24 Hours with Negan (A Negan/Reader fanfic)

No Happy Endings

You've been walking along the tracks now for what feels like hours. And even though your legs don't necessarily hurt, the straps of your bag are digging into your shoulders, aggravating the scratch marks you received from the walker. It's annoying- especially since you're trying to not look like a total weakling in front of the mysterious stranger.

*'Negan, his name is Negan,'* you remind yourself.

You growl in frustration as you shift the weight of your bag, rolling your neck to try to loosen the stiff muscles.

"You alright there, kid?" Negan asks, giving you a side eyed glance.

"Yea, I'm fine," you tell him, shifting the weight of your bag again. "Its just-"

He stops you in your tracks. "Your bag got a waist strap, or anything?" He asks, starting to pull the bag from your shoulders. His fingers rub roughly over your shoulders and you hiss in pain. Suddenly his features go dark.

"You been bit?"

"No!" You tell him honestly. But he doesn't look convinced and for a moment you understand why Matt looked so afraid- Negan looks down right intimidating. Actually he looks more than intimidating, he looks like he could murder you, despite his calm demeanor. Maybe it was a mistake to follow this man. "Look," you say, dropping your bag down and pulling your shirt away from your shoulder. "It's just a scratch!"

Negan takes a moment to look at your wound. Three raised lines of flesh trail across your collar bone, but there's no blood. Negan looks at you, softening his scowl.

"Alright then, kid." He gently places Lucille down and reaches into his bag.

Now that he's not staring you down, you feel a rush of indignation. "I'm not a kid, asshole! I told you I wasn't bit."

"You've got quite the mouth on you," he laughs, pulling a small bottle of vodka from his bag. He takes a small sip before dumping the rest over your shoulder. A searing sting pulses over your shoulder.

"Ow! Fuck!" You yell, grabbing your wound and pulling away. "What are you-"

"Just trying to keep it from getting infected." He tosses the empty bottle into the outlining trees, "most people would say thank you."

You want to be angry at him, this guy seems like a total asshole. But there's just something so charismatic about him. Maybe it's the leather jacket paired with a red scarf, *because honestly, who even wears scarves anymore?* Or maybe it's way he carries himself, with confidence and pride- even in the midst of an apocalypse it looks like he still takes care of his appearance. Matt had stopped brushing his teeth regularly since the week you met him. You shake you head at the thought. Whatever it is about this guy, it just makes you want to listen to what he's got to say. *Maybe he was a politician,* you wonder.

"Thank you," you say finally.

He rewards you with a dazzling smile, "that's better, doll face."

"And thank you, for protecting me earlier, in the station." You feel a little awkward mentioning it, but the look he gives you lets you know you've said the right thing. His charming smile fades and is replaced with a gentle look.

"Nah, that was all you, (y/n)," he tells you. "He wouldn't've stood a chance against you, little savage." It feels like you're seeing a small glimpse of who this stranger really is. But as quick as it's there it's gone. "Now about this bag, you got any rope or cord in there?"

"I- uh, I don't know," you stutter as you begin to fumble through it. You're ashamed to say, you've never actually carried the bag of supplies. That was a task that Matt was pretty adamant about doing.