NEGAN

|•°∵ ∵°•|

BEING neighborly was a nice fucking thing to do.

Rhiannon brought brownies over a week prior. The first step, the first initiation to what she doesn't understand will be the fucking ride of her life.

But, fuck he wants to make sure it's known.

The door opened and he put on a big fucking grin because that girl in her little sleep shorts and a tank top.

He could see her fucking nipples under the tank top, popping out, hard from the early morning breeze. He wanted to take them in his mouth and —

"I hate to bother you so early, Miss Church," he charmed kindly, leaning against her doorframe.

He loved the way she looked up at him; so much smaller, softer. Gentler. She was such a little thing, a bundle of innocence and nerves.

"But I noticed your lawn hasn't been mowed," he pointed out, raising his eyebrows a fraction. "And I'm offering my very kind neighborly services."

Rhiannon's eyes went wide with surprise and her already cute face became fucking cuter.

"Oh," she replied softly, before nodding. "Sure, I would — I'd appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Negan."

Mr. Negan? Jesus fucking Christ have mercy on his fucking soul, what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

She was so goddamn innocent, so corruptible and sweet and fucking perfect.

"Anything to help a little lady," he replied smoothly, looking down at her. His lips pulled out a smile and he cleared his throat. "I'm throwing out a guess you don't have a mower, right?"

"No, sir," Rhiannon shook her head. "I can pay you though if you—"

"—Baby," he purred, relishing in the bite of her lip, the hitch in her breath and the flushed glance away. "You don't owe me a damn thing. Just let me help you out, darlin."

"Okay," she breathed out, nodding. Clearing her throat, she took a step back. "Um, I'm — I was gonna make breakfast, did you — would you like some?"

"It's fucking Saturday, ain't it?" He asked innocently. "I'd love some pancakes. Think you can scrummage some up?"

"Yes," she replied eagerly. Too fucking eager. She was so fucking cute wanting to please him like that. "Yes, I will do just that." She rapped her fingers against the door before awkwardly moving to close it.

He let out a chuckle and backed up, heading to his garage to get the mower.

It was a fucking dangerous game he was playing but fuck, did he enjoy it.

—

RHIANNON

Negan's offer was kind. Too kind. She knew it had to mean something else, be some sort of innuendo but she watched through the kitchen window as he mowed her lawn.

Like a normal person. Or neighbor.

Maybe she was overthinking everything and he really was just being neighborly.

He looked...really good mowing her lawn though. Doing something commonly associated with "strength" and so casually. He wore a wifebeater tank top, jeans, his tattoos darkening his otherwise perfect shimmering skin under the beating sun.

Rhiannon's grip tightened on the glass and she took a chug of water, trying to quench the unyielding thirst scratching her throat.

As if sensing her gaze, he looked over, a cheeky dimpled grin on his face and she let out a small gasp, turning away quickly.

"Stupid," she chastised herself, setting the glass down and letting out a small groan into her hands. "Stop crushing on him, dummy."

Rhiannon remained like that a few moments before smoke filled the air and she let out a cough, nose crinkling. Turning back to the stove, she flipped the pancake quickly and let out a whine at the burned bottom.

"Darn it," she mumbled before tossing the pancake out.

She'd never been good at making pancakes.

Pouring the last of the batter onto the pan, it sizzled under the warmth and she let out a noise of irritation.

"Maybe I can order pancakes?" She thought aloud, biting her lip. "Or run to the store and—"

"—Darlin, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it smells a bit awful in here," Negan's voice came through as he closed the front door behind him.

Heart thudding against her ribcage, Rhiannon peeked her head around the kitchen wall and plastered on a nervous smile.

"H-hi, Mr. Negan," she squealed out, fiddling with the little apron she wore when cooking.

"Did you burn something?" He asked in amusement, dimples showing. "Smells like ya might've."

"Maybe?" She confessed sheepishly, face falling. "I'm helpless at cooking. I've really tried but I get impatient and—"

"Tell you what," he cut her off gently, striding over and placing his hands on her biceps gently.

He smelled like musk and cigarette smoke — hadn't Lucille said he'd quit? — and grass. It was like bathing in a hot day outside and his neck shimmered with light sweat from the sun.

He was so hot.

"You still got batter left? I make some mean pancakes, baby."

There it was again. The nickname he and his wife seemed so fond of wielding. The single word alone sent a surge of arousal through her core, pooling in her stomach and threatening to consume her mind.

How was she meant to separate herself from a married man — and woman if Lucille smiled at her one more freaking time — if he kept calling her that?

His eyebrows raised expectantly and she blushed, eyes widening in fluster when she realized she hadn't spoken.

"I—uh, yes, yes," she nodded quickly. "Mix it."

"Is that an order, darlin?" He asked with a smirk, thumbs moving in circles over her skin.

Rhiannon let out a breath, trying to catch it before it stopped and nodded. Then shook her head at the quirk of his eyebrow. She'd answered in correctly. What had been his question?

"Sit down, baby," he ordered softly, moving his hands from her bicep to her chin, gently grasping it between his thumb and forefinger. "Let me take care of you."

Rhiannon's mouth fell open as words escaped her. She watched with a feeling of longing and desire as he pulled away, heading to the kitchen.

Rhiannon watched Negan mow her lawn, watched him smirk down at her as if she were the cutest thing he'd ever seen, and now watched him bake pancakes in her kitchen.

She was completely and totally screwed.

—

RHIANNON

Negan left after breakfast. It was entirely innocent. For the most part.

If she didn't count the blatant eye-fucking he seemed to be doing, the smirk everytime she spoke, and the sweet flirtations he'd laid thicker than the syrup on their pancakes.

"Thanks again," she said sweetly, looking up at him.

"Anything for you, darlin," he winked, back against the door.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, just stared at the other. Then, he reached a hand out, cupped her cheek softly. She leaned into it, fighting every instinct to kiss his palm, to pull him closer, to kiss him and tell him every nasty, terrible, very inappropriate thing she was thinking.

He ran his thumb across her lips, parting her mouth softly. The air left her lungs and she watched him, eyes not leaving his face as he observed his thumb on her mouth.

"Pretty little mouth," he breathed out. "Pretty little thing." He clicked his tongue and pulled his hand back, grinning down at her. "See you around, darlin."

Rhiannon nodded, watching as he left her house, the door closing behind him.

Only after he was gone did her mind clear and the realization hit her.

Negan Smith was going to ruin her.

—

NEGAN

"She's cute, isn't she?"

Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.

Fuck.

This was the last thing he fucking needed. The air left his lungs as he looked over at Lucille, her perfect fucking frame sitting at the dining table, eating a slice of a peach.

This was anything but fucking peachy and he knew her well enough to know she probably thought this was fucking funny.

"Who?" He asked, closing the front door and heading to the fridge to grab a beer.

He'd play fucking innocent until proven guilty. And really, really, he hadn't done anything. It's not like he'd cheated on Lucille.

He'd only thought about it.

"Don't play coy," she chastised, taking a bite. "Rhiannon. She's cute."

"She likes Rhia," he corrected, taking a sip of his beer, then sighed, eyes closing in frustration when he locked himself in.

"You idiot," Lucille rolled her eyes. "You thought you could hide it from me?"

"Hide — I'm not," he groaned into the beer, leaning against the wall. "How do I get out of this situation?"

"You don't," she pursed her lips, scowling at him. "We're married, Negan. Am I not enough for you? I'm happy to find someone who—"

He fucking hated when he threatened him. As if he'd ever let someone else have the prettiest fucking girl on the planet as their wife. Fuck no.

"Lucille," he warned lightly and she raised her eyebrows in reply. "No." He settled on, begrudgingly adding. "I'm sorry. I — I don't know why I was thinking."

Lucille hummed in response, taking another bite.

Maybe she wanted head. He could give her some. Make her forget all about it. That didn't exactly solve the problem, but that was about the extent of their communication lately.

Fight, fuck, make up, repeat the fucking process.

He didn't think he could ever fight with Rhiannon about anything, she was so damn sweet.

Woah, fuck, that was a thought he didn't like. An attachment thought. He shut that shit down real fucking fast because it was one thing to flirt and pine but another fucking thing to get attached and he would not fucking do that to Lucille.

"I like her too," Lucille confessed quietly, giving him a shy look.

Negan froze, breath leaving his lungs.

No fucking way fucking way fucking way he'd heard her correctly.

It felt like a fucking trap. Fucking trick. He was being tricked and he wouldn't fucking fall for it.

"Uh, what d'ya mean?" He stumbled over his words, hurriedly taking another slug of his drink.

Fucking subtle, Negan, great job.

"I mean, I want to fuck her."

Negan choked on his beer, watching his wife in disbelief.

He hated that thought. Hated the way his fucking dick tightened his pants at the thought of his pretty girl and his pretty wife fucking in front of him.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching her carefully.

"What?" He asked softly.

"A freebie," Lucille shrugged, meeting his eyes evenly. "You fuck her. I fuck her. But," a grin toyed at her lips. "I think she's a virgin."

He shifted against the wall, clearing his throat at the throbbing of his bones against his pants. "Oh?" He asked hoarsely.

"So who's gonna take her virginity, Negan?" She asked pointedly. "You or me?"

Was this fucking happening to him? He observed his wife for a moment, completely disbelieving this entire situation.

There was no fucking way his wife was the best fucking wife in the world. That his beautiful fucking wife sent from God above was going to fucking let him fuck the girl straight from Eden living next door.

"Darling?" Lucille's voice brought him back to reality. It always did.

Looking at her; that expectant look on her face, the slight tilt of her head. The small purse of her lips, the look in her fucking eyes.

Fuck, she wasn't playing around.

She wanted this as much as he did.

"I'm gonna fuck you, angel," he set his beer down and sauntered over to his wife, a grin lingering on his face. "You're so fucking perfect, you get that? My fucking wife."

Lucille grinned, letting out a light laugh. "Yeah, you like me more now?"

"Baby," he groaned softly, picking her up off the chair and setting her on the table, shoving her dish away. "I'm gonna show you how fucking much I love you."

"I love you, Negan," she pulled his mouth down, kissing him hungrily, hands moving quickly to move his shirt.

His jeans were so fucking tight, so desperate for her. So needy. The thought of Rhiannon next door made him whine into his wife's mouth, but the idea of her being complacent and agreeable with his indiscretions and wanting them for himself — was fucking hot as all hell.

"She's mine," Lucille leaned up, whispering in his ear. Her teeth grazed his earlobe.

Negan let out a soft moan. "We'll see, angel, but I think she'll fuck me tomorrow if I asked."

"Poor Negan," Lucille cooed, reaching her hand down to his pants and pulling him from them. A groan left him at the touch. "I'm gonna fuck her and make you clean up the mess, okay?"

Negan chuckled, opening his mouth to retort, but all thoughts left him when she twisted her hand, and a moan left instead.

"Yeah," he said in a strangled voice.

Lucille kissed his neck. "That's it, my love," her tongue trailed under his earlobe. "I know I'll win."

Negan shook his head, a growl of disagreement leaving his throat, but she shushed him with another jerk of her hand.

"You ever disrespect me like that again," she nibbled his earlobe. "I will cut your dick off, you understand me?"

A whine left him as she brought him to the edge. "If you win, we can fuck her together," she promised in a whisper. "If I win, you don't fuck her at all."

Ohhhhh, fuck.

"Lucille," he groaned out. "That's not — fuck, I wanna fuck her," he whined and she clicked her tongue.

"No," she gripped tighter and he winced. "You win, we both fuck her. I win, you don't fuck her at all."

"But either way..." he managed, groaning through the release as she pumped him. "Fuck, fuck, darling...oh...either way...you win."

"That's right," she pulled back and kissed his cheek soundly. Patting his cheek; she grinned, shoving him back a bit as he stumbled to catch balance. "I'll always win. Go clean up, we've got dinner with the Pearsons in an hour."

"Yes, ma'am."

|•°∵ ∵°•|

so it begins mwuahahahah
and yeah I think Lucille's a top and tops him what of it?
seriously she's the only woman who does I really don't wanna hear otherwise. but I do think he's a switch with her too he's a dom for suuuuureeee.
anyways!!! hope you liked annnddd who do you think will win?