#Negan smith Twd

[kaayyyys]

how negan smith would react to you calling him your " current boyfriend"

Okay, here's a long-form, romantic, and intimate story about Negan's reaction to being jokingly named your "current boyfriend," tailored for romance readers:

A Claim, a Grin, and a Goddamn Hurricane

The air in the Sanctuary’s makeshift infirmary was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something vaguely metallic, a constant reminder of the world we now inhabited. I was perched on the edge of a rickety cot, idly swinging my legs, while Denise meticulously cleaned a scratch on my arm – a souvenir from a scavenging run gone slightly sideways. Negan was supposed to be somewhere important, probably bellowing orders and cracking skulls, but I could feel his presence like a low hum in the background. He always knew where I was, and I, ridiculously, always knew where he was too.

"Almost done," Denise murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Just a little more… there. You'll be fine. Just try not to get mauled by any more walkers, okay? We're running low on bandages."

"No promises," I quipped, winking. "Adventure calls, Denise. What can I say?"

That's when Arat sauntered in, her expression a curious mix of amusement and something I couldn't quite decipher. "Well, well, well," she drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Look who it is. The Savior Sweetheart. How's the arm, sweetheart?"

"Peachy," I replied, instantly wary. Arat was never one for pleasantries, especially directed at me. She tolerated me, mostly because Negan tolerated me, but I knew she saw me as a weakness, a soft spot in his otherwise impenetrable armor.

"So," Arat continued, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Heard you had quite the story to tell back at that little trading post we hit earlier. Something about a…boyfriend?"

My stomach dropped. Oh, God.

Earlier that day, while bartering for supplies, a nosy woman had asked if I was single. Irritated by her prying, and fueled by a sudden mischievous impulse, I'd blurted out, "Nope! I'm seeing someone. A real possessive type, actually. Current boyfriend." Then, when pressed for a name, I had foolishly, hilariously, and perhaps dangerously, said, "Negan Smith."

The look on the woman's face had been priceless.

Now, with Arat’s knowing smirk, I knew the fallout was about to be… interesting.

"Oh, that," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just a little joke. You know how it is. Trying to get rid of unwanted attention."

"A joke, huh?" Arat raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "A joke involving Negan? Bold move, sweetheart. Very bold."

Before I could formulate a proper response, a shadow fell over the doorway. The air in the room seemed to crackle with a sudden, potent energy. Negan.

He stood there, arms crossed, his leather jacket creaking softly. His eyes, usually dancing with a dark humor, were narrowed, predatory. Lucille, his ever-present companion, rested casually against his shoulder. He looked… intrigued. And maybe a little pissed.

"What's this I hear about you having a boyfriend, (Y/N)?" His voice was low, dangerously smooth, the kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine, even when you knew he wasn't truly angry. Yet.

I swallowed hard. "It's not what it sounds like, Negan," I stammered, my carefully constructed composure crumbling around me. "It was just a… a misunderstanding."

He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. Arat wisely decided to disappear, leaving me alone to face the music – or, more accurately, the symphony of impending doom.

"A misunderstanding," he repeated, his lips twitching. "So, you're telling me you're not claiming me as your man?"

"No! Yes! I mean…" I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "It was a stupid joke, okay? I just wanted that woman to leave me alone. I didn't think it would get back to you."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small room. "Oh, honey," he said, reaching out and gently pulling my hands away from my face. "Everything gets back to me. Especially when it involves my name being bandied about."

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of my cheekbones. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the power he exuded. "So, tell me, (Y/N)," he murmured, his eyes searching mine. "Why me? Why did you choose my name?"

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. The truth was, even before we were… this, before the stolen kisses in the dead of night, before the whispered secrets and the shared vulnerability, he was always on my mind. He was a force of nature, a magnetic presence that drew me in despite myself.

"Because," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper, "I knew it would get a reaction."

A slow smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and made them sparkle with amusement and something else, something akin to possessive affection.

"Damn right it did," he said, leaning in close, his breath warm against my lips. "You think you can just go around claiming me, (Y/N)? Calling me your 'current boyfriend' like I'm some kind of temporary amusement?"

"No," I breathed, my mind reeling.

"You know what happens when someone claims something in this world?" He lowered his head, nibbling at my earlobe. "They own it. They protect it. And they sure as hell don't let anyone else have it."

A shiver ran down my spine. "And do you want to be claimed, Negan?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression intense. "Honey," he said, his voice husky, "you have no idea."

He leaned in and kissed me then, a deep, possessive kiss that stole my breath and left me weak in the knees. It was a claim, a promise, a declaration of ownership that resonated through every fiber of my being.

When he finally broke the kiss, I was breathless and dizzy. He grinned, a wide, triumphant grin that showed all his teeth.

"So," he said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "About this 'boyfriend' situation… I think we need to make it official, don't you? Let everyone know exactly who you belong to."

I laughed, a shaky, giddy sound. "And how do you propose we do that, Negan?"

He winked. "Oh, I have a few ideas. Starting with a little trip to that trading post. I think I need to have a little chat with that nosy woman. Just to clarify a few things."

My laughter bubbled up again, stronger this time. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would," he said, his voice laced with playful menace. "And I will. Just to make sure everyone understands: you're mine, (Y/N). And I don't share."

He paused, his eyes softening slightly. "Although," he added, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice, "I wouldn't mind hearing you say it again. You know, just for my ego."

I grinned, leaning up and kissing him again, a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes. "You're my boyfriend, Negan," I whispered against his lips. "My very possessive, very terrifying, very wonderful boyfriend."

He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound. "That's my girl," he murmured, pulling me close. "Now, let's go set the record straight, shall we? And maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to… celebrate later."

And with that, hand in hand, we walked out of the infirmary, ready to face whatever the world threw at us, together. And all because of one ridiculous, impulsive, and utterly perfect joke.

[mpregslover69]

punishment

ᴍᴅɴɪ - ɴsғᴡ - ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - 2.2ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅs - ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs ᴏᴘᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ғʀᴏᴍ @shivaxfluffy - ᴍɪssɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ ᴘᴏsᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴇɢᴀɴs ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀsɪɴɢ ᴅɪᴄᴋ

You had been willing to risk your face just for another night of fun. You knew what happened to the others who decided to spend a night with one of Negan's wives; it was never a pretty sight when he found out. Being called into his office the day after had you drenched in sweat. Sure, you expected this, but that didn't make your nerves any better. Knocking on his door, you could hear his booming voice respond. “Come in.”

“You asked for me?” Your heart raced as you entered his office. It felt so out of place being inside of here instead of out in the factory working like you always did. 

“Yes. See, you know that here in the sanctuary we have an order of sorts, don't you?” You could only nod your head in response, waiting to see where he was going with this. “Well, I don’t think you knew that, considering what you did. Seems like every month i have to burn one of your fucking faces just to get the point across.” Gulping, you tried to get rid of the lump stuck in your throat as he continued on. 

“I offer you all a good place, a way to live without worrying about walkers and what do you do?” Negan slammed his fist against the table huffing in anger. “ You go and fuck my wife! I mean, what kind of man goes around fucking another guys wife!?” Thoughts were running wild in your head. He usually just publicly burnt the others that did this. Not once had you even heard a rumor about him privately telling a man off for this. 

“I didn't mean—” Before you could even finish your sentence Negan glared at you. There wasn't anything you could say to stop him. You took a risk and now you had to deal with the consequences. 

“Doggy style, missionary, cowgirl, you don’t do all of that without meaning to.” Negan finallymoved, bridging the gap between you two. “You fucked my wife behind my back and expected me to just lay down and take it. Not this time. You will learn your lesson.” Here it comes, you thought to yourself, shutting your eyes. You tried your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

“Look at me, boy.” That was enough to snap you out of your thoughts. While you had tried shutting him out, Negan had gotten far too close to you, his chest practically touching yours. Your mind ran wild with fearful thoughts as you stood there waiting for his next move. “I ain’t gonna burn your face off. That’d be a waste, and clearly it ain’t deterring you fuckers.” 

The idea of a punishment worse than getting your face burnt with an iron wasn't good at all, and yet you couldn't stop the rise in your pants as you heard this. Being so close to Negan was enough to make all the blood rush to your groin,even if you were supposed to be fearing him. 

“You know what, I'll be nice this time. I'll give you a choice.” Negan backed off, sitting down on one of his arm chairs. “You can have half of your pretty face burnt like all the others before you, or you let me do everything you did to my wife to you.” 

Every bone in your body was telling you to just take the iron to the face, but the idea of having another man take you in the ways you took his wife felt like an offer you would never get again. Swallowing down your spit you finally responded. “I’ll, uhm… I'll take the second option.” Heat rose on your cheeks. It was hard not to be embarrassed in this situation.

“Well ain't that a treat.” Negan chuckled. The look on your face was enough. The way your cheeks grew red and even the slight bulge in your pants was enough to tell him how much you wanted this. “A little whore aren't you?” Your mouth felt dry while your mind raced for any sort of response.

“Just don't want to lose half my face… ha…” Your words were unconvincing, but Negan didn't care too much. All he needed was to teach you a lesson you wouldn't forget. 

“Of course.” Negan stood back up, heading over to you. “Well then, we better get started.” The time between leaving his office and heading to his bedroom felt like a blur to you. Once you finally laid down on the bed, you snapped back to reality. Looking up at Negan as he hovered over you only made you more excited.

The idea of being taken by your leader seemed to be too good. “Did she really tell you everything we did?” you couldn't help but ask, wondering how much he knew about your night with her. 

“She did. I know every little dirty detail. Are you embarrassed?” Negan teased, sliding his hand up your shirt. The way he spoke and acted made you more excited. You knew he wasn't going to act exactly like you, but the idea of him doing everything you had done… 

It was a type of excitement you had never felt before in your life. 

Feeling his rough fingertips on your nipples sent shivers down your spine. Each twirl of his fingers felt so purposeful, like he was trying to make you cum just from your nipples alone. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to avoid getting more humiliated. “Eyes opened, I want to see your reactions.” 

Every word that came out of his mouth spoken in his deep voice paired up with his fingers twirling your nipples made you whine. “Come on, I'm just doing what you did. Did she give you as much of a reaction as you're giving me?” 

All your words were stuck in your throat as you shook your head no. You could barely get his wife to cum, let alone have her whining from playing with her nipples. 

“Don't you feel a bit pathetic? You tried so hard to entertain her and yet I'm able to get you so restless just from my fingers.” His fingers moved away from your body.Hearing his zipper finally got you to open your eyes. He slid off his jacket before beginning to remove his shirt. “Are you just going to stare?”

“N-No,” you stammered out, quickly moving to remove your own clothing as well. It took you longer than normal to take off your shirt. The awkwardness you felt fumbling with your pants had your face flushed. 

“Seems like you need help with everything, huh?” Negan laughed as his hands made his way down to your pants waistline. His rough calloused hands moved around your body, it was definitely not his first rodeo. In seconds you were left with just your underwear. You felt naked in both a literal and figurative sense. “Let's get rid of these too, why don't we?” You could barely hold in the small whines that came out of you as you watched his hands grip onto your boxers waistband,

Every movement and touch from him felt like a rush of pleasure running through your body. You had never been on the receiving end of such touches. The new feeling was addictive. Once he slid off your boxers, your humiliation furthered as you realised your cock was standing at attention. You couldn't control it and the both of you knew that, but that wasn't going to stop Negan from teasing you.

“Look at this! Already so excited, huh?” His coarse finger rubbed against your tip. Your hands rushed to cover your mouth, trying to stop the embarrassing sounds you could feel bubbling in your throat from escaping. Negan's other hand came up removing your barricade from your mouth. 

“Ah—” Before you could stop it the small moan had already fallen out. 

“There we go, I want to hear all those noises. Take this as a lesson for next time you try pleasuring a woman, you want to hear her moaning before you even enter.” As he spoke, his finger continued to tease your tip. You couldn't hold back.

“Ah—ngh—please…” Your small moans and whines were like music to his ears. The way he moved around your tip nearly sent you over the edge.

“Uh-uh. We aren't even close to done.” He removed his finger, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “I haven’t even gotten to fuck you yet.” Pulling off his own pants, he left you there, just laying down and already feeling so tired just from him playing with you. You knew right then that this night was going to be long.

“There we go, now I'm ready” You watched as he finally released his dick from the fabric cage. Looking at it now made you understand why so many women were willing to be his wives. His size was larger than you thought you would ever see; his girth alone was enough to shock you. Your own one felt like a shrimp compared to his. “I know, ain't he a beauty?”

You couldn't even respond. our eyes were locked onto it. Every small twitch it made sent butterflies into your stomach. could it even fit? How does it even fit into anyone? Your thoughts ran wild as he started to lather it up in lube. You had been so distracted you didn't even notice him grabbing the lube from his bedside table. 

“I don't think it’ll fit.” you mumbled, watching him get ready. You were sure that if he did fit it all in your insides would never be the same again.

“It’ll fit, trust me.” Negan's hands gripped your thighs as he began to spread your legs. “We’re gonna start with my favourite one: missionary.” He leaned over, casting a shadow onto you as his cock lined up with your hole. Everything felt ten times more sexual than when you did it. It almost felt like he was teaching you how to do better. 

Feeling the cold lube he had slathered over his manhood only furthered your feelings of embarrassment. The tip alone made your head reel back as you tried to not squirm too much. “C’mon, you can take me. I ain’t that big." Negan inched forward, leaning down closer. His dick kept moving further in your body, stretching out your hole further than you thought was possible. 

You couldn't even speak, every time he moved even just a little bit sent waves of pleasure through your body. All his movements only furthered your descent, it felt like he was rewiring your brain just from is dick alone. His lips ghosted the crevice of your neck snapping you back into reality. “Come on… it took you longer to get my wife off didn't it? You can do this.”

“You’re too��hngh—” Trying to speak only made you let out more sweet moans for Negan to suck up. 

“Too what? You gotta finish your sentences pretty boy.” His deep sultry voice was mocking as he continued to pound into you. The way he looked into your eyes, even as yours started to roll back, nearly sent you over. Each plap seemed louder than the last one as your bodies meshed together. “Were you this fast? Or did you try doing it slowly, thinking that would help get her off?” His mocking words rung through your head.

“Ah—you—hah—” Negan kept going faster and faster, not giving you enough time to form even a thought about what he was doing. His head rested in the crook of your neck; you could feel his breath on you. He kept on pummeling you, his pace steady as you tried to stop yourself from going crazy. 

“You can handle this. Just a little bit longer...” Even he was starting to get out of breath. You could feel pleasure building up in your crotch, you knew what was coming but you didn't care enough to stop it now. 

“Hah, I-I’m gonna—” You couldn't even finish your sentence. The release you had felt new, like it was your first time cumming. A wave of pleasure rushed over you as you felt Negan pound into you one last time. “Ah—hah—”

“Atta’ boy,” was all he said before you felt his warm cum filling your hole up. Negan slid out of you, looking at your now gaping leaking hole. “We’ll finish up here, don’t want to break you from fucking too much… As much as I would want to see that sight.” 

If you could form a coherent thought you would’ve grown embarrassed by the fact it took him only doing missionary to get you off. You were too cockdrunk to even think about anything other than wishing he’d come back for more.

“This better make you stay away from my wives, otherwise I'm gonna fucking ruin your ass next time.” Negan started to dress himself and left you there panting. You couldn't believe he had all of that in him and somehow still had his wives cheating on him. It felt like it was just all a plan for him to pound you.

Or maybe, it was just a joke from the universe.

[meiplays]

GIF creds to @pedrospascaled

“That Tongue.”

Pairing: Older!Negan x Reader (Established Relationship – Saviors Era to Dead City)

Timeline: Dead City Season 2, Episode 2

Word Count: ~1,400

Rating: SFW but spicy

Warnings: Intense tension, slow grinding, thigh riding, heavy kissing, rooftop heat, teasing, older Negan being unbearably hot

Summary: Older, rougher, and even more dangerous—Negan’s signature tongue flick is back, and it still ruins you every single time.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You caught it out of the corner of your eye before he even realized what he’d done.

A quick, subtle flick of his tongue, brushing over his bottom lip as if testing the taste of the air around him. It was so automatic it looked like muscle memory—the same move he'd made years ago when he was younger, ruling the Saviors with a crooked grin and devil-may-care arrogance.

But this time, it was different.

Older. Hardened. And somehow so much hotter.

You were standing on the rooftop with him, the night air carrying the faint crackle of distant explosions, and the ferry ablaze behind you—flames licking hungrily at the night sky. Smoke curled and twisted, the red glow casting sharp shadows on everything. Your leather pants pressed tight against your thighs, your crop top barely shielding your skin from the cool breeze that mixed with the heat radiating off the burning ship.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring until Negan’s dark eyes snapped to you.

Right then, your heart slammed in your chest, and your breath hitched as you caught yourself looking straight at his mouth. His lips were full and slightly parted, still shiny with the remnant gloss of that damn tongue flick.

“What?” he drawled, arching a brow like he already knew you were caught.

“Somethin’ on my face, sweetheart?” His voice was low, rough around the edges like whiskey, pulling you in closer without moving a muscle.

You swallowed hard, cheeks flushing hotter than the fire behind you. You couldn’t lie, you were captivated — hypnotized by the way his lips moved, by the way that stupid little tongue flick had somehow undone you.

Before you could say anything, Tommaso—his usual sidekick, the nearly bald guy with that calm, steady presence—walked up and patted Negan on the shoulder.

“Great work, Neagan,” he said, voice steady, eyes sharp.

Negan rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, Tom,” he muttered, then turned back to you.

The moment felt electric.

As soon as Tommaso disappeared into the stairwell leading inside, Negan closed the space between you in a heartbeat.

His gloved hand slid to your waist, fingers curling possessively, and before you could think twice, his thigh pressed hard between yours. The heat radiating off his body made you shiver, but the leather wrapped tight around your own legs made sure you were burning just as fiercely.

You felt his breath against your neck, warm and rough. “Didn’t even realize I did it,” he whispered. “That little tongue flick. Muscle memory, I guess.”

Your hips shifted on their own, grinding gently against his thigh. The slick sound of leather meeting leather filled the silence around you. You bit your lip, trying to control the ache blossoming between your legs.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice thick with something you didn’t dare name aloud. “You’re still so damn responsive.”

Then, without warning, he dipped his head and claimed your mouth with a kiss that was equal parts fire and promise. His tongue swiped against yours, slow and deliberate, like a challenge and a comfort all at once. You melted into him, arms tightening around his neck, boots digging into the gravel beneath your feet to keep yourself grounded.

The world shrank until it was just the two of you, heat and touch and breath.

His thigh pressed harder between yours, grinding slowly, insistently. You couldn’t help but respond, letting your hips roll to meet his rhythm, feeling the power and control in every movement. The tight leather pants and thigh-high boots made the sensation sharper, more intense.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but pure need.

Negan pulled back just enough to smirk, lips brushing against yours. “They’ll be lookin’ for us soon,” he murmured. “But if you keep movin’ like that, I might just take you right here—with your boots on.”

You gasped, cheeks flaming hotter than before.

He grinned, that cocky, dangerous smile that had first drawn you to him all those years ago. Then, as if nothing had happened, he stepped back and vanished into the stairwell.

But the fire in his eyes lingered.

And you knew without a doubt that whatever this was—whatever storm was coming—it was far from over.

[bluemerakis]

──────────────────────

𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜 𝜗𝜚

𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒 𝚠r𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘r ─ rick grimes, negan smith, daryl dixon

𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 ─ open

◜ 𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚂 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂

◜ 𝙽𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙽 𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚃𝙷 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂

𝙾𝙽𝙴 S𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂

☠︎ nothing left to lose

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂

𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂

☠︎ 111

◜ 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝚈𝙻 𝙳𝙸𝚇𝙾𝙽 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃S

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂

⤷ © headers & dividers @bluemerakis

「 BACK TO NAVIGATION 」

[dixonsgirl93]

Why TWD men would hold your hand:

Warnings: bit of angst, mentions of being a prisoner

Daryl Dixon

- He’d hold your hand to comfort you if you really needed it, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

- He’d hold your hand to pull you to safety/help you jump across a ledge or something.

- He’d hold your hand if they were cold, as skin-skin is the quickest way to stay warm (👀)

- He’d hold your hand to his chest if you were dying in his arms.

Negan Smith

- He’d hold your hand while doing The Nasty with you. Partly to keep your hands tied down and partly for the intimacy it offers.

- He’d hold your hand if you were his prisoner and he was taking you somewhere.

- He’d hold your hand to kiss it when you first met, being completely smitten at your appearance.

- He’d hold your hand when pinning you down forcefully (not to assault you) but to put you in your place if you were fighting back/being loud/being bratty etc.

Rick Grimes

- He’s also the type to hold your hand during intimacy, loving having you pinned under him.

- He’d hold your hand as you walked together, enjoying the reassuring feeling of having you close.

- He’d hold your hand to press his lips against it, enjoying the feel of your skin.

- He’d hold your hand to offer help, same as Daryl. His touch would linger for just a moment too long.

Merle Dixon

- He’d hold your hand as he flirted with you, trying to seduce you in the only way he knew how.

- He’d hold your hand to pull you in close to his body.

- He’d hold your hand to pull you to safety (if he really had to or if he found you attractive)

- He’s not really a romantic guy at heart, is not used to the soft kind of love but he might hold your hand to comfort you if you were upset/panicked (right after teasing you of course)

- He might hold your hand for a moment while you were on the back of his motorbike on a ride (I’m so upset we never got to see him on it)

[branbrann]

GUYS IDK IF ITS THE MASK KINK IN ME BUT ID STILL FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF WHISPERER NEGAN. AND THE MASK STAYS ON.

[thewritersaddictions]

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

[aliidarling]

THIS MAN IS SOOOO FINE OH MY GOD

[loganlostitall]

Negancore (with references this time)

[kaayyyys]

How negan smith reacts to you distracting him

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Sanctuary, where broken walls stood as a testament to both the past and the tenacity of survival. Within the fortified enclave, the air buzzed with tension—the kind that sent shivers cascading down your spine, mixing exhilaration and apprehension into a potent cocktail. And right in the thick of it was Negan Smith, the charismatic and dangerous leader whose dark allure had drawn you in from the moment you met.

You leaned against the rough brick wall of his office, your heart racing as you took in the sight of him. Negan was engaged in a conversation with Simon, his second-in-command, but your gaze was fixed solely on him. Clad in his signature leather jacket, he radiated an aura of power and control that was almost palpable. His dark, tousled hair framed his chiseled features, and those piercing brown eyes held a magnetic quality that could ensnare anyone, but they often glimmered with mischief whenever they rested on you.

The room was lit by soft, flickering lights, shadows dancing around his figure as he laid out the plans for the Sanctuary. But you had other ideas. You had chosen this moment to wear a daring outfit—something that hugged your curves just right. The fabric was cut low enough to tease but not so low that it was overtly provocative. With every glance Simon threw at the paperwork, you turned up the heat just a little more, crossing and uncrossing your legs and biting your lip—subtle but deliberate gestures meant to keep Negan's attention oscillating between Simon and you.

“Negan,” Simon’s voice cut through your playful haze, his tone sharp with urgency. “We need to discuss the inventory shortage. The last shipment didn’t come through as planned.”

You watched as Negan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, feigning disinterest. He was good at pretending, but you could see the way his gaze flickered to you, hungry and impatient. With a soft chuckle, you adjusted your pose, arching your back slightly, allowing the delicate fabric of your outfit to hint at the swells beneath. The look in Negan’s eyes turned predatory—he was utterly captivated.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Simon,” Negan said, his voice smooth like silk yet laced with a playful edge that hinted at the chaos simmering just beneath the surface. “But what’s the rush?” His eyes never left you as he spoke. “Everything's fine here.”

“Fine?” Simon replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “We’re running low on supplies and if we don’t replace—”

But before Simon could finish, you strode across the room with a purpose, closing the distance between you and Negan, and planted yourself casually on his desk. You leaned forward, a knowing smile playing on your lips. “You’ve got everything under control, don’t you, babe?” The term of endearment rolled off your tongue like honey, mingling intimacy with the playful edge of rebellion.

In a heartbeat, Simon’s train of thought derailed, his eyes momentarily wide with shock. “Uh, right…” he stammered, shifting his gaze between the two of you as if trying to piece together this unexpected puzzle. “Negan, we really—”

But you knew you had him. Negan looked up at you, amusement flickering in his expression, and for a fraction of a second, the world outside ceased to exist. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fully devoted to the spectacle you were creating.

“I mean, how can I focus on business when you’re right here, distracting me?” Negan said, his tone playful yet seriously suggestive, the heat of his words running through you like electricity. “Don’t you think Simon’s got this under control?”

You shot a quick glance at Simon, who looked utterly bewildered. Taking a step back, you stroked Negan’s arm lightly, leaning in close to whisper, “Why talk about supplies when we could be talking about… us?” Your voice was a sultry whisper, low enough to send shivers down his spine.

With a slight smirk, Negan feigned ignorance. “What’s that, sweetheart? It’s too noisy in here for me to hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”

You relished the way his eyes darkened, passion and desire evident. It was a dangerous game you played, but you were both willing participants, and you could see his resolve faltering.

“Oh Simon,” you purred, directing your amusement toward him but keeping the glimmer of mischief in your eyes, “maybe you should go check on the supplies yourself? I believe I need some… quality time with my boyfriend.”

You saw Negan’s brow rise defensively, and you knew he was trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism. But it was too late; the façade had crumbled.

“Damn it, (Y/N),” he growled, and the familiar mix of annoyance and intrigue danced in his gaze. “Your timing’s as perfect as ever.”

He rose from his chair, a predator stalking towards its prey. Simon opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t catch any more words as Negan grabbed your arm, urging you closer. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath igniting sparks against your skin. “And you know what happens when you play with me.”

His gaze bored into yours, the remnants of teasing laughter now transforming into something darker, more commanding—a promise of the consequences that awaited you. Then, almost on instinct, he tightened his grip, pulling you into a secluded corner of the room, cloaked in shadows yet vibrantly alive with the thrill of desire.

“Now, what do you think you’re doing, distracting me while I try to work?” His tone was a mix of mockingly stern and intoxicatingly seductive as he hovered close, the scent of his cologne enveloping you.

You knew what you had invited upon yourself. But you also knew that was part of the thrill—the push and pull, the dangerous dance of temptation that thrummed between you. “Maybe I just wanted your attention,” you whispered, biting your lip, savoring the electric charge that hung in the air.

“That’s a risky game to play,” he murmured, his mouth curling into a devilish grin. “But let’s see if you can handle the consequences.”

As he traced his fingers along your jawline, you felt the urge to stand your ground, to challenge him and flirt your way out of the impending punishment. But deep down, you knew there was no escaping the storm you had unleashed between you two, and you were ready to face whatever thrilling chaos awaited on the other side.

The Sanctuary echoed with the heartbeat of old walls, hiding the secret world where danger met desire. And amid the shadows and whispers, with Negan’s teasing threats lingering in the sultry air, you surrendered to the intoxicating romance that ignited between you—a love that thrived in the unlikeliest of places, amidst the darkness of a world ruled by fear.

[mpregslover69]

comparisons ᵐᵈⁿᶦ ⁻ ⁿˢᶠʷ ᵇˡᵒʷʲᵒᵇ ⁻ ᵐᵃˡᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁹⁹⁶ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ

It had just meant to be a joke. You hadn't thought Negan was packing as much as he was. Now, standing in front of Negan, it felt odd seeing how much he was packing. You were by no means small in that department—in fact, you were just a bit above average but still Negan's cock seemed to just dwarf yours. 

“You didn't think I was packing this much, did you?” Negan gloated.

“No… not really. I thought you were just exaggerating,” you responded, trying to keep your eyes off of his much girthier dick. Negan was practically swinging his cock around trying to get you to look at it. He was always so arrogant, trying to flex how manly he was, and yet you couldn't deny he seemed to have a reason for his arrogance. 

“I told you. I'm packing, that's how I get all the ladies. They take one good look at this thing and suddenly their panties are dropped and ready for me to come, if you know what I mean.” It felt like Negan was trying to lock you into a trance on his cock as he swayed it from side to side.

“Sure, okay, your point is proven.” Turning your head to the side, you tried to avoid the weird eye contact you were having with his dick. It was hard to look away as he continued to move his hips just getting the girthy thing to swing around.

“C’mon, don't be scared of looking! I'll take it as a compliment.” Negan stepped closer while still swinging his dick around, almost enjoying how much you tried to look and avoid eye contact with it. 

“No thanks.” Pulling up your own briefs, you didn't want to continue having your own dick just hanging out in the wind. Negan took notice of this, but still let his continue to hang.

“Party’s over already?” Negan looked a bit disappointed as you covered yourself up. “Just let it hang. Sure, you're smaller than me, but that's no reason to be embarrassed.” He continued to smirk while teasing you.

“You proved your point. You win, I owe you.” 

“Hell yeah you do. Look at me. I don't even know why you tried to bet on this. I told you I was packing way more than you could take.” Negan continued to gloat. This wasn't out of character for the more vulgar man, and still you had somehow hoped he wouldn't be gloating like this.

“Yeah, yeah.” You were fed up with his gloating by now. Pulling your pants up, you got ready to leave, but before you could, Negan stopped you.

“Hey now, I haven't gotten my reward yet.” Negan took a step forward blocking you from leaving. “You said I could ask you for anything and I'm gonna do that right now.” 

“Fine, what is it you want?” You rolled your eyes. You hadn't expected Negan to ask you for his reward now. The both of you hadn't even decided what the reward was.

“Suck it.”

“What?” 

“You heard me, give me a blowjob.” Negan was just smirking at you. You couldn't tell if he was joking or not. “Get on your knees.” He stepped closer, towering over you just a bit as he smirked. 

“You really want a blowjob?” You couldn't help but question him. You didn't exactly think Negan would want a blowjob from another man.

“I do, pretty boy. Now get to sucking.” Your face flushed  as he said this—but still,a deal was a deal. Getting on your knees, you were a bit worried about how long you could actually stay kneeling on the old concrete floor. You couldn't help but just stare at his girthy monster. ‘Deal’s a deal’. Grabbing it with your right hand, you opened your mouth getting ready to try and get it inside. Negan was already starting to get hard just from the sight of seeing you on your knees looking up at him.

Your lips wrapped around it, The girth of it felt like it was pushing your mouth wide open, but you still kept going. Your saliva coated his cock as you moved it deeper in your mouth, gagging while it hit the back of your throat. Negan couldn't help but rest his hand on your head. He knew it was hard enough to take him just a bit. “Good boy. Look at you, can't believe you’ve taken this much already.”

You gagged a bit as the tip of his cock touched the back of your throat. Still, it didn't take too long to get used to his large size. Still choking, your eyes started to tear up as you took his full length. Bobbing back and forth on his length it took a lot of your willpower to not just stop and leave him on edge just to save yourself the pain of choking on him. 

Despite it all, you continued on. With each time you went up and down, Negan started to grip your hair. Every time, he grabbed just a bit harder before finally slamming you right against his crotch. Spurts of cum hit the back of your throat.

Finally, you were done. 

you looked up at Negan as you pulled back, away and off his cock. 

“Swallow.” 

You listened to his words. Most of his cum was already sliding down your throat, but you could still taste a bit of it on your tongue. 

As you swallowed it all down he smirked, happy with how you listened. “Good. We should do this again.”

“I think I'll pass.” Coughing a bit, your throat was gaping after having to deepthroat his cock. Your knees were red just from kneeling down in front of him. If you were going to do this again, you hoped it wasn't going to be on another concrete floor.

“We will see about that.” Negan ruffled your hair before dressing himself, finally hiding his monster behind his pants again.

🐾─────────🐾─────────🐾─────────🐾

[dollfacefantasy]

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.

[rememberwhouare]

The Walking Dead x 🖕| Memories

[dixonsgirl93]

Negan: And why aren’t you kneeling like everyone else? You think you’re better than me?

Y/N: Unless I’m giving head, I ain’t kneeling for NO man.

Negan: Oh, I like you.

[branbrann]

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

[p0rcelain-d0e]

Negan obsessed with your cunt⁉️

Negan isn't the type of man to focus on a girl, to go down on her, he just wants to get laid and get it done and over with

But Jesus H. Christ if your cunt isn't the sweetest thing he's ever tasted in his whole entire damn life. He swears it's the best damn thing he's ever felt and tasted

He isn't sure if the way you writhed, squirmed under his rough hands, the way you buck your hips into his mouth, pull and push at his head, the way you tighten around his large digits, make those pretty little whimpers n whines made it better or not

I mean you're already in your nth orgasm just cause his tongue and fingers, as he has his hand on your abdomen holding you down as his other hand is moving three fingers in and out you can't help but drool and weakly and hopelessly push his head away from overstimulation despite wanting more n more

“God, just gotta taste so sweet, don't ya?” His voice muffled as he shoves his face farther in your cunt, the vibrations of his rough voice making you more sensitive

“Mhmg-..oh my god, Negan, please–” you let out in a squeaky tiny whiney voice as he continues to lap at your folds

“Fuck, baby, wanting more, huh? Shsh, you'll get it, just be patient.. yeah, you can take more? Hm. Good girl” He mutters in your sweet slick cunt

God how we wishes he could die in your cunt <3