Well damn. "Georgia" was supposed to be a stand-alone oneshot, but Negan just gives me so many feelings that I couldn't help but to write another. There will probably be more chapters to come, but updates will be sporadic. I have a shitload on my plate, and I have to divide my inspiration with four stories. Soooooo enjoy this update while you can, I guess. x'D
Chapters will range from being Negan-centric to Georgia-centric.
This one is Georgia-centric. Possible trigger warning? Yeah, be careful.
Georgia didn't like Shaw. The first time they had met, she'd thought he was going to kill her for sneaking over the fence. She'd tried clawing his eyes out and he had retaliated by punching her square in the jaw. Negan had said that he'd given Shaw a good talking to; explained to her that he didn't tolerate violence against women.
Of all the things she thought Negan would be, never in a million years would she have him pegged as a feminist.
He gave her a job working in the facility. He had taken her bat away, and she sort of hated him for it. But then he said that if she worked hard enough, he would promote her to the more offensive forces of the Sanctuary and that she'd get the bat back in no time. So, work she did. Like an ant in a fucking colony.
Everyone seemed nice enough, although the fact that she used to lug around a bat identical to Negan's frightened some of them. The women in the factory didn't seem to know what to think of her, while the men held a grudging sort of respect. Including Negan – and excluding Shaw.
Shaw looked at Georgia like she was a piece of meat. She was getting sick of it.
She avoided him as best as she could, but he was everywhere. Whether she was working in the kitchen or mopping the floors or helping with the inventory, he was there every time she looked over her shoulder. She'd have thought she was becoming paranoid, but Negan had noticed it too.
Negan approached her one day, totally out of the blue, while she was working in the kitchen. He had Lucille over his shoulder and the usual cockiness in his stride. Everyone else got down on one knee, but Georgia refused to follow suit, just like always. She wouldn't have done it if she thought that Negan would hate her for it, which he didn't. If she didn't know any better, she'd think that her defiance turned him on a little bit.
"As you were," he barked over his shoulder. The people straightened up and continued bustling around, and Georgia turned back to her dicing. "What's cookin', good lookin'?"
"Brussels with sausage," she muttered, though she grew still when he suddenly pulled a lock of hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine. Negan's front was practically pressing against her back, and she felt him chuckle.
"You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?"
He was horny. There was no other explanation. He wouldn't say that if he wasn't desperate to get laid. Georgia rolled her eyes.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will not be one of your wives."
He walked up from behind her and came to lean against the counter. "I'm not asking you to be. Why can't we just fuck like rabbits so I can feel how tight your pussy is, just once?"
She thought she had gotten used to his straightforwardness and vulgarity, but she'd be lying if his rough voice didn't send a shot of warmth down between her legs. Despite herself, she managed to raise an eyebrow and scoff. "Like you wouldn't be coming back for seconds."
The loud laugh that erupted from his mouth took everyone by surprise. Georgia just grinned and ducked her head, pretending to be focused on her work and not entirely distracted by the glint that had appeared in his eyes.
"Touche, doll," he said. "Tou-fucking-che."
He stuck around for a while. They just talked. The people milling about gave them odd, sometimes horrified looks, but Georgia paid them no mind. She was more worried about adopting Negan's favoritism of the F-word. She had to admit that it was fun to say.
They had fallen into a comfortable silence when she felt someone watching her again. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Clearing her throat, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Shaw was walking around the dining area. His hair was slicked back even more than usual and he was whistling. His eyes drifted over to her again and Georgia couldn't help but to glare.
Of course, Negan noticed.
He leaned down to her height and followed her gaze. A sound that was half-surprised, half-amused came from the deeper parts of his throat. "You horny for him or something?"
Her eyes flashed. She reared back and fixed him with the most deadly serious look that she could muster. "Fuck no," she said. "Not in a million years."
The joking air that had built up around him came tumbling down. All of a sudden he was staring so intensely at her that she had to look away. "Is he bothering you, sweetheart?"
She wanted to say yes. She wanted Shaw kicked out of the compound so she wouldn't have to deal with his oily looks ever again. But her pride wouldn't allow her to show Negan any hint of weakness, so she just shook her head and kept dicing. "I can handle it," she said.
Negan took her word for it. He walked away.
A few days later, she regretted what she'd said so much.
She was working overtime in the kitchen, washing dishes, when Shaw came in. Everyone else had gone to bed and Georgia wanted nothing more than to just be able to walk out of there, but Shaw was blocking the doorway.
His eyes ran up and down her body, and a smirk grew on his lips. "Evening, sweet cheeks," he said. And he drawled his words just like Negan did, but it was amazing how different the both of them sounded. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I'm just finishing up here," she muttered in reply, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Oh, sorry, I meant shouldn't you be in my bed?"
He was grinning when he sidled up from behind her and pressed her against the sink. She could feel that he was hard. Disgusted, Georgia whipped around and brought her hand up to slap him, but he caught her wrist as if he'd been expecting her to attack.
"Aw come on," he drawled. "We could have a blast together. You, me, between the sheets… what do you say? Don't you want to be fucked long and hard?"
"Not by you," she spat. "You're sick. You're fucking sick."
She tried pulling her hand back again to slap him, but this time he was the one who delivered the blow. Her vision dulled for a moment. Her cheek stung where he had hit her and then he was wrestling her to the floor. Something made of glass fell off the counter and crashed to the ground with her, breaking apart into shards.
She tried freeing her arms, and she did, but he had his legs on either side of her waist, and he was so much bigger than her. And then suddenly he had stopped trying to pin her arms, instead wrapping his large hand around her neck and squeezing.
"You know, the first time I saw you, holding that bat and looking dirty as shit, I thought about all the things we could get to do together." He smiled sickly sweet. "Negan likes you, but you ain't one of his wives, so he doesn't get to do shit to me when he finds out I fucked you. And you aren't going to tell him about this little misunderstanding, are you? You're gonna be a good girl for me, right?"
She couldn't breathe. Spots were dancing before her eyes. The attempts she made at pushing his hand away were feeble. She had resigned herself to death when she caught something glinting out of the corner of her eye.
Shaw kept talking. One of his hands had gone down to start unbuckling his belt. A tear slipped out of Georgia's eye as she stretched her arm out to the side and began wildly feeling around for one of the shards. Her hand scraped against the cool surface of a long, jagged piece just as Shaw was pulling his zipper down.
Her fingers wrapped around the shard. Its edges cut into her skin but she didn't care. Yelling in anger and exertion, she brought her arm up and forced the shard into his shoulder. It was a poor mark at best, but it did the job.
He scrambled off of her, cried out in pain and surprise. Georgia barely took a moment to catch her breath before she was on top of him, beating his face in. Her hand hurt from where the glass shard had cut her skin, but she paid it no mind. She was seeing red.
No one fucking touched her. Not unless she wanted them to. They had all touched her mother, her sister, even her fucking brother. But she wasn't going to end up like them. Her father had told her to survive. That was what she was going to do.
Shaw's blood was on her knuckles, dripping down her wrist. But maybe that was hers. His lips were puffed-up; his eyes were swollen shut; his cheeks were starting to bruise. Georgia kept going. She only stopped when she felt someone pulling her away, at which time she began thrashing around.
"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" She tried to land a punch in but her assailant was quick. All too soon her hands were being pushed down again, but she still had free reign of everything else. She kept screaming.
"Georgia, it's me! It's me. Shh, doll. You're okay… You're okay…"
He was holding her face between his hands. Warm hands. Gentle hands. Hands that she knew had killed many other people, but would never hurt her. He had told her that himself.
"Negan." She tried pulling away but he only held her there tighter, forcing her to look him in the eye. "He… He tried to—"
"I know, doll. I know." A tear had slipped from the corner of her eye. He wiped it away with his thumb. "You're okay now, alright? You know I'd never fucking touch you, right?" She nodded. "We'll take care of him tomorrow. Right now, you need to have your hand fixed up, and then you need to rest."
Georgia shook her head. "I don't want him staying here. I can't fucking h-have him anywhere near me."
"He'll be in the cells in the basement. I'll have someone stand watch by your door. Is that okay with you?"
She shook her head again. The guard could get in while she was asleep, they could get to her and she'd be totally defenseless. Surely Negan knew that? No, he just looked at her with a mixture of concern and impatience.
"Well what the fuck do you want?"
She just wanted to be safe. Negan seemed to sense that, because then he was nodding his head and reassuring her again that she was "alright".
Everything after that was a blur. He took her to Carson, the resident medical expert, who stitched up her palm and wrapped her hand in bandages to save her raw knuckles from too much contact. After that, Negan walked her down a hall that was completely foreign to her. She would have panicked if she didn't trust him so much. He pushed her into a room that wasn't hers; told her to get cleaned up and to get some sleep.
She only did one of those. After finding a relatively sharp object from one of the drawers in the desk at the far end of the room, gripping it tight in her hand, she curled up on one side of the bed, facing the door, and promptly fell into a fitful sleep.
It was Negan's room. Of course it was Negan's room.
He woke her up in the ass crack of dawn with nary an explanation, just told her that she had unfinished business to attend to. She knew what he meant. She didn't even have time to think about how Negan had let her sleep in his room, because her mind was set on Shaw and what kind of punishment Negan would have planned for him.
It wasn't the iron. If it was, Negan would have led her to the center of the factory. Instead, he took her to the empty field outside. A crowd had formed, with Shaw right smack in the middle of it. Dwight and Davey kept him where he was. Georgia took in his scarring, bruised face and felt another surge of anger.
Negan was talking to the crowd, explaining to them why they were there, why Shaw was there, and what was about to happen. He didn't need to explain it to Georgia, though. She knew well enough. Negan was going to beat Shaw's ass.
"Why?" he said to the crowd. "Because WE DON'T HURT WOMEN!" The sudden change in his voice made Shaw jump, and Georgia couldn't help the sick smile that crept up her face. "WE DON'T HIT THEM, WE DON'T SLAP THEM, AND WE MOST CERTAINLY DO NOT FUCKING RAPE THEM! IS THAT FUCKING CLEAR?"
"Yes, Negan," the crowd replied in tandem.
Then one of Negan's men was handing him a bat wrapped in barbed wire. It wasn't Lucille, though. Georgia could see that, plain as day, it was her bat. Rawling's maple. She was confused but he just gave her a no-nonsense look, getting close to her face and muttering into her ear, "I want you to watch this go down, Georgia. Every single fucking second of it. It'll be gross, it'll be fucked up, but you'll thank me when it's done."
Georgia watched him stride up to Shaw, give him a condescending smile. He let Shaw beg for a few seconds before swinging the bat. It struck Shaw beneath his jaw and soon he was sprawled out on the ground. Dwight and Davey backed away, knowing that they were no longer needed; Shaw wouldn't be able to stand anymore.
Negan beat his head in with Georgia's bat until every bone in his face was shattered, until his skull caved in, until his brain was nothing more than clumped, red goo on the ground. Georgia remembered what Negan said. She watched every single fucking second of it.
But it was over before she knew it. Dwight and Davey dragged Shaw's body away – to be burned, buried, or left for the dead, she didn't care. Negan dismissed the workers and dragged her back to his room. His wives had gotten back before them but he barely gave them a second glance. Georgia caught Sherry's eye though; there was something there that she couldn't read.
"You know why I did that, right?" Negan said, once he had locked the door behind him.
"Yeah."
"You know why I wouldn't let you do it yourself?"
"Yeah."
His eyes flashed dangerously. Georgia didn't know what she'd done wrong. Lightning fast, he moved to stand directly in front of her, pushing his face close again and placing his hands on her shoulders.
"If anyone bothers you, you tell me. If you want anyone dead, you tell me. If anyone tries to fucking touch you ever again, you fucking tell me. I'm the only one allowed to ever fucking touch you, is that shit motherfucking clear?"
It was as close to begging as he was ever going to get. But Georgia had found something wrong in his statements. Frowning, she whispered, "I'm not one of your wives, Negan. You don't own me."
"Just because you ain't my wife doesn't mean I don't fucking own you, doll. You best fucking remember that." He was still holding her bat; Shaw's blood dripped onto the floor. Negan grinned at her, and she couldn't help but to smile back.