i really like how dwight and sherry’s story in ftwd actually explores the trauma that negan caused and the effect he had on them. at every turn their choices are motivated by “we can’t turn out like him” and “what can we do to be keep others safe from going through what we went through?”. 

virginia was negan 2.0 for them and the way they reacted to her really showed just how brokenthey are, like how sherry instantly wanted to kill her no matter the cost while dwight wanted to avoid more bloodshed from the get go. they’re being put through the same thing again and they’re lashing out because they already know the pain that will be caused further down the line.

like idk man i just really like them. they’re really complex characters and i’m glad they moved to fear after leaving the main show because i love having more of them

this user is still weirdly obsessed with dwight from the walking dead. like seriously. what is up with that? help.

Saviors Coffee House | Chapter 3

Summary: The relationship between Negan and the reader heats up after a bad day.

Warnings: 18+! Language, toxic relationship, angst, smut-fingering, technically cheating, minor injury. WC—+7.8K

A/N: Summer has been so busy, things should slow down soon so I can write more and post sooner! ❤️

TWO YEARS AGO

Every year for your birthday when you were a child, you would always ask for the same thing; a family dinner. Your parents had been friends, and you were a surprise baby that came from a night of a few too many drinks and harmless fun. You had been raised by your single mother, though your father was still in the picture. Most often he would call to chat and occasionally surprise you at school pick up in his police cruiser. You didn’t mind the dynamic—he was a ‘cool’ dad and always made sure to let you know he loved you. But on your birthday, you loved to pretend for just the day that you had a normal family like your friends did.

It became a tradition to have a family dinner at home with all of your favourite foods. Dad would be there by the time you woke up and stay to put you to bed, and you’d fall straight asleep because you had been up late, too excited, the night before. Neither of them ever questioned why you wanted to celebrate the same way year after year—they were still friends, they cared about each other, and it was always the perfect family day.

And then you turned ten. The day had started the same, with dad waking you up, a bouquet of your favourite flowers already placed in a vase on your bedside table. Presents, board games, a movie—everything was perfect. It was while dessert was being that he brought up the news that changed your life.

His new wife, Lori, who you weren’t particularly close to, was pregnant. He had said it like it was a bonus present for you, looking at you like he expected you to jump for joy. Instead, after a beat in which you waited to hear he was joking, you began to cry. It was your special day, the one time a year you asked for a regular family, and here he was telling you he was replacingyou.

You had thought you were his baby.

Usually, when you went to bed you would stare at the flowers on the table and smile to yourself. You would make sure to change the water in them every day, trim the stems, try to keep them fresh and alive as long as possible. But after your tenth birthday, you just let them sit there until the water was gone and the flowers had wilted.

Looking back, you’re sure he tried everything he could have to show you that he loved you and that he wasn’t replacing you. Your mom was happy for him and tried talking to you on more than one occasion. But the damage was done and you were so heartbroken that you stopped answering his calls, only gave him brief attention if he stopped by, and declined all offers to spend time with him. Maybe it didn’t help that Lori had never been all that nice to you. She seemed to be bothered by your existence. Even though you had been born before she and dad had ever met.

On your eleventh birthday, your dad came over in the afternoon with his new family. He didn’t bring flowers. The baby cried too much, and Lori yelled at you when you were holding him for the first time because you didn’t shift your arm carefully enough when you were trying to get more comfortable. After she had whisked baby Carl from your arms, you had said you didn’t mean to mess up holding your baby brother. She had scoffed before replying that he was your half-brother.

After that miserable day, the birthday tradition ended.

Of course, despite your outright refusal to celebrate your twelfth birthday with any of the Grimes, the plan had still been to do a family dinner—only you were all going to meet at a restaurant. You were dreading it so much that an hour before you were supposed to leave, you slipped out of your bedroom window and ran the ten minutes to Daryl’s house, where you hid.

He was dad’s best friend, a fellow military man. You loved Daryl like an uncle; he was younger and cool and took you out on his motorcycle. He wasn’t home when you had run away because he was on deployment at the time, so you used your emergency key and stayed the night. When they found you the next afternoon, no one was in the mood to celebrate your birthday.

When Daryl had come home a few months later, he gave you an earful when your mother explained to him what had happened. But after making sure you knew what you had done had been wrong, he hugged you close and told you he was proud of you for choosing a safe place to go, and that he loved you. He was such a gruff man that the whole thing overwhelmed you, and since he was now retired from service, you spent the rest of your years spending more time with Daryl than you ever did with your dad.

Rick Grimes had his perfect little family, and you resented him for it. The relationship dwindled to phone calls here and there, a card in the mail on your birthday, a visit when you achieved a milestone. Daryl became the ‘father figure’ you looked up to as you grew—he gave you no-nonsense advice, intimidated boyfriends, looked after your mom in a platonic way, and even let you stay over when you made bad choices. Like the night of Shelly Barton’s Halloween party when you were seventeen; you had gotten way too drunk, texted him to pick you up, and slept on his couch. When you woke up in the morning, he was ready with toast and orange juice, a stern talking-to, a Tylenol for your headache and once he was certain you could stand, had you mow the lawn as punishment.

You had argued with him, of course. He had a huge lawn, and it was miserable out. But you had damn well learned your lesson.

Your half-brother, Carl, grew up knowing about you, though you saw one another very rarely. When you went away to college, you received a letter from him that sparked a ‘pen-pal’ relationship. Sometimes you vented about your classes, your dorm mate, and sometimes he complained about his parents as any annoyed ten-year-old would. Mostly though, you just talked about normal, pleasant things and kept each other updated on your lives.

You got yourself your degree, and it was mom and Daryl in the audience watching you walk across the stage on graduation day. Carl sent a card, and dad left you a voicemail you never bothered to listen to.

And all of that led to the night that you met Spencer Monroe.

You wrote for a living as a copy editor and did creative writing in your spare time. This meant your social life was pretty limited and dating wasn’t something you did a great deal of. When Dianna Monroe was elected Mayor, your dad was the chief of police and invited to the large gala held in honour of the election results. He extended his invitation to you and Carl, which you had wanted to decline. But it had been communicated to you by Carl, who pulled the sibling card on you and you reluctantly agreed to attend with him.

When you complained to Daryl, who you had visited because he had just adopted his new support dog. She was a German shepherd he named ‘Dog’ despite your objections. While you were there he told you that it would be good for you to get out and enjoy yourself. He pointed out that Carl had become a lot closer to you since his mother had passed away giving birth to your little sister, Judith, and you were never one to let him down. After that, you let yourself get excited for a night shaking hands with all of the rich and powerful—you even brought a bunch of business cards to hand out.

Carl was seventeen now, and while he did seem to idolize dad he was also aware of the tension in the pitiful relationship between you and Rick Grimes. He understood why you never introduced yourself as his daughter, and since there were barely any pictures of you and Rick together since your tenth birthday, not a lot of people put together who you were. Dianne Monroe, however, was not most people. She knew everything about everyone, so when you shook her hand and congratulated her, she was quick to kindly but teasingly point out that you must look so much like your mother, which was true, before adding that perhaps you got your spirit from your dad.

That should have been your first red flag.

Instead, she found you a while later and introduced you to her sons, Aiden and Spencer, who were both tall and handsome bachelors. You ended up hitting it off with Spencer, who was sweet, funny and attentive. He did everything right that night, so much so that you felt a little like Cinderella. You went home with him after texting Daryl that you didn’t need a ride and sent him the address of where Spencer lived to be safe.

Anytime you think back to that night, chills run up your spine. It was steamy, sexy fun between the sheets with the new mayor’s son, and you never once had a bad feeling about him. You had kind of hoped it would last beyond that night, and were very happy when he asked you out on an official date the next morning.

That’s what haunts you; how well he played his part.

After a few pleasant dates, the spark died and you realized that while you really liked him you weren’t interested in him romantically. During an afternoon coffee date, you said as much and told him you wanted to be friends. You even went so far as making plans to see a movie together the following week. But it was the very next evening that he showed up at your door and revealed who he truly was to you.

You were making yourself dinner when you heard a knock on the door. You first checked your phone to see if you had any missed messages—sometimes, Carl would come by to hang out because Rick worked a lot and Judith and her nanny weren’t exactly fun for a teenager to hang out with. But you had no messages, and when you peered through the peephole you were surprised to see Spencer.

He was standing with a pleasant smile, and you remember thinking that maybe he wanted to see about a friends-with-benefits relationship, or he was testing your offer of friendship. You naively assumed nothing sinister and opened the door to the big bad wolf.

BACK

In the weeks following your confession to Negan about your self-harm habits, you worked hard to impress him and make sure he saw that you were strong. It wasn’t necessary, but you wanted to show him that you weren’t a complete mess. You stopped cutting, and for the first time in a very long time your arms healed up enough for you to be able to wear short sleeves again. You had purchased a special camouflage concealer to dab onto the scars so that even in the sunlight they weren’t noticeable. You experienced a tremendous amount of pride when Negan took notice and smiled at you. There was so much joy in his expression, you felt your heart skip in your chest.

You spent a lot of your free time with him now. You sit exclusively in his office to do computer work, and he went as far as bringing an extra office chair in and setting you up a spot opposite of him where you could work. There was a lot of comfortable silence, mixed with fleeting glances and conversations that sent your imagination into overdrive. You’re sure he enjoyed chatting, that he was genuinely interested in you and your life, but your mind liked to run away with that knowledge and imagine he had feelings for you.

You classified your feelings as a simple crush and refused to examine them beyond that. His friendship meant a great deal to you, you didn’t want to fuck things up. And he was your much older boss, no less. He did not have time for a young woman like you in his private life.

Today you were rushing into work because Spencer had stayed the night. He would crash at your place sometimes when his dates didn’t work out. You lived closer to downtown than he did and unfortunately for you, your place was on his way home. This meant that last night you barely got any sleep because you had to sleep on your tiny couch—you refused to sleep anywhere near him, and he knew where the line was with his control over you.

But being late didn’t fit in with your plan to impress Negan daily, so when you pulled into the parking lot behind Saviours and parked, you were scrambling from your car with your apologies ready on your tongue. Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you tugged it out absentmindedly as you opened the back door, glancing down to see a message from Dwight asking if you were alright.

Eyes cast down, you didn’t see Negan there in the hall moving frantically towards the door. You didn’t notice his panicked expression, the keys in his hand, or the way his eyes widened in surprise and relief when he saw that you were okay.

Instead, you flew right into him.

With a yelp, you bounced off of his solid chest and fell backward at the same moment the door swung shut behind you. With a thwack, your head hit the door and you crumbled, disoriented, and heard yourself moan as pain lanced through your skull. “Ouch!”

“God damn it, pretty,” You felt his hands grab at you, catching you before you hit the ground. You dropped your phone and it clattered on the tile face up, the screen unbroken. You didn’t realize you were speaking until Negan brushed his hand across your cheek.

“I’m okay, I’m so sorry I’m late—“

With a grunt, Negan stuffed your phone into your hands and then scooped you up, one hand protecting your head carefully. “Don’t you start apologizing,” He ordered, carrying you through to the front and upstairs. From somewhere behind him, Dwight called that he could open on his own and you opened your mouth to argue, only Negan cut you off, “You’ll work only when I say you can, doll.”

You stare at him in surprise, unsure of how to reply, when you realize he bypasses his office and instead cautiously opens the front door to his condo and eases you through before climbing the stairs. “Negan, really I’m okay I promise.” He’s barely breaking a sweat as he carries you upstairs, and then you become distracted because you’re inside his home.

It’s modern and warm, with feminine touches here and there that you sense immediately were Lucille’s mark on the home. There’s a huge, comfortable grey couch that Negan is walking you toward, and you spot a vase of pink faux flowers on the coffee table that makes you smile slightly. The windows are floor to ceiling with a view of the park behind the Main Street the Saviour’s was located on. You’re sure the windows on the opposite side of the condo have a great view of the bustling road below.

“You are one hell of a stubborn lady,” Negan grunts as he sets you down on the couch, where he gently pushes you to lay back into the pillows. Once you relax enough, he makes his way toward the kitchen, which you can see is gorgeously designed with white quartz counters and black cabinetry. The appliances look like top of the line, stainless steel models, complete with one of those fancy ranges you see in all of the cooking shows. You stop looking around as he walks towards you, water in hand, and he doesn’t speak until you’ve drunk half the glass. “Now—”

You immediately interrupt because this morning has been far too weird, “I can go back to work, Negan. Dwight needs my help. Thank you for this but I’m fine—”

In response to your pleas, he rolls his eyes. And then he fixes you with a look that makes any argument you might have had dissolve on your tongue. “Listen, I’ve got a lot of medical training from my correctional days. I can either call a doctor to come and take a look or look you over myself,” He takes your cup and sets it down on the table, then shifts so that he’s sitting next to you at a polite distance. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, doll, but you ain’t working until we know you’re okay.”

You sigh and rub your hands over your face. As exhausted as you had been this morning, you felt twice as tired and near tears now. After a moment of silence, you lift one hand to feel around at the back of your head. When your fingers gently ghost over the tender bump there, you inadvertently flinch and suck in a breath. Negan makes a noise of discontent and you open your eyes to find him watching you with an expression so full of concern, you feel all the fight inside of you dry up.

“Okay, you can take a look.”

He’s moving before the words are finished coming out of your mouth, and you turn away from him, flushing slightly when his big hands are carefully combing through your hair to find the bump. He parts a section and lifts, then fingers are gently poking around the spot and you have to suppress a shudder at the sensation.

He leans in closer to inspect you, and when he speaks his breath fan over the back of your neck, “You sure you’re alright, pretty?” You close your eyes, registering the new nickname, and squeeze your thighs together, stunned at the visceral reaction you have to this man.

He drops your hair, which you take as your cue to turn back around, meeting his hazel eyes as you settle. He remains close to you, a hand raising to check your pulse, and you have to look away, towards the painting on the wall across from you, afraid of what your eyes could reveal to him. Negan had a way of reading you better than anyone ever had, which terrifies you.

You nod once his hand drops away. “Y-yeah,” Clearing your throat, you slowly look up at him again, “I—well, I’m actually really exhausted. And I was running behind, hit every light on the way here…it just hasn’t been my day.” You instinctively run a hand up your inner arm, which is relatively smooth, and Negan’s eyes follow the movement.

“You still haven’t been cutting,” It’s not a question, but you smile at him softly nonetheless. “Is it—does that give you trouble with your sleep?”

You shake your head, then stop abruptly and hiss in pain from the movement. Instantly, Negan is encouraging you to lay back and disappears into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a gel pack and tea towel that he places under your head. The cool seeps into your goose egg and provides instant relief; you sigh in content.

“Thank you,” You want to grasp his hand, but you’re afraid of what you’ll feel if you do. “I slept on my shitty couch last night.”

Negan takes a seat next to you again and frowns, “The fuck did you do that for?”

“Because my boyfriend stayed the night.”

You weren’t sure why you said things like this to Negan. To anyone else you acted as though you liked Spencer, that you were happy. But you found it incredibly easy to be honest with the man before you, and you’re realizing it’s because you trust him. When his eyes cut to yours, you see the pass of emotion but can’t get a handle on what he might be thinking.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then when he speaks his voice is low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, of course not. He doesn’t touch me at-at all,” You hesitate, watching as he absorbs the meaning behind your words. His eyes widen in understanding. “He rarely stays over. He had a late night and decided not to risk driving. I have…a small bed.”

Negan grunts and gives you a look, “A small bed?”

You don’t want to talk about it anymore and press your lips together. After a moment, you make to sit up but his hands are pressing you to lay back. “I should be downstairs working, Negan.” God, you hope he can’t tell how much you love his hands on you.

“Listen, doll. You hit your head fairly hard, so I’d prefer if you had a rest and kept off your feet for at least a little while. I feel terrible about it, so do me a solid here and relax.” His eyes are serious and his posture is stiff—he’s upset, you realize, and trying to hide it.

You snuggle back into the cushions, “Can I stay here for a little, Negan?” You almost sigh in relief as his dark expression clears; you don’t like to see Negan worry. When his signature smirk quirks up the corners of his mouth, you grin back at him.

He stands after a beat, then grabs the biggest, fluffiest blanket you had ever seen and tosses it over you with care. “Close your eyes, I’ll check on you in a bit.”

You’re out before he finishes descending the stairs.

Negan helps Dwight with the morning rush. They have a good flow together and it goes smoothly, though a few people ask after you, wondering why you aren’t there. He tells them he gave you a boring task on the computer and leaves it there, not wanting to raise any concerns. He checks on you a few times, but you remain fast asleep and he can’t bear to wake you when he knows you barely slept the previous night, so he lets you sleep. When he goes to check on you in the afternoon, he leaves a glass of water, a banana and Tylenol on the coffee table for you to have when you do wake up.

While he’s happy for the distractions that working the shop provides, he still ruminates throughout the day on the fact that he was the one who caused you to fall and hit your head. He’d been worried when you didn’t arrive early for your shift as usual, and then went into full panic mode when it was well after your start time. You hadn’t texted either of them anything to suggest you were running late.

Dwight had told him it was probably traffic, assured him he could handle things for a bit without you. But Negan only had so much patience, and right as Dwight was sending you a message, he grabbed his keys and raced toward the back door, intending to get in his car and drive to your place to see that you were alright.

Had he not been hustling it to the door, you might not have collided with him so violently. He still hears the sound your head made when you fell back and hit the door, and he feels his gut clench with guilt every time he thinks of it. And then he remembers the way you said the word ‘boyfriend’ upstairs in his condo, as though calling Spencer your boyfriend was the vilest thing you could imagine, and he again wishes he could read the thoughts in your head. It drives him crazy knowing you suffer and he has no idea what the real reason for it all is.

When the lunch rush dies down, Negan moves around the shop tidying and his mind starts to roll through his observations from the last few weeks. Since his conversation with you about your cutting, he’s seen a change in you. You’ve been working harder, which he didn’t think was even possible, and he thinks it’s because you wanted to prove something to him after showing your vulnerabilities the way you did. He realizes his feelings for you have grown immensely when all he wants to do is pull you close and tell you that he thinks the world of you.

Negan finishes tidying around the time that Maggie arrives for her shift. She gives him a look, glancing around, “Where’s the boss?” Her eyes look up toward the loft above as if expecting you to pop up from your spot on the floor where you used to work.

“She’s upstairs having a rest. She fell and hit her head when she came in today,” Negan walks with Maggie towards the counter, grateful she’s arrived so that he can head upstairs and check on you again.

Maggie stops walking and glances up at Negan, a smile pulling her lips up, “You let her sleep all day and worked for her? Lord, Negan, you’ve got it bad.” She’s teasing him, he knows this. Nonetheless, he grumbles and rolls his eyes before marching away, ignoring her giggles.

“Negan,” Dwight calls, and he turns at the bottom step to glance back. Dwight walks over with your favourite drink in hand and passes it to him. “I put an extra shot of espresso in there for her, too.”

“Thanks, D. She’s going to love you.”

When Negan walks upstairs into his condo, he sees that you aren’t on the couch anymore. The banana is gone, and the water is half-drunk, so he guesses you must have woken up and probably gone to the bathroom. He walks to the couch and sets down your drink, then hesitates briefly before walking down the hall.

“Hey, doll—you alright back there?” He says loudly, standing well away from the door to the powder room. There’s only a beat of silence before the door opens and you appear looking both well-rested and bright-eyed. Your hair is tousled in a way that makes his mind go straight to the gutter, and he takes an awkward step backward. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel that despite the fact your couch won’t fit in my studio apartment, I need to buy one because I haven’t slept that well in ages.”

You grin up at him and seem like your usual, happy self. He smiles back, then frowns when your words sink in. “You live in a studio?”

With a shrug, you step into the hall and lean against the wall across from him, “It’s a very nice studio, I’ll have you know. Spacious and modern, and I don’t need a lot of room anyway, since I’m here all of the time,” You gesture around vaguely with a small smile, “Although that couch does make me want a slightly bigger place. Anyway, thank you so much for letting me get some rest. I honestly feel great.”

Negan takes half a step closer to you, “Can I take a look?”

You nod and turn, and Negan reaches carefully to lift your hair with one hand, the other feeling around for the bump. You pull in a breath when he finds it, and he leans closer to inspect, finding it already reduced in size from that morning. “Looks a lot better, doll.” You visibly shiver when his breath washes over the bare skin of your neck, and his hands drop to your shoulders. There’s a brief pause, and then he hears himself whisper, low and gruff, “Anything else you need from me?”

The nervous giggle you let out is high as you practically jump away from him before glancing around, “Negan, you’re ridiculous,” He smirks down at you, pleased at the effect he seems to have, but raises his hands to indicate he was simply joking. You’re flushed but smile at him in an attempt to look unbothered. “Am I released now, Mr. Dean?” You tease, and he lets out a loud laugh.

“Yeah, doll, as long as you feel alright, you can go back to work,” He follows you out of the hall and points towards the coffee table, where the drink he had brought up for you from Dwight was waiting. You let out a happy sound and bounce over to grab it, taking a swig. “Let me know if you feel any dizziness or pain, okay?”

You nod and meet his gaze and for a moment, everything seems to pause around you both. Negan stares down at you from several steps away, and wonders if you are trying to read his thoughts—which are in a battle to stop visualizing you beneath him, whimpering in pleasure. When you finally look away and break the thick tension, he hears you let out a small breath.

“Thank you again,” You say, and then you’re hurrying down the steps. He doesn’t follow but listens for the sound of his door opening and closing before running his hands over his face.

It was official; you desperately wanted to fuck your boss.

Even if you hadn’t been fantasizing about him before today, you would be feeling like this. The man was pure sex in addition to being kind and funny and far too caring. He actually seemed to give a shit about you for the right reasons, as evidence in his treatment of you since discovering your cutting, and now in his insistent care for you after hitting your head.

You move through the motions of work the rest of the day trying and yet failing to focus. Every free moment, your mind would hurl back in time to the looks he gave you today; the way he carried you upstairs, his distress at your pain, his command for you to rest. You knew you had it bad for him because you got turned on anytime he bossed you around. You hadn’t had sex in over a year and a half, and while you loved your fancy vibrator, it almost seemed pathetic to use that to cum when a man like Negan existed.

If Maggie senses anything off with you, she doesn’t comment. You spend the evening, which is a bit slower than usual because of exams, doing a thorough cleaning of the shop. It distracts you, and once the last customers are out the door you double your efforts, working up a sweat as you move around the room.

“You want me to stick around and help, boss?” You glance up at Maggie, who is watching you with amusement as you deep clean the under the sink.

“Oh,” You look at the time on your phone, then glance outside. It’s started to pour rain, and a thunderstorm is rolling in, flashes of lightning cracking through the darkness. “Maggie, I totally lost track of time—you can go! Thank you.”

Maggie gives you a knowing look, tilting her head, “You alright?”

“I—yeah, of course,” You mutter, shrugging. When she continues to stare, you add, “Just a little extra energy, I guess. But I’ll leave shortly.” You make a point of standing up and putting away your cleaning supplies.

Maggie laughs, “See you, boss. Drive safe!”

“You too!”

You haven’t seen Negan since you left his condo earlier, which is both unusual and a relief—he always looks at you like he knows what you’re thinking and the last thing you want him to realize was that you had images of him railing you into next week clouding every corner of your brain. You hear Maggie make her exit and decide it is a good time to leave, so you begin to power everything down. Once the lights are out, it’s just the filtered light of the street lamps coming through the front windows and dancing through the shop.

Deciding against saying goodnight to Negan is easy; you aren’t even sure he’s in his office. You will text him goodbye from your car, just so he knows that you’ve left. You realize, when you gather your purse, that you didn’t bring a jacket. With a heavy sigh, you walk to the back door and push it open, peering out at the rain; it’s coming down in buckets now, but there’s no avoiding it if you want to get home and into your cozy bed. You automatically scan around the lot, grateful for the extra security lights Negan had installed back here.

Confident that no boogeymen were waiting in the shadows, you unlock your car and hurry out into the rain. You gasp as it hits your skin, colder than you had expected, though it does curb any tiredness you had started to feel. When you get to the driver’s side door, you wrench it open and toss your bag onto the passenger seat, about to climb in when you hear your name cut through the heavy downpour.

Negan is at the back door, propping a brick against it so that it doesn’t shut completely, and then comes towards you. You frown, watching him in concern, “Are you okay?” You call out, his expression is unreadable, and he’s soaked by the time he reaches you. You shiver, but it’s like he hasn’t even noticed the rain.

“Doll, why do you do it?”

He stops right in front of you, and he sounds upset as he speaks, but you don’t understand him. “What do you mean?”

Negan hesitates and it’s then that you notice he’s only wearing a tee-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms—as though he’d been going to bed before he decided to come after you. “Stay with that Monroe kid. You won’t even share a bed with him. He yells at you, cheats on you—why do you stay with him?” His words are harsh, but his tone is genuinely confused, and you don’t think anyone has ever asked you something with such intensity.

Before you can even begin to think of how to reply, there’s a loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, and you instinctively step closer to Negan. “I—why are you asking me this?” You wipe the rain on your face as you tilt your head to look at him.

“Answer me, first. He treats you like shit, you hate him—what’s the deal?”

“I have…reasons. And I can’t share them, but I don’t plan on being with him forever.”

Negan scoffs and shakes his head to dispel some of the rain. “I thought I was your friend—you can trust me, doll. You deserve so much better, to be treated—”

You interrupt with a humourless laugh, “Deserve? Negan, you don’t know enough about me to say that. What the hell do I deserve?”

You don’t expect him to move as quickly as he does; one moment he’s staring at you incredulously, eyes narrowing at your words, and then you feel his large hands on your face, tilting you. His lips are a breath from yours when he growls, “I’ll show you, pretty. I’ll show you what you deserve.” And then he’s kissing you as you’ve never been kissed before.

At first, it’s simply his mouth on yours, the pressure of his hands unchanging. He doesn’t move closer, not until you catch up to what’s happen and moan, catching even yourself by surprise. Then he’s pulling you close, and his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and eager, and you can taste him. You think he makes a sound of approval, but you’re senses are overwhelmed and all you can focus on is the way he tastes like coffee and rain and something masculine that has heat pooling between your thighs.

When his hands move, and he scoops you off the ground, you automatically circle your arms around his neck. He’s lifted you to his height and carries you—for the second time that day—only this time his destination is much closer. The moment he steps through the back door, kicking the brick so that the door shuts behind you, he has you pressed into the nearest wall and the sounds you’re each making fill the silent hallway the moment the door closes.

He lets you slide back down so that your feet touch the floor, and his hands move up your body, exploring and leaving a trail of hot skin behind. You whimper when his thumbs brush under the hem of your shirt, and Negan pulls back from the kiss, his breathing heavy. “This okay, pretty?” His voice is gruff and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you tremble in response.

“Yes, don’t stop. Please, Negan—” He kisses you again, his hands now pushing under your shirt, and it’s a beat later that they run over your breasts, thumbs seeking the pebbled nipples over top of your thinly lined bra. You gasp at the sensation, and you swear his tongue is tasting every corner of your mouth. Just as you think that you never, ever want to stop kissing Negan Dean, he pulls away to begin licking and sucking at your neck. You suppress your whimper, burying your hands into his hair as he drops to his knees before you, and he glances up at you, stilling.

“Now, there’ll be none of that keeping quiet bullshit, pretty,” He isn’t much shorter than you, so he doesn’t have to lean too much to press a kiss under your jaw. “I want you to make all your beautiful noises, and tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t move and you get the hint, “I promise, please—”

“Please what?”

He knows what he’s doing, the cheeky bastard. His smirk tells you that, but even in the faint light, you can see the way his pupils are blown in desire. “Please touch me, Negan. I need you too—I imagine you, and I-I want or need…” You don’t know what you’re saying, but even as you trail off you know he understands you.

Maybe Negan is just good at this sort of thing; he is an older man, it wouldn’t be a stretch. But something about the way he touches you, the tenderness mixed with the lust-driven intensity of his every movement, tells a different story. One that says, he knows exactly what you need. He pushes your shirt up slowly, kissing the skin as it’s revealed, and lets it sit above your chest. He doesn’t remove your bra, he just pulls at the thin fabric cups, releasing you, and then his mouth latches over one nipple while his hand plays with the other.

You let out a loud whimper now, your hands tightening their hold of his hair, and he spends a good few minutes showering your tits with affection. “God damn, you’ve got the nicest pair of tits I’ve ever fucking seen, baby girl.” He growls out as he switches sides, sucking and licking, ensuring your panties are completely soaked. When he calls you ‘baby girl’ you nearly combust on the spot.

It isn’t until one of his large hands presses your hips against the wall that you realize you’d been squirming around, seeking friction. He lets out a long, low breath and stands, which makes you fear he’s going to stop. He reads your expression and smirks again, and you want to call him out for being so cocky, but all you can do is pant.

“When’s the last time a man made you cum?” He has one hand playing over your left breast, but the other is moving down slowly.

It takes you a moment to register the question. “I—uh, don’t think I’ve ever? I haven’t had sex in…nearly two years. But I always had to get myself off.” Even before Spencer, the men you dated could never get you to cum. You had to get there yourself, which you didn’t mind.

But by the look on Negan’s face, he minded very much indeed. “Never?” He looks at you in disbelief as you nod, and something shifts in him. At first, you think he’s angry, and he might be, in a way. But you realize it’s more than that, he’s become almost possessive, and you recognize a feral expression on his handsome face that makes you quiver in anticipation. “Can I touch you?” His voice is wrecked, but he still waits for you to give your consent and that is enough to make you melt for him right there.

And then Negan dips his hand under your jeans and panties and time slows around you. His fingers are big, tracing along the seam of your sex, his breath catching when he finds you soaked for him already. He only teases you for a few moments, seemingly testing your certainty that you want him to touch you—though the desperate noises you’re making seem to send him the message to continue. When he slips his first finger into you, you jerk slightly at the sensation, and your head slams back into the wall—only, before it does, Negan protects the back of your head, the shrinking bump, with his free hand.

“Can’t have you hurting, baby girl,” He says, and you feel your heart swell in response. He fingers you slowly still, his eyes latched to your face, reading every expression. You want to feel shy about it, but you find yourself trusting Negan more than almost any other man in your life, and couldn’t be bothered with being self-conscious. You feel him add a second finger, the stretch immediate and welcome, enough to make you gasp. “Fuck, you have a tight little pussy.”

With one hand protectively wrapped behind your head, Negan begins to fuck you on his fingers, curling them in a way that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. Your fingers aren’t long enough to reach the places he is, you’ve never felt this fucking good just from being touched, and it doesn’t take long for you to become a complete mess. You writhe and moan, gasp his name, and keep anticipating that he’ll stop, but he only increases his speed.

“Oh my god,” You’re gripping his soaked shirt as you feel the pressure building inside of you, his fingers hitting that spongey, perfect spot with every curl. “Negan, you-uh,”

Negan kisses you, slow and deep, drinking in your moans. When he pulls back, it’s just enough to set his forehead against yours, “Am I making you feel good, baby girl?” You whimper in response, and he laughs, low and ragged, “You are so god damn pretty. Fuck, I can feel you getting tighter—you going to cum for me?”

You arch into him as you near the crest of pleasure, and his words are only sending you faster, you just need a littlelonger—as if he can read your body better than you, Negan suddenly presses his thumb to your clit and moves it up and down in small, quick motions. You scream, freeze up, and then cum harder than you ever have before. The force of it rocks through you, spreading like wildfire, consuming every inch of your body. You feel the pleasure in your toes, hell, in your damn eyes. Even as you reach that highest peak, he keeps going, easing his thumb away so as not to overstimulate you, but still curling those perfect fingers.

“Damn it, baby girl, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Negan is growling, his hips pressing against your side so that you can feel the very thick, long outline of his erection. You slump down, exhausted, and he props you against the wall with his body, his fingers still teasing you, drawing pitiful whimpers from your lips. “That’s it, you did so well. You feel goodnow?”

You aren’t sure if the question is rhetorical, but you answer regardless. “So fucking good, Negan. Thank you,” You gaze at him in the dim light with half-lidded eyes, and you know you need to pull yourself together to take care of his needs. But you’re so relaxed, entirely spent from such a strong orgasm. “I just need a sec—” You palm over his erection to explain your meaning.

Negan tilts his hips away and slips his fingers out of you gently. He tugs your pants into place, releases the hand from behind your head, and rolls your bra back over your breasts. You watch him in confusion as he pulls your shirt back down. “Tonight was about you,” He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean as you watch, his eyes shutting as he tastes you. “Fuck, you taste delicious. Next time—if you want there to be a next time—I’m tasting your perfect little pussy.”

“You don’t…want me to?” You ask, frowning at him, “I can make you feel good, too. I want to taste—”

With a groan, Negan gently puts a hand over your mouth to stop you from speaking, as though your words are unbearable. “Baby girl, that was more than good for me. I don’t need anything else from you, and just because you came doesn’t mean you owe me anything,” He leans down and kisses you softly on the lips, then again on your forehead, “You’re exhausted. Today has been a lot, so as much as I want to take you upstairs and continue this, I need you to go home and get some rest.”

Insecurity washes through you, and you search his sincere expression for any sign of unhappiness. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? Negan, you mean so much to me. Saviours too. If I messed up…”

“No, no,” He soothes you, his hands running over your face, smoothing your wet hair back, “No, damn it, baby girl, you’re fucking perfect. I want to take you right here on this damn floor. But you—you have a lot of things going on in your life. I don’t want to go too fast here, because you’re fucking important to me too.”

“So, if I go home now, then when I come in tomorrow it isn’t going to be weird?”

“Do you mean am I going to act like this didn’t happen? Because no, I’m going to be thinking about this all day. Thinking about you,” He kisses you one final time, then steps back. You can still see the outline of him, which tells you his words are genuine. “You come to see me at the end of the day, okay? We’ll go from there.”

Every shred of doubt evaporates at his words, and it’s with a sleepy smile that you bid him goodnight. As you climb into your car, you don’t think about anything in your life other than Negan, and anticipation for seeing him again builds as you drive home. Yes, the man made you see stars, but it was more than that.

Actually, you think you’re falling in love with him.

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Saviours Coffee HouseCh. 3 Sneak Peek + Moodboard

…Being late didn’t fit in with your plan, and so you scrambled from the car and hurried inside, apologies ready on your tongue. Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you tugged it out as you opened the back door, glancing down to see a message from Dwight, asking if you were alright.

Eyes cast down, you didn’t see Negan in the back hallway. Didn’t notice the panicked look on his face, the keys in his hand, or the way his eyes widened in surprise and relief when he saw you.

Instead, you ran right into him at full speed.

With a yelp, you bounced off of his chest and fell backward at the same moment the door swung shut behind you. With a thwack, your head hit the door and you crumbled, disoriented, and heard yourself moan as pain lanced through your skull. “Ouch!”

“God damn it, pretty,” You felt his hands grab at you, catching you before you hit the ground…

Savours Coffee House | Chapter Two

Summary: Negan and you grow closer, and you begin to let him in.

Warnings: Language, dark themes, appearance of Shane Walsh. TW: mentions of cutting. TW: Mentions of toxic relationship. WC—+6.5K

A/N: Just a little more character and relationship development, things are starting to pick up…

BACK

Negan had begun to dream about you nearly every night. He scarcely remembered the dreams in any detail, he just knew that you were in them and when he woke up he would find himself longing, irritated and confused. He was waking up earlier as a result and would end up padding down to his office, hopeful that he would catch a glimpse of you during your morning routine.

After a couple of weeks, you had noticed his earlier appearances and began bringing him his coffee. You’d learned from Dwight how he liked it and delivered one nearly every day, sometimes lingering to chat, other times giving him a sleepy smile before slipping back downstairs. If he tried to come down, make the drink himself, you’d scold him and assure him you didn’t mind bringing him the coffees. He’s not sure why you didn’t mind, though. He knew you were kind and thoughtful, but it still wasn’t part of your job description.

Today, however, was Tuesday morning. This meant that when Negan walked down the steps from his condo and came out onto the second floor of Saviours, he knew exactly where to look for you and that you wouldn’t be bringing him up a coffee.

Sitting at your usual spot with Herschel, Maggie’s father, you were playing cards together. The old man had been coming to Saviours since the day Negan had opened the doors, had told Maggie that he was looking for staff, and then became a regular once she was offered a job. He now held an early morning competition at crazy eights, best out of five, every Tuesday with you. Negan wasn’t sure how it started, just that one day he came downstairs and you were sitting across from Herschel, brows knitted together in concentration, and ever since it had been like a tradition.

He surveys you as he makes his way downstairs, drinking in the details; your hair was down and messier than normal, though in that tousled way that means it was the intended look. You’re dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved tee, and when he descends the last steps to the main level he can see that you have that signature frown on your face as you concentrate. Negan adored your expressions as you played, though he tried not to be too obvious in his observation of you.

“Morning, Negan,” Dwight hands him his coffee with a half-smile, something he only did on the days he worked with you. In fact, most of the staff were chippier since you’d started, even more so than when Lucille ran the floor. Just another reason he was glad you wanted to work for him.

Negan nodded gratefully and took a sip of his drink before replying. “Morning, how’s the game going?”

“Tied, this is the last round.”

Together, Negan and Dwight stand and silently watch the game unfold across the shop. The regulars were all doing the same. Some standing near the table itself and others craning their necks in their seats. The soft classical music was the only sound other than the occasional ‘pick up two’ or ‘change to spades’ when one of you played an eight. When you call last card, trying to suppress your excitement, Herschel smiles confidently and plays a two—only you grin wider and lay down your final card—the two of hearts, and everyone starts clapping and congratulating you. You blush a little at the attention as you shake Herschel’s hand.

It’s as he’s grinning like an idiot, watching you, that Negan realizes just how much he’s grown to care for you. His feelings are something he’s happy to push back and attempt to ignore, but as you toss around the prettiest smile he’d ever laid eyes on, thanking everyone as you put your apron back on, he struggles in his mind with the rush of affection he has for you.

A few days prior, he’d watched you from the security camera feed in his office as you received a text, read it, and seemed to shut down. Your body had stiffened, your face had fallen into a vacant expression. You had moved about the rest of your shift in a zombie-like state. It was fucking weird, but he hadn’t asked you about it. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, admitting he’d happened to look up at the cameras and see your reaction.

The woman in front of him now, he thinks, is the real you. The joy in your expression is genuine as you hug the old man before turning to continue with your day. And when your eyes scan the room automatically and fall on Negan as he stands there smiling, your gaze softens just enough for heat to pool in his belly. Maybe you merely tolerated Negan, maybe you actually liked him. Either way, he was nearly bowled over by you—and unbeknownst to his conscious mind, a protective force was becoming more and more prominent within him every single day.

And that force—the strength of it, how far he would be willing to go for you—would make itself known sooner than he would ever know.

WAY BACK

Negan has a meeting with the owner of a bakery three doors down, one of the more popular shops in the city. They had pretty limited seating in the small shop and were happy to expand their service by becoming the suppliers of all the in-house goodies one could buy at Saviours Coffee House. Owned by the sibling duo Sasha and Tyrese Williams, Williams Bakeshop made everything from good-old American pie to scones that made every grandmother in the area ready to stand in line for an hour just to get a hold of a dozen for their tea parties.

Normally, he would take the meeting alone; it was a simple review of what Negan wanted to order for the Summer quarter, based on a schedule that he’d asked you to create. The idea of bringing you along was not only pleasing because it meant further time with you, but it also ensured that he could train you to take on another duty, for when he needed the support.

“Okay, Negan, you absolutely cannot let me buy anything while we are in there,” You murmur as your eyes catch the window display filled with the fresh bakes of the day. You moan in a way that makes his cock twitch, and he merely grunts in response. “No, seriously. I do not need—“

“Need?” He cuts you off, pausing at the door to the shop to glance down at you, one brow quirked, “Who the hells ‘needs’ pastry, doll? It’s about what you want.”

You shrug, “Well, I want to be able to fit my fat ass in my jeans.” Negan can’t help but stare at you in shock, his stomach turning at the vitriol in your tone, before letting his gaze fall down your figure. You were curvy—busty—feminine.

Beautiful.

When he meets your eyes again, he can see your cheeks are slightly flushed. Negan clears his throat, considers his words carefully—he doesn’t want to overstep—and keeps his voice low. “Doll, you don’t want to eat anything, you don’t have to. You want to treat yourself, or split something with me, you say the word. You can do whatever you want,” He sees the way the pinch between your brows disappears as they raise in surprise. “But don’t ever let me hear you put yourself down again, okay? And you say the word ‘fat’ like that would be a bad thing.”

He hopes his tone conveys how untrue that would be. If someone wanted to stick labels on people, he didn’t know why some had to be better than others. Lucille had been unconventional—it was what drew him to her in the first place. She had been all colourful and edgy and snarky before it was cool for women to be like that, and she didn’t care what people thought. She would call Negan out if he ever commented on another person, point out his bullshit. He’d learned because of her how to look at a person and see them for them. Some people were assholes. Some were hilarious.

And some, well, they were innocent little lambs walking around on unsteady legs.

He drops it there, holding the door open for you when you make no response other than to nod. But he knows that what he said didn’t even come close to offending you when you accept Sasha’s offer of a slice of chocolate cake twenty minutes later and eat the entire thing with a big smile.

You don’t say anything to him about it, but when you take the last bite, your eyes find his and you wink.

BACK

You’ve been staring at the schedule for too long, unseeing, mind blank. You’re overtired today, thanks to Spencer dropping by the previous night, long overstaying his welcome with a tirade about issues at his work, which makes you want to scream. His ‘job’ is a glorified assistant for his mother, and she rarely has him do much real work. She had a real, city-appointed assistant to do that. Nonetheless, he stayed until after midnight whining and you think he was secretly hoping for pity sex.

But you hadn’t had sex with him in over a year, and you certainly weren’t interested in breaking that streak last night.

With a sigh, you lean back from your laptop and glance towards Negan’s office. His door is only half-closed, which means you’re welcome to walk in and start working in the quiet with him. But you’d been avoiding doing so over the last week—you had noticed he seemed to be keeping an eye on you, paying closer attention. Maybe he knew what your secrets were and was waiting for the heat of his gaze to melt your commitment to keeping them locked away.

He’d always been quiet, contemplative, and that was something you loved about him. You watched the way he would read a situation carefully before saying anything. You appreciated the patience and care that he took in his life. But ever since the blood on your jeans incident, he’d seemed hyper-aware of you and the last thing that you needed was him to find out even a fraction of how fucked up your life truly was.

If you let him in, you would get hurt, and you don’t think you could ever recover if you lost Negan’s friendship.

You abandon the laptop and instead decide to do a walk around the shop to check on the customers and give out some free cookies. It was busy with mostly regulars at this time in the afternoon, so you loved to surprise them occasionally with small gestures of gratitude for their patronage. You had put on the calming jazz playlist earlier, and the sun was shining through the windows and soaking all of your plants in delicious light.

Smiling to yourself, you pull out your phone and snap a photo, then post it to Saviour’s Instagram account before beginning your trek around the shop. It’s about ten minutes later after you’ve finished chatting with a pair of elderly sisters that stop by every day, that your day takes a swift turn.

Maggie is bending and wiping a table off and you smile at her and open your mouth to ask her how she’s doing when you notice a small group of men in the corner a few feet away, eyes on your friend’s ass. Two off four have their feet propped up on the coffee tables—in their corner, it’s an old travelling trundle Negan found at an antique sale. He’d refinished it and sealed the top so that its new use as a table wouldn’t destroy the unique finish.

It was one of the first rules at Saviour’s—keep your feet off the damn tables.

“Hey guys, everything all good over here? Do you need anything?” You approached with your friendliest smile, blocking their view of Maggie at the same time. They look at you, or your chest, and then sprout similar, sleazy grins.

“We’re all good, sweetheart.”

You bite back your retort and instead nod pleasantly, “Great, glad to hear—if I could just ask that you not put your feet on the table, please, that would be awesome. And let me know if you need anything!”

You spin away, your smiling dropping once they can no longer see your face, and Maggie tosses you a grateful look as she carries a tray of dirty glasses towards the back. Before you can take more than two steps from the group, however, a hand grabs your wrist and one of the men chides, “How about you come sit on my lap and we’ll give you a real good tip for letting us keep our feet up, sweetie?”

He tugs a little so that you’re forced to turn back. You glare at him as you wrench your hand free, and one of his buddies chuckles. “Aww, the little pussy-cat is all fired up, Shane!”

He’s looking at the one who had grabbed your wrist, who is giving you a handsome smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Feet off the tables, or leave.” You say, trying to take a step back without turning away.

Shane shifts forward, “Aw, come on, we’re just having some fun after a long day—you look like you’ve had a long one yourself—how ‘bout you and I go and blow off some steam?”

You’re so taken aback you can’t even think of how to reply. You glance around at his friends, still glaring, when he suddenly stands up and towers over you. He’s still giving you that predatory smile and your instincts are all fucked up thanks to Spencer. You immediately want to make him happy so that he leaves you alone and you fight against yourself, which results in you standing still. Maybe he takes it as an invitation—saying nothing must be good—but all he does is take one step towards you before Negan appears out of thin air.

You hadn’t even heard him approach, but he’s between you and Shane in a flash, one hand reaching back protectively to keep you behind him, the other jabbing into the man’s chest. “I know you aren’t harassing my manager, Walsh. Not after I treated you so fucking nice since you got out, letting you drag your sorry ass in here.”

Shane puffs up, but he doesn’t appear to worry Negan in the least. You can’t see Negan’s face, but something in his expression must give Shane pause, and after a moment he raises his hands. “Alright, man, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t apologize to me.”

Negan doesn’t let you out from behind him, so you peek your head out from behind his arm as Shane leans slightly to see you. “I’m sorry, miss, that was out of line. We’re leaving.”

He and his friends file out silently, and Negan doesn’t let you go for a long moment. Once they’re out of sight, he drops his hold and spins around. At first, you begin to thank him, but he cuts you off when his hands gently cup your cheeks, his eyes searching your face with so much concern you stop talking abruptly.

“Doll, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head, grateful there are only a few people in the shop and they appear to have the good grace to look away. “I’m okay, Negan,” He nods at your words, dropping his hands and straightening. His eyes are back on the door and you see another flash of rage twist his features, “Hey, I promise. I’m good.” You tug at his hand, squeeze it briefly, and then let go.

Negan looks at you and you swear you feel the intensity of his gaze right down to your core. Your stomach is doing summersaults. “You even see a glimpse of his ugly face, you come to get me, alright?”

You nod, but before you can respond the door opens behind you and a familiar voice says your name at the same time you feel a furry head press into your side. When you glance down, Dog is there, waiting patiently for your affection, and you give a happy squeal before dropping down to hug her close. She gives a whine of content as you stroke her fur and gives you an excuse to hide your face from the men you know are both assessing you.

“How are you, Daryl? Good to see you.” Negan says, and you hear them clasp hands as Daryl greets him in return.

“What are you even doing here?” You ask, smiling up at Daryl. You hadn’t expected him. He gestures at the bag in his hand; stamped with the logo of the hardware store down the road.

“Had some errands, thought I’d come see if I could take you to lunch,” He gives you a once over, then, looking from the expression on your face to the way you’re petting Dog and his eyes narrow. “You okay, kid?”

You wave him off, intending to just forget about what had just occurred, but Negan answers before you can think of an excuse. “I just had to kick out a couple of assholes who were harassing her. She could probably use a long break—why don’t you take off for a bit, doll, come back whenever.”

You frown up at Negan, “I’m okay to take my normal break—”

“I know you’re okay, but take a long lunch anyway.”

You don’t know what it is about Negan Dean, but the way he says things sometimes makes you soak your panties in response. He never orders you around, but when he does make a command, it’s always like this—when he’s telling you to take a break, go easy on yourself, eat whatever you like, whenever you like. It’s as though he knows that you get bossed around by Spencer and you don’t have that freedom in your life. So he makesyou take care of yourself.

You move to climb back to your feet and his hand is at your elbow, lifting you before you can blink. You stare at Negan for a beat, your thoughts spinning, and have to work hard to respond. “Thank you…I’ll take a long lunch. You’re so fucking bossy.”

Negan smirks, “You love it.”

He lifts a hand in farewell to Daryl, who has watched the entire exchange with a bemused sort of expression and then heads towards the back of the shop. You watch him go, then turn to your best friend. “Lunch?”

“The hell was all that?”

You shrug, biting back a giddy smile and looking away to focus on the tie of your apron, which you remove and leave on a hook at the door. “Just Negan being Negan.” You hope he doesn’t catch on to the affection laced in your words.

Negan overhears Daryl mention that he’s taking you just over to Coalition for lunch. After he watches the two of you and Dog make your way across the road, he calls Simon and asks him to comp the lunch for you both.

“No problem—so uh, you sweet on her or something, Negan?” Simon teases.

Negan grunts, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, I’m giving her a free lunch—something you’ve never once asked me for, so it’s not an unreasonableassumption!”

Negan pauses, just long enough that Simon laughs. “I care about her and she’s had a rough day. Besides, you know who she’s dating. That pencil-dick doesn’t take care of her, doesn’t treat her right.”

“He was in here last night, actually,” Simon says, his tone suggesting he’s only just recalled the memory. “Ended up pissing off the date he had with him—no idea why just saw her storm out and leave him on his own. He paid up and left twenty minutes later looking mighty pissed.”

Negan remembers how tired you had looked that morning when he’d watched you carry his coffee to him. How you’d yawned and used the mirror on the back of his office door to apply extra coats of under-eye concealer. Anger swells in his chest as he realizes that Spencer probably stroked out with his date and instead went to your place to take his frustrations out on you.

He chats with Simon for another minute before thanking him, and then Negan ends the call after making plans to come by for drinks later in the week. He’s restless still, after squaring up with the delinquent and former inmate, Shane Walsh. That man had always been trouble, always itching for a fight, never thinking his actions through. Negan only let him come to Saviours because he knew that Shane had gotten a steady job in construction and seemed to be on a better track.

When he’d come downstairs earlier, it was because he had seen Shane grab your wrist from the security camera. He had watched the way you flinched before you spun around and glared, and was on his feet instantly. By the time he got close enough to you, he saw the oddest expression cross your face; you hadn’t noticed him yet, and your eyes had been locked on Shane, and it was like the fight had drained out of you and you had frozen, waiting for whatever came next. Only he had stepped between you and it took everything in him not to knock the lights out of the fucker. He still wishes he had if he were being honest with himself.

That was why he had so much extra energy now. So he took over what you had been doing and tidied the shop. Maggie was behind the counter loading the dishwashers and Dwight was serving customers, the both of them knowing better than to speak to Negan when he was wearing the current dark frown on his face. They did exchange a look, however, after hearing him on the phone. Asking his friend to comp your lunch. But he’d been too focused on his cleaning to notice.

An hour later, he’s in his office looking over a checklist you had created for the upcoming trivia night Saviours was hosting the next week. It’s a fairly easy event to organize; in addition to himself and you, Rosita, Maggie and his newest hire, Paul, would be working. It was catered to the college kids and required pre-registration, which had been filled two hours after you had launched it on the website. They’d come in and compete, spend a fuck ton on booze, and win some prizes. It had been your idea and Negan was happy to help you organize it because it seemed to be important to you that the night was successful.

He hears you before he sees you, and glances up to his half-open door as you approach, a takeaway container in hand, and slip inside the office. You close the door behind you and smile warmly at Negan. He wishes he could wake up every day to that smile next to him in his bed.

“Whatever that is, I hope you’re sharing.”

You giggle in response before tossing the container in front of him. “It’s some of their potato salad; Simon mentioned it was a favourite of yours.”

He watches you for a moment, surprised. You grab the seat across from him and move it around to his side of the desk. You wanted to go over the checklist together today. When you sit, he jokingly says, “You going to eat it in front of me like a tease, doll?”

He hadn’t intended for the words to come out as gruff as they did, but it was a pleasant surprise to witness how quickly you flushed. He smirks; a big part of him always loved watching the little ways you would react to him. Negan thinks that he makes you nervous, and he kind of adores that.

When you laugh, the sound that comes out is more like you’ve pushed the extra air in your lungs out, and you give him an almost awkward smile. “I brought it just for you. The least I could do to thank you for paying for my lunch. Which,” You turn slightly in your seat and he sees your eyes widen a little at the proximity between him and you, “You didn’t have to do, Negan.”

Negan shrugs, “I don’t need to do anything but pay my bills on time, doll,” He doesn’t look away from you, holds your gaze steady as he smirks, “I did that because I wantedto.”

“You make it seem easy, to just…” You trail off, grasping for words, gesturing around idly, “Just, do what you want, when you want. Where did you learn to live life that way?”

He’s surprised by the bitter note in your voice, but he considers your question for a moment. “I guess it was Lucille. After I retired from correctional services, I lost a lot of routines and rules in my everyday life. It’s hard to shake when those things are more than half the reason you stay alive. She helped me remember how to live a little freer, and I took it from there,” You watch him as he speaks, and he uses it as an excuse to drink up and memorize every feature in your face, from your bright eyes to the full lips, all of you soft skin and delicate. “I’ve got a few years on you, doll. It takes time to figure out.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re not an old man, Negan.”

“No,” He agrees, still smirking, “But I am an older man. Which means I’m wise.”

When you laugh again, the sound is so bright and full of joy he grins in response. “Lucille sounds pretty awesome.” He sees the careful way you say it, evidently giving him an easy out if he doesn’t want to talk about her. But with you, Negan doesn’t hesitate the way he might with others.

He wants to share himself with you. “She was a lot of personality in a small package. Always kept me on my toes—she got bored real easy when it came to the everyday. She’d have new hobbies all the time, was good at every single one,” Negan leans forward as he speaks, resting his elbows on his knees. You hold his gaze, instinctively shifting a little closer to him. “Some days I’d come home to find she’d redecorated a whole room in our old place. Other times, it would be a mess of supplies for her latest obsession—cooking, knitting, photography. Hell, she made some pretty good money selling custom tumblers for a while on Etsy.”

You smile widely as he speaks, and he can see that you’re fully interested in everything he says. Learning about Lucille and his life. Your face softens when you reply, “She sounds incredible. I’m so sorry you lost her, Negan.”

He expects you to say as much, but his eyes drop from your face because he doesn’t miss how your hand twitches in your lap. As though you had wanted to reach out a comforting hand, but resisted. He nods slowly, “She didn’t suffer too much, in the end. And we hadn’t been in love for a long time, even before we found out about the cancer.”

Your brows raise in surprise, “Oh I—didn’t realize…but you stayed together?”

Negan nods again, surprised at how easy you are to talk to, “We were drifting, not fighting just not interested, you know? There was no spark anymore. It happens. We just didn’t get to the point of admitting it out loud before she was diagnosed,” He lifts his head to find you watching him intently now. “Damn women told me to move on and I said no fucking way. Sold the house, almost everything in it—gave some shit to Simon to store for me—and we went on all the trips we’d never been able to afford. Then we came back and bought this place—which was a real dump—gutted it and made it into Saviours. She had a big chunk of savings she’d put into this, wanting to make sure I had my dream to live with after she was gone. And I think all that happiness kept her going a little longer, long enough for her to help me run things here. After she was gone I found out about the insurance and stuff she left to me and I realized she knew she was sick a lot longer than I did.”

Your hand shoots forward without hesitation now, seeking his and squeezing it gently, “She probably knew you’d sacrifice everything to take care of her, even though you weren’t in love with each other anymore. That’s….Negan, you’ve been through so much,” Negan can’t concentrate as hard as he wants on your words, because he’s still stunned you’re touching him, at how he feels like a teenager in the ways he reacts to you. “Thank you for sharing her with me.”

“Doll, thank you for listening,” He squeezes your hand now, running his thumb along the smooth skin of your wrist. “She’d have loved you, in case you wondered. You’re the kindest woman I’ve ever known, and she gravitated towards big hearts.”

When you smile, it’s shy and unsure but there’s a brightness in your eyes that tells him how much his words mean to you. “Come on, Negan—you gave up everything to take your dying wife on her dream world tour, you’re the one who’s kind.”

“Lucille and I were always going to be friends, no matter what happened in life. But everything we did—that was my duty and honour as her husband. I took care of her like I take care of anyone that deserves it. And I think you’ve been through a lot too, doll.” He fixes you with a hard look now, hoping that you understand what he’s trying to say and read between the lines.

Your face scrunches with confusion before your eyes widen in understanding a moment later, “Not everyone deserves that—“

“Good thing you aren’t just anyone, though,” He interrupts, and now you can’t seem to look away. You look unsure and begin to lean away, and Negan scoots closer to you, his hands coming up to rest on your upper arms gently, “I hope you know that. You’re family and this place, everyone in it—me—we take care of each other.”

You’ve gone still but stiffen at his final words, your expression hardening protectively. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I never have.”

Your chin juts up stubbornly and he can see the armour you’ve had to rely on, the way you close off the moment he tries to turn the conversation in your direction. “Hey, doll, you know that’s bullshit, right?” You frown at Negan, but he doesn’t let you interrupt, “Everyone needs someone in their corner. You can handle yourself just fine, I know that. But we all need support.”

“Daryl supports me.”

“Oh,Daryl. I thought you had yourself a handsome boyfriend?”

Negan knows he’s nearing your limit, but damn it he wants to push you, he’s so curious and determined to find out what the hell Spencer does to make you so unhappy. And to know what makes you stay with him. You’re angry now, glaring at Negan but still not trying to pull away—instead, you lean closer.

“Spencer Monroe is the worst human being on this fucking planet. He doesn’t do anything for anyone but himself,” Negan stares at you in surprise. Your voice is low and so full of hate, especially when you say Spencer’s name, it almost makes him want to recoil. It doesn’t suit you. “Daryl is my family, he knows why…he gets it. Gets me.”

“Can’t you see I’m trying to do the same, doll?” His grip on your arms tightens a little, and then he’s trailing on hand down, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he traces over the covered skin of your inner arm where he knows you hide your pain and scars. “I just want to understand you. I care about you too.”

Negan is giving you such an earnest, soft look that you want to crawl into his lap and let him hold you, but your instincts are on full alert, telling you to be careful. When his hand moves down your left arm, you aren’t sure what he’s doing until he finds the sleeve at your wrist and starts to push it up.

Your first reaction is to pull away, but you stop yourself, your arm twitching oddly. If he wants to know you, he can know this. You aren’t ready, or even sure if you can talk to him about Spencer. But this is something that you can let him see. You don’t know how the conversation got to this point. He’d been reminiscing sweetly about Lucille one moment and then it was like a switch had flipped and he seemed intent on you knowing he cared about you.

You believed him. You wanted to trust him, too, but it was terrifying. Not just because you had feelings for the man in front of you. It was also because other than Daryl, every other man in your life had let you down. If you told Negan everything, he would run, there was no doubt in your mind. He was a good man, but you were a hot mess and didn’t deserve his care.

“Negan, I—“

“Shh, doll,” He murmurs, his eyes now on your arm as the sleeve moves up your arm. You sit still and watch him reveal the lines that start halfway up, some of them faded and healed over time, and others still scabbing over their colour angry red. He pulls in a heavy breath, releasing his hold on your other arm to roll your sleeve just above the crook of your elbow. He then switches arms and repeats the actions until both of your inner forearms are bared for him. You feel hot shame until his voice breaks into your thoughts. “Oh, pretty, you’re breaking my damn heart.”

You gulp, unsure of how to respond. You register the new nickname, the emotion behind it. His expression is a mixture of sadness and something you can’t quite put a label on. It makes you nervous and you tremble slightly, “It’s a…bad habit. An outlet.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” He reassures you, but then he’s dropping to his knees before you and running each hand gently over the scars and cuts as he moves to sit between your thighs. He says your name softly, waiting until you look at him again, “Whatever—whoever— makes you do this, drives you to this outlet, you don’t need to tell me. But it’s not right, not a fair way to treat yourself.”

You nod, having heard nearly the same come from Daryl when he’d discovered your dark secret long ago. “I know. I can’t help it…I can’t stop.” You admit, and the tears you had been holding back begin to leak out, and instead of Negan pulling back in alarm and awkwardly grabbing you a tissue, he moves his hands to your face, cupping gently, his thumbs brushing at the tears.

“Next time, call me. Come to me. I’d bet my left nut Daryl has told you the same and you tell yourself you don’t want to be a burden, but I’m telling you right now you could knock on my door at three in the morning and I’d never be annoyed with you, pretty,” You let out a watery giggle at his choice of words, your hands coming together in your lap and wringing in anxiety.

Negan sees this and holds your gaze steady, “I’m fucking serious. We can do anything you want or nothing at all, but instead of hurting yourself I want you to come to me and let me distract you.”

The images that play in your mind of the ways that Negan could distract you make you shift in your seat. It’s a desperate mixture of lust and need, the desire to be wanted and touched, the need to be cared for and loved. He wipes at the remaining tears, waiting patiently for you to reply with the most sincerely concerned look. You look into his hazel eyes when you ask him, “Do you promise?”

Your voice is a whisper, but he hears you. You see him assessing you, your words, and you know he senses the doubt. The disbelief that anyone could really care that much about you after only knowing you for half a year. That doubt was never there before Spencer, but he liked to remind you constantly of your faults. Of how lucky you were that he wanted you, and it worked to crush your self-worth even though you knew he kept you as the arm candy he needed, that he didn’t want you the way someone in a relationship should. It was about who you were related to.

“Pretty, I promise you a million times over, you come here holding a severed head and I won’t fucking flinch, okay?”

After a moment of regarding his expression for any trace of a lie, you finally nod. You don’t want to cut anymore, you hate that you ever started. But the way this man was looking at you made you believe he really would let you through his door, night or day, no matter what. And where Daryl would try and talk you into moving your plans forward, Negan didn’t know about any of that. You could seek his comfort and support without having to convince him that a little longer was necessary.

You push forward and suddenly wrap your arms around Negan’s neck, dropping from your chair until you’re on the ground with him, holding yourself against his lean body. After only the slightest hesitation, he secures you in his arms and brushes one hand through your hair. You don’t cry now; instead, you bury your face in his neck and inhale, your senses completely overwhelmed by Negan.

He smells masculine, like coffee and leather and something fresh, maybe his body wash or aftershave. You suppress the desire to moan just at the smell of him and let him hold you. You aren’t sure how much time passes, just that it does and he never lets you go, never makes a noise of discontent even though it must kill to still be on his knees.

You don’t realize it, but you fall in love with Negan Dean at that moment. It’s not about how he says he’ll take care of you. It’s because he means it. He’s gruff but kind and caring, stupidly handsome and protective in a way you’ve never really known. You don’t think you deserve him, but if he’s willing then you’ll accept whatever he can give you.

You just don’t know much that truly is.

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Taglist:@mermaidxatxheart@paintballkid711@ladydmalfoy

Saviours Coffee House Sneak Peek Ch. 2

…A few days prior, he’d watched you from the security camera feed in his office as you received a text, read it, and the appeared to shut down. Your body had stiffened, your face had fallen into a vacant expression, and you had moved about the rest of your shift in a zombie-like state. It was fucking weird, but he hadn’t asked you about it. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, admitting he’d happened to look up at the cameras and see your reaction.

The woman in front of him now, he thinks, is the real you. The joy in your expression is genuine as you give the old man a hug before turning to continue on with your day. And when your eyes scan the room automatically, and fall on Negan as he stands there smiling, your gaze softens just enough for heat to pool in his belly. Maybe you merely tolerated Negan, maybe you actually liked him, either way he was nearly bowled over by you—and unbeknownst to his conscious mind, a protective force was becoming more and more prominent within him every single day…

Taglist@mermaidxatxheart@paintballkid711@ladydmalfoy

SAVIOURS COFFEE HOUSE | Chapter 4

Summary: The truth has consequences

Warnings: Language, smut, toxic relationship, brief mention of non-con video recording. WC—+4.2K

A/N: God sorry for the delay, September was like two days long I swear.

3 Months Later

This had become more than just a ‘thing’, for Negan. He could admit that to himself, even if he wouldn’t even think of admitting it to you. As much as his feelings had intensified, the thought of saying aloud how he felt about you, scared him. It wasn’t just fear of airing out how he felt; it was the constant, growing concern that he could lose you in an instant. He wasn’t sure how long he could go on like his, and he didn’t know what you were thinking—you just came to him, and he let you every single time.

Saying ‘I love you’ felt like soaring too close to the sun. He didn’t want to burn up.

Though, with your expert lips wrapped around him now, it was hard to tell the difference. Burning from the sun, or from the fire that was you. Regardless, it had been several months now of this, quick moments where you would sneak away with him and burn steam off together, doing everything from just touching, to oral. He’d drawn the line at sex—as much as he craved you every fucking minute of the day, it just felt wrong to take you to his bed when there were so many factors at play. And then, once he crossed that line, would he ever be able to recover?

You were still with Spencer. You hadn’t told Negan why and dodged the conversation if it ever came up. The most you had said was that it was a beneficial thing for Spencer to be with you. For both him and his career. Negan didn’t really understand what that could mean, and he wasn’t allowed to ask.

“Fuck baby girl,” He groans, his head thrown back as pleasure coursed through his body and his balls tightened. You hummed around his length, encouraging him to cum, and it only took another moment of your perfect mouth on him for him to erupt. “Damn it—swallow it all…yeah…”

You slurped him up like a damn treat, pressing soft kisses along his shaft when he stopped cumming, and then you were climbing onto his lap and tucking your head into his neck. He thinks the cuddling is what sets this apart, how each of you longed to maintain the contact and stay as close as possible for as long as you could. He loves this, wrapping you in his arms and holding you against him as he catches his breath. You’re half-dressed, your chest pressed bare against his own, and you giggle when he shifts to get more comfortable, the hairs on his chest tickling you.

The sound of your laughter shoots straight to his heart, and the words slip out before he can capture them. “We should talk, doll.”

He feels your body tense, though when you sit up and drop to sit next to him on his couch, you’ve composed your expression, neutral but wary. “I’ve told you I don’t mind not having sex, Negan. I get it, and I respect your boundaries.” You’re giving him an easy out, but he won’t take it.

He shakes his head, considers his words carefully, and takes your hands into his own after tucking his softening cock back into his sweatpants. “You give me…an inch at a time, doll. It’s not about this stuff,” he gestures between your bodies, “It’s about you, and knowing you’re okay. I know you’ve told Daryl about this…this arrangement. You’ve been clear about what you want from me, what your limits are. But this is—it’s turned into more than just a few times, and I’m starting to feel like you might be using this to relieve more than just stress.”

He isn’t sure how you’re taking his words, so he stops himself from continuing, feeling as though he’s treading on thin ice. You haven’t looked away from Negan, and after a moment he sees your expression soften. “Negan, I’ve been treating you terribly.” You say and he’s shaking his head with vigour, leaning closer to you to say that’s not it at all, but you cut off his protests, “No, you’re right that I’ve set limits, but it’s not fair to just keep this going and not expect you to ask questions,” You shift, settling into the couch more comfortably, “You’ve been too good to me. I don’t give you much in return, and you deserve to understand at least some of this shit.”

“It’s not about what I deserve, doll. I just…I care about you, you know that. What we do up here, in private, it’s not something I want to stop. But you’re still with Spencer, still being treated like shit by him. You really think it’s easy for me to see when you’re angry or in pain and not find him and beat the shit out of him?”

Your lips fall into a slight pout, something he loves about you—it’s one of those little expressions only he gets to see. “I know, God, Negan. I’m sorry,” You sigh, apparently thinking carefully and he doesn’t even blink, not wanting to pressure you. “I—you’re going to think differently of me when I tell you this.”

Now Negan reacts, leaning back to search your face in exasperation. “Doll, you could tell me you killed a man with the bat in my office and I wouldn’t think differently of you.”

You let out a strained laugh at this, seem to prepare yourself to speak. “Do you know who the police commissioner is?”

The question comes so out of nowhere Negan blinks stupidly in confusion before replying. “I—Yeah, Rick Grimes. The man who never loses an election.”

You nod, “Exactly, beloved by all, could go for Mayor but won’t, single dad, widowed…” You trail off, and Negan sees something in your face, senses the almost cold dip in your voice. “I came before all of that, though. Kept my mother’s last name.”

He doesn’t get it for a moment. He waits for you to say more, but you just stare at Negan and the pieces fall together. He frowns, “Are you saying—baby girl, are you saying Rick Grimes is your dad?” When you answer by bobbing your head and shrugging, he understands where you think this is going to go. And you couldn’t be further from the mark. “Well, I’ll be god-damned. No fucking wonder Spencer Monroe sunk his claws into you—Dianna probably insisted on it. But I thought he just had the two kids-?”

You smile, “Carl and Judith. My lovely half-siblings. Yeah, I was a one-night stand baby, but Dad knew my mother from the social circles. They weren’t in love or anything, but he agreed to pay support, be in the picture. It was my mom that, as he went from rank to rank, decided that it was best to keep my existence quiet,” You run a hand through your hair, “She meant well, and I don’t hold anything against her for that decision. But dad and I aren’t close at all, we were when I was little, but—well, anyway. I got to functions sometimes and happened to meet Spencer at one.”

Negan could tell that was as much as you were going to say on the subject. And while it didn’t explain why you had stayed with the guy for several years in a toxic, exhausting relationship, you’d given Negan enough today. He wasn’t going to force it out of you. Instead, he reaches for you and pulls you into his lap. Sliding his fingers into your hair and pressing his lips to yours, he kisses you slow and tries to tell you everything he can’t in words.

Admitting to Negan about your father had been the scariest thing you’d done in a long time. Maybe ever. You were terrified of losing him, losing the almost daily moments you could steal away with him. You were greedy, you knew it, taking so much comfort and fantastic orgasms, knowing he was protective, that he cared for you, and giving him no information. So you’d relented because it could come out at any time and it was the easiest thing you could admit.

Although you’d still been terrified, Negan never did do anything expected. You thought he’d be nice enough, but start to distance himself. Or demand to know why you stayed with Spencer—but he hadn’t, instead he’d been sweet and kissed the hell out of you before making you some lunch.

God the truth of it was you were so, so in love with him. It was driving you closer to the edge, ready to take that jump and leave Spencer, but there was so much at stake. It wasn’t just the shit that could ruin your father’s career or the fear of losing Negan, it was the repercussions that would come down on your siblings, your mother. You didn’t give a damn about Rick’s feelings in this, but you knew that his downfall would affect your siblings, and they’d already lost their mother. They didn’t deserve to suffer anymore.

You had been happy to accept Negan’s condition of not having sex. You respected his limits and knew that maybe it was an effort to ease his conscience for essentially having an affair with you. You’re not sure, exactly, but he was so good at keeping things on the correct side of the line, you knew it wasn’t because he was afraid of his feelings for you. He cared about you, maybe loved you as a friend, but you couldn’t let yourself get your hopes up that it was anything more, so not having sex with him was okay by you. You’re not sure you could even survive the way that would make you feel.

You think back to that night months ago when he’d stopped you in the rain, kissed you and carried you inside…you thought of that night all the time. It ran through your mind like a movie as you made a couple of latte’s for some sweet kids on a date. One of their mothers was sitting at a table across the shop, sipping a tea and reading a novel. She was good about giving them space, not staring over at them or anything, and you smiled at her when she glanced up at one point. She sent you a wink.

“Flirting, are we?” Dwight’s gruff voice has you turning to give him a mock glare. You think he knows what you do with Negan. It’s him you work with the most, and he wasn’t stupid. You snuck off enough that he had to know it couldn’t just be for scheduling discussions or inventory. But he never said anything or made you feel like he was judging you, and you were grateful for it—his friendship meant a lot to you.

You gesture towards the kids, who now sit across from one another at a table opposite side of the shop from the supervising mother. The one girl, petite and blonde, reminds you a little of your sister Judith. The girl with the enviable waves in her dark hair and wides eyes could be a younger Rosita. “Those two are on a first date, and that’s one of their mothers. It’s so sweet.”

Dwight huffs out a laugh, “Okay, that is pretty cute-” He stops talking abruptly, eyes moving from the teens to the door, and you follow his gaze.

Icy dread settles in your stomach at the sight of Spencer marching through the shop, his expression dark. You hadn’t seen him for a few blissful days because he’d been deep into a series of meetings and discussions with council on a few major subjects Mayor Monroe had brought forward. Based on the way he was looking at you now, at least one of those topics got voted down.

“Hey Spence,” You try for casual, but the nervousness slips into your voice and you can see him latch onto it. He loves the control and knowing he affects you.

“Can we talk, out back maybe?”

Your stomach fills with acid, but you nod. You toss Dwight what you hope is an easy smile, but based on the way his eyes only narrow, you know it was more of a grimace. “Sure thing, I’ll be back in a few D.”

He nods, but makes no reply, turning to serve an approaching customer as Spencer walks around the counter to meet you and follow you to the back door. You’re more than a little aware of the fact that Negan was deep in a phone conversation with a vendor and wouldn’t be coming downstairs any time soon. You aren’t sure if that’s comforting or the opposite.

You twist the lock on the back door so that it engages, preventing the door from shutting entirely and move to stand against the back wall. You give Spencer a tentative smile, wishing he would evaporate. “Everything okay?”

“Nope,” He seethes, his hands twitching at his sides. “Your father gave a statement before the vote today and council leaned in his favour on the issue of—”

“Look,” You interrupt, not interested in the slightest. Spencer’s eyes flash dangerously, “Whatever happened, I’m sure it sucked and dad was probably a dick about it. But why are you here?”

You see the way his jaw ticks in irritation and satisfaction blooms in your chest. “I thought perhaps you could speak with him.”

“Spence, that’s not how this works,” You reply coldly, “He doesn’t look to me for advice and I don’t care enough to give it anyway. But if you need me at another party, playing happy arm candy, let me know.”

You turn and pull the door open, but you keep your eyes on Spencer, unsure if he’ll react physically to your attitude. He does step closer, his mouth opening in outrage, but his eyes slide from yours to something behind you and he halts in his tracks. His expression shifts into a smooth, classic politician smile too quickly. You wonder how you ever thought he was handsome.

When Negan suddenly speaks, his voice is low but you still startle. “Spencer Monroe, how the hell are you?”

You turn your head forward and see Negan leaning against the wall a few steps from the door. Close enough to have heard the conversation. You know him well enough to see the darkness in his eyes, the way his smile doesn’t meet them. He’s staring at Spencer, his arms crossed.

“Hi, Mr. Dean. I was just visiting quickly, sorry to pull her from the floor.”

You’re inside now, and move to stand at the opposite side of the hall from Negan. His eyes follow you, and a possessive expression flashes there that surprises you. “You know, during downtime that’s no problem, but we’re in the after-school crunch. I hate to be that guy,” You almost want to laugh at the insincerity in his tone, “But I’ve got to ask that visits are limited to quiet hours.”

Fuck, the way Negan says it comes out smooth enough, but you sense the tension, the anger behind his words. Spencer seems to see it as a dick measuring contest he isn’t going to win and doesn’t argue. “Right, my bad. I’ve got to go anyway. Good to see you” He doesn’t even say goodbye or look at you, he just bolts. Coward.

You watch him hurry through the shop and out the front door, but sense Negan’s eyes on you. When you finally look up at him, the expression on his face makes you still. “I don’t want him coming in here again.” He says darkly, jaw tense.

You want desperately to step into Negan’s arms and soothe the anger, but you know that can’t happen down here in the open. You sigh softly, “I’m sure he won’t anyway, not after that,” You bite your lip for a moment, your thoughts swirling. “Are you okay?”

“It’s you I’m worried about, baby girl.”

His voice is a whisper, but still, you’re surprised he calls you that here, where anyone could hear him. “I promise I’m fine. Anyway, why did you come down?”

At this, he brightens somewhat, a small quirk of his lips nearly bringing out the smirk you loved. “Actually, I came down to see if you wanted to go for a drive after the rush?”

You give him a curious look, returning his smile, “Sure, where are we going?”

“That’s a surprise. One I think you’ll love.”

Negan knows you find his choice of vehicle hilarious. You tell him he doesn’t come off as a man with a fancy Tesla, but rather a big truck. Or motorcycle. He does have a nice motorcycle but hadn’t ridden it in a long time. Maybe he should take it to Daryl, see what your friend could do to spruce it up. Then he could take you on a long ride, stop somewhere remote and have a picnic.

Christ, he was turning into a ridiculous romantic.

He thinks of how not that long ago you were so much sadder, lonely, desperate for relationships that were real. And now he’s messing around with you, pretending it’s just sex between friends when he thinks he loves you almost too much. He wishes he could tell you the truth but know everything would be okay when he did.

The morning after that first encounter in the rain, he’d wondered, worried, that things would be weird. That maybe he’d driven you away, and you might not show up for work. But you had shown up. With a shy smile and a flush to your cheeks that didn’t fade through the day. Eventually, he’d ask you to come to his office and talk, not bothering to wait until the end of the day, and asked you straight out if you were okay.

Somehow, that had resulted in you half-naked on his couch, writhing around as he tasted you and pressing your hand over your mouth to hold in your cries. You came twice on his tongue that day, and then you’d come up to his condo after work and returned the favour.

“Comfortable?” He teases, glancing at you, reclined comfortably in the passenger seat. You’re wearing a pretty green sundress you changed into after work, wrapped in a chunky cardigan. He tries not to look at your legs too often, but he can’t help it—you look fucking good. Always, you look perfect and he wants to taste every inch of you.

Your head rolls towards him, a smile playing on your lips, “When do I get to know where we’re going?”

“You really want to know?”

“I don’t like surprises. I’m too impatient.”

Negan chuckles warmly, double checks the autopilot is engaged and looks around at you. He wants to watch your expression. “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll tell you. You know how Jesus’s family owns Wonderful Greenhouses?”

“Yes…” You say slowly, looking to the road, then back at Negan.

He grins wide, “Well, I’m taking you for a private tour of the main greenhouse. The one off-limits to the public.”

You sit up quickly, twisting to face him and right then, the commitment to buy a fuck ton of plants for both indoor and outside of the shop is worth it for the excitement he sees cross your face. “Wait, wait. Seriously? We’re going inside Wonder-Land?” Negan nods and you let out an excited squeal. “Negan!”

He laughs now, fighting the urge to pull the car over and draw you into his lap and kiss you. It’s ridiculous, how your happiness has such an effect on him. “Knew you’d love it.”

If anyone asked Negan for details about Wonderful Greenhouses, he’d draw a blank beyond ‘a lot of green’. He was too focused on you, following your every movement and word after the brief introduction to Jesus’s parents, who set Negan and you free to roam around by yourselves. You floated gleefully from room to room, the temperature slowly increasing as you moved from desert plants to tropical.

When you shrugged off your cardigan, Negan drew in a breath at the way the dress, made of soft linen, hugged against you. The small of your back had a bit of sweat seeping through, and he wanted to lift the dress and lick your skin, blow gently to cool you. “Here,” He pulled the sweater from your grip and draped it over his arm, you smiled up at him gratefully.

“This place is incredible, Negan,” You say, brushing your hand over the waxy leaves of a monstera. “I feel so good, relaxed.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” He replies, reaching out to stroke your hair with his free hand. He doesn’t know why he can’t resist touching you. “We can come back whenever you want to.” Your eyes brighten even more at this.

“Really?” You watch as he grins, nodding, and you glance around before stepping close. He immediately secures his arms around you, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Negan, you—I don’t deserve how well you treat me.”

You look confused, uncertain, and he instantly seeks to reassure you, “Baby girl, you know that ain’ttrue.”

You open your mouth to argue but break off when your phone starts vibrating. You have it tucked into your bra, which is something he feels he’s read somewhere that you shouldn’t do and makes a mental note to look for the article. When you read the screen, you grimace before answering. “Spencer, hey-”

Negan can hear him spitting down the line at you, his voice cold and harsh. “Where the fuck are you? You’re shift ended hours ago!”

“I’m meeting with a vendor just outside of town, why?”

“I stopped by your place—I have to go away for a few days and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Sorry,” You reply, though you don’t sound sorry in the least. “When will you be back?”

“Not for three or four days at least.”

“Great, well have a safe trip and let me know if you need anything.”

You hang up before he can reply, tucking the phone away and glancing back up at Negan, your smile beginning to reappear. But when you meet his eyes, you freeze and instead stare up at him in confusion. “Negan?”

Negan is frowning as an idea forms in his mind. He doesn’t reply, and for a very long couple of minutes you wait, watching him, until you seem to reach your limit. He sees you frown in return and shakes his head, “I want you to do something for me.”

“Oh,” You continue to gaze at him blankly, uncertain, “Sure?”

“You need to move in with me while he’s away.”

You take a step back in surprise, your mouth falling open. “What? You-I can’t just?”

Negan drops your cardigan on the ground and reaches for you, holding you at arm’s length, his large hands on your shoulders. “He’s going away. He won’t know—and then when he gets back, you’ll be gone. I’ll protect you,” He lowers his head to your level, “Baby girl, don’t tell me why you stay with him. Just let me help you escape.”

“It’s not…it’s just not that easy, Negan,” Tears well and he almost panics, hating that he’s made you cry, “You think I don’t want to never see him again? I would do anything to take you up on this, but if I do…I can’t!” You sob now, and it wrecks him, seeing you torn and broken.

A low growl rumbles out of him, and he’s pulling you against his chest and soothing you, “Shh, I’ve got you. Whatever it is, I’ve got you—tell me how to fix it, baby girl.” He repeats himself, holding you tight, and waits for you to calm down.

When you do, you tilt your head took look up at him, sniffling, “Can you take me to the car?”

He doesn’t hesitate—first, he scoops your sweater off the floor, and then tucks you into his side and leads you out of the building, grateful not to encounter any of the family. He’ll call them in the morning and thank them. Offer to take them out to dinner or something.

He helps you into your seat, but when Negan moves to stand, you grab his hand and he pauses. “What is it?”

You’re trembling, your lower lip drew between your teeth. You hesitate, then your eyes fall shut and tears slip out and down your cheeks. “He has a video.”

Negan kneels on the pavement, as close to you as he can get, “What do you mean?”

You still haven’t opened your eyes. “A video of me…of me and him.”

Your meaning sinks in and rage flares inside of Negan. “He’s been blackmailing you?” You give one, small nod and look at him, fear and embarrassment lining your features. “What’s in the video, baby girl?”

Your gaze drops to where his hands are holding yours, “Negan, it could ruin everything if he leaked it out. It would ruin my life.”

Negan lets go of your hands and cups your cheeks, gently forcing you to look at him, “Tell me what’s in it and I promise you I won’t let anything else bad happen. I fucking promise.”

“It’s—he got me drunk and filmed us having sex in his condo. You can see everything.”

He lets out a long breath, angrier than he’s ever been in his life. He sees flashes of beating the life out of Spencer in his mind, but then a different face pops up and he stands. You stare up at him, worried, but he reassures you quickly.

“I’m going to fix this, I promise,” He shuts your door and makes his way around the car. Before he opens his door, he dials a number he hasn’t in a very long time. It rings twice before a familiar voice answers. “Morgan, it’s Negan. I need to hire you—and the cost isn’t an issue. This one, it’s personal.”

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