Irresistible Danger

Bedside Confessions

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of the support on this story! Seriously, you all are amazing to take the time to read this :) However, if I could please ask for a tiny favor? I know that waiting for updates can be difficult, and I have zero problem with people saying they are excited to see what happens next. However, getting comments that say "Update!", "Update please!", "Still waiting for an update!" or some version of that are, frankly, really frustrating to get, as an author. I put a LOT of time into each chapter (and I'm doing this totally for free), and so when the only response I get is a demand for more, it makes me feel as if what I already gave you isn't enough, which is a crappy feeling. No amount of demands for an update will make me write faster (actually, it's really discouraging and more likely to make me NOT want to write). So please, refrain from demanding an update. I will update when the next chapter is ready, and not a second sooner. Also, I update every 7-10 days, on average, so keep that in mind. Thank you <3 **

You stared at the note, almost hoping that it was a mirage. That perhaps you had hit your head even harder than anyone thought, and now were hallucinating this entire thing. But, sadly, the paper between your fingers felt all too real, as did the rush of anxiety and embarrassment that came with the realization that Negan had been privy to something so personal. That not only had he seen your written response to his note...but he now knew you had kept the note this entire time.

You also realized that this meant he had been looking through your things, and that your privacy had been violated, which brought about a spark of annoyance. Why the hell had he been looking in your bedside table? Had he done so in the past, or was this the first time?

Looking up at him calmly, you quietly answered his question with one of your own. "How did you get this?"

As if you were playing a verbal game of volleyball, Negan served you back another question, instead of an answer. "How about you tell me why the fuck you wrote it, first?"

Rather than nicely hit the ball back to him, you decided to spike it in his face, by replying, "How about you tell me why I currently don't have on any pants?"

You saw him blink silently, as if taken off guard by the change in topic. However, he quickly righted himself, a slow grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Jesus, you had almost forgotten how god damn beautiful he was when he smiled.

"Pants didn't seem like a priority, given the situation," he drawled.

You felt a blush hit your cheeks at his words. In any other environment, you might've been able to control your reaction, but not here. Not while sitting in his bed, only a thin sheet between your bare legs and his gaze. You looked down at the hand holding the note, which had reflexively clenched closed at his words. Relaxing and opening your fingers, the note still lay on your palm, but now it was crinkled at the edges. It looked exactly how you currently felt: not damaged or broken, but just...wrinkled. Like you were waiting for a hand to come along and gently smooth out the rough edges of your emotional crinkles. To straighten and ease the creases that had been left behind after Negan closed his fist around you with his words a week ago. However, like the note, you weren't torn or irreparable; no, you were just a bit weathered and worn with the harsh wisdom of how he really felt about you.

Looking up at Negan, you met his gaze solidly, letting him see that you weren't going to submit or cower before him. Even if you felt at an extreme disadvantage with your lack of clothing and current environment, that wasn't going to keep you from standing your ground, so to speak. Eyes holding his, you nonchalantly flicked the note down onto the sheets between the two of you, almost as if you were throwing down a gauntlet.