#The Walking Dead Angst

[zomb-core]

۫ ꣑ৎ A TRIM || carl grimes x female reader

summary: carl refused to let anyone near his hair after losing his mom, but when he desperately needs a trim he goes to the person he trusts most, you.

(intended lowercase)

warnings: mentions of losing a parent.

pure fluff

“a trim, got it?”

carl twisted around in the chair he was sitting on to face you, you could tell he was nervous and you understood why. he hadn't cut his hair since he was 13, lori used to give him haircuts and he couldn't bring himself to let anyone else do it after she died, until now.

you currently stood behind him, a pair of shears held in your dominant hand while your other held a comb and spray bottle. “yes, a trim, I got it. now, are you gonna sit still and let me start?” you teased, a brief laugh passing your lips.

he nodded, removing the bandage from around his face and setting it on the counter next to his hat. “yeah, just please be careful—”

“carl.” you interrupted, making eye contact with him through the mirror, taking in his worried expression. “I know how important your hair is to you and I will be very careful, I just need you to trust me.”

he caught his lip between his teeth before giving you a curt nod and straightening his posture. “okay.”

you gave him a reassuring smile followed by a gentle kiss to the top of his head before starting. you grabbed a section of his hair, spraying it with the water until it was drenched, repeating this until his hair was thoroughly soaked. you didn't have a lot of experience with cutting hair and you were beyond nervous, but when he came to you and asked you if you would give him a trim you didn't have the heart to tell him no.

you took a deep breath before grabbing a decent portion of hair, bringing the comb to it and running it through it, stopping about an inch from the bottom, holding it up so carl could see it, “how's that?”

“that's fine.” he concluded after a few moments of staring at it, closing his eyes tightly when you brought the scissors up to his hair.

you hesitated. you knew how important this was to him, when he told you stories about his mom your heart would ache for him, and his hair was one of the only things left he could relate to her besides judith and messing this up would break his heart.

the sound of the scissors snipping the hair caused you both to flinch, you watching the hair fall to the tiled floor.

you exchanged a glance with him to make sure he was still comfortable, and you continued, copying your previous cut over and over again until you had chopped roughly the same length of hair off of every section.

the bathroom was completely silent minus the sound of the scissors and you shuffling around, neither of you could bring yourselves to speak, both too focused on your movements to say anything.

eventually, you finished the larger part of his hair and all that was left was his bangs. you walked around so you could be face to face with him, examining the way his bangs framed his face. “okay..” you mumbled, grabbing the larger portion of his bangs between your index and middle finger using them as a guide and you worked on his fringe while trying to avoid getting any hair in the open wound on his face. once you were satisfied with how that side looked, you moved onto the other side, making a few quick snips before setting the scissors down and stepping back to admire your work.

“what do you think? did I do okay?”

he stood up, leaning closer to the mirror to examine his hair as you watched him anxiously, awaiting his reaction. you rocked back and forth on your heel, your hands interlaced behind your back, “carl?” you tried, becoming extremely paranoid that you had messed up, but your worry was quickly brought to an end when he wrapped his arms around you.

“it looks great, thank you.”

your worried expression was replaced by a geeky smile, and you returned his hug, giving him a tight squeeze. “oh thank god, I was so worried.” you laughed, pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose,

“thank you, by the way.” he looked confused at your statement, tilting his head to the side slightly, “for what?”

“for trusting me, I know that this was hard for you and i’m glad you trusted me of all people.”

he ducked his head down and nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, smiling against the exposed skin, “i’m glad I did, too.”

masterlist

[janiehellion]

𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ ℜ𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You were a sin too tempting to forget—a fire that burned Rick Grimes alive. Consumed by desire, he realized repentance would never be enough, and redemption was never an option.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Cheating ⋮ Age Gap ⋮ Infidelity ⋮ Adultery ⋮ Somnophilia ⋮ Angst ⋮ Obsession ⋮ Dacryphilia ⋮ Size Kink ⋮ Outdoor Sex ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Praise Kink ⋮ Possessive Behavior ⋮ Manipulation ⋮ Character Death ⋮ Language ⋮ Shane Walsh

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 22.822 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S02E07 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋮ 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑶𝒏𝒆: 𝑨 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒏

You were still catching your breath when you left Rick alone by the chicken coop.

With your legs feeling shaky, your skin sweaty and sensitive from where his hands had been, from where his mouth had devoured you, his taste was still on your tongue.

And with every second you closed your eyes only to open them again as you walked, all you could see was him—his shoulders trembling, his voice breaking, his hands grabbing you like he was desperate to hold on, even as he tried to convince himself to let go.

To not lose himself in the temptation of you.

You turned your head just enough to get a look at him disappearing into the dark behind you, his steps uneven, his belt still loose around his waist. Smirking to yourself, you turned back toward your tent, only to realize you weren't alone.

Shane was nearby, walking toward his own tent, eyes locked onto Rick... and then back on you. He hadn't said a word, but you'd seen the look on his face. The way his mouth had twitched, showing just a small, little hint of a smirk, his head had tilted slightly, like he was working through something in his mind, seconds before he left.

Like he knew.

Meanwhile, Rick barely made it back to his tent without stumbling.

His legs felt unsteady, his arms too heavy, his skin wet with sweat. He still smelled like you. The scent of you clung to him, sinking into his clothes and his bones.

His lips were still swollen from yours.

His hands were still trembling.

And then he saw them—Lori and Carl, curled up together in their tent, their breathing quiet with only a little snore here and there. Peaceful.

Rick stared at them for a while.

The rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his racing heart in his chest as if it was trying to break free behind his ribs, and the ache still pulsing in his cock—it all stopped as reality came back to him.

What the fuck did I just do?

His mouth went dry, his stomach dropped, and the knot in his throat felt so tight it made him feel unable to breathe.

He had just fucked you—had let himself drown in you, let himself give in to something reckless and wrong—and now he was standing here, looking at the family he had just betrayed.

Goddamn it. Goddamn it.

Rick had no idea how he was supposed to do this—how he was supposed to step into that tent, lie down beside his wife, and pretend like he hadn't just—but then he saw it.

Something small. Something barely noticeable, near the edge of the tent.

He frowned, trying to get closer, his breath still coming too fast. His fingers reached down before he could think, before he could even stop himself.

A package.

Pills.

Not just any pills.

Abortion pills.

He froze in place. His pulse rang in his ears, louder than before, louder than anything else in the world.

Lori moved slightly in her sleep, but Rick didn't care.

She had been planning to get rid of… a baby?

The thought of it cut through him like a knife, the blade slicing him open. First, he betrayed Lori. Now, he was standing here, holding proof that she had been about to betray him, too.

But what if she had already betrayed him at this point?

His fingers clenched around the package, his grip tight, his whole body tense as he turned to reach out, grabbing Lori's shoulder and shaking her awake.

She gasped, her eyes flying open, her body stiffening slightly.

"Rick?" She grumbled, voice groggy and seemingly confused.

He didn't give her a second to fully wake up. Didn't give her a second to pretend like everything was normal.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

Lori blinked at him as he stepped out of the tent, pushing herself up on her elbows, frowning before she finally followed him.

"Rick, what—?"

He turned around in an instant, holding up the package right in front of her eyes.

"We can't leave," she interrupted herself immediately, her voice quiet and careful. "I'm pregnant."

"Are you?" Rick asked in return, leaving no time for her to argue, but not letting it show how much this had just affected him, his voice sounding cold and empty.

Lori looked exhausted. Defeated.

"I threw them up," she continued. "You can yell if you want. You can scream if you have to, but talk to me."

Rick stared at her.

Talk to her?

Talk to her?

His fingers tightened around the package in his hand. "How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?" Lori asked, but Rick simply clenched his jaw in return.

"Days? Weeks?" His voice rose slightly, just enough to make her tense up. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"No." He held up the package again, bringing it closer to her face. "I found these. So Glenn knows, right? Instead of going to me, you sent him to get pills?"

"I panicked," Lori answered and looked away.

Rick shook his head, scoffing, running a hand over his mouth. "You tell me we have no roof and no walls—"

"Do not put this on me!" Lori snapped, but Rick continued further.

"You tear into me for keeping secrets," he hissed, stepping closer, "when you're holding onto this?"

Lori's expression changed—frustration, confusion, anger—her emotions were all over the place.

"You want me to bring a baby into this?" She demanded. "To live a short, cruel life? How can you think like that? We can't even protect the son we already have!"

"So this is the solution?" Rick shot back, letting the package of the pills fall to the ground in front of her feet.

Lori let out a deep breath, shaking her head. "Rick, I threw them up. I screwed up. I don't know how we do this."

Rick still stared at her. His pulse was like a hammer pounding a nail into his ribs.

"We can make it work," he suddenly said, voice quieter now, but still tense. "You threw up the pills. You want this baby. I know you do."

Lori's lips parted slightly, her expression changing again—with uncertainty and doubt.

"Not like this," she whispered. "Not giving birth in a ditch. Not when its life will hang by a thread from the second it's born. Not when every cry will put it, and Carl and everyone we care about, in danger. That's not right."

Rick swallowed, his throat dry, and he hesitated for a while, thinking about what he could say next.

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

Lori pressed her lips together, but she didn't wait. There was no going back.

"Shane and I..."

The words hit like a punch in the gut, but he wasn't very surprised.

Rick exhaled slowly, staring down at the dirt beneath his boots.

"I know. Of course, I know. You thought I was dead," Rick mumbled, unable to look into her eyes. "The world went to shit, and you thought I was dead. Right?"

"Yeah," Lori nodded as he let out a long breath, the abortion pill package still on the ground between the both of them.

He had nothing left to say.

And Lori didn't say another word after that as well.

She just stood there for a moment, watching Rick, his face unreadable. Then she turned and ducked back into the tent, trying to be as quiet as possible as she crawled inside.

Once back at Carl's side, she was waiting for Rick to join her, but as soon as she realized that he didn't, she was unable to close her eyes. How could she? She lay there, staring at the ceiling of the tent, her mind racing as she cuddled closer to Carl.

She thought about the pills. About Shane. About the baby growing inside her—a baby she wasn't sure she wanted but couldn't bring herself to get rid of. And then she thought about Rick.

Deep down, Lori knew the baby wasn't his.

But the way he'd looked at her when he'd found the pills? The way his voice had cracked when he'd asked, "Is there anything else I should know about?"

She didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to fix this. But one thing was clear: their marriage was hanging by a thread. And Lori? Lori wasn't sure she had the strength to hold on.

Outside the tent, Rick still didn't move. Not even having looked at her once, she turned back and crawled into it. He was still standing there, still trying to piece together what the hell had just happened.

Lori must have thought that was the end of it. That she had said her part, that things would somehow go back to the way they were before. But Rick knew better.

There was no going back. Not after tonight.

His head felt like it was spinning, thoughts crashing into each other, haunting him over and over.

He had betrayed her. She had betrayed him.

And now he was supposed to lie down next to her, close his eyes, and pretend like none of it had happened?

Rick swallowed hard, his throat so dry it hurt, spit almost not able to run down inside it. He let out a slow, shaky breath, rubbing a hand down his face, then through his hair, gripping the curls tight like the pull of it might get his head back into place.

But all he could feel was how his hands remembered you. The way you had felt beneath him, around him. The softness of your skin, the way you had wanted him. Desired him.

His mouth remembered you. His lips, his tongue… The taste of you. The way you had moaned into his kisses, the way your lips had parted so sweetly when he had devoured you like he needed to. The way your moans had vibrated through his cock made him feel pure ecstasy, the kind of euphoria he hadn't felt in years.

Jesus Christ...

Rick clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply, so deeply, but all he smelled was you. That warm, intoxicating scent of sweat, sex, and sin.

His cock twitched, still aching, still wanting to harden, even now.

Again, he ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing against his eyes and his temples.

What the hell was happening to him?

He had always thought of himself as a good man. A man who did the right thing, even when it was hard. A man who kept his promises, who honored his vows. A man who didn't stray.

But tonight—tonight, he had lost control.

He had kissed you. He had touched you. He had fucked you right against the chicken coop with the sun still shining and the others not that far away, and now—now he had to crawl into a tent with his wife, pretend like none of it had happened, like it wasn't still burning in his veins.

No.

He took another deep breath, but it didn't help. His body was restless, his skin still aching from where your hands had clung to him, your nails digging in, your mouth on his…

His fingers tapped against his thighs, his chest rising and falling too fast from his quick breathing. His whole body was screaming at him to do something, to move, to get away before he lost his goddamn mind.

So he did. Rick pushed himself away, his movements stiff and his muscles tense.

He told himself he was just going for a walk. Just a simple walk. Just to clear his head. But somehow, his feet carried him straight to your tent after having walked around in circles for what seemed almost endless. He barely even realized he was moving toward it until he was standing there, just a few steps away, looking around to see if anyone else from the group had noticed him. So far, it looked safe.

But Rick knew he should leave.

He knew he should.

But he didn't. Of course not. How could he resist? How could he resist and stop those desires that had burned themselves into his mind like a fire he hadn't dared to put out?

So Rick just stood there, breathing hard but still quietly enough to not be heard, his mind a mess, his cock aching, and his body hurting with how much he wanted to be near the source of the heat that had crept up on him, spreading itself throughout his most tempting thoughts.

And then, he slipped inside.

The air was warmer in there from the summer heat, your scent invading his nose instantly. His pulse kicked up, his body moving slow, carefully, as he lowered himself to his knees beside you.

You were curled up on your side, your breathing all soft and steady by now. The blanket barely covered you, the still somewhat sweaty skin of your thighs peeking out.

Rick swallowed, feeling the unmistakable knot in his throat, the one he was sure he could never swallow down, no matter how hard he would try.

What the hell was he doing?

This was wrong.

He should turn around and walk out. Right now. Before it was too late. Before he did something he couldn't take back.

But his hand was already moving.

His fingers hovered over your shoulder, barely touching your skin, but even that tiny touch sent flames straight through his already burning veins. He moved his fingers down slowly, over your arm, down to your thigh, trailing them along the naked skin just above your knee.

God…

How he admired the way your skin reacted to his touch, the goosebumps forming right where his fingers had been only moments before.

"Just… just a taste," he whispered to himself.

Just a little taste of you, and then he'd leave. Leave it behind, this situation—you—wanting to put out the scorching fire burning him alive.

That's what he told himself. But deep down, he already knew it was a lie.

Rick leaned in slowly, his lips stopping just over your skin. He could feel the heat of you, the warmth coming from your body, the quiet rise and fall of your breath.

Then he pressed a kiss to your jaw. Barely a brush of his lips.

Then another. Just below your ear. And then lower—his mouth moving down with slightly trembling lips, still slow, to the side of your throat. He stopped right there, inhaling deeply, drinking you in as he kissed you again, with a little more pressure and deeper this time, just enough to taste.

You still smelled like sin. You still tasted like sin. Pure temptation in its finest form.

Rick's fingers slid higher, moving up your thigh, slow, teasing, his touch light.

But then—you stirred. A soft, sleepy sound slipped from your lips, a little noise, barely more than a quick breath, but it broke him some more.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed hard, every muscle in his body tensing up as his cock throbbed all over again, hoping you wouldn't wake up now.

But he knew he should wake you up. Tell you this was a mistake. A misunderstanding. That whatever had happened between you—it couldn't happen again. That he couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep letting himself need you like this.

Still, he didn't wake you. For a long moment, he just watched.

Your body moved ever so slightly, your head tilting, another soft sound slipping from your lips—a sigh—nothing more, but that sound—that unholy sigh?

It was breaking him further apart. Piece by piece.

Rick's fingers instantly grabbed the blanket that covered your body to control himself, he hoped, but he was hanging by a thread already, wanting nothing more than to lift the fabric and crawl next to you, hugging you, keeping you close.

His lips stayed again over your skin, his body still shaking, his hands still wanting to take.

"What the hell are you doin' to me?" He whispered with a voice that sounded wrecked, desperate even. But he stayed like that for a moment longer.

And then, with every bit of strength he had left, he forced himself to move. Rick pushed back, his breath ragged, his hands shaking, his cock still painfully hard, throbbing, and desperate for more.

But he couldn't stay. If he stayed, he wouldn't be able to stop. So he left and slipped back out into the night.

Sleep wasn't an option. Not after this.

Not after you.

Rick started to walk. He circled the tents, paced around as he kicked the dirt, and kept watch. But it didn't help. Nothing could silence his mind. Nothing could rip away the feel of you beneath his hands. Nothing could stop the way his body burned for you.

And he kept walking, his hands still trembling, his mind a mess, his body on fire with restless, useless energy. His eyes were focused on scanning the dark fields, the trees, and the fence. Looking for any sign of danger. Anything to distract him.

But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he stood there, his body still remembered. And as the hours dragged on, as the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, Rick knew one thing for certain. He was already too far gone.

The next morning came too fast as well.

Rick felt the sun shining down on him before he even looked up. The exhaustion was felt deep in his bones, a weight that made his legs and arms feel heavy, a headache pounding along with it. He hadn't slept. Not for one single second.

So when he finally forced himself to move, to walk back toward the others, to pretend like he hadn't spent the night drowning in the memory of you, Rick already knew he was failing. He could feel it in the stiffness of his movements, the way his body dragged itself, the way his skin still felt too hot and cold at the same time.

He barely had time to sit down before he felt eyes on him, slowly letting out a quiet cough and pressing the nails of his fingers into his thighs as he prepared himself, already knowing what was coming before he even looked up.

Shane stood there, next to him, his arms crossed, and with that goddamn smirk on his lips, like he was just waiting for Rick to crack.

"Shit, man." His voice was lazy, amused even. It sounded irritating in a way Rick really didn't have the patience for. "You look like you've been up all damn night."

Rick's blood went cold. His breath stopped for just a second before he forced himself to keep it steady, to not react. But it was too late. Shane had already seen it.

Rick knew that he saw how his teeth clenched and how his hands trembled, but he forced himself to let it slide. "Nah, man. I'm just tired. Kept watch all night, just in case. T-Dog and I repaired part of the fence yesterday. Near the chicken—"

He stopped talking in an instant, his eyes widening and his head trying to find a believable answer, even if the part with the fence was the actual truth.

"Part of the fence was loose there, and it isn't fully repaired yet. Gonna ask T again soon. We still need to earn our stay here, and you know it. That's why I kept watch. Just. In. Case."

Rick knew he had no room to speak. Not after what he had done.

Because Shane had fucked Lori, had taken her while Rick was still breathing, while he was still out there fighting to get back to his family. Did both Lori and Shane really think he was dead back then? Or has Shane been after her for longer than he'd ever care to admit? Rick didn't know; he shouldn't dare to think about it. And now here he was, with your touch still haunting him.

He was no better. Maybe he never had been.

Rick let out a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face before turning away. He didn't look at Shane again. He didn't need to. He could still feel the smirk burning into the back of his head and could hear the quiet laugh beneath his breath as Rick walked away.

As soon as everyone else was awake and ready, breakfast had never felt so unbearable. Everyone sat scattered around the camp, eating in silence, but Rick wasn't really there. His body was, sure. He was sitting next to Lori, with Carl beside her, who had a plate of food in his lap and a fork in his hand. But Rick's mind?

Still somewhere else.

His eyes kept looking around, pulling him toward another thing that he couldn't stop pondering about.

Lori.

She sat right next to him, talking to Carl as if everything was normal again. As normal as the new world could be. She hadn't said a word to Rick all morning, hadn't even looked at him, and maybe that was for the best.

Because Rick didn't know what he was supposed to say to her anymore.

And still, there was Shane, wasn't he?

Still smirking, walking around with a frying pan in his hand, and eating straight out of it. Still acting like he had all the power in the world, like he wasn't there knowing exactly what Rick had done, knowing exactly how deep a certain innocence had already sunk its claws into him.

And then—there was you.

You sat on the other side of the camp, your legs crossed beneath you, your hair still a little messy from sleep, a small smile on your lips as you spoke to Andrea. You looked relaxed, unbothered… and innocent.

But Rick knew the truth. He's seen it.

Because the second his eyes landed on you, your head lifted itself, your eyes looking into his like you felt him watching.

Shit. That look. That goddamn look in your eyes.

Like you knew. Like you had been awake last night, had felt his touch, had heard his voice, and had let him kiss you while you pretended to sleep.

His breath hitched in his throat. It hit him all over again—the hunger, the need, that growing addiction that was already eating him alive. This wasn't just want anymore.

But then he heard Shane near him again, who was by now leaning against one of the trees. He laughed quietly to himself. It wasn't loud. Not enough to draw attention from the others. But it was enough to make Rick glance his way.

And there it was again—that look.

But he still didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He just chewed his food, tilted his head ever so slightly, and kept his eyes on Rick like he was reading every thought in his head. Shane knew. And Shane never let any weakness go untested. Certainly not when he looked at a man who he thought was not made for this kind of world.

And you? You sat there, your plate of food long forgotten, barely able to choke it down anyway. Not when you could still feel him.

Rick.

He was sitting across the camp you had set up as a group near the farmhouse of the Greene's, with him looking like he was carrying the whole goddamn world on his shoulders alone. And maybe he was.

But it wasn't just that.

It was the way his eyes kept looking up, landing on Lori, then Shane, and back to you—his gaze burning like he was daring you to say something.

Like he was waiting for you to say something. But you didn't.

Because what were you supposed to say? That you'd actually been fully awake last night? That you had felt his hands on your body, his warm breath against your skin, his mouth whispering sin onto your flesh?

That you had let him?

Even now, with the whole group around, with Lori and Carl next to him and the tension between him and Shane, all you could think about was his hand sliding so softly along your arm, his lips trembling and kissing your jaw, and the way he had whispered, What the hell are you doin' to me?

No. You didn't say a word. But you looked at him.

"Where'd you go?" Lori then asked, pulling him out of his thoughts while caressing his neck with one hand and leaning in close.

Rick barely reacted to her words.

"I'm here."

It wasn't an answer, not really, but it was all she was going to get.

And you knew why. You knew where he had been.

Your body still remembered it. The feeling of his touch on your skin and the warmth of his breath still so hot against your throat. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his lips there, still hear the way his voice had cracked when he whispered to you in the dark, his hands shaking as they moved over your body.

Since then, you haven't slept much either. But there was no time to dwell on it now.

Meanwhile, Glenn moved a little from where he sat, his expression looking uneasy. He glanced toward the farmhouse, his eyes staring at Maggie, who stood on the porch, shaking her head slightly before Glenn looked back to Dale. Dale met his gaze, gave the smallest nod, and then—Glenn exhaled deeply, bracing himself.

"Um, guys. So..." He hesitated like he was trying to find the right words, but there weren't any. "The barn is full of walkers."

Silence.

The whole group made its way to the barn in an instant, gathering in front of it, but you still couldn't help yourself, looking at Rick ever so often. You forced yourself to look away, to pretend you weren't still watching.

This wasn't your problem, was it? Except—it kinda was.

Because now, you were all standing in front of a barn full of walkers.

Shane was the first to break the silence, standing at the front, looking between the wooden slats, his mouth slightly open, before he stepped back as a walker pushed against the doors from the inside.

"You cannot tell me you're all right with this!"

Rick stood next to him, his expression just as tense, but his voice was calm so far.

"No, I'm not," he admitted. "But we're guests here. This isn't our land."

Shane let out a breathy, quick laugh, shaking his head. "God, this is our lives!"

"Lower your voice," Glenn warned, looking around, but Shane barely heard him.

Andrea stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest at first before resting her hands on her hips. "We can't just sweep this under the rug."

"It ain't right," Shane shot back. "Not remotely. Okay… we've either got to go in there, we've got to make things right, or we've just got to go. Now, we have been talking about Fort Benning for a long time—"

"We can't go," Rick interrupted him immediately.

"Why, Rick? Why?" Shane turned to him, unable to understand.

Before Rick could answer, Carol spoke up, her voice quiet, standing a bit in the background before she walked over to Rick.

"Because my daughter is still out there."

The words hit hard. Everyone fell silent for a moment.

Then, Shane let out another humorless laugh, running his hands over his face, as if he couldn't believe all of this.

"Okay," he said, his voice just a little lighter now. "Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."

"We're not leaving Sophia behind," Rick continued, until Daryl stepped forward, too.

"I'm close to findin' this girl. I jus' found her damn doll two days ago!"

Shane turned to him, his face unreadable at first—but just by looking at Daryl Dixon, one could see how annoyed he was by him.

"You found her doll, Daryl," Shane said, gesturing around. "That's what you did. You found a doll!"

Daryl's expression darkened, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Ya don't know what the hell yer talkin' 'bout," he snapped back at him, waving an arm dismissively.

"I'm just saying what needs to be said," Shane argued further, his voice rising in anger. "You get a good lead; it's in the first 48 hours!"

"Shane, stop," Rick warned, trying to get both men to back off.

But Shane wasn't done.

He turned back to Daryl, stepping closer. "Let me tell you something else, man," he continued, "If she was alive out there and saw you coming all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!"

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew it was a mistake. Daryl moved fast.

"Shut yer mouth!" He growled, lunging toward Shane, his fists clenched, and his whole body tense like he was about to throw a punch.

"Don't come at me, man!" The other man warned in response, but Rick was quite fast to hold him back before he could jump at the younger Dixon brother.

"Now just let me talk to Hershel," Rick then cut in, his voice loud but steady, demanding attention. "Let me figure it out."

Shane just scoffed. "What are you gonna figure out?"

But that made Rick not back down.

"If we're gonna stay," he continued, trying to calm him down, "if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land."

"Hershel sees those things in there as people... sick people... his wife, his stepson," Dale spoke up, taking a few steps forward as well.

Rick turned to face him as soon as those words left his mouth. "You knew?"

Dale hesitated, then nodded. "Yesterday I talked to Hershel."

Shane let out a bitter laugh. "And you waited the night?"

"I thought we could survive one more night," Dale explained further. "We did. I was waiting till this morning to say something. But Glenn wanted to be the one."

Shane shook his head, stepping away, pacing slightly, his movements tense.

"The man is crazy, Rick," he said, his voice full of frustration. "If Hershel thinks those things are alive or not—"

"Then it is not up to us," you suddenly cut in, your heart pounding from the whole situation and everything that was happening along with it.

The second the words left your mouth, every pair of eyes snapped to you.

Shane's jaw clenched tightly as if he was grinding his teeth. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

"I'm not saying I like it. I'm not saying I agree with it. But this is not our damn land, Shane. We are guests here. You think we can just do whatever the fuck we want just because this isn't the world we once knew anymore?"

"We are talking about a barn full of walkers. A whole damn ticking time bomb!"

"And we will handle it," you shot back, shutting him up. "But we do it the right way. Not like some goddamn animals! Or do you really wanna go and take over the whole damn farm by yourself, Shane? That would put all of us in danger."

Silence... Again.

Then, Rick inhaled slowly, smiling to himself a little, looking at you for just a second too long before he turned back to Shane. "She's right. And you know that."

"Look, I understand, okay? It doesn't matter what Hershel thinks," you continued, your voice strong, really drawing attention to yourself for the very first time.

Everyone else still looked at you, but you didn't care.

"What matters is that we're on his land," you continued, your eyes looking from Rick to Shane. "And if we start acting like we own the place, if we just take what we want, we're no better than the damn walkers in that barn. That'd be the Greene's death sentence, and I won't let that happen just because you don't know shit about respect!"

Shane laughed loudly, rolling his eyes. "So what, little girl? We just sit here and let ‘em get us killed instead?"

"No," you shot back, still not backing down and ignoring what he'd just called you. "But we don't get to make that decision without Hershel. Let Rick handle it. Let him talk. That's all we're asking for, Shane."

Rick was still watching you, like he was seeing you in a different light, like something about your words had done something inside of him. Shane, on the other hand, just shook his head, letting out another annoyed laugh.

But for now, at least, he let it drop. And you knew—it was only a matter of time before everything exploded. But you also knew… you should've left.

Everyone else was already walking away from the barn—some of the group going back toward the tents, others disappearing toward the house.

You should've followed them. Should've gone anywhere but here. But you hesitated. You didn't know why, but you stayed. And that was your mistake. Because now, you were alone with him. With Shane.

He stayed near the doors of the barn, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark, and expression unreadable. Like he had all the time in the world.

You were about to turn, about to take one step in the opposite direction…

"Y'know," Shane stopped you, his voice low and teasing. "I didn't think he had it in him."

Your stomach dropped. Slowly, you turned back to face him, already feeling the blood start to boil in your veins. "The hell did you just say?"

"C'mon little girl, you heard me. Stop pretending," Shane smirked.

That lazy, shit-eating smirk.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to react, refusing to give him anything. "You know what? Go to hell, Shane."

"Already there, baby." He answered with a laugh, shaking his head, stepping forward just enough to close the space between you.

Not touching you. But close enough.

Close enough that you could see the way his eyes looked you up and down, stopping at the hem of another one of the sundresses that Maggie had given you the day before, that smirk still on his face.

"You got some damn nerve," you mumbled, but he simply snorted.

"Oh yeah? And you don't?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes looking back up to meet yours. "What was it, huh? Quick little roll in the hay? That why he was lookin' all fucked out this mornin'?"

Your breath hitched. It was so damn tempting to just punch him. Right on that goddamn nose. But instead, you smiled. Nice and sweet.

And then you swung. Not your fist—only your words.

"You would know all about quick fucks, wouldn't you, Shane?" You leaned in, keeping your voice just quiet enough. "Or did Lori at least let you finish inside of her before she ran back to her husband?"

That slapped the smirk right off his face. But you weren't done.

"Bet you told her Rick was dead, huh?" You continued, watching the way his fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders going rigid. "Bet you've had your eyes on her long before the world has gone to shit. For how long? Months? Maybe even years?"

One second, you were standing there, triumphant to have won, having shoved it right back in his face, but then his hand was gripping your jaw.

Hard.

Not enough to hurt. But enough to make you gasp in shock. Enough to make your heart pound faster and faster.

Your hands moved up instantly, grabbing at his wrist, but he just held you there, his fingers pressing against your skin, his face being so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheek.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth..."

Swallowing loudly in return, you knew you should've been scared. But you weren't.

Because you noticed it—the way his grip trembled just slightly, the way his breathing was just a little too heavy, the way his eyes looked down to your lips for half a second before looking back up.

So, you just smiled again. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"You really wanna play this game with me, Walsh?" You whispered.

Shane's grip tightened for a moment before he suddenly let go, stepping back and laughing to himself.

"You know what? Yeah, I did fuckin' finish," he responded, clapping his hands together several times in front of your face to mock you. "So what?"

But you stood your ground, your chin held up high, heart still racing, yet refusing to let him see it.

Refusing to let him win.

"Are you done?" You then asked flatly, but Shane shook his head, still smirking.

"Nah, little girl, I ain't done."

Neither of you moved. Neither of you walked away. You just stood there, with Shane still looking at you. Of course, with that same damn smirk. That same smirk, like he had you, like he knew exactly what to do to annoy you, and exactly what to say. That same smirk, as he couldn't have any other facial expression to use around you anymore.

He huffed loudly, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, trying not to burst into laughter. "Y'know," he started again, his voice as casual as ever. "If you wanted it rough and a lil' older, you shoulda just said somethin!"

He then grinned as he saw how red your face was getting, which only gave him more fuel to continue. "Bet Rick ain't got it in him, huh? 'Cause he ain't made for this world. Bet he—"

"Shut the fuck up, Shane."

But he was still enjoying this. And that was what pissed you off the most. You forced yourself to take a step back, heart pounding, your jaw so clenched, it felt like it was going to dislocate itself any second right now.

"Go fuck yourself," you grumbled, voice shaking just slightly. Maybe because you were angry, or, deep down, you liked this.

Not him. Not Shane.

But the fight. The way it made your blood pump faster, the way it boiled so fast in your veins.

Or maybe it was the way he wasn't done, either.

"You gonna stand there all day, little girl?"

That stare-off between you felt like it went on for hours even though you knew it was only a few seconds.

"You tell me, Walsh. You seem really happy just standing here, keeping your damn eyes on me rather than the damn barn behind you."

And with that, you turned and walked away toward the farmhouse. You told yourself the way you had reacted was anger—that it was just the heat of the moment. But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Shane had gotten under your skin. And not just because of his smirk or his stupid jokes. No, it was the way he looked at you��like he knew exactly what buttons to push and as if he could see right through you.

It pissed you off. But it also excited you in a way.

Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. This wasn't the time to get distracted. Not with the barn full of walkers. Not with the search for Sophia and all the other problems the group had. Still, you couldn't help but wonder—what would happen if you pushed him a little further? And what would happen if you let Shane push a little further?

By the time you made it back toward camp, things had calmed—at least, on the outside. Everyone was moving around, busying themselves with whatever tasks they could find, trying not to think about the fact that everything felt like it was actually starting to fall apart.

You spotted Rick up by the house, standing at the porch steps, his hands on his hips before he climbed them, and then knocking on the door.

From where you stood, you could hear Hershel's muffled response from inside the house.

"Come on in."

Rick stepped inside. And you just… watched.

Watched as the door went shut behind him. Watched as Maggie moved past the door and inside as well, stopping only for a second to look over at Glenn before shaking her head and continuing. Watched as the camp kept moving, kept breathing, and kept pretending like they weren't all terrified about what had to happen eventually.

And still, all you could think about was the way Shane had looked at you and what he'd said. Even now.

Inside the farmhouse, Hershel sat at the table, the Holy Bible open in front of him, barely looking up as Rick stepped in.

"A little light reading for lunch?" Rick asked, stopping right next to him.

Hershel turned a page, not looking up to acknowledge Rick with his eyes. "Been working so hard lately I get my studying where I can."

"You know we can help you out with your work."

Hershel shook his head. "It's my field to tend."

Rick looked around the house slowly, thinking about what to say, while his hands still rested on his hips.

"We found the barn," he said next, just waiting for Hershel to respond in anger.

But Hershel barely blinked. "Leave it be."

Rick's jaw tightened. "Well, I'd like to talk about it, but either way… your barn, your farm, your say."

The man finally looked at him, using a napkin to wipe his mouth. Completely unbothered.

"I don't want to talk about the barn. I don't want to debate."

Rick held his stare. "Not a debate. A discussion."

After a moment of silence, Hershel closed the Bible, standing up with the empty plate and the silverware. "I need you and your group gone by the end of the week."

Rick didn't react. Not at first.

Didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

Then, quickly, he followed him into the kitchen of the house.

He stood behind Hershel, who was putting the plate and silverware into the sink, only to look out of the window, hoping he would just leave and let him be.

"I talked to Dale," Rick continued. "You and I have our differences with the way we look at the walkers. Those people, they may be dead; they may be alive. But my people—us—we are alive right now. Right here. Right in front of you."

Hershel didn't say anything, still looking out of the window and not once having turned around. But Rick pressed on.

"You send us out there, and that could change."

Still not turning around, Hershel let out a huff through his nose, like he was done with the conversation. "I've given you safe harbor. My conscience is clear."

"This farm…" Rick started again, shaking his head slightly. "This farm is special. You've been shielded from what's been going on out there," he continued, taking a step closer. "Dale said you saw everything happen on the news. Well, it's been…" He let out a dry, humorless breath. "It's been a long time since the cameras stopped rolling."

But Hershel's back stayed turned away from him.

"The first time I saw a walker, it was just half a body snapping at me from the ground," Rick explained to him. "My inclination wasn't to kill it. But what the world is out there isn't what you saw on TV. It is much, much worse. And it changes you. Either into one of them or something a lot less than the person you were."

Finally, Hershel turned around.

"Please," Rick said further. "Do not… Do not send us out there again."

Silence.

Hershel still didn't answer him; he looked him up and down.

Rick shook his head, his eyes looking down at the floor before shaking his head again and turning toward the door, dragging a hand down his face.

Then, he stopped. And said the only thing left he had to say.

"My wife's pregnant."

Hershel blinked, but Rick barely gave him time to react.

"That's either a gift here or a death sentence out there," he continued. "If we were to stay, we could help you with the work. With securing this place. We can survive together."

But Hershel was turning away from him again. "Rick, I'm telling you, we can't."

"You think about what you're doing," Rick answered in return, his voice rising ever so slightly, which made Hershel respond faster than before to finally get his point across and into the man's head.

"I've thought about it."

"Think about it."

"I've thought about it."

And Rick didn't argue any further.

He just opened the front door, stepped outside, and said, "Think about it again. We can't go out there."

Then, he closed the door behind him, his mind racing. Hershel's words were a mess in his head, but they were again pushed away by the memory of you once he saw you. He clenched his fists, trying to shake it off, but it was no use.

Rick looked across the camp, his eyes landing on you again. You were standing near the tents, your arms crossed, your expression unreadable. Taking a step forward, he stopped.

What was he supposed to do? March over there as if nothing has ever happened?

No. That wasn't him.

Rick forced himself to look away, to focus on the task at hand. But even as he walked back toward the group, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing control. And the worst part? He wasn't sure he even cared anymore.

And you saw it from a distance as you watched him—the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands curled into fists before forcing himself to relax.

The way Rick looked like he was holding himself together with nothing but willpower. And all you could do was watch as you saw him coming down the porch steps. He didn't even look in your direction anymore and kept walking.

And still—still, you moved toward him.

"Hey, Rick—"

Nothing. Not even one single word. He just kept going, walking past you like you weren't even there.

Fine. Fuck him.

You turned, watching as he made his way toward the barn. Rick stopped just short of Shane, exhaling hard, making Shane look at him in return.

"What's it gonna be, man? Which way does this thing go?"

Rick dragged a hand down his face before answering. "I don't know yet."

Shane's head tilted. Just slightly. "Well, what did he say?"

"We're negotiating."

The other man's laugh was humorless, bitter. "You're nego—clock's ticking, Rick."

"No, it isn't, Shane." Rick's voice was annoyed. "That barn… The barn is secure. We didn't even know about it till this morning. We didn't."

Shane's eyes looked fast toward the barn, then back to him.

"Well, we know about it now. Right? We know there's over a dozen walkers in there. We know that it's about a stone's throw from our camp, Rick… Where we sleep."

Rick's fingers twitched at his sides.

"So look," Shane pressed on, "if we're not gonna go in there and clear it out, then we just got to go."

"We're not gonna clear it out, and we're not gonna go."

"We at least need our guns," Shane argued back, but Rick wasn't about to let it slide.

"We can't have them. Not here."

Shane stared at him, his mouth slightly open, before he leaned back more comfortably against the small, red tractor. "Why do you wanna stay here when it's not safe?"

"We can make it safe."

"How we gonna do that?"

"We will, okay?"

"How we gonna make it safe, Rick?" His voice had an angrier tone now, that barely hidden hate starting to boil up, pushing him further.

"We will, okay?"

"No, man, it's not okay."

Rick took a deep breath, already turning away from him before he finally said it.

"Shane, Lori's pregnant. We need to stay."

Silence. Shane blinked, his mouth falling open in shock, unable to know how to answer that. "We... need our guns," he then said, trying to process the information he had just thrown into his face, but Rick shook his head once more.

"No. I can work this out." Rick turned to leave again. He was done with this conversation. "You good?"

Shane didn't answer right away, rolling his shoulders back, which tensed up to the point of being uncomfortable.

"Yeah…" His voice was quieter now. "Lori's having a baby, man… Congratulations."

"Thank you," Rick nodded, and that should have been it. He should have kept walking. He should have left.

But Shane? Shane wasn't done.

"Hold up, Rick."

Rick stopped. But he didn't turn around. Not at first. And that made Shane take a slow step forward. And then another.

"You know," Shane started, "I was just wonderin' somethin'. Somethin' been on my mind since last night."

Slowly, very slowly, Rick turned to face him. His expression was blank. But his eyes? His eyes were burning.

"Tell me somethin'." Shane continued, now in an almost amused voice. "That little thing you and I got in common now? That happen before or after you went crawlin' back to Lori?"

Rick's expression didn't change, and Shane tilted his head, pretending to be curious.

"How'd it go, huh?" He took another step closer. "You go all slow and sweet, or was it fast? Rough?"

Rick's jaw was so tight it looked like his teeth might break if he ground them any harder.

Shane's smirk widened. "Bet it was rough." His voice sounded mocking now. "Bet she was greedy for it. All soft and pretty, makin' those cute little, desperate, needy noises—"

Rick moved. Fast. He grabbed Shane by the front of his shirt, shoving him hard, slamming him back against the red tractor so violently that it slightly moved.

"You ain't got no room to talk anymore, do you, Rick?"

He didn't answer and just stared at him. And the way they looked at each other—it was dangerous. It was personal. It wasn't just about Lori. It wasn't just about the walkers in the barn. It wasn't just about the farm. This? This was about them both.

"Wonder how much longer you're gonna play pretend, huh? I mean, c'mon, man! You really think you can just walk away after what you did?"

That line they were both standing on? They knew one of them was about to cross it eventually.

"You wanna say somethin' else to me, Shane?"

Shane took another step closer. "Oh, you know what I know. Knowing what you did."

Rick's jaw twitched, and Shane tilted his head.

"Behind the chicken coop, huh?" He laughed, smirking. "She loud? You had to keep her mouth shut?"

Shane didn't even flinch. He now just grinned like he'd won until Rick calmed himself down and let go of him again.

"Bet she moaned real lovely for you, huh? Like honey and all excited, so damn wet and just beggin'—"

Unable to look at him anymore, Rick shoved him to the side and away from him. Shane stumbled sideways, laughing breathlessly and shaking his head.

"Oh! That's rich, man! You wanna throw hands with me about it?" He laughed out loud. "You wanna look me in the fuckin' eyes and act like you got the right to be pissed? You fucked that lil' girl. You fucked her, Rick. Behind your wife's back. So tell me—what's that make you?"

Shane leaned in, but not too close, just in case Rick was about to snap again. "You ain't no better than me, brother."

Rick's head snapped back toward him, and for a second—just one second—Shane thought he was gonna swing. Thought he was actually gonna throw that punch, knock him down to the dirt, and finally give in to what had been happening between them for some time now.

But instead, Rick straightened himself and stepped back. "I ain't you."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, man," Shane answered in an instant, running a hand over his head.

Rick didn't say another word. He turned and walked away.

He stopped once he was far away enough from the man he'd once called his best friend since he was young, dragging both hands down his face before gripping the back of his neck, trying to breathe through the anger raging inside him. His pulse was hammering against his skull, and he knew—he knew—if he didn't get a hold of himself, he was gonna break something.

Or someone.

His teeth ground together as his eyes looked toward the chicken coop in the distance. It was like his body was drawn to it, to you, to the memory of last night. But now, he felt sick. He felt starved. He felt like if he let himself go back to that place, back to you…

No.

Closing his eyes, Rick inhaled deeply and forced himself to look away.

More important things needed to be done.

So he walked back toward the tents, his face unreadable, and that was when he spotted the map. Something he could focus on.

This was what mattered. The search for Sophia.

Once you saw Rick walking back toward the tents where you were still standing around while everyone else had occupied themselves, you knew you should've let him go.

You knew that. You should've just turned around, walked off, and focused on anything—anyone else—you should've let him stomp away like he always did when his head was too full of problems he couldn't solve when he got so lost in himself that it was like nothing and no one else existed around him. You should've let him deal with whatever war was happening in his mind on his own; let him pretend like what happened between you both behind the chicken coop was just some stupid mistake, some meaningless situation he could shove aside, bury deep, and move on from.

But how could you?

No, you stayed where you were, near the cars with a bitter taste in your mouth as you watched him stand at the hood of one of the cars, looking down at the map spread across it, his hands braced against the vehicle, his body tense like he was forcing himself to stay still, to stay focused.

His head was looking down, his eyes narrowed in deep concentration as he traced his fingers over the roads and backwoods trails, already moving forward with his thoughts, already figuring out the next step, already trying to keep his brain focused on something else, and not the argument with Shane, the conversation with Hershel, or the situation with Lori—like none of it had happened. As if he was fine and hadn't completely fallen apart last night and done something he couldn't take back.

No, Rick had to think of something different, something important, like searching for Carol's daughter.

Andrea stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at the map along with him, her body leaning slightly toward his, listening as he spoke in that calm and concentrated way of his when he was keeping himself together by sheer force of will, like if he let go of that control for even a second, he might not be able to pull himself back together again.

"...also shows she could be moving this way south. If Sophia kept in that direction, she might have gotten out of the forest and into the farmland. So we take 74 up to Ivy Road, then push down south on foot through the forest till we hit Christopher, go east a couple of miles, and then double back."

You took a slow step forward, hesitant, unsure if it was even the right move, unsure why you were doing it, but unable to stop yourself all the same.

And Rick went completely still once he noticed you. His fingers stopped where they rested against the map, his breathing turning a little faster, and his shoulders went a little stiffer—just for a moment. Then, just as quickly, he forced himself to concentrate again, to act as if he hadn't noticed, as if you weren't standing there, as if he wasn't aware of you, just a few steps away.

Like you weren't even there.

Frustration overcame you.

It wasn't the time. It wasn't the place. You knew that. But you also knew you had to talk, especially regarding Shane.

"Rick, I—"

Nothing.

Andrea moved beside him, looking toward you, one eyebrow arching slightly like she wasn't sure if she should say something. If she should step in and if she should tell Rick you wanted to talk to him, but he didn't even acknowledge her either. He just kept talking, kept staring at the map, kept pretending like you didn't exist, like he couldn't hear your voice, and like he couldn't feel you watching him.

You clenched your fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, resisting the urge to grab him, to shake him, to force him to see you.

Before you stepped away, a voice stopped you.

"Rick."

Hershel.

Rick turned around immediately, looking toward the older man.

"Hershel," he greeted, nodding once, like he was relieved for the excuse to pull away, for the reason to leave, to walk away from you without actually walking away from you. "We just have our guns out because we're gonna go look for Sophia."

Hershel barely even looked at the map. "Before you do that, I could use your help with something."

Andrea put a hand on her hip beside Rick, stepping forward. "Count me in."

But Hershel shook his head. "Thank you, but I just need Rick."

And just like that, Rick went with him after Jimmy had joined them. No hesitation. No second thought. He folded up the map, put it away, and walked off after them like he couldn't get away fast enough. Like he hadn't just spent the last several minutes pretending you didn't exist and like he hadn't just made you feel so unimportant that you wanted to scream.

And you should've let him go. You should've just let him disappear behind the trees, let him keep pretending, let him run.

But you didn't. Because something inside of you wouldn't let you. So you followed them.

Kept low. Kept your steps light. Kept your hand around your knife, just in case.

And you knew you weren't supposed to be out here. Not without telling at least one person from the group about it. You remembered it the second you started following them, the second your feet left the safety of the farm, slipping past the trees, staying quiet. You didn't have a plan. Didn't even have a good reason, just in case someone would search for you and you'd have to come up with an excuse.

But after everything—after last night, after this morning, after the way Rick had avoided you like you didn't even exist—you weren't about to sit around the camp doing nothing.

So you followed and kept your distance, moving slowly but carefully.

Once at the swamp, the first thing you noticed was that it smelled like rot.

You could hear insects buzzing somewhere nearby, the sound of water, and the rustling of birds chirping in the trees above, but none of it was enough to drown out the sound of them.

The growls.

The snapping of teeth.

The noises of the dead.

Hershel, Rick, and Jimmy had stopped near the edge of the muddy water, just a few feet away from where two walkers stood stuck in the sludge, their bodies sinking slowly, arms reaching, fingers clawing uselessly at the air.

"The silt on the bottom is like glue," Hershel explained. "You just sink in."

Rick followed him quietly.

"That's Lou Bush," Hershel continued, nodding toward one of them.

"You knew him?"

Hershel sighed. "Lou as in Louise. She has a farm up the road. Sweet corn mostly. Worked at Hapman's bar on weekends." He nodded toward the other walker, the one in coveralls. "The man, I don't know him, but the uniform… I've been to where he worked."

Rick was silent for a long moment, staring at them, his face unreadable.

"How many have you killed?" Hershel then asked.

Rick exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching slightly on instinct as if wanting to reach for his Colt Python. "Too many to count."

"Can you stop?" Hershel asked, and Rick's eyes narrowed slightly.

"There are people out there who haven't been in their right minds," Hershel continued, not letting him answer. "People who I believe can be restored."

"You're not talking about the walkers, are you?"

Hershel didn't answer. Didn't need to. Rick knew he thought the dead were just sick people. People you could still help find their way back among the living.

Rick turned just slightly, making sure no other danger was close—and suddenly looked directly at where you were hiding.

Shit…

For a moment—one quick and uncomfortable moment—you thought he'd actually seen you.

The way his shoulders stiffened, the way his head turned ever so slightly, and the way his eyes looked toward the tree line where you were crouched low in the shadows, barely breathing and barely even blinking, made you gasp.

It was instinct, pure instinct, the way you tensed, the way your fingers grabbed the handle of your knife even tighter, ready to run if you had to, ready to fight if it came to that, even though you knew there was no real reason for it. Rick might've been pissed as hell at you; you didn't really know for sure—might've spent the entire day so far acting like you didn't exist, like what happened last night was some shameful, disgusting little secret where he'd rather set himself on fire than acknowledge it—but he wouldn't hurt you.

"Rick..."

Just like that, his attention went right back to Hershel, like he hadn't just gone stiff, as if he hadn't just been looking directly at the spot you were crouched in, and like he hadn't just felt something in that quick, passing moment.

Taking your chance, you moved.

Not fast. Not loud. Not stupid.

Just carefully walking backward, deeper into the woods, deeper into the shadows, further away, and far enough that you could still hear them, could still make out their silhouettes through the gaps in the branches, but not close enough that Rick could feel your presence anymore.

Or maybe he never had.

Maybe it had just been your own paranoia. Your own guilt.

But it didn't matter now, because you stayed and you still watched. Listened.

Jimmy stepped forward, adjusting his grip on the catch pole in his hands, the kind with a noose at the end, the kind they used to get strays under control back in the old world.

"Otis said if you get them halfway out, they'll do the rest of the work," Jimmy said hesitantly, his voice nervous and uncertain.

"How many times did he do this?" Rick asked as he remembered Otis, who had died not that long ago when he was out on a run with Shane to get some of the medical equipment Hershel needed to save Carl after he'd been accidentally shot by him.

Meanwhile, Hershel let out a sigh as he looked toward the two walkers still stuck in the mud, their arms still reaching and their teeth still snapping. "If one wandered onto the property, Otis would get them into the barn. Now we have to."

Rick kept staring at them, his jaw clenched. "And what happens when the barn gets full?"

He took one step toward the edge of the water before his boots slipped, the mud sucking him down, yanking him straight off balance, and making his body hit the ground.

"Jeez!" He cursed, struggling to get a solid hold, his boots sliding off grip as he tried to push himself up. "Get the pole! Jimmy... Jimmy!"

But Hershel's voice remained calm, infuriatingly so. "You got it. Easy. Easy, Rick. Lead him. Jimmy will spot for us."

Rick's breath was ragged, with him grumbling around frustrated as he yanked the pole forward, trying to keep it looped around the walker's throat while still fighting against the mud beneath him. "This is easy?!"

Hershel still didn't care much, seeing no danger. "Lead him, lead him, Rick. You're the carrot, not the stick. You heard me, just lead him. He'll come to you."

"You told me he handled them easily!"

Once Rick stumbled behind them, Hershel took the lead and walked forward. "It's easier than some things."

"Come on! Come on, over here!" Jimmy said in the background when suddenly, a sound was to be heard.

A scream.

Not just any scream. Your scream.

Rick's entire body froze, and the pole slipped from his hands before Jimmy quickly took it into his own, staring at him in confusion.

But Rick wasn't there anymore. Wasn't thinking. Wasn't waiting.

"Rick!" Hershel's voice was alarmed, but Rick was already gone, already stumbling away from the mud, running through the trees, rushing toward the sound, toward the scream.

"Wait here or go back to the farm!" He yelled back over his shoulder, but he wasn't listening to their answers, wasn't thinking about them, wasn't thinking about anything other than getting to you.

Because he knew that sound. Knew it all too well and knew what it meant.

The walker came down on you so fast you didn't even have a second to think, to move, to do anything other than hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind straight out of your lungs, your back slamming into the dirt, and your knife slipping from your fingers, just out of reach.

Its weight was pressing down on you heavily, the smell of rot, blood, and death suffocating your senses, its jaws wide open, teeth snapping only inches from your face, its fingers trying to tear into your flesh, and trying to sink its teeth into any part of your body it was able to reach.

You struggled. A lot.

Your hands shoved against its chest, your muscles burning from the adrenaline, your legs thrashing beneath it, trying to slip away from under its weight, trying to grab for something, for anything, for your knife, but the walker was too heavy. It was too strong, and no matter how hard you fought, it wouldn't move. It wouldn't stop, and it wouldn't let go.

Then—a disgusting, wet noise.

But there was no gunshot.

Because Rick didn't use his Colt Python.

No. He had a rock.

It was in his hand as he pulled the walker away from you, covered in blood, pieces of skull, and rotted flesh smeared against it, his breath coming out in fury as he stared down at what had almost—almost—taken you from him.

Rick's fingers ached. His entire arm trembled from the force he had used, but he didn't stop after the first hit.

He just kept swinging.

"Stupid—"

Crack. The first hit crushed its temple.

"Motherfuckin'—"

Crack. The second cracked its skull open.

"Piece of—"

Crack. The third caved its shattered face in, leaving nothing but bone and blood splattered across the dirt.

"Shit!"

It wasn't moving anymore. It wasn't even recognizable.

But Rick was still hovering over it, his fingers gripping the rock so tightly his knuckles had turned white, his entire body trembling, and breathing so hard it sounded like a long, endless growl.

You had never seen him like this before.

Not even when he was mad at Shane. Not even when the group was in chaos. Not even last night, when he had slipped into your tent and put his hands on you like a man who had already lost his mind.

But now? Now, he looked feral.

And when his eyes finally looked back up to meet yours—when you saw the way they burned, wild and pissed—you weren't sure if it was from anger or from something else entirely.

Something that made you forget how to breathe.

Before you could say something, before you could think, and before you could even process what just happened, Rick was pushing the dead body away, grabbing you, and yanking you up with so much force it almost hurt, his fingers digging in, dragging you to your feet, and pushing you back until your back hit a tree.

He was right there, towering over you, his eyes full of anger and his face full of rage, his chest rising and falling with every deep and furious breath.

Rick was enraged.

And you?

You still didn't even know what to do.

"You stupid—" Rick started, his voice nothing more than a snarl.

He was so close you could barely react, his fingers digging into your arms, holding you there, pinning you back against the bark of the tree as his eyes burned through you like he wanted to set you on fire.

"You outta your goddamn mind, sneakin' out here like that?!" He asked with his grip tightening, his whole body trembling with all that anger, all that frustration. "You got any idea what coulda happened to you? Any idea?"

You pushed against his hold, trying to shove him off, trying to create even an inch of space between you, but he was unmovable, too strong, every inch of him tense, like if he let go, if he even so much as relaxed for a second, he might do something reckless.

Something he couldn't take back.

"You don't get to be mad at me, Rick!" You shot back, your own frustration boiling over like two storms colliding. "Not when you—"

"The hell I don't!" He cut you off, his voice like thunder, as if he was close to losing his mind once more. "What were you even thinking, huh? Following me… us, out here?"

"You think I don't know what the hell I'm doing?" You shoved at his chest again, harder this time, pushing back, fighting back, your heart hammering against your ribs, adrenaline still surging through your veins from the walker attack, from the fear, from the fact that Rick was right here, all over you. "You don't get to act like you care about what happens to me when you can't even look at me, Rick!"

His breathing stopped, letting you feel the way his fingers tightened around your arms, and the way his whole body was so full of adrenaline as if he was trying hard to hold onto whatever bit of restraint he still had left.

"Are you outta your goddamn mind?" He asked again, but not expecting any answer.

You knew there'd be bruises later on your arms—not that you cared, not that you even felt it over everything else.

You weren't scared, but also not backing down.

"And what about you?" You shot back, your voice shaking from the situation alone, your chest rising and falling just as hard and fast as his, with your heart pounding against your ribs. But you were still trying to finally put the much-needed space between you, knowing full well he wasn't about to let you. "Because last time I checked, I wasn't the one creeping into somebody's tent in the middle of the goddamn night!"

Rick went still. Too still.

His breath hitched, and his fingers twitched against your skin. But he said nothing. He didn't deny it, and he didn't even blink. He just stood there, with his eyes staring deeply into yours.

That silence?

That silence made you want to scream, and before you could even think about stopping yourself, before you could even process what you were doing, the words were already tearing themselves freefrom your mouth.

"I know it was you," you spat at him, your breath coming out fast and heavy, your entire body shaking. "I felt you. I heard you. You were right there—right fucking there."

His grip turned tighter, making you wince in response.

"Shut up."

"You kissed me," you went on, still not looking away from his eyes. "You put your hands on me—"

"I said, shut the fuck up—"

"And now?" You continued, stuttering a little bit. "Now you wanna stand here and act like I'm the crazy one? Like I'm the problem? Like I didn't just see you standing next to Shane, looking like you were about to rip his goddamn throat out because he knows—"

And you saw it. That slight movement, that quick twitch in Rick's jaw as if he was about to smirk. That was the confirmation.

"You know Shane knows, don't you?" You asked him, your eyes narrowing and your voice dropping lower. "You know he knows that you fucked me."

"Don't."

That one word was a warning, but you couldn't care less.

"You think I don't see it? The way he won't stop smirking like he's just waiting for one of us to say something? And do you really think I don't know that he talked to you as well?"

Rick's hands moved away from your arms only to shove both hands into your hair on the back of your head, with his fingers digging in roughly, trying to hold something back and trying to keep control.

"Enough."

Rick's voice was different now.

Darker.

"You think I don't know? You think I don't know he knows? He told me. Yeah. He told me—"

And then—it broke. All of it. The rage. The frustration. It all broke in that simple moment.

Because one second, you were just there, daring him to do something, to act on anything, to move.

And then Rick's lips finally pushed full force against yours, hard, brutal, and all-consuming. He was swallowing up every one of your ragged breaths, every sound, and every bit of fight left in you like he was trying to erase it, trying to shut you up the only way he knew how.

His hands went away from your hair and the back of your head, his fingers grabbing, gripping, and dragging you in, pulling you against him as close as he could, and pressing his body down on yours like he needed to feel you, needing to make sure you were real, to make sure you were alive, and to make sure you were his.

You kissed him back like you were drowning, like you needed him just as bad, and like you wanted to tear him apart with your teeth, as if wanting to suffocate him with your tongue, all the while your hands clawed at his shirt, at his back, yanking him closer.

You barely even noticed him moving you away from the dead body before your back hit the ground a few trees away, the dirt and leaves pressing against your back, with Rick right there, covering you, pushing himself onto you, his hands already gripping at your thighs, spreading them wide and sliding beneath the hem of your dress.

"Fuck—" You gasped against his mouth, barely getting the word out before he devoured it, before his lips moved over yours again, before his hand gripped your jaw, fingers digging in like he wanted to keep you right there, right under him, right where he needed you to be, no matter the place.

Rick's breathing was fast, still furious, his body pressing against yours, one of his knees pushing up between your thighs to keep them spread, and the outline of his cock already throbbing against your thigh, being so hard it was painful.

God, you felt it…

Felt the way his hands touched, the way his mouth claimed, the way he devoured every inch of you he could reach, all heat and desperation, all frustration and need, like he was trying to consume you whole.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His voice was a growl, all breathless and raw, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ever so warm against your lips, and his hips already grinding against yours, already so far gone it was making you ache. "This what you were askin' for last night, after all. And you liked it… You, walkin' around naked in that little fuckin' dress, makin' me lose my goddamn mind—"

"Fuck you—"

"You already did."

And then his mouth was on you again, teeth moving roughly against your throat, fingers hiking your dress up and shoving it past your hips, his breath trembling as he was about to take you, as he finally—finally—did act.

Your hands were on his chest before you even knew what the hell you were doing, shoving, pushing, and tugging at his shirt like you wanted to rip it off, like you wanted to tear him apart the same way he was tearing you apart, inside and out. "Get off me," you said, breathless, furious, shaking with the kind of anger that burned hotter than anything else, hotter than his mouth on your skin, hotter than the way he was grinding into you, and hotter than the need you felt inside of you. "Get the fuck off me, Rick."

But he didn't move.

His chest heaving against your palms as he stared down at you, the expression on his face had turned into something that looked wrecked, something ruined, something that had already gone past the point of no return. His hands were still on you, fingers now finding their way to your thighs, your waist, your soul, and you felt like you were the one suffocating beneath him, beneath the weight of his, the weight of it all.

Beneath the lies, the guilt, the frustration, and the lust that had been building for months.

"You don't want that," he said quietly, calm even, making your stomach flip and your fingers twitch, making your hesitation crack almost in an instant. "Nah. You don't want me to stop."

"Fuck off," you hissed back at him, but you didn't really mean it anymore, and you weren't strong enough to push him away one way or another. No, your fingers were still holding onto his shirt; your body was still arching into his without thinking, without meaning to, without caring. "But you don't get to do that—you don't get to come to me in the dark, you don't get to put your hands on me, you don't get to want me when you're still acting like—like—"

"Like what?" His fingers grabbed you harder, rougher, more desperately, his eyes demanding your attention to be fully on him like he needed to hear you say it, and like he needed you to break right along with him. "Like I don't already know? Like I don't already know what she did, what he did, and what they both did? And what we—"

He cut himself off, his jaw clenching with the unspoken truth, with the reality that had been stabbed inside his thoughts like a knife since the second Shane had confronted him.

"Lori's baby ain't yours," you then let out, the words meant to make him hurt the way you were hurting, the way he made you hurt every time he pretended like this was nothing. "And you know it, Rick. You know. And deep down? Deep down you couldn't give less of a shit about it. Ain't that true?"

Rick huffed loudly like you'd just knocked the air out of his lungs, like you'd just taken the knife from his thoughts, only to ram it into his heart until he couldn't breathe.

You should've stopped there.

Should've let it be enough.

But it wasn't, not after the last night you spent staring at the ceiling of your tent after he'd left, replaying in your mind how his hands felt on you, his mouth, his voice whispering in your ear and sounding like he was falling apart. Of course, you couldn't stop thinking back as well… All the mornings where he wouldn't even look at you while at the Quarry, where he acted like you were nothing, where he went back to Lori like he hadn't kept an eye on you every single time you bent over or walked past him. No, you were invisible, and right now, you felt like you would be unseen all over again.

"You know it, and you're still choosing her," you pushed further, your own breath shaking now, and your own anger burning through every last rational thought you had left. "You're still holding onto something that ain't even real anymore—"

"I ain't choosing her," he snapped back, his voice breaking apart as his fingers tightened around you, as his body pressed you down, as his lips came so damn close to yours you could taste the breath he exhaled, the frustration, and the need. "You think I don't want this? You think I don't—" He stopped and swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry, his body trembling like he couldn't hold it together anymore, like he was breaking right there in front of you.

"But you don't get to want me when you're still fucking lying to yourself," you responded, and it came out quieter this time, as if all the fight was draining out of you like you were exhausted and you just couldn't take it anymore. "Again… You don't get to touch me like this and then pretend like it didn't happen. I can't—" Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated the way it made you sound weak, greedy for something wrong, as if you were just as far gone as he was. "I can't fucking take it, Rick."

His fingers were at your jaw in a second, gripping it tightly, holding you there, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see every single emotion behind those blue eyes.

"You think I can?" His voice was strained, barely even a whisper now. He wasn't just talking to you—he was talking to himself as well and trying to convince himself of whatever was going on inside his head. "You think this doesn't kill me since Atlanta? Wakin' up every morning, seein' you, knowin' I can't—" His breath hitched, making him gulp. "Knowin' I ain't supposed to—"

And that was it. Because your hands weren't pushing anymore.

Suddenly, your fingers were pulling, dragging him down, closing the space because you couldn't take it either anymore. It was too much. After all, you were drowning in it, suffocating in it, burning alive in it. In him.

And when Rick's lips pressed back against yours, it wasn't controlled, wasn't careful; it was only like he was trying to memorize the taste of you once more, to remember the taste of sin he'd already started to crave again.

Your nails went down his back once his fingers slid into your hair, his body pressing down hard, holding you there, owning you there, like he needed to feel every inch of you, needed to know you were his, even if he wouldn't say it.

"Rick," you moaned against his mouth, and his response was a groan, sounding quiet and wrecked, his hands gripping, his hips bucking, his body trembling as he kissed you like he needed you more than air, more than reason, more than whatever life he was trying so hard to hold onto.

"Tell me to stop," he stuttered, his forehead against yours, his breath shaking and muscles tense, like he was waiting for you to make the choice for him. "Tell me to walk away."

You didn't. Because you couldn't.

Instead, your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers grabbing his hair, your lips finding his again, hard, needy, open, and desperate, and that was all it took.

For him to break completely.

When Rick pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest was rising and falling like he'd just fought for his life—like kissing you had been some kind of battle, some kind of war he was already too deep in to ever walk away from unscarred. And maybe it was. Maybe it always would be. Maybe that was why he was still here, his fingers now sliding under the hem of your dress like he couldn't help himself, like he had to feel you, had to know that you were real beneath him, warm and alive, and his for the taking, even if just for a moment.

But before Rick could let himself get lost in it, before he could let the fire in his blood burn him up from the inside out, he pushed himself up onto his forearms, his eyes looking over to the trees around you, listening to the uneasy silence that always meant one of two things—either you were alone, or something was waiting, watching, and creeping closer. His body tensed up as he tried to calm down his racing heart, ready to fight, to kill, to protect—until he was sure and certain that the only sound filling the empty woods was the ragged, uneven way you were breathing beneath him.

The second Rick's attention went back to you, the second he focused on the way your lips were parted and slightly swollen and the way your pupils were all wide, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, uneven movements, he was gone, already sliding his hands up, pushing your dress out of his way, and dragging it higher—knowing you wouldn't be wearing anything underneath—his mouth already back on you, already burning a path across your skin like he was trying to mark it.

And you let him.

You let him as his fingers dug into your waist, as his mouth found the soft, sweaty skin at your throat, as his lips moved lower, and his teeth biting the places he knew would make you sigh and shiver for more. Rick wanted to make you press your body up into his to make you need and want him closer. He wanted you to need him everywhere.

Like you needed him to break you apart just so he could put you back together again.

Once he licked his way down your neck and over your collarbone, his tongue then sliding slowly—so slowly—over your breasts, down to your stomach, lower and lower, his hands already holding on to your hips.

"God," you gasped, your hips bucking up on instinct, with your back arching and your legs spread wide, your whole body betraying you, giving into the desperation. "Rick—"

He growled in response, a deep sound that vibrated against your skin, making your thighs shake, and you could feel how gone he was, how much he needed this.

How much he needed you.

And then, before you could catch your breath, one hand was sliding lower, his fingers finding the wet, swollen folds of your pussy between your legs since he knew exactly just how much of a mess you already were for him.

"Shit," he groaned as if he wasn't just talking to you and more like he was talking to himself.

Rick couldn't believe how wet you were, how soaked you were just from him craving you, just from him grinding against you, and from the way his mouth felt on your skin.

His fingers started to tease you slowly at first, sliding through the slickness, parting you open, and pressing barely against your entrance, with his thumb rubbing against your clit ever so softly, but not enough—not even close to enough—just enough to make you moan.

Enough to make your thighs twitch, enough to make your nails dig into his shoulders, and bite your lip so hard you thought you might bleed.

And Rick felt the way your pussy clenched for him, the way your hips bucked up, and the way your breath hitched. That was it, because, in the next second, his mouth was going lower, pressing sloppy kisses down your body, as if it was the only thing that mattered anymore.

And then—then he was there.

His mouth was right where you wanted it to be.

And when his tongue slid out, when it ran slowly up your slit, parting it for him once more and tasting you, groaning deep and hungry against your pussy—you almost cried out loud.

Arching your back, your fingers were desperately trying to hold on to his hair, to keep your legs still, but all you could focus on was the way his tongue moved against you, devouring you like a man who had been starving for months, for years, for his whole life, like this was something he needed to survive.

Rick's hands immediately gripped your thighs harder, his fingers bruising, thumbs digging into your skin and wanting to hold you there, to keep you from moving, keep you from running, keep you from doing anything but taking it. And from the way he moved his tongue against your clit, the way he sucked it into his mouth and moaned against your pussy? The taste of you made him realize that this was the feeling he'd always craved in his life.

To be desired this much, just by existing and letting you feel him in return.

"Rick—" You choked out again in a pathetic sob, just a desperate, whiny plea as your body tensed, as you got closer, closer still, too close too fast.

But he didn't stop until you were gasping, whimpering, and shaking; he didn't slow down until you were crying his name quietly with a shaky voice and a trembling body, so wrecked, so ruined, and his all over again.

You were right there, right on the edge of an orgasm, your muscles straining in anticipation inside your body; it almost hurt, every nerve screaming silently for more. You could feel it in the way your thighs clenched around his head, the way your hips bucked up into his mouth, chasing it, needing it, knowing it was right there.

Until he stopped.

Simply stopped.

One second, his mouth was on you, devouring you, his tongue working you over like he was on a mission to destroy you completely, and the next?

Nothing.

Just the cold shock of a sudden loss, of being denied when you were already on the edge, and about to get wetter and wetter for him since the second he had laid his hands on you.

To come all over his face, just like he had on yours the night before.

You let out a cry that barely even sounded like it came from you, your hips bucking up and your pussy desperately chasing after his mouth, after his tongue, after anything to replace the sudden, unbearable emptiness between your thighs, but Rick just laughed in amusement, which made your whole body burn with heat because he knew exactly what he was doing.

Starting to twist your fingers in his hair, making your nails dig into his scalp, you tried to push his head back down. To force him back where you needed him, but Rick still wouldn't move, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he pulled back just enough to look at you with wet, swollen lips that were shining with just how soaked you were for him.

"Look at you," he grumbled, voice rough, teasing, mocking even.

You wanted to kill him for it, wanted to slap him; maybe at that moment you even wanted to break him apart once more—but mostly, you wanted to come for him, wanted to grab his hair and shove his mouth back where it belonged and take what you needed.

"So fuckin' needy now, huh? Where'd all that attitude go, sweetheart? Thought you had somethin' to say to me about a minute ago."

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you? Say it, sweetheart. Say you want me to eat you out."

You whimpered, fingers still scraping against his scalp, but didn't answer. You only sobbed in response, half a warning and half begging, again trying to pull him back down, but he only grinned until he decided to make his way toward your pussy again.

"Mhm…" Rick's tongue flicked against your clit, just enough to make you shiver until he pulled back a bit. "Ain't gonna say it? Guess I'll have to make you cry some more then. I wanna hear more of 'em pretty lil' sobs."

When he leaned back in and his lips finally touched you again, it wasn't the same as before—it wasn't the desperate kind of hunger that had been there, and it wasn't the fast, unbearable way he had been tasting you, no.

Now, he was taking his time.

Rick hummed against your inner thigh, leaving behind an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn't torturing you. "Y'know what's really cute?"

"Shut up," you spat out, trying to force him back to your pussy. "Just—just fucking do it!"

Rick laughed—actually laughed, his breath warm, his fingers still barely teasing the wetness between your thighs. "Oh… you beg real pretty, y'know that?"

"Rick—"

He cut you off by dragging his tongue over your clit in sudden, lazy, torturous strokes that weren't nearly enough, and he wasn't letting you have it.

"You remember last night, sweetheart?" He grumbled against you, taunting you. "How you rode me, got me all worked up, had me right fuckin' there—" His tongue licked your clit again, just for a second, just enough to make you whine like he wanted you to, "—and then you just slid right off? Left me standin' there, hard as a fuckin' rock, while you got on your knees and put that sweet little mouth on me instead?"

You knew what this was now, knew exactly what he was doing, and why he was holding you here, keeping you right on the edge on purpose.

He was punishing you.

"Rick, I—" You started once more, your voice breathless, uneven, and pleading, but still, he wasn't letting you come for him just yet.

And when you tried to grind up into his mouth, tried to push yourself over the edge, he held you down, his grip tightening, his breath ragged as he grumbled, "Nah. Not yet."

You could've killed him. Again, you wanted to. Could've killed him for this, for the way he was keeping you here, for the way he was playing with you, for the way he was controlling this, controlling you, making you suffer for what you did to him the night before, for leaving him hanging, for teasing him, and for making him lose his mind when you had stopped.

But the worst part?

The worst part was that it was working.

The worst part was that you were falling apart for him in return, that you were sobbing for him, that you would've said anything, would've begged for anything, would've given him anything if it meant he'd just let you have it.

Suddenly, you heard it, with you getting immediately pulled away from this high—you heard it somewhere past the trees, beyond the branches, dead leaves, and the suffocating feeling from the heat of Rick's mouth on you.

Something cracked, something moved; you were sure of it, and it was enough to make your fingers twist in his hair for an entirely different reason as your head snapped up.

But Rick—he didn't even care.

He didn't lift his head at all, didn't stop dragging his tongue over the inside of your thigh, slow and lazy like he hadn't just had you on the edge of a breakdown, with your body being a trembling mess that was spread out on the forest floor as if he had all the time in the world, even when you knew he didn't.

Every second wasted was another chance at something going wrong, at someone coming looking for you, or a walker creeping up from behind the trees.

"I heard something," you breathed out, trying to push up on your elbows and see past the branches and shadows, but Rick just tightened his grip, holding you down.

"We're gonna make it quick," he answered, making you feel every touch of his lips, his tongue, and his teeth as he moved over you, kissing and biting, inching further up with every passing second, making it clear that whatever you thought you heard, whatever danger might be hiding behind the trees, it wasn't about to stop him.

Maybe you should have pushed him off; maybe you should have listened to that uneasy feeling in the back of your mind, but instead, you just lay there—knowing that he was the one in control.

And maybe that was why you couldn't stop yourself—maybe that was why, instead of just letting it happen, instead of drowning back into the way his mouth was moving higher, already crawling back up to lick over your stomach, you had to ruin it.

"I—" You started, voice still breathless and uneven, "Shane told me something interesting..."

You felt Rick stop in an instant.

It wasn't obvious—not at first, not enough that anyone else would have noticed, but you did.

The way his breath hitched, just a bit. The way his lips paused against your ribs, staying there for a second too long like he was bracing himself for whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

"Lori's pregnant, isn't she?" You continued, keeping your voice casual, almost amused, because now you wanted to see what he would do, wanted to see how he would react.

Rick? He didn't say anything. He didn't immediately try to deny it, didn't try to tell you Shane was lying, and didn't even try to tell you it wasn't any of your business.

His hands only slid higher, up your body, pulling you with him and forcing you closer, forcing you to look at him and to feel him, and to watch as his fingers reached for his belt, undoing it to open his pants, like he was daring you to keep talking. He was giving you one more chance to shut up before he made you regret every word that had just come out of your mouth.

"Bet you don't even know if it's yours, do you?" You continued harshly, your voice quieter now, softer, while something angry but also sad could be heard beneath those words, something that dug in, because you wanted him to know that he wasn't the only one who could take control.

That he wasn't the only one who could get inside someone else's head the way he had tried to get inside yours.

But Rick just laughed, shaking his head. And it wasn't the kind of laughter that was meant to be heard as he leaned in.

"It ain't."

And then—then his mouth was on you again.

His lips were trying to take back the control you had just stolen from him, trying to reclaim the power as he kissed his way back up your body, dragging his tongue over your throat, each sloppy kiss feeling possessive, almost angry, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to devour you or destroy you.

And God, you wanted to let him as soon as he was biting and kissing your lips, groaning into your mouth.

But when he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, you tensed up, your fingers digging into his shoulders, that panic rising up in your body, because you could hear the noises deep inside the surrounding woods still around you. The branches creaking, the wind rustling through the trees, the distant sound of something still moving out there.

And it didn't matter if it was a walker or just the wind; the fear of it made its way into your head all over; it still made you want to push him back, because as much as you wanted this, you also didn't want to die with his cock inside you.

"But—" Your voice barely made it past your lips, too scared, too quiet, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head as you tried to get your thoughts together, but it was useless when he was this close. "Rick, we—"

"I got you," he reassured you, cutting you off before you could even finish the sentence, his voice quieter now, like the anger had burned itself out the second he felt you hesitate. His forehead dropped against yours, his fingers trailing down the side of your neck, his touch so tender it almost made you moan. "I got you, alright? Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you."

You sucked in a quick breath, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you still didn't move, not when the fear was still in your head.

"What if—"

"They ain't out there," he said, cutting you off again. "Ain't nothin' out there, sweetheart. Only you and me right now. Just look at me. Don't think about nothin' else, just me."

His cock was pushing against your pussy now, slick with how wet you already were, the head nudging against your clit ever so often.

"You're still thinkin' about what's out there, aren't you?" He mumbled. "Ain't nothin' gonna touch you. But I will."

Without waiting, he pushed in just an inch, enough to make you gasp, but pulled back just as quick.

"You feel that?" Rick growled, his forehead still against yours. "That's all you need to worry ‘bout right now. How good I'm about to make you feel. Nothin' else. Just this."

You looked at him, at those deep blue eyes watching you, at the way his face was slightly red, and his brows narrowed like he was barely holding himself together.

When his hands grabbed your thighs to lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist, the head of his cock still rubbing right against your clit, you let out this quiet, desperate little sound that had him moan, his hands tightening on you like he wanted to crawl inside you and never leave.

"Yeah… that's it," he groaned, his lips just above yours. "You with me?"

You nodded, feeling a little too dizzy to even form words, and that was all he needed—one second, you were barely holding onto him, and the next, he was pushing his cock inside you, stretching you open and making you gasp, your body trembling from how overwhelming he felt.

"There you go," Rick whispered, kissing your temple ever so softly, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed in deeper, filling you up completely, his voice slightly strained, like he was trying to take his time even though you could feel the way he was trembling as well, the way he was struggling not to just slam into you. "That's a good girl. Feels good, don't it?"

Simply nodding once more against his shoulder while your body adjusted to him, the feeling of his cock inside you was starting to push away the fear. And when you finally bucked your hips up to meet his, Rick let out this deep, wrecked moan, his fingers tightening on you as he finally started to move, slow but deep, making sure you felt every inch of him.

It was different this time. Not like the night before.

There was no rush in it now, no guilt. Just heat, just need, just the way his hands trembled against your skin, the way he kissed you between gasps, between praises, whispering, "You're doing so goddamn good, you know that? Doing so fuckin' good for me."

Rick knew you wanted this. He could feel how much you wanted it with the way you held on to him, the way you were already so wet for him, pulling him in, keeping him there, but he wasn't about to let you get lost in it—not when he had you like this, not when he had you wrapped around him, gasping against his skin, melting into him in a way that made something inside him go weak and desperate at once.

So he didn't do much at first; he just let one of his hands slide up until he was cradling the back of your head, his fingers moving into your hair as he pulled you in close, pressing your face against his shoulder, against the sweaty fabric of his shirt, letting you feel the warmth of him as he quietly moaned into your ear.

"There you go," he whispered, his voice sending a shiver straight through you. "Just hold onto me, alright? Keep quiet, sweetheart. That's it."

And when you let out this soft, muffled sound against his neck, something halfway between a sob and a shaky whine, with your arms tightening around him like you were trying to press yourself closer to him, Rick felt it—the way your body started to relax, the way that fear started to melt away, piece by piece.

That did something to him.

The way you trusted him enough to let go and let him keep you quiet, the way you let him keep you safe while he was buried so deep inside you it barely even felt like you were two separate people anymore—and he wasn't sure if he could handle that.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned against your hair, his fingers tightening on the back of your head. "You feel so goddamn good…"

You made another soft, helpless sound, barely more than a whimper against his skin. Rick's other hand was holding one of your legs as he pushed his hips back, pulling every inch of himself out until only the head of his cock remained inside of your pussy before pushing forward again, deeper this time, making sure you had no choice but to feel how hard he was throbbing for you.

"Taking me so damn well," he praised, his voice rough but gentle as if he couldn't believe how perfect you felt around him. "So fuckin' desperate for me…"

And that—God, that made you shake against him. It made you gasp all quietly against his shoulder like you were trying so hard to keep from making too much noise. But Rick wanted to hear you, wanted to get those sweet sounds of lust out of you, wanted to get you so lost in it that you forgot about everything else—forgot about the walkers, forgot about the group, forgot about the way he'd been avoiding you the whole day until now.

So he kept his movements deep, grinding into you in these long, slow strokes, making sure you felt every bit of his cock, making sure you had no room to think about anything else except how good he was making you feel.

"Just like that," he whispered into your ear, his voice all low and tender. "You love that, don't you? Tryin' so hard to keep quiet…"

It was almost too much for Rick as well. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back, wasn't sure how much longer he could keep from completely losing himself in you.

"Look at you," he breathed out against your skin, his fingers tightening on your thigh, his grip almost bruising now as he fucked into you. "My good girl, aren't you?"

Shit…

The way you clenched around him at those words—it almost made him lose it right then and there.

"Yeah, that got you, huh?" He smirked, putting his lips to your cheek, his fingers still holding the back of your head. "You like bein' my good girl?"

Rick's hand went to your neck as his hips pressed against yours, keeping you full and stretched around his cock. When you tried to turn your head, he didn't let you. He kept your face right there, inches from his, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't go hidin' from me now," he laughed quietly, his breath heavy against your lips. "You cryin', aren't you?"

You shook your head, but it was useless. He could feel and see it—your body trembling, breath uneven, and your eyes wet with the tears that threatened to roll down your face.

"Lyin' to me, too?" Rick smiled, tilting his head as his cock pulsed deep inside you, drawing out a wrecked little sob from you. "Tell me why, then. Why're you all teary-eyed, huh?"

"Rick, I—" Your voice trembled, but he wasn't letting you get away with it.

"Come on, sweetheart," he pushed, grinding into you again, making you moan, and your pussy tighten around him, pulling a deep groan from his throat. "Tell me. Ain't gonna stop ‘til you do. Admit that you're cryin' for me."

You swallowed hard, your whole body burning from how deep his cock was hitting, from the way his words went straight inside your head. You were trying to fight it, but you couldn't. You felt yourself breaking, felt your heart racing, and Rick could feel it, too.

He was waiting for it.

"Be my good girl," he whispered. "Admit that you're cryin' for me ‘cause I'm makin' you feel that damn good." He brushed his lips over your cheek, over the tear that had finally fallen. "Bet you love it, don't you? Bet you love bein' my sweet little girl."

You sobbed again, nodding fast as he pushed deeper, harder, to drink in the way you were crumbling beneath him.

"C'mon," he urged, licking the tear from your cheek and pressing wet kisses down your jaw. "Gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you just how you need it. Just admit it."

You sobbed again, barely able to hold back the sound, and Rick smirked in return.

"Bet you'd let me fuck you like this every goddamn night—keep you bouncing on my cock ‘til you can't think straight, ‘til all you can do is beg for more."

You were sobbing harder now, your pussy squeezing around his cock so tight that Rick groanedas he picked up the pace just a little. And he saw it before he even heard it—the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes squeezed shut as another tear rolled down your cheek.

"Shit," he smirked, his voice all rough and uneven now. "Bet you love cryin' for me. Why don't you just tell me, huh?"

You shook your head again, your whole body trembling against him, but your eyes were all wet and shiny. "N-no," you whimpered in response, trying to calm yourself down. "I—"

You sucked in a shaky breath as Rick suddenly pushed hard and fast into you, making you let out another little sob, "You just—Rick, you talk to me like that, and I can't—"

"You can't… what? Tell me, why do I see tears on your pretty little face?" He let his thumb swipe over the wetness under one of your eyes, his gaze locked onto yours as he forced you to acknowledge it. "Ain't nothin' wrong, is there?"

"No," you whimpered, gasping as his cock twitched inside you, every thick inch pressing against that spot that had you clenching around him.

"So, what is it?" He demanded again, rocking his hips just once to tease you, barely pulling out before sinking back in deep, watching your mouth fall open at the feeling. "Tell me. Now."

You swallowed hard, your fingers digging into his biceps now, your whole body burning. "I—I can't help it, you just—" You let out another shaky breath, trying to look away, but he wasn't having it.

Rick grabbed your chin once more, forcing your gaze back to his. "Nah, sweetheart. You don't get to hide from me." He leaned in, his lips licking over yours, taunting you, but still holding back. "You're cryin' ‘cause it feels that fuckin' good, huh?"

You let out a helpless little noise, and your eyes squeezed shut, but Rick wasn't letting you escape it. His grip stayed, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

"I wanna hear you say it," he continued. "Tell me how good I make you feel."

Your breath hitched, another tear slipping from your eyes. "S-so good, Rick," you whispered with a needy voice. "You make me feel s-so good, I—fuck, I just—"

Rick let out a deep, satisfied groan, kissing the tear off your skin. "That's my good girl… So fuckin' pretty when you cry so lovely for me."

Then, without warning, he started slamming deeper into you, harder, dragging more choked sobs from your lips.

"S-shit—!"

Rick groaned against your skin, his hands soon gripping both your thighs as he started to move faster. "That's what I want," he commanded. "Wanna hear you cry for me."

And you did.

Because the way he started to fuck you now—faster, rougher, keeping you full with every stroke—made your head spin and your back arch up against him. It made you whimper and cry every time his cock pushed against the spot inside you that had your whole body on edge.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispered. "So fuckin' good for me—feel how tight you're squeezin' me?"

You let out a breathless little cry, not able to answer.

"Goddamn," Rick groaned, his thrusts picking up, still deep but quicker now, his control slipping with every sound you made. "You cryin' on my cock… Fuckin' love it—"

He was losing himself in you, but still, he wasn't done with you yet. Not until he had made you come for him.

He put a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it softly and just right. "I wanna feel it," he whispered, his voice strained. "Wanna feel you come around me."

You moaned for him, your body tensing as you got closer and closer.

Rick was barely even thinking now, not even trying to hold back, and when you gasped, when your whole body shook against him that he could barely move, Rick realized—too late—that he wasn't gonna be able to stop himself. But he wanted to see it—wanted to watch you come before he lost himself, before he let go.

"You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock? C'mon, come for me," he growled, his fingers pressing down harder and his hips grinding against yours with each deep, punishing thrust. "Give it to me, sweetheart. Let me feel it."

You let him.

Your whole body went stiff, your pussy squeezing around him so hard that Rick let out a ragged, choked moan, with his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, refusing to stop, making sure you felt every second of it.

"Good girl," he choked out, still grinding into you, watching your face as you came apart beneath him. "You feel so fuckin' good…"

He should've pulled out. He knew he should've. But shit—watching you like this, feeling you like this, the way you were still trembling around him, still sobbing for him?

"Fuck—"

His movements turned uneven, his cock pulsing inside you as his hips jerked forward, his head dropping to your shoulder as he lost control, burying himself in your pussy over and over.

Then he lost it.

His control broke all at once. His thrusts turned erratic and rough, his cock slamming into you deeper, and he cursed, a strangled, desperate sound leaving his lips as he bit down on your neck and held you close.

"Fuck—I—" His whole body tensed up, and then he came—barely pulling out in time before he came against your thigh, his cum way too close to where it shouldn't be.

"Shit, shit, shit," he grumbled, his voice panicked, his hands now gripping at your hip, and his mind spinning.

"Rick," you breathed, your voice still shaky, still wrecked, still catching on the end of your orgasm. "Tell me—tell me you didn't—"

"I pulled out!" He cut in fast, too fast, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you, like saying it out loud would somehow make it true. "I pulled out, alright? Just—"

He immediately ran a hand down his face, his breath coming too fast, but he couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop replaying this moment in his head, couldn't stop panicking, because it was too close, too risky, too stupid. "Jesus Christ..."

You were staring at him now, your chest still rising and falling all uneven, your pupils still wide, your body still trembling, but there was fear to be seen in your expression now, real fear, and that? That made Rick want to vomit on the spot when he felt his stomach drop.

"We're okay," he quickly said, but even as the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure he believed them, wasn't sure if he was saying them for your sake or his, because he didn't know; he really didn't know.

"We… we don't know that."

Your voice was still strained, but it didn't matter because the second those words left your mouth, they hit Rick like a bullet to the head, tearing straight through him, because you were right, and that was the problem, wasn't it? That was what made him almost puke, what was making his pulse race too fast, and what made him feel like he couldn't breathe—because you didn't know, because he didn't know, because neither of you could be here and pretend the risk wasn't there.

His jaw was clenched tight, his breath still uneven as he sat back on his heels, one hand caressing your thigh while the other went to grip his leg, but he didn't even realize he was shaking until he saw his own fingers tremble against your skin instead of his.

Rick's eyes looked down between your legs, down to where he could still see his cum smeared all over your thigh, way too close, and his stomach twisted itself into a knot so hard he thought he might actually be sick.

"Rick," you said again, more urgent this time, and when he moved his gaze back up to yours, he could see the panic, could see the way your chest was rising too fast, and the way your eyes were wide and glassy with actual tears. And that? That just made him feel worse.

"You should've pulled out sooner," you then said, and there it was, you sounding judgmental, and maybe you didn't mean for it to come out like that, maybe you weren't even thinking about how it sounded, but Rick was.

"Excuse me?"

"What… It simply means you should've pulled out sooner!" You stuttered, shoving at his chest, and even though you were still underneath him, still all shaky from what just happened, that panic was starting to turn into anger, and Rick could feel his own temper start to rise right alongside yours. "Jesus, Rick, do you not fucking get it? What if—"

"Oh, I get it," he cut in fast, not wanting you to panic even more.

"Do you?" You shot back, grabbing your dress and putting it back on as fast as you could. But your voice sounded like a betrayal, as if you couldn't believe him and thought he wasn't taking this seriously enough. And that? That just pissed him off more.

Rick let out a deep breath, dragging both hands through his hair, trying to think, trying to breathe, but it wasn't working, because his blood was running too hot, his mind was spinning too fast, and all he could think about was how stupid he'd been and how reckless.

"I can't be the next goddamn woman carrying a baby," you suddenly whispered, barely able to say it, barely able to breathe past it, because this? This was real, this was happening, and it was too much, way too much. "Not in this world… Not when your wife—"

Rick sucked in a slow, quick breath through his nose, his fingers twitching, and then, before you could say another thing, he let out this short laugh—humorless.

"Oh, here we go again," he cut you off, rubbing a hand down his face. "Lori. You really wanna talk about her right now? Is that what you're tryin' to do? Tryin' to remind me?"

"Rick, I—I'm not trying to—"

"Yes, you are. Always bringin' her up. Always throwin' her between us like she's what's stoppin' this!"

Your heart was racing. "Isn't she? She still… loves you."

"She fucked Shane." Rick let out another laugh—this one quieter, sadder, almost like he was laughing at himself. "But that's not what you're askin', is it?"

You blinked, your breath hitching. "Rick… she thought you were dead!"

"Stop it," he said it so plainly that your whole body went still. "I know why you bring her up. It's not about Lori; it's about you. About this."

You looked away fast, but he wasn't having it. He grabbed your chin, tilting your face back to his, forcing you to see him.

"Well? Am I wrong?"

"I don't know what you mean…" You answered quietly because you already knew, of course.

"Means you're the one that wanted this in the first place," he answered, but not in an angry way, just tired, sounding frustrated. "You knew the risk. You knew what could happen. Same as me."

Rick's eyes looked down to your mouth, then back up to your wet eyes, and his voice softened—just a little bit and just enough to make you want to cry some more.

"You think I don't know how risky this is?" He asked, shaking his head before he finally stood up, putting his softening cock back into his pants and fastening the belt. "You think I didn't lose sleep over it? Over you?" His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop, didn't let you answer him, until he said something he didn't mean to.

"But you're the one that came to me. You're the one that wanted me."

"Are you fucking serious?" You finally answered in shock, your voice sounding close to rage. "You really wanna put the blame on me?"

"Ain't that what happened?"

"Oh, fuck off, Rick," you snapped, standing up fast and shoving at his chest, hard enough that he actually stumbled back a little. "You wanted this just as much as I did; don't act like you didn't—don't act like this was all me!"

His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything, and that just pissed you off more.

"Maybe," you let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe I was stupid to think this actually could mean something to you."

Rick looked back over to you, but you didn't let him talk.

"Guess I was just some—what... a distraction? Something to make you forget about your wife fucking Shane behind your back?"

Rick stiffened.

That hit.

Your lips were trembling now, and you hated the way your throat tightened when you swallowed. "You can't even say it, can you?"

Rick opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first, like he was struggling to find the right words—any words.

"Lori's got nothin' to do with this," he finally answered.

"Bullshit," you shot back instantly.

"No, no, it ain't about her," he continued, shaking his head. "Not with… not with you."

You looked up at the sky, trying not to burst into tears, and you weren't sure if you wanted to scream at him or kiss him.

Rick stood up straighter, his hand reaching out like he wanted to touch you, to hold you, but then he hesitated—like he wasn't sure if he even should.

"This wasn't just about the sex, not with you."

You blinked fast, trying to keep from breaking, trying to fight whatever it was that was hurting you deep inside.

"Then why don't you say it?"

"Maybe ‘cause I don't know what the hell to do about it. About us… and then there's Shane. You know it, too."

"I'm—I'm scared," you whispered, barely even realizing you were saying it, not even meaning to.

With that, Rick sighed. Not in a bitter way, just deep. Slow. Like he was finally letting himself feel it.

"Yeah," he responded, his voice calmer now. "Me too."

Trying to keep the tears from running down your cheeks, Rick was leaning in again, finally reaching out and hugging you tightly. "We'll figure it out. Glenn got those pills for Lori. She threw ‘em up, but he knows where they came from."

Putting your arms around him, Rick tilted his head, leaning in close to your ear, forcing you to focus and to listen.

"We'll go get ‘em," he whispered quietly. "If we have to."

And then—then he kissed you.

Soft. Gentle. Like he couldn't help it. Like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind right now.

So instead of snapping at you again, instead of letting that panic out, instead of making this worse than it already was, he just let out another slow breath and reached for your face, his fingers brushing along your jaw, his thumb swiping over your cheek as he touched it, pressing his lips against yours and trying to calm you down, to push away the fear with something real.

Him.

For a moment, Rick wasn't thinking about Lori, about Shane, about the farm, about anything except you.

Because you were here, in front of him. And it hit him then, so suddenly and so violently it nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs. How much he wanted you. Not just like this, not just for fun, not just to shut you up—just you.

His grip on your jaw tightened, just enough to make sure you didn't pull away before he kissed you harder this time—his lips parting against yours, his body pressing into you like he needed to know this wasn't slipping through his fingers the way everything else was.

You gasped softly, but it was enough. Enough for him to push, to hold you close and slip his tongue past your lips, tasting you, drinking you in like a dying man.

God, he could get lost in this.

He could stay right here, could forget it all, could just be.

But then you pulled back, your lips swollen. "…Rick?" Your voice was questioning, like you felt it too, and you knew he wasn't trying to shut you up. You knew this wasn't just about calming you down. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think I—"

He almost said it. The words had been right there, on his tongue, ready to slip past his lips. But he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stop.

"…I think I just need you to breathe, sweetheart," he said instead, his mind still catching up to what had happened between you. His hand moved down, fingers sliding down your throat, feeling your pulse race beneath his fingertips. "With me… C'mon, breathe," he whispered against your lips, his voice still rough but quieter now, more controlled.

You exhaled slowly against his mouth, still trembling but starting to calm down, starting to relax, and Rick took that as a win, took that as enough, took that as proof that maybe, just maybe, you could get through this without being scared of what might happen.

"Just breathe. Don't ever run from me."

Don't run from him?

Wasn't Rick the one who started acting like this wasn't happening? Like this wasn't something deeper, something impossible to come back from?

But before you could talk about any of that—before you could say anything at all…

BANG. 

A sudden gunshot rang out like an explosion, destroying the moment and sending both of you into shock, and for a second, neither of you moved. You just froze, just listened, just waited.

BANG. 

Another shot, then another, closer together this time, and Rick's eyes widened, because that wasn't hunting and definitely wasn't practice.

"No…" He whispered, already trying to process what was happening, and you were right there with him, scrambling to even out the dress and get rid of the dirt that was still clinging to it.

"What was that? What is going on?" You hissed, your voice urgent, your eyes wide, and Rick was just about to answer.

BANG. 

Another shot, then another, and another, almost rapid-fire by now, and then, it clicked.

The barn.

Rick's head snapped toward the direction of the farm, his pulse quickening, because no, no, no, no, that wasn't what he thought it was, was it?

And then—shouting.

Muffled at first, distant but getting louder, and Rick barely had time to process it before he was grabbing you, gripping your wrist, and yanking you with him, running toward the noise.

BANG.

Another shot. And this time, Rick heard it—the inhuman groans.

Walkers.

"Shane…" He snarled, gripping you tighter, pulling you faster, his heart racing.

You and Rick had barely made it halfway back to the farm when Dale came rushing toward you from the woods as well, his face full of shock as he stumbled to a stop in front of you, eyes looking between you and Rick like he was trying to figure out whether or not you already knew.

"Rick," Dale panted. "It's the barn—Shane—he just—"

"We know, Dale, we know," Rick cut in fast, all business now, all instinct, his panic shoved down from what you and he had just talked about. "We heard it."

Dale shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides like he didn't even know what to do with them. "He let them out," he gasped. "The walkers—Hershel's people—and Shane—he lost it, he—"

Rick didn't wait for him to finish.

He just grabbed your wrist again and started hurrying up, pulling you with him once more and dragging you both toward whatever hell was waiting ahead, with Dale following before the three of you rushed across the field until the farm came fully into view.

And that was when you saw it.

The barn doors were wide open, and from the inside, they were still stumbling out, groaning and moving their rotting bodies into the sun.

The rest of the group was already there, scattered in front of the barn in a half-circle, weapons raised, some already firing, some still frozen in the background, some still trying to process what was even happening. Further back, you saw Hershel, you saw Maggie, and you saw Beth, Jimmy, and Patricia. You saw the horror on their faces as everything they had been trying to ignore, trying to deny, and trying to pretend wasn't real came crawling out into the daylight, proving them all wrong.

But you barely had time for any of it before another shot rang out—Shane leading the charge, his face full of fury and anger, like he had been waiting for this, his own kind of justice.

One by one, the walkers dropped dead to the ground, with the sound of soulless bodies hitting the dirt, and slowly, the chaos started to turn into something closer to an ending.

But then, the last walker stepped out of the barn. And the world stopped.

She was small. So very young.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

She wasn't supposed to be like this.

Sophia…

"Sophia? Sophia… Oh, no... Sophia… Sophia... No—"

Carol's cry broke the silence, and before you could even process what you were seeing, she was running forward, calling her daughter's name and reaching for her, her voice cracking. But Daryl was on her in seconds, holding her back, saying, "Don't watch."

And Rick?

Rick was still standing next to you, trying to hold onto that same control he always had, but you saw it. You saw the way his fingers flexed around his revolver and saw the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Then, he moved.

One step forward. Then another.

Gun raised.

No hesitation. No turning back.

And when the shot rang out, loud and final through the fields, Sophia fell to the ground, dead. And in that moment, Carol's heart died right along with her.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Even Shane, who had been so full of rage just seconds ago, was frozen now, staring, his weapon still in his hands.

Not until Carl sniffled in the background, while Lori was pulling him into her arms, shielding his face and telling him not to look.

Rick still stood there, staring down at Sophia's small, lifeless body, his gun still raised but lowering it slowly, his whole body still rigid as if he was waiting for something, like he was trying to process what he had just done, and for the first time since you met him, he looked… lost.

You reached for him before you even realized what you were doing, your fingers grabbing his wrist, and at first, he didn't react, didn't acknowledge it, didn't even seem to feel it—but then, slowly, painfully, he let out a deep breath, and without looking at you, without saying a word, he let you take the weapon from his hands.

As the group stood there and the reality of what had just happened sank in, with the sun burning too bright overhead and shining down at the blood that soaked into the dirt, Rick finally turned around. He looked at you, letting you see the exhaustion in his face, the grief.

Since the second he had lowered the gun, the second it really hit—that this wasn't just a walker, not just another nameless, faceless corpse, and not just another body to bury—this was Carol's daughter, her little girl, the one you all had spent days searching for, the one you had hoped for, the one you had all convinced yourselves was still alive out there—his whole body sagged.

It was over. The search for Carol's daughter. Along with the hope to still find Sophia alive.

Just like that.

Andrea, who had been so eager to prove herself, who had been one of the first to draw her gun when Shane snapped, had been ready to take the shot at every single walker that stumbled out of that barn—but not this one.

Hershel, who had seen this moment coming the second Shane put foot on his land and who had been kneeling there in shock, has watched his wife, neighbors, and loved ones get gunned down one by one, but he hadn't looked truly defeated until now.

You braced yourself, your heart still racing too fast, because you thought now that it was over and took his revolver, Rick might look at you, or he'd search for your eyes, that he'd need something from you—your presence, maybe even your touch, something to help him, something to keep him from drowning in whatever this had just done to him.

But he didn't.

He didn't look at you at all.

He looked past you.

Straight to Lori. Straight to Carl.

Straight to the family that was still his, that would always be his, no matter what, and no matter where.

Even after the way his hands had been on you just minutes ago, gripping, shaking, needing, even after the way his mouth had been on you, his tongue, his…

You clenched your jaw.

This?

This was a reminder.

Of who he was. Of what you were.

And Shane? Shane saw it. He saw you standing there all stiff, and when you tore your gaze away from Rick, only then did you feel Shane's eyes on you—there he was.

Watching. Knowing.

Because of course, he knew.

And he was smirking. That tiny, knowing smirk that was barely even obvious, that barely looked like amusement, and that barely counted as anything other than a warning.

Because he knew exactly where you had been before this. He knew exactly why Rick had been late and why he hadn't come back with Hershel and Jimmy. He knew exactly what Rick had been doing when he should've been here. And he knew exactly why he was coming back with you by his side.

Now you knew that he wasn't ever gonna let that go. He tilted his head just slightly, just enough for you to notice. Just enough to say—told you so.

And you?

You realized that you had given yourself to Rick Grimes like a sin, and now you stood here, understanding the truth—you weren't his salvation.

You were just another taste of his damnation.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: So, funny (or not-so-funny) story—Tumblr shadowbanned this post for a few days, and I have no idea if anyone actually saw it before it came back. So, if you're seeing this new repost of it now, where did it show up for you? Dash? Blog? Tags? A smoke signal in the sky? I'd appreciate any comment! Because I was literally fighting for my life trying to get this post visible, and now I'm lowkey paranoid.

[xoxo-sarah]

Bone Gnawing Guilt

↝a/n: first post of 2025 and we're starting this year off with angst I guess.

↝pairing: season 7!Daryl Dixon x reader

↝warning: ANGST, Negan, the line up, season 7 episode 1 (I think), possible spoilers if you have watched season 7 yet, death (Abraham and Glenn), guilt, gore, crying, the usual twd stuff, not proofread, self hatred?, mention of Daryl's childhood

↝⎙ 1.2.25

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Daryl could only watch.

There wasn't anything else he could do. He couldn't get himself to stand, to walk over to you. He watched as you crumbled, all of your emotions laid out for everyone to see. Face scrunched up, lip quivering, face getting more red by the second, as sobs rattled your body. Blood coated your right cheek; blood that wasn't yours. But, that of a friend you held so close to your heart.

Your own sobs layered with Maggie's, making everyone's heart clench with a devastating feeling.

Daryl had felt guilt before. It was beat into him at a very young age. Everything was always his fault. With his father being an alcoholic, there was always something that was wrong, that the abusive man could take out on Daryl, who was only a kid. After Daryl's mother died, that was a reoccurring instance that was brought up, followed by getting yelled at and kicked around.

Maybe the guilt started there. Either way, it sprouted in his developing brain and grew until it took over his body, the roots trapping him in his body that he hated so much.

Daryl fought against the men trying to drag him to a truck. No amount of fighting -to get to you- helped. He was shoved into the truck, still being able to hear the sobs. He threw his head back, time after time. Maybe if he hit hard enough, he wouldn't be able to hear your heartbreak anymore.

-

The roar of the Savior's trucks echoed as they got further away.

No one moved. They couldn't. Their bones felt like jelly, their hearts thumping in their ears. Maggie stood on wobbly legs.

The rest was a blur in your peripheral vision. Your eyes were planted on the dirt below, crimson weaving in between the mix of dirt and rocks.

Rocks dug into your legs, leaving an imprint

It didn't matter.

Everything was numb, you felt numb. Even after the bodies were picked up or dragged, you stayed, kneeled beside the puddle.

Rick stood beside the truck, watching as your body involuntarily swayed.

A walker stumbled out of the woods, snarling.

You didn't seem to notice.

Rick started toward you, grabbing you by the forearm. He didn't have the energy to kill the walker, or have to carry another dead body to bury.

Your body was dead weight under his hip You didn't notice the walker stumbling toward you. Tears lefts tracks down your face, mixing with the blood and dirt seeping into your pores.

You only looked up when Rick tugged one final time, dragging you to your feet. The look in your eyes was almost as awful as the sight had been with Negan just a little while ago.

Words lefts your mouth in a hopeless whisper, stating what Rick already knew. His eyes softened as your voice broke in the middle of your sentence.

“They took him.”

-

The sound of the wooden bat against skull was heard all round the group. The lineup watched in horror, even Negan's men were in shock. This whole thing was gross. Blood splattered with every harsh movement. Abraham laid lifeless. Muscles and nerves twitched.

It was too much.

Daryl stood before he knew what he was doing.

The moment played

over and over in Daryl's head as he sat on the cold floor, pushing himself into the corner of the small, dark room. The gruesome pictures were a reminder of what he had done. What finally broke you. You lost yourself when Glenn, a friend you had made in the beginning, died right beside you. It could have easily been you. God knows the 'what if's swam around your head after the tears had stopped. It wasn't fair.

You weren't with the group when they had hijacked the satellite outpost. You didn't have any part of it, yet you had the blood on your cheek, the trauma of seeing what happened with your own eyes.

If he hadn't stood up and punched Negan, Glenn would still be alive. He would be there for his and Maggie's baby. He would be there to tease you, like he had done since the quarry. The two of you acted like siblings. Now, he was dead. The reason Daryl had first noticed you, as you laughed and pushed Glenn away as he picked at you, was gone. Your laugh caught Daryl's attention, the laugh that Glenn caused. You wouldn't ever laugh like that again, not in this world.

The evidence was strewn across the concrete in front of him. The Polaroids of Glenn's remains were a cruel reminder.

You probably hated him. You probably blamed him. Daryl wouldn't be mad if you did.

You most likely hated him. It would be easier if you did.

If Daryl were to see you after all of this, if he were to escape, he was unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. It would be easier to live with the hate than with the guilt.

He would feel the guilt until the snake that was death struck its fangs into his heart, the venom seeping throughout his veins, throughout his body until it paralyzes him, causing his body to give up in the long run. The guilt would run through his veins as long as his blood stayed warm.

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[bloodlinesgirly]

Fearing the fall~ Daryl Dixon

warning: angst(first time writing it) blood, violence

word count: 1452

set in alexandria(no mention of when)

x reader (long hair mentioned but that’s it)

requested (i hope this is what you were imagining!)

not proofread

There are very few people who can ever say they had a connection with daryl dixon. He’d be the last to admit it but you were one of them. But with you it’s different, it’s not like it is with rick or maggie, or even carol. it’s different. you're different.

The first time he felt it was when you sat in his lap, bandaging the wounds on his face.

“i already told ya m’fine” he growled, trying to slap your hands away from his face but you persisted. dipping a washcloth in warm water, dabbing the blood away from his cuts.

“you’re not fine, Daryl, you’re bleeding.” you apply the last bandage, giving him a pat on the back, a signal telling him you were finished. he huffed at you like usual.

the second time he felt it was scavenging through a grocery store on a run, he knew you were strong, you could do it alone, but he couldn’t let you. he needed the peace of mind knowing he was there in case you couldn’t handle things. you’ve always handled things. you’ve been through 10x more than any human ever should. you weren’t weak and you definitely didn’t need him glued to your side in an already cleared grocery store. he knew that. so why did he feel otherwise?

the third time he felt it was the strongest. blood gushed from your thigh, impaled with the knife of a man you were trying to help. you sobbed and screamed for help. but you kept fighting. you were losing blood, you could feel yourself going in and out of consciousness. but you kept moving, taking down the man who managed to deceive you. daryl was a few feet into the woods pulling arrows out of some animal when he heard you scream. his heart raced as he dropped everything and ran, screaming your name trying to find you. he was being reckless, what if there were walkers nearby? what if he tripped and hurt himself? but he didn’t care. the only thought in his mind was getting to you. he saw red when he finally found you, sat against a tree unconscious, the man dead at your side. he laid you down, putting your head in his lap, doing everything in his power to wake you up.

“cmon’ please…you’re okay…you have to be okay” tears fell down his cheeks and dripped onto your forehead. He felt you stir, coming back to consciousness once again. daryl had never felt more relief than he did in that moment. he got you home, the doctors in alexandria were able to stitch up your leg. you were okay. why wasn’t he there to protect you? why didn’t he work faster, pay more attention? He blamed himself for everything that happened that day. he was cursed. everyone hes ever cared about has gotten hurt or worse.

So he stopped letting you in. no longer was daryl dixon the man you laughed with, cried to, or went to for help. he promised himself he’d always do anything to protect you but he will never let you in, infect you the way he has so many others.

The day was warm, sweat dripped down your neck as you pulled your hair up tight in a ponytail. you saw daryl perched on the porch of carols home. His biceps speckled with dirt and maybe some freckles from the sun. he shook the hair from his face before lighting his cigarette and taking a drag from it. you bounced your way over to him, shooting him a smile like you always did. he didn’t smile back, he didn’t even look your way. maybe he didn’t notice you, you thought. “hey! daryl, do you mind helping me with some of this gardening stuff? it’s hot and a lot of this stuff needs out of the ground and-“ you started to ramble on like normal. the way you always were able to when it came to him.

“nah” he grumbled

“i was thinking maybe you could-huh” your voice dropped, he’d never flat out denied you like that before.

“busy.” he spoke flatly.

“oh…okay” you frowned, confused and almost hurt. you returned back to your work anyways.

a week later.

It was killing him and he didn’t know why. you’d come up to him trying to speak to him like usual and every time, you were met with a dry response or nothing at all. everytime he watched your excited expression drop, everytime he watched you hold back tears, it broke him. it had never been hard for him to take a step back before, ignoring people and staying to himself has always been his thing. until you. he craved your presence like no other. he wanted to hear your laugh, see your face focus as you patched him up, the way your eyebrows crinkle when he annoyed you, your animated expressions as you retell your day, but most importantly he missed the way you’d hug him after every conversation, no matter how much he complained. he was hurting himself so he wouldn’t hurt you.

but he was hurting you, he was making you question where you went wrong constantly. and what hurt more was that you could never think of an answer. so you found yourself in bed with tear stained cheeks yet again. you loved him more than anyone, even if he would never be ready to love you back.

Over the next week and a half you’d gotten maybe 4 words out of daryl. you kept pushing, working conversation after conversation out of him until eventually it was just too much.

“daryl please can you just talk to me…that’s all i’m asking.” it was dark and the sounds of raindrops hitting heavy on porch roof was almost enough to drown out your voice. you were begging him to speak and he couldn’t, no matter how bad he wanted to give in he couldn’t let himself. the second he lets you back in he’s trapped you, you’ll get hurt and it’ll all be his fault. he couldn’t deal with the pain of losing you, having you from a distance was enough if it meant having you at all.

“please..” your voice cuts through his thoughts, he looks at your face finally. you’re crying, his heart sank, he didn’t want to make you cry, he was supposed to protect you.

“no…no please don’t cry..” he whispers just loud enough to be heard.

“what did i do wrong daryl…please…please just tell me and i’ll fix it. i’ll fix everything i promise” your cries get louder, your sobs break up your sentences. he jumps up to wrap his arms around you.

“you didn’t do anythin’…i thought i was protecting you.” he spoke into your hair, every sob pulled from your throat tore him apart a little more.

“what? protect me? you’re not protecting me daryl. you’re hurting me.” hearing those words come from your mouth is what he needed. it’s what he needed to realize exactly why he felt the way he felt. he promised he’d never hurt you and now look what’s happened. he’s done exactly that. why did he do all this? because he loved you. you’re the only person who’s ever shown him what love is, and how good it can be.

“i was scared…m’sorry…m’ sorry” he repeated softly.

“scared of what daryl?….me? i don’t get it.” you question, your voice is shaking as you look up at him. his expression is soft and almost sad looking.

“i…i feel for you…in ways i’ve never felt f’anyone” he responds, his voice is strained and gruff as he speaks.

you can hear your heart beating in your ears

“…what do you mean?”

daryl clears his throat before pulling you back to his chest, he hesitates before speaking into your hair.

“…i love you..”

he hears you sob again, picking your head up you wipe tears from your eyes.

“i love you too daryl, more than you realize. i always have and i always will, no matter what.” you hug him tightly and finally he hugs you back, his arms tight around your waist. you look up at him, smiling softly before reaching up to cup his face and pull him into a kiss. it’s sweet, exactly what you had imagined.

he’s always known you were different, it took him longer than most people would to accept it. he loved you and there was nothing he could do about it. he is yours just as you are his. his promise to protect you stays the same. the only difference is he’s no longer protecting you from himself.

i’d love to make a second part to this if interested!

[bloatedandalone04]

The Lucky Ones - Part 2

➪the one where you and rick reunite after the events at the prison.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of blood, swearing, mentions of digging around in the undead, guns, takes place in season 5

Word Count: 3k | Part 1

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Judith was crying again, and no matter what Tyreese did, she didn’t seem to want to stop. “C’mon, baby girl,” he huffed, bouncing her in his arms. 

You look over from your spot on a fallen tree, your fingers tangled in Lizzie’s messy hair. It was clear that Tyreese was having a hard time calming the baby down, and while it was a bit amusing, being quiet right now was a priority. “Hey,” you call out to him. “Want me to take her?” 

“Please,”

You laugh quietly and get up, squeezing Lizzie’s shoulder before making your way over to Tyreese. “Come here, sweet girl,” you coo when you take Judith from him. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re alright.”

Tyreese huffed again as he moved to sit next to the small fire you had started, confused at how you managed to get Judith to stop crying within just a few seconds. “I don’t know how you do it,” he muttered, poking the fire with a stick. “You had kids before all this?” 

“No,” you answer, brushing Judith’s hair away from her forehead before taking the bottle from Mika. “I was a nurse. Spent a year looking after my mom before everything went to hell. She was like a kid in a way. I used to rely on her, then suddenly she relied on me. I had to feed her, bathe her, and dress her. Never thought that would’ve prepared me for something like this.”

Tyreese grunted, setting the stick aside and looking over at you. “You’re a natural,”

You smile at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You’d been one of the many people that have been taking care of Judith since she was born, but being one of the three to do it now was something else entirely. 

When the Governor tried taking control of the prison and caused what could only be described as a riot, you were left behind with Tyreese, Mika and Lizzie. The older sister actually ended up saving both you and Tyreese when you were backed into a corner, and when you tried to convince them to go find Rick, you were outvoted. You were outvoted by a couple of fucking kids. 

So you fled with them into the trees and had been walking through the forests ever since. You would give anything to be able to be with him right now, but instead you were left looking after his kid. You didn’t mind, but you just wished you knew whether he was okay and alive or not. 

Carol took your spot on the tree and began braiding Lizzie’s hair as you hummed softly to Judith. She was beginning to fall asleep in your arms, and soon enough, Carol, Lizzie and Mika were all sleeping while Tyreese took the first watch. “You want me to take her? So you can get some sleep?” 

“No, I got her,” you mumble and move to sit next to him. 

You sit in silence for a while, with Tyreese adding sticks to the fire every so often and you gently rocking Judith. Your mind drifted back to Rick and Carl and Maggie and Glenn. Were they okay? Were they alive?

The last thing you saw was Rick getting shot in the leg then everything went to shit. Guns went off and fires were started, and you lost sight of pretty much everyone besides Tyreese. You wanted to run out to Rick, to help him, but there were just too many people and too many walkers. You didn’t stand a chance. With everything in you, you were praying to anyone who might be listening that he is still alive, and that he’s looking for you.

Like how you’re looking for him. 

You stare at the fire as you trace random shapes onto Judith’s arm with your thumb, lost in your own head. “Everything happened so fast,” you murmur, catching Tyreese’s attention. “Just a few days ago we were all safe and together. Now we don’t even know if everyone’s still alive.”

“We just have to keep looking,” he said, and you knew he was trying to comfort you, but you felt hopeless right now. 

“I wanted to go back for him,” you confess. “When we were leaving. I was going to go back, but I couldn’t get to him. I couldn’t find him.”

Tyreese looked over at you in surprise. “None of us could get to him,” he assured you. “Rick is strong. He’s stronger than any of us. I know he made it out, him and Carl both.”

There was no way to be sure of that, but you appreciated his words nonetheless. “I remember when I first saw him at that store back in Atlanta. Glenn can tell you that I was in love with him the second I laid eyes on him. It felt like nothing else mattered, then he found his wife and son and I was sure nothing would happen between us.”

Tyreese let out a quiet laugh, leaning back on the log and taking off his hat. “Look at you now,” he teased. “That man is head over heels for you.”

That was true. 

Not long after you broke things off with Shane, Rick and Lori began having some issues. They split up long before she found out she was pregnant with Judith, and around her three month mark was when Rick finally allowed himself to begin something with you.

That something turned into an official relationship, and you’d been almost inseparable ever since. 

He told you to stay with Daryl and Carl when the Governor and his posse showed up, but then you got separated from both of them and wound up defending Tyreese in a different part of the prison yard. 

You smile at the memory of the first kiss you shared with Rick. Then your heart twisted a bit. You missed him so much. You missed everyone. 

“Feels like forever ago,” you whisper. “I hope they’re okay. I hope he’s okay.”

Tyreese gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You’ll find each other. Right now you just need to focus on looking after his little girl and worry about the rest later,”

You knew he was right, so you gave him a tight smile and nod. 

-

“What do you think Y/n is doing right now?” Carl asked as he sat on the couch next to Rick. He dug through the stale cereal bag and gathered some in his palm, tossing them into his mouth afterwards. 

“I don’t know,” Rick answered, leaning forward on his knees as he tried to think of where to go from here. The couch was pressed against the door, a safety measure he deemed necessary since the lock had been broken off it. 

His face was sore and still a bit bruised, and the days he’s spent on this couch felt like a bit of a waste when he could be out there looking for his group. Looking for you. 

“Do you think she’s by herself?” Carl continued to ask him questions about you that Rick had no idea the answers to. He was losing hope as the days went on, though a very small part of him believed that you were out there somewhere, and that maybe you or someone else had managed to grab Judith on the way out of the prison yard. 

“I don’t know,” he answered his son’s question with a stern voice, trying to tell him to be quiet without actually saying the words. 

“Do you think she made it out?”

“I don’t know, Carl,” Rick nearly yelled, causing Carl to jump slightly. Rick lowered his voice and looked back at the floor once he saw the way Carl reacted to his outburst. “I don’t know what she’s doing, I don’t know who she’s with and I don’t know if she made it out. Just stop asking me questions that I don’t know the answers to, please.” 

Honestly, Rick couldn’t stand the thought of you not having made it out of the prison. He left you with Daryl and Carl, and now he was with Carl with no sign of you or Daryl, and he felt lost. 

Carl had told him that he and Daryl got separated, and how he saw you with Tyreese last, but that was all the information he had. He didn’t know where you went after that, and he didn’t know if you had managed to get out of the area you had been backed into. 

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Carl mumbled, setting the bag aside and leaning back against the couch. “I’m sure we’ll see her again, we just need to start looking.” 

“Yeah,” Rick agreed, spinning his wedding band around on his finger. He had no idea why he is still wearing it, him and Lori are very much done and over with and had been for a long time now, so why was he still wearing his ring? 

He looked down at the gold band, then without a second thought, he slid it off his finger and put it in his pocket, and thankfully Carl didn’t notice him doing that. He was still mourning his mom, and still getting used to you and Rick, the last thing needed was to see his dad move on completely from her. 

“Yeah,” Rick said again. “We’ll start looking for her. We’ll start looking for all of them.” 

He couldn’t lose you. He already lost so many people, and he was still recovering from watching the nicest man he had ever met get almost decapitated. He couldn’t lose you too. 

-

When Carol gestured for you to dig around inside the walker she just put down, you didn’t hesitate like you normally would. You didn’t get grossed out or feel nauseous. How could you?

Rick might be alive. 

Michonne and Carl were definitely alive, since you heard the piece of shit Terminus guy say he was going to kill them.

They’re alive. 

You blended right in, and when Carol blew up one of the tanks littered around Terminus, you and her were able to slip in amongst the walkers. Gunfire was heard all around as the large number of walkers made their way through the poorly protected walls of Terminus, and when you found yourself in a storage room, a feeling of rage took over you. 

There were countless things in there; teddy bears, weapons, jewelry, clothes, blankets, and anything else you could imagine a defenseless person would have. Carol found Daryl’s crossbow among the weapons, and you found Rick’s watch among the jewelry. These people were sick, taking things from people who were just trying to survive with what they have. 

You were livid as you and Carol slashed and shot your way through the crowds of walkers and Terminus people, and before long you were granted the one thing you’d be wishing for ever since you and Tyreese made it out of the prison. 

Rick, Daryl, Bob and Glenn let Maggie, Michonne, Carl, Sasha and three other people you had never seen before out of a train cart, then they were fleeing to the forest. 

You were frozen in shock, tears gathered along your water lines before Carol was pulling you with her as she took off after them. You were so relieved to see that mostly everyone had made it out, and that Rick, though he was a bit bloody, is okay. 

You stumbled alongside Carol as she followed the group, and when they stopped a good distance away, you could hear Rick’s deep voice as he declared that they were going back to finish the job. 

Stopping behind some bushes, you watched the group argue for a bit before Carol stepped away from the greenery and revealed herself. Almost instantly she was wrapped up in Daryl’s arms, and you watched the reunion with burning eyes as you revealed yourself as well.

Rick opened his mouth to say something to Carol, then his gaze flickered over to you and any words he was going to say died on his tongue. Your eyes glazed over again and you froze in your spot, and the last thing you heard was the relieved sigh Daryl let out as he took both you and Carol in, then you were wrapped up in Rick’s arms. 

His grip on you was the tightest it’s ever been, and you couldn’t breathe in the best way. You squeeze your eyes shut as you cling onto any part of him you can, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that the group, as well as the three new people, were witnessing you sobbing against Rick’s chest. 

You spent days with Tyreese, Carol and the girls, and after what happened with Lizzie and Mika, you were beginning to lose the little amount of hope you had left. You were terrified that the people you called your family were dead or lost somewhere. 

But here they are. Beth was missing, and though you were scared to know what happened to her, you couldn’t deny just how happy and grateful you are that you were reunited with most of them. 

“Y/n,” Rick mumbled and you held onto him tighter. “I thought you were gone.”

It sounded like those words physically pained him to say, and you shake your head before burying your face against the side of his neck. “I’m here,” you cry, reaching up to grip his shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Rick pulled back and gently gripped your jaw, his eyes taking in your features as if he still couldn’t believe you were right there in front of him. “You got out,” he rasped, his thumb stroking your cheek with a barely-there pressure. 

You nod, tangling your hands in his damp hair. “With Tyreese, we found Carol a few days later,” you tell him then quickly add, “Well, she found us.”

Rick smiled at your words and it was the prettiest thing you’ve seen in weeks. “You got out,” he murmured, so quiet you barely heard it. 

You just nod again and push yourself upwards. Rick meets you halfway and kisses you multiple times, making you laugh against his mouth. “I got out,” you whisper and press a few kisses to his cheek and jaw, then you are wrapped up in his arms again.

Carl makes his way over to you just as Rick reluctantly lets you go and hugs Carol, and you smile down at your boyfriend’s son, who just wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you tight. “Hey, buddy,” you greet quietly, draping your arms over his shoulders as you glance back at Rick. 

“Hey,” Carl said back, looking up at you with relieved eyes and a look you’d never seen from him. “Missed you.”

Your lips part in a silent gasp, not used to hearing those kinds of words from him. You were sure he was still a bit upset that you were with his dad instead of his mom now, but were pleasantly proven wrong as he squeezed you one last time before stepping away. “I missed you,” you’re finally able to say as Rick comes back over and pulls you into his side. “And you.”

He grinned down at you and kissed the top of your head just as the red haired man speaks up, “You guys are the luckiest sons of bitches I’ve ever met,” 

You furrow your brows as Glenn laughs, wrapping his arm around Maggie’s waist. “We’re not lucky very often,”

“Yeah, well, both you and Rick here found your better halves,” the man said and adjusted the strap on his gun. “I’d say that’s pretty lucky. It’s a miracle we got out of that damn train, too.”

“That wasn’t luck,” Daryl grunted as he looked between you and Carol, and it was then when Rick clued in.

He tightened his hold on you as he asked, “That was you two, wasn’t it?”

You shrug while Carol lets out a rare, short lived laugh. “I couldn’t lose you again,” you mumble. “Not when I hadn’t even gotten you back yet.”

Rick falls silent at that, and he locks his jaw in the way that told you he’s holding back his emotions right now. He pulls you into his arms again and kisses the top of your head, muttering, “Thank you,” once he pulls away. 

“There’s something else,” Carol says, making everyone look over at her. “But I think we should show you rather than tell you.” 

And that was how you found yourself wrapped up in Glenn’s arms once Rick finally let you go after he saw that Judith was alive and being held by Tyreese. You return your best friend’s hug as you watch Rick cry quietly, taking Judith from the man who protected her with his life for as long as you’ve been separated. 

Maggie comes over to you and hugs you as well as Carl runs over to hug his sister, and the whole thing was like something straight out of a movie as you felt a warmth take over you.

You were back with your family. They were all alive. They were okay. 

The two men share a look as Rick realizes that he had Tyreese to thank for keeping Judith safe, then Sasha is hugging her brother with tears in her eyes. You pull away from Maggie as Rick hands Judith to Carl, then you are engulfed in his embrace. “Thank you,” his voice was raspy and his breathing was uneven, and you could tell he was on the verge of tears again as he held you tight. “I thought she was gone. I thought Judith was gone.”

You hugged him back, sniffling quietly. “We had to grab her quickly, we just took what we could before getting out of there,” 

Rick pulled away and kissed you, his hands reaching up to grip either side of your face. “I love you,” he mumbled, tangling his fingers in your hair as he kissed your forehead. “I love you so much. Thank you for keeping her safe, all of you.” He glances back at Carol and Tyreese, who just nod at him, then he is focused back on you. 

“I love you,” came your hushed reply, and you leaned in to rest your head against his shoulder, finally feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever.

[bethberry]

be cautious

carl grimesxfem!reader

theme - slight angst to fluff

warnings - mentions of blood, cursing

word count - 853

you only had intentions of providing at least a little for the group. after all it had been around 3 months since they took you under their arms and kept you safe. one experimental and solo run was all it took for you to come back limping through the gates of alexandria.

your hands held on tightly to your thigh while you dragged yourself to the entrance of your home. whoever was guarding, you couldnt tell at this point, let you inside and immediately called for help.

a little squeak left your throat when a couple people came beside you to help you towards denise's house. the overwhelming sense of so many hands holding you up only made it harder to focus on anything else but the pain in your leg.

runs were usually easy when there were more people with you for protection. you didnt even go that far out from alexandria, only a couple miles. but three walkers cornering you in an already small gas station caused you to get a pretty bad stab in your leg.

you finally gained your vision back from blood loss once you were placed on a bed. eyes now focused, you saw sasha, aaron, and denise before you. your head darted around the room a little now that you could process simple shapes.

"what h-happened?" your voice came out soft, almost out of breath when a feeling of pressure came to the bleeding wound in your leg. denise had applied a bit of force to stop the bleeding with some gauze.

"dont know. you just came through the gates all bloody." sasha said. her hand on your shoulder while her eyes peered down to see how denise was doing. aaron had left to let maggie know you were hurt but alive.

also to let carl know.

around 15 minutes passed and your leg was wrapped up now. you were fast asleep and didn't even remember what had happened until you were oh so kindly reminded in your dream. Your body sprung up a little causing you to wince gently as you laid back down. once you realized you actually were awake, you noticed a familiar hand resting on your arm.

"carl..." you said lowly under your breath as if you only spoke to yourself. he was resting a little before his head lifted up a bit. he rubbed his eye and fixed his hat gently. he was silent for a good moment before you broke the silence.

"carl...why do you have that look on your face?' you questioned carefully. you knew carl would never actually get bad at you to the point where it causes horrible conflict but you felt nervous for some reason.

"you didn't even let me know that you were going east." he said quietly, avoiding eye contact so that he would stay at least a little upset. he was always taunted by your already damp eyes.

"i'm sorry. i didn't think it would be such a small building..." your hand found its way to his and he pulled away gently with a little sigh.

"its not about that...what if someone needed to go looking for you?" his voice was a little louder now, his words leaving in short-breathed huffs.

"i thought id be safer and back quick carl i-"

"just let someone know before-hand!" he almost shouted but in a whispered tone. "be more cautious. god..." now he spoke under his breath, refusing to look at you after realizing that he had snapped a little. the silence and little squeaks coming from your throat filled the awkward silence. although he couldn't see your face, he knew he had made you cry and he still couldnt bring his eye back up to yours.

you took a shaky breath, wiping some of the tears from your eyes and fiddled with your bracelet. the one you and carl made together back at the prison.

"im sorry-" he could practically hear your tears choking you back from speaking properly. his head shook vigorsly for a second before he sat up a bit, finally looking at you and bringing his hand up to your face.

'shit, i-im sorry. damnit i'm sorry...i yelled." he wiped a few of the tears himself. his hand now rests with yours again, his thumb rubbing back and forth quickly in an attempt to comfort you.

"i didn't mean to yell you know I didn't..." he said in a soft tone while holding your face a little closer to the nape of his neck. you only cried a little bit afterward then lifted your head up, looking at him while he wiped two more tears from your face. you sniffled once and held his finger between yours.

"i'll tell you next time. where i'm going," you spoke gently. he nodded in response. his internal panic slowly faded away when he heard your voice becoming less shaky.

he wished he never got upset at you like that. deep down he always tried to remind himself that you make mistakes.

"i love you okay?" his forehead pressed against yours hesitantly.

"i love you too."

guys this is just a little one-shot to get me back into writing.... i think I'm gonna work on some arcane content too, along with peace chapter two!!!!

tags: @carlsangel @zomb-core

pls lmk if you want to be on my tag list!!

[zombiigrll]

FOREVER GRATEFUL FOR YOU. ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 3.7K (JESUS.) ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ angst + comfort (mostly angst), retelling of the walking dead 8x8 (so slight spoilers), use of y/n, reader death, blood, your regular zombie apocalypse warnings, cursing, kissing, mostly just sad stuff!! .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ i am SO SORRY for how INSANELY LONG this is. it took me like 3-4 hours to write oh my god. hope you guys enjoy anyhow though<3

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carl told you he was going on a run to find the man the two of you had spotted at the gas station. you begged to go, and eventually, he caved. the two of you had known each other since the start, being neighbors and all. you were in his house while you waited for lori to get ready to take the two of you to school, and thats when everything went down. with all of the things he saw you do, he knew you could take care of yourself.

...or he thought you could.

the two of you were lucky enough to find the man from the gas station and you found out his name was siddiq.

"i'm gonna ask you a few questions. i need you to answer honestly, okay?" carl told siddiq.

"..okay." siddiq nodded.

"how many walkers have you killed?" siddiq looks around, thinking. "i know it's hard to keep track-"

"237."

"really?" you raised an eyebrow, impressed, but skeptical.

"give or take a couple." siddiq shrugged.

carl nodded in response before continuing. "how many people have you killed?"

"one." the man averted his gaze to the ground.

"why?"

"the dead tried to kill him, but... they didn't." he explained, looking back up at the two of you.

"you've been making walker traps? is that how you've been killing all of them?" you asked, crossing your arms as you looked at the scenery of traps and the deceased walkers behind him.

"it's only part of it. my mom thought- or hoped- that killing them would free their souls. you know?" he clarified, seemingly upset but proud talking about his mother.

"doing that, doesn't that just make things harder for you while you're trying to survive?" carl inquired, furrowing his brows.

"i don't know.. i.. but you.. you gotta honor your parents, right?"

...

the three of you had been walking for a little while before you guys came across a couple walkers in the distance, crouching down near a tree.

"okay. for your mom." carl smiles and siddiq before facing you, signaling for you to join.

you grabbed your knife that was holstered across your waist, stepping forward alongside siddiq and carl. but shortly after, there was too many. at first it only seemed like a couple, enough for just the three of you to take care of quickly. but they began coming in from other sides of the forest, and you were cornered. you were stepping back to try and get more distance, but you twisted your ankle on a tree root, causing you to topple on top of the tree laying on the ground. the walkers began limping towards you as you looked frantically around for where your knife had went. but you were too late. two of the walkers were down on the ground, one on top of you and the other on your side. you tried your best to push the one over you with one of your hands while searching the ground for your knife with the other one.

*chomp!*

a pain rushed through your side, but you didn't think much of at that point due to feeling the handle of your knife, quickly picking it up and jamming it through the skull of the walker on your side, then into the one in front of you, pushing it off of you.

right as you did so, you were met with carl staring at you wide-eyed.

"oh my god, you're covered in blood." he ran over to you, crouching down next to you and grabbing your hand. "are- are you bit?"

he helped you up and you stared at the ground, then at your bloodied clothes. "...no. i'm okay."

you weren't okay. you knew what had happened to you, but.. you couldn't tell him. not now. you were lucky enough that your shirt had fallen over the bite when you stood up.

"are you sure? you don't feel anything at all?" he repeated his question, his hands on top of your shoulders while he looked at you with concern.

"i'm sure." you nodded, wiping your hands on your legs. "we should.. we should head back now."

carl sighs. "...okay."

you felt like shit.

...

the entire walk back, carl was extremely cautious of any walkers, hoping there wouldn't be another close call on the way.

"...i love you, carl. don't ever forget that." you said, you voice low and slightly shaken.

"i love you, too. are you okay?" he was surprised at your sudden comment, which proved to have made him a bit anxious.

"yeah, yeah. i just wanted to say i love you." you smiled quickly at him before looking back down at your feet as you continued walking. you could feel your ankle that you twisted earlier was pulsating, and you could feel the bite beginning to eat away at your body, but you tried your best to keep your composure. you wanted your final day with carl to be normal.

...

you guys got arrived at alexandria and you walked into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you. you stared at yourself in the mirror, taking in everything that had just happened. you removed your jacket and lifted up your shirt to reveal the bite, which was still leaking with blood. you couldn't take your eyes off of it. you shook your head while tears began falling from your eyes, processing this whole situation.

"fuck." you let out a breathy laugh before taking your shirt completely off.

you grabbed some of the medical supplies from behind the mirror and put it over the bite so it wouldn't bleed through new clothes. you grabbed a clean shirt from the laundry basket behind you and put it on.

you wiped the tears from your eyes, cleaning up your appearance a bit more before exiting the bathroom.

"there you are. how're you doing?" carl sat up from the couch and walked over to you.

"oh, i'm doing fine." you smiled up at him, interlocking his hands with yours. "hey, do you know where that camera is?"

"camera?" his eyebrow raised as he tilted his head with curiosity.

"yeah, remember? the camera? i used to always use it to take photos of you and judith." you reminded him with a laugh.

"oh, the camera!" he joined the laugh. "it's in my room, i'll go get it." he began walking in the direction of his room swiftly, coming back with the camera in hand shortly after.

"thank you." you took the camera from his hands, quickly pointing it up and taking a photo of him.

"ah, hey!" he chuckled, covering part of his face.

you grabbed the photo from the camera before pulling him into a tight hug.

"hey.. wheres judith?" you inquired, your head buried in his neck.

"she's up in her room, why?"

"we should hangout with her." you broke from the hug with a smile, putting the camera into your bag before heading into the direction of her room, carl following shortly behind you.

you walked into her room and picked her up from her crib. "hey, jude." you spoke in a soft voice, holding her gently in your arms. carl smiled at your actions. he's always had a soft spot for you and judith.

you began walking outside with judith in your arms and carl following by your side. you sit down on the steps of the porch, setting judith down in between you and carl. you dig into your bag and pull the camera out again, holding it up and taking a picture of the three of you.

you take the photo from the camera, moving it down to judith so she can see. as carl looked down at the photo that was forming, he notices how shaky your hands are.

"hey, your hands are shaking.." he points out, putting his hand over yours.

"oh, hah.. i'm okay. i don't know why i'm shaking so bad." you shrugged it off nervously, setting the photo in your bag along with the camera.

"..okay." carl nervously responded, nodding his head slowly.

"hey, carl?"

"hm?"

"do you remember before all of this when you came over to help decorate my room and my mom let us dip our hands in paint and put it above my bed?" you reminisced on the moment.

"oh, yeah, i remember!" carls nervous expression turned into a smile. "i remember asking my mom when i got home if she would let me do that. we never got the chance to."

"...why don't we do it now?" you asked, smiling back at him.

"do we have paint?"

you looked around and spotted some blue paint on the side of the porch. "there!" you pointed to it before grabbing it, setting it right next to you. "we could put the handprints right here on the porch."

you dipped the palm of your hand in the paint, setting it down on the porch. carl did the same after, except on the opposite hand of yours.

"hey, isn't blue your favorite color?" you asked carl, noticing him getting more excited about the paint after you found the blue paint.

he nodded, lifting his now blue paint-stained hand off of the porch.

the two of you faced judith, then each other. you carefully grabbed both of judiths hands and dipped her palms in the paint, setting them to the side of yours and carls prints.

the three of you giggled happily, smiling at each other.

"now this porch is ours." you proudly stated, glancing at the handprints drying into the porch. "let's go get our hands washed."

you carefully picked judith up with your non-paint stained hand and brought her to the bathroom to wash her hands.

...

it was the next day. it felt fairly peaceful- well, besides your body weakening. you knew that you were getting closer to your limit. carl was in the other room resting. you found a pile of envelopes and paper, and proceeded to write. your first note, of course, was to carl. after that, you wrote to michonne, rick, daryl, maggie, then judith. sure, she couldn't read, but for when she's older. you had also found some jewelry beads and string. when you and carl were younger, the two of you had friendship bracelets. his was blue, which had always been his favorite color, and yours was purple. you decided to recreate it for him to remember you by.

once you were finished, you put them on your wrists, covering them with your sleeves.

...

it was now night, and negan had came to alexandria. a feedback was played on the intercom before negan spoke into it. we was speaking about apologies, and whoever gave the lamest one would be killed. you all were given three minutes to open the gate for them. you felt your fever begin coming in, your body temperature quickly rising.

"come on." carl whispered, nudging you in the shoulder to snap you out of your daze, doing the same with michonne. "y/n, michonne! come on!"

"you guys go. i'll deal with them, okay?" you told him, to which he instantly shook his head disapproving.

"no, you're coming with. it's not something we're discussing-"

"go." your voice turned stern. "i'll be fine. they won't get me. i'll distract them and give you more time to get everyone to the sewer. then come back to the watchtower."

carl looked like he was about to say something, but you cut him off with a kiss. as you pulled away, you smiled at him reassuringly. "trust me."

carl furrowed his brows before looking up at you and nodding, nudging michonne to lead her away.

you began walking up the ladder to the watch tower, hearing negan give final warnings to rick despite him not being there.

you stood up on the watch tower. "rick isn't here."

"oh, shit!" negan said in his annoyingly enthusiastic tone. "everyone, everyone, hold your fire... it's y/n. look at you. answering the door just for him. sucks that he's gonna come home to a big smoky surprise."

"there's families in there. theres kids, carls baby sister." you crossed your arms, looking down at him.

"well, that shit just breaks my heart." negan said pathetically. "there's kids at the sanctuary. even had a baby at one of the outposts. i wonder what happened to her."

you stayed silent, angrily glaring at him.

"none of this shit's fair, kid. carl knows that."

"don't." your voice turned stern.

"he had to kill his own mom. that is screwed up." negan bringing up lori and her death filled you with rage. god, you wanted to get rid of negan right then and there. but you were smarter than that.

you took a deep breath. "bad stuff happens, but we can figure this out. we... we can stop this."

"rick had it that i died, no matter what." he reminded angrily. "he gave my people a choice, not me. now we're gonna need a new understanding. apologies, punish-"

"kill me."

"...what?"

"if you have to kill anybody, if there has to be a punishment, kill me. just me. serious."

"you want to die, girl?" he scoffed, raising an eyebrow at you.

"no... no, i don't. but i'll die if it means everyone here lives." you averted your eyes, looking down and noticing carl standing by the ladder waiting for you. "if.. if all of this ends, or makes things different because i die? it'll be worth it. i mean, was this your plan? is this really who you wanted to be?"

negan looks away, which gives you an opportunity to get down the watchtower and back to carl. you try and get down the ladder as quick as possible, but you trip at the last step.

luckily, carl was there to catch you. "shit, you're sweating bullets. are you okay-"

"nevermind that, we have to go!"

you and carl ran around alexandria, throwing the smoke bombs around as negan and the saviors begin launching their grenades into the homes.

as you guys are running around, you begin getting dizzy and your body heat is increasing.

you walk up onto the porch of one of the houses, laying the back of your head on the front door as you catch your breath. you wipe the sweat off of your head, breathing heavily.

carl walks up to you, throwing a smoke bomb behind him. "what's the matter with you?"

you shook your head. "nothing, nothing. i'm fine. just.."

you and carl come to a halt at the sound of a bomb hissing behind you. you turn around to face the house and just before the bomb blows, carl grabs you by your hand and tugs you towards him, stepping back away from the house.

as your body presses up against him, he notices your body temperature at a high. "jesus, you're burning up. here, the sewer is right here."

he lifts up the sewer cover and begins crawling down, signaling for you to follow after him. you walk over and step onto the ladder, pulling the sewer cover back over to cover you guys.

as you get to the bottom, you turn around and see everyone, safe. you start breaking down, covering your mouth as you sob.

“y/n? whats wrong? its done, were safe, everyone is safe.” carl says with confusion and panic in his tone as you stay silent. "...please, say something. you're scaring me."

“…im sorry carl. im so sorry.” carl raises an eyebrow.

you lift up the side of your shirt, revealing your bite to everyone.

carl stares at you, his eye becoming glossy and his brows furrowing together as his breaths deepen. he shakes his head. “no.. stop.” he turns around with his hands behind his head, shaking.

“it happened when i was trampled by the walkers.” you admitted.

“why… why didnt you tell me then..? you told me you were fine!” his voice was wobbly as he tried calming down.

“because i didnt want my last day to be spent with you worrying. i wanted your genuine happiness, not you masking your emotions because you knew it would be the… the final time.” your voice cracked as you spoke.

carl stayed silent, understanding, but still denying the whole situation. “i cant- no-“ he began to cry, running up to you and hugging you tightly. one of his hands laid behind your head and the other along your waist. “you can’t leave me. not- not like this, please.”

“i’m sorry. you’re gonna be okay, carl. you… you’re strong. stronger than anyone i’ve ever met before.”

you broke from the hug and began taking the bracelet off of your wrist, handing it to him. “here, take it.” carl wiped away the tears flowing from his eye before reaching his shaking hand out to the bracelet, taking it from your hands and putting it over his wrist.

"it's.. blue." he remembered the conversation you two had the previous day about his favorite color.

"yep. just for you." you chuckled, rolling your sleeve down and holding up your wrist to reveal the bracelet you made to match his. "we always wanted matching friendship bracelets, remember?"

you moved your hands up to the sides of his face, smiling widely at him with tears in your eyes. “you’re gonna be okay…you’re gonna be okay.”

before carl could say anything, you let out a loud wince as a pain shot through your side. carl quickly grabs you, stabilizing you.

"do.." he sniffles. "do you need to sit down?"

you nodded and carl helped you down on the ground. he held your hand tightly, pulling it up to his face.

"i can't..." he cried.

"i know, i know." you brought up your free hand to move his hair out of his face, moving his head to face you. "you're so sweet. i'm so.. so glad that i got to spend my whole life with you. i'm sorry you couldn't spend yours with me."

he shook his head in shock. the sewer cover opened, and rick and michonne stepped down, noticing carl resting his head on your hand and your beaten up and dying frame sitting on the ground.

"y/n?" michonne called out, her eyes widening at the sight of you.

you glanced over to her with a saddened smile. you brought your free hand to lift up your shirt again to re-reveal your infecting bite. rick walked over and put a hand on his sons back, staring at you somberly.

"...i got bit." you sighed, a tear falling from your eye. "me and carl, we were bringing someone back. his name is siddiq. he was the guy you saw at the gas station before."

rick shakes his head, covering his mouth. michonne steps closer to you with tears in her eyes. she had always been such a supportive person for you and carl, especially since lori had passed. "it wasn't the saviors, it wasn't anyone. i just.. i got bit."

...

"the saviors are gone. we can get everyone to the hilltop. we can get y/n to the hilltop!" carl argued, squeezing your hand tightly.

rick sighs. "she wont-"

"daryl can get one of the cars."

"y/n can't leave here." rick sternly says. "she doesn't have enough time."

"...i have to stay with her." carl shakes his head, looking down at you.

"carl.."

"if she can't go, then i'm staying with her." he repeats, a tear falling from his eye.

"..can you take judith?" rick asks daryl.

daryl nods, picking her up. "yeah. i'll get her there. i'll keep her safe."

"let me say goodbye." you weakly ask.

daryl sets her down near you, and she begins walking towards you.

you weakly smile at judith. "i already know you're gonna be incredible. you entered this world at a bad time, but that will only make you stronger. you're gonna grow up, make friends, find someone you love.. you'll live." you look down at the ground with a smile. "just like your mom said to carl, you're gonna beat this world. you and him."

judith begins whining, and thats when daryl picks her up again.

"goodbye, judith." you waved. "goodbye, daryl."

after stating your goodbyes to a couple people, you felt yourself beginning your end.

"i don't.. i don't know how much longer i have left." you held carls hand tighter. "i don't want to die in here."

"here." carl wraps your arm around his neck.

...

carl and rick helped you to the house across the way, setting you down carefully inside.

"th-thank you." you coughed. "i.. i have one more thing for you, carl."

"what? what is it?" he kneeled down next to you.

"it hurts to move, it's in my front pocket. please grab it."

he reaches in hand into your pocket and pulls out the envelop. "this?"

you nod. "open it."

he opens the envelop and reads whats inside.

'carl, you have always been there for me, ever since the beginning. after losing my family, you helped me. you, rick, and lori all helped me. i never thought that it would end this way, and i'm sorry i put you through this pain. i'm glad i met you. i'm glad you ended up being the one. i wouldn't have traded you for anyone else. thank you, and i love you. through life and death. - y/n.'

tears began flowing out of his eye yet again. he brought up a hand to cover his mouth.

"we grew up too fast. but we grew up together. i'm forever grateful for you, carl grimes." you laughed, holding his hand. "i love you."

"i- i love you, too." his voice cracked. "everything i did was for you, y/n. every single thing."

"that doesn't have to change. you have to be there for judith now, too. she needs her brother." you moved your hand up to his face. you felt your fever start to set in, and your brain felt like it was shaking alongside the rest of your body. "...it's time, carl."

"do you want me to.. to do it?" he put his hand to the gun that was holstered on his side.

"i can't do it myself. i can't move." you cried with a smile still laying across your face. "i'm sorry."

"it's okay." he took out his gun and moved his free hand to the side of your face.

"can i have one last kiss?" you chuckled. he nodded and leaned in, kissing you. you closed your eyes and felt the metal go to the side of your head.

and then all the pain went away.

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[shrenvents]

Haunting Fear of the Dead

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, implied (small) age gap, survivors guilt etc

Pairing: Rick Grimes x reader

Summary: Negan’s aftermath served as the last straw to instill in you, the belief that nothing lasts forever.

Word count: 1k

...

The conversation rings in the back of my mind, and your face dominates my thoughts. That despairing, lost expression still makes me wonder whether I crossed the line.

Life is moving too fast, and the overwhelming concept of inevitable death, and her vivid memory haunt me.

The idea, that you may see her in my eyes...

Things fall apart, and I'll never be her.

I knew Lori for no more than a week before she died. And now I've known you for several years, yet she hasn't left my side. Has she left yours?

Your wife and I couldn't be more different.

A troubled, younger girl, who can't help how unloveable she feels. How vulnerable I am. How susceptible I am to doubt. Versus the mother of your child. Your woman before the fall.

How can I compare? How can you love me? After this tragedy and loss, how can I return your love?

Maybe these are all the things I should’ve conveyed, but the moments gone, and I’ll never get you back Rick.

…

"If ya sigh one more time girl, I'll smack you," Daryl intimidates passively, and I snap my obscure stare at him below my post. Then, looking at the world outside these metal walls, one last time, I turn to the ladder. "Call Rosita, I'm tired."

"Nuh-uh, if I'm here all night, so are ya," He challenges, catching my gaze. He holds it before scoffing in defeat, obviously feeling guilty, after viewing my sorrowful appearance.

As I pass him, he grips my forearm. "I know things are bad right now, but yer a survivor," he murmurs, full of pity. "And if ya ain't gonna believe in yerself, believe in Rick." He trails off, and I nod to make him loosen his grip, so I may walk away.

Things just blew over with the Saviours, now that Negan is behind bars. But regardless, death plagues my conscience. How can I think my happiness is important, or everlasting when my survival is just dumb luck?

Ending things with Rick rang so much truth to that.

Now lonely and isolated, I only have myself to blame. Since confusion and indecision left my bed empty, my head is full of profuse distress.

To this day, after weeks, I'm still unsure of what I was trying to achieve -what I was running from, and why was it him?

No, I know...

I feel it again, her looming behind me. Lori. Whispering stories of their pleasant life together before Walkers existed.

Her ghost regularly tells me how life would be different if it wasn't the end times. She remarks how Rick wouldn't look my way if I wasn't his only option.

My rapid imagination slows to silence when I pass his house. I picture Carl on his porch bouncing Judith to sleep, and misery brutally latches onto me, forcing me to remember what is lost.

'You left him when he needed you the most...' Lori breathes.

Tears prick my eyes, and I bite my bottom lip to reduce its trembling. Then, a call of my name drags me out of the dark, and I seek out its source.

"Rick?" I reply, swallowing my cry and straightening my back. Blinking frantically, I assess him as he marches towards me, seeing concern playing across his features.

'Good things aren't meant to last...'

"How are you?" I croak.

"Fine," he stammers slightly, "you?"

"I'm well," I lie pathetically, and even though he clearly doesn't believe me, he accepts my response nonetheless.

"Shouldn't you be patrolling the wall?" He questions hesitantly.

"Yeah, but Rosita offered to take over, to let me rest you know?" I murmur with a shrug like I'm asking him to confirm my lies. He nods again, seeming just as awkward. "Need me to walk you back?" Rick proposes, motioning his pointer in the direction of my place. "No," I utter flatly, far too fast. He gulps, unable to hide his dejected manner.

A beat later I wordlessly amble away, but he hollers my name again, and I freeze, whirling around, brows furrowing. "Can I walk you back?" He urges this time, and his dilated pupils hold such fervour and desperation, that I give in. "Okay," muttering, I look to the ground as he jogs to my side.

Walking closely together, we're uncomfortably quiet. I peer at him and see his eyes squeezed shut as he inhales, expanding his chest to its limit.

"Rick?" I mumble. His eyelids pop open, and he swivels his head to mine, brows raised.

"Why are you," exhaling, "forcing yourself to-" I cut myself short, and he grasps my meaning. "I'm not forcing myself to do anything," Rick rasps. "If anything, I'm forcing you, to be with me," he drops my befuddled stare. "I'm sorry," he grunts.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I splutter as a wave of grief, racks through me. "I'm the one with problems," my meek voice gets choppy.

The pace of his legs falter. "Problems," he echoes, puffing a soundless laugh in disbelief. "Problems I want to hear," he more or less pleads. I faintly shake my head.

When I stagger, Rick stops moving completely, and captures my hand, yanking me squarely to him. I take in how alarmed his features appear and again, wish I was alone so I could cry.

"C'mon beautiful, talk to me," he begs, cupping my hand in both his palms, and when he utters my name of endearment, I finally break.

Liquid flows down my cheeks, and Rick, with his thumbs, hopelessly tries to sweep them aside. But the more his rough pads graze my skin, and he pulls me closer, adorning me with such affection, the more tears stream.

He wraps his sturdy arms around my smaller frame, tugging me tightly to his chest, and I collapse into him. He holds me upright when my knees buckle, and simply lets me cry.

"I broke up with you, why on Earth are you consoling me?" I sob, words escaping my mouth in messy bundles.

Sighing, "Because I love you," Rick's voice grows rocky, "and I hate to break it to you," he chokes up, "that isn't gonna change, just 'cause ya don't feel the same."

His statement makes a louder cry erupt. But, I struggle to muster the courage to dispel, the third lie told tonight.

Of course I love him.

"I'm here, always," he soothes, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck, and I feel water drip onto my nape.

As my arms encase his shaking body, Lori materializes behind me.

Reminding me, for the hundredth time:

I don't deserve Rick Grimes, and I never will.

[babyyblues]

for the prompt list.. #14 with daryl. preferably reader is the one who says it to daryl 🙏

#14. "Look at you a blushing mess" era: farm (no spoilers) warnings: soft daryl !!!

-

“Hey pumpkin, can I join ya?” you asked lowly, looking up at Daryl as he sat atop the RV. He ignored the way his ears burned, as he gave you a curt nod continuing to watch out upon the field of the Greene farm. 

“What did I tell ya bout them nicknames,” he grumbled, holding his hand out for you as you climbed up, settling in beside him close enough for your thighs to brush against each other. 

“That you love them and I should definitely keep doing it,” you sneered, reaching out for his hand to intertwine your fingers. He froze at the sudden contact before relaxing in your grip, subconsciously allowing his thumb to rub against your smooth skin. 

“Lucky I like you,” he mumbled, looking over at you, unable to stop the spread of his lips as his eyes landed on your smile as you chuckled. 

“You love it, and you love me,” you teased, puckering your lips, your silent way of asking for a kiss. He rolled his eyes yet didn’t hesitate to press his lips against yours, once, then twice, and three times before pulling back to look at you. 

“I do love ya,” he whispered. 

“I know you do sweetheart, and I’m the luckiest girl in this damned world,” you confirmed, placing your hand on the bottom of his jaw. You watched as his face reddened, feeling the heat from his cheeks radiate in your hand. 

“Look at you, a blushing mess,” you murmured, scratching lightly at the scruff that graced his chin. He scoffed, pulling away from you as you laughed quietly. 

“Get out o’ here, you’re distractin’ me,” he joked, squeezing your hand before pulling you as close as you could get to him before actually sitting on his lap. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily Dixon, ‘m here for the long run.” Looking back up at him, you placed a sweet kiss on his neck and cuddled into his side as a strong breeze hit. 

You sat in comfortable silence under the stars, letting your eyes shut as you listened to the crickets and Daryl’s soft breath.

“Gettin’ tired?” he asked lowly, running his hand up and down your side. 

“No, just enjoying the moment.” 

“Enjoying watching for walkers and danger?” You huffed out a laugh, flickering your eyes open to see him already looking at you. 

“No, enjoying being here with you. Alive, safe, and in love.”

“Don’ get all cheesy on me,” Daryl said a small smile on his lips.

“Can’t help it, jus’ love you ‘s all. This is the first time since this whole thing started-” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “that I’ve felt so secure.” 

“Knew you were tired, you should go rest.” 

“Stop trying to get rid of me, ‘m not leaving your side.” you quipped, changing your position so your head lay on his lap and you were looking up at him. 

“Stubborn pain in my ass,” he mumbled under his breath running his hand through your hair, before pulling his jacket off to lay across your body as another gust of wind burst through the air. 

“Sleep here then.” You nodded, yawning once more before turning to get comfortable. 

“Goodnight pookie,” you slurred. 

“Y/n,” he scoffed earning a chuckle from you. He reached down to pinch at your side, causing you to jerk as you laughed. Shaking his head, he continued his movement in your hair to calm you back down. 

“Goodnight.”

[zirconika]

nine lives of a thief

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST || THE WALKING DEAD || DARYL DIXON

SUMMARY: Years after your first love broke your heart, you’re stunned to see him among the newly welcomed group of survivors in Alexandria, and his return might just be the cure to your heart that’s been malfunctioning ever since he left. Your personal goal to put everything in the past is interrupted by his mission to win you back. WARNINGS: (WILL ADD MORE) MAJOR angst in progress. lots of time skips between chapters. reader has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, characterized by the swelling of the heart. talks of miscarriage, domestic violence, and an abusive relationship with a past spouse. features the line-up in later chapters. SETTING: First few weeks in Alexandria and pre-apocalypse flashbacks spanning all the way to the Commonwealth.

A/N: hi, guys! this is gonna be my first writing a long series, but also my first time uploading a fic on this new blog. forgive me if it takes some time to update, but i'll definitely make time for it!

SERIES MASTERLIST ༊*·˚

ONE | Living in High Cotton

TWO | The First Life

THREE | [In Progress]

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my taglist :)

DARYL DIXON TAGLIST: @vaniniweenie

[captain-tch]

Closet (Daryl Dixon x PlatonicFem!Reader)

You had been hiding a part of yourself for years, it only took the world to end to finally speak your truth.

You stood on Aaron and Eric's porch, bracing yourself against the railing. They had prepared dinner for yourself and Daryl, as payment for bringing some spices back from a supply run. It was a lovely gesture, and it made you hate yourself even more when you couldn't stand to be in their company for too long. It was the hand holding, the loving gazes, the inside jokes. It was the way they shared gentle touches, so openly and so in love. It was the kisses and the laughs and the smiles.

It was hard to recognise the nasty feeling festering in your gut. It turned your gaze green and made yourself bitter.

You were jealous.

You shook your head, leaning back, trying to let the night wind wipe your sadness away. You wanted to push past this feeling - Aaron and Eric were lovely people, good people, yet you felt yourself turning sour the longer you spent in their company.

The door clicked softly behind you. You jerked, frantically wiping a hand at your cheeks. You turned, expecting to see Aaron or Eric wondering why you hadn't come back in after twenty minutes, but it was Daryl. You smiled weakly, secretly grateful that you didn't have to endure being in the presence of the lovebirds. Even on their own they managed to ooze cupid's scent.

"Hey." Daryl stood beside you, turning to look up at the night sky. The stars twinkled back. "Beautiful night."

You nodded in agreement, attempting to muster the energy to talk, to explain your disappearance.

"Food was good."

You nodded again.

Daryl sighed, playing with his fingers, tugging softly at the cuticles. "Look, ya know I'm no good at this small talk shit. I think we've been friends long enough to skip that crap, and you've been acting like this ever since we got here. Distant."

You bit your lower lip, taking comfort in gnawing at the skin. Your heart wanted to spill it all, to let loose your truth, but your fear kept you trapped.

"Did Aaron or Eric do somethin' to ya?"

You were that shocked at the thought you snapped your head to his. "No. They've been nothing but kind."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"I -" You averted your gaze, keeping your eyes glued firmly to the wood of the porch. "I can't tell you." You muttered, hating how water splashed on your cheeks. Your heart pounded in your chest.

Daryl reached forward, softly grabbing you under the chin, turning you to face him. You tried to muster a smile, though it did nothing to hide the tears freely pouring down. "You're cryin'."

Your hand moved to your cheek absentmindedly, aggressively wiping the wet away. Defeated, you pulled yourself away from Daryl, slumping to the floor feeling as if the world was trying to pull you down.

A beat of silence passed, then two. You wanted to speak; the ball in your throat choked the words. "Whatever it is, ya can tell me."

You pulled your chin into your knees, shoulders sagging. Your chest felt tight, the possibility of letting the truth pass your lips stealing your breath. But then you spotted Daryl at the edge of your vision, his brows creased in concern. He was your closest friend, your greatest confidant. You had told him about your night terrors, and he slept beside you, a moment away, to protect you from the monsters haunting the land of dreams. You leaned on him when you had killed in self defence. You relied on him to watch your back on runs, and he hadn't failed you yet.

He hadn't outright spoken to you of his past; he had let his lips loosen more around you than anyone else. He showed you the cigarette burns - never his back. You never dared to ask, knowing that was one private terror he would spill in his own time.

This man would never judge you. He would never press for more if you weren't ready, and he definitely would never leave your side. He was your platonic soul mate.

You released a heavy breath, scooting along to make room for him. Your voice was as quiet as a mouse - as a hunter you knew he heard. "I've never told anyone."

Daryl was quiet, accepting your invitation and settling in beside you. He didn't move to comfort you; he sat close enough to know he was there.

You clenched your fingers into your palm, the pain of the nails biting into the skin distracting you for the self destructive thoughts whizzing around in your head. "I'm jealous of them."

"Why?"

He's going to walk away, your brain whispered. He's going to leave you and you will be all alone surrounded by people. He's going to sneer at you and ignore your existence.

A large, calloused hand pried your fingers out of their fists. The skin of your palms cried in relief, sharp indents speckled with blood released into the air. You looked up at Daryl, and at his hand.

You screamed at the voices in your mind, uttering the words you never spoke aloud. "Because they're living their truth, they're not afraid."

Daryl stared at your crumpled form, it taking a moment to sink in. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water - no one had ever told him this kind of thing before, he had no idea how to respond. Turns out Daryl didn't need to worry, because the moment you started talking you unlocked the door you had kept barred shut for years.

"I've known ever since I was a teenager, kept it as quiet as I could. I dated, but it never went past the first date. I couldn't... be myself, and I think it's because I couldn't accept myself, and I think my dates could sense that too." You laughed darkly. "You know how if you were applying for a job, you had to state your sexual orientation? I always put "prefer not to say" as I was afraid to admit to the world that I'm a lesbian." You looked at Daryl, trying to sense any shift in him. He hadn't started cursing you out or walked away. The doubting voices in your head quietened.

You sniffled. "I'm envious of their confidence. Their openness. Is that stupid?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, it's not."

"You know what the stupidest thing of all is?" You shook your head, "It's taken until the end of the world to admit out loud that I am a lesbian."

Daryl wrapped his arm around you, bringing you close. "Proud of ya."

You relished his warmth, the warmth of your best friends embrace eradicating those voices for good. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, and you could tell him about a part of your life you had kept hidden for so long.

"Thanks."

Daryl squeezed the hug tighter around you. "Feel better?"

"Bit."

"Well, come on. Dessert is waiting." Daryl got to his feet, putting his hand out to you.

You gulped, looking at the hand, then him. "You don't think any different of me, do you?"

"Hell nah, you're still a dumbass in my eyes."

You snorted.

"And hey, I can be your wing man."

"I'd love to see that Daryl."

As you walked back into the warmth of Aaron and Eric's home, you felt a peace settle inside you. The conversation didn't solve your insecurity and anxiety, but you felt better having admitted your truth out loud to your best friend.

You were on a long journey to accept yourself, whilst dealing with the trials and tribulations an apocalypse could bring, but in that moment, you were happy.

In your mind you repeated I am a lesbian, a smile forming on your lips.

the walking dead masterlist

[zomb-core]

— The Walking Dead 2010 aesthetic

[janiehellion]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚 ⋮ 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔚𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔥

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You thought you knew Shane Walsh—a man already halfway lost at sea—but nothing could've prepared you for what happens when he's drowning in his own demons and pulls you down to hell with him.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Angst ⋮ Flashbacks ⋮ References To Death & Murder ⋮ Mirror & Shower Sex ⋮ Manhandling ⋮ Breeding ⋮ Obsession & Possessiveness ⋮ Mentions Of Violence ⋮ Dissociation

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 6.666 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S2E3 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: My very first Shane Walsh work. Was I mentally stable while writing this? Debatable. Just kidding! This was actually a Wattpad request. I'm really hoping you enjoy it, though! Feel free to drop your thoughts!

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

Shane had been acting strange since he returned. You noticed it the second he stepped back onto the farm—his shoulders stiff, his eyes wide, limping a little bit, and he was out of breath. He barely spoke, barely even looked at anyone. And when Hershel asked him about Otis, all he did was shake his head and answer a quiet "No..." before standing there, mouth open, shaking his head, and looking anywhere, just not at the man in front of him.

And as Rick stepped forward, he hugged Shane. A quiet thank you without any words. Shane barely reacted, nodding, eyes darting toward the farmhouse before stepping away like he couldn't bear to look. His voice was shaky when he spoke about what had happened—how Otis had told him to keep going, how he tried. You weren't sure if you believed him, but you knew one thing for certain.

Something was wrong.

And he wasn't telling anyone.

When Hershel went to break the news to Patricia, Shane stumbled away from the group, looking like a man about to crawl out of his skin. He leaned against the truck, mouth still slightly open, like he was still catching his breath, like the weight of whatever he'd been through was pressing down on him hard enough to crush every single bone inside his body.

You followed him.

"Shane?" You called his name gently, but he didn't react. His gaze was staring at the dirt beneath him, barely blinking, his eyes all wide.

You stepped closer. "Shane, talk to me."

His head moved slightly, but he still didn't look at you.

"You're hurt," you tried again, softer this time, letting your fingers slide along his arm. You felt the way he tensed, how he tried to flinch away from your touch. "At least let me—"

"I'm fine."

"But you don't look fine."

That got you a huff.

"Drop it."

But you didn't want to.

"No. I won't. You know that."

He finally looked at you then. Just a quick glance, but it was enough to send a shiver through you. His eyes were dark, unreadable, a storm that held back the thunder.

But it was his silence that unsettled you most. Shane was never quiet. Not like that. Even on his worst days, he'd have something to say—anger to let go of, frustration to bite down on. But now, he just looked empty. Hollow. As if whatever had happened out there was eating him up from the inside.

You didn't like it.

You didn't like the way he avoided your eyes like he couldn't stand to be seen.

When he started to walk away, you followed.

"Shane..." His back tensed at the sound of your voice, his pace quickening. "Shane, wait."

"Not now," he answered, heading for the house. "We gotta make sure Carl's okay."

You reached out, grabbing his arm before he could move any further. He froze at the contact, his body wet with sweat, and you could feel his pulse hammering beneath the skin. Too fast.

"He will be fine," you answered, trying to look into his eyes. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "Let it go."

"No," you insisted. "I'm not just gonna stand here and pretend I don't see that something's wrong. Just talk to me."

His fingers twitched at his sides, but he still wouldn't look at you.

"He didn't make it," Shane finally said, his voice hoarse.

You blinked, already knowing who he was referring to. "Otis?"

A quick nod was all he gave you. Nothing more.

You hadn't known the man well, but you knew enough. Knew that he'd gone with Shane to get the medical supplies, that he had a wife here on the farm who would be waiting for him to return.

You loosened your grip on Shane's arm, but you didn't let go. "I'm sorry," you answered, though the words felt small. Unimportant.

Shane inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling just as slowly. "Yeah."

It wasn't an acknowledgment. It wasn't anything at all.

"Look, just—" You hesitated, searching his face for something, anything, that might tell you what was going on behind those eyes. "Just come inside, okay? Get cleaned up, get some rest."

He pulled his arm away—not rough, not aggressive, just final. "Already on it."

You followed him as he made his way inside, and after quickly checking up on Carl, Maggie handed him a set of clothes.

"The bathroom's upstairs," she said, looking at Shane, her eyes still swollen and red from crying. "I brought you some clothes."

Shane took them with only a little "thank you" in return.

"They won't fit well," Maggie added. "They were Otis'."

You watched him go in an instant after he nodded again. This wasn't just exhaustion. It wasn't just grief.

Something happened out there.

That thought stuck with you as you followed after him, slower this time. You weren't about to let this go—no. By the time you reached the upper level, you heard the bathroom door click shut.

Then, gathering your courage, you knocked lightly.

"Shane?"

No answer.

You knocked again. "Shane, come on."

Still nothing.

You pressed your hand to the door, waiting. You could hear the sounds of movement inside—clothes being put away, a pistol being laid down.

Then the water turned on. That was all you could hear.

"Shane, please," you tried one last time, but you already knew he wasn't going to answer.

With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back, running a hand through your hair. You hated this—the way he was shutting you out, the way he looked like he wasn't even here anymore. He had left something behind at that school, and you didn't know if he was ever going to get it back.

But this was still Shane, right? The man who never backed down from a fight, who always looked like he could take on the new world. And yet, this afternoon, he had walked away from you. That alone told you enough.

"I just… I just wanna know you're okay. I'm coming in now."

Frowning, you reached for the handle, turning it slowly. The door wasn't locked. It creaked open, and the rush of warm, wet air hit you instantly. Your eyes landed on Shane's reflection in the fogged-up mirror. He was standing at the sink, shirtless, head bowed slightly, and his hands gripped the edges of the porcelain like he needed it to hold himself up.

Then, he moved.

One hand brushed over his scalp, his fingers running through his hair—and that's when you saw it. The red patch where something had been torn out. A bald and uneven spot.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Shane, hey, let me—"

He turned around before you could finish, his eyes angry and wild. His chest rose and fell fast, like he'd been caught in the middle of something he wasn't ready to share.

"You shouldn't be in here."

You hesitated, then stepped fully inside anyway. "And you shouldn't be acting like this," you shot back, closing the door behind you.

"I'm okay."

"Bullshit."

Turning back to the mirror, his fingers tapped several times against the sink before he reached for something in a drawer—a razor. He turned it on without another word, shearing off his hair as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on his reflection the entire time.

You stepped closer, your voice softer now. "Hey… What happened out there?"

The razor stopped for half a second, his hand tightening around it. Then he continued, shaving off the last of his hair.

"I survived," he finally said. "Saved Carl."

But when you looked at him, you weren't sure if that was the whole truth.

Once he was done, he still hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just stared at you through the mirror now, his expression unreadable.

"Shane?"

You took a careful step forward, and for the first time, you saw just how banged up he was. Bruises, fresh and ugly. Scratches covered his knuckles like he'd torn them open on something—or someone. And then there was still the bald spot.

It hadn't been cut; you knew that. It had been ripped out.

You swallowed, stepping closer.

"You know what happened," he then said. "I told y'all already."

"No." You tilted your head, eyes scanning his reflection. "You told Hershel. Told Rick. Lori. Maggie..."

"Same thing," he responded, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Is it?"

You hesitated before reaching out, fingers brushing lightly over one of the bruises, feeling him flinch under your touch.

"Shane," you whispered. "You're hurt."

"‘S nothing."

"It's not nothing." You frowned, moving closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the fresh bald spot. "Your hair…"

His lips parted like he was about to answer—but then he caught himself.

"Told you already," he responded again. His voice was angrier this time. "We got surrounded. We ran outta ammo. Otis said he'd cover me and told me to keep goin'. I did."

You studied him. His body language. His breathing. Everything. "That's what you said earlier."

"‘Cause that's what happened."

Something in his voice was off. The words were steady, but they seemed controlled. Too controlled.

"Otis pulled you up when you fell?" You asked carefully. "You said he wouldn't leave you behind?"

Shane's jaw twitched. "Yeah."

"And then he saved you?"

"He did what he had to do."

You narrowed your eyes. "Or what you had to do?"

Shane's eyes searched for yours in the mirror. Then, slowly, he turned. Face-to-face now, not just reflections.

"What are you askin' me?" He asked back, his voice quieter now. Rougher.

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Ain't nothin' to understand," he scoffed, shaking his head.

But you weren't so sure about that.

You had seen Shane lie before. Had seen the way his gaze looked away, avoiding any eye contact, the way his jaw clenched, the way his muscles tensed when he was trying too hard to keep himself in check, his fingers twitching and fumbling around.

And right now, he looked ready to snap.

"When Maggie gave you those clothes," you continued, "you… hesitated."

Shane's fingers flexed at his sides. "Yeah? So?"

"She said they were from Otis."

His jaw tightened.

"And?"

"And you looked like you were gonna be sick."

"I just watched that man get eaten alive!" He scoffed back at you. "‘Scuse me for not feelin' too good about wearin' his goddamn clothes!"

That was the moment. The exact moment.

Because Shane was a lot of things—reckless, violent, unpredictable—but guilt was never something he let show. And right now? Right now, you could see it in him.

Gnawing at him. Devouring him from the inside.

"Is that all it is?" You asked softly, tilting your head.

His eyes darkened. "What else would it be?"

You didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Because you felt it now—the feeling as if he was drowning and dragging you down with him. It was like he was waiting for you to say something else, to push him, to call him out.

You swallowed, looking down at the floor. "You tell me… Shane."

For a moment, he looked like he might tell you. Like the truth was right there, right on his tongue.

But then?

Then his hand moved before you could react, fingers grabbing the back of your neck, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp in shock.

"Don't," he grumbled, his voice strained. "Just—don't."

"Don't what?" You asked in return but stopped as you felt how his grip tightened, just for a second.

Then his eyes looked down—to your mouth, to your throat, feeling the way your pulse was getting faster beneath his fingers.

Shane let out a deep, long, controlled breath through his nose, and when you looked up again, it wasn't guilt you saw in his expression anymore.

It was darkness.

Every inch of you burned with a fire you couldn't put out—couldn't escape.

And you couldn't deny it—the pull toward him, even though you knew it wasn't about you. Not entirely. You knew that.

But you also knew, deep down, that you couldn't look away. Couldn't walk away. Not now. Not with him so close. Not when you were this close to him.

His grip tightened around your neck, but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he was in control. In this moment, he was. His thumb moved along your jawline, his eyes following it.

You knew what had happened. You knew about Otis, about the cold, ruthless way he'd left him behind. About the betrayal—the choice he'd made because that's what Shane did. He made choices. And when they came back to haunt him, he'd just keep moving, keep fighting, keep pushing.

And you? You'd been there. Watching him. From the moment you met him at the Atlanta camp, where things were simpler. When you thought he was just another protector, another one of the good guys, looking after Lori, Carl, and the rest of the survivors.

A cop. A man of the law. A law that didn't exist anymore.

And you hadn't known. Not at first.

But you saw it after Rick showed up. The way Shane's eyes darkened every time Grimes came near. The way his fists clenched whenever Lori touched Rick, the way he looked so annoyed when Carl looked up at his father.

It was only after Rick appeared that you realized how far gone Shane was. How broken and lost he was.

But you'd always had a soft spot for him—maybe even more. He was a leader in your eyes, a protector, brave in ways that made you crave something stronger than just survival. But you had stayed in the background, never daring to get close, because you thought—no, this isn't your place and definitely not your time. In fact, you thought Lori was his, and Carl was his. That was the way it was supposed to be, wasn't it?

A family...

But that was before you realized how badly Shane was losing himself. You were right there, close enough to feel it and see it happen.

And the truth about Otis? You now knew what he'd done. You knew the truth about what happened in that school. And you knew, too, that he knew you knew.

The way Shane looked at you now, the way his lips barely parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to—it told you everything.

And you weren't sure if it was that hatred or the dangerous pull of desire in the bathroom that made you reach for him.

No, you weren't sure.

But when your hand brushed the stubble on his jaw, you knew it didn't matter anymore. His fingers were on your skin again, gripping you harder this time, his thumb sliding across your lower lip as his eyes still looked at your mouth.

You couldn't stop yourself. You wanted him too much.

And maybe that made you just as dangerous as he was.

"You know what I did," Shane growled in your ear. "You know what happened."

You didn't have to answer as he finally pressed himself against you, forcing your back against the sink, the edge of it digging into you as he kissed you hard, almost painfully. His hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, making sure you couldn't escape, couldn't pull away.

"Shane, what—"

He kissed you deeper. His teeth grazed your lip, sharp and rough. The way his body moved against yours was desperate, almost needy, like he was trying to lose himself in you, to forget. Forget about Rick. Forget about Otis. Forget about everything.

"Shut up," he grumbled against your mouth.

Before you could speak, before you could even think, his lips pressed against yours once more—hot, forceful, sloppy.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. A fast, desperate claim, his fingers now grabbing the back of your neck again, gripping hard enough to make you groan. He tasted like sweat, like fear, like something dark that had been rotting inside him since he came back from that school.

And he wasn't asking—he was taking.

Your hands moved up, instinctively pushing against his bare chest to shove him away, but his other hand grabbed at your hip, yanking you closer to him. There was no space between you, no time to catch your breath, just heat—his body burning into yours, his heartbeat hammering against you like it was trying to force its way next to yours.

You barely managed a muffled whine against his mouth, your fingers pressing harder into his chest, now trying to steady yourself, trying to get some control over the situation. But the second you made that soft, unsure sound, something in him broke.

Shane pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers tightening on your neck before moving them into your hair. His pupils were wide, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

"Don't do that," he whispered, voice wrecked and his breathing still uneven as his fingers twitched against your scalp. "Don't—don't sound like that..."

"Sound... like what?" Your voice was shaky and breathless, but he ignored the question.

Shane's mouth went to your throat, his teeth biting down just hard enough to make you suck in a shocked breath, while his stubble scratched against your skin as he sucked a mark just below your jaw. His breath came in heavy bursts like he was running.

Like he was chasing something.

"Shane—" You tried again, tried to reach for him, but then—fuck. You felt it.

Thick. Hard. Pressing against your lower belly through his pants, but your mind barely had time to process it before he growled.

Not a word. Not a warning. Just a single growl.

It sounded greedy. Like if you spoke again, if you tried to calm him down, to help him, he'd shatter.

But your mind was still trying to make sense of this, still trying to catch up to him. "Wait—Shane, what the hell—"

He didn't wait.

Shane turned you around in one quick move, his hands gripping your waist, bending you forward until you hit the sink again. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips swollen from his kiss, chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths.

You barely recognized yourself.

Your eyes—wide, glassy, uncertain.

And then there was him.

Shit...

You saw it. The look in his eyes.

Still dark. Dangerous. Gone.

His fingers dug into the waistband of your pants, and he yanked them down, dragging them a little too roughly over your thighs.

"Shane," you started once more, turning slightly, but the only response you got was the sound of his zipper.

No hesitation. No teasing. He wasn't playing with you.

He just looked... lost. Like a man breaking apart in real time.

Shane's hands slid lower, fingers moving over your naked hips, pulling you back against him, making you feel his leaking cock pressing between your thighs.

"Just—" You tried to talk to him again, your voice unsteady, but Shane's fingers tightened his grip.

A simple "No." was all he gave in return.

His fingers trembled near your waist as he lined himself up, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you steady. Keeping you there.

And when he saw the little bit of hesitation in your eyes, the uncertainty, his breath shuddered out of him.

It was all he needed.

Shane pushed into you.

Hard.

The force of it knocked the breath straight from your lungs, your mouth falling open in a choked cry. Your fingers searched for any kind of grip on the sink, nails slipping against the porcelain as your body jerked forward from the sheer strength of him.

"Fuck—!"

The word barely made it past your lips before his hands grabbed you harder—like he thought you might try to run away, like he needed to make sure you didn't.

There was nothing slow about it. Nothing soft.

Every thrust was deep, fast, and rough.

The mirror shook against the wall, rattling slightly with every movement, the glass only showing the wild look in his eyes.

And he was watching.

Watching everything.

His gaze stayed on the reflection—on you, on the way you took his cock, on the way your body trembled under him.

But he wasn't just looking at you.

He was looking at himself.

His face—miserable, paranoid, ruined.

Shane saw it… He remembered.

Otis' hand clawing at his hair.

The gunshot, the way the man's eyes were going wide in horror.

Fingers ripping at his scalp, a chunk of his hair tearing away as he fought. As he survived.

The veins in Shane's neck pulsed, every muscle in his body flexing as he pounded into you. Gritting his teeth, he fucked you even harder.

He tried to think about how every time he saw your face, every time you let him in, it felt like he was sinking into something he couldn't control. The desperation in his movements was a sign of how he needed to own this moment and drown out every haunting thought in his mind. The things he'd done, the things he couldn't undo.

But you were still there. Still with him. And that made everything… unbearable.

A quiet cry ripped itself free from your throat as he slammed into you, brutal and fast. Your pussy clenched around his cock, your breath breaking apart.

"Shane—" Your voice was a desperate plea, a moan half-swallowed by the force of him.

His hand shot up again, fingers wrapping tight around your throat from behind, but his grip wasn't painful, wasn't cruel—but it was a warning.

Every thrust of his hips pushed your body forward, forced your breath to hitch, and forced your mind to slip deeper into this, into him.

And still—he watched.

His reflection. Like he didn't want to recognize himself.

But he did. And he hated it.

Your mind thought back to the quarry again, remembering how different he was. Not soft—he was never soft—but something close to it. Protective. The kind of man who took charge, who got things done.

You remembered the way he kept the people together after the world fell apart. How he taught them to shoot, how he made sure the fires stayed lit, how he took the night shifts when no one else would.

You'd watched from the sidelines, keeping your distance, convincing yourself that the heat and tingling feeling in your stomach whenever he spoke to you was nothing. A crush, maybe?

Nothing serious.

Nothing real.

You weren't sure when it happened that your 'crush' turned into something more, something deeper. Maybe it was the way he always looked so confident, so sure of what needed to be done. Maybe it was the way he never waited when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

Maybe it was just him.

You weren't sure if he'd ever noticed.

But now?

"You watch me, don't you?" His voice was quieter now, rougher. "Always watchin'."

"Please, just—"

"Think I ain't noticed?" He was thrusting into you harder, deep enough to make you whimper. "Think I ain't seen you lookin'?"

Your skin burned beneath his touch.

"I—"

"Nah, nah, don't go lyin' to me now." He spanked your ass, hard enough to make you stop talking. "I know you, girl. Been knowin' you since Atlanta."

With you panting, he then continued.

"I remember, alright. You sittin' by the fire, sneakin' looks when you thought I wasn't payin' attention. I remember you askin' me to teach you how to shoot. Pretendin' you didn't know how to hold a gun so I'd stand behind you, get real close."

Your breath hitched. "That's not—"

"No? Tell me I'm wrong."

You didn't. Couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong, not at all.

"You still want me?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, strained and deep. "Even now?"

You swallowed hard.

The truth was, you did.

Even now. Even with the darkness behind his eyes, even knowing what he'd done, what he was capable of.

You still wanted him.

But for Shane, it was a dangerous question, one that would cut him open if you lied. He had to believe it—had to see it. You were still here, still taking him. Still needing him.

Your voice trembled, but it was the most haunting sound to him, beautiful and frightening at once. "Yes, yes… even now!"

The confession broke something in him. He groaned into your ear, unable to stop himself as his body moved in an almost feral rhythm. Every thrust was a plea; every sound leaving his lips was a question he was too afraid to answer.

And then? He moved.

You barely had a second to react before his hands were on you, his arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you upright, your back pressing against his sweaty chest. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open as he kept moving, his cock still throbbing and buried deep.

"What the—!" The words came out as a yelp, a half-strangled moan, as he lifted you, his strength and size effortlessly keeping you close to him.

"Move." It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

Still inside you, stretching you open, he half-dragged, half-carried you toward the bathtub.

The bathroom was humid by now, steam clinging to the walls from the hot water as he reached past you, and within seconds, more water poured down on both of you.

"Fuck—!" You gasped, your body shivering against him.

He slammed you forward, pressing your hands against the bathroom wall, his strength keeping you right where he wanted you. The water soaked through the rest of your clothes, ran down his chest, over your breasts, and over the bald, burning spot of his scalp.

But Shane stopped all of a sudden.

You gasped as he froze inside you, his cock still pulsing, filling you to the hilt. His hands, so rough just a moment ago, softened their grip. One stayed on your waist, fingers trembling. The other moved—slowly—gliding up your body, moving over your wet shirt and your breasts, before stopping along your throat. But he wasn't grabbing it. He was just… feeling you.

His fingers twitched slightly at your throat before he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. But this time, it wasn't hungry, wasn't bruising. It was soft. His lips parted, his tongue tasting the sweat and water on your skin, breathing you in.

Shane's nose trailed along your jaw, and then he turned your face gently toward his.

The kiss was barely a kiss at all at first—just the soft press of his mouth, like he needed to know you were real. His lips brushed against yours, rougher now, before fully kissing you deep, as if afraid.

"How many rounds you got left?"

The words didn't belong here.

Not to you.

But they were in his head. Again.

Loud. Too loud.

Shane's body tensed as his eyes flew open, staring at you—seeing you.

But he felt a hand ripping at his head once more, desperate fingers clawing at his head, tearing a piece of his hair away. He felt the gun in his hands, his finger on the trigger. He saw the look in Otis' eyes—that second of realization, of horror, of fear.

"I'm sorry."

The gunshot rang in his ears…

"Let go of me!"

He remembered the feeling of Otis pulling him down to the ground. The walkers getting closer, closer still…

His tender grip around your throat tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to pull him back into now, into you.

"Let go!"

He could still hear his voice screaming at Otis to let go. Still feel the fight, the panic, his nails digging harder into your wet skin.

For a second, he swore he saw blood—smeared all across the bathroom walls, running down his hands, and staining your skin.

But it wasn't there. And the quiet, the stillness—it was gone in an instant.

He yanked you back harder, forcing your back to arch as he slammed into you again. Gone was the hesitation, the tenderness.

It made your knees buckle as he pushed as deep as he could, his cock stretching you open some more, pressing against every sensitive, sore spot inside of you.

But as the water streamed down, it couldn't drown out the sounds filling the bathroom. The quiet whimpers from you. The ragged breaths. The deep groans from Shane.

"Fuck," he groaned, pressing your face roughly against the wall.

There you were—soaking wet, mouth open, eyes half-lidded, fucked, and your body trembling with every deep thrust.

And then there was him.

He was behind you. So strong, so tall, so big. Inside you.

But Shane didn't blink. He didn't look away. He still watched.

Watched the way you took him, watched his cock disappear inside your pussy, watched the way his fingers dug into your wet, trembling body.

He was fucking you like he needed this—like if he stopped, he'd have to feel something else.

Shame? Guilt?

And he wasn't ready for that. He needed to push away the thoughts in his mind. Needed to forget.

"Please—" Your voice broke between uneven breaths, barely more than gasps.

But the way you said it—breathless, needy—fuck. It nearly killed him.

His thrusts turned faster, harder, driving himself so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts.

"Shit," he growled. "Fuckin'—"

He cut himself off with a groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment before pulling back, teeth biting down into your skin as if nothing else mattered anymore.

Only the desperate, broken moans leaving your lips.

Only him.

Only this.

Shane's breath hitched, his chest pressing against your back as he moved, changing the angle. Your head snapped up, eyes flying open, your hands desperately trying to hold onto the wet wall as the new position had him hitting even deeper.

Shane knew he wasn't supposed to care about that.

But seeing you like that? Seeing you lose yourself in him?

"Doin' so fuckin' good," he growled into your ear, kissing your neck before his hand wrapped around it again.

"You feel that?" He panted, his other hand holding you steady, pulling you harder against him. "See how fuckin' good you look takin' my cock? Talk to me."

Your mind was spinning—still trying to process how the hell you got here, how fast it happened, how good he felt inside you. But Shane—he needed you.

"C'mon, girl," he growled, his lips touching your ear. "Need to hear you."

He didn't just mean the moans. He wanted more. Wanted words.

Wanted to drown in them—let them pull him under until all that was left was this. You. The feeling of your body wrapped around him, squeezing him, taking him.

Another thrust, deep and brutal, knocked a silent cry from your lips. Your fingers dug into the slippery wall, struggling for any kind of grip.

"I—" Your voice was trembling. "Shane—"

"Nah, baby, not my name," he laughed out loud, shaking his head before his teeth bit the skin of your neck to make you whimper. "Tell me what you feel when I'm fuckin' you like this… when I'm making you feel this good."

The way he was talking, you barely recognized him. He was different now. Not the Shane from Atlanta. Not the Shane who always had a way of joking around and keeping the group together.

This was someone else entirely.

Someone who had blood on his hands.

Hell, you weren't sure you even cared.

Your body burned for him. Your skin was on fire where he touched you, his hands claiming you like he could fuck himself so deep inside you that his sins would just disappear.

"I—" You tried again, but your voice broke when he rolled his hips against you just right, his cock pressing into that one spot that made your legs shake.

"Say it." His hand slid up, fingers grabbing your soaked hair. He pulled your head back, forcing you to look into his eyes.

He wanted to see it. See you say it.

You swallowed, your lips parting, your voice breathy and weak. "Yes, yes! You feel so good inside me!"

Shane choked out a grunt so raw it sounded like a personal kind of prayer. A plea to save him from himself.

But whatever last bit of restraint he had left? Gone.

"Tell me I'm the only one who can make you feel this way," he grunted, his voice turning quieter. "I know you've been wantin' this. Been wantin' me."

You moaned, your knees nearly giving out, the water from the bathtub streaming down your back, soaking into your clothes.

"F-Fuck," you stammered, barely able to breathe, barely able to form any reasonable thought with the way he was wrecking you, your pussy clenching so tightly around him.

"Shane—"

Wrong answer… His grip on your hair tightened, punishing.

"Tell me."

Your breath hitched.

"Only you can make me feel like this," you whimpered, breathing weakly. "Only. You."

Shane groaned like you'd just stabbed a knife into his heart, his forehead pressing against the back of your head for half a second before his mouth was near your ear again, only for him to drag you out of the bathtub, his hands holding you still.

You gasped, and before you could fully adjust, he was backing up, pulling you with him.

"Push back, baby, push back—let me show you," Shane growled as he backed you both up against the bathroom wall, his back hitting it with urgency as you were forced to face the mirror above the sink. It was still foggy, steamy like the room, but still clear enough for you to see the way he took you—hard, fast, with no hesitation.

Without any warning, his thrusts became brutal.

Shane was fucking into you like a man possessed, like if he stopped for even a second, every memory would come back.

"Shit—look at you," he smirked, one hand sliding down, pressing against your lower belly. "You feel me right there, baby?"

Your fingers clenched into fists, your eyes looking slowly toward the mirror.

The sight of it all… You, your skin red from the warmth of the hot water, dripping wet, trembling against his strong chest.

And him, wild-eyed, brutal, desperate...

The way his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way he stretched you open—it made you clench around him harder.

"Shit," Shane gasped. "You like that, huh? Like seein' how fuckin' good I'm stretchin' you out?"

"Y-Yes—"

His fingers dug into your trembling flesh.

"Gonna come for me, baby?"

You tried to nod, tried to breathe. You couldn't see the mirror anymore—your vision blurred, your body on fire and burning in his arms. All you could focus on was the way he was fucking you, the way he was making you feel.

"Fuckin' say it," he growled.

"I—I'm gonna come," you cried out in return as his thrusts became sloppier, pounding faster into you.

And then—your whole body tensed. Your moans came out sobbing, your pussy clenching so tight around his cock that Shane choked on his next groan.

"F-Fuck, fuck," he stuttered, his hips bucking, making you feel him twitch and throb.

He lost himself.

His cock pulsed inside you, buried deep as he came, his hips pressing hard against your ass.

But Shane didn't move after he was done. He didn't pull out. He just stayed there, deep inside you, his breathing all uneven, his chest rising and falling against your back, holding you close.

For a moment, he didn't feel like he was drowning.

For a moment, he wasn't Shane Walsh.

He was just this—just a man, a man feeling your body so close to him, a man feeling the way his muscles ached from how hard he'd taken you.

Shane then let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to your back.

He should've said something.

Should've talked about what just happened.

Should've let you know he was still there. That he was still himself.

But he didn't. Instead, he just gripped your hips—steadying himself.

It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.

As Shane exhaled through his nose, long and slow, he was finally—finally—pulling out. The loss of him sent another shiver through you and left you feeling empty in a way you couldn't even explain.

And still, he said nothing.

You turned, water dripping from your body as you tried to look into his eyes, but he was already moving—grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat and water from his face.

"Shane... This—" Your voice was hoarse and shaky, and you weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Are you really okay?

Was this just a distraction?

What the hell was this?

So many questions...

But he didn't react to the sound of your voice.

You reached down for your wet clothes, trying to shove your pants back up, your movements frantic and quick. When you risked another glance at him, he still wasn't looking at you.

He was staring into the mirror. His shoulders tense, his chest still rising and falling, sweat dripping down his naked chest.

But Shane's face? Shane's face looked haunted.

His jaw clenched, so you tried again, softer this time. "Hey..."

Nothing.

He just turned, reaching for the towel again, and wiped it over his chest, his shoulders, and along his arms.

The bathroom felt suffocating by now, not for him, but for you—hot steam and cold silence tormenting you from all sides.

And just when you were about to give up—just when you were stepping toward the door…

"I didn't mean to."

You stopped as the words came out of him, hollow and quiet—like a confession meant for no one, yet meant for everything.

He didn't mean to—what?

You never turned back to ask.

Instead, you pulled open the door and stepped out—out of the suffocating heat—only to be hit with something colder once you walked down the stairs.

A silence far worse than the one in the bathroom.

And you felt it. Those stares.

Rick. Lori. Maggie. Glenn.

All of them…

Standing there, just beyond the door where Carl was still recovering, thanks to Hershel, their conversations had stopped the second you stepped into view.

Their eyes looked at you—at your wet clothes clinging to your skin, the water still dripping from your hair, the red marks already showing along your neck and throat.

No one spoke. No one dared to say a word.

But the silence wasn't empty; it was hanging like a storm cloud over the entire room.

Rick's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his cheeks twitching, while Lori's lips parted just a bit, her eyebrows furrowing like she wanted to say something—like she wanted to ask, but knew the answer already.

Glenn quickly looked away, his face turning red as if he were the one caught in something he shouldn't have seen.

And Maggie? She just blinked. Not judging. Not surprised. Just watching you with her red, swollen eyes from crying.

You swallowed hard, forcing your chin up, calming down your breath. Then, with a final step forward, you kept walking toward the front door, not wanting to talk. It wasn't necessary.

Meanwhile, the bathroom door upstairs remained shut.

And inside?

Inside, Shane stood motionless in front of the mirror—staring at himself, watching his reflection drown in the fog.

He didn't mean to…

[xoxo-sarah]

Easy Street

(Gif by @amazingmaeve)

↝a/n: not completely accurate but I didn't feel like rewatching the episode rn. Also didn't have a good title for this...Enjoy <3

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

↝warning: based on season 7 episode 8, after Daryl escapes the sanctuary, easy street mentioned, soft/ sad Daryl, reverse comfort, Daryl not use to comfort, bathing, getting underdressed (Innocently / non-suggestive), angst, fluff idk, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 7.18.24

Daryl Dixon Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Feeling the dirt under your fingernails, you continued to pluck the vegetables from the garden of Hilltop. Ever since the night your group was forced on their knees to endure your friends getting murdered, it wasn't the same. You felt hollow. Daryl getting taken only added to that feeling. But you tried not to think of him much, it only made everything worse. Staying in Hilltop with Maggie was the safest option. You had someone to look after, something to do to not go out looking for Daryl yourself. Maybe even try to kill Negan with your own hands. Hearing a commotion coming from the gate, you stood, dusting your hands off on your pants as you went.

Looking up, you saw Daryl stumbled off of the motorcycle that wasn't familiar with Jesus by his side, being greeted by Maggie. His eyes were downcast, trying to hide the vulnerability that threatened to spill over. You watched from a distance, your heart aching for him. Blinking back the surprise, you approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.

Daryl looked up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. Whatever he endured during the sanctuary shown in the bags under his eyes, the glaze in his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.

Feeling your arms gently wrap themselves around his middle, he was hesitant to reciprocate- as if you were the one that had been through everything. Your hug was the first real comfort he'd felt in a long time, and he clung to it, fighting back tears.

Looking up at his face from up close, you could see the grime, dirt, and blood coating him. You figured you were the same. Busying yourself with gardening and killing any walkers you see outside the walls was therapeutic, well, as much as it could be. It got your mind off of the issues at hand for a minute or two.

Pulling away, you grabbed his hand, nodding at Maggie and Jesus, before dragging him with you.

Silently, Daryl let you lead him to a small trailer in the corner, and to the even smaller bathroom. He watched as you began running the water, pushing his hair away from his sticky forehead. There was a mixture of gratitude and hesitation in his gaze, as you caught it.

Here you were, running a bath for him after you, yourself, had the posture to say you needed warmth to seep onto your bones just as much as him. But you didn't say a word, putting his discomfort as a higher priority.

The picture of you, kneeled down on the rocks and dirt entered his mind. Your eyes that, no matter how hard you tried to mask it, showed how scared you were. The shellshock you went through when Lucille struck down the first time. The tears that cascaded down your cheeks when Daryl had stood, anger getting the best of him. The sob that escaped your lips when he was dragged to the back of a car and carried away. He couldn't imagine how you felt when he was away.

He would listen to Easy Street a thousand times over if it meant that you would never have to go through anything of that sort ever again.

After standing in silence, watching his brain wonder, you stepped forward, hands tugging at his dirty clothes. Gently, you helped him peel his shirt from his body, along with every other article of clothing.

As you kneeled beside the tub, you carefully washed away the grime and blood. You began speaking in soothing tones, "Wanna talk about it?" You knew the answer. He didn't like talking about stuff like that, stuff that happens to him, stuff that hurts him deep down. That just wasn't him, as much as he wanted to be, for you, it seemed impossible to open up like that. To be vulnerable. Shaking his head, he let the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he relaxed under your care. He wasn't going to tell you the hell he went through, the things he saw. He certainly wasn't going to tell you that you were the only thing on his mind while he was kept in the stale building, in the cold little cell.

Not much else was said, only your humming and Daryl's thoughts swimming in his head.

Once he was clean, you helped him get dressed, tracing at the scars on his back, reminders of all he's been through. He was strong, you made sure he knew it. He hopes you know you're just as strong, if not stronger, than him. Words died on his tongue when he looked down at you taking care of him. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, "Thanks." A simple tight-lipped smile let him know that you knew that one word has a thousand confessions behind it. He wasn't the best at speaking his feelings but he didn't have to be with you. You just knew.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[forgetminot]

Stay With Me.

♡ Rick Grimes x gn reader ♡

[ Warnings : Reader gets bit, blood, gore, violence, amputation, angst, angst, angst, profanities, tiny tiny bit of fluff if you squint, late prison era before the governor attack ]

Author's Note : My first Rick fic of many because I'm an older man simp. Should i write part two, with some fluff? O.o

Prompt/Story Idea : "I think I'd look cute as a walker, don't you?"

You had been on many supply runs since the world fell apart, planning ahead; making sure you had a simple way in and out of whatever building you were looting. You started off alone, that's how you preferred it, it was easier that way- at least that's what you thought. Days turned into weeks and then into months and running alone just wasn't an option anymore. The dead roamed the street more than ever and you needed safety in numbers; so you found yourself a group, a family.

"If you stick to the back entrance, you should get in and out quick and easy." You nod. Taking the crumpled map from Glenn's hand, folding it up and placing it in your ragged bag. "Rick should be here any minute."

"Rick?" You question. "I thought it was Daryl and I doing this one."

"Rick thought it was best that he went out on a hunt, to get the food supply up more."

"I thought it was the better option." You turn in the direction of Rick's voice, as he jogs down the hill towards you and Glenn.

"Well, okay then." Smiling, you open the passenger side door and glance over your shoulder at Rick. "You can drive." You wink throwing the car keys at Rick and he catches them with ease. Raising your eyebrow in approval you hop into the car, throwing your bag on the back seat; Rick does the same.

It's about an hour drive to the location. Rick and you spend the time talking back and forth about how you would pull this run off quick but efficiently. You reach and grab your bag from the back seat, pulling out the map Glenn gave you. Your eyes scan across the old paper, red pen scattered across it from where Glenn had marked. "It's just up here." You point to the road on your left and Rick turns in, pulling up and switching off the engine.

"Ready?" Rick asks, you nod and open the car door, stepping out onto the gravel floor. You throw your bag over your shoulders walking towards the run down pharmacy with Rick following you close behind. "I take it your leading the way on this one?" You stop, turning to face Rick.

"If that's okay with you?"

"Course it is." You take your machete out from its holster, gripping the handle tightly in your hand. Tapping on the window, you and Rick wait patiently. "Nothing?" He asks.

"Nothing." You state. Opening the door you enter the pharmacy, it's a complete mess; shelves knocked over, old medical supplies and glass shattered all over the floor. "Watch your step." You whisper. Rick nods, heading over to one of the fallen shelves and he lifts it slowly; standing it back up on its base. "Anything?" You ask as you scavenge what you can from the shelves and drawers.

"Some filthy bandages. 'will need a good clean." He shoves them into his bag and continues to search the aisle.

"Keep an eye out for condoms!" You shout. Rick stands up, staring at you from over the shelves; a confused look on his face. "Glenn wanted some." You state, Rick rolls his eyes as you laugh and he returns to the box he was looking through. you head towards a separate door with the word 'office' signed above it. Placing your hand on the door handle you turn it- but it doesn't budge. ''Must be blocked'' you whisper to yourself. Turning to your left you position yourself at the door and ram your right shoulder against it, once, twice and then a third time. "Third time's the charm." You smile to yourself as the door flies open from the force.

"Fuck!" You shout, placing your arms against the body in front of you, you force the walker back and sink your machete into its skull, blood splashing against the walls. It falls to the ground with a thud.

"Y/n!" Rick rushes into the room, his knife raised. "Shit! Are you okay?" He asks, glancing down at the now dead walker.

"I- I think so." You're out of breath, chest heaving up and down with every word you say. You take a seat in the office chair and place your machete down on the desk. " I didn't even hear it." You state, shock covering your face. You freeze. Staring down at your forearm; it's drenched in blood, both from you and the walker. "No! No, Fuck! No!" Sunk into your arm is a bite mark, fresh and dripping with blood; you turn pale just from looking at the bite. Rick takes slow steps towards you, lifting your arm up to his height and gently rubbing the blood away.

"We need to amputate it." He's calm as he speaks, but you can see the panic written on his face.

"What?" You gasp, standing up and stepping back from Rick. "Yeah, no." You laugh quietly to yourself. "I think I'd look cute as a walker, don't you?" So many thoughts are running through your head. Maybe you would prefer to be a walker? Is it worth the amputation if you bleed out anyway? What if it doesn't work? What if we're too late? Rick's eyes are pleading with you, staring you down and you don't know what to do. You are an hour away from the prison, there's no way you'd make it back in time. It needs to be done now, while there's still time. "Okay." You say, your voice barely a whisper. "Do it." You sit back down, placing your arm firmly on the office table. Rick quickly removes his belt and ties it around your arm. Taking your machete, he raises it above him and looks you straight in the eyes.

"Ready? On three." You take a deep breath looking away and staring at the bloody wall. "One-" He brings the machete down with force and you scream out as it slashes your skin, tears streaming down your cheeks as he continues to cut through your bone, blood and flesh covering the table. "Stay with me." He whispers as he takes one last swing with the machete, cutting your arm completely from your body. You can't move, you can't talk. You sit frozen in fear, staring down at the bloody stump where your arm once was. Shaking you look up at Rick as he rips the bottom of his shirt and wraps it around your amputation. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the room from spinning. Your head feels extremely light as you shake it back and forth. "Stay with me." Rick repeats as he scoops you up in his arms, rushing through the pharmacy and out to the car. He pulls the back door open and lays you down on the back seat, before rushing to the drivers seat and turning on the engine. "Keep those eyes open!" You barely hear anything he's saying, your whole world feels like it's closing in on you. "Please, don't die on me" Rick says to himself, fingers tapping against the stearing wheel. Those are the last words you hear as you fade into the darkness.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title:A Fight For Survival

--

In the desolate wasteland, the abandoned warehouse stood as a grim reminder of the world’s collapse. Its skeletal remains were dimly lit by the weak light seeping through broken windows. The oppressive silence was occasionally broken by distant groans and the shuffle of the undead, signaling the encroaching danger.

Daryl Dixon was slumped against a rusted metal pillar, his face a mask of pain. A severe wound along his side had him barely able to move, his bow resting uselessly on the floor beside him. His breath came in labored gasps as he tried to stay alert despite his injuries. The warehouse had become a trap, overrun by walkers, their guttural growls growing louder with each passing moment.

You, a skilled survivor and his steadfast companion, had been through countless perils together. This time, however, the stakes were higher. Daryl’s injury left him vulnerable, and the threat was imminent. You were determined to protect him. With a deep breath, you readied yourself, gripping a makeshift weapon—a metal shard attached to a sturdy stick.

The first walkers appeared, their groans filling the space with a chilling certainty. Without hesitation, you sprang into action. The clash was immediate and fierce. Each movement was a blend of desperation and precision, your weapon cutting through the encroaching threat. The walkers’ unnatural, jerky motions made them unpredictable, and every successful strike was met with the unsettling sounds of crumbling flesh and bone.

Daryl’s eyes, usually so steely, now held a mix of fear and frustration. He tried to rise, but pain kept him grounded. “Leave,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Save yourself.” But you weren’t about to abandon him. You pushed through the throng of walkers, defending him with every ounce of strength you had.

Amid the battle, you carved out a temporary safe zone. The weight of your task was immense, each decision a matter of life or death. The relentless walkers seemed to multiply, their numbers overwhelming. Your focus was laser-sharp, every swing of your weapon purposeful and driven by the need to keep Daryl safe.

Slowly, the tide of battle began to shift. The walkers' numbers dwindled, their advance slowing as their bodies accumulated on the floor. You could feel your strength waning, but the sight of fewer walkers gave you renewed energy. With the immediate threat reduced, you hurried back to Daryl’s side.

You knelt beside him, breathless and worn. “We need to get you patched up,” you said, your voice shaky but determined. Daryl looked at you with a mix of gratitude and relief. The battle had forged an unspoken bond between you, a testament to the trust and reliance that had deepened over time.

Carefully, you assisted Daryl to his feet, guiding him through the wreckage of the warehouse. Exhaustion was evident in every step, but the silent understanding between you made the journey bearable. As you reached a safer corner, the immediate danger had passed, leaving a heavy but welcome silence.

In that moment of quiet, the severity of your situation and the strength of your connection became clear. The world outside remained perilous, but together, you had faced another deadly challenge and emerged stronger for it.

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