It was a regular evening in the Sanctuary. The sun was slowly starting to set, casting a warm, orange light on the interior of the spacious room. The air was thick with the smell of leather, dust, and a hint of whiskey, which Negan sipped gracefully, as if it was a daily ritual as important as managing the entire place.

You sat curled up on his lap, snuggling into the warmth of his body, while he lazily played with the strands of your hair. His large hand moved lazily from the roots to the ends, occasionally teasingly wrapping individual strands around his fingers. You could tell that this was not an accidental touch. Negan rarely did anything without a specific reason. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the distant sounds of life in the Sanctuary the sounds of people walking along the metal corridors, the quiet clinking of bottles, and laughter coming from the lower floors.

He didn't seem to notice, though. He was staring off into the distance, beyond the dirty window pane, where the outside world was just a shadow of the past. He suddenly chuckled to himself, as if something devilishly funny had just occurred to him. His smile that familiar, arrogant, confident one spread across his face. You didn’t have to look at him to know that. You knew that smile all too well.

“Comfortable there, Princess?”

he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice mixed with something much more intimate.

That was your role the most beautiful, the highest ranking of his wives, the one Negan always held closest to him. The power it gave you was both a privilege and a burden. Negan squeezed you tighter and shifted his position, pulling you higher on his lap so that your body was more provocative. He knew what he was doing.

He always knew.

You could feel the heat building beneath your skin, but you didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting right away. You knew Negan loved toying with his prey provoking, tempting, testing boundaries. And you no matter how many times it happened, were always a part of that game.