Lucille's barbwire shined, glittering like the teeth of a hungry wolf in the moonlight. Negan always made sure to keep her meticulously clean, periodically replacing the barbwire so that Lucille would never lose the cutting edge of her bite, never letting her rust. She was his lady – and Negan took his time treating his lady right. He'd tenderly unwrap the barbwire, carefully not to scrape her smooth wooden surface. Negan would polish her, too, just as good as he always polished his dick. His lady deserved nothing but the best.

Taking care of Lucille, though, also meant satisfying her needs. His Lucille was a thirsty girl, and she didn't care if it was the blood of the living or the dead – she wanted it. Never one to deny her anything (even before) Negan took her everywhere, and if someone stepped out of line or if a dead-alive got too close for comfort, Lucille would protect him.

Tonight was no different. Negan had gone out on a run that had gone from bad idea to fucking horrible, shitty, whoever-planned-this-is-getting-the-iron idea. The plan originally was to clear out a small Target so that it could be set up as an outpost. Also, it had some domestic supplies that were needed at the Sanctuary since there were so many people staying there now, like more furniture, towels – the simple necessitates that have become a luxury in this post-apocalyptic world. Well, the intel Negan's scouts had gotten was dead (ha!) wrong. Instead of being just two dozen or so dead-alives milling around, try closer to a hundred. They were fucked and overwhelmed from the start.

That didn't mean Negan was going to give up so damn easily, though. He stood his ground, pushing some newbie behind him while he wielded Lucille. Lucille and Negan lived for these kinds of moments where they could just let go of all control and have at it. Negan unleashed Lucille on the hoard of dead-alives, swinging hard and feeling that satisfying impact of her wood cracking open their softened, decayed skulls. It put Negan in the mood to have his own wood split something open to, but his boner would have to wait. For now, it was Lucille's turn, and given how many of the dead-alives there were, she was going to be satisfied many times over.

It was almost graceful the way she arched in the air, wind whistling between her barbwire, and crashed against dead-alives. They'd crumble before her, but more would keep coming, stumbling over their fallen comrades only to get a face full of baseball bat. The way Lucille moved, quick but powerful, it was as if she was an extension of Negan himself, like he grew another limb with her. But then again, like his dick, Lucille seemed to have a mind of her own. She didn't just want to kill the dead-alives for good. Lucille wanted to devour them back for attempting to eat Negan, her barbwire catching on their grey, rotting flesh and separating it from bone. Dark red blood would spray everywhere, drip from her barbwire, coat her wood like creamy pussy juice on Negan's dick. The experience was heady, and the visual left Negan breathless in this dance of death.

Negan had been intimate with death before. He remembered his Lucille – the real Lucille. In a way, this baseball bat was a lot like her. His Lucille was breathtakingly beautiful, incredibly athletic, fiercely competitive, overzealously jealous, overprotective to a fault, and thirsty. If there was a reason for Negan to have five wives it was because Lucille had instilled him an insatiable licentious nature. God, he had loved her, no doubt in his mind that she was the woman made for him. A true soulmate. But Negan was greedy, and he hadn't been satisfied with Lucille, even though he knew that she was the best thing he had in his life. Like the asshole he was, Negan cheated on Lucille and only ended his affair once he found out that his wife was dying from cancer.

This Lucille was no different than the old one. Negan cheated on her, too. He'd kill people without using her, whether it was with a gun or the large, serrated knife he kept on one of his belts. Negan would punish people without using her either, most recently with the iron. Part of him considered naming the knife and the iron, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Lucille was special; one of the many reasons he hadn't divorced her once he started to stray from their marriage.

But Negan cheated on this baseball bat Lucille in other ways. He hadn't been satisfied just rubbing his dick against her, rutting until he came, spewing his white, sticky come over her in jets that clung to her barbwire and contrasted with the smooth grain of her wood. Negan went and found real pussy, tired of fucking his fist and masturbating against a bat in memory of his dead wife. Sometimes he would still use her for his satisfaction, but more often than not she was left forgotten in an armchair. She would watch him fuck one of his wives and leave pearly streaks of his come on their smooth skin instead. He knew that she'd get jealous, but he didn't care. Part of him – the part that would get angry and frustrated with himself to betraying Lucille's memory – would always remind Negan that this Lucille was still, just only a baseball bat. And baseball bats didn't have a pussy.

Lost in thought – how strange that killing dead-alives has become something Negan just went through the motions with – Negan hadn't been able to stop one of the dead-alives soon enough. It got close, too damn close as it bit into his arm, but his leather jacket was too thick, so it didn't get through. "God fucking damn it, you piece of shit!" Negan couldn't very well just bash his own arm with Lucille, so he struggled to grasp his knife. While he struggled, other dead-alives came too close and he swung Lucille out in an arc to ward them off, struggling to shake off this one already attached to him.

God, it was hideous and he honestly tried not to look at it too closely, but he did and he wanted to scream. It looked Lucille did after her months of chemo. Completely bald, but the skin color and the shirt it wore reminded him of Lucille's favorite lounging shirt. But it couldn't be her. Negan could remember what his Lucille looked like when she was in her prime, alive and well, and hell if she would ever look as horrible as this. Fueled with rage, Negan shook fear's clutches off and attempted to do the same with the dead-alive on his arm. "Fuck, you are one ugly motherfucker! Fuck you!"

And then a knife went through its skull – right at the temple. Its jaw dropped open and it collapsed. Surprised, Negan looked up at who saved him, and it was that newbie girl that he had pushed behind him earlier. She was breathing heavily, dark hair coming loose from where she pulled it back, skin flushed and sweaty. That newbie looked like she just fucked someone, not killed a dead-alive; she was damn beautiful and everything the dead-alive wasn't. For one, she was alive, but for another and more important reason – she looked nothing like Lucille. "Sir, we should retreat now," the newbie said and took ahold of his arm by the elbow, right where the dead-alive had bit him. Negan allowed himself to be dragged back to the trucks, keeping the other dead-alives off with Lucille.

Once they were back at the truck, Negan climbed inside first, the newbie practically pushing him in, shoving him by the ass. Not that he cared. He was a little numb, and collapsed in his seat unceremoniously. First, he had looked at Lucille in his hands with betrayal. She was dripping blood, but none of that blood was from the dead fuck that almost killed him. How could Lucille let him down like that? His girl always stuck by his side even if he wasn't physically by hers.

Again, Negan was dragged from his thoughts when he heard a shrill shout of anger. The newbie girl that had saved him was nearly dragged back out of the truck by her hair. The only thing keeping a dead-alive from sinking its rotten cavity-riddled teeth in her neck was the fact that she was holding it away through brute strength. Immediately, Negan surged forward and grabbed the girl by her neck. Lucille pushed the dead-alive fucker off, business-end first and its face collapsed in on itself as it got a mouth full of Lucille. When the dead-alive fell away, the newbie grabbed his arm and he hauled her back in the truck so she wouldn't be hanging out halfway anymore. One of his men shut the door behind them, and the tires were squealing on the pavement as they left for the Sanctuary again.

They had to take a detour so the horde wouldn't follow them, so it was going to be a long trip. Heart still loudly thumping in his ears, Negan finally let go of the newbie, and she fell back against the side of the van, coughing. Sitting again in his own designated spot, Negan watched the newbie recover and gently touch her throat. He should say thank you. He should promote her. He should ask if she's okay. He should apologize for choking her. He should do all of that and probably more, but instead Negan opened his mouth and said, "You should cut your fucking hair, newbie. Can't let shit like that getting you killed."

The newbie's dark eyes first widened and then went flinty. Clearly outraged, her mouth flattened into a line and she started breathing heavily again. Negan waited for her to explode at him. But she didn't. She once again surprised him. Looking over at the other men in the van, she locked her jaw and with a tremendous amount of effort, calmed her breathing again. The newbie nodded at him. "I will, sir," she croaked at him, voice cracked, and then she was silent for the rest of the trip. Silent and fuming, but she kept her anger simmering low, so it was still bearable for the rest of them.

Negan was grateful for that, too. He looked back down at Lucille in his hands, and he found it funny that she saved the newbie's life over his. He had always thought that Lucille was supposed to be jealous. Gently, he used one of the rags in the truck and wiped her down. Lucille had surprised him today, too.