#if the quality gets lowered just imaging me folding into a ball like a fucked up pretzel that just didn’t cook right

[jellynotbees]

Hey y’all here’s another Narilamb doodle dump to chew on while I work on bigger pieces

[magioftheseas]

Palliate

For @i-demand-a-hug and @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Biting taken from here.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Vampirism with all the implications you’d get from a story still rated T+.

Notes: This is a continuation for Pariah, written for 2/2 also known as the in-game day Akechi and Protag-kun confirmed their love in Persona 5 Royal. But also with Vampire!Akira because lmao why not. However, it’s kinda angsty. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“It’s not a problem, right?” At one point, Akechi had asked that with a perfect and plastic smile. Head tilted, eyes crinkled, a smile emphasized with only soft curves. Not a flash of teeth—until now. “Right, Kurusu?”

The raw Akechi Goro was still such a sight to behold. He wondered if he ever doubted that for a moment. He supposed he should at least be glad for the scarf wrapped tightly around the neck. Somehow, his teeth still ached.

The words before had been like poison.

“Can you stay a bit?”

He knew from the second he asked that he made a mistake. And Akechi’s reaction—

The Detective Prince was perfect and plastic. Always offering a smile. Always assuming an act of innocence even when tucking his hair back to expose his throat. The image of charm, graceful on the line between friendly and intimate. It had only been those eyes that indicated his danger. A soft and sweet front—but there was no hiding that sharp and intelligent stare.

A stare which is now just a glare, lips pulled into a sneer.

“This sentimentality isn’t going to cause problems, right?” Any sweetness that could be gleaned was dripping with sarcasm. Ah, has Akechi always had sharp canines? Maybe that was just projection. “I can trust you to cooperate, yes?”

And, then.

“It’s not a problem, right? Right, Kurusu?”

Of course it’s a problem, he wants to scream. It’s been a problem since the day you shook my hand.

It’s been a problem since the day you came back with a godforsaken cocky fucking smirk.

I’ve been stuck on you like a parasite from the start.

“You didn’t answer the question,” is what he says instead.

“It’s a stupid question,” is Akechi’s blunt response. “What do you expect to get from continuing this?”

“I...” You speak so detachedly. “It’s the last chance I’ll get to taste you.”

With just the right stare of his own, Akechi stills. It’s not like a deer in headlights, not yet, but Akechi does stiffen when Akira strides towards him.

“You knew,” he said. “From the start. And you were curious. You always pressed so close, acting so innocent. If we were both normal humans, that’d be one thing. Maybe I could brush it aside.”

“Even if you were a human, you wouldn’t be normal,” Akechi said, clipped. “But, you’re not much of a vampire, either, are you?”

He’s not. But he can still practically taste the memory of Akechi’s thumb pressed against his fangs. Akechi’s grabby little hands. On his teeth, on his back, on his shoulder. Akechi, who knew and still acted like that.

Akira grips the damn scarf. Akechi doesn’t stop him, but he doesn’t rip it away. The fabric gives under his grip, but he doubts Akechi will care about a few extra wrinkles in the folds.

“You’ve never even bitten a human before,” Akechi said next, and those sharp blood-red eyes bore into him. Reflected back is an unwavering shadow. “I didn’t need to confirm it, although the lack of bite marks on any of your merry gang of thieves did strengthen my conviction. They always showed their wrists and necks without a hint of restraint—how comfortable they were around you.” Akechi’s long lashes lower, and there’s still no falter. “You look at me differently. Full of surprises, aren’t you.”

His thumb hooks into the scarf.

“Let’s not talk about that.”

With that, he pulls, pulls, pulls—

--

Until Akechi is standing in the attic, staring him down. The scarf has unraveled a little, but the fabric sticks to his throat like a flimsy shield. He has thin bedsheets that would provide more of a defense.

Haah.

“I would have been fine just admiring from afar,” he finds himself saying. “But then you had to go and get yourself killed.”

“And now I’m back,” Akechi says, too unimpressed to muster up a smile, no matter how sardonic. “Don’t you feel indulged?”

This is only the start of that.

He leads Akechi to the bed, seating him, keeping him upright. Tugging at that scarf until, finally, Akechi’s pale neck was exposed.

At the laundromat, I wanted nothing more than to pull you close and sink my teeth in. Just to see if you were really alive, I thought to myself, because I couldn’t believe my ears which picked up not only your voice but your heartbeat.

And what a frantic heartbeat it had been! Even now, it’s beating fast in spite of Akechi Goro’s stoicism.

When fighting you, your heart raced so much that I worried it would come beating out of your chest.

Akechi sighed, tilting his head. His eyes closed, and resignation washes over his features.

His heart is still so agitated.

So much so that Akechi does flinch when a hand comes around the side of his neck.

It’s human to fear death, Akira thought. With his other hand, he plucked off his glasses to set them aside.

“I did find it strange,” Akechi commented suddenly. “Did Maruki not know about your condition?”

“It’s not something I go around telling people.” Not a very good attempt at lightening up the mood. Come on, Akechi, you’re better than this. “Very few people figure it out on their own, too.”

Akechi’s lips pull into the straight, thin line.

On impulse, Akira leans in close to kiss the corner of them. That gets Akechi to jump.

“What,” he growls. “The hell—”

Akechi freezes completely when a fang nicks his jaw. Locked in place. Just like that. His heart pounds against his ribcage, not calming even as Akira rubs his sternum with his thumb.

“Afraid?” he asks. Even if he meant to be teasing, his breath comes out in a chill against the other’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. Even if I should.”

Traitor. Killer. Tease. You’re as dangerous to others as you are to yourself.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats. “Which makes desiring you a bit of a problem.”

Akechi does blink.

“Goro,” Akira sighs against him, and the spell is broken.

Akechi’s gloved fingers weave through his hair and yank without mercy. And Akechi is the one to bite him hard on the neck, hard enough to draw blood.

“Ah,” Akira mumbles blandly.

His teeth are sorta sharp.

And they dig in so fiercely, too. Grinding in frustration.

How human.

“Oh, Goro,” he murmurs, holding him close, pressing him closer. He feels the tension in Akechi Goro’s shoulders get tighter, precarious like a rubber band holding the blades together. “Please, please stay with me.”

Akechi bites down harder than before. When he pulls back with that defiant glare, his lips are speckled with the same shade of crimson as his eyes. The wound stings, blood beading along the surface. Wiping that away with his thumb, he smears it against Akechi’s mouth. Strokes his puffy lower lip, and kisses him.

Gently. Mouth closed, even when Akechi nips at him.

“You spineless piece of shit,” Akechi breathed harshly, huffing. “What the actual fuck are you doing?” His fists ball up in his coat. “Are you going to bite me or what?!”

He pulls at Akira’s hair, his stare narrowed.

“Well?”

Akira runs his fingers through the other’s hair in return. The soft caramel strands don’t even get tangled. Akechi is still so particular about his appearance regardless of the world’s state. Akira thinks about pulling, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Well?” Akechi repeats, hissing. “What are you doing, Kurusu?”

“How did my blood taste?” he finds himself asking.

“It tasted like shit! What’s your point?!”

Shit, huh? Yeah. Vampire blood isn’t appetizing at all. Appetizing—

Then, something happened.

Akechi bit his own lower lip. Like before, he bit down hard. Hard enough to draw blood, which dribbles down his chin. Immediately, Akira leans in to catch it on his tongue.

Fuck.

He laps it up and tastes Akechi’s vicious smirk with it.

“Goro, you...” Cutting himself off so that his lips can close around that hole in Akechi’s lip. Akechi shudders against him, but he’s still grinning wildly, amused to the point of a soft puff of laugh scraping its way out between his teeth. “God.” Akira wanted to laugh, too. “I hate you.”

“Kurusu—”

Akira nuzzles into his neck and doesn’t wait another second before sinking in his teeth.

“Kurusu,” Akechi pleads, voice strangled. “Kurusu...”

His pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird. Fitting, isn’t it? For all that aggression, Akechi Goro is still vulnerable like any other human, like any other living creature at another’s mercy. And he tastes so great, warm with a hint of spice.

“Don’t you feel indulged?” Akechi had asked then, and he only whines now. He really had no idea—did he even imagine? “A... Akira...”

Warm and alive—there wasn’t a doubt about it, especially with the way Akechi squirmed when a hand slipped under his coat—

“Enough,” Akechi gasped out. “T-That’s enough, Akira.”

--

He applies a bandage to the bitemark but tells Akechi that it shouldn’t take long to heal.

“It’s not a replacement for proper treatment, but my saliva does have healing qualities,” he says, handing Akechi an opened water bottle. “Don’t move around too much...”

“I know the standard procedure for dealing with blood loss,” Akechi snapped. He takes a swing before Akira can stop him. Even if he chokes a little and swallows it down wrong, there’s not much to do besides let him be.

Akechi’s glove has been rolled up a little. Akira’s fingers twitch when he notices.

“With that, all is settled?” Akechi asks, lips wet with his grip on the bottle tilted. “Are you satisfied?”

Fuck it. Just what does this guy expect when he asks?

“We’re not taking the offer,” he says as he takes that hand with the unruly glove. Rather than smoothing it down, he traces the vein of his wrist. Once, twice, each stroke harder against the skin. Until he leans down and kisses that pulse. The flutter is enough to make his lips tingle. “That should be enough.”

“You’re not the type to go behind someone’s back, for better and worse,” Akechi sighed, and he turns away rather than pulling his hand back. “I can trust you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Akira’s grip on his hand tightened. He thinks of biting both of Akechi’s wrists, to let blood drip from them like severed puppet strings.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Akechi didn’t look at him. He refused, only giving a polite nod.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 48

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Masterlist for previous chapters

Author: http://flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash.tumblr.com/

I also have this up on AO3 , Wattpad, and FF.net

Characters: Negan x female reader

Words: 4,645

Warnings: nsfw, swearing, smut (!!!)

A Midnight Snack

The two of you moved in sync around the kitchen, as for the first time in a while you were demoted to assistant chef, while Negan took over. You helped him fetch needed items, getting a wooden spoon out of a drawer here and pulling out some spices there. He took his cooking skills seriously, gently barking out orders when he needed help, while you obtained the proper items and observed his sauce-making process with interest. When he seemed to have things mostly under control, you grabbed two place settings, arranging the silverware and glasses of water at the kitchen island sitting in the middle of the tiled room.

 Leaning a hip against the counter next to the stove, you watched as Negan stirred the sauce in a steady, counterclockwise direction. He looked sexy as hell, and you wondered why more men weren’t so open about their cooking abilities. Didn’t they realize how attractive it was to watch a man, who usually tried to act tough and serious, delicately dice garlic and add just the right amount of spices? Or maybe it was just attractive to you? Either way, it was arousing to watch.

 He brought the spoon up to his mouth, tasting the sauce and licking his lips. Considering the flavor for a moment, he then grabbed the black pepper from the counter and grinded some into the pot, before resuming his steady stirring. Your stomach gave another growl at the tangy, delicious smell of the sauce, and you didn’t hesitate when he lifted the spoon out of the pot again, this time bringing it towards you. His other hand cupped underneath it, ready to catch any drops that might fall.

 He put the end of the spoon up to your mouth, and you tasted the sauce, licking your own lips and giving a nod of approval.

 “Holy crap, that’s delicious!”

 He smiled in response, pleased with your reaction. “Told ya spaghetti is my fucking specialty, doll.”

 With that, he grabbed the two plates of noodles, which you had reheated in the microwave, and spooned a liberal amount of the sauce out on top. Once the plates were settled back onto the counter, he tugged off the still-spotless apron and wadded it into a ball before tossing it back in the general direction of the neatly folded pile. You couldn’t even complain, not when your stomach was dragging you towards the food that awaited.

 The two of you took your plates over to the island and settled side by side on the barstools, grabbing your forks and eagerly digging in. You had no clue why Negan even bothered getting trays of food from the kitchen, since he was a damn fantastic cook on his own. You internally grinned at the thought of him coming down and helping you cook on a regular basis. Course, that probably wouldn’t be a very smart idea, since Ben might really lose his shit if Negan tried to take his spot as your assistant.

 Now that your hunger pangs were lessening, you broke the silence with a question. “So, was it you who also made the chocolate cake?”

 You glanced over in time to see his lips curl up slightly before he took another bite. “Nah, much as I’d love to take the credit, that was Ben and Simon.”

 You almost toppled right off the barstool at that. “Ben? AND Simon?”

 “Yea,” he said around a mouthful of spaghetti. “I think it was mostly Ben, but Simon said he ‘helped out’ by taste testing it when it was done, to make sure it turned out alright. I swear he’s gonna turn into a fucking cake one of these days, with that sweet tooth of his.”

 You grinned at the mental image of Ben trying to keep his cool and cook while alone with Simon. Oh yea, you were going to have a lot of fun teasing Ben about that one. The jerk hadn’t even hinted to you about the cake, although it now made sense why he had been so insistent on you looking nice for Negan and taking the date seriously.

 “So, is Simon sticking around for a while, then?” you questioned. You hoped so, for Ben’s sake.

 Twirling some spaghetti on his fork, Negan shifted on the stool so that his warm thigh pressed up against the length of yours. You weren’t sure if you found the gesture comforting or a turn on...was it possible for it to be both?

 “Yea, for the time being. Eventually I’ll probably send him back to an outpost, but for now, I figure I’ll let him stay here. All he could fucking talk about was the quality of the food, so if I make him leave so soon, he might commit a fucking mutiny on me for the chance at another round of ice cream.”

 You wondered if Simon was sticking around to make up for the loss of Dwight, who was apparently still in a cell, since you hadn’t seen him around. You thought of asking Negan about him, but didn’t want to ruin the moment. The two of you were in a happy little bubble, and you were unwilling to burst it quite yet.

 Once the plates were empty, minus some smears of sauce, you plucked them and the silverware off the counter and walked over to the sink, Negan following behind with the empty glasses of water. You grabbed a rag and turned on the faucet, starting to wash the dirty dishes. Negan automatically came up on your right, and you barely hid your surprise at the sight of a dish towel in his hands. Deciding not to make a comment, you grabbed the detergent and started on the first plate.

 When you had scrubbed each dish until it was spotless, and rinsed it of soap suds, you handed them off to Negan to dry, giving him verbal directions as to which cupboard or drawer each dish went back in. The situation felt so domestic that it almost didn’t seem real. If only the compound could see their powerful leader now, holding a damp dish towel and putting away forks and spoons.

 When the dishes were finished, you went over to the counter island, wiping the surface of any evidence that someone had been there. Glancing over your shoulder, you froze at the sight of Negan leaning back against the front of the sink, eyes locked down on the movements of your ass as you scrubbed at the countertop. At your ceased movement, he trailed his gaze back up to your face.

 “We really need to get you some new fucking pants,” he drawled.

 You realized that he was referring to the tear across the back of your upper thigh, and turned to face him with a cocked eyebrow. “I thought we already had this conversation, about how there isn’t a dress code here.”

 He stood up from the sink, eyes gleaming with possessive lust. “Yea, well, those should be fucking illegal to wear in public. In fact, I’m not sure I like the idea of you wearing them around anyone that isn’t me.”

 You rolled your eyes at the same time that a spark of desire started in the pit of your stomach. “Really? All over a little flash of thigh? Careful, your caveman tendencies are showing,” you teased.

 Rather than respond, he started across the tiles, intent clear on his face. Instinctually moving backwards, you navigated around the edge of the counter, putting the island between the two of you. Rather than deter him, his expression became even more intense, as he rounded the corner without any hesitation and strode purposefully towards you.

 “Why you runnin’, Red? I thought you wanted to see what big teeth I had.”

 The spark of desire had officially turned into a small inferno that coursed over your skin, despite the total inappropriateness of the setting.

 “Negan! I work in here!”

 “So?” he parried. “I work in my office, but that doesn’t mean I don’t plan on fucking you across my desk in the near future.”

 Unable to contain the gasp that left your lips at the mental image his words created, your body went up in flames as he skirted the last corner and closed the distance between you. His hand came up to wrap around the back of your neck, as he pulled your face up and into him and captured your lips in an unbreakable kiss. Any and all potential resistance left the building at the feel of his mouth against yours.

 The pace was more hurried this time, as he ran his hands down over your sides and cupped your ass in the tight jeans. You moaned into his mouth and lifted a leg to wrap around his hip, trying to meld your body as close to his as physically possible. If you had thought that sleeping with him would diminish some of your lust, you had been sorely mistaken. If anything, it was worse now...since you knew exactly what Negan’s fingers and mouth and cock were capable of.

 He pushed you back against the counter, the edge digging slightly into your lower back, as his mouth left yours and trailed down to your throat, while his fingers flicked open the button on your jeans. You whimpered and grabbed onto the back of his head, fingers tightening in his hair when he nipped at your sensitive flesh. He panted against your skin, giving a low growl when you used the thigh at his hip to arch your pelvis up into his.

 “Jesus, doll, you’re so fucking hot.”

 You rolled your hips into his again, and he gave an honest-to-god snarl, before you felt strong hands at your waist lifting you up off the floor, your ass landing on the cold countertop. He practically tore the jeans down your legs, sneakers and denim hitting the floor to leave you bare from the waist down, before he tugged your shirt over your head. Before you had even had a chance to process his actions, you found yourself naked, spread out on the counter where you and the rest of the kitchen staff usually ate together. Negan was still fully dressed, and you were incredibly turned on by that juxtaposition. Leaning back on your elbows, legs dangling off the edge of the table, you waited to see what he would do next.

 His eyes raked over you like a full-body caress, starting at the top of your head and moving down over your face, which most likely was sporting lust-glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and a panting, open mouth with lips swollen from his kisses. He moved down over your chest, the curve of your breasts thrusting forward enticingly in this position, then took in the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. He paused for a long moment at the juncture of your thighs, although your legs were currently pressed together so he probably couldn’t see too much, before he trailed down over your legs, ending with a glance at your toes.

 When he finally lifted his gaze back up to your own, you were practically panting from anticipation, ready to beg him to take off his own clothes or touch you or just do something. Instead, he used another weapon at his disposal, and started talking.

 “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you look? I’m no artist, but I sure as fuck would give anything for an easel and some paint right now.”

 Trying to keep yourself from melting into a puddle on the floor, you lightly kicked a dangling foot back and forth, and saucily quipped, “There’s a pen and notepad in one of the drawers.”

 His heated gaze stayed on yours, lips curling up into a slight smirk as he stepped up between your legs and closed the distance between your bodies. You gasped at the sensation of his still-clothed body pressed up against your own bare flesh. The fabric of his pants scratched sensually against your inner thighs, and your hands ran up over his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles underneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

 He leaned down and whispered in your ear, “If you’re still able to sass me, then I obviously need to step up my fucking game.”

 You shivered at the puffs of warm breath on your ear, his sexy-as-hell voice escalating your arousal so that your thighs tightened around him automatically. You didn’t even care what words came out of his mouth, so long as he kept talking to you in that sinfully low gravel.

 He chuckled, the vibrations making hair stand up on the back of your neck. “Someone’s awfully eager. If I wasn’t certain I had already fucked you to exhaustion earlier, I might almost be offended, doll. But, I think it’s just that you still want me that...fucking...much.” The last few words were said between nips to your earlobe and a rough kiss to the underside of your jaw.

 “Oh, god,” you gasped, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers pulled frantically at his shirt, wanting him naked, as well. You couldn’t ever remember being turned on by a man this quickly, nor being so ready to scream in frustration strictly from the sound of a man’s voice.  

 “What’s the matter, doll?” he purred, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, before trailing his fingers down over the front of your chest. “Tell daddy what you want.”

 On some level, you realized that he had probably thrown out the ‘daddy’ comment as a joke, or as a way to throw you off balance and make you toss back some sarcastic retort. And, before meeting Negan, you would’ve done just that, or probably even been totally turned off by it.

 So why the hell did the words instead cause moisture to rush between your thighs and an involuntary whimper to leave your lips?

 He stilled above you, obviously as surprised as you were by your reaction. Refusing to open your eyes and see his expression, especially since you would die of mortification if he had an arrogant smirk on his face right now, you instead changed the focus entirely by reaching forward and palming the erection that was pressing into you through his pants. When he let out a groan in response, you knew the distraction had worked.

 He pulled his hips back out of reach, and before you could complain, his mouth started a downward trail, stopping to suck and lick your breasts until the nipples were hard and shining with saliva. But he didn’t stop there.

 It took until his mouth was moving down over your stomach, teeth nipping at your hip bone, before you realized his intent. Eyes flying open, you looked down the front of your body, elbows almost giving out at the sight of his face hovering right over your wet cunt. Using two fingers, he spread your lips, exposing the gathered moisture to the cool air, his eyes fixated on the sight. Before you could decide whether or not to be embarrassed by his close scrutiny, he lifted his gaze and locked eyes with you, the breath rushing out of your lungs at the amber flames that pinned you to the counter. Without looking away, he raised your legs up so that the back of your thighs were resting on his cotton-covered shoulders, before lowering his face and pressing his mouth into you.

 At the first touch of his tongue, you immediately broke eye contact, head falling backwards with a moan as he licked you from ass to clit. He gave a low groan that vibrated all through your body before licking again, this time dipping his tongue inside of you, as if trying to gather up as much of the wetness as he could. Your elbows officially lost the battle, your upper back falling to the cool counter as your hips arched up into his face, unsure if they wanted to get away from the overwhelming, yet heavenly, sensations or press closer.

 He wrapped both his arms around your thighs, hands hard on your hips to anchor you in place. His tongue slipped through your folds before latching onto your clit this time, and he gave it a light suck that caused you to whine and struggle helplessly in his grasp.

 “Fuck...oh, fuck, Negan!” you moaned, one hand scrabbling helplessly at the slippery surface of the counter, while the other one reached down, nails digging into his wrist for stability. Between his words earlier and now this, it was obvious that Negan’s mouth had been created solely for the purpose of driving women wild. And he knew it.

 After what could’ve been a few moments or a few minutes of the delicious torture (time had no meaning to you, at this point), he upped the intensity by freeing his wrist from your death grip and bringing the hand down between your thighs. Slowly pushing two fingers deep inside you, he hooked them on the spot that caused you to almost bow right off the counter. His tongue continued to swirl around your clit as his lips sucked lightly, in counterpoint to the steady pace of his fingers moving in and out, rubbing against that magical spot inside of you with each thrust.

 When he latched onto your clit and shook his head quickly back and forth with a groan, you were done for, body convulsing as the orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you drenched and trembling and utterly wrecked.

 You were still coming down from the high, heart pounding and out of breath, as he kissed his way down your inner thigh, rubbing his beard on your sensitive flesh like a cat. Pushing weakly at his head, you twisted away from the overwhelming sensations. He lifted his head, eyes coasting up over your still-trembling and sweat-covered body, before he fixed you with an arrogant smirk.

 “Sensitive, doll?”

 You wanted to say something sarcastic, but you couldn’t even find the energy needed to cock an eyebrow at him, let alone form words, so instead opted for aggressively panting in his direction and giving a half-hearted mental response of ‘asshole’.

 He chuckled, obviously pleased with his handiwork, and straightened up so that he was looming over you. His jaw clenched at the sight of you spread out before him, eyes scanning as if he were trying to memorize every detail. Finally finding some strength reservoirs, you sat up, using a hand around the back of his neck to pull his mouth down to yours. The musky sweetness of him was overlaid with the taste of your own juices, and the concoction served to kickstart your desire all over again.

 Deciding that it was time to wipe the arrogant smile off his face, you reached forward and started undoing his belt. Once it was unbuckled, and the button and zipper were released, you reached within and pulled out his hard, weeping cock, giving it a firm stroke with your hand. His answering grunt caused heat to pool low in your stomach, and you used the precum leaking from the tip to coat his erection for a smoother stroke, giving an arrogant grin of your own when his hips canted forward into your grip. You both watched, mesmerized, while you stroked his erection as it bobbed between your legs over the countertop, encouraging groans of pleasure coming from the man above you.

 Pulling your gaze away from the sight, you looked up at him, taking in his flushed face and the vein straining along the side of his throat. Gone was the arrogant smirk, replaced with an open-mouthed look of pleasure, and you felt a rush of power at the thought that you could reduce him to this. You. And only you.  

 When his hips were uncontrollably twitching and his cock was an angry, deep red, he pulled away from your hold with a moan. Disappointment was quickly replaced with anticipation when he reached into the pocket of his jeans, which were now halfway down his thighs, and pulled out a condom. Sneaky bastard must’ve grabbed one before leaving his room. And, while you might’ve been a little miffed at his presumptuousness of how this kitchen adventure was going to end, you were also thankful that he had the foresight to be prepared, since you hadn’t thought to do so. Hell, after tonight, you should probably start keeping a condom in your bra at all times when around him, just in case.

 Quickly rolling on the condom, Negan pulled you down the counter by the hips, so that your ass was hanging precariously off the edge, supported only by him. Wrapping your legs around his waist for leverage, you clawed at his shirt, whispering, “Take it off.” He might not have fully removed his pants, but you’d be damned if he kept you from the glorious sight of his bare chest.

 Acquiescing, he reached up over his shoulder with one hand, fisting the material at his upper back and jerking the shirt up over his head. Licking your lips at the delicious expanse of tan skin and lean muscles, you tightened your thighs at his hips, frantically trying to draw him closer. There were no games or teasing now, just pure need, and you cried out with relief at the feel of his cock nudging between your wet folds.

 He entered you with a loud grunt, working his way deep in one, long thrust. You were surprised to find yourself already pushed close to another orgasm, and were grateful when he set up a deep and fast rhythm that reflected both of your urgent needs. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the countertop at your hips, while your own hands reached up, one grabbing his bicep and the other curling into his chest hair. The sounds of your cries echoed loudly around the kitchen, but you were unaware of them, your world narrowed down to the feel of the man above and inside you, and the building pressure that was begging to be freed.

 It was the sound of your name growled in his deep, rough voice that sent you soaring, body tightening and breath hitching when the tension released. You called out his name as the pleasure broke apart within you, rolling over your flesh in waves and pulsing through your veins like fire. Distantly, you heard him moan with his own release as he shuddered above you and was thrown into the inferno of pleasure, as well.

 It took a few minutes for you both to cool down, Negan slowly pulling away from you and hiking his pants back up. After buttoning them, he ran a hand through his sex-tousled hair. The sight of his bicep flexing, coupled with the pants hanging low and loose on his hips, caused a stir between your thighs.

 Jesus Christ, girl, will you chill the hell out!

 Refusing to acknowledge the fact that your traitorous body was still itching for another round, you slid forward and off the table, bringing you to stand directly in front of Negan. You both looked at each other in silence for a moment, before twin grins broke out over your faces.

 “I can’t believe we just did that in here,” you said with a light laugh, bending over to grab your jeans off the tiles.

 “I gotta say, doll, that was the best fucking dessert I’ve ever had. It even beats your berry crisp.”

 Having been in the process of buttoning your jeans, your head flew up, a blush heating your cheeks at both his words and the way he was intently watching you. He had found his shirt and was already fully clothed, leaning a hip against the counter and greedily watching you get dressed. You felt the blush deepen at the sight of your own shirt dangling from his fingers. When you reached out a hand for it, he teasingly moved it out of reach.

 “You sure you wanna put this back on, doll?” he taunted. “I think you look fucking better without it.”

 Rather than make another grab for the shirt, you instead turned around and headed towards the door, throwing back over your shoulder, “Alright, fine, hope there aren’t too many of your men up and walking around right now.”

 You made it to the swinging doors leading to the cafeteria before a warm arm halted your forward movement by wrapping around your waist.

 “Damnit woman, are you trying to get all my men killed?” his voice growled in your ear.

 Turning with a grin, you gazed up at him with a falsely innocent look on your face. “What, you think a little peek of breast is gonna give them all heart attacks?”

 Squinting down at you with displeasure, Negan rolled up your shirt, so that the arm and head holes were easily accessible, and gestured at you. Lifting your arms obediently, you let him pull it down over your head, effectively covering all your more intimate assets from view.

 “More that they’d all be getting a fucking taste of Lucille for daring to look at something that isn’t theirs.”

 Biting your lip, you processed his possessive words. They caused a tingle in your chest, but you ignored it, instead deciding to keep the conversation light by rolling your eyes at him.

 “Last time I checked, I’m not anyone’s. It’s not the 1900s, Negan. Women aren’t property.”

 He looked as though he wanted to say something in response, but he smartly kept quiet, and instead pushed open one of the swinging doors, gesturing for you to proceed him out of the kitchen. The cafeteria was still dark and a bit creepy, but your internal clock told you that it wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours until more life brightened up the space.

 When you had both exited the cafeteria and entered the stairwell, you had a moment of self-doubt. It was probably almost 4am at this point, and you weren’t sure if it was time to make your way back to your own room. Course, your panties and bra were still in his room, as was your watch. Whether he sensed your hesitation or was acting of his own desire, Negan chose that moment to reach out and grab your hand with his, tangling your fingers together and continuing up the steps past the third floor and towards his own floor. Whelp, there goes that dilemma.

 You felt a thrill at the prospect that he wanted you to come back to his room, that he wasn’t ready to kick you out quite yet. You didn’t want to read too much into his gesture, but that didn’t stop you from feeling as though you might burst from happiness.

 When you made it back to his bedroom, which was still dimly lit by the one lamp, you excused yourself to use his bathroom. Relieving yourself and washing your hands, you came back out to find that he was already waiting in the bed. A quick glance at the dark mass of fabric on the floor was evidence that he was naked under the covers, so you quickly stripped down yourself. He lifted the sheet when you came around to the side of the bed, and you crawled in, turning around and immediately snuggling your back against his chest. Looping an arm around your waist, he pulled you in tight, dropping a light kiss to your shoulder before he settled into the pillows with a sigh.

 “Night, doll,” he husked, already sounding half asleep.

 Smiling in the darkened room, you closed your eyes and whispered back, “Good night, Negan.”

 As sleep claimed you, one thought lingered in your mind.

 A girl could get used to this.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Tag List Part 1: (gonna try splitting this up again in a different way until I find which person’s blog is causing all the tags to deactivate *squints at each and every one of you*)

@hannibalssweaters @strangersangel9 @crazytxgradstudent @aestheticimagines @ericuhlorain @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @sunriserose1023 @supernaturalocalypse @breakfast-of-a-teenage-killer @grynaszeme @despoinak27 @crowleyshellkitten  @coloursunlimited @colorsunimaginable @imhissecret @ornella95 @rapsity @mygoldenmile @angelak72081 @angixla @nijiru @belahbelieve @insomniasnightmare @immostlyconfused @rvstinhart @riotguuuurl @mega-kawaiipeacheagle @ioanashalala @wearethelastgenerationofhope @sweetdreadfulness @squid-from-mirkwood @thatgingefromtheinternet @lydiiv @heartfulloffandoms @whoopxd @umad0bitch @no-movrners-no-fvnerals @nohararin @doctorswife221b @toogardenenthusiast @avasmommy224 @12noboundaries13 @sabinab-vall @magnetosgirl @volatileviolentviolet @lalabasuco @favs-imagines @bigboldhead @kezzasaurus-rex @katyiskool @assthetic-princess @halloweenbeauty @monicapernas @jasoncrouse @ali-pennell @backseat-negan @jeffreydeanneganstrash @faith-in-dean @musiccitymel  @crzcorgi @mytreasures4eternity47 @boohoolisa @neganslittlebae @collette04 @miral-s-negan  @negandaddyjdm @myrumdiary