#Thirst aid kit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gh0ulkitty · 1 month ago

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"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 :)

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 6 - B.Barnes

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Bucky's journey into livestock care proved to be a comedy of errors. The sheep, cows, and chickens seemed to have a personal vendetta against him, kicking and nudging every chance they got.

His struggles became a source of amusement for his viewers, who were entertained by Bucky's hilarious encounters with the farm animals.

As Bucky showcased his farming misadventures in his vlogs and live streams, the comments section flooded with laughter and cheeky remarks from his audience:

Viewer 1: "Bucky vs the Farm Animals: Who will win? Place your bets!"

Viewer 2: "This is better than a sitcom! I'm here for Bucky's farm follies."

Viewer 3: "Next sponsorship: a crash course in animal whispering. You'll need it, Bucky!"

Amid the laughter, Bucky was inundated with sponsorship offers, each attempting to address his newfound occupational hazards.

Brands promoting painkiller sprays, band-aids, and even protective gear wanted to ensure Bucky remained intact despite the kicks and pecks from his feisty farm companions.

In one of his live streams, Bucky showcased the various products, adding his own comedic twist, "Alright, folks, after being kicked in the behind more times than I can count, our sponsors have come to the rescue! Say hello to the 'Bucky Farm Survival Kit.' Got a kick? Spray some pain relief, slap on a band-aid, and you're good to go. Now, let's see if these things work..."

As Bucky delved into the world of milking cows, he found himself facing a task more challenging than he anticipated. Sweat dripped down his face, and the effort required to extract milk from the cow left him visibly exhausted. Unbeknownst to him, in the midst of the struggle, Bucky instinctively pulled his shirt to wipe away the accumulating sweat from his neck.

Little did Bucky know, this unintentional move caused a momentary frenzy among his viewers. As his t-shirt hitched up, revealing a glimpse of his well-defined six-pack, comments flooded the chat:

Viewer 1: "Who knew farming could be so steamy? 🌾😍"

Viewer 2: "Forget the cows, I'm here for Bucky's abs workout!"

Viewer 3: "The real milk we're getting is from Bucky's six-pack. Thank you, cows!"

While Bucky grappled with the intricacies of milking, his viewers seemed more interested in the unexpected display of his physique.

Y/N strolled into the scene, her expression nonchalant as she addressed Bucky who was in the midst of his live stream. "You need to check if the cow is comfortable, Bucky. Happy cows produce better milk."

Bucky, still catching his breath from the milking endeavor, nodded in agreement. However, his enthusiasm dimmed when Y/N's gaze fell upon his unintentionally exposed six-pack. Expecting a compliment, Bucky was taken aback when Y/N's response was far from what he anticipated.

"Put on sunscreen if you want to be shirtless," she remarked with an unimpressed tone and a cold expression that sent ripples of laughter through the live chat.

Viewer 1: "Y/N with the reality check! 😂"

Viewer 2: "She just killed the vibe. Well played, Y/N!"

Viewer 3: "Note to self: Farming is not an excuse to skip sunscreen. Thanks, Y/N!"

Viewer 4: "Y/N just ended Bucky's shirtless saga. RIP six-pack dreams."

Viewer 5: "I guess farming isn't a thirst trap after all. 😂"

The unexpected interaction with Y/N added an amusing twist to Bucky's livestream, making his farming escapades even more entertaining for his audience.

The guy who taught Bucky chuckled, noticing Y/N's departure and Bucky's surprised reaction. "Looks like she has a sense of humor after all. You're in for some fun times here."

Bucky, still amused by Y/N's unexpected laughter, grinned. "I guess so. I'll keep that in mind."

As the guy continued with the instructions, he suggested, "You know, it might be easier to handle the cows and lambs if you use a horse. Y/N's got a good one. You can ride, right?"

Bucky, eager for a new experience, nodded confidently. "Absolutely. I'll give it a try."

Eager to try something new, Bucky followed Samantha's directions to the horse barn. There, he found Y/N taking care of the horses. Samantha greeted him warmly, "Oh, you're here for the horse. Y/N is just around the corner."

Samantha looked like she was preparing to leave, gathering a few things. Bucky, ever the polite guest, asked, "Are you heading out?"

Samantha nodded, "Yes, just a quick trip to the market. If you need anything, feel free to ask Y/N. She knows her way around here."

Bucky smiled appreciatively, "Thanks, Samantha. Have a good trip to the market."

Y/N, engrossed in her task, Y/N seemed in harmony with the magnificent creature before her. Her rhythmic patting and soft whispers with the horse showcased a deep bond.

As Bucky approached, he marveled at the scene, captivated by the tranquility surrounding Y/N and the majestic white horse.

The horse, bathed in the soft glow of the barn's interior, stood tall and regal, its coat a pristine shade of white that gleamed even in the dim light. The gentle sway of its mane complemented its graceful stature, creating an image of elegance and strength.

Taking a moment to absorb the beauty of the horse, Bucky greeted Y/N. "Hey, hope I'm not interrupting anything. I heard you have a horse that could help me with the cows and lambs?"

Y/N turned with a friendly smile, "Not at all. This is Snowflake. She's a gentle one. Want to give it a try?"

Bucky eyed the majestic Snowflake, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Sure, I've ridden horses before. It's been a while, though."

Y/N handed Bucky a worn but well-maintained saddle. "Snowflake is quite patient. Take your time, and don't worry. She'll sense if you're uneasy."

With Y/N's guidance, Bucky carefully saddled up Snowflake, adjusting the stirrups to his comfort. As he mounted the horse, he couldn't help but admire the view from this elevated perspective.

Y/N offered some advice, "Hold the reins gently and guide her with your knees. She's responsive, so you should be fine."

Bucky nodded, ready to explore the farm from a different vantage point. Sensing Bucky's intent, Snowflake shifted slightly beneath him, a subtle indication of their newfound partnership.

Y/N shared a tidbit about Snowflake, "My father gave her the name Snowflake. But you could change it if you want."

Bucky pondered for a moment, observing the horse's reaction. "Alpine?"

Snowflake, seemingly content with the proposed change, responded positively.

Y/N grinned, "Seems like she likes it."

Bucky chuckled, "I could change her name? You make it sound like this horse is mine."

Y/N teased, "She's yours. I'll just add it to your bill."

Bucky playfully rolled his eyes, "Thanks." Then he asked,"Your mom seems like she's going to leave."

Y/N paused for a moment before responding, "Ah, it's today."

"Today?" Bucky questioned.

Y/N explained, "You've never been to the market, right? Let's go."

Arriving at the market, Bucky was taken aback by the lively ambiance. The bustle of people, the colorful displays, and the rich aroma of fresh produce filled the air.

Amidst the crowd, the distinct sound of laughter reached Bucky's ears, and he spotted several middle-aged women, including Y/N's mother, engaged in cheerful conversation. The lively market presented a new facet of the rural life Bucky was gradually becoming a part of.

Amused by the scene unfolding in the market, Bucky couldn't help but be curious. "Why are the moms standing there?"

Y/N, wearing a sly smile, replied, "Just watch."

A sharp 'PIIIP' of a whistle cut through the air, drawing everyone's attention. In what seemed like slow motion, a muscular man with long blond hair emerged, effortlessly carrying a sizable salmon on one shoulder and a box of shrimp on the other hand. Y/N leaned toward Bucky, offering an introduction, "His name is Thor, a fisherman, and also a fireman. And today, is Thor's Day."

Thor, the charismatic figure of the market, greeted his customers with a charming smile, "Ladies."

The moms erupted in cheers, expressing their excitement. Bucky watched as one exclaimed, "I'll buy the salmon today."

One mom exclaimed, "Did you see the way he carried that fish? Like a Greek god!"

A more enthusiastic mom shouted, "Move over, salmon! Thor is the real catch of the day!"

Observing Thor's presence, Bucky couldn't help but feel dwarfed. His usual charms seemed to pale in comparison to the charismatic fisherman.

Thor, spotting Y/N, enthusiastically raised his hand, "Y/N, my friend!"

Y/N nodded in acknowledgment and pulled Bucky along, explaining, "Let's go. Thor is a friendly man."

As they walked away, Bucky couldn't help but notice Y/N's lipstick and blush. It seemed Thor had a fan in her too, adding a humorous touch to the unexpected encounter at the market.

Y/N, with a playful smile, introduced Bucky to Thor, the charismatic fisherman-fireman who had captured the hearts of the local moms.

"Thor, meet Bucky. Bucky, meet Thor," Y/N said, savoring the amused expression on Bucky's face.

Thor extended his arms in a grand gesture, welcoming Bucky with an engulfing hug. The warmth of the embrace only served to emphasize the considerable size difference between the two men, leaving Bucky momentarily stunned and playfully deflating his pride.

Thor chuckled heartily, "Welcome to the neighborhood, Bucky! If you ever need a hand with anything, just let me know. We're all like a big family here."

Bucky, regaining his composure, managed a nod and a grateful smile. "Thanks, Thor. I appreciate it. And, uh, nice fish!"

Thor's eyes twinkled with amusement, "Ah, the mighty salmon! She's a beauty, isn't she? Catch of the day!"

Regaining his composure, Bucky responded with a half-smile, "Well, it's not as glamorous as hauling in a big catch like you, Thor."

Thor chuckled, "Ah, but every venture has its charm. Farming, fishing, it's all part of the tapestry of life. By the way, how's the farm treating you?"

Bucky, appreciating Thor's friendly demeanor, shared a brief overview of his farming journey, making light of his encounters with livestock and the challenges he faced.

Thor listened attentively, offering encouragement and a few lighthearted anecdotes from his experiences.

Thor clapped Bucky on the back, "Farming, huh? That's a hearty job. You gotta be tough as a bull to handle it. But trust me, it's rewarding. I've got a small garden myself. Tomatoes and peppers, you know. Adds a bit of spice to life!"

Bucky nodded, appreciating the friendly advice. "Yeah, I'm still figuring things out. But it's good to know there are people like you around."

Thor beamed, "Absolutely! We look out for each other here. If you ever need fresh fish or some veggies to spruce up your meals, just give me a holler. And if you're up for it, we should get together for a workout. Gotta keep the body in top shape!"

Bucky chuckled, glancing at Thor's impressive physique, "Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I could use some tips on how to be as... robust as you."

Thor roared with laughter, "Robust, eh? I like that! Anytime you're ready, my friend. We'll turn you into a farming god in no time!"

Bucky, still riding the high of his positive day, received a call from his best friend, Steve Rogers. The cheerful tone of Steve's voice was infectious, and he quickly inquired about Bucky's new life in the countryside.

"Hey, Buck! How's farm life treating you?" Steve's voice echoed through the phone.

Bucky shared the highlights of his day, from learning to tend livestock to meeting Thor and experiencing the lively market. However, Steve's next revelation dropped like a bombshell.

"Oh, by the way," Steve casually added, "you remember Kate, right? The supermodel Kate? Well, she's been on a mission to find you. And guess what? She knows where you are, and she's heading your way!"

Bucky's heart skipped a beat, and panic set in. "Wait, what? Why is she looking for me? I'm not prepared for this! Steve, what do I do? I can't meet Kate like this!"

After thoroughly enjoying Bucky's flustered reaction, Steve teased, "Guess you made quite an impression, pal. Brace yourself for some Hollywood glamour in the countryside!"

The call ended with Steve's laughter ringing in Bucky's ears. He raced about Kate's expectations, wondering if he appeared presentable in his worn-out farm clothes.

Bucky took a glance at the mirror, questioning his choice of attire for the day. The smell of the countryside, mingled with the scent of animals and sweat, suddenly became more noticeable, and Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy.

As he anxiously awaited Kate's arrival, Bucky couldn't help but wonder how this unexpected visit might alter the course of his newly adopted farm life.

Author Note:

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