#rick grimes hurt comfort

[velvetcloxds]

come over- you asked for twd requests so what about dbf!rick who has been trying not to fall for you since he saved you from the woods while still at the farm and after lori's death you help him clean up after his breakdown and he realizes he's already fallen for you

'TIL ONE OF US CAVES | R.G.

word count: 1k

warnings: age gap, lori's death, little angsty but mostly hurt comfort- I haven't written something in like two months pls go easy on me lol

You were sort of lost when Glenn called you away from guard duty, counting guns and amo with Maggie seemed a priority, especially after everything that happened but then he said that Rick needed you and you'd never moved that fast before. It was an odd thing, whatever you and Rick had going on, nothing more than stolen glances and moments in the midst of the madness, neither of you willing to risk doing anything for Lori or Carl's behalf. But it was a sort of unspoken rule that you'd always be the first to show up for each other when the moment came and one of you needed it.

You found him sitting on his cot in his cell, lost behind blood you knew wasn't his but it didn't ease your mind at all, hands reaching out slowly towards him as soon as you sat down in front of him. He wasn't with you yet, not completely, dazed still, angry still, so you were careful when you took hold of his stained wrists, pulling them away from his head, hoping that seeing you would snap him out of it.

"Rick," your voice trembled, you wished it didn't, wished you were calmer than you were, but it was sort of terrifying, you'd seen him at his lowest before, lower than he deserved to be, and yet here he was even lower, even darker. "Rick, look at me," you were pleading, an awful sound coming from you and you wondered if he thought the same because it was merely a second later when his eyes met yours, the oceans that crashed around his pupils seemingly darker than ever, drowning with the very emotions that suffocated him. "Hi," you breathed and he sighed, a gentle breath, something that stopped your heart in its place because with it came his own desperate, pleading motions as he gripped your hands in his.

"Carl-"

"He's okay, most of us are okay," you nodded, cooed far too gently for any other day but it had his shoulders dropping ever so slightly from their tensed stance. "You're not," you explained and he would scoff if he was himself, he nodded instead and you froze when he brought your hands to his face, your fingers taking no time to cup his cheeks, his eyes closing at the touch, the comfort of such a simple gesture but it came from you, grounded him despite everything, brought him right back to the four grey walls and it didn't make his heart burn any less but the pain was bearable for at least a second, as long as he could feel the inside of your soft hands against his sticky skin he could breathe again, think again, be again.

You allowed him a second to savor it, let it sink in, panicked for a moment when he leaned his head onto your shoulder, kissed at your exposed skin, gripped at your waist, nothing he'd ever done before, nothing you'd ever allowed him before but you held his neck, brushed a hand through his hair, silently begged him to stay all while hating yourself for taking something good from such a horrifying day.

"We need to get you clean," you whispered after allowing yourself far too much time with him, squeezing lightly before forcing his head up to look at him. "You've got a little girl waiting to properly meet her dad out there," he nodded to that, and in a second the guilt found him too, but he still held onto you as you led him to the water. He refused to look away as you dragged a wet cloth over his skin, over and over, over and over, as best you could until you could see him again. He did the same for you, your comfort had left you stained as well, with his terror, with his pain, he didn't mind being the one to rid you of it, you'd rid him of his after all.

"Y/n," you weren't sure when he'd found his voice again, when he came too, but it was him holding you then, rough hands but gentle hold as he cupped your cheeks. "Baby," you shook your head, he couldn't cave now, not after so long, not after all you'd made it through, you'd been so strong, so good at hiding it, fighting your heart every moment of every day- he couldn't cave, not after you'd fought so hard not to. "She's gone, Lori-" he took in a sharp breath, coming to terms with it all over again. "I screwed it up, the last few months, I've been making a mess of everything but you- this, baby, I can't make a mess of this too."

"It's too soon, Rick," he tutted, it made you melt, stole your sense right from your mind, your heart, and led you against his chest.

"It's not, it's late, I'm too late but we've lost too much to fight this anymore," he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes again- like the reaction came without any control. "I cave," he whispered and the admission tingled right through your body. "I cave, Y/n, I love you and I cave."

[cherrycherrylady2024]

Christmas with the Grimes'

(Dilf Rick Grimes x reader) Word count: 3,327

Warnings 18+: Drinking, mentions of sex, kissing, incredible sexual tension, very sensuous bandaging, this is so hot i love this chapter

Chapter 5: Reach out and touch

It felt like a sign. Or instant karma. Your face was hot with embarrassment as you shakily picked yourself up, stumbling twice in the process. Judith and co. had already made a full lap around the rink and skated up to you at the perfect time to watch you fall yet again. “Shit, y/n! Are you okay?” Judith exclaimed, quickly skating over to you and helping you stand. Why the fuck is everyone in this town an Olympic pro skater? You brushed it off with a laugh, concealing your chagrin. Your unfortunately un-gloved palms were already red and thumping with pain, along with your knee which had smashed into the ice. Marsha looked you up and down, a hint of a sneer on her lips, “Do you want one of those?” she questioned, pointing at a kid wobbling around the ice, using a walker. A few others were strewn about, clearly meant for the idiots who couldn’t skate. Judith shot her a look and you tried to conceal your irritation. “No, thanks though. I’m just rusty,” you say gritting your teeth. Marsha smiled faux-sweetly and zipped off, spraying a bit of ice in her wake. Daniel looked at you, a hint of worry, before following Marsha. “I’m sorry y/n, Marsha’s a bitch sometimes,” Judith said, interlinking her arm with yours. You didn’t respond, as you felt tears prickling the back of your eyes. Everything was bubbling up to the surface. You were feeling so many things so heavily and quickly that you weren’t sure how to handle it all.

But still, you refused to cry. 

Judith did a lap with you around the rink as you gained your bearings, before you shooed her off to try on your own. She stayed a few feet away, watching you, in case you fell. She was a good friend. Your best friend. And you wanted to fuck her dad. You are despicable. Every time you fell, you almost felt like you deserved it. You got the hang of it just barely towards the end, but only after slamming into the barriers, the ground, and a few other people. After an hour on the ice, your hands were scraped and bruised, your pants torn on one knee, and you ached all over. Marsha and Daniel said their goodbyes, which you barely acknowledged. The car ride home was quiet between you and Judith, except for some Christmas music playing over the radio. You kept your eyes trained out of the window, exhausted emotionally and physically. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see her glancing at you now and then. She finally spoke, “Y’know…you could’ve told me you can’t skate.” She said this gently, not judging. It wasn’t accusatory, or mean, or bitchy, she was entirely genuine. Your frustrations melted away. You loved her. You looked at her tiredly, not saying anything as she returned your gaze. After a moment, a small smile began to form on her lips and you couldn’t help but return it. You let out a giggle. She snorted, her smile growing. Before you knew it you were both cackling with laughter, Judith even wiping a tear from her eye. It was pretty ridiculous, you look like you had been in a bar fight. Judith slowed to a stop in front of Carol’s house again and Carl got in the car, your laughter just winding down. He paused for a second, “What happened to you?” he questioned. You and Judith immediately burst into laughter again. You felt better.

~~~

You walked back into the Grimes house, your bones aching. You wanted a hot shower and perhaps a few bandaids. You remembered with feverish excitement that Rick would be home, and you headed into the kitchen, assuming he would be preparing dinner. Except he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the dining room either. Or the living room. You felt both panic and disappointment rise in you. “Dad’s working late again!” you hear Judith yell from the kitchen. You speed walk back in, and try to seem nonchalant. Judith flicks a note towards you, “He didn’t leave pizza money either. Leftovers I guess.” You picked up the note, reading and re-reading it.

‘Working late, not sure when I’ll be home. Be good. Sweet dreams if I don't see you - Dad’ 

It was a simple note, probably scrawled quickly during his lunch break. Not much to read into. Except you were nearly 100% sure the last line was meant for you. It had to be. While you were supremely let down, you also felt a sense of vindication. It was there. It was real.

The three of you heated up Chinese leftovers and enjoyed your small feast on the couch, watching Christmas movies. You had fully emerged from your bit of moodiness and enjoyed Judith and Carl's company. Sure Judith had a terrible habit of talking through movies, and yes, Carl couldn’t sit still for more than 10 seconds, but it was a comfort to you. The fireplace warmed the three of you, snuggled up in blankets, and you realized that you felt the most at home you have in a very, very long time. Maybe it was because you felt validated by the note, or maybe you were just tired, but the time flew by surprisingly fast. Before you knew it, Carl was headed to bed and you had said your goodnights to the Grimes siblings. You got in the shower after Judith around 9 pm, the warm water soothing your aching body. You were surprised to find a few more scrapes and bruises that had been concealed by your clothing, but you didn’t care enough to ask for bandaids at this point. You methodically picked out and put on a pair of pajamas before diving under the covers, already chilly. You set your alarm for 2 am, and fell asleep with surprising ease.

~~~

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you tip-toed down the stairs, hoping against all hope that Rick would be in the kitchen. Just like last night. Just like every night for the rest of time if you were lucky. You padded into the kitchen, silent as the dead, holding your breath in anticipation. 

He sat at the kitchen island once more, studying the newspaper's crossword under the small lamp, his whiskey by his side. You breathed a sigh of relief, and he looked up, an expression of mild surprise followed by a smile. “Back again?” He remarked. His smile briefly faltered as he surveyed your appearance; your nearly-see-through tank top which left little to the imagination in the chilly house, your shorty shorts which looked small enough to be underwear, and your scraped and bruised knees. He looked like he wanted to ask, but thought better of it. You had a sudden wave of panic. What the fuck were you doing? “Couldn’t sleep,” you stated. He nodded his head, glancing back down toward his newspaper, “More dreams?” You scoffed and walked over to him, the cold tiles of the kitchen shocking your feet. You sidled up right next to him, standing only a few inches away as he sat. He turned his head slowly, blue eyes wandering up your frame to look at you, his face slightly lower than yours. His expression was slightly questioning yet indulgent of your little show. You glanced down at him with a sly smile before bending over and reading his crossword questions out loud to yourself. You could feel his gaze linger on your body, stretched over him. “This one is wrong, Rick,” you said definitively, pointing out one of the rows he had filled in. Rick, Rick, Rick. You loved to say his name, but you felt a twinge of fear when he looked at you, raising his eyebrow slightly. Didn’t he tell you to call him Rick? The corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smirk. “Oh is it?” he said sarcastically, more of a statement than a question. Your leg brushed up against his, neither of you moving away. “Mhm. Pencil,” you commanded, hand outstretched. He chortled, shaking his head and handing you the pencil.

You had gripped the end of it before he suddenly stopped, and in the blink of an eye, both his hands quickly cupped your outstretched one. “What happened here?” He questioned, more concerned than you expected. You regretted not putting on bandaids earlier, as you felt your face go slightly warm. “Oh- I… fell. Like a lot. On the ice. It was sort of mortifying,” you admitted. You hated the thought of him thinking you were some clumsy kid. He moved your hand around, inspecting it, his grip on your wrist secure and warm. The fingers of his other hand gently brushed across your own, opening up your hand more. He stood and moved past you in an instant, his hand brushing your waist, sending more goosebumps across your skin. “It’s fine really, it doesn’t hurt,” you said. He ignored you, ducking into a cupboard and emerging with a first aid kit. He cracked it open and brought the lamp closer to you two, before patting the counter, “Hop up.” You obeyed and climbed onto the counter. He situated himself slightly in between your outstretched knees, close enough that you could wrap your legs around him if you wanted to. And you did want to. You weren’t embarrassed by your ice skating battle scars anymore. In fact, this was the best possible way this situation could go. Thank god you're terrible at ice skating. You tried not to smile.

Rick put some Neosporin on the butt of each of your hands, his clean fingertip delicately spreading it across your scrape. He was so gentle. So quiet. So present. It was incredibly intimate. He wrapped a thin piece of gauze around both of your hands, and you felt somewhat silly again. Perhaps this was overkill.

That was until he gripped the back of your thigh, spreading your legs further and bringing your right knee closer to his eye level.

You inhaled sharply, but he didn’t seem to notice, his gaze completely and utterly focused on your beat-up knee. It was extremely endearing. You were now situated, legs akimbo, around Rick Grimes. One of his hands held the back of your calf, the other in the middle of your quad, turning your knee this way and that in the light. “You ain’t ever allowed to ice skate again,” he finally declared shaking his head with a smile. You felt like you were on fire like anything could happen in this moment. You tried to maintain control of yourself, chill out. “Yes sir,” you mumbled, not quite as sarcastic sounding as you had meant it to be. Certainly not chill! His eyes flicked up to yours, catching the sheepish look on your face. He smiled to himself as he let go of your leg, reaching for the alcohol wipes in the kit. He peeled one open then looked up at you, “This might sting.” You nodded, nothing could take you away from this moment. He dabbed the wipe gently on your scraped knee and- OW. You sucked in a surprised breath between your teeth, squeezing your eyes closed. “Shhh,” he said, gently caressing your thigh in a soothing gesture, “You’re alright.”

You forgot about the pain almost immediately, his caress much more arousing than soothing. You peeked down at him. His face was inches away from your knee, eyebrows knit up, focusing on sanitizing the scrape as gently as possible. Rick's large hands gripping your thigh, yet working so delicately on your injury. His dark, thick hair with those sexy curls. One had even fallen into his face, and it took all your strength not to push it back for him. Run your fingers through his hair. You wanted nothing more than to touch him. He cleaned the smaller scrape on your other knee before throwing the towlette away. He applied Neosporin again and placed a large bandaid on one and a smaller one on the other. With his thumbs, he stroked the edges of the bandaids firmly, coercing them to stay in place. He rubbed his hands together, inspecting his work, “Alright that should do it. Nothin’ we can do ‘bout these bruises though.” He stood. You didn’t want this to end. You didn’t want him to ever leave between your legs.

It was out of your mouth before you could give it a second thought, 

“Will you kiss it better?”

...

Now would be the appropriate time to crawl into a hole and die. 

You felt an immediate flush grace your cheeks. Rick peered down at you, and you struggled to read his expression. It was like a warning look, but also spirited, like something had stirred inside of him. Like he was entertaining this behavior. He looked hungry. You hadn’t broken eye contact, your lips slightly parted, ready to take back what you said. He studied you for another moment before his hand slid under your leg again, stabilizing it. He slowly knelt, sinking almost entirely in front of you, your legs open wide to him. He maintained eye contact as he leaned forward slightly, and left a soft kiss over your bandaged knee. Your eyelids fluttered and you let out the tiniest shaky breath. He must have noticed, but again said nothing. He wasn’t done. He moved lazily to your other knee, and left another kiss, lingering longer. You were at the precipice of something. All you had to do was reach out and touch. He finished and stood, that same hungry look in his eye, slightly self-satisfied. He could see what he was doing to you.

Rick’s hips were situated in line with your knees, maybe even closer. One of his hands just so happened to stay on your thigh. It was undeniable now. If anybody walked in there was no explaining this. You could cut the tension between you two with a knife. No, not even with a knife. A chainsaw might do the job. You didn’t want him to stop. He seemed as though he was just about to say something, but you interrupted him, stretching out your bandaged hands. Your knuckles bumped his chest, your palms up. You didn’t need to say anything, he understood, that playful look in his eye. He grasped the back of your hand and leaned down. Your fingers cupped his face as he left a gentle kiss to your bandaged hand. His coarse facial hair tickled the soft flesh of your palm. He moved to the other one, again leaving a slightly deeper kiss. You wanted nothing more than to grab his face and connect your lips. You could imagine it so vividly. Reach out and touch. What was stopping you? You couldn’t imagine he’d protest. And yet, to cross that line… you were petrified. As much as you tried to seem suave and confident, this was completely uncharted territory. Maybe in an alternate universe, you were bold, truly bold. Maybe you were already fucking on the kitchen counter. But not in this universe.

He pulled away from your hand. Please don’t stop Please don’t stop Please don’t stop. He started putting away the med kit. No. No. No.

“Ow,” you remarked flatly. 

He turned back to find you pointing at your inner thigh, and the rather large bruise situated only one or two inches from the hem of your shorts. You had no idea how it had appeared, yet there it was. He stared at the bruise, clenching his jaw, the gears turning in his head. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. He looked up at you.

You were taken aback by his stormy expression. You hadn’t seen a look like this on his face before and it took you a few moments to piece it together. There was a kind of frustration behind his eyes, one that you couldn’t wrap your head around. Why would he be angry? It wasn’t a full-on glare, more of a DANGER warning, and yet you could see that same hunger there, ten-fold. It was as though he was desperately holding himself back, and he was losing. You got the feeling Rick didn’t like to lose. He didn’t move. Neither of you did.

You have made a huge mistake. You fucked everything up. What is wrong with you?

He looked away, out of the window, thinking briefly. You were both vividly aware of the line you had asked him to cross. The moments passed at a glacial pace, and you felt frozen in anticipation of what might come. Rick turned back to you and sighed lowly. He set the medical kit back down, maybe a little harder than it needed to be. He drummed his fingers on the box. You gripped the counter anxiously, trying not to let it show on your face. After what felt like an excruciatingly long amount of time, he moved. Rick situated himself back in between your legs, spreading them wider with his hand, a gentle pressure on your knee. He was closer than before, even. You exhaled shakily. He hooked his hand in the crook of your leg, lifting it up. He was still gentle, but you could sense he was holding back. It was the same motion he would do if he was about to put your leg over his shoulder, and you couldn’t shake the image from your head. Reach out and touch. His other hand held your opposite thigh for stability, his thumb stroking your skin gently. He lowered his head languidly, maintaining the same steely eye contact. You breathed heavily. His face was mere inches from your clothed pussy as he dipped his head towards your thigh. He paused, keeping his mouth just slightly away from the mauve bruise, and you could feel his equally heavy breath on your skin. He looked up at you holding your gaze as he connected his parted lips to your inner thigh. His eyes shut as he slowly pursed his lips, leaving the world's most erotic, warm, semi-open-mouthed kiss.

He exhaled through his nostrils like he was relieved of some great burden within himself. Like he was given water while lost in the desert. He didn’t seem to want to stop. Or maybe he just couldn’t. He had given in. His lips didn't leave the spot for quite some time, grazing over the bruise. You could’ve come right then and there. Rick Grimes’ head in between your thighs, his lips on your skin, his fingers gripping you tightly, as though he was trying in vain to restrain himself. He kissed the bruise a second time, and you could swear you felt him lightly suck at your skin. He dragged his bottom lip gradually away from the bruise, traveling down your leg. You could feel his teeth slightly graze your skin. The warmth of his mouth. Shivers racked your body as you let your head fall back slightly, closing your eyes in ecstasy at the lightest touch. His lips eventually departed and he straightened up slowly, his head still bowed, before meeting your eyes darkly.

He was inches away, gazing deeply, lustfully, dangerously into your soul. His hand hadn’t left your thigh. Reach out. You breathed shakily. And touch. Your hand met his on your thigh. Reach out and touch. You traveled slowly up his arm, stopping at his shoulder. He didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t move. You leaned forward, your legs opening up even more for him. Reach out and touch. Your lips were centimeters from his, you shared the same breath, his eyes flicking down to your lips. He wasn’t making this easy for you. You had to cross that line, not him. Your hand met the side of his face. Reach out and touch. 

Maybe it was this universe.

You pressed your lips against his.

***

notes: oh my god. Oh my god. Tee hee thanks for waiting I hope you guys like this one! Also if anyone has any suggestions of things you'd like to see in this story feel free to DM me, I'm always open to input! <3

[virginsexgod69]

❝Here for You❞

paring: Rick Grimes x f!Reader

summary: After Lori's death, you're there to comfort Rick in any way he needs.

Set in season 3 in the prison after Lori's death

word count: 1,569

content warnings: NSFW // smut // angst // hurt no comfort // pining

cross posted on ao3!

You've always had a thing for Rick. Ever since he arrived at the camp in Atlanta, you had your eye on him.

But he was married.

You weren't a home-wrecker. You wouldn't dare intrude on the happy relationship of a man who was reunited with his family he thought was dead. But that didn't stop you from stealing glances. Sometimes you swore you could feel his blue eyes staring at you too. At some point, those stolen glances turned into the two of you looking longingly at each other. Maybe, just maybe, he felt the same about you?

But be was married.

The longing looks weren't the only thing setting your heart ablaze. It was the way Rick would place his hands on your hips whenever he needed to get by. The way his touch would linger. Not only that, but he was so protective of you, but never controlling . He even took the time to teach you how to properly use a gun. And he always, always made sure you had something to eat, even if it meant less for him. He had to have liked you just a little bit, right?

But be was married.

You knew for sure you'd never have a shot with Rick after you found out Lori was pregnant. Even if nobody could be sure the baby's his, he still stuck by her and who were you to get between that.

But still, that did nothing to stop the fleeting moments between the two of you. In fact, they seemed to happen even more. Maybe he indulged in his desires a bit to soothe his aching heart from the pain of not really knowing if his unborn baby was his. Despite all of this, you fought hope. You wanted him so so bad, but you knew there wasn't a chance in hell it would happen.

Because he was married.

But then he wasn't. Shit hit the fan: the farm was overrun by walkers, Sophia turned, Shane was killed, Andrea never came back, a prison became a home, a baby was born... oh , and Lori died.

It's not like that made you happy. You were sad that she didn't get to say goodbye, that she didn't get time with her newborn, that Rick lost his wife. It took a toll on him. He wasn't the same. He was crazy even. Everyone was on edge around him, constantly walking eggshells as to not set him off. There was just so much tension.

And the tension felt even more uncomfortable as the two of you made your way back to the prison after an unsuccessful run. The tension practically filled the little green car with all the words left unsaid, questions left unasked, feelings left unknown. So, you decided to speak to him for the first time in months.

"Are you okay?" you asked timidly.

His knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

" 'M fine," he mumbled not taking his eyes off the road.

That was a damn lie and you both knew it.

"Rick," you said softly, "we're alone now. If you want to talk abou-"

"I said I'm fine!"

He may not have wanted to talk, but you could tell he needed to be comforted and you wanted to be the one to offer him that comfort, no matter how he wanted it. No matter how he needed it.

You placed a gentle hand on his knee, much like how he used to do to you before everything happened.

He sighed with relent before pulling the car over and putting it in park. He placed his hand on top of yours and looked over at you. You fought not to get lost in the sea of his blue eyes as you stared back at him.

"I'm.. I'll be fine, I promise."

You leaned closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

"Y'know I'm here to comfort you, right? In any way you need me, I'm here," you promised.

His baby blue eyes drifted from yours down to your lips. His whole demeanor changed. He relaxed for the first time in a while. So much so, he let his inhibitions go as he pulled you closer and crashed his lips into yours.

So many feelings rushed through your head the second your lips made contact. You were shocked. You dreamed and fantasized about this moment forever and now that it was finally happening, you weren't going to let it slip through your fingers. You reciprocated the kiss, indulging in every second before Rick hastily pulled away.

"I'm so sorry," he said between gentle pants "I shouldn't have done that."

Your heart sank. You resented that he regretted your happiest moment.

"Rick," you said with your forehead still against his, "I want this. I want you ." You didn't care how desperate you sounded. Once you got a taste of Rick, you needed more.

And perhaps he felt the same about you because he didn't hesitate to pull you back in for another kiss. Trying your best not to break the kiss, you climbed from the passenger seat onto his lap. His tongue found its way into your mouth and tasted you as if he'd never get another taste. You moaned against his mouth as you tangled your hands in his curly hair. His hands traversed your body before practically tearing off the button up shirt you wore.

"You sure you want this?" he asked. His blue eyes, glistening in the sunlight, looked at you with uncertainty. You could tell he wanted this, but even more so he didn't want to hurt you.

You responded by grinding against his hardening bulge as you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. His hands firmly gripped your hips as ground you onto his clothed erection. He pulled away from your mouth and placed open mouthed kisses down your neck. You didn't miss the occasional grunts you coaxed out of him which only encouraged you to keep going. He reached up and unclasped your bra, slid it off your arms, and tossed it aside. Embarrassed by the exposure, you automatically moved to cover yourself, but Rick caught your wrists.

"Don't. Let me see you. You're so beautiful," he rasped.

Oh Rick. He was even sweeter than you anticipated which set you ablaze and drove the butterflies in your tummy crazy. You needed him. You hurried to undo his belt as he was fondling your breasts while placing kisses along your collar bones. He lifted his hips just enough for you to pull his pants down. He took a nipple into his mouth as you palmed his bulge through his boxers.

"I-I need you," you wantonly moaned.

" 'M all yours."

You freed his rock hard erection from his boxers and stroked it a few times before moving to pull off your own pants. Rick helped you get out of them, stopping for a second to admire the wetness accumulated in your panties. He pulled them aside and lined his dick with your entrance, letting you slowly sink down on it. He stretched you so good that the pain only added to your pleasure.

"I've fantasized about you since you arrived at the camp in Atlanta," you confessed.

"I can't say I haven't wanted you this way for a while too. Whenever I caught you staring at me with those doe eyes, my imagination ran wild."

Once you felt comfortable enough, you began to move. You held onto his shoulders for support as you bounced on his dick. He threw his head back as he moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. He couldn't take it anymore and held onto your hips again as he thrusted up into you. He watched you with admiration in his eyes as your breasts bounced with each and every one of his thrusts.

"You feel so good around my cock, princess."

"Oh god Rick, I think I'm gonna-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence since he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down for another kiss. Your walls clenched around him as his thrusts grew sloppy. You were both about to cum.

"That's it, cum for me Lori."

You both froze. The butterflies in your tummy were stabbed to death by the shards of your broken heart. You felt a lump in your throat as you tried to hold back the hot tears burning the corners of your eyes. Rick looked at you brokenheartedly with shame swimming in his eyes as you pulled yourself off of him.

"Lor- er, Y/N, I'm sor-"

"Don't."

God you sounded so... broken .

You both dressed yourselves in awkward silence. Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He sounded like he wanted to say something, but decided against it, which was good because you'd have ignored him anyway.

"The sun's setting, we should get back to the prison," you said cooly.

"Y/N, I-"

"Just stop!"

A beat of silence passed and Rick finally started up the car and resumed the drive back to the prison.

You let your tears fall silently as you stared out the window, but you eventually closed your eyes. Your stomach churned at the sight of his wedding band's reflection in the window, signifying that even though his wife was dead, he was still married.

[twigg96]

I Should Have Been There

Daryl Dixon X Bitten Reader fic

Era: Alexandria

Pronouns: She/Her/You/[Y/N]

Warnings: Cannon divergent, talks of illness and zombie bites in detail, kidnapping, descriptions of limp amputation, blood, talks about prosthetics, Angst, Hurt/comfort

Summery: After Daryl goes out for a run, Pete Anderson asks you to help him carry some records back to his office for him. What you never expected of the doctor was to be locked up in a torture chamber with a walker as a punishment and statement for Rick to take heed to not fuck with him or his family ever again. It's up to Glenn, your best friend since before the outbreak, Daryl your boyfriend, the ingenious thinking of Maggie, the invisible nature of Carol's investigation skills, and Rick your over protective leader to find you. But will they find you in time to save your life?

Your POV

Walking around the walls of Alexandria for the 100th time that day you began to feel. The cabin fever beginning to take hold of you. Being out on the land for so long, free to go where you wanted, run where ever you wanted with the threat of walkers being the only thing keeping you awake at night truly was a luxury you were missing around now. Rick and Michonne had instructed everyone to keep your heads down. Keep to yourselves as much as possible. So you did as told even if you did wish Daryl had smuggled you on his bike on his latest run outside. But if anyone needed the escape more than you it was your boyfriend. With a deep sigh you tapped the metal of the wall with your wrench listening vaguely for any sounds of defaults or hollowness in the sound that reverberated back to you indicating a missing nut or rust that needed to be brushed away. Maggie, your chore partner for this particular job looked over her shoulder to you eyeing you with her dark eyes. "What? Am I not entertaining enough company fer ya?" She teased, knowing exactly what was bothering you. The poor brunette had her ear chewed off for hours the night before when you found out your boyfriend had taken yet another long run without even saying a word goodbye. "No..." You muttered, boredom dripping from your voice. "Just antsy." You replied not even looking to the walls anymore as the two of you continued your rounds. "How about this?" Maggie muttered, turning around on her heel so that she was walking backwards facing towards you. "We finish our shift, and I'll talk Deanna into letting us sneak past the gates for an evening stroll picking flowers?" She cocked a brow making the offer sound as enticing as she could. Picking flowers sounded like the most boring job a person could have especially when there were so many more exciting jobs to be had. But if it gave you an opportunity to escape this Hell for a little you would put up with anything. "Sure." You smiled, brushing some hair behind your ear.

"Morning ladies." A voice deep and sickeningly prideful called out to you both pulling your attention. You struggled to hide your disgust as you stared at the town's doctor, Pete Anderson. A dirty blonde towering idiot of a man who thought that using intimidation would get him places. Oh how wrong he had been once Rick had found out what he was doing to his wife... however his usual cockiness had returned and his air of superiority seemed to permeate even the space the three of you held, which worried you if you were being honest. "Can I have your help with something?" He asked, tucking his bruised hands into his pockets. "Just need help carrying some medical records and would appreciate the second pair of hands." He muttered meeting your eyes momentarily before turning them to the ground. Turning to Maggie you shared a glance, one that spoke more than words ever could. One of mistrust for the doctor but knew, in order to keep the peace with the town that one of you should at least try. Silently, Maggie glanced to the next wooden watch tower not even three tracker trailer lengths away. Atop it sat a very bored looking Glenn, his back pressed to the metal wall, his baseball cap pulled over his eyes, rifle resting comfortably over his lap. If you didn't know better you'd think the Korean was sleeping. But experience with your best friend had proved that the apocalypse had shaped him into one light sleeper. Maggie gave you a small almost indistinguishable look that told you to go. She'd stay and she and Glenn would come for you if she didn't see you by the time she reached her husband's post. Nodding you turned back to the doctor you shoved the wrench you carried deep in your pocket and stepped forward. "Lead the way, doc."

You watched the sky turn a ruddy orange as Pete lead you past rows and rows of very similar housing. If it wasn't for small lawn ornaments, flower and vegetable gardens growing, and hand made decorations you would have never been able to distinguish the houses apart. Placing his hand on your arm, Pete ushered you through a tight ally between two houses and into a space you never knew existed. Not that you ever explored beyond the main populace for fear of becoming eternally lost amongst the suburban hell. Beyond the pampered lawns of owned society were the untamed untended lawns of houses yet to find a owner. Their windows were dark and dust covered. Some were boarded with windows broken presumably from rocks thrown from the local hooligans that roamed the streets after dark. Pete lead you to one of the homes, a small nearly invisible basement door had been painted over making it nearly indistinguishable with the rest of the rest of the house's foundation aside from a rusted padlock that held the door shut and had warn with the elements. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Pete tried several of them with various levels of success before finally popping it open with a small click. Pocketing the lock, Pete unlatched the door and swung the door open with a loud squeak.

The basement was dark and dusty. Dirt laid on every surface that was bathed in light from the doorway. Mice droppings scattered the floor and the smell of stale air and mold filled the air making your stomach turn. The doctor however pushed forward into the darkness turning on a flashlight you never knew he possessed. Following close behind the man who craned his neck while swiping at spider webs that threatened to get in his face. "So where are these records at?" You muttered lowly, glancing at the man only now noticing how dark his bags under his eyes had gotten since your arrival. Dr. Anderson never responded instead he pointed his torch towards a wooden door locked with another series of padlocks. You cocked a brow but didn't question anything, HIPPA was a thing in the early world... you simply assumed he was one of the only ones who still adhered to it. Kicking an empty can of fruit to the side that must have fallen from one of the wooden shelves surrounding you, a sudden deep growl stopped you in your tracks. Grabbing the doctor's shoulder tight enough to bruise you quickly placed your finger to your lips. A walker?! Here in the town?! Maybe the house was inhabited at one point and the owner died? Grabbing the wrench from your pocket you wished you had been smart enough to grab your knife from the armory that morning. Pete swung his light around where you pointed. To the floor to look for crawlers then through the shelving. You saw nothing but the shadows that made you even more wary then you already were. Looking above yourself you assumed that the walker had died in the upper levels of the home... You'd have to come back with Rick later to deal with it... "Let's get these records. Just keep your voice down." You whispered gesturing to the door with the padlock. The doctor nodded pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock the lock.

As the lock knocked against the latch, the growling grew, and your patience dwindled. "Jesus can you be any fucking louder?" You whispered, glaring at the man. "Doctors are supposed to have steady hands... right?" You hissed, ready to rip the keys from the quivering man's hands yourself and do it yourself. "Shut the fuck up." Dr. Anderson growled back unlatching the lock at last. Flipping the lock and unlatching the door with one motion Pete too a step back behind you, shoving you forward through the door. The unexpectedness of it all made you trip over the high step in the doorframe. You lost your grip on your wrench and it flew from your hand and skittered onto the floor into the darkness of the room. "Ah... what the-" You called out turning to Pete, a devilish grin crossing his illuminated face. "Rick thinks he can save everyone... Lets see him save you..." He muttered darkly. Your eyes widened at the doctor's words and a deep low growl echoed from further into the room. The sickening smell of decomp hit you like a truck and the silhouette of something vaguely human limped into the light. Scrambling to your feet you tried like hell to reach the door before it was slammed shut. But only you were too late. Scratching and banging your palms against the wood of the door you could hear your heart beating in your ears. No! No no nO! This isn't how it was supposed to go! "Pete please let me out!" You begged hearing the latch close and lock click. "I wager you have three days before you die of thirst... lets see how long it takes Rick to notice you're gone." Footsteps leading away from the door were followed by a small rustling and a high pitch squeak from the other door closing.

The growls from behind you grew only louder but in the pitch dark you had no idea how close or how many walkers existed in the small space. Pressing yourself firmly to the grimy walls you slowly started to skirt along the permitter feeling the cold wet cement under your fingers. Faintly you wondered what it was that was wet before figuring it was better to live in ignorance than disgust. As you rounded the first corner you found the sharp corner of something tall and heavy protruding from the wall. An end table? No it was far too heavy for that and metal. Sliding your hand down the side of the object you found it was long and rectangular with drawers. Ah so a filing cabinet or a safe. Interesting. Skirting around the object you hugged the wall as closely as possible hoping you were near the rear of the room and at least halfway around. But as your foot came in contact with a metal can sending it rolling across the floor you felt your body tense as the deep growling came from mere inches from your face.

Glenn's POV

The sun had lowered far beyond the forest and the lights of the town began to light. From Glenn's place upon the tower he could see the approaching headlights of Aaron and Daryl returning from their run . A smile graced his lips as he sat up slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Should make [Y/N] happy to see him home safe. "Glenn!" Maggie called up the wooden latter as he stood. Looking down Glenn smiled down at his wife. Everyday was little brighter when he saw her beautiful face. "Hey Mags. Where's [your nickname]? She run off to be with lover boy already?" Glenn asked a smirk gracing his features as he climbed down the creaky latter. "No... I was just about to ask you if you'd seen her..." Maggie muttered worriedly. Glenn cocked a brow hopping the last step of the latter. It wasn't like you to skip work ever. "Why? Something wrong?" Glenn asked moving the hat on his head to wipe away the sweat that was building underneath. "Dr. Anderson came by earlier..." She drawled rubbing her arms and looking around nervously. Glenn frowned wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I saw them walk off together into the town a few hours back... want to take a walk with me up to the garage? I'm sure she just got caught up helping the doctor. She just got carried away talking with Daryl." Glenn muttered, although his voice didn't hide the worry that he felt deep inside.

Walking hand in hand with Maggie to the center of town Glenn couldn't help but notice the blinds on the Anderson home flutter closed or the way the doctor had been peeking through his front door's window at the growing group just across the road from his residence. But the skilled tactician tried his damnedest to shove his negative thoughts to the back of his mind as they rounded the corner to the garage. Surely [Y/N] would be there, pleasantly distracted by her one and only. Oh how wrong he was... Daryl stood leaning against the garage wall talking to Aaron looking to the open bay door expectantly as the two walked into view. However the small defeated sigh, and deflated stance wasn't lost on Glenn when he noticed it was just the two of them. But... Glenn tried to stay positive. He had to... for his own sake if nobody else's. "Hey guys!" He called out waving jubilantly. "How was the run?" He unable to hold back a snarky laugh as Daryl flipped him off and rolled his eyes. "How'd ya think it went? We're back early." Daryl grumbled. "Awe shit I'm sorry about that, Daryl." Maggie said softly letting go of Glenn's hand to step closer to the archer. Daryl shrugged looking past them both and into the night. "Ya'll seen [Y/N] round anywhere? Normally they're the first ta greet me. She pissed at me 'r somethin'?" Daryl asked chewing the side of his thumb. Maggie shook her head. "No... we were hoping you'd seen her." Daryl shifted uncomfortably scanning Maggie's face for a moment with sheer scrutiny. "What ya mean? I was on a run all day I just got back." Maggie nodded meeting Daryl's eyes sadly. "Yeah we were hoping she'd be here with you... and that was the reason why she missed our meet up after she went with Dr. Anderson." Daryl tensed looking past Maggie to the Anderson household. "So ya think..." Daryl paused his face morphing into something dark and possessively. More so than Glenn had ever seen before from the stoic archer. "That bastard did something ta her?" Aaron shook his head, placing the socket wrench down on the work table beside himself. "Dr. Anderson? What? No way... I mean... the man has his bad days... and he's prone to drink but everyone has their vices." But Glenn didn't think he sounded convincing, even to himself. "I-I'm not sure. But she was supposed to be back by now." Maggie muttered worriedly looking back over her shoulder. "Ok... look I saw the two of them walking through the town earlier but lost them around here... I say we get Rick and Michonne and start looking for them." Maggie sighed rubbing her arms. "I hear you Glenn but I don't want to jump the gun." Daryl huffed staring at Maggie as if she grew a second head. "Jump the gun? Ya gotta be shitting." He snarled. Glaring back Maggie simply shook her head. "No of course not Daryl. She told me earlier that she wanted to get out of the walls... she's been itching to get out, cooped up in here she feels like she's going crazy. Maybe... if we're lucky she snuck out after she helped the doctor. Hopefully she just needs to cool down and took a walk. Knowing her she'll be back by morning." Maggie muttered running her hands through her hair. It seemed to Glenn that no one trusted a single hopeful word anymore. Why would they... after everything they'd been through. "Well I aint about to just sit pretty while [Y/N] is out God know's where tonight... I'm lookin' fer her. Do what ya want." Daryl growled storming towards his bike. Anxiety surged through Glenn as he watched Daryl climb his bike. "Daryl you just got back! You should at least rest before you head back out!" Glenn yelled placing a hand on the larger man's chest. "Glenn... I apricate yer concern but I've stayed up much longer and this is more important than any rest I need... Now move Glenn." Daryl murmured meeting Glenn's gaze seriously. So with a solemn nod Glenn stepped to the side letting the bike roar to life and Daryl take off into the night.

Daryl's POV

The ride to the gate was a short one, but it felt like the longest drive Daryl had ever taken in his life thus far. Not even the last ride he and Merle took together to the safety of the Quarry felt so long as this. At least then he felt safe. Secure with a partner by his side, family. No. Now was different. Now he was in an unfamiliar hostile environment that threatened not only his very existence, but the very love of his life as well. He felt so alone and exposed. Not even the familiar sight of Rick and Michonne standing by the gate speaking to Rochelle standing guard could ease his anxiety. As Daryl pulled up to the gate's entrance, his best friend's face fell his dark eyes scanning the archer sitting atop the bike. "Leaving so soon Daryl? Ya just got back." Michonne called out over the roar of the bike. Daryl shook his head glaring straight ahead. There were no time for pleasantries tonight. "Open the gate. I gotta get outta here." He grumbled to Rochelle ignoring her furrowed brow. "Look Daryl you should rest even if-" Rick tried to reason, reaching for the key of the motorcycle to turn it off and talk at a normal level. With a swift motion, Daryl caught the deputy's wrist glaring daggers into the man. "I aint got time fer that Rick." Daryl bit out shoving Rick away. "[Y/N's] missin'. I'm gonna head out an see if I can find her." Daryl huffed gripping his bike tightly to hide the way his hands shook with anger and anxiety. The archer watched a the ease wash from Rick's face, a stern and intense concentration falling into it's place. It was a look Daryl had seen before. One Rick held when he lost Lori. "Missing? What do you mean missing?" Rick uttered the peremptory question. Daryl growled not shaken by his best friend. "Ask Maggie. I aint got time to chat." Daryl muttered, revving the engine of his bike as if to make his point clear, gesturing to Rochelle to open the gate for him. "Daryl... [Y/N] didn't come through this gate. I would have seen her if she did." Rochelle tried to reason as the archer walked his bike closer to her. "You know as well as I do that there are areas on this wall that can be climbed over. I've seen you and Abraham using the same makeshift latter [Y/N] and I do to get out of the city for a walk when we don't want to be pestered. Now shut up and open the damned gate before I do it myself." Daryl growled not missing the tiny nod Rick gave Rochelle. "Ok... but I don't like it. But, you can go. Just be back by morning... if you can't find her by then, we'll spread out. All of us. Keep your radio on. Hopefully she just got lost in town again and will stumble home sometime late tonight. I'll stay up and radio you if she turns up." Rick called over the engine of the bike. Daryl nodded feeling slightly reassured knowing that Rick was going to do whatever needed to be done to find you. With a defeated sigh the petite woman unlatched the lock to the gate, pulling them open with a metallic screech. With a flick of his finger, Daryl turned his head light on and sped into the night praying to catch sight of you somewhere deep within the woods around Alexandria.

Glenn's POV

Sleep did not come easy that night for Glenn. Worry seeped into this very bones and leaked into his dreams morphing them into venomous night terrors that twisted his body and shook him to his very core. Images of your body ripped to shreds like one of the thousands of corpses he'd seen before flashed before his eyes. A long stretch of road with you tied gagged and bound at the end. The road stretching ever longer the harder he ran to get to you. His heart pounding in his chest. It was his fault. You were his best friend. Had been since before the outbreak. You were his responsibility. You and Maggie. He should have kept a better eye on you. Especially when you went off with Dr. Anderson. Glenn woke up to early morning sun shimmering off the cold sweat that covered his body. Maggie slept restlessly beside him, her moaning and whining accompanied by subtly jerks were indication enough that she was having yet another nightmare. They seemed never ending nowadays. Sitting up slowly as to not disturb what little sleep his wife was getting, Glenn snuck out of bed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a clean shirt before slipping downstairs. With any hope, you had slipped back home in the middle of the night with hardly any notice to any of them. It wouldn't be the first time you had slipped away... but as he stepped into the empty kitchen to put a pot of coffee on and crept quietly into the living room to peer over the couch to see who preoccupied it, either Daryl, [Y/N] or both. He was almost astonished to find Rick laying on the plush cushions, his attention turned to the door and a sleeping Judith pulled tightly to his chest. A single glance from the grisled police officer told Glenn he was awake and alert. Yet the dark bags under his eyes saying that he'd been up way too long. "Hey." Glenn whispered, leaning over the back of the couch. "Anything yet?" he asked, still hopeful, still optimistic. But Rick just shook his head, brushing the hair back out of Judith's face earning a deep contented sigh from his daughter as she slept. "Not yet." He murmured. Anxiety tightened Glenn's chest as he shuffled his feet. "Well... it's still early." Glenn whispered, looking to the door, hoping that in that moment both Daryl and [Y/N] would come waltzing in the door like a couple after a particularly eventful prom night. But it never happened. Instead the door stayed dreadfully closed. A less than hopeful hum came from the graying man as he shifted on the couch. "We'll see once Daryl comes back... she aint with him when he comes back we're going on high alert and searching every square inch of this place. Inside and out." Rick's voice was dark and commanding. It sent chills down Glenn's spine and before he realized what he was doing. Glenn nodded in compliance. The smell of fresh roasted coffee reminded Glenn of his first mission of the morning. "Want any?" Glenn asked standing straight. "Please!"

[Y/N] was gone... she never came back with Daryl. The look on Daryl's face when he pulled up on the motorcycle was enough to make Glenn's stomach turn. It felt like the day Beth passed all over again. Daryl was beside himself, pacing and grasping at his hair, the archer looked ready to faint. "I looked all over the ridges, Rick!" Daryl growled, pulling back and punching a sizable hole into the drywall. Blood dripped from his knuckles and soaked into the plush carpet as he paced once more. "I went the whole way out to the fuckin' shoppin' district. I cleared three shops we hadn't got to yet. I looked in the library. I searched every inch of the woods I could from the walls to about three miles out each way! I crawled in the damn sewer for Christ's sake!" Daryl was in retrospect fucking filthy. He was covered in zombie guts and dirt. And now Glenn completely understood what that third smell was that emanated from Daryl. "She's not out there I just know it... somethin' had to happen in here." Daryl muttered only stopping making his track in the carpet when Carol came back with a wet wash cloth for him to wipe his face and hands off with. "I aint doubtin' ya, Daryl." Rick tried deescalating the archer. "I just think a pass in the daylight with fresh eyes would be good... " Rick started ignoring the resentful glare he received in response. "Ya think I woulda missed her? I was calling out fer her! She would have heard me!" Daryl hissed, taking a challenging step towards Rick. But Glenn knew more than anyone what Rick was insinuating... that there was a chance you couldn't have answered. Be it because you were in danger... or dead. Rick stayed silent staring Daryl down trying desperately to get this point across to him without actually being the one to say it. "I just think we need to send a fresh new team out... You need to shower... eat something... then you can join Glenn in the city looking for her." Rick muttered definitively. With a small nod Glenn tried to pull a confident nod. "Yeah! I'll head out right away ok... so don't worry." Glenn muttered stepping as close as his nose would allow to the archer. Daryl rolled his eyes but nodded heading up the stairs to take a shower. Rick watched him carefully before turning to Glenn and Maggie. "Listen... I'll need everyone on this. Maggie I need you to talk to Deanna and explain that some of our people will be searching for one of our own outside of the walls... don't go into details yet. We don't want Dr. Dickface catching wind that we're onto him. I also don't want you to tell her we'll be searchin' in the walls too. If anyone has a chore, have them search while they work to be less conspicuous. The rest of us need to be as normal as possible while we look. Carol. You need to ask about locations in the walls that anyone would know of that is secret. Or that is kept off limits for any reason." Maggie and Carol nodded mentally noting Rick's instruction. "Ok, lets fucking find [Y/N]."

Your POV

Sliding around the wall you tried like hell to keep the growling, flesh-eating demon as far away from yourself as you possibly could. Unfortunately for you a pipe pultruding from the wall caught your shirt and caught you off guard. The small ripping sound from your shirt caught the monster's attention and the growling mutilated corpse surged towards you just as you lost your balance. Holding both arms out straight you screamed as the weight of another human pinned you back against the wall. A sharp pain shot through your nondominant hand and suddenly as a slippery and slimy appendage slid past your fingers you realized that the zombie had your hand in it's mouth. Adrenaline surged through you like a drug as the poison of the bite seeped into your blood. Using every ounce of strength you had in you, you pushed back off the wall, forcing the walker to stumble back. Gripping tight to his open jaw you grabbed the zombies skull and slammed it into the nearest thing you could find. The sharp corner of the filing cabinet. Over and over again you bashed the walker's skull into the sharp metal corner until the grunting and gurgling of the monster could no longer be heard. With a dull thud you released the beast and stood shaking, trying desperately to catch your breath as the stinging in your hand was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Reaching above you, you searched for a light source for the first time in only god knew how long. Just when you were certain you would die in the dark, doomed to turn into the very thing that you just slayed, you found a long thin string hanging from a single bulb in the ceiling. Giving the string a quick yank you could have cried when the light clicked to life. A breathy jubilant laugh escaping your lips as you shielded your eyes from the near blinding light that burned your retinas. But the faint dripping of fresh blood reminded you that time was not on your side. Your hand was a mangled mess. The bite forming deep in the meat of your palm you knew the entire hand needed to be amputated and fast. Ripping a thick strip of your shirt from the bottom you tied it off high on your armpit pulling it as tight as you could. Searching the ground you were happy to find your wrench placing it in your makeshift tourniquet you twisted it until the blood stopped and tied it off.

You didn't know how much time had passed since you had been bitten but your entire arm was starting to turn a deep unappealing color and your head was beginning to spin. You had emptied your stomach into the corner of the room several times after the effects of the adrenaline had worn off. You knew one of two things were going to happen... you were either going to die here, trapped in a basement of a house no one would ever find. Or Daryl would find you... he always did... and he would have to kill you. Sweat gathered on your forehead and your stomach flipped. You had no idea if you tied the tourniquet tight enough to keep the infection from spreading... even so, you could simply be dying from sepsis. That was an old world disease wasn't it? God you couldn't even remember. Sitting up against the door you really took in the room for the first time since you got there. The filing cabinet was covered in blood and viscera. But it looked expensive. Like one of those fire safe ones that promised to keep your documents safe even in a whatever class fire. You wondered vaguely what it was doing there before deciding that you didn't have the energy to search through it. The only other things you could see were the pipe that got you into this mess that seemingly went nowhere and were the home of a lonely pair of handcuffs hanging from them, rusted and bloody. Cocking a brow you turned to the zombie laying against the wall on the other side of the filing cabinet. Sure enough the flesh on the walker's one wrist was bloodied and broken. Looked like you weren't the only one shoved in this hell hole to die... lovely. Above the pipe was a vent. Presumably for fresh air to filter in from somewhere within the house you sighed and laid your head back against the wood. Your throat was sore from screaming. But what the hell. Maybe eventually someone would hear you.

Leaning your tired body against the concrete wall directly below the vent you screamed with all your might. Your throat ached and you couldn't help the aching cough that came once your voice started to fail you. For the longest time you received nothing but silence in return. Once in a while the scurrying of mice over what you could only assume were the radiators and vent covers of the empty house echoed through the pipes of the vent sending a jolt of hopeful optimism through you that quickly died out with every pleading cry for help. After a while you gave up. Sliding down the wall you leaned your body against the cold concrete, resigning yourself to death, when finally you heard it. "Hey!" The voice echoed loud and clear through the grate of the vent so loudly that you could had sworn the man screaming was in the same room as you. Listening closely you stood once more, praying that you hadn't just hallucinated the voice or dreamed it into reality as you had seen Rick do a thousand times with his lost loved ones. "[Y/N]! Are you in here?!" Glenn cried out loud and clear, and you could have just just kissed the man had you both not already been sworn to other people. "Glenn!" You screamed, banging the vent as hard as you could to catch his attention. "Glenn can you hear me?!" You nearly begged, clutching a pipe for dear life as you heard footsteps. "[Y/N]! I hear you! Where are you?" Glenn screamed the sounds of footsteps became more frantic. Sounding nearer then farther as he presumably searched room to room for you in the house above you. "I-I'm in the basement Glenn!" You screamed, tears falling from your cheeks easily as you sobbed. "Listen! It's not safe here! There are walkers here!" You heard Glenn's footsteps slow as he listened. "Walkers?" He asked tensely. "Yes! I killed the one that was in the room with me... b-but Glenn-" A loud thud cut you off and you were sure something horrible had happened before Glenn cut you off. "Don't say it... I'm coming to get you... so just... just stay put I'll get you out." Glenn growled, his footsteps becoming more and more distant until they and his voice could no longer be heard. "Wait! Wait!" You cried desperately, tears streaming and washing the dirt and blood from your face in thick streaks. "Glenn! I need you to tell Daryl I love him!" You screamed as loudly as you could, pacing the small space, you suddenly realized just how tiny it really was. Never before had it felt so claustrophobic. Never before had it felt so much like a prison until now. Until you felt so completely isolated. Walking to the thick wooden door you slammed your good hand against it kicking and screaming with all your might praying that maybe it would give way just enough to let you pry your way out and get to Glenn.

"[Y/N]!" His voice froze you in place and melted your heart into pieces breaking you down into heart wrenching sobs that hurt your chest and burned your lungs. Daryl was somewhere outside of the door. You could hear him clear as day. But a greedy part of you never wanted him to find you... The selfish part that knew deep down that Daryl would always want to finish things himself... the one that also knew he could never finish this by himself if he needed too. He just couldn't but he wouldn't allow anyone else to do it and it could endanger everyone... Bu that was why you loved him. He loved and felt so purely. You'd have it no other way. "Daryl!" You sobbed out, hearing a distant banging turn into wood clattering onto concrete you knew that someone had broken down the basement door. And if you had to guess it was Rick or Daryl. "{Y/N]! Darlin' where are ya?" Daryl cried out frantic worry in his voice as, his footsteps paced the concrete just outside the door where you were kept. "There! There's another door." Rick growled, sounding manic and breathless. So it was him who bashed down the last door... "[Y/N] if your in there back away from the door! Rick's gonna break it down!" Glenn cried out making you scramble back from the door in time to see the blade of an axe pierce through the wood. It took six swings for rick to make a sizable enough hole for both he and Daryl to fit through. You noted that it would have only taken three if it were just Glenn and Michonne... but who was counting... Holding your wounded arm as closely to your body as you could you stood shaking, covered in blood and sweat, and shaking like a leaf. Daryl stepped through first, Rick and Glenn following close behind then Michonne. The four stooges... would have been funny under different circumstances. Daryl eyed your injured body a deep frown forming on his face as he stepped closer to you. "Sunshine..." He started, holding out a hand to touch you, but as if on instinct to protect the man you jolted away as if your simple touch would burn him. Shaking your head you let the tears fall, words unable to form as thick sobs got stuck in your throat. "Wha'-" Daryl tried again, desperate to avoid the obvious. Maybe you just cut yourself... maybe it was crushed... hell maybe there was a curse put on you and he could just... fix it! But everyone else knew better. Glenn looked devastated shaking his head and backing away into the extended storage of the basement. Michonne was already unsheathing her sword, looking to Rick for guidance. Rick... He stood stock still, a grim firm look on his face. You could tell he didn't dare say a word until Daryl gave the order to do something... anything... but you... you had to make him understand first. "Baby. I love you more than anything." You started sadly meeting Daryl's eyes. But the archer wasn't just going to take that. No... it couldn't go down like that... not after everything. Not after all this! "So... it's a bite then..." Daryl tried to sound calm, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You could only nod. "Daryl-" You tried to reason with him... tried to explain that he and Glenn should just wait outside. You'd meet him later... that one day he'd wake up with you by his side. But the brunette archer wasn't about to take it laying down. "We'll cut it off." Daryl bit out between gritted teeth turning to Michonne who only looked shocked then sad. "Daryl... fevers set in... you know we need to-" She tried to reason, but Daryl simply shook his head grunting and glaring at the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. "If you don't do it I will." He growled, reaching for the knife he carried with him everywhere, and suddenly fresh adrenaline pumped through your blood making you shake and shiver in both anticipation and fear. Rick sighed shifting his weight. "We do this... and she turns... you're gonna have to be the one who-" Rick muttered, once again cut off by Daryl's grunt and shake of the head. "Won't happen I won't let it." Daryl growled turning to you assuredly.

Michonne tried like hell to make it quick. You'd thought that after so many heads she'd severed that the blade on her katana was as sharp as they made them. It was sharp but despite all of her best efforts, your screaming begging and crying she could not make it go through bone. So despite every ounce of begging you tried. Every time you begged Daryl to just kill you as he held you tight to keep you from moving. It was Rick's axe that freed you from your diseased arm. Your vision blurred, your voice slurred, and everything sounded like you were resting at the bottom of the ocean as you met Daryl's worried eye, the last thing you saw before everything went black.

One Week Later ~~~ Daryl's POV

All the walkers that slipped through the gates had been slaughtered by Rick and the town meeting to decide Rick's fate for his earlier spat with the Dr. had ended with both the town's leader Reg, slayed by the Dr. himself and Dr. Anderson executed by Rick as ordered by Deanna... It certainly felt as if all hell was breaking loose on Alexandria. At the town meeting Rick unloaded on the residents of the town. Telling them all about the torture room the Dr. had set up and how if Alexandria ever truly came under attack the residents would never be prepared for a fight. Rick set up trainings for the residents. A new doctor was put into place, her Dr. Denise. Her first patient, treating the infection that was setting into place in the wound of the unconscious woman that had laid in the medical office for over a week now. Daryl could tell Denise was extremely underqualified for the position. Books upon books of medical texts lain in high stacks around her as she dug for the best treatment melody to give you that wouldn't trip an accidental allergic reaction but also treat the wound, fever, and kill the infection. Daryl watched the timid doctor carefully, placing you on a heavy dose of IV steroids and an even heavier dose of IV antibiotics. "Are you just going to sit there all day..." Denise asked once she had the courage to ask. Daryl shrugged from his seat at the corner of the room. He hadn't planned on leaving yet. As a matter of fact he hardly left your side. "Well as long as your here you can keep yourself busy." Denise huffed, tossing a wet, soapy rag to the very confused archer. "It's time to redress her bandages and give her a sponge bath... figure if you're here you might as well help me bathe her."

There was nothing more intimate than bathing with your partner. Lathering each other's bodies up. feeling the way the warm suds slipped through your fingers as you ran your hands across their most intimate parts. But this... this was different on an entirely new plane of weird. Daryl felt almost like a massive pervert, touching you like this while you slept. But after a few less than gentle reassurances from Denise reminding him that it was crucial to get every bit of you body, he complied, happy to do the work himself, refusing to let another human being get this up close with you in his life. But just as soon as he finished and was certain that the bandages coming off today were actually looking better than they did the day before, he bolted for the door. Refusing to be wrapped in another medical tasks. "Should I leave the office unlocked for you tonight again?" Denise asked making Daryl turn slightly. He wanted to punch the glass out of the stupid door in frustration. He wanted to yell "I'll be back by dinner! She'll be awake and hungry by then." But he simply looked to the floor and nodded feeling a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him as she sighed. "Ok... I'll set up a pillow and some blankets for you on the couch."

The walk to Aaron's garage was a short one but it was easy to pass up when Daryl's mind felt heavy and weighed down. "Daryl!" The archer heard his friend call out expectantly. Turning on his heel Daryl hummed darting into the garage and finding his seat on the upturned bucket next to his bike. "Hey... you looked lost in though... is everything ok?" Aaron asked tinkering with a wrench and socket joint. "'M fine..." Daryl growled reaching down between his knees to grab a screwdriver. Aaron hummed in return. A calm silence that both knew all too well. Daryl had more so vented to his friend about the entire situation days ago when Rick had to drag him out of the medical bay to let Carol and the Doctor stitch her wound. "Oh! Hey..." Aaron muttered absentmindedly reaching behind himself to pull a large project forward that was covered with a sheet. Pulling the sheet away, a robotic hand sat proudly on a pedestal hooked to various wires and gadgets. Daryl stood slowly, a look of confusion crossing his face as he stepped closer to the counter. "Wha's that?" Daryl asked glancing at Aaron. "Oh I used to work in robotics for a time... I thought it was cool and this was my version of the prosthetic my uncle should have had a chance to have." Aaron muttered taping the wires to the skin of his arm. Squeezing his hand, Daryl watched in amazement as the robotic hand followed and matched Aaron's every movement exactly. "It's all electricity based. The movement and power of the prosthetic comes from the natural electricity found in the body. I could fashion a quick joint to go along with this, just a piston that would lift the arm up and down on swivel for the elbow if you'd think [Y/N] would be interested..." Aaron muttered meeting Daryl's gaze tentatively. The archer couldn't help but smile. "We'll see what she says... but I'm sure she'll love it."

As day turned to night and Daryl bid farewell to Aaron, his belly full after a large supper at his friend's and Eric's house. Daryl strolled the darkened streets of Alexandria wondering, if he'd ever get to do this again with you. Walking into the medical office he was grateful to find the front door unlocked and a blanket and pillow setting out just for him just as promised. But something was off... something was different. Normally when he came to check on you the bed was lying flat for the night, the monitors turned on so whoever came to check you at night could check your heart beat and the lights were off. None of those things happening right now. Your heart monitor had been shut off creating an eerie quiet in the building. Your bed was sitting upright but your body was slumped over the side of the bed. Soft groaning and whining came from you and an intense panic fell over Daryl as he instantly grasped the end of the bed to steady himself. He knew Rick told him... But he hadn't truly believed he'd had too... "Fucking God... Fuck." Your voice, albeit extremely annoyed voice, threw Daryl for a loop. You were alive... More importantly you were a-fucking-wake! Scrambling to your side, Daryl hoisted you back into bed not able to contain the face splitting smile that crossed his features. "Woah there... what are ya doin' Sunshine?" Sunshine... god he'd never thought he'd ever say that word again. "Daryl!" You cried wrapping your arm around your boyfriend. "Thank God you came. I dropped the remote to the bed and it tried to make me into a sandwich!" Daryl couldn't stop the laugh that burst from his chest. kneeling down slowly he picked up the remote, handing it to his love before enveloping her as carefully as he physically could. His laughter slowly turning into heartfelt sobs as you stroked your fingers through his hair. "I should have been here." He whined. "It's ok baby..." You whispered, kissing his crown then his lips tenderly, sweetly. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

[happy74827]

His Ghostly Touch

[Rick Grimes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: “He was gone, but he was everywhere.”

WC: 988

Category: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort (Takes place during the 6 year time gap // GIF CREDITS: @andy-clutterbuck)

I wrote with a lot of commas this time to represent the emotion involved with this (angsty, I know), but now that I’m re-reading, I actually hate it and I’m too lazy to fix it🧍‍♀️

『••✎••』

You could still hear the way your name fell from his lips as he kissed his way down your neck. His warm hands sliding down over your skin, caressing every part of your body.

You'd always imagined it would be rough. A man like him, in a world like this, would surely be hardened. Yet, the way he made love to you that first time and every night after that was filled with an unbridled passion, a softness and longing that you'd never felt with any other man before.

Rick loved you. Not just with his words but with his body, his touch. It was in the way he smiled at you when you walked into the room. The way his gaze lingered on you when you talked, it was as if the entire world was melting away, and the only thing he could see was you.

He loved you.

And you loved him.

That was the worst part. Loving him was the hardest thing you ever had to do and not a day went by where you didn't think about him, miss him, cry over him. He was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. He was gone, and yet you could still feel him. Everywhere. All around you. You could still hear his voice. Your name on his lips. That raspy tone that would make your knees go weak, his breath tickling your ear.

He was gone, but he was everywhere.

Rick was a good man. A strong man. But even strong men have their breaking point, and he was no exception. You should have seen it coming. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and filled with pain. He tried so hard to hide it from you. He tried to be strong for you, for his family, for his people, but the truth was that he was tired. He was tired of fighting, tired of losing people, and tired of being in pain.

He carried so much on his back, so much responsibility. You knew it was weighing him down. You knew he needed someone to lean on, someone to share the burden with, and you wanted to be that person for him. You wanted to be his rock, his anchor, his solace. You wanted to take away his pain, to make him smile, to give him hope.

But you failed. You failed him. You let him down. You watched as the man you loved, the man you would die for, the man who was the center of your world, the man who made your heart sing, slipped away.

He smiled at you as he held the gun up, his finger on the trigger. He smiled at you, and you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. You tried to reach him, to stop him, to save him, but both Carol and Michonne had held you back, their strong arms wrapped around your waist as you fought against them, tears streaming down your face. And then,

Rick had pulled the trigger.

You cried out, the sound of the bridge collapsing filling the air. You screamed his name, and Carol held on to you tighter, pulling you away from the explosion, away from the sight of your husband, your soulmate, your world, dying with the flames.

And then, he was gone.

You'd never felt pain like that before. It was as if your heart had been ripped out of your chest, as if your soul had been torn in two. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but scream. And then you'd passed out, falling into the blackness of oblivion, your last thoughts of him.

Now, months later, you'd finally started to heal. But the pain was still there, a constant ache in your chest, an emptiness that could never be filled. You missed him. Every day, every minute, every second. But you knew he would want you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living.

That's what you did. You lived for him. For his memory, for his sacrifice. You carried on, doing what you could to help the community, to keep his family safe, to make his dream a reality. You were strong for him because that's what he would have wanted.

And now, here you were, lying in the bed that you had shared, the place that once held so many memories and so much love.

You could still feel him, smell his scent, see his smile. And for a moment, just a brief moment, you let yourself pretend that he was there with you. You closed your eyes and imagined his arms around you, his lips on yours, his body pressed against yours.

You let yourself pretend, if only for a moment, that he was still alive. That he was still there with you. And as the tears streamed down your face, as the ache in your chest grew, as the emptiness threatened to consume you, you whispered his name.

"Rick."

The tears flowed freely as you remembered him. The day you met, the way he looked at you, the way his fingers felt against your skin. The first time you kissed, the first time you made love. The way he made you laugh, the way he made you feel, the way he made your heart sing.

"Rick."

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, like a promise, like a plea. You clung to the memories of him, the pain of losing him, the love you had for him. It was too much. Too much to bear.

You let yourself fall apart, the grief overwhelming you, the loss tearing you apart. You sobbed, the tears coming faster and harder, your body shaking with the force of it.

And in the darkness, in the loneliness, in the grief, you whispered his name one last time before closing your eyes to finally rest.

"Rick."

[dickfics69]

If anyone’s been reading my fic Emotional Motion Sickness, I’ve been using the ai to make some inspo for sick Daryl and I think they’re adorable. Care taking Rick is very hot

It’s inspiring me to write it again

[thelittleangel]

would you maybe write rick grimes x gn!reader? maybe rick takes them in after woodbury because they tried to help maggie escape.

could u make it super angsty like reader gets hurt or sick at the prison.

Les oiseaux en cage

tags: rick grimes x gender-neutral reader, gender neutral reader, angst, hurt/ comfort, reader has amnesia

warning: amnesia, angst, hurt / comfort, reader passes out, reader has amnesia

note: thank you, thank you, thank you so much for this request!!! It makes me so happy!!! I hope I wrote a story that fulfilled your request!

I have very few memories of my time in Woodbury. I remember being captured. And being told the rest of my group left me. I remember when Maggie and Glenn came. I remember hearing them beating Glenn through the walls, and my whispered conversations with Maggie.

The rest is just a dark pit.

The last thing I remember about that place is gas pouring into the room and someone yanking me up by my arm.

I don’t know why they let me stay with them. But I decided pretty early on that I was going to be useful during my time there. I didn’t want to be cut loose, to be forced to survive this world alone.

So I’ve been helping out a lot.

And I don’t stay in the dark.

I clean and repair weapons, clear areas of walkers, and I’ve been working on a secret project of my own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m working on this special project when I hear my name being called. It sounds urgent. Rushing over, the sun’s in my eyes. I’m burning up and I just realized I haven’t had any water.

My head spins, and there’s a pressure that I’ve never felt before.

Next thing I know, I’m on the ground.

I hear someone call out my name as the world fades to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were hazy. Moments of consciousness, followed by long periods of sleep. Sometimes someone would be there with me, sometimes I would be alone.

When I finally came to, it was dark. I quickly sat up, running to the door. Someone grabbed my arm, gently pulling me back into the cell.

I whipped around, grabbing whoever was behind me and slamming them against the wall.

Rick stared back at me, quiet and confused. I let him go, stepping back into the light of the moon shining through the windows. “You’ve been asleep for three days. You’ve been working almost nonstop. I don’t ever want to see you do that to yourself again.”

I avoided his gaze. He turned to me and said “Why do you do that to yourself anyway? Work yourself to the bone, going for so long without water or rest?”

“To prove that I belong here.”

When I finally looked up at him, he had a disconcerted look on his face. He breathed out a sigh. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone here. You’ve done so much for so many of us. Maggie and Glenn especially.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you tried to save them.”

I walk back into my cell, my head spinning. “Rick, I don’t remember a lot of my time in Woodbury. And I don’t remember if I ever tried to James Dean my way out of there.”

“Regardless, you were with them when we found you. Glenn says you tried but were caught.”

I sat down on my bed. I feel the tears start coming, and the fog in my brain feels so thick. He kneels down in front of me, his hand a reassuring weight on my cheek.

He gently wipes my tears away with his thumb before speaking.

“You belong in this group. You belong with us. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to prove that you belong here.”

“You should get some rest.” He stands up, patting my shoulder before walking out of the room.

“Rick.”

He turns around, his face barely visible in the moonlight.

Looking down at my hands, I was almost embarrassed to ask him for this.

“Could you please stay with me?”

His lips twitch upward. He slowly walks over to my bed and takes off his shoes. He sits beside me, and I lay down. He places a gentle hand on my arm.

I look up at him, watching his eyes as I fall asleep.

[sunkissedandseraphic]

My Guardian Angel is Crying: Chapter 1

Story Summary: When Rick and Michonne watched Judith walk onto the school bus, calling out a small "I love you!" before the doors closed behind her, they smiled, knowing their family had welcomed another good day. But merely hours later, they receive a call that shatters their world: while going back to the classroom after their time on the playground, someone had managed to kidnap Judith, and there was no trace of who took her and where she was now. Desperate to find their little girl, Rick and Michonne were determined to get to the bottom of this, even if that meant supporting each other and their son in the midst of their own breakdowns. They had to find her, because if they didn't, they'd crumble into pieces too small to put back together

Chapter Summary: Everything had started so normal for the Grimes family: they shared their tender morning moments before the kids left for school and Rick left for work, but eventually, all the joy the morning brought would soon be shattered within seconds

Warnings: Kidnapping/child abduction

A/N: I am working on requests! Due to school I have not written much new, so I'm posting some work already on my ao3, but trust I will get to requests!

The day had kicked off just like it always did, the routine becoming something the family could find structure in: Rick woke up to his alarm at the crack of dawn�� or what King County liked to call six in the morning, and as he tried to head for the shower, Michonne’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back under the covers. Maybe he could use another five minutes in bed.

After finally being released from his wife’s grasp, Rick headed for the bathroom to get ready for work while Michonne went down the hall to wake Carl up for school and start on breakfast; god knows Rick Grimes was no chef. While Michonne was busy downstairs, Rick would shower, put on his uniform, and quietly make his way into Judith’s room to get her up and ready for school; it was their system, and it worked just right for their family.

But, if you had told Rick and Michonne that morning when they hugged their little girl goodbye as she walked onto the school bus, it could have been the last time they would ever hear her voice or hold her in their arms again, they would have called you insane. 

Although, bad things happen to good people every day. 

After kissing Michonne and Carl goodbye, Rick was quick to hop into his patrol car and head down to the station. He knew he’d have a long day ahead of him; after recently busting a drug ring case he had been assigned to, Rick had piles of paperwork awaiting him at his desk, ready to just swallow him whole. He had warned Michonne and his kids that he would likely be home late tonight again, and that those late nights would hopefully start to dwindle now that the case had been closed.

When he finally got to work, the hours blurred together. The paperwork was long and extensive, and to make sure it was done right, Rick needed a lot of patience he was rapidly running out of. Between looking back at records and reports, his desk had turned into a sea of paper, making Rick feel like he was drowning underneath a tidal wave. It wasn’t until his phone started ringing in his back pocket that he snapped out of his focus and realized just how long he had been at this, and how much he really needed to clean his office. 

He fished his phone out, groaning, and answered when he saw Michonne’s contact pop up on the screen. “Michonne, can I call you back? I’m buried under–”

“Rick, she’s gone.”

Michonne’s panicked, wavering voice caught Rick off guard. What was she talking about? Fear surged through his body like lightning, and his heart started to race so fast he could hear it in his eardrums. “What? What are you talking about? Who? Who’s gone?” 

“The school just called, they… they can’t find her! She– She was on the playground and now they just… they can’t–”

The horror in her tone sent a shiver down his spine. In the years he’d known her, Rick had never once heard Michonne sound so upset, so genuinely terrified. Her words came out so fast and so frantic that he could barely process anything she was trying to say. 

“Michonne, honey, slow down, I-I can’t understand you. What are you saying?” He asked, attempting to ignore the anxiety rising in his throat, making his stomach churn. This wasn’t normal; something was not right. 

There was a pause on the other line, the only sound being Michonne’s shaky breathing, followed closely by a sob. Rick’s heart dropped into his stomach, but before he could ask any more questions, he heard his wife’s broken voice say the worst three words the man could have ever heard.

“Judith is missing.”

Rick’s whole world seemed to stop spinning at that moment. His little girl, his daughter, his life, was missing? 

Nausea washed over him instantly, and it was a miracle that Rick could sift through the brain fog and sudden ringing in his ears fast enough to form a coherent response to what he had just heard. “Where are you?” God, he felt like he was suffocating; how did he deserve to breathe when his baby was gone?

“I-I’m heading down to the school now. Carol… Carol is picking up Carl when she picks up Henry and Sophia, but the school needs us down there. Now.” Rick went to nod, barely able to recognize that Michonne couldn’t see him, taking a minute before he was able to speak again– his mouth felt like a desert, when did that happen? When did he seemingly forget how to talk?

“I… I’m on my way…”

Rick felt like his mind was on autopilot as he hung up the call. His hands were trembling as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, staring out into space before slamming his fists down on the mess of papers, sending a few stragglers flying off the desk. Cursing under his breath, he reached for his jacket and threw it on, practically running out of his office and down the hall to his captain’s. 

Knocking on the door, a voice called for him to enter, and soon, Rick zoned back in to find himself standing in front of his captain, Deanna Monroe, who seemed to be awaiting what he had come into her office to discuss.

He struggled to swallow against the lump in his throat, causing tears to start blurring his vision. Rick quickly reached up to wipe his eyes before clearing his throat, knowing he needed to get out of this building and be with his family. “Captain, my wife just called me: our daughter, Judith, is, uh… she’s missing. The school needs us down there, I need to– I need to be there,”

The more Rick talked, the more strained his voice became until it eventually cracked at the end. He watched as his captain’s face transformed into a horrified expression as she quickly sat up in her chair, eyes wide with sympathy.

“Shit, Rick, go, alright? I’ll get someone to cover the rest of the paperwork for that case, just go,” Deanna was immediate to assure Rick, dismissing the man as she stood and walked towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Rick couldn’t help it as his head dropped, letting a tear finally roll down his cheek at the small touch. “Thank you,” he nodded, sniffling as he rushed out of the room and out to the parking lot.

The entire drive over to the school, Rick was numb. He couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t hear the radio blasting at full volume over the sudden return of the tinnitus that now plagued him. He couldn’t see anything except for what was directly in front of him, the world elsewhere seeming to go fuzzy. He couldn’t think, feeling as if somebody else was in control of his actions. 

The next thing Rick knew, he was bursting into the principal's office at Judith’s school. He scanned the room: he saw Michonne sitting in one of the chairs, eyes stained red and puffy, Judith’s kindergarten teacher and her classroom aid, a detective that he recognized from his own station— Dwight was his name, Rick remembered being on a case or two with him— and he saw Paul Rovia, the principal, sitting behind his desk in front of him.

He couldn’t contain himself anymore. His breathing was ragged as he struggled to stay focused on the scene in front of him, his chest constricting more and more every second.

“Where is she?!”

Rick snapped, adrenaline running rampant through him. He could feel his shoulders shaking– from fear or fury he could not tell– as he tried to keep himself grounded, but as the principal stood up from his chair to greet him, Rick barely allowed him to get a word in. “Mr. Grimes, thank you for coming–”

“Where is she? Where is my daughter?” His eyes narrowed at the man standing in front of him as demands left his lips, volume rising with every word. The officer was in no mood for pity condolences and reassurances; he wanted answers, and he wanted them now. 

Paul shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to ease his agitation before attempting to calm Rick enough to get him to sit down for just five minutes. “Mr. Grimes, if you’ll please–” he started to say, gesturing to the empty seat beside Michonne, but Rick wouldn’t let him say another thing. He let out a huff as his head dropped, the deadly mix of dread and outrage finally boiling over. “No! I need you to tell me where she is!”

“Rick.”  

Then just like that, in an instant, Rick’s anger seemingly dissipated. The sound of Michonne’s voice, the feeling of her hand resting gently on his arm: it was like a siren song to him. Pulled out of his trance of rage, Rick looked down to meet her tearful gaze, and it left him heartbroken to see his love look so destroyed.

Obeying her pleading stare, Rick lowered himself into the chair beside her, weaving his hand tightly into hers as tears welled up in his eyes. He paused to collect himself; run his thumb over the tops of Michonne’s knuckles, take some deep breaths, and find his way back to a sane mindset, where he could be fully present in a conversation that made him want to be sick.

“What… What happened? Where’s our Judy?”

The room fell silent as the couple waited for an answer, and with every moment they didn’t receive one, an ill feeling slowly crept higher into their chests. Judith’s teacher was the last one to see Judith and the first one to finally speak up with her story. “Judith was out at recess this afternoon with the rest of us and as I was bringing them back inside to our classroom, I did a headcount as I’m supposed to and she was there; everyone was accounted for. I lead the class back inside and we get ready for our math lesson. A few minutes later I realize that Judith isn’t in the room,”

The two lovers hung onto every word they heard, trying to find any shred of hope in this nightmare. Feeling her fingers shaking, Rick squeezed Michonne’s hand, praying that small touch would give her some comfort– not that he could blame her if it didn’t. The only thing that could make any of this better was seeing their sweet girl, being chased around the house by Carl, giggling like a madman as she ran off with the cowboy hat she had once again stolen from her older brother’s room.

What Rick and Michonne wouldn’t do to see her smile again.

“I asked my students if anyone had seen her and when nobody could give me an answer, I asked the teacher in the next room to take my class so myself and a few other staff members could try and locate her. We looked in every room in the building and did a sweep of the grounds outside but nobody could find her anywhere. Even after dismissal, we searched again to see if we had missed her, but with the building empty we still couldn’t find Judith anywhere, and it would be pretty easy to see a missing student after everyone had gone home. All of her belongings are still in her classroom cubby,”

“We fully believe this to be a kidnapping,” Dwight said, straightening his stance as he spoke, leaning against the corner wall in the office. “We’ve retained the security camera footage from the last time Judith was seen on school grounds and we have video of a woman loading your daughter into her car and driving off. I had Tara run the license plate number down at the station; Mr. and Mrs. Grimes, do either of you have any connection to a Mrs. Lori Walsh?”

If it wasn’t sickening enough already, then this was just the cherry on top.

Hearing that name was like a punch in the gut to Rick. As Michonne gasped, Rick pulled away from his wife’s grasp and buried his head in his hands, a string of swears coming out before he could even process what he was saying. Of all the people in the world, of all the sick, cruel people to do something like this, Lori Walsh would have never been on the top of his list; hell, he doesn’t even know if she’d be on the list at all. 

“No, no, that’s…” Michonne started to argue, but trailed off, too in shock to finish her thought.

“Goddamnit! Fuck!” Rick’s fists slammed on his knee, a tear finally falling down his cheek. He felt like throwing up. He couldn’t take this anymore. Sighing, he nodded, mentally preparing himself for where this conversation was going to go. “That… That woman is my ex-wife.”

“Is there any reason you could think of that would cause your ex-wife to do this?” Paul asked, leaning forward, starting to fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket, immediately followed up by a question from Dwight. “Does Mrs. Walsh have custody or parental rights over Judith? Any kind of legal claim over her?”

“No. That woman has no kind of claim on our daughter.” Michonne answered instantly, a sharpness in her words that could cut glass. All gazes moved to Rick, who hadn’t looked up from a speck of dust on the rug since Lori’s name had been mentioned. It took some time for him to find the words, but once he did, every detail just poured out of him. 

“Lori and I were married right after we graduated college, and not long after we had a son together. I’m a deputy for the King County Sheriff’s Department, and my partner was her current husband: Shane Walsh. When Lori told me she was pregnant, I-I didn’t know she had been having an affair with him for a few months. She wasn’t sure who the father was, and I didn’t find out until I caught them when Judith was about two years old. I filed for divorce, Shane moved stations, and Lori and I shared custody of our son and Judith. It wasn’t until a little less than a year after our divorce was finalized did I realize that I… I didn’t want my kids, our kids,” Rick reached over and grabbed onto Michonne, almost as if her hold was grounding him, giving him the strength to go on, “living with those two. Ever. I… I couldn’t trust her around either of them. So, we contacted my attorney and fought to revoke custody and terminate her parental rights to both of our children,”

“And what was your ex-wife’s reaction, Mr. Grimes?”

“She put up one hell of a fight, I will say that much– both of them did.” He scoffed, cocking his head. He hated having to be reminded of this time in his life; a time where he was tossed around in a whirl of guilt, heartache, and anger, born from a need to keep his kids safe. “Shane may be Judith’s biological father, but that is my little girl.”

The next few minutes were filled with legal questions that Rick had been anticipating since he’d arrived. He knew how this whole thing worked, he knew he could trust his station to find Judith, but that knowledge didn’t provide him with as much security as he would have liked. He and Michonne answered Dwight's questions about Judith’s appearance and description, recent information on Lori and Shane, all the stereotypical things needed for arrest warrants and news stories.

“Do either of you have the last known residence of Mr. and Mrs. Walsh?”

“Yeah, but if they took Judith they wouldn’t be there. Shane’s a cop, he’s smart; knows all the ways to get around the law, and how to stay out of trouble. But Lori? Lori doesn’t know shit. She’ll do whatever Shane tells her to. Without him, she’d be clueless,”

Even though they knew Rick was likely correct in his assumption, the couple gave Dwight the information regardless, knowing anything at this point could help find Judith. 

Not long later, Principal Rovia was spewing apologies and promises to the two parents, and as Dwight walked them out, he could see the evident despair on their faces. He couldn’t blame them, of course, how else were they supposed to react? 

Before they could leave, Dwight clamped his hand comfortingly onto Rick’s back, offering a sympathetic smile. “We will find her, I promise,” Dwight whispered, earning an appreciative nod from Rick, and a tearful grin from Michonne. 

As Dwight grabbed his walkie from his belt, holding down the button and muttering something neither one of them could hear into the radio, Rick turned to Michonne. He couldn’t recall a time when she looked so hopeless, defeated; it caused his soul to shatter. With no hesitation, Rick took her into his arms, stroking her hair as he felt her bury her head into his jacket.

“They’re… They’re gonna find her, alright?”

He assured her, but in reality, he could barely force himself to believe it. In response, Michonne said nothing at first, only gripping onto her husband with all the strength she could muster as a sob ripped from her throat. She had already lost her Andre, years before her beautiful life with Rick and Carl and Judith, and she couldn’t handle losing another one of her babies. She wouldn’t accept that.

“I want our Judith back…”

The words were barely above a whisper, but Rick’s ears picked up every one, her quivering breath only making him hold her closer. He had nothing he could tell her anymore; Judith was gone, and their world was crashing down around them.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 25

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

As always, enjoy reading :) And uuuh prepare yourself.

"There you guys are."

Dale says this because he's been waiting for us. He pushes himself off the crumbled fireplace, anxiously gripping the strap of his rifle like he always does, like he's glued it there and hasn't bothered to take it off. He always looks nervous and angry at the same time.

"Whatchu all the way over here for?" Dad asks, setting his crossbow down by his chair. "Couldn't wait for visitin' hours?"

"Listen, I'm going to be frank here." He mutters, his bushy white brows disappearing under the brim of his fisherman's hat. The adults have always muttered when they don't want the kids listening in on them, but now it's actually working, and I don't like that, so I make a point of sitting on the lip of the cobblestones nearby. I pretend to take off my boots and pour the dirt out, even though they're already empty. "If we don't do something, come dusk," He says in a very important way, "Jim will be dead."

"Ain't that kinda the point?" He deadpans.

Dale hates that response. He scoffs. "No. You're a smart man, Daryl. You can see why this is crazy."

I don't know what he thinks he's doin', tryna convince my Dad to call off the execution. I guess it didn't go over so well with Rick.

"Can I?" He drawls, entirely unconvinced. "Ain't nun' crazy 'bout squashing a bug."

"We're not talking about a bug." He argues. "We're talking about a human being. A human being that's made mistakes, yes, but haven't we all? I mean, how many times have you said something somebody didn't like? That isn't a crime. Certainly doesn't warrant the death penalty."

"Man, save it. You getcher'self in the mix with my daughter in a way I'on like, you get what's comin' to ya. That's just how it is."

"And I— I can appreciate that. You're a family man. You love your daughter. You love Harley and you want to protect her," He reasons, and as he says this, I think, pshh, what does this have to do with anything, which is what Dad must be thinking, too, 'cause he rolls his eyes a bit. "But don't you love her enough to want her growing up in a world that doesn't punish so harshly? Hasn't she seen enough death?"

Sure I have. But like all things we once thought were impossible, it's now just a matter of, what's one more? What's one more dead man in the ground? Jim's death will be a different type of killing, sure, but they're all just bodies in the end. We've done this before.

"Watch yourself." Dad's look turns sharp at that. "Don't tell me what I already know."

"I'm just trying to—"

"Look." He cuts him off. "I know what's best for my daughter. The world I want her growin' up in is one that ain't made'a fairytales. People gotta die, Dale. Already have. And they ain't gonna stop just 'cause one man pulls out his thesaurus and starts cryin' about it. Lil' Jimmy, he's a threat to the group. He's a threat to my lil' girl, and it don't get any more black and white than that for me."

"But does that mean he has to die?"

"It means this conversation's over." He throws a hand up, turns away. "I ain't y'all's Momma. Go talk to Rick about it s'more if ya wanna."

"I already have." He calls after him uselessly, before sighing and giving up altogether. He seems to remember that I'm here too, and sends me a small smile. "Sorry, Harley," He says, "Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up with you here."

"Naw, it's alright." I shrug, joking, "I been through worse before."

That makes him chuckle, despite himself. "You have, have you?"

"But can I tell you sum'?"

He pauses, frowns. "'Course you can."

"Just stop." I say very plainly, in a way I hope he understands. "Just stop. It ain't worth it."

Ain't you just a little pot of wisdom, as Merle liked to say, whenever I told him he shouldn't sniff that white powder so often, or to try lookin' at the sky when he got too angry. Smarty-pants, is what Dad preferred to say. I got a bad habit of tellin' people what to do, sometimes, but it ain't that I'm wise or smart or want a damn medal, do ya. I just don't want Dale doin' what I did, tryna fight things ya can't fight, like with Sophia and Shane. In a way, I guess Jim's right. Ya can't fight death. It's just one of them things ya can't put a knife in.

I know Dale's tryna do good. That's what he is. A do-gooder. That's what Dad used to call the people at church. Always fightin' the good fight. With words and bibles and morals. But that ain't how things work now. I know Dale wishes it was, but it ain't.

From the look on Dale's face, it seems that just by saying this, I've as good as killed Jim myself.

"But-But, honey," He stammers. "How can you say that?"

"'Cause," I wiggle my boot on and stand. "People just gotta die, sometimes."

His lip curls. "Your Dad been teaching you that?"

"Yeah." I don't know why he says that like it's a bad thing. "People die, people mourn, life moves on. That's what he says."

"I don't want to argue with you on this." He shakes his head, hiding irritation. "You're too young to know what you're talking about."

He's like Lori. He wants to live like it was before, back when we had homework and couldn't say fuck, or shit, or fuck-shit. Back when we had courtrooms and judges and churches that were standing. 'Cause back then, Jim wouldn't be killed.

He blanches a little, before calling out to Dad, "You need to re-think what it is you're teaching your daughter."

As he huffs and walks away, Dad sends me a confused look.

"Nothin'." I sigh dismissively, heading over to join him by the dead fire pit, where he's knifed open a tin of baked beans. I stand in between his knees and he spoons some out and feeds them to me. "I jush argued with him a lil', 'das all."

"I ain't tell you to do that." He jokes, wiping sauce from my chin with the spoon.

I garble around my mouthful, "Well, I did tell him Jim's gotta die. Ya did say 'dat."

"Guess I did... But don't worry 'bout old Dale. He's a—"

"—He's a do-gooder." We say at the same time.

He scoffs amusedly. "Yeah. Exactly."

I swallow and open my mouth for the next spoonful, which I munch on with a smile. "How 'bout that deer just now, huh?"

"Pretty cool." He agrees absentmindedly, giving me a small smile back. Only once I open my mouth again does he tell me, "Listen, baby." I snap it shut once I realize he's not going to lift the spoon. For a terrible second, I think he knows about the shed. It's nonsense, of course. Andrea promised she wouldn't snitch, but the thought's still stuck to the back of my head. "About them things I said last night..."

Oh. Right. I don't say anything. I just stand and listen. I gotta get better at that.

"About your Momma givin' up," He struggles to say. "Weren't right'a me. Things are tough right now, but... weren't right'a me."

"It's alright, Dad." I tell him. Not a lot is alright these days, but we are. I forgive him. "You was right, anyway."

My Momma did give up. Whether I like how it sounds or not, that's what suicide means, and my Momma gave up. She gave up on me and Daddy, gave up on fighting, and she gave up on life, too, in the end. Like the rest, she was weak. Like Sophia. Like me.

"C'mere." He sets the tin aside and pulls me onto his lap, cradling my head under his chin. "Don't matter who was right. I love you."

"I love you, too, Dad."

Two I love you's in the same day. What on Earth is goin' on? You'd think the apocalypse had started or somethin'.

He pulls back, holding my face in his big, grimy hands. "I wantchu to stay wit' the women when we kill Jim tonight."

I suck in a breath, asking, "How you gonna do it?"

"I'on know yet." He admits as he smooths down my baby hairs, swipes some dirt from my cheek. "But you don't need t'see it. I know that."

I give a nod. I wish I could see, but that would never be allowed. "Okay."

"Okay." He repeats, kissing my temple. "Good girl."

As I finish off the rest of the beans, I gaze out over Dad's shoulder, watching Dale's tiny figure wander over to the other side of the farm, off to go try convince the next person he comes across that this is all a terrible idea. Off to fight the good fight, which no one's ever won.

The best part of my day is when Maggie slaps Andrea across the face.

It's not that I hate Andrea or anythin' like that, unlike some other people around here, but it's just kinda funny. As I walk up to the house, she holds her reddened cheek with her mouth agape in shock, while Maggie stands over her, totally fuming. I like her even more now.

"Stay away from her." She scolds her hotly. "From both of us. Don't you dare step foot inside this house again."

After struggling to find something to say, she wordlessly turns and hurries away.

"What's goin' on?" I call up to Maggie and Lori, who are standing on the porch.

"Nothing, sweetie." Lori assures me, but she seems heated. She moves to the side to let Maggie storm inside, and follows her in after.

I find Carl past the patch of tall trees by the house, past the overgrown fence and sitting in the seat of an abandoned tractor, fiddling with his hat in his lap. I'm still a little angry with him. For trying to control me like I'm his pet dog, and treating me like I'm some sort of practice run for his little sister or brother. But that don't mean I can't talk to him. I climb one of the big tyres, crossing my arms over the rusty hood.

He glances at me but decides not to say anything.

"Did you tell Maggie about the knife?"

"Yeah." He admits, not surprising me in the slightest. I don't see why else Andrea would be on Maggie's bad side. "What do you care?"

I frown in confusion. "Huh? I don't. I was just asking."

"Oh." He puts his hat on and looks at me. "I thought you came over here to argue some more."

"Nah." I shrug one shoulder, tracing my finger along the cracked ridges of the old, red metal. "Don't wanna."

Gazing out onto the barn, I see Rick through the open doors, pacing the dirt floor and looking up at the rafters with some rope in his hands. I make out a loop on the end of it, and then I realize it's not a rope, it's a noose. He's looking for a place to hang Jim.

"That's how they're gonna do it." I murmur to myself. "They is gonna hang him after all."

"Gunshot would attract the horde." Carl supposes.

Rick takes hold of a wooden banister, pushes on it, checks its sturdiness.

"True. I ain't thought of that."

"He told me we're gonna be sleeping in the house, soon. Because Winter's coming, and all."

That's a funny thought. Feels like just yesterday Rick was begging Herschel to let us stay, and now we're facing Winter together.

"Guess it's good Jim's dyin' now, then," I muse, "So he don't gotta freeze to death instead."

After a couple more minutes, Rick stops pushing on banisters and attaches the noose to the spot he's chosen. I guess that's it, then.

"It's almost time." Lori says to Rick as the sun begins to set, like a ball of orange sand in a glass timer. "I know this isn't easy for you."

She doesn't know that, but she likes saying it, anyway, because she wants to believe it and it sounds nice. But I think we all know that Rick is a little beyond caring about ending a person's life for the good of the group. He might not love it, but it's like Dad says. There's only two options, and when push comes to shove choosing the best one, the one that keeps us safe, things become pretty damn easy.

He nods, knuckles going white as he grips the porch railing. I guess he doesn't have the guts to tell her she's wrong.

Inside, the group are gathering to have what Dale calls a discussion. It's his last-ditch attempt at stopping the execution, and Rick's not happy about it, but he's willing to hear him out. It's pretty obvious we're all just stalling the inevitable, though.

"You don't have to be the one to do it." Lori continues after he's said nothing.

On the deck chair beside me, Dad sits with his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlocked, wriggling. He offers gruffly, "I can do it."

"No." Rick shakes his head. "It has to be me. Bringing him back was my decision. Makes this is my responsibility."

I wonder how you even kill someone using a noose. I guess what they're debating is who's gonna kick the stool Jim stands on.

Dad doesn't argue back. The only person he really wanted to kill was Shane, and he did that. This one goes to Rick.

The door swings open.

Maggie pokes her head out. "Everyone's ready."

Rick takes a deep breath, gives one last look to Lori, and heads inside.

"C'mon." Lori takes Carl's shoulder and guides him to sit in Dad's chair. "I want you to stay out here with Jimmy and Harley."

"But, Mom," He argues, "I wanna listen."

"Uh-uh. Not this time, baby."

Just as Lori goes inside and Dad is about to follow her in, Carl blurts out, "Daryl, wait."

He pauses in the doorway. Confusion pinches his features. I go still, glance at Carl side-long, hold my breath. There's no way he's doing what I think he is. Why else would he stop my Dad? Please, no. Just say something stupid and useless and let him go inside.

In a moment that makes me want to put my hands around his neck, Carl says exactly what I didn't want him to.

"Harley snuck into the shed and talked to Jim."

I bite down a thousand curses. Carl Grimes, that little... I can't believe he told on me. Not even Andrea did.

Dad's face contorts into a look of rage, pinning me in place, making my heart race until it's punching against my sternum like a fist. Now I'm realizing just how much of an idiot I was for breaking the rules. All Dad wants is for me to be safe. He's gotta look out for dangers like Jim, but I'm becoming a danger to myself, now, too, 'cause I'm an idiot and I went in that shed like an idiot and spoke to Jim like an idiot.

He grabs the door handle like he's tryna crush it between his fingers and slams the door shut behind him.

The windows rattle behind me and Carl.

I let out a breath, but I'm not relieved for long. I'm suddenly almost as angry as Dad was. I turn to Carl, fixing him with a scathing glare.

"Why in Satan's hot Hell," I grind through my teeth, "Did ya do that for?"

He looks all pleased with himself. "Because I'm responsible."

If I weren't already in deep trouble, and if Jimmy wasn't out here to witness it, I would slap Carl so hard his baby teeth and his adult teeth would fall out his skull. I didn't snitch on him when he wanted to sneak into the woods. In fact, I helped that jerk.

"You know, I'm about sick'a you." I tell him, because it makes me feel better. "You been buggin' me so bad today."

"I've been bugging you?" He exclaims incredulously.

"Ya heard me. First ya tell Carol her dead daughter ain't in heaven, then you start actin' like I'm a baby, and now ya snitch on—"

"Well, you are a baby!" He shocks me into silence with that. "You're a baby, Harley. You might know what a chantrelle mushroom is, and you might shoot better than me, but you're still just a stupid baby, and I'm right for looking out for you. You can't do it yourself!"

Jimmy awkwardly wonders further down the porch, pretending he doesn't hear our argument.

"Well, I hope your baby sister or brother hates your damn guts," I snarl, "'Cause I sure do."

"I'm just trying to set a good example like Dad told me to!"

"Y'know, fuck yer Dad. And fuck you, too. I ain't your test sister. I ain't yer anythin'."

He huffs angrily, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. I'm glad you're not my sister."

"And I'm glad you ain't my brother." I mumble, turning my back to him and crossing my arms. "Damn snitch."

I almost wish Carl never found out he was gonna be a big brother. It's turned his head big. He thinks he can play house with me and act like some hero just 'cause his Dad told him to, but I don't need no damn boy who don't even know how to skin a squirrel to look out for me. He ain't an adult and I ain't a baby. I don't even like it when he reads his comics to me or holds my hand when he wants to take me somewhere or shares things with me or listens extra hard when I'm teaching him something. I meant it. I'm glad he ain't my brother.

Screw him. When his sibling's born, he's gonna forget all about me and I ain't gonna care one bit.

Inside, my Dad's voice is the loudest outta everybody's. To know what he's actually saying, I would have to ask Carl to translate, and there's no way in Hell I'm talking to him right now, or ever. I hear tidbits of Dale's voice, Glenn's, Jacqui's, T's. After a while, I hear shouting.

"If you were so sure you wanted to kill him," It's Dale. "Why'd you cover his face?! I know you have humanity in you!"

It seems nobody answers him, or he just doesn't wanna listen anymore, because the door opens and he steps out.

"Go ahead and slaughter that human being, then." He calls over his shoulder. "I won't be a party to it!"

He trudges down the steps, across the field, ducks into his tent, disappears. The thought that he might be crying makes my chest clench.

After that, the others file out. When I see Dad again, I feel like I might throw up.

He beelines for me, grabs my arm, pulls me off the chair.

"Get up." He seethes.

"What's going on?" Rick asks in concern.

"She messed up, that's what's goin' on." He drags me down the stairs. "Snuck into the shed and talked to Jim."

I hear Jacqui gasp at that. "What? When?"

Rick calls out to us, "Remember what I said, Daryl! If I see a bruise, I'll shoot you dead!"

"Man, whatever!"

He sounds pissed he would even suggest he's gonna beat me, but I don't think Rick really believes he'd do it, anyway. He just had to say it.

When we reach our camp, he throws me onto the stump and I sit there with a lump in my throat while he chews me out.

"Girl, I'on even have words for you." He says harshly, looking at me like I'm a nasty stain on his boot. "What the Hell were you thinkin'?"

"I—I just— I was just so angry, I wanted to—"

"I'on give a shit what you wanted." He cuts me off. "And I guess you don't give a shit what I want neither, do ya? Huh? Tellin' me you wanted to die, that was one thing, but what? Now you're tryn'? I gotta tie you down to stop ya, is that it? 'Cause gimme the word and I'll do it!"

"N-No," I quickly tell him, watching him pace back and forth. "I was just— I was just bein' an idiot."

"You're Hell right, you were bein' an idiot." He notices Merle's knife strapped to my shorts and lunges forward. "Gimme this damn thing."

He tears the button apart and rips the sheath offa me, stuffing it into the back of his pants line.

"You'll get this back when I can trust ya not to open up yer wrists with it." He growls before turning away.

I don't move from the stump for the next ten minutes. I watch him start a fire, heat up a tin of soup and eat it, and by then a whole hour has gone by and I realize I'm gonna be here longer than I thought. The sun goes down. Another hour, and I'm still sitting here. He doesn't talk to me, doesn't look my way. He doesn't even give me dinner. After that, another hour. He makes a few arrows. It gets colder and he gives me his flannel to put on, but after that, another two hours. It's around everyone's bed time when Glenn walks over and tells him it's time.

Dad understands what he means straight away and stands up, because there's only one thing he could be talking about.

"Stay with her." He orders Glenn without room for argument, and marches away.

Glenn watches him go, then sends me a small smile. "Hey, Harley."

"Hey, Glenn." I say a little glumly.

"You wanna come sit by the fire while we wait?"

I shake my head. "I'm in time-out. I gotta stay over here."

He nods and comes to sit in the dirt beside me, hugging his knees. The sounds of crickets chirping fills the air.

"I heard what you did." He muses after a long stretch of silence. "I'm not gonna add insult to injury, but that wasn't cool, Harley."

"So I've heard." I mutter, picking at threads.

"I mean, you could've gotten hurt." He patiently explains. "We don't know what Jim might've done to you in there."

"He hates me 'cause I remind him of his kids, y'know. He says I deserve to die like they did. Thinks it ain't fair."

"Wow." He scoffs to himself. "What a jerk."

"I think my Dad's got some more colorful words for him than that."

"Oh, I do, too." He warns, making me giggle. If Glenn wants to swear, that's how you know it's bad. "But we'll stick with 'jerk' for now."

"I think Lori would appreciate that." After a pause, I ask, "Did you talk to Maggie?"

"Yeah. I did."

"How'd it go?"

"It went good." He grins a little. "I got your advice to thank for that."

Aw. I'm happy for them. "I'll be giving Dale a run for his money, soon."

As we're both suppressing laughter at the thought of my life advice being better than Dale's, the group's wise owl, a gunshot cracks out across the farm. We both flinch. Our smiles fade. He puts an arm in front of me on instinct, looking out into the dark. What the Hell?

"They're hangin' him." I utter, seeing nothing but trees and night, "They hangin' him, Glenn. Why was that a gunshot?"

"I-I don't know." He grabs my hand, pulls me to my feet and keeps me close in case we gotta run. "I don't know."

Then comes the screaming. It's not Jim's.

"Dale," Glenn gasps right as my stomach hits the ground.

Then the group is running across the field and there are guns in their hands and flashlights are cutting through the grass. Glenn takes off running with me, his hand in mine, and I'm thinking that I should be on the stump, I'm gonna get in so much trouble for moving from the stump, but nobody's thinking about my time-out because there's all that screaming and Dale— Dale might be dying.

When we collide with the group, Dad takes hold of me and asks me if I'm alright, if I'm alright, and I struggle to nod.

"What's happening?" I whine, as Lori and T-Dog ask the same thing to two other people. "What happened to Jim?"

"We had to leave him in the barn." He says breathlessly before I'm running again.

There's a mess of running legs and bodies and panicking and then the squeaking of a gate, and then I'm pushing past everyone and then the world stops because there's a bundle on the ground. It's Dale. I hear someone retch. All of him, guts and all, spread out in the grass.

My Dad rushes forward and daggers the walker that's on top of him. "Come on, help! Help, he's— Fuck!"

"Who is it?" Lori shrieks as she runs to us, only to stop dead in her tracks when she sees.

Rick throws himself next to Dale's head. He's cradling his head and muttering things to him, and Dale's moaning and huffing and puffing and wheezing like a half-dead animal as the cavity in his chest pours blood into the grass. I do nothing but stand there in shock, watching it pour, pour, pour. There's shouts for Herschel, shouts for stupid things like bandages and stitches that make no sense and are just so awful, because ain't no bandage gonna fix Dale's missing stomach and his sprawled organs and the bite marks on his neck.

"We're gonna help," Rick's promising him while Andrea cries over his body, "We're here. We're here."

I'm wrapped up in a hug. Glenn. He steps backwards with me, holding me tight, saying nothing.

I was talking to him just this afternoon. I swear I was. He was right in front of me and he was alive, and I was talking to him and now he's laid out and torn open, and his insides are on his outsides, and I couldn't talk to him even if I tried, even if I had words to speak.

Herschel's here. He crouches, hovers his hands because there's nowhere to put them, no wound to put pressure on.

"What can we do?" Rick's asking him, up to his elbows in Dale, our friend's, blood. "We have to move him. Can we move him?"

Herschel stands, eyes bulged. "He won't make the trip." 

"We have to do the operation here," Rick's saying, but it's useless. "We hav— We have to—"

"Rick." He puts a hand on his shoulder.

"No." He cries, turning away, holding his face. "No. No, no, no!"

"Oh, Dale." Andrea sobs, and somehow this is the worst part because Andrea never cries, and neither does Rick or Glenn, but they're all crying, all doubling over and sniffling and no-no-no-ing, because there's nothing we can do. Dale is dying right in front of us, dying in our hands. Carl gapes at the walker laying nearby, and that's when I notice the clumps of mud on its ankles, and I grab tighter onto Glenn and Carl runs to his Momma, because that's the walker from the swamp. The one we didn't kill. Andrea weeps, "He's suffering."

Another groan wracks Dale's mangled body, and we all feel it in our bones, because she's right.

"Do something!" She begs.

God fucking damn it, why didn't we just kill that thing when we had the chance?

It's Sophia all over again. The something is a bullet. Someone has to shoot Dale like we shot Sophia. Oh, God, Jim was right. Dale, my wise old friend, the man who just wanted to go around the country with his wife and his RV and read poetry books, dying in a paddock on the edge of a random farm in Georgia. I wonder if he's scared. Dale's never scared. He's one of the bravest people I know.

Rick raises his gun. I don't look away. I don't cry. I don't feel much of anything except my heartbeat in my mouth. 

"Don't look," Glenn tells me, "D-Don't look."

Jacqui hides her face in Carol's neck. T-Dog turns away. Dad glances at me, tells me he's sorry with just a look.

We all know what has to happen.

He pulls the hammer back.

Dale coughs, looking into the barrel. He knows what has to happen, too.

Rick can't do it. His arm falters. He has to walk away, into Lori's arms, where he doesn't have to see it.

Dad steps up instead, raises his gun.

"Sorry, brother."

A bang.

And then Dale's face is blown to bits and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

Walking back to camp. Dad washing my face. Stamping out the fire, climbing in the tent. I don't really remember any of it, because I'm thinking about the sight of Dale's body wrapped in a white bedsheet and how when I wake up tomorrow, we'll have another funeral.

Dad sleeps beside me tonight. He holds me, soothes my hair, but he doesn't tell me everything's alright.

All of us are in shock. Back at main camp, I imagine Glenn will be sat up by the fire until sunrise, staring into the ashy pit, just thinking, mourning. Carl will be cuddled up with his parents, too. They'll be holding him tight. In the next tent over, Jacqui sniffling herself to sleep. Carol bunking with T-Dog. I don't think anyone's gonna be sleeping in the RV tonight.

Not for any real reason, but because it was Dale's.

I'm the only person awake. Alone with the white sky and my thoughts, I stare out at the tiny oak tree.

For some reason, the only thing I can think of is what we're gonna do with all of Dale's books. It's not important, but it's what I think about. He had Italian poetry, boring old non-fiction, a few thick classics that I saw him lend to people from time to time. Maybe they'll just stay in the RV, in all those nooks and crannies he had them stacked in. I won't see Glenn wasting the afternoon away reading a book on mystery, or Lori rummaging around for a romance book but only finding more poetry. Like I said, not important. But it hurts too much to think of other things.

Like how much I'll miss his chuckle-snort, the way he petted his pockets when he couldn't find his glasses. How he was good.

When Dad steps out the tent, he finds me sitting over here in the grass, still wearing his flannel.

He carefully sits beside me, and we just watch the thick fog roll over the farm together.

At the funeral, Rick talks about Dale's ability to read people, to know who they really are, and how he could always get under your skin by telling you what you needed to hear, not what you wanted to hear. I try very hard not to look at Sophia's grave. I never got to be at her funeral. I wonder what types of things Rick said that day. Something about her love for her Momma, or how she was kind, I'm sure.

When it's my turn to speak, I tell everyone that Dale was a better friend to me than my own Grandpappy ever was.

Maggie makes us all scrambled eggs and sweet-smelling tea after that, because we're sad and she's a sweetheart.

Then there's talk of moving sleeping bags into the house, dividing spare rooms, using the windmill for a lookout post. Others are saying those two gunshots last night are going to attract the horde and that we don't need to re-enforce the fence, we need to leave.

Me, I don't get involved. I sit on the sofa next to Lori and Carl and watch the fireplace dance away.

Then chores to numb the mind, collecting eggs and filling troughs. Carl don't talk to me the whole time. We're still pissy at each other.

Jim's execution is postponed. After what happened last night, nobody thought it felt right, and he got locked up in the shed again. I don't even think about going anywhere near it. I tried this morning to set myself back down on the stump again, but Dad gave me a soft, no, baby, and told me to come get dressed instead. I've learnt my lesson. No more puttin' myself at risk, and no more bein' an idiot.

I'm gonna really miss Dale. He's the smartest old person I've ever met.

I catch myself.

Was, now.

Author's note.

The moment I've been dreading writing. Dale is dead.

I love Dale. Especially since I started re-watching the show with some family, who all love him too. I tried fitting in a scene where he, Glenn, and Harley got a final talk together, but it just didn't work. It wasn't realistic. Nobody ever knows when disaster is going to strike, and you don't always get to part on good terms.

And my poor Harley has lost another person she cares for. That being said, she's more hardened than she was when Shane and Sophia died, so this won't be as devastating for her character. It's actually going to be good for her. Good riddance to the suicide arc.

Rest in peace to Dale Horvath, the wise old do-gooder.

Thank you for reading! :)

@poetoflawed

[loganlostitall]

Better Off Dead

Rating: ehh… I’ll go with 13+

Word count: 2k

Characters: Rick Grimes x Gender neutral reader

Setting: Alexandria, after TOWL ep 1 (SPOILERS!!!)

Content warnings: HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE NEW EPISODE!!!!!!!! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN READING!!! That’s two warnings don’t blame me. Self harm and suicidal ideation, this is an almost entirely mental health related drabble. Heavy talk of cutting and scars. Typical TWD themes.

Summary: FINAL SPOILER WARNING! Rick hasn’t even been back for a full day. He is also not the only one who suffered a psychiatric decline over the years you spent apart. Both you and him are unaware that the other was in a similar spot. Hurt/comfort ensues.

Author’s note: Did NOT expect to be writing a Rick x reader in the middle of the goddamn night but my theory about Rick’s hand got proven right within not even five minutes and I was losing my shit. I started trying to think of plot immediately and once I saw more on mental health I was gone. Me and my love for mentally ill men <3

I wanted to post this the same night as release it fought me hard 😭 never expected to be doing Rick x reader and wanted to be perfect. Once again, the title is linked to the songspo so you can listen along.

Unbeta’d again, hope this is decent for u guys :3

The very moment you woke up, the first thing you became aware of was the fact that you found yourself in bed alone. Not unlike all the other nights. It was routine by now. The occasional, unique circumstance of this particular morning though, was the urge. Unshakable. All encompassing. It crashed through your brain and down into your body, pulsing through your veins, begging to be drawn out and released. Trapped under your skin. Grief.

It was almost completely overwhelming, tears flooding your lower eyelids and venturing down to your lips just as a strangled sob ripped from between them, the sound a little hoarse from your voice being unused during sleep.

You reached out blindly to the nightstand, your fingers grasping for the knife you always kept at your bedside in case of waking up to a walker breach or anything similar. Even through blurred vision, you found the handle, and brought the blade to the criss-crossed skin of your arm.

What a way to start off the morning with a bang.

Inflicting harm over previously healed scars always made you flinch harder. But you didn’t care that it hurt more. If anything, you appreciated it. It was more effective, faster. You never felt the need to leave quite as many.

Hissing through your teeth, you sat the knife down on your knee and brought your pointer and middle fingers to either side of the new wound and spread it open, luring more blood to flow out. It tickled as the thick crimson rolled down your wrist and came to a stop right where the skin curves to the heel of your palm, and you grabbed the handle once more to start the process over again.

Halfway through the next was when the door creaked.

You practically jumped out of your skin, throwing the reddened blade to clatter on the floor and snatching the covers to pull back over yourself, press them to your arm. Your free hand wiped the tears from your face as you sniffled, clearing up your sight well enough to see….

Rick. Blue eyes darkened by confusion and worry.

He stepped in cautiously, taking care to slowly and quietly shut the door behind himself and return his attention back to you. “Hey, what are you doing that for?”

“Wh— what the fuck?”

It left you as no more than a whisper, and you knew that same confusion was reflected on your own face. Rick wasn’t supposed to be here. ‘Am I hallucinating?’

“No, you’re not hallucinating. I’m right here.” Rick had nearly asked if you were okay, but stopped himself short. He’d just walked in on you cutting yourself, there was only one answer that you would, or could, give him.

You were apparently not fully awake yet, or you were still reeling from the self harm, because you’d seemingly asked the question out loud and not in your head.

His manufactured arm piece remained immobile at his side while his real hand patted himself absently in various locations, the pockets of his shirt as well as on each side of his jeans, searching for something although knowing that it wasn’t there. Rather than stand there idiotically, Rick held up a finger to signal ‘one second’ and made his way further into the room, dropping to one knee to pick up the knife you’d flung down carelessly and wiping the blood onto his shirt. And then, while he was down there, he pulled open each drawer of your nightstand until he actually found what he was looking for. Bandages. Or, more specifically, a small med kit with bandages in it. Packed full of random, useful supplies.

He remained kneeling at your bedside and spoke as he opened it. “Already forgot that you have me back?” His smile had an odd edge to it, like he was happy to see you but simultaneously disheartened by the state you were in, and concerned about the fact you’d forgotten. There was so much emotion on his face your eyes filled again.

“Yeah, I guess, I-”

You jumped when Rick pulled the blanket away from your arm and instinctively drew it back toward your chest, shielding the mess of dried blood from his worried gaze, but he simply reached for it again and coaxed it back to himself. Tentatively, not one sign of upset visible on him.

As he assessed the damage, you ashamedly looked elsewhere and returned to what you had previously been saying. “When Siddiq was still around, he diagnosed me with C-PTSD. Honestly, I think we all have something like that by now.” Laughing weakly, you bit the inside of your cheek for a few moments as Rick took care to clean the area with a small, square cloth soaked with witch hazel. It wasn’t the medication that burned, just the contact. You carried on. “He told me one of the side-effects would be my memory. Short-term, long-term, or even both… so, probably that and the fact I dreamed about finding you as a walker and having to put that knife between your eyes.”

A flare of insecurity sparked in your chest when that last statement had Rick’s eyes flitting to yours. Suddenly you found yourself critically self-conscious that he’d decide you were too much work now and leave to find better. Memory problems? Who would bother dealing with that?

“Okay,” he said surely, his voice steady. “That’s okay.” You were overwhelmed with the urge to hug him, but it would have to wait until you had your arm back. After a moment of eye contact for a second time, Rick patted the skin dry with a square of gauze and shook a small bottle of bactine before spraying a thin layer on top of the area.

The tingle of numbness was immediate. You sighed in relief as he rolled a Q-tip covered in Vaseline over each laceration and used that same last piece of gauze to delicately wipe up the excess surrounding them. And then to preserve resources, Rick opted not to open another and instead flipped that pad over to lay the dry side on your wrist; wrapped a length of blue self adherent cohesive bandage around it a few times to keep the wound dressing in place. Brought the heel of your palm to his lips, only to pause when his eyes wandered to find the array of scars littering your inner forearm. There was one in particular that he couldn’t take his attention off of.

Trailing the pad of his thumb down the length of your arm, you glanced down to see what he was looking at.

And felt nauseous.

“This one?” he asked faintly, voice barely discernible. Jagged, raised skin followed your radial artery vertically. Perpetrated on yourself while you’d searched for him.

You shrugged in an attempt to play it off as a lot calmer than you actually were. “Didn’t go deep enough.” Shame, once again, enveloped you. You felt fucking pathetic.

“Me either.”

The words felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped right over your head. Freezing your entire body, soaking your flesh and seeping beneath it to chill your bones. Your eyes found his natural fingers to discover that they were pulling his shirt collar away from his neck to reveal a slash that scabbed very recently going about a fourth of the way across his throat. Your vision swam again.

“You’re here now,” you tried. It was a lousy consolation, but you still weren’t… entirely grounded yet. Pushing yourself up to sit on your knees, Rick muttering ‘careful’ under his breath as you put weight on the hand connected to your injured arm to lean the upper half of your body off the edge of the bed, you nestled your lips just above the new scar and kissed his thrumming pulse. “We’re both here.” The two of you were equally as anxious; the way his heart was racing proved that fact. Perhaps even for the same reasons. Feeling exposed.

It was hardly a long journey from Philadelphia to Virginia. You made it back with Rick before the day was over. Subsequently, he had barely been here for twelve hours. Perhaps you hadn’t spent enough time together yet for the fact that Rick was home to truly register with you.

It seemed he may have had the same idea.

He offered you a tired half-smile and stood, closing up the med kit and returning it to its previous location only to round to the other side of the bed, make quick work of kicking off his boots, and climb in beneath the blanket. Rolling to face him, you sidled up to rest your forehead on his chest immediately, and his genuine arm fell over your side whilst the sculpted metal one lie idle beneath the pillows. The numbing from bactine was still a thing to revel over because it meant you could throw your arm over his bicep and card your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. You did not miss Rick’s short hair. His fingers soothed up and down your back in a comforting manner and you both laid utterly still, breathing the same air, sharing the same body heat.

“I’m grateful I didn’t go deep enough,” he whispered once the silence stretched uncomfortably. “You found me.”

For what was probably not the last time today, your eyes stung again. And yet, you opted to lift the spirits of him and yourself with a joke. It was the first thing that came to mind. “Well, you do seem to fail at slitting throats, Rick.”

You grinned up at him when he scoffed; giggled when he started to chuckle himself. The pair of you sounded as exhausted as you both looked, and when the laughter died out, you absorbed each other again. His presence was so consoling to your brain that had successfully convinced itself he was still gone, that after a length of time you realized you’d fall back asleep soon. And Rick would probably ensure you didn’t wake up alone again.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to do something, though.

Propping yourself up on your right elbow, you blinked sleep out of your heavy eyes while pulling weakly at his new arm attachment; more as a question rather than an unpermitted attempt to uncover it. “Can… can I look?”

Unease cast a shadow over his blue eyes, despite the trust in them, and he nodded. Which you’d only half expected him to do. You’d braced yourself for a no.

You would see it eventually, so he figured it was best to do it now and get it out of the way rather than prolong it.

Sitting your pillow off to lean it against the headboard, Rick adjusted and repositioned to lay on his back instead, which gave you a better opportunity to look at his hand. It was strapped on in two different places; one at the elbow, and one at the shoulder. The fingers were hyper-realistic, yet closed into a fist with no opening for a weapon to be gripped. It was almost as if he could read your mind, because Rick drew his arm away from you to demonstrate the release of a blade triggered in the wrist.

You lifted a finger to trail it along the sharp edge of the custom weaponized extension and hissed through grit teeth when it left a thin, shallow cut on your fingertip.

“I’m not getting the med kit back out.” He finished saying it with a playfully chastising call of your name.

No need to bother. You sucked the blood from the pad of your finger and threw him a drowsy smirk. “This is hot.”

That definitely caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” Rick shook his head with a dampened smile. “Well, I’m glad you see my suffering as an upgrade.”

The greatest salve for your pain was his lips on yours. Maybe it would do the same for his wounded pride.

Quite the valid reason to try it.

“Shut up.”

Your smile met his, and they stayed there even after you fell asleep again. This time, dreaming of the future.

National suicide and crisis hotline: call or text 988

Help with self harm: text CONNECT to 741741

LGBTQ+ inclusive resource: https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/article/support-for-self-harm-recovery/

Numbers for different parts of the world: https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/

[pussydestroyer10110]

THANK YOU FOR ANYONE WHO LIKED THE FIRST ONE!!!!

Ok imma do another one cus this shit's quite fun

Also this won't follow the exact storyline of twd

ALSO I DON'T OWN ANY OF TWD!!!

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HOW RICK GRIMES WOULD REACT TO YOU LOLKING AFTER CARL AND JUDITH WHILE HE WAS GRIEVING LORI

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Rick felt awful. His dead wife seemed to be standing wherever he looked with a long white dress and an almost taunting smile.

He had lost control of himself, he'd go on a walker killing rampage and the only reason he knew what he did was when he eventually came too and both he and his hatched would be covered in decaying goo. He knew he was verging on irreversible insanity but he didn't know how to stop.

Unlike Rick you had taken on an aunt like role to the two young children left behind. You knew you couldn't ever replace the role of a mother at least to Carl, so you became a shoulder to cry on and a person to care for the child in any way they needed

Carl had already taken to calling you 'Auntie' before the untimely death of Lori but your relationship only strengthened in the absence of a nurturing mother.

With Judith though it was a whole other ballgame, her chubby newborn cheeks would stretch into a little gummy smile whenever she saw you. She would use her small hands to make grabby actions towards you signalling for her to be picked up; and when she was she would lie her fragile head against your chest and either fall asleep or babble in relaxation.

It was clear she saw you like a baby would its mum. However you tired to influence her little brain to call you auntie before she begins to start using the words mum in respect for the recently smaller Grimes family.

As of now you were sitting around the improvised dining area with Carl leaning on your left side while Judith was drinking from her bottle in your arms. Daryl stood off to the side and watched fondly, even though he'd never admit it he had taken a liking to the tiny baby, and Carol was stirring a pot of baked beans above a fire near by. Everything was calm in the cell block but they couldn't help but feel a bit lost without the presence of their leader.

As if their thoughts had been heard a bloody Rick Grimes came in with his hatchet still in hand.

"Everyone alright" He said with a thick, scratchy accent.

A few nods appeared from the group and you looked up at the man to find him already staring at you and his two children who clung to you like vines. His face seemed a little less tense once he saw them but he still had tired eyes and a glum expression.

He was a shell of a man.

Rick tried marching his way out again but Hershel snapped at him telling him to get his act together before the governor winds up killing us all.

That got him to stare in shock before he finally sat down by you.

Rick's head was swarming with mixed emotions, he still felt a strong sense of guilt because of his wife's death and it was only intensified from the fact he enjoyed seeing you getting on with his children. Aside from guilt though your presence gave him a sense of peace knowing that his children were being guided through their grief by a kind hand.

You passed little Judith to an expectant Beth and gently maneuvered Carl into an upwards position, giving him a quick peck on his forehead. Then you stood up and gestured for Rick to do the same.

Rick warily stood up as if you were going to scold him like Hershel did, instead you walked away to another, more quiet part of the cell block as Rick obediently trailed behind you.

You stood their in one of the cells roughly a foot away from Rick and without saying a word you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your body against his in an innocent embrace. Rick's arms instinctively wrapped around your shoulders and rested his cheek on the crown of your head.

It wasn't long until you felt his body start to shake with sobs.

You felt droplets of water hit your head but you didn't care as breathy cries escaped his lips and he clung to you like a lifeline. Both of you gently swayed back and forth in a comforting manner to try and calm his sobs, soon after his cries became minimal.

"Listen Rick you have two beautiful children out there who love you beyond words..." You started " And I'll be damned if I let you step so far back that you don't become like a father to them anymore."

"I don't know what to do." He spoke, barely a whisper.

"Well your going to go out there and you're going to hug your boy and hold your little girl, because you need them as much as they need you. You've had a couple days for your killing spree but now it's time to recover with your family." You ordered him.

You felt him nod against your head, his arms still wrapped around you.

You eventually untangled from each other and you walked out of the cell alongside Rick to find everyone in the same places they were before the only difference was the beans were now in individual bowls. Rick sat down where you formerly were and you got Judith from Beth.

Rick pulled Carl into a side hug on the bench and kissed his hair, you then presented Judith to Rick who opened his arms for her. His fatherly instincts immediately kicked in as he cradled the baby looking down at her with a soft smile. The baby began to babble in his arms giving him a gummy smile that you thought were reserved for you.

You placed a hand on both Rick and Carl's shoulder as you all looked down at the bundle of joy.

Rick was finally at ease as he looked at the child who might not be his by blood but it was his none the less, the comforting hand you had placed on his shoulder made him all the more happy as he knew he could now trust you with anything. Especially his children.

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How was that for my second attempt?

Love yall xx

If you got to here thanks for reading, ask for anything you want and I'll do my best just keep it innocent for now

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW CUTE HE LOOKS IN THAT PHOTO

[thegreenaardvark]

Empathy

"Daryl?" he heard Carl's shocked voice ask.

Daryl was horrified as he dropped the thin blade into the bathroom sink.

He had never wanted Carl to see that.

He had never wanted anyone to see that side of him.

But there was Carl, standing there in the door as small red droplets ran down the inside of his arm.

Daryl hadn't been expecting his boyfriend's 16 year old son to be coming by his trailer. In truth, Carl had never been inside the trailer that he shared with his brother. Hell, he didn't even think the kid knew where he lived. It wasn't as though to was a big secret; this was Kings county after all. There was only one small trailer park and everyone there knew which one belong to the Dixon brothers.

"I-I…Mom and Shane are having a BBQ tomorrow and…I was just coming back from school and they wanted me to ask if you'd come. I knocked, but the door was open and…"

"How'd you even know which one's mine?" Daryl asked incredulously.

"The…um…your bike's out front."

Damn.

"I should…" Carl started pointing behind him towards the front door, "I'll tell Mom…something."

He heard the front door spring shut, and Daryl roughly pulled his shirt over his head and followed after Carl only to see the kid riding his bike off towards the main road.

Damn it.

"That doesn't sound like him. Are you sure that he wasn't just cleaning it out?" Lori said before bending to take the casserole she had made out of the oven.

"No Mom, he had a…a razor. I just…I didn't know what I was supposed to do y'know. I mean, it's Daryl."

"Well, what did you say to him?"

"I didn't really say anything. I just…kind of left. I wasn't going t' say anything but, there was this girl at school last year who did…that, and then she missed a couple of days. She ended up in the hospital and…and he had all these scars…"

"You're worried about him?"

Carl nodded.

"Who're you worried about now?" Shane asked coming through the door to the kitchen and already dressed in his work uniform, "Hey Honey, what's up?" he greeted Lori.

"Seriously Rick, I mean, the kid was pretty freaked out. It's not like I really know they guy, but should Carl really be goin' over there if he's doin' stuff like that?"

Rick had just gotten back into the station after taking care of an intoxicated driver. After having having gone through the debacle of Shane and Lori's affaire and his subsequent divorce from her, Rick had switched partners. It was best for both of them to have some separation.

Though he still made an effort to get along with Shane at work and when he went to see Carl, Rick still felt the sting of his betrayal. Rick's marriage to Lori had not been a healthy one. Even after finding out about Lori's infidelity, Rick had held out hope that one day he might reconcile with her. But after overhearing his former best friend loudly bragging to the rest of the squad about the expensive engagement ring that Lori had accepted from him, Rick had finally let himself move on.

It was one of the few night shifts that Rick had been stuck working. The man that had come in was haggard, his hair smeared across his face.

"Can I help you with something?" Rick asked as his hand had instinctually come to rest on the butt of his gun.

"Got to pick up my stupid brother," the man grumbled before pushing the hair out of his face, "Y' all brought 'im in a couple o' hours ago."

"Last name?"

"Dixon."

"And your last name?"

He stared at Rick like it was the stupidest question, "…still Dixon."

"Protocol. I still got to ask. First name is Daryl right? Looks like you've picked him up before."

Daryl sighed, "Yeah, he's been here a couple o' times. Any chance that asshole's sobered up yet? Don't feel like dealin' with him hammered like that."

"Here, take a seat Mr. Dixon," Rick said gesturing to the chair next to his desk, "I'm in his file right now, and it looks like he's been having some issues with public intoxication for some time. Have you thought about trying to get him into some kind of program?"

Daryl snorted, "You ain't met 'im yet have you?"

Rick had only really had a few interactions with Merle Dixon, but he knew enough. He knew Merle's type: stubborn, rude, and unless it suited him unlikely to change. Rick could practically feel the irritation rolling off of Daryl.

"Well," he started, "It ain't too busy in 'ere right now. Could probably leave him for another hour or two if you really wanted. Let him sober up a bit more."

"Already paid the bail…"

"Like I said, we ain't real busy right now. You can wait here and I'll go get you a cup o' coffee or somethin'."

But Daryl just nodded his agreement and stayed put.

If it hadn't been ovbious to Rick before, it certainly was now; he was the last person that Daryl had expected to be on the other end of the phone. He was greeted with a sharp 'What d' you want now?' upon hearing that he was calling from the Kings County sheriff's department.

"We met a couple of days ago regarding your brother's custody release. I'm just followin' up to see how you're doing, and to see if I could email y' all over some of those resources we talked about for your brother. We've got some real good programs run out o' the station here to support people dealing with alcoholism, and I think he could really benefit from some help…"

"Y' think Merle's just gon' walk up into a building full o' cops, then y' all are stupider than you look. If your boss wants t' keep tabs on my brother, you can tell him to do it himself instead of makin' you call me up."

"Look I…" Rick took a deep breath, letting it rush out of his throat, "I know probably don't have a lot of faith in the sheriff's office right now; and I get it…I do…but I do want to help you. And it's okay if you don't believe me right now when I say that the sergeant in charge here didn't put me up to anything. I can give you the number to the station and you can ask him yourself…his name is Abraham Ford. But if you change your mind about wanting to get him some help, you just call the station or drop off a note for me here and I'll start the process of getting something set up.

Rick was in line at the café around the corner from the station two months later, and while he had been trying to hold out hope that Daryl might change his mind, he was doubtful. Merle Dixon had been arrested no less than three separate occasions, and each time Daryl had come in half asleep with a wad of bail money and an even more exhausted expression. Rick didn't know how long the younger Dixon would be able to keep up with paying out his brother's bail. Thoughts of the younger man often ran through his mind. The man had had a difficult life to sat the least. Merle's file showed not only the more-than-monthly arrests, but has a section specially dedicated to crimes that had been committed against him; domestic abuse, and violent assault being the worst of them, after reading through the file, Rick had understood why it was so hard for Merle to come to the station for help. And he couldn't imagine that Daryl' life had been much easier by comparison. Rick couldn't blame him. He hated that the laws that he worked so hard to uphold had failed to protect the two men from their violent upbringing.

He hadn't been paying much attention the patron in front of him until he heard the man fumbling through his pockets for change. He let out a gruff, "Fuck…yeah, hold on," and Rick immediately recognised the voice.

Rick stepped forward and placed a 10$ bill on the counter, "Here. And throw in a large black coffee for me too."

The barista nodded and turned to make Rick's drink, as Daryl turned toward him.

"Didn't have t' do that man…"

"Don' worry 'bout it. 'Sides, might be the first time I actually got you a decent cup o' the stuff. Station's coffee tastes like gasoline." Rick said with a friendly smile.

The corner of Daryl's lip twitched up, "Yeah, kind o' noticed that the first time. All the cash I'm forkin' out and y' all still ain't bothered t' get a better machine."

"I'll bring it up at the next staff meeting," Rick joked.

"You goin' in or headin' out?"

"Out. I've got to pick up my son from his mothers place. Promised him we'd go bike one o' the trails north of 'ere. Supposed t' be a good one up past the trailer park. You know it?"

The corner of Daryl's mouth twitched up, almost like he was trying to supress a smile.

"Yeah, think I've seen that one. Y' all best watch out out there."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

Rick had been expecting to hear anything from bears, , to illegal hunting, to thieves. He hadn't however expected to hear 'Chupacabra'.

He let out a single chuckle in disbelief before responding, "Really?! You serious?"

"Serious as fuckin' syphilis man."

"Well, we'll keep an eye out."

Rick turned back towards the counter as a barista called out ,"Three large coffee's'" He collected his cup and turned back to Daryl.

"Here with someone? A girlfriend?"

Daryl scoffed, "Nah…'s my brother back there. Here, let me pay y' back for them coffee's."

"It's alright, I really don' mind."

"Don' gotta do that man…"

"Well' tell y' what; I'll be here 'round seven tomorrow mornin'. How 'bout you meet me 'ere an' pick up the tab for breakfast? Deal?"

Daryl was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning Rick's face before his expression softened into something kinder, "Yeah, tomorrow 's good."

And then it became a regular thing. Every Tuesday he would meet Daryl at 7AM for breakfast at the café, the pair of them taking turns picking up the tab. It took four weeks for Daryl to accept the card for Hilltop Health And Addictions Centre (HHAC), and five more weeks for Daryl to admit that he broke down and called Aaron Raleigh in the hopes that he might be able to drag Merle down to HHAC. It hadn't worked, but Rick was at least happy that Daryl had tried…

The first time it happened was at Rick's apartment. He had invited Daryl over for a movie and a beer. They were both drunk when Ricks mouth had crashed into Daryl's. For a moment, Rick had been sure that he was going to get punched, but the Daryl had instead used the hand on Rick's collar to drag him on top of him on the sofa. There was, what could only be described as a frenzy, to discard clothing. Rick had rutted desperately against Daryl, and then his mouth licking desperately along the other man's throat They were making a mess of the sofa, but Rick was happy to sacrifice the piece of thrift store furniture if it meant that he got to explore this…whatever it was…with Daryl.

Rick had always felt like there was something different inside of him. When he was young, he knew he was 'supposed' to be chasing after girls and looking up skirts, but he had often found his eyes wandering to the broad chests and strong straight torsos of his friends. And he still enjoyed chasing after girls; when he had finally caught Lori in their senior year of high school he had been ecstatic. She was sexy and curvy and smelled like lavender, and for the longest time he hadn't wanted to look at anyone else. But then she had left him, and he found that feeling coming back…

Except this time, he finally had a word for it; bisexual.

They had both woken up naked and hungover in Rick's bed. And Rick had been shocked to find that it wasn't awkward.

It had been so easy after that. Daryl had fallen into Rick's life, and Rick was happy for it. Of course there had been a couple of surprised faces in the precinct the first time Daryl had kissed Rick before leading him away from his desk for lunch, but aside from the more-than-occasional comment from Merle Dixon, it had been smooth sailing. And now they were happily eight months in…

Rick took his concern for Daryl and shoved it down deep into his stomach so that he could focus, "Ain't nothing wrong with Carl goin' over there. Maybe…maybe Carl just didn't see it right…"

"It ain't Carl man," Shane said, "I know…" Shane took a deep breath, "I know we've had out problems, but I'm tellin' you, man-to-man, somethin' ain't right here."

Four hours later, Rick found himself standing outside the trailer as the first drops of fall rain began to fall from the dark mass of clouds overhead. He hadn't even taken the time to change out of his uniform. He had finished the last hours of his shift working on autopilot; Paperwork, paperwork, taking statements, more paperwork…

Rick didn't care if it made the other resident of the trailer park nervous, he just wanted his boyfriend to be ok.

Daryl stayed the whole day in the trailer. He hated himself for letting , anyone, see him like that.

He didn't now why he did it. He didn't know what broken thing inside of him drove him to paint his skin with the blade. Things were good now; he had a job at an auto repair shop that finally paid him enough to stay on top of his bills, he had a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in, he had a refrigerator full of food, he had Rick… And it all felt to easy. It felt like some cruel twist of fate was going to wake him up and drag him back into the reality of his Daddy's belt ripping across his back.

He was happy, and it felt wrong…

It felt so wrong…

There was this foreign warmth in his chest that he was just so unused to. And he was truly fucked if he thought it was forever. He wanted to just let himself enjoy this feeling of…ease; of not needing to fight tooth-and-nail to survive each day that came and went. Why couldn't he just let himself enjoy this…

Daryl jumped at the sound of a fist pounding on the door of the trailer. He hadn't been expecting anyone to come by, and as he opened the door to Rick's concerned expression he felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Daryl took a deep breath, "What?" he asked indelicately.

Rick seemed slightly taken aback by his abruptness, but his voice was even as he responded, "Need to talk to you."

Daryl walked into his living room and plopped down casually on the sofa, leaving the front door open behind him for Rick to follow. He was already gnawing at the hangnail on his thumb, and he forced himself to stop before he turned the nail into a bloody mess. He figured it probably wouldn't help the situation if he started bleeding all over again.

Rick crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame.

"Daryl I-I heard something 'bout you from Shane t'day."

"Shane don't know me…"

"No, I guess not.."

"Then what the hell 're y' listinin' t' 'im for?"

"Told me Carl was worryin' about you? He came by right? Couple o' hours ago?"

"Yeah…yeah he was by," Daryl murmured, "Just fuckin' showed up. What about it?"

"Oh come on Daryl. Don't go tryin' to bullshit me. You know what this is about!"

"Yeah? It about your kid showin' up in my hall an' then runnin' out o' here like he was on fire!? 'Cause I'm bettin' he don't know what the hell he saw!"

"Then just tell me what the hell is going on!"

Daryl could feel himself shutting down. He wished he had just gone out on a hunt instead of staying home. He could have prevented this, but he hadn't…

And Carl got upset…

And Now Rick is upset…

And now their fighting, and it's his own fault…

Suddenly Rick was across the room and was crouched down in front of his knees and trying to brush away the fringe of hair he was using to hide from the other man. Daryl twitched as the pad of Rick's finger made contact with his forehead, but Rick didn't pull away.

"Please Daryl, just-just tell me what's goin' on."

"Don't matter," Daryl mumbled.

Rick's damn blue eyes were burning into his, and it made him want to squirm away. Rick must have known it, but he refused Daryl pull back.

"Daryl, you're hurting yourself. It matters ok? Don' shut me out baby."

Daryl took a deep breath, willing himself not to let Rick her the shake in it, "Ain't ne'er been right. Shit jus' feels wrong sometimes, an'…makes it easier I guess."

"How long?"

"Jus' on an' off for a while. It ain't all the time or nothin'."

"Daryl," Rick said a little more firmly, "How long?"

"…Since my Pa died."

Rick dropped his head down to rest on one of Daryl's knees, and Daryl decided he liked it better when Rick was trying to pry information out of him instead of hearing the silent hurt that was rolling off of him now.

"So this-this whole time we've been…an' you've been…Why didn't you say somethin'? Why didn't you tell me?!" Rick stood up and began pacing, his hands fisted tightly in his hair before he finally turned back towards Daryl, "I could o' helped you; could o' done somethin'…"

"Ain't nothin' y' could o' done man."

"No," Rick snapped, making Daryl flinch slightly, "No, that's bullshit! We both know it. I ain't gon' let you keep doin' this…"

"So what? You my chaperone now?! You know, jus' go! Jus' fuckin' go home Rick…!"

"You just don't get it do you?" Rick started and paced a couple more laps before turning back to Daryl to continue, "You are home Daryl! You an' Carl…you are home to me! So don't you dare think that I'm gon' turn my back on you, 'cause it ain't going t' happen alright?! You hear me?! It ain't fuckin' happening! You can't just…" Rick took a deep breath, letting it out in one big gush, trying to calm himself down, "Y'know, there was this girl in Carl's class a while back who was doin' exactly what you're doin' now. It'd been going on like that for a while, her telling everyone nothin' was wrong, and everyone pretending she was right. Till one her Mama came by the station looking to talk to someone about getting her daughter into a rehab centre. Turns out that she picked up a steak knife instead of a razer blade and damn near bleed to death on the kitchen floor. And I-I can't come home one day an' find you bleedin' out on the floor somewhere. I can't just sit around wondering if I'm goin' t' come over one day and just…and you'll be…"

Daryl saw Rick pawing at his eyes, trying to remove the moisture that had collected in them before it rolled down his cheeks. He felt like an asshole; his boyfriend was just here trying to help his worthless ass, and he was too fucked up to let him.

Daryl sighed and pushed himself up from the sofa. He wound his uninjured arm around Rick's hip and forced himself to look his boyfriend in the eyes.

"Ne'er meant for you t' find out like this."

Rick gently pushed the sleeve up on Daryl's free arm. The gash wasn't bleeding any longer, but it was deeper than Daryl had intended to make it. Daryl knew it would heal, that it would just fade into one more mark among many. Not all of them were self-inflicted. Daryl had several long lines that had been put there from being whipped with a willow branch when he was younger. They had been put there before his Pa had begun favoring the belt, and Daryl knew that the marks he had contributed to the jumble of lines looked regrettably similar.

"Y' always told me it was your Pa that did this." Rick said, examining the fresh wound.

"He did, just didn't put all of them there. It's fucked up, but I guess it just felt wrong without them there."

"You ever think that…do you think you can just let them heal? Let 'em fade instead of opening them again?" Rick asked, replacing Daryl's sleeve.

The shaky hope in Rick's plead was like a knife in the gut, and the look in his eyes was more painful than the drag of any blade could ever be.

"Ain't ever tried to."

Rick's face fell, and the look in his eyes…

"Would you?"

"Don' know but, I can try…I'll try for you Rick."

The nod before Rick leaned down to rest his forehead against Daryl's was barely perceivable, He felt the light brush of Rick's nose as his boyfriend tilted his head to press their lips together slowly. He opened his mouth to let Rick twine their tongues together sweetly before pulling back just barely enough to get the words out.

"I love you."

"I love y' too."

[cicadaknight]

Uhhh, made my first attempt at fanfic!

Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes because I'm hopeless. Aiming to make it an ongoing series where Daryl loses Rick and has to live with his grief and memories of Rick.

Sorry in advance.

[alyssaswrld999]

Why Me? Chapter 2: Ready Spencer?

Part 1

I finally make it to the front porch of mine and Daryls home. I sighed and finally made my way up the porch. Before all of the stuff that happened with Negan and the Saviors I always asked Daryl if he could help me repaint the porch. We would always joke around and plan on it but we never got the chance.

Even though I am in love with Daryl I never got to tell him how I feel. I hope that he is safe and ok. I go to open the door and then the doorknob falls off. "Great just great" I said upset. I pick up the doorknob and enter the house. I then walk my way over to the basement stairs. "I gotta get dressed and make my way to find over to the gate" I thought.

I make my way down stairs to Daryls bedroom. "Alrighty Dixon what are you gonna let me wear today" I said. I put the broken door knob on Daryls dresser and I make my way over to his closet.

Finally after five minutes of looking I decided to wear one of his black tshirts and then a red and blue flannel. "This will have to do" I said. The one thing I loved about Daryl was he let me wear his clothes and he was one of my bestfriends. I think Daryl liked me back but I don't know for sure.

Even though we did kiss at the CDC doesn't mean that he likes me. For one I was drunk and he was as well. The good thing is that we are good friends and we care about eachother. I just don't wanna mess anything up because I did just lose my brother and one of my bestfriends. I just really don't wanna lose anyone else.

I make my way back upstairs and go up to my bedroom. "Never knew I was this messy" I said. Where I've been sleeping in Daryls room I forgot to clean mine up. I sighed and start picking up a little bit of my room. I then walk over to my bathroom and I fix my hair into a ponytail.

As i finally get done making sure I look presentable I make my way to go meet up with Spencer. As I get closer to the gate I seen that Spencer was already waiting. "Finally you make it was about to send out a search party" Spencer said. I rolled my eyes and continued walking. "Ready Spencer? Or are you gonna spend five minutes telling me how I'm wasting your time" I said annoyed.

I open the car door and then I heard someone hollering my name. I turn to see Rosita coming towards me. "Hey Rosita" I greeted. "Hey Sky uhm I came to tell you that Rick decided you be on watch and I go with Spencer" Rosita said. "Alright that's cool" I said. Rosita nodded and patted my shoulder.

I make my way over to the ladder to the watch post beside the front gate. I then make my way up there and I make myself comfortable and start taking watch. "This is just great" I thought.

___________________________________________

Part 3

Masterlist

[soupsspoons]

19. It’s Over

No matter how beautiful that morning had been, nothing was okay.

After Gabriel took Judith back to his church, the group began towards the quarry for their cars, knowing it would be no use to try and get to the armory.

Hannah could see the fear on Rick's face as he watched Gabriel leave with his daughter. To the side of her, Carl was also watching the man. His face was hard and serious, but there was obvious worry in his eyes. Hannah didn't know exactly what happened to Judith and Carl's mom, but it was clear Carl was the one to watch over his sister in her absence. She meant everything to him.

Slowly, Hannah put her hand into Carl's, looping their fingers together. With a deep breath, he finally looked away from his sister and down at their intertwined hands.

"She'll be okay," Hannah whispered, only loud enough for Carl to hear. He gave her a soft smile and nodded his head, holding her hand a little tighter. Next to him, Carl then reached out for Ron to hold his other hand. Ron turned and looked hesitantly at the invitation. After a moment though, Ron took the boy's hand. He moved his eyes to Hannah before looking back down and following along with the rest of the group as they began their journey.

It grew dark as they walked, chained to each other like children. Scared children. The walkers hadn't noticed them yet, but every time they neared one of the creatures, Hannah felt everyone's breathing stop and their bodies go stiff. Hannah knew Sam was scared. He watched the walkers with wide eyes, inspecting each one like prey pleading with its predator. Jessie had wanted him to go with Gabriel to the church in order for him to be safe, but he insisted he could stay. He insisted that he was strong enough. And Hannah so wanted to believe that he was. She wanted to believe they would all be strong enough to do this.

Hannah knew Carl was also scared, though it was different than Sam. He was scared for the group, for his family. He was scared for her. She knew it from the way his hand was clamped around hers, becoming an iron grip whenever a walker got too close. The way he let her lean on him when the pain in her side became too much. It started to hurt, how tight Carl was holding onto Hannah. She tried to squeeze back, letting him know that it was okay, but nothing changed.

"Carl, that's really tight," Hannah whispered back to the boy, a small smile along her lips. He immediately loosened his hold.

"Sorry," He whispered back, "I'm sorry."

Hannah squeezed back one final time. It was alright.

As they continued to walk, Hannah could see Sam becoming more nervous. She tried to follow where he was looking, but his eyes were moving too quickly. It wasn't until he broke from his mom's grasp that Hannah realized what scared him so much. There was a boy, a walker, who had to have been only a little younger than Sam, walking just ahead of them.

Sam's breathing grew fast as he frantically looked around him, his surroundings finally seeming to set in.

"Sam?" Jessie spoke quietly, "Sweetheart, come on."

"Hey, hey Sam, come on," Rick tried too, his voice gruff.

Nothing could force the boy away from the horror in front of him.

"Sam, hey you can do this, just look at mom, okay?" Hannah heard Ron try from behind her and Carl. There were tears in his eyes now.

"Sam, please," Hannah began to speak too, trying desperately to get the boy back in the group, "Sam, you're okay, remember?" He looked briefly at Hannah before looking back to his mom.

"I want to," He whimpered, "Mom, I want to."

Hannah's hand flew out of Carl's and to her mouth as she watched Sam be devoured by the creatures. They grasped at his head and his neck and his body, pulling at any flesh they could find. He screamed as they tore into him. The boy she had cared for, the boy she had watched grow up, was being eaten right in front of Hannah, and there was nothing she could do. Her throat shut, forcing her screams to stay down. Her own beating heart was drowned out by the sound of Jessie's wails as she watched her son. Both Rick and Carl tried to move her away from the scene, but Jessie was frozen in her horror. Hannah tried to pull away as Jessie too was devoured, but her grip was solid. The woman's nails dug into the flesh of her palm as the walkers moved from Sam to her. On the other side of Hannah, Carl pulled her towards him, desperately trying to help her escape the woman's grasp. His arms wrapped around her waist, but Jessie's hold was too fierce. Her arm, on the same side as her wounds, was too weak to pull away on her own, and Hannah was left at the mercy of the dying woman.

"Dad!" She could hear Carl call out, and then the sound of hacking. Rick had pulled his axe out and was slamming it into Jessie's wrist, finally freeing Hannah's hand. Carl moved quickly to help her stand, pulling her up into his arms. When she was on her feet, Carl let go of the girl, allowing her to turn to find Ron. Before she could, they heard the click of a gun.

"You," Ron spoke through his teeth. His mother's gun was in his hands, pointed at Rick who could only stare back in shock. "You," Ron said again.

Hannah felt her heartbreak at the sight of her friend. She tried to call out to him, tried to tell him to stop, but her throat was still closed. She was silent as Michonne stabbed Ron with her katana, silent as his bullet still rang out.

It was over. Ron was dead.

"Dad?" Carl spoke softly, his voice almost breathy. Hannah turned to see Carl fall into his dad's arms, his face red with blood.

It was over.

---

When she first met him, Hannah was scared. He was intimidating and mean, and he made it clear he didn't like her people. He thought they were weak. He thought she was weak.

Looking back, Hannah didn't understand how she could ever have been scared of him. He was so kind. His laugh was soft and light, like her father's, but captivating in a way Hannah would never understand. She loved seeing him laugh. She loved making him laugh.

Rick had immediately turned around after they brought him in, going back out to finish off the walkers. The rest of the group followed after him, leaving just Denise and Hannah at his bedside.

Instantly, Hannah ran to find any supplies she could, desperately searching for something that would save him. Her hands rummaged through gauze, bandaids, and tape, grabbing at anything that looked remotely helpful.

Denise began to work on his eye, suturing around where the bullet had entered.

Hannah couldn't breathe.

They had just been fighting. She had been yelling at him about something she couldn't remember anymore. Ron, she realized. Her stomach churned at the thought. Ron was dead. He was shot. Ron shot him.

Hannah threw up.

She couldn't stand the sight of the blood that covered his face. It was sticky and matted. His long hair stuck to it like glue and her fingers begged to free it. When Denise finished working, she stepped away from him, and Hannah didn't know what to do. She had been sitting on the same couch she had been laid on not too long ago, waiting for it all to be over. When Denise turned to her, Hannah felt scared. She had watched the woman the entire time, and yet she was scared. He was dead, she thought. He was dead and he was going to disappear right in front of her. He was going to become one of them.

Denise put her hand on Hannah's shoulder, pulling her into a soft hug.

"Go talk to him," was all she said. So, Hannah did.

He was now on a bed, his eye wrapped in the gauze she had given to Denise. She sat down on a chair next to him, quietly, as if not to wake him up. Hannah knew he wasn't asleep though, not really. No, when he was asleep he didn't look like this. When he was asleep he had a sort of smile on his face. It was soft, almost invisible, but Hannah could remember how it had looked. He wasn't smiling now. His face was tight like he was in pain. Denise had given him medicine for that but Hannah knew it could only do so much.

With a light hand, as if he might crack, she let her finger run over his eyebrows, smoothing over the crease between them. When it softened, Hannah smiled a breath of relief and sat back.

"Hi," She breathed out, "Can you hear me, Carl?" Of course, he didn't answer. "I'm so sorry, Carl. I didn't think he would do that, I didn't think--" She didn't know what to say, "I'm just so sorry."

Hannah watched the way his chest rose and fell with each word she spoke.

"I'm sorry I was mad at you, okay?" Hannah continued, "It's not fine, alright? Nothing is fine. I just wanted you to talk to me, I just wanted you to let me in," She breathed in, "I don't really know anything about you, you know? And I guess you don't know much about me either," Hannah chuckled lightly, "But I want you to. And I want to know about you. Anything you'll tell me. Anything at all."

"You mean a lot to me, Carl," Hannah spoke very softly now, "Okay? You're my best friend I think. And maybe I'm not your's, I don't know. But you're not allowed to just come here and make me feel things for you and then leave. You can't do that, Carl. It's not fair," Hannah was crying now as she leaned over the bed. She drew her hand back up to his face, careful around the gauze, and moved his hair to the side. Most of the blood was gone now, Denise had wiped it away, but there was still a little left on his cheeks. Pulling her sleeve around her hand, Hannah gently wiped both the blood and her own tears off of his skin.

She stayed by his side the whole time, waiting for Rick to come back in. She hadn't wanted to fall asleep, but by the time Rick arrived, she was unconscious, her head resting next to his son's hand. Rick gently lifted her out of the chair and carried her to the sofa, letting her stretch out in her sleep.

That night, as Rick talked to his son, Carl's hand wrapped around his father's.

It was over.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾

Hi Loveliess! Wow, that was hard to write. I really hoped you all liked it though! I wanted to talk a little bit about Hannah and Ron now that he's gone. Like I've said before, Hannah does not like Ron in a romantic way. I'm kinda leaving it ambiguous whether Ron actually likes Hannah or just feels protective of her, but that's beside the point. I just wanted to say that Hannah is definitely gonna feel some sort of way toward Ron's death. I didn't love how in the show they moved on really quickly from it. Although this is a Carl fic, Hannah has known Ron and his family much longer than she's known him, and I don't want to have her just forget about them immediately. I hope that makes sense and that everyone is okay with it, I just feel like I shouldn't continue without having Hannah think about it at least a little bit yk? Also, I just love Austin Abrams :)

How do we feel about Hannah's "convo" with Carl???

Thanks for Reading!

[happy74827]

Only Stitches Can Be Undone

[Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: There's nothing more painful than coming to terms with the fact that not everyone can be saved.

WC: 1909

Category: Angst, Comfort (TW - Mentions of death and gore).

I wrote this during my class and didn't pay the least bit of attention to my professor, so I did not proofread it at all lmao. Still, feel free to reblog and drop a few comments on this piece of work. Daryl has my whole heart

『••✎••』

You still felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tended to Daryl's wound. The dim light of the lantern was casting long shadows on the walls of the abandoned shed where you had sought refuge. The gunshots from before were still ringing in your ears, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You attempted to take deep breaths to calm down, but it wasn't working.

Daryl was sitting beside you, holding up the rusty lantern so you could see what you were doing. He was covered in dirt and sweat, as usual, but his face was pale. He looked as if death warmed over, but he didn't say anything, not a word. He didn't grunt, fight, or even close his eyes as the "recently scavenged" hydrogen peroxide poured over his knee. His eyes just watched you work, watching your shaken hands as you pulled out your needle and thread from the medkit. It seemed as though he could hear every single heartbeat in your body, every thumping pulse in your temples.

Wiping some of the sweat off your brow with the sleeve of your shirt, you began sewing up the bullet hole that had gone clean through his leg. You couldn't believe how lucky he was to have been shot by a high-powered handgun rather than an assault rifle; at least this time, it hadn't hit any bones. Your fingers moved quickly as you sewed the thick threads together, glancing back at him only once before continuing with your task. You could see the look of pain in his eyes, but he stayed silent. He didn't try to move away, either. In fact, he looked as if he was trying to show you that everything would be okay.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "This isn't my area of expertise…"

He held up one hand and shook his head, keeping the lantern steady while you worked. "It's aw-right," he said quietly. "Just do what you can."

After a few minutes, you finished stitching the wound closed. You gently cleaned the wound with antiseptic wipes, then applied a bandage, taping it securely in place. Once you were sure that the wound was sealed and wouldn't reopen, you sat back on your heels, taking a moment to catch your breath.

"You good?" Daryl asked quietly after a few minutes of silence.

You nodded slowly, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look it."

"I'm fine, Daryl." You tried to sound reassuring, but he didn't seem convinced. "You're the one with the actual injury, remember?"

He scoffed, "At least I ain't shakin' like a damn dog shittin' razorblades." Harsh words, but true. The pain must've been getting to him because his voice was growing louder. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, "You've been shakin' like that since we've got here. What happened? Did they hurt ya? Where?"

"No, it's not that. It's just-" You paused, holding your hands up apologetically. "Look, it doesn't matter," you said softly. "We need to get back to the others."

"Guilt? Right?" He was staring at you intently, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "About that girl?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away from him to hide your embarrassment and avoid his gaze. Daryl had never seen you as weak before; he knew you were capable of protecting yourself, but he'd also known there were times when you needed help. This was one of those times. You wanted to tell him about it, but you also didn't want to burden him. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't pushed her into coming along, then she-she wouldn't have…" You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"She would've gotten herself killed, anyway," he muttered, turning his head so that he wasn't facing you. "She ain't worth worryin' about."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "She was innocent, and then she died. In front of me. Her blood is on my hands, and that makes her worth worrying about, Daryl."

"Maybe, but you weren't the one who killed her, were ya?" He asked.

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to find the right words to respond. Finally, you just turned to look at him, meeting his gaze with a serious expression.

"No," you admitted. "But that's not the point. How many more times are people going to die on my behalf?"

You forced yourself to look away from him again, feeling a tear run down your cheek. "How many more times does someone get to suffer because of the choices I make?"

Daryl was quiet for a long time before finally responding, "It's not your fault."

"You think so?" You frowned. "Then why did I feel like such shit?"

He shrugged, grunting, "Maybe you're just sensitive."

You made a face. "That's not it."

Daryl was still quiet, giving you the chance to think. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, and he sounded slightly sad, "Listen, none of us knew what was gonna' happen out there. Sometimes things go wrong."

You swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I know."

Yet, despite knowing that, you couldn't stop thinking about the girl. She'd been so young, with the whole world ahead of her. Now that she was dead, it felt like a waste of potential. It's a terrible waste. Her smile was a memory now, and her name was lost to time. What little happiness she'd experienced had been taken from her by a monster. A monster that was now beside her, his body broken, bleeding, and dying.

You'd found the girl in a diner, alone and scared. At first glance, she looked like any other frightened girl, but upon closer inspection, it became clear that she was not normal. She was unnaturally pale, her skin almost translucent. Her hair was dark, which told you that she was probably from the South or the Midwest, and yet her eyes were bright blue.

Her eyes had been the first thing that drew your attention, but it had been her smile that truly captivated you. She'd smiled at you, a genuine, sweet smile. She hadn't seemed afraid of you, only curious. When she'd spoken, she'd done so quietly and gently, even though she had no way of knowing how loud she was. The girl had been so genuinely happy, and you could see it in her eyes. She'd been so hopeful for the future.

And then, you've made the mistake of bringing her along. Daryl was against the idea from the start, but he kept quiet once you've decided to ignore his "advice" and take her with you. You wanted to give her the same chance that Rick had given you. You wanted to make sure she had an opportunity to live the life you all were supposed to have.

That didn’t happen as the three of you ended up being ambushed in the woods. Unfortunately, two men decided they wanted to rob the collection of squirrels Daryl was slowly gathering over the course of the trip. So, one minute, you were cracking jokes with the girl as you walked through the forest, and the next, she was gone. Her neck was obliterated, fresh blood soaking the both of you.

You were paralyzed by shock and horror. You couldn't move. You couldn't think. All you could do was stare, dumbfounded, as she started choking on her own blood. You felt arms wrapping around you, pulling you back, but you couldn't turn your head. It was too much. Your whole world had crashed down on you, and you couldn't bear to look at her anymore.

Daryl had pulled you away, covering your mouth so that you couldn't scream. Your back was pushed against a tree, and you did nothing but shake. There was so much pain inside of you. So much anger. And yet, all you could do was cry. You cried and begged. You clawed at his arm, trying to break free, but he wouldn't budge.

Finally, you'd stopped crying, but you refused to let go of his shirt. His grip tightened around you, his hands digging into your shoulders. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, you heard the sound of crunching leaves.

Daryl's voice was calm, cool, and collected, "Stay here," he instructed you softly. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off into the darkness.

A few moments later, he came back carrying the girl. His face was grim, and he wasn't smiling. Her body was limp in his arms, lifeless. He laid her down gently, and you saw the deep gash in her throat, the way her neck was torn to bits and pieces. For some reason, you felt compelled to say something. It was as though Daryl's arms were the coffin, and your words were the dirt. Still, you had to speak because if you didn't, you might never get the chance again. "I'm so sorry."

Daryl's eyes softened for a moment and then hardened once more. He said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and pushed you behind him. Then, he knelt down next to the girl and closed her eyes. After he covered them with a handkerchief, he pulled out his knife for the final send-off. The quick puncture to the brain ensuring that she stayed where she laid.

Then, he stood up, took a step back, and looked down at you. "Come on," he said harshly, his voice low and cold. Then, he turned around and walked away from the girl's body.

You followed him silently. That's when you noticed the small limp he had and the blood seeping down onto his boots. He attempted to hide it, but his legs were trembling beneath him. You knew instantly what had happened, and you knew getting him to stop and rest would be a near-impossible feat.

Yet, here you were, sitting beside him against the rotten walls of the abandoned shed, watching him wrap his fingers around the handle of his crossbow. The lantern was still lit between you two, casting shadows across your faces as you stared at each other.

Daryl said nothing for several long seconds. He just sat there, holding the crossbow, staring into its depths. Eventually, he sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. After a brief pause, he opened them and looked at you, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

"She was nice," he murmured, not looking at you, but you could hear the sadness in his tone. "Didn't deserve to die like that."

You nodded weakly in response, unable to find the strength to speak. "They deserved worse," you managed to say before you fell silent again.

Daryl didn't say anything else. He just remained where he was, holding the bow tightly, breathing heavily. He looked better than he had a few moments ago, but he didn't look well. He still looked exhausted and worn out. But you knew he'd bounce back soon enough. He always did.

As time passed, Daryl slowly started to drift off to sleep. You could tell he hated letting his guard down, constantly bothering his wound just to keep himself awake; however, you knew he couldn't stay awake forever, and eventually, he succumbed to exhaustion. His heavy eyelids drooped closed, and his breathing slowed.

You watched him for a while, a soft smile on your lips as you gazed at his sleeping face. Because now, you had someone to watch over.

Someone you knew you wouldn't let down.