#especially when youre comparing tanyas long hair to hers

[delurkr]

No thoughts head empty, just Taylor in yellow 💛

[et-lesailes]

lily white in blood red // chapter two

prologue | chapter one

pairing: curtis everett x reader

word count: 2100

series summary: you are a part of the upper-middle section aboard snowpiercer, but you do not agree with the classist views of the people you are surrounded by. when the infamous curtis everett reaches your part of the train, you decide you want to join him in overthrowing the train’s misguided inventor– while curtis agrees to let you join, he has other plans in mind.

series themes: angst, romance, obsession, fighting/bloodshed, smut

chapter summary: day one is over, and it’s been surprisingly calm and smooth. however, now night one is beginning, and while curtis may be able to behave then, the next morning is a different story.

chapter themes: mentions of sex, masturbation, a little bit of curtis’ obsession beginning to come out :))

taglist: added in reblog!

notes: feedback is always, always appreciated  ♡

“So. What the hell’s that all about?”

Curtis watches as Edgar gestures towards you, fast asleep. Your first twenty-four hours with the team has passed, and so far, no bloodshed. Not yet, anyways. You’re sure you’ll come across forces eventually, but Yona had explained to you that each day, each cart was always different. 

“What’s what about?” Curtis asks, though his blues are focused on you, watching your frame lightly moving up and down as you breathe and your hair fanned out behind your head on his folded up jacket as a makeshift pillow. He wishes you all could have found a sleeping quarters so you could have a proper bed, but he was pleased that you did not complain at all. 

Edgar looks at him in disbelief, clearly thinking his friend’s gone crazy. “Look, Curtis, I can understand sparing her life. Seems like a sweet girl, definitely beyond fit, but bringing her with us? She’s just-- I don’t know, extra weight we don’t need, especially if ya aren’t even going to let her fight. What’s the point?” Curtis sighs deeply, taking his beanie off his head to run his hands through his hair. “Leave it alone, Edgar.” He simply warns; to be honest, he would have no problem answering any of the boy’s questions, but he truly does not even know the answer to this one. Not the full one, anyways. He knows that for some reason, he needs to protect you, but why? Not a clue. He does not need Edgar to think him even crazier than he already does. 

The boy who has come to be a little brother to him looks at him somewhat irritated before standing up from his sitting position leaned against the wall of the cart. “Whatever, mate. But if that girl holds us back, it’s on you.” He speaks bluntly, though not appearing to be fully mad or upset-- Curtis knows well by now that he’s simply straightforward by nature. “Get some sleep, Edgar.” He says in response, putting his beanie back on though remaining seated. “It’s been a long day. We'll talk about this later.” The younger reluctantly gets up, giving Curtis one last look before walking away, heading over to a spot near Tanya to settle himself as comfortably as he can on the floor. 

Curtis waits until the blond drifts off before standing up, approaching your sleeping figure. Slowly crouching down by your side, he wraps his jacket more tightly around you, ignoring how much significantly colder he is without it. Some carts of the train are well heated, and some are not. Of course, the tail section was the latter, but by the section you are all in, most cars are quite warm-- this one seems to be the exception, seeing as it's just for the purpose of storage, shelves lining the walls. Unfortunately, there were no extra blankets or clothes among said storage.

He strokes your hair gently as he studies the peaceful expression upon your face, marveling again at your smooth, clear skin. He allows his fingertips to brush against your cheek gently, then almost feels bad for doing so. He is dirty, soiled, tainted-- especially in comparison to the ethereal figure that is you. However, when he pulls back, your eyes open as if immediately noticing the absence. He blinks, then frowns. "I didn't mean to wake you." He tells you quietly, and you look at him for a few moments; even though he is still wearing a rather thick sweater, he somehow looks different, maybe even more vulnerable without his coat on. "Come lie down," you whisper in response, slowly turning so that you are facing him. The floor is not very comfortable, especially not when compared to the bed you were used to, but you can accept that it's all you have right now. They had explained to you that it simply wasn't possible to be able to find sleeping compartments every single night, and that made sense to you. It was dangerous to advance too far in one go, especially when Wilford seemed to already know about the revolution.

"Next to you?" he asks lowly, and you see surprise in his features for the first time-- scratch that, an emotion in his features for the first time. You nod your head slowly, biting on your lip as you lift up the jacket. "This is big," you say softly, giving him an encouraging look. "We can find a way to share.... or at least give each other warmth..." 

He feels something in that moment, but he can't quite place what it is. He does not argue or protest, but instead slowly lies himself down beside you. You are laying on your side facing him, your hand moving to divide the "blanket" as equally as possible; however, before you are even done, he pulls you close to his body with a strong arm, your cheeks almost instantly becoming a shade of pink as you feel yourself pressed against his broad figure. “Night.” He mutters lowly near your ear, making you shiver slightly. You aren’t sure how this feels so good, why it makes every single night you had before this one suddenly seem much emptier and more depressing. “Goodnight, Curtis,” you whisper, unbeknownst to how the mere mention of his name upon your silky voice makes his entire being palpitate. 

He’d like to say this is the first time he’s ever slept soundly ever since boarding Snowpiercer, but quite honestly, he had learned a long time ago to become accustomed to the tail section at night. Despite the poor and terrible conditions, his body had adapted, and he had eventually become more submissive to sleep as the years went on, even in such uncomfortable “beds”. 

However, this is the first time in a long, long time that he’s woken up with this feeling, a feeling he cannot even describe. Has he even had it before? He’s not sure. 

It’s hard to tell the time, especially because this cart has no windows, but if he had to guess based on his biological clock, it seems to be early, early morning. Perhaps four? Five? The others are still asleep, exhausted from the previous day-- including you. Sleep shaded blue eyes inspect your figure as he’s spooning you, first checking to make sure you are not too cold. He still has you held tightly against his body, practically trying to both physically and mentally force all of his body warmth upon your own. You are more covered by the jacket than he is, but he still sees your bare shoulder underneath him, the strap of your nightie having slightly slid down. Fuck. He really wasn’t thinking when he made you wear that, he should have remembered that some parts of the train would still be cold. He supposes he had been too focused on arriving to the front section, even parading through the middle section, where heat would be a concept of convention rather than one of rarity. He pulls you even closer, letting out a gruff but soft exhale. You smell good, unlike, well, pretty much everyone he knows. He can’t imagine he smells any better than them, but you don’t seem to shy away from him, both when conscious and slipped away in dreamland. 

He lets himself appreciate your figure a little more. It’s as though you fit perfectly into his body. He admires your shiny, washed locks fanned out behind your head, some close to tickling his nose if he were to move his own head ever-so-slightly. He loves how smooth your skin looks and feels, how silky the nightie feels under his fingertips as he grazes over your stomach; it seemed like a simple matter, but this is a texture he hasn’t felt in years, and it is comforting. Much more pleasant than his rough, dirty coat or crappy tweed blankets back in the tail section. 

He can’t help but slowly let his fingers drift underneath the material, dancing them lightly along your bare abdomen. Shit. He’s already getting hard, and he has to wonder what the hell he’s doing. This isn’t the reason why he brought you along. No, you’re so much more than this. But as the bulge in his somewhat misfit pants tightens, only pressing against the soft curves of your ass that are far more revealed thanks to his hand riding your nightie up, he’s losing his sense of mind. He’s breathing heavier now, but trying his hardest to keep it as inaudible as possible, which is only even more exhausting. Barely craning his neck to look at your face, he sees you are still fast asleep despite his slight shifting and the incredibly intrusive addition pressing against your lower body. He can’t help but get into his imagination a little. How would you react if you felt it, if you saw it? He barely groans to himself thinking of those wide, innocent eyes, those parted lips making a perfect ‘o’ shape, those delicate hands pumping him and slowly sending him over the edge…

He realizes he’s rubbing himself against you now, and he stops with another low and frustrated groan. As much as he’d like to get some type of release, he definitely can’t inside his pants, considering they’re the only pair he has. For fuck’s sake, he hasn’t done this in God knows how long. Yes, it was difficult for a man to be deprived, but when it had been over the span of a couple decades, it eventually became normalcy. Arousal was the last possible thing he could feel while inhabiting the tail section. 

He carefully shifts to lie on his back, now appreciative of how dark this cart is. Still, he keeps a part of the hefty jacket draped over his bulge, now reaching his hand down into his pants to take it out. He hisses quietly to himself as he starts rubbing, his palm sweaty from his thoughts, from the situation, from the sight of your perfect frame next to him. He imagines you straddling him at this exact moment, picturing how perfect you would look gazing down at him, your legs on either side of his hips and your ass nestled comfortably upon his thighs. He thinks of you riding him, still wearing that damn skimpy nightie, straps sliding down your shoulders and teasing him with a partial view of your bouncing breasts, your cheeks pink from pleasure and your moans sounding through the entire front section. He pictures you gasping with delight while coming all over his cock, your chest heaving from being so breathless, so worn out from him and only him. 

A grunt, low groan, and another hiss. He comes, and he’s panting quietly, almost immediately looking around to make sure nobody witnessed this. Thankfully, everyone’s still asleep.

He’s about to use the jacket to wipe off the rest of the remains from his length, but pauses. Looking towards you, he can’t help but hum thoughtfully. He had known from the start he never wanted you tainted. You are something he could never previously have on the train, you are purity itself. 

However, what if he was the one who managed your innocence? If it were in his hands, he would make sure you would never get hurt. He could take it from you, but no one else could. That would be far too dangerous. If your innocence were in his hands, he could protect you and have you. 

He taps his thumb lightly upon the tip of his cock, letting a hint of white adorn his skin. Leaning over, he admires your sleeping face once more before slowly swiping his thumb across your lips, humming lowly as he watches you barely smack them in your sleep at the contact. “Does that taste good, sweetheart?” he mutters quietly, tilting his head. “It wasn’t a lot. I don’t want you to wake up, so the taste can’t be too strong.. For now. We’ll get there one day.” He promises, his voice barely above a husky whisper. 

Wiping the rest off with the jacket, not really giving a shit considering how grubby it is anyways, he fixes his pants before resuming the same position as before, arm wrapped tightly around you. You stir, only just now realizing that there had been an absence to begin with. “Curtis?” you let out a soft mumble, half asleep, and he swears he is already turned on again. “I’m here,” he murmurs, moving to rest his head on top of your own. “Sleep. It’s going to be a long day, you’ll need your energy.”

[negans-network]

Pull My Hair Part 4 - Shopping with Dwighty Boy

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for the hair-pulling kink prompt introducing OFC Susan.

Word Count: 5543 (Sorry, I got carried away)

Warnings: Foul language, Sexual References, Rapey Davey Cameo

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay and lack of smut! I always over-do everything and I’m fully fleshing this out even though it’s a smut prompt. 

The two minutes were scarcely up when there was a knock at the door. The peculiar sense of Deja-Vu fell over Susan as she scrambled to her feet, snatching up her bra and panties from the couch where she tossed them. Without preamble, she frantically pulled them on and Negan, partially shocked, watched her wiggle about. Yes, Susan was very different from the other wives. Wives #1 through #4 – with the exception of Sherry who he hasn’t been able to sleep with yet – always whined and complained when their time together was interrupted. Susan, it seemed, didn’t want to be a bother and she also didn’t seem to mind sharing him either. He could get use to this behavior as she was rapidly becoming his new favorite after Amber.

“Who the fuck is interrupting me now?” Negan barked at the door, lazily pulling on his boxers.

“Sorry, sir,” called a male voice unfamiliar to Susan, “it’s about the prisoner.”

Pulling her dress back on, Susan casted a confused look in Negan’s direction. The Sanctuary had prisoners? This was news to her.

Not noticing her look, Negan shoved his legs into his pants, cocking his head at the new information. “Fat Joey is that you? You talking about Daryl?” He found his shirt and slipped that back on, too.

“Yes, sir, it’s me,” came the same voice again, though now identified as Fat Joey. Susan frowned disapprovingly at the moniker. “May I come in?” Fat Joey politely asked.

Glancing over at Susan to see if she was decent, Negan raised his eyebrows in question. Susan bit her lip and turned around exposing her back and the zipper she couldn’t reach. Negan stepped up to her, grasping her hair and wrapping it around his wrist as he pulled it out of the way, and then he slowly zipped her dress up, placing a whiskery kiss on the nape of her neck before dropping her hair and moving away again. “Yeah, go ahead,” Negan granted permission and started looking around for his jacket.

Fat Joey stepped into the bedroom, and Susan glanced at him curiously. He was nondescript, though his nickname was apt. Other than that, she saw no problem with him; he didn’t strike her as mean or dangerous in anyway. “Oh, hello,” Fat Joey greeted her when he saw her before shooting a simultaneously panicked and apologetic look at Negan. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were entertaining.”

Nonchalantly, Negan waved his arms and sat back down to pull on his boots again. “It’s fine, we were finished fucking. Fucked each other up pretty good, so I hope you don’t spoil my fine mood now with any bullshit.” He shot a look between Susan and Fat Joey. “So, what were you saying about Daryl?”

“Uh,” Fat Joey nervously glanced at Susan who had wandered over to the bathroom to fix her hair and clean up a bit. Negan talking about their sex life doesn’t particularly bother her. He struck her as the type to brag about it, so she had been expecting this kind of behavior. Besides, she knew it would be dumb to hide it since she was his wife and it was only to be expected of her. A large part of her was proud that he would brag about sleeping with her, as if she were quite the catch when it seemed more of the other way around. In her opinion, she was the lucky one to have caught Negan’s eye however the hell she did – especially when she noticed that the five other wives were definitely way more beautiful.

“Well,” Fat Joey began, “you remember how you said you wanted to be told the moment Daryl escapes like you planned? It’s happened. He just left his cell when I came up here to get you.”

“Well damn, Fat Joey,” Negan exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, “you couldn’t bother to fucking sprint up here? I don’t see you breathing hard. You better hope he gets a little fucking lost before he gets to the bikes out in the back.” Imperiously, he snapped his fingers at Fat Joey, “Tell D to get up here so he’s outta the way and go head Daryl off. Chop fuckity chop.” Fat Joey nodded frantically before he left, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

Susan came back, her hair much smoother, and she handed Negan his black leather jacket with a rueful look. Negan took it from her with a smile, and as he slipped it on he bent over and gave her a chaste kiss. Standing up straight once more, he slicked his hair back, and Susan nodded her approval. He smiled even wider before snatching up Lucille and heading for the door after Fat Joey. Over his shoulder he called, “Just wait for D and do as he says. Take the day off the recover, Susan!”

Left alone, Susan shook her head, and then immediately regretted the action as her neck twinged in pain. Leaning that far back and having her hair yanked like that meant she was undoubtedly going to be sore from her hair follicles to her pussy, which was just starting to ache from being fucked like that. It had been since before the end of the world since she’s last had sex and she was feeling it now. Rubbing the back of her neck, she groaned. It was a damn shame that she would have to be leaving soon. She could get used to living in the lap of luxury such as this, especially if that lap was Negan’s.

Left to her own devices, Susan glanced around the room and was instantly struck by the thought that her backpack had disappeared. Heading to the shower, she mulled that over. That was more than a little upsetting, especially since it was the damn backpack that got her in this position to begin with.

She should also start preparing for her imminent escape, too, by collecting food and water among other things. Briefly, her thoughts wandered to Negan’s and Fat Joey’s conversation she had overheard while she was in the bathroom. They had planned for a prisoner to escape? Thinking back even further, Susan also remembered how Frankie and Tanya told her how Sherry and her husband were hunted down for escaping and stealing supplies. She was nervously starting to consider more and more than maybe she wouldn’t be able to escape. After all, the previous communities, groups, and settlements she had abandoned didn’t expect her to leave. Apparently, the Sanctuary had plans in place to prevent people from leaving.

Only slightly disturbed by the thought, Susan still decided that it was best to plan for escape anyway. If she saw that it would be too difficult, she’d find another way and maybe it would take a little longer than a fortnight to escape.

At the rate of how her stay at the Sanctuary was going so far, though, she wouldn’t be opposed to hanging around Negan more. That didn’t mean she was going to get attached to him more than she already was. No matter how long she was going to stay, she wasn’t going to allow herself to get close to anyone. That meant no romantic relationship barring sex with Negan, and no friendships. Being nice was fine (because enemies are worse), but that was as far as her social interactions were going to go with the people here.

Staring down at her bare feet once she stepped out of the shower, clean again, Susan absently wondered if she could request comfortable shoes rather than the high heels Negan wanted her to wear. Then again, she wondered if that would be too suspicious and she should just steal some before she left.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Susan answered it expectantly, dressed again and hair towel-dried and combed out, and there was another man that she didn’t know. He was blond, long-haired, with darker colored facial hair. The man wasn’t ugly by any means, but the huge burn scar covering half of his face didn’t help him. The stranger had a sullen attitude, dressed like a biker, and he took in her appearance without really appreciating it. If anything, the way he stared at her meant he found her inadequate. “Hey,” Susan shyly greeted, a little upset that despite her dress and showered appearance she didn’t make a great first impression.

“I’m Dwight, but you can call me D,” the blond man introduced himself in a dull sort of voice. Instantly, Susan knew this had to be Sherry’s ex-husband. No wonder he found her lacking when he was married to a woman like Sherry. “You’re Susan, huh?” he asked her.

Nodding, Susan stuck out her hand for him to shake. Well, compared to meeting everyone so far, Dwight was surprisingly the least hostile, next to Fat Joey of course. “Hey D. So, uh, are you here to show me around?”

For a moment, Dwight stared at her hand and Susan wondered if he was going to take it or reject it. Surprisingly, he did shake her hand, but it was very quick and he immediately released her hand after a second or two. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’m supposed to show you your room and get whatever you ask for.” He didn’t exactly sound happy to do that.

Feeling a little sorry for him and a bit like a burden, Susan ducked her head. “Oh, well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I would love to do that. Room first if that’s okay?”

“It’s whatever you want,” Dwight threw up his hands neutrally.

“Okay, then take me to my room and then I’ll go with you to see the rest of the place.” Susan exited Negan’s bedroom and closed the door gently behind her, gesturing for Dwight to lead, which he did.

As he walked, Dwight glanced at her out of the side of his eye. “I’m not sure Negan would approve of me taking you downstairs to see everything like the cafeteria and commissary.”

Thinking fast, Susan made her excuses, “Well, how do I know what I want or need unless I see what’s offered?”

Shrugging lazily, Dwight conceded, “Fair point. But I promise you, whatever you want, you name it, we got it.” He lapsed into silence again without expounding.

Slightly frustrated at that, Susan encouraged him to continue, “Well why don’t you name some outlandish stuff for me then, D.” She didn’t want to name her supplies per se, just in case he could guess that she was planning to escape.

Without any kind of voice inflection, Dwight dutifully listed, “Ice cream, every kind of fresh fruit or vegetables you can think of, condoms, stuffed animals, every kind of clothes you can think of, music players, fresh chickens and eggs.” He quieted as they got closer to the parlor, “You know, like I said, everything basically.” His steps slowed, and then they stepped into the parlor.

In the parlor, Frankie and Tanya were painting each other’s toenails and fingernails, a freshly opened bottle of wine and a plate of cheese and crackers sitting between the two of them. Both girls looked up looking hopeful, doubtlessly hoping for Negan, but when they saw Susan and Dwight they sneered and ignored them. Michaela didn’t look like she had moved from her spot, though Susan did notice that she was reading a different book. Both Amber and Sherry were still gone, too.

Carefully and quietly, Dwight continued through the parlor, heading to one of the closed doors that split off from it. Susan was piecing together in her head that since this was a factory building, the upper floors must have been for clerical work, like an administration building. This parlor wasn’t actually a parlor, but a lobby that had a bunch of offices splitting off from it. When they had first formed the Sanctuary, they must have robbed a Rooms-To-Go to furnish it so lavishly.

Dwight reached a door with a freshly painted red 6 on it and stepped aside for Susan to have the honors of opening it. Without making a big deal out of it, Susan traced her fingers over the 6 before she pushed the door open. She was right in that this use to be an office because it was small, especially with a single bed crowded into it in front of the window, which was firmly secured. There was a dresser for clothes, but other than that there was little else. The dresser itself was empty, except for some black lingerie. The room would be Susan’s to decorate, but she didn’t plan on that. The only unexpected surprise was that her old reliable, purple backpack was sitting on the bed waiting for her.

Rushing into the room, Susan hopped on the bed, comfortably crossing her legs as she rummaged through her bag. Everything that she had in there was still there: spare pants, packaged food, matches. Everything was accounted for except for her pipe, but Negan had dropped in the woods when he first picked her up. Even the panties were still there, though Susan didn’t care to keep them. “Ugh,” she muttered, and then remembered that Dwight was still there waiting for her instructions. “Hey Dwight, is there some kind of laundry system here?”

From behind his curtain of stringy blond hair, Dwight gave her a funny look, “Yeah, but you don’t have to do your laundry. Someone else will.”

“Okay, well can I donate something to the clothes pile?” Susan did not want to keep the panties, even if they were washed and returned.

“Sure, I’ll take it down to the commissary for you.” Dwight offered, obviously not wanting to be with her any longer than he has to be.

“Oh, um, well people may get the wrong idea if they see you with my panties, Dwight,” Susan explained. She was partly telling the truth for his benefit, but moreover she had to go down there with him, that would she would learn the layout and get what she needed from the commissary.

Looking down at his feet, hiding his very palpable embarrassment, Dwight muttered to her, “Yeah, okay. Let’s go then.” He jerked his head for the door, still refusing to look at her.

With a triumphant grin, Susan dumped her backpack in one of her draws and shut it, though she grabbed the panties to trade and stuck them back in her backpack. She slung it on with practiced ease and dutifully followed Dwight, closing her bedroom door gently behind her.

They were nearly out of the parlor when Sherry reappeared, looking flustered and generally upset. The moment seemed to freeze as Dwight’s and Sherry’s eyes met. Susan found herself holding her breath, feeling the tension thicken in the air between the former husband and wife. In addition to being awkward, Susan could swear that it felt like they were guilty, that they had both wronged the other equally. There wasn’t any love left to feel between the two of them, though, that was for sure.

Tanya and Frankie broke the moment with their giggling when they saw what had happened, and instantly the spell was broken as they brushed past each other without a work spoken between them. Susan could feel the daggers in her back from Sherry’s hateful glare as she followed Dwight out of the parlor. Once there was enough distance between them and the parlor, she could breathe again. Wisely, she chose not to say anything to Dwight about it, and he seemed even more withdrawn than before.

As they made their way down to the ground level of the factory, Susan tried to commit their path to memory. Dwight didn’t take too many complicated twists or turns, so the trip seemed easy enough. The closer they got to commissary, the louder it got as they approached more people. Susan, not a sociable person, stiffened uncomfortably at the thought of interacting with a large group of people again, but her worries were needless. As soon as they appeared, everyone avoided her and Dwight as if they were one of the Dead. Not minding in the least if it was because of her or if it was because of Dwight, Susan took advantage of being ignored eagerly.

It was quite obvious that the people were clearing a path for them, directing their gaze anywhere but at them, though some shot looks at Dwight with a sneer. Dwight seemed used to the behavior, and Susan noticed the subtle shift as the shy Dwight from before bloomed under false aggressive confidence. False, she would say, because to her it seemed so half-hearted. Susan knew real cruel men, she’d met them before in other groups. Dwight was a pitiful comparison, more like a schoolyard bully than anything else. But she didn’t care or mind his behavior; knowing enough of his history, she could excuse it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was acting nasty to her, and it wasn’t like these people, with the way there were obvious hostile to him, didn’t deserve it.

Focusing on what she had to do, Susan ignored the people in favor of looking at the scavenged goods. Behind her, Dwight shadowed her every move, and when people got too close he scared them away with only a look. She appreciated it very much. Susan didn’t want to make friends or a lasting impression, and if Dwight took the brunt of their hatred while she took whatever she wanted without impunity, then that was fine with her.

Of course, she did feel partially guilty. She could tell that these people were different from the wives and the Saviors themselves. They look less clean, less happy, a little hungry. By all means, though, they could look far worse if they were on the outside so her guilt slowly dissipated at the thought. Hitching her backpack up a little higher, she avoided eye contact with everyone as she examined all that was laid out and offered.

Fresh food wouldn’t last long on the road, so she passed it by. She couldn’t exactly see where the preserved food was, though. Or the water. In her backpack, she had a few food supplies left, but she definitely needed more. “D?” Susan waited to ask her question until she caught his stink-eye, “Where is all the canned food?”

Dwight shook his head, not in a condescending manner, but Susan was not quite sure what to make of it. “We don’t distribute canned food to individuals. We use that in the cafeteria. Fresh food is considered a bonus that people buy if they don’t want to spend their points on what is served at a cheaper price.” His lip curled, the sneer more directed at the people rather than Susan, and she quickly turned away.

It looks like her escape plan is becoming more and more difficult every day. She moved on, trying to make herself look busy, hoping Dwight didn’t read too much into her question. Maybe she could get food another way. “D?”

“Yeah?” His annoyance seemed to shift on her now.

“Well, what about like packaged food, you know? Like say, I don’t know, snacks and stuffed?” With a hint of a challenge in her voice, she threw his words back at him, “I thought you said this place had everything?”

Dwight’s mouth pulled down as he defended himself, “We do have everything. We just don’t offer everything to everyone. Like weapons. That would be dangerous. Some stuff is reserved especially for the Saviors, like snack food and cigarettes and alcohol.” He crossed his arms, sullen again. “I told you it would just be easier for me to get you what you want.”

Susan shot him a look of her own. He was making things just as difficult for her and she was for him. “Okay, then take me to the snack food. I wanna see what’s offered. You can keep your drinks and smokes.”

With a small huff to himself, Dwight started away at a quick pace. Susan followed after on her bare feet, pleased with herself. He took her to a room guarded by a girl with what looked like a price bar tattooed on her neck. Honestly, Susan was trying not to judge her too hard. “Hey D,” the girl said in a husky voice, “You ever gonna finish that game with me?” The girl then noticed Susan, and she stood up a little straighter. “Who’s this now, #14?”

“#6, actually,” Susan answered for herself. The girl as blonde, bigger than Susan in height and probably in muscle mass. She looked pretty tough, but Susan could be deceptively tougher than she looked, too. Part of her knew she could probably take the girl, but she didn’t want to push her luck.

“Don’t be jealous, Laura,” Dwight interrupted, “it’s not a good look for you.” Susan had to bite her tongue in order to not add on that the neck tattoo wasn’t particularly flattering either.

Laura’s eyes flashed dangerously at Dwight. “I could’ve been one, but I don’t want to sit on my ass all day.” She gave Dwight a deliberate once over. “I don’t want to be tied down either.” Susan couldn’t tell if that was Laura’s way of flirting or if she was insinuating something else. Her tone was too accusing to be completely friendly.

“And that’s why I’m not going to finish that game with you.” Dwight moved past Laura, unimpressed, thick-skinned. Susan quickly followed him, hoping to not make any more of a scene than they already did.

Out of earshot from Laura, Dwight quickly muttered to Susan, “Hurry up and get what you want.”

A little confused and perplexed that he didn’t tell her off, Susan nodded and moved away, exploring the room and its contents. It was a small room, probably used to equipment storage, and it was lined wall to wall with shelves. The shelves were stacked, but organized. One shelf was strictly limited to cigarette packs and cigar boxes. At least two shelves were used for alcohol, one precariously stacked with bottles and one reserved to the packaged beer in plastic six-packs, cardboard containers, or boxed twelve-packs. Susan ignored them both, though, in favor for the three shelves lined top to bottom with delicious, precious snacks.

The Saviors must have cleared out every gas station from here to Washington to have this much of the stuff. An entire shelf was stuffed with chip bags and Pringles tubes, another shelf stocked with boxes of candy bars. The last shelf had drinks, non-alcoholic and not water. There were energy drinks, kiddy drinks, juice boxes – even bottles of sweet tea. Susan had to restrain herself from not dumping an entire shelf into her backpack.

It had been so long since she could find pleasure food like this. Normally when she scavenged a store, she’d turn up empty-handed. The one or two times she found candy bars they’d been inedible. Susan had a nut allergy, so unless she wanted to die by Snickers or Reece’s Cups, she left them. Briefly she remembered the stint she was on one month when she was not so sane – going out of her way to try and find a Twinkie. She hadn’t been successful, and that was how she’d broken her hand. Too reckless.

Now, though, she saw popcorn and Jolly Ranchers, her hidden weaknesses. Only dimly aware that Dwight was keeping an eye on her, Susan grabbed two bags of popcorn and a bag of potato chips, sour cream and onion flavored. With the candy, she hesitated. Snack foods on the road would last for a little while, while not very nourishing. The candy felt excessive, though. Maybe she should leave it for them. Besides, in her head she pictured all the little noisy wrappers leaving a perfect trail for the Saviors to find her. As compensation, she grabbed a bag of Doritos instead. Susan had an internal debate with herself if grabbing the Gatorade or 5-hour Energy bottles looked suspicious. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Dwight was looking through the beer, effectively distracted. She grabbed a handful of the energy drinks, so small that they would be easily hidden, and then for good measure grabbed a few Capri-Sun pouches. It was like she was in college again.

“Can you toss me that bag of pretzels?” Dwight lowly asked, breaking into Susan’s reverie. She did as he asked, and he tucked it in his jacket, holding a pack of beers in one hand.

Dwight watched her for a moment, taking note of how Susan shot the candy a longing look. “Take what you want, Susan.” His voice startled her as she quickly snapped her head back to look at him, but Dwight continued to explain, nonplussed, “If you don’t take it, someone else will and you’ll regret it. This may be last candy left in the world. Besides, this shit expires.”

With that little encouragement, Susan nodded and took the Jolly Ranchers. While she was still here on vacation, she would eat these, but once she left, she’d leave these behind. Just as something to remember her by, if she didn’t finish off the entire bag first. When she was on her period, sugar was a must, so she doubted she’d waste any of the precious candies. “Okay, D. Thanks for this.” Susan zipped up her back pack and slung it back on, untucking her hair from the straps. “Can you take me to the clothes section, now?” She smiled at her own joke, and Dwight, mute, motioned for her to follow. He didn’t comment on her other snack choices, and Susan was grateful that he wasn’t that sociably chatty. 

Leading her back out of the room, Laura didn’t antagonize them further, and they ignored her. They cut through the room to the other side where clothes were piled up. None of the clothes were particularly nice or fancy – that seemed to be reserved for the Saviors, too. Dwight, seeming to read her thoughts, asked her in a low voice, “If you want to look for lingerie, I can take you to that closet.”

“No,” Susan answered too quickly, and then calmed a little. “No, I need regular clothes, too. I never even wore dresses much before…” She trailed off, the sentence not needing to be finished. Carefully, she started picking through the clothes. She needed stuff that was in her size, appropriate for the weather, sturdy. It had to cover skin, but not so much that she’d suffocate. Dwight turned people away, and Susan – after a lot of rummaging looking for her appropriate larger size – found a few pants and shirts that would work. Quickly, she stuffed them into her backpack, nervously looking around and hoping that what she picked wouldn’t give away her intentions.

As she slung her backpack on again, adjusting it comfortably, Susan briefly considered that if Negan knew she had been down here, he might want to see what she got. Glancing down at her feet, she knew she also needed shoes, and not just the heels that Negan wanted her to have. She wondered why they had taken her boots and not returned them to her yet. The clothes she had been wearing when she arrived were in the laundry system, she could guess. But her boots…

“D?” Dwight looked at her. Susan shyly asked, “Where are my boots?”

“You don’t need boots. You need heels. I’ll take you to them.” Dwight ignored her question.

A little annoyed, Susan dutifully followed him to a closet reserved for the wives. This one, too, was guarded, but by a man this time. He didn’t look exactly bored, and the closer Susan studied his face the more familiar he looked. “Hey, D.”

“David,” Dwight greeted, barely managing politeness.

Immediately, Susan was defensive. This was the pervert who pawed at her good panties. She didn’t say a word to him, and slipped inside after Dwight, ignoring how David leaned close to her as she passed. Now that she was in the Victoria’s Secret closet, Susan could only imagine how David kept himself entertained while guarding this.

There was a shoe-rack, and Susan knew that heels were unavoidable, so she went ahead and picked a ridiculous pair. Negan said he wanted her heels to be tall, and it didn’t matter if her heels were only an inch or over a foot – Susan knew she wouldn’t be able to walk properly. Maybe if she proved the point to Negan, he would give her boots back to her. Not wanting to be near David any longer than she had to, Susan shoved her feet into the only pair of heels that came in her size, and even then, they pinched her toes uncomfortably. They added about five inches to her height, and when she stood up straight, she was a little taller than Dwight. Dwight noticed, his frown deepening, and Susan giggled in response. Maybe the heels weren’t so bad then.

In another attempt to appease Negan, Susan rifled through the negligee, looking for one in her size. Clothes shopping has always been difficult for her, apocalypse or not. Without really thinking, Susan asked Dwight, “D? You think he’d like me in another color or should I just stick with the black?” She was fingering a silky yellow garment, and while yellow worked well with her dark skin, black was more slimming. Immediately she realized the ridiculous nature in her question and the callousness of asking Dwight. It wasn’t like he cared, and he probably didn’t want to think about Negan in that respect. Especially since Sherry was married to him. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It’s a stupid question anyway.”

Slowly, though, Dwight answered her anyway. “You can wear yellow, I guess. Mostly the wives ask for red and black and white, though.” Looking at the yellow negligee she had her hand on rather than Susan herself, he continued, “That one is pretty.”

Pleasantly surprised, Susan smiled at him. “Thank, D. I’ll take this one then.” Gently she pulled it off the hanger and folded it up. She laid it on top of the other items in her back pack, effectively hiding everything else.

Dwight had wandered away, looking at a purple two-piece, his too perfectly blank. Susan wondered if he did actually care about Sherry. Earlier it didn’t seem that way, but now that she thought about it, it would be stupid for him to show how he really feels. “Okay, D, can we go to the laundry now? If that’s okay.” The more she could learn about the Sanctuary, the easier it would be for her to navigate and plan her escape when the time comes.

With that blank look still held on his face, Dwight glanced as Susan and shrugged disinterestedly. “Sure. We’ll swing by my room so I can drop this off,” he hefted the beer and pretzels higher under his arm, “and I’ll take you to where they wash the laundry outside.” He kept his voice carefully flat and emotionless, not too eager to be helpful or too annoyed with her requests either.

Once again, Dwight led her out of the supply closet and Susan followed close on his heels, avoiding eye contact with David. Despite her best attempts, she heard David whistle behind her, “Damn, I can see why Negan would pick up a babe in the woods like you when you have an ass like that hanging all out.”

Immediately, Susan jerked around, affronted, partially ready to rip David a new one. Luckily, Dwight stepped back around her, not even laying a hand on her shoulder to push her away. “You better watch it, David. If Negan hears you making comments like that, you may not even live to regret it.” Then, before Susan could add a biting remark or David himself could retort to the threat, Dwight gestured for Susan to hurry along.

Out of earshot of David, Dwight muttered to her under his breath, “Stupid David is partially right, Susan. Your dress is hiked up in the back.” To preserve her modesty, he pointedly glanced around, moving forward to shield her.

Red with shame, Susan yanked her dress back down. The heavier her backpack got, the easier it was for her short dress to crawl up. Her lacy black panties did little to cover her skin. “Sorry,” she mumbled, still incredibly embarrassed.

But Dwight only waved his hand dismissively, and continued on, leading her out of the open factory floor down a hallway. Susan found that the longer she was with Dwight, the more he was becoming more than just tolerable. Honestly, she couldn’t see why people were so hostile to Dwight. As she dutifully followed him down the hallway, the din of the crowded factory floor fading and the lights dimmer, Susan believed that while she and Dwight wouldn’t be friends, she appreciated having an ally besides Negan. She was still planning on leaving, though, there was no doubt about that. Dwight was unwittingly helping her to do that, and he was doing an excellent job.