'It's an honor to be with me...but it comes with a price. Total devotion.' A merry jaunt into Negan's world of babes, blood and that bitch Lucille.
A/N: PLEASE NOTE. This is a COMIC based story. My Negan is based off comic Negan in both looks and personality, as well as any other characters that appear who are also on the show (Carson, Dwight, Sherry.) My Sanctuary is also based off the comic version. I note this because there are some big storyline/characterization differences between show and comics. But please don't let this scare you show-watchers-only off! :D
This is my AU take on Negan's polygamous lifestyle involving his multiple wives and it follows the comic's notion that the position of wife is voluntary.
Currently a WIP. Consider it a little slice of life of Negan's wives! It roughly follows the comic's timeline but starts off well before Negan encounters Rick and his people. Each 'chapter' is just a snippet of the whole story, but hopefully is enjoyable as a 'vignette' all on it's own.
...it's also an excuse to write porn. Lots of porn. Hahaha. ;P
Warnings: language (Negan's in it...that's a given), violence (ditto) and sexual content (yup). And my shitty writing. Hahaha. Might as well be honest. -_-
DAYS OF HIS WIVES
'Chapter' 1
Wifey Number 5
The penthouse of Sanctuary was another world.
Carson had led Amber up the narrow metal-grated stairways of their factory home, to the doors that led to Negan's quarters. Unassuming doors, painted grey, the paint flaking off to expose the rust and silver beneath. She held her breath as he swung it open, as he ushered her inside and left her there.
She let the breath out.
This was a different world.
Amber was transported to the lush, fragranced rooms of Victorian paintings, instead of the derelict ruins of the post-apocalypse. She felt as a time traveler, one foot in the past. The door behind her led back to the present: Metal ducting, exposed pipes crawling the high ceilings, concrete floors -the constant chill in the air, the ever-present groan of the Walker sentinels staked outside – that was the world she came from.
'I could get used to this...' Her eyes wandered the ruby-red carpet, the plush inches deep. Opulent wooden end-tables, stacked with books – books! She had never wanted to read so badly. She shifted her feet, almost daring to go take one – when a side door opened and Sherry emerged.
The woman – Negan's first wife – was smiling warmly, her overgrown bangs sweeping to the side like feathers. Her eyes were a gentle green-blue, but something hard lurked behind them. She was wearing a sapphire-toned bustier top and tight black jeans. Immaculate, slender, like she'd stepped off the pages of a magazine.
Amber indulged in her bad habit – lip-biting. She caught sight of herself in a large wall mirror. Her blond hair a bit unkempt, spilling messily onto her forehead, her baby-blues wide as an owl's. Her posture slightly slumped to downplay her large breasts – a stance that never seemed to stop men from eye-fucking her. Her dirty jeans and oversized sweater, the fabric pilled and grungy. It was hardly her best first impression.
"Hi there, Amber." Sherry sat in one of the wing-backed chairs near an ash-filled fireplace. "Want to take a seat?"
Amber obliged, taking the other chair. "Uh, hi. So...um...is there still a spot open?"
"Yep. The last girl just left about 10 minutes ago. I don't know what Carson was thinking bringing her up here." A long-suffering sigh escaped the older woman. "Sorry. Just a bit annoyed. She claimed to be eighteen, but she was barely pushing fifteen." She pitched her voice low in imitation of a man's. "Sherry – what the fuck is this? I'd feel like a filthy old man fucking a kid like that!' Yeah right...He was thinking about it – I'm sure – but then he must've realized just how long I'd let him keep his testicles if he let her in."
Amber's lip was a delicacy. Sherry shook her head and laughed. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I'm sure you're nervous enough without having to hear that crap. Anyway, yes, there's still a spot, and you're the last one to apply. Lucky you."
Amber couldn't decipher the tone of that last comment. Cynical? Jealous? Angry?
"So you're sure about this? Being a wife and all? Yes, you get the benefits of living here and not having to earn points but you have to deal with – you know." Sherry rolled her eyes. "Negan."
"Um...yeah." Amber swallowed hard, trying to kill the anxiety butterflies in her gut. "I'm sure. I...uh...thought about it a lot." She scanned the opulent room, focusing her gaze on the ceiling-high windows and the cerulean skies beyond. So...what's he...like?"
"What does he like? Blowjobs and sex." A sardonic smile sat on Sherry's lips – out of place with the rest of her gentle features. "Pretty easy to please, really."
That made Amber squirm. Her pale complexion forever betrayed her discomfort, flushing red at the worst times. She knew what her new 'job' would entail, yes, but thinking about it from the distance of the factory floor – and being here in the Savior King's lair were two different things. The horrible butterflies multiplied. Being in front of the man himself would be the final test of her resolve. She could not break.
Sherry was watching her closely.
"I meant...uh...what is HE like?" Amber forced a smile onto her abused lips. She'd had few interactions with the man, nothing telling, and the stories of their glorious leader that bounced around Sanctuary ranged from 'he's a god' to 'he's the devil'. Sherry was a better source of the truth.
"Oh." Sherry brushed a stray hair away. "A huge, obnoxious asshole. Basically. Bad sense of humor. Did I mention obnoxious?"
Amber's eyes darted to every closed door in the room – a total of three – hoping Negan wasn't overhearing this abuse of his character.
Sherry was still eying her intently, and now she leaned forward, her features solemn. "Look, there's something I need to know. Do you have a boyfriend? A husband?"
Amber's smile faltered. Her voice was a squeak. "Uh...yeah. M-M-Mark. He doesn't want me to do this – but...we're not...I mean...I love him but we were almost like...a couple for convenience. We were neighbors since we were kids, he was a frail kid...and I always wanted to protect him..." Her nervous voice rambled into Sherry's silence. The other woman's eyes were simultaneously soft and hard, her hand clenching on her knee. "Look – I don't have a problem NOT being with Mark, I'm ok with it – I just want him to be safe and provide for him! That's why I'm here!"
"You might think that now. But you're going to miss him later."
Helping Mark was her priority. He'd been asthmatic since childhood, often bullied, her reliable friend, and in her teenage years – her first lover. Still, her love for him had never deepened into a lifetime commitment. They had their conflicts, and the falling of the world had made a rift between them...but she could not stand aside and watch Mark scrape by at the bottom of the Savior food chain, or watch the stronger, more able men belittle him any further.
'If I have to be another man's lover for him, I will.' For the first time, her face grew stern. "Yeah. I probably will. But like I said, I thought about this for a long time. I know what I'm doing."
Sherry leaned back. "All right, Amber. I guess that's it..." Her voice was suddenly weary, but she smiled through it. "If you're ready, I'll send you in."
She was chewing her lip anew, her stomach crawling with caterpillars and flighty-butterflies, all stages of the damned insects. Shit – she was suddenly terrified. Her nod was more like a nervous twitch.
"Ok. I'll be right back." Sherry disappeared behind one of the closed doors. Amber could hear nothing – wanting badly to eavesdrop – but remaining, fidgeting, in the plushy seat. A few moments later, the woman was back, gesturing her to enter.
Amber stood, receiving a comforting rub on the arm. Sherry let her hand linger, her smile warming the younger girl. "Remember...you're not committed to anything yet, ok...? You'll be all right."
Amber wanted to walk forward, but her knees were suddenly locked. "Is he gonna want to...right away?"
The comforting hand rubbed some more. "Doubt it. He might want to see... well...what you have to offer."
Ugh. Amber's brow crinkled, and she damned the sudden cracks in her resolve.
"Don't be scared..you'll be alright."
Amber nodded, brushing sweat off her upper lip, and taking a few deep, relaxing breaths. She grasped the knob, turned it, and stepped forward into a bedroom as richly decorated as the sitting area. She reached behind with one hand to ease the door shut – it latched with a soft click.
A huge four-poster bed dominated the middle of the room, the rest of the space flowing into another sitting area near the windows. Gauzy maroon curtains were draped over them, and a pool of reddened sunlight lay right before the bed. 'Red light special', Amber thought inexplicably. 'That's what I am...' She thought it would be funny to stand there, basking in her own personal spotlight.
A massive bookcase – oh divinity! - was against the wall, messily stocked with everything from hardcovers to magazines. There was another fireplace opposite the bed, and the ashes indicated it was functional. While they had a wood stove, and several large braziers to throw off heat in the lower levels, there was a chill that permeated the foundry, and cold had become an unpleasant companion. She'd be able to leave that companion behind if she stayed here.
Atop the mantle sat the infamous Lucille, the baseball bat with the barbs long-rusted with blood. There appeared to be a wooden cradle specifically built to house the vicious weapon. While she'd never seen it in action, she could only imagine – and a hard shudder racked her body.
"So, you're my next applicant, huh? Hope you're older than the last chick. Fuck."
She nearly toppled over, jumping back into the door. The knob gouged her painfully in the back. Right. She was in here for a reason. Her eyes darted to the window where she had somehow missed his figure lounging in the far armchair. She stepped to the side – one of the bed's posters had been blocking her view.
Her potential husband was slouched into the chair's red-velvet cushions, one boot slung across his knee. His nose was buried in a book – 'The Art of War' – and she could just see the top of his glossy black head.
"Um yeah, that's me. I'm uh..." This sounded stupid. "...legal."
"Oh right. Wouldn't want the po-leese to arrest my fucking ass." Negan lowered the book and grinned at her with a mouthful of teeth that would be a dentist's dream (or worst nightmare). He waved the book at her. "You ever read this shit? 'The Art of fucking War'?"
She didn't recall seeing 'fucking' in the title, but she let it pass. "Um no. I've heard of it, though."
He laughed. "I actually don't understand fuck-all of it, but whatever. It sounds bad ass, right?" He unceremoniously tossed the book, nearly landing it in the fireplace. She cringed – not liking to see a book mistreated like that – but once again she let it go. "I prefer the 'Art of Fucking' myself."
"Uh..." She stared at the floor. The damned pupae in her stomach were hatching into more butterflies. She wasn't ready to create that sort of 'art' yet, but...
'If that's what I have to do...'
A crinkling noise came from his direction and she glanced up. He held a rarity – a king-sized bar of chocolate. Her mouth was flooded with saliva, and she swallowed painfully – it only furthered the turmoil of her stomach.
"Want some?"
Her poise was rigid, her brow popping with sweat. She struggled to fight away her nerves. This was stupid – she could walk out at anytime, there was nothing to fear. She could go back to Mark and their shitty place at the bottom of the totem pole – their constant scraping for points. "No..." she said, her voice scarcely a whisper.
"A girl who turns down chocolate...what the fuckity fuck?" He ate a piece with gusto. "Who would've fucking thought? You sure? Once it's gone, it is motherfucking gone."
"Maybe later..."
He shrugged and broke off a large hunk of it, setting it on the end table. "Can't guarantee it won't get nabbed by one of the girls... So hey. What's your name? Something with an 'A', right? Ashley or some-fucking-thing like that?"
"Umm. Amber."
"Awesome. Nice to meet you Umamber."
"It's just-" She started, and then trailed off. His cheerful smile was starting to get to her.
Like he was reading her thoughts, he frowned and his lips drew into a pout. "Why the fuck are you way over there? How am I supposed to see you?"
She came forward, standing just in front of the sun's spotlight, the rays warming the top of her head. In the window's reflection, she could see her blond crown lit up like a halo. Yes, she the supposed angel, here in front of the demon.
"That's better." He nonchalantly sucked chocolate off his fingertips, eying her length-wise. She tried not to stare at him, her gaze hovering on his elevated foot. Black boot leather spotted with faded brown splotches. Blood? Walker blood...she surmised. She hoped.
"Christ, what are you wearing?" She could hear the scowl in his voice. "That sweater is big enough for three people."
She shrugged. "It's all I have... " She addressed him like all good Saviors did. "...Sir." Shit. She'd forgotten to say it before. Then again, he hadn't chastised her. She flitted her gaze to his face. He was still scrutinizing her, his head propped on one hand.
"Well, take that shit off already. Let's see what you got."
She flustered. Cheeks all red again. She supposed this was the 'goods check' Sherry had mentioned. "R-R-Right now...?" She stammered.
"Ummmhmmmm," he said, through another mouthful of chocolate. She waited until he was focused on sucking the sweet stuff off his fingers before she presented her offerings. She pulled off the heavy sweater, somewhat relieved to get the hot garment off her flushed skin. Her thin t-shirt dropped atop the sweater. Finally, she pulled off her camisole, loose and ill-formed from months of wear, and let the sad piece of cloth fall. She forced herself into an upright posture, fighting her habit to slouch. After all, there was no hiding her breasts now.
"Holy titties!" He beamed, as happy as a Walker with fresh meat. "Why the fuck were you hiding those babies under THAT?" He gestured in disgust at her crappy clothes. "Oh, don't answer that – I know why." The disgust crept into his face, his lip curled in contempt. "Explains your bad posture too. Can't say I blame you, really."
So, you know the kind of attention I get. The stares, the whistles. The way I have to hide myself away for safety.
The Rules said no rape, they said you'd better not even think it, but she wasn't naive enough to believe it didn't happen. That it couldn't happen to her. This world had not proven itself to be her friend.
He'd made those Rules and they were good... but as she watched Negan take in an eyeful of her 'babies', she wondered where he got off acting so self-righteously about perverts and lechers.
'...but I can't say I was dragged here...'
"Those are some damn nice titties," he complimented. "Real fucking nice." He laughed softly. "Your face is so red right now. It's ok...you don't have to be embarrassed." His tone suggested that her shame was absolutely absurd. She supposed it was – when she was here to prostitute herself. The red-tinged sun on her hair – Red Light Special, Stripper under the dance floor lights.
"I'm ok." Her words were as stiff as a board, her breath as airy as a feather. His foot slid off his knee and onto the floor with a -thump- and she jumped. He patted his thigh, beckoning her closer.
Her legs were wood too – two unfeeling stumps. She made her way over, standing uncomfortably between his parted knees.
"Mind if I touch...?"
She shook her head, but still flinched when his hands ran up her sides, calloused thumbs skirting her breasts, before sliding down to rest on her hips. He held her softly, breathing "...Nice. You know...I think I fucking like you. Yeah."
Well, that was promising. It's what she wanted – so why did it suddenly feel like a threat, an ugly prospect of doom?
"So...Sherry DID tell you what life was like as a wife, huh?"
"Yeah. Uh-huh." An involuntary tremor was gripping her body, and he could surely feel it vibrating through his hands. She finally looked at him – really looked – for the first time. She'd never been this close to the Savior Leader. From a distance, he exuded authority and menace with his imposing frame, his sauntering about the foundry with Lucille in hand. A leader who led, who punished, who she never had to deal with and therefore, never formed much of an opinion for. He did his job and kept the place together – that was enough after the chaos of the Outside world.
His features were strong and assured, handsome. There was something amiable about his easy smile, a boyish charm. Compared to Mark, he was certainly more beefcake than reedy boy – and even with his relaxed, slouched posture, she could tell he was going to tower over her once he stood. But she wasn't locked down by his sheer size, she wasn't unsettled by the masculine aroma of leather and woodsmoke. She had tiptoed her way up and down his face, from the smile, to the black brows, gently raised in appraisal – to what lay beneath. Eyes of rich mahogany brown...black coffee with creamer of blood and gold.
They were a predator's eyes, through and through.
"Amber? You gonna answer or what?"
She jolted. Gaze dropping to his chest. "I"m sorry, sir. I didn't hear..."
"Sherry said you had a boyfriend. Bill or something."
"Mark..."
"Yeah. That was it." He shrugged, as if the name meant nothing to him – and she was sure it didn't. "I'm not fucking crazy about taking on another chick with...baggage. I don't know if you were here when Sherry and Dwight," he said the latter's name with clear contempt, "had their little fucking infraction of the Rules, but-"
"I was here."
"Right. So...you know the goddamn Rules. Whatever you have with Mark-O is fucking over now. You got that, right?" He removed his hands, slumping back into the chair, his feral gaze burning her. "I want to know, Amber, if you're prepared for this kind of commitment. I don't want anything less than your fucking devotion. Fuck, I'm not asking for love or any of that bull-fucking-shit...just...some motherfucking respect. I need to be able to trust you."
She opened her mouth, but he was rambling on. "If you aren't, then walk the fuck out and be with Mark. I won't hold it against you. There's plenty of women who'd want to be in your shoes right now."
Nothing about this was ideal, but it was the most feasible way to help Mark. This is the shit world now, this is the depths you have to sink to survive. To help him live. She glanced around the room again, seeing the books, the fireplace promising warmth...simple comforts she'd once taken from granted. No, this is hardly the depths. I can live through this.
"If you are," Negan was still talking, apparently polishing off his welcome speech. "I'll be glad to have you. You'll be safe, well-fed, and given all the best amenities we obtain. Nobody will fuck with you anymore." He snorted a laugh. "Well, except me, I suppose. But seriously. You won't want for anything, and I'll even make sure Mark is well-provided for. You know, like a beneficiary."
She sucked in a breath. Yes. Yes. That was what she wanted to hear.
"So long as you hold up your end of the arrangement."
She had to be sure. "You'll keep him safe too? The other Saviors really pick on him...you'll make them leave him alone? I have to know – is he going to get enough food and medication...everything he needs? He's...fragile."
The Savior Leader – the opposite of fragile – nodded. "Yep. One word from me and his troubles will be gone." His eyes narrowed then, and she felt all the strength leave her bones. He was literally stripping her mind with that look, suspicion instantly turning his face from charming to menacing. "Are you REALLY ready to give him up, Amber? Because you don't fucking sound like it. I'm not going to... Not going through that fucking bullshit again." He hissed an angry breath through his perfect teeth. "I'll call that other chick back in here..the Kid. At least she was enthusiastic."
She hoped that was a joke. For the sake of his testicles, anyway.
She inhaled deeply. Never to kiss Mark again, or touch him? She was... all right with it. She was not all right with walking away and knowing she could've improved his life, even if it was in a way he found contemptible – in a way that she wasn't even sure she was ready for. 'If you got it, flaunt it. Use your assets. Make due with what you have.' Various soundbites flooded her head and she embraced them all. 'I'm going to do it. I'm going to swim to the bottom... for him.
Her hand slid up the leather and zippers of Negan's coat. She rested the other on his thigh, leaning forward with swaying breasts to breathe into his ear, "I'm not gonna break the Rules. I'm ready. If you'll have me."
"Great! That's all I needed to know." His hand tightened on the armrest, his breath huffed in a little deeper. Amber felt flush again – oh dear – she was probably in for it now. She didn't want to go this fast.
Her hand clenched onto the leather lapel, a soft squeak escaping her when his fingers slid up her side again. Her innards seemed to shrink away as fingers crossed the plane of her stomach. The exploring hand now cupped her left breast, the heat of his mouth was on her neck, a soft brush of a kiss. She stood, rigid and awkward, just holding onto his coat.
With a large sigh, he flopped back into the depths of the chair. He was just as flushed as she, and his smile was eager. "You are sweeter than fucking candy, Amber. Amber-fucking-licious. Ok. You are officially fucking hired. Wifey number... Five. I like five, that is a good fucking number. Don't you think?"
"Sure." She wondered what the other women were like. Probably desperate sods like herself. His gaze had slid from her eyes and seemed to settle on her mouth; his eyes darkened. Oh hell. She knew what he wanted – and she wasn't too thrilled at the prospect.
She had to bite back a noise of dissent – she wasn't fond of doing this. Not even with Mark. But fine. Whatever. She sank to her knees, his long legs sprawled around her like a cage. Tentatively, she ran her hands up the worn black denim of his thighs. Lip-gnawing again, she softly rubbed her hand over the junction of his legs, fingers traveling the swelled lump underneath. Oh dear. Flustered, she shivered with an influx of cold and heat. The tremors were back in her skin, and she struggled to unbuckle his belt. This delay was not calming her frenzied butterflies.
His hand suddenly lighted on hers, clasping gently. She startled, wide eyes gazing upward.
"Amber," he said, softly cooing, "It's all right. We don't have to do anything right now."
She eyed him dubiously. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, clearly hungry.
"...But sir...I want to..." She flinched; Did that sound sincere? She doubted it – but she also doubted he would give a shit.
He rolled his eyes. "Don't call me 'sir'."
"Um...sorry." His hand was still on hers, a heavy weight pressing her palm onto his crotch. She felt the heat radiating, the strange little twitch as his member responded to her presence. Damn, the horny bastard was so full of shit – testing her like this. She slipped her hand out from his grasp, attempting the stubborn buckle again.
"Umm...well...the thing is, Amber..."
She had to look up – now he was talking in a ridiculously shy way, his brown eyes looking all coy. "I uh...don't usually fuck on the first date, you know. I mean, you must think I'm some kind of fucking whore."
"...What?"
He grasped her wrist and tugged upwards. She followed the motion, unfolding to her feet. He held her hips again, fingers softly teasing more shivers from her skin. "Yeah. We only just fucking met, you know? And I've got some shit to do anyway – so why don't you go hang out with Sherry a bit, huh? There'll be plenty of time later to get to know each other." He winked.
She stood, relieved, and hoped this was not last minute judgment. If she left too eagerly, would he be insulted? Should she try harder to force her affections on him? She wished Sherry had given her more information. She was figuring out the 'obnoxious, did I mention obnoxious?' part on her own, but deciphering his sincerity and seriousness – or lack of it – was making her head pound.
He frowned and gave her hip a light smack. "Don't just stand there. Get the fuck out."
That was harsh, but it cleared things up. She skittered away and scooped her clothing off the floor. Holding the garments to her bare chest, she hurried towards the door.
"Wait...fucking wait." He let out a low laugh, his voice mild. "Get dressed. I'm not going to make you run out with your titties flapping."
She scowled – her breasts did not flap, thank you very much, but she said nothing. She disappeared back into the comforting and huge depths of her sweater. Feeling calmer, she exited into the sitting room to join Sherry at the fireplace chairs.
"How'd it go?"
"I'm in. I got the spot."
"Great. Lucky you."
"Yeah. Lucky me."
–
A/N: I originally first uploaded the first chapter of this story here at on Feb 17, 2015...and I started writing this story quite a while before that (I think I maybe started writing it in August of 2014?). I originally uploaded it under a different pen name which is primarily associated with another fandom. I decided to separate my Walking Dead stories and keep them under the name I tend to use on my Walking Dead fan-dorking, Lupienne. :)
If you enjoyed or found this fic even the least bit entertaining...please leave a comment. I don't get much feedback and it's quite discouraging. Your comment would mean a lot to me, however brief. I also don't mind (constructive) criticism. :)