#says as i fucking sob so hard because i know she also wants sherry to have a little sibling as well

[voids-cave]

Cleon insanity when Claire is like "hey have you ever wanted kids" and Leons whole world comes collapsing on itself yet again because actually, he has just Not thought about them, he never thought he'd be in a position where he could just have a family ever in his life as of yet, and when he did think about it he pushed it away because he thought he'd never be good at it anyways given his circumstances.

And the worst thing, Claire knows this. But she wants to invite him to try that kind of life both of them know it will be extremely difficult to achieve. Because she wants him to know he's still human, and isn't incapable of living what one would describe as the normal life to live just because of his past, or trauma. She herself also deals with the struggle if she'll ever be able to have a life like that, like she sort of imagined when she was a child. Perhaps not children, but...just make a family out of her partner. Spouses, making life what they want, making a home, traveling, making something together. She still holds the hope she can have that, and that other's can.

That's why she fights so hard so that other's can also live that life, or any life they desire without fearing they'd be incapable to do so given the state of the world. Making a family, marrying, having a partner or someone to take care of is now something that could so easily turn into you needing to kill them in the end, or them killing you, or both of you. But she won't let that get in the way of her or other's happiness because she believes connection is the most important thing in a human life.

And she wants that for Leon, share that with him.

Anyways t4t cleon 4eva. be happy, trans your gender, queer it up yall.

#wrong claire u dont need connection u can have it or want it but its not a necessity me thinks #not everyones gonna want it. live however you want ppl do what works for you 👍 as long as you dont hurt urself or others #anyways am i insane about claire and leon yes #do i think claire actually thinks like this? hmmm sometimes yeah i feel like shed be someone that really really wants to preserve human lov #and joy at all costs. despite her demeanor at times i feel thats why she works on rebuildings ppls lives #and making them better #tbh i rlly need to watch at least a playthrough of revelations 2 i feel itll reveal quite a lot for me budum tss #ive been putting it off bc i wanna play it myself wo any spoilers but i am procastinating so hard that i might as well since i feel i canno #talk about how claire views things wo knowing everything about her or the large majority #and to people saying they alr have a kid its sherry YOURE CORRECT CHECKMATE CLAIRE #says as i fucking sob so hard because i know she also wants sherry to have a little sibling as well

[bre-meister]

I need some pre married/family angst

this is early relationship so pre-family and pre-married Cleon. I hope it’s angsty enough I kind of got distracted while writing to fight a huge ass hornet in my room ( I was super terrified ngl). This was such a journey for me to write that I don’t even have an official title for it like I normally try to do lol. This has also taught me that I need to work on angst that is not “person A and Person B fight”. Sorry for the rant here's the actual work:

Claire was mad. No, Claire was beyond mad. Claire Redfield was absolutely furious. Her rage was so blinding that she couldn’t even be bothered to apologize to the nice looking doorman as she barreled through the lobby of the apartment building of the object of said anger. She was sorry - felt the apology in her bones as soon as the smaller man began to cringe and cower slightly in her presence - but again, her anger prevented it from passing her lips.

Secretly, she did take a little pride in the fact that, as she entered the elevator, a young-looking couple decided to “wait for the next one” instead of sharing with her. It gave her a little more time to stew in her anger - pulling from the depths of her soul, every time that she had said it was okay even when it wasn’t - before she came face to face with him.

“What the hell Leon!”

The door to his apartment opened with such force that if circumstances had been different, she would have been worried about possibly putting a hole in the wall. Alas, her attention was not on the wall, but instead on the man lying on the couch in front of her. Leon was clearly either drunk or hungover. Although considering what she’d heard from both her brother - half the reason she was here in the first place - there was a distinct possibility it could be both. Claire wasn’t sure that could actually happen, but if anyone could make it a thing it would most definitely be Leon S. Kennedy.

All that came out of his mouth was unintelligible garble mixed in with a few pained groans. Claire took pleasure in that for a moment and allowed it to further stoke the flames inside of her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to do. She’d kind of just gone on autopilot after getting. Chris’s concerned texts. Apparently, Leon had been ghosting everyone over the last week. So, there she stood, upset and silent until Leon made the mistake of finally speaking real words.

“Red,”

Claire didn’t let him finish. She exploded,

“No! You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You don’t!”

Claire moved towards the couch and yanked off the blanket covering Leon with more force than was probably necessary. The blanket had apparently been completely wrapped around him and, in his current state, that was enough to cause him to tumble to the floor. He let out another grunt of pain as he landed but Claire didn’t care.

“Get your ass up.” Her voice had calmed, steadied to an even tone. Her anger no longer manifested itself in yelling, but instead as a low growl behind her words.

When he didn’t make any effort to move, she said it again,

“I’m not asking Leon. Get up.”

He finally did as told. Standing he slowly moved to the small kitchen behind the couch. There he found a glass that looked somewhat cleaned and began to fill it with water.

This wasn’t the first time that Claire had been there to pick up the pieces whenever Leon fell apart. Safe to say, those instances had never quite played out like this one and Leon was a little jarred and, admittedly, a little afraid of what the red-headed woman might do. 

They stared at each other as Claire gave Leon a moment to swallow the little bit of water that was left in his glass. When he sat it in the sink and she remained silent he let his impaired brain convince him that meant he should speak.

“What’s your problem? Chris piss in your Wheaties this morning?”

The look on her face caused concern. The laugh that followed chilled him to the core. Leon S. Kennedy had faced down and won so many B.O.Ws that he had lost count but at that moment as he looked across the room at a laughing Claire Redfield, he knew that he had quite possibly signed his death warrant. He also knew that if this truly were how he died, several people would help her cover it up, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them.

“My problem?” she continued to laugh, “What’s my problem?”

Leon was getting a little nervous. In yet another mistake, he even let out a few nerve filled chuckles himself.

“No, you don’t get to laugh! This isn’t funny,” and yet she was still laughing. 

Leon was not.

“Do you know why this isn’t funny? Because I don’t think you do.”

He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to - Claire cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth to fumble through some bullshit excuse.

“You don’t. I know you don’t because if you did you would have had your ass at the restaurant last week, Leon!”

Leon felt his stomach drop. Oh no. He really had fucked up this time.

“Sherry’s birthday.” He felt more than heard the mumbled words slip past his lips.

“Ya, Sherry’s birthday,” Claire turned around to finally close the door and Leon took the opportunity to sit down in one of the few chairs at his tiny kitchen table.

“You know, I was okay with this when it was only me you were fucking over. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was. I told myself over and over that it was fine, you needed this time, you needed me and I was more than happy to give it to you - everything. I give you everything! But it was okay because you were always there for me too. Most of the time at least. And I get it, Leon, hell I get it more than probably anyone else. What we went through was hell, no one should have to go through that once let alone as many times as you do. But I was there too, I have to deal with that shit too. Sherry has to deal with that shit. She was Twelve Leon.”

“I know -”

“Then where the fuck were you? This was all she wanted! All she asked for for her birthday was for all three of us to be there, together and you couldn’t even get your shit together enough to give that to her. No call, no text, not even a half-assed excuse just nothing. The hurt and disappointment on her face - I’ll never forget that Leon. And to top it off, I had to cover for you and as much as I love you,” she saw that way his whole body seized up at her words, “I’m tired. I refuse to do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

Claire pulled at her hair which, for once, wasn’t in its usual ponytail.

“Stop! It’s always sorry with you. For once could you just stop!”

“Stop what? Tell me what I have to do to fix this.” He was desperate. He didn’t want to lose her or Sherry. The idea of that - of finally being completely and utterly alone - was almost too much to bear.

“For starters stop making promises if you know you can’t keep them. Stop overcommitting yourself. Stop overworking yourself because that’s always how you get this way in the first place. And stop looking like that.”

“Like what?” he was a little puzzled. He may have also been on the verge of tears but, if anyone asked later he would deny it vehemently.

“Like...like I just killed your puppy or - or like I’m taking away everything from you - it’s making it really hard to stay mad!”

In any other situation, he might have laughed at that but he had sobered up enough between when Claire had burst through his door and now. Now, he really did feel that Claire leaving here like this, Sherry being disappointed with him - that truly was as if everything were being taken away from him.

“I’m sorry. I - I don’t know how to make you believe that I am, but I truly am sorry. I would never hurt you, Claire. I would never hurt Sherry.” He was pleading at his point. He didn’t know what else to do.

“But you did. You hurt us Leon, and I’m not saying that I won’t forgive you, but it’s going to take some time. You fucked up and your usual ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix it when we always end up in the same cycle again.” She sighed and as the air left her body she could feel all of her anger leaving as well only to be replaced with immense sadness and disappointment.

Claire turned and walked towards the door. A small clang echoed through the silent room and, although Leon couldn’t see from his spot in the kitchen, he knew that Claire had dropped her spare key on the table next to the door.

“Wait! Claire, please, don’t.”

“Don’t what Leon?” She didn’t turn around, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did. So, head down she gathered her strength and continued,

“Don’t leave? Give me a reason to stay then.”

“ I love you.” It came out in a soft whisper. 

Those three simple words - the first time he had ever said them to her in a non-platonic way. They made her heart soar and ache, both at the same time. She’d imagined this moment a lot but never like this. Never at the end of a fight that had been building for a long time. Never with her back to him, preparing to leave. Never with him sitting in his kitchen, a mess, crying in a way she’d never seen from him. Never like this. And, as much as she wanted to stay…

“ I love you too Leon. But that’s not what this is about. Call Sherry, she deserves to hear from you why you couldn’t do this one thing for her.”

With that, she left. With her, Leon felt a part of him leave as well.

The tears turned to outright sobs as he collapsed on his kitchen floor - dirty. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. He hadn’t cleaned or showered in a while but it was kind of fitting. His apartment was dirty, his clothes were dirty, his body was dirty but he was dirty in a way that was deeper than just the physical sense. 

He’d let them down. The only two people in this world that he still gave a damn about. The only two people he would try for.

Then why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he pushed himself harder? In the same sense, why hadn’t he taken a break when he had pushed too hard. Why hadn’t he tried harder to stop her? Why hadn’t he?

There were too many questions. If he left himself to ponder them for too long he’d never get up from this dirty kitchen floor and he couldn’t afford to stay here forever. He had business to attend to, phone calls to make.

First, to his job. Claire was right, he needed to stop overworking himself and he’s acquired more than enough hours to take some time off. Then, to Sherry, because he owed her an apology in more than just words. He only hoped she would allow him to make it up to her.

He wanted to call Claire - show her he was trying, that she was right and he would do better. However, he knew that would probably only make things worse. She always gave him the time he needed, now it was time for him to do the same.

But before anything, he had to get up off the floor. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. Leon was tired of the blood and grime that seemed to fill almost all of his waking hours as D.S.O Agent Kennedy. He decided he wouldn’t let it follow him home anymore. So, Leon got up.

On his way to the bathroom he passed by the bowl he kept on his front table by the door. It was a housewarming gift from Claire who knew he was always misplacing his keys and yet never making an effort to get more organized. Always looking out for him, his Claire. 

Leon wouldn’t even let himself question if there even was a ‘his Claire’. Not that he owned her, no one could ever own Claire Redfield. But, looking at the two keys laying together in the bowl, Leon couldn’t help but think they were the same - a matching set. One complementing the other in a way that, while they were separate, they were still part of the same.

Yes, Leon Kennedy got up and as he looked at his dirty face in the mirror, he turned the faucet on because he was tired of being dirty. He was ready to get clean.

#Cleon #Cleon fic #Leon Kennedy #Claire Redfield #claire x leon #Claire/Leon #angst #resident evil #i wanna make my angst better so please hang with me until i do #sry for the long wait #sry again for the long ass rant at the beginning im super tired and it's kinda late but I wanted to post anyway #lol i'm doing it again

[slywrites]

Best Two Out of Three (CH. 1)- Leon Kennedy/Reader

Here it is my first Leon Kennedy fic!!! You can read chapter one below or on AO3. (I’ll be posting chapter two later on this week or early next week)

Set right after the ending of RE2 Remake you, Claire, Leon, and Sherry come across a lone motel with a generous owner who gives you two rooms for the night. One for Claire and Sherry, one for you and Leon. Only there's a single bed and a lot of emotions to overcome...

Based on the imagine from imagineleonkennedy on tumblr "Imagine Leon making love at 21, not super experienced yet, he gets shy and is a little clumsy. But very respectful and honest, and a fast learner."

Warnings: Strong Language, Cannon typical violence

A motel was a fucking blessing after the hell you, Claire, Leon, and young Sherry went through. The outside wasn’t too shabby, a lot better than what you expected in the literal middle of nowhere.

Really anything was better than Racoon City.

The lady at the front desk was more than understanding considering you all were covered head to toe in blood, guts, and smelled like a sewer. She also heard that you were from Racoon City and her eyes went wide. It was on the news, she said, that there was a terrorist attack. A pipe exploded. Many excuses and no one could confirm nor deny those allegations. It was too early to tell what exactly happened, or why. It was only a few hours ago you left the city on foot. The sun was just setting then and now the moon replaced it as you stood in the lobby. All you knew was you had to kill many infected people, but you weren’t about to tell this nice lady that.

She just handed you the keys and said it’s on the house. As you left towards your two rooms, she mentioned she’d bring you some extra clothes and towels. It was hard to believe that there were good people in the world after what you all went through.

Sherry and Claire took one room and you and Leon in the other.

A single king bed in each room, with a door in the middle to join the rooms together. For the moment it was left open.

Neither you or Leon acknowledged the single bed in the room.

You all were exhausted, but the thought of a shower powered through the intense need to pass out at this very moment. To be clean again, to wash away the horrors. It sounded magical.

A light knock on the door startled you. Instinctively you raised your pistol to the door, adrenaline pumped through your veins. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leon do the same. He nodded to you, and you returned the gesture. You both moved together, guns pointed at the door. Leon peered through the peephole and saw the lady from the front desk. You watched Leon relax and unlock the door.

He mumbled a thank you and closed the door. A pile of fresh clean towels and what looks to be sweatpants and shirts in his hands. Leon held them at a distance to not get them dirty against his blood-soaked police uniform. He set the clothes on the table.

“Who gets to go first?” He asked.

You holster your pistol, put the chain lock on the door and slide the deadbolt, “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Leon let out a little laugh, “Fine. But , best two out of three.”

You two squared up in the middle of the room. You leaned into a pose, as you tried to be as dramatic as possible. Leon mirrored you, as he extended his balled fist resting in his palm. A smile spread across your face at how stupid you two looked being this dramatic over a simple game to take a shower.

You won back to back. You did a victory dance and laughed at the pouty face Leon put on.

“I can’t wait to be clean! As for you , sit at one of those chairs. Can’t have you dirtying up our bed.” You sing-song as you skip over to the bathroom.

“I’ll make sure to lay all over your side while you’re in there,” he smirked.

“Leon Kennedy, don’t you dare ! Don’t make me get Claire to watch you like a hawk.”

Leon put his hands up in defense, “I won’t do anything.”

You shot him the meanest look you could, and all he did was stifle a laugh. You watched as he took a seat at the table and started to remove his boots, just to make sure he was going to keep his word.

You shut the bathroom door. You sat on the edge of the tub to strip your shoes and socks. It felt like years since you last showered, which in reality was only a day ago. Your feet were covered in a slick layer of grim, probably from the foot or two of sewer water you and Leon waded through. Honestly, you wanted to toss the shoes, but the front desk lady didn’t give you an extra pair. You’d have to survive till you got back home if there was still home .

That’s when it hit you. At the most inopportune time. There was only one bed in the room. It was the last thing on your mind. The sweet call of the shower drew the realization out of your mind. That would mean you’d have to share. You could always pop into the other room with the girls. It was a king bed and you were sure all three of you would fit.

I’m being ridiculous, you chided to yourself.

You continued to strip from the blood-soaked and torn clothing, the reality of what you experienced came to the forefront of your thoughts instead. Your mind went into autopilot as you turned the water on to the hottest setting and waited for it to heat up. A particular corner of the shower caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but focus on it. The day's events replayed in your mind like a fucked up horror movie.

It was just a normal day, then all of a sudden it wasn’t . The screams from outside the precinct, as you helped lock the gates. You couldn’t help those people who you swore you would protect. Watching as they were being attacked by other people with some crazy bloodlust you’ve never seen or heard of before. Then the precinct .

Fuck .

The steam from the shower made it hard to breathe. The hand that was under the water started to turn red from the heat. You didn’t even register the pain till it was too late.

You adjusted the water and stepped in. The dirt, blood, and God knows what washed away from you. You watched as it spiraled down the drain. Once the water finally became clear as it washed over you, you grabbed the travel size shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You lathered up your hair first, trying to not go back down the rabbit hole you were in moments ago.

But the rabbit hole was the only thing you could see in your mind. You’d have to face the reality of what you did. What Leon and Claire did. What happened to Racoon City, a place you just started to call home. What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

Tears spilled out of your eyes and blended in with the water that cascaded down your face. You brought your hand to your mouth and choked back a sob that shot through your whole body. The shock made your knees wobble sending you crashing to the cool porcelain of the tub. Your back collided with the wall and the air left your lungs in a gargled gasp.

Instantly, there was a loud knock on the door.

Leon’s voice was muffled by the water and the door but it was the only thing you could focus on, “ Are you okay? What happened? ”

You sat up, light-headed. You were barely able to shut the water off.

“ Yeah ,” your voice shook, “I’m fine, just tired and ...and I slipped.”

“Do- do you need help…. or …” Leon left the question hanging awkwardly, “I could get Claire..”

You laughed, “No I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

You curled your knees up to your chest. You just needed a moment. The tears still fell, silently. Sooner or later you’d have to get up. You’d have to keep moving forward.

The bathroom started to feel suffocating as you absentmindedly stood and wrapped a towel around your body. You were greedy and wrapped your hair in another. You pushed your dirty clothes onto the ground and just left them there too tired to give a shit about it.

The cool handle of the doorknob brought you back to reality for a second. You turned to look at the mirror that was still fogged over. With a swipe, you looked at your eyes to see if they were as bloodshot as you imagined. Fuck , they were. Oh well.

Your eyes gazed over the bathroom. Shit, you left your clothes on the table. You shook your head, you didn’t want to try and get Leon to get your change of clothes. With a sigh, you’d just have to go out there.

You pulled the door open and walked out. Leon sat at the edge of the single chair in the room and shot up as soon as he saw you. A deep blush flushed his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

What a cute boy, you smiled. You held the towel closer to your body.

“It’s all yours,” you smiled.

You stepped towards Leon and he immediately froze. He stood in front of the table where the extra set of clothes laid.

You bit your lip to hide the smile. You feared if he saw it he’d turn into a tomato. With a step, you grabbed the clothes and sat at the edge of the bed.

Leon let out a strained cough and mumbled he was going to shower.

Once he closed the door you let out a small laugh. He’s too cute for his own good.

You shook your head and looked at the pile of clothes. An oversized plain blue t-shirt, black sweats, and some holiday socks. It wasn’t ideal, and not your size but it was way better than the alternative. No underwear though.  

You’d have to see if the hotel had a laundry room. Though your old clothes were more than likely trash, if you were to face…those things again you didn’t want to get caught because of your oversized shirt.

A shiver shot through your spine as flashes of fighting and surviving  came to the forefront yet again. More tears brimmed in your eyes and you let out a shuddered breath. Before a tear could drop your attention was brought to the bathroom door. Your brows furrowed as you heard Leon singingin the bathroom. You didn’t recognize the song, you weren’t even sure he was saying any real worlds. But it was the change in his voice that brought you back . Leon was more wholesome than you’d ever expected from the rookie cop.

You smelled the clothes and they were divine. The fresh linen scent was so foreign to you it felt almost illegal to smell something this nice. You stood. Your body is freshly clean and dry from sitting on the bed. You dropped the towel to the ground, slipping into the sweats and shirt. This felt like a lazy Sunday attire as you laid out on the bed.

A light knock on the adjoining doors made you turn. Claire stood in an outfit similar to yours and you laughed. Though her hair laid damp on her shoulders, finally being free of her ponytail.

“Look, we’re twins,” you said.

“Not a bad look, right?” She smiled, “How are you holding up?”

You gave her a flash of your teeth in what you hoped was a smile, “I’m okay. I could sleep for a week!”

Claire nodded, “I was just coming in to say goodnight actually, Sherry’s already in bed fast asleep.”

“Oh, good idea. We’ll probably do the same, Leon’s still in the shower.”

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Tell Leon I said goodnight.”

“Will do Claire, night.”

Claire gave you a small wave and shut the door with a silent click.

You stared at the closed space and moved to lay back down on your back. The shower just turned off meaning it was closer and closer that you and Leon would have to share a bed. It wasn’t a big deal right? You both were exhausted, both needed some rest. And the bed was a king, plenty of room for both of you to stretch out and not touch each other.

Why were you thinking about touching each other?

You couldn't rid your mind of that thought quick enough as Leon exited the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his waist. Water still dripped from his hair as it cascaded down his bare chest drawing your eyes to how toned he was. Your eyes were drawn to the bruises that peppered his torso and the large wound on his left arm that needed to be rebandaged. The old one is still tight on his arm, though wet now.

Leon clearly flushed at you blatantly staring at his chest. He moved his weight from one foot to another unsure what to do, then he coughed and moved towards his clothes on the table.

“I-I forgot these, um I’m just going to-” He didn’t finish his sentence as he turned back to the bathroom.

You wanted to smack yourself for staring like an idiot. Now it was going to be awkward , great!  

You sighed and quickly called the front desk to ask if they had a first aid kit. The lovely lady who gave you the clothes said her son will be up in a minute. And she wasn’t wrong. The knock was light and you jumped up to get the door. You quietly thanked him and bid him goodnight.

Leon was still in the bathroom probably dying from embarrassment as you had moments ago. You sat at the edge of the bed and laid out the contents of the first aid kit. After a few more minutes, Leon peaked his head out of the bathroom. He saw your attention was on the bed and made his way out.

You looked up, “We need to change that bandage, Leon.”

He looked down at the yellow bandage that Ada had put on.

“You’re right.”

“I try to be, come sit,” you smile and pat the open bed next to you.

Leon obliged and sat down. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt just like you. He pointed his left shoulder towards you.

You rolled up the sleeve and started to undo the bandage. “You could have taken this off you know, and cleaned the wound while you were showering.”

“I didn’t want to mess with it…” he replied quietly, almost unsure of himself.

You bit your lip, you wanted to scold him but decided against it. You let the rest of the old tattered bandage fall to the floor. Dried up blood and dirt-stained his skin. Poor thing.

“Stay here,” you got up and moved to the bathroom.

You grabbed an extra washcloth and soaked it under some warm water. You rang out the extra and walked back to the bed. As carefully and gently as you could you cleaned up the area around the wound first. Leon winced a little when you got too close to the bullet wound.

“You’re lucky it went all the way through,” you mentioned, “I don’t think we’d find a good doctor back in Racoon City.”

Leon hummed his lip stuck between his teeth, biting down to not make a sound. You finished with the washcloth then moved to the alcohol and cotton swabs that were necessary for the actual wound. You doubted Ada was able to clean the wound before wrapping it, especially in the sewer. Leon only briefly talked about it when you brought it up. You two got separated. You were alone, trying to find your way to either Leon or Claire. You couldn’t even imagine the horror he faced down there, even though you saw the same disaster yourself.

You dampened one cotton ball with some antiseptic and started cleaning around the wound. Leon held back a cry of pain as his body tensed up.

“ Sorry ,” you murmured.  

“It’s not your fault,” he breathed.

“I know, it won’t take me long. Promise.”

Leon nodded his head and you kept your promise. You quickly cleaned the entrance and exit of the wound. Luckily it stopped bleeding long ago. Leon would have to see a real doctor at some point, but you could easily stitch the wound together for now.

You threaded the needle that came in the first aid kit. You set the needle on the bed and grabbed some numbing cream. First, you snapped on a glove and ripped open the packet to rub the cream around the wound.

“This will help,” you reassured him.

Once you were done, you let the cream settle in first before starting. You gathered the gross bandages, and trash from the bed to throw away in the trashcan across the room.

“How are you doing?” You asked as you took your position back on the bed.

“I’ve been better,” Leon looked at the wound then to you and tilted his head to the side, “I think it’s working.”

You picked up the needle and pushed it into his skin and threaded the entrance shut. You were not about to tell Leon that this was the first time you’d ever given someone stitches. You had practiced once in a medical class a long time ago but that was on fake skin, never a real human. Though you only practiced, you still were able to stitch him up well enough to last until you could see a real doctor. You did the same with the exit and it was all done. Not expert craftsmanship by any means, but he’d survive and his arm wouldn’t need to be amputated.

You took out a large bandage and removed the sticky backing to cover the front, and did the same to the back. He wouldn’t need his arm wrapped like before, the two large patches should suffice.

“ And… All done,” you smiled at your handiwork.

Leon glanced at it, his fingers ran over the stitches beneath the bandage. Then he rolled the sleeve down to cover it easily.

“Thank you,” He smiled.

“Anytime,” you nodded.

Slowly you packed up the first aid kit. You got up and sat it on the table.

“Are you ready for bed?” You asked.

Leon’s eyes moved from his newly patched shoulder to you, and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, you?”

“Yup,” you smiled then you looked to the bed.

The dread from your shower started to rise in your chest.

“Uh-Do you care what side…?” Leon asked he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

You forced a laugh and walked up to the left side, “I guess I’ll take this one, it doesn’t matter to me. Does it matter to you?”

“No! No , not at all,” he pulled the covers back.

You nod and do the same. You both lay down in your respective sides and pull the covers over yourself. Before you fully laid down, you leaned over and turned off the light on the side table.

“Goodnight,” you said as you laid your head on the soft pillow.

“Goodnight,” he replied, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

You faced the wall, away from Leon acting like you were some school girl instead of two consenting adults sharing a bed after surviving literal hell only hours ago. You wanted to slap yourself over your reaction but you were too tired to even care. You snuggled into the pillow and willed yourself to sleep.

#leon kennedy x reader #Leon Kennedy #imagineleonkennedy #this is just fluff #smut will come in the second chapter #i just really wanted to post this NOW #i've been writing this since RE2 remake came out... #last year #or so #um #yeah #first leon fic #will probably NOT be the last #but i am writing like......three or four fics rn #this was just to get my mind off my alucard fic #i needed smut #but i can't write smut without fluff #resident evil #my formatting isn't the same as on ao3 #and i dont wannt sit here an italicize everything lol #its 1 am

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 63

Jocelyn, Michonne’s friend, has a group with many kids. It seems odd to me, so many children, without as many adults, but who am I to judge? I see their eyes land on my bump, Michonne’s bump, and Daryl’s protective nature. I feel the cold chill I normally get when someone I love is in danger, but they all seem so normal. Survivors, by nature, are watchful. It’s what keeps them alive. At least that’s what I tell myself over and over.

Judith and our other young ones, kids I’ve helped teach and read to, have a bonfire and sleepover with the newcomers. Innocent, or so it seems. Why then, as Daryl sleeps comfortably next to me, can’t I let the chill be overcome by his warm? Why can’t I fall off to sleep too?

I tell myself, as I creep down the hallway and out the front door, that I’m only going to make sure that Judith has fallen asleep in the company of these strangers. It’s when I’m getting closer that I feel a sharp pain in my head and then darkness takes me under.

When I come to, I’m in the infirmary. The pain is terrible. From my head down to my toes and I can’t seem to move. What the literal fuck? And then I realize that I feel no movement from my baby. Nothing. Usually when I first wake up, or when I’m coming awake, the baby is so active that I feel like I’m going to pee myself. Nothing. And I remember going to check on Judith and the world spins and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Hey,” I guess I moved, flinched or groaned. It’s Michonne, and she’s holding tight to my hand. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?” My voice is hoarse and dry. “Why am I in the infirmary?”

She sighs, grabbing a cup of water from the side table and helping me sit up. I realize that my bump, usually so full and active is still so horribly quiet. “Jocelyn, her people, they-” She took a deep breath and after I drank helped me lay back down. “They took the children.” I tried to sit back up. “No, Jessi, it’s fine. We got everyone back.” But I can see, in the way she won’t meet my eyes that something is wrong.

“Judith?” My voice broke, my fear so very strong.

“She’s fine, Jessi.” I saw Michonne swallow hard. “They killed one of ours, and left you-” I waited, wondering if-

“Daryl.” My voice was a breath. If it wasn’t Judith, then Daryl. He was one of ours. Did they murder him?

She shook her head and took my hand in hers. “No, honey, not Daryl.” I was confused. Then what was so terrible that she couldn’t look at me? “It’s your baby.” My baby?

I felt my heart clench and I knew. It wasn’t moving. “My baby?” I felt my eyes sting. “Mom?”

Michonne finally looked into my face and I saw it. The pain of loss, a pain she knew. Her eyes were shining with tears. “Siddiq, he realized yesterday, when we brought you in.” Yesterday? Fuck. “He’s going to have to help you-”

I was gasping for air. “Where’s Daryl?” And then I saw him, in the doorway, holding Judith. “I’m sorry.” The tears were blurring my eyes. I was sobbing. I’d done it. I’d failed so terribly at the ONE thing we both wanted. “I’m sorry.”

Daryl handed Judith to Michonne and pulled me upright into his arms. “It’s OK, Jessi, we can try again.” He was kissing my hair, promising me that this wasn’t our only shot at our family.

It was our only shot. If I’d lost my baby during the time before, there would have been a way to induce my labor. I would have been able to give birth, naturally, and no harm no foul. This wasn’t the time before. And Siddiq, while a great medic, was NOT a OB/GYN with a full arsenal of medication at his disposal.

I ended up having a flash of Lori’s fear and death. Somehow, my baby did not turn, perhaps babies are slower in turning? Perhaps I got insanely lucky. What I wasn’t lucky in was having a cesarean that didn’t end in at least partial tragedy. My tragedy wasn’t death. It was simply an end to my ability to have children.

I will not go back through the pain of having that surgery performed. I will not graphically recall the blood and the fear and the pain. I won’t allow myself to remember finding out that Siddiq hadn’t been completely successful and that I would never get to have a child by Daryl, or anyone for that matter.

I survived. My baby didn’t. A tiny girl whose brain had to be pierced just in case. A little girl that would never play in Alexandria, never be given a piggy back ride by me or her daddy, a little girl that I couldn’t even name because my pain was so overwhelming.

Once I was well enough to move, I walked carefully back through Alexandria, a fog of grief and barely noticed anyone or their expressions. I made my way back to the house I shared with Michonne, Daryl, and Judith. I walked to my room, and I tried to focus on Judith’s gift of a painting. Me, Uncle Daryl, Mom, and was that Negan?

“Judith,” I pulled her carefully onto my lap, since I was still in pain. “Who is this?” I pointed to the bearded man that was on the other side of my colorful self.

“Negan.” She said, snuggling into my chest. Which also ached, because my milk hasn't dried up yet. “He make you feel better.”

I closed my eyes and felt my chest tighten. “He does?”

She nodded, and sighed. “Was scared.” She whispered and I kissed her curls. “Mommy was bloody.” Oh God. “All over. You weren’t there.” I felt my eyes start to burn. “Uncle Daryl and Mommy not tell me what happened.”

Damn it. “I’m sorry, baby.” I tried to rock her, but pain flashed through my body. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You were asleep on the road.” Fuck, she’d seen. “I wanted to see you, but they not let me.”

My eyes closed again. “You’re safe now, Jude. You’re safe.”

She tilted her face up to look at me. “You sad. Uncle Daryl said-” I saw her look at where my baby had once cradled inside of me. Her tiny hand touched it gently. “No more baby?”

I was crying and hugging her to me when Michonne and Daryl came to the doorway. “Judith, sweetheart, let’s let Jessi rest?” Mom offered, walking over and picking her up. “We love you, honey.” She was looking at me and I nodded, pushing Judith’s painting onto the side table.

She walked out with Judith blowing me a kiss and telling me she loved me. Daryl was leaning against the wall beside the door. “Get some rest, Jessi.” I sighed, and started to lay down. “I’m gonna go back to searching.” I closed my eyes and knew, even as he was saying it, that he didn’t want to be here with me. Not now. “Maybe I can find-”

I nodded, rolling over so he was confronted with my back. “OK, be safe.” I couldn’t offer more. Not now. Not after failing so spectacularly.

“I love you.” He said quietly and I nodded. If you loved me, I wanted to scream, then you’d stay. But I didn’t. He needed time to grieve in his own way. And being alone was Daryl’s way.

“Me too,” I offered, but I wasn’t sure he’d waited. Or if he’d heard.

I healed. Physically, and as mentally as I could. I had to. Mom was growing closer to her due date, and I had to be there to help. I wanted to be there. I’d watched Judith be born, traumatizing though it was, and I wanted to see my newest sibling come into this world.

Daryl was seen less and less. We drifted further and further apart. And between the grief I felt over the loss of our baby, the excitement I allowed to take its place in part at the impending arrival of Mom’s baby, I didn’t get to visit Negan.

My little brother, Rick Grimes Jr came into this world with a lusty scream and I swore that I could see Dad and Carl in his tiny face. I see Michonne, and my heart nearly explodes with love. He doesn’t replace my little girl, but he’s wonderful.

I’m walking home, after his birth, when I decide that it’s time to see Negan. The guard barely looks at me and I go inside, the darkness of his cell pisses me off. Light isn’t a luxury, so he should have some. I’ll have to talk to Mom about it later.

“Come to show me your little one?” His voice, sounding hoarse from disuse, is quiet. My heart pounds at the reminder of my loss, but I can’t be angry with him for not knowing. I am appreciative that no one told him.

“No.” I answer sadly, taking the single hard chair and moving it closer to his cell. “I don’t think you can see the cemetery from here.”

“Cemetery?” He takes in my appearance in the dimness. “Oh, Jessi, no.” Strange, he sounds like he cares. As though he feels the pain I feel. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He’s moved so he’s standing at the bars, his hands reaching through, but I don’t take them.

“Yeah, I-” I feel a sob building and force it down. Today is a happy day, I remind myself, think of little RJ. “She didn’t make it.” I take a deep breath. “My new baby brother did.” I smile, remembering his tiny fist. “There’s a new Rick Grimes in town.”

Negan kneels on the hard floor and looks up at me. “Sweetheart, let’s go back to the baby.” I shake my head. No, I won’t. “You need to talk about it.” Shit, why? “Tell me.”

And I do. What I’ve pieced together about the night Jocelyn’s people kidnapped Judith and the others. About the head wound they gave me, about being found JUST in time to save me, but not the baby. How my little sister and the other kids, including one of Jocelyn's group was saved. About my cesarean operation and the resulting damage. And how, even after all that, I wanted to just think about RJ and Judith.

“Where’s Daryl?” It was quiet, but loaded. “Why isn’t he here, making sure you’re talking?”

“He suffered a loss too, Negan.” It sounded lame, but it was true. “Daryl does better on his own to process.”

He nodded, sensing no doubt that I wasn’t in the mood to rehash his feelings on Daryl’s failures where I was concerned. “I can’t have kids either.” It was quiet, but just as pained as how I felt when I learned that my hopes were gone. “Lucille and I tried, and tried. Nothing. I shoot blanks.”

“Why did the wife-” It was weird, but I was curious about the pregnancy test I’d seen, which led me to Alexandria’s cache of tests.

“Sherry.” He nodded. “She, before she agreed to-” He sighed. “Her and Dwight-”

“Oh.” They’d run off together, but I’d assumed, god knew what. “Guess we’re a sad pair.” I gave a dark chuckle. “Both genetic dead ends.”

Negan shook his head. “No. We can’t make babies, Jessi, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make an impact.” I snorted. “OK, not necessarily the best fucking impacts in my case, but you, oh, Jessica Grimes, you are more than fucking remarkable.”

I felt better, slightly, by the time I’d kissed him goodbye and walked home. Judith came rushing to greet me, and I told her all about RJ and how she could meet him the next day. Smiling at the woman who’d stayed with her while I was with Michonne, trying hard to ignore the pity I could see in her eyes, I closed the front door and got us both some dinner.

#The Walking Dead #OriginalGrimesDaughter #rick grimes daughter #daryl dixon x ofc #planned pregnancy #miscarriage #grief/mourning #negan x ofc

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 35

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

Time passes, but Chuck and Negan’s relationship is a little strained. At least it feels that way to Chuck. Negan still takes care of her, cooks for her, helps her when she’s feeling nauseous. But he’s been distant, spending more time away from Chuck and making frequent trips to the new community, Hilltop.

Not that Chuck hears that from Negan. She gets most of her info from Simon these days.

It’s been hard for Chuck, but she tries to work through it by herself. She is too embarrassed to talk to the wives about it. Admitting that Negan doesn’t want her anymore would be mortifying. And she feels herself slipping back into old patterns of self doubt.

  He realized I’m not good enough for him. That’s the only explanation. He doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore because I’m not good enough for him.

 No matter how distant Negan is with Chuck, he still gets excited about the baby. Whenever he comes home, he kneels down, kisses Chuck’s belly, and greets the baby. Chuck, not so much.

They also start to bicker about dumb things, which they’ve never done before. Chuck knows she’s partly to blame. Silly things will set her off and no matter how much she tries to keep it in, she lashes out. She blames the baby hormones.

Negan, most of the time, just leaves when Chuck gets angry. Like it’s not even worth his time to deal with. This usually results in Chuck becoming upset and overthinking what had just happened, sending her spiraling into anxiety and self hate.

One day, they’re eating dinner and it leads to an argument for some reason. Instead of continuing on with the discussion, Negan leaves in the middle of Chuck’s sentence to go into his room, which makes Chuck even angrier.

“Don’t walk away from me, Negan. You can’t just walk away!” She jumps up from the table and follows him.

“Yes I most certainly motherfuckin’ can!” He sits down on his couch and takes his boots off.

“God, Negan! You can be such a dick!”

“Yup! That’s me.” He stands from the couch. “Fuckin’ dickhole extraordinaire!” he yells sarcastically.

Chuck groans in frustration. “You know what? Whatever! I don’t have to be here!”

“Don’t you fucking leave this room,” he growls out.

“What do you care? You always ignore me! That is, when you’re actually here. You go to Hilltop twice a week to do god knows what!”

“What if I’m fucking a woman there. How would that make you feel?” he says coldly.

Chuck knows it shouldn’t bother her. As a matter of fact, now that she’s thinking about it, she’s certain he’s been sleeping with someone there. But him saying it so harshly to her does cause a pain to bloom in her chest. Not that she’s going to admit that.

She scoffs. “I expect you to sleep with any woman that is willing.” Especially since they haven’t been intimate in a while.

His face scrunches up into a grimace. “Oh, is that fucking so?”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs dismissively. “That’s how you’ve always been. Why would you stop now?”

He stares at her as he huffs out breaths. “That’s how I’ve always been? It’s who I am, right?” he spits her own words back at her. “It’s who I fucking am!”

“Isn’t it?!”

“Goddamnit, Lucille! Will you just-“ He stops himself and stares at her with surprised eyes.

Chuck stares right back. He called her Lucille. And it snaps Chuck right out of her rage.

“Fuck.” He looks to the ceiling and scrubs his hands down his face. “You get me so fuckin’ flustered sometimes!”

“I’m sorry,” Chuck says quietly. “It’s okay.” She tries to brush it off, but actually it breaks her heart a little to hear him call her Lucille. That’s her biggest fear. That Negan is only keeping her around because of her resemblance to his former wife. “I’m just tired. I’m gonna go to bed.”

After that, things get even worse for Chuck. Not only does she miss Negan’s companionship, but she feels like everything that has happened is her fault. She finds herself crying a few times a day everyday, always keeping it from Negan.

As she gets into the beginning of her second trimester, Negan is still very excited about the baby. When he and Chuck sleep, he always has his hand on her belly. But it’s not like how it used to be, though. It’s not like he’s holding Chuck. He’s just holding the baby.

One night, Chuck slinks out of bed, trying not to wake Negan as she heads for the bathroom to empty her full bladder. After she washes her hands, she looks into the mirror at her reflection staring back at her. For some reason, she is overcome with emotion.

Chuck sits on the floor, back pressed up against the counter and starts to sob. She cradles her head in her hands, trying to be quiet. But she must not be quiet enough.

The door opens and Negan immediately rushes to her. “What’s wrong?” he blurts out and instantly crouches beside her, looking her over to check for a cause to her state.

“N-Nothing. The baby’s fine.” Chuck stands up with Negan’s help. “I’ll just go to my room so you don’t have to deal with me.”

“What?” he spits back.

“You said you didn’t want to see me upset, so I’ll go.” Chuck leaves the bathroom and starts to walk through the room.

Negan grabs her gently by the arm and turns her around. “Has this shit been a regular fuckin’ occurrence?” He gestures to her tear soaked cheeks.

Chuck shrugs meekly.

“Goddamnit, Chuck! I didn’t mean hide this shit from me. I meant that I don’t want you to be upset!”

She starts to cry again. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ.” He wraps his arms around her. “Why are you crying?”

She shrugs in his arms.

“No. Fuckin’ tell me.”

She doesn’t want to. She already feels stupid and admitting that she’s upset about him not wanting her there anymore will make her feel even worse.

“Baby hormones,” she lies.

“Is that it?”

She nods.

He pulls back from her. “You’re lying to me. Why are you fucking lying to me?” he growls.

“Why aren’t we friends anymore?” she chokes out suddenly.

He closes his eyes and drops his head, scrubbing his hand down his face. He looks back up and nods slowly while he sucks on his teeth with a frown.

Chuck sees that he is angry. “What did I do? Why are you so angry at me all the time?”

He turns and walks away from her, starting to pace.

“I-I don’t understand. I apologized. I apologize every time I blow up. I can’t help it anymore. My mood swings- I try...”

He continues to pace, not saying a word.

“Do you want me to move back downstairs?” she asks with tears streaming down her face.

“No,” he answers immediately. “Goddamnit, Chuck!”

“I don’t understand! Please, Negan. Just tell me what I did.”

He spins around to her and blurts out, “Why don’t you love me?!”

She’s gobsmacked for a moment, just staring at Negan’s face as he huffs out breaths. Finally, she speaks. “I do love-“

He cuts her off. “Not like a fuckin’ friend or best friend or fuckin’ family. Why don’t you love me? The same way I love you?”

She looks at his face confused. “You love me?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit excuse that you don’t think I’ll love you. Everyone can see that I love you. The fuckin’ wives know. Simon knows.”

“I didn’t-“

“I’m always touching you. Kissing you. Hugging you. Showing you that I love you! And you never do that shit to me! Unless we’re fucking!”

Chuck thinks about it and he’s right. She’s never been comfortable with initiating affection. “I’m sor-“

He huffs out a breath and outstretches his arms. “Just give me an actual goddamn reason why you don’t love me.”

Chuck blinks rapidly trying to process everything Negan is saying. “But-“ She brings her hands up to her face and wipes her cheeks. “I’m not graceful.”

“What?” Negan spits back with his eyebrows furrowed.

“You said you fell in love with Lucille when you saw her dance. You loved how graceful she was.” She truly is trying to make sense of this situation, but can’t wrap her head around it.

Negan’s face softens. “Holy shit, Sherry was right,” he says under his breath. “That’s not the only reason I loved Lucille. I loved everything about her. Even the shit I didn’t like, I loved because it was all her.”

“But- You said it stopped your heart when she danced. I’m not like that. I can’t-”

Negan comes forward and cups her cheeks. “Look.” He sighs. “Lucille couldn’t carry a tune to save her fuckin’ life. She sounded like a goddamn dying cat when she sang.”

Chuck looks at him confused, not knowing where he is going with this.

“Every time I hear you sing my heart skips a beat. Every. damn. time.”

Chuck finally smiles softly at him. “Really?”

“You’re not Lucille. And she’s not you.” He caresses her cheek with his thumb. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with Lucille all those years ago. And I sure as fuck didn’t mean to fall in love with you now. But it happened. I loved everything that Lucille was. And I love everything that you are. That’s the goddamn truth.”

Chuck giggles slightly and a tear falls down her cheek.

He casts his gaze downward. “If you don’t want me because you don’t want me, just fuckin’ tell me. I’ll get over it eventually. Even though I’ve been a fuckin’ prick, I guess. I realize that now.” He looks back up to her. “But don’t say no to me because you’re scared. Please. Please, Chuck. Give me a chance.”

“The others?” is all she can say. If she is going to actually give him her heart, then she can’t be one of many.

“I haven’t fucked anyone since we found out you were pregnant. I fuckin’ swear.” He looks away momentarily and then back to her. “There was a woman at Hilltop. She threw herself at me. Really...” he shakes his head, “really just fuckin’ threw herself at me. And I was gonna fuck her.” He clears his throat, “I was so fuckin’ pissed at you for not loving me and I thought...”

Chuck scrunches up her face.

He clears his throat again. “But I couldn’t fuckin’ do it. I thought she would get my mind off of you, but the second I stepped into her room all I could fuckin’ think about was you. And how she wasn’t you.” He lets out a sigh and wipes his eyes. “It made me feel like utter fuckin’ shit because I was there with her. And when I got back, I took it out on you because I thought... if I blamed you then I wouldn’t see that it’s my own damn fault that you think I’m not a man you can love.”

She looks into his eyes and sees that they are welling up with tears. “Negan...”

“Fuck.” He scrubs his hands down his face and turns away from her like he doesn’t want her to see him.

“You are a man I can love,” she says to him while he’s still faced away from her. “I can feel it. I know I could fall in love with you so easily if I let myself. But I never let myself fall because I didn’t think you would love me back. I thought it would hurt too much to see you choose someone else over me.”

Negan turns back around and grasps her hand in his own.

She wipes his cheek of a tear. “I’ve always been alone and the thought of being with someone else... giving myself to someone that might not really want me is terrifying. But,” she puts her hand on her stomach, “I’ll never be alone now. It’s always gonna be me and this little one for the rest of my life. And.. I want it to be us and this little one.”

He puts his hand on her stomach, too.

“I had no idea you thought this way,” she states quietly. “I’m so bad at this. With people... and relationships,” she places her hand atop his on her stomach. “I didn’t know I hurt you. I hate that I did.” After a moment, she moves forward slowly and places her lips onto his sweetly. It makes a blush creep up her face.

They pull back from each other and Negan looks down at her with a soft smile. “I want to do this with you,” he whispers and places his forehead to hers.

She tentatively brings her hand up to lightly cup his jaw. “I... I want to do this with you, too.”

He places his hands on either side of her face and leans in to kiss her. It’s slow and passionate. And it fills Chuck with an emotion that she has never experienced before.

Negan takes her hand and leads her back to the bed. They undress each other slowly, worshiping one another’s bodies as they lay on the bed.

The sex is different. Or rather it’s different for Chuck. She realizes that the slow, sweet, loving way Negan is touching her, kissing her, pushing into her is nothing that she hasn’t already experienced with him. But the way it’s making her feel is different. It’s not just about the physical sensations he’s eliciting from her, but the way that she feels so connected to him. Like they fit together perfectly. Like they were made for each other.

They stare into each other’s eyes as they cling to one another, climaxing together so easily.

Chuck pushes back Negan’s messy hair as he hovers above her, his face mere inches away from hers. “I missed you,” she whispers.

Negan brings his head down to her chest and cuddles into her, his ear over her heart. “I missed you, too.”

She cradles his head in her arms and kisses into his hair as he hugs her tightly. They both fall asleep, content in each other’s arms.

 ——— Negan POV ———

I’m still in bed with Chuck when my goddamn radio goes off. I’ve been awake for an hour or so, but I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to leave her.

These past few weeks have been fuckin’ hard for me. And I know it’s partially my fuckin’ fault. If I hadn’t been such a goddamn pussy and just told Chuck I loved her, none of that shit woulda happened. She would’ve come to the realization that she wanted to be with me and we woulda been right as fuckin’ rain this whole time.

I didn’t fuckin’ think that Chuck was completely blind to how I felt about her. How the fuck could I know that? It seemed pretty obvious! I thought she knew and she was saying that “just friends” shit on purpose to tell me that it wasn’t gonna happen between me and her.

If I had just fuckin’ told her how I felt.

Or asked her how she felt...

It doesn’t matter now. Cuz she’s sleeping in my arms again. And she wants me.

“Sir? We have a situation.”

Chuck stirs in my arms. Fuckin’ radio.

“It’s okay, baby girl. Go back to sleep.” I shuffle out from underneath her and take the radio into my office. “What the fuck is it?” I bark into it.

“It’s the satellite outpost, sir. That Jesus guy is there with some other people. They want to talk to you.”

“Motherfucker,” I grumble under my breath. I do not want to go off site today. Especially after what happened just a few fuckin’ hours ago with Chuck. “Can’t Simon fuckin’ do it?” I ask into the radio.

“They specifically asked for you. Said it was important.”

I scratch at my jaw and put the radio to my mouth. “Fine. I’ll be on the road in half an hour.”

I go back into my room and lean over Chuck. “Baby girl?” I try to wake her up gently. She opens those big green eyes at me and smiles. Fuck, I don’t want to leave her. “I gotta go to the satellite outpost. I don’t know what the fuck is going on out there, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay, Negan,” she says in that sweet fuckin’ voice she gets when she’s sleepy. I give her a kiss on the lips and one on the belly. “Daddy’ll be back later, baby. Be good to mommy,” I whisper to her stomach.

I get dressed and fuckin’ head out. Whatever this shit is out at the satellite outpost, it better be fuckin’ important. Or someone’s getting my boot up their ass.

We pull in and I go to the room we have set up for meetings. One of my guys stops me before I go in and says that the newcomers were all patted down and fuckin’ stripped of weapons. Which is fuckin’ good, I guess.

I walk into the room and I see my men standing along the fuckin’ walls of the room keeping watch. And there are ten people that I’ve never laid my goddamn eyes on sitting around my fuckin’ table. Plus Jesus. I walk through the room and sit my ass down at the head of the table. I set Lucille down directly in front of me so all these motherfuckers can see her.

I turn my head to my left to speak to Jesus. “What the fuck is this?”

Jesus looks to the guy directly across from him, who is on my right, then looks back at me. “These people aren’t bad people,” he pretty much blurts out. Which is a fuckin’ weird ass way to start a conversation.

I look at the people. Five men, five women. Fairly clean. I’m assuming the dude on my right is the fuckin’ leader.

“Now, Jesus,” I start, “we’ve cultivated a pretty fuckin’ good relationship between our groups over these last few weeks. My men have made your entire area safe as fuck. Not to mention that they’ve escorted your people’s scavenging missions, making sure you guys bring in some extra shit that you lot fuckin’ need. And, your people are always happy as fuck to see my people. It’s all hunky dory and shit. So. Again. I ask. What the fuck is this?”

Jesus looks at me with those piercing ass fuckin’ eyes of his. “These people are from a settlement called Alexandria. Rick,” Jesus gestures to the guy on my right, “is the leader. I found him and Daryl,” he gestures to the guy on Rick’s right, “over a week ago. I brought them to Gregory in hopes that we could build something like a trade agreement between our groups. Much like we have with you.”

I listen to him with my elbows rested on the table and my fingers interlaced in front of my mouth. I can see that Jesus, and these new fuckers are starting to look nervous as fuck. “...And?”

“They’re not bad people-“

“So you’ve said,” I cut him off. “Just get to whatever shit you don’t want to tell me.” I’m wasting my goddamn day on this?

“Gregory,” is all Jesus says.

I throw him a confused look, but Rick jumps in to elaborate. “A few days after we met Gregory, he sent a man to Alexandria and requested a meeting with us.” His accent is definitely not from Virginia. He’s got more of a southern twang going on. Georgia, maybe? He’s probably about my age, maybe younger. Slicked back hair and a beard with some grey in it. Kinda sweaty.

Jesus cuts in. “I didn’t know Gregory did that. I was on that scavenging run, so I was gone for a few days. I just got back yesterday.”

My fuckin’ men went with him, so I know he was gone.

Rick starts back up. “Gregory told us about you.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “But... He told us that you were taking goods from them. Extorting them.”

I sneer at that. Because that’s not fuckin’ true. He pays us for services fuckin’ rendered. I don’t extort shit.

Rick continues. “He told us that you killed their people and kidnapped some of their women.”

I practically growl at that. I suck on my teeth as I try not to freak the fuck out. But I let him continue.

“Gregory wanted us to take you all out,” Rick says all matter of fact. Like he’s not telling me that he was sent here to kill me and my men. “He said he’d give us food and medicine if we did. We need that food. So we agreed.”

I look at Rick. “So you’re gonna take me out now?” My men instantly all point their guns at Rick and his fuckin’ group.

Jesus holds his hands up. “Wait! I stopped them. I figured out that Gregory was up to something and I stopped them on their way here. They know they were lied to. I told them who you really are.”

“We thought y’all were monsters,” the scruffy looking dude next to Rick spits out. What’d Jesus say his name was? Daryl?

I signal my men to back off. “I guess I can’t fuckin’ fault that. Because I killed the fuck outta the people that actually did do all that shit Gregory accused me of.” Though I was smart enough to do some fuckin’ recon first.

Jesus lets out a sigh of relief. “Gregory thought this was your entire community. That’s what he told them.” He points to Rick. “That’s why they were coming here. We didn’t know this was an outpost until your men told us.”

I turn to Rick. “I’m fuckin’ curious, Rick, what was your plan here? How exactly were you gonna take me out?”

He looks around kinda nervously. “Quietly. We were gonna take your guards out with the silencers, come in, and get as many as we could in their sleep.”

I scratch at my cheek. “Fuck,” I say lowly. “That’s fuckin’ cold. Is that really the kinda pricks you are?” I play it up like I’m fuckin’ offended. But that was exactly my play when I killed those goddamn barbarians. It’s a good play. If you’re not a dumbass.

“Gregory,” Jesus pauses, “he has a problem with power. Namely that he’s losing it. He was never a good leader, but when you came in, our people saw what kind of leader you are. And they respect you. I think he’s afraid of you taking over.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I fuckin’ hate Gregory. Pretty much since the first second I met the fucker. And I am going to take over. Now. That fuck came for me and my men. Well, he’s not gonna live that shit down. And I sure as fuck am not gonna let him continue to ‘lead’ your group.” I use finger quotes so they know what the fuck I mean.

Jesus nods slowly. “Gregory’s not good for Hilltop.”

I shift in my chair and lean forward. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. First, you guys,” I direct at Rick’s group, “are gonna thank Jesus for saving your fuckin’ lives. Because if he wouldn’t have stopped you from killing my men, then nothing would’ve stopped me from killing you. Second, I want to get to know you guys a little better. Really fuckin’ introduce yourselves to me. Because all of us are gonna be in a little ménage a trois for the foreseeable future. Then, finally, we are all gonna head to fuckin’ Hilltop and deal with Gregory.”

They all look around to each other fuckin’ confused.

I lean back in my chair. “Well?” I gesture from Rick to Jesus.

“You actually want us to thank him?” I young Latina at the end of the table spits out.

“Oh, honey. I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

She narrows her eyes at me so I give her a wink.

“Rosita,” the black woman with the dreads sitting next to Daryl gives the Latina a look. She turns her head to Rick and shares a silent conversation with him.

Rick lets out a huff. “Thank you, Jesus.”

Goddamn, I have to stop myself from laughing out loud. The urge is even stronger when I see the look on Rick’s face. He is hating this shit. But he fuckin’ deserves it because he was gonna kill a bunch of innocent fuckin’ people on flimsy ass pretenses.

“There we go. That wasn’t so fuckin’ hard. Now,” I clap my hands once, “why don’t y’all tell me a little about yourselves? Starting with who the fuck you are.” I’m assuming this group, since Rick is the leader and all, is Alexandria’s A-team, so I want to know who the fuck I’m gonna be dealing with in the future.

They go around the table. Rick and Daryl, numbers one and two, are on my right. Michonne, the dredded woman, is next. Glenn the Asian guy, and Maggie the southern belle round out that side. Rosita, the resting bitch face Latina, is at the end. Beside her is Sasha, then Abraham, the biggest fuckin’ ginger I ever did see. Carol with the short grey hair is next to him. Aaron is the last of the new faces, sitting directly to Jesus’s left.

They tell me about their community, Alexandria. It was built as a ‘partially off the grid’ gated community before shit hit the fan and apparently, it’s not that much different now. They got running water, electricity, and they tell me they can hold their own. They went through some shit with a monster herd and then some crazies called The Wolves fucked their shit up, I guess, but they’re still standing. Albeit, a little light on food and some members less, but they’re still here.

“Alright,” I start, “I guess it’s my turn. I’m Negan. And this is Lucille,” I pick her up a little then put her back down, “and these guys are my saviors,” I hold my hands out to my men. “This here building we’re in? It is not my Sanctuary. It is not my base. It’s a goddamn outpost. One of many. I got a fuck ton of men spread out all over this land. And I do. not. live here. So when Gregory sent you here to kill my ass, he was sorely mistaken. And if you lot had done some fuckin’ research, you woulda seen that Gregory was a lying fuck who didn’t know shit!”

They all look a little apologetic, as they fuckin’ should. They fucked up, going off half cocked with no information to corroborate Gregory’s fuckin claims. But, for whatever goddamn reasons, which I’m thinking rest mainly with the fact that they’re panicking over low food stores, they thought they could take me the fuck out and get the shit they need from Gregory.

“So now,” I continue, “Hilltop is mine. It is officially a colony of The Sanctuary. And, Jesus, you will be my go between. You will rule in my fuckin’ stead, as it were. Our arrangement will be mostly unchanged, for the time fuckin’ being. I provide protection, you provide the goods. Though, now that the hill-folk are my folk, I will not leave them out to dry. If you find yourselves in trouble, I will be there to help fuckin’ solve it. Just like with my home. Just like with my outposts. And I don’t anticipate any blowback from the hill-folk. They love the shit outta me.” They really do. All the time I’ve been spending at Hilltop has been for this exact reason. To get those farming fucks to see me as a great leader. A leader they would prefer over fuckin’ Gregory. And he played right into my fuckin’ hand with this shit.

“As for you guys,” I turn to face Rick, “I’m no fuckin’ charity. You low on food, you need shit, you’re gonna have to earn it. With goods or fuckin’ services. But we can bang out the details for that later. Right now, we gotta deal with fuckin’ Gregory.

“What are you going to do to him?” Sasha asks.

“I’m not gonna do shit. Yet, anyway. I’m gonna let the hill-folk decide. And then, I’m gonna carry out that decision. Fuckin’ service.” I fuckin’ hope they say they want him dead, because I want him fuckin’ dead. But if I just come out and kill the fucker, it might turn those people off of me. And this relationship shit is too new with them.

We all head off to Hilltop. And I’m fuckin’ excited. I can’t wait to see the look on Gregory’s face when he realizes he’s fucked.

We pull in and the guy at the gate opens up for us. We park and start to get out. All the hill-folk around me greet me and my men like they always do. I’m sure that the vast majority of people here have no idea what Gregory fuckin’ did. Because they know that their relationship with me is fuckin’ beneficial.

I see Gregory rush out of the house and it looks like he’s already shit in his pants.

“Gregory!” I call out. “Just the fuckin’ man I’m here for!”

He looks behind me to Rick and his crew. “Uh, l-let me explain, Negan.”

“Oh I will. Gather ‘round, folks!” I call out and the hill-folk come forward and circle around all of us. When almost everyone is in earshot, I continue. “So explain to your people who the fuck these people are.” I gesture to Rick behind me.

“Isn’t this a conversation better suited for my office?” Gregory whines.

“No we’re doing this in front of your people. They have the right to fuckin’ know what their leader did.”

“U-Um... Well...” he stalls.

“Today, Gregory.”

“Uh... Those people...” he looks around to the hill-folk, “They, uh...” Then he points at me, seemingly finding some semblance of a pair of balls. “Can’t you see that he’s stealing from us? We were fine before him! We don’t need his protection! But now we have to give him the things that we work hard to produce!”

“We work hard to produce,” one of the hill-folk interjects. “You don’t do anything, Gregory!”

“That’s not true! I built this place! This place wouldn’t be here without me!”

This is going fuckin’ great! I love it!

“Who are those people?!”

“Yeah! Answer Negan!”

“Why are they here!?”

Everyone starts to fuckin’ yell at Gregory.

I hold my hand up and they all get quiet. “I’m giving you a chance to explain your fuckin’ actions to your people in your own goddamn words. I’d take that chance if I was you.”

He looks around again. “I tasked these people to stop Negan and his group from taking any more of our goods. I did this for you! All of you!”

“Don’t fuckin’ sugar coat it, Gregs. You tasked these people with fucking killing me and my men. And they would’ve done it, or tried it at least, if Jesus hadn’t stopped them.”

There are a bunch of gasps.

“No!”

“Negan helps us!”

“Why?”

“He saved our girls!”

“He does more for us than you!”

I have to stop myself from grinning ear to ear.

“Corey and Trent saw where he lives!” Gregory continues. Even though he’s already fucked. “It’s small. They-They don’t have any crops! They need our food. They need us more than we need them! He’s using us!”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ stop you right there. Get those fuckin’ co-conspirators up here. Why don’t you stand next to the lame ass horse you hitched your damn wagon to.” As the crowd finds the guys and pushes them to the front, I continue. “That place you saw... That place you sent people to fucking kill me is an outpost. As in, a place outside of my home base. And I have several of them. Because I lead a fuck ton of people. And those people, my people, don’t need shit from you. It’s nice, I’m not gonna lie. The shit we get from you fuckin’ great. Like icing on the cake. But my people aren’t starving. My people have medicine. And my people certainly don’t go out and ask strangers to solve their goddamn problems. Because I take care of my own shit. Unlike you.”

I raise my arms to speak to the crowd. “So. You’ve heard his case. Heard that he went behind your backs to do something incredibly fuckin’ stupid. And, even though I’m fuckin’ livid about it and would love to enact my own punishment,” I shoot Gregory a look and point at him with Lucille. He about pisses his pants, “he is your leader, so I leave y’all to come up with the punishment.”

“W-Wait-“ Gregory starts but I don’t let him finish.

“Nope. The time for pleading is over. Shut your fuckin’ mouth and let your people, well, former people, decide your fate.”

After some discussion, the crowd comes up with their punishment. Which sadly isn’t death by Lucille. They want him and his men banished. Which is boring as fuck, but... whatever.

I turn to some of my men. “Take these fuckers out far and leave ‘em somewhere. Separately. Put bags over their heads so they don’t find their way back.”

My men start to drag those sorry ass motherfuckers away.

I address the hill-folk again. “I like you people. I really do. So since you’ve found yourself leader-less, I will step up to the plate.” I look around and see that people seem on board. Fuck yeah. “Hilltop is officially a colony of The Sanctuary. And Jesus here will be your governor. You will be free to continue your lives here as you have been, but you will be under the full protection of The Sanctuary. Some of my men will take up permanent residence here just to make sure you guys are fuckin’ safe.” And I want to keep tabs, especially from Rick.

That guy... I can see him wanting to swoop in and put one of his people in charge. Control these resources. But that’s not gonna happen. I’m head dick in this area. These people are mine.

“Are we safe?” one of the Hilltop women asks as she looks nervously at Rick’s people.

“I will never let anything happen to you people here. Because you’re my people. And I keep my people alive.” I look back to Rick for a second. “Me and them, we’re gonna work shit out. So you guys have nothing to worry about.”

Jesus butts in. “We can work with these people. I’ve seen their community. They aren’t bad people. They were just lied to by Gregory and made a mistake. They thought they were doing the right thing.”

The hill-folk still seem fuckin’ wary, but that’ll probably pass. Though, I don’t really give a shit either way. Eventually, they all go back to work, since all the excitement is fuckin’ over.

“So,” I turn back to Rick, “we’re gonna have to have a little sit-down and some point, me and you.”

“Yeah,” Rick agrees, but doesn’t look too fuckin’ happy about it. “A trade agreement with your group is a good idea.”

“Seems like it. Especially for you,” I gibe. “Why don’t we let it rest a few days. Give us both a chance to really fuckin’ think about what we can put out on the table.”

As the Alexandrians start to leave, I look up to the sky to see some grey clouds. “It’s looking dark over Will’s mum’s,” I mumble to myself.

One of the Alexandrians who is still walking close to me, Aaron?, turns around and gives me a fuckin’ weird ass look. “What did you say?”

I chuckle. “It’s looking dark over Will’s mum’s. It’s just a weird fuckin’ saying someone back home says when there’s rain clouds,” I answer.

He looks at me for a second before he continues. “This is a long shot, but... the person that says that... It’s not a woman named Diane Langdon, is it?”

Holy shit. That’s Chuck’s mom. This guy knew Chuck’s mom.

I have no idea what I did with my face, but Aaron took it as confirmation. “It is, isn’t it?! That’s my sister! She’s alive?!”

“No, it’s not her,” I’m quick to answer. She’s not alive. Chuck told me so. And I don’t want to give this poor fucker hope. “Diane’s dead. I heard that saying from her daughter.”

He lets out this excited cry. “Chucky’s alive?! Oh my god!”

By this time, the other Alexandrians have turned back around and are coming our way.

“What’s going on here?” Rick asks.

“My niece is at Negan’s community,” Aaron answers all excitedly. “I need to see her.”

“Aaron,” Maggie jumps in and looks at me all suspiciously. Jesus fuck. I’m not the one that was gonna kill them all in their sleep! “I think you should come back with us.”

“No. I can’t- She’s my family! I thought she was dead!”

“He can come back with me. I promise I’ll return him safe and fuckin’ sound.”

They all accept it and we all leave, the Alexandrians parting ways with fuckin’ Aaron as he heads home with me.

Shit, I cannot wait to see the look on my girl’s face when she sees the surprise I’m bringing her.

#negan #negan fanfiction #negans thirst squad #negan x oc #negan x ofc #negan x original female character #negan / ofc #negan / oc #negan / original female character #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead au #the walking dead #this is how i disappear #tihid #writehavoc writes #writehavoc this is how i disappear

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

S.O.S (Ch. 1/2)

Hello, I am back from a stretch of not writing like. Anything. And what am I here to give you all? Angst, of course. 

A while back, @wordsysayswords made a little post. I then asked if I could write a fic based on said post, and she said YES.

Title: SOS

Words: 3376

Characters: Sherry, Ohio, Terrill, Idaho, Iowa, Darryl, Freelancers mentioned

Relationship: Ohio/Sherry

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/language; implied/referenced character death; characters thought to be dead; angst

Summary: Maine’s distress beacon is the first to set off the Triplets’ comms system. But it isn’t the last. Read also on Ao3.

I

Their first temporary truce is celebrated with vodka and kisses, but their second is accompanied by sobriety and the incessant shriek of a distress beacon.

Huddled together in front of the only functioning computer on their base with Mike, Ezra, Sherry and the others, Vera tries to block out the noise. She can tune it out okay, and she doesn’t really mind shutting her ears off. No one’s saying anything anyway, just holding their breath.

A green glow illuminates the cold, dusty room, barely big enough to be a closet, interrupted only by a flash of red light every few seconds. The green light is from the outline of a suit of armor—of a body—displayed at the left side of the screen. There are words on the right, but either they’re scrolling by too fast or Vera just can’t read the language. She thinks it’s English. Too blurry to tell.

What she can tell is who the armor belongs too, and she chooses to focus on this fact for as long as possible.

But it’s kind of hard to ignore the flashing red light coming from the armor’s throat.

“Is that—?” Ezra starts to ask, but Vera cuts him off.

“Agent Maine.”

“Another Freelancer?” Terrill asks from behind Mike’s elbow. He and Darryl stand shoulder to shoulder hunched over Mike and Sherry, who are pressed tight up against Vera and Ezra.

A wave of irritation washes over Vera—maybe at Terrill, maybe at the elbow digging into her ribs, maybe at the fact the room is no longer cold but is, in fact, very warm—and she sighs.

“Yes, Terrill,” Vera retorts. “Agent Maine is a Freelancer. Just like Iowa, Idaho, and myself.”

“You don’t have to talk so slow, I’m not an idiot,” Terrill says. “It was a valid question!”

“Shut up, Terrill,” Sherry snaps.

Vera can hear the hitched breath and clicking of teeth as Terrill contemplates arguing before closing his mouth, and she sends Sherry as many vibes of gratitude she can muster. She can’t turn around to look at her, because, well, she can’t fucking move in this computer “room”.

“His vitals are so fucked,” Ezra mutters. Vera glances over at him. His eyes are glazed over, reflecting the alternating red and green lights.

“But he’s still alive!” Mike points out.

“Yeah.” Vera looks back up at the computer screen. She wonders if it’s possible to go blind from staring for too long. Then she realizes it’s been about a minute since she’s blinked.

Closing her eyes, she lets out the first of many exasperated sighs.

“How long do these distress thinga-ma-jigs last?” Sherry asks, leaning forward. Vera feels her breath tickle her ear and she shivers.

“I don’t actually know,” Vera answers. “Never seen one before. I’m surprised this one reached us.”

“Did your helmets’ comms systems notify you of anything?” Sherry asks.

Vera blinks. She hasn’t put her armor on yet today—the distress beacon screaming at them from the computer room is what woke her up. After that it was a blur of shaking Mike awake while Ezra put up the blue flag they found in the lower levels of the base. Some sim trooper thing they used as a truce signal.

Sherry, Terrill, and Darryl rushed over, brandishing their guns in case it was a trick, dropping them and shucking their armor when they realized it wasn’t. Then they gathered around the nine-by-thirteen computer screen, watching in silence as almost certain death claimed their old teammate.

“I don’t know,” Vera says. “And hopefully there won’t be another chance to find out.”

At that moment the computer flashed one last time, flickering out with a final squawk. The sudden darkness was both refreshing and disorienting, the silence unsettling.

Vera popped her jaw, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears.

The beacon had been going off for an hour, the only change being Agent Maine’s erratic vital signs. It hurt to look at, but now Vera would give just about anything to get it back.

“Does that mean he’s—ow!” Darryl squeaks as someone—probably Sherry—jabs him in the ribs.

“I don’t know what it means, okay?” Vera snaps, leaping to her feet.

Or, she tries to leap to her feet. As she rises, Ezra is knocked backward, taking his chair, Mike, and Terrill with him like a row of sentient dominoes. Terrill lets out a squeak as he smacks the back of his head into the metal door. It beeps and slides open, something it’s not technically supposed to do without a code, but whatever.

Everything’s broken here.

“Ow, the back of my head!” Terrill cries.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Vera exclaims, whirling around to help Ezra to his feet.

Sherry grabs hold of Mike and pulls him up while Darryl takes care of Terrill. Massaging his head, Terrill gives her a dirty look, but it quickly softens.

“It’s all right,” he says. “It, uh, doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Hey, you okay?” Sherry places a hand on Vera’s shoulder.

Vera’s face goes hot, and she’s not sure whether to shake Sherry’s hand away or lean into the touch. She decides on option C, which is doing nothing, standing frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Yeah, just,” Vera sniffles, unable to finish the thought. She reaches up, presses her fingers into her eyes in a feeble attempt to stop the tears.

She’s not even sure why this hit her so hard, she hardly knew Maine—and the boys only met him once or twice. The Alpha Team were like, likened to gods practically. When David and Connie moved up, Vera was afraid they’d forget about her, Mike, and Ezra, leave them all behind to choke on their super badass Freelancer dust.

Not that they were around long enough for that to happen.

“I hope David and Connie are okay,” Mike says, echoing Vera’s thoughts. Ezra hums his agreement.

Sherry coughs, tightening her grip slightly. Vera looks up at her, praying her eyes aren’t too red. She’s managed to stop her tears, but she still feels as exhausted as she might be after sobbing her eyes out.

“We, uh, forgot our extra ammo, so we surrender,” Sherry says. Darryl nods so hard it looks like his head might fly off as Sherry continues, “Why don’t we make some coffee and watch a dumb movie, or something?”

Vera nods once, head heavy, and follows the others out of the computer room.

“We’ve only got, like five movies to pick from,” Ezra says. “I vote—”

“Four,” Mike interrupts.

“What?” Ezra asks, turning his head to squint at Mike.

“Four movies,” Mike says. “Someone accidentally blew up ‘Charlotte’s Web’.”

“Goddammit, Mike—”

Sherry halts, grabbing Vera’s hand and pulling her gently backwards. Vera, unprepared, yelps, almost toppling over. Sherry holds her steady.

“Hey.” Sherry grips Vera by her shoulders, looks her dead in the eyes.

Vera can’t decide whether to be concerned or enticed by Sherry’s gorgeous fucking eyes, then shakes her head.

Snap out of it, dummy, she scolds herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherry asks her.

Something that Vera can only describe as a stab knifes through her, allowing those feelings she had just locked up tight to leak out. She wants to scream, she wants to cry, she wants to break something.

Instead Vera reaches up, wraps her fingers around Sherry’s wrists, and gently peels her hands from her shoulders.

“I’m fine, Sherry,” Vera says. “I don’t want to talk about it. Maine wasn’t my friend, anyway. I hardly knew the guy!”

Sherry frowns, but she doesn’t protest. Doesn’t yank her hands away either. Vera, suddenly very shy, lets Sherry’s wrists go.

“I’m fine,” Vera repeats. “Now just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Sherry says, voice short.

They walk the rest of the way to the breakroom in silence.

  II

 Vera can feel the room closing in on her and she struggles to breathe. Black spots dance before her eyes as she sinks to the ground, hands around her ears as if it’s going to block out the beacon’s scream. Muffled voices come from the blurry shapes fussing around her, but she can’t bring them into focus. She presses harder on her ears, slamming her eyes shut.

But she can still see it.

It’s still there, burnt into the back of her eyelids.

The outline of the soldier on the screen is unmistakable. Like Maine’s, one of a kind. But this one’s much shorter.

“Connie,” Vera croaks. Tears, hot and heavy, roll down her face. She brings her knees in as close to her chest as possible, trying to fold into herself, to make herself smaller. Maybe even disappear.

Everything happened so fast.

Vera’s helmet screeching in her ear mid-skirmish. Vera looking over at Ezra and Mike, also frozen, before throwing down her gun and sprinting towards their base. Sherry shouting something. Stray bullets smacking into the snow around Vera as she ran. And with every heartbeat, with every strangled breath, one name reverberated through Vera’s head.

Connie. Connie. Connie.

Vera reached the computer first, chucking her helmet to the side. Eyes burning, she watched the little green-and-red model of Connie rotate on the screen. It didn’t take long for the vitals to bottom out.

But the distress beacon kept going.

For forty-five more minutes.

For forty-five minutes, Vera sat there, hardly registering the sudden warmth of Ezra and Mike sinking to the floor beside her, wrapping their arms around her.

For forty-five minutes, Vera wishes they’d destroyed their comms systems. It’s painfully clear no one is coming for them, that they’re clinging like idiots to false hopes.

For forty-five minutes, Vera considers shooting her gun next to her ears to drown out the computer’s eerie lament. She considers it, but she can’t bring herself to move even a finger.

For forty-five minutes, Vera wants to murder the Director. Because if anyone’s responsible for Connie’s death, it’s that motherfucker.

When the beacon finally dies, Vera’s run out of tears. Blinking, she lets out a shuddering sigh and returns Ezra and Mike’s embrace. Her arms and elbows complain as she eases them from their tensed position to drape them over her friends’ shoulders. Mike sniffles, but Ezra stares at the floor like he can see through it, eyes miles away.

Their grief eventually gives way to discomfort. Power armor isn’t ideal for sitting in a sad huddle with your friends. Extracting herself from the hug, Vera rises to her feet, knees popping. She looks over at the computer screen, watches the cursor dart across the screen, writing out the date, time, and cause of death in bright green letters.

One word at the bottom of the report catches her eye, and Vera shuffles over to the computer, eyes narrowed.

There, at the bottom of the screen is one word, this time typed out in glowing red letters:

MISSING.

What the hell does that mean? That Connie’s missing? Missing where?

“What the fuck is going on?” Vera shouts, kicking the desk chair. It clatters across the room and smacks up against the wall.

Ezra and Mike don’t say anything, but Ezra comes up beside her to look at the computer as well. His brows furrow when he reads the red lettering.

Vera growls and stomps out of the room, making her way down the corridor and toward her bunk.

This isn’t fair, how come she and the others are here while Connie, Wash and the others are out risking their lives and—and fucking dying? If Freelancer was looking for soldiers ready to die for the cause, they threw away three of them on this frozen planet.

And now—what, Connie’s freaking body is missing? Vera has no idea what’s going on, and those old feelings of helplessness, of being useless, surface after months of figuring out how to shove them away. Freelancer continues to haunt them, which is hilarious to Vera, because shouldn’t she, Mike, and Ezra be the ones to haunt Freelancer? Of course, that would only make a difference if the Director had a conscience.

Reaching the door to her bunk, Vera punches the button to open the door. As the door slides open, the pad the button is attached to pops, sparks, and fizzes. The door freezes half way, and Vera groans. She tries to shove the door the rest of the way open, but the base is content on working whenever the fuck it wants, and right now, it doesn’t want to.

Vera huffs and removes her armor, dropping it all to the floor right outside the door before slipping inside her bunk.

She doesn’t even bother turning on the light before falling into bed. Shoving her face into her pillow, she closes her eyes, only to find Connie’s face smirking at her. Eyes flying open, Vera flips over and stares at the small sliver of light cutting across the ceiling.

Maybe they should just shut off the computer.

  III

 They don’t shut off the computer, of course. The miniscule chance someone would contact them, or hear their distress signals, keeps them from blowing it all up.

Deep down, Vera knows—and she knows the others do too—that no one is ever going to call their names over that radio.

“You could take turns checking the computer,” Sherry suggests to Vera one night.

They’re laying in Vera’s bed, limbs intertwined and tangled in the sheets, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bare skin. Sherry’s arm is around Vera, and she reaches up to stroke Vera’s hair.

Sighing, Vera leans into Sherry’s hand. Electrified by the touch, she almost forgets what Sherry said.

“Maybe,” Vera says, closing her eyes for one. Two. Three seconds. Then she says, “I guess. I don’t know.”

“Then maybe you wouldn’t have to have it thrown in your face every time,” Sherry goes on. “Take turns reporting what you see?”

“I don’t think Mike could do it on his own,” Vera says. “Shit, I don’t know if I could be in there alone. What if—god, what if it’s David who dies next? I mean, Connie’s gone, Maine’s—Maine’s maybe gone! What if they all just fucking die, Sherry?”

Vera sits up, slipping out of Sherry’s embrace and pulls her legs up towards her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she presses her eyes into her knees. She shivers, her back now exposed to the barely tolerable chill. Since the base’s energy is finite, they’ve started turning the heat down. Vera would almost rather die warm than freeze her ass off.

Almost.

There’s the swish of sheets as Vera feels Sherry sit up as well, and a warm pressure around her shoulders as Sherry holds her once more. Sherry rests her chin on the top of Vera’s head.

“I’m sorry, sweet cheeks,” Sherry murmurs into Vera’s hair. “If I knew a way off this ice cube, you’d be the first to know.”

“Ha!” The corners of Vera’s mouth twitch. “Thanks, Sherry.”

Straightening out her legs, Vera moves to lay down again, and Sherry follows suit. Vera reaches up for the light switch, remembers there is no light switch, and sighs.

“Lights off,” she commands, and the room goes dark.

Well, it sort-of goes dark. There’s still light peaking in through the door, which is still freaking busted. Luckily Mike and Ezra’s rooms are a floor below her, and they… probably can’t hear anything.

Soon Vera can hear Sherry’s breaths deepen and slow down as she falls asleep, humming softly into her pillow. Vera stares at the gap between the wall and the door, listening to Sherry sleep, trying to find some of her own. She’s generally good at falling asleep—a master, really. When her body finally realized no one was going to play “Reveille” every morning at 0500, Vera even overslept.

It’s kind of hard for Vera to fall asleep when she’s waiting to be awakened by the sound of someone else dying.

Eventually, maybe two hours later, Vera starts to drift off. She nestles a little deeper into Sherry’s arms and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Her last thought before she slips into an uneasy sleep is that she should probably just ask Sherry to move in.

At that same moment, far away in a distant corner of the galaxy, the Mother of Invention falls from the sky.

 IV

Vera crosses every name off in her head, each Freelancer popping up for a few seconds, screaming out vitals, and vanishing to make way for another soldier’s injury map.

Kansas. Louisiana. Vermont. Minnesota. South. North. York. Carolina.

Washington.

(It’s easier than calling him David, than seeing his first name glaring at her; easier to picture Washington with all those broken bones, to picture David smiling, using that dumb silly straw—)

Some are dying, some dead. The lucky ones only have a few broken bones—well, the lucky ones are probably the Freelancers that aren’t showing up on the screen. Did they escape whatever fate the others met? Off on other missions, out of harm’s way? Or maybe they’re just out of their power armor—Vera shakes her head, refuses to consider the option a second longer.

“It’s gotta be an ambush,” Ezra says, his voice hitching up an octave. “I—I mean, how does someone get the drop on a ship full of fuck—fucking Freelancers?”

They’re all crowded in the computer room once again, this time without Terrill and Darryl, still asleep at their base. Sherry is the only one not huddled around the screen. Instead, she stands in the doorway, permanently open after the boys fell into it the one time, wrapped in Vera’s itchy wool comforter.

“Whoever attacked them, or whatever happened,” Vera croaks, finding her voice, “Lots of them died from some huge impact.”

“The Mother of Invention?” Ezra looks over at Vera, wild eyed. The green and red glow from the screen casts odd shadows on his face, making him look hollow. Horrifying and horrified. “You mean, like, something hit it?”

“Or it fell,” Mike suggests.

“Or it fell,” Vera echoes.

They watch until the distress beacon screeches to a halt, about fifteen minutes too early. Something must have happened to the ship’s comms, or maybe it was something else, but Vera is the last person to ask about technology of that caliber.

What she does know is her friends are dead or dying, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Letting out a shriek, Vera leaps to her feet and punches the computer. The screen cracks, but doesn’t go out, and Vera feels her anger surge, clawing its way out of her throat. Howling in frustration she strikes the computer again and again and again, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She lifts her leg up and brings her bare foot down on the keyboard, and the machine finally pops and fizzes out.

Chest heaving, Vera watches the smoke rising and the sparks spitting from the screen. She hoped to feel some satisfaction, but all she feels is more anger.

Vera feels a hand on her shoulder and jerks away.

“Don’t touch me!” she hisses.

“Vera,” Sherry says, softly.

“Just—just go,” Vera says, face hot. “You don’t wanna be around me right now and—and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

Sherry doesn’t say anything, but Vera can feel her eyes burning into the back of her skull. It takes everything she has not to turn around and scream, curse, break something. She can feel Ezra and Mike on either side of her, tense, waiting—not for her reaction, but for their own.

Vera sucks in a huge breath and lets it out. Then she turns around to face Sherry. Their eyes meet, and Vera sees her pain reflected in Sherry’s.

“I love you, Sherry,” Vera says. “But right now, me and Mike and Ezra need to be alone, okay?”

Sherry looks ready to protest, but then she seems to see something in Vera’s face. Nodding, she reaches out one more time, pausing inches from Vera’s face, and then let’s her arm drop.

“I love you too,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

And then she leaves the three of them to mourn.

#h writes #angst #implied character death #minor character death #swearing #ohio #sherry #iowa #idaho #terrill #darryl #freelancer #ohsherry

[noodlecupcakes]

Ultraviolence - Chapter 8 (Mafia Negan AU)

Warnings: Language, Murder, Homophobia, Drinking

Shout at me if you want to be added to the taglist

Chapter 8

Negan’s P.O.V

Roxy had taken the week off like I told her too and I kept checking in when I could to make sure she was ok. She seemed a little better but of course I was still worried about her. She was due to return to work tomorrow night. Dwight had settled into his new manager role perfectly. He'd managed to keep the club open for the week so that was a good start. He'd called me earlier to swing by the club a few hours before open. Thankfully I had the time to spare and entered his office. Dwight forced a smile as I sat opposite him, meaning he was about to break some bad news to me.

“Let’s not beat around the fucking bush, what’s gone wrong?” I asked. “Nothing. I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while. It’s just with the recent drama and you not really being here over the last week I haven’t exactly had the chance.” “Ok. You wanna spit it the fuck out?” “It’s not easy for me to say something like this. The night that David was permanently fired, I heard him and Ruby talking. About Roxy.” I frowned, leaning back in my chair. I waited for him to continue. “I think Ruby might have asked David to scare her in some way, make her quit,” Dwight explained. “You’re sure about this?” “When you work the bar, you learn to have good hearing.”

I sighed, telling myself to remain calm. Ruby was going to have to be dealt with. I couldn’t keep someone like that here anymore. Jealous bitch. “You mind if I use your office for a small meeting?” I asked. “Not at all.” “I'll try not to make another mess. Otherwise the whole fucking floor is gonna be covered in rugs.” Dwight smiled but left his office. Gwen came in and leant against the desk, facing me. “You've got that look on your face,” she spoke.

“And what fucking look is that?” “Your about to ask me to kill someone.” I rolled my eyes, I was not in the mood for her to be smug about being right. “Just go and get Ruby for me,” I sighed. Gwen did as I asked, leaving the office and coming back a few minutes later with Ruby behind her. “Everything ok?” Ruby asked. Of course, she was gonna pretend to be the innocent party. Manipulative bitch. Now sat in Dwight’s chair, I motioned her to take a seat. Gwen came and stood by me, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest.

“I want you to be honest with me Ruby. Did you ask David to scare Roxy in some way?” I asked. Ruby frowned, her mouth falling open in fake shock. She wasn’t that much of a great actress. “I’d never imagine doing something like that. Sure, Roxy and I don’t get along but what David tried to do I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” she explained. “Then why does Dwight tell me differently?” Ruby’s expression quickly changed and she became defensive. “Dwight would say that, him and Sherry have it out for me,” she snapped.

I glanced at Gwen who was glaring daggers at Ruby. I should have expected Ruby to deny all this right to the very end. “Maybe if you tell the truth you won’t get into so much trouble,” Gwen spoke. Ruby’s eyes glasses over and she put her head in her hands. Gwen and I exchanged an eye role. “I never meant for him to do something like that,” she sobbed. “Bullshit,” Gwen snapped. Ruby looked up at Gwen her eyes now seemingly dry. “Its not,” she stammered. “Then where have those tears gone?”

Ruby glared at Gwen, “do you want a confession from me or something. Fucking dyke.” Gwen took a step forward, ready to pummel Ruby. I held my hand up. “Easy Gwen,” I turned back to Ruby, “now you are fucking lucky that I don’t kill women or children. Because it is taking a lot for me not to choke the fuck out of you right now. Gwen here will be doing the honours.” Gwen smiled and pulled out her gun, clicking the safety off. Ruby starts begging and pleading for her life. I sighed and motioned for Gwen to get on with it. Gwen pulled the trigger and got Ruby right between the eyes.

Ruby body fell to the floor limp, the blood staining the carpet. Gwen instantly got to work on the clean-up, taking out Ruby’s body first. Once she was finished she sat down with a sigh. I made us both a drink, handing her the glass. “Don’t let her get to you. Besides she's dead and you know how much I value you, gay or not,” I spoke. “Just pisses me off that she would do that to Roxy.” “I know but it’s been dealt with. Nobody is gonna hurt her again.” Gwen took a mouthful of her whiskey, setting the glass back on the desk.

“So how are you and Susan?” I asked. Gwen’s cheeks began to burn and she avoided my gaze, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure. Gwen you’re not the only one with a fucking gaydar.” “She's great, we're great. Zeus loves her.” “Good.” “How’s Roxy doing?” “She’s a bit better, still a little shaken but that’s to be expected.” “Well it'll be good to see her tomorrow.” “Yeah it will.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roxy was back at the club tonight, getting straight back into the job. She had yet to question where Ruby was. I’m sure she had already worked out half of it, Roxy may be blonde by she wasn't a dumb blonde. I'd asked Roxy to stay a little late for some bar training. Now that Dwight was in charge I needed to teach the girls how to make drinks until we could find a new bartender. Roxy didn’t mind staying an extra hour providing I paid her and drove her home, which I agreed to.

I sat down at the bar after close and rubbed my eyes. Roxy smiled softly, standing behind the bar. I went through how to make a Blue Lagoon with her. She poured the drink and slid it over to me. I drank a little and winced, way too much Bombay Sapphire and not enough Lemonade. “Too strong?” She asked. “A little.” After two more attempts she got the measurements perfect and we moved on to Martinis. This time it took her only two attempts. I downed each glass.

“I feel like your trying to get drunk,” she spoke. “I’m not wasting good liquor, especially when I’m the one who pays for it.” “Point taken. I hope you'll still be in the right state of mind to take me home.” “If I’m not then I can always ask Gwen.” “Ruby didn’t just get fired, did she?” This question caught me off guard, but I knew it wasn't a conversation we could avoid forever. “Sherry told me what Dwight over heard and I knew you wouldn’t stand for that,” Roxy continued. “I don’t kill women or children. Gwen took care of it.” “Did she admit to it?” “She didn't need too.”

Roxy nodded understandingly and poured herself a drink, downing it in one. I took her hand in mine. “Baby girl I can assure you that nobody else is ever going to hurt you,” I promised. “I believe you.” I felt like I should kiss her, hold her close and stoke her curls but I still didn’t know where we quite stood with each other. We'd only had one successful date but after the bullshit with David I’m sure we'd back tracked a little. Instead I just rubbed my thumb over her knuckles in a soothing manner. She’d be ready in her own time and if she wasn’t then that was fine too. As long as she was safe and happy that’s all that mattered.

Roxy decided to lighten the mood a little, “I think you should be the one making me drinks.” “Is that so?” “Yeah,” she smirked, “I’ve had a long hard day, my feet are killing me with these heels.” “Is that a subtle way of asking me for a foot rub as well?” “Maybe.” Roxy came around to my side of the bar and took a seat on the stool next to mine. She removed her heels as I went around the other side to make her a drink. I made up a Bay Breeze for her before sitting down next to her again to start rubbing her feet.

Roxy relaxed instantly, taking a sip from her drink. She rolled her shoulders back and rested her elbows on the bar. “I do want a second date with you Negan but I also want to get things back to normal first. Get back in my work routine,” she explained. “I understand baby girl. There’s no rush. I'll be ready when you are.” “Thank you.” I smiled softly at her, both of us just happy to be in each others company.

After a few more drinks we decided it was time to call it a night and Gwen was ready to take both of us home. Roxy and I climbed into the back of the car before Gwen made the journey to Roxy’s apartment building. I made sure she got in safely before Gwen drove us home. Zeus and Bisou instantly came to greet us with their tails wagging. I headed straight for bed not that I went to sleep anytime soon. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

The closer I got to Roxy the more I had been thinking about Lucille. It felt like I was betraying her with how much I was falling for Roxy. I’d promised to never love anyone else but her even after she died. Yet there were so many similarities between Roxy and Lucille. Yes, it had been five years since Lucille passed but that didn’t stop my feelings for her. That year I’d gone to some dark places, places that I never wanted to go back too. But if it wasn’t for the likes of Gwen or Simon getting my ass in gear I probably would have drank myself to death long ago. I’m sure Lucille would probably tell me to be happy, fall in love again but it was easier said than done. I’d betrayed her once already before, I couldn’t do it again.

Taglist: @astrangegirlsmind, @genevievedarcygranger, @jeffreydeanneganstrash, @socktrollqueen, @warriorqueen1991, @multi-villain-imagines, @ladylorelitany, @grungedaddykinks, @mwesterfeld1985, @isayweallgetdrunk, @almostinwonderland, @jungle-feeveer, @negans-network, @slothdoll, @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash, @lovesjdm, @glittered-unicorn-lava, @thewew, @eldritchmortician, @neganisking, @jmackie1983, @cranberrysymphony, @negans-girl, @ali-pennell, @thamberlina, @backseat-negan, @libby822, @harleysandbats, @ibelongtonegan, @kellyn1604, @badsongwinchester, @haleyea, @jeffreydeanmorganownsme, @robert-d-j-bernthal, @phoenixsnape1, @abbessthegoddess, @shadowpriestess6, @jdms-network, @alwaysartist, @magikat409, @loveforfilm, @toxic-ink, @sherrybaby14, @mayuketchupytostones, @londoncapsule, @despoina-nt, @poppinjeffrey, @darkmarceline28, @josadeca, @ejspencer14, @nycktmcginn, @ryantherandomhero, @frozenhuntress67, @neganismyobsession, @talyatooturnt

#negan #neganxoc #neganxroxy #negan au #ultraviolence #mafia negan #mafia au #negan smut #negan angst #negan feels #negan fluff #negan fanfic #negan fanfiction #negan thirst squad #walking dead #walking dead au #walking dead fanfiction #walking dead smut #walking dead mafia au #Jeffrey Dean Morgan

[aslightstep]

Roulette

enjoy this fic that will not stop bothering me. Steve/Tony, MCU, post-CACW. warnings (please pay attention to these) for alcoholism, victim blaming, and both Howard and Maria Stark’s A+ parenting. (by that I mean they are both bad at it, but in their own ways, but Tony’s canon view of his mother is still kept intact and explained.)

It becomes almost a game between us at some point, I’m not sure when. Tony calls it the ‘Trauma Olympics.’ I call it ‘talking about your feelings.’ 

We agree to disagree. We’re good at that.

We meet on the couch in the common room or in the workshop, always in the moment right after the dead of night when neither of us can sleep. The first time we did this, before it was a habit, before it became a therapy that didn’t feel like flaying my brain open, it was an attack on his part, practically begging me to lay out a sob story just so he could tear it to pieces.

(’I’m so sick of your excuses.’)

I don’t need a story. I’ve lived, and sometimes that seems like tragedy enough.

But it was more than Tony had spoken to me in months, so I rise to the bait. Flung down the gauntlet. I start with the most recent wound - him. 

(’You abandoned me.’)

He’s the one to back down that night, and I feel anything but proud. 

He’s also the one that keeps coming back. Anger burns bright in him, but I’d rather have this than the nothing I’ve had for months. He lets me talk, and even when he bites back, at least he’s listening.

I tell him about the horrible things, the dark things. I tell him about the smell of rotting corpses - he counters with the smell of burning flesh. I tell him about the quiet of ice and he sneers ‘remember when you almost closed me up in space?’

I tell him about the pain of letting a friend slip through your fingers and he - goes quiet. Sympathizes. Tells me that he agrees. There is nothing worse.

It becomes a thing after that - a game, if you’re Tony. Healing, maybe, for me. He volunteers, once or twice, starts the game himself. I come up, more than once, and it’s hard to listen to, especially the things I wasn’t around for, the impressions Howard left, but we have an unspoken rule now that we don’t interrupt. These are our terrible things. No one else gets an opinion.

He holds my hand one night when I talk about the four times I’ve lost Bucky. (’Isn’t it supposed to get easier?’). He tells me he’s sorry another night, the night when Bucky Barnes is his tale of woe. (’Thanks. For stopping me.’)

He tells me that we all could have done better, and we didn’t.

But the worst things Tony tells me aren’t about Bucky, or Afghanistan, or the wormhole, or Stane, or the civil war. Or me. The worst things, in the grand scheme of his life, almost seem tiny in comparison but for the lasting effects they have on the man. But they stick with me, for days, weeks, months, years from now when Tony and I will be happy again. I will still look over to him, long after the other hurts have faded, and remember these two small things, and pull him close to me to hold him tight.

(’Why are you such a sap?’)

The two worst things Tony tells me are about his parents.

One goes like this: 

We are in the workshop, and he is angry because I’ve implied something that I shouldn’t have.

“Howard never hit me,” Tony snaps, white with fury, and I back off, subject dropped, because I’ve made a mistake.

Then. Quieter. 

“He didn’t have to.” Calmly, calm, too calm. 

It rolls around in my head for hours after words as I think sticks and stones may break my bones, but words...

But words.

The other goes like this:

We are on the couch, and Tony is drunk, because none of us but Rhodes are the kind of friends who can caution Tony about his drinking anymore and the War Machine is out on a mission.

“I got it from my mom,” he slurs, apropos of nothing until he glares blearily at me. “It’s my turn to share, right?” I nod hesitantly, because we’ve talked about everything but Maria Stark. Tony’s mother is sacred, secret. 

“Well, then, I’m adding to my Trauma Tetris,” he goes on. “The drinking. I didn’t get it from Howard. Got it from my mama.” He laughs. He sobs. I can’t tell the difference. I can’t even speak.

“See, my dad liked his booze but he was too busy too...driven to really dive into alcoholism.” And I’ve seen Howard in his later years, read reports, saw how neatly they matched to Tony’s own behavior before Afghanistan and occasionally after, and I wonder if this is a lie Tony made up about his father as a young man merely so it would be perfect when he told it to himself years later. “Or maybe - maybe he just learned better, watching her. Because she. Loved. Liquor.” He emphasizes each word with a sharp rap of his knuckles against his tumbler.

“And looking back now, I can see so many times where Dad tried to help her, or Jarvis. But see, when I was little? I didn’t want her to stop.” Tony suddenly seems very sober, staring down at his drink. “I would bring her drinks in the afternoon. Got my first sip from her.

“I didn’t understand addiction. Or the damage it was doing. Or what ‘enabling’ meant. All I knew was that when she had a glass in her hand, my mother smiled and laughed and was the life of the party. When she was drunk,” he inhales shakily. “Mom loved me. When she was sober, she hated everything. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it took time. I thought if she stayed that way, she’d hate me forever.”

Somehow I manage to make my mouth move. “You were just a kid, Tony.”

Tony snorts. “I sneaked bourbon into her drinks at dinner because Jarvis thought I didn’t know where the bottle was. The cooking sherry, the wine bottles guests left as gifts. Jarvis and dad thought it was all her, but it was me. Because I wanted to help.”

“Tony,” I say firmly. I wait until he looks at me. “You were just a kid. You didn’t know any better.” 

“I started keeping bottles for myself,” he whispers. “When I was thirteen, me and Tiberius Stone racked up a pair of DUIs. Mom cried so hard when she and Dad came to pick me up, and every time I apologized, she just cried harder. She told me it was all her fault one night, sick, shaking, fuck she was already going through withdrawal. I didn’t understand. It was my choice.” He looks down at the glass in his hand. “It was my choice to do that to myself.”

“She got sober?” I ask hopefully, wondering if the brave, brilliant woman Tony so admired and adored ever really existed.

“She tried her best. She slipped a couple of times before...the accident. Always started over. I still have every one of her AA chips. She was so dedicated. ‘Making up lost time,’ she said. She tried so hard for us. I went to school. And without me around-”

“Tony-”

“She got better. She didn’t have to be drunk to smile or be happy. And she still loved me just the same, even though if she was sitting here with us right now, she would tell you - I was her trauma. I ruined her life.”

“Tony, you just said it yourself. It was her choice to do that to yourself. Maria loved you, and you loved her. You were family. You forgave her, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Tony seems offended I even asked. “There was nothing to forgive.”

“Why would you think she wouldn’t do the same?” I continue quietly. Tony gapes at me, thunderstruck by such a simple question, turning the question this way and that in his mind. This is the thing that Tony has never understood: that anyone could ever forgive him. That anyone could feel the same way about him as he does them. The only exception, as near as I can tell, has been Maria Stark.

I can see it the moment hope blooms in him. Carefully, I take the glass from him, and he lets me.

Tony calls the Trauma Olympics an ‘unprecedented draw,’ but we still meet up and talk. Slowly it spreads, to the day, to the evening, to our entire lives.

I steer Tony away from bars and he steers me away from the cliff I’ve been threatening to jump off of for almost ten years. We hang on to each other instead.

Years later, Tony will be playing with his own AA chip, and I will feel the old urge those memories always stir in me and pull him close. I will wrap my hand around his and we will hold the chip together.

“You know why I told you that?” he will say out of nowhere, and I will hum noncommittally. “Because I was hoping you would say exactly what you did.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to believe someone else,” I will agree, thinking of all the times he has sat me down and showed me that I had done the best I could. Or, even better, when he showed me the places I could do better next time.

There will always be a next time with Tony. I intend to see from now on that those times are only good.

#also it includes steve's trauma as a peripheral to tony's #so it's extremely tony centric #tony stark fic #alanna writes

[negans-network]

Negan's Sycophant

Summary: For Ash’s Round 3 Negan Challenge, this fills in the Truth or Dare slot. Among the wives, Kat isn’t very popular, but an argument could be made that she’s Negan’s favorite little kiss-ass in all senses of the word.

Word Count:   6669

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Negan x F!OC

Warnings: Foul Language, Sexual Imagery and Language, Negan being Himself as Always, Rimming, Fellatio, Male-Receiving Oral Sex, Daddy Kink, Wife-Bashing, A Little Dark, Negan is kind of a Sub, Anal-fingering on Male, Vaginal fingering, Squirting

Author’s Note: This is a smutty one-shot.

Author: @genevievedarcygranger  

Tagging: just for those that I think would be interested @purplemuse89 @backseat-negan @ladylorelitany @ofdragonsanddreams16 @alyisdead @collette04 @noodlecupcakes @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @i-am-negan-trash @asshatry

In her uncomfortable, small bed in her cramped, small bedroom, Kat frustratedly tossed her book to the side. The other wives in the parlor were too loud and she couldn’t concentrate at all on the text. She could hear them laughing, and by the sheer frequency and volume, she guessed that they had opened up a few bottles of wine between them. Guiltily shifting on the bed, Kat could guess why.

Amber was the youngest wife, and she had made the mistake of sneaking around with Mark behind Negan’s back. Negan found out – of course, he would find out – and Mark had half his face burned off. It looked like it was going to be even worse than Dwight’s, because the eyelid on Mark’s left eye was completely gone. He’d need eyedrops or water to keep it from drying out. That meant spending points he didn’t have. Naturally Amber was completely devastated about it. She felt guilty and responsible for the situation, but Amber’s way of coping was primarily blaming Kat – because Kat was the one to tell Negan.

Kat didn’t mean to tell Negan, but in a fit jealousy, it just slipped out. Kat used to be the youngest wife before Amber, but then Amber came and stole all of Negan’s attention. He didn’t even try to split himself evenly among them anymore. The other girls were relieved, because they saw this as a job, but Kat being a fool (at least she was aware of being a fool) loved Negan. And then Amber had to go and cheat on Negan as soon as he started going back to other wives, and Kat hated it.

Now Kat felt even more horrible about it, though, than when she hated Amber. Maybe now Amber would be calm enough to accept Kat’s apology. With a sigh, Kat climbed out of bed, abandoning her book, and left for the parlor.

She was right to assume that they were drinking, but rather than wine, they went straight for beer instead. They were all sitting in a circle, Michaela and Amber on the couch, Tanya and Frankie sitting across from them. All of the wives looked different from each other as Negan liked a variety from his women. Looking at them now, Kat could see the appeal from Frankie the masseuse and Amber’s sweetness and Tanya thriving off being used and abused and Michaela’s beautifully curvaceous body. And Kat was jealous because she couldn’t offer him any of that. All she had was her love, but he couldn’t know that she loved him. He’d sneer, well maybe he wouldn’t, but there was no way he could love her when there were these beautiful women. Kat felt small, and briefly wondered what he could see in her compared to them.

Before she allowed her mind to wander any further, she dragged her eyes away from the women and focused on the glass coffee table in the center of the parlor. On it were several beer bottles, but one was empty and on its side. Blinking, Kat addressed the parlor at large when she asked, “You’re playing Spin the Bottle?”

Suddenly all eyes were on her, and they were anything but friendly – especially Amber’s daggers for eyes, brimming with tears and red-rimmed from both the tears and the booze. There would be no apology tonight. Michaela, out of all of them, was the least resentful, though; Kat shuddered to think why, consumed with the fear that Michaela knew that Kat loved Negan. Until Michaela brought it up, though, Kat would accept her indifference warily. As it is, Michaela was the one to finally respond to Kat. “We’re using the bottle in that way, except instead of kissing, we’re playing Truth or Dare.”

“Oh.” Kat didn’t bother to ask why she wasn’t invited. Suddenly, Kat noticed the empty tray on the table with the stems from fruit left over. It seems they had also deliberately neglected to call her to dinner with them; now that really irked Kat. Feeling a little awkward, Kat was unsure of what to say.

Taking pity on Kat, Michaela cautiously offered, “Would you like to play?” The other wives immediately shot Michaela a look of reproach, making it clear to Kat that she was unwanted.

That didn’t stop Kat from grasping the tentative olive-branch anyway. She gladly accepted Michaela’s offer, “Sure.” And there the awkwardness grew when Kat had to squeeze in on the couch. Michaela was the barrier between Amber and Kat, and all Kat could hope for is that that would be enough.

Once she was seated, Frankie set down her beer and cleared her throat loudly. “Alright, let’s play.” Using a lot of force, Frankie spun the bottle, and they all anxiously watched it spin.

Fingering the hem of her black dress, Kat was well aware that the laughter she had heard in her bedroom was now nonexistent all because of her. It gave her a sour taste formed in her mouth. “Is there anymore beer?” She casually asked, wondering when the bottle would finally stop spinning.

“No,” came Amber’s resounding answer, and Kat bit her lip.  

Then Kat noticed that Sherry was missing. “Did Negan summon Sherry for the night or did she finally volunteer her time?” The way the system worked is that unless Negan specifically requested a certain wife, the wives would rotate among each other to spend time with Negan. For Kat, it was a dangerous game to play, to walk a balance so that they wouldn’t know just how willing she was to be with Negan. For Sherry to go to Negan on her own terms now, though, after everything, that would mean she had finally submitted. And that would mean Kat wouldn’t see much of Negan for a long, long time.

“Actually,” Tanya began, a tremor of unsureness in her voice, “We haven’t seen Sherry much today.” Now Frankie shot a look of reproach at Tanya, and her mouth closed with an audible click of her teeth.

Kat’s brow creased with concern. She thought Sherry had been getting better. Wherever she was now, this couldn’t bode well, not that Kat would complain. That small part of her – the part that learned to kill to survive and had enjoyed doing it, the part that conveniently dropped hints to Negan about Amber’s infidelity – hoped Sherry would be out of the way so that she could have Negan to herself. Kat would do anything to have Negan be hers, and that meant he brought out the worst in her. “That still means someone has to go to Negan, though.”

The wives shared looks with each other, a little uneasy. When Negan came back, the Sanctuary had turned into a hive of activity. The prisoner Daryl had escaped, there was a new prisoner, and Fat Joey was dead. Losing Sherry might push Negan over the edge. Besides, he might blame them for not looking out for Sherry or not coming to him sooner.

Finally, the silence was broken by Frankie. “Looks like the bottle chose you, Kat.” It was true. The mouth of the bottle pointed squarely at Kat’s lap, at knee level. “So, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Kat shrugged. She’d rather not admit truth if that meant revealing her love for Negan.

Frankie took a dainty sip of her beer, and then smirked. Suddenly, Kat wasn’t so sure if she should have played this game at all. “Well, since you brought it up, why don’t you go suck up to Negan some more and rat out Sherry, now. It comes so naturally to you after all.”

Immediately, Kat’s cheeks flushed red, but rather from shame, from anger. Before she could retort, though, Amber joined in. “Frankie’s right.” The blonde girl stood and wobbled unsteadily on her feet. She swayed and stumbled drunkenly towards Kat, and jabbed her finger in face. “You’re a kiss-ass,” she slurred lightly, “a brown-noser! A fucking sycophant bitch for that psycho asshole!”

Now, Kat could handle Amber smearing her name in the mud. Kat knew she was a horrible person, she knew Amber had a right to be upset. The girl was drunk, too, and Amber never drinks, so this was hitting her hard. But she felt Amber had no place to insult Negan. That crossed a line for Kat. She was on her feet before she knew it. “Fuck you, Amber,” she snapped. “If you don’t want to be with Negan then leave. You’re here by choice. He’s your husband, and if you hadn’t fucked Mark, then Mark’s face wouldn’t be fucked up!”

At that, Amber broke. She slapped Kat across the face while simultaneously bellowing out a broken sob, and it took everything in Kat not retaliate. Negan hated when his wives fought. Catty shit he could handle, but cat fights were a big no-no. Amber only slapped Kat once anyway before she tripped over herself to go to her room, fat tears streaming down her face, wailing loudly. Michaela followed to comfort her, but Frankie and Tanya stood and circled Kat like vultures. “Just go, Kat,” Frankie started in a low and menacing tone, “You got what you wanted. Negan is all yours.”

Cupping her stinging cheek, Kat leveled her gaze with Frankie. Frankie was the unofficial leader of the wives, and often she and Kat had disputes over Negan because Kat had issues with sharing. Hearing Frankie say that, though, Kat smiled maliciously. “You’re right. He’s mine.” And with that, Kat left for her husband, feeling marginally better.

~

When Kat slipped into Negan’s bedroom, she could hear the shower running, and she smiled happily now. She debated whether or not she should join him, but decided against it. Considering how upset he was earlier, she figured that he should use the shower to relax. Besides that, she was hungry, and Negan had a plate of sandwiches on his coffee table that was calling Kat’s name. Sitting on the couch and munching a sandwich, Amber’s words played in Kat’s head like a skipping record, over and over again.

Fucking sycophant bitch.

Fucking sycophant bitch.

Fucking sycophant bitch.

Kat believed it. Since the beginning, Kat has done whatever was necessary to survive – kill, steal, didn’t matter. To Kat, her survival was everything, everyone else be damned. Then the Saviors formed, and Kat was very tempted to join so that she could have extra perks. She was skilled enough to survive, she could do the job. But then she heard about Negan forming a harem, and Kat immediately ‘auditioned’ and got in the exclusive club.

Falling in love with Negan was never part of the plan, but it happened anyway. For one, the sex was fantastic. That was obvious enough. But then there were Negan’s tender moments. He talked to Kat a lot, told her things that he made her promise not to tell the others. Eyeing the baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in the armchair across from her, Kat remembered that discussion about Lucille’s namesake vividly. And the confessions about how he didn’t enjoy the killing, but made himself like it. Kat could relate considering how she would do – and has done – anything to survive. There was more to Negan than that psycho façade he had to put on, and Kat fell so hard for it.

The problem was, she doubted he’d ever feel the same. He knew about Kat’s life from before, and Kat even told him about the shitty things she’s done in this new world. None of it phased him, and he didn’t brush it off. But his façade wouldn’t allow him to just drop his wives, especially not now with what he’s done to Mark and Dwight. Kat sighed, and went to his scotch stash to pour herself a shot. Now that she had apparently usurped the other wives, things were going to be more difficult now.

“Well isn’t this a nice fucking surprise!” Kat whipped around, clutching a full glass of scotch to her chin. There was Negan, fresh from the shower, stark naked. Not that it was anything Kat hadn’t seen before, but God, he is such a beautiful sight how he is. Rivulets of water dripped down his chest, clinging to his tanned skin and beading in his thick, black body hair like dewdrops on a spider web. He was toweling his hair dry, both arms raised up, head slightly tipped forward, and the pose was reminiscent of every underwear model poster Kat had ever seen. The best part was, though, that there was no underwear. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his sex, nestled in a nest of black curls, and her throat went dry as her own sex was simultaneously flooded with arousal.

“Go ahead and eye-fuck me, Kat, I don’t mind.” Negan smirked and wrapped the towel around his neck. All of his black tattoos were on display, and his muscles were flexing beautifully, so Kat continued to eye-fuck him freely. “I’ve had a long fucking day,” Negan continued, walking towards her confidently, not bothering to cover anything. “And I could use wonderful fucking company like yours, Kitty-Kat.” He took the glass of scotch from her, and kissed her sensually before he took a gulp.

Appreciatively, Kat watched his Adam’s apple bob before she finally dragged her eyes back up to his again. She licked her lips in memory of their kiss, and then smiled at him softly. “Hey Daddy,” she placed her hands on his chest, rubbing up and down, “what would you like me to do to help you feel better?”

Immediately, he hummed appreciatively, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. It was his turn to eye-fuck her. “Oh, I can fucking think of several things.” His head dipped forward to kiss her again, but then he paused, eyeing her critically now. Negan set the empty glass down, and gently cupped her chin. “What the shit?”

Her eyes went round, and she stilled under his touch. There was a dark look in his eye that promised trouble and vengeance. She waited for him to explain, not necessarily afraid for herself. He never laid a finger on them that they couldn’t say ‘no’ to if they wanted.

Sure enough, Negan was muttering darkly again, practically hissing and spitting like a cat that had its tail stepped on. “What the shit is this? What the hell, Kat? Who the fuck laid a damn hand on you?” Ever so gently he brushed his thumb over Kat’s cheek, and she drew back tenderly.

Evidently, Amber slapped her hard enough to leave a mark. Kat frowned, and turned her face away from him, ducking her head. “I’m sorry, Negan. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“No, Kat,” Negan started sternly, “No. You know that no one can lay their hands on any of my wives, and I can’t fucking stand violence against women. You tell me who it fucking is. I will beat the holy hell out of them – and I don’t even need Lucille to do it. What the fuck happened?”

Sighing, Kat looked back at Negan. He had his jaw clenched, brows knitted together, and despite it being an expression of his fury, Kat still thought that it was a lovely face to sit on. She reached up and tenderly traced her fingers over his smooth chin and up his jaw, marveling at how cute he was still without his beard. The other wives had been displeased when he came back today with this baby face, but Kat didn’t care. He was such a handsome man no matter what. “Negan, do you think I’m a sycophant?”

“Fuck no,” he scoffed without missing a beat. “That’s what Fat Joey is – was. What Fat Joey was. Not you. Dwight is a lackey. I own everyone here like fucking cattle. Simon is my right-hand man, but you’re my wife. My wives are loyal. Or they’re supposed to fucking be. That’s all I ask for.” He tilted his head at her. “What the fuck are you asking me that stupid shit for anyway? What the hell happened, Kat, and don’t make me have to ask you a third time.”

“Amber slapped me and called me that for telling you about her infidelity,” Kat told him flatly, “and now Sherry’s missing, and they’re making me tell you that since apparently they think all I do is kiss your ass.” Looking up at him, Kat urgently assured him, “But it’s more than that, I promise you, it’s,” she choked on her words and switched tactics, “Sherry’s missing. We haven’t seen her since right before you left. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner.”

For a moment, Negan was quiet, and then he was swearing up a storm. He stepped away from her, marching up and down his room, tossing his towel to the floor with frustration. Kat listened to him rant, not moving an inch, just observing quietly.

“Fucking Sherry! Shit, shit, shit. Why’d she have to do this to me? Always making things so damn difficult, that bitch. After all the shit I do for her, and this is how she fucking treats me! No damn respect! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking fuck! Damn it!” If he had had Lucille in his grip he would’ve slammed her down to vent his pent-up frustration.

Just as suddenly, though, he changed his tune, murmuring mostly to himself. It helped him plan to pace and think out loud, and he trusted Kat enough to not go run her mouth. “Dwighty Boy was not involved. He was with me in Alexandria. There’s no way he could’ve know.  Maybe Daryl used her to escape, took him with her. Can’t have her spilling secrets to Rick. Or maybe she just fucking left. Shit. I’ll have to let Dwight out of the cell and send him after her. Only he would know where the fuck she got off to, only he could convince her to come back. And if he doesn’t come back, I’ll find them both and kill them. This is what’s gonna prove that Dwight is loyal and can be trusted as a lieutenant, that he can run the replacement outpost when we set that shit up. That’s what I’ll fucking do.”

Then Negan stopped, and turned on his heel to face Kat again. He shook his head at her, leaning back on his heels. “Amber slapped you, huh, Kitty Kat? Did you beat her ass for it?”

“No. She was drunk and upset, so I…” Kat trailed off and shrugged. Her eyes dropped down to his sex again, and she swore that she saw it twitch. Was he getting hard at the idea of her and Amber fighting? She glanced back up at his eyes again, not missing that heated look.  

He shook his head from side to side, gnawing at his bottom lip. Negan leaned back against his bed, hands propping himself on the mattress. Again, he was eye-fucking her. Looks like Kat was going to get her time with Negan before he’d finally let Dwight out of his cell. Lifting one hand imperiously, he crooked his fingers in a come-hither motion without saying a word.

Obediently, Kat moved to him and stood between his outspread legs. “Such a good girl all for me, Kitty Kat,” Negan began, and smiled at her crookedly. “I knew there was a reason you were always my favorite fucking wife.”

At his praise, Kat pressed her thighs together, seeking relief. “Daddy,” she simpered happily, “let me prove to you how good I am.”

“That’s what I like to fucking hear,” Negan crowed proudly, and reached between his legs to grasp at himself. “Yeah? You gonna strip yourself down and put on a damn good show for Daddy? You gonna get on your knees and worship Daddy’s big cock?” He shook his cock for emphasis, and it was already at half-mast without her even having to touch him or flash her tits. Kat flushed with pride, remembering how Negan said that just her talking in this sex-voice could get him hard.

“Oh, yeah, Daddy,” Kat cooed with a small grin. “You know I love – to please you, Daddy.” She had nearly slipped up, but seamlessly recovered. Eagerly, she twisted around. Her hair was swept aside and she tugged ever so slowly at her zipper until inch by inch of her back was showed. Once the zipper was completely undone, resting between the two dimples above her rear, Kat glanced over her shoulder at him and playfully shook her hips. Negan chuckled at her, his hand periodically squeezing his cock at he watched her, enraptured.

Pleased with herself, Kat turned back around and let the black dress drop to the floor. Now she was standing in her blue lingerie, and the panties were next to nothing, crotchless, but that’s not visible from the back. Negan was in for a surprise when she turned around. Her bra, however, would have to go first. The bra unhooked in the front, so when she undid it and pulled her arms loose, she tossed it away, and it caught on Lucille’s barbed wire.

At that Negan practically growled, “Fuck, Kitty-Kat, you know how I love to see my ladies in pretty, lacy things. You’re so cock-hardening, and now even my Lucille is wearing a little something for me. Damn, I didn’t know she looked good in blue, too.”

“Oh, if you like that, then you’ll love this, Daddy.” Twirling her hair around her finger, Kat giggled and finally faced him again. Her breasts were bare, nipples already hardened into buds in sweet anticipation and her sex was already dripping as well, her arousal clearly visible.

Well, Kat wasn’t wrong. At the sight of her, Negan instantly groaned and started moving his hand up and down his shaft. His other hand come up and cupped his balls, rolling them in his calloused palm. Christ, Negan touching himself was one of the sexiest things Kat had ever seen, and she’d never get used it. She hoped she never would. “Shit, Kitty Kat, I want you to leave those panties and the heels on when you climb on my dick tonight. Alright, Kitty?

“Yes, Daddy,” Kat purred as she sunk down to her knees and crawled between Negan’s legs, hooking his ankles around her hips. “But first I wanna taste Daddy’s big, juicy cock.” She peeled his fingers away from his cock and balls, pushing his hands down on the mattress on either side of his hips. Despite all their little roleplaying, Kat was never one to be totally submissive, and Negan loved it. Kat always took as much as she gave.

Settling back comfortably, Negan watched as Kat gripped his thighs with her hands and pushed his legs even further apart. Her mouth dropped down and littered his thighs with suckling kisses, leaving hickeys in its wake. The tip of Kat’s nose trailed over the ‘v’ of his hips after the drag of her lips. Kat’s breath was damp and warm on his sex, a ghost of what her mouth would feel like, and Negan couldn’t wait. Kat loved to tease as much as Negan did, but Kat had infinitely more patience than him. Negan would always get needy and whiney first when he was with Kat, but that’s just because she knew exactly how to get him going with the simplest of touches. “Come on, Kitty Kat,” Negan cajoled her, “I’ve had a rough damn day. Don’t be so fucking mean to me. Daddy doesn’t deserve that from his Kitty Kat. Be fucking sweet for Daddy.”

“Oh, I know Daddy, don’t worry.” Her nails bit into his skin a bit, warning him to be patient. She soothed what pain their might have been with sweet kisses. “I’ll be sweet for you, Daddy, because you’re always so sweet for me.” And to prove her point, she tongued the slit of his dick, swiping away the pre-cum beaded there. She moaned at the flavor, playing it up, because really Negan’s come was bitter, but still better tasting than most come Kat has tried. Kat licked at him again, and Negan head dropped back. “So fucking juicy, Daddy.”

Then Kat’s mouth was chasing Negan’s dick into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. The head of his cock was dragged over her kiss-swollen lips as if she were applying lipstick, periodically flicking her tongue out to taste him. His pre-come glistened on her lips like a gloss, messy how he liked it. Her eyes met his, and his eyes were dark and smoldering with barely contained lust. “Fuck, just like that Kitty-Kat. Your mouth is fucking perfect and feels damn amazing. Shit.”

With a smile on her lips, she dragged her tongue all over him, as if she were painting a picture. Each stroke of her tongue alternated in pressure, sometimes so teasingly light as a feather and other times suckled at the sensitive under gland just right. Kat was playful with his cock, letting him beat it against her face, and nuzzling at it affectionately with her nose as she took his balls into her mouth for some worship, too. Still, she continued to tease, not yet giving him the suction or pressure that he needed. Negan was going to have to beg her for it if he wanted that.

And beg her he most certainly did. “Fuck me, Kitty Kat, please just suck on my dick. You’re busting my blue balls over here. I ought to fuck your pretty mouth until I punch your teeth down your throat with my dick for how badly you’re abusing me. Fuuuck, please, Kitty Kat.”

Anything but bothered by Negan’s nearly incoherent babbling, Kat finally gave him what he wanted and took his length into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down rhythmically. She had no problem taking his considerable length since she just loves fellatio. It’s an art to deep throat while fighting the gagging reflex and being able to catch all the come on one’s tongue.

Often, she laved it with little kitten licks, small and wet and soft. It was her specialty, and how Negan gave her her cute little nickname. Each wife had a different one. Sherry was ‘Puppy Dog’ since she acted like such a bitch, so it was more facetious than sincere. Amber was simply ‘Baby’ since she was the youngest and shyest. So on and so forth. Truthfully, Kat was grateful for the differentiation between them. Negan never got their pet names mixed up, and they all liked that.

Now, though, that got Kat thinking about what Amber called her.

Fucking sycophant bitch. Amber wants to call her that and a kiss-ass, well, then by all means Kat should prove her right.

Buckling down, Kat sucked Negan harder, and eased him all the way down until the bridge of her nose could nestle against his pubic bone. The maneuver had her eyes watering, but it was worth it when she swallowing and the head of Negan’s cock bumped against the back of her throat, choking her just right.

He had been grunting like a porn star so far, but at that he found his words again, “Oh, fuck, Kitty Kat, you know that makes me come, God! Fucking do that shit again! Fuck! I’m gonna come!”

So, she did it again, and again, and then finally Negan did shoot his creamy spurts down her throat, which she gulped down happily. Kat lived to please him. For all his shallow thrusting and the sinful noises that poured so quickly and easily from his lips, she was more and more aroused herself. She was glad her panties were crotchless, because otherwise, they’d be soaked.

Pulling away, his cock slid from her mouth, and Negan sighed. Kat licked her lips at him and hummed, “Fuck, Daddy, that was so sexy. You tasted so good, and you’re so big. I fucking love your big cock.” She batted her eyelashes at him, smiling. Her smile pressed kisses on his thighs again as Negan basked in that warm bliss after a killer orgasm. But she was far from finished with him.

Reaching down at the apex of her thighs, Kat gathered up her own arousal on her fingers. Soft and sweet kisses tickled at his thighs, and she admired his clean taste and the scent of soap still clinging to his skin. Slowly, she played with herself, winding tighter, but not close enough to distract herself from what her mouth was doing. She dragged her tongue from the back of his knee all the way up his inner thigh right to his – “Kitty Kat, Kitty Kat, Kitty Kat,” Negan chanted at her, “What are you doing?”

Taking her time, Kat let her actions answer his question first as she circled her tongue over his tight ring of muscle. She pressed her lips to him and sucked, snaking her tongue out to lave him with saliva, traces of his come smearing around his little hole. Fresh from the shower he was clean for her, and there was no taste other than the usual flavor of Negan’s skin. Kat liked this. Negan did, too, apparently. He trembled against her, but didn’t pull away, as equally intrigued by the sensations. Her tongue ventured in shallowly, flicking, and Negan grunted.

Withdrawing briefly, Kat finally explained, “What does it look like, Daddy? I’m kissing your ass. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

Before he could answer her, Kat dived back in, her tongue strokes more confident now. She pressed her face closer to him, and Negan helped her by gripping his thighs and ass in his hands and spreading himself for her. Kat backed away for a moment to breathe and take in the pretty picture, and she had to wonder if this … this pride is what Negan felt when a beautiful lady did the same for him.  “Oh, you’re so handsome, Daddy. So beautiful. Has anyone ever kissed you ass as good as your Kitty Kat?” Her mouth returned to him to continue the tongue-fucking as she waited for his response.

“Fuck,” Negan gasped, voice hoarse but pleasant to Kat’s ears. “Fuck, I’ve touched myself there loads of damn times. Used a few kinky toys, but no one has ever – fuck!” His speech broke off into a series of groans as Kat’s index finger gently slid inside. The insertion was made easy by her spit and her own fluids of arousal. Curious, she slid in to the hilt, twisting her finger and curling it, searching for his prostate.

“Oooh, fuck, Kitty Kat right fucking there!”

Well, she had found it. She stroked, watching in rapture as Negan bowed his back, head so far thrown back that she could no longer see his handsome face contort in pleasure. The grip he had holding himself open made his knuckles go right and his skin pinch and redden from the force. Negan’s cock, just flaccid a few moments ago from his orgasm, was now hard again. It laid untouched and twitching on his stomach. The head of his cock nestled into his navel teasingly, his pre-come generously leaking and catching in his happy trail.

As Kat continued to curl her finger, loosening him up in preparation for me, her other hand had three fingers already buried in her cunt. She’d hold off her orgasm for now, but if she timed this right, they both could come simultaneously. Until then, she curled her fingers and circled her thumb around her clit, teasing herself. Kat didn’t think he needed her rubbing his cock for him to come like this.

“Please, please, fuck, Kitty Kat, more. I need more. I’m so fucking close!” Negan hissed through his clenched teeth, jaw ticking, tendons in his neck standing out in full relief.

In response, she giggled and obliged him with another finger. She scissored him now, really stretching him out, deliberately neglecting to touch his prostate again. “So close already, Daddy? All for me? Your Kitty Kat is gonna stretch you so wide, Daddy, but you love it, don’t you?”

“Yessss,” he hissed eagerly, and his jaw was wound so tight Kat was actually afraid that he would accidentally crack a molar. “Fucking pound me with your fingers, I can fucking take it. I want more, goddamn it!” Negan pushed his hips forward, so demanding. Kat expected as much from him considering how bossy he normally was anyway.  

Very pleased by how responsive he was, Kat gingerly slipped in a third finger and vigorously thrust in and out rather than curling. Her other hand was doing the same now, and her thumb was tapping against her clit. Both of them were very close, but whereas Negan babbled about his oncoming orgasm, Kat got very quiet and very still. Negan meanwhile shook like a leaf, and squirmed his hips around, his inner walls clenching around her fingers tightly. He was just a huge ball of nerves, whining and desperately rocking against her fingers, his cock neglected and nearly purple now as it begged for release.

Kat rocked harder into her own hand, sucking and biting hard on her bottom lip to muffle her sounds. All she wanted to hear was Negan’s keening and the obscene sound of their mutual wetness as her fingers plunged, pillaged, and plundered for their sweet spots. She could sense when they were both on that precarious precipice, nearly there, nearly there. And then she crooked her fingers, rubbing hard against her G-spot and the same movements were repeated with Negan’s prostate.

Despite the delayed reaction, Negan came first, his come reaching all the way up to just under his freshly shaven chin in three thick spurts. Uncaring about the mess, he shouted her name and various other vulgarities and profanities loudly. His curses echoed off the wall, and Kat believed that they could be heard throughout the whole Sanctuary. And she wanted everyone to hear him, from the wives to the walkers so that they would all know that she did this to him, that only she could bring him so much pleasure –

And then she was coming at that thought, thumb ruthlessly mashing down on her clit. She squirting into her hand, the fluids puddling on the floor beneath her. “Oh, Daddy,” she squealed, and rode through her orgasm, prolonging it and squeezing out another albeit smaller one.

Negan was going on a similar journey, hips still gently rocking into her hand, milking her fingers for another orgasm. He was just greedy that way, so damn insatiable. Kat wouldn’t have him any other way. Well, he got his wish, and more come was spurted on his chest, curling around one of his erect nipples. With that last weak orgasm, he relaxed around her fingers, too tired to do anything else.

Pulling her hands away from him and herself, Kat examined her hands with interest. The pads on her fingertips were slightly wrinkled and very, very wet. She licked herself clean, trying to remember how to think and how to breathe while she did it. Then she shakily climbed to her feet, knees sore from kneeling for so long, and muscles pleasantly relaxed. She leaned over Negan, examining him proudly, a smug look on her face and a smirk tugging her lips. The look was very reminiscent of the expression Negan normally wears, but the tables were effectively turned tonight without a doubt.

Docile and sleepy, Negan laid on his back and dropped his legs down, fingers still in a curling position, though he clutched nothing but air. His chest was heaving hard, and it made the come on his torso drip down to the bed, though he couldn’t find the energy in him to care. He stared up at her with half-lidded eyes and a parted mouth, a tempting sight for Kat despite having orgasmed so intensely already.

“Oh, Negan, such a mess.” Kat shook her head at him with a smile, and gathered up his come with her fingers. She scooped it up to his mouth, tapping it against his lips, and Negan’s tongue came out and weakly flicked at her fingertips. She knew he liked the taste of himself, and she didn’t stop feeding him his come until most of the big spots were collected. “There you go, all gone.” 

Then Kat climbed on the bed, and flopped beside him. She herself had made a mess on the floor that Negan would probably make her lick up later, but she figured it could wait for now while they cuddled. Negan got cranky without his cuddles, too, she knew for certain.

“Kitty Kat?” Negan finally drawled as he pulled her into his side.

“Yes, Negan?”

“I think I’m going to toss my other wives for you.”

Surprised, Kat went still and quiet, unsure of how to process this. If she weren’t so damn tired, she’d drag herself up to look at him, but in lieu of that, she just waited for an explanation.

Sure enough, Negan explained unprompted, “None of those others can satisfy me like you fucking do. The whole point of me forming my harem was so that I could get pussy whenever I fucking wanted. I’ve got a voracious fucking sexual appetite, you know. But those other wives, they don’t fucking do it for me anymore. It’s like a damn chore with them. That’s what masturbating is for, for shit’s sake.

“Besides that, those bitches are just horrible. So damn bratty and too much effort to maintain. They cause too much damn trouble for me, and they can’t follow the rules I set for them. They aren’t loyal, they aren’t sweet to me, they aren’t worth the hassle.” His tone shifted to something softer as he continued, “Not like you, Kat. You do so much for me that I don’t expect you to. It’s fucking nice to be treated like I’m human. To just fucking let go and relax and trust that someone else can handle something. I’m always fucking large and in charge and as much as my ego sings and that gets me hard, it can be fucking stressful. But with you, it doesn’t have to be that way all the time, and I just fucking love being with you.” Earnestly, he insisted, “I love you, Kat.”

Now she finally did find the strength in her muscles to push herself up. She stared at him hard, and he gauged her reaction, his gaze steady. “I love you, too, Negan,” she finally admitted. It felt good to do that. She’d wanted to say it for so long and saying it now, knowing he felt the same, it felt so right. It was as if the world had stopped shifting around beneath her feet and just clicked into place. Kat finally knew where she stood with him.

Negan smiled at her, his tongue poking out a bit between his teeth, and his eyes were crinkled at the corners in his glee. Dimples flashed at her, his smile blinding, and he just beamed and beamed and continued to beam. “Tomorrow,” he promised her, “I’m going to send the wives to the new guy, Eugene.”

“A test?” Kat hazard a guess.

“To see how fucking loyal they can be,” Negan confirmed, “and a test for Eugene, too. See if he can find the damn light and recognize just who is on the winning side here.”

Kat nodded her understanding, the conversation lapsing into silence. Negan made the first move, leaning in for a kiss. Despite their mouths being equally filthy, they kissed anyway, and it was languid, drinking each other in, tasting themselves on each other. It was a heady experience. Finally, Negan pulled back, grinning mischievously. “Now,” he began, “about that ride, my little Ass-Kisser.”

“I prefer the term ‘sycophant’,” She countered him with a smile as equally wide and bright as his.

“Get the fuck over here, Kitty Kat.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

#negan #negan's thirst squad #ash's round 3 negan challenge #NTS #NTS fics #negan fanfics #fanfiction #twd #the walking dead #submission

[amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes]

Title: Lemonade Truce

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing and publishing a fic for the public and omg am I sweating bullets lol. Writing for Ash’s 2K writing challenge and this is story #1. Kinda fun to write and I must have changed it like 10 times.

Words: 1,751

Prompt: Lemonade

Characters: OC and basically everyone from the episode “Sign Me a Song.” I sort of combined the episode with the comic counterpart because some stuff happens in the comic that I wished they’d include in the show.

Warning: Mention of violence. A little angst with some fluff at the end. Negan’s and OCs naughty language.

Tagging: @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @negans-network

*********************************************

The sound of Mark’s scream filled the air and you just knew the glass in the building would shatter. The smell of burning flesh filled your nose and your stomach flipped. You swallowed hard to keep the bile down as the screams died down only to be replaced by the chilling sound of sizzling flesh.

“That wasn’t so bad. Pussy passed out.” Negan announced, swinging the iron in his gloved right hand rather carelessly. Amber clung to Sherry as tears streamed down her face. Sherry gently caressed the younger woman’s head as the other wives pressed closer to her in an effort to comfort her. You however, stood slightly apart from them and tried not to make eye contact with any of the women or the man holding the iron.

Your group had been overwhelmed by the Saviours and Negan had given your leader a choice: work for him or die. The leader at first denied Negan’s terms, thinking it was a bluff and tried to resist. That is, until the killing started. It took four of your friends to meet Negan’s prized bat Lucille before your leader caved and began to grovel at Negan’s feet. You and a few others in your group hated the fact that the leader stopped the campaign to fight back but there was nothing your group could do. And as a measure of good faith, your leader offered three group members to go with Negan. That seriously didn’t sit well. One woman and two men.

Negan was more than pleased to have a woman come along and made sure you were aware just how pleased he was. He had asked you to marry him the first day you got there and went on to describe in graphic detail every dirty thing he wanted to do with you. It took every fiber of your being not to slap him. You declined through gritted teeth and you suppose as some sort of punishment, he made you wait hand and foot on his “wives”. At first you hated it and hated them. They didn’t actually do anything to you, it was the simple fact that you were there against your will. Negan had made a grand announcement that you were there to do “What-fucking-ever they wanted. And hopefully change your mind about being a wife” and you instantly felt the rage in you swell. The wives didn’t ask for much and after time, your hate towards them quelled even though you didn’t really speak to them. Hell, you even began to feel sorry for them.

And now more than ever did you feel sorry for them. Especially for Amber. You knew how she felt about Mark. Everyone kinda knew. That’s what got them in trouble in the first place. But you couldn’t fault either of them if you were being honest. Love was a rare thing to find in this day and age and to watch the one you love get hurt so, it was disgusting. You couldn’t help the glare of hatred aimed at Negan as he began to talk to the young, new, long-haired boy at his side.

“Clean this shit up.” Negan murmured to a guy in a dirty white jumpsuit. He had also been taken, you had heard, and forced to work. You shook your head and returned your glare. Negan turned to say something to Amber and noticed you staring. Quickly you looked down, agitation beginning to build. Negan walked up to you and using his height as a method of intimidation, leaned close to speak in a low voice.

“Careful. Careful how you’re looking at me sweetheart or I’ll give you something to look at.” He warned while bringing a hand up tilt your head up to look at him. You forced yourself to soften your eyes and Negan let out an amused laugh. He released you and walked back to the young boy, guiding him upstairs. Once you were sure he was gone, you rolled your eyes crossed your arms over your chest. Aware that probably people were staring at you, you made a point to turn your back to the crowd and turn your attention back to Amber who was now reaching out to Mark as a few people were assisting in carrying his limp body away.

“Mark? I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Amber sobbed. Dwight quickly stepped forward and grabbed Amber by the wrist.

“Don’t. People will see and not hesitate to turn you in. It’ll only make it worse for him.” Dwight spoke low and quick, his words coming more from experience than anything. You took the opportunity to look at him good and inferred that he must have met the same fate. Sherry took Amber’s hand from Dwight and held it tight.

“Dwight, I’ll take her to-” Sherry started

“Shut up, bitch.” Dwight spat out.

Sherry swallowed hard and opened her mouth to say something but quickly decided against it as hurt clearly played on her face. She gently tugged on the still sobbing woman in her arms and pulled her towards the stairs to the wives quarters. As everyone began to dissipate, you thought about what you could do to make Amber feel better. You didn’t care for the wives but no one deserved that. Biting your lower lip, you looked up at Dwight who was watching the new recruit mop the floor. You wanted to ask what that little outburst was about but decided to table it for later.

You wandered the first floor as your mind went into overdrive thinking about what you could do to cheer the women up. In your aimless wandering, you ended up in the kitchen and looked around. Maybe food? Nah, they weren’t really the snacking type. Besides, Negan tended to make fun of people who had a little jiggle to them which pissed you off even more. Scanning through the cabinets, you came across a little yellow canister of light yellow powder. Grabbing the canister, you shook it to see if anything was inside it. The light rattle of the power let you know that it was enough to make what you wanted. Opening the canister, you let the lemon scent drift to your nose and you took a deep breath.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked behind you almost making you drop the container. You turned on your heels to see Dwight watching you with suspension. You sighed and put the canister down before you dropped it and waste the power everywhere.

“I’m going to make lemonade for the girls.” you answered as you found a clean pitcher and reached for the sugar. You began to combine the ingredients in the pitcher and looked for a spoon to stir. Dwight watched your every move, not really sure what to make out of it.

“Did you poison it?”

“What the actual fuck Dwight?! You just saw me make it! Are you kidding me right now?!” you exploded, slamming the spoon down on the counter. Now you were mad. No, now you were livid. Did he really just say that? How could he even think that?! Dwight just shrugged and wrote off your anger.

“Just a question, calm down. Can I get a glass?”

You blinked at him for a few seconds before continuing to work on your project. These damn weird ass people. The hatred of your current situation grew to a new level and you had to steady your hands to keep from shaking. Once you were sure that the lemonade mixture was fully combined, you searched a nearby cabinet for a tray and the adjacent one for glasses. Dwight licked his lips as he watched you pour his cup of lemonade. You slid him the glass slowly and watched him gulp down the liquid. You rolled your eyes and secretly wished you had poisoned it. You sighed again and loaded the tray with the pitcher of lemonade and the glasses. Picking up the tray to leave, Dwight sat his glass down with a soft clank and stopped you.

“That was really good. Thanks for that. They’ll like it. You’re nice.” Dwight spoke low before walking out the room. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. Dwight wouldn’t think you were so nice if he knew you’d mentally killed him.

Making your way to the wives quarters, you could hear Amber still sobbing down the hall and the soft chatter of the other wives. Cringing, you steadied yourself and walked into the room. As soon as the women looked up and saw you standing there with the tray, all speaking stopped. Immediately you kicked yourself for trying to be nice. You stepped further into the room and sat the tray down on the nearest table. No one spoke as you began to pour the first glass and walk it over to Amber.

“Here, it’s lemonade. Thought it may make you feel better. I don’t know.” you rushed, shoving the glass in her hand with a shrug. Amber gazed up at you with red, puffy eyes and looked at the glass. She blinked back up at you and looked at the glass again before sitting it on the floor. You frowned and were about to voice your displeasure for her rudeness before Amber jumped up and embraced you in a hug that nearly knocked you off your feet. Stumbling backwards, you let out a squeak of surprise as the blonde woman squeezed you with all her might.

“Thank you so much.” Amber chocked into your chest. You sighed and patted the woman on her head, your anger melting away. From behind, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you and then another and another until the wives were all embracing you and Amber in a hug. After a few minutes, you began to feel uncomfortable with the show of affection and began to wiggle in the women’s embraces. Sherry was the first to release you and the others followed shortly after. You poured each of them a glass and turned towards the door.

As you headed back to the kitchen, you allowed a smile to form on your face as you remember the hug. You hadn’t allowed yourself to get close to anyone since the world went to shit and honestly that was nice.

“And all over some damn lemonade.” you laughed while shaking your head. As you cleaned up, you didn’t notice Dwight standing in the doorway watching you with a curious expression.

#negan #ash's 2k writing challenge #the walking dead negan #negan's thirst squad #the walking dead

[writteninthestars288]

Always Mine - Chapter 12

[CHAPTER ONE] [CHAPTER TWO] [CHAPTER THREE] [CHAPTER FOUR] [CHAPTER FIVE] [CHAPTER SIX] [CHAPTER SEVEN] [CHAPTER EIGHT] [CHAPTER NINE] [CHAPTER TEN] [CHAPTER ELEVEN]

A/N: Hey guys! I am super, super, SUPER sorry for such a late update. My muse for this chapter didn’t want to come out until about two hours ago. I am so sorry that you guys had to wait. I hate making you wait but I want to thank everyone who gave me such kind words of encouragement. You all are seriously amazing. That being said, this chapter is dedicated to each and every one of you <3

Katherine sat there frozen in front of him. Her heart was racing wildly and she felt ice shoot through her veins. Married for real? Was Negan insane? Did he really think she’d want to get married for real? Did he really think even if they did, everything would just magically go back to the way it was when they first started dating?

“What the fuck do you think about that, Doll?” He grinned at her, waiting for her response.

Katherine’s mind was so jumbled together that she didn’t even think about the words she was about to say.

“No.”

Negan’s smirk faltered slightly and the grip on her chin tightened.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?”

Katherine swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she moved her eyes to lock on Negan’s. She noted how dark and hard they were and it made her heart race. She decided on telling him the truth. She was tired of lying.

“I-I don’t want to get married.”

Negan sucked his teeth.

“And why the fuck not?”

Katherine took a shaky breath in before slowly letting it out.

“B-because I don’t think it’ll fix anything.”

It was silent for a few minutes before Negan surprisingly laughed.

“Oh, I fucking get it, Doll.” Katherine slightly furrowed her eyebrows. “Yea, yea I fucking get it. You want me to agree to fucking get rid of the other women.” He laughed as Katherine’s eyes widened slightly. “Jesus you drive a hard fucking bargain, Doll. But, I guess I can fucking do that. God knows I don’t fucking need them anymore since I’ve got my fucking Kitty Kat back.”

Katherine shook her head.

“T-that’s not what I meant.”

Negan raised an eyebrow.

“No? Then what the fuck did you mean?”

Katherine shook her head, looking down at her lap.

“Nothing.”

Negan lifted her face back up.

“Bull-fucking-shit. Tell me. Now.”

Katherine let out another shaky breath.

“You killed my friends. Y-you tortured Daryl and my family. You had Olivia killed and you killed Spencer. You even made me hurt Eugene.”

“And I had a reason for doing each and every one of those fucking things. This is a different fucking world now, Katherine. I do what I fucking have to to make sure everyone knows who is fucking in charge now. If people would just fucking listen, maybe your friends would still be fucking alive. Well…minus Spencer of course.”  He smirked maliciously at her.

Katherine shook her head as tears stung her eyes.

“You’re an asshole.”

Negan laughed and let go of her chin to pick up his drink.

“Baby, you’re not the first fucking person to call me that and you certainly won’t be the fucking last.” He took a sip of his scotch before holding the glass in his lap.

“I-I just don’t think I want to actually get married.” She said again.

“I wasn’t fucking giving you an option, Katherine.”

Katherine felt her heart drop.

“What?”

“Yea didn’t you fucking hear me? I said ‘you and I are gonna get fucking married for real.’ There was no fucking question there. Fuck, maybe I should have Carson check your fucking hearing.”

Katherine’s eyes widened.

“B-but that’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fucking fair. Consider it another fucking part of your punishment.” He smirked, taking another sip of his drink.

Katherine shook her head.

“You can’t do that.”

Negan laughed.

“Oh Kitty Kat, I can do whatever the fuck I want. For example, if I fucking wanted to, I could fucking to Alexandria right now, find Daryl and fucking kill him for killing Fat Joseph and then I could fucking kill anyone who got in my way.”

Katherine wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t just saying it as an example. He was saying it as a threat.

“W-what happened to not making women do something they don’t want to?”

Negan grinned.

“I still stand by that. But like I fucking said, this is part of your punishment. You get to be fucking stuck with me for the rest of our fucking lives.”

Katherine felt like she couldn’t breathe. She sat back on the couch, trying to calm her racing heart.

“I’ll fucking send Simon and some men to pick up that creepy ass priest from Alexandria.”

Katherine swallowed and shook her head.

“He won’t do it,” she whispered

Negan smirked.

“Well lucky for me, I can be very fucking persuasive.”

Katherine wanted to cry but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

“Do I even get a say in this?”

Negan grinned.

“Of course you fucking do!” He lent forward and cupped her cheeks in his large hands. “You get to fucking pick if your family is there or not. I know how girls always dream of their daddy walking them down the fucking aisle. And let me fucking tell you, Doll, I think it would be funny as shit to watch your father try and fucking control himself when he hands you over to me.”

Katherine shook her head.

“You’re sick.”

Negan grinned.

“I know.” He took another sip of his drink. “Why don’t you fucking lay down. You look like you’re about to pass the fuck out.” Katherine didn’t have to be told twice and slowly stood up before making her way over to the door.

“Oh and Kitty Kat, after the fucking wedding you’re moving in here with me so make sure your shit is packed.”

Katherine didn’t answer him as he laughed. She quickly exited the room and all but ran to the wives quarters. When she opened the doors, she felt five pairs of eyes all settle on her. She hadn’t seen any of the girls since the night she had dinner with Negan.

Sherry and Amber both looked at her with concern but Katherine didn’t acknowledge them. She kept her eyes on the ground and shut the doors before passing all of them and heading to her room.

She immediately collapsed onto her bed, curling up into a little ball and letting the tears fall freely. She couldn’t help but blame herself for the situation she was now in. Would this even be happening if she hadn’t said anything about having a baby while down in the basement.

Her body shook hard with sobs. A knock sounded on her bedroom door. Katherine looked up when it opened and Sherry and Amber poked their heads in.

When they saw how upset she was, they both stepped in, shutting the door behind them. “Where have you been?” Sherry asked as Katherine sat up so the two could sit next to her.

“Y-you guys don’t know?” Sherry and Amber shook their heads. Katherine took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

“W-when we went to Alexandria a couple days ago, shit hit the fan. N-Negan found out t-that I had been lying about my ex Spencer.”

“The one that was alive?” Katherine nodded at Amber as more tears fell.

“Yea. N-Negan ended up cutting his stomach open and killed him.” She let out a sob. Amber wrapped her arms around the girl as Sherry rubbed her back. Sure they didn’t know each other but they had all become somewhat close through their hatred of Negan.

“What happened?” Sherry asked. Katherine sighed.

“H-he was so mad. When we g-got back, he locked me in a cell downstairs. I was down there three days before he came to get me.”

Amber and Sherry’s eyes widened. They knew Negan had a temper but he never took his anger out on his wives. He usually took it out on people close to them.

“And then he made me whip one of my friends who he also took from Alexandria. And now…” Katherine’s throat tightened. “Now he’s making me marry him for real.”

Sherry and Amber’s eyes widened even more.

“What?”

Katherine sniffled and nodded, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“W-what about us?” Amber asked.

“H-he said he’d still give you guys the same perks but he wouldn’t sleep with you. I don’t want to be married to him but he won’t take no as an answer.”

“Sounds like Negan.” Sherry said, rubbing the young girl’s back comfortingly.

“Does that mean we can go back to our husbands?” Amber asked, her voice sounding hopeful. Katherine shrugged.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him. I’m sure he’ll talk to you guys about it.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “What am I going to do?”

Both girls sighed and wrapped their arms around her in a hug.

“Don’t let him break you. You have to be strong.”

All Katherine could do was nod but deep down, she knew it was easier said then done.

A couple days had passed and Katherine was constantly on edge. She hadn’t seen Negan since the day he had basically told her they were getting married whether she liked it or not.

She knew Negan had talked to the other girls about what was going on. Sherry had filled her in after Negan apparently all called them to his office while she was sound asleep in her room. Katherine noticed how most of the girls seemed relieved. Only one seemed upset and she made sure to send daggers Katherine’s way any chance she got.

Katherine just ignored her. She had bigger things to worry about.

Deciding to try and get her mind off of things, she decided to head down to the daycare they had in The Sanctuary. Dressing in a pair of jeans and a plain black tank top, she made her way out of of the room.

She was surprised to see she didn’t get lost on her way down. When she got down there, she gently knocked on the door before walking in.

She smiled seeing a a small group of toddlers sitting at a table drawing while two women rocked babies to sleep. They looked up and smiled at her.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Sorry is this a bad time?”

“Oh no, the babies just fell asleep. Come in.”

Katherine gave a small smile and stepped inside, quietly shutting the door behind her.

“I’m Katherine.”

“Oh you’re one of Negan’s wives.”

Katherine forced a small smile on her face and nodded.

“I’m Mandy and this is Grace.”

Katherine shook their hands.

“It’s nice to meet you. I was just wondering if I could come down and spend some time with the kids. I used to be a daycare teacher and it’s nice to have something fo familiar to how things used to be.”

Mandy nodded as they watched the toddlers.

“Of course. Everyone is always welcomed here.”

Katherine smiled.

“Thank you.”

Mandy smiled and nodded before walking over to fill out some paperwork and Grace walked over to check on the babies. Katherine let out a soft sigh and walked over to the table of toddlers.

“Hey guys. What’s up?”

“We drawing!” Katherine laughed at a little girl as she sat down in a small chair at the table with them.

“I see that! What are you guys drawing?”

Katherine spent almost two hours downstairs with the kids. It was just what she needed to cheer her up.  

Katherine giggled as a little boy, Connor, showed her his dance moves.

“Wow Connor those are some moves!”

“He better save those for the fucking reception.” Katherine jumped and turned around to see Negan behind her. He grinned at her. “Ain’t this a blast from the fucking past, Doll.”

“Hi Mr. Negan.” Negan smirked and waved at the kids.

“Hi kids. You being good?” They all nodded their heads, making him laugh.

Hearing her bosses voice, Mandy came out from the back room where she was taking inventory.

“Oh, hello Negan.” Negan smiled.

“Hi. How are things fucking running down here?”

“They’re good. We’re starting to run low on some diapers though.” Negan nodded.

“I’ll add it to the fucking list. You don’t mind if I fucking steal Katherine here do you?”

“Oh no, not at all. Katherine, feel free to come by anytime.”

Katherine gave a small smile and slowly stood up.

“It was nice meeting you guys.”

“You too.”

“Bye Miss Katherine!”

Katherine smiled.

“Bye.” Negan wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her out of the room.

“You have fucking fun down there?”

Katherine silently nodded.

“Good. Maybe I’ll let you go down there more fucking often. At least you fucking smile down there.”

He laughed and pulled her in closer as they climbed the stairs.

She thought they were going to his bedroom but was surprised when he pulled her down a hallway she had never been before.

“Where are we going?”

Negan smirked down at her.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Katherine felt her heart stop. A surprise? She wasn’t sure if she should be scared or terrified.

Negan laughed at the look on her face.

“Calm the fuck down, Doll. You’ll fucking love this.”

He led her down the hallway and stopped in front of a wooden door.

“Ready?”

Katherine swallowed hard as he opened the door and pushed her inside. She stopped short, her eyes widening when she saw who was sitting there.

“Kitty Kat, you fucking know our favorite creepy ass priest. Father…Fuck I forgot your name.”

“Gabriel,” Katherine whispered, in shock. How had Negan’s men actually gotten him? Gabriel locked eyes with her, silently trying to ask her what was going on.

“Right, that’s fucking it. Well anyways, Father, I need a fucking favor from you.” He walked over and placed his hands on Katherine’s shoulder’s, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking need you to marry us.” He looked down at Katherine and smirked. “Tonight.”

[CHAPTER THIRTEEN]

TAGS: @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @opheliadawnwalker3 @thecynicalnerd @bruhimabitch @deekaahtj @suileidead @katshitcrazy @crowned-with-laurels @livinontheegebigtime @littlebloodorange @girlwhoisfearless @winterhurricane @negansbby @negans-network @negans-girl @ryangoslingstanktop @toxic-ink @kathyjimenezg1 @kawaiirepublic @autumnjade22 @straightestgay-voice @ruthlessluzifer @xxxm1m4xxx @rheesgrimes @theonethatgotaway213 @teen-tilldawn @youknowdoctorwho394 @gallifreyansass @maliadestiny @elinyaes @soullessbody @andrealind24 @sraka-z-dupy-robaka @autumn-in-azarath @babystarwitch @stephie161221 @dvrkmischief @tyrelliotr @angelfuzzy2 @ghostly-illusions @ashzombie13 @borntobeafamousmonster @haleyea @kellyn1604

#negan #negan's thirst squad #the walking dead negan #twd negan #negan fanfiction

[ohmyneganimagination-twd-blog]

A protective angel - Part three

Hello ! I hope you’re fine today. Here I’m again with a new part of “A protective angel” ! It’s the third part and now, I’m writing the final part of this fanfic. I’ll surely post it tomorrow, I must see. Again, thank you for reading, to leave like and nice comments ! ^o^

I tag : @smuttwd - @heartfulloffandoms - @itsneganslucille - @negans-dirty-girl - @autumnjade22 and @backseat-negan

Summary : “Negan is the man of your life. You love him enormously and he knows it. But you noticed that Negan started acting oddly, ignoring you completely and sometimes going outside, alone or accompanied for hours without returning. You decided to know what he was hiding from you, even if it wasn’t going to please him”.

Ships : Negan x reader

Words : 2148

Warnings : Curses

Enjoy !

***

“(Y/N), what are you doing he- ?” Sherry began, but stopped short by seeing your eyes filled with tears. You had decided to leave your room. Negan was in the bathroom and you took the opportunity to leave. You had taken some clothes and you were gone, finding yourself now in front of your best friend’s door, the lip wounded and in tears. “Come. Don’t stay here”, she murmured by wrapping her arm around your shoulder and taking you inside. You had already come several times to Sherry's room. She shared her room with Dwight, so you weren’t surprised to find him on the bed, sleeping. She made you sit on the couch, putting your clothes beside you and went directly to prepare you a cup of tea. As the water boiled, she came back and sat down beside you with a worried look on her face. She said nothing for a moment, a strange silence hovering in the room. “We should look after you”, she finally said nodding at your wound. “No it’s okay. I don’t care about this wound”. You became silent again. She heard the kettle whistling, saying the water was already ready to prepare the tea. Sherry stood up to prepare a fruit tea - your favorite tone - and brought it back with a little honey. She handed it to you and you vaguely thanked her with a nod.

“Tell me, (Y/N)”. You swallow when she says that. You closed your eyes for a moment, seeing the scene again and feeling a shiver running through your spine. You opened your eyes again. You took a sip of tea that warmed you and relieved your tense body, feeling your muscles relaxing. You put down the cup in front of the small glass table in front of you and you folded your arms against you, as if to comfort yourself. “It happened so quickly. I didn’t even have time to react”, you said suddenly. You shook your head as you already felt the tears coming. Your throat was hurting you while you felt Sherry pat your back to comfort you. “He's not the same, Sherry. It's not the Negan I've ever known. The Negan I know would never hurt me”. You couldn’t continue and you burst into sobs, plunging your face into your hands. Dwight didn’t wake up in spite of the noise and just grunted as he turned back into the bed. Sherry looked at you sadly, not knowing what to say before approaching her face to yours with a determined air. “Don’t think about it now. Lie down on the couch and rest, okay ? But before, I'd like you to smile”. You looked at her for a moment before smiling slightly, which made her smile in turn. She dried your tears with a handkerchief and lay you on the couch, covering you with a blanket that was close to her. Sherry knew that you weren’t going to fall asleep so easily. You couldn’t after what had happened. So you kept your eyes open all night, passing this horrible moment in your head, having for only sounds your heart beating and.. your sobs restrained.

***

You hadn’t met Negan that morning. And you didn’t want it.

You got up with a headache and you had to take a medication to calm the pain. You were now heading towards the cafeteria with Sherry, who is always so anxious about your condition. In your path, several people murmured at your passage or they threw you corner glances. The news had to spread. Awesome, you’re now at the center of all the conversations. You sighed as you came to the cafeteria, which was just as stuffed as the other days. You collapsed on the bench and thrust your hands into your face, rubbing it because you were so tired. You couldn’t do it anymore. You just wanted to lock yourself up somewhere and never get out again. Sherry went to fetch the breakfast and brought back two trays filled to the brim. She sits in her turn, placing your tray in front of you. “I took pancakes instead of toast. There were no more. And I also took the maple sy-” “I don’t want to eat”, you cut always your face in your hands. “You must eat, (Y/N). You eat and you’ll see, it will be bett-” “I told you I didn’t want to eat !” You exclaimed with exasperation. Sherry looked at you for a moment and sighed. She folded her arms. “Go take air. You’ll be relaxed and you’ll come to eat after”. “You give me no order”. “Go. Take. Air”, she said weighing each word. You hesitated a moment before getting up with a sigh. You left directly to the main entrance without paying attention to the annoying looks on you. You pushed open the doors and suddenly it was as if all the tension in your body had gone away in a gust of wind. You inspired a large bowl of fresh air and then expired. You did this for ten seconds before a last breath, with a smile on your face. Sherry was right. She was always right. You felt better now. You leaned against the barrier and watched the surroundings, seeing the men at the gate fighting with the walkers. You stayed that way for a little while.

***

Negan was out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He found the empty room, a few drawers open unceremoniously. You were gone. He clenched his fists and knocked violently against the wall, injuring himself on the same occasion. “Fuck.. Fuck.. Fucking shit !” Anger was bubbling in him. It wasn’t against you but against him. He had rage. He had been stupid enough to make you flee or that it had never been his intention. He unwrapped himself on all the objects near him. He approached the table where many bottles were. He ragged his hand over them and knocked them down, breaking them into a thousand pieces. The pieces scattered everywhere with a little sharp sound. He cut himself off at the same time. He took the lamp beside him, pulled it out and finally threw it on the floor. He trembled with all his body, breathless. And he collapsed to the ground, rubbing his hair nervously. Tears began gently to sink, pricking his eyes. He sobbed and couldn’t prevent the enormous sadness and hatred of himself invading his whole body. He began to laugh nervously, plunging his face into his hands, wounded by the glass cuts. “I'm still messing up.. I'm just a shit.. I'm just a fucking asshole !” He yelled, striking the wall behind him. He continued to insult himself, to cursure himself of the man he was, the man he had always been. And he spent the rest of the night doing this, remaining there for hours, nailed to the wall to empty all the tears available in his body. Negan awoke hard with aches and a migraine. He stood up grunting, massaging his numb arms on which he had fallen asleep. He looked up and saw that the sun was already there. He sighed, rubbing his tired face with his frozen hands when someone knocked on the door. Negan didn’t answer. Then the person behind insisted a little more, taking on the nerves of Negan “What the fuck do you want ? I hope for you that it has a damn importance to come to disturb me !” “Sorry sir, but there is an emergency. The door of building E has been smashed and is now invaded by walkers ! If we do nothing, they will surely come here !” Negan's heart stopped abruptly. He didn’t give a fuck if they came here. They were only walkers. What he worried about was something else. If the walkers had really entered the building, he would lose her and he couldn’t.. He waved his head and got up hastily, putting the clothes that were within his reach, clean or dirty. He put on his hair as best he could while taking Lucille. He opened the door, his face completely livid as if he had just seen a ghost. “Damn, what the fuck are you still doing ?! Call all your men and get ready !” “Ye-Yes, sir. Right away”, stammered Dwight as he walked away from Negan and his murderous mood. Negan quickly closed his door, heading rapidly towards the main entrance. He saw people panicked by the news and Negan couldn’t help but think of you. He swallowed and went on with his nerves already alive.

***

You took advantage of the gentle summer breeze that caressed your face and raised your eyes to the clear blue sky. Sherry told you to come back but you didn’t want to. You had finally succeeded in emptying your head and feeling relaxed. And then, with such a pleasant time, you had to get out of here. You think for a few seconds before deciding to go to your shortcut to leave the Sanctuary. You had done this at first, trying to free yourself from Negan's grip. But it didn’t work very well. He'd quickly caught up with you. You laughed at this memory but you stopped short, feeling your heart squeeze at the thought of Negan.

No one ever went to that corner. So it was handy when you wanted to get out of the Sanctuary. You pushed the enormous wooden box that hid the exit before passing through the hole in the gate you had made in the past. You ran towards the road, raising your arms in the air and laughing like a madwoman. It was so long ago that you hadn’t gone out of the Sanctuary. And you had to admit it made you very crazy. You turned a smile to your lips while putting your hands in your pockets. You decided to go for a walk in the forest. A little of nature would do you good. But a scream stopped you in your movement, a distant scream coming from the right. You turned and before you had time to understand, a woman collapsed on you. You fell back with a moan of pain as your back hits the ground. “Damn, be careful !”

“Help me.. The baby.. The baby is..”, the woman sobbed, clutching you with her nails. “What ? What baby are you talking about ?” You said by releasing yourself from her hold. “Building E, the door has yielded and.. I haven’t had time to take her ! The walkers will devour her !” Explained the blond woman, her eyes filled with tears. You widened your eyes as the woman got up and cursed herself for not having time to retrieve it. The tension rose in you and you clenched your fists, sticking your fingernails into your palms. “How many are they ?” You asked, turning your head towards the other woman. “There must be some twenty of them”. “Shit”, you thought then. It was going to be hard. But you had to do it. The life of a child was at stake. And if you had to die to save her, you would. You would do anything to save her, no matter what price you had to pay. You had to. You inhale and exhale the air to calm the stress already present in the whole of your body. “Go ahead. I'll go”. “All alone ? You-You can’t !” “Tell someone named Dwight of what happened. He will warn Negan”, you said ignoring what she said, tying your hair into a ponytail. “But-” “Do what I tell you”, you said as you looked at her threateningly. She drew back a step and before she left, she nodded frantically. You saw her move away when you took your two knives in your back pocket, the adrenaline already at its peak. “Let's go..”

***

It’s the end ! I hope you liked it as much as I took pleasure to do it. Don’t forget to give me your opinion or to leave a comment. Thank you for reading it and I hope I’ll see you for the final part ! Thank you again ! ♡♡

#Negan fanfic #Negan #Negan x reader #The Walking Dead #twd #twd Negan #Negan twd #A protective angel #part 3 #Thank you ! #Don't copy please

[thefearofimperfection-blog]

1

This used to be a place that I felt comfortable posting my feelings and my rants about things and so that’s what I’m doing now. I may be a lot older than I was the last time I used this interesting little site but I still don’t feel like facebook or instagram or anything (like a real blog) is something that I can take. I don’t want people that I used to go to high school with my family, my real friends...judging my feelings, my looks, my life. So I’ll post here, a hidden little gem that isn’t quite worth anything. 

October 5th: 

Today you called me really upset, and scared the living shit out of me. You’re always this little emotionless potato unless it has to do with me or video games and so I instantly knew you were legitimately afraid. You were laying on the floor and you didn’t know how but you knew you passed out after feeling a violent pain. I talked you into getting into bed and you said something I would’ve never imagined that I would hear from someone who things vegetables taste just like dirt: “I need to make a doctors appointment.” Obviously I was worried BUT I was also like wtf thank god something actually happened to this kid that made him go get a checkup...I was an inch away from using the “We’re going to disneyland!” trick and then drugging you and dropping you off at a physicians. (They can’t deny a person who’s unconscious for a checkup...right?) 

October 10th: 

You’re texting me at the doctors talking about how it’s offensive that there is no “pregnant man” emoji. I get offended because child birth is hard work and you should probably not try to make a man emoji of it. You’re laughing about how the ultrasound goop feels like snot. I am not amused. I am stressed. I have a bad feeling. 

October 11th: 

A mass. I feel sick. But it’s nothing compared to how you feel. A mass. I’m telling you to eat but you won’t. Im crying in my car because I don’t want you to know what I know. I want you to know that you’re going to be ok and that it’s malignant, benign, its nothing because you deserve nothing different. But I know what a mass means. 

October 16th:

Im at work and I have a terrible head ache. I spent all night at knott’s scary farm and I normally function fine with only a little bit of sleep but today I do not feel good. I keep texting you but you’re not awake yet and I feel like those bitches that people write songs about-the clingy chick. But something’s not right and I can’t finish grooming a single dog without crying a little bit on it. It makes it worse that dogs are literally perfect and they just lick you and understand your pain with cuddles.

Finally you text me: they want to do surgery. i don’t know why. 

At this point my poor fluffy customers look terrible and are kind of wet on their faces from tears and my boss tells me I need to go home. “Sometimes you just need to be with the ones you love, even if it all works out and he has nothing to be scared of, you wouldn’t want to miss these moments with him if he needs your support. ” What the fuck Sherry? Why are you so wise. How are you like my boss but also my cool aunt at the same time? 

This doctor’s office is terribly small. Your grandma and me don’t really have anywhere to sit especially since you’re taking up the whole patient’s cot by laying down on it playing Hearthstone. I can’t really be mad though because your’e sweating bullets and can’t win a single game. You always win. 

We’ve been here for an hour and I still haven’t seen anyone that looks like they know what’s happening and I’ve resulted to showing you dog memes to make you calm down but you’re still losing your shit. I’m trying to show you mostly corgies but the universe isn’t cooperating. 

Finally your doctor comes in. It’s cancer. I don’t really remember much after that except that I’m asking your doctor why they can’t save anything after the surgery so that maybe you can still have kids and he’s drawing this stupid torn up diagram on the cot paper (that thin annoying shit on the top of the bed) it’s tearing because he’s using a sharp pen like an idiot and he keeps drawing circles while looking at me and I want to scream at him but it’s not his fault and I want to run away really fast but there’s legitimately nowhere to go. Like...his assistant is in the doorway and I don’t feel like maneuvering around her and you’re also hugging me and I’m sobbing but I’m the only one crying and I’m having flashbacks to that night when I found out Austin’s sister was dead and I thought I would have warning but I didn’t because I had too much hope and I was blinded by my own positivity.....I didn’t get to say goodbye because it was never an option to me she was always going to beat cancer she had to. 

She had to. She had to. My brain over compensated because she had to. She couldn’t die, she was immortal, she was 15 and she was perfect. My brain told me she couldn’t lose. She had to win. But she fucking didn’t. 

#storysofar nottheband somerealshit fuckcancer

[artsaveslivesinternational]

Artist Sherry Dooley

Artist Sherry Dooley

Sherry Dooley, 50, is from Portland, Oregon in the USA. Sherry is a visual artist and had this to say about her chosen submission subject and why she was motivated to address cultural and racial stigma:

I’m submitting a new series I’m doing regarding “the Wall” Donald Trump keeps insisting he will build, in hopes to keep us “safe” from Mexicans.  I don’t agree with it, I find it offensive to our neighbours, and racially motivated.  Racial profiling at it’s finest.  After his degrading comments regarding the Mexican people being criminals and rapists – his wall will only hold the US citizens hostage, while making our friends our enemies.

I’m a full time professional artist.  After attending the Women’s March On Washington, I become inspired to not only paint “pretty” paintings – but to make a statement.

My theme is Cultural Stigma/Racism.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I’m a mother, a sister, a daughter, and a woman. I’m a fifty-year-old artist and wanderer, with scars. Born and raised in Oregon, I tend to lean far left, if I must use a label. Recently moved back to Portland Oregon after five years in New Orleans.

What is your artistic/creative background?

As a child, my mother put me in various after-school creative functions. I’ve always loved to draw, but never mastered it, and it doesn’t really matter. I consider myself “self-taught” – with no fancy, over priced art degrees. I started painting in 1998. Found wood, and old house paint, anything I could find, I would use. I’ve continued to paint ever since. Ninety percent of the time my art has allowed me to be self-employed.

What motivated you to deal with your chosen submission subject?

I chose Cultural Stigma/Racism because it seems to be a topic/situation that can be erased, with just the right amount of effort. Preconceived notions about a certain population, I believe, stems for just not knowing, and maybe a refusal to know. But once you learn something, once you’re forced to see someone, something in a new light, you cannot un-see it. Un-know it. We all have to start somewhere. I did. Why can’t others?

  Modern Frida: It’s Your Wall. I’m Free, Are You? 16x20x1.5 Acrylic/Mixed Media Cradled wood panel. by Sherry Dooley

Modern Frida: Misguided Finger Pointing 16 x 20 – Acrylic/Mixed Media on cradled panel wood. by Sherry Dooley

What is your process when creating?

The process, where does the process truly begin? Usually an incident, a situation, which has stirred up my thoughts, and has bled into my emotions, then the process, has begun. Sometimes without me even realising it. The process has begun. Never just a thought…emotion is the fuel of the fire I need to create.

Who are you influenced by within your artistic discipline?

I believe the question should be…”Who and What am I influenced by…” When I first began a very primitive style of painting women, friends influenced me. Body shapes and hairstyles, pretty scenes, Goddesses and nature. It evolved from there. As cliché as it is, once I was introduced to Frida Kahlo’s work and life story, I drew inspiration from everything Frida. Not just her self-portraits, in fact very little of her creative ability moved me, it was more about her life and situations that would inspire a piece of me to be brave. Brave in the sense of being vulnerable and puking my sorrows onto the canvas or wood for the world to see. I’ve evolved over the last 19 years, and no longer sob into a piece of art. I can see passed myself and create a bigger image, which isn’t just my little world, but something others can relate to.

Who inspires you in general?

Injustice and women.

What causes and world issues are you passionate about, campaign for, volunteer for…?

There are so many – but if I were to be passionate about each and every cause, I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning. I don’t know why, but homelessness hits me hard. Not so much creatively, but more in an “Action Required” stance. So I feed the homeless when I can. I rally others to do the same. I’m moved and feel obligated to create pieces that are slick with emotion for women who have been sexually trafficked. I’ve been there…and I paint what I know and feel. My most recent cause is immigration. Just in the last couple of years, the word “illegal” has replaced human being. Dehumanising at the very least. Now we have a war against those that have less. Those that are searching for a better life. Those that do American’s dirty work and are vilified for it. Those that might have an accent. Those that might not be white enough. I’m getting all jazzed up as write this…it just pisses me off that in 2017, I’m having to experience and see first hand an earlier and uglier time in our country, today. RIGHT NOW? So, in honour of those that are being targeted and shit on by those that believe it’s okay to do so, I’m painting those women. I’m painting black women. Arab women. Asian women. Light-skinned women. All Women. All American women. Sorry, but American women are not all blondes with blue eyes. That is not the norm – and will never be.

What do the statements “art saves lives” and “art creates change” mean to you?

I read both statements at face value. Period.

Have your artistic and creative outlets saved your life in anyway and do you think your message within them could help create change in the world?

Yes. Art saved my life. Once I was able to escape the life of commercial sex trafficking and a nasty meth habit, I needed something, anything, to feel good. Painting felt right, it felt good. Stimulating that old brain chemistry with a new vice, art. When I sold my first piece, it was validating a wounded child, whom felt worthless. Yes, art saves lives…and can rebuild lives. Will my art ever make a change in the world? I think it has – as more people get to know me and what I create, they also get to know my past life. With that said, the stigma of a prostituted woman slowly shifts from what they had believed. It changes from judgement and idea of choice, to one of compassion and understanding. In my eyes that’s huge. Seeing “throw-away” women in a new light, shedding judgement, and opening the heart. Yep, that’s huge.

What are your present and future goals for your art?

I want to continue down my new path of making a statement for women and those that are oppressed in America. Stand up against division, and stand taller than any fucked up wall. Build it. It won’t stop people from connecting and loving/embracing each other.

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

If you would like to know more about Sherry Dooley and her work please follow these links:

Website

Facebook Page

Twitter

If you have any feedback on this article please fill out the contact form below:

[contact-form] Visual artist Sherry Dooley addresses racism and cultural stigma in the USA Sherry Dooley, 50, is from Portland, Oregon in the USA. Sherry is a visual artist and had this to say about her chosen submission subject and why she was motivated to address cultural and racial stigma:

#art and women #Cultural Stigma #discrimination #Donald Trump #female art #female artists #female empowerment #feminism #feminist art #Frida Kahlo #Issue 4 - Discrimination Privilege and stigmatisation #Privilege #Racism #Sherry Dooley #Stigma #the wall #Trump&039;s wall #USA #visual art #visual artist #White Privilege #Women