#shane walsh angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

janiehellion · 2 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚 ⋮ 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔚𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔥

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You thought you knew Shane Walsh—a man already halfway lost at sea—but nothing could've prepared you for what happens when he's drowning in his own demons and pulls you down to hell with him.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Angst ⋮ Flashbacks ⋮ References To Death & Murder ⋮ Mirror & Shower Sex ⋮ Manhandling ⋮ Breeding ⋮ Obsession & Possessiveness ⋮ Mentions Of Violence ⋮ Dissociation

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 6.666 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S2E3 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: My very first Shane Walsh work. Was I mentally stable while writing this? Debatable. Just kidding! This was actually a Wattpad request. I'm really hoping you enjoy it, though! Feel free to drop your thoughts!

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

Shane had been acting strange since he returned. You noticed it the second he stepped back onto the farm—his shoulders stiff, his eyes wide, limping a little bit, and he was out of breath. He barely spoke, barely even looked at anyone. And when Hershel asked him about Otis, all he did was shake his head and answer a quiet "No..." before standing there, mouth open, shaking his head, and looking anywhere, just not at the man in front of him.

And as Rick stepped forward, he hugged Shane. A quiet thank you without any words. Shane barely reacted, nodding, eyes darting toward the farmhouse before stepping away like he couldn't bear to look. His voice was shaky when he spoke about what had happened—how Otis had told him to keep going, how he tried. You weren't sure if you believed him, but you knew one thing for certain.

Something was wrong.

And he wasn't telling anyone.

When Hershel went to break the news to Patricia, Shane stumbled away from the group, looking like a man about to crawl out of his skin. He leaned against the truck, mouth still slightly open, like he was still catching his breath, like the weight of whatever he'd been through was pressing down on him hard enough to crush every single bone inside his body.

You followed him.

"Shane?" You called his name gently, but he didn't react. His gaze was staring at the dirt beneath him, barely blinking, his eyes all wide.

You stepped closer. "Shane, talk to me."

His head moved slightly, but he still didn't look at you.

"You're hurt," you tried again, softer this time, letting your fingers slide along his arm. You felt the way he tensed, how he tried to flinch away from your touch. "At least let me—"

"I'm fine."

"But you don't look fine."

That got you a huff.

"Drop it."

But you didn't want to.

"No. I won't. You know that."

He finally looked at you then. Just a quick glance, but it was enough to send a shiver through you. His eyes were dark, unreadable, a storm that held back the thunder.

But it was his silence that unsettled you most. Shane was never quiet. Not like that. Even on his worst days, he'd have something to say—anger to let go of, frustration to bite down on. But now, he just looked empty. Hollow. As if whatever had happened out there was eating him up from the inside.

You didn't like it.

You didn't like the way he avoided your eyes like he couldn't stand to be seen.

When he started to walk away, you followed.

"Shane..." His back tensed at the sound of your voice, his pace quickening. "Shane, wait."

"Not now," he answered, heading for the house. "We gotta make sure Carl's okay."

You reached out, grabbing his arm before he could move any further. He froze at the contact, his body wet with sweat, and you could feel his pulse hammering beneath the skin. Too fast.

"He will be fine," you answered, trying to look into his eyes. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "Let it go."

"No," you insisted. "I'm not just gonna stand here and pretend I don't see that something's wrong. Just talk to me."

His fingers twitched at his sides, but he still wouldn't look at you.

"He didn't make it," Shane finally said, his voice hoarse.

You blinked, already knowing who he was referring to. "Otis?"

A quick nod was all he gave you. Nothing more.

You hadn't known the man well, but you knew enough. Knew that he'd gone with Shane to get the medical supplies, that he had a wife here on the farm who would be waiting for him to return.

You loosened your grip on Shane's arm, but you didn't let go. "I'm sorry," you answered, though the words felt small. Unimportant.

Shane inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling just as slowly. "Yeah."

It wasn't an acknowledgment. It wasn't anything at all.

"Look, just—" You hesitated, searching his face for something, anything, that might tell you what was going on behind those eyes. "Just come inside, okay? Get cleaned up, get some rest."

He pulled his arm away—not rough, not aggressive, just final. "Already on it."

You followed him as he made his way inside, and after quickly checking up on Carl, Maggie handed him a set of clothes.

"The bathroom's upstairs," she said, looking at Shane, her eyes still swollen and red from crying. "I brought you some clothes."

Shane took them with only a little "thank you" in return.

"They won't fit well," Maggie added. "They were Otis'."

You watched him go in an instant after he nodded again. This wasn't just exhaustion. It wasn't just grief.

Something happened out there.

That thought stuck with you as you followed after him, slower this time. You weren't about to let this go—no. By the time you reached the upper level, you heard the bathroom door click shut.

Then, gathering your courage, you knocked lightly.

"Shane?"

No answer.

You knocked again. "Shane, come on."

Still nothing.

You pressed your hand to the door, waiting. You could hear the sounds of movement inside—clothes being put away, a pistol being laid down.

Then the water turned on. That was all you could hear.

"Shane, please," you tried one last time, but you already knew he wasn't going to answer.

With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back, running a hand through your hair. You hated this—the way he was shutting you out, the way he looked like he wasn't even here anymore. He had left something behind at that school, and you didn't know if he was ever going to get it back.

But this was still Shane, right? The man who never backed down from a fight, who always looked like he could take on the new world. And yet, this afternoon, he had walked away from you. That alone told you enough.

"I just… I just wanna know you're okay. I'm coming in now."

Frowning, you reached for the handle, turning it slowly. The door wasn't locked. It creaked open, and the rush of warm, wet air hit you instantly. Your eyes landed on Shane's reflection in the fogged-up mirror. He was standing at the sink, shirtless, head bowed slightly, and his hands gripped the edges of the porcelain like he needed it to hold himself up.

Then, he moved.

One hand brushed over his scalp, his fingers running through his hair—and that's when you saw it. The red patch where something had been torn out. A bald and uneven spot.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Shane, hey, let me—"

He turned around before you could finish, his eyes angry and wild. His chest rose and fell fast, like he'd been caught in the middle of something he wasn't ready to share.

"You shouldn't be in here."

You hesitated, then stepped fully inside anyway. "And you shouldn't be acting like this," you shot back, closing the door behind you.

"I'm okay."

"Bullshit."

Turning back to the mirror, his fingers tapped several times against the sink before he reached for something in a drawer—a razor. He turned it on without another word, shearing off his hair as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on his reflection the entire time.

You stepped closer, your voice softer now. "Hey… What happened out there?"

The razor stopped for half a second, his hand tightening around it. Then he continued, shaving off the last of his hair.

"I survived," he finally said. "Saved Carl."

But when you looked at him, you weren't sure if that was the whole truth.

Once he was done, he still hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just stared at you through the mirror now, his expression unreadable.

"Shane?"

You took a careful step forward, and for the first time, you saw just how banged up he was. Bruises, fresh and ugly. Scratches covered his knuckles like he'd torn them open on something—or someone. And then there was still the bald spot.

It hadn't been cut; you knew that. It had been ripped out.

You swallowed, stepping closer.

"You know what happened," he then said. "I told y'all already."

"No." You tilted your head, eyes scanning his reflection. "You told Hershel. Told Rick. Lori. Maggie..."

"Same thing," he responded, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Is it?"

You hesitated before reaching out, fingers brushing lightly over one of the bruises, feeling him flinch under your touch.

"Shane," you whispered. "You're hurt."

"‘S nothing."

"It's not nothing." You frowned, moving closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the fresh bald spot. "Your hair…"

His lips parted like he was about to answer—but then he caught himself.

"Told you already," he responded again. His voice was angrier this time. "We got surrounded. We ran outta ammo. Otis said he'd cover me and told me to keep goin'. I did."

You studied him. His body language. His breathing. Everything. "That's what you said earlier."

"‘Cause that's what happened."

Something in his voice was off. The words were steady, but they seemed controlled. Too controlled.

"Otis pulled you up when you fell?" You asked carefully. "You said he wouldn't leave you behind?"

Shane's jaw twitched. "Yeah."

"And then he saved you?"

"He did what he had to do."

You narrowed your eyes. "Or what you had to do?"

Shane's eyes searched for yours in the mirror. Then, slowly, he turned. Face-to-face now, not just reflections.

"What are you askin' me?" He asked back, his voice quieter now. Rougher.

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Ain't nothin' to understand," he scoffed, shaking his head.

But you weren't so sure about that.

You had seen Shane lie before. Had seen the way his gaze looked away, avoiding any eye contact, the way his jaw clenched, the way his muscles tensed when he was trying too hard to keep himself in check, his fingers twitching and fumbling around.

And right now, he looked ready to snap.

"When Maggie gave you those clothes," you continued, "you… hesitated."

Shane's fingers flexed at his sides. "Yeah? So?"

"She said they were from Otis."

His jaw tightened.

"And?"

"And you looked like you were gonna be sick."

"I just watched that man get eaten alive!" He scoffed back at you. "‘Scuse me for not feelin' too good about wearin' his goddamn clothes!"

That was the moment. The exact moment.

Because Shane was a lot of things—reckless, violent, unpredictable—but guilt was never something he let show. And right now? Right now, you could see it in him.

Gnawing at him. Devouring him from the inside.

"Is that all it is?" You asked softly, tilting your head.

His eyes darkened. "What else would it be?"

You didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Because you felt it now—the feeling as if he was drowning and dragging you down with him. It was like he was waiting for you to say something else, to push him, to call him out.

You swallowed, looking down at the floor. "You tell me… Shane."

For a moment, he looked like he might tell you. Like the truth was right there, right on his tongue.

But then?

Then his hand moved before you could react, fingers grabbing the back of your neck, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp in shock.

"Don't," he grumbled, his voice strained. "Just—don't."

"Don't what?" You asked in return but stopped as you felt how his grip tightened, just for a second.

Then his eyes looked down—to your mouth, to your throat, feeling the way your pulse was getting faster beneath his fingers.

Shane let out a deep, long, controlled breath through his nose, and when you looked up again, it wasn't guilt you saw in his expression anymore.

It was darkness.

Every inch of you burned with a fire you couldn't put out—couldn't escape.

And you couldn't deny it—the pull toward him, even though you knew it wasn't about you. Not entirely. You knew that.

But you also knew, deep down, that you couldn't look away. Couldn't walk away. Not now. Not with him so close. Not when you were this close to him.

His grip tightened around your neck, but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he was in control. In this moment, he was. His thumb moved along your jawline, his eyes following it.

You knew what had happened. You knew about Otis, about the cold, ruthless way he'd left him behind. About the betrayal—the choice he'd made because that's what Shane did. He made choices. And when they came back to haunt him, he'd just keep moving, keep fighting, keep pushing.

And you? You'd been there. Watching him. From the moment you met him at the Atlanta camp, where things were simpler. When you thought he was just another protector, another one of the good guys, looking after Lori, Carl, and the rest of the survivors.

A cop. A man of the law. A law that didn't exist anymore.

And you hadn't known. Not at first.

But you saw it after Rick showed up. The way Shane's eyes darkened every time Grimes came near. The way his fists clenched whenever Lori touched Rick, the way he looked so annoyed when Carl looked up at his father.

It was only after Rick appeared that you realized how far gone Shane was. How broken and lost he was.

But you'd always had a soft spot for him—maybe even more. He was a leader in your eyes, a protector, brave in ways that made you crave something stronger than just survival. But you had stayed in the background, never daring to get close, because you thought—no, this isn't your place and definitely not your time. In fact, you thought Lori was his, and Carl was his. That was the way it was supposed to be, wasn't it?

A family...

But that was before you realized how badly Shane was losing himself. You were right there, close enough to feel it and see it happen.

And the truth about Otis? You now knew what he'd done. You knew the truth about what happened in that school. And you knew, too, that he knew you knew.

The way Shane looked at you now, the way his lips barely parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to—it told you everything.

And you weren't sure if it was that hatred or the dangerous pull of desire in the bathroom that made you reach for him.

No, you weren't sure.

But when your hand brushed the stubble on his jaw, you knew it didn't matter anymore. His fingers were on your skin again, gripping you harder this time, his thumb sliding across your lower lip as his eyes still looked at your mouth.

You couldn't stop yourself. You wanted him too much.

And maybe that made you just as dangerous as he was.

"You know what I did," Shane growled in your ear. "You know what happened."

You didn't have to answer as he finally pressed himself against you, forcing your back against the sink, the edge of it digging into you as he kissed you hard, almost painfully. His hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, making sure you couldn't escape, couldn't pull away.

"Shane, what—"

He kissed you deeper. His teeth grazed your lip, sharp and rough. The way his body moved against yours was desperate, almost needy, like he was trying to lose himself in you, to forget. Forget about Rick. Forget about Otis. Forget about everything.

"Shut up," he grumbled against your mouth.

Before you could speak, before you could even think, his lips pressed against yours once more—hot, forceful, sloppy.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. A fast, desperate claim, his fingers now grabbing the back of your neck again, gripping hard enough to make you groan. He tasted like sweat, like fear, like something dark that had been rotting inside him since he came back from that school.

And he wasn't asking—he was taking.

Your hands moved up, instinctively pushing against his bare chest to shove him away, but his other hand grabbed at your hip, yanking you closer to him. There was no space between you, no time to catch your breath, just heat—his body burning into yours, his heartbeat hammering against you like it was trying to force its way next to yours.

You barely managed a muffled whine against his mouth, your fingers pressing harder into his chest, now trying to steady yourself, trying to get some control over the situation. But the second you made that soft, unsure sound, something in him broke.

Shane pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers tightening on your neck before moving them into your hair. His pupils were wide, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

"Don't do that," he whispered, voice wrecked and his breathing still uneven as his fingers twitched against your scalp. "Don't—don't sound like that..."

"Sound... like what?" Your voice was shaky and breathless, but he ignored the question.

Shane's mouth went to your throat, his teeth biting down just hard enough to make you suck in a shocked breath, while his stubble scratched against your skin as he sucked a mark just below your jaw. His breath came in heavy bursts like he was running.

Like he was chasing something.

"Shane—" You tried again, tried to reach for him, but then—fuck. You felt it.

Thick. Hard. Pressing against your lower belly through his pants, but your mind barely had time to process it before he growled.

Not a word. Not a warning. Just a single growl.

It sounded greedy. Like if you spoke again, if you tried to calm him down, to help him, he'd shatter.

But your mind was still trying to make sense of this, still trying to catch up to him. "Wait—Shane, what the hell—"

He didn't wait.

Shane turned you around in one quick move, his hands gripping your waist, bending you forward until you hit the sink again. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips swollen from his kiss, chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths.

You barely recognized yourself.

Your eyes—wide, glassy, uncertain.

And then there was him.

Shit...

You saw it. The look in his eyes.

Still dark. Dangerous. Gone.

His fingers dug into the waistband of your pants, and he yanked them down, dragging them a little too roughly over your thighs.

"Shane," you started once more, turning slightly, but the only response you got was the sound of his zipper.

No hesitation. No teasing. He wasn't playing with you.

He just looked... lost. Like a man breaking apart in real time.

Shane's hands slid lower, fingers moving over your naked hips, pulling you back against him, making you feel his leaking cock pressing between your thighs.

"Just—" You tried to talk to him again, your voice unsteady, but Shane's fingers tightened his grip.

A simple "No." was all he gave in return.

His fingers trembled near your waist as he lined himself up, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you steady. Keeping you there.

And when he saw the little bit of hesitation in your eyes, the uncertainty, his breath shuddered out of him.

It was all he needed.

Shane pushed into you.

Hard.

The force of it knocked the breath straight from your lungs, your mouth falling open in a choked cry. Your fingers searched for any kind of grip on the sink, nails slipping against the porcelain as your body jerked forward from the sheer strength of him.

"Fuck—!"

The word barely made it past your lips before his hands grabbed you harder—like he thought you might try to run away, like he needed to make sure you didn't.

There was nothing slow about it. Nothing soft.

Every thrust was deep, fast, and rough.

The mirror shook against the wall, rattling slightly with every movement, the glass only showing the wild look in his eyes.

And he was watching.

Watching everything.

His gaze stayed on the reflection—on you, on the way you took his cock, on the way your body trembled under him.

But he wasn't just looking at you.

He was looking at himself.

His face—miserable, paranoid, ruined.

Shane saw it… He remembered.

Otis' hand clawing at his hair.

The gunshot, the way the man's eyes were going wide in horror.

Fingers ripping at his scalp, a chunk of his hair tearing away as he fought. As he survived.

The veins in Shane's neck pulsed, every muscle in his body flexing as he pounded into you. Gritting his teeth, he fucked you even harder.

He tried to think about how every time he saw your face, every time you let him in, it felt like he was sinking into something he couldn't control. The desperation in his movements was a sign of how he needed to own this moment and drown out every haunting thought in his mind. The things he'd done, the things he couldn't undo.

But you were still there. Still with him. And that made everything… unbearable.

A quiet cry ripped itself free from your throat as he slammed into you, brutal and fast. Your pussy clenched around his cock, your breath breaking apart.

"Shane—" Your voice was a desperate plea, a moan half-swallowed by the force of him.

His hand shot up again, fingers wrapping tight around your throat from behind, but his grip wasn't painful, wasn't cruel—but it was a warning.

Every thrust of his hips pushed your body forward, forced your breath to hitch, and forced your mind to slip deeper into this, into him.

And still—he watched.

His reflection. Like he didn't want to recognize himself.

But he did. And he hated it.

Your mind thought back to the quarry again, remembering how different he was. Not soft—he was never soft—but something close to it. Protective. The kind of man who took charge, who got things done.

You remembered the way he kept the people together after the world fell apart. How he taught them to shoot, how he made sure the fires stayed lit, how he took the night shifts when no one else would.

You'd watched from the sidelines, keeping your distance, convincing yourself that the heat and tingling feeling in your stomach whenever he spoke to you was nothing. A crush, maybe?

Nothing serious.

Nothing real.

You weren't sure when it happened that your 'crush' turned into something more, something deeper. Maybe it was the way he always looked so confident, so sure of what needed to be done. Maybe it was the way he never waited when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

Maybe it was just him.

You weren't sure if he'd ever noticed.

But now?

"You watch me, don't you?" His voice was quieter now, rougher. "Always watchin'."

"Please, just—"

"Think I ain't noticed?" He was thrusting into you harder, deep enough to make you whimper. "Think I ain't seen you lookin'?"

Your skin burned beneath his touch.

"I—"

"Nah, nah, don't go lyin' to me now." He spanked your ass, hard enough to make you stop talking. "I know you, girl. Been knowin' you since Atlanta."

With you panting, he then continued.

"I remember, alright. You sittin' by the fire, sneakin' looks when you thought I wasn't payin' attention. I remember you askin' me to teach you how to shoot. Pretendin' you didn't know how to hold a gun so I'd stand behind you, get real close."

Your breath hitched. "That's not—"

"No? Tell me I'm wrong."

You didn't. Couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong, not at all.

"You still want me?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, strained and deep. "Even now?"

You swallowed hard.

The truth was, you did.

Even now. Even with the darkness behind his eyes, even knowing what he'd done, what he was capable of.

You still wanted him.

But for Shane, it was a dangerous question, one that would cut him open if you lied. He had to believe it—had to see it. You were still here, still taking him. Still needing him.

Your voice trembled, but it was the most haunting sound to him, beautiful and frightening at once. "Yes, yes… even now!"

The confession broke something in him. He groaned into your ear, unable to stop himself as his body moved in an almost feral rhythm. Every thrust was a plea; every sound leaving his lips was a question he was too afraid to answer.

And then? He moved.

You barely had a second to react before his hands were on you, his arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you upright, your back pressing against his sweaty chest. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open as he kept moving, his cock still throbbing and buried deep.

"What the—!" The words came out as a yelp, a half-strangled moan, as he lifted you, his strength and size effortlessly keeping you close to him.

"Move." It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

Still inside you, stretching you open, he half-dragged, half-carried you toward the bathtub.

The bathroom was humid by now, steam clinging to the walls from the hot water as he reached past you, and within seconds, more water poured down on both of you.

"Fuck—!" You gasped, your body shivering against him.

He slammed you forward, pressing your hands against the bathroom wall, his strength keeping you right where he wanted you. The water soaked through the rest of your clothes, ran down his chest, over your breasts, and over the bald, burning spot of his scalp.

But Shane stopped all of a sudden.

You gasped as he froze inside you, his cock still pulsing, filling you to the hilt. His hands, so rough just a moment ago, softened their grip. One stayed on your waist, fingers trembling. The other moved—slowly—gliding up your body, moving over your wet shirt and your breasts, before stopping along your throat. But he wasn't grabbing it. He was just… feeling you.

His fingers twitched slightly at your throat before he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. But this time, it wasn't hungry, wasn't bruising. It was soft. His lips parted, his tongue tasting the sweat and water on your skin, breathing you in.

Shane's nose trailed along your jaw, and then he turned your face gently toward his.

The kiss was barely a kiss at all at first—just the soft press of his mouth, like he needed to know you were real. His lips brushed against yours, rougher now, before fully kissing you deep, as if afraid.

"How many rounds you got left?"

The words didn't belong here.

Not to you.

But they were in his head. Again.

Loud. Too loud.

Shane's body tensed as his eyes flew open, staring at you—seeing you.

But he felt a hand ripping at his head once more, desperate fingers clawing at his head, tearing a piece of his hair away. He felt the gun in his hands, his finger on the trigger. He saw the look in Otis' eyes—that second of realization, of horror, of fear.

"I'm sorry."

The gunshot rang in his ears…

"Let go of me!"

He remembered the feeling of Otis pulling him down to the ground. The walkers getting closer, closer still…

His tender grip around your throat tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to pull him back into now, into you.

"Let go!"

He could still hear his voice screaming at Otis to let go. Still feel the fight, the panic, his nails digging harder into your wet skin.

For a second, he swore he saw blood—smeared all across the bathroom walls, running down his hands, and staining your skin.

But it wasn't there. And the quiet, the stillness—it was gone in an instant.

He yanked you back harder, forcing your back to arch as he slammed into you again. Gone was the hesitation, the tenderness.

It made your knees buckle as he pushed as deep as he could, his cock stretching you open some more, pressing against every sensitive, sore spot inside of you.

But as the water streamed down, it couldn't drown out the sounds filling the bathroom. The quiet whimpers from you. The ragged breaths. The deep groans from Shane.

"Fuck," he groaned, pressing your face roughly against the wall.

There you were—soaking wet, mouth open, eyes half-lidded, fucked, and your body trembling with every deep thrust.

And then there was him.

He was behind you. So strong, so tall, so big. Inside you.

But Shane didn't blink. He didn't look away. He still watched.

Watched the way you took him, watched his cock disappear inside your pussy, watched the way his fingers dug into your wet, trembling body.

He was fucking you like he needed this—like if he stopped, he'd have to feel something else.

Shame? Guilt?

And he wasn't ready for that. He needed to push away the thoughts in his mind. Needed to forget.

"Please—" Your voice broke between uneven breaths, barely more than gasps.

But the way you said it—breathless, needy—fuck. It nearly killed him.

His thrusts turned faster, harder, driving himself so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts.

"Shit," he growled. "Fuckin'—"

He cut himself off with a groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment before pulling back, teeth biting down into your skin as if nothing else mattered anymore.

Only the desperate, broken moans leaving your lips.

Only him.

Only this.

Shane's breath hitched, his chest pressing against your back as he moved, changing the angle. Your head snapped up, eyes flying open, your hands desperately trying to hold onto the wet wall as the new position had him hitting even deeper.

Shane knew he wasn't supposed to care about that.

But seeing you like that? Seeing you lose yourself in him?

"Doin' so fuckin' good," he growled into your ear, kissing your neck before his hand wrapped around it again.

"You feel that?" He panted, his other hand holding you steady, pulling you harder against him. "See how fuckin' good you look takin' my cock? Talk to me."

Your mind was spinning—still trying to process how the hell you got here, how fast it happened, how good he felt inside you. But Shane—he needed you.

"C'mon, girl," he growled, his lips touching your ear. "Need to hear you."

He didn't just mean the moans. He wanted more. Wanted words.

Wanted to drown in them—let them pull him under until all that was left was this. You. The feeling of your body wrapped around him, squeezing him, taking him.

Another thrust, deep and brutal, knocked a silent cry from your lips. Your fingers dug into the slippery wall, struggling for any kind of grip.

"I—" Your voice was trembling. "Shane—"

"Nah, baby, not my name," he laughed out loud, shaking his head before his teeth bit the skin of your neck to make you whimper. "Tell me what you feel when I'm fuckin' you like this… when I'm making you feel this good."

The way he was talking, you barely recognized him. He was different now. Not the Shane from Atlanta. Not the Shane who always had a way of joking around and keeping the group together.

This was someone else entirely.

Someone who had blood on his hands.

Hell, you weren't sure you even cared.

Your body burned for him. Your skin was on fire where he touched you, his hands claiming you like he could fuck himself so deep inside you that his sins would just disappear.

"I—" You tried again, but your voice broke when he rolled his hips against you just right, his cock pressing into that one spot that made your legs shake.

"Say it." His hand slid up, fingers grabbing your soaked hair. He pulled your head back, forcing you to look into his eyes.

He wanted to see it. See you say it.

You swallowed, your lips parting, your voice breathy and weak. "Yes, yes! You feel so good inside me!"

Shane choked out a grunt so raw it sounded like a personal kind of prayer. A plea to save him from himself.

But whatever last bit of restraint he had left? Gone.

"Tell me I'm the only one who can make you feel this way," he grunted, his voice turning quieter. "I know you've been wantin' this. Been wantin' me."

You moaned, your knees nearly giving out, the water from the bathtub streaming down your back, soaking into your clothes.

"F-Fuck," you stammered, barely able to breathe, barely able to form any reasonable thought with the way he was wrecking you, your pussy clenching so tightly around him.

"Shane—"

Wrong answer… His grip on your hair tightened, punishing.

"Tell me."

Your breath hitched.

"Only you can make me feel like this," you whimpered, breathing weakly. "Only. You."

Shane groaned like you'd just stabbed a knife into his heart, his forehead pressing against the back of your head for half a second before his mouth was near your ear again, only for him to drag you out of the bathtub, his hands holding you still.

You gasped, and before you could fully adjust, he was backing up, pulling you with him.

"Push back, baby, push back—let me show you," Shane growled as he backed you both up against the bathroom wall, his back hitting it with urgency as you were forced to face the mirror above the sink. It was still foggy, steamy like the room, but still clear enough for you to see the way he took you—hard, fast, with no hesitation.

Without any warning, his thrusts became brutal.

Shane was fucking into you like a man possessed, like if he stopped for even a second, every memory would come back.

"Shit—look at you," he smirked, one hand sliding down, pressing against your lower belly. "You feel me right there, baby?"

Your fingers clenched into fists, your eyes looking slowly toward the mirror.

The sight of it all… You, your skin red from the warmth of the hot water, dripping wet, trembling against his strong chest.

And him, wild-eyed, brutal, desperate...

The way his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way he stretched you open—it made you clench around him harder.

"Shit," Shane gasped. "You like that, huh? Like seein' how fuckin' good I'm stretchin' you out?"

"Y-Yes—"

His fingers dug into your trembling flesh.

"Gonna come for me, baby?"

You tried to nod, tried to breathe. You couldn't see the mirror anymore—your vision blurred, your body on fire and burning in his arms. All you could focus on was the way he was fucking you, the way he was making you feel.

"Fuckin' say it," he growled.

"I—I'm gonna come," you cried out in return as his thrusts became sloppier, pounding faster into you.

And then—your whole body tensed. Your moans came out sobbing, your pussy clenching so tight around his cock that Shane choked on his next groan.

"F-Fuck, fuck," he stuttered, his hips bucking, making you feel him twitch and throb.

He lost himself.

His cock pulsed inside you, buried deep as he came, his hips pressing hard against your ass.

But Shane didn't move after he was done. He didn't pull out. He just stayed there, deep inside you, his breathing all uneven, his chest rising and falling against your back, holding you close.

For a moment, he didn't feel like he was drowning.

For a moment, he wasn't Shane Walsh.

He was just this—just a man, a man feeling your body so close to him, a man feeling the way his muscles ached from how hard he'd taken you.

Shane then let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to your back.

He should've said something.

Should've talked about what just happened.

Should've let you know he was still there. That he was still himself.

But he didn't. Instead, he just gripped your hips—steadying himself.

It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.

As Shane exhaled through his nose, long and slow, he was finally—finally—pulling out. The loss of him sent another shiver through you and left you feeling empty in a way you couldn't even explain.

And still, he said nothing.

You turned, water dripping from your body as you tried to look into his eyes, but he was already moving—grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat and water from his face.

"Shane... This—" Your voice was hoarse and shaky, and you weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Are you really okay?

Was this just a distraction?

What the hell was this?

So many questions...

But he didn't react to the sound of your voice.

You reached down for your wet clothes, trying to shove your pants back up, your movements frantic and quick. When you risked another glance at him, he still wasn't looking at you.

He was staring into the mirror. His shoulders tense, his chest still rising and falling, sweat dripping down his naked chest.

But Shane's face? Shane's face looked haunted.

His jaw clenched, so you tried again, softer this time. "Hey..."

Nothing.

He just turned, reaching for the towel again, and wiped it over his chest, his shoulders, and along his arms.

The bathroom felt suffocating by now, not for him, but for you—hot steam and cold silence tormenting you from all sides.

And just when you were about to give up—just when you were stepping toward the door…

"I didn't mean to."

You stopped as the words came out of him, hollow and quiet—like a confession meant for no one, yet meant for everything.

He didn't mean to—what?

You never turned back to ask.

Instead, you pulled open the door and stepped out—out of the suffocating heat—only to be hit with something colder once you walked down the stairs.

A silence far worse than the one in the bathroom.

And you felt it. Those stares.

Rick. Lori. Maggie. Glenn.

All of them…

Standing there, just beyond the door where Carl was still recovering, thanks to Hershel, their conversations had stopped the second you stepped into view.

Their eyes looked at you—at your wet clothes clinging to your skin, the water still dripping from your hair, the red marks already showing along your neck and throat.

No one spoke. No one dared to say a word.

But the silence wasn't empty; it was hanging like a storm cloud over the entire room.

Rick's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his cheeks twitching, while Lori's lips parted just a bit, her eyebrows furrowing like she wanted to say something—like she wanted to ask, but knew the answer already.

Glenn quickly looked away, his face turning red as if he were the one caught in something he shouldn't have seen.

And Maggie? She just blinked. Not judging. Not surprised. Just watching you with her red, swollen eyes from crying.

You swallowed hard, forcing your chin up, calming down your breath. Then, with a final step forward, you kept walking toward the front door, not wanting to talk. It wasn't necessary.

Meanwhile, the bathroom door upstairs remained shut.

And inside?

Inside, Shane stood motionless in front of the mirror—staring at himself, watching his reflection drown in the fog.

He didn't mean to…

307 notes · View notes

vilentia · 2 years ago

Text

Edge of Sanity

Shane Walsh x reader

Summary: As the world crumbled, Shane Walsh, once strong, now teetered on the edge.

Author's Note: He never had an affair with Lori in this little story.

****

The sun dipped low over Hershel's farm, casting long shadows across the serene landscape. Shane couldn't help but feel a growing unease as he watched the horizon. He had been feeling it for weeks now, the pressure of their world closing in on him, driving him to the brink.

You, his wife, noticed the change in him more than anyone else. The once-steadfast, tough-as-nails Shane was slipping away before your eyes. He had become more erratic, more paranoid, and it was tearing him apart.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch, Shane's eyes darted to the darkening woods. He whispered, almost to himself, "They're out there, y'know," his fingers clutching the grip of his gun.

"Shane, we're safe here," you reassured him, reaching out to touch his trembling hand. "Hershel's farm is secure. We're together, and that's what matters."

But Shane couldn't shake the fear that gnawed at him day and night. He patrolled the perimeter of the farm obsessively, his once-calm demeanor now replaced with a hair-trigger temper. He snapped at the others in the group, often escalating minor disputes into shouting matches. His comrades were growing wary of him, but you remained steadfast.

One evening, tensions reached a boiling point. Rick, the group's de facto leader, confronted Shane about his increasingly erratic behavior. Their argument was explosive, echoing through the quiet farmstead. Shane accused Rick of weakness, of putting everyone at risk by clinging to a sense of morality that had no place in this new world. The confrontation turned physical, fists flying as their friendship shattered.

You couldn't stand to watch the two men you loved tearing each other apart. You stepped between them, pleading for them to stop. It was then that Shane's madness was laid bare for all to see. His eyes, once filled with determination, were now clouded by a dangerous intensity. He was losing himself, and it was tearing your world apart.

One night, you took his hand and led him away from the group, away from prying eyes. Under the moonlight, you looked into his troubled eyes and said, "Shane, you're scaring me. This isn't you. We've been through so much, and I can't bear to see you like this."

Tears welled in his eyes as he finally let his guard down. "I'm scared," he confessed, his voice cracking. "Scared of losing you in this mess, in this world. I can't lose you, baby. You're the only thing that's keeping me sane."

You held him close, feeling the weight of his fears and insecurities. "I'm right here, Shane. I'm not going anywhere. We'll face this world together, just like we always have."

With those words, a flicker of hope returned to Shane's eyes. He leaned in and kissed you, a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of all the love and longing he had been keeping bottled up. In that moment, you both found solace in each other's arms, holding onto the fragile thread of humanity that bound you together.

As the stars shimmered above, Shane whispered, "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

With your arms wrapped around him, you replied, "I love you too, Shane. We'll get through this. Together."

165 notes · View notes

virginsexgod69 · 1 year ago

Text

Masterlist ☆

TWD

★ Daryl Dixon

♱ 18+ Laundry Day - Daryl Dixon x f!Reader smut

summary A laundry mishap leads to dreams coming true

♱ 18+ Oasis - Daryl Dixon x f!Reader smut (requested)

summary Daryl makes you squirt for the first time

♱ 18+ V-Card - Daryl Dixon x virgin!fem!Reader smut (requested)

summary After relentlessly teasing him, Daryl finally takes your virginity

♱ 18+ Inked - Daryl Dixon x F!Reader smut (requested)

summary you and Daryl give each other matching tattoos after finding an abandoned tattoo shop

Dance with Me - Daryl Dixon x F! Reader

summary Daryl makes up for everything he wasn't able to do for you on prom night

Marry Me - Daryl Dixon x F! Reader (requested)

summary After tracking and killing a deer on your own for the first time, Daryl proposes to you.

★ Rick Grimes

♱ 18+ Here for You - Rick Grimes x f!Reader smut + angst

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

1.5k words

♱ 18+ Special - Rick Grimes x Reader smut (requested)

summary You give Rick a very special day.

1.3k words

♱ 18+ Sweetheart - Rick Grimes x f!Reader (requested)

summary 2 months after Lori's death, you and Rick start hooking up, but that comes to a stop when he calls you the wrong name. He does everything he can to be yours again.

4.7k words

★ Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh

♱ 18+ Bribery - Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes x f!Reader smut

summary Rick and Shane catch you stealing and you do what it takes to convince them not to arrest you.

2.8k words

★ Shane Walsh

♱ Taking Care - Shane Walsh x f!Reader (requested)

summary Instead of robbing you, Shane decides to bring you back to the prison to take care of Judith but you end up taking care of him too.

2.5k words

★ Negan

♱ 18+ Video Star - Negan x f!Reader

summary You and Negan make a sex tape

1.5k words

★ Series

♱ 18+ Yes, Professor Grimes -A college/ university AU featuring Professors Grimes and Dixon and Coach Negan

♱ 18+ Seclusion - Daryl Dixon x f!Reader series eventual smut + eventual romance + fluff + angst + hurt/comfort

summary Alone in the forest and separated from his group, Daryl comes across your cabin. To make up for accidentally shooting him, you take him in and patch him up. He sticks around to help you out after a storm does massive damage to your cabin.

TL;DR Just you and Daryl in a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere.

★★★

♱ 18+ You're Under Arrest - Spencer Reid x f!Reader smut

1.4k words

summary Derek hires a stripper for Spencer's birthday party as a joke, but Spencer surprisingly ends up enjoying it.

Interested in joining the taglist? Fill out this form!

💬 Requests are open!!

!! If you want to make a request for twd, I JUST STARTED SEASON 9 WOOOO!!! however, I can't write for anything past that :,(

811 notes · View notes

grim333z · 6 days ago

Note

begging for anything angsty with carl

(ngl, fics where reader is shane's son are so underrated.)

Fairytale~

Carl x Shane's son!reader

{this is set after the farm, but its kinda implied that Carl and reader aren't like 12... iykwim}

Tw: angst.

"And the words always get in the way It cuts you down just the same I can't wait to see what you find And the sun will find its place to shine, "

The group had become uneasy since the farm fell... With the days growing shorter and the nights getting colder, there really was nothing more to do than wait out the winter.

the Grimes had become especially cold towards you, the knowing of what your father did never leaving their minds, constantly looming over you. It hurt because you'd become close to Carl over your time with the group, you'd known him since before, being the same age and having parents who were freinds ment you'd seen him here and there on occasion but he'd never really tried to spark anything up.

You'd just caught what he'd done-

Shane had turned he really couldn't have done anything else, but to you, he'd killed your father. He hadn't said anything to you since...

You found yourself sitting away from the main group when small camps would be set up, typically not far away from daryl. Suddenly, knowing what it felt like to be an outsider...

It was usually him who brought you food, checked in on you...spoke to you. He knew what it was like too live in a family members shadow.

The group had settled in a small housing estate, a large broken gate at the front, with a hefty rusting archway reading "Wiltshire estate." The place was pretty beaten up. Most homes had a busted window or broken down front door. Each house is pretty much looted. The odd missed can or packet here or there.

The group had decided to take refuge in the least beaten up home, boarding the front door shut. Most people had split off into different rooms. The grimes took the master bedroom, Carol hershel and beth deciding to hunker down in a decent sized guest bedroom, glenn and maggie ending up in a teenagers bedroom. Leaving you and daryl to find somewhere.

He picks the kitchen, curling up on the counter beside a small window he'd cracked open. The faint glowing embers at the end of his smoke, the only light in the room.

You could only faintly see him from the damp-smelling couch, an itchy blanket pulled over you. It wasn't much, definitely not enough to keep away the cold.

The faint glow eventually fades away, your eyelids growing increasingly heavy. There's faint, gentle footsteps somewhere in the house, it wasn't unfamiliar for someone in the group to be slightly restless, part of you questions weather the steps are really there or if you're hearing things in your exhausted state.

The footsteps grow closer as you draw closer to a peaceful slumber, you decide on checking if theres actually someone there "Daryl...?" You hum your voice quieter with a gentle sleepy rasp to it.

"M'not Daryl." Carl. He looms in the room somewhere.

"Carl?" You respond, he hadn't spoken a word to you since you'd seen him shoot your own father, the man had turned, he wasn't your father and you knew it... no one told you what really happened.

"I am sorry. s'just alot..." He hums, the moonlight falling on him from the doorway, his oversized pjs hanging off his lanky frame, his hand nervously rests against his mouth.

You pull yourself up so you're sat up fully, drawing your knees closer to your chest. feeling an overwhelming need to make yourself seem somewhat smaller. "sorry for what...?" you question, knowing the answer.

The pads of his feet make fall into a calm rhythm as he walks closer, slumping down beside you, his gaze falling on the pile of backpacks in the corner of the room.

"I had to, y'know?" Carl whispers, his voice faint and timid despite the lack of distance between them. In all reality the guilt had been gnawing at Carl since he did it, he did see the man as somewhat a father. He'd saved him right at the start, filling the place while Rick was supposedly dead.

"I know." You respond, his gaze softening as it lands on you. The tenseness in the air faltering slightly, fading away for just a moment.

Its a quiet moment between the two of you, Still something lingers in the room, something unsaid.

"I still care about you."

Carl whispers, like he's scared of you, what you're gonna say, gonna do. He feels an unfamiliar need to bring himself closer to you however, he's simultaneously trying to get closer and further away from you. He's just so overwhelmed with just everything that had happened he didn't know how to navigate tricky situations like this.

During the day, he had nothing but survival to think about, constantly in fight or flight mode. However, when night fell and everything went quiet, there was some faux sense of safety did the thoughts start. About everything, everyone he'd failed, Dale, Shane, mostly you, however. With his parents' relationship crumbling in front of him, he'd felt an ever-growing loneliness clawing at him.

You're not sure how to respond, nodding in acceptance. The air in the room lays thick and heavy, and the conversation falls short. Neither of you is entirely sure what needs to be said.

"I am sorry..." Carl whispers again, slightly to you, and slightly too himself. It was clear he blamed himself for Shane's death, even though Rick was the one who stabbed him. Carl hit the final blow.

"He was a dick anyway." You whisper a faint breathy chuckle, leaving your lips. Carl looks over at you, smiling slightly, letting out a gentle sniffle.

You weren't blind to how your father changed. He'd become cold since the day Rick returned. He wanted lori and Carl more than you and didn't even try and hide it.

"M'not angry, Carl," you coo quietly. You didn't know how to feel, honestly. Everything felt too much or too little.

Carl chews at his lip nervously,unsure on the truth behind your words. Somewhat denying the comfort they gave him and yearning for more.

"You sure?" Carl cautioned, his gaze gentle yet almost fearful as he looks at you.

"I'm sure." You respond, shuffling slightly closer to him. Suddenly aware of how cold the room had become.

The room falls silent. However, it isn't as thick and uncomfortable as it had been...it's comfortable. Neither of you needs to say anything more. It was a start. He'd spoken something to you after months of being so guilt-ridden that he couldn't.

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alessabriel · 2 months ago

Text

Blurry ir Sharp.

Summary: With those little eyes always watching him, there was a reason to be good and that was the truth, she brought out the best in him without even trying. Until he wasn't good anymore.

Cw. Platonic in that it's a father-uncle relationship of Shane with Charlie, Lili it is a pet name Shane gives to Charlie(Reader), pure unadulterated Angst, typical canon violence, death of the main character (Reader who will have name Charlie only but no appearance), if you like Lori please don't read it save this because it will hurt, blood and death, graphic descriptions of violence, use of high-flown words.

✄— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Shane knew that relatively speaking he was not a good person, if lusting after his best friend's wife was anything like a requirement to score because it was. But just as he knew there was a cruel streak in his heart, he tried to hide the goodness at all costs even if he lost his fingernails trying to push that soft, harmless, vulnerable, white part of his subconscious down, he tried, he tried but he could never quite do it. It was bad, he knew it and so did Rick but Rick being Rick never let it go, never.

He had a good friend and he himself was a bad friend, he knew it.

Desiring someone else's woman was not normally his style and not his common modus operandi, it was not a characteristic of his properly practiced only step, or maybe in that vacuum he wanted to hold on to what would hurt him the most, what would hurt the only person who believed in him with his eyes closed. Because he knew Rick Grimes was that good, that's how good he believed in him and it was so heartbreakingly painful to acknowledge it, to acknowledge that he could stab Rick and he would try to believe (or create, who knows) a motive behind his action. Was it supposed to feel that painful to have a friend? Was it supposed to feel that way? Because it was so painful and sometimes so rewarding.

Selfishly he wanted it to keep hurting, to burn on the skin all the way to the bones.

He was a selfish man, he always knew that.

But, he couldn't do that to Rick; hurt him more than Lori already did. He could see it, fuck wearing the uniform of a Sheriff's deputy, he could see it in those eyes that he had seen for so many years, anguished, dull, tired and full of boredom from start to finish. He didn't know, he was somewhat allergic to commitment (except for keeping his hands to himself and away from Lori) so sometimes he would blurt out comments of genuine support among others that were just light teasing that made his friend laugh sarcastically, wearily but it was a laugh all the same. Rick Grimes was one of his friends, the best he loved or hated at the same time, he was an unpleasantly sweet amalgam that always lived inside his chest; behind the bones of his ribs between soft and bloody organs that still throbbed, an amalgam that he would fight not to let go but would fight to keep the balance.

A delicate balance.

Like the one he always saw Rick maintain in his life, it was like watching a movie that you know will end badly but you clearly can't communicate to the main characters and protagonists that the sleazy killer was inside the hall closet they were about to walk through, it felt like watching a movie you didn't want to see. And then it happened, his friend had children; twins or twins (he didn't know and couldn't remember exactly), two little things he saw in the hospital named Carl and Charlie, he felt at that moment like crying holding two little things so vulnerable, with their little faces all scrunched up from having stimuli they weren't used to but wanted to touch everything.

Lori and Rick's children were beautiful, she always knew.

And he thought, maybe, maybe he could see what his best friend would be better at, right? He always heard from his colleagues at the station that a child soothed, healed their marriages and brought them together in the painful process of caring for their babies, it was a process of going crazy between little humans depending on them and dealing with everything. It was wrong, and she saw it all the time when there was some disdain in Lori for Charlie but not for Carl, something about Carl being easier to take care of but not Charlie.

Wasn't a mother supposed to love her two children always?

It was a question on the tip of his tongue as he watched Rick care for Charlie more than Carl, not because of preference but because Lori prioritized Carl and he knew, at the time that Lori only wanted one child, not two and that hurt Rick in a way that no beating, punch or bullet could How would he feel in that situation? He didn't know. Broken, maybe? Who knows. So he found himself being the good friend, helping to take care of Charlie who as a baby was a quiet child, big-eyed and always curious even when she could only babble and gurgle as her main communication.

That's how Charlie grew up, with a mother moderately present and a father (two fathers, Rick always joked when helping him take care of Charlie) present.

Watching a girl, a daughter grow up was both sweet and bitter because he loved Charlie as a daughter but she was not his daughter which tore him apart in a thousand ways, in ways no one ever could.

He stopped wishing, longing for his best friend's wife but instead longing for a daughter (Charlie specifically).

He was selfish, he knew.

It was bad, he recognized that.

It was just plain disturbing? Maybe, but with Charlie in his arms everything was better and the sun always shone brighter, the breeze was cooler and he felt like less of a bad person.

The twins were always close, a strange and very unconventional union that he saw in Carl and Charlie, they could talk to each other without needing to talk, they fought but they were silly childish fights, they understood each other without any need to speak or express it and even according to Rick they both had that creepy language of their own, although Rick said it with a laugh.

He was envious of the life Rick had but at the same time he didn't want his life; having a wife who didn't love you and was looking for the slightest opportunity to fight must not be pleasant. He himself had dated countless women, casual encounters and a few relationships here and there that never became formalized because commitment made him allergic (except for the commitment to be the best uncle in the world that his two little nephews put on his shoulders).

That was a beautiful memory and one that always made him feel better when everything weighed, it had been his birthday and far from Rick or his family (with whom he didn't talk much) they knew it, but Rick always insisted on celebrating it and even Lori so he always gave in, feigning annoyance but the twins when they were already seven had gone out of their way to buy him a present themselves, a chain with a number 22 on it which wasn't the best (he knew because well they were kids who got money by doing favors for the older neighbors in their area) but it was like giving him diamonds, number 22 because it was the number he wore when he played soccer Carl had said and because gold looked nice on him Charlie had argued, followed by putting a crown on it; to the best uncle in the world who squeezed his heart; to see Carl always the quiet little boy and his little sister Charlie always quieter than he was. It was the best gift, and he would never take it away.

Taking care of his nephews was easy, it made him feel light, like he was floating, everything was easier with them. That's how he watched them grow up, they were two little gremlins that he sincerely adored although Charlie adored him more, he always wanted him to go to every event he had at school; theater even if it was a tree, when he started archery and when they gave her some recognition, and Rick always without fail passed him those little invitations created by hand by Charlie's handwriting that he always kept.

They were simple nephews, not because taking care of kids was easy (hell no, sometimes they were hard but that was part of it).

Where Carl was more of a treasurer of some object or present; like comics, some book that would interest him, some toy like the toy gun that he always kept in his room and the comics well kept for a little boy.

With Charlie it was more presence than presents, he didn't ask for many presents but he always asked for his dad Rick's presence and always next to Rick was him, without fail, and Rick was never jealous or anything.

They were both parents. He had heard over the station from his buddies when they saw their wallpaper; a picture of the twins on a day camp with Rick carrying Carl on his shoulders and himself carrying Charlie in his arms, both kids with huge smiles on their faces from sleeping in tents and having a campout.

They were simple children to please and make happy.

Until Rick fell into a coma induced by his injuries in a chase, having to watch Carl and Charlie crumble like a sand castle was painful, as if someone was removing layer by layer of skin from his own body. Was that what it felt like when his mother as a teenager told him that parents felt their children's pain? Properly they weren't his children, but as if they were.

His best friend's coma seemed to be the prelude, the synopsis of a book that if he had only read it would have left his skin crawling with the amount of anguish he would feel as he read each chapter but no, it was his life now; violent attacks here and there, an outbreak of a virus that no one knew what it was because it was not influenza because he knew it did not provoke violent and cannibalistic attacks. The police, being in the position of sheriff while his friend was recovering, saw firsthand the result of riddling those who cannibalized others in the streets of King County, some drug had been speculated at the station until the authorities above could no longer hide anything. A new virus that no one understood was bringing everyone back to life, he heard that and immediately went for Rick but even though he wanted to take him his friend was in a coma, he was barely moving and he couldn't unplug him or he would die.

He felt like the worst human being on the face of the earth when he left the room, leaving a stretcher locked to the door and the curtains closed so no one would see him.

Everything was fast, his instinct kicked in; he had filled his Jeep with supplies and weapons, because he saw all his companions fleeing for their families when he returned to the station winding through walkers (as he heard they referred to those that ate humans) to Rick's house to get his family out, if he left Rick behind at least he could go for his family; Lori, Carl and Charlie.

They left King County with their soul in a thread and fear in their veins.

The fear never left him, being the leader (as he always longed to be, weaving envy of his friend) was not easy, it was stressful, tiring, exhausting and destroyed his bones, maybe that's why he got involved with Lori (or maybe because he never forgot that desire that intensified when he took care of the children, he wanted Rick's family or to be Rick's family, the crisis did not allow him to decide). The camp was kept well away from any town, away from the road and near a quarry. They were doing well, until that group had to go for supplies.

A bad feeling settled in his gut but he tried hard not to think about it, they were strong and would return.

But he never thought it would all go to shit so bad, he couldn't get mad at Rick for going back to his family but he could get mad at Lori (because he wanted to blame someone, he had to blame someone). The quiet camp was attacked by walkers from one instant to another; Amy died, everyone gathered protecting and there were many walkers, he tried hard to order the children to stay behind their mothers but when they finished with everyone with the help of the group that returned (looking for Merle as if he cared outside that he was a good asset to protect the group), was when he saw him; among the chaos as if in slow motion, enlivened with Andrea's screams for her sister.

Charlie had been surrounded in her attempt to run after Lori, because Lori prioritized Carl...again. A walker had her against the ground as she struggled, shot and ran to her, hugging her as she shoved the walker off her but cold terror seized him as he held her in his arms, not caring that there were walkers still.

"I-I don't want to be one of them" sobbed Charlie's broken little voice, clinging to him with all her might, little hands squeezing the fabric of his shirt with all her might "I-I don't want to Uncle Shane".

He never felt what it was like to have ice creep into his bones, never experienced that feeling until now seeing the bite on Charlie's shoulder, not when his blood covered her hands and part of her cheek when he hugged her, but seeing her crying little face from fear, from terror tore at his soul as if a walker had bitten him and he wished it had been him. That it was him who had been bitten.

Why?

"It will be all right Lili, it will be all right" he found himself saying, to the frightened little girl who watched her with eyes full of pain, of recognition and it was the most painful, the most cruel thing Charlie knew, he knew how it would end "L-Lili, it will be all b..."

She struggled to be able to speak, to want to give her comfort like those days at camp where she was excited but she was afraid of the sounds of the forest but didn't want to express it because Carl you were excited to spend days in the forest, but maybe her eyes were too expressive because Charlie cried, cried more silently trying not to make noise and could only hug her, hug her tight.

She disconnected from everything, hearing the cries of Carl fighting against his parents to see Charlie but she stood q with Charlie's small body in her arms, hiding the wound.

Everyone understood.

He couldn't blame Rick for trying to hold Carl back, that he didn't see what happened to Charlie so he really didn't separate from Charlie, holding her close and letting her cry on his chest. Even if his knees ached from standing on rocks it didn't matter, he could rip his heart out if it would erase the horrendous wound on Charlie's thin shoulder; nicks on the skin that opened the flesh until he could see inside the flesh where blood was pouring out relentlessly even if he squeezed the wound in a vain attempt to keep her from bleeding out, because his mind was blocked; if he kept her from bleeding out maybe, just maybe she wouldn't go away.

But he could feel her crying, moaning from the pain and clinging tightly to his clothes, begging not to turn, not to leave. Not to let him hold her, and he didn't, he didn't, he didn't.

It was the worst night of his entire life, surpassing all those nights where he felt like the worst human being in the universe, where he tried to commit suicide as a young man because he felt empty, when he understood that he was envious of his best friend but not envious of the pain he felt. It was the night that would mark his soul forever, enlivened with Carl's semi-drowned screams asking to see his sister, blurting out profanities when his parents stopped him with all their might.

How would it feel to lose a twin? He didn't know but seeing the reflection in one of the cars as Rick and Lori barely managed to keep Carl, he even saw him clawing at the ground trying to get away, punching and kicking in between sobs to go, but they wouldn't let go and when he saw his friend, he knew.

How could a father kill his daughter?

«You're her father too Shane, don't take credit for it»

She held Charlie's body, squeezing it in an attempt to keep the life from draining out of her, to keep the virus from making a dent in her but in the middle of the night with the painful silence all around being broken even by Carl crying, pleading he wanted to see his sister or sometimes he had the strength to keep fighting clawing, kicking and wanting to scream. He understood Carl, he himself wanted to scream until his lungs gave no more, until he felt his vocal cords tear and let the fucked up universe know that he hated it, hated this fucked up world.

With her eyes filled with new tears, she gently slid her hair off her forehead outlining her features, the same features she would never have the chance to see mature and grow into what she wanted to be; which varied from being a hairstylist one day, a firefighter one day, a model the next and a garbage collector the next (she never knew why) until she and her twin agreed to become cops; just like him and Rick.

Carl wanted to be the deputy sheriff and Charlie the Sheriff, they had even created paper and cardboard badges imitating the real ones.

He slid his finger down his nose having to force himself to hold back the sobs, and the crying. She stroked the hair Charlie wanted to let grow, that she dreamed of being able to braid into braids.

"Y-You know something Charlie?" he questioned softly, only to Charlie who barely managed to open his eyes no longer in tears only sharp pain that he couldn't stop "I had a-learned to do your hair for when your hair grew" he found himself saying, he had practiced countless nights with a colleague at the station who let him practice with the videos he watched as well as she taught him, it tore at his soul to know that now he would not be able to wow his daughter niece with his amazing styling skills (it was kind of terrible) and he could only try to attempt a smile when Charlie smiled, he tried to ignore the blood that was already welling up between his lips "and t-tell you I'm good."

"Y-yes?" question the girl, hardly because the sharp pain so cruel was slowly waning like when she was starting to get sleepy after eating at home, playing in the sun with her twin and feeling that light sleep that made her dizzy, still the girl knew. Charlie wasn't dumb, Uncle Shane let her and Carl know what the walkers were , to not downplay them and know how dangerous they were but when they arrived she had wanted to run into mom's arms but she had taken Carl and Sophia, she was left outside the circle and ran as best she could from the walkers but between running and trying to get to Uncle Shane or Jim she couldn't anymore, the walkers were bigger and she couldn't do more "l-later when we're okay, can you make me u-braid?"

Shane never wanted to kill himself as much as he did now, hearing Charlie's broken and almost slurred little voice, he bit his lips for not crying at the top of his lungs as he wished but instead affirmed, seeing nothing but the little face of his daughter niece who was now covered in cold sweat, blood and a few hairs sticking to her skin from the sweat, the bite on her shoulder was still as violent but now swollen, the blood was still flowing even though he squeezed, still flowing like a slow river between his fingers and those little eyes that always saw him, with which he never felt out of place, little eyes that he loved to see shine.

Never again would he be able to see the beautiful eyes of his little girl?

Maybe his work colleagues were always right, he was a father without knowing it (omitting the joke that he was the wife and Rick was the husband) joke that didn't make him laugh now, just want to scream to the world and to God why should a little girl die like that? Why her? Why her and not him?

He held Charlie as he began to lose strength, listening behind him to Rick crying, to Carl screaming in a muffled way because they were covering his mouth to avoid the noise so as not to attract more walkers. He carried the body of his pretty-eyed little girl who always insisted on riding in the passenger seat of his Jeep, who wanted to dress like the "I want pants like Uncle Shane's!" was a sentence that gave him such a laugh at the time, but right now it was making him want to shoot himself next to his little girl.

It felt painful to have a daughter.

Because Charlie became like a daughter to him even though she would not carry his blood, but she was.

And it hurt like a thousand hells, as if hell was creeping into her blood and there was no cure, like the virus that now ran through Charlie's blood, that was making her slowly lose strength, her breathing becoming so slow, so shallow. That she didn't even notice when Rick approached and out of mere instinct she wanted to pull away, to walk away with Charlie but when the weight of her friend's hand fell on her shoulder she knew, they were leaning.

Why?

He couldn't even look his friend in the eye and he couldn't even let go of Charlie who could barely open his eyes, but to see Rick kiss Charlie's forehead, to promise him that afterwards nothing would hurt anymore and everything would be okay, but he saw it in his eyes; I can't, I can't. It was painful to acquire that commitment, but now he didn't feel allergic it was as if death itself was handing him his oz to do his job, in part it was and feeling Rick hug Charlie even though he wouldn't let go, it felt like goodbye.

"I-I love you Lili, I love you so much, I will love you always" Rick said, trying not to burst into tears and even more so seeing Shane, his friend and brother so destroyed holding his daughter Charlie with the strength of a thousand men but as weak as a dying man, it certainly felt that way, because fuck even though Lori had her twins Charlie was growing between her thigh and Shane, with Carl always holding her hand why did it have to be like this? It had only been days of finding her family again but it hurt so much, she gently ran Charlie's hair backwards seeing his features and longing to memorize them always to never forget them, even more so as his eyes were slowly starting to turn a milky white, and the fever was rising "I a-love you more every day my girl, always and C-Carl loves you, loves you so much, we will always love you baby, always and never stop, never."

And the pain was increasing as Carl again began to scream but Lori to the fair was holding him down, but he was kicking and clawing, begging to see his twin but nothing, even Dale and Darly held him down but still he tried, even clawing at the gravel but he could only see Shane's back and some of Charlie's hair, but even though he tried no one would let him and Carl didn't mind looking crazy, struggling and crying because he felt his shoulder tearing, so close to his neck and a pain he shouldn't feel. Because he wasn't hurt. Carl was fighting so hard, he didn't mind kicking mom or hitting whoever came near him but he had to see him, he wanted to see her and know that everything would be okay, he couldn't lose his sister, he couldn't but Darly was holding him tighter and Dale was keeping him from moving forward.

"P-please mom!" pleaded in a broken voice Carl trying to get out of mom's arms, clawing, biting and kicking Darly and Dale away, struggling even though mom was holding his hands "I-I want to see her!"

That anguished plea brought Shane to tears How do you tell a nine-year-old that his twin could be dangerous? How can you tell a brother that his sister would die from the virus and had to be finished off? Shane felt like death itself holding something beautiful that was withering between his fingers, he was like that a little bit so when Rick hugged him tightly without caring about the blood that covered his hands, his cheek and shirt he understood, Rick couldn't and didn't have the strength to do it, he himself didn't either but he wouldn't tell his best friend, his brother.

He just affirmed, a mild sentiment and Rick retreated with a broken heart.

The sun was gently rising over the horizon letting the rays of sunlight tint the darkness away from the dark tones, the coldness of the night and the stars that took several people in the camp. The cold gradually waned, and dawn broke across the sky, a merciless sun because it would no longer shine on those who died under it.

Shane from hours ago at dawn no longer felt a heartbeat, Charlie's breath had stopped flowing and he saw his little eyes slowly lose their sparkle, he didn't have the strength to see the change in the soft hue of his irises so he gently lowered his eyelids, feeling the strength of his sobs break his throat to come out. He wanted to cry until he was dehydrated, wanted to scream until his vocal cords broke and the blood itself choked him to death. No one told you that carrying the body of your dead daughter would hurt so much, but it hurt as much as if the sun swallowed him and burned his insides to ashes.

"My child" whispered Shane with a broken voice, trying not to scream from the pain he felt tearing that which the walkers nor anyone else could never touch, that impalpable love he could never deliver, that incomprehension of the emptiness he felt but which Charlie took in his small hands with a smile, She pressed her forehead against her daughter niece's forehead shedding tears that fell on her cheeks wiping away the blood and dirt leaving her skin showing, the sun was hot but her being would never feel warm again after seeing her little girl "P-please open your eyes" she begged, desperation in her voice and in a ridiculous attempt that she would come back to life, that she would wake up because she believed that sleeping in her arms was better than alone.

But maybe her waking up was too cruel, because slowly with slight muscle spasms and before Shane's eyes, Charlie slowly opened her eyes but there was no more color just that dull hue and her hands moved, slow as if trying to hold something but they were left just trying to hold something she couldn't.

The camp, refused to see it because of the dull pain they felt.

A family tried to contain a child who was crying at the top of her lungs, as if she felt everything her twin felt.

Shane held the back of Charlie's neck with one hand, watching her react and rise, her body reanimated by the virus and her eyes filled with that dull, gray, milky hue he saw in the walkers but prayed he would never see in Carl or Charlie, but was now witnessing up close, he felt Charlie's little hands try to grab him or hold on to something, in a weak grip only gross not fine motor skills and he put his forehead next to his little daughter's, the daughter who didn't carry his blood but by some chance of fate fell into his life feeling Charlie try to move, He kissed her forehead for the last time remembering the scent of that little girls perfume that Charlie always ordered from the hygiene and beauty section of the mall when he came to go with him, and that he always bought for her even though Lori would get mad at him because Charlie already had several in his room, he always had a weakness for Charlie and right now catching the last vestige of that scent, the scent of home, of his daughter that he would never remember again he separated his lips from the cold skin now and saw her for the last time.

He wanted to memorize her little face.

He wished he could remember her voice.

Never to forget the scent that always accompanied his sweet girl.

He implore heaven that Charlie in another life could live and grow.

The weight of his gun was immense on his hip, it weighed so much it might as well be breaking his bones but he struggled. Shane gave his last efforts, holding the back of Charlie's neck still preventing him from biting him and when he had his hand on his gun, with Carl's hoarse and agonized screams, he pressed the barrel against Charlie's hundred seeing it one last time; it seemed like yesterday he had given to Charlie and Carl's preschool graduation, uncomfortable in that small theater among so many parents applauding for their children, until Rick pulled him to his side because he had reserved three seats. It seemed like yesterday when Charlie would run into his arms when he would visit his friend's house, when he could amaze the twins when he would show them little but cool things.

It seemed like yesterday when his heart adopted a daughter without his consent.

Shane no longer held back the sob that struggled to leave his being, and he closed his eyes for a second to gather strength, seeing his daughter turned and coming back to life, his voice barely coming out with the huge knot of daffodils he felt rooted in his throat "Charlie, I'll see you later, okay? Wherever you are, wherever you go we'll see each other later, I love you and I will always love you, I won't stop loving you any day of my fucking life" he swore, because it was the only and destroying truth his being could harbor, and then he did it he activated the mechanism of his gun pulling the trigger ending everything, listening to the scream at the top of his lungs that Carl gave that maybe Rick or Lori covered with their hands.

That day not only Charlie died, but Shane with her.

✄— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

I really cried writing this, but I wanted soul-wrenching angst and here I am. Lili is still the same affectionate thing Shane named Charlie(Reader), you can request

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boygiwrites · 2 years ago

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TWD Harley D. Dixon Chapter List

Daryl Dixon & Daughter OC.

Gen Tags. Found family, Daddy issues, Abuse, Hurt and comfort, Gore.

Summary. Harley D. Dixon is a tough yet sweet little girl who until the dead started eating the living, thought she had seen it all. Alongside a mismatched group of survivors in rural Georgia, Harley and her Dad are forced to leave their small life behind and learn how to survive all over again through the horrors of the apocalypse.

— TW: This fic contains canon typical violence and gore, abuse, mentioned suicide, off-screen suicide, main character death, and has been described by my lovely readers over on Ao3 as 'gritty', 'intriguing', 'intense', and 'special'. Please read with caution!

— Note: Canon is only loosely followed. Some changes have been made to certain plot points to keep it fresh and interesting / account for the added character.

❤️Cross-Posted from Ao3.

Season 1 - 2 Word Count: 180,000 Season 3 - ? Word Count: 52,000

SEASON ONE.

Chapter 1: Them That Mourn.

Chapter 2: No More Songs.

Chapter 3: My Brave Girl.

Chapter 4: Not Quite Yet.

Chapter 5: Black Out Days.

Chapter 6: Angels and Devils.

Chapter 7: Nothing's Ever Ours.

Chapter 8: In Sheep's Clothing.

Chapter 9: Rest In Piece.

SEASON TWO.

Chapter 10: Play Stupid Games.

Chapter 11: Win Stupid Prizes.

Chapter 12: Daddy Dearest.

Chapter 13: A Plan And An Execution

Chapter 14: If Heaven Weren't A Lie.

Chapter 15: Mockingbird.

Chapter 16: Custody Battles.

Chapter 17: Every Corner.

Chapter 18: Custody Battles, Part II.

Chapter 19: Dreams Don't Go Unpunished.

Chapter 20: And Still Very Beautiful.

Chapter 21: Thoughts and Prayers

Chapter 22: Growing Pains.

Chapter 23: The Type Meant for Dying.

Chapter 24: Church and State

Chapter 25: And The Type That Ain't.

Chapter 26: The Last Sunday on Earth.

Chapter 27: A New Life, Pursued.

Chapter 28: These Old Homes.

SEASON THREE.

Chapter 29: From Little Seeds.

Chapter 30: Red Handed.

Chapter 31: Maturity.

Chapter 32: The Best of Us.

Chapter 33: Picket Fences.

Chapter 34: Fresh Air.

Chapter 35: A Short Walk.

Chapter 36: Paradise.

Chapter 37: A Piece of Me.

Chapter 38: Heroes, Old and New.

Chapter 39: Please Head Home.

#the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daddy issues #parent daryl dixon #rick grimes #shane walsh #angst #fanfic #reader

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loveandfictionforall · 8 months ago

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Hi!! I was wondering if you could take this request! I thought maybe a oneshot (platonic!Dale Horvath x fem!reader)

So it’s set in season 2 at Hershel’s farm. Shane makes her really uncomfortable by trying to get her to sleep with him, flirting with her, etc. so she hides away in Dale’s RV to try to stay away from him. Dale finds out what’s going on so he comforts her after having a talk with Shane.

If you don’t want to do this it’s totally fine!! Just lmk if you will or not so I won’t be waiting for nothing if you don’t😭

I kind of went a different route but I hope you still like it. I genuine loved your idea. Dale is often forgotten but he was a good man.

tw: mentions of harrassing, mentions of getting touched without consent

It's been a long time since you were truly sitting with Dale down. He had always been your friend, even though a lot of years separated you from each other. It had been quite a ride since arriving at the Camp. Back then you were together with Lori, Shane and Carl after knowing them for years. You used to be Carl's babysitter, actually being on duty when the apocalypse began and following Shane, Lori and Carl. You suffered through the loss of Rick, just like those three and stumbled like everybody else through the beginnings of the outbreak.

Since you were a woman, Lori and Carol got you into doing the chores with all the other women. The men went out, looking for food, clothes and medicine. You also wanted to do something. Teaching Sophia and Carl math and history wasn't really important for you but Shane always declined your wishes.

So instead you began to hide. At first it was in the woods until you got a mouthful from Shane - and even Merle. Soon you began hiding in the Camper, with a Dale always winking at you when he saw you slipping into it. When Lori, Andrea or Carol went asking, he always played his part: shaking his head and lying through his teeth, telling them where he saw you last. You never been there but it threw them off your trail. And thus, your friendship with Dale began.

Dale tried fixing his Camper with you. But unlike all those other tasks, he actually wanted you to do it, guiding you and giving you new knowledge about the workings of cars. On evenings he would invite you to sit on the roof with him, watching the stars and talking about those old times. You learned a lot about him and how his life had been. Soon you were kind of his kid - adult but also his kid. He showed you how to fish, how to skin them and even gave you his little pocket knife.

Even when Andrea began to insert herself into the friendship, Dale and you were inseparable. In the end, it would be Dale's death which would end your genuine friendship with each other. But you two didn't know that Hershel's farm would be his demise. Instead you were looking at each other with bright smiles and hope fluttering in your chest.

Sure, things were rough, especially since Rick appeared from the dead, still alive and healthy. It shook your world and made you hope that you will too see again your family. Nobody could escape the whole drama of Lori and her men but her so harshly shoving Shane away made things worse for you. You always knew that Shane looked at you sometimes a bit too long. When the world was still whole, you kind of liked it - being noticed felt good, especially by an older man with a bright career. Now it made you break out in goosebumps. Your neck hair would rise and without turning you would know that Shane would be staring at you.

It started small - a conversation here and there, a small compliment about her sharpening skills of knifes or her really good hiding skills from the other women. It still gave you the creeps but what should you do? Shane didn't to anything at first. But after Otis died, Shane changed. The crazed look in his eyes. Sometimes he would drink in the evening before he would press himself against you, his breath ghosting across your throat and cheeks. After that the touches started. It grossed you out - so much, that you tried to find a reason to sleep with Dale in the Camper. It wasn't possible, after all there was only one sport to sleep in.

But Dale knew something wasn't right.

And on one evening, while sitting together on the roof of the Camper, watching the starts you finally gave in.

"It's Shane.", would be all you would say. You still remember how Dale would straighten his back, his eyes getting serious when he turned all of his attention towards you.

"What did he do?" There wasn't doubt in his voice. It didn't waver. It was like he always knew something wasn't right with Shane. He saw Shane and knew he was danger.

"He just… He-" You could talk about it. Just thinking about it made you tear up. And finally those tears fell when Dale circled his arms around you, pressing you against his warm body, shushing softly against your frizzled hair. It just made you sob harder. In a world without any true rules and consequences, you couldn't do a thing. And even though Rick and Shane were fighting, it was his best friend, he wouldn't believe you. And Dale knew that.

So instead he gently swayed both of you while you used every strength in your body to talk and tell him about everything. Dale was your saving grace. He never doubted you.

"You will sleep in the Camper. I will take your tent." His words would have a final tone. Arguing with him would be unwise, his opinion was set in stone.

"But your back!" The small chuckle from Dale would make you smile. You always teased him with being too old.

"I think I will manage. It is far more important that you feel finally safe again."

When Dale lead you into the Camper and helped you into bed, his eyes were soft.

"You are a true blessing and you deserve to feel safe and loved. You will always be welcome with me." To be honest, it made you cry again but now they were finally happy tears.

It was a memory you never wanted to forget in this forsaken world. It would be a memory which would keep you alive, even in the toughest of moments, even after Dale died.

#twd #twd fanfiction #twd x reader #twd dale #twd dale x reader #twd fic #twd shane #shane walsh #dale horvath #twd angst #tw harassment

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bambieyedoll · 1 month ago

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⋆·˚ ༘ * SHANE WALSH HEADCANNONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 being in a relationship with shane walsh.

shane is the definition of overprotective—before the apocalypse, he was already the guy who’d walk you to your car at night, hand on your lower back, scanning the parking lot like he was on duty.

after everything goes to hell? that instinct goes into overdrive.

there’s no such thing as “too cautious” in shane’s book. he walks in front of you when entering new areas, his arm instinctively pushing you back if he senses something’s off.

“stay close,” he mutters, scanning the area with sharp, trained eyes.

if there’s even a hint of danger, his temper flares. he’s not just protective—he’s vicious when it comes to keeping you safe.

someone threatens you? shane doesn’t just handle it; he makes sure they never even think about looking at you the wrong way again.

if you so much as scrape your knee, he’s pissed—not at you, but at himself. he grumbles about how you need to be more careful, but his hands are impossibly gentle as he patches you up.

he becomes the most stubborn caretaker alive.

he’ll insist you rest—literally picking you up if he has to. “i don’t care what you say, you’re sittin’ down.”

he trusts you, but he doesn’t trust anyone else.

if another guy even thinks about flirting with you, shane’s mood shifts instantly—shoulders squared, arms crossed, jaw tight. the energy around him changes, heavy and warning.

the guy doesn’t get the hint? shane makes it clear. his voice goes low and sharp, a dark smirk tugging at his lips. “i think you’re confused, buddy. she’s taken.”

but his possessiveness isn’t just about other men—it’s about keeping you close.

if you disappear for too long, he gets restless, pacing, snapping at people, searching for you like a man losing his mind. the second he sees you, his hand is on your waist, gripping tight.

he’s not good with words when it comes to affection, but his actions speak for him. if he finds a can of your favorite food, it’s yours. if he senses danger, you’re behind him before you even realize what’s happening.

jealousy. shane doesn’t like competition, even if it’s just a conversation. he has that sharp, narrowed stare, his jaw tightening when another man gets too friendly.

if you call him out on it, he scoffs, “ain’t nothin’. just keepin’ an eye out.”

but let’s be real—he’s intense. he loves with the same energy that he fights with. his grip is firm when he touches you, his kisses are heated, and when he holds you at night, he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

𐙚 arguments with shane.

shane doesn’t do passive-aggressive.

if he’s mad, you’ll know. his hands will go to his hips, his jaw clenched, his voice tight and biting. “oh, so that’s how it is?”

if you try to walk away first? forget it. he’ll step in front of you, blocking your path, voice low and rough: “we ain’t done talkin’.”

if he ever loses it in front of you and takes thing too far, he feels immediate regret.

the fire in his eyes dims, his hands rubbing over his face like he’s trying to shake off the anger. “shit… i didn’t mean—”

if you’re the one who’s mad at him? it drives him insane. he can take the world turning against him, but not you.

he’ll follow you around, getting frustrated the longer you ignore him, voice rough with irritation: “c’mon, don’t do this. talk to me.”

but the aftermath of an argument is where you see his real feelings.

after arguments, his touches turn softer. like he’s trying to prove something without saying it.

he’ll rest his forehead against yours, breathing deep, his hands running over your arms, your back, just making sure you’re still there.

shane doesn’t apologize easily, but his guilt is obvious—he’ll linger near you, offer you extra food, or fix something you were struggling with.

if you cry? game over. his whole demeanor shifts. his voice drops to something softer, and he’ll run a hand down his face thinking of ways to make it up to you.

𐙚 shane’s confession.

shane is the kind of guy who fights his feelings. hard. he’s been burned before, and deep down, he doesn’t think he deserves love.

shane fights it for as long as he can.

love makes you weak—that’s what he tells himself. but with you? it doesn’t feel like weakness. it feels like something he doesn’t deserve but can’t live without.

the confession doesn’t come easy.

it happens after an argument, frustration bubbling over into something raw. his voice is rough, breath ragged as he finally snaps: “you think i don’t care? hell, i’ve been losin’ my mind over you! every time you walk away, i’m scared i ain’t gonna see you again!”

when the words finally come out, it’s desperate. like he’s afraid if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

he grips your arms, eyes wild, searching yours like he needs you to understand just how deep this runs. “i love you. you hear me? and i ain’t lettin’ you go.”

𐙚 shane’s love language.

acts of service & physical touch.

his kisses are hungry, his hands gripping your waist, your neck, your jaw—always holding you like he needs to feel you real and solid under his touch.

he’s always touching you—not just in private, but in front of everyone.

hand on your lower back, fingers wrapping around your wrist when he leads you through a crowd, an arm slung over your shoulder to make sure everyone knows you’re his.

he’s not the type to say “i love you” all the time, but he’ll make sure you eat, clean your weapons, and stand between you and danger.

he’s not a big talker about feelings, but sometimes, when the world is quiet, he lets things slip.

his voice is low, almost gruff, as he murmurs, “don’t know what i’d do without you.”

and if you ever call him out on it? he just smirks, shakes his head, and pulls you closer like that’s answer enough.

only you get to see the softer side of shane walsh.

when it’s just the two of you, his walls drop—he doesn’t have to be the tough guy.

it comes out in quiet moments—when he pulls you close at night, his face buried in your hair, his arms wrapped tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

when he thinks you’re asleep, his hands never stop moving—thumb brushing your cheek, fingers gripping your waist, lips ghosting over your forehead. his breathing steady but deep like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you beside him.

𐙚 when shane thinks he’s losing you.

shane doesn’t just fear losing you—he’s obsessed over it. it gnaws at him, a constant, quiet fear in the back of his mind.

if you’re injured, shane panics. not outwardly— he’s barking orders, carrying you like you weigh nothing, pushing through exhaustion and fear.

but the moment he’s alone, it hits him like a punch to the gut.

his hands would tremble as he patched you up, his voice rough with guilt. “that was stupid. brave, but stupid. i’m supposed to protect you.”

if you go missing, he loses it. he’s frantic, aggressive, doing whatever it takes to get you back.

when he finds you, his relief is so overwhelming it almost hurts. he grips your arms, breathing hard, his forehead pressing against yours. “don’t—don’t ever do that again.”

if you ever get distant—whether from trauma or doubt—shane doesn’t know how to handle it. he doesn’t do well with silence.

if you shut him out, he gets frustrated, desperate. he’ll grab your wrist, force you to look at him, voice cracking as he asks, “what’s wrong? just tell me what i did, and i’ll fix it.”

and if you ever tried to leave him, he wouldn’t let you.

not in a cruel way, but in a shane way—raw, relentless, determined. he’d track you down, stand in front of you with that fire in his eyes, breathing hard like he just ran miles. “you ain’t leavin’ me. i won’t let you.”

#shane walsh #shane walsh headcannons #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh fluff #shane walsh angst #shane walsh twd #shane twd #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x y/n #shane walsh fanfic #headcannons #shane walsh x oc #the walking dead #twd fanfic #twd headcannons #the walking dead shane

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smutinlove · 9 months ago

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ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʙᴜʀɴ ʜᴀʀᴅ—ᴄᴀʀʟ ɢʀɪᴍᴇꜱ—chapter six: meddlesome

Chapter five: I watch as you're leaving

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Look at me. Come on, open your eyes." A voice softly whispered into her ear. Mae opened her eyes. She looked around for a second, feeling confused. "What?" she muttered to herself. She got up. Mae groaned. She knew she didn't hear that. And if she did, then it would go away eventually. "Don't ignore me, stupid," she heard. Mae rolled her eyes. She was imagining the voice. She didn't hear it at all. She kept telling herself. Mae felt a bit hungry. So, she decided to go downstairs. (Trying to forget the voice too.) And that's when she heard knocking on the door. "Rick!" Someone shouted. Mae's eyes widened. She was supposed to be alone at the Grimes family home. "Hello?" a voice called out. "It's Shane!" Mae's eyes widened. "Motherfucker." She muttered. Mae didn't know why, but the thought of Shane made her sick to her stomach. She walked towards the door and looked through the peephole. There stood a man, whom she knew was named Shane. She knew him as the 'probable father of Judith "Grimes." Judith looked a bit like him too. Mae rolled her eyes. Shane was a handsome man, but she didn't trust him. Even though she never talked to him, she knew he probably had sex with Carl's mom, Lori. "Carl?" She heard the man sigh loudly. "I guess there's no one home," he muttered to himself. Slowly, the man walked away. Mae let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. She felt slightly uneasy. "Look at me! Fucking notice me!" She heard the same high-pitched voice yell. Only, it wasn't a yell. Mae knew it was all in her head. And to her, she was probably going insane. But it didn't matter. Mae stepped away from the door and made her way into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the half-empty jug of water. And she poured herself some water into a glass. She put the jug back inside and took a sip of water. "Stop ignoring me, you piece of fucking shit!" She heard. This time, the voice was louder. "Don't ignore me like you ignored Shane." And that did it for Mae. "Shut up! Just shut up!" She screamed. A face she never wanted to see appeared in front of her. "It's me, love! Elyssa Frank. But since we've known each other for so long, you can call me Ely!" "No! I don't want to call you anything! You're not real!" Mae felt rage. She didn't want to talk to anyone. Especially to something that isn't real. She didn't want to fall for her brain's tricks. She wasn't a fool. "Listen." "No. I don't think I will," she said. "Go away, Elyssa!" She yelled. And Elyssa was gone. Extinct? No. But she was gone. And now Mae could rest easy. But she had another problem. Shane. Luckily, Shane had left already. But Mae was a bit meddlesome. She was always involved in other people's business. Whether it concerned her or not. Like the time when her mother's best friend, Julia, was accused of murder, Mae solved the case in two days.

Julia didn't murder anyone. And the supposed "victim," Evan Johnson Wayne, faked his death. Why? Because Julia owed him money. And she wasn't able to pay him back. Mae was proud of herself. But then again, she wasn't. She knew that anyone could've solved that case. She wasn't Enola Holmes. Nor was she Sherlock. She was Mae. Just Mae. But this new version of Mae was better. And stronger and smarter in so many different ways. She was Mae Carter, the daughter of the cunning Edmund Carter and the graceful Willow Carter. (Sure, she heavily disliked her parents for being strict and controlling, but she was proud that she was their daughter.) She bowed her head and closed her eyes. She imagined who she'd be in the next ten years. A detective, a journalist, a model, an actress, a cashier, a reporter-and the list went on and on. But it never ended. But for today, she had one objective. That wasn't to become a detective or a journalist. But to figure out if Judith 'Grimes' was Shane's daughter and not Ricks.

#twd #carl grimes #the walking dead #carl #carl grimes one shot #chandler riggs #carl grimes x you #carl twd #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes angst #carl grimes twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x fem!reader #rick grimes #smutinlove #shane walsh #judith grimes

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lavenderdaisychain · 11 months ago

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A/N: Hey yall! First and foremost: If you’ve read this before this no you haven’t. This is my first time posting this Anyways! This is my first long-form story so of course I chose the longest show known to man!

Thank you to my lovely beta reader: @ebodebo (go follow her) for putting up w my constant talk of rewriting (turns out you do need 5 chapters of filler lol) and being my all around soundboard. I’m so excited for the things we have planned! Enough yapping let’s get on with it!

TW: gore, violence, strong language, mature content

… - - - … … - - - … … - - - … … - - -… … - - - …

Chapter one- The World Is Ending

August 26th, 2010-

The beeping of hospital monitors haunted my sleep. I’d been spending every night in uncomfortable, plastic, hospital chairs for as many nights as my mom allowed. My father Rick Grimes had been shot in the line of duty 2 weeks ago and had fallen into a coma from the blood loss.

I stayed with him when my mom worked so he wasn’t alone. I’d tell him about school, keep him updated on Carl and read to him, praying he could hear me. A fresh vase of flowers at least made the room bright for when he’d wake up.

But right now I was sleeping, or trying anyway. I could feel a thin hospital blanket on me. Theo, one of the hospital's CNAs, harassed me about taking care of myself and usually I fell asleep fully clothed in their shitty chairs without a blanket.

“Peaches?” The voice behind her made Victoria practically jump out of her seat.

“Jesus Shane….you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” Victoria asked harshly. She never liked Shane, even as a little girl they butted heads. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine why Rick would hang out with him after work.

“Victoria we need to go. Now.” He spoke quickly, making his way to her dads bed and kneeling down beside him. “Rick, if you’re gonna wake up now’s the time man, shits going down and we need to leave.”

“Shane,” Victoria laughed half heartedly “what are you talking about?” Just when she thought he was finally losing it, gunfire started to ring out from outside the door. Shane pulled Nadia down under him as she screamed. Shane covered her mouth and she would’ve bit him in different circumstances.

I mean who the hell would open fire in a hospital?!

Victoria could feel the tears start to well as Shane begged her father to wake up so they could leave, telling him that if we stayed they’d all die. After a few minutes of bargaining Shane picked her up and dragged her out of the room.

“No!” She tried to push against his grip but he was incredibly strong. Victoria kicked and pulled until Shane pushed her into a hallway, begging her to be quiet or else they’d be found. She peaked around the corner, Shane pulled a gurney in front of Rick’s room. There was blood everywhere, screams and gunfire echoed down the hall. Shane grabbed her arm and they ran from the hospital, Victoria broke down when they got to his pickup.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Victoria hit Shane’s arm as hard as she could over and over and over until she didn’t have it in her anymore. She knew he was hurting too but didn’t care. He left her dad there to die.

“Peaches I had to.”

“Don’t call me peaches Shane. My dad is fucking dead.”

Shane sighed again, the truck roared to life as we peeled out of the parking lot. She stared out the window, thinking of her dad. Would he die? Would they leave a comatose man’s body to sort himself out? What if he woke up and everyone was gone?

Victoria and her father had always been close. She was the stereotypical ‘daddy’s girl’, hell as soon as she was old enough to hold a rifle without falling over she and her dad had gone hunting every season.

He taught her how to cook, she knew all his favorite bands and all the words to every corny song that he absolutely loved. Sometimes when Carl was a baby she and Rick would sneak out and go to the 7/11 down the block just to get candy and rent cheesy movies to watch together….and now they’d never share those moments again.

“We’re here.”

Shane’s voice broke Victoria from her daze, she looked out the window to see her mom and brother already packed up ready to hit the road. “Go’n and pack a bag, I’ll talk to your mama and Carl.”

Carl.

He was only 10…and now he’s going to find out he’ll never see his dad again and the world might be ending?? He’ll never get those moments hunting alone with his dad as the sun breaks the day. Or watch cheesy movies with her and their dad when Victoria would be home from college. She could feel the bile rising once again as she made her way past her family and into her room.

Victoria had a typical 17 year olds room. Honestly, the floor was littered with laundry she needed to do as well as some CDs she’d rummaged through that morning. Her walls were a neon teal, they’d mostly been covered with posters of movies and bands, and paintings she’d created out of boredom. She tried to soak in every inch of her room in case she’d never see it again. As she started to pack she took a Polaroid off her wall.

“Jeez Anthony….you should be at practice right around now. Please be safe.”

She tucked the Polaroid of her and her best friend into the pocket of her backpack and kept packing. Just the essentials: a couple pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, boots, hat, dads hunting jacket, socks…toothbrush? Definitely a toothbrush. A hairbrush and a few notebooks and pens (and some comic books for Carl). She also made the decision to pack her hunting rifle in case they got stuck foraging for food, as well as a heavy knife.

She threw her bag into the back of the truck so that no one would suspect how heavy it was. Her mom and brother were crying into Shane as he had just broken the news. Or however he’d spun the story…but Victoria knew the truth that Shane had abandoned his “best friend”. Shane loaded everyone up into the truck and said they’d be headed to Atlanta and that the military would help them.

“Are we going to die?”

While it was spoken barely above a whisper, the question jolted Victoria out of her daydreamed haze. She looked down at her brother Carl who was laying in her lap.

“No baby. Because I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe, and so will mom and Shane.” Victoria tried her best to reassure him, rubbing his back softly. She’d instructed him to lay in her lap so he couldn’t see the panic that the rest of the world was in.

Before they knew it, they’d left King County and were headed to Atlanta. Victoria fiddled with her cross necklace, Carl had fallen asleep leaving the truck uncomfortably quiet.

The Grimes weren’t really a religious family but Victoria did usually attend Wednesday night Youth Group with her best friend Anthony. The necklace was a gift from him.

Anthony. There he was on her mind again, she’d thought about calling him but Lori demanded she save her battery incase of emergency. Anthony Smith had been her best friend since middle school. They did everything together and were practically attached at the hip when they saw each other. He was a year older than her but that never mattered in how close they were.

Anthony was actually quite soft spoken, and smart as a whip. He was a tall kid, probably standing at about 6’3. He was built like an athlete, but he had to be with Track and field. They actually became friends at a track meet in sixth grade and kept up with eachother daily through AOL and Skype. And obviously only hung around each other at said meets. Anthony’s dad was a PE teacher and Coach so he definitely fueled the athletic fire in both kids. Anthony has always been a sweet kid and even when he was an asshole Victoria could never be mad at-

“Victoria! Get your head out of the clouds I’m talking!”

Victoria jolted in her seat, there she was daydreaming again. Lori was giving her daughter quite the concerned look.

“Where are we mom?” Victoria looked out the window to see full bumper to bumper traffic.

“Outside of Atlanta but as you can see we’re stuck in traffic” Shane answered from outside, with quite an annoyed tone Victoria noticed. She ignored Shane and hopped out of the truck so she could stretch her legs.

“Where’s Carl? I think I threw some comic books in my bag, I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind sitting here.” Victoria looked around and spotted Carl a few cars down playing checkers with a girl who looked to be about his age. She had a short blonde bob and a smile as bright as the sun.

Victoria smiled in amusement and made her way to the car with her mom. “Someone has a cru-ush!” She teased in a sing-song voice. She yelped when Carl turned around and smacked her arm as hard as he could.

“Mo-om!!! Carl hit me!”

“Don’t tease your brother then!” She laughed. Victoria rolled her eyes and fluffed her brother's hair before sitting behind him to watch the kids play. Right as she sat down a woman came from the front of the car with waters. She was a smaller woman with buzzed gray hair.

“Oh! You must be Victoria, I’m Carol!” She had a smile just as bright as Sofias, Victoria made a mental note that they must be related. She smiled and thanked her for the water, and as she took a sip Carl enacted his revenge.

“You say I have a crush on a girl I just met when you’ve been after Anthony since forever.” Victoria showered the back of Carls with the water she had just taken a sip of and was prepared to cuss him out when the commotion started. Bombs were dropping into Atlanta.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Victoria screamed as she pulled the kids down to the ground underneath Carol’s car. She moved her body over the both of them so they would be shielded if anything came down.

The rest of the night was a blur. Shane grabbed everyone’s bags from the truck, grunting as he lifted Victoria's particularly heavy bag. They ran into the woods with Carol, her husband Ed, and Sophia. There were screams in the distance and somehow Victoria and the kids got separated. She held onto both of them tightly. They ran until they came up on a high spot with a small clearing.

“Stop right there.” The shotgun barrel was aimed right between Victoria's eyes. They widened with fear as she put both her hands in front of her slowly.

“Sir, we’re just trying to get off the road…I have two small kids with me, please.”

The man’s aim faltered at the sight of the kids. Victoria rushed him, taking the gun and pointing it back at him. It probably wasn’t her smartest move but she had Sophia and Carl to look out for. There was a shriek behind her and Victoria whipped around just in time to shoot a man who was trying to get Sophia. Wait…what the hell?

Victoria slowly crept up to the man. He looked pale, his eyes were white and glossy and there was fresh blood around his mouth.

“Good aim kid. I’m sorry I pointed that thing at you. I just had to make sure you weren’t like him. The names Dale, you kids can stay with me and the girls tonight and we’ll look for your crew in the morning.” Dale smiled at her warmly, he was an older man judging by his white hair. But he had kind eyes and it was late so Victoria decided he could he trusted for the night.

She nodded, grabbing the kids as they headed into Dale's RV. There were two blonde girls sitting on the couch. One older one younger, Victoria figured they were probably sisters.

“Dale, who are they?” The older blonde asked, glaring at the three kids.

“Easy Andrea, the older one can take out those things like you wouldn’t believe!” Dale smiled back at Victoria. “They’re just staying for the night and…I didn’t get your name sweetheart?”

“Victoria. Victoria Grimes.”

… - - - … … - - - … … - - - … … - - -… … - - - …

#the walking dead #writing stuff #fanfiction #oc #rick grimes #writing #daryl dixon #The Shane and Victoria beef is unmatched #shane walsh #carl grimes #I’m literally writing this for like me and 5 other people LMAO #the angst I have planned you guys it’s insane #oc x oc #oc x canon

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anna-hawk · 2 years ago

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Title: Us, Character: Shane pls I am in desperate need of more Shane content

Send me a character or ship + a title

“You gonna come with me?”

It had been one week since Shane had asked you that question. One week since you'd said yes. And yet, the two of you were still here, at the farm.

With every additional day going by, Shane felt more and more antsy. He and Rick had come to a sort of truce, but both men knew that the rift between them had grown too large to be mended. Shane couldn't help the pang of sadness at losing his best friend after decades of them going through thick and thin. Times had changed… Everything had changed. Them included.

While Shane was cleaning his rifle on the porch steps, he watched you talking animatedly with Maggie, Dale sitting on his beloved RV and adding a comment here and there as he was wont to do. Shane couldn't hear what you were saying, but he still smiled as you burst out into laughter at something Maggie said. The smile fell from his face a second later, replaced by a contemplative frown, his eyes lowering to the weapon instead. Contrary to him, you got along with almost everyone. You'd clashed with Dale a time or two, and the way you rolled your eyes at some of the older man's comments had Shane snorting in amusement each time. The person you got along with the least, though, was Lori. It wasn't so much that you fought a lot, although you'd had a few heated arguments in the months since you'd joined the group, but more that you and Rick got along really well. She obviously didn't appreciate the fact that he kept looking for your input on things, no matter if he didn't like what he heard. Lori's jealous side would have made Shane laugh if he hadn't been feeling the same way. Because while Lori was the person you liked the least, Shane was the one you spent the most time around. You might agree with some of the things that Rick said, but you still shared Shane's opinions. You had from the day you'd joined the group back in the woods.

The thing was that while the attraction was clearly mutual from the get go, neither of you had tried moving things along. Shane didn't really know why, but the timing just seemed off every time. Which was ridiculous, to be honest, considering what the world had become. It wasn't like he could ask you on a date. Your lives were hanging on by a thread if you weren't careful even for a second, so he should have just gone for it the couple of times you had come close to kissing.

It had been with this in mind that he'd decided to pull you aside after announcing to everyone that he would be leaving the group soon. He had expected you to think about it for a while before giving your answer, but you'd surprised him by agreeing on the spot. Just like that. As if it should have been obvious to him.

As he reloaded the rifle, Shane sighed to himself as he thought about how well you fit into the group. He looked up again to see you flip Dale off behind his back, which had Shane smiling. It felt bittersweet. Because he realized that he couldn't offer you anything by asking you to leave with him. Granted, nothing was certain anymore, but at least here you had some sort of stability. People to count on. The possibility to survive. Going with him into the unknown suddenly felt like too much to ask of you.

Putting the rifle next to him, Shane lifted his hand in a small wave as you turned around to see him watching you and waved at him with an impish grin and a roll of your eyes in Dale's direction. Shane chuckled despite the leaden feeling in his gut at the decision he'd just taken as you followed Maggie to the other side of the field.

He spent the rest of the day preparing his departure. He chose to leave without telling anyone, since he'd already said that he'd leave. The only one he went to was Rick. If only to ask him to say goodbye to Carl for him. The boy would be his only regret. Shane purposely didn't think about you as he thought about regrets.

Car loaded and ready to go, Shane waited until close to sunrise before leaving. As he neared the car, he came up short at the sight of the figure leaning against the driver's side, their arms crossed loosely.

“So you were really just going to leave without me.”

It was a statement, not a question. Shane opened the back door and slung the backpack into the car before closing it again.

“Listen-”

“Don't you dare,” you cut across angrily. “Don't you dare serve me the bullshit you came up with that made you think that you had to leave on your own.”

“I have nothing to offer you,” Shane yelled in frustration and definitely a note of despair. “They do.” He pointed at the farm.

“Then why ask me? Why ask me to come with you if you were just gonna leave without me in the end?”

“'Cause I was a fuckin' idiot, and I thought…”

“What?” you asked as Shane didn't continue.

Shane rubbed over his shaved head and heaved a long sigh.

“I thought I could be enough,” he paused for a second. “Here? You have a chance, sweetheart. You're safe. You fit in with them… I don't. Not anymore. But I can't ask you to leave all of this behind for me.”

You didn't say anything for the longest time as you just watched him. You finally pushed off the car and came to stand just a few inches away from him.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I only stayed with the group because of you? Yeah, maybe I fit in, as you said, but…” You looked away for a brief moment before looking at Shane again. “I trust that Rick will do his best to keep them safe. But if we leave together, I know that we will keep each other safe. Us safe.”

Shane's breath got stuck in his throat for a moment at your words. How could that tiny word change everything?

“Us,” he croaked, and saw you smile as the first rays of sunlight hit your face from the side.

“Us,” you breathed, lifting your hands to cup his face and finally pull him in for a long kiss.

#simple-lovebot #asked and answered #jon bernthal #shane walsh #shane walsh x reader #oh look more angst...#thank you for sending this!!#I had the longest weekend and very little sleep and I really needed to write something to chill

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cactusquinn · 26 days ago

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The walking dead

Carl grimes

Rick grimes

Daryl Dixon

Michonne

Negan smith

Glenn Rhee

Eugene porter

Paul/Jesus

Ezekiel

Shane Walsh

Abraham Ford

Let me know if I’m missing anyone or if you want to see anyone <3

#twd #The walking dead #carl grimes #rick grimes #daryl dixon #smut #fluffy #fluff #angst #negan smith #glenn rhee #eugene porter #paul rovia #Ezekiel #Shane Walsh #abraham ford

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swiftiesforpeeta · 2 years ago

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everybody wants their fav to have a villain arc until it happens and you can’t even look at them because it’s so tragic and then you die

#hhhhhh #getou suguru #getou angst #poor gojo #i’m so sad #they make me SICK #eren jaeger #peter pettigrew if you’re a marauders stan and like him when he’s young #i can’t really think of anyone else #hijacked peeta #a little #shane walsh #?😭

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keidaught · 11 months ago

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It feels ridiculously stupid to say it now, but Rick always thought Shane would outlast him.

A little oneshot for s02e12 "Better Angels" because its my first watch-through and this episode completely blew me away!

#twd #the walking dead #rick grimes #shane walsh #fanfiction #oneshot #angst #major character death

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janiehellion · 2 months ago

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𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ ℜ𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To not lose himself in the temptation of you.

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

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

Like he knew.

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

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

His lips were still swollen from yours.

His hands were still trembling.

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

Rick stared at them for a while.

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

What the fuck did I just do?

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

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

Goddamn it. Goddamn it.

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

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

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

A package.

Pills.

Not just any pills.

Abortion pills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

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

"Rick, what—?"

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

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

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

Lori looked exhausted. Defeated.

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

Rick stared at her.

Talk to her?

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

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

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

"I'm telling you now."

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

"I panicked," Lori answered and looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

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

"Shane and I..."

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

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

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

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

He had nothing left to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no going back. Not after tonight.

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

He had betrayed her. She had betrayed him.

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ...

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

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

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

What the hell was happening to him?

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

But tonight—tonight, he had lost control.

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

No.

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

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

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

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

But Rick knew he should leave.

He knew he should.

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

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

And then, he slipped inside.

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

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

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

What the hell was he doing?

This was wrong.

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

But his hand was already moving.

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

God…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was breaking him further apart. Piece by piece.

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

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

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

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

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

Sleep wasn't an option. Not after this.

Not after you.

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

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

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

The next morning came too fast as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was no better. Maybe he never had been.

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

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

Still somewhere else.

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

Lori.

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

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

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

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

And then—there was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there it was again—that look.

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

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

Rick.

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

But it wasn't just that.

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

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

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

That you had let him?

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

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

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

Rick barely reacted to her words.

"I'm here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because my daughter is still out there."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Shane wasn't done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that made Rick not back down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence... Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That lazy, shit-eating smirk.

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

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

Not touching you. But close enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hard.

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

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

"Watch your fuckin' mouth..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Refusing to let him win.

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut the fuck up, Shane."

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

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

Not him. Not Shane.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on in."

Rick stepped inside. And you just… watched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Hershel barely blinked. "Leave it be."

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

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

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

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

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

Rick didn't react. Not at first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Hershel's back stayed turned away from him.

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

Finally, Hershel turned around.

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

Silence.

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

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

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

"My wife's pregnant."

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

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

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

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

"I've thought about it."

"Think about it."

"I've thought about it."

And Rick didn't argue any further.

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

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

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

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

No. That wasn't him.

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

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

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

And still—still, you moved toward him.

"Hey, Rick—"

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

Fine. Fuck him.

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

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

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

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

"We're negotiating."

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

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

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

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

Rick's fingers twitched at his sides.

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

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

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

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

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

"We can make it safe."

"How we gonna do that?"

"We will, okay?"

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

"We will, okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Shane? Shane wasn't done.

"Hold up, Rick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or someone.

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

No.

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

More important things needed to be done.

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

This was what mattered. The search for Sophia.

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

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

But how could you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you weren't even there.

Frustration overcame you.

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

"Rick, I—"

Nothing.

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

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

Before you stepped away, a voice stopped you.

"Rick."

Hershel.

Rick turned around immediately, looking toward the older man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The growls.

The snapping of teeth.

The noises of the dead.

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

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

Rick followed him quietly.

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

"You knew him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

"Rick..."

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

Taking your chance, you moved.

Not fast. Not loud. Not stupid.

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

Or maybe he never had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You told me he handled them easily!"

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

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

A scream.

Not just any scream. Your scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You struggled. A lot.

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

Then—a disgusting, wet noise.

But there was no gunshot.

Because Rick didn't use his Colt Python.

No. He had a rock.

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

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

He just kept swinging.

"Stupid—"

Crack. The first hit crushed its temple.

"Motherfuckin'—"

Crack. The second cracked its skull open.

"Piece of—"

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

"Shit!"

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

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

You had never seen him like this before.

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

But now? Now, he looked feral.

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

Something that made you forget how to breathe.

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

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

Rick was enraged.

And you?

You still didn't even know what to do.

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

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

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

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

Something he couldn't take back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick went still. Too still.

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

That silence?

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

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

His grip turned tighter, making you wince in response.

"Shut up."

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

"I said, shut the fuck up—"

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

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

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

"Don't."

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

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

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

"Enough."

Rick's voice was different now.

Darker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you felt it…

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

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

"Fuck you—"

"You already did."

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

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

But he didn't move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should've stopped there.

Should've let it be enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't. Because you couldn't.

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

For him to break completely.

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

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

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

And you let him.

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

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

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

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

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

How much he needed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—then he was there.

His mouth was right where you wanted it to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until he stopped.

Simply stopped.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, he was taking his time.

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

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

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

"Rick—"

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

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

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

He was punishing you.

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

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

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

But the worst part?

The worst part was that it was working.

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

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

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

But Rick—he didn't even care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt Rick stop in an instant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It ain't."

And then—then his mouth was on you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What if—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That did something to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was waiting for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"S-shit—!"

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

And you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let him.

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

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

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

"Fuck—"

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

Then he lost it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We… we don't know that."

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rick, I—I'm not trying to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well? Am I wrong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ain't that what happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

Rick stiffened.

That hit.

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

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

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

"Bullshit," you shot back instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Then why don't you say it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—then he kissed you.

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

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

Him.

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

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

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

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

God, he could get lost in this.

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

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

"I… I think I—"

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

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

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

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

Don't run from him?

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

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

BANG.

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

BANG.

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

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

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

BANG.

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

The barn.

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

And then—shouting.

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

BANG.

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

Walkers.

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

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

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

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

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

Rick didn't wait for him to finish.

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

And that was when you saw it.

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

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

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

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

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

She was small. So very young.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

She wasn't supposed to be like this.

Sophia…

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

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

And Rick?

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

Then, he moved.

One step forward. Then another.

Gun raised.

No hesitation. No turning back.

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

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like that.

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

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

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

But he didn't.

He didn't look at you at all.

He looked past you.

Straight to Lori. Straight to Carl.

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

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

You clenched your jaw.

This?

This was a reminder.

Of who he was. Of what you were.

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

Watching. Knowing.

Because of course, he knew.

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

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

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

And you?

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

You were just another taste of his damnation.

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

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