Pleasure blind - Part One

Hey ! Here I’m again with a fanfic for the negan smut week. I don’t know, I’m feeling really excited right now xD It’s my first smut fanfic and I can’t lie that I’m stressed BUT excited. There’ll be a second part so, it’s not finish 😏

  • Summary : “Men pursue you and fortunately, you manage to escape. You decide tospend the night in an abandoned hut when, in the middle of the night, someone knocks on the door..”
  • Ships : Negan x reader
  • Words : 3254
  • Warning : Curses, smut, smut, smut, smut.. And smut.

Tag : @smuttwd - @heartfulloffandoms - @itsneganslucille - @negans-network - @negansmutweek - @autumnjade22 - @backseat-negan - @strangersangel9 and @theatricalbride (strangersangel9 and theatricalbride because they motivated me A LOT to write it. And sorry, the links don’t work).

Enjoy !


You ran as fast as possible, your heart pounding against your chest and your ears buzzing because of the noise of the rifle. It had rained not long ago then, the ground was slippery. This made it harder to run.

You had to go as far as possible from these men, pursuing you relentlessly. You redoubled your speed and jumped over several branches on the way. Your eyesight became blurry as you felt the adrenaline fill your whole body. And there you see in the distance a wooden hut, surely abandoned in view of its condition. You stopped for a moment, reflecting on what was best to do : either hide yourself there or continue to run at the risk of being tired and that they catch you anyway.

“She’s gone that way ! Hurry up or we’ll lose her !”

You heard with horror and you took two seconds to decide what you were going to do. And that was where you got an idea. It was as if you were signing your death warrant but you had to try.

You held your breath with one hand on your mouth, hearing the men searched inside the wooden hut. You came inside and threw your bag inside, making them think you’d hide there, which would be obvious to anyone. And while you were going out and looking for a real hiding place, you had found this hollow hole beneath a tree. And it was deep enough that no one - for your greatest hope - would find you.

You heard the men’s voices, grave and lofty.

“This bitch managed to escape. The boss will not be very happy. It was a fucking woman who would surely please him”.

Their boss ? Great, now there was a psychopath in need.

“Okay, let’s go. Let us continue to look for her”.

You heard the footsteps moving away from you and the voices became weaker and weaker until they completely disappeared. You remained hidden for a moment before finally coming out with little steps, looking at your surroundings to check if you were safe and sound.

You sighed and you returned to the cabin to find your bag where you left it. You fell to the ground, exhausted. You put your legs back against you, putting your head on your knees. Your heart calmed gently and you felt the tension left your body.

The night was already showing. You were tired by your flight and you decided to sleep there for the night. You took out your red sleeping bag to lay it on the wet wooden floor. You put your black bag beside you and you lay down, sighing with fatigue, putting your arm on your eyes. Everything was quiet and silent. It was perfect.

You turned to the side, blocking your hands under your head. Your eyelids fell heavily and you soon fell asleep.


A noise woke you in the middle of the night. You got up straight and pulled out your revolver from your holster. You raised the gun to the closed door. Your sweaty hands trembled as you walked slowly toward the source of the noise coming from behind the door.

“I advise you to show up before I sieve the door. And I will not hesitate for a second !”

The noise had stopped. But you didn’t lower your gun. Your tension went up quickly, and it intensified when you saw the handle moved, as if someone was trying to open it. Your lips trembled until you jerked and you looked dazed at the door.

“Fuck, open this damn door ! I’m dying of cold here !”Shouted a hoarse man’s voice.

He tapped again against the wooden door. You were arguing in your head if you had to leave him out or take the risk of letting him in. Your benevolence gained the upper hand.

You put away your gun and ran to open the door wide. A tall, thin man debouched inside. You shut the door where you saw quickly snow fall. You turned to the man who pulled the white powder out of his hair, rubbing a hand in it. He placed a strange bat surrounded by iron wire against the wall.

Keep reading


His left eye is still mostly covered by the brim of his hat, but he doesn’t make any adjustments, just stays in place and on display for Ren, who surveys him for a moment before dropping down onto him.  

“Fuck,” Ren says,-

Hux´s little hat is all that matters tbh.

Once again all I can do is cry over how great @hollyhark​ cwu is, this is what the world gets when I re-read LSNC. This is one of my fave parts tbh, and I wanted to illustrate how they looked in my head but idek if I did it any justice, anyways I just love Hux’s little hat and Ren just being done for by Hux’s debouched expression.

“I witness with pleasure the supreme achievement of memory, which is the masterly use it makes of innate harmonies when gathering to its fold the suspended and wandering tonalities of the past. I like to imagine, in consummation and resolution of those jangling chords, something as enduring, in retrospect, as the long table that on summer birthdays and namedays used to be laid for afternoon chocolate out of doors, in an alley of birches, limes and maples at its debouchment on the smooth-sanded space of the garden proper that separated the park and the house. I see the tablecloth and the faces of seated people sharing in the animation of light and shade beneath a moving, a fabulous foliage, exaggerated, no doubt, by the same faculty of impassioned commemoration, of ceaseless return, that makes me always approach that banquet table from the outside, from the depth of the park—not from the house—as if the mind,in order to go back thither, had to do so with the silent steps of a prodigal, faint with excitement. Through a tremulous prism, I distinguish the features of relatives and familiars, mute lips serenely moving in forgotten speech. I see the steam of the chocolate and the plates of blueberry tarts. I note the small helicopter of a revolving samara that gently descends upon the tablecloth, and, lying across the table, an adolescent girl’s bare arm indolently extended as far as it will go, with its turquoise-veined underside turned up to the flaky sunlight, the palm open in lazy expectancy of something—perhaps the nutcracker. In the place where my current tutor sits, there is a changeful image, a succession of fade-ins and fade-outs; the pulsation of my thought mingles with that of the leaf shadows […] and the whole array of trembling transformations is repeated. And then, suddenly, just when the colors and outlines settle at last to their various duties—smiling, frivolous duties—some knob is touched and a torrent of sounds comes to life: voices speaking all together, a walnut cracked, the click of a nutcracker carelessly passed, thirty human hearts drowning mine with their regular beats; the sough and sigh of a thousand trees, the local concord of loud summer birds, and, beyond the river, behind the rhythmic trees, the confused and enthusiastic hullabaloo of bathing young villagers, like a background of wild applause.”

Vladimir Nabokov, from Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited (First Vintage International, 1989)


Pioneers! O Pioneers!

by Walt Whitman

Come my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,

Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?

Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental
blood intervein’d,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill’d,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d.
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life’s involv’d and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding
on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call–hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!–swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Badass reading by Will Fucking Greer.