Warning(s): Fluff. Language. Tired Negan. Slightly grumpy Negan. Soft Negan. Daddy!Negan. Dick joke. SHIRTLESS JDM GIFs and images!!
Author’s Note(s): I wrote this story this morning at 6:30 am, after I couldn’t sleep all night long. Insomnia sucks ass. Despite having a major writer’s block for the last several months, this idea hit me and I just had to type it up. I hope y’all like it!
His voice a half yell, a half sigh as he spoke. Sleep still laced his words, trying hard to cling to the syllables as he rubbed his face against the pillow before sluggishly pushing himself outta bed, leaving the soft, memory foam mattress behind. Strolling over to the thick wooden door that sealed off his quarters, Negan grunted.
The last thing he wanted was to be disturbed. It was too early for this shit. Well, too early in the afternoon, anyway. It’d been a rough day, running things in the Sanctuary. He’d had to iron a fucker’s face as a punishment that now seemed pointless at the current time. But, it had been important for him to remind his people of the rules, and the subsequent consequences of those rules being broken.
He never liked ironing people’s faces, and it always exhausted the fuck outta him, which is why he’d been napping before some fucker knocked on his door. But, he still did it. The ironing. He had to do it. As leader, it was his job. He was the one to enforce the rules in order to keep his people safe. That’s why…
His thoughts trailed off as he jerked the door open, glaring at the person on the other side, intent to rip them a new one for disturbing him and waking him from his much-needed nap.
“What the fu-” He stopped mid-sentence as he took in the sight of the person standing in the hallway, in front of him.
Reader’s P.O.V:
You cringed when you heard him cuss out loud before the noises of shuffling on the other side of the door could be heard. You hadn’t wanted to disturb him, but you had no other choice. You bit your lip as you waited for him to open the door. As soon as it was flung open, your throat closed up and your heart pounded faster in your chest and loudly in your ears.
You barely heard his faltering question when the door was no longer separating the both of y’all. You could see the concern flash over his face, quickly followed by the flash of worry as he furrowed his brow. Your eyes followed his hand as it moved from the doorframe to run through his hair that was no longer slicked back, but rather ruffled from what you could only assume was his pillow.
You watched as he ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up more. You watched his lips move, but couldn’t hear anything he was saying as the sound of your heartbeat in your ears drowned him out. He reached a hand forward and placed it on your shoulder. That seemed to calm you down real fuckin’ quick.
After a moment, you took a deep breath and blinked, looking up at him.
“Doll?” He asked again.
You shook your head. “Huh?”
He tried to hide the small smile tugging on his lips but failed. His dimples showed as he let out a soft, breathy chuckle.
“I asked what’s wrong? You ok?” He repeated his earlier questions that you hadn’t heard over the beating of your heart.
“Y-y-ye…” You started, but stopped, shaking your head. “No. I’m sorry to bother you, but…” You lifted your arms, showing him what was in them.
Negan’s eyes softened and he nodded. “Say no more, sweetheart.”
His long arms reached out and his hands gently plucked the bundle outta your arms and cradled it to him. He took a step back, giving you room to enter into his living area as he cradled the bundle in his arms. Stepping in, you watched, in awe and amusement as he held your infant son close, and started murmuring softly to the little boy.
You watched, not noticing the door closing, as your son slowly stopped wailing at the top of his little lungs as he stared, wide eyed up at the badass, bat-wielding leader of the Sanctuary. You heard Negan’s chuckle as he lowered his head and placed a soft kiss on the boy’s head. He looked up at you as your son cuddled to him, his chubby little fingers curling ‘round the hairs that covered Negan’s chest.
He smiled, dimples showing once more. “Not quite what I was fuckin’ expectin’ after being woken up from my damn nap.”
You swallowed deeply. “I…I’m sorry, sir. He’s been screaming bloody murder for the last two and a half hours. I tried everything and then some before I finally came up here.”
He smirked. “It’s no fuckin’ problem, sweetheart. Looks like he just wanted me.”
You let out a shaky laugh and nodded, shrugging. “I guess so. I dunno how you do it, but you seem to be the only one who can calm him these days.”
His smirk grew even more. “I’ve just got the touch, I guess. From the moment I met this cute little fucker and his fuckin’ beautiful as shit mother.”
You blushed, hoping he wouldn’t notice as he turned his attention back to the little boy in his arms.
“You just wanted Daddy Negan, didn’t you, little man? Hmmm? Yea. You fuckin’ did.” He chuckled as he cooed at the little boy.
He laughed softly as the boy let out a quiet giggle of his own and snuggled closer to Negan’s chest. You watched, wondering how the hell Negan managed to quiet your son, and make him giggle. As you watched the two of them, that was when you fully noticed Negan. You sucked in a quiet breath as your eyes raked over him.
He was completely shirtless, his tanned skin, chest hair, and numerous tattoos on full display. Your eyes lowered, from his chest to your sons in his arms, and still lower. You bit your lip a little bit as you took in the sight of a pair of holey blue jeans, hanging low on his hips, zipped up but unbuttoned. You could clearly see “AMERICAN EAGLE” stitched in on the dark blue waistband of his boxers he had on under his jeans.
The thick band still hung low enough to show off his abs, and the trail of hair that led to what his pants were covering. You took another breath in and tried not to stare at the developed and clearly prominent V-line of his. You forced your eyes to look lower so you wouldn’t get distracted and your thoughts wouldn’t wander more than they already had.
He was barefoot, which you had already assumed since Negan had been napping before you woke him up. He didn’t even have socks on. Not that you blamed him. It was fuckin’ hotter than Satan’s balls in a sauna on a hot July day in Georgia. The heat was also the most likely cause for the thin layer of sweat that covered his skin.
“Doll?”
You brought your eyes up to meet Negan’s once you heard his soft voice.
“Huh?” You asked.
He laughed and shook his head. “I asked if you were enjoying the view?”
You blushed harder, no longer able to idea it. “Maybe?”
His head tossed back as he let out a deep bellied laugh.
“Maybe my ass! Damn. I ain’t been checked out like that in at least 20 years, and that’s fuckin’ sayin’ somethin’ since I used to have 4 fuckin’ wives!” He smirked.
You raised a brow. “Used to?”
He nodded and grinned as he padded across the soft carpet to his bed. He plopped down on the side of the mattress that was still messed up from his nap a few minutes prior. He swung his feet up, kicking the sheets outta the way as he got comfortable, and leaned back, shifting your son so he was comfortable on Negan’s chest.
The Sanctuary’s leader patted the spot next to him, gesturing for you to settle next to him.
“Mmhhmm. Used to. I got rid of ‘em after I met you and this little munchkin a few months ago.” He said.
You walked over and laid next to him, kicking your shoes off before you climbed up in his huge ass bed, snuggling up to him. This…the three of y’all like this, in his bed…was something that happened quite often since he’d brought you to the Sanctuary 3 months ago.
From the moment Negan had found you and your newborn son, hiding out in a store, and he’d taken your screaming son in an attempt to quiet him, the little boy only quieted for Negan. He could tell you were stressed, trying not to panic from fear that the walkers would find you since your son had been screaming as loud as his little body would allow.
He’d gently taken him from your arms, staying close to you so as to keep you from panicking more as a random stranger taking your son. You’d started to protest, but quickly stopped as your son nestled to Negan’s leather jacket and quieted down the moment he was in the man’s arms. Negan had chuckled, much like he did today, while you’d let out a breath of relief, your panic washing away.
As he’d rocked your son to sleep in his arms, Negan told you about the Sanctuary, and offered to bring you both back. He’d explained the rules, and offered you the same offer he gave to anyone he came across. Only, he’d also offered you the position of being one of his wives. You’d turned that down quickly.
Explaining that you were sure he didn’t want a “wife” who had so much baggage and a child, you’d told him that you’d work for points. He didn’t hide his disappointment, but you could tell he’d respected your choice. When he brought you and your son to the old factory, he set you up in a room that you didn’t have to share, so it was just you and your little boy.
He told you, as he’d laid your sleeping son down, that if you needed anything, not to hesitate to let him know. It hadn’t been until you were in the cafeteria one morning, and someone dropped their tray, startling your little boy from his slumber, making him wail, and Negan came over and gently took him, quieting him down, that you took the man up on his offer.
After that day, it was clear that your son loved Negan and would only quiet down when he was with him. You and Negan had gotten closer during the visits y’all shared as he soothed your boy back to sleep. Many of those visits had consisted of you and Negan curled up in his bed as he held your son against his chest, rubbing his back.
Just like y’all were today. You looked up at Negan after he just dropped the bomb about his wives.
“Why?” You asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t need them anymore. Got tired of their bullshit. It’s not like I fuckin’ loved any of them. There have been three people in my life that I loved, and I already lost one of them. I wasn’t gonna lose the other two because I wanted to keep the wives. So, I sent ‘em fuckin’ packin’. They were damn happy ‘bout it.”
“I thought Lucille was the only person you loved?” You asked softly.
You knew his first, real wife was a tough subject for him, but he’d opened up to you ‘bout her one night.
He nodded. “She was. Until I met this kid who was screamin’ his lungs out and fuckin’ freakin’ his mama out.”
He glanced at you as he kissed the little boy’s head. It hit you as to what he was saying. You swallowed deeply and your eyes searched yours. You could see it. The love in them. The emotions.
“Us?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded again, slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Mmhhmm. So, I fuckin’ let ‘em go. Just having you and this screamer…that’s all I needed. Even if you didn’t feel the same way. In a sense, you’d given me the chance to be a dad, and I wasn’t gonna fuck that up. Don’t worry. You don’t have to feel the same way. I just figured you’d wanna know the reason behind why I fuckin’ got rid of the wives. I’m content with just being here when he’s screaming so I can soothe him the fuck back to sleep.”
“I…I…” You started but when you couldn’t find the words, you just laid your head on his shoulder and stared at your son as you processed what he was saying.
Negan looked back at your little boy, who was now sound asleep and snuggled to his chest. He smiled and kissed his head when a thought struck him. Not looking away from the baby in his arms, he voiced his thought.
“Have you decided on a name yet?”
You smiled and nodded. When Negan had first found y’all, you still hadn’t given your son a name yet. Nothing seemed right for the precious baby who came into your life. Nothing, that is, until 2 months ago.
That was when you decided on the perfect name for him.
“Alexander.” You murmured, and glanced up when Negan took a breath in.
“Alexander? As in my middle name?” He blinked. “You named him after me?”
You giggled and nodded against his shoulder again. “Figured it’d be fitting for him to be named after the only man in his life. His Daddy. I just couldn’t bring myself to call him Negan too. ‘Specially not since you named your dick ‘Negan Jr.’.”
He laughed as he teared. “I can’t believe I fuckin’ told you that. But, you really named him Alexander? After me? You remembered me telling you ‘bout my middle name?”
You smiled and nodded again. “Mmhhmm. I named him after his Daddy, and the man I love.”
His eyes widened at your confession and he teared more. “Well, fuck me! This was so fuckin’ worth bein’ woken up from a nap.”
You laughed. “That’s not happenin’ right now. He just got to sleep. We are not going to risk wakin’ him up again. But, soon. We can.”
He grinned and kissed your head. “I’m gonna fuckin’ hold you to that. But I agree. What do you say we take a nap? As a family?”
You smiled and snuggled closer to him. “I’d fuckin’ like that.”
He grinned when you used his favorite fuckin’ word. Moving slightly, he wrapped an arm ‘round your shoulders and held you and the baby close. You snuggled to him and kept your head on his shoulder as you soon dozed off too.
“My family.” He murmured, a silly grin on his face. “I love my fuckin’ family.”
Summary: Based on SPN, S1, E21 “Salvation”. John gets threatened by Meg the demon if he doesn’t give the Colt to her. Meg threatens him, and harms Leigh while still on the phone. John tricks Meg by handing over a fake Colt. John, thinking Leigh (who’s the only woman to help him with hunting, with the boys, with coping with the loss of Mary, and also the woman he loves) is dead, goes to give Meg the Colt. On the way there, he gets a call from the hospital saying his wife has been involved in an accident. It takes him a minute to realize that Leigh’s actually alive since their secret code was to call each other husband and wife if they ever got in trouble. The search for the demon that killed Mary is put on hold. There’s never the car crash that happens at the end of S1, so John doesn’t need to make a deal with the yellow-eyed demon to save Dean.
Warning(s): Language. Angst. Threats - spoken, unspoken, well known, good, and bad. Violence. Fluff. Leigh’s a badass. Not beta’d, so...there’s that. I only have Grammarly used on this.
Author’s Note(s): Hey, y’all! I know it’s been a really long, hot minute since I last posted an update. Writer’s block is an absolute demon. Depression too. And with everything else going on this year, it’s just been crazy! But, here’s a John Winchester One-Shot! If I get enough feedback for it, I’ll do a part 2! But y’all gotta let me know! Hope everyone’s staying safe, staying negative from COVID, and that y’all have a Happy Holiday season! As always, I’m here, so feel free to reach out!
Word Count: 3,828 words
Relationship(s): John Winchester x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic].
Characters: John Winchester. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester. Demon!Meg. Mary Winchester (Mentioned).
“Meg.” Sam says into his phone, shock lacing his voice.
My head jerks up from where I’d had it resting in my hands after arguing with the boys, well Dean really, ‘bout them not being able to get me to answer the phone. I know I suck at phone calls. To be honest, I really can’t stand phones...they’re just too confusing for my 51-year-old ass, even if you’d never know that’s how old I am since I look like I’m in my late 30s, maybe late 40s.
I’d much rather use a landline than a cell phone. It’s a miracle the ones I do have even stay charged. I have Leigh to thank for that. She’s been my saving grace, my salvation for well over two and a half decades. Hell, maybe even longer than that. She helped me raise the boys after my wife, Mary, died when Sammy was six months old, even though she was just barely outta her teenage years herself.
She was 15 when we first met 25 years ago and she became Dean’s babysitter and later Sammy’s. After Mary died, Leigh was right there, willing to help me with the boys as I set out on the mission to find Mary’s killer. I’d never wanted to get her dragged into the lifestyle of a Hunter, but she insisted, saying someone needed to help take care of the boys.
And...after rescuing her when her parents were killed by a werewolf a few years later, she stuck ‘round even more. By that point, she was 22, and made it clear she was an adult and could do whatever she wanted which just so happened to stick with the boys and I. So, I did what I had to, and we learned the ropes of being a Hunter together.
After Sam went to college a few years ago, it was just Dean, Leigh, and I. We continued on hunting. Sometimes, Dean would go on his own hunts, but Leigh would always stick right by my side, hunting with me. Somewhere around the time that Dean was in high school, Leigh and I ended up together.
I was hesitant at first, considering I’d known her since she was a teenager, but she pointed out that she was only 10 years younger than me and had always had a crush on me. So, after a rough hunt and a night of patching each other up, we’d fallen into bed together. From that point on, we were together.
The boys approved even if Dean had been a little hesitant at first; he didn’t want anyone to take his mom’s place. No one would ever take Mary’s place, but there was no denying the role Leigh had in all of our lives. She’d been the one to calm me down after Sam left for college, something I’d always wanted for my boys, but after being a Hunter for so long, I was only worried ‘bout their safety.
That was why I didn’t want Sam to go to California, to Stanford. I felt if he were there, I wouldn’t be able to protect him as easily from the things that go bump in the night. But, Leigh calmed me down, telling me that Sam was an adult now, and could make his own choices as well as being able to protect himself since we’d taught the boys a lot of what we knew.
The only reason Leigh’s not here, with us, with me, is because she went to see our friend and fellow Hunter, Caleb up in Lincoln, Nebraska, and help him with a case. The boys and I are working a lead that, hopefully, brings us closer to finding Yellow Eyes, the man, well, the demon responsible for Mary’s death.
Both Dean and I stare at Sam as we listen to his conversation with Meg. A woman who’d befriended Sam when he and Dean had a spat outside of a small town in Indiana a while back. She made her true colors show when she’d tried to have them killed. Only...she ended up falling out of a seven-story window.
There’s no way a human could’ve survived a fall like which means...she’s not human...she must be...fuck. She’s a demon. I get pulled outta my thoughts when I hear Sam’s voice and feel his eyes on me.
“My dad. I don’t know where my dad is.” He says.
I raise a brow, running a hand over my face and letting out a sigh. I stand and walk over to the motel window, looking out of it for a moment before turning back to Sam in time to see him holding his phone out to me. I sigh again and take it.
“This is John.” I say, my voice deep and empty of any emotions.
“Howdy, John. I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood…”
My heart tightens in my chest at her words. Jim was a close friend, fellow Hunter, and a priest. He was also murdered yesterday. I found out from Caleb when the boys and I were heading up here to Salvation, Iowa. Jim’s death...hit hard. It wasn’t ideal to get close to anyone, not in our line of work, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.
“...Still there John-boy?” Meg’s voice cuts through the phone again.
“I’m here.” I ground out.
“Well, that was yesterday. Today, I’m in Lincoln.”
My heart tightens again.
“Visiting another old friend of yours.”
My lungs stop working.
“She wants to say hi.”
My knees nearly buckle as my stomach drops to my chest. No. No. God-fuckin’-dammit! No! I take in a breath, trying not to give away the turmoil currently going on inside me. ‘Specially not when I hear her voice through the phone.
“John, whatever you do don’t give…”
I hear Meg shush Leigh and my heart breaks.
“Leigh?” I let out in a deep breath, trying my best to keep my emotions from being relayed to Meg.
The boys both jerk their heads up and look at me, worry and confusion on their faces. I blink and close my eyes for a second.
“You listen to me.” I tell Meg. “She’s got nothing to do with anything. You let her go.”
“We know you have the Colt, John.” Meg replies, her voice even.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Oh. Ok. Well, listen to this.”
My brows furrow and a moment later, my whole world comes crashing down. The sound of a knife or something equally sharp slashing through something followed by the sound of Leigh gasping and clearing drowning in her own blood fills the phone. I slump against the wall, my knees barely holding me up at this point.
“Leigh. Leigh!” I somehow manage to yell, nearly crushing the phone against the side of my face.
“Save the boys, husband.” I hear the love of my life croak out as she bleeds to death.
My heart breaks at the title, something I’d dreamt ‘bout hearing her call me for the last few years, but hadn’t happened, and was really just our code word we’d use when we were in a tough situation and wanted to let each other know everything was gonna be ok. Except. This time. It wouldn’t be ok.
Not as I hear the sounds from Leigh slow.
“You hear that?” Meg taunts. “That’s the sound of your friend dying. Now, let’s try this again. We know you have the Colt, John. Word travels fast. So, as far as we’re concerned, you just declared war. And this is what war looks like. It has casualties.”
I growl. “I’m gonna kill you. You know that?”
She laughs. “Oh, John, please. Mind your blood pressure. So, this is the thing. We’re going to keep doing what we’re doing. And your friends, anyone who has ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you ever loved. They’ll all die. Unless you give us that gun.”
I take in a deep breath, not saying a word as I listen to her words and try my damndest to hear any sign from Leigh. Something to tell me she’s still alive. But I know...I know it’s not possible. Leigh’s dead. The love of my life. The first woman I’ve let myself love since Mary. The woman who helped raise my sons.
The badass woman who I was gonna ask to marry me once I’d ganked the evil son of a bitch that killed Mary. The only woman who had somehow broken down all the walls I’d built up. She was dead and I’d failed her. Failed to protect her. Failed to...fuck. I’d failed her. And I couldn’t fail her anymore by letting Meg and her demon friends kill more of mine and Leigh’s friends or any other innocent person.
“I’m waiting, Johnny.” Meg says. “Better answer before the buzzer.”
“Okay.” I sigh.
“Sorry? I didn’t quite get that.”
“I said okay. I’ll bring you the Colt.”
***
Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Lincoln, Nebraska
After Meg slit my throat, and I managed to croak out a few words to John, everything got darker with each passing second. By the time Meg hung up the phone with John, I’m barely holding on. I can feel my heart barely beating and breathing is almost impossible, but I refuse to give up. I refuse to die like this.
So, I make it seem like I had. This ain’t the first time I’ve faked my death. But it is the first time I’ve faked it while being alone. Meg being in the room doesn’t count. I mean being alone by not having the Winchesters nearby. Just barely holding on, I hold my breath and keep my eyes open, staring right at Meg.
I want her to think I’m dead and for her to stare right into my eyes as she does. I watch, not moving, not blinking, barely conscious, as she tosses the phone on my lap, and sneers at me.
“What the hell are you looking at?” She hisses before walking outta Caleb’s office.
I wait for a solid 15 seconds, even though it feels like an eternity, to make sure she’s truly gone before I force my thumb to press five buttons on my phone, hoping it’s right. A second later, I hear the call connect as it starts ringing, the noise amplified by the speaker. Another second passes before I hear the call truly connect.
“911. What’s your emergency?” The operator asks.
“Ambulance.” I croak out. “Now. Please.”
“Ma’am? I’m sorry. I need you to repeat that. Can you speak up?”
“Ambulance. Now.” I try to say louder.
“Ma’am? What’s your location?”
I try to get the address to Caleb’s out, only hoping the operator can make sense of it. I know my GPS is turned on, so hopefully, she can trace it.
“Ambulance.” I manage to get out once more.
It’s a miracle I’ve managed to hang on this long, let alone get this much out. But, of course, every miracle ends at some point. As soon as I get the word, everything goes black.
***
I come to, briefly, to bright lights, loud noises, and a bunch of people standing over me.
“My husband. John Winchester. Call him.” I say, hoping it’s loud ‘nough.
One of the people standing over me says something, but I don’t hear him. Everything goes dark again as I pass out again.
***
John’s P.O.V. ~ Lincoln, Nebraska
Getting outta my truck, I answer my phone without looking at the caller ID. I don’t care who’s calling me. Not anymore. Everything’s numb. Yes, I have my sons, but for the second time in my life, I’ve lost the woman I love. The boys warned me that this was a suicide mission. There’s only one reason Meg would want me to come alone with the Colt, but I told them I didn’t care.
Sam looked at me with understanding in his eyes since he knew what I was going through from where he’d lost his girlfriend, Jess, a few months ago. Dean tried to argue with me, but I just gave him a look and he shut up. We arranged for me to bring Mega a fake version of the Colt in order to buy the boys some time so they could finish out the hunt and finally kill Yellow Eyes, once and for all.
I flip the phone open and press it to my ear as I stare up at the warehouse where I’m supposed to be meeting Meg.
“What?” I say into the phone.
“Is this John Winchester?” The man on the other end says, making me tense up.
“Yes. Who is this and how did you get this number?”
“Your wife. Your contact was in her phone.”
I furrow my brow. “My wife?”
“Yes, sir. Your wife. I’m sorry to tell you that she’s been attacked, but she’s at Bryan Medical Center West Campus.”
“Wait. What? My wife? Attacked? She’s alive?”
“Yes, sir. She is. She’s in surgery now.”
“I’ll be there soon!”
With that, I hang up my phone, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest.
“She’s alive.” I whisper to myself. “My fuckin’ badass girl. She’s alive.”
I glance around, spot a water tower on the roof of the warehouse, and after checking my pockets for the rosary beads, I head up there. I bless the water, turning it into holy water. If Meg’s a demon, she’s gonna fuckin’ pay even more for what she put my girl through. After blessing the water, I head inside the warehouse.
I make my way to one of the large, empty rooms, knowing that’s where Meg’ll be. Guess I’m early. She’s not here yet. Fuck. I just want to get this over with. Looking around, I realize I can rig something up to put the water lines on a makeshift timer. So, I do. Then, I scrawl out a note, telling Meg how sorry I am I missed her, even though it’s not true, and that I hope she rots in hell.
That part’s true.
Once I have the note written and the timer set up, I lay the Colt on the floor with the note, and then book it back to my truck. Even if this isn’t how I wanted things to go with Meg, I don’t give a shit. Even though I haven’t slept in two days, and am running off of straight caffeine, I don’t give a shit. Leigh’s alive, and I’m not gonna waste another minute not by her side.
I tear outta the warehouse parking lot, rushing to the hospital. As I drive, I call Dean.
“Dad?” He asks. “How’d it go with Meg?”
“She’s alive.” I blurt out, talking ‘bout Leigh.
“Meg? You left her alive?!”
“No! I didn’t see her. Something came up. I left her a note. She might come for y’all…”
“Left her a note? Why? What came up?”
“I got a call from the hospital. Leigh...Dean...Leigh’s alive.”
“She is?!?! What? How?”
“Yes. She is. So, I’m heading to the hospital. I’ve got to be by her side. But. I wanted to let you know. In case Meg shows up.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for her, dad. Don’t worry. You stay with Leigh. We’ll come as soon as we’re done here.”
“Thanks, son.”
Our conversation ends a few moments later. I pull into a parking spot at the hospital a few minutes later. As soon as I’m parked, I have the keys outta ignition and in my pocket as I rush outta the truck and into the hospital. I take a deep breath once I’m inside, trying to calm my nerves. The last thing I need is to appear even more outta it than I already am.
I run my fingers through my already messed up hair and then down my face, taking another deep breath in. When I’m done, I walk over to the nurse’s station.
“Excuse me, miss?” I say in what I hope is a soft, non-shaky tone.
The young nurse looks up from her computer. I give her a small smile.
“Yes, sir?” She asks, blushing a little.
“Hi. I got a call. My wife...she was attacked...they said she was here?”
“Wife? What’s her name?” Her fingers resting on her keyboard.
“Leigh Sullivan.”
She nods and quickly types my girl’s name into the computer. Whatever she sees on the screen has her eyes widening more than the Grand Canyon. My heart falls deeper into the pit of my stomach.
“What? What is it?” I ask, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tight that my knuckles turn white.
“Nothing, sir. I just...your wife, sir…” She starts.
I swallow deeply, expecting the worst. “Yes?”
She looks up at me. “Sir, your wife is one of the most badass women I’ve ever heard of. To survive having her throat slit and still making a 911 call? I respect her.”
I let out a deep breath. “So she’s still alive?”
“Oh! Yes. I’m sorry. She is. She’s outta surgery now too.”
“Thank fuck. Can you tell me what room? I got a badass woman to see and tell her she’s loved.”
The nurse smiles. “Of course, sir. She’s in room 214.”
“Thank you.”
I give her another smile and then head to room 214. Standing in front of the door, I urge myself to try and calm down. The last thing Leigh needs is to see me panicking. Slowly, I open the door and step inside. As my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I take everything in. The Hunter in me looks for anything unusual.
Seeing nothing outta the ordinary, the normal part of me focuses on the figure lying in the hospital bed. My heart breaks as my feet shuffle forward. Leigh’s lying there, hooked up to a bunch of different machines with a thick band of gauze ‘round her neck. Aside from that, she looks like she’s peaceful, almost as if she’s just sleeping.
I slump down in the chair next to her side, and immediately take her small hand in both of my much larger ones. Bringing it to my lips, I kiss her knuckles, not paying attention to the tears rolling down my cheeks. It’s been years since I’ve cried. I haven’t allowed myself that luxury. But now...I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to. I thought I’d lost Leigh, but my girl...she’s a fuckin’ fighter. I hold her hand tightly, not wanting to let go.
“Leigh? Baby, I’m here.” I tell her, my voice shaky and full of emotions. “Wake up for me? I wanna see those beautiful eyes, that stunning smile, and hear you tell me that I’m a fuckin’ dumbass. So, wake up? For me? Please?”
When she doesn’t respond, I place another kiss to her knuckles. I didn’t really expect her to wake up. Not right now at least. She’s been through hell. She needs her rest. Hell, I need my own rest too, and I end up falling asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair, Leigh’s hand in mine, and my head by her hip.
***
Over the next week, I stay by Leigh’s side. The boys eventually show up a couple of days later, looking just as exhausted as I do. Dean tells me that he killed Meg, says it was payback for what she’d done to Leigh. Sam stays by Leigh’s side, holding her other hand. Four days after the attack, Dean looks at me.
“Dad?” He starts.
I look up at him. “Hmmm?”
“You should go shower, get something to eat, get some actual sleep.”
“I’m not leaving her, Dean.”
“I know, Dad. But, you need to take care of yourself. You haven’t really been sleeping, and I know for a fact that you haven’t taken a shower in nearly a week. You’re starting to stink. We both know that Leigh wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
I sigh. “I’ll take a shower in the bathroom there.” I point to the bathroom attached to Leigh’s hospital room. “Can you go get my bag from my truck? The one with the clothes, not the guns.”
Dean nods. “I’ll do that. And I’ll run out and get some food too, while you shower. Sammy can stay with Leigh.”
I run a hand over my face, nodding. “Fine. But I won’t take a long shower. I don’t...I just gotta be here when she wakes up.”
Both of my boys nod in understanding. Dean leaves the room while I stand and look at Sam.
“I won’t leave her side, Dad. Go shower. You stink worse than that hunt we were on when all the showers in the town stopped working ‘cause of the monster.” He says.
Unable to stop the small, soft chuckle that escapes my lips at his words, I nod. I lay a hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort before I lean down and place a soft kiss on Leigh’s forehead.
“I’ll be right back, baby. Your old man’s gotta go get cleaned up so you don’t ditch his ass when you wake up.” I whisper, half jokingly.
She doesn’t respond, but I don’t let it crush my hopes. Not any more than they’ve already been crushed. I make my way to the bathroom, and turn the shower on. While I’m in there, Dean cracks the door.
“Dad? I’m putting your bag by the door here.” He says.
“Thanks, son.” I call out as I wash my hair and beard.
He just let out a grunt in response and the door shuts once again. Dean’s always been more of the silent type unless he’s being a smart ass, but when it comes to him hurting, he’s always been more silent instead of letting his emotions completely show. After I’m as cleaned up as I can be in a hospital shower, I step out, dry off, and tug on a pair of semi-clean jeans, an old tee, and one of my plaid button-up shirts that Leigh loves the most.
I open the bathroom door and glance toward the bed. I see beautiful hazel eyes staring back at me.
“Leigh.” I rush over to her side.
I lean down and gently capture her lips with mine. After a few seconds, I pull away and look into her eyes.
“I love you, Leigh.” I whisper.
She smiles slightly with droopy eyes. Even when she’s like this, she’s so fuckin’ beautiful.
“You don’t have to say anything but I wanted you to know.” I smile widely. “I’ll say it forever if you’ll let me. Get some more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
I kiss her forehead as her eyes close. Yep. I’m definitely proposing soon.
You’d think that after 22 years of being around each other, Negan would know when not to mess with Leigh. You’d think that after 22 years of being best friends and married for the last 20, Negan would know when not to touch Leigh’s food. You’d think that after 22 years of watching Leigh threaten and even punch people for touching her food, that Negan would know better.
You’d think this...and you’d be just as wrong as Negan. Despite the fact that the only person allowed to “steal” Leigh’s food is Negan himself, even there comes a time, and a dish, that Leigh just won’t share. Not even with her own husband. You’d think Negan would know this...both before, but especially after, the end of the world and the dead started walking the Earth.
You’d think that Negan would know not to touch Leigh’s bacon.
Warning(s): Language. Angst, maybe? Threats - spoken, unspoken, well known, good, and bad. Rules - both Negan and Leigh’s. Violence - Seriously, Don’t fuck with Leigh. Negan being an ass ‘cause, well, he’s Negan. Leigh takes Lucille’s place in the comics but doesn’t die. Secret relationship - well, secret to every-fuckin’-one that’s not Negan or Leigh. Leigh’s a badass. Not beta’d, so...there’s that. I only have Grammarly used on this.
Author’s Note(s): Here’s that new Negan fic I mentioned! :)
Word Count: 2,631 words
Relationship(s): Negan x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic].
You’d think that after 22 years of being around each other, Negan would know when not to mess with Leigh. You’d think that after 22 years of being best friends and married for the last 20, Negan would know when not to touch Leigh’s food. You’d think that after 22 years of watching Leigh threaten and even punch people for touching her food, that Negan would know better.
You’d think this...and you’d be just as wrong as Negan. Despite the fact that the only person allowed to “steal” Leigh’s food is Negan himself, even there comes a time, and a dish, that Leigh just won’t share. Not even with her own husband. You’d think Negan would know this...both before, but especially after, the end of the world and the dead started walking the Earth.
You’d think that Negan would know not to touch Leigh’s bacon.
***
Leigh’s P.O.V. ~
Sitting across the table from Negan as we eat breakfast in the cafeteria, I listen to my husband talk ‘bout the plans for the day’s scavenging runs with Simon as I glance down at my tray. Since we had a pretty good haul yesterday, the kitchen was able to whip up some scrambled eggs, french toast, and bacon. The bacon’s a treat for those of us that can afford it by havin’ ‘nough points.
Thankfully for me, though, between being Negan’s right hand, top savior, and secret wife, I can have whatever the fuck I want. My husband doesn’t care as long as I’m happy. Besides, I risk my ass to bring in the goods that we find out there. I say I’m his secret wife ‘cause...well...no one else knows he and I together.
At least not officially. Everyone knows to keep their hands to themselves. My husband doesn’t tolerate rape, and I don’t either. Plus, I may have once cut a man’s dick off and shoved it down his throat when he tried to get fresh with me. That was at the beginning when I was helping Negan get this place set up and there hasn’t been another incident like it since.
He and I decided that it would be in my best interest, and his too since he’s the Bossman, if there wasn’t a giant target on my back, painting me as his weakness. Not that I’m weak. I’m not. I’ve made that abundantly clear in the last few years since the dead started walking, and even before, way back when civilized society was still a thing.
Yet, neither of us could handle the thought of someone trying to use me to get my husband. He can’t stand the thought of someone trying to hurt me. I’m his wife, after all, the love of his life, the one woman who’s always been there, or at least been there for the last 22 years, ever since senior year of college.
And, I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting Negan in any way whatsoever. He’s my husband, the love of my life, my best friend, and my whole world. And hurting me, well, it hurts him, and I ain’t ‘bout to let that happen. So, we decided that we’d keep our relationship a secret. It hasn’t been easy, that’s for fuckin’ sure.
Not when I see women, and hell even some men, flirt with him, thinking they have a chance. Before the world ended, I used to slide up next to him, my hands all over him, and make it clear that he wasn’t single. Now...I just grit my teeth and give the other person the deadliest glare I can, while watching Negan brush it off, only sometimes flirting back, not that part bothers me.
My husband has always been a flirt. Hell, that’s how he and I ended up becoming best friends, then dating, and even getting married two decades ago. It’s just who he is. Even so, he wouldn’t cheat on me, that I know for a fact. And, I know it abso-fuckin’-lutely kills him to see men and women flirt with me, thinking that I’d be up for a one-night stand.
I never am. Not when I have the man of my dreams still by my side. Even if he is a jealous ass at times who doesn’t like to share what’s his. That always turns into some of the best sex of our lives after he catches some fuck flirting with me. Not that I ever flirt back. That’s just not who I am; I’ve never been much of a flirter…’cept with Negan.
Other than watching people flirt with the other, Negan and I have managed to keep our relationship secret. I mean, yes. We still sneak touches, glances, and whispered words when we think no-one’s ‘round, and we always come home to each other every night, and we still wear our wedding rings, but we don’t flaunt our marital status.
And nobody questions the close-knit bond he and I have. They figure it’s just one of those “gotta survive, so I teamed up with this person” type of bonds that are common since the dead started walking. And...no one would dare question the barbed-wire covered bat-wielding, leather jacket wearing, swear with every other word, leader of the Sanctuary.
Hearing my husband’s deep chuckle, I glance up and hide a smile as I see him pat Simon’s shoulder. I raise a brow, drawing the conclusion that they’re finally finished discussing plans for the day. Maybe Simon’ll fuck off now and I can get back to enjoying breakfast with my husband. Negan glances at me and shoots me a wink as he takes a sip of the orange juice we picked up from the Hilltop a few days ago.
I blush a little, glancing back at my plate and pick up a strip of bacon, bringing it to my mouth, taking a bite, and glancing back at him. A smirk plays on my lips as I watch his eyes dart from mine to the piece of cooked meat between my lips.
“Leigh.” He growls softly.
I smirk. “Yes, Sir?”
His eyes darken and I try not to giggle at the lust and love that swims in his muddy water brown eyes. He discreetly shifts in his seat, stretching out his fuckin’ long-ass legs until his boots brush my shins. To anyone else, it’d look like he’s getting comfortable. But, I know better. He’s itching to touch me, and I know he’s hard from me calling him “Sir”.
“You’re going out on the run today, right?” He asks, playing it off like he’s not rubbing his boot up and down my lower leg.
“As far as I know, Sir. Unless you need me here for something?” I question, taking another bite of bacon.
“Nope. I need you out there with me. You’re the only fuckin’ person I trust to have my fuckin’ back and protect my sexy ass.”
I snort with a laugh. “Of course, Boss. Whatever you need.”
Simon shakes his head. “She can’t fuckin’ protect you, boss. She’s too tiny.”
Both Negan and I jerk our heads to glare at Simon. Negan’s foot pauses, pressing against my knee, I reach a hand down to slide my fingers under his jeans, and softly stroke the little bit of skin above the top of his boot in an attempt to calm him. My actions remain hidden by the table, thankfully, and I watch him relax just a little at my touch.
“Simon…” He and I both growl out at the exact same time.
“I have protected his ass since long before yours ever showed up. I’m the one who’s been there for him, stitched him up, and killed any fucker, dead or alive, who tried to take him out.” I hiss at the slightly balding man. “Yes, I am short, but you know what they say ‘bout short folks. We’re closer to Hell, so we’re meaner. And, I will fuck you up, along with any other fuckin’ dumbass that tries to mess with him.”
Negan nods. “She’s right. She will. And she’ll do it over something as simple as someone trying to steal a bite of her food. ‘Cept for me of course. ‘Cause I’m the Leader, and I can do what I fuckin’ want. Ain’t that right, doll?”
He glances at me as he reaches for a bite of my eggs. I rub my thumb across his leg as I nod. He’s right. I have fucked people up for trying to steal my food. Even if it’s just meant playfully. I don’t fuckin’ share it. Never have. Unless it was with my brothers, my best friend, and eventually Negan. It even became our thing while we were dating.
That was actually how he figured out that I liked him back.
“That’s fuckin’ right. So, Simon, if I can fuck someone up over trying to steal my food, just imagine what I can do to someone who tries to hurt Negan.” I say, finishing my strip of bacon.
Simon’s eyes widen, and I know he’s heard the stories ‘bout what I’ve done when some of the other Saviors once tried to, jokingly, take a bite of my food off my plate. Let’s just say that they ended up with jobs that didn’t require the use of both hands after that. He shakes his head, sighing.
“Whatever. I can still protect him better than you can, Leigh. I’ve easily got a foot and 150 pounds on you.” He gripes.
I raise a brow. “And we both know I’ve kicked your ass before. Or do you need a reminder?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
Negan laughs and shakes his head as he reaches for another piece of food off my tray. I don’t pay it any attention until I see what he’s reaching for. In one quick movement, my hand is off his leg, above the table, and holding a fork between his fingers, leaving it embedded in the tabletop.
“Don’t. Fuckin’. Touch. My. Motherfuckin’. Bacon.” I hiss, glaring at my husband.
Every fuckin’ thing and every single person in the Sanctuary goes silent at my actions. I’m not surprised. They don’t know he and I are married. To them, I’m just a Savior who just threatened the Boss. Granted, I intentionally missed and Negan knows that. He knows I’d never hurt him. A moment later, Simon has his hands on me, jerking my arms behind my back.
I growl and slam my head back, busting his nose and knocking him to the ground, effectively loosening his grip on me. I glare at my husband for a brief moment, taking in his wide eyes and slightly opened mouth, before I quickly stand and pin Simon to the ground.
“Do. Not. Under. ANY. FUCKIN’. Circumstance. Lay. A. Fuckin’. Hand. On. Me.” I growl at him. “I’m not some bitch you can just touch, Simon. And you’d best fuckin’ remember that. What happens between Negan and I is our business. And he fuckin’ knows better than to steal my goddamn bacon. The punishment for stealing my food is NOTHING compared to someone thinkin’ they can touch me. And, if you ever fuckin’ touch me again, I will string you up by your goddamn tiny ass dick and stick you on that fence my-fuckin’-self. Am I fuckin’ understood?”
He swallows deeply, or well, as best as he can since his face is bruising, and blood pouring outta his nose. But, he nods in understanding, fear flashing through his eyes as he glares at me. I stand, kicking him in the side once, just below the ribs.
“Get the fuck outta here and go fuckin’ see Carson, you pornstache creep.” I hiss before turning back to the table, taking my seat once more, and drinking my orange juice.
I hear him shuffle to his feet before he walks away. I smirk to myself and turn my attention back to my husband. He’s clearly still in shock. Not once have I ever physically threatened him for taking my food, and it’s because I generally don’t mind. Except when it comes to my bacon. No one fuckin’ touches my bacon and he’s known that.
He was just trying to prove a point to Simon earlier, but it backfired on him. There’s only been two people in my life who I have shared my bacon with: my baby brother, Eli, and mine and Negan’s daughter, Lucille. Up until we lost her to childhood leukemia at the age of 5. I take another sip of my orange juice as I stare at my husband.
Negan holds his hands up in surrender as he lets out a shaky laugh. His foot isn’t close to my leg anymore, and if I wasn’t slightly pissed off at him for trying to steal my bacon, I’d whine softly at the loss. He leans in closer to me and just barely manages to whisper, but it’s still loud ‘nough for those ‘round to hear.
“You’re fuckin’ lucky I fuckin’ love you, sweetheart.”
My eyes widen at his words. It’s not the first time I’ve heard him tell me he loves me, but it is the first time since the dead started walking that I’ve heard him say those words where other people can clearly hear. I know my left eyebrow is now raised high, surely resting halfway between my hairline and my eye.
He just smirks that dimpled little smirk at me, thinking he’s got the upper hand again.
Oh, but he doesn’t know just how wrong he is.
I smirk over the top of my glass of orange juice, before lowering it to the table and leaning in close to him. Our lips are just a breath’s touch away from touching each other’s. Instead of kissing him right away like I really want to, I whisper something back to him.
“I love you too, and I don’t give a flying Fuck if you’re the leader or not. You. Do. Not. Fuckin’. Touch. My. Motherfuckin’. Bacon. I won’t miss next time.”
Only once the words have left my lips do I allow myself to kiss him. I don’t really give a flying fuck ‘bout everyone watching at this point. The cat’s basically outta the bag. I smile and relax, calming down a little bit, giving in to the feeling of the kiss. Just before he can turn the kiss into a more passionate one, I pull back, smirking at him.
“No runs, mister. Not today. You’ve got a punishment waiting for you in the room.” I say, my voice low and full of unspoken promises.
As I stand once more, grabbing my tray, I watch as he flashes me that devilish, dimpled grin I fell in love with over 20 years ago. That “I’m a bad boy and you shouldn’t introduce me to Grandma” dimpled grin. I wink at him before walking away, putting my tray in the bin to be cleaned later by one of the kitchen workers.
Without looking back at him, I know he’s still got that grin on his face and that he ain’t moving till his hard-on has gone down just a little so he can comfortably walk. Just before I walk out the cafeteria’s door, I raise my hand above my shoulder and flip him off. His laugh follows me out into the hallway as I make my way back to our room.
Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. He’s still my husband and our relationship’s no longer a secret. Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. No one fuckin’ touches my bacon. Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck. He’s getting punished. Leader or not, I don’t give a fuck.
Summary: After an incident in the Sanctuary, Leigh takes matters into her own hands. What will Negan’s response be?
Warning(s): Language. Angst. Attempted rape. Violence. Death. Slight Panic Attack. Anxiety. Leigh being a badass. Negan caught off guard (no pun intended). Mentions of what could be considered self-harm. Daddy kink, but not really. You’ll see. Protective Negan. Fluff. Sexual Innuendoes. Puns (Sorry Not Sorry!). Happy ending. Not Beta’d. I just finished writing this and had to post it! Sorry for any errors.
Author’s Note(s):
I cut my hair myself, usually every 2 weeks, but no more than 3 weeks. I just can’t have my hair touch my ears; it makes my anxiety 10 times worse, and in a way, I kinda explain the reason behind that in this story. I was cutting my hair tonight, (it’s now 2:30 am, 5/24/2020) and I thought of this story idea and Negan’s reaction to the main character having short hair.
Also, if any of the warnings are triggering for you, please don’t force yourself to read. The last thing I’d want to do is trigger someone into having a panic attack. Feel free to give me any feedback, thoughts, questions, comments and/or concerns you have with the story. I love hearing from y’all!
As always, if you’d like to be added to my taglist, just let me know and I’ll happily add you!!
Word Count: 5,301. (A lot, I know, but I think it’s worth it, and I just couldn’t get everything I wanted across in less words, so enjoy!)
Relationship(s): Negan x Leigh Sullivan (OFC)
Characters: Negan. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Simon. Dr. Carson. 3 unnamed Original Male Characters. Sanctuary People.
Normally, I never let anything or anyone catch me off guard. Or at least...I tried not to. Due to having anxiety, I was usually hyper-aware of shit going on. But, today, my anxiety had eased off after the relaxing morning I’d had with my husband. We’d spent the morning, snuggled up in his big king-sized bed, just shooting the shit and goofing off.
He didn’t have to go out on a run today, so there was no need to rush the morning like we normally had to 95% of the time. Eventually, though, the day had to get started. Dwight came knocking on the door, interrupting our relaxation time, saying he needed my husband for something. Being the man my husband is, he grumbled, cussed Dwight out, and then got outta bed while apologizing to me for the interruption and assuring me we’d finish relaxing when he got back later.
After a kiss, and a soft “I love you,” he was gone. Off to do what he did. It was my day off, so I laid in bed for a little longer before I too got up, dressed, and made my rounds. As the top female Savior, something I’d worked my ass off, fought for, and took seriously, I said hi to who I needed to, did what I needed to, and finally, sat down under my favorite tree out by the greenhouses.
I laid my leather jacket on the ground next to me, leaving me in my usually black t-shirt, holey but patched up and well worn blue jeans, and faded brown leather boots. Strapped to each thigh was a holster. In the right one was my signature gun, a .357 Magnum, 6-shot revolver. In the left holster, I kept my handcrafted 6 inch blade that I made back when I was 15, well over half a decade, shit closer to a decade ago, considering I was almost 25.
Bending my knees, and pulling them close in a comfortable position, I propped up the notebook I usually kept in my leather satchel with two backup knives, an extra gun, ammo, and a spare notebook for work along with several pens and pencils. The writing equipment was a rare commodity these days, so I always kept them close to me.
As I was writing a story I’d started a few days prior, I zoned out just a bit, focusing on it. I’d started writing when I was just 12 years old, and kept the habit up, even now, 3 years after the world ended and the dead started walking back in 2020 after the Coronavirus outback after the new year, new decade had started.
I was writing, losing myself in the words I printed on the paper in my chicken scratch. I say chicken scratch ‘cause, well...that’s basically what it was. As a lefty, my handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best, and a doctor’s prescription note was probably more legible. It was a mixture between slanted and curved print and semi-elegant at times cursive.
But, it was my handwriting, and I could read it. My husband sometimes had difficulty reading it, but he’d always put his black-rimmed glasses on, and fuck if they didn’t make him look sexier than he already was. Because of that, I sneakily wrote a little sloppier when I knew he’d have to read something from my notes about the runs I went on.
It was all an excuse to see him with those glasses perched on his nose, giving him that sexy professor look. He thought they made him look ridiculous, but I loved it. Since I was writing and zoned out, I wasn’t nearly as focused on my surroundings. I didn’t think I had to be. The tree was my safe spot when I wasn’t with my husband.
The Sanctuary was a relatively safe place, and that was thanks to the rules that were in place. So, it’d make sense that I wouldn’t focus on my surroundings as much and relax a bit as I wrote. But, boy was I wrong. I just didn’t realize it till it was far too late. Before I realized what was happening, I was being punched in the right side of my face, slinging my head to the side, as my notebook and bag were jerked away from me and my hair was roughly pulled, jerking my head backwards.
I went to grab my gun and my knife, but they’d already been taken from me. My eyes flirted back and forth in front of me, trying to process what was going on. But, everything was blurry and I was dizzy from the hit. I could barely make out three men close to me, far too close to me. They were basically on top of me.
Fuck. One of them actually was. I could feel the weight of him straddling my thighs, keeping me from standing. I couldn’t hear anything as the beating of my heart flooded my ears. I tried to fight back as best as I could, but the other two men grabbed my hands and jerked them away from my body and pinning them to the ground as they shoved my upper body down.
When they jerked my arms away, I felt, more than heard, my left shoulder dislocate. I clenched my jaw. The pain wasn’t anything new. I’d been dealing with a shoulder that dislocates when I fuckin’ sneeze since I was 13 years old. The pain, when it happened, was now at a tolerable level since I was so used to it happening.
I didn’t cry out. I knew not to. Plus, the wasn’t the type of person I was. I knew what was ‘bout to happen. It, like my shoulder, was something I’d had to put with for years growing. It wasn’t anything new either. But, that didn’t mean it was enjoyable. It was anything but. I barely processed my jeans being jerked down my hips and past my knees.
I could just barely hear the men laughing and joking around with each other, talking ‘bout what they were going to do to me and wondering why the fuck I was wearing two pairs of boxers under my jeans. I watched them, as best as I could with my vision being what it was. When the blurriness faded just enough, I could make out their features and recognized them as members of the new group that was brought in last week.
Members I’d brought into the Sanctuary. Into my house. I dropped my head back down to the ground and groaned to myself. I let my body go slack, waiting for the perfect time. When the men realized I wasn’t struggling anymore, they laughed and the two dumbfucks holding my arms down eased up on their grip.
The man on my legs lifted himself up just enough push his own pants down. Their easing up on their grip was their mistake and ultimately what led to their demise. Since they weren’t paying attention to me, thinking I’d just given up, and instead focusing on getting their baby carrot sized dicks outta their pants, I was able to strike back.
I immediately brought both my hands up, fingers curled in to form perfect fists without worry of possibly breaking my thumbs, ignoring the protest of my left shoulder, and cocked both the men on my sides straight in the noses. I internally smiled at the sounds of their noses breaking and their screams of pain.
They stumbled back just a little bit, hands covering their faces as they clutched their noses in an attempt to stop the extensive amount of blood falling. Clearly, I caught the man on top me off guard with my actions and he was shocked for a moment. It was perfect. I bucked him up off me, managed to jerk my pants up as I stood.
All one fluid motion.
Since he was still obviously in shock at me suddenly fighting back, he stumbled, tripping, and falling backwards on the ground. He tried to scurry backwards as fast as as he could. Despite being 5’3”, I was able to stay with him. I slammed my boot down on his stomach, making him howl in pain and wheeze as he struggled to get the air back that i’d just forced outta his lungs.
I kept my foot on his gut, putting most of my weight on it, digging the worn sole into his abdomen. He let out a sad excuse for a grunt as I did. I just smirked. This fucked had no idea who he’d fucked, or tried to fuck with. I leaned down and started pummeling the shit outta his face, keeping him in place with my foot.
Since he couldn’t get fresh air back into his lungs because of the position of my foot, he was too weak to try and fight back. To say I was a little disappointed at not having a challenge, would be like saying the dead weren’t walking around. It was a lie. I was disappointed, and I fueled that disappointment in with the anger as I literally beat him to death.
He kept trying to apologize, tried to plead with me, to not kill him, but I didn’t give a fuck. He was ‘bout to rape me, and I’d had ‘nough of that in my life. I wasn’t putting up with it. I eased up just before I knew he was about to die. Gave him false hope into letting him think his words had affected me. I let him get one last breath in as I completely lifted my foot off his torso.
“Than-” He started to say, but I cut him off as I slammed my boot into his face, effectively crushing his skull.
“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, prick.” I muttered to him as I wiped my boot off on his once clean but now bloody clothes. “You fuckin’ ruined my goddamn favorite fuckin’ pair of boots, asshole.”
Before I turned away from him, I spit on his crushed skull. Since it was destroyed, I didn’t have to worry ‘bout him coming back as a dean’un. I was a little sad that I wouldn’t get to kill him a second time, but he’d gotten what he deserved. Turning to the other two dumbfucks, I repeated my actions, and did to them exactly what I’d just done to their friend.
I knew my husband was going to be pissed that I killed these men, instead of letting him do it, but I’d deal with that. I wasn’t going to let these fuckers back inside the relatively safe concrete walls of the factory that was the Sanctuary. By the time I was down stomping in the skull of the third man, I looked up, as I finished, and noticed that I’d gathered quite an audience.
Including Simon. The right-hand man, third person in charge of the Sanctuary. His, and everyone else’s, eyes were wide, and everyone was silent. I knew I was gonna be in trouble since they’d just seen me stomp the life outta three men, but I didn’t give a fuck. I had shit to do. I gathered up my weapons, my jacket, and bag after shoving my shit into it and stormed inside the Sanctuary, flipping everyone off, not wanting to deal with their gawking.
Not caring ‘bout my bloody appearance, I made my way to the commissary, needing to grab a few things before I went back to my room. I found what I needed: a new pair of jeans identical to the ones i was wearing, a new t-shirt, undergarments, a pair of boots and a special item, an unopened, brand new boxed set of hair clippers.
Once I had what I needed, I stormed up to the room I share with my husband, stripping down to my bra and one pair of boxers when i get there.
Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Now
“What the fuck was that fuckin’ shit out there, Leigh?!?”
I sigh as I hear my husband storm into our room, the door slamming shut behind him. I look at myself in the mirror as I lay the scissors down on the bathroom counter by the sink and pick up the clippers. Turning them on, I don’t reply to my husband. Not wanting to explain to him what happened at the moment.
I stare at myself in the mirror as I bring the clippers up to my shortened hair. I press the #2 guard to my head and move it backwards from my forehead to the back of my head, sticking to the once familiar hairline I used to see and live by religiously. I watch as the hair falls, joining the rest of my once long, curly locks, on the floor by my feet. I use my fingers to guide my movements, making sure I don’t go too high and completely fuck up my hair.
Once I have the hairline visible, separating what I want to keep and what I want to shave off, I move the guard down below my ear and with practiced ease, I shave the sides and back of head, getting rid of the hair. Keeping an eye on myself, making sure I don’t fuck up my haircut, not that I would since I used to do this every 2-3 weeks, I watch as my husband steps into the bathroom.
I watch as his eyes nearly bulge outta their sockets when he sees me. I watch as the anger vanishes from his face and body, being replaced with worry, sadness, and a hint of curiosity. I watch as his eyes traveling over the reflection of my face in the mirror, taking in my black eye, bruised and split open cheek, covered in blood and even the nasty black eye I’m now sporting.
I watch as he slowly moves his eyes up to meet mine in the mirror.
“What...what are you doing?” He asks softly.
My left eyebrow shoots sky high as I look at him. My husband rarely says a sentence without cussing every other word. And yet...he just asked a simple question without one sentence enhancer thrown in.
“What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing? I’m cutting my hair.” I say. “Decided I needed a new fuckin’ look. Don’t you fuckin’ love it?”
I know I’m being Captain fuckin’ Obvious at the moment, and a bit harsh, but I’m not ready to tell him what happened. That’s for after I get done. Cutting my hair is the only thing keeping me from completely shutting down and giving in to the panic attack that’s trying to take over. I watch as he lets out a deep breath as he slowly steps into the bathroom, padding across the tiled floor to me.
He places his hands on my shoulders and I do my best not to flinch. But he still sees it and quickly lifts his hands off me, holding them up in a surrendering pose. I know he’d never hurt me, and he was the one to save my life after this shit hole of a world started three years ago. But, I can’t help it. The feeling of those fuckers’ hands on me, plus the fact that my shoulder is still dislocated, keeps me from wanting to be touched.
“Can...let me help. Please, sweetheart.” My husband’s soft drawl meets my ears.
“No. I need to do this myself.” I reply, tightening my grip on the clippers.
I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat as he swallows deeply and nods. I keep my eyes on his in the mirror and finish cutting my hair. It’s been three years since I’ve cut my hair, but the muscle memory is still there. It’s like riding a bike. My husband watches as I finish shaving the sides of my head down to where there’s just a bit of peach fuzz.
Switching the clippers off, I replace the guard with a #1 and go back over the bottom hairline on the base of my neck. Once I have that done, I take the guard off completely and just put the metal of the clippers to the back of my neck doing my best not to flinch at the burning heat coming off it as it meets my skin.
I take that little strip down so there’s no hair there, running along along the hairline on my neck. I use the blending guard and even out the area, making the hair have a fade. Replacing the blending guard with the #7, I bring it up to the patch of hair on my head, and trim it down. When I finish, my feet are covered with a mountain of what used to be the long, thick, curly hair on my head.
My neck and shoulders are also covered with the little strands of hair that I buzzed off. Setting the clippers on the counter, I run my hands over the buzz cut I now sport and take in a deep, shaky breath. I let my head drop down, pressing my chin to chest and take another shaky breath in after letting out one.
“Baby?” My husband asks softly.
I lift my head and look up at him. My eyes roam over the unzipped black leather jacket he’s wearing over his standard white t-shirt and down to the grey jeans he’s wearing, held up by two leather belts. I let my eyes rest on his feet, no longer hidden by his own pair of black combat boots, but rather a pair of white socks.
Taking in another deep breath, I bring my eyes up to meet his. I can see the worry swimming in his muddy water brown eyes. I shake my head as i start to take my bra off and push my boxers down, stepping outta them as the pool ‘round my ankles.
“I need a shower.” I mumble and step ‘round him to walk to the stunning shower we share.
I grip the knobs tightly as I turn the water on, as hot as it’ll go. I need to feel the pain of the burning water over my skin. If I don’t, I know I’ll give in to that panic attack that’s already on the verge of consuming me. Stepping into the shower, I glance back at my husband over my shoulder.
“You can…” I mumble.
He nods as he understands what I’m trying to say. I look away, for the first time since we met, and eventually became intimate, not wanting to watch him undress. I know that if I were to watch, I’d see those assholes tugging their pants down, and I don’t want that. I don’t want my husband to be mixed in with them.
Standing under the burning hot water, feeling it flow over and pelt my skin, I bring my hands up and tightly grip what’s left of my hair, tugging on it. I feel Negan step into the shower, behind me. I don’t have to look. I know he’s there. I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, along with the worry and helplessness.
He hasn’t seen me like this in three years, and even then, it wasn’t this bad. I blindly reach for the bottle of men’s body wash he and I share and I vigorously scrub my body with it. Trying to get the touch and the blood of those men off me. It takes four harsh washes and rinses before I even begin to feel clean.
Negan just stands behind me, leaning against the back wall of the shower. He’s giving me my space while still letting me know he’s right there if I need him. The bottle slips outta my hands when I go to pour more of the soapy liquid into my palm. I’d leave it there, but Negan gently reaches around me, picking it up.
I hear the bottle open and can tell he’s pouring some into his own hands. I figure he’s just gonna wash his body until I feel his soft and gentle touch on my skin. I flinch and tremble at first, but eventually give into the feeling of him touching me. He takes his time, gently washing me, letting me get clean for the final time.
Letting me know that it’s ok. That it’s over. That’s he’s got me. That he’ll take care of me. Neither of us say a word as he takes the removable showerhead from it’s dock and gently rinses me off after he turns the cold water on, letting the temperature of the water mix until it’s no longer burning, but rather warm and gentle.
He lets the showerhead drop and dangle as he turns the water off and steps out. I keep my eyes closed and feel him wrap a soft towel around me. I open my eyes and bring them to meet his, only to find him staring at my dislocated shoulder. He blinks and his tongue darts out just a little from between his lips.
“Want me to put it back in place, sweetheart?”
I nod slowly.
“Put your right arm ‘round my waist, baby, and I will.”
I follow his soft command and a moment later, I feel his palms against my left shoulder. He’s helped me pop my shoulder back into place enough over the last few years that he knows what he’s doing. I suck in a deep, shaky breath right as he pops it back into place. I bit my lip to hold back the whimper from the pain.
As soon as he’s done, he wraps both his arms ‘round me and just holds me close as I bury my face against his wet chest. We don’t say another word for a solid 10 minutes. He just holds me as we stand in the bathroom, water pooling ‘round our feet. Eventually, he gently scoops me up in his arms and carries me to bed.
Sitting down on it, he just holds me in his lap, not saying anything. I know it’s his way of helping me get outta the panic attack and also letting me know that he’s listening when I’m ready to talk. It takes me a hot minute before I get the words out, and even then they’re just a whisper.
“They...they were trying to rape me.”
I hear him let out a growl and his arms tighten ‘round me, protectively. That’s his number one rule. Rape is not allowed. Followed by the prohibition of abusing women and children. He doesn’t say a word, letting me continue. I tell him everything that happened, as I tremble in his arms. He just holds me close, softly rubbing my back and taking even breaths to help me subconsciously focus on keeping my own breathing even.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, baby.” He finally murmurs after I finish recounting the events. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. They got what they deserved. I just wish I could’ve introduced them to Lucille.”
My eyes flirt over to the barbed-wire baseball bat propped up against the wall by our bedroom door. She’s surprisingly clean. I guess Negan didn’t have to dish out any punishments today. Only I did.
“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, though, baby.” He whispers in my ear.
I look up at him, confused. “Proud?”
He nods. “Mmhhmm. You shut that shit down, and kept your cool until you were up here. I don’t know how you fuckin’ managed that, but I’m not surprised. I heard what you did, heard how you described it, and fuck, baby. I wish I’d seen you go Rambo on their asses. You’re my badass girl. I’m proud of you.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. Despite the events of the day, and me doing what I did, my husband still manages to make me smile. He slowly brings one hand up, keeping it in my line of sight, and cups my good cheek.
“Will you let me send Carson up here to stitch your cheek up and get you checked out?”
His eyes search mine, waiting for my reply, and hoping I’ll let him. I nod against his palm, and he lets out a deep breath. He reaches over to the nightstand and plucks his radio off it. His thumb pressed against the side button.
“Carson. Get your fuckin’ ass up to my room now, and bring your bag. Fuckin’ now.” He growls into the receiver.
“Yes, sir.” Comes the doctor’s reply not even a moment later.
Negan then pushes the button down again and talks.
“Simon. Bring two plates of food up to my room. Now. And make sure it’s some good shit too.”
Simon replies in the affirmative and Negan sets his radio down. He looks back at me and places his palm back against my good cheek. A gesture that always makes me relax.
“Can I ask why you cut your hair?” He asks softly.
“I refuse to let another man tug me around by hair, guiding me to do his bidding, especially during a situation like earlier. It was a flashback to my dad doing what he did. It’s why I’ve also cut my own hair. It’s the one thing I about my body that I can control. So, I keep it short and no man will ever be able to use my hair against me again.” I say, the truth just spilling out. “Plus, having it touch my ears, always made my anxiety ten times worse.”
He knows what my dad did, and he’s known that tugging on my hair was a hard limit for me. So, he never did it, which is why I let my hair grow out. I felt safe around him. I still do. But, having long hair is just a liability, and I refuse to be put in that situation again. He nods in understanding.
“I’m gonna miss your curls, though.” He says. “And waking up with a mouthful of your hair in my mouth.”
I can’t help but giggle at that. It’s true. Most mornings, he’d wake up, sputtering to spit out the strands of my hair that ended up in his mouth as we slept next to each other.
“I left enough on top so you can still play with my hair, babe. And, there’s still enough to run your fingers through it.” I assure him.
“Can I?”
I nod and a moment later, I feel his fingers on his other hand stroke through my wet hair, lightly massaging my scalp as he does. I let out a soft moan at the feeling and lean into his touch on my cheek, closing my eyes. He chuckles as he plays with my hair.
“If that’s your reaction to me doing that every single fuckin’ time, I could get used to it. And I’ll just have to get used to having an even stiffer hard on from the soft moans.” He smirks as he looks at me.
I blush and open my eyes looking up at him. “You're my husband. I think I can manage helping you out with the baseball bat you have in your pants.”
He laughs softly. “Yea?”
I grin. “Mmhhmm. You’re fond of Lucille. I’m quite fond of your own bat.”
He grins, showing off his dimples. “I’m fuckin’ fond of you, baby. Have been since we first met in the woods. Why else do you think I got rid of the wives years ago?”
I try not to grin as I shrug. “It was the only way you were getting in my pants and scoring a homerun.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Not the only reason, baby. It was because I love you, Leigh.”
I grin from ear to ear and turn my head to place a soft kiss to his palm. “I love you too, Negan.”
Before he can say anything else, there’s a timid knock on the door.
“Come the fuck in!” Negan calls out, holding me close.
Dr. Carson comes in. He’s no longer as nervous as he used to be when I first showed up. But he’s still a little nervous around the man. I’ve gotten Negan to ease up on the fear of himself he’s instilled in people, and gotten him to be nicer in the way he treats folks. He’s not the bat-wielding lunatic he was when we first met.
He’s the man I always knew he was.
A soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather.
My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather.
After Carson checks me out, determines nothing’s broken, assures me that everything is good, and stitches my cheek up, he leaves. Negan helps me get dressed in a pair of his boxers under my new jeans and one of his shirts before he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. Simon comes in shortly after I finish getting dressed, holding a tray of food for Negan and I.
His eyes widen as he looks at me, taking in my new appearance.
“What, Si? Never seen a girl with short hair before?” I ask, teasing.
He shakes his head. “I have. I just wasn’t expecting you to have cut your own. It looks good on you, fitting.”
I smile. “Thanks, Si.”
Leaning up, I kiss his cheek and then kick him out before Negan can Lucille him for staring at me. My husband knows Simon’s like a dad to me, the dad I never had, and that there’s nothing there. He just gets jealous and protective over me, not liking other men to stare. And, for once, I’m thankful, given the events of today.
As we eat, Negan and I stay on the bed, me snuggled up to his side. When we’re finished though, I look up at him.
“I have to tell you something else.” I say.
His eyebrow raises and he looks at me, grining. “What’s that? You planning on buzzing anything else?”
I laugh and playfully slap his bare chest. “No, asshole.”
He pretends to be hurt and rubs his chest, grinning. “Damn, girl. That hurt.”
I laugh and kiss his chest where I smacked him. “Feel better, Daddy?”
He grins that dimpled grin again and nods. “Mmhhmm. Now, what else you gotta tell me, babygirl?”
I smirk. “Well, Daddy…you see...”
He growls low in his throat. “Don’t tease me, little girl.”
I giggle. “I’m not, Daddy.”
I bring my hand down to rub my tummy.
“You full from eating?” He asks, covering my hand on my tummy, rubbing what he thinks is a food baby.
“Nope. But, it’s nice to see you already rubbing my tummy. I can happily get used to this over the next 7 months.”
“7 months?” His brow creases in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen. “You...you’re...we’re…?”
I giggle and nod as I lean up to kiss him softly.
“Yes, honey. I’m pregnant.” I say. “I’m 2 months along, and found out a few days ago. I was working on a story earlier, and that was gonna be how I told you, but shit happened, so I figured I’d just tell you.”
He lets out a high pitched squeal that I never would’ve expected from him, and pulls me right back into his arms and his lap. His beard tickles my neck as he grins against it, placing a soft kiss there. I giggle and wrap my arms ‘round him. Like I said, he’s a soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather.
My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather and I’m his buzzed haired girl.
