Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6473791.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Negan_(Walking_Dead)/Original_Female_Character(s), Maggie_Greene/Glenn
      Rhee, Daryl_Dixon/Original_Female_Character(s), Rick_Grimes/Michonne,
      Jesus_(Walking_Dead)/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Original_Female_Character(s), Negan_(Walking_Dead), Jesus_(Walking_Dead),
      Daryl_Dixon, Rick_Grimes, Carl_Grimes, Michonne_(Walking_Dead), Abraham
      Ford, Rosita_Espinosa, Eugene_Porter, Tara_Chambler, Denise_Cloyd, Carol
      Peletier, Morgan, Other_Character_Tags_to_Be_Added
  Additional Tags:
      Forced, Forced_Relationship, Eventual_Smut, Eventual_Relationships,
      Triggers, Forced_Orgasm, Forced_Eye_Contact, Blood_and_Gore, Sexual
      Repression, Repressed_Memories, Past_Child_Abuse, Physical_Abuse, Vaginal
      Fingering, Rough_Sex, Roughness, Rough_Oral_Sex, Rough_Body_Play, Minor
      Violence, Panic_Attacks, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Attempted_Rape/Non-Con,
      Consent_Issues, Control_Issues, Begging, Dom/sub, Racism
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-06 Updated: 2017-03-18 Chapters: 7/? Words: 19332
****** Little Bird ******
by FloodFeSTeR
Summary
     "You let me violate your justice.
     You let me desecrate what you love.
     You let me penetrate your soul.
     You let me complicate who you are.
     You think you can still be free?
     Think again.
     I own your soul.
     You can't escape from that."
     She'd been content on the Hilltop, had gotten good at brushing off
     Gregory's advances but staying in his good graces.
     And then she meets Negan.
Notes
     Chapters are limited but I can't decide on that limit just yet. Enjoy
     still, check the tags for triggers and give it some love ❤
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
     Her name is pronounced Chee - law for some reason
A lot of people start with what they did before the apocalypse, how they had
lived some unassuming life or something close to that when it all fell apart.
Government officials rolled out first, civilians quarantined behind walls of
tanks and corrupt military, the dead taking over like the flu in a cancer ward.
But Csilla never thought about -- okay, okay that would be a total fucking lie
to say she never thought about her life before the apocalypse. She did wonder
about her dog, if her politician momma thought to grab the poor thing up when
she had her own daughter blocked from the estate.
One reason Csilla didn't think about her life before; momma was a bitch, daddy
was a drunk, typical family in upstate New York even if no one was going to
admit it. Corruption and family went hand-in-hand as if they were meant for
each other, Csilla would have loved to spill her mommas secrets, her daddy's,
even her brother's because of how shitty he was when she tried to befriend him.
No, she didn't care to think pre-apocalypse style.
But mainly, Csilla thought about post-apocalypse, and she was lucky she didn't
have to think about most things that came with it like starving, the dead or
even human obstacles. They always had food, no one ever tried to come after
them. . .
She stares out the window on days like this, when its gloomy and cold outside,
which it seems to be on the regular these days.
She sighs and looks down at her fingers, flexes them to make the fat blue stone
glimmer in the fire from her lamp on the windowsill in front of her. She'd had
that thing for so long, she was surprised she had managed to keep up with it
through the apocalypse.
Gregory was happy she had a bit of a vain streak in her, because she had stolen
it for strictly aesthetic purposes. He crooned over her appearance when he
flirted with her and the ring made a funny imprint on his cheek when she
accidently reached back too fast and hit him with it. The ring just brought her
together, he said, and he didn't give two shits about her personality behind
it.
And, to be honest, her personality had went to shit when her own momma had
locked her out of the family home when the military rolled in.
Piece of shit only ever cared about herself anyway.
And Csilla was falling into the family tradition around here, being stuck
inside most days with a creepy old man that treated her like a pretty
houseplant.
She wanted to tear his eyes out.
But, he had her trapped, ya see, because Csilla knew she wasn't fit for living
outside of those high walls and he had threatened her not-so subtly about how
he would throw her outside the moment she said she wanted her own place in an
RV, or even a tent.
And Csilla wanted to survive, dammit, even if that meant dealing with roaming
hands.
She remembered Jesus finding her while he was looking for a lost patrol. He had
been scavenging in a gas station and she had been hiding in the broom closet,
scared and weak, nothing but bones and bloody skin. It had taken him a full day
to get her out of the closet, another to get her to the Hilltop. Then she had
been scrubbed down, wrung out, introduced and painted up like an old state
wife.
Her mother would be proud, perhaps.
Proud she was embracing her roots, even if it was the wrong place and the wrong
time, wrong situation. Because momma had always wanted her to follow in her
footsteps, and Csilla was pretty good at talking shit like her momma, but
backing it up? That was definitely something she hadn't inherited because
Csilla could never backup those words she spat.
Also, she got tongue tied alot, so she wasn't that bad of a bitch as her
mother, which was something the old bat had flaunted all the time.
Self-righteous. . .
She jumps when something cracks out of the corner of her eyes and sees the gate
parting, a tense gathering picking off of the gardens where everyone works to
fix what the rain damaged. She doesn't know these trucks pulling in, but she
does know Jesus and his well worn beanie shuffling past the edge of the roof
Csilla has view of.
Her heart leaps into her throat at the sight of so many men - beefy men, with
guns too - and she pushes out of the chair she's sitting in. It creaks against
the hardwood and she knows she'll for sure be in trouble for that but Jesus --
She stops at the top of the stairs when she sees Gregory in the doorway of his
office. He's adjusting the sleeve of his sweater and staring at the floor, fear
in his annoying face. And he was a coward, there was no doubt about it, but she
has never actually seen him look worried; he always had that selfish,
narcissistic confidence around him when it came to confrontation.
He looks up at her when one of the floorboards squeaks and there's selfish
panic in his eyes when he waves a hand at her. "Go upstairs, now," he orders
and she narrows her eyes at him. "Don't give me that look --he's here!"
She opens her mouth, gets ready to say something, snap back as she always does
because she isn't a dog to order around like he wants her to be, but the doors
slams open and there's Jesus so she shuts up. Plus, he's flanked by those men,
the ones that immediately hone in on her and their eyes pant when their mouth's
don't, as if they hadn't seen a woman in years when she knows she saw at least
one in the back of that truck they have near the gate.
Jesus lets his eyes flicker up to her as he steps beside Gregory, who is all
smiles and welcoming the men with a sweaty brow, asking them about their day
and they actually go with it, crack a few smiles and joke. Like they aren't
terrifying, like there isn't a plague of the dead roaming around them, like
they don't have guns in their hands.
Csilla grips the railing tight, her knuckles white as she watches Jesus,
someone she wants by her side right this instant. He is comfort, he is safe, he
is easy, he is an anchor in this Hell hole which was why he was named but he
keeps his head bowed and hands crossed in front of him.
When did he become the submissive pup?
He wasn't a confrontational person, another reason he was named so, but she
hadn't seen him ever lower his chin.
"I'll give it to ya, Gregory," Csilla jumps and looks to the door, the new
arrival. "Sure know how to keep a place pretty," he grins.
He doesn't really look at her -- well, of course he does looks at her, he looks
at her hard. But there's no hint of lust, concern, intensity and its fast.
There is a curiosity beside a decent amount of impassiveness to his
expressions, his rugged, graying stubble that lines his jaw, thicker around his
upper lip. Slicked back hair and a leather jacket, he looked like a bad boy
from the fifties save for that baseball bat on his shoulder. Wrapped around it
like gangly teeth was barbed wire, the wood stained with bloody curves.
His face evens out from that cocky smile and she swears he winks at her before
he turns and files into Gregory's office, the man in tow.
The door clicks shut, the lobby falls silent, no one is moving, a man or two
are staring at Csilla, and then they're staring at Jesus because he's walking
towards her, up the stairs and she catches his hand before he can even think
about it. There's an air of disappointment she leaves behind, hears it with the
clicks between their teeth, and she's so happy that didn't last any longer than
it did.
"You shouldn't have come down," is the first thing Jesus says when she shut the
door behind them.
She gives him a bewildered look. "Excuse me for being worried about you," she
furrows her brow. "You being the only person I can stand around here comes with
some hindrance from me."
He doesn't chuckle at her attempt for a joke, he just keeps that same stressed
look on his face and sits in her seat by the window. Csilla rolls her eyes a
little but softens, grabbing a chair from the nearby desk and placing it across
from him.
"Who was that," she questions softly. "He even shook Gregory up," not that she
cared about him.
"Negan," he admitted and looked over at her. "You haven't been around long
enough to catch one of their supply trades and definitely not long enough to
see a deal being negotiated. I didn't want you to see him," he paused. "I mean,
I didn't want him to see you."
"I'm a big girl, Paul," his eyes snap to her at the sound of his own name. "I'm
not afraid of the boogeyman anymore."
"He's not just the boogeyman, he's the devil."
Csilla snorted. "I think that's a bit dramatic."
Paul sighed, slouched back in the chair like he had been working all day when,
in reality, he had been talking about trying to scout again with Gregory all
morning. She wasn't good at consoling people, so she just sat there awkwardly,
and he had to know by now to not try and pry that out of her.
It never worked.
"Why did you tell me I shouldn't have come down," he perked up a little,
looking at her from behind the edge of his beanie. "You've never said that
before when we talked to other groups, what's so wrong with them? I mean, yeah
they were scary, but at least they seem somewhat civilized."
"I just don't need them getting any ideas," there was an unusual bite in his
voice. "He took Amber during the first shortage, when we were first getting
things together here but she escaped and. . .we don't know what happened to
her. But I'm sure she's dead because she escaped, you can't just do that with
Negan. . .he's got good hounds."
He really knew how to make a girl antsy.
Csilla wrung her wrist in a tight circle, looking back out the window and
watching the first few droplets of rain hit the window.
Great, just fucking perfect,morerain.That's what they needed.
Normally, she would love these days, before the dead roamed that is, but now
she despises it. Because it reminds her that once, she had felt more things
than annoyance and hunger. She had never felt dirt beneath her nails before,
pangs of hunger or wondered if she would get attacked or die that day. She had
been so privileged, it disgusted her now thinking about how she had always had
pretty dresses and perfect curls while now, she was lucky if she got to wash
her hair that week or not.
So much had changed so fast.
"I want to go out with you on your run," she finally admitted.
"Csilla --"
"No," she snapped. "I don't care how mad Gregory gets," she tightened her fist.
"I'm tired of sitting in here," she looked to him. "Please."
She'd get what she wanted, always did with him for some insane reason. She
wasn't the first he had rescued, he said, but he treated her differently than
the others and she liked that; she'd always liked having someone treat her like
this, like she was special when she really wasn't.
He sighed. "Okay, okay," he smiled softly at her. "I'll sneak you out," he
winked.
Csilla chuckled and reached out, grabbed his hand and let it rest lazily in
hers. "How long do these things usually last?"
Jesus hummed, leaning back in his chair. "It varies, one time they were in
there for a whole five minutes. I've been going in lately but. . .Gregory
didn't want me in there. Told me that I needed to wait with you."
Bad feelings.
"What do you think they could be talking about," she didn't mean to whisper,
but she did.
Paul shook his head. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't think I want to know."
Csilla ran a hand through her hair. "That's not exactly what I wanted to hear,"
she grumbled. "But I know its all you got."
"Smart cookie."
"Shut up."
"Csilla."
She looked up to Gregory, who was standing in the doorway and looking mighty
pale. . .and angry. . .sad? "Yes," she questioned and stood, letting go of the
hand so warm in hers. "Is. . .Is everything okay, Gregory?"
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, something biting,
something like a child would, but he shut his mouth, shut his eyes, breathed
slowly out of his nose and then reopened those eyes. Trying to be calm in a
tense situation, it didn't seem to fit him how it usually did.
"I. . .I need you," desperation, a new one. "Would you please come with me,
dear?"
She hated that pet name, but she nodded anyway, tried not to look back at Paul
because Gregory would just get more upset when it was all over and she didn't
need that to fuel the fire.
She filed behind Gregory like her mother would -- though, her mother would have
led the charge -- with a bit of a defiant glint in her eye and a raised chin.
She didn't look at any of the men in the lobby, and thankfully they didn't make
noises like she had thought they would, but she could still feel eyes clinging
to places they shouldn't and it pissed her off.
Not like she could, or would, say anything.
She stopped basically one step into the room, chills erupting over her skin as
she watched Negan's back; she heard the door click shut behind her and almost
cried when she didn't see Gregory in the room with her. Her fists clenched at
her sides, a shaky breath coming through her nose while Negan browsed the tall
bookshelves, barbed wire resting on his shoulder.
"Always appreciated this place," he started, reaching out and plucking a book
from the shelf. "Gregory wanted to preserve something special to him," Negan
looked back at her, smiled. "Just like you."
"Why am I in here," fuck, her voice trembled.
He chuckled softly. "Are you scared," he cocked his head, walking over to one
of the lounge chairs.
Csilla watched him fall down into it, hesitated before she followed behind him.
"Who wouldn't be," she tried to even out her voice as she sank into her own
seat. "I've heard what you can do."
"I'm just a man with a little ambition in his eye," he tapped the baseball bat
against the toe of his boot. "You have nothing to be scared of, I may be many
things, but I do have rules and I don't hurt women or children. That's a
cowards game."
"And yet you don't seem to mind intimidating them," her eyes stayed locked on
the bat bouncing in front of her. "Keeping her out and not leaning against your
chair. . .I know what that's about."
He chuckled and jerked the bat backwards, catching it with a gloved hand and
cradling it lovingly. "Her name is Lucille," he smirked at Csilla. "You and her
are going to get very well acquainted, she will be protectin' you a lot after
all."
"Excuse me," slipped out, you dumb bitch, how could you let that slip out?
But he didn't seem put off, upset in the slightest, he smiled at her, showing
teeth. "I came here for a new group of boys, but looks like I got all you can
spare," Csilla jerked her head back when he swung Lucille forward, the head of
the bat close to her face. "But you. . .you'll do, a pretty young thing like
yourself. Gregory already made the deal, we're not taking anything this month
thanks to your pretty face."
"No," she whispered.
" 'fraid so," he pushed himself to his feet. "Don't worry, you'll be all set
with food, running water, protection. Hell, you'll be safer than you would ever
be in this shit hole. So pack your shit, sweetheart, you're comin home with
me."
***** Chapter 2 *****
She's never had such an intense car ride.
She sits in the back of an old truck, a blonde chain smoking against the
tailgate across from her, arm propped up on her leg. She cradles the cigarette
between her fingers and blows smoke into her hair, strands getting wrapped
around her nose and she has to close an eye but she doesn't stop smoking even
for a second.
Csilla keeps her hands folded between her thighs, knees pulled up to her chest
and her own hair tied back away from her face. . .because Negan did it.
"No room up front, darlin," his fingers were surprisingly gentle as he raked
her hair back into a tight little bun. "Don't need your hair getting all
knotted up, wanna give my own hands that pleasure later tonight," he winked and
her cheeks flushed on their own accord. "Jus' kiddin, you just look better this
way."
She looked better that way? Didn't he already call her pretty? Nothing new,
never meant anything special to her because she got called pretty on the
average and none had yet to get into her pants.
That streak was most likely to be quashed.
By force.
"Sit here, stay quiet, don't open the door. If anyone else does - shoot em."
He leaves her with a gun, which is surprising, almost as surprising as his
instructions before he left. He locks her up in a room she guesses is his. .
.theirs. . .because there are men's clothes in the closet and an old thing of
cologne on the nightstand, bottle of scotch beside that.
Csilla presses the tip of her finger against the top of the silver lid, rocks
the bottle back and forth before she picks it up and starts to unscrew the cap.
She actually wonders where the man belonging to the scent is, why he just up
and left her the moment he brings her inside. He didn't say he was leaving
this. . .compound, and it's pouring rain outside so she has no doubt he's
around here somewhere, but her mind wanders when she's nervous and she tries to
latch onto things that keep her distracted.
She shouldn't, but she thinks about the blonde in the back of the truck, the
one that was smoking and staring at her the entire ride through the night, the
one they dropped - nearly kicked, literally - off at the old relay station. Her
eyes had been so intense, so cynical, so critical, so full of disdain. .
.Csilla had been surrounded by women like that her entire life but none had
made her squirm quite so. Older women, middle aged, sprouting crows feet and
stretch marks, squishy arms and droopy asses, all jealous of a girl that didn't
even know their names.
Csilla inhaled the musk stuck inside the bottle, clinging in that shallow
puddle at the very bottom, and closed her eyes for a moment. It gave her
chills, made her. . .tremble.
Men shouldn't be allowed to carry that smell on them.
She screwed the bottle shut and set it back down on the table, wrung her hands
out on her skirt. She could hear men stomping around out there, laughing and
carrying on, the scent of nicotine coming up from beneath the door. What was it
about the apocalypse that made people want to smoke? Csilla grabbed the pillow
case from one of the pillows and stuffed it under the door, locked it and she
didn't care if it was loudly. She sat down on the end of the bed and tucked her
hands between her thighs again, listening to the laughter, thought of Jesus.
"I'll see you in a month," he promised, seemed so sure about it.
"If I'm alive."
She was scared, so fucking scared, because these men were terrifying and this
man - Negan - was terrifying.
"He sold me, Paul, he fucking sold me!"
And Gregory had wept, like he was losing a child, but the only thing he said
was, in a whispered hush, he takes all my stuff.
Fucking narcissistic piece of shit!
Csilla jumped when she heard a loud slam somewhere down the hallway, jumped to
her feet when she heard the woman scream and the man laugh. Her heart was
hammering in her chest, she stepped around the corner of the bed so she wasn't
next, though there had yet to be a threat directed towards her.
"Fucking stop!"
"Get the fu-sh-ck off me ma'," came the slurred response and Csilla could hear
the mans jaw crack. "Ya mother-fucka!"
She heard boots slapping up and down the hallway, screams from men and
women;stop! You dumb fuck. Let him go! Let her go! Get off me!
And then there silence, a quick lapse in it to be exact, like someone just
flicked the switch and the lights went out. She didn't hear the squeak of
boots, slurred speech, women yapping, men snarling, she heard utter silence. It
was so quiet, that ringing began in her ear, the one everyone knows but most
forget, the silence that rivals what human spout to be silence all the time.
Csilla cocks her head and continues to stare at the door, palms sweaty as she
held her hands together.
And then a crack.
She doesn't know what it is, but its a crack, followed by one more, then a
crunch, a wet squish, another crack - or was that just another crunch? They
sound. . .pretty much the same. She hears a garbled noise - a wet moan, or a
plead for mercy she thinks, and then there's silence again, but only relative.
She hears people now, shuffling by, one snicker and a snide dumb fuck should
have listened.
The door handle rattles violently and Csilla jumps, hurrying to the door and
grabbing the knob before she thinks better of it. She stops though, fingers on
the lock, and she licks he lips.
"Wh-Who is it?"
"Lucy, I'm hooooome," he sings, chuckles at his clever one liner.
Csilla swallows thickly and unlocks the door, opening it and stepping to the
side. Her eyes widen on the floor, a drop of blood growing from where it hits
and her head snaps up, catches the gore hanging from steel teeth. He whistles
as he walks, swaggering into the bathroom off to the side and she hears the
water run when she doesn't see it.
She looks into the hallway before slamming the door shut, afraid of the strange
faces outside. She locks the door again out of her own comfort and wipes her
hands against her thighs, sits on the edge of the bed again.
He killed a man in the hallway.
Right there, almost against the door, and he seems so happy about it.
"Sorry about that," she looks up slowly when he speaks, watches his back as he
stands in front of where a mirror would have gone in the bathroom; there's only
a stark outline now. "Some of the newer men apparently don't understand my low
tolerance for domestic violence."
"It seems a weird standard to uphold," she looks down at her lap, not having
meant to say that aloud.
"And why would you believe that," she felt the bed dip across from her back.
"Would you prefer I knock the fuck out of you so long as you're alive? Let the
men rape you? Because they want to, they'd fucking love to - but I don't let
that stupid shit fly around here."
"I just. . ." She twisted the hem of her skirt between her fingers. "Is that
what you're gonna do to me," he hummed in a questioning way. "Are you going to.
. .is that why you brought me here? I can't fight, I don't even know how to use
that gun you left. . ."
"You have a pretty face," he grunted as he pushed himself up from the edge of
the bed. "And no, I'm not gonna rape you, girl, I just told you I don't put up
with that shit, not even from myself."
At least he wasn't one of those, laying down firm rules that applied to all but
himself.
"But, pretty soon," she looked up when he stepped in front of her, stepping so
close she had to lean back. "I'll have you begging for me to fuck you," he
grinned menacingly, leaning down and placing his hands on either side of her,
pressing her into the bed. "We can start now. . .or you can play hard to get."
She knew it.
"Please," she begged and that seemed to excite him a little. "I-I wouldn't -"
"Just how old are you girl," he murmured, pushing back the hair from her face.
"S-Seventeen, pl -"
"Not usually my type," he stood straight suddenly and Csilla released a shaky
breath. "But I can make it work," he stared at her for a long moment. "Come on,
sit up now, don't sit there and fucking stare at me all crooked like that."
"Can you blame me," she sputtered and shook her head. "I-I didn't want to come
with you! I wanted to stay there with Paul and even -"
"Paul?"
She closed her lips up tight, fists clenched, trembling. Negan looked back over
his shoulder at her, face leveled and. . .threatening. He wouldn't let her clam
up, he would get that out of her, because she was stupid and said his name and
-
"J-Jesus," she murmured. "He. . .He's called Jesus a lot. . ."
"Ah," there was a smile. "The peacemaker, good kid," he paused and pointed at
her, brow furrowed and lips lightly pursed. "He the one you had a crush on?"
"I don't. . .no, no," she lied.
He didn't believe her, not one bit. "What do ya see in a spindly prick like
that," no animosity, not visually anyway. "He good in the sack or somethin?"
Her cheeks flared again and she tightened her knees; he noticed. "I never slept
with him," she snapped, but her throat was rough.
He arched an eyebrow, hands on his hips. "You a carpet muncher," she shook her
head fiercely. "Ah. . .ah, I see - you're a fuckin virgin."
Her heart leapt into her throat, instinct making her legs curl up. A slow smirk
curled the edges of Negan's lips and Csilla bit her lip hard enough to draw
blood. Most hit her chin, which seemed to catch his attention and his eyes
softened up a little. He turned around completely, sitting beside her on the
bed while she tried to wiggle away from him; he grabbed her arm when she tried
to do so, pulling her against his side.
He grabbed her chin between the fingers of his free hand, jerking her head
towards him. His eyes flickered around her face, thumb wiping at the blood on
her chin.
"You're really scared of me, aren't you," he murmured; she could swear he was
leaning closer.
Csilla hesitated, nodded softly; she went a little limp. "I-I'm fucking
terrified," her lower lip trembled and she closed her eyes; her hands were
shaking in her lap.
All he did was hum, low in his throat and she knew he was moving closer thanks
to the shift in the bed.
But she jumped when his lips touched hers, even though she knew it was coming,
and her muscles seized in trying to pull her back. She didn't want him touching
her, let alone kissing her; so gentle, not pushy. How a first kiss should be,
with the wrong man though, not the one she wanted.
She squeaks in her throat when he pushed her back against the pillows. "St-
Stop," she whimpered, pushing a hand weakly against his chest. "Negan please!"
"Mmm, like you don't want it," he murmured against her nose. "Wonder how easy
it is to make you squirm," his hand released her arm, running down past her
wrist, her hip. "I bet you're so fucking easy, feel fucking fantastic. . ."
Her hips jumped when he pressed the heel of his hand into the apex of her
thighs, breath ceasing when he hit her clit. She tightened a hand against his
leather jacket, the other in the sheets, her stomach clenching so tight it
hurt.
"Please," she whispered, eyes shut tight.
He chuckled, applying a tad bit more pressure before he let her go. Csilla
released her breath and blinked softly, gazing up at him because he was still
so damn close to her face.
"Told ya kid," he murmured, eyes running down her face. "Not gonna rape ya."
"Y-You touched me against my will!"
"Ya didn't fight very hard," he arched an eyebrow. "But I told ya. . .I'll have
you begging in no time."
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Yes its been awhile but I promise I have good excuses. I'm finishing
     Meow's final chapter now, for those that follow it btw. I didn't mean
     to leave any of you hanging for so long.
She hadn't shared a bed since she was eight, and then it was her brother in her
bed. When he was sweet, when he at least acted like he cared about her - Hell,
even her mother had been a. . .mother.
The last time she had slept with her brother - her twin in almost every way
until their twelfth birthday - was a memorable night because their dad had come
home from the hospital. It had been two years since he had been home thanks to
a faulty heart and worse doctors. She remembered being happy, remembered
promising to be a big girl for her father and would sleep in her own bed to
show him everyone would be strong while he went through the last few hurdles to
full recovery.
And then she saw him, crumpled and weak, hair suddenly so grey, not at all like
it had been months ago; it was usually thick, black. And those circles beneath
his eyes, dark and whites bloodshot - he was a shell of her father.
So she'd had the start of a nightmare, climbed into her brothers bed and -
Her eyes snapped open when she felt the brush against her thigh, crossed them
tightly at the feeling.
He chuckled behind her and Csilla squeezed her eyes shut tightly, fingers
tightening around the corner of her pillow. The room floated with the scent of
cigar smoke, something that was coming from his lips and it made her nose burn.
It had a sweet tint to it which made it only slightly bearable; how would he
react if she said anything about it? Would he freak out? Hit her? What would he
do? She didn't know what to expect from him and that was so scary.
"C'mon sweetheart," he chuckled softly behind his words. "Loosen up, I ain't
gonna hurt ya."
"I don't believe you," she murmured, eyes flickering in the darkness. "I was
sold to you. . .I did not come willingly."
She heard him loudly exhale between his lips. "Come now, doesn't mean ya can't
be a little. . .loose?"
Csilla squeezed her eyes shut tight as he laughed loudly, surely waking someone
up and for some reason that made her stomach clench. She didn't want anyone
(even the people that already knew) that she was in here, that she was the
source of that laugh; why, she didn't know. Some irrational thought, she
supposed, because its not like anyone else here could possibly care.
Her breathing hitched in her throat when his hand traced up and down the side
of her thigh, completely at ease while she felt like she would choke on
nothing. She detached a hand from her pillow, grasping his hand firmly and
trying to push it away, which she managed to do, but with a great deal of
effort because he was toying with her. She did have some rage at the fact, but
what could she do? Nothing, she was his, she should just give in - then again,
she was never one to really give up.
"D-Don't," fuck why did her voice have to tremble?
"Mmm," he swatted her hand away gently, but she reacted as though she had been
burned. "And why should I do that?"
"Because I don't want you to," she tried. "Please, please I just. . ."
"Wanna go home," he spoke in a questioning tone. "Yeah honey, and people in
Hell want slurpies, it ain't happening any time soon."
She whimpered loudly and he ignored that, continuing to squeeze her thigh
without purpose it seemed, just a menial task keeping his hand busy.
Csilla shook her head and twisted her head into the pillow, rather inhale the
stale fabric than acknowledge that. . .that tightness and heat building deep in
her belly. No, no this could not possibly be turning her on at all; she refused
to accept that even though her body was definitely letting her know what it
thought she should do. There was no chance she was going to willingly fuck that
man, he would have to take it and even then - she would fight. Tooth and
fucking nail, she had to, she couldn't accept this.
She wouldn't.
"Sweetheart," she tensed. "I can smell the smoke from over here, stop thinkin'
so hard."
===============================================================================
"Rise 'n shine princess," and cue the hard smack to her ass.
Csilla yelped and jumped, whirling over onto the back with hair caught in her
teeth and feet tangled in the sheets. Negan just lit his cigar, giving her a
casually bored look like he didn't see anything wrong with what he had just
done. Csilla could still feel the sharp sting in her ass, almost feel the exact
print of his hand - she trembled.
"That hurt!" She snapped, though her eyes said fear.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye and exhaled a thick puff of smoke
from his nose. "Do I really look like I care," he leaned forward a little,
making a circle around his face. "No, I don't, so, up an at em little girl, we
got some work to do."
"Wh-What?"
"Yeah, I know you're used ta sittin on your ass all day and I don't mind that
really cus it is a pretty nice ass, but that don't fly around here," he reached
for the foot of the bed, tossing her a flannel shirt and a pair of ragged
jeans. "Boots on the floor, socks inside - you're goin to see something with us
today."
She sputtered, not allowed the chance to say anything because he was already
walking towards the door. She kicked the sheets from her feet, jumping from the
bed the moment the door clicked shut. She stared at it in bewilderment, fingers
clenched at her sides; well what the fuck was she going to do now?
Csilla looked at the clothes, sighing softly as she grabbed them to change. She
rubbed sleep from the corners of her eyes and yawned, holding the clothes tight
in her arms. What the Hell could he want her to see? Maybe they would be
beating that asshole to death for selling her off to this man.
Well, he wouldn't see it as that. But she certainly did.
Always would.
As she laced her boots up, she was actually impressed; the right size,
perfectly tight around her ankle. A lot better than the tennis shoes she had
been wearing around; well, she had been wearing them around the house, not out
hunting or anything like the others.
Oh God, were they going hunting?
"Please no," she murmured, peeking out of the door, looking left and right.
"Please no hunting. . ."
"Please no what?"
Csilla jumped almost ten feet in the air, having to refrain from glaring at the
black haired girl giving her a crooked look. She had a heavy looking gun in her
hand, big with an equally intimidating scope on the barrel. Csilla jumped again
when fingers snapped in front of her face, definitely not the woman because she
was scuttling away like she had just been scolded; Csilla looked up at Negan
with a dazed look on her face.
"Close those lips baby doll," he flicked her jaw up with the tips of his
fingers, eyes hooded. "Something could slip right on by," he winked.
Her teeth clicked together and she narrowed her eyes at him, fingers flexing at
her sides. "What're we doing," she demanded.
He arched an eyebrow and Csilla felt herself regretting being so demanding.
He's a man, he was bigger than her, stronger, he could easily back hand her or
decide she wasn't worth the trouble and toss her. She didn't want to die, she
didn't want him to hurt her - but she still wanted to know what she was getting
into before she followed him.
If he would tell her.
"Don't worry about it sweetheart," he pet her on the head in a patronizing
manner. "You'll see, now come on the others are ready."
Could she stomp her foot and demand to stay home?
EW, home, she actually called this place home.
"How many other people," she mumbled as she hung her head and followed him.
"Is the apocalypse haven for the introverted?"
"Sort of," Csilla murmured. "How many others?"
"Hopin to get some more alone time with me sweetheart," he winked as he held
the door open for Csilla while she rubbed her arms at a sudden chill.
Outside, the sun was eclipsed yet again by the storm clouds overhead and there
was a nip in the air, unusual for the time of year. But she supposed, so close
to Fall, it really was the time for the weather to be shifting. She wrapped her
arms tight around herself, her muscles tensing as Negan draped an arm over her
shoulders; that bat bounced on the other.
There were two other people in the truck, a grizzly of a man sitting in the
back and a woman in the drivers seat; she was tapping a tune on the steering
wheel. She looked over as Negan opened the door, her teeth coming down on the
bubble she was blowing between her lips.
"Why we bringing her," the woman griped and Negan shoved Csilla into her side.
"Because I said so," he narrowed his eyes while his lips held a soft smile. "Or
is that a problem?"
The woman sighed. "Nope, it sure isn't," she held a hand to Csilla. "Names
Becky, what about you?"
"C-Csilla," she stuttered, taking her hand for one firm shake.
Becky scoffed and started the truck, eyes forward and ignoring Csilla who would
have rathered shrink into her side than have Negan so close to her yet again.
Being in the bed was enough, at least then there was some space. In the tight
cab, rambling along, there was no escaping from him being against her. She was
waiting for that hand to come down, waiting for him to be inappropriate, but he
kept his eyes forward and his jaw ticked rhythmically but otherwise he was
completely at ease.
Even if he was playing with the window.
Csilla jumped when Becky slammed a hand against the steering wheel. "Sir, will
you please stop that annoying shit," she snapped, fingers flexing around the
leather.
Negan chuckled and hit the button, rolling it all the way down and sending a
chill through the cab. "Only because ya asked so nicely," so cheeky for a
murderer. "Cold, baby girl," he questioned Csilla, weird concern on his face;
it was really. "Could always cuddle up to me, been told I'm quite cuddly."
"Quite an ass," Becky murmured.
Csilla trembled once but stared forward, intent on ignoring the both of them.
Becky seemed okay, even if she was a bit of a bitch and seemed worse off than
most of the assholes she had met in the apocalypse, but she was a lot more
preferred than the man sitting beside her.
At least Becky wouldn't try to finger fuck her.
Or maybe she would, how could Csilla know?
When she sneezed, softly, barely noticeably, he forced her into his side.
Csilla tensed up, eyes popping as her entire body went ridged, shoulders hiked
up to her ears; he didn't notice, or didn't care. Csilla could feel Becky look
over at them, saw her eyes in the rearview mirror when she looked up. There was
a wee bit of concern, but she obviously didn't plan on doing anything, like she
probably could in the first place.
No one could do a damn thing.
"Don't be so frigid, sweetheart, we talked about this," he murmured into her
ear. "Lucky I have some self control."
Csilla trembled again.
And Negan chuckled, straightened himself but wrapping her so hard against his
side. And that's how it went for possibly an hour, her against his side and
most definitely not okay, not comfortable in the slightest.
Until she grew tired.
Her eyes were drooping and she wasn't as rigid by him; he was. . .really warm.
And she had hardly slept a wink the night before, too afraid of what he was
going to do to her if she did sleep peacefully. Would he touch her? Would he
hurt her? She didn't have a clue and the thoughts kept her up until she
couldn't anymore and she was pretty sure then she only got two, three hours of
sleep tops.
And she was falling asleep on him now.
"Not too bad," he murmured, looking down at her as she dozed off, head limp
against his shoulder. "I don't think she'll be too hard."
"Camp full of pansies," Becky leaned back in her seat. "She's just a pretty
little flower."
"Maybe so," he stroked back the hair from her collar and watched her shock into
half-awareness. "Kinda jumpy."
"Well I'm sure you or some of the boys will scare that out of her," Becky
sighed.
"Oh they won't be touching this one," he squeezed his hand so tight against his
thigh that his knuckles crackled. "I will be sure to wipe out the entire camp
if I have to."
Becky hesitated to look from the gravel road they had turned onto, seeing Negan
staring down at Csilla with a placid expression. "I. . .You really want this
one don't you?"
He hummed softly. "Suppose so, or else I woulda let her go to one of the boys
by now. Nah, she's gonna stay around for awhile. See how she does tonight and
we decide later. . ." He chuckled. "I mean I decide."
Becky snorted. "Right, right."
===============================================================================
She's never seen a more pathetic group of people.
She shouldn't be one to judge because she wasn't exactly the brave type as of
late but these people cower and she's pretty sure its not just because of
Negan.
Though, he does cut an intimidating figure pacing back and forth in front of
three people that make themselves known as the 'leaders'. Swinging Lucille,
chanting in a jovial manner, pointing that wrap of barbed wire at one young
mans face while he trembles against the ground. Lucille was terrifying on her
own, bloodstained and that barbed wire somehow untainted by the messes it had
probably since the beginning.
"Now, I said if we didn't get the cut this month, there would be consequences,"
he shook his head. "I believe I made that so very clear, over and over again -
and I wouldn't make such a big deal but since we saved you people you have
royally sucked at paying your debt."
"W-We told you its hard with such a small group to meet the demands of yours,"
one of the older men sobbed at Negan's feet, eyes brimming with fearful tears.
"We simply cannot -"
"Now I don' wanna hear it," Negan put on the stern-parent face, hand on his
hip, Lucille's nose hitting the ground.
"You don't have to watch this shit you know."
Csilla looked over at Becky, watching her flick a small wad of gum off into the
leaves. Becky had followed Csilla around the camp all night while Negan took
inventory, gathered who spoke as leaders. And she couldn't say she was
comfortable with the attention, but it was better than the looks these people
were giving her.
Maybe a group of fifteen, twelve? Csilla hadn't bothered to count because they
were all front and center, horror in their eyes as they waited for Negan to
call the verdict. Csilla wanted to feel bad, she really did, but she couldn't
when they claimed to be hungry themselves but appeared perfectly capable; at
the moment.
Why she had to be here to see them, she didn't know, but Negan had told her to
watch them and she was going to that she felt whether she liked it or not. He
wanted her to see something, and she was barely awake, so she would go with it
for now. He hadn't pulled too rash a move yet, and if so many people were
terrified of just him and two others, she wanted to see what it was all about.
Seemed to get everyone back at the Hilltop all nervous, rustled their jimmies,
so she'd finally get to see this in person.
"He wants me to," Csilla rubbed at her eyes, trying to wake up. "And I wanna
see why everyone's so. . .scared of him. He's just one man."
Becky shifted her weight nervously. "You just don't even know, girl."
Csilla looked over at her and then back to Negan when Becky's expression didn't
change from neutral. He was saying something, too low for her to hear, Lucille
dragging the ground in front of him. His hips swayed slightly, toes rocking up
above his heels as he bent down to whisper into the mans ear; there was a bit
of horror on his face. He was the older man, crooked nose and snow white hair,
looked like he was knocking on Heaven's door as they sat there.
Negan pushed up slowly, shoulders cocked back and firm, the mans eyes still
wide up at him; Csilla barely noticed Negan's knuckles turning white.
"Pathetic old man," Negan murmured. "I hope your mistakes eat you alive. I
won't let you die peacefully."
Csilla tensed, waiting for what Negan would do to the man but when he grunted,
when he swung the bat up, he didn't hit the old man. He hit the younger one
beside him, cracked his jaw clear open, sent blood flying into the air. He
grunted and she could see his jaw split open as his head jerked to the side and
up, eyes immediately closing. His head slammed into the ground and Negan backed
up a step as screams filled the air, people grabbing onto each other.
Csilla stared.
Negan tsked and raised Lucille again, swung down onto the mans head again,
causing a notable dent in his temple where blood oozed out.
Csilla lowered her arms from across her chest.
He arched the bat back again, looking over at the old man that was crying, head
bowed. "Nuh uh," Negan raised his boot, tilting the old mans head up so he
could watch. "You're gonna see what you did - watch every last bit of it."
Csilla clenched her fists, heart racing in her chest, felt like it had dropped
to her toes.
Negan swung the bat down again with all of his might, even bending at the knees
to do so. He snickered when the mans head bounced off of the ground from the
impact, blood spattering the pine nettles around their feet. He wiped his mouth
on his sleeve and then swung again, clearing right through to the ground; he
grunted as he jerked Lucille from the dirt, the grey matter tinted red hanging
off of her barbed wire.
Csilla stumbled back a step, into the warm grill of the truck, fingers digging
into the metal. Negan raised Lucille for inspection, whistling softly as he did
so, being so cavalier on purpose, to terrify - and it was working.
Negan let out a shrill whistle between his teeth and chuckled, nudging the
squishy, dismembered head at his feet. "Man, that boy didn't have as hard a
head as he let on," he kicked the body and it barely moved, but Csilla could
see the fingers twitching. "Oh ho! Look at that, see the nerves dying? Man,
that's some freaky shit!"
Csilla bit her lip, shaking her head softly as Becky remained unfazed. She'd
seen this shit regularly, right? Had to, Csilla almost wanted to ask but Negan
was cackling at the dead body, the old man that looked completely destroyed.
And why wouldn't he, Csilla didn't even know the boy and she wanted to scream.
Could have just been shock though, considering it wasn't everyday she watched
someone beat another humans head in.
"Now," Negan started, flicking his bat heavily to dislodge the red stringy
stuff on her. "I don' wanna have to do this shit again, real bad on my back,"
he dramatically rubbed the small of his back. "Just get me my supplies, and I
won't have to kill another one of you dumb motherfuckers. Not like I haven't
warned you - and this is the last. Or we just dispose of ya like a fucked up
limb. Don't need you draggin down the rest of us. Understand," when the old man
just whimpered, Negan jerked the tip of Lucille against his chin, forcing the
man to look up at him. "I repeat - understand?"
The old man nodded fiercely, staggering back on his knees when Negan dropped
Lucille and started walking back towards Csilla and Becky. He muttered
something into the latters' ear and she nodded, grabbing the duffel bag from
the ground and walking at a brisk pace towards the back of the camp.
He looked over at Csilla next, smirking when he saw her staring at the dead
body the settlers were trying to gather through their silent hysterics. She
couldn't look away, to be honest, not even from some morbid fascination like
Jesus had sometimes, she just couldn't move. If she moved, she was afraid she
would fall, or cry, or scream, or something.
When Negan grabbed her waist, she only inhaled sharply, still staring blankly
at the backs of strangers. "You frozen, little bird," he murmured into her
hair, holding her so close and gently like she were a willing lover.
Csilla blinked softly. "I wanna go home," she whispered, looking up at Negan.
"I wanna go homenow."
He arched an eyebrow, looking up when there was another one of those fucking
whistles. Becky was striding towards them, sweaty and a bit rustled, the burly
man lumbering behind her. Negan's jaw tightened and he let Csilla go, letting
her stumble a little with the loss of his weight. Becky stumbled to, mostly
because Negan roughly pushed past her through the people, right into a man who
couldn't be any older than sixteen that was w blood on his arm. He saw Negan
and his eyes widened, ready to run but Negan grabbed him by the arm and hauled
him out of sight; Csilla didn't want to know.
"C'mon," Becky muttered, pushing Csilla towards the passenger door. "He'll
catch up."
"What is he doing," Csilla came to her senses, noticed her heart racing again.
Becky shook her head. "I said come on, he'll catch up."
Csilla looked down at Becky's hand when she went to grab her and swatted it
away, leaving the woman with actual shock in her eyes. Csilla ran a hand
through her hair and looked back after Negan, shaking her head as she followed
him.
Bad idea, very bad idea, like one of the worst she has ever had in her life but
for the love of it all she had to follow him. Could she stop him from doing
what she thinks he's getting ready to do? Probably not, most likely it was a
big fat no but she had to do something. She'd never seen such brutality, never
actually watched someone die and she couldn't let him kill someone else.
Csilla pushed someone out of her way, was probably a woman judging by the hair
but Jesus had long hair so -
She stumbled to a stop when she heard a strangled, muffled cry, biting her
bottom lip hard enough to break a teensy bit of skin. She licked the evidence
away and flexed her fingers at her sides, taking a hesitating step forward and
peeking around the edge of the RV.
Negan had the boy pinned against the side, Lucille at his throat, barbed wire
tugging on just the edge of his jaw. There was a big knife inches into the boys
upper thigh, close to some sensitive equipment; Csilla felt that was the aim.
Negan had his lips near the boys ear, whispering something in a hurried manner
and he gently twisted the knife, just enough to make the boys body jerk and his
lips opened to scream - but he couldn't thanks to the hand over his mouth.
"We clear young man," Negan murmured, eyes hooded as he pulled back just enough
to look into the boys eyes.
"I-I didn't -"
"Don't gimme that shit," Negan whined, driving his knife deeper into his thigh;
this time, Csilla heard a cry. "Don't you ever think of touchin one of my
people ever fucking again, or I cut your cock off and feed it to you."
"Y-Yes!"
"Yeswhat?!"
"Yes sir! Yes sir!"
Negan jerked the knife out, backing up and letting the boy crumble to the
ground, clutching for his leg and trying to cry silently; Csilla didn't blame
him, Negan was still there.
"Sweetheart," Csilla looked over at Negan while he glared. "Get in the God damn
truck."
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     It is 1:43 a.m. where I am at the moment, but I couldn't wait until
     morning to post. So here is the latest update, and I promise they
     will be cranked our faster. I do have two accounts to keep up with,
     all of my PG-13 and below stuff is on FanFiction.net
Csilla didn't speak the entire ride back.
Negan resumed playing with the window, Becky grumbled softly to herself, but
Csilla couldn't make out what she was bitching about exactly due to the rumble
of the engine. When they had all climbed out of the cab, Negan was gentle with
her, like she were a delicate thing; she couldn't really protest to that, but
his treatment clashed with his displays and her head had yet to stop swimming
since she met him.
 
"How about you take her back to our room," Negan murmured to Becky, but he
didn't stop staring down at Csilla. "Get her a shower."
She had to tear her gaze away from his face as Becky took a hold of her upper
arm. It wasn't firm, not really, but there was no fighting her as she pulled
Csilla along. Negan just watched them go, a thoughtful look on his face before
he turned to the lanky man trying to get his attention. The doors clicked shut,
darkening the hallway enough to make it ominous. The compound was busy today,
with people moving in and out of rooms, moving furniture, the smell of cooking
meats and vegetables coming from what had to be the kitchen at the very end of
the hallway; it was oddly long.
Becky didn't release Csilla's arm until they were in Negan's room. She slammed
the door behind her, leaving the dazed Csilla to stare at the end of the bed
until she startled her by slamming to door yet again.
"What the actual. . ." Csilla shook her head. "Could you stop slamming the
door?"
Becky narrowed her eyes even more at Csilla, who wanted to curl up and shrink
away just so she didn't have to see that look. It was venomous and angry, but
Csilla doubted Becky wanted to dish about her problems.
She probably wanted her gone so she didn't have to babysit Csilla right now.
"Here," Becky's soft tone betrayed the look on her face. "And I'm not mad, its
just my face," she held out a towel and a rag -- yes, a tattered little thing -
- to Csilla. "I have clothes for you to change into when you get out, they'll
be on the bed."
Csilla nodded, clutching the towel tight to her chest, digging her nails into
it. Becky turned around immediately, without saying anything more or giving
Csilla the chance to say thank you; she sighed heavily and tugged out a
cigarette from her pack before shutting the door, softly this time. Csilla
released a relieved breath and lowered the towel, walking into the bathroom -
- and making sure to lock the door behind her.
She didn't want a surprise from Negan, and she definitely wouldn't put it past
him.
The water was cool, but warm enough to be tolerable. Csilla tipped her head
back into the spray from the shower, holding onto the handicap bar to her right
as she closed her eyes. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep forever -
- perhaps even through this nightmare. Or maybe it was just that, a nightmare,
and she was dreaming. She would wake up, be home, go to her job, have a couple
of drinks with her friends and then go right back to sleep.
Csilla sighed as she soaped up her hair, aching to smell a burst of false
flower-scent but there was nothing. It was just suds in a bar, to get her clean
and nothing more.
Csilla yelped and dropped the bar of soap when the door rattled loudly,
suddenly smelling the strong taste of cigar smoke in the tiny bathroom. She
snatched up the bar and set it in the dish, covering her breasts immediately
and staring wildly out of the curtain. Locked, the door was still locked, but
God he was so close while she was naked.
"Come on, baby girl, I'm back."
There was a bright chirp in his tone, which made Csilla absolutely sick. "I
don't feel so good," she murmured, leaning against the slick wall.
"Want me to come help you out, sweetheart," Negan teased.
"N-No," she turned off the water, listening to him laugh at her. "Kill me now,"
she whispered softly.
She wrapped the towel around her middle, digging her toes into the nasty little
carpet. Okay, she could do this, she could make it another night, she could
totally do it. And the other nights? When he got tired of her? When he lost his
temper, would he hurt her? Kill her? Toss her to his men? Her mind could come
up with all of these horrible things that he could do, would do, but that
didn't really mean anything would happen.
Csilla looked around, brow furrowing softly as she clenched her right hand into
a fist, left holding up her towel. "Oh crackers," she muttered.
She forgot her clothes.
"No," she whimpered, shuffling in her spot.
Csilla stomped her foot and slowly unlocked the bathroom door, creaking it open
into a crack. Negan was sitting on the bed, unlacing his boots as he whistled
softly to himself. He wasn't intimidating, he wasn't intimidating. . .good
lord, watch those back muscles roll. Csilla clenched the edge of the door and
shook her head, wishing the door didn't have to creak like that when she opened
it. But Negan didn't look up, he just set his boots to the side and stood
walking over to the grimy little closet and proceeded to unbutton his shirt.
What the actual Hell?
Csilla swallowed and stepped out of the bathroom, eyeing the night shorts and
the white tank top lying at the end of the bed. She shuffled towards the bed,
stomach all tied in knots as she waited for a blow or him to make some kind of
remark.
As soon as her fingers wrapped around the shorts, an arm wrapped around her
waist. Csilla yelped and wiggled in his arms, trying to turn and push against
him, get away, but he tightened his grip, leaving her little room to escape. He
chuckled, free hand running up her arm to her jaw, tilting her head to the side
as he started to trail his lips over her throat.
"I say you picked the perfect outfit to sleep in," he murmured, breathing
heavily against the shell of her ear.
"Please," she shook her head, trying to ignore the tingles his lips sent
through her nerves. "Please. . ."
"Mmm. . .begging," his fingers kneaded her hip, tongue brushing over her pulse
point and making her jump. "That's right, babe, feels good does'n' it?"
Csilla trembled, legs trembling as she held the clothes tighter in her hands,
almost like her life depended on it. And it almost did, the strain in her
knuckles kept her from just collapsing from how good he felt.
Csilla's eyes snapped open and she thrashed against him, making him growl but
she was already in the bathroom when he decided to reach out for her. She
leaned back against the counter as he slammed a fist against the door,
otherwise silent on the other side. Her heart thrummed like a humming birds
wings in her chest, legs still a little weak. She waited a moment, not until
her heart slowed down because now, that wasn't possible, before she started to
dress. She continued glancing at the door as she did so, now sure he would try
something but he didn't; still, she kept her guard up.
Csilla hopped onto the edge of the counter, swinging her legs back and forth as
she chewed on her lip. She didn't even entertain the thought of staying in the
bathroom all night because she was tired as fuck. She just needed a moment, to
ground herself, to try and not. . .be so turned on.
"Hell," she shimmied down from the counter. "I'm going to Hell."
She opened the door stiffly, seeing he was in bed, reading something -- perhaps
a journal? There was no titling, and was he. . .no, was he wearing glasses?
What the Hell was going on here?
Csilla shut the door behind her, swallowing her fear and raising her chin as
she walked around the edge of the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, hesitant
to lay back but she had already walked in here, if she was gonna just sit here
she could have just stayed in the bathroom. Csilla sighed softly, tucking her
legs beneath the blanket and lying on her side, wrapping the blanket tight
around her hips.
"I can do this, I can just go the fuck to sleep and be done with it."
Of course, no sooner had the thought finished did the lamp click off and she
heard the clap of the book shutting, being tossed down onto the floor. For
Csilla, the tension in the room was high as Negan got comfortable, shifting
just enough for her to not be able to tell which direction he finally settled
in.
She would have really loved for him to have settled with his back to her.
Csilla gasped when she felt his fingers brushing against the back of her thigh.
She clamped her thighs together tightly, squeezing her eyes shut at the jolt
that went through her. No, no you have so much more self control than this!
He's a fucking nut case, for crying out loud!
Her teeth were almost chattering as he started that kneading shit again,
working at a snails pace up and over her thigh. The muscles in her thighs
trembled as she tightened her legs even more, crossing them at the ankles and
refusing to part when though his fingertips were gently brushing from the cleft
of her thigh and halfway down. Up and down the tight line her legs made in her
efforts coaxing her with his breath on the back of her neck.
He didn't say anything, which was just as creepy as if he hadn't said anything
at all.
His arm snaked under her and up, wrapping up half of her chest and then around
her neck. She gasped again, arching back in shock, just knowing this was how it
ended because she didn't give out like he wanted. Her thighs parted and
stretched, ready to fight for air when he started choking her but --
"No please!" She begged, spine rolling as his hand slipped into her shorts.
Negan chuckled breathily against her throat, turning his fist down to nibble on
her throat, the back of her ear, his fingers working slowly still towards her
slit. Which was, as embarrassing as it was, soaked with no room for her to deny
it. He hummed as she shuddered against him, her eyes fluttering close when he
applied that subtle pressure to the top of her slit. He found that precious
little nub, moving in soft circles that made her hips arch into the touch
despite her shame.
"St-St --" Csilla bit her lip when his fingers moved down, one swiftly sinking
into her. "Ah!"
He still didn't speak, growling softly in her ear when he slipped another
finger into her. His arm tugged her more against his chest, exposing her throat
to his hungry teeth. She felt him hard as a rock against her ass, but couldn't
get away with his hand so elegant in her pants. The heel of his hand found a
slightly awkward angle against her clit as he fingers moved in and out of her,
body hitching each time they drove home. She panted and whimpered, skin
dampening in the tangle of sheets. He nudged her leg up and over his, exposing
her more to his assault, his hold on her tight and allowing for no other
movement than into him.

"Ah! Ah!" Her eyes were squeezed shut so tightly it ached, able to here the wet
sounds between her thighs.  "F-Fuck. . ." She trembled.
"So fucking tight," she startled at his grunt. "Oh baby, you are so fucking
tight, you know that?"
Her cheeks flushed so fast with heat, her pussy doing the same as his fingers
began to scissor inside of her. Csilla gave a weak little cry, having to bite
her lip so no one had the possibility to hear. No, no they couldn't know. They
couldn't know she had let him do this to her, make her or body betray her.
But sweet Lord, it felt so fan-fucking-tastic.
It was absolutely delicious, not having felt something so good in who knows how
long.
Even the lewd sounds, her short gasps and his meager grunts she had to search
for -- they were so fantastic.
Her hips tried to buck against his hand to no avail, because he simply wasn't
giving her the choice. He was going to finger fuck her how he wanted, all tied
up in his arms and aching to actually call his name.
"How close baby girl," he nipped at her ear, his fingers moving fast now, in
and out, almost chaffing had she not been so slick. "You're so wet, you have to
be close, or are you one of the slow build types? I wonder what you taste like?
Bet you taste as good as you sound."
Csilla inhaled sharply, trying to prevent the scream that wanted to rip from
her throat. Had he not been holding her so firmly, she would be thrashing
about, trying to reach that peek. And he was bringing her so close, fingers
hammering in and out of her, his cock against her ass reminding her just what
he had in store for her.
She was ready, to Hell with it all.
"N-Negan," she whimpered softly, twisting her face into her pillow to release
as many whimpers and moans as she could.
He chuckled as her pussy tried to milk his fingers, mistaking them for a cock
as she came. He rubbed his thumb against her sensitive clit and her hips
jerked, a gasp loudly flying from her lips at the contact.
"I. . ." He kissed her shoulder. "will. . ." He planted a soft nip on her pulse
and she arched back into him. "conquer. . ." He bit hard against her jaw,
delighting in the sound of his name on her lips.  "you. . ."
***** Chapter 5 *****
She wakes up in a heavy sweat.
Her stomach is tight and her skin is heavy, blankets curled around her ankles
and Negan's side of the bed is cold, probably has been for some time.
She wanted some windows, she wanted some sunlight, she wanted some fucking
fresh air.
Csilla swallowed thickly, fingers bunching in the sheets as she sat up. The
room was so stale, her skin too hot -- it was too quiet in here.
She kicked away the blankets completely, watching them slide to the floor as
she strode quickly towards the door; her throat was tight, she couldn't breathe
right. The hall wasn't empty when she flung the door open, almost the opposite
as she had to push people out of her way. Negan was there in the background,
watching her, not stopping her when she made a bee line for the exit. People
were yelling, but no one was chasing her, and no one tried to stop her when she
passed.
The great escape? No, because that was way too easy and she wasn't stupid but
why wasn't he stopping her from getting to that door? Why wasn't he stopping a
possible escape?
She actually gasped as she burst through the doors, stumbling against the
concrete, kicking towards the grass. Fresh air and silence, it was so fucking
quiet outside, and she fell into the grass with that. She closed her eyes and
sealed her lips tight, curling in on herself a little and wrapping her arms
around herself. There was still dew on the grass, the sun hardly through the
trees, she knows what she would be doing back at Hilltop.
Coffee with Paul, maybe a walk, a shower to wake her up, something to eat
perhaps? Then journaling, reading, taking everything for granted and then
trying to keep Gregory from touching her without getting kicked out of the
house.
She hated that man.
Csilla took a large breath, not even realizing she hadn't been breathing, and
rolled onto her back, spreading her arms at her sides, staring up at the
swirling blues and pale orange of the sky.
She flinched when she heard the doors squeak open, shuttering closed with age
and heavy metal. Light boot steps were approaching her, on the concrete and
then crunching against the grass. She closed her eyes to avoid his face,
scrunching up her legs a little in embarrassment; she'd let him touch her, even
whispered his name into the dark. She was ashamed of herself for what she let
happen, what he did to her and how she reacted to it.
She fucking loved it.
"What do you think you're doin," he questioned, so close and so deep.
Her lips parted, but Csilla didn't speak right away, digging her fingers into
the grass, the soft soil underneath. What could she possibly say to this man?
She had already proved him right by letting him violate her -- was it really
violating if she got off on it? She had nothing to say to him really, nothing
that was important, nothing she hadn't already said a million fucking times.
She wanted to go home, she wanted to see Paul, she wanted to have her clothes
and her jewelry and her books and all that back.
Here she was now in dirty clothes and lying on the wet ground, having let a
stranger touch her in a way he shouldn't be able to.
His steps inched closer, near her head, and Csilla's throat tightened. Eyes
still closed, she perceived it as a threat, any minute his boot would come down
on her face.
"Let me tell ya somethin," his jeans squeaked as he crouched beside her; his
fingers pinched as he grabbed her chin hard, jerking her face towards his.
"Open your fucking eyes," he growled, she didn't, and he shook her head until
her body scrunched up, hands flailing and knees curling. "Open your fucking
eyes then!"
And she did, with tears on the brim and her fingers deep in the soil around
them. There was a quiet fury in his eyes, something she didn't like, something
she was utterly afraid of. His face was placid around those eyes, as though he
weren't hovering above this frightened, kidnapped girl.
"You're gonna apologize first," he raised his chin a little. "And properly,
none of that half-assed sniveling shit."
Csilla swallowed thickly. "I-I'm sorry. . ." He arched an eyebrow. "Sir."
And he smiled, big and genuine, menacingly. "Good girl," he pet back her hair
with his free hand. "Now, you're gonna be punished for that shit back there. It
don't fly, makin me look bad in front of my men. Like I just let my things run
around, go wherever they like. You won't ever walk out those doors without me
again, I can guarantee ya that."
Her chest was constricting, nerves screaming at the pinch and pull of his
fingers against her skin. They were rough and calloused, no doubt from beating
people to death with that awful bat. When he released her finally, he pushed
her face away from him with the gesture, grabbing her upper arm in the same
movement and hauling her to her feet. She looked up at him from beneath
frazzled hair, stumbling alongside him as he pulled her around the edge of the
building.
"Wh-Where are you taking me," she thought of struggling.
He didn't say anything, humming as he walked as though he hadn't a care in the
world. Csilla looked up, brow furrowing softly as she stared at the three poles
erected in a triangular formation. They were the width of power poles, but
stripped and clean, shackles drilled into them midway.
"N-No," Csilla whimpered, finally pulling back and stumbling as her arm slipped
until his hand caught her wrist; she pulled still. "Please, please don't do
that! Anything but that!"
"Want me to fuck you raw," he threatened low and close to her face, enough to
catch a drop of spittle. "Because, girly, I can do that. Just rape ya like you
thought I would. Huh, would you rather I do that? Bet that's what gets you off
real good too."
"Negan please --"
"No," he growled and slammed her back against the post, smirking. "Its sir now,
the more you resist, the less human you will be treated. Its sir, then master.
. ." He chuckled as he easily lifted her hands above her head. "I think you're
gonna be such a good girl, I can't wait to show you off to my friends."
The cold metal of the shackles rattled shut around her wrists and Csilla lost
his support. Her feet clambered to keep herself up, almost having to stand on
the tips of her toes to keep the metal from biting into her skin. Her muscles
strained and ached immediately and she whined deep in her throat, twisting as
he stepped back to admire his work.
"I'm good," he nodded. "Alright sweet cheeks," he leaned in and planted a
sloppy kiss against her cheek, to which she jerked away from but he said
nothing. "I'm gonna have someone come feed ya soon, can't have ya gettin all
skinny and shit."
Csilla looked up from beneath her brow, terrified of the man strutting away
from her. As though he weren't a monster, as though he wasn't leaving her
gained up out here with the elements.
As though he hadn't just admitted he planned on taking her humanity.
===============================================================================
 
She's been there for two hours when another woman comes by.
She's old and she's chubby and there's a perpetual cloud of smoke drifting
around her when she undoes the shackles. Csilla immediately collapses at her
feet, legs jello and boned aching, shoulders popping and she cries into the
ground at the pain but also the relief; the woman only sighs in an annoyed
manner.
"Get up," she snaps, but didn't bend down to jerk her up like Negan would.
"F-Fuck you -- ah!" Csilla curls in on herself a little more, bowing her head
against the ground.
"That's what you get for bein a bitch, now get up I ain't got all day."
"And I said fuck you," Csilla snapped through grit teeth. "I-I've been up there
for what feels like ever! And everything burns and aches and is mostly numb! Go
fuck yourself, I'm g-gonna sit right here!"
The woman growled but still didn't touch her like Csilla expected, but she
didn't give a fuck, she was beginning to learn how to properly move all over
again. There were aches in deep, sensitive places on her body, every movement
either sent a dull ring or a sharp strike of pain through her body. The parts
that were numb were fuzzy and beginning to wake up, but that came with more
dull discomfort.
"If you wanna eat," the woman's voice was taught and even, as though she were
restraining herself; Csilla wanted to rip her eyes out. "I suggest you get up."
"Or what," Csilla's voice was shaky as she braced a her hand on her knee,
wobbling to her feet. "Gonna hit me? Tie me back up?"
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Thinkin' bout it."
Csilla stared at the woman for a long time, shaking her hands, moving her body,
running diagnostics. The woman's filter was crushed between her teeth and the
rage was palpable through her gaze alone.
"You can't touch me," was that glee in Csilla's voice?
"Not unless Negan tells me to," the woman tried to regain some of her composure
but there was too much amusement in Csilla's eyes. "And he didn't say to use
force, so no, I can't touch you."
At last, Csilla smirked, though her knees wobbled, buckled, and threatened to
give way beneath her. There was a sense of pride returning to Csilla's chest,
that she couldn't be touched right now, that these people seemed to actually
listen whole heartedly to the mad man's reign.
She may have been just a toy to him, but she. . .she was his, and he wouldn't
let anyone else play with her.
"Food," Csilla felt the tremor of command in her voice but didn't get too
excited.
The woman growled but turned, leading the way as Csilla struggled to regain as
much composure as possible before they made it around the side of the building.
She didn't need to wobble in, no she wouldn't be able to take that humiliation,
though it would be far less than being shackled to a post in the backyard. Like
a mutt on a chain, thankfully no one had bothered to come towards the back or
even peer in her direction when they came outside to smoke. But they knew she
was there, they knew what Negan had done when he walked back in empty handed
and no doubt skipping.
It was dead inside, the halls empty and the lingering scent of breakfast ebbing
through the air. Csilla peered back over her shoulder before the doors clicked
shut, seeing only one of ten vehicles parked outside.
"Where did they all go," she questioned.
"Scouting, hunting or scavenging," the woman grunted, opening the doors to a
rather large room with cafeteria table but the lack luster of the actual thing.
"Sit somewhere, Emily will bring ya food," she paused before she headed for the
door. "An' don't do anything stupid."
Csilla glared as the doors shuttered closed, sitting at her preferred table and
she tapped away at the surface, humming softly beneath her breath. She could
almost smell every ounce of body odor that had come through perhaps not long
ago and it made her stomach roll. That was the worst part of the apocalypse to
her -- current situation and murder/zombies aside -- the insistent and never
wavering odor that clung to everything. Death, musk, straight up B.O.
She jumped when a tray slammed down in front of her. She almost gave them a
bewildered look but seeing the scrawny, trembling young man in front of her
with an apron on made her furrow her brow. Csilla reached out for the tray, but
he jumped this time, shuffling backwards away from her.
"Why are you so scared," Csilla shook her head, plucking up a fork.
The boy looked around, terrified still in an empty room. "Y-You're Negan's
wife," he hissed, panic in his eyes.
Csilla stopped mid-bite, eyebrows raised as she slowly lowered her fork; the
motion made him whimper. "Excuse me?"
"You're Negan's wife," he shook his head, plucking at his own nails. "I-I don't
want you to hurt me. . .he'll let you hurt me."
"I am not his wife and I am not going to hurt you," she picked up her fork
again and he shuffled back, making her sigh deeply. "Unless you keep doing that
shit, I mean seriously all I did was pick up my fork," she proceeded to eat
angrily.
The boys mouthed opened and closed, shaking like a leaf and he nodded fiercely,
almost running back into the kitchen. Csilla slowed as he disappeared,
annoyance running fresh in her mind now. Her wrists ached and her muscles still
burned with every movement, and then a stranger so kindly informs her that
she's Negan's wide? Great, just fucking great, as if she didn't have enough
reservations with the whole situation.
"Ya done," the woman was back and crabby as ever, a fresh cigarette in her
mouth.
Csilla glared and set down her fork, unable to finish; her stomach was rolling
already. She didn't want to go back out there, she didn't want to be tied up,
she shouldn't have been so stupid earlier and she could probably be doing
something less humiliating.
"Get up already," the woman griped.
"I'll go as fucking fast as I want to," Csilla snapped,   pushing up from the
table and wishing a silent farewell to the half finishes tray in front of her.
"Lucky I can't touch you," the woman snapped, glaring a hole in the side of
Csilla's face.
"So lucky," a pause. "I'm changing," Csilla brushed past the woman, biting her
lip as she tried to find her and Negan's room.
"He didn't say --"
"I don't care what he said," Csilla slammed the door behind her.
Her hands trembled as she took a few steps back from the door, staring at it
for a long moment like she thought the woman was gonna bust through, or even
Negan. She didn't need that, she really didn't want to piss him off, but she
did want to sit there -- seeing as she didn't have a choice in being tied back
up -- in her night clothes until Negan decided to let her down.
She changed into jean shorts and a plain green shirt, staring at her shoes for
a long time before she tied her hair back up and then opened the bedroom door.
The woman was there, still glaring, still probably wanting to knock the fuck
out of Csilla, but there was that feeling of power again and Csilla almost
smiled.
"I'm ready now."
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Honestly, this chapter is for Girl_WithTheDirtyMind because she
     creeped some shit with me tonight lol
     Twitter: @LikePicklez
She can hear the dead hiss and snarl on the other side of the compound, while
she hangs, balancing on delicate little toes.
Her muscles burn and ache, having been strung back up so abruptly from letting
her muscles relax. She shouldn't have gotten down, she should have stayed up,
or she should have demanded she stay inside.
But then she would have to deal with. . .him.
He's whistling softly when she whimpers, her toes slipping and putting all of
her weight onto her own wrists. She threw her head back and her shoes slipped
against the wet grass, whimpers flying past her lips as she struggles to find
solid ground.
"Well shit sweetie pie," he grabbed the chain and hauled her up a little,
putting relief into her muscles. "Gosh, you got dolled up for me? Ya shouldn't
have!"
She looked up beneath her bangs, looking into those deep brown eyes that were
alight with mirth. It was nearly dark, the cool air beginning to nip at her
exposed skin. He cocked his head to the side, so close she could feel his heat,
was aching for it even.
"Oh puddin," he murmured, lids drooping slightly and shuttling even closer,
knee cocking softly between her thighs; not quite touching that V in her
thighs. "Ya shakin? Whatcha shakin for, baby? Shakin for me, shakin for what
you want me to do to ya," he questioned softly, eyes flickering up to where her
chains held her. "Gotta say, puddin, I like ya all strung up like this. Mmff,
just really tickles my pickle, if ya know what I mean."
Csilla jerked when he stomped his foot, his smirk draining all of the color
from her face, she was sure of it. She could smell the leather of his jacket,
his musk, the scent of exhaust from whatever truck he had run off in that day.
She turned her head away from Negan and he chuckled, letting her chain go and
Csilla nearly screamed when her feet slipped against the grass again. Her
shoulders felt perilously close to something painful, either dislocating or
possibly worse with how hard she was jerking her body around. She tried to grab
the chains and pull herself up a little but pain splintered down her back when
she did so.
"P-Please," she whimpered. "Please unchain me! Please! It hurts!"
He hummed, taking a step back and watching her struggle. "You learned your
lesson, sweetheart," he cocked his head softly. "Cus if I let you down, and you
haven't? This little get up here," he circled a finger around her in the air.
"Ain't jack shit compared to what else I can do to you."
Csilla ground her teeth, pressing up on her toes, pain radiating through her in
thick pulses, mainly down her back. There went her pride again, rearing it's
ugly head and refusing to give in when her body and logic screamed to just give
up, even for a moment.
And she did, her toes shaking to keep herself up as she bowed her head. "I've
learned my lesson," she murmured.
He leaned forward, leather crackling as he did so and he cupped a hand over his
ear. "I'm sorry, sweetie, what was that?"
She raised her chin a little, swallowing thickly as he smiled at her sideways;
waiting. "I've learned my lesson. . ." He waited still. "Sir."
He immediately straightened himself. "Good girl, I knew you were a smart girl
when I first saw ya. Lets get you out of these chains now, huh?"
He reached above her head with a key in hand and the restraints gave way, his
arms catching her before she completely hit the ground. He swung her up into
his arms and began to stroll leisurely back towards the compound.
"Definitely need ta eat more," he shook his head. "Don' get me wrong, I like
how you're fit but this is a shame, you have so much you can fill out."
Csilla didn't say anything, remained limp in his arms as he rambled on. He
didn't seem to mind, kicking open a door or two, carrying her through the
halls. She peeked up as they passed, listening to the chatter, watching them
hauling things like mattresses and plastic bins of canned food in all
directions. There were bloody noses and knuckles that passed, stone faced men
and women that just wanted to get to their rooms and get the day over with.
Negan sat her on the bed, pausing when she whimpered, curling in on herself a
little; everything ached like it had before. He set the key down on the bedside
table and walked around the bed, into the bathroom with the door clicking shut.
She couldn't hear anything over the chatter outside her door, but Csilla was
focused on not moving so she didn't ache anymore. How could she watch her
tongue to not experience something worse than that again? She would have to
watch her ass all the time, she didn't want to be punished again and that was
apparently the weak stuff.
He wanted her to be a good girl and she didn't want to die; she doubted he
would kill her anyway, just to torture her and use her some more.
Her eyes shuttered open as his arms scooped her up again, jostling her muscles
and making her cry out, digging fingers into his shirt - where did his jacket
go?
He set her on the edge of the counter, letting her lean into him as she
trembled. She didn't fight when he unbuckled her shorts, tugging them down her
legs that screamed in protest at the stretch. He dropped them to the floor and
went for her underwear next, but she struggled then, kicking out weakly.
No, no she didn't want that again!
He sighed and pinned her legs between his own until she stopped struggling,
ignoring her whimpers as he pulled her underwear away and tossed it to the
side. He grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head before he grabbed her up
again and turned, lowering her once again - this time into a tub filled with
water just a little more than warm. Her muscles sang at the relief, unknotting
and a sigh ebbed from her lips as she sank against the edge of the tub.
He left the room without saying a word, leaving Csilla to stare at the shadows
his form made through the crack of the door.
Should she have said thank you?
She hadn't. . .what the hell was wrong with this man? Was he off his rocker?
Was he just toying with her? Why couldn't she wrap her head around him? She'd
been surrounded by crooked fuckers her entire life, but this man. . .he eluded
her.
"Bathe yourself, or I'll do it for ya sweet cheeks," the tone came out just
short of a song and Csilla's cheeks heated.
And she bathed, slowly, enjoying the moment, willing her body to relax in the
water. Negan bustles about his room, occasionally leaving with a soft click of
the door only to bark at someone on the other side.
It sent a chill through her.
When she was done and the drain unplugged, water swirling down the hole, she
stared for a long time. When she gripped the edge, the pressure made her feel
like Jello inside and out, so she gave up with a huff. What else was there to
do? Sit here and wait, she supposed, or she could summon her voice and call for
him, make him pick her up again.
But she feared what could come next.
And yet, the tub was getting chilly and she wanted to sleep, and this would not
be a very good place to catch some z's.
"N-Negan?" Her voice was small and echoed through the room; she was met with
silence. "Negan? Are you. . .are you in there?"
This time, she heard soft shuffles of socks against concrete heading her way
and felt like curling up where she sat. But she just looked up with big eyes to
him, swallowing thickly as he stared at her in a blank state. His eyes
flickered over her and he sighed, stepping forward and reaching down to pick
her up from the rapidly cooling tub. She curled against him, trembling and
still. . .scared. She still had those thoughts, that he was going to do
something to her, she just didn't know what.
And didn't really wanna know.
He set her down on the edge of the bed, a tremble going through Csilla when the
rotating fan washed over her. Negan noticed and walked over to it, clicking the
fan off and then looking over his shoulder, fingertips still brushing over that
button.
"Wh-What," Csilla questioned, knowing full well what was going on in his mind.
He didn't say anything, just cocked his head to the side and turned around to
fully face her. Csilla didn't move, didn't try to, as he shuffled towards her
at a casual pace, arms slightly swinging at his sides.
"You're Negan's wife!"
Her lips gently parted as he stopped in front of her, his eyes flickering up
and down her as she did the same to him. Waiting. Patient. Hungry.
She trembled when he slowly sank to his knees, his eyes boring into hers with a
subtle intensity. It was smoldering and wanting, asking, and Csilla gave no
response because he wouldn't obey even if she did.
His hands gently rested on the sides of her thighs, sending chill bumps across
her pale skin. Her eyes fluttered closed as his fingers dug into her, gently
massaging her muscles, his breath on her knees. It felt heavenly against her
abused muscles, and it had been so long since someone had pet on her in any
sense. She had forgotten how good it felt to have someone else touch her, pet
her; his breath on her knees was a constant reminder of what he wanted, but her
knees shuttered around parting in relaxation.
He didn't speak, which Csilla waited for to be honest. She expected him to
taunt her and tease, be a little more mischievous than he was being, but he was
being. . .gentle.
A quick gasp shot from Csilla's lips when a quick, firm tongue struck out
against her slit.
She didn't look down, couldn't because then she would really die; she just
bunched her fingers into the sheets. He prodded her again, this time a little
slower, earning a breath to puff from between Csilla's lips. His hands tugged
her hips towards his mouth, soft little noises from him vibrating against her
sensitive sex. Her nails scraped at the sheets, aching to reach down between
her thighs and pet him, moan his name, but she couldn't.
Not again.
His tongue swirled around her clit and pulled a moan from her, hips twitching
to buck up against his mouth. It felt incredible, something she hadn't had much
of to begin with, but it has also been so damn long since anyone had done this.
Her body stretched and curled against his mouth, her own releasing short keens
and her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.
Csilla could already feel herself getting close, thigh muscles clenching and
flexing, aching to just close shut around his head. His hair was soft against
her thighs as she twisted, his jaw scraping against her so deliciously.
He wasted no time in drawing two fingers deep into her, curling them up,
dangerously close to such a sensitive spot that had her muscles clenching
around those two digits reflexively. She threw her head back and dug her
fingers through his hair, earning a groan from Negan's lips and a more vicious
and delightful tongue lashing from him. Her thighs trembled and drew up against
the bed, heels digging into the mattress, his name so close to flying from her
lips.
"Fuck," she whimpered and twisted her head as he pumped his fingers in and out
of her. "F-Fuck!"
He still said nothing, which - as a side note - concerned her a little, but the
quick blush of a shuttering orgasm wiped that away. Her breath came out in a
shaky gasp, her walls clenching around his still pumping fingers, his writhing
tongue. He coaxed out the best of her orgasm, his tongue lazy against her
sensitive little clit, his fingers slow to leave. When she finally nudged his
head from between her thighs, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, eyes on her
face as she stared down at him through hooded eyes.
His fingers popped from his lips noisily, a small grumble coming from his lips
as he pushed back up to his feet. Csilla jumped when he slapped her inner thigh
as he passed, watching him grab Lucille from behind the door and then he was
gone.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     I know its been awhile, but I've been tied up with my fiancé and its
     been very busy on my end with getting my GED and working towards a
     job at our animal shelter and just. . .busy lol but this is for
     everyone that is still clinging with me and have been asking for an
     update and I know I said this before but the adds will be coming
     faster now that I have the inspiration back.
     Twitter: @LikePicklez
The next few days are boring.
And tense.
Csilla picks up a habit in those days, trickling out around ten, when the base
is almost empty, and she goes to the kitchen. She sits at a lone table in the
corner of the room, keeps her chin up as she watches the servers bring out her
food, everything she requested too, and set it in front of her.
She wants to ask for help.
She wants to say let's make a plan, lets get out of here, he has more slaves
than men lets do this!
But every time, she just starts eating, even snaps when they bring her Sprite
and not Cola like she asks. She doesn't understand where her attitude with
these people is coming from, but she has been mean. Not overly so, nothing
physical, just her snark and annoyance has escalated being trapped here.
And the help. . .they should know better.
She retires to the small library they have in the back, always feeling eyes on
her but never seeing anyone; either they were good at hiding, or there were
cameras, she wouldn't doubt either.
She's here every day around four, waiting for the clock to hit five so she can
hide in the room and wait for Negan. One day she had grown ball-sy and waited
in the seat until they had all filed in before heading to her room, thinking
she was above them, and a man and even a woman had cornered her in one of the
hallways while people passed; the man had gotten his hands up her tank top,
ghosted over her ribs, before he had his head thoroughly bashed in.
She had sworn then to keep the schedule as tight as they did.
"Ma'am, they have arrived early," a soft voice comes from Csilla's right.
Her brow furrows before she looks up from the book in her hand, glancing up
slowly at the woman in a disgusting jumper that was shuffling awkwardly there;
like she wanted to say something, but was afraid.
"Thank you," Csilla spoke in a monotone way, closing the book and rising from
her chair.
She watched the servant scuttle backwards and then they basically ran from the
room. Csilla rolled her eyes at the stupidity; she hadn't done anything to them
yet, hadn't struck them, hadn't said anything truly venomous, she had been as
quiet and solemn as they were. She didn't care about the servants, they weren't
a threat to her, they just did so much stupid stuff and basically justannoyed
her.
The hallways were empty still, which made it a little easier to breathe, but
she could hear the heavy front doors creaking open and picked up the pace; her
lungs tightened, stomach twisting.
The first Savior peeked around the corner as she opened her door.
A woman, a gruff woman with dark hair and a mean look on her face. She always
seemed pissy, oddly sticking out amongst the women that ran with Negan. They
were just as scary as the men, maybe more so because Csilla could have sworn
they were women and should feel some sort of kinship, maybe even a little sorry
for her.
But they treated her the same as the men.
Its like they were all connected, all the same. All mean and spiteful and to
anyone but themselves, even if they got mad someone had gotten killed from
their own teams, they just moved on. She would swear Negan was the brain
keeping them all connected, but he always seemed to have his own agenda while
his worker bees had a collective objective all their own.
Weirdest shit Csilla has ever seen.
Csilla sighs and sets her meager belongs - reading glasses, a handful of hair
ties and a small comb - on the nightstand, raking her nails back through her
hair as she walked towards the bathroom.
"Be clean, be presentable, don't want anything to happen to that pretty face of
yours."
He hadn't hurt her yet, hadn't even tempted to threaten her since that one
night, two days after he had strung her up outside. She didn't want a repeat,
and she was safe, so she could clean herself up regularly, always wear
something different. It was amazing, the clothes he had brought in the other
night. Pretty things, things she knew were mostly to please his eyes, but he
had made sure they were freshly washed, smelt good. She was surprised, to be
honest, that he would go through the trouble to dress her up, but she has her
own side of the closet now.
She showered, thoroughly like he demanded, and dressed in a pale yellow sun
dress and sandals, feeling almost like herself again. She'd never been the tom-
boy type, would have preferred to stay inside and play dress up, study, and she
was able to almost get back to that now that she was here. No, she wasn't
happy. She didn't want to be here, its the apocalypse, but damn she was clean
and she had pretty clothes.
"If only I could do my makeup," she murmured, sitting down on the edge of the
bed to braid her hair.
She jumped when there was a loud thunk against the door, voices slowly climbing
into an aggravated roar; not another fight.
Csilla jumped to her feet, hair abandoned, and slammed into the door, twisting
the lock as shadows danced from under the door. She backed away quickly, arms
wrapped around herself as she listened to the fight outside. It seemed to carry
up and down the hallway, vicious as a pack of dogs, with voices urging them on.
They were in the main hallway, so fights were almost regular amongst newer
recruits and older members. The younger ones were too hot headed, she could
always blame their deaths or injuries on them, always.
But it didn't terrify her any less.
She backed into a corner, trembling slightly; she hated these fights, she
wished he wouldn't leave her here alone.
She would rather go with him.
Csilla jumped when a loud bang hit the door, rattling the handle, sending a
sharp splinter up the frame from the lock. She eyed the splinter, flinching
when it cracked more, reaching towards the ceiling. She jumped onto the bed,
over it, and into the closet, unable to shut the door but she wished she could
because the door caved in.
She couldn't tell how it caved in, how the three men spilled into the room, but
she didn't care. She covered her ears and curled into a ball behind the
clothes, squeezing her eyes shut as the men roiled around the room, breaking
the lamp, making the room more dim. She could hear them hitting everything,
snarling in words she didn't understand; Spanish, she hadn't learned Spanish in
boarding school, it was below the family to learn the language of the
gardeners.
She peeked from between her lashes when there was a roar, silencing the
hallway, but not the brothers wrestling for the upper hand across the floor of
the bedroom.
When he appeared between the throng of people at the door, he was livid. He had
blood in his hair and across his brow where a cut had gone untreated, his
jacket unbuttoned, Lucille in hand.
When the men didn't stop, his jaw clenched hard and he raised Lucille above his
head.
Csilla wanted to close her eyes.
But she couldn't, had the time to and everything as he arched the bat through
the air before it embedded on the first hit. She didn't pay attention to who he
had struck first, just knew it broke the fight when they realized a brother was
screaming in agony. And the bar wouldn't come out. So Negan pulled and then
kicked the man in the back, sending blood across the thin carpet between his
legs; he was struggling to get away. The other two drug themselves backwards as
Negan placed his feet on either side of his rib cage and then began to
viciously bring the bat down over and over again onto the first victims head.
It bounced against the floor as his cries turned to groans and muffled pants,
to gurgles and silence; that was when Negan decided he should stop, heaving a
lungful of air as he straightened himself.
He glared at the two men before turning his attention to Csilla, whose foot he
spotted slinking back behind the clothes. He leaned Lucille against the dressed
to his right, rubbing his hands together as he approached the closet. He
crouched down and parted the clothes gently, eyeing the tears and the look of
horror mixed with fear. He reached up, jaw flexing as she pulled away, before
she allowed him to cradle her naw between his fingers.
"You alright, little bird," he questioned softly, tone soothing.
Csilla hesitated, but then she nodded softly. "Yes," she whispered.
He smiled and pat the side of her face, standing so she had to look up at him.
"Good," he turned around, grabbing Lucille. "Lucky she wasn't hurt," he turned
to the other two, left trembling on the floor, dignity taken before a cross of
people. "But, isn't gonna make this suck any less."
He swung the bat down before Csilla could keep up, her eyes finally snapping
close.
===============================================================================

Csilla hasn't smoked since she was in high school.
She had been smoking for a week before her mother found her and decided to send
her off to a summer camp; she'd been craving one ever since. Today seemed like
it would be a perfect excuse to smoke, but she doesn't even when it's offered.
She's standing outside under surveillance, like she would go anywhere else.
She wouldn't go back to Hilltop, couldn't get to the Kingdom, she didn't want
to try and make it on her own. The Saviors were all she knew right now, and
that was a terrifying thought all on its own.
She's watching the flames climbing from the burn pile in the far back of the
compound, against the dark night sky it looks homie, as if it were a bonfire in
the backyard, a cooler beside some lawn chairs.
But it was a pile of bodies, and the men smoking around it were anything but
hospitable. One wore a bandana of a skull, and it stood out against his already
lithe frame making him seem like a skeleton already.
Csilla swallowed thickly and turned away, heading back inside; her watcher
didn't follow, she didn't need someone to babysit her inside. People ignored
her this time, everyone had seen Negan, had seen him when it came to her even
though that was subtle, and they didn't want to provoke him by bothering her
this time.
She stopped in front of the shattered door, staring into the dark room, seeing
it empty, blood stains on the floor, on the wall; he had really gone all out
this time. They had moved to a different room, she knew her way back to it,
didn't need to follow him, didn't need a guide. She had wanted to be alone for
a moment, breathe, come to terms with what she had seen.
So close.
It had been so close.
The room is smaller than before, but it looks like an actual room and not a
hollow shell with a bed. The previous room had been a gray shell of concrete
and thin, pale cream carpet with a shitty bed and a dresser, a closet without a
door. It looked like a serial killers hideout; how ironic. But this room, it
was painted and nice, lively, with bookshelves stocked and a cleaner bed in the
corner, ferns and nice, leather chairs to sit in by a window opened to clear
the stale smell out of the room.
Negan was lying on the bed, fresh from a shower, arm thrown over his eyes as
his chest moved up and down evenly. Csilla sat in one of the chairs, a shiver
going through her when she noticed the book she had been reading earlier
sitting on the coffee table.
Someonehad been watching.
"Why ya sittin over there, sunshine," she looked up, seeing him propped up on
his hand; she really wished he would put a shirt on. "Come on, beds comfy," he
pat the space between him and the wall.
"I would rather not," she murmured, watching his fingers bunch up in the
sheets.
"You seem to be under the impression that it was a choice," his voice was low,
threatening, eyes clouded.
"I just watched you beat three men to death," she snapped, growing only so
bold. "Just. . ." The steam died instantly; she didn't want to turn that wrath
upon herself. "Give me a moment," she paused, reaching across to the other seat
in front of her, patting the cushion. "Come sit with me over here, I'll read."
That seemed to confused him, but she grabbed her boom and flagged down the page
she had left on, returning to the first page when he sat across from her. He
was tense, which was unusual. Usually he gave off that nonchalant appearance,
loose and fluid, never a hitch in his gait unless he warranted it.
"I am staring into the hissing face of a cobra. A surprisingly pink tongue
slithers in and out of a vicious mouth. . ."
He sits silently as she reads, staring out the window at the night sky free of
distant, flickering planes or satellites. The grounds are silent, save for
Csilla's soft voice, surprised he is even sitting here and listening to her.
She knows this book well, can read without even needing to see the words, and
she takes that moment to observe him.
He looks so lost in thought.
There's a sharp knock at the door and he doesn't flinch, but Csilla does, and
adverts her eyes so he doesn't catch her staring. He answers the door and she
can't see the other face, doesn't care to, as she flags that chapter and sets
the book aside to shower. She keeps her face down as she crosses the room,
untying the ribbon around the waist, humming soft beneath her breath so she
doesn't hear the door click shut.
A thick arm traps her waist, pulls her back against his chest, hand around her
throat, breath on her right ear. She hates that she tremble's, hate how that
makes her tingle in places she thought she had control over; but he is taking
away all of her control.
"Yeah baby," he murmurs, his breath making her neck scrunch up as best as it
can manage with his grip. "Take it off slowly for me. . ."
She swallows around his grip, inhaling sharply when he releases her and sits on
the edge of the bed. She doesn't look at him, because she knows she'll cry if
she does, and continues to change in a slow manner, wiggling the dress down her
hips, leaving her in only her panties as the dress pools around her feet.
He is still silent as he grips her elbow, letting her step out of the dress and
brush it aside, pulling her to him, between his legs; she doesn't want to he
there.
She braces her hands against his shoulders, looking above his head to the
books, afraid to look down as his breath ghosts between her breasts. "Go get in
the shower, little bird," he murmurs, lips soft against her skin.
She swallows thickly and nods, finally looking down into such plain eyes that
stared at her in a way she hadn't seen projected on her since before the
apocalypse. It made her insides twist, gave her a little more strength when she
turned away and started for the shower.
She turned on the hot water, wanting to praise the gods for blessing her with
warmth, and climbed inside. It was bigger than the other one, of course, but
she could tell it had been just a decontamination chamber before; it didn't
bother her, more jets to beat against her skin and calm her nerves. There's no
door or curtain on the shower, supposed she wouldn't need it anyway, but she
would like a little warning before he touches her.
She jerks slightly, but settles with a blank face staring at the opposite wall,
feeling his skin against hers, lips against her throat. She tilts her head
slightly, giving him more room to work with, closing her eyes when he really
gets into it, plucking with his teeth, his lips gentle. He adjusts his footing
and she can feel him against the swell of her ass, bites her lip as he finds
the sweet spot on the back of her neck, right hand slithering down to cup her
pussy possessively and she spreads her legs accordingly. Two fingers enter her
and she pitches forward, caught by his left hand that is massaging her breast
giving her no route of escape from the overload to her senses when his lips
refuse to leave her skin. His fingers move back up to that soft little bundle
of nerves at the top of her slit, pushing hard against it, making her moan
softly when he pays close attention to what makes her tremble more.
She bucks her hips against his hand, one hand stretching out to the wall, and
he pushes her forward to where both hands brace against the wall. He massages
her clit for another moment, until her legs are trembling and she whines when
he pulls away but she can feel him against her slit and her nails break against
the wall.
When he enters her, she slowly lets her head hang, thankful he can't see the
ecstasy on her face; it had been so long. Her walls clench reflexively around
him, and he groans as he grabs her hips, rocking into her before he pulls out,
poised at the tip, teasing her.
"Want it baby," he questions through the dying steam around them. She nods
fiercely, cheeks on fire, betrayal to herself in her gut. "How much you want it
baby? How bad do you want this cock?"
She swallows and gives up. "Please, Negan," she begs, wanting to rock back
against him but he won't let her move. "Please fuck me, please I need it so
bad. . ."
He chuckled. "Told you, you'd be begging for my cock soon."
He slammed into her.
Her back arched at the feeling of being so full, stretching around the last
inch that hadn't hit her, and he was buried to the hilt. She trembled as he
started, one of his hands flattening against the small of her back, other
squeezing a heavy handful of her ass. He groaned as she clenched around him
again, moans flying from her lips as she clung to the wall, his tip brushing
abusively against that spot inside of her, making everything slowly grow white
around the edges.
His hand moved up her back, pushing her down until he gripped her hair tightly
and pulled back, leaving her moans with nowhere to hide so they echoed against
the walls until she was screaming and crying his name and he was pounding into
her so hard she knew she would be sore the next day but holy fuck would it be
worth it.
He almost came with a roar and stars exploded behind her eyes so she was
useless, her face pressed against the cool tiles, panting, her legs weak; he
was probably supporting most of her.
She looked back at him, still settled inside of her, and saw him staring at her
again in that same way as in the bedroom. It made her swallow, it made her
nervous.
Because it was so. . .reverent.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!