I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches

Not my room

Blake laughed, as she heard a door creak open, and a second later felt herself being tossed unceremoniously down onto a soft bed.

She gave a drunken purr, stretching out, and looking around giving a frown.

"Hey, this is not my room," uttered the caramel-blonde woman, propping herself up onto her elbows and peering up at the four poster bed she was led across.

It had cool grey cotton sheets and four plump looking pillows, and Blake, from here, got the weirdest sense of déjà vu. As if she had definitely been here before.

"No, it's mine," came Negan's low matter-of-fact tone, as he stalked past her and headed over to the small wooden panelled kitchenette in the corner of the room.

Blake gave another confused, slightly unfocused frown, as she gazed around the large area.

It was indeed Negan's room. The large window on the far side showing nothing but a hazy purple sky outside.

Blake kicked off her sneakers and let out a small huff as she watched the tall dark-haired man who had carried her in, with glazed green eyes.

Negan was smirking to himself, as he placed Lucille down onto a kitchen counter casually, and pulled a bottle of water and a large glass tumbler from the side.

He was as tall as ever, with his usual leather-jacket slung over his slumped shoulders and a knife at his belt.

Blake knew, of course, that she should be scared of him. Everyone else seemed to be, so why didn't she?

But there was something about him that made her feel strangely at ease.

So, so safe when he was near her.

He poured half the bottle of water into the glass, before picking it up and strolling back over towards her.

Blake pursed her lips, that huffy frown still lingering between her brows, as she stared up into his sultry chocolate eyes.

"If you think that just because I'm drunk I'm gonna sleep with you-" she began with a pout.

But Negan cut across her with a sudden chuckle, running a free hand down his bearded face and placing the glass down onto the nightstand to her right.

"Give me a break, Sweetheart," he groaned. "I might be a fuckin' asshole, I ain't a monster. I'm too fuckin' old to be takin advantage of a drunk girl, when I've got five wives sitting all pretty, all nice and compliant downstairs..."

The Saviour knew for a fact how much this would rile Blake up, and he was, of course, right.

She instantly narrowed her eyes at him, giving a dark huff.

"I don't get you," she said pointing a swaying finger up at him. "You act like this horrible villain to everyone else, and yet here you are, David's gone, and you're still try to look out for me? What makes me so special, huh?"

But Negan gave a small sigh, moving around the bed.

"Like I said, Doll-face," he muttered shaking his head and looking down at his feet as he spoke. "Soft-spot."

Blake's own face softened slightly as she pondered the words, titling her head to the side, letting her long caramel hair drift over her shoulder, as she looked over at him.

"You're wives are beautiful, y'know..." she said in quiet voice, after a moment or two.

And at this, Negan looked back at her grinning.

"Oh, I know'."

But Blake turned onto her side, coming to rest her head against her elbow, her hand in her hair, as she stared up through dark eyelashes at the tall man, standing beside the bed.