#mentions of murder kidnapping n torture n shit if that bothers anybody

[devilbrakers]

❛  i’m so sorry.  ❜ for prim zeke 😏😏😏

He’s been watching her a while, too long for his liking. But it’s been difficult to approach her without making his stalking glaringly obvious since she tends to avoid the more busy areas around town. She hasn’t noticed him, yet anyway, and he’d very much like to keep it that way but time is running out and his patience is wearing thin. Takes the fun out of it when he can’t toy with his prey a bit. 

She’s been sitting by the cafe – in the outside dining area – for a while now, sipping on her coffee and scrolling through his phone. It’s nearly dusk and the place must be closing soon so he unlocks the door to his truck, shifting in his place in an attempt to stave his anticipation. She’s new so this should be easy. Bump into her and apologize, let his gaze and hand on her shoulder linger a bit while she falls in love at first sight (they always do), make conversation, lie about being new too, offer to explore town a bit together, bring out the fake sob story, and he has her. It’s always worked with the ones dumb enough to fall for it and he’s feeling lucky today. 

He places his hand around the door handle when the barista comes around to give her the check. He opens the door as quietly as he can manage before hopping out of his truck, toying a bit with his hair in the mirror before heading down the street. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and exhales a sigh, picking up his pace a bit when he sees her slinging her purse around her shoulder and standing up. Luckily, she pauses for a moment, fishing around for her wallet and leaving some money on the table for a tip. She turns on her heel to walk out of the wrought iron fence. She hasn’t noticed him yet which he thanks his lucky stars for as he braces himself a bit for impact. 

She gasps and he does too as his larger frame crashes into her, nearly knocking her off balance but Zeke catches her before she can fall. She presses her hands into his shoulders for purchase, curling her fists into the thick denim of his jacket. He loosens his grip on her and relaxes a bit before stepping back. 

“I’m so sorry about that! Guess I wasn’t paying attention.” 

She’s even more gorgeous up close, the falling sun illuminating her eyes into a golden brown and he sees the freckles dusting her features that he’d never noticed before, nor had he noticed the small scar marring her lips. He ignores the slight ache in his chest and flashes her a warm smile, trying to make sure it reaches his eyes. She leans back and brushes her hair out of her face, tucking the orange strands behind her ear. She smiles at him as she takes in his features, though he’s not sure if it’s just to be polite or not. He hopes it’s genuine. He finds it is when she stares at him for just a bit too long. She quickly looks away in embarrassment when he tilts his head a bit, waiting for her reply. 

“Oh, no worries! Guess I wasn’t either. Um,” She pauses for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next lest it become awkward between them. “I’m Primrose. What about you?” 

She backs up a bit further but sticks out her hand for him to shake. He accepts and notes how soft her skin is and how well her hand fits in his. 

“Pretty name, it suits you. Name’s Zeke, nice to meet you.” He releases her hand, though makes sure to slide his fingers across hers before he shoves it back into his pocket, ignoring the way the touch made his breath hitch. “Say, I haven’t seen you around here before. You new?”  

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

That’s not what he’s supposed to say but the words came out like vomit. There has to be something up with her, he’s never fucked this up before. He feels his palms sweat a bit when her expression turns to one of slight confusion when she senses his distress. But she shakes it off and answers his question anyway.  

“Uh, yeah. Moved here not too long ago. You been here long?” 

He releases a bit of tension at the question, cursing himself for the overreaction. “Oh, not really. Kinda a newbie too, still trying to find some friends. I could, uh, show you around, maybe?” 

She bites her lip, smiling a bit as she looks away from him. “Mayyyybe another time. Would rather get to know you a bit before I walk around alone with some strange guy I just met.” 

Zeke snorts at that, an unexpected reaction but it works in his favor, he thinks. “Strange, huh?” 

“Maybe just awkward then,” She shoots him a wink. “I saw you in your truck a bit before I was done here.” 

His eyes widen at that, looking away from her as he scrambles for an excuse. Fuck, he should’ve been more careful. He’ll have to cut this short then. He sighs a bit, checking his back pocket for his knife. It won’t be easy out in the open but he can manage dragging her to his truck. He’s done it before. 

“Were you just too scared to come to talk to me or something?” She asks with a smile, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. 

He freezes at that before forcing a smile of his own, hanging his head and letting out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, guess I was. Didn’t mean to be a creep, sorry about that.” 

She laughs a bit too, though he doesn’t miss the slight tension in her expression. He definitely fucked this up. 

She looks down, kicking her feet a bit, seemingly contemplating something. “I could give you my number if you promise you’re not a creepy murderer?” 

You have nooo idea, dollface.

“And if I am?” He asks, matching her amused expression. 

“I could think of worse ways to die,” She replies before fishing around her purse and pulling out a sharpie. “Buuut hopefully, I won’t regret this.” 

She uncaps the marker before grabbing his hand, writing down the seven numbers just below his thumb. He notes the small heart she leaves at the end before dropping his hand. She smiles at him once again as she drops the marker back in her purse, he notes the bottle of pepper spray amongst the many other items in the bag when she opens it. Smart girl. How unfortunate for him. 

“See ya around, Zeke.” She says before turning on her heel and walking down the street. 

He stares at her for a moment. He could easily follow her home and take her from there, though that’d ruin half his fun. Plus, he has time, more time than he previously thought. He’d be willing to entertain a few dates, or at least until she starts to entertain the thought of a relationship, or maybe even fall in love with him, he’ll have to wait and see. Plus, the betrayal in their eyes is always worth it in the end. He wonders how pretty she’d look when she cries and begs for mercy, what her screams would sound like, how long it’d take to break her… Not the time. He sucks in a shaky breath, calming himself before bringing up his hand and putting her number in his contacts.

[crashdevlin]

Zed Word: Ch. 4 Favorite

Zed Word Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3. This was inspired by a series of tweets between Jeffery Dean Morgan and Jensen Ackles…. Sam and Dean never found John, but everything went the same way anyway until Season 5. Adam never said ‘yes’ to Michael. The fight at Stull Cemetery never happened but Lucifer (jumping from vessel to vessel ‘cause Sam wouldn’t say ‘yes’) and Pestilence managed to infect everyone with Croatoan, turning everyone into zombies when they die. The boys have traveled the apocalyptic landscape killing zombies and saving people ever since.

Summary: Reader has been living in Alexandria since Daryl saved her life. When she ventures out of town for the first time in months, Sam and Dean save her life and she takes them back to Alexandria, a town on edge since Negan showed up. Dean takes an instant interest in the woman, and when Negan shows up again, he does, too.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Negan x Reader

Story Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, Non-con/dub-con, unprotected sex of a forced nature, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, PTSD, *THIS IS A DARK FIC*

Chapter Warnings: Non-con/dub-con sex, coercion, NSFW, 18 and over

Sam watched from the stairs as Dean and Maggie went over maps. It had ceased to be about tracking their father down and quickly become about finding the girl. Dean hadn't mentioned John since they started plotting locations and changed the topic as soon as anyone else brought him up. Sam was certain that it wasn't John. He remembered him, what an asshole he'd been. Pushy, demanding, obsessive, but not insane. He couldn't even imagine that monster the Alexandrians had described was actually the man who'd taught him how to shoot, how to hunt, how to help people. How to save people. No way in Hell does John Winchester murder people with a baseball bat and kidnap women to rape them.

A demon would. A shifter would. Almost any sort of monster. But not John. Sam stood and grabbed his brother's attention. Dean followed him into the front yard. "Dean... What if they're dead? We have to consider what we'll do in that situation."

"Y/n's not dead." Dean dismissed.

"Dean... that demon is obviously not taking any shit. If she fought him-"

"She didn't." Dean was certain.

"How can you know that?"

"Because that's why Dad took her! She's soft." He spat out, angrily. He sighed, heavily, looking around the green yards which matched poorly with the horrible reality of the situation. "She's sweet, innocent. Southern Bella in there said it, Sammy, she's a hider. She's never hurt another human being, never even put down a zombie. She doesn't have it in her. She won't fight Negan. She'll go along with whatever he says because that's how she'll survive. I just hope we can get to her before he does something that scars her for life."

Sam nodded. "You guys getting anywhere? The maps?"

Dean nodded. "We won't know anything 'til we check it out, but... Maybe getting somewhere."

Sam nodded. It wasn't hard to see why Dean was so obsessed with getting y/n back. They'd come across quite a few women as attractive as her since Lucifer unleashed the apocalypse, (admittedly fewer and fewer as the years passed) but none who'd survived purely on their wits and determination. Sam was impressed that she'd never taken out a zombie and it bolstered his faith in her survival skills, but... demons were vastly different from zombies. Zombies were slow and predictable, only really a problem in large groups. A single demon, however...  

Sam sighed and patted his brother's shoulder. "I'm hungry. See if I can't run down some food."

"Ask Eric if there's any spaghetti sauce left. I'll eat it straight if there's no pasta." Dean said, before hopping up the porch stairs to reenter the house.

*********************

You stayed in your 'room', watching peoples' movements and analyzing the building for hours before you left, new shoes insulating your feet from the cold concrete. You moved around the main building to the outside, checking every exit, committing every face to memory, making special note of which men were Negan's special guys. Which men were Negan. You spoke to a few people, quiet ones who seemed like they were just trying to survive. On the third day of your 'freedom', the fat man approached you. "Show dog, Negan wants you. Said to hit a shower, then come see him."

You fought to not show the cringe that went through you. "Only Negan calls me that, fat-ass." You said, clinging to a false bravado.

"It's 'Fat Joey', and I am Negan."

"Yeah, well, I apparently belong to Negan... but I don't belong to you, Fat Joey. So obviously, you're not Negan enough." You said, grabbing a pair of clean jeans and a clean white v-neck shirt and pushing past the man to go shower. The water was cold; hot water being a luxury for those who didn't work for points. You could've gone to the other showers but you heeded Dwight's advice about Negan's other women.

Your mind poured over the information you'd gained from your fellow meek Sanctuary dwellers. Negan wasn't as bad as he seemed. He saved them. The people who were originally here, they were dying and Negan and Lucille saved them. That's why he and his men were Saviors. Negan was a veteran, a Marine. Everything he did, it was for the good of his people. He had to keep his people alive first and, like it or not, you were one of his now. Just do what you're told, keep your head down, kneel when you see the man... become his favorite...

As you pulled a two blade, disposable razor up your leg, you imagined how you would've have reacted to this situation before everything went to shit. You were hit on by a lot of older men, mostly doctors who were old enough to need those little blue pills themselves, when you were a pharma rep, but none like Negan. Physically, the man was attractive in much the same way Dean was. Nice muscles, pretty eyes, a beautiful (if not completely psychotic) smile and his cock wasn't bad, not that you had a lot of reference. If you hadn't known he was insane, you were certain you wouldn't have any trouble with the man.

And that's what you clung to as you dried yourself off with your one allotted towel and put on your simple clothing choice, not bothering with a bra or panties. 'Every villain is a hero in his own mind'. Negan is a savior and not an evil man. He's just a man trying to do right by his people. A man, maybe driven a little mad by the power of ruling a group. It's one of the reasons why you traveled alone for so long.

You found yourself in front of one of Negan's rooms, your damp hair clinging to the back of your shirt. It wasn't where he slept, but it was where he entertained himself, where you would entertain him. You took a deep breath. You knew what was coming but you weren't sure exactly how. You knocked at the door, lightly, then dropped to one knee as you heard him approach the door. He chuckled when he opened it. "You learn fast, don't'cha? Stand up. Get in here."

Your eyes fell on the bed first, a mattress with pillows and a comforter, jacked up by several stacks of blond pallets. Your eyes then searched the room for Lucille. As Negan closed the door, you found her, tucked behind a television set playing a VHS of 'Cheers'. You breathed a sigh of relief. He was never without her, but at least the weapon was away from arms reach. "Want something to drink? A little Hunter's Helper?" He offered, picking up a bottle of whiskey from the counter. You nodded, hopefully not too eagerly, excited to have something to dull your senses. Even if it was Wild Turkey 101.

You gave a tight smile as he handed you a glass half-full and you took a gulp as you looked at the TV. "I used to watch this on 'Nick at Night' when I was a kid."

Negan sat in the recliner, but didn't look at the show. He focused on you, even as he took his own mouthful of liquor. "How do you like my Sanctuary?"

You bit the inside of your lip, taking a moment before answering. "It's not bad. I've lived worse places. My dorm at college was chaos, like an all-girl 'Lord of the Flies' without the pigs to hunt." You took another drink of whiskey, which burned the inside of your lip, where you'd apparently broken the skin. "You run a tight ship, which makes sense, I guess, since you used to be a Marine. That where you got the skills to keep people safe from walkers?"

"Not even close." He sat forward in his seat. "But it's not the zombies that are the problem. Zombies are useful. They guard our gates. It's people. People are the problem. I run a tight ship because I can tell which problems are fixable... and which problems get to guard the gate."

A copper taste brought your attention to your lip, which you'd taken to biting again. You took another drink, then continued on your 'military' line of questioning. "You know I, uh, I grew up in an Air Force town."

"Pussies." He interjected, somehow leaning forward more.

You forced a chuckle. "Yeah. You're right. But small town... Service was pretty much the only way out. Most of my friends went Army. Hoo-ah."

"This where you tell me you've decided to give me the benefit of the doubt due to my service to a now-nonexistent country about 20 years before you were born?"

"No, sir." You replied, squaring your shoulders. "It's where I tell you that Abraham Ford was Army and he'd be cursin' up a storm if he knew a fuckin' jarhead put him down."

He laughed, rather than make an angry move for Lucille as you'd feared he might. He stood, slowly, taking his glass over to the counter to pour more Wild Turkey. Then, he returned to his line of questioning. "You ever killed anybody?"

"No." You answered, simply, your tongue darting out to mess with the bite inside your mouth.

"You must've made it inside the walls of Alexandria fucking quick if you never saw any truly desperate people."

"I saw plenty of desperate people. They just never saw me." You set your glass next to the TV and leaned against the TV stand. "Daryl brought me into Alexandria just a couple months before any of us heard your name."

"You survived by hiding? What, from everyone? How'd Daryl get his hands on ya?" He leaned against the counter, mimicking your stance.

"Took a wrong turn in Albuquerque, wound up trapped in some warehouse in West Virginia. Ghouls were chasing me, I fell through a rotted staircase into this basement electrical closet. Broke my leg, cracked my skull. I laid in that basement for two days, completely certain I was dead. I mean, the barricade I put at the door was sure to fail before I dehydrated to death. I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did. I was pretty gone when Daryl busted through my barricade and came to find me. He said he knew I was there 'cause the walkers were acting like hound dogs or coon dogs or... something 'had a raccoon treed'. He put me on the front of his bike, tied me to his waist and hauled ass back to Alexandria. Denise set my leg, let the pressure out of my head and I was fine to meet new people for the first time in years."

"And then I showed up and started killin' 'em."

You shook your head. "We killed your men first." You shrugged. "They deserved it. Had to know folks would fight back when you try to take their shit."

"Not their shit, anymore. It's mine."

"Yeah, now, 'cause you broke Rick, but when Daryl blew up your men with a rocket launcher, that rocket launcher was Abraham's."

He laughed. "Rocket launcher! Fucking crazy as fuck."

You chuckled, relaxing a bit. Now that the liquor had started to warm you, he didn't seem so menacing, anymore. "Yeah... That was pretty fucking crazy."

"So, where were you heading in West Virginia?" He picked his glass up and began to drink again.

"Nowhere. Back then, I kinda just wanted to keep moving. Staying in one place just seemed like a bad idea. My parents died last time I tried to make a home someplace. What made you stay here?"

"Seemed as good a place as any. And these people needed my help. That's what I did back then, I helped people."

"And now?"

"Now, I help me." He pushed away from the counter, sliding his glass next to the bottle as he moved toward you. "I take what I want, when I want because that's how the world works now. The guy who can put down a herd of zombies with a baseball bat and some big cajones, he gets everything he's ever desired."

"Except his dead wife back." You whispered as he stopped in front of you.

"Yeah. Except for that."

"What was her name?" You asked, shaking a bit as he reached over and grabbed a piece of your hair, still damp from your shower.

"Mary."

"Were you together long? You said she died in '83?"

"I don't wanna talk about my wife. The dead one or the new one."

"Okay. I just... with Sherry, I know who I'm up against. I was just trying to get a feel for... what kind of competition I've got from the memory of a ghost." You reasoned. You lied. In fact, you were hoping that thinking of his first wife would turn him off from his plans for you.

"You vying to be Wife #3?" He ran his hand down the front of your v-neck, pulling the front hem up to expose your breasts.

"I have no delusions about my reason for being here, Negan. I-I'm here for just one thing and I can be the one you like most or... or I can look forward to wa-watching the gate." You covered.

"You're cute when you lie." He pulled the shirt over your head, twisting the fabric when it got to your wrists and holding your arms, tangled in white cotton, above your head. "You were trying to use Mary against me. Smart move. You know, I'm impressed by the manipulation..." You tried to look down, away from him, but his left hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look at his face. "...and how you picked up on the importance of Mary from, what, two mentions of her. I toss her memory around so people think I don't give a fuck. How'd you know?"

"It was a guess." You whispered.

"Lie." His left hand dropped to your hip, the thumb digging into your muscle, putting pressure on a sensitive point just above where your jeans sat. It caused your knee to buckle but he held you up by your wrists.

"Your eyes!" You squealed, shifting as much weight to your good leg as you could. "When you first mentioned her, the 'Doe-eyes' thing, you smiled, but not with your eyes. Your eyes were sad." You responded, quickly.

He ceased the pressure, but kept his hand in place, thumb tapping the spot which was sure to be bruised in a couple hours. "Damn. Would've been great at the investigation side, if the world hadn't ended." He mumbled to himself before untangling the shirt from your wrists and pulling it completely away from you. "She was beautiful, had a tough attitude, but motherhood softened her like butter. She was too good for me, even back when I was a good man." He dropped the shirt to the floor at your feet and let your arms drop to your sides.

"You... you could be good..." You whispered as he unbuttoned your jeans.

"You're not here to preach at me. I'm fine with the man I am, now. I have fun, so... you just need to get on board."

"I am. I'm on board with whatever you want of me. I, I want to be."

"I want you on the bed." He dropped your jeans to your feet and you reflexively stepped out of them as he pulled you toward the mattress. He lifted you, tossing you a short distance to the middle of the bed, your head somehow landing right below the pillows. He grabbed your ankle and rubbed a rough thumb across your shin. "You shaved for me. Even trimmed that pretty bush. Oh, and that gorgeous pink blush all the way down to your tits. Hard bitches don't blush." You closed your eyes, feeling the heat of that blush in your cheeks. His hand continued its journey up your right leg stopping at an inch-long, thick white scar on the outside of your calf. "Looks like a stab wound." He looked up at you as he ran his thumb up and down the small patch of discoloration.

"Um, there was a, uh, trap somebody set up in the woods in Alabama, where they sharpened all the thick twigs on a low-hanging branch and bend it back, tie it off. Mom walked into it, I pushed her out of the way, got a pointy twig in my leg for the trouble."

His hand moved up to your abs, where a thin, jagged scar ran from your belly button to just below the pressure point Negan had jammed his thumb into. "And this one?"

You chuckled, tightly. "Barbed wire fence got me. I wasn't willing to sacrifice my jacket to hold the wire down, so I tried to just vault over it... I'm lucky I was up on my tetanus booster. It could've been bad."

"No bullet wounds, no knife scars. Look at you. Hell, the only bruises on you are the ones I put there. You are near mint condition." He scoffed, but not derisively. He seemed almost awed by you. "Even nearly a virgin. There's that blush again." He slid his hand up, between the valley of your breasts, to lay across your collarbone. "You are not to move. This will be far less fun for you if I have to tie you down. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." You whispered, making sure not to move your head.

"Those manners..." He mumbled, before bracing his left arm on the mattress and vaulting his fully clothed and booted body onto the bed, straddling your nude form. He looked you over, before grabbing your hands and pulling them above your head. He didn't have to tell you not to move them from the pillow. You entwined your fingers together as he leaned over you and brought your earlobe between his lips, scraping his teeth across the soft skin. It wasn't until he'd kissed, licked and nipped from your ear to the crook of your neck, his beard rubbing against your skin as his hands dragged up and down your arms, that it dawned on you that it felt good. Why would he want you to feel good?

The question disintegrated in your head as he moved down your body to catch your left nipple between his lips. Your right breast came under attack from his left hand, grabbing it lightly and rolling it under his palm. You wiggled under the weight of his body, unable to prevent your body's search for friction. His ministrations stopped immediately, as he pulled back and looked down at you. "What'd I say?"

"I'm sorry. I, I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. I'll try harder." You were breathless.

"Aw. Am I neglecting something?" He asked, bringing his right knee between your legs and rubbing his jean-clad knee against your mound. You moaned, your hands clenched together while you tried to remind yourself not to move, not to rub yourself against the man. "What do you want me to do to you?"

You swallowed, unable to think clearly. "Whatever you want."

"Good answer." He dipped his head down to lick at your neck, his knee rubbing persistent pressure in between your thighs. He pulled it away, moving down your body, trailing kisses across your skin. He ran his tongue across the barbed wire scar, then dipped it into the juncture where your leg and hip meet. You jumped, his tongue suddenly drawing circles around your clit, but he didn't stop to reprimand you this time, instead putting his right hand on your abs to hold you down as he began to lick deliberate, rough stripes from your opening to your clit.

"Oh, god." You whined, squirming under his strong grip as the middle finger of his left hand sunk easily into you. As he added his first finger, you brought your hands down to cover your eyes, in an mad attempt to control something. With his fingers fucking you with expert precision and his mouth making obscene slurping noises against your womanhood, it was easy to forget yourself. Forget what brought you to the Sanctuary, forget the demeaning way he'd treated you since you got here, forget anything and everything except the man between your thighs, worshipping you with his mouth. As your orgasm built inside of you, it just didn't seem to matter.

It crashed over you, tendrils of pleasure snaking across your body as you tried to not hyperventilate. He slid away again, dropping off the bed and toeing his boots off as you nervously moved your hands back to the pillow. He dropped his jacket to the ground, followed by his shirt and pants, then crawled onto the bed, his erection dragging along the comforter beneath you. He looked down at you, before pressing a bruising, possessive kiss on your lips. "You don't have to worry. I already like you better than the others."

The noise you made as his cock found your entrance and quickly sunk into you, sliding in easily amongst the lubrication your body provided and his own saliva, was somewhere between a moan and a squeal. There was pain, of course. He was bigger than anything you'd had, even your old toys, definitely bigger than those two fingers he'd just had in you. He'd given you no time to adjust before slamming balls deep, so there was definitely pain.

But pain is fleeting and it was quickly dominated by the wholy unique feeling of fullness. "Shit!" He groaned. "Do that again."

"What?" You hadn't realized you'd done anything.

"That clenching, kegel thing you just did."

"Oh." You breathed out, before repeating the action.

"Ooh. Goddamn, if more women did that, we'd have no problem getting the population back." He reached down and hooked your legs behind his back, then took each of your hands in his, rubbing a thumb over each palm. "Now, you put these hands wherever you need to. You move however you want. Participation is not only encouraged, I'd say it's damn near required, at this point."

You nodded, tightening your legs around him and putting your hands on his shoulders. He put his left hand on your hip and put the other on mattress, next to your head for support. He gave you another moment to get ready, then, he began to move.

It was unlike anything you'd ever felt. His girth rubbed against the sensitive walls inside you, his cock head reaching your cervix with every motion. You moaned, your hands clutching at his neck and back. "Oh, my God!"

"You're a fuckin' dream, y/n." He grunted into your ear as he fucked you into the mattress. "So hot. So wet. So fucking pretty and pure." He pulled out, unhitching your legs and flipping you onto your stomach with ease. He grabbed your hips and pulled you up onto your hands and knees. "And you're mine."

You whimpered as he grabbed your hair and slammed back into you. "Yes." You whispered, your neck craning as he used your hair as leverage.

"What?" He demanded, pounding into you, his balls slapping against you in a quick rhythm.

"Yes! I'm yours. Negan, God... Yours."

"Damn straight." He grunted as he reached around to move his fingers, roughly across your clit. Your arms gave out as another orgasm slammed into your nerves, your head meeting the mattress. Negan continued to fuck you, picking up speed and pounding your face into the comforter. His hand tightened in your hair as he gave several more pumps, then stilled as his cock spilled inside of you, twitching happily within your walls.

He pulled out and collapsed to the bed next to you, both of you breathing heavily. "So..." He started, sliding his arm around you and turning you to lay your head on his chest. "Best you ever had?"

"Definitely." You whispered.

"Aren't you glad you got my attention?"

"Yes, sir." You weren't. Definitely rather be home in Alexandria, but... It could be worse. He could be more horrid. And that was a fairly amazing... workout session.

"I like that respect, y/n, but..." He sighed, deeply, satisfaction emanating from him. "As long as we're alone and I'm in a good fuckin' mood, I won't call you 'bitch' or a show dog name... and you can call me 'John'."

"Thank you." You relaxed against his chest.

"That was a workout. We're gonna need a nap before we get to work."

"Work?"

"Oh, sweetheart. Can't have my favorite girl walking around unable to defend herself. Hiding only gets you so far, y/n."

You sat up a little and looked down at him. "You're going to, what, teach me to fight? Aren't... Aren't you concerned I might-"

"Fight back against me? No. I'm not gonna teach you enough to kill me. And I'm certain that you don't hate me near as much as you did when you walked in here. Right?"

"Right." You responded, lying your head on his chest again and sighed. "You seem to be right a lot of the time, John." You experimented with his first name. It definitely didn't have the same fear factor as 'Negan', but neither did the man you were lying with.

"I try." He wrapped his arm around you tighter and adjusted the pillow under his head with the other hand. "Get some rest, gorgeous."