Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader Fluff
Warnings: Mild Gore, Angst, Banishment, Fluff, First Kiss, Cursing, Mentions of Other Walking Dead Characters. (If I missed any, feel free to let me know!)
Word Count: 4,568
Read time: Approximately 18 min
! Warning: Walking Dead Spoilers Below!
Summary: Set after the Whisperers destroyed Alexandria, Negan is banished to the cabin. You, out of all people, know he should stay gone, but something in you won't allow it. So, you find him, or he finds you, injured and in need of assistance.
It had been years. Years since the Saviors had met their well-deserved demise. Β Years since Negan's throat spilled blood into the soil beneath the tree that was elegantly decorated with stained glass windowpanes. The person you had called a leader and friend had chosen mercy that day, allowing the leather-clad man to live. And he had been locked in that cage ever since. Well, at least until recently.
The Whisperers caused quite the commotion in the relatively quiet town of Alexandria. Quiet, given the nearly two-decade-long apocalypse that the world still endured.
They destroyed eight years of hard labor. Destroyed the blood, sweat, and tears that had been poured out by every single one of its inhabitants. Ever since Alpha and Beta were taken out, Alexandria had been struggling to get by. No food, little to no clean water, and walls that threaten to break at each gust of wind.
You and every single other person fought to keep the town afloat, and maybe thatβs how it began.
You still deny the early signs of the strange allure you had begun to feel towards Negan when you were on guard duty. You'd catch yourself watching his toned, suntanned skin flex against his forearm in the Virginia heat while he picked ripe tomatoes from their stems. Or the sweat that would drip down the canyon of his throat, only to soak into the soft cotton of his white tee. Your eyes would always follow the liquid's trail, and your tongue would dart out to moisten your dry lips.
That was when everything was normal, or at least as normal as it could be in your unsavory apocalyptic situation.
Before the Whisperers, you were just like everyone else. You hated the man who wreaked havoc on your home, killing friends and taking everything your group had worked for. You despised his sly remarks and the little to no remorse he had for his wrongdoings.
Now everyone was strained, tired, and weak, you being no exception. That was the only reason you could wrap your overheated mind around the feeling you now had towards Alexandria's most hated resident.
He had been out of his cell for weeks now, partially because it had been destroyed by a small group of walkers finding their way into the barred-off room, but mostly because all hands were needed at any given moment. Maybe itβs because he almost blends in with your people while he works just as hard to keep everyone safe. Or maybe itβs the fact that now that heβs out, you can truly see the progress that eight years of solitary confinement makes.
Negan was still crude; there was no changing that, but he seemed to have a different vibe altogether. He cared for the residents. Heβd go on small supply runs for the elderly who couldnβt go beyond the walls themselves; heβd hold panels up while others tried to mend them back together along the walls, and he even took in Lydia when everyone had treated her like an outcast. You had seen his moments with her from afar, and he had truly seemed remorseful for taking her mother's life. Something you knew he would not have rewarded your group in the past.
And thatβs why you find yourself in this situation, fighting off a consistent string of walkers that aimlessly roam the forests. With Maggieβs return, things became tense between Negan and the widowed mother. There was never a moment you didnβt think a bullet from her gun wouldnβt meet his skull, or her knife wouldn't slice through the same flesh Rick had once mangled. So, you werenβt entirely surprised when you asked Carol about his whereabouts.
Carol had told you exactly where he had gone and why. She had banished him into a cabin in the woods under the guise that the council had voted to do so. She told you the real reason, though, and that reason had to do with Maggie. Just like you, she had seen the unwavering fire behind Maggie's gaze when it fell upon Negan. And she sent him away so his death would not βweigh on her conscience,β but you knew that was a lie. She wanted him to be gone like most of the people who lived here but wasnβt given the power to make that call. So, she had banished him βon behalf of the council.β
The same night you were made aware of his situation, you lay in your bed staring at the ceiling, feeling a pull in your chest. You should be relieved that Negan was gone. Now all these unwelcome feelings would finally fizzle out and die, and you could go back to work with a clear head. Your heart had other intentions, though, creating a war within your mind. His hazel eyes, decorated with thick dark lashes, flashed in your memories. His pink lips pulled upwards to reveal his pearly whites as he helped Lydia fix a broken water pipe. These distant visions plagued your mind, ultimately deciding your next course of action for you.
Before you knew it, your feet were hitting the cold floor, your hair was tied into a band behind you, and your clothes were thrown on in haste. A go bag was meticulously placed under the bed for any given moment. You pulled at the strap, dragging it out and slinging it over your shoulder. And with that, you snuck through the burnt fields of Alexandria, scaling the wobbly wall that surrounded the town and trekking to the edge of the forest.
There were only a handful of cabins strewn about in the area. Every single one of them had been burned into your memory after years of hunting through the lands and, before that, picking through each building for supplies. Knowing Carol, she would have sent him to the furthest one from Alexandria.
A string of quiet curses spilled from your lips, lost to the world, but you understood why she would do it. Hell, you would have done the same thing if this certain uncontrollable nagging would leave you be.
At this point, navigating the unpredictable forest came with ease. Gracefully, you dance over branches and dips along the soil, avoiding twigs and dry leaves that may alert unwanted travelers or walkers. Of course, that would only get you so far. You were bound to at least run into the dead, but picking them off was as natural to you as breathing. Always aiming for the temple or the underjaw with your trusty machete had proven your favorite way to dispatch rotting corpses. Finding a rhythm and losing track of time happened often, and on occasion, the rest of the world would feel as though it stopped spinning altogether. It was just you and the walkers. A tale as old as time.
It must have been the walker-induced trance or the limited sight from the surrounding night, but thatβs when it happened. A snap rang through the woods, causing birds to flee in flocks from their nests. Their wings murmured through the night air, muffled by the high-pitched ring in your eardrums. Warmth spread through your body before the burning, sharp pain radiated into the muscle of your ankle. Rusted metal pierced through skin, puncturing holes into the thin layer of meat beneath the flesh and, without a doubt, fracturing the delicate bone underneath it all.
Fox traps werenβt uncommon in this area, but the forest had been disturbed every day by walkers and people alike for years. Even the animals that the trap was intended for. As a matter of fact, you have travelled through the area on more occasions than you could count, so what kind of luck is this? Probably the dumb kind.
The corners of your eyes prickle with tears as a small yelp escapes your throat. βFucking, Hell!β you cry out into the atmosphere onto the deaf ears of oak and spruce. Your nimble fingers push down the strong metal prongs at either side of the mechanism, shakily releasing the iron grip of its metal jaws. The amount of strength needed to open even a small trap proves to be difficult, especially in your admittingly clumsy haste to free the bleeding and broken limb. The sharp teeth tear into skin as you pull your leg towards your chest. Your boot had gotten caught on a particular rusty piece, pulling it off and allowing the cold metal to pierce into your ankle once again, but that didnβt stop you from dragging the trap down and off your injured leg.
It all happened so fast. The adrenaline keeps you from noticing the condition of your exposed ankle and foot. Not only were the initial puncture wounds present, but the need to free yourself caused more harm than initially thought. The skin is mangled all the way down to the heel. The sight, along with the small amount of water you have consumed within the past couple of days, makes your head spin. The world around you dances, shadows playing tricks on your mind while your eyes imagine a carousel-like rotation that creates a nauseating burn in the pit of your belly.
The final nail in the coffin is the rapid comedown of adrenaline. Warmth races through your veins before abruptly halting and turning ice cold. Small strands of hair stick to the previously unnoticed sweat along your forehead and temple, and soon the world is enveloped in darkness. The last sense your body picks up on is the sound of hurried boots crunching on leaves and twigs as they rush towards you. The swing of metal glides through the air before meeting the unmistakable squelch of a walker's skull and then nothing. All your senses have gone blank.
Β Warmth licks the exposed skin of your shoulder while crackles and pops sound near your head. The smell of smoke lingers in your nose. Subtle hints of your location begin to reveal themselves as each sense slowly returns. Your mouth feels dry, and a dull ache pulses through your injured limb as memories swamp your hazy mind. The fox trap, the growl and groans of walkers stumbling towards you, and visions of blood cause your heart to kick into overdrive.
Your spine straightens before your eyes have a chance to open while you gasp for air to fill your lungs. Frantically, your fingers spread across your chest and body as if to discern a dream from reality. Thatβs when a blurred silhouette hurriedly forms only a few feet in front of you, and small hushes escape it in calm waves.
βHey. Hey, itβs alright. Youβre safe.β The familiar deep voice fills your ears. βYouβre safe.β It repeats.
The puzzle pieces begin to click into place. The room, the figure, and the voice all start to make sense. The anxiety-induced pain that your heart has created in your chest quickly subsides when you finally realize where you are. Your search for Negan has been successful, or well, sort of successful.
After all, he was the one to find you.
You feel weak once the rush of adrenaline from fight or flight sizzles away, forcing you to slump downwards toward what you assume was a cot.
Β βEasy, easy,β Negan warns. βYouβve been out for about a day; give yourself some time to recoup, okay.β He leans down, and those hazel eyes that you vividly remembered focus into view. His dark brows scrunch in concern while his lips pull downwards in a frown. He reaches out, enveloping your shoulder in calloused warmth as he adds a little extra support with his palm.
You chuckle slightly, out of breath once your body begins to utilize its unused muscle functions and your vision slowly clears. Β βCame looking for you, yβknow?β Β His eyes bounce between yours in confusion, the cogs visibly turning in his skull. βAnd why the Hellβd you do that?β
Β You shift away from his grip, anchoring your palms on the cot, planting your feet flat against the deteriorated, grainy cabin floor as splinters threaten to break through the rough skin of at least one of your feet. The other is wrapped tightly in white bandages with a stick placed alongside the ankle to create a makeshift splint. Your eyes follow the feeling before making their way back to the hazel orbs that stare at your face.
Β βThanks for the patch-up, doc.β You huff sarcastically. A small, gratuitous smile plays at the corner of your lips to change the direction of the conversation.
Slightly, you push your body forward to test the amount of weight you'd be able to use on your injury; a wave of sharp pain shoots up your leg.
βLetβs get you home, Negan.β Your measures are quickly shut down when you attempt to stand. Both of his hands hold your shoulders in place, keeping you completely stationary. βYou didnβt answer my question. Whyβd you come lookinβ for me? Everyone in that town wants me gone.β His eye contact burns a hole straight into the center of your face; Neganβs determination to know why you, of all people, would search for him after his brief banishment grows stronger with every passing second.
βWhat? You wanna stay out here forever? Iβm giving you the option to come back, Negan, and you want to what? Squander it? It doesnβt matter why I came for you. I just did, and now you can come back with me.β His frown grows. βGabe and the others voted me out. They made their choice. Iβm not welcome in Alexandria; Hell, I'm not welcome anywhere.β
You sigh, weighing your options: tell Negan that Carol alone chose his fate, or storm out of the cabin (or hobble) knowing that you at least tried to bring him back.
βThe council didnβt banish you, Negan.β A lump forms in your throat as air tries to pass. All that escapes is a sigh. βCarol chose to send you away on her own. She was worried Maggie would try to kill you, which you of all people know is validβ¦β His hands release their grip from your shoulders as he interrupts, βAnd what? You want to bring me back into what I can only chalk up to a fuckin, death sentence? No, I can't go back. Iβd be risking my nuts if I did.β You watch him recoil from your sitting form as he stands and turns his back towards you.
βWhy does it matter to you so much if I come back anyway? Youβve always hated me.β He runs a hand alongside his salt-and-pepper beard, composing any rational reason for your so-called βsearch and rescueβ. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, unbeknownst to you.
βMaybe not everyone hates you as much as you think they do, Negan.β He scoffs, but it doesnβt stop you from continuing your persuasion. βMaybe youβre more valued than you know.β He turns his head, peeking over his shoulder while your words reach him. A dull ache tugs at his chest. This may be the first time in eight years that anyone has expressed more than just disdain for him, well, anyone other than Lydia and Judith.
His nose flares and his brows furrow as he turns, βYouβre about the only person who feels that way then.β He defeatedly admits. βIβm sorry, but I canβt go back.β
Anger bubbles in your throat. You risked your life to get him to come back home, and he just threw the opportunity in the garbage, burning it like a hot dumpster fire. βYouβre a real piece of work, you know?!β You practically shout, the sound of your voice bouncing off the empty cabin walls. βI risked my neck to bring you back, youβ¦ You asshole!β Within seconds, he's turned a full 180, and a few long strides later, you're trapped between his arms. His smell engulfs your nose: cedar, dirt, sweat, and something sweet. Your eyes widen like a deer caught in a set of blinding headlights, and for a moment you see no emotion behind his glassy orbs. Youβd be lying if you said it didnβt frighten you.
βYou might want to watch that mouth of yours, sweetheart. None of your friends are here to protect you, now, are they?β His breath dances along your face, hot and wet, but it doesn't stop you from maintaining eye contact to assert some sort of dominance. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already, but instead he saved you from an untimely demise and patched you up, practically tying your ankle off with a little pink bow. He's bluffing, and this realization makes you feel a little bolder.
βI'm not afraid of you, Negan.β That was a lie, but one you intended to keep secret. βI just want you to come home. Iβ¦β You trail off, trying to find the words to convey your feelings; feelings that you still donβt quite understand yourself. βIf you stay here, Iβllβ¦ Iβll miss you.β His brows lift at your straightforwardness. Anxiety lurches up your throat from the words that spilled from your lips. βAnd Iβ¦ I mean, Lydia and Judith will too.β Your shoulders shrug upwards.
He snickers as his eyes dart back and forth between yours, searching for any sign of falsehood. The words βhomeβ and βmiss youβ rattle through his brain, creating a one-track mindset. Β βYouβd miss me?β He questions, completely avoiding the other half of your confession.
The tension between you had become palpable, creating a density in the air so thick it couldn't be sliced in half with even the sharpest of knives. βAnd here I was, thinking the most beautiful woman on this side of the apocalypse hated my guts. Any more secrets you wanna let me in on?β and there it was. Those sly remarks that you hated. Or so you thought you hated. One thing stuck with you, though. He called you beautiful, and it makes your pulse quicken, and your head fills with a dizzying fog.
He chuckles, showing those dangerously beautiful canines off.
βDonβt let it get to your head.β You retort, crossing your arms over your chest to cage your body from the vulnerability you had let seep through the cracks of the walls you had meticulously built up over years and years of survival.
βOh, now donβt act all shy on me now, sweetheart. Youβre the only person in the past eight years who has shown me anything other than disgust, and you think I'm going to just let that go? Nah, I'm gonna bask in the ambiance a little bit.β He breathily laughs as his eyes dart around your face for a few more moments. βI'd be lying if I said I wasnβt gonna miss you too, though. Youβve always been softer with me compared to the others; I just never really thought there was a reason for it.β
You watch his arrogant smile, but for some reason canβt find yourself to be angry with it; instead, your body begins to relax, and those walls begin to crumble. βYou know, all I said was that I was going to miss you. Doesnβt mean I'm in love with you or anything.β You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes.
He chuckles, standing straight, before pulling a chair from the corner of the room; its legs scrape along the wood, sending splinters bouncing and jumping from the floorboards. He turns the back of the chair towards you before straddling the seat and placing his arms crisscrossed along its back. Β Your eyes lock onto his strong thighs that are placed on either side of the chair before darting back up to his face, a subtle movement that went unnoticed.
A gleam of light shines through the window honeying the hazel color of his irises, and for a moment you feel trapped within their pools.
βWell, youβve already admitted that youβd miss me; what's the harm in confessing your love too?β He smirks, the laugh lines creating deep grooves in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth.
You breathlessly laugh, once again rolling your eyes, a habit that would surely be repeated multiple times during this conversation, something that Negan wouldnβt mind if it meant that your playful banter would continue. His heart began to feel too big for his chest when he caught the smile that played across your lips, a welcome feeling that had been lost to him in the dark, dingy cell back in Alexandria.
βMaybe I should leave you here; youβre obviously delusional. A crazed man shouldnβt be among the people of Alexandria.β You jokingly tease as a quiet giggle bubbles from your throat, and he almost misses it. Just almost.
His tongue grazes the bottom of his molars while still flashing those devastatingly beautiful teeth as he scans the window to the right of you. βYou know, we could just stay here then. Maybe figure out what's up with that little love confession thing you got going there.β Negan may be a little daft and unaccustomed to human emotion, but he caught the falter in your eyes when he suggested you stay in the cabin with him. Your heart was in Alexandria. It was your home. You knew it, and so did he.
A sigh leaves your lips and his once hopeful eyey filled with light begin to flicker out. βYou know I canβt stay here with you, Negan. Alexandria needs me just as much as I need it. I canβt just drop my home, my friends, my family.β You could practically feel the emotion radiating from him as his shoulders slouched and his eyes met the floor.
βYou're rightβ¦β He admits. βPeople need you; I know that. They need you more than theyβll ever need me.β In that moment, you realize the impact your words had on him. He had no friends, no family. Yes, he had done horrible things in the past that caused this, but he has worked hard to redeem himself, to prove that he was a different person.
For a moment, the only sound around you was the crackling of the fire and the birds singing their morning songs. You swore you could hear his rapid heartbeat mingled in amongst the deafening silence. Your voice staled before finding the right words, βI didnβt mean anything by it, Negan. I'm sorry.β He shakes his head, gazing out the window again, lost in his own thoughts. βPeople in Alexandria may not see it, but they need you just as much as they need me. You have people who depend on you despite the way they may feel. The others still need time to heal, Negan, but that doesnβt mean you donβt have people in your corner. You have friends there too. Lydia, Judith, meβ¦β
He quickly stands, the legs of the chair chipping away at the already damaged boards. βI wouldnβt be out here if that were true. Let'sβ¦ let's just get you back.β He takes a few large strides in your direction before tucking his arm under yours and looping it around your waist. With little to no strength, he pulls you to your feet, causing pain that blooms in your ankle. The pain doesnβt stop you from becoming irrational, though. Survival being your main instinct leads directly to your next course of action. You open your palm weakly, connecting it to his chest repeatedly. Empty thumps echo through his body all the way to his ribcage before he reaches down to grab your hand. He's much larger than you forcing you to hobble towards the cabins door.
βLet me go! Negan! Fuck!β You continue to assault his chest with open-hand wallops. His grip on your wrist tightens as he untangles his arm from around your midsection. In an instant, he pulls you to his chest; one hand grips your waist to stabilize you while the other holds the insulting hand. His face is inches from yours, and once again, his breath dances along the bridge of your nose and along your cheeks.
βStop!β His voice booms through the cabin, loud enough that you're sure any walkers in the nearby area may have heard it. βYou need to go homeβ¦β His words come out shakily, and you know he's fighting an internal battle between his wants and what he thinks is right for your community and his own survival. βI donβt have a home. And thatβs okay, but you do, so please, let's just go.β He sounds defeated and almost broken, and thatβs when you see it. The raw, unfiltered emotion behind his eyes. Enough proof to show that he has feelings, that he is remorseful about his past, and that people, regardless of their situation, can change.
Your eyes dart across his face, catching the melancholy look painted along his features before they land on his lips. You're not entirely sure where your boldness stems from, but it doesnβt matter because mere seconds later, your lips meet his. He tenses, freezing in place while his heavy-lidded eyes watch you. Your lashes flutter shut as you lean into his body, attempting to deepen the kiss. Negan's guard falls; his motions follow yours, eyelids shutting, body giving in to the warm temptation yours offers.
His lips are soft; softer than your wildest dreams could have imagined. The scruff of his beard rubs against your lips and chin, burning the sensitive skin, but you can't find it in yourself to care. His grip tightens around your waist, and for a moment youβre both lost in one another, fitting together like a set of perfectly fitted puzzle pieces.
He releases your wrist, the loss of contact giving your hand no place to go other than to the back of his scalp, where your fingers dance in the short locks. A small moan slips past your lips. He gulps it down, swallowing the sound and returning it with a content sigh. Heβs the first to pull away, and for the first time his eyes are soft. There is no malice behind them, no jest, just contentment.
βPlease come home with me. Iβll tell Carol it's okay. Iβll help you keep an eye out for Maggie, but please donβt stay here. Donβt leave Lydia. She needs you, Negan. I need you.β His internal battle continues. He knows what staying entails. Heβd have to sleep with one eye open, feel the gazes of Alexandria's residents burn into his back, but maybe, just maybe, it would be okay now that he has a reason to stay.
βWhat changed?β His question comes out abruptly, but you know what he's asking. Why did you suddenly care about him? Why didnβt you hate him like the others?
You see the need behind his eyes, the want for answers. Who are you to deny him such? βYou did, Negan. You changed. I've seen it. You used to be just a shell of a person, but now you care, and it shows. You help our community. You helped Lydia when no one else would.β Your hand trails down his face, thumb running along his cheekbone, his soft flesh a nice contrast in comparison to your rough thumb pad.
βI remember what you did, and Iβll probably never forget, but we all went through the same traumatic experience of an unannounced apocalypse. Some of us just dealt with it differently. Who am I to deny you a future away from your past mistakes? Iβm neither judge nor jury, Negan.β His eyes soften, and the laugh lines return when a gentle smile forms along his face. βIt may take time for them to see it, but I'm a start. Soon theyβll follow. The world will forgive and go on, so eventually everyone will do the same.β
He chuckles, βHave you always been so poetic?β He pokes, but there is no malice behind it. He leans down, gently pecking your lips. βLetβs go home.β His arm once again snakes under yours as he assists you from the cabin, now ready to endure the people of Alexandria thanks to you.
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