The Walking Dead Imagines (Requests OPEN)

[Negan] ART

PROMPT:
You are a saviour in Negan's compound who likes to draw. Funnily enough, your favourite person to draw is in fact, Negan himself. Things start to get a bit weird when he finds said sketches.
[Requested by UhOhBro1998 . Thanks for the request! Such an amazing idea.]

"Give it back, asshole." You shouted, standing on tippy-toes and reaching. Dwight held the sketchbook above you, a wicked grin set on his face. His hair hung down in bleach blonde strips, and his forehead was covered with a thick coat of sweat.
"Oh come on, Y/n. Can't you go a couple'a days without a sketch or two?" He teased.
"Dwight! I swear to god I will murder you." You grit your teeth, rolling back onto your heels.
Dwight stopped, dropping the sketch-book and letting it smash to the ground. You bent down, picking it up and cradling it in your arms.
He glared at you, his eyes darting to your led pencil balancing on your side-table.
"Yeah. You can have it." he reached over, picking up your pencil and twirling it in his hands. You clenched your teeth.
"What the hell, Dwight?" You creased your brows at him, staring at him like he was scum.
"Negan ain't happy with what you were doing today, kid." Dwight stared at the led pencil. "You know you were lucky to even come today. To get supplies. We take half their shit- and crap that we need, medicine that they were hiding, you were gonna let them keep it."
You scoffed, watching Dwight crease his forehead in response. "Fuck you, Dwight. Look at yourself. I'll let a group with children keep some morphine and painkillers while you kiss Negan's ass. You're a real dick-head Dwight. Stop trying to be that hot redneck we have prisoner. The vest looks shit on you anyway."
Dwight nodded, with an expression that could only be explained as 'purely pissed'.
He snapped the led pencil in his hand, then let it drop to the floor.
"Got anymore pencils?" Dwight questioned. You crossed your arms over your chest, watching him. You were eighteen years old. Half his age. Here was Dwight, stepping into the middle of something he had no idea about. How could you, a teenager practically, know better than a grown man? Even if he looked about a pound and a bit.
Dwight nodded, yanking open your drawer and letting it smash to the ground. Out came your pencil case. He laughed to himself, picking it up and tucking it under his arms.
"Give it back." You growled. "You stupid shit head. Give it back!" You shouted. Dwight laughed to himself.
"I get it, you're young. A stupid teenager- but do you really kiss your mother with that mouth?" Dwight smiled evilly. It wasn't that he was a mean person, he just felt like he needed to do mean things in order to prove his strength. Everyone did what they had to do to survive this place. Dwight just did the nasty things that nobody really went far enough to do.
"Oh wait, your mommy's dead."
Dwight erupted in laughter, leaving the room with your pencil case in his arms.

You flopped down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. You flicked through the pages of your sketchbook, at the very sketch that you had been doing right before Dwight had taken it from you. It was of Rick Grimes, the leader of the group the Saviours were currently terrorising. It was of Rick Grimes- holding Lucille. Dwight probably didn't even care that you were drawing Rick. He didn't care enough to flick through the pages...Good thing, that was. Otherwise he would have found your other sketches. Sketches of guns with bats covered in barbed wire carved into them, sketches of Dwight's burnt and scarred face an hour after the iron had tended to him.

But most of all, sketches of Negan. Sketches upon sketches of Negan. Sketches so realistic that you'd think it was a photo. Sketches so beautiful that you'd definitely get in trouble for drawing them.

As you packed away your sketch-book, Negan knocked on the door, carrying Lucille in his hand.  Your heart began to beat faster, as you stuffed the sketchbook back into your desk.
"Hey." he announced, his voice projected so loud it made goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You stood, bowing your head.
"Dwight came in here and mentioned just how un-fucking-cool it was for you to do what you did back there right?"
You nodded, then stopped, narrowing your eyes at Negan.
"Are we really going to do this?" He asked you. "Are we really going to have to go through this shit one more time. Look, I get it. You're a kid."
"A kid?" You spat. "Negan, I'm eighteen years old. Your youngest wife is twenty. That's two years difference. I'm not a kid."
Negan paused.
"Doesn't change the fact that you stole from us."
Your face went red with anger.
"Stole! Come on, Negan. We took all of their guns, their meds, everything. I can't be of such low worth to take every scrap from them like you do. They have kids. They...nevermind. I just....save the lecture. I got it."
Negan nodded. "You're a firecracker." he hissed. Turning around and walking away. "I like it."

You weren't exactly sure why  Negan let you off the hook so easy all of the time. He always did. Maybe you were getting too comfortable with it too. Either way, you had something you needed to get back. Your pencils. You would take your sketchbook, sneak into Dwight's room and go hide somewhere to draw. That was the plan.

So you made your way across the compound, ignoring the wandering eyes. You passed Negan, who sat on a lounge chair in the middle of the compound. Two woman, wearing heels and lingerie, sat on him, kissing him. You looked away quickly, too quick to see him push the woman away at the sight of you.

When you found your way over to Dwight's room, it was open. You snuck in, pulling out all of his drawers and searching for the pencil case. You watched the window, making sure to keep an eye out for Dwight entering the copa. You watched Negan strut out into the yard and your heart began racing. You bent down, looking underneath Dwight's bed. Sitting on top of a pair of boxers was your pencil case.

"Little fucker." you breathed out, reaching and bringing it out. As you stood, you caught sight of Negan standing outside of the window, talking to Dwight.

Something about it. Something about the image of Negan towering over Dwight, shimmers of light bouncing off the metal of Lucille and the way Negan's hair sat.

Something about it was art.

So you did most likely the worst thing you could possibly do. You began drawing Negan. You'd get to Dwight later. First, it was about Negan. The way your pencil skimmed the pages made a smile curl at the corners of your lips. This was it. This was what you loved. Drawing. You drew for what felt like fifteen minutes before you stopped, your pencil case falling to the ground. Your pencils fell everywhere. With a sigh, you bent down to pick them up.

When you stood back up, Negan was gone. Dwight stood alone, looking pissed off as usual.
You shut your eyes, placing your open sketchbook on Dwight's bed and continuing to pack up your pencil case.

"Well shit." You knew his voice instantly. Negan. "Here I was, coming back to get your pencils for you- looks like you helped yourself."
You stuttered, staring at the sketchbook opened up to the sketch of Negan. By a chain reaction, Negan glanced at it as well.
"Holy fucking shit." Negan chuckled, waltzing across the room and grabbing the sketch-book.
"Negan-"
"Quiet. I'm observing the art."
You facepalmed, your face going completely red. "I'm so sorry." You blurted. Negan stared at you, flicking through the pages.
"These are fucking cool." he simply said.
You stared in horror as he passed the book back to you.
"Do you do nude portraits? Cause that'd be even more fucking cool." He chuckled. You cringed, sighing heavily.
"I don't mean to be a weirdo-"
"Well you fucking succeeded in being one. You're obsessed with me. You're crazy about me."
Your shoulders sagged with embarrassment.
"Now listen, I'm gonna make you a deal. You can draw me all you fucking like- all you gotta do is say the two words." Negan offered. "Just say I do."
"Are you asking me to be your wife?" You whispered, your voice hitched in your throat.
"Indeed I am."
You took a deep breath. "I don't do the whole sex slave bribery. I'm not marrying a guy who already has twelve wives."
Negan stared at you, looking around the room and sighing. Now, he didn't have his tough act on. It looked like he was really thinking. Thinking about you.
"What the fuck do I have to do?" He questioned. You blinked, pressing your lips together.
"Make me a better offer."
"Like what?"
"Like...no more games. No more twelve wives. No more terrorising. Just...you and me."
Negan shook his head- but oh boy, he looked like he was thinking about it.
"Now, see..." he trailed off. "I really fucking like you. Like a lot- but thats a big ass thing to ask."
"I know." You whispered. "Just say no if you can't. I'll still draw you. Somehow."
"What do you want me to say?" Negan questioned, stepping closer, he tilted your head, so that you were staring up at his eyes.
"I want you to say yes."
Negan bowed his head, dropping his hand from your face. For a second, he looked like he was about to walk away- but you couldn't have that.
"I'm not a kid, Negan. Would a kid do this?"
You stood on your tippy-toes and kissed Negan. He wrapped his arm around you, kissing you back.
"Shit." he breathed out, looking at you. "You've really left me no goddamn choice in the matter now, have you?"