Break Me |✧Negan 🍯

7• Zeus In Budgie Smugglers

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

"Say cheese, princess!"

Oh, what in hell?

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

Agony.

This was agony.

Three weeks? 

Three months?

Three years?

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

All I knew was dark. Garfunkel dark. 

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

Speaking to myself had gotten boring. 

Naming the ants had become a chore.

Rodger four hundred. Alfie the Eighth. 

And those bastards stung when they bit. 

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

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

I think it was three days ago.

Mmm.

The slugs had gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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