Layla 🪽 Butcher And Dean’s Angel Baby

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You tried to hide it in the folds of your skirt, but every murmur—every passing breath that said, maybe this is it, maybe he’s not coming back—twisted your chest into knots.

The thought made you nauseous.

You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stand the idea that the world might still turn without him in it. Simon decision to takeover wasn’t doing you any favors either.

But then—

The doors slammed open. You heard the whistling.

It was like the building flinched. Like the walls themselves remembered who they belonged to.

You knew. Before you even saw him.

You knew by the way the air thickened. The way every pair of eyes snapped to attention, wide and stunned and horrified.

You knew because no one moved.

Except you.

Negan strode through those doors like a god returning to his altar—Lucille slung over one shoulder, filthy but unmistakably him. He was grinning like he’d just won a war and couldn’t wait to hear who cried about it.

He scanned the room—drinking in the terror, the disbelief, the quiet dread—and let out a dark, rumbling chuckle.

“I am guessing that a lot of you fine folks thought I was dead, chewed up, never to be crapped out again. Well, here’s a little refresher on who the hell I am—I wear a leather jacket,” he called, voice loud enough to rattle the rafters. “I have Lucille–”

That grin stretched wide—white teeth flashing, eyes sharp and mean.

“And my nut sack is made of steel.”

A choked, disbelieving laugh came from somewhere near the back—but no one joined in. They didn’t smile. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t run to him.

“I am not dying until I am damn good and ready,” he tacked on, shrugging what felt like far too casually for the moment.

People looked like they’d seen a ghost.

And deep down, you knew most of them wished that’s what he’d stayed.

But not you.

Your breath caught the second his eyes landed on yours—like the storm was over, like gravity had returned.

He was real.

He was here.

And you didn’t care if the rest of the world was terrified of him. You never had.

“No one ever thinks that they’re the evil one,” he went on, eyes roaming over the crowd. “Everyone thinks they’re the hero. The good guy.”

He turned, and his gaze found yours—like he’d known exactly where you’d be waiting.

“But there are no heroes,” he said, softer now. Almost like he was only saying it for you.

Your vision blurred. You tried to steady your breathing, but it came out in uneven shudders.

Negan watched you another moment, then started walking your way. Every step was calm, measured—like he had all the time in the world.

When he stopped in front of you, you felt your throat catch. Your voice came out so small you hardly recognized it.

“I—I didn’t know if you—”

He tilted his head, that grin still playing around his mouth. “You didn’t think I would come back?” His tone was low, a little amused, a little mocking. “Sweetheart…you ever known me to leave anything unfinished?”

Your lip trembled as you shook your head, and he let out a warm, rasping little laugh. “Awwwwe, babydoll…look at you. You’re all wound up, huh?”

You tried to answer, but nothing came out. Just another shaky breath.

Negan reached up, his big hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t remember shedding. His voice softened into that syrupy, coaxing tone you’d knew he used on his wives when he wanted them pliant.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Don’t gotta look like you’re about to faint, I gotcha.”

You pressed your hand over his wrist, needing the feel of him solid and real. “I just—everything felt so wrong without you here.”

His mouth curved in a slow, indulgent smile. “Yeah.” His thumb traced your jaw, almost affectionate. “I bet it did, baby.”

You swallowed, shame mixing with relief. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a private hush. “You’re a soft little thing. Fragile. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Heat crept up your throat. Your breath hitched when his hand slipped to the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your hairline.

“You wanna help me unwind, baby?” he asked, his tone low and coaxing. “You wanna do something to calm yourself down?”

You nodded, your chest fluttering.

“That’s my girl,” he purred, brushing his mouth over your hair. “C’mon.”

He guided you down the hall with one hand steady at the nape of your kneck, never hurrying, never looking back. When the door to his quarters clicked shut, it felt like the only place in the world.

Negan let go of you long enough to shrug out of his jacket, draping it over a chair. He turned back and caught you staring, your hands twisting in your skirt.

“Well aren’t you adorable,” he crooned, that condescending sweetness threading through every word. “All worked up and nowhere to go.”

Your lip trembled again. “I don’t know why I—”

“Sure you do,” he interrupted gently, stepping close enough that your breath caught. “You’re wound up ‘cause you need me. I know you get all bent outta shape when you gotta think too much for yourself.”

You nodded helplessly.

He lifted his brows, smirk deepening. “Yeah. I think you oughta get down on your knees for me. Show me how much you missed me. ”

Your stomach flipped. You sank down, palms bracing the floor as you looked up at him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, almost a purr. “You’re gonna help me relax, baby. And you’re gonna feel so much better, too.”

He undid his belt, the leather sliding free with a soft rasp that made heat flood your cheeks. When he freed himself, already heavy in his hand, you felt your pulse thrum in your throat.

“Look at you,” he said, soft and amused, like he was talking to something delicate. “You missed this almost as much as I did.”

You nodded again, too breathless to answer.

Negan reached down, cupped your jaw in his palm, and guided you forward until your mouth brushed the flushed tip of him.

“Go on,” he coaxed, his thumb sweeping your lower lip. “You know how Daddy likes it.”

You swallowed, your lips parting around a shaky breath. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, guiding you closer with patient pressure.

“C’mon,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth tilting up in that slow, hungry smirk. “You know what to do, baby.”

Your lashes fluttered as you took the head of him into your mouth, the salty taste and heat grounding you in a way nothing else could. A deep, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his hand sliding back into your hair. “Fuck, that’s it. You feel that? That’s all me, baby.”

You closed your eyes and sank lower, your tongue curling against the thick underside of him. His fingers flexed, tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle.

“Look at you,” he cooed, his voice dropping to that dark, fond tone he’d used when you were crying. “Pretty little thing…cryin’ your eyes out one minute, suckin’ my cock the next.”

A small, helpless sound broke in your throat. His grip in your hair loosened just enough to let you pull back for air, but when you did, he tsked softly.

“Nuh-uh,” he chided, tilting his head like he was disappointed but amused. “Not done yet. You want me to feel better, don’t you?”

You nodded, your cheeks flushed hot.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his thumb brushing your damp cheek. “Now be sweet for me.”

You took him deeper, your jaw stretching to accommodate the thick length of him. He hissed a breath through his teeth, his other hand bracing on the wall behind you.

“Goddamn…you got no idea how much I thought about this,” he groaned, his voice going rough around the edges. “All that time out there, stuck with that preachy little asshole—this was the only thing I wanted.”

Heat coiled low in your belly, the rasp of his words settling deep in your chest. You bobbed your head slowly, your tongue swirling over him in the way you knew he liked best.

“Shit,” he panted, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

Your hands came up to rest lightly on his hips, steadying yourself as you took him all the way to the back of your throat. He let out a ragged groan, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“Yeah…fuck,” he rasped. “Just like that. You’re a natural, baby.”

He rocked his hips forward, shallow little thrusts that made your eyes water. But he didn’t force you—he never had to. You wanted this as badly as he did.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, a string of slick connecting your lips to the flushed head of him. His hand was still cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip like he couldn’t help himself.

“You need a minute?” he murmured, his voice gone soft again. “You look like you’re about to fall apart.”

You shook your head, your voice nothing but a rough whisper. “Wanna keep going.”

His grin spread slow and wicked. “Yeah, baby,” he purred, guiding you back down, “I know you do.”

You closed your lips around him again, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him deeper. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his hips stilled.

“Fuck…you’re gonna make me come,” he growled, his tone fraying around the edges. “Such a good little mouth.”

Your pulse fluttered hard as you swallowed around him, your hands gripping his hips tighter.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice ragged but insistent.

You dragged your gaze up, blinking through tears, and met his eyes. The moment your gaze locked, something in his expression cracked—like all the adrenaline he’d been carrying finally burned away.

“Goddamn…” he rasped. “I missed this. I missed you.”

You moaned around him, and that was all it took. His hips jerked, a hoarse groan tearing from his chest as he spilled hot and thick over your tongue.

He held you there while he came, his thumb stroking your cheek in a slow, grounding rhythm.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away right away. He stayed close, his hand gentle in your hair, his breath coming hard and uneven.

“You feel better now, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice rough but warm. “Feel a little less like the sky’s fallin’?”

You nodded, swallowing the last of him, your chest still fluttering.

“Yeah.” He let out a low laugh, thumb brushing your wet lower lip. “Me too.”

divider by @uzmacchiato

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl @fratboychrisera @angelically-yours @dina-winchester @maneaterarabella @ralilda @ilikw @lupinslibraries @ladykitana90 @kyleighsstuff @deans-yn @k-illdarlings @ohperiodtpoohhh @poisonivy2267 @scrmqwn @sadpods @mochminnie @spookyysinsanity @never-brooks @ladykitana90 @mindfulmesses @paristheonewhoreads @prettywhenipanic @rxi-pop @mostlymarvelgirl @shortcyclicalstoner @k4marina @dead-sirens

The sun blazes mercilessly over the wide, open plains of the farm, its rays cascading down like sheets of molten gold. The morning air, once crisp and cool, has given way to a relentless, stifling heat that settles over the land with an oppressive grip. Dust rises in lazy spirals from the dry earth, clinging to Beau’s sweat-soaked skin. He was fixing up the fence near the cow pasture, fighting (and losing) with the high-tensile wires.

Beau had planned a day off from the station to unwind after a hectic week. However, his plans were disrupted when a nail punctured his tire from one of the back roads. Fortunately, your dad happened to be in the area and offered to help him fix it. As a token of appreciation, Beau felt obligated to repay your dad’s kindness. Your dad was getting older and you told him time and time again he needed help on the farm, too stubborn to pay anyone for “work he could do himself”.

Beau went over the checklist in his head once more.

Once he was done with the fence, he needed to haul the hay to the barn, feed the hogs, and somehow bring the chickens into their coop. Easy enough.

It was not.

Just after the 4th of July, the sun was at its peak, creating intense heat against his bare skin. He worked hard at the edge of the dense woods, where the trees offered some relief. Just past the dense brush, a refreshing creek beckoned him, providing a chance to cool off with his shirt as a towel.

The part that killed him was that he wasn’t even close to being done.

After jamming his thumb for the umpteenth time, he cursed up a storm big enough to make a sailor blush and dropped the hammer. That was it. He couldn’t fix the damn fence to save his life. The wire wouldn’t cooperate, and the post was old, rotten wood. He lifted his eyes to start heading in when he saw you.

You had just returned from a vacation with your girlfriends. Beau had seen you in town before, but you looked quite different this time. Your skin had a radiant, freshly tanned glow, and your hair was a subtle shade lighter. A warm smile adorned your face as you greeted your father with a heartfelt hug on the porch, your luggage conveniently placed at your feet from the taxi. Beau’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. Your father said some words and you turned your head to meet Beau’s eyes. Even from a distance, he could see that sparkle in yours.

Suddenly, this job didn’t seem so bad.

He walked up to the porch, his shirt slightly sticking to his skin as he put it back on. You were all bright eyed and happy to be home when you turned to greet him.

“You must be the mysterious Sheriff Arlen.” You said with a small giggle. God that giggle would undo him.

“The one an’ only, call me Beau.” He replied, holding out a calloused and dirty hand.

You took it with no hesitation, your smaller hand slotting into his. Your skin was so soft against his, feeling like silk.

“Well, Beau… thank you for taking care of my daddy, he’s so stubborn about hiring someone but I see he made a good choice.” You paused, listening to your father grumble as he helped take your suitcase into the house.

“So what made you want to help?”

“Well… I owed your pops here a favor after he saved my hide from a flat tire.” Beau replied, his gaze sweeping over your face.

“Ain’t that mighty kind of him.” Your accent was sickly sweet, made Beau feel like he was back home in Texas.

“Yep, well… better get back to fixin’ this fence. I’ll talk to you later, darlin’. Pleasure meetin’ ya.” Beau tilted his hat down at you with a crooked grin and made his way down off the porch.

“Bye, Sheriff.” You spoke in a lilted tone, followed by a small wave of your fingers.

Oh yeah, he was doomed.

Banners by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune