negan fic;; sex, major age gap, smoking, sexual violence etc.
"sunday, wake up, give me a cigarette
won't you quit your crying? i can't sleep
one minute i'm a little sweetheart
and next minute you are an absolute creep"
- obsessions//marin...
VI. - smoke and mirrors : imagine dragons - "show me a sign, sweep me away"
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something about folding white cotton tshirt after white cotton tshirt is deadly boring. and this man has an alarming amount of plain white cotton tshirts, all miraculously clean and soft; considering our circumstances.
it certainly doesn't help that i can feel him staring. judging my every move and calculating my next one. i had assumed that negan would leave shortly after i began to organise his closet. however, my assumption has so far proved wrong. negan has been sat, dead silent, eerily still, opposite me on his bed for the past thirty minutes.
i cross the room and approach the large glass doors of the balcony. dropping to my knees, i dip the old sponge i've been given into the bucket of warm soapy water. before i lift it to the glass, i glance over my right shoulder and watch as he strikes a match and brings it to light the cigarette between his lips.
suddenly the man's head jerks to my direction once again. i gasp as our eyes connect and the soaked sponge slips my grasp and lands back into the bucket, causing the water to fly up and drench my legs.
"shit."
"shit indeed love." he gets to his feet and crosses the floor until he towers above me. "do you have any idea how long it took me to tell simon to find you those pants?"
he smirks. he's joking. i let out a sigh of relief and manage to disguise it as a giggle.
"here. calm down. relax a little." he crouches and holds out his cigarette, waving it in front of my face in a taunting manner.
i reach out and snatch it, resting it between my lips and inhaling the smooth smoke. he lets out a deep chuckle.
we sit for a while. no conversation is shared, just the luxury of the cigarette passed back and forth.
it's weird. i imagine kissing him. how he would taste, his chapped lips against mine, his stubble scratching my chin and leaving a sweet burning sensation on my skin.
i could do it. tip the bucket of lukewarm water over and stab the cigarette out before planting my lips on his. he wouldn't expect it. his eyebrows would rise and maybe he'd push me away. i'm young enough to be his daughter. i hope he wouldn't push me away.
"whatcha thinking doll?"
"just how lucky i am."
"well can you think that whilst cleaning my doors?"
