk?”

“Yeah, it’s alright, I didn’t bring you dinner though. Why are you off so early? Thought you said you’d be late,” your last words are posed as a question, though you mean to be a simple statement, as that is what he told you. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, sweetie, boss had some personal emergency, everyone got let off early cuz he didn’t want the trouble of us unmanaged, I must have fell asleep,” he follows you into the kitchen where you hang your purse on a dining chair. You trifle through the bag, trying to find your wallet, but to no avail, it’s not in there.

“It’s fine, hun, um, I think I dropped my wallet outside, I’m gonna go grab it, but lay down, go back to sleep. You’re so stressed lately, you deserve some good rest.”

He looks a bit unconvinced that you’re not upset with him in any way but if there’s one thing he can agree on, it’s that sleep sounds magnificent for him right now, especially now knowing you’re home safe with him.

As you open the mahogany slab of wood that opens to the outside world, you can’t help but cringe a bit at the loud creaking noise, but one glance back at a relaxed Kit in his chair again stops you from saying anything to him. It’s almost like a chain reaction, the two of you. Kit works so much, causing him stress, which makes you worry about him like a concerned mother rather than a troubled girlfriend, and then you’re both running around like chickens without heads because of it.

You hug your thick jacket tighter around your body, well, Kit’s thick jacket, as the unforgiving night air welcomes you back in to the cold like a menacing embrace. One quick glance around, and you find your wallet right on the doorstep, it must have fallen to the ground when you were searching for your keys. 

You chuckle at your mindless stupidity, and open the door quickly to escape the frigid temperature and there it is again, that goddamn squeak. It almost seems louder once you realize how fucking annoying it is. You’ve had enough of this.

Slamming it shut behind you, “this isn’t gonna work, Kit.” 

Your back is turned to him, but his is turned to you as well, so you don’t notice the way he jumps then freezes in his chair, eyes wide in panic, and he doesn’t notice how you’re regarding the door rather than him. 

“What?” Still, not turning around, as if he can make you change your mind as long as he doesn’t look at you, like he can make you stop.

“Look, I mean, I didn’t want to say anything yet because of work and the stress, I know it’s a lot for you, and I didn’t want to add more bullshit to your plate, but I really can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick and tired of it,” you come and stand in front of him now, and he can’t deny you anymore, he has to stand up and face you like a man, though he really, really doesn’t want to. 

“Why can’t things just stay the way they are?” His eyes are welling up with tears, and you’re shocked, you didn’t know he cared this strongly about the door. 

“Because it’s a nuisance! Everyday I get home, I mean, first thing I see, I can’t just ignore it! It’s driving me fucking insane? Isn’t there something you can do to fix it?”

It seems the more fired up about the door you get, the more emotional he becomes, and it’s a weird chain reaction, much different from your usual stress-related one. You’re not sure why he cares so much about it, but seeing as you have strong feelings about it as well, you can’t blame him.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry! I can fix this, I can be better, I swear, just please don’t break up with me,” he’s dropped on his knees now in a begging stance, and your eyes are wide in horror, realizing a massive misunderstanding has taken place in your home. 

You mean to do something, but soon, you realize you’ve simply been standing there staring at him with an unreadable expression on your face. His tears are streaming down his own, a common sight to see from him, though it still breaks your heart to see every time he gets emotional, which is often, seeing as he’s so open with his feelings.

He’s gazing up at you with fear and sorrow and so much love in his eyes, it almost overwhelms you, how much he loves you, once you really think about it. But that’s not the point here.

You kneel down to meet his level, to meet his eyes, and your slow to come in contact, you start with his fingers, lifting them one by one until his hands rest in your own, when you slide yours up his arms, coming to a halt on his shoulders, and his damp eyes follow your fingertips as they explore his clothed skin, leaving goosebumps under the sleeves of his work shirt that you can’t see, but somehow are aware of.

Pulling him in, you wrap him in a hug, your arm working under his own to rub up and down soothingly on his back, another going over to rest on the back of his head, cradling him to your shoulder which you can feel becoming wet due to his teary-eyed state, but you allow it as you stroke his hair. 

You mainly want him to calm down first before you begin to explain this all, but when he doesn’t seem to be slowing his breathing, when his tears are at full force into your shoulder, you change your plans. Lightly pushing him by the shoulders to break free from the hug, you rest one hand on the back of his neck, letting the skin on skin contact soothe him, and digging your hand into the hair on the back of his head, you make him look at you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, my love, you’re okay,” you massage his scalp for a moment, feeling awful knowing that your inability to be precise in your words led to this, and you’re really not sure what to say or do to make this better.

“No, how can we be okay? If you’re tryin’ to leave me 'cos I work so much? How can I fix this? Don’t know how,” he cries to you and you continue to hold him tenderly.

You just nod your head, struggling to find words. “Okay, um, a few things I need to say baby. You ready to listen?” He desperately nods his head and you feel like crying too.

“First of all, I love you. I love you so much, baby, too much. It’s ridiculous, truly,” he opens his mouth to say something but you won’t have it. “Ah, not done. Okay, um, second of all, I wasn’t trying to break up with you. But, I totally see where you’re coming from, looking back at it, I could have been clearer. I was talking about the door, you know that stupid squeak it makes when it opens? Yeah, pisses me off, not that I know how to fix it. That’s your job, huh baby?”

When he realizes you’ve finally opened the floor for commentary, he decides to indulge in it. “Yeah, ‘s my job. What you keep me around for.” His sad little smile is a beautiful sight to see, like a prayer of no words to the damned. You giggle, and he mirrors your emotion, a small laugh emitting from his handsome face.

“Feeling better now?” You stand up off the ground, reaching your hands out to pull him up with you, and he accepts. He nods and stares at you in adoration. “Good, now will you fix that door before I lose my marbles again?”

He laughs, throwing his head back in the moment and he realizes he would probably do anything you told him to, as long as it would make you happy. Whatever that feeling is, that emotion that’s just a little past love, he wants to savor it, bottle it, put it on a page of a book he can read over and over again, he wants to taste it every morning and every night for breakfast and dinner, he wants to feel it on his skin, in his brain, deep down inside him for as long as you’d let him.

As he fixes the hinges of the door, you sit on the floor before him, watching his strong hands do what they seemingly were made to, you feel so lucky to have him, so glad to be his, here, on his living room floor, where he looks so tender and domestic that you might just die if you looked at him for a moment longer but you can’t tear your eyes away from him, you never want to let him out of your sight for as long as you live. 

“There we are, honey. All better. Come give it a try,” he must not have noticed your excessive staring, for he seems all fine now, and you trap him in a hard kiss once he turns around to face you, not bothering to try the door, trusting his skills alone. 

You kiss him rough, passionate, so hard that he fears you may just suck the soul out of him through his lips, only hoping it will be safely kept in your loving hold. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d gladly give his soul to you if you asked, if it was possible. He’d do anything for you. 

[evanthusiast]

Hii, I'd like to request a oneshot pls:

Imagine Kit Walker is dating a reader with zero love life experience due to some tough past and who had never been taken to a date before, how would that be her first date ever with Kit inviting her to a restaurant? Could you write they in the restaurant under this scenario and how that night would be with Kit trying to make the best of it for her? (no smut just pure fluff please)

thank you!!

– of course! <3

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝

Kit Walker x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff <3

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝

The night was perfect. The stars were shining brightly in the night sky, and the city lights below twinkled like diamonds. The air was crisp and cool, and a light breeze blew through the air, making it feel even more magical.

Kit Walker had been planning this night for weeks. He had the right restaurant in mind, and he had picked out the perfect outfit for his date. He had even taken the time to get her a small bouquet of flowers.

As they walked into the restaurant, the reader couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She had never been on a date before, and her past experiences with relationships had been tough. She glanced at Kit, grateful for his presence and the opportunity to share this special evening with someone who genuinely cared.

They settled at their table, and Kit handed her the bouquet of flowers. A blush tinted her cheeks as she thanked him with a shy smile. Kit's eyes softened with understanding, sensing the weight of her past struggles.

Over dinner, the reader gradually opened up about her past dating experiences, expressing her hesitations and insecurities. Kit listened attentively, his gaze filled with empathy and compassion. He assured her that he understood and wanted to create a new and positive memory with her, far from the pain of the past.

As they continued to talk, the reader felt a growing sense of trust in Kit. She realized that he was patient and genuinely interested in understanding her. His presence made her feel safe, and she began to believe that it was possible to find happiness in love.

After dinner, Kit suggested taking a walk to enjoy the beautiful night. The reader hesitated for a moment, but seeing Kit's reassuring smile, she agreed. As they strolled hand in hand through the city streets, the reader found comfort in Kit's warm presence.

In a quiet moment during their walk, the reader found the courage to share some of the challenges she had faced in the past, how her tough experiences had left her guarded and hesitant to open her heart. Kit listened attentively, his supportive gaze never faltering.

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Kit whispered, "I'm here for you, and I promise to always respect your boundaries. Tonight is about creating new memories, ones filled with love and joy."

As they reached a peaceful park bench, the reader leaned into Kit's embrace, finding solace in his comforting presence. She felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the understanding and patience he had shown her.

With a tender smile, Kit whispered, "You're strong, and I admire your resilience. I want to be someone who makes you believe in the beauty of love again."

In that quiet moment, the reader felt a renewed sense of hope and a glimmer of possibility. Kit's words resonated deeply, reminding her that her past did not define her future. The night became a symbol of newfound beginnings, a chance to create something beautiful together.

They stayed on the park bench a little longer, basking in the tranquility of the night, before Kit suggested it was time to head home. The reader nodded, feeling a mixture of contentment and anticipation for what the future held.

As they walked back to the car, the reader felt a newfound sense of trust and connection with Kit. She knew that their journey together was just beginning, and with Kit by her side, she had hope that love could be a beautiful and fulfilling experience.

🅣🅐🅖🅛🅘🅢🅣: @evanssnookums @lollipopd @thewolveswithin @luv4evan @yes-divine-ruler @taintandviolent @evan4ever @theravenmoongirl @spill-the-t

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

I think it turned out super cute!

!REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

[vidavbooks]

Hello

Please can I request some angst for ahs asylum Kit Walker and fem reader inside Briarcliff?

Thank you

The Dark Corridors

Masterlist

——————————🪩—————————

warnings ⭐️ angst

pairings ⭐️ kit walker x fem reader

——————————🪩—————————

In the dimly lit corridors of Briarcliff, Kit Walker found himself haunted by the memories of his unjust incarceration. He would often lose himself in his thoughts, seeking solace from the darkness that surrounded him. One fateful day, as he wandered the asylum's echoing halls, his eyes met those of a mysterious woman. She was standing there looking out the window, but when she hears shuffling feet she looks at Kit and smiled at him.

She had an air of enigma about her, as if she carried secrets even heavier than the chains that bound Kit. Their paths crossed frequently, their stolen glances like brief moments of respite from the suffocating atmosphere. Kit was drawn to her, unable to escape the magnetic pull that seemed to tether them together.

As the days turned into weeks, Kit and the woman exchanged wordless conversations, a silent understanding growing between them. In her presence, he found a sliver of hope amidst the despair, a fragile thread connecting him to the world outside. She became his anchor, a lifeline he clung to desperately.

Their encounters were fleeting, always shadowed by the watchful eyes of Briarcliff's staff. Yet, their stolen moments were enough to ignite a spark of longing within Kit's heart. He yearned for more, a chance to know her beyond the confines of the asylum's walls.

One night, during a rare moment of privacy, they found themselves face to face. The tension between them was palpable, emotions swirling in the air like a storm waiting to break. She took a breath in and said, “Hi, I always see you around I was wondering what your name was?” He looked shocked not hearing a full sentence from her before. “Kit…”Kit's fingers brushed against hers when he tried to walk away, igniting a fire that had been smoldering for far too long. She looks up at him but he walks away quickly after making eye contact with her.

Their connection was as forbidden as it was intense. The woman bore scars of her own, wounds that ran deep and tied her to the darkness of Briarcliff. Their love was a fragile flame in a world that sought to extinguish it, a tragic dance of desire and despair. Over time they talked more, walked around more.

As their bond deepened, so did the danger that surrounded them. The asylum's walls seemed to close in, threatening to crush their love beneath their weight. Kit and her were trapped, their passion a double-edged sword that both sustained and tormented them.

But as expected, their love story unfolded against a backdrop of pain and heartache. Kit Walker and the mysterious woman found solace in each other's arms, a brief respite from the horrors of Briarcliff. Their love was both a blessing and a curse, a testament to the strength of the human spirit even in the darkest of times.

——————————🪩—————————

OMG GUYS I HAD ONE FIC AND I ALREADY GOT A RECOMMENDATION?? I love you guys so much you guys are so sweet.

[zie-hates-it-here09]

Good News

Kit walker x Fem reader smut

It had been a long day for my husband kit, well most days since we both got out seem endless, torturous. Kit has been on a job hunt since the day we got discharged, usually no luck but today had been different.

"Suga' I'm home, I have good news!" Kit shouted in excitement.

"I'm in the kitchen love!" I replied.

Kit walked into the kitchen, I noticed an extra bounce and happiness in his walk. I look at his handsome face to see him grinning ear to ear.

"So what's the news Kit?" I ask in anticipation.

"Drum role please..." Kit replied

I roll my eyes but comply, lightly banging on the counter.

"I got the job!" Kit shouted.

I kiss him immediately, I'm so proud of him. Little did I know, he has his own plans of how to celebrate. He deepens the kiss, causing a soft whimper to escape my lips. He takes this opportunity to slip his soft tongue into my mouth. Running his veiny hands down my lower back before squeezing my ass.

Before I knew it, Kit was leading me to our bed. My heart pounded in my throat as I saw him unbuckling his belt. I took this opportunity to unbutton my blouse, revealing the black lace bra underneath. Kit pushed my back on the bed gently. Pulling my skirt to my ankles, my underwear coming off as well. He carefully unclips my bra and throws it to the floor. I wrapped my legs around his shoulders as he kisses my stomach down to my inner thighs. Kit always takes his time to the point I'm practically begging him to give me release. He runs his hands up my side before it reaches my breast, running his thumb over my nipple, I let out a soft moan. Finally, he dips his tongue into my folds, collecting my wetness lubricating me further making it all feel even better. He dips his pointed tongue into my entrance.

"Fuck.." I mutter.

"You taste so good suga' " kit said under his breath

He licked my clit, as I cried out in pleasure. He continued eating me out as I reached my climax.

I got up ready to return the favor

"Don't even think about it, seeing you like this is reward enough." Kit said.

I nuzzle into gets chest.

"Fine, but you get to pick the movie" I reply with a giggle.

This is my first ever post/ attempt at writing smut so please be gentle 😅

[senpaisatanwolnotimaginepage]

RP

If anyone wants to RP pls send me a message. I love writing with others because it can be fun so dont bring any drama or whatever.  

Please be 18+  

I have an OC: Casey is her name She is a nephilim. Her mom is Rowena and Her dad Is Gabe. 

[irl-w0lverine]

Could you write an angst oneshot to reader soothing Kit's pain while he cries into her after one of his punishments pls?

October 8th - kit walker (angst)

Pairing : kit walker x reader

A/n : i honestly didnt know how to write this so ive decided to tweak it slightly just so i can write it slightly easier. Thans for the request 🫶

Rain hammered onto the glass panes of the windows to yours and kits house. Kit had seemed... Different today... Almost as if he'd been distancing himself.

"hey.. You ok?" your voice is soft as you speak to him, a hand rubbing over his shoulder as a way to try and coax him into speaking.

".. Im fine." he grunts, his body tense at your touch. Seeming.. Afraid?

"your clearly not.. Youve been ignoring me all day.. And your as tense as a rock right now"

".. I said im fine." his tone grows more stern, pushing your hand away and leaving the room.

"we are NOT doing this again! You cant just keep pushing me away kit. Thats not how this works!" you trail behind him as he walks into the bedroom.

"fine! You wanna know why? Because that shitty asylum is on the damn news again! Their not treating their patients any better! I suffered through hell and back in there. I dont want anyone else to." his voice wavers slightly, his eyes begining to gloss over with tears.

His breathing was at a slightly quickened pace, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. You immediately fill with guilt for making him feel that. Seeing his eyes full of tears. The slight quiver of his lips.

".. Kit.."

".. Look im sorry for snapping but it just hurts too see that. It just reminds me all too well of the typa' bullshit they put me through"

Without another word being spoken, you pull him into a gentle hug, peppering his face in comferting kisses.

"dont you ever apologise for that, you could say anything and I couldn't stay mad at you.. Your one of my soft spots" you mumble into his shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

"i love ya' sugar, so damn much" his face burried in your hair, the feel of his warm tears in your hair.

A/n : im so sorry for how bad this is. I have been really stressed recently its a miracle my hair isnt gray.

Thank you so much for reading! <3

[gh0ulkitty]

"Thirst"

Negan x Rick Oneshot

Pt 2/2 to "Pulse"

[18+ ONLY]

cw: blood drinking, smut

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Rick hasn't slept in days.

He isn't sure if it's the consistent phantom ache on his neck or if it's just the sheer image of Negan's canines that's the problem. Maybe it's the heavy weight of the Alexandrians who are depending on him, every burden his own to bear.

Either way, he feels like a walker. Directionless and disjointed.

As soon as Negan rounded up the other Saviors on the scavenging hunt that day, he dropped Rick off at Alexandria. He didn't even spare him a glance, opting to make cheerful conversation with the other passengers after throwing them the first aid kit. They looked strewn out and near death, but that didn't seem to deter Negan's relentless chatter.

His jolly behavior almost seemed forced, in a way.

Rick had stumbled through the gates, looking pale, but he waved off help in favor of going home and resting, insisting he was alright. The doctor was busy, anyway, and he didn't need to add to that growing queue of people.

The growing queue of people that could've been helped by the medicine at that overrun urgent care.

Their assurances that he did his best fell on deaf ears; he was an utter failure. A joke of a leader and father, if you ask him.

Alexandria needs antibiotics desperately. Both The Sanctuary and Alexandria are dangerously low on medicinal supplies.

But, unlike the Saviors, the Alexandrians are dealing with a lethal illness that suddenly struck the town with the force of a tsunami. It's flooding the doctors office and plaguing every citizen with a deep sense of unease and despair. It's written on everyone's face.

The town is weak, withering under the pressure of disease, but it's also slowly getting crushed under Negan's heel. Rick is like a lapdog at Negan's beck and call. It's humiliating and helpless.

Their deal is simple: the Saviors would spare their doctor to Alexandria if the Alexandrians worked with Negan to get weapons for the Saviors. And, if they got lucky, they could even take half of any medicine they found on runs ("A very generous fuckin' deal!" as Negan had said).

But only a few are healthy enough and prepared enough to go on these runs. Already, they were running thin. So Rick has been taking the bulk of the responsibility, tirelessly scavenging with his enemies and scraping together valuable weapons to meet quota and keep the deal going.

Rick tosses for the final time in bed before sitting up, grumbling as he rests his head in his hands. He longs for Michonne's presence by his side, but he hasn't risked it. The mark on his shoulder is too obvious; he doesn't want to have any confrontation about it with her. Hell, he hasn't even confronted himself about it.

It's swollen and bruised and bestial with two ragged punctures parallel from the other.

He's still grappling with the idea that Negan is.. not human. It makes sense, given how soulless he is, but he thought it was just metaphorical until now.

It's not the craziest thing he's come across (although it is up there), but it's still deeply disturbing. He doesn't know if he should tell anyone or not, and he's perpetually debating with himself about it. Would it put anyone he told in danger? Negan didn't tell him to keep it quiet, but it's not like he needed to.

Rick knows better than to say anything. When Negan sunk his fangs in and fed from his veins, an unspoken agreement was signed in Rick's blood.

Thinking about it is enough to start a dull ache behind his eyes. The whole thing was so weird and he can't deny how strange he felt from it.

His mind is incessant, constantly pushing unwanted images of that day to the forefront of his memory.

Negan's teeth on his skin, his tongue lapping at the sore flesh. His bloody smirk.

He involuntarily shivers, wrapping the covers around him tighter. This is getting ridiculous.

He swallows dryly, feeling hot.

His skin is too tight, clothes too restricting. He can smell pine and leather and blood, feel muscles pushing him against cold metal, taste the desire.

He shoves the thoughts away, rolling out of bed, the stinging on his shoulder threatening to remind him of what he's trying to forget.

It's late, but he needs a shower. A cold one. One that can wash the heat on his skin down the drain.

The involuntary reactions of his body stir anger and bewilderment in the depths of his chest, colliding together in a sickening swirl of pain. He feels smothered.

He can't stand this, can't stand being at Negan's whims like this even when he's not here. It makes him sick. He runs his hands over his face and staggers to the bathroom.

He exhales sharply through his nostrils, looking into the mirror and leaning over the sink. His face is rosy with humiliation. Tousled curls frame his face messily, and a vein threatens to pop on his forehead.

He shakes his head and turns the shower on, discarding his clothes and stepping into the cold spray. He hisses at the shock, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. The heat in his stomach and groin dissolves slowly, too slow for his liking.

Negan would be laughing at how pathetic he is.

The thought is unbidden, abrupt, and should've been infuriating. But Rick realizes with growing horror that it was having quite the opposite effect.

He puts his face beneath the cold stream of water and pats his cheeks as if he's trying to wake up from a nightmare.

The sleep deprivation is getting to me. Negan is an actual blood drinking monster, and Alexandria is dying. I'm going crazy.

He breathes out, long and heavy, water running in rivulets down his back. He's being eaten alive by Negan.

He shudders. His fingers find their way down his torso, hesitant, warm despite the cold droplets of water. He pauses just above the crest of his pelvis, breathing heavier than before. The images of him were making it difficult to dissolve the arousal, even in the cold shower.

He moves his hands away with great difficulty and digs his fingertips into the fat of his thighs.

He can't be weak like this. He's already failed in so many ways. He can't let Negan have this above him, too.

He huffs in frustration and finishes the rinse, towel drying his hair as he steps out. He glances at the bruise on his shoulder in the mirror. Feeling too weary to get more gauze, he decides to just go to bed without the dressing.

Negan is coming again tomorrow. He needs to sleep.

His nightmares are filled with the savage gleam of fangs.

•

He stands on his porch with Judith balanced on his hip. The warm afternoon air and sunlight are almost sufficient enough to make him forget what has him anxious.

Judith babbles happily in his arms, and he coos at her, affection in his gaze. He brushes her soft cheek gently.

"Hey, Rick, can we talk?"

Rick looks up to see Michonne at the bottom of the steps, sheathed sword slung lazily across her shoulder. Her thumbs are hooked in her belt loops and she meets Rick's eyes with a concerned line between her brows.

Rick's lips thin into a line, unsurprised. Its not like he can avoid her forever. He knows that. But he wishes he could.

He sighs and nods, gesturing her over, resigned to the inevitable.

She scoops Judith from his arms, caressing her hair and bouncing her idly on her hip. Rick's heart aches at the tender sight.

He wonders what could have been between them--what could still be between them--if Rick could just.. get himself together.

"I know a lot has been weighing on you recently. I just.. want to know if you're okay. Or, at the very least, how I could help," she finally says, looking up from Judith to Rick. Her skin shines with the golden sun beaming down behind her, illuminating her soft features drawn with worry.

He doesn't reply for a minute, content to soak in the domesticity of the noon, stalling only a little. She allows him to.

"I won't lie to you and say I'm alright, Michonne. Things 'round here... they've taken their toll." he confesses, leaning back on the stair railing, weary.

"But it's nothing I can't handle. Nothing we can't handle." he adds, the sharpness of his jaw ticking with resolve.

Michonne regards him carefully, observant and sharp as usual. She purses her lips in a skeptical manner.

"You've been distant patricularly after scavenging the urgent care center." Rick tenses up, pointedly avoiding her eyes at the observation. His throat clicks.

She barely knows half of it.

She continues, eyeing his reactions, "I know you're taking it hard, not being able to get the medicine. But, Rick, these people are looking to you right now. Im looking to you. You need to take care of yourself."

She trails off, voice strained. She distracts herself by tending to a cooing Judith as she waits for his response.

Rick knows he's been off. He knows it's obvious, but it still stings to hear it. He runs his fingers across the coarse hairs of his stubble, a nervous habit.

"I know. I know and I'm.. I'm sorry." he apologizes, earnest. He shifts on his feet, causing her expression to soften.

"I know you're trying. You've stretched yourself thin and you need to rest," Rick opens his mouth to argue, but she silences him with a look.

"Stop it, Rick. You need to rest so you can be your best for the people. For all of us. You're not the only capable person here. You can't seriously believe you can do this all alone." she says firmly.

"Negan won't like that." he reasons, tone bitter, as if Negan's name alone is making him ill. Her lip curls slightly at the mention of him.

"He can learn to live with it." her eyes burn with fiery resolve, and she nods to herself. Rick doesn't know if Negan would buy that.

And it's more than just what Negan says. It's about the fact that Rick can't live with himself if he allows his people get hurt doing something he could do alone.

Any response he might have made is interrupted by the grumbling sounds of vehicles approaching the gate. Michonne and Rick exchange knowing glances. The familiar rumble of the Savior's engines makes his skin crawl.

"I'll go meet him. Just take care of Judith, okay?" she puts her in his arms before Rick can protest and is already hurrying away.

Judith begins fussing, and he has no choice but to take her inside while Michonne handles Negan. His stomach curls as Negan's booming voice begins its tirade at the town entrance. No doubt is he looking for Rick.

He sets Judith in her high seat and begins tending to her. Outside, the voices reduce to muffled, intangible sounds. He feels uneasy.

Will he think I told Michonne?

He wets his lips and wipes his palms on his jeans, casting an occasional glance to the door as if someone was going to break it down any second.

He's in the midst of spoon feeding Judith some applesauce when the door opens, creaking on its hinges. Coiled as tightly as a spring, he has to relax his initial reaction to attack, careful to put the applesauce down as to not spill it on Judith.

"Dad, hey. Negan is- uh, he told me to come get you. I can take Judith." Rick's heart settles at the sound of Carl's familiar voice, only to sink once again at his words.

He expected this.

Carl shuffles inside, looking apprehensive. Rick kisses Judith on her head, softly, before moving away.

"Alright, Carl. Thanks. Make sure she finishes her food." he walks to the door and pats Carl's shoulder affectionately on the way out. Carl relaxes a fraction at his touch, casting him a small smile.

Pride swells in his chest, and he can't help but linger at the door for a moment to watch Carl care for Judith, gentle and sweet. This is what he's fighting for. His children. Alexandria's future.

Reluctantly, knowing he can't procrastinate for long, he pulls away and jogs down the steps, hurrying to the gate entrance.

He hears Negan as he approaches, as vulgar and colorful as usual.

"Whew, this place just warms my soul. I gotta get a damn vacation home here!" he whistles and twirls his bat like a baton, chuckling to himself as he mock admires the houses around him.

When he catches sight of Rick appearing from around the corner, he grins widely, adding, "Preferably, one that looks right into the bathroom window of ol' Ricky." He emphasizes the words by licking his lips hungrily. His eyes glisten with a predatory gleam, pupils dilated, the same look he gave Rick before shoving him against the car.

Rick fixes him with an unamused look, although his thoughts make it difficult to keep his head on straight.

Fishhooks tug in his skin. A deeply rooted primitive instinct shrinks at the full attention of Negan, as if something were innately wrong.

Negan, undeterred as ever, slinks over to Rick with the grace of a cat, dodging any Savior or Alexandrian in his way. Not that he has to do much work for that because everyone gives him a wide berth.

His all-encompassing presence is feverish, threatening to devour Rick in one bite. Rick feels the urge to run.

"Rick, Rick, Rick... it's the man of the hour! I was worried you wouldn't show up and I'd have to come get you myself!" he winks at him and throws an arm over his shoulders. Rick grimaces at the casual contact, tilting his head away from Negan.

The adjustment away from him causes his shirt to slide ever so slightly off his collarbone. Just enough to reveal the bruised flesh. He doesn't notice, but Negan sure as hell does.

A pleased sound rumbles in his throat, akin to a purr. Absently, he swipes his thumb across the exposed mark.

Rick stiffens, eyes widening, shoving Negan back and fixing his shirt back in place before anyone else can see it. Negan doesn't resist, throwing his hands up in a surrender gesture, a wry look on his face.

Rick mentally chastises himself for forgetting to bandage it. If Michonne had seen it...

"Rick, your fine people have told me that you're on break right now. Is that so? Last time I checked..." he looks around, examining every person paying attention, and then continues, "I'm the god damned boss here. Not you, not samurai lady, no one but me."

Rick fights to keep a neutral expression, probably failing as his pride burns his throat.

He waits for Negan to continue, not giving a response.

"Alright. Round up the scavenging groups and get ready to leave." Negan distinguishes the tense moment, ordering his men around and turning away from Rick. Rick swallows his growing irritation and burns holes in Negan's back with his intensity.

Negan's muscles are effortlessly highlighted underneath the gold of the sun, rays licking at the curves of his leather shoulder blades that flex with each spin of Lucille.

Negan suddenly turns to face Ricks direction one again, meeting Rick's steely gaze. A shark-like grin dances across his features. Hungry.

"And as for you, sweetheart, you're coming back with me to The Sanctuary." Negan proposes. He leans back onto his heels, smug, tongue between his teeth.

Rick is slack jawed.

"What?! What are you talking about?" Michonne's explosive voice interjects before he can even register Negan's words. She marches up to Negan, leaving behind the small group of people she was speaking to moments prior.

Negan's eyebrows raise at the outburst, turning his attention on her. His grip on Lucille is ever so slightly tighter than before.

Rick bristles, ready to jump to Michonne's defense if needed, unsure of which reaction he could expect from Negan.

He's about as predictable as a firecracker.

Amusement seems to win out this time, thankfully. His grip relaxes once again, and he shrugs his shoulders. The tension in Rick's muscles dwindle a fraction.

"Wow... you seem real mad that I'm giving you exactly what you asked for. God, I'm way too fuckin' generous to you ungrateful fucks." Negan scoffs, propping himself up on Lucille, running a hand through his gel slicked hair.

Michonne balks. "You're taking him hostage! You can't do this, we have a deal." she argues, standing protectively near Rick. She's buzzing with energy and barely restrained fury.

Negan shakes his head in over-exaggerated exasperation, looking around with wide eyes as if to say, "This chick is crazy!"

"No, darlin', quite the damn opposite, actually. I'm giving him a once-in-a-lifetime ticket to luxury for the duration of his break. You should be thanking me right now." he sidles up next to Rick, much to Michonne's chagrin, and Rick decides to speak up. He doesn't want Michonne to have to speak for him.

"It's fine, Negan. Let's just go scavenging. I'll go grab my things-" he begins, trying to move away. Lucille promptly blocks his path, barbs hooking the front of his shirt.

"Nope! I've already fuckin' decided and I'm not changing my mind. Your little girlfriend was insistent that I let you get some rest, and who the hell am I to deny the samurai lady her request?" he wiggles his brows at her, teeth flashing with menace. Rick watches the canines with growing caution, anticipating a deadly protrusion through the gums.

Michonne is positively fuming, opening her mouth to speak again when Rick puts a hand on her arm to stop her. She glares daggers at the man before them, but complies with Rick's silent command.

Rick meets Negan's look unflinchingly, expression carefully composed. He weighs his options, subtly gnawing on the inside of his lip as he does so.

Negan waits patiently, whistling a nonchalant tune and surveying his men bustling about.

"How long?" is all Rick asks, feigning ease. With great difficulty, he relaxes his tense posture, rolling out the muscles. Negan glances at the movement.

Negan wants him to react. It's all apart of their special game of cat-and-mouse.

He has no idea what Negan is trying to get at with all of this. A small part of him is curious. How far is Negan going to take it?

"Don't entertain him, Rick." Michonne steps in once again, but Negan ignores her.

"Two days, how 'bout that? A weekend getaway with your ol' pal Negan." to give credit where its due, he really does look like he's greeting an old friend at some kind of demented high-school reunion.

Rick has to make a conscious effort to remain visibly unaffected. But the questions in his mind make it increasingly difficult.

Two days, doing what? Sitting around at The Sanctuary while his people waste away in Alexandria? He boils at the notion. But what choice does he have?

Negan observes him for a few seconds longer, evidently waiting for a reaction. Rick gives him none. Somehow, this still pleases Negan.

"Rick, can we talk about this?" Michonne pleads, placing herself in the middle of the two men. Negan rolls his eyes.

"No. Like I said, I've already made up my damn mind. You two have got five fuckin' seconds to say your heartfelt goodbyes and then we're hittin' the road." he pouts his lower lip in a dramatic pantomime of tragedy, twirling Lucille dangerously close to Rick's face.

Rick doesn't waste any time. "Take charge while I'm gone. Please take care of Judith and Carl, and don't let Carl do anything stupid." he rushes the words out. He has so much to say to her, unable to make it count.

"I'll be here." she promises, voice firm. Loyal in spite of her qualms with the situation. Steadfast in her faith in him. He chokes down a sudden swell of emotion. He is so immensely grateful for her and has no idea what he did to deserve her support.

She must see it in his expression because she reaches forward to squeeze his bicep in reassurance. They share a meaningful look.

It's only two days, but in an apocalypse, it might as well be years. There's no guarantee in this world anymore.

Their moment is promptly disrupted by a suffocating weight being thrown across his shoulders once again. He stamps down a snarl.

"Alright, pity party over. Let's go." Negan manhandles Rick away from Michonne with more force than necessary. He bears with it.

Michonne gives him one last nod, brows set in conviction. Rick knows the Alexandrians are in good hands. But it doesn't make it easier to leave.

Once they're out of earshot, Negan leans in real close to his ear and whispers conspiratorially, "You two knockin' boots?"

Despite the blatantly inappropriate question, the hairs on the back of his neck raise at the proximity, tingling.

Rick sneers at the inquiry, bristling more so at his bodily reactions than at Negan's quip itself.

Negan chuckles heartily, but his fingers subtly tighten their grip and find their way to the tender spot on Ricks shoulder, applying pressure. Pinpricks of pain intertwine with pleasure. Rick hisses at the sensation, a fire lighting in his stomach.

At the gate, Negan releases Rick, much to his relief. The relief is short-lived, however, because moments later, a featherlight touch on the small of his back is coaxing him outside. Rick almost jumps at the unexpected touch. Tingles surge up his vertebrae.

Negan simply nods to Eugene, who is currently manning the gate, and strolls his way out, side by side with Rick as if he didn't do anything.

Rick seethes and focuses on the crunch of gravel beneath his boots to ground his unwinding composure.

If there's one thing hes good at, it's looking composed when he isn't.

"Head out." Negan commands the scavenging groups awaiting his orders, resting Lucille on his shoulder as he watches them depart.

Then, with a chivalry like demeanor, he guides Rick to the remaining vehicle. His gait is confident and borderline cocky.

Rick, by contrast, is stalking around like a paranoid veteran. Negan follows his movements with growing amusement, much to Rick's dismay.

"What's on your mind, Rick?" Negan asks once they're both situated in the car. He not-so-subtly glances at the concealed bite on Rick's shoulder.

Rick burns as if kissed by embers at the bold implication. He wonders if Negan can hear his heart rate spike, or if he can somehow taste the endorphins rippling like a current in his bloodstream. A monster like him probably could.

Maybe it's his imagination, but he can see Negan's nostrils flare when his heart thumps harder on his chest.

He shakes the ridiculous thoughts away before answering as concisely as possible. No need to get friendly.

"Nothin'."

Negan huffs. "I get that you're not much of a conversationalist, Rick, but God damn. You're on vacation for cryin' out loud, when's the last time you could say that?" Negan gestures wildly as he says so.

Rick only grunts, resting his head on the cool glass of the window, watching as the birds scatter to the treetops, startled at the sound of a running engine.

Negan's knuckles turn white on the wheel, and Rick braces himself for the inevitable burnout of Negan's short fuse. But, mercifully, Negan seems to reign his control back in.

"Answer me when I talk to you." Negan says. His tone leaves no room for questioning.

Is this the hill I'm going to die on?

He can taste the bitter tang of resentment on the back of his tongue like bile. Everything is a power struggle when it comes to Negan.

"Sorry." he manages to say through clenched teeth, fingertips digging into his palms.

Negan only responds with a simple "hmph" and a long, uncomfortable silence ensues.

For a long time, Rick can only adjust himself in his seat over and over again as his mind hurtles through topics at a break-neck speed he can't keep up with. From Alexandria to The Sanctuary. From the Saviors to Alexandrians. From Michonne to Negan. From the deadly disease to the doctors. From his home to his impromptu 'vacation'.

To Negan again. To his teeth, to his fangs, to the blood on his mouth, to his lips on Rick's throat-- Rick halts himself right there, not daring to move. What if Negan can read minds?

He sucks in a sharp breath, shame and other more foreign feelings swirling in his head.

He swears he can see a knowing smirk on Negan's face in his peripherals. But maybe that's just his face all the time.

He shifts his attention to the twinkling spikes on Lucille, counting each one, visualizing in painstaking detail the blood on every point. To remind himself of the monster he's sitting beside. To remember why these strange feelings are completely and utterly wrong.

And it works. Revulsion roils through him in waves, and Rick has to fight back nausea.

It has to be the exhaustion getting to his head. He's taking this too seriously. He's just stressed and exhausted. The way he feels right now doesn't mean anything..

Warmth on his thigh snaps him back to reality, and he glances sideways, startled.

"Earth to Rick! We're home." Negan squeezes, quickly but bruisingly, and releases him when he has Rick's attention. The ghost of his fingertips singe where he touched.

He gauges Rick's reaction to the intimate action, visibly satisfied with whatever he sees. Heat threatens to climb the back of Rick's neck.

Rick swings the door open, a little too quickly, desperate to put some distance between them. He stumbles out less than gracefully. How long had he been zoned out?

He can hear the beginnings of a chuckle from Negan, but he cuts it off by slamming the door shut.

He opts to scans his surroundings.

The Sanctuary is a blight on Earth. It's industrial and angular and far from anything welcoming. A complete eyesore.

Of course, that's the point.

Chain-link fence secures the perimeter, decorated with tethered walkers to ward off the dead and intimidate the living. Spikes coated in rotted flesh and viscera guard the weaker blind-spots where the look-outs can't see and tired looking workers scatter about like ants.

The smell of metal and death accompanies the sight.

Rick already can't wait for this all to be over.

"Not as pretty as Alexandria, but twice as efficient," Negan brags as he slithers next to him, Lucille at his leather flank.

"What are you expecting me to do here, Negan? What are you getting at with this?" Rick at last sounds the questions plaguing him. He feels helpless here, angry at being torn away from his people. His people who need him right now.

He looks at Negan expectantly, impatient.

Before Negan can answer, a man with a scarred face appears around a corner and begins speaking to him. Rick vaguely recognizes him as one of the men he's scavenged with before. Rick listens curiously.

"A fight broke out during one of Simon's pickups. One of his men killed a boy." The man briefs Negan on the situation, pointedly avoiding saying anything that might be advantageous to Alexandria, to Rick's displeasure.

Rick waits in silence, arms crossed. Idly, he studies the creases in Negan's leather jacket, the alluring sharp lines of muscle undulating beneath it. He has just enough presence of mind to look elsewhere.

Negan pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration at the news. He pulls the other man aside and they speak in lowered tones for a few moments. Rick strains to overhear, but only catches irrelevant pieces of the conversation.

Negan then claps his back and says, "Thank you, Dwighty-boy. I can always count on you."

Dismissed, the man--Dwight--only glances at Rick before walking off to tend to whatever Negan wanted him to.

"As you were saying, Rick?" Negan prompts. He leans onto his bat lazily.

"Why am I here?" he reiterates, annoyed. He thinks back to Carl and Judith, restless at the idea of them alone.

"Jesus, haven't we already been over this? You're here to relax, of course." Negan disguises his growing irritation with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes and then gestures Rick to follow him.

Rick knew he wasn't going to get an answer out of him just by asking. He's just going to have to go along with whatever messed up game Negan is playing.

He reluctantly trails after Negan, stopping at a railing that overlooks a mass of people and stalls, rustling and clattering about like a beehive.

Negan quirks a brow at Rick in a "watch this" kind of way, then bangs Lucille against the metal bars.

In a domino effect, everyone who looks up and notices Negan get down on their knees. The people who didn't see Negan watch their peers kneel and follow their example.

Soon, the once bustling room is silent and on its knees. Rick is disgusted.

Negan, on the other hand, is basking in it. He prods Rick with a huge smile on his face, catching his lower lip with his teeth.

For a split second, the arc of Negan's canines looked unnatural. He isn't sure if he's seeing things or not, but before he can think any further on it, Negan is speaking to the crowd.

"I'm here to announce that we have a very special fuckin' guest here for the next two days and if you see him, you better treat him like he's my god damn second hand man." his voice rings clear throughout the warehouse, echoing off the bare walls and reverberating.

Rick doesn't react to the blatant humiliation attempt, but internally, he's shrinking. The people kneeling don't even look up.

Negan purses his lips, letting the silence permeate. His shoulder brushes Rick's, just enough for Rick to notice. Rick glances sideways, but Negan is still looking to the crowd.

"Get a good look at him and then get back to work." he orders, brief and to the point but nonetheless intimidating.

Rick grits his teeth and bears with the heat of dozens of eyes on him. The people are back up and moving again.

"Get used to living like a fuckin' God."

Rick despises how Negan puts himself on such a pedestal, and he sneers at his words. It's arrogant and oppressive. A monument of his hubris. His Achilles heel.

"Seems more like living like a dictator." Rick observes boldly. He has to call it like he sees it.

Negan quirks a brow and then laughs heartily as if Rick were his personal jester, causing Rick to scowl.

Negan squeezes his shoulder, brushing against his goosebumps; he lingers for just a moment too long before he ultimately pulls away. His fingertips graze his collarbone on the way down.

Rick knows he's doing it on purpose at this point.

Negan knows what he's doing to Rick. Something beyond plain teasing. Whittling away at his sanity with a chisel.

Negan sighs and stretches, arms above his head, his shirt riding up and revealing a sliver of skin with a tantalizing happy trail leading to the waistband of his jeans. He catches Rick's line of sight and winks.

Rick has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Take a picture and it might last longer, darlin'," he slides a tongue in his teeth in a cheeky grin. The pet name makes Rick cringe, stomach flopping from being caught ogling. He swears that he didn't mean to look, honestly, but it's not like Negan will let him explain anyway.

God, is Negan always this insufferable? His lip curls with scorn and disgust and he shakes his head.

"Let me give you the grand tour. You're quite the lucky man, Rick, being shown around by the boss himself." he says with flourish, gesturing to himself. Rick remains unimpressed. Negan, of course, doesn't care.

After trailing Negan like a lost puppy for the better part of an hour or so, the novelty is growing old on Rick. Not that there was much novelty in the first place.

The entire time, Negan showers him with innuendo and vulgarity, throwing in the occasional physical contact that somehow always manages to throw Rick off guard.

At some point, Rick had to start tuning out his endless babble to preserve his own state of mind. He had tried to memorize the layout of The Sanctuary for strategic purposes, but quickly realized after one too many turns that The Sanctuary is a neverending maze.

He tunes back in when he finds himself at the entrance of a fancier room furnished with couches, a bar, and a TV. The room is lit by incandescent bulbs, the atmosphere bordering on cozy if it weren't in an industrial hellscape.

It's a striking distinction from the majority of the compound. If Rick has to guess, he's reaching the part of the tour that only a few get to experience.

Lucky me. he thinks sardonically.

The room isn't void of people, however. A group of women are dispersed throughout the room, lounging in short dresses with wine in their palms. He takes in the scene with a questioning purse of the lips.

Is this a harem or something?

His suspicions are, unfortunately, confirmed as he has to stand witness to Negan drawing a brunette woman into his arms. He plants an obscene kiss to her mouth.

Even worse, he has the gall to cast Rick a wry smile as he does so, eyes on him despite the woman in his embrace.

Rick stands uncomfortably, sucking his teeth and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. His mind conjures the image of Negan when he had him pressed to the car, his lips brushing against his neck. He bites his tongue, fighting the urge to turn away.

They draw away from each other after a needlessly long kiss that almost makes Rick roll his eyes.

"Ladies, this is Rick." he motions to Rick unceremoniously. "He's my extra special guest. Rick, these are my beautiful wives."

Wives? His nose scrunches in disgust briefly, which he schools into a neutral expression.

Negan draws away from the woman, and all of the eyes in the room are on Rick now. They seem faintly curious, but don't ask any questions. They just nod politely and continue what they were doing before, much to his relief.

The brunette woman approaches Rick as Negan grabs a bottle of wine and pours himself a gracious serving. The red liquid fills the glass, disturbingly close to the image of blood in Rick's mind.

He has to blink the thoughts away.

"My name is Sherry. It's nice to finally meet you, Rick." The woman introduces herself with a small smile. Her cheeks are touched with blush, and her eyelashes are darkened with mascara. She smells like shampoo and light perfume.

Rick nods in greeting to her. He can't help but feel sympathy for her situation. Is Negan forcing these women to be his wives?

The notion is repulsive.

He elects to ask Negan later, giving him the tiniest benefit of the doubt. It's not like he can just ask in front of all the women outright. Causing a confrontation is a good way to get killed.

"It's nice to meet you, too." he replies, curt but polite nonetheless. Negan is sipping on the wine as he maneuvers back to them.

"Mind holding this for me, darlin'?" he asks Sherry, handing her the glass. She nods and takes it from him.

Negan smiles gratefully and begins to strip off his jacket.

As he does so, Rick swallows hard and looks down at his shoes. He doesn't want his eyes to wander more than they already have; he's embarrassed himself enough.

He soothes himself by focusing on the fact that one day, he's going to kill Negan. And none of this humiliaton will have mattered; none of these thoughts or feelings will have any merit because Negan will be gone, wiped away like the nasty stain he is.

This unwanted lust is a product of his hatred, he decides. There's a dangerously thin line between hatred and lust, after all. He's only a man at the end of the day, driven by carnal desires and unable to distinguish between two passionate emotions.

It doesn't have to be anything more than that.

Negan discards the jacket onto the bar table and settles into the couch, patting the spot beside him. Assuming he's waiting for Sherry, Rick settles on leaning back into the wall, resigned to dealing with whatever awkward shit Negan is about to make him see.

Negan snickers and spreads his arms out on the top of the couch, his biceps flexing in the process, pale skin reflecting the warm glow of light.

"Rick, come have a seat. You're as wound up as a fuckin' virgin on prom night." Sherry takes a seat next to Negan, the opposite side that he patted, and gives him his wine back.

Rick's eyes widen a fraction before narrowing, clocking Negan's intentions and dreading them. Hesitantly, he trudges over to him, stiffly taking the spot on Negan's left side. He perches himself as far away from Negan as he can be on the modest sized couch.

The other women chatter amongst themselves casually. Rick is thankful he doesn't need to interact with more people than he needs to, at least.

On Negan's part, he's undressing every woman in the room with his gaze shamelessly, catching their eyes and winking like some kind of cheesy rom com protagonist. If Rick wasn't so uncomfortable, he would laugh.

Sensing his eyes on him, Negan abruptly stops his ogling to frown at Rick.

"Jesus, can't even wind down in a room full of my beautiful wives? Y'know, Rick, I'm startin' to think you're battin' for the other team." he looks sly, tone dropping an octave toward the end of the sentence, his left leg pressing against Rick's.

The suggestion makes Rick fully blush for the first time that afternoon. He has to fight to not hide his face in his hands, the tips of his ears burning red.

Rick has never really thought about his sexuality. He's never needed to. He's just.. always been attracted to women.

But obviously, things have been different recently. He would die before admitting that to Negan, though.

He isn't sure if the exhaustion excuse cuts it anymore.

Rick splutters and shakes his head adamantly, trying to scoot further away but failing.

At this reaction, Negan's face lights up like a kid in a candy shop to Rick's horror. Negan chuckles lowly and raises his brows.

"I'm just messin' with you, Rick." he taunts as Sherry leans into him. He strokes the locs of her hair and catches it in his fingers. He gives Rick a meaningful look, knowing.

Rick feels sick at the sight of it, wanting to snarl and lash out at him for being so fucking arrogant.

"I can't stay for long, Sherry, I've gotta show Rick to his room. But if you want to see me tonight, you know where to find me." he talks to her with a velvety voice, a voice meant for her ears only.

But Rick is in earshot, and Rick suspects Negan is fully aware of that fact. He shivers, unsure if it's from irritation or something else.

Negan glances back at Rick only briefly as he and Sherry finish having their hushed conversation. Negan's leg brushes Rick's occasionally, which Rick pointedly ignores, even though it makes his muscles jump every time.

Rick decides to watch one of the women read a book while he waits, uninterested in whatever else the two were talking about and wanting to focus on anything except the warmth on the side of his thigh.

A few minutes later, Negan is standing up and snatching his leather jacket and Lucille from the bar. He motions for Rick to follow and says his goodbyes to his "wives".

When the door shuts behind them, the majority of the light filtering through the hall is cut off, engulfing the two men in relative darkness. The air is colder somehow, more restricting in the darkness than the light. More intimate.

Rick can't bite his tongue for long.

"What's the deal with that?" he accuses. He tilts his head questioningly, fixing Negan with narrowed eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Negan plays dumb, strolling along with Rick. He looks momentarily surprised that the usually silent man is finally talking, regarding him with a shrewd eyebrow raise.

Rick suffocates in the silence before finding his words.

"Your... 'wives'. How does that work?" he treads the topic mindfully, not wanting to set Negan off.

He's too tired to fight if he needs to, and he can't afford to be reckless. Not when his people are waiting.

"Why? Are you interested?" he wiggles his brows and sways into Rick's personal space, unable to resist making him squirm.

Rick leans away, his mouth set in a firm line as he crosses his arms as a physical barrier. "I'm serious."

Negan sighs, backing up, evidently following Rick's train of thought.

"Not that it's any of your god damned business, but I'll tell you because I don't want you to get the wrong idea." he prefaces. Rick waits, expectant. The echo of their boots bounce off the barren walls, resonating around their isolated silhouettes, reminding Rick of how utterly alone the two are right now.

"They give me blood in exchange for awesome fucking privileges. Simple as that." he states, not breaking his stride.

"The sex is just a bonus; they choose it. Turns out, fangs are lady killers." he remarks, flashing a winning smile at Rick, which Rick deflects with a glower. "Not that the general Savior knows this, of course. To them, it's just prostitution. Sex in exchange for privilege."

He shrugs nonchalantly. The stray light bulbs flickering above them cast a menacing shadow behind Negan, long and dark, reaching out to Rick with outstretched claws. Rick subtly shifts farther away from him.

Admittedly, Negan's sound reasoning is a relief to Rick. At least there's one line that Negan won't cross. He chews on the idea for a moment longer until Negan speaks up again, voice startlingly clear in the silence.

"Well, did my elevator pitch convince ya?" Negan bats his eyelashes in Rick's direction, once again trying to close the space Rick very deliberately put between them.

"Convince me of what?" Rick scowls, scratching his stubble, meeting Negan's manic gaze.

"Becoming one of my wives." Negan deadpans, without missing a beat.

Rick almost trips over his own boots, coughing into a fist to compose himself from the slip-up.

They both halt their steps. Rick straightens, coming face to face with him, holding his breath.

They're so close that Rick's brain stutters in place, unsure of how to function. This close, the idea of killing Negan is suddenly not so appealing anymore, replaced by a need for something just as passionate, but much different.

"Judging by the way your heart just started racing, I'd say it did." Negan's grin splits his face hungrily, the curve of his smile sharp as a knife point. "But I'm patient enough to wait for you to admit it."

Rick gapes at the presumption, unable to believe what he's hearing and also subconsciously trying to make his heart go silent.

This arrogant bastard.

"What-"

"Here's your room, darlin'. You know where to find me." he cuts Rick off, echoing his earlier words to Sherry. Rick has a distinct feeling, though, that they were never meant for her in the first place.

He's so close, Rick can almost taste the sultry words from his mouth.

Negan then turns on his heel, sparing Rick one last wink. The sound of whistling disappears down the hall, and a whoosh of air fills the empty space Negan leaves behind.

Rick stands in stunned silence for a few seconds, blinking dumbly.

Did Negan just come onto me?

He opens the door to his room and slams it shut behind him, not even bothering to look around as he finds the bathroom.

He doesn't dare look at himself in the mirror. He doesn't want to see what he looks like while he's seriously considering Negan's blatant offer.

He splashes his face with cold water, a frantic tremble in his hands. Maybe this will wake him up from whatever nightmare he's dug himself into.

But not even the cold is enough to shock away the temptation, heat tingling where Negan's words fanned across his face.

He sighs sharply, barely drying his face off before kicking the door open and collapsing onto the bed. Cold droplets cling to the edges of the curls framing his jaw.

He groans, shucking his clothes off and tossing them on the floor. When he's down to his boxers, he slips under the covers.

He just needs to sleep this off. Whatever this is will pass. He just needs to get through tonight and tomorrow so he can go home and lead his people again.

He twists under the covers and closes his eyes, resolute.

.....

....

...

..

He turns, unable to escape the growing heat pooling in his groin. He bites his lower lip, hard, hands twitching. He holds the sheets to steady them.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking. He tries to focus on anything else. His breathing, the weight of his body on the mattress, anything. But he keeps getting dragged by the ankle right back into his wild current of thoughts, choking and drowning in them.

...Maybe he just needs to get this out of his system.

It's wrong, he knows that, but a selfish part of him just wants this neverending burning to finally go away. He just wants to be able to sleep.

He tries to justify the allure of the other man with useless, selfish excuses. All he can think about is the grace with which Negan moves, every step confident, always taking what he wants. The confidence of a predator stalking its prey.

The gouges on his neck burn.

Rick is disturbed to find that his inhibitions have slowly been whittled down into nothing with every touch and jab and innuendo Negan has thrown his way. Every justification has become easier to accept. Every fantasy easier to justify.

Whatever it is that is so intoxicating to Rick about Negan doesn't matter. All that matters is that it's enough that he's willing to throw away his reservations to taste more of it.

He wants to taste Negan's impulsivity on his tongue, feel the flex of his muscles, smell the heat of sex. He wants to tear Negan apart, pull him to pieces, and see his own fury reflected in Negan's pupils. Two opposite ends, united in their pride, united in their fury. Not as different as Rick may like to believe.

His hand has trailed its way down his torso, achingly slow. His breath is labored, chest heaving, head tilted back, spine arched. He slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, setting his jaw, and he traces the hard length of his erection.

He takes himself in his calloused hand and squeezes. He groans through his teeth, dizzy, imagining a certain set of canines...

He strokes steadily at first, but his movements get more desperate within seconds.

He tries, fruitlessly, to keep Negan out of his head. But he's invading every bit of Rick, exactly the way Negan intended. All consuming and bloody, hovering over him with claws and teeth.

He thinks about the brushes of contact between them. The electricity crackling between them when they're angry, neither man willing to swallow their wrath. He thinks of the day that Negan fed from his vein and shoved him against a cardoor, reckless and frenzied.

The vulnerability they both unwittingly found themselves trapped in, at the others whim.

His voice in his ear and the tight, bruising grips he subjects Rick to. Rough.

The friction doesn't feel like enough. His hand doesn't feel like enough. He keeps chasing his peak but it's always just ahead of him, teasing him with a familiar wolf-like grin.

Fuck. He aches and throbs, sweat trickling down the nape of his neck, following the phantom touches of Negan's fingers.

He whines in frustration, letting go of his swollen cock. It twitches against his stomach at the loss of contact.

He runs a hand over his face, flushed. He writhes uncomfortably, hips grinding the air, his stomach rolling with unreleased pleasure.

Defeated, he pulls his boxers back on. He sits for a long minute with a throbbing, insistent boner. He knows he's on a knifes edge right now, about to make a decision he's going to regret, as fragile as glass.

He crosses the threshold as soon as he begins putting on his clothes again, tugging the denim up his thighs.

Thrumming with anticipation, he gets up and trudges out of his room, leaving his shame behind as he shuts the door.

●

All day, Negan has been completely blue balling himself. Every hint he threw at Rick was like talking to a brick wall. Gaze always fixed ahead, unflinching. Carved in marble, perfect but indifferent.

But Negan knows better than to take him at face value.

The brushes of contact made Rick's heart flutter like a trapped butterfly. Hints of blush would crawl up his throat temptingly with each innuendo. And God damn, the look on his face when he implied Rick was gay is unforgettable.

He wishes he could print it out and hang it on his wall.

Negan is a patient man, despite what it may seem like. He's content to chip away at Rick's resolve with sweet talk and touching. Having Rick in his arms is worth waiting for, he decides.

He licks his canines, feeling their sharpness. Theyre protruding with arousal. Damn, thinking about Rick like this is gonna make it hard to sleep.

He wonders if his offer to Rick was a step too far. He's afraid he came off too strongly, breaking the fragile attraction Rick was building toward.

But he was getting antsy after a whole day of having the stoic man trail behind him, subtly blushing like a shy girl. Can you blame him?

He imagines the curve of Rick's throat and the steely eyes he always fixes him with. Like Rick can't tell whether he wants to kill him or fuck him. He hopes it's the latter.

Jesus, he's hard as diamonds now.

Groaning with annoyance, he flops onto his mattress. He's hungry.

He's always hungry for blood, of course. It's a constant in the back of his mind, always aware of beating hearts in his vicinity, always aware of the crimson rushing through the human veins surrounding him. It's icy and hot all at once.

It takes enormous self-control to be a monster. He can understand the walkers to an extent.

But it's not just blood he's hungry for right now. He wants so, so much more than that. Something darker and sicker.

He wants Rick. Hes wanted him since he had him on his knees before him and hes wanted him even more since he sucked the blood from his veins, vivid and brilliant.

He couldn't believe his luck when he was presented with a perfect opportunity to bring him to The Sanctuary, although he knows the decision was mostly malicious.

Still, he's never claimed to be a saint.

He just wants to grab his pretty fucking curls and force his--

Negan pauses suddenly, sitting up.

Thump, thump-thump, thump...

Negan's breathing slows to a halt as he listens.

Am I imagining things right now?

A very familiar heartbeat is wandering down the hall. Closer to his door. He can practically taste arousal in the air, and he's (almost) positive it's not coming from himself.

A crooked grin forms on Negan's face once the shock wanes. He can't believe this. He's on the edge of his bed now, coiled up and ready to pounce. His senses cast outwards and encircle Rick's presence, teasing him.

When a hesitant knock finally sounds at his door, Negan has to force himself to not look too excited. He saunters to his door, takes a breath, and opens it with a devilish smirk.

Unsurprisingly, there Rick stands. He's giving him those intense fucking eyes that he loves and it takes serious control not to grab him and sink his teeth in right then and there. His throat constricts, fingers itching to take and take and take.

"Well, hello there, cowboy, what brings you her--" his arrogant welcome is abruptly cut off as Rick shoves him backwards, kicking the door shut behind him. Negan's brows shoot up to his hairline, his hands instinctively flying to his belt where he usually keeps a dagger.

His surprise and instinctual attack is muffled by Rick's mouth on his own, his hands roughly gripping the front of his leather jacket and tugging him forward to deepen the kiss.

Pure, raw electricity surges through Negan. Rick's bold, overzealous heat clutches onto him with want and need, dizzying in its intensity. He groans into the kiss, grinning, fangs hooking Rick's lip. Rick shudders and opens his mouth in invitation, which Negan doesn't hesitate to take.

Negan is always taking. He takes and takes until there's nothing left, still never quite satisfied. He has every intention to do the same with Rick.

Just like he imagined earlier, he tugs at Rick's curls with reckless abandon, relishing the way Rick comes undone in his hands. His throat tingles with the taste of Rick, the heady, masculine scent of him. They pull away briefly and Negan devours the sight of his dilated pupils and messy hair and blushed cheeks, inhaling the warmth he exudes.

Bloodthirst and lust battle in a frenzy. He finds the same battle mirrored in Rick, albeit his bloodthirst is obviously different. He wonders if Rick is going to fuck with as much intensity as he fights, and the idea lights him up like a firework.

"Fuck, Negan, you did this all on purpose." Rick growls, breathless, pinning Negan up against the wall with his chest pressed tightly against his own. His touch is none too gentle beneath Negan's shirt, feeling up his muscles, groping and squeezing. His calloused fingers leave goosebumps in their wake.

Negan slides his leg between Rick's and takes advantage of Rick's momentary fluster at the sensation to switch their positions.

"Maybe I did." he murmurs into Rick's throat. His lips, being so close to the arteries of his neck, have his fingers trembling in Rick's hair. The rush of arousal makes it hard to stay in control of the more predatory instincts driving his actions. The tips of his fangs tingle at the proximity.

Rick's pulse is pumping hard under his touch, much to Negan's pleasure. His mouth waters, craving more. He grinds his knee against Rick's groin again, swallowing up his moans with his mouth. Rick's tongue grazes the points of his fangs and he shivers.

Rick forces them apart and begins desperately pulling off his shirt, which Negan gladly helps him with, eager and restless. As soon as it's off, Negan is all over his bare chest, nipping at it and sucking, not quite breaking skin, too manic to stop and admire.

His fingers find the bite on Rick's shoulder, and he swipes his index across it, causing Rick's muscles to jump against his lips deliciously. Negan chuckles, the sound growling and dark.

He harshly manhandles him to the bedroom as he parts from his chest to kiss him again.

He can't get enough. His entire being is encompassed by Rick, making it hard to keep a grasp on himself, making it hard to even remember where he is. Rick bites at Negan's lips, nipping at the swollen flesh and clutching Negan's thighs. Negan trails his fingers up each rib, taking pleasure in every gasp it draws from him.

Rick ends up on his back on the mattress, hair framing his head like a halo, his heart stuttering with Negan's scrutiny.

"Take your shirt off." Rick orders, pulling Negan out of his admiring by yanking him forward and on top of him. Negan feels hot at the command, head rushing, still reeling from the shock of the situation.

He allows Rick to help him shuck his shirt off, discarding it on the floor. Rick's hands are all over the bare expanse of skin. Negan's breath hitches in his throat as he grazes the scar on his stomach, warming the cold skin with his touch.

"Who's the boss here, darlin'?" Negan teases, but he likes the push and pull that is Rick, his strength that rivals his own. He likes the impatience he's seeing, such a stark difference to his typical iron demeanor. Always content to wait. Until now.

Rick scoffs, "You'd have to kill me to make me submit to you." he challenges, fingers already working on Negan's belt. His heart rate betrays his nerves. Negan tastes it.

Negan grins and grabs his wrists, pinning them above Rick's head and halting his progress on his belt. Rick struggles against him helplessly, unable to do much with Negan's weight on top of him. Like a trapped rabbit in the jaws of a fox. Negan purrs.

"You already have." Negan whispers, making him squirm, gasping when Negan's fang grazes the sensitive area between his neck and ear. He kisses down the column of his throat, trailing past his collarbones, making the threat of his teeth known.

Rick groans, grinding his hips up against Negan's, seeking friction. The blood rushes through Rick's body with fierce heat, his face pink with the exertion. Unable to resist much longer when the blood is so freely rushing, Negan tests the water, fangs snagging the surface of Rick's chest.

Negan's throat catches with the feeling, his grip on Rick's wrists suffocatingly tight. Rick's heart is beating faster, internally struggling against his base instincts to make it all stop. To fight or to run.

Even though it takes every fiber of his being, he waits for Rick's approval, breath fanning across his chest.

It's a bad idea to feed when you're in the throes of passion like this, but it's not like he's thinking straight right now. Rick's breath stutters.

Echoing his words that feel like they were said so long ago, "Bite me."

Negan doesn't have to be told twice.

He sinks his teeth in, head spinning as blood gushes onto his tongue. The taste is just as rich as he remembered, a satisfied groan leaving his lips. It invades every tastebud with a frightening ferocity. He can't help but gulp it down like a starving dog.

He feels like he's hurtling off a cliff, like air is rushing past his ears and he's plummeting closer and closer to the ground.

Rick bucks up into Negan again. The pleasure sends tingles through Negan's legs, and paired with the high of blood, it could be enough to make him faint. He loses himself in the frenzy, lapping, latching, drawing more blood from the vein.

There's a reason why he doesn't feed when he's having sex. He can't control himself.

His grip on Rick's wrists must've loosened from the euphoria because Rick is wrenching him away by the jaw now, his hold unyielding and abrasive.

That's the difference here. Rick's strength. His ability to manhandle Negan when he gets out of control. Negan's head buzzes, and they're clashing teeth again, Rick's tongue swiping the blood off his lips, following the trickle of blood down his chin.

Negan doesn't even register that he's on his back now. He's kicking off his boots with Rick, neither of them letting up on their desperate grabbing and kisses.

Rick has a handful of Negan's hair, tugging it similarly to how Negan tugged his own as he sits up. Red stains his chest and chin, a feral look in his eye.

Negan decides he likes this look on him.

He pauses his frantic groping and looks down at Negan, appraising him, painstakingly analyzing him inch by fucking inch. Negan is tracing up Rick's vertebrae in the meantime, flexing his shoulders and licking the residual blood on his chin.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" Negan looks up at him through his lashes, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. His voice is velvet, unsteady as he comes down from bliss.

"I wish you didn't have to look so fucking good." Rick finally says, borderline pained to admit it. Negan quirks a brow, unapologetic, pleased at Rick's reluctant praise.

Rick shakes his head as if banishing any doubts and he resumes his work on Negan's belt. Negan catches a nipple in his fingers, savoring Rick's shiver and gasp from the action. He's like putty in Negan's hands, involuntarily arching into his touch.

He finally pulls the belt free, throwing it to the side with a clatter. Negan sits himself up, interrupting Rick again, connecting their lips as he starts working on Rick's belt.

Rick's hands impatiently try to find the buttons on Negan's jeans while he does so.

Negan can hardly keep himself up straight, still reeling from the arousal and blood. Rick takes advantage of this and pushes him down again, running his hands down Negan's chest. His jaw is set, and his brows are furrowed in concentration.

Negan chokes down a whine, simultaneously turned on by Rick's dominance and annoyed by it.

He finishes taking off his belt for Negan and tosses it aside. The anticipation shared between them coats the air with enticing thrill, difficult to breathe under.

"Fuck, Rick.." Negan mumbles, eyes lidded as Rick leans forward and kisses down Negan's chest, leaving bites along the way, as if mimicking the touch of Negan's fangs. Negan's hands find purchase on Rick's ass, and he squeezes the firmness of it, causing Rick to curse against his stomach.

Rick's kisses lead him to the waistband of Negan's jeans and Negan's hands have found their way up to Rick's hair once again, tugging.

Rick looks up at Negan through his lashes and he keeps eye contact as he kisses his V-line and slowly starts pulling down the denim. Negan's mouth feels heavy, his tongue swiping his teeth, dick throbbing in his jeans.

Negan's hips jerk involuntarily. Rick smirks at him, the rare sight breaking Negan's skin into goosebumps.

"Shit..." is all he manages to say as his pants are yanked off in one smooth motion. Exposed to the air, he exhales sharply, his cock twitching against his stomach.

A blush crawls up Rick's face as he takes in the sight of it, as if he didn't expect it. Negan's stomach quivers at the sight.

"Come on, Rick. Show me what that mouth is good for." Rick's face burns red to the tips of his ears, his heart rate spiking. Negan revels in it, twisting a curl in his finger, lazily pulling it and watching it bounce.

"First time?" he prompts, grinning.

"Just shut your mouth, Negan." Rick snarls, but it has no bite. Something tells Negan that Rick likes the sound of his voice.

That's good, because Negan does, too.

The idea of being the first cock in Rick's mouth is undeniably hot to him. Judging by the way Rick eyes him, suddenly unsure despite his previous confidence, it definitely is the first time.

Negan's crooked smile lengthens, and he takes a hand full of Rick's curls and guides him to the tip of his swollen erection. He watches, hungrily, as Rick takes it into his mouth, hesitant and shy.

He grits his teeth to prevent shoving his face all the way down, anxious to feel his mouth. But, as it turns out, he doesn't need to push Rick's head around after all.

"Rick, fuck..." he manages to gasp out as Rick eagerly swallows down to the root. The tight, wet mouth around his cock, throat constricting the tip, has his muscles jerking and his head tilting backward. Rick chokes, gagging, eyes watering as his fingertips dig into the flesh of Negan's thighs.

Negan barely has the presence of mind to pull him back up to let him breathe. He splutters as he surfaces, hot breath fanning across Negan's groin. Negan can't wait for long, impatient, gripping Rick's hair and forcing him back down. He looks down at Rick's teary-eyed face, pleasure radiating down his cock, throbbing in his throat.

Rick doesn't resist. He moans as he's forced down, choking again, and the vibrations have pre-cum already beading at the tip of Negan's cock. His thighs clench beneath Rick's fingers, his vision zeroed in on Rick and Rick only. The tears on his face. His glistening curls. Negan's spine arches.

"Rick... Jesus christ, fuck. You're doing great, just... just like that, Rick." he encourages him, voice a trembling mess. Rick's unpracticed tongue only makes it feel that much better.

He gradually finds his rhythm, bobbing his head in time with Negan's thrusts, his choking subdued. Negan isn't gentle, even though he tries to be. It's just so difficult when it feels so fucking good.

Just as he's cresting his finishing point, he forces Rick off of him, saliva dribbling down Rick's lips. He shivers, cock jumping, begging to be finished off. He bites his lip hard enough to draw his own cold, dead blood.

He's not done yet.

He has to make a conscious effort to not finish on Rick's pretty face when he looks up at him.

Rick, dazed from loss of breath, doesn't protest when he's pushed to the side.

"Take off your jeans, darlin'." he demands, reaching to his nightstand and yanking open a drawer. He fumbles around and grabs a bottle of lube, drawing himself up onto his knees.

Rick's jeans are on the floor beside Negan's. He's panting from the blowjob, mouth open temptingly, wiping the saliva from his chin. Negan takes in the sight of the bare man laid out next to him, momentarily forgetting whatever he was doing.

Holy fuck.

His skin is glistening with sweat, flushed chest rising and falling heavily in time with his pants. His torso is muscular, every curve and angular line a testament to his power. Old scars litter the surface of his skin in tantalizing lines, and Negan finds that they get him going. Who doesn't love a man with scars?

His neglected cock bounces in the air, the tip blushed, leaking slightly. Negan sucks his teeth at the image.

Rick goes red from the scrutiny. Cute.

Suddenly starved, he's situated between Rick's legs and gripping the meat of his thighs, running his hands up the sides of his body and tracing every scar. He's fucking beautiful. Every God damn bit of him.

Rick trembles from his touch and he returns the favor by sliding his hands up Negan's back and shoulders.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Rick." Negan says plainly, throaty voice in Rick's ear, tickling the hair around it. Rick hums in approval, heartbeat ever present in the back of Negan's mind, spurring him on.

Negan gently applies pressure to Rick's entrance. Warmth encompasses his finger as he pushes in slowly, patiently. Rick squeezes the sheets beside him and sets his teeth, squirming.

He presses a chaste kiss to Rick's temple and leans back, applying a generous amount of lube to his fingers. Rick watches, cautious, vulnerable at Negan's disposal. Negan's heart clenches in his chest.

Negan hovers above him, faces close, and he kisses the corner of Rick's lips with unprecedented gentleness. A small part of him chastises himself for being so intimate with a quick fuck like this, but something about the way Rick whines makes it hard not to feel a little soft.

Thankfully, Rick is too busy taking a finger up the ass to read into any of Negan's tender behavior.

"Relax, baby." Negan whispers against his mouth. Rick shudders at his words, obediently relaxing around Negan's finger. Steadily, Negan curls his finger, quivering with arousal at Rick's soft whimper.

Rick nods, which Negan takes as a signal to add another finger. He does, stretching the man below him at an aching pace.

His fangs are heavy in his mouth, his cravings for Rick's pierced flesh as urgent as ever. He forces himself to be patient, even though he's practically scorching with the desire to rut into Rick like a crazy animal.

Rick must see it written all over his face.

"Hurry up." is all he says, sliding down onto Negan's fingers, panting. He clenches around Negan eagerly, and he fixes him with a desperate look.

Negan hums, granting his request and slipping in a third. He picks up his pace now, pumping in time with Rick's movements. Rick's hips jerk upward, seeking friction pathetically, cock barely grazing Negan's stomach.

Negan's own cock is throbbing with anticipation, brushing against Rick's. He pulls his fingers out as Rick's movements become more hurried and desperate. A whine reverberates through his chest.

"Hah... fuck. Hurry up and fuck me, Negan." Rick growls, head tilted back into the pillows. Negan practically purrs.

"Gladly, darlin'."

He squeezes more lube into his palm, and Rick grips his thigh relentlessly. Negan moans shamelessly, cursing under his breath as he strokes himself from root to tip. He shudders and can feel Rick's eyes on him, hungry, wanting.

He doesn't keep him waiting.

He presses his tip to Rick's ass, his cock pulsing at the contact. He intends to go slow and give Rick time to adjust, but is interrupted with a sharp peak of pleasure as Rick wraps his legs around Negan's torso and forces him inside.

Both men cry out, holding the other with enough force to leave marks. The pure bliss of the warmth around his cock, of Rick clenching tightly around it, has Negan shaking like a leaf. His curses are swallowed up by Rick's mouth.

Roughly, he begins to thrust up into Rick, who is gasping out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, stretched wide for the man inside him. He bites down on Negan's shoulder to cope with the intensity, and Negan grabs his jaw and forces his head back down into the pillows, maintaining eye contact.

"I wanna watch.. wanna watch you while I fuck you." he huffs between groans, his hold on Rick's face iron-like. Rick nods, unable to speak, breathing hard and flushing a deep red.

They grind into each other wildly, Rick fucking himself onto Negan in time with his strokes. Negan clumsily takes Rick's neglected cock into his free hand once he has the composure to think, thumb swiping the tip. Rick's mouth hangs open with quick breaths, hips grinding into his palm.

He finds purchase on Negan's back, and he rips at the skin beneath his nails, enjoying the way Negan hisses in pain and squeezes his jaw tighter.

It's not pretty by any means.

It's harsh and desperate and a constant push and pull like opposite ends of a magnet trying to connect. Their sex is angry and frantic and passionate, each trying to get one over the other, trying to take more than the other.

Hands tug and squeeze and tear, teeth leave marks and bruises, and muscles strain.

Negan is rapidly approaching his orgasm, movements sloppy and disjointed. The only thing he can focus on is Rick's baby blues, rolling into his head with dilated pupils. His senses are overrided with every gasp of the man below him.

All he can feel is the heat of Rick wrapped around his cock, all he can hear are his breathless moans, all he can taste is his blood and skin, all he can smell is sex.

Rick isn't faring much better. In fact, he seems to be reaching his peak much faster than Negan.

"Fuck, Rick, I want you to cum for me, baby." Negan manages to gasp out. He strokes the cock in his fist, encouraging Rick with praises that make his dick throb in Negan's hand.

"Be good for me, Rick."

Rick's eyes widen a fraction before squeezing shut, brows furrowing and his head tilting backward, exposing the swollen marks on his throat. He clenches around Negan's cock and his muscles tense, nails clawing down Negan's back.

Negan's breath is labored. He thrusts up into Rick, pouring out borderline nonsensical praises as he does so.

"Shit, Negan--" he spills over Negan's fist, cum spurting over his stomach and managing to reach his chest. His cock pulses and the muscles in his stomach jump as he rides out his high, crying out.

Negan only lasts a few more seconds after that. The image of Rick coming undone is so immensely hot to him that he couldn't possibly last any longer.

His vision blots out, heat surging through his body like lightning, and he's suddenly biting down, hard, rich iron rushing into his mouth.

Holy fucking fuck fucking shit.

High doesn't even come close to describing the cloud nine Negan is on. Every muscle in his body is scalding, his brain hums in time with the pump of Rick's vein, his flesh vibrates with startling electricity. He doesn't even know his own God damned name. Euphoria is a burning hot bliss in the depths of his stomach, churning, begging him for more. He's a slave to himself, a slave to blood, a slave to Rick.

He doesn't feel it when Rick tears him off.

When he comes to, he's slumped on top of him with blood trickling down his chin, heaving. The heat of Rick's body and the rapid heartbeat in his chest reassures him that he didn't kill him during his frenzy.

He drunkenly props himself up to get a look at the man he's crushing and notices that Rick was--and still is-- stroking his back in soothing circles while he rode out his orgasm.

They look at each other through half-lidded eyes. Rick seems to hesitate for a moment, as if contemplating something, before briskly brushing his lips against Negan's. The timid contact is just as thrilling as the intense fucking, if you ask Negan.

Jesus, he didn't know Rick was such a romantic. He finds that he doesn't mind it, though.

He takes Rick's face in his hands, caressing the stubble, returning the tender gestures. Rick noticeably tenses up, and Negan almost stops, worried he might scare him off during the afterglow. But, to his relief, he relaxes into the touch again.

Reluctantly, Negan tears himself away from Rick to grab a couple of tissues. They're silent as he cleans them both up, Rick settling into the mattress, basking comfortably. He dabs at the sore bite wounds on Rick's chest, gentle, but Rick still hisses at the stinging.

Negan opts to put his boxers back on, as does Rick, and he shuffles to the bathroom to grab a first-aid kit.

When he comes back to his room, he finds Rick half asleep under the covers, eyelashes fluttering when he enters. The sight is so... domestic. Negan's throat feels tight, and he coughs it away.

"Get up, darlin', you don't want those getting infected." he warns, pulling the covers away, even though he wishes he could slide underneath them and hold Rick instead.

He must be tired out of his mind to be so soft.

Anyway, he can't let his favorite leader die on him because of a couple of bites. That would be an embarrassing way for Mr. Badass to go out, he thinks.

Rick huffs in annoyance but doesn't protest when he begins to disinfect the bites, evidently too tired to really care.

He just bears with it, like with most things.

Negan observes Rick, knowing this is a rare, vulnerable moment that he will probably never have with him again. He wants to cherish it, fleeting and sweet, hold it close to his chest.

He never knows if the next time they meet will end with the other dead or not.

He notices that Rick is doing much of the same as him, observant.

"What're you thinking?" he asks as he finishes patching him up. He stretches tiredly, leaning back onto the mattress and slithering under the covers. Rick purses his swollen lips, quiet for a long moment.

"I'm thinkimg about sleep." he answers, yawning, clearly dodging the actual question. Negan considers pressing it but ultimately decides to let it slide. He's too tired to do any prodding right now.

He opens an eye and waits to see if Rick is going to get up and leave, expectant.

But, surprisingly, after seemingly battling with himself for a tense minute or so, Rick settles back beneath the covers and rolls over.

Negan has to resist taunting him over it, knowing his big mouth will ruin this rare opportunity. He elects to draw him into his chest instead, cautious.

Rick's muscles tense up, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he presses himself into him, his heart skipping a beat. Negan hums with satisfaction into his curls, grinning, and Rick responds with a sigh.

Rick sleeps the full night for the first time since Negan shoved him up against that car.

Nothing will ever be the same.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

a/n: wow, that ended up being a lot longer than I expected... I just had so many things I wanted to address and get out into the open. I hope this didn't disappoint :)

[my-own-walker]

The World Turns All Around Her

@lili-tate says: We need a fic with daddy kit!!

note: i can do that! i know i said previously that i didn't want to write father!evan but i womaned up and decided to expand my horizons.

warnings: dad!kit, mom!reader (sorry to be so heteronormative, it was the 60s!), fluff, lowkey postpartum but mostly just exhausted mother, 1965 (you decide if the events of asylum happened or not)

+

My heart is so full of them, I can hardly call it my own.

Kit and Winnie. Winifred Eve Walker.

She just celebrated her first birthday and is proficient in babbling and repeating the sounds that come out of Kit and my mouths. She's close to walking, but not quite. She never quite crawled, actually.

I watch as she scoots across the floor, leading with one leg. It's almost as if she's trying to stand, favoring her right side, the bottom of her tiny foot slapping the floor as she slides along. Her left leg drags along, and her hands compensate for what she lacks in balance. Winnie settles next to her toy bin, which seems closer to a pile at the moment, and picks out a pastel pink rattle.

She cries out in joy as she shakes it, thoroughly enthused by the jingling of the beads inside. She Winnie-walks back over to me, sitting on the couch, and hands me the rattle. I know what she wants, so I do it.

I drop the toy onto the ground. "Uh oh!" I exclaim.

"Uh oh!" she repeats, picking up the rattle, clutching it tightly in her chubby little fist. She smiles up at me as she holds the object out to me once more.

Winnie has eight teeth so far. She's teething, which makes her a bit of a handful. But, seeing her toothy little grin staring up at me, complete with her big, twinkling eyes and round cheeks, makes it all worth it.

These little games, though, admittedly exhaust me. When she's not down for naps or eating, she and I get stuck in cycles of repetitive entertainment. Entertaining mostly for her. That's how babies are, though.

I love that she's grown to an age where she is more interactive, and more fun. Up until she was about six months old she just slept and ate, nothing else. Now, she loves to learn and play and try to talk. She's more mobile.

It's adorable. She's a lovable little person. Kit and I made her, and we wouldn't change a hair on her little head. But how active she is gets tiring.

"Beautiful girl!" I proclaim in a sing-songy voice, grabbing the rattle from her. I drop it again. It clatters to the wood floor loudly. "Uh oh," I call out.

"Uh oh," she echoes. Before she can repeat the cycle, though, I hear a car door close outside.

"Is that daddy?" I ask excitedly, my head stooping and my palms facing up. She grins back at me. "I think that's daddy!" I stand up, scooping her up into my arms in the same motion. I rest her on my hip as we venture through the house to the front door. She nibbles her hand as we go.

The door opens and a rush of cold air, along with Kit, comes through it. His expression brightens as soon as he sees us, his lips curled upward in a smile. "My gorgeous girls!" he exclaims.

He shuffles his feet on the mat by the door, knocking the snow off his boots before stepping forward into to house. He swings the door closed behind him and wraps his arms around the both of us. I kiss his cheek. It's icy cold from the brisk air outside. January in Massachusetts is as white as a rabbit's fur, with snow coloring every inch of ground.

Kit breaks his embrace and looks deeply into my eyes. His face, despite the cold, is as sunny as ever.

"How was your day?" I ask, adjusting Winnie's position on my hip.

"Great now that I've seen you two ladies," he chirps. "Here, lemme take her from ya." He reaches out for her and opens and closes his hands, like a child begging for more sweets.

"Don't you want to take your jacket off first? And your boots?" A subtle hint, yes, but I spent the entirety of Winnie's nap polishing the floors. I don't want him tracking wet slush in.

"Ah, right," he rasps, kicking his shoes off right next to the mat. They clunk down and around loudly. He shuffles to the coat closet and hangs his coat, smelling of tires and motor oil, up on the rail. "Now pass the little chickie over to Daddy." I hand a smiling Winnie to her father. He spins around and giggles with her, then holds her neck as he flips her upside down and back up again.

He repeats the action a few more times before disappearing into the living room with her.

I silently rejoice in the moment, happy to see my husband whisk the baby away so I could have time to finish cooking. I hear them playing, which usually consists of Kit talking away happily, replying to Winnie's oohs and ahhs as if they were having a real conversation.

After a bit of chopping and seasoning, I throw the prepared supper in the oven. I wipe my hands on my apron, untie it behind my back, and hang it on the hook on the wall next to the stove. I grab Winnie's bottle out of the water it was warming up in.

"Kit!" I call, walking through the house to the living room, bottle in hand. I pause in the doorway when I come upon the sight of the two of them. Kit has Winifred in his lap facing him. He sings to her softly:

"So if you tell her every day you love her And if you tell her everything she could be You'll find out that your world will turn around her"

"What a lovely song," I coo, astounded by the softness he's displaying.

He jumps and both of them turn to look at me. Winnie's smile is bigger than the whole sky. "Christ, you scared me," he breathed, a smile breaking across his whole face, reaching his eyebrows last.

"Dinner's ready," I say quietly, walking into the room to grab Winnie from him.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, "I got her." He stands, holding her high above his head before bringing her down and kissing her in a swift motion.

"You'll put her to bed?" I ask, eyebrow raised. I usually take bedtime duty, since he's the one who wakes up with her, changes her, and feeds her in the morning.

"Yes ma'am," he insists. He looks at Winnie and tickles her tummy, making her giggle in delight. "We think Mommy deserves a break, right?"

"Oh, Kit," I protest, holding out my arms once again to take her. "You worked hard all day. Go eat. I don't need a break."

He keeps his gaze locked on the baby. "Daddy wants to eat with mommy tonight," he murmurs. "Daddy doesn't mind. It means more time with his little princess."

I step forward and kiss his shoulder, resting my head on his arm promptly after. "I promise, I'm fine," I whisper, tired.

"Baby, you're tired, it's okay."

"Can I help at least? I don't want to sit at the dining room table alone waiting for you," I whine.

"Of course," he responds, kissing me softly on the top of my head. "I'm gonna do all the work, though."

I follow him into the nursery and stand next to him as she changes her into her pretty yellow pajamas. Then he sits down in the rocking chair, Winnie lying across his lap, in his arms comfortably. I hand him her bottle. She holds the bottle in both hands and drinks it cheerily.

"Which book should we read, Smiley?" Kit asks. "I think Where The Wild Things Are is a good choice."

I smile as he reads the story to the baby in a sing-song tone. His New England accent comes across so strongly as he reads. It makes a warm feeling spread through my chest and radiate through my body. It's an indescribable feeling of pride and love toward him.

Winnie is asleep within minutes. Kit catches the bottle as it slips out of her limp hands. "I think she's out," he whispers sweetly, looking up at me with only his eyes.

I nod with a small smile. He carries her over to her crib and lowers her down into it gingerly, careful not to wake her. We both exit the room gently, careful not to make any loud sounds.

"That's the fastest she's fallen asleep in a while," I remark as soon as we're far enough from her room. Kit follows closely behind me, hand on the small of my back.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, you've got the magic touch," I maintain. We make our way into the kitchen and I separate from him to tend to dinner. At least, I think I leave him until I feel arms snake around me. I turn and look up at him, a smirk painted on his face. "Would you like to eat?" I ask, mock-sternly.

"I can think of something else I'd like to eat instead, Y/N Walker," he purrs. Shivers crawl up my spine and light my skin on fire.

"I think I'd like that too Kit Walker."

+

WEEEEEEE i drew upon my, like, one experience with a baby to write this i hope you liked it

[fayesia]

⋆｡°🕷𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙๋🕷°｡⋆

🕯️MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+🕯️

*open to anyone submitting requests for dates with no character, even though i have backup characters, it would be much appreciated!!!*

*brief summaries will be added to each day the closer to October we get*

1st mutual masturbation - Anakin Skywalker

2nd praise - Mike Schmidt

3rd toys - Kit Walker

4th dubcon - Sirius Black

5th monsterfucking - Sukuna

6th edging - Aaron Hotchner

7th breeding - Daemon Targaryen

8th car sex - Logan Howlett

9th cockwarming - Regulus Black

10th anal - Dick Grayson

11th double penetration - Soap + Ghost

12th food play - Vinsmoke Sanji

13th piercing - Sam Monroe

14th hate fuck - Kai Anderson

15th bondage - Tate Langdon

16th mirror sex - Bruce Wayne

17th wax play - Aemond Targaryen

18th spit play - Joel Miller

19th somnophilia - Brahms Heelshire

20th facesitting - Spencer Reid

21st gun play - König

22nd gags - Jason Todd

23rd overstimulation - Art Donaldson

24th size kink - Wolverine

25th daddy kink - Toji Fushiguro

26th exhibitionism - Finnick Odair

27th thigh fucking - Peter Parker

28th choking - Bucky Barnes

29th degradation - Thomas Shelby

30th deep throat - Steve Rogers

31st spanking - Jason Todd

*any works left uncompleted will be posted as oneshots*