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thewalkingdead-imagines · 4 years

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Negan Imagine ~ “Exile”

Summary: After months of surviving the apocalypse together in the wilderness and finally taking the next step in their relationship, the Reader wakes up to find Negan gone, only a note of him left...

Request: Imagine inspired by “Exile” by Taylor Swift (lyrics can be found at the end!) Enjoy!

Night was slowly but surely falling over the campsite, only the flickering light of the campfire nearby enlightening the darkness. From afar, you could see the guard sitting at the flames, poking into the coal while some more sparks flew into the air, lightning up for a moment until they melted into one with the dark. You shifted over the makeshift bed in the large car that served as your bedroom for now, cuddling into the couple pillows you’d been able to get a hold on in the cabin, where some of the others were sleeping. It had been about three days since this place was your newest home, equipped with the small cabin by a calm river, some abandoned cars, overgrown beets that must’ve once been used for vegetables and an old but functioning outdoor shower that only an hour ago splattered clear water onto your skin and had reminded you of those little daily luxuries from before that you were truly missing. A rustling sound echoed through the night, loud enough for your instincts to kick in and let you jolt up, just to see a tall figure rounding the car, his silhouette enlightening for a moment in the warm light of the camp fire before he got to the lid of the car. A click sounded through the air before the lid slowly opened and Negan glimpsed right at you, a grin spreading over his face while his still slightly wet hair was falling into his face. “Welcome back to our luxurious suite”, you chuckled as you shuffled a little to the side, making enough room for him to crawl inside. “Good to be back”, he grinned with a wink as he climbed into the car, closing the lid behind him before he moved to your side. “Oh this is so fuckin’ comfy”, Negan groaned as he let himself fall next to you into the sheets, sleepily grinning at you as he cuddled into one of the pillows „Mhmm“, you mumbled, moving to lay on your side to face him in the dim light,“You think we can stay here a little longer?“ “I hope so, I’m digging that shower!”, he laughed, grasping the edge of the large blanket that was hugging you to tuck himself in as well. “Me too”, you mumbled with a chuckle as a wider grin formed on Negan’s lips. “Yeah I could tell, you took forever”, he said, tease swinging through his deep voice, provoking you just enough to shove his chest playfully. “Wow, says the right guy”, you laughed, grinning at him while he moved to take your hand that had just landed on his body into his hand to give it a small squeeze, ”how long have you just been there?” He just shook his head, still keeping your hand in his, enough to let a wave of warmth wash over you before a good bit of roguishness started to mix into his glance.“Y’know to save some water we could just shower together next time.” “Oh god”, you called out with a groan, a laugh rumbling through you as you glimpsed at him,”Your pick up lines have been more creative before, that’s some fuckboy shit.” “‘Cause that was no pick up line that was a serious offer!”, he defended himself, though the grin he was temporarily trying to suppress kept tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sure”, you snickered with a nod, still feeling how the warmth was lulling you more in the longer he held onto you. “You should come here”, Negan mumbled as he tugged softly on you hand and glimpsed at the spot right next to him with another grin,”Unless you wanna hop under the shower together after all.” “Guess Martin’s there now, bet he wouldn’t find that so funny”, you responded with a chuckle, trying to keep the heat that was rushing into your body as well as your mind under control that would be too happy to imagine Negan under the shower now, while you scooted over to him into your usual sleeping spot. “Oh he’d get one hell of a show, can’t imagine he’d complain about that”, Negan rasped against your skin as soon as you cuddled against him, feeling him wrapping his arms around you and giving your waist a soft but teasing squeeze. You chuckled once more, part of you trying to cover up how much effect his voice and his words had on you while you hooked your leg over his hip, cuddling a little closer to his side while a deep, content growl tumbled through Negan’s chest. It took seconds for this warm, comfy feeling to set in, allowing you to feel safe right there in his arms. He had that ability to make you feel safe like no other and you couldn’t even pinpoint why, he just needed to put his arms around you and you felt safe, just like now, even though you were sleeping in a car in the middle of the woods. You’d known when he’d joined the groups nearly a half year ago that he surely was someone special, with that very specific kind of humor and the colorful language of his but you hadn’t thought that he’d become to you what he was now; one of the very most important people to ever step into your life. You’d barely been able to open up to anyone after losing all your loved ones right at the start of the shit show, after having to helplessly see them being torn apart, but Negan had been able to help you get some of the parts back you’d thought you’d lost forever. You could trust again, you could belly laugh again, you could truly bond again and feel pure happiness stream through your body. He’d become your homeland, your best friend, your very own safe haven and you knew that you were his too. You could feel Negan pressing a soft kiss against your temple, letting a warm wave wash over your back while you leaned a little into his touch, enjoying the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubbly beard. That’s how far you’d gone until now, cuddling, teasing and kisses to your forehead. You wanted more, fuck you wanted way more but there was a small part of you that had told you to go slow for the longest time, though it was becoming smaller and smaller with each touch of Negan and by now, it was barely existent anymore. You moved in, feeling how Negan’s hand grasped yours and caressed it softly, taking it fully into his as your eyes dropped down to the back of his hand and his knuckles where small, nearly faded scars, that had been boasting wounds months ago covered his skin. “They’re almost gone”, you mumbled, gently rubbing your thumb over the light scars remembering the night he got them vividly. It was shortly after he had joined and while you’d felt drawn to him from the beginning, this night had given you a first true possibility to feel safe with someone again. It had stormed so badly back then, leaving your group running through the dark forest in hope to find shelter from the dead and the forces of nature. You could still remember being split off with Negan from the rest as a group of walkers approached, could see yourself tripping in the dark, wet underwood on a hillside that left you tumbling down to its foot, with sprained ankles that didn’t allow you to run from the dead. He’d stayed with you, even though he’d barely known you at this point, knowing very well that he’d had to fight the dead alone if he wouldn’t leave you, and risk his own life. He’d killed them all, one by one with his bat that was all wet from the rain that let it slip more than just once in his hands, slitting parts of his hands with the barbed wire that was covering it, leaving his knuckles bloody. He hadn’t stopped once, hadn’t attempted to flee once and leave you alone regardless of how risky it got and once they were all laying dead on the muddy ground, he’d propped you and helped the both of you get back to the rest. You sure had to deal with the sprained ankles for longer than you liked and the agony they had given you had been a pain in the ass, but besides that, this night had given you the chance to finally feel like you could fully start to count on someone again and be sure that they wouldn’t leave you, regardless of how tricky the situation got. Negan was there, he’d always been there after that night, growing your trust until the both of you were as good as inseparable. “Hmm”, you could hear him mumble, squeezing your hand softly back while you still glimpsed at his large hand around yours. “Y’know I know you can take care of yourself“, he started, keeping your hand in his as he spoke back up, ”But hell, if another situation like that would come up, I’d do it all over again. Even if those damn scars wouldn’t fade”, He mumbled, just before another chuckle left his lips “I guess they actually make me look like the dangerous motherfucker I am huh?“ „Very dangerous“, you laughed, though a wide smile was pressing into the corners of your lips while you moved a little up, enough to glimpse at him in the dim light. “I meant it though“,he said, moving his hand from yours to stroke some loose strands of your hair back while some more heat began to rise in your body the longer his eyes stayed fixed on yours, a smirk growing on his face once more,“Always gonna be there, ready to fuck anybody up who wants to mess with my girl.“ “I know”, you mumbled, trying to not show too much what these last two words were doing to you when they slipped out of his lips,”I’m always gonna be there for you too. We’re a team.“ Negan nodded slowly, his fingers still caressing slightly through your hair while the small grin stayed stuck on his lips. "We‘re gettin‘ sappy now, huh?“, he grinned, a rough laugh falling from his lips while you could tell that your body was responding more and more to his touch, to the feeling of his body pressing against yours and the feelings of how his rough fingertips stroke slowly through your hair. „I don’t mind it“, you mumbled, your eyes still staying fixed on his as his hand moved down to caress his thumb along your jaw before it traveled to the back of your neck, curling his palm around it while his fingertips kept circling over your skin. Slowly but surely he started to let your heart pump faster as nearly instinctively your hand started to move from the spot on his warm chest up to his jaw, almost mirroring his movements earlier as your fingertips teased over the short salt and pepper stubble. You could feel yourself holding your breath as both of your gazes were fixed on one another and the tension that had lingered for the longest between you started to sky rocket. Your body started to tingle, the longing of more of him started to become even stronger as his eyes started to drop to your lips, letting your heart jump as you could feel him putting a gentle pressure onto the back of your neck, careful and just enough to slowly guide you down to him. You let him, moved almost instinctively closer as his warm breath started to softly hit your skin, giving you the feeling that right now, right here was the perfect time to finally take things further. Your mind shut down, handing you over to your instincts and the longing within you as you closed your eyes and could finally feel Negan’s lips brushing against yours, soft at first, as if part of him was trying to make sure that you were fully on board. And like hell you were. You hummed into him as you first felt his lips against yours, their softness combining perfectly with the roughness of his stubbly beard while heat streamed through your body, allowing you to dive deeper into the beautiful trance Negan’s lips were putting you into. He groaned against you as his kisses grew hungrier, going from soft and careful to longing and more demanding while you moved closer, caressing your fingers over his jaw. He was leading you, taking all possible insecurities away as he was kissing you loving and rough at the very same time intensifying the excited tingle all over your body until you were out of breath. You were shivering, laying still half on top of him as your foreheads rested against one another, trying to catch your breath again while Negan’s fingers still caressed over your skin and you still couldn’t fully believe what had happened. “Shit, I’ve wanted to do this for so long”, Negan mumbled still heavily breathing against your skin as soon as he got his speech back, already slowly pulling you back down to him, enough to caress his lips over yours again, hungrier with every passing second. You immediately melted back against him as he kept you in this little bubble of happiness and tightened his embrace while he slowly started to roll you on your back, underneath him. You hummed as soon as you felt his weight pressing in on you, felt his hand moving to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek while your fingers entangled in his dark curls. You were filled with pure happiness, felt so unbelievable comfortable and excited while his caresses felt so new and familiar at the very same time. For a second, Negan’s lips left yours, still hovering over them as the urge within you moved up to get some more of his intoxicating kisses. “Someone wants some more”, Negan groaned against your lips as you let out a chuckle. “Mhmm”, you mumbled, already feeling his lips pressing against yours again as you let out another hum,”Is that bad?” “You’re kidding me? It’s the fuckin’ opposite of bad”, he halted for a moment, moving away just enough to glimpse roguishly at you, licking his lips before he winked at you. “Looks like my pick up lines worked after all, Sweetheart”, he chuckled, squeezing your waist teasingly,”Creative or not.” “Oh don’t get too cocky”, you mumbled back, shaking your head with a small laugh as you leaned back in, a bit more confident now as Negan dipped his head back down to you and met your lips with another kiss. Just then you fully understood that this was real, that you were actually kissing Negan, that this wasn’t a dream. As soon as you felt his lips back on yours you allowed him to wrap you up in his scent and touch while you let yourself completely fall, more and more with each kiss. You were in love with him, there really was no way to deny it anymore. You were utterly and deeply in love with him and all these kisses only made you realize it more and more with each further touch. You stayed like this, entangled with one another, kissing and relishing in each other, releasing all the tension that had build up during this whole last time until you found yourself wrapped up in his arms, with his lips brushing against your forehead and his fingers caressing over your skin. You could barely think of any other moment you’d felt so at ease and happy, almost overwhelmed with positive emotions that kept you in some kind of hazy high. And slowly, you started to fall asleep in his arms, cozied up to him and relaxed, as if you weren’t laying in the back of a car in the middle of the woods but the safest place on earth.

Your sleep was calm and deep as it could be until Negan’s softly shifting body started to wake you up, feeling the tension that was laying over him that was usually only present when yet another nightmare had struck either of you. You shifted a bit, still half asleep as you slowly opened your eyes and could hear him letting out a tense breath. “You’re okay?”, you mumbled drowsily, cuddling a little closer up to him while a small yawn slipped out of your lips. “Yeah”, he mumbled, nodding slowly before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead,”Just woke up for a moment.” “Nightmare again?”, you asked, glimpsing a little up at him as you could feel him shaking his head a little. “Nah, not this time”,his drowsy voice mumbled back before he brushed his lips against your skin again and pulled you a little closer ,”It’s all good, bet I’m gonna fall right back asleep. Just need ya to c’mere” “Alright, that’s doable”, you mumbled with a small, sleepy chuckle back, leaning a little in to press a kiss against his stubbly jaw before you nuzzled your nose back into the warm curve of his neck, and huddling closer up to him. “Sleep tight, Sweetheart”, you heard him mumble lowly, his warmth and scent already getting you back to this comfy bubble that allowed the sleep to slowly wash back over you. For another moment, you waited, assuring yourself that he didn’t have something to talk about after all before you could feel him smoothing your body against his once more, while let your hand caress softly over the center of his broad chest, figuring that simply staying cuddled up to him would be the best way to help him right now. “You too”, you only mumbled then, your voice a bit muffled as you got lulled into the comforting darkness of sleep, little by little until it had fully wrapped itself around you and pulled you into its depths.

Soft sunlight was falling through the windows of the car as you started to drift out of your sleep, shifting uncomfortably over the sheets, irritated by the lack of Negan’s warmth around you. Tensing your brows confusedly you opened your eyes, slowly getting used to the early morning light while a yawn left your lips. “Negan?”, you mumbled drowsily, still not completely conscious as your sleepy glance started to search for him only to find yourself alone in the car. Grumbling irritatedly to yourself you slowly started to sit up, glimpsed around you and outside of the car, spotting part of your group, about four of the others, who were already sitting around the now extinguished campfire, eating some breakfast while the rest was likely still sleeping in the tents and the cabin. Negan wasn’t among them, which just let you assume that he’d simply made a trip to the makeshift-bathroom and had tried to not wake you up in the process. Shrugging and guessing that he was likely about to come back to you in a little you rubbed your eyes and let yourself sink back into the pillows, deciding to get some more sleep as long as you had the chance before your eyes caught a small piece of folded paper laying on his side of the mattress. Furrowing your brows confusedly you reached towards the sheet, grabbing it as another yawn slipped out of your lips. You folded it open, not thinking much of it before your eyes wandered over the words in its middle, and from one moment to another, those words turned your world upside down.

I’m sorry, I really am But it’s better like this, believe me You’re better off this way

Nausea flooded your body, tightening your ribcage and throat, cutting off your breath as you stared at the sentences and felt an unbearable ache traveling down your arms, letting you shake vehemently as soon as you started to realize what was happening. He was gone. Negan was gone. He had left you. For just another moment you hoped that this was a bad joke, that he would pop up by the car and yell that he was just joking but as you started to tremble harder and looked panicked around the car, you found all his stuff missing, from his beloved bat to his backpack. He was gone. ”No, no...”, you mumbled shaking to yourself, grabbing the paper tighter as the lump in your throat grew bigger, forcing you to wince while only the shock that was stuck in you kept you from breaking out in tears. You started to read his words over and over again, found your glance swaying to the other parts of the paper that had been written onto but had been completely blacked out by uncountable black pen lines, only leaving his final version plastered in the middle. You couldn’t understand what was going on. You couldn’t get it. He’d kissed you last night. Everything had been as perfect as it could be. You’d been happy, right? He couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t. You both were too close for him to just leave you out of the blue, vanish without any explanation and force you to never be able to see him again. He was your closest confidant, your best friend, the man you’d fallen for, and you’d thought that he felt the same about you. He wouldn’t do this to you, right? He knew how scared you were of losing someone else close to you, he knew how afraid you were of being abandoned. He wouldn’t do this to you, right? But he wasn’t here to prove it, instead, everything around you in these moments forced you to believe the opposite and slowly but surely realize that your worst nightmares were starting to become true. Negan was gone. He had packed his things while you’d slept. He had written this poor excuse of a note in what looked like the matter of a few minutes and then, then he’d left you. You felt like you were stuck in an impuissance, in a bubble of powerlessness, half of you unsure if this all was truly happening as this all rather felt like a bad film while the other half was already drowning in pain. Your head was a total mess, your mind trying to make sense of all the intimate moments you’d shared with Negan in the past, with your growing relationship and the countless moments of closeness, and the situation you were confronted with right in these very moments. How could he just leave you? After everything that had happened between the both of you, how could he just leave you out of the blue? ”Morning”, you suddenly heard a voice sound muffled through the closed lid of the car, letting you flinch up and shoot your eyes towards Tony, who was knocking softly on the window and lowered his head a little to glimpse inside, check if you were already awake. By the confused way he looked you could tell that he was expecting two people instead of just one to sit inside the car, and you could see him shaking his head softly before he reached down to open the lid up.ing ”Morning, where’s Negan?”, he asked, stroking his blonde curls back to keep them from falling right into his face while you stared at him like a deer in headlights, still shaking. “He’s gone”, was all you could get to slip out of your lips, still holding onto the note as if your life depended on it while Tony’s brows started to furrow, as if he couldn’t quite get what was happening either. “What-” A blood-freezing scream cut him right off and spread a whole other tension all over your body within mere seconds. You grabbed your knife and shot outside of the car, only in your sleeping clothes and on bare feet as you followed Tony to the source of the screams and the nervous voices that started to mix with them, only to feel your heart skip another beat as you saw their source. Pam was laying on the ground, clutching her throat as blood kept spewing out of the curve of her neck, turning her whole figure red while Thom dragged his knife out of the dead walker’s skull beside her. “No...no!”, she gasped, her voice rasp and breathy, barely audible while you could see Janice moving in to hold her shaking body and heard the rest storming towards you. You stood there, like glued to the ground while you couldn’t fully get what was happening, could only feel new tears shooting into your eyes as you saw your friend bleeding out, still gasping for air though you knew that each one could be her last. Your dizziness got worse, everything around you became a blur again, the voices, the situation that played out in front of your eyes before loud, deadly growls ripped you out of your trance. From one moment to another you could see walkers coming closer, attracted by the screams as they shuffled through the trees towards you. They ripped the safety lines of wire that were spun around the trees apart with their strength as a group, pushing further and while your head still didn’t get what was happening, your body’s instincts took over and made you react. You couldn’t count how often your knife dug into rotting skulls, one by one until they became too many, pushing further and further into the camp before you heard Janice calling for everyone to grab what you still could and flee. You did, taking everything that felt necessary in these moments, slipping into your boots, grabbing your clothes, backpack and the note before you stormed towards the others only to hear more screams echoing through the air. “Run”, you could hear Thom scream as you turned around and saw walkers closing in on him, burying their teeth into his skin, starting to tear him apart before so many dead surrounded him that he disappeared within them. You could only feel how your legs began to move as soon as you realized that there was no way to save him anymore and a feeling of excruciation pain spread out all over you and only the adrenaline kept you running. You followed the rest that had made it, ran until your feet hurt, until your heavy breathing made it feel like it was cutting crannies into your throat, and until you had left the walkers and the bloody camp-side far behind yourself.

This day felt like a nightmare you were unable to wake up from. No matter how much you tried to get it off, there was still some blood sticking to your hands when the night-sky was covering the firmament again and you found yourself sitting on a tree trunk by the bustling flames. Your new camp was far from the place you’d lost four of your friends, far from the place you’d last seen Negan and still, a piece of him was still there with you, laying in your hands. You were staring at his messy handwriting over and over again, at the blacked out spots and the sentences in the middle, trying to somehow find out what he could mean with them and what could hide behind the thick, black lines. You still hadn’t fully processed that he was gone, still expected him to come out of the woods towards you or stick his head out of one of the tents but with every passing moment and with every bit the stress and shock of this day beat retreat, the reality started to set in more. You looked back at the note, seeing how the flames shed a warm light onto it while your eyes wandered over each word and letter. “It’s better like this”, “You’re better off this way”, what the fuck was this supposed to mean? It didn’t make any sense, not after what you’ve had in the prior night together. Did he actually just act like he enjoyed it and this was his shitty take on “It’s not you, it’s me”? Did he really not feel like you felt for him? Why the hell would he say that you were better off this fucking way? You were miserable, nothing else. “You should just burn it”, you could hear Tony’s voice echoing through the air, letting you flinch a little as your glance shot up to him while he made his way over to you, pointing at the note ,”Try to forget him, he ain’t worth it.” He shook his head with a sigh, letting himself fall next to you onto the tree trunk while he bit a bit off of the stickbread that he was holding in his hand. “I always had the feeling that there was something off with him”, he mumbled, grimacing slightly as he glimpsed at the note, stroking some crumbs out of his blonde beard stubble ,”What a bastard.” You gulped, starting to fold the note, trying to fight the small part in you that hadn’t quite comprehended yet that Negan was someone else than you thought and still wanted to defend him. “Can we not talk about him?”, you asked, shifting uncomfortably as you buried the note back in your pocket, not yet ready to let go of it. Tony nodded, his eyes fixed on your hands as they zipped the pocket shut. “You want some?”, he then asked, holding the bread in his hands for a moment up before he pointed with it to the other side of the campfire,”We still got enough of it.” “Not hungry”, you shook your head, sure that if you’d try to eat something now you’d throw it back up in the very next moment ,”Thanks though.” “No problem”, he said as he got back on his feet and glimpsed to some of the others who were sitting by the tents back to you,”Y’know we got the guard shifts for tonight already sorted out. When you wanna sleep, you can do so, don’t have to wait for us to decide anymore.” “Okay, thanks”, you nodded, seeing how he tried to put a supportive smile on his lips before he reached down to give your shoulder a soft pat and made his way back to the rest, giving you some space. You just wanted this day to be over, so maybe it wasn’t wrong to just go to your tent and try to shut your mind down and fall asleep, or at least try to. Your body was definitely exhausted enough to crave some sleep, all you had to do was get your thoughts under control. You finally got up from your spot on the tree trunk and strolled over to your tent, climbing over the ropes that held the other ones in the ground before you could climb into yours and zip it shut. You had tried to make it as comfortable as you could with the things you had left and tried the same with yourself as you slipped into some more comfortable clothes, hoping that it would somehow trick you into feeling better. You eventually cuddled into your sleeping bag and turned your jacket into a bundle, trying to use it as a provisory pillow. You could hear the note in the jacket’s pocket rustling a little as you shifted, bringing Negan back into your mind even though he’d never really left it. Your throat started to tighten, along with your ribcage that allowed it to spread tension over you that began to seep inside, turning into agony that crawled up your whole body. And now that you were alone, now that everything was quiet around you, the bubble of shock and denial finally bursted, from one moment to another. Tears shot into your eyes as you breath grew heavier and your body started to tremble while your mind got tortured all over again, now as the full truth started to reveal itself and you couldn’t deny what had happened anymore. Negan had exiled you from his life. Just like that. And he’d known it. He’d known how much it had taken you to build trust up and let people in, he’d known how afraid you were of being abandoned or of losing someone else you loved. And he’d still left you while you were sleeping, only leaving this shitty note behind and the only clear question you could form right now was asking for the “why”? Had you really just surmised everything about him? From his feelings for you to everything that made your whole relationship up? Had he really felt different last night and this whole thing had just been an act? Fuck, but he’d told you so much about himself, too much for it all to just be an superficial act, he’d told you basically his whole past and his regrets, he wouldn’t have done this if he hadn’t felt safe with you as well, right? There was this small part in you that tried to soothe your pain and told you that maybe he had only gotten scared after taking the next step with you. But if he had, why hadn’t he talked to you the same way you had talked about everything else, leaving you completely was just too extreme. This all just didn’t match. And with that, the devil on your shoulder started to whisper its painful remarks into your ear, turning all your thoughts even more toxic than they already were. Maybe he have had some feelings for you but the kisses had made him realize after all that you just weren’t it for him. Maybe you’d been completely deceived by him and had seen someone else in him than he actually was. He had to be, somehow at least. The Negan you’d known wouldn’t have left you like this, especially with the consequence that you would never see him again, not after all these months together, not after growing so close. But he had left, he had run away, he had exiled you from his life and he forced you to live with his decision, without any clear answers. Your thoughts were eating into you, tearing you up from the inside while hot tears started to roll down your cheeks, first silently before your small whimpers grew into sobs. Had you done something wrong? Had you repelled him? Were you really that unlovable that he felt like you didn’t even deserve to know why he didn’t want to be with you anymore? Was there something so wrong about you that made him suddenly not want you in his life anymore? Why the fuck had he left you? You were muffling your sobs, hoping that no one would hear you while more and more pain travelled through your body and kept you in a bubble of agony. You couldn’t control your head anymore, it felt like your thoughts were stuck in a storm that raged through your head, strong enough to let you grow dizzy and make you feel like the tent was spinning around you. You tried your best to focus on one spot of its roof, keep you from losing control completely while the spinning got stronger, amplifying the nausea the pain had already elicited. Your heart was hammering in your chest, so loudly that you felt like you could hear it while the nausea started to turn your stomach upside down. The pictures of Negan in your head stared to mix with the ones of your dead friends, of the blood on the forest ground and the metallic scent of it that reeked of death before your body took over and made you rush out of the tent. In the very last second you fell to your knees and felt your ribcage tightening as the bile and the very last bit of your stomach content pushed up your throat and spewed out of your mouth. The bile was biting into the skin of your lips and made you tear up even more while the nausea kept clawing onto your throat until you hung violently shaking over the ground, bile and saliva dripping out of your mouth as your stomach finally stopped to contract. You whimpered, only glad about the fact that no one seemed to have heard you before you forced yourself to slowly move back into the tent, still crying as you got your mouth clean and drunk the very last bit of your water to get the awful taste out of your mouth that would surely have let you throw up again. You ended up sitting in the tent, hugging your legs while the tears didn’t stop falling down your face, making you feel like the pain would never stop coming. You had lost the most important person in your life, and it wasn’t just about the fact that you’d lost the person you’d fallen in love with, you’d lost your best friend too. And maybe, you thought, maybe there would have been a way for you to prevent it, or at least avoid yourself from ending up without answers, making up scenarios in your head that didn’t help you at all but just existed to further torture you. You should have stayed awake when you’d woken up last night, you should have asked further what had actually been wrong with him, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation now if you had. Maybe. Everything was just a fucking maybe. You would never get clear answers. You would never see Negan again. And you wondered if you would ever be able to cope with that. It didn’t get better after this night, not much at least. Time alone couldn’t heal all wounds, and the vast difference between your previous life and the one Negan forced you to continue now made it only more difficult for you to cope. You were going from sleeping wrapped up in strong arms that made you feel safe and cozy to sleeping completely alone, left to fight your nightmares on your own, left to overthink each night about what you’d done wrong, what could be so unlovable about you that you’d be abandoned. You were going from joking around and walking laughing through the woods to bringing up the caboose, walking silently behind the others when you made your way through forests and fields. You were going from growing comfortable around people to becoming hostile and mistrusting of every act someone else did around you, of everything someone said and asked you. You were growing numb and more sensitive at the very same time. And most obviously, you were going from living back to purely surviving. Back when Negan was around, you had finally felt like you were living again, and now, you were only surviving from one day to another. You were letting the hours pass from dawn until the moon was shining on the firmament and the whole process repeated itself. You were in your own bubble. Surviving, but that was it. Your hunger for answers kept you up most of the nights, now less than in the beginning, but still enough to hurt you. Sometimes you’d hoped to run into him, find exactly these answers to what had made him leave so you could find your peace, other times you hoped you would never have to see his face again and be reminded of the fact of how much he had deceived you. The latter lost most of the times, even if you had struggles to admit that. But the facts spoke a different language: You still flinched when you saw a walker that had his height, stature and mere bodily resemblances, and even though there was a part in you that knew that Negan was someone who would survive almost everything, you had this urge to kill them each time and check that it truly wasn’t him. You still had the note. There were countless times you had wanted to toss it into the flames and see it turn into ashes, but you’d never managed too. You weren’t looking at it as often as in the beginning, trying to figure out what he’d meant or what he’d blacked out, but it still rested in your jacket’s pocket, as your eternal companion. You wished you could free yourself from all of this, wished you could trust, wished you could be open to others, but with leaving, with exiling you from his life from one moment to another, Negan had taken that from you. And there was a part of you that hated him for it more than you were able to put in words. Oddly enough there was this other part in you, this weird tiny part that still felt for him, or rather the image you’ve had of him. He hadn’t been who you thought he was, he hadn’t left if you’d been right about him, but there was this part that no matter how hard you tried, couldn’t comprehend that. There was this part that refused to believe that you were such a bad judge of character. And so, with all these contradictory thoughts and feelings raging through you, with the missing answers that wouldn’t allow your mind to get the peace it desperately needed, you couldn’t get over it, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t heal and move on from what he’d done to you and you hated it.

You lost more people over the coming months. Others joined here and there while you had to watch others being torn apart until you were the only survivor left of the original group, now surrounded by those who had joined far after Negan had left. You closed yourself more and more off over time, those who still knew you before he left died, and those who joined never got to see more of you than they needed to accept you as a member of the group. You didn’t allow more. There was this part of your brain that had restructured itself, leading you to believe that when the person you’d been so incredibly close to over months was able to abandon you from one moment to another, there was no way you could trust anyone else to not leave you. Moreover, you didn’t trust yourself anymore to judge who had good intentions and who hadn’t, not after you had been so awfully wrong about Negan. And so you were still lonely, even with all these people around you. But being lonely was less painful than having to live with the agony of possibly being abandoned again. It had to be a little over a half year after Negan left when you found yourself sitting on a tree trunk in the woods, watching the campfire while you slung your winter coat tighter around your body, trying to keep yourself warm. You watched two of the other, newer members sitting on the other side, Sarah and Donna who were giggling as they chatted about some story while some of the others were either guarding the camp-side, slept or prepared some food for the coming days. This casual chatting, the laughing at campfires was another thing that wasn’t part of your life anymore, the fear in you to reveal too much to be able to get hurt again was just too much of a risk and you honestly envied those who were able to take it, or who still didn’t see these type of interactions as a risk at all. The only times you loosened a bit up was when the group found some booze that lowered your inhibitions a little and pushed you to be more talkative than you allowed yourself to be any other time, but that was pretty much it. You honestly hated who you had become, a shell of a person who had let her fears started to rule her life, forcing her to become a loner, suspicious of everything and everyone. You wished for something that would give you the chance to turn it all back around, but with each passing day, the probability that you’d ever get this opportunity slimmed more and more. Letting out a shivering breath you tried to move a little closer to the fire, hoping it would get to warm you up some more right before you heard a loud rustling within the underwood and heard Jake’s voice sounding tensely through the night. ”One step further and you’re dead”, he called out, letting you nearly instinctively jump to your feet and look at the other side of the small camp, see him pointing his gun at a small group that was nearly standing in the darkness, with their hands raised while the rest of your group started to draw their weapons and step closer to the possible threat. ”Hold on, hold on”, you could hear one of them say while you stepped closer, your hand wrapped around the handle of your knife as you first saw the man who was standing in front of four others, three men and one woman. A smile was laying on his lips, a dark mustache only intensifying it while he cleared his throat, though still holding a handgun in his raised hands. ”We’re here with some good news.” ”Drop the weapons first”, Jake called out, still pointing his gun at the group,”I mean it.” ”Alright, friend”, the man said, nodding to the others before they slowly lowered their hands and dropped their weapons as your eyes swayed over them, trying to find out whether they were still a treat or if they were simply searching for a group to join in. They had watched your camp-side before for sure, that pretty much was the unwritten 1st rule before approaching others and they must’ve been aware that your group was too big for them to take over on their own. ”We got a big settlement nearby, a factory”, one of the other man, slimmer than the one who had talked until now stepped forwards, careful to not alert you. Your attention peaked up, your instincts immediately trying to figure out if he was being truthful ,”And we’re searching for new people to join, expand our forces.” ”People are the biggest resource we have”, the other one added quickly, nodding towards your group, all while the gun was still pointed at him, though he surprisingly didn’t seem to be all too bothered by it ,”We’re trying to use that.” You looked at them a little closer, stepping a few steps towards them through your group to see them a bit clearer in the light the campfire was throwing at them. They seemed to be well kept, their clothes were only slightly dirty from walking through the woods, but compared to yours they were pretty clean. ”You got proof?”, it sounded out of your group through the night, while the two men in the front quickly nodded. ”Sure”, the slimmer one said, gulping slightly as he glanced at the gun, “I have pictures in my backpack, I’m gonna take it off and toss it towards you, alright?” “Alright”, Jake nodded, while the man took the backpack slowly off, repeatedly eyeing the gun while he was doing so before he carefully tossed it forward. You could see another one of your group, Daniel, reaching down to grab the backpack before he took a few steps back, ending up by your side as he opened it and revealed the pictures that laid on top of a couple cans of food and a cramped up jacket. “If these are fake, you’ll die”, You could hear one of the others say as Daniel fished the polaroid photos out of the backpack, while you tried to get a glimpse at them, curious even though you were still suspicious of them, just like everyone else. “Then we got nothing to fear, they’re real, as real as your chance for a better life.” Daniel started to slowly flip through them, give you and the ones who stood close enough to see them a chance to catch what was displayed on them and it seemed more than promising, almost too good to be true. There definitely was a factory on them, a compound with one giant building and smaller ones attached to it and here and there you could see some people displayed on them. working on the fence that seemed to surround it or walking from one spot to another. There were some pictures from inside too and these were the ones that actually impressed you and nearly made you hold your breath for a moment. There was a big hall of one of them, the photo shot from some kind of high platform to capture the countless people inside of it and the booths they were standing at, probably for food and other supplies. Other pictures showed rooms inside of the building, “We have a new leader for a few weeks now, he’s trying to build this place further up. You got the pics of the apartments now, right? We keep on transforming more and more rooms into those”, the man with the mustache said, pointing towards the photo Daniel had on top right now and you could feel yourself drawn to them, though a large proportion of your mind was still on alert. Having your own bed, being able to shower whenever you wanted, not being scared of not finding enough food anymore, god that sounded almost too good to be true. ”I know how it is to live outside, fight for survival. It’s easier together as a community”, the man added, letting you look up from the photos for another moment before he flashed another grin. ”I’m Simon by the way”, he said before he nodded towards the slimmer man beside him,”This here’s Gavin and-” He turned a little around before pointing to the others, one by one. ”These guys are DJ, Arat and Gary.” You watched them nod before you glanced back at the photos, while you could hear Jake asking them some more questions, testing them a little while you could actually feel a little hope within you rising that this place could actually be something that would give all of you a little brighter future. Your mind was still wrestling with the devil on your shoulder, that was whispering in your ear that you shouldn’t trust your judgement anymore, not after what had happened, while another part of you genuinely hoped that maybe, maybe this could be at least a little bit of a new beginning for you. And what did you have to lose? ”So what do you fine folks say?”

It took a bit of discussing, more questioning and weighing your options until your group eventually agreed to give Simon’s community a try, dismantled your camp and finally followed them through the woods, still alert. Simon kept talking about the place they called the Sanctuary and about the opportunities you’d get as new part of the Saviors as they called themselves. It would’ve sounded a little odd to you if you hadn’t heard all the other weird name groups and communities were giving themselves since the world had gone to shit. Compared to those, the Savior’s Sanctuary almost sounded normal. You finally reached a large truck that was parked at the side of the road, with just enough space to fit all of you into its inside. You were still constantly checking your surroundings, maybe even trying to find something that could make you mistrustful of them but the truck seemed more than fine, just filled with wood benches at either side, and with some blankets and water placed into a box in one of its corners. You settled down onto a spot on the bench next to the others rather in the back of the truck, placing your backpack between your legs while the truck already started to slowly move back onto the road, jerking a little as you got ready for a long drive to what could become your new home.

The sun was already shining brightly when you heard that you were halfway at the Sanctuary, could see Simon moving through the truck as he talked here and there about the rest of the drive to the community. He was steady on his feet before he reached the seat in the front, bracing himself against it before he reached toward’s DJ who sat in the passenger seat, and patted his shoulder roughly. He chuckled, a wide grin plastered on his face that even you could see from your spot in the back before his voice echoed through the truck and let your blood freeze the moment you heard what he was saying. “Negan’s gonna like ‘em”, he proudly called out towards DJ, and the moment his name left Simon’s lips you could feel your body flinching, could feel boiling heat and icy coldness washing over your back within milliseconds while your breath got stuck in your throat. You stared wide eyed at the mustached man in the front, unable to move, unable to say something while thousands of thoughts started to crush in on you before you heard Jake raising his voice quickly. “Who’s that?” “The big man, our boss”, Simon chuckled, grinning back as he leaned himself against the seat and while you could Jake answering with an “okay”, you were already drifting away. This couldn’t be him, right? Negan was a name you hadn’t heard before the world went to shit but that didn’t mean that he was the only one with this name. It could be someone else, right? You could feel your palms starting to grow sweaty, could feel your body starting to tremble while you gripped your fingers into your thighs, hoping that the sensation would help you get yourself under control and sort your thoughts. Negan had always been the leader type, the of man who was able to be the alpha of a group but this didn’t automatically mean that he was the leader of this group. When he’d run from you, he’d probably run as far as possible to not be in risk to run into your group again and that was likely much further than you had travelled by now. This didn’t have to be him. This could be another, completely different man. This didn’t have to be him. You were repeating this, over and over again in your head, until you had yourself fairly under control, though you feared that the others would notice how frozen, yet trembling you were sitting next to them, forcing yourself to stare at a spot on the wooden floor, to fixate it and give your head the opportunity to repeat these sentences over and over again until you felt like you had convinced yourself. And still, regardless how much you tried to suppress it, the possibility that it was actually your Negan was there, and you didn’t know how to handle it. You sat like glued to the bench, hearing and seeing everything else around you in a blur until you felt the truck stop underneath you indefinitely. ”Alrighty folks, we’re there!”, Simon called out, grinning widely as you first snapped out of your trance-like state and could feel your group members starting to stand up around you, waiting for the man in the front to lead them outside. You pushed yourself to stand up too, feeling how wobbly your legs felt while an uncomfortable nausea was settling in your stomach no matter how hard you tried to keep on repeating those sentences in your head. Shivering breaths fell from your lips while you exited the truck, holding tightly onto your backpack finding yourself in the courtyard of the large factory. “Welcome to the Sanctuary”, Simon called out, strutting with open arms towards the large metallic entrance, more than ready to show you your new potential home. You had a hard time taking in what was happening around you, nearly unconsciously strolled into the large building behind the others, trying to keep your attention for your surrounding up as much as you could while you entered the large hall you’d already seen on the pictures, filled with bustling people. “As I said, the boss is still restructuring things but this is our grand hall!”, Simon chuckled as he spread his arms out again, turning around to the group for the moment as he kept on talking,”We got all kinds of things here, food, clothes, shit we even recently got a barber! And we’re building more up, maybe some of y’all get to open up your booth here. Behind this we got the sleeping places for the newbies until everything’s figured out and they get their rooms.” If you hadn’t heard Negan’s name earlier, you’d walk amazed through the hall, would stare at the uncountable booths and the people that were as many as you hadn’t seen for the longest time. But instead, you felt numb and panicked at the same time, stuck in a bubble and hoping that you’d be able to let it break as soon as possible to return back to reality and pay attention to what was truly important right now. ”We’ll get ya’ll some food as soon as possible, but for now, you’ll get to set up your camp over here”, Simon finally said after you’d made yourself through the uncountable food booths that would have made your mouth water if you weren’t so busy with your thoughts and had ended up on the other end of the call, in its edge where cots with some blankets were set up, surrounded by some sheets that were hung onto cloths-lines to separate each little camp from one another. You were nearly drifting back into your little trance as you looked around the cots, glad that you were standing in the back of your group so no one paid attention to your absent behavior while you cursed yourself for not being able to just push these thoughts into the back of your head. You could hear Simon talk some more before he suddenly silenced, letting you first look up again to glimpse past the the others in front of you, only to feel how you froze in your spot as soon as you heard another, way too familiar voice boom through the air. “Well shit, now would you look at that!” It was him. His voice. His laugh. It was him. “Some newbies!”, you could hear him say while you still stood like glued to the cement ground on your spot, with widened eyes and shaking legs while his voice let shiver after shiver run down your spine,”Glad to get some more saviors into our ranks.” This had to be another one of your nightmares. This couldn’t be real. What were the odds that you’d see him again under these circumstances? It took just another moment before you saw him standing next to Simon, the man you hadn’t thought you’d ever see again. He looked nearly the very same as you remembered him. A wide smirk was plastered over his handsome face, a salt and pepper beard that was a little shorter than when you’d last seen him was caressing his jaw, his hazel eyes were beaming with a roguish glance, his black hair wasn’t just combed back as it often had been during his time in the group but instead slicked back with some gel, the familiar leather jacket was covering his torso and his beloved bat was laying on his shoulder while his fingers tapped on its handle. You were growing dizzy, could feel your ribcage tightening enough to seemingly press all air out of your lungs while you didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do as you stared at him while your body got so overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings that an emptiness started to settle in you, keeping you in a state of shock. “Hi, I’m Negan”, his deep voice vibrated through you, spreading goosebumps all over your body as his glance started to sway over the group, taking a look at each new person that was about to join his community before the unavoidable moment came and his eyes landed on you. From one second to another, his face dropped, the grin literally falling from it as he stared at you if as if you were a mirage. His brows tensed in the next moment and you could tell that he was trying to figure out if he wasn’t just imagining this while horror spread over his features. It took a few more seconds for him to realize that the whole group was watching him and his sudden change in behavior before he put the grin back on his face, playing down the obvious bewilderment that was still stuck in his eyes before he nodded towards Simon. “Simon, show our newcomers around, will ya? All other shit can be handled later”, he grinned once more into the group, through purposely avoiding your glance as Simon nodded. “Sure, boss.” “Good. Welcome to the Sanctuary”, Negan just said, before he already started to turn on his heels, and rushed into the opposite direction, disappearing quickly in another hallway that lead away from the grand hall.

Simon took you on a little tour in the following two hours, giving you some more info about the place and making sure you had what you needed for now until you found yourself back at your little camp, sitting on one of the cots while your head was still torturing you with thoughts. You could tell that the others had noticed the way Negan had reacted, that they knew that there was a reason why he’d changed after seeing you, and Jake and Sarah, who were sitting with you by the cots and kept glancing at you were the living proof for it. “Do you know him? Negan?”, Jake finally spoke up, still letting you glance up with wide eyes at him while he let out a small chuckle,”C’mon I saw his face when he saw you.” You gulped, fumbling on the end of your jacket before a tight breath fell from your lips. “Yeah”, you eventually nodded, sure of the fact that there was no way around this, at least not without giving them any information. “He uhm...he was in our group a long while ago”,you mumbled, watching as Sarah looked wide eyed at you, full of curiosity and most likely excited to finally unlock part of your past you’d kept locked up from all of them,”We got split up.” Technically, that was true. Not by groups of walkers or other threatening survivors, as they likely assumed, but you did get split up by his choice. Part of you wanted to tell the truth, let some anger that was still seething within you seep out but another, bigger part was holding it back, enough for you to keep a cool head, for now. Even if Negan was the leader of this place, it seemed like a good one. Food, shelter, protection. They had all been out there for long, they deserved a place to rest. Everything else would show itself by time, but for now, you didn’t blindly want to rob them of these things because of your personal vendetta. ”He looked like he saw a ghost”, Jake chuckled, stroking some of his dark hair out of his face while a happy giggle fell from Sarah’s lips. ”Well, it doesn’t happen all too often that you can reunite with people”,she said, the excitement clearly audible in her voice,”You must be glad to see him again, huh?” God, if she only knew. ”Hey, you”, you heard a voice behind you say, letting you quickly turn around as you looked up at an unknown man who stared down at you,”It’s (Y/N), right?” ”Yeah”, you nodded, glimpsing a little irritatedly at him before he cleared his throat slightly, only to shove you into another sea of tension and nervousness as soon as he raised his voice again. ”The boss wants to see you, now”, he said, not leaving you, the tone of his voice urging ,”I’ll get you to his apartment.” It wasn’t phrased like a question, clearly, it was a command that somehow rubbed you the wrong way while another part of you still tried to grasp what this actually meant. You would see Negan again. You might get answers to your questions. You gulped thickly, first becoming aware of the fact that three sets of eyes were staring at you and if you would take longer, it would only become more. An urge in you that was barely conscious urged you to nod and get up on your feet, without even thinking much further, though the tension within you started to become overwhelming. You still hadn’t processed all of this and now more and more was being thrown at you, leaving you to make your decision solely based on the few things that had always been clear to you; you wanted answers and you wanted to give vent to the anger and all the other emotions that had been seething in you for so long. Those two things were the only ones that let this urge win against the obvious fear that was streaming stronger and stronger through your body. “Go get your reunion!”, you heard Sarah say happily, smiling widely at you as you glanced back at her and forced a faked smile onto your lips, trying to cover up how you really felt before you were lead into the labyrinth of hallways by the Savior. The walk through the Sanctuary along the other man was awkward and it only let the odd nervousness within you rise. You could tell by his glances that he was curious to know why his Boss had asked for you, but he kept his mouth shut nevertheless, letting you walk beside him in silence, allowing your thoughts to full on torture you. They were buzzing through your head like a swarm of angry bees as you started to make your way up the long staircase, each step giving you more of a feeling of nausea as you knew that each one of them made you get closer to him. There were thousands of scenarios whirling through your head, scenarios of what he’d say to you, scenarios of how you would react as soon as you would step into his apartment. Would he ask you to leave? Or to keep your mouth shut to not scare away anybody else? What would he actually be like? You’d clearly been deceived in him when you’d still been together. He hadn’t been the person you had though he was. So how would he present himself now? And how the hell would you present yourself? Would you freeze again as soon as you’d see his awfully familiar face? Would the rage within you finally boil over for good? You were nearly growing dizzy just trying to comprehend all these thoughts, trying to shove them back and distract yourself with the view of the barely enlightened staircases, with the sound your shoes were producing each time they met the concrete and with your heavier growing breath. “Almost there”, the man beside you finally spoke up as you could see the end of the staircase coming closer, could see some light streaming through the small window of the heavy industrial door that lead to the very last floor. If the urge for answers to all the questions that were torturing you since he had left wouldn’t have been so strong, you were sure that your body would’ve urged you to turn on your heels and run, relieve you from the painful tension that was starting to eat you up from inside. The last steps were the hardest, physically and mentally it felt as if you were wearing shoes made of concrete, dragging you down each time you wanted to take the next step up until you found yourself on the small and very last platform. It felt surreal, almost as if you were a figure in a video game, not controlled by yourself but some other force you didn’t have any control over as you finally stepped through the heavy metal door and found yourself in yet another hallway. It looked a little different than the others, ironically more welcoming, with softer and warmer light than the previous ones. You could feel the nausea within you rise, fueled by the fear, anger and skepticism of what was waiting for you while the man beside you kept walking past some other doors that were plastered along the sides of the hallway until you stood in front of heavy, dark two winged wooden doors. If you weren’t so tense, you would’ve probably laughed to yourself about the ridiculously of these lavish doors in a literal factory building, that oddly enough felt like they fit to the Negan you had known. “Here we are”, the man mumbled, catapulting you back into reality as you felt your heart skipping a beat as he reached for the handle and slowly opened the door and you started to feel your emotions pounding against the wall within you that had kept them in control until now, destroying it more with each passing second. “Don’t be so shy, step in”, you heard him grumble beside you, letting you realize that you’d stared at the slightly opened door until now, not moving an inch. You slowly nodded, trying to straighten your shoulders and look as confident as you were able to right now, unwilling to show the man behind those doors how broken he’d still left you. “Sure”, you just said, nodding again before you moved past him, brushing past the heavy doors, the nervousness nearly blurring your view until your eyes suddenly fixed on his face, forcing you to look right into his eyes. He was standing there, just standing there looking wide eyed at you, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to come and slowly but surely, the emotions started to break out of their cage, forcing you to take in your surrounding, forcing you to understand that this situation was real and not just another nightmare. The apartment was as lavish as those doors had already indicated, dark wood everywhere, a large black, four poster bed to your left, yet too much out of your view to catch it entirely, oppositely to the leather couch and the luxurious armchairs he was standing next to, and the coffee table between them that was covered in food, wine, a big bottle of whiskey and a lit up candle that left you speechless and wondering what the fuck this here was. “Hey, Sweetheart-“ “Don’t call me that”, it shot out of your lips as soon as you heard his voice and the awfully familiar nickname that triggered way too many memories at once. Your eyes shot back to him as you could feel the anger within you trumping all other emotions for a moment, pumping you full with adrenaline that unleashed energy you didn’t even know you had anymore. “What the fuck is this”, it slipped in a snapping tone out of your lips as you stared once more at the fully covered table. You felt like this wasn’t even you who was directly talking, it was just the fury that was slipping out of you, more and more and it wasn’t done yet for sure. “I hoped that we could talk”, he said, his tone slightly defeated as he caught your glance, fueling the rage that was streaming within you, the rage that had been held back for way too long. “Now you wanna talk? You sure you don’t wanna leave a little note again and fuck off?” “Okay, I deserve that”, he sighed, so oddly calm that it only made you angrier. He had left you, he had left you while you had been sleeping after you had opened yourself fully up to him and now he was acting as if you were here to have a little casual and friendly chitty chat with him. ”Listen-“ “No, no you listen”,you cut him nearly immediately off, and while your voice was still filled up with anger you could feel the stinging feeling of the bottled up pain start to break through the rage, much to your annoyance ,”Fuck you, fuck you, Negan.” You still sounded angry, but there was a brokenness and a bitterness to it that hadn’t been there before, something that let your lips tremble and your voice vibrate. “You left me”, you snapped, trying your very best to keep the stinging pain that was crushing down on you again in check,”Out of nowhere. You never gave me any warning signs. You asshole made me trust you, you kissed me and then you left me, you just fucked off.” Your breath was getting heavier as you nearly instinctively stepped further into the room, trying to get a closer look of him, trying to see what kind of emotions laid over his face to find out who he actually was. “We spent months together, we talked about every little possible shit, I would’ve trusted you with my damn life and you just left. You fucker let me wonder what the fuck I’d done wrong for you to abandon me out of fucking nowhere after everything we’ve been through”, the pain was sounding clearer through your voice now, regardless of how much you were trying to suppress it, while a cool shudder washed down your back as soon as he stepped closer as well, hurt and guilt plastered over his face that ironically only made you angrier, “And now you bring me up in your little suite and think we can have a chat during some candle lit dinner, are you fucking kidding me?” “Y/N”, he just said, pleading and with a deep sigh as he stepped even closer to you, trying to calm you down but the second he reached you and stepped just a little too close, close enough to touch you your instincts took over again. “No”, you snapped as he tried to reach out to you, swatting away his hand while this mere, millisecond long touch was enough to let the storm of emotions within you rage even wilder,”No!” Negan didn’t try anything else, immediately moving a few steps away from you while you could feel your heart pounding faster against your chest and a lump slowly started to grow in your throat. “Fuck you”,you breathed shakily, trying your best to swallow down that lump that was starting to grow further as the pain started to wash over you once more, slow, stinging and torturous as it brought out the memories of the lonely nights you’d spent crying yourself to sleep,”You got any idea how I felt?” ”You knew of my fears”,it left your lips immediately before you gulped thickly, trying to get rid of the lump,”You fucking knew it...I just came up here because I want answers...nothing else.” “And you’ll get ‘em, I promise”, Negan said, looking at you with those sad puppy eyes that only made you question him, his behavior and everything that was going on around you even more. “You promised to stay too”, it slipped out of your lips, while you still tried to calm yourself down, control the emotions that still tried to turn you into a bigger mess than you already were to find answers to the questions that had been buzzing through your head since the day he’d left. “I know”, he nodded before he gulped thickly and let out a small sigh,”Please let me explain.” He looked at you, almost waiting for an answer before he reached up to scratch his salt and pepper beard, the same way he’d always done it when he’d started to get nervous. “Can we sit down?”, he asked, nodding towards the couch and the armchairs before you slowly started to nod as well, and strolled almost simultaneously with him to the assemble, moving down to sit in one of the comfy armchairs while he let himself fall onto the leather couch. For another moment, you tensed up again, looking at all the food and beverages that were sprawled out over the table, smelling their delicious scent that made your mouth water. It felt obscure to see that much food at once when you’d been happy to find a single can of ravioli just a day ago and it made you feel much more obscure and out of place to sit in the middle of this lavish apartment still dressed in your dirty and ripped clothes. “You can take anything you like. I know you’re hungry”, you heard Negan say, ripping your attention away from the food. “You don’t know shit”, it slipped out of your lips, and while it may have seemed childish, you didn’t want to take anything from him yet and you moreover didn’t feel able to eat now, not with this emotional turmoil keeping your body under its control, “Just start.” “The people you’re here with, does that mean-“ “Yeah”,you responded, gulping thickly as you could feel Negan’s eyes fix on you,”They’re dead..Not at once. More people joined and others died along the way.” “But are they good people? You trust them?”, he kept on asking, and while a part of you understood, another one just felt like he was trying to distract you from the elephant in the room and earn some more time. “Y’know, trusting others wasn’t really my thing after the person I trusted the most left me out of nowhere”, you said, the bitterness in you unable to swallow that remark down before you pulled yourself together once more for the people downstairs. Regardless of what was going on with you and the man across from you, they deserved a chance here. ”But yeah, they’re good people”, you said, letting out a small sigh before you glimpsed back at him, a part of you still unable to process that it was actually him who was sitting there and not just a mirage, part of a nightmare that would let you wake up in cold sweat, “Now stop with the small talk, just start.” Negan nodded, running his hands almost nervously over his thighs before he moved down to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands before he sighed once more. “First off, you didn’t do anything wrong”,he mumbled, glimpsing up for a moment to look at you,”I panicked that night.” You stared at him, not sure on how to react, nor how this would go on, you just looked at him, your body so tense you were almost on edge to hear more while the suspicious part of you was trying to filter his words, make sure you weren’t fooled and hurt again. “I-...fuck”,he stopped himself, struggling for words,”When I woke up in the middle of the damn night I laid awake for so long and those shit ass thoughts started to creep up..I just...I thought I’d be damned to fuck it up, whatever we had there...I thought it would be easier for you if I’d leave now before we’d get even deeper and I’d disappoint you then.” You were at loss of words as you stared at him, still shaking, still tense while you were trying to process what he was saying, if you were supposed to believe him or if this all was hot air. “I know how cliché this sounds but fuck, I never meant to hurt you, I tried to prevent it”, he gulped, snapping you out of your nearly trance-like state as what seemed to be supposed to appease you instead did the opposite. It whirled memories up, way too many, of how much he had hurt you nevertheless, of how much pain he had caused you from the moment you’d discovered that he was gone to this very day. “Worked fantastically”, you scoffed out while your throat started to tighten again, start to push some tears into your eyes nevertheless how hard you tried to suppress them,”You knew how scared I was of being abandoned again.” “I know, I know, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am...the shit I did, my thoughts back then...they were fucking dumb, they weren’t rational”, he responded, shaking his head as another thick gulp travelled down his throat,”I just had that shit with Lucille creeping up again...I just-” He let out a deep sigh, looking down to his feet for a moment before he slowly glimpsed back up at you. “I knew you deserved better in the end, much fucking better than my old ass”, he started again, his glance nervously bouncing around the room before it landed back on you,”After that kiss I got scared, ain’t gonna lie to you. I got pants crapping scared. Those damn kisses meant we were going further and I just....” There was this feeling within you that he was being genuine, that he was telling the truth. The way his eyes shifted, the way his jaw clenched and the way he sat and fumbled on his hands, you had seen those things before on him. You’d seen this nervousness when head first talked to you about Lucille and his regrets, and there was something about the way he looked right now that was too raw to be acted. You were suspicious enough of your own judgement since he’d left, but you couldn’t deny that he seemed to tell the truth. But if he was, if he was actually being genuine, what he was saying there threw you off nevertheless. “We were already deep in. Not physically but you knew everything about me, emotionally we were already nearly as far as you can go”, it slipped out of your lips while you were still trying to process what he had been just saying there. You’ve had so many concepts in your head as to why he had left and this was it? It was not as hurtful as finding out that he had full on rejected you or played games with your feelings when he hadn’t been feeling the same would have been, but it was frustrating. It seemed avoidable. It seemed like all this pain, all these sleepless and tears filled nights could have been avoided if he had just done what you’d both been doing when you’d been distressed. But instead of doing so he’d done exactly what he knew was one of your greatest fears. “You could’ve just talked to me. We always did that”, it slipped out of your lips while you could feel the tension starting to let your body shake again, not visibly but enough to cause you even more discomfort as you were thinking back to this one night,”I was even already awake...and even when I was back asleep, you-” “I know...It was a knee jerk reaction”, he quickly said, his voice desperate as he kept your glance glued to his,”And I regretted it. I did. I packed things so fast, wrote you that shitty note and just ran like fucking coward.” He gulped thickly, scratching his salt and pepper stubble nervously before he looked back up. “But I’m not lying to you when I said that I got my head clear a couple hours later. And regretted leaving, so goddamn bad”, he said, only intensifying the suspense, frustration and even confusion within you,“I still don’t think that I deserved you but shit, it should’ve been different and my fear of fucking shit up made me fuck us up...I got back to the camp, I did, to apologize and work things out but-“ Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him hear those words, unable to get what he was saying there before he went on. “I just saw them laying there. Joanne, Thom...and I searched the whole damn camp for you, I swear, and when I saw that you weren’t among the goddamn dead and your stuff was gone I kept searching for you...for weeks” Nausea was flooding your body again, turning your stomach upside down as you stared in disbelief at him. What he was saying there was changing everything he had said before, everything you had assumed before. He had come back. And he wasn’t lying. If he hadn’t, there was no way of knowing who had died at this clearing, nor that this walker attack had even happened. “I think after two weeks I found this little cabin by a lake...found that weird scarf thing that Janice always wore”,he mumbled, only pushing you deeper into the chaos that was raging through your head,”Thought I’d finally found a lead but it was the last damn trace of you that I ever found.” You were speechless, unable to even get a single sound out. He was saying the truth, even about searching for you. You had been at this cabin, a little over a week after Negan had left. You had stayed there for a night only, just to discover in the morning that another large group of walkers was approaching. Still scarred from the events earlier, you’d all taken off as fast as you could, never coming back only to discover later that Janet had left her beloved cloth behind. She really did have this big scarf that she has used as poncho or even blanket during colder days that was covered with odd patterns that made your eyes hurt when you looked at it for a little too long, but she’d loved that thing and you could remember lively how heartbroken she’d been when she discovered that she’d left it behind in the hurry you’d been in. So Negan had really been going after you, he hadn’t just returned to the camp and just left it for good when he’d seen that you were gone, he had kept searching for you. This was changing so much, if not everything and you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about this. “Probably went into he wrong directions for weeks after that”, Negan’s voice ripped you out of your thoughts back into reality, though the man in front of you and his words still appeared in a blur,“And then I met another group and shit, at that point I thought you didn’t wanna see me anymore anyway...So I followed them and ended up here....I always kept looking for you though.” You stared at him, watching his expression saddening further as he sighed deeply. “I’m sorry”, he said, a shivering breath falling from his lips,”I’m so sorry, I really am. We had something great there and I fucked it up, I hurt you and I can’t tell you how much I hate my damn asshole self for that shit.” You still couldn’t get a single word out. Everything seemed to fall to pieces and you had problems reattaching these pieces into this new story that completely messed with all the possible ones that had controlled your head during the last months. He had left you when you’d told him about your fears nevertheless, but he’d been panicked, hadn’t thought clearly and moreover had come back and searched for weeks for you, following every lead he could get. You just didn’t know how to handle this all at once. “I just...I don’t know what to think anymore”, it finally slipped out of your lips while your glance wandered off him, blurring further as your mind was too focused to try and get your thoughts and feelings under control. “It’s okay”, you heard Negan say, watching him clenching his jaw tensely from the corner of your eyes. “Again, I can’t tell you how sorry I am”, he sighed, playing with his fingers while you could feel his eyes on you,”I always hoped I’d get to see you again but fuck, another damn part of me, regardless how much that crap hurt just hoped that you’d become happy and forget about me. You deserved to move on after the shit I pulled.” “I never did”, it almost immediately left your lips, almost automatic while a stinging pain rushed once more through your body, the same you’d felt each time you’d stared at his note by the campfire that was right now, still resting in your jacket’s pocket,”I never forgot you.” It got silent for another moment while you could feel the lump growing in your throat again, could feel the tingling in your nose that was a harbinger for the tears that tried to rise into your eyes. “I never knew you went back”,you gulped, struggling for words as your blurred glance stared at the fuzzy, lavish carpet below your dirty boots,”I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel different now, I just-“ You got cut off by the growing lump that made it hard for you to speak by now and felt the intensifying torture your mind was pushing onto you, enough to let the room start spinning around you, let the dark painted walls around you come closer as if they were about to crush you to death. “I need some fresh air”, you chocked out, gripping the soft edges of the armchair’s sides to push you onto your feet, not fully trusting your body to do it without the support right now. “There’s a platform at the end of the hallway”, Negan almost worriedly said and you could see him sitting up, could tell that he was seeing what was happening to your body. “Okay”, you just said, nodding almost absently and before you could realize anything more, you found yourself stemming the heavy wooden doors open and rushing back through the hallway until you reached the metal door that lead to the platform he’d mentioned. You were shaking heavily when you finally wrapped your fingers around the handle and pushed the door open, moving onto the platform before you propped yourself against the metallic railing, gripping its bars tightly. You stared out into the vastness, over the endless seeming forest while your heart pounded up your throat and your legs turned into jelly. You could feel the lump in your throat growing bigger before the first tears started to roll down your face and shivering breaths fell from your legs. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? All this pain, all this helplessness and loneliness from the past months was washing up again, keeping you from being able to think clearly. “Fuck”, you cursed to yourself, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks while you had no clue what you were supposed to feel now. His confession turned everything upside down. You just stood shivering there, so overwhelmed by everything that you couldn’t really think or do anything else. Tears kept falling down your face while your shivering breaths filled the air for what felt like an eternity until you had calmed yourself a little down and stared into the sky. You had to go back in to him at some point, even though you had no damn clue what to do or say to him. You felt frustrated and relieved at the same time, hurt and glad at the same time, felt like running away and towards him at the same time. And the only way to know what you’d truly do or find out what the dominant emotion was, was to go back and face him. It took you a few more minutes until you felt just ready enough to peel you away from the railing and move back inside, step by step while your whole body tightened and tensed with every bit you got back closer to him. Finally, you stood in front of the large doors once more, could feel yourself starting to reach for its handle, trying to prepare yourself as you started to open it and slowly moved back inside. You glimpsed up the moment you heard the door crush back into its lock and saw Negan staring at you, slowly standing up from his spot on the couch, a look of uncertainty covering his face. You could feel the lump in your throat growing back as you were urged to look at him, feel all these emotions crushing with all their force back onto you, releasing all what you had suppressed before once more. Tears shot back into your eyes regardless of how much you tried to suppress them, forcing the pictures of your lonely self back into your head, of the way you’d closed yourself off and stayed on your own, too scared to trust. “You know that I kept pushing everybody away after you left, because I didn’t trust myself around people anymore?”, it suddenly slipped out of your trembling lips as you moved forwards, tears falling down your cheeks as Negan’s face twisted in guilt,”Because I thought I’d been so wrong about you?” He stepped a little closer while your lips trembled and more tears kept coming, elicited by the memories that popped back up, over and over again. “I’ve been so lonely these past months, because-”, your voice hushed, forced by the lump as you sniffled and felt yourself breaking out in tears, desperately trying to get yourself back under control. “I-”, you heard Negan say, cutting himself off, at loss of words as he moved towards you, slow and carefully until you could see him right in front of you. What happened next was more of a blur as he reached out towards you with one hand, careful and half expecting for you to swat it away again but instead, you let him, a part of you just craving to not feel lost anymore. His fingers met your arm, his palms curling softly around it and his touch made a shiver run down your spine, so comfortable even though it should have been chilling. Slowly, Negan started to pull you towards him, starting to cautiously wrap his arms around you and pull you into his embrace. You shivered more for a moment, confused by the touch that felt familiar and foreign at the same time. This was your very first hug after he’d left and his scent and his warmth felt overwhelming and you felt more than ever how much you had missed to feel the touch of someone. And still, exactly this touch let everything break more out of you and let the whimpers turn into sobs, finally releasing all this tension and pain that you’d bottled up. “I’m sorry”, you could hear Negan mumble into your hair as he tightened his embrace around you slowly, letting you lay your head into the curve of his neck and nearly feel how hard his heart was pounding in his chest,”I’m so sorry.” His voice was filled to the rim with emotions too, so much that it sounded like he was on the edge of crying too and you could barely get what you were doing right now. Just an hour ago you would have attempted to rip his head off if he’d just tried to hold you and now you laid shivering and sobbing against him, wrapped up in his arms, with your nose nuzzled into his warm neck. It didn’t mean that you were forgiving and forgetting everything, you had problems getting over the fact that you were letting him so close in again and risked that he could hurt you again, but after being lonely for so long, you couldn’t describe how much you craved this and felt like you needed to use this as a valve to let everything out once for all. “I missed you, so so fucking much”, you heard him mutter into your hair, and the sound in his voice actually pushed you to believe him. There was still an seething anger within you, and it wouldn’t just leave, not after your thoughts and pain had fed into it for months, but you just wanted to try and look at the fact that he had made a mistake but had tried everything to change it and find you. Maybe he really had been who you always thought he was. He’d just been scared. He didn’t say anything more for a while, just held you while you sobbed into him until your exhaustion forced you to turn the sobs back into small whimpers, and lay trembling against his tall figure. Negan slowly moved his hands up, one first reaching up to caress his thumb over the side of your face before both gently grabbed you and moved you out of the curve of his neck to look at him. His thumbs were brushing over your cheeks, trying to get the wetness softly off of them while you could see the tears shimmering in his eyes as well. “I’m so fucking sorry”, he mumbled again, while his touch made it feel like your heart skipped a beat again and you tried to push all the scenarios you’d assumed about him over the last time out of your head to take in the reality. “Can we sit down and talk again? A little more?”, Negan gulped, a fear whirling through his glance that you’d rarely seen so clearly in him. You slowly started to nod, just following your instincts for now while you tried to shut down your head for a little. Relief spread over Negan’s face, though he still stayed tense as his hands fell from your face and instead, one of them started to reach of your hand, first brushing in a testing way against yours before he grasped it carefully. You let him, not retracting it this time and allowed him to lead you over to the couch, sit down into the soft, black leather after him while his hand stayed wrapped around yours. “I wished I could turn back time. I can’t, but I wish so fucking much that I could”, he started, running his free hand over his face before he glimpsed back at you and gulped thickly. “Leaving was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made in my damn life, if not the biggest of ‘em all”, he mumbled, trying to hold your glance ,”I know I can’t make it up to you but if you let me, I’ll do my fucking best to get close to it.” You looked at him, still feeling the warmth of his hand as his hazel eyes glimpsed at you and you could feel yourself starting to nod, longing to finally find peace and happiness again, though there was still something in you making sure that you didn’t risk too much and got hurt again, though everything made you assume that he meant it. “I just-”,you started, looking at your intertwined hands for a moment before you gulped thickly,”I need to process this first...just do it all slowly.” “Of course”, Negan nodded, his voice calm, soothing and most importantly genuine, ”Take as much time as you need.” It got quiet for a moment as you sat there with him on the couch, a part of you still not realizing that this was actually happening. You could feel Negan’s thumb starting to slowly brush over your skin in a soothing and yet still cautious manner, trying to show you some affection and give you the space you needed at the same time. “Y’know wanna make something out of this place, I haven’t been on fucking top for long, there’s still so much to change”, he eventually started, clearing his throat a little as his glance caught yours again ,”I...I wanna change this into one of these places we used to talk about and fuckin’ wished we could find.” It let a small shiver run down your back, hearing him talk about the past but at the same time, it gave you the feeling that this place might really hold your future in it, a better one than you could have ever thought of during the last months. “I’ll make sure you and your people will get good rooms”, Negan went on, holding your hand a little tighter for a moment, as if he was trying to make sure that you knew that he meant it and was already starting with his first steps to prove it to you,”You’re all gonna be cared for, you’ll get all you could possibly need.” “Thank you”, you mumbled only to see Negan quickly starting to shake his head. “There’s no damn need for that”, he quickly said, letting out an almost nervous breath as he looked at you,”Fuck, I gotta thank you for giving me a new chance.” For the first time since you got here, you felt yourself starting to crack a smile that got immediately mirrored by Negan, as the smile that had always spread warmth through you began to tug slightly on the corners of his lips. “I’ll use it to the fullest goddamn extent, I promise”, he assured again, holding onto your hand while you tried to let yourself relax a little more and lean into his touch. You still had to get used to it again and you were sure that it would take its time, similarly with your trust to him. You needed to move towards each other in baby steps again, give yourself enough time to fight the demons in you and the fears and mistrust they carried with themselves so you could start to feel safe and comfortable enough to let yourself fall again. You just wanted to process this all first and give yourself the chance to let the reality of what had actually happened take the top spot in your head instead of all the other torturous scenarios that had kept your head under control for months. You just wanted to be able to finally give yourself the chance for a better future, even though it would take time and effort to get to it. You hoped that with the closure, the answers to your questions and the new opportunities that presented themselves, you’d be able to let the pain that had become your everlasting companion fade, and instead make room for the things you had missed the most; pure happiness, laughs so intense that they made your belly hurt and the feeling of being safe and wanted. And for the very first time after all these months, you felt like these things were reachable again, no matter the hard work that was needed to get them. For the very first time after all these months, you felt like you could start to free yourself from the cuffs of the past and step into a new, better life, together with Negan.

________

Lyrics (Unless Tumblr screwed the fonts up, the bolt words below are those that I especially used in this imagine!) I can see you standin', honey With his arms around your body Laughin' but the joke's not funny at all And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holdin' all this love out here in the hall I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defendin' now? You were my town Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before Hoo, hoo-ooh Hoo, hoo-ooh Hoo, hoo-ooh I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending I'm not your problem anymore So who am I offending now? You were my crown Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leavin' out the side door So step right out There is no amount Of cryin' I can do for you All this time We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (You didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs So many signs (You didn't even see the signs) I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leaving out the side door So step right out There is no amount Of cryin' I can do for you ___________ The gif is not mine. I found it on google so all credit to the original owner!

#Negan #twd #the walking dead #negan x reader #twd negan #negan imagine #negan imagines #twd imagine #twd imagines #negan fluff #negan angst #the walking dead imagines #negan's network #nts #thewalkingdead-imagines #negan one shot #negan the walking dead

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dwellordream · 4 years

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I'd love a directors commentary for all of "my heart is a fist of barbed wire", but there's so many chapters (really, really good ones gah) so chapter 32 "ring" would be fascinating to hear your take on, it really ties into the last couple chapters and is still so shocking?! I really enjoyed it, thank youu!! ♥️

thank you! i remember going into chapter 32 i was just so worn down from the fic (as much as I enjoyed writing it) that I was kind of dreading having to wrap up so many major plot points in just one chapter. the chapter ended up being nearly 10,000 words, which at that time especially was brutal for me to try to get through, so it was kind of tiring to get through, but I ended up being pretty satisfied with it. I wrote it in parts and spent about a day on each ‘section’ since it’s divided by months. I still feel like the pacing is pretty uneven, but it got across Amy’s rapidly evolving emotional state as she figures out what she wants to do with her life. ‘August’ was interesting because this is where Amy takes her first real step towards actively deceiving Tom; we see her come to a series of conclusions pretty much all at once. she knows he is going to find out that she came looking for him in Knockturn Alley. either she can confess that she followed up on the Riddles and knows what he’s done, or she can hide it. her decision to hide is largely due to the fact that she’s now realized this is the *only* advantage she has over him. he’s committed a serious crime- murder!- and is convinced he’s getting away with it. the only way she can keep this leverage over his head is to feed into Tom’s sizable ego and play up his cunning and charisma, convincing him that he’s ‘won her back’. fortunately for Amy, she is perceptive enough to realize that she needs to go about this in a manner that is convincing. he has some massive blind spots, but she knows he will be suspicious if she suddenly seems completely forgiving and accepting of his bad behavior once again. with this in mind, Amy comes up with a haphazard plan to reel Tom back in; she’s going to play coy and distant, feed into his desire to ‘prove himself’ to her, and let him do a lot of her work for her. Tom is very smart but he’s also used to being right, and he relies on a ton of assumptions to live his life. his #1 assumption is that no one is cleverer than him or more cunning than him, and Amy is not an exception to this. he might respect her obvious wits and determination, but he certainly doesn’t want to acknowledge that it could ever be used against him, personally. therefore when Amy is reunited with Tom in ‘August’, she puts on a pretty good act, pretending to slip up and reveal that she still cares for him and his well-being; Tom is only too eager to fall for this, and leaps at the chance to convince her that he’s back on his best behavior; when he wheedles her into a date, she lets him, albeit pretending to still have her guard up. one interesting note about ‘October’ is that despite her obvious animosity and desire to get away from Tom, Amy still worries that he might be drafted after he’s turned eighteen. I think it just speaks to her overall compassion. she has plenty of reason to hate him, but she still wouldn’t wish the war upon him. In ‘December’ we see that Tom and Amy are back to their own tricks; on friendly enough terms to exchange holiday gifts once more, albeit in private. Amy is forced to remain back at Hogwarts for the break due to Wool’s closure, leaving her extremely isolated and vulnerable. Tom, of course, senses an opportunity here and presents her with a very expensive gift of pearl earrings (which Amy infamously speculates over the origins of). there is a whole lot of fucked up stuff wrapped up with this present exchange. Amy bakes Tom cookies almost as a ‘test’ experiment to see how trusting he is of her: the answer is ‘very’. he accepts her gift without question, almost as if it were expected and prompted by him. he presents her with what would ordinarily be considered a very serious and romantic gift; genuine pearl earrings (or really any expensive jewelry) was a major status symbol gift in the 1940s. no normal teenage boy would have been giving a girl he wasn’t even ‘going steady with’ such a lavish present. it would have been more in line for a married couple. this is some obvious foreshadowing of what’s to come. the very first thing Tom does after giving Amy this present is not ask if she likes the earrings or tell her he got her them because he cares about her and knows she’s fond of pearls, but instruct her to put them on. I think this is such a textbook example of his controlling and possessive behavior. it pops up throughout the fic and we certainly see it when he has Matthew attacked out of jealousy and a desire to make Amy suffer, but it’s just super blatant here. it’s almost like he doesn’t really care whether Amy likes the earrings or not. what he cares about is that she is willing to put them on, even if only temporarily, thus demonstrating (in his view) some level of devotion that he’s going to rely on later. in his mind, if she can accept the earrings without rejecting them (or him) she can accept something more serious. we then see him immediately try to kiss her, something he hasn’t done in over a year at that point; they’ve had pretty much no physical contact whatsoever since the Matthew Fiasco. what’s also disturbing here is that Amy senses he’s about to kiss her and decides to ‘let it happen’, without much regard for her own consent. she doesn’t seem to care whether or not she actually wants Tom to kiss her- he wants to, and she’s decided that it’s in her best interests to keep him placated. compared to her earlier trend of usually taking the initiative in their romantic relationship and being very clear about what she wants and doesn’t want, I think this is really sad and concerning. what surprises Amy (and maybe the reader) is that when Tom does go through with it, he almost immediately realizes that she’s not into it, at all, beyond just not reciprocating right off the bat, and backs off. there’s multiple ways to interpret this. we could argue that Tom still cares about her consent and has no interest in kissing someone who clearly doesn’t want to be kissed. we could argue that Tom realizes it’s in *his* best interests to try to *prove* he can be understanding and patient and so he reluctantly backs off. we could argue that the tender and sweet nature of the kiss itself shows a ‘soft side’ to Tom that is really desperate for love and affection, as opposed to him trying to bully her into reciprocating. in the end, this is from Amy’s POV, and she just doesn’t know. what she does see is that Tom seems visibly disturbed by her lack of reaction, and is genuinely concerned she’s about to cry. he then apologizes (or as much of an ‘apology’ as we might ever see from him in Barbed Wire) and seems to remind himself that she asked him for some space and time. Amy latches onto this, and tries to reassure him that she, too, wants things to go back ‘to the way they were’. but the cold reality here is that there is no going back. Amy *can’t* go back. the real dysfunction here is Tom’s insistence on trying to turn back time- to him, the reminder that they are graduating and will soon ‘leave behind’ their school social circles is a comforting one. the irony of course is that literally none of that happens. Tom has no intention of moving on with his life or dropping the fairweather friends he’s cultivated at Hogwarts. he intends to exploit as much as possible from them and the reputation he’s built up as an aspiring pureblood elite. nothing really changes for him, but everything is about to change for amy. finally we get to ‘May’ and ‘June’. I seriously debated giving ‘June’ its own chapter and ending 32 on ‘May’, but I decided at the time it would give readers a false impression of the direction the fic was headed in. I figured there were enough twists already without convincing everyone that we were about to have an ‘unhappy happy ending’ or I guess ‘happy ending for Tom, mediocre ending for Amy’. in ‘May’ of course comes the Proposal. I really debated combining this with ‘June’ and having Tom propose right before Amy springs her trap, but it ended up working out better this way. Amy and Tom yet again meet up in secret, this time above the dueling gallery, and they almost seem to have fully reconciled- Amy enthusiastically reciprocates his kiss, and he presents her with yet another gift: an unexpected letter of recommendation from one Oliver Parkinson, a successful healer guaranteed to ensure her a prosperous career at St Mungo’s straight out of graduation. I think kind of the crux of Amy’s character is her reaction to this gift. even while pretending to be won over, she cannot hide her distaste for this method; she doesn’t want anything she feels she hasn’t earned. to Tom, this is a pointless (if endearing) waste of her pride. he is really patting himself on the back here, going, ‘look how enlightened I am, not only being tolerant of you wanting a career of your own, but going to all this trouble to set it up for you!’. but that’s not what Amy wants. she wants a partner who is going to encourage her to forge her own path, not do the work for her. she doesn’t want an easy life, she wants a meaningful one, and her and Tom’s definitions of ‘meaningful’ just don’t align. it also has to do with his own pride- in Tom’s mind, if they’re going to be engaged, *of course* she needs an illustrious career, especially since Amy has no ‘good breeding’ or lovely country estate to fall back on. he knows it will be much easier to work her into pureblood society if she is a respected protege of a man like Oliver Parkinson; than he can arrange for people to conveniently forget about her wild school days and her muggleborn background, and really shape her into a woman he feels will best suit his goals in life; someone successful in their own right, but still owing it all to him and his connections. he then almost immediately shoots himself in the foot by bragging about his blackmailing of Atticus Greengrass to secure his own career prospects, and then, of course, unveils the fateful Ring, the same Ring Amy immediately spotted on him way back in ‘August’, which has conveniently fit very well into her plans. Tom still can’t be bothered with a more traditional propose, and launches into one final sales pitch to Amy. a lot of people have commented on about how earnest and genuinely compelling they found his speech. I felt like it had to be in order to sell the moment. he needs to *believe* in what he’s saying. it has to be the most open and vulnerable moment of Tom’s in the entire fic for it to seem plausible. he puts it all on the line for one split second of faith... and of course it blows up in his face, but the point is that he seeded his own destruction, more or less. had he been like this with Amy from the start, maybe they could have built a much more positive and open relationship, instead of a dysfunctional mess. “you’re alone,” Tom tells Amy, more or less, “you’ve always been alone, and you will always need me to make you feel less alone” but we know that’s just not true. Amy isn’t alone; she has real friends and passions, she has so much to look forward to, an entire life ahead of her. Tom is the one who’s alone, in the worst possible way. the one person who made him feel less alone, he ended up pushing away with his poor choices and selfish desires. he brings up her background in this ‘gotcha’ moment- but the joke is that Amy doesn’t care! she’s always known, and she doesn’t care. it’s painful, yes, and she acknowledges that pain, but she has moved on from that part of her life. she holds no rage or even resentment towards her mother for giving her up. she doesn’t resent her mother for being an impoverished sex worker with no means to care for a small child. she has no desire to find out who her father was or ‘confront’ her mother- that doesn’t matter to Amy. where she comes from, her origins, they don’t matter. she doesn’t give a damn about her heritage or ancestry, she just wants to move forward. and now the only thing standing in her way is Tom. I think ‘June’ pretty much speaks for herself, but I will say this; when I wrote I didn’t really feel any vindictive sense of ‘ah, she’s getting her revenge on him now!’, mostly just sadness. It’s really sad that Amy ends up feeling the only way she can even have this honest talk with Tom... is with him incapacitated and literally unable to respond. she identifies herself as being selfish, and I think this is a good example of selfishness not always being a bad thing, which I think is very important, especially for girls! (not that I’m condoning drugging anyone or blackmailing them, etc). but learning to put yourself and your wants and needs first is important. Amy is mature enough to realize that this relationship with Tom and her cannot work. she cannot be his moral compass, and she cannot turn a blind eye to his actions. his speeches about ‘letting her win’ and them being happy together are pretty and persuasive but ultimately hollow. there is no happy ending for them. he ruined their chances of that a long time ago. she’s not his enemy- he is. and I think her parting of “I love you” just really speaks to who she is as well. it’s really hard to recognize that someone you love isn’t good for you, that not all loves are necessarily good things. being with him might feel right in the moment, but in the long-term she knows it would be the exact opposite. she’s able to honestly acknowledge her feelings while still finding the strength to walk away.

#ask #anon #ask game #barbed wire

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differentjokes4differentfolks · 7 years

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WTFIT Chap 10

Chapter ten!! I think it’s safe to say the fic is more than halfway done :) As always, thanks for the comments and likes/reblogs. I’m glad y’all like the story. Enjoy!!

Bruce swears if Vicki Vale was a villain she’d be unstoppable. He spends an hour alone trying to dodge her questions, his phone ringing incessantly (How did she even get his number?). When the mob of reporters shows up on his front step he tries to have Alfred shoo them away, but they’re like vultures. The camera flashes annoy him to no end, you don’t need camera flashes in broad daylight anyway (he thinks). The interview goes on for about an hour. He doesn’t mind some of the questions, no, he’s not straight, yes, he’ll donate to LGBT organizations (he donates to them anyways). But some are insulting and honestly? Some are just straight up kinky. He ends up just staring at one reporter after a certain question about leather, at a loss for words. So, in a curt fashion he ends the interview, loosening his tie as he enters the manor and heaving a sigh of relief.

“What was that about?” Dick asks, dressed to head out to Barbara’s. His hair looks stiff with gel, which makes Bruce frown and mess it up. Dick protests but Bruce cuts him off.

“You look better like this,” he says, “You’re not going to an interview, you’re going to hang out with your girlfriend.”

“Fine. But why was the press here?”

“Why do they ever show up? For information and uncomfortable conversations.” Dick looks confused, so he decides to enlighten him. “People saw me dancing with a man yesterday at that restaurant and Gotham was in an uproar.”

Dick blinks. “You’re gay? Or bi?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Bruce laughs awkwardly. Dick shrugs.

“So what? Why do they have to make a big deal out of nothing?” He kneels down to tie his shoelaces. “I mean, it’s just who you love, not that world-changing. You should call them when you find out who Batman really is,” he jokes.

Bruce hums in agreement. “So what do you and Barb have planned?”

Standing up, Dick runs a hand through his already messed up hair. “You know, I was thinking we could sightsee. Or maybe watch a movie. Or stay at home and do something. I’m not picky.”

An idea springs into Bruce’s head. “Take her to a cafe. There’s a great one across Wayne Tower, they have really good cheesecake.”

“Really?” Dick furrows his brow. “I think I know which one you’re talking about. You’ve gone? Doesn’t seem like your kind of venue.”

“I had nothing else to do. And if I hadn’t gone I would’ve missed out.” He edits out the real story, but the last bit is true.

“Alright. Well, I should go. I’m taking the Lamborghini.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Don’t get it scratched up.”

“C’mon Bruce, you know me.” Dick winks. Yes, he does. As skilled a driver as he is, he’s still totaled a couple of Bruce’s best cars. “I’ll be back before nightfall.” He exits, leaving Bruce to slip out of his coat. Today is going to be a relaxing day, he promises himself. No going out, no phone calls, no anything. His eyes are half-shut when he falls onto the couch.

And then his phone rings.

With a groan Bruce looks at the caller ID. No name; it could be anyone really. Fine. He answers.

“Hello?”

“So I heard you were in the East End last night.” Selina. Bruce can hear the annoyance in her voice.

“I had a good reason. Scarecrow and Black Mask were there. They were going to poison the water system if I didn’t stop them.” Bruce turns on the TV, idly clicking on the remote.

“Really. And you didn't tell me?”

“I had a lot on my mind.” He stops flipping at a Harry Potter marathon. How many times have they marathoned this on TV in the past couple months? It’s almost constantly running. And if he’s exaggerating, it’s not by much. He leaves it on as background noise.

“Look, I appreciate you stopping them. Just tell me next time. When I saw Nightwing there I was about ready to knock him out. Didn't he tell you?”

He’d failed to mention that, actually. “Did he explain why?”

“Yes. I don’t like this, Bruce. It’s been so long since something like this has happened. Don’t get me wrong, taking a few millionaires down a peg or three doesn’t sound awful. But killing them all?”

“I know. But I’m going to fix it.”

“Tell me when you’re done, maybe we can do something, it’s awfully cold and the fireplace is roaring,” she purrs. Bruce rolls his eyes, but he can’t help a smile.

“You don’t have a fireplace.” The woman on the other end of the line laughs, and Bruce joins in. Once the laughter fades he says, “I’ll see you later, Selina,” the mirth in his voice audible.

“Bye, Batman.” She hangs up, her laugh the last thing Bruce hears before the phone clicks. She’s a valuable friend, he realises. He enjoys her company for what it is, upfront, witty, and relaxed. But it’s just that, that softer feeling of friendship, not unlike what he feels for Clark, or even Jim Gordon. He leans back on the couch, watching as Harry faces off against Voldemort. He can’t help but feel critical. Villains are rarely that one-sided.

Sitting on the couch got boring pretty fast. Countless pushups and crunches later and he feels more productive, though when he checks the clock it’s only eleven in the morning. What could he do to pass time? He glances at the phone. His finger taps at the leather of the couch rapidly. It might not be a good idea. It probably isn’t a good idea. But…

He turns on his phone, Joker’s number already in the contacts. The phone rings once...twice…

“Hello?” Damn, he’s not ready for this. It feels too casual all of a sudden. He hesitates. Joker’s voice is bright though. “Bats, is that you?”

“Hi, Joker.”

“It’s been a while.” It really hasn’t, it’s only been a few hours, but Bruce isn’t about to tell him that. “Oh, have you seen the newspaper, dear? We look amazing.”

“You saw that?”

“Saw it? I scrapbooked it!” Bruce can imagine the smug look on Joker’s face. He also thinks he knows the man enough that yes, he did in fact scrapbook it. He’s seen pictures up on the walls of his hideouts before, newspaper clipping and old Batman sightings from when he was just getting started. He still doesn’t know how to respond. It’s strange. “...You did call me, Batsy. Getting cold feet?”

“No.” Bruce’s defensiveness spikes. “You sound like you’re in a good mood, though.”

“Oh, I am.” Joker giggles. “Can’t compare to whenever I see your devilish good looks, but it’s a close second.” Shameless flirting. Okay. He can deal with this.

“Miss me?”

“Always.” Bruce can hear the smile in Joker’s voice. “My other half, the one who beats the crap out of me whenever I wreak havoc. When are we getting back to that, by the way? I miss our little sessions.”

Bruce snorts. “You miss that?”

Joker laughs. “Well that was an attractive sound. And yeah, I do actually.” He sighs. “Don’t you?”

As a matter of fact Bruce does. He hasn’t thought about it much, but it’s true. Fighting on rooftops in the rain, kicks and punches as fluid as a dance. Moves like reflexes. Adrenaline. “Yeah, I guess I do. This is the longest you’ve been around me without an actual fight.”

“Too monotonous.” A voice calls out in the background, Joker’s voice quieter as he tells the speaker to shut up. The voice answers back more animatedly, to which he replies with exasperation. Bruce figures it’s Harley in the background. He waits till the talking stops.

“So? What are you doing? Should I be worried?”

“It’s a secret. You’ll find out soon enough.” There’s a crash on the other end. Bruce frowns.

“What was that?”

“Darling, don’t worry about it. Trust me, you’ll like the surprise. I know I do.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Another crash. “Gotta go, I’m working right now. Ciao!” Joker ends the call abruptly, Bruce blinking at the short response. He’s suspicious, but knows he won’t get any answers until tonight. He slowly sets the phone down. And wishes the sun was setting.

He decides to let Tim come along tonight. He did a fair job in helping him and Dick out last night, and he does keep a level head for the most part. He’ll be working with Jason though, making sure there isn’t anything wrong at the Gotham Observatory, where the Gala will be held. Dick will be coming with him and Joker to the docks, but first he decides to check out Ace chemicals.

The weather is actually nicer today, the night still safe a slight breeze. There’s no report of snow, yet he can see a few flakes drifting in the cold October atmosphere. He breathes in the cold air, the sharp chill of it waking up his senses.

Bruce hasn’t visited Ace Chemicals in months. It hasn’t changed much, the plant only up and running half the time. Recently it’s been closed down for “remodeling”. He assumes that’s still the case, if it’s being used as a base. His instincts tell him it’s rigged in some way, but he won’t know until he gets closer. So he does, grappling to the top and looking in through a window.

The whole place is decked out in greenery, vines twisting about on the floor. Ivy. But there are also hints of something else, more Joker-ish in nature. A colourful box here, some toys strewn about. He purses his lips. Okay, so Joker has a hand in this. This must be the surprise he was talking about. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting it, the way he was talking earlier, and the fact that Harley was there. It’s a challenge. Just not one he has time for.

Bruce glances around, seeing a grate he can enter through. The closer he can get the better.

He’s inside when he hears Joker’s voice through speakers.

“What do you think, Bats? Interesting, right? Just wait.” A laugh.

Bruce takes out a few men, dodging and cutting at vines that rush at him. The factory only holds about a dozen thugs, not counting Harley, Ivy, and Joker. And it isn’t too big a complication. Though Ivy is obviously getting a kick out of it. There are plants everywhere. He can handle it, but those on top of armed henchmen he’s wasting time. He brushes by them, not discriminating, his goal just on the control room.

Harley lands in front of him, grinning. “What’s up, B-man?” She throws a punch, Bruce dodging and retaliating. Her blows don’t land, Bruce avoiding them easily, landing a hit. Harley grits her teeth, but instead of recoiling she uses the momentum for a kick. It hits Bruce’s side. He grunts, but the pain isn’t enough to stop him from knocking her back.

“Get back before I knock you out,” Bruce warns. Harley pretends to think about it.

“I think I’m good, you know? This is way more fun!” She jumps at him, landing a solid kick to his side. Again and Bruce blocks a second kick, knocking her away. She comes back in with a flurry of punches laughing as Bruce tries to block them. It’s when she lands a hit to his jaw that Bruce decides to act, ducking and throwing a punch at her stomach. In her haste to avoid the blow she missteps, and he takes that opportunity to pulls her towards him, twisting her arm behind her back.

She cries out in pain, and that’s when Ivy decides to join in. Large thorns erupt from the ground around them, Bruce stepping back with Harley. He makes quick work of tying her hands together, watching the floor warily.

“Gotta say, this is way more interesting than any movie I’ve seen!” Joker’s voice rings out. Bruce aims a look at the control room, narrowing his eyes. A vine snakes towards him, Bruce cutting it in two with a batarang. When Ivy reveals herself her eyes are blazing.

“How dare you hurt my babies?”

“And me,” Harley calls out. Bruce lets Harley drop to the floor, the woman falling with an “ow”. One of Ivy’s vines picks her up, placing her to a side before rushing at Bruce. He kicks at the plants, making his way closer to Ivy. Leaves slash through the air like throwing knives, a couple knicking Bruce, sharp like papercuts. He pushes on, avoiding thorny barriers and feeling as though he was walking through a deadly jungle.

It’s too late when Ivy realises Bruce has the upper hand, a few steps ahead of her. He knocks her to the ground, hand pinned on her neck. She hisses in anger, but he quickly places a blow to her temple that knocks her unconscious, her plants writhing before dropping to the floor. He glances up at Harley, who pouts.

“You’ll get what’s comin’ to you Batman! Just wait!” Her smile turns sly. Bruce drops Ivy off next to her, making sure they’re both bound tightly enough that they won’t get free any time soon. Time to go up into the control room. He steps over plants on the stairs, the windows streaming light. He guesses whatever he came for is there, as is Joker.

When he walks in there’s no sign of anyone, but he finds schematics of the observatory, as well as explosives and masks. Good, it’s all there. He places a tracker, knowing Joker is behind him the moment he hears a quiet click. He turns slowly. And his reflexes take over to avoid a kick to the head, a flash of purple that rushes past his eyes and causes him to jerk back. Bruce grabs at Joker’s leg, throwing the clown off balance and tossing him across the room. Joker hits the ground laughing, on his hands and knees. He stands up to run at Bruce again, a spark in his eye. Ducking before Bruce can knock him down, Joker doesn’t hesitate in throwing a punch that brings stars to Bruce’s eyes. He lunges again, a quick strike that gives Bruce only seconds to deflect. Another punch, a cuff to the head. He’s aggressive with his attack, Bruce waiting for the opportunity to retaliate. When he does Joker’s leg is just close enough for Bruce to kick at, throwing the man off balance. Bruce pushes him back with a hit to the chest that knocks the breath out of his lungs. Joker stumbles back, giving Bruce the opportunity to pin him against the wall, unable to attack again. The man gives a breathless laugh, eyes level with Bruce's.

“So, now what, Dark Knight?” he asks, resting his forehead against Bruce's. They're both breathing heavily, exchanging breaths in the messy room.

“You realise I'm running out of time, right?” Bruce frowns at Joker's careless little shrug.

“That's what your bat-brats are for, Brucie. You needed a little... distraction.” Joker smirks, Bruce not relaxing his grip. “Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it.” He places his hands on Bruce's waist, sending shivers through his body even through the layer of armor.

“Not the point.” He pulls back a bit, but Joker doesn't let him go, eyes half-lidded. His expression unnerves Bruce, but it also makes his heart beat rapidly, chest still heaving. “What are you doing?”

He barely has time to react as Joker presses his lips to his. Bruce makes a small sound of surprise.

This. This is crazy. He’s thought about it but now that it’s happening it’s all he can do not to short-circuit. A rush of warmth suddenly hits him and he melts, deepening the kiss and pressing against the wiry man. He cradles Joker’s face in his hand, feeling warmth through his gloves. Joker’s trying not to smile into the kiss, he knows that, he can feel it, that slight pull to his mouth that only makes Bruce want to kiss him more. He tastes of cotton candy and something slightly chemical, a metallic tang that should be a deterrent but isn’t. It’s just something that fits, surprisingly.

Joker loops his arms around to pull Bruce down towards him, nails scratching at his cowl. Bruce almost loses himself completely, but the nagging in his mind reminds him of the task at hand. Which, if he weren’t Batman he would ignore it, but being a hero...

“We have to go,” he tries to say, the words turning to a mumble as Joker recaptures his mouth. Bruce lets himself enjoy a few more seconds before he puts his hand to the wall to steady himself. When he pulls away, Joker lets out a quiet whine of annoyance. “Joker. The docks.” Joker opens his eyes, his makeup more of a mess than usual, his pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of green is visible around them.

“Five more minutes.” He grabs at Bruce, who pushes him away firmly. “Bats.”

“We need to get to the docks, J.” He makes to turn away when Joker tugs him back.

“Wait. You have lipstick on your mouth,” Joker says with a satisfied little smirk. “Now that’s a look I could get used to.” Bruce’s knows his face is flushed but Joker continues, pulling out a handkerchief. “Wouldn’t want your little bat-family to see though.”

He helps Bruce clean it off, Bruce protesting, “You don’t have to say ‘bat’ in front of everything.”

“Well let’s see. Batman, Batmobile, Batsuit, Batarangs, Batwing...kind of a running theme,” Joker points out. Bruce is unable to come up with a good comeback. The clown looks over Bruce until he can’t see any traces of paint. When he’s satisfied he nods, reapplying his own. Their breathing is steadier, though Bruce still feels like he’s floating. It’s an odd, light feeling, his nerves are on fire but in the nicest way possible. He smiles uncertainly at Joker. The man beams before kissing him again lightly. “Alright, we can go to the docks now. Nightwing is going to meet us?”

“That’s the plan.”

They head down the stairs, where they find Harley free of her bonds and cradling Ivy’s head in her lap, Ivy murmuring about how next time they should just plan a picnic at a garden. She glares when she sees Bruce, but Harley’s eyes are on Joker, whose smug expression is clear on his face. She winks at Bruce, who suddenly wants to sprint out of the factory, grapple onto a very tall building, and jump.

Instead he settles for a warning. “If I hear anything else from you two the rest of the week I’m dragging you down to Blackgate myself.”

Harley leans back, smiling crookedly. “We got it, Batman. We’ll be quiet as mice, won’t we, Red?”

“Stop hurting my plants or you’ll be in a body bag, Batman,” Ivy says, the severity of her gaze not lessening. Bruce nods.

“Noted.” He gestures to Joker to get a move on, the clown walking up to the Batmobile before him. They get in, Joker turning the radio on. He cringes when the only thing that plays is the police scanner.

“Please tell me you have music.”

“I don’t have time for music when I’m in this car,” Bruce says, thinking it obvious. He’s not going to jam out to tunes when people are in danger. That’s pure evil.

“It adds to atmosphere! Imagine racing after baddies listening to ACDC! Or maybe some obnoxious pop song, I don’t know. What kind of music do you like?”

Bruce doesn’t reply. Usually he listens to older tracks, unless Dick or Tim plays the newest song. But he doesn’t like anything specific really. Joker looks at him expectantly. “...Eighties music. Journey.”

Joker nods. “Not what I had in mind, but I can see that.” He opens the window, cold air rushing in. Whooping and laughing in delight, he sticks his head out, eyes closed. He only comes back in to ask how fast it can go. Bruce smirks, pushing down on the gas till they’re a blur. Joker finds himself pushed back into his seat, cackling at the rush.

One of the perks of being a vigilante? No one questions when you’re speeding.

The docks look the same as they did on Monday, though this time Dick waits for them near the entrance.

“You guys took your time. I’ve been waiting for at least fifteen minutes.”

Bruce glances at Joker, who raises an eyebrow. “There were...complications that held us back. Anyways,” he gestures to the clown. “Lead the way.”

Joker cracks his knuckles, rolling back his shoulder like he’s about to put on a show. “Gladly. Ozzie’s got eyes everywhere, but if we go through the docks he won’t expect it.” He strides into the maze that is the docks, humming the mission impossible theme. Dick looks at Bruce out of the corner of his eyes, but Bruce doesn’t respond, starting after Joker. They’re headed in completely the opposite direction, more towards the shipyards themselves then around the shipping containers, the slight creaking of the ships putting Bruce on edge. It makes complete sense that Penguin would have a ship though. He doesn’t know why, but he feels the need to be extra cautious, some of his worry from earlier this week making a reappearance.

When they arrive where they need to be Joker stops them, holding his arms out. He then points to a large ship that towers over them.

“That’s the one. If Ozzie is there then your job is done,” he says.

Dick squints at him. “Are you trying to jinx us?”

Joker scoffs. “Believe me, if I wanted you to fail you wouldn’t be here right now. I’m rooting for you guys.” He wraps an arm around Bruce, the latter jolting away. Joker just grins.

Dick looks at them oddly. “Right. I’ll just scope around the other side, see if I can find a different way in. Divide and conquer, right?” Bruce inclines his head in agreement.

“Be careful.”

“You too.” Dick runs off, Bruce following him with his eyes until he disappears. He turns to Joker after, crossing his arms. Joker raises his hands defensively.

“I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary you know. You’re the one who gets flustered. It’s a wonder you can keep any secrets.” He pouts. “Maybe you should just tell Grayson.”

Bruce sighs. Joker’s right, but there are more important things to take care of. “I will. After the gala. We need to finish this though, come on.” He sneaks on board, scanning the ship. Oracle hasn’t said anything yet, but he knows it’s just a matter of time. She’s usually on top of this.

Once on the ship they split up, Joker taking on half the men on the ship with ease, if not discretion. But at least the distraction helps Bruce take out his half. He joins Joker at the door, the man wiping blood off his mouth, sticking his tongue out at the flavor.

“These guys aren’t pulling their punches. Kiss it better?” he suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

Bruce rolls his eyes, turning to open the door and enter the ship. This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it. He should’ve expected it. “Later, maybe.” Joker closes the door after him quietly, Bruce just making out the words he murmurs.

“I can live with that.”

“How’s it going, Grayson?”

It’s Jason. Dick makes sure no one is around before replying. “It’s all going good. How’s it looking on your end?”

“It’s quiet. If this is where they plan on blowing up the wealthy then they aren’t very prepared. I assume that’s Batman’s doing.”

“Yeah. Hey, I gotta go, I’m on Penguin’s ship.” He hears footsteps coming towards him and hides behind a container, knocking them out the moment they step close enough.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell us if you need help.”

“Sure thing.” Dick shivers as he opens the door, the cold rushing out. Has Cobblepot never heard of heating? Just because your persona is Antarctic doesn’t mean you have to live at negative temperatures. Gotham isn’t even that cold yet either, why is there ice on this ship? Taking the cosplay way too far, Penguin.

The ship itself is huge, more than enough for one man. And henchmen. Dick barrels his way through at least ten just on the first deck, going down through a dark hall. Penguin is most likely in the center of the ship, if at all.

He sneaks through the ballroom, used now as more of a storage area, crates piled haphazardly on the once polished floor. He imagines the rest of the ship looks the same way. The ship creaks as it bobs on the water, Dick wondering just how old it is. Oswald Cobblepot isn’t known for buying things second hand, but it’s worn down. Not suited for a life of crime.

Bruce joins up with him further down, Joker still with him. Since Tim had mentioned the clown acting different Dick’s been studying him. He thinks Tim may have been right. Joker just leans against the wall like it pains him to stand upright, waiting for the next step. His eyes still have a dangerous flicker to them, but Dick isn’t so sure it’s aimed at him anymore.

“Have you found anything?” Bruce asks him. Dick shakes his head.

“No. He’s probably in the lowest part of the ship. It’s been a breeze so far, which worries me.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Bruce opens the door to the left of the trio, a door that Dick guesses is the boiler. He steps through, not waiting to see if the others follow.

It’s all grey. Cold metal everywhere, not a soul to be seen. Dick tries a different door and finds it locked, going instead through the grate on top. Bruce and Joker come after, and the three find themselves in a small room, another door at the end labeled Office.

“He’s in there?” Joker whispers. “Seems a little drab.”

Bruce does a quick scan. “He’s in there all right. The only thing is I know he wouldn’t just be here alone.” He looks somber, Dick not liking the expression but used to it by now.

“Should we just open the door?”

“You find a back way,” Bruce says. “I’ll go through the door...as a distraction if need be.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard if it’s just Penguin. I’ll wait out here,” Joker says. He slides down the wall, sitting cross legged on the scuffed up carpet. He closes his eyes in something that almost looks like meditation. Dick stares, the man before him more of a puzzle than ever, but he shakes it off. A look at Bruce proves it’s nothing the older man hasn’t seen before.

Dick sighs. “I guess I’ll go now, should be a grate or something right? I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” He exits the tiny outer room, back in the boiler. As it happens, there is an air conditioning system that spans out to the whole ship. And it’s just big enough for Dick to crawl through, frowning at all the dust and trying not to cough.

Penguin’s voice can be heard from somewhere underneath him, and he finds an opening in the corner of the room, where he can see the stout villain on the phone.

“They’ll never know what hit ‘em. This plan is foolproof... Yeah, I got the stuff, that blasted bat took a lot, but we should still have enough...no, it’s not here. You think I’d trust in these idiots enough to keep it safe. Don’t worry, I have it somewhere they won’t find till it’s too late.” Dick listens intently, a spike of worry travelling through him.

If the rest of the supplies he has aren’t here then we’re just wasting time!

He comms Bruce, murmuring “Ready.”

Bruce slams into the door to open it, Penguin jumping up in outrage. This was what Dick always enjoyed, Bruce making an entrance to unsettle the bad guys. Make a scene and people are either so scared or distracted that they won’t know what hit them. He opens the grate quietly and drops down behind Cobblepot.

The villain is obviously angry, but he’s smirking through his cigar all the same. “You think you’re so smart coming here?”

“Where are you keeping your cargo?” Bruce demands, closing in on Penguin’s desk.

“What cargo?” He puffs smoke into Bruce’s face, but his nose barely wrinkles in disgust. He grabs Oswald by the collar. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you where it is. After this!” He whacks Bruce in the head with the butt of his umbrella, having a heavy swing for such a portly man. Bruce drops Oswald, Dick wrapping his arm around his neck so he can’t move. The man squawks in indignation and surprise.

“Where is it?” Bruce says, glaring.

“It’s too late, you’ll never find it!” Dick tightens his grip on Oswald. “I won’t tell you, you can threaten me all you like! You think I’d just give it up...after all this...? Do you actually think...I wasn’t using everyone as distractions?” His breath comes in short gasps. Bruce nods at Dick, who drops him.

“You’re done here, Oswald.” He ties the man up, Penguin barking curses at him.

“You won’t make it, you’re too late!” Bruce growls, slamming him into the wall. Penguin growls, shaking his head in pain. Dick takes him from Bruce, glancing up at him.

“They’re not at the observatory, Robin and Red Hood would’ve found it by now.”

“I know.” Bruce snarls, punching at the wall. Dick starts, not used to this side of Bruce.

“You know we’ll figure it out, we always do.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I knew something was wrong, but I kept trying to push the feeling away. Bane had a plan, his chemicals, but it fell through. Then with Crane and his toxin, but we took care of it. Maybe... they haven’t been working together at all. Maybe we’ve been on a wild goose chase, and for what?” Dick scrutinises the man.

“Maybe this time you shouldn’t trust your gut. If you think you’re gonna fail what’s the point in trying?” Bruce glances at him. “This isn’t about Joker is it?”

Bruce shakes his head almost vehemently. “No. This is entirely different. I’m just...”

Dick’s seen Bruce go through this before. Though he can be a drama queen at times, he does also get weighed down by the job at times, loathe as he is to admit it. He places a hand on Bruce. “You’re tired. I get it, you can’t always put up a front. Trust me, I’ll be taking a break after this, and so should you. But Batman is bigger than this. And you’re going to have to put aside any uncertainties.”

Bruce stays silent for a long time before he nods. “You’re right. We can do this. We have time. But we won’t get anything done standing around.” He looks at the door, expression resolute.

Dick’s comm goes off before either can move. “Dick?”

“What’s up, Babs?”

“There’s a lot of activity over by the Asylum, might want to take care of that. Tell Bruce.”

“Yeah.” Bruce looks at him questioningly.

“Something’s come up at the asylum. Can anything else go wrong?” He sighs.

Bruce scowls, hand on the doorknob. “We’d better get over there then.” He opens the door.

Dick carries Penguin, who drifts in and out of a daze as they exit the room. Joker’s standing when they get to him.

“Nothing?”

“Just him,” Dick says, gesturing at Penguin. The clown grins, coming over and bending down to look at Penguin. The villain blearily looks at Joker, brow deeply furrowed and a scowl prominent.

“You finally caught him. One less thing to worry about, right?” He taps at Penguin’s head. “Shame he lost his hat though, I wanted a souvenir. What now?”

“I need to find the rest of the supplies, they spread everything around, most were just diversions. Now there’s something going on at Arkham,” Bruce explains, a tinge of anger in his voice.

Joker tilts his head to the side. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Bruce clenches his hands into fists. “What else? We’re going to stop this and figure out what’s really going on.”

After all, if he doesn’t there won’t be a Gotham to really save, just rubble and chaos. And maybe Gotham could take it, but Bruce doesn’t want to let it experience that much destruction while he’s still around. He’s got a job to do.

#batjokes #batman #joker #wtfit #my writing #comments appreciated #thanks for reading!!#update on ao3 later

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ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade · 7 years

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Because I am nothing if not an entirely raging narcissist, the last headcanon I wrote inspired me to revisit my redheaded OC and expand Ignis’ portion of it into a longer fic. At roughly 6700 words, it might be a little on the lengthy side for readers who like their smut in shorter, more consumable quantities, but at the very least I can guarantee approximately 70% of it is high quality genital-mashing.

Also, because we’ve established that I am indeed a raging narcissist, I drew a picture that you might’ve seen floating around these parts as supplemental material to help my followers visualize the naughty scene I’ve set. I’ve copypasted the fic in its entirety below the cut, but you can follow the link I’ve included to my AO3 account if you prefer getting your rocks off over there. While comments and constructive criticism are not necessary, they are more than welcome and always appreciated. Happy reading!

Idiotically NSFW

They have a routine, the strategist and the redhead; she waits in the shadows of his apartment landing near midnight, listening for the audible click of his front door unlocking to signal that the coast is clear; he greets her with a chaste peck on the cheek and a steaming cup of Ebony when she finally tiptoes inside; they seat themselves around the living room and chat politely for thirty minutes or so, about this and that and all sorts of mundane things, until they both silently acknowledge the real reason why she is here and discard their clothes in the hall on their way to the bedroom.

It’s a comfortable routine, something she has to look forward to after a long day at the Citadel, something that hasn’t changed in the weeks and months since she’d involved herself with the strategist. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee always succeeds at putting her mind at ease, as does the deep vibrato of his voice when he mutters the latest complaint against his royal charge. Even the slight narrowing of his eyes indicating his desire for intimacy is customary, for Ignis Scientia is nothing if not entirely consistent in his mannerisms, and the redhead knows the only expectation either one of them will have for the evening is just how long it takes for her to cry out his name.

Which is why it’s decidedly unexpected when she sees him pushing a large rectangular box across the coffee table in her direction. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” he says, in the clipped accent they both share. “Of sorts.”

She peers down warily at the violet ribbon wrapped around the package before turning a dubious eye on him. “For me? I scarcely would’ve taken you for the charitable type.”

“More for me, actually. Although it would be an added bonus if it was to your liking.” He takes a sip from his Ebony, and then nods toward the box. “Go on—see if it suits your tastes.”

She hesitates, somewhat puzzled by this curious break in their habitualness, but concedes to his request and tugs on the end of the ribbon. Once she’s removed the lid, she is met with a plethora of tissue paper; it takes her a few moments to unearth what lies beneath, and she laughs aloud when she finally recognizes the shimmer of satin and lace textiles. “Really, Ignis? Unmentionables?”

“They can’t really be considered unmentionables once you’ve mentioned them, now can they?”

The way the corners of his lips turn upward into a faint smirk is both utterly endearing and entirely exacerbating, and she resists the urge to sigh. “And what, precisely, do you expect me to do with these?”

“Wear them, I would hope. Preferably for me, but I obviously can’t stop you from entertaining lesser fools.”

She pegs him with a tart glance before returning her attention to the contents of the package; a pair of sheer black stockings is nestled between a matching garter-and-panty set, and she catches a glimpse of indigo silk beneath the lacy undergarments.

She then withdraws the purple article from the box and holds it up teasingly. “Your fashion sensibilities are certainly predictable. Did you purchase this from the same tailor who designs your dress shirts?”

The boned corset in her hands is indeed crafted from a similar Coeurl-print pattern the strategist favors in his own wardrobe, although this evening he is sporting a dark button-up shirt and necktie, likely due to a late night council meeting. “Not quite,” he replies. “I picked it up from the department store yesterday when I was with Noctis.”

She is almost positive he delights in the look of horror that crosses her features. “With the prince? What in Astrals were you thinking?”

“Come now, I’m more discreet than that.” He crosses one knee over the other and swirls his mug around demurely. “Umbra showed up just as Noct was buying new tube socks, and he asked me to bugger off for a bit. I took the liberty to make my purchases and was back before he could finish dotting his I’s with little hearts.”

“And you weren’t the least bit worried about being caught browsing the ladies intimate apparel section? Not concerned with any… assumptions the cashier might’ve made about you?”

The strategist shrugs. “Not at all. Even if someone were to suspect I was buying lingerie for myself, the whole Citadel knows I have nicer legs than anyone.” He then tosses her a wink. “Your included.”

She has half a mind to swipe her foot across the sensitive part of his shins, but the sight of multiple zeroes printed on the label affixed to the corset derails her malevolent intentions. “Goodness,” she breathes, and draws the label closer to confirm her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, draining the last of his beverage before setting his empty cup aside. “I merely wanted to ensure durable enough construction that wouldn’t fall apart immediately after putting it on. And besides—if you’d rejected my offerings outright without the tags, I’d be a few hundred credits lighter and nothing but aching testicles to show for it.”

She drops the corset back into the box with the other items and replaces the lid. “You could’ve always worn them yourself. Or perhaps your legs aren’t as shapely as you think?”

It’s admittedly one of her favorite aspects of entertaining the strategist, this delightful battle of wits; she cocks a mischievous eyebrow in his direction, poised and ready to counter his incoming barb with a pointed one of her own. But his green orbs soften behind his spectacles, and he surprises her—just as he did when he set the package in front of her moments ago—by reaching across the table and taking her hand in his own.

“I’d rather like to see you wear them,” he says quietly. “Won’t you consider humoring this stuffy chamberlain just for one evening?”

For a split second, the walls guarding her mind draw up; it was rather unlike him, the stoic personality he most often was, to reveal any signs of weakness around her, and the details of their arrangement never explicitly addressed the specifics pertaining to unusual fetishes or lewd requests. But his proposal wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for a lover—nor even particularly lewd, when the she really thought about it—and the earnestness in his eyes curbs her skepticism.

So she draws herself up from her seat without another word, the box of unmentionables tucked under one arm and her gaze trained on him as she strolls off in the direction of the master bedroom. When he’s out of her line of sight, she enters the on-suite bathroom and closes the door behind her; she then sets the package down on the marbled vanity beside the sink and removes the lid once more.

She hefts the bodice from the box and holds it against her torso, and her nose wrinkles as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. The redhead may have been the object of considerable desire within the walls of the royal palace, but she can’t even remember the last time she’d agreed to compress her organs for the sake of beauty. She wonders if perhaps the strategist is growing bored with her, dressing her up like a plaything in a final effort to coax the last remaining vestiges of attraction he still harbors for her, until she remembers that there are far more economical ways of getting one’s rocks off than dropping a few hundred Crown City credits on couture underwear.

She eventually discards the wardrobe she wore to his apartment and sets to work. The panties, stockings, and garter are straightforward enough, but the corset bindings are packaged separately from the bodice, and when she unravels them she finds herself tangled up in several meters of cording. She may be an expert at lacing a pair of combat boots, but ladies shape wear proves to be another beast entirely; it takes her ten minutes to thread the binding through the narrow grommets enough for her to squeeze herself into the overly complex garment.

When she moves to adjust it, however, she is left with an excessive amount of binding in both her hands; what the purpose was of having six feet of rope when she only needed two to hang herself with eludes her entirely, and she spends yet another ten minutes trying to figure out why only the bottom half of the bodice will tighten when she pulls on the end of the cords.

“Need a hand?”

She snaps her head around, and her eyes lock on to the lanky figure leaning against the threshold. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to recognize you haven’t the slightest clue how to lace a corset properly.” The strategist moves into the bathroom and stops behind her, gliding his fingers gently across her neck as he shifts her long tresses to one side. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

The tightening around her ribs eases abruptly, and her spine begins to tingle when she feels his warm breath on her shoulder. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people like that,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t even hear you open the door.”

“I’ve made a career out of sneaking up on people. Are you really surprised?”

“Hm. I suppose not.”

His hands move quickly, tugging on the binding and rethreading them from the bottom up. When he reaches the grommets centered near her waist, he picks up the other end of the cording and begins lacing them through alternating holes from the top down. She studies his face in the reflection of the mirror while he works, his bespectacled features furrowed with the same razor-keen focus he would dedicate to any other task, imperative or otherwise; she has witnessed his awesome powers of concentration before, whether he is channeling the celestial magic of the crystal the sovereigns of Lucis have bestowed upon him, or taking notes in a boring council meeting, or even—nay, especially—when he is making love to her in the earliest hours of twilight.

“There’s a method behind lacing a corset,” he explains, tying off the ends of the cord at the two lowest grommets and tugging on the excess binding looped at her waist. “Pull on these ones”—he clutches at the bottom strands—“and it tightens the lower half. Pull on these ones”—his grip switches to the top strands—“and it tightens the upper half. Makes it easier to distribute the tension more evenly.”

As the compression surrounding her ribcage equalizes, the redhead surmises she learns something new about him every day; how he takes his coffee, what section of the newspaper he prefers to read first, how deep the rabbit hole of his perverted psyche actually goes. “You seem to be quite the authority on corsetry.”

He secures the loops of the binding into a snug knot; then he slips a hand around her waist, drawing her close and touching his lips to her ear. “I like my presents wrapped as much as anyone.”

Her eyelids flutter shut when she feels his arousal pressing against the small of her back. “Seems a shame to go through the trouble of putting everything on, only to take it all off again.”

“Who said anything about taking it off?”

Finally, she turns to face him. “You’re going to have to,” she says, gesturing to the panties that are trapped firmly between her stockings and garter belt. “Unless you plan on fucking me through my underwear somehow.”

Neither one of them was in the habit of employing vulgar language with any regularity; they both had reputations at the Citadel to uphold, and at times it seemed like they were the last two remaining consummate professionals amidst the likes of bawdier individuals like Gladiolus Amicitia and Libertus Ostium. Still, the occasional use of more… colorful vocabulary held a certain measure of gravity, and indeed her expletive has its desired effect; his cheek twitches as he takes a step toward her, and she can see the fire of lust flaring behind his emerald eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

It’s rather unbecoming of her to bait him like that, and she knows it; he may be The Strategist, but he’s still just a man, and it was hardly fair of her to tease his ardor without giving any serious thought of following through with her insinuation.

But then she’s reminded of all the times he’s held the upper hand and delayed her gratification to agonizing lengths, and there was something about wearing a corset and thigh-highs that is making her feel empowered besides; she meets his gaze with a wicked one of her own, and reaches up to loosen the tie around his neck. “Since you managed to persuade me into donning this little outfit of yours,” she purrs, “I was wondering if I might make an inquiry of my own.”

His jaw clenches in visible restraint as she slips the tie out from under his collar. “But of course.”

“How much do you trust me?”

His gaze then drifts to the knot she is suddenly tightening around his right hand. “About as much as I trust anyone fettering my wrist with my own necktie, I suppose.”

When she is content with the strength of her makeshift shackle, she guides him to lean his lower back against the vanity countertop. “It’s just that you have a tendency to make sure my needs are met without ever giving any thought to your own. I find that rather troublesome.”

His face betrays the faintest hint of apprehension as she snakes the long end of the tie around the back of the sink faucet. “I’m certainly not feeling neglected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Be that as it may, there’s a notable disparity between my efforts and yours. I was hoping to rectify that particular oversight.”

Only when she attempts to seize his unfettered wrist does he finally interrupt her machinations. “While I wholly appreciate your concern,” he says, raising his left hand away from her and out of reach, “I’m not sure if this is the best solution to an imaginary problem.”

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching her leap futilely after her target, so she levels him with a steely gaze instead. “Afraid of turning the wheel over to someone else, for once?”

“No, but in my experience, bondage without the advantage of forethought rarely ever goes as planned.”

The hairs on the back of her neck tingle in mild irritation; she drops the end of the necktie on the vanity and lowers her voice to nearly a whisper. “I never ask you for anything, Ignis. You’re the one who leaves your front door unlocked every night, not me.”

The words left unspoken linger like a specter in the tiled room; she had no way of predicting from the start where exactly this dalliance of theirs would take her, but she’d done all she could to play by the rules, her rules, the ones that explicitly stated this was merely an agreement between two consenting individuals, where they could express themselves privately in ways they otherwise could not. She certainly would never have been able to envision herself clad in nylon and expensive silk with her buttocks on full display, at the behest of a man who had cooked for her and shared his bed and had even engaged with her in the occasional lover’s spat, and who for all of Eos felt like a loyal and doting husband in everything but name.

He adjusts his spectacles across the bridge of his nose, and she can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing her desire to please him against his need to always be in control. After a moment, he heaves a long-suffering sigh and extends his left wrist in her direction. “I suppose we ought to agree upon a safe word.”

She can’t quite conceal the smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and moves to secure his outstretched hand with the remaining slack of the necktie. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. The worst that could happen is you uproot your faucet.”

“And send a geyser flooding through the apartment?” He shakes his head woefully. “My renter’s insurance would positively skyrocket.”

When she is finished tethering his wrists to the polished brass fixture behind his back, and is confident he won’t be able to immediately break loose the instant her mouth meets any sensitive flesh, she traces her fingers lightly across his smooth cheeks and draws him close. “I’ll try not to be the reason for any permanent water damage,” she says, as the distance between their lips vanishes, “but I can’t make any promises.”

It’s a wholly unique experience, kissing the strategist whilst his arms are bound; his hands are usually everywhere at once, tangled in her hair, caressing her breasts, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties to massage her aching nub. But the tables have suddenly turned, the onus of his pleasure firmly in the palm of her own hands, and she almost doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she isn’t having to clutch at the walls just to hold herself upright under his devilish ministrations.

Almost.

His shirt is still buttoned and, without the present use of his limbs, it might’ve remained that way for a while longer if her desire to undress him hadn’t been entirely innate. But since the instinct to strip the clothes right off his back was as involuntary as breathing, she doesn’t even need to break their kiss for her fingers to find and unfasten the top three closures; two more, and she’s drinking in the flavor of Ebony and spiced cologne as she explores his tongue; the final two, and she’s parting his tunic like the curtains of a window and pressing her body tightly against his warm chest.

His mouth drifts across her cheek and follows the outline of her jaw, but his lips stop just shy of her left earlobe when his restraints prevent him from leaning in any farther. “I hope you don’t intend to imprison me like this for too terribly long,” he says.

His shoulders flex under the hand she is gliding over his collarbone, presumably testing the durability of the tie against the strength of his own wrists. She then trails her fingers down his abdomen, encircling his navel once before untucking the hem of his shirt from his waistband. “I loathe to disappoint you, but I’m only just getting started.”

A curious noise bubbles out of his throat just then, scarcely audible enough for her to hear, but sounding halfway between a frustrated whine and a carnal growl. The expression settling in across his features conveys a more telling tale; his lips are parted and his jaw is set, and he lowers his chin to his chest when she presses the palm of her hand against the bulging in his trousers. Her other hand is snaked around his neck and gripping at the base of his scalp—just the way she knows he likes it, because of course she knows, because tugging on his tawny hair only served to urge his arousal onward in the past.

But he can’t do anything about it like he could before, since the tie fettering his wrists has held up remarkably well thus far; he conveys his annoyance at being shackled against his will by biting gently on her lower lip. The hand she has resting on his groin moves to tackle his belt buckle, and she releases the zipper of his trousers with deft fingers before pulling away from him and dropping to her knees. The strategist didn’t spend several hundred credits on intimate apparel just to view the evening’s entertainment from the nosebleed section, however, so the redhead makes sure her posture is such that the lacy undergarment dividing her backside is suitably conspicuous from his birds-eye perspective.

“I just had a thought,” he says suddenly. “The bathroom’s not exactly the most hygienic place for this kind of activity. Perhaps we should move into the bedroom?”

“And spoil my fun? I think not.” She glances up and cocks a teasing eyebrow at him. “Besides—knowing you, you probably sterilized every square inch of this apartment with industrial strength bleach before I arrived.”

“Regardless if that were true, the floor tiles can’t possibly be comfortable on your kneecaps.”

She then threads her fingers beneath the waistband of his fitted boxer briefs and tosses him a wink. “Itching for release, are we? I’m getting there.”

He doesn’t get the chance to counter her argument before she is tugging down on the garment and liberating him from the constricting fabric. For a brief moment, her pride swells at the sight of his warm and rigid flesh; any and all doubts she had about boring him are quickly forgotten upon seeing his erection standing at full attention. She wraps her fingers tentatively around the base of his shaft and slips the other hand beneath the hem of his shirt, tickling his hip; her eyes lock onto his for half a heartbeat, long enough to enjoy his expression of pleasure mingled with sheer torture when she finally takes him into her mouth.

“Be reasonable,” he says hoarsely. “You can’t expect me to remain upright in this position if you continue like this.”

She subdues his protests by drawing him in closer; a silent gasp escapes his lips when the head of his shaft meets the back of her throat, and she can feel his right leg quiver slightly through his trousers. She drops the hand she has at his waist and squeezes his thigh to ease his trembling, withdrawing from him briefly to focus her attention on the sensitive tip. As she traces circles around it with her tongue, she catches a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her peripheral vision; his eyes are closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration—or is it dread?—and his lips are pressed together in a thin line.

She hears a soft clank when she returns him fully back into her mouth, and glances up to see his shoulders working against his restraints. “Please consider reneging on your proposal,” he whispers, his eyes still firmly shut. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take before I break something.”

But she doesn’t consider reneging on anything, not even for a nanosecond, because it’s not often she has the chance to witness the strategist at his most exposed, and the look of pure, naked vulnerability on his face has lit a fire in her belly that is quickly turning into a roaring blaze. Instead, she redoubles her efforts and encompasses him nearly to the point of choking herself on his flesh-and-blood sword; the trembling in his thigh has grown more pronounced, and the muscles of his bare abdomen twitch furiously with every flick of her tongue. His spectacles have shifted and are creeping down the bridge of his nose, so he throws his head back and grits his teeth to stifle the cry of ecstasy clawing its way up his throat.

She is employing every tool at her disposal to please him now—she’s appropriated the fingers of her right hand into a makeshift cock ring, trapping his member between her thumb and forefinger to prevent the flow of blood from exiting the tissue of his shaft, while the ones on her left gently massage the delicate part of his scrotum. Her slow oral ministrations have given way to a more rigorous pace, and the copious amount of saliva that is currently coating his loins provides a suitably slick lubricant with which to prime her throat. She takes him in deeper, but he doesn’t thrust against her; if anything, he appears to be yielding away from her, and for a moment she wonders whether his reticence is a result of her accidentally nicking him with her teeth.

But then she hears the sound of ragged gasps rattling around in his lungs, and is alerted to other signs of his imminent climax approaching; his flavor on her tongue has changed slightly and the temperature of his skin has risen, and the base of his shaft is pulsating as his body prepares to conclude its natural cycle. Maintaining a steady rhythm is key, she knows, so she reaches for the pockets of his trousers and clutches at his hips—partly to balance herself from her increasingly vigorous movements, and partly to ensure the strategist has no way of escaping the inevitable.

She would’ve patted herself on the back for her near-record time it took to bring him to orgasm, had her hands otherwise not been occupied; the sound of his breath catching in his throat is drowned out by the clank clank clank of his wrists wrenching violently against the gilded faucet. “Darling, I—I can’t—”

She has but a moment to decide which way the next few seconds will go. Hold fast, and her throat might reject his milky offerings; withdraw, and he’ll spill his seed all over her expensive corset. It’s his own damned fault for spending such a ludicrous amount of money on lingerie, she thinks, but she’s far too pragmatic to allow fine silk to be ruined over a few teaspoons of semen; in the end, she takes her chances and silently prays her body won’t betray her.

It’s not so much the flavor that catches her off guard, but the heat; for a man christened after fire incarnate, it ought not to have surprised her to discover his seed ran as hot as his libido. She presses her eyes shut out of fear for how her mouth will react to the intrusion, but—mercifully—her gag reflex remains dormant, so she relaxes into him and allows the warm fluid to pool on her tongue. He tastes slightly bitter, but not overly so, certainly no more than a slightly unripened apple, and when last of his pelvic convulsions finally slow to a standstill, she finds she has very little trouble containing the bounty of her efforts.

He is slumped against the vanity when she rises to her feet, his head angled forward and his spectacles displaced halfway down his nose. She isn’t sure if the way his nostrils are flaring is simply due to exhaustion, or whether it is a more foreboding sign; she takes a tentative step toward him and places a gentle hand on his chest. “Is everything… all right?”

“Please untie me.”

He doesn’t look up when he says it, and the redhead surmises it’s about the most animated reaction she can anticipate from a man who practically sharpens his teeth on his rookie lance pupils without even breaking a sweat. She reaches behind his back and fumbles with the end of the tie, half-expecting him to recover his dignity and march out of the bathroom the instant his left wrist is freed; he remains stagnant against the marbled countertop instead, moving only to return his spectacles to their proper place across his nose.

The heat of the moment is quickly dissipating with his ominously silent mood, and she frowns. “Are you angry with me?”

He finally glances up at her, his head tilted to one side, his eyes betraying nothing. “No.”

Her frown deepens. She’s seen the strategist grow aloof in the aftermath of their relations before, but there is something wholly distant in his expression she can’t quite put her finger on. “Then what is it?”

The necktie is still knotted around his right wrist, and it trails after him as he reaches out to caress her cheek. “Come here. I want to hold you.”

A queer sensation trickles down her spine; a few harmless pet names and bending the hours of their arrangement was one thing, but he was far too steeped in his devotion to the crown to show affection outside the confines of intimacy beyond the occasional peck on the cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”

The corners of his mouth curve upward faintly, and his hand falls to her waist and draws her close. Her eyebrows are knitted at this unusual display of tenderness, but she nestles herself between his legs—his erection is still hard as a rock, she notes—and leans to rest her chin on his shoulder.

He then snakes his arms around the small of her back and buries his face in her red locks. “You look magnificent,” he says quietly.

Her throat tightens, and she bites the inside of her cheek to stifle the feelings that are threatening to manifest themselves into tears; she’ll never have him the way she wants him, not entirely, and not because of their duties to the kingdom of Lucis, but because she knows deep down that the Six did not breath life into a man of his talents without a having a greater calling for him in mind.

His hand glides up her spine and stops at her neck, brushing her hair away from her shoulders as he touches his lips to the soft skin beneath her ear. Her own hands tighten around his chest, and she leans into his embrace; there will be plenty of time to fret about divine destinies later, and the gentle nibbles he is trailing along her jawline are admittedly working wonders to take her mind off of the hypothetical.

So she nuzzles her nose against his feathery temple and breathes in his scent; her ministrations from earlier must have been more laborious on his resolve than she first realized, because she is only just now noticing the light sheen of perspiration that dots his forehead. He finally pushes away from the vanity and draws himself up to his full height, guiding her hips with strong hands to the bit of marble countertop he just vacated, and braces his arms on either side of her to corral her in place.

“Darling,” she whispers, as he rakes his teeth across her collarbone, “you don’t have to continue for my sake. You must be utterly exhausted.”

“What was it you said earlier?” His hand finds the waistband of her panties and slithers beneath them. “Ah, yes—‘I’m only just getting started.’”

She snorts softly against his neck, but her amusement at his cheeky turn of phrase is short lived when he presses his long fingers inside of her. Then her beguilement is all but forgotten, and replaced by the singular desire to feel his warmth fill her entirely; she locks one ankle around the back of his knee and grinds her pelvis against his hand, and her insistence is rewarded when he massages his thumb across her sensitive hood.

His mouth returns to her face and he brushes his lips lightly against her own; she has little time for his chaste and gentle probing, however, and chases hungrily after his tongue instead. She is unable to stop the whine of disapproval from bubbling out of her throat when his hand disappears from between her thighs, but the strategist has a plan—just like he always does—and it requires the use of both hands to grip at her hips in order to lift her onto the edge of the vanity.

At the back of her mind, she can’t quite help chuckling quietly to herself at how ludicrous they must look in that moment; his necktie is dangling off of his right wrist like a wet noodle, his shirt rumpled and unbuttoned, his trousers and briefs halfway down his buttocks as he claws at the infinitesimally small strip of fabric separating his cock infuriatingly from her cunt. In truth, though, the redhead lives for moments like this, when their guards are down and their humanity is on full display, because even though he addresses her with cool and cordial formality at the Citadel, she knows the strategist has the same needs and desires of any other hot-blooded man that has fire coursing through his veins.

He shifts her weight in an attempt to displace the lacy accouterment, but it remains firmly wedged in her backside. “This would’ve been a lot easier if you had just let me take off my stockings,” she laughs.

“Remove my favorite accessory?” His spectacles lurch as his face crumples into a scowl. “Not on your life.”

Finally, he manages to push the stretchy fabric aside adequately enough to gain access to her warm folds. Her hand is already between his legs and gripping his shaft, her urgency to end this lustful torment as great as his; he clutches at her thigh to steady himself before he is plunging his searing heat inside of her like a pike impaling a fleshy target.

The air in her lungs all but evaporates, and her fingernails dig into the thickest part of his shoulders. His reaction is more subtle—not even the faintest cry of rapture escapes his lips—but she can feel his body shudder slightly when the full circumference of his girth meets the edge of her resistance. For a long moment, neither one of them moves, and the only discernible noise coming from the bathroom is the sound of their hearts beating furiously inside both their ribcages; then he is withdrawing from her, slowly, gently, agonizingly, returning his lips to the crook of her neck and nibbling at the baby soft skin there, before driving his hips forward again and resuming his occupancy fully inside of her.

How he is still so hard is beyond her, but she doesn’t protest or complain; if anything, the way the elastic of her wayward panties is capturing her nub between the base of his shaft is a miraculous serendipity that sends chills firing down her spine. The strategist notices this little development as well, she realizes, which really shouldn’t have surprised her in the least—it was his job to extract knowledge from the most trivial pieces of evidence, after all—but her eyes widen just the same when she feels him angle himself against the garment for a snugger fit.

Is he competing with me? she wonders. Was this all just a wanton race to see who could bring the other one to climax the fastest? She would’ve admonish him if she’d had authority over her own voice, but the only thing she is able to utter in that moment is an unintelligible moan of pleasure. And it doesn’t really matter anyway, because the familiar pressure spreading throughout her lower belly is growing stronger with each passing thrust of his hips; her hands glide down the back of his dress shirt, unconsciously and autonomously, and clutch at his buttocks as her resolve frays like a quickly unraveling thread.

She can no longer see his face, because he is resting his chin on her shoulder now—bracing it, really—as he moves between her legs with methodical precision. But she can hear his breath shortening, his exhales breaking in time with the heart she feels thumping inside his chest. Her own pulse is screaming in her ears, but she ignores it in favor of focusing her attention solely on the sensation of his warmth grinding against the most tender part of her sex. When she closes her eyes, she can almost visualize her climax hovering on the edge of her consciousness; her nub throbs every time he eases away from her, only to glow like a star on the cusp of going supernova when the pressure resumes.

Two more thrusts and her vision begins to swim; another three, and the scales are tipping rapidly out of her favor; one final push, and she’s reached the point of no return. “Ignis,” she whispers, the thread disintegrating, the star finally exploding. “Ignis—”

He tightens his grip on her thigh, although whether it’s to balance himself or merely to calm the violent tremors ripping through her body, she isn’t sure. Each wave of her orgasm takes with it a piece of her voice, until her loud cries of ecstasy finally fall silent and she is gasping desperately for air like a dying Lucian carp. Her fingers are suctioned to his lower back like barnacles, as are her legs that have captured his slender waist in a vice grip, and she holds him close for what seems like an eternity as the spots of light dancing across her vision slowly fade.

“Drat.”

The strategist’s benign obscenity returns her to the here and now, and she finally loosens her grip over him. She then glances up at his face, only to see him staring down between her legs; when she follows his gaze, she sees the fabric of her undergarment clutched in his hand, tattered and ripped at the side seam.

“So much for quality,” he mutters. “I’d have thought for the money I paid, it would’ve held up at least a little better than that.”

A small smile touches her lips, and she traces her fingers lightly over his cheek. “I’m not quite sure lace is rated for this kind of strenuous activity.”

“Indeed.” He releases the scrap of fabric and readjusts his spectacles once more. “I suppose I’ll just have to take my business elsewhere next time.”

He then withdraws from her and helps her down off the vanity. She has to hold the two torn sides of her panties at her hip just to preserve her dignity, although considering he had himself buried to the testicles in her sex moments before, she supposes there isn’t much modesty left to be lost between them. He returns his own equipment to his briefs and zips up his trousers, but he leaves his shirt unbuttoned, and his necktie is still wrapped around his wrist; she is tempted to make a wry quip about his unusual lack of fastidiousness, but she knows his persnickety side will eventually spur him to cover himself, so she simply enjoys the sight of his taut abdominals on display for her viewing pleasure for as long as she can.

She then reaches for the binding of her corset to ease the tension in her compressed organs, until another thought suddenly occurs to her and stays her hand. “Do you mind if I stay for a little while?” she asks.

He is already at the threshold of the doorway, no doubt longing to excuse himself and his mild germaphopbia from lingering in the bathroom any longer. “Not at all. Don’t feel compelled to stay in that outfit, though—I’m sure your spleen is begging for mercy.”

“It’s not so bad, once you get use to it.” She releases the torn ends of her ruined underwear and lets them fall to the floor. “Besides—for what you paid, you ought to get a bit more of your money’s worth out of it.”

One quizzical eyebrow rises above his spectacles. “What precisely did you have in mind?”

They won’t always have this routine, the strategist and the redhead; the Empire was building garrisons across Lucis at that very instant, and the Astrals would undoubtedly intervene in her happiness once they finally revealed the celestial plans they had in store for the prince’s most loyal advisor. There were times when the reality of their fragile agreement cut through her heart like a cold dagger, its icy tendrils suffocating her with the same lethal proficiency Ignis Scientia reserved only for enemies of the crown.

But this was not one of those times, and their illusion of normalcy remains intact if only for a brief moment longer. “I don’t believe our arrangement forbids any party from brewing a pot of Ebony without wearing appropriate undergarments,” she says, as she struts past him and out of the bathroom. “How about another cuppa?”

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