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thewritersaddictions · 1 year ago

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Bases: Negan Smith- Chapter 1 Her

Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader

Pov: Negan

Warnings: boundaries push, touching, cocky comments, the walking dead, zombies, trigger warnings, almost dying, special treatment, the wives, jealousy, being saved; Simon mentioned a little bit, maybe Dwight too, and Negans wives. masturbation,

Summary: Negan meets you when you come to the sanctuary doors. Wary of you at first he takes to watching you, and boy does he get interested quickly.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers

WC- 3.2k

The Walking Dead Master List // The Wanderers Master List // Series Master List

Y/n tries to catch her breath, but she just can’t seem to. Everything around her is swaying with her every step. She feels the sun pour through the sky, and it just ends up beating her up as she walks in the middle of the road. Trees line each side, giving no shade for her overheating body. She walks until she hears the indicators of the walkers; the sound grows louder the more she wanders due North. She worries for a moment until she sees a tall building that probably used to be a factory before the world went to shit. Then the sound of cars, the sounds of people.

People! She doesn’t care if she doesn’t have enough energy to get to the gates; she’ll push through the hoarse voice from no water for at least the past few nights and days. She’ll push until someone picks her up from the searing hot cement underneath her. She manages to make it to the gate; her face is flush, and she ends up waving down what looks like a post guard. “Do you know where you are, Miss?” It’s a guy no older or younger than she is before Y/n can answer though she’s collapsing to the ground. She’s worn herself out before just making it.

There’s a knock at the door, which means some shit is happening that Simon or some other fucknut doesn’t know how to handle. The knock on the door is different, rushed, almost a worried knock. “Come in.” I don’t look up until the person starts to talk; like always, it’s Simon. “Boss, um, we’ve got a problem.” My brow arches as I stare at Simon with a deathly glare. “A problem?” It’s not really a question, and Simon knows it. He just nods, and we walk in steadfast with each other. Lucille sits over my left shoulder. People quickly advert their stare as we step outside in the blaring heat of the Georgia sun.

There’s a small, growing crowd around something rather intriguing. “Move outta the way, dingbats,” Simon shouts rather loudly in my ear as I look into the center of the growing crowd. “What’s this?” I ask one of the guards. His gun is slung around his back, the nose of the sniper pointing towards the ground. “I’m not sure, Duke over there said this girl waved and then collapsed outside the gates.” More intrigue. “Let me see.” The crowd moves, giving me a perfect view of the ‘girl’ lying on the hot ground. “You,” I say, pointing with the bat's end cap. The guy, ‘Duke’ visible, swallows, “She um… she was running towards the gate, and tried to wave at me, but before she could answer any of my questions, she just knocked out, hit the ground pretty hard too, Sir.” The guy says. I move Lucille making room for me to bend to my knees and get a more impersonal look at the ‘girl’ layin’ on the ground.

Her skin is red and peeling in some places on her face and shoulders. Her hair is out of her face. Her face looks almost hollow like she hadn’t had water in days, maybe weeks. But she’s wearing what looks like an excellent proper pair of boots and jeans, and the first thing I think of next is, “Did ja check for bites?” I ask the whole crowd, and the Duke guy answers again. “Already checked her out, nothing, no bites or anything, Sir.” He says; I motion for Simon to come over, “Why was this so fuckin’ important, huh Simon?” he glides a hand through his messy hair. “Cause I figured you want to say what happened to the girl.” Simon never really gave a shit, didn’t take orders to well, and somehow always managed to not fuck up but still fuck up my shit.

“Yeah, dumbass take her to the damn doc. What the hell you waiting on me to say that for.” I mutter to myself as I watch the two post guards pick her body up stiffly. Causing the both of them to alost tumble over. I roll my eyes at the action. “Simon.” I shove the bats handle into his hand. “You tow lacklys, get back to work i’ve got her.” The inner monologue tells me that I know it will always be me who has to take care of the dark shit, the bad shit, and the good shit. Nobody else. Simon close behind me, as the women lay limp in my arms.

She had yet to open her eyes as the cool air inside the sanctuary hit her cheeks, her arms, and any other exposed skin. She didn’t even rustle as I walked her limp body through the doorway. “Dr. Carson, you can stop whatever the fuck you’re doin’ now. Help this women here.” I set her down on the cot, her head falling back along with her hair into the shitty pillow provided in this makeshift ER. “What… What happened?” Dr. Carson wasn’t the village idiot by any means, but it would nice if for once I didn’t have to tell the damn idiot what happened and he could just go do his fucking job. “Carson, just do your fuckin’ job or I swear to the god that probably fucked off already I will make your postion available again.” He shook his head, and got to work. Simon handed Lucille back to me, as I took a seat in those uncomfortable waiting chairs.

“Looks like she has some burns some serious” Carson said looking over at me. An arch brow, and he was on the way to solving the whole damn thing, “Nothing a little bit of antibotic cream can’t fix. She’s also very dehydrated, so I’ll need to get her pumped with some fuilds before she can… before she’s well enough to talk with you Sir.” Carson mumbled out, I nodded my head and started to turn out of the room. “You said she needs fluids.” Carson nods his head, as he goes to get bandages wraps for her burns. “Bring her to my room, we should show our new guest the best care, right Carson?” He nodded with angst.

“Are you sure… Sir, do you think that’s the best course of action. We don’t even know where this fuckin’ lady is from” Simon as his ratty, trash talkin’ fucking mouth never shut the hell up sometimes. I turned quickly catching his normal leaned back attitude off guard. “I think you would know me by now Simon. It’s a game, it’s always a fuckin’ game.” Simon stood still for a moment, and then nodded.

An hour later there was a knock on my bedroom door. “It’s Dr. Carson with the Jane Doe.” He said through the door. I rolled my eyes, the clink of the gin bottle hitting the glass table rang my ears as I got up opening the door. This time two much larger guard held the Jane Doe on a cot. Less prone for her fall and get even more hurt. “You said you wanted her here sir?” Carson asked as if the first time I said wasn’t good enough for him. I look over at the Jane Doe. Her shoulder all the way down to her arms are covered in the white bandages. Her face isn’t though which is nice. “Come on in then.” I open the door wide enough for the large men to walk her in and place her on the couch adjacent of the bed. “I’ll get some fluids going in her and then I can come back in a few…” I cut him off, “No need doc, I’ve got it from that point. Don’t need someone in and out of my fuckin’ room every couple of hours.” He nods his head vigorously. I know what I’m doing, and there’s more I wanna know about this mystery Jane Doe.

“Well hello there sweetheart.” The women in front of me is opening her eyes. It took nearly two days to get to this point. For nearly two days I have extra patrol out making sure that nobody followed this young women here. No need to be gettin’ ambushed right now. Her eyes go wide and when she opens her mouth to talk nothing comes out. Her nails scrap at her throat. “You need something to drink?” I’m quick to get up and gather a glass of water for her. Her hands are clammy when they graze past mine to collect the cold cup of water. The needle in her arms ache I can tell just from the look on her face. “We’ll take that out later, but for now why don’t you not rush your recovery.” I said as soft as I can. She looks like someone just told her that the world was starting all over again.

She clears her throat, and for the first time I hear her voice. It’s angelic is a soft, fairy sort of way. “Where am I?” She ask looking around the room. “A settlement, the Sanctuary.” She looks over at me, beautiful eyes shining back at me. For the first time it’s odd to around a women who isn’t appalled by me, or faking it all together. She pure, and innocent in so many moldable ways. “I promise that i’ll be out of your hair before you even know that I was here.” She promises me, I humm. Then look over at her fluid drip, and the bandages on her body. “I was thinkin’ that you could stay here for a while. At least get yourself settled before you go back out in that hot Georgia sun.

“So Miss Jane Doe, do you got a name?” I ask her as my words sink into her head. She clears her throat again taking another large gulp of water to coat her throat. “My name is um…Y/n.” She says with a little smile. “And you wer travelin’ alone out there?” I ask her, “Yeah.” She says nodding, she looks far of into the distance staring up at one of the ceiling tiles. As if she’s remembering someone she’s lost. I clear my own throat bringing her attention back to me. “I’ve ask that the doc, keep you here in my room. I wouldn’t suggest that you go out right now. Dr. Carson and I agree that you’re a little too fragile for that eveiormnet right now.” I said coaxing her into a choice she had no say in. She nodded, “My pack?” She asks, “I almost forgot.” I reach behind the coch she’s laying on. “Thanks.” She says with a small smile, and once more our hands graze each others.

Hours later after a rather a surface level introduction with Y/n about where she came from, why she didn’t have anything other then a knife, and what the Sanctuary was about. There’s a soft knock on the door. It causes Y/n to shiver with anxiety. “It’s alright sweetheart, don’t worry about anyone trying to get ya.” “Can I come in, Negan?” I know that damn voice, Frankie. I boil over with anger and before I can get to the damn door Frankie is opening it. A sliky black dress drapped over her frame. I catch Y/n out of the corner of my eye; staring and watching the interaction between the two us. “Negan, I haven’t seen you in a few days…” Frankie stops short in her sentence. Scwoling at Y/n, as if she understands what the hell is going on either of them. “Frankie, go. I have a guest.” I say strongly grabbing her bicep and pushing her out of the room.

The slam of door makes Y/n shriek, and when i turn to look at her she’s got her head cocked. “Who was that?” She asks timidly. “A… um… it’s just Frankie.” I finally manage to mumble out. “When was the last time you had a good bed to lay down in?” I ask in deperate need to change the subject. I don’t know just yet how to explain the wives to her, but then again when have I ever felt the need to explain myself to anyone. I push the feeling away, bury it in my stomach. Deep down. She shifts swinging her legs to the edge of the couch. She’s got pretty long legs even from the thick jean material that hid them. “I’d say at least since the first or second month of this shit.” I huff a laugh out, “Well how about this sweetheart. I’m gonna take this IV out, and patch you all up so you can get a good nights rest.” “But what about…” I shake my head. “I’ll take the couch, it’s been a while since I’ve booted to the couch anyways.” I jokingly say.

Carson had left a few supplies here for me whenever Y/n was going to wke up so I could remove the IV, and bandage her up. As I do her skin is soft as least not where she’s been wrapped up with bandages. “So what was wrong with me?” She asks as she stares at my working hands. “You got a hell of a sunburn all up and down your shoulder and arms. Some antibiotic cream should fix ya up real quick.” I tell her, “And plus you were super fuckin’ dehydrated, what the hell were you doing running a fuckin’ marathon?” She giggles at my question as I tape down the gauze to make sure the blood doesn’t leak into anything.

“Do you have extra clothes in that pack of yours?” I ask Y/n, she looks down and dig around. A minutes passes, and another, “Look mary poppins I don’t think there’s anything else the damn bag.” I might be getting a little frastrated, “So I’d take that as a no.” She nods her head. I whip myself around. Shifting through draws and a small closet of my clothes. “For tonight you can borrow somethin’ of mine. Sweats, and a long t-shirt so your bandages don’t come off during the night, Sweethearts.” I say passing her the clothes. Y/n stares down at them, and she get a little shy, well a lot shy. Bitting and pulling on her bottom lip. “Bathroom is over here sweetheart.” I watch as she walks towards the bathroom, and then the door shuts.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask myself. Dragging my hands down my face. There’s a shuffle from behind the bathroom door. “All good in there?” I ask, willing my voice not to break. I feel like a high school kid all over again with a stupid high school crush. “Um…” her voice sounds so tiny behind the door. “I don’t think this is gonna work.” She says shyly through the door. I stand to open the door, but she does before I can manage it. My long sleeve is loose on her frame, and the sweats don’t even take on her hips, but I guess that’s alright since the long sleeve is so big on her it acts as a dress. “That’s all good doll, how about I help ya get to bed.” I say reaching out my hand for her to grab.

Yet again her hands are baby soft, like she’s never been outside a day in her life. No broken calluass, or rough patches. With our hand interlocked I walk her to the side of the bed. Moving the sheets back so she can easily get under the covers. She isn’t graceful about the plop down the bed. “A water bed!?” She asks, I actually laugh, “I wish sweetheart!” As Y/n shifts her legs to get under the covers and onto my side of the bed. I get a flash of her pink worn panties.

I have to swallow down the groan of sexual frautration, maybe I should have taken Frankies offer. Pushed her outside the door, and fucked her stupid mouth shut. I shake my head, and I watch as Y/n starts to get snuggled into the cool fabric. I don’t grab the other pillow fromthe bed, I just make my way towards the couch. Cleaning up the medial mess I made earlier. I lean back into the coch, closing my eyes and all I can see is the pink panites. The coarse hair that prickled to come through the fabtic.

My cock stirs to life in my tights blue jeans. I can’t see Y/n’s face due to the dim lights in the room, but her snores are a good alert that’s she fast asleep. I close my eyes again and the flash of her nipples through the old shirt of mine makes me swallow down a moan. A hard on from a girl I know nothing about, a fuckin high school kid. All I can think of is the pink pussy that lays behind the pink panties, the tits that would bounces as I fucked her raw. I unzip my jeans, and pop my hard cock from my boxers.

The tip is leaking pre-cum that I end up just using as lube. Pumping myself slowly at first until my eyes fall shut and all I can imagine is the sounds that Y/n would make when I fucked her up agaisnt the headboard. Or how good her pussy probably tasted. My cock is coated with my pre-cum, and so is my hand. The sounds are delicious, the sound of the squelching as the soft pad of my thumb over over the head of my cock and I end up just a pile of fuck, shits, and graons as I come all over my chest.

“Fuck.” My breath is ragged, I haven’t come that since I was much younger and a whole lot ballsier. I throw my shirt off my shoulder and wipe down my tummy, and chest. Discarding the ruined shirt to a pile of other thrown clothes.

Completed on: 08/10/23

Posted on: 08/12/23

Bases Tags- @clararangel @lanad3lrey-l0v3r @jdmsgorl @scarlett-widows-89 @idk1idk2idk @kaits-diary @whatsssss @daryldixonluvr @oceanablue @chelseypprimrose @freedomfighterlex @sageworld @ayeizzshayla @123avengersandmarvel @charlie19690 @sweetvixensstuff @lanceisrandom @redscreendarkwin @finalgirlmp3 @fullwattpadmusictree @harmonib @rainyzonkmakerlover @ge0rgzs @julimariett @amazingmaeve @kpoplover4life @definitelynotyagmur @rivernell @vanilla88 @alteredgalaxy @thatonefroggirl @kyleepsposts @max-505 @nhayoshii

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loganlostitall · 1 year ago

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Negancore (with references this time)

#the walking dead #negan smith #negan #twd negan #twd #jeffrey dean morgan #the walking dead negan #negan the walking dead #negan twd #twd negan smith #negan smith twd #twd dead city #the walking dead dead city #dead city #Negan dead city #dead city Negan #wanted dead or alive #Negan does no wrong #negancore

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bluemerakis · 1 month ago

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┃Welcome to TWD masterlist ☠︎︎ ┃

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⤷ bluemerakis ᡣ𐭩

Who I write for : Negan Smith, Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Maggie Greene, Rosita Espinosa

Requests: Open for all

「 NEGAN SMITH 」

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ONE SHOTS :

☠︎ Nothing left to lose

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EDITS :

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「 RICK GRIMES 」

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「 DARYL DIXON 」

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「 ROSITA ESPINOSA 」

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「 MAGGIE GREENE 」

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⤷ All headers & dividers made by me!

「 BACK TO NAVIGATION 」

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twigg96 · 1 year ago

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Ashes

Negan x Reader

Song fic based on Ashes by The Longest Johns

POV: You/Negan

Pronouns: You, Wife

Warnings: Negan being Negan, Angst, Loss of Self, Death, Character Death, Major Character Death, TWD realness, gore, blood, emotional abuse, physical abuse, cheating, adulatory, misogyny, loss, grief, the use of Lucile, Glenn and Abraham scene, Spoilers for OG show, Major Canon Divergence

Summary: The story of the love you and Negan had and lost. The rise and fall of Negan and the Saviors to Rick as taken from your perspective as his first wife.

Watch that old fire as it flickers and dies

A strong arm wrapped around your waist guiding you to safety as heavy sobs ripped through your body. The flames burned your skin as you buried your face in the wet rag you husband provided you. The smell of burnt wood filled the air and your lungs making you both cough and gag as you ran as fast as you could. The feeling of your clothes singing and catching with the flames was a pain miniscule compared to the emotional pain.

That once blessed the household and lit up our lives

Looking to your once bountiful dining room table you tried to imagine when was the last you both felt happy. Before the illness rolled through the town and took the lives of your neighbors and you had to board up your doors. Before you had to ration what you had and the heating oil had run out. Before Negan started using the fireplace to heat the house in the winter with the wooden furniture you had in the house. Bursting through the threshold Negan and you turned to the house you both once called a home. Memories rose with the smoke. You tried your damnedest to hold back your wails but they slipped though.

It shone for the friends and the clinking of glasses

Singed photographs fluttered down in the wind as if taunting your despair. Your wedding photo, photographs of the two of you graduating together, your daughter's baby picture all turning to ash in front of you. The glass windows of your home burst out with the heat and you could hear the glass inside your house shattering as the wood holding it gave out. The roar of the flames was all encompassing and even from several feet away the heat was too much.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

From deep within the white flames that licked and ate the home you and Negan once built for yourself, emerged a small figure. It's skin badly burnt. It's eyes glazed over. You screamed trying to run over to it, to her. But Negan's strong arms held you firmly in place. His face was twisted in heart wrenching anguish as he pulled you to the ground with him. "It's not her." He chanted like a prayer to you despite the way his voice cracked and broke with pain. Pushing your head down so you were facing the damp ground he ran his hands through your hair. "Stay here... I-I'll be back."

Capture the wild things and bring them in line

Your husband was never the same after that night... but neither were you. Negan's heart for anyone besides you had hardened. The two of you searched the area for anything you could use. Negan found a bat that he lovingly named Lucille and wrapped in barbed wire. Together you made a name for yourselves. The Saviors. It started off innocently enough. You went around offering your services to take down walkers and... people that were causing problems to those that gave you both shelter for the night. Over time you realized... you were good at what you did.

And own what was never your right to confine

Negan... gathered the souls of people who were the most helpful to him and his cause. It started by recruiting. Offering jobs and expanding his little empire. Soon you were traveling with twenty to thirty people at a time. All of those that swore their loyalty to Negan, even going so far as to take his first name. It unnerved you some. But you would never say it out loud. Not when the fear of loosing so much was at stake. But the first time came that Negan wanted someone. Their family, or a group holding them back from coming between them following him and leaving. Negan became irate. He made his men hold the "recruit's" family down, guns at the ready. You felt sick watching.

The lives and the loves and the songs are what matters

When it was all over, the blood still warm and fresh and your adrenaline still high you pulled your husband aside. "This isn't right." You tried to reason. "We need to stay unified. focus on the good. Not tear apart other families." You begged. But your pleas fell on deaf ears. He just squinted his eyes at you. "Are you questioning me? After everything I did for you?" He asked, his voice dripping in a venom that you heard him use with his men but never you. Flinching away you tried to stand strong.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

"No I would never..." You whispered, turning your gaze to the ground as he stepped closer, the light of the camp fire eliminating his figure. Leaning closer you could feel his breath hot and heavy on your ear through your hair. "Prove it." He whispered. Your eyes widened as the men all around you both jeered and snickered. "W-What?" You asked blinking up at him confusedly. Negan sneered down at you. "You heard me. I want you my wife, to prove your loyalty to me..." He muttered confidently, pointing that nasty bat at you. But you stood tall glaring at Negan. "C'mon, darling. I had all my boys say it. Now. It's your turn. If you don't..." He took a practice swing that made you wince away, hot tears stinging your eyes. You felt your bottom lip quivering as you tore your eyes from Negan's. "I-I am your wife Negan." You whimpered. But that wasn't enough. Stepping closer Negan grasped your hair. "Say it." He growled, his eyes glimmered in the flames. "I am Negan." Your voice wavered in fear as he released you.

Do you feel heavy? Your eyes drop with grief

Staring in terror and grief down at the closest thing you made to a friend in this hell you tried your damnedest not to let your sobs escape your throat. You tried to ignore the way his blood soaked through the all too tight black dress Negan forced you to wear. His mangled corpse laid still bleeding as his widow was held back by her hair and body. Her wails and screams echo against the empty alley you all stand in. Negan pranced around his corpse for a moment. "Damn what a pretty picture." He said coyly, pointing Lucile at you. "Look at how hot my wife looks right now... that's right my. wife... Keep it in mind when anyone wants to try and touch her again." He growled turning to the widow. "Take her home. I think I want to make that hottie my wife too." He said a smirk blooming across his face as his eyes meet yours and your heart breaks ever the more.

Your spirit is wild and your suffering is brief

Changing into more comfortable clothing within the confines of your little room in the Sanctuary you sighed. You had never thought it when it when it first started but once Negan took on more wives, and more communities his attention had been split more ways than he had time for. There were often times you didn't see him for days now. Confined to your room in the Sanctuary, along with the other wives. In the beginning you would never had dreamt of this. You had thought you would have been crumpled to the ground, wailing or whimpering begging for him to come home if he ever left you. But now as you stood before your full length mirror, holstering your knife to your side you felt stronger and more sure of yourself than you have in a long time.

So never you buckle and bend to the masses

Slipping out of the door as silently as you could you crept to the side door hoping to avoid the front gates covered with walkers and guarded by Negan's recruits. A strong hand grasped your shoulder, halting you in front of the solid metal door. A small gasp escaped your lips as you turned to face the man with the fresh burns on his face. Dwight... the poor man. You pitied him just as much as he did you. His wife was captive by your husband. Pulling the key to your rook from your lanyard you handed it you him. "Give it to your wife when you leave. I don't know when he'll be back. Just don't be seen, and tell her I'll knock when I return." You order taking the side door key in return. With a silent nod he exchanged your room key for the door key letting you slip by seemingly unnoticed.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

When Negan was away the prisoners and recruits all turned to you for leadership. At first you turned them away. You hated what your husband had done to them and refused to be apart of it. But as time wore on... you felt obligated to give them guidance and hope when it seemed like there was none to be had. You tried to keep up a facade around Negan's most loyal followers. You threatened punishments equal or more extreme than your husband. But you were never pushed so far. You helped those around the prison do their chores so that they wouldn't be punished when Negan returned tired and ready to use his fists. You treated the sick and patched the wounded. You made a name for yourself in the prison. The Kind.

Get round the fire with a glass of strong ale

If there was one thing you admired about your husband it was his ability to provide for the people he had accumulated. It wasn't right the way he did it... but it wasn't right to let good food go to waist simply because it was stolen either. And so you tried your best to cook and provide for the people. Your people you came to realize. Those that looked up to you. When it was your turn you always had the least on your plate. You always wanted to make sure everyone's bellies were full before your own.

And tell us a story from beyond the pale

The children who ran around all day came to sit around at night. Those who had only known of the dead that rose asked you and others what it was like before. You tried to give them stories to dream to. To dream to and thrive to. You told them of Great Libraries with their knowledge of plenty. You told them of movie theatres where pictures larger than life that moved on the wall and showed of life in other far away places. Restaurants with all the food they could ever wish for. Some of the children refused to believe such a reality ever existed. Others stared in awe telling you that they would make the world better so that they could get back to that dream.

Bury some seeds and expect some strong branches

When Negan brought back seeds instructing you to use them up by the time he returned. You knew just what to do with them. You instructed the prisoners that worked inside the prison to follow you to the back of the Sanctuary. Digging down as deep as your fingers would let you into the cold earth you instructed them to plant the seeds in lines of like veggies. All day the prisoners worked, planting the seeds and sewing them into the earth. Rain fell from the sky, watering the hope you held for the future as you ushered the prisoners back inside.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

Watching the plats grow was one of the most fulfilling feelings you felt in a long time. The children ran and played in the gardens. The little vegetables while too early to pick were good to look at and good motivation for the others to do well at their chores and eat well in the evening. But when you awoke to the smell of smoke rolling through your window you knew that your hopes were shattered and the future was irrevocably changed. Walking out into yard you were met face to face with your pissed off husband. "Which one of you idiots planted these?!" He yelled pointing to the roaring flames that once was the garden. "I did." You muttered stepping forward. Negan glared at you eyeing you seriously. "And what, pray tell did you do that?" He hissed stepping toe to toe with you. But you didn't back down. You refused to. "You told us to do something with the seeds... so w- I did." You said trying to keep your expression as neutral. Negan's face contorted into one of anger and rage. It looked forced. His once bright eyes were dull and emotionless. "Don't do it again..." He muttered, pushing past you to let you watch your future burn in front of you alone.

Now show me a man that can meet all his needs

When you first heard of the man known only as Rick you had believed he would meet his end the same way so many others had before. That his head would be crushed. His community shattered. Or worse. He'd kneel with no issue and his people used as cattle to provide for Negan's ever growing greed. But as time went on and some of Negan's right hand men started to go missing. The outposts raided and destroyed. You had to admit that you felt a little hopeful that someone lived out in the world that could really and truly stand up to your husband. But as his group was stopped, people slaughtered and he was brought to his knees you turned away trying not to let your tears fall for people you didn't know.

For what we need most now is unity's seed

Rick's right hand man was brought back as some sick prize for Negan to parade around the Sanctuary. Daryl Dixon. He was strong willed and even more loyal to his brother. Even when Negan offered him a positions by his side by simply uttering the words you had so long ago, Daryl refused. And for it he was tortured and mutilated. You were relieved when you heard Dwight was his guard. You knew he wouldn't be as harsh as some of the others especially when you offered some time alone with his wife to take it easy on the newcomer. With Negan around more often it was more difficult for you to move around undetected. But you still managed to bring real food to Daryl whenever you had the chance. He didn't trust you and why would he? You didn't trust who you had become either.

A common old song for all creeds and all classes

Sherry had come to you long ago with her wants to escape. It was something she had been planning since the beginning of her capture but with Dwight's torture it was hard for her to break free without him. The day Negan left to face Rick alone, you set the plan in motion. Sherry would take Daryl and run. Just them. You would stay and be an alibi for Dwight. The man would be hunted and killed if all three of them left. Daryl ran into you on his way out. "Why?" He growled. "Because... I believe in you."

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

When Negan returned, to say he was pissed was an understatement. But he hid it well. You explained your alibi to him for Dwight. And while it worked for the mean time, when D. went missing looking for Sherry, Negan didn't seem too pressed to find him. His eyes were trained on you. Keeping you close to him for the first time in years he told you at night when you both laid under the covers it was to keep you safe. That he was thinking about you the entire time. But you could see the caged look in his eye that an animal gets when trapped. But still, ever the good wife, you held your husband close and stroked his hair trying to sooth him even when the hatred burned inside of you like a raging forest fire.

I'll tend to the flame

When Rick came with all of his men and all of his people ready to attack the Sanctuary you met Daryl's eyes from where he stood hidden. You worked tirelessly to prepare the men in the Sanctuary to fight. To be ready. When the first shot broke the anxious silence you simply snapped your fingers and the guns on the side of the Saviors turned. Negan stood wide eyed in their sights. "W-What-" He stammered, trying to clammer his way out of it. But it was over. You were over. "It done." You muttered, pointing to Rick's people you raised your hands in surrender. "We're done fighting." In return for turning over those who were still loyal to Negan and the man himself, you were given your freedom. "A life for a life." Rick had said. A policy you yourself didn't believe in anymore. Silently you wished they had killed you and your husband. Only you knew the horrors that you both had committed. But they were firm on their decision of repentance. You were still a prisoner and had to prove your worth but for now... in a sense you were free.

What will we do when the world it is ending

Standing in front of the makeshift prison they had in Alexandria you glared down at your husband. Years had passed since you last seen him. You had no real urge to until now. The Whisperers were moving in fast. Crossing your arms in front of your chest defensively you refused to ask for help. But instead, sat in the icy cold rusted metal that sat across the basement from Negan. "You should be in here with me." He tried to blame you. But you knew this for a fact. "I know..." You whispered back, your breath catching in the cold and floating all around you. "I heard that there is someone bigger out there now... heard it through the bars." Negan muttered pointing to the window. "There is." You said pointedly. "Got a plan?" He asked a smirk blossoming on his face. "Don't think you could'a handled them, Ne..." you stated honestly shaking your head solomly, using your old nickname for him. It halted him. He stared up at you with wide eyes, realision crossing his face. "I never-" he started, but you cut him off. "Don't." You shook your head, standing up. "Listen... let me help." He urged, scrambling to his feet. But you shook your head walking over to the doorway to let Morgan back in. "I'm sorry this was a waist of both of... well my time."

And time it is halted for friend and for foe?

Years and years passed still. Negan never once saw you in his cell. Every time he asked for you he was denied. He believed that truly you hated him. And why wouldn't you... after all he did. He hated himself too. When he was released from prison by Carol and told to bring her the head of the one they called Alpha. He hated being told what to do... but he knew this bitch. The Saviors had a run in with them when they were a little piss ant of a community. They were tough even then and he was ready for payback. Doing as he was told he returned expecting to be thrown back in his cell. But when they give him the second chance he is taken aback. Days pass in his new life. He wasn't expecting you to just run into his arms but when you never showed up at all it worried him.

Try to hold on to the time as it passes

Walking up to Carol he cleared his throat announcing his presence. "Hey." he muttered to the grey haired woman. She didn't smile or greet him instead she nodded, eyeing him warily. "Was wondering if ya seen my wife around here somewhere..." Negan muttered, wincing away at the glare Carol sent him. "Which one? None of them want to see you." She bit back. Negan nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. He supposed he deserved that. "[Y/N]." He stated softly, watching as Carol's face softened some. "Oh..." She whispered so softly it was barely audible. "No one told you yet?" She asked. "Told me what?"

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

Walking side by side through Alexandria Carol escorted Negan to a large but beautiful expanse of land. The grass and flowers grew vibrantly but it was all dulled by the makeshift crosses scattered across the field.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

Leading Negan by the wrist past various graves marked with crosses and carved names Carol stopped by a large but old evergreen tree. It cast it's shade over the graves cooling the heat of the day making it barrable to stand.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

Pointing to a little grave directly under the tree Carol frowned. "She died protecting everyone. She went a hero." Carol tried to console him. But the burning in his chest was overwhelming and the cry that escaped his throat was inevitable as he crumbled to his knees. Gripping the grass around the grave he begged and pleaded for you to come back. For it to be a joke. But when only the whistling of the pines responded he knew... He only had himself to blame.

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goldenispunk · 7 months ago

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#my four murder husbands #slash babydaddies #Joel miller #rick grimes #negan smith #negan #daryl Dixon #Norman Reedus #andrew lincoln #jeffery dean morgan #JDM #Pedro pascal #the last of us #TLOU #the walking dead #twd #the ones who live #dead city #tlou 2

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mightymetalmax · 1 year ago

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You say it's wrapped in barbed wire, I say it's ribbed for my pleasure

#twd #twd negan #negan smith #twd negan smith #negan smith twd #the walking dead

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dixonsgirl93 · 11 months ago

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You’re getting intimate with TWD men, would they care if you hadn’t shaved (anywhere)?

(Because duh, your main priority is staying alive, not being well groomed)

Daryl Dixon

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even notice tbh. All he sees is your body in front of him, clothes peeling away, revealing all of your precious curves.

He’ll kiss the hair on your thighs before going down on you, not caring about the hair between your legs.

He’ll pin your arms above your head and not care about your hairy pits.

He understands it’s about survival and as long as you’re clean enough, he’s happy to be naked with you.

Rick Grimes

He doesn’t care. He also understands it’s primarily about survival. Even in a safe place with water like Alexandria or Commonwealth, he respects if you don’t want to shave. For whatever reason you have.

Before the apocalypse, he loved his women smooth as butter. He wouldn’t judge or be grossed out if you didn’t shave though. But since the outbreak, his tastes have changed, he has changed.

He would put your hairy legs over his shoulders while he fucked you good, even pressing his lips against your leg.

He might prefer if you were trimmed between your legs, but again he’ll deep dive regardless, savouring your taste.

Negan Smith

Pre-defeat/Sanctuary Negan would have teased you about it. He wouldn’t be mean about it, more like, “we have the resources, so why haven’t you?”

Post-defeat Negan wouldn’t care. He’d soak up your attention and give just as much, if not more, back.

He’d kiss you all over, murmuring how beautiful and sexy you are.

He’d put you in all sorts of positions, not caring about your hair at all.

Merle Dixon

He’d definitely make some comments about it, teasing you about becoming a wolf or something. When you’d tease back about not only being hairy like an animal, he’d smirk and get right back to kissing you.

He wouldn’t care that much, maybe preferring you to be a little trimmed at least. (Which is cheeky of him to say but unsurprising)

He’d put you in whatever position he wanted and fuck you senseless anyway.

He wouldn’t bring any attention to your hair afterwards but would definitely be surprised if next time you’d put some effort in, teasing you about looking good for him.

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babyhoney01 · 2 years ago

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this is giving you find a random polaroid camera and start taking pictures of Daryl

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branbrann · 1 year ago

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I WANT THEM BOTH AT THE SAME TIME RAWDOGGING ME BUTT BOOTY NAKED I NEED IT I CRAVE IT

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #twd negan #negan smith twd #negan smith #norman reedus #jeffery dean morgan #jdmorgan #negan x reader #twd daryl #celebs #dilfsource

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thewritersaddictions · 1 year ago

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Bases: Negan Smith- Chapter 2 Skin

Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader

Pov: Negan Smith

Warnings: Drinking, kisses, making out, more physical touches, undressing, baby steps, groping, shirts only off, fighting, angst, fluff, smut, tit for tat, supply run, zombies, the walking dead, Virgin!Reader, consenting adults.

Summary: After a night of drinking between you and Negan. It ends with the both of your shirtless, and Negans hands all over your bare skin.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers

WC- 3.6k

The Walking Dead Master List // The Wanderers Master List // Series Master List

The hot sun has not taken a rest yet. Y/n has gotten used to the time living and being around the sanctuary, but she’s aching to go back out. Her freedom out there differed from the freedom inside the gates and walls surrounding her. Keeping her protected. Y/n isn’t used to the protective feeling she gets from the older man that has taken her under his wing. He’s made it his mission to be there for her, and when Y/n arrived with nothing but the pack on her back. Negan did it all for her. Clothes, food, and safety. It was all for her, and Y/n wasn’t sure she understood why this man had taken such an interest in her.

“Y/n, let's go.” Negans voice pulled her from her thoughts. She shook her head and followed behind the man like a lost puppy following the most excellent person it had met. She enjoyed how Negan spoke to her compared to all of the others. He was gentle with her, kinder with his words. Negan made her melt, but she wasn’t sure what that meant. Y/n had noticed a few things about the man who had her attention. He always carried around his bat named ‘Lucille’ and always had his hand on her waist. Keeping her impossibly close to his side at all times. It made flips happen in her tummy; her cheeks were warm every time Negan touched her.

Y/n looked dazed as she follows behind me. I don’t like the idea of her being to far off from my grasps, and she doesn’t seem to bother it either. It will continue like this until she says otherwise. I chuckle at my own thoughts, I hadn’t really given a shit about what any other person for a long time. It was important that I was unforgiving, and gave no shits. I don’t know why all the sudden I cared, I cared like she mattered to me. Her squeaky voice pulled me my thoughts as we continued to walk outside. “Where are we going, Negan?” A few heads perked up, ignoring them I looked over at her. Her lips were plush, and thick lashes bounced on her cheeks.

“We are going on a supply run, sweetheart.” I opened the truck door. She stood waiting, “Come on we haven’t got all day long.” I said ushering her into the cab of the truck. She moved quickly, and when I got in after her on the other side. She was silent. “You aren’t just dropping me off somewhere right? Cause I didn’t grab my pack or anyt…” Y/n mumbles out while twisting her fingers. My hand sat on the key, I couldn’t… “why would I just drop you off in the middle of nowhere?” I asked her, utterly confused by her worry. When I looked over at her, her eyes were red, and watery. Her fidgeting hands were getting worse. I took a deep breath. “Well I just… I said that I would… I just don’t want to be a burden on y’all.” She mumbles once more. I take another deep beath, sighing out my frustration, taking my hand off the key that sits in the ignition. It lands on her jean clad thigh, her eyes widden has ash elooks up at me. “I’m not droppin’ you anywhere angel. Just wanted some company for today’s trip.” I say trying my best to convince her. She still doesn’t look like she believes me, I squeeze her thigh once then twice before returning my attention to key.

With that the truck roars to life, and a knock on the widow makes me grow frustrated. “Sir, we’re ready to go.” It’s Simon, I roll my eyes before looking through the side mirror. ‘Alright then stop talkin’ and get in the damn truck.” I muttered before rolling up the window, and waiting for the gate to open. “Do you… have like a map of the area?” She asks as we start to drive down the roads. “Yeah had one, why do you remember seeing something on your way here?” The conversation is nice to have.

It’s smooth, and has a meaning. It’s not like I’m talking to Simon, or Dwight. Don’t get me started on my ‘wives’. Nobody can manage to hold my attention, but her. Y/n holds it in a way that makes me scared for a moment. She’s not boring, and maybe that’s just because she’s new here, but I don’t want that to be the truth. Y/n opens her window, the air rushes in, popping her head out of the window her hair sorta flows with the window. She’s beautiful, I have to bit my tongue before i say those words out loud. I have no intention of scaring her just yet, from our earlier conversation she is still rather freaked out.

“There was like a strip mall… it was far though I think, I can’t really remember. I’m sorry.” She says when she comes into the cab of the truck. “A strip mall is good.” I radio over to the others. ‘Keep an eye out for a strip mall.’ “Do you know what side of the road it was on?” I ask her, she shakes her head, “That’s alright sweetheart.” I put my hand back on her thigh. She doesn’t knock it off, instead she looks shocked that I’m even touching her. She squirms ever so slightly has I guide my hand higher. I don’t tease her much longer, leaving it to rest there. Touching is enough for me right now, the ragging hard on in my jeans isn’t really helped by my teasing either.

What feels like hours pass until I feel Y/n jotling next to me. Her eyes are filled with excitement. I follow her finger. A delicate hand points towards a shitty strip mall. “Will you radio it in for me?” I ask her, handing her the radio. She nods her headle, clearing her throat. I almost laugh. Her squeaky voice is loud and clear which surprise me as she doesn’t ever talk to loud, or even from what I can see have a single mean bone in her body. “Strip mall on your right.” It a few moments before someone calls back into the channel. “Who the hell is whining in through this channel.” The radio sits back on the center console. Her brows furrow at the way the guy talk through the radio.

I grab it, shouting loudly into the mic. “You all shut the fuck up, and get to the damn strip mall.” It’s all i say before turning off the channel, and paying attention to the road that leads to the strip mall. It doesn’t look to abadoned or worse for wear. It’s signs still standing up, and I think because it was so far from so many of the ground zeros outbreaks that it has yet to be discovered. The parking lot is filled with old cars, but there’s a good spot to park the large truck. Y/n is staring at the strip mall through the front window. “I’ve never been to a place like this before.” She comments, looking around at our surrounding it seems that it use to be a large strip mall. A gas station not far from the parking lot, and then the other trucks start pulling up next to us. “Let’s get out.” I turn to Y/n she nods her head, I grab her wrist before she can get out, “Wait a minute,” I shuffle through the bag on the floor in front of the console. “Here’s a gun, just incase.” She nods her head, and when I give her the gun our fingers brush past, sending an electrifying zing through my body, and down my spine.

Simon is already at my side by the second igeto ut of the truck. “I thought we were going to the other palace that was on the map.” I stare at him for a moment. Rolling my eyes, “Well we’re here now, so shut the fuck up and deal with it.” My hands feel empty, and for a sudden second I remember that I don’t have my Lucille on me. She isn’t anywhere in my grasps, so I climb back into the trucks cab. “Negan.” “What god damn it…” My anger blinds me for longer then it probably should have. “Oh Y/n..” her face is riddled with sadness, and when I get my feet back down on the ground she twists her nose, “I grabbed your um… the bat you carry around with ya.” She hands me the bat, and then she’s back to looking at the ground. “Thank you darlin”

I pair off the people in groups. Y/n, and I stay together, I want to know about her and the only way of doing that is putting Simon and practically everyone else off and out of my path. We walk side by side as I watch the other pairs go into stores with careful steps. The doors aren’t chained or even locked. Everything is open, and clear for us to use. Y/n looks around with a sort of ease in her step, almost as if she’s skipping. If it weren’t for the bat in my hand, and the gun in hers it would almost feel normal. Like a date, a shopping date. Fuck I’d get her anything she wanted. Hell I can get her anything she wants now, money has no status here and now it’ all about the power you have.

My eyes light up at the sight of an ABC store. The windows are still together, I hit the doorframe with the end of my bat. Y/n had found a few stores, filled with clothes she grabbed with the copious plastic bags behind the check out booth. Y/n carries them out with her, I knock once, then twice no grumbles of zombie came echoing through the building. I push the door open, and when it look around the windows bring light to the store. The walls are lined with all types of different alcohol. Beer, and wine lines the fridged wall. I gravitate towards the harder ligours that are lined in the middle aisle. Brandy, gin, whiskey and rum. I hadn’t had a good glass of my favorite gin in a long time, Y/n had dropped her bags of clothes at the front door. The gun I handed her when we first got here is in the back of her jeans.

“Grab whatever you want sweetheart.” I yell over to her, she’s grazing the aisle like the out break never happened. For a moment I day dream about how it would have been to meet her in the store her ass in a nice pair of jeans and her hairs exposed to the summer sun. I day dream that Y/n would have a sweet, confident women that bumped into me with her questions about what kind of brands to buy for a new years party. A dream that I was sadly taken out of when a crash of glass echoed through the store. A mumble of screams “Y/n!” I shouted from the other aisle, but no response. I’m not sure why the panic rampted up in my bones when I heard nothing from Y/n.

The zombie had her pinned, her back is pressed hard into the ground. Her hands are frantically trying to push the fleshy monster off her frame. “NEGAN!” She screamds as she see me from the corner of her eye. Her gun is pressed into the rback, so there’s no way she can save herself. The aderaline that pumps through my body has me swinging my bat over my head hitting the zombie square in his head. Blood splatters across her face, as she pushes the zombie off her frame. My bat, and arms keep swinging regardless that the zombies face is fucked to obvilion. “Negan…” Her words aren’t hitting me, its like I can’t hear anything. “Negan, you can stop now.” her hand touches my shoulder gently, and it brings me right back tot he present. My bat is stuck in the face of the dead zombie on the ground. “We should check, and make sure there aren’t anymore around.” She’s right, I take a deep, ragged breath before dragged the bat out of the smelly flesh.

With nobody hurt, and a few bags with of alcohol and clothes, we both settle that it might be a bette idea to head back to the truck, “Negan are you alright?” She asks with concerned etched into her face, and voice. I only nod my head, I gave her a quick check over after we killed the zombie, and then another once we left the store. She stood there and let my graze down her frame her cheeks growing red with blush and the tips of her ears pink. “Negan, look at everything we found.” Simon is talking again, and for a moment I wish it had just been Y/n and I. The stronger men are carrying bed, and anything heavy. “A hardware store was on the other end.” Simon recalls. “Good.” I say with a simple node before opening the door for Y/n, she hops in before dropping the bags between the console and the seats.

The drive back home is quiet, the sun is setting in the most beautiful way. It gives shades of purple and orange to the sky as they reflect in and onto Y/n’s tried face. In the silence of the drive, her steady breaths are all I can think about, even when I feel her gaze on me. “I saw you grabbed a few bags worth of clothes, did you grab anything for me?” I tease her, she looks over at me, a red tinge of her cheeks. “I did, but I don’t know if you’ll like anything I grabbed you.” She says softly. I grin at her, and when I get to the gate of the sanctuary I start to eye the bag between the two of us.

Why is Simon so content in annyoting me leave me be with Y/n, and do what you want. Or whatever. Simons louds voice takes me out of the lovely space that I’ve created with Y/n, “What do you want us to do with the stuff we got today sir?” Simon asks, I bring a hand to my face dragging it down my emotionless face. “Why don’t you just categorize everything and then decided later on.” Y/n offers from behind me. I turn, smiling sweetly at her, when I turn back to look at Simon he’s looking at me like I’ve got no head at all, “You heard the lady, now do as your told.” Simon stand there for a minutes dumbfounded, but turns yelling at the group of men. I turn my attention back to Y/n, but she’s not there. Instead I can see her hips swaying as she’s waking into the building. I chase after her like a teenaged boy. My legs carry me as far as my heart and lungs can pump before I have to stop. Thankfully she doesn’t go to far, stopping at my rooms door. The bags in her hand, I follow her into the room, “Leave me out there all by myself with all those dicks.” I tease her.

She rolls her eyes, theres a glimpse of attitude that shine through, and it makes me chuckle in the best of ways. The bags are laid out on beds comforter. It remind me of before, when Lucile used to go shopping, and bring home all her findings then do a cute little show of what she brought. I can’t help the words that fall out of my mouth, “You do a fashion show for me Y/n?” I ask, her head turns quickly, and then back at the bags. Bitting her bottom lip she digs through the bag of liquor. “How about a few glasses of wine, or whatever you want?” She offers, a little too shy still, but we are getting there. There a simply sort of flirting that’s happening between the two of us. That’s been happening between the two of us for weeks now, since she woke up and stayed in my room.

Y/n pulls the bottles from the bag. “What sorta drinker are you Negan?” She asks, “What’d mean?” I ask eyeing the bottle of gin in her hand. “I just mean… are you a um light weight?” I chuckle at her question, “I don’t mean to offend ya sweetheart, but I’m not anywhere close to a light weight.” I haven’t chuckled like this in a long time, haven’t felt my cheeks burn like this in a long time. I get up grabbing two crystal glasses. “Pick.” Y/n just so happens to grab the gin from within her hands. I smile at her choice. I grab the bottle from her hand, pulling the plastic wrap off from around the top, and twisting the top off.

The clear liqoured falls from the bottle, and into the glass. Y/n doesn’t say when she just lets me fill up her glass. “That’s good enough.” She nods, Y/n takes the glass from my hand. “Let’s go sit over here.” I motion her over to the couch. In between taking sips from her glass, and the long conversations we have about the things that Y/n, and I did before the world came to an abrupt end. “I was a schools gym teacher.” Y/n giggles, laughing with her stomach. Her hand is placed on her stomach as she heaves over the edge of her couch. I had refilled the cups a few times, like I had told her I wasn’t a light weight. “You might have been drinkin’ to much of this sweetheart.” I say as I get up grabbing the glass from the table. Placing it far away from her at least for now, but before I can manage to sit back down on the chair across from her.

Y/n is grabbing my hand, pulling me down parctly ontop of her. On instinct I want to pull away but i can’t seem to get myself to and even if I wanted to I can’t. Her legs wrap around my hip and drag me in. “You smell so good Negan.” She whispers now that we are so close. Her breath fans over my face, and her eyes flutter in a way I’ve never seen before. All the shyness is gone, all of the fear has been turned into something else. There’s lust behind her eyes, passion behind them as well. Her hands cup my cheeks pulling me further down. If I were any better of a man, “So handsome too.” Y/n adds on. “God Y/n, if I were a better man I’d say no to your drunken state, but I’m not.” I don’t think as I lean in the rest of the way. Our lips molding in the best of way together.

Her lips are warm and plush. Tasting of gin and chocolate. I don’t even have to ask for permission; she just lets her mouth fall open. I slip my tongue in, her own tongue melds with mine. Her moans fill the air between us, and her legs around my waist squeeze me harder pulling me in even more. I have to pull away from her for breath. She’s intoxicating in every single way. “Come here, sweetheart,” I say shifting us so Y/n is now sitting on my lap. She grinds up on me, trying to some sort of friction out of our new position. My hands land on her hips as I watch her. I’m not so forward with most of the more intimate parts of my life. “Come on, sweetheart, let's get this t-shirt off of you,” I mumble as I try to get her out of the shirt. She isn’t really helping, but that’s just fine. I manage to get the shirt off of her shoulder and over her head. “Look at you, such a pretty little thing,” I mutter as I throw the shirt off into the distance. Her skin prickles up with goosebumps as I graze my hands up her sides slowly.

“Negan…” her voice is soft and kind. “What baby?” Her face suddenly turns sober and authentic. “I think you should know something…” My brows arch with concern. “I’m a… I’ve never done anything like this before.” It takes a moment for it takes entirely to make sense in my head, “You’re a virgin? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask her, and she nods slowly. I have to bite my bottom lip to hide the excitement and stop myself from grinding up into her. “That’s alright, dear; I’ll take real good care of you if you want me to, of course.” This conversation is sobering me up by the minute. She only thinks, “Yes, I want you to help me, Negan.” She says timidly. I can’t help the smirk that grows on my face. I unclip her bra, and her tits bounce at the release of the pressure. “You’re so beautiful, Y/n,” I mutter before taking her nipple in my mouth, sucking on it, teasing her as her hands wrap around the back of my neck, pulling me in even closer.

“Fuck Negan so good.” She moans out; it’s not much later that Y/n is wrapped around me, her head on my chest with both of my shirts ripped off and lying on the floor. She had moaned and cried out in pleasure as I sucked on her nipples and squeezed her other tit in my giant hand.

Completed on: 08/13/23

Posted on: 08/15/23

Bases Tags- @claraangel @lanad3lrey-l0v3r @jdmsgorl @scarlett-widows-89 @idk1idk2idk @kaits-diary @whatsssss @daryldixonluvr @oceanablue @chelseypprimrose @freedomfighterlex @sageworld @ayeitzzshayla @123avengersandmarvel @charlie19690 @sweetvixensstuff @lanceisrandom @redscreendarkwin @ge0rgzs @rainyzonkmakerlover @amazingmaeve @harmonib @fullwattpadmusictree @finalgirlmp3 @rayneemccann @julimariett @kpoplover4life @definitelynotyagmur @rivernell @vanilla88 @alteredgalaxy @thatonefroggirl @kyleepsposts @max-505 @nhayoshii

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dollfacefantasy · 2 months ago

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CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now.

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time.

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like - you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout.

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head.

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that.

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.

#negan x reader #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan smith smut #twd x reader #twd smut #twd imagine #twd x you #twd x y/n

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writella · 5 months ago

Text

Fuckin’ Favorite

Synopsis: Whose the fairest of them all? It’s you. It’s always been you. Negan’s prepared to let each one of his wives know just that tonight.

— or: Oh Lord, does Negan love his fuckin’ favorite wife!

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, smut— fingering, thigh riding, and penetration without protection; reader at the Sanctuary, “wife”!reader, guilty!reader because when am I not feeling guilty for wanting Negan, Negan being rude in one small part, I’m pretty sure I changed the layout of the wives quarters from the show, and a fuck load of ‘fucks’ from Negan. Mostly proofread. wc: 2.2k.

A/N: I mostly get right to it, so buckle up! And if you like this one, check out this daydream I wrote because I think it’s really cute.

—with love from writella ♡

He comes in without a knock.

The door, though brittle as it is, slams shut. The metal and leather of his jacket clink and slap as his back pounds against it. He has no care that he could break the door, or for the noise and late hour of his arrival.

This was his house. His rules.

“Good evenin’, sweetheart.”

If it wasn’t for that slight twang in his accent, or that wiley look that punctuates the end of his sentences, making everything he says just as comical as unsettling, it would have sounded more like a, Hello, Clarice— nonetheless, you still hold your breath.

“It’s half past ten,” you decide to say, looking down, making sure you don’t sound too sarcastic or displeased with his appearance. It’s just that you hated it when he came to your room, especially when all the other girls were right outside in the common room or in their bedrooms that neighbored yours. You much rather go to his room if you have to. It’s quiet and separate from the rest of the habitants of the Sanctuary. He could be as loud as he wanted— even though he always was anyway— but that would mostly be for you— so you didn’t have to feel so ashamed.

“Well would you prefer a Hey, sexy. Strip down. Ass up. then? Just get right to it?” You say nothing. “Cause I could.” Negan tilts his head sideways with a slight grin, his forehead protruding forward as he tries to find your eyes. All he sees is cheeks starting to flush, an embarrassed shake of your head, and eyes that stay stuck on your black ballerina flats.

You were sitting on the rear of your bed, only looking up sometimes. Recently, you were trying to get better with eye contact. You wanted to show that you’re not afraid of him anymore. It was supposed to be a silent statement that he wasn’t fooling you and that you weren’t softening up to him. That you know what this is, who he is; you’re cognizant of what he does to you, to the others girls, to people outside these walls. But, this didn’t work. No matter if you were looking down or up, you could never seem to get rid of that deer in the headlights look— The Roadkill Stare or The Corpse’s Bride as Negan called it— wide and bewildered, like he was going to run you over. Sometimes it made him feel sad. That there were moments where he could see you trying to resist your natural instinct to flinch when he comes near. But other times, it made him feel powerful. Not the fact that he scared you, but that he could see what was underneath it— that you were scared of yourself. He knows you like him. He knows from the way your face slightly twists as you suppress your snickers and smiles at his jokes when you two are alone, or when he makes fun of Simon for yet another one of his bad attempts at acting like him; when you think you’re doing well at maintaining that timid Tim Burton eyed version of a poker face. He knows you’re not completely scared of him, at least not anymore. Little by little, he’s learning to clock the nuances of your expressions: he sees how your eyes trail his body when he undresses in front of you, or the way you follow him as he walks to talk to this person or that, how you’re acutely aware of when and how he moves, your eyes flickering towards his hands before he gestures with them. It’s like you know too. As if you see his underneath the way he can for you. You’re becoming as familiar as he is.

He’s aware.

You can’t fool him any longer.

“Get up for me.” It’s a soft command said in his darkened voice. On instinct, you oblige. This is how it is. He walks closer, his fingertips lightly brushing slowly down your shoulder until he reaches your waist. He grabs you quick and close on both sides, pulling you straight against him. You gasp, arms swinging back slightly, back arching against him as he presses you on his lower abdomen and groin. You can feel his breath, and the heat of his intense gaze. “Kiss me.”

Your mouth is agape. Your breath shudders. You’re frozen.

You do nothing.

There you go again, his little fawn bride. If eyes could be any more rounder, symmetrical spheres, they’re yours. He could laugh but he doesn’t. He only repeats himself. Quietly, sternly, “You kiss me first this time.”

You had never done that before.

“Do I gotta say it a third?”

You shake your head. No.

Hesitantly, you reach up, touching his face with ghostlike fingertips, feeling the bristles of his beard as you bring yourself closer. Your lips are light and tentative as you finally press yours on his. For him, it was like being kissed by an angel. It makes him soften up for a moment, tilt your head up higher for you to give you more leverage. He kisses you just as sweetly. His thumb strokes your jaw.

After a few more kisses, you pull back to look at him. You hold his shoulders and he holds you by your waist. Your faces are so close, his eyes could almost be as wide as yours, and for a moment, it all feels so soft and dream-like. But quickly, the iridescence fades: before you realize it, he puts his tongue in your mouth forcefully, making your head roll back. The unexpected shift makes you gasp into his mouth.

He turns you around, slams you again your door. Your tall bureau near it bangs against the wall with you. Some of your folded clothes you had yet to put away and jewelry falls off the top as your head bounces.

Negan’s left hand runs down your body, sliding two fingers down under your dress and over your panties, pressing in at your slit. He finds wetness forming. His fingers make it more pronounced as he creates a wet spot.

“Tell me you want me,” he says as he starts to rub your clit.

You take a shaky breath inwards, covering a small moan.

Negan’s fingers slide inside your underwear and down right into your hole. He pumps slowly three times, never losing eye contact with you and then he takes them out. “Cause I want you,” and he proves it by putting the two fingers in his mouth and licking them clean, wiping his lips afterwards with his tongue. “Tell me you do too.”

Your breath remains heavy. Finally, you whisper, “I want you.”

He spins you around again. His back against the door once more, producing another slam you know all the girls will hear. He raises one of his legs and slots his thigh in between yours. His hands rest on your hips, rocking you against him. It feels good. Your thin cotton panties and bare thighs brushing and rocking against his that are rough and denim clad. You try to resist the urge to make any sounds because of how much you like it. “Tell me you need me.”

This makes you whine. “Can we—” you start to ask— and you can’t believe you’re even going to say it— “Can we just go to your room? Please?” Oh God, what would everyone at Alexandria think? They’d be so disappointed. They’d hate you. The wives have never been mean, they accepted you, understood your condition more than anyone else, but where you only had very educated guesses of what everyone at home would think of you, you had a stone hard fact of how the other girls were starting to see you. Their eyes could not lie as much as yours: you felt women’s growing glares of silent resentment whenever you were seen with Negan. He was more forgiving with you; never got too nasty about your habit of not speaking when you’re spoke to; he was gentle with his touch when others were watching; never made you hang out with any of the other men if you didn’t want to; and he talked to you, communicated more. They saw it. They knew it. They figured you were more in the know about things outside the Sancutary than they were. You tried to use it to keep them informed as well, as a way to preserve what little favor you had left, but now look at you, ruining it all as they’re forced to listen. Not only submitting to whatever he may do to you, but asking to change the location before it begins.

“No. You get me here or not at all.” You knew he wasn’t lying. His voice was stern. He looked you in the eye even if you weren’t looking back, you felt it. It told you that he wouldn’t budge, not even a little. “And you can sleep in those panties if that’s the case.”

You stay silent for a moment. Eyes peering into his wishing just your look could say it all. “Negan…” you whisper.

“Yes, baby?”

“I- I need you.”

In an instant, Negan pushes you off of him. His hands go to the ends of your dress and pull it off of you with your arms and hair flying.

“Take it off,” he demands after he throws you down on your bed.

You feet kick off your flats and you raise your hips to discard your panties, never losing sight of him as he rips off his jacket, unbuckles his belt, and crosses his arms to get rid of his shirt. You loved the look of his years-faded tattoos against his tan skin and the curves of his light muscles when he raises his arms.

You’re in a trance, not seeing that he sees that you’re doing it again. Bambi eyes trailing him down. It’s every time you guys do this. And fuck, you must think he’s sexy. He loves it. Because he knows he’s fucking sexy. He knows that pretty girls like you will always come around. You just can’t help it. His grin is as wide as your eyes because of it.

Negan is hard and he wastes no time. He’s been thinking about claiming you all day. He hooks his hands under your knees as you lay with your back flat on the bed.

Negan lines himself against you and immediately starts to piston himself inside of you, never completely pulling out. Your breast shake as his thrusts keep pushing you back. You felt like you were vibrating.

He is obsessed with this angle. Getting to see your face scrunch and twist and contort. Getting to hear your heavy pants and sighs. Getting to feel the squeeze of your pussy and he continues to push inside you fast, fast, fast.

And he’s mesmerized by your breast. The continuous bounce of your perky tits that were now his. He wants his mouth on them, he wants his dick between them, but for now he’ll just watch them jump and spring— it’s just as sexy to him. He might even have to cancel all of tomorrow's plans just to watch them fly all day like this.

Your head turns to your left side and you catch yourself in your full length mirror— the view is from head to the top of your waist. You see your left tit bouncing along with your head and stomach as Negan keeps pushing into it with no relent. Instantly you moan at the sight. Your hand swings to your face right after, your eyes closing shut.

Negan rips your fingers from off your mouth. “No,” he warns. “I know you like it—” you whine when he says that— “Stop hiding it. Look at yourself or I’ll stop.”

You don’t open them.

He stops.

“You gonna fuckin’ listen?”

Slowly, you ynclose your scrunched eyes, seeing yourself and your parted lips again.

“Good girl.” And then, Negan starts splitting you open again, making you shake. The sudden movement makes you moan, “oh- uh.”

“Tell me you want it.”

You don’t resist anymore. You continue to look at yourself in the mirror as you say, “I want it.”

“Tell me you need it.”

Your head turns to watch where your body connects with his. “Ohmygod, I need it.”

He growls as he follows your gaze, voice strained and rough like he’s going to punch something as he repeats, thrusting faster, “Tell me you fucking need it.”

“I need it.” Then you moan, “Negan, please!” You chant, “Please. Please, Negan, I need it!”

“You need it, baby?” He jeers. “You want me to give it to ya?”

You nod as you whine, tears almost coming out. Your breasts still bounce for him and you love it as much as you hate it. “Yes, Negan.”

“You know what I came in here to do, baby?”

You’re still whining, you're practically incoherent. His little fuck doll. All you can say is his name.

“Look at me when I tell you.”

Your eyes go up to his. Watching him as he continues to pump into you. You see how his body vigorously shakes in unison with yours. His skin and his pushing up and down, in and out, as he makes your body jump.

“I came in here,” he starts, losing his breath and trying not to falter from his thrusts as his face places itself above yours, “To show every single bitch in the goddamn house that you’re mine. And that you’re the only fuckin’ one.” You respond with only sex-filled sounds. You’re close to exploding. Your body still jumps along with his. Your bouncing breasts rubbing against his pex as he commands, “Tell me you want me to do it. You want me to make you come.”

As always, though this time it was because you were on the verge of losing all control, you give no answer.

His words bite at your parted lips as he repeats, “Tell me!” And he slaps the side of your ass.

The pang forces you to speak: “I want you to do it Negan please!”

Negan rises. His mouth circles as he moans. He holds your hips now, raising them off the bed as he pumps into your harder. “Say it again.”

“Do it, Negan, please. Please make me come.” With each word ending in moaning pants as you repeats, “Please- Please- Please- Please- Please-”

“Oh fuck,” his gutteral voice rasps and roars for all to hear. Your absolute submission brings him closer to the edge. He smiles widely knowing he’s about to come so hard in that tiny pussy of yours. “OH FUCKIN LORD,” he laughs, knowing he has the whole floor’s attention, not caring a single bit how any of it sounds. “GOD DAMN. THAT’S FUCKIN RIGHT. IM GONNA MAKE MY PRETTY LITTLE FUCKIN WIFE FUCKIN COME BECAUSE SHE’S- MY FUCKIN’- FAVORITE.”

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