Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using “don’t kink shame” and “it’s fiction” to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year, want to get railed by your dad and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I don’t engage with things fictionally that I don’t like/wouldn’t want to do in real life. Yes, I’m judging you.
People either baby him portraying him as some pathetic bottom or make him into some cringey booktok domdaddy. Like fym he calls you pet????? Holy mischaracterisation.
Let’s not forget he’s a thousand years old god who has been through wars and killed people, betrayed and tried to k1!! Thor. Yes hes been traumatised, overlooked, ignored, but he’s also an ass. It’s mostly an armour for when he feels cornered and scared to show vulnerability, because showing vulnerability means weakness. And he cannot be seen as weak, he’s already considered ‘weak’ because he’s not as strong as Thor.
——
• You can’t fix him, you just need to to love him the way he is.
• He is an absolute slut. Definitely bedded half the palace, because pleasure itself is a way to observe when the masks slip. A servant in the baths, another when she fed him grapes. It’s all a game. He’s literally a ‘Silvertongue’ a charmer, a seducer. It’s his repertoire. He absolutely tells himself he would never bound himself to someone alone. It’s foolish. He’s a God and he’s above attachment.
•If you don’t give in, he’ll tell himself it’s the challenge. To prove himself that there’s no one who can resist him if he truly wants. He watches, observes, then notices things about you and curses himself how it affects him.
•He’ll try to pull away. Test you. Provoke you. Scared of showing vulnerability, because he thinks love is something he has to deserve. To earn. Because he was never given unconditional love like Thor. If you show him unconditional love, prove your loyalty to him, that you can match him, he’s done for. He’ll call you foolish, but at the end pin after you like a victorian widow. He then will be angry at himself for caring, calling himself pathetic, living in his own contradictions.
• He doesn’t fall in love suddenly. He realizes it slowly and all at once. One day he’s watching you speak and suddenly understands with absolute horror that your happiness matters to him more than his pride.
• It will be harder to make him admit that he cares. He’ll prove in different way that words can’t express.
•He’ll show up around you claiming your presence is ‘more tolerable than the rest’ that you’re ‘less boring and more competent’ remembering everything you tell him, every small detail, silently watching you from afar making sure you’re alright, give you small gifts claiming ‘it’s nothing’ a dagger, a crystal, small enchanted trinkets, if he sees you keep them, he smiles to himself. When you show up in his face after a long day, his face lits up without realising.
He’ll become a constat in your life that you can’t and don’t want to get rid of. Thor once called him out about his ‘pining’ Thor got stabbed. Thor still teases him. Thor never learns.
• His wit is a weapon, and tongue are a sharp dagger, and if you push back he’ll smirk his eyes glinting with mischief. He finds it refreshing when someone doesn’t cower, talks back, he thrives on chaos and not following the rules.
• He starts arguments on purpose because he likes watching you get worked up. You know this. You still take the bait every single time. (Thor has learned to leave the room. He's not getting in the middle of that. He’s learned that it’s just an aggressive form of flirting)
• He’s called silvertongue. Can talk his way out of anything. Situations that should have ended with him dead hundreds of times. He knows exactly what to say and when. That’s why he can also make you feel like going insane when arguing with him. It’s another type of rollercoaster. He doesn't raise his voice, keeps it calm and smooth, making you feel like you’re the one overreacting. But when he snaps and his words get sharp, and says something hurtful, he knows he’s fcked up. He doesn't chase. He doesn't follow. But he also doesn't let you disappear.
• He won’t simply apologise, his pride won’t allow him. But he realises he can’t keep doing that and expect you to come back every time. It’s selfish. So he’ll hover. Insert himself in your space even from afar. He won’t allow you ignore him. When he gets you alone he’ll look like a kicked puppy, until you crumble first, and he’ll wrap his arms around you.
• For Loki is not marely about pleasure, it’s about control. About having and mentaining it when the masks slip and people become predictable. He wants to learn what makes you finally crack.
•He's excruciatingly patient. When he undre$$es you, he takes his time. One button at a time. Kissing each inch of newly exposed skin.He pulls your clothes down with agonizing deliberation.
By the time you’re n0ked, you’re already desperate. He likes you desperate. The moment your pride breaks and you ask-really ask, he's done for. He'll give you anything.
• he WHIMPERS. If you push back, straddle him, make him earn it, he'll go willingly. Almost eagerly. He’s a switch. He’ll go pliant under your touch. Also touch starved. He’ll never admit it. Not grand affection. Not constant clinginess. But unconscious touches ruin him. Fingers through his hair while he’s reading. A hand on his chest. Leaning against him without hesitation.
• The eye contact is intense. The most intense. He holds stares like a challenge. Like he's looking through you, not at you. When he looks at you, it's worse. His eyes don't wander. They pin you in place. You’ve been across a crowded room and felt his gaze like a hand on your skin. He's not ashamed to look. He's not ashamed to get caught. When you catch him staring, he doesn't look away. He raises an eyebrow. He smirks. He holds your gaze until you break first. It’s a game
• His touches are purposeful. He doesn't fumble. Doesn't hesitate. Not to display grand affection in public, he’s not the type. They’re subtle. To remind you of his presence. When he wants to touch you, he does. A hand sliding to your lower back. A palm settling on your thigh under the table.
• Traces patterns on your skin without realising. Knows your body better than you do. Knows where you’re sensitive, where you like pressure, where a light touch makes you gasp. He catalogues everything. Remembers everything. Uses it against you later. By now, he could navigate you blindfolded.
• Despite everything he’s a real gentleman. He can be polite without being performative about it.His mother raised him courteously. Frigga's lessons stuck. He just does this. He opens doors. He pulls out chairs. Call’s you "my lady" "Allow me." "May I?" "My apologies."
• Calls you "darling" when he's being sincere. "Love" when he's being dramatic. "Woman" when he's annoyed. "That absolute menace" when he's bragging about you to others. In private you’ll hear a soft, gentle ‘my love’ ‘my heart’ with a loving gaze. Only you can see him like that
• Will absolutely not tolerate someone speaking badly of you. Not behind your back. Not to your face. Not in passing. Not as a joke..
• If you’re the one who matches his energy, his wit, his willingness to burn it all down if necessary, he sees you as someone worthy to stand beside. He doesn't see you as someone to protect. You are his co-conspirator. His accomplice. He wants an equal. You are that.
• He truly believes you are worthy of everything. Power, attention. To be his queen.To be treated like one.
• When you out-argue someone in court, demolish someone with a single sentence, he watches with open satisfaction, hides his smile and finds you later to tell you exactly how brilliant you were. When you suggest something ruthless, something practical, something that cuts through the noise, he looks at you like you've just proposed marriage. He enjoys watching you command a room. Especially if others underestimate you first. The smug satisfaction on his face afterward is unbearable.
• After finding out that he’s a frost giant, everything was clear, why he felt different, why Odin always favoured Thor.
•He’s scared of your reaction. He doesn’t want you to see the real monster everyone thinks he is, and this is just another proof of the ugly reality.
•He’ll show you one night, while your voices are quiet, he’ll turn in his true form, expecting disgust, and for you to recoil, he watches your face, every micro-expressions, waiting for pity, or for you to leave. When you, hold him, he cries, holding onto you like you’re the only real thing anchoring him in this universe from completely collapsing.
• He gets easily jealous. Not in a loud show off way. In a silent watchfull and simering beneath surface which is far more dangerous. It’s the insecurity, the fear that one day you’ll realise you can do better, safer, steadier, and he’ll tell himself that he had expected that, that everyone leaves at the end. That you didn’t pass.
• He won’t blame you, or make a scene. He’ll insert himself in your conversation with someone else, wrap an arm around you, be devastatingly polite and charming which is the first warning, then outcharm/ verbally eviscrate the person with such precision they won’t understand what happened at first.
Spicy/preferences:
• Praise (giving): He loves telling you how good you are. How magnificent. How perfect. How you were made for him.
• When complimenting you, he gets poetic. Won’t simply say “I love you” will say, “I have lived a thousand years. I have seen wonders you cannot imagine. And you are the best thing I have ever had the chance to see." Won’t say “you have pretty eyes” will say, “your eyes are like the space between stars—dark, yes, but full of light you cannot yet see." •Praise (receiving): He'll never ask for it. He'll pretend he doesn't need it. But when he talks about something and you say how clever he is, he’ll preen and continue showing off that big brain of his. When you whisper “you’re so beautiful.” "you're so good.” He goes quiet. Leans into your touch. He hates how much he loves it. How much he craves it.
• He's a giver. Not in a soft way. In a "I will make you fall apart until you can't speak and then I'll do it again" way. Your pleasure is his proof of competence. He's deeply, secretly invested in being the best you've ever had. He’ll get on his knees and spend hours between your thighs and commit to every second of it. (Horned helmet to hold onto involved)
• Dirty talk. He's creative. Vivid. He'll describe exactly what he wants to do to you in graphic detail. He needs to hear you. Not just sounds-words. Your voice saying his name, telling him what you want, begging, teasing, challenging him. Silence is unacceptable.
• Voyeurism/exhibitionism: The risk makes him harder. The idea that someone could walk in, could see—he likes the edge of it. Likes that you're both being reckless. Likes that for once, he's not the only one breaking rules. He'll have you in semi-public places—alcoves, gardens, shadowed corner, a divan on the balcony/ tavern—just to feel the danger. Just to know that someone could walk in.
Fav positions:
1. He loves being on top yes but with you on top—facing him. Just yes. He loves watching you take control. His hands on your hips, guiding you, but you set the pace. Your head thrown back, your hands on his chest, your thighs trembling-he'll commit every second to memory. Also lets him reach up and play with your breasts, thumb your clit, or grip your throat just because he can. —But if you pin him down, hold his wrists and set a slow peace just to make him go mad, he won’t try flip you off(he can) but he loves this side of you.
2. Bent over something. A table, a desk, a bed, a balcony railing if he's feeling particularly reckless. He likes the vulnerability of it-you can't see him, can't anticipate his next move. One hand on your hip, one fisted in your hair, murmuring filthy things against your ear.
3. Against a wall. Your back to the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, him holding you up like you weigh nothing. He likes the urgency of it-like you couldn't even make it to a bed. Like he needed you now.
4. On his knees. Not a position for him to receive-a position for him to worship. He'll pull you to the edge of the bed, kneel between your thighs, and stay there until you're incoherent. He likes the power shift. Likes that you're the one falling apart while he's fully clothed and completely in control of your pleasure. • Restraints (giving): He'll use his magic to pin your wrists above your head. Silk cords. His own hands. • Restraints (receiving): Deep, dark secret. He's imagined it. You tying him down. Taking control. Making him beg. He'll never ask for it. But if you ever just did it—if you pinned and told him to stay-he'd let you.
What he Won't Admit
• He's thought about you pegging him. More than once. He'll take that secret to his grave.
• He likes it when you're mean. Not mean—mean. Playful mean. When you mock him, laugh at him, tell him he's being dramatic. It makes him want to prove you wrong. Makes him want to fuck the attitude out of you. And also makes him want to kneel. He doesn't think about that part.
• He's cried during sex exactly once. It was with you. It wqs after he revealed his frost giant form. He couldn't stop. He left before you woke up. He's never mentioned it. Neither have you.
• He wants to be wanted so badly it hurts. Not desired-wanted. Chosen. He wants you to look at him like he's the only person in the room, the realm, the nine realms. And when you do, he has to look away.
it really irks me when people say I ‘need to stop defending negan’ when I’ve literally never defended any of his actions, I've simply explained his own thinking behind them and showed why I personally connect with him as a character. he has been an asshole but he isn't just an asshole, that's the whole point...the point is that he's complex and designed to be explored.
the freedom of an apocalypse made his already slightly unbalanced personality even worse and now he's forever hanging in the balance after losing the distracting power he cultivated at the sanctuary. the guilt is deserved but he tries so hard to feel it and live it, that's why I hold love for him throughout everything.
rick gave him a chance and he actually took it. if he was as deeply evil and tarnished at his core as everyone wants to paint him as then he wouldn't have taken that chance and ran with it, and he certainly would not put up with the consequences of his actions from those around him. loneliness and isolation will rot anyone away quite quickly, yet he stays to do what he can and what he’s told to despite it.
negan has done many things (before and during the sanctuary era) that I disagree with, but he will forever be my favourite asshole because I can see him laid bare - I get to look at his life and emotions in detail and see, not unlike lucille, that he isn't just his wrongdoings.
when a character as darkly human as negan gets expanded upon in media, people get scared - it hits their nerves. I don’t blame them too much because they represent the worst parts of surviving and clawing your way through life, but that’s exactly why there’s so many people who appreciate these characters on the other side of it all. negan gives a spot of unconventional comfort to us who have had to claw through so much shit too, he calls to our hidden grief and pain and pulls it out of us to work through it. characters like negan are very important and so adored beyond any hate they may receive.
I posted yesterday about how physically strong negan is and I just posted about how he isn’t inherently evil: both made me realise that I don’t see anyone go into detail about how weak he is emotionally - I think the underlying weakness was (most likely unintentionally) taken advantage of by the actually evil men he ended up surrounding himself with, especially simon.
negan is small, only physically strong but not in heart, and all his fucked up men saw was the physical strength in him. they worshipped him for that because their minds were too overrun by a sense of fury and superiority, thinking that negan was just like them: emotionless in a way that mattered. a very toxic masculine approach spread like wildfire in the sanctuary.
the idea of losing someone like simon scared negan. it meant losing a sense of personal power and a useful person in keeping said power rolling, so he gave him many chances despite literally hating his guts. simon’s rank within the sanctuary was too closely attached to his, and his instability reminded negan too much of himself which both unnerved and impressed him…ultimately letting simon move forward until he fully crossed lines that negan couldn’t even try to excuse.
negan hated most of his men and took charge when he had to put his foot down, but the power simon represented was a lot different to the other evil men around him - that's why it was so easy for him to just kill or injure other saviors, like david when he lunged at sasha for example.
negan doesn't do anything for the sake of it. there is an explanation behind absolutely everything this man has done, no matter how gruesome we've witnessed it be or how insignificant you might think of the situation.
Summary: After beeing trapped in the depot with the dead clawing outside, Negan has to confess and after almost loosing you in the horde, he has to embrace his weaknesses.
A/N: no smut this time, this is some mushy shit i wrote cs i was bored, one day and i need to get it out of my notes, i have a few other started and i will finish them soon. Love vulnerable men tho
The air inside the depot was thick, hot, and tainted with the kind of rot that settled in the lungs and refused to leave.
You could taste it: a sour blend of rust, sweat, and the sickly-sweet stench of the dead. Wood-paneled walls, old and splintered, boxed you in from every side.
No windows. No window that you could open because they were sealed, and the dead was clawing at the walls outside.
Just seams in the boards that leaked faint slits of gray light from the storm outside. Dust hovered in the air, catching the dull glow like static, and every few seconds, the silence was broken by the slow, rhythmic thud of bodies slamming against the exterior walls.
They moaned, low and constant, like a chant. Hundreds of them. Maybe more. Their groans seeped through the gaps, muffled but unmistakable. And the worst part was how relentless they were. No pause. No break. Like the dead were trying to crush the place down around you.
You were trapped. You, Negan and this dumbass priest that got you in here.
He paced a few feet away, jaw tense, Lucille dangling loosely from one hand like a warning. His white shirt clung to his chest with sweat, and strands of his hair curled at his temple, damp from heat and stress. He looked like he’d crawled through hell and somehow still came out cocky. Sweat glistened his face in the dim light that sneaked through the cracks, but damn if he didn’t still move like he owned the world.
You hated how good he looked in moments like this. How alive he seemed in the middle of chaos.
Before either of you could say more, Gabriel spoke up from the other side of the room. He had barely moved since they all slammed the door shut behind them, but now he was standing, shoulders squared, his eyes flicking between you and Negan like he was watching two dangerous animals share a cage.
“I think… I think we were brought here for a reason,” he said, voice calm but cracked from the heat. “Maybe this is an opportunity to confess. To seek redemption.”
Negan tilted his head back and sighed, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.
“Oh, God. Not this shit again.”
“I mean it,” Gabriel said, stepping forward. “You have people who follow you. People who kill for you. That kind of power should be used for something greater. You could change. Be better.”
Negan was already laughing. Not cruelly, just in that way that said he’d heard this speech a dozen times and found it equally ridiculous every time.
“And what?” Negan said. “Join hands, sing a little kumbaya, and feed the walkers communion wafers? Sorry, padre. I like who I am.”
“You’re lying,” Gabriel said sharply. “You’re afraid to admit what you’ve done. You’re scared of being weak.”
Negan’s smile didn’t fade, but something shifted behind it.
And then—BANG!
The gunshot cracked through the room like lightning.
You ducked instinctively, heart vaulting into your throat as your ears rang.
Smoke drifted from Gabriel’s pistol. Before the sound had even settled, he turned and shoved open the door to the next room of the depot. Negan shouted, lunging for him, but the priest was faster, he slammed the door in his face, locking it with a bolt from the inside.
“Goddamn it!” Negan roared, throwing a fist at the wall, his bat clattering to the floor beside him. “Son of a bitch Gabe!”
You blinked, still crouched, adrenaline buzzing through you. “Did he hit you?” You breathed out.
Negan ran a hand down his side, checked for blood, then shook his head. “Nah. Just gave me a haircut.“
Negan was pacing around like a caged animal. He was pissed. “Tell me a reason why I shouldn’t let these freaks outside chew on your cowardy ass Gabe and just save my own ass?”
“I’m not gonna die. Not before you confess.”
Negan groaned muttering curses under his breath. With a sigh he finally stopped pacing and looked over you. Your focus was somewhere else again.
You sat on the floor near the far corner of the room, arms wrapped around your knees, trying to keep your breath steady. You hated small dark spaces. Always had. But now, the dark corners felt deeper. The air felt heavier. Every heartbeat drummed louder in your ears, and your stomach coiled tighter with every minute that passed.
Negan noticed.
He sat down beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him leaning his head back against the wall, let out a long breath, and turned his face toward you.
His tone softened, just a fraction. “You good?”
You shot him a look. “Do I look good?”
“Honestly? You look like you’re about two seconds from punching a wall and making out with it after. You’re practically vibrating here. For a second I thought maybe it’s cause i have this effect on you.” He smirked.
Your lips twitched. God he was ridiculous sometimes. “Asshole.” You huffed.
“Guilty.” He chuckled. “No, but seriously you okay?”
“Not really.”
“You don’t like tight spaces, huh?”
You shook your head. “Never did.”
“Huh,” he said, like that was interesting. “Is it the walls, or just the whole ‘trapped’ thing?”
You thought about it. “Both.”
Negan didn’t say anything for a second. Then he adjusted his position and moved just a little closer, just enough for your shoulders to brush, just enough for his body heat to make the air feel warmer, but not enough to feel like a threat.
“Want me to talk or shut up?” he asked. “You know, be a distraction or just sit here and look pretty. I can do either. I’m extremely talented.”
Your lips twitched again, as you sighed while shaking your head. The tension in your chest loosened just a notch.
You and Negan were thing? You could say that. You weren’t a wife, weren’t a saviour. You were something between. You trusted with each others lives more than once. And trust wasn’t something often these days.
He wasn’t the king of fucking emphaty never showed much mercy, but you saw a softer side of him during the time spent together. Something human you thought wasn’t there anymore, or maybe never was. You didn’t really understand how you gotten yourself into this with him, because you were terrified of him at the start. But he had to flash you a smile just to make yourself question your own morals.
You were glad that he cared. And he tried to show it in his own twisted way sometimes, but he did it. He could remember the smallest detail of something you didn’t even remember telling him, lingering touches and intense glances.
You couldn’t help yourself. Your fingers moved before you even thought about it, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. Negan’s eyes followed your hand, his breath stilling. Then, he closed his eyes as if savoring the touch.
His lips twitched as he opened his eyes a little, watching you through his long lashes “You keep that up, I’ll think you like me or something.” He teased, his voice rough.
“Wouldn’t want that to happen right?” You leaned in without really thinking, hand still lingering in his hair, brushing a few damp strands back. His breath caught slightly, and you saw the flicker of something in his half-linded eyes. He was watching you so intensely for a moment it made you feel even more nervous.
He wasn’t sure how you did that, but it was enough of one small touch from you and the whole world could go to hell, it was enough for him.
Negan didn’t say anything at first. His eyes were dark, like he was weighing something. Then, without warning, he leaned in. Slowly.
Purposefully.
And before you could stop it, his lips were on yours.
His lips were warm against yours, his breath heavy, and his hand came up to rest on your neck, the touch gentle but commanding.
Your hand slid down from his hair to his jaw, thumb brushing the rough line of stubble along his cheek. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into your touch like he needed it, like it was the only real thing left in the room, a low sound rumbling in his throat.
His lips moved against yours slowly, searching, unhurried and it drove you completely insane.
You didn’t realize how tightly your hands were holding onto him until he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm, and the closeness of him pressed out some of the panic still rattling in your chest. You could feel his breath on your skin, slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want to lose the moment.
“Better?” He teased against your lips a smile stretching wider on his face.
“Mhmm..” you hummed running a hand down his chest, under his jacket and you heard him holding back a low sound in the back of his throat before your lips found his again. You could feel his heart beating so fast. You weren’t sure if it was because of the lack of oxygen or because of something entirely else.
The kiss deepened, and you let your hands roam, sliding down his chest to his side, where you felt the muscles tense under your fingertips. He groaned, his grip on your neck tightened just enough to anchor you, then his hand slid down your arm, catching your wrist gently before you could pull him any closer. His fingers were warm, strong, and surprisingly gentle.
His hand lingered on your wrist, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your pulse point. His lips hovered near yours, breath catching like he was weighing something.
Then he pulled back. Not much. Just enough to look at you fully. His eyes full if mischief.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, “but if we keep going, I’m not stopping until I’ve got you on your back, and I don’t think padrpe would appreciate the soundtrack.”
You exhaled a laugh, half relief, half frustration as you dropped your head against the wall behind you.
You almost hated how easy it was to get lost in the way his lips brushed against yours, the way his hands moved over your skin like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
Almost.
“You're lucky Gabe is right there,” he muttered, brushing his thumb across your pulse again, his hand still resting lightly on your wrist. His voice was low, a soft growl that made your pulse race all over again. “If not, I'd be throwing you over my shoulder and taking you to the damn roof to scream my name just to keep you from going stir crazy.”
You bit your lip, fighting the rush of heat that spread through you at his words. You shoved his chest muttering curses under your breath only making him snicker in response.
Before either of you could push it further before another kiss, another word, another moment of closeness the walls creaked.
A low, wooden creak that wasn’t just age or heat, it was pressure. The unmistakable strain of weight building up on the outside. The walkers weren’t just pawing now. They were pushing. Shoving. Climbing over each other like rats in a box, trying to bust through.
You both froze, the air sharpening like a blade between your ribs.
Then came the first crack, one of the old boards near the door splintered, just a hairline fracture at first, but it widened fast, like a dry bone snapping under strain. The moans grew louder. Closer. You could hear nails scratching wood. Teeth gnashing. Skin slapping against the siding.
“They’re breaking through,” you said, your voice dry and tight.
Negan’s expression darkened. He shoved up from the floor, grabbing Lucille from where she lay discarded. “No shit.”
Another board split with a sharp, CRACK, and daylight punched through the seam.
“Gabriel!” Negan shouted, storming toward the locked door. “You better get your holy ass out here right fucking now!”
Silence from the other side.
Negan pounded on the door with the flat of his palm. “I am not dying in this goddamn mouse trap because you’re having a spiritual fucking epiphany, man!”
Still nothing.
You stood, backing toward the corner with your knife drawn, breath catching in your throat. The boards were bending now, snapping in places.
“I can’t,” he said. “I have to do this. I have to confess.”
“Then confess!” Negan shouted. “I don’t give a shit what it is, just open the door and say it to my face before we both get our guts ripped out!”
Silence again. Then a long breath. And finally, Gabriel’s voice hoarse and raw.
“I failed my congregation. I lost my faith. I watched people die when I could’ve saved them. I locked the doors and left them out there to die. That’s what I did. I abandoned them. I heard them screaming, and i didn’t do anything to help them, just listened to them dying.”
You blinked, stunned by the rawness of it. Even Negan went quiet for a beat, his hand on the door.
“Holy shit Gabe.” He huffed shaking his head before he leaned it against the door “that’s some cowardly ass move.”
“I know.” Gabriel continued, “I thought if I followed you, if I understood you, maybe I could find meaning again. Maybe I could earn forgiveness. But none of it works unless you confess too.”
Negan stared at the door. His knuckles flexed white around the handle of Lucille.
“You want my confession?” he muttered.
“Yeah,” came Gabriel’s voice, quieter now. “I do.”
Negan leaned his head against the door. His voice was lower, but steady. “Fine.” A long pause followed after “I was married before all this. My wife Lucille. My first wife. My real wife.”
You watched him and couldn’t believe what you heard. His wife’s name was Lucille? Even from where you stood, you could see the shift in him. The way something behind his eyes dropped, like a weight he didn’t want to carry anymore but couldn’t let go of either.
“I wasn’t a good man. Not even close. I lied to her. I screwed around. Cheated on her. Told myself I deserved better. That she did. But she stuck with me.” He bit on his lip swallowing hard, his head hang down against the wall, and for the first time you could see something entirely different in him. Pain? Shame? Sometimes you thought he wasn’t really capable of.
“She got sick. Cancer. Bad. And the world started falling apart just when she started getting worse. Hospitals shut down. Treatment stopped. And I—”
He swallowed once again, his voice hoarser, full of emotions, his eyes glossy as well but he didn’t let those tears fall. The bat hung loose in his hand again, like it had forgotten how to be a weapon.
“I couldn’t face it. I searched for medication but it was too late.” His voice dropped. It sounded hoarser, creaking at the end of the sentence. “I wasn’t there when she died. I wasn’t there for any of it. She died thinking i didn’t give a shit about her. So I ran. Like a goddamn coward. And by the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late.”
Silence. A real silence this time. Even the walkers seemed to pause, like the world itself had stopped breathing.
Negan let out a shaky exhale. “That is how i was weak. That’s my big confession. Happy now?”
There was a pause, and then—click. The bolt turned. The door creaked open, and Gabriel stepped out, his eyes glassy but resolute. He handed Negan the gun “You’re forgiven.”
Negan started at him with a serious face before delivering a punch to his nose “thanks.” He turned away from him as Gabriel grabbed his nose “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
He didn’t look at you. But he could feel your gaze. Boring into his back watching him, trying to see through, like you always did. He hated that he looked vulnerable. Especially in front of you. His pride was too big.
Negan didn’t say a damn word after that. The confession had cracked something open in him, but now he was sealing it up again with every step, patching himself together with sheer force of will. You followed, silent, eyes locked on his broad back, heart pounding harder than it had before the kiss.
Outside the depot door, the horde was still there. Groans thick and heavy in the air like a fever dream come to life. Through the cracked wood slats, you could see them pressing against the walls faces half gone, teeth bared, eyes glassy and wet. Hands scraping. Smearing blood. Clawing mindlessly toward the scent of the living.
Negan stopped a few feet from the entrance and muttered, “We ain’t getting out of here clean.”
You came up beside him. “So what’s the plan?”
He looked at you and then Gabriel. “We play dead. Same trick as before.”
Your stomach turned. “The guts.”
“Yeah, sweetheart.” Negan shot you a grim smile. “Time to suit the fuck up.”
He stalked to one of the broken boards, shoved it aside with his boot, and scanned the pile of writhing corpses just outside. With a grunt, he kicked at the door hard enough to jar it open a sliver more, then lunged forward like a snake, grabbing a walker by the collar.
The thing snarled, arms flailing wildly. Negan didn’t flinch. He yanked it through the gap, twisted, and SLAM—Lucille came down like thunder, splintering the walker’s skull with a wet crunch. Blood sprayed. Bone cracked. The body went limp.
He was breathing hard now, chest heaving. “This one’ll do.”
Negan plunged his hands into the opened chest cavity with zero hesitation, ripping out steaming handfuls of slick, stinking gore. The smell was instant, acrid, coppery, thick enough to choke on. You gagged slightly but forced yourself to kneel, zipping your jacket. Gabriel did the same.
You pulled your jacket tighter, already regretting every choice that led you to this moment. All of you started covering up with whatever the fuck insides where there so the dead outside couldn’t smell you. You gagged once more time but tried to hide it behind a grimace.
Taking a deep breath you tried not to inhale too deeply, and stepped forward, grabbing a slick piece of viscera and draping it over your jacket like a sash of death. It was warm. Too warm. Sticky. Like being hugged by decay itself.
Negan glanced over at you and grinned as he covered himself with gore. “Look at you. Fuckin’ prom queen of the apocalypse.”
“I hate you,” you muttered, smearing blood down your arm.
He smirked. “Keep sayin’ that, darlin’. One of these days, maybe I’ll start believing it.”
“I swear,” you grumbled, “if I die smelling like this, I’m haunting your ass.”
Negan reached into the corpse and pulled out a dripping organ you didn’t want to identify. “Baby, you can haunt me any damn time. Hell, make it a kink.”
You slapped his shoulder not too hard, before grabbing your own handful of gore with a grimace. You raised your gaze noticing how Gabriel watched for a moment your interaction, and too pissed because you had to cover yourself in guts, and because you were trapped here also because of him, you spoke up, “whatcha looking at?” You sneered, the words coming out a little too meaner than you intended.
Gabriel flinched at your tone, and he quickly turned away, his face flushed with both the discomfort of the situation and your sharpness. "Nothing," he muttered, wiping his nose.
“Hey,” Negan said, as he threw a last glistening chunk of something wet at the ground. “No need to go snapping at ol’ Gabe. He might be a coward, but he’s a confessing coward now.”
You shot him a glare. “I wouldn’t be covered in someone else’s spleen if it weren’t for him.” Negan chuckled.
“All right,” he said, smearing one last streak of gore across himself. “Stay close. Stay quiet. And for the love of god, if one of them so much as sniffs in your direction—don’t freeze. Keep moving.”
He opened the door and the walkers burst inside. Then he stepped into the horde. You followed. Gabriel came last, his breath shaky behind you.
—
Once in your room, after a long shower where you tried to wash off of yourself last remainings of whatever crap you smeared on yourself, you stood in front of the small mirror on the wall, running your hands through your slightly damp hair after the shower.
A small knock at the door caught your attention. You turned your head towards it and just answered quickly “come in.” Before looking back in the mirror.
The door cracked open and and he stood there in the doorway for a moment.
You didn’t have to look who it was to know that it was him. You felt it.
Slowly turning your attention towards him, you saw his dark eyes drinking you in, intensely. He wore a clean white shirt and gray jeans, like usual, the shirt clinging slightly to his body. The tattoos adoring his skin under the sleeves. Lucille was in his hand, and it was also clean already.
He took a step forward, but it was slow, deliberate, like he was waiting for you to make the first move.
You couldn’t help but feel his gaze tracing the lines of your body, lingering where the shirt clung to your still-wet skin. It made you self-conscious, but you kept your posture steady, fighting the heat that rose to your cheeks.
"Is there a reason you're standing there like you're about to rob me, or did you just miss me?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
His lips twitched as he stepped closer, placing Lucille aside. Stopping right behind you, you could feel the heat of his body, and it caused your skin tingle, in a good way. You saw his reflection in the mirror, as he leaned down and whispered softly in your ear, “I missed you.”
“It’s been two hours.”
He shrugged. “Two hours too long.” He murmured his lips moving down your neck. His hands slid down your waist, greedy and purposeful.
He needed that, and you could feel it. They way he grabbed you and pulled you closer, the way his breathing got heavier and his kisses more persistent.
He almost lost you in the horde today. A few of those dead freaks dragged you back into the crowd and all fell on top of you, in the middle of that mess. God knows how you got out of there without getting torn apart or bit.
He couldn’t even afford the thought about loosing you.
It terrified him that he almost lost you and he couldn’t do anything about it, again.
Your breath hitched as his lips brushed along your neck, but you didn’t stop him. Instead, you leaned back slightly, giving him more access, letting his hands explore with the kind of hunger that wasn’t about lust alone. A silent plea for something real in a world that had lost everything else.
You turned to face him, your hands sliding up his chest, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his shirt “You okay?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, the kind of softness you usually used with him.
His gaze met yours, dark and intense, like he was deciding whether or not to lie. And he did. “Yeah.” He said simply. But in fact, he wasn’t. “I just… I saw you go down,” he murmured. “Saw those fuckers drag you in, and I swear to god, I thought—” He cut himself off, jaw flexing hard as his forehead rested against yours. “I thought I was gonna lose you. I thought I already had.” He exhaled a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Christ, don’t go gettin’ a big head about it, but yeah. Scared the hell outta me.”
You smiled, but it was small. “You gonna admit you care? Or is that still too much of a buzzkill?”
Negan pulled back just enough to look at you, a crooked grin forming “Sweetheart, I care enough to let you get away with slappin’ me and backtalkin’ every five seconds. That’s practically a goddamn proposal.”
You rolled your eyes, but your fingers tightened against his shirt. “So that’s your version of love?”
He snorted, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “Love’s a fairy tale word for people who didn’t live through the end of the world.”
“Yeah? But you loved Lucille?” You pressed.
For a second you regretted saying that. His expression shifted at the mention of her name. The easy grin vanished, and for a moment, his eyes darkened, as if he was seeing something far away. The energy in the room thickened, and the tension between you both grew heavy.
"Yeah, I loved her… more than anything.” He paused “I fucked up, though. Couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t even be there when she needed me the most." His jaw clenched as he spoke. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna keep livin’ in the past.” His voice was quieter now. “I’m not fucking running anymore," he muttered, his voice low, as if speaking those words were a form of resistance. As if admitting something, even as small as that, felt like a battle.
He reached up, brushing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. "And I’ll be damned if I lose you too." he leaned in and kissed you, slow, deep. His hands found your face, fingers curling around your jaw like he was anchoring himself there.
You always tried to understand Negan, and couldn’t do it every time, he was always hiding behind that bravado, but right now you knew what he eeded.
He needed you.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring everything into it, every ounce of relief, of anger, of want. Your fingers twisted into his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel his heartbeat through the fabric, erratic and hard, and you knew it wasn’t just the adrenaline.
The kiss got deeper, hungrier. He backed you towards the bed till the back of your knees hit the edge of it, and you laid down pulling him on top of you.
Positioning himself between your legs, his hands traced every curve of your body, gripping, caressing. His lips left yours and attached to your neck, panting softly against your skin. The feeling of his stubble scraping your skin made you sigh in pleasure, your head tipping back giving him more access.
Your fingers curled in hushed hair tugging on it softly and elected from him a low sound.
But you weren’t in the mood of getting into his pants this time. Not after this whole emotional rollercoaster.
“Negan…” You gave his hair another tug, but firmer this time. He moaned lifting his head up to look at you.
Your eyes searched his face, his brows were furrowed, and there was a hint of confusion in his gaze, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. You never turned him down before.
He wasn't used to this, he wasn't used to being in a position where he couldn’t just dominate the situation, especially with you. He felt so pathetic because you saw him today.
Real him.
Weak vulnerable and scared. Something that he never showed. Something he masked behind his loud mouth crude jokes and being an asshole every time.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at you for a long moment, before he let out a long sigh, tipping his head back down to the crook of your neck and placing one last kiss, then he turned on his side, laying next to you. “You want me to leave?” His voice was hoarse, tired almost.
“No.” You muttered softly, your hand still in his hair. “Stay.”
Negan's body tensed for a moment, like he was debating whether to push further or just let the moment settle. But as your fingers kept playing with the strands of his hair, he relaxed, his muscles unwinding slowly as he stretched out beside you. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close, and he let out a deep exhale, as though the weight of the world had slightly lifted off his chest, just from this simple act of proximity.
He let out another quiet sound, as your fingers ran down his scalp, his eyes closing, enjoying your touch.
His voice, low and muffled against your neck, broke the silence. “Damn woman for making me soft.” he grumbled, his voice muffled. You hummed faintly, thumb brushing along the edge of his hairline.
Negan would never admit that, it was too much of a vulnerable side for him to show, but it wasn’t just sex that he was craving.
He seek your affection. He needed comfort. Something to ground him. Something that wasn’t covered in blood and regret.
He shut those feelings down for a long time, buried the shame and guilt somewhere deep inside, it made him feel numb, trapped in this mess. He had his followers, he loved the attention, loved being in control loved the power and that’s all he needed. At least that’s what he thought. He thought he wasn’t able to care about someone this way anymore. Denied and denied.
But here he was.
You huffed out a chuckle looking down at him “You like that?”
His lips twitched into a grin, though his eyes remained half-lidded, relaxed. “Hell, I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your side. “But i got a reputation to maintain.”
You couldn’t help but smirk “scared your men will find out the big bad Negan likes cuddles?” You teased.
His grin widened, a low chuckle vibrating against you skin “I’ll have you know, sweetheart, I’m a badass even when I’m getting my ass cuddled. Just don’t go spreadin’ rumors.”
You huffed out another breathy chuckle. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward or tense. It was warm. Safe.
Summary: When Ike comes home unexpectedly after a meeting gone awry you suggest taking a bath together to lift his spirits.
Word count: 2.8K
Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, riding, creampie, praise, brief feet appreciation (it's canon, what do you want from me)
A/N: Popping in with what might as well be my yearly smut drop because I somehow managed to fight the writer's block. The scene of Ike in the bath is just too hot, this had to be done.
The sun beams down on your bare skin in balmy caresses as you lie on the sun lounger situated on the balcony, eyes closed while you try to bask in this rare moment of peace, something you weren't sure you could truly recall for a life with Ike Evans was not always an easy one. Yes, it was lavish, fulfilling, and far more exhilarating than what your life was like before him, but never easy. It always felt as though the safety provided by everything your husband had built could be ripped out from under both you and his children in a moment, and Ike knew it too. The success of the Miramar Playa hotel had placed a target on the man's back, a target that was met with a sea of vultures that wanted to take the empire he built from nothing but sand and mosquitoes for themselves. You knew it was a possibility that you could lose everything; it would be foolish to pretend that it wasn't. But you also knew that Ike would do whatever it takes to keep that from happening, come hell or high water.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of the front door to your suite being opened, a noise that had you scrambling from the lounger to retrieve the beach towel you'd tossed on the floor beside you to cover yourself with. Considering you and Ike lived in the penthouse suite, which you had all to yourself since he had some business to attend to, and your stepdaughter Lauren was having a sleepover at a friend's house, you figured there was no harm in being nude in your own home; a sentiment that you were currently regretting. Peeking your head through the partially open sliding door, you look down the hallway to see who the unexpected visitor is. The sight of Ike standing by the door and running his hand down his face as though something was bothering him, takes you by surprise.
“Honey?” you call out, still holding the towel against your body but a little less mindfully than you were before.
He glances up to meet the source of the sound, eyes filled with bemusement as he realises that you are not only home but that you are also in nothing but a towel.
“Sweetheart? I thought you were supposed to go for lunch today with your friends,” he reminds you as he approaches you, his leather dress shoes tapping against the patterned marble flooring as he does.
When you reach him you decide to concoct some excuse for why you had cancelled, though you knew it was an answer he wouldn't be thrilled with. The truth is that they were shallow she-devils who only felt obligated to be nice to you or to do things with you because they knew your husband owned the Miramar and were probably hoping to score some kind of friend discount, especially since some of their husbands often enjoyed staying in the cabanas by the poolside.
“You know what I'm like when you have these big meetings. I like being present and in the know, so some silly little lunch that I can easily reschedule can wait.”
He opens his mouth to interject the way he usually would, but you hush him with a quick peck to the lips and offer to help him take off his suit jacket instead, draping it over the chair adjacent to your glass dining table. Ike always encouraged you to do other things to take your mind off business. Whether it be shopping, going out for a meal or even relaxing by the pool, he wanted you to do whatever you could that would stop you from being cooped up in the suite waiting for him to come home at some ungodly hour; god knows he would rather if he had the choice. You didn't mind it much, especially considering it allowed you to spend time with Ike's daughter Lauren when she wanted to come with you, but today was one of those days when you would rather be as involved as possible.
“Now, what's wrong? Because you wouldn't be up here unless you needed to get away from whatever is happening downstairs, it's written all over your face,” you observe as you return to him and reach out to stroke his cheek whilst the other hand remains planted on your towel, the gesture drawing a heavy sigh from his lips as he faintly leans into your touch.
“The meeting was going well until we were finishing up. I was walking them out of the office when Jack Klein showed up and started making threats about how he was gonna put me behind bars. Florence had tried to stop him but the damage was already done. Fucking asshole humiliated me,” Ike explained disappointedly, though bitterness began to creep in as he recalled that last part.
Jack Klein was Miami's district attorney, and he'd been goading and harassing Ike for weeks. He was convinced that he could find something that would incriminate him enough to land him in jail and destroy his reputation for good, and though you sensed that Ike was sparing some of the details of that fiasco, you knew better than to pry. He would tell you when he was ready, or when he was sure that the information wouldn't endanger you in any way. You knew he was probably just trying to protect you or keep you from worrying about him, not that that stopped you anyhow.
“It's just empty threats, Ike. An intimidation tactic to throw you off your game. But you listen to me now,” you start, placing your hand on his chest as you speak. “You're Ike Evans. You built this place from nothing, and you made it successful. And no one can take that away from you, not even Jack Klein. So call those people and apologise for the drama, but tell them exactly what they'll be missing out on if they pass up on your offer, and they'll be begging to host their event here before you know it.”
Ike places his hand over yours and guides it away from his chest, lifting it towards his lips and planting a tender kiss on the back of your hand.
“What would I do without you?” he replies with a small smile, totally captivated by you and your ability to always know exactly what he needs to hear to get his head screwed on right.
His hands find their way to your waist whilst yours gravitate towards his tie, your fingers grazing the end of his tie and dancing up towards his shirt collar until you grasp it and use it to promptly pull Ike towards you, lips smashing against his. Tightening your grip on his tie, you use it to deepen the kiss which draws a small, pleased groan from him. Eventually breaking the kiss just enough to the point where you could speak, you whisper against his lips.
“I'm gonna take a nice, long bath. You should join me. Don't want you all stressed when you make that really important call,” you tease as your lips lightly brush against his throughout your proposal, then boldly drop the towel you had been keeping wrapped around your body to the floor leaving it pooling at your feet.
Ike chuckles and leans back enough to look you up and down, taking you in and practically eating you with his eyes as they shamelessly trace every inch of your skin.
“God, I love you,” he says earnestly, a declaration that leaves you aflutter as you smile and start leading him to the ensuite bathroom by his tie.
Once you reached it you let his tie go and made your way over to the bath, the coolness of the flooring nipping at the soles of your feet as you bent down to turn on the faucet. Just as the water started to run you felt his hands take hold of your hips as he pressed himself against you, the bulge straining against his dress pants firm on your backside. You bit down on your lip as you leaned up until your back was pressed against his chest, the movement only encouraging him to bury his head in the crook of your neck and pepper it with tender kisses. A shaky breath escapes your lips as you focus on the way his mouth feels against your skin, your body melting into him as he wraps his arms around your waist.
“At this rate, we're not even gonna make it to the bath,” you joke breathlessly, the comment drawing a chuckle from Ike.
“Well you're just so beautiful, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you?” he retorts in a husky whisper, lips teasing against the shell of your ear all the while.
Just when you're tempted to forgo the bath entirely, the water reaches a comfortable level, leaving you to slip from Ike's arms and add enough cold water to adjust the temperature of the water. By the time you'd adjusted the temperature Ike had stripped and discarded his clothes, leaving you to climb into the bath at one end whilst he took the other. The warm water draws a sigh from both of you as you sink into it, your eyes closing for a moment as you try to savour the tranquillity. You feel Ike's hands dip into the water to grab one of the feet that you were resting at his side and move it to his chest, placing a quick, affectionate peck on the side of your foot and unconsciously running his hand up and down your ankle. With the gentle rustle of the sea breeze blowing softly outside the window, the steam hanging in the air, and the heat of the water that wrapped around your body like a soothing embrace, you felt your mind beginning to wander to your lie earlier. It was nagging at you and you knew it wouldn't go away unless you got it off your chest.
“I wasn't entirely honest with you when I told you that I rescheduled that lunch because of your meeting,” you admitted diffidently, not opening your eyes at first until you felt him shift slightly.
The concern in his eyes that you were greeted with prodded you to continue, to which you reluctantly did.
“Those ladies don't like me, Ike. They pretend to be nice but I know they all talk badly about me. And I know that part of it is because I'm married to you, I've seen the way they look at me when we're together.”
The confession came pouring out, though it felt good to finally share with him after putting up with it for longer than you probably should have. It was stupid, but you thought that once they got to know you and realised what you were like that you would be able to win them over. But it was no use.
“C'mere.” Ike beckoned with a sigh and straightened up slightly, letting go of your leg.
You sit up and crawl into his lap, the movement disturbing the calm of the water and creating small waves. One of his hands settles on your hip whilst the other moves up to push your hair out of your face and behind your ear.
“If I had any idea that you felt that way, I never would've encouraged you to go out with them. You shouldn't have to put up with that, baby,” he says before pausing to gaze into your eyes, completely enamoured. “Besides, what do you say that next time they come here, we give them a little show and make the kiss real long?” he offers with a wolfish grin, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
His proposal to get back at them makes you snort your laughter just imagining the look on their faces, and you can tell you that he is envisioning the same.
“Well, why don't we practice right now?” you tease as you coyly bite down on your bottom lip, your boldness making him raise his brows as the hand on your hip squeezes slightly.
“Gladly.”
He presses his lips against yours, the movement of his lips slow and impassioned as though he wanted to savour you. His hand palms over one of your breasts, softly kneading it in his hand and eliciting a pleased hum that vibrates against your lips as he did. His other hand wanders into your hair, running his fingers through it and using it to deepen the kiss as though the man could hardly get enough of you. It was intoxicating, the duality of his touch. His hands were gentle but unyielding, his kisses hungry but unhurried. When you finally pull away in search of air Ike wastes no time urging your body closer and taking your breast into his mouth, tongue circling your nipple before lightly sucking it, the sensation causing you to throw your head back and let out a surprised gasp. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck as your hand gets lost in his hair, slightly tugging it. He removes his mouth from your breast and mumbles against your skin while placing a few more sloppy kisses from your chest to your collarbone.
“You're breathtaking,” he rasps between kisses, lifting his head and running his hand through your hair before capturing your lips again, his tongue slipping into your mouth and allowing you to taste the tobacco on his tongue as he did.
“Isaac,” you whisper, the desire to be so full of him that you could hardly think overtaking the urge to drown in his kisses. “I need you inside me.”
It was a vulgar and desperate plea to relieve the aching between your thighs, but if the man teased you any longer you were certain you were going to explode. As though he was just waiting for you to say it he reaches down to line himself up before bucking his hips, a satisfied whine spilling from your mouth as you sink down onto his cock with ease, taking him to the hilt. Steadying yourself by placing your hand on his chest, you start to rock your hips and bite down on your lip at the feeling of fullness, running your hand down his chest and enjoying the way the chest hair decorating his sun-kissed skin feels against your fingers.
“What did I do to deserve you?” Ike groans, hands moving to your ass and cupping it firmly as you ride him, his hips beginning to eagerly rut in time with your movements.
You rest your forehead against his, utterances of his name getting lost in breathy whimpers as you become enthralled by the lust in his stare, something carnal about the way he gazed at you as though the whole world around you had faded leaving nothing but you and the way you were clenching around him. His mouth finds its way to your neck again, lightly sucking at your skin just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to leave marks. His affections move from your neck to trailing along your jaw, then to your lips allowing your needy moans to bleed into the kiss. The sensation building in your abdomen only spurred you to roll your hips faster, tepid water splashing at your thighs and leaving droplets trickling down your ass as the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the bathroom.
“Ike–” you cried out, desperately teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy until Ike firmly grasped your hips and plunged into you with a particularly hard, deep thrust.
Your legs quiver as you cling to him tightly, shuddering as your orgasm overwhelms you. The sounds you were making and the blissed out look in your eyes was enough to bring him to his own climax, his groans permeating the steamy air as he fills you with his release. Still trying to catch your breath you let your head rest on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you and embracing you as you did. A beat passes, marked only by the sound of each other's breathing. Then, Ike takes your hand and places it on his chest, his heart pounding fast beneath your palm.
“You feel that? That's what you do to me,” he points out with a chuckle and plants a kiss on your forehead, though you just found it all the more endearing that he got so worked up over you.
“Such a strong heart,” you tease, giving him a quick peck on the lips while he draws circles on your lower back.
“Besides, would you rather have it any other way?” you inquire softly after pulling back with a knowing smile, running your hand through his hair.
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