Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The porch creaked softly beneath them as Lydia pulled her knees tight to her chest, the rough wood warm from hours of soaking up the day’s sun. A soft orange glow bled across the horizon, smearing streaks of gold and pink over the rooftops.

Beside her, Negan leaned back on his elbows, legs stretched long and lazy across the boards. The fingers of one hand toyed absently with a loose thread on his shirt while his eyes tracked the slow crawl of clouds across the sky.

They’d been out here nearly an hour now. Talking. Or maybe rambling was more like it. About stupid little things. Whether Carol’s cookies could hold a candle to the pre-apocalypse ones Negan swore by, about how dogs always seemed to know when walkers were nearby, about the time he’d knocked over an entire shelf of canned peaches in the pantry and spent nearly two hours cleaning up sticky syrup before anyone noticed.

Lydia liked hearing his stories. She liked the way his voice settled in her chest - low, warm, teasing - like the rumble of distant thunder promising rain.

“You ever notice how quiet it gets right before dark?” she murmured suddenly, her voice so soft it nearly got swallowed up by the warm breeze.

Negan tilted his head just enough to glance sideways at her, one brow quirking. “Hmm. That your way of sayin’ I should shut up for five minutes?”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “No. I like listening to you.”

He blinked, his mouth twitching into a crooked grin. “Well, shit, Lydia. You keep talkin’ like that, and you’re gonna give me a big head.”

She laughed. An awkward, low sound that made her duck her head slightly, hiding behind a curtain of hair. Her gaze drifted down to her scuffed boots, her thumbs picking at a frayed seam on her jeans.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said after a long pause. “There’s… a lot of stuff I never got to do. Normal stuff.”

Negan shifted, sitting up a little straighter, his elbows resting on his knees now. “Yeah? Like what?”

She started ticking things off on her fingers. “Go to a real school. Have a birthday party. Try ice cream. Go to a movie theater.”

“Ice cream and the movies? Damn kid, you really missed out.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” she muttered, though her voice lacked any real heat.

“Alright, alright,” he said with an easy chuckle. “Fine. So what flavor ice cream, then?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “All of them?”

Negan’s grin widened. “A woman after my own heart. That’s the only correct answer.”

She hesitated then, her fingers curling tightly around her knees. When she spoke again, it was so quiet he almost didn’t catch it.

“And… I’ve never been kissed.”

The words hung in the air between them like a fragile glass ornament threatening to shatter.

Negan blinked. For once, he didn’t have a comeback ready. The easy smile on his face faltered, his brows pulling together just slightly.

“Huh.”

Lydia’s cheeks burned red. She looked away fast, hugging her knees tighter as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear into the porch boards. “Forget I said anything. It’s stupid.”

“Hey. Whoa.” His voice softened as he straightened, turning more fully toward her. “It’s not stupid. Not even a little bit.”

She didn’t answer, staring down at her hands, her fingers twisting anxiously.

“You’ve been too busy survivin’ to worry about that kind of stuff,” he went on gently. “Hell, if it makes you feel any better, my first kiss was with some braces-wearing girl named Pam Macy. She damn near took my lip off.”

That earned him a small, surprised snort. “You’re lying.”

“Dead serious.” He held up a hand like he was swearing an oath, his grin returning, softer now. “But listen - there’s no reason to be embarrassed. There’s nothin’ wrong with takin’ your time.”

Lydia nodded faintly but didn’t look at him. The silence that followed was thicker than the summer air, heavy enough it made Negan’s chest feel tight.

“...You want me to help?” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

Her head jerked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“I mean... shit -” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure where all his usual bravado had gone. “Only if you want. I just thought… maybe you could get your first kiss outta the way. No big deal. Might take the pressure off when some pimple-faced Romeo eventually comes knockin’.”

Lydia’s brows furrowed, her lips parting slightly as if to say something, but no words came out. She looked at him, really looked, as though she was trying to peer past his teasing grin to whatever he was actually feeling.

“Are you serious?” she asked finally.

“Dead serious.”

She bit her lip, staring down at her hands again. “Wouldn’t it… be weird? With me?”

Negan hesitated. Oh, it would be weird, alright. Because despite all his best intentions, he felt something for her. A quiet, persistent warmth that had snuck up on him when he wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t supposed to be there. Not for her. Not after everything he’d done.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’d be a little weird. But… not in a bad way.”

She glanced at him nervously. “Okay.”

His brows shot up. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed hard.

Negan let out a slow breath. “Alright then. Scoot over here.”

Her heart thudded so hard it felt like it might shake her ribcage apart as she shifted closer, every movement awkward and deliberate. He reached up, cupping her face gently in his palm, his thumb brushing lightly along her cheekbone.

“You sure?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes wide but steady.

“Okay. I’ll go slow. Just follow my lead.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips as he paused, giving her one last chance to pull away. Lydia’s eyes fluttered closed.

Their lips met softly, a tentative pressure that sent a strange shiver skittering down her spine. He kissed her like she was made of glass, like any sudden movement might crack her wide open. His thumb stroked along her jaw as he deepened it slightly - not too much, just enough to guide her into it.

Lydia let out a small, surprised sound, and Negan pulled back an inch.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “Too much?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Just… new.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. I remember that.”

When he kissed her again, it was slower this time, gentler but with a heat that lingered a moment too long to be purely platonic. He pulled away reluctantly, his hand dropping from her cheek to rest in his lap.

“Not bad for your first rodeo,” he teased softly, though there was a note in his voice he couldn’t quite hide.

Lydia’s lips curved into a shy smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Negan chuckled low, shaking his head like he was trying to dislodge the swirling in his chest. He’d meant for it to be simple, harmless.

But that kiss... hell, it didn’t feel harmless at all.

Chapter Text

The faint crackle of a record drifted down the hallway, warm and scratchy. Lydia paused outside Negan’s door, her fingertips brushing the frame as Hank Williams’s weary voice spilled softly into the night.

Hear that lonesome whip-poor-will, he sounds too blue to fly…

She hadn’t meant to go looking for him. Not really. But the music had drawn her in - low and aching.

Inside, Negan sat slouched in a battered armchair, the lamplight painting his face in gold and shadow. A half-empty glass of whiskey dangled loosely in his fingers, catching the glow as he tilted it absently. His head was tipped back, eyes half-lidded, his mouth tugged faintly at one corner, like he was caught between the song and some long-buried thought.

Lydia hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then rapped lightly on the open doorframe.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in that chair if you keep brooding in it,” she said, trying for lightness.

Negan cracked one eye open, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Little Miss Sneakypants.”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure you weren’t.” He took a slow sip, then set the glass down with a soft clink. “You hear the siren call of ol’ Hank and just had to come pokin’ your nose in, huh?”

“I heard music,” Lydia admitted, stepping inside cautiously. “Didn’t know you were into sad cowboy songs.”

“This ain’t just any sad cowboy song, girl. This here’s Hank damn Williams. You’re listenin’ to history.”

Did you ever see a night so long, when time goes crawling by…

“Sounds depressing,” Lydia said, though she couldn’t help but smile faintly.

“That’s the point.” Negan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Sometimes you gotta let the blues in. Better than bottlin’ ‘em up. You’d know that if you were as wise as me.”

“You’re such an old man.”

He barked a laugh, the sound rough but warm. “Old man, huh? Watch it. You’re about two more smartass comments away from me makin’ you shine my boots.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

Negan pushed himself to his feet with a groan, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders popped. “Don’t tempt me. These long legs ain’t just for show, you know.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but her attention had already drifted to the record player in the corner. The vinyl spun lazily, its surface glinting in the lamplight as the song wound through the room.

Negan caught her staring. “What? You curious about my sweet-ass music collection now?”

“Just wondering…” She hesitated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you ever… dance to music like that? Before?”

“Before?” He scratched at his beard, thoughtful. “Yeah. Once or twice. But it’s been a long damn time.”

“I’ve never danced.”

That made him freeze mid-step. “Never?”

She shook her head, her eyes flicking down to the floor. “Not even once.”

“Shit.” Negan let out a low whistle, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. “We’re really makin’ a list here, aren’t we? First kiss, now first dance… What’s next? First late-night drive with bad gas station snacks?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I ain’t makin’ fun.” His voice softened slightly, his grin fading to something gentler. “Just… damn. You deserve all that stuff. And more.”

Lydia’s lips pressed into a tight line. “It’s not like there was time for it.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah. I get that.”

Then he straightened abruptly and held out a hand. “Well… guess there’s no time like the present to start catching up.”

“What?”

“C’mere.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” A faint smirk curved his mouth again, though there was something quieter in his eyes. “Ain’t like I’m askin’ you to marry me. Just one dance.”

Lydia hesitated. Her boots scuffed against the wooden floor as she shifted nervously. “I don’t… I wouldn’t even know how.”

“That’s why you got me. Best damn teacher you’ll ever have.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, Lydia slipped her hand into his. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip surprisingly gentle as he tugged her toward the open space between the chair and the record player.

“You’re taller up close,” she murmured without thinking, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, well… you’re a lot smaller than you act,” he shot back with a crooked grin.

Placing one hand carefully on her waist, he cradled her other hand in his. “Okay. First rule of dancin’ - don’t overthink it. Just let the music do the work.”

Lydia let out a shaky laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Hey. I’m a pro.” His thumb brushed absently over her knuckles as he guided her into a slow sway. “You’re in good hands.”

The moon just went behind a cloud, to hide its face and cry…

The song curled around them like a warm blanket, filling the space between their bodies with a quiet, steady rhythm. Lydia moved stiffly at first, her gaze darting nervously between the floor and his chest.

“Relax,” Negan murmured, his voice low. “Ain’t nobody here but us.”

Gradually, she let herself lean into the movement, her head dipping slightly as she followed his lead.

“This feels… weird,” she said under her breath. “But not bad.”

“That’s because you’re dancin’ with a world-class partner,” he teased softly.

She glanced up, her cheeks faintly pink. “You’re impossible.”

“Damn right.”

For a while, the only sound was the shuffle of their feet and Hank’s mournful drawl. Lydia’s fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder as she grew bolder, letting the rhythm carry her.

Negan’s smirk softened into something quieter, his chest tightening. He hadn’t meant for this to feel so… intimate.

“See?” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “You’re a natural.”

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” she whispered back.

His jaw worked faintly. “Don’t go givin’ me that much credit.”

The silence of a falling star lights up a purple sky…

As the final notes faded, neither of them moved. The quiet felt heavy, the kind that hummed in the bones.

Finally, Negan cleared his throat and stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “There. First dance. Officially checked off the list.”

Lydia gave him a shy, tentative smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, kid.”

But when her gaze lingered on him a moment too long, Negan turned abruptly toward the record player, lifting the needle with more care than necessary.

His chest still felt tight, and he wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey, the music, or the way her small hand had fit into his so easily.

And Lydia… Lydia stood frozen in the middle of the room, still feeling the ghost of his warmth around her.

Chapter Text

The night was cool and quiet. The kind of stillness that only came after a long day of surviving. Lydia padded softly across the creaking floorboards, careful not to wake anyone as she drifted aimlessly through the house. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not with her mind swirling the way it was, thoughts tangling up like weeds.

She was halfway down the stairs, thinking maybe she’d sit by the fire for a while, when she heard it: faint music, drifting from somewhere above.

It was so soft she almost missed it, more hum than sound, carried down on a draft of air. Curious, she paused, then turned and padded back up the stairs, the chill of the wooden steps seeping into her bare feet.

The narrow flight of steps to the roof creaked louder than she liked, but nobody stirred. As she reached the hatch, a cool breath of air brushed her face. She pushed it open carefully and peeked out.

Negan was sprawled on his back across the flat roof, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely across his chest. A small, battered CD player sat beside him, spinning a slow tune she didn’t recognize.

He didn’t glance over. “If that’s a walker sneakin’ up on me, you better make it quick. I’m too damn tired to fight back tonight.”

A faint smile tugged at Lydia’s lips. “It’s just me,” she said softly, climbing out onto the roof.

“Well damn.” He tilted his head just enough to catch her in his peripheral vision, a smirk curling faintly at the corner of his mouth. “You’re up late.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She crossed the roof carefully and settled cross-legged near his feet, hugging her knees to her chest. “What about you?”

“Same as you.” He gestured vaguely toward the endless stretch of sky. “Avoidin’ sleep. Lookin’ at stars. Tryin’ to remember how to breathe.”

Lydia followed his gaze upward. The sky spread wide and black above them, littered with pinpricks of cold light. Out here, away from firelight and noise, the stars seemed impossibly sharp.

“I’ve never really done that,” she murmured.

“Done what? Stayed up past curfew?”

“No.” She hugged her knees tighter. “Looked at the stars. Not like this.”

That made him turn his head fully toward her, eyebrows raised. “You’re shittin’ me.”

She shook her head. “We were always moving before. Or the trees blocked them. Or… my mom said the stars didn’t matter.”

“Jesus.” Negan let out a low whistle, dragging a hand over his beard. “That woman really had a talent for sucking the joy outta life, didn’t she?”

Lydia didn’t answer.

“Well.” He patted the empty space beside him. “Tonight’s your lucky night, kiddo. Welcome to Starry Sky 101.”

She hesitated, then uncrossed her legs and stretched out beside him, lying stiffly at first. The roof was cool against her back, and she could feel the faint heat radiating from his arm where it rested just a few inches from hers.

“Alright.” His voice was softer now, almost conspiratorial. “Lesson one. See that big-ass spoon over there?”

She frowned. “Spoon?”

“The Big Dipper,” he corrected, smirking faintly. “But c’mon. You can’t tell me it doesn’t look like a spoon.”

She squinted, trying to trace the shape in the stars. “Maybe…”

“No maybe about it. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. Handle. Bowl. Spoon. Boom.” He traced the pattern in the air with his finger.

Lydia’s lips twitched. “Okay… yeah. I see it.”

Negan grinned, satisfied. “Next up: Orion. The hunter. Badass dude with a belt. Three stars in a row. Right there.” He pointed.

She followed his finger. “Oh. Yeah, I see it.”

“Pro tip: someday, you wanna impress some boy, drop that knowledge. ‘Hey, check out Orion’s belt.’ Dudes love that.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

“Yeah, well… me neither,” he said, quieter this time.

A breeze stirred across the roof, making Lydia shiver. Negan noticed. He let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright, alright. But only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous.”

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm, heavy, and smelled faintly of smoke, leather, and whatever soap he’d scrounged up earlier that week.

“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling it tighter.

“Don’t mention it.” He lay back again, but she noticed him rubbing his forearms absently against the chill.

After a beat of hesitation, Lydia scooted closer until her shoulder brushed his.

“You’re stealin’ my body heat now?” he teased, side-eyeing her.

“Sharing,” she corrected softly.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright, sharing.”

For a while, they lay there in companionable silence, the soft strains of the CD player filling the spaces between them. The wind whispered over the roof, carrying the scent of pine from the woods beyond.

“This is nice,” Lydia said finally, her voice almost lost in the breeze.

“Yeah,” Negan murmured. “It is.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, the moonlight catching on his lashes. There was a softness to his face she didn’t see often, like the sharp edges had dulled for just this moment.

“Thanks for this,” she whispered.

Negan didn’t answer right away. He reached over, gave her hand a brief squeeze. Warm, firm, but not lingering - and let go.

“Anytime, kid.”

But as he lay back, staring at the stars, he felt a quiet ache settle in his chest.

And Lydia tucked herself a little deeper into his jacket, her eyelids growing heavy as the music and the night air wrapped around her like a lullaby.

Chapter Text

The bottle of whiskey sat between them, catching the flicker of the lantern light and throwing shards of amber across the table.

Negan leaned back in his chair, boots propped lazily on the edge of the table, swirling the liquid in his glass with a practiced hand. The faint creak of the wood beneath him was the only sound for a long moment, save for the gentle pop of the lantern flame.

“You’ve been starin’ at that bottle for, what… five minutes now?” he drawled, cutting his eyes toward her. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, kid?”

Lydia sat cross-legged on the floor near his boots, chin resting in her palms, her gaze fixed on the whiskey like it might whisper its secrets if she stared long enough.

“What’s it like?” she asked softly.

Negan raised a brow. “What’s what like?”

“Being drunk.”

That earned her a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh-ho-ho. You’re askin’ me?” He tapped his chest with a finger. “Sweetheart, if you’re lookin’ for a poetic, Hallmark answer about fine spirits and refined palates, I ain’t your guy. But if you wanna hear about gettin’ so hammered I sang Bon Jovi to a busload of nuns…”

Her lips twitched. “You’re lying.”

“Scout’s honor.” He held up a hand, smirking. “Didn’t win me any points with the big man upstairs, but Sister Mary Louise had one hell of a poker face.”

She shook her head, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

He sipped his whiskey and let the burn settle in his chest before nodding toward her. “But you ain’t really askin’ just to hear my greatest hits, are ya?”

Lydia hesitated, then shrugged, her voice barely above the crackle of the lantern. “I’ve never done it. Not even tasted it.”

Negan’s smirk softened, and he tilted his glass, watching the amber swirl lazily. “Huh. That so?”

She nodded, not meeting his gaze.

“And lemme guess… you want your first time sittin’ here with me?” He raised a brow. “Hate to break it to you, but I ain’t exactly spring break in Cancun.”

She glanced up at him then, her eyes clearer than he expected. “Better than being alone.”

That hit him square in the chest. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, just stared at her like he was trying to read between her words.

“You’re serious,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah.”

Negan rubbed a hand across his mouth, sighing through his fingers. “Alright, then. But we do this my way. Ground rules: you sip slow, you don’t puke on my boots, and you don’t come cryin’ to me about the headache you’re gonna have tomorrow. Deal?”

A faint grin tugged at her lips. “Deal.”

He grabbed a second glass from the shelf and poured a modest splash, handing it down to her.

Lydia held it like it might bite her.

“Relax.” His voice dropped, softer. “It ain’t got teeth. First sip’s always the worst, like rippin’ off a Band-Aid. Go on.”

She raised the glass to her lips and took a cautious sip. Her face screwed up immediately. “Ugh. That burns.”

Negan chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Told ya. Tiny sips. Let it sit on your tongue. Don’t fight it.”

What followed was a slow, careful process. Lydia took tentative sips while Negan coached her through them, his tone dipping between teasing and oddly tender. Bit by bit, her shoulders loosened, her cheeks flushed, not just from the whiskey, and her laughter came easier.

“You’re a bad influence,” she said with a grin, pointing at him.

“Me?” He feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “Sweetheart, I’m an excellent influence. I’m teachin’ you life skills here.”

“Like how to destroy my liver?”

“Exactly.”

They both laughed, and Lydia leaned back on her hands, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.

“I feel… warm,” she murmured, her voice soft and slightly unsteady.

“That’s the whiskey talkin’,” Negan said, but his eyes lingered on her longer than he meant to. The firelight danced across her face, catching in her lashes, and for one dangerous second, he let himself imagine what it would be like to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, to let his fingers linger just a little too long.

He looked away sharply, swallowing hard.

Jesus Christ, Negan. Get a grip.

“It’s nice,” she added quietly, staring into her glass.

“Yeah.” His voice was low now, almost hoarse. “It is.”

She turned her head to look at him, her expression open in a way that made his chest ache.

“Why’d you drink before?” she asked softly. “Like… before all this?”

He let out a humorless huff. “Why does anybody? To celebrate. To forget. To kill time. Hell, sometimes I just liked the taste.”

Lydia rolled her glass between her palms. “I think I get it now. It’s… quiet in my head.”

Those words hit harder than he expected. He knew that feeling too damn well. The pull of the bottle when the silence in your own skull got too loud.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s the trap, kid. Feels good… ‘til it don’t.”

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint clink of glass and the whisper of the lantern flame.

Then Lydia laughed, quiet and unexpected.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“I was just thinking… you’ve been there for all these firsts.” She tipped her head back, her gaze meeting his with a shy boldness. “First dance. First kiss. First time drinking. You’re… in all of them.”

Negan’s smirk faltered. Something tight and hot coiled low in his stomach, and he had to look away, staring hard at the whiskey in his glass like it might save him from himself.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Guess I am.”

Before he could think of something clever to say, before he could shove down the dangerous swell of feeling, Lydia shifted closer and rested her head lightly against his knee, her hair brushing the denim of his jeans.

Negan froze. Every muscle in his body went tight, his fingers clenching around the glass. He wanted to move, to crack a joke, to do anything to break the fragile thing hanging between them, but he didn’t.

Instead, he set his glass down and let his hand drift hesitantly to her head, fingers brushing her hair with a touch so light it barely counted.

“You’re a dangerous kid, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rougher now, quieter.

Lydia smiled faintly against his leg. “Not to you.”

Negan huffed out a laugh - quiet, strained, almost pained.

“That’s what you think,” he whispered.

And for the first time in years, the man who always had something to say couldn’t find another word.

Chapter Text

The sound of metal and leather shifted in the still morning air as Negan adjusted the bike’s kickstand. The old Harley sat gleaming faintly in the pale sunlight, its chrome patched together with scavenged parts and stubborn care. It looked like it belonged in another world, a louder, faster world, and for a moment, Lydia wasn’t sure if she belonged anywhere near it.

“You sure about this?” Negan asked over his shoulder, one brow arched in challenge.

She stood a few paces back, arms folded tightly across her chest, as though hugging herself might steady the pounding in her ribs. “Yeah,” she said. Her voice was calm, but her fingers dug into her sleeves. “I’ve never been on one before.”

“Not even as a passenger?”

Lydia shook her head. “Not much room for bikes when you’re running from walkers.”

He snorted at that. “Fair point.” Resting one gloved hand on the worn leather seat, he gave it a fond pat. “Alright then, welcome to your first official motorcycle lesson. Lesson one: don’t fall off and get your ass pancaked.”

That drew a small smirk from her. “That’s it?”

“Hey, you wanna be a rebel, you gotta start somewhere, kid.”

With a fluid swing of his long legs, Negan straddled the bike, settling in with the easy grace of someone who’d spent half his life on two wheels. He rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off old ghosts and gripped the handlebars. The morning sun caught on the edges of his leather jacket, the faint smell of motor oil and smoke wafting toward her.

“Well?” he called back, flashing her a wolfish grin. “You gonna climb on, or you wanna stand there lookin’ pretty all day?”

Lydia hesitated, her fingers tightening on her jacket’s hem. It wasn’t fear - not really. It was the knowledge that once she got on, there’d be no space, no buffer, no way to pretend she didn’t feel the warmth of him through his leather.

But she stepped closer anyway. “Where do I hold?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Negan tilted his head, and she swore she saw the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes before it was gone. “Good question. You got two options: you can grab the back of the seat and pray to sweet baby Jesus, you don’t go flying, or…” His voice dropped slightly. “You hang on to me.”

Her fingers twitched nervously. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed, his usual teasing edge tempered by something heavier in his tone.

She stood there, caught in the moment, until he let out a low chuckle. “C’mon, kid. I don’t bite. Well… not unless requested.”

Rolling her eyes, maybe to mask the heat creeping up her neck, Lydia threw one leg over and slid onto the seat behind him. The bike was taller than she expected, her boots barely grazing the dirt.

“Alright,” he said, his voice rumbling beneath her, “decision time, sweetheart. Back of the seat, or me?”

For a beat too long, she didn’t move. Then, with a hesitant breath, Lydia reached forward and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“There you go,” Negan said softly. “Not so scary, huh?”

She didn’t answer, her attention caught on the solid warmth of him beneath her hands. The leather of his jacket was cool, but underneath, she could feel the steady heat of his body, the faint rumble of his voice vibrating through his back. He smelled faintly of smoke and something earthy, like wind and pine, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder without really thinking.

Negan cleared his throat and flexed his fingers on the handlebars. The moment she’d wrapped her arms around him, something had kicked low in his gut, sharp and unwelcome. He’d given her the damn choice - hold the seat, keep it safe - and she’d still chosen him.

“Alright,” he said roughly. “Let’s fire this bad boy up.”

The Harley came to life beneath them with a deep, throaty roar. The vibration thrummed up through the seat and into Lydia’s bones, and she instinctively tightened her hold around him.

“Easy there, darlin’,” Negan muttered, the words slipping out lower than he intended. “You squeeze me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re sweet on me.”

“I don’t want to fall off,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed a tiny waver.

“Uh-huh.” He smirked, unseen. “Hold on then.”

The bike jerked forward as they started across the open field near Alexandria. Lydia’s heart leapt in her chest, adrenaline mixing with the dizzying awareness of Negan’s body so close. The wind whipped against her face, tugging at her hair, and she let out a startled laugh that she didn’t quite recognize as her own.

Negan kept the speed slow, taking them in wide, lazy loops. His jaw was tight, his focus fixed ahead even as he felt every subtle shift of her weight, every slight tightening of her arms around his ribs. She was so light, so damn trusting, and he hated - hated - how good it felt.

“See?” he called over the engine’s growl. “Ain’t so bad, is it?”

“It feels…” Lydia hesitated, searching for the right word as the wind filled her lungs. “Free. Weird, but good.”

“Most good things do, sweetheart.”

As they picked up a little more speed, Lydia’s arms squeezed him again, her body pressed tighter for balance. Negan gritted his teeth. He’d spent years perfecting the art of control, of denying himself what he wanted, but this was testing him in ways he hadn’t expected.

When he slowed near the tree line, she finally cracked her eyes open. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wild from the wind, and there was a small, unguarded smile on her lips.

“That was…” She exhaled. “That was amazing.”

Negan glanced back at her, and for once, his usual grin softened into something gentler. “Yeah. That’s why I ride.”

“Can we go again?” she asked, almost shyly.

He barked a laugh. “Look at you. One taste, and you’re already hooked.”

“Please?”

Negan groaned dramatically but fired up the engine again. “Alright, one more lap. But if you’re gonna cling to me like a baby possum again, you better warn me first.”

She smirked, braver this time, and deliberately tightened her arms. “Like this?”

“Shit.” He shook his head, laughing low. “You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.”

As the bike roared forward once more, Lydia let her head rest lightly against his back, her eyes fluttering shut. The warmth of him, the steady thrum of the engine, and the wind rushing past - it was intoxicating in a way she couldn’t name.

And Negan, for all his bravado, couldn’t decide if he wanted her to let go or hold on tighter.

Chapter Text

The lake lay still and dark as obsidian, holding the bruised-purple sky in its depths. Fireflies pulsed faint golden light along the tree line, their glow flickering in time with the soft creak of the dock beneath Negan’s boots.

He toed them off with a grunt, then peeled off his shirt and jeans, dropping them in a careless heap at his feet. Bare-chested and smirking, he turned toward her.

“Alright, kid,” he said, voice warm and edged with that familiar drawl. “Time to baptize your ass in mother nature.”

Lydia stood near the edge of the dock, her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her bare toes curled over the wood as she stared down at the water’s slick surface. The lake looked endless, like it could swallow her whole.

“Why are we even doing this?” she muttered, hugging her ribs tighter. “It’s cold. And gross.”

“Because it’s summer,” Negan shot back, wading into the shallows with a hiss and a laugh. “And because you, my little grumpy-ass, deserve to do somethin’ stupid and fun for once in your damn life. Trust me, skinny-dipping was like free therapy back in the day.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re not even naked.”

“Yet,” he teased over his shoulder, flashing her a grin. “But I’ll keep it tame for your delicate sensibilities. Waist deep. That’s my promise.”

Lydia’s stomach tightened.

He was all relaxed confidence out there in the water, dark hair catching what was left of the light. Meanwhile, she felt like every muscle in her body was coiled tight, screaming don’t do it. The water seemed calm, but it hid too much. Too many unknowns.

Negan’s eyes found hers, his grin softening into something quieter.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.

She flinched, then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then strip down and get your ass in here.” His voice had lost its teasing edge - low now, coaxing, almost tender.

Lydia hesitated. The thought of taking her clothes off made her stomach flip for an entirely different reason.

Still, she peeled her T-shirt over her head and shimmied out of her jeans, folding them with deliberate care before placing them neatly on the dock. Standing there in her bra and underwear felt wrong and right all at once. Vulnerable and freeing.

She could feel his eyes on her as she hovered at the edge.

But he didn’t leer or whistle. He just watched, quiet now, his smirk faded into something unreadable.

The first kiss of cool water against her toes sent a shiver darting up her legs.

“Shit’s cold, huh?” he called softly. “Give it a minute. You’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

She took one careful step, then another. The lake bottom squished unpleasantly under her feet.

By the time the water reached her knees, her breathing had turned shallow, tight.

“You’re okay,” Negan said gently, holding out his hands like he was coaxing a spooked animal. “Just keep walkin’. You’re tougher than a little lake, I know you are.”

But when the water reached her hips, Lydia froze. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, get out. Her arms wrapped tighter around herself.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well,” Negan said, his voice low and steady, “most good shit starts out scary. First time I swam in a lake, I pissed myself. True story.”

She swallowed hard.

“C’mon,” he urged, taking another step closer. “I got you.”

She forced herself forward, lifting her feet to let the water hold her.

And then she panicked.

The bottom vanished from under her toes. The lake’s chill surged up her chest, and her arms thrashed wildly as water stung her nose and lips.

“Negan!” she gasped, choking.

He was there in an instant. Strong hands clamped around her arms, steady and warm even in the cold water.

“Whoa, hey! I got you, kid. I got you.”

“I - I can’t...” she cried, clawing at his shoulders.

“Yes, you can. Look at me.” His voice cut through her rising panic like a blade. Sharp, commanding.

Her frantic gaze locked on his.

“You’re not drowning,” he said firmly, his grip tightening just enough to ground her. “You’re okay. You feel that? That’s me holdin’ you. I’m not letting you go.”

Her legs kicked once more, then stilled as his voice and touch sank in.

“There you go,” he murmured, his tone softening. “Just breathe, Lydia. In and out. You’re safe. I got you.”

Her chest heaved, but slowly, the roar in her ears faded. Her fingers were still buried in his shoulders, and she realized she’d practically climbed into his arms.

“Shit,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said instantly. “You think I didn’t make an ass of myself the first time I swam? I flopped around like a drunk seal.”

A tiny laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it.

“There’s my girl,” he said softly, and his lips curved, not into a smirk this time, but something gentler, warmer.

Her forehead brushed his shoulder, unthinking, and she felt his chest rise and fall against her. Solid. Warm. Safe.

“You really wouldn’t let me sink?” she asked quietly.

“Hell no.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You think I’d let anything happen to you? Not a chance, kid.”

She swallowed. “You make me feel safe.”

Negan stilled. His hands stayed firm on her arms, but there was something new in the way his thumbs brushed slow circles over her damp skin.

“Good,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “That’s all I want.”

They stood like that a moment longer, water lapping gently around them.

“Tell you what,” Negan said softly, “you’re gonna let me show you somethin’. No swimmin’, no crazy shit. Just… floatin’. It’ll help.”

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me.” He moved a little closer, the water rippling between them. “I’ll hold you the whole time. You won’t even have to try.”

She hesitated, then gave a small nod.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured again.

Negan slid one arm carefully around her back, the other under her knees. His hands were strong, gentle as he tipped her backwards into the water. Lydia stiffened immediately, but his voice was there, low and steady in her ear.

“Relax. I got you. Let the water hold you.”

Her breath came fast as the water cradled her body, her hair fanning out like ink around her head.

“You feel that?” Negan’s voice rumbled close to her temple. “That’s all you gotta do. Nothin’. Just breathe.”

“I can’t...”

“Yes, you can. Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open. Negan’s face hovered above hers, dark eyes intent, his thumb brushing against the curve of her rib cage where his hand supported her.

“You’re okay,” he said again, softer now. “I’d never let you go under. You believe me?”

“I… yeah,” she whispered.

“Good girl.”

The words sent an unexpected shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching her chest rise and fall. “You’re floatin’.”

“I’m floatin’,” she echoed, barely above a whisper.

“Badass,” he said with a small grin.

Her lips curved, though her heart thudded wildly. She was hyperaware of his hands, the strength in them, the heat of his body where it brushed her legs under the water.

“See? You’re a natural.”

“You make it easier,” she murmured.

Negan’s grin softened. “Shit, kid… you’re gonna break my damn heart talkin’ like that.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Slowly, he shifted her upright again, one hand lingering on her waist as he held her steady.

They stood there, close enough that her breath hitched.

“Think that’s enough excitement for one night,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound like he wanted to let go.

“Yeah,” Lydia breathed.

He guided her back toward the dock, one hand resting on the small of her back. When they reached the edge, his hands shifted to her waist.

“Hold still,” he said softly.

Before she could react, he hoisted her up effortlessly, setting her down on the dock like she weighed nothing. Her breath caught at the sudden closeness, his hands firm on her bare waist, his face only inches from her knees.

“Damn, you’re lighter than a baby bird,” he said with a low chuckle, but the sound didn’t carry the usual cocky ease. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment before sliding down to rest on her knees, his thumbs absently brushing arcs over her damp skin.

Lydia’s breath hitched, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cool night air or the heat simmering behind his dark eyes.

Negan wasn’t smirking anymore. His jaw was tight, his expression caught somewhere between worry and something heavier, darker.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh but not quite. “Yeah. Fine.”

But he wasn’t. His hands tightened slightly against her knees before easing again, and he muttered to himself, “Dumbass.”

Lydia blinked. “What?”

“Not you.” His voice had an edge now. Not harsh, but tight, like he was strangling it down. “Me. I’m a goddamn idiot.”

“Negan…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his eyes still on hers, the words tumbling out rough and unsteady. “I drag you out here, talk big about havin’ fun, lettin’ go, all that bullshit, and then you damn near drown on me.”

“I didn’t -”

He shook his head sharply, cutting her off. “You panicked, Lydia. And that’s on me. I pushed too hard. I didn’t think about how this would feel for you. And if somethin’ had happened ...”

“It didn’t.”

Her voice was quiet but firm enough to stop him mid-spiral.

“I’m fine,” she said again, her fingers twitching before she laid one timid hand over his. “Because you were there. You didn’t let me go.”

Negan stared at her small, pale hand against his scarred knuckles. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

“You don’t know how easy it’d be for me to mess this up,” he muttered. “I got this habit of wreckin’ good things. It’s what I do.”

“You won’t,” Lydia whispered.

“How the hell can you be so sure?” His voice cracked a little on the last word, and he swore under his breath, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Because you didn’t let me go,” she repeated, softer this time. “You make me feel safe... I am safe with you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

“Shit,” he said finally, his voice rougher now. “You say stuff like that, and I don’t know what the hell to do with it.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she murmured. Her thumb brushed against his hand in a timid circle. “Just… stay.”

His chest rose and fell in one long, shaky breath.

“You’re killin’ me, kid,” he said quietly, almost like he was admitting defeat. “You really are.”

And though he finally let his hands fall from her knees, they lingered just a moment too long, as if he couldn’t bring himself to break that last bit of contact.

“C’mon,” he said finally, his voice back to its low drawl but softer, heavier. “Let’s get you dry before the bugs eat us alive.”

But when he hoisted himself out of the lake and offered her his hand, his thumb brushed her knuckles in a way that felt deliberate, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of her, no matter how much he told himself he should.

Chapter Text

The house was silent except for the faint chirping of crickets outside and the occasional creak of old floorboards beneath Lydia’s bare feet. She paused in the hallway, heart pounding so hard she was sure it would give her away. The faint strip of light spilling from under Negan’s door felt like a barrier she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to cross.

She shouldn’t be here.

She knew that.

But she couldn’t lie there alone anymore, staring at the ceiling and thinking about him - the warmth of his hand on her back, the softness in his eyes when he looked at her like she wasn’t just another broken thing in this world.

Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed her palm lightly to the door. It gave way with the gentlest push.

Inside, the room smelled like him, leather, smoke, and something warm and earthy. Negan was sprawled on his side facing the door, one arm bent under his head, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The moonlight caught the silver streaking his dark beard, softening the sharp lines of his face.

For a moment, Lydia froze.

She could still go back.

But her body moved on its own, carrying her closer. She knelt carefully at the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the mattress as if it might steady the wild fluttering in her chest.

Negan stirred almost immediately.

A low, sleepy groan rumbled in his chest as he shifted, his lashes fluttering. His eyes cracked open, still clouded with sleep, and locked on her. Confusion flickered there first, then something sharper as he pushed himself up slightly, his dark brows knitting.

“Lydia?” His voice was rough, hoarse with sleep.

She froze under his gaze.

But she didn’t retreat.

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.

His brow furrowed deeper, and he rubbed a hand down his face with a low sigh. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice quiet but tense. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I wanted to be close to you,” Lydia said softly, her voice trembling but steady enough.

“Christ,” he breathed, dragging his hand down his mouth. His jaw worked as if he was chewing on words too sharp. “This is a bad idea.”

“Don’t tell me to go,” she said quickly, her fingers clutching the sheets.

“Sweetheart…” He shook his head, his voice tight with strain. “You don’t know what you’re askin’.”

“I do.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something unshakable in it. “I want to be with you.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes closing for a long moment.

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” he said finally, his voice cracking at the edges. “I don’t wanna ruin you.”

“You won’t,” Lydia whispered. “I trust you, Negan. Always.”

His chest rose and fell in a shaky breath.

She moved closer, slipping under the covers beside him. Her body barely brushed his, but even that slight contact made his breath hitch.

Negan closed his eyes. His fists clenched in the sheets. Every instinct screamed at him to push her away, to send her back to her room before he ruined her the way he ruined everything.

But when he opened his eyes and saw her looking up at him with those wide, steady eyes, he knew he was already too far gone.

His hand came up slowly, hesitating before cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed across her soft skin, then traced her lower lip. She didn’t flinch.

And he broke.

His mouth found hers in a kiss so hesitant it was almost apologetic. His lips barely grazed hers, warm and trembling, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth. Lydia’s breath caught, but she didn’t pull away.

A small sound escaped her throat, a soft, needy whimper, and that undid him completely.

Negan deepened the kiss, still gentle, still fighting himself every second. His tongue swept against hers, tasting her cautiously, like he didn’t quite believe she was real. Lydia responded shyly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like she was afraid he’d pull away.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

“You have no idea how bad I want you right now,” he whispered, his voice rough. “But this… this is dangerous. I’m dangerous.”

“You’re not to me,” Lydia said, her voice small but steady. “I want this. I want you.”

Negan’s jaw tightened. “Your first time shouldn’t be with a man like me.”

“It should be with someone I trust,” she said simply. “And I trust you.”

He let out a low groan, his hand sliding down to her jaw, his thumb tracing her pulse.

“Goddamn it, Lydia. You’re so fuckin’ young. And I’m -” He cut himself off, shaking his head like he could banish the thought. “You deserve someone better.”

“There isn’t anyone better,” Lydia whispered.

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Then she kissed him again, bolder this time, her lips moving over his like a quiet plea.

Negan groaned softly into her mouth. His hands trembled as they slid down her sides, savoring the feel of her soft skin under his calloused palms.

“You’re sure?” he asked, pulling back just enough to search her eyes.

“I’m sure.”

He exhaled a shuddering breath.

“Alright. We’ll go slow. The second you feel uncomfortable, you tell me. You stop me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice breaking a little.

His hands lifted the hem of her nightshirt. She raised her arms, letting him pull it off.

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he whispered when she was bare before him.

She flushed and looked away, but he gently caught her chin.

“Hey. Don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”

His lips traced her jawline, down her throat, lingering as his fingers mapped out her ribs, her stomach. Every touch was deliberate, worshipful.

When he finally hooked his thumbs into her panties and slid them down, she tensed.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We don’t gotta rush a damn thing.”

Once she was fully bare, he pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over her in the dim light.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

Negan kissed her stomach gently, his stubble scratching her skin in a way that sent shivers through her.

“Alright, baby. You stop me the second it’s too much, you hear?”

She nodded.

He pushed his boxers down, his thick cock springing free. Lydia’s eyes widened slightly, and he caught the flicker of fear there.

“Shh,” he soothed, brushing her hair back. “We’ll take it slow. I promise.”

He settled between her thighs, his cock rubbing against her slick folds, coating himself in her wetness before nudging at her entrance.

“This might hurt at first,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “But I’ll go easy, baby.”

“Okay,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders.

“Deep breath, sweetheart,” he coaxed.

He eased the thick head of his cock into her tight heat. Lydia gasped at the stretch, her hands clutching his back.

“Stop?” he asked instantly, freezing.

“No,” she whispered, her voice strained. “Just… give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need,” he said softly, kissing her hair. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Her body trembled as she adjusted around him, the dull burn making her eyes sting. But Negan didn’t move, didn’t push. His hands stroked her sides, his lips murmuring quiet praises against her skin.

“You okay, baby?” he asked after a long moment.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, sliding in deeper inch by inch. “You’re so tight. Christ… you feel like heaven.”

She let out a soft whimper, and he stilled again.

“Too much?”

“No… it’s okay.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear as his voice rumbled low and intimate. His mouth trailed a path of tender kisses along the curve of her neck, lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. “I’ll make it feel good soon, I promise.”

When he finally eased his hips forward, burying himself fully inside her, he stilled, a deep groan rumbling in his chest. His hands smoothed over her sides, grounding her as he fought to keep his own body in check.

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxed softly, his thumb stroking soothing circles over her hip. “That’s it. You’re perfect. Absolutely fuckin’ perfect.”

She clung to his shoulders, her nails biting lightly into his skin as she tried to focus on her breathing. The initial stretch made her thighs tense, but his stillness and the reassuring weight of his body above hers helped her begin to relax. Slowly, the sharp edge dulled, replaced by a steady warmth that spread through her belly.

When she finally shifted her hips experimentally, he caught the movement, his dark eyes locking on hers.

“That feel okay?” he asked, his voice tight, as if holding back every primal instinct urging him to move.

“Yes,” she whispered, the sound fragile but sure. “You can move.”

Negan’s jaw flexed as he exhaled sharply, relief and restraint warring in his expression.

“Christ, Lydia…” he groaned, pulling back just slightly before rocking forward again. His pace was agonizingly slow, every thrust deliberate and shallow as he let her body adjust.

“You’re takin’ me so well,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked with need. His lips brushed her cheek, feather-light. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

Little by little, her tension eased, her soft gasps giving way to breathy whimpers as pleasure bloomed low in her belly. Her fingers curled tighter against his back, urging him closer.

“Negan -” she moaned, her voice breaking over his name.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his thumb slipping between them to find her clit. He circled it gently, his touch patient but insistent. “Just let go.”

She felt the tight coil of pleasure wind impossibly tight before it snapped, her climax hitting in a rush. It was small but powerful, her body trembling as she cried out softly against his shoulder.

The feel of her clenching around him was too much.

“Fuck - Lydia -” he growled, his control unraveling as he buried himself deep, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her.

He held himself over her, muscles taut, catching his breath.

“You okay?” he whispered finally, brushing the damp hair from her face with gentle fingers.

“Yes,” she murmured with a shy, sated smile. “Are you?”

Negan let out a low chuckle, hoarse and weak, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“No, baby. You broke me in the best fuckin’ way.”

He withdrew carefully, murmuring quiet apologies when she flinched at the sensitivity.

When he settled beside her, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her like he couldn’t stand to let her go.

“You’re stayin’ here tonight,” he said firmly, his lips pressing into her hair. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m lettin’ you outta my arms.”

Lydia smiled sleepily against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s where I want to be.”