You laugh in his face when he asks you to be a wife.
It's completely involuntary; the absurdity of the situation forces the laughter to bubble out of you before you can stop yourself. And when you see Negan's eyebrows knit together and his eyes flash with rage, you just laugh even harder.
You learned a long time ago that the best way to survive was not to take things so seriously. If you didn't care about anything, what was there you had to lose?
It was this mindset that made you so polarizing to others. It made all the loss you had endured bearable, but it came at more of a cost than you had ever imagined. It made living with other people an uphill battle. In fact, at just a little over a month, living in the Sanctuary under Negan's rule had been the longest you had gone in a community without things going south. You had made yourself somewhat invaluable here, proving your usefulness and earning enough respect from your peers that your bad attitude went unchallenged and unquestioned. You were a good shot, and you'd been quickly promoted to the role of sniper. You had a feeling your rapid rise in status was in part due to the fact that you weren't well liked among the other perimeter guards you had originally been working with. As a sniper, you spent most of your time alone in one of the empty rooms on the upper floors, peering through the sights of your rifle. You were visited only by the one girl on the kitchen staff you had managed to become friendly with bringing you meals. Besides that, the nights that you couldn't sleep you spent in storage, organizing the stock that hadn't been inventoried earlier for extra points. It was there, between shelves of canned goods and toiletries, that Negan had cornered you.
"Something funny, doll?" Negan finally bites out. His tone sobers you and you finally manage to reel in your laughter to just an undignified chuckle, your hand over your lips to keep yourself from bursting out laughing again.
"It's just…when I was a kid, I had this whole image of how my wedding was going to go, like, planned out. I had the perfect proposal down pat," you said. "And now, all these years later, after the world's gone to shit, I finally get that proposal I always wanted, and the fucker doesn't even have the decency to say the actual words, 'Will you marry me?'"
"What the fuck did you just call me?" Negan rushes forward, and his hand is around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, but it's enough that the threat is there, reminding you of who has the upper hand here. And one look in his eyes tells you he's more than willing to follow through if you push him too far.
"N…Negan…" you gasp. This is how it always happens. You've always said too much, always dared to see how far the limits could be pushed. It was a wonder your smart mouth hadn't gotten you killed by now.
This was the precise reason you couldn't say 'yes' to being a wife. Things were going too good here. You weren't about to fuck that up by risking pissing off the man in charge of it all, even if there was something that appealed to you about the cushy lifestyle you would have as a member of his harem. And the more distance you kept between yourself and Negan, the better your chances were of not saying something that would ruin it all. Even worse would be if you were to shatter the uncaring façade you had carefully crafted by somehow ending up having feelings for an egotistical maniac who already had five wives.
You swallow, knowing he can feel the movement against the fingers locked around your neck. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about Negan holding you this way, but under much different circumstances. "I…I'm sorry, sir."
Your heart thrums in your chest, and eons seem to pass as you search his eyes for signs that he might relent. Finally, a smile cracks his lips, and his grip loosens before his hand travels further south, resting lazily just above your breastbone. "That's fucking better," he says.
Then, Negan steps away, as if none of what just happened transpired. He seems relaxed, but his stance belies a predator's instinct. You need to choose your words carefully.
"If it was anyone fucking else, I'd bash their head in with Lucille here," he says coolly. "But you? You have me thinking about all the good ways that smart mouth of yours can be put to fucking use. And holy shit, if you aren't even more super fucking hot than you were before. So what do you say, doll face? Will you marry me?"
His tone is mocking, and your impulsive nature rears its head again in response.
"No." The word tumbles out before you can stop yourself.
His eyebrows raise is surprise, and you watch as he struggles to keep genuine shock from showing through. "No?" he repeats.
"I mean, what kind of woman would I be if I said 'yes' the first time you asked? If I don't make you work for it? Beg for it." The words won't stop coming, and your brain screams at you to get your mouth under control.
Negan stares at you, studying your features intently. He was scarier when he wasn't speaking. And that was the thing. He was always speaking. He always seemed to be putting on a show. Negan was unpredictable, first and foremost, but at least you knew where his head was at as he blathered on. His silence suggested an unnerving calm, as if he were ready to pounce at any second, knowing his victory was assured. Even worse, his arrogance wasn't misplaced. He could easily overpower you.
"I am making you a generous fucking offer, sweetheart," he finally says. "You could be scrubbing fucking floors, working that tight little ass of yours all day fucking long for scraps. And here I am, telling you don't fucking have to. In fact, I'm telling you that you don't have to do a damn fucking thing but show me a little service. So, I'm going to give you one more fucking chance, and I'm not going to fucking ask again."
His words make your blood boil. How dare he threaten to debase you to floor scrubbing, of all things. How dare he behave as if he wasn't the one who came in here, asking you to be a wife. He acted as if you were begging him to save you from a big, bad scary world you couldn't face on your own when you hadn't ever asked him for a single damn thing.
"Do you really want me?" you breathe, your voice soft.
He was grinning again. "Shit yeah, I do, baby girl," he answered, reaching out to press his cool leather-clad palm against your cheek, wiping a strand of hair aside with his thumb.
"If you really want me that bad…" you trail off, bringing your hand up to cover his own. You lean forward, your eyes darting down to his lips. You want so desperately to close the gap between your mouths, but you don't let yourself. Your gaze flickers back up to his eyes, finding him staring down at your lips in turn.
"If you really want me that bad, you'll try a little harder."
Negan yanks away from you, as if you had shocked him. The rage flashes in his eyes again, and for a moment, you're sure he's going to grab you by the throat again and get on with what he could've done earlier. But he doesn't.
"The offer's off the fucking table," he hisses.
"Your loss," you answer coolly.
Before he can stop you, you turn on your heel and stride out of the room, not sparing a look back at where Negan stands, dumbfounded.
A/N: If you like this (which I'm hoping you do), please, let me know! It inspires me to write faster, as does persistent badgering for more. Un-beta'd. (Or, I guess, self-beta'd.)