Irresistible Danger

A Brief Respite

Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour, you looked at the reflection staring back at you in the small round mirror mounted on the wall. There were slight bags underneath tired eyes due to a lack of sleep the night before. Try as you might, the scene in Negan's room had replayed itself over and over, your brain over analyzing every moment from last night. Refusing to leave your room come morning, you had instead hibernated underneath the covers and drifted in and out of consciousness. Any relief that might've been found from sleep was smashed to pieces by repeated dreams of Negan. Some were nightmares in which he was chasing you through the forest. He always cornered you somehow, his voice taunting that you knew what would happen if you left the compound again. Just as he would raise Lucille to deliver the first blow, you would jolt awake, sitting upright in bed and gasping for breath until your heartbeat slowed to a normal pace.

But not all of the dreams were nightmares. Oh no...not all of them. There were some that caused you to blush just at the thought of them. Tangled limbs, sweat-slicked skin, his husky voice whispering encouragement in your ear as your hips lifted to meet his...

"Alright, that's enough!" you muttered out loud. Great, now you were talking to yourself. Wasn't that the first sign of mental instability? Actually the first sign was probably you initiating a kiss with a man who could go from beating someone to death one minute to cracking jokes the next.

After hiding in your room until early afternoon, you finally forced yourself to crawl out of bed. Tempting as it was to try and call off sick, dinner wasn't going to make itself, and you didn't want word to get back to Negan that you were eschewing your kitchen duties.

You pulled the grey t-shirt from last night up over your head and replaced it with a light blue clone that contrasted nicely with your skin tone. Your hair had escaped its bun from all of the restless tossing and turning and now waved around your shoulders. It was as you were twisting it up into a new bun that something caught your attention in the mirror...something that caused you to drop your hair mid-twist and move closer to the reflective glass in order to inspect the left side of your neck. Eyes widened in panic as you realized just what it was that you were looking at: a hickey. The bastard had left a hickey!

Turning your head from side to side and craning to see every inch of skin from chin to chest, you made sure that there were no other offending red marks, and thankfully there weren't. But what the hell were you supposed to do about this one?! Shaking fingers reached up and delicately touched the small red mark, mind flashing back to the feel of Negan's lips and teeth on your skin. Conflicting emotions of anger and desire shot through you, the desire further fueling the anger, mostly at yourself. Much as you wanted to place the blame on him, it had been you who initiated the kiss, even though you hadn't meant for it to escalate so quickly, or expected him to leave a visible reminder of the encounter upon your flesh.

Pre-apocalypse this wouldn't have been as big of a deal. You'd have reached for some foundation and concealer and voila, the mark would be gone. However, last time you checked the compound didn't have a high market demand for cosmetics.

Cursing, you scanned your room as if expecting a solution to magically appear. You didn't own any turtlenecks, and a hysterical giggle bubbled out of your throat as you realized the irony that while Negan's neck would be covered by soft red fabric, you didn't have one scarf to your name. Perhaps you could just leave your hair down and keep it over one shoulder? Shaking your head, you imagined someone choking on one of your hairs while eating their dinner. That wouldn't work at all. Finally your gaze landed upon a little blue and white box. Contemplating the contents, you gave a sigh of defeat and decided that it was this or nothing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Walking down the hall towards the cafeteria fifteen minutes later, you reached up and fingered the spot on your neck, which was now covered with a tan band aid. You were still unsure what excuse to use if someone asked about it, but for now you were focused on the fact that you were late, which could potentially ruin the entire dinner schedule.

Walking into the kitchen, you immediately felt more at ease. Sure, your bedroom was your own private space, but the kitchens felt more like your domain. Smiling, you walked over to Ben, one of your "assistant cooks", who was in the middle of opening some canned peas. You could've hugged him when he stated that the food prep had started without you so that the meal wouldn't be served late. If there was anyone you could depend on to help you out when things got tight at dinnertime, it was him.

Ben had helped you acclimate to your duties when you first arrived at the compound and he brought a positive, joyful atmosphere to the kitchen with his charming wit and tendency to be optimistic about any situation. He appeared to be a few years younger than you and had mentioned being some sort of business analyst before the dead took over. After once hearing him grumble about his past life working in a cubicle, you'd discovered that he was one of the few individuals who were glad for the apocalypse since it now meant he had a job that he actually enjoyed.

Looking over at you with twinkling blue eyes half-hidden by shaggy brown hair, Ben's face went from joyful to a slight frown. Realizing too late where he was staring, you turned around and walked over to check on some pots that were simmering on the stove.

"What happened to you?"

Shit. Act cool. Don't say anything stupid, your subconscious warned.

Turning back around, you put on what was hopefully a slightly confused expression and replied, "huh?" Wow so intelligent. You're going to win an award for lamest response ever.

"What happened to your neck?" Ben asked, nodding his head towards you and staring at the band aid.

"Oh..uh, this? I, um...I got bit." God damnit why would you say that! Okay, so it's the truth in a way, but still!

"Bit? Seeing as how you're not moaning and trying to eat me, I'm assuming you don't mean by a walker?" Ben joked, although you could tell he wasn't going to let you off the hook so easily.

"Ha, no. It's a bug bite. Must've been a mosquito or spider or something. I put the band aid on so I wouldn't be tempted to scratch at it." There you go, much better.

"Gotcha. Well, if it gets worse you should go have the nurse look at it. I'm sure they have some type of cream or something to stop the itch."

"Yea, you're right. I'll definitely do that," you agreed with a forced smile.

Ben gave you one of his lop-sided grins in response and turned his attention back to the cans in front of him.

Letting out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, you refocused on the dinner at hand, confident that any crisis had been averted with your explanation. In fact, you felt almost giddy all of a sudden. After worrying and over analyzing all day, you finally felt able to relax. Ben whistled happily in the background as you stirred the contents of the pots on the stove. About a dozen individuals went about their specific tasks of preparing the cafeteria for diners and putting together the meal. Everything was going smoothly and everyone appeared to be in a good mood, smiling and occasionally laughing with one another as they worked. The clinks and clanks of dishes and the simmering hiss of food being cooked were like a soothing balm on your anxiety. This was a safe zone. Here you felt confident and in control of the situation, able to focus on the task at hand rather than worrying about the events of last night.

All of a sudden it was as if the atmosphere did a complete one-eighty. Ben stopped whistling, the clinking stopped, even the sauce bubbling on the stove seemed to realize that it was being too loud and quieted itself. Looking up, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the eerie sight of all your kitchen staff silent and frozen in mid-action. All eyes were riveted to a spot over your head in the direction of the kitchen entrance. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you slowly turned towards the direction of the stares, expecting to see a herd of walkers or an enemy group holding you at gunpoint. Neither of these things were what met your gaze.

Lucille hanging from one hand and the smirk that now literally haunted your dreams on his face, Negan sauntered into the kitchen and surveyed the area before exclaiming, "Hope you hid all the dead roaches and rotten shit. I'm here to conduct a fucking inspection."