Sorry if the format is more fucked that my king tissue I'm on mobile 🤗 

"Say cheese, princess!"

Oh, what in hell?

The whirr of a Polaroid camera shattered the chance of sleep I'd almost caught.

Agony.

This was agony.

Three weeks? 

Three months?

Three years?

I didn't know how long I'd been in this damp, stinking cell that whiffed like an ass crack.

All I knew was dark. Garfunkel dark. 

And I couldn't even laugh at what my dead inside face would look like with the song playing anymore.

Speaking to myself had gotten boring. 

Naming the ants had become a chore.

Rodger four hundred. Alfie the Eighth. 

And those bastards stung when they bit. 

Maybe there were ants, maybe they were hallucinations, because I definitely knew that outside my bars, there wasn't a fridge with Zuul in it.

I remembered a Doctor had come in, shifty and ready to haul arse soon as he bandaged my hand, feeling my temperature feverishly as he had given me a shot of something—then nothing but nightmares and screams

I think it was three days ago.

Mmm.

The slugs had gone.

I rolled slightly, my skin peeling from the sticky concrete as my ribs sung like pork crackling.

It was impossible to get comfortable on a bed of concrete.

It hurt so bad, that for a second that I forgot the violent ray of terror was here, admiring my crumpled form as he slipped the photo in his back pocket. "Oh, baby. You really look like shit. No offence. But even a biter wouldn't nibble on your noggin'. Grotesque! That's the word for it."

"Hell—." His outstretched arms looked like Dracula's shadow as his brows raised high as my grandad's hair line, "I know I'm ugly. But if there was a medal for nasty lookin' hobbits, you'd take the golden cookie." 

"You?" I groaned, throat hoarse and eyes streaming in the glow of buzzing fluorescents. "Have you come to fuck me into a coma while I can still scream, or torture me a little more? And it's take the biscuit, you daft cunt—."That crack wasn't good, especially from my shooting arm as I waved him away, "anyway, I'm more partial to hob—nobs."

"There she is, all mouth almighty and a sac bigger than fat Joeys gut." Negan, the son of a bitch, leaned on the wall proud as Zeus in budgie smugglers, so smug and self righteous and oozing that special little syrup that made my teeth tingle in his black shirt and dumb leather jacket, bat bitch at his belted hip.

He even had the tenacity to pinch his nose and suck down air from the small crack in the door. "See, Sniper Bitch. While you stink like a ferret in heat, that's the talk that makes me think you're freaky enough not to know which one you want." 

He gave me a cheeky wink, tongue poking my way as he bent at the knees and whispered loudly. "But I'd prefer the entire fuck you into a coma."

This was hell.

And this remorseless motherfucker was cocaine in denim as my hand spasmed. "And your cheesy teeth tell me you're the kinda guy who helicopters his dick when he's done peeing. I might stink, but you're rotten." 

Slithering away from the blinding sight to curl in a musty corner didn't help my tough bitch image.

My hands over my ears not so much either, especially now there was dog food on my leggings. "Not tonight, Satan. I've gotta headache. Besides, I'm not into elder abuse, I'd probably break you. And knees are in short supply."

He feasted on the verbal foreplay, dark eyes meandering over the sweat damp clothes stuck to my stomach and chest.

"Just like fingers. I know they suck to loose, fuck, I should know, I nearly lost one when I stuck it up your ass and wore you like a hand puppet." Negan gave me his megawatt grin, his boot shoving me back over so I rolled between his spread thighs. "But yours, they are fucked. Hope you didn't enjoy masturbation too much, Honey cakes, because if your mouth is anythin' to judge by, nubbin's won't catch the spot."

Breathe, Honey.

His finger pressed over his lips as he slipped into fake concern, desperate to laugh at his own joke, showing off his other phalanges. "What's up? Cat got your tongue? Or you experiencing a phantom pain?"

I blinked, an irritated flutter that gripped me like a seizure, for a moment, I was speechless as he did this little giddy shiver. He could probably see that dangly thing at the back of my throat before my teeth snapped shut.

Eugh.

Over me.

On me.

All around me.

Why was this fucker everywhere? Like spider babies after a broom? Or Dave's brain matter?

I huffed at the face six foot higher than my own. "I hope you find my finger, sweet heart, you can sew it to your crotch and pretend its a cock."

The swing of a freshly polished Louisville slaughtered my words as she savagely clinked off the floor, a gnats fart from my head before she bounced and completed a full circle in his hand—

I would be lying if I said I wasn't impressed, his other palm over his heart while he dripped with toxic sarcasm. "All this time down here and you can't come up with better material. You a fuckin' broken record, like a no fun, frigid, fuck face parrot. Maybe I should glue you to that serial killers shoulder."

Breathe.

It was getting difficult as he sucked up all the oxygen. "Your mother must have fucked a hyena to have given birth to you." I gasped.

Maybe I looked defiant, or ready to sling the spit in my mouth, or send up my foot right into his crotch as my throat burned, but he turned cloudy with the threat of a very slow death.

Bat bitch's flat head crushed my hand, his eyes never leaving me as I pretended it didn't hurt. "Mommas are off limits, like pain relief is for you. Unless you really want to tempt me. Because I could leave the keys to this door in the canteen," harder now, the crackle of bone wet as my armpits, "and you'll see what the hyenas do."

I had a choice as my paw was in danger of pancaking. Bastard. "No."

 My pride went with my dignity as I sadly sighed, the pain gone instantly as he gave me relief.

Negan seemed tamed at that, fucking happy even with a laugh dark as doom. 

"Well, that was tense." The hitch of his chest deflated dramatically as I pulled my knees to mine. 

"You can be a good girl when you wanna, huh. You just need the right motivation. And con—gratufuckin'—lations!"Baseball gave me the jazz hands, white teeth blazing in all that Colgate glory as his thumb linked through his belt. "You're still alive! Stubborn little fuck, ain't cha?"

If he was trying to emphasize his dick he was doing a good job, because that was definitely tucked at the top of his belt. "Have you ever been around radiation? Because you're a fuckin' mutant."

"Yes. And it's contagious." I whimpered, his teeth, his dick, that Virginia purr rolling off that dirty silver tongue as he slouched against the wall.

It was too much.

My orbs wondered down him, treason stirring in my gut as a little seditious knot tugged at my rationality. "So, please. Go away. What more could you do to me?"

As the shadows danced on his face, the boss was thinking ever so hard about something, staring at me like frosty twelve pack.

He bent down, my ankle popping as he slid me forward. "Oh. So much more. Nail guns. Furnaces. Irons and barbed wire."

There was a look I didn't like, vicious, mercenary, intrigued, his bitch hanging between his thighs as he rested her fat end on my thigh. "I honestly thought you were gonna break on the fourth night. I even waited up for you. Can you believe that?" He scoffed as if he couldn't himself.

"Fourth?! How long has it been?!"

"Six days, Honey Bun. You're dead pool has passed expectations." I slithered when he breathed down my ear,  "you owe me a bottle of Glenfiddich."

The air shot from my nose, the tender base of my skull clinging against the grout as I itched my earlobe. Was he serious? "Oh, let me just squat down and shit one out. Glenn—fuckin'—fiddich. Ask Santa on his next round, you glorified skid mark."

I wished, Oh, boy I wished that he would stop laughing.

The way his eyes crinkled, the way his head shot back, dimples popped, it made me burn, and I certainly didn't appreciate the playful jab of his fist on my chest. 

"If you're lucky, he might leave you a carrot. Maybe a crumpet, too." Negan cackled. 

I punched him back, my blow weak as a kitten.

Hell, he was warm. "I hate crumpets. They have too many holes. Come to pull out my fingernails? Huh? A little bamboo manicure to kick start your day?" I sounded pathetic, wiping my snotty nose with this ridiculous excuse of clothing I was sure had lice. "That's how you take your coffee, with the blood of innocents?"

My blood settled in my ears when he didn't laugh or tell me I was a crazy bitch, he was just one seriously insulted psychopath that crackled like a Van der Graff. "That's what you think you are? An innocent?"

 My heart reached lightspeed as he lifted himself up like a cricket, his frame draping me in a chill that chattered my teeth. "Real rich comin' from a girl who cuts men's throats in their sleep, burns women alive, and impales people so they're eaten alive by the dead."

I think he saw it, my wilt, the shaking breaths, my little tiny death as I watched the ants carry a piece of dog food to the ceiling.

"Oh, there is it." He hummed as he thrust up his chin. "Truths are a throbbing bitch, aren't they? Just like you. You're a bad girl, Honey. I know one when I see one." Negan turned on his heels, each step deliberate. "But that's what you've been missing. The truth."

He was getting ready for something, rubbing his palms together.

"Now, Arat." He swung the door open wide to a woman waiting outside, "pass me my shit."

She glared at me coldly, maybe a little curious, half smile calculated to scare me as she handed him a big, strangely clean bucket.

Cold water? Acid? Boiling water? Bleach water? The water he would drown me in? My gut reached terminal velocity as I gripped it. "Not like this, Negan."

"Don't fuckin' interrupt!" The fluid steamed as he teased me with it, swinging it in the air. "As I was sayin' before you rudely inter—fuckin'—rupted, the truth is, you're all on your lonesome. And nobody, not Smoking Hot Widow, The Last Samurai, or the Stink Eye Prick and his mass murderin' progeny—."

Baseball slung it higher, what ever the hell it was just missing my feet. "Give a flying fuck about you. And don't look so sad, you're gonna love this. Just think of it as—."

He sucked down his lip, as if the way I crawled to the back wall was delicious, "anti—bitch cream."

Nothing came,

I wasn't melting.

"If you don't protect what belongs to you, sooner or later it'll belong to somebody else." With a plastic clink, his gloves between his teeth, I felt a rough pair of hands smooth back my hair,

a little too gentle for a hostage situation.

He was gazing at me like I was a chocolate covered cherry. With his, eugh, almost handsome face for a murdering twat bulge. "I—. What's in the water?"

I was embarrassed at my hiccup when he took my face in his hands, inspecting the dirt, snot, ant shit and probably slug slime,

not hiding his disgust with the pucker of his lips, but why the fuck was he being so gentle as he pulled down the lids of my eye.

The nice voice was back now, a purr almost pleasant to pass out to. "Anti—septic and a squeeze of special soap. Funny how a little 'oh, don't melt my face' lights a fire under your rotund ass, never took you for being vain."

I hummed at his stupid try at my accent, but my head was getting heavier and heavier nestled in the cups of his palms, my eyes slowly closing as his thumbs stroked my cheeks, he smelt okay, too, like bourbon and apples.

What the hell was wrong with me? Getting stroked like a broken bird? Not minding his warm breath hitting my face, or even the fact that I could curl up and sleep and not care he was here.

I heard something dunk in water, the feel of a thumb tucking hair behind my ear, and like my mangled paw was dynamite, he took it in his own.

Honey, what the hell are you doing?!

 "Bring that flannel near me I'll strangle you with'chur own pecker." I whined.

I didn't mean it, he knew I didn't mean it, and he looked like he found my furious blush endearing as he smooched my cheek. "Fuckin' flannel!?"

The goddamn flannel baseball soaped and drained to within an inch of it's life washed across my face, one giant cat lick that left me striped, "my pecker can fit twice around my neck, so I suppose you could try—." That grin was almost charming as he chittered to himself, "flannel...heh. Say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

I yelped when he took my wrists, but it wasn't a nasty yank into a cold bucket of water.

He gave them a reassuring squeeze, his fingers dipping between my own, careful to avoid the broken ones, and he did this little knuckle to knuckle massage that felt spec—fuckin—tacular as he lowered them into the deliciously warm cauldron.

Something quite atrocious, indeed.

"How's that feel?" He drawled, eyes bleeding into an unbreakable gaze as his filthy tone slithered up my spine. "We gotta be careful, people'll start to talk if they see us like this, not like I give a fuck, but you don't want Frankie clawin' on your tits, she get's pretty jealous."

"Who the hells Frankie?" God, there was nothing like the feel of rough, work—worn hands lathering my own in soap, even when it stung, like salt in a blister, it felt so, so good, working all the agony away for a blissful moment.

"You'll find out soon." And his callus thumbpad was scratching an itch over my knuckles I never knew I had. "So, my evil little, ball biting parcel of chaos. I asked you a question, isn't this just fuckin' peachy? 'Cause with that look on your face, I know you're enjoyin' it."

"Feels—." I groaned in some sleepy sigh, biting my bottom lip unwillingly. "Pretty good."

Against everything hammering giant exclamation points, I relaxed.

And soon baseball hovered over me like nurse Skeksis. "Hell, I bet you're blown away by the sheer awesomeness of this? I know I just met you. And you saw me bludgeon the ginger and china man into pulps. And I'm pretty sure I slapped your ass with a baseball bat in front of my entire crew—." My eyes snapped open at that before he blew them closed.

I was still peeping though.

"But we just need some scented candles, spaghetti—." He shifted his weight on his dumb long legs, hair all tousled as the steam curled it. "And this would be romantic as shit."

Maybe he'd been drinking, and smoking, and was probably fuck tamed, maybe all three, but for those ten minutes he scrubbed my tender and oozing hands free of grime far, far away from Grimes, I could have liked him.

。。。。

For the masterpiece that was Negan's ritual taming, the cream was when he lifted Honey's limp hands from the water and wrapped them in a fluffy white tile warmed on a radiator

She was mush,

half asleep with her head tucked in the groove of his shoulder.

Baseball prodded Honey's head, a gruff snort sailing through his nose when she looked up like he was a Tetradactyl. "Christ, you're creepy." He laughed. "I seriously for a second thought you were dead."

She didn't know if he caught the snarl that momentarily seized her lips, but she spun on her disgusting leggings, her hands coming up to grip the hem of his jacket like he was the pope and she was worshiping.

"Negan," Her dimpled chin jutted up.

Fuckin finally.

Honey swallowed when he cupped his ear, bending down mockingly. "What? You need to speak up, I'm a little deaf in my left."

Eyes wide and lips shimmering with tears, she rubbed her cheek into his open palm. "Let me go home. End all this, it'll only finish when either you or Rick are dead. You said it yourself, they don't care about me, so I'm useless anyway."

Her head touched his knees, and he almost wanted to pat those matted dreads. "Just open the door and let—." He could have almost felt sorry for her. "Me go home."

Honey looked at Negan, Negan looked at Honey, and only their breaths mattered, caught between their ribs as hearts jostled for space. "You're already home, brown eyes." He whispered. "You just don't know it yet."

Honey choked, furiously rubbing her face. "I just want to sleep, even for an hour." Her eyes roamed in some manic way that made him wonder if she was really stable. "This is torture, I can't take it anymore. I'm ready to give up."

His sharp breath was audible, lip creasing at the corners, and he lowered himself down on long haunches, cruel as he gripped her face—

but easing his hold at her wince as their noses almost touched. "I swear on my left nut. I can end your tired feeling, I can give you full fucking membership, hell, VIP, and it gives you access to all the Sanctuary's special little privileges, like water, and food, maybe even a big, wet kiss. No more bashing and crashing and me making you cry."

Honey was inching closer as her hands rested on his lap, voice almost a tone demonic. "And how the hell do I get that?"

He was patient as he lifted her on her feet, arm around her back as they tangled in a slow dance. "Two little words." Negan sighed. "You know what they are. And I'll even let you sleep in my bed. Use my fucking shower. I'll carry you to Carson myself. Fuck Rick, he caused this."

Honey licked her lips, suddenly feeling the need to itch and squirm as she stared at the ceiling. "I'm—."

Oh, he shivered, his finger tracing her nose as his orbs fell on her wet, parted lips, hips meeting in their little sway. "You know, if I had a girl like you, I'd never give you up. Prickster was a grade douche, me and you, we could do spectacular things, or I'll drape that peachy ass of yours in fine French shit, you could sit and eat cheese all day. Hell, I'd even rub your feet."

Her simper betrayed her, especially the batting eyes and the coy purr. "But I ain't the fine French sort, and I hate people touching my feet."

He had to support her now, wincing secretly at the smell as he raised a brow at her whitening shade. So close. "I'll give you my really special rifle and let you go on spontaneous killing sprees. How about that? And you don't like it now, but my foot rubs are fan—fuckin'—tastic, your feet'll feel like they're part of some weird footgina and—."

"Shut the hell up, don't ruin it." Honey chuckled, surprised he closed his lips.

The breath felt good in her ear, so did the heat, the treacle like spread of warmth that made her hide her face in the crook of the his neck as his heart beat against her chest. "Okay, I'll say it."

。。。。。。

I guess it was right what my best friend in high school said about me before we never spoke again, I lead people on.

Then pretend I'm innocent.

I don't know why I was thinking about Bolto, and eyepatches, and how good it would be to fly as my fist tightened around his shirt, I'd sweat on it, snotted on it, my bloody handprint even darker than the cotton.

About I thought about how good it would be to fly, and how good it would be to fall as the thoughts in my head dissolved into babble—I wasn't going to die a traitor.

I couldn't shit on Maggie's heart.

This was a trap, I knew it, but damn, if it didn't feel good to be in a pair of arms for once.

He hadn't killed me.

Even though he probably should.

And this was fucking me all over, diving in too fast and too deep and leaving myself drowning.

Why was I like this? "I'm—." I slurred, rubbing at my puffy eyes, the arm around me tighter.

"That's it, almost there. Look at you, bein' all sensible and shit, good for fucking you." He held me tighter. Like he fucking knew me. Hooked on my lips that I curled into a smile.

And I was sick that no one had ever held me like this before. 

And that no one had ever been so willing to hear anything I'd had to say.

Especially a whisper.

Our foreheads touched as I rushed my words into his mouth. "Honey of Alexandria. And no matter who the fuck you think you are, even if you kill me right now, it's still a fuck you, burn in hell from me."

The arms around me were gone. Arctic all around. His face brutal as a massacre.

All neon lights and bloody thoughts, his dumb American teeth ground under his curved lip, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Like a jack—o—lantern, only more Satanic.

Lucille couldn't have been in his palm faster as he boiled over like my last tin of chicken soup.

And I could smell burnt toast as I scorched in his wither, stumbling like a walker.

Baseball snorted like he wanted to inhale my soul, little shoots of red slashing across his sclera. "You silly little girl."

I didn't really care, shrugging as the ceiling spun. 

Because I was dead already. 

"Take a picture before you leave so you won't forget this rotund pile of mesmerising ass. You can kiss it goodbye, right on the crack. Cause, I'm out. Halle—mother fuckin'—lujah."

⋯。⋯

Flipping the bird with wonky eyes, Honey collapsed towards the floor like a pile of sprouted potatoes.

He caught her, fingers on her pulse to make sure she didn't eat his face. 

"Stop playin' possum." He growled with a smack across her cheeks.

"Honey." He shook her, her limbs limp as a dishcloth.

Nope. That wasn't good. Negan clenched his fist. Aiming it at her ugly face. Cursing her to holy fucking God.

"You. Are—." He heaved, throwing her over his shoulder, a trickle of sweat leaking down his brow.

"Oops." He chuckled as her head hit the door frame. More disturbed than anything. Biter Honey would be fucking unstoppable. "—A serious, pain in my ass. You fuck up my floor. You smash my fucking plants. You pull a grenade out of your disgusting hair. I fucking loathe you. More than that prick you worship—."

"You're one hamster faced little hobbit and—." He carried her from the cell, slinging her straight across his shoulders as he booted the bucket to the other side of the hallway. "And I want nothing more than to stab you until you bleed in places you didn't know you had."

"Simon my man, to the cells you lazy fuck! Oh, if you're not here in ten fucking seconds I'll crisp your cock with the iron." Negan hollered down the radio, Lucille under his arm.

Nine guards blitzed like a hurricane down the corridors, guns up and ready to blow.

But they looked confused at the white eyed girl splayed like a carcass in his arms.

"Get Carson up. And tell him if she dies I'm going to smash his balls so fuckin' hard his ancestors will—." Great, now she was having a seizure, foam and fucking fishing at this time at night as he rolled his eyes. "—Will know the taste of his peti poi's."

Simon barrelled through the formation, taking over the guard as a sly smirk spread across his face. "Damn. She's gone. Shall I put her on the fence?"

His head lowered when Negan marched towards him, tone like dynamite barely contained as he shoved a twitching Honey against his chest. "Hold this. I have a reputation to keep. Lucille is not gonna be happy and I really want to rub my dick against her later. We still haven't spoken about how she got those keys, because you know it wasn't stinky Dave, I find out it was you, I am going to rip away that fuckin' perv bush and clean my ass with it for the rest of eternity."

With a well hidden snarl, Simon turned on his heels, Honeys head bumping against his belly.

She flicked open her eyes, making sure to puke right on his feet, and whispered just so he could hear. "The risk I took was calculated, but oh, man, am I bad at math. Heh."

"Oh, no ice cream for you—ever, little pig, you're about to be torn open, from your nursing home panties straight to your throat." Simon seethed, kicking open the doors.