#Negan The Walking dead

[kaayyyys]

How the walking dead men react to you being drunk

(negan smith, rick grimes , daryl dixon)

The house is dimly lit, just a lamp on in the living room. It's quiet, almost too quiet. Negan isn't one for silence usually. The air is thick with unspoken anticipation.

He’s been waiting. You can tell by the way the ashtray on the coffee table is overflowing with cigarette butts, and a half-empty glass of bourbon sits beside it. He’s been trying to keep himself occupied, but the tension is palpable.

The sound of your fumbling with the keys is like a gunshot in the stillness. He's instantly alert, posture straightening, eyes narrowing as he prepares himself. Is it relief he feels first? Or anger? It's a cocktail of both, for sure.

You stumble in, a little off-balance, a bright, slightly goofy smile plastered on your face. You try to be quiet, but your coordination is shot, and you bump into the doorframe with a muffled "Oof!"

His eyes rake over you, taking in everything. The flushed cheeks, the slightly glazed eyes, the disheveled clothes. He can smell the alcohol on your breath before you even get close.

For a fleeting second, a look of something like disappointment crosses his face. But it's quickly masked, replaced by a more neutral, guarded expression. He's trying to gauge the situation, assessing how drunk you really are.

He doesn’t explode. Not yet. Instead, his voice is low, almost a growl, laced with a weary kind of concern. "Where the hell have you been?" he asks, the words hanging in the air.

You try to explain, but the words come out slurred and jumbled. Something about celebrating with friends, losing track of time, maybe a dance floor involved. You giggle, trying to make light of it.

He listens, his gaze unwavering. He doesn't interrupt, but the set of his jaw tightens with each passing, slurred word. He's absorbing everything, cataloging the details. He’s not buying every word, that's for certain.

Depending on his mood, he might crack a sardonic smile. "Celebrating, huh? Looks like you celebrated a little too damn hard." There's an edge to his voice, but also a hint of amusement. He can't help but find your disheveled state a little endearing, despite his annoyance.

Despite his annoyance, he can't let you teeter around like that. He reaches out, his hand firm but gentle on your arm, steadying you. "Alright, c'mon. Let's get you inside before you fall on your face."

He leads you toward the couch, his movements careful and deliberate. He's aware of your unsteadiness, adjusting his pace to match yours.

He helps you sit down, maybe kicking off your shoes. He might grab a glass of water from the kitchen, offering it to you with a silent command. "Drink this. You'll need it."

Once you're settled, he might sit beside you, keeping a watchful eye. The questions start again, but this time they're softer, more probing. "What was so important that you had to stay out this late? Was everything okay?"

He needs to know you're safe, that nothing happened to you. His concern is genuine, even if it's masked by his gruff exterior.

If you're open to it, he might delve deeper, trying to understand why you felt the need to let loose like that. Was it stress? Were you feeling neglected? He wants to address the underlying issues, not just scold you for getting drunk.

He's not happy about the situation, that much is clear. He values trust and communication, and sneaking around or losing control isn't his idea of a good time.

There's still a simmering anger beneath the surface, a feeling of being disrespected or taken for granted. But he's trying to keep it in check, focusing on your well-being.

Despite everything, his love for you is the strongest emotion. He can't stay mad for long. He sees your vulnerability, your flaws, and he still cares deeply.

He might tuck you into bed, pulling the covers up around you. He might sit beside you for a while, just watching you sleep, a silent guardian. He might even whisper, "Don't do that again, sweetheart. You scared the hell out of me."

Expect a lecture. A serious, no-nonsense talk about responsibility, communication, and the importance of not worrying him half to death. But it will be delivered with love, a desire to protect you, and a hope that you'll understand where he's coming from.

He doesn't appreciate being kept waiting and worrying.

Your safety is paramount to him.

He expects a certain level of responsibility.

Ultimately, his love for you will temper his anger and drive him to care for you.

He's not a saint, and he won't let you off easy. But he's Negan, and beneath that tough exterior is a man who cares deeply. He'll make sure you know you messed up, but he'll also make sure you're safe, cared for, and ultimately, forgiven. He might even admit, after he's calmed down, that he was just scared of losing you, even for a night.

How Rick Grimes Would React to You Coming Home Drunk

The world outside is a dangerous, unpredictable place. Walls are up, guards are posted, and the constant threat of walkers (and worse) looms large. But tonight, you managed to escape the tension, if only for a few hours. A rare opportunity arose – a small gathering at a neighboring community, a chance to unwind with people who understand the struggle, and maybe, just maybe, forget the apocalypse for a little while. A few too many drinks later, and you find yourself stumbling back towards the gates of your own community, the world swaying gently around you. What happens when you get home and Rick Grimes is waiting for you?

Rick is, above all, a protector. Seeing you unsteady on your feet, even before he registers the reason, would instantly trigger his protective instincts. His brow would furrow, his jaw tightening, and he'd likely rush forward to steady you, his hands firm and reassuring on your arms. The first thing he'd want to know is if you're hurt. Has something happened? Did someone try to take advantage of you? His gaze would scan you intently, searching for any sign of injury or distress.

As he gets closer, the scent of alcohol would hit him, and the worry would slowly begin to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of concern. Relief would wash over him that you're not injured, not in immediate danger, but that relief wouldn't erase the apprehension completely. He'd still be assessing the situation, trying to gauge how drunk you are.

Rick is a man of few words, especially when he's processing something. He wouldn't immediately launch into a lecture or an interrogation. Instead, he'd likely observe you carefully. Is your speech slurred? Are you giggling uncontrollably? Or are you just a little bit wobbly? His reaction would depend heavily on his assessment of your level of intoxication.

If you're just a little bit giggly and your words are only slightly slurred, Rick might actually find it endearing. A small, almost hesitant smile might tug at the corner of his lips. He's seen so much hardship, so much death, that the simple act of you relaxing and enjoying yourself, even with a bit too much enthusiasm, would be a welcome change. He'd probably tease you gently, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well, look who decided to join the party a little late," he might say, his voice laced with amusement.

He’d wrap an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the house. "Come on, darlin'. Let's get you inside before you fall and wake the whole damn neighborhood."

If you're more than just tipsy – if you're stumbling, your speech is significantly slurred, and your emotions are heightened – Rick's demeanor would shift to one of careful patience. He wouldn't be angry, but he would be concerned. He'd prioritize getting you safely inside and comfortable.

He'd likely carry you part of the way, or at least offer a strong arm to lean on. He wouldn't want you to trip and hurt yourself.

Inside, he'd guide you to a chair or the bed, his movements gentle and deliberate. He'd remove your shoes and any restrictive clothing, making sure you're comfortable.

"Easy now, (Your Name). Just relax. You're safe here." He’d say softly, his voice a calming presence.

He'd get you a glass of water and encourage you to drink it slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. He’d also try to get you to eat something, knowing that food would help absorb the alcohol.

If you're completely out of it – incoherent, vomiting, or unable to stand on your own – Rick would be deeply concerned, and perhaps a little frustrated. Not with you, exactly, but with the situation. He's responsible for your safety, and seeing you in this state would make him feel like he's failed in some way.

He'd clean you up without a word of complaint, his movements efficient and practical. He's dealt with worse in this new world, and he wouldn't shy away from the unpleasantness of the situation.

He'd stay by your side all night, checking on you frequently, making sure you're breathing okay, and ready to assist if you get sick again. Sleep would be secondary to ensuring your well-being.

There might be a flicker of anger in his eyes, directed at the circumstances that led you to this point. The need to escape, the pressure of their lives, the desperate search for normalcy – it all adds up, and he'd hate that you felt the need to push yourself this far.

Rick isn't one for moralizing. He wouldn't berate you for drinking too much. Instead, he'd want to understand why you felt the need to drink to excess. He'd approach the conversation with honesty and genuine concern.

Once you're feeling better, he'd gently probe, asking you about the gathering, about how you were feeling, and if anything specific triggered the overindulgence. He wouldn't pressure you, but he'd want you to know that he's there to listen.

"You okay, (Your Name)?" He'd ask, his voice soft. "What happened last night? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I worry about you."

This would be an opportunity for you to be vulnerable with him, to share your fears, your anxieties, and your hopes for the future. Rick, in turn, would offer reassurance, reminding you that you're not alone, that he's there for you, and that they'll face whatever challenges come their way together.

Ultimately, the incident could strengthen your bond with Rick. It would show you his protective nature, his unwavering loyalty, and his deep love for you. It would remind him of your humanity, your vulnerability, and the preciousness of the connection you share in a world that's trying to tear everything apart.

Later in the day, after the chores are done and the community is settled, Rick might find you sitting on the porch, watching the sunset. He'd sit beside you, not saying anything, just offering his presence. He'd take your hand in his, his calloused fingers intertwining with yours.

"We'll get through this, (Your Name)," he'd say quietly, his voice filled with conviction. "Together. Always."

Daryl would likely be sitting in his usual spot, maybe by the fire or at the table, meticulously cleaning his crossbow or knife. The first sign he'd notice wouldn't be your stumbling, but the sound. A slightly off-key hum, a giggle that's a little too loud, or the unsteady rhythm of your footsteps approaching the door.

His head would lift, eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the situation before you even fully enter. He's a tracker, after all; attuned to subtle changes in the environment. There would be a brief, intense stare, trying to decipher what's going on, a mix of concern and curiosity flickering across his hardened features.

The moment you appear in the doorway, a small, almost imperceptible smile might tug at the corner of his lips. It wouldn’t be mocking, but rather a soft, fond amusement. He's seen a lot in this world, and a little bit of tipsiness is far from the worst thing.

If you're leaning against the doorframe for support or giggling uncontrollably, he'd push off from his chair/spot. No words, just a slow, deliberate movement. He'd want to make sure you don't fall.

His eyes would scan you quickly, checking for any sign of injury or distress beyond the obvious intoxication. Safety first, always.

He'd try to gauge how drunk you actually are. Is it a light buzz, where you're just a bit more talkative and clumsy? Or are you completely incoherent? His reaction would depend on this.

He might ask a simple, direct question: "You alright?" The tone would be gruff, but underneath, there'd be genuine concern. He's not one for coddling, but he's fiercely protective.

If you're slurring your words or having trouble focusing, he'd move closer, offering a steadying hand on your arm. Just a light touch, but a clear message of support.

His priority would be getting you hydrated. He'd grab a canteen or a glass of water, offering it to you without a word. He'd watch as you drink, making sure you don't spill or choke.

If you're up for it, he might offer some simple food – maybe some leftover stew or a piece of bread. Something to soak up the alcohol and settle your stomach.

There wouldn't be any lectures or scolding. Daryl isn't one to judge, especially when he knows everyone needs to unwind sometimes. Instead, he'd focus on making you comfortable.

If you're in a giggly, talkative mood, he'd mostly just listen. He might not understand everything you're saying, but he'd be content to watch you ramble, a soft smile playing on his lips.

He might offer a few quiet responses, mostly to let you know he's listening. A grunt, a nod, or a simple "Yeah?" would be his way of engaging without encouraging you too much.

If you start getting too loud or energetic, he might gently steer you towards a quieter activity, like sitting by the fire or looking at the stars.

If the alcohol brings out a more emotional side, Daryl would become incredibly gentle and patient. He might not be the best with words, but he's a master of physical comfort.

He'd pull you close, offering a hug or letting you lean on him. His presence would be a silent reassurance, a solid anchor in the midst of your emotional storm.

He might stroke your hair or rub your back, small, soothing gestures that speak volumes. He wouldn't pry, but he'd let you know he's there to listen if you want to talk.

He might offer a comforting word also, "It's alright", or "You're safe".

Once he feels you're safe and somewhat settled, he'd guide you towards your bed. He'd help you remove your boots and jacket and pull back the covers.

He'd make sure you're lying comfortably, maybe placing a pillow under your head and covering you with a blanket.

He might sit beside the bed for a few minutes, just watching you until you drift off to sleep. The protector in him wouldn't rest until he knows you're truly safe.

He'd likely have a glass of water and some pain relievers waiting for you when you wake up. No questions asked, no "I told you so." Just quiet, unspoken care.

He might make some coffee or tea, the smell filling the air. He'd offer it to you with a simple, "Here."

If you apologize or express embarrassment, he'd wave it off. "Don't worry about it," he'd say, his eyes conveying understanding and forgiveness.

He might even crack a small smile and tease you a little, but it would be gentle and affectionate. Something like, "You were singin' real loud last night," or "You tried to teach me how to dance."

Throughout the entire experience, the most important thing would be the unspoken affection in his actions. He wouldn't say "I love you" outright, but his care, his protectiveness, and his unwavering support would speak volumes.

He'd show you that he accepts you, flaws and all. He knows you're human, and he understands that everyone makes mistakes.

His reaction wouldn't be about condoning your behavior, but about ensuring your safety and well-being. It would be a testament to his deep love and devotion, a quiet promise that he'll always be there for you, no matter what.

If you're married or have been together for a very long time, there would be an even deeper level of intimacy and understanding. He might even anticipate your needs before you even realize them yourself.

Ultimately, Daryl's reaction would be a reflection of his character: stoic, protective, and deeply loving. He might not be the most expressive, but his actions would always speak louder than words, revealing the depth of his affection for you.

[janiehellion]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞 ⋮ 𝔑𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔫 𝔖𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔥

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: He's everything you should fear, yet somehow everything you crave. One night. One decision. And no turning back.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Age Gap ⋮ Loss Of Virginity ⋮ Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Angst ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Unprotected Sex

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 6.975 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Virgin Fem!Reader

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑩𝒚: @severesandwichparadise

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

You hadn’t seen him before, not like this. The way he walked into Alexandria, like he owned the place with that grin that made you gulp in a way you hated to admit. Negan. The man who’d haunted your nightmares, the man who had killed Glenn, Abraham—friends who mattered. You had heard of it, of course. Everyone had—the infamous Negan—the man who controlled the Saviors.

And he didn’t come alone. Of course, he didn’t. His Saviors stood right behind him, all armed and ready to kill whenever he told them to.

Rick was already waiting near the gate of Alexandria, looking more than just nervous while trying to act like he wasn’t following Negan’s orders. But you could see it in his eyes—the way his body was tense like he was trying to remember how to breathe around this man who had broken him several times by now.

And that was it. The first time you laid eyes on Negan.

He went over to Rick immediately while the rest of the group watched silently, and you couldn’t help but watch too, unable to look away.

"Negan," Rick greeted, in a way like he was trying to hold on to some dignity. "What do you want this time?"

"Oh, Rick, Rick, Rick," Negan said, clicking his tongue. "Always so goddamn polite." He let out a laugh, stepping toward him. "I’m here for my shit, as usual. You know how it goes. Supplies, gas, and food. Everything you can manage. And you sure as shit can manage that, right?"

Negan looked around then, his eyes looking over the rest of the group. He seemed amused as he watched the faces, and when he caught your eye, you felt it. That feeling. That weird moment where it felt like the entire community was watching. It was short, but it was enough to make your heart race.

And then he was back to Rick, giving him a pat on the shoulder that made him visibly flinch.

"You’ve done well, Rick," Negan said as if Rick were some dog that had finally learned to roll over. "Now, if you’ve got any more of my stuff, we can end this real quick, and I’ll be on my way. You sure as shit don’t mind a little bonus, do you?"

You hated the way Rick flinched and how he didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

Then Negan’s eyes were back on you, and this time he didn’t look away, while that grin of his turned into something a little less mocking and a little more… calculating. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he was trying to figure you out, or maybe just taking his time with the show.

He straightened up fast, pushing Rick aside as he moved closer to you. "What’s your name, sweetheart?"

"None of your damn business," you shot back, unable to stop the hate in your voice.

Negan raised an eyebrow, amused. "So aggressive… I like that. But you’re still not going to tell me, young lady?"

You didn’t answer.

With a final smirk, Negan turned his attention back to Rick, shaking his head as he moved on to collect his supplies.

"Now, Rick, I’m going to need some more supplies, or we’re going to have a problem. And you don’t want that."

You stood there, watching. And it wasn’t just Negan’s words that stuck with you—it was the way he had looked at you. That quick second where you felt something. Something dangerous.

Negan Smith sure as hell was trouble—the kind you didn’t need, but the kind of trouble you wanted to know more about.

Over the next few weeks, you couldn’t avoid him. No matter how hard you tried to stick to your routine or slip away from Alexandria, Negan always seemed to cross your path.

It started small—little things, like looking into his eyes again. It wasn’t just the way he looked back at you; it was the way he began to size you up—like he knew you inside out. He wasn’t just playing with you—at least not in the way you thought. He seemed interested.

You’d be working with the others, repairing gear, or doing your usual chores, and he’d just appear, like some bad dream, some nightmare that wouldn’t leave.

"Well, well, look who it is," he’d said, standing a little too close. "What’s it like, huh? Living in this boring-ass little town?"

"Don’t you have something else to do, Negan?" You didn’t even try to hide the annoyance and the irritation in your voice. But you hated how easily he made your heart race, how every word out of his mouth felt like a game, one that you weren’t sure you wanted to play.

"Oh, I do have something to do," he said, smirking at you. "But I can always make time for you." He leaned in, just enough to make you feel trapped.

You stiffened, swallowing back the urge to snap at him and tell him to go fuck himself. But before you could say anything, one of the Saviors—Simon, you thought—approached.

"Negan," Simon called out. "We’ve got the supplies loaded. We're ready to go!"

Negan looked over his shoulder, nodding slowly. "Alright." Then, with a wink, he'd turned back to you and said, "I’ll catch you later, sweetheart."

The next few times he showed up were no different. You’d be working or standing around with some of the others, and you’d feel his eyes on you, always there—always on you. Every time you caught him, it was as if he was trying to break you open, piece by piece.

And he wasn’t afraid to cross the line. Not once.

"Hey, doll," Negan called out one afternoon when you were walking toward his truck, your arms full of supplies. "You know, Rick’s got himself a real tough girl on his hands. Bet he doesn’t know how to handle someone like you. Or does he handle you quite well?"

You could feel the heat in your face, your cheeks turning red just a little. You knew what he was doing—trying to get under your skin, trying to make you react. But the more he did it, the more you found yourself struggling to hide the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Even when you told yourself to stay cool and not let him get to you, it was somehow impossible.

"Keep it up, Negan," you shot back. "I’m not impressed. Try harder."

Negan’s grin only widened. "Oh, but I sure as hell think you are. Why, do you like it hard?"

But before you could answer him, a voice cut you off.

"Hey!" Rick shouted from a few feet away. "Leave her alone!"

Negan looked at him, laughing out loud. "Oh, Rick, Rick, Rick," he said, shaking his head, still eyeing you. "Don’t worry, your little girl here can take it. And she likes it hard. I can tell."

Rick stepped forward, but Simon and the other Saviors moved in quickly, creating a barrier between the both of them. It was a warning to everyone: stay in your place.

"Fuck off, Negan," you whispered, trying to push past him, but he didn't let you.

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. "Oh, I will. But first, tell me something, doll," he said, leaning in close. "How about you stop pretending you don’t like the attention?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because the truth—that truth—was something you didn’t want to admit.

Not yet.

You didn’t have time to process it. Rick was already pulling you aside, his face looking angry.

"Listen," he growled, gripping your arm a little too tightly, which made you wince. "You need to keep your fucking distance from him. I’ve warned you about Negan, about the Saviors. Told you what they did, what he did."

"I can handle myself just fine," you snapped back, ripping your arm free from his grip.

Rick’s eyes narrowed. "You’re not seeing things clearly. He’s a monster. Don’t let him get in your head, alright?"

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I’m not some helpless little girl, Rick. I might still be young in your eyes, but you don’t need to babysit me. I'm not a damn child! Not anymore!"

"You think I’m babysitting you?" Rick hissed. "I’m trying to keep you safe, trying to keep all of us safe. You can’t fuck around with him, and you sure as hell can’t challenge him like that in front of the rest of the Saviors. Do you know what you’re doing? It’s dangerous."

Dangerous? The thought was gnawing at you. You hadn’t challenged Negan—at least, you didn’t think you had.

The days passed again after Negan’s last visit, and you found yourself constantly wondering when he’d show up again, what he’d say, and what he’d do. You told yourself you hated him—what he represented, the way he treated Rick and the others in your group—but the truth was you couldn’t deny that he made you feel something.

Then it happened again. Negan rolled into Alexandria, and you were standing off to the side, as usual, trying to stay out of his way, but your eyes couldn’t help but follow him.

Then, everything went to shit.

Carl soon was on his knees, Lucille raised high above his head. The sudden sound of the bat against the ground sent a shiver down your spine. Rick was scared, just like the others—defeated, sobbing, begging.

"Do you see what happens when you don’t follow the damn rules, Rick?" Negan's voice was cold. "Your little boy here gets a taste of what happens when his Daddy doesn’t play nice and doesn't give me what is mine."

You clenched your fists, your body trembling. Rick was a wreck, barely holding it together as he watched his son kneel in front of Negan like a lamb ready for slaughter.

"Please," Rick whispered as he tried to reason, "just… just let him go. I’ll do anything. Just don’t kill him! I swear, there must've been a misunderstanding while loading up the supplies the last time! We gave you everything we could! I promise!"

"Excuses… excuses. Bullshit. I warned you to not fuck with me. Do not make me tell you twice, Rick. You know I’m going to do it if you don’t get me what I want. Now, what’s it going to be? I could end this little bastard right here, right now."

Rick’s face was pale, his eyes all red and swollen, and Negan smiled, loving every second of it. "You’ll do anything, huh? Well, I’ve got an idea. Now, you see, I can’t kill this little piece of shit—not yet. That’d be too easy. But I could take something else from you. I’ll let him go… but I need her."

Everything inside you froze as he pointed Lucille straight at you.

But you didn’t hesitate, not because you wanted to go with him, but because you knew—if you didn’t—Carl was dead.

"Fine. Take me." It somehow was the hardest thing you’d ever said. You hated that you had to do it, but for Carl’s life, for Rick’s sake, and everyone else, there was no other choice.

Rick's words died in his throat as he tried to keep it together. "No, no, no, no, you don’t have to—"

"I do," you interrupted, stepping forward. You wouldn’t let the Saviors take Carl’s life. "I’ll go with him."

Negan’s grin widened as he nodded, and without another word, he pulled you toward him and he began leading you to the truck. You could hear Rick’s desperate voice calling after you, but it didn’t matter anymore. This was happening.

The ride to the Sanctuary felt endless. Your mind was spinning with a dozen thoughts, none of them making sense. Once you got inside the Sanctuary, the Saviors separated you from the rest of Negan’s people, and you were brought to a small, actually cozy room.

You just stood there, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t look at him—Negan—who had just played with a life like a prize.

Meanwhile, he was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. "This is one hell of a nice room, huh? I thought you’d appreciate it. After all, you’re a guest now."

"I’m not your fucking guest," you snapped, finally looking at him, unable to keep the anger at bay. "You think this is some kind of joke? You’re the reason I’m here! You’re the one that made me choose between Carl’s life and my fucking dignity!"

Negan didn’t flinch. He just stared at you. "No, no. You’re here because you made the right choice. You chose life. You chose Carl’s life. And that’s what I like about you."

You stepped forward, fists clenched, heart racing in your chest. "You’re a monster. And you—you just walk around like you own every single person that crosses your way like you have the right to decide who lives and who dies!"

Negan pushed himself off the doorframe. "You think I like doing that?" His voice was colder now, but still, he seemed strangely calm. "You think I enjoy seeing my people get hurt? To watch my people die? No. I do what I gotta do. And what I did? Hell, ask Ricky-boy about the real reason why I… attacked. This world doesn’t give a damn about feelings, doll. It’s survival."

"It’s not survival to make people suffer, Negan. It’s not."

There was a pause, a long one, where Negan looked at you again, his jaw tightening as though he were processing something.

And then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours, pressing against you and leaving you breathless. You froze, shocked, but his kiss wasn’t hard or punishing like everything else about him—it was tender, almost gentle, even though you could feel the force of it.

When he pulled back, he let out a soft sigh and turned, walking toward the door again. "You’re still not ready for the real world as it is now, even though you've survived it since the beginning," he said, more to himself than you. "But I think you will be."

Soon enough, it again had been a few days since you were brought to the Sanctuary, and each day felt like an eternity. The walls seemed to close in, and inside of them were shadows of people who whispered their secrets when they were alone.

You had the room to yourself, which you hated and appreciated at the same time. At least you weren’t forced to be together with the rest of the Saviors—most of whom still looked at you like you were some sort of prize to be claimed.

Negan had kept his distance after that kiss, which left you feeling like you were constantly on the edge of something threatening. You felt how your body betrayed you, how every time you heard his voice or saw his grin, something inside you changed. It was fucked up, and you knew it.

You were pacing in your room one late evening, trying to get your mind off the curiosity and disgust you felt when you heard a quick knock at your door. Quiet, but loud enough for you to notice. You opened it cautiously, only to see Dwight standing there.

"Hey," he said quietly, almost a little too nervous. "I… uh, just wanted to thank you."

You blinked at him, confused. "Thank me for what? What are you talking about?"

"For doing what you did. For agreeing to stay here. For… for keeping Negan off our backs."

You still didn’t know what he was talking about. "What the hell are you thanking me for, Dwight?" You asked, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

He let out a slow breath, his eyes looking down to the floor. "For the women," he whispered. "Negan’s been leaving them alone ever since you… Well, ever since you caught his interest, I'd say."

You’d been hearing rumors of the women, those who lived in the Sanctuary with Negan as his wives, but you hadn’t understood how deep it went. "What do you mean… leaving them alone?"

Dwight’s eyes met yours again. "The women… his wives," he said. "He hasn’t touched any of them since he saw you."

Your mind struggled to process it. "You’re telling me there’s a bunch of women just waiting around for him?"

"It’s not like that. Not anymore. He used to call on them whenever he wanted to—" He continued, but trailed off. "When he saw you, he stopped. He hasn’t touched any of them since, and I… we just wanted to thank you for that."

You were quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Your mind wandered to those women. It wasn’t disgust you felt—it was a strange kind of curiosity, the kind of curiosity you couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t touched them, but why? What did that mean for you? What was it about you that made him stop?

But you didn’t say any of that to Dwight. You just stood there and didn’t ask him about the women or what they’d gone through.

Instead, you looked at him and said quietly, "You don’t need to thank me."

Dwight stared at you, and then he finally nodded. "Well, I do. And I’m not blind, and I know that, as fucked up as this place is, it’s better for them. Better for her… Even if you don’t want to hear it."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the Sanctuary. You shut the door slowly, your mind racing. You couldn’t get the thought of the women out of your head. And you sure as hell couldn’t stop wondering what would happen to you now that you were here.

In this place, with him.

You didn’t know. But the question—oh, it burned itself into your mind.

It was confusing. On one hand, you knew Negan was a monster. And yet, here you were. You were drawn to him, to the dangerous pull he had over you.

You tried to push it all away; you tried to tell yourself you were just looking for a way to survive. You weren’t one of those women. You wouldn’t be. He wasn’t going to control you like that.

But still, there was that pull. The way his eyes watched you when he thought no one else was looking, the way his voice changed when he spoke near you.

You were now sitting on your bed, head spinning, when you heard the familiar footsteps outside your door. You didn’t have to look to know it was him. That presence—his presence—it was unmistakable.

He knocked once, hard and loud, before pushing the door open, his grin already in place.

"Well, well," he said. "I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy by talking to Dwight."

You didn’t speak right away; your eyes were staring at him, fighting the need to look down. "I’m not interested in small talk, Negan, and not in an interrogation either," you shot back.

"Of course you’re not." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyeing you like he was taking inventory. "You know, you can talk to me in a normal way, right? My attention's all on you right now, doll, but your attention isn't on me."

You scoffed, trying to hide the blush on your face. "Normal? Right. Why don't you go and beg for attention elsewhere?"

"Because I don’t beg."

Negan didn’t seem to care about any response. Slowly, he moved into the room, stepping closer, making you instinctively slide back on your bed, though there was no escape, so you stood up, standing in front of him.

"You know," he said quietly, now looking down at you. "I’ve been thinking about you. A lot."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, unable to find the words to answer. He was so close now… You could smell him—sweat, leather—and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"I’m not gonna lie to you," he continued. "I don’t wanna fuck this up."

"And I don’t want you to want me," you said before you could stop yourself.

He laughed in response as if he enjoyed seeing you stumble over your own words. "Then why the fuck are you standing so goddamn fucking close to me, huh?"

You didn’t have an answer for that.

You wanted him, but you were scared. Scared of the person he was. Scared of being another name on his list. But you couldn’t deny it. Your body, your mind—they craved him. It was like a hunger you couldn’t ignore.

"Maybe that’s why I’m here," you whispered, looking up at him. "Maybe I’m only curious."

"Curious, huh?" His fingers moved slowly up your arm. "Curious about what, exactly?"

You took a shaky breath, fighting the urge to close the space between the two of you. "About what it’d be like."

His smile disappeared, and for a moment, it seemed like he was holding his breath. Then, without a second thought, he stepped back. "I think that’s a conversation for another time."

You didn’t even think; the words just came out. "What is this even to you?" You growled, watching his smirk come back as he leaned against the wall with that irritating look of his. "So what if I haven't… I mean, since the world ended, I haven’t been with anyone. I mean, before it all went down neither, but… Just… Not once, okay. But, I mean—"

That caught his attention, though he tried to hide it. He raised an eyebrow, and for once, he looked like he might take you seriously.

"Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me," he started, "that in all this time, you haven’t felt the need to… fuck?"

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as you shot back, "Why do you even care, Negan? You've got your… supply of it at all times, don't you?" The words came out more bitter than you’d meant, but you were fed up.

Negan blinked several times, looking thrown off. But it only lasted a second, though this time his usual grin looked more like a mask. "Well, that’s the damn thing, doll. Haven’t been with any of them, not in a while. Guess I had my eye on something else."

"While I don’t know what I want," you suddenly whispered. "I don’t even know if I should want this—with you. I feel horrible. Fucking horrible."

One of his hands came up, fingers brushing along your jaw and down your neck. "Shit, I get it," he said. "But this isn’t some game, alright? You want this? I’m going to give it to you. But if you’re not all in, you better tell me right fucking now."

"Yes, I… I'm sure."

He watched you carefully. "You sure, sweetheart? Not just saying it 'cause you think it’s what I wanna hear?"

"No, I’m sure."

"Alright," he mumbled. "Then we do this slowly. No rushing, no stupid bullshit."

You finally leaned forward, your lips pressing against his in a kiss that was soft at first, hesitant. But then his arms wrapped around you, and the kiss turned rougher as he pulled you closer, hands now moving down your back, pulling you against him while kicking the door of your room shut.

"Hell," he breathed against your lips, "didn’t realize you’d be this damn sweet."

His fingers moved to the hem of your shirt as he broke the kiss. "Last chance to change your mind, darling," he whispered, though, with a bit of restraint. But you shook your head, pulling him closer again, your teeth biting his neck, feeling the shiver that went through him.

Negan let out a growl, and his hands moved quickly under your shirt. "Been wanting to touch you like this for some time now."

You could see him smile—that provocative, arrogant grin that only made you want him more. His hands soon moved to your pants and undid them teasingly, drawing it out until you were almost trembling.

He took his time, his knuckles pressing against your hips as he slid the waistband of your pants down, along with your panties. You swallowed hard, but it wasn’t from fear. It was pure lust—the way he made you feel like the most important thing in the world just by looking at you.

"Relax," he whispered, "I’m not in any damn hurry."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself fall into the moment, letting yourself get lost in the touch of his hands, his lips, and the way he held you like you were something precious, something worth cherishing. You’d expected roughness, maybe even cruelty, but this—this was different.

"You… you’re being so… gentle."

Negan froze. "Of course I am. Why? This isn’t just about me, you know. I want this to feel good for us—for you. Just trust me," he mumbled as he pulled your shirt over your head and undid your bra. "Damn, look at you…"

Heat rushed to your face, and you ducked your head, only for him to gently lift your chin. "Don’t hide from me," he said softly. "Let me see you, all of you."

Negan's hands moved to your tits, his fingers brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch, before he leaned down, his mouth following where his hands had been. "Now, just tell me if anything is too much, alright?"

You nodded breathlessly, and he rewarded you with his lips sucking on your nipple, his hand quickly finding its way between your thighs, fingers moving over your clit, rubbing softly until your hips bucked, wanting more.

Somehow, you managed to push one of your hands down between you both, squeezing his cock through his pants. He let out a groan, but you felt clumsy, even unsure, and fumbling a bit as you tried to stroke him the way you thought he’d like.

He laughed a little, grabbing your hand with his own. "Slow down, sweetheart," he said, grinning as he helped you to open up his pants and let them fall with his boxers. "Take your damn time."

But even though you felt uncertain, Negan's reaction told you that you were doing something right, his breathing stopping from time to time and his hands grabbing you harder as you continued. His groan was almost a growl as he finally stepped out of his pants, quickly getting rid of his shirt before pulling you up and pushing you down onto your bed.

"Think you’re ready for this? Might hurt a little, but that's nothing to worry about. Just tell me if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"

You nodded, your heart racing as he lined himself up with your pussy, one hand steadying you while the other was pushing his cock inside you.

The stretch was intense, your body trying to adjust to him, and he paused every inch or so, letting you get used to the feel of his cock, making sure you weren’t in any pain. As he pushed further, his other hand found yours, both your fingers intertwining to keep you from getting lost in the slightly uncomfortable pressure at first.

"You’re alright, sweetheart. Just breathe," he mumbled, kissing your cheek, waiting until you gave him a signal to keep going.

Negan’s forehead rested against yours as he pushed further inside. "You’re doing so well for me. So damn good."

Each inch he gave you felt thicker, the pressure hard but not painful. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I’m good."

"That's a good girl," he whispered. "Let me know if it’s too much, and I’ll stop. I mean it."

Finally, he was fully inside, filling you up in a way that felt overwhelming—almost too much.

But Negan didn’t move right away. He stayed there, deep inside you, as you both caught your breath. His free hand moved down, sliding up your thigh as if to calm you. "You’re taking me so damn good, doll. Feels like you were made for me."

You tightened your legs around his hips, clinging to him as if letting go would somehow destroy the magic of the moment.

"How’s that feel, huh?" he asked as he started to move. "Don’t hold back, baby. I wanna hear you. Bet it feels so fucking good."

Between moans, your free hand found his shoulder, nails scratching his skin as you held on. You could feel how he was holding himself back from losing control, but now and then, a loud groan slipped out, followed by a deeper and quicker thrust.

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. "It’s—oh fuck—it’s so good, Negan!"

That was all he wanted to hear from you. "Fuck, you’re so tight," he growled, starting to rub slow circles over your clit.

And the feeling of his cock, the fullness, was maddening, each faster thrust of him making you hold harder onto him.

Tears started to appear in your eyes, but not from pain. Negan noticed immediately as he untangled his hand from yours and cupped your cheek. "Hey, hey… You okay? Tell me if this is too much."

You shook your head quickly, blinking back the tears. "It’s not that—it’s just… I didn’t know it could feel like this."

"But you deserve this," he said quietly. "Deserve to be treated right. To be fucked right."

And it didn't take long until a new, even stranger pressure built itself inside you—something new but irresistible like you were on the edge of something intense, or maybe even embarrassing, but you couldn’t reach it, and he didn't let you.

You rolled your hips against him, searching for more—the need for something harder, something faster. Both your hands now gripped his shoulders tightly while you whimpered in frustration.

"Negan… more," you begged with urgency, only to make him stop.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "Oh, you want more, huh?" He asked, teasing you.

You nodded, arching your back to meet his next thrust. "Please," you gasped, your thighs tightening around his hips as you tried to pull him deeper.

"Easy, sweetheart," he said, his hands gripping your hips firmly, pushing you back down. "You’ll get what you need, but you’re gonna take it slow."

He thrust into you again, painfully slow, his cock pushing against your sensitive spot inside you. You tried again to lift your hips, but his grip tightened, holding you still and him thrusting harder.

"You feel that?" He growled. "How good I make you feel when you let me take my time?"

"Negan, I think… I think I need to… pee." You could barely get the words out, too caught up in the feeling and your sudden shame, until you felt like you might burst.

"You think you need to piss? Nah, that’s just me fuckin’ you so goddamn good."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the overwhelming feeling between your legs pushed it away.

"Let it go, baby. Let me make you lose it." As if on cue, he thrust faster, burying himself in your pussy just right, over and over again, until your whole body stiffened. "That’s it," Negan groaned, watching with fascination. "Fucking perfect."

Suddenly, without warning, your pussy clenched tightly around his cock as you came, your entire body trembling.

"Oh… yes, yes, yes!" You moaned out loud, your nails scratching down his whole back and grabbing his ass, trying to push him deeper again. "That feels so fucking good! Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't—"

Negan ate your moans and whimpers up like a man starved. "Goddamn, baby, next time you're gonna be squirting all over me," he groaned, not slowing down. "Could feel you coming like this all the time."

It was like everything went black, your orgasm shooting so intensely through you in a way that left you breathless, with you clinging so tightly to him as your body shuddered, moaning his name in pure need.

Watching you come so hard around him had done something to Negan, something he wasn’t expecting so fast. That look on your face, the way your body was shaking, the way you’d gasped his name—hell, he wanted to keep that image burned into his mind forever.

He slowed his movements just enough to not come too soon. His eyes never left your face, watching you ride out your orgasm, writhing against him and wanting more, given that blissed-out expression on your face. He was right there, on the edge himself, and for another moment, he let himself get lost in the way you squirmed, all desperate, a sight simply too good for words.

Just before Negan came, he quickly pulled out, but your hand grabbed his wrist. "Negan, please," you begged, your thighs trembling as you reached for him. "I want you to come inside me."

He froze, staring down at you in disbelief. "Fuck, doll," he said, his hand stroking his cock as he positioned himself over you. "Believe me, I sure as hell would."

"Then do it," you demanded as your hips moved toward him, trying to push him back inside.

But Negan shook his head, his grin returning as he leaned down, his lips kissing yours. "Not gonna happen. Can’t let you get knocked up… just yet."

He was squeezing his cock and pumping a few more strokes until he finally exploded, his cum shooting all over your stomach and tits. It was everything he loved about moments like this. The sight of you, the feeling of his cock pulsing in his hand and marking you with his load… everything.

"Shit... You know, that might just be my new favorite view," he soon smirked, letting out a shaky laugh.

You blushed, suddenly very aware of his cum all over you and the ache that you still felt between your legs.

You were sprawled out on the bed, your body still trembling, your legs twitching slightly as if they couldn’t handle the sudden emptiness.

"Fuckin’ hell," he continued, as he now knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands spreading your thighs apart again. "Look at this, sweetheart. Look at how bad your pussy still wants me."

Before you could process what was happening, he leaned in, his tongue licking over your oversensitive clit. You screamed, and Negan’s strong hands pinned you down as his mouth tasted you, his tongue teasing you like he had all the time in the world.

"Negan—fuck, it’s too much," you whined, trying to squirm away, but his grip tightened.

"Nah, sweetheart," he growled, pulling back just long enough to smirk up at you. "You can take it."

His tongue moved lower, teasing your folds, and when he finally slid it inside, you let out a loud cry. He groaned against you as he took his time tasting you and eating you out, his nose bumping against your clit.

It didn’t take long before you were coming again as you sobbed his name, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer even as your body begged for a break.

When he finally pulled away, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked at you. "Hell, I think you’re my new favorite meal. You look like a goddamn masterpiece."

You groaned, half-embarrassed, half-needy, and gave him a weak push on the chest with one leg. "Well, don’t just sit there and stare."

"Bossy already, huh?" He laughed, shaking his head as he stood up. He yanked open one of the drawers, rummaging through until he found an old rag.

"Hold still, sweetheart," he said, kneeling back over you and wiping away the cum. "Can’t have you goin’ around lookin’ like that. Might make people think I’ve got myself a favorite," he winked, his grin looking just a tiny bit arrogant.

But as he leaned over you, moving the rag over tits and cleaning them, his thumb brushed over one of your nipples, and you let out a soft moan.

Negan just smiled. "Guess I did a damn good job."

Before you could respond, his lips sucked on the same nipple he’d just touched. He sucked gently, his tongue switching from one to the other, squeezing and massaging your tits.

"Can’t help myself, darling. These tits deserve some extra love."

Once he was done, he tossed the rag aside, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, his mouth all tender against your skin.

"You did so good. Real damn good,” he whispered like he wanted you to feel every word as he moved next to you again, putting an arm around you and pulling you close against him.

You let out a sigh, the exhaustion quickly starting to catch up to you as you cuddled up to him, feeling safe, even here, even with him. "I… didn't bleed down there, right? Or did I?"

"No, you didn't; don't worry. Not every woman does. But don’t you go getting used to this," he teased. "Next time, I’ll just have to make sure I don’t leave you so damn worn out. Can’t have you fallin’ asleep on me every time."

You mumbled something he couldn't make out, half asleep already, but he just held you tighter.

"Alright, alright, get some sleep then, sweetheart," he whispered, his hand brushing through your hair. "I’ll be right here, don’t you worry. Just sleep. That was your first time, after all."

And you did, soon drifting off, strangely feeling safer than you had in a long time, to the sound of his heartbeat that stayed with you even as you slipped into sleep.

But the next morning slammed into you like a brick to the face. Your eyes blinked open to the sight of Negan’s chest and the scratch of his beard against you. The rest of the day before came back quick—too quick—every moment of his hands on your body, his mouth… him so deep inside of you.

You flinched away, heart racing as you pushed yourself out and away from under his arm. Every bit of you wanted to scream with shame and anger. This was Negan—the man who’d terrorized everyone you cared about, and here you were with him, completely naked.

You grabbed the first thing you could reach—a glass on the nightstand—and threw it at the wall. A pillow went flying, then a chair.

You saw him waking up, but you couldn’t stop. It was a need—this craving to let it all out. That man had you wrapped around his finger without you even realizing it—and now you wanted out. It was impossible, but right now, nothing was making sense; nothing felt real. And you were scared.

"Hey, hey, calm the hell down, would you?" Negan’s voice came from behind you. You ignored him, anger rising again as you grabbed for anything else you could throw, maybe even at him.

"Get away from me!" You snapped, turning to look at him, fists clenched at your sides. "I can't—you're… This is all so fucked, Negan! Do you even get that?" You shoved him back, but he grabbed your wrists tightly.

"Oh, I get it, alright," he smirked, his grin widening as he held your wrists. "Seems like someone’s a little sore, huh? Confused, even?"

"Let go of me!" You struggled, trying to move away, but he didn’t let go. The more you fought, the tighter he grabbed, his eyes watching you with amusement.

"Think I’m going to let you throw shit around and just walk away?" He asked, pulling you closer.

"Negan, let me go!" You shouted again, your voice cracking as he turned you around, holding you close against his chest from behind, both of his arms wrapping around your body. You tried to fight, legs kicking, elbows shoving, but it was no use.

"Keep fighting, doll. You’re just making this more fun."

He pressed his mouth against your neck, kissing and biting down just enough to make you moan for him. It only made you angrier and more desperate to get away, but he held on to keep you exactly where he wanted.

"Why are you doing this?" You hissed, still struggling, but your strength was fading. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want?" He loosened his hold just enough to spin you around to face him again, one hand keeping you close, the other tilting up your chin softly. "Shit, maybe I just like the way how sexy you look when you’re all riled up and pissed."

Adrenaline was still rushing through you, but now it was also confusion—and a feeling you could hardly even name. But you knew better. You just didn't want to acknowledge it.

And as Negan finally let go of you, letting you step back, neither of you spoke. You couldn't look at him as he took his sweet time reaching for his clothes across the floor. He didn’t seem the slightest bit worried by your outburst, your fury, or any of it. He just slid on his pants, putting on his shirt, and the leather jacket slung over one shoulder as he walked back to you.

And he stopped right in front of you, tilting his head with a smirk that now seemed almost cruel like he knew exactly what you were going through.

"You see, there’s a certain fine line, baby," he whispered, his voice sounding like gravel against silk. He leaned in close, his breath touching your ear. "Between everything we thought we hated… and everything we can’t seem to stop craving."

Then, just as casually as he’d fucked you, he moved his lips to yours, teasing you with a kiss and watching your reaction closely before pulling back, letting you stand there while he grabbed Lucille from the ground.

Negan wasn't looking back at you as he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the fine line he’d just cut straight through you.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Not sure if this is too far but maybe some dads best friend mixed in with close calls and very rough stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

Stained

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Tags:  rough sex, degrading name calling (slut), mentions of a facial, cheating (soz Lucille), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, semi-public sex

It happened again.

By now, Negan knows the routine. Argue. Say shit neither one of them can take back. Lucille kicks him out or else Negan reaches his limit and storms out. Make up later. It’s their pattern.

But tonight is different. 

They were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner, which threw a wrench in their usual routine. A part of Negan still wanted to go. Sure, he dreaded the tension-filled conversation, Lucille throwing in her usual passive-aggressive digs, but there was a silver lining: he could vent afterward. He needed to. To someone who’d actually get it, without the sugar-coating.

Negan has been friends with your dad for years, long enough to know they could trade a few sharp words and move on without it turning into some dramatic scene. Sometimes, Negan could really use that kind of blunt, no-nonsense talk with another guy. 

But hell, he wouldn’t mind shooting the shit with you either. You always got his humor and honestly, you were the only one who could make him laugh without trying so damn hard.

Instead of your home, he finds himself at a bar. Lucille was quick to call dibs on going solo to your parents house, not wanting to deal with Negan in front of friends. 

He left without another word, driving to the local watering hole like a man on a mission.

The bar is the usual kind of dimly lit place that doesn't ask questions. Negan doesn’t need questions tonight. What he needs is a drink and a distraction.

He settles onto a chair by the bartop and orders a whiskey, the burn of it going down smoother than he expected.

Lucille’s parting words echo in his head, the sharpness of her dismissal stinging all over again. The way she had shut him down so easily, almost like telling off a child. Negan can feel the frustration creeping back in. He could’ve used a laugh tonight but instead, he’s stuck here. 

Alone, as usual.

On a typical night, Negan hates how quiet the bar is. He can’t stand silences, everything about it gets on his nerves. The patrons are too tight to even cough up a quarter to play a song on the jukebox. It always feels like the kind of place where the air is thick with nothingness and every minute stretches on longer than the last.

Negan doesn’t have the luxury to brood over that on this particular night. Instead, the loud chattering of a group of girls fills the bar, cutting through the silence like a chainsaw.

Just a handful of them crowd around a table, all bright-eyed and wide smiles, laughing as though the weight of the world hasn’t yet found them.

His brow furrows as he watches them out of the corner of his eye. They’re not doing anything wrong but the racket they’re making feels invasive in the normally subdued space. 

Every time they laugh, the sound hits him like a hammer to his skull, ringing in his ears. It’s like a constant, steady hum of disruption. Negan can appreciate a little noise and some new life in the place, but tonight?

Tonight, it’s too much. It’s frustrating him. He takes another swig of his whiskey but it doesn’t quite block out their high-pitched, frantic laughter. 

One of the girls spills a drink, and the others burst into a fresh round of giggles, the kind that seems to echo through the entire room. 

He’s about to look away when another girl quickly picks up the drink and continues to say something. She's sitting across from the others, leaning forward and talking animatedly, her hands flying through the air with each word. 

One of her hands subtly goes to her thigh and she tries to discreetly yank down her dress. 

Negan wonders if women know they don’t need to wear tight mini dresses or the crop tops to get laid. But he supposes that’s the joy of being a  youngster. They do stupid shit, wear stupid shit, drink stupid shit. Some grow out of it while others still say stupid shit and end up drinking alone at a bar.

His eyes flicker over her figure. Negan can’t see her face, the angle of her head and the way her body is half-turned away from him hides it. 

Negan doesn’t mind. He can still appreciate her thighs and the curve of her ass from his seat at the bar. Her hair and back covers most of her upper body too so Negan can’t appreciate any titty action just yet.

His fingers drum against the bar and he catches himself, realizing that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, taking another drink of his whiskey as if the liquid will wash away whatever was just stirred up inside him.

In a way, Negan’s glad you’re not like that. You’re pretty without all the extra shit. Since elementary school, you've never been the type to crave attention or stand out in a crowd. Yet you're not the kind of introvert who keeps completely to yourself either.

You fall somewhere in the middle, comfortable with who you are without needing to put on a show for anyone.

There’s been plenty of times you’ve been the most entertaining thing to Negan at your parent’s dinner parties. He loves the witty remarks you toss his way and how you both quietly poke fun at the evening while the others remain oblivious. Those little moments are the highlight of his night.

But, of course, there are also those other times. When a careless comment from your father or mother hits a nerve and you retreat into yourself, disappearing into the background. Negan can always tell when that happens; the sharpness in your eyes dulls and the sarcastic remarks you usually offer him vanish. 

He wonders if you’ll be disappointed tonight, when it’s only Lucille who arrives for dinner. You make the dinners bearable for him but surely you reciprocate that feeling. Both of you are as thick as thieves in your own subtle way.

The woman he’s been checking out stands, saying one more quick thing to her friends before she turns and heads for the bar.

Maybe it’s because you’re already clouding his thoughts that seeing you in person hits him even harder. He’s imagined you a thousand times, with your quiet demeanor and the casual clothes you wear that make you almost invisible.

The mental image of you is so vivid, it’s like you’ve been etched into his mind… yet here you are, so different than that.

You do the same action that you did earlier, yanking down the end of your dress as it threatens to ride up your thigh. Negan lets out a gulp, not sure how he feels at the fact that he’s been checking out his friend’s daughter.

Turning back to say something to your friends, you let out a laugh as you clog along in your high heels to the bar. 

This is exactly what you needed. A night away from all your worries and stresses… and your parents. 

Besides, you're an adult now. You’re allowed to have fun! Whether that be crazy golf, drinking until you need your stomach pumped or smoking whatever. No matter how much guilt or pressure your parents try to put on you, tonight is yours. You’re no longer bound by their expectations. You can take a break from being the person they want you to be and just be.

Maybe that’s why the words “Lydia found out her boyfriend cheated so everyone was going to go over to hers and cheer her up!” came out of your mouth when you told your parents you couldn’t stay for dinner instead of “We all want to go out and down tequila shots!”.

Whether your actual reasoning would’ve worked or not, it doesn’t matter because they let you out with no more than a remorseful look as you left to help your heartbroken friend.

“Get more salt sachets!” a giddy Lydia calls out as you clip-clop up to the bar. 

You’re so caught up in your own little bubble of excitement that you barely notice the guy at the bar. You wait beside him, leaning on the counter and waiting until the bartender comes over. When you feel his eyes linger, you glance his way, wondering if you’ve found some fun for the night. 

You look over, pre-emptively batting your eyes lashes everything seems to slow down. There, standing just a few inches away, is Negan. Your dad’s friend. 

You freeze for a moment, excuses caught in your throat, as you realize that it’s not just the familiarity of his face that’s throwing you off. It’s the way he's looking at you. Negan’s expression is unreadable but the way his gaze lingers has a weight that catches you off guard.

You try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. What is he thinking? How long has he been standing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be him?

You hate it. On one hand, you want to ignore him. Maybe give him a nod of acknowledgment before pretending like you’re not in front of someone you’ve known since you were a kid. 

But on the other hand, you know what Negan’s like and the last thing you want is for him to loudly draw attention to your… friendship? 

Ushering yourself closer, you hurriedly whisper “What are you doing here?!”.

Negan struggles to maintain his composure, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face instead of letting them wander. 

“What am I doing here?” His jaw clenches as if readying himself to barrage you with questions “What are you doing here, dressed like that? Are you drunk? Do your parents know you’re here? I swear….”.

You scoff defensively, glancing down at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Oh so I can’t go out with friends but you’re allowed to drown your sorrows?”.

Negan doesn’t even entertain your question, immediately waving it off. “That’s not the damn point,” he hisses “I’m not the one with my tits out and stumbling around a bar!”. 

He shoots some other patrons a glare as they try to eavesdrop, making sure they keep their eyes to themselves. You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. Maybe your dress is a lower cut than what you’d usually wear but your boobs aren’t about to pop out of the thing!

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” despite how your face flushes, you stand your ground. You’ve always known Negan to be raunchy but not once has he ever spoken to you like this before.

"Can't talk to you like what?” Negan doesn’t give you the time to ponder that rhetorical question, crossing his arms as he continues to lecture you.

“You think you look appropriate right now? You think your parents would approve of this outfit?" his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m out with friends, not at dinner with my parents!” You defend, deciding to add in your own jab “Besides, I thought you were at theirs tonight, having dinner with Lucille… not drinking alone”.

Negan can’t keep still. He’s too antsy, wanting to shake some sense into you but trying to stay cool in public.

With an elbow propped up on the bar, Negan points a finger at you “Watch it, before I haul your ass outta here”.

This is the closest you’ve ever seen Negan to real anger. Whenever he’s been at your house, it’s always been the aftermath of it you’ve witnessed. His sullen mood and Lucille’s small comments at him whenever the conversation allowed; both of them handling their simmering frustration in their own way. 

To not only witness his anger first hand, but to have it directed at you… you’re not sure if you want to pout or get on your knees right then and there.

You scoff, trying to seem unbothered. “Enjoy your drink, I’m going back to my friends,” you say it with just enough sass, turning to retreat back to your table.

You know it’s a pointless endeavour. 

Negan won’t allow it. And you know it.

His hand snakes around your upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Oh no you don't,” he tugs you back, urging you to face him again “we’re leaving. Now”.

You were hoping for a little more time here, a bit more back-and-forth, rile him up before hopefully breaking down those stubborn walls. 

“You can leave, but I’m not!” you snap, digging your heels in.

He leans in close, his anger flaring back to life as his voice drops into a dangerously low growl. “I’m not asking you, sweetheart, I’m telling you” the pet name slips out like a command, making something tighten in your chest. 

“You’re drunk, you’re dressed like a goddamn slut and you’re not staying in this bar another second”.

Is it bad you can feel the heat between your legs as he degrades you? How is it your dad’s friend, someone you kinda considered your own friend too, is calling you a slut so easily? And why does he keep trying to steal quick glances at your chest?

Heh, well, you know the answer to that last question.

Still, you play your part and you slap his arm. “Don’t call me that! Jackass” you say with a defiant huff.

His eyes widen but Negan doesn’t acknowledge the slap in the way you wanted him to. Instead of continuing to bicker, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and throws it on, his movements sharp. 

“Jackass?” he repeats, clearly not amused.

“Yes! You’re acting like a major jackass!” you fire back, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in your voice. 

Negan grins, that mocking, almost wicked smile spreading across his face as steers you away from the bar.

“Yeah, and you know what else I am?” he asks “The one dragging your drunk, barely dressed ass out of this bar before you make a complete fool of yourself”.

He starts tugging you toward the exit. “I had like… two drinks!” you protest, stumbling slightly to keep up.

But just as he’s about to drag you out the door, you use all the momentum you have to shove him into the door right next to the exit. 

The ladies toilets. 

Your friends giggle as you both disappear from sight, assuming you’re hooking up with the stranger. They’ve always known you have a thing for older men but little do they know who he really is…

Negan stumbles into the bathroom, his mind still trying to process how he went from the exit to somehow ending up in here instead. His brow furrows as he takes in the situation.

Before he can say a word, you speak, your voice steady but firm “Negan, I’m not leaving”.

He steps closer “Yes. You. Are. We’re leaving. Right. Now”. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you’re already one step ahead. You sidestep him, narrowly avoiding his grip.

“No!” you exclaim, more forcefully than you intended. Hoping to get through to him, you soften your tone, offering a sliver of vulnerability. “My parents don’t know I’m here… they think I’m just at a friend’s place” you admit.

Your words hang in the air, a soft confession of rebellion. But Negan’s response is as expected—he rolls his eyes, the action exaggerated as if he’s heard this excuse a thousand times before. 

“I don’t give a fuck if your parents ground you for a year!” He snaps, his voice low but intense “You’re not staying here dressed like that and acting like this”.

“Acting like what? Having fun?”.

His jaw clenches. “By acting like you’re only worth a quick fuck in the backseat of someone’s car,” Negan replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your stomach sink.

The insult stings, but you refuse to back down. With a small scoff, you shake your head and tilt your chin up slightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t do that when you were young?” you challenge.

Negan’s expression falters for a split second, his lips twitching as if he’s about to crack a grin but he maintains his steely expression. 

He exhales sharply through his nose, his stance stiffening. “I did it because I’m a guy,” he mutters, his tone clipped “so it’s different”.

“That’s misogynist,” you point out as you cross your arms, unintentionally making your cleavage more noticeable.

For a moment, you catch Negan’s gaze flickering downward before snapping back up to your eyes, his face strained. 

His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes briefly closing in frustration as he fights to maintain his composure. “Fuck, can you just…” Negan gestures vaguely at you “Cover up or something?”.

Without waiting for an answer, Negan turns away, running a hand through his dark locks. 

You let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” you say flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

He mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. With a dramatic huff, he whips off his leather jacket. “Of course you didn’t. On top of everything else, you want to get hypothermia too” His voice drips with exasperation.

Negan turns back to you, holding out the jacket, his eyes briefly look to your chest again before quickly darting back to your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You catch the slight pause, the way his gaze betrays him, but you choose not to acknowledge it— at least, not directly. You stare him down, not hiding the smirk plastered on your face. Then, in one swift movement, he practically hurls the jacket at you. 

“Here,” he says, the word a little too resigned.

Instinctively, you catch the jacket, but you don’t put it on. Instead, you hold it in your arms, letting it drape over them as you roll your eyes at his comments. 

“I’m not some delicate little flower,” you tease, your smirk becoming playful “maybe I like it rough”.

The words slip out without thinking, a little too flippantly, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Maybe those two drinks were enough to get you tipsy after all.

Negan’s eyes narrow at you and you can see the gears turning in his head. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe disbelief, but before he can say anything, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

He steps closer, his imposing frame shadowing you as he leans in. “Damn, you’re something else,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the overwhelming presence he has, but for the first time tonight, you feel a small shiver run up your spine. 

“Rough, huh?” His words are like a threat, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, and suddenly, he has a firm grip on your hair, tugging it just enough to pull your head back. 

“Ow! Negan!!” You whine, your voice a mix of surprise and irritation. Good job at proving you like it rough.

He loosens his grip, but his fingers stay tangled in your hair, holding you captive in his gaze. He stares down at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You think I don’t notice how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost possessive “But this? Telling me you like it rough? Tsk, tsk, tsk”. 

Your heart skips a beat at the admission, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. The words settle in your chest, warm and electric, and for a split second, everything else fades away. 

Negan thinks you’re gorgeous. 

You can barely process it but you don’t get a chance to let the moment settle. His fingers tighten in your hair again, this time with purpose. 

“There’s a difference,” he growls, his voice rougher now, “between making eyes at some random guy at a bar and teasing a man who actually knows what to do with you”.

You swallow hard. His grip on you, the way he towers over you, his scent— all of it feels like a pressure you can’t escape. You can barely breathe.

“And you…” You pause, testing the waters “You know what to do with me?”.

And then, possibly the most un-hot thing happens. A toilet flushes. The sound is loud and sudden, causing you both to freeze. It comes from one of the stalls at the end of the room and it’s quickly followed by the drunken shuffling of feet and a zipping noise. 

Without a word, you and Negan lock eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between you in that single, charged moment. 

“Shit,” Negan mutters under his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair, but now pulling you toward the nearest empty cubicle with urgency. 

“Ouch!” you whisper, batting at his hand and making him untangle his hand from your hair. You barely have time to shoot him a glare before he’s guiding you into the small space, his body close behind you.

Just as the cubicle at the end of the room unlocks, the lock to your cramped cubicle slots into place with a soft click.

For a moment, you both hold your breath. You’re pressed together in the cramped space, his chest against your back, your bodies flush together.

You hear the drunken patron stumble, mumbling something unintelligible as they turn on one of the taps and start washing their hands. You both hold still, waiting for the heavy footsteps to move away. Negan holds you against him, one hand on your waist to keep you close. 

Although that’s not the only thing that’s touching you. 

It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable press of his semi-erect cock nestling against the curve of your ass. It feels firm yet pliant, a promise of things to come. 

Turning your head just enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. He doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy zoning into some spot in the stall door as he listens intently to the patron outside.

His brow furrows just slightly, the lines on his forehead deepening as he focuses. You can tell he's strategizing, weighing up different excuses in case he’s caught in the ladies room. Negan’s lips are pressed together, a slight tension around them, but it's not a scowl. 

Deciding you want some attention, you press your ass back slightly. You hear a grunt.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” he huffs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he looks down.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the drunk go on their way, their footsteps slowly fading as they stagger out of the bathroom. The door swings shut with a final, echoing creak. 

As if to prove his point, Negan moves his hips forward, forcing his erection against your ass. He’s harder than you thought and you shudder at the mere size of the thing in his pants. 

He makes a quiet, pleased sound against your ear as his hand trails up your waist, teasing passing the side of your breast before settling on the back of your neck. 

“Fuck, you're responsive…” He pulls back slightly, making sure you can still feel him.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask softly.

He chuckles, his voice low and husky. “It's a dangerous thing, darlin,” he squeezes your neck teasingly “Nothing good ever comes from being too responsive... unless you're trying to drive a man wild”.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m trying to do” you push back against him again, this time bending your body slightly to really accentuate your ass.

Except all that does is encourage your dress to ride up your thighs again, stopping just before your ass. Grabbing his leather jacket from your arms, Negan tosses it up on the stall door before moving to your thighs.

Negan isn’t a one to waste time, especially when it comes to taking advantage of certain situations. Bringing both hands down to your thighs, he helps you dress by tugging it up in one swift movement. You let out a gasp as the cool, thankfully air conditioned bathroom making the skin on your ass get goosebumps.

“Negan! I-“ you move to turn away so he can’t see your ass but Negan’s one step ahead this time.

 Looping an arm around your torso, he makes sure you keep the squirming to a minimum. With his other hand, he brings it down between your legs and presses a finger against your panties.

He holds you in place, bent at the hips and ass against his crotch. You can feel the dampness of your panties against your heat. The wetness seeps into the fabric, making it stick to the lips of your pussy. 

“Fuck me, you are soaked!” with no qualms about modesty, Negan swipes the tacky panties to the side and gets a feel of your folds himself. 

You stop a moan from escaping, not wanting to be too eager. "Goddamn, you're a sticky little mess, ain't ya? All wet and sloppy, just fucking dripping” he teases your hole, momentarily pressing a finger to it but never dipping inside.

Hoping to gain some control, you go to stand up straight. The thoughts of looking into his eyes as he fingers you is more appealing than your view being the wall of a bathroom stall.

But Negan isn’t as fond of the idea. The arm looped around you quickly makes its way to your back, forcing you to stay bent. You let out a scoff as the side of your face smushes against the wall. 

“Negan, what the fuck?” You whine, blindly throwing one of your arms back at him “If you’re gonna finger me, at least let me enjoy it!”.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabs your arm and presses it against your back, restraining you before he continues his exploration of your pussy “I get to decide how the fuck we do this”.

You quieten down when you feel a finger trace your folds, spreading your wetness around. “You this much of a slut for every guy or am I just lucky?” He asks, chuckling at his own thoughts “Your friends were cheering like this is a usual thing for you”.

Before you can reply, Negan plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, his thumb grinding against your clit. “I— ah!” You mewl, trying to give a coherent response “N-no, never!”.

Negan picks up his pace, loving how you give in, basically slumping against the wall. “See, doll, I want to believe you. I mean, I don’t know that many sluts that get this fucking wet from just a little grinding… it’s shameful, really” he curls his fingers to hit the perfect spot, making your squirm.

“But in saying that,” Negan continues, his breath hitting against your neck as he leans closer “I don’t know that many modest gals that wear something like this”. 

Deciding you know better than to repeat your mistake and move again, Negan takes his hand off your back and paws at your chest instead. But in true Negan fashion, he needs to up his antics.

Tugging down the low cut neckline of your dress, you hear a ripping noise as he pulls at the fabric and forces it down past your bra.

“Huh… surprised your modest enough to wear a bra” he comments, quickly rectifying the situation. Without warning, Negan roughly shoves the bra cups up, freeing your tits completely. "Fuck, look at these," he growls, appreciating the sight of your breasts spilling out. 

The fingers he has working your hole pause and retreat, much to your disappointment. You take the opportunity to turn around to face him, starting to feeling a crick in your neck from being smushed up by the wall.

“Asshole, you tore my dress“ your voice is laced with frustration, although that may be from how much you want him to stop teasing and fuck you already. 

With an amused scoff, Negan goes to hold up his hands in surrender. His fingers glisten with your juices. “I’m trying to be a gentlemen here, doll” he chuckles as he defends himself.

You fight the urge to cover yourself, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He wants to see that shy side, to see you blush and get flustered. 

You glare at him instead “How is this being a gentleman?”.

“Well, I coulda just ripped it clean off, but I left ya some dignity,” Negan smirks, crowding you again. You’re left no choice but to back into the wall, holding your glare as you look up at him.

“And I've fingered ya before fucking ya which is pretty damn noble” he adds, seeing you battle between staying annoyed and wanting to blush. You open your mouth to complain but a loud moan comes out instead as Negan pinches one of your nipples.

He thumbs your hard nipples, chuckling as they perk up even more under his touch. “Damn, always knew you’d have a good pair on ya," he muses “fuckin’ perfect”.

Negan doesn't hesitate, leaning down to engulf one nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud as he kneads the other breast roughly. Groaning around your nipple, he switches to the other, assaulting it with the same fervent enthusiasm. 

With a grunt, Negan grabs your thighs and hoists you up, pinning you against the wall with his muscular body. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms going around his shoulders.

Negan grinds his still clothed cock against your bare pussy, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. 

The rough denim of his pants provides no comfort, each thrust of his hips pressing his erection directly against your sensitive clit. "You feel that?" He asks against your tit “Want you to beg for it, gotta hear ya saying it”.

You have no hesitation. There is no reluctance to beg for him, not when you’re this close to getting what you thought would always be a wet dream. 

"Please, Negan, I need it!" you beg, your hips bucking against his pants in desperate attempts to get friction. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to fuck me in my bedroom o-or on the dinner table! Fuck, anywhere! I don’t care!”.

That seems to convince him. Reaching down and fumbling with his jeans, Negan has his cock out in record time. He grips the base, stroking it a few times as he lines it up with your soaked pussy. 

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, the tip barely peeking out from between your folds. Negan slowly eases in, allowing you to adjust to his massive size. 

You writhe and moan against him, trying to keep your body relaxed as he enters you. Trying your best to keep eye contact, you let out a string of whimpers as he fills you completely. 

"Damn, I actually fit," he says, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. Negan pulls out carefully, as if testing the waters before plunging back into your needy pussy with vigor.

"Holy fuck, even tighter than I imagined. Built for my dick, aren't you?" he grunts, starting to fuck you hard.

Each brutal thrust of his hips drives his thick cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you wide open. "Fuck, you're so tight it feels like my dick is splitting you in half. Love it. Fucking love it" Negan rambles on and grabs your thighs, spreading them as wide as he can.

"Fuck, Negan... you're so..." you try to speak "ah!”. It’s all too much in the best way possible. That delicious ache of being so thoroughly penetrated, the feeling of absolute fullness with each deep thrust.

"More... fuck me more..." your hips arch up to meet his thrusts, trying to keep up.

Negan angles his hips upwards, hitting that spot inside you over and over as he pounds into you. "Look at me," He growls, "Look at me while I break you in half with my dick. You like that? You like feeling so stuffed?"

“I-I've never been this full before…” you say with teary eyes.

Negan notices your body tensing and shuddering beneath him, your pussy walls starting to flutter wildly around his thick cock. "Holy shit, there it is... Your cunt's squeezin' me like a fuckin' vice. You gonna cum on my dick?".

The pressure is building to an unbearable point, your entire body trembling as your orgasm approaches. Your mind goes blank, unable to answer his question as he hits that perfect spot.

Just as your orgasm hits, Negan feels your pussy clamp down around him like a silken fist. "Holy fuck..." you gasp, back arching as pure pleasure courses through your veins. 

Your entire body quakes, inner muscles milking his cock as you ride out your intense orgasm. You dig your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Negan grunts, fucking you through your intense orgasm with deep, deliberate strokes. He can feel your pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, coating him in your slick arousal. As the last waves shudder through you, he finally pulls out, his cock glistening with in the light.

He lets you stand for a moment but you legs are so wobbly, it’s difficult to support your weight after that intense orgasm.

Before you can even catch your breath, Negan grabs your shoulder roughly and forces you onto your knees. Your body complies in an instant, unable to fight against such force.

Your knees ache as they hit the bathroom floor but that’s the least of your concerns. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted as you anticipate him coming all over your face.

"Fuckin' hell, such a pretty face..." He strokes his throbbing cock with his fist, ready to explode.

But instead of aiming for your face, Negan aims his cock at your chest, unleashing a thick, hot load of cum all over your tits. He groans loudly as he paints your breasts with his seed, the warm liquid dripping down between your cleavage and seeping into the fabric of your dress.  

“Next time you’re either swallowing it or you’re getting a facial courtesy of yours truly” he informs you, although the only piece of information you truly savor from that is ‘next time’.

Doing the gentlemanly thing, he grabs some tissue from the toilet paper dispenser and hands it to you. You dab at your chest, knowing the dress is a lost cause and will probably have to be thrown out later. 

“Help me up?” You ask, somewhat shyly once you’re done.

Taking your arm in a much more gentle grip than before, Negan helps you up, subtly looking over your chest to make sure you’ve wiped off all of him. “You feeling alright?” he asks lowly, as if remembering the public place you’re both in. 

You blink, giving yourself a moment to calm, your body still humming with the aftermath. “That was…” you pause, collecting your thoughts, “...wow.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he slips his leather jacket off the stall door. “Well, that’s a better response than I expected,” he says with a smirk, draping the jacket around your shoulders and gently guiding your arms into the sleeves. Without a word about how the jacket nearly swallows you whole, he zips it up, pulling it snug to cover your chest. 

This is a completely different side to the Negan you’ve seen tonight. This is the Negan that gives you a small, reassuring smile after your parents throw some off handed insult your way. 

The two of you stand close, your breaths mingling. Slowly, the space between your faces narrows, as if drawn by some unspoken pull. You gently tilt your head, just enough to bring your lips into alignment with his. 

The kiss is a tender brush. Featherlight and hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss you’d expect before going at it like a bunch of animals… not afterwards.

The kiss lingers, still tasting of warmth and something unspoken. Pulling back just enough to rest your forehead against his, you can feel the soft touch of his lips still tingling on yours. You mutter against his lips, almost sheepishly “Can you drop me home?”.

His lips curl into a quiet smile, a slight glint in his eyes as he nods. “Considering I didn’t get to finish my first glass of whiskey, yeah I should be good,” Negan gives you a playful look.

Unable to help yourself, you give him a small smile. It’s not as seductive or teasing as the ones you have given him previously. In all honestly, it feels like Negan has fucked the seductiveness out of you– if that’s even possible.  

“... So this wasn’t some drunken mistake?” you ask coyly. 

Negan wraps an arm around your shoulders as he unlocks the stall door and carefully guides you out. ”Wear a dress like that the next time I’m at your parents for dinner and you’ll find out” he replies with a smirk. 

Besides his tousled hair, Negan still looks fine. He’s not dishevelled or out of breath or having trouble walking… all things you attribute to yourself.

Negan notices your state too, keeping his arm around you as you subtly leave the bathrooms and head for the exit. If it’s even possible, Negan pulls you closer, guiding you out like a drunk that’s had one too many. His presence is possessive in the gentlest of ways.

You give your friends a knowing look as you both leave, one that says you’ll explain everything later.

The sound of drunken chattering and laughter fades as you step out into the night, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the parking lot. 

When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours as you slide into the seat.  A few moments later, Negan slides into the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life. 

The car doesn’t even get out of the parking lot before Negan’s hand finds yours. The ride home is quiet. He doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence between you feels relaxed.

Every now and then, his thumb gently brushes across the back of your hand like a quiet reassurance. He doesn’t mention the contact, simply letting it linger. 

 The soft, rhythmic motion of the car becomes like a lullaby and with every mile, the weight of the night lifts just a little more. Every so often, you glance over at him, his face relaxed. When your eyes meet, he offers a smile and you sleepily return it.

Negan doesn’t pull up directly outside your house. Strategically stopping his car a little down the street, he sighs.

“Hate to say it but I’ll need that jacket back,” he gives you a once over, as if to memorize what his leather jacket looks like on you.

Fiddling with the zipper, you mumble “So I’m supposed to walk in there with a ripped up dress?”.

He laughs at that, shaking his head before reaching into the backseat. “Here, I know it’s dirty but it’s the best I can offer,” Negan hands you a sweatshirt. 

The sweatshirt is faded, its fabric softened from years of use. The sleeves are slightly frayed at the cuffs and a few small holes hint at its age. On the front, several dark oil stains mark where hands have wiped off grease, probably from Negan when working on his motorbike. 

But most importantly, it smells like him.

As you take off his jacket and put on the sweatshirt instead, Negan gives you some privacy and looks away. “Are you coming in too?” You ask, gently placing his jacket on his lap once you’ve changed.

Taking that as his signal to look, Negan gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not tonight, darlin,” he replies “think Lucille would chop my nuts off with your mom’s fancy silver if I showed my face”.

“You two are fighting that bad?”.

Negan shrugs “Same old, same old”.

You try not to fidget with the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt, not wanting to pick at it right in front of him. 

“And… this?” You focus your attention at simply inspecting the sleeves instead of picking at them “I mean, I know you said it wasn’t a drunken mistake but still… I get it if you wanna pretend like it never happened”.

As much as you wanted quick reassurance, you’re met with silence. 

Negan leans back in his seat, taking his eyes away from yours and looking at the street. Up ahead, he can see the porch light on to your parents house. Although, he doubts Lucille will be leaving anytime soon. She’ll probably stay late, try to wait it out until Negan has drank himself silly and fallen asleep.

“Tonight shouldn’t have happened,” he says with little emotion “It ain’t right. I know it. You know it. Hell, anyone in a ten mile radius would call me all sorts of names if they knew about it…  fucking your friend’s daughter is a whole mess”.

You stay quiet, unsure whether you should just get out now.

“But shit, if you wanted to suck my dick right now, I wouldn’t say no,” he chuckles “it’s a fucked up thing to say but I wouldn’t mind something like this happening again”.

That puts a smile back on your face. Getting ready to leave, you say “Maybe if you come to dinner next time, I will suck your dick”.

Negan watches you with narrowed eyes. Of course you’d be able to make his dick twitch again, making him feel like a teenager that could get it up over and over again. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns as you get out.

“Good,” you hop out of the car, giving him one last flirtatious smirk before going “I hope you do”.

Closing the door, you strut along the pavement, your heels clicking as you go to your house. Walking has never seemed so hard, not only because of your shoe choice but from the aching in your gut and your legs wobbling more than you’d like to admit. 

Still, you try to do your best to walk straight, knowing Negan is watching. 

When you get to the front door, you give Negan one last glance before disappearing inside. He wait a few moments before starting up his car and leaving. 

The first thing you hear is a chorus of polite laughter from the dining room. Great, looks like they’re still in the midst of dinner. Before you have a chance to debate if you could get upstairs without them hearing, you hear your father call out your name.

“Is that you?” He calls out.

Reluctantly, you walk in, lingering by the doorway. Your parents to turn in their dining chairs to face you. Whereas Lucille has you right in her line of view. She offers you a gracious smile as you enter.

“I thought you were staying at Lydia’s tonight,” you mom says, eyeing your sweatshirt and what appears to be a skirt. Thankfully she doesn’t comment on how short it is.

“Eh, Lydia talked things out with her boyfriend so they’re back together again,” you lie casually “you know how they are; fight, break up and make up”.

Lucille casts her gaze down slightly, as if your words hit a little too close to home for her. You shift uncomfortably. 

“There’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry” your mom says, blissfully unaware.

“I’m ok,” you give her a smile “I think I might just shower and head to bed early”.

“Alright,” she already waves you off, turning back in her seat “if you’re sure”.

You don’t linger, giving them a polite nod before leaving. It’s only when you turn to leave does Lucille look at you again. 

She’s never believed in coincidences. And she’s never believed you to be into repairing cars. She knows the faint stains on your sweatshirt, mainly because she’s the one who spent hours trying to scrub them out… only for Negan to reward her with new stains on the damn thing. 

Nodding along with whatever it is your father is saying, Lucille’s mind strays further and further from the dinner and to Negan instead. 

Something’s happened. What exactly, she’s not sure. But you’re involved and so is her damned husband.

—————

A/N: thought I’d put in a quick note just to say thanks for reading and apologies for disappearing all month! My family almost got scammed out of 11k (it was insane) but!! More importantly!! I got seriously bad writers block so apologies if this fic is a little choppy, I’m still getting back into my stride!!

[twdxtrevor]

I'm usually not the type to say this . . but I'd absolutely call him daddy -

[imyourbratzdoll]

Could I request a Negan fic where he reassures a plus-size reader that she's sexy and desirable? Preferably with smut if possible! If not, that's understandable as well! Thank you either way for your time!!

of course you can💗

summary - with all these women wanting negan’s attention, you begin to feel like he could do better.

warning - self hate, self doubt, slight jealousy, swearing, smut, zombies, daddy kink, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn’t mine, divider by @newlips.

Another day went on and you watched another survivor flaunt themselves in front of Negan, hoping to gain his attention. You pushed your seat back and left the room in a hurry, not wanting to watch anymore.

You decide to take a shower, feeling dirty and in need of some thinking time. You don’t hear Negan enter the room, leaning against the doorway, neither do you notice him when you step out and look at yourself in the mirror, slowly tracing your fingers over the places you hate.

“Why’re you looking at my body like that?” You jump, letting out a squeak, whipping your head around to look at him. Negan’s brow raises, “I’m waiting, Sugar.”

“Is not your body…” You grumble, mumbling under your breath.

He smirks, pushing off the doorway and stalking towards you, cornering you into the bathroom counter. “The fuck you say to me, Sugar? You are mine, meaning this body is mine and I don’t appreciate how you are looking at it.” Your thighs clench together as he practically growls. “Now tell me.”

“…I don’t know why you want me, I’ll understand if you want the others.” You felt so exposed and aroused with Negan pressed against you.

“Where the shit did this come from, Sweetheart?” He grips your chin in his hand making you look at him. “You think I want them? Do you know how long it took me to get you, Sweetness? So fucking long and I ain’t giving that up for some easy lay.”

“I’m yours.” He spins you around, pressing harder into you, still holding your chin as he makes you look at yourself in the mirror. “Ya see what I see? A fucking goddess, look at these fucking tits.” You whimper when he grabs them, squeezing and jiggling them. “My god, these tits are in my fucking dreams. All I can think bout is suffocating myself in them or shoving my dick between them, making you watch as I fuck them.”

“Negan…”

“Shut up. You’re gonna listen to me and then I’m gonna fuck you.” He groans, reaching back and grabbing your arse. “This fucking arse. You should know, half the men I’ve killed weren’t cause of the crimes I said. No, I killed them for looking at what’s mine, talking bout you in ways only I can talk about you.” You moan as he continues squeezing and spanking your arse before his hands move again.

“And these thighs, fuck. Love when you suffocate me with them or wrap them around me as I fuck you. Get so fucking hard when you walk, talk, breathe. Fucking everything you do gets me hard.”

His hands skim your stomach. “Love me a full woman. There’s just something so comforting and homey about one. Ya feel like home, Sugar.” Negan nuzzles his face into your neck, causing tingles to spread as his beard rubs against you.

You moan when he slides into you, you didn’t even know he had taken his cock out. “Now, this cunt. My favourite fucking thing, it’s like Christmas morning every time I slide inside or taste it. You’re my fucking present, baby. Fuck, always feel so fucking tight.” He grips your chin, turning your head and placing a kiss on your lips. “You want me to fuck you in front of everyone, baby? Might have to leave a mark on you so they know you’re mine. Better yet, you leave one on me.”

You clench around him, gripping the bathroom counter as he fucks into you harder and faster, gripping your hips with a bruising grip. Your eyes connect with his in the reflection causing you to squeeze him even tighter. “N—Neg—!”

His hand comes down on your arse hard. “That’s not my name, Sugar. C’mon, what’s my name?” He growls, pounding deeper.

“Daddy!” You scream, cumming so hard your eyes roll back and vision becomes white.

“That’s my girl.” He buries deep into you, filling you up. Negan spins you without pulling out, causing you to face him. “C’mon, mark me, Sugar.”

Your brows furrow.

Negan raises his. “I’m serious, Sweets.” He leans down and moans as you latch onto his neck, sucking, nipping and licking. Pulling back to reveal a large hickey. “Good girl.”

After that, everyone knew he was yours.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[jdms-flat-ass]

The feminine urge to marinate his dick down my throat 🗣️

[xrequiemm]

Regan enjoyers rise

[1427]

would you? (pt. 2)

Negan x Reader

Summary: Your mom died when you were 15, your Aunt Lucille was given custody even though she was battling cancer. When the world gets upended and Lucille dies, Negan is all you have, but he isn’t cut out to be a parent. When he becomes the leader of the Saviors and takes residence in the Sanctuary he’s almost a stranger. No one wants anything to do with you because you’re Negan’s “daughter”. So when you confront Negan about needing company, he obliges. You don’t realize that the feelings you’re developing are inappropriate, but Negan does.

Setting: Height of the Saviors era Sanctuary, Negan’s bedroom. 

Warnings: SMUT, age-gap (reader is 18, Negan is early/mid 40’s), virgin!reader, manipulation, guardian!negan (technically it’s Uncle!Negan and it IS mentioned explicitly), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, stocking!kink, innocence/corruption!kink, reader is described several times as a doll/toy, read at your own risk ok

Word count: 3.3k

A/n: uhm, my heart was racing the entire time I was writing this please read at your own risk fr

// Part 1 //

masterlist

18+ mdni

I was just bending over to grab my pencil, coach. 

For a while, you don’t bring up what happened that night. Going to lunch like everything’s normal. Negan is even more disturbed by this than he was by your innocent flirting. You don’t bring it up, but you’re different. Reminding him of some of his former students. The girls with obvious crushes - ones they were trying to hide but actively weren’t. They’d do things that could easily be explained away. 

Sorry, I only packed these shorts today. I didn’t realize they were against dress code. 

It was easy to not look then, to hardly be affected by silly teenage girls who had no idea what they were doing. He could go to the teachers lounge and flirt with the TA’s if he was really looking for someone younger. But younger isn’t necessarily what Negan liked. ‘Innocent’ wasn’t something he thought he could get into. But with you? He had all control, every single aspect of your life was in his hands - and he knows he fucked up. He knows he fucked you up… but he’d gone and fucked himself up too. Finding himself wanting to teach you everything. So caught up in the knowledge of how bad you want him makes him feel like a king - moreso than any amount of wives. You only wanted him. You only knew him.

Oblivious to Negan’s dirty secret and because he’d threatened to stop seeing you if you continued this flirting behavior you stick with subtle stuff. Wearing even lower cut shirts, mini-skirts and stockings. And sure, the stockings had holes in them. But Negan liked that even more than if they hadn’t. It let him imagine you weren’t this pristine untouched thing. He wasn’t sure which was worse; fantasizing about you as this perfect little doll that’s never been held by anyone, that doesn’t know anything about a man’s body or as this thing he’d corrupted. Giving you romance novels? What an amateur mistake on a colossal scale. 

When you started wearing skirts he could smell you. Your wet cunt, sweet and unmistakable, every single time you walked into his bedroom for lunch. He tries to ignore it, tells the kitchen to make more pungent food, wears cologne, but it doesn’t matter - he could pick your scent out of a line-up of the undead, having had weeks to memorize it. 

Negan’s cologne only makes you more wet for him. You can barely make it through lunch anymore. Trying your best to keep up with the conversation that you’re almost positive he’s phoning in as well, but it’s not easy when all you can think about is him stuffing you full on the bed that sits a dozen feet away. You’re desperate to make a move and terrified that any move you make will disrupt everything. 

You scour your books for some kind of clue on what to do next, how to make it impossible for him to say no - but there’s no obvious answer. With no experience to tell you that Negan was losing his goddamn mind waiting for you to make a move or proposition so that he could oblige it. 

He gets sick of waiting. Sick of drinking down his disgust with himself. It only makes the fantasies more vivid. Almost tangible and right there. All he really had to do? Touch you. And he knows it. 

He’d stopped getting you gifts and novels after that night, but today? Today he had something real fuckin’ special. 

You’re sitting across from him eating… only desserts? Weird choice, but still delicious. “What’s the occasion?” You ask, taking a bite of the strawberry shortcake set out in front of you. 

“Do I need a special occasion to treat my favorite girl?” He says it so casually, but he’s never said anything like that to you before. 

“Okay,” you breathe out a chuckle, “who are you and what have you done with my uncle?” 

“Woah now, ‘Uncle’?” The title made him visibly uncomfortable, but not because he didn’t like it. He was too far gone with you, and now anything that made it more taboo just spurred his hunger further. 

You breathe in deeply, as if you’d just confessed to something. Simply put, you had. He knows how bad you want it. He can smell it on you, and you didn’t care he was your family. Not even just your almost supposed ‘guardian’, no. You saw him as your uncle and you still wanted it. Bad. “Yeah, you are my uncle, aren’t you?” 

“That makes you my niece.” He says it like it’s news. Not understanding that he’s trying to gauge your reaction. 

For some reason, it makes your heart pound. Your ears get hot, and that same smile you’d tried to will away that night he’d forced a confession out of you (in the form of a moan at his touch) blossoms on your face. Pink cheeked and starry eyed, “It does,” you nod, you really don’t know any better, “Anyway, what’s all this about?” 

Negan scrambles for an answer that isn’t the one he can’t say out loud, “Missed your birthday, wanted to… make it up to you.” His voice is low, droning, and it makes you shift in your seat, crossing your legs. Negan notices and smirks at your body giving you away. You’re so easy. 

“Oh… thanks.” You take another bite of the shortcake before moving your fork to his plate to take a bite of chocolate cake. He lets you, he’s been letting you get away with so much more disrespect than he’d ever allow from anyone else. Telling himself that no teenager shouldn’t be getting away with little stuff like that, but really it’s because he likes it. He wishes you would take more control, and just ask him already. He’d wished for weeks that you would press yourself up against him like you had before he’d made you aware of your own feelings for him. And he hates that he told you that you weren’t allowed. That it was wrong. Because it is, but he doesn’t care anymore. 

He’s sick of waiting for you to understand how to make a move, “I got you a little something too.”

It’s almost unbelievable that he’d gotten this for you. One of the saviors had tried to smuggle it to keep for himself, and once Negan saw it… he couldn’t think of something better for you. “Now close your eyes,” he purrs. 

You slam your eyes shut and put out your hands eager to receive another gift. Feeling a hard plastic case being slipped into your fingers, “Now open them.” 

It was a… you had no idea. Looking up at him in confusion you’re met with a look of complete and total satisfaction from Negan. Smiling wide at your reaction. “What is it?” You whisper, smiling back. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll show you.” And he winks. He fucking winks. You’re a mess. You’re putty. You have no idea what this little pink egg shaped thing is, enclosed in the plastic balanced in your hands, but you know it’s something… different. He can tell you still have no clue what it is, what it’s for, but he sits and waits for your thanks. 

You can feel it, your legs tremble as you’re about to stand up but you stop yourself. You’re not supposed to flirt with him. And he told you that that’s what hugging him is. At least when you do it. You look to him, chewing on your lip, you want to feel him pressed against you so bad it’s making your knee bounce in anxious anticipation. You think about the fact that if you were hugging him you’d be able to smell his cologne even stronger, maybe you could even get away with kissing him on the cheek. After all, you could just blame it on the gift again. 

He’s just sitting there, leaned back in his chair, staring toward the window. It would be so easy to just… you get up and crash down into his lap. Draping your arms around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck like you always do. This time is different, like everything else has been different since that night. You can’t will yourself to move. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze travels upward. All you can see is his neck, his chin still pointed away like he’s trying to hold himself together. You feel a guilt creeping into your periphery but it’s drowned out by the heat between your legs. Without even realizing you’re doing it, you plant your lips on his neck. 

He’s quick to react, his hand coming to grip your thigh just as instinctually as you had kissed him. Negan is sick of waiting, he was not built for this. “Do you want me to show you how to use your gift?” 

You’re melting, all your senses dizzy with his hand so firmly on your leg. Feeling his calloused palm through the tears in your stockings, your skin prickles. He puts his one arm underneath your legs and the other under your arms and picks you up, placing you gently back down in his chair. The suspense courses through you, tightening and moving to your limbs. The personification and embodiment of an exclamation point, you’re trembling as he stalks around the room. Taking the still unopened gift off of the table, you hear the click of the knife from behind you as he paces. He’s cutting into it as he leans down and breathes in your ear, “If you want me to stop, you tell me to stop, okay?” 

You nod in response, trying to swallow the knot in your throat.  He keeps talking, walking around to face you again as he gets the small mysterious device free from its packaging. “I fucked up with you,” you can tell he’s going to start monologuing like he always does, building up the anticipation you already can’t take. Your hands pulling at the hem of your skirt because you don’t know what else to do with them. “I want you to know that I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve really really fucked up your pretty little head.” As he speaks he moves back around behind you. Cheeks flushing at the compliment. He’d called you pretty. 

“But don’t worry, kid,” his voice in your ear feels like his stubble beneath your lips that you’ve imagined so many times, “I’m gonna fix you right up.”

His hand glides down your chest from above you and your body dramatically arches into his touch. Shivering as he moves his way down to one leg, pulling on your stocking to maneuver the limb onto the arm-rest. He does the same with the other, as if you’re some doll he’s positioning. You’re putty, not a single ounce of resistance inside of you. He moves his hand to lift up your skirt, letting it fall to your stomach. Unable to look at yourself in such a provocative position you close your eyes. 

“Holy shit, girl.” Negan’s smile devours him as he takes it all in. You’re not wearing underwear underneath your stockings, something he was absolutely not expecting. Your pretty pussy all smashed up against the mesh, your juices seeping through. In the light it almost sparkles. He’s never seen a damn thing like it. He hadn’t even done anything yet, and you were a shaking mess in his chair. Waiting so patiently for him to fix you. 

He had planned on putting the little vibrator against the fabric of your panties and stockings, and while he still could… he can’t stop himself from putting his warm hand between your legs instead. He doesn’t want to stop himself, he wasn’t built for that. Fuck the piece of shit vibrator and fuck all of his stupid fucking plans to take this slow. No, he knows what you really need. Him. 

His big hand comes to rest on top of your mound, pressing his fingers flat against the wet fabric of your stockings hard. The pressure.. the warmth.. your hands immediately shoot up from your sides grabbing his forearm as you gasp at the feeling. Pulling yourself even more flush against him, any piece of him you can get. 

You’re shaking, Negan can’t think straight. All plans out the window, that smell, he needs to taste you. He rubs his whole hand, all four warm fingers, against the sopping fabric in circles for only a few seconds before bringing his hand up to his nose and taking a deep breath in of your scent. (He won’t lick you from his fingers, that’s somehow beneath him.)

You whimper under his touch and whine when he pulls away, but you don’t move other than to put your arms flat against the armrests of the chair. He was going to fix you, right? So you submit, not really even understanding how to react to any of this. 

His dick is so hard against the fabric of his pants that it hurts. He tries to readjust, but it only makes him groan. Your neck cranes at the noise, but before you can get a look he’s in front of you, pulling up on the mesh directly above your heat, taking the knife he’d still been holding and cutting into it. The sound of the stockings tearing only makes Negan’s dick harder, revealing your glistening cunt like unwrapping a fucking present. Just for him, all for him. He did this… all of it. 

He rips the fabric more before pulling your hips closer to the edge of the chair and kneeling down on one knee. His face buries against you with a haste you weren’t expecting, your body shooting up at the feeling. So sharp and too much, you squirm against his tongue but he keeps you still. Growling into your cunt, “I said I’m going to take care of you, doll, so you have to let me.  Stop. Moving. Just…” his tone softens, and he kisses you sweetly on your hood, “relax.” 

Negan dives back in more gently this time, taking in the taste of you slowly. Drinking from you, he’s never tasted anything so sweet. So pristine. His tongue swathing in large laps against your lips, you’re trying your best to relax but your orgasm builds faster than you can tolerate. It felt like fucking magic, filling you with stars that buzzed all the colors of the rainbow. He flicks his tongue between your folds, directly onto that spot and your orgasm shoots through you like a bullet. From your core to the top of your head, no orgasm you’d ever had had felt like that. It left you wanting, it wasn’t enough. Your walls pulsate, gushing thick white perfect ecstasy into Negan’s mouth. He snickers against you, his nose resting gently on your still quivering clit. 

He doesn’t want to wait - picking you up like you weigh absolutely nothing, bringing you and your dizzy head to lay gently on his satin sheets. Bliss; and yet, you yearned. 

Inside. 

Your whole body shouting, the personification and embodiment of a fucking exclamation point. His belt clacks against your sensitive folds as he races to get himself inside.

And then, all of a sudden and just like that - you’re whole. His lips smashing into yours in a desperate need to claim every part of you. 

When he’d imagined it in his head you were naked, all skin and blush and like sweet honey coating his senses. It was all different, but he didn’t mind you like this. Clothing soaked with sweat and your own sweet nectar; he felt like he was in high school and he’s taking your virginity underneath the bleachers. All limbs and throbbing need and no time, no breath to waste.

 He kisses you deep and rough until you can’t breathe and you pull away, still adjusting to his size which you imagine is large from the discomfort inside of you, snaring itself into your vision like white flashes of electricity.

His first few labored thrusts hurt like you imagined it would, though it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. The burn of your walls stretching over him makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat, “That’s a good girl,” he purrs in your ear as he pulls out and slams into you harder. Tears sting your eyes as you nod into his shoulder, silently willing him to keep going. Don’t stop. He couldn’t stop even if you’d asked him too, your pussy is too wet, too hungry and swallowing him whole. He knows what you need, he can tell, even if you couldn’t. You need this. 

Negan is seeing fucking stars, your hole stretching so perfectly around him like it never needed anything more, “Fu-uck,” he’s not going to last 5 minutes. He leans back, taking your hips and pulling them off of the bed to stay attached to his while he fucks you like that. Your shoulders still down against the bed, you’d never read about a position like this and it hurts but you like it. Your eyes traveling down his body as he buries himself slowly into you. All the way to the hilt, and that’s when you see it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, causing him to look down and see what was going on but he had already pulled back. 

“Hm?” His tone is amused. 

“Do it again,” you whine. He smirks a brilliant flash of white teeth, before his face completely falters at the sight when he presses himself all the way into you again. Both of your eyes wide as the outline of his cock protrudes from your belly. 

“Jesus,” his voice is loud, it seems to vibrate your brain against your skull. He draws himself out of you and shoves back in - more unceremoniously than previous. He’d been trying his best to not hurt you, to take it as slow as he could manage; but seeing his hard length poke out of your body was too divine, way too fucking hot for him to not lose any semblance of control he’d had. 

Negan drowns you out, your loud screams, your hands clawing at his forearms, as he rails into you. Eyes fixed on your stomach as he watches; he doesn’t even realize you’re cumming until your hips shake violently in his grip. Your walls clench so tight his cock is pushed out. Negan clicks his tongue, as if you’d done something wrong. Moving himself in position back on top of you, his elbows coming to rest above your shoulders, his whole being swallowing you up. Your arms and legs wrap around him to try and still your shaking body as he ruts up and into you like a wild animal, his breathing jagged, his movements much less languid. Rough and desperate and all consuming. 

Using your body like a toy to get himself off, he’s hardly paying attention anymore. Grunting curses that you’re trying to memorize through a hazy veil of satisfaction.

He’s. Falling. Apart.  

And it’s wet and hot and so deep inside you that you can feel it in your fucking throat. You scream, loud, as he empties himself inside you.

Quickly, too quickly, he pulls himself out. He wants to watch his seed spill out and onto the gray sheets. You’d said you fucking sucked at painting, but Negan thinks this is the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever fucking seen. His cum dripping out of your freshly and newly used pussy in soft glistening strings to pool underneath of you, the white in stark contrast to the dark fabric is something real fuckin’ special. 

He’s smiling, kneeling above you with his hands on your stockinged knees as he watches between your legs. You’re in another world, on another planet and lost in your senses. It was everything you’d dreamed it’d be. Heaven. 

Negan had every intention on this being a one time thing. After all, hysteria was curable - but as he lays back on the bed to catch his breath he’s already caught dreaming about you in every position, any way he can place you. His perfect little toy, all just for him. Only his. 

[mx-pastelwriting]

Kinktober Day 4: Orgasm Denial

Negan Smith x GN! Reader

Summary: Ignoring Negan's whines to let him cum.

Warnings/Tags: Established Relationships, Smut, Handjob, Begging, Whines

Kinktober Masterlist

Minors do not interact!

Flooded by the noise of Negan's wet cock gliding in and out of your hands, only to quickly stop as his hips begin to buckle. Heavy groans rumbling out of his chest, followed by begs for mercy.

"Baby, please." His raspy call for mercy failed to dampen your greed, only feeding it. Tip and shaft redden from the hour of joyous torment, seeing the powerful man himself tied to the bed pleading, promising anything just to let him cum.

Starting up again, making his body squirm, begging for relief. Leaning in, kissing his stumbled cheek trailing down his sweated neck, earning only a few cursed gasps before the offers started.

"Anything, anything, just say-" But stopping them with a simple thumbed circle around his cock, pushing up against the slit, playing with the fountain of pre-cum. Moans rose in the room again, terrorizing those who walked past, now knowing he was yours.

"Say it. Tell me I'm the only one," your voice velvet to his melted brain, obeying your trade demand.

"You're the only one. You're my fucking favorite." He sputters, hearing the words hiss through his teeth. Hips rising once again only to buckle, alerting you to his high creeping back.

Groans mixed with whines fill the room alongside the rapid sounds of his lubed cock against your hands. Satisfied, finally you worked to make him cum, one hand on his shaft, the other on the head, circling. Hearing all of it be praised with unworldly sounds coming from your Negan.

Feeling his hips thrust up as if it were you wrapped around his cock, hearing as he started to gasp, ready to cum, only for you to take your hand away once again at the last second. Hearing as he pleaded, sounding as if he was going to cry, but little did he know this was just the beginning of the night.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

Kinktober Taglist: @sophieissleepy @reidsbookcase @hoffmanfan13 @madeleinerg @themoonwithprophets @hoffmanfan13 @wh0re4-alexademi @supergingerlocks @lightupsketchersperson @racco0ngirl13 @fran-soup @hope69world @hotchners-wifey @raajali3 @crustyowos @fly-on-the-wall @www-interludeshadow-com @carolb111 @thays0 @theescorpiolovechile @madeleinerg @lokiiified @wonderlandofsilence @chocolqtelle

[abnormal-vacuum]

SORRY FOR THE BREAK TUMBLR NUKED ME!!! BUT IM BACK!!

[chelseypprimrose]

The Boy’s a Liar / bfd!Negan x Reader / no-apocalypse AU 🧟

Warnings: daddy kink, breeding kink, boyfriendsdad!negan, oral (female receiving) use of belt, squirting, swearing, use of degrading names, general Negan ness, voyerism, unprotected sex, reader is a little evil to her boyfriend : NOT PROOFREAD YET

Summary: Reader finds out her boyfriend cheated on her via a Snapchat story, she takes sweet revenge with her boyfriend’s hot as fuck dad.

A/N: I’ve never wrote for breeding kink before so please be kind lol 🤍 I had a lot of fun with this one!

“Fucking waste of my damn time.” You cursed yourself, boys are so stupid. You couldn’t stop watching the Snapchat story of your boyfriend’s best friend, your boyfriend so obviously kissing a woman that wasn’t you. Not a care in the world, disrespecting you and the values you held in a loyal relationship. You didn’t know it this was a common occurrence that you just hadn’t noticed or a drunken one off. Not that it mattered, it was still a betrayal of your trust.

Eyes glossy with tears, you were driving towards your boyfriend’s house that he shared with his father, Negan. You didn’t even have a speech prepared, what you were going to say, if this was the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, your mind was running at a mile a minute.

Pulling into the driveway, you turned off the engine and put your car keys into your handbag, getting out and walking with purpose to the front door, your heels slamming on the concrete floor. You knocked on the door loudly, no answer. You knocked again, your hand shaking with annoyance.

The door finally opened but it wasn’t your boyfriend who stood before you, it was Negan.

“Hey doll, what you doing here so early? I was just making breakfast if you wanted any?” He offered before he took a proper look at your face, noticing the black tears of mascara that ran softly down your face.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up morals you’ve taught your son, Negan, but I thought you were a better man. Obviously I was wrong.” You said with spite, you were letting your feelings be known to anyone who would listen. It was just unfortunate that it was the wrong person to direct your anger towards.

Technically, Negan hadn’t done anything wrong, but he was guilty by association in your current messed up state. You just needed to vent at someone, and Negan was the closest person to your boyfriend.

“Woah, doll? What’s wrong, what’s he done?” Negan moved aside so you could come in, walking towards the kitchen, the smell of fresh bacon and egg filling your nostrils. You placed your handbag on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, your hand playing with your necklace.

“He went out last night and he kissed a girl, I saw it on his friend’s Snapchat.” You managed to get out through a small sob, your eyes filling up with tears again. You couldn’t believe you were crying like this in front of his dad, you felt embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry dollface, I didn’t raise the kid to do shit like that, we are loyal to our women.” Negan sighed, his hand running through his salt and pepper beard, trying to find the words to make the pain in your heart go away. His eyes watched you as you grabbed a tissue from the box placed on the dining table, using your front phone camera as a mirror to wipe your tears away.

“You know what though, it might be a blessing in disguise.” Your head whipped around to give him a look of disbelief, in what world could this be a blessing? “What the fuck do you mean, my boyfriend cheated on me? How could that even remotely be a blessing?!” Feeling your anger building up again, Negan walked around to your side of the counter, towering over you, his head coming down to whisper in your ear. “Oh please, Y/N. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me, remember that party a couple months ago, goddamn doll, you couldn’t take your eyes off my dick in them swim shorts.” He gave a small laugh, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his eyes watching your chest raise with each breath you took. “You need a real man to take care of you, I heard you with him. I’m experienced enough to know when a woman is faking it to spare a man’s feelings.” Your eyes met with his, how on earth could he tell. You couldn’t even deny it, while your boyfriend was good enough, he was too soft with you, complaining when you’d asked him to just choke you a little bit. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt you, he’d said, your eyes rolling in annoyance.

“How the fuck do you know that?” You asked, his cologne hitting you in the face as he got ever so closer to you. “Like I said doll, I know women. You want to be played with don’t you? You want someone who knows how to please you properly, give into it doll. I could give you all the pleasure you’d ever need.” You let out a soft moan, knowing this was wrong but your petty nature taking over, not only was this such an evil way to get back at him, you longed for Negan. He was right on the nose with how you looked at him, you’d always found him attractive, just trying to stop yourself from jumping his bones whenever the two of you were around each other.

“Fuck it, I’ve always wanted to know what your cock feels like, deep inside me.” You whispered out, your hands wrapping around Negan’s neck as he captured your lips in a kiss. His hands finding their way to your ass, squeezing the round globes hard.

He lifted you up, walking towards the stairs. “I’m going to have you begging for mercy when I’m finished with you doll.”

It was almost animalistic, months of repressed attraction coming to a conclusion. You’d never have even thought about your late night fantasies coming true, until this very moment that they had. Negan kicked the door to his bedroom open, not bothering to close it behind him. Placing you on the bed, his hands grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt to pull it over his head revealing his toned torso and arms, his tattoo that you loved so much coming into view.

Your hands started to feel up on his chest, wanting skin to skin contact with him so desperately. You tried to sit up a little to take your tank top off but Negan stopped you in your tracks, slamming your arms down above your own head. “Don’t you fucking dare doll, that’s my job.” A dark look coming across his face, he ripped the tank top off you hastily. His eyes glued to your bare chest, you hadn’t bothered to put a bra on today, in a sleepy haze just wanting to get over here to question your boyfriend. “Such beautiful breasts doll, he’s going to regret giving you up.” Negan stated as he took one of your erect nipples into his mouth, a soft bite as he did. You moaned out, watching his every move, his eyes locked to yours.

Leaning up, Negan unbuckled your belt sliding it out of your jean loops, grabbing your hands, wrapping the belt around your wrists as your hands were placed back above your head. The leather tight and digging into your skin, only turning you on more, heat rushing to your pussy. Negan took the time to unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your legs revealing your small black thong that left little to the imagination, pulling them to the side, Negan licked a strip starting from your opening to the top, focusing his attention on your throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your boyfriend never took the time to ever focus on your pleasure, either because he couldn’t be bothered or he just didn’t care, you didn’t know.

You felt the extra wetness as Negan spat right on your pussy, bringing his fingers to slowly enter you. Starting at a slow, agonising pace he could feel your body relaxing as you let your body give in to the pleasure you were feeling. You wanted nothing more than to grip onto his hair, but your bound hands didn’t allow it. As he felt you relax, he quickened his pace up, moans leaving your lips loud and clear. “Such beautiful noises for me slut, and I know these are real.” You felt your core tightening as you kept building up wave after wave of pleasure, you’d never even realised you could get so close to orgasm so fast, Negan caught on to this and took his fingers out of you, dripping in your juices. He forced his fingers into your mouth, you sucking the wetness off like it was your last meal.

“You fucking dirty girl, you like the way you taste?” He asked, his fingers still in your mouth as he pulled his shorts down, revealing his boxers to you. “Yes, I love it so much. I need to fill me up Negan, ruin me please.” You managed to get out through heavy breathing and his fingers. He chuckled, manoeuvring your body so you were on all fours, facing the mirrored closet doors, next to the entrance of the bedroom. “I’m going to fuck you so dumb baby girl, you’ll forget your own name when I’m done with you. Going to get you drunk on my cock. You won’t even want another man to touch you.” You whimpered, seeing Negan pulling his large cock out of his boxer shorts, them falling to the ground. His tip was red, leaking with precum, standing erect. He looked like a Greek god, his posture so manly and authoritative. He lined up at your opening and wasted no time, starting at a hard and fast pace. “Oh my god, Negan yes! Fuck!” Your nails dug into your own hands, the leather of the belt still digging into you causing pain but you didn’t care, the feeling was too good to complain. Your toes curled with pleasure in your heels, Negan’s hands gripped on your hips like he was holding on for dear life. “Shit doll, you feel so fucking good, so tight for Daddy.” You eyes widened at the nickname, you’d always wanted to experiment with a daddy kink but he’d never allow it, said it made him feel weird. You couldn’t believe how much this man was filling your darkest fantasies, you felt like maybe your boyfriend cheating was a blessing in disguise after all. Negan’s hand came down to slap your ass, the motion leaving a good red mark on your cheek. You looked towards the large mirrors in front of you, seeing Negan’s body go through the motions, his hips bucking against your ass as he fucked you deep. “Yes daddy, I’m so tight for you, you feel so good inside me.”

Neither you or Negan heard the front door open, your boyfriend finally getting back from his night out, guilt filling him up as he remembered what had happened last night. He knew that what he did was wrong, that kissing that woman was wrong. Still tired and hungover, he at first thought his imagination was playing tricks on him when he heard moaning coming from upstairs, he didn’t think his dad was dating anyone, a look of confusion coming onto his face. He made his way up the stairs, looking through the open gaps of the banister, his features wrinkling in disgust and disbelief when he saw you, head thrown back in pleasure as you met Negan’s thrusts in a timed motion. He rushed up the whole flight of stairs until he got to the door.

“What the fuck is happening here?!” You heard the voice of your boyfriend, your eyes opening with a gasp, you thought Negan would stop, embarrassed that the two of you had been caught in such a way but he went even faster in and out of you, your hands trying to grab some of the blanket that was at the end of the bed, failing miserably due to the fact of your hands being bound together.

“Hey son, just treating your girl to a proper fuck, you were stupid as fuck to let this one go, she’s one dirty fucking girl! Maybe this will teach you not to go round sticking your dick in other women when you’ve got an absolute diamond at home. Now stand there and watch boy.” Negan laughed, your eyes meeting with your boyfriend, you couldn’t help with the moan that escaped your lips as Negan moved down to grab your chin, his head coming to the side of your ear. “Tell him doll, tell him how good daddy’s fucking you.” You smirked, looking out the corner of your eyes to look at Negan. “So fucking good daddy, filling me up, better than he ever could. Please keep fucking me like this daddy.” You whimpered, your lips meeting with Negan as he kept his eyes open, staring at his son.

Your boyfriend didn’t know what to do, he rushed out of the room, slamming the front door behind him as he was trying to gather his thoughts together.

“That was so fucking dirty doll, oh my goodness! I can feel you getting close girl, let yourself cum all over my cock. I want to finish inside you, fill your body with my baby.” You screamed out as your orgasm took over your body, black spots coming into your vision. Your pussy felt like it had a death grip on Negan’s cock, his thrusts coming to slower pace as he let you ride out your orgasm. “Pull out of me, I want to ride you daddy.” Negan didn’t need any more encouragement as he pulled out of you, lying down on his back as you dug your heels into the mattress, sat on top of him. “Be careful with those things, don’t want a hole in my mattress dollface. You look fucking good in them though, sexy as fuck.” He said, as he shoved his cock into your dripping hole. You bounced up and down, even with your orgasm taking energy out of you, you couldn’t stop, you needed Negan like a hardcore drug. His musk mixing with a light sheen of sweat over your bodies. Negan’s hands gripped your ass as he directed your body as you grind into his hips, your second orgasm building up in your core. His cock filling you up, “That’s it baby, bounce on daddy’s cock for me, I want to see my seed dripping out of you.” You quickened your pace, feeling Negan’s cock twitching in you. “That’s it daddy, fill me up with your seed, I want you to fill my pussy up daddy!” You screamed out, uncaring about neighbours being able to hear you, you were too cock-drunk to care. Negan growled, his seed spurting out in you, his hands gripped your hips like a vice, his breathing heavy. You came to your end as well, gushing all over his cock, wetting the bed below you and Negan’s stomach as you squirted for the first time ever in your life. You moaned louder than ever, falling to the side of Negan, his flaccid cock sitting on top of his torso. You both were spent, the only thing that could be heard in the room was heavy breathing. Negan got up slowly from the bed, he released you from the belt, your wrists red and sore. He grabbed a small towel from the on-suite bathroom, cleaning you up from your squirt wetness. He laid back next to you, his arm coming over you to pull you closer, a sloppy kiss on your lips. “Life is never going to be the same again after this doll. Shit, I know it’s wrong to ask but leave him, I’ll treat you better than that stupid boy.” You looked at him, a smile coming across your face. “Negan, you could ask me to do anything right now and I’d say yes, that was the best fuck of my life, Daddy.”

Negan laughed and slapped your ass as he caught you in another sensual kiss.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

THE MAN FOR THE JOB - PART 1

Summary: when your father makes a bad choice, you become Negan’s latest wife

Pairing: Savior’s Era Negan x virgin!Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags: daddy issues, virgin reader, sexual innuendos, swearing, betrayal, alcohol

A/N: yea this is basically my take on that old fanfic meme of "you" getting sold to [insert random boy band/ celebrity here] except it's with Negan. It was going to be one long fic but I decided to break it up! Part 2 should be up next week and it will be filled to the brim with smut lmao

Sniffling. Panting. Choked sobs. And footsteps, slowly pacing up and down in front of you.

You focus on the sounds, your head hanging low and eyes glued to the floor. The last thing you saw was the man’s bat cracking down and then you looked away. 

Negan. A name you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. A man who had a grand announcement of who he was before ever making an appearance, as if he was headlining a festival.

You don’t know why these people chose your small group to torment or why they think your group would be able to find supplies for them. Not that any of that matters now.

To your side, you hear your father’s haggard breath. You could tell he kept his eyes up and watched what happened with the bat, the small grunts and sharp inhales of air being enough of an indicator.

“Phew! Now that’s what I call a workout,” the man continues to pace up and down, the shadow of his bat swinging by his side coming into your peripheral “I mean, goddamn! He was not going down easy, huh? Like cracking a goddamn walnut!”

Despite your group having no real leader, your father happened to be a talker– someone who truly believed they could talk their way out of any predicament. Unfortunately that meant he somehow became the unofficial spokesperson for your group. Boots stop in your sight, facing towards your father. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Blood runs off the tip of the bat, pooling on the ground. Your eyes drift over to it, watching the blood mix with the dirt.

All things considered, you feel lucky. The man Negan decided to swing at was someone you hardly knew. The poor guy was the latest addition to your group, someone who was only around for a couple of weeks before now. You still have your family, both of blood and those you consider family from how long you’ve all been travelling together.

“Well, I think we’ve done our fair fucking share,” Negan booms “got rid of another mouth you had to feed and we’re only taking half of your shit! Ain’t that good? I think that’s pretty damn good”.

He waits for your father to agree.

“It– … it’s good,” your father concedes, taking an audible gulp “T-thank you”.

Negan’s boots don’t move, letting everyone know that he’s not satisfied just yet. He simply watches the sniffling mess that is your father as he waits for more. Moments pass. Others cry. You hear Negan’s leather jacket groan as he shrugs.

“… That’s it?” he asks, a strange mixture of amusement and threat in his voice “I mean, shit, I should’ve gotten a thank you the second I said I’d only bash in one of your skulls! I think we’re past thank you’s”.

You keep your head down, almost too scared to move in case it draws his attention on to you next. 

“I gotta say, I kinda thought you’d have something better for me,” Negan sighs, scratching at his stubble “I’ve done a lot for you and your people and hell, I just got here! You don’t want to seem ungrateful, right? You’re not some ungrateful fuck who just thinks I’m doing all this shit out of the kindness of my heart, right?”.

Your father stutters, trying to get out words without knowing what to even say. Speaking to Negan is like defusing a bomb, constantly fearing you’ll say the wrong thing and set him off.

Slowly, you tilt your head to the side, trying to see your father. A part of you is terrified that this will be the last time you’ll ever see him breathing.

He sputters, a mixture of snot and spit glistening on his face. Even at the start of the apocalypse, he never looked as bad as this. Swallowing hard, you look back to the ground. Some of the others are still crying. A part of you wishes you could cry too but the tears refuse to come. Maybe it’s because you didn’t know the dead man well or maybe at this point, you’re simply numb to the horrors.

You retreat back to what you’re good at. Staying still and staring at the dirt in front of you, waiting for this nightmare to be over. You listen to your father continue to sputter on, not able to form a single word as he shifts in his spot, shakily moving some limbs. 

You don’t look up to see what exactly your father is doing, nor do you look up when Negan begins to walk again, his footsteps getting louder as he goes to pass you.

But he doesn’t.

Negan stops closeby. You’re not sure where precisely, once again not wanting to move your head. 

The noise that does catch your attention is the whooshing sound of his bat that’s too close for comfort. Acting on instincts, you immediately jerk your head backwards in the hopes of avoiding the impending smash. You look up, knowing there’s no point in acting like a statue if Negan’s already decided you’re next.

With wild eyes, you gawk at Negan. The sight you’re met with is worse than a quick crack against your temple. 

Lucille is right there, pointing directly at you. There’s a smile on Negan’s face but it’s different than before. That smile was cruel. This one is full of mischief.

“This one?” Negan asks, his eyes boring into you “Holy fucking shit, Christmas has come early! And I think I might too”.

You blink, unsure what he’s saying to you or why. Your mouth falls open, confusion lining your face before the sudden realisation hits. 

Negan may be looking at you, but he’s not talking to you. As if your body has the answer before your brain does, your head turns in the direction of your father. 

Refusing to look you in the eye, your father’s outstretched arm points directly at you. You don’t need to hear him say it to know what he means. Somehow, your trembling body stills at the raw betrayal. A cocktail of pain brews in your gut, one of hurt and confusion bubbling inside of you.

“No,” your voice comes out surprisingly strong as you shake your head “no, not me!”.

Despite Negan being in charge here, you don’t even address him. Something shifts within you. It’s not the sadness you would usually associate with something like this. Instead it’s a catalyst for something more fierce, a burning of rage that’s been building for too long.  

Negan ignores your words, too busy gloating now. “Well, damn! I thought you would’ve just got me a ‘Thank You basket’, not your daughter! Because I am assuming that’s your kid, right?” he continues to talk “well, shit, suppose I shouldn’t be calling her a kid actually. How old are you?”.

Despite this question being directed at you, you continue to ignore Negan. “No, you can’t do this to me! What— what the fuck is wrong with you?” your voice builds, eyes burning into your father “Answer me!”.

Whether he won’t look at you out of shame or denial at what he has done, you’re unsure. The only thing that is apparent is your father won’t be dignifying you with a response.

Turning on his heels, Negan signals for some of his men. “Put her in the truck” he says it so casually, the order barely registers with you.

The dirt crunches under the feet of more men but you’re not done. You want answers. “Are you fucking kidding me?” You argue at your father, your throat tightening “what the fuck have I done?! Why?”.

Nothing. Not even a tear. The only thing your father does is drop his arm back down by his side. 

“After everything?! Y-you’re just going to give me up?” Your voice raises, wanting any kind of acknowledgement.

Two men approach you, one grabbing your arm to hoist you up off your feet. In an flash, you kick out, getting one of them in the shin.

“Hey!” Negan suddenly loses his excitement, his voice a bark of authority as he points the bloodied Lucille at you “None of that shit or else it’s Daddy that’ll get it next”.

You scoff at his attempt to threaten you. If you’re being taken then all hope is lost. What’s the point in begging now? Especially for a man who just sold you down the river to hell. 

“Like I give a shit, dickhead” you spit out, each one of Negan’s henchmen taking an arm each as they haul you to an awaiting van. 

It’s jarring how fast Negan can change. Switching from a psychopath to a charming man within a matter of seconds, over and over again. He smiles widely as you get dragged off. 

“Wow!” Negan turns his attention back to your father “now I can see why’d you want to get rid of her as fast as possible! She’s got a way with words, that’s for sure”.

You wonder if Negan will be able to pry a reaction out of your father that you could not. But before you can see if he does, you're thrown into the back of the van and shut out from seeing the rest…

———————————————————

That all happened almost two weeks ago. It’s surprising to think you’ve been stuck in his goddamn parlour from hell for that long already. Thankfully, Negan has let you be, having some sense of how traumatic it’s been for you.

The second you arrived at the Sanctuary and got hauled out of the van, Negan said some words to his men and you were ushered off. He never even looked in your direction. You weren’t sure if you were grateful or annoyed that after everything, he wouldn’t even glance at you. 

After that, you were dressed up like a doll and sent in here with the rest of the wives. They don’t speak to you much, though you can’t blame them.

You’ve been trying to process how exactly you got here, what led up to this and how quickly your father not only folded, but decided to offer you up as the sacrificial lamb. 

With nothing else to do in the wives parlour, you spend most of your days thinking back, wondering when exactly did your own father stop caring about you.

Negan visits at least once a day, coming in to crack a few jokes and try his luck with a few of the women. Usually one will always leave with him. He has yet to approach you. Sometimes Negan goes quiet and lets an unusual lull of silence take place. That’s when you know he’s looking at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze so he can finally approach.

You never do though, simply doing what you did when you first met him and keeping your head down.

It seems to do the trick and he steers clear of you. Whether it’s because he feels sorry for you or he’s waiting for the right moment to strike, you can’t tell.

Every day is the same. Wake up, put on a godawful dress, walk down to the parlour with the rest of the wives and stay there until it’s time for bed. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are all sent up to you. Drinks are in the bar in the corner of the room too and so there’s no need for anyone to leave.

There are only three ways to leave the parlour during the day. Either you leave with Negan, everyone is summoned to the open area downstairs to watch someone get ironed or, your personal favourite, a bathroom break.

Despite how lavish they try to make the parlour seem, it’s still a room in an old factory. There are no private toilets attached to each room. Hell, they’re lucky there are bathrooms found on every level. From what you’ve heard so far, it sounds like Negan is the only one that has his own en-suite. Surprise, surprise.

The bathroom breaks are your favorite part of the day. It’s bliss. For the first few days, you were escorted from the parlour down the hall to the bathroom but now, the Saviors on guard just let you go do your business. It’s the only time all day you truly get to be alone. No one watches you and it’s the one place you don’t have to worry about Negan barging in.

It’s the one room that provides you with the tiniest bit of reprieve you yearn for. Most of the time you just stand there, eyes closed as you lean against the sink and take a deep breath. For a few precious moments, you don’t have to think about Negan or the betrayal of your father. And that’s exactly what you need now, that fleeting sense of relief even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Mumbling that you need to use the bathroom to the guards outside the parlour door, they move aside. It’s the only time they ever do, making you feel like you have a sliver of control.

The corridor is full of closed doors, many you’re not sure what is behind it or if each room is even used. Sometimes you wonder which one leads to Negan’s bedroom, just so you know which one to avoid.

Your shoes are the only noise in the corridor, clicking along. Usually the bathroom door is always open, but today it mirrors every other door. As you get closer, you hear the quiet sobs of Amber, who’s locked herself inside for a quick crying fit.

You sigh, leaning up against the wall and waiting patiently. This is fine. This just means you get more time away from the others. Shutting your eyes, you allow yourself to zone out for a few moments… until you hear it. 

The rhythmic, high pitched sound. The familiar tone, like a faint memory just out of reach. Your senses sharpen as the realization hits you, your eyes shooting open.

It’s him. 

Leaning with your back flush against the wall, as if that’ll make you invisible, you tap on the bathroom door.

“Amber?” You whisper, tapping again “Amber, I really need to go”. 

The muffled sound of shifting inside the bathroom makes you hold your breath, but no response comes. Desperate, you try the handle. 

Locked.

“Amber, come on!” you mutter under your breath, head turning from the door to the dim corridor,  waiting for him to appear.

There’s a beat of silence, then at the other end of the corridor, you see his silhouette. Broad yet lanky. Looming yet relaxed. Your eyes are drawn to the bat, hanging at his side. It looks prickly this far away, as if he’s holding a damn cactus and not a killer bat. 

You freeze, eyes never leaving the silhouette. As much as you don’t want your gaze to draw him closer, you don’t want to take your eyes off of him either. Taking your eyes off Negan is asking for trouble.

“Well, look who it is!”.

Shit. Staying against the wall, you say nothing in response. Negan moves closer, eyes watching you with amusement. Wagging a finger at you, he pretends to look suspicious “Now I sure as shit don’t think you’re supposed to be out here, unless you’re finally doing an escape attempt?”.

He lets the question hang as he saddles up beside you and leans against the wall. He keeps his eyebrows raised, as if he’s waiting for you to entertain his question with an actual answer.

Silence.

Negan nods “Hm… quiet today… per usual”.

The door beside you finally opens and a sniveling Amber exits. You note the sound of a toilet flush not greeting your ears. Maybe the bathroom isn’t just your place of solace.

Negan ignores how the young blonde tries to hide her red rimmed eyes. With one quick look at Negan, she lowers her head and hurriedly goes back down the corridor. 

Watching her go, you take a step towards the bathroom before she stops you. Lucille. Negan side steps you and his outstretched arm juts Lucille out until the top of her touches the wall. It acts as a barrier between you and the open door, making you stop again.

“How’s about a treat?” He asks “Instead of doing your business in that shithole, how’s about you come into my room, let you do your business on a real throne”. He snickers at his own joke.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order and you know it. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. Negan’s eyes are sharp, tracking your every second and reading each minute reaction. The way his smirk flickers for just a second tells you all you need to know. He’s enjoying the control he has here, like always.

Keeping your voice steady, you finally speak. “You think you’re funny?” The words come out lower than you intend but you can’t help it.

Negan’s smirk widens, a slow, deliberate movement that’s more of a warning than anything else. “I don’t just think I’m funny, sweetheart,” he purrs, his voice a smooth rasp now “I know I am”.

He taps the bat against the wall and it echoes down the barren hallway like a clock counting down. “So? What’s it gonna be? You gonna make me wait, or are you gonna follow the damn order?” his tone hardens slightly.

You take a breath, your eyes flicking from Lucille to his face. Lowering your head, you turn away from the bathroom. 

Negan watches you in silence as you turn away, his gaze heavy but unreadable. The moment he turns to walk down the corridor, you silently fall into step behind him. This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen Negan. Back turned to you, unable to defend himself for the second it would take him to turn. And yet he knows you won’t attack. That you can’t.

When you reach his door, he simply opens it with a casual twist of his wrist, stepping inside first and then holding the door for you with a slight gesture. “After you,” he says, his voice thick with amusement.

You step inside. It’s decorated sparsely, but with an odd sense of comfort—like it’s a place someone actually lives in. 

A large bed sits in the middle against one of the walls, with a few scattered papers and books near a small table. He closes the door behind you and leans against it, still watching you with that unreadable smile. 

“Make yourself at home,” Negan drawls “bathroom’s that way.” He points to a door on the far side of the room.

It’s hard to ignore the fact that every inch of the space feels like it’s his, even the air you breathe. You make your way to the bathroom, his eyes following you the whole way. 

You step into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you with an unsettling finality. The walls are a calm beige and the light is surprisingly warm and comforting. Not that it helps with your situation. Your heart is already thundering in your chest, blood rushing in your ears, drowning out everything except the cold realization that you’re stuck here. With him.

He has you exactly where he wants you. Alone with him. No other wives to distract him or butt in and inadvertently save you from engaging with him. Now it’s just you, stuck in his private quarters, where no one will help.

You scan the small space, looking for anything that could help you escape. The sink is just a sink, the mirror above it large and reflecting the usual sight of you in a dress. The shower is large but useless to you now and the small, claw-footed tub looks like it’s seen better days.

Your eyes dart around the room, desperate. There’s no way out. Nothing to use as a weapon. Just a toilet brush although you’re not sure if you could stomach the humiliation of trying to bat off Lucille with that.

You take a few steadying breaths, forcing your thoughts into some semblance of order. Your eyes flick to the window. It’s a small, high-up one that’s barely big enough for a rat, let alone a person to squeeze through. And that’s not even considering how high up you are. No good.

Turning on the taps you let the water run, hoping it’ll make him think you’re just doing the usual. Taking some of the water you splash it on your face and the back of your neck. All of this is too much. 

How has your only time for peace turned into such a nightmare?

You use one of his fluffy hand towels to dry your face, patting your skin gently. 

And who the hell has white fluffy towels in the apocalypse?

You huff, turning off the taps. You’re met with silence, the taps not even offering an extra drip of water. The quiet presses in on you like a weight, thick and suffocating. At first, you think it’s just the quiet of the bathroom, but then you realize… there’s no sound of movement, no low hum of Negan’s voice, no casual whistling or muttered remarks.

Nothing.

Your heart skips a beat, hopeful that the situation isn’t as dire as you believed. You strain your ears, listening hard, but the only sound you can hear is your own shallow breathing and the distant buzz of the light above you. 

Has he left? The thought is both a relief and a curse. If he’s gone, then maybe, you have a shot at sneaking out of here and pretending none of this ever happened. You pause with your hand on the door handle, knuckles white from the grip. Holding your breath, you dare to listen again, straining against the silence, but still nothing.

Your instincts scream at you to get moving but your body stays frozen, unsure. Slowly, you turn the handle and step out. He’s not by the bed, or sitting on one of the couches. A part of you expected him to be sprawled out on the bed, waiting for you to take on your wively duty but thankfully, you seem to have been spared today. 

Silently thanking what or whoever is looking out for you, you start to take quick steps towards the exit. The coincidence that Negan has been called out or distracted just as he’s finally gotten you alone is big but not one you want to sit around and ponder. Darting around the bed, you’re just about to pass the couches when he speaks. 

“Bottled in 2006,” he reads the label of a bottle “well, shit, doesn’t that sound like a lifetime ago?”. As if to purposefully hide out of sight, Negan stands in the corner of the room, hovering by a small wagon of bottles. All alcoholic, you assume no less. You stop dead in your tracks and as if to approve, Negan gives you the ghost of a smirk.

As much as you want to ignore him and go, doubt clouds your mind. Is there one of his Saviors waiting outside, guarding the door? Does he want you to run?

“You a drinker, sweetheart?” he asks, despite already having two glasses out. You linger, not wanting to sit down and accept this predicament but not wanting to run into a barrage of gruff Saviors outside this room. 

Bringing both drinks over to his couches, one filled more than the other, Negan sits “Don’t matter anyways, why don’t you give this a try”. He sets the lesser one on the coffee table, waiting for you.

He waits a beat before ordering “Sit”.

Looking at the drink, you weigh up your options. Negan simply sits there, sipping his own drink. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to run, easily giving him a reason to treat you with a harsher hand. Whether that would entail you “working for points” like most of the others here or getting sent to the cells you’ve heard whispers about, you don’t know.

Swallowing your nerves, you force your legs to move. One step. Another. Your fingers brush the edge of the couch as you sit opposite him. 

You didn’t think it was possible for someone to annoy you so much. You hate him. Hate the way he sits there, casually sipping his drink as if you’re at some sort of fucked-up cocktail party. Hate the way he knows this is the last thing you want. The way he watches you. The constant smirking or grinning as if he’s a friend.

You look at the drink, fingers itching to throw it. Smash it against the wall and see it shatter against his belongings, staining it all. The temptation is there. But so is the fear of the consequences.

You stare at the drink in front of you, the amber liquid gleaming like some cruel invitation. It’s not just alcohol; it’s a test. A way for Negan to see if you’ll obey. A way for him to claim another piece of you.

Your hand trembles, just a fraction, but you catch it before it gives you away. You’re not afraid. Not yet. But the tension in your chest tells a different story.

Every muscle is tight, coiled, like you’re waiting to sprint or snap. You can’t decide if you should laugh or scream at the absurdity of it all. Here you are, sitting in a goddamn room with a psychopath, drinking his damn poison because—what? Because you’re scared of what happens if you don’t?

You pick up the glass, your fingers gripping it tightly. The crystal feels cold. You bring it to your lips, not daring to look at him. If you do, you’ll lose the last shred of whatever control you have left.

The liquid slides down your throat—smooth and sweet—but it leaves a trail of fire behind it. It burns like it’s alive, crawling through your veins to mark you.

Negan lets out a satisfied hum, having another sip of his own drink. “You’ve been here for how many weeks now?” he asks, well aware you won’t answer. When you prove him right, he smiles and gives you a nod “And you’re still hellbent on the silent treatment, huh?”.

Leaning forward, he balances some weight on Lucille, her spiky end sticking into the rug beneath him. “Well, sweetheart, I think it’s about time we have a chat”.

Like a monk sworn to their oath, you stay quiet. But you know the silent treatment can’t last long. And you know you’ll have to put up with this supposed chat. With none of the other wives or Saviors around to distract Negan, you’re left to fend for yourself.

There is, of course, one more thing you know. You’re fucked.

[ladymacbeth-writes-sometimes]

Guys we just finished fucking in that car

[twdxtrevor]

Lord have MERCY, this man is too damn fine -

[good-little-cannibal]

i love negan. I have never been so autistic about a character before ...

[jdms-flat-ass]

i was like, papi wanna see a trick that’s worth it?