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bring-forth-his-sac · 1 month ago

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Stained: The Dinner Party

summary: you made Negan a promise and now it's time to deliver... if you can get some time alone with him

word count: 9.5k

tags: ! NSFW ! dad's best friend trope, pre-apocalypse, cheating, blowjob, face fucking, cum eating, facials, swearing & crude language, vaginal fingering, degrading names (slut, whore), semi-public kinda public secret sexual acts in front of others? Idk how to word that one but you get the gist

you can find part 1 here!!

“Hey everybody, welcome back to my channel! Here are my top tips for giving some gluck gluck before you fuck fuck!”.

You can’t believe you’ve reached this point and yet here you are. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, turning down the volume on your phone. The last thing you need is for one of your parents to walk past and hear that introduction.

It’s been a month. One long month since you had your romp with Negan. You were supposed to see him sooner, your parents having arranged another dinner, but the Smith’s had to cancel due to Negan having Summer exams and assessments to get through.

“Ok, first tip for when you’re slobbering on some man meat. Just because your mouth is the main focus doesn’t mean you can’t use your hands too!”.

You let the video you found online play in the background as you try to tame your hair. You have one thing on your mind tonight. The last time you saw Negan, after he gave you a fucking of a lifetime, you made him a promise. The next one of your parent’s dinner parties that he attends, you’ll suck him off. And damn right you plan on keeping that promise.

Pulling out your clothes, you dump your options on to the bed. You have to be strategic about this. Slutty but not too slutty. Modest but in a sexy secretary way, not like a nun.

“Make eye contact! And no, I don’t mean with his third eye! Guys love it when you got their… y’know… haha! …God, I hope this doesn’t get demonized but y’know, their sausage in your mouth and you look up at them”.

You cringe at the fake laughing the video is filled with. The only reason you’re watching this is to make sure you give Negan the best blowjob of his life. Where, you’re not sure yet. Under the table sounds hot but isn’t practical. Dragging him to your bedroom is way too suspicious.

The video continues as you think.

“And don’t forget, be enthusiastic! Take charge! Just because he’s the one getting off doesn’t mean he needs to have complete control… although that can be fun too. Huh, maybe I should do a video on not gagging next”.

Your attention shifts to a long-sleeved top. It doesn’t show much cleavage but it’s snug enough to stir the imagination. Pairing it with a skirt is non-negotiable. You already know a skirt is a must, especially if you want to give Negan easy access.

With a sigh, you reach over and turn off the video. Useless. The advice wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t the almighty best blowjob of his life material you were hoping for.

You glance at the outfit laid out on the bed. You slip them on, smoothing the fabric over your hips as you turn towards the mirror.

Not bad.

You had planned to try a few other looks, maybe something a little more casual in case this one didn’t feel right. But before you can assemble the second outfit, a cacophony of voices creeps under your door.

They’re here.

You freeze for a second. The moment’s no longer theoretical. Negan’s in your house… and so is his wife. Your name rings out, your mother’s voice carrying it. “Come say hi” she calls, her voice already in host mode. You take one last look in the mirror, fix a stray hair and open the door.

The hallway is buzzing with life. Negan stands near the entryway, his presence commanding but relaxed in that way only he can pull off. He barely glances your way, offering a polite nod before turning his attention back to your dad, who’s already launching into something about cars.

Lucille, on the other hand, pulls you straight into a hug the second you’re within reach. “Look at you, gorgeous! All dolled up!” she says, bracelets clinking on her wrists. You manage a smile and hug her back, slightly overwhelmed.

Everyone starts moving deeper into the house, your dad talks Negan’s ear off and your mom is caught in a flurry of Lucille’s questions about what’s for dinner. Overlapping voices bounce off the walls. You try to hang back for a second but you’re forced to move along with the chaotic current.

And then you feel it. A hand brushes against your waist and gives a brief, deliberate squeeze. It’s fleeting but you know it’s him.

The second Negan saw you, he knew the night was going to be trouble. That outfit didn’t have him fooled. The way that top hugs you, the sway of your skirt. He barely let his eyes linger as you’re swept into the kitchen with the other ladies. Tonight, you’re a woman on a mission and damn if he didn’t respect the hell out of that.

“Honey,” your mom blindly shoves a fistful of cutlery in your direction, not bothering to look up from her work on the kitchen counter. Even with the whole day to prepare, she’s somehow behind schedule and only whipping up the batter for dessert now.

“Help set the table,” she politely orders. You know there’s no room for debate, taking the array of forks and blunt knives.

You don’t mind helping out, especially when you see Negan and your dad in the dining room already. Where Lucille has wandered to, you’re unsure. Maybe the bathroom, or maybe she entered the kitchen a few moments after you left, barely missing each other. It’s like there’s a constant rotation in and out of each room. As if to prove your point, when you enter the dining room, you almost bump into your dad as he leaves.

You don’t waste your opportunity, not knowing any many times you’ll get to be alone with Negan tonight. “Your sweatshirt is inside my bedroom, by the door, in a bag,” you keep your voice low as you set the table “I can get it if you’d like to put it in your truck”.

You figured he’d appreciate the gesture. Straight to helping sort this shit out. Not trying to get in his pants straight away or acting as if nothing happened. Simply being practical.

Negan gives a soft scoff but you can’t quite tell if it’s amusement or annoyance. “That’s all I get?” you almost melt as the smirk he gives you as he whispers “No hi, how are you? How’s your dick doing?”.

A mischievous smile plays at your lips. You shrug casually “Well, since you asked… how is it?”.

“Missing you” Negan answers, not missing a beat.

You try to ignore the flutter in your stomach. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise,” you mention, watching out of the corner of your eye as Negan rounds the table to you.

“Neither have I” he practically growls, crowding behind you. “The other morning, I woke up with my dick about to explode just thinking about it,” he nuzzles against you, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

Despite needing to stay alert, your eyes slowly shut. You savor his scruff against your neck, making the sensitive skin tingle.

Negan isn't as aggressive as he was that night at the bar but he isn’t very soft either. It’s like he has a natural roughness to him, the way he kisses, the way he fucks. All of which you know a little too well.

Bringing your comfort to an end, you hear your mother laugh, probably at something Lucille is saying. Negan must know it too as his lips leave you.

“My sweatshirt is in your room?” He repeats.

You nod immediately “In a Target bag, yeah”.

Negan moves away from you, back to his casual position at the other side of the table as you hurriedly finish setting the cutlery. He goes to speak again but before Negan can get a word out, your mother is bustling into the room with a hot bowl of mashed potatoes.

“New recipe!” She announces to Lucille, who trails in after her. You try not to catch her eye.

“Instead of the usual spices, I tried being more adventurous with my potatoes” Your mother rambles.

Lucille simply nods along, her eyes studying you instead. You barely said hi to her when she first got here, despite how friendly she was to you. All Lucille got was a smile she can only describe as pitiful and now you won’t even look at her.

She goes to examine Negan’s body language next but when Lucille turns, she’s met with empty space. Like a ghost, he’s vanished.

“And I actually listened to the recipe this time and put honey in with the carrots!” Your mother prides herself on her skills “Carrots… oh shoot, the carrots!”. Much to your horror, your mother darts out of the room and back to the kitchen, leaving you and Lucille alone.

A beat of silence.

Another.

It’s only when the silence stretches a little too long do you finally lift your eyes to meet hers. She’s smiling.

“I like your skirt,” she says, her voice soft and strangely warm. “I used to wear things like that all the time when I was your age”.

You offer a small shrug “Thanks. Honestly, I kinda forgot I had it”.

She lets out a light laugh, as if you’ve both been part of some unspoken mischief. Well, maybe you both are but if Lucille found that out, you don’t think she’d be laughing.

“It’s a bold choice for daylight,” she says “I almost wore a dress that short today, but I came to my senses before stepping out the door”.

You're not sure whether to laugh with her or lob the nearest utensil across the table. Something about how she talks feels like both an invitation and insult.

“Negan liked it though,” she adds, her lips curling into a teasing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The comment lands too precisely. It’s enough to make you wonder if Lucille knows or if everything she says now feels like an interrogation thanks to your own guilty conscience. You force a smile, lips pressed into a thin line and you offer a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe when your mother’s voice floats in from the kitchen, calling your name.

Lucille’s smile lingers, soft and undisturbed, as you retreat. She doesn’t so much as blink. The image must remain untouched: the perfect wife with the perfect life, part of a marriage that still radiates that golden glow of first love. At least, that’s what she tells herself. Now, if only she could track down her damn husband to complete the illusion.

Lucille moves with practiced grace, her heels silent on the floor as she slips out of the dining room. She skirts the kitchen without a glance, already knowing if Negan were in there, she’d have heard his laugh by now, booming and obnoxious as always when he's trying to charm someone. Either you or your mother. The uncertainty around which one makes her queasy.

The bathroom door hangs open. No voices float down the hall. No telltale murmur of sports stats or banter with your dad. Her brow twitches. Where the hell did he go? As she passes the front window, something outside catches her eye. A flash of movement. Bingo.

Negan shuts the car door with a thud, leaving the bag with his sweatshirt on the back seat. Thankfully, he’s already decided to grab the opportunity to have a cigarette while outside, giving himself the perfect alibi as Lucille steps out the front door.

“Hey” she plainly says, walking down the porch steps.

“Hey yourself,” Negan mutters, flicking his lighter to life. The cigarette catches and he takes a long drag, eyes half-lidded as if this were the most peaceful moment he’d had all day.

Lucille doesn’t return the ease. “You already need a smoke break?”.

Negan lets out a dry laugh that doesn’t quite make it past his throat. “Nope. Just figured I’d come out here and take a shit on their lawn” he answers sarcastically.

Lucille doesn’t suppress any part of her reaction. The breath she exhales is sharp. Her arms fold across her chest, shoulders drawn tight. The eye roll is textbook. And none of it is subtle.

“Can you not for, like… the two hours we’ll be here? That’s all I ask” she snips back. She pauses for a moment, sniffs and then sighs “Now you’re going to stink”.

He shrugs, glancing toward the house with vague disinterest. “The place already smells like someone cremated a vegetable patch. I doubt my cigarette’s gonna make the top ten list of offences”.

Whatever fantasy Lucille has been holding onto, the white-picket fences and synchronized laughter, begins to waver and fray around the edges. Her lips press into a tight line.

“Just put it out and get back inside,” she says, already turning on her heels.

She doesn’t wait for his reply. If she stays out here any longer, she’ll lose whatever thread of control she has left. The door swings shut behind her.

Negan watches the smoke curl up from his cigarette, then exhales a slow stream of it through his nose. The evening has already been a pain in the ass. Now, it’s worse. If he had been thinking about dragging you somewhere quiet before, that thought’s locked in now.

Guilt doesn't hit as hard when all he gets from his wife are barbed jabs and a cold shoulder. Maybe he’s not innocent either. He knows his jokes have a way of biting back but hell, lately it feels like even breathing wrong is a crime.

They’re fucked, really. Negan knows it and deep down and he assumes Lucille does too. But how can either one of them back out of the marriage now when they’ve sunken so much into it? A mortgage, a house, loans, debts. Damn, Negan really needs your sweet mouth around him now. The perfect distraction from the hole he’s dug himself.

You try not to be obvious as you look for Negan. He’s not with your dad or in the dining room. You haven’t seen Lucille either which gives you an odd feeling of dread, knowing they’ve both disappeared. But before you have to worry for long, your mother calls for everyone to get seated for dinner.

You settle into your seat, subtly ensuring the chair next to you remains vacant. You're not confident (or stupid) enough to give a Negan a handy while everyone is having dinner but a little touching here and there shouldn’t hurt, right?

Even when your mother sits at one side of you, you still have some hope as Negan and Lucille enter. You don’t let it interfere with your plans, the empty space on your other side holding your hope. His eyes meet yours and you feel like a tween going through puberty as you instantly smile. But that’s when the free chair beside you scrapes against the floor.

Like a bewildered animal, your head snaps in that direction to see another smile. Lucille. Again.

… Great.

“This seat taken?” she asks, already sitting down.

Like some sick nightmare, Negan has to sit in front of the two women in his life: you and his wife. He tries not to be awkward about it, selfishly not meeting your eyes as Lucille badgers you with questions.

"Got a boyfriend yet? I’m sure there’s a line of them after you,” she compliments “When I was your age, it was boys, parties, always out with friends. Life never slowed down”.

She barely takes a breath before continuing.

“Have you thought about moving out? Getting your own place? I did it around your age, had a place with a few girlfriends. It was wild. Eventually it felt like home, like it was really mine. Maybe it’s time you tried that too. Not just yet, I guess, but hopefully soon, right?".

You spear a forkful of greens and chew with exaggerated focus, nodding along as if Lucille’s barrage of personal questions hasn’t just lit your cheeks on fire. Sure, because still living with your parents is something you want to be quizzed about!

Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, Lucille moves the conversation on to your mother instead. “How would you feel about it? Think you would get empty nest syndrome?” she asks.

Negan tries not to wince as he eavesdrops, pretending to listen to your dad shittalking his co-workers. People say Negan’s the brash and direct one but goddamn, he knows Lucille can come straight out with it sometimes.

He sees it happen, so slow and subtle, and yet the most obvious thing in the room. Your posture, once open and lively, now folding in on itself like a page being creased. The spark behind your eyes has dulled, replaced by that quiet look people wear when they’re trying not to feel too much. You’re retreating and something about it twists in his chest in a way he didn’t expect.

Negan hates it. Hates that look on you. Hates that Lucille’s running her mouth without a clue, and that he’s just sitting here, watching it happen.

Without thinking, he shifts in his seat and slides his foot across the floor under the table. Just a small nudge. A silent gesture. He hopes it lands gently against your ankle, enough to catch your attention without making a scene.

His way of saying ‘I see you, baby’.

But the contact he makes isn’t with your foot.

Across from him, Lucille doesn’t say a word. Her smile doesn't change, and her tone stays light as she continues chatting with your mother. Negan feels the light pressure in return. A slow and smooth, gentle graze up the side of his calf. He exhales, just a little, the knot in his chest loosening.

In his mind, this is your way of answering him. A quiet ‘I’m okay’.

He doesn’t look at you directly. Just a small, sweeping glance. But what he sees only deepens that warmth: the way you're acting completely natural, your face still quiet but softer now, as if you feel it too.

Negan doesn’t realize that it’s not your foot gently stroking his leg under the table. Nor does he see the barely there smile playing at the corners of Lucille’s mouth as she continues her conversation, pretending nothing is happening. Her leg remains where it is, answering a call Negan isn’t actually posing her.

Remaining completely oblivious, you chew mundanely on your food. You pray you’ll get a chance alone with Negan, trying to come up with different excuses or scenarios that would allow it. Unable to help himself, Negan steals another glance your way. His gaze is gentle but full of something far too close to longing.

He doesn’t even realize the softness in his expression, the unguarded affection carved into his features. It’s the kind of look no one gives their wife after years of a marriage built more on duty than desire. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he thought was long gone. Hope. Lust. Yearning.

And Lucille sees it.

At first, she’s still convinced the foot under the table means what she wants it to mean. Her leg lingers against his, her smile patient and waiting for him to respond. Anything. A smirk or a quick look her way to confirm the game she thinks they’re playing. But when she follows the direction of his gaze and sees who it’s truly meant for, something shifts in her.

The realization comes slow. She watches the way Negan looks at you and her stomach turns. There’s no flirtation in his eyes when they land on you. No coyness. Just a quiet ache of something raw, real and undeniably not meant for her.

Her smile falters. It’s small, almost imperceptible but it’s there. The first crack in the polished exterior. She blinks, refocuses on her plate, and subtly draws her leg back under the table, leaving a space between her and Negan where, for a brief moment, she thought something still lived.

Negan still hasn’t noticed. His eyes going from you to the occasional nod and look in your father’s direction as he pretends to pay attention.

You only look up because the scrap of your fork against your plate feels too loud. The hum of overlapping conversations blurs into the background as your gaze lifts, landing on him. Negan. Goddamnit maybe dropping your fork and getting under the table wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

At this point, any apprehension you felt about sucking him off is long gone. Now you just want to unzip his pants and get it out.

The rest of dinner unfolds in a muted haze. Your mother and Lucille carry most of the conversation, chatting about mutual friends and upcoming functions, their voices a constant thread weaving through the meal.

Across the table, Negan and your father exchange low, obligatory small talk. Work, sports, something about the grill. You mostly keep to yourself, quietly eating while nodding politely whenever your mother or Lucille pulls you into the flow of conversation.

After the plates are clean of any food, the table begins to empty. Your father claps Negan on the back and steers him toward the living room, already launching into some half-hearted commentary about the game that’s on. Negan goes with him, disappearing into the living room as your dad shuts the door.

Your mother, ever the hostess, is already stacking plates, humming to herself as she bustles into the kitchen. You follow with a handful of glasses and Lucille trails behind, offering to help put things away. You nod along, moving through the motions of cleanup while the conversation floats around you.

But you’re not done yet. You still have a dick appointment you’re determined to get to. You catch a moment and begin to meander towards the hall when your mother notices your slow edging towards the door.

“Honey? Where are you off to?” she questions but thankfully doesn’t give you enough time to answer, already continuing the conversation on her own “Just leave the boys alone, ok? You know what they’re like when it comes to sport”.

She turns to Lucille, having already lost interest in you. “They act like they’re in their own personal conclave! And I don’t mind it, it gives us some peace and quiet but do they always have to hog the tv?”.

You slip out before Lucille replies to her. Unfortunately, you know your mother is right. Going into the men while they’re in sports mode won’t achieve anything. Actually, all that will do is make you more horny since you’ll be in his presence again. So instead, you haunt the hall, hovering so you’ll hear any movement. Maybe then you can coax him into your room.

In the living room, your father leans back into the couch with a low grunt, beer in hand, eyes on the muted game on the television. Negan sits beside him, feigning interest. His gaze drifts towards the door. Negan can feel himself getting antsy but he knows he has a role to play.

“Jesus, you see that throw?” he commentates on the game, chuckling “Kid’s got an arm like a rocket launcher but that defense makes me think he has shit for brains”.

Your dad laughs, and the two keep the steady rhythm of back-and-forth, Negan tossing in his usual sarcastic jabs and colourful commentary.

But every few minutes, his eyes stray toward the door again. Negan knows he needs to see you, to feel you. Being as casual as possible, he stands with a stretch.

“Alright,” Negan says “Think I’ll go see what the ladies are up to, ask how long ‘til dessert’s ready”. Your dad waves him off, paying more attention to the game than Negan slipping out.

When Negan goes out to the quiet hallway, he breathes a silent sigh of relief. He needs a moment to slip away, to ease the itch under his skin with a quick smoke and silence. Laughter can be heard behind the closed kitchen door. It’s the kind of sound that should feel warm but only makes him feel out of place.

He slides a hand into his pocket, fingertips brushing the worn edge of his lighter when he hears you.

“Hi,” is all you say, almost shyly.

That’s already enough to make Negan want to scoff. You’re a lot of things but as you displayed the last time he saw you, you ain’t shy.

“Tonight’s not really going how I expected” you admit.

Negan assesses you carefully. “So you weren’t expecting dinner and a headache?” he says, voice low and a little rough. He doesn’t have to glance toward the kitchen for you to catch his meaning. The nattering, the laughter, neither wife has let up.

You shrug, the slow curl of your shoulder borders on playful. “I mean, I was expecting a headache,” you murmur “just not from them”.

A faint ghost of a smirk graces his face. “Not exactly the easiest place for a… quiet moment,” he mutters.

You huff a soft laugh through your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “A few minutes of privacy is all we’d need” you reply in a teasing tone.

That brings out his smirk unapologetically. “Just a few minutes? Someone’s confident in their abilities” Negan muses.

A few minutes. It doesn’t sound like a big ask but apparently it is. With your dad planted on the couch and the kitchen full of wine-soaked commentary and stories that won’t end, every chance keeps slipping through your fingers.

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting someone to call your name. Instead, you notice something at the end of the hallway.

The bathroom door cracked open.

You look back at Negan, a spark lighting behind your eyes. “What about in there?” you ask, tilting your head towards it. Your voice is just above a whisper now, conspiratorial.

His eyes follow your line of sight, then return to yours. For the first time all evening, it feels like maybe the night isn’t a complete loss.

That glint in his eyes sharpens, like he’s been waiting for the green light that he didn’t think would actually come. “You serious?” he questions, already angling his body toward the door like gravity’s working in your favor now.

You don’t answer, the flash of a promiscuous look being enough. Turning on your heels, you hear Negan already moving behind you, both of you making a b-line for the bathroom.

A hand brushes against your lower back to urge you forward, or maybe to steady himself from the thrill of it. A burst of laughter echoing from the kitchen makes you almost break into a run. Negan must feel the pump of adrenaline too as he nudges you along.

You slide inside first, turning quickly to pull him in behind you. He catches the handle just before it clicks too loud, easing it shut with the care of someone defusing a bomb. Then the lock turns with a soft yet satisfying snap.

Your heart flutters and you try to convince yourself it’s the adrenaline and not the nerves of giving a bad blowjob. But you don’t let it deter you. This isn’t the time to get hesitant and coy.

Like that video said, be enthusiastic! Time to put your money where your mouth is… well, put his dick where your mouth is actually.

Negan took charge the last time and so you do what you can to set yourself up as the one controlling things this time. Getting down on your knees, your hands latch on to his belt as you look up at him.

“I’ve been waiting for my dessert,” you purr, slowly tracing a hand down to his bulge.

Negan sucks in through his teeth, back hitting off the wall. He can see you’re eager, that’s for sure. And so he keeps his hands by his side, letting you have your fun first.

He groans at the pressure of your hand giving his bulge a small squeeze. “Fuck me…” he whispers, trying to compose himself already. With a deep breath, he asks “You sure you wanna do this?”.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” You reply with a smile, slowly unbuckling his belt.

“Fuck yeah you did,” he keeps his voice low, hands twitching to bury into your hair.

Popping open the button of his jeans, you tug down the zip. There’s a nervous excitement in your stomach as you unwrap your present, the tips from the horrendous video linger in the back of your mind.

Pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough, you free his stiffening cock. Negan can feel his lust dulling his inhibitions. All signs say to stop and yet he can’t help himself growling out a command to you.

“Suck”.

Slowly, you bring your mouth to the tip. You remember to use your hands, holding the base as you lick the smooth head. "Sweet Jesus..." he hisses through clenched teeth, watching as your tongue teases the sensitive tip.

"Baby," Negan groans, hips shifting forward slightly "Less teasing, more sucking. Time's a-tickin'.”

As much as he loves this, he knows your time together is limited. His hands can’t help themselves anymore, going to your hair as if there’s a magnetic pull.

You take the tip and just a bit more into your mouth. You suck gently, applying light pressure as you pull back, letting the head slip out of your mouth with an audible pop. You repeat this motion slowly, taking as much as you can into your mouth.

Negan watches as you try to take him deeper, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck. He's too big for you to deepthroat but he loves how your lips stretch around him.

When you tighten your grip, wrapping your hands around what you can’t get into your mouth as you bob your head up and down, Negan thinks you might suck whatever measly soul he has straight out of his dick.

His eyes roll back slightly, enjoying the sight of you working him. "That's it," he encourages, hips instinctively moving in sync with your mouth "just like that". He groans, his hand guiding your head gently. You gag, more of him having gone into you than you anticipated. With a slight splutter, you pull back and breathe.

“Sorry” you quickly wipe away some spit threatening to dribble out of your mouth. "Shh, it's okay," he whispers "but fuck sweetheart, I'm gonna cum in your mouth if you keep doing that”.

You give a smirk, regaining your breathing. Holding his cock, you lick up the underside, feeling Negan’s hands tighten in your hair.

“But you promised me a facial” you pretend to pout before focusing on sucking the tip again.

"Fuck I know..." He watches hungrily as you suck the head, his balls tightening. His grip in your hair starts to guide you faster as he yearns to cum and paint that pretty face of yours.

"Suck harder, I know you can… where’s the fuckin’ slut from before gone, eh?" Negan pants, that degrading man you met at the bar starting to come out.

You give a small moan, staring up at him. His cock goes further back your throat again but this time you try not to gag, concentrating on sucking him off.

You’re a walking contradiction and Negan loves it. Big innocent eyes looking up at him, but with the eager mouth of a whore that just got a hundred bucks.

"You look like you should be on your knees taking communion, not sucking dick,” his voice drops an octave, watching your lips stretch around him "Choke on it?".

You blink for a moment, tears almost running down your face as you take in his request. Going as far down as you can, his cock fills your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You feel your throat convulse but you hold position.

A strangled noise leaves you but it only makes his dick throb. “Y’could be a world class slut, you know that?” With lust taking over, Negan’s hands pull your head down further.

Drool pools in your mouth, overflowing down your chin. Despite your brain hardly functioning, you gently cup his balls with your hands, trying to do as much as possible for him. Holding position for a few seconds, you pull back, spit following you as you catch your breath again.

"You’re killing me..." Negan groans as you pull back, letting you catch your breath before diving back in. His hands guide your head, setting a pace that's fast but shallow.

"Keep looking up at me like that,” he orders “wanna see you take it”.

As you concentrate not gagging, you can feel the wet warmth between your own legs building. Each shallow thrust of his hips, each taste of pre-cum, makes your core ache with desire. Your panties become damp as your arousal grows and you can't help but press your thighs together.

"Fucking beautiful," he says, his voice thick with lust. It’s like Negan can’t decide what he wants. One moment he’s pushing your head further down his dick but the next he’s pulling your head back so he can see your tear-streaked face better. You don’t mind though, trying to catch a breath whenever you can.

You don’t hear every word he says, the noises coming from your own mouth distracting you. " …pathetic slut..." you hear him say, before he corrects himself “... my pathetic slut“.

The words only encourage you. Your hands work in tandem with your mouth, knowing you can’t possibly have much more time with him alone. Surely someone will come looking for one of you soon. Or someone will need to use the bathroom.

He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head down harder onto his dick “Open your fucking mouth wider”. You try to do so but you gag around him.

"Take it, baby, I know you can" he growls, pushing your head down further despite your gagging. His hips start moving, fucking your mouth roughly. Each thrust resonates through your entire body. Thankfully, your gagging eases but you can still feel your reflex attempt to trigger with each thrust of his dick.

"Shit..." Negan sees the mess he’s making of you. The spit. The tears that naturally come with gagging so much. And he can only fantasize about the mess in your panties.

Pulling your head back sharply, his length slaps against your cheek. You give a small whine as he does, having little time to process what’s happening as you follow his orders.

"Open," He grunts, fisting his length tightly “Wanna see how much I get in”.

Your mouth stays open, tongue out and ready to catch his cum. You don’t have to wait long until you feel the ropes of warm cum landing, but not just on your tongue. Negan paints your face.

Cheeks. Nose. Chin. Lips.

“That’s it” He approves, giving a few final strokes before squeezing out the last drops onto your tongue.

You don’t need a mirror to know you look a mess and the laugh Negan let’s out seems to confirm your thoughts. "You look like a damn porno" he says.

Letting go of your hair, he brings a hand around to your face, spreading the cum by your mouth around your lips. You take the opportunity to suck his thumb, licking the cum off and swallowing all he had given you.

You let it go with a small pop, mimicking the same treatment his dick got. “Was it good?” You ask, your hoarse voice surprising you.

"Was it good?" He repeats, chuckling deeply as he stuffs his softening dick back into his pants. "You're fucking kidding me, right? Look at you. You're a goddamn mess” He gestures to your cum-covered face, a smug grin on his face.

You're unsure whether or not that answers your question, or if any of it is a good thing. Negan sees the cogs turning in your head. ”You took that like a pro, sweetheart" he assures you, gently helping you up onto your feet.

Not done teasing yet, you gather other spurts of cum from your cheeks and lick that off your fingers next.

“Thanks” you shrug, playing off how relieved you are.

Negan grins widely, impressed by your dedication. “You’re a fuckin’ keeper, you know that?” He drawls, reaching a hand out to ruffle your already messed up hair. It’s strange to feel such a platonic action after he’s just fucked your face but that’s who Negan is, you suppose.

One minute you’re being chastised for wearing provocative clothing. The next, Negan is tearing your dress off in a public bathroom. One minute you’re slut or whore, the next you’re ‘sweetheart’ again.

The only constant so far is bathrooms. That makes you pause for a moment before saying “We have to stop doing this by a toilet. It’s weird”.

He barks out a laugh at that, quickly covering his mouth. Negan waits a moment, waiting for someone to come see what’s going on. But when no one interrupts, he continues “You stay at, uh… what’s that friend of yours name again? The one you lied to your folks about being with the last time?”.

“Lydia,” you answer, turning on the sink tap. Catching a look of yourself, you’re surprised you don’t look half bad. Maybe stained looks good on you.

“Right, you sleep over at hers often?” He asks, taking his time as he buckles his belt.

You carefully splash some on your face “I guess, yeah… why?”.

“So if you told them you were staying at hers some night, they’d believe it?” Negan asks “No questions asked?”.

You nod, eyes meeting his and you try to manage your hair. The smirk says it all.

“Huh… all I’d need to do is feed Lucille some shit and we could have a night away somewhere, finally get you alone without sneaking around”.

Your body screams at the idea but you try not to show your excitement. “You’d have to pay for the hotel room though,” you say snarkily “I think that’s the least you could do”.

He laughs again, lower this time. “Careful baby,” he gives you ass a firm smack as he passes for the door. The sting makes you jolt, half from the hit but half from the way he’s already slipping away.

You always knew your time with him came in fleeting, stolen slices. But that doesn’t make it any less confusing. Or any easier.

“Wait,” you blurt out, the word catching before it’s fully formed. Negan freezes, one hand resting on the lock. Slowly, he turns his head back to you.

“What about me?” you ask, voice quieter now. He doesn’t answer straight away. Letting it linger for a moment, the anticipation builds.

Negan lets out a low whistle. “Oh, sweetcheeks,” he drawls, voice dripping with that infuriating charm “You know I wanna eat that pussy like it’s my last meal but…”. He clicks his tongue, mock sympathy curling in his tone. “Time just ain’t on our side, honey.”

And just like that, he slips out the door with maddening ease, leaving behind a whole lot of unfinished business. You let out a huff.

He called you a whore but at least they get paid. All you got for your efforts was a smack on the ass and a bare face, most of your make-up having washed away with his cum.

Negan knows your type, knows you’d probably jump him if he didn’t leave the bathroom. One taste of dick and you’ll be wet all day. The thought alone makes his dick throb again, already missing your mouth.

Going back into the sitting room, your dad is like a statue, in the same position as before. Negan gives a grimacing tight lipped smile, as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Sitting back down on his spot on the couch, Negan apologizes “Sorry if I smell like smoke”.

He’d rather your dad think he was having a cigarette outside rather than face fucking the man’s daughter. Your dad waves off Negan’s faux concern, mumbling the moments of the game he missed. Negan sinks into the couch comfortably, knowing that as long as you don’t make it obvious, you’ve both gotten away with another escapade.

Still in the bathroom, cool water runs over your wrists as you try to bring your heart rate back down. You smooth a hand down your top but thankfully everything looks fine. Small mercies there’s not drops of Negan splattered all over your outfit.

The click of the doorknob spins your stomach before your brain can catch up. The door swings open and your mother steps in, mid-sentence on about wine refills when he sees you.

“Jesus!” she yelps, hand flying to her chest “You scared me half to death!”.

You whip around, just as startled. “Sorry! I—sorry, I mustn’t have locked it” you blabber.

She narrows her gaze, scanning your face like she's the Terminator instead of your mother. Subtle, trained and looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I just needed a minute. I’m feeling a little weird” You gesture vaguely toward the sink as if it can be your alibi.

She frowns, but not suspiciously. You thank whatever higher power there is when her tone seems more concerned. “You feeling sick?” she presses.

“No, no. I’m fine,” You say too fast before shrugging, deciding that maybe you shouldn’t deny a good excuse “I mean, maybe, I just feel kinda strange y’know?”.

She studies you for a moment longer. You’re fully dressed, your hair’s in place, and nothing smells like guilt or sex. Just a hint of soap and whatever dignity you managed to salvage.

“Well,” she sighs, brushing past you to grab a hairpin from the vanity. “Don’t lurk in here too long. I was about to serve dessert if you’re up for it”.

You nod again, giving a sheepish smile you hope might look weak in a sickly way. “Yeah, I think I can muster up having some cake”.

She gives you one last glance and then steps out, leaving the door open this time. Giving yourself a quick look, you silently tell yourself to keep it together.

You’re glad to see how refreshed you look. Maybe slightly breathless. And looking sort of flustered. With your panties sticking to your pussy with how wet you are. But you’re still holding it together!

…Barely.

Squaring your shoulders, you walk out of the bathroom as if you’re going up to the frontlines of a war. Voices and clinking dishes subconsciously call for you from the dining room.

It feels a little weird to walk, your pussy practically dripping and making each step feel like another ride down the slip and slide between your legs. But you carry on nonetheless, ready to act as boring and normal as humanly possible.

The moment you round the corner, you spot an empty chair at the table and (more importantly) who’s beside it. Negan sits back in his seat, fingers curled loosely around a can of soda.

He’s laughing at something Lucille just said as she stands with a knife in hand. Whether he’s laughing because she’s actually funny or he’s fearing for his life, you can’t tell.

Even if Negan is a little affected by what happened five minutes ago, it doesn’t show. Not in the way his mouth curves lazily around the rim of his can, or how he only glances your way without missing a beat.

You slide into the seat next to him, carefully letting your leg brush his under the table. Lucille gives you a slight look but you can’t tell if it’s because you sat next to her husband or if you look more flushed than you initially thought. Well, if she wanted the seat, she should’ve moved faster instead of just standing there. You snooze, you lose.

Your mother bustles in from the kitchen, wearing oven mitts and holding a tray that sends waves of warm sugariness through the room.

“Hot out of the oven,” she announces proudly, placing the cake in the center of the table “Chocolate, just like old times”.

Lucille lights up as she passes the knife, letting your mother do the honors. Once she’s sat down across from you both, she starts to gush “God, remember when you used to make this every weekend? I’ve been dreaming about this!”.

Your mom beams, already cutting thick slices while steam curls up from the soft centre. Your father’s voice calls faintly from the other room, a low rumble over the TV. “Pass on dessert! Game’s getting good!”. Typical.

Your mom rolls her eyes affectionately. “He’s glued to that couch,” she mutters, placing a plate in front of you.

You thank her, then glance sidelong at Negan. He finally meets your eye. Just for a second. You get no smile. No words. Just that look. That quiet, smoldering acknowledgment of what no one else knows. You lower your gaze and pick up your fork.

The cake is warm and melts on Negan’s tongue. Still, it’s not the sweetest thing he’s wanted to taste tonight.

He chews like it‘s delicious, nods appreciatively at your mother’s proud smile as she tells them about how she found the recipe somewhere. Negan isn’t sure where though, he was too busy thinking about your pussy when your mom said that part of the story.

He doesn’t look at you much. Negan knows it’s ridiculous but he’s sure Lucille can smell it off of him. The lies. Deception. She’s like a goddamn cadaver dog when she picks up the scent of something being awry.

Every now and then, he risks a glance your way, just to see the way your lips part around the fork in a way he knows all too well. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his drink, hoping the fizz will ground him. It doesn’t.

As delusional as it sounds, Negan was hoping to fuck you again. Now he sees that was just a wet dream. You both had your moment in the sun, where you turned his world upside down and gagged around him like there’s no tomorrow.

He shifts in his seat, trying to play it off his own dirty thoughts. He adds a lazy comment to the conversation, a dry “Mmhmm,” and “Yeah, taste’s great”. Lucille nods along and Negan hopes he’s doing enough to convince her he’s listening.

But no matter how much he tries, his mind isn’t on the cake. It’s on the bathroom and on what he didn’t get enough of.

Lucille dabs the corner of her mouth and launches into a story from years ago. Negan nods at the right moments, even chuckles once or twice. But under the table, his hand edges across to your soft thigh.

His fingers splay out and spread across your thigh possessively. You shove a piece of cake into your mouth to stop yourself from smirking. You may have it bad for Negan, but it certainly feels like he can’t get enough of you either.

Trying to act natural, you slowly open your thighs under the table. It’s difficult to look bored above the table, while below you're trying to angle your body in such a position that gives Negan access to everything.

His thumb draws circles on your inner thigh, inching closer to what he really wants. He keeps his focus on your mom, conversing normally as his hand inches dangerously close to your panties.

Nodding your head, you add “Yeah, I remember hearing about that”. Although neither your mother or Lucille directly acknowledge your participation, already jumping to some other old memory.

Negan acknowledges you though, under the table. His middle finger nudges its way around your damp panties and smoothly slides down your folds. You eat your cake casually, lowering your head so neither woman will see the pleasure in your expression.

Like a man on a mission, the finger glides through your obvious wetness until it reaches your entrance. The finger teases your hole, pressing gently before slowly sliding inside. He enters you effortlessly, your wet pussy eagerly greeting him. His finger curls slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.

Both of you look like the definition of calm, neither one of you letting on what’s happening. Negan keeps his arm low, making sure all the action occurs below the table cloth so that the others can’t tell his arm is angling towards you.

His finger moves with agonizing slowness, barely withdrawing before pushing back in deeper each time. He's not fingering you aggressively or quickly like he might if you were alone; instead, he's drawing out each stroke deliberately slow and shallow to torture you silently.

He snaps you out of your quiet tranquility with a compliment. "I have to say, this cake is fucking amazing,” he looks directly at your mother, a wide grin on his face as if he doesn’t have his finger in her daughter.

She waves away his compliments before Lucille steals her attention “You’ll have to give me the recipe”. It acts as the perfect distraction for Negan to add another finger inside you, stretching you out.

“Anyways, dinner has been great but we should really get going soon” Lucille glances Negan’s way before showing off her sympathetic smile to your mom.

But your mom doesn’t catch the smile. Instead, her eyes land on you. Breathless with your mouth slightly agape. And worst of all… hardly eating your slice of cake!

"Are you feeling okay?" she asks concernedly.

Negan’s movements stifle but just for a second as you come up with a reply “Yeah— I think I’m just feeling a little flushed”.

His finger suddenly shifts upwards, finding your swollen clit and applying pressure. You have to fight to keep your breathing steady as pleasure shoots through you. Your eyes flutter briefly closed before you regain composure, trying not to squirm visibly in your seat.

Your core tightens with impending release. With aching thighs, you do the one thing your body is begging you not to. You move your legs away from Negan and abruptly stand up, nearly knocking your chair back. The movement forces Negan’s hand to fall away, loosely dropping to his side. Your skirt whooshes slightly but it looks as though that’s been caused by your abrupt movement and not Negan’s hand.

“Actually, I think I might lay down for a while,” you announce, eyes darting to each person “I don’t feel so good”.

Your mom simply nods, taking your excuse at face value. “Ok, I can save you some cake for later” she assures. Her eyes follow you out, giving Negan the perfect opportunity to bring his hand up to the table.

His fingers are coated with your wetness but before the others can notice, he uses his hand to pick up his last piece of cake on his plate and pop it into his mouth. He deliberately licks each finger, letting out an exaggerated groan of approval as you leave.

That asshole. Surely he wasn’t trying to make you cum. He knew you’d pull away in the end. That you’d be the one to disrupt your own pleasure. As if you had a choice.

You’re only in your bedroom a few minutes when you hear the goodbyes begin.

“We’ll have to do this again soon!”.

“Next time, I’ll make brownies!”.

“Just make sure the next time it’s not on the same day as the game, ok?”.

You’re not called to say goodbye. After all, you’re too ‘sick’ or ‘faint‘ or whatever excuse is most believable to your mother. With a huff, you flop on to your bed. Your panties are still sticking to you but now all you have is yourself to fix that problem. Rolling over on to your side, you mutter “Fucking asshole…”.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Lucille doesn’t start talking until they’re nearly home. Negan doesn’t press her. He can feel the weight of whatever she’s building up to and figures it’s only a matter of time before she lets it out.

“She looks at you weird”.

Negan makes a low sound in his throat. It’s not quite agreement, more like he’s trying to figure out where she’s going with this. He silently hopes the next name she mentions is your mom but of course, it’s your name that leaves her lips.

“It’s like she just… watches. Everything. But especially you” Lucille explains “You haven’t noticed that?”.

Negan raises an eyebrow. “So she’s the one doing all the watching but somehow you’re catching every second of it? Sounds like you’re doing a fair bit of eyeballing yourself”. He gives a short laugh, hoping to deflect her unease with a joke. It doesn’t work. She responds with a scoff, all sharp edges.

“I’m being serious”.

“Yeah and I am too,” he lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, eyes still on the road “so she’s not a chatterbox. Whatever”.

Lucille quietly stews for a few moments. Negan hopes he’s almost in the clear when he turns down onto their street, but peace is a fickle thing.

“I bet she’s got a thing for you.”

He rolls his eyes instinctively. “Nice to know you think I’ve still got universal appeal, honey,” he replies dryly as if it doesn’t stroke his ego.

He pulls into their driveway. Their little house, slightly run-down but comfortably familiar, greets him with its tilted porch steps and overgrown lawn. Never has crooked suburbia looked so inviting.

He tries to use Lucille’s next stewing period of silence to make his escape out of the car, swiftly turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Do you know the last time I went to theirs, she came back from her friend's place wearing your sweatshirt,” Lucille watches his movements pause at that revelation. “Wouldn’t know how she got that, would you?” she questions.

Negan looks to her, tongue running along the backs of his teeth as he thinks.

“I gave it to her as a souvenir after I fucked her, is that what you want to hear?” he shoots back “Jesus fucking Christ, Lucille, is this going to be it now? Is she the next woman I must be fucking?”.

It’s shitty, he knows. But Negan also knows the best form of defense is attack. Or, at least it’s always worked out for him that way.

Lucille physically shudders at the idea of that, her voice raising as she argues back “Well, you were definitely eye-fucking her tonight at the table. Right in front of me!”.

Negan snorts. “Before or after you tried to embarrass her in front of everyone?” his tone is sharper now “Because what you call eye-fucking, I call trying to make sure she didn’t burst into tears in the mashed potatoes.”

Negan hopes none of the neighbors are passing by. Even with the two of them still in the car, he’s sure anyone passing by would be able to hear their raised voices.

“You really think I didn’t just toss her that sweatshirt the last time they came over here for dinner? Maybe when I was showing her shit in the garage? That ever cross your mind?” His voice tightens as he adds, “Or was I fucking her in the back of the car then too, Lucille? You tell me since you apparently know everything”.

“You're twisting my words!” She argues “All I’m saying is she obviously has the hots for you and you being friendly will give her the wrong idea”.

To Negan, this feels like a win. A messy, backhanded one but still a win nonetheless. Lucille has shifted from accusing him directly to blaming it all on you, like she’s just trying to warn him of your supposed crush.

“Fuck, it’s like I can’t even talk to you anymore,” Lucille mutters, rubbing a hand down her face, not caring whether it smears her makeup.

“Not without accusing me of fucking somebody” Negan jabs back.

That’s enough for Lucille, undoing her seatbelt carelessly and kicking open the car door.

Ding!

Negan feels his balls tighten when his phone dings with a message. But if his balls are telling him one thing, it’s to lean into the mess.

“Want to check that?” Negan pulls his phone out of his pocket, waggling it as Lucille gets out of the car “Could be her, maybe she’s sending me a nude”.

Lucille doesn’t dignify that with a response. Just slams the car door hard enough to rattle the windows and throws a middle finger over her shoulder as she storms towards the house.

Negan watches her go, expression flat. He knows he’s going to be in the shitter for the night but when he opens up the notification, he thinks it might be worth it. There to greet him is a text he assumes must be you.

“Got number from dad’s phone. Book that hotel room asap”.

#negan fanfiction #negan #twd negan #negan smith fanfiction #negan x reader #negan smith #negan twd #negan x you #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdm x reader #twd smut #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #twd fic #negan smith x you #negan smut #negan smith x female reader #negan the walking dead #negan smith smut

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koveragewithkiera · 18 days ago

Text

“Let Me In” Pt. 1

Modern AU: Smoke x Annie

This wasn’t supposed to turn into an actual mini-story, but it did lmaaooo. Will be following my idea for the song “Let Me In” by. Tanerelle, but I learned shortly after crafting this idea that I must always include plot with my porn so here we are. This will be part 1 before the good stuff comes, but I hope y’all still enjoy it and that it gets everyone excited for the next part :). I will be uploading the second part of Witchy before that though because I need to get more coordinated with my stories lol.

WC: 3.2k

Characters: Smoke (29), Annie (29), Stack (29), and Dee (OC; 25)

Enjoy! :)

————————

He was back.

After four years, two months, and eleven days, Elijah “Smoke” Moore finally returned home. Home not simply being Mississippi, not simply Clarksdale, but home.

When he’d showed up to his home (or what he believed would still be home) for the first time in half a decade, he was met face to face with the barrel of a wooden Ruger Nine the second the front door opened. It was far from the first time Smoke was placed in such a predicament, but he couldn’t remember the last time it caused him to freeze up. His eyes quickly shifted to meet the holder of the firearm, seeing her eyes piercing into his with a searing glare. He’d been blessed in his youth to witness the many emotions those beautiful eyes could hold, but never had he seen such resentment held in them.

Smoke hadn’t thought to put his hands up, some part of him didn’t feel to be in true danger, but his voice shook slightly as he’d finally spoken after a small stare-off between the two. “How you be?”

As her eyes hardened even further and her finger brushed up against the trigger daringly, he realized those words were clearly not what she wanted to hear. This time, his hands did raise a bit. “Come on now, Annie.”

“Figured you had to be a haint.” His heart stuttered over the sound of her voice, he’d yearned for it so even with the bitter tone of it. She dropped the barrel, but her grip remained the same. “And I don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

Smoke didn’t exactly relax, but he did sigh as she continued to guard the door. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m guessin’ you not gone let me in?”

Annie raised a lethal eyebrow his way, not a single ounce of her softening under his gaze. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m lettin’ you leave this property unscathed.”

She took one calm step back, placing the rifle into one hand as her other promptly slammed the door right in his face. Smoke didn’t flinch at the action, just dropped his head with a dry chuckle before walking from the porch and towards his truck. He hadn’t known how he’d expected the interaction to go, but he at the very least hoped for them to speak more than a couple of sentences. And at the very very least, he hoped she’d let him into her home. Their home. A home they’d built with one another, cherished with one another.

This was the first of a long line of rejections he would face in the coming weeks.

———————————————————————

Clarksdale was a small town, and it was absolutely impossible to avoid running into one another, no matter how hard Annie definitely tried. But things didn’t become any easier with how intentional Smoke became about entering her life once more. During the second week of his return, he dined in the very front booth of her restaurant, Mama Lucille’s, for four nights straight with the hope she would eventually cave into even a sliver of an interaction. On the fifth night, he had only just parked his truck when his phone lit up with a notification from his brother.

Stack: So… apparently you just got banned lmao. Dee just told me

Smoke’s lip curls up as his fingers type furiously.

Smoke: How the fuck she know that?

Three little dots pop up and disappear just as quickly.

Stack: Annie texted her. You def ain’t gettin that no time soon 💀

Smoke’s head falls back with an annoyed groan as he tosses his phone to the side. He has half a mind to walk in anyway, maybe pretend to be his twin just to at least make her speak with him. He decides against it, Annie could tell the difference between the two with all five of her senses blocked away. He pulls out of the parking lot with a sigh, already thinking of his next potential plan.

———————————————————————

Stack gets a mysterious allergic reaction about a week later after the siblings have brunch at the diner. It’s nothing dire, but it hits him when they’re on the way home and he realizes his tongue is feeling a bit bigger than normal.

He’s in the middle of blabbing about something neither his sister or brother are paying true attention to when he realizes what’s happening. “The fuck? What the fuck they put in my food?!”

Dee startles a little in the back seat, her eyes rising up from her phone at the clear panic in Stack’s voice. “What you mean? You only had pancakes, bacon, and grits.”

Stack snaps his seatbelt off and starts shuffling around the truck to look for his EpiPen. His panic increases tenfold when he realizes it’s not in there. “My tongue is swelling up, I think they slipped me something!” His words start to get a little muffled as he feels around the swollen muscle. “Them niggas tryna take me out!”

“Relax, aight.” Smoke’s voice isn’t unusually calm, but it’s clear he’s not as shocked as the other two. “We just need to get you that stuff from Annie.”

Stack’s too busy trying to dramatically draw his breaths in (it reminds them of him as a kid) to notice Smoke’s behavior, but Dee clocks it immediately with a howling laugh. “Elijah, you did not!”

Smoke’s eyes remain forward on the road, already en route to Annie’s house. Their house, but he ignores that thought at the moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This draws Stack’s attention as his memory finally clicks the last time he had a reaction without his EpiPen. Smoke was usually the responsible one of the two, but there were two things Stack absolutely never left the house: his blade and his fucking pen. His head whips towards his brother with a shout. “Di’ ‘ou do som’in to my ‘ood?!”

Smoke rolls his eyes defensively. “Nigga, why would I do something to your food?”

Dee checks around the backseat area just in case, her head shaking in amused disappointment. “Cause the last time his EpiPen went missing was when Annie kicked you out the house for a week.”

“‘ou mo’da’fucka’!” Stack’s hands twitch to wring around his brother’s neck. His face just drops into his hands with a distressed groan.

Dee rubs a soothing hand over Stack’s shoulders, trying her damndest to not laugh in his face. Her eyes find Smoke in the rear view mirror. “You're going straight to hell, you know? This won’t kill him, but this gotta be something only the Devil would accept.”

Smoke meets her eyes with a shrug before returning to the road. “I ain’t do shit to his food. They could’ve gave him the wrong order.”

And he wasn’t lying. He didn’t touch a thing on Stack’s plate.

But if he accidentally slipped a bit of his grapefruit juice into Stack’s glass of orange juice, then sue him.

By the time they make it to Annie’s home, Smoke has semi-figured out what exactly he plans to say, with no help from either of his siblings. As he approaches the door, he wonders the possibility of being met with a rifle yet again. But this time, the door opens to an even more devastating sight.

The last time he’d come to her house, he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate the sight of her for long before the door had been shut in his face. This time, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but.

His eyes first land on the dark jeans that accentuate the curves of her thighs and the long length of her legs. They scroll up slowly to her waist, where a pretty brown belt cinches around it, before reaching the tucked ends of her knitted, sleeveless, cream turtleneck. The entire outfit glues to every slant of her figure, and what a figure she’d grown into over the last few years. Smoke would’ve felt like a voyeur of sorts if he weren’t so familiar with what laid beneath the tight layers.

Her hair was slicked back nicely into a ponytail with a bump at the end, and it swayed as she opened the door. Her tone is clipped and expectant, and if he had to bet, she’d likely seen the exact moment the truck pulled into the driveway. “Yes?”

Smoke sets his shoulders, keeping his eyes on hers with a quieter tone. “Stack’s having a reaction.”

Annie’s gaze only grows more agitated before she dips her head with a heavy scoff. She bites her lip in a necessary attempt of restraint before maneuvering herself to gain full view of the truck. She makes eye contact with the younger twin as he sulks in the passenger’s seat. “Stack!”

Stack shoots up at the sound of her yell, immediately rolling down his window. Dee rolls her own down as well, waving to the other woman with a bright smile. It almost breaks through Annie’s reserve, but she responds to Dee with a polite nod before gesturing her head to Stack. “Come on!”

Stack exits the truck quickly to ensure Annie doesn’t change her mind. Smoke feels a small twinge of hope, but it is swiftly swiped away as Annie blocks the side of the door he attempts to slip through.

Her eyes harden in warning. “Just him.”

Stack freezes up as he balances between the outside and inside of the doorframe. He shrivels as the two stand in a bit of a stare off, but his decision is made as the throbbing of his tongue only worsens. “‘orry ‘moke, ‘ou ‘ook my pen.”

Smoke would feel betrayed if he wasn’t so focused on the way Annie’s eyes dangerously gleamed into his. He was trying his damndest to find something, anything, that would help him break through to her. He doesn’t even fully register that Stack has entered the household, instead finding it increasingly harder to voice his thoughts. To voice anything really.

His lips move before his mind is able to catch up, but it's already too late. “You look beaui-”

She shuts the door before he can even finish the sentence. His jaw tightens, his teeth threatening to crack his golden grills, as he slowly saunters to the truck with an air of defeat. When he gets in the driver’s seat, Dee doesn’t give him her usual shit this time, but she does advise him to take his foot off the metaphorical gas pedal.

“That’s one thing she could never stand about you. You always gotta make something happen as soon as possible. Sometimes, things just gotta come along on their own.”

Smoke shakes his head with sigh, resting back on the headrest. “I don’t want her thinking I gave up.”

Dee shoves his shoulder softly, shutting down that reservation instantly. “She knows you too well for that. Trust me, this isn’t the type of thing you can force ‘Lijah.”

———————————————————————

Though Smoke doesn’t say as much, he does in fact take Dee’s words into consideration. When they get home that evening, he makes the final decision to step back from his scheming. It’s an agonizing effort, and as time wears on, it only places his mind even further from being productive at work. Stack takes notice of it first, but only bust his balls over it, throwing quips at his chivalrous act of celibacy and how stupid of a commitment it was to make in the first place. As for Dee, she wouldn’t care too much about his muddled focus if not for how downright pitiful he becomes in the face of business.

Now Dee loves her brothers more than anything on this earth, but even that has its potential limits.

It’s on the fifth week of their return that she bustles into Smoke’s room with a barely-spilling bucket of water in hand. “Get up, Smoke.”

Her older brother grumbles something under his breath about it being too early, pulling the comforter further along his body. It’s enough of an answer for her. She empties the bucket in one swoop, and Smoke’s limbs flail about in an image comparable to that of a cat escaping a bathtub. A loud thud echoes around the room as he falls from the bed in a tangle of soaked sheets, coughing and heaving from his sister’s sick attempt of practical water-boarding.

His head finally manages to submerge from the sheets, his words fighting to escape through his shaken demeanor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

It doesn't deter his little sister in the slightest, her hand placed on a pointed hip. “We’re going to the supermarket.”

Smoke reaches for his phone, his eyes widening in the face of Dee’s audacity. “It ain’t even 9 am yet!”

Dee’s voice remains steady as she explains the plan. “Annie goes to the supermarket on Broughton St. at 9:15 every Saturday morning before the rush comes at 10:30. We need to leave here at 8:45, you have 30 minutes to get ready.” She turns to walk out of the room with that, but he stops her just as she reaches the door.

“Wait, wait.”

She turns back to him with an unfazed expression. He’s still gaining his own bearings due to the last fifteen minutes, but he has to ask this first. “Why are you doing this? I thought you said not to scheme.”

Dee scoffs. “That was before I remembered something I can’t stand about either of y’all.”

Smoke’s face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

Dee’s eyes squint in annoyance. “Y’all are fucking miserable without one another, and you make everybody else just as miserable instead of just talking or fucking it out like normal people.”

They make it to the market a little earlier than Annie but go ahead and start shopping around. Dee takes advantage of the new delivery of fresh produce and sends Smoke off to look through that section while she moves through the other items of her grocery list. He tries his best not to, but every thirty seconds or so, he finds himself glancing at the time on his phone. Annie would’ve gotten there about ten minutes ago, and he knew his woman to be the punctual type when it came to her routine. Ten more minutes go by of him appearing to look through the ripeness of the seasonal peaches before he almost caves into just searching around for her. Then a laugh, that laugh that hadn’t graced his ears in a torturous amount of time, sounds just to the far right of him.

Smoke’s head whips towards the direction, his eyes landing on their target the second he looks her way. And there she is, standing in the middle of the bread section adorned in a white, patterned sundress that falls just to her knees. She’s speaking animatedly with an older, shorter woman, and it’s the most expressive Smoke has seen of her since coming home. It makes him freeze in place, simply wanting to watch her like this during the chance he has to do so. The way her eyes scrunch up when her lips curl into that radiant smile… it will never fail to take his very breath away. He looks at her as if it’s the first time he’s ever looked at her period, and he’s hit with a sudden moment of deja vu.

At 15, Smoke had choked and stepped into the nearest alleyway when she began walking his way.

At 29, Smoke stands still as his mind and soul scream for her to turn his way.

When she finally does so, his heart cracks at the way her smile diminishes in recognition. But it can’t help but beat a little harder when she doesn’t immediately look away.

The older woman in front of her takes notice of Annie’s change in attention, and when she turns to the direction of Annie’s eyes, Smoke is barely able to register the sound of a squeal.

“Why is that my favorite math student?!” The older lady screams just loud enough to be heard, but not enough to disturb the other shoppers.

Her exclamation pulls the two of them from their momentary daze, and Smoke can’t help but give the older woman a small grin once he recognizes her voice. He walks towards the two women with a polite nod. “Ms. Ruby.”

“Oh, it is you!” Ms. Ruby pulls him into a tight embrace, and he has to bend down a good bit to comfortably adjust to her. She pulls away with a squeeze on his biceps. “I was afraid I was mistaking you and your brother for a second, it's been years!”

“Yes ma’am, it has.” Smoke masks his strained tone, trying not to keep straying his gaze Annie’s way.

Ms. Ruby looks between the two with clear joy, the underlying tension in the air falling straight over her head. “This is just the biggest coincidence! Running into my two star students in the same morning!”

Annie’s smile isn’t as genuine now, and Smoke picks up the sarcasm easily. “Yes ma’am, it is.”

Ms. Ruby clearly doesn’t notice as she brings her attention to Smoke. “Well, what is it you’ve got going on now? I feel like I heard about you being engaged at some point.”

This causes Smoke to stutter uncharacteristically, and he can’t help the way his gaze wanders between the two women. “Oh, well yes I-”

Annie cuts him off with a strict tone. “It broke off a few years ago.”

Smoke crumbles under the weight of the statement paired with the hidden glare behind her eyes. He knew her too well.

Ms. Ruby sends him a look of pity, giving his arm another squeeze. “Oh. Well, I am so sorry to hear that Elijah.”

Annie clears her throat abruptly, smiling warmly towards Ms. Ruby. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got some more errands to run. It was wonderful seeing you, Ms. Ruby.” Her smile twitches downwards as she gives Smoke a onceover. “Smoke.”

But before she can make her escape, Ms. Ruby grabs hold of Annie’s hand. “Oh well wait, I would just love to have brunch with you two! I leave town tomorrow evening, but maybe we could try in the afternoon?”

Smoke clasps his hands together as Annie’s grip tightens on her basket handle. The two silently communicate for a little before Annie finally takes the leap.

“Actually, I think Smoke might be b-”

Smoke cuts her off before his mind can fully catch up to speed. “I’ll be free.”

Annie’s head whips to him in shock, but before she can reprimand him, Ms. Ruby is already more than excited. “Amazing! Annie? It’ll give me a chance to try that food of yours since I wasn't able to visit your restaurant.”

Smoke watches as she softly bites her tongue, a tendency of hers whenever she’d been holding a few choice words from spilling. She grins harshly, her lips puckering as she responds. “I would love to, Ms. Ruby.”

Ms. Ruby laughs gleefully. “Excellent! Alright, I won’t hold y’all no longer!” She gives them both two quick hugs, waving as she walks away towards the produce section. “I’ll see y’all then!”

They each hold their breath, remaining quiet as she walks away. Once she’s out of ear shot, Smoke turns to Annie with an apology on his tongue. “Annie, we don’t-”

Annie doesn’t give him the chance to say more. “Be there at 1.” She struts off a few aisles away without another word. Smoke takes a self-encouraging deep breath, just barely hiding his excited grin as he walks with a small pep in his step to find his sister.

————————

Hope y’all liked it! The next part is going to be very very fun to write hehe. But wish me luck because I’m deadass nervous lmao. 🫶🏾

Til next time!

Taglist:

@thelifeoflagab , @omgffs , @bigjh , @championshipshade , @mindyouthisismyaccount , @brownskincheyenne , @lizbehave , @hdfen2474 , @sweetarchivistsiege , @strawberrylemonades-stuff , @whysoceerious , @chknnwffls , @thefutureemmywinner , and @partylikemajima

#sinners 2025 #sinners #annie sinners #smoke sinners #smoke x annie #smoke and annie #stack sinners #original character #modern au #wunmi mosaku #michael b jordan #smoke and stack

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kaylovestwd · 4 months ago

Text

The walking dead (men) hurt comfort

Negan smith

(someone hurts you)

He wouldn't immediately run over, not at first.

He’d stare, processing the information like a computer rebooting, from shock.

Then it would overprotective mode

"Who the hell thought they could touch what's mine?!" He'd probably go on a rant.

Threats, oh, the threats. Creative threats involving Lucille and hurting the person involved . He would drag the person who hurt you to a cell and force them to apologize on their knees.

Once his initial rage subsides, he’d be surprisingly gentle with you.

"Alright, sweetheart, let me see."

He'd carefully check you over, even if it's just a scratch.

And he'd insist on carrying you around, no matter how much you protest. "Don't be a hero, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me pamper you."

He would become insufferable. Constantly fussing, banning you from anything remotely dangerous and generally treating you like you're made of glass while still running the Saviors with an iron fist (your his soft spot) .

He might even try to make a joke to lighten the mood, but it would be the most inappropriate thing he could say.

Like, "Well, at least now you know how much I care, right? Worth the bullet wound, yeah?"

Late at night, after everyone else is asleep, he'd hold you close. His voice would be quiet, the usual swagger gone. "You scared me, (Y/N). More than I thought possible."

He'd probably admit, in his own twisted way, that you're the one thing he can't control and that scares him the most.

Rick Grimes

You stumble, twisting your ankle while scavenging.

It's a sprain, nothing major, but you let out a yelp. Cue Rick, whose head snaps up faster than a walker spotting fresh meat. His eyes widen, his gun practically leaps into his hand, and he's yelling, "[Y/N]! What happened?! Are you bit?!".

He's already scanning the area for threats, completely missing the fact you're just holding your ankle and grimacing.

Once he realizes it's just a sprain, the panic shifts to smothering concern.

He's suddenly all gentle hands and furrowed brows, insisting on carrying you back to Alexandria like you're a delicate porcelain doll. "Don't move, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me take care of you." Even though you've taken down herds of walkers single-handedly before.

Rick, your grumpy officer, suddenly will believe that he's a qualified physician. Constantly interrogates you about the pain, the swelling and the exact angle of the twist. He insists on elevating your foot, applying a cold compress, and finding a way of making a makeshift splint out of scavenged cloth and popsicle sticks.

Daryl would definitely be making fun and laughing in the background.

While tending to your ankle, Rick launches into a whole lecture about being more careful.

"You gotta watch where you're going, [Y/N]! It's a dangerous world out there. I can't lose you."

Even though hes the man who regularly charges headfirst into hordes of walkers.You can't help but giggle a little at him, earning you a stern but loving look.

For the rest of the day, you're treated like royalty. Rick fusses over you, bringing you food, water, and extra blankets. He even reads to you probably just survival manuals because there's no books but it's the thought that counts. He's just incredibly relieved you're okay, and he wants to show it in every way he knows how. He insists on sleeping on the floor next to your bed "to keep watch".

Later, after his initial stress has died down, you catch Rick watching you with a soft, relieved expression.

You limp over to him and wrap your arms around him. "Thank you, Rick," you whisper. "For always taking care of me."

He hugs you tight, burying his face in your hair. "Always," he murmurs back. And you know, despite the over-the-top reaction, you wouldn't have it any other way. His love is a little chaotic, a little intense, but it's yours, and it's everything.

Daryl Dixon

Panic? Nah. Daryl's seen worse than most folks'. His eyes, usually narrowed in a stoic squint, widen for a millisecond as he hears you get hurt .

Forget flowery tenderness. He's immediately checking for the source causing the blood, ripping fabric for a make-shift bandage with the efficiency of a seasoned medic, completely ignoring your protests.

He's not a loving man but he shows affection with his continuous insults at you. But his insults are laced with worry, like "Damn it, (Y/N), I leave you alone for five minutes..."

(Y/N): "It's just a graze, Daryl, really"

'Grazes don't bleed like that, ya stubborn woman.'

Proceeds to clean the wound with the intensity of a brain surgeon, muttering about bacteria and infection.

He'll probably spit on his handkerchief. Ironic because he's always saying he don't care about health.

After he becomes your shadow. He doesn't't say much, but he's always there. Watchful, like a hawk perched on your shoulder, ready to swoop down on any threat.

He'll show affection as he sneaks you extra rations. Maybe even offers you his share of squirrels (a high honor indeed)

You might catch him staring at you when he thinks you don't notice, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

A week later, when you're completely healed, and he knows it. You're getting ready to go scavenging, when he grabs your arm. "Thought I told you yer stayin' put." He says looking annoyed, but you catch the little smirk playing on his lips. He's enjoying this way too much.

Glenn Rhee

Glenn would be a whirlwind of apologies, even if it wasn't his fault.

"(Y/N)! I'm so sorry this happened! Are you okay? Did I protect you enough? Maybe I need to start wearing more padding!".

He'd forget all his zombie-killing instincts for a moment, replaced by pure worry. Think of it this way, If you got a mosquito bite, Glenn would be ready to burn down the entire forest.

He'd switch into "Glenn the Delivery Boy" mode instantly, tending to your wound with surprising gentleness. He'd pull out his limited medical supplies and he would use his shirt to cover the wound.

He'd be so focused on cleaning and bandaging that he'd trip over his own feet at least once, muttering about needing more practice even though he does this often.

He'd be glued to your side, like the most cuddly, protective person ever in history.

Sleep? Forget it. He needs to make sure you're breathing, not cold, not hungry, and definitely not about to be pounced on by a walker while you sleep.

He'd try to find you the best food he could manage, even if it was just a slightly-less-stale cracker. (I know it's not much)

After fussing over you and making sure your perfectly comfortable and safe, he'd start to calm down... right as another, even bigger threat appears.

He would look at you with a sheepish grin, then back to the horde. "Well (Y/N), you stay here while I take care of this. And don't worry about me!"

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twistedsistas-stuff · 20 days ago

Text

Speakin In Tongues

2/?

@flaps200 @hermyowney

The juke was thick with heat and sound, blues lappin’ at the walls like low water against a boat. Miss Lucille’s floorboards creaked beneath dancin’ feet, sweat gleamin’ on brows, laughter rollin’ through the room like gospel.

You and Pearl stood near the corner, sippin’ sweet tea turned scandalous with a splash of gin. Your cheeks still carried the ghost of Elias’s praise—she the reason—and your body still remembered the way his voice dropped low when nobody else was listenin’.

But for now, the music moved through you steady, and Pearl swayed beside you, hips keepin’ time like she was born on beat.

Her eyes kept strayin’ to Sammie who was already lookin’.

He sat with his sleeves rolled, mouth full of gold and mischief, legs wide like he owned every shadow in the room. His eyes tracked Pearl like she was a hymn he couldn’t quite hum in public.

“Girl, he lookin’ again,” you whispered, nudgin’ Pearl with your shoulder.

She scoffed but didn’t look away. “He ain’t slick.”

“He waitin’ on a sign.”

“Ain’t gone give him one.”

You sipped.

“So why you wearin’ that perfume he said he liked?”

Pearl nearly choked, eyes shootin’ your way.

“Mind your business.”

You both laughed. But her hand—restin’ light on the hem of her skirt—gave her away. She was nervous. And wantin’.

Then the slow song hit.

Low and gravel-deep. That guitar cryin’ like somebody’s heart had broke wide open and spilled on the floor.

The lights dipped. The room turned soft, blurred.

You stepped back, lettin’ the music move around you. Eyes fluttered shut. You could feel someone movin’ up behind you. Tall. Warm.

He ain’t say nothin’. Just placed a hand light on your waist.

You smiled. “Took you long enough,” you murmured, thinkin’ it was Elias.

But when the other hand took yours—firm and slow—you opened your eyes.

It wasn’t Elias.

Smoke looked down at you with eyes like smolder and slow rain.

“My bad,” he said, mouth curved just a little. “I couldn’t let my brother have all the glory.”

You blinked up at him, startled, caught off guard—but his touch wasn’t rushed. He didn’t pull or push. Just stood there waitin’ to see if you’d stay.

“I—” You looked around, half-expectin’ Elias to come cut in.

But he was across the room, talkin’ to some boys.

Elijah’s hand in yours was calloused and warm. Familiar. His thumb brushed the back of yours just once, patient-like.

So you let him lead.

Didn’t say much. Just danced.

He moved good—gentle, solid—like somebody who listened more than he talked. Like he knew you wasn’t his, but he could still be kind.

“You always let Elias speak for you?” he asked, voice low.

You met his eye. “You always sneak up like that?”

He chuckled. “Only when the music’s good.”

Across the room, Sammie stood now, leanin’ on the wall, watchin’ Pearl like she was a fire he was willin’ to burn in.

She stepped toward him slow, chin high, hair pinned up like royalty.

“Took you long enough,” she said, arms folded.

Sammie grinned, bitin’ his bottom lip a little. “Had to give you time to admire me first.”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “Boy, please.”

He reached for her hand anyway, pulled her into the music like he been doin’ it since birth.

“You roll your eyes one more time and they gone stay stuck.”

She laughed. She laughed, soft and sudden.

He leaned in. “There she go.”

You saw the whole thing from across the room. Saw Pearl’s smile shift into somethin’ that reached her eyes.

And then Elijah twirled you once, hand still in yours, slow enough for you to catch a certain set of eyes watchin’.

Elias.

His mouth was still, eyes unreadable, arms crossed over his chest.

Jealous? Maybe.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t come interrupt.

You raised a brow at him as Elijah brought you back into his chest, real close.

And Elias just smirked.

Like he already knew your next lesson wasn’t goin’ be in the library at all.

The sway of the music wrapped around y’all like a slow river current—Elijah holdin’ you close, his hand pressed gentle against your back, his breath warm when he leaned down to murmur nothings that almost meant somethin’.

He wasn’t Elias.

But right now? He didn’t need to be.

You let yourself melt just a little into him, ’cause it was easier than admit what your heart really wanted.

Then the shift came.

Footsteps. A shadow long and heavy cut between y’all like a blade through still water.

Elias.

Jaw set. Shoulders squared.

“Elijah,” he said, that familiar smirk slidin’ slow across his mouth, voice low and tauntin’. “You always touchin’ what don’t belong to your ass.”

You backed up a step—not outta fear, but to make it real clear.

“I don’t belong to neither one of y’all,” you said, heat in your voice now. “But since your brother done stole your dance… I reckon I’ll give you this one.”

You turned, slow and sure, and held your hand out like you was royalty offerin’ a favor. Elias took it, slidin’ his palm against yours with a grin that could ruin a life.

“‘Preciate that,” he said low, already spinnin’ you back into rhythm like he’d been waitin’ all night.

He didn’t say sorry. Didn’t ask.

He just danced.

Took up space the way only Elias Moore could, movin’ like he was showin’ the whole damn juke who you really came with—even if that wasn’t true.

Even if not a soul on earth could say for sure where your heart was leanin’.

But then you turned your head—somethin pulled at you—and you saw Elijah still standin’ there. Still watchin’.

And maybe it was the gin-spiked tea still sittin’ warm in your belly… or maybe it was the way the yellow light hit him just right… or maybe it was the smoke curled up high, clingin’ to the ceiling and slippin’ down to kiss your skin.

Either way—you walked back.

Just like that.

Didn’t say nothin’.

You crossed the room slow, your shoes tappin’ the beat, crowd partin’ like they felt it comin’.

Elijah blinked once, surprised—but didn’t move.

You stopped right in front of him. Hands slid up his chest—slow, steady—until your fingers curled soft behind his neck.

You rose up on tiptoes and planted a kiss—light and deliberate—right at the corner of his mouth.

His breath caught.

Eyes flickered.

His hands went to your waist, grippin’ firm like he needed to steady the room.

Behind you, Elias let out a sound—half laugh, half warning.

“Boy complainin’ again,” Elijah muttered, voice low and thick with fire.

You smirked. Shifted just a little closer.

“Well, let’s give him somethin’ else to talk about.”

You leaned up again, aiming for the other corner of his mouth.

But this time… he turned.

Turned at the last second—so smooth—and your lips landed flush on his.

Caught off guard.

Eyes wide.

But you ain’t pull back.

Not ‘til he did.

When he finally broke the kiss, slow and sweet and sure, he looked past you with a quiet satisfaction and whispered right against your lips

“Think you owe the man a dance.”

You turned. Elijah’s kiss still sittin’ on your lips like a secret.

But Elias? He was right where you left him. Leanin’ against the wall like the world owed him patience. Like he ain’t just watched his brother steal the breath right out your mouth.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move. Just stared.

That lazy grin was gone now, replaced by somethin’ tighter. Somethin’ meaner.

You walked back anyway.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t have to.

“You still want that dance?” you asked, voice level, heart not.

He let out a low tsk, pushed off the wall, rolled his shoulders like he’d been carryin’ weight too long.

“You gone ask like I ain’t been waitin’ all night?” he said, already steppin’ in close. “Like I ain’t earned it?”

Your breath caught.

But you ain’t let it show.

He took your hand and pulled you into the music—close. Real close. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other slid down ‘til y’all was movin’ in sync, chest to chest, like the rest of the room ain’t even matter no more.

“You bold for that,” he muttered near your ear, voice scratchin’ like gravel. “Kissin’ him. Runnin’ back.”

You swallowed.

“I said I ain’t belong to neither of y’all.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

Eyes all fire.

“No,” he said slow. “But you will.”

That made your stomach flip—’cause it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

He twirled you once, slid you right back into him, fingers tight at your side like he ain’t never lettin’ go again.

You lifted your chin. “You mad?”

He shook his head, nose brushin’ yours. “Nah. I’m just rememberin’ how good you look when you full of guilt.”

Your breath hitched.

The music slowed. The floor dipped into a blues so low it made folks sway like they was prayin’. All around you, bodies leaned close, heads bowed, sweat shimmerin’ under juke-light haze.

But Elias?

He looked at you like a man seein’ war and salvation.

“I’m the one you laughed with in the hallway,” he said low. “The one who carried them books. Who learned them damn verbs for you.”

“I know.”

“I ain’t just some mouth with a punchline. You see me.”

“I see you,” you whispered.

“Then don’t pretend you don’t know what this is.”

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulled you in so close, your feet left the floor for a second.

“You mine,” he whispered.

Your mouth parted, but the words caught.

He leaned down, brushed his nose against your cheek, lips hoverin’ near your jaw now—

“Say it.”

You ain’t say nothin’ at first.

Just let the silence wrap round y’all like molasses—thick, slow, sweet with somethin’ underneath it. Elias’s breath was warm against your cheek, but you ain’t lean in yet. You made him wait.

“Say it,” he said again, lower now.

And this time, you let your lips brush against the shell of his ear—barely.

“Maybe,” you whispered. “Maybe I am.”

His whole body tensed. You felt it—like a current run through him. His hand flexed tighter at your back, but he ain’t speak right away.

Didn’t have to.

You already felt what that little word done did to him.

Maybe.

Not a yes.

But not a no neither.

You leaned back slow, just enough to catch his eyes.

“I seen how you looked at me when I wasn’t lookin’,” you said, voice honey-dark. “I heard the way you said my name when you thought I wasn’t listenin’.”

Elias’s jaw clenched.

“You been tryna play it off like it’s just jokes. Like you the clown and I’m just the prize you tease for fun.”

Your hand slid up his chest.

“But that ain’t it, is it?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

So you smiled—small, just a corner of your mouth—and leaned in close again.

“Say it,” you murmured.

He blinked hard, like the weight of wantin’ finally caught up to him.

“I see you,” he said rough. “Ain’t never stopped.”

“I know.”

And then you did it—you kissed him.

Right where his jaw met his neck, soft and sure, like claimin’ a piece of him nobody else dared to touch. You heard the breath rush outta him, real low, chest tremblin’ just a little under your palm.

But you ain’t linger long.

Just pulled back slow and steady, leavin’ the taste of somethin’ unfinished behind.

He opened his mouth like he had somethin’ to say—but right then, across the room, a low whistle broke through the crowd.

You turned in time to see him.

Smoke leaned against the far wall with a half-drunk mason jar in his hand, one brow raised like he’d caught the whole show.

He lifted the jar your way.

Tipped it in a slow salute.

Didn’t even blink when Elias turned to look at him, jaw tight again.

You stepped back from Elias—not too far, just enough to breathe.

Then, over your shoulder, real casual, you said:

“Don’t start nothin’. Was just givin’ you what you asked for.”

He stared at you like you’d lit him on fire with a match made of your own name.

And you?

You walked off—hips swingin’ easy, that kiss still hangin’ in the air, that maybe still burnin’ in his ears.

And behind you, Elias?

He was still standin’ there.

But now so was Smoke.

And he was smilin’.

Real slow.

Like he knew the story wasn’t done bein’ written.

Not by a long shot.

You ain’t have to turn around to know they was watchin’ you.

You could feel it.

The weight of two sets of eyes burnin’ into your back like the Mississippi sun at high noon. Heat rollin’ off the both of them.

Your skirt swayed just right with every step, silk whisperin’ against your thighs, and Lord—if you wasn’t aware of the power you held in that moment, you felt it now.

You slipped through the juke crowd, hips easy, that smirk still playin’ on your lips, leavin’ Elias with breath caught in his throat and Smoke with a curl to his mouth like he’d tasted the same sweet thing.

Elias glanced at Smoke.

Smoke tipped his head, slow and sure, toward the back room.

Didn’t say nothin’. Didn’t have to.

Elias sighed, jaw tight, and followed.

The back room was quieter. Lit by a single yellow bulb that swung just a lil from the bass rattlin’ through the floorboards.

Smoke was already there, leanin’ against the wall, arms crossed.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Elias asked, voice low.

“Only if you still pretendin’ that kiss ain’t mean nothin’.”

Elias ran a hand over his face, paced once like he had too much in his chest to stand still with it.

“I ain’t ‘bout to go back and forth with you over this.”

Smoke raised one brow. “Then don’t. She kissed you. She kissed me. Seem to me she curious… not committed.”

Elias looked up at that—something flickerin’ behind his eyes like a warning.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t see the way you be lookin’ at her when you think I ain’t.”

Smoke didn’t blink. “Ain’t no crime in lookin’.”

“Wasn’t just lookin’.”

They both stood there—breath thick, space tighter now.

Then—

“Y’all done?”

Sammie’s voice slid in lazy as a cat through the door, and they both turned.

He was already pullin’ up a wooden chair, spinnin’ it ‘round to straddle it backwards like he been meant to be here all along.

“Damn shame,” Sammie muttered, “watchin’ two grown men fight over a girl like she ain’t got a mind of her own.”

Both brothers stared.

“You real loud for somebody that stay jokin’,” Elias said, half glare.

“I’m serious,” Sammie shrugged. “Y’all in here sweatin’ bullets like you forgot—she kissed both y’all.”

Smoke’s lip twitched.

Sammie leaned in, grinnin’. “Maybe she like both of y’all. Ever think ‘bout that?”

That shut them up.

Both men looked at Sammie.

Then at each other

And for a second, neither said a word.

Just stood there, that thought hangin’ in the air like smoke from a late-night fire.

Sammie sat back, arms crossed now, lettin’ the silence speak. Elias was the first to exhale. Rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the floor.

Smoke’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t say nothin’ at all.

And outside, the music rolled on—slow and deep and thick like honey, while somewhere out on that dance floor… you was still swayin’.

Still smilin’.

And still very much in control.

The bass rolled thick through the juke like molasses, each note sittin’ heavy on the walls and pressin’ folk close together. Laughter and gin-tea made the room hazy. Sweat beaded at the nape of your neck. Pearl was somewhere behind you, flush and smiling, Sammie workin’ her over with that charm that came natural.

But your eyes was movin’. Lookin’. Lookin’ for trouble.

He found you first.

Elias.

Shoulders still a little tight from whatever conversation just went down in that back room. But when he saw you dancin’, twistin’ your waist slow with a sway that made folk pause mid-sip—his shoulders dropped. Mouth parted, just barely. That fire in his gut startin’ back up again.

He pushed through the crowd.

Didn’t say nothin’ at first, just stepped behind you real smooth, real close. His hand skimmed your back—light at first, like he was askin’ permission without sayin’ it.

You glanced back.

Eyes already waitin’

“You owe me a dance,” he said, voice low, half a growl under the brass and blues.

You gave him a look, chin tilted like you was still tryna decide. But your hips slowed. Turned. And just like that, your hands found his chest again.

His hand slid ‘round your waist.

Your bodies met like puzzle pieces worn down just right.

Y’all danced

Not wild. Not sweet either.

It was slow. Low. Full of breath and heat and little touches that said more than words ever could. His hands moved from your hip to your lower back, pullin’ you close enough to feel his breath hit your cheek.

“You always smell like peaches,” he muttered against your jaw.

You didn’t answer, just leaned back a little—enough to let your chest brush his when the beat pulsed.

“You always talk this much when you nervous?” you teased.

He smirked. “Ain’t never nervous. You just… bring somethin’ outta me.”

You looked up at him then, the gold of the jukehouse light catchin’ in your eyes. The space between y’all was already tight, but somehow you leaned closer.

“Elias,” you said.

His name in your mouth felt heavier than usual.

He leaned in.

“You know,” he whispered in that slow, wicked tongue, his mouth right at your ear, “Vorrei assaggiarti tutta.

Your breath caught.

Your eyes cut to him.

“What the hell that mean?” you asked, voice barely above a breath.

He grinned, deep and sinful. “Means I been payin’ attention.”

Your heartbeat tripped.

“You play too damn much,” you said, trying to turn your face away, but his hand caught your waist firmer now, just enough to let you know he was right there—locked in.

“Ain’t playin’. Not no more.”

And then he dipped his head down, his nose brushing your cheek, his voice droppin’ even lower:

“Say somethin’ else to me. I don’t care what. Say it in Italian.”

Your mouth parted.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or push him. But what you did was whisper:

“Sei un problema.”

He licked his lips slow.

“What’s that mean?”

“That you a damn problem.”

He chuckled, that low rumble stirrin’ somethin’ deep. “Maybe. But I’m your problem now.”

You shivered.

Right as the song shifted to somethin’ dirtier—horns blowin’ lazy, drums beatin’ like a heart that couldn’t calm—he slid his thigh between yours, pullin’ you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Elias,” you warned.

“I ain’t even do nothin’ yet.”

But he looked at you like he meant to.

Right then, right there.

And behind all that swagger, that grin, that bold mouth—you could feel it:

He was watchin you. Waitin’ on you.

Like you was the test he wanted to pass.

The record scratched into a dirtier groove—drums hittin’ low, slow, like a body’s pulse beneath skin. Elias didn’t miss a beat. That thigh already set between yours? He shifted it higher, firmer. Pressed it just so, and pulled you with him.

You gasped soft—but didn’t stop him.

Didn’t move back neither.

That leg worked like it had a mind of its own, glidin’ against the inside of your thigh as he danced you deeper into the corner of the juke. Ain’t nobody watchin’—or if they was, you ain’t care. His hands dragged up your spine, real slow, like they knew the map of you already, and now they just revisitin’.

“You feel that?” he murmured, breath hot against your neck. “Ain’t even tryin’, and you ridin’ my leg like you missin’ me.”

You swallowed, tried to pull back enough to shoot him a look. “Elias Moore—”

But he had you.

Had you tight.

“That ain’t a no, sweetheart,” he said, smirkin’, that dimple in his cheek flashin’ like a knife glintin’ under porchlight. “Go ‘head. Keep teachin’ me somethin’.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened.

Every rock of his thigh made your breath catch just a little harder, like you was tryin’ to pretend it wasn’t hittin’. Like it wasn’t pullin’ that heat from the pit of your belly up into your chest, your throat, your face.

But he saw it.

Lord, he saw it.

“Tell me how to say you like that,” he whispered, barely audible over the horns behind y’all.

You bit your lip. “Ti piace.”

“Ti piace…” he repeated, tongue rollin’ thick over the words like they was sin drippin’ off his teeth. “You do, don’t you?”

You started to open your mouth—maybe to deny it. Maybe to sass him. But then he flexed his thigh up between yours just a little and that answer fell right out in a whimper.

“Mmhm,” he chuckled low. “That’s what I thought.”

One of his hands slid down, over the dip of your back, findin’ the top of your skirt—thumb draggin’ there like he was tryna memorize the hemline by feel alone.

“You keep grindin’ on me like that,” he warned in that lowdown voice, lips right at your ear, “I’ma embarrass myself in here.”

You laughed breathlessly, jaw tight, cheeks red.

“You the one pushed up on me.”

“Yeah,” he said, leanin’ back just enough to look at you. That grin gone now. Just heat. Eyes darker than they was in the classroom, voice slow and sure. “But you the one stayin’.”

Your breath hitched.

He was right.

You wasn’t pushin’ away. You was pressin’ closer.

Hands slid down his chest again, fingertips diggin’ into that tucked-in shirt like they belonged there.

You could hear Pearl laughin’ in the background, Sammie’s voice trailin’ behind her like smoke—but all you could feel was Elias. That thigh. That grip. That look.

“You wanna study me?” you whispered.

He smirked.

“I already am.”

You dipped your head, lips just shy of his jaw.

“Better take notes,” you murmured.

He let out a quiet, throaty groan, barely holdin’ back.

“Oh I am, sweetheart,” he whispered back. “And I’m prayin’ for extra credit.”

The juke was still breathin’ heavy—sweat, laughter, the clink of bottles, the drag of feet on dusty wood. But y’all slipped out like smoke through a screen door. Back hall. Quiet. Lamplight low and golden, flickerin’ like it knew it wasn’t supposed to see all this.

Elias didn’t ask where you was goin’. He just followed. Hand wrapped around your wrist soft, but sure, leadin’ you past crates of cola, past mop buckets and old flyers peelin’ off the walls. His breath stayed close behind you, his chest flush with your back.

Soon as the last door shut behind y’all, he was on you.

Back pressed to the wall, his hand slid under your skirt like he already knew where he was goin’. Like he’d been there before in a dream and remembered the way.

“Ain’t even gon’ play dumb,” he muttered against your neck. “You been temptin’ me since the first ‘ciao bella.’”

You opened your mouth to sass back, but then his fingers found that spot—that lil button tucked up soft and needy—and your voice caught in your throat.

“Oh…”

“Mhm,” he hummed, lips draggin’ down your collarbone, his fingers slow, circular. “You think I ain’t been payin’ attention? Sat through every damn lesson waitin’ to touch you like this.”

He worked it gentle at first, just enough to get your hips shiftin’, breath catchin’ in your throat.

“Tell me how to say right there,” he whispered, mouth hoverin’ over yours, his fingers gettin’ bolder.

“Lì… proprio lì,” you choked out.

He grinned—wicked and full of sin.

“Lì… proprio lì,” he repeated, sayin’ it like a promise as he pressed tighter, movin faster, hittin’ it just right.

Your knees buckled.

“Oh Lord—”

“Don’t call Him now,” Elias teased, voice dark and low. “Ain’t no salvation back here.”

He dipped his head, catchin’ your mouth with his—deep and warm, full of tongue, like he meant to drink the sound of you down.

You whimpered.

That knot inside you already startin’ to twist up tight, unravelin’ slow in the heat of his hand. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, tryin’ to stay steady, but he wasn’t lettin’ you have a moment of peace.

“Say somethin’ else,” he breathed against your lips. “Say don’t stop.”

You did.

“Non fermarti…”

“Say it again,” he said, two fingers slidin’ deep now, curlin’ up right on that spot.

You moaned it.

Said it louder.

“Non fermarti… oh—non fermarti…”

He groaned against your neck, suckin’ a mark into the skin like he wanted to sign his name there

You felt it break—deep, warm, spreadin’ from your belly to your thighs and back again. He held you through it, slowin’ just enough to guide it down sweet, his mouth still workin’ along your neck.

You sagged against the wall.

He didn’t let you fall.

“Hell,” he whispered, eyes wild now, voice husky, “ain’t no way I’m passin’ no class after this.”

You laughed breathless, lips tremblin’, still tryin’ to catch your breath.

“Good thing I’m the teacher.”

He grinned

“Then give me my next assignment, Miss A+.”

You barely got your breath back before he dropped to his knees.

“Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I dare,” he cut you off, voice dipped low, fingers already slidin’ up your thighs like he been claimin’ ‘em since the cradle. “You been feedin’ me words, rules, that sharp lil teacher tongue… Now I’ma teach you somethin’.”

Your back hit the wall again as he pushed your skirt up, slid your panties down with that slow reverence like they was church linen.

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes locked on that soaked center like it owed him a debt. “Look at this. Pretty lil peach drippin’ like it’s summertime.”

Then he buried his face in it.

No warning.

No teasing.

Just mouth, hot and open, suckin’ that pearl like it owed him grades and goddamn glory. His tongue circled slow at first, then faster, lips slidin’ wet across your folds like he meant to taste every single damn vowel you ever taught him.

You slapped a hand to your mouth, stiflin’ a moan so ragged it sounded like a prayer.

“Nuh uh,” he said against you, the vibration of his voice shootin’ straight through your spine. “I ain’t lettin’ you be quiet now. You gon’ let ‘em hear what I’m doin’ to you back here.”

Your legs started shakin’.

He hooked one over his shoulder, held you open like a feast

His tongue licked deep now, back and forth, flick-flick-flick, then dragged flat and slow, up through the middle with a moan in his throat like he was eatin’ his favorite meal.

“Ain’t no damn reason you taste this good,” he muttered, then locked his lips back around that pearl and sucked hard—pullin’ it like he meant to swallow your soul.

You damn near came right then.

“Elias—Elias—Elias—”

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, mouth wet and glistenin’. “Say my name like that one more time and I’ma wear this mouth out on you all night.”

He went back in with no mercy—faster, deeper, tongue pushin’ inside you now while his thumb rubbed that button in rough little circles, slick and fast. It was too much.

Too good.

Your thighs clamped around his head.

He loved that.

Grunted into you, suckin’ harder, fuckin’ you with his mouth like he’d been born for it.

And when you broke?

You shattered.

Eyes rollin’, breath gone, mouth fallin’ open in a soundless scream as your release rushed through you like heat lightning across the Delta.

He didn’t stop.

Not till you were twitchin’, legs limp, fingers tangled in his curls like you ain’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He kissed the inside of your thigh slow, then up your hip, up your belly, mouth glossy, breath wild.

“Damn,” he whispered, pressin’ his forehead to yours. “All that from a little study session?”

You were still tremblin’.

Still breathin’ like you’d run through hell barefoot.

He grinned that wolfish grin, eyes full of want.

The room was quiet ‘cept for the beat of your breath and the rasp of his voice as he adjusted himself, groaning low like it hurt to wait.

“Spread them legs,” he murmured. “Wider.”

You did—barely had a thought left that wasn’t his name.

“Bellissima,” he breathed.

You blinked, dazed. “What’s that mean?”

He leaned in, breath warm against your center.

“Means you so fuckin’ pretty down here,” he said, voice husky, reverent. “Could paint a whole picture with this.”

Then he tasted you.

And Lord—you damn near buckled.

His mouth was hot, soft, sure—lappin’ you up like honey straight from the comb. He groaned low, tongue partin’ you like he was readin’ scripture, thumb restin’ just beneath your belly, holdin’ you in place.

You tried to pull back, overwhelmed.

His hand shot up and gripped your thigh.

“Uh uh. Stay still, baby. Lemme finish teachin’ you.”

His voice was thick, breathin’ against your pearl now, lips suckin’ soft then firm, tongue rollin’ slow circles.

You moaned. Loud. Embarrassingly loud.

“Così dolce,” he whispered. So sweet.

You whimpered, hips tryin’ to chase the rhythm he set.

“Say it back,” he breathed.

“W-what?”

“Così dolce.”

You repeated it, breathless.

“Good girl,” he growled, and sucked you deeper, mouth movin’ like he wanted you to remember this every damn time you saw him in class.

Your thighs tremblin’.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Fingers slipped in again, curlin’ just right, tongue findin’ your pearl again while he whispered—

“Come for me.”

“I—Elias, I can’t—”

“You can,” he said, voice firm. “Look at me.”

You looked down and saw him, eyes dark, face buried between your legs like you were air and he’d been holdin’ his breath.

You lost it.

You moaned so hard it cracked through your chest, legs shakin’, fingers clawin’ at the air.

“That’s it,” he breathed, never lettin’ up. “Ride it out, baby. Just like that.”

You came with his name on your lips and your whole soul bare

When you finally stilled, breathin’ like you’d run five miles, Elias rose up slow, mouth glistening, eyes wild.

He leaned in, kissed you hard—let you taste yourself on his lips.

Then smiled against your mouth.

Your thighs still tremblin’ when Elias drew back just a little—mouth slick, fingers shiny under the yellow light, and his face smug with satisfaction.

But you was still twitchin’.

Still open.

Still ready—whether you meant to be or not.

He ain’t say nothin’ at first. Just looked at you like he was readin’ scripture off your skin. Then he dragged two fingers slow through your folds, collectin’ slick, rubbin’ your pearl in tight lazy circles like he wasn’t just the reason your knees buckled not even a minute ago.

You jerked, gaspin’.

“Elias—”

“Shh,” he hushed, voice a husky hush in your ear. “Let me see what else I can pull outta you.”

He was already movin’ before you could think to stop him—mouth back on you, fingers back in. This time, slower. Deeper. Like he had all night to learn your body by feel.

He curved them fingers up, hittin’ that spongy sweet spot like he knew it by name, tongue rollin’ against your pearl like he was tryna taste your soul.

You damn near screamed.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but he caught your wrist and pinned it down next to you

“Uh uh,” he growled, voice vibratin’ into you. “Let me hear you.”

And Lord, you did.

Your back left the wall, eyes rolled up, hips rockin’ into his face like it was muscle memory.

He moaned into you—that deep throat moan that vibrated all through your core, and his tongue didn’t stop, didn’t even slow when your legs started shakin’ again.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “I—I’m—Elias—”

His other hand pressed into your belly, pressin you down, keepin’ you still while he made you come again—louder this time, wetter, messier, until it was runnin’ down his chin.

And he drank every drop.

Right outside the back door, Smoke had just finished the last drag of his cigarette. He was walkin’ past, ‘bout to head back to the juke—

Until he heard you moan.

Loud.

High.

Breathless.

And then Stack’s voice, low and rough:

“C’mon, baby—give it to me again. Just like that…”

Smoke stopped.

Raised a brow.

Smirked like the Devil.

“Mm,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head, tossing the cig.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, turned back toward the juke, and left y’all to it—grinnin’ the whole damn way.

You was still breathin’ heavy when your hands reached for him, slow and unsure, toward the buckle of his jeans. Eyes flicked up, lips parted, just barely whisperin’ his name.

“Elias…”

He caught your wrist before you could go any further—firm but tender.

“Nah,” he said low, breath warm against your jaw. “That wouldn’t be right.”

Your brows drew in, confused, maybe a little shy, but he just leaned in closer. His lips ghosted over your cheek, your ear.

“I done tasted heaven already,” he murmured. “Ain’t finna let you get on your knees in a dusty backroom like you somethin’ cheap.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still holding yours.

“You a lady. And I’ma treat you like one.”

You ain’t even know what to say to that—mouth open, breath caught in your chest. So you just looked at him, blinkin’, heat floodin’ your face all over again.

He kissed your hand, slow, then pressed it against his chest where his heart was poundin’.

“But since we talkin’ favors,” he said, voice droppin’ low again, “how ‘bout you let me do it right?”

Your breath caught, belly tightening at his tone.

“Do what?” you whispered, already knowin’.

He stepped in, his thigh slid between yours again, pressin’ gentle this time. His hands slid up your waist, fingertips ghostin’ the underside of your shirt, not takin’ it off—just feelin’. Holdin’.

“Wanna feel you wrapped ‘round me,” he said, low and reverent. “Real slow. Real deep.”

He kissed your neck, then your shoulder.

“I ain’t in no rush. You gon’ give it to me when you ready—but when you do, baby…”

You shivered.

He leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

“I’ma make you feel it all week.”

#black reader #sinners #x reader #elias moore #elijah moore #preacher boy #smoke and stack #pearline #ryan coogler #smut #preacher boy sammie #sammie sinners #x black y/n #x black fem reader

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etclouie · 5 months ago

Text

“oh sweetheart”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — summary; giddily following around after Negan throughout the sanctuary, until he sat you down to try and shift your feelings (Negan x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — setting; s7 saviours era

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — warnings; implied age gap (negan is mid 40s and reader is in her 20s) — don’t like it don’t read, negan makes reader spell out her feelings pretty much, they kiss briefly at the end, reader sits in negan’s lap towards the end too, uhm that’s it i think

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — word count; 1.2k

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — a/n; will eternally share my thoughts for negan (this was inspired by the “sweetheart, i’ve got tattoos older than you” thing)

twd masterlist | main masterlist like negan? join my taglist !

recently, you and your family had joined the Sanctuary. they’d been split off into various different jobs, but you hadn’t.

you’d quickly grown used to the rules, though Negan would make comments about you not having a job and earning your keep— you couldn’t help but to develop feelings for him.

it was just a silly little crush, that’s what you always told yourself.

he was older than you, attractive and he held so much authority over everyone; alongside the little bits of attention he’d give you, which made you swoon.

today was like no other, you’d found Negan and trailed after him. he never outwardly pushed you away, letting you trail after him like you usually did until he rounded the corner into his meeting room.

he gestured towards one of the seats while he sat at the head of the table, resting Lucille against the leg of the table.

“i gotta ask, why’d you follow me so eagerly?”

his words hung in the air for a moment as you watched him, tapping your fingers against the edge of the table.

he ran a hand down his face, scratching at his beard while tilting his head to meet your eyes.

“i uh, i find you interesting”

that was a new one.

he’d been called a lot of things, but a lot of different people. but interesting was never one of them.

“interesting, huh?”

he chuckled, shaking his head while his lips curled into a smirk. he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he continued to eye you.

you watched entranced, following his every move as words died on the tip of your tongue.

you knew exactly what you wanted to say, you just couldn’t explain it properly, in a way that would make sense to Negan but also wouldn’t make you seem like an idiot.

“interesting yeah..”

nodding as you repeated yourself, laying your hands flat against the table now instead.

his smirk had deepened, and he chuckled again. shaking his head as he spoke once more.

“meaning what sweetheart?”

sweetheart.

in all of the brief conversations you’d had before this, he’d never called you sweetheart before. he’d never called you anything more than your name.

a chill ran down your spine, that giddy feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“i like you—“

the admission felt foreign on your tongue. you hadn’t even admitted to it to the few friends you’d made since arriving, but the weight of it lifted from your shoulders.

“oh sweetheart”

he grumbled, though there was no malice to it. his tongue darting out to wet his lip, which made your breath hitch once more.

you had to look away from him, heat running across your cheeks and down your spine before it landed in your belly.

you could feel his eyes on you, the way they cast a glance down your form before stopping on your face again.

which most definitely didn’t help with your crush, or the arousal forming in the pit of your stomach.

“you like me, huh? that’s new”

every time he chuckled it had you wanting to disappear. you never could tell if it was a laugh of mocking, or if it was simply fuelling his ego.

something else you stupidly liked about him.

“tell me, you think of me often? want to be one of my wives or somethin’?”

the suggestion felt like a dream.

one of his wives?

though you’d like to be his only wife, you wouldn’t pass up the chance with him if it presented itself.

“no.. i just, i think you’re attractive”

definitely fuelling his ego.

he leaned back in his seat, legs resting on the edge of the table on the opposite side to you.

despite his scrutinising stare, you couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down his body again.

appreciating the view, mind beginning to wander before he cleared his throat. effectively gaining your attention back.

“not so bad yourself”

your cheeks had grown impossibly warmer, having to look away from him in an attempt to conceal your flushed state.

only looking back to him once he called your name, giving him a meek smile.

“what is it you want then, hm?”

the list of things you wanted from him, was endless. but one thing shone on top.

you wanted a chance with it.

wether it went anywhere or not, you wanted a chance.

“dunno, maybe a chance with you?”

he chuckled again, that fear creeping back with every chuckle he gave. though, this time it felt warmer, as if he was considering the option.

“a chance?”

he repeated, pulling his legs from off the table and sitting upright again. one of his arms stayed on the table while the other scratched at his beard again.

“there’s twenty something years between us, don’t you think that’s a little much?”

your eyebrows knitted together instinctively. you never paged Negan as the type to turn down a woman because of the age gap, but then again, did you really know him that much?

pushing the thoughts aside, speaking softly as you held his gaze.

“age is only a number”

the sound of his chuckles started to sound like a melody, being played on a broken and scratchy disk so it only sounded every so often.

but it was warm, familiar.

“sweetheart, i’ve got tattoos older than you”

he countered, making show of shrugging off his leather jacket enough to show the tattoos across his arms.

and instinctively, you squeezed your thighs together.

thoughts of previous lonesome nights rushing back at the sight of his toned arms and the tattoos across them.

“one chance is all i’m asking for”

your voice stayed soft, despite the heady desire swirling around the room.

god, you were going to be the death of him.

he let his head lull back, eyes trailing across the ceiling as he thought over your words.

it’s not that he wasn’t interested, hell he’d been admiring you for days now. his mind running wild with thoughts, but it felt different.

as if he didn’t want to corrupt you in a sense.

“please Negan”

he sighed, defeatedly. he knew he’d give in to you, he just had to prolong this a little longer.

“one chance, that’s it”

you beamed at his words, standing from your seat and moving closer to him. wrapping your arms around his neck as you hugged him, earning a pinch to the hip before he pulled you down into his lap.

sitting sideways in his lap, his legs spread wide and his hips rolling upwards ever so slightly to slouch back in the chair.

one of your arms was around his neck, your other hand laying on his chest. the closeness made your heart skip a beat.

he squeezed at your hip before he leaned in, pausing inches from your face to gauge your reaction. only pressing his lips to yours as you leaned in to meet him halfway, kissing him with more force than you’d intended.

it felt like a dream, every dream you’ve had all coming to fruition all at once.

you nipped at his bottom lip before he pulled back, smirk still across his lips before he whispered out to you.

“christ, you’ll be the death of me”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

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rassmentalism · 5 months ago

Text

ONESHOT

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ- ruined redemption

pairings : carlgrimes x f!reader

warnings : none

the moon hung high over the savagely quiet clearing, its pale light casting jagged shadows over the grim faces gathered in a half-circle. carl knelt on the ground, hands tied behind his back, his head bowed slightly but not out of fear—out of defiance. his chest rose and fell heavily, sweat slicking his hair as his blue eye darted to the figure looming over him: negan.

lucille, negan’s barbed-wire-wrapped bat, rested lazily on his shoulder, but carl could feel the weight of it already. negan grinned that wicked, too-wide grin, his leather jacket gleaming under the moonlight.

“well, well, well,” negan said, dragging out the words with a sick satisfaction. “carl grimes. rick’s little brat. i thought you had more sense, kid.”

carl’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. he wasn’t going to give negan the satisfaction of begging or breaking—not tonight, not ever. but when his gaze shifted to you, standing behind negan with your arms crossed tightly over your chest, he felt a pang of guilt. he’d dragged you into this.

you weren’t supposed to be here. you weren’t supposed to be a part of this.

it had started small. stolen moments during supply runs. conversations behind the walls of alexandria. carl had never planned to get close to you—negan’s daughter, of all people—but it had happened anyway. your sharp wit, your determination to carve your own identity in the shadow of your father, had pulled him in like a magnet.

but now, as negan circled him like a predator, everything was unraveling.

“you really thought you could sneak around with my daughter?” negan asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “that i wouldn’t notice? that i wouldn’t care?”

“it wasn’t—” you started, but negan silenced you with a sharp look.

“stay out of this, kiddo. this is between me and him.”

you clenched your fists, your heart hammering in your chest. carl wasn’t looking at negan anymore—he was looking at you, his expression strangely calm, as if he’d already accepted whatever was about to happen.

“no,” you said suddenly, stepping forward. negan’s head snapped toward you, his grin faltering.

“what did you just say?”

“i said no,” you repeated, your voice shaking but steady. “you’re not going to kill him.”

neglecting lucille for a moment, negan tilted his head, his grin returning with an edge of disbelief. “and why’s that? because you said so?”

you didn’t hesitate. “because if you kill him, you lose me. i’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”

the air in the clearing froze. everyone—rick, michonne, daryl, even negan’s own men—watched in stunned silence.

neglecting the grin now, negan stared at you, his jaw tightening. “you don’t mean that.”

“try me,” you shot back, tears stinging your eyes but not falling. “i’m not going to stand here and watch you kill him just because he makes me happy. you want to punish me? fine. but you don’t touch him.”

the silence stretched impossibly thin. negan finally sighed, lowering lucille with a muttered curse.

“you’re lucky, kid,” he growled at carl. “real fucking lucky.”

then, without another word, negan turned and stalked away, leaving you trembling but standing firm, staring after him. when he was out of sight, you dropped to your knees beside carl, untangling the ropes with shaking hands.

“are you okay?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

carl nodded, his eye searching yours. “are you?”

you didn’t answer, just pulled him into a hug, holding on like you never wanted to let go. in that moment, it didn’t matter that the world was falling apart. all that mattered was that, for now, you’d both survived.

#carl grimes #grimes #the walking dead #fanfic #twd #f!reader #lineup #dating #negan smith #twd negan #carl grimes x reader #oneshot

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hexxynn · 1 year ago

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you're my forever | best friend! anakin x fem!reader

word count : 10.2k

warnings : MDNI 18+, anakin and reader are 18, angst, angst, so much angst, self deprecation, reader has a mom named lucille, insecure! reader, modern!, jock! anakin, swearing, anakin worshiping the ground you walk on, reader is described as having a tummy!, praise, even more praise, anakin talks you through it, arguing, readers parents are divorced, pet names, virgin! reader, oral (f receiving), piv, no condom mentioned (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, aftercare (i think that's all?)

summary : you develop feelings for your long time best friend, anakin. you fall into a pit of bedrot trying to cope and push him away, only for him to push back. what you didn't know is that he felt the same way.

a/n : my first fic ever pls be kind lol, this is my first time writing smut too, so any tips would be appreciated! im lit new to tumblr so please don't be afraid to request anything. also im literally a slut for angsty sex and praise can you tell? also this isn't proofread soz

You didn't know when your feelings had turned from platonic, to overwhelmingly romantic.

Honestly? It was scary.

You had known Anakin for a while, him being your neighbor for most of your life. That was, until you moved, but only to downsize after your parents split. The quaint neighborhood, the only thing you had ever known, being torn away from you. Luckily— your parents didn't want to move far, so you stayed put in the same town, just in different neighborhoods.

You were two when you guys met, both of your toddler selves adorned with the aroma of innocence and childhood. Your moms had both bonded, over the struggle of motherhood, while you two seemed to find each other in the purity of your early years. He came up to you, with a simple ask to push him on the swing; an offer you couldn't refuse. Retorting with an, "as long as you push me after," which couldn't help but earn an eager grin from Anakin.

As you two pushed each other, giggles and laughs emerging from the silence of the neighborhood, your mothers had noticed the bond and smiled; knowing their friendship, and the one forming by the swing sets, would go on past this little encounter. They exchanged numbers, beams from ear to ear, knowing they found comfort in each other, and a pal for their children.

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

As time went along, they set up playdates, leaving you two to watch shows, and do little things only young kids would do, whilst they sat on the back porch of your house with a wine glass in hand. You and Anakin would watch silly things, and you would play with his toy cars; in exchange, he'd play dolls with you (no matter how girly it was, or how frustrated he got in his three year old brain).

The neighborhood gossip would flow from their lips. Inside, the sounds of juvenility and jolly would make themselves present in some of your earliest memories. Your moms has been content with the current exchange. The simple call to come over, no matter whose house, with the almost immediate response from the other, and you and Anakin were dragged into their friendship, building one of your own. It worked out nicely.

As you grew up, playdates turned into school, and he was your best friend in elementary. Bus stop hand holding was the cause of teases from the boys (not the girls, who thought it was 'cool' you were able to get a kindergarten boyfriend), eliciting a shrug of nonchalance from Anakin. He would defend you, and go back to the swing sets with you, returning back to your place of blossoming friendship. He didn't care much for what the six year olds had to say, knowing you already for over half of his life. The bond your mothers had created was stuck, and would be for a while.

Once you got to middle school, there was a shift, though. He found his guy friends, understanding the game that adolescents liked to play with jokes and gossip. While he still walked you to the bus stop, he didn't see you as much in school. Especially with the deferring interests you two had grown. You had become a bookworm, immersed in studies as soon as you entered the next phase of your life, while he became athletic and would stay after school to play soccer with the other boys in the field behind school. Nevertheless, he'd come home and his mom would tell him they're going to your house. With no protest— he'd go. He would never turn down seeing you. Without prying eyes and weird looks, he could be himself and return to the faithful friend he'd had for so long. The simplicity and routine created never felt off, even as the times changed. He would always run back to you.

Until High School started. Things changed yet again, messing with the routine you two had created. He didn't walk you, or drive you to school, but would bring you food, smile at you in the halls, and nod his head in the structured environment of school. It was more than middle school. You two still saw each other as much as possible, but hangouts got a lot different. He got into football, and the schedule was rigorous. Yet, you'd still go to his games, cheer him on, and wait until he got home to personally congratulate him. He never even let flings, or girlfriends throughout the years, change his behavior towards you. It had never been explicitly romantic, but you two were closer than most. He'd hold your hand to drag you to his room, and vice versa. He'd let you drape his legs across him on the couch, or let him spin you around in a hug after his games.

He saw you more than middle school, his maturity hitting him slightly. He valued you, and you valued him, and that was one of the first things he'd ever known. This platonic relationship he held with you, was one of the things he cherished most. He wouldn't let anything get between you two, no matter what was to come in the future. He'd never let you go.

You on the other hand, immersed in studies and prepping for college, had turned a lot of hangouts into study dates. Which was okay with him, as long as you two got to see each other. He'd lounge in your room while you sat at your desk with a textbook and computer. He'd bring you food when your mom called that dinner was ready, knowing your academics had pulled you away from reality. His nurturing nature stayed the same.

You two had both gotten into different colleges, across the state. He got a football scholarship, and you got an academic scholarship at a prestigious college on the west side. You knew what was to come as the summer after senior year approached.

What you didn't know was to come, was your feelings towards him.

You didn't know when your hand holding started making your tummy flutter, or when his hands tracing patterns on your calves had you feeling flustered. Sure, he changed a lot in High School. He got muscular, grew his hair out, had more charm and appeal. He had girls swooning. But you? You never expected to be one of those girls.

Coming to terms with your feelings was definitely a task.

At first, it was jealousy. Jealousy towards the girls who were able to openly fawn over him, with Anakin relishing in the attention they bestowed on him. He loved living in this spotlight, and the rush he got when girls would whisper and giggle sentiments about him. He adored all of the looks and the eye fucks he would get in the halls. It was an ego boost.

You wished so terribly you could be one of those girls. The ones he'd kiss after his games, the ones who went out with him on Friday nights. You just weren't that girl.

Sophomore year came with heated jealousy, and Junior year came with longing. Senior year, you slowly came to terms with it. It wasn't until after graduation, when you relished in all the attention he would give you on summer days, that you fully realized what you were feeling. You had never had a boyfriend throughout all your years, academics taking priority over any man.

The beginning of summer was torture.

He was mindful of his last couple of months with you, giving you his full, undivided attention.

And you fucking loved it.

At the same time though, you hated it. The torment of the sudden affection you received, along with an endless stream of texts and calls when you two couldn't be together. It made your feelings all the more real, and you couldn't do it any longer.

You were then slowly trying to distance yourself, for your own sanity, to protect your feelings and soften the blow of college. You were frustrated, angry, and hurt all at the same time. It wasn't his fault, but your brain blamed him for all of it. You were starting to resent him, and hole up in your room, only coming out for meals and water. It had been this way for about a week now, in the middle of June, and the contrast from this to the way you were two weeks before was startling. Especially to Anakin.

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

Your mom, Lucille, was standing on her back porch per usual, pacing around her best friend, also known as Anakin's mom. Though she was across town, it wasn't far. A mere ten minute drive at most.

"I just don't know what's gotten into her, you know? One minute she's going out almost every day with Ani, the next she's- she's- god!"

Lucille was very annoyed, to say the least. The state she had found you in was worrying her, and her financial situation with college didn't assist in her anxiety.

"Did something happen between her and Ani?" Lucille pondered, quirking a brow up inquisitively at her friend, sighing. "Not that I know of. In fact, he's been asking about her," Shmi sighed heavily. "She might just be stressed about university, you know?"

"I know... but she normally comes to me about these things, Shmi! And now she's this void," Lucille sat down, wine sloshing in the glass.

Shmi rubbed her back, smiling softly. "Just be patient, Lucy, maybe try to have a heart to heart with her? Sit down with her," Shmi pondered.

"Yeah... yeah, sure. I'll do that," Lucille returned the soft expression Shmi reflected onto her, letting out a huff. "Can you come by tomorrow morning? I'll keep you updated," she asked, while Shmi rubbed her back.

"Of course. I'll head home, love you," Shmi replied, standing up and walking into the cool air of the house, watching the moonlight cast the house in a low glow. The hardwood floors leading to the front door were bleached from the sun, it's constant rays hitting the floor from the many windows in the home.

"Love you, too," Lucille wrapped her friend in a hug, wishing her off. "What to do," she looked at her feet, shutting and locking the door, heading upstairs to talk to you.

She heard soft music coming from your room, probably from the speaker Anakin had gifted you Junior year. She recognized the soft hum of your voice, and Lucille was then unsure if she wanted to disturb your peace. But, she knew it was for the better.

A soft knock resonated in the empty hallway, and she heard your hums stop, followed by your music. Your footsteps could be heard trekking to the door, that once opened, revealed darkness in your face.

Your bags were heavy, face devoid of any feeling as you tilted your head to the side, "Hey, what's up?" You muttered, avoiding eye contact with your mother.

"Can I come in?" Your mom requested, analyzing every feature you once held. It was sad, depressing, and a mess all in one. You straightened your spine, opening your door wider and flicking on the light. With no words, you sat on your bed, the white comforter all messy and tangled in an array of clothes; unfolded laundry you were too tired to do.

Your mother sat next to you, placing a hand on your back. "Is everything okay?"

"Mhm, why do you ask?" You force a smile, nodding your head. Your appearance spoke much differently though, along with the state of your bedroom. Your hair in a messy updo, and your clothes scattered around the carpet. Spandex and an oversized tee adorned your figure, hiding the body you once loved to dress up with random articles of clothing, a uniqueness reflected in your personality onto your style.

This wasn't you.

"You've been in your room for a few days now, what happened to your summer plans? The job you were looking for?" Lucille removed her hand, placing her cheek in her hand.

You again avoided eye contact, looking to your window. "I'm just tired, Mama," you replied in a hushed tone, chewing on your already scabbed lip.

"I know, hon, I know. But we're all worried. Me, Shmi, Anakin-"

At the mention of his name, you dropped your head again. Deep down, you knew it wasn't fair to anyone. But you couldn't help it. You'd rather put up your walls before letting yourself get hurt with a stupid crush. "It's okay, I promise," you again put up a facade.

"Is it me? Did I do something?" Your mother started to tear up, placing a hand on her chest. The last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt you. She had never seen this from you before, though.

You finally made eye contact, shaking your head rigorously. "No, of course not. I just need to sleep," you scrunched your nose, trying not to let the tears fall yourself.

"Okay... but if you need anything I'm here, alright?" Lucille stood up then, making her way out the door, shutting off the light on her way out.

In the absence of another person, you felt yourself rotting in self deprecation all over again. The mention of Anakin just hurt you all the more. You hated doing this, you really did, but crying for hours on end seemed to help, even in the slightest.

So, you sat back in your mess of sheets and blankets, music starting up again, as you scrolled through photos of you and Anakin over the years. Even looking at photos of him with girlfriends, his smile brighter than ever. Kisses on cheeks, arms around them in photos. A reminder of something you could never be to him. A hole was making its way into your heart, one that only he could fill, and you were devoid of any reciprocation to your feelings.

But, back at the Skywalker's residence, Shmi had come home, setting her keys on the rack, and plopping down on the couch with a soft thud. Even she was confused and frustrated, thinking of you as one of her own.

At the sound of the door opening, and footsteps, Anakin came tumbling down the stairs, excited to see his mom after a long day of work, knowing she went to your house immediately after her shift.

She perked up at the noise, laying back and turning on the TV. "Hello, Ani," she yelled to the hallway, as he came walking towards the living room.

"Hey, Mom! How was your day?" He asked, setting himself next to Shmi, leaning back in the cushions. His hair was damp from a shower, clad in a black tee and plaid pants.

"It was good, stopped by Lucille's after work," she muttered, with him letting out a chuckle in response. "Assumed so, it's around ten— you're normally not out this late unless it's Lucille's," he nodded. "Did you see Y/N?" He then asked, turning his head to face Shmi.

"No... I didn't. Have you heard from her at all?" Shmi frowned, watching him shake his head and loll it back on the couch, a sigh escaping his lips. "No, I haven't. I'm worried, you know? Did I do something?" He asked, looking for some sort of answer. Your absence was sudden, and no matter how many times he'd call or text, you wouldn't respond. Your location stayed the same as well, the icon staying on your house, so he knew you weren't busy. He didn't want to intrude though, and push boundaries, but he truly had no idea what was going on with you. And it hurt him.

"I don't think so, she's avoiding Lucy as well," Shmi looked at her son quickly while she channel surfed, finding something to hopefully fall asleep to on the plush tan cushions.

Anakin sighed, standing up. "Tell Lucille I'll be over tomorrow, okay? I'll see if I can figure it out, might be too personal to tell her mom about," Anakin assured Shmi, standing up to make his way up the stairs.

"Okay," Shmi replied simply, feeling sleep overtake her soon enough.

Anakin, though, made his way up the stairs, racing to his phone. He pulled up your contact again, pressing the call button, and listening to the same ringing tone that he's heard for the past week bounce off of the walls of his room.

He sighed when it hit your voicemail, the sound of your once cheery self beginning to speak. He hadn't heard your voice in so long, it ached and left him confused. "Tomorrow," he told himself.

He'd see you tomorrow, no matter what it took.

Tomorrow didn't come soon enough, though, leaving Anakin tossing and turning in his sleep. He was so, so tired, so worried, and so anxious about what would happen. He had no idea if he had done something wrong, his brain relentlessly bullying him with 'what if's'. He kept waking up in cold sweats, eyebrows furrowed with concern for you. He cherished you like a lifeline, and he felt like he was slipping away as you did from him. When morning came, he had bags under his eyes, and his hair was tousled with the constant running of his hands through his hair throughout the night. He didn't know what if it went wrong today, or if you gave no response and shut yourself off.

He didn't even eat, too sick to his stomach to do so, waving a small, "bye," to his mother before slipping into his car, and Shmi had sent a text to Lucille as he left.

Shmi

He's on the way.

Lucy

Alright, she's awake. Ty for sending him over 😘

Shmi

Anytime. Want to come over while they talk, give them a little space?

Lucy

On my way.

And with that, Lucille had left her own home, knocking on your door and letting you know where she was going. You had hummed in response, getting into the shower, preparing to repeat the cycle of bed-rot you had created in the recent days.

The water soothed you, hot streams battering on your back as you sunk into the tiled floor. The speaker still let out hushed instrumentals and lyrics of your playlist, allowing you to wallow in your feelings. Not even washing your hair, or your body, you simply laid there. Tears were scarce at this point, not able to flow down your cheeks, as you looked at yourself in your naked state.

You doubted Anakin could ever, ever, love something like this in the way you loved him.

It was honestly sickening, in your opinion, how you destroyed yourself over him. Promises to him left unkept, and your friendship flowed down the drain, following the stream of the water. The sad, angry music you hummed along to only allowed for your wallowing to fester into an ugly knot in your stomach.

Some Phoebe Bridgers lyric had you leaning on the wall, closing your eyes. Too many years wasted. Too many tears shed over Anakin.

As the song was reaching its peak, you were oblivious to the sleek, black jeep that pulled into your driveway. Your room perched in the back of the house, anyway, so it was hard to hear over the shower and the music, along with your own humming. You were unaware of the unlocking of your front door, which Anakin had a key to, and the sound of his footsteps bustling up the stairs of your home. Which would have been bad, had it been an intruder, but it was just your good ol' Anakin.

As he made his way up the stairs, he heard the music in the shower, and the sound of your voice, the murmurs of lyrics you sang along to. He also heard the familiar pattering of your bathroom, having also showered here one too many times after games. Your bathroom was attached to your room, and he didn't want to disrupt, so he simply opened your door and sat on your bed.

When he walked in though, he was shocked. Your entire safe space was in disarray, a mirror of your emotions. If there was one thing about you, though, it was that you were a tad bit messy, but never this bad. He frowned at the thought, and decided to lay back on your messy bed, pulling out his phone to check the time. You should be out soon right?

But as fifteen minutes passed, he was getting impatient. He strolled up to your door, knocking softly.

"Mom, I thought you were at Shmi's?" Your voice was raspy, and quieter than normal, a pang resonating in his heart.

"It's me," he softly said, hand on the door.

You were struck with shock, sitting up immediately, feeling guilty and overwhelmed suddenly.

"I'm busy, come back later?" You pleaded, hoping to avoid him. But if anything, Anakin was persistent, and when he says he's doing to do something, he'll do it. Your brain had hoped silently that he'd take it, making his way out, so you wouldn't have to face him.

He shook his head, "No. We need to talk, now. Are you almost done?" he inquired, leaning his side on the door now, dragging his fingertips over the ridges of the wooden door. You didn't respond, and he didn't hear any movement, so he continued to press. "I swear to God, Y/N, I'll come in there if I have to."

Fear struck your veins, and you stayed silent, hoping he'd go away. "We can talk later, I'm busy," you simply replied, shaking your head at his perseverance. You always adored that about him, but now was a bad time for him to do so. Now, you wanted him gone. He was no longer your sanctuary, but a cause of fear and pain to you. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't stop.

And you were right.

You heard the handle jiggle a little bit, before a groan was let out behind the door. "There is no need to lock the door in your own home," he sighed, turning back to your room. A bobby pin should work, right?

"It's to prevent people from coming in, y'know, like you're trying to do," you rolled your eyes and scoffed, borders and walls making their way back up. You heard his footsteps walking away from the door, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. One obstacle down, right?

But then, you heard the jiggling of the doorknob again, and the click of the lock, and a sense of alarm surged through your veins. "I'm coming in," he announced sternly, before you heard the creak of your bathroom door opening. He had successfully found your bobby pins littered around your vanity, from various updo's you'd style your hair with during school. For a second, he was glad for the mess, which allowed him to find it so easily.

"I'm naked!" You screeched, though the shower curtain covered anything he could possibly see.

He chuckled, scoffing, "I've seen you before," he sarcastically uttered, hands finding purchase on the counter behind him, facing the curtain. The only barrier between you and him in the current moment.

"Yeah, when we were four, asshole," you shot back defensively, groaning at his antics. You still continued to attempt to avoid him, dragging out your shower for as long as possible.

Anakin grabbed the towel off of the seat, reaching into the curtain to shut the water off. "Get out," he demanded, "or I will personally come in there and wrap you in the towel myself," his aggression didn't go unnoticed, knowing now that something was definitely wrong between you and him.

"Fuck, fine," you sneered, standing up and reaching out for your towel, which he handed to you through the curtain. You stood up, wrapping yourself, and peeking through the curtain. Shit, he still looked as beautiful as ever. Even more than the photos you would look at while letting sobs escape your lips. He wore a white ribbed tank top, paired with gray sweatpants, hung low on his hips. He looked like a mess himself, curly hair frayed at his neck, sticking to the skin from the steam.

He raised a brow, looking away in respect for you. "Go get changed, I'll wait here," he muttered, allowing you to be at least respectable before he confronted you. As a result, you zoomed past him, quickly grabbing a pair of drawstring shorts and a hoodie, knowing you wouldn't have to waste time on a bra if you were in something baggier. After slipping into your clothes in your closet, you opened up the bathroom door again, and he followed you forward to the center of your room.

He eyed you up and down, finally taking in your features and your state. Though your hair was dripping wet, he didn't miss the puffy circles around your eyes and the split lip you often had when you worried about something too much. His face softened, ever so slightly, as you sat on the bed in front of him, while he continued to stand in front of your figure.

He broke the silence as soon as you sat, "Y/N..." Anakin muttered, folding his hands across his chest in front of you. You gulped, picking at the strings hanging loose from your shorts, "what's so important that you had to interrupt my shower for?"

"You act like you were doing something important. You've been ignoring everyone for days now," he began, eyeing you up and down as you fidgeted and avoided his eyes. Those damn eyes.

"I was, I was showering. Hygiene is important, Anakin," you retorted, turning your head to the window on your left.

"You know what I mean," he opened up his stance, running a hand through his hair. You hardly ever called him Anakin anymore, just Ani. The fact that you used his first name sent shivers down his spine.

"What do you mean?" You inquired, acting oblivious, hoping he'd leave and let you go back to your previous state. Though, as mentioned, when Anakin was determined to do something, he'd do it.

He took a step closer to you, peering down, "You've been avoiding me for days now. Everyone, for days now," he pouted slightly. "You promised you'd tell me everything, so what's going on? You know I don't judge," he assured you, getting down to face you, sitting cross legged on the carpet of your room.

"It's nothing, I promise," You said the same thing you've told your mother consistently. "It's nothing," you repeated.

"It's not nothing, if it's got you like this," he tried to smile warmly, show you he was there, to bring comfort, to bring peace to your mind. "Yeah, well, it's not something I'd like to share with you."

Now that stung, a pain radiating in his very bones, your words leaving him stunned momentarily. You shared almost everything with him. Everything that ever stressed you, he'd hug you and distract you until you were a laughing and smiling disaster. You had never been so closed off, so defensive.

Unknowingly, unintentionally, he shot back, "I've given you every piece of me to show you how open I am, and you can't do the same back? What happened to you?"

Venom laced his voice, making you finally face him. It made the blow all the more easier, while it also gave you a heartache you couldn't possibly fathom. "Life happened, Anakin. We're no longer silly teenagers living our lives, we're adults. We're growing apart," you let your arms fall to your sides, helpless to the heat and tension growing between you two.

"We're about to go off to college, and I've been spending every waking moment with you. We didn't just drift, something changed. I'm trying my hardest to be here, you know? Support you, give you a hand, and you won't even open up," he shifted uncomfortably, sensing an argument arising, which has never before occurred between the two of you.

"It's nothing you can help, Anakin. It's out of your control, so leave it be, and get out," you persisted.

"Get out? Get out?" He shot straight up, standing up in front of you, inching closer to your balled up figure facing him. "You don't kick me out of a place that is basically my second home," he raised his voice, causing you to stand up to face him at the same time.

Before you could speak though, he continued his banter, "So you admit something is wrong," he pointed to your chest, jabbing your collarbone while he spoke the words, voice booming out in the silence of your bedroom. Your stance was less defensive now, as he slowly broke down the barrier, and he continued, yet again.

"I told you, it's nothing you can help with," you replied with a hushed, raspy voice, not wanting to bicker.

"Just tell me what it is, then? Is it school? Because while I may not be as smart as you, I have damn well studied for hours on end with you. I have given up movie nights, going out with you, for all of that shit. You're perfectly fine. You're set. You've got a scholarship, and you'll be fine!"

He continued to step closer to you, closing the space ever so slowly, as you shrunk under his words. "If it's your daddy, fine! But I watched the divorce, the split happen. I watched as you were torn between your parents, and held your hand through that!"

"So tell me, Y/N, what is different this time around?"

Your throat was dry, not wanting to respond, everything seeming so stupid now. How were you supposed to admit, right to his face, it was him? Anakin, the one who held you, the one who made you laugh, the one making you cry yourself to sleep.

"Is it boy troubles? Because I haven't seen any man swoop down and carry you in his arms, and I would have heard about it from your mom. You haven't told her shit, either. So it's got to be pressing you, huh? Just let it out!"

He continued his verbal attacks on you, his frustrations from everything being let out on you. You wanted to shrink back, run away, but there was nowhere to go. Your gut was churning, bubbling, as a sob almost escaped your throat. "You wouldn't get it!"

"Yeah, I don't fucking get it because you won't tell anyone what's wrong," he immediately responded, again taking another step closer. You swatted the hand that was on your chest away, pushing him back from the close proximity. He stumbled, catching his balance, before turning to the side and letting out a low chuckle. "I see."

He saw the polaroids of you and him, laying on your nightstand, shaking his head, "It's me, huh? What the hell did I do? Just tell me," he almost begged, yelling at the top of his lungs at this point. You glanced back and let tears finally escape your eyes, sniffling from the flow. He noticed, slightly softening, as you began to yell back, finally breaking the dam.

"It is you, idiot! Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you smile at girls like they're everything to you, bring them home at night to cuddle and hold them. It's the way you style your hair, and the way you saunter with your huge fucking ego!"

Oh, now he was confused. You despised his guts because of the way he was? Always has been?

"And you know- you know, I wish I was one of those girls! But you've never even looked at me that way, Anakin! That's the issue! That you've been so oblivious to the way I've wanted you, turning around and fucking other girls while I wait at home for your text that you're safe! It's all of it, Anakin," you let out a choked sob in the midst of your sentence, looking him directly in the eyes, "You go around and play football and don't even give me a sideways glance in the stands! It's so, so wrong to feel this way about you, someone I'm just supposed to care about. But no, I fucking love you, Anakin, and it hurts, it hurts so much. You sit and flirt with the cheerleaders in the cafeteria, giving them kisses on their temples and wrapping your arm around them, in public! But I will never, ever, be one of those girls to you. I will always be the best friend. I will never get to feel you longing for me, and never get to feel you loving me the same! That's what's wrong!"

You finished, letting out a huff, and realizing what you had done. Anakin stayed silent, processing your words, mouth open in shock. You were so terrified, yet so relieved that you had let everything out all at once. You knew now that you had crossed a line, broken a border down in your relationship with him. It had turned from sweet, innocent bliss, to rage and despair, mixed with love and fury. You knew you could never come back from this, back from the words that flew out of your mouth. You were desperate for him, and you would worship the ground he walked on if it meant you could receive one backwards glance held with the passion he held for the other women. But you knew you'd never get that, and you'd spend all of your life searching for a person to fill the hole he created in your heart, but never quite filling it up fully. It would be like a bandaid, covering it up temporarily, but the wound would still exist. It would still rot underneath your skin.

"You mean it?" Anakin simply said, words quiet, as he took a step towards you again, looking into what felt like your soul.

"Every goddamn word."

As soon as the curse left your lips, he grabbed you so swiftly, so tenderly, colliding his body with yours as his breath fanned across your lips, waiting for you to say no. You froze instinctively, still coming to terms with the fact that his hand was laid on the small of your back, the other placed on the back of your head, inching you closer. Before you knew it, the feeling of his lips encompassed yours, with unspoken feelings reverberating through the action. You immediately kissed back, gripping his shirt with the arms in front of you, pulling him instinctively closer. He pushed your frame impossibly close to his, wrapping his arm tighter around you, clutching onto the hoodie you wore.

His hand had gripped your sopping wet hair, earning a small noise elicited from your mouth into his, leaving his kiss softening in satisfaction. It was filled with need, hunger, and years of built up frustration. He handled you so softly, as if you would break, tears still streaming down your cheeks. A sob wracked your chest again, causing him to pull away.

"How in the world could you think I could never love you?" He questioned, bringing you into a hug. You continued to clutch his chest, squeezing your eyes shut. He gingerly set you down to sit in front of him, while he kneeled between your legs. His hands were placed on your knees, looking up at you, as if you were a goddess bestowed upon him.

"I'm not them. I'm not the cheerleaders, or the dancers, or the athletes you date. Look at me, Ani," you grabbed onto his hands, squeezing. His expression showed guilt, love, and anger. Anger at himself, for ever making you feel like this. For ever making you feel like you were the second option, and that he could never adore you. Because for years, he has.

"Oh, honey, you are so much more than them," he brought a hand up to cup your cheek. "I have loved you for so long, I can't believe you ever felt this way," he mumbled, kissing your knees after he uttered the sentiment. "You are everything to me."

He wiped the tears off of your cheeks with his hand, raising himself on his knees slightly. "I'm so sorry I ever made you feel that way, because you are my first and forever love."

"You mean it?" You mocked him, your normal attitude coming back to life. He grinned like a cheshire cat, watching you beam back in the midst of tears.

"Every goddamn word," he mocked back, grabbing your hands and placing kisses on them, "you could never compare to any other girl. You are worth so much more to me, I promise. You are my sun and my moon, my stars, I revolve around you. I love you, so much," he praised you, placing one of your hands on his cheek.

You began to cry again, tears of happiness this time, knowing it was okay.

"No, no, don't cry baby, please," he kneeled up, know facing you directly. "You're too pretty to cry."

You shook your head in disbelief, looking down at your lap.

He kisses your forehead, softly, bringing you close to him. "I'm so sorry," he profusely apologized. He left kisses down the side of your face, peppering you, before meeting your lips again, where you wrapped your arms around his neck as he hunched over. He never once disconnected your kiss as he hooked his hands under your thighs, pushing you back on the bed and under him. The kiss grew more needy, more desperate, as his hands rubbed your outer thighs, guiding them to wrap around his waist. As you did so, you pulled him down closer to you, your two bodies moving in sync with love, care, and adoration.

You tugged on his hair, making him grunt softly into your mouth, making you giggle slightly. "What was that, hm?" You mumbled into the kiss. You honestly were lost with what you were doing, your first kiss taking place on the playground at recess, and had never gone as far as to continue kissing someone.

"God— you, Y/N," he pulled away, looking at you from above, the locks of hair falling from his head, caressing his jaw. He scanned your face for any hesitance, any doubts, and in finding none, he leaned back down, caressing your arms in the process.

"Wait, Ani," you stopped him before his lips could meet yours, bringing one hand to trace along his jaw. "I've never done anything like this before," you mumbled, partially out of embarrassment and nervousness. He had then begun to pull away fully, out of respect for you, before you trapped his hips in with your calves, pulling him back down.

"We don't have to do anything, I promise, I don't expect anything from you, nothing— I swear," he promised, grinning at you from above. "I want you to feel as comfortable as possible," he told you, realization hitting him that you most likely had never done anything beyond kissing, and he didn't want to pressure you into anything you wouldn't want.

"No, that's not what I mean. Ani, I want to," you told him, the heat growing between your bodies, his sweatpants and your shorts being a soft barrier between what could occur.

"You want to?" He questioned, anticipation almost hurting him in his core. You were willing to give him one of the most treasured, most vulnerable parts of yourself, to him, and he couldn't quite fathom that.

"Yes. Anakin, I've always wanted to do this with you, since I knew I fell in love," you leaned up to kiss his cheek, then you kissed the shell of his ear, whispering, "let me be yours."

With that, he bent down to kiss you again, gentle hands and tender touches. "I'll be careful, and tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay?"

You nodded, bringing him back down to you, yet again, as the kiss grew heated. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, allowing you to open your mouth, letting his own wrap around yours and explore your mouth. The feeling itself was sensational, and you wished you had confessed sooner. Your hips bucked up to meet his, knowing only clothing separated you two. You reached down to tug on his shirt, enticing him.

He sat up, ripping his shirt off quickly, and you took the time to admire him. While you had seen it many times throughout the years, you couldn't get enough, knowing this was the man who loved you, who adored you, who pledged himself to you. Your hand traced along his abdomen, and up his chest, with slow circles and movements.

He looked down to you and your hoodie for permission, to which you grew embarrassed and shy. He stopped, again, tracing his hand along your hip, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not wearing a bra, Ani," you muttered with embarrassment, and he looked at you inquisitively at the fact. "Honey, do you know—"

You interrupted him, mid laugh, "Yes, I know, I'm just nervous. My body, and uh—"

You were cut off, almost immediately, with a tut from him. "You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I promise," he told you, looking at you as if you'd break with a single touch or glance.

You nodded, beginning to lift your shirt up yourself, before he stopped you, kissing you and setting your wrists down. "Let me show you how much I love you," he told you, so sincerely, that you felt your body heat up and tense.

His fingers found the bottom of the garment, beginning to lift it over your head, as you lifted your arms up for him to slip it off of you.

He could have practically cum at the sight.

He was met with your soft skin, only for him to see, and his sweatpants tightened ever so slightly. Your breasts splayed out, tummy revealed, and it was all for him. Would forever only be for Anakin.

He kissed you again as you held him, trailing pecks down your cheek, and to your neck, where he suckled the skin and nibbled. You whimpered quietly, never having even thinking you could let out anything from kisses.

"You're so, so beautiful. Sculpted by the gods themselves, I swear. If I could worship a statue of you at a temple, I could," he whispered into your collarbone, moving his pecks downward. You became inherently flustered at his words, a garbled mess, until his breath was fanning in between your sternum. His palms found your ribs, inching upward to your breasts, thumb teasing over your nipple. The contact jolted you, overly sensitive and becoming needy for him to make love to you.

"So divine, I swear," he spoke over your nipple, before his mouth latched onto it, suckling like it would be the last thing he ever tasted. Yet, at the same time, it was so pure. Merciful whimpers left your garbled throat, hands tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

He switched over to the other breast, the other one being caressed with his saliva coating it, hardening at the contact. He let his teeth drag along the peak, almost teasingly, before kissing the bud and moving downwards.

He moved down to your tummy, kissing all over. His tongue licked a stripe from your sternum to your navel, then kissing the skin above your shorts. "No matter how insecure you are, your tummy is perfect," he mumbled into the skin, teeth gently grazing the skin as he sweet talked into your skin, lust filling his eyes as he made eye contact with you from above him.

"Anakin, I need you," you muttered, not able to hold the eye contact as he sat between your legs, where you needed him most. He smirked, nodding as he did so, "I know, baby, just wanna take my sweet time with you," he spoke, so close to your core, where your desire lingered for him. He could practically taste it as well, bending down lower, his teeth biting on the waistband of the fabric, slowly pulling it down. His other hand met the other hip, assisting in his teasingly slow antics. He shimmied the shorts off, looking back to where you laid underneath him. He adored you, to say the least, and the way you're looking at him as him twitching in his pants. Desire and need are painted all over your expression, as he finally looked down to your panties.

He noticed the damp spot on the gray cotton, his mind going crazy. He did this to you. God, he loved it.

He kissed the wet spot, earning a small noise that strangled it's way out your mouth. Those damn noises to him, would be the death of Anakin himself. He then looked up, "Is this okay?" He questioned, wanting to make sure you were alright more than anything.

"Yes, please, Ani," you begged, watching him then tauntingly pull the fabric down your hips. Before looking, he begins to kiss the inside of your thighs, tongue dragging along the plush of the skin. The freckles and moles and scars, everything, he was taking in as he tasted you. It was perfect to him. You are perfect. He wanted to make sure you knew that as well, his attention switching to the other leg, repeating the same tantalizing licks and nips and kisses, sucking gently as he got closer to your center, leaving light hickeys and eliciting noises from you.

He then made eye contact with where you needed him most, a small sigh of his breath leaving a tingling sensation for you. "All of this, for me? You're too good to me," he spoke, before taking his first lick, a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning at the taste of you. "Y'taste so heavenly, honey, please," he begged for nothing, knowing he already had you as putty in his hands. You fell limp as he pressed a damp kiss to your clit, using one hand to pull back your folds for him. You were glistening with desire, leaking onto your sheets. He was disappointed he couldn't take the chance to lick it up off of the sheets, your hole twitching and practically clenching at this point.

He began his attacks on you, slow and steady, trying not to overwhelm you. Moans began to fill the room, letting him know he was doing a good job, only using his tongue at this point. "S'good," you spoke out, and he hummed in response, smiling in his head. All he wants is to make you feel good. This is an apology, devotion, and need all in one.

The vibrations sent shivers up your spine, fingers clutching the sheets beside you. His other hand was keeping your legs apart, the incessant twitching making him rut into the end of the bed. This wasn't about him though, this was about you.

His tongue prodded your entrance, scooping up whatever was leaking out, and he swallowed it graciously. "You're doing so well, my love," he praised. You hummed in response, not being able to form coherent words, even though he was the one with his mouth occupied. The hand spreading your folds twisted, allowing for his thumb to start slow, gentle circles around your clit.

"Is this good? Do you feel good, darling?" He asked, looking up to you as you nodded feverishly, in a haze of love and lust all at once. Your brain was clouded with the pleasure of Anakin between your legs, lapping you up like you were his final meal on death row. His thumb circling your nub, and his tongue swirling around your walls, gummy and slick with his saliva and your desire. He loved every second of it, your squirming and your hips rolling on his mouth, suffocating him in the best way possible.

His thumb began to speed up, and your hands found their way to his hair, pulling him closer and gripping on for dear life. And he hasn't even inserted fingers yet.

The heat between your legs grew stronger, as minutes passed of torturous circles and slow licks and prods, before you begged for him more. "Fingers, something, Ani," you managed to make out some words, jello and oozing into his palms and mouth. He chuckled at your eagerness, now using his hand he was using to hold your legs apart to wrap your legs behind his back, heels digging into the muscular blades of his shoulders. A single digit slowly entered you, curling inside, arching your back off of the sheets. His tongue moved up to your clit, suctioning the bud, and gently nibbling as his finger began a new pace. It was steady, almost leisurely, as he inserted a second finger, scissoring at your entrance. You were so, so tight, and it was heavenly to him. "Ani, faster, please," you commanded, and he damn well listened like an obedient dog, picking up the pace and curling inside of you each time, his thick fingers searching for the spot that would make you see stars. One your own fingers could hardly reach.

As he sped up and became more passionate with it, your legs trembled from overwhelming excitement and anticipation. You felt the knot beginning to form, one you had only reached on your own, while always thinking of this. Your moans became more strangled and raspy, his mouth never leaving his assault on your clit, and his fingers squelching from your wetness between your legs. The smell, the taste, everything was undeniably delicious to him. This was his Y/N, the one he pined after for so long, the girl of his dreams.

Your pussy began to ache, an overwhelming sense of your release approaching. With whatever you could make out, you uttered in a strangled mess, "C-cum, Ani, 'M gonna."

He began to get more aggressive with his suckles, and his eyes looked up to your expression as your breasts shook with every breath you took, head lolled back from the craving you had- no, the need you had for him. He felt your walls clench around him as your release was coming, his eyes never leaving you. "Good girl, I wanna see that pretty face look at me while you cum," he quickly reattached his mouth to you, the words themselves making your orgasm hit you like a trainwreck. Your eyes never left his, though they rolled into the back of your head momentarily. He felt the flutter, and the clenching of your legs around his head as you finished, his mouth licking up the last of you as he finally pulled away. "You did so well, baby. We can stop here if you want," he assured you, licking his fingers clean as he leaned up to cup your face and kiss your neck.

"I want to feel you inside of me," your lips were flush and swollen from the kissing and biting you had done, and your checks were splotched with redness as he nodded. "Fuck, you're so perfect," he guaranteed your utmost comfortability and contentment. "If you're sure."

He began to pull down his boxers and sweats in a swift motion with one hand, the other propping him up so he could kiss your cheeks sweetly and with care. "You're doing amazing."

You grinned and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips eagerly. Sweat beaded your foreheads, but the mess created never stopped either of you from continuing. He kissed your forehead, then both of your cheeks, before dragging his lips down to the corner of your mouth. He pulled away momentarily, hands reaching down to stretch you with his fingers. You glanced down to below his navel, and holy shit, was he big.

"It'll fit?" You questioned, your naïveté getting the best of you in the moment.

He chuckled, grinning and looking down at you waiting for him. He took a mental picture, analyzing every possible detail of your bare skin, and the way you looked right now. He was infatuated with you before, but this sight under him, left precum leaking from his tip. His fantasies could have never compared to this sight of him between your legs. "Yes, it will. It'll hurt at first, okay? And tell me to slow down or stop at any point, promise?"

You nodded your head eagerly, "I promise," so grateful for the way he was praising and taking care of your needs over his.

He kissed you again, dragging his tip along your folds. The red and swollen cock in front of you had you nearly drooling, but you decided to save that for another point in time.

"Are you ready?" He asked tenderly, kissing along your neck, tapping your clit with the head of his cock. "Yes, please," you chanted over and over again, like a prayer on your lips.

He let out a quiet hum, slowly pressing his tip into your folds. It slowly slipped past your entrance, earning a hiss from between your teeth.

"Are you okay?" Anakin immediately asked, though not pulling out, so he could look you in the eye, his gaze wavering slightly.

"Mhm, just hurts," you felt tears prick the corner of your eyes, and Anakin knows you've never been someone with a high pain tolerance. "Shh, it's okay, I've got you," he comforted you, pressing a small kiss to your lips, waiting for you to nod to continue. It didn't matter that even your entrance was gripping him like a fucking vice, he wanted you to feel as safe and pleasured as possible.

You made eye contact with him, nodding slowly, as he pushed in a little more, your hands finding his biceps, caged around your head, nails digging into his skin and leaving welts. It hurts, but you expected it. And there was nobody else in all the universe you would rather give your virginity to, just Anakin himself.

"You're doing such a great job, taking me so well," he smiled, hoping his voice would bring you a sense of oasis in the middle of his cock piercing through your insides. "Think you can take a little more?"

You nodded, as one hand reached down to press on your thigh, as he felt your pussy clench him so tightly, knowing you were his. Made for him. "Relax, it'll help it hurt less baby, I promise," he told you, rubbing sweet circles on your leg.

He felt your body loosen up, and he was able to bottom out into you, and his tip kissed your walls, a whimper of pain and pleasure entering his mouth from the kiss he gave you. "Good girl," he whispered into your mouth, making sure he was to never break eye contact in this moment. It was so pure, so sinful, and such a precious moment. He was lingering inside of you, movements stilled, no matter how badly he wanted to pound into you until you were crying into the sheets. You bucked your hips up, enticing him to move, and he got the memo.

It wasn't full throttled thrusts, but slow and lazy pumps in and out of you, waiting for the pain to subside. He felt so amazing inside of you, with your warmth and wetness connecting you both. The closest he could ever get to you, and he never thought he would be here. He was savoring every clench, every thrust, and every moment like it would be his last. Because it was you, and he loved you so dearly, he wanted this to be perfect for you.

Your back arched, your pussy twitched around him, all the while he was still slowly going in and out. It was celestial, the way you moaned and let out slurred words of his name, eyes half lidded and already looking fucked out, a devious and wanton expression he'd commit to memory. "Ani," you made out, grabbing the hand on your leg and placing it on your core. He understood, starting to rub spirals under the red and swollen hood of your clit, picking up his pace. Then, the pain has completely subsided, turning into seraphic pleasure, his eyebrows creating a wrinkle as they furrowed. His own pants and grunts left his lips, chest heaving from the bliss he was subdued in. He was immersed in you completely, mentally and physically. You looked so angelic, even godly, as your bodies connected in the most unholy way possible.

He had waited too long for this.

Your warm and inviting, virgin pussy, saved all for him. And now you were underneath him, his cock filling every inch of you, and each time he bottomed out his tip would meet your cervix, but not hard enough to hurt you. He treasured you, wanting the moment to last as long as possible.

"Faster, Ani, I'm okay," you rested your hand on his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes, as he tried so hard to contain himself so you could feel loved for every second of it. He got off on you feeling so cherished under him, and you had never felt more adoration than in the present.

He listened though, picking him his pace, hips snapping so scrumptiously against you. You could hardly moan anymore, and you broke the eye contact, head rolling back and hitting your pillows from the amount of satisfaction you gained. He took the opportunity to look down at where your bodies met, watching his length slide in and out of you, coated in the sticky sweetness of your serene need for him. His eyes glanced over your body, watching as your tits bounced with every jolt of his body, and he almost creamed at the very sight. He was going to wait though, until you came, to ever think of cumming.

"S'well, baby, you feel so good wrapped around me. You're so beautiful, God. I could do this for hours," he praised you, feeling your pussy clench around him at the simple, yet overwhelming words. The way the plush of your thighs jiggled with every little movement, and the way your tummy followed with. He was encompassed in serenity for every second of it.

"M'gonna cum," you mustered out, warning him of your second release, building quicker than the prior one. "Go ahead, my love, whenever you feel like it," he said between pants and grunts, thumb still circling around your clit as he felt you get all the more tighter.

He sped up his pace, shifting his body to the right, the angle directly hitting that spongey spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Your hands began to dig into his shoulders, the knot tightening. He could tell, watching as your thighs clenched and you let out the most wanton cry of his name, cumming around his cock.

The feeling and satisfaction of you finishing left him close to his own release, pulling your head down to look at him. "'S it okay if- fuck- I cum?"

"Cum in me, Ani, fill me up," you assured him, still whimpering from overstimulation and groaning at the feeling of him fucking your cum back into you.

His breaths were shakier, turning into soft whimpers and groans as you felt his thrusts grow messy, and soon still, feeling a gush of warmth inside of you, filling you to the brim. He stayed there for a moment, sighing as his cock softened, not wanting to pull out and disconnect from you in the most intimate way possible. He knew he had to though, as he pulled out slowly, leaving you feeling empty and lost.

You let out a breath of air, leaning up to kiss him. He happily obliged, rubbing sweet patterns along your hips, tracing the dips and curves with his index finger, soothing you after your release.

He leaned up quickly, making you feel cold, empty, and lost. Was he already leaving?

But no, he came back with a warm washcloth, leaning between your legs again. He came face to face with your cum and his load leaking out of you, beginning to drag wet and sloppy kisses on your knees as he ever so gently wiped up what was leaking out of you, and the mess and sweat off of your thighs. The residue piled along the fabric, which he then wiped his soft cock with, running back to your bathroom to throw it in the hamper. He crawled back into bed with you as you turned over on your side, the room smelling of sex and love.

"I'm so proud of you, you did so well," he told you, wrapping an arm around you and bringing you close to him, so you could lay your head on his chest. His palm rubbed along the small of your back, tracing up your spine.

"Thank you, I don't think I could have asked for someone better to do it with," you smiled, an after sex glow making you all the more beautiful to him.

"Does this mean you're my boyfriend now?" You asked, and a dumbfounded expression was plastered on Anakin's face, causing you to worry momentarily.

"I would assume so, but only if you'll have me," he spoke into your hair, bare and naked bodies intertwined under the cold sheets. "Of course I'll have you," you comforted him, hands tracing the curve of his biceps. "You're my forever, Anakin."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

#anakin skywalker x reader #hayden christensen x reader #modern!anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #best friend!anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker angst #star wars #hayden christensen smut

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pink-petal-horns · 3 months ago

Text

No Escape

Negan x Rick’s Daughter!Reader

The night air was thick with humidity, clinging to your skin as you pushed forward. Your legs ached, your breath came in ragged gasps, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Not when Negan was behind you.

Your lungs burned as you forced yourself through the last stretch of trees, heart slamming against your ribs. Your clothes were torn, caked with dirt and dried blood—some of it yours, some of it from the Saviors you fought off in your desperate escape. The sanctuary was far behind you now, but fear still wrapped itself around your throat.

Then, you saw it.

The tall steel gates of Alexandria.

A strangled sob left your lips as you stumbled toward them, palms slamming against the cool metal. “Let me in!” you gasped, banging against it, voice breaking. “It’s me!”

For a moment, nothing.

Then—movement. Shadows shifting atop the lookout. You heard frantic voices calling your name.

A loud clang echoed in the night as the gate creaked open just enough for arms to pull you inside.

“Holy shit,” Scott muttered as you collapsed against him, struggling to breathe. “She made it back.”

The last thing you heard before your body gave out was frantic voices shouting for Rick.

—

You woke up to the familiar scent of home.

Bandages wrapped your wounds, clean clothes replaced your torn ones, and soft blankets cocooned you. For a fleeting moment, you felt safe.

But it didn’t last.

Because you knew.

You knew Negan would come for you.

—

Days passed.

Rick was furious, pacing back and forth, barking orders at everyone. “We don’t open the gates for anyone,” he warned. “When Negan comes—and he will come—we stay inside. We don’t give him an inch.”

You knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Negan wasn’t the type to take a loss.

He’d come.

And he’d find you.

—

It happened sooner than you expected.

Late afternoon, when the sun burned orange in the sky, the distant hum of motorcycles broke the peace.

You were sitting at the kitchen table with Carl and Olivia when it happened. The unmistakable sound of Lucille tapping against the porch railing sent a chill down your spine.

Carl was already reaching for his gun.

Olivia sucked in a sharp breath.

Then—

“Whew! It is hot as balls out here,” Negan’s voice rang out, smooth as ever. “But y’know what really warms my heart? Reunions.”

You froze.

“I’ll be damned,” he mused, boots heavy against the wood. “Where’s my girl at?”

Silence.

Negan exhaled dramatically. “C’mon, now. Don’t make me do this the hard way.”

Carl was the first to speak. “She’s not here.”

Negan chuckled. “Oh, kid. You are so bad at lying.”

You stayed hidden, heart pounding. But you knew it was useless.

Negan always got what he wanted.

And he wanted you.

—

It didn’t take long.

One second, you were pressed into the shadows of your father’s house, praying he’d leave.

The next—

Your door burst open.

And there he was.

Negan grinned, looking you up and down like he’d just won the damn lottery. “Well, fuck me. Look who’s playin’ hard to get.”

Your blood ran cold. You stepped back, but he was already inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Did you really think you could run from me?”

Your jaw clenched. “I did run.”

Negan’s smirk widened. “Yeah? And how’d that work out for ya?”

Your hands balled into fists. “Just take your supplies and leave.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed mockingly. “I came for you.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could move, Negan grabbed you, shoving you against the wall with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. His body pressed against yours, trapping you.

“I’ll give ya credit,” he murmured, voice dropping. “You got balls, runnin’ from me like that.”

His grip tightened, making you gasp.

“But you forgot one thing, baby.” His lips brushed against your ear, sending heat pooling between your legs.

“You. Fuckin’. Belong. To me.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Negan chuckled darkly. “We’ll see about that.”

Then his mouth crashed against yours.

You fought at first, pushing against his chest, but he just laughed, shoving you back harder. His hands were rough, possessive, gripping your jaw as his tongue forced its way into your mouth.

“Mm,” he groaned. “Missed this fuckin’ mouth.”

You whimpered when he pulled away, only to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His teeth scraped your skin, sending a shudder down your spine.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, hands sliding up your thighs. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” you whispered.

Negan smirked. “Liar.”

Then he spun you around, pressing you against the table.

His hands yanked at your clothes, pulling them from your body with ease. You gasped as cool air met your heated skin, but before you could protest, his palm cracked against your ass.

“Negan—”

“You gonna listen this time?” he growled, grinding against you. “Or am I gonna have to fuck some sense into you?”

A whimper slipped from your lips.

Negan grinned.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

His fingers trailed lower, teasing you, spreading you open. He chuckled darkly when he felt how ready you were.

“Shit,” he groaned. “You missed me, baby.”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

Didn’t matter.

Negan already knew.

He pushed inside you without warning, stretching you open with a rough, punishing thrust.

A cry tore from your throat, but he just groaned, gripping your hips as he fucked you into the table.

“This pussy,” he growled, voice strained. “Mine.”

You clenched around him, heat pooling in your stomach, and Negan laughed.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, voice like sin. “Show me who you really belong to.”

His thrusts grew harder, faster, driving you to the edge.

And when you finally fell apart beneath him, screaming his name, Negan smirked.

“Now, that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

—

When it was over, he pulled you against him, pressing lazy kisses to your temple.

Then, with a satisfied smirk, he whispered,

“Told ya, baby. There’s no escape from me.”

#the walking dead #twd negan #negan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #negan smut #negan smith

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 9 months ago

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Previous part here

Words: 4,362 Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language (duh, it's Negan), references to past violence, references to traumatic events, fear and anxiety, mentions of illness and mentions of character death (Lucille), sexual content Summary: Having healed up from Dante's attack, Y/N pays Negan a visit. A/N: This is the last part in this series. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's always bittersweet to conclude a series, but opens the door for more new writing. <3 Looking forward to more Negan in the future! <3 Thanks for reading!

Why were you so nervous? You were wringing your hands as you climbed the steps of the apartment building and let yourself inside the outer door. Your heart was fluttering in your chest like a moth around a lamp. You chewed on your bottom lip as you headed down the hallway and stopped in front of a door with a shiny brass “4.”

You pulled in a deep breath and knocked, shifting a bit nervously as you waited for a response. You didn’t have to wait long. Negan pulled the door open with a curious expression which quickly grew into a relaxed smile when he saw you standing there in front of him. The light in his hazel eyes took you aback.

“Hey, doll. Well, isn’t this a nice fucking surprise?”

“Hi,” you greeted him. “Is now a bad time?” you asked, laughing a little, nodding toward the paint splotches on his gray t-shirt.

“Not at all,” he smiled. “Anytime is a good time for you. Come on in,” he said.

Negan stepped back to invite you inside. “Thanks,” you replied, crossing the threshold. Your heart was still racing more than it should. Negan closed the door behind you and followed you up the hall. “Doing some redecorating?” you asked, stopping in the living room. You could see old sheets draped over some furniture in the next room and a few brushes sitting out on a paint can.

Negan swept a hand back through his hair. “I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear this, but I’m not really a flowered wallpaper kind of guy,” he said. “I found some decent supplies so I thought I might as well make this place a little more mine.”

You paced over to the doorway and peeked into the next room. The walls were freshly painted with a deep, dark blue. “Mmm,” you hummed, nodding. “Bit different than your last digs. And the ones before that…”

“Different is a good word.” He sighed suddenly and you looked back at him. “Fuck me, it’s good to see you,” he said. “You’ve got no idea how good. I didn’t realize it but I really got used to seeing you at least at every meal,” he said. You watched his eyes drift up to the fresh scar on your forehead, to the still healing split in your bottom lip, and then down to the fading bruises on your neck. His smile faltered a little at the sight and you thought you saw a faint flicker of anger in his eyes.

“Are you going through withdrawal?” you teased him, trying to lighten the mood again.

“Are you implying that I’m an addict and you’re my drug?” he asked in a deep voice. He watched your eyes widen a little and then crinkle in a smile as you held in a laugh.

“Maybe. Is that… accurate?” you asked with a hesitant laugh.

Negan pulled in a deep breath and there was some ember burning in his hazel eyes as he let it out slowly, his attention a bit intense as it was fixed on you. “Maybe,” he said in a low voice, gravel on the edge of it. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at you again. You registered the lean but strong muscles of his forearms. They were peppered with tattoos, revealed by his gray t-shirt. You felt a burst of warmth in the middle of your chest.

You ducked his gaze (chicken…) and found yourself nervously chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner. Things have been busy with the council since Dante, um—‘opted out’,” you said. “And then I’ve still been having some symptoms, so… resting a lot.” You still felt a wave of fear and a cold chill every time you thought of the doctor who had nearly killed you. Sometimes you had nightmares about him bending over you, the look on his face, the feeling of being totally helpless as you struggled, of actively knowing your life was drifting away under his hands. Negan’s voice pulled you from that dark trail of thoughts.

“You don’t have apologize to me, darlin’. I’m just glad you’re here at all,” he said softly. “Did they figure out how he punched his ticket?”

“Not for certain. But Siddiq suspects a cyanide capsule or something similar from what they saw when they found him dead in the cell. Daryl had searched him right after—after I was in the clinic when he went to question him. He didn’t find anything, but something that small would be easy to hide.” Negan nodded, his brow knit and expression serious. “I just wish we knew why he—why he wanted Alexandria to fall so badly. Everyone here was nothing but kind to him. There were no clues about it at all.”

Negan nodded. “I don’t think that fuckwad was ever gonna talk,” he said seriously. “And I’m real glad he’s dead. I might have gotten into trouble again putting his limp-dick, coward ass down myself after what he did to you,” he growled. You could see his hazel eyes darken with rage again as he thought about Dante’s attack. And there was a deeper emotion bubbling beneath the anger, something he hadn’t yet even fully admitted to himself.

“Well—” you ripped your gaze from his, ducking your head once again (double chicken…), a soft pout on your lips, “better you don’t get in trouble again, Negan. You’ve only just gotten out.”

“I’m guessing I have you to thank for that,” Negan said. “At least, in part.”

“First of all, you have yourself to thank for that. People are seeing how you’ve changed. Secondly, I withdrew from the vote. Seemed like a… minor conflict of interest considering it was my life that you saved,” you explained.

Negan nodded. “How close was the vote?” he laughed.

You smiled at him. “Not as close as you’d think,” you said. Negan would have to accept that as an answer. You paced around his scantily furnished living room and looked into the kitchen. He hadn’t been in the new space long, only since you’d left the clinic which was perhaps a week and a half ago. Before that, he’d pretty much refused to leave your side and Michonne had given in and not asked him to return to the cell once Dante had… vacated it.

You were curious to see how he’d make the apartment his as he got settled. He did have some of the shelves stocked with books already, including the ones you’d given to him when he was still in the cell. You looked through them, running your fingers over the leatherbound spines, tilting a couple down to look at the covers. Negan watched you from his spot leaning up against the doorway. He liked the sight of you here, looking relaxed and (in his opinion) like you belonged. It was a sight he could get fucking used to. You suddenly glanced back at him and smiled, perhaps even blushing a little as you realized his eyes were on you. “Are you being nice to the neighbors?” you asked, pacing over to the couch and sitting down, sinking into it and making yourself at home.

“Neighbors?” he laughed. “I’m pretty fuckin’ sure Michonne purposely put me into an empty building. Not too many people want the big bad wolf living next door,” he said.

“Well, maybe that’s for the best,” you admitted. “For you and for them.”

“Oh, absolutely. I plan to be downright vile and filthy in here. It’s gonna be my hedonistic bachelor pad,” he joked. “Interested?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “At least you’re honest in your advertising,” you retorted.

His teasing smile faded and then he was staring at you again with that look on his face, the one that was so soft it raised goosebumps on your skin. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. You felt your face flushing again. “What?” you asked him, one of your eyebrows lifting.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just like the sight of you on my couch.” He straightened up. “In fact, I’ve got just the fucking thing for the occasion…”

You watched curiously as he went into the kitchen and quickly came back with a wine bottle in hand and two glasses. “Where the hell did you get wine?” you asked as he sank down beside you on the couch.

“Doll, I’d think you would have realized by now how resourceful I am,” he smiled, popping the cork. He was just pouring the second glass when he stopped, knitting his brow. “Wait—should you be drinking this after what happened? How’s your noggin’ doin’?” he asked, looking suddenly deeply concerned.

“It’s been two weeks. One or two glasses won’t kill me,” you replied. “I won’t tell Siddiq if you won’t…”

“Oh, thank fuckin’ God. I’m clearly only plying you with alcohol to lower your inhibitions for some freaky deaky,” he joked, giving you another amused glance.

“Negan!” you scolded him, feeling your face grow hot yet again.

“Too much?” he laughed. “I’m kidding of course, doll. The truth is… I—I think I’ve got you up on too high of a pedestal to ever try something like that.” He handed you a glass and you were giving him a queer look. He only smiled. That damn charming, wolfish smile that made your stomach flip.

“What are we drinking to?” you asked him.

“How about—and I know this is fucking cheesy but—new beginnings?” he offered, still smiling at you, his hazel eyes flickering over your face.

“I’ll drink to that,” you said softly. You clinked your glass against his and took a sip, settling in deeply to the cushions. Negan watched your smile fade and his brow drew downwards, low over his eyes. The hazel seemed to darken toward brown flecked with gold.

“Something on your mind, doll?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not really. Just—sometimes it still hits me how close I came to dying that day. And—and when I was fading… instead of seeing the faces of people I loved, I could only look up and see him. You know how people say their life flashes before their eyes when they think they’re about to die? Or they’ll see their loved ones smiling at them, remember good memories? That—that didn’t happen for me,” you mused. “I could only see him. And feel the complete overwhelming fear and powerlessness.”

There was a long silence where you stared down into the deep plum color of the wine in your glass and you twirled it in your hands. “Oh, well… It’s over now,” you sighed. When you were brave enough to look up at Negan again, you were shocked to find that his eyes were glassy, seemingly brimming with tears.

He wet his lips thoughtfully and then sighed, setting his glass aside on the small table in front of the couch. “My wife—the only real one—her name was Lucille,” he said. “I was a complete prick to her—useless as far as being a good fuckin’ husband. I cheated on her. Spent money we didn’t have. Lost my job. But she—she was the real thing. Beautiful and smart and fiery and kind. I didn’t deserve her.” His voice was deep and laced with feeling. “She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer…”

Your heart ached. His breath was shaky as he went on. It was staggering to hear this near mythical man’s deep voice laced with such tender feeling and regret.

“The world turned when she was in the middle of her treatment. I kept her going as long as I could, finding the medicines she needed and delivering her doses of chemo but—” he shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed. “In the end, I couldn’t help her anymore.” His voice broke as he went on, his eyes shining with tears. “I—I couldn’t do the one damn thing she asked of me at the end. She was ready to go and she wanted me to be... She—she asked me to stay and just be with her until the end and I couldn’t do the last of what she fucking asked me to do. I went running off after medicine which wouldn’t do a goddamn thing for her.” He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and drew in a long, steadying breath, blinking away the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. “I was helpless to stop it.” He looked right at you, meeting your vibrant eyes, empathetic and concerned, with his own. It felt as if he’d cracked himself open to the core at that moment and your heart started to race. He reached for your hand and you startled a little at his touch, pulling your eyes from his and looking down as he smoothed his thumb over the silkiness of the skin on the back of your hand and then over the lines of your palm, much as he had that day in the cell, when he’d saved you those raspberries… Your heart was pounding as he spoke again, your breath stolen. His voice pulled your eyes back to his.

“When you fell that day, right in front of me but basically unreachable on the other side of those bars… and then when he came in—” Negan gulped and shook his head. “I felt that same fucking helplessness all over again. I felt the same terror that I wasn’t going to be able to do a damn thing. I can’t even put into words how fucking scared I was that I was going to lose you right in front of me.”

You had to remind yourself to breathe as he went on.

“It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve actually wanted anything. Except maybe to die or get out of that fucking cell. Until you came along, darlin’.” Negan’s eyes flitted down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

You found yourself nearly frozen as he clasped your face in his and caressed your cheek, his eyes searching yours. You felt the soft pout of your lips part just a little on their own, without thought. It was driving Negan crazy. He tilted your head slightly down and your eyes fluttered shut as he placed a kiss on your forehead beside the new pink scar and still fading bruising. His thumb traced along your jaw as his fingertips wrapped delicately around the nape of your neck. His eyes drifted down to the faint yellow and brown bruises from the doctor’s hands. Negan’s head tilted and he leaned in to kiss the side of your neck and then the front of your throat and then the other side. You felt like an electric shock ran through you at the touch of his lips, soft and tender, but heating you through. You couldn’t stop the breathy exhale that left you as he pulled away and met your eyes again, his hand resting on the side of your neck and his eyes searching your face.

His eyes flitted down to your lips again, perhaps settling on the now healed split in your bottom one. There was something pleading in the way he was looking at you, but somehow still dominant or powerful. You couldn’t quite find the right word… Like it was possible that he could consume you like the flames of a wildfire, but you knew he wouldn’t, at least not entirely. You felt nearly lightheaded despite having had perhaps two sips of your wine.

“You missed a spot,” you whispered to him… and he smiled. And it crinkled the corners of his eyes and set them alight. And the last of your reservations and hesitancy fell away as he leaned in, more hurriedly this time, and kissed you, tipping your chin up so your lips met his.

He kissed you with an unmistakable fire and need and you found yourself melting under his touch, yielding to his hands as they combed through your hair, tangling into it, and slipped down to grip your shoulders and smooth over the bare skin on your arms.

You reached for him and arched into his waiting body, your arms looping around his neck. Your fingers found their way into his hair as you kissed him back more heatedly, giving in to the need you too felt. The need to be touched and kissed and held by him, the need and desire you’d been warring with inside yourself since you’d felt that first spark of attraction months and months ago. Negan wrapped an arm around you and pressed the small of your back toward his body, tugging you against him, and smiling as you returned the kiss with more and more heat. He let out a hum and then a low chesty growl as your teeth dragged over his bottom lip and you fought him for more dominance.

“Easy, doll,” he warned you, separating just enough to speak. “Have you got any idea what you’re toying with right now?” he laughed. The man had hardly been touched in years and with every passing second, he wanted more and more to completely collide with you.

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘doll’?” you asked, your voice breathy and low. You pulled back and met his eyes again and they were lust blown and starry, as you were sure yours were… but there was something else in them too. Some other something like tenderness. Heat was pooling in your chest and your heart was beating so hard and fast you were sure he could hear it.

Negan smiled. “I thought that had grown on you, but I guess we’ll have to find something more suitable,” he replied. He pulled back just a little and bit his bottom lip, considering you, that damn smile still on his face. “Hmm…” he hummed thoughtfully. “What do you want, baby?” His voice was deep and smooth as he said it, and you had a feeling the jerk knew exactly what that word would do to you.

A small smile started on your lips and then grew into a wide, jubilant one. Your arms were still around his neck “I want you to fucking kiss me again,” you said.

And he was more than happy to oblige, crashing his lips against yours in an almost bruising kiss. He could faintly taste red wine on your tongue and soon you were straddling over his hips on his lap, your hands clasping his face and running through his hair, drifting down to press a palm flat to his chest, his muscles rippling under your fingers. His hands drifted over the angles of your back and down to the curves of your hips and buttocks as he hummed into the kiss. Soon his hands hooked under your knees and he tipped you onto your back on the couch, suddenly leaning over you, caging you beneath him.

Both of you broke for a moment to catch your breath and Negan again kissed your forehead and your neck. His lips drifted across the scattered bruises there up to your jawline and then back to your lips. He pulled back again and caught your eyes, his expression intense but searching. “Is this too much too soon?” he asked you.

You smiled up at him again, still catching your breath. “Fuck no,” you breathed.

“Thank fuckin’ God,” he growled, before capturing you in a kiss again.

It didn’t take long before you were tugging his t-shirt over his head and he was freeing you of yours with an urgency of a man starved. He lifted you from the couch to press your skin to his as he peppered more kisses over your neck and down your collarbone, his fingers leaving hot trails on your skin.

Soon, the two of you were just flushed skin and crashed together completely, moving seamlessly with one another. Negan’s attention was intense and electric and it wasn’t long before he was pulling sinful and blissful sounds from you and you from him, your softness and curves driving him wild, every roll of your hips dragging him closer and closer to the edge. As you neared your peak and his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his fingers laced between yours, and the only things you could hear were your own pounding heart and his ragged breathing as the two of you crashed over your highs together.

“Fuck me, baby girl,” he growled, burying his face against your neck and into your hair and breathing in your smell. He felt like his heart was about to burst.

You let out a light laugh. “I just did,” you purred into his ear.

He pulled back, chuckling, and smiled down at you beneath him. “You ain’t wrong,” he said, smoothing some sweaty strands of your hair away from your face. He leaned in and kissed you softly this time, gently. “Fuck,” he sighed, sweeping a hand back through his hair and separating his heated skin from yours. He reached for a blanket folded over the back of a chair beside the couch and spread it over you, hooking a hand under your legs and laying them over his lap.

You were chewing on your thumbnail, a little stunned and bashful suddenly as you looked up at him.

“You need anything?” he asked you, smiling at the blush in your cheeks. “Glass of water? Towel? Lobotomy?”

You laughed and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Lobotomy?!”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. His hands drifted over your legs and drew circles on your hot skin absently. They smoothed down to give you a gentle foot rub as he looked over at you. “Because you must be out of your tits to fuck Alexandria’s Most Hated… I can’t believe you did that. Someone is going to have to give you a talking to.”

You shot him a half-amused look and rolled your eyes. “God, you’re right… What the fuck am I doing here?” you joked, starting to pull away from him and stand up.

“Nuh uh uh!” he laughed, catching you around the waist and tugging you back against him. “I am nowhere near done with you, baby,” he growled into your ear. Your top teeth dented into the pillow of your bottom lip. “How about we go get you cleaned up in a nice hot shower… and then get absolutely filthy again?” he asked, kissing your neck.

Goosebumps rose on your skin.

“And then you’re staying the night with me,” he murmured, brushing your hair to one side and kissing down your neck and shoulder.

“Oh, I am?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely, you are,” he said. “I want to hold you until the sun comes up. It’ll be the first good night of sleep I’ve had in six fucking years.”

You smiled to yourself. “Mmm… I guess that sounds okay,” you teased him, feigning indifference.

“‘Okay’?” he growled. “Oh, darlin’, you shouldn’t have said that…”

You let out a surprised peal of laughter as he lifted you into his arms and headed for the bathroom.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You awoke gently to sun filtering in through sheer curtains, staining the whole room a shade of medium blue. Negan’s warmth and weight was tucked up behind you, his arm draped over your waist. He rolled onto his back beside you as you stirred and you turned over to look up at him. Your hand landed in the middle of his chest and he gave you a peculiar look, a cautious smile on his handsome face.

“Morning,” you said, tucking yourself in against him more tightly, soaking in his warmth.

“Good morning,” he replied. You could feel the deep reverberation of his voice beneath your palm. “You doin’ alright, darlin’?” he asked.

“Hmm? Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked, a soft frown tugging at your lips.

“Well, I think part of me still expected you to roll over this morning and freak out at who was playing the big spoon,” he said.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and fixed a concerned expression on your face, looking up at him. “We’re going to have to work on your self-image, Negan,” you said. It pulled a laugh from him.

“Oh, are we, babe?”

“Yes!” you said seriously. “You have so much to offer. You’re more than your past.”

He sighed and gave you a more sincere, somewhat dreamy smile. “If you keep saying it, I might just believe it someday. Come here,” he said, pulling you back against him. You settled down under his arm, his hand landing on the dip of your waist. You tucked in against the crook of his neck. “Hey—one thing though. You can’t tell Daryl what we did on the couch last night. Or against the wall of the shower. Or at the side of the bed. Or the foot of the bed. Or—”

“Negan,” you sighed.

He laughed. “I’m just saying—he’s got this whole protective brother thing going on with you and I would like to remain alive and intact.”

“I can’t believe we’re in bed together right now and you’re bringing up Daryl,” you retorted.

“Hmm. That’s a fair point. Should we add another to my list of offenses?” he said, his hand drifting down to your thigh beneath the covers.

You laughed, heat already flushing in your chest and face. “Several, I think…”

“Several? You’ve got it, baby doll…” The End

#negan smith #negan imagines #negan drabbles #wicked wednesday #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan x y/n #negan fics #the walking dead #negan twd

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darling-ozzie · 3 months ago

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so sorry i havent been posting, i can’t post unless i’m at school BUUUUT I MADE A CHNT AU SO HERES

VAMP HERE AND THERE

au info under the cut!!

so. obviously they’re vampires, but it’s specifically based on vampire: the masquerade! which is a ttrpg similar to dnd buuuut vampire edition

so first!! design notes!

sydney: i gave him a mermaid skirt because they remind me of vampires!! he also has a crown of thorns because jesus parallels yes yes yes

jedidiah: JEDDIE MYDVSGDGGAH okay. so i made his outfit more formal than i usually would, since vampire of course. he gets a bunch of clocks and watches and stuff as always. they all show different times all the time.

elijah: there he is. i feel like i can’t even talk about this design but he gets to be majestic for once. his wizard cloak shifts slightly every moment, it never looks exactly the same. the “our muse” is embroidered on the corner. he also has a halo made of twigs and leaves and his elephant mask is less cartoony and a more dull pink

i’ll post all of their character sheets for vtm in a little, but short lore explanation:

lucille was turned as a clan tremere vampire while sydney and jedidiah were in college. lucille shortly after turned jedidiah, who subsequently went on a frenzy soon after being turned, killing his dad while still not conscious of his action. jedidiah kept the fact that he was a vampire from sydney, and as he slipped into his coma, jedidiah began to study necromancy.

similar to canon, he took sydney out of the hospital and killed him intending to necromance him — but it went terribly wrong, like- nothing was working because of some complications jeddie didn’t consider. so while sydney’s body was almost completely cool, jedidiah turned him. elijah watched it all go down (still human) and considered sydney being brought back to life as a miracle. he was eventually turned (i havent worked out details here yet,, maybe he collected blood from other vampires and turned himself?) and then went on a diablerie (killing higher up vampires for more power) spree, saying all of it was in the name of sydney and the miracle he witnessed, and that he would only use his power to show the world what he was worth

uhhhh YEAH YEAH OKAY there they are!! IF YOU DRAW THEM PLEASEEEEE @ ME AHHDGANS i’m also making tags for when i post about it and if anybody else does you can use them as well!! i don’t expect art but i just wanted to show them off, i plan on making more characters in the au and i’ll post them as i do

(tags are #vhnt and #vamp here and there)

#ozzieozoz #ozziedrawsdraws #camp here and there #camp here & there #elijah chnt #sydney chnt #chnt fanart #vamp here and there #vhnt #chnt au #chnt jedidiah #jedidiah aa martin

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bring-forth-his-sac · 5 months ago

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Sugar, Spice and All Things Nice

summary: After his stunt with the Whisperers, Negan thought the Alexandrians would finally come around to him… but it seems like you’re the only one who’ll happily put up with him

word count: 3.4k

tags: sunshine reader, swearing, some serious potty mouth lmao, food/ eating mentioned throughout

A/N: Hello to the anon that sent in the request for a Negan x reader fic based on Discord and Fluttershy's relationship! This is for you my dear anon <333 I really hope I did ok! ... although I may have made the reader a little more vulgar than Fluttershy lmao

Well, shit. Isn’t this just like high school?

Looking around the makeshift cafeteria, Negan can feel daggers being glared his way in at least three different directions. As if he wasn’t already public enemy number one, most Alexandrians saw his heroic attempt to infiltrate the Whisperer’s as his way of trying to regain some power with the enemy.

It didn’t help that Carol seemed less than willing to reveal her part in the plan.

Negan sighs, his eyes dropping to his tray of food. Given the recent destruction of Alexandria—oh, and let’s not forget, he’s also getting blamed for that—supplies are running dangerously low. Most buildings need some kind of reconstruction before people can move back in, the walls have never been weaker and the food is sparse.

“Negan?”.

His tray looks like someone's poor attempt at a dinner. A small bowl of watered down soup. A sad heap of green beans. And some meat. What meat exactly, he’s hesitant whether he wants to know.

“Neeeegan?”.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Negan half expects to see a bowl of soup flying his way but instead, he sees your smiling face. You sit smack bang in the middle of the cafeteria, at a table where Negan only vaguely recognizes the other people.

In case he still hasn’t spotted you yet, you shoot your arm up and wave. “Negan!” you call again “Come sit over here!”. He can’t quite tell if you’re oblivious to the dirty looks or if you’re just too damn cheerful to care.

How you do it, Negan isn’t sure. Even when he still had his dear old Lucille… the bat, that is, and he strutted though Alexandria with his Saviors, you were the one who told Carl not to gun them down as they ransacked your community. You kept your composure, staying civil and sweet without letting anyone push you around.

And here you are now, being the utter definition of sweetness once again.

Negan hesitates for a second. He could easily sit alone and keep his head down but there's something about you that has always pulled Negan in despite himself.

With his sad tray of food, he begins making his way towards your table. You pat the seat next to you. "I saved you a seat,” you say once he’s close enough, that bright smile never fading.

Negan grunts as he sits, setting his tray in front of him with a loud clink. “I was wondering where you were today! Wasn’t sure if you’d have time for dinner. I heard they’re working you like a dog,” you take a sip of soup before gesturing to the woman across from you “but then Dianne told me you were helping—“.

Before you can continue, Dianne stands suddenly, her chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, she grabs her tray and walks off, taking her dinner to a different table. A few people glance at each other, clearly noticing the tension. The others remain seated but they subtly shift away from Negan, lowering their voices as they avoid making any further eye contact.

You sit there, frozen for a beat as you watch Dianne stalk off. Negan wonders if this’ll be a wake-up call for you. That maybe now you’ll realize that his bad name can affect how people see you too.

You chew on a green bean, feeling the awkwardness settle in. As you swallow, you lower your voice just for Negan to hear. “She’s still uh… well, she’s not over the whole Hilltop fiasco,” you explain somewhat sheepishly “just give her time”.

Clearing his throat to ease the heavy tension, Negan pokes and prods at his dinner with a fork. “The green beans are nice,” you make casual conversation “the meat is… unpredictable but the soup can be tasty, once you season it a little”.

“You got access to a whole pantry of seasoning?” he teases. With a lopsided grin, Negan takes his chances with the mystery meat.

You shrug coyly, not wanting to reveal all of your secrets. “Maybe I do,” you smirk playfully.

Negan doesn’t notice how you subtly dip your hand into the pocket of your jeans, clutching something small in your fist. He takes a bite of the meat, chewing thoughtfully as you nudge the side of his thigh.

As much as Negan hopes you would give him a secret handy under the table, he knows that isn’t your kind of thing. You’re all things pure and thoughtful, not lewd sexual acts.

Trying to push away his risqué thoughts of you, he looks down at his leg and watches as you carefully open up your hand. “Holy shit,” Negan chuckles amusingly “where’d you get that?��.

Bringing his hand down to yours, Negan watches as you gently place the salt sachet into his palm. “Found a whole container full of them a few weeks back… my own secret stash” you reveal, bringing your hand back up to the table as you try to act normal.

“Well, fuck me” he muses, carefully tearing the top open “and here I was thinking you were a goody two shoes who couldn’t kill a walker without apologizing to the damn thing”.

“Hey I’m still good!” You protest, careful not to straight out call yourself a goody two shoes “I’m sharing my stash, aren’t I? And sharing is caring”.

He can’t argue with that.

Being as nonchalant as possible, Negan sprinkles some of the salt over his soup, adding a little to the mystery meat before passing the sachet to you. As you mimic his subtle movements, Negan scans the surrounding area.

Thankfully, most look away, not wanting to catch his eyes. But that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the judgement practically radiating off them. He can’t even have a damn meal without these people frowning upon it.

No matter what he does now, Negan knows they’ll always see him as a monster. It doesn’t matter how many people he saves, how many strenuous jobs around Alexandria he does or how many times he puts himself in harm's way; they’ll never move on. This isn't anything new but it never really gets easier either.

You notice it too but decide not to say anything. The way the discomfort hangs in the air, the uneasy shift people do in their seats when he looks around, and who could forget the way they shake their heads disapprovingly as if that’ll show Negan who’s boss.

But instead of letting it simmer, you dive back into the conversation like it’s just another day, talking to Negan the same way you’d talk to any friend of yours. You make a deliberate effort to keep things casual, focusing on the mundane as you both eat your dinners.

“So, what’d you do today?” you ask “More repairs or did you get a break for once?”.

Negan looks over at you, a grateful flicker in his eyes. Your voice is a lifeline in a sea of sideways glances, pulling him back into something resembling normality. You’ve always been good at that, helping him navigate the weird, tense spaces where everyone treats him like he’s a ticking time bomb.

“Fixing damn doors and floorboards again,” he mutters with a dry chuckle. “But honestly, I’m happy to be working… keeps me busy, ya know?” his lips tug into a half-smile.

“I was supposed to spend the day on guard duty with Gabriel but I kinda pretended I was doing other stuff” you admit, taking a small sip of the soup “I mean, I like Gabriel, don’t get me wrong… I just… I don’t know, sometimes he can come off a little preachy. Does that make sense? Is that mean?”.

Negan hides his smile with a spoonful of green beans, chewing slowly. As if you could ever be mean. Still, he hums as if he needs to think about that being a possibility.

"I know Gabe can be a pain in the ass, but I don't think he deserved to get stranded," Negan says just to mess with you.

You sigh in defeat as you watch Negan slurp down his soup. “I know, I know, I just…” You pause, trying to find the right words “I think I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than spend a whole day with Gabriel”.

Negan blinks, totally thrown off by the sudden confession. The soup almost gets stuck in his throat as he chokes, his instinct to spit it out clashing with the urge to just swallow the damn thing.

He barks out a cough, a small dribble of soup escapes his mouth before he can stop it. A few people glance over, clearly startled by the loud, unexpected sound. It’s as if any loud noise from Negan’s direction draws all eyes to him, people acting as if he has a loaded gun at the ready.

“Oh!” You quickly gather the sleeve of your sweater and bring it up to his mouth, trying to shield him from the prying eyes.

“Here, just… um…” You hesitate, unsure how to help, but slowly begin dabbing at the side of his mouth. “You’ve got a little something there... and there… oh, and a bit by your chin”.

Negan’s mind can’t catch up with what’s happening. How did it go from the most innocent person in the world giving Gabe an almighty diss, to him almost choking to now you’re wiping soup off his face?!

You dab it away, ruining your own sleeve for the sake of him. “Just lemme…” you give one last dab by his lip “there! All gone”.

Negan meets your satisfied smile with a slight pout. His gratitude is there but it’s quickly overtaken by the twinge of embarrassment creeping up on him.

“You’re like a mama bird wrapped in a blanket of sweetness and sprinkled with sugar, spice, and all things nice,” he mutters, his voice low and teasing as he accepts the situation with a resigned grin.

“Are you okay? I wasn’t sure if you needed the Heimlich!” You ask, worry evident into your voice.

Negan chuckles and brushes off your concern, the only thing hurt being his ego. Dribbling in front of a pretty girl doesn't exactly leave the best impression—unless it's on a basketball court.

“I’m fine,” he waves it off “I just didn’t think you had such a fuckin’ potty mouth.”

“Well, I try not to let it run wild,” you admit, feeling a little bashful as you nudge him. “But I figured I’m in good company”.

Negan laughs, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. He leans back in his seat, finally catching his breath. “Well, I’m not sure the rest would agree with that assessment, sweetheart” he says with a smirk, feeling more like himself.

You shrug, deciding to tease him a little in your response “Hm, yeah I guess you got a way of bringing out the worst in people”.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Worst? Nah darlin’ it’s not the worst. It’s just a little… unfiltered. Like a good whiskey. Strong, bold, but doesn’t go down smooth unless you know how to handle it”.

Giving a laugh, you continue to eat your meal “I guess I’ll take your word for it”.

You and Negan relax into a comfortable silence as you both eat. Eventually, the dirty looks dull, people’s initial amped up hatred leveling out when they realize Negan won’t scatter that easily.

The tension never fully vanishes but it becomes background noise, swallowed up by the mundane act of eating.

After dinner, you find yourself walking along the streets of Alexandria with Negan. “How do you do it?” he breaks the silence, stuffing his hands into his pockets “Make all this shit feel less like… well, shit?”.

“I’m not sure,” you reply honestly “I just try to be nice. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be when the world is already so cruel”.

Negan huffs a quiet laugh, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “Nice, huh?” He glances over at you, something almost contemplative in his gaze "Guess that’s one way to keep your head above water. Doesn’t always work, though. The world’s pretty damn good at crushing people”.

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. There’s a rhythm to the way he talks, a calmness in his voice that contradicts the chaos he’s lived through. How he's still able to be so witty with his jokes and always willing to help, you're not sure.

“I don’t think being nice is about keeping your head above water,” you say after a moment “It’s something everyone can do and it costs nothing”.

He lets a few beats of silence pass, making sure there’s no one else in earshot before being more specific. “Ok but why be nice to me? After all the shit I’ve done” Negan gets to the point.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, a small sigh escaping you. This question isn’t new. He’s asked versions of it before, although he’s never been this direct.

“I don’t really have a good answer,” you say "Maybe it's because I think people are too quick to judge you. You’re not all bad, Negan. You can do good when you want to".

Negan lets out a surprised huff “So you think I need saving, huh?”.

You shake your head almost immediately, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. “No," you say firmly "I don’t think you need saving. You’re not helpless, I know that. I think the others like to think that you are now, without your Saviors or lieutenants or… um, other things. But you’ve always been a capable guy”.

He falls quiet for a moment. You wonder if he’s even hearing you or if he’s just lost in some thought, some memory you’ll never understand. Then, as Negan exhales a long breath, he looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“That’s some real heart warming shit,” he says finally, his voice not unkind, but laced with a touch of something that might be regret, or maybe just old wounds. “Guess I’m just asking because they all fuckin' hate me. Other than you, Carol was the only other person to give a shit- and that's only because she had an agenda”.

“Maybe my only agenda is to be your friend,” you say softly, your voice steady but sincere. “We’ve all done ugly things to survive—things we’d rather bury. I don’t see why we have to parade you around as some kind of example of remorse. You’re more than that”.

Negan chuckles at that. As much as he hates to admit it, when Negan first met you, he didn’t think you used your brain much. He was one of the idiots that took your kindness as a show of ignorance, thinking that you just floated around like you were living in some fairy tale.

But now? Now Negan knows how wrong he was. Underestimating you was one hell of a mistake and a massive misjudgement of your character.

He glances up, his eyes lingering on the damaged homes around. Then, without warning, he asks, “Would you stay here?”

You blink, surprised by the abruptness of the question. “In… Alexandria?” You try to follow his train of thought. He nods once, slow and deliberate.

You take a moment to consider, weighing up your options. “I don’t see why I’d leave,” you wager “It’s safe here. Not just with the walls keeping things out, but there’s safety in numbers too”.

Negan lets a silence linger after your answer, taking your insights to heart. Some others pass by but they pay no attention to either of you, unaware of the risky conversation that’s taking place.

While the Alexandrians have tried to oust Negan in the past, that was under their terms. They wanted Negan to stay in a cabin they decided upon, somewhere they’d know he is if they ever needed him again. If Negan was to leave in the morning and not look back, you don’t know how the Alexandrians would take that.

You glance at him, curiosity piqued. “Why are you asking me that, though?” you wonder, unsure if he’s serious or just toying with the idea.

Negan has never been one to beat around the bush and now is no different. Keeping his voice clear but low, he reveals “Just curious whether I should ask you to leave with me when the time comes”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, worry washing over you. You stand there, momentarily speechless. Would the Alexandrians let him leave so easily?

You blink a couple of times, trying to regain your composure. "You... you don’t have to leave," you finally manage, trying to de-escalate the situation “Things will get better. More people will come around, eventually. They’ll accept you. It’s just... it’s gonna take time”.

Negan can’t tell if you’re trying to rationalize this for him or for yourself. You’re just too damn caring to realize people won’t change.

Negan’s expression stays the same. “It’s been years, hun,” he breaks it to you as gently as he can “It’s still the same and it’ll always be the same. You know it, too”.

The way he says it carries a heaviness, a truth he’s known for a long time. And even though his words sting, you can’t help but see that small, almost imperceptible shift in him. It’s as if he’s tired of pretending, tired of waiting for something that feels like it’ll never come.

You hold his gaze when no words come. You know Negan’s right but how can you agree with a truth that’s so awful?

Negan has always worn a mask of tough bravado, his smile twisted in a way that hinted at danger rather than warmth. But in this moment, as he watches you, someone who has quietly but consistently shown him kindness, there is something different in his eyes.

He didn’t know how to process it at first, the warmth that spreads through his chest and the fluttering in his stomach that makes him feel alive. It’s something he hasn't felt in years. Hell, maybe even decades. But now he feels it every time he looks at you.

Negan watches you, his heart tight with the weight of your silence. He had been hoping for something, anything. Negan hoped for assurance, a simple confirmation that you’d be there, that you'd go with him.

But you don’t respond.

The air between you both thickens and the words he had been longing to hear are nowhere to be found. After a long pause, he exhales softly, trying to mask the disappointment creeping in.

His voice takes on a casual edge, the bravado slipping back into place. “Well, guess the workday’s not done yet” He nods toward one of the houses being repaired, offering a strained smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, with a shrug, he begins to turn away.

The moment hangs there, unspoken and unfulfilled, acting as a space neither of you dare to cross. But just as he’s about to walk away, your voice breaks through the silence.

“I’d go with you”.

Negan freezes, his heart stumbling in his chest. “What?” He asks, not quite sure if he heard you right.

You shift from foot to foot, your gaze drifting away from his for a moment, as if the vulnerability of the moment is too much to bear.

With a simple shrug, you reply "Well... if you weren’t here anymore, who the hell would I use my potty mouth around?". The words are teasing but there’s a thread of sincerity weaving through them.

Negan lets out a chuckle, though it’s tempered by the way his gaze softens when it lands on you. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, and in that instant, the playful banter fades. There’s no jest in the air anymore, only the quiet understanding that when it comes down to it, you'd go with him.

No matter the wreckage of the world or the mess that surrounds him, you would go.

Negan studies you, as if trying to read between the lines of your words. He doesn't pry into your answer, not asking you why or teasing you. Instead Negan gives you a small, almost nonexistent nod, before heading back to his work.

You don’t take offense, knowing that Negan’s starting a new game now. This isn’t him stalking off because of your answer. This is Negan playing the long game, maintaining his role of the solemn workhorse to the others as he secretly bides his time until his— no, your eventual escape.

Negan keeps his head down as he gets back to work, knowing that disappearing will be tougher now with an extra person, but it’s something he’s more than willing to put up with.

In that moment, Negan wonders if there really is a future that doesn’t feel so damn lonely after all.

#negan fanfiction #negan smith fanfiction #negan x reader #negan x you #twd negan #negan #negan smith #negan twd #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdm x reader #twd fanfiction #negan the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead negan

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slvtfornegan · 5 months ago

Text

Bound in Blood

Characters: Negan x fem!reader/ one of his wives (female), Simon

Warnings: swearing, smut

Notes: GUYSSSS this is one of my first fics, soo… we read and we don’t judge. I will try to make some more, just let me know if you like it and if I should continue writing, ca honestly that’s so ass byeeee. Enjoy)

—

She was one of Negan's wives, she couldn’t the other way. Her and her sister barely made it until they found the Sanctuary, and now she had been under his grasp for two months. Two months since she had arrived at the Sanctuary, had become one of the wives of a man who had blood on the hands of a huge number of people.

Her sister was diabetic and that stuff was hard to get these days. But when she saw that the points weren’t enough she agreed to his other proposal… and it consisted of her being his wife, whom he treated more like an object than a woman with emotions.

However, it wasn’t all bad. She couldn't hate Negan, after all he had saved her when she was ready to die, gave her and her sister a roof, food and the medicine her sister needed. Also she found herself really enjoying being around him despite everything. Negan embodied the epitome of her ideal man despite his crazy behaviour sometimes: handsome, funny, sociable and damn good at sex, and to her surprise a very good listener despite the man yapping all the time and being a total dick. He made her feel things that she’d never experienced before with any of her sexual encounters.

He looked like he came from some sort of magazine cover. His dark hair was usually slicked back, the salt and pepper stubble that sprinkled his stone hard features were accompanied by such a beautiful smile, revealing his perfect white teeth, his dimple lines now more evident when he smiled. And those eyes.. those hazel almost green eyes were making her skin tingle whenever he threw a glance in her direction.

Which with time she found herself wanting more and more, not able to keep her hands off of him.

She felt herself getting attracted to him. It was so hard, because it was Negan after all. It was such a twisted situation and she couldn’t tell anyone, nor her sister, because she knew they couldn’t understand.

She wasn’t scared that much of him even though he could be scary as fuck. When she dared to talk back, they had this back and forth, which he seemed to let slide and lead to other things every time.

Walking down the hallway, her heels echoed on the cold floor. She was trying to find Negan because she had something to talk about with him. He wasn’t in his room, which meant either he was in the meeting room either somewhere… around this place.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face as she turned a corner. The Sanctuary was massive, a maze of hallways and rooms, and even after two months, she still felt like she could get lost in it.

Finally, she heard voices coming from the meeting room. The deep rumble of Negan’s voice was unmistakable, followed by laughter from a few of his men. She hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. She didn’t know why-she had been around him so much that she should be used to this by now. But something about approaching him in front of his men made her pause. She was seen as his possession, his toy, his pet. None of the people in the Sanctuary were really taking seriously his wives.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door.

Negan was leaning back in a chair, boots propped up on the table, Lucille resting against his leg. He was laughing, clearly in the middle of some joke, when his eyes landed on her. His expression shifted instantly-his ever-present smirk appearing as his gaze raked over her.

“Well fuck,” he drawled, dropping his feet from the table and sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Look who’s gracing us with her presence.”

She straightened her spine. “Can we talk?”

Negan tilted his head, studying her. “That depends. This a fun kinda talk, or am I about to get my ass chewed out?”

She ignored the glances crossing her arms. “It’s important.”

Negan’s smirk didn’t fade, but his expression did shift, just slightly—enough for her to know he was actually taking her seriously. He turned to his men. “Alright, boys, show’s over. Get the fuck out.”

They didn’t hesitate, filing out of the room without complaint.

Once the door shut behind them, he leaned back again, spreading his arms over the chair. “Alright, sweetheart. You’ve got my attention.”

She hesitated. Now that she was alone with him, the words seemed harder to find. She took a deep breath. “It’s about my sister.” That got his full attention, his expression shifting to a serious one. He had a feeling where this was going. “She’s running low on insulin. I know you’ve been keeping her stocked, but… it’s not enough. She’s been rationing, and it’s getting dangerous.”

Negan was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against Lucille’s handle. His eyes never left hers, and for a brief second, she wondered if she had pushed too far.

Then he sighed. “Shit. Alright.” He stood up, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll send a crew out to scavenge more. No guarantees, that shit doesn’t grow on trees, but we’ll do what we can.”

Relief flooded her. “Thank you.” She murmured softly.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Her breath caught. It wasn’t just his words it was the way he looked at her too. “Come here.” He signalled with his fingers for her to come closer and she immediately obeyed, making her way towards him and sat on his lap.

Negan let out a low hum his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in as he leaned back in his chair. His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, and she felt her pulse quicken. “Damn you’re tense.” He huffed, rubbing her hip in circles.

She bit down her bottom lip thinking for a moment “Sorry, I’m just-“

“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours about it. I will try my hardest to find the meds for your sis. I’m a man of my word.”

She leaned her head down, close enough, so her breath ghosted over his lips as she talked “I know..” she murmured, her hand running down his chest under his leather jacket.

His smirk widened against her lips “Damn right you do.” He hummed. Suddenly, he gripped her throat gently, electing a moan from her, and crashed her lips down onto his. His tongue teased her bottom lip, coaxing her lips apart, and she did. She allowed herself to be consumed by the moment, overwhelmed by presence of the man in front of her. Her hands move up his chest and slowly wrapped around his neck, moving to his dark curls, giving a light tug, electing a small moan from him.

Her lips chased his as he suddenly broke the kiss, leaving her hanging and wanting more, “You are so fucking beautiful,” his words vibrated against her flesh when his mouth lowered from her lips, down her jawline and toward her neck. His wet kisses were causing her to heat up and she was yearning for more while the rough stubble teased at her skin. Her head tilted to the side giving him more access to her skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Oh how he loved getting these reactions and sounds out of her, they were never fake, she clearly loved the attention he was giving her, even though she always denied it.

His hands moved further and further up, under the dress, and she parted her legs more, as his hand slowly reaching the edge of her panties.

God no, she didn’t come here for this. The thought of someone entering on them made her both embarrassed and more excited “Negan..” she panted softly

He groaned as his fingers rubbed her through her panties finding the dampness of the material “shit baby, you’re already dripping for daddy and I barely even touched you.” he grunted. he could feel himself aching to be inside her, his cock twitching in his pants as she whimpered.

“Negan-“ she gasped again her eyes widening slightly as he teased her.

His smirked against her neck grew into a devilish grin as he heard the gasp leaving her lips. He pressed his finger against her core with just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.

“yes baby?” he teased his lips attached to her neck, his free hand holding her hip still.

“Someone could enter-“ she only managed to whimper out but that didn’t stop him. Grabbing her thighs he hooked her legs around his hips and sat her ass on the edge of the table. His rough fingertips caressed over her revealed flesh and it made her bite down on her bottom lip. Rolling his hips, Negan rubbed up against her while he had his body firmly pressed up against hers.

Now the torturously steady grind between her thighs making it hard for her to focus, his stubble scraping against her skin. “Let them enjoy the fucking show then.“ he grinned against her skin, his lips finding hers in a heated kiss.

He pulled back briefly, his breathing uneven, a low growl escaping his lips. “You wanna make a scene doll?” he grunted, his eyes dark and glittering with both lust and mischief.

The thought of that made her moan as she looked at him, his hands now under her dress lifting it up and gripping her thighs. Fuck it. She caught his lips in another kiss her hands moving to his belt starting to undo the loops.

A whimper fell from her throat when Negan pushed the material of her panties aside so he could tease his rough fingertips over her most intimate parts. There was an eagerness to get Negan’s pants apart while he caressed over her body in the most seductive and talented sweep. Finally getting the zipper down, she pushed the material down enough in the front to reveal his hardened cock to her sight.

Negan’s eyes were hooked on her like a hawk while she wrapped her palm around Negan’s length, taking her time to test flesh in her grasp. The deep, raspy moans that Negan was releasing was driving her crazy. “Please…” she begged, her eyes lifting to his seeing the fire of passion burning in Negan’s hazel eyes while she worked him in her palm. “I want you. So bad.” She nudged her heel up his ass to make him press his tip in her entrance

And finally Negan’s hips thrust upward while he had a firm grasp on the backs of her thighs. “Negan,” she cried out his name, her fingers tugging firmly at his hair while he eased his body into her. The warmth of his body filling her compared to the general overall coldness and emptiness of the room.

“Fuck this pussy is my favourite.” Each thrust was drawing soft moans from her throat filling the air around him. Quickening the pace of his body inside of her, Negan moaned out himself with the feeling of her body clinging tightly to his. Knowing that they were in the meeting room where people could easily catch them made this whole encounter so much more heightened for the both of them.

The sound that Negan made showed that he was happy to hear her every reaction and every single time his name fell from her lips, that while his hips continued to smack up against her. The metal desk creaked under them, echoing in the room.

The tip of his cock hit her g-spot again and again having her shaking with absolute delight. “You’re so damn tight. Feel so fucking good…”

“God yes..” She gasped out, her nails digging into jacket, holding onto him tightly.

He was rough and demanding, taking what he wanted and she loved it, the feeling of being wanted, of giving herself to him.

He let out a deep growl against her neck and started whispering in her ear with each thrust, all the dirty things he’d do to her after this, the dirty little things he’d make her do for him, and all the times he’d make her cum, and grinned as he felt how his words were affecting her, her face buried in his neck her legs trembling, her little cunt clenched around him as her orgasm washed over her.

“Yeah that’s a good fucking girl..” he praised but it came out as a low guttural moan. “Fuck..” He felt like his own release was approaching so he grabbed her hips and slammed into her a few more times before his hips stilled, but Negan knew better than that and pulled out of her making her whine in protest, and gave his cock a few firm strokes as he came on her thigh.

He panted against her neck, they both were, trying to regain their breaths as their bodies slowly came down from the high.

He slowly looked down at her, her face flushed, her chest heaving. “Fuck you’re so damn perfect..” he breathed out placing a small kiss on her collarbone.

Trying to catch her eyes roamed over his futures. His slicked back hair now was slightly disheveled, two strands of it, hanging down his now sweaty forehead. He looked so good. Too damn good.

He ran a hand down her body, a satisfied smile on his face, enjoying the way she was looking at him, like he was a goddamn meal. “Gotta be careful with that look, I might go for round two and three against this wall if you keep it up.” He grumbled making her huff, in embarrassment that she got caught. But he really was gorgeous.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing, but it was impossible with him looking at her like that—like he owned every single inch of her. In a way, he did.

Her fingers traced the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead, brushing them back. It was an intimate gesture, one she hadn’t even thought about before doing it. Negan’s smirk softened, just slightly, before he pressed another lingering kiss against her jaw.

She hated how much she liked this. How much she wanted him.

Negan pulled back just enough to study her, his hazel eyes gleaming with something almost unreadable as he pulled himself back in his pants, buckling the his belt.

She shook her head, stepping off the table and smoothing down her dress. She needed to get out of here before she completely lost herself in him again.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Negan leaned back in his chair, watching her with amusement as he reached for wrist. “Mmm. Running off so soon? Using me like that and then just leavening me?” He pouted dramatically, and she rolled her eyes.

“I think you have better things to do anyway.” She muttered

Negan raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his gaze as he caught her wrist, tugging her back toward him, settling her in his lap once more. His grip was firm, but not threatening, just enough to hold her there. “Better things, huh?” He grinned, his eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read her thoughts. “Sweetheart there’s no better thing than be inside that sweet pussy of yours and you looking at me like that.”

With a roll of her eyes She smiled down at him but before she could say something back a voice snapped them back to reality.

“Boss-“ Simon entered the meeting room, finally reaching for his boss.

She realised her hand from his grip and stood up, not wanting to question his reputation in front of his men, and Negan looked at her with a pouting expression as if disappointed that she actually pulled away, as id she wasn’t already his.

Negan let out a frustrated sigh turning his head to the man. “What’s it Si?” He grumbled

“Sorry for interrupting,” he threw a knowing smirk to his boss and then at her then looked back at Negan “but i think you wanna hear this.”

Negan let out a low grunt grabbing the handle of Lucille and stroking it up and down. “We’ll continue this later.” He reached out and pressed a small kiss on her knuckles. Watching him being gentle despite his crude words earlier, was something so unusual and stirred something inside her.

With a small nod she made her way to the door where Simon stood with his hands on his hips watching her like a hawk, and threw him a glare. She really didn’t like the man. She had a bad feeling about him. She pushed past him bumping her shoulder into him with an annoyed huff and made her way out of the room.

Simons eyebrows shot up and scoffed looking after her. Simon chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to Negan. “That one’s got some fire in her.”

Negan smirked, resting Lucille against his shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea, Si.” His eyes lingered on the door she had just walked through, amusement flickering in his expression before he leaned forward.

“You seem really fond of her lately. Is her pussy that good?” Simon didn’t lost the chance to mock his boss.

“Keep your dick to yourself.” Negan growled, clearly not a fond of being mocked “and watch what you say to me.” But deep down he knew Simon was somehow right. He unconsciously was choosing her every time in the past few weeks. Damn he was in deep shit.

#negan fanfiction #negan #fanfic #the walking dead #negan smith #jeffrey dean morgan #negan twd #tv shows #negan x reader #negan smut

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kaylovestwd · 1 month ago

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How twd men react to some one scaring you

(someone jump scares you and they get mad because you were genuinely scared )

(negan smith , daryl dixon, rick grimes)

The afternoon sun dripped golden honey across the Sanctuary's courtyard. You were laughing, head thrown back, the sound like wind chimes as you helped one of the community members, Sarah, untangle a string of fairy lights for an upcoming celebration. Negan was a few feet away, leaning against a wall, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. The world, for a fleeting moment, felt almost normal. Almost peaceful.

It happened in a heartbeat. A figure, a boisterous Saviors member named Mark, leapt out from behind a stack of crates with a guttural yell, "Boo!" You hadn't seen him; hadn't heard him approach. Your reaction was immediate and visceral.

A sharp, involuntary scream ripped from your throat. Your hands flew up, knocking against Sarah's arm, and you stumbled backward, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The fairy lights scattered on the ground. It wasn't just the surprise; it was the echo of past traumas, the ever-present fear that lingered beneath the surface of this new world.

Mark, initially pleased with his prank, began to chuckle, a smug look on his face. "Jeez, (Y/N), didn't mean to scare ya that bad!" Sarah rushed to your side, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, he shouldn't have done that." You were still shaking, trying to catch your breath, the remnants of the scream still vibrating in your chest.

The smirk vanished from Negan's face like smoke in the wind. The easygoing demeanor he'd been wearing dropped away, replaced by a cold, hard mask. His eyes, usually filled with a teasing glint when he looked at you, turned glacial. He moved with a speed that belied his size, pushing himself off the wall and stalking toward Mark.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Negan's voice was low, a dangerous rumble that immediately silenced Mark's laughter. The courtyard seemed to hold its breath, everyone sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Before Mark could stammer out an apology, Negan was upon him. He shoved Mark hard, sending him stumbling backward several feet. "You think that's funny? Scaring someone half to death is your idea of a good time?" The words were laced with venom, each syllable clipped and precise.

Negan advanced on Mark, backing him up against the crates he'd jumped from. "You see this woman?" he snarled, gesturing sharply in your direction. "She's mine. You got that? Mine. And you don't EVER, EVER pull a stunt like that again. Especially not with her."

"You think you’re being funny? Hilarious, even? You’re not. You’re a goddamn moron. A pea-brained idiot who can’t think past his next meal. You got no sense, no brains, and definitely no respect. And now you've just earned yourself a whole heap of trouble."

Negan stepped closer to Mark, invading his personal space, his presence radiating menace. "Let me spell it out for you, real simple, so even you can understand. You so much as look at her the wrong way again, you breathe in her direction without my permission, you even think about pulling another one of your pathetic little pranks, and you'll be wishing you were back dealing with walkers. Got it?"

For emphasis, Negan leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a chilling promise in his tone. "Because I will make your life a living hell. I will make you regret the day you were born. You will become intimately acquainted with Lucille, and trust me, that's not an experience you'll enjoy. Do. You. Understand?" Mark, pale and trembling, could only nod frantically.

Only then did Negan turn away from Mark, his anger seemingly dissipating as he focused on you. His expression softened, the hard edges of his face smoothing out. He crossed the distance between you in a few strides, his eyes searching yours with concern.

"(Y/N), baby, are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?" His voice was a low rumble, a stark contrast to the fury he'd just unleashed. He reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks.

"I'm fine," you managed, your voice still a little shaky. "Just... startled." You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his presence. The lingering fear began to recede, replaced by a wave of warmth. Knowing he cared so deeply was a balm to your rattled nerves.

Negan's eyes darkened, a fierce protectiveness burning within them. "He won't be bothering you again. I promise you that." He squeezed your face gently, his gaze unwavering. "Nobody messes with you, (Y/N). Not on my watch."

He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and his unique cologne. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm against your ear, a grounding force in the aftermath of the scare.

"I hate seeing you scared," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "It makes me... crazy." He tightened his grip, holding you as if he were afraid you might disappear. "You're safe with me, (Y/N). Always."

He tilted your head back and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple. The kisses were gentle, reassuring, a silent vow to protect you from all harm.

The courtyard remained quiet, the tension still hanging in the air. Mark was a pathetic, crumpled figure against the crates, avoiding eye contact with everyone. The other Saviors members went back to their tasks, a newfound respect, and perhaps a little fear, in their eyes.

But in Negan's arms, the world outside faded away. All that mattered was the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heart, and the unwavering promise in his eyes. In that moment, you knew, without a doubt, that you were loved, cherished, and fiercely protected. And as the sun continued to bathe the courtyard in its golden light, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, knowing that with Negan by your side, you could face anything.

The sun dripped golden honey across the Alexandria courtyard, painting everything in a warm, inviting glow. You were there, laughing with a small group of people. The atmosphere was light, a rare and precious thing in this world. Daryl leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he watched you. He didn't always join in the boisterous camaraderie, but your happiness was his solace. He was content just being near you, knowing you were safe and smiling.

He loved the way the sun caught in your hair, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed, the sheer joy that radiated from you. It was a joy he felt privileged to witness, a joy he would fiercely protect.

Suddenly, without warning, a figure leaped out from behind a stack of crates, yelling. Your startled scream pierced the air, a sound that instantly shattered the peaceful tableau. Your hands flew to your chest, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The laughter died instantly, replaced by a stunned silence.

The prankster, a guy from one of the newer communities, stood there grinning, clearly pleased with himself. "Gotcha!" he crowed, oblivious to the tension that had suddenly thickened the air.

You hated jump scares. They weren't funny, they just left you feeling anxious and shaky. You managed a weak smile, trying to brush it off, but the lingering fear was still evident in your wide eyes.

The moment your scream ripped through the air, something primal ignited within Daryl. It wasn't just annoyance; it was a raw, possessive fury. He moved before he even consciously registered the intent, pushing himself off the wall and stalking towards the prankster with a predatory grace.

His eyes, usually a calm, assessing blue, were now glacial chips of ice. The playful smile was gone, replaced by a grim line. The transformation was immediate and terrifying. Everyone around instinctively took a step back. They knew that look. It was the look of a man pushed to the edge, a man who would protect what was his at any cost.

He stopped inches from the guy, towering over him. Daryl didn't need to shout. His voice, low and gravelly, was far more intimidating. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, each word laced with venom.

The prankster, who had been so smug moments before, suddenly paled. He stammered, "I… I was just messing around. It was a joke."

"A joke?" Daryl spat the word out like a curse. "You think scaring her half to death is funny? You think it's okay to deliberately frighten someone?" He punctuated his words with a hard shove to the guy's chest, sending him stumbling backward.

"She's been through enough," Daryl continued, his voice rising slightly, the intensity of his gaze unwavering. "We all have. We don't need some idiot like you adding to it for your own amusement."

He stepped closer, invading the guy's personal space, his presence radiating a dangerous energy. "You stay away from her," he warned, his voice a low rumble. "You got that? You don't come near her. You don't look at her. You don't even think about her. She's with me. And I don't take kindly to anyone who messes with what's mine."

The possessiveness in his tone was unmistakable. It wasn't just about protecting you; it was about establishing a clear boundary. You belonged to him, and he would defend that claim fiercely.

Turning his back on the now thoroughly cowed prankster, Daryl walked towards you. The anger in his eyes softened slightly as he focused on you, but the protective fire still burned beneath the surface.

He reached out, gently cupping your face in his calloused hands. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, laced with concern.

You nodded, still a little shaken, but grateful for his presence. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just… startled."

He ran a thumb across your cheekbone, his gaze searching your eyes for any lingering fear. "He won't bother you again," he promised, his voice firm.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a reassuring rhythm in the aftermath of the scare.

He didn't say anything more, but he didn't need to. His arms around you spoke volumes. They were a shield, a promise of safety, a declaration of unwavering love.

In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of the world, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved. Daryl Dixon might not be a man of many words, but his actions always spoke louder than any declaration could. His protectiveness wasn't just about keeping you safe from physical harm; it was about safeguarding your heart, your peace of mind, your very being. That was his obsession, his devotion, and his love for you.

Even after things calmed down, Daryl's eyes would occasionally flick towards the prankster, a silent warning etched on his face. He would never fully trust the guy, always wary of any potential threat to your well-being.

He became even more attuned to your moods, noticing the slightest flinch, the faintest shadow of unease in your eyes. He was like a guardian, constantly watching over you, ensuring your safety and happiness.

This obsessive protectiveness wasn't born out of control, but out of a deep, abiding love. He had lost so much in his life, and he clung to you with a fierce desperation, determined to keep you safe from the horrors of the world. It was his way of showing you just how much you meant to him, a silent promise that he would always be there, your protector, your lover, your everything.

The Alexandria sun dripped golden across the porch where you sat with Rick. His calloused hand, so strong and capable, held yours gently. You were recounting a funny story from before the world went to hell, your laughter intertwining with the chirping of the crickets.

Rick's eyes, usually shadowed by the weight of leadership and loss, softened when he looked at you. He loved these moments of normalcy, the feeling of you beside him, a beacon in the constant darkness. The way your eyes sparkled when you were amused, the gentle curve of your smile – they were his solace.

A sudden, bloodcurdling scream ripped through the peaceful atmosphere. It was your scream. Before Rick could even fully register what was happening, a figure jumped out from behind a bush, laughing boisterously. It was Nicholas, a resident of Alexandria known for his… questionable judgment.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The image of walkers, of close calls, flooded your mind. Even in the relative safety of Alexandria, the fear was always lurking just beneath the surface. The prank, innocent in its intent, had struck a raw nerve.

Tears welled in your eyes as you gasped for breath, your body trembling uncontrollably. You hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed. Rick was instantly by your side, his arm wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

The change in Rick was instantaneous and terrifying. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hard fury that sent shivers down the spines of anyone who witnessed it. The hand that had been holding yours now clenched into a fist.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rick's voice was a low growl, a dangerous rumble that promised violence. He pushed himself between you and Nicholas, his body a shield.

Nicholas, initially amused, faltered under Rick's intense gaze. The laughter died in his throat, replaced by a nervous gulp. He hadn't anticipated this reaction, hadn't realized the depth of Rick's feelings for you.

"That wasn't funny, Nicholas," Rick spat, each word laced with venom. "You scared her half to death. Do you have any idea how fragile things are out here? How much she's been through?"

He took a step closer, invading Nicholas' personal space. "She's been through hell. And you thought it would be funny to remind her of it?" Rick shoved Nicholas backward, the force of it surprising the other man.

"You don't ever do that again," Rick warned, his voice rising. "You don't ever touch her, you don't ever scare her. Do you understand me?" There was a primal possessiveness in his tone, a clear declaration that you were his, and no one would be allowed to cause you harm or distress. The message was clear: cross this line again, and you'll regret it.

Nicholas, thoroughly cowed, mumbled an apology and quickly retreated, avoiding eye contact. The other residents who had gathered to watch the spectacle dispersed, whispering amongst themselves.

Rick turned back to you, his anger softening as he saw the lingering fear in your eyes. He knelt down, bringing himself to your level. "Hey," he said softly, cupping your face in his hands. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

You shook your head, tears finally spilling over. "I'm just… scared," you whispered. "It just reminded me…"

Rick pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. "I know, baby. I know. I've got you. He won't bother you again. I promise."

He held you for a long time, his presence a solid, reassuring weight against your trembling body. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that slowly calmed your own racing pulse.

Rick's protectiveness wasn't just about physical safety; it was about shielding you from the emotional scars of the past, about creating a safe haven where you could finally find peace. He knew he couldn't erase the horrors you had witnessed, but he could offer you a sanctuary, a place where you could feel loved, cherished, and safe.

As you leaned into his embrace, you knew that Rick's reaction wasn't just about anger; it was about love. It was about his fierce, unwavering devotion to you, his willingness to protect you at any cost.

In that moment, you understood the depth of his feelings for you, the intensity of his possessiveness. It wasn't a controlling possessiveness, but a protective one, born out of a deep-seated fear of losing you.

Rick tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. "I love you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever."

You reached up and traced the lines on his face, the map of his struggles and his strength. "I love you too, Rick," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

He didn't let you out of his sight for the rest of the day. He kept you close, his hand always within reach, a constant reminder of his presence and his protection.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, wrapped in his arms, you knew that you were safe. You were loved. And you had a man who would move heaven and earth to keep you that way. Rick Grimes was your protector, your lover, your home. And in a world filled with chaos and danger, that was all that mattered. His hand caressing your hair was the last thing you felt before drifting off to sleep, feeling safer than you had in a long time.

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Text

Found Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!dentist!reader

Summary: When you finally meet Luca's team, you aren't expecting to run into a man you haven't seen or heard from in years.

Warnings: r is Hicks' daughter, brief depiction of anxiety, angst to fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“Will it hurt?” the dental patient waiting beside you asks.

“No,” you assure with a kind smile. “You’ll feel a little pinch, maybe, and then all of the pain will go away.”

He nods, grips the sides of the chair, and closes his eyes as you slide the mouth mirror behind his top molars.

“Hey, doc,” one of the receptionists calls. “We need you at the front when you’re done here.”

“Got it,” you reply quickly, keeping your eyes and mind on your patient. “There we go,” you murmur when you find the cause of the sudden tooth decay. “Here comes the pinch.”

Using the cotton pliers from the dental hygiene set, you extract a small object lodged between teeth fourteen and fifteen, or as you explain to the patient a piece of food that wasn’t removed by flossing or brushing and embedded itself between the back molars.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask once the tools are removed from his mouth.

“Much better,” he answers. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Wendy, your hygienist, will be right back to finish cleaning, then we’ll apply a dental sealant to ensure there’s no further decay or wear on your enamel back there.”

As you stand and discard your gloves, you wave Wendy over to finish the cleaning process. She politely reminds you that you’re needed at the front. However, her knowing look is enough reprimand that you promise to pay more attention without neglecting your patients.

The walk to the reception area is short, but before you reach the end of the hall, you hear a familiar voice.

“Officer Luca,” you greet with a smile. “Are you bothering my receptionist again?”

“No, sweetheart,” Lucille, the receptionist who has told you more than once she thinks Luca is the sweetest little gentleman she’s ever seen, assures. “But you’ve left poor Luca here waiting.”

Luca smiles as he extends his left arm to hug you. “I’ll forgive you,” he whispers against your temple.

“How kind of you,” you tease. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you wanted to leave early today.”

“And she can!” Lucille interrupts. “Her last patient is nearly done.”

“But I…” you begin, though you trail off when Luca looks into your eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“There, uh, there was one other thing I wanted to ask,” Luca adds. He shifts on his feet, a movement that anyone else would have missed.

“Are you okay?”

Luca smiles and nods but gestures toward Lucille. You smile, take his hand, and lead him to your small office at the back of the building. Once you’re alone, you turn and give Luca a proper hug before you lean back against your desk and encourage him to tell you what’s bothering him.

“We’ve been dating for a while,” Luca says.

You nod and refrain from commenting about being there because you want to know where he’s going. The hug he gave you a moment ago makes you confident he isn’t ending the relationship.

“I want to introduce you to my team. If you’re okay with that.”

You lick your lips and push yourself to stand before him as you ask, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Besides, you might as well meet them before the wedding.”

Luca shrugs as you laugh. When you talked several weeks ago about how serious you were getting, you didn’t anticipate he’d start talking about marriage so quickly. However, you both know that’s what you want, so it doesn’t scare you.

“I would love to meet your team. Especially Street, since I’ve heard so much about him.”

“Sorry,” Luca responds, though his smile doesn’t drop.

“No, no, I support your bromance.”

Luca rolls his eyes as he pulls you against his chest. You lay your hands on his shoulders and look into his eyes as you smile.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Right now?” you reply. “I thought you meant-“

“Whenever you want,” Luca amends. “I just mean ready to go.”

“We can go now. If you want.”

“There’s one thing I have to do first.”

Before you can ask what that is, Luca tilts his chin and kisses you.

“Should I be nervous?” you ask as Luca helps you out of his truck.

“No,” he answers quickly. “Are you?”

“Not really.”

Luca laughs at you, and the sound makes you smile. You tighten your grip on his hand, then follow him into SWAT HQ. Several men are working out, officers are walking through, and people are waiting for various meetings. Most greet Luca, but he continues to lead you through the large common area.

He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand as he pushes a door open. Inside, there’s a large kitchen and sitting area, and five people. They look up when the door opens, greet Luca, then look away again. The woman is the first to realize she needs a second look, and a smile breaks out on her face as she jumps over the back of the couch and rushes toward you.

“Luca!” she yells.

That draws the attention of the men, and when Luca grunts from her well-aimed punch to his shoulder, they follow her lead and join you and Luca.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend,” he begins before introducing you to each member of 20 David Squad.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say after shaking their hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good things?” Street asks.

“Not about you,” Tan interjects.

“Mostly good things,” you agree.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Deacon asks.

“Almost six months,” you answer.

“What took you so long, man?” Hondo asks Luca. “I thought you were with Deac on the whole ‘when you know, you know’ thing.”

“I am,” Luca replies. “And I’ve known for months, I was just waiting for the right time.”

“What made now the right time?” Chris adds.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” you say.

“Duke,” Luca answers.

You nod in understanding as the team waits for further explanation.

“Duke likes me more than him,” you explain, ignoring Luca’s grunt of disagreement. “Somehow, he managed to get in my car and go home with me without either of us noticing. When I brought him back the next day, he didn’t want to let me leave.”

“Sounds like someone trained him well,” Tan says.

“Yeah, how long did that trick take, Luca?” Street inquires. “And were the treats homemade or store-bought?”

“Look,” Luca interrupts, drawing attention back to him rather than Duke. “Now was the right time because things are getting serious, but I don’t feel like I left you out of anything.”

“Romantic,” Hondo mumbles.

“Gross,” Street adds, nodding.

“We’re not mad about the wait,” Deacon assures you and Luca. “And you’re right, we didn’t miss anything. Except maybe the story about Duke, that would’ve been nice to hear right after it happened.”

“If anything, I was robbed,” you point out. “I’ve been hearing stories about you guys without any reference or anything.”

“Apologize,” Chris demands.

“Sorry,” Luca says, though it sounds more like a question.

“We should do something,” Street proposes. “Like go out to dinner or something. Let you ask all the embarrassing questions about Luca you can think of.”

“Or…” you counter. “We could make Luca cook for us all.”

“Okay,” Luca interjects. “Either work, but I am standing right here.”

“There you are!”

You stiffen when you hear someone else enter the kitchen. Luca and his team look toward the door to greet Hicks, but you keep your eyes on Luca.

“This is our commander, Bob Hicks,” Luca tells you. “Hicks, this is-“

You turn toward Hicks but don’t raise your eyes to meet his. He says your name before Luca can, and your shoulders draw up toward your ears.

“You’ve met?” Hondo deduces.

“Yeah,” Hicks answers carefully. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You, too.” You look at Luca and mumble, “I need to go.”

Luca’s brows pinch, but he nods and watches you step past him and walk a wide path around Hicks. He looks at Hicks for several seconds, then rushes out of the kitchen to follow you. 20 David Squad watches your sudden departure, then looks to one another for answers, which none of them have.

Hicks steps toward the door you just exited, but Deacon raises his hand over Hicks’ chest and says, “I think you’ve done enough for now.”

“Anything you want to share, Commander?” Chris asks.

Hicks sighs before he turns toward the five SWAT officers now staring him down.

After you exit the building, you step to the side and take a few deep breaths. Things were going so well before Bob Hicks walked in, and now Luca’s team will probably never want to see you again. As if he needed to ruin one more thing in your life.

“Hey,” Luca says softly. “Can I touch you?”

You nod eagerly, raising your arms slightly so you can hug Luca. His hugs feel like home, his arms strong around your waist and his head by your shoulder, in the perfect position to whisper calming and loving words in your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against him.

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, rubbing one hand along your upper back. “It’s okay. Just keep breathing.”

With Luca, you don’t usually realize when you’re getting anxious, but Hicks has a unique effect on you.

“Luca,” you begin. When he nods and pulls back without removing his arms from around you, you admit, “Robert Hicks is my dad.”

“You said you were raised by a single mom,” Luca remembers.

“I was. My mom married… him, they had me, all that. But when I was little, so little I barely remember what he was like before, he divorced my mom. After it was finalized, he cut us off completely. We never heard from him again.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

You nod and wet your lips. “I knew I was losing my parents as a couple, but I didn’t expect to lose my dad completely.”

Luca hugs you again, and as your breathing and heart rate return to normal, you take a deep breath.

“I know I’m overreacting,” you say with a sad chuckle. “Sorry, Luca.”

“You’re not,” Luca promises. His hand raises to your shoulder as he brushes his fingers along the back of your neck. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Luca smiles before he kisses your forehead. His shift is nearly over, and he decides about what he’d do if he had to choose between Hicks and his job or you.

“Let me tell them that I’m heading out early and I’ll take you home. Maybe Duke can comfort you a little more,” he suggests.

“I’d like that. Can I… can I come in with you?”

“If you’re sure. No one in there is going to be mad at you for this.”

You nod and take Luca’s hand to follow him inside. His team is waiting just inside, and your father is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sorry for rushing out like that,” you tell them.

“No worries,” Hondo assures.

“I’d run like that if I thought I could get away with it,” Street says.

“You heading out?” Chris asks Luca.

“We are,” Luca answers. “But dinner is still on the table. Not literally, but…”

“We’ll do it soon,” Deacon replies. “And you,” he tells you, “are welcome here whenever you want. You are part of this family now, and if anyone has an issue with that, they can leave.”

“Thank you,” you say softly. “All of you.”

Hondo nods at Luca as you leave, and though you don’t understand that it’s about your dad and how he’s grown as a person, you trust your boyfriend and new family. Plus, when you get home and are sandwiched between the loving cuddles of Luca and Duke, there isn’t much to be anxious about.

#dominique luca x fem!reader #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca #luca x reader #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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