ANNA

SPENCER REID

-ONE SHOTS-

RAMBLES

FAMILY MOMENTS

COFFEE

SHHH!

-HEAD CANNONS-

AUTUM WITH SPENCER REID

-DRABBLES-

Nothing yet, come back later :)

AARON HOTCHNER

-ONE SHOTS-

TEACHER'S PET

BABY?

BOSS

MORNINGS WITH HOTCH

LAZY

-HEAD CANNONS-

Nothing yet, come back later :)

-DRABBLES-

Nothing yet, come back later :)

LUKE ALVEZ

-ONE SHOTS-

Nothing yet, come back later :)

-HEAD CANNONS-

Nothing yet, come back later :)

-DRABBLES-

Nothing yet, come back later :)

divider creds <3

He’s pissed, you can tell. Not at you particularly, and, in fact, you’re the only thing that’s keeping the bubbling anger at the bottom of his stomach just that–still there but simmerming low enough to keep his head more often than not. These people, with their dinner parties and their haircuts and their leaving the tower empty, should be lucky you’re here. Glad that Rick has the opportunity to channel his dissatisfaction into this eye-rolling, ferocious stroke. Reserved only for you and the way your ass looks when it smacks back into him.

“They got not fuckin’ idea what they’re doin’ here, do they?” Rick growls the question quietly, not bothering to listen for an answer. He gets like this when he fucks you sometimes… growly and babbling with no filter, under a pussy induced trance. (His pussy Rick had declared one day.) “Deceivin’ themselves into thinkin’ they’re safe when they can’t even man their walls. But not you, though–nah, you get it. You get me, you help me… keep me sane ‘n warm. Make sure the group feels loved and secure, keepin’ us together. Keepin’ me together…”

Rick is panting, and you’re weeping out noises into his hand now; at his words and the slick gathering along his girth. Moving his other hand from your back, Rick wraps his arm around your front and forces you upwards. Groaning at the new angle, he quickens his pace with an exactness that weakens your knees. Desperate huffs of air peppering out of him, the man fucks you with a fervor that forewarns you to how close he’s getting. How badly he needs you to cream your mess while he’s stuffed inside you like this.

God, he’s huge. Rubbing against your walls with veins that track his entire length. Thick head stretching and punching you a total of four more times before he has to cover your mouth again, vacuuming your wails into his rough palm. He has to bite his tongue a few seconds after, the squeezing and gushing of your hole enough to milk out the thick, filling ropes of his cum. Rick grunts his way through it, cock pulsing hard enough to force his mouth open with unsteady groans. He gives you one last solid thrust before letting himself stay tucked inside your drooling heat.

“God,” Rick breathes, bending to bury his face inside your neck. He’ll explain the blood that rubs off onto your skin to whoever questions it with ease. Walkers. She handled it, though. Just like always. Shaking his head, he laughs a little. A bit calmer now that he’s fucked out his indignations. You’ve eased his troubles, just by being you. “Pussy like this doesn’t make much sense, darlin’.”

You let the quiet stand as your answer, Rick patting your side tenderly before easing out his softening cock.

Neither of you say very much as you regain your breaths. Rick pulls up your panties and cargos. You button and zip his jeans, the man barely letting you finish the action before reaching to cup your face. His thumbs stroke your cheeks and he stares at you hard. Not blinking and watching you scan the mess of his face.

“Better?” You finally question, soft and already-knowing. Rick puffs a laugh, lips quirking with a half-smile. Sniffing, he nods… and then nods again because he’s completely certain of his answer.

“Mm-hmm… always am with you,” he eases out. “Didn’t rock ya too hard, did I?”

“Might need to hold your arm for the walk back,” you tease, pulling a wide grin from Rick. “But I think I’ll live.”

“Yeeeah, you better,” he drawls, moving to peck your lips. When you dodge the kiss, Rick pouts into a fake frown. “What, you don’t like me, now?”

A chuckle shakes his chest when you shove him away with a drunk grin. “You’re filthy.”

“You never cared ‘bout that before.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, turning and starting a half-hidden limp in the direction of the commune. “Changed my mind. Don’t like you.”

Rick takes two quick strides to meet your pitiful pace, swatting his hand right onto your ass, and smirking at the squeal you let out. You're nudged into his side, arm automatically looping with his as you keep walking. Keeping you close. Tight.

“Hm. Pussy says otherwise, sugar...”

Negan picked you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist holding onto him like a koala on a tree. He knew exactly how to treat you when you came home like this.

He held onto you as he walked into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter. You started to undress as he turned the shower on. “Nuh-uh, let me do all that for you.” Your hands dropped to the side as you nodded and let out a small sigh.

Negan stood in between your legs as he finished unbuttoning your shirt, throwing it onto the floor. He then reached behind you and took off your bra as well, taking a glance at your breasts.

One thing about Negan is he always worshipped your body no matter what. He unbuttoned your pants and slid them down, taking your panties with the pants. The coldness of the air made you shiver a bit. Negan quickly undressed, wanting to get you in the shower and warm you up.

He helped you off the counter, leading you into the shower. You stood under the water, closing your eyes and sighing in relief. “Feels good..” A little smile came across Negan’s face. “Can I wash you?” You nodded.

Negan gathered some shampoo in his hand, moving it into your hair as he slowly massaged your head. You let out a quiet whimper, you had been needing a massage all day. He then followed the same process with the conditioner.

You opened your eyes to look at him as he poured soap onto a loofa. Negan locked eyes with you and smiled. That smile that you’ve loved since you met him. The loofa touched your skin, the soap making suds across your chest. He stared at your breasts for a hot minute. “Like what you see baby?” You joked.

He let out a grunt. “Of course I do doll..” You looked down and of course he was already hard. Just being around you made him hard. A giggle slid past your lips as he continued to wash the rest of your body. “You laughin’ at me?” He looked at you as he grabbed the shower head to start rinsing you off.

The shower head kept going down your body as you shook your head ‘no’. A grin flashed across his face, obviously not believing you. After he finished rinsing your body, he put the shower head against your clit. You gasped, tensing up at the feeling. “F-fuck baby..”

He smirked and then pulled it away from you and returned it to its original place. He let out a chuckle as you whined at the loss. “Go lay your pretty ass down on the bed, alright doll?” You nodded as you got out the shower, drying off on the way to the shared bedroom.

After you dried off, you laid down in bed naked, under the covers to keep you warm. Negan came in the room soon after you, water dripping from his hair but his body dry. No, he didn’t have a towel on. Your eyes wandered down his body, landing on his dick.

All you needed right now was him. In any form, it didn’t matter. You just needed him. He walked towards the bed, peeling the comforter off your body. The air hit you as you shivered, but the feeling went away as Negan crawled on top of you to hover over you.

You swallowed as you looked up at him. “‘M gonna make you feel so good… Get all that stress outta your mind..” He whispered into your ear as one of his hands rubbed down the side of your body. The more he touched you, the wetter you were getting.

He started peppering kisses down your neck, causing you to whimper. “P-please.. I just need you… Right now..” Although you loved his kisses and fingering before he actually fucked you, you just needed him in you at this point.

Negan nodded as he pushed your legs open a bit more, positioning himself in between your legs as the tip of his cock slid through your wet folds. This feeling made you moan. “Fuck you’re so wet for me baby..” You nodded, looking at him with glossy eyes as his touch was already pushing you to the edge. All he was doing was touching you.

He pushed in, both of you letting out a moan at the feeling. You gripped onto his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Missed this tight pussy all day darlin’..” He growled. Once he pushed completely in, hitting your cervix, you let out such a desperate sounding moan. Negan chuckled under his breath. “Guess she missed me too, huh?” You nodded fast.

Negan smirked as he started to thrust in and out of you. Your eyes shut, nails digging into his shoulders as he started to speed up a bit. “F-fuck.. needed this all day… hngh.. fuck..” You sounded like a desperate little whore, and Negan loved that. He loved that only he could make you sound like this.

“Gonna cum in that tight pussy darlin’” He growled into your ear. “Fuck.. hngh.. fuck me like a whore..” Suddenly he pulled out, and before you could say anything you were being flipped onto your stomach. His rough hands grabbed your hips and pulled them up, keeping your head down on the pillow. Negan slammed into you this time, not being gentle at all.

You moaned in pain and pleasure, you loved when he was rough with you. Throwing you around like a ragdoll. As he pounded into you, he grabbed your hair and pulled you up, your back against his chest. He nipped at your neck leaving hickeys here and there. “Negan… fuck- i’m close… ‘m gonna cum..”

A stinging pain flooded your ass as he spanked you. “Cum for me doll. Cum for daddy.” He groaned as he felt your cunt squeeze him. As you moaned louder, he became rougher as he chased his own orgasm.

Your body started shaking a little as you came all over his cock, leaking down your thighs. Negan let out a moan as he snuck a finger down and rubbed your clit, pushing you through your orgasm. Then, you felt hot strings of cum release inside of you.

You collapsed underneath him, breathing heavily as he stayed kneeling behind you. After a few minutes of you both catching your breaths, he eventually pulled out. He smirked as he watched a mixture of his cum and yours flow out of your pussy. Negan took one of his fingers and pushed the leaking cum back into you, causing you to whimper.

“‘M gonna go get some water baby..” You got up and gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking out to go to the kitchen.

————

When you came upstairs, Negan was still naked but he was getting out some pajamas for you to wear. You snuck up behind him, resting your head on his back as your arms went around your waist. “Hey darlin’” He smiled, you could hear it in his voice. “You wanna get comfy for bed?” Negan turned around so he was facing you.

Even though he just fucked the shit out of you, you needed more. You shook your head, grabbing his cock as you made eye contact. He winced when you grabbed onto him. “Fuck… you want more doll?” You nodded before pressing your lips onto his.

He kissed back, deepening it as he shoved his tongue in your mouth. He laid down on the floor, pulling you down with him. “Ride me baby… wanna see you ride me like the good whore you are” You straddled him, immediately sinking down on his length.

Negan grabbed your ass, moaning with you once you were fully on his cock. “So needy..” You whined and slowly started to move your hips back and forth. He let out quiet grunts as he watched you. He slapped your ass, causing you to jump a little. “C’mon, you can do better doll.” His voice was demanding.

You nodded. “Y-yes daddy..” You gripped onto his shoulders to steady yourself as you started bouncing. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as you started bouncing faster. The feeling of overstimulation started to wash over you, that tight feeling in your stomach coming quicker than expected.

Negan noticed you starting to tremble. “Gonna cum already?” You nodded frantically. “‘S too much daddy…” A whine escaped your lips “i’m so close..” He slapped your ass once again. “You can take it doll. Fuck- you can take it.” You nodded once again as you tried bouncing as fast as you could.

A loud moan escaped your lips as you fell apart on him, feeling him release himself inside you once again. Not only did you just cum, but you squirted too. This rarely happened, and every time it did happen it shocked Negan like he’s never seen it before. “Fuckin’ hell doll… God you’re so sexy, you know that right?” You whimpered in response.

He pulled you off his cock, using a towel that was on the floor to clean up in between your legs. Negan picked you up and sat you down on the bed, grabbing a pair of cute lace underwear and one of his t-shirts. He loved when you wore his shirts. And you loved wearing his shirts.

Negan slipped the shirt over your head, then helping you into your panties. He slipped in underneath the covers as you followed him, doing the same. “C’mere” You snuggled into him, resting your head on his chest as he held you close.

“Still feelin’ stressed doll?” You looked up at him and shook your head. “Nope, you made me feel so much better..” A sleepy smile came across your face as he left a soft kiss against your lips. “Go to bed darlin’ you had a tough day.” You nodded as you closed your eyes, curling up into him trying to be as close as possible. Hearing his heartbeat always helped you fall asleep, whether you were struggling to sleep or not. Once you had fallen into a deep sleep, Negan left a soft kiss on your head as he wandered off into sleep as well.

No matter what, he would take care of you. Especially on days where you were feeling stressed. He’d take you anywhere, anytime. And so would you.

apologies if this is the worst thing ive ever written it came to my mind while i was at work 😭

pls send requests!!!

𝑅𝐼𝐶𝐾 𝐺𝑅𝐼𝑀𝐸𝑆

・He needs to feel safe within a person to even begin to think about sex

・When you get to that stage, he lights candles and makes you feel as comfortable as you can be. He doesn't pressure you, he wants you to feel as loved as you make him feel

・He's slow and sensual. Loving on you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

・His favourite place to have sex is in the bath. With him behind you, and you resting on his chest. Both completely naked and exposed.

・Rick has your knees resting upon his, and he likes to widen them for easy access.

・Rick likes when you rest the back of your head against his shoulder. Your tits above the water, hard and pointed.

・With the sight, he groans, low and gutteral. His hands move up your waist and over your stomach to knead your breasts.

・He moves your hair back and kisses your neck, your cheek, anywhere he can get to.

𝑀𝐴𝐺𝐺𝐼𝐸 𝐺𝑅𝐸𝐸𝑁𝐸

・She takes control when things get hot and heavy

・Her hands moving all over you, squeezing and undoing clothing.

・Maggie's lips kiss you everywhere, it gets you wet, when she sucks on your neck, or between your breasts.

・She likes to have one nipple in her mouth, sucking and biting, while her other hand plays with your other breast. Squeezing your nipple, pulling and pinching.

・Her favourite place to fuck is the shower. Standing underneath the warm water. Both of you wet and soapy. Rubbing your tits together, groaning at the feeling.

・Maggie gets down on her knees and lifts one of your legs over her shoulder. She likes this position; to be so close to your cunt. She loves licking, and kissing the bud. It makes you shiver, no matter how hot the shower may get.

・She likes to bite the inner side of your thighs, while using her fingers to massage your core.

・No matter how hard you try to stay quiet, Maggie always makes you yell, and gasp and moan.

𝑁𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁

・He likes the chase, coming after you, trapping you and ravishing you against the wall.

・Negan cooes in your ear, "poor thing, can't move can you?"

・He loves teasing you. He does it throughout the day, but when you're alone, he whispers the most dirtiest things in your ear to rile you up.

・He likes to slowly take off your clothes, just to make you feel slightly annoyed.

"Hurry up, Negan!" You whine, trying to take your own clothes off, but he stops you.

"Ah ah ah, no baby," he says.

・Then he takes off his own clothes and lays down on the bed.

・You look at him with such hunger that his cock gets so hard it hurts.

"Come." he orders and beckons you forward. It's only then that you're allowed to take your clothes off.

・As you climb ontop of him, he flips you over and wraps your legs around his head.

・He starts sucking, and licking and moaning into your cunt.

𝑅𝑂𝑆𝐼𝑇𝐴

・She may seem like a bold woman while having sex, but really she's just as flustered as the rest of us.

・Rosita likes to take it slow. At first.

・She takes her time to kiss your pulse points; kneck, wrist etc.,

・And your lap is her favourite place to be. Legs either side of your yours. Cowgirl posiition.

・She holds you neck and kisses you like it's the last day on earth.

・You always feel desired when you're with Rosita. She has you yearning for more, more, more.

・It's like you need to touch her, and you need to feel her touch you.

・She makes the sweetest moans, all high pitched and whiney.

・You like to grind on each other when you get too fired up. Naked and rubbing against her own cunt is heaven.

・She swears a lot, usually in Spanish and she tells you what it means when you're spent and lying in each other's arms.

𝐷𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐿

・He's rather shy when it comes to intimacy. He's never had an intimate relationship with anyone.

・And neither does Daryl feel sexy but he gets close when the two of you are alone together

・He likes learning what makes you tick, what touches feel the best and what has you moaning in delight.

・His favourite position is missionary, with his body atop yours, an arm around your head as he pumps in and out.

・He's slow at first, dragging his cock in and out of your warm, wet hole. He bites your shoulder groaning at the feeling.

・Tears prickle his eyes as he goes deeper and deeper, earning loud moans from you

note: I mean no hate towards anyone, this is just a work of fiction. Don’t like it, don’t read it. Be aware that English is not my first language, you can tell me if something doesn’t make sense. Also, please, comment! It means a lot to me to know if you like my work.

The house always smelled like old vinyl, and whatever whiskey my Dad was nursing that week. Our place in the hills wasn’t a mansion, it was a compound: half recording temple, half lived-in rock ’n’ roll museum. Guitars on every wall, gold and platinum records catching the light like mirrors, and the constant low hum of music bleeding from the basement studio my father, Marcus, had built before I was even born. I was twenty-something and had never known a world without music. I had taken my first steps between microphone stands, guitars and musicians. My earliest memories were falling asleep on the leather couch while Dad and his band laid down tracks at 3:00 a.m. Music wasn’t a career in this house, it was oxygen.

I padded upstairs barefoot in cut-off denim shorts and an oversized Black Sabbath tee that hung off one shoulder, my hair all messy. I was supposed to be answering emails for Dad’s label, supposed to be, but the new riff he’d been obsessing over had been stuck in my head all day, and I wanted to hear what they’d done with it. The studio door was cracked open, low laughter rolled out, warm and masculine, followed by the unmistakable sound of Dad’s gravelly voice saying:

– Jesus, Ackles, you’ve got tone for days. That growl… Do it again.

I pushed the door wider and froze. Jensen was standing in the middle of the live room like it was his. Tall, broad-shouldered, in a simple black shirt that stretched across his chest and arms in a way that made my stomach flip, his hair was a little longer than I remembered from TV, and the stubble along his jaw looked like it would feel rough in all the best ways. He looked like a man who’d lived, who knew exactly who he was, and carried it without apology. He held one of Dad’s vintage guitars like it was an old friend, fingers relaxed. When he glanced up and saw me, those green eyes crinkled at the corners with polite surprise. Dad turned, grinning:

– There’s my girl. Come meet Jensen. We wrapped his latest project last month and the man finally let me drag him into the real studio.

He introduced both of us. I am the only daughter of rock legend Marcus, professional studio brat and part-time hopeless romantic. I stepped inside, suddenly hyper-aware of my bare legs and the fact that I hadn’t bothered with a bra. Jensen’s gaze stayed on my face, like a perfect gentleman. Of course he was.

– Nice to meet you – he said, and the way he said my name, voice low and smooth with that faint Texas drawl still clinging to the edges, made me shiver. 

He offered his hand, big, warm, calloused from guitar strings and who knows what else. When I shook it, I felt the strength he was clearly holding back. My pulse did something stupid.

– Likewise – I managed, hoping I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.  – Didn’t know we were having company today or I would’ve…

Worn real pants? Put on lipstick? Stopped drooling internally?

– She’s been swimming in this world since she could crawl. Knows more about microphones than most engineers twice her age. – Said my dad. 

Jensen’s smile was easy, respectful: 

– Explains the good taste in shirts.

I glanced down at the faded Sabbath logo and felt heat crawl up my neck. He noticed. 

For the next hour I tried to pretend I was answering emails on my dad's notebook, but mostly I watched Jensen work. Dad would throw out a chord progression and Jensen would find the perfect harmony making my dad actually whistle. They fell into an easy rhythm, trading stories about late nights on set versus late nights on the road. Every time Jensen laughed, a deep, genuine, the kind that made the skin around his eyes crinkle, I felt it somewhere low in my belly. He was so much older than me. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that made him feel like another species entirely: steady, grounded, ridiculously competent. The kind of man who opened doors and remembered how you took your coffee after hearing it once. And God, he was beautiful. Not pretty boy beautiful anymore, but man beautiful, strong jaw, broad chest, those forearms corded from years of whatever men like him did to stay looking like that. 

He caught me staring once. Our eyes met across the control room glass. For half a second something flickered there, something warm, maybe amused, but then it was gone, replaced by that same polite, gentlemanly smile.

– Need anything? – he asked when I brought him a fresh coffee later.

You. Preferably shirtless and telling me what you would do with that mouth. I smiled sweetly instead:

– Just making sure the old man isn’t working you too hard.

Jensen chuckled, low: 

– Your dad’s a bad influence. In the best way.

Dad was already lost in a new idea, headphones half-on, muttering into a mic. Jensen’s attention drifted back to the board, but not before he added, almost absently:

– Nice to have another set of ears around here. You should stick around if you’ve got time.

My heart did a traitorous little somersault. I’d grown up with rock stars drifting through my living room and never once had I felt this off balance, but Jensen Ackles, so much older, polite, educated, stupidly handsome, and built like he could throw me over his shoulder without breaking a sweat, had walked into my dad’s studio and turned the air electric. And he hadn’t even tried.

The house was alive in that perfect, chaotic way it only got when Dad decided to throw one of his “small” gatherings. Which, in Marcus' world, meant half a dozen legendary musicians, a few engineers, a couple of old roadies, and enough whiskey and wine to float a battleship. Vinyl playing somewhere, and the warm Texas night carried the scent of grilled steaks and cigar smoke. I’d spent the afternoon “helping”: swapping out records, sneaking sips of Dad’s good bourbon, and changing into something that made me feel dangerous: a short black sundress that skimmed my thighs, thin straps, and just enough red lipstick to match the neon “RECORDS” sign glowing above the basement stairs. My hair fell loose and wild down my back. All because Jensen was coming. Dad had practically adopted the man after their first few studio sessions.

I was in the kitchen refilling a tray of glasses when I felt it, the shift in the air. Deep laughter rolled in from the living room, low and familiar. I stepped out just in time to see Jensen ducking through the doorway, a red cap pulled low, wearing a worn denim shirt over a black tee that did nothing to hide how broad and solid he was. He carried a bottle of top-shelf bourbon like a peace offering and shook hands with Dad like they were old war buddies.

– Jensen, you son of a bitch – Dad grinned, pulling him into a back-slapping hug. – Glad you made it. Come on, the boys are already arguing about the setlist. 

Jensen’s green eyes swept the room until they landed on me, for a beat longer than necessary. His gaze flicked down once, just briefly, before snapping back to my face with that same gentlemanly control.

– Hey – he said, voice warm with that honey-rough drawl.  – Good to see you again.

– Jensen –  I smiled, stepping closer under the excuse of taking the bourbon from him. Our fingers brushed. His were warm, steady. Mine felt electric.  – You clean up nice after a long day in the studio.

He chuckled softly: 

– Can’t show up empty-handed to a party of your Dad's. He’s been bragging about your record collection. Said you’ve got opinions.

– Strong ones – I replied, tilting my head.  – You should come see it later. I’ll judge your taste.

Dad was already pulling him toward the porch where guitars were being tuned and old friends were shouting greetings. I watched Jensen move through the crowd, always relaxed, effortlessly commanding the space without trying. He laughed at something one of the session players said, accepted a beer, and within minutes had a guitar in his lap like it belonged there. The night unfolded the way these things always did at our house: loud, warm, electric. Someone started playing an old Willie Nelson song on the porch. Jensen’s voice joined in smoky, and surprisingly smooth on the harmonies. I leaned against the doorframe with a glass of red wine, watching the way his fingers moved, the way his shoulders shifted as he played. The porch lights caught the stubble on his jaw and the faint sheen of sweat at the base of his throat. He was so much. Big arms, strong hands, that quiet confidence that made every rock star around him seem a little louder than necessary, and still, every time our eyes met across the crowd, he gave me that same polite, slightly amused smile. No heat. No obvious want. Just him. It was driving me crazy. 

Later, when the party thinned a little and most people had migrated back inside toward the records and the good whiskey, I slipped upstairs to the studio. I was flipping through albums when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Jensen appeared in the doorway, cap gone now, hair a little messy from running his hand through it. He looked even better in the low red glow.

– Escaping? – I asked, holding up a rare pressing of a Stevie Ray Vaughan record. 

– Needed a breather – he admitted. His eyes moved over the walls lined with guitars, framed photos, and shelves packed with vinyl.  – This place is incredible. Your dad said you practically grew up here.

– I did. – I stepped closer, holding the record out like an offering. – Born between music and shows and rock, like I told you. This room raised me more than any school did.

He took the album carefully, his big hands respectful on the sleeve. When he looked back at me, standing just a little too close in the intimate light of the studio, something tightened in my chest. I could smell his cologne, something woodsy and clean, and the faint trace of bourbon on his breath.

– You’ve got good taste – he murmured, voice lower than before.

My pulse kicked hard. I bit my lip, then let the words slip out before I could stop them: 

– So do you, apparently. You keep coming back.

Jensen’s gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second, the first real crack I got in that gentleman armor, before he met my eyes again. A slow, almost reluctant smile curved his lips:

– Your dad’s a hard man to say no to.

I took another small step forward, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to look at him properly: 

– And me?

He exhaled a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rough: 

– You’re trouble, sweetheart.

The word sweetheart landed like a match on dry kindling, but before I could push, before I could rise up on my toes and do something reckless, Dad’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs: 

– Ackles! Get down here! We’re doing that new riff you wrote!

Jensen’s eyes lingered on mine a moment longer, polite mask sliding back into place, though I swore I saw the faintest heat behind it.

– Duty calls – he said softly. His hand brushed my arm as he passed.

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the red glow of the studio with my heart hammering and my lips still tasting the ghost of possibilities. I pressed my fingers to my mouth, smiling like an idiot. He might be a perfect gentleman, but I wasn’t.

The party had reached that perfect hazy tipping point. Voices grew louder, then softer, laughter louder, music dialed down to a warm, bluesy hum drifting from the outdoor speakers. Empty bottles and half-full glasses littered the patio tables. A few of Dad’s friends had migrated inside to argue over rare vinyl, while others sprawled on couches with cigars and old stories. I slipped away to the far end of the backyard, where the string lights faded into softer shadows near the big oak tree. 

The night air was thick and warm, carrying the scent of jasmine and distant rain. I settled onto the wide wooden bench, a neatly rolled joint in hand, and lit it up. The first deep inhale settled something restless in my chest. I tipped my head back, letting the smoke curl slowly toward the stars.

Footsteps on the grass. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Jensen appeared at the edge of the shadows, hands in the pockets of his jeans, that denim shirt unbuttoned one more than it had been earlier. His hair was a little messier now, sleeves rolled up over those strong forearms. He stopped a respectful distance away, eyebrows lifting slightly when he saw the glowing tip of the joint between my fingers.

– Escaping again? – I asked, smiling lazily as I exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

– Needed some air, – he said – social batteries started to run low. – His green eyes flicked from my face to the joint and back. – Didn’t mean to interrupt your private moment. 

– You’re not, you never interrupt. – I held the joint out toward him, offering.  – Want some? It’s really nice. Helps unwind after long studio days.

Jensen let out a soft, amused chuckle and shook his head: 

– Appreciate it, but I’m good. I’m a little too old for that shit. Last thing I need is to be the forty-eight-year-old guy getting crossed at your dad’s house.

I laughed quietly, taking another slow drag while watching him. 

– Too old? Please. One hit won’t kill you, Jensen. Live a little.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, that perfect stubble catching the faint light. For a moment he just looked at me, like he was weighing something. The polite gentleman mask was still there, but it was fraying at the edges. We talked for a few minutes, the easy things at first, how he’d gotten into music again after wrapping his latest project, how different the energy was here compared to a sterile studio or a film set, how my dad had basically strong-armed him into coming tonight and he didn’t entirely regret it. Every time he smiled, small lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes, and I felt myself leaning toward him without meaning to.

Eventually I held the joint out again, tilting my head with a playful little challenge: 

– Come on. Just one. For the experience. I promise I won’t tell Dad.

Jensen exhaled a quiet laugh, running his hand through his hair. 

– You’re trouble, you know that?

– So I’ve been told.

He hesitated one more second, then leaned closer. His fingers brushed mine as he took the joint. He brought it to his lips with the casual confidence of someone who definitely knew what he was doing, even if he pretended otherwise. He inhaled slowly and deep, holding it for a beat before letting the smoke drift out through his nose and parted lips. The way his mouth moved, the subtle flex of his jaw, the way his broad chest rose and fell… God. He looked insanely hot doing it, and relaxed, and masculine, completely in control, even while indulging. The smoke curled around his face, softening the hard lines of his features for a moment, and when those green eyes met mine again, there was a new, heavier warmth in them.

– Damn – he murmured, voice rougher now as he passed it back. – That’s smooth.

– Told you. – I took it back, our fingers lingering this time. My pulse was hammering. – You’ve done this before. – A crooked, self-deprecating smile. 

– Oh, please. I've been in this world a long time… 

We passed it back and forth a few more times in comfortable silence broken by quiet conversation. The weed worked its magic, loosening the air between us. Jensen sat on the bench beside me, not too close, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his big frame. He looked even better up close like this: relaxed shoulders, the faint sheen of night air on his skin, his deep voice telling me a funny story about a disastrous late night jam session years ago.

Every time he brought the joint to his lips, I couldn’t stop staring. The way he held it between those long fingers. The way he inhales. The way his throat worked when he exhaled. He was so much older, stronger, experienced in ways I could only imagine and yet here he was, sharing this quiet, slightly hazy moment with me in the dark backyard while the party hummed on without us.

– You’re staring – he said softly after a while, catching me again. There was amusement in his voice, but also something else. 

– Can you blame me? – I replied, emboldened by the weed and the way he hadn’t pulled away. – You make everything look good.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head as he passed the joint back one last time:

– Careful, sweetheart.

There it was again, the sweetheart said in that gravel-soft voice. My skin tingled. The joint burned down between us. The music from the house had grown even quieter, little more than a distant heartbeat. And for the first time since he’d walked into my dad’s studio, Jensen wasn’t just being the perfect gentleman. He was looking at me like he was starting to forget why he should be.

The morning after the party, the house smelled like coffee, leftover smoke, and regretful hangovers. Dad was already upstairs in the studio by nine, because he didn’t believe in days off when a song was calling. Jensen showed up later, looking unfairly composed in a black t-shirt and worn jeans, coffee in hand and a cap turned backwards. Only the faint tiredness around his eyes gave away the late night. I made sure I was there too. I’d chosen a cropped tank top and soft cotton shorts that rode up when I moved. 

I didn’t give a shit about playing it cool anymore. I wanted him, and I was done pretending otherwise.

– Morning – I announced, sliding into the control room with fresh coffee refills. I set Jensen’s down right beside him, leaning in just enough that my arm brushed his shoulder. – How’s the head after last night?

Jensen’s eyes flicked up to mine. That polite smile was there, but his gaze lingered a second too long on the strip of skin above my waistband. 

– Clearer than it should be. You?

– Perfect – I said, holding his stare.

Dad was already lost in the board, adjusting levels on the new track they’d been building. He grunted something about “adding a bridge” and waved us off. Jensen cleared his throat and turned back to the guitar in his lap, but not before I caught the way his jaw flexed. They worked for hours. Every time he leaned forward to play something new, I watched the shift of muscle in his arms and shoulders and felt heat pool low in my stomach.

I made myself useful. Brought snacks. Adjusted mics. Sat cross-legged on the couch in the live room, notebook in my lap, pretending to write lyrics while really just watching him. When Dad stepped out to take a call, I didn’t waste the opportunity. I walked into the booth where Jensen was tuning his guitar:

– You were really good last night – I said softly, stopping close enough that he had to look up at me. – Smoking with me. The talking. Letting go a little.

Jensen set the guitar aside and stood. He was so tall, so broad in the small space. He said my name with a warning in his tone, but his voice was lower than usual:

– That was… a one time thing. I’m too old for that shit. And you’re…? 

I said my age, finishing the sentence for him, stepping closer. 

– Not a kid. I know what I want.

His green eyes darkened. For a moment I saw it, before he blinked and looked away:

– Your dad’s right outside. And even if he wasn’t… This isn’t a good idea.

– I don’t really care – I reached up and lightly brushed a stray piece of hair from his forehead. He didn’t pull back. – I care about how you looked at me when we were out there. How you look at me now when you think I don’t notice.

Jensen caught my wrist gently, but firmly, his big hand warm against my skin.

– You’re the kind of trouble I can’t afford, honey.

I rose onto my toes, lips inches from his: 

– Then why are you still holding my wrist?

He let go like I’d burned him, but the heat in his eyes didn’t fade. Dad’s footsteps on the stairs saved us both. Jensen stepped back, picking up the guitar like armor. 

The rest of the afternoon was charged. Every glance between us crackled. When Jensen sang a particularly raw take, his eyes found mine through the glass and held. I bit my lip and didn’t look away. He wanted me. I could feel it in the way he over-corrected his polite distance, in the way his hand would accidentally brush mine when passing a coffee, in the quiet tension that thickened the air every time Dad left the room.

Later that evening, after Dad had declared the session a success and gone upstairs to “make some calls” (code for falling asleep in his chair), Jensen lingered in the control room, packing up slowly. I leaned against the doorframe, watching him:

– You don’t have to run, you know.

He straightened, turning to face me. The studio lights cast shadows across his handsome face, highlighting the stubble and the faint lines that only made him hotter.

– I’m not running. I’m trying to do the right thing here. You’re young. I've got many years on you. Your dad trusts me.

– I trust you too – I said, walking over until I was right in front of him. My voice softened, and for once it wasn’t just the chase. – And it’s not just that I want you, Jensen. I like you. The way you listen when I talk. The way you treat the music. The way you are with my dad…

Something shifted in his expression, maybe conflict, desire, and a flicker of real warmth. He lifted a hand like he might touch my face, then dropped it with a low exhale:

– You’re making this very hard.

– Good – I whispered, smiling up at him.  – I’m not stopping.

He let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head, but when he looked at me again there was no hiding the hunger. 

– Get some rest, sweetheart. We’ve got more sessions tomorrow.

He left before I could push further, but I caught the way his shoulders stayed tense as he walked out. His mask was cracking. And I was going to enjoy every second of watching him fall.

Jensen pulled up at the house the next afternoon with a fresh coffee in the cupholder and a determined grip on the steering wheel. He’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the timbre of her voice and the way her body had leaned into his space like she belonged there. By morning he’d talked himself down: she was young, impulsive, and Marcus’s daughter. Off-limits. He was here to make music, nothing more.

He walked into the studio like he always did, the easy stride, polite smile already in place.

– Marcus! – He called out.

Marcus was already behind the board, nursing a black coffee and muttering at a waveform. 

– Yeah, yeah. I'm here. 

She wasn't nowhere to be found at the studio, like she always was. 

– Where's your daughter? – Jensen asked, like it didn't mean anything. 

– Around here somewhere. Probably still sleeping.

Jensen shrugged like it didn’t matter. He dropped his bag, picked up the guitar, and started warming up, fingers moving on autopilot while his ears stayed tuned for the sound of bare feet on the stairs. Nothing. They worked for twenty minutes. Jensen kept his focus on the music, nodding at Marcus’s suggestions. But the studio felt too quiet without her. He hated how aware of that he was.

Then, while Marcus was deep in his headphones, adjusting a vocal comp, Jensen stepped out of the control room to grab a fresh bottle of water. The big picture window at the top of the stairs overlooked the backyard pool. He glanced out, casual, nothing more. And froze. She was stretched out on a lounger, right by the water’s edge, sunlight pouring over her like liquid gold. Topless. Just a tiny black thong riding high on her hips, the rest of her completely bare. Her skin glowed, warm and smooth, breasts full and relaxed under the sun. A silver nipple piercing on her left breast caught the light and flashed like a wicked little secret every time she shifted. She looked like pure sin and summer heat, the legs slightly parted, one arm draped lazily above her head, sunglasses on, completely unbothered. 

Jensen’s grip on the water bottle tightened until the plastic creaked. Heat slammed through him so fast it made his head spin. His body reacted instantly: blood rushing south, pulse pounding in his ears. She was stunning. Young, reckless, and so fucking tempting it hurt. 

For one dangerous second he let himself imagine walking out there, running his hands over that sun warmed skin, tasting the metal of that piercing against his tongue. He took a step back and nearly missed the top stair.

– Shit. – He caught the railing just in time, heart hammering. The bottle slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly down two steps before he snatched it back up. 

Marcus’s voice drifted from the control room: 

– You good out there, Ackles?

– Yeah – Jensen called back, forcing his voice even. – Just… Dropped something. Be right there. – He dragged in a slow breath, willing his body to calm down.

She’s too young. His friend’s daughter. Too young. Too complicated. The words looped in his head like a mantra, but they did nothing to erase the image burned behind his eyes: those soft curves, the glint of silver at her nipple, the tiny black thong that left almost nothing to the imagination.

When he finally stepped back into the control room, his face was carefully neutral, jaw tight. Marcus didn’t even look up. Jensen sat down, picked up the guitar again, and tried to focus. But every few minutes his gaze drifted toward the stairs, toward that window. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong. Still, the desire was there, growing hot, heavy, and harder to ignore with every passing second. 

Downstairs, in the backyard, by the pool, eyes covered by dark sunglasses, she was smiling, because she saw him through the big glass window.

The studio clock glowed past midnight. Marcus had called it quits around eleven, clapping Jensen on the shoulder with a tired grin: 

– Finish whatever you want, man. Lock up when you’re done. Bea’s probably out or asleep already.

Then he’d headed upstairs, leaving the house wrapped in heavy silence broken only by the low hum of the monitors and the occasional creak of the old wooden beams.

Jensen told himself he stayed because the new bridge needed work. The melody had been gnawing, unfinished, at him all day. That was the reason. Not the memory of sun warmed skin and a flashing silver piercing. Not the way she had disappeared after her little pool performance, leaving him edgy and distracted through every take. Definitely not the quiet hope that she might still be awake.

He ran another pass on the vocal, headphones half on, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the console. He tried not to check the stairs every few minutes. She wasn’t coming. Good. That was good. But then the studio door clicked open. Jensen looked up  and every rational thought in his head short-circuited. 

She stood in the doorway like a walking temptation. Tiny black cotton shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass, riding high on her thighs. Above that, a thin white top with delicate buttons down the front. Most of them were undone. The fabric gaped open, barely containing her breasts, the soft inner curves fully visible, nipples only just covered by the remaining strained buttons. The silver bar of her nipple piercing pressed visibly against the thin material on one side, a blatant, teasing outline that caught the low studio lights every time she breathed. Her hair was loose and messy, like she’d just climbed out of bed. Bare feet. No bra.

– Hey – she said softly, voice low and a little husky from sleep or smoke or both. – Saw your car parked outside, figured you might be down here… Finishing things.

Jensen’s throat went dry. He forced his eyes up to her face, but the damage was already done. His body had reacted instantly, the heat flooding low, pulse kicking hard. She looked sinful. He could see the faint tan lines from her afternoon by the pool, the way her tits shifted with each step as she came further into the control room.

Her name came out of his mouth and his voice sounded rougher than he intended: 

– It’s late. You should be sleeping.

She smiled, slow and knowing, and leaned against the edge of the console right beside him. The movement made her top gape even more. 

– I tried. Kept thinking about you here. All alone. – Her eyes drifted over his broad shoulders, the way his black t-shirt stretched across his chest. – You’ve been avoiding me all day.

– I wasn’t. – He stopped, jaw tightening. He had been. After the pool incident he’d kept his head down, stayed glued to Marcus, pretended the image of her topless hadn’t been burned into his brain. – Your dad’s in his room. This isn’t…

– Isn’t what? – She turned toward him fully, close enough that he could smell her. – A good idea? I know. You keep telling me.

Jensen exhaled sharply and stood up, needing distance. But the control room was small, and moving only brought him closer to her. He towered over her, big and solid, every inch the forty-eight-year-old man who knew better. His hands flexed at his sides like he was fighting the urge to touch.

– You’re killing me here, sweetheart – he muttered, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. His gaze dropped again to the open buttons, the teasing flash of silver against fabric. – You know exactly what you’re doing.

She stepped into his space, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. No hesitation.

– Yeah. I do. - -Her voice softened, and for a moment the bold, spoiled girl gave way to something more honest. – I want you, Jensen. Not just because you’re hot as hell and older and make me stupid. I like you. The real you. The way you look at me like you’re trying so hard to be good.

She reached up and lightly traced a finger along the edge of his jaw, feeling the stubble. 

Jensen caught her wrist one more time, the same firm, gentlemanly grip as the other day. His breathing had grown heavier. And for one long, dangerous second he let himself imagine pushing her back against the console, undoing the last two buttons with his teeth, tasting that piercing while she gasped his name. Instead, he closed his eyes for a beat, fighting every instinct. 

– You’re Marcus’s daughter. You're too young. I’m forty-eight, honey. This is… Complicated as hell.

– I don’t care about complicated – she whispered, pressing closer until her barely covered breasts brushed his chest. – Do you want me? 

The silence stretched, thick and electric. Jensen’s hand tightened on her wrist. His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper:

– Too fucking much.

The words hung between them like a live wire. Jensen stared down at her, chest rising and falling heavily. The polite gentleman was gone, and in his place was a man barely holding onto the last threads of control. He muttered a low curse under his breath, stepped back, and dropped onto the wide leather couch in the corner of the control room. His big hands ran through his hair, tugging at the dark strands as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

He growled, voice rough with frustration and want: 

– This is insane.

She didn’t hesitate, just crossed the small space slowly, hips swaying just enough to make the tiny cotton shorts ride higher. When she reached him, she placed one hand firmly on his broad chest and pushed. And he let her. His back hit the couch as she climbed onto him, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap, straddling him completely. The heat of her core pressed right against the growing bulge in his jeans. Jensen’s hands moved instantly, his strong palms sliding over her bare hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just beneath the hem of her shorts. He gripped her hard, like he was torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer. A low groan rumbled in his chest when she rocked once, deliberately grinding down against him.

He said her name as a warning, but his hands didn’t let go. If anything, they pressed her down firmer, letting her feel exactly how hard he was beneath her. She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, her breasts hovering inches from his face.

– What do you want, Jensen? – she whispered, voice sweet and filthy all at once. – Please, tell me.

He closed his eyes, head tilting back against the couch. His fingers flexed on her hips, thumbs stroking the skin just above her waistband. 

– We shouldn’t – he rasped. – Your dad is near. I’m too goddamn old for this. You’re…

– I’m right here – she murmured, rolling her hips again, slow and teasing. – And I’m asking what you want, Jensen! 

Jensen’s breath hitched. The internal battle played out across his handsome face, his eyes dark with hunger. After a long, tense moment, he exhaled sharply: 

– I want to eat you whole – his voice dropped even lower, almost embarrassed by the admission. – Been thinking about that fucking piercing of yours since this afternoon.

Her lips curved into a satisfied, wicked smile. She didn’t rip the top open. She didn’t undo the last two buttons. Instead, she reached into the deeply gaping neckline and carefully maneuvered her breasts out one by one, pulling them over the fabric so they sat exposed and pushed together above the bunched material. The silver nipple piercing on her left breast gleamed under the low red studio lights, catching every flicker. Jensen’s eyes went molten. A rough sound escaped him as he leaned forward without another word.

His mouth closed over her right breast first, hot and wet, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he sucked deeply. She gasped, arching into him, one hand sliding into his hair. He groaned against her skin, the vibration shooting straight between her legs. Then he moved to the pierced nipple, licking around the silver bar with careful, reverent strokes before drawing it into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure.

– Fuck, Jensen… – she breathed, grinding down harder on the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans.

He sucked harder, one big hand coming up to cup her other breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. His other hand stayed locked on her hip, guiding her movements as she rocked against him. The hunger he’d been holding back poured out in every slow, filthy pull of his mouth. She held his head to her chest, panting softly, feeling every bit of his strength, every year of experience in the way he worked her. 

Jensen didn’t stop. He spent long, greedy minutes devouring her breasts, sucking, licking, teasing the silver piercing with his tongue until she was a whimpering mess, hips grinding desperately against the hard line of his cock. Every pull of his mouth sent sparks straight to her core. He groaned against her skin like a starving man, switching between them, leaving her nipples shiny and swollen, the piercing glistening with his spit.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. She didn’t even give him time to think, just crashed her mouth against his.The kiss was messy and filthy from the start. Jensen took control instantly, by one big hand sliding up into her hair, gripping the nape of her neck as he angled her head exactly how he wanted, demanding, tongue stroking against hers with raw hunger. All she could do was moan into his mouth, melting under the sheer dominance of it. He tasted like sin and the faint trace of whiskey, and he kissed like a man who knew exactly how to ruin her. 

They were both breathing hard when he broke the kiss, forehead pressed to hers.

– Fuck it – he growled, voice wrecked.

He lifted her off his lap like she weighed nothing, spun her around, and bent her over the large control console. Her breasts pressed against the cool surface, still out and sensitive from his mouth. Jensen’s hand came down hard on her ass, a sharp, resounding smack that made her cry out.

– You've been teasing me for days, sweetheart, –  he said, voice low and dirty as he rubbed the stinging flesh – walking around half naked, shoving these pretty tits in my face, sitting on my lap like a needy little thing. You wanted this?

All she did was gasp, pushing back against him. Another hard slap landed on her other cheek. 

– Say it. 

– I wanted you to fuck me, Jensen. Please. Please. 

He dropped to his knees behind her, yanking the tiny cotton shorts down her legs in one rough motion, her panties going with it. They pooled at her ankles. His hands spread her ass cheeks, and then his mouth was on her, hot, wet, and relentless. He licked a broad stripe up her soaked pussy, groaning loudly at the taste.

– Jesus Christ, you’re dripping – he muttered, lustful.

She moaned shamelessly, pushing back against his tongue as he devoured her, focusing on sucking on her clit. He ate her like he’d been dying to, two thick fingers sliding inside her, curling just right. She was shaking, gripping the edge of the console, when he suddenly stood up.

She heard the sound of his belt, the zipper. Then the blunt, heavy head of his thick cock was nudging against her entrance, sliding through her slick folds. He pushed in slowly, stretching her open inch by inch. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry as he filled her completely, so deep, so thick, burning just right

– So tight – Jensen hissed through gritted teeth, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. 

When he bottomed out, hips flush against her ass, he stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust, letting her feel every inch. She was drunk on the feeling of him inside her, drunk on him. Her walls fluttered around his cock, already close just from the stretch. Jensen leaned over her, one hand fisting her hair again as he pulled her head back slightly. His lips brushed her ear.

– Is this what you wanted, huh? – voice rough as gravel. He gave one slow, deep thrust, then another. – You wanted me to bend you over your daddy’s console and fuck you like this? Stretch this pretty little pussy with my cock?

– Yes, – she cried – God, yes – pushing back to meet his thrusts. – Don’t stop.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down her spine, and started fucking her harder, deep, punishing strokes that made her breasts bounce against the console and her moans fill the studio. And she has never been happier.

note 1: This is kind of a part 2 to When in Rome, and you don't need to read it to understand this one, but...

note 2: I mean no hate towards anyone, this is just a work of fiction. Don’t like it, don’t read it. Be aware that English is not my first language, you can tell me if something doesn’t make sense. Also, please, comment! It means a lot to me to know if you like my work.

The bar was crowded, bass hummed low, lights soft glowing, the sound of clinking glasses also filling the place. I was out with my girls, laughing a little too loud, drinking colorful drinks, trying to pretend the last few months hadn't carved a hole in my chest. It had been almost a year with him. Jensen. A year that still felt like a fever dream. 

He and I met at an after party in Rome. He was there in his amazing green suit, matching his eyes, sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly good for a man who could've been my dad's slightly younger brother. He was concerned with it since moment one, but to me it never mattered, not when his hand found the small of my back like it belonged there, not when his voice dropped low in my ear with his not-always-there Texas drawl, and definitely not when he had me pressed against his hotel room wall hours later, filthy, but gentle, whispering exactly what he was going to do to me like it was the most natural secret in the world.

After we spent that night together, after going back to our homes and our lives, we just couldn't stay away from each other. Messages turned into phone calls and facetime, that turned into a fancy dinner at his favorite restaurant in LA that he wanted to show me, and when I least expected he came over to my house with flowers and asked me to be his girlfriend. He’d always been perfect. Patient when I needed space, present when I didn’t. He showed up for my family dinners, charmed my mom, talked football with my dad like they’d known each other for years. He checked in when I was stressed, made me laugh until my ribs hurt, and in bed… God, Jensen was a gentleman everywhere else, but between the sheets he was devastating, subtle at first, almost shy in the way he’d watch me like he couldn’t quite believe his luck. Then that quiet confidence would slide in, his voice roughening as he told me exactly how my body felt around him, how pretty I sounded when I fell apart for him. Dirty in the softest, hottest way possible. And unforgettable. 

Until the age thing started mattering to everyone else. The whispers. The looks. The way our friends joked about “daddy issues” one too many times. It chipped away until one rainy afternoon us both admitted it was getting too heavy. The breakup wasn’t dramatic, no screaming, no slammed doors. Just quiet sadness and the kind of hug that felt like goodbye and I’ll-miss-you in the same breath. He left my apartment and the rain immediately started to fall, like it wasn't just me crying. And I hadn't seen him anymore. Not until tonight. 

I felt him before I saw him, his presence is always magnetic, making me feel a familiar prickle on the back of my neck. When I turned in his direction, he was leaning against the bar maybe twenty feet away, talking to a couple of guys, and something in the way he holds himself already made me melt. His eyes locked on me almost immediately, like they’d been waiting. He looked good, as usual, dark Henley stretched across his shoulders, jeans, that slight scruff along his jaw, his necklace picking off his shirt. His expression flickered: surprise, then something softer, almost hesitant. Shy, almost. My friends noticed too, one of them nudged me:

– Holy shit, isn't that…? 

– Yeah – I murmured, heart hammering, but I didn't move and neither did he at first. 

I was taking a sip of my drink when he excused himself from his group and started walking towards me, slow, like he was giving me time to bolt if I wanted. I didn't. When he stopped in front of me, close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne, he gave me that small, crooked smile.

– Hey, darlin’, – he said, voice low, subtle, a gentleman, but his eyes dragged over me for half a second, appreciating, remembering and making heat pool low on my stomach. 

– Jen, – my voice came out steadier than I felt. – It's been a while.

– Too long – he confirmed and then glanced at my friends, a polite nod, then back to me. – You look… damn. You look good.

Our conversation started easy, just surface stuff, my work, his work, how my family was doing. He asked about everything like it really mattered to him, like he always did, and I hated how natural it felt. But underneath it, the air between us thickened. I caught his gaze on my mouth when I laughed or smiled, his fingers flexing around his whiskey cup, like he wanted to reach for my waist. 

My friends drifted off to dance for a while, like they wanted to give us space, shooting me knowing looks. And suddenly it was just the two of us in the noisy bar, inches keeping us apart. He rubbed the back of his neck, that shy flicker again:

– I think about you a lot, more than I probably should. 

My breath caught, I looked at his mouth. 

– Yeah? 

– Yeah! – His voice dropped, he stepped closer, shielding me from the crowd without getting into my space, classic Jensen. 

When he noticed that he still had the same effect on me, that still could make my body melt just by looking at me, his confidence shifted in, like a switch. His eyes darkened as they held mine. He got even closer, his mouth near my ear, no more than a whisper:

– I think about how you used to look at me right before I’d pull you into my lap. How you’d say my name all soft and needy when I had my mouth on you. How fucking perfect you felt squeezing around me while I told you how good you were taking it.

Heat flashed through me. He said it so quietly, so matter-of-fact, like he was commenting on the weather, but the words were pure sin. Gentleman on the surface, filthy underneath. Exactly how I remembered. I swallowed:

– Jen… 

– I miss that… I miss everything about you, I know I was the one that broke things up between us, I was afraid that you'd hate me because of what people said, but… – he breathed – I was wrong, and I know that now… I miss the way you’d get shy when I’d talk dirty, then beg me for more. Miss waking up with you tangled around me. –  His hand brushed my arm, light, but it sent electricity across my skin. – He continued, voice rougher now, direct. – I miss being inside you… Tell me I’m not the only one who still feels it.

He wasn't. God, of course he wasn't. 

– You're not – I whispered. 

His smile turned knowing, that subtle heat flaring. 

– Good. Because I’ve been standing here trying to be respectful, but all I can think about is taking you home, peeling that dress off you slowly, and reminding you exactly how well we fit. – He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. – I’d start gently, baby. Kiss every inch I’ve been missing. Then I’d get greedy. Have you riding me while I tell you how tight and wet you still get for me.

My thighs pressed together, the bar noise faded to nothing. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, searching. A gentleman again, giving me the out if I wanted it, but the heat in his gaze said he hoped I wouldn’t take it. And I didn't. 

– Take me home, Jensen, please.

His exhale was shaky with relief and want. He slipped his hand into mine, warm and sure, thumb stroking my knuckles like he used to. He left his cup and mine at the counter, left enough money to cover both of our tabs at least two times, and led me out into the cool night air. I felt the familiar pull, the one saying this might be too complicated in the morning, the reasons we broke up still between us. But that night, while his arm was sliding around my waist and his voice was murmuring low promises against my ear, none of it really mattered. I'd deal with the problems tomorrow. 

The cool night air did nothing to settle the heat humming between us. He didn't say much, just opened the passenger door of his car for me like he always did, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary on my waist as I slid in, and the look he gave me before closing the door made my stomach flip. 

He started the engine, the low rumble filling the quiet space. For the first few blocks, he kept both hands on the wheel, driving with that calm focus he always had. I could feel him stealing glances at me, though. Soft at first, almost shy, like he was still processing that I was really there in his car again after months apart. Then his right hand left the wheel. It settled on my thigh, high enough that his fingertips brushed the hem of the dress, warm palm pressing against bare skin. Not demanding, just claiming. Gentle, but possessive in that quiet way that is only his. 

– You're so beautiful – he murmured. His eyes flicking from the road to my face. THe streetlights washed over his face as he looked at me like I was the only thing worth seeing in the whole city. – I mean it. Every time I look at you… It hits me all over again. – His thumb started a slow, lazy stroke along the inside of my thigh, inching just under the fabric of the dress. The touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks straight through me. He kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other mapping my skin like he was memorizing it all over again. I shifted slightly, pressing my thighs together around his hand, and he let out a low breath. – Easy, baby – he said, voice dropping into that rougher tone that I love. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. – We’re not even halfway there yet. – But his fingers didn’t stop moving, doing subtle circles, teasing higher, then pulling back just enough to keep me wanting.

He glanced over again, longer this time. His green eyes darkened as they traced my face, lips, the way my chest rose with each quick breath. The city lights blurred past the windows while his hand kept its slow exploration. He squeezed my thigh gently, then let his fingers drift higher, brushing dangerously close to where I was already aching for him.

– I've been thinking about these thighs wrapped around me – he admitted, voice low and direct now, confidence fully slipped into place. – How soft they are. How they shake when I’ve got my tongue on you… or when I’m buried deep and you’re trying so hard to stay quiet for me. – He looked over once more, the same reverent, almost awed expression mixed with pure heat, before turning his attention back to the road. His apartment building came into view a few blocks ahead.

Jensen’s hand stayed right where it was, warm and sure on my thigh, thumb still stroking like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me. When he pulled into the underground parking garage and killed the engine, he didn’t move right away, he just turned to face me fully, eyes dragging over me slow and hungry.

– C’mere – he said softly. He leaned across the console, one hand still gripping me, the other sliding into my hair as he kissed me, deep, slow, like he'd been starving for it. When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against mine, his voice was barely above a whisper. – Let’s get upstairs, baby. I’ve got months of missing you to make up for. 

The elevator ride up was torture in the best way. Jensen kept me close, his arm wrapped around my waist like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. His thumb traced slow circles over my hip through the thin fabric of my dress, and every floor that dinged by felt like it took forever. The mirrored walls caught us, his tall frame curved around mine making my legs feel weak, my flushed cheeks, his dark eyes locked on my reflection like he was already undressing me in his mind. When the doors opened on his floor, he didn’t rush. He guided me down the hall with that same quiet confidence, keys in his other hand, but he paused right outside his door. Turned me gently so my back was against the wall beside it, caging me in without touching me fully. His forehead dropped to mine again.

– You sure? – He whispered, voice low and rough. – We walk through this door and I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you, darlin’... Not tonight.

I answered by sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heart under the soft Henley, and pulling him down into a kiss. It started slow like the one in the car, but hunger won fast. His tongue slid against mine, deep and claiming, one big hand cupping the back of my neck while the other gripped my waist hard enough to bruise in the sweetest way. He fumbled the key into the lock without breaking the kiss.

The inside of his apartment smelled like everything his, his laundry, his cologne, his aftershave, and that special smell that is only his. He kicked the door shut, backed me up against it, and kissed me like a man starved. 

– Jen… _ I breathed, surprised by his actions. 

– I've been dreaming about your mouth on mine for months. 

His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the dress higher, slow and reverent. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along my face, my neck, pushing my hair aside for better access. His green eyes were almost black with want. 

He knelt in front of me, and started to kiss my legs, calves, the inside of one knee, then higher, raising my dress with it, until his breath ghosted over my lace panties. He looked up at me and said: 

– You're so fucking pretty, baby. – He got up, took my dress off completely, and kissed my mouth again. Then hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and dragged the lace down my legs. He helped me step out of them, then tucked them into his back pocket with a wicked little grin. – Mine now.

I laughed a little, skeptic. But before I could respond, his mouth was on my body again. Hot, slow, devastating, in every corner that he could reach. Jensen groaned against me. He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me through the familiar apartment toward his bedroom. He laid me down on his bed like I was something precious, then stood back for a second just to look at me, totally naked to his mercy, chest heaving, lips swollen. He peeled his Henley off slowly, revealing the broad shoulders and defined chest I’d missed so badly. His necklace glinted against his skin. Jeans next, pushed down with his boxers until he was gloriously naked, cock heavy and flushed, already leaking at the tip. He crawled over me, settling between my thighs, forearms braced on either side of my head.

– Look at me, sweetheart – he said softly. And I did. Those green eyes were everything: soft, hungry, full of that quiet love that always undid me. – I missed you – he whispered. 

– I missed you so much, Jen – I murmured, my eyes never leaving his face. – I don't want to stay away from you anymore. 

– Me neither, love. I'm so sorry I left. – He breathed against my face, and left open-mouthed kisses all over my face. He lined himself up and pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching me open in that perfect burn I’d craved for months. – Fuck… This pussy is always so tight for me. – When he bottomed out, we both groaned. He stayed there, buried deep, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard. 

His hips rolled in tiny, maddening circles, slow. I wrapped my arms around his neck, nails digging into his back, I whispered against his ear: 

– Fuck me, please – I begged. 

– Yes, ma’am – I little playful smile on his lips and he started moving.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ His hips were slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every thick inch of him along every sensitive spot inside me, no rush like he wanted to savor every second, every flutter of my walls around him. – You’re pulling me in so deep. – He breathed against my lips, voice low and wrecked. 

One of his hands stayed buried in my hair, fingers threaded through the strands, cradling the back of my head like I was fragile. The other hand never stopped moving, sliding down my side, gripping my hip to hold me open for him, then smoothing up my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. He kissed me like he was trying to pour every missed month into my mouth, wet, hungry, and then he pulled back just enough to trail those same kisses across my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my eye. When a soft whimper slipped out of me, he caught it with his lips again.

– Look at me, darlin’ – he whispered, forehead pressed to mine, green eyes dark and burning. Another slow, grinding thrust that made me arch my back off the bed.

The pleasure was already overwhelming, every drag of his cock, every circle of his thumb over my nipple, every time he tugged gently at my hair to tilt my head exactly how he wanted. I felt completely surrounded by him, consumed. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

– Jen… – My voice cracked. His hand slid back into my hair, cradling my head as he kissed the tear that slipped free, tasting it.

– Too good, huh? – A mischievous smile on his face. 

He kept the pace devastatingly slow but deep. His body covered mine completely, hips rolling in a perfect rhythm, chest pressed to my breasts, skin hot and slick. His free hand mapped every inch of me he could reach, down my thighs, hitching it higher around his waist, then back up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek while he kissed me again, tongue sliding against mine in time with his thrusts.

– You feel so perfect, – he murmured right against my mouth, voice rough – so wet, so tight. Missed this pussy squeezing me like it never wants me to leave. – He kissed my wet eyelashes, then the bridge of my nose, then my parted lips again. 

Another tear slipped down my temple, and he chased it with his tongue, then sealed his mouth over mine in a deep, filthy kiss as he ground against my clit with every thrust. The pressure inside me coiled tighter, hotter, almost unbearable. My hands clutched at his back, nails digging in as my thighs started to shake around him.

– That’s my good girl – he praised, voice dropping even lower. His hand tightened gently in my hair, the other sliding down to grip my ass, pulling me into every stroke. – I want to feel you come all over me while I’m deep inside you. – He angled his hips just right and hit that spot inside me again and again. The combination of his cock, his constant touch, his mouth on my face, his voice in my ear was too much. My orgasm crashed over me hard, long, devastating. A broken sob tore from my throat as my walls clamped down around him, pulsing, flooding with heat. Tears streamed freely now, and Jensen kissed every single one away, murmuring soft, filthy praise against my skin. – Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight. 

He fucked me through it, slow and steady, drawing it out until I was trembling and whimpering beneath him. Even when the last aftershocks faded his hips were still rolling gently, keeping me full of him. He brushed damp hair off my forehead.

He stayed buried deep inside me for a long moment after my first orgasm, kissing the tears from my cheeks, his cock still twitching with the effort of holding himself back. 

– I want you to turn over for me, baby, – he murmured, voice husky. I nodded and he helped me turn, as I was boneless, but still eager. The large mirror leaning against the wall directly in front of his bed caught us perfectly. – Face down, ass up – he commanded and I did as I was told. 

Jensen positioned me right at the edge of the mattress so I had a clear view: my flushed face, swollen lips, eyes still glassy with tears and lust. And behind me, him. He looked devastating: strong, broad shoulders flexed as he knelt behind me, chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His hair had fallen messily over his forehead, those green eyes dark and locked on my body in the reflection. The necklace dangled as he leaned forward. Every muscle in his body stood out as he gripped my waist with both big hands.

He spread his knees wider, pulling my hips back toward him. One hand stayed firm on my waist while the other slid down to my ass, squeezing, then gently opening me for him. I felt the thick head of his cock nudge against my soaked entrance, teasing once, twice, before he pushed in, stretching me open again in one long stroke until his hips were flush against my ass.

A broken cry left my lips. 

– Fuck… Look at that – he groaned, watching in the mirror as he sank all the way in. His head fell back for a second, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, before he forced them open again. His jaw tight, lips parted, raw pleasure written across every feature, made heat flood through me even harder.

He started thrusting, deep and powerful, one hand anchored on my waist, the other sliding up and down my back, then gripping my hip again so he could open me wider for every stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, wet and filthy, mixed with his low, guttural groans.

I moaned, repeating his name like a prayer, unable to stop. Every thrust pushed a new cry from my throat asking for more. His hair fell further into his eyes as he leaned over me, one hand leaving my hip just long enough to brush it back before both hands returned in  a possessive way, grounding, never leaving my body. Hips snapping harder now, the angle letting him hit that perfect spot with every stroke. It seemed like he just couldn't stop telling me how good my pussy felt around him, voice rough with pleasure. In the mirror I could see everything: the way his abs flexed with every thrust, the intense focus on his face, the way his mouth fell open on a moan when I clenched around him. All I could do was push back against him, desperate, chanting his name between sobs and moans. He growled, one hand sliding around to rub tight circles over my clit while the other kept a bruising grip on my hip, holding me open as he drove into me harder. His eyes never left mine in the mirror.

– I want you to come for me again, sweetheart. 

The combination of his thick cock pounding deep, his fingers on my clit, the raw sight of him behind me looking wrecked with pleasure, his constant touch, sent me spiraling. My second orgasm ripped through me even harder than the first. I cried out his name, walls pulsing violently around him as my arms gave out and my face dropped to the sheets.

– Jensen… Fuck!

He kept thrusting through it, slower now but still deep, groaning my name like a curse and a blessing while his hands stroked soothingly over my back and hips, never once letting me go. His hair was messy over his eyes, chest heaving, that gorgeous face twisted in pleasure as he watched me fall apart for him in the mirror. He leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses along my spine.

When I finally caught my breath, I looked at him in the mirror. My voice came out hoarse, needy, and shameless: 

– Jen, baby, please. I want you to come in my mouth. –  I swallowed, cheeks burning.

His eyes darkened instantly. A slow, filthy smile spread across his face, part surprise, part pure sin. That gentleman mask slipped completely for a second. 

He pulled out carefully, leaving me empty and aching, then helped me turn over onto my back with gentle but eager hands. I settled against the pillows, looking up at him as he moved over me. He straddled my chest first, then shifted higher until his thick thighs bracketed my face, knees planted on either side. The view was overwhelming, his powerful body towering above me, abs tight, cock heavy and slick from me, hovering just over my mouth. His hair fell messily into his eyes as he looked down, one hand braced on the headboard, the other already wrapping around his shaft.

– Open that pretty mouth for me, darlin’ – he murmured. I did, tongue out, eyes locked on his. He stroked himself slowly at first, base to tip, his fist slick with my wetness. The muscles in his arm and chest flexed with every movement. He looked wrecked, jaw slack, lips parted, that dirty smile still playing at the edges as he watched me wait for him like this. – Such a good little slut for me – he praised, voice dripping with heat. His free hand reached down to cup my cheek, thumb stroking my bottom lip. – Look at you, huh, so fucking eager. 

His strokes grew faster. Low groans slipped from his throat as his hips twitched. I could see the way his brows pulled together, the way his mouth fell open further, the flush creeping up his neck. His thighs trembled slightly against the sides of my head.

I moaned softly, tongue ready, hands sliding up his thighs to hold onto him. That seemed to push him over the edge. His rhythm faltered, a deep guttural groan tearing from his chest as the first thick rope of cum landed across my tongue. Then another, and another. Hot and salty, coating my lips and tongue as he kept stroking through it, milking himself empty with shaky breaths. 

He looked so beautiful like that, head tipped back slightly, hair in his eyes, chest heaving, lost in pleasure because of me.

When he finally finished, he stayed there for a second, breathing hard, then slid back down my body. He immediately leaned in and kissed me deep, tasting himself on my tongue without hesitation, groaning into my mouth. His hands cradled my face, thumbs wiping the corners of my lips where some had spilled.

– Goddamn, you’re perfect – he whispered against my lips, voice soft again, full of love.  He kissed me slower, sweeter, then pressed open-mouthed kisses across my flushed cheeks and damp eyelashes. – Come here. – He pulled me into his arms, rolling us so I was tucked against his chest, his big hands never leaving my skin, holding me like he never wanted to let go again.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ – Don't go, please. Never  again.

Lying bare on the bed, you were all spread out like a gift. Negan had requested that you get yourself off before either man join in. You were happy to oblige. Rick was a bit hesitant as he watched you. Your fingers circled your clit in circular motions as your head lolled back. Small gasps escaped your lips, and your hair fanned against the pillow like a halo.

Your husband was on the other side of the bed, getting a clear view of the way your fingers pumped in and out of your pretty pussy. Negan knew you were beautiful, but he was filled with pride as he observed the way Rick was staring at you. The other man's eyes were filled with longing.

Rick couldn't take his eyes off of you. This entire thing felt dirty. It felt wrong to see another man's wife like this. He couldn't get enough, though. His jeans strained uncomfortably over his bulge, and he shifted to get comfortable.

After another minute or so, you finally came and your body trembled. You could never get off with the same intensity as when Negan satisfied you. Still feeling pent-up, you squirmed on the bed and whimpered.

“Can one of you take over, now?”

“Rick, step up. Don't use your dick, though.”

A small wave of frustration washed over Rick when he heard Negan's demand, but he pushed it away. He was willing to have you any way that he could. You propped up on the bed and waited impatiently. Approaching the bed, Rick sat beside you and his calloused fingers brushed back some hair from your face.

Even though this had nothing to do with love, Rick was a romantic at heart. He didn't want to rush straight into eating you out. That didn't feel right. Instead, he slipped a hand behind your head and brought his lips to yours. He kissed you deeply and fought the urge to moan against your mouth. You made him act pathetic.

Negan watched as Rick kissed you. Expecting to feel some level of jealousy, he was surprised by the mix of desire and satisfaction he felt. You wouldn't have been kissing him like this if your husband hadn't allowed it. That meant that he was still in control.

Needing more, you whined against Rick's mouth and resisted the desire to start touching yourself again. Negan had ordered that Rick by the one to get you off this time. You weren't about to disobey him. Your voice was needy as you pulled away.

“I need more, Rick. Please.”

“What do you want from me, darlin'?”

He knew what you wanted, but he asked anyway. Rick needed to hear the request from you directly. Hopefully, you wanted this as much as he did.

“I want you to eat me out. That's okay, right, Negan?”

Giving Rick permission, Negan nodded and adjusted his stance. He was achingly hard as he watched the two of you. God, he could not wait for his turn.

Rick didn't need to be told twice. He grasped your hips and moved so that he was settled between your thighs. The goal was for you to be as comfortable as possible. He started off by kissing by your nears and worked his way up to your core. Looking up at you through his lashes, he wet his lips and asked softly.

“You ready?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in agreement, he nodded and took a second to admire you. You were already dripping, and he could feel the heat radiating from your cunt. He kissed your inner thigh one last time before delving his tongue past your folds.

You immediately tangled your hand in his hair and held him in place. He wasn't going anywhere, though. Rick greedily lapped and sucked - swirling his tongue around your clit. The sounds that were filling the room were downright sinful.

As expected, Negan couldn't just watch for long. He climbed onto the bed beside you and the clank of his belt buckle met your ears. You looked away from Rick's ministrations and cocked your head.

“What are you doing, my love?”

“Open your fuckin' mouth.”

You could hear the command in your husband's voice, and your eyes widened as his hard cock fell in front of your face. Holy shit. Already sensitive from your previous orgasm, Rick's tongue was working you over, and now Negan wanted you to take more? You stumbled over your words and started to panic a little.

“Wait, Negan. That- that's gonna be too much.”

“No, it won't, you've taken me before. Be a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

Despite the oncoming overstimulation, you were intrigued by this idea, and you loved getting Negan off. Your thoughts were soon interrupted when you felt a sharp suck on your clit. It felt like your brain was short-circuiting. You finally gave in.

“Okay.”

Within seconds, Negan slipped his throbbing cock into your mouth, and you wrapped your lips around him. You'd never given him a blow job while lying down, so you were moving a bit slower. The last thing any of you needed was for you to puke on the bed.

He let out a small sigh of relief and felt you shift to take him deeper. Your soft whimpers reverberated around him, and he tilted his head back. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, before he praised you.

“Look at you, letting Rick and I fuck you like this. Such a good girl.”

Between your legs, Rick was still diligently savoring you with broad strokes of his tongue. His grip on your hips was nearly bruising. Your walls fluttered around his tongue, and it was obvious that you were close. His voice was muffled against your skin as he spoke to Negan.

“She's gettin' real close, too.”

'Oh, she is? You wanna come, baby girl?”

Negan's voice was strained as you took him a bit deeper, and you did your best not to choke. At this point, he was bumping the back of your throat and hot tears pricked at your eyes. The combination of Rick's mouth on you and your husband's cock down your throat was overwhelming.

You'd been too overcome with emotion to make any effort to answer. Negan condescendingly shook his head and sighed. He turned to Rick and feigned disappointment.

“I don't know, Rick. You might have to stop. She doesn't seem like she wants to come.”

“You're right. Maybe I should stop.”

Desperate, you moved your head eagerly and whined. Tears were rolling down your face and the pleasure was dizzying. As Negan continued to taunt you, you realized what he was getting at and you worked him harder

“Rick, pull back for a second. She's not goin' to finish until I do.”

“You got it.”

Rick removed his mouth from your pussy and you felt the absence instantly. You loved your husband, but Negan was being an asshole tonight. Wanting to get even, you added teeth and looked up to gauge his reaction.

Hissing at the sudden sting, Negan yanked on your hair and forced you to meet his gaze. Shit, you should not have done that. His brows were pinched, and his voice was harsh.

“Don't be a fucking brat. Do it right.”

Negan pushed your head back down and started guiding you. You were exhausted, and you'd been so close to reaching that peak before your husband had made Rick stop. He was driving you crazy, but you were still craving that release. There was no way that you could give up now.

He was still reaching the back of your throat, and you could tell by the way his cock twitched that Negan was close. Still directing your motions, he spoke between ragged pants.

“Shit, darlin'. Keep that up. I'm gonna come. You better fucking swallow.”

The warm liquid filled your mouth and you swallowed. You made sure to breathe through your nose as Negan started to come down from his orgasm. His hands were still tangled in your hair, but he wasn't being rough anymore. He pulled out and smiled lazily.

“Good girl. You still wanna finish?”

“Yes, please.”

Satisfied, Negan nodded and brushed a few damp pieces of hair from your face. He wasn't coddling, not yet. Instead, he'd just softened his touch a bit. He turned to Rick and nodded toward you.

“She's been good. Let her finish.”

Rick was eager to return to his place, and he settled between your thighs again. You'd already been on that edge when he was forced to stop, so it wouldn't be long now. His tongue pushed back through your folds, and he latched onto your clit.

Your head lolled back against the pillow and Negan kissed down the column of your throat to your chest. Rick kept at it until your body convulsed and you came with a cry. Your husband used his large fingers to wipe away any remaining tears. Completely spent, your chest moved rapidly and sweat clung to your skin.

Once he'd drawn out the last of your orgasm, Rick pulled back and Negan kissed the top of your forehead. The two men seemed much softer now. You let the two men clean you up as you remained horizontal.

Negan finished wiping you up and tenderly stroked your cheek. You were exhausted, and it was hard to stay awake. He let Rick kiss you before the other man left the room - leaving you alone with your husband. Smiling softly, he got comfortable and wrapped his arms around you.

“You were so perfect for Rick and me, sweetheart.”

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Without having walkers to fight or being assigned a new job, you were bored out of your mind. Your boyfriend had tried to placate you by suggesting using this time to rest. That sounded like bullshit to you, though.

Wandering aimlessly around the house, Judith was already down for her nap and dinner had been prepared. It wasn't much, but it was more than any of you had on the road. You settled on the couch and waited for Rick to come home from afternoon patrol. You'd never pictured yourself as being a bored housewife, but here you were.

It took another hour or so, before Rick finally walked through the front door. He saw you sprawled across the cushions and laughed wearily. It was almost pitiful how much you were sulking. Walking over to the living room, he crouched in front of you and moved some hair out of your eyes.

“How's my girl doin'?”

“Judith? She's asleep in her crib.”

“That's good, but I was askin' about you.”

“Oh, I'm fine.”

Rick knew that was bullshit. You'd been acting off since the group came to Alexandria. The only person who was being more temperamental than you was Daryl. He sighed softly and rested his large palm on your cheek.

“It takes time to adjust, darlin'.”

“Still sucks ass.”

He laughed at your choice of words and shook his head in feigned disappointment. Moments like this highlighted the age-gap between you two. Rick smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I know, baby. I know. It's not all bad, though. We have a roof over our head, now. Y'know what that means?”

“What?”

“We don't have to have sex in a tent or the woods anymore.”

Your face lit up at the suggestion, and you sat up straight on the couch. In the past few months, you and Rick had fucked anywhere but an actual bed. He took your hand in his and pulled you into a standing position. You had an idea and you spoke up timidly.

“Could you leave your uniform on?”

As soon as the two of you entered your new bedroom, Rick laid you on the bed and hurriedly removed your clothes. The suggestion to leave his uniform on caught him a bit off guard, but he welcomed the idea. You looked up at him with those wide eyes that he adored, and he knew he was a goner. He muttered soft praise and helped you out of your undergarments.

“So beautiful. Can't get enough of you.”

“Rick? Could you use your handcuffs?”

The request short-circuited his brain and he froze. Rick had cuffed suspects hundreds of times, but this was different. You were asking for this. Wetting his lips, he took a moment to think and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“You want me to handcuff you? Like to the bed or somethin'?”

“Yes, please. It'll be fun.”

“Should I read you your Miranda rights, too?”

He'd asked that last question as a joke, but to his surprise, you nodded. This whole thing was new to Rick, but you loved it. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Please, Rick. Please.”

Your begging made him give in instantly, and he pressed a kiss to your neck. He held your wrists and switched to using an authoritative tone. Rick's sudden change in attitude was beyond attractive, and you listened attentively.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before I ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning.”

He punctuated each sentence with a kiss to various part of your body. Rick's grip on your wrists was firm, and he waited until he was finished reading the Miranda warning to pull out the handcuffs. Making sure to be somewhat cautious, he used the cuffs to tether you to the headboard.

“How do those feel, baby? Too tight?”

“No, it feels perfect.”

Rick's tone had softened, and his touch was careful. You'd asked him to use the cuffs, but you hadn't wanted him to be rough with you. This was meant to be a gentle restraint. He palmed your left breast and took in the sight of you laid bare for him. His fingers lightly pinched your hardened nipple. He would never get used to seeing you like this.

“Fuckin' unbelievable. Just look at you.”

“Are you goin' to fuck me or just stare at me all evening? The baby's gonna be up soon.”

“God, you're bratty today.”

Rick shifted lower on the bed and settled between your legs. He kissed from your knee up to the flesh of your cunt. Taking his time, he slowly swirled his tongue around your clit and sucked. He tried to keep his motions gentle and delved his tongue inside of you. This careful pace didn't last very long.

Your hands were still raised above your head as he devoured you. Usually, you would thread your fingers in Rick's curls and hold him in place. That wasn't possible when you were cuffed. He kept a tight hold on your hips and anchored himself as he ate you out. Between greedy passes of his tongue, he took ragged breaths and praised you.

“You taste so good. I can't get enough of you.”

Unable to respond, you whimpered and held back the urge to buck your hips against his mouth. Rick always ate like a man starved, but today was different. He hadn't been able to have you like this in what felt like ages.

He continued to lap at you, and your walls clenched around his tongue. You were getting closer and Rick knew it. His motions were unrelenting, and he used his thumb to press against your clit. You cried out, and your head lolled back against the pillow. Your boyfriend was good at most things he did, but he was especially talented with his mouth. Moaning louder, you writhed on the mattress and pleaded with him.

“I'm gonna come, Rick. Please.”

“You're okay, baby. Just hold off a little longer.”

Switching from using his tongue, Rick slipped two thick fingers inside of you and started pumping. He kept a steady pace and twisted his fingers. You whined again and couldn't stop squirming. He'd stop every time that you got close, and it was killing you. Tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks.

“Please. Please let me come.”

“Not yet. You're doin' so good for me, sweetheart. Such a good girl.”

“I'm bein' so good, my love. Please.”

“Not yet. Deep breaths, honey.”

With his free hand, Rick stroked your hair and reassured you. He was torturing you, and you were loving every second of it. He kissed the tear tracks on your face and maintained the rhythm he'd set. Pausing again, he took a moment to admire your beauty and decided to stop making you suffer.

“You can let go now, darlin'. I've got you.”

You'd been waiting for permission and once he granted it, you couldn't hold back any longer. Crying out again, you found your release and fell apart. Rick worked you through your orgasm and waited for you to come down. He could delay his orgasm for now. You were his first priority. Uncuffing your wrists, he tenderly rubbed the raw marks that the cool metal had left.

“There you go. You must feel so much better, huh?”

“Much better. Thank you, Rick.”

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Picking up the box holding the collar, you made your way over to where Negan was and grinned excitedly. He saw what you were carrying and raised an eyebrow. There's no way you were serious. Shifting on his feet, he looked at you with bewilderment and pointed at the product in your hands.

“What the hell is that for?”

“Not what, who. It's for you, 'cause you won't shut the fuck up for five seconds.”

“Hold on, darlin'. I'm sure we can find another solution.”

“Nope. If you wanna have a “quickie”, we're doin' it my way.”

“And that includes a shock collar?”

“Damn straight.”

To your surprise, it looked like Negan was actually considering your offer. He took the box from your hand and read the instructions. It had different settings, so it wouldn't be like he was getting electrocuted. Even on the highest level, it would be just a quick shock. He did freeze when he saw that it was sound-activated.

“Wait, this says it's activated by sound.”

“That's the whole point, Negan. You make any sound while I'm suckin' you off, and it'll deliver a sharp shock.”

“I'm an old man, sweetheart. What if it gives me a damn heart attack?”

“Don't be dramatic. You are not that old.”

Negan laughed softly, and it was clear that he was warming up to the idea. If this was anyone else, he would've rejected the notion immediately. He wasn't anyone's bitch. You were different, though. The fact that he'd been celibate for the past two weeks wasn't helping. Dramatically sighing, he nodded and got his knees so you could put the collar on.

“Just go easy on me, baby.”

“Good boy.”

“Do not start with that.”

Despite his words, the slight flush in his cheeks gave him away. God, you were going to have so much fun with this. Your smile grew, and Negan knew he was fucked.

You wasted no time and pulled it out of the box. By some miracle, the collar already had batteries in it. It was meant to fit a large dog, so it would have no problem wrapping around Negan's neck. You undid the clasp and fixed the collar onto him. The sight of him wearing it turned you on even more.

Negan looked up at you and ran a hand over his face. This was going to be quite the challenge, but that was the best part. Thankfully, the material didn't feel like it was choking him. He spoke up and patiently waited for you to turn it on.

“You gonna turn it on now?”

“Yeah, baby, just hold still.”

There was that nickname that he adored. No one else would've gotten away with calling Negan that, but you were special. The corner of his mouth turned upwards and he watched as you set it on the second-highest setting. Of course, you weren't going to go easy on him. You never did.

Once the collar was switched on, he kept his mouth shut and stood up. You dropped to your knees and unbuckled his jeans. Pulling the denim down, you slipped him out of his boxers and took his cock in your hands. You licked a long stripe on the underside of his shaft before swirling your tongue around the tip.

Your boyfriend reacted involuntarily and moaned louder than he had expected. The collar's sensor picked up on it and delivered a quick shock. Negan gasped in surprise and glanced down at you. Ever the antagonist, you had the nerve to laugh at his reaction.

“Told you to stay quiet. Be a good boy.”

Not wanting to be shocked, he groaned quietly and realized that if he was quiet enough, the collar wouldn't go off. He leaned his head back and took a deep breath as you wrapped your lips around his cock. Exhaling in relief, he felt you shift to take him deeper.

It was killing Negan to be quiet and not react or praise you. He'd always been vocal during sex, especially when it came to you giving him head. Accidentally making another sound, the collar shocked him again and he whimpered. God, this was torture.

Continuing to suck him off, he was hitting the back of your throat and your eyes watered. Your soft moans kept reverberating around his cock. He struggled to keep it down and groaned louder. The shock was immediate, and his eyes screwed shut.

You kept bobbing your head and felt the way he twitched inside of your mouth. He was close. Encouraging him to let go, you quickened your pace and tapped his right hip. Getting the hint, Negan let go, and the orgasm hit him hard. He was about to cry out your name when he remembered the shock.

Swallowing the warm liquid that had flooded your mouth, you sat back on your heels and took his cock out. You were able to breathe easier and smiled up at Negan. He was acting pathetic, and it made the ache in your cunt grow.

“My turn.”

Standing up, you unclasped the collar and took it off of Negan's neck. You kissed the red marks that it had left on his skin. He was still coming down from his ecstasy, but he still leaned into your touch. As you continued kissing him, you dropped your shorts and underwear down to your ankles.

Negan had caught his breath and immediately switched into a dominant mindset at the sight of you bare from the waist down. Wanting to prime you for his cock, he abruptly shoved two thick fingers inside of you. You gasped at the sudden intrusion and spoke in a shaky tone.

“Jesus. You could've warned me.”

“Nah, sweetheart. You can take it. Just opening you up for me.”

“I need your dick, Negan. Not your fingers.”

“Fine. Turn around and put your hands on the shelf.”

Doing as he said, you turned around and pressed your palms against the metal shelving. Negan's large hands grasped your hips and he anchored himself. He didn't give you any warning before thrusting his cock deep inside your cunt. You cried out as a wave of both pain and pleasure flooded your senses. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and shushed you.

“Shhh. Easy, baby. You're takin' me so good.”

“Fuck. Keep goin', Negan. Please.”

“I've got you.”

He slammed into you repeatedly and panted heavily in your ear. Negan always had an overwhelming presence, and it was more obvious in times like this. He grunted as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air.

Tightening your grip on the shelf, your slick walls clenched around his cock, and you were getting closer. Negan's motions were unrelenting, and he wasn't going to stop until you had reached your peak. The orgasm was sudden and your knees buckled. He wrapped a strong arm around you and kept you upright.

His euphoria followed after yours, and he came with a sharp gasp. The two of you recovered in tandem, and he pressed tender kisses to the side of your neck. Every once in a while, he'd suck gently and leave a small hickey. The purple-red marks littered your skin as he staked his claim. His gravely voice broke the silence.

“Such a good girl. That was fucking perfect. You're perfect.”

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Negan's grunts and groans were slowly transitioning into low whines. You'd barely gotten the tip of the dildo inside of him before he became a mess. He wouldn't stop squirming, and that earned a verbal reprimand from you.

“Negan, stop fucking squirming. You wanted this, right?”

“Yeah. I- I did. I still do, but fuck.”

“If you want it, you have to be still. Be good for me.”

It was in his defiant nature to argue, but he really didn't want you to stop. Negan used all of his strength to hold still and allow you to continue. You pulled him closer and shifted to bury deeper inside of him. As you kept moving, the volume of his sounds increased. It was only natural for you to tease him further.

“You like that, huh? Gettin' all whiny on me.”

If he didn't feel like he was being split open, Negan would've told you to fuck off. Instead, he focused on the pleasure that you were giving him. His chest was heaving with small gasps, and it brought a smile to your face. It was rare to see him completely unguarded like this. His eyes fluttered shut, and you could almost feel him throb with ecstasy. He was right on that edge and you know it.

You decided to mess with him, and you paused your thrusting. This had the desired result because Negan responded with something akin to panic. He flailed beneath you and whimpered. Negan Smith had actually whimpered. A smile crept across your face, and you placated him with a quick kiss. Your tone was full of jest as you grinned.

“What's wrong, baby?”

“You- you stopped. Why the fuck did you stop?”

“I didn't know that you wanted me to keep going.”

Bullshit. Negan groaned and fought the urge to get mouthy. The last thing that he wanted was for you to stop entirely. You were obviously expecting something, though. Desperate for you to keep going, he did something out of character, he begged.

“Please, sweetheart. Keep going. Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely, I'll keep fucking you.”

Giving in to his pleading, you picked up the pace and began thrusting into him again. Negan's hands were gripping the couch cushions as he kept whining. He was so close that it was almost painful. It was becoming unbearable, but he knew he couldn't find that release until you let him. You must've felt like being kind because you spoke up again.

“Alright, baby. You can come. You've been real good.”

Negan didn't have to be told twice, and he came with a cry. You worked him through the orgasm and gently rubbed his side as he came down. He was panting and, to your surprise, a tear rolled down his cheek. You quickly kissed it away and praised him.

“There we go, baby. You did so fucking good.”

“Thank you. Fuck that was good, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? You in the mood to go again?”

“Are you tryna kill me?”

That got a laugh out of you, and you pressed another quick kiss to his lips. The mock horror on Negan's face was almost comical. He was nothing if not dramatic. You took a second to catch your own breath before carefully pulling out of him.

“Alright. How 'bout we see if this place has running water?”

“That sounds perfect.”

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Knowing that Negan would be back today, you were eager to see him, and it took everything in you to not wait by the door. You were a grown woman, not a puppy, for fuck's sake. In a hollow attempt to distract yourself, you sprawled across the couch and opened one of the books he had left on the coffee table. Unfortunately, it was a memoir written by some famous football coach, and you were immediately bored.

You continued laying on the coach when you thought about Negan again. God, this was becoming pathetic. As your brain fixated on the memory of the way his beard scratched the sensitive skin between your thighs, your hand slid past the waistband and into your underwear. You pressed two fingers against your core and rubbed slow circles on your clit. Even though you were trying to draw this out, it was quite the struggle. Your face was flushed, and your chest moved rapidly. Small gasps and whimpers kept escaping from your lips.

Thinking of your man's deep, gravelly voice, you felt yourself getting closer. You slipped the aforementioned two fingers into your entrance and started pumping. You used your thumb to mimic the motions that Negan always used. It wasn't the same, though. Pushing the thought away, you kept going and tried to reach your peak.

You were so focused on getting off that you didn't hear the heavy thudding of Negan's boots through the hall as he approached your room. He was never one to knock, so he swung the door open and was halfway through calling out to you when he saw your form laid across the couch cushions.

“Babygirl, I'm home-. Holy shit.”

Your face flamed hot, and you froze when you heard his voice. He was home earlier than he'd said and now, he'd caught you in the act. You were mortified and your freehand flung up to cover your face. This was beyond embarrassing and all you could do was whine pathetically.

“You took so long.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Negan's tone was slightly patronizing, and he had a wolfish grin on his face. He wasn't angry like you'd feared. Actually, it was the complete opposite. His cock was achingly hard as he imagined you pleasuring yourself while thinking about him, and he strained against the material of his jeans. He approached the couch and continued.

“Were you thinking about me while stroking this pretty little pussy?”

“Yes, I was.”

“What were you thinking about me doing?”

Before you could move your fingers again, his hand wrapped around your smaller wrist and gripped you firmly. He shook his head and moved your hand away from your cunt. Was he trying to kill you? You were beyond desperate, and you groaned in response. Negan loved seeing you like this, and the wicked smirk returned to his face.

“Don't. Use your words and tell me what you were thinking about. C'mon, be a big girl.”

“I was thinking about you with your head between my legs.”

“Yeah? I bet it wasn't the same as the real thing, huh?”

“It wasn't. Can you please help me out? I'll be good.”

Pausing, Negan pretended to contemplate your request and feigned being lost in thought. It took all your strength to not groan in frustration. You had to hold onto your last thread of dignity. After another agonizing moment of silence, he knelt in front of you and pulled you to the edge of the couch by your hips.

“Alright, sweetheart. You've been good, so far. Let me take care of you.”

“Please.”

“Lift your hips for me.”

Negan slipped your pajama bottoms and panties off, discarding them on the floor. His hands returned to your hips and positioned you to give him easier access to your pussy. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. Just like you'd been fantasizing about earlier, his rough beard scratched against your skin. He used two large fingers and spread you open.

“Let’s open you a bit for me, baby, yeah?”

Eager for him to get started, you bit back another moan and fought the urge to move your hips. Negan may have been giving you what you'd begged for, but he was taking his sweet time. He kept moving upward and brushed his nose against your clit. Your body reacted instantly and trembled faintly. He began to lap at your folds, and the friction from his facial hair burned slightly. Your skin felt like it was being rubbed raw - in the best way possible.

Hearing the sounds of your pleasure made Negan's cock push further against his jeans. He kept devouring you, and a low moan reverberated against your core. You'd been half-way to finishing before your husband even entered the room, so it wouldn't be long before you actually came. He could feel it in the way your thighs pressed harder around his face. He spoke between strokes and mocked you gently.

“Oh, honey. Are you gonna come already? You that fucking desperate for me?”

“Don't- don't be mean, Negan.”

“I'm not being mean, sweetheart. I think it's cute. Do you wanna come?”

“Yes, please.”

“Go ahead.”

Drawing the orgasm from you, he kept greedily licking and swirled his tongue around your swollen bud. Your walls clamped and he continued eating you out. You released with a cry and your head fell back against the couch cushion. Negan didn't stop, though. He helped you ride out the euphoria and finally relented. He pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead on your stomach. His chest heaved as he caught his breath. The two of you coming down from your high in tandem.

“You were so perfect, baby.”

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On the bed, you were laid bare in front of Negan as his body hovered over yours. His large hands roamed the expanse of your skin. They settled on your hips, and he reveled in the way they dwarfed the bones. It's not like he didn't realize you were smaller than him - he wasn't blind. It wasn't until the other Saviors made comments about it that it fully clicked.

You were his latest wife, so he was still learning what you responded best to. Negan nipped at your pulse point and kissed down the side of your neck. He moved one hand from your hip and up towards your right breast. He groped the heavy flesh and brushed his calloused palm against your pebbled nipple.

Whimpering in response, you writhed on the mattress and looked up at your husband with pleading eyes. You were desperate to find some relief, and your hips ground against his. A rough hand forcefully weighed your lower half down. Negan's gruff voice reprimanded you.

“No. Use your words like a big girl. What do you need?”

“You. Your cock?”

The slight question in your voice made Negan grin with satisfaction. You were usually self-assured, and it was surprising to see you like this. His fingers carded through your hair and his tone was patronizing.

“Are you sure? You don't sound so sure, baby girl.”

“I am. I need it, Negan. Please.”

“Let's see what we're working with.”

Negan repositioned you on the bed and looked you over again. God, you were beautiful. He slipped between your legs and ran a thick finger through the damp folds of your pussy. Glancing down at his own bare body, he paused at the sight of his large cock and contemplated. He was large, but he trusted you to know your limits.

“Alright, baby. Let's make this fit.”

Holding your hips, Negan lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. You felt like you were being split open, and you cried out. This is what you'd been begging for, but you weren't expecting him to be this large. He gently shushed you and pressed a kiss to the top of your chest.

“Shhh, you're okay. I've got you, baby.”

“It's too- too much.”

“No, it's not. You're a big girl, sweetheart. You can take it.”

You whined and your legs trembled. It wasn't painful, but there was a burning sensation. He was overwhelmingly large in every sense of the word. As he fully bottomed out, the sharpness dulled into pleasure and your eyes rolled back.

Letting you stretch and fully adjust, Negan pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder. You were taking him so well, and his heart swelled with pride. He stroked your hair and began thrusting. Cautious to not be too rough, he spoke softly and maintained a steady pace.

“There you go, darlin'. Deep breaths. How's that feel?”

“Good. It feels good.”

“Well, you're still able to talk, so I must be doing something wrong.”

Negan didn't give you time to react before tilting your pelvis, so he could reach deeper. You cried out as the new angle gave him better access. He quickened his pace, and you dissolved into a mess of mewls. A wolfish grin spread across his face.

“That's better. You're close, huh? Can feel you squeezing around me.”

Weakly nodding, you couldn't stop the litany of sounds flowing from your lips. Negan kept rocking in and out of you. His mouth latched onto your right breast and his tongue swirled your nipple. Completely overstimulated, the orgasm stole your breath and you gasped your husband's name.

His own release quickly followed, and he spilled inside of you. A low groan escaped Negan as he emptied, and his head laid against your shoulder. He was just exhausted as you were. The two of you recovered in tandem for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Fucking perfect. You did so well, babygirl.”

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Carl rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. He cleared the table in silence while you and Negan watched. Part of you felt bad for the kid, but your husband wasn't doing anything that wrong. You could see the way that he actually respected the kid. He had an impressive amount of bravado.

Negan's calloused fingers traced circles on your thigh while he observed Carl. He met your eyes again and smiled a little. God, you were beautiful. Feeling his cock strain against his jeans, he subtly pulled at the fabric and shifted in his seat. You picked up on his discomfort and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“You getting all worked up, baby?”

“Don't push it, sweetheart. Once the kid is finished, we can go christen Rick's bed.”

“You're a nasty motherfucker.”

“You love it.”

His confidence made you laugh softly, and you shook your head in faux exasperation. Negan was right, though. You loved his cocky ass. Thankfully, he waited until the teen had left the room before inching his hand up your skirt and brushing against your warm pussy. Skirts with no panties were essentially your uniform at this point.

“Is this all for me, babygirl?”

“Who else would I be this wet for?”

Your immediate response made him grin wolfishly, and he hummed in satisfaction. Obedience never failed to turn him on. He kept sliding his hand upwards until he pushed a thick finger into your core. A sharp gasp escaped your throat, and you met his eyes again.

“Please.”

“Please, what?”

With his finger pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. It made you want to both kiss and punch him at the same time. He took great pleasure in making you beg.

“Fuck me. I need more than just your finger.”

“You don't have to ask me twice, darlin'. C'mon.”

He removed his finger and sucked it clean before helping you out of your seat. Negan took your hand and lead you to the master bedroom - Rick's room. You knew this was some alpha-male bullshit, but you weren't about to pass on the opportunity to get your fucked by your husband.

Laying you down on the mattress, Negan pressed searing kisses along the column of your throat and pulled your skirt off. You were completely bare from the waist down. Undoing the buckle of his jeans, he dropped them and his boxers to the floor. He hadn't even bothered to close the door. If Rick came home, your husband wanted him to see this.

You whimpered as his large hands groped at your chest. Negan took your left breast into his mouth and swirled your pebbled nipple with his tongue. He sucked and kissed while settling between your legs. Pulling back, he lined himself up with your entrance and broke the silence.

“You ready for me, sweetheart? I'm gonna make you a fucking mommy, y'hear me?”

“Please, Negan.”

Negan wasn't joking about putting a baby inside of you. He may have multiple “wives” and leaned heavily into this sadistic persona, but he was a family man at heart. You were the only one who brought out that side of him. The part that was gentle, loving, and human. He placed his hands on your hips and drove into you.

He'd given you little time to adjust, so you cried out. Your head tipped back against the pillow and your breathing was ragged. The feeling of your husband's large cock stretching you out was a blurring medley of pain and pleasure. Negan noticed the way your eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and he roughly grabbed your chin.

“Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face while I fuck you.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize, baby. Just listen.”

You nodded and kept your eyes on him. Negan made sure that you weren't going to lock away before he started moving. His grip on your skin was nearly bruising as he continued thrusting. This was his favorite way to fuck you, face-to-face. His motions were harsh, and his voice was rough, but his expression was soft.

He kept rocking his hips into yours and low grunts tore from his chest. Negan was unrelenting in his ministrations. Your walls fluttered around him, and he knew that neither of you could last much longer. His voice was rougher than before. Velvet torn to shreds.

“I'm- I'm gonna come, darlin'. You ready? Gonna fill you up.”

Unable to respond, you nodded eagerly and whimpered again. He plowed into you, repeatedly hitting the same spot. The orgasm tore through you, and you came with a cry. Negan's pleasure soon followed, and he spilled inside of you. He held you in place as he worked you both through the euphoria. He wanted to make sure this stuck.

Your husband could picture it now - you wandering around the Sanctuary, pregnant and heavy with his baby. The thought nearly made him finish again, and he let his head rest against the crook of your neck. His voice was slurred with exhaustion, and he mumbled against your skin.

“So fucking perfect, honey. I cannot wait to see you all round and gravid with my child.”

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“You know that I haven't done this in years, right?”

“Rick, baby, I'm well aware.”

“What- what if I forgot what to do?”

In any other situation, you would've laughed at the way your usually confident boyfriend was acting. You didn't want to make him feel bad, though. Sighing softly, you smiled a little and gently brushed some curls out of his face.

“You didn't forget. It's the most natural thing in the world, remember?”

Your reassurances were sweet, but they did little to relieve Rick's anxiety. He felt like he was back in high school with Lori again. He felt like a fucking virgin. Rubbing his temples, he tried to focus on you and not the way his heart was pounding in his ears.

“I guess you're right.”

Placing his hands on your hips, he took a steadying breath and aligned himself with your entrance. Rick had to keep reminding himself that he knew what to do. He was most concerned about your pleasure and comfort. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally hurt you because he was out of practice.

“Are you ready for me?”

“Please, Rick. Fuck me.”

You weren't trying to rush him, but you were so wound up that it hurt. Desperate for any sense of relief, you ground your hips against his. Rick let out a low moan and cursed beneath his breath. Your whining and moving were making him achingly hard. He spoke softly and slowly pushed in - stretching you inch by inch.

“I've got you, sweetheart. Feels so fuckin' good.”

“Keep goin', Rick. I can take it.”

“Are you sure? I ain't too big?”

“I- I can handle it. Just gotta take a deep breath.”

As you exhaled, Rick pulled your body flush against his and bottomed out. He saw the way your brows pinched before melting into a look of pleasure. A sense of pride washed over him. He made sure you were comfortable before beginning to thrust in and out of you.

His deep grunts turned into a strangled whimper as he felt your warm walls squeezing around him. God, he forgot how good this felt. Rick was slightly embarrassed by the sounds flowing from his lips, but he couldn't stop.

Your own moans melded with his and the sound was dizzying. This whole experience felt unreal and Rick couldn't stop staring at you. You were so beautiful. He leaned forward and pressed soft kisses all over your face. Usually, you'd tease him for being this sappy, but you were reeling with ecstasy.

There was no way he was going to last much longer. Rick's breathing was ragged and he was panting against your neck. The warmth of his breath pushed you closer to that edge. He could feel the way your pussy clenched, and he whimpered again.

“I- I can't last much longer, honey. I'm sorry.”

“Shhh don't apologize. I'm close, too.”

Nodding, Rick picked up his pace and didn't stop until the two of you came in tandem. You cried out and your body trembled. He was absolutely spent, and his body sagged against yours. This was better than he ever remembered. He finally caught his breath and broke the silence.

“That was perfect, baby. Thank you.”

“You were incredible, Rick. Can't believe you thought you'd forgotten how to fuck.”

“Guess I still got it, huh?”

“Now, don't get too cocky.”

Rick laughed at how quickly you'd humbled him. Lifting his head from your neck, he shifted on the bed and grabbed the cloth he'd left out on the nightstand. He may not have had sex in a while, but he was man enough to remember proper aftercare. His voice was soft with exhaustion as he wiped you up.

“I'm bein' serious, sweet girl. Thank you for doin' that with me.”

“Of course, my love. You don't have to thank me for anythin'.”

He just smiled in response and continued cleaning you. Rick started off by wiping the sweat from your face and pressing a kiss to your hairline. It took him a moment to realize that his cock was still buried inside of you. He pulled out and moved the cloth between your legs.

Exhausted, your eyes fluttered shut as the fabric made slow passes over your skin. Your boyfriend smiled at your sleepy expression. Rick couldn't get over how perfect you were - even after all of these months. He cleansed his own skin and climbed in bed next to you. Pulling you closer, he laid your head on his chest and relaxed.

“I've got you. Just rest, baby.”

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“Just need more.”

You were annoyed with Negan's brashness, and you wanted to keep going. It wasn't your fault that his old ass had tired out first. You were pouting for a moment before an idea hit you.

“What if you didn't have to move? You can rest your old bones while I get us both off.”

“First off, these “old bones” just fucked you silly. Second, you've never been on top before. You sure you want that, baby?”

“Yes, I can do it. You just gotta show me how.”

Part of you had been offended that Negan doubted your abilities, but you knew it made sense given your inexperience. You squirmed again and purposely brushed against his already half-hard cock. This was enough for your husband to give in.

“Just do as I say, okay? You're gonna do great, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

Without another word, he placed his hands on your hips and helped you move so that you were hovering over him. Your knees were placed on either side of Negan's thighs. He was fairly large, so it took a bit of effort to fully straddle him. You managed, though. Once he had you positioned exactly where he wanted you, he spoke up again.

“I got you all lined up, just settle down.”

“Alright. You'll tell me if I mess it up?'

“Yes, baby girl. Now, move.”

You took a deep breath and did as you were told. Slowly, you sank down on Negan's thick cock and whimpered as your walls stretched. You got about halfway before your breathing quickened. Everything felt like it was too much. It wasn't like your husband had never been inside you, this angle was just different. His eyes met yours, and he saw the hint of distress in them.

“Oh, baby. Take a deep breath. Just a few more inches and I'll be all the way in. You can take me.”

“Feels- feels like it's too much.”

“It's not. You've done it before, and you take me so well.”

Trusting your husband, you steadied your breathing and took him deeper. You waited until he bottomed out and you were comfortably full. The stretch wasn't painful, but it was noticeable. It always was. It took a moment before you could speak again.

“What do I do now?”

“Keep your knees planted where they are and just move. Do whatever feels best for you. You aren't gonna hurt me, baby. I've got a rod of steel.”

His last comment made you laugh and immediately broke the tension. You weren't sure why you'd felt so much pressure to perform, but you were actually enjoying this. Following Negan's instructions, you did what felt natural and started grinding your hips in long circular motions.

Knowing you wanted to be independent, Negan laid back and fought the urge to rut into you. He watched as you continued to move and the way your breasts bounced. God, he would never get enough of seeing his wife like this.

What you hadn't accounted for was that you were still tired and overly sensitive from earlier that night. It didn't help that Negan was sturdy, and you had to be somewhat flexible to straddle him properly. You were determined to keep going, but your efforts were becoming sluggish. Negan couldn't help, but tease you a little.

“Poor thing. Is my cock too much for you, baby? Is my pretty little wife getting tired?”

Fully engaged, you didn't respond and focused on riding him. You pressed your palms against his chest in a vain attempt to anchor yourself. It didn't do much, though. It was obvious that you were burning out, and Negan could see it in your flushed face.

“You need me to take over, pretty girl? You look half-asleep.”

You nodded weakly and buried your warm face in the crook of his neck. Thankfully, you were too exhausted and aroused to be embarrassed. Negan took over - moving your hips up and down. He was trying to be gentle, but he was eager to get both of you to reach that peak.

He was unrelenting in his efforts, and it was finally rewarded when you cried out. Your walls clamped around him and your vision went white with pleasure. Negan's orgasm quickly followed, and he spilled into you. He held you close and rode out the euphoria with you. He kept praising you afterwards.

“You were so good for me, darlin'. That was perfect.”

As you came down from your high, Negan gently rubbed your back and waited for his own breathing to even out. It took him a moment to realize that you had actually dozed off. He'd fucked his wife to sleep. The thought made him smile, and he let himself rest.

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