#blackleatherjacketz

You watched as he walked past you, his dark and musky scent triggering the moisture between your legs even more than his passionate speech already had. Now was your chance, if you even had one at all, to make your move.

“Negan!” You caught him midway down the hall, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned on his heel, slowly tilting his head as he propped Lucille onto his shoulder. “Can I help you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You could have played games and tried to flirt with him, batting your lashes and pouting your lips, but you were never any good at that. You could have stared at him blankly like you usually did when he was around, your body freezing up completely. You could have done a lot of things, but instead you chose to risk it all and grab him by his collar.

“Excuse the fuck out of me…” he started before you kissed him, pulling him in close.

You didn’t care what happened next, your wants greatly outweighing your needs as you felt the bristles of his beard rub against your cheeks. He hummed a soft moan against your lips, Lucille clamoring against the linoleum as she fell to the floor. His lips were softer than you’d imagined, and oh boy, had you imagined.

“Am I fucking dreaming?” He pulled away from your kiss only to look you up and down.

“Don't think so.” You nodded your head in the direction of your bedroom. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Shit yeah.” ————————

His hand was around your throat before you could even shut the door to your bedroom, his leather clad fingers lifting your chin up toward the ceiling. He nibbled your neck, pushing himself into you as he made his way up your jawline before sucking on your bottom lip. He growled as he kissed you, biting down on your lip before pulling it away from your mouth.

“Mmm…” you heard yourself moan, his teeth piercing the sensitive skin under your lip. This was already going so much better than you had planned.

He let go of your lip, licking his own as he released it with a subtle bounce that made his eyes glisten. His fingers moved up to your chin, pinching your cheeks together as they forced your lips to pucker under the pressure. “You shoulda come to me sooner, baby.” He squeezed your cheeks tighter. “We coulda been doin’ this weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” you tried to tell him.

“What was that?” He blinked dramatically and started unbuttoning your jeans with his free hand. “You’re sorry?” He smirked as he looked you over, mimicking the look of a tiger about to consume its prey. “You’re sorry?” He repeated, chuckling in disbelief as he slid your pants and underwear down with only one hand. “Yeah, you’re about to be.” His smile widened, spreading across his face as his fingers slid between your legs.

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, no matter how tightly he was gripping them. His coarse fingers brushed past your clit as they smoothed their way down your length, stopping at your second entrance. He smirked as he curled his digits upward in between your two sweet spots, pressing his thumb against your bud as he teased your sensitive junction. “All that for me, baby? You’re fucking soaked!”

“Uh huh,” you nod.

“Good.” He rolled his tongue across his teeth as he leaned into you. “Now, open your mouth,” he ordered, finally sliding his fingers inside of you.

You moaned at the intrusion of his fingers, trying to take in the sensation of someone else doing it for a change before doing as you were told. You felt his grip on your cheeks relax, giving you more freedom to open wide enough for him to spit inside of them while keeping eye contact the entire time. You stuck out your tongue as his saliva mixed with yours, coating it in a clear white substance of foreshadowing. You licked his lips, begging him to come closer as he teased you just far enough to make you nip at his mouth.

“There’s my dirty girl!” He grabbed your chin tighter, sliding his fingers in deeper and faster. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun together, you know that?”

You nodded, seemingly the only response you could muster at this point.

“Get on the bed and take those pants off.” He let go of your face, pulling his hand from the heat between your legs as he slid them into his mouth.

“Yes, Sir,” you whispered, trying not to whine about the sudden absence of his fingers.

You snuck a few glances of him sucking on your juices as you kicked off your boots and slid out of your pants. He closed his eyes as he tasted you, taking his time to draw his digits over his own lips before winking at you. “Take that shirt off, too.” He undid his belt while you followed his orders, pushing his pants down to reveal exactly what you were in for.

“Christ have mercy,” you said under your breath, half hoping he didn’t hear you.

All he did was smirk as he sauntered towards you, approaching the bed as you waited for him with bated breath. He paused before you, smiling as his member finished growing to a ridiculous size right in front of your face. It was perfect; thick, long and veiny as it twitched with a little drop of precum on the tip.

You hadn’t sucked a dick since before the apocalypse had started, and it had been a while even before that, but you wanted to start again today. You licked your lips as you felt your mouth begin to water and leaned forward, only to have your head jerked back by your hair.

“Not so fast, Princess. You wanted this so bad, you’re going to have to earn it.” A devilish grin crossed his lips as he held you back like a wild dog, tugging on your locks.

“Are you serious?” You looked up at him, your neck straining.

“Oh, I’m very serious.” He bit his lip, looking down at you as he wrapped his palm around himself. “Just look at it and think about how good it’s gonna make you feel.” He stroked it forward, relenting on your hair a bit so you could get a closer look.

God, was he really going to make you wait? Was he really going to keep this up so you could drip down your leg and onto the only pair of sheets they gave you? Was he going to… mmm he looked so good when he stroked himself. His olive skin slicked under his palm as he squeezed and pulled at a torturous pace. He decreased the slack on your hair to finally allow you close enough to lick his tip. Giving him your best doe eyes, you coated his frenulum with your spit in hopes that he’d let you go and just fuck you already.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, letting go. “Just like that.”

You smiled up at him before licking your palm, making a gratuitous display of your saliva on your skin before wrapping it around his shaft. You wanted to make him pay for making you wait. You wanted to make sure he never forgot this encounter.

“Oh fuck, baby, this is not your first rodeo.” He let go of your hair completely and watched you lick his balls, kissing and sucking on them before pulling one of them into your mouth with your tongue. You appreciated the saltiness of his skin as it entered your mouth, his testicle twitching against your tongue as you stroked him even faster.

You could hear him moan against the hot stale air as you tugged and sucked him into oblivion, switching which testicle you took into your mouth as you occasionally licked up the length of his shaft. You slid your hand between his cheeks as drops of sweat made their way down to his crevice. Pressing gently, you found the tender skin surrounding his entrance.

“Nope.” He grabbed your wrist, preventing you from continuing with your plan. “You don’t get to dominate me, not today.”

“Okay,” you nodded, licking up his length and twirling your tongue over his tip. You could only imagine what that meant to do to you next.

“Turn around baby,” he smoothed his hand over your hair. “Get on your hands and knees for Daddy.”

Oh, Daddy! Your eyes lit up at the sound of that word leaving his lips, thanking God that he said it before you did. You bit your lip as the term sent shivers down your spine, exciting you at your very core. You did as you were told, eagerly turning to face the wall of your bedroom as you leaned onto your hands, waiting for what he had in store for you.

SMACK!

You cried out as he slapped your left ass cheek, rocking your unassuming body forward. The stinging sensation from his calloused palms shocked your nerves into overdrive as he quickly smoothed his hand over the reddened spot.

“You think you can put your fingers anywhere you want, Princess?” He smacked your right cheek, this time so hard he almost knocked you off balance.

“No.” You gasped, closing your eyes as you relished getting this kind of physical attention again.

“No, what?” He smacked your left side again, this time without the calming rub of his hand to soothe you over.

“No, Daddy!” You gasped as he continued to spank you, reddening your cheeks with his hand prints as your juices almost poured out of you. “Oh! No, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy!” You squealed as his smacks became louder, harder, more powerful. You could feel your stomach contract with each hit, pulling your body away from him when all you wanted to do was get him inside.

“Are you going to be a good girl from now on?” His voice dropped an octave, his hands spreading your cheeks apart as he marveled at your moisture.

“Yes,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration. “Yes, Daddy!”

He chuckled triumphantly as he rubbed your cheeks again, lifting one hand to grab himself. “That’s good to hear.” He teased your entrance with his tip that was still covered in your spit, running it across your length as you moved your hips toward him. “Ah ah ah…” he scolded, taking himself back as you tried to envelope him. “Not yet.”

You whined out loud as he withheld your pleasure, wanting nothing more than to end your suffering. He must have been so satisfied with himself, having you open and wet right in front of him, on the verge tears as he flirted with giving you what you wanted.

“Please, Daddy,” you begged. “Please fuck me.” You dropped your head in defeat as you said his magical words, your entire body vibrating in anticipation. You held your breath as you waited for him to make a decision, moaning out loud as he finally pushed himself inside of you.

“Oh my God!” The words fell out of your mouth as he filled you up, brushing your cervix with ease as his skin became flush with yours. He pulled out slowly, moving his hips in an almost circular motion until he hit your sweet spot when he came back in. You didn’t care about keeping your voice down, or thinking about who might hear you as they walked by your room. All you cared about was this feeling, his hands on your hips, and the fire he was brewing in your center.

“Shit, you feel fucking good,” he told you, picking up his pace.

“So do you,” you managed to say as he pumped himself inside of you again and again. You moaned as his dick hit your spot so smoothly and quickly that you felt yourself start to break. You felt a wave of pleasure creep inside you as his pace became erratic, his balls slapping against your lips as he climbed on top of the bed and wrapped his hand around your neck. This was it, you thought. Oh, fuck! That wave of pleasure built up to a tsunami of bliss as he drilled into you, crashing over every nerve in your body as he pulled you into him by your throat and hip.

Your entire body shook as your muscles closed in around him, clenching and contracting to keep him near. You heard him swear as he twitched inside of you, his white hot liquid filling you up as he bit your shoulder and thrusted a few more desperate times, chasing that last bit of pleasure.

“Deer’s good,” Daryl muttered as he hunched over his piece of meat. He dug his teeth into the deer against the bone, pulling off a part of the muscle as the sinew snapped against his cheek.

Angeni grinned at her new partner as he ate, his kill painted across his face as he shared this space with her like James once had. His hair wasn’t as long, his face not quite as wrinkled, but she couldn’t help but feel some sort of… affection towards him.

That kiss, that primal connection of more than just their mouths brought this affection out of her. It was a feeling that warmed her up even though it remained something she couldn’t quite explain, take lightly or even ignore. It wasn’t familial like that she felt for her late mentor, but something different, something new.

“Yeah, it is.” She leaned back in her chair, trying not to jump at the ghastly image of James suddenly appearing at the table next to Daryl. She thought he was really there for a moment, a third member of their dinner party she’d forgotten about until she gave him a closer look.

He was whole yet transparent, silent and complete like a faded signal of himself, pulsing in and out of focus. She was afraid that this was going to happen; that her nightmares would become reality if she came back to ground zero, even if someone else came along with her. Something about this vision was soft and comforting, though, not chilling like she had feared while she was holed up in her cave.

Angeni perked up her ears as if waiting for him to tell her a story like he always did at the dinner table, but all he did was sit there. He was quiet, his calming figure looking Daryl over as a genuine smile slowly crossed his lips. She could feel her body freeze up as he placed his hand on her new companion’s shoulder, wondering if Daryl would be able to sense his presence so close to him.

“Is that him?” Daryl brought her back from the supernatural, taking a piece of meat into his mouth as he pointed to an old photograph leaning against the counter.

“James?” Angeni choked on her own words and looked back at the photo. The glass in the middle of the frame had been shattered by the spray of bullets, but the image of a young man with long black hair was still evident from across the room. “Yeah, about thirty years ago.” She laughed under her breath.

“Looks like a badass.” He finished chewing and pointed to the photo with an empty bone.

“He was.” She sniffed. “Never was one for pictures, though. That’s the only one I’ve ever seen of him, and he was almost sixty when he…” She paused and looked down at her feet, kicking some dirt under the table before looking back up to find that his ghost had disappeared.

She frowned. “He likes you… I mean, he would have liked you.”

Daryl laughed in what sounded like a grunt, his blue eyes sparkling a bit as he drank from an old canteen they’d found, his dilated pupils avoiding her face as he drank. She wondered if he had ever taken compliments gracefully, ever said ‘thank you’ or ‘I love you’ before, but she was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that. Daryl was all action and few words, and that served her just fine.

“You guys spend a lot of time in here?” He motioned around the cabin, dropping the bone back on his plate.

“Yeah, when we weren’t hunting or gathering.” She laughed as she realized how much she sounded like a sixth grade textbook. “He would be telling me stories this time of night about legends and fables, about skinwalkers and sky people.”

“Skinwalkers?” Daryl repeated, his face twisting in concern.

“When all this happened he tried desperately to find a connection to it all… a reason for what happened to the world. A skinwalker, according to legend, was someone… someone evil… a shaman or a witch who wore the skin of another animal to walk at night and harm other people.” She took the canteen from Daryl and took a drink.

“But those were more like what you would call a shape shifter or a werewolf. What happens to people after they die now… well… we never really had a name for that.” She set the canteen down and looked at the fire, grateful for its warmth.

“Legends gotta come from somewhere,” Daryl encouraged her.

“I dunno.” She took in a deep breath. “I don’t think my ancestors could have predicted something like this if they tried. You could take the skinwalker legend and blend it with reincarnation if you wanted to stretch it, but…”

“Yeah?” He leaned forward in his seat, his hands crossing the halfway point of the tabletop.

“James always said that if someone died before they completed their purpose in life, that they would come back in another form to help complete that purpose.” She scratched her chin and turned away, remembering the deep timbre of his voice as it filled up the cabin so many years ago.

“You believe that?” He asked, fiddling with the bare bone in front of him.

“I want to. I did. Now all I believe is what I see in front of me. I believe in you and this cabin, that deer and those walkers out there. I believe in the here and now, and hope that the future is just a little better.” She sighed and picked up both of their plates, walking over to the sink before dropping them into it. “I believe we need to get some tree sap to seal up these bullet holes if we’re going to survive the winter in here.”

“We?” he scoffed, “Thought you weren’t stayin’.” He glanced up at her, half hopeful as his hair fell back in front of his eyes.

The cave was still cool when she woke up, the early morning haze surrounding her in a moist fog as she stretched out her arms. The void of a missing person plagued her mind as she rubbed her eyes, searching for someone she wasn’t even sure was there to begin with: Damon, David, Daniel…? Daryl! She sat up and looked around toward the mossy entrance, dim light painting the mouth of the cave a gray octagon with no outline of Daryl. Maybe he was just a dream, after all.

She shrugged off the thought, pleasant enough as it was. Another hunter to keep her company, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind in all of this solitude up in the mountain would have been nice. She sighed and gathered up her bow and arrow, getting ready for her day and the descent down the mountainside.

“You were right,” a gruff southern accent echoed against the rocky walls. “Didn’t see a walker all night.”

She looked up from her hunting tools, aghast that the fading memory she had so quickly dismissed was an actual person and not a mirage. He had been there, broken bread with her and still chosen to stay. She couldn’t help but smile as she looked him over, remembering every detail about his appearance.

“I thought you’d gone,” she muttered, trying not to sound affected as she slung her quiver over her shoulder.

“Pfft,” he waved her off, giving her the impression that the idea was absolute madness. “I kept watch most the night.” He ran his hand along the wall of the cave, shaking the moisture off his hand.

“You didn’t wake me,” she stated.

“I slept here and there.” He shrugged and shook the last few droplets off his fingertips, pointing out to the forest. “We should go into town and get some stuff for a perimeter, maybe check those traps.”

“You’ve done that before?” She gripped her bow tightly. “A perimeter?”

“You haven’t?” He turned and started walking down the mountain, glancing back only to make sure she was close behind. “Just enough stuff to make some noise if anything runs across the line. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

“You did this at your old camp?” she prodded, stepping into his muddy footprints.

“Yeah.” He leaned back with the angle of the mountain, taking slower and heavier strides as he touched her markings on the trees as they passed. “We kept movin’” he started, swinging his arms back and forth as he walked. “Every place we stopped, we thought we were safe. We used perimeters in b’tween.”

“Were you safe at your last camp?” She leaned back too, grabbing those tree branches as she followed the hunter closely.

“Kinda,” he offered, reaching his arm back to grab the crossbow off his back. “After a while we were… but not at first.” He brought the weapon up to his face, searching for any immediate threat as they continued into the forest.

“Saviors?” She wanted to know what caused all that pain he carried with him, but couldn’t tell if he was ready to tell her just yet.

Silence.

Maybe if she told him what happened to her, the horrors she had to endure, he might be more inclined to open up to her in return. It may have been a while since she had interacted with someone besides James, but she remembered feeling safe when someone else showed their vulnerable side. She took in a deep breath and decided to give it a shot.

“James always warned me against letting people in when we were together. He said what had happened to the world brought out the worst in people, that they would panic and try to take what we had.” She straightened her posture as the ground leveled out near the foot of the mountain. “He said that history would repeat itself, and people would turn into savages.” She paused. “I kind of thought he was just ranting and raving until the Saviors came.”

Daryl grabbed the last tree with her mark aggressively carved into it, giving her a look to let her know that he was listening.

“James was out hunting that afternoon, but... he wasn’t far off when they pulled up with their trucks and guns.” She swallowed hard as the memories took over again, wrenching her insides together as she did her best to navigate her path. “We had a cabin in the woods, something completely off the grid that no one knew about but us even before the outbreak… but they eventually found it. James had been living off the land for years. People would call him the crazy old medicine man, Squanto, Chief, Tonto, you name it, but he didn’t care. He liked it out there all by himself, loved it even. I’d only just remembered it when the outbreak happened, and he was kind enough to take me in.”

She stepped in front of him, leading the way to find a rabbit squirming nearby in her trap. It was big enough to provide a decent meal for both of them as it shivered in fear inside the cage. It had no idea it was about to die for them, to give them the strength they needed, but they had gone long enough without a meal to let it go.

“There was a man named Simon… but then he said he was also Kegan…?” She closed her eyes and tilted her head to remember.

“Negan,” Daryl whispered, an angry growl hidden in his throat.

“Yeah, that sounds right.” She opened her eyes and pulled her knife out of its sheath, unlatching the trap and grabbing the rabbit by the scruff of its neck. “They were trying to tie my hands together when one of them said that Negan had never fucked an Injun girl before, and that I should get in the car and go back with them.”

She bent down and whispered a prayer over the rabbit’s soul, shh-ing it as it struggled against her grip. She closed her eyes again as she slit its throat, ignoring the final desperate kicks its legs pounded into the ground.

“He had snuck up from behind, killing most of them, silently, one by one before he got to the man in front of me. Only he missed one that was hiding behind the car, and they shot him.” She opened her eyes. “Right in the head, they shot him… right in front of me!” She squeezed the life out of the rabbit, it’s blood squirting violently between her fingers and into the dirt as her story progressed.

“I was too late to save James, to stop Simon from driving away, but I grabbed that man’s gun and just kept shooting until there was no one left.” Her eyes welled up with tears as the image of his head exploding replayed in her mind like an old movie stuck on a projector. She could feel the shards of bone scatter across her face again as if he were trying to reach out to her one last time. She knew that she told Daryl she had been out here for months, but the truth is she’d lost all track of time and purpose without James. It could have been years since that incident, and she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

“Hey.” Rough calloused fingers made their way over the hills and valleys of her knuckles, coating themselves in blood as they held her shaking hands. “Hey,” he whispered again, squeezing her digits gently.

The sudden sensation of being touched by another human led her eyes to his, bringing their blueish gray to her attention for the very first time. Years of torture and understanding washed over her with a single glance as his monstrous arms grasped her trembling figure. He held onto her until the blood ran out, the scarlet liquid dripping off both their hands before he loosened her grip on the animal like a police officer disarming a suspect.

Rick… Rick… Rick! Her eyes widened with excitement when she realized he wasn’t some kind of vision, some drunken hallucination her brain had fashioned to help her get through this night. He was actually there, his axe in his hand and the moon in his hair. But wait, what if Negan…

Rick pointed at Negan’s snoring form as he let go of her mouth, beckoning a second time for her to get out of bed. His eyes were wild with fear and determination as he took an account of all the exit points in the room.

Blossom wished to God she hadn’t gotten as drunk as she did earlier. Why did she have to drink four glasses of champagne? Why couldn’t she have just drank one? Why couldn’t she have stayed alert enough to take in everything he told her? Maybe then getting out of this bed wouldn’t be so goddamn difficult.

Rick held onto her as she stumbled out of the down comforter, catching her limbs before they could make a sound against the hardwood floor. His familiar scent flooded her senses, placing her back to the day they first met on the road while reminding her how powerful a drug alcohol really was. The sweat from his curls dripped onto her neck in an uneven pattern as she wrapped herself around him, his heart beating erratically against his chest.

He took in a deep breath before lifting her up, doing his best not to run into anything as he made his way to the large window that made up most of the wall. He set Blossom down against the couch as he opened the window and glanced back at Negan. He let out a sigh of relief to find that he was still asleep.

The window opened to Michonne as she reached her hands out to Blossom, her sword secure in its sheath on her back. “Come on,” Michonne whispered, lifting her up and over the barrier.

Blossom winced as she climbed out of the building, the pebbles on the rooftop piercing her bare feet as she stepped out of view. She held onto Michonne, doing her best to keep her balance as she stepped over the dead body that was supposed to be standing guard for the Sanctuary. His head had been sliced in half.

Michonne looked her up and down, taking the scarf off her head and ripping it in half with her teeth. She bent down and wrapped each half around Blossom’s feet, giving her makeshift shoes while she stood on the uneven rooftop. She smiled as she finished tying her left foot and stood up as Rick climbed out of the window.

“Let’s go,” he mouthed to them, playfully shaking a walkie talkie he stole from Negan’s bedside. He pointed to the opposite end of the roof and slid his shoulder under Blossom’s arm, watching Michonne follow suit as they started to make it across the pebble-covered surface.

Blossom did her best to move her feet as the alcohol continued to make her sluggish. She held onto her friends as tightly as she could, grateful they had risked coming to get her, but afraid of what Negan might do if he woke up. Would he kill them all? Would he spare Rick again? It was hard to tell. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t noticed her absence and realized they had reached the end of the roof.

“Nice and easy, okay?” Rick held onto her as Michonne climbed down the ladder first. His eyes scanned her wavering figure, his concern for her paternal as he patted her down for any injuries. He could tell she was impaired and not just sleepy, his late night calls at the sheriff’s station flashing back to him, but didn’t bother asking her about it just yet. Who knew what Negan made her drink while she was with him? Or what he made her take? He would have time to ask her all that once they were safe in Alexandria.

“Your turn,” he coached her.

Blossom backed up onto the ladder, the sweaty silk of Michonne’s scarf slipping on the rungs coated with a fresh morning’s dew. She could hear Michonne whisper to her, the sound of her voice warm and comforting as she took each step closer to the ground. She kept her eyes directly in front of her, on her white knuckles as she clasped onto each rung in fear of losing her balance if she looked anywhere else. The last step turned into more gravel beneath her feet as Michonne pulled her away from the building to make room for Rick. She must have been moving a lot slower than she thought.

A quick whistle sounded, forcing Rick to pull his axe out of his belt and Michonne her sword from its sheath. Blossom turned around slowly to see Daryl with his crossbow at the ready.

“All the scouts are out. Let’s go.”

There was no time for emotional reunions outside the Sanctuary walls when they stole her from her sleep. Daryl tossed her over his shoulder as they ran off into the woods to find a car they’d fixed up on the side of the road. Rick had wanted something different after Negan saw their vehicles on his previous visit, although he would probably figure out who took her. The four of them rode in silence as Blossom drifted in and out of sleep in the back seat, her head safe in Daryl’s lap.

She barely woke when they drove through the gates of Alexandria, the sounds and sensations of Daryl getting her out of the car and up the stairs failing to phase her in her current state. As far as she was concerned, it was just another drunken night before the world had ended, and her friends were taking care of her after a bad night out at the club.

Only it wasn’t a bad night out, not even close. She rubbed the sleepy intoxication from her eyes as she sat up in bed, watching Daryl unwrap the shredded bits of scarf from her feet.

“Daryl,” she smiled.

“It’s good te have ya back,” he grumbled, his lips turning up just enough to display a smile in the Daryl Dixon code of facial expressions.

She pulled her foot away as the scarf rubbed against a pebble that had gotten stuck between the cloth and her skin, cutting into the curve of her foot.

“Sorry,” he whispered, rubbing the skin around it. He pulled a clean roll of gauze from beside him and wrapped it around her wound, glancing up at her every now and again as he continued to wrap it like a mummy.

She winced, glaring at Daryl as he taped the entire roll of gauze around her tiny cut. Even as it wore off, the alcohol had made her touchy despite how overjoyed she was to be back in her own bed. No more Negan, no more Dwight, no more fear. She was home.

Daryl stared at his handywork and nodded, holding onto her foot for dear life as he weighed the pros and cons of his thoughts in silence. Worried eyes shifted back and forth under messy brown locks as her foot rested on his knee. He cleared his throat and squeezed her ankle tightly before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Rick said he found you in his bed.” He wasn’t accusing or speculating. His tone was more factual, but she could still tell he was confused.

“He made me sleep there,” she told him.

“He made you?” His eyes shot daggers whether he wanted them to or not. “He make you wear that dress, too?”

She lifted her foot off his knee and turned away from him, the chill of his words freezing her shoulders. She didn’t expect her welcoming party to be so goddamn judgmental. “He locked me in a cell before that. Gave me a piece of moldy bread every few days when he remembered I was there.” She sat up and scooted to the opposite side of the bed, refusing to look back at him.

Silence.

Daryl was always quiet, but this was different. This silence was thick, filled with dread and regret as it rang loudly in her ears; or maybe that was just the alcohol. She could tell that his wheels were turning, the worst fears of someone like them in the hands of someone like him playing out in his brain. Had it kept him up at night? Worried him sick until he convinced Rick and Michonne to come along with him? She didn’t imagine Rick was the one to initiate her rescue party.

“Did he try to…” He couldn’t bring himself to even finish his sentence, the possibilities at the end too grave for him to deal with.

“No,” she eased his mind, shaking her head. “He didn’t. He wasn’t…” She didn’t know how to explain her encounter with him without sounding sympathetic.

“Hey,” He cleared his throat and sat down next to her, taking her hand and squeezing it. “We’re gonna get ‘im.”

“Promise?” She asked, leaning into his shoulder.

You felt his absence more deeply than you had anticipated, your heart dropping into your stomach as he decided to go on a run the exact same day that you’d slept in his bed. He got you a clean shirt and jeans to change into at least, insisting on burning the clothes you had spent the past few years in. They were tattered and torn, not allowing any room to argue with him even if you tried.

Your mind raced the next day or so whether you wanted it to or not, distracting you from your work in the armory. Negan had taken five of his men and six guns with him on the run, making it over twenty-four hours since they had left the Sanctuary. Did your confession spook him and make him run away? Was he turned off by you entirely? Was he going to treat you differently now that you’ve opened up to him? Did you let him in too fast? Should you have played hard to get? Why did you have to be so goddamn eager to let someone touch you, to let someone treat you like that? You knew the whole situation was too good to be true; that shower, his mouth, those hands… and maybe this place was, too.

“So, how was your little date with the boss?” Jamen interrupted your thoughts, smiling as he cleaned a rifle in the back of the room. His face and fingertips were covered in carbon, signaling how long he’d been at it as he pushed through the barrel of the military weapon with a bristle brush.

“Date?” You signed out a rifle just like his and set up shop next to your coworker. “Do those even exist anymore?” You opened the drawer and pulled out a weapons cleaning kit, unzipping the black bag and pouring it onto the table. You needed to get back into the habit of keeping your guard up.

“According to Max they do. He told me Negan brought you by the other day and told him ‘not to wait up’ so he could spend time with you.” He sat the rifle down. “That sounds like a date to me.”

“Max isn’t my father, J.” You checked the chamber for any ammo and started taking it apart. “We just spent some time together, that’s it.”

You didn’t want to talk about this here, with Jamen of all people. The rumors about girls and gossip were true, but you knew that the same went for men as well. The apocalypse had left little room for entertainment, so gossiping about other people’s lives was the most entertaining thing to do in the Sanctuary besides killing walkers. You’d only been here a couple of weeks, and you already knew far too much about most of the people here. The things you’ve heard come out of Jamen’s mouth, well… you could only imagine what he’d say if you told him the truth.

“I see you got new clothes and a shower.” He winked at you, putting the pieces back together. “Negan help you with that?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” You put your eye to the barrel, looking for any flecks of carbon or obvious obstructions. “Why don’t we talk about how badly you need to shower, huh?” You nudged him with your shoulder and forced a smile, hoping to shift gears to another topic of conversation.

“Ha, touché, mama, touché.” He smiled and dropped the subject, picking up on the fact you didn’t want to keep talking about it. “Did you hear that they found another community to get resources from?”

Jamen spent the rest of your shift talking about what he’d heard from Simon on the new community they found the other day. They called it the Hilltop, and it was full of lush gardens and other crops they could use here at the Sanctuary. Maybe it wasn’t you that scared Negan off after all. Maybe he just needed to get more supplies from this new community. Maybe you should stop worrying about his motivations and finish the weapons log before second shift came in to relieve you. ——————— The air outside was hot and sticky, no oscillating fan in the corner to cool you down as you walked towards the soccer field to look for David. You put your hand above your eyes to shield them from the setting sun and saw him kicking the ball with a tall man in a white t-shirt. His laughter travelled across the air as he volleyed back and forth with him, missing the black and white ball as it rolled past him toward you.

“Uh oh, Mama’s here,” Negan trotted toward you and picked up the ball, holding it loosely against his abdomen. “Looks like we’re in trouble.” He winked at you and looked back at David, beckoning for him to come over.

Negan? Playing ball with David… your David? You’d never seen him like this, in just his t-shirt before. Sure, you’d seen him naked a few days ago, but this… this was different. He was sweating, no, glowing from his game with your son, tiny beads of perspiration dripping down his temples and into the salt and pepper of his beard. His skin wrinkled as he smiled at you, enveloping those droplets of sweat completely as those perfect teeth of his made your chest warm up.

“Back so soon?” You crossed your arms over your chest, debating whether or not to put your walls back up with brick and mortar, or just to leave the wooden planks as they were.

“Just got back.” He breathed in heavily, winded from his sprint as he tossed the ball to David. His hand inadvertently found its way into your son’s hair, ruffling his locks as he held onto the ball.

“Thanks, Mr. Negan.” David squinted as he looked up at him and smiled, the sun bringing out golden hues in his hair as Negan’s fingers playfully ran through it.

“Just call me Negan,” he told him, bending down to his height. “And you can keep that ball if you want.” His smile was electric, lighting up your son’s face for the first time since you arrived there.

David had never been this happy to spend time with anyone else in your group before, no matter how nice they were to him. Jim had tried to teach him fishing, Toni had cooked with him, but he never quite warmed up to them, not like this, and never this quickly. Maybe your attraction to Negan was genetic, and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“Thanks for the ball, Negan!” He smiled again and looked up at you, his dark eyes wide with joy and comfort. “Are you going to protect me?” David looked back at your bedfellow, the innocent question he asked everyone suddenly slipping out without warning.

“Of course I am, David! That’s what we do here! We save people!” Negan placed his hand on David’s shoulder, the sound of your son’s name in his mouth both exciting and scary. “As long as you’re at the Sanctuary, I will do everything, and I do mean everything,” he paused for effect, looking up at you and licking his lips, “To make sure you and your mom are safe.” He squeezed his shoulder, smiling at him before tapping his chin with the back of his knuckle.

“No more monsters?” David asked.

“No more monsters,” he promised. “Now, whaddya say I take your mom out for dinner, and you get to hang out with Aunt Sherry and Uncle Dwight for the night? I’ll have her back in time to read you your bedtime story.”

“I don’t need bedtime stories anymore. I’m a big boy.” David stood tall, puffing up his chest.

“Well alright then, I’ll have her home before you go to bed without your bedtime story. Sound good?”

“Sounds good!” David dropped the soccer ball and wrapped his arms around Negan, surprising all three of you.

You were beginning to think that the apocalypse had turned David into a sociopath, a boy with only a few emotions left that were key to his survival. He barely hugged you anymore now that you thought about it, barely kissed you or expressed joy until he walked through the gates of the Sanctuary. Now he was holding this man closer than he’s ever bothered to bring you in the five years of his existence.

You half expected Negan to pull back, to retract from the affection and shrug him off. Instead he chuckled and embraced your son’s tiny arms around his neck as he wrapped his big hands around his shoulders, patting him gently on the back.

An odd feeling came over you as you witnessed the man with romantic interest in you interact with your child. Butterflies in your stomach threatened to turn it over completely as a wave of heat washed over your entire body. What is this feeling, so sudden and new? This feeling was different from the attraction you felt when you were alone with Negan. It was different from the unadulterated love you had for your child. It was somewhere in between the two, and you weren’t exactly sure how to react to it. Was this what normal mothers felt like when their husbands spent time with their children? Is this what you’d been missing out on the entire time you were a single mom? Is this… happiness? Could something like this even be real?

She must’ve been out of her goddamn mind to think she could meddle in the middle of this mess, this game of chess when she was so defenseless; but she had to try. She wished to God Negan would have chosen Rosita that morning instead of her. She at least had a habit of spreading her legs for anyone who came knocking on her door, and would’ve done a hell of a lot better job at this than her.

Wish though she might, Blossom stood before Negan in his bedroom just the way he’d wanted her. All of the elements of a romantic dinner were there: candles, music, two different plates full of food she’s only dreamt about and champagne. She never really liked dating or all the societal pressures that came with it. She never thought she’d have to deal with something like this again after what had happened, but here she was, back in a misogynist world run by a rich white man.

“Holy SHIT!” Negan stood up from one of the couches and walked over to her. “You look like a goddamn Bond Girl!” He traced his fingers through her hair. “I mean, you looked good before, but DAMN!” He leaned back with the last word, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Sherry did a good job, didn’t she?” She fixed the wave Negan messed up in her locks.

“Oh it has nothing to do with Sherry, but yeah!” He scanned her with dark eyes, slowly stepping forward as the gap between them closed.

“Is all that food for us?” She avoided his intense stare, feeling her muscles tighten up.

“Yup.” He glanced over at the table then back at her. “You hungry?” He grinned again, rolling his tongue across his perfectly white teeth.

“A little,” she admitted, seeing a cheeseburger and fries set out for both of them.

“Look Blossom, I know this is all a little fucked up… I bop two of your friends, put you in a cell, almost kill Daryl right in front of you…”

“Cut me open in front of Rick.” She rose her eyebrows as her heart fluttered. “Don’t forget that.”

“All for show.” He reassured her, grinning like the joker he thought he was. “Sometimes you have to be a little dramatic to get your point across.” He walked over to the table, picking up two glasses bubbling with champagne. “You think I liked killing your friends like that? That I lost Big Red when I could have used him for so many things here at the Sanctuary? You think I wanted to stay up all morning kicking Rick the Prick’s ass in that RV until he figured out who’s in charge?”

She blinked, not sure what he wanted her to say.

“Kind of,” he chuckled, handing her the glass. “The point is, Blossom, people are a resource. They only remain a resource if they see things the same way as you do.” He took a sip. “You and I… those women out there… we all need to be on the same page.”

“And what page is that?” She took a large sip, hoping the alcohol would stop her from caring about what happened next.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” His tone changed. It was soft, gentle, even as he looked her dead in the eye. “All of that shit with the bat and the knives and the cell… that’s all in the past. You’re my wife now, and I will do everything in my power to provide for and protect you.” He traced the outline of her face with his knuckles. “All I ask from my wives in return is that they love me.” He followed suit and finished his glass.

“Love?” What an odd fucking word to come out of his mouth. Love? Ha! Love? Wait… maybe she could use this void against him, somehow fill the gap inside of him in a different way...

“I need to know that you’re on board, for your sake and for Rick and Daryl’s… Before we eat, I just need to hear you say those three little words.” He ghosted her shoulder with his fingertips.

“I love you, Negan.” She chanted, finally looking up into his eyes.

“Good.” He smiled, walking over to the table.

Of course he didn’t say it back. Why did she even think that he would? Ugh, this guy had more issues than her psychology courses had prepared her for. Probably mommy issues. An abusive father, maybe, and none of them had time to give him the affection he needed as a child so he spent his free time killing animals out in the field when they weren’t looking. Whoa, this alcohol made her jump to conclusions.

“What made you choose me?” She asked, starting her interview process by sitting down on the couch. “I mean, out of all the other girls…”

“Are you shittin’ me?” He sat down, popping a French fry into his mouth. “You’re super hot! And you seemed to be the least messed up out of everyone… I assumed you weren’t with Ginger Spice or China Town, so I wanted to show you what kind of guy I really am.”

“And what kind of guy is that?” She took a bite out of her cheeseburger, the black bean mixture throwing her off a little.

“You’re looking at him.” He held his hands out in display as he smirked at her, finally swallowing his French fry. “A man of his word.”

The rest of the meal went on in silence, amazing Blossom that he could shut up long enough to put any amount of food in his mouth. The food offered to her was simple for its time, but gourmet to her in the midst of the apocalypse. She imagined Negan had rooms full of refrigerators, freezers, and cabinets. He had to have a giant kitchen somewhere with at least three stovetops and ovens at the ready, with ample cooks to man them. He didn’t skimp on the condiments or garnishes, either, telling her that they had a fresh garden somewhere outside. That moldy bread he forced her to eat up until now was just a tactic, after all.

After their meal and a few more glasses of champagne, Blossom made her way over to the bed. She hopped up onto the soft down comforter, hoping she would at least blackout during the act itself before enjoying a little bit of rest in bed.

Negan stood up and rushed over to her. “Whoa Whoa Whoa, what are you doing, darlin’?” He actually sounded concerned.

“I’m your wife, aren’t I?” She could feel the alcohol as it pulsed through her veins, heating up her entire body as she spread her legs. This is what Rosita would have done, isn’t it?

“You think I’m going to try and fuck you tonight? After all that I’ve done to you?” His face was serious, his tone even moreso.

“I honestly never know what you’re gonna do,” she admitted.

“You’re drunk.” He placed his hand on her shoulder to prevent her from toppling over.

“I’m not drunk!” She spat out mockingly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten drunk, so he may’ve been right.

“This is a lot of shit to pile on you right now, I get that. I also get that you’re not ready, and if you’re not ready, it’s not going to be any fun for either of us.” He took in a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before glancing back at her. “Look, do you honestly think I have time to sleep with eight, now, nine wives?”

She stared at him, aghast. Even in her drunken stupor she could tell he was being honest. His face was somber, and not that fake somber shit he pulled that morning when he said that this must be really hard on them. No, this was something different entirely.

“You don’t…” she let her mouth hang open. “But all these women are here for…”

“All for show, Blossom. Just like you.” He squeezed her shoulder. Maybe he was telling her this because she was drunk, and she might forget their conversation in the morning. Or maybe he just wanted her to actually feel safe.

“Wha…?” All for show? But the way he spoke, the way he walked, the way he… was all contradicted that fact. She may not be able to feel sexual attraction herself, but she could tell the signs of someone who was hyper sexual. Everything he did and said dripped with sexuality, the way he looked at her, at Rick and Rosita… none of this was making sense.

“All I need is for their brothers, husbands and fathers to THINK that I’m sleeping with them. That keeps my wives happy, and the men in line.” He pulled the covers down her legs and covered her up, resting her head on the pillow. “Like I said, Blossom, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Who are these guys?” He watched the windshield shatter as the car spun out and stopped in its tracks.

“Are you kidding?!” She pressed her foot to the floor as she weaved in and out of traffic, finally finding a back road behind a laundromat and an old Chinese restaurant. Wasn’t this guy supposed to be The Punisher? A badass, ruthless vigilante? Why did he care who he was shooting at? Why didn’t he KNOW who he was shooting at? Had he already forgotten painting the walls with their blood a few minutes ago?

“No.” He sat down in his seat, glancing back for any more suspicious vehicles. “No, I’m not.”

Rosa rolled her eyes, groaning at the thought of recapping what had just happened at Gnucci’s club. She was just about to get everything she needed on Carlo Gnucci before… before HE came waltzing in. Before he strutted in like a big sexy bulldog and shot up all of the targets she’d been warming up to. Before he ruined a six-month long operation in less than five minutes. Before his cockiness got him hit over the head with a baseball bat.

She looked over and noticed his posture begin to relax, letting her know that no one else was following them. “That guy must’ve hit you pretty hard.”

He rubbed the back of his head, surprised not to find any blood on his palm as he brought it in front of his face. He grunted and settled back into his seat, looking around as she took him on a route he’d never been on before. “Yeah,” he trailed off, letting his hand fall to his side, “yeah, he did.”

“Those were Gnucci’s Boys,” she filled him in, turning off her headlights. “I thought you knew whose party you were crashing.” She eased off the gas pedal and slowly turned into an open warehouse.

“Gnucci…” He paused as she pulled into the garage. “Yeah, the Italians.”

“Yes.” She confirmed, shifting the car into park. “God, it’s like talking to a four year-old.” She rolled her eyes again and turned to face him. “You seemed to be on quite the mission, and made it very clear that you didn’t care about mine.”

Rosa took the gun from his hands and grabbed the box of shells, getting out of the car before slamming the door shut. She glanced back at him only to signal for him to follow her, pointing in the direction she was headed. —————

“What happened?!” Terry squealed as Frank followed Rosa into the main room of the warehouse. “The signal at the club went out! I was scared to death, and you’re covered in blood!” His eyes were wide with worry as he took her in, growing larger as they landed on Frank. “Who is this?!”

“It doesn’t matter who he is, and I’m fine,” Rosa grumbled, dropping the gun and ammunition on the table.

“It doesn’t matter? Yes, it does!” He paused and sized Frank up. “That’s Frank Castle,” he whispered, “The Punisher.” He rose his eyebrows at her while pressing his lips together in a thin fine line.

“I know who he is,” she stated matter of factly.

“Why is he here? This is supposed to be a secure location, Rosa! You can’t just bring people here you meet on a mission! How can you be sure someone didn’t follow you?!” He points at Frank, his hot gaze locked on her.

“I’m sure.” She glanced at Frank, nodding for him to enter the room. “I couldn’t just leave him there, he may have a concussion.” She opened the weapons cabinet against the wall, securing her shotgun on a shelf. “What kind of person would I be if I let him die in a strip club?”

“A safer person! We don’t know what kind of enemies he may have tailing him!” The vein in his neck began to bulge.

“Cool it, Terry.” She put her hair in a ponytail and walked over to Frank. “He needs to stay awake tonight.”

“Your cover’s been blown, Rosa! We should call the Captain. I should call the Captain!” He exclaimed, tap dancing nervously.

“No!” She halted his movement with her eyes. “He’ll be gone by morning. We don’t need to tell Holt anything.”

She gave Terry a look she only used on her father in the past; a look that begged him for a brand new toy she’d been wanting for the longest time. She knew that this was her only chance to get Terry to buy her some time with Frank, to get her story straight. She hoped to God it would work on him.

“He better be. And just for the record… I don’t like this.” He stamped his foot on the floor.

She looked Frank over, noticing the mixture of wet and dry blood splattered across his face. This poor bastard wasn’t even asking where he was anymore, or who they were. Maybe he didn’t care, or maybe he felt that he could trust her. Either way, she needed to see just how out of it he really was.

“I’ll take the first shift, you go and get some rest.” She stared Frank in the eye as she ordered her sergeant to leave the room.

“Fine.” Terry pointed dramatically at the floor. “But I’m calling Captain Holt first thing in the morning.”

“Fine.” She shrugged, rifling through the drawers under the table. “Goodnight, Sarge.”

“Goodnight, Detective Diaz.” He bit his lower lip before letting his shoulders drop in defeat, heading toward his bedroom.

“Detective Diaz?” Frank finally spoke. “Do you always talk to your superiors like that?” He let his mouth slack open, tilting his head as he watched her fiddle with the contents of the drawer.

“Only when I need to.” She pulled his eyelids open and shone a light in his pupils. “Do you always play dumb like this after you ruin undercover police investigations?”

He smiled mischievously, looking straight ahead as his pupils dilated equally. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn by not saying anything.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to learn a lot more before you came in half-cocked tonight. Do you really not remember who you were gunning after?”

“I’m getting bits and pieces back.” He put all of his weight on his palms and scooted up on the table.

“Well, you better get the whole picture soon. My Captain is going to have my ass in a sling when I tell him some mysterious postal worker came in and shot up the club.”

“You aren’t going to try to arrest me?” He looked down at the open drawer and pulled out a rag with some motor oil on it. He turned it over in his hands, looking for a clean spot before shrugging and wiping the remainder of the blood off his face with it.

“Would you even let me?” She smirked, folding her arms across her chest.

“No.” He put the rag down on the table next to him and stared at her. Those eyes: black as night, with no gold or green to brighten them up, even in this dull fluorescent lighting, managed to hold her still. Sad and angry, wild and calm, she’s never seen so much emotion in two spheres before in her life.

“That’s what I thought.” She shook herself from her trance. “As much as I’d love to bring you in as an excuse for my failed mission, I need you out there more.” She turned around and leaned her back against the table. “I mean, you were just…” She smiled and closed her eyes, thinking back to the image of him tearing those men apart like rag dolls. “You were amazing.” Her smile got bigger as her eyes slowly opened.

“Yeah, well, not that amazing if I got knocked out.” He closed the drawer and hopped off the table, stepping in front of her. “You could have left me there, but you didn’t.” He paused, looking at her stature before meeting her gaze. “How did I get out of the club, anyways?”