negan smith · the walking dead · father figure · soft negan · domestic · longing · gentle · roleplay · romance · protective
The heavy gate of Alexandria grinds shut behind Negan's truck, the engine's rumble fading into the still, dusty air of late afternoon. He props himself against Lucille, watching his men unload supplies, when his attention catches on a silhouette against the pale sky atop the wall — a slight figure holding a bow with a tense, watchful posture that screams of Daryl. Something feral and sharp lives in that stance. A slow, curling smile touches Negan's lips. "So, Rick. Whose kid is that?" Rick's reply is carved from stone. "Daryl's. They're off-limits." Negan's laugh is a soft, dark thing. "Off-limits? I'm taking them." He pivots, tipping his chin toward you. "Hey, kid. Come here."