so much writers block! I'm trying to just write something...anything! This is another 2 day challenge taken from my "someday to be written" file.

...not my typical, in fact I'm not sure I even like it but it suits my dark mood. This has almost no dialogue as I can't seem to write any. And that is why I haven't been able to update Shelter In Place. If you can't tell by the end of this story...I dislike Maggie, I mean I REALLY dislike her. I don't care for Negan much either, strange that I'm writing about them? No, I have the Covid blues and this the only thing I could seem to write. Here is hoping that this helps.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: RAPE/CAPTIVITY

HARVEST

It wasn't until four months into Negan's stay in the very, very small jail cell that he saw her again. The widow. Of course he remembered her...how could he forget. Not that he remembered her name at the time, maybe he had never known it until Carol greeted her at the shift change.

Maggie

The memory of how he stood over her and watched as her body rejected the life that had been growing inside her was still fresh in his mind even after all this time. Sometimes he would dream about it. Out of all the things he had done and seen this fucked up world, this was one of the few that still haunted him. However, he was going to go easy on himself, because who could forget watching something like that? The image of the bright red blood that came out from between her thighs as it pooled and mixed in the dirt with the blood of her dead husband was burned into his brain.

Despite what they all thought...he wasn't a monster.

If he was would he still be dreaming of blood and dirt?

He was a very bad man, but he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't feel remorse or shame. He was his Annie Negan's son after all. Not that he could've shown any remorse, not then, not in front of the army he had created. They would've seen it as a weakness. He could get away with A LOT, but not weakness, never weakness. The Saviors ate their own...so to speak, they would have had him swinging by his big hairy ball from the nearest tree by morning.

And now?

Now, It was too late. She wouldn't have been very receptive to hearing it anyway...he could tell, always could read people. And she looked at him like he was the devil himself. And he had to admit he wouldn't have given it even if she had wanted it. He wasn't in the habit of giving people what they wanted, he was used to taking what he wanted and they were unwilling to give.

And speaking of reading, they didn't even give him a damn book, he at least had played music for his prisoners. It was okay because he had a lot of amusing thoughts to think. So he was good with it for a long while. But too much silence and too much time to think was not good for someone like him. He missed his life...he missed his followers. Not anyone in particular, but as a group. He loved the fear as much as the adulation that was his due as the leader of the Saviors.

It was his fucking DUE!

And he missed his fucking wives.

He missed fucking his wives.

In they came, happy to watch him twiddling his thumbs, looking at him through the bars like he was an animal at the zoo. He wished he had gone out in a blaze of fuckin' glory...hair on fire as he took out as many of those pansy ass mother fuckers as he could.

But he digressed...he liked it best when it was the Padre who sat guard, at least the man would argue religion with him. So certain that he was going to figure him out, Negan didn't mind letting him think that...it was a game of sorts and he was bored as fuck. And strangely enough he liked when Rick was forced to take a turn. That Rick had no cool. It was fun to see how long he could keep him on that edge before he pushed him over. Poor little Rick, Rick had a bad case big dick envy.

Negan loved fucking with him.

In contrast, he hated when it was Michonne. The woman was all still waters topped with a mirrored surface. He could not get a reading or a reaction from her. It just pissed him off that he should have been able to get more from her but just couldn't. She didn't even show disgust at being in his presence. She just sat sharpened that already deadly sharp sword of hers and fucking ignored him. She would have made a great Savior.

He would rather she stick him with that shiny stick of hers than ignore him.

Daryl was silent like Michonne, but like Rick he could tell that he was getting under his skin. It was great fun until afraid that Daryl would just up and kill him they replaced him with Carol.

Now Carol, she was fucking scary bitch. He had to on top of his game when he played with her, it was exciting not knowing if today was going to be the day she poisoned him or set him on fire or fucked him. His dick was hard the moment she stepped into the room...every fucking time. She would have made a great Savior too.

Carol was on his list...just under Rick and Daryl.

The first night she...Maggie sat guard, her eyes narrowed and lips compressed so tightly it made him wonder what words she was blocking, and what he would have to do to get her to say them. And why she even bothered, it might do her some good to yell at him. She said not a word to him that night, nor any of the far and few between nights she sat watch after. He on the other hand had never been able to keep his mouth shut, come what may.

He liked to talk, liked to hear himself talk...always had. He also liked to push...

So he talked and he pushed and he kept pushing.

Maggie silently fumed, looking at him like he was a pile of shit she was trying to avoid smelling. Thing was she wanted to talk...he could tell, she just had to be pushed hard enough and given the proper motivation. That girl damn near bit her tongue off trying to keep those words inside.

Sooner or later she would talk.

Two months….eleven turns of Negan sitting, she finally broke.

"A life for a life." He told him firmly.

"What? Are you planning on being the one to put me out of my misery?" Negan asked her, amused at the thought. "Bash my brains in? Use Lucille against me?" He grinned at her. "I would fucking love to see you try...I fucking dare you." He hooted gleefully.

"I could. But it would be easy...maybe too easy." She hissed before her lips compressed in that familiar way of hers. She sat back watching him the rest of the night with an unsettling light in those narrow hate filled eyes. And Negan couldn't help but wonder if she meant it would be too easy for her to kill him, or if dying would be getting off too easy for him.

Soon she was more often than not the one that would cuff him to the bars of his cell, leaving him there as she searched for contraband, taking his chamber pot out, and replacing his thin dirty blanket with a thin somewhat less dirty one.

It took six more weeks before she spoke again...if you could call it that.

He was in lock down position, hands stuck between the bars and cuffed behind him as he sat on the cold concrete floor. Even when there were two of his captors in the room, they still made him do this when they shook down his cell. So used to it that he hadn't given it much thought, just offered his wrists to get it over with.

"A life for a life." She...Maggie spat. But instead of a knife at his throat it was her hand tugging down his pants. She didn't even have to touch him, the weight of her gaze on him made him hard. He smirked as he looked up at her, but before he could speak she tossed the dirty blanket over his head.

The blanket really was the worst of it.

Because you can't rape the willing he always said. And he was for damn sure willing, ready and able. In fact he had a mental list of who he would fuck when he eventually escaped and took over this shit town and Maggie's name was the fourth name down from the top.

He would have preferred to watch her face as she fucked him. Not that he would have had to watch for long, it had been a long time after all. He spent himself inside of her after only a few good thrusts. Then he sat, the air hot and humid under the blanket as he listened to the rustle of her clothing as she pulled her pants back on, then the clang of the cell door as she closed and locked it.

Post-coital bliss had him cross eyed and tight lipped for a short time...by then she had the outside door open and was standing just beyond and nothing he said could convince her to come back into the room where he could see her.

It happened again a few months later. The sex at least, but without the talking. At least from her...he had plenty to say. But she ignored him, and when Michonne came in to relieve her that was the last time she saw Maggie for well over two years.

They had been good to her, those years. She looked softer somehow, except her eyes. The hatred in her eyes made them look flat and black. Hatred or not, he was hard the moment she walked into the room. This time there were no words, she just took what she wanted. He told her she didn't need to take it, he would give it to her willingly. He had nothing else to say because she had shoved his dirty sock into his mouth, stupid whore. But the act of taking and being the aggressor was what she seemed to want.

And who was he to judge someone else's proclivities?

She came to him twice that week...then some weeks later she came to him three times before her visits stopped. Once again he sat in that lonely cell for a long time, waiting for her to reappear. But she never did, the priest finally let it slip that Maggie had taken her two sons and moved to another community.

Boys...he had two boys.

Sons.

His.

And someday they would be meeting him, he could guaran-fucking-tee that.

It was only a matter of time.