Negan - Still Breathing (Part 1)

Thou Shalt Not

Aware of his intentions, you sought to end the prying. "If this is about Dwight, you're mistaken. He's just another Savior, like the rest of them," you said, attempting to hide the blush in your cheeks.

He raised his dark brows and inched closer to you. "You expect me to swallow that shit you just fed me? I know what tears look like, hon. And you were crying like a fucking baby when I handed that pistol to you," he growled. "That was a damn-grade-A example of attachment."

You exhaled a cloud of smoke, and it billowed around your head like a halo. "Negan, why can't you admit that my 'interactions' with Dwight make you uncomfortable?" Crossing your arms, you pelted his own words at him with a smug smile on your face. "That's a damn-grade-A example of pride."

Negan shook his head and scratched the back of his neck in careful consideration. "Sweetheart..." he began in a patronizing tone. "I may be mean-ass motherfucker. Hell, I may be a 'tyrant,' as you so fucking eloquently put it. But I'm only looking out for your best interests. Dwight's a piece of delinquent scum. But he's an obedient piece of delinquent scum, which makes him pretty fucking helpful. But he's a shifty fucker who'll change sides quicker than you can say 'fickle-ass-fuckery.' Blink and you'll miss it."

Dwight's tender smile flickered like a flame behind your eyes. His teal irises made your soul weep. The way his cheeks would become flushed around you like a nervous, little school boy...Negan's words didn't convince you. They angered you. "So that's why you'd call him away while we were working together. That's why you slandered him to get a rise out of me. And that's why you chose him as my opponent. Not because you're worried that he'll screw me over. Oh no...you're worried that he'll screw me." Spitefully, you took another puff of your cig and blew smog from your nostrils like a fire-breathing dragon. Aiming for his face, you silently laughed at the notion that you were killing him slowly with your second-hand smoke. "I'll admit it, I'm attached. And no, for the last time, we're not fucking. Dwight's my bestie whether you like it or not. Jesus, you're like a fucking teacher trying to separate the two class clowns!"

Negan released a hearty laugh, which shocked you. You were expecting a brutal rebuttal. Instead, he chuckled and smiled, fondly. "I still remember dealing with those smart-ass kids, back in the day. Goddamn right, I separated them. Those fuckers were a little less ballsy when they weren't side-by-side."

Choking on the last drag of your Camel, you stared at his handsome grin in awe. "You were a...teacher? Are you fucking kidding?"

"Swear on my mother's grave," he said through a laugh. "I was a gym teacher. 'Guess some of my methods came in handy after the walker-pocalypse."

You couldn't believe what you just heard. And THAT information will come in handy when dealing with you in the future. Thanks, Negan, you mused. For a second, you envisioned him as a fitness educator--less silver in his espresso hair, a black, under armor T-shirt clinging to his broad chest, biceps bulging in his sleeves, athletic shorts revealing his toned legs, sweat glistening on his brow, a whistle clutched in his tempting lips... Before you started to drool over the naughty creations of your imagination, you snapped back to reality. Your core was still tingling with maddening warmth and yearning. "Th-th-that explains the baseball bat," you stammered. Recovering from your brief, tantalizing distraction, you returned to the argument. "But look, D and I are not smart-asses screwing around in the basketball court. As for all this attachment bullshit, I can handle myself. If Dwight does screw me over at some point, I won't throw a bitch-fit. But you, Negan..." Extinguishing your cig with one hand, you placed the other on his knee.