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tinysunshine · 15 hours ago

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✧˖° 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 (𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒) °˖✧

‎ [ 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: age difference, ddlg elements (no daddy kink), dumbification, reader is very ditzy, negan is protective, dom/sub dynamic, fingering, creampie, slightly rough sex, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation

warnings and triggers: dumb! reader, name-calling, mentions of violence and death, negan is extremely manipulative, bullying, reader is a little insecure, dubcon

word count: 7k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe. slightly dead dove.

It’s beautiful, and Negan’s pretty sure this blind obedience and worship you have for him is the best kind of love he’s ever received. He’d do anything to keep you this docile. This trusting. This dumb, about who he is and what he does. You think he’s the nicest guy in the world, and you’re a sweet little thing. Why would he ever want to change that perception?

It’s funny, because when he was growing up, Negan never wanted to play with dolls.

He was a regular kid. A regular boy, who liked toy cars and dinosaurs, dug in the dirt and killed spiders and dared his friends to eat ants. Threw rocks at squirrels and played pirates and cowboys, stayed outside until the streetlights turned off. Average. Grew up to be above average, sure, but the fundamental parts of what make him a man have been inside of him since day one.

He’s mean. He’s pretty damn selfish, and he’d be the first to admit that. He’s rough, he’s aggressive, and sometimes he gets so mad he swears he can feel his dick chub up in his pants - especially when he hears the sound of another grown man begging, crying, or pleading. It’s not a gay thing, of course - more like a fucked up thing, but he knows he’s not alone in it.

He’s around men all day. Sees them hurt each other, mostly at his orders - but it’s all in good fun. At least for him. Men like that shit. They love to hurt, even if they say they don’t, and the little secret that most women don’t understand is that they like to be the one who’s hurt sometimes. Most of them won’t admit it, but Negan will.

It feels good, to get smacked in the face or to spit a tooth out after a gnarly punch to the cheek (but Negan’s got a dentist under this thumb, so he can enjoy that feeling, he’s lucky, he knows). When his vision gets blurry and his nose bleeds, ribs aching after a good fight - phew. Negan loves that shit. Knows every other man does too.

That excitement, the frustration, all of it spreading through his body like a wildfire until he feels his hand curl into a fist to get his retribution. It’s almost as good as an orgasm, because it makes him feel alive. What’s more human than pain?

Negan Smith is a man, through and through. Always has been, always will be.

Which makes it so funny, such a crazy twist of fate, that his favorite toy is now you.

His perfect, little doll.

Crazy how life works out, huh?

────

When Negan found you, you were all alone.

Well, you thought you were alone.

You were staying at a run-down farm house that Negan’s men found because they were looking for a group of people that tried to fuck him over. A group of scared fucking pathetic excuses for men, which disgusted Negan to no end. He wants to terrify people, sure - gets a thrill, and an erection out of it. But seeing people sweat before he’s even opened his mouth is just infuriating.

What if he was a nice guy? They’d never know. Pretty fucked up, Negan thinks, judging someone based on their appearance.

The group started firing at his men before they even got out of their truck, and then they had to be chased, and when Negan’s men lost them he had to get involved. A few days came and went before they were finally found, and just in perfect time too - because those men must’ve seen that you were staying alone at the house and were planning to fuck you over.

Fuck you too. Negan heard them planning it by some trees about a half a mile away from the house, before he beat in their brains with his bat.

Now, Negan knows he’s a monster. But he’d never gang up on a woman with his men. It’s tasteless. Disgusting. Tacky, deplorable. Weak.

Because him? Well, Negan came on to you all on his own.

His first thought when he found you, completely clueless about the fate that awaited you, on the front porch of a farm house that had surely seen better days, was that you were cute.

Too cute to be alive in this world, living on your own. Negan has a lot of wives, yeah, but they all looked like shit when he found them. He just has an eye for that sort of thing - finding beauty in the things nobody else can see.

He saw it in all those women he forced to be his bride - beauty in their features all dirtied up from time on the road that he knew would be pretty again after a shower and some lip gloss. Beauty, in the blood under the nails of his men, the fragility of human life and the almost unbreakable spirit. Beauty, in all the luxuries he used to take for granted before walkers became a thing and changed everything.

Negan knows beauty when he sees it, and when he saw you, he realized he'd laid his eyes on the most beautiful thing still left in this world.

When you saw him, you didn’t panic. When you saw his men, you didn’t even frown. Instead, on that little porch, you arched an eyebrow and looked at him curiously. You were sitting down on the ground, a pair of tiny, denim shorts on and scuffed up boots. Negan noticed that you had a little flower tucked behind your ear, and he wondered if you were insanely brave or just stupid.

Either way, he was intrigued.

“You alone?” He asked a question that would have alarm bells going on in just about anyone else’s head. But not yours. No, you took it a step further than Negan could’ve anticipated. You stood up, walked to him, and gave him a hug.

Negan thought it was a trap. He really did. Was sure that this was going to be the way he finally died, and goddamnit - maybe he deserved it. Clever fucking asshole, whoever designed this honeypot of a beautiful girl all alone, looking like she was waiting to be rescued.

But it wasn’t a trap.

You were actually happy to see him and his men. You pulled away from the hug and let out a sigh of relief, blowing a piece of hair out of your face with a cute expression. You smiled, and Negan realized how much he missed the look of innocence. He didn't realize how long it'd been since he'd last seen it. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you said, taking the flower out from behind your ear. You handed it to him. “It was so scary being all alone.”

────

You’re beautiful, but that’s the least interesting thing about you. Don’t get Negan wrong though - you are beautiful. Fucking perfect, like a little doll, with soft skin and perky tits and a sweet smile whenever you get your way.

Which makes you perfect for Negan, because you’re also about as brainless as a doll, pretty head all empty, and whatever he tells you to do, whatever he thinks, whatever he wants - you agree. That simple, that smooth. Even Negan was impressed when he realized just how ditzy you were.

He’s not trying to be insulting either. People have different strengths, and using your brain is not one of yours. You’re so fucking hot though, that it doesn’t really matter what you say or do. Your passivity, your cuteness, the big eyed look you give him whenever you’re confused about something he says (which is frequently) - Negan could cum in his pants just thinking about it.

You’re special to him.

The minute he brought you home, he hated the guts of every single one of his wives. Although, maybe hate is too strong of a word. Because Negan doesn't even hate them, truthfully, because he doesn't even think of them. Once he had you in his presence, you took up so much of his time that he was shocked (and pleased) that someone didn’t try to overthrow his position as leader in his absence.

He knew from the minute he had you in his truck, leaving that farm house, that you’d end up meaning a lot to him. The day he found you, he had his men walk around the little house you were staying in, looking for any valuables. There were some, and even though Negan found you charming, he still didn’t know you. Didn’t know if that happy to not be alone thing was an act or not.

He drilled you, asked you questions and tried to scare you a little bit, but it was impossible to frighten you - which frightened him. He’ll admit, you spooked him with your naivety back then. It was creepy as shit.

You just kept giggling, kept standing too close to him, and when Negan finally made his men look through the house, you took a seat on the old couch in the living room. “So nice of them to help me with my stuff. I’ve been alone here since my brother never came back after he went looking for something for us to eat. I’m really lonely. Really hungry too.” It was obvious to Negan at that moment, just how clueless you really were - but it was also really fucking cute.

He’d spent so much time fighting, arguing, forcing - and finally having someone give in without resistance was nice. That day, he found himself sitting back on the couch in front of you, and then you made the move to get up and sit next to him. Clueless. Dangerous, your innocence.

But deep down, in a thought Negan didn’t even want to admit to himself -

It was nice to be around someone who wasn’t scared of him. Someone he didn’t have to force.

“We only just met, kid. Personal space,” he remembers saying, but you just laughed. Sweet and hungry, you said. Negan couldn’t wait to bring you home and feed you. He was already wondering where you would fit in, hating himself for being worried about how the other women would treat you if he threw you in with his wives. Maybe you could teach them a thing or two, about being nice. But then again.

His wives are bitches. Although Negan can’t say he doesn’t understand why.

“You play baseball?” You asked, looking towards his bat that was resting beside his foot while he held onto it. He was in a state of disbelief. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so, so -

“No, honey, I don’t. You pullin’ my leg or something? Or are you really just that,” stupid, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. Because your bottom lip jutted out like you were about to cry, then your eyes filled with tears, and Negan loves to hurt people to see how far he can take it until they try to hurt him back - but with you, he knew you wouldn’t fight back.

Took a lot of the fun out of it, so he quickly changed the subject. It’s only fun to make a beautiful woman cry when it serves a purpose, and Negan didn’t see any purpose in hurting someone as…you know what? He’s got nothing nice to say, he won’t say anything at all.

“How’s this,” he said instead, placing a hand on your knee. Your skin was warm under his palm, soft where his rough fingers touched you. “You come back with us, and you can eat whatever you want. As much as you want. You in?”

Truth be told, Negan planned on bringing you back with him, regardless of if you wanted to come, at this point. Because when he touched your knee, you put your hand on top of his, and that was all it fucking took to disarm him.

Little bunny, not scared of the big bad wolf. Now that’s a fairy tale Negan’s never heard of -

He’s always liked to write his own rules, anyway.

────

Negan calls you his bunny, and you like it, but you think you like being called doll better.

He tells you all the time that you look like a doll. No matter what time of day, no matter what you look like, he’ll never stop giving you that compliment. It always makes your face heat up, and sometimes it even turns you on.

What can you say? You’re a woman, and being by Negan’s side makes you feel more feminine than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

He treats you like you’re breakable. Gives your forehead kisses, brings you food, takes care of all your needs. The truth is, you’ve always been treated like you’re breakable, but nobody ever acted like they enjoyed having to take care of you. Negan says he’s happy that you need him so much, and you like that.

You like being the kind of woman who gets protected. The kind of woman who gets doted on and adored. Ever since you met Negan, your nails have been clean and your knees have been without a bandage, your tummy has been full - you didn’t think you’d ever feel clean and pretty again, until he swept you off your feet like you always dreamed would happen to you.

Negan has a lot of pet names for you. Bunny, doll - those are just a few. Sometimes you wonder if he even knows your real name, because he never says it. Baby, sweetheart, cutie. Darling. Everytime he opens his mouth to say something in regards to you, something sweet is coming out of it.

You’ve only been with him a few months, but you love him so much you can’t stand it. You want to be around him all the time, but it’s just not possible, he says.

You don’t know what Negan does when he leaves his, yours, the room you both share, because you spend most of your time in there. Sometimes you go out, with him, or with one of his men that you met that day at the farmhouse, but if Negan’s not taking you out, you don’t really want to go anywhere.

You’re happy to stay in the room. There’s books, although you don’t really read…but there’s plenty of things to do to keep yourself busy. Most of the time, you just sleep. Sometimes it’s a little boring, waiting for Negan, but you’re eternally grateful for being able to nap again. Life on the road was scary, stressful.

“You’re not built for life out there, baby,” Negan told you once, which translated to life without me, but it’s not like you disagreed. You were sitting on his lap, your head resting on his shoulder, asking him to tell you about his day. You love the stories he tells you, because they make you feel even more grateful to be somewhere safe.

Negan is so good to you.

You know that Negan is in charge of the place you’re at, and that makes you feel funny, and lucky, to be the woman he chose. You know it’s practically the apocalypse and all, but you’re sure he had a lot of women he could’ve chosen to date. He’s handsome, so handsome, and he’s the nicest, most generous man you’ve ever met.

He gives people jobs, and medical care. He has a system to kill off all the walkers that come too close to the building, and it’s so smart that you know he must’ve come up with it himself. He has so many supporters and people that respect him - which tells you all you need to know, about him being an amazing leader. When he walks in a room, everyone gets quiet, and that makes you feel giddy, knowing the amount of power he holds.

Although, it shouldn’t exactly surprise you. Negan was able to get power over you pretty quickly, but that’s only because you let him. It’s just -

You don’t know how else to be. You’ve always been this way - ditzy, head full of air, dumb. You’ve heard it your entire life, which is maybe why it feels so good to hear Negan call you nice things. To love that you might not be the, what was it your father always said to you? Not the brightest candle on the birthday cake? Not the sharpest tool in the shed?

You know you sound dumb - but you like sounding dumb. You like that Negan is around to think for you, to tell you what to do and when to do it. He tells you what you should be thinking, and you listen.

Negan knows best. You could hardly survive on your own for a week, and look at what he built.

Sometimes though, no matter how strong a leader Negan is, things get hard.

Bad things happen, little bunny, he tells you, patting his lap for you to take a seat. You do, and you look up at him with wide eyes, ready for whatever he plans on telling you. You know it has to be serious, because he didn’t ask you to take your clothes off yet. That’s usually the first thing out of his mouth, whenever he’s back in the room for the night.

Negan tells you that sometimes, people break his rules, and when that happens, they have to be punished. He asks if you heard anything while he was out, any screams or any loud voices - but you shake your head. You arch a brow, curious. “Why?” You ask, and he stares at you for a moment, tongue licking over his bottom lip. Then he grins, and you smile back cluelessly.

“That’s it, huh?” He says, but you know not to reply. You don’t need to. Talking out loud, Negan explained to you.

Sometimes he’s just in shock, is all, about how clueless you really are.

He maneuvers you easily, his little doll, into straddling his lap. Bucks his hips up, so you can feel what you’re doing to him just by existing. He killed three men today, burned the face off of another, and you’re looking at him like he hung all the stars in the sky.

It’s beautiful, and Negan’s pretty sure this blind obedience and worship you have for him is the best kind of love he’s ever received. He’d do anything to keep you this docile. This trusting.

This dumb, about who he is and what he does. You think he’s the nicest guy in the world, and you’re a sweet little thing. Why would he ever want to change that perception?

He reaches his hand between your bodies, to lift up the bottom of the big shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, to feel how wet you are. No panties, because he told you that they don’t exist anymore. Just - they were all taken. He didn’t know if you’d seriously believe that, but you do, and it’s just too good to be true.

“Don’t mean to worry you about all that grown up, scary stuff, honey,” he fakes an apology, loves that your little cunt is ready for him, wet, shaved all proper, sucking his finger in when he starts prodding at your opening. You whine, biting on the inside of your cheek because his fingers are so long and you love the attention after you’ve spent all day alone.

You're not even offended at his little insult. Grown up stuff, as if you're not a full adult yourself. You're too busy focusing on the feeling of his ownership, the fact that you quite literally exist for him, like any good toy does.

Although, be real. Being finger fucked or not, it's unlikely you would've understood that comment was an insult anyway.

It’s your special time together, moments like these, and if it’s even possible - you become more brainless. Let him play with your pussy, let him push you down on the couch, slip his dick inside of you, make you so full that sometimes the feeling scares you a little, but you like it nonetheless.

Your favorite part about the sex is how it feels to be in Negan’s arms after. Warm, body loose, his cum dripping out of you as he tucks you into bed. Back at that farmhouse, all alone, you cried yourself to sleep every night. There were so many scary noises, so much land that you could only imagine the horror that was lurking outside. When your family was alive, you were still scared -

They’d just tell you to shut up. But not Negan.

There’s no fear with Negan, you think, closing your eyes as his arms wrap around you.

You’re the safest you could possibly be. You think about this while your drift off to sleep, but Negan thinks the opposite -

He’s the face of nightmares to more people than he can name, but you cling to him like he’s your savior.

────

“You got any brains in that head? Or is it just filled with ribbons and whatever that frilly shit you’ve got on is called?” Dave, one of the men you hate most in this world, snaps the strap of your tank top against your shoulder so hard that it makes you want to cry. Your eyes fill up with tears, and in typical you fashion, you stomp your foot and use what little strength you have to push him away from you. Your bottom lip trembles.

“Leave me alone,” you whine (beg), arms crossed over yourself protectively when Dave finally steps back.

He’s not alone - a few moments ago, you screamed and the men patrolling the compound heard and came running. But they did nothing to help, and instead, have made you feel bad about screaming at all. As if you could control your reaction to a fucking spider crawling across the toe of your shoe. Brand new shoes, you must add, because don’t these men understand how hard it is to get new shit nowadays?

Don’t they understand how scary and dangerous spiders are?

The honest truth is that it doesn’t cross your mind that these are the same men that risked their life to get you the shoes you’re wearing, but. They don’t have to be so mean.

“No. You’re such a dumbass. Screaming like that’s fuckin’ dangerous,” another man says, and you don’t even know his name but being reprimanded like this makes you cry. Being called a dumbass makes you want to sob. You admit that, yeah, maybe you’re a little airheaded sometimes. Maybe you’re a little clueless, when adjusting to life in this new, yucky world, but fuck - would it kill people to be nice?

Name calling is never the answer.

“I’m not dumb,” you say softly, with no confidence in your voice. You should have known better than to leave the room without asking anyone to escort you.

There’s no rule that says you can’t leave the room, but you’ve been at the sanctuary for months now, and you rarely leave the room you share with Negan unless he’s with you. Out of all the men that work for him - the only ones that treat you decently are the ones that were with him that day they found you at the farmhouse.

The times you do leave the room, everyone treats you so weird. They’re all cruel, whispering about how stupid you are when you walk past, holding Negan’s hand. Or they just stare at you, which makes you feel insecure. It’s even worse when they ask you questions, because no matter how hard you think about the answer, they’re unhappy with it.

You think to a few weeks ago, when you walked past a room with a bunch of women just sitting around. Negan said you weren’t allowed to go in there, but when his back was turned later that day, you walked over there to talk to some of them.

“Negan know you’re here?” One of them asked, looking nervously behind your shoulder. Your brows furrowed, confused.

“Huh? Uh, no, but it’s okay. I just never see any other women here, I,” but she cut you off, and you heard hushed whispers in the corner of the room where a small group of women sat together.

“You should go,” she said, dismissing you, and that was the last time you left the room. In the room, you’re safe.

You’ve got things to do, and a big collection of stuff that makes you happy that Negan got for you. Clothes, magazines, even if they are old. Purses and things to color with, to paint with. You keep pretty busy most days. Plus, his side of the bed smells like him, and you love to nap next to it when he’s not around.

You only left the room today because Negan didn’t come back last night, and you’re worried about him and very upset and lonely.

You walked around the sanctuary, wondering where he could possibly be, when a spider crawled across your shoe and, well. Here you are.

“A spider isn’t a fuckin’ emergency. Jesus fuck, I swear, Negan’s a sick son of a bitch for even fucking you. ‘S like you got a problem or something,” Dave says, and you wish you could just walk away and run back to the room, where you’d be safe, surrounded by all the things that make you happy - but they’re all blocking your path.

“Yeah, man,” the other one says. You wish you weren’t so bad with names. “Scared of a spider but not scared of the fuckin’ walkers outside,” he scoffs, and somehow you find it in you to defend yourself. You wish you could say more, but you just can’t. It’s so frustrating, not being able to come up with anything to say on the spot.

“Walkers used to be human. Spiders are icky bugs. I’m scared of bugs, not humans. I didn’t mean to scream,” but nobody is listening to you.

“It’s not right, Negan fuckin’ you. Weird as shit. You got something wrong with you? Dropped on your head as a baby? Can’t feel right fuckin’ a dumbass doll, you’re real cute though,” and he just goes on and on while the other men laugh, and you can’t help it, tears are pouring.

“I just want to find Negan. Where is he?” You try to wipe your eyes, hating yourself for being such a big baby. Hating yourself, for not paying better attention to the layout of your new home when Negan gave you a tour, because you were so focused on the feeling of holding his hand, that you paid no attention to almost everything else. You hate how dependent on him you are, and you wonder if he hates it too.

Maybe he’s been gone because he’s sick of you. Maybe he’s going to bring you back to the farmhouse, because he doesn’t like you anymore. Maybe everyone else told him why they don’t like you, and now he believes them, and he’s such a good leader that -

Footsteps, and then you hear the slow, deliberate chuckle you’ve come to know so well. You’d recognize Negan anywhere, even with your eyes closed. He rounds the corner, behind Dave and the other men, and they scramble like they’re stepping on hot coals with bare feet, making room for him.

“Ohhh, no no no,” he says, voice like honey, and you wonder why. You wonder why he’s happy, until it clicks in your brain that this might be the sarcasm your brother used to always talk about. “See, I might let a lotta things go. But talking to her like that? That’s just beggin’ for a lesson in respect.”

Negan doesn’t yell. Just tilts his head, eyes narrowing in on the men who were just being big old meanies to you. Your crying stops, but you’re so upset that you don’t even run to Negan like you normally would. You look down, towards your shoe, where Negan uses the tip of his bat to kill the spider that wandered off.

“Go to our room, bunny. You know how to get back there, don’t you, sweet girl?”

You don’t, not really, and you must freeze for long enough that Negan takes his eyes off the men and shakes his head. Then his eyes focus on you, and he nods in the direction to go.

“That way, baby,” he says with a sigh, and then you scamper off.

────

Negan’s pissed -

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this emotion, but the truth is that he’s pissed at himself.

He should have known better than to leave you alone overnight. He didn’t intend to be gone so long, but shit happened that he had to handle, and you’d been so easy to manage since you arrived. So good. So happy and at peace with what he gives you, eager for isolation in a way that even surprised him.

He didn’t think you’d even notice if he was gone, but that was his mistake - because the minute he found you back in the room, crying your eyes out again, he set his bat by the door and hoped to god that you were dumb enough to not notice the literal pieces of brain stuck to it. Dave, and the others who were dumb enough to fuck with you?

They were handled, and Negan finds it kind of funny that they had the nerve to insult your intelligence. As if speaking to you like that wasn’t about the stupidest, most suicidal thing a man at the sanctuary could do.

“I’m so sorry, Negan. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” you sob, even as he sits down beside you and pulls your tiny frame into his lap. You latch onto him, sniffling and shaking your head, obviously disappointed at the way you acted.

You’re such a good girl, that even when you don’t break the rules, you’re still worried about getting into trouble. Desperate for his approval, eager to please, eyes that look like that when they’re filled with tears.

Jesus fucking -

Negan’s painfully hard, and he’s ready to take his cock out and tell you to lick it, bunny, yeah, like a lollipop, but he’s got to make you feel better first. His sweet girl, his best girl, worried that he might be mad at her.

“You’re not in trouble, baby, you know that? Did nothing wrong. Dave and the others will be taken care of, don’t you worry,” he rubs your back with one big hand, doesn’t even try to mask the fake concern and damn near baby talk just to make you feel better. Anyone else would be able to see right through it, but not you.

Fuck, even that thought makes him harder.

“I don’t know why they don’t like me, but,” you stutter out. “It’s not a big deal. Guess I’m just being a baby, I just missed you, and I got lost, and then there was the spider and,” Negan has to stop you there.

“Not a big deal?” he echoes you, voice low and no longer sugar sweet. “Baby, someone made you cry. That is a big deal. That’s a fucking world-ending deal.”

Negan’s never felt this way about a woman. Protective. Sure, he’s felt possessive about his wives, will burn the face off of any fucking bastard who tries to touch them even if he’s ignoring them, but he could care less what actually happens to them.

But you? Knowing that you were lonely. Lost, all dumb and cute wandering around the sanctuary. It was risky, he’ll admit, to have you think it’s alright for you to just walk around freely. What if you saw something that changed the way you thought about him? What if you hurt yourself, what is someone tried to touch you? He makes a mental note to think of some excuse to have you stay in the room from now on, unless he’s with you. Something to scare you.

Just thinking about those fucking pieces of shit upsetting you - he might have to dig their decaying corpses out of the guts of the walkers he fed them to, just to kill them again.

You’re nervous. He can tell, by how tense you are on his lap. Wordlessly, he grabs your hips and forces you to sit, enjoys the feeling of his bulge bumping up against the thin fabric that hides your cunt. No more underwear - fucking genius of him.

“Look, honey,” he starts, sighing again as if it’s hard for him to say this. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know that -”

“You killed a spider, though. That’s kind of like a fly.”

Are you fucking serious? Negan ignores that. At least you’re not crying anymore.

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt anyone, but anyone messing with you needs to have some consequences,” you’re pouting, and you look like you’re about to cry again, so he changes the subject. That’s always easy to do with you, and he feels a rush of affection for his sweet, dumb girl.

Gently, he pushes you off his lap so he can stand, then he grabs your hand to lead you to the bed. He takes your clothes off first, sitting on the edge of the bed while you’re standing between his legs, and he rubs his hands up and down your sides.

So soft. So perfect, your cute little skirt falling to the floor. He helps you step out of it because he knows how clumsy you are, and when your breasts are bare he grabs both of them in his hands, rubs his thumbs over your nipples, lets the sexy sounds you make go straight to his dick.

“Where were you, Negan?” You ask, and that surprises him. Takes him aback, because you never ask him questions like that. If you were any other woman, he might think that you were trying to catch him in a lie or something - but because you’re you, he just leans in and kisses you, fists a hand in the back of your hair while he does it, a little roughly.

You told him once, that he was too rough, and he told you that all men are like that if they really like a woman. That’s all he had to say. You believed him. Even asked him after that, on a night he was all gentle, if he still liked you.

His dick gets harder, if possible, thinking about it.

“You don’t need to worry your little head about that, alright? I’ll be honest with you, baby - I’ll probably need to go out again tonight,” he ignores your frown by standing, pushing you down on the bed. You’re on your stomach, and then he pats you on the ass, and you’re so good that you remember what that means. What you’re supposed to do. You get on all fours, and you don’t even whine like usual when he pushes down on your back to get you to arch.

You don’t question him further, but maybe that’s because he takes his belt off, unzips his pants, takes his dick out and gets behind you on the bed. He runs the head of his cock, leaking, between your folds, grins at the way you’re trying to suck him in. Greedy little thing, how badly you want his cock.

He presses in a little, just to tease you, and you make small noises and move your hips a little. “What a good girl,” he talks out loud, but he knows that his girl likes a lot of praise. “Doesn’t matter how long I keep you on a shelf, dolly, does it? You’d be here, waiting for me. Ready for me, however I want you. Fuck,” he groans, when he bottoms out inside of you.

Your pussy is better than all of his wives combined, but maybe that’s just because you’re his. His to break in, his to mold to his own liking. His to fuck, his to keep, his girl, his toy, his doll. Those other women - they weren’t even his to start with, which was a little fun, part of the appeal - but it’s nothing like this. Nothing is as good as this.

Negan fucks you, and you take it. Honestly, it used to freak him out a little, how submissive you are. Just laying there, however he asks you to, keeping quiet if not for the little noises you make. You cum fast, whenever he touches your clit or finds that spot inside of you, and he knows it’s because you never touch yourself.

He asked you once, if you play with yourself when he’s gone, but you looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t know how to,” you said, all embarrassed, but Negan wants to keep you that way. Like a pot that boils only for him, his little magic lamp. A few thrusts here, his fingers or a lick there and - boom. Squeezing his cock so tight it feels like it’s about to break off. Perfect.

He cums deep inside of you, hopes that one day he’ll be able to knock you up, but he’s still a little nervous about how you’d be as a mother. Maybe he could get one of his wives to help out if that happened, or maybe -

He pulls his dick out of you, sweaty and spent, trying to screw his head back on straight. Maybe he should not even be thinking about starting a family right now. He’s got enough on his plate as is, especially when you turn around and look at him with hearts in your eyes, making grabby hands at him that just look too innocent when you’ve got his spunk leaking out of your pussy.

Negan lays down with you, and you lay your head on his chest, drawing hearts and little shapes with your finger on his skin while he catches his breath.

“Bunny,” he warns after a few minutes, and you look towards him, position yourself on your stomach with your hands flat on his chest, your head balanced on top of them. You’re looking at him like he’s the sun, and shit if it's not waning on his evil streak just a little bit. You’re fucking precious.

“I don’t want to leave you, but I have some business to take care of,” and then your happy look fades.

Even so, you try to snuggle closer, until he literally just pulls you closer.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. What if someone hurts you, and you never come back?” Your voice is quiet, sad, and Negan almost blows his entire cover right there, almost wants to tell you that there’s no bigger monster than him just to tame your anxiety.

Instead, he changes the story. Tells you that there’s some insane guy out there, with a group of people who are taking supplies away from the sanctuary. They want to hurt people, they want to hurt him, but he’s arranging a peaceful talk and hopefully, they’ll agree. He’ll have plenty of backup, of course, and you know how good I am at staying calm, honey, and then you’re at ease, kissing him all sloppy because you miss him already, and really, it’s a perfect send off.

“Good girl,” he tells you later, when you make it easy for him to leave. You don’t give him any shit. After fucking you, he spent a few hours just playing with you. Making you try on some of the new clothes he found you, he did a new puzzle with you (you’re surprisingly good at puzzles, and he’s impressed), and then he counted how many fingers you could take in your sweet little cunt before cumming (four).

You had good quality time together, which is why his praise means so much. But who are you kidding: Negan’s praise is the most important thing in the world to you.

When he says goodbye, he makes you promise (pinky promise) to stay in the room. That someone will bring you food, but he’ll be back in the morning. You promise, stand up on your tip toes when he teases you by holding his hand higher than you can reach, but you end up grabbing his closed fist and you press a kiss to his outstretched pinky. Then you kiss him, and he asks you to keep his bed warm. Stay pretty for him, he says, shutting the door. Keep bein’ sweet.

When the door locks behind him, Negan thinks about you the entire way to the car, even with his men following him. He should feel bad about the way he treats you, but he doesn’t.

He tells you stories, half-truths painted in bright colors. You think he keeps people safe, that he’s a good person who does things for the greater good, and you’re always amazed that he’s willing to protect people like you, who can’t do anything without someone else calling the shots.

It’s not so wrong though, he thinks, wanting to keep you in the dark. Someone like you deserves an opportunity to stay soft. If anything, he’s doing you a favor, keeping you sheltered like this.

You stay soft, you stay blind to the cold, hard truth about the fucked up world around you. About the man you share your bed with.

He’ll kill and hurt and do whatever he has to do to survive, and because he finds a thrill in it - and you'll stay locked up like a pretty doll on a shelf, spending your days applying lotion and trying on pretty dresses, doing your puzzles and looking through your magazines. Dumb and oblivious and waiting on him to give you a purpose. Perfect.

Negan’s not a romantic, but he thinks that there’s something safe about not knowing the truth. Something kind of beautiful about believing in the myth of a good man.

That night, before Negan steps out of his trailer, before he lines up every member of the fucking group he’s been itching to put in their place for much too long now, he looks in his pocket for the picture of you that he snapped on a polaroid camera. Pretty, sweet, sitting on his couch in a pink tank top and a little white skirt.

You’re beautiful, and you think he’s good.

If he looks hard enough at you, he wonders if he’ll start to convince himself of it too.

Negan Smith is a bad man, he knows - but he thinks you might be sweet enough for the both of you.