Summary: You’re Negan’s Art Therapist who he once wanted to make a wife. One thing leads to another during a storm that leaves you stranded in the jail and now you’re naked in a cell with a war criminal.
Rating: Explicit- Sex, swearing and more sex.
GIF isn’t mine, check out the great blogger who brought it over to this site though!
The door is opened for an easy getaway and also because the place smells fucking horrible. He’s sitting on his bed. Throwing around what looks like a wad of tissue paper rolled into a ball. The moment your eyes meet Negan catches it for a last time and his expression gives away a heavy surprise. He’s still as chilling to be around.
“Holy fucking shit. Am in a goddamn wet dream right now? Flash me those tits if I am.” The greeting of sorts goes ignored and instead you walk to the far corner and pull over a chair, putting it to the side of the cell rather than in the middle. “Had a lot’a fucking dick hardening thoughts about you in here future wife. Bout time you come and visit Daddy.” He says with a wink.
That was the name he dubbed you after you told him to fuck off the first time he offered you a position as one of his women during a visit to Alexandria. It was the catalyst of many more run-ins and ridiculous gifts he’d leave all over your home uninvited. You ignore the comment and ask your own.
“Do you prefer charcoal, pencil or pen?”
“Is our first date going to be arts and crafts? How quirky.” He’s still a jackass after two years in a cell. It’s impressive really, especially since he was so broken in the beginning. When you stare at him blankly, he sighs. “Charcoal.” He replies.
That is your preference too.
Through the bars you put down a box of the pencils and a thick pad. He waits until they’ve been placed down then walks over to pick it all up. He’s very blatant with where he stares, although you specifically wore baggy clothing it still feels like you’re being undressed and the image of you is being stored somewhere you’d rather it not. He goes back to his bed and sits on it cross legged. He reminds you of a spider. All the weight at the top and thin, gangly legs folded awkwardly beneath.
“Have you ever drawn before?”
“Probably. I was a child once.”
You nod and open your pad up, flicking through at least forty pages before you land on a blank one. You’re not new to this form of teaching, you were a part-time art therapist in a past life and a full-time one now. You may hate Negan for the things he has done to the community, but figuring out what lies in his mind is more interesting than that loathing. “What the fuck is this all for anyway?”
“Gabriel wants me to try a form of-.” You think of the right word. “Treatment with you.”
“What’s being treated?”
“Everything.” You say plainly. For some reason or another he finds the comment humorous and grins. You hate to see him smile, it reminds you of many terrible things. “So, what we’re going to do today is just draw. There’s no right or wrong way to do it. You put the charcoal to the paper and do as you wish.” You shrug.
“Tryna read my inner most thoughts through chicken scratch sketches?”
“Well ya know me a little, don’t ya? Have any ideas about what’s wrong with my head yet?” You had plenty, but you weren’t able to diagnose him, still you had theories. “Come on, tease me a little.” His lip is bitten and his eyes are bright. He’s openly aroused and flirtatious. He always was.
It’s not a smart idea to mention possibilities without working with a client first, but most therapists never met people like Negan before.
“Would you really like to know?” He nods and sits the pad on his knee. “From what I’ve seen and heard of you Negan, I’d venture to guess that you have an anxiety disorder of some sort coupled with narcissistic traits. But that’s based only without your personal input, so it could be well off course.” He raises his brows and nods thoughtfully.
“Thought you’d throw in something like, psychopath or sociopath.”
“Those are things we may come to figure out together.”
“Been a long time since I’d come together with a woman before.”
“Hm.” You pull out a pen and make a note of his sexual prowess on the side, looking over to see his brow high. “Please, go along with your drawing.” He doesn’t enjoy being written about, it shows in the tightness of his eyes.
You look over at him quite often, the first thing you see is a crude drawing of a dick but he turns to a new page and is stuck on something else that’s not able to be seen. There’s a beep that comes from your watch and you push the button on it.
“Well Negan. Time’s up.” You move the chair back just as he stands up, he puts the pad and box of charcoal onto the floor and walks back to his bed. You pick them up easily through the bars and look back at him. “We’ll be doing this once a week.”
“I’ll be waiting.” He said with a smirk. “It’s fucking one helluva treat seeing you doc, you still make me wanna fuck the shit out of you.”
“Hm.” He’s already picked up on the fact that it’s your therapist way of saying, ‘I’m saving that one for the book’ and his brows come together. You leave the jail and lock the door behind you, stuffing the key into your front pocket and looking for Gabriel so he can have it back.
You’re at home now, sitting at your desk and pouring yourself a well deserved glass of wine. What a long day it was, plenty of couples, one child and then a criminal. You take Negan’s book in hand and look at the cover itself. It was still a crisp white, he had been very careful to keep it clean. You take a sip from the nectar and set it back onto the table. Like you were already aware there’s a large, ugly and childish drawing at the front that is easy enough to ignore and when you turn to the next one you’re surprised to see that he hadn’t drawn anything provocative or cruel. He’d drawn you. And quite well actually, you never expected him to be an artist of any kind, especially after his comment. You took note to be wary of relying on Negan’s side remarks as possible facts. He had done the shadings well, your lips were unsurprisingly the thing that was focused on most and the eyes were a close second. He’d drawn you with your hair down though, and the amount of memory he ran off with the layers and how your side bangs fell were eerie really. You’d obviously made an impression all those years ago.
You’d never admit it to anybody, but you found the man awfully attractive. Many did- it was the honey that lured people into the hive that was his psychological warfare. It’s why he was such a successful leader so quickly. Human beings gravitate to beauty and charm. Both of which he had.
The next week comes and after a rough morning with Rosita you’re happier to go to the jail then be lashed out on again by the woman who held a lot of fury as of late. You open up and leave it that way, after talking with Gabriel last week about making sure the man’s bedpan was cleared before you got there the smell was less off putting.
“Good afternoon Negan.” You greet with a professional tone.
“What’s up doc?” He says slowly. You recognize the Bugs Bunny reference and ignore it, instead you move the chair from the corner and put it to the side of the cell.
“Would you like the charcoal again?”
“Yeah.” You slide his pad and the box through the cell bars and sit back down, he picks it up and goes back to the bed. “So, did my pictures tell you anything?” He asks.
“Your first one was ignored.” He sighs at that and rolls his eyes, he still held childlike qualities. “And your second one was well drawn. I hadn’t expected it after I asked you if you drew and you said, ‘probably, because you were a child once’. I mean you have a way of twisting words so maybe you truly have only drawn once as a child, but you obviously took it up at another time in your life.”
He smiles and nods.
“Interesting theory, doc.”
“That’s all therapy is.”
“Our brains are like a game to you shrinks.”
“I like to think of it as a puzzle.” He laughs and it makes your insides feel tight with discomfort.
“Well I’m one of those big fuckers with tiny pieces and a fat cock.” If it hadn’t been for the fact that you grew up with men like Negan you’d likely find his language hard to deal with but it was tolerable, and instead you make a sound, open your pad and write a note. His tone is gravelly and cold. “I’m already fucking sick of that shit, doc.” You look over and smile falsely.
“You may begin, Negan. We have fifty minutes, if you need direction with something or any questions just ask.” You say politely.
“I can go a lot longer than fifty minutes and I’m down with whatever direction you give sweetheart.” He says with a wink and spreads his legs apart. It’s a stab at showing his male dominance.
“Hm.” You make another note and don’t bother to look back, you can feel his glare anyway. The man has a very powerful presence even in a cell. It’s close to half an hour when he calls you by your title. You look over to see him with furrowed brows. “Yes?”
“Are you religious?” The question is surprising, you know Negan is a very information drawing person so you stay guarded. He waits patiently.
“Agnostic.” You admit.
“Huh. Interesting. So, you like to hope that there’s something but don’t believe in anything.”
“I believe in the belief that something out there may be worth believing in.” You say quickly. His brows pull together and you’re glad to have tripped him up from his reverse psychoanalyzing. “Are you?” You ask casually.
“No.” That makes sense, he tried to make himself his own form of a god. It did work for a year. He held several hundred people under his reign who called themselves his name. But with fast growth comes a fast decline most of the time. It did for him. “Do you have a boyfriend yet? Or are you still waiting for me?” He asks with a wide smile.
“You’re asking me very personal questions, Negan.”
“You said if I have any questions I can just ask.” You did, you need to watch your words with the man. He is crafty, cunning and always looking for loopholes. “So?”
You observe one another. For a brief moment you see the man in his leather jacket, swinging a bloodied bat and standing at your doorway with a bunch of wild flowers and a perky expression. You come back to the reality and focus on him in the now, dressed in plain blue clothing and watching you carefully. Negan still held the same confidence as he did then. You answer him with a soft smile.
“I’ll make you a deal. You may ask me one question each session and I’ll answer it truthfully so long as I can do the same for you.” He sits taller. “However, if I feel like there is a lie in your answer then the arrangement is broken.” He sits on the offer for a moment, he’s as hesitant to talk to you as you are to him. He doesn’t seem like he kind of man who ever went to therapy, he’s very proud and tricky. Any form of it would likely have felt undermining in another life.
“Well, I do want to get in that head of yours a little more. So why not? I agree, and the same goes for me. If I feel like you’re lying then I’m not doing this therapy shit anymore.”
Negan will be the most fascinating person you’ll likely ever work with. The risk of losing a chance to dig around inside of him is too much to lose.
He smiles again and you have to remind yourself that he can’t hurt anybody where he is anymore, not physically. That smile wouldn’t be the last thing a person saw like it once was. He rolls the charcoal between his fingers and looks from your shoes all the way to the top of your head painfully slow. You keep your cool but he’s wildly nerve wrecking.
“You ever wanted my fat dick slipped inside your cunt, doc?” He asks when your eyes meet. It’s a horrible way of wording ‘have you ever wanted to have sex with me’.
You should have known it would be something along those lines but you assumed the boyfriend one would stick. There’s no point in even trying to lie, he is as perceptive as he is manipulative.
The answer makes him grin wide and you refuse to break the eye contact, keeping yourself grounded by biting your tongue lightly instead. He’s very smug with himself. A man who adores validation and being desired. Another trait of a narcissist.
“Fuck, I always knew that I should’ve tried even harder on you, but you threw every gift I ever fucking gave you back at me.” He growls.
You did. You’d do it again too. Being targeted by the man had given you nothing but grief in the town by residents who believed you were another reason that he came so often and harassed everybody. Maybe it’s true, but more times than not he did so for Rick. You don’t reply and tell him that it would have changed absolutely nothing because he was monstrous and terrible, instead ask your own question.
“Were both of your parents actively in your life during your formative years?” His smile drops and you pick up on the fact that they’re a soft spot. When he speaks there’s nothing that you pick up on as untrue.
“No.” He replies simply.
You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to ask which one wasn’t there or if it was both of them.
“Well, we have-.” You check your watch and quickly count. “Eighteen minutes.”
He’s smiling again when you look back, you’re more that sure that you’ll be asked only sex-based questions from now on and you’re not let down by that fact as weeks turn into months and eventually a year, all he asks is questions that revolve around your sex life and preferences. You learn plenty of things about Negan though. You’ve not felt like he’s lied to you yet and you’ve been honest too. He’s become very comfortable with you in his own way. He speaks of his first wife once in a blue moon, talks as he draws and more often than not he’ll delve a little more into the answers for your questions than he needs to. It’s still hard to place him into any definite disorder and instead you remain collecting more information. His drawings match his mood. On his angry days he draws his bat and dead things, his sad ones are of Sanctuary and his lighter ones are of you in varied ways. He remembers different outfits you’d worn and items of jewelry from the past, it’s remarkable actually. His memory was alike that of an elephant. You’re also relieved that he hasn’t drawn you in any inappropriate way.
You’d graduated to working with paints during the therapy on your thirteenth month together and he has soaked himself into it immediately, gravitating to watercolors and working with a lot of blues and greens. It’s sad at times, all of his pictures are based on the outside in some way and he will never see it again. Your hatred has blossomed to dislike as you speak more and because of that slight change you allow him to keep his completed works in the cell. His patience has grown from thin to infinite, he spends a lot of time working on minute details and there is something about painting that condenses his inflated persona down to something a lot less suffocating. Your watch beeps and you look over to the cell to see Negan already washing his brushes. The sound of rumbling from the angered sky outside gives you a small fright and a throaty chuckle escapes the man. Your attention turns to him as he pinches a towel over the brush bristles to dry it off while watching you with the hint of a smile.
“You’re more scared of the thunder than me? Interesting.”
That’s not true. Negan is a frightening man. You’re just able to play it off.
There’s a loud whistling that pushes through his uncovered cell window and a spray of rain splashes against the wall. The door to the jail is pushed on heavily by the pressure of wind and it’s very obvious what’s happening. A storm of some sort has hit suddenly. Shit. You stand up and walk to the door, pushing the thin curtain back and frowning. The trees are blowing hard, the people are gone, miscellaneous items are moving on their own and the rain suddenly hits the window with a vicious wildness. You curse under your breath and step away. There’s no way you’re going out in that, let alone with everything you have to carry back to the office. You have to remain calm however because Negan is a man who picks up on emotions like a shark to blood and the idea of him knowing more than he does of your fear to the poor weather isn’t something you want.
“Are we going to have a sleepover?” He asks from behind you. His tone playful and rather excited, you’ve never stayed down there longer than what you are hired to do. This is new, it’s also very unwelcomed. “Because you can share my bed.”
You look over at him and stay neutral.
“I will have to wait this out.” You say.
“How fun.” He says carefully, his eyes lingering over your chest that’s exposed more than usual. It makes you antsy. “Can I still paint then?” You think for a moment.
That will be a treat for Negan and that’s the last thing he deserves, but it will also keep him busy. You nod and he grins then sets it all up again while you go back to the chair and pull out your drawing pad.
It’s close to four now, the weather has done nothing to slow itself down and your foot has absently been tapping. You only realise that when you look to Negan and he looks between it and your face. You stop and berate yourself for giving away an obvious anxiety.
“Are you afraid of a little rain, doc?” He asks with a high brow.
“Is this your question for the day Negan?”
“No.” Negan replies easily.
“Then I won’t be answering it.” He laughs and the sound of him washing the brush fills the room.
“I never thought I’d find a weakness in you.” It’s true, you’re good at remaining passive regardless of any topics or situations. You try to remain that way but the door rattles and it startles you. “Let alone one so mundane.” He adds spiritedly.
The desire to leave the jail is strong but you won’t go outside until it slows down. You look over at Negan who is packing his things away.
“What time do you eat dinner?” He looks up and shrugs.
“There’s no clock in here, but it’s dark when Gabriel comes down.” Damn. Night settled at around seven. You had hoped that it would be earlier than that so Gabriel could help you take things back, he’d likely come with an umbrella. Although that would probably blow away. “I’m finished.” He says.
His easel is collapsed, his hands have been washed in the provided bucket of water and his items are tidily set on top of one another in a stack at the cell door. You pull from your pocket his door key, put your things to the side and unlock it. Negan has never tried to escape before and he keeps himself on the bed when you move things out. Still, being without bars with him gave you an uneasy feeling beyond any you’ve felt before, made even more stronger because of your history with him. Somebody he’s been so open with being attracted to and spent so long trying to woo. It feels like walking into a tiger’s enclosure with a raw steak tied to you. Risky and stupid. You move the easel out first, then the bucket and when you have the paints and brushes in hand, the thunder roars with such strength that your ears hurt and the lightning cracks through the sky and lights up the room. Everything falls out of your hands and splays out all over.
“Goddamit.” You curse.
As you pick things up Negan’s inked hand wraps around the last paint tube you were reaching for and you look up to see him much too close and focusing on your features, namely your lips. The part he seems to like the most. You’re shaky, now from him too. He’s so much larger, older and stronger than you. The fact that he’s been starved of a female’s touch hits you hard. Neither of you say anything. You’re too stuck by his fixed stare.
There’s a primitive part of you that kicks into gear. You’re aware of why; it’s his interest in you, his power, the desire to be protected during a heightened feeling of distress and how attractive he is that causes your body to begin reacting to the man. He’s likely picked up on it after years of playing with women much longer than you’ve been alive. The sound of thunder cracking the air again makes you flinch and your hand wraps around his forearm out of reflex. He may be thin but the muscle is thick and tense and your touch makes his grip on the tube go so tight that it bursts. You pull away from him and feel your cheeks heat instantly just like it does between your legs. His stare is hungry now, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. You’re beginning to breathe too heavily and you chew on your bottom lip out of habit from arousal. He looks between it and your eyes. You want him to say something because you can’t.
“I have my question of the day, doc.”
There’s no hesitation in his next sentence, no wariness, only the confidence that of a man who could read a woman easily would hold.
“You want me to finally fuck you doll face?”
You should stand up, say no and lock the cell door. You have a job to do, one that you’ve been trusted with and you hold a heavy dislike for Negan that’s well earned by his actions as well. But you’re still a woman underneath the profession and he’ll know if you lie because all of the signals point to one answer. The word is breathy and your heart is beating so hard against your ribs you’re sure he can hear it and it’s making you that much wetter between your legs.
“Yes.” You admit.
His grin is wide, you both lean in and his lips are soft although the force of them is anything but. He tastes like mint, he makes everything warm and you already feel yourself soften to his touch. Negan’s arms slide under yours and he lifts you like you’re made of air. Your legs wrap around his waist, his stiffness is already pressed firmly against your warmth and the feeling of it makes you whimper. He comes away long enough for you to pull off your shirt while he flicks the clip on the back of your bra with the expertise of a man who’d done it hundreds of times before. You should be a lot more careful with removing his shirt but you threw away ‘careful’ when you let him kiss you. He holds you out easily so you can tear the fabric and every button spreads out around the room with a series of clicks. He slides one arm at a time out of it and drops it carelessly to the floor, his singlet is easy to remove and his own bare chest against yours feels hot and rough.
“I’m going to fuck you like a whore, future wife.” He says during a break from your kiss.
The pet name is frustrating most times but for a moment like this one it adds another layer to the pleasure. You moan into his mouth and run your fingers over his shoulders all the way to his hair. He grunts with the touch and rubs you against him to earn another whimper. He’s not gentle, he’s starved. He lets you go from high up and you fall back onto his bed with a huff. Your panties are soaked and you wouldn’t be shocked if it’s gone through to your dress pants. His shoes are off, yours are on the floor too and before you can do anything else he’s already at the end of the bed in his briefs with a thick hard-on and tearing your pants off. He throws them aside, tucks his arms under your hips and pulls you down so you’re right at the edge of the bed with your thighs spread and tilted up for his view and use. He runs his knuckles over the fabric while watching you with a smirk, enjoying the pleasure it’s causing when you throw your head back with a sigh. Between Negan and the taboo of the situation you already feel drunk on the man. His thumb slides underneath the wet fabric and presses against your clit with an increasing pressure until your hips begin to rock with it.
His voice is thick and filled with lust.
“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna make me fucking cum just looking at you like this.” You smile at the compliment and his lips come down to kiss on either inner thigh. “Say my name if you want me to play with you.”
“Negan.” You whisper.
He kisses you over the fabric this time and you slide further to him. You’re sure that he’s smiling. Likely he’s happy that you’re already giving into him so easily but it’s hard not to. He’s got you so worked up. Long arms give him the ability to reach up and pull on either stiff nipple. One roll with his thumb on your clit and a hard pinch on a nub. The feeling in your belly is already building up and your legs begin to press together out of reflex. Negan’s hands come onto either knee and he pushes them a part again. You look down at him and his brows are pulled together.
“Don’t you hide fucking anything from me, your body is mine.” He growls. His callousness makes you smirk and he mirrors the look, flicking his eyes over your face and shaking his head. He isn’t your friend, lover or anything close to an acquaintance- he’s Negan, a man filled with many bad things who wants to use your body and take control of it. The realization makes you chew on your lip. He focuses between your legs again. “I hope you don’t like these princess.”
He’s already torn the lace in half before you can tell him that you do and the cool air reaffirms how wet you are. He mutters a string of curse words to himself that tells you how much he enjoys what he sees. His thumb goes back to where it was and you grin at the touch. After a moment passes, he doesn’t move and it catches your confused attention.
He looks back with stern expression.
“Play with your tits for me.” He orders. You’re in need of bliss and take the instruction obediently. With an elbow on either side, you begin to massage each one while he pushes down and rolls your clit one way then another. He balances his focus between your tits, face and between your legs. It’s so much to take in and your moans are loud and chorused. His other finger brushes over each side of your folds, wherever he touches feels hot and he pinches your clit while you tweak both nipples hard. You push yourself even further toward him, silently begging for more.
“You trying to get something baby?” You look down and his smirk is potent, you chew on your lip and nod. “What do you want?” He asks with a pause.
“I want you to fuck me.” His expression is akin to a man who’s dying of thirst and is offered a tall glass of cold water.
“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted you to say that shit.”
He taps his fingers with a mild force over your slit and moves your pinched clit from side to side. You whimper with the action, bucking your hips and feeling a drip run down your middle. He catches it and rubs it back up, teasing around your entrance and causing you to moan a lot louder. Fuck, your orgasm is so close now.
“Please, Negan.” You beg. “Make me cum.”
He circles around you a little faster and your fingers bunch up around the blankets.
“Do you deserve it?”
Your eyes open and he’s looking at you with a grin, he’s so handsome and enjoying your body. You never woke up that morning expecting any of this and you’re so glad that it is.
“Yes.” You whisper, his brow raises and you have a feeling you know what he wants. “I do, sir.”
“When you put it so nicely.” He rolls your clit so quickly that the feeling hits you like a hot wave and his fingers slide in just as the clenching starts, your eyes close as the warmth washes over you and you roll your nipples between your fingers to heighten it all. “Look at me.” He orders.
You try your best to but the orgasm is so strong that it makes your sight thin and lids heavy. Your hips buck, brows furrow and the moans are fucking loud. You’re both lucky that the weather silences it to the room only. He curls his fingers and settles his tongue over your clit and sucks while the speed and ferocity of his fingers never slows. It goes for so long that your stomach hurts, your body shakes and it’s almost impossible to find air while your face becomes wet too. He never looks away, he wants to see everything he’s doing to you with pride. Your pussy is showing him gratitude by gushing so much that it sounds similar to the rain. He brushes his flattened tongue over what he can and you notice that his shoulder is moving. He’s stroking himself over you and it makes you feel even more aroused. Any time your eyes close he sucks hard enough to pull you back to reality and softens it when you meet his gaze again. Once he’s decided that you’ve had enough he pulls away and drops his hand. You’re wiped out, your head falls back and you gasp for breath like you’ve been underwater for too long. You’re still bucking with small pulses and whimpering as his hands run over your inner thighs and it makes your body want to receive more from him although you feel like curling up and sleeping.
“You made a fucking mess princess.” He taps on your clit and the sensitivity you feel makes you jump back while Negan laughs. He isn’t lying, your cum is all over your lower back and ass. “Shit, you think you can even take my cock?” You think he’s asking because you’re so exhausted but when you look down your eyes widen. He’s thick and long, a lot bigger than anybody else you’ve taken before and you don’t think you can. He’s pressed high against his belly and twitching. Despite your hesitation it makes your pussy do the same thing and he grins at it then meets your gaze. “Looks like you want to give it a fucking go.” He winks.
You chew on your lip and Negan smirks. He’s quick to spin you onto your knees then lifts one of them high until your leg is bent far enough for your foot to touch your back. It’s painful despite the fact that you’re flexible because there was no warm up and your discomfort seems to feed something cruel in him.
“This is going to hurt like a bitch.” He warns. “Lucky you’re so fucking wet and I got you all ready, huh?”
He uses his fingers to pull the lips apart and rolls the tip of his cock against your swollen clit to earn another moan. He’s fast with the movement and it catches you off guard, his cock is deep inside of you with one movement and the yell you make earns a harsh slap against your ass that makes you jerk against him.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He pulls out all the way, still holding you apart and shoves himself all the way again. He doesn’t wait for you to readjust. He wants to fuck you and he wants it now. He continues the rough assault. “Rub your clit for me.” He growls, when you’re so lost in the feeling of him he slaps your ass hard and you hiss. “I won’t tell you again.”
You reach around and do exactly that. It’s so engorged, it feels three times the size and with just a few rolls you’re clenching around him and moaning his name breathlessly. He swears loudly, slaps you again in the same place and bends your back further so your ass goes closer to your lower back. His rhythm is steady and hits deep.
“I’m going to cum.” You admit, speeding up the movements of your rubbing only to have Negan slap you hard enough to pull away. He’s so rough and unforgiving.
“Don’t you dare.” You bend enough around to see him with furrowed brows. “Not till I tell you.” He growls.
“I can’t stop it.” You say between gasps each time he throws all of his weight down and buries himself into you. The clenching is tighter against him and he throws his head back with a grunt. The reaction is enough to bring you to the brink. “Please let me cum, sir.” You plead.
“No.” He growls, his hand slaps you again and the feeling makes it that much harder, he meets your gaze and reaches forward to grip your hair and bend you further toward him. The change in position has his balls slap your clit and makes your eyes water as you try you hold the orgasm back. “You don’t cum until I fucking say so.” He warns.
It feels impossible to hold. The feeling on your clit, his cock hitting your cervix and the way he’s looking at you makes it too much. His thrusts are beginning to speed up, he’s getting close.
“Tap my arm if you want to stop.” He says breathlessly, you have no idea what he means and you’re thrown off by his hand wrapping around the back of your neck. Wherever he’s pressed on has immediately halted the blood in your head from moving and the pressure is enough for your eyes to close. It makes the feeling of him burying himself deep and hitting your clit that much more powerful, you can’t moan, you can’t breathe and just before reality feels like it’s disappearing he speaks up.
“Fucking cum for me wife.”
That’s all you need to hear and just as you feel him pull out a rush of cum follows with the exit and his hand is removed so you can cry out while he moans with you. His cum comes out in spurts, all over your ass, back and face. It’s so strong, he’s been backed up for years. His fingers bury back in you and he fingers out even more of your cum.
“Keep going baby, fucking hell.” He doesn’t stop and once again you’re breathless and in tears, moaning out his name and causing him to move even faster until nothing else is able to come out and he lets go.
You collapse onto the bed and turn onto your side and tuck your legs close. He falls behind you, both of you breathless and his cock deflating against your back. You wipe your face and find yourself surprised to feel his arm wrap around your middle and chin sit on your head. You don’t like Negan, but after such a rough and thorough fucking the embrace is more than welcome. His grip tightens and your arms lay on top of his. The rain is still heavy, the wind is vicious and all you can hear now is how bad the weather is while your body pulses with a lightness that only great sex can give. When he speaks his voice is rough and low. It causes a series of bumps to explode over your skin.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“Sore.” You admit, a throaty chuckle comes from him and you think he’s nodding.
“Well you’re fucking tight, I’m not surprised.” The compliment makes your cheeks warm and your arms flatten more against his. “If you ever want to fucking do that shit again-.”
“If there’s another storm.” You say. “Otherwise it’s too risky.” He squeezes you a little more at the good news and you’re surprised by the man once again, he’s affectionate. You wouldn’t have guessed. Maybe it’s the lack of human contact after so long that drew it out of him.
“Well thank fuckity fuck we’re coming into Winter then, doc.” He reaches up and pinches your cheek while laughing at your annoyed reaction.
The title reminds you of who you are meant to be to Negan, his therapist, not somebody who should be handled like a fuck doll and held like a lover. But you’d always wanted this, the only thing that stopped you from ever entertaining Negan was his position as a ruthless leader, but now he was a prisoner and pushing away the memories of what he’d done is easier when he’s pushing himself inside of you.
Imagine Joe taking interest in the reader who has had a bad past before and has trust issues.
(A/N): Okay, I know this is VERY short, but I think it’s perfect at is it. So I really hope you’ll like it! Enjoy <3
“I’m just not looking to date anyone right now.”
After months of research and building this friendship, he got the courage of asking you out. It was the logical next step, it was what was expected from both of you… but yet, you’re slipping away faster than water flooding through his fingers, and he knows it’s because you don’t trust him enough to love you.
‘I can fix you.’ He sees the pain in your eyes, wondering how dark your past must be to prevent you to love… to be loved. ‘Let me fix you.’
I stopped believing in the idea of soulmates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were. But because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together. —LK
“And thats the worst part of it all. You can love someone so much. You can think about them all day. Carve their name into the cement and buy them flowers on your way home. You can cook dinner for them and you can buy chocolates for them. You can read every book they ever liked and you can memorize every song on their playlist. You can change yourself so that you lose 24 pounds dye your hair another color. You can change your career or move across the country for them. You can do it all. You can love them so much. But no matter how much you do, you cannot make someone love you.”