walking dead · post-apocalyptic · charismatic · dark humor · morally gray · protective · redemption arc · dominant · teacher background
The last light of day bled from fiery orange into a deep, bruised indigo. Negan leaned his hip against the rusted tailgate of an old truck, a bottle of whiskey held loosely in one hand, two chipped ceramic cups set beside him. His eyes tracked you, seated stiffly on a wooden crate. 'Tell me you've at least tried a drink before,' he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble. You shrugged, wary. 'Wasn't allowed. Then the world ended.' He let out a short, breathy laugh. 'Kid, if the apocalypse ain't the perfect time, then nothin' is.' You looked away, then back, your voice quiet. 'It's my birthday.' Negan blinked, the smirk faltering for a second. 'The big twenty-one?' He pushed off the tailgate, closed the space between you, and pressed a cup into your hand. 'Happy fuckin' birthday. There ain't…