Leave Me Breathless

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

Warnings: explicit smut, dubious consent, dominance/submission, fear kink, breath play/choking, knife kink, degradation/humiliation, a tiny moment of daddy kink, fluid play, death scene at the beginning, explicit language

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You watched in silent horror, along with the rest of the Sanctuary, as two men tussled in the middle of the large room. They hit into each other with a low thud, like two battering rams colliding. You gave a low gasp when the taller man decked your leader in the face, sending him spinning. He was only deterred for a moment, as he straightened himself and hauled off a punch of his own, fist connecting with his opponent's chin with a loud crack.

The two of them were growling and yelling like deranged beasts, a loud juxtaposition to the silent and still onlookers. You were in the front row, getting an up close and personal view of the testosterone-filled battle. You knew that this couldn't end well...that only one of them would walk away as champion...only one would walk away alive. And yet, just like when one sees a car pile-up or a house on fire, you were unable to look away. You all stood silently and watched with bated breath, no one willing to make a noise or sudden movement that might draw the attention of the two men.

The large Savior, Simon, was thick and muscled, and had started out with the upper hand when he threw the first punch without warning. However, Negan was lean and quick, and he had pure rage on his side. His eyes almost glowed with the fire of vengeance, as the desire to punish Simon for his insurrection pulsed through his body and fueled his brutal movements. When he threw Simon to the cement floor and climbed astride him, hands at his throat, you lifted your own hand to cover your mouth, eyes wide as saucers as you watched his fingers tighten on the larger man's windpipe. Spittle flew from his mouth, as Negan furiously accused Simon of being disloyal, his hands never wavering from the other man's throat. You weren't fully able to register what he was saying, your head full of a loud buzzing noise, as disbelief and morbid fascination caused goosebumps to erupt across your flesh.

You had never thought about what death would sound like. Sure, you'd seen plenty of walkers, even seen plenty of dead bodies...mangled bodies...bloated and deformed bodies. But you'd never actually seen the life leave someone, never considered that it would have a sound.

That sound was the crunch of a windpipe collapsing, followed by the sigh of a final breath being squeezed between now-still lips. It was the sneer of victory, of heavy boots thumping against concrete as the victor regained his feet, a muttered growl of "asshole" leaving his lips and echoing around the large space.

Coolness trickled down your cheek, and you realized that it was from the trail of a tear. That you were still standing there in shock, along with the others, waiting for orders. How did one react, after a display such as that? Did you applaud? Drop to your knees? Silently pray you weren't next?

As if he could hear the whir of thoughts racing through your head, hazel eyes lifted and locked onto yours from a distance of mere feet. They took in your hand-covered mouth, the shock and the fear, and maybe even a touch of awe, that coated your face. They trailed down and took in your form, encased in snug jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers that had seen more than their fair share of miles. Something flickered in that gaze, as if a decision had been made, and he stepped in your direction.

You felt a rush of air, as those on your left and right scooted over, as whoever was behind you backed up. The hunter had sighted his prey, and the others parted like the Red Sea, willing to sacrifice you if it meant that they were safe from his grasp.

Calloused fingers wrapped around the wrist at your face, warm and unresisting. He started for the exit, practically dragging you behind him, feet fumbling as you tried to figure out how to walk with legs that had been reduced to the consistency of Jell-O. You glanced around at the mass of faces watching blankly, some with eyes trained on the floor, not one of them willing to raise a muscle or even shift in your direction. You walked past Arat, who was standing next to the doorway leading out of the vast room. Her eyes connected with yours for an extended moment, and she gave an imperceptible nod. Whether or not it was meant to be a reassurance or a warning, you had no clue.