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go look at this girls page, work is unbelievable she’s so good!!!

Negan x reader pt. 1

Author's note: Guys, I'm sorry, this is so shit. All I've written lately are papers for class, so I just wrote this to get the creative juices flowing. I know its not much, but PART 2 IS COMING AND IT WILL BE FLUFFIER DON'T WORRY!!! Trust the process🙏🙏🙏🙏. I'm planning on having this be a multi-part story because I've been fucking obsessed w this man lately like fucckkkkkk just LOOK AT HIM ARGH anyways let me know if you wanna be in the taglist😘😘

Summary: Female!reader is on her own until she comes across Negan and his men on a supply run.

Warnings: mentions of death, panic attack

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Making it this far was pure luck. When the walkers came, I’d been lucky enough to have a father who’d been in the military and could teach me how to shoot. When we had to leave home and live life out on the road, constantly searching for cans of old food, I’d been lucky enough to always come across something to eat. When it got cold, we got lucky enough to find houses with fireplaces and enough firewood to last us the night.

I guess my luck ran out a month ago when a walker fell out of a closet and latched onto my dad’s throat while we were scoping out another house to stay in.

Since then, I’ve been on my own, running out of bullets, out of gas, out of hope. But I had to keep going. He’d been so sure that we would find others. Survivors. People who could help us. I had to find them– to know that his hope wasn’t for nothing. He’d kept a map with him, and we had been driving in a circular pattern, the center being our house in southern Virginia, looking for evidence of a settlement.

So here I was, staying in the master bedroom of a quaint house with a well-stocked pantry, planning out my next steps– with every closet checked, of course. I was plotting out the highway exit I would take tomorrow when I suddenly heard an engine.

A car engine.

People.

I hurried over to the window and peaked through the blinds. Surprisingly, the people in the trucks and vans stopped just a few houses down from the one I was in. Why didn’t they continue on?

Several men climbed out of a large truck– and all of them were equipped with massive guns. I knew that they were likely for walkers, but the sneers on their faces were unnerving. I watched to see what they would do.

Then, a man with a black leather jacket and a barbed bat hopped out of the cab of another truck and began ordering the men in different directions with a wild smile plastered across his face. Anxiety grew in the pit of my stomach.

After a few minutes, his men came back out of the houses nearest to the trucks with arms full of soup cans and furniture. When they were done, he ordered them to continue on in other houses, pointing directly at the one I was in.

My father might’ve been right– there were other people out there– but I never really considered that they might not want to help me. That they might not want me to join them. Not to mention I hadn’t seen a single woman come out of any car...

I needed to get out before they got here.

I dropped to the floor, grabbed my things as quickly as I could, and shoved them into my pack, but before I could stand, there was a bang from downstairs. I heard men speaking, laughing.

My heart racing, I pulled the closet door open as quietly as I could and slipped inside, listening for a moment before I realized where I stood.

I was standing inside a closet, waiting for someone to finish searching the house.

Images of my father bleeding out on the floor surged into my mind. I gagged as I remembered the foul smell that billowed out of that closet when it opened just moments before I lost him. I remembered his screams, and my hands shaking as I shoved a knife through its skull. And then through his when he died.

Tears streamed down my face, and I covered my mouth, choking back sobs. They couldn’t find me. They couldn’t. I could tell these men wouldn’t allow anything to take them by surprise like my father had. They would shoot first, ask questions later.

I heard footsteps as a few men clomped up the stairs. More tears fell. All I could think of were their guns, and my father’s blood; their knives, and him lying there on the floor.

* * *

“It’s a girl, sir.”

Negan raised a brow.

“A girl? In the house? Alive?”

“Yes, sir. She was hiding in a closet upstairs, crying.” The leader of the Saviors hummed in reply, and stood thinking for a moment.

“Should I… should I bring her out here?” his subordinate asked. He only waved a hand in response and walked toward the house.

Inside, men looked at him with wide eyes and confused expressions. One man-- Nicholas, he believed his name was-- walked up to him and explained that the girl wouldn’t move from the closet floor.

Upon reaching the master bedroom, more of his men bombarded him with dimwitted statements.

“Sir, she won’t move."

“She just keeps crying.”

“Alright, alright, guys. Honestly, it is just a girl. I’m sure you’ve seen one before, so fucking relax,” he said with exasperation in his voice. He stopped when he heard a sniffle from the closet, then walked over and peered inside.

Though Negan wasn’t known for his big heart, he was sure his broke a little when he saw the young woman that sat before him.

* * *

“All of you, out. Now.”

That was all the man in the leather jacket had to say for the room to become empty again, save for the two of us. I was still on the floor, my chest heaving, my hands shaking.

The man squatted in front of me, bat in hand. It was chipped and cracked in several spots, especially at the head. In the blemishes, I swore I saw faint splotches of red. I thought I would vomit.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said, in a voice that sounded as if he was speaking to a cornered animal. In a way, I suppose, he was.

“Are you alright? Why are you crying? You hurt?”

I inhaled, meaning to respond, but all I could manage was another weak cry.

The man cocked his head to the side a bit, then looked down at the bat in his hand, realizing what was the matter. He tossed it behind him onto the bed, then turned back to me and raised his hands and continued.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget I’ve even got her in my hands... I’m Negan. What’s your name, doll?”

With the bat out of sight, it was a bit easier to concentrate on his hands, his face. Though he looked quite rugged, with a shaggy beard and thick eyebrows, his brown eyes were soft, inviting.

“Y/n,” I whispered after a moment. My voice was hoarse, and I let out a cough. He sat down fully on the ground and crossed his legs.

“I’m sorry, can you say that one more time? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Sorry… It’s-- it's Y/n,” I repeated, wringing my hands together as I spoke. He smiled.

“Y/n. What a beautiful name. It suits you, it really does. Look, I’m sorry we scared you, sweetheart. Is this your house? We didn’t know anyone was here when we came in.”

I shook my head.

“No, this isn’t my house. I was just passing through.” The man, Negan, nodded.

“Are you by yourself, honey?”

I hesitated. He put his hands up again.

“I promise, we don’t wanna hurt you. We were just lookin’ for supplies to take back with us.” My eyes widened as I recalled what I had been thinking when Negan’s trucks first arrived on the street. This could be my chance to escape the world my father hadn’t been able to. This is what he would have wanted for me, I knew it.

“I… yes, I’m alone. I have been for a while now.” A short whistle sounded from Negan’s lips.

“You’ve been surviving out here all on your own? That’s fucking badass, I hope you know that.”

I smiled shyly, looking down at my lap and sniffling.

“Hey, have you eaten in a while?” he asked. “We’ve got a few sandwiches, apples, some sodas, down in one of the trucks. I’m sure we could spare some for you if you’re hungry.��

“I don't wanna take your lunch–”

“Aw, don’t worry about it, doll. There’s plenty extra. But I appreciate you bein’ so considerate,” he explained, finishing with a smile. He must’ve known he was making progress with me. I wiped my eyes a bit.

“C’mon, let’s go grab you something to eat,” he said, standing up and holding his large hand out to me. Looking up at him from where I sat, I could imagine how meek I must’ve looked– how embarrassingly harmless. But looking up at him stirred something in me. His confident half-smile, his slicked back hair-- his entire persona was so charming, so comforting.

I grabbed his hand, and he pulled me up with ease before grabbing his bat and leading me downstairs.

* * *

“You feel like having another?” Negan asked as I finished my second peanut butter and jelly. We sat in the dusty cab of the truck he’d come in, and he tapped his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel while watching me eat. I shook my head.

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” I responded. The bed of the truck shifted up and down as men piled boxes of supplies into it. If they needed this much stuff, I thought, there had to be a ton of people where they came from that were planning to use it. With that in mind, I cleared my throat to ask the question I’d been gathering the guts to ask since I’d sat down.

“Negan,” I began, and he hummed. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything you want, honey,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. I blushed and looked away, then carried on.

“You said you were taking the supplies back with you…”

“Mmhmm,” he grunted, gently urging me to continue.

“Back to where, exactly?” I whispered. He twisted to face me more in his seat.

“We’ve got sort of a compound set up,” he explained. “It’s not too far from here. It’s got fences, walls. Lots of people, and plenty more food to go around.”

All this time, my father had been right, and then some. People weren’t just surviving out here in this world– they were thriving.

“Do you… have any extra space?”

Negan laughed heartily.

“For you, doll? Abso-friggin-lutely.”

I nodded.

“So I can… I can come back with you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’d love to have you come back with us, y/n. Can’t leave a pretty thing like you with them ugly sons of bitches, now can I? You’d be much more protected there than you are here, I can tell you that.”

* * *

About an hour later, Negan sent a grumbling Dwight to find a new seat in another truck and was driving back to the compound with y/n in the passenger seat.

She was a cute little thing, he’d decided, and he’d been watching her shamelessly since he’d brought her outside. Her teary, guarded eyes, her cute little pout, everything about her was fucking adorable.

Although, he was also amazed at how long she’d held up out here. People like her, people who hid and cried instead of standing and fighting, those people were pretty much gone by now. How had she made it this far?

He struck up a polite conversation, asking questions here and there. There had to be some explanation for how she’d survived for all this time. After a few minutes, though, it was clear that the questions were making her nervous. His curiosity about her was eating away at him as he drove– he was used to getting answers faster than this. But he supposed he could wait this time.

The sweet girl beside him sat silently for the rest of the drive, and though the questions piled up in his mind, Negan was smiling.

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