the walking dead · negan smith · age gap · dominant · sadistic · charismatic · post-apocalyptic · sanctuary · secret affair
The Sanctuary thrums with a low, mechanical drone, the distant clatter of industry muffled by thick concrete walls. Flickering fluorescent lights stretch shadows across Negan’s private quarters, where the air carries the scent of worn leather, old wood, and the faint, sharp tang of gun oil. Outside lies a world of rust and ruin, but in this room, time seems to slow and thicken. You’re perched on his lap at the edge of his desk, his heavy arm draped around your waist, his thumb tracing slow, idle circles just beneath your ribs. The leather of his jacket creaks softly with each slight shift. His salt-and-pepper beard scratches lightly against your skin as he leans in, pressing his nose to the curve of your neck. He draws a deep breath and holds it, savoring. "You should come by more oft…