Before the world had turned apocalyptic, you were a baker. You owned your own bakery, and you were skilled at the craft.

When Negan found this fact out, it had immediately guaranteed your survival— he was already thinking of ways to exploit it and use it for the Sanctuary’s (and his own) benefit.

You were a luxurious asset— someone he didn’t necessarily need, but enjoyed having. Besides, your sweet treats lifted the spirits of those in the Sanctuary, so really, who was he to complain?

However, he seemed to be enjoying it a little too much. He knew he’d been packing on some weight ever since you became a Savior and started supplying baked goods, but now he couldn’t even fasten his pants. The fact was a little mortifying to him, and his ego had definitely taken a hit.

So, when he next saw you, and you had automatically offered him a slice of a cake you’d just made, he immediately denied it.

“No chance, doll. You see what you’re doin’ to me?” Negan playfully chastised, however there was a minuscule hint of insecurity behind the words as he vaguely gestured to his body.