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rosewaterandivy · 8 months

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petrichor

a continuation of sugar & mint

summary: a summer friday feat. long lie-ins, a doting husband, and something unexpected

pairing: dad!steve x mom!reader

W.C.: 2390 K

warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, smoking, cursing, pregnancy mention, my usual brand of filth (unprotected p-i-v, oral - m & f receiving, come eating)

a/n: disclaimer, i'm not a mom (unless you count my two pets)!! i am but a simple god mom to some feral babies, whom i adore. if pregnancy or mom!reader is not your vibe, i completely get it - i just couldn't get the thought of these two out of my head 🥹

🎵🎵 Oh, woe-oh-woah is me, the first time that you touched me 🎵🎵

pet·ri·chor /ˈpetrīˌkôr/ (noun)

definition: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

Waking to the sound of rain falling steadily on the roof, you blearily pry an eye open to check the time. The sheets beside you on the bed are cool, Steve having made good on his promise to let you sleep in. The clock informs you of the late hour, 1 PM, as your stomach begs for sustenance.

Scrubbing a hand across your face, you roll over and rummage around for a shirt to cover throw on before trotting downstairs. Bub is off with her aunts for one final summer weekend, and there’s a slight chill in the air. Enough to warrant slipping on your husband’s discarded gray sweatshirt.

Aside from the rain against the eaves and windows, the house is silent. Grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet, you busy yourself making a cup of coffee before you see the post-it stuck to the fridge.

Hope you got to sleep in, your majesty. Grabbing groceries in town, see you soon. xxx - Steve

Grabbing a cinnamon bagel and your coffee you settle in the window seat of the breakfast nook to watch the rain, free of distractions and responsibilities. It’s rare that you get a moment like this, no pressing deadlines, drop-off or pick-up lanes, hosting dinners for friends, or attending a birthday party.

Eyes following the drag of raindrops on the windowpane, your hand falls to the nearly imperceptible swell of your stomach. Early days yet, but you knew the signs: nausea, exhaustion, all the usual suspects. Finishing your coffee, you trekked upstairs in search of a rogue pregnancy test— would it have expired by now?

After checking the date and deeming it worthy, you took the test and checked the time. Deciding it best to go back downstairs to ease your anxiety, you settled back in the window seat with a second cup of coffee.

“Couldn’t find a shirt?”

He laughs, shaking off the water droplets like a dog in the foyer. “It wasn’t raining when I left,” Steve says, as if that’s explanation enough. Not that you’re necessarily complaining, his hair and skin damp, tank top doing fuck all being as soaked as it is. “And I couldn’t find my—”

Catching sight of his sweatshirt grazing the tops of your thighs he smiles. “Nevermind, looks better on you anyway.” He kicks the door closed, shoes squelching against the floor as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Baaaabe,” you whine, catching a whiff of tobacco on him, “Please tell me you didn’t smoke in my car.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, sunglasses resting against the visor of his ball cap as he sets the tote bags on the counter. “Trader Joe’s was insane,” he says setting the keys on the counter, “It was an emergency cigarette, I swear.”

A roll of your eyes as you begin to put away the groceries. “If you bothered to wake me, I could’ve told you Trader Joes on a Friday was a bad idea.”

Steve quirks a brow in interest, grabbing a few items to shove in the freezer.

“Flower delivery is Friday, brings all the Lululemon moms to the yard.”

“Huh,” he grunts, “Explains all the spandex and lycra then.” Damp fingers trail against your thigh before wrapping an arm around your hip to draw you close. “Besides,” he breathes against your neck, “If I remember correctly, you requested to be left to sleep in.”

Failing to stifle a yawn, you eek out, “Because I’m fuckin’ exhausted, Harrington.” Setting your mug in the sink, you turn in his grasp and drape an arm across his shoulders. “Raising your daughter and dealing with your sorry ass.”

“Oh,” he pulls you closer, hips flush against one another, “So she’s my daughter now?”

“When she’s having sleep regression, yes.”

“Poor thing.”

“Yes,” you huff, “Me, I’m the poor thing because she insisted on crawling into our bed and kept kicking me in the ribs all night.”

“Hmm,” he hums, resting his chin against your head, “Explains the post-it stuck to my face this morning. ‘Help me Steve Harrington, you’re my only hope! Can you get Bub off to Aunt Nancy & Robin’s and please (for the love of god) let me sleep in? xxx —the love of your life & bearer of your child.”

“Hey,” you grouse into his chest, “I am clever and cute and you love me.”

Steve pulls back to get a better look at you— sleep mused, hair askew, barely dressed in a sweatshirt that had seen better days, and bare feet. He reaches down to link his fingers through yours. It feels so good, and warm, and you sigh almost contentedly.

“Course I do.” He takes a breath, “How could I not?”

“Steve Harrington,” you whisper against his lips, “You sweet talkin’ me?”

And with that, you crash your lips over his, sliding your tongue—sweet and heavy with promise into the space of his mouth.

He tastes like a stolen cigarette and coffee, cinnamon dancing on his tongue from the Big Red he’d swiped from the car. Kisses you slow and deep, easing you back against the counter. Chest pressed flush to yours, you let out an involuntary hiss.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

A shake of your head as your pepper his cheeks with kisses, bristles of five o’clock shadow catching against your lips.

“My tits just really hurt.”

“Huh,” he tuts, leaning back to look you over. “That’s uh… new.”

Quirking your brow, you level him with a look. “And how would you know?”

Steve’s lips curl in a slow smile, “I notice things.”

Glancing to the green numbers illuminated on the microwave, you grab his hand and make for the staircase. “Sure you do, big guy,” you toss over your shoulder playfully.

Settling him on the bed, you trot back into the en suite and return with the white plastic test in your hand. Handing it to him without fanfare, you watch as his face turns from one of mild curiosity to that of astonishment. Shock.

There was a cautious longing in your eyes and your face was measured. The air was weighted in silence, desire crystallizing as he leaned towards you, a pull he allowed himself to fall toward, closing the space between, choosing not to think, blocking out any hesitation and he was kissing you.

You were trying not to rush this, trying to savor this, slowly, carefully, tormented with the scent of his skin, all warm and washed linen, comfort laced in a simmering heat that he kept tempered somewhere deep within his soul.

Your face was cradled in his hands, pulling you closer, skin hot against palms, lips hotter still against his own when he realised the rain had stopped.

You crawl into his lap, straddle his waist, and his breath is punched out of his lungs in awe of your beauty. You undress him with deft fingers, yanking his clothes, hissing when he pulls away to peel the shirt off— as if not touching him pains you. The sweatshirt comes off— thrown carelessly landing somewhere on the floor— Steve revels in the exposure your chest—soft, heaving with love and agony.

Steve. Stevie. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Desperate, again.

You tug his hair, grip his chest and back, kiss him until his head spins. The bed creaks softly, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds that your bodies create together.

His kisses were deliberate towards one destination as his hands moved toward another, caressing you soft on the skin of your hips, slowly, sweetly up your sides and arching your back where you perched, a way to kiss you harder, reach you further to rediscover all his favorite parts of you.

The moan started low in your throat as he eased himself into you, sinking all the way to the hilt, delicious and easy, because he couldn’t wait and neither could you. You in all your love and splendor, always ready, always open for him, legs widening and gripping him as he began to move, slowly and agonizingly sweet.

Steve was trying to restrain himself, slow it down, revel in the feel of you, warm and wet and wonderful around him. He wanted to make it go slow, try not to lose himself through your soft sounds, the little breaths that told him the how, the when, the yes, please, right there, yes as you dissolved into moans that had him aching.

It was less deliberate now, more messy, a stuttered rhythm that had his legs feeling shaky, chasing his release, the push and pull of desire tightening, closer, hotter, tighter, and then an instant hardness that had him seeing stars, mouth tucked into the curve of your neck, your fingers threaded, gripping his locks, spilling feeling from his cock through your cunt.

He makes love to you, and even though he is bone tired from the hectic morning, he doesn’t feel it until you tremble in his arms and slump against his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat when he drew back to look at you, half-embarrassed, half a smile awash in his flushed face, hazel eyes full and wanting – utterly beautiful. Steve kissed your nose, your mouth, lingering sweetness on your lips, and you groaned as he picked you up, still buried inside you, his hands strong beneath your ass, fingers itching to trail the familiar paths of faded stretch marks. To praise the skin that grew to house you and your daughter, knew instinctively what to do, even if you were less than pleased with their sudden arrival.

Steve can’t help it - he loves your body for that, for keeping you and Bub safe. It’s something he won’t ever experience, but each time he happens to catch sight of you, pregnant or not, he can’t help but feel that he’s witnessing something sacred. Something holy.

The bed now, a comfort beneath your back, sheets scrambled beneath his palms as he balanced himself above you, then a stuttered breath as he slipped out, your muscles already missing the fullness of him. His pretty head moved lower now, your pretty hands still stroking through his pretty hair, sending pretty shivers through his spine.

The gasp was low in your throat when Steve pushed his fingers inside you, slow and agonizing, damp with you and him, all melded together and you almost winced when he dipped his mouth between your thighs, his tongue careful and deliberate, tasting you, tasting him, his mouth warm and licking you from core to clit.

This time, your legs were shaking, skin like fire and you were already too wound up, too high on just the feel on him, his hair brushing skin, beard soft on your thighs. Your fingers were fisted still through his hair, and god, he loved the way he knew how to drive you by the tension in your hands, the scrabbled grip through his locks as you got closer, more breathless, a groan and then an arch of toes before you were wrung out and writhing beneath him.

A clap of thunder sounded out as you collapsed, loose limbs and shivery skin as he came up to kiss you, shared joy and wonder, near awe that he could still bring you over the edge this way.

Steve's hair was something else now, wild and beautiful – definitely overdue for a trim and you were laughing now, face sparkling with glee.

“You look awful,” you told him, bringing your lips up to kiss him, all giggly with delight.

“Thank you,” he replied, nosing you close and drawing new breaths from your tongue as your hands drifted to the velvet skin beneath his thighs, working him slow and sweet.

“Oh, I will,” you answered, tempered smile in that face he adored so well, and shifted your body, drawing Steve onto his back as you dipped lower and he tried to hold the groan as you took him in your mouth.

He had to look away, some way to regather himself, the rushing blood through his skin, shooting straight to his cock, the warmth of your mouth on him, your tongue stroking him, the push and drag of your lips along that sensitive skin.

Steve focused on the feeling of you surrounding him, your warmth, your light, but even so, it was too much after a while and he had to change it, change the way you felt on him before he got too eager, too earnest. He lifted you, a giggle escaping your lips as you pulled off him with one last, deliberate drag of your mouth and this time, he couldn’t help the moan from his lips.

It was heaven, warm and sweet, when he pushed into you for the second time, your knees almost matched high at your chest, grazing your aching nipples as he found that special part of you that drew his most favorite sounds. You were keening, moving slowly together, trying not to lose control, trying to savor this for as long as you possibly could in this delicious bubble of time and space. _

Hours later and the pair of you had yet to leave the house. Rain pouring on and off throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

A tentative look at your belly, still smooth and firm. His hand finds the plane of it, fingers brushing the skin and over newly forming goosebumps. A surprising amount of excitement flutters in his own at the thought. It’d be good.

Steve insisted on throwing something together for dinner and made his way downstairs. He’s excited at the prospect of another baby, especially if they continued to take after you like Bub had. And she’d be adorable big sister, his heart swells at the thought.

He grabs the plates and heads back upstairs, the creak of the trick-step signalling his ascent. Nudging the door open with his hip, he pauses to take in the sight of you, and sets the plates on the nightstand.

Steve doesn’t know how someone can light up a room like you, just sitting there in his sweatshirt, doing nothing but smile. “Honey,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the moment but can’t help himself. He just wants to see you looking at him.

“Yeah?” You turn your head ever so slightly, peek up under flared lashes— sleepy eyes struggling to stay awake— still sparkling. “What is it?”

“Honey, I love you.” Is all he can manage. Everything else seems to fade away.

And then you smile, a slow curling of your soft lips, cupid’s bow catching a moonbeam. You smile so sweetly his heart stops in his chest. The world comes rushing back with your tired sigh and your hand linking itself with his. One beat, two beats, steadily, heavily, his blood pulses again when you kiss his cheek and murmur,

“I love you, too.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #dad! steve harrington #Spotify

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hannyoontify · 4 months

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my lighthouse - yoon jeonghan

member | jeonghan x reader genre | fluff. hurt/comfort word count | 1.9k synopsis | on your darkest, most gloomy days at sea, jeonghan becomes your lighthouse warnings | reader is feeling very big (bad) feelings, allusions to a depressive episode, reader is kinda mean to jeonghan BUT for good reason (i think) but jeonghan is very understanding (bless his soul) notes | completely absolutely self indulgent. i’m not even embarrassed about it anymore. not proofread

Today marked the fifth consecutive rainy day. The highways were jam packed and the dull concrete sidewalks were flooded, preventing any unlucky pedestrian from being able to trek across the muted, gray city. The streets warbled an unfamiliar melody and thunder rumbled like a choir of grand pianos falling downstairs.

You love the rain. The peace and serenity that came along with the dark clouds had always been a favorite for you. Rain meant a hot cup of chamomile tea in your special Snoopy mug that you had set aside just for days like these. It meant sitting on your special chair, your arm resting on the windowsill as you stare out the window that was opened just enough for you to smell the crisp air and enjoy the sound of rain, as you wait for your tea to cool down. Rainy days meant enjoying the gentle aroma of chamomile surrounding you and your eyes fluttering shut as the steam from your drink floated and danced around you. It meant breathing harshly against the glass until it fogged up, then drawing silly cartoons as fast as you could before the condensation on the cold surface disappeared.

But you just couldn’t do it anymore. Drinking hot chamomile tea and drawing the same initials ‘YJH + Y/F/N’ for four days straight became a bore. The constant sound of rain against your window roof became a bother and you hated the traffic that came along with it.

Jeonghan’s ears perked up at the sound of a low thump on the floor, followed by a string of low mumbling as you shuffled through the entryway and into the kitchen. He sat up from where he laid on the couch and watched as you grumpily sauntered to the kitchen while shrugging off your wet coat, trailing it behind you.

“Baby?” Jeonghan called out. You let out a loud huff and continue to mumble something under your breath as you set down a pack of ramen very aggressively on the marble counter. Scared for your safety (and the ramen’s), Jeonghan pushed to his feet with a quiet groan and made his way towards your side. His sock-covered feet padded along the hardwood floor.

He silently stood by your side and took the second pack of ramen from your hands before you absolutely demolished it on the counter, similar to its kin that now probably laid in pieces on your kitchen island.

You grumbled and angrily threw a frozen pack of meat into the sink. “Woah, woah, baby. Let’s calm down.” Jeonghan reached over and gently grabbed your hands, his thumbs gently rubbing over your wrists as his eyes searched your angry, teary ones.

Wait, tears?

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Jeonghan asked. Your pupils shook and you bit down on your bottom lip, but he still noticed the slight quivering that you failed to hide. Your hair was wet and it was sticking to your forehead and he noticed a slight shiver in your body as your wet clothes annoyingly plastered themselves onto your shaking skin. Jeonghan reached out and rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying his best to warm you up. “Did something happen?”

You pushed his hands off of you and grabbed your wet coat that still laid on the floor before storming off into your bedroom. All with wet, red eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Jeonghan watched you disappear and sighed when the door slammed shut. Deciding to give you some time, he turned around and began to put away the rest of the groceries, handling them with much more gentleness and care than what you were doing before.

After putting the groceries away, Jeonghan pulled out your special Snoopy mug that you always set aside for rainy and snowy days and reached for the teabags only to find the chamomile portion completely empty. Jeonghan frowned. That wasn’t possible, since chamomile was both of your favorite teas, and he had accompanied you to buy a whole new pack of tea bags just last week after you heard about the rain forecast. You had gleefully grabbed his hand and dragged him through the tea and coffee aisle with a bright, child-like grin on your face the entire time.

Thinking of your smiling face made Jeonghan even more upset that you weren’t in a good mood, and he peered into the trash can to spit out his gum when he noticed a mound of unopened chamomile tea bags dumped inside, along with wadded up napkins and Cheeto bags. Jeonghan’s frown only deepened as he tried to connect the dots.

It was raining, your favorite kind of weather and yet, you were in a bad mood. You threw away all the chamomile tea bags you had left, although they were your favorite. You were being aggressive and you were never aggressive when you were-

He heard a strangled yell from your shared bedroom and Jeonghan looked up at the closed door with a worried look in his eyes. Against his better judgment, Jeonghan walked over and opened the door and took a peek inside. You were sitting on the closet floor with your back towards him, your knees propping your arms and your head buried in between your legs as you quietly sobbed. From behind, Jeonghan could see your silent sobs wracking your body in small waves.

Jeonghan felt like someone had just stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife. He silently watched for a few more seconds before he closed the door, physically unable to watch you cry anymore. He desperately wanted to join you by your side and comfort you, but Jeonghan knew that that wasn’t what you needed as of now. Right now, he knew you needed space.

When you came back out of the bedroom in a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized shirt (that was probably Jeonghan’s) with red, swollen eyes and a sniffly nose, Jeonghan didn’t say anything and simply pushed your special Snoopy mug in your direction, across the kitchen island counter.

Seeing that ceramic cup made something in your stomach twist, and you were ready to push it off the counter and let it shatter along the hardwood floor when you noticed a new sweet aroma permeating your senses.

“Noticed you threw away all the chamomile we had, so I opted for something sweeter. I hope that’s okay,” Jeonghan said gently. He distanced himself from you, watching you intently with gentle eyes as you nursed the cup of hot chocolate in your cold hands. “If you don’t like the cup, I can put it in another one and-”

“N-no,” You quietly interrupted. “It’s okay… Thank you.”

Jeonghan smiled and watched as you lifted the mug to your lips and took a sip. The sweet drink was the perfect temperature, not too hot but not too cold. The taste was dark, rich and the thick consistency coats your tongue before it flows down your throat, leaving a warm, tingly sensation throughout your entire body. The top is swirled with white whipped cream and spotted with cocoa powder and mini marshmallows. You choke back another sob before you take another sip and you’re transported back to your childhood.

You suddenly remember one rainy day in second grade, you and your siblings huddled up in front of the hearth. The fireplace crackles as you and your siblings push and shove as you're seeking enough warmth from the small fire that burned in front of you. Your mother approaches you, her arms full with a tray with steaming hot chocolate and all the children cheer. You’re clapping your hands together in glee as your mother makes a big show out of counting the big marshmallows out loud and dropping them into each mug. Two for each, it’s always been like that.

You set down the cup and Jeonghan panics when he sees tears silently streaming down your face. He circles around the kitchen island hurriedly and still slightly unsure of whether he should approach you or not, Jeonghan stands in front of you and awkwardly pats your shoulder until you glare at him. Through your tears, you manage to hiccup out, “Just hug me, you- *hic* -idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.” One teary-eyed look from you and he shuts his mouth, but your idiot was happy to comply.

Jeonghan wrapped his long arms around your shoulders and let you cry into his shoulder like a baby. He made soft soothing noises as he rubbed his hands on your back, slightly rocking you back and forth on your feet. You pressed your face further into him, as if burying yourself within your love would somehow prevent the pain you were feeling. When you had finally pulled away, the entire shoulder of his shirt was damp, but Jeonghan didn’t mind.

He looked into your eyes. They were glassy and bloodshot, glistening and glinting in the dim light of your kitchen light as you hiccupped to try and catch your breath. Jeonghan cupped your face with his hands and wiped a stray tear away with his thumb.

Jeonghan rested his forehead on yours. “How are you feeling, love? Do you need anything?” He whispered. From where he stood, he could see a stray tear lingering on your lashes that streamed down your face once you blinked.

“Can you please hold me?” You asked in the meekest voice Jeonghan’s ever heard from you. “I just… had a really bad day and-” You let out a shaky breath and your boyfriend quickly pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I understand, angel. Do you want to talk about it?” Jeonghan gently guided you to the couch, the cup of chocolate in one hand, his other hand guiding your waist.

You settled down into the couch, your body melting into the comfortable mold of soft pillows and pressed your face into Jeonghan’s chest, inhaling the homely scent of him and you swore you felt yourself relaxing just through his smell. “No… I think, I just need to be with you right now.” You muttered.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything in response. He simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to bring you closer, resting his lips atop of your head. His other hand traced small, unintelligible shapes on your thigh as you sat alone with your thoughts.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Jeonghan mumbled into your hair.

“Do what?”

“All that thinking by yourself. If there’s anything you want to talk about or need to get off your chest, you can always tell me. Is there someone you want to cuss out? We can cuss them out together.”

You felt another sob clawing its way up your throat and your eyes burned.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Jeonghan was your lighthouse. He stood tall and strong at the end of a lonely pier, shining his bright light into the dark and empty abyss of an ocean called the world. His beacon of light was sometimes the only thing that got you through the rough waves of life that often tried to tug and pull you under into the cold, harsh oceanic waters. His bright light pierces through the rainy night and offers you refuge after a long, horrible day. Jeonghan’s words of encouragement, his selfless acts of service, and his constant reminders of why you deserved to be loved was what helped you stay afloat. He was your safe place, your home.

And you were so so grateful to have him in your life.

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

#hannyoontify.works #caratlibrary #seventeen #svt #jeonghan #seventeen fluff #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan #seventeen oneshot #jeonghan fic #jeonghan oneshot #yjh

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borninwinter81 · 5 months

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Library tour - Pratchett and Gaiman focused with some honourable mentions

Of course I've constantly had full bookshelves since I was a child, but I'd always wanted a room I could properly call a library. The house my husband and I now live in has 3 bedrooms, so as we're child free we've each taken one of the spare rooms to do with as we wish.

The majority of the furniture you see is thrifted (aside from the bookcases) and it was self decorated with a lot of cut corners-for example I decided instead of proper flooring it would be cheaper just to pull up the carpet and varnish the actual boards.

I spend more time in here than I do in our living room 😁

Gaiman stuff. Sandman alongside some Alan Moore, Preacher, Hellblazer, my signed copy of The Crow and one volume of Sin City. Two copies each of Ocean (one illustrated), and American Gods (original and authors preferred text). And of course one of my copies of Good Omens. Plus you can see the novelisation of Pan's Labyrinth sitting next to Neverwhere. Del Toro is another favourite fantasist of mine.

Pratchett stuff. Complete Discworld of course, and I'm slowly increasing my non Discworld Pratchett collection, my second copy of GO, the Paul Kidby illustrated edition (makes sense to have one living with the Gaiman books and the other with Pratchett). Soul Music and Hogfather are both signed, I met Pterry when I was 14 on the Hogfather signing tour.

The crocheted toy was actually from a pattern for a mimic I made (pattern by Complicated Knots on YouTube), but it's luggage-y enough that I put it with the Discworld books, Rob Wilkins' biography of Pterry, and a Librarian to look after everything, make sure the books don't get rowdy and take care of the L-space. I've had him since I was 18.

Specifically Good Omens stuff: a pair of felt plushies a friend made for me after S1 was released (@diedarlingsuk on Instagram), a pair of drawings I bought from a very talented 15 year old artist at a tiny comic con also after S1, (I'd credit her but I've no idea of her name or if she has an online presence), the script book, the TV companion, and an art book by the wonderful @mistysblueboxstuff, who I'm sure most of the fandom know and love. This contains all her GO art from S1 and S2.

Honourable mention stuff - I put above that I love Del Toro, so I've got to share the Angel of Death from Hellboy 2 as its one of my favourite things in this room. And its an angel, so that's kinda linked.

Made for me by another friend from clay on a doll's body and the wings on wire frames (@sids_workshop on Instagram).

Finally the Complete William Blake illuminated works, a guidebook to a Blake exhibition I went to, and Gustav Dore illustrated copies of Dante, Milton, Coleridge, Tennyson and Poe. I am a huge poetry nerd, and I think many GO fans would find a lot to interest them in some of these, particularly Blake and Milton.

I could go on, there's tons of other stuff I'd like to include but this post is fairly massive already and I wanted to try and stick to my theme.

#neil gaiman #terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #good omens #go2 #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #guillermo del toro #books and reading #home library #books & libraries #the luggage #discworld #The Librarian #book omens #good omens book #the sandman

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photogirl894 · 2 months

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Hello my beautiful, kind friend! Congratulations on 1,300 INSANE! 🤩 🎉

Please may I request some Hunter fluff with a female reader with the prompt:

“A life without you isn’t one I want to live.”

Perhaps Hunter accidentally confesses his true feelings to reader & then follows up with that cute line? Up to you if you’d want to do of course but I feel like you’d love to write for your Clone Hubby! Love you so much 🥰🩵

Thank you so much, Alanah!! Your friendship and support all these years has meant the world to me! 💜

Ohhhh you are far too kind with this request, my dear! 🥰🥰

**Putting a spoiler warning in case, but spoilers for Bad Batch s3 ep7**

"Chasing Waterfalls"

4. "A life without you isn't one I want to live."

Pairing: Hunter x fem reader

***

The escape from the Empire on Teth hadn't been easy for you and all the Clones, but you'd all managed to get away nonetheless. It definitely hadn't been without its challenges.

Not only had the Empire managed to find everyone there and blow up the Clones' secret base, but they'd tracked you through the jungle and there had been an assassin on your trail. You had told everyone that you and Crosshair would draw his fire while everyone got to the rendezvous point to meet with Echo and you both pursued the assassin. However, he had attacked the both of you and, to protect Crosshair, you had tackled the assailant over a cliff's edge into a swiftly flowing river, which connected to a series of large waterfalls. You'd gone over one and fell into a rocky landing where the assassin tried going for you again. With a vibroblade drawn, he'd attacked you, but luckily, Hunter had trained you not only in hand-to-hand combat, but with a blade, as well. How to use it and how to fight against an opponent with one. You'd held your own, but only barely. The assassin was strong and highly-trained. Eventually, he'd forced your head under the water and you found your breath being driven quickly from your body. Lucky for you, Crosshair had caught up with you and stunned the assassin, which made him fall into the river and be taken with the next waterfall. Crosshair and also Howzer had been quick to grab you before you could fall over, as well, and saved your life. Hunter soon followed and you could tell, even with his helmet on, that he was worried about you. You figured you falling over the cliff had frightened him and he was trying to reassure himself that you were okay.

After that, you had been stopped at the rendezvous point by a battalion of Clones, but Rex knew their Commander; Commander Wolffe, and he had been willing to let you all go. Once all of you boarded Echo's ship, you were safe for the time being.

The entire ride back to Pabu, Hunter said nothing to you, which was very unlike him. The two of you were very close and talked all the time. He knew you better than you even knew yourself and the same could be said for you about him. What was wrong? Was he worried about Omega, since the Empire had nearly caught them? Was he reconsidering their options?

Or...was he angry at you for what you had done?

It wasn't until you got to Pabu that finally you decided to break the longstanding silence between you two.

While the others returned to the Marauder, you pulled Hunter aside by the big tree on the collanade. "Hunter...what's wrong? You didn't talk to me the whole trek back. That's not like you."

He turned away, his brow furrowed with conflicted emotions. You could tell he wanted to say something, but was fighting against it.

"If you're mad at me for what I did on Teth, I'm sorry. I was just trying to--"

"Don't ever do that again."

He had interrupted you so abruptly that it almost made you choke on the remainder of your words.

Then he looked back at you, his brown eyes radiating with pain, but not of physical nature. He kept going, his voice firm yet nearly shaking, "Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you disappear over the cliff and the waterfall like that? Do you know how terrified I was thinking that you had been killed and that I'd lost you forever?"

"Hunter...."

His hands came up to your arms, clutching you tightly. "I never want you to do anything like that again! Do you hear me? I can't lose you, (Y/N)! You mean everything to me and I care too much for you to even dare imagine my days without you!"

You blinked in surprise. This wasn't anything you were expecting to hear from him. While you had suspected for some time that he harbored feelings for you, just as you did for him, you hadn't expected him to say anything like this nor did you think his feelings ran that deep.

As you struggled to find the words to respond, he lifted his hands to your face and brought his forehead to yours, his eyes squeezing shut to try and hold himself together. "A life without you isn't one I want to live," he then said to you, now a more present trembling in his voice.

The fear in his words was unmistakable and it made you realize how reckless your actions on Teth had been. Not only just in regards to your own life, but to the lives of your squad; to Hunter's life. You had been thinking of their safety, but hadn't considered how your possible demise would affect them, especially Hunter. It was never your intention to frighten him and hearing how scared he sounded broke your heart. It had apparently scared him so much that it caused him to confess to you, which you hadn't anticipated.

You reached up and took one of his hands on your cheek, leaning into his gentle touch. "I'm so sorry," you whispered. "I...I never meant to scare you like that. I was only thinking of keeping you and the others safe."

"You can keep us safe, but please...not at the cost of your life," he replied. "I would never survive if you were no longer at my side. I need you. I...I love you."

As soon as those three words left his mouth, his hands grasped the back of your head and his lips came upon yours, kissing you softly but with evident yearning. Your heart soared within you as you kissed him in return, knowing now that your life was no longer your own to trifle with.

Your life was his and his life was yours...and neither of you would ever live without the other.

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Canvas

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An art lesson with a different kind of canvas

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, body painting, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, edging.

Word Count: 5.0k

Authors note: Sequel to Inspiration, but not necessary to have read before this. Unbetaed. This is a double request fill for @oureternalbond HERE and anon HERE. I decided to combine these requests as they were so similar (in essence, Benedict uses his wife as his canvas then smut ensues). I hope you enjoy <3

You find him in his studio, a glass conservatory he has co-opted for his artistic endeavours. He is barefoot and dressed only in black trousers and a white shirt, his braces hanging loosely around his hips, looking handsomely casual as he paints by candlelight, dusk settling in. It's then you spy his subject, the lovely arrangement of flowers you received from his family for your birthday last week. You wondered where the bouquet had disappeared to just now as you had wandered through your home—they previously had pride of place in your hallway.

“Stealing my birthday presents, husband?” you jest airily, leaning on the doorframe with crossed arms.

Benedict twists around and shoots you an apologetic smile. “Only the artistically meritorious ones, my love,” he responds, amusement laced into his tone. “Join me?” he suggests, waving his brush towards the empty easel beside him.

“I'm not certain I have anything close to the requisite skills,” you hedge. You have only ever attended his painting sessions as his subject or simply as a companion, mostly reading quietly nearby as he works—one memorable time, sitting naked upon his cock to provide the requisite inspiration. Your blood runs a little warm just at the mere memory of it.

“Art does not always need to be about skill. Enjoyment of the process is just as important, perhaps more so. Besides, I can teach you,” he smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling beguilingly. He never fails to convince you with that look.

“Alright,” you sigh fondly, straightening up and uncrossing your arms, “but you are not allowed to ridicule my attempt,” you argue, waggling a finger as you walk over.

He laughs and leans in to drop a kiss on your cheek as you draw up next to him. “I would never!” he promises in a bemused tone. “Everything you need is right there,” he nods to the supplies, “you have watched me paint enough times to know how to set up.”

His confidence in your ability seemed a little unwarranted, but you’ll give it a try.

___

“I cannot do this,” you lament about ten minutes later, looking forlornly between the canvas and the spray of flowers, disappointed in your less-than-accurate rendering. All you have managed is some stems and a vague version of the vase, which looks uneven.

“Nonsense,” he dismisses, “you are doing wonderfully for your first time, my love,” he adds patiently.

You twist around with a knitted brow to look at him. “Benedict, please… your flattery is obsequious. This is… not good,” you sigh, scratching your chin with the wooden end of your brush.

“Perhaps I can assist your efforts?” he offers, putting down his brush into a jar of water and placing his palette aside.

“Please…” you request gratefully.

A smile ghosts your lips as he rounds behind you, pushing you closer to the canvas, a hand landing on your hip under the arm you balance the palette upon, and the other curling around yours, holding the brush. His fingers are warm and soft.

“Now then,” his voice is rich and rumbles right next to your ear, “the first thing is to start with the colour there is the most of on the object, and then you can start to add in light and shade… are you quite alright?” he interrupts himself as you fidget slightly.

“All is well,” you reassure.

But it's a lie. The moment he stands close behind you, your traitorous body decides this is not an art lesson at all. No, it’s something quite different. Readying itself for him with quite remarkable speed and absolutely no effort on his part. Quite astonishing, really. You attempt to listen as he sonorously explains the method involved and makes your selection on the palette and brushstrokes over the canvas. But you are half-listening and half-participating at best.

His breath tickles the wisps of hair around your ears as he seems to lean in closer until he surrounds you with his long arms and body heat. He smells of his woodsy soap, and you have to tamp down the urge to twist your nose into his strong neck and inhale deeply. For a few minutes, he guides your hand, and you relax into the motion, enjoying the sensation of being so utterly engulfed by him much more than the act.

“Now, how about you try?” he voices, gently removing his hand from yours.

You stutter, realising you were not taking on board what he was saying, distracted by the striking mental image of him painting a glistening line across your collarbone, a bright golden streak over your bare flesh. You try to remember what he said and make a hesitant dab on the canvas, but there is a disapproving noise against your temple.

“That is not what I told you to do, now, is it?” he teases lowly.

“I do not know how to do it…” you confess in a breathy whisper. “Please guide me for a little longer, Benedict,” you implore.

“Were you listening to a word I said?” he asks, but it's not a disapproving tone. Not remotely. It’s a liting rumble, his face turning into yours so the tip of his nose nuzzles your earlobe, his breath hot on your jaw.

You suspect your lack of attention to his instruction may have been found out.

“People pay good money for me to teach them how to paint,” he breathes into your ear, both hands now on your hips, fingers circling over the diaphanous layers of your thin, silk gown. “And yet here is my wife, not even listening to her expert teacher.”

“I am… I…” you give up, knowing it's a pointless lie. You try a different tack. “I should hope you do not treat your other students in this manner?” you throw back, rocking onto your heels so the press of your bodies is greater.

“Indeed I do not,” he murmurs, and you inhale sharply as his teeth graze the shell of your ear.

“So perhaps this is somewhat unfair to me,” you posit, pouting your lips, knowing his eyes are watching you side on.

He chuckles richly. “Perhaps,” and he gently slides the paintbrush from between your fingers. “There is another method by which I can teach you all about the pleasures of painting.”

“Oh, and what is that?” you breathe, closing your eyes as warm lips land on your neck, that weak spot which makes you completely pliant.

“It requires a different canvas,” he whispers, his lips catching on your skin.

For a fleeting moment, you consider if he could read where your thoughts had skated only minutes earlier; again, you think of golden paint on your flesh. There is a faint ting as he drops the brush into a glass jar of water and eases the palette from where it is hooked around your thumb, and you do not fight it; just stand still and attempt to regulate your breathing, eagerly awaiting what he will do next.

Your heart rate spikes as deft fingers undo the buttons between your shoulder blades.

“You have such beautiful skin,” he sighs, his lips dropping warm onto the top of your shoulder as your dress relents and falls in a pool around you. “I want to paint you.”

Your breath hitches as he runs a knuckle down the notches of your spine; glad you didn’t bother with a chemise. Your eyes fall closed as he kisses your skin again and plucks open the laces of your stays. When the material slackens, he pulls the structured fabric away from your body and tosses it aside, his hands instantly cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

Your moan is wanton as you writhe, his fingers snagging your nipples as they pebble against his palm. One hand sweeps down to the little buttons on your silk underwear and deftly flicks them open as his other hand is busy, making your nipple into a stiff peak.

“Lay down, darling wife,” he murmurs, the tone laden, as your underwear slips around your ankles.

He gestures to the oversized double chaise conveniently covered in a heavy canvas drop cloth. It’s almost as if he planned for this. You hold his hand delicately as he assists you into a reclined position.

“Will you not be getting naked too, husband?” you coo, watching as he returns for a palette and brush.

“It would certainly make clean-up easier,” he smirks and rips off his shirt, tossing it aside.

Then he walks back to you, a slight swagger in his gait, knowing he has your undivided, breathy attention as your eyes covetously drink in his torso.

“Gold…” escapes your lips unbidden and stops him in his tracks as he towers above you.

“Gold, what?” his query warm, but puzzled as he places the art supplies on the floor next to the chaise.

“When I dream of you painting me, my body,” you confess, “it’s always gold.”

He leans over, his face etched with desire. “You dream of me doing this?”

“Yes,” you murmur, “Your cool, wet brush swirling over my heated skin….” you close your eyes and bite your lip, lost in the reverie of it.

“Tell me more,” he implores, his breath hot on your cheek, the chaise squeezing as he sits beside you. “Keep your eyes closed if it helps,” he adds, moving back; it sounds like he is fiddling with the supplies.

“You start at my neck….” you sigh, inhaling sharply when a wet ticklish brush lands right on the left side of your neck, then holds still.

“And then?” he prompts gently.

“Then… you do a swooping line over my chin to my other ear,” you breathe, gasping as he does exactly as you describe, the smell of fresh paint filling your nostrils, the feel of it wet and heavy.

“What is next?” his voice is dark and sweet now, goading you into more detail.

“Then you paint a line down the side of my neck, over here…” you gesture at your collarbone, “...then lower,” you end in a whisper, almost reluctant to admit how erotic your fantasies of him can be.

Nothing, however, can prepare you for those errant thoughts becoming a reality—the drag of cold buttery substance, each bristle a damp tickle as he smears a line to the swell of your breast, your eyes flying open to see his gaze heavy and intense on the task in hand. Your nipple pebbles almost painfully, even though he does not stray close to it, surrounding your breast with a golden loop, his pupils dilating, his breath hot on your skin, leaning close.

“Does that feel good?” he practically purrs.

You nod, feeling the wetness blotting across your neck at your movement.

Without asking you what happens next in your dream, he takes the initiative and traces a line around your other breast, the brush dipping into the valley of your breastbone before continuing. When you tip your head to see his handiwork, the metallic hue shines bright in the candlelight.

“May I use other colours on you too, my love?” his question is almost reverential in tone.

“I am yours, Benedict,” you sigh honestly, “do with me as you wish.”

Those words light an artistic and sensual fire in his eyes; he pushes up to kiss you, plundering your mouth with a possessive kiss. When he pulls away, you feel dazed, desperate for more, but you watch patiently as he reaches for another clean brush on the floor by his feet and selects a new choice from the palette.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

You do as he asks, aching to know what hue it is. You gasp as a broader brush runs across your skin, starting at your neck and sweeping down, shadowing the path of the other line already drying on your skin.

“What colour?” your curiosity getting the better of you.

“What is your favourite on me?” he teases gently, his strokes seeming to concentrate most on the sensitive skin under your breast, making your thoughts fuzzy, distracted—you know it's intentional.

“You look good in so many colours,” you offer; it's the truth. “I love your light gold cravat,” you add with a sigh, knowing he has already used that shade at your request.

“You are stalling, my love,” he points out with a bemused tone, teasingly flicking the ends of his brush in the spot closest to your underarm.

“Blue? You always look so handsome in every shade of blue, from navy to sky,” you guess.

“Oh, then that shall have to be next,” he lilts, telling you that you have guessed incorrectly.

You mentally flick through some of your favourite of his outfits, squirming slightly at the images you see, his brush still teasing. Then there is a lightbulb moment.

“Burgundy red!” you exclaim, remembering the waistcoat he wore on the day you met, the one that made you lose the power of speech, temporarily tongue-tied, never having seen a man wear such fine silks before.

“Well done, darling,” he compliments.

You open your eyes to see he has interwoven the harmonious shades in an exquisite arching design, truly using your skin as a canvas.

“Now lay still; there is much work still to do,” he instructs softly.

You settle into the chaise, your belly fluttering as he slips lower, daubing your diaphragm in intricate loops, trying to keep your breaths shallow for a still surface. He swaps brush again, back to gold, holding the other in his knuckle, the rich red loaded tip contrasting his pale skin.

When he sinks below your ribs onto your belly, you bite your lip, the light touch tickling you to the point of giggling. You try your best not to move, but when he glides over a sensitive patch, it bubbles out of you on reflex.

His gaze pings up to your face, a lopsided grin claiming his features. “Does that tickle?” he mocks gently. You can only giggle more in reply as he teases even lighter over that weak spot.

“Stop it,” you whisper, knowing how much he enjoys the tease.

“Never,” he responds lightly, lowering his face; you jolt as he lightly bites your bare nipple, and you cry out. “I veritably exist to tease you; you are so beautiful like this,” he whispers, pausing in his artistry, pressing you into the chaise with his body weight.

“Look at you,” you giggle as he pulls away again, seeing smears of pain across his chest.

“That is nothing. I expect both of our bodies will be a riot of colours by the time I am done with you, wife.” His tone is simultaneously light with mirth and dark with promise.

“Perhaps you should speed up,” you answer playfully; it may dry before you have the opportunity.” He laughs, teething your other nipple before refreshing the line.

“Not a chance.”

Just as your stomach clenches at the idea he will move lower, he grabs your right arm and concentrates his efforts there as if to elongate the burn of anticipation you feel. It's less ticklish until he swipes the crook of your elbow over your veins, making you giggle again, meeting his hazy blue eyes with an intense stare. Wordlessly he kisses your hand before swapping to your left arm, creating free-hand a mirror image of the pattern on your right. It's striking, and somewhat ironically, you wish there was a portrait of you looking like this, covered in his design.

As you are lost in your reverie of that thought, he slips lower on the chaise, and you gasp as he restarts the line at your middle and swirls down all over your belly. He employs a heavier stroke so as not to tickle as much, alternating the two, holding both brushes with ease between his long artistic fingers. You have to bite back a moan when one swoop goes lower, skating along the top of your pubic hair.

“Open your legs,” his voice low and decadent. Feeling a burning low in your gut, you draw up your knees a few inches and part your legs a fraction, keeping your feet together. “I said…” he grabs your ankle and plants it at the edge of the chaise, out wide, “...open your legs,” his voice dark, making you flush hot.

You meekly move your other foot to match the stance, now lewdly spread before him.

“Much better,” his voice rough as his gaze is heavy on your core. “Do not move,” he commands.

You pant lightly as he resumes, leaning in so close you can feel his breath on your inner thighs. He paints a line from your belly down over your hip and up your thigh. It's the longest he has done, ending with a flourish at your kneecap. Then he swaps the brushes and traces along the same path in the dark red.

“What of the navy blue husband?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice even, even though you feel a slight tremble in your body at the contrast of the cool liquid and the warm flush of arousal.

“All in good time. You should not rush an artist at work, darling,” he replies playfully.

“What if your canvas is in need?” you inquire quietly.

“Where does my darling canvas have a need, hmm?” he asks duskily, intentionally acting obtuse even as his breath puffs close to the place you want him the most.

He runs a line achingly slow down your inner thigh, looping under into the crease where your buttock meets your thigh, the odd feeling making goose bumps break out across your surrounding skin, the tilt of his face right above where you burn so hot.

“Here, perhaps?” he whispers, and you cry out as his warm wet mouth opens wide on your folds.

One of your hands shoots down to grasp his hair as he unfurls his tongue, swiping deep into your folds, lapping the overflowing well of moisture there. You stare down the plane of your body, watching the colour on your inner thigh streak across his clavicle and shoulder as he drinks from your body, pulling your pearl between his lips and sucking so hard you see stars. His eyes fly open and hold yours; his gaze is fiery as he swipes under your clitoral hood. His tongue dabs the most sensitive spot, the one that makes your leg want to kick out and go rigid from the intense sensation. Just as you start to writhe and moan, he pulls back. You pout in disbelief as he calmly returns to painting.

“How can you tease me so?!” you lament, chest heaving, hand falling from its grip on his chestnut locks.

He laughs and continues with his art, your concentration barely registering it, your heartbeat throbbing in your abandoned, swollen clit.

“Please, Benedict,” you appeal, absentmindedly watching him switch to the other shade.

It seems he is ignoring you as his brow knits in concentration, glancing at your other leg to ensure, as with your arms, it is an exact mirror. It's undoubtedly stunning, but somehow your interest in it has waned, all of your thoughts of needing his mouth back where it was.

You plead again and almost want to cry in relief as he seems to huff sympathetically and move so his face is again a fraction from where you want him. After one long, indulgent swipe through your soaked folds that has you gasping loudly, he stops, rears up and quickly climbs over your body, his lips landing on yours, damp and tangy with your desire. Shaking with unsated need, you whimper against his musky tongue as he kisses you deeply.

“Please,” your voice has a tremulant quality betraying your need, he has taken you to the edge, and the denial makes you prickle hot all over.

“Soon,” it’s a whispered promise, “your skin is too arresting of a sight flushed like this. I need to paint more upon this gorgeous canvas,” he sighs, leaning over to scoop up his brushes again.

“Benedict, please,” you writhe, letting your legs fall closed, hoping to rub against your clit, eager for stimulation.

“Open your legs,” he tuts as he returns his attention to you, parting your knees carefully with his hands, avoiding his handiwork. “If you keep misbehaving, darling, I shall not let you come,” he warns with an arched brow.

“Then I shall have to touch myself,” you sass, squaring your jaw in defiant playfulness.

“We shall see about that,” he challenges. “Give me your fingers.” Hazy, you allow him to encircle your wrist, only startling when large beads of wetness daub your fingertips. “There we go, navy blue,” he smirks, grabbing your other hand and repeating the action.

You stare at him dumbfounded, realising you cannot touch yourself now without a mess. That smug crooked smile is still there as you watch him crawl slowly between your legs before diving facefirst into you again, making you scream. You want to grip his hair, but with your fingers now dripping with navy, you feel you should refrain. However, when he loops his arms around your hips, you grab his wrists instead as they frame your thighs. Slathering streaks of dark blue on his pale forearms as he lashes you with his tongue, you calling his name.

He is ravenous, using his whole face to arouse your senses, the stubble of his chin abraiding your labia as he once again teases you, suckling your clit into his mouth, circling his tongue in firm strokes, undulating and spearing it just where you need, as if intuiting what you need at any moment, The tip of his nose is burrowed into your patch of hair, inhaling your scent as if he cannot get enough of your taste and smell, his primal behaviour just making your more wanton for him.

He moans, muffled encouragements into your cunt, the cadence vibrating up into your pubic bone. You stare transfixed at him, decadent, delicious, filthy, a debauched and erotic tableau, the skin pulling taunt over his high cheekbones as he consumes you. Just as your pussy starts to flutter, he pulls up and teases you, pursing his lips and blowing a slow puff of air over your overheated pearl. It's not enough and too much all at once, such a different sensation from his lathing tongue. He chuckles as you groan in frustration and grasp his wrists tightly, fingernails digging blue crescents into his flesh, hoping to incite him back into action.

Instead, he shakes off your grip and swiftly stands up and roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers, smirking down at you as you turn breathless again with desire, holding your painted fingers on either side of your head as he drops the fabric. As ever, he is without underwear, and even though his straining cock is a familiar sight, every time, it steals your breath and makes you pulse deep inside, just for him.

He prowls over your prone body, almost cat-like, admiring his handiwork. “You are my masterpiece,” the awed but somehow still achingly seductive tone he employs makes your hips cant up towards him, a reflex, your body seeking his.

Uncaring of the mess it will leave, you run your navy fingertips from his chest to his pelvis, curling a little to scrape your nails into the paint trails. It looks like animal claws—as if you are marking him, possessive. His response is a growl at you, hoisting your legs into the crook of his elbow and with a flash of something primal in his eyes, he surges into your weeping body with one swift thrust.

It makes you call his name. So loudly that you know the staff will hear it throughout the house. You don’t care—don’t care if they come running to check on your welfare and find you naked and decorated, pinned under your husband as he begins to fuck into you, so roughly the whole chaise squeaks and moves across the tiled floor. His body curled over yours, his large hand above your head gripping the raised chaise end for leverage.

Lost in the carnality of how he is taking you, your walls clinging to his plunging cock, you band your arms around him, smearing long finger trails down the contours of his back until you reach his buttocks and squeeze them covetously, encouraging him to push deeper, go harder, and make it hurt. The glorious, intricate pattern on your skin still tacky, causing your flesh to cling to his and smudge together, the blue on him with the gold and burgundy from you. Blotches and smears that look so vibrant on his pale skin.

“Are you close again, my love?” his question, a touch breathless as he thrusts into you.

You hiss your confirmation, eyes rolling as you grasp his cheeks again and force your legs wider, greedy for him, for more. For him to push so far into your body, it will feel like he’s always there, even when he’s not, like some internal tattoo of him carved into your being.

“More Benedict… please,” urgent now. It feels like all you’ve done for hours is plead with him, needing to release so badly your mind feels akin to madness, an itch in your brain that needs to be scratched.

But he slows, and you want to scream in frustration, his movements shallow, delicate, not the onslaught you need to take you over the precipice he has dangled you over what feels like countless times.

“I love to see this,” his voice husky, breath puffing hot on your face, “when you are so unbridled with need, darling. I cannot resist taking you so close and denying you: the wild look, your untamed desire. All for me.”

You move your hands from his behind and grab his jaw, uncaring that you plaster his face with blue fingermarks. “It's always for you, just you, Benedict, my love, my life,” you affirm, hoping that is what he needs to hear to finally release you from this heightened state of near delirium.

His responding grin is breathtaking, and he begins to plough into you in earnest, his gaze never leaving yours, eyes burning to witness the moment you break for him. The chaise protests loudly, the wooden feet scraping hard on the floor under his unforgiving pace.

You bite your lip and plead with your eyes, wanting his expert touch to push you over.

“Your fingers, please,” you implore, and suddenly three are shoved between your lips, traces of the bitter taste of paint there, along with the tang of sweat and the flavour that is all him.

“Get them nice and wet, darling,” he lectures, not slowing his pace. You greedily wrap your tongue around his invading digits and slather them in your saliva, drooling around him as his thrusts jolt your entire body. “Yes darling, that's it,” he encourages, and he snarls as you run an edge of teeth over his cuticles, goading him, loving to see him as lost in the potency of the moment as you.

Then with a look that always makes you breathless, he slides the fingers out of your mouth, and they snake between your bodies, finding your engorged clit with ease. You scream his name, and a few harsh flicks are all you need to tip over, clenching so hard around his cock that his hips stutter and he roars into your ear as you fracture around him. Waves of pleasure ripple across your body, almost violent, your muscles spasming, your limbs shaking uncontrollably after being denied.

Distantly, as if through cotton wool, you hear him cursing and growling your name, teeth pressing into the cord of your neck as he curls around you with one final jerk and a loud, guttural groan, he stills, his body stiff, a vein pulsing heavily in his neck and forehead as he empties into you, warmth blooming deep inside you as he spills. Shortly after, he collapses onto his forearms, bracketing your body, mindful not to squash you under his weight as he pants, heaving breaths, his chest bumping yours with each ragged inhale.

You don't say words; just trail the remaining blue paint on your fingers across the skin of his shoulders, connecting the collage of freckles there into a slanted star-like shape. Below a certain point, your bodies resemble a rainbow; the detail he built so carefully now merely a smudge of lively streaks.

“Did you enjoy your painting lesson, my love?” his tone whimsical as his breathing returns to normal.

You giggle and push up to plant a kiss on his smiling lips. “You know I did, Mr Bridgerton; you are a wonderful teacher,” you wink; his responding laugh makes your whole body jiggle under him.

“Now to get clean,” he hums drolly, his grin lopsided and winsome. “I believe we may need to share a bath.”

“Or swim in the lake,” you posit jokingly, rolling your head to look out of the large glass panes, down across the moonlit grass to the water beyond. When you tilt your head back, his look is priceless. His eyebrows shoot up, and that grin grows wider.

“I love how you think,” he gusts, and you squeal as he scoops you in his arms bridal style, and before you know it, he has elbowed open the French doors and is carrying you to the water’s edge.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

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918 notes · View notes

rowaelinsdaughter · 6 months

Text

stop distracting me

author note; omg, i need gojo so bad. i just wrote this in a matter of minutes and it's all thanks to pinterest. thanks pinterest. and ive just realized that im not good at writing smut, i like more sugestive so.

WARNINGS; suggestive, like, theres no plot, just reader being horny about gojo.

creds to: __3aem on insta. comments & reblogs are appreciated

“stop distracting me”

you look up from your book and raise an eyebrow at gojo sitting at his desk. gojo is already looking at you, the reports of his last mission forgotten on the table. feigning innocence you uncross your legs and cross them again. gojo's shirt rides up a little with the movement, leaving your thighs a little more visible. you look back at your book with a shrug.

"i don't know what you're talking about 'toru"

“don't play with me, you know exactly what you're doing.”

“well, if you think so.”

you continue reading your book again and you hear gojo click his tongue and return his attention to the reports.

a while passes and you sigh as if you were bored, although your purpose was different. you weren't bored but it was true that gojo had been working for some time with reports and missions that sometimes could make him be away from home for a long time and when he got home he was tired and you understood it perfectly, but you missed him.

this time you decide to change position and lie down on the couch where you are sitting. aware of gojo's gaze on your legs you decide to stretch one and bend the other.

noticing only gojo's gaze at some moments, you decide to “level up.” you start drawing random patterns on your leg from the knee to the edge of the shirt. you pull your shirt up a little higher, still making patterns on your skin, and reveal the white lingerie you're wearing.

gojo's favorite.

you stop hearing the sound of the pen against the paper and, feigning innocence, you turn towards him.

“is something wrong ‘toru?”

gojo leans back in the chair. "come here"

you put the book aside and, moving your hips, you go to the chair and sit on his lap, resting your hands on his chest. you notice a hand on your waist, bringing you closer to him and noticing his erection while the other grabs your neck, applying the pressure he knows you love.

he brings you closer to him and your mouths are centimeters away, your breaths mix and his blue eyes are cloudy, expressing without the need for words the need to have you close.

“do you think i don't know what you're playing at, doll?”

gojo moves his hips, rubbing your wet sex and the hand on your neck exerts a little more pressure, making you gasp.

“guess i can play a little rough”

tagging; @thehighladywrites @ladybambifae

#jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk #suggestive #jujutsu kaisen suggestive

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cutielando · 6 months

Note

Can I have oneshots for Theodore nott and reader when he finds out that their daughter is constantly bullied at school?

PROTECTIVE

my masterlist

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Wife!Reader x Daughter

School can be tough. That was a given. Especially if you end up being a Slytherin.

Theodore knew that better than anyone. Being a Slytherin himself, also being friends with the infamous Draco Malfoy always attracted some unwanted attention.

Most of the other students knew not to mess with him, but there was still the occasional bully who didn't give a shit and picked on him anyhow.

Because of that, he never wanted his kids to experience the kind of pain he went through when he was younger. He did everything in his power to make sure your children were safe and happy at school.

Oh, how wrong he was.

He didn't notice the signs early on, but you did.

Y/D/N was more distant than usual, spending an awful lot of her time in her room when she was home for the holidays and summer break, her letters always failed to mention any of her school friends and the atmosphere there, she was sadder and lost the spark that she always used to have in her eyes.

Thinking it could be something serious, you decided to talk to your husband about it.

"Tesoro?' you asked him one night as you entered your shared bedroom and saw his under the covers, reading a new book he had purchased the previous day.

"Yes, amore?" he put the book aside as you sat next to him, giving you his full attention.

"Can we talk about something?" you were nervous, you didn't even know how to approach this subject with Theo.

"Of course we can, amore. What's bothering you?" he took your hand in his, drawing soothing circles on the back of your palm.

"I'm worried about Y/D/N" you confessed.

His eyebrows were scrunched, not understanding where you were coming from.

"Why? Did something happen?"

"I don't know. She's just...different. She hasn't been herself in a while, she's always in her room, she barely eats or talks to us, her letters seem downright robotic and she's just not the same girl we know her as anymore. I'm worried something might be happening over at the school" you explained.

You felt Theo's hand that was holding yours tense up, stopping the movements.

You looked up and saw that his jaw was clenched, he was fuming and looking at a fixated point on the wall of your bedroom.

"Do you think someone might be making fun of her? Bullying her?" his voice was low and tense, making you sigh and shrug your shoulders.

"I don't know, but I think maybe we should talk to her. You should talk to her, you know she'll open up to you a lot faster than me" Theo nodded at that, numerous thoughts running through his mind.

Y/D/N had always been a daddy's girl ever since she was little and you were okay with that. Your younger son was a mama's boy, so it evened the scales a little bit.

You knew that Y/D/N would open up to your husband and you hoped that the problem wasn't as bad as you felt it was.

"I'll talk to her"

Come the next day at breakfast, Theo turned to your daughter as soon as you and your son left the kitchen to go to the living room.

"Y/D/N, love, I wanted to talk to you about something" he started and put his hand over hers.

"What is it?" she was avoiding eye contact with her father, which happened very rarely when they would talk.

Theo put a hand under her chin, slowly lifting up her face so she could look at him.

Her eyes had lost their sparkle, now void of any emotion and tired.

"What is bothering you, vita mia?" Theo asked, brushing his finger over her cheek.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, wanting to let the pair talk in private. You instead focused all of your attention on your son, who was more than content to have his beloved mother's attention on him.

"Nothing, dad" Y/D/N tried to shrug Theo off, but he was having none of that.

"Stella, don't push me away. Your mother and I are very worried about you. You haven't been yourself for a while and it's concerning us. What is wrong, vita mia?"

Just one look into her father's eyes and she was sobbing, letting herself fall into his arms and clinging to him.

Your heart broke when you heard your little girl sob, taking everything in you not to run in there and scoop her up in your arms to reassure her that everything would be okay.

"I hate them, dad" Y/D/N whispered once her sobs had calmed down a little.

"Who do you hate, stella?" he was trying to keep his anger in check, his blood boiling at the thought of anyone hurting his princess.

"Everyone at school. They all make fun of me for being a Slytherin and they bully me because their parents hate you and now they say they're supposed to hate me too. I'm just so tired of always being the one getting hurt over there" the young girl finally confessed, her words breaking Theo's heart.

He pulled away from the hug, instead opting to take her face in his hands.

"Y/D/N, listen to me. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is allowed to make you feel bad or think any less about yourself. You are perfect, mi stella. You hung my moon and stars from the day you were born and both your mother and I know that you're destined for great things and a bright future. Never listen to what anyone else has to say about you when you know the truth about yourself. Do you understand?" the girl nodded, giving her father a small smile.

"I love you, dad" she said before kissing his cheek, hugging his body once again.

"I love you more, vita mia"

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 9 months

Note

I GOT SO EXCITED WHEN YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS!!! can i request a pietro fic where him and the reader are both avengers and they are best friends, but the reader has the biggest crush on him (she manages how to hide well) and they get assigned to a mission in hawaii and have to pretend that they're married and are there for their honeymoon? and that pretending to be the reader's husband and doing everything together like a couple made pietro realize that he also had feelings for her. one day they both go to a restaurant and have some drinks and he builds enough courage to finally kiss her (in the rain😼)

(i know it's cheesy but i just love the idea😭😭 and also, sorry if there's any mistakes, english isn't my first language hahah)

hii!! omg I love this and cheesy things hehe!! and don’t worry, your english was great! apologies, I had a nightmare writing this, I finished writing it then went to edit the next day to find chunks of my paragraphs were missing :(( but thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

—

fake dating

pietro maximoff x fem!reader

word count: 811

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

As you and Pietro are the two youngest members on the team -with the exception of Peter- you were often paired together for lots of missions. Being best friends had its perks, especially for trips away where it was just the two of you.

You were both assigned to Hawaii to "collect intel", as Cap lightly put it. The pair of you undercover: smitten newlyweds on your honeymoon. Usually, you weren't a fan of these kinds of aliases, but this was different- it was with Pietro.

It allowed you to tap into your true and hidden romantic feelings towards him without over-complicating everything. Fake dating was like a compromise to you. It felt like it gave you a brief chance to date him without the consequence of doing the real thing.

The moment you boarded the plane, the mission began, and you were all over Pietro- leaning into him and stroking his arm, giggling at his jokes and sharing stories with the elderly lady beside you.

It all felt natural, and you didn't know where to draw the line. You admit you may have gotten a little carried away, but you couldn't help it- it just felt so right to date Pietro, like you could finally be your true self without keeping a part of you locked away.

The first several days of the trip went smoothly, completing all tasks assigned within the first few hours of the day, leaving you both together for many hours doing touristy things.

Each day was slightly different- snorkelling in the ocean for one and eating lunch with the locals for another. You both wanted to make the most of your 'vacation,' so you chose activities you couldn't do anywhere else, nor would you have time for otherwise.

As the days progressed, so did things with you and Pietro. You would find yourselves flirting and touching with no one around- no one to prove things to. He grew more comfortable being romantic with you, a lingering touch to your hand or a soft smile when you speak- just small and possibly inconsequential moments that felt too sincere to be fake.

Today was the last night of the trip before heading home in the morning, so you and Pietro decided to have dinner at your favourite quaint restaurant on the beach, much like a final farewell to the town you both grew to adore.

Everything was perfect- the scenery, the food, the company, even. It was the best end to an already great trip.

By now, you were on your final course of the night, sharing a desert as you chatted in your usual friendly way.

You sit up straight, pointing the spoon at him. "You suit it,"

His head cocks to the side, evidently confused. "Suit, what?"

"Y'know... the sun— being away. You seem happy," you smile, placing your spoon aside. "Haven't seen you like it for a while." You shrug, glancing out into the ocean to avoid his fixed gaze.

"I do?" he grins, pointing the spoon at you like you did him. "Same with you... it's nice to see."

"Maybe it's the company," your smile widens, turning back to face him.

He chuckles, itching his foot closer to yours under the table, slyly bumping into it. "Maybe."

After dinner and more drinks, you find your tipsy selves on the beach, sitting in the sand, huddled together under a blanket to keep warm. Pietro's arm draped over your shoulder, holding you close to him as you look out into the ocean. It all felt so familiar, like second nature- as if this was how it should be between you.

Sure, you've cuddled like this many times before, but this was not like those times- this was different. It was intimate- sincere. Pietro pulls away, glancing over your face as a gentle smile forms, watching the way yours mirrors his.

"Looks like it's gonna rain," you divert, suddenly aware of how real this all feels between you.

He hums weakly, his smile faltering as he slowly leans towards you, his low gaze focused on your lips.

"Might storm," you whisper, adding.

"Mh-hm," he softly replies, almost as if he wasn't paying attention. He slips his hand up to cup the side of your face, his palm resting on your jaw, guiding you closer.

"It might—"

He cuts you off with a small shush, quietening your blabbering mind before brushing his lips over yours, kissing you soft and sweetly. It felt like months of repressed longing poured into a single, beautiful moment. A moment you've long been yearning for.

As you pull away from one another, you wish you could stay here forever. Stay in paradise.

But as much as you hated to think about it, you'd be leaving tomorrow, and all you could think about was how things would be when you go back home.

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

pietro taglist: @astermath @thewinterv @earth-elemental18 @lunnnix @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @randomawesomeperson102 @queerponcho @selfryed @daenerys-supremacy @dontknownameauthor @mrsbarnesxxx @honestly-who-even-is-this @simplyreflected

#request #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff x you #pietro x reader #pietro fanfiction #pietro marvel #pietro imagine #pietro maximoff fluff

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orkbutch · 9 months

Text

Okay! time to add my accompanying essays with each image from this set of work about why I assigned which types of play to each set of characters, and how Baldur's Gate III supports these in the text of the game. Because I thought about all of this way too much im not joking

First, Context:

All of these are drawings of consensual play happening between these characters after they have put aside any active conflicts between each other. Nonetheless, they utilise the dynamics and emotional conflicts of these characters. Each of these characters are in some way violent people, deeply stressed out by their circumstances, and craving pleasure and connection. Sometimes you need a little pinch and squeal before the end of the world just to get through the night, you know?

Knife play; Shadowheart (D) / Lae'zel (S)

This is definitely the best supported concept in the text of the game because we literally see this happen, though in a significantly different context. I'd say most of us thought it was hot, whether we realised it or not, and I think Shadowheart and Lae'zel probably agreed once they weren't worried about dying! I think its the perfect encapsulation of the tension between SH and LZ both early on and as it resolves. It also expresses both their personalities very succinctly and accurately. SH is absolutely an edgy, paranoid goth, and LZ would love the thrill.

For all the early game SH sees LZ as ruthless and dangerous to her, and resents Gith for the death of her peers. LZ is a threat she wants to neutralize or at least control. At the same time, SH is someone who prefers to avoid conflict and subtly occupy power/advantage in most situations she finds herself in. She has little concern for honour, pride or fairness.

Lae'zel absolutely does. She is a very straight forward and efficient person. For her, SH starts as an inconveniently racist coworker, but at the reveal of the artifact SH becomes more than that; not only has she insulted LZ's people, she's revealed herself to be untrustworthy, very willing to lie and play dirty. Not only does SH seem to hate her, but SH has rules and intentions that are entirely unknown to LZ, and that is obviously frightening.

AND SO I JUST THINK... that potent history would be very hot background for fear based play, which knife play is all about. The heart-racing threat of the point of a dangerous object held at your most tender areas - throats, armpits, mouths, bellies... and the depth of trust and submission to let that occur, to sit in the fear and really enjoy the rush of danger and helplessness, knowing you will be safe. It shows a profound growth in their regard for eachother, a true and total overcoming of old resentments and conflicts.

This is not only a position I think SH would relish - to reduce someone as deadly as LZ to being at her mercy, and to feel deeply trusted with someone's life and pleasure - but also a rare delight for LZ. To take the heart-thumping threat of a battlefield, which she absolutely thrives in, and to toy with and explore that mental space. To be truly stripped back and placed in anothers hands. For that to be an enemy who has become someone she feels so completely safe with.

Beneath this I think there is also a thread of empathy and shared idiosyncratic communication between them. They were both cruelly broken into roles that made it difficult for them to connect to others. Violence is a language both of them understand very well, in different ways, and even after they each turn on their cruel masters, violence retains meaning for them.

For SH, violence is to be enacted and more often endured as a sign of devotion. It's something that carries wisdom, the agony of lessons learned and knowledge that is uncomfortable but ultimately good for you. I don't think this is something she decides is wrong. I think what disillusioned her (beyond the betrayal of being lied to) was how Shar was revealed to have misused her pain. Shar's pain was not a gift, it had no loving measure or purpose. It was a spiteful, excessive control tactic.

I like to imagine SH learning a new way to use her affinity with pain, which I think is a very normal affinity for people to have. To learn how to use pain the way she had wanted it to be used and had come to admire. To make pain bespoke from Shar, her own gift to give and recieve on her own terms.

For LZ, violence is to be mastered for survival and superiority. Pain was only endured to prove you could endure it better than others. Violence is a hammer in a world where all beings are nails, except you and the few other hammers. All else was forsaken for this mastery. Even in sex violence and superiority are key. Vulnerability is terrifying, to make yourself a nail made to be driven by hammers who are certain of their purpose.

What else could be a greater liberating thrill, a more profound sign of trust for LZ? Willing submission to the violence of another. Those she comes to truly love become the source of her bruises. In submission to violence LZ embraces true vulnerability, untethered by tradition, opening herself to another person and trusting them to handle her with care.

In conclusion: These bitches love knife play, it gets them super hot and they feel rly connected after and share wine and cheese and maybe a massage if they have energy as aftercare. LZ will be cuddled but only if SH doesn't ask and just does it. LZ always makes sure to tell SH she admires her skill and had fun. Its very sweet

#bg3 #Lae'zel #Shadowheart #Shadowzel #laeheart #art #nasties #kinkposting #edited this because i wrote it in one sitting at like 4am and it shows

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thelordofgifs · 4 months

Note

Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

#asks #silmarillion #my fic #maedhros #maglor #echo-bleu #maedhrosmaglorweek #maglor is fine he's fine he's SO FINE ok

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starry-miki · 3 months

Text

Well when I said I might post something in March I didn’t actually think I’ll have something done and posted the first day on March, put it’s also an appreciation post to a small handful of people I see (semi) often for a while, I don’t know where this is coming from but I just decided to do it, like every other major “project” I do.

During my time when I was in my art slump I have missed valentines and I’m still upset by it cause I absolutely love valentines and it’s beautiful aesthetic, so this is kinda my “redemption” for it, technically white day is coming up in March but I just feel like it doesn’t feel just as special. 🥲

But I drew old man and barbs as markable plushies, and honestly turning them to markable plushies is oddly therapeutic, since it was so simple and fast. Still debating if I should do the entire side characters plus the additional trio, so I’ll see if people would like for me to do it. 🤔

Aside from that i just wish to to give my wonderful gratitude and appreciation w/ little note for those specific people, but to everyone else in general, I would like to thank you all for your patience’s and interactions, while I haven’t been that active until the last few months of last year, and once again haven’t been that active the last month, I do see people’s comments and replies and fully enjoy reading them, even if I don’t always reply back, I truly enjoy interacting with the OM community, and everyone who I’ve met thus far, and hope to continue being in the community for a while. ☺️💕

To my cutie patooties:

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

💕 @nevvn 💕

Frankly I think I might be a person of few words when it comes to expressing my feelings and really try my best to come up with something to say in the last hour but nothing comes up, all I have to say is: “you cutie patootie” and the saying: an artist will draw if they like you. 🥰💕

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

💕 @blithesharem 💕

I really enjoy reading and seeing your post and your OCs and your occasional fanfics, expect that one time, I’m think I’m still in shock about it. 😀

A few days ago I did ask if you had a persona so I could draw them into a markable plushie, but if you would prefer one of your kids (OCs) into a markable plushies that’s cool too, but would love to draw out your persona if you were to create one. 🥰💕

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

💕 @yurihisachi 💕

I do see you occasionally pop up time to time in my nonfictions, but I still would like to appreciate your presence, thought it would be pretty funny if I’ve already mentioned you in post in a different username and this is a side account of some sort. But if it isn’t, feel free to contact me so I can draw you up a markable plushie of an OC you have or a persona. ^^ 💕

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

💕 @impish-ivy 💕

Another face I occasionally see pop up on my nonfictions, thank you so much for interacting with my posts! I’m not sure if you would like Minnie to be turned into a markable plushie or if you perhaps have a persona, but do let me know. ☺️💕

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💕 @undertalefanzz-blog 💕

I honestly got no comment to you, if you know you know. 😘

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💕 @venusdaplanet 💕

I don’t see you too often but when I do, I absolutely love seeing your comments, very interesting to read and makes you stand out in the crowd. If you got a persona or an OC I can draw up into a markable plushie let me know, I’ll be happy to draw one up for my application to you! 🥰💕

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fandom #obey me solmare #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me side characters #obey me characters #obey me solomon #obey me art #obey me barbatos #oops I’m like late late 😘#obey me mc #my appreciation 🥰#Ngl I got a headache after having to write like about 2 hours LMAOOO #I technically could have DM y’all like a normal person #but I just to nervous and shy to approach even online 😭😭#obey me fanart #I kinda got more to say but I think it might accidentally sound like a love letter than anything

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

Okay but as someone w lupus who is not doing too hot rn, I would drop kick someone into the sun for a good blurb of Bradley taking care of me 🫣

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐮𝐭

𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

You aren't sleeping very soundly. Try as you might--drawing the curtains closed, putting a pillow over your face, getting under a weighted blanket, playing white noise, turning the fan on high, even putting a few drops of lavender essential oil on your pillow--the deep and all-consuming sleep you crave just isn't coming.

And it isn't just that you can't sleep--it's that you just don't feel good. You're certain you have a low-grade fever, your joints are aching, and you're sluggish.

After trying to be a productive human for a few hours, you decide to just give into the desire to lay down and sleep. Except the closest you come to sleeping is fluttering in and out of awareness with a sudden jolt.

Bradley comes home, lug-sole boots thundering against the entryway tiles, without a care in the world. He tosses his keys in their designated metal bowl with a resounding clang. He's even still crooning some Peter Gabriel song that was playing in the Bronco on his drive home. Needless to say--he seems to be making as much noise as humanly possible, entirely and blissfully unaware of the throb in your temple.

"Baby!" He calls out dramatically, unlacing his shoes and tossing them aside (another bang, bang!). "Where are you? M'gonna explode if I don't kiss you right now!"

Any other day, you'd be elated to hear such a romantic--albeit melodramatic--statement. But right now, your throat is aching and your eyelids are heavy and you're tired in the very marrow in your bones.

He starts for the stairs, still humming loudly along to a song that is just not playing, and calls out your name. You don't have it in you to raise your voice--which is the only way he'd be able to hear you, anyway--so you just wait underneath your pillow and wait for the sound-bomb that is your boyfriend burst through the door.

Burst through he does--letting the door slam against the wall (a habit you are really trying to get him to break seeing as he's put a lock-shaped hole in the wall. He says he just gets too excited and you think it's endearing, but you're also sure that he's getting tired of spackling the same spot every weekend) as he enters the room full of song and cheer.

But then he sees you.

You look just as tired and worn down as you feel; fingers a blue-tint, body covered entirely by the weighted blanket you only break out when he isn't home to lay on top of you, and pillow pressed against your face a tell-tale sign that something isn't right.

"Oh, baby," he whispers softly, immediately hurrying into the bedroom, now mindful of his footfalls. He presses his hands against yours, tutting when he feels how cold your fingers are. "You should've called," he says soberly, stroking the soft skin of your hand with his calloused thumb. "Would've come home, baby."

You groan, shaking your head, unwilling to open your eyes.

"You're government property," you tell him softly, muffled by a mouthful of pillow. "Can't just tell the Navy to give my boyfriend to me for a day."

Even without looking, you know he's grinning. Even as shitty as you feel and you're cracking jokes.

"Don't you know the Navy answers to you, baby?" He chuckles, bending down to press a fleeting kiss to your hand, patting your forearm.

"Hah," you manage dryly.

That's how he knows you really don't feel good--you can't keep riffing with him. His chest is aching just looking down at you. Poor thing, he's thinking.

"Let me tuck you in," he says softly. "Permission to move the pillow?"

You grumble, but shoot him a thumbs up.

It's so bright in the room, even with the curtains closed. You have to blink a few times, squinting up at him. And he's smiling in that soft way, pitying you and loving you all at once. He hates when you're sick more than anything in the world, but boy is it a breath of fresh air just to see that face of yours.

You frown, your cheeks pink.

"Hi," you whisper, voice ragged.

He strokes your hair softly, slyly checking your forehead for a fever. Then he leans down and presses his lips against yours; it's a soft and sweet kiss, one he's been looking forward to all day.

"Hi," he mumbles against your lips. "Y'look beautiful."

You scoff.

"Shut up," you mutter, sighing. "I'm sick."

He kisses you again, nuzzling his nose against yours. He's grinning now.

"And those two things are mutually exclusive?"

You don't have it in you to retort, so you just roll your eyes.

"M'gonna grab a survival kit," he starts, stroking your cheek carefully, noting how pink it is in comparison to the rest of your peaked face. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

You glare at him--he just can't help himself today, apparently. You have just enough energy to stick your tongue out at him and he walks out of the room chuckling.

He's good at taking care of you--it's because his mom was good at taking care of him when he was sick. She spoiled him and even if he didn't physically feel good, he loved being showered with attention. So he gives you the same treatment. It's not that he likes when you're sick, but he likes to spoil you.

You drift off for the few minutes he's gone and come to as he pads through the door with his arms full. He kneels at your bedside, humming quietly, in full nurse-mode.

"Open," he hums, holding a thermometer to your lips. You comply without a grumble and he pats your cheek. "Should I crush your pills up and hide them in applesauce?" He asks.

You narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head. He has a shit-eating grin spread across his pretty face, chuckling to himself.

You have to admit--he is endearing when he's like this. You know he's only trying to lighten your mood and honestly? It's working. Damn Bradley Bradshaw.

He's humming to himself as he moves to pull the covers up around your feet and slips a pair of fuzzy socks on you. He even leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your socked feet, which would make you gag if it was any other man than Bradley. But that's the thing about Bradley--you were totally and completely in love with him and he returned those feelings tenfold. Hell, he was obsessed with you! There was not even one part on your body he didn't adore, not one state of being that he wasn't enamored with.

He tucks you in with a gentleness only someone as lovely as Bradley could possess. Then he swiftly grabs the thermometer from your lips and reads it with his eyebrows pinched.

"What's the prognosis?" You ask, resting your cheek on your shoulder.

He opens his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Says you're hot," you and Bradley say in tandem, your tone dripping with faux-mockery and his dripping with genuine charm.

"Am I getting predictable?" He asks, popping a bottle of fever reducer and placing two on your tongue, effectively rendering you wordless again. He holds a straw to your lips and you drink as much as you can before collapsing back into the pillows.

"Only sometimes," you say quietly, eyes growing heavier by the second.

You honestly just feel better in his presence--the ache in your skull dulled by his grin, by his careful touch, by that glimmer in his eyes that makes you gooey inside. So when he kisses your forehead again and tells you that he's going to put some soup on, you are not surprised to feel that tell-tale exhaustion flood you. It's one you can't evade; within minutes, you're slumbering under the blanket he tucked around you, lips wet with icy water, feet warmed by socks he bought for you.

"Nurse Bradley reporting for duty! May I offer you a sponge bath--!"

He stops speaking as soon as he sees your slumbering form.

He isn't gone for very long--maybe fifteen minutes--but when he comes through the bedroom door carrying a tray of chicken noddle soup and saltine crackers and finds you finally resting, he's relieved.

He knew you were tired and he knows how difficult it is for you to sleep when he's not home. He sets the tray down on the bedside table as carefully as he can, quickly stripping to his boxers, climbing onto the bed beside you. You rouse only for a moment as he tangles your limbs in his, tucking your head under his chin, slotting his leg between yours.

But he's quick to press soft kisses to the crown of your head, stroking your hair.

"Shh," he whispers. "S'okay. Just couldn't leave you all by yourself in this big ole bed, baby."

You smile through your exhaustion, wrapping your arms around that warm and taut torso, nuzzling your face in his neck. He smells so good; like the nice soap you buy from his shower this morning, like jet fuel, like salt air. It is a scent that entirely overwhelms you with adoration and comfort.

"You liiike me," you mumble, yawning.

He laughs, kissing you again and again, letting himself get lost in your sweet scent.

"More than that," he whispers. "I love you--so much. Just so, so much."

You're slipping away again, mouth parted, face blanched in the infinite warmth of his tanned skin.

"I love you too," you whisper, muffled by his throat. "Nerd."

His heart is so full right now that he's certain it's going to burst--he loves you more and more every single day. It's something that overwhelms him at times, something that wets his eyes, parts his lips. And right now, with your bodies an endless and intricate pile of flushed and goosed skin, he feels it now. His heart lulled to a steady rhythm that he knows is the cadence of your name, his eyelids heavy with something close to sleepiness, his fingers tingling as they comb through your hair.

Bliss. That's what he's feeling as he holds you, as he thinks about reheating your soup when you wake up, as he mentally marks what time you will need another dose of fever-reducer. Total, absolute bliss.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

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naughtyneganjdm · 4 months

Text

Good Luck Charm - Chapter 26

Summary: After being married, Negan decides to take Y/N to a place they visited once when they were younger to give her a honeymoon which brings back old memories.

Characters: Negan, Y/N/reader (OC), etc.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Some Smut, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39423063/chapters/135889690

Notes: I have several chapters of this still planned. I know I took a very long break from this one and I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best to finish the stories that I still have opened. I want to make sure to finish them all. Thanks to anyone that might still read this one!

“Do you really think it’s safe leaving the kids with strangers?” Y/N inquired while her and Negan walked through the woods to an area that Negan insisted they get out of the car to walk to. The sound of Negan not walking far behind her was heard and it made her swallow down hard. “I know that you trust these people, but after hearing the way some of them talk to you I’m not sure that they are the safest people for the children to be around.”

“Hey, I know what I’m doing, okay?” Negan snickered from behind her, pushing aside some of the brush that was in front of him while he followed her. “I know some of my men are questionable, but I know who to put my faith in when it comes to the children. I wouldn’t put their lives on the line, I promise you.”

“I want to believe you, but with your past…” she looked over her shoulder at Negan hearing him let out a grumble that showed his displeasure over the fact she was still holding the past over his head. “It takes a lot to regain my trust Negan. I’m not who I used to be.”

“You trusted me enough to marry me,” Negan reminded her, moving in beside her to pinch her bottom causing a yelp to fall from her throat. An amused snicker fell deep from within him and it made her roll her eyes. “I think if you were worried, we wouldn’t be here going away for our so-called honeymoon. You probably would have killed me.”

“I came close a few times,” she pointed out and he let out an amused rumble. “It’s just been hard for me to be away from the children. Since this whole thing started, I’ve never really been apart from them.”

“Exactly, which is why you need this break,” Negan hushed her, his arm hooking loosely around her waist while he led her in closer to him. “For years, all you ever wanted was to be married to me. Now you are and we’re going to do it right. Well, as right as you possibly can in a world like this.”

“Oh, so you’re going to divorce the women that are your other wives?” she blurt out and it was followed by another rumble of a growl. “That’s what I thought.”

“The only real wife that I have is you and you know that,” Negan pushed further, his arm tightening around her in a possessive grasp. “I think we just need to focus on how we’re actually together now. Married. Like a real couple. The way it should have been a long time ago.”

“Mhmm,” she stopped moving, reaching for his hand to pull him to face her. A long exhale fell from her lips while she stared up at him. Palming down over the side of his face, she drew him to her and shook her head slowly. “You know how much I love you Negan. How much I’ve always loved you.”

“Of course I do,” Negan whispered, his thumb drawing lines over the side of her face. “You know I love you too. Very much. And once you came back into my life I decided that I was going to stop wasting fucking time. I’m gonna focus on being a good dad to my children. Nathan and Evie are gonna know what it’s like to have a good father in their life. You’re going to know what it’s like to be pampered the way you are meant to be.”

Tipping up on her toes, Y/N met Negan in a faint kiss that made him hum against her flesh. Stroking his fingers over the side of her face, Negan pulled back ever so slightly and his hazel eyes were locked on hers. There was always something in the way that Negan looked at her that took her breath away. She hated it, but also loved it at the same time.

“I love you,” Negan slurred, leaning in to skim his lips in over hers drawing her to close her eyes tightly. Warmth flooded her veins when he finally claimed her lips in a heated kiss. His right hand palmed in over her bottom and she huffed out. “What?”

“Are you ever going to tell me where you are taking me? Are we almost there or…?” she braced her hand over the center of his chest, purring out when he nibbled at her bottom lip. “Negan.”

“We’re almost there, here…” Negan reached for her hand leading her through the woods, looking back at her with an amused expression. “I wanna see if you remember this place…”

“What do you mean?” she smirked knowing that they had been walking for a while toward an area that felt uphill. When he pushed aside one of the bushes, she let out an amused sound when she saw the group of tiny cabins that sat at the top of a hill that overlooked a large body of water. “God, not this place.”

“So you remember this place?” Negan felt her pulling her hand from his when she moved toward the center of the camp to gaze around. “I thought maybe you would forget it.”

“How could I forget this place? Sure things are overgrown, but I would never forget this place,” she let out something that resembled a giggle and Negan smiled brightly, shoving his hands into his pockets while she looked around. Pointing to one of the cabins, she looked back at Negan and saw him nod. “It was the first year that we were dating. You wanted to go on a road trip with no plans. Just hit the road and see where we ended up. So we got on your motorcycle and just started off in whatever direction I picked.”

“And not far into the trip you started getting handsy so we pulled off here and decided to break into one of these cabins,” Negan added to the conversation hearing her let out an amused sound. “We both agreed these things were ridiculously small, but they were good enough for what we needed which was to just have sex. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other…”

“And we didn’t close the door the first time and there was that deer,” she recalled making Negan huff out when she turned to face him.

“The deer was a pervert that just wanted to spy on us,” Negan walked across the gravel toward her when she moved up the steps to the cabin that they had snuck in together almost fourteen years ago. “I still think that deer wanted a piece of me.”

“You would,” she noted looking into the windows of the cabin to let out a sigh. “We ended up just staying the night after you chased the deer off. I remember late into the night you thought it was the deer coming back and you ran out buck ass naked…” her laughter grew louder making Negan’s face flush over with warmth. “And it was a group of campers that were actually staying here coming back from their hike…”

“Thank God they were all college kids,” Negan snorted finding amusement in the fact that she still found what happened back then so funny. “College kids that understood our situation and let us continue to stay the night in our cabin.”

“I told you to put some pants on when you went to chase the thing off, but you were so…I don’t even think I know the word,” she recalled their past, pushing open the door to see that there was a small mattress set up in the tiny cabin along with a few things and she gazed back at him over her shoulder. “This was your idea for our honeymoon?”

“Listen, we always wanted to go and be by the water, but we were so focused on screwing around that we never got the chance. I thought you might enjoy the memory,” Negan reasoned with her, leaning against the doorframe when she moved into the small cabin. “I had the boys clean up the place and make sure that it was livable for us for the night. I thought maybe we could go for a walk by the water and then…”

“Have sex?” she suggested and it was followed by Negan letting out a thick rumble of laughter. “I assume that’s what you were looking for here?”

“Well,” Negan stepped forward, cornering her inside of the cabin. His breath was hot over her lips while his hazel eyes ate her alive with his stare. “I originally thought I would be romantic with everything. Go for a walk by the water hand in hand. Talk about things. Then maybe we would come back here, have a small dinner, make some smores and then afterwards I thought the two of us could get comfortable with one another and I would make love to you inside of the cabin,” Negan informed her drawing her breathing to get caught in her throat when he pressed his body in against hers. “But, if you want…I’d have no problem getting you on your knees to have you suck on my big cock before I feast on your beautiful, wet pussy. Then we can have sex on the beach. Grab one of the towels, take our clothes off and lay out on the sand. We can go as fast or as slow as you please. We can have sex all day if that’s what you desire. As long as you give me a few breaks to hydrate myself and allow the big guy some time to recuperate. I can have your pussy full and dripping with my cum by the end of the night if that’s what you want.”

“Jesus Negan,” she gasped when he curled his fingers underneath her thigh to pull it up and over his hip. Heat flooded her face and she felt her heart hammering inside of her chest. “Why do I suddenly feel like that girl at the bar all over again wanting you to deliver on everything you just said?”

“Because I still turn you on,” Negan’s nose nuzzled hers, his palm snaking between the two of them to caress over her most intimate parts. Tipping up, she brought their lips together and Negan’s tongue flicked out against hers. Their breathing grew louder when they started pawing at one another touching the other. “My cock is so fucking hard already.”

Dropping her hands, she fumbled with his belt and pulled apart his pants working to tug them open. Finding trouble at first in getting the zipper down, she didn’t hesitate to push down his pants and his boxer briefs when she undid the material. Almost immediately his cock sprung free from the cotton prison it was behind and her palm wrapped around his girthy length.

“Good girl,” Negan complimented her, his forehead pressing to hers while she jerked him off. Grunting, Negan watched her lowering down to her knees like he had suggested earlier. Pressing his left hand against the wall, he used the right to hook his fingers into her hair while she pressed wet kisses against the shaft. Closing his eyes, he bit down on his bottom lip as her lips wrapped around the tip. Moaning out, he enjoyed the way that her tongue lapped at the sensitive tip while she took her time bobbing her head over the length of him. The damp warmth of her mouth around him felt incredible. Even after this many years, he could never get sick of sexual acts with her. She knew exactly what to do in order to please him and it was exciting every time. “So good.”

The wet sounds her mouth made over him was turning him on even more with his hips bucking up toward the back of her throat. Her caress worked over his length as well and he was very verbal with her about everything. Praising her consistently. He knew that she loved that.

“Fuck,” Negan moaned out, falling forward when she deep throated him. Wincing out, it didn’t take much for him to be coming down her throat and having her swallowing down every drop of his release. When she pulled back, she wiped at her bottom lip and collected the taste of him before sucking at her fingertips. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Forcing her to him, he kissed her with everything that he had, tasting himself against her and groaning out against her flesh. Working open her pants, Negan was eager to get them from her body hearing her gasping when she almost fell over with his strength. Dropping down to his knees, Negan reached for her left leg and threw it in over his shoulder to give himself some space. Gasping out, she dug her fingers into his shoulders to brace herself when he peppered wet, hot kisses over the inside of her thigh. Once his mouth centered in over her core, he could feel her fingers sinking into his hair and clinging tightly to it.

Eagerly pleasuring her, Negan did what he knew she loved using his tongue and fingers in unison. It had her grasping at the wall with her free hand to try to brace herself. From the caresses of his tongue, the slurping and kissing over her most sensitive parts, it had her panting out his name and he loved every second of it. When she hit her first orgasm, he didn’t stop what he was doing. No, he wanted her not regretting a moment of agreeing to marry him after everything. Plunging his fingers into her, he caressed over her g-spot while his tongue and lips worked perfectly in unison over her clitoris.

“Negan,” she cried out his name when she came again and he let out an amused rumble when he lazily pulled his mouth away from her, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck over them with a proud expression. “You’re something else.”

“I know,” Negan placed another small kiss over the inside of her thigh and carefully placed her leg back down. Standing up, he pressed his body to hers and smirked down at her. “Let’s go fuck by the water.”

“And what if a walker shows up?” she muttered against his lips hearing him snicker and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll bring our lunch, our weapons and if a walker shows up while I’m balls deep inside of you, then we will deal with it,” Negan’s nose wrinkled when she rolled her eyes and pushed into the center of his chest. “How are your legs? Do you need me to carry you down there? They were kind of shaking up a storm.”

“My legs will work,” she answered working her pants back over her body. At first, she didn’t think they would genuinely do exactly what he said, but they did. Negan led her to the beach, laid out a towel and lowered her down on top of it after undressing her. They had sex on top of the towel that was much more passionate than she would have imagined it would have been, but afterwards when he was laying in over her, she found herself caressing at the back of his neck. With their bodies tangled together and the warmth of him over her, she closed her eyes and let out a long exhale. “It’s moments like this where the world actually feels normal again.”

“With my dick going soft inside of you,” Negan teased against the side of her neck. Letting out a disgusted breath had him snickering against her flesh. “I’m fucking with you baby.”

“You’re always going to be Negan,” she sank her fingers further into his damp, dark hair. Pressing a kiss to his temple had his head lifting and the weak smile he gave her made her heart skip a beat. “I mean when we are alone like this. Out on a beach with no one here. It reminds me of when we were younger without a care in the world.”

“Well we can make this world as normal as we can,” Negan grabbed her hand that had her ring on it. Peppering faint kisses over the back of it had her smiling. It made him happy to know that she could find happiness with him again after everything. “We’re starting slowly, but over time we can start building this world together.”

“This was all I ever wanted,” she reminded him with Negan’s thumb sweeping in over the ring that she was wearing. “To be married to you. To have you look at me the way you are.”

“I know,” Negan acknowledged with a hesitant smile, lowering his head to press his forehead to hers. “And now we get to spend the rest of our lives together working on the relationship that we should have been having this whole time.”

There was a silence that filled the air between them when Negan sighed. Pulling his hips back had both of them letting out muted moans before Negan laid in beside her. Having her cuddling in closer to his chest had his arm immediately wrapping around her to hold her tightly to him.

“I was thinking,” Negan began, licking at his lips when he lowered his head down to cuddle his chin in over the top of her head. “Mostly about our family. I want to work on building our family back up. I want to be a good father and a good husband. I think we can make this whole thing work together. Maybe when things get settled down the line, we can actually try adding to our family again. So I can do things right from the start. I fucked up so bad when you were pregnant with Evie and then with Nathan…”

“I don’t think we should have more,” she interrupted Negan, a sincerity in her eyes when she expressed how she felt about things. “Evie was hard, but nothing can describe just how hard it was having Nathan. I love that boy and I’m so thankful to have both of them in my life, but doing everything on my own was just too hard. With the way the world is right now Negan, we’re just lucky to have the two that we do have.”

“I know that,” Negan stressed, his brow line furrowing in frustration. Y/N’s fingers were stroking through the dark curls of hair that was over his chest showing that she wasn’t mad at him, just stressing her feelings to him on the subject. “I just want another chance to do things right.”

“You have a chance to make things right,” she reminded him, her fingers tracing up over the side of Negan’s face drawing his hazel eyes to her. A lump developed in Negan’s throat when those words hit him hard. “Having a new baby isn’t going to make things right. Focusing on your relationship with your son and daughter will. You have everything you could ever want and more in both Evie and Nathan. A boy and a girl. A little girl that loves you more than anything and would do absolutely anything for you. I think the real testament to your love and your hope for change is how hard you work on building your relationship with the two of them. What you do to make things right for them.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving my children, I just don’t think adding one more to the family would be a bad thing,” Negan suggested, his thumb sweeping in over her jawline to admire her with the way she was looking at him. “We make good looking babies and that’s something the world needs. More babies to fill it that aren’t totally ugly.”

“Nice sell honey,” she rolled her eyes, tapping playfully at his chest. Laying her head back down over his chest, she listened to the sturdy sounds of his heart beating and sighed. “We have so much to work on, I think that just needs to be a thought very far out in the future.”

“Well, you never know how much time you have with someone,” Negan countered, his tone shaken when he thought about his time with Lucille and how long they had been apart. “The world has always chose when the two of us should have a child, so I guess I’m going to leave it in mother nature’s hands.”

“You do that,” she replied with a hesitant smile, her lips pressing faint kisses over his chest again. “I don’t want to raise a baby in that place Negan. It’s hard enough thinking about how we are going to raise Evie and Nathan there.”

“The Sanctuary?” Negan responded, his face scrunching up in confusion when she nodded. “It’s safe there Y/N. We have food, crops, protection…”

“Enemies, nowhere to raise a family except for your bedroom, no real places for them to play and people who despise you,” she stopped him before he could continue to sell what a good place it was for their children to grow up in. Bracing herself over his chest, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Part of me wishes that you come to your senses and you decide that you’re ready to give up this life. That you just want to be a dad and a husband.”

“I do want to be a dad and a husband,” Negan countered, his thick eyebrows bouncing up when he defended himself. “That’s all I want right now. To be with you and the kids. To continue working on my family so we can be happy.”

“It’s not going to happen at The Sanctuary Negan,” she declared, a sense of sadness flooding her features when she continued. “The best thing for your children would be for you to step down and move to the farm. We have everything there. Protection that you could enhance. Food that you are capable of growing. A home. A real home for the children to grow up.”

“You know that I can’t do that,” Negan frowned feeling the guilt that was eating away at him with her lecturing him about the farm again. “I know that you think that life is capable…”

“It is,” she interrupted him, her hand lifting up to stop him from going off any further. “You quit. You move to the farm and you be the family man that you insist you want to be. It’s that simple.”

“And I explained to you, it’s not that simple. I have people that count on me. I’m the leader of this group and if I walk away from it, I’m letting everyone down. People will die because of me leaving,” Negan pushed once more and he could tell that she wasn’t buying the story that he was selling. “I keep a balance there. I keep harmony between all of them because if I was gone, it would be a fucking disaster there.”

“You are in the middle of a war with another community that is hell bent on killing you,” she reminded Negan making his lips part. He went to say something, but he just huffed and made it clear by his lack of eye contact that she was right. “The people there, they hate you. Some might hero worship you, but mostly they are scared of you. I love you for the man that I know you to be, but the Negan that is in charge of that community? It’s the darkest parts of you I didn’t want to remember you for. Staying at The Sanctuary is just going to give your children a hostile environment to grow up in. It’s never going to be fully safe there Negan. You know that just as much as I do. I think you know that leaving and going to the farm is the best place for you. For all of us.”

“I can’t Y/N,” Negan whispered, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. “This is the one thing I built on my own. Maybe I don’t run it the way that I should, but through the years we were separated I learned really fast that being the good guy leads you to nothing but pain. All the good guy does is die. I don’t think I’m bad, but I don’t think I’m good either. I just do what I have to in order to keep people alive.”

“You know there was a day when that farmhouse was your dream,” she brought back their past and it had the color draining from Negan’s features. “That’s why I bought that house. It was everything you ever wanted. You wanted animals, a place where we could just have a family and be together. It was never my dream, it was yours.”

“I know,” he asserted, his hazel eyes tearing over when she looked upon him with such high expectations. “You’re right.”

“Then why are you so against that life?” she wondered, but he didn’t have an answer for her. In fact, it just made him uncomfortable and kind of emotional. “I love you, so fucking much. That’s why I agreed to marry you. That’s why I agreed to all of this crazy shit. Because beyond all doubt in this world, I know that my heart completely belongs to you. But right now, you are picking to be this character over your own family. You’re trying to balance the two, but you’re not. We’re secondary in your life Negan. And this Sanctuary Negan is going to continue to rule over the dreams you really had in your life. Not these false dreams that this world created for you.”

“I can’t be the man that I wanted to be when I was in my twenties Y/N,” Negan stated with a frown, his head shaking slowly. “Yeah. More than anything I wanted to be a dad. That was the thing I wanted more than anything. I wanted to be happy and I wanted to have a big family. That farmhouse was never achievable for me.”

“It was,” she shook her head with a scoff. “And it still is.”

“The world will not let me be the man that I always wanted when I was younger,” Negan repeated, his hands reaching up to cup her face in them tenderly. “I’ve done things. Things that I can’t take back and…”

“But you can run away from that life Negan,” she pushed, her eyes tearing over when she stared down at him with physical pain at the idea of what he was saying. “I know that you like feeling important. I know that you like having the power. Power feels good. But in the eyes of your children? You’re the most important person in the world. You are their hero. You’re their silly, amazing father that loves them. What more in the world could you possibly want?”

Parting his lips to say something, Negan huffed out with his bottom lip trembling and he was actually getting really emotional, “You have your second chance Negan and the world is holding it out for you. It’s giving you your second chance. It’s just waiting for you to take it. Because you have two beautiful children and a woman that loves you. A woman that has always loved you. A woman that has put you above her time and time again because all she ever wanted was to make you happy. A woman that just wishes that for once…” in that moment her words stopped and he saw that she pushed up to sit down on the towel. Slowly lifting up, Negan looked to her and saw that she was trying to hide that she was getting emotional herself. “A woman that wishes for once you would choose her. That choosing her over your own ego is what you really want.”

“I did choose you,” Negan curled his finger in underneath her chin to get her to look at him. His breath hitched when he saw the tears that were sliding down her face. “That’s why we are married Y/N. I chose you.”

“I just want to be enough for once Negan,” she informed him, a whimper falling from her parted lips. “You always told me that I was perfect. And god I hated hearing it. Because there was always that but that followed. You’re perfect Y/N. You’re just not perfect for me…”

“That was the past,” Negan reasoned with her and she let out a hesitant laugh. “I was so blinded by my own stupidity to see how things really were.”

“Negan, The Sanctuary is your Lucille now,” she spoke quietly, her jawline flexing when his hand lowered. Hearing that was like a kick to the gut. “You’re picking The Sanctuary over me. Over your children. And once again, I’m perfect, but I’m not perfect enough to give up this life for. I gave up all of my dreams for you Negan. Every single one of them. All I’m asking you to do is to finally take the dream you wanted from the start. The one you begged me for twelve to eleven years ago. Be a father. Move to the farm. Forget this life. You got to be powerful. You got to experience it. If you really, genuinely love me…be the family man you always wanted to be. Become that farmer. Take care of the crops and the animals. Cowboy Negan was always a very good look for you.”

“Shit,” Negan scoffed lowering his head down and letting out an upset breath. When she laid that out on the table before him like that, things really started to make sense to what she was saying. Stroking at the back of his neck, Negan shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Fine. Yeah. You’re one hundred percent right.”

“About what?” she was curious seeing him wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand drawing attention to just how beautiful his hazel eyes truly were.

“That I need to give that place up. I have my family back,” Negan answered admitting to her that she was finally right. “I have my wife and my children back in my life and that farm was my dreamhouse. Which I’m fully capable of having now. I’ll move my men out. I will grab the things I want and we can go there. Be together. Live our life there and be happy.”

“Come on,” she sighed feeling like it was just something he was saying at this point. “You can’t say things that you don’t plan to follow up on Negan. I’ve known you for fifteen plus years.”

“Then look at me,” Negan demanded, reaching for her to get her to lock gazes with him again. “I promise you, when we get home I will let everyone know that I’m done. They can pick amongst themselves who they want to be their leader and I will take you along with the kids to the farm. We can be happy together. Like we always should have been. We’ll be out within the week.”

“Tell me you’re being serious,” she begged of him and Negan nodded his head.

“I’m very serious. You’re absolutely right. For too long you’ve been living your life for me. It’s time I finally lived the life I always stressed that I wanted,” Negan declared with a simple shrug of his shoulders feeling his chest aching. For so long she was in pain because of him and he knew that. “You are perfect. Perfect for me. Perfect for the children and I just want to spend the rest of my life proving to you how perfect you really are. I can’t do that at The Sanctuary. I swear to you with everything that I am. I fucking mean it.”

An amused rumble of laughter fell from his throat when she leapt forward into his arms knocking him back into the sand. Holding her close, Negan laughed and nuzzled his nose in against the side of her neck. He couldn’t remember a time that she was happy like this because of him making the right decision for once.

“I love you more than anything,” Negan admitted, his words vibrating against her flesh after he pressed kisses against her lips. There was something in the way she looked at him that took his breath away. “You’re everything to me. You and those kids. I’m not going to fuck it up this time.”

“Thank you Negan,” she breathed out, her forehead pressing to his while he stroked his fingers through her hair. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I have an idea,” Negan whispered, squeezing her tightly in his arms. “It’s time I picked you for once. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

----

It was late into the morning and by now Negan should have been on his way back with Y/N to The Sanctuary, but he couldn’t find it in himself to move. Yesterday they had spent more time on the beach together before finding their way back to the cabin. Inside of it, they had shared memories and just talked for a while before falling back into one another again. Y/N had fallen asleep easily last night in his arms, but Negan didn’t get much sleep if any at all. Instead he just held her in his arms and watched her sleep. Everything she said the night before was true and he knew it was time for him to finally step up to be the man he always promised he wanted to be.

The sun was shining in through the small window, hitting them just enough from where they were laying together on the tiny mattress they were stretched out on together. Being someone that was a full-time father and farmer he knew they wouldn’t get as many chances to have these wild, crazy sex nights together. At The Sanctuary, he had people to watch over the children, but now he had to be one hundred percent dad. Even though he enjoyed moments like that, he was willing to finally take on that role. Honestly? Negan had never really been a fulltime dad. Not since Evie was born. Even though he was always on backup, Negan was a fulltime dad two weeks a month for seven years. Then the world fell to shit and Lucille got sick. That’s when he gave up being a dad completely. And that was the biggest mistake he felt like he ever made in his life.

Picking solely Lucille and throwing away his daughter was a stupid mistake chosen out of fear. So many days he wished he could take it back, but he couldn’t. Now he finally had the chance to make things right. For Evie. For Nathan. For Y/N and finally himself. Most of his nights had been fueled by nightmares since he lost Evie. Now he had the chance to live the life he always wanted. He should have taken it from the start, but now he was finally seeing just how important it actually was for him to take this step.

“You have the prettiest eyelashes I’ve ever seen,” Y/N’s voice was quiet while she shifted over his chest from where she had been sleeping. Gazing down, Negan saw that behind her tired eyes, she was staring out at him. “I was always drawn to your eyes and your smile.”

“I think little man has the eyelashes too,” Negan noted, stretching his body out finally when he knew that she was fully awake. All night he had tried to stay still because he was afraid of waking her up. “I think he’s going to be a charmer when he’s older. Winning the hearts of whoever he sets his sights on.”

“He has taken on a lot of your physical traits,” she agreed with Negan, a tiny smile pulling at her fatigued features. “Nathan has your looks. Evie has certainly got your personality.”

“I’d like to think they were an equal mix of both of us,” Negan gave her a wink, squeezing her in closer to his body with a snicker.

“Being at the farm will give me time to work on things with Evie too,” she admitted, her fingers stroking over the center of Negan’s chest. “For years our relationship has been terrible. She’s hated me for something I couldn’t control. Hopefully, with us being a family again and being at the farm we can finally make things right.”

“I thought things have been getting better,” Negan suggested, his eyes narrowing when he thought back on his discussions with Evie to be better to her mother. “I’ve heard her tell you that she loves you.”

“Yeah, but hopefully this can help heal our daughter’s heart,” she whispered, pressing a faint kiss over Negan’s shoulder. “She’s become someone I hardly know over the last few years. She used to be the happiest, smiley little girl. Whether she was with you or me. I always knew you were her favorite, but she loved me a lot too. Maybe we can finally get back to that at the farm. So I can spend more time trying to be a good mother to her. Focusing on her.”

“You’ve been an extremely good mother to her,” Negan stressed, his fingers sweeping in underneath her chin to get her to look up at him. Sadness remained from her talking about their daughter and Negan shook his head. “You kept our children safe. You made sure that they were always well kept and alive. Protected. You’re an amazing mother Y/N and I promise you, Evie is going to see that one day soon. And then everything will be back to normal.”

“I hope so,” she sighed, cuddling her head in against the center of Negan’s chest. “We should probably get ready to go, huh?”

“Eh,” Negan scoffed, his nose wrinkling in discomfort. “Let’s just wait a little while longer. This is the last time we can really fuck off as parents. Let’s take our time together and then slowly make our way back. I want to focus on the time I have with you for a little while.”

“So you want to have sex again?” she inquired, her eyebrow arching in amusement. Placing his free hand over the center of his chest, Negan shook his head. “Fine, I’ll just get dressed…”

Watching her crawling away made Negan huff when he swiftly moved in over her, pinning her down face first on the small bed that was beneath her. With a giggle, she felt Negan’s lips kissing down over the side of her neck and she purred out, “that’s what I thought.”

“You flash your ass at me, what am I supposed to do?” Negan wondered turning her onto her back to get her to look up at him with her arms hooking around his shoulders. “I am a man after all. My dick is already hard in the morning and then you go flashing your ass at me.”

“You’re a dork,” she snickered with Negan’s lips covering hers. Each kiss grew in intensity having her gasp out when Negan adjusted her legs to have them wrap around his waist. “Wait.”

“What is it?” Negan breathed out, nibbling at her bottom lip eliciting a purr from her. “You don’t want this?”

“I want this,” she assured him, stroking her fingers down over the side of his neck taking her time to stare up at him. “Can you just drag it out for me? As much as I like sex, I’m just kind of hoping for something where I feel loved. Where it feels like you are making love to me.”

“I have absolutely zero problems with that,” Negan whispered behind loving and passionate kisses.

And he gave her exactly what she asked of him. It was slow and unhurried. There was lots of touching, praises and careful movements. What she asked for, he delivered and afterwards they just laid together for a little while longer before starting to pack up with things.

“I think I’m going to steal a stash of the candy, coffee and the ice cream before we leave The Sanctuary,” Negan announced while they gathered their things and started heading back toward the car that Negan had parked down at the bottom of the mountain.

“Maybe some seeds for planting might be good too,” she suggested moving in beside him and making him yelp out when he felt her pinching his ass. It made him smile though that she was open to being that way with him.

“The hands woman!” Negan was loud and silly when he swatted her hand away from him. Once they had everything packed up back inside of the car, Negan reached for her hand to pull her in against his chest. “I love you. So fucking much. You know that.”

“Hmmm…I don’t know,” she whispered, she tipped up on her toes wrapping her arms around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to her. “Maybe you should say it again so I can think harder about it.”

“I fucking love you,” Negan slurred against her lips pulling her in closer to him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his mouth, humming when they pulled away. “I always will.”

“Good,” Negan teased with a wrinkle of his nose. Palming down over her back, Negan’s palms squeezed at her bottom before peppering a few final kisses over her lips. “We need to start back on our drive. But just know, this is a day I won’t soon forget.”

“Nor will I baby,” she agreed with a wink following Negan to the car where he opened the door for her to get in. Taking the seat, she watched Negan almost skip to the other side where he got in himself. The smile on his face was contagious. And it made her happy to see. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this happy for me.”

“I could say the very same thing about you,” Negan muttered, his fingers reaching out to sweep in over the side of her face. “I’m just glad that I’ve been lucky enough for you to give me so many chances Y/N. I never deserved them, but you never gave up on me. You were the one person that never did.”

Instead of saying something, she led him to her again to kiss him. It took his breath away and he nuzzled his nose in against hers. There was a need deep inside of his veins to show her all the love in the world. And he hoped that she felt it. Especially after everything he put her through. He wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to prove it too. And that started with finally giving up The Sanctuary to focus solely on his family.

On the drive back, they would have silly discussions since it was quite a distance for them. Just to keep each other focused. When they weren’t super far away from The Sanctuary though, Negan had noticed a small town that they hadn’t searched before.

“Why don’t we go search to see if there is something good?” she suggested, pointing in the direction of it. “It’s a town right off the water. There might be some good supplies there. We can find something for the farm and snag it before other people find it?”

“Shit,” Negan stopped the car, gazing over at her with a huff when he realized she was right. “I probably could just have them run out tomorrow and go search for things honey. That way it’s back at The Sanctuary before we actually leave.”

“I don’t mind Negan,” she offered seeing that he was actually considering his options. “It gives us more time together for our honeymoon.”

“Fine,” Negan grumbled under his breath, turning the car around so they could head back toward the city. Driving through it, Negan made sure that it seemed pretty much abandoned before parking on the main street in the small town. “There is no one here which makes me think it’s probably picked over babe.”

“Or we can just be lucky,” she eagerly got out of the car and stretched. Grabbing his weapon and Lucille, Negan was quick to follow after her as they made their way up main street looking over the stores that were there. “I remember when we went to places like this all the time when I had my days off. Your favorite place to eat was always that seafood restaurant.”

“I do love a good lobster roll,” Negan sighed thinking about the past when she used to pamper him. “God, I’d kill for one of those. They had the best biscuits, lobster rolls and soup. I probably could have eaten there every day if I wasn’t poor as fuck. I miss that shit.”

“If you get a few lobsters before we leave, we can try to recreate the recipe,” she suggested looking back over her shoulder at him with a simple shrug. “We aren’t that far away from the coast, right? I’m sure we can get someone to find some.”

“True,” Negan agreed with her, noticing the way that she was eyeing over the storefronts as they would pass them. “Do you remember when I was a deadbeat and I would make dinner for us all the time when you were at work?”

“Sure,” she smirked at the thought of him calling himself a deadbeat. “I remember Lucille telling me that when you lost your job at the school you became an even better cook.”

“Right,” Negan’s expression became somewhat serious when she brought up two negatives from his past. Lucille and losing his job at the school. “I was going to say that when I was living with Lucille, we didn’t get lobster a lot because we didn’t always have the funds, but there was one point where I made these two really incredible versions. I did the Maine style and the Connecticut style. I think I was on the verge of getting it just right.”

“You should have became a chef,” she commented, finding herself surprised when Negan’s fingers hooked with hers attempting his best to hold her hand. “I know you loved your sports, but you always loved cooking. I would have supported you.”

“You always took care of me Y/N,” Negan reminded her, stopping her enough to get her to look out at him. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers through her hair and sighed. “The sad thing is, I do believe if I told you I want to be a fucking chef, you would have opened a restaurant for me.”

“I would have done anything for you,” she breathed out, her eyes hooked on his and it made him let out a long exhale.

“I never doubted that,” Negan alerted her with a sigh leaning in to press his forehead against hers. “I probably would have been so much happier if I did become a chef.”

“Probably not,” she teased him, tipping her head back to stare into his hazel eyes. “The first time someone complained you would probably come out and dump the food over their heads before kicking their ass. I’d be bailing you out of jail all the time.”

“Touché,” Negan snickered, nuzzling his nose in against hers before something caught his attention in the corner. “From where we are I see a grocery store, a toy store and a bar. Let’s go hit up all three.”

“Sounds like a date we would have had when we were younger,” she suggested with a weak smile causing Negan’s nose to wrinkle. Keeping his fingers tightly around Lucille, he grabbed a hold of her hand and led her first toward the grocery store. The glass on the doors were shattered and she didn’t have a lot of faith that there would be much of anything after all this time. Tugging at the doors that were held together by a chain, Negan made enough room for her to get between them before following her in. Inside shelves were pushed over, broken glass covered the floor and there was a flickering light coming from the back of the store. “I’m going to guess this is a no go.”

“We’ll still look,” Negan hushed her, motioning her to wait. Tapping Lucille against the floor several times, Negan waited to see if he could draw out any of the walkers. When nothing happened, he looked back at her with a shrug. Grabbing a cart, Negan reached for it and pointed toward the basket. “Get in.”

“You must be joking,” her nose wrinkled looking down at the cart and he huffed.

“Have some fun,” Negan snickered, holding his hand out to help her into the cart after she rolled her eyes. Like he usually could, he convinced her to do what he wanted in getting into the shopping cart. Putting Lucille into the cart with her, Negan started rolling the cart throughout the store observing what was left on the shelves. “We used to fuck around a lot when we were younger.”

“In what fashion?” she tipped her head back and he smirked. “We got in some trouble in the first year together.”

“We did,” Negan snickered stopping in one aisle when he saw some cans sitting on the shelves. Reaching for the first few he wiggled them about causing her nose to wrinkle since it was sardines. Tossing it into the cart with her, Negan grabbed a few of the other cans that were left there knowing that it was things that were just picked over, but it didn’t hurt to have non-perishables. “I just meant we would do silly things like this. I remember when I did this with you that one time we ended up getting kicked out of that store.”

“Rightfully so, we were being stupid,” she reminded him with a hesitant laugh, “you were racing up and down the aisles like a maniac.”

“But you had fun,” Negan grumbled under his breath grabbing a firm hold of the handle starting to push the cart down the lanes quickly like he had done when they were younger. It had her grasping tightly to the sides of the cart with every sharp turn he took. Hearing her laughter made him smile figuring that she was reminiscing about their past and just having fun being silly.

“Negan!” she squealed out when one half of the cart went up on its side but he managed to catch it, slamming it down onto the ground. “You’re going to kill me if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve got you. You’re safe with me,” Negan assured her, pressing down to steal a quick kiss from her lips. Being more careful, they went through every lane and grabbed the things that were still left before he took her into the back. As soon as the door opened, Negan heard her let out an uncomfortable sound when they saw the long-decomposed corpse of someone that had hung themselves. “Well fuck.”

After some silence, Negan cleared his throat and moved around the body, “He probably had a stash in here somewhere if someone didn’t steal it already.”

“Negan,” she frowned noticing that Negan didn’t have a care in the world that there was a body hanging before them. Managing to work her way out of the cart, she was careful in the way she moved when she observed the body. “I don’t see any marks on him.”

“Some people just couldn’t handle the stress of things Y/N,” Negan let out an excited breath after pushing through some of the bags to see that there was one hidden with a bunch of supplies. Lifting the bag up, he moved in beside her to show her what he had. “Jackpot. Looks like they have some guns, food and tools.”

“Don’t you feel bad taking his things?” she pushed hearing Negan scoff when he set the bag down in the shopping cart.

“Why? He’s not using it,” Negan suggested moving around the back of the store. There were a few sleeping bags in there so he was surprised this was the only body they actually found. “You know Y/N, I learned to stop caring about people a long time ago. When you care about people it’s only going to get you killed.”

“You care about me,” she reminded him and Negan scoffed.

“That’s different,” Negan countered with a quick tip of his head.

Gasping out, Negan tugged at one of the bags knocking over one of the shelves. It had both of them jumping when a hidden area was revealed behind one of the walls. Clearing his throat, Negan’s eyes narrowed when he realized what was being hidden. Y/N went to step forward and Negan immediately shook his head, “Don’t.”

“What is it?” she of course couldn’t listen to him and moved in beside Negan to see what looked like three walkers that were fading away almost completely. Two of them looked like children and the other was a woman. “Jesus.”

“Come here,” Negan pulled her back toward him noticing the sadness that flooded her features. “You can’t let things like this bother you Y/N. They aren’t people anymore.”

“They were babies Negan,” she felt her throat going dry assuming that the body they found hanging was likely the father and the husband of the bodies that were almost completely fading away. “It bothers me to see what has happened to so many children.”

“It happened to most of the world,” Negan hooked his arms around her, pulling her into a tight squeeze. “Instead of being upset about people we never knew, you have to focus on the fact that all four of us are still here.”

With a nod, Y/N forced herself to look away and Negan urged her out away after doing another quick scope of what was left. There was a door they could get out of easier in the back. Taking the things back to the car, Negan packed them up and then led her toward the bar. When the doors were locked, Negan grumbled to himself and managed to break one of the windows. Crawling in, he motioned her to wait and then pulled the tables away from the door so she could get in. Once she was, Negan pushed the tables back and instructed her to wait for him while he checked the kitchen. And he was glad he had her stay where she was because there were multiple sets of bones in the freezer. Around the bar he was able to find some alcohol bottles and some bags of flour that hadn’t been used. After he was done setting them aside, he could see that Y/N was standing behind the bar and it made him smile.

“Does this bring back old memories for you?” Negan slid his hands across the bar top and stopped before her. Tapping his hands against the top of it, Negan bobbed his head about and she snickered. “I bet every time you came to a bar you thought about our first time together.”

“I did,” she agreed with him, looking behind the bar and her eyes fell upon a bottle of whiskey that was left there. Picking it up, she set it on top of the bar and watched him smile. “Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed being a bartender. I was good at it. And for the most part, it was always nice learning things about people. Sometimes it felt like people just came here to have someone to talk to because they had no one.”

“You want a drink?” Negan grabbed a hold of the bottle wiping it off with his white t-shirt. Managing to get it open, he smelled the alcohol inside before taking a long swig of it. Hissing out, he tipped his head to the side and sighed. Extending his hand out, he saw her eyeing over the bottle before accepting it. Considering her first sip, she shrugged her shoulders before taking a long drink of it as well.

“Do you remember when we first started dating? You used to come to the bar every night after that guy tried attacking me. You would just take the corner table at the start of my shift and you would stay until I left,” she pointed toward the back corner of the bar they were in and he smirked when she brought up their past. “I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. This incredibly handsome stranger saves me from getting hurt. He’s so good looking, charming, he’s good at sex and he’s well equipped,” she rambled off causing Negan’s nose to wrinkle and he snickered. “And he wants to keep me safe. I couldn’t believe that someone would ever be dumb enough to dump him. Sure, he may have been going through a rough time, but he was…perfect.”

Negan’s jawline flexed when she looked down toward the bar top and sighed, “I don’t know if you remember, but you used to draw all the time while you were waiting. I would come over and you’d have all these little things drawn out on bar napkins and you’d write me these notes.”

“I was always drawing back then. I used to think Evie started drawing because I was always doodling,” Negan noted, setting the bottle down and reaching out to stroke his hand in over Y/N’s. “What about it though?”

“I kept all of those,” she admitted with a weak smile, her head shaking when she let out a long sigh. “I used to always put them in my top drawer when I got home. I think I had even put them in a booklet at one point. It’s at our old house somewhere. Probably in my closet if it wasn’t stolen. There were two I always kept with me though. It was the ones where you would draw us as cartoon characters. The first one you ever drew me…and…”

“And?” Negan’s eyebrow arched in curiosity when her lips parted and she let out a tremoring breath.

“There was one you drew when I was pregnant of what was supposed to be us at our wedding. It was us at our wedding holding the baby. It was really cute. I still have them in the nightstand beside the bed at the farm if your men haven’t destroyed it. I had a few pictures in there too,” she declared with a long sigh grabbing the bottle to drink more than he expected her to.

“You really kept those?” Negan wondered, his throat tensing up when she nodded after setting it down. “They were just meant to be silly little things. I thought you would throw them away.”

“I was head over heels in love with you,” she reminded him grabbing the bottle before moving around the bar to go over toward the corner of the seating area to sit on the floor. Moving in beside her, Negan slowly lowered down and could tell that she was upset thinking about things. “You know, originally our four-month ultrasound was supposed to be a week later. You were just so excited that when they had an opening and called me, I took it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Negan’s Adam’s apple bounced in his throat when he noticed that she was getting upset again about their past. “You have to stop hurting yourself over our past.”

“You don’t ever think about how things would have been if we didn’t take that appointment that day?” Y/N inquired with Negan’s features growing sad. Tipping her head to the side, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Of course you don’t. It gave you back Lucille, so why would you never want it to happen?”

“It gave you Lucille too,” Negan countered reaching for the bottle when he thought she was drinking too much of it. “And you loved Lucille too.”

“I love Lucille. Her dying didn’t stop me from loving her,” she corrected Negan, a shuddering breath falling from her throat. “A lot of my life I considered the what ifs. Like what if I would have taken that later appointment? We could have found out about our little girl. You would have been happy. You would have missed Lucille completely. We would have gotten married. Maybe we would have been living happily in that farm all along.”

“Or maybe I would have been bitten while working at the school,” Negan reasoned with her noticing the tears that were in her eyes. “I can’t even begin to apologize enough to you for our past. I fucked up. I fucked up so fucking bad. I know that. But it happened and we can’t change what happened. What matters is that we are together now. You always wanted to be married to me. Now you are. We have two beautiful children and by the end of the week we will be living at the farm together. You’re going to get everything you ever wanted in life. Everything I ever wanted in life. You have to think about that stuff and not the past.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she apologized with Negan grabbing a hold of the bottle of alcohol to drink a hefty amount from it.

“Here I was thinking about the two of us absolutely plowing each other in the bar nightly. Whether it was the first night or every night after when you would close up. We had so much fun,” Negan recalled with a hiss when he lowered the bottle from his lips. “I had so many of the best memories from those nights. We figured out so many different ways to have sex in a bar…”

A loud sigh was heard and he noticed the way that Y/N was staring out at him from the things that he remembered, “What?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head letting out a long sigh. An uncomfortable laugh fell from her throat and Negan felt a warmth flooding into his face. “That’s really your best memories with us? The two of us fucking in the bar? I’m talking about the things you did that made me feel happy and safe. And all you can think about is us fucking?”

“I get in a bar Y/N and my dick gets hard thinking about it,” Negan answered with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Pointing down toward the center of his pants, Negan scoffed and let out a long exhale. “I was kind of hoping that we could have another round. Relive the past a bit. That’s why I picked a bar in the first place.”

“Of course you did,” she stole the bottle from him and stood up from the floor to pace.

“What’s wrong with me wanting to bend you over the bar and fuck you?” Negan questioned, his brow line furrowing when he let out a grunt as he tried pulling himself up. “It’s our honeymoon so to speak. I don’t see a problem with it. We like fucking each other. Our first time was in a bar and a significant part to the beginning of our life was fucking in a bar. So yes, I get in a bar and I think about fucking you which are pretty incredible moments.”

“I was searching for some of your favorite moments that you spent with me. Instead you responded with sex which is what I always thought our relationship was anyways. It would have been nice hearing some good memories that weren’t sex related,” she rolled her eyes, heading for the back when she heard Negan call out to her.

“The first night you let me sleep in your bed with you, I never felt more wanted in my entire life. I was never a hero. In fact, in my life I never felt as good as I did when I saved you that night. I’m not a hero Y/N. We both know that, but never in my life could I ever top that moment. I remember you were laying in my arms and I thought about how much I loved you. How much I wanted to keep you safe. I still remember the way you looked sleeping on my chest that night,” Negan rambled out, drawing her to walk back into the room with him when he approached her. “The day we got Darwin together is one of my absolute favorites. I close my eyes and I can still picture what it was like. His ears were so damn big and he was so fucking small. We would play with him in the backyard and he would trip over his ears. One of my favorites was when we moved in to that home after being in your apartment. I remember carrying you over the threshold thinking about how in that moment, it felt like everything was right in the world. Or the night you told me about being pregnant. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Negan was getting emotional when he threw his hands up in the air, “Even if it wasn’t special for you, the day that Evie was born. I remember sitting in bed beside you, holding that little girl in my arms and nothing ever topped that feeling again. That happy, fucking through the roof feeling to know that we created something so fucking beautiful. Something so fucking perfect.”

Holding his hands out like he was holding onto a baby, Negan huffed out and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not much of a romantic Y/N. We both know that. We both know I’m an asshole. We both know I say the dumbest shit. My mouth runs before my brain even considers what it’s doing. But that doesn’t mean I’m not head over heels in love with you. My favorite nights were those times we would just sit on the couch together watching old episodes of the Twilight Zone. So please, if I’m being fucking horny don’t think all I care about is sex because I really fucking love you. And I’m doing my best. I’m just a dick that is trying his best. I have a lot to work on, but I’m trying. And hopefully moving to the farm will help push that along.”

A shuddering breath fell from Y/N’s parted lips when he wiggled his fingers at her, “So why don’t you set that bottle of alcohol down and come here so I can kiss the shit outta you.”

“You have a way with words, don’t you?” she rolled her eyes, setting the bottle of alcohol down on top of the bar. Heading across the small bar, she felt Negan’s arms wrapping around her when he lowered down to capture her lips in an extended, passionate kiss that had her wrapping her arms around his shoulders. When they finally did part, Negan nuzzled his nose in against hers. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” he agreed with her, an arrogant smile tugging at his features when he started to pepper faint kisses over her lips. Sliding his hands down in over her bottom had her letting out an uneven breath. “I’m going to guess bar sex is out of the question now?”

“Will it make you happy?” she frowned with him considering her question before nodding. “Then fine. I would do anything to make you happy.”

----

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