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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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Roll Like Thunder | Negan Smith

dbf!Negan Smith (The Walking Dead) x younger fem!reader

(AU where the apocalypse never happened)

Summary: Negan is your dad's best friend and the two of you settle some tension while on your family vacation.

Warnings (18+): age gap (reader is college age, maybe 20-ish, and Negan's age is not specified but I'm feeling early 50s), smut (fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), possibility of getting caught, edging

Notes: this actually kinda turned out sweet in a way I think, which is surprising because that's not often an outcome when I write for Negan lmao. not proofread yet because I just wanted to get it out to you all asap, but will edit if needed when I get the chance. hope you enjoy!! (also the intro is kinda long oops)

Grabbing your glass of wine you take another much needed swig, cringing at your dad and uncle. They always find some way to turn every conversation into a political argument while the rest of your family eat their meals and exchange knowing glances

Family holidays were always like this. The one time a year when everyone was together: your parents, aunt, uncle and cousins. Only this year, there was a new addition.

Negan had grown up being a close friends with both your father and uncle and they are still best friends to this day. He recently went through a messy divorce and this is his first Christmas without his wife in a long time. Your dad never was good with showing kindness or friendship, but your uncle had convinced him it would be a good idea to invite him to his cabin for your annual Christmas getaway.

And that's how you got here.

You'd always had a little bit of a crush on Negan, for as long as you could remember. Though you never saw much of him as a kid. It wasn't until you got older - old enough to be able to drink in front of your parents - that you got to spend more time with him. Drinking was a big part of their social life, so once you could join in, you got to know him better. You got on well with your parents so you'd have barbeques with them and their friends, join in with conversations in the kitchen when they'd have people over, go out to dinner. But then you went off to college and started spending less and less time with them. So now it's Christmas time, you're happy to be able to spend time with your family. And Negan, more than you'd care to admit.

"Okay fellas," your mom chimes in. "Enough of that."

Negan makes eye contact with you from across the other side of the table and you smirk at each other. You're both all too familiar with watching this from an outside perspective.

"The food's delicious, Negan," she adds, turning to Negan, who had cooked this meal for you all. Sort of as a thank you for letting him tag along. For the first few days in the cabin he felt a little out of place, like he was intruding on your family's time together. But eventually he began to find himself settling. You were lucky to have a very fun, non-judgmental family so everyone was happy to have him there.

You nodded in agreement with your mother's statement. "I'd have more if there was any left." You motion to your empty plate.

"I'm glad it's got your approval, ladies," he grins.

The meal comes to an end and alcohol starts flowing. Your cousins are all younger than you so they head off to their bedrooms to do whatever it is kids their age do.

"I'd better get these dishes cleaned," Negan declares, standing up from his seat.

"No," you say, protesting. "You cooked. I'll clean."

"It's fine, you don't have to," he says kindly.

"I want to," you smile. "Really I'm happy to."

"We'll do them together?" He suggests, coming to a compromise and you nod in agreement.

"You raised a stubborn one," he mumbles teasingly to your dad, patting his shoulder as he walks past him.

"She gets that from me," your mom chirps as the two of you pick the plates up from the table and carry them into the kitchen.

Putting the plates on the kitchen top, you head to the fridge and look inside.

"Beer?" you ask, peeking around the door to look at Negan's response. Though you already have two cans in your hand, knowing he won't turn down the offer.

He nods. "Can't do anything without a drink in hand in this family, huh?"

You close the fridge door and pass him his beer, cracking open his own.

"You should be more than aware of that," you tease. "I've heard what you and my dad used to get up to."

"I'm sure you've not even heard the most of it," he teases back.

You laugh softly under your breath at his response.

"I'll wash, you dry?" You suggest as the sink begins to fill with soapy water.

The two of you get the dishes done relatively quickly as Negan tells you a story from his college days. You have to keep yourself composed and remember who he is. Remember that these stories he's telling of him at your age took place before you were even born. A decade before, at least. But, every so often, as you pass him the plates to dry, your fingers touch his and such a small motion has you weak. You can't look him directly in the eyes as he stands so close to you. That signature grin of his spread across his face.

The two of your finish and you take a large swig of your beer, but it's no surprise that the flush of alcohol doesn't help your body heat. You can only hope and pray that your cheeks aren't beetroot red right now.

"I'm sure you've got plenty of stories, though, right?" He asks. "Being in college and all. And with your dad's genes...God."

A playful smile spreads on your face. "Sure. I'm absolutely not telling you though. My dad would have a heart attack."

"Ahh," he smiles back. "So this whole 'good girl' thing is just an act, then?"

Holy shit. Good girl? He has no clue what he is doing to you calling you things like that.

"I can be good when it suits me." You say, almost flirtatiously, and immediately kick yourself. Why the hell would you say something like that to him?

Your off-the-cuff reply has him grinning. He swipes his tongue over his teeth as he contemplates your words and you almost drop to your knees.

"Let's go see what political debate has become the talking point now," you say, changing the topic to hide your complete embarrassment. You leave the kitchen and head to the living room, Negan following.

Somehow, in the time it took you to wash the dishes, your mom and aunt have gone through a bottle and a half of wine, and they're sat on the floor with your dad and uncle playing some sort of drinking game.

You sit down on the couch and Negan sits next to you. Why? Why could he not just sit away from you? Give you some space to compose yourself? But the action is completely innocent. There is just less than a foot between the two of you, yet it still feels like he is on top of you. Like you're breathing the same air.

"What was I just saying?" Negan says, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Alcohol."

You shake your head in playful disagreement with your relatives' actions.

"Hey, mom," you say and her head whips around, as laughter escapes her lips. "Think you've had enough for tonight?"

"Oh, you're so boring," she waves her hand at you dismissively.

The four of them continue for about half an hour as you and Negan observe and laugh. The game finally comes to an end when your aunt and uncle discreetly head off to their bedroom for a reason you don't even want to think about. Your parents follow shortly after, your dad having to carry your drunk mom up the stairs.

You come back from the kitchen where you were getting another lager for you and Negan. As you do so, you look for the TV controller and find a blanket that was lying around. You sit down again next to Negan and look down at your phone to check the time.

"God, it's not even 10 o'clock yet." You laugh.

"Amateurs," he says sarcastically.

You pass him his beer which he thanks you for, then get under you blanket.

"Want some?" You ask, holding out some excess blanket towards him.

"Sure," he accepts, getting comfortable himself.

The whole situation you're in is completely innocent, but it dawns on you that you're currently alone with Negan, tucked under the same blanket. Given that fact, you make a conscious effort not to touch him at all and try to remain composed.

"Put a movie on?" You ask him, passing the TV remote to him.

He takes it from your hand, brushing his fingertips across yours.

You watch him carefully as he selects a film to put on, making sure not to get caught admiring him. He just looks so good. The salt and pepper sprinkled throughout his hair and beard. The tattoos that cover his arms. The way his white t-shirt hugs his body just right. You're brought out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You seen Batman Returns?" He asks, looking down at you.

"Of course," you smile. "It's a classic."

"Feel like watching it again?"

You nod. You'll watch whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants.

"Absolutely," you answer. "I didn't peg you as a Batman kind of guy, to be honest."

"Like you say, it's a classic," he says. "Plus there's always Michelle Pfeiffer."

You laugh at him. "I feel you."

You polish off another beer as you watch the film. You try your best to pay attention, to keep your eyes open, but you grow increasingly tired. It must have only been fifteen minutes into the film when you finally drift off, reality slipping away.

When you wake up again, it takes a while to fully gain consciousness, You feel something under you head, under your arm, but you don't pay much attention to it.

You feel warm. Comfortable. You don't want to wake up, you could stay here forever. The smell of men's shampoo and cologne comforts you, a soft material under the touch of your hand.

All of a sudden reality dawns on you. You realise that your head is leaning on a shoulder. That your hand is draped across a torso. You shoot up, sitting upright and see Negan smiling at you softly through slightly hooded eyes.

"Oh God," you say, feeling incredibly humiliated. "I'm sorry." But he just chuckles.

You look over to the television and see a black screen.

"Did the movie finish?" You ask groggily and he nods. Fuck. You slept for the entire duration of the film and who knows how much of that time you spent laying on Negan's shoulder.

What you're only just realising now, though, is how close you're still sat to him. How even though you're sat up, Negan's shoulder is casually draped across the back of the sofa, dangerously close to your shoulder blades.

"Why didn't you just wake me up?" You ask, feeling flushed.

"You looked peaceful." He answers, honestly. "Didn't want to disrupt you."

"I'm sorry," you apologize again. "You should've woken me up."

"I didn't mind, sweetheart." He insists. "Honestly."

The pet name drives you utterly insane. As if this whole thing wasn't already enough. Your body feels so hot. What with the blanket, his body heat, your arousal.

"I will say though, you do talk quite a bit in your sleep," he smiles coyly and dread shoots through your entire body.

"Wh-what-" you can't even get a full sentence out. "What did I-"

A flash of a dream comes back to you in that moment. Oh God. Oh God, no. You can't remember the details, but you remember the feeling. Negan on top of you. His body weight on you. The ecstasy you felt. His hands on your body. His name slipping from your lips.

You had a sex dream about Negan while you were laying on his Goddamn shoulder. You're lost for words, but Negan is enjoying watching this play out. He bites his lip, trying to suppress his smug grin as he watches you realise the possibilities of what you might have said.

His arm slowly slips off the back of the sofa and creeps around to touch you, the movement making you flinch a little. What is he doing?

He takes his other hand and places two fingers just under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The two of you make eye contact and you can't even contemplate what is happening - still a little groggy from your nap - before his lips are coming down gently on yours.

You kiss him back almost immediately. It's a surprising delicate and intimate kiss, and you daringly bring your hand up to his neck to pull him in deeper, but he pulls back.

You worry that he is having second thoughts, but the look in his eyes says the complete opposite. He just wants to get a good look at you before he tears you apart. You feel vulnerable under his hungry eyes but you love how it makes you feel.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath before your lips join again, this time the kiss rougher. More passionate. His arms wrap around your back to pull your body snug to his and you intwine your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His large hands snake further down and grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. As you get comfortable you shift along his length and gasp, feeling that he is already hard.

"You were practically fucking dry humping me in your sleep," he chuckles. "You can't blame me."

"So that's why you didn't want to wake me up, then?" You're barely able to mumble, teasing him.

"Hmm, maybe." You can feel him smile into the kiss and it makes you want him more. Everything about him is so endearing. He just radiates this warmth, this aura, and it's radiating.

Even now, however, you're nervous to move things along. You know what you want but this is still so surreal, and it would be an understatement to say you feel a little intimidated in this moment. You have enough sexual experience, but this is Negan. This is different. So you're glad when he takes control and begins to lift up your top, pulling it over your head to expose your bra.

His mouth makes contact with the flesh of your chest, sucking and nipping while he reaches around to unhook your bra. He feels his cock twitch when he sees your bare breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth immediately as his warm hands roam and caress your back, travelling over your smooth skin.

As you start to subconsciously grind into his bulge, Negan continues to explore your breasts. You're looking for any kind of relief and you begin to find some as he presses up into you, but both of your pants are restricting you.

You feel yourself crumbling further and further as Negan's hands come around to aid him with his attention to your breasts, squeezing and practically groaning as he does so. The noise changes something inside you, and makes you realise that you need him stripped of his clothes right this second.

You grasp the bottom of his shirt and he briefly pulls away from you to allow you to move it, but the second you're done, his lips are back on your skin, leaving marks on your collarbone and neck. Next, you move onto the buckle of his belt but he swats your hand away.

Pulling back from the kiss, you look to him with wide eyes full of confusion. That look alone is nearly enough to cause him to fold and fuck you right then and there. But he has other plans.

"Be patient for me, honey," he says sweetly, and as badly as you want him, you trust him.

He pulls your body flush to his, so that your breasts are pressed entirely against the heat of his chest. Then he grips your lower back and stands up, holding you tightly.

"We can't do this here," he says, carrying you towards the stairs. You grind up against him playfully as he does so and he stops momentarily half way up the stairs, clearly affected by the action. In retaliation he gently swats your ass and you giggle at his response.

"Shh," he hushes, but he can't hide the grin that spreads across his face as you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

Being as quiet as possible, he takes you into his bedroom which - awkwardly - is across the hall from your parents' room.

He puts you down on the bed, barely allowing himself to be away from you for a second, climbing on top of you hastily. He goes back to kissing you, the taste of him intoxicating. The way he kisses are gentle yet so hot and passionate at the same time, becoming increasingly sloppy as they shift from your lips to your jaw, neck, chest, abdomen, until you're a writhing mess beneath him.

Once he has kissed so far that he reaches the waist line of your trousers, he unbuttons them and pulls them all the way down. He throws them onto the floor, leaving you just in your lace black panties. He nudges your legs open and moves his kisses to your thigh. He's slowly breaking you and you're not sure how much more you can take. Painstakingly slow, he trails his tongue up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your panties.

Eventually he slips your panties off and you tremble as you feel the cool air of his room against your hot, aching core. He places his hands on your inner thighs to push them open further, mouth watering at the sight of you. The delicate touch of his fingers send shivers up your spine and you're in desperate need of more.

"Please, Negan," you say, barely a croak.

"Shh, let me take care of you," he soothes, his voice low and gravelly as he tries his best to stay quiet. "Wanted to taste this sweet pussy for so long."

As if to affirm his words, he lowers his head and licks a stripe straight through your folds, groaning as he feels how wet you are.

He then moves his mouth to make contact with your clit, your hips raising at the action. He starts off by sucking gently, leaving you aching for more as you reach down to grab his hair, not knowing what else to do. He chuckles as you do so and sends vibrations straight through your core. Unable to control yourself, a moan escapes you lips and he squeezes your thighs warningly, wordlessly telling you to be quiet.

He takes his time to precisely pull you apart, but then his motions begins to get harsher, faster. You feel that rising feeling in the pit of your stomach begin to spread after waiting for what feels like so long. He alternates between kissing, sucking, licking, nipping until you're desperate for more. Sensing this, he teases one finger at your entrance.

"Please," you whimper, legs trembling. He answers your pleading by pushing his single digit inside you in one long push, as deep as he can go, and keeping it there momentarily. As he continues to eat you out, he begins moving his finger, fucking you gently. When he adds a second finger you have to clasp your hand over your own mouth to stop yourself from calling out his name. Your legs wrap around his head, wanting to pull him closer to you in any way possible.

Closing your eyes, you feel that white hot feeling flooding through your veins, but right as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls his fingers out and his mouth away from you.

You let out a guttural sound, one of desperation which causes Negan to laugh under his breath.

"Negan, God, please," you whine, putting both your hands on his head and pushing him back down.

"So bossy," he mumbles with a smile on his face, but he obliges.

He doesn't use his fingers on you again, but it makes no difference. You're already pent up enough as it is that it won't take a lot to make you reach your peak. Plus, you don't doubt that Negan's skillful mouth is more than enough for you.

He circles his tongue around your clit, going back to sucking while using his free fingers to absentmindedly trace little patterns into your thighs. The only noises are your heavy pants and the wetness of his mouth against you, and it fills the otherwise deadly silent bedroom.

He's starting to become more familiar with your body and your reactions and he can tell you're getting close again. To which he stops and pulls away yet again.

"Negan," you almost cry. Tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you throb for him. "Please, I need to-"

"I got you baby," he assures you, stroking the flesh of your thighs comfortingly.

You can't bare it. You almost despise him for doing this to you, but you can't. It's all so surreal: having this man between your thighs. So often you have fantasized of it and though it's so wrong, it's now happening.

Before you can beg again, his lips make contact with you. This time he's a man on a mission. His tongue flicks against your clit as two of his fingers slip back inside you. You're so wet that it's an easy motion, but you still feel the tight, delicious stretch. He allows you to get used to it, building you up until he adds a third finger and you have to use all your power not to yell out his name. You try your hardest not to hurt Negan by squeezing your thighs too much or pulling his hair too hard, but he loves it. He loves driving you crazy, seeing you unwind for him. The noises you make. The taste of you.

Relentlessly, he penetrates you with his fingers, pushing and curling his fingers deep inside you, hitting a spot that eventually brings you your release. One last push, one last flick of his tongue and you're falling over the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can't help the animalistic sound that leaves you as white flashes behind your eyelids. He continues eating you out through your orgasm and it hits you that you think you're doing something you never have before.

Once you manage to come around again, you let your legs relax and look down to Negan who looks up at you. He smiles smugly, your wetness remaining in his beard and it causes you to go weak in the knees.

"Did I just-?" Squirt, you want to say. But somehow it doesn't seem like the nicest word to describe what just happened between of the two.

He nods with a glimmer in his eyes as he makes his way up the bed, his body above yours.

"I've never-" you croak. "I've never done that before."

"You just needed a man, that's all," he gloats and you roll your eyes. "It was hot as fuck, for what it's worth."

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can taste yourself on him.

You're still shaking a little, but you manage to pull back a little to look him in his eyes.

"Are we really doing this?" You ask, bordering on timid.

"Do you want to?" He counters.

"Yes," you say, quickly, not wanting him to think you're having doubts. Because there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that you want the man above him. Hell, you need him. But somehow you find yourself feeling a little insecure and needing reassurance. "Do you?"

"Darling," he laughs. "Not to be crude, but you just came all over my face. I want this more than you know."

You nod and smile, feeling more confident. "I'm sorry, I just-"

He interrupts your babbling with a long kiss to your lips, silencing you.

"You need to worry less," he says, bringing his hand to stroke your cheek sweetly.

"Make me." You propose flirtingly, smiling up at him.

"That I can do." His lips crash down on yours and his tongue intertwines with yours.

Reaching down to his pants you fumble with his zip, which he helps your shaky hands undo. He shifts both his pants and boxers down off his ankles, and though you can't see his length fully from this angle, you can feel its hardness press against your lower stomach and he feels big.

"You ready, baby?" He raises his brow at you as he grips his member and teases it through your folds.

"Yes, please Negan," you pant, even after having the best orgasm of your life, you still need more. "Need you inside me."

He groans as he slips inside of you and the way you practically beg for him drives him crazy.

"So fucking tight, holy shit," he mumbles into your ear, his head dropping down to bite and suck on the crook of your neck. "Oh, baby, fuck."

Hearing him say such obscene things affects you in an indescribable way. His voice has always been massively attractive to you, but now...you're done for. The deep rumble, smooth like honey, even lower in an attempt to remain quiet to your family in the surrounding bedrooms. It's like dark magic. It has you hooked. He could say the right thing to you with that voice and you'd cum right there and then.

His movements are slow, savoring the sensation of you around him. He wants to take his time with you. He never wants it to be over.

Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his back and lift your hips up wanting more from you. He maintains his pace, but does start pushing deeper inside you like you wanted.

"I've wanted you for so long," you say, not even in control of your words anymore. It's like he's fucking them right out of you. He moans into your neck at your admission and starts thrusting a little faster, as if in response to your statement.

"Do you know-" he stops speaking for a moment to breathe and compose himself, clearly enjoying this as much as you, "how often I get myself off thinking about you?" He punctuates his point with a particularly hard thrust and that - in combination with the idea of him masturbating to the thought of you - causes you to cry out. You thought he would shush you, but he seems too far gone at this point.

"A fucking pretty little thing like you," he says, his hands groping at your tits, his touch rougher than before, "it'd be hard not to."

"Oh god," you whimper. "Harder, please."

His movements get harsher gradually, following your command and getting you closer and closer every second.

He lifts his head up and the way he looks at you makes your insides collapse. To be the sole object of his attention. How he looks at you like you're all that ever mattered.

"I'm so close, Negan," you tell him.

"Taking me so fucking well, darling," he praises, reaching one hand down to lazily play with your clit. That's all it takes and he can feel it coming as you begin to squeeze around him. He takes your lips in a long, sensual kiss as you climax, trying to muffle your moans as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your hands are wrapped around his back, squeezing into his shoulders as you try your hardest to be quiet. Pure pleasure surges through your veins as he presses his entire body weight into you: suffocating in the most beautiful way possible.

Gradually, Negan's movements come to a halt and he stops moving inside you briefly, letting go of you come down from your high.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," he declares and before you can reply, he suddenly starts moving inside you again, faster than the last time, placing a quick peck on the tip of your nose as he does so.

He soon reaches a pace much faster than before and you're rendered speechless.

Your attention is grabbed, however, by the open and shut of a door somewhere. You gasp and your eyes widen at the sound. The possibilities of who it could be and if they'd heard you start to race through your mind but your thoughts are cut off when Negan clasps a hand firmly over your mouth to keep you quiet. He presses you further into the mattress as he fucks you even harder than before, enjoying tormenting you.

You listen closely to the footsteps. They're quite loud - that of a man - probably your dad or uncle. The pitter patter grows closer and your heard races, both from the fear of getting caught and from the sensation of Negan deep inside you. Hitting places you're sure no other man ever has or ever could. You relax a little as you hear the footsteps pass Negan's bedroom and head into the shared bathroom, the door closing afterwards.

Negan takes his hand off your mouth and you gasp for air.

"Oh my god, please don't stop," you beg as he sets a pace and sticks with it, snaking his slender fingers back down to your clit and circling it gently.

"I don't plan on," he chimes. "You're taking me so well."

You've never felt anything like this. Your entire body is numb and slick with sweat. All you can do is grab onto his hair and try your best to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

To help you out, he grabs your body and switches positions slightly. He lifts himself up then clutches your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders. Then his hands grip onto your hips and he has access to you in a way that allows him to go much deeper. You know you can't take much more. You're close to crying just from how much you want to scream his name.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut but you force them opening, wanting to keep them on the man doing this to you. His tousled hair, his flexed biceps, his tattooed chest.

"Harder, please," you whisper. "I'm nearly there."

Thrusting harder, he also adds his fingers back to your clit, rubbing harshly. It's almost painful on your sensitive nerves but it feels unreal and it's enough to build you up to near-ecstasy.

Your mouth hangs open but you refrain from making any noise. In one unexpected motion, he lands a slap to your clit and it sends your orgasm rushing.

"Good girl, that's it," he guides you through as your body starts to spasm.

He continually pounds into you and turns his head to the side to place soft kisses to your inner thigh, contrasting the way he now ruthlessly moves inside of you.

You contract around him as you cum and you can tell he is trying his hardest to hold on as he visibly hesitates, not knowing where to release.

"Cum inside me, Negan," you give permission. "Want it so bad."

Those words were all he needed as he spills inside you, the warm liquid filling you.

Gradually, his movements slow down as he fucks you through the both of your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper inside you, and then pulls out and collapses next to you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and to your surprise, he pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Holy shit," you giggle, the whole situation setting in.

Negan's about to speak but his sentence stops forming when the bathroom door opens and closes again. You'd completely forgot about that.

The two of you exchange a glance as you wait for the footsteps to disappear down the hallway. Once they're gone, you relax back into his embrace.

Absentmindedly, you place your hand on Negan's warm chest, tracing the ink of his tattoos. Its surprisingly comforting having him this close, to be held by him. You're entranced by the smell of his cologne and the way his chest heaves up and down, catching his breath. He smiles as he watches you, equally as entranced by you. He can't quite believe that the daydreams he thought were exactly that - daydreams - have come to life.

"We'll have to do this again," he grins coyly, "some place where you can scream my name as loud as you need to." His hands run over your body, cupping your breasts as if to appreciate as much of you as possible.

"I'd like that," you smile back, snuggling into his arms. You know you can't stay here all night, but you'll appreciate it for as long as possible.

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

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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Character List

My requests are always open!

If you’re interested in dropping one, I’ve put together a list of characters I write for and/or would like to write in the future.

(I only write for fictional characters and not the actors themselves.)

I take smut/romantic requests for characters marked with an asterisk (*).

The Boys (TV Show)

Soldier Boy*

Queen Maeve*

Starlight*

Billy Butcher*

Frenchie

Kimiko

Mother's Milk

The Walking Dead (TV Show)

Rick Grimes*

Negan Smith*

Michonne*

Rosita Espinosa*

Magna*

Honestly, I'm happy to write for most TWD characters so just drop an ask if in doubt.

Supernatural (TV Show)

John Winchester*

Dean Winchester*

Ruby 1 and 2*

Bela Talbot*

Meg*

Sam Winchester

Succession (TV Show)

Shiv Roy*

Jess Jordan*

Kendall Roy

Roman Roy

GOT/HOTD (TV Show)

Oberyn Martell*

Ellaria Sand*

Cersei Lannister*

Alicent Hightower*

Sansa Stark

Other Characters

The Countess* (American Horror Story)

Rosa Diaz* (Brooklyn 99)

Javier Peña* (Narcos)

Edward (Eddie) Blake/The Comedian* (Watchmen)

Joel Miller* (The Last of Us - TV Show & Game)

[Of course I will write stories/one shots including other characters, but they would "surround" the characters shown above.]

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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Spit Pt. V

Masterlist

Characters: Negan x Alexandrian F!Reader, Maggie, Gabriel, Aaron, Daryl, Hershel, The Commonwealth

Summary: You couldn't wait around any longer, knowing it could be days before Maggie and the group would return. You were ready to take matters into your own hands, but Negan was too. Set in the events of S11 E17.

Word count: 5.5K+

Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, groping, fingering, bruising, public sex, dom negan, mortal enemies, xtra DILFy S11 Negan, a continuum of the filthiest shit I've ever written tbh

A/N: Finally stopped procrastinating and managed to finish this, even though I'm not totally satisfied with the outcome. I watched the TWD finale yesterday, and I'm still heartbroken, but it also gave me massive inspo to write for this fic. I'm excited to write the next few parts, and get ready for some power duo action in the next one. 😉

In the morning you woke alone, the ground beside you empty and cold with the implication that he had left you at least an hour or two ago. It was understandable, given the secrecy of your arrangement, but it didn't stop you from feeling so isolated when you realised that you were by yourself. God, did you miss him already? You shook your head free of the idea that you could possibly be that attached to Negan and leaned up, pressing your back up against the wall. You took a moment just to allow yourself to somewhat fully wake, blinking the haze of sleep from your eyes to stand to your feet and make your way over to Hershel. He was sitting upright with knees bent towards his chest, and for better or worse, the kid looked well-rested. You knelt on the ground to be at eye level with him, and he stared back at you.

"Hey kiddo, how you doing?"

He smiled a little, a look of relief that he at least knew somebody here. Especially you, his favourite auntie.

"I'm okay. I'm a little hungry, and I miss mom."

Your eyes lowered to the ground briefly thinking of Maggie and the others. She could handle herself, and she was determined as hell, so you knew she'd be just fine. Nevertheless, you wished you could see that for yourself.

"I miss her too, but she'll be back soon. I promise."

You extended your hand to fold every finger but the smallest one against your palm, offering him a pinky promise on the basis that Maggie would return. His hand reached out and he curled his much smaller pinky around yours, completing your childish way of a promise. After all, through the chaos and devastation of the world, there was one thing Hershel still was, a kid. He was a lone child standing just outside the boundaries of a community war, and all he wanted was his mom. You pulled your hand back and let out a small sigh, there was something in the air today, and the day had barely begun.

"Well, I'm gonna go back to my spot. You need anything you know where I am, okay?"

Hershel gave you an understanding nod which prompted you to stand to your feet and return to your area. When you sat back down, your back slumped against the rock, your mind began to run wild with scenario after scenario. Your paranoia had gotten the better of you, and the same way you had reassured Hershel that Maggie is safe seemed to be not so easily redirected towards yourself. After a few minutes of torturing yourself with the most catastrophic outcomes avoiding it was hopeless, you were indefinitely restless. Your people were out there, your family out there fighting without you. It was killing you, the lack of productivity from just sitting on your ass and waiting for someone else to fight your battles for you. The truth was, how long would this go on for? It could take days for the group to return, taking down Hornsby was no easy task. The commonwealth was not to be trifled with, and yet we were antagonising them alright, like poking a bear with a stick. You couldn't take it any longer, and you needed space. A breath of fresh air rather than the dirt you were buried beneath. With considerable haste you hurried to the ladder and made your way up, standing to your feet once you'd clambered to the top. It was quieter up here besides the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees, and if you were lucky, the chirp of a bird. The nature of your surroundings gave you a moment to think, but the sound of a familiar voice rudely interrupted your train of thought.

"You too, huh?" Negan pressed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leant his back against a nearby tree.

To say your peace was now disturbed would be an understatement.

"What are you talking about?" You replied, and the slight raise of his brows patronised you for thinking so little of his ability to read you like an open book.

"You want to help the others. I can see it in your eyes, and the way you're fidgeting. Hell, I'm thinking about it too."

The idea of Negan possessing a similar care or desire to assist the others in the fight against Hornsby intrigued you. You took slow, small steps towards him, speaking low and with caution. You didn't want any of the others to overhear the possibility of your departure, but most importantly, Hershel. The thought of leaving him alone here with these people wasn't ideal, but if either of you were to leave the other would surely follow, which left Hershel alone no matter what you two would decide.

"I can't wait around like this, I feel like I'm losing my mind. If you're serious, we can leave right now. It may take a few hours to track down the others, but we could do this." You spoke so quickly, the impatience evident within your tone.

Fortunately, Negan was one of the few assholes you knew who would be crazy enough to always follow you into a fight, and for the most part, he had your back too. It was a little too perfect, your motives only feeding one another's as his eyes seemed to glint with a response before he vocalised it.

"You know I'm down. I meant what I said, every word. I've got her back, and I've got yours." His gaze seemed to soften towards the end of his vow to help, and your collective agreement to depart was made unspoken.

"I'll go talk with Hershel, just stay here."

As you turned around to make your way back towards the open hatch the sight of Hershel climbing the ladder startled you, and you found yourself wishing he didn't hear a single word of what you and Negan just said. Judging by the blank expression on his face he was blissfully unaware, and you repressed the urge to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Ah, just the munchkin I was looking for." You announced playfully, your usual sillier and softer side taking over when it came to how you interacted with kids.

Hershel finally made his way to the top and turned to look at you. As much as you loved Hershel you were wary of your choice of words. He was a smart kid, too smart for his own good, and a singular slip-up about anything to do with you and Negan would surely get back to Maggie. You lowered to the ground, crouching to be eye level with him in the way that Maggie usually would when she needed to explain to him that she was leaving.

"I know you're not gonna like this, but I have to go help your mom. I need to help the others, and you have to stay here. They'll look after you, I'm sure of it."

Hershel's eyes flickered with uncertainty, and he looked over your shoulder, right at Negan.

"With him?" It seemed more like a curiosity than an interrogation, but you could never be too careful.

Thanks to Negan spending a moment too long with Hershel back at Riverbend the kind of man that he was, the man who delivered his father's untimely fate, was revealed to him. You'd all tried to keep it from him, but he was too good at recognising people and their true intentions. It was a blessing and a curse, a trait he no doubt had passed down to him by Maggie herself.

"Yes. Negan wants to help your mom too, just like I do. So you need to promise to stay here and to stay close to them. They're good people, Hershel."

For a child, he was rather fearless, often brave, and frightened of very little. He understood your reasoning, and your desire to assist the others. Reluctantly he nodded his head, and you wrapped your arms around him for a long hug. After the tender moment you pulled back, standing straight and smiling wide.

"I'll see you soon, now go on."

You gestured back to the makeshift hatch with a tilt of your head, and he made his way back down. It was now that he was out of earshot that you realised just how tense you were, just how unsettled the idea of screwing up and revealing the two of your's apparent difference in feelings towards one another made you. You'd gone from wanting to murder him to despising him, a stark contrast between the two. Amidst your pensive state you'd barely acknowledged Negan's sudden approach, his warm breath fanning against the nape of your neck as he placed his hands on your hips, lightly gripping them. Thankfully, having your back to him allowed the humbling sight of you biting down on your lip to stifle your shaky breaths to remain unknown, and you composed yourself as he whispered into your ear.

"Your real tense when you talk about me, baby. Is there something that you need?" The confidence in his tone had you rolling your eyes, and you reached down to close your hands around his wrists and rip them from your body, bruising his supposed ego.

"Fuck off, Negan. You coming or not?"

You turned and began to walk in the direction you watched the group head yesterday morning, and Negan's drawled and throaty chuckle in response to your fiery attitude had you dreading the journey already. Walking alongside you Negan would glance over every now and then, and you'd catch him staring you over in your peripheral, then he'd return to looking straight ahead. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"You're real good with kids y'know, almost like you got one of your own." His suggestion earned a look of surprise etched across your features, and you parted your lips to speak.

"Really? That's funny, I absolutely hated those little shits before all of this."

Your brusque honesty earned a chuckle from Negan and a partially suppressed giggle from you.

"God, amen to that. I was a damn high school gym teacher before all of this."

You couldn't help but completely halt your movement, your eyes slowly meeting Negan's. Your sudden stop had him engrossed in what shocked you so much to the point of total pause, and a sickening smile spread across your face, like a kid on Christmas morning.

"You were...a gym teacher?"

The laughter that spewed from your mouth was so abrupt, so unrestrained, and the visuals only worsened the span of your giggles. To think that the once ruthless leader who dominated several communities and punished people with branding from a hot iron was barking orders at scrawny little kids who would rather do anything other than exercise, was priceless. You felt as though you'd been armed with far more ammo to insult him than you knew what to do with, and he just stared at you, bewildered by your reaction. It only made it that much funnier.

"I am never ever letting that go, it's just too good." You forced your words between your laughter, managing to compose yourself just enough to continue walking forward.

Negan took a little longer than you to begin walking again, surely somewhat offended by your reaction to his previous profession.

"So what happened with your job, y'know in the early days? Did you see the kids you taught?" You levelled your tone with a more earnest curiosity, approaching a profound peer into his pre-apocalypse life that you feared may be as sensitive a topic as you thought.

The slight smile that tugged at his lips instead stupefied you, a soft one in which you could tell he was reliving something of great importance to him.

"No, I uh, I got fired a little before the shit hit the fan. But it was worth it. I ended up wailing on this obnoxious asshole that disrespected my wife at a bar one time, and he just so happened to be the father of one of the kids that went to the school I worked at. It was one hell of a coincidence, and they dropped me."

You glanced over at him wistfully, the love he held for his past wife becoming increasingly apparent, and the protective way in which he spoke of her. It was sweet.

"I never took you for the romantic type."

Your eyes were still locked with his, even as his began to inappropriately wander. From your eyes to your slightly parted lips, your bare neck, catching himself just before his gaze reached your breasts. You feigned oblivion to his pointedly palpable stare, not giving him the reaction he may have wanted.

"Oh? Was fucking each other in a house just before all your friends arrived and in a shack in the woods not romantic enough for you? Because I'd say that's pretty damn romantic." His mock of the rather vulgar moments the two of you had shared with one another had you scoffing.

"I'm talking about with your wife, you asshole. I don't expect you to bring me flowers and tell me I look beautiful, we're not in love." The mere verbalisation of that four letter word sent a chill down your spine, and Negan's subsequent cocky grin did little to ease your apprehension.

"Could be, if you wanted." He uttered his words with such nonchalance, the heavy words finally processing as you stopped immediately, again.

Even subconsciously your fists clenched at your sides, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to find your sanity, an ounce of composure. The boil of your blood from his casual impertinence of implying that the two of you could love one another, could put all history behind you, it was just plain insulting. You heard his footsteps come to a slow stop just beside you, the crunching of leaves falling silent as he stood in place, only rustling again once he shifted his weight to move closer to you.

"Don't say things like that to me, Negan. Just, don't."

Fortunately, you'd been able to somewhat alleviate your rage, your focus shifting to the sound of his breathing as he mulled over what was best to say to you.

"Look at me." It was a simple enough request, but not for you.

You feared that looking at him may pervert your mind again, might result in something similar to what had happened all the times before. Reluctantly, you opened them. He was standing directly in front of you, his hands slowly creeping towards yours, and your silence only permitting him further. His fingers wrapped around your hands to clutch your palms, his thumbs subconsciously smoothing over the backs of your hands like a peace offering.

"Do you trust me?"

That was a loaded question.

"Depends what with." Your blunt response served as the only fair answer to such a broad question, and he lowered his eyes briefly.

All you felt was the feel of his lips pressed against yours, and the way your hands immediately pried from his grip to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him in. Whilst you exchanged air and spit into one another's mouths all you could think about was how good he felt, and how he tasted like home. Home to your soul, your mind, and your body. It was gut-wrenching, but so divinely intoxicating. His hands caressed the curvature of your body before decidedly settling on your hips, digging his fingers into your skin. The bruising grip made you whimper into his mouth, and you managed to spare a moment to part your lips from his eager mouth to whisper your pleas.

"Please." You beckoned simply, and Negan looked at you with teasingly furrowed brows.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."

The teeth you dug into your bottom lip stifled the oncoming urge to whine from impatience alone, your thighs already clenching together just to create some sort of pressure and satiate some of the need for him.

"Fuck me like you love me."

He used his bruising grip on your hips to drive you into the tree behind you, backing you up against it until you felt the harsh texture of wood grind against the back of his blue shirt you still wore. He removed one hand from your hips to weave his fingers into your hair and grip, tilting your head to the side and forcing you to bare your neck to him. His mouth began roughly sucking marks into your tender skin, and his fingers sifted through your strands a few times before slipping out from your hair and working at the button on your jeans. The moment they were undone he slipped his hand beneath the denim, his fingers lifting the material at the top of your panties to make space for his fingers, which he pushed beneath your underwear too. You gasped from the feeling of two of his fingers delving through your wet slit, brushing up towards your clit and then beginning to rub it in small, teasing circles with his index finger. Your hands slammed down onto his shoulders, your clutch creasing the denim fabric clothing them.

"Holy shit, Negan." You managed to choke out through laboured breaths.

A desperate, shrill cry rips from you as he pushes both digits into your opening, a rather haughty grin spreading across Negan's lips. He leaned in so that his lips lightly brush across your ear, planting a brief kiss on your jaw before he spoke.

"I've missed the sound of those pretty moans coming right outta that pretty mouth." Negan whispered throatily, flattering you as he pumped his fingers.

The intrusion of his fingers somewhat relieved the pressure, but it wasn't enough. As though he read your mind Negan slipped his fingers out from inside you and removed them from your panties, pushing his now slick fingers into his mouth. He tasted you with an approving groan, his eyes faintly half-lidded with lust. You watched him attentively, and the moment his fingertips slipped from his lips your mouth was on him, tasting your fluids on his tongue. Greedily, you felt the fingers of his free hand hook in the waistband of your jeans and start to yank them down your legs, your skin stinging as it was harshly exposed to the unforgivingly bitter air. His lips parted from yours, and he knelt down to help remove the material that had gathered at your calves, your palms rested on his shoulders to support yourself. When he finally got them off he offhandedly tossed them to the side, slinging your jeans into a pile of leaves. You threw your head back a little when your body began to be smothered with a trail of small, intent pecks. They worked their way up your thighs, to your inner thigh, outlining the skin just below your panties, and then directly on your groin. The affection hazed your mind, his touch hitching your faltering breaths and leaving you anticipating the moment he'd finally please you. When he'd finally relieve you. After paying careful attention to your thighs his fingers swiftly discarded your underwear, and you were utterly helpless to him. He stood to his feet, pressing his body against yours to keep you backed against the tree while his fingers worked at his own clothing, freeing himself through the fly of his jeans.

"Turn around, baby."

Negan barely had to ask, and you were already on it. You spun to face the tree, leaning against it with an arched back and your palms flattened against the bark. It was rough against your palms, but the feeling of Negan's fingers gripping your hips was far more distracting. You knew your hips would be a myriad of blues, greens, and purples an hour or so from now, shades to remind you of one of your many betrayals.

"Try to keep it down, alright? Don't need to be dealing with a rotter whilst I'm elbow deep in the cookie jar, if ya know what I mean?" Negan's crass analogy earned a soft giggle, a sound met with his own earnest chuckle.

Then you felt him, and your legs threatened to give way then and there. His careful affections, how he kissed reminders of him into your skin and took his time with you and your body, your heart was so full. He started at a slow pace, and it had you realising how much he was just drinking you in. Negan was enamoured with you. He leant in to rest the side of his face against yours, the angle only maneuvering him deeper.

"You're so beautiful." A gravelly hoarse whisper, his stubble scratching the line of your jaw.

It was enough to almost break you, the way he ardently articulated his affinity for you. You parted your lips to express your response when you were interrupted by a bottomless, hard thrust, the warning of an impending change in pace. Unsurprisingly he picked up his rhythm, every thrust matched with heated, honest whines, and sobs that had Negan smiling against your skin. He was groaning too, with low rumbles that sounded like music to your ears. Although he was most certainly fucking you senseless, engaging in filthy, salacious acts for another time, there was an air of passion. His hands were caressing your hips even as he afflicted them, and the occasional sensation of his lips planting kisses into the mess he'd already made of the crook of your neck. The juxtaposition of his actions wholly ruined you, and the satisfied cry that came from the pit of your stomach was more than enough to prove it. Your clenching had him sighing into your ear, delaying his own release just to grant you a few more moments of the continuation of his thrusts, even despite your intense orgasm. When he couldn't compose himself any longer Negan removed himself from you and spilled onto your bare ass, hot wet spurts that you barely took notice of as you attempted to steady your breathing. The tree bark was digging into your palms, and your mind was unfathomably fuzzy. You squeezed your eyes shut as you worked towards your recovery, and Negan rolled back the sleeve of his denim jacket to use the sleeve of the top below to tenderly wipe your skin, cleaning you. When he'd wiped you clean he went and retrieved your discarded clothing, and you instinctively turned to face him, flattening your palms against the ridges behind you whilst you leant against the tree that you were so sure was the only reason that you were still standing. After he'd helped you back to being fully clothed your legs were far more reliable, and you gazed at him as he buttoned your jeans back up for you.

"Negan?"

"Yeah?"

His attention was still momentarily on your jeans before he glanced up to lock eyes with you, strands of hair having fallen from his usual slick making him look that much more handsomely unkempt, not that you looked any better.

"We're screwed, right? What you do to me, and the way you make me feel, that's never going away. Is it?"

His stare softened as your eyes filled with despair, your internal battle still not totally lost on you. The sympathy in his gaze was answer enough, and yet he avoided your question with one of his own.

"I asked you if you trusted me, and you did. With you, again. So, what about a game?"

Whatever idea Negan could possibly have come up with was totally lost on you, your narrowed eyes filling with acute doubt.

"A game?"

"Yeah. The games this, for one day, just today, we don't hate each other's guts. Can't hurt each other, no hurling insults, no looking at me like I just shit in your cereal, nothing. Hell, pretend you never even knew me until Alexandria."

Naturally, your internal initial response was to be outraged. The idea of everything he had ever done to you melting away for the sake of a game, further tarnishing the respect you had for those that Negan had killed, was infuriating. But on the other hand, much to your dismay, you were intrigued. What would that look like? Was there a version of yourself where you didn't have to feel such guilt for letting him touch you, to not be so disgusted with yourself? You exhaled a long sigh, letting some of your frustration disperse through your breath.

Your curiosity had gotten the better of you.

"Fine. But what about in front of the others?"

"That's an exception."

Thank god.

"Fine."

It fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees, and your quiet calm breaths. You found yourself tapping into something you rarely felt, or even acknowledged, a draw to him. It was an aspect of your view on Negan you often denied, his undeniable magnetism, a notion that you quelled time and time again.

"Wanna get going then?"

You nodded, still adjusting to the vulnerability of being completely outside of your comfort zone. The walk the rest of the way was relatively calm, and you hadn't come across any walkers on the way there. The sound of a gunshot ringing out in the distance was enough to force you out of your train of thought, an indicator that Maggie and the others were nearby. You were just about to head in the direction of the ruckus when you felt Negan's fingers interlink with yours, the touch resulting in a momentary pause.

"I got no idea what we're walking into, so just stay close." He disclosed his reason for the abrupt hand-holding, elements of concern tinging his reasoning.

The two of you continued onwards, headed directly towards copious amounts of trouble. The culprit for where the fight had broken out appeared to be a desolate small town filled with various decrepit buildings and structures, piles of rubble scattered across the streets like just about anywhere else in the world. Hand in hand you cautiously crept your way into the battlefield, making your way into a fairly narrow alley that led right out to several other passages. You stuck close to the occasionally jagged brick walls, your back pressed to them as you made your way along, only stopping once you reached a protruding corner that if turned would lead right out into another intersecting alleyway. With great attention, you listened for noise, footsteps, chatter, and anything that would indicate someone was nearby. When you heard nothing you put one foot past the wall ready to cross to the other side, but Negan snatched you back. Your back slammed against his chest, and you were just about to tell him exactly how much you'd like to break his fingers for putting his hands on you when you realised two things. The first thing was this ridiculous game that you were determined not to chicken out and lose, and the second? The now more audible sound of a group of commonwealth troopers approaching, their weighted footsteps grinding with the concrete beneath their feet. Negan just saved both of your asses. His arm was wrapped across your front, pulling you against him with his hand gripping the space between your waist and the side of your chest. It was only when the troopers began to pass you that you realised the worst was yet to come, that you could be spotted right here. There was a point of the wall that would allow you the slightest of cover, and you buried yourselves in it. Your breath picked up, becoming a slow frantic pant, and you pressed your lips together to constrain the sounds of your irregular breath. Eventually, the soldiers passed, and both you and Negan exhaled a deep sigh of relief. His hold loosened on you, and you turned to face him.

"Thanks." You muttered, hoping that the gratitude your eyes gleamed with was convincing enough.

"No problem, now c'mon."

Negan stepped out just past the wall and you followed alongside him. Simultaneously, the sight in the periphery of your vision startled both of you, drawing your weapons in your fright. Synchronously, everybody lowered them once we came to realise who one another was, we'd bumped into Aaron and Gabriel.

"What are you guys doing here?" Aaron whispered, whilst Gabriel kept a lookout for any other not-so-pleasant surprises.

"We wanted to help." You replied, ignoring the unconvinced scowl that that earned when Aaron's eyes flickered over to glare at Negan.

"We haven't got time for this, we need to move." Gabriel suggested, and we were all happy to heed that rather wise warning.

You moved as a group, navigating your way through the street until eventually stumbling across an overgrown and dormant building. With weapons readied you made your way inside, mindful of any walkers or people that may be in there. When you saw nothing you continued, flinching a little when both Gabriel and Aaron turned the corner to make their way into a room up ahead and were momentarily alarmed by whatever or whoever was inside. Negan and you were a little further behind, and by time you caught up, they were talking. It was Daryl's voice, which meant-

"Maggie?" You busted into the room, almost tripping over your own feet in your disbelief.

She came into view, injured, but alive. That was all that mattered. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of you, and you scurried towards her, latching onto one another with the biggest embrace you'd ever felt. She was the first to pull back, her hands now rested on either side of your forearms. Maggie glanced over your shoulder, some of the light in her eyes fading when she realised you'd brought Negan, and that Hershel wasn't with you.

"Where's Hershel?" She pressed you, her voice moderately raised with motherly concern.

"He's with those people, Maggie. He's in good hands." The fact that he was still sheltered and hidden appeared to soothe her, and some of the tension in her shoulders dissipated.

"We're here to take out shithead and the dickless brigade." Negan added, as charming and sophisticated a mouth as ever.

Whilst everybody hatched a plan you stood at her side, holding each other's nearest hand. Though you could feel Negan's eyes on you, burning holes into the side of your head, you did not meet his gaze. Being with Maggie allowed you to be so overcome with that same guilt again, familiar wounds reopening that you thought had long healed.

"Wait, wait, hold up. Hold up. We can do all of this. They've never seen your face before." Daryl elaborated upon his plan by pointing right at Negan, and the surprised look on his face was priceless.

"Right, are you saying I just walk right on in there?" Judging by the slight narrow of his eyes Negan was trying to gauge whether this was a setup or not, a sacrificial lamb kind of situation.

It wasn't.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Daryl had a point, but there was something he failed to mention too.

"I'm going too then." Your abrupt vocal participation had everybody's heads turned to look at you, and Maggie's hand slightly tugged yours.

Somehow you had gone this long without ever coming directly face to face with Lance or the commonwealth, enough for Pamela not to possess enough knowledge of you. Whenever they'd make a surprise visit you'd either leave for supplies or steer clear, and you'd made it this far.

"No." Maggie muttered curtly from beside you, causing you to turn and face her.

Maggie was rattled by the idea of you being alone with him, again. You just got each other back, and you were splitting again. The worst part? Putting your neck on the line for not just them, but Negan. Going with him meant helping him, she knew that.

"Maggie, it's not your call to make." It was a little blunt, but her dark eyes flickered with understanding, as much as she'd rather put up a fight over the decision of you going.

You gradually part your hand from hers as you started to walk, your hand sliding down hers with the adjoined hesitance to let one another go, before your own fingertips finally parted from hers. Your eyes locked with Negan's for the first time since you'd clambered in here, and his vague expression left you conflicted. He was trying to disguise his joy from getting to spend such intimate time with you again, and from your eager offer to help him. His jaw jaws clenched as he fought the urge to smile, but the light in his eyes was not so easily dampened. After crossing the room you made your way to his side, your eyes wavering over to meet Daryl's.

"Alright. So what's the plan?" Negan asked, and you glanced at each other briefly.

No turning back now.

#lord have mercy #ahhhhh #negan smith #negan smut

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

Text

Dark but Just a Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: your dad’s associate and friend, joel miller, finally tires of your constant teasing

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long-ish hair; alcohol consumption & drunkenness; pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby); dubcon (intoxication, power imbalance); age gap.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka that’s bestfren

word count: 3.7k

no use of y/n in this fic.

ahhhh this is my first time writing for joel so any and all feedback is super appreciated. i was slightly inspired by the amazing dbf!joel drabbles that @anchoeritic writes (seriously, if you enjoy this fic, go read them). as always, my requests are open !!

—

THEN,

It started out so innocently.

Your dad often helped Tess and Joel smuggle contraband in and out of the QZ, sometimes by keeping the right people quiet, other times by offering the pair a place to lay low at. You got accustomed to the sight of them passed out on the floor, the glow of the sunrise illuminating only their sleeping faces, or else a murmuring trio of hushed voices in the middle of the night.

Soon, however, you began to notice the way Joel’s eyes seemed to trail on you, often catching his hardened gaze in yours. Still, he rarely spoke to you and when he did, he mostly just grunted a “hullo” or asked if your father was around.

But you suspected that he noticed you.

Especially when your old clothes got too tight, hugging your skin and leaving little to the imagination. You observed his breath hitching the very first time he saw you in a skirt.

So, naturally, you played into it. You started sneaking downstairs in the morning wearing only a t-shirt and your underwear, feigning innocence at the way (you imagined) he tried, hard, not to look at your ass as you sauntered back up to your room.

Sometimes, you bumped into him on the streets of the QZ. You’d loop your arm around his broad bicep, wide-eyed, gazing up at him through your eyelashes and asking why he hadn’t dropped by to say hello recently. Causing him to tense beneath your hands always felt electrifying; the restraint in his grumbled “soon” always felt like a victory.

When it was dark out and he, Tess, and your dad shared a drink together on the dusty-old-living-room-couch, you made sure to lock eyes with him, taking in the danger lurking in them. He’d look away, leaning back casually and adjusting his jeans.

But—it was always innocent.

It was a game you played with yourself; one you weren’t even sure he was in on. Life in the QZ got dull, and there were only so many good-looking men your age that your dad’s work allowed you to see.

Sometimes, when business was good, your old man got his hands on an extra shipment of liquor, inviting all of his favourite bandits in the Zone and throwing a “party” in one of the run-down, less monitored buildings. You did yourself up as best as you knew how to, shared a flask with your friends and flirted with young smugglers.

It was seedy, but it was fun.

Joel was always there, usually asking around for parts or looking to cut deals. Usually, he drank and stayed out of your way.

Once, however, after being extremely irresponsible with your consumption, you found yourself alone with Andy, a young FEDRA guard (working for your side, of course), slurring your words and stumbling on your feet. He was good-looking in a boyish way and handsy to high heavens. You vaguely remembered his insistence on taking you back to his place and the feel of his wet lips against yours. You clearly remembered hearing a gruff, “Get off,”—Joel’s baritone echo taking you both by surprise. Andy’s head swung to find Miller’s looming form in the doorway; he immediately tore his hands from your body and scampered off. You were alone with Joel, his expression a mask of rage and contempt tinged with—could it have been—jealousy?

After that, it was all bits and pieces of blurred images and sounds. Big hands pulled you into strong arms; your feet were lifted from the ground. You retained flashes of drunken faces smiling and jeering at you as you were carried away from the festivities—then it was dilapidated hallways, the jangling of keys fumbling with a lock, and finally, the ceiling above your bed as Joel gently set you down. Even now, you could clearly picture the way his eyes traveled along your exposed skin as he stood, arms crossed, at the edge of the bed.

Sitting up, fixing your drunken, playful eyes to look deeply into his, you slurred, “Got a bit jealous?”

He said nothing. He only held your gaze and crossed his arms, the muscles beneath flexing and relaxing in rhythm with the motion.

“C’mon Joel,” you teased him, “so serious, all the time. I was fine.”

Now that had an effect.

He growled, “one more minute with that asshole…” and shook his head, his words trailing off as he fought the urge to take your bait. “Just go to sleep. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He turned, heading towards the door. Perhaps the excess liquor made you reckless or Andy’s kisses left you wanting—either way, you needed to push the limits with Joel. You needed him to stay, to turn around and play your game.

“I could thank you now, if you want.”

He stopped in his tracks, his head slowly turning to the side. Your blood burned in your veins, both from the alcohol and from the tension pulsing between you and him in that darkened room. He paused for a moment and it felt like a lifetime—laid on the bed, watching his shoulders move with every breath he took. He flexed a hand, something he often did when he was around you.

Finally, he spoke.

“Go to sleep.”

And with that, he shut off the light and left the room, closing the door behind him.

So, you decided it was probably all in your head. Maybe the looks and the tension and the teasing were just part of a one-sided game you played with yourself. Still, you couldn’t help thinking about the strain in his voice when he ordered you to bed or the anger that went beyond disdain and contempt at the sight of Andy’s hands exploring your body. You regularly reminisced about the events of that night, most often without meaning to. Most often alone, between the hours of one and three AM, sneaking a guilty hand down between your thighs.

That was the last time Joel had interacted with you.

At least before tonight.

—

NOW,

Joel stands between Tess and a seedy looking short guy you’ve never seen before, clearly not paying attention to whatever the two of them are hashing out. Tensions are low, which makes Joel look comically out of place. He lifts a silver flask to his lips.

The chatter of people talking and laughing fills the narrow, dusty space—from somewhere down the hall, you hear your father’s booming laugh. You’re finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on whatever your peers are gushing on about. The warmth in your stomach and the buzz under your skin from whatever liquor finds its way into your cup brings you back to the last time you’d seen Joel at one of these get-togethers.

“Can’t believe Miller comes to these things,” one such peer—a bandit in training, your good friend Emma—remarks. “Weird seeing him… well, not relaxed but… not stressed.”

You laugh. “I know, right. When he’s passed out, I don’t even recognize him. Looks completely different without his signature scowl.”

She turns away from him, focusing her attention instead on you. “Right,” she says, “I forgot him and your dad…” She trails off, her expression changing as her interests do, as well.

Emma suddenly smirks at you. “Does he sleep naked?” she asks, mischievous. This piques the interest of the others paying attention to your conversation, who subsequently tune in to hear your answer.

You smile, shaking your head. “No,” you respond, keeping your voice low. “Fully clothed—with his gun in hand.”

Emma’s eyes settle back on Joel as her smile fades. The other delinquents go back to their respective conversations. “Such a shame,” she says, wistfully. “I’d bet a month’s rations that his dick is huge.”

You giggle at that and she passes you the flask. You take a big swig, heat blooming across your tongue as the whiskey burns down your throat.

He catches you staring—his eyes darken when he notices the drink in your hand. Smiling innocuously at him, you wave your fingers in an extremely girlish greeting gesture. He raises his thick eyebrows, unimpressed.

A familiar figure interrupts your silent conversation.

“Hey,” Andy says, his voice unsure and subdued.

“Hey.”

He looks rumpled and flushed, as though recent weeks had not been kind to him. Andy’s not-brown-not-blonde hair hangs limp around his crown, mirroring the defeated air his stature gives off. Despite the near foot he has on you, he seems ironically small.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Look,” he tries, awkwardly stuffing his fingers in his pockets, “I’m sorry about last time. I was really drunk and I don’t really remember what I said, but I know it wasn’t cool.”

You scoff. “I don’t really think it was so much what you said, Andy,” you respond playfully. After all, you know he meant no harm. Drunk people get horny, and you had both been very drunk. “Don’t worry about it. No hard feelings,” you add.

That’s when, from over Andy’s shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Joel’s expression. Pure disapproval. Cold, ruthless contempt burns in his eyes.

“At least not from me.”

Andy turns around slowly, following your eye-line. By the time he clues in to who you’re referring to, Joel’s already looked away, turning his attention to the still-ongoing conversation between Tess and the stranger.

“Right,” Andy says, wincing. “He’s been giving me a hard time on the streets.”

“Don’t sweat over Miller,” Emma interjects casually. “He gives everyone a hard time.”

Once again, you find yourself distracted from the conversation, focussing on a different man in the room. Why should he get to decide when you get to be wild? What business does he have protecting you from other guys? After all, Joel Miller is not your father.

It frustrates you that he keeps pretending not to notice your stare. It frustrates you that he keeps his head ducked, feigning interest in the deal being made beside him. Taking in his size, the salt-and-pepper of his hair, and the fierce angle of his jaw, you steal another swig from the flask, wiping the excess off your lips.

It emboldens you.

Leaning up on your tippy-toes, you muster up your most sensual tone, whispering softly in Andy’s ear: “Let me make it up to you.”

You pull back to catch his look of disbelief, his pouty pink lips parting slightly as he struggles to locate his words. Grabbing his hand in yours, you nod your head to the right, wordlessly encouraging him to take you down the hall. He obeys without a sound.

You quickly shove the flask back into Emma’s hand.

“Save some for after,” you plead, and she shakes her head, tossing you an exaggerated eye-roll.

You lock eyes with Joel momentarily before you’re pulled down the hall, satisfaction leaking from your gaze—you’re not quite sure why. You break away, ignoring the non-verbal warning in his stare.

Who cares what he thinks, anyways?

You wind up in a run-down, dim-lit room, empty save for an old desk. Andy pins you against the wall as soon as the door creaks to a close behind you, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, tipsy kiss. His hands travel south to grab your ass and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck. Things heat up—his clumsy fingers brush the fabric over your breasts and you dig your hip into the bulge beneath his denim.

It’s not that you want Andy. Frankly? It could be anyone. None of the boys you hang out with really interest you beyond being potential partners for youthful experimentation—which is exactly what Andy is to you. In all likelihood, that’s not what you are to him.

Oh well. Those are morning thoughts.

Andy’s hands snake under your shirt, the pads of his fingertips creeping up to your breasts.

The door slams open.

Andy basically leaps off of you, a horrified expression settling on his features as he registers the identity of the intruder—as history repeats itself.

“Out,” Joel orders through gritted teeth, holding the door open for the boy to walk through. Andy practically sprints free—without risking a goodbye, without uttering a “sir, yes sir.”

You sigh once you and Joel are alone, adjusting your clothing and casually leaning back against the wall.

“Okay, Joel,” you say, exasperation coating your words. “What’s this all about.”

Wordlessly, he closes the door and locks the handle. His movements are slow, precise, and calculated—butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He approaches you, leaning one hand against the wall behind your head and using a pair of thick, callused fingers to tilt your head up. He smells like sandalwood and hard liquor; he smells like a man. Electricity crackles throughout your entire being.

The touch of his hand on your face drains every last drop of your boldness.

“I think,” he grumbles out, his voice low, gravelly, dangerous, “You know exactly what this is about.”

You swallow, focussing all your energy on holding his severe gaze. Between your thighs, your nerves begin to pulse, responding to his proximity with enthusiasm.

“No, I really don’t,” you respond, mustering up some confidence from god-knows-where to render your tone convincing.

He scowls. “S’lil’ game you’re playin’,” he mutters softly, coolly. “Comin’ downstairs half-naked, clingin’ onto me in public when you know I can’t do anything…”

He shakes his head, his grip on your jaw tensing slightly.

This time, when he speaks, his tone is hoarse. “What are you tryin’ to get out of it?”

A smile creeps onto your face at the anguish in his voice.

So you hadn’t imagined it. Joel had been in on it from the start.

You look up at him with big, sultry eyes, taunting him. There’s no point in avoiding the truth anymore—you want joel. And you’ve never really been the type to not go for what you want.

In this moment, you’re willing to risk anything to have Joel do something, anything to you.

Wicked innocence drips off your every word as you purr, “Whatever you’ve been dying to give me, Joel.”

You watch your answer take effect. A vein in his jaw twitches—lust floods his eyes.

In a flash, you’re facing the wall with both hands pinned above your head by one much larger, much stronger hand. Joel’s weight presses against you, pinning you in place.

“That right, angel?” Joel challenges under his breath as his other hand explores your chest, grabbing roughly at your breasts. “Want me to show you what I’ve had in mind?”

His hand travels towards your underwear, sliding down your front in a tantalizing motion; you moan before his fingers even brush your most sensitive spot.

“I do, Joel,” you moan, desperate for his touch. The feel of his chest against your spine is intoxicating, your mind goes blank at the sensation of his cock pressed against your ass.

Joel’s index and middle fingers find your clit, rubbing torturous circles around the throbbing bud. His thumb presses into your skin, anchoring his hand in place.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he groans. “Wonder what your dad’d say if he knew his lil’ girl was soakin’ wet for this cock.”

He slips a finger inside you, curling it up, making your mouth gape open in a silent ah and your eyebrows crease together. “You think of me when you’re touchin’ this pretty pussy?” Gasping and struggling against his hold, you nod enthusiastically, overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you.

“Please,” you whisper, wanting more, more, more.

“Manners,” he growls, tightening his grasp on your wrists. “Please, Joel,” he corrects, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, his palm flattened and working against your swollen clit.

“Please-please, Joel,” you gasp out, throwing your head back against the crook of his shoulder. He leans forward, laying a soft kiss in the delicate nook of your neck. Then, he’s releasing you, pulling his fingers out and taking a step back.

He gestures to the desk.

“Facedown, sweetheart.”

You obey, stumbling over to it and laying your chest against the cold wood. It stings and you shiver.

Joel fumbles with his belt and then he’s behind you, unzipping his fly and pulling his length out. With your cheek laid against the desk, you get a perfect view of him towering over you, a dark God, holding his cock in his hand.

Emma had been right.

“You gotta be quiet,” he warns, before flipping up your skirt. He groans at the sight of your ass, roughly grabbing one cheek and squeezing it—hard.

“I will be,” you whine, desperate to take him in.

He chuckles, pulling down your dripping panties, letting them fall to your ankles. His tip runs between your folds, teasing your clit in tormenting strokes. You whine and moan, “Joel-s’good,” responding to every brush of his tip.

“You’re needy,” he says, gruffly.

He pushes his cock deep into your cunt, settling every inch of himself inside you.

“I like needy.”

You gasp at the sting and the pleasure and the fullness, unable to control yourself. Joel is huge—your walls wrap tightly around him as he pulls out near-completely before snapping his hips against your ass, filling you up to the brim again. You cry out as he holds your arms in place, setting a rhythm, grabbing you just as roughly as he fucks you.

“Joel,” you moan loudly before a large hand slaps over your lips.

“Shut up,” he growls.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you give yourself to him entirely, cravenly grinding against his hips.

“Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on my cock,” he taunts. “Takin’ it so good, pretty girl.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes through the room, dirty and filthy and hot.

Joel’s fingers muffle your moans of abandonment, every “fuck,” “yes,” and “thank you,” coming out simply as “mmm.”

“This what you fuckin’ wanted?” he asks gruffly, leaning a hand next to your head and bending forward to loom over you. “Gettin’ fucked by a man twice your age?”

The angle allows him to push even more of his length inside you, causing you to squirm pathetically against his hips. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he adds, “That right, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, your eyes growing heavy, filling with abandon.

He looses a hollow laugh. “Needy lil’ thing,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in your hair. “With a needy lil’ pussy.”

Freeing your mouth, he throws his head back, straightening out and bringing both hands to your circle your waist. Now, he fucks you fast and brutally, his breath coming heavy and hard. With every stroke, Joel’s tip grazes your inner most sensitive spot, causing sheer ecstasy to radiate throughout your core.

“Come inside me, Joel,” you beg. “Come in me—please.”

Joel groans sinfully. “Can’t do that, sweetheart.”

Fluttering waves ripple from your cunt down your legs, threatening to take you over the edge.

“Joel,” you half-sob, “I’m gonna-”

He slows down, thrusting into you in great, harsh strokes, well-versed in the art of bringing a woman to climax. You cry out as your orgasm tears through you, unable to form words or thoughts or anything beyond “Joel,” “Ohmygod,” and “yes-yes-yes.”

“S’it baby,” he coaxes. “Come aaalll over my cock.”

Your walls clench around him, your pussy just as desperate as you are to keep him tucked inside you.

He exhales shakily, grabbing fistfuls of your ass in his hands.

“Fuck it,” he groans, thrusting faster inside you. “M’gonna fill you up.” Your eyes are still rolled to the back of your head, your hands desperately searching for something to grasp onto. His cock swells inside you, tensing up between your walls as his seed spills out between them—he comes with an “oh fuck” and a final, brutal stroke.

You lie still for a moment, listening to the sound of your ragged breathing harmonizing with Joel’s. He runs a massive hand along your arm, his touch suddenly delicate, revering.

“You’d better fuckin’ pray I can find the pill for you tomorrow,” he says finally, his husky voice both amazed and amused.

Lifting your chest off the table, you slowly flip around, perching on the edge to face him as he reorganizes his clothes, pulling his boxers up and tugging at his fly. He looks so handsome between your knees, with his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt all rumpled.

“Get extra,” you coo, your breath still uneven, your thoughts still bungled. You run a slight hand devotedly down his plaid shirt, marvelling at the pleasure the proximity brings you.

He laughs low, shaking his head. “S’was a one-time deal, angel,” he says with a smile. He finishes doing up his belt and leans both his hands on the table, his nose just centimeters away from your own. “Can’t be caught fuckin’ my associates’ daughters—bad for business,” he adds, pulling your underwear back up your thighs. You adjust yourself and pout at him, playfully.

“You didn’t like it?” you ask, pretend-innocence soaking your tone.

He smiles softly. “I liked it too much,” he responds. “S’why it can’t happen again.”

You raise your eyebrows defiantly. “Well, I’m not gonna make it easy on you, Miller.”

He slowly straightens up, offering you a hand as you scoot off the desk. Your legs feel shaky, but his hold anchors you in place.

“M’countin’ on that.”

With that said, he gestures for you to leave the room, following closely behind you. He opens the door and you peer into the hallway, making note of its emptiness before stepping out. Joel exits soon after, taking off in the opposite direction. You catch him looking back at you, a dazed, hungry look still lingering on his expression.

It makes you smile.

Later that night, you find Emma and Joel finds Tess. You’re back to your side of the divide and he’s back to his.

It’s as though nothing ever happened.

“Hey, check it out,” Emma remarks. “Miller actually looks, like, chilled-out,” she slurs loudly.

You smile knowingly, nodding in agreement.

“‘Guess he found a way to blow off steam.”

She gives you a quick, faded nod before becoming absorbed in something else. It doesn’t bother you. You’re also absorbed in something else: lost in thought, consumed by the lingering echoes and traces of Joel’s skin on yours.

When you catch his eye from across the room, you can tell that his thoughts are haunted by the very same thing.

This was no longer an innocent game.

It was a dirty secret.

#send help #im dying #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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I'M SO OVERWHELMED RN LMAOOO I have like 20 fics that are 75% done but my ADHD is praying on my downfall rn so I just keep starting new ones IM SO SORRY...new fics on their way ASAP I promise you 😭😭 (fyi I am prioritising ALL of your requests, I've not forgotten xoxox)

#feeling like charlie kelly rn #this is what my tumblr drafts are looking like

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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Mother

Olivia Cooke at the EE BAFTA Film Awards (2023)

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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I'M WEAK IN THE KNEES

sweet, sweet sugar

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: meeting a man in a bar and trying to determine what about him is so damn alluring. it doesn't really matter though, it ends well for the both of you.

warnings: smut, explicit sex, explicit language, age gap (reader is mid 20s, Joel is 36) riding, truck sex, nasty talk, MDNI, 18+

a/n: i love him, your honor. i will protect this tired dilf with my life. might expand on this, if so it'll be fluffy/smutty (no angst because the show is already enough pain for me)

---

It was his voice, you think. You had just relocated to Texas and were new enough to be drawn in by that deep Southern accent when he introduced himself.

Hi, uh, I’m Joel. Mind if I buy ya’ a drink?

Maybe it was the age difference. It wouldn’t be a first for you and the few strands of gray in his hair did make you a little weak in the knees.

It could’ve been his arms. Bumping against the hard muscles of his bicep as the bar stools you two were sitting on inevitably wobbled while you talked. Placing a light touch on his forearm when the liquid courage of your second drink kicked in, before your fingers made their way to his indecently thick ones to intertwine. Just the rough touch of his hands was enough to make you shiver.

His eyes were definitely a factor. Puppy brown orbs that sparkled brighter than starlight when he laughed, even under the dim lights of the bar. How they grew dark, almost black, when you leaned in close enough for him to catch a whiff of your perfume, the faintest hint of sweet vanilla lingering in the space between you two.

Or maybe it was just him. All of him. The way he hummed along to the country western songs playing through the bar’s speakers. The way he spoke to you with affection in his voice despite his gruff exterior. The way he talked about his Sarah: the pride while mentioning an A plus social studies paper followed by the anxiety while asking if he was talking about her too often.

As if loving his daughter too much could scare you away.

His scruffy beard and charm, his bad humor, his dad humor, his smile.

And the way he called you sugar, like that’s what you were to him. Nothing but sweetness and all too appetizing. Like he’d drink you up with his coffee every morning if you let him.

Your wandering hand made its way down to his thigh, resting just above his knee. He paused mid sentence and for a moment you worried you were being too forward. Your eyes meet his in a heated stare.

“You tryna’ misbehave there, sugar?”

You were and it landed you in Joel’s backseat, laid down with his body pinning yours. He’s kissing you. He’s still kissing you, hasn’t stopped since he pressed you up against his truck in the dark and nearly empty parking lot. He’s on your lips, until you have to pull away for air when he moves down the expanse of your neck, nipping and sucking along the way.

Your legs part for him, wrapping around his hips to dig your heels into the backs of his firm thighs. His hands find their way under your shirt, calloused fingertips forming gooseflesh across your skin before pulling the material up and over your head. He palms your heaving breasts, letting out a low groan at the feel of your soft flesh in his hands, before working his hands around to the clasp. Any restraint he might have had was tossed into the front seat with your bra.

Now he’s desperate, he’s hungry.

His mouth is on you, all over. His tongue licking at the marks he left on your neck and chest, his teeth making more down your torso. Lips wrap around your nipple and you arch into his suckling, letting him consume even more of you. Every one of his filthy, reverent kisses is more fuel for the fire growing in you. You tug on his dark locks when he reaches the top of your skirt, running his tongue along the line where fabric meets skin.

“J-Joel, please,” you beg, surprising yourself at how wrecked you sound already.

“I wanna taste ya’, sweet thing,” he teases, looking up at you with mischief in his eyes.

Moving his head down between your legs, Joel places sloppy kisses up the inside of your thighs. You watch him with heavy eyes, shuddering as the coarse hair of his beard grazes your sensitive skin. He brings his face to the crotch of your panties, nose nudging your clit, before taking a deep inhale. He licks at you through the soft lace before pulling it off entirely.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he rasps, the heat of his breath against your cunt enough to make your hips buck. Unbothered by your writhing, Joel wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you open for him before licking a stripe through your slick folds.

He groans at the taste of you. “Such a sweet pussy, so goddamn wet for me too.”

He dives in, circling your clit with his tongue before plunging inside you. Your thighs try to shut at the sensations, but his hands tighten their grip to hold you in place. You’re melting into his mouth and onto the seats, the fogged up windows an indicator of just how hot everything is right now.

Then his thick fingers are inside you, thrusting deep and hitting that spot you always have trouble reaching dead on. His mouth wraps around your clit, sucking on it like hard candy.

“Gon’ get a cavity from all this sugar,” he mumbles into your pussy, and the rumble of his laugh vibrates through you.

He thinks he’s so goddamn funny…

“Oh fuck,” you cry out.

It hits you like a rocket. He curls his fingers just right and you’re seeing stars, being pulled up and away into the atmosphere. He doesn’t stop drinking you in until you’ve floated back down to Earth.

Insatiable.

Your eyes are closed, but you feel his soft lips kissing your neck. He nibbles at your earlobe before whispering, “Did so good for me, such a good girl.”

Good girl. Good girl. Good girl.

It’s like a trigger. All the satisfaction from your climax faded and was replaced by a deep need to be full of him, to take him in and again until you fell into the night sky together.

“Fuck me p-please, please Joel, I need it,” you whine, hands clinging to his broad shoulders.

“Oh sugar,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

Joel uses one hand to pull you into his lap and straddle his thighs, while the other unbuckles his belt. You scramble to undo his zipper, tug his pants and boxers down, and unveil his—

Oh fuck.

Whatever it was before, it’s definitely his huge dick now. You let out a whine when your fingers wrap around the base without being able to fully encircle it. He rolls a condom down over himself before gripping your hips and guiding you to hover over the flushed red tip. Your forehead is pressed against his as you sink down, gasping at the stretch.

“Good girl, that’s it. It’s big, ain’t it?”

You huff against his cheek, “S’ big.”

“You can take it. Gonna take all of my cock, sugar.”

You do. Your toes curl and you feel like he’s splitting you open, but you take all of him. He rubs circles on your clit, making you gush around him and relax enough to move. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you start rocking your hips and slowly finding a rhythm. Every thrust is electric and the sweet sounds of how wet you are fill the car.

You’re clamped around him, raising and falling harder, faster. Whimpers spilling out of your lips as Joel thrusts into you, meeting your hips with his. You were close, your climax was racing towards you when his thumb found your clit again. Just a few touches to the bundle of nerves and you were toppling over the edge, head thrown back then falling limp into his neck. You shake in his arms as he continues to fuck you in his lap, quickly reaching his own release.

“Fuckin’ goddamnit, sugar,” he pants into your ear as he finishes.

He keeps you like that, strong arms holding your body close against his as you both catch your breath. You have no objections, nuzzling further into him and gently carding your fingers through his hair. It’s been a few minutes before he breaks the silence.

“Sugar?”

You hum and smile into his skin as a response.

“Could I get your number and, uh, maybe we do this again? Dinner too?”

He had the audacity to sound bashful while his cock was still inside you. You look up to see a pink tint to his cheeks, and you have to answer with a kiss. Slow and sweet.

---

💕💕💕 Thank you for reading 💕💕💕

#joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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God I'm obsessed with this...so beautifully written 💞💞💞

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much.

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction.

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time.

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.”

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway.

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness.

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit.

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care.

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time.

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way.

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to.

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with.

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast.

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder.

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him.

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened.

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen.

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin.

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder.

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen.

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs.

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes.

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t.

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower.

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering.

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks.

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it.

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous.

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet.

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected.

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time.

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally.

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?”

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement.

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him.

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.”

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts.

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him.

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse.

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces.

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating.

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet.

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that.

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing.

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms.

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it.

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again.

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it.

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?”

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.”

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now.

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger.

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now.

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth.

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed.

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree.

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….”

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top.

“That’s it, nice and slow.”

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread.

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again.

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him.

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens.

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows.

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart.

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again.

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange.

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think.

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass.

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks.

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession.

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips.

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you.

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there.

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected.

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel.

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger.

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little – just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose.

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture.

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously.

“Yes, please, please,”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often.

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.”

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made.

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life.

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper.

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”

“No.”

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t.

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had.

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more.

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this.

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you.

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it.

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap.

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though.

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic.

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response.

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted.

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek.

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him.

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side.

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him.

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?”

“You do.”

“So…. I’ll teach you.”

“....Okay.”

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do.

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart.

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

Text

LORD HAVE MERCY🛐🛐🛐

from eden

Joel Miller x f!Reader [3.3k] Summary: The nightmares left when you started sharing Joel's bed, but that never meant they were gone. When you have your first episode in his presence, Joel's right there. He's there, all around you, inside you, comforting you. It's so different than all the other desperate times you two became one that you wonder how much of it is meant to soothe you, and how much was a need of his.

— A/n 📝This was written because I had a nightmare and no Joel to comfort me, so I'm being self-indulgent to the max. You're welcome. Reblogs and comments make all the difference. — Warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ age gap, established relationship, morning sex, comfort sex, nightmares, soft!Joel, making out, dirty talking, fingering, missionary sex, prone bone, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex y'all).

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

Before you, his sleep was non-existent. Restless, a black out, a body function that hit him when Joel reached his limit. It was achieved through scotch, overworking himself, and sometimes, when the date offered no other alternative, pills.

Now, Joel sleeps — okay. He rests.

Drool on his pillow, body waking up with the feeling of new, sometimes even going as far as dreaming. It's insanity, and although he's only had it for months, Joel's terrified of how addicted to it he is.

No matter how great the sleep is, it's still light. Always will be — there's no deep sleep at the end of the world, and when you stir in his arms, Joel wakes up in a second, only to notice this is nothing like the other times; he regains consciousness and is taken by your panic like a cold shower, and in a second, he's alert.

"Baby — hey, hey," he whispers your name, calling you back to him. "Wake up." He repeats your name louder, and you awake in a pained gasp, which echoes in him. "Hey — baby. C'mere."

At first, the shock stops you from abiding by his words.

All you can feel is the hot peng in your chest still echoing from the images passing like a movie before your eyes, the hot ache enveloping all your middle from the sense of alert danger alert, but Joel is patient as you breathe through those seconds. His palms rub both your arms, and he keeps his distance, his breath steady, his eyes set on you firm despite their hazy sleepiness. Once, Joel could barely sleep heavily enough to get rest, and now, he woke with sleep still clouding the edges of his visions.

Because of you. Because of — "Baby," he whispers again. This time, his voice lands somewhere conscious and your gaze meets his. "There you are." His digits apply gentle pressure on your arms to see if your body has relaxed enough to be guided by him and sure enough, you feel the slight pull as a port and sink your anchor into him.

Your upper body sags on his, falling on his touch.

You wished for radio silence. For something to come and take away the pain, the lingering feeling of those worries your subconscious manifested as horrible pictures to dissipate.

And it comes. In the shape of Joel's hand gripping your nape and his other hand wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer, comfort arrives.

"Shhhhh." Only when he shushes you the sound of your whimpering register — you're crying. Wetting his sleeping shirt. Still shaking. "I've got you."

He repeats those three precious words more times until you've calmed down. However long that takes. All you know is that one moment you can barely think beyond what you saw in those dreams and next, you're wiping your cheeks on your forearms and looking at Joel through your wet lashes.

He feels your eyes on him, turns around and flicks the lamp by the bed on.

Faint yellow light illuminates his features amidst all the darkness, and you breathe.

"You're alright," it slips out. You almost cry again, biting at your bottom lip since you're unable to bite your own words back, or swallow them now that they're out in the open.

Joel's brows crease in confusion for only a moment, and then it hits him. It was about him. "I'm alright." The claim erases every ounce of weight left in your chest. "C'mere," he pulls you closer, and you take the invite.

Stradling his lap is your favorite thing, even if you're still shy to do it; the level of desire and attraction you have for Joel is embarrassing, the effect he has on you and how desperate you are for every crumb of his touch and affection should make you ashamed. All it does is make you blush, or occasionally stutter.

Joel takes it all with a good heart. He adjusts your body in his lap, resting his face on your shoulder, and then breathes in deeply.

Breathes out.

After blissful moments like this, he asks. "Feeling better?"

With you, always. "Yeah." You want to look at him, but his neck is where Joel smells the most like himself, and it makes you a bit drunk. Sleep is long gone from your body — that's what a few touches from him can do. "You always know how to help."

Joel chuckles and the huff of breath tickles your neck. "All I did was shush and hold you."

"I know. That's perfect."

Joel would ask if you want to talk about the nightmares, but no one does. He starts petting your hair. "Think you can get back to sleep?"

You shake your head.

His head tilts. What do you want, then? "Still thinking about it?"

His question makes you double-check, and — no. You shake your head. "Just..." Instead of answering, you show him.

A roll of your hips, and the surprised groan it pulls out of him makes the hint of a smile show on your face.

He put you on his lap. That's all you needed to go from asleep to wide awake. Or at least, I want you awake.

"Fuck—," Joel's fingers dig deeper and hard into your waist. "'s what so?"

You nod. "Can we?"

"Can we what?" Joel asks, because while few people know it, he's a little shit.

"You know what," you whine. "Wanna feel you. Please?"

The way you whine brings out something borderline animalistic in Joel.

It took him by surprise every single time — it was a hook you had, an energetic and magnetic pull that turned Joel towards you almost on instinct.

Joel goes from being half-asleep to reeling about all the ways he wants to taste you. It should be over by now, the stupid flutter in his stomach whenever you kiss him like this, devour his oxygen in a starved and greedy way, but they only amplify somehow.

All he does is kiss you for a while.

Joel sighs into your mouth and licks around your soft whimpers. He feels overwhelmed — with only a few rolls of your hips and the desperate tightening of your legs on both of his sides and he's hard as a rock. Straining against his briefs, wetting a spot on it because you're rocking against him and all but melting against his hand on your hair.

When he pulls back for air, Joel has to just look.

He grabs a fistful of your hair by the nape and pulls your head back as gently as he can — you mewl. Whine coming out scratchy, on the back of your throat, and he sort of smiles.

It's on his face. He can feel the tugging on his lips at the sight in front of him. There's the faintest notion of light coming through the windows, the early signs of night dissipating, and they illuminate you just right. Soft, royal blue lights illuminate the contour of your cheekbones, and Joel needs to see more.

Wants to. He lets go of your hair and tugs on your shirt—no, on his shirt, taking it off with your help.

Usually, Joel's talkative from the start. He discovered you have a thing for his voice early on and lost the ability to shut the fuck up ever since. Your words, not his.

Usually, it's not this, though—not this slow, or this reverent.

One of Joel's hands keeps running through your body, smoothing out all the exposed skin, and he can tell by your body that the touch is relaxing.

Then, you break the silence by leaning your upper body, closing the space between your heads. "Joel," you whisper in his mouth. "Wanna suck you off."

The one thing you love doing to distract yourself—he'd allow it, but something's tugging at him to offer more than just distraction.

Joel wants to offer you comfort.

He closes the gap and kisses your eager and waiting lips, tasting you again before answering, "Not now, baby."

You whine, squeezing your thighs around him. "Why not?"

He remembers something and runs his hands over your ass as he talks, massaging and squishing the flesh. "You told me I could touch you as much as I wanted to, remember?" He gets his fingers under the ban of your panties, squeezing harder. "On our night, you told me I could always do you like I wanted, right baby?" Joel seals his lips on yours again in a harsh kiss as both of you recall the night. The first night. The one you two deemed 'your' night. He pulls back. "Was so filthy that night, baby—"

"Wanted you for so long—" and shit, that gets to him.

Joel spins both of you around and lays your back to the mattress again, rocking his hips with yours. "Dunno what you see in me, baby—" you poked him hard on his side, mean and pointy and hard, and Joel looks up to see you frowning at him. Right—no shit-talking himself in your presence. He chuckles, and grabs your chin, tilting your head up so he licks a stripe down your jugular. "My bad — 'm thinking about how fuckin' lucky I was and started off on the wrong end of it."

"Damn right you did — oh." The gasp you let out loud is matched by his cursing.

Joel pushed your panties to the side, taking advantage of the lack of clothes in way, and all he wanted was to check. Instead, he gets his fingers soaked in all of your wetness. Just from kissing. Just for him. "All for me, baby? Jesus fuckin' Christ." Joel runs two, three fingers between your folds, wetting his digits before he starts thumbing your clit. "I love your mouth on me, y'know that. Always get So messy. Do it just like — I like it. But I just wanna see you feel good right now."

"Joel."

He had no idea where it came from, but his brain paints the picture for him.

Your eyes wide, twitching with fear.

It'd been a while since he saw that. Matter-of-factly, Joel was sure now he'd never seen that expression on you before. He would know — the long days Joel spent cataloging ever line, wrinkle, freckle on your body; he was no stranger to your nature. Joel walked into your deepest and darkest woods, and whatever nightmare woke you up today, it was a new storm brewing.

You're alright, you had said.

Joel sinks his fingers inside you as he sinks his mouth on your neck, seeking comfort in you at the same beat as he's trying to offer it.

You clench around him, and Joel sighs when your nails dig at his back. It's not just his voice you like. Joel stops thinking about all the reasons why you could be afraid and focuses on making you forget there's a world to fear. "Like my fingers, don't ya?" he rasps out, inching his face back so he can share the same breath as you.

"So thick," you babble out, thighs spreading wider for him.

Joel wasted many hours in front of mirrors convincing himself he was past the futilities of caring about appearance, attraction, and things of the such. However, all you needed to do was this:

"Joel, oh god, Joel," like a prayer. Eyes closed, rolling at the back of your head, like a surrender. The way you forced them back open just to look at him, and your mouth gaped open — Joel could feel the lust oozing off of you. "So fuckin' handsome, Joel. You look so good fucking me."

He growls, pulsing his fingers in a curve inside of you, abusing the spot he knows to be carved only to break your mind. Designed to make you see stars.

"So flatterin'," he laughs, sucking on your abused lips. "You make me feel handsome," he confesses, milking the trembling in your body that he recognizes quite well. "That's it — let it all go for me, baby."

Your first orgasm cums in a silent scream, as you let his fingers guide you into white bliss.

Joel moans unabashedly as you ride it out. He kisses your jaw since your lips are too busy hanging open, frozen around the letters of his name.

"Joel—too much, too much," you cry out, and he takes out his fingers from inside. He guides them to your mouth, and you part your lips. So obedient it drives him nuts.

"Lick 'em clean," he orders softly. He watches you do it, and imagines it's his cock inside of his fingers, but he has to prioritize now. He wants you in that way he knows it drives you wild — the way it pulls at your animalistic instincts and gets you screaming into the pillow. "Turn around, baby, c'mon."

It's like you know.

You do. Your eyes widen for a second and you moan for him before readjusting your body under him.

He grabs his own pillow to position underneath your hips when you lay with your belly down, settles his legs outside of yours and does his best not to drop his whole weight on you just yet.

"More, more," you whine for him. You want more of his weight — lord knows why, but you enjoy being smothered by him. Joel gives you just a little more and pulls your hair away from your face so he look at you. "Please don't tease me."

He wanted to. God, Joel really wanted to be strong — and young — enough to tease you until you were crying; sometimes, when he was rested enough, when you riled him up just right, when the adrenaline was high, or when something clicked and the air sizzled with a tension between you two, then he could.

Joel could make you cum two, or three times, before he put it in.

Other times, you were both starving for it.

He positioned himself at your entrance and pushed just the head in, wishing he was less riled up, but finding comfort that you were right there with him.

"Joel," you beg.

He smiles, and slides it all the way in. It's so wet, and so tight, and he's so, so fucked.

He praises your name. Catches his breath on your sweaty shoulder, and sucks on the back of your neck.

When you whine for more, this time, he truly has no words.

All Joel does is enjoy the way you're a mess with him.

He starts at a slow pace, pulling out the way out so he can enjoy the drag of it getting back inside. He does that until his arms are aching with the effort of keeping himself upright, and then he's lowering himself further, enjoying how much louder you get.

"Tell me if it's too much," he pleas in your ear.

"Faster, need it faster," is all you have to say back to him.

Joel abides. He gives it to you just how you want it, and he knows you're about to cum again before you start blabbering about it.

"Oh, god—'m gonna, Joel—right there—"

"Here, hm?" He bucks his hips harder, and is rewarded with your moans getting higher. "Fuckin' love findin' your sport, baby. Clenching — so fuckin' tight around me."

"'m gonna cum —"

"Oh, I know baby — clenchin' so fuckin' hard around me. Do it." He grabs your hair again and tells himself to hold it back. "Cum around my cock. Show me how bad — you love — when I give this pussy — what it deserves."

It's a mess of tangled libs and sweat from then on.

You convulse around Joel, your whole body trembling. With thighs still shaking, Joel pulls out and flips you around so he can see your face. He lines up and cups your face with the other hand, "Can I, baby?"

You nod with tears streaming down your face. "Please," it's only a whisper. "Please use me. Wanna—"you push your hips down, and Joel sinks it all the way in, making both of you moan. "Yes. Need your cum, too — need it so much."

Joel was teetering on the edge when he started fingering you and watched pleasure take over you. The minute that thin layer of sweat started covering your curves, he wanted to paint your back in his release. Wanted to bury himself to the hilt inside of you.

So he does.

Joel brackets your face between his forearms, and looks you in the eyes as he fucks into you. Not for the first time, he looks deep into you — switches his gaze between the place where your bodies connect to your face, and it's in your silent plea of his name that Joel loses himself.

He sees you starting to lose it — his sides are carved and marked, painted in red by your clawing and scratching, and he knows you're overstimulated from orgasms so close to each other, so Joel knows it'll be easy to do what he loves.

Make you cry out of pleasure.

When he feels his balls tightening, Joel starts to take longer thrusts to make his pelvis stimulate your clitoris at the same time as his hips meet yours. He lets out a loud moan at the feeling of your walls constricting, and, "'m gonna cum, baby, fuckin' hell—"

"Do it, do it do it, Joel, please—"

"Fuck, beg more. Beg."

The litany of pleas falling from your mouth is drawn out in white noise when Joel cums harder than in a long time, spilling hot and deep inside of you. Filling you up a lot. Fuck—he cums so much that the aftershocks last for minutes; precious time that he spends caressing your hair and enjoying your legs trembling in spasms of sensitivity.

Joel grunts a lot. To pull out it's the hardest — your whine gets him to shush and coo, "Shhhh, 's okay baby, 's okay." He peppers your face in kisses to replace from the sudden emptiness. "'m here."

"Don't leave."

"Won't," he licks under your jaw and gets out from on top of you. Grabs the closest piece of clothing to clean between your thighs and to get rid of most of the mess, then throws it far away for the two of you to deal with in some hours.

When he pulls you to his chest, Joel feels content.

He can feel your heart beating. The steady, strong pulse soothing into something calm.

With both chests touching, Joel recognizes when your breathings harmonize.

He smiles, wondering if you already fell asleep.

You haven't. "You're such a dream, Joel." The words are whispered against his chest, where your lips are. Over the sternum of his collarbone, touching it feather-light. The words make crawl through his skin and as soon as they make contact with his ribcages, they start growing there. A dream.

He understood the feeling. You were a dream. He hugs you tighter, wishing he burns this tender blue-lit moment in his mind to always come back to when he needs comfort. (When you're not around.)

"You're a dream, too, baby."

For a second, he wonders if you heard it. Then, he feels it.

A smile on his skin.

A dream or not, you two are in the same haze. That's all he needs. Let him sleep for good if it's like this — with you. In your arms.

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 💖

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back. Just saying hehe.

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

Text

MASTERLIST

All fics are written with fem!reader. I don't use Y/N (though there may be very minimal use in some of my older fics).

Fics marked * contain smut and are only suitable for 18+ readers.

Fandoms:

The Walking Dead

Narcos

Arctic Monkeys

The Last Of Us (coming soon!)

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The Walking Dead

Negan Smith

Beg Me * - you pay Negan a visit in his cell.

Sweet Taste For Men Who Are Older * - Negan clocks onto the fact that you have a 'thing' for older men.

Roll Like Thunder* - dad's best friend (AU)

Rick Grimes

The Other Woman * - You console Rick as his marriage falls apart.

Narcos

Javier Peña

The Blackest Day * - goodbye sex with Javi (angst!!!)

Arctic Monkeys

(no longer writing for)

Alex Turner

Baby I'm Yours * - fluffy morning sex.

Does This Feeling Flow Both Ways? * - friends to lovers type vibe.

No 1 Party Anthem * - Alex has sex with a stripper!Reader.

#updated masterlist #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #the last of us #narcos #javier peña smut #pedro pascal #joel miller #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #negan smith smut #negan smith x reader #javier peña x female reader #x fem reader

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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The Blackest Day | Javier Peña

Javier Peña (Narcos) x fem!reader - no use of y/n

Summary: one last goodbye before Peña leaves Colombia for good. Inspired by "The Blackest Day" by Lana Del Rey because Javier is a walking Lana song.

Warnings (18+): smut, vaginal sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), rough sex.

Note: this is not particularly important when reading but the reader is a Colombian journalist. So while all dialogue is in English to make things easier, they converse in Spanish/Spanglish in my mind (FYI).

Contains content suitable only for those above 18 years of age. Minors, please do not continue!

"Don't wanna talk about the things to come."

"Looking for love in all the wrong places."

"Cause there's nothing for me to think about. Now that he's gone, I can't feel nothing."

"I'm on my own again."

"So that's it?" You ask, approaching Javier on the balcony of your hotel room. He's stood, looking out across the city of Bogotá, a cigarette in one hand, and the other rubbing his temples.

"Yeah." He nods. "That's it."

You weren't naïve and you certainly weren't stupid. You knew Peña's time in Colombia was coming to an end, after all you'd played a part in it by publishing the truth about the Colombian president. But some self-preserving part of you pushed that deep down. Maybe denial isn't the healthiest of coping mechanisms after all.

"You came to say goodbye." You meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement. A statement dowsed in hurt.

You'd come to grow quite fond of Javier's company in the months you'd known him. You respected him and - even though the two of you weren't "exclusive" - you couldn't help developing some feelings for him by being in a physical relationship with him. Even if it was just knowing that you weren't alone. And you're sure he felt a similar way, even if his feelings were just a fraction of yours for him.

"Something like that." He says, taking a drag of his cigarette.

You walk up behind him, placing your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his waist. The scent of his cologne and cigarettes is intoxicating.

You don't want him to go, but you don't have to say it. He knows. Regardless, you would never dream of saying such a thing. Laying your heart on the line.

"I've put my heart and soul into trying to bring these sons of bitches down." He signs. You can feel the tension in his shoulders. "Whenever I think we've got 'em, it turns out this shit runs deeper and deeper than I could have ever imagined."

"You did your best."

"You should take this as a win."

"You should be celebrating."

All sentiments that he has heard numerous times. You know that's not what he needs to hear. In fact, you understand that even if this was a victory against the Cali cartel, there is no reason to celebrate.

"It's time for you to go back home." It pains you, almost physically, to say. But you know it's true.

"I'm not sure I can." He says. This is his life now. Or at least it has been for the last God-knows-how-many years. He's not sure he knows how to leave it behind.

He puts his cigarette out and turns around to face you, your hands now holding onto the balcony so that he is trapped in your grip.

You don't say anything. You don't know what to say. You've never been any good at consoling people. Looking into his eyes you see his pain. How everything he's seen haunts him.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this shit." His eyeline flickers to the ground.

You give him a sad smile. A short, humourless chuckle. "I dragged myself into this shit. Taking down the fucking president, huh?"

"No," he says. "Not that." His eyes meet yours again, apologetically.

"What, then?" You ask. He doesn't answer and you try searching his eyes again. They seem to be his tell, after all.

His hands reach up to cup your face, stroking your cheeks gently. You get what he's saying. But you've never spoken about the "relationship" between you. Never acknowledged it. You spoke about business. You had sex. That was it.

"Us?" You ask quietly, afraid you're picking up on the wrong thing.

"It's not fair of me to dump all of this on you and then jet back to Texas." He frowns.

"Javier, don't worry about me. You don't need anything more to stress about." You scoff. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." Lies.

Javier's lips brush yours gently, and your heart flutters.

"This is it then?" You ask, knowing the answer. He doesn't have to respond.

He goes in for the kiss, passionately all of a sudden. His mouth crashing against yours. His hands wander down to your hips and grip you, pulling your body close to his, while your hands weave their way up into his thick locks of hair.

He starts walking, pushing you back inside and onto the bed. You fall back, his body pressing you into the mattress. Hungrily, he moves his kisses along your jawline and down your neck, grabbing your wrists and pinning them into the pillows beside your head.

"Javier," you moan as his tongue explores your body further, moving down to your clavicle. The fabric of your shirt blocks his destination, so he removes his hands from your wrists to practically rip your top off. He's met with your bra, which he removes in a swift movement before hungrily continuing to explore your body. He places gentle kisses on your breast then traces his tongue around your nipple, causing you to shudder.

"Javier," you say again, but this time with the intention of getting his attention. God, you wish he could do that to you all day, but you know how stressed he is and you want to do one of the few things you can to help.

He looks up at you, eyes wide, lips swollen, hair messy. You take the opportunity to switch positions, so that you're on top, and he complies. Straddling him, you feel his semi-hard cock press into your thigh, and try your hardest to keep your composure, grinding into it slightly and being rewarded with a gutteral moan.

You lean forward to press a kiss on Javi's lips before unbuttoning his shirt and discarding it onto the floor. You feel the tension leaving his body as you kiss his cheek, his neck, his shoulder blade, his chest, his stomach. You make sure to prolong it as long as you can, revelling in the way you're making him relax. Until you reach his waist.

Lifting yourself up, you unbuckle his belt and pull down both his pants and his boxers, pulling them off at his ankles with a little bit of his help. While you're at it, you remove your skirt, leaving him fully naked and you only in your panties.

He's practically rock solid by the time you reach his length. You place your fingers around him, stroking up and down painstakingly slow, until his hips are bucking up into your hand. Leaning back down, you place a soft kiss on his tip before trailing your tongue up and down, spreading his pre-cum.

You know what he needs, and don't want to leave him waiting any longer, so you take him into your mouth, going as far as you can.

"That's it, baby." He moans, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

You relax your jaw and open up your throat, taking him as far as possible and holding yourself there until you need to come up for breath, slowly lifting your head, but never fully removing his cock from your mouth. Your movements are slow, but sloppy, taking the time to trace your tongue along the veins in his cock. You love the way he writhes beneath you. How you have to hold his thighs in place. The gentle pants he lets out, your name on his tongue.

"Fuck, you're good at that," he practically whispers. The approval is all that is needed to send wetness flooding to your core.

Your movements speed up, testing the waters. You take note of how his body reacts to certain techniques and make an effort to repeat them.

"Baby, shit...stop," he pants and you look up at him, worried. "I need to fuck you." Relief floods over him. For a moment, you were scared he was having second thoughts. You release his cock from your mouth with an obscene 'pop', and crawl back up to straddle him again. He plants his hands on your hips and uses his firm grip to flip you under him, taking your lips against his.

The kiss is hot and heavy. It says more than a thousand words ever could. Everything you can't - won't - say to each other, is communicated.

His hands creep down your body, toying with the hem of your panties, but not for long. He pulls them down and you kick them off your ankles, spreading your legs slightly so that he has access you.

His fingers softly run over your clit and you can't help but whimper, somewhat pathetically. You're so desperate for him. He pushes one finger inside you, slowly followed by another, and he gasps when he feels how soaked you are for him. You impatiently wait for him to speed up his movements but he moves painstakingly slow, stretching you gently around his fingers.

You begin to beg and grind up into his touch. "Javier, please."

"Be patient, hermosa." He soothes. Normally you'd expect sarcasm or teasing, but this time he is being sincere with you.

He removes his fingers from you, leaving you temporarily empty. Though before you can complain, you feel his tip lining up at your entrance. Taking his time, he pushes inside you until he can't go any further.

You never get used to the stretch. He fits inside you so well.

He begins to move, and you let out a breath you didn't even realise you were holding. There's something different in the atmosphere as he thrusts in and out of you, kissing you sweetly.

You lift your legs up and wrap them around his back, wanting him deeper inside you. Wanting him closer. You want every single possible inch of skin to be touching his.

It feels intimate and emotional as he places one hand on your thigh to keep you pressed against him, and the other slips behind your neck to lift your body up closer to his. You both rock your hips, settling on a pace, not too fast but not too slow. You both need this to last as long as possible.

His moves are steady, and you can feel yourself coming closer to climax, even just from penetration. But he knows what you need, and removes the hand on your thigh to tease your clit. His thrusts remain the same, somewhat gentle, but his fingers are much more rough on your clit.

"Oh, Javier," you let out. "Fuck!"

"It's okay, baby," he whispers into your neck, his head buried in your hair. "Come on."

You feel that familiar sensation building up, about to reach it's climax. You're no longer aware of your surroundings, only your pleasure. Javier is whispering praises to you, but you can't focus on them. One thrust is all you need to send you toppling over the edge, crying out his name.

In your state of pure bliss, it starts to hit you. The reality of the situation. Your eyes swell with tears, you're not sure if it's from the pleasure or your despair. Either way, you bury your face into the crook of Javier's neck, not wanting him to see the tears that are now rolling down your face.

He fucks you through your orgasm, removing his fingers from your clit as to not overstimulate you. Once you've come down, all you can focus on is finding that high again. Finding anything that can stop you facing reality.

You begin to kiss Javier's neck, nibbling ever so slightly and he caresses your hair.

"I need more, Javi." You say, knowing that he wants to fuck you for as long as you can take.

He doesn't say anything, he simply starts his movements up again, relighting that fire deep in your loins.

"Fuck me hard," you whimper. He has every intention of doing that, but before he does, he gently grabs your cheek to pull your face away from his neck. His heart aches when he sees the tears on your face, and you try to avoid eye contact with him. You need him to fuck you roughly and take your mind off everything.

Gripping your jaw, he pushes your head back down on the pillow beneath you, pressing a sensitive kiss onto your cheek, tasting the salt of your tears.

Then, without warning, that's when he does what you ask. He begins to thrust in and out of you with all the power he has, and the cries that you let out are obscene.

"Javi.." you mumble, "Fuck, Ja-...oh please." You don't know what you're saying. Your mind isn't functioning, which is exactly what you wanted.

He places a hand around your throat, not choking you, but simply squeezing tight enough to keep you in place. His other hand sneaks around your waist, lifting you up to meet each and every one of his long, hard thrusts.

"Baby, fuck," he says as you gasp and moan beneath him.

He kisses you sloppily, needing to be physically connected to you in every way possible. You let him take charge as he pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up with every beat.

You quickly feel your orgasm building yet again as he finds a pace that works for the both of you.

"Harder," you mumble, quickly slipping into a moan as his fingers work back to your clit.

"There you go." He praises, as you clench around him with the contact to your clit.

The hand on your neck wanders down, grasping at your breasts almost desperately. The way he handles you is rough - painful - but in the best way possible. He rolls your nipple through his fingers, pinching, then goes back to squeezing and clawing at your flesh. All the while, your mind is growing fuzzier and fuzzier as you reach your peak.

"Javi, I'm-" you croak.

"I know, cariño," he soothes. "You're taking it so well."

You wrap your arms around his back, squeezing tightly and likely leaving nail marks on his back as he gives one last push, toppling you over the edge.

You call out his name like it's the only word you know. In that moment, it might as well be. He fully consumes you. He's all you know.

The next thing you know, he's pulling out and you feel his warmth spill all across your stomach and thighs. Such a small, meaningless thing makes you feel special. Like he's marking you.

You finally relax into the sheets, flopping your body weight down as Javier rolls next to you.

You eyelids flutter heavily as you feel sleep dawning on you, so you're grateful when Javier gets up to grab a cloth and clean you up. However, it's evident he's not done with you yet when he lays back down next to you and starts to softly trail his fingers across your skin, kissing your clavice.

"I want to memorise every detail of your body," he whispers into your ear and you whimper slightly. You're already so sensitive from being fucked with so much passion, so his touch sets your skin on fire.

He takes his sweet time, tongue exploring every inch of your being. He leaves marks and bruises all across your chest, biting and then softly licking and kissing to soothe your skin. He worships your breasts as your hands entwine in his hair.

Eventually, his mouth reaches where he has so recently fucked, tracing his tongue along your inner thigh towards your centre. Your hips buck when his tongue reaches your clit, so he grabs your thighs and pushes you into the mattress. He's aware of how sensitive you are, so he doesn't involve his fingers, but his mouth is enough to drive you crazy.

He laps at you hungrily, intent on memorising the taste of you. Memorising the way you squirm beneath him at every one of his movements.

He sucks on your clit, kisses it and swirls his tongue around it. He fucks you with his tongue. All of it building you up to another orgasm. It doesn't take long.

Your legs squeeze around his head and he elicits crude sounds from you and he revels in that feeling. He can tell you're close from how wet you're getting, and he makes sure to lap up every last drop. Finally, you reach your peak and your orgasm rips through your body, blinding you as you tell Javier's name, tears rolling down your face and smudging your mascara. In all the time you've spent with Javi, you've never felt pleasure quite like this. Knowing that you'll never see each other again has only made things a hundred times more passionate.

He lays next to you and wraps a single arm around you, wanting to be close to you, but not wanting to create anything too intimate, scared for both of your feelings.

"Fuck," he says panting heavily.

"I'm going to struggle to find a replacement," you joke, Javi chuckling at it. But neither of you find it funny. It's all a front, stopping you from facing your emotions.

Before you can exchange any more words, sleep consumes you. It's no surprise: you're exhausted, both physically and mentally. And despite all the emotional turmoil, you get the deepest night's sleep you've had in a long time.

When morning comes, you're awaken by light creeping through the thin hotel curtains. You turn over to find the bed cold and empty next to you. He's gone. On a plane, probably half way to Texas by now.

You think to yourself how it's for the better that he didn't say goodbye with words. That you had that night together and then he left without saying anything. But you can't force yourself to truly belief that.

You'll never know if you really do love him, offer if he just temporarily filled a void. All you know is that you're alone again.

#Spotify #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #narcos #javier peña x female reader #lana del rey

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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I promise I wasn't lying here 😭😭it's been sat in my drafts for months but it's pretty much done I swear 🙏

Can you do a part two for “beg me” where they do end up fucking?

It's in the works rn :)

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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hi gorg! are u still taking requests?

Yes I am! I'm taking on quite a lot at the moment so I can't promise they'll be quick but I'm always welcoming suggestions :)

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godsandmonsters505 · 1 year

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Sweet Taste For Men Who Are Older | Negan Smith

Negan Smith (The Walking Dead) x younger fem!reader - no use of Y/N

Summary: You have a crush on Rick that you can’t act on, and Negan picks up on this. I’m a little fucked up for this...sorry. This is one for the girlies with issues regarding older men lmaooo

Warnings (18+): age gap, swearing, fingering, vaginal sex, slight voyeurism?? maybe?, dom!Negan, degradation, spanking, hairpulling, basically just straight up porn

Not suitable for readers under the age of 18. Minors please do not continue!

Word count: 3.6k

Tensions have been high in Alexandria since Negan and The Saviors took control. Things had been a little too perfect before, but the world has a weird way of balancing that out.

It'd been a couple weeks since you'd had your first "run in" with The Saviors, but they still turned up like clockwork to wreak havoc in the town, and of course Negan would show up too, if not only to taunt Rick.

You'd joined Rick and his group back at the prison after being out in the world alone, so you were no stranger to the harsh reality of today's life. But you'd never forget the relief of knowing you were safe at the prison and not only realising that these people could be trusted, but also that they had an unbelievably hot leader.

Your crush on Rick never simmered down. He was strong, he always put his family first and God he looked good in that uniform he got when you were all given jobs in Alexandria.

But it was a crush and that was all. Nothing would ever come of it, he’s with Michonne, after all. You're not even sure exactly how old he is. You're 20 now, 19 when you met, so he must be about 20 years older than you. Maybe more, even. So you suffer in silence and hope he never notices your lustful and maybe slightly inappropriate glances at his perfect body. What can you say, you’ve always had a thing for an older man.

It's a regular day in Alexandria, the sun is shining quite pleasantly. Rick, Daryl and some others went out on a final last-minute run as The Saviors are expected anytime soon. You wanted to join them too but Rick convinced you to stay for the sake of appeasing Negan if he should arrive early, which wouldn't be out of character. Negan had taken quite a shine to you, so Rick figured you could sweet talk him and keep him busy should anything go down while he was away.

You're occupying yourself in the kitchen of your house, which you share with Tara who is currently babysitting Judith at Rick's house, by baking some cookies. You're not usually the domestic, baking type, but Carol gave you a recipe and it would be a nice gesture to bake for her for once, since she is always doing it for everyone else. Plus, what better time than now when you have nothing better to do?

However, you come to a halt when you hear the familiar rattle of the gate and rumble of the engines of several cars and vans, far too many to belong to the group that went on the run. You knew what that meant. The Saviors.

Pulling the cookies out of the oven, which happen to have finished baking at a very convenient time, you place the tray on the counter top, throw your oven gloves down and leave through your front door, grabbing your jacket as you go.

Walking through the streets of Alexandria with purpose, it takes no time for you to reach the several parked vehicles.

"Ah finally," a recognisable voice rumbles. "A familiar face. This isn't the warm welcome we were hoping for." You spot Negan emerge from behind one of the cars, his bat swinging ever so slightly in his hand.

"I mean, who the fuck are all these losers?" He laughs, pointing to the nervous looking citizens of Alexandria who let him in.

"They're the people who are going hungry so that you can continue to feed your ego." You retort plainly.

"Ouch," he gasps jokingly, putting his hand to his chest and leaning back. "Don't insult me, darling."

You raise your eyebrows at him impatiently and he grins.

"Now, where is Rick?" He asks. You were waiting for that question.

"He's on a run." You reply.

"Where, though, sweetheart?." He steps closer to you, patronising you. "Use that pretty head of yours. I'm sure you remember him telling you where he was going, don't you?"

He tilts his head and you glare straight through him, his tone angering you, even if you don't want him to see that.

"Fuck," he laughs, his straight composure vanishing. "I knew you wouldn't like that, but it’s just so damn entertaining to piss you off. I couldn't resist." He licks his lips and looks you up and down, checking you out. It wasn't a nice or caring look. He eyed you like a piece of meat, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't send tingles down your spine. The good kind.

You stop yourself and put your thoughts aside, remembering the man you're dealing with. You can't seriously be turned on right now? You're just not thinking straight with everything that's been going on, right?

"I'm assuming you're here for more than just to objectify me?" You say, gesturing to all the men stood by the vans and cars behind Negan.

"That can wait until Rick gets back." He wordlessly communicates with the Saviors, telling them to stay put, then turns back to you. "Let's go have a chat. Just you and me."

Negan not far behind, you head to your house, knowing there's no point in arguing.

Once you both reach your house, he walks straight into the kitchen, following the smell of the freshly baked cookies. Spotting the tray, his eyes light up and he grabs one immediately, taking a bite.

"Delicious," he smiles. "Oh, you are a good girl, aren't you?" He winks teasingly and leaves the room, heading to your sofa. You’re glad he’s not looking at you because your eyes almost pop out of your head at the pet name. You have to internally kick yourself for being so depraved.

You follow behind him into the living room as he makes himself comfortable in your home as if it was his own.

"Sit," he gestures to the seat next to him, but instead you sit on the other couch. "Still not warmed to me after all this time? Or do you just not like obeying me?"

You don't answer and simply look at him impatiently.

"It doesn't matter either way," he adds, unphased by your lack of answer. "There's something I quite like about you, darling."

"Rick shouldn't be long." You state, changing the topic of the conversation.

"Ahh. Rick." He smiles mischievously. You tilt your head in confusion, not sure what he's getting at. "Yes, I'm sure you're missing him dearly."

"Well, I wish he'd hurry up so I wouldn't have to sit here babysitting you." You reply, trying to understand the intent behind Negan's almost sarcastic tone.

"Don't play dumb with me, baby." He grins. "We both know you're not." He's not insinuating what you think he is, is he?

"Enough, Negan." You blush, still not sure if Negan is referencing your crush for Rick or if you're just paranoid. You kick yourself for allowing Negan of all people to embarrass you.

He notices your flushed cheeks and chuckles. "My intuition never fails. You want to fuck Rick. I’ve seen how you look at him."

"I-" you object. "That's not- Negan..." But your words stumble over each other.

"It's okay," he says playfully. "It hurts but I accept it. I don't understand why you'd want that pathetic son of bitch over me but-"

"Negan," you say warningly.

"Oh? Did that hit a rough spot? I'm ever so sorry." He teases, but it just angers you. "I'm just calling it how I see it."

You take a deep breath and compose yourself, feeling your cheeks cool and your heart rate settle, talking sense into yourself. There's no reason to let this embarrass you.

"I'm not having this conversation with you. We can talk business, or nothing at all."

"Yeah...that's not gonna work." He says flatly. "I'm quite enjoying this little conversation. I love a good romance story. Especially a forbidden romance ."

You look at him blankly, not giving him the satisfaction of annoying you.

"I mean, come on. A pretty young girl like you with a man like Rick? What is it about him?" He leans forward, smirking and lowering his voice seductively. "Does the thought of an older man fucking you turn you on?"

You sit in silence, looking him dead in the eye as he slowly stands up and walks towards you, closing the space between you and towering above you.

"'Cause I might not be Rick but I could fuck you exactly like you deserve, sweetheart."

A surge of anger and arousal floods through your veins. You slowly rise to your feet and the urge to punch Negan in the face is overwhelming, but the rational part of you stops yourself.

"Don't you speak to me like that," you hiss, pointing your finger in front of his face.

"Don't act like you don't like it." He grins smugly and you push him back with force, wanting to hurt him but knowing that hitting him would be a stupid decision.

He tilts his head downwards, looking you in the eyes, and his expression flattens. "You have some nerve doing that."

"You're an asshole." You gasp, brushing your hair out of your face.

"I know," he smirks.

For a moment, you both stand there looking at each other in silence. He eventually backs up to return to his seat on the couch, but something switches in you and before he can reach the sofa, you're stood in front of him, grabbing the lapel of his leather jacket.

You don't know what has overcome you. A combination of stress, anger, rage and horniness has pent up and reached its peak: resulting in this moment.

"You think you can fuck me like I deserve?" You whisper. "Prove it." You release his jacket from your grip and stand with your hands by your side, looking up at his towering figure and waiting for his reaction.

A grin spreads across his face. "You are like no other woman I've ever met." He closes the gap between the two of you and reaches his lips towards yours, mouths crashing together. The kiss is hot and passionate as your hands grip his hair before moving down, tracing his arms and stomach, before gently palming his bulge through his trousers.

He elicits a deep groan, breaking the kiss to take his jacket off then swiftly taking his attention back to you. He grips your waist and pushes you into the wall, grinding his crotch against you. As much as you hate giving him the satisfaction, you let out a satisfied gasp and he chuckles lightly. He towers over you, and having his large hands pin you in place, gripping so hard he might bruise you...it turns you on beyond belief.

You let your primal instincts take over and just want rough satisfaction. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, you pull it over his head, admiring his tattoos as you do so. Returning the favor, he practically rips your top open and your bra off.

"So fucking hot," he groans as he gropes your breasts with his calloused hands. However, he doesn't spend long tending to your breasts before he unzips your jeans and pulls them to your ankles, leaving you only in some lace, black panties.

"How wet are you, darling?" He whispers, tugging your underwear aside and trailing his rough fingers through your folds. "Fucking knew it. Soaked." He holds up his fingers in front of you tauntingly, your wetness glistening on them.

"Dirty girl, aren't you?"

"Shut up." You snap, grabbing his lower back of and pulling him towards you so that you can grind up against the bulge in his jeans again.

"You’ll regret talking to me like that." He practically growls.

He places his fingers back where they were, gently stroking your clit before pushing two of them inside you, your wetness allowing for it.

"Oh!" You gasp, eliciting a deep moan. Desperate to feel more of him inside you, to feel pain, you push yourself against his fingers, forcing them deeper inside you, but he pulls out.

"So desperate." He laughs, non-chalant.

“Please, Negan.” You beg, wanting to feel him again, but he just laughs again.

Though he's not left unaffected either. He's rock solid, practically bursting through his pants, and when you take your hand and tease him, stroking up and down through the denim, it does nothing to help.

"This what I do to you?" You whisper, turning the tables on him, trying to keep your voice composed as his fingers mindlessly explore your chest and midriff while practically staring you down. All you can think about is having him inside you again. A single finger. Anything. But you don’t have it in you to beg him for it.

"I don't keep secrets, darling. You know I want you." He tilts his head playfully, looking deep into your eyes.

"Have you imagined this before? Fucking me?" You continue. "Fucking someone less than than half your age? That really get you going, huh?"

"That mouth's going to get you in fucking trouble." He spits. “I told you you’d regret it.” He shoves two fingers into your mouth, his way of keeping you quiet, and you can taste yourself on his fingers. Instinctively you suck on his digits, and it drives him wild. He’d have you suck his cock if he thought he’d be able to hold on.

"Behave," he utters in your ear, barely loud enough to hear, bringing his face next to yours so you can look at him. Unable to speak, you glare at him angrily, but it just makes the smug grin on his face increase.

Negan spins you round, removing his fingers from your mouth and making you face the wall as he forcefully presses you up against it. Without warning you feel a harsh slap against your ass and it sends wetness rushing to your core.

"You like that?" He asks, slapping you again. You don't reply, but you can't help the moan that you release.

You desperately need him inside you. It clouds your mind and it's almost like he can read your mind when you feel something else rubbing up against your slit.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good," Negan mutters.

He gives your ass a final harsh slap that makes your knees weak then, without warning, his cock is inside you and you both release guttural groans. However, the angle is restricting him so he grabs your hip with one hand and wraps your hair around the other in order to move you towards the desk in the corner of the room. He slams you down, your breasts pressing against the hard surface, and rams himself deeper inside you.

He doesn't remove his hand from your hair, he simply pulls harder, but you love it. He pounds roughly into you and the mix of pleasure and pain builds a knot up in your stomach.

Tears stream down your eyes, your make up surely smudging. Your chest is red and sore from rubbing against the wood of the desk and Negan makes sure to continue slapping your ass as his thrusts speed up and get continuously harder inside of you. You know it won't be long until you find your much needed release.

"God, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart." He moans. "Making it hard for me to hold on."

"Fuck," you curse shakily, his words bringing you closer as your walls begin to close around his cock. One final push sends you over the edge and the world blurs around you. But he’s not done with you yet. He continues fucking you through your orgasm. The world around you has faded as you focus entirely on your immense pleasure. Your orgasm begins to fade enough for you to become aware of your surroundings again, but everything soon becomes hazy again as Negan speeds up.

“I’m not fucking done with you yet,” he pants, placing a hard slap on your ass, your core gushing at the motion, squeezing him tighter. “You like when I hurt you? You’re a fucking whore.” His words get more and more harsh, the longer he fucks you. You’re practically drunk off of his cock, your body weak and limp as he uses you like your body belongs to him. You don’t have it in you to respond.

“Answer me,” he demands, emphasizing his point with yet another slap, each slap hurting more and more with how sensitive your skin is becoming.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Yes. Yes.”

He slows down his movements until he comes to a halt and grabs your hair yet again, using your head to guide you upwards, so that your back is flush to his chest. He has to help you stand as your legs can’t support your body weight. Pulling out of you, he turns you around and sits you on the desk so that he can look at you as he fucks you. He wants to see your face when he cums.

He positions himself between your open legs and swiftly pushes himself back inside of you. Once he’s inside you, he lifts you off the desk and carries you to the sofa he was previously sat on. You let him carry you wherever and as he does you grind down on his cock, desperate to feel him move inside you.

“Have some fucking patience,” he says sternly, yet cockily. Once he has you pinned down on the sofa, he picks up the pace without wasting anymore time. This position is easier for you and the softness of the sofa contrasts with the hard desk, feeling nice on your skin, but you crave that feeling of pain. Negan has that covered.

His movements grow sloppier and rougher, hitting spots inside you that you never deemed possible. One hand slips down to stimulate your clit and he uses the other to slap you across the face. You let out an obscene, pornographic moan as he does so and he almost loses it then. But he wants to make you cum one more time. And from the way you squeezed around him when he slapped you, he knows you like it.

The noises the two of you make are crude and they fill the room. The whole house even. Maybe even the street. You sob, feeling overstimulated. The pleasure and pain merging to create a feeling of ecstasy you have never experienced in your entire life. He can tell you’re getting close, and so is he.

He speeds up his motions on your clit, your legs shaking uncontrollably. His unoccupied hand moves up to your throat, gripping under your jawline. He doesn’t choke you, but he holds you tight enough to show you who’s in charge. As if you couldn’t have figured that out already.

“Negan,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

“I know, baby,” he says, surprisingly gentle. “You’re being so good.”

He burrows his face in your breasts, sucking and biting, probably covering you in marks.

You didn't hear anyone knock and you didn’t hear the door to your house open but someone must have come in because you hear loud footsteps - someone wearing boots. You’re about to climax however, so you can’t think clearly enough to understand what that means.

Your moans grow faster and more breathless, and one rub of your clit sends you over the edge, calling out Negan’s name as you cum around him.

Mid-orgasm you notice a figure in the corner of the room and you turn your head to look at the door frame and see a more than familiar face.

Rick stands at the entrance to the room, horror written across his face. He only stands there for a millisecond before mumbling an incoherent apology and leaving, but it feels like a life time as you make eye contact with him while Negan pounds into you.

Once Rick leaves, your attention turns back to Negan who is pulling out of you, and you feel his cum release all over your breasts and stomach.

Neither of you speak for a few moments as he zips his pants up. You stay sprawled on the couch, physically struggling to move, but also not wanting to, as Negan gets a cloth to quickly clean you up. You stand up, barely making it without falling, getting your clothes without even looking at Negan.

"Well," he says, leaning back and rubbing his chin with his hand. "Shit just got complicated."

You both get your clothes on as he smirks to himself. You sit back down as soon as possible because your legs are starting to hurt worse than they were only a minute ago.

"I think I have a conversation due with Rick the Prick. I'm sure he'll be waiting outside." He laughs to himself. "You'd better clean yourself up unless you want everyone to know you just had your shit rocked."

You’re sat in complete shock on the sofa and he crouches down to make eye-contact with you, lifting your chin with his fingers so that you’re forced to look at him.

“Unless you want everyone to know you’re a dirty little slut.”

You say nothing as he stands, grabs his jacket and heads for the door. Before he leaves though, he turns back to you and says, "Thanks for that, darling. I won't forget that for a long time."

================================

Sorry I've been gone for so long! Uni has been intense, but I'm back and I'm writing again!!

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