#shift with lucille

[shift-with-lucille]

A quick guide to the Law of Assumption for shifters

hello shiftblr!!

i am quite new to the community and today i took it upon myself to educate myself on the Law of Assumption by Neville Goddard. i'd seen the phrase thrown around a lot as a useful technique by a lot of people within the community and thought that making a little quick-start post might help someone out there! i would recommend checking out https://readnevillegoddard.com/ for free reading resources!! i got a lot of information from here as well as youtube.

so, what is the law of assumption?

'The law of assumption states that, by believing the thing you want already exists in your life, you'll manifest it into existence.' (thriveworks)

the law of assumption, as it sounds, is a type of thinking which helps you manifest your desires. this thinking is done subconsciously- unintentionally- all of the time. for example, when youre thinking about someone and they text you or you run into them? that's simply you, manifesting that experience unintentionally. this proves how easy it is. youre already assuming things that are reflected back into your reality.

everything that exists is imagined: 'if your world reflects back to you what is in your imagination, surely the only factual thing is what is in your mind.' (house of highbrations)

what is revision? and how do i get better?

revising is repeating a situation you aim to manifest. by visualising something over and over it becomes ingrained into your subconscious- a constant thought. it might get boring, visualising the beginning of a conversation or running into someone on a street but the more you stick to it, the more you revise, the stronger the assumption gets. learning how to visualise and revise is like flexing a new muscle.

you can start by visualising something very familiar to you. your bag, your chair, your pillow. it's easy- once you are able to visualise something small and familiar consistently, you can begin to visualise entire rooms, people, places. you start to become more in tune with your other senses; the textures, tastes, smells, sounds of a situation.

this sometimes leads to deja vu! you become so intimate with a revision that once you achieve your goal, your brain goes: 'woah, i've already been here.'

so, lucille, how does this apply to shifting?

by manifesting a positive outlook on shifting, visualising your shift as well as things that occur within your drs, you can trick your subconscious into thinking that you've already achieved this goal. you can apply the law of assumption to your current reality- manifest those grades! those relationships! that happiness! that confidence and self esteem! it's similar to scripting and the i am God mentality often seen in manifestation; you do have the capability to achieve these things! you are in charge of your own 3d.

remember that the law of assumption appeals to negative things too.

if you have thoughts like, 'oh, ill never achieve x!' 'y is impossible!' it will remain that way. you acknowledge these thoughts and move past them replace them with positivity and optimism.

do not try to change the past. be proud of the person you are now, and the person you will become. you will be successful. you already are.

visualise your success, live with the joy that youve already succeeded. picture yourself happy in your desired realities with your desired people. it will take time, and patience. but by exercising yourself, working hard and putting in the effort to reprogram your subconsciousness to align with what you want in the 3d you will achieve everything that you desire.

i hope this helps someone- this is my first long text post so i hope it makes sense <3

you have already succeeded!

-lucille

[dcxdpdabbles]

Jason is babysitting Danny for a day.

Dick didn't want to be at this Gala, but Tim had only been able to hold off the PR team for so long. As the oldest, he needed to show up, especially after Bruce had made an effort to put Dick in charge of a gym and had publicly announced he was leaving shares of his company to Dick.

For the past three hours, he has danced around backhand compliments and poor attempts to invite him to bed. Dick hated it, even when he laughed and smiled like he was having the time of his life.

He would much rather be at home with Danny. His son was a ball of sunshine, even if his existence had been a surprise. Not an unhappy one, but certainly one that he needed to prepare for.

Danny's mother had just shown up one day, dropped him off with water eyes, and demanded Dick care for her son. He thought she was playing some kind of scam, but after some digging, he found she had no choice.

She was in the final stages of a deadly heart disease, and mere weeks after dropping off Danny, she had passed in a risky surgery. He looked into her death to make sure the surgeons had done all they could, but it was clear her death had been the result of her illness.

The surgery was a last-ditch effort with a succession rate of only twenty percent. She likely knew that which is why she had tracked Dick down after their one-night stand and left her one-year-old in his hands.

She even included a letter apologizing for never coming forth with Danny, afraid that someone of Dick's standing would have taken her baby from her. She knew he wasn't a monster like that, but she had not been willing to risk losing her son.

She had no choice once she learned of her chances of survival. She had looked into Dick to the best of her abilities to verify he was a good man that would treat her son well.

Turns out she was all alone in the world and had grown up in the foster system, so she had hoped that Danny would miss out on that life.

Dick had no idea how Lucille could have been that strong on her own. He bought her a better gravestone and tried to honor her memory. He became Danny's guardian upon her confirmed death.

It took them months to get into a swing of things, in which he had faded from public view, hoping to keep his son as far away from attention for as long as he could.

He knew he couldn't protect Danny forever, but he could dream. He did thankfully had Tim and Babs, who worked overtime to help him. Otherwise, he doesn't think he will be able to make it this long with the paparazzi catching a picture of his boy.

His family took shifts to cover for him and tonight it was Jason. His brother made a excused of getting the flu two days ago- having gone to the hospital to sell it- and everyone assumed he was too sick to be here.

In reality, he was babysitting Danny. His brother had been excited to bake cookies and decorate them with his nephew. Dick wishes he could be there if only to take pictures. Danny had a unique way of wrapping everything in the family around his little fingers, and seeing Jason melt in his presence was a joy in and of itself.

Instead, here he was on a Friday night, standing in a room surrounded by luxurious upon luxurious and missing his soft second-hand store couch where his son liked to cuddle while watching cartoons.

Dick was in the middle of a conversation with a few beautiful women who were obviously trying to lead him back to a hotel room. He might have considered it if he hadn't overheard them discussing using him for his money.

At the time, he was Nightwing, but the matter still stood. They thought him an easy meal ticket, and he had to pretend that their sickly, sweet smiles were charming.

Thankfully, his phone rings while one runs her fingers on his arm, so he has the perfect excuse to slap her hand away "accidentally" while reaching for his phone. He gestures it with a small, apologetic smile, stepping away from the group before they can stop him.

Without checking, Dick clicks the call. Even if it's spam, he must act like it was a fundamental issue he couldn't ignore. "This is Dick Grayson."

"Danny's in the walls! I don't know how he goes in there, and I don't know how to get him out!" Jason screams into his ear, sounding both panicked and terrified. "I can hear him, but I can't see him. Come home! Strange things are happening- what is that!? Why is it coming out of the walls!?"

The call ends with the echoing sound of Jason's scream and a monstrous wail. Dick is left listening to the dial sound, wholly frozen with his fake smile and expensive clothes in the corner of the gala. One of the women steps closer to him. "Is everything alright-"

Dick doesn't let her finish her sentence, pushing past her as he breaks into a mad sprint towards the parking lot. He needed to get home yesterday.

He forgot to warn Jason that Danny was a beacon for ghosts and that a haunting had likely arrived while he was away. He knew he had forgotten something on that babysitting list!

[hexxynn]

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."

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

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

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Kneel

Summary: Negan reminds you what you’re supposed to do whenever you see him in the Sanctuary 

Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW!, power play, dominant Negan, swearing, intimidation, erection, pet names

Word Count: 1.8k (this was meant to be under 1k but I once again forgot how to stfu)

“My oh my, where are your manners?”.

Shit. You knew this would happen eventually. It feels as though Negan has had his eye on you for weeks now, just waiting to pop the question. Because obviously, six wives isn’t enough for one man and he’s in need of another.

You, more specifically. 

You’re in the middle of pushing crates piled on to a small trolley when he approaches. He smirks, baring his teeth as he casually swings Lucille by his side. As if the odds are stacked against you, the hallway is empty, leaving only you and Negan. Alone. 

“You’ve been here, what, two months now?” Negan acts as if that’s just a guess and he hasn’t been keeping track.

You stand tall beside the crates, making it abundantly clear that you won't be an easy target for him. Your eyes are steady, a defiant gleam in them as you hold his gaze.

No matter how charming or beneficial being with him would be, you refuse to be some damsel he can have for his own twisted amusement. After all, you’ve taken care of yourself for this long in the apocalypse, why rely on someone like him now?

“I have” you confirm, not wanting this conversation to draw out longer than it needs to. Even if you’re on his good side, it’s hard to feel relaxed with Negan’s attention on you.

He hums in response.

You watch as Negan's gaze shifts, his features becoming more stern as he stands there. It's as if a switch has been flipped, transforming him from the charismatic leader to the cold and dominant figure you know he can be.

“So you gonna do it?” he questions, the sharp edge to his words sending a clear message: he’s not asking, he’s telling.

You can feel your jaw clench. Is he expecting you to just throw yourself at him? Or thank him profusely for allowing you to stay here? 

Feigning innocence, you gesture towards the crates. "Do what? My job?" you retort, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you intimidated. You go to move the crates again when you feel it - the silent warning of Lucille’s sharp tips resting gently on your shoulder. 

Negan maintains a stoic expression, letting Lucille display his authority. His voice is low and gravelly, resembling a growl more than anything else. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just cause I think you're pretty fuckin’ hot, and ask again" he explains.

Hearing Negan's flippant admission, the way his voice drips with lust as he mentions his attraction to you is enough to send a thrill down your spine. It's a complex feeling to know that a man like Negan is attracted to you. It's thrilling, dangerous, and undeniably exciting all at once.

You hold your breath, expecting Lucille to scratch her way across your face at any moment. But instead, Negan takes a breath and asks again “Whenever I decide to grace your fucking presence, what is it you’re going to do?”.

You feel as if you’re back in school, after getting asked a question by a teacher who knows you weren’t paying attention. You’re unsure what would be worse; to answer incorrectly or to not answer at all. 

Slowly, Negan starts to increase the pressure, Lucille’s spikes digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. She prickles at your skin, the feeling thankfully being more uncomfortable than outright painful.

Instinctively, your legs buckle and you sink to your knees before him. “You kneel.” Negan drawls as you go down “There you go. Not that hard, is it?”. 

Negan eases the pressure, the painful stabs from Lucille's barbed wire gradually lessening as you comply. You breathe a silent sigh of relief, hoping Lucille didn’t break your skin and leave puncture marks in her wake.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a defiant expression, you can feel a flutter of something in your stomach. It’s subtle, but undeniable. You stare up at him with a determined glare, refusing to acknowledge the confused mixture of disdain and arousal coursing through your body.

Negan lets out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting down to meet your gaze directly. His expression is equal parts hunger and satisfaction as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him.

"Goddamn," he murmurs approvingly, "now this is a view I could get used to”. Negan's signature cocky smirk returns, the brief display of dominance seemingly fulfilled for now. 

It’s easy to feel somewhat distracted in your current position, your head level with his crotch. The temptation to look is strong but you’re aware of what his reaction might be and so you quickly push the thought aside. Fighting with your inner urges, you subconsciously nibble at your lip, accidentally fuelling Negan’s amusement.

He sees straight through you and you know it.

Moving the bat from your shoulder completely, he lightly taps it against the crates. “You come to me if you ever want a change of lifestyle,” he coaxes “I got some real sexy dresses upstairs that haven’t been claimed yet”.

The tension between you both is palpable. There’s no denying that you feel a throbbing sensation between your thighs, the logical side of your mind growing hazy and clouded by lust. Your response catches you off guard, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I think I’d look better without them on," you hear yourself say, the words daring and suggestive.

Are you really flirting with the man who just forced you to kneel!? Damn him.

Negan immediately picks up what you’re putting down, “Oh is that so? Think I’d need to be the judge of that, sweet thing”. 

Bringing his free hand down to your face, Negan surprises you with his soft touch. You can feel his fingertips tracing along your cheekbone before gently cupping your face in his hand. 

The contrasting sides of this man are striking and downright annoying to put up with but you don’t fight against it. It’s hard to decide which side of Negan you actually prefer; the dominant leader that forced you on your knees to satisfy his ego or this charmingly soft man who calls you pretty pet names. 

Unable to resist the temptation, you steal a quick glance forwards. You only sneak a brief look but sure enough, there’s an obvious bulge right there, a mere inches away from your face.

A part of you wants to whimper at the sight but another part of you wants to scoff and get up, stopping this game of cat and mouse no matter the consequences of ‘disrespecting’ his authority.

“Well, damn" he practically groans as you look back up at him "I don't see why we should wait until you try on one of the dresses." His words are direct, the implication clear that he's craving you just as much as you're craving him.

But the ball is in your court now. Negan keeps his hand on your face, staying deliberately still, leaving the next move up to you. He's put his cards on the table, making sure his desires are known. It's up to you to respond, to show him that you want him just as badly.

A thought flickers through your head. How bad would it be if you did hookup with Negan? You know you’d have a good time but there would be consequences. Even though Negan seems casual, there’s no doubt he would push you to become another wife. Once he sinks his claws into you, he won’t simply let go after a hookup or two. Why would he when he can have an unlimited number of wives just for himself?

Before you can make that decision, movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You snap your head in their direction, watching as a figure hesitantly comes closer, uncertainty laced in each step.

Joey — or, Fat Joey, as he’s so graciously called by Negan — steps closer, nervously wringing his hands together.

Negan follows your gaze, letting his hand drop from your cheek as he huffs. “Fat Joey! Holy fuck, who knew you could sneak… or cockblock” he exclaims, putting on his bravado act.

Taking advantage of Negan's momentary distraction, you quickly stand up, using the opportunity to distance yourself and get back to work. The feeling of embarrassment washes over you as you realise what that must have looked like for Joey, who just stumbled across you both.

Negan shoots you a quick look. It's not an angry glare but rather a pout, as if he had expected you to patiently wait on your knees until he’s done talking to Joey. 

Joey speaks up, his voice a bit shaky as he tries to sound professional. "Boss, Simon wants to talk to you, he said it’s important" he says, attempting to mimic a soldier's stance "He tried contacting you on the walkie but didn't get an answer". 

Negan reluctantly gives Joey his attention, a hint of annoyance in his expression. You swiftly begin to move the crates, deciding to take Joey’s interruption as some kind of divine intervention that’s telling you not to give into Negan so easily.

“Simon already rounded up the other lieutenant’s, so they’re just waiting for you, sir” Joey rambles on as you pass by. 

Just as you're about to make your exit, you pause, unable to stop yourself from making a snide comment. You turn to Joey, purposely avoiding Negan's gaze. "Oh, Joey," you say with a hint of sarcasm, "don't forget to kneel. He likes that." 

Joey, completely oblivious to the sarcasm behind your words, takes your reminder as sincere advice. He immediately drops to his knees, a look of panic on his face as he hastily apologises. "S-sorry, sir!" he stammers "I didn't mean to forget!".

Negan takes a step back, his hand instinctively going to cover his bulge now that someone else is so close. ”Yeah, sure, just get the fuck up,” Negan grumbles.

As you walk away, you throw a playful goodbye over your shoulder. "Bye, sir," you say with a smirk, feeling a small sense of victory at having left Negan standing there with Joey, who’s still babbling on.

Negan stays silent, mulling over his thoughts. He can hear Joey drone on but he isn't interested. There's only one thing on Negan’s mind.

You’re definitely a keeper.

[fluentmoviequoter]

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.

[naughtyneganjdm]

The Chase

Summary: Negan wakes up bound to chair in nothing but his boxer briefs and the woman that has him captive decides to use him the way that she wants.

Characters: Negan & the reader (OC, third person)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50362990

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, smut, rough sex, potential mild dubious consent, submissive Negan, etc.

Notes: Y/N means your name or whatever name you want to put in there. This is a quick little thing that I wrote up. Thanks for reading.

Tension filled Negan’s whole body. There was a stinging pain at his temple along with the sensation of the warmth of his blood sliding down the side of his face. Fluttering his eyes to a slow open, the room around him was blurry. Wincing out, the small amount of light from the room was actually giving him a headache so he slammed his eyes shut.

“Fuck,” Negan grumbled under his breath, dropping his head back. Going to reach up to touch his head, he grunted when he realized that his wrists were tied behind him. Attempting to stand up, he realized that his feet were also tied to the chair that he was in too leaving him vulnerable to whoever had captured him. Struggling, he tried using the strength that he still had to try to get out of the restraints, but the rope around both his wrists and his ankles were tied too tight to even get any wiggle room.

Hissing out, his throat tensed and he swallowed down noticing that his throat was dry. How the fuck did he end up here? Thinking to himself, he could barely focus. How the fuck did he get himself into this situation? He was always so careful with things.

“Goddamn it,” Negan struggled with his wrists, lowering his head enough to look down toward his wrists seeing that they weren’t budging. Within time, his eyes started to focus a little better and he let out a confused exhale when he noticed that he was stripped down to only his gray boxer briefs. “What the fuck?”

Lines of blood were trailing down over his chest from whoever had hit him and put him in this situation. Hearing the sounds of tapping, Negan grumbled to himself and lifted his head. Just in the distance he could see a shadow sitting by the lit fire across the darkly lit room that they were in and he grumbled to himself.

Bobbing his head about, it felt like he was having trouble even staying conscious while he shifted on the chair that he was in. Shaking his head about, he did everything he could to pull himself together to focus. Gradually lifting his head, he could see that it was a woman sitting by the fire with her legs stretched out. There was an alcohol bottle in her right hand that she was taking gradual sips from and Lucille was in her left. Small tapping sounds filled the room around them while she took her time lifting the baseball bat that Negan was so fond of and bringing it back down against the wooden ground.

“Don’t touch her,” Negan hissed from where he was seated causing the woman to shift and she pulled her legs from where they were stretched out. Finally realizing that he was awake, they stood up and put Lucille under their arm. Dragging the seat that they were originally sitting in before Negan made him tense up. “What do you want with me?”

“What do I want with you?” the familiar voice repeated and Negan grumbled under his breath. His hazel eyes narrowed, his eyebrows furrowing when he looked up at the woman before him with a sense of anger. “Do you even know why you are here?”

“I…” Negan hooked eyes with the woman before him and he winced. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head forward and let out an annoyed breath. “Of course I know why I’m here Y/N. You stole Lucille.”

“Oh, is that all?” she snorted, leaning forward to gaze over Negan. “That’s the only reason we’re here?”

Yeah, maybe this was somewhat his fault. This was all a game of cat and mouse between the two of them. Y/N was someone who had been brought to The Sanctuary a while ago. Pretty quickly she caught his attention and Negan was enamored with her. For a while he tried relentlessly to get her to be one of his wives, but she denied him every time. And every time he tried to have sex with her, she always pushed him away.

It got to the point where they ended up kissing and spending a lot of time together and then she let him know why she was so insistent upon things. She didn’t want to be one of his wives. She wanted to be his only wife. Of course that complicated things. And when he told her that he couldn’t have that happen, she told him that she was going to leave The Sanctuary because it was too hard being there with him when she was in love with him.

Threatening Negan never worked well. Ever. So after she put that threat out there, he locked her inside of her room and kept a savior on her at all times. That act infuriated her, but Negan didn’t care. He wanted to push her buttons until she finally gave in and gave him what he wanted. It seemed like things were going well up until the point that Fat Joseph had fallen asleep while on duty and Y/N had ended up escaping. Not only did she escape, but she also snatched Lucille in the process.

Negan was furious about everything insisting that he go out with his team to go searching for her and Lucille. Y/N knew how much Lucille meant to him and that’s exactly why she took the bat. Originally, Negan knew why she took off and why she took Lucille. She was pissed and he didn’t blame her. Tracking her down seemed to be going well at first. Negan split up from his team and he thought he had picked up on her tracks when he came to this small cabin in the woods. Now he realized that he had fallen straight into her trap. The last thing he remembered was walking into this cabin and then being hit.

“What is this Y/N? You gonna kill me?” Negan wondered, almost mocking her with his tone. An amused smirk pressed in over his features when he tipped his head to the side. Dragging his tongue across his bottom lip, Negan could taste his own blood over his flesh and he growled. “I got your panties in that much of a bunch that you want to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you,” she rolled her eyes, setting Lucille down on the ground. Standing up from the chair, she moved over toward the corner of the room and Negan looked down at Lucille. There was no getting to his weapon of choice. His arms and legs were locked in place. Maybe he could yell, but she had the upper hand. It was too damn bad that his people were so fucking stupid that they didn’t find him here. Coming back to Negan, he realized that she had a first aid kit in her hands. “That’s the last thing that I want.”

“Then what is this?” Negan snarled when she got something out of the first aid kit after setting the bottle of alcohol down on the floor. “You steal Lucille, you steal my finest bottle of alcohol and you lead me here? I had to piss in your lemonade and piss you off enough for you to set all of this up.”

“I’m giving you a choice Negan,” she informed him using something to clean some of the blood that had dripped down over the lengths of his body. Once she reached the area over his eyebrow where he was obviously cut, he winced and pulled his head away. “You want me to leave you bloody?”

“I want answers,” he snarled and she set the supplies down when she took a seat in front of him again.

“Alright then. I’m proving to you my worth. That I’m not only hot to you, but I’m also useful. And smart,” she informed him, reaching for the bottle of alcohol again to take a sip of it. “I managed to trick you here. You’re helpless Negan. I could do absolutely anything to you right now and there would be nothing you could do about it. I was capable of doing the one thing that your enemies never have. I could kill you right now and it would take next to nothing out of me.”

“I’m failing to find the point,” Negan grumbled under his breath and he saw her smile. Having her go off about how easily she could kill him wasn’t drawing a good conclusion why they were here like this.

“You’re either going to accept my offer and make me your only wife or I disappear forever,” she declared throwing that information out on the table for him. That was their problem from the start. She wanted to be his only one and when he told her no and she wanted to leave, he wouldn’t let her. The whole thing elicited a deep rumble of raspy laughter to fall from Negan’s throat.

“You think I want you to be my wife now after everything you’ve put me through? All of The Sanctuary knows that you pissed me off. That you stole Lucille,” Negan reminded her with a shake of his head. “You’re bold to think that’s something I still want.”

“I have a feeling I can persuade you into saying yes in the next few hours,” she suggested leaning back in her chair, her legs spreading open slightly and he huffed.

“And if I say no by the end of this?” Negan inquired, his eyebrows arching in curiosity when she snickered. Shrugging her shoulders, she thought for a moment before sighing out loud.

“Then, I leave you strapped to this chair. I leave Lucille here so your team can eventually find you. And I leave. You never see me again,” she answered, tipping her head from side to side. “It’s that easy. You don’t die. I just leave a little embarrassed, but I have a feeling I can be very persuasive.”

“Tell me why I should even consider doing what you want after everything,” Negan slurred, his pupils dilating when she leaned forward to stare him over. The warmth of her breath was hot on his. Lowering his head, he looked to his body and let out a chuckle. “You gonna threaten to cut my dick off? Is that why you stripped me down like this?”

“You’re into some dark and kinky shit, aren’t you?” she suggested with an amused smirk, taking a final sip of the alcohol before setting it down. “We already know you love me.”

“Oh yeah?” Negan snorted, his right eyebrow arching in amusement. “I don’t love anything but my late wife and that bat you stole from me.”

“Mhmm…” she breathed out standing up and pushing the chair back away. Stepping before Negan, she pushed her hands into her pockets and heard his breathing increase. “There is a reason you couldn’t stand the idea of me running away. You didn’t want to lose me.”

“Is that so?” Negan breathed out, taking in a sharp breath when he spoke. “So what if I don’t want to lose you? That doesn’t mean that I love you.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me,” she simply threw that out there, kneeling before Negan and his eyes followed her movements. “Tell me you feel nothing for me,” she urged him noticing the way that the vein bulged at the side of his neck. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You like that I’ve denied you. You like that I can overpower you and you are so in awe that I was able to get you into this situation.”

“Well you’re not wrong. It’s not often that someone is capable of knocking me on my ass,” Negan agreed with her, sucking at his bottom lip. “But infatuation doesn’t mean I love you.”

“You’re going to fight that until the bitter end, aren’t you?” she wondered letting out a long sigh, her palms caressing up and over the lengths of Negan’s thighs. It drew him to let out a long exhale and she shrugged. “See, I’m going to give you the one thing I never let you have. And if by the end of everything you don’t want to be with me. Then fine. We go our separate ways. I’ll unhook one of your hands and leave.”

“You’re gonna what?” Negan chuckled, his eyebrows bouncing up when he felt her hands sliding up further toward his inner thighs and he let out a long exhale. A moan fell from his throat when her hand slid in over the front of his boxer briefs and she caressed over the length of his manhood. The muscles in his lower abdomen flexed when she started peppering kisses over his slender abdomen. Before she would never let them even get this far. It was some heavy kissing and touching, but this was different for her. “What is this?”

“I want you to see what I’m capable of. How I can make you feel,” she nibbled at the area right below his navel and his body involuntarily arched forward into her touch. At this point he still thought she may have been fucking with him since she never allowed things to progress much further than making out between them. A harsh breath of air escaped his throat when she reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs. “I want to show you that once you have me, you’re not going to want anyone else.”

“You tied me up…for that?” Negan inquired letting out a grumble knowing that he would have openly done it without her needing to tie him up. Huffing out, he felt her pulling the material down his legs and to his ankles. Looking down, Negan smirked when he saw her eyeing over the root to his masculinity. There was a sense of both awe and surprise seeing his form for the first time completely naked. Arrogantly bobbing his head about made her eyes lift up to meet his and he cracked a smile. “Maybe this could have been done in a less dramatic way.”

“No. The respect would not have been there if I asked you to just have sex with me to prove that you would only want me. Then you would be holding all the power. I needed the power to show you that I’m not some frail little thing that needs your protecting,” she curled her fingers around Negan’s flesh drawing him to moan out while she worked her fingers over his sensitive body. “I wanted to show you what I could do to you. I’m going to give you something you’ve never had before. Someone that holds your life in their hands and makes you want to come so bad that by the time you finally do, you realize that you are going to give me everything I want.”

“I’m not sure you can deliver,” Negan mused, his hips arching up when her caress grew harder. In her palm, his erection was stiffening and he sucked at his bottom lip. “That’s a pretty big order darlin’. Yeah, I’m turned the fuck on that you are able to manhandle me, but I’m not sure this is gonna work out the way you want. You knocked my ass out and stole my Lucille. You better make for damn sure that you’re the best I’ve ever had because I’m fucking pissed.”

“We’ll see,” she whispered pulling her hand away, spitting and then wrapping her fingers back around his length to help lubricate his hardening cock while she jerked him off. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. I think you saw me as someone easily breakable. Like the other women. But I’m not like the other women.”

“Then you better start showing me princess because right now everything is just words,” Negan huffed out, his jaw flexing when she tipped her head to the side and gave him a glare. God, just from touching him she was getting him so fucking hard. There was no hiding his attraction to her. It was there. She knew that from the start. Tugging at his wrists again, he realized it was no use when she lowered her head down toward his lap. Closing his eyes, he felt the gentle flick of her tongue dragging out over the tip of his cock and he grumbled. “Fuck.”

Growling out, he looked down seeing that she was peppering faint kisses over the length of his shaft and it started a fire inside of him that he never expected to be feeling when he woke up moments earlier. Instead of giving him what he wanted, she leaned back to stare at him with an amused expression.

“What are you waiting for?” Negan clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth, his hazel eyes narrowing in curiosity. Groaning out, he felt that his erection was throbbing in her grasp and what he wanted the most was her to wrap those wet lips around his solid length. For months he had wanted her in some kind of situation where they did something sexual and here she was wanting to take advantage of him with the situation he was in. He wasn’t going to tell her no. That was for certain.

“I’m not here to give you what you want immediately Negan. I’m taking what I want from you and what I want is to tease you until you can’t take it anymore,” she traced her fingertips over the length of his shaft causing his cock to twitch. “I may be trying to prove something to you to get what I want, but this is more so for me Negan.”

“Mhmm…” Negan hummed, his tongue dragging out over his bottom lip when he watched her pumping her hand over his distended flesh. There was something so appealing about the determination in her features. Even the way she was looking at his body had the fire growing hotter inside of his veins. “I know you always wanted that big dick, but God, the way you are looking at it—you’re suddenly so fucking happy that you did this. Aren’t you?”

“Well it’s good to know you didn’t lie about this,” she brought her lips up to his cock right underneath the tip. It drew chills down his spine with the warmth of her lips brushing over his flesh. Closing his eyes tightly, he groaned out and bit down firmly on his bottom lip. “Don’t act like this is all me Negan. You want this just as much as I do. If not more. You were always begging me to sleep with you. You know that.”

“I wasn’t begging you. I was trying to persuade you,” Negan slurred, his eyes narrowing when she placed a delicate kiss over the tip causing him to growl out. “But yes, I did want you. I do want you. Even more now. As fucking stupid as that sounds.”

“It doesn’t sound so stupid to me,” she took in the sight of Negan’s body while she had her way with him. Right now it gave her the time to admire his tattoos that covered his body and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?” Negan breathed out, his nose wrinkling in contemplation when her tongue extended out to circle around the tip of his cock. Arching his hips up toward her made her pull back and away from him. A slew of curse words followed and he could hear her laugh.

“I could ask you the same thing. What is it about you where you feel like you have to have twenty wives?” she wondered, her hand only doing slow, teasing strokes at this point around his flesh. “People are still going to think you’re a big badass if you’re only with one woman. You know that, right? How would they feel if they knew you weren’t really fucking them? King of the sanctuary has all these hot wives with nice titties, but never bounces his cock on them.”

“What?” Negan snickered once those words came out of her mouth. “Yeah, it’s a status thing which is why I never understood why it bothered you so much. If I’m not fucking them, then why does it bother you? You’d be the one I was married to and the one I was fucking.”

“Negan, I’m better than putting me in some skanky dress sitting in a room all day waiting for you to come and grab me when you want me. I’m not some mindless drone. I can fuck like a fucking pro, just like you say you can, but I don’t want to be one of the girls. I want to be the girl,” she stressed finally wrapping her lips around his cock causing his eyelids to grow heavy when she started to lower her head down over the first couple of inches. The warmth surrounding him felt so incredible and it made him drop his head back, a raspy moan falling from his throat. Wet sounds filled the air while she bobbed her head over his length a few times, making sure to drag her tongue along the underside of his cock with every pull back. When she finally did pull her mouth away from Negan, it left Negan breathless and he whined. “You do have such a nice cock, you know that?”

“I do,” a wicked smirk tugged at his lips when his hips arched up toward her caress this time eager to have her touch him in any way. “Here I was thinking you were this sweet, innocent little thing and you’re really just a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea how dirty I can be Negan,” she slurred, taking him back into her mouth again allowing his girthy cock to slide back toward the warmth of her throat.

Moaning out, Negan’s jaw flexed watching her pleasure him. Each teasing flick of her tongue over his cock was incredible. Whether it was the build up or she was actually this good, everything felt so much more enhanced for him. Usually he was the one in control and to have his control completely taken away was amazing. That shocked him because he always liked being the dominant one. Watching her was intoxicating while she caressed over the base of his cock with her left hand in tempo with the movements of her mouth. There was a certain haze to everything probably from being knocked on the head, but he really couldn’t complain.

“Fuck,” Negan hissed out when her lips pulled from his throbbing manhood with a wet slur. Arching his hips up, he wanted her to go back to what she was doing knowing that he was enjoying it more than he should have been. “Please…”

“Please what?” she whispered and he grimaced, his teeth grinding.

“Please don’t stop,” Negan begged of her hating that she was bringing out this side of him, but he wasn’t going to waste a moment to get what she was giving him. An amused sound followed when she went back to giving him a blowjob. Trying to focus, Negan didn’t want to lose himself too fast since she had this whole thing planned out, but every time her tongue dragged out across the frenulum of his cock it had him flinching forward. Once again, right when he was at a moment of absolute euphoria, she pulled her lips away and he whimpered this time. “Goddamn it.”

“I want this big cock inside of me,” she hummed, licking at her wet, full lips. An involuntary moan escaped him hearing that and he felt a surge of excitement flood through his veins when she stood up. Keeping his eyes locked on her, he swallowed hard making his Adam’s apple bounce in his throat. It felt like the room was spinning when he watched her undoing the buttons in her shirt. The material fell to the ground and she kicked out of the boots that she was wearing. Once she started to pull open the material of her jeans, he felt his cock twitching with anticipation. There was precum developing at the tip. The tip was red and aching. It was painful, but it was an addicting ache that he liked. Watching her strip down was almost a gift. For so long, he wanted her like this. Now he was getting it and it had his heart hammering inside of his chest when she finally got down to just her bra and panties. “Even the way you are looking at me right now…it’s the sexiest I’ve ever seen you look.”

“Yeah?” he spoke softly, his body relaxed while she reached behind her to unhook her bra allowing her breasts to be revealed to him. Licking his lips, Negan felt his heart skip a beat and he nodded. “Fucking hell sweetheart, you are gorgeous.”

“I’m sure you say that about every pair of tits you see Negan,” she chuckled, sliding her fingers underneath the material of her panties allowing them to pool around her ankles. Stepping out of them, she stepped forward and could see Negan’s big eyes staring up at her desperately. His pupils were dilated with want and desire for her.

“Yours are up there baby,” Negan assured her with a smirk when she crawled in over him and he felt his cock brush up against her bottom. Moaning out, he dropped his head back and laughed. “Jesus Christ. You’re going to fucking kill me. Y’know that?”

“Let’s hope not. I don’t want to be fucking a corpse Negan,” she replied and a snort followed from Negan who was visibly amused with her comment. Adjusting her positioning, she grabbed a firm hold of Negan’s cock. Growling out, Negan watched her teasing the tip of his cock through her wet folds and it drove him crazy with desire. “It was always hard telling you no.”

“It was always hard when you told me no,” he responded arching up toward her when her lips were hovering over his. Wanting her to kiss him was ridiculous, but he did. Trying to kiss her made her snicker and he frowned. After a minute of teasing him, she pressed in close enough to bring their lips together for a forceful kiss. Kissing her with an eagerness, Negan couldn’t help but moan when she brought the tip of his thick cock to her entrance. Nibbling at her bottom lip, Negan moaned when she lowered enough just to take the tip into the warmth of her body. Nuzzling his nose in against hers, Negan huffed when she pulled her hips up just enough to have him leave her warmth. Multiple times she did the same motion and his heart was pounding inside of his chest. “Please. Please. Fuck me.”

“You’re so cute,” she smirked, lifting her left hand up to hook her fingers into his hair to get him to tip his head back to look up at her with his big hazel eyes. His eyelashes fluttered when she allowed her hips to finally lower down over him. Moaning in unison made her smile knowing that Negan was just as turned on by this as she was. Pressing her forehead to his, she was surprised he wanted that close contact when she got used to the first couple of inches of him inside of her. “I like the bad ass version of you, but the begging you is incredibly sexy too.”

A smirk tugged at Negan’s lips when she started to rock her hips over his, allowing him to sink further into her snug warmth before she pulled back to the tip and lowered down again. Licking his lips, Negan tipped his head and started pressing kisses over the side of her neck. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders while she used the strength she had to start bouncing herself over his rigid length. Squeaking from the chair followed and he wondered if the chair was strong enough to take what they were doing. Honestly? He hoped so. He didn’t want this to stop.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Negan groaned, pulling his mouth away from her neck and nuzzling his nose against it. It felt like such a warm, wet, snug fit with him inside of her and he was hooked. After a few more bounces over his length, he felt her hips pulling up and away from him. Extending his fingers out, he wished he had the strength to escape his prison so he could have his way with her. “Fucking hell…”

“You’re my beautiful, whiny little bitch, aren’t you?” she stroked her fingers along his jawline, her fingers urging under his jaw to force him to look at her. Her pants were filling the air, her fingers stroking through his wet hair. Parting his lips, Negan gave her a pleading expression and it made her smile. “You are so gorgeous.”

“I forgot what this felt like,” Negan muttered, his eyes hooked on hers when she dragged her thumb out over his bottom lip. Kissing over the pad of her thumb, Negan was desperate to have her touching him and he was surprised how quickly she brought out an old version of himself.

“Like what?” she was using her free hand to reach down between them to stroke over the length of his cock. “Being my submissive?”

“Mhmm…” Negan hummed, he wasn’t about to get into the details of it, but the only other person he allowed to control him like this was Lucille. And he fucking loved it back then too. Moaning out, Negan felt her taking him back inside of her and he hammered his lips in over hers. Unlike before she lowered completely over him taking him to the hilt. Wincing, Negan dropped his head and looked down. A dark laugh fell from his throat when he nuzzled his nose in against hers again. “Balls deep. Taking it like a fucking champ.”

“You feel so good,” she breathed against his lips, her nails digging into his shoulders. Breaking the skin had Negan hissing out and pressing his forehead further against hers. Starting to rock her hips back and forth had him moaning against her flesh. Her cries filled the air and the sounds of her enjoying herself using his body for her pleasure made everything so much better. Between their kisses and the wet sounds of her riding his cock, Negan couldn’t get enough of this. “Do you like me fucking your big cock?”

“Yes,” Negan slurred against her lips, kissing her relentlessly when she started over his cock again drawing the chair to squeak harder with how hard she was using his body to get herself off. Her tight canal was clinging to him and fuck it felt so good. God, she was riding his cock like a champ. She knew what to do with it and she was doing it well. “Fuck…”

Glancing between them, Negan watched his cock disappearing into her again and again. Wincing out, he felt her pulling her hips from his again when she heard him start to breathe harder knowing that this was effecting him so intensely, “You don’t get to come before me daddy…”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan nodded his head when he agreed with her and her rules. A proud smile was over her beautiful features when she reached for his cock again to sink down over him taking him completely back into her. “My body is yours. Just please don’t keep stopping. Just fuck me. Please keep fucking me.”

“You’re such a whiny submissive Negan,” she curled her left arm around his shoulders while her right hand braced against his thigh to help give herself the power to use him exactly the way that she wanted to.

“Yes ma’am,” Negan repeated what he said earlier, his winces filling the air every time she smacked her hips down over him, taking his girthy cock into her.

By the sounds she was making he knew that she was enjoying herself and she would shake when the ridges of his cock would rub against her g-spot. She found the position that she liked and she was running with it. Negan’s moans started to get louder, his body tensing up and the vein at the side of his neck was bulging.

“Not yet, I’m almost there,” she ordered, sliding her hand up enough to tug at Negan’s hair while he bit down hard on his bottom lip.

“I’m trying,” Negan assured her with a firm nod of his head knowing that it felt so good, but he wanted her to have what she wanted. Her cries grew louder, her arms hooking around his shoulders to pull him closer. How hard she was riding him made it so fucking hard not to come while she was holding onto him. Bringing their lips together, Negan kissed her over and over again. The contractions of her pussy around him had his eyes squeezing shut tightly and when she pulled her hips from his length he started panting. Fuck, he felt like he was about to pass out at this point. Her head was resting against his shoulder after she had hit her orgasm. His cock was aching wanting the same kind of release while she was gathering herself from her orgasm. “Baby. Please let me come.”

With an amused breath, she gave him a nod, crawling back over him. Sinking back over his length had his lips parting, his eyebrows furrowing while he watched her working this time to bring him to his orgasm. Burying his head at the side of her neck, Negan’s moans grew louder, his kisses pressing over her flesh. It felt like she was using all her strength in her movements. How this chair that she had him tied to was still holding up with how hard she was riding him was amazing to him. The sex was rough and determined. The old chair beneath him was keeping up with their weight and movements which he was thankful for. Wincing, Negan felt his abdomen start to tighten up and his thighs were twitching beneath her.

“I’m going to come,” he alerted her, but her hips didn’t falter while she continued to roll her hips over him. Groaning out, Negan felt the first line of his cum start to fill her and she continued her movements over him until the very end of his release leaving him a panting mess against the side of her neck. Her fingers stroked through his hair, her lips claiming his again. Brushing his tongue against hers, Negan didn’t want this moment to end. “Fucking hell.”

Growling out, Negan felt her body adjusting over him and she reached for her pants to pull out a small knife. When she cut one of the ropes that were tied around his wrist, he immediately pulled his hand up and wrapped his fingers around the base of her throat. Her eyes narrowed at him, they were both breathless. Stroking his thumb over the soft, fleshy part of her throat, a wolfish smile expanded over Negan’s lips when he urged her to him again so he could kiss her with all the power that he could muster up.

Stroking his fingers over the back of her neck, Negan appreciated her laying her head against the side of his neck. Once she finally gathered herself back up, she stood up from Negan and he winced when his body pulled from hers. She grabbed the bottle of alcohol and moved over toward the fireplace that she had lit. Watching her closely, Negan worked to get himself out of the restraints she put him in. Standing up, he moved slowly and reached for Lucille where she had left the bat on the floor.

Once he reached Y/N, he pushed her firmly against the wall and heard her whimper. Turning her to face him, Negan smiled and nodded his head, “Get on your knees. Now.”

Obeying Negan, she did as he asked and he lifted Lucille, placing the tip of it underneath her jaw. There was no fear in her eyes while she looked up at him. Rolling his eyes, Negan snorted and tossed Lucille onto the table that was behind him. Reaching for the alcohol bottle that she had, he took a long swig of the burning liquid when he dropped down on the floor with her in front of the fireplace. Pulling her in over him, Negan’s arm was possessively wrapped around her waist while her hands cupped his face tenderly.

“You’re not going to punish me for what I did?” she wondered when he handed her the alcohol bottle and his lips kissed down over her jawline.

“Oh, I’m going to spend months punishing you,” Negan swept his thumb over the opposite side of her face. Tipping back, his eyes narrowed and he smiled again. “I’ll give you what you want, but you’re gonna have to work like hell to prove to me that it’s worth it.”

“Yes sir,” she snickered, pressing her forehead to his. Negan’s fingers hooked with hers and he let out a long exhale. “What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how the hell I’m gonna break everything to everyone,” Negan snorted, his thick eyebrows furrowing when he wrapped her up in his arms. “But I’ll make it work. I always do.”

---

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor​ @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish​ @labyrinthofheartagrams  @msjamesmarch​ @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar​ @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth​ @a-girl-interupted @akumune​ @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx​  @insertneganhere​ @haleygreen23​ @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost​ @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight​  @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes​ @tone-star

[asumofwords]

The Sublet - Masterlist

Modern AU Series (Completed)

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Chapter 1: Christmas Beetle

Chapter 2: Departure

Chapter 3: Cregan Stark

Chapter 4: Bunny

Chapter 5: Sīkudi Nopāzmi (Seven Hells)

Chapter 6: Lapse in Judgement

Chapter 7: Hard Truths

Chapter 8: Boiling Point

Chapter 9: Eye of the Storm

Chapter 10: Shifting and Changing

Chapter 11: Scars of the Past

Chapter 12: The Red Keep

Chapter 13: Proposition

Chapter 14: Over the Edge

Chapter 15: Stay

Taglist: Please ask if you would like to be added to the taglist

@mrstargayen09 @malfoytargaryen @hogwarts1207 @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @seni039 @qyburnsghost @lilitheal @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @loser-keiji @watercolorskyy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @toodlesxcuddles @kaelatargaryen @aemonds-fire @anitazut @melsunshine @persephonerinyes @hey-lucille @wintrr13 @arcielee @hueanhdang @coffedraven @happinessinthebeing @zairishmya @hanula18 @lovejustlovelythings-blog @harryssunflxwer @spinachtz @bellaisasleep @aemshaircare @heavenly1927 @yentroucnagol @snh96 @thedamewithabook @hanula18 @sweethoneyblossom1 @siriusblackrunmeover17 @yentroucnagol @urmomsgirlfriend1

Bold is who I cannot tag

[corruptedcaps]

Witch Switch

Lucille stood over Morgan, a triumphant sneer curling her lips. In the cold, dimly lit chamber, Morgan was bound to a stone altar, her once radiant white dress now dulled by dust and grime. Lucille raised her hands, her fingers glowing with a sickly green light, muttering the incantation that would siphon Morgan’s power.

“You’ve always been one step ahead of me, Morgan, always top of the class in spell class, in potions study, in divination predictions but I bet you didn’t see this one coming.” Lucille hissed, circling her.

Morgan strained against the invisible bonds holding her down, her vibrant blue eyes meeting Lucille’s with a defiant glare. “You spent all your time on magic to serve your ego. You became beautiful but it cost you your soul! You’ll never win, Lucille. No matter what you do, you’ll never beat me.” She spat.

Lucille’s grin widened as she reached the crescendo of the spell. The room filled with an ominous hum as green tendrils of energy snaked from Lucille’s hands and wrapped around Morgan’s body. A sudden force pulled at Morgan’s very essence. But something felt wrong.

Lucille gasped as the light shifted from green to a brilliant white. The force she had intended to steal Morgan’s magic instead drew out something different, Morgan’s soul.

A flood of purity, kindness, and warmth surged into Lucille, and the impact was immediate. She staggered back, clutching her chest as Morgan’s essence poured into her. Guilt, empathy, regret, all the things she had lacked for years crashed into her mind. She gasped, her hands trembling, as the goodness in Morgan’s soul overwhelmed her.

“What… what have I done?” Lucille whispered, her eyes wide, her voice shaky. She released Morgan from her invisible bonds out of her newfound compassion but it would prove to be unwise.

Morgan’s body was still for only a moment before something new stirred within her. She slowly rose from the altar, her eyes now gleaming with a dark, seductive energy. Her lips curled into a wicked smile.

“Thank you, Lucille, from freeing me from the shackles of a pesky soul. I never knew what a weight it was having one.” Morgan purred, her voice dripping with menace.

Morgan glanced down at her once-pure white dress and sneered. With a flick of her wrist, her clothing transformed. Tight black latex and leather clung to her body, accentuating every curve. Her lips plumped up with a dangerous red shade, her eyes rimmed with heavy, shadowed makeup. She arched her back, and with another wave of her hand, her tits grew fuller, her waist narrower, and long sharp black nails sprouted from her fingertips.

“Oh, this feels much better. I’ve been playing the good witch for so long it was about time I embraced my… darker side.” Morgan said, admiring her reflection in the mirror Lucille had placed in the chamber. With a wave of her hand her soft, golden curls became sleek and stark white, cascading down her back.

Lucille stared in disbelief. “This… this wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t mean to—”

“Who gives a damn what you wanted, it’s high time my wants and desires were met.” Morgan interrupted, stepping closer.

“Please… let me try and fix this, I can do it.” Lucille said as she backed away from Morgan’s advancing, her new, seductive form exuding an intimidating presence.

Morgan let out a cold laugh that sent a chill down Lucille’s spine. With a flick of Morgan’s wrist Lucille levitated off the ground, held in place by an unseen force. “Fix this? Why would I want to go back to being constrained by my morality? I can now fulfil my destiny by becoming the most powerful witch to ever exist! Even if I agreed, you’re too inept to perform the magic correctly. Here let me show you how the spell should have gone.”

Lucille’s eyes widened with a mix of fear and dread. “No… Morgan, wait. You don’t have to—”

But Morgan was already muttering the incantation under her breath, her voice smooth and confident. The room darkened as shadows gathered around her, swirling like a storm of dark energy. The green tendrils of magic that Lucille had used to drain Morgan’s soul reappeared, were now coming from Morgan, like thick smoke curling through the air.

Lucille could feel her power slipping away, draining out of her as the dark tendrils wrapped around her body. She was powerless to stop Morgan’s spell from ripping the magic from her, siphoning it into Morgan’s already brimming core.

Morgan’s eyes fluttered shut as she absorbed the energy, her body glowing faintly with power. She breathed in deeply, her lips parting in satisfaction as the last of Lucille’s magic poured into her.

Lucille collapsed to the floor, weak and powerless, her skin pale and clammy. “Please… stop…”

Morgan’s eyes snapped open, burning with dark energy. She crouched down beside Lucille, gently lifting her chin with a clawed finger. “Oh, poor Lucille, now you can live the rest of your days watching as a true evil witch takes over.” She cooed mockingly.

She stood back up, her new power swirling inside her, making her feel invincible. The air around her crackled with energy, and a dark, seductive smile crossed her lips. “Now, that’s better. Your power was barely an appetizer but I’ll put it to better use than you did.”

With that, Morgan turned and strode toward the door, the power she had taken coursing through her veins. The black latex and leather hugged her body perfectly, her sharp nails gleaming as she ran her hand down the smooth stone wall on her way out.

Before leaving, she cast one last look over her shoulder, her dark lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, and Lucille? I told you you’d never win didn’t I?”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she vanished into the shadows, leaving Lucille powerless, guilt-ridden, and utterly alone in the darkness.

[daryltwdixon]

Part I

Warnings: this story revolves around a relationship with Negan Smith to begin with. This chapter, and many more to come, will involve smut. You have been warned! 18+

Word count: 7k

He's late.

You sit sprawled across the lavish leather sofa, fingers twisting absentmindedly through the ends of your hair. The faint scent of leather and smoke lingers in the room, clinging to the walls like a ghost of past nights sat with collected malt whiskey and cigars in front of the small fireplace. But it’s quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that sneaks under your skin and sets your teeth on edge.

Negan is late.

He’s always late, sure, but last night was different. You feel it now in the foggy blue of the morning that creeps through the windows, that low hum of unease curling in your gut. Usually, when he’s out, there’s some noise—a stray laugh from one of his men echoing down the hall, or the distant clatter of boots in the yard. Something to break the stillness. But everyone was out with him for the ambush last night. All men on deck. And during that time, the air felt heavy, like the world had been holding its breath, waiting for him to come back and… do what? Crack a joke? Smirk like nothing in the world can touch him?

That’s what you’re banking on.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, forcing your muscles to relax even though your nerves buzz beneath the surface. There’s no point in worrying—not when you know how this works. Negan always comes back. Always. Even when you’re not sure what version of him you’re going to get. The charming asshole with the wicked grin? The wolf prowling for his next excuse to make an example out of someone? Or maybe, just maybe, the man you see when it’s just the two of you, when the walls come down long enough for him to be more than his damn persona.

The door finally creaks open, and you glance up, your expression schooled into calm curiosity. You’ve learned to hide the flinch, the instinct to tense at the unknown. That’s not who you are—not anymore. Not with him.

“I missed you. You were out late,” you croon from your place on the leather sofa, your fingers continuing their absentminded curling through your locks. The calmness in your tone is practiced, like a poker face for your voice. Inside, you’re already bracing yourself—Negan late meant something happened, and something happening with him was rarely small.

“It was a long night, baby,” Negan says from the doorway. His voice is gentle, almost subdued, which puts you on edge more than anything. When he steps into the cool morning light of the room, the crimson stains on Lucille catch your eye. A flash of something sharp twists in your gut, but you swallow it down and let your expression smooth over. You’ve gotten good at that, hiding the gut-punch reactions. A wide-eyed look doesn’t get you far with him.

He sets Lucille against the wall with a sigh, his head falling back like he’s shaking something off. His hands scrub over his face, dragging down his jaw. You notice the lines around his mouth seem deeper as he settles into the loveseat next to you. It’s not like him—usually, Negan comes home wearing his cocky grin like armor, smirking like the world’s still a joke he gets to tell. This morning? He looks… spent.

And you don’t like it.

“Anything I can do?” Your voice stays low as you shift your legs, sliding them up to rest in his lap. The movement is calculated: gentle enough to invite, but firm enough to ground.

Negan huffs, but his hand lands on your thigh, fingers curling against your skin, “Just comin’ back to your pretty face is enough, baby,” he sighs, his other hand brushing along your cheek. His thumb traces a line so soft it almost aches, and you find yourself leaning into it, despite the tension coiled tight in your chest.

You want to ask what the hell happened out there, but with Negan, you’ve learned timing is everything. Push too soon, and you’ll get deflection. Wait too long, and he’ll bury it deep enough to forget.

“Negan,” you whisper, your tone threading between coaxing and firm. His eyes meet yours, dark and intense like they always are. They’re not the eyes of a broken man, no—not Negan. But in these early hours, there’s something heavier behind them, like he’s carrying more than his usual load of chaos.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady despite the prickle of unease crawling up your spine. “Did you catch the guys that killed Bud?”

“Yeah,” he says, and there it is—the familiar smirk creeping back, like a mask sliding into place. You’ve always had a love-hate relationship with that damn smile. It’s equal parts charm and warning, a signal that Negan’s back in control of whatever storm he walked through.

“So what’s wrong?” you press, keeping your tone soft, but your eyes sharp.

His thumb slows its tracing along your cheekbone, like he’s buying time to find the right words. “Had to kill an extra son of a bitch,” he says finally, his voice tinged with something unreadable. Regret? No, that’s not him. Maybe frustration. Or satisfaction. It’s hard to tell.

You open your mouth to ask more, but then his smirk deepens, cutting through the tension. “But good news is,” he drawls, his grin growing into something closer to the Negan you know, “I brought home a project.”

Your brows knit together, and for a moment, you stare at him, trying to piece together what the hell that could mean. A project? With Negan, that could be anything from a broken toaster he found amusing to someone breathing their last breaths in the Sanctuary basement.

“You wanna elaborate on that?” you ask, tilting your head, your tone laced with dry sarcasm. “Or is this gonna be one of those ‘surprises’ where I regret asking?”

Negan chuckles, low and rough, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, the one on your thigh inching up, “Patience, baby” he says, leaning in close enough that his breath brushes your skin. “You’ll see soon enough.”

You’re still studying him, caught in that quiet pull of the unknown, when Negan shifts. It’s subtle at first—a change in his posture, the way his shoulders roll back, the tension in his frame unraveling as his smirk grows sharper. The weariness you noticed earlier melts into something else entirely, something raw and electric that thrums in the air between you.

Just like that, the predator slips back into his skin.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice dropping low, that rough edge in it making your pulse skip. His hand curls around your wrist, tugging you toward him with just enough force to make it clear he’s not asking.

You let him pull you, your lips curving into a sly smile as you slide into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. His hands are on you immediately, strong and sure, one gripping your waist while the other roams up your back, pressing you flush against him.

“Missed you sittin’ pretty right here,” he says, his breath warm against your ear as his lips brush the edge of your jaw. You shiver, but you don’t let him see how easily he’s gotten to you. Instead, you tilt your head back, meeting his gaze with a raised brow.

“Didn’t look like you missed me when you walked in,” you tease, your tone light, but your hands slide up his chest, fingers tracing over the leather of his jacket. “Seemed more like you wanted to fall into bed and forget the world.”

His smirk widens, and he leans in, his nose brushing yours as he speaks. “Oh, I wanna forget the world, alright. But fallin’ into bed’s a lot more fun when you’re in it with me.”

His lips capture yours before you can respond, and any retort you might’ve had dissolves into the heat of the kiss. It’s not soft or sweet—it never is with Negan. It’s demanding, consuming, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for anything else but the fire spreading between you.

You grip his jacket tighter, using it as leverage to press closer, your hips rocking against his in a slow, teasing grind. He groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist tighter as if he’s holding himself back from losing control entirely.

“Keep doin’ that,” he growls against your lips, his hands sliding down to cup your thighs, urging you to move. “See what happens.”

You pull back just enough to smirk at him, your breath coming quick as your eyes lock on his. “What’s gonna happen, Negan?” you ask, your voice dropping to match his.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you back into him as his lips crash against yours again, his other hand roaming over your body like he can’t touch you enough. His grip is possessive, almost bruising, and you revel in it—it makes your skin feel like it’s on fire.

Negan’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your back as you shift in his lap. His touch is rough, unrelenting, and it sends sparks racing through you with every movement. You don’t stop, don’t hesitate, letting him guide you as his hands move lower, fingers digging into the curve of your ass to pull you even closer.

“You’re a goddamn dream, you know that?” he growls, his voice thick with heat as his eyes rake over you. His head tilts back against the couch, and you watch the way his lips part, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s barely holding himself together.

It’s rare to see him like this—Negan, who always seems so in control, so confident, looking like he might unravel completely beneath you. The sight sends a thrill through you, and you can’t resist leaning in, your lips connecting with the heat of his skin.

Negan’s hands slide to the hem of your dress, his fingers gripping the fabric like he’s seconds from tearing it off you. But you don’t let him. With a smirk, you lean back just enough to reach for the straps, slipping them off your shoulders one at a time letting the silky fabric pool at your waist. His eyes darken, raking over your body like he’s starving, and you revel in it—the heat of his gaze, the way his breath quickens as he drinks you in. His hands skim over your bare skin, from the curve of your waist to the swell of your hips, his touch firm but reverent, all the while a predator ready to eat his prey.

You lean into him, pressing your chest against the leather of his jacket still clinging to his body. The cool, worn material contrasts with the heat of his body beneath it, and you shiver at the sensation. There’s something intoxicating about it—the feel of the leather against your skin, the way it smells like him, sharp and heady and undeniably Negan.

“I love this jacket,” you murmur, your lips brushing his ear as your fingers trace the edge of the collar. “Almost as much as I love the man wearing it.”

His grin is wicked, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I’m not gonna let you leave this couch, darlin’,” he growls, his lips finding your neck as his teeth graze your skin, sending a jolt of heat straight through you.

“Who says I wanna leave?” you tease, your fingers threading through his hair as his mouth moves lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat and across your collarbone. His tongue flicks against your skin, followed by the scrape of his teeth, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Negan groans, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he pulls you closer, his mouth closing around your nipple, tongue and teeth and warmth making you push down on his lap harder. He’s relentless, worshiping every inch of skin he can reach, and it leaves you breathless, your head spinning as you grind against him, desperate for more.

His eyes are dark, blown wide with desire when he pulls away, and his lips are slick and swollen from kissing you. He looks wrecked, and it sends a thrill through you—a heady rush of power that makes you want to see just how far you can push him.

Without a word, you slide off his lap, sinking to your knees in front of him. The smirk on his face doesn’t falter, but his eyes darken, watching you like a predator surveying its prize. He doesn’t ask what you’re doing—he knows. And he’s already enjoying every second of it.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he mutters, leaning back, his hands spreading wide across the top of the couch, making him look bigger and more intimidating. He’s letting you take the lead, for now, but there’s no mistaking the tension in his frame, the way his knuckles tighten against the leather as you reach for his belt. “You gonna spoil me today? That it?”

Your lips curl into a knowing smile, and you keep your movements slow, deliberate, as you tug the leather strap free and work the buckle open. He doesn’t move to help—doesn’t have to. The heat of his gaze alone has you trembling, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as you lower his zipper.

“You’re good to me, baby,” he says, his voice rough and low, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone as you free him. “Always such a good girl for me.”

His words make your cheeks flush, but you don’t falter. Instead, you lean in, and when you pull his throbbing member out of its confines, you bring your lips down to brush against him in a featherlight kiss. His breath hitches, his fingers curling against the armrests like he’s holding himself back, and you revel in the way you’re unraveling him.

“Don’t tease,” he growls, his voice sharp enough to send a thrill down your spine. “You know how much I fuckin’ hate bein’ teased.”

You smirk, dragging your tongue along him in a slow, deliberate motion before taking him into your mouth. His groan is low and guttural, his head falling back against the couch as his hand finally moves to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, his grip tightening slightly as you set a rhythm, one hand following the path of your mouth, the other steady on his thigh, “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

His praise is rough, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath and the occasional groan as you take him deeper, your movements confident and unrelenting. His hips twitch beneath you, and you feel his control slipping, his restraint fraying as you push him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice breaking as his fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your pace now. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that? My good fuckin’ girl.”

His words send a rush of heat through you, and you hum around him, drawing another groan from his lips as his free hand fists against the leather of the couch. His head tilts forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours, and the raw, unfiltered hunger in his gaze makes your pulse race.

“You’re gonna make me lose it, baby,” he mutters, his tone rough and desperate now. “Keep goin’—don’t you dare stop.”

You don’t plan to. Not until you’ve taken everything he has to give, leaving him wrecked and breathless beneath your touch. The man who has given you everything, built everything with you alongside him. Negan wasn’t just your man—he was your partner, your king in the chaos of this broken world. Together, you’d carved out a life, a sanctuary, no matter how many bodies it took to get here.

This morning though… You could see it in his eyes the second he walked through the door. Something had shaken him. He’d come home different—grim, weary in a way that wasn’t like him. The weight of whatever went down still clings to him now, despite the cocky grin and the tension humming through his body.

You know he won’t talk about it, not right away. Negan never likes to linger on dirty business. But this? This is something you can give him. A way to pull him out of whatever hell he walked through and remind him who he is—who you are together.

His breathing stutters, his hips jerking beneath you as his grip tightens in your hair, and you smirk against him, taking him into your throat, tears leaking from your eyes from the depth of him. You flick your tongue to tease him in the way you know drive him wild. You want him undone, completely at your mercy, to see him stripped of that constant control he keeps so carefully in place.

But before you can push him over the edge, he growls low in his throat, his hand tugging sharply at your hair. “Enough,” he says, his voice rough, commanding. “Get up.”

You pause, pulling back just enough to glance up at him. His eyes are blazing now, dark and hungry as he stares down at you, his chest heaving. He doesn’t give you time to question him before he’s pulling you to your feet, his hands gripping your arms with a force that leaves you breathless. 

“Don’t think you’re the only one in charge here,” he mutters, his lips curving into that wicked smirk you know too well. “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

Before you can respond, his large, warm hands slide up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Under your dress, you feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s the sharp smack of his hand on your ass that makes you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders for support.

“That’s better,” he growls, his voice rough with heat as he grips your hips and stands, guiding you to bend over the armrest. His leather jacket brushes against your skin as he moves behind you, the contrast of the cool material and his heated touch sending shivers racing down your spine.

“You like bein’ my good girl, don’t you?” he mutters, his hands sliding over your ass, squeezing, teasing. “Doin’ everything I say, makin’ me lose my goddamn mind?”

“Yes,” you breathe, skin flushing in anticipation.

“Yes, what?” he growls, his voice sharp and commanding. The sting of his palm comes down on your ass before you can answer, the sharp crack echoing in the room as you flinch, your skin burning from the impact.

“Yes, Negan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as your fingers claw into the seat of the couch. Your body bends instinctively, your dress hiking up over your waist as he stands behind you, his presence overwhelming. The cool leather of the armrest presses against your pelvis, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

Everything is a contradiction—hot and cold, the sharp sting of his hand and the soothing slide of his fingers as he grips your hips. Your mind is turning to mush, overwhelmed by the man behind you, by the way he owns every inch of you without hesitation or apology. 

“That’s my good girl,” he mutters, his voice low and full of rough affection. His hands trail over your skin, squeezing, teasing, like he’s taking his time to admire his work. “Look at you, darlin’. Already so fuckin’ perfect.. So ready to take me.”

You shiver as you feel him guide the tip of himself against your soaking center, the pressure enough to make you whimper as he pauses, teasing you. “You ready for me, baby?” he murmurs, his voice laced with a wicked edge. “You want me to make you mine again?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice breaking as you push back against him, desperate for more. You remember your punishment from only moments ago and breathe,”Yes, Negan,”

“Good,” he growls, gripping your hips tighter as he pushes into you with one smooth, deliberate thrust. The stretch of him has you crying out, your hands clutching at the couch as he fills you completely.

Negan doesn’t wait. He sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours as his grip on your hips keeps you steady. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural groans.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, his voice strained as he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back. His hand slides around to grip your throat, pulling you upright against him as he moves to stand again, “You feel so goddamn good. Like you were made for me.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, overwhelming and unrelenting. The smooth catch of his jacket against your skin, the cool leather beneath you, the heat of his body—it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Say it,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips drive into you harder. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasp, your voice breaking as your nails dig into his arms. “I’m yours, Negan. Only yours.”

“Damn right,” he growls, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch and eyes roll. “You’re mine, darlin’. Always.”

The tension in your body coils tighter with every thrust, your cries growing louder as Negan drives into you, relentless and consuming. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to send a surge of heat through you, his other hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back against his shoulder. The angle forces you open to him completely, and the sheer dominance in his movements sets your body alight.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growls against your ear, his voice ragged as his lips scrape along your jawline. “Look at you, baby—takin’ me so goddamn good. This is where you belong.”

Each word is punctuated by the slap of his hips against yours, and the raw, unfiltered pleasure of it has you trembling, your fingers clawing at his arm that folds across your chest in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. But there’s no grounding yourself, no escaping the way he consumes you, every inch of him pushing you closer to the edge until you’re teetering, breathless and utterly undone.

“Negan,” you gasp, your voice breaking as his name spills from your lips like a plea, your body arching against him as he pulls you tighter. His growl vibrates through your chest, primal and possessive, and you know he’s just as lost in this as you are.

“Cum for me,” he demands, his hand sliding down from your hip, pressing onto your clit and pulling you back into him with bruising force. “Right fuckin’ now, baby. I wanna feel it. Show me how good I make you feel.”

The command shatters the last thread of your restraint, and the tension snaps violently, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it steals your breath. You cry out, your body trembling in his arms as the release overtakes you, leaving you raw and utterly exposed.

Negan doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let you come down as he chases his own high, his rhythm growing erratic, his grip tightening as he slams into you. His breath is hot and heavy against your ear, his voice low and full of heat as he mutters your name like a prayer.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips driving into you one last time before he comes undone, his body going rigid against yours. His grip on you is almost bruising as he empties himself inside you, the force of his release pulling a deep, guttural growl from his chest.

For a moment, the two of you stay frozen like that, his chest pressed flush against your back, the weight of him grounding you even as your legs tremble beneath you. His hand slides from your throat to your waist, his fingers tracing over your skin in a rare moment of tenderness.

“Jesus, baby,” Negan mutters, his voice a rasp against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as his chest rises and falls against your back. His arm stays locked around your waist, holding you tight against him as you both catch your breath, your bodies still trembling from the aftermath of everything he’s just given you. His hand slides up your stomach, brushing along your skin in slow, deliberate strokes, a contradiction to the unrelenting force he showed just moments ago.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of leather and sweat clinging to the air between you, and yet, there’s a tenderness in his hold now—unexpected, but not unwelcome. His lips graze the curve of your neck, his teeth leaving a faint impression as he presses one last kiss there before easing his grip.

He moves carefully, turning you in his arms so that your chest presses against his, your legs unsteady as he supports your weight. His hands settle at your hips, steadying you, and for a moment, his dark eyes hold yours, a flicker of something softer flashing there.

“Hold on to me,” he murmurs, his voice low, as he sweeps an arm beneath your knees and lifts you like you weigh nothing. The sudden shift makes you gasp, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, but he doesn’t say a word, his focus fixed as he carries you toward the bed.

He sets you down with a care that feels foreign coming from him, laying you back against the soft sheets like you’re something fragile. His hands linger, brushing over your thighs as if reassuring himself you’re still there, before he straightens, his eyes raking over you in the dim light.

“You stay right there,” he mutters, his tone quieter now but still edged with that commanding authority. Tugging off his leather jacket to reveal a crisp white t-shirt and toned arms, he disappears into the adjoining bathroom, the sound of water running punctuating the silence. When he returns, it’s with a damp cloth in hand, his steps deliberate as he moves back to you.

Kneeling beside the bed, he presses the cloth to your inner thigh, his touch firm but gentle as he cleans you. The contrast of him—so sharp, so rough, yet so tender in this moment—makes your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, your voice softer than you intend, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. The stern but somehow gentle look in his eyes tells you there’s no room for arguing. There’s no teasing, no smirk—just a quiet, raw honesty that he rarely lets you see. 

When he’s finished, he tosses the cloth aside and rises to his feet. You half expect him to leave, to slip back into the sharp-edged persona he wears for everyone else, but instead, he surprises you. He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, revealing the hard lines of his chest, before tugging down his pants and letting them fall to the floor. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, as if he has all the time in the world. Then, without a word, he climbs into bed beside you.

Negan stretches out on his back, one arm folding behind his head while the other snakes around your waist, tugging you close. You curl into him instinctively, your cheek resting against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you. His fingers trace idle patterns on your hip, a stark contrast to the way he gripped you earlier, and the contradiction of him leaves your head spinning.

“Get some sleep” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. His lips brush your temple, soft and fleeting, before he leans back against the pillows, “Bet you’ve been up all night,”

“Just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as your eyes flutter closed.

The world feels small, reduced to the warmth of his body against yours and the quiet strength of his presence. And as sleep begins to pull you under, you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, wrapped in the arms of the man who rules with fire but holds you with a care only you will ever see.

The morning light is brighter now as it streams through the grimy windows of the compound, catching the dull shine of hand carved wooden tables and casting long shadows across the floor. You move through the wives’ quarters with practiced ease, a coffee pot in one hand and a tray of bread and fruit in the other. Breakfast is simple here—nothing fancy, but enough to keep everyone going. You’ve made it your task to ensure they’re fed, hydrated, and generally in order. It’s not an official job, not something Negan told you to do, but it keeps things running smoothly. Keeps the peace.

Well, most of the time.

“Here,” you say, setting a fresh water bottle in front of one of the wives, a younger girl whose hands tremble as she takes it. She thanks you quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting to the others like she’s afraid they might pounce on her for speaking. A newbie, you guess.

You study her for a moment. She looks shaken, fragile in a way you haven’t seen in a while. The older ones, the ones who’ve been here longer, have a harder shell about them. This one hasn’t grown it yet. You know she will, though. They all do eventually.

It should bother you more, seeing her like this, but it doesn’t. Not really. That part of you—the part that used to ache for people, that used to want to reach out and comfort—feels like it’s been burned out. If you let yourself care too much, you’d drown in it. And drowning? That’s a luxury you can’t afford in this place. Not when you’re supposed to be strong.

You glance at the others, catching the sharp, sidelong looks they shoot your way when they think you aren’t paying attention. Some of them don’t bother to hide it, their eyes full of disdain, resentment. You used to try with them. Used to smile, offer kind words, even defend them when Negan’s temper flared too hot. But the icy stares never thawed, no matter what you did. So eventually, you stopped trying.

To hell with them and their glares. Let them be jealous—if that’s even what it is. You’re not sure what they have to envy. Friends? They’ve got each other, clustered together in their little groups, whispering behind their hands like schoolgirls. You? You’ve got no one but Negan. And honestly? That’s all you want.

You watch as the women settle in, their chatter a low murmur in the background as they eat. You’ve made your peace with what this is. You’re not one of them, never have been, never will be. They don’t understand the bond you and Negan share, the years it took to build this place together. They don’t see the weight you carry next to him, the choices you’ve made to keep this kingdom standing.

They don’t see you as a queen. Just another woman vying for Negan’s attention.

But you know better. You were here before any of them. You helped carve this sanctuary out of the chaos, brick by brick, deal by deal, sacrifice by sacrifice. And you’re still here, standing at Negan’s side, not because you have to, but because you choose to. That’s what sets you apart, isn’t it? You’re not a pretty token for him to barter with, not a pawn he trades to smooth over disputes or reward loyalty. The other women? They don’t have that luxury. You’ve seen it happen too many times—Negan clapping a man on the back, calling him a “good soldier,” and offering one of the wives as a reward for the evening, like a drink or a smoke.

The thought makes your stomach twist, even though you’ve learned to numb yourself to it. You tell yourself it’s better than what the world out there would give them. They’re safe here, clothed, fed, and protected. That’s what matters. Isn’t it? You’ve repeated that line enough times to make it sound true, even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

But you’re not like them. Negan never lets anyone touch you. Never offers you up as a “treat” to a loyal savior or a bargaining chip for some new deal. You’re his, wholly and completely. And maybe that’s why the other wives glare at you like they do, whispering behind your back when they think you’re not listening.

Negan keeps you wholly and fully to himself.

The thought stirs something warm in your chest, a fierce kind of pride that you try not to let show. It’s no wonder they hate you. They think it’s favoritism, that you’re untouchable because Negan won’t share you like the others. Maybe they’re right. Maybe that’s why the glares cut deeper in the beginning, why their whispered insults lingered in your mind at night.

But not anymore. You’ve learned to wear their scorn like armor, letting it roll off you as you hold your head high. You’re not here to make friends. You’re here to rule, side by side with the man who built this place with you.

Let them glare. Let them whisper. In the end, you’re the one they answer to, whether they like it or not.

“Y/N,” a soft voice interrupts your thoughts, pulling your attention. Sherry stands a few feet away, her wide, gentle eyes fixed on you like she’s trying to gauge your mood before saying anything else.

“What is it, Sherry?” you ask, turning toward her. Your gaze sweeps over her—a habit by now, assessing her appearance without thinking. She’s so thin these days, a shadow of herself since she and Dwight came crawling back after that ill-fated escape. Her neat black dress hugs her frame, the fabric managing to look both poised and faintly funereal. She fits the image Negan demands, but the cracks are there if you know where to look. And you do.

“Amber is having a rough time,” Sherry says hesitantly, her voice dipping like she’s afraid you might snap at her. “Is there any way—?”

“Amber needs to pull herself together,” you cut in, your tone sharper than you intend. You see Sherry flinch, just a little, but you don’t soften. You can’t. If you give an inch, they’ll take a mile, and you’ll be the one left dealing with the fallout. “Negan has given her all the time in the world. Has she spoken to the therapist? Seen doctor Carson?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sherry answers quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then she needs to get over herself,” you say, the words harsher this time. A flicker of guilt stirs in your chest, but you push it down. “She made her choice, Sherry. She needs to accept her place here. There’s nothing I can do. She’s fed. She’s sheltered. You know how this works.”

You meet Sherry’s gaze, unyielding, as her eyes search yours with quiet desperation. Wide and imploring, they seem to plead for something you’re not sure you can give. Comfort? Reassurance? You wonder, not for the first time, if she regrets the deal she made, if she lies awake at night wondering how much of her soul she traded for a sliver of safety.

Her gaze drops after a moment, her shoulders sagging as she nods.

“Just…” you sigh, letting the tension ease out of your voice as you glance toward the door. “Take her out with Tanya. Get some fresh air. On the north side—not the one with the rotting assholes at the fence.”

“Yes, Y/N. Thank you,” Sherry says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It’s tight, forced, but grateful all the same.

You watch her go, her movements brisk but not without the lingering weight of whatever she carries inside. You don’t know if she’ll actually help Amber or if the girl will ever pull herself together. But you’ve done what you can, and that’s all you’re willing to give.

They all made their choices.

You tell yourself that again as you turn back to the task at hand, forcing the guilt to settle back into the quiet corner of your mind where you keep it locked away. There’s no room for weakness here, no room for pity—not when you’re the one who’s supposed to keep things running.

You leave the wives’ quarters with your shoulders set, the weight of Sherry’s quiet pleading still clinging to you. The halls are quieter now, the morning lull settling over the Sanctuary like a heavy blanket. As you turn a corner, you spot Dwight approaching from the opposite end, his familiar limp just visible as he strides toward you. The wrinkled skin of his healed burns on his face catch the dull fluorescent light, a constant reminder of what happens when people step out of line.

He’s wearing a vest over a simple shirt, the leather clinging to his thin frame. His blonde hair hangs in greasy strands around his face, though his expression is triumphant, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s an edge of pride in his posture, the kind of satisfaction that comes from surviving the night and coming out on top.

“Dwight,” you call, and he stops, waiting for you to approach. He smells faintly of sweat and smoke, his expression turned blank but guarded as always.

“Y/N,” he greets you, bowing his head slightly.

“I need an update about last night,” you say, your tone firm but not harsh. You tilt your head, studying him as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with a practiced flick. “Negan wasn’t exactly chatty when he got back.”

Dwight exhales a plume of smoke, his lips tightening slightly. “It was a long night,” he begins, his voice gruff. “We tracked a group most of the day—ran into ‘em in the woods. They were carrying some lady on a stretcher, tryin’ to get her to Hilltop. Fought us hard. Real hard.”

You fold your arms across your chest, nodding for him to continue.

“Took a while to get their leader to submit,” he says, his tone flattening as if he’s deliberately withholding emotion. “Negan made an example out of one of ‘em. Some red-headed guy. You know, the usual introduction."

Your stomach twists, thinking of Lucille and the scarlet stains on her this morning, but you don’t let it show. That’s how this works. Brutality keeps people in line. It’s how you’ve built what you have, how you’ve kept it safe.

“And?” you prompt, your voice steady.

“Then one of ‘em—one of the guys—punched Negan.” Dwight lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Idiot. That’s when Negan had to punish ‘em. Took out another one of their people. But even after all that, their leader wouldn’t accept it.”

“What did he do to him?” you ask, trying to piece the events together. 

Dwight shrugs, flicking ash from the tip of his cigarette. “Dunno. Just took the guy away, said he’d have a chat. Didn’t come back to us ‘til dawn. We got to take a prisoner, too. Said we’d cut off his fingers or hands if they step out of line. They shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

You process his words, trying to tamp down the unease curling in your chest. The brutality doesn't surprise you—it’s necessary, isn’t it? It's how it's always worked. Still, the thought of two people killed and a prisoner taken sits heavy in your stomach.

Satisfied with the information, you nod. “Good. Let me know if anything changes.”

Dwight nods in return, taking another drag from his cigarette before turning to pass by you, back on his route to wherever he was headed. As he moves, the leather of his vest shifts, and your eyes catch on the angel wings stitched into the back.

You freeze, something about the sight pulling you back to a life you barely remember. Before the world went to hell, when things like leather vests and stitched wings meant something different.

“Where’d you get that?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intend. Dwight stops but doesn’t turn, glancing at you over his shoulder.

He straightens slightly, his posture instinctively respectful. “Picked it up off of one of the guys,” he says, his voice even, without a trace of defiance. He exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze flicking forward, avoiding direct eye contact as he continues. “Thought it was cool.”

His answer is simple, efficient, and devoid of unnecessary detail. You study him for a moment longer, searching his face for anything he might not be saying, but he doesn’t falter. Dwight knows better than to push boundaries, especially with you.

“Right,” you say finally, stepping back and trying to dismiss the thought for now. As you turn away, you catch another glimpse of the angel wings on the back of the vest, the stitching frayed but intact. The sight tugs at something buried deep in the haze of your memories, but you can’t place it. 

He lingers for a moment before nodding once and heading off, the faint smell of smoke trailing behind him. You watch him go, your thoughts snagging on the vest even as you push it aside. There’s work to do, and whatever it was that was tugging on you can wait.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Shine

This little scene arose out of a discussion with @edutainer2022 about a headcanon we share re the boys’ Mom and this lovely fic.

Fluff, with the tiniest glimmer of sad (only just because I love her but she’s no longer with them).

Featuring tiny feral toddler Scotty and a very much besotted husband 💙🤍💕

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

The speaker paused, her eyes twinkling as they always did when she knew the punchline and couldn’t wait to tell it. She completed the joke to an appreciative roar of laughter, a smattering of applause and one enthusiastic whoop.

Jeff wasn’t convinced that more than 50% of the room could actually have entirely got it… niche was an understatement. She’d had to explain several recent controversies from the world of experimental astrophysics to him last night before he appreciated that that particular part of the twelfth rewrite of her speech was actually funny on three different levels… but it didn’t matter.

You didn’t have to be married to this woman to know she could read out a grocery list and carry the adoring audience along with her. There was a reason it was the keynote after all.

She’d been so nervous. Same as she was before every paper she’d presented in all the time he’d known her. She’d agonised over the content of every class she’d given, no matter how small. He’d watched her pace the floor for a fortnight, glaring at her tablet in between bouts of frantic typing and clutching at her increasingly wild hair as she growled “WHY ME?” at the ceiling.

“Because you’re brilliant and they love you.”

This had become Jeff’s habitual refrain as he multitasked to perfection - simultaneously reassuring his wife while retrieving their tiny son from the top of the bookcase, the window ledge or, on one notable occasion which thankfully she still knew nothing of - inside the fridge.

She’d huff, never believing him. And yet, as he presumed was the case every time, as soon as she started speaking she relaxed.

And she shone.

Dr Lucille Tracy hadn’t taken the guest lectureship with much thought to the actual ‘lecturing’ part of it at all. That was just the quid pro quo. The offer of a close collaboration with those at the cutting edge of her field, the unparalleled opportunity to continue her research with the help of the brightest young minds - it should have been a no-brainer.

In the ordinary circumstances of their life, however, it would have been far too much alongside the remote but demanding day job at NASA, the all-day-and-most-of-the-night job raising a toddler whirlwind and the exhausting 24/7 secret mission of growing his sibling.

Jeff melted a little more as the love of his life shifted her stance behind the lecturn and ran a hand absently over the rapidly increasing bump. Alright, so they were probably long past the covert stage of that one now… she complained she was heavy and slow but was overtly glowing with life.

Again, Jeff thanked the stars she loved so much (and which she absolutely refused to countenance having any impact on their luck whatsoever don’t be ridiculous, Jefferson) that he’d had a well-timed hiatus in missions necessitated by the development and testing of the longer range craft that would hopefully carry him on the next one. He’d taken some rather belated paternity leave and insisted she take up the offer. And here they were.

And she was good at it. Very good.

Jeff had done public speaking training both at college and for work and he knew every trick in the book. But there were things that couldn’t be taught. Some things weren’t tricks after all.

He got the respect, sometimes a little awe from the younger ones. People followed Jeff because they respected him, because he spoke persuasively and, well, because he told them to. They hung on Lucy’s every word because her natural warmth and playfulness drew them in and the fact she seemed somehow to care deeply for each of them meant they stayed. That what she said was brilliant was almost secondary. The fact they happened to be learning from the best was a by-product. People just wanted to be near her.

It was the very reason he’d walked straight past his usual table in the NASA cafeteria that day, and found himself sat amongst a group of strangers listening to her tell some story about a cat in the observatory… or possibly it was a raccoon… he forgot the details but it didn’t matter. He was caught in her orbit and hadn’t regretted it for a second.

Despite the fact this wasn’t even a lecture, only a welcoming speech and that frankly they’d listen to and love any old thing she could come up with - Lucy redrafted and redrafted right up to the last minute, searching for the perfection she felt she owed them. Jeff, more of a rock up and wing it kind of guy, was occasionally exasperated but couldn’t ever convince her it was good enough to leave well alone.

He’d finally persuaded her to grab a couple of hours sleep when Scott had scaled his patently falsely marketed ‘unclimbable toddler gate’ and leaped into bed between the two of them. The kid even wriggled in his sleep. Jeff supposed they should be thankful the tiny flailing elbow hadn’t given her a black eye for her big day.

Their son squealed and bounced excitedly in his Dada’s arms and pointed up at Mommy’s face smiling down at them from the enormous screen and then at the smaller 3D figure on the stage. Jeff knew he shouldn’t really have brought him, but both sets of grandparents had been unavailable and Lee had looked frankly terrified at the prospect of solo responsibility for preventing young ‘Steve’ from leaping off high objects. There were some things you just didn’t inflict on your wingman. He redirected the little guy’s kicking feet from the poor chap in the next seat and helped them find the ground but kept a firm grip on his shoulders

“I know, Scotty, she’s wonderful isn’t she?” He murmured. “But we have to be quiet so everyone can hear her ok?”

The little boy nodded seriously and stood, jiggling quietly between Jeff’s knees, his rapt attention on the screen, his little fists opening and closing by his sides.

Jeff had lost the thread of the speech for a moment, he already knew it so well he hadn’t really been listening to the words as much as the cadence of her voice.

Clearly everyone else had though, as a sudden swell of chattering indicated they were following her instruction to spend five minutes discussing some particular point with their neighbour. It was a cunning ploy to give her chance to take a breath, a swig of water and to check through her mostly abandoned notes to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important.

Jeff bent to help Scott retrieve the multitude of brightly coloured plastic aircraft scattered across the floor in front of them before they became a trip hazard. At least their seats at the far end of the front row meant there was plenty of room for a little chaos.

An elderly gentleman tapped him on the shoulder, a look of expectation on his face and Jeff raced to remember what the prompt had actually been about. He failed, but scrabbled to introduce himself anyway, basking a little in the spark of recognition at the surname and the fact that in this crowd it was his connection to Her that merited it, rather than the minor NASA-specific fame that was attached to anyone who’d spent serious time on Alfie.

He smiled encouragingly as his neighbour launched into an excitable tirade about gamma ray bursts and wondered how far through the five minute break they were. Maybe he should take the opportunity to sneak one of Scotty’s snacks out of the small bag stashed under his chair. As soon as there was a decent gap in this chap’s monologue he’d apologise and…

The atmosphere suddenly changed as the hundreds of conversations shifted in tone from academic to amused with a heavy smattering of “awwwww!” The garrulous gamma enthusiast stopped and looked up and Jeff seized his moment, grabbing a cereal bar with his left hand and reaching for his son with the other.

The right hand closed on air.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh he had messed up so very, very badly.

Reluctantly lifting his eyes to the only raised object in the room he was just in time to see the curly-haired Houdini complete his speed-toddle across the huge stage and leap into the arms of his crouching Mommy, who looked up and raised a mildly exasperated eyebrow in the direction of his guilt-ridden but helpless father.

He went to stand and approach the front of stage to retrieve his wayward offspring but she shook her head ever so slightly and stood up, hefting Scott a little higher so that his little legs straddled her swollen belly and turned back to the podium.

“I’d like to introduce you all, in person, to my most devoted research assistant. Some of you may remember him from such video conferences as “the one where the laptop learned to fly”, or “the one with the high pitched screaming” and not forgetting my personal favourite “the one with the minor explosion”… say hello to the nice astrophysicists, Scotty.”

There was more laughter, applause and a few more enthusiastic whoops. One of those might have been Jeff.

Scott, who had been making a grab for the microphone looked up at the sudden cacophony and blinked rapidly in the lights. He caught sight of his Dada and waved manically and Jeff couldn’t do anything other than wave back. His wife, free hand resting on the top of the podium, caught his eye and the soft little crinkles at the corners reassured him she wasn’t at all cross and the subtle little three-finger wave in his direction told him how glad she was he was there.

Lucy lifted her gaze to the rest of the audience and cleared her throat.

“Anyway… back to pulsars.”

The captivated crowd immediately silenced as she leapt again into the detail of the research group’s recent discoveries. She showed the way, they followed.

She carried them all with her.

Filled with pride, Jeff drifted to the sound of her voice and luxuriated in the invisible warmth she radiated, strong enough to bathe every soul in the room.

***

The assembled delegates laughed again and applauded and the speaker grinned. The noise died down slowly and he waited for absolute silence, eyes twinkling in the way they always had when he knew the punchline and couldn’t wait to share it. Of course, half the audience were TI employees and knew precisely what the CEO was unveiling - many of them had been working on it for months after all. And yet there wasn’t a metaphorical buttock in the auditorium that wasn’t perched on the edge of its metaphorical seat. It was just the way of things - he showed the way, they followed.

He carried them all with him.

“Anyway… back to that little announcement I promised you.”

There were a few whoops (one might have been Jeff).

The keynote speaker looked up and caught his father’s eye, the soft little crinkles at the corners revealing how delighted he was to see him there. Scott raised three fingers from the edge of the lectern in a subtle salute before continuing.

Filled with pride, Jeff drifted to the sound of his voice and luxuriated in the invisible warmth his son radiated, strong enough to bathe every soul in the room.

And she shone.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

[dixons-sunshine]

The One That He Wants | Negan Smith x Grimes!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: Negan knew that he shouldn't want you. You both fought on opposite sides of the same war. But god, you were damn near irresistible.

Genre: Suggestive? I don't really know.

Era: Alexandria, Saviour arc + post Saviour arc.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos.

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: In celebration of JDM's birthday today, I decided to write a little something for Negan! I probably won't write for him on a consistent basis and I doubt that I'll open requests for him, but this was fun to write. I hope y'all like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Negan knew that he shouldn't be looking at you. You were Rick Grimes' sister, unofficial royalty to the people of Alexandria. If he wanted to keep Rick loyal and working for him, he shouldn't be making it obvious that he wanted you. Besides, you hated him, and if that punch you landed across his jaw on that first day he had come to Alexandria was anything to go by, you'd probably take great pleasure in bashing his head in with Lucille, his beloved baseball bat.

Negan knew that he shouldn't find it hot when you glare daggers in his direction. When he brought Carl back from the Sanctuary, he had found you seated on the couch, clad in shorts and an oversized T-shirt, cradling Judith in your arms. If looks could kill, he would've been a dead man that day. The nasty looks you had sent his way that day was enough to shake any man down to his core, but he didn't scare easily. He found it absolutely hot, and he couldn't understand why. But you had also managed to have a semi decent conversation with him without biting his head off, and had actually managed a smile at him, and that radiant smile of yours was enough to make butterflies do somersaults in his stomach.

Negan knew that he probably shouldn't have hesitated to kill you when the war broke out. You, Carl and Rick were lined up and all he had to do was bash your head in to show Rick who was in charge and not to mess with him. But one look at your face was enough to make him rethink what he wanted to do, and that gave the people of the other communities the opportunity to strike and take down a ton of his men. As he fled the scene, he felt confused, pathetic and downright disappointed in himself. You weren't someone he should find important or special, so why couldn't he kill you?

Negan knew he shouldn't have enjoyed it when you visited him in his cell. Your demeanor towards him had shifted immensely. No longer did you see him as the monster he had become. No, you actually looked at him like he was another human being, like he was someone worth keeping alive, someone worth saving. You spent a couple of hours each day just talking with him, telling him about what was happening outside, about Judith, just about anything in general. You even talked about your life before the apocalypse, and in return, he shared stories of his own. The two of you had formed an unlikely bond, and it was unnerving yet amazing to him. Over the years, you continued to come down just to talk to him, even when your brother seemingly died. You had become the highlight of his dreary days, and what initially had started out as want turned into something else, something deeper.

Negan knew he shouldn't have kissed you. He had a chance to escape due to Gabriel's negligence, and by god he was going to take that opportunity. Just as he was climbing over the wall, you had stopped him in his tracks. However, instead of shooting him or making a ruckus, you had instead handed him your gun, as well as some ammo and a bag filled with some supplies.

“Stay safe out there, and don't cause a scene. If you do, I'll hunt you down myself and kill you,” you had told him, taking a step back.

Negan had laughed and nodded. “Wouldn't expect any less from you, doll,” he had said, and before he could stop himself, he took a step forward and kissed you. However, instead of pushing him away or slapping him across his face, you had kissed him back. After that exchange, he had left, but his heart stayed with you.

Negan knew it was stupid to return to his cell. He was free, he could go wherever he wanted, but for some unknown reason, he wanted to return. Whether it was the safety the cell provided him or the food he was getting, or the fact that you were there in Alexandria's walls, he didn't know. What he did know, however, was that seeing you again filled a hole in his heart he hadn't known he had. And finally, after six years, he wanted to know why you treated him like you did.

“Why don't you want me dead? Why'd you try to stop Maggie when she wanted to kill me all those years ago?”

“Because Carl saw something in you. He believed you could change. He believed you could be better, and I believe it too. Call me stupid, call me naive, but I really think you're not a bad guy. If you were, you would've killed me back then. I care about you.”

“I've done things. You've experienced first hand what I could do. You should hate me.”

You had smiled at him and slowly opened his cell, before reaching for his hand and pulling him out. He had allowed you to take it and interlaced his fingers with yours, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“I've never been one to play by the rules. If I was, I wouldn't be down here talking to you. I care about you, Negan. And if you'll let me, and promise to be discreet and come back to your cell right after, I'll show you how much.”

“What about the guard on duty? We could get ca—”

You had silenced him by gently cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. The kiss was so soft, so tender, so undeniably you. He found himself melting into the kiss, but you pulled away to soon for his liking.

“It's my shift tonight. The next guard doesn't come to switch with me until dawn.”

Negan knew he shouldn't have taken you up on that offer. Michonne could've caught you sneaking him out of his cell and into your small home, but he couldn't resist you. For seven long years, he had kept himself at bay, but not anymore. He had you all to himself in that bedroom, and he was going to worship you like the goddess he saw you as.

Because for seven long years, you've been the one that he wants, and now he finally had you.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"We really need to stop meeting like this."

You knew that voice better than your own. Of course you did. The man was practically a mythical figure. You turned to see him leaning up against the wall a short distance down the hall from you, Lucille dangling in hand but resting against the floor. You turned around, still holding the crate you were hauling down to the kitchens.

Negan straightened up and paced closer. Your pulse quickened.

"I don't think it counts as meeting if you're just searching me out," you said. He grinned.

"Who says that's what's happening?" But the look you gave him made him chuckle and he shrugged. "So, what if it is? Anyway, I thought I'd bring you some news from home."

Your stomach churned with nerves and you nearly lost your grip on the crate in your hands. "Is—is everyone okay? You didn't—" You couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Kill some poor sonofabitch? Not this time. Everyone is just peachy, dollface. Unfortunately, that means Rick the Prick is still around and doing what he does." A flash of irritation flickered across his face. "And he's as righteous as ever."

You shifted and his hazel eyes studied your expression intensely.

"What was that thought, sugar? I saw it on your face, plain as day, even if it was only for half a second."

Your eyes were downcast. You shook your head. "I don't think I should say..."

Negan's finger, light under your chin, lifted your gaze to his. "Come on now. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't wanna know."

You gulped nervously, but spoke up. "I think part of the reason you hate Rick so much is because you have problems with authority."

Negan only smiled at this and you hated that it gave you goosebumps. "Babydoll, I am authority. And I keep telling you, if you'd just accept my damn proposal, you could have all the perks of that authority too. No more hauling crates or cleaning up kitchen scraps."

You held his eyes bravely now. "I can't," you said. "I have problems with authority too."

And at that, Negan smiled and laughed. He clicked his tongue. "Damn. This is part of why I like you so much. That quick wit... even if it's at my fuckin' expense."

Prompt: "You have problems with authority." / "I am authority."

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 1 Chapter 1

In honor of the Savior Carl!AU celebrating its fourth birthday this week (on Thursday 9th to be precise), I'm re-reading the whole series with a running commentary for anyone who might be interested in it. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 1, Ch 1 below the cut (spoilers for part 1 ahead):

First of all, it always blows my mind that I never realized the first thing Negan says to Carl in the Savior AU is... that he finds Carl hot. I wish I was kidding but this is literally what Negan says to Shane when he offers himself and Carl as Saviors:

"Hey, no offense, big guy. That's a good looking kid you have here, must take after his mama, that's all."

Like... That man noticed Carl the second he laid eyes on him. Iconic. And as if that wasn't enough, Negan throws in another compliment about Carl's eyes:

"Same goes for you, kid, if you don't want Lucille to bash your head in, eyes first. She likes ‘em baby blues, and you're just her favorite shade."

Jesus, Negan, just go down on one knee and propose, why don't you.

Something that's also hitting me as I'm re-reading the chapter is how frayed Carl and Shane's relationship already is when the story starts:

As Carl lies on his bare mattress in the Saviors' compound, Shane sleeping soundlessly on the bed, he reminds himself that it all rests on him. Shane is a gun always ready to go off. As long as Carl can point him in the right direction, it can all be alright. It has to be.

Shane lets Carl sleep on a bare mattress on the floor like a dog at his feet, while Carl thinks of Shane as a weapon he can use for his own survival. They are both dehumanizing the other, seeing the other as a mere tool. Shane's death at the end of part 1 was inevitable and all the elements for it are foreshadowed from the beginning:

Suddenly, Carl doesn't just long for his gun, he longs for a knife. A machete. A hatchet. This is the man who killed Abraham. This is the man who killed Glenn. Suddenly, he longs for a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

It's especially telling that Carl already wants to wield the bat (even if here he's thinking about killing Negan with it). I think it's Chandler Riggs who mentioned in an interview that when Carl sees the Sanctuary for the first time with Negan, part of him is attracted by the power Negan has. This is very much present here. Carl already wants *to be* Negan here, to have the same power he has, to be able to inflict pain and vengeful retribution the same way Negan did in the clearing.

Okay but now that we've talked about Negan's first words to Carl, we need to talk about Carl's first words to Negan:

After spending all day being shown around the Sanctuary, after being fed and brought to a cozy room with a kitchen area and a comfy bed, Carl feels the sudden need to correct him. "He's not really my dad."

AKA, "Should you want to be my new daddy, just know that this slot if available" lmao

Okay no, but for real, this is especially interesting that Carl's first words to Negan are used to distanciate himself from Shane. This is due to what happened at the clearing. Shane was humiliated, brought low on his knees, submitted by a more powerful Alpha male. And here, this is Carl distanciating himself from Shane's defeat. In my mind, Carl is a sub craving male authority and power. He needs to be by the side of the most powerful man around, it's how he feels safe and protected in the apocalypse. He needs to be under the wing of someone stronger to protect himself and baby Lori. Until the clearing, this used to be Shane. But the second Negan entered the picture and made Shane kneel, Carl's allegiances shifted, whether or not he's aware of it. This moment is Carl sending Negan a very important subtext: "We both know Shane lost, and I need you to know I'm not like him, I'm not a loser." This Carl is a savage and I love him forever.

"Then why in the hell are you calling him that? Fuck, wait, tell me this ain't some kinky baby/daddy shit. A few of my wives call me that and I'd really like to be able to get laid without thinking about Shane's ugly mug while I'm balls deep in pussy."

Right, Negan, because that's the most logical explanation and the first one your brain should arrive at. It's for sure not related to the fact that you think the kid is hot. This being the first thing that comes to mind is no doubt purely a coincidence and not at all fueled by your already raging lust for him. God, he was probably thinking about tumbling Carl on the bed right here and then in Carl's new room.

Back on a more serious note, it blows my mind how much foreshadowing there is in chapter 1 (yes, I know I wrote it, but sometimes I realize something is foreshadowing *after* writing it):

“I’m not leaving you alone with these people,” Shane says darkly once she’s closed the door and her footsteps have receded down the hallway. “They’re trying to split us up. Weaken us. We won’t let them.”

This is almost prophetic. Shane knew exactly what Negan would try to do because it's what *he* would do. Divide and conquer. But Shane here is only thinking in physical terms: separating Carl from him physically so the Saviors have them isolated and can easily be overpowered. He didn't realize Negan would be driving a wedge between them by connecting with Carl. And by the time he did, it was too late to stop it from happening.

Conclusion; tldr: I really like this chapter. It's short, compact, non-linear, and yet everything is already here. The frayed relationship between Shane and Carl, Negan's interest in Carl, Carl's interest in Negan, Carl's utter loyalty for his little sister and no one else's. My favorite thing, though, has to be the ending with the boat. I'm really really happy that I thought of taking this element that was part of Rick and Aaron's storyline and that I managed to use it as a test of loyalty for Negan to put Carl and Shane through. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm proud of myself on this one. I love playing with canon and reusing it in a different way.

Also, I mentioned in my 2024 fic wrap Tumblr post that when I first posted this story on AO3, the engagement with it was very low and the Cegan fandom was pretty much dead. To give you an idea, I posted chapter 1 on January 9th and didn't receive a comment until January 14th. The second comment was posted almost a month later in early February (by no one other than the wonderful @reallygreatblogname222!!). It took me a month to get 2 comments on this fic and I didn't get another one until June, 6 months after posting. As discouraging as it can be to write a fic with very low engagement, always remember to find the joy in your own writing and to persevere regardless of what sort of feedback you get on it. 4 years later, Part 1 has over 900 kudos and 151 comments. None of it would have been possible if I had let myself be discouraged and stopped posting before finishing the story. It takes time to build a community but know that your people will find you eventually <3

PS: boy did I love commas back then. I'm cleaning them up as I re-read the chapter but, wow, 2021 Duchess, ease up on the punctuation.

You can find the commentary for chapter 2 here.

[antiquatedsimmer]

Josephine had just caught sight of Lucile coming over the hill, her silhouette outlined by the setting sun. But it wasn’t just Lucile that caught her attention—it was the flamboyant cherry-red contraption she was perched on.

“Well!” Josephine called out with a teasing smile as Lucile drew closer. “We missed you this morning. Finally felt like doing a bit of splurging, did you? Trying to make Lady jealous?”

Lucile chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Yes, well…” she began, glancing back at the automobile with a faint grin. “The sales have been going great, and I suppose I’ve had a few things on my mind.”

She paused, then continued with a touch of tenderness in her voice. “Lady’s getting old. I’ve noticed she’s been uncomfortable when I try to ride her. And with the size of the family, I figured it’s time to start thinking ahead. She deserves to retire in comfort.”

Josephine nodded, her gaze shifting to the house in the distance as she listened. “And while I do love this house,” Lucile went on, “the kids have gotten so big. Even my brother and I had our own rooms growing up. It’s not right for a growing boy to share space with his sisters. They need privacy.”

Josephine’s expression softened into something wearier, her gaze lingering on the house. “I won’t lie… I’ve been thinking the same. There’s no privacy here....not for us.”

The two of them fell into step, walking side by side as they approached the house. Josephine’s voice dropped. “I know how curious kids can be, and I’m scared. What if one of them overhears something… and talks?”

Lucile stopped and turned to her, her eyes full of love and reassurance. “Hey, hey. Love, it’s okay. That’s not going to happen. Not again, alright?”

She reached out, gently massaging Josephine’s shoulder, “My heart, you’re not going anywhere. We’re not in that situation anymore. I’ll take care of you. Our family is what matters most.”

“I was thinking,” Lucile continued, her tone brighter now, “about Rider’s Glen. There’s land for sale out there. A place with lots of trees, somewhere peaceful for the kids to grow up.”

Josephine’s brow furrowed slightly. “How much?”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Lucile replied with a soft smile. “Just a few more months of work, and it’ll be within reach. It’s not too far off now.”