Work Text:
Control
My first Neggie fic that I wrote at 2am when I couldn’t sleep.
She’s heard from the others what he says about her. At first she brushes it aside. How he calls her the Widow. How he always asks about her. Asks where she is. And yet they are never at the same place at the same time. Not really, anyway. Never face to face. Always at a far enough distance. Never a chance to speak one on one.
“Where is that Widow these days anyway? I would have so liked the chance to get better acquainted.”
It’s a mercy that he never gets the chance.
One day she’s looking at herself in a full length mirror. It feels like forever since Glenn. Since she was held. Since she felt fingertips on her. She’s tried to keep up appearances. She tries to keep herself looking clean and neat, at least as much as is possible with what little supplies they have. It makes her feel more productive, more ‘normal’.
She stares at her figure, remembering all the years she critiqued herself for ever flaw she could find. How obsessed she was when she started dating, as does any typical teenage girl. She remembers this one man. He was older, rugged. Handsome. His car broke down near the farm and knocked on their door to use their phone. She remembers staring at him in awe as if he owned the whole world. His charm, his natural charisma. It was intoxicating. She remembers it made her knees weak and brought an unfamiliar warmth to her belly. She remembers the leather jacket he wore and the little smirk he gave her as he lingered a little longer than was probably decent. He joined them for dinner that night, stealing a glance at her here and there as if she was his prey.
Her father warned her about the bad boys. They were nothing but trouble. She never told him that the bad boy stole a kiss from her before he left the following morning.
She hates herself for every moment she thinks of Negan in that same way. For that same warmth in her stomach. She pushes down those thoughts deep inside her that she’s convinced she can pretend they don’t exist. But the seed is there. And now it’s sprouting roots.
She wakes up sometimes in a cold sweat when she’s dreamt of him. When now her worst enemy has rooted himself deep into her subconscious that it feels as if she’s become consumed by him. Her body reminds her she’s starving. Her mind reminds her that deep down she wants danger. Excitement. For the wolf to run after her. And catch her. But not before she can resist for as long as possible.
She uses her thirst for revenge as her resistance. And she does want it. Wants justice for Glenn. He had been her sanity amidst all the chaos and darkness of this world. And now it had been taken from her.
When the battle is fought and won she begs Rick to kill Negan. She needs to see him bleed and suffer and kill that monster that lives deep inside her, spreading itself all over her flesh and bones.
Months go by and soon whispers of Negan are almost non existent. Rotting in a cell in utter darkness, she imagines. And she convinces herself that that part of her she hates more than everything will decay with him. At least for a while.
When the night sweats become too much she decides then she will do something. She tries to picture Glenn to release her itch. She pictures his smile, his arms reaching out and holding her as she slides a hand between her legs. He’s warm and sweet and gentle with her until that moment he isn’t. And suddenly his face is warped and blurry and she can’t see him clearly anymore. Instead she sees Negan looking back at her, his touch is rougher. More urgent. He smiles at her, all teeth and mockery as he’s ready to devour her like the big bad wolf. She hates him so much her blood boils. And he’s there to put out her fire, his fingertips at her lips as he reaches down for a kiss that she’s pictured a million times before.
In the distance she hears his whistling as he feeds on her like a ravenous walker.
It’s time, she decides.
When she leaves Hilltop for Alexandria she’s sure everyone knows the reason for her visit. No one really bothers to stay out of her way, save for a few in Alexandria who want to keep Negan alive as a symbol.
She barely remembers getting there, sneaking in is easy enough. Michonne tries to stop her and almost succeeds until Maggie convinces her she has to do it.
Everything in her burns when she walks down those steps. In a moment of insanity she unbuttons her shirt a little, exposing more of her flesh. The image of him is still clear as day to her as she reaches the door and steps into darkness. She swears she can still hear his whistling.
When she reaches the cell she sees a shadow of a man. He’s sitting by the wall and she can only just make out his silhouette. She steps closer so he can get a proper look at her.
“Do you remember who I am?”
“Of course I do.”
She feels her body betray her when his response causes her to pulse between her legs. She’s relieved, as if him remembering her assures her. And yet it enrages her more. It becomes harder to breathe now.
He soon tries to provoke her. He screams and mocks her, mentions Glenn and how good it felt to kill him. He steps closer and closer until she can see him better, his tongue still razor sharp and yet, his body a lot more defeated and frail. He looks broken.
She opens the cell door and manages to throw him to the other side of the room. He’s pinned against the wall and she’s got him by the throat. She presses forward a little. He’s still strong enough that he can overpower her. She wishes he would. She stares into his eyes, begging him to. There’s no way he can know. He thinks it’s all about revenge. And it is but it also isn’t. She searches for any hint of understanding. If he is to die then a part of her would have to die with him.
He looks at her, defeated. She presses forward again, this time placing her thigh slowly between his legs. She feels for any sort of reaction, watching, searching. His eyebrows raise a little at the contact, uncertain. Curious. Does he know now? Fuck, he is a man after all. Broken, perhaps. But still a man.
She risks it and slowly closes the distance between their bodies. The way her mind races she’s convinced she has a fever now. Her hand is still at his throat, gripping his neck but only just so. She becomes aware of how her chest is pressed against his now and the little moans and groans that escape his lips. She keeps her other hand gripping her weapon. It would only take a moment for it to all be over.
He shifts his body, carefully, deliberately to watch her reaction now. She stays still as a statue but inside there are flames encircling her. Her eyes get lost in his as she imagines him fucking her hard until she finally begs for release. She imagines him laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood and guts. She can’t decide which one arouses her more.
“Well, shit.” he whispers, just loud enough for her to hear. His eyes change and she feels his newly found awareness against her knee.
She steps back, trying to regain her senses. He watches her, that familiar little smirk upon his face and yet, something else. Something she can not quite place.
He stands up a little higher, adjusting his posture. She studies every inch of him there, memorizing. He takes a step forward towards her and she takes a step back. She’s played this scenario in her head countless times before.
She finally lets him approach her now. He never breaks eye contact as he reaches and takes ahold of the weapon in her hand. He lets it go and she shudders as it hits the ground and makes a horrible noise.
He uses the same hand and places it on her waist. The audacity he has to touch her makes her want to scream until his ears bleed. She remembers the last walker she killed that day, how she pictured Negan’s face as she bashed its skull to a pulp.
She closes her eyes to focus. The heat that comes out of him as he tilts his head and leans forward to hover over her is nearly unbearable. He hesitates, in case she decides it is enough to kill him right there and then. Or maybe it’s to tease her to death. But she doesn’t move and this is all the encouragement he needs to continue.
“What do you want, Maggie?” He asks.
“To kill you.” She instantly responds between heavy breaths.
“No,” he whispers back, shaking his head and taking in the scent of her hair. “If you really wanted me dead I would be dead already.”
She opens her eyes and sees he’s closed in on her now. She watches as he licks his lips and focuses on hers. How is it possible he can smell this good after being in here for so long?
She sees tiny flickers of excitement in his eyes and yet a noticeable sadness. They linger in silence for what feels like forever. She wonders if he thinks this is all a ploy. A ploy to get him to touch her or attack her. To justify her reason for killing him right there and then, not that she really needed any further reason.
“You decide what happens next, Maggie.” He says, offering her reassurance and control. It makes her huff in response. Control. That’s what she has had all this time. She is in charge of her emotions and body. She decides what’s what. It’s a lie she tells herself everyday. What could she do now but give in?
It feels like a ghost of a kiss until something outside breaks out and people are screaming for help. She snaps out of the trance, grabs her weapon and runs, brushing against him so hard it makes her shudder at their forced contact.
“Maggie,” he calls out, just before she’s up the stairs. She turns and looks at him, her breath still unsteady and violent.
“Next time we see each other I decide what happens next.”