Running From You I Negan x Maggie (ENGLISH VERSION)

Chapter 17: Holy hands, will they make me a sinner? 🚫+18

Don't you say, don't you say it

Don't say, don't you say it

One breath, it'll just break it

So shut your mouth and run me like a river"

Negan left the house that morning in a dark mood, though there was a strange sense of routine. He pulled on his coat, watching the people around him going about their day. He had a task — helping with the wall repairs Daryl had assigned him, though the task still came with side glances of distrust.

Negan walked toward the wall, his steps light, but his mind heavy. Sometimes, it was almost funny to notice that the group, even though they were starting to accept him, still gave him those sidelong looks — a mix of mistrust and reluctant admiration. Daryl, ever blunt, didn't fail to call him an "asshole" between orders, but it was odd: in the last few days, even that sounded different, less like an insult and more like a reminder of where they were. Of who he was.

As he picked up the hammer, the weight of the metal in his hands gave him a certain relief. Something to hold onto, something beyond just trying to keep things together. Because, deep down, he knew there was one thing he could never get out of his head — someone who, even if unintentionally, was pulling him toward a more vulnerable side. Maggie was like a stubborn presence, a persistent memory he carried deep down, in a place he didn't even want to admit.

Maggie... She was like a distant flame, bright and painful, one he couldn't and wouldn't put out. When he was with her, he felt that every piece he carried inside him — all the broken, worn, destroyed parts — was laid bare. As much as he wanted to keep her away from this mess, he couldn't stop himself from thinking of her as his point of reference, the thought that came back, inevitably, every time he looked away from reality.

Negan continued working, his fingers tightening around the hammer. "Why do I let you do this to me?" he muttered to himself, feeling the bitterness mixed with a hint of pleasure, a surrender he hated but also craved. That desire consumed him, like an invisible current dragging him under. "Take what you want, take what you need from me, Maggie," he thought, knowing he would let her break him down, piece by piece, if it meant he could touch her, feel her just one more time.

The sound of metal against wood brought some peace, but it was fleeting. Deep down, he knew that this place, this woman — she had become his escape, his place without redemption. Every word said and unsaid between them still echoed, as if he could throw himself at a target that kept shifting, always out of reach. He remembered Maggie's touch, the way their lips had met in a kiss that had been everything — anger, desire, and a kind of desperation he had never felt before. It was as if, in that moment, she had torn something out of him, something deep and raw, and he had let her do it, without hesitation.

She had become his silent obsession, something that pulsed under his skin, making every thought return to her without any effort. She was like an addiction, something he knew would only consume him, but which he couldn't stay away from. Every time he closed his eyes, it was as if he could still feel her warmth under his hands, the taste of her kiss etched into his memory. It was dangerous, a kind of need he knew he should avoid, but didn't want to. He wanted more. He always wanted more.

Before he could let the thought linger — before the tightness in his pants became too obvious — he took a deep breath, pushing her image to the far corner of his mind. That's when he spotted Lydia and Judith walking toward him, smiling and carefree. He straightened his posture, letting Maggie's heat dissipate, and put on a light smile to greet them.