#twd glenn

[tchetcheca2]

just wanted to leave a little thing that's been bothering me for some time

BRING BACK YEARNING MEN

TO THE CURE OF THE NONCHALANT PANDEMIC

[reedusdaily]

[absentcrown]

When I read to much fanfic (X Reader). Now I can't rewatch the same tv series without imagine the reader in that shows

[amorchai]

𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏.

pairing(s): glenn rhee x female!reader

words: 804

warnings/tags: established relationship, female!reader.

it had been three days and counting, glenn watching as each turn of daylight grows into night. spent by the side of his chosen family but missing one person in particular. alexandria needed more food and water, there was enough of a supply to keep them going but they were aware they needed to be more comfortable.

he was alongside rick, michonne, and daryl, which left you at home. he knew you could survive, and the others of the community were more than capable, but the people he trusted the most to keep you safe were on this run with him and it only made him yearn to be beside you even more. to know you’re out of harm’s way.

while the hunt was for food and more so water, they were able to gather medical supplies and a few more worthwhile weapons. michonne shook her head with a small smile the moment she left the lonely pharmacy, daryl and rick behind her. they watched as glenn stood outside, the sunset long gone as the darkness started to grow, walkie talkie in hand.

“y/n? are you there?” he asks for the fifth time, desperate and anxious yet there was no answer. they were almost home, only a few miles back from their journey so he believed he should be well within range.

michonne pats his shoulder as they walk past, glenn dropping the device back into his pocket begrudgingly, “you’ll be seeing her soon.” he nods hopefully, following their footsteps when rick responds, “i’d say if we keep up with pace we should be back in just under an hour.”

even though glenn’s eyes stun in tiredness, legs aching from no rest, he walked as fast as his feet allowed. the idea of you being so near yet so far. and he almost starts to run when the familiar walls appear in their vision. “glenn,” rick warns, urging them to stick together in the depth of the night.

once the gates open for them, glenn pushes his bags off his shoulders, leaving them on the gravel while starting, “i’ll be right back.” rick just chuckles, nodding as they all allow him to continue, knowing there wouldn’t be an opportunity to stop him.

he breaks out in a run as he moves towards the lowly lit house, a warm glow settling his stomach as well as the wallpaper when he enters. however, it’s silent, the only thing that can be heard is glenn’s footsteps trudging up the steps to your shared bedroom.

there you lay, heavy breaths making your chest rise and fall. usually unable to sleep while glenn is gone, he detects you probably passed out for well-deserved sleep after awaiting his return.

glenn shouldn’t wake you, just glad you are resting, but when they were only meant to be away for one day he knew you would have been worrying. so, he sits on your side of the bed, gentle hand reaching up to caress your cheek.

you stir after a few more movements, the warmth of his thumb on your undereye making your lashes flicker as you open them to the dark room. eyes immediately settle on glenn’s watching gaze and it’s an instant wake up call.

“glenn?” your tired voice asks, hands reaching for his buttoned shirt with a tug as you pull yourself up to a sitting position, “hi, honey.” there’s a sigh of relief and build-up of tears as you immediately shuffle into a hug he is more than happy to welcome.

your hands grasp the back of his shirt, clinging onto him while one of his hands cups your shoulder, the other keeping your head tugged into his neck. “told you i would be back, didn’t i?” glenn teases kindly, kisses repeated against your temple.

“after one day,” you note, pulling back so you could get a proper look at him within the dark space only alit with the moon cascading in the window. there’s blood on his chin and jaw, no signs of scratching or bites, light goatee darker but face never more beautiful.

“i know, we were held back by a herd, had to camp out in a store.” his smile is sweet, gazing along your features alongside his thumb, “want to talk about it?” you ask but he shakes his head before pecking your lips.

glenn murmurs against your lips, “tomorrow. i promise.”

you nod once he pulls back to press more kisses against your cheek, glenn missing the feel of your skin beneath his lips. “were you okay?” he asks once he finds it in himself to pull back for a moment.

“missed you.” he nods at your reply, giving you one last smile and kiss before standing, “give me five minutes to take the stuff to the pantry, then i’m all yours, baby.”

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[b1xi]

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧

Glenn rhee x reader

Word count:3752

Warninig: fluff, dead, blood

Pt2 , Pt3

You ran as fast as your legs would allow, stumbling up the stairs while trying not to fall. Behind you, the growls and gasps of the creatures—those who were once your neighbors—roared loudly, almost deafeningly. The upper floors offered no solace; the walls were splattered with blood, silent witnesses to a recent massacre. The air was thick, heavy with death and despair, and each step brought you closer to the unknown, to a possible trap or, perhaps, an unlikely salvation.

By the time you reached the fifth floor, the situation had become even more macabre. Two of those monsters, turned into insatiable predators, were devouring the mangled body of someone you had likely known in life. Horror gripped you; a scream formed in your throat, but you stifled it by covering your mouth with a trembling hand. You knew that the slightest noise could condemn you. There was no time for mourning or compassion. There was only one mission: survival.

Desperately, you looked around for an escape. The growls were getting closer. With no other options, you slipped into an apartment with an ajar door. Once inside, you moved cautiously, your hands gripping the small knife you carried, a pitiful defense but at least something to make you feel somewhat protected.

The living room showed no obvious signs of violence, except for some bloodstains that extended into the bathroom. You took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen, your heart pounding in your chest, searching for anything that might be useful. After a few minutes, you had gathered a small stash: cans of food, soda crackers, snacks, and water. It wasn't much, but it could make the difference between life and death. As you rummaged through the drawers for something more useful, a particular sound startled you.

The sharp cry of a baby broke the silence, coming from one of the rooms at the back. You stood still for a moment, trying to convince yourself that you had imagined it, but the crying persisted. You knew ignoring it wasn't an option. With hesitant steps, you moved towards the source of the sound, stopping in front of a door decorated with a small heart-shaped sign bearing the name "Alice." You pushed the door gently, revealing a pink-painted nursery, filled with drawings and toys scattered on the floor.

In the center of the room stood a white crib, and there, wrapped in blankets, a baby cried inconsolably. Her little face was reddened from the effort of crying, seeking attention, company... protection.

"Damn it," you whispered, this time with more resignation than fear. You looked around, hoping that at any moment someone—perhaps the baby's mother—would come running through the door. But no one came. Anxiety gripped your chest. You knew leaving little Alice there was a certain death sentence. The baby's cries already resonated as an open call to the monsters prowling the building.

With no other options, you took the baby in your arms. Her crying was desperate and incessant, and each passing second made you imagine that the things outside were drawing closer, attracted by the noise. As you rocked her gently back and forth, her sobs began to calm. Her tiny hands clung tightly to your shirt, and gradually, the crying turned into soft whimpers until, finally, it ceased. You sighed with relief, but the tension didn't fully dissipate. Every second was crucial.

You left the room with stealthy steps, Alice wrapped in your arms. The silence of the apartment was oppressive, and the feeling of being watched never left you. Keeping your gaze upwards, you walked down the hallway, vainly searching for any sign of life in the other rooms. But there was nothing. The place seemed deserted.

The bathroom, however, caught your attention. The door was locked, but through the gap beneath it, a faint beam of light filtered in. Something or someone was on the other side. You approached cautiously and pressed your ear against the wood, and horror overwhelmed you. A low, menacing growl resonated from inside, followed by a rasping sound: claws scratching the door.

You instinctively recoiled, fear freezing your blood. Whatever was trapped inside was not human. There was no doubt. Those creatures had reached this place, and surely whoever was locked in there would find a way out soon.

You quickly considered your options, aware that you couldn’t stay. The building was no longer safe, and probably neither was the city. Chaos was spreading like an uncontrollable fire. There was no alternative but to flee before nightfall made the streets even more dangerous. The creatures became more active at dusk, and the cover of darkness would only increase their numbers.

With trembling hands, you found a larger bag and filled it with essentials: supplies, some clean clothes, and everything you might need to care for your new companion, Alice. You fashioned an improvised sling and secured her gently against your chest. Her calm breathing contrasted with your own racing heart.

Leaving the building was easier than you had imagined. The creatures were scattered, hunting on other floors or in the streets. Moving with stealth and determination, you made your way to your car, parked not far from the main entrance. With Alice secured to your chest, you quickly got in and started the engine.

Three weeks had passed since you left the city. Those days felt like an endless nightmare. The first two weeks had been particularly exhausting: the roads were blocked with abandoned cars and wandering corpses, and you had no choice but to continue on foot. You walked through forests, taking shortcuts when you could, though it only heightened your paranoia. The constant crunching of leaves under your feet, the distant sounds of the infected, and the ever-present danger of being surprised kept you on high alert.

Dealing with Alice was another challenge. The baby cried incessantly, her relentless hunger forcing you to stop more often than you would have liked. Sometimes, you could only pray to find a safe place to rest. Sleeping was not an easy option; every nighttime noise, every shadow moving in the dark, was a potential threat.

As you pressed on, the physical and mental exhaustion began to take its toll. You wondered how much longer you could keep going. Alice needed more than you could offer alone. However, as if some higher power had heard your silent pleas, things changed the day you encountered the group.

It happened while you were exploring an abandoned house, desperate for food or diapers for Alice. Hunger and exhaustion were becoming unbearable, and each step felt like a burden. Entering a dusty room, the air thick with humidity and mildew, you were struck by the emptiness. The weight of reality hit you hard: there was nothing. You leaned against the wall for a moment, struggling against despair.

That’s when you saw him: a rugged man with a face hardened by life, holding a crossbow with an unsettling firmness. You had no idea how long he had been there, watching you. Instinctively, you stepped back, raising your hands in a gesture of surrender. The cold steel of his gaze pierced through you, and fear took hold. You were cornered, unsure if this encounter would mean the end.

The man did not lower his weapon but took a step closer, studying your every move. “Are you from the city?” he asked in a deep, authoritative voice. His tone made it clear that he was used to taking control of situations. His eyes quickly scanned the space behind you, as if expecting someone else to emerge from behind you. But he saw nothing.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, and for a moment, you thought your legs might give way. You could only nod, hoping it would be enough to placate him. The man kept his gaze fixed on you, evaluating, measuring every detail.

“Are you alone, or is there someone else with you?” he asked again, not softening his tone. Before you could answer, a second man appeared in the room. He was younger, with Asian features, and seemed to be with the first, as the latter showed no surprise upon seeing him. The younger man carried another weapon, though his posture

“There’s no one with me,” you managed to say, your voice trembling as you tried to stay calm. But at that moment, you felt Alice shift in the carrier, as if she was about to wake up. The faint movement of the baby immediately caught both men’s attention.

The younger Asian man slowly lowered his weapon, his expression softening as he assessed the situation. There was something in his gaze, perhaps empathy, or maybe just exhaustion. The crossbow man, however, did not immediately change his expression. His eyes dropped to the small bundle against your chest, and for a moment, the tension in the room became unbearable.

“Is that… a baby?” the young man murmured, incredulous. It seemed he hadn’t seen something so small and delicate in a long time.

You nodded once more, unconsciously tightening your hold on Alice, trying to protect her as best as you could. “Yes… it’s just her and me,” you replied with more confidence than you actually felt.

“What’s your name?” asked the young Asian man, his voice softer than the armed man’s.

“My name is Y/N, and she is Alice,” you answered, feeling a slight calm beginning to settle inside you. You gently stroked Alice’s back, trying to keep her calm. Still, you couldn’t ignore the discomfort caused by the young man’s continuous gaze.

“I’m Glenn, and this is Daryl,” Glenn introduced himself, taking a step toward you and extending a friendly hand. Although you appreciated the gesture, you opted to keep your distance, your survival instinct still on high alert. Glenn noticed your hesitation and lowered his hand, not offended but maintaining his friendly tone.

Daryl, however, had not entirely lowered his guard. His crossbow was still ready, though now aimed at the ground. The tension in his jaw and the coldness in his eyes kept you on edge. The air felt dense, heavy, as if something could go wrong at any moment.

Glenn placed a firm but calm hand on Daryl’s shoulder, trying to ease the situation. “Calm down, she’s not a threat. Look at her, she’s alone with a baby. Let her breathe.” His conciliatory tone managed to soften Daryl’s stance a bit.

Daryl exhaled slowly and finally lowered the crossbow completely, though not without issuing one last warning. “Alright. But I recommend you get out of here before nightfall. It’s not safe to be out in the woods at this hour, especially with a child.” His tone made it clear that he was giving advice rather than making a threat.

You nodded quickly, aware that you didn’t have many options left. The sun was beginning to set, and although you had survived until now, you knew you couldn’t keep going alone for much longer. The city had been hell, and now the forest was proving to be just as dangerous.

“Listen, Y/N,” Glenn interrupted, his voice much softer, almost a whisper. “We have a camp not too far from here. It’s not much, but it’s well-protected, and we have supplies.” His eyes, which had been cautious before, now reflected something more. Empathy, perhaps. “You don’t have to keep wandering alone. You could stay with us. Alice would be safer there.”

His words resonated in your mind. The offer seemed too good to be true, but desperation was beginning to take over. You glanced at Alice, feeling her small, warm, and vulnerable body against yours, and realized you could no longer afford to keep testing your luck. The walkers outside would show no mercy, and you knew you’d soon run out of strength.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” you said, unsure. Although Glenn’s offer seemed sincere, something inside you still doubted. You had seen the worst of people in recent days, and distrust had become second nature.

“You won’t be a problem,” Glenn replied with a kind smile. “There are more people at the camp, and we’re all in this together. We can’t promise you an easy life, but we can offer you safety and some peace. At least, for a while.”

You looked at Daryl, searching for any sign that the proposal was genuine, but his expression remained impassive, as hard as a rock. However, by not objecting to Glenn’s offer, he seemed to be giving his tacit consent.

Finally, you nodded, letting a little relief seep into your thoughts. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

After what felt like hours of walking, you finally descended a hill and before you was a scene that, in another time, would have been a mundane sight: an improvised camp with cars and a trailer. However, now, amidst the chaos, it represented a refuge, a possibility of rest, and perhaps, safety.

Glenn turned to you, noticing your exhaustion. “We’re almost there. It’s better than being out there, believe me.” He smiled, a mix of relief and concern in his gaze. Daryl, for his part, kept his distance, still vigilant with his crossbow ready, though he had stopped aiming it directly at you. He seemed to trust Glenn more than the situation.

As you emerged from the dense forest, the camp Glenn had mentioned became visible through the trees. With each step, your legs felt heavier, and the sweltering heat made sweat trickle down your forehead and body. Glenn briefly stopped to check that you were still following, offering a supportive smile, while Daryl, in his own way, stayed alert, his crossbow always at the ready.

Finally, you reached a small clearing in the forest and turned left. That’s when you saw it: the camp. Just as Glenn had said, there was a trailer blocking a slope, and next to it, a smoldering campfire. Near the campfire, a picnic table and several chairs formed an improvised circle. A bit farther away, several tents were grouped around a small path cutting through the vegetation. The place looked humble but safe.

You had taken only a few steps when a burly man with an expression of both alertness and distrust approached quickly. “What’s going on, Glenn?” he asked in a deep, firm voice. He was Shane, who seemed to be leading the group at that moment.

Glenn raised a hand to calm him. “Everything’s fine, Shane. She’s from the city. She’s alone… and has a baby.”

Shane cast a quick glance at Alice, his expression softening slightly before turning back to you. “Alone, you say?”

“Yes, we checked,” Daryl interjected, finally lowering the crossbow but not taking his analytical gaze off you.

“Well, it’s better to talk to the rest,” Shane said in a less aggressive but still firm tone. “Lori and Carol are with the kids; maybe they can help with the baby.”

You observed several people engaged in various activities. Two blonde women, one clearly older than the other, were sitting and cleaning what you assumed were freshly caught fish. Further along, a dark-skinned woman was resting next to a burly man with a serious expression, who was relaxing in one of the chairs near the campfire. On top of the trailer, an older man with a fishing hat kept a calm watch from his position, holding a rifle firmly, as if he might need it at any moment. To your right, you noticed a Latino man and another taller man wearing a cap, checking a couple of cars.

Glenn, who stayed by your side, gave you a reassuring glance before speaking. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the group.” He took a few steps forward, guiding you toward a pair of women sitting at an old picnic table.

“Hi, girls,” Glenn greeted with his usual friendly tone. “I want to introduce you to Y/N.” He made a hand gesture indicating for you to come closer.

The tall woman with brown hair, holding her son on her lap, looked up with a warm smile. “Hello,” she said as she stood up kindly. “I’m Lori, and this is my son, Carl.” She extended a friendly hand towards you, her smile genuine, as if trying to offer you some of the peace you were missing at that moment. You shook her hand in return.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glenn then turned to the woman next to her, who had a more reserved appearance but a calm presence. “And these are Carol and her daughter, Sophia,” Glenn continued, pointing to the little blonde girl playing with a rag doll.

Carol looked up with a discreet but warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said softly, while Sophia looked at you with shyness, hugging her doll a bit tighter.

Lori noticed the small sleeping bundle in your arms, and her face softened even more. “Is that… your baby?” she asked delicately, as if trying not to invade your personal space.

The question gave you a pang in your chest, and you felt a brief wave of sadness. You shook your head slowly, looking at Alice with tenderness. “No… I’m not her mother.” The words came out in a whisper laden with sorrow, reminding you of how much Alice had lost in such a short time. “Her parents… are gone.”

Lori didn’t press further or ask more questions, understanding the pain implicit in your answer. She simply nodded with a slight smile that aimed to be comforting. “She’s very cute,” she commented gently. “You’re lucky to have her with you.”

After a brief silence, Glenn took charge of the situation again, now that everyone had been introduced. “Well, let’s see if we can find a place for you.” He gestured for you to follow him, leading you to the area where the tents were set up.

Walking together along the path between the tents, Glenn gave you a smile. “You know, we don’t usually get many visitors. I think Daryl thought you were here to steal our fish,” he joked, raising an eyebrow with a small laugh.

You returned the smile, grateful for the attempt to ease the tension. “Well, if I ever get to that point, you’ll know I’m desperate.”

Glenn chuckled and nodded. “You’re right, I wouldn’t mind if it’s for survival. Although, in that case, I’d offer you one myself. I work hard to keep us stocked,” he said with a wink.

As you arrived at a small cleared area, Glenn stopped in front of his tent. “We don’t have a tent for you yet, but you can use mine until we sort something out. Don’t worry, I can sleep in the trailer, there’s enough space,” he offered without hesitation.

You gave him an incredulous look, grateful but also a bit embarrassed. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

Glenn made a casual gesture with his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve slept in worse places than the backseat of a car. Besides, how often in life can you say you were a gentleman and offered your tent to a lady?”

You smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed with his sense of humor. “Well, I guess I’m lucky to have met a gentleman in these times.”

Glenn returned the smile, apparently pleased that his joke helped you feel more comfortable. “You know, if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re a small community, but we take care of each other. And now that you and Alice are here, that includes you two as well.”

You felt deeply grateful for his kindness, something that already felt rare in such a shattered world. “Thank you, Glenn. It really means a lot.”

You entered the tent, grateful for the brief moment of tranquility. You knelt on the ground, observing what was in the small space: a sleeping bag, a backpack, and a couple of neatly folded clothes on one side. It was simple but cozy, and at that moment, you realized how exhausted you were. You sighed as you unfastened the harness holding Alice and gently placed her on the floor so she could move and stretch.

The baby, always restless, took advantage of her freedom and began to crawl around the small space. Despite the circumstances, seeing her curiosity about the world brought a small smile to your face. “You really need a good bath,” you commented softly, as if the little girl could understand your words. Alice, of course, simply looked at you with those lively eyes, emitting a babble as she smiled, completely oblivious to the harshness of the outside world.

With a clumsy but determined movement, Alice crawled back to you, raising her little arms as if wanting to be picked up. “Again?” you murmured, lifting the little one and holding her against your chest. “I’ve spoiled you too much, haven’t I?” you said with a slight laugh, as Alice rested her head on your shoulder, her small body immediately relaxing in your arms.

You gently stroked her back, feeling her breathing calm and steady. The need to protect her enveloped you strongly, like a silent promise you had made without even realizing it. This new place, this camp full of strangers, represented a risk, yes, but also an opportunity. An opportunity to find a respite, at least for a while, so that both of you could regain your strength.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Despite the initial distrust and the evident dangers of the outside world, these people seemed, at least, more human than what you had encountered before. Glenn had been kind, and the others had shown no signs of rejection. There was a certain sense of community in the camp, a spark of hope that seemed hard to find in these times.

[reveryfics]

Supply Run

Glenn Rhee x Male Reader

Summary: A typical supply run leads to a puzzling circumstance

A/N: Requests open. Reader is mute

TW: Slight Violence - Blood

The splintered wood groaned as you wrenched at the beam, the rusty nails screaming in protest. You hauled, your muscles burning, the sweat slicking your palms. Each pull was a desperate gamble, the fear of attracting unwanted attention a cold knot in your stomach. Finally, with a violent, jarring rip, the beam tore free. You staggered, nearly losing your balance, the rough wood digging into your skin. You shoved the beam aside, the clatter echoing too loudly in the unnerving silence. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the stillness.

You jammed the flashlight between your teeth, the cool metal a small comfort in the growing darkness. The jagged edge of the broken window frame threatened to snag your clothes, another potential noise, another potential disaster. You squeezed through, the glass crunching beneath your boots, and the stale, musty air of the abandoned store filled your lungs. Panic tightened its icy grip. Every creak, every rustle, sounded like a horde of the dead descending.

Your fingers tightened around the Bowie knife, the cold steel a desperate extension of your trembling hand. You moved through the aisles, a ghost in the dim light, your eyes darting, searching. The few walkers inside were dispatched with brutal efficiency, each sickening thud a stark reminder of the world outside. You worked with a frantic urgency, shoving canned food and first aid supplies into your pack. The weight of the supplies was a small reassurance, but the fear gnawed at you, a constant, gnawing dread.

Then, the unmistakable metallic click, the hammer cocking, sliced through the tense silence. Your blood ran cold. You froze, every muscle rigid, the air thick with dread.

"Drop the bag, and your weapon," a gruff, southern voice commanded. The words echoed in the cavernous space, each syllable a death knell. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave of despair washing over you. All those miles, all those close calls, and now, it was ending here, in this dusty, forgotten store. You knew, deep down, that there was no way to explain, no way to plead your case. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't.

Despite the crushing weight of hopelessness, you slowly, deliberately, lowered your pack to the floor. The metallic clang of the knife hitting the concrete was deafening. You raised your hands, your palms clammy, your fingers trembling. You turned, your movements slow, deliberate, a silent plea for mercy.

Three figures stood before you, their faces etched with suspicion and distrust. The older man's eyes held a chilling emptiness, a coldness that made your skin crawl. The younger kid, his face unreadable, shifted nervously. The Asian man's eyes flickered with a hint of unease, a flicker of something you couldn't quite place.

You were bombarded with questions, a rapid-fire barrage of words you couldn't process. Your mind was a whirlwind of panic, the gun barrel a dark, looming threat. You didn't even register the words until the cold steel pressed against your forehead.

"Did you hear a damn thing I said?" the man demanded, his voice laced with menace.

You shook your head, your body trembling uncontrollably, your eyes wide with terror. You tried to move your hands, to sign, to communicate, to beg for understanding, but the gun pressed harder, a brutal, unyielding force.

Each question was met with a silent shake of your head, each denial fueling the man's rage. You could feel the tension building, the air crackling with impending violence. Every moment stretched into an eternity, the seconds ticking by like the countdown to your execution.

He could pull the trigger, end it all in an instant. The thought was both terrifying and strangely tempting, a release from the constant fear. Maybe that's why the tears started, a desperate, silent release. Or maybe it was the sheer, suffocating frustration of being trapped, misunderstood, condemned without a word.

Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the Asian man stepped forward, his voice a soft, desperate plea. "Rick, I think he's mute," he whispered, his eyes fixed on your frantic attempts at signing, your silent, desperate gestures.

The gun dropped slightly, the tension momentarily easing. You collapsed to your knees, your body shaking with violent tremors, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spun, the floor tilting beneath you, and then, a searing pain exploded in your nose.

You raised a trembling hand, your fingers slick with blood, and looked up. Rick's fist was a blur, a brutal, sickening impact.

"Rick!" the Asian man shouted, his voice filled with horror. He watched as Rick grabbed your pack, his movements cold and efficient. "You can't just leave him here!"

"Yes, we can, Glenn. Now let's go," Rick growled, his voice devoid of emotion.

Glenn watched them walk away, his gaze shifting between them and your crumpled form. He hesitated, his face a mask of conflict, then, with a sigh, he hoisted you over his shoulder.

The world flickered back into focus, a blurry tableau of rough fabric and swaying movement. Your head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache, and the metallic tang of blood filled your nostrils. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your mind, and saw Glenn’s face, his expression a mix of concern and apology. He gently lowered you to a makeshift cot, the rough canvas scratching against your skin.

He began to sign, his hands moving with practiced fluidity. “I’m so sorry,” he signed, his brow furrowed. “Rick… he doesn’t always… I tried to stop him. I know it doesn’t excuse what happened. You're in Alexandria. I hope… I hope we can make this right.”

You stared at him, your eyes burning with a mixture of pain and anger. Your hands flew, your signs sharp and furious. “You stood there! You watched! He almost killed me! You waited until the last second!”

Glenn’s face fell, his expression contrite. He nodded slowly, his hands signing, “I know. I was… I was scared. But I’m trying to help you now.”

Despite the burning resentment, you felt a flicker of something akin to forgiveness. You signed, “Fine. But don’t let it happen again.”

After a moment of silence, Glenn signed, “We should get you cleaned up. I can take you to where I’m staying. You’ll need to change before we meet Deanna.”

As you walked, Glenn continued to sign, explaining the situation, the community, the people. You signed back, your hands moving with a fluid grace that belied the pain in your face. “I’ve been alone since the beginning,” you signed. “Maybe… maybe this won’t be so bad.”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think you'll like it."

Suddenly, Rick stepped into your path, his eyes narrowed, his expression hard. “I don’t trust him,” he said, his voice laced with suspicion. “We don’t know who he is.”

You stopped, your anger flaring. Without a word, you lunged forward, your fist connecting with Rick’s jaw with a sickening thud. He staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock, and you followed through, driving him to the ground. You straddled him, your eyes burning with a cold fury.

Your hands flew, signing with a vicious intensity, “Suck my cock, you cop bitch.” You punctuated your statement with a spit that landed inches from his face.

Glenn grabbed your arm, pulling you away. “Hey, hey! That’s enough!” he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. He pushed you gently forward, urging you to continue walking. “Come on, let’s go.”

As you walked away, Glenn chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “You’ll fit in great,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

[kaayyyys]

The walking dead (men) hurt comfort

Negan smith

(someone hurts you)

He wouldn't immediately run over, not at first.

He’d stare, processing the information like a computer rebooting, from shock.

Then it would overprotective mode

"Who the hell thought they could touch what's mine?!" He'd probably go on a rant.

Threats, oh, the threats. Creative threats involving Lucille and hurting the person involved . He would drag the person who hurt you to a cell and force them to apologize on their knees.

Once his initial rage subsides, he’d be surprisingly gentle with you.

"Alright, sweetheart, let me see."

He'd carefully check you over, even if it's just a scratch.

And he'd insist on carrying you around, no matter how much you protest. "Don't be a hero, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me pamper you."

He would become insufferable. Constantly fussing, banning you from anything remotely dangerous and generally treating you like you're made of glass while still running the Saviors with an iron fist (your his soft spot) .

He might even try to make a joke to lighten the mood, but it would be the most inappropriate thing he could say.

Like, "Well, at least now you know how much I care, right? Worth the bullet wound, yeah?"

Late at night, after everyone else is asleep, he'd hold you close. His voice would be quiet, the usual swagger gone. "You scared me, (Y/N). More than I thought possible."

He'd probably admit, in his own twisted way, that you're the one thing he can't control and that scares him the most.

Rick Grimes

You stumble, twisting your ankle while scavenging.

It's a sprain, nothing major, but you let out a yelp. Cue Rick, whose head snaps up faster than a walker spotting fresh meat. His eyes widen, his gun practically leaps into his hand, and he's yelling, "[Y/N]! What happened?! Are you bit?!".

He's already scanning the area for threats, completely missing the fact you're just holding your ankle and grimacing.

Once he realizes it's just a sprain, the panic shifts to smothering concern.

He's suddenly all gentle hands and furrowed brows, insisting on carrying you back to Alexandria like you're a delicate porcelain doll. "Don't move, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me take care of you." Even though you've taken down herds of walkers single-handedly before.

Rick, your grumpy officer, suddenly will believe that he's a qualified physician. Constantly interrogates you about the pain, the swelling and the exact angle of the twist. He insists on elevating your foot, applying a cold compress, and finding a way of making a makeshift splint out of scavenged cloth and popsicle sticks.

Daryl would definitely be making fun and laughing in the background.

While tending to your ankle, Rick launches into a whole lecture about being more careful.

"You gotta watch where you're going, [Y/N]! It's a dangerous world out there. I can't lose you."

Even though hes the man who regularly charges headfirst into hordes of walkers.You can't help but giggle a little at him, earning you a stern but loving look.

For the rest of the day, you're treated like royalty. Rick fusses over you, bringing you food, water, and extra blankets. He even reads to you probably just survival manuals because there's no books but it's the thought that counts. He's just incredibly relieved you're okay, and he wants to show it in every way he knows how. He insists on sleeping on the floor next to your bed "to keep watch".

Later, after his initial stress has died down, you catch Rick watching you with a soft, relieved expression.

You limp over to him and wrap your arms around him. "Thank you, Rick," you whisper. "For always taking care of me."

He hugs you tight, burying his face in your hair. "Always," he murmurs back. And you know, despite the over-the-top reaction, you wouldn't have it any other way. His love is a little chaotic, a little intense, but it's yours, and it's everything.

Daryl Dixon

Panic? Nah. Daryl's seen worse than most folks'. His eyes, usually narrowed in a stoic squint, widen for a millisecond as he hears you get hurt .

Forget flowery tenderness. He's immediately checking for the source causing the blood, ripping fabric for a make-shift bandage with the efficiency of a seasoned medic, completely ignoring your protests.

He's not a loving man but he shows affection with his continuous insults at you. But his insults are laced with worry, like "Damn it, (Y/N), I leave you alone for five minutes..."

(Y/N): "It's just a graze, Daryl, really"

'Grazes don't bleed like that, ya stubborn woman.'

Proceeds to clean the wound with the intensity of a brain surgeon, muttering about bacteria and infection.

He'll probably spit on his handkerchief. Ironic because he's always saying he don't care about health.

After he becomes your shadow. He doesn't't say much, but he's always there. Watchful, like a hawk perched on your shoulder, ready to swoop down on any threat.

He'll show affection as he sneaks you extra rations. Maybe even offers you his share of squirrels (a high honor indeed)

You might catch him staring at you when he thinks you don't notice, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

A week later, when you're completely healed, and he knows it. You're getting ready to go scavenging, when he grabs your arm. "Thought I told you yer stayin' put." He says looking annoyed, but you catch the little smirk playing on his lips. He's enjoying this way too much.

Glenn Rhee

Glenn would be a whirlwind of apologies, even if it wasn't his fault.

"(Y/N)! I'm so sorry this happened! Are you okay? Did I protect you enough? Maybe I need to start wearing more padding!".

He'd forget all his zombie-killing instincts for a moment, replaced by pure worry. Think of it this way, If you got a mosquito bite, Glenn would be ready to burn down the entire forest.

He'd switch into "Glenn the Delivery Boy" mode instantly, tending to your wound with surprising gentleness. He'd pull out his limited medical supplies and he would use his shirt to cover the wound.

He'd be so focused on cleaning and bandaging that he'd trip over his own feet at least once, muttering about needing more practice even though he does this often.

He'd be glued to your side, like the most cuddly, protective person ever in history.

Sleep? Forget it. He needs to make sure you're breathing, not cold, not hungry, and definitely not about to be pounced on by a walker while you sleep.

He'd try to find you the best food he could manage, even if it was just a slightly-less-stale cracker. (I know it's not much)

After fussing over you and making sure your perfectly comfortable and safe, he'd start to calm down... right as another, even bigger threat appears.

He would look at you with a sheepish grin, then back to the horde. "Well (Y/N), you stay here while I take care of this. And don't worry about me!"

[blackdagger456]

Invincible Season 3 Spoilers:The Arrival Of Conquest

Who’s Ready For Glenn Vs Negan Round 2!?

[empanadasdepinos]

bring my boy back RIGHT NOW.

[tchetcheca2]

YALL I SWEAR TO GOD THAT IT GOTTA BE ONE OF THE BEST FEELINGS IN THE WORLD WHEN YOU A FANFIC AND IT IS SO GOOD AND WHEN YOU GO LOOK FOR THE AUTHORS MASTERLIST AND IT HAS ANOTHER BUNCH OF FANFICS FROM OTHER FANDONS/CHARACTERS THAT YOU LOVEEEEEE

like, what do you mean that I just read the best stiles stilinski fanfic ever and when I open your masterlist you got SPENCER REID AND DARYL DIXON FANFICS?????

THIS TYPE OF SHIT MAKES MY WEEK DUDE

[reedusdaily]

[absentcrown]

I WANT TO WRITE MY OWN FANFIC........... BUT I DONT HAVE ANY TALENT TO WRITE MY OWN FANFIC...... AND I DONT HAVE AN IDEA TO WRITE A FANFIC... I JUST A USELESSSSSSS GIRL.....

[wimsypisces]

i need to rewatch twd just to feel something

[rememberwhouare]

THE WALKING DEAD x S5 | Memories

Together.

[reveryfics]

Nerves

Glenn Rhee x Male Reader

Summary: Glenn had always noticed the way you ticked when nervous.

A/N: Requests open. Enjoying doing non-Marvel fics as of late.

TW: Slight angst - Fluff

The chill air bites at your exposed skin, a constant, whispering reminder of the vast, star-dusted sky above. Each gust of wind whips through your hair, sending shivers crawling down your spine, a physical manifestation of the anxiety that already coils in your gut. You light a cigarette, the small flame a brief, flickering defiance against the darkness. Inhaling deeply, you exhale a plume of smoke, watching it dissolve into the night, a fleeting, ephemeral thing. Your eyes trace the constellations, searching for familiar patterns, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the immensity of the cosmos.

Your leg bounces, a frantic, rhythmic tremor, a nervous habit you’ve carried like a worn-out comfort blanket. Your fingers fidget, picking at invisible threads, tracing the edges of your anxieties. You’ve always been this way, a whirlwind of nervous energy, a constant battle against the internal voices that whisper doubts and fears. It’s a distraction, a way to keep the chaos at bay, a desperate attempt to maintain a semblance of control when everything feels like it’s slipping away.

You’ve tried to convince yourself that no one notices, that you’re a master of concealment, but the truth is a heavy weight in your chest. Glenn has always seen you, has always been acutely aware of the subtle tremors that betray your inner turmoil. He’s observed the intricate dance of your fingers, the way your thumb traces a path across your fingertips, avoiding the middle one like a forbidden territory. He’s noticed the way you pick at your skin, the raw edges of your fingernails, evidence of your internal battles. He’s witnessed the escalation of your anxiety in the weeks leading up to Alexandria, and the way the storm at the barn amplified your nervous tics into a frantic symphony.

He’s never asked, though. A silent, unspoken understanding hangs between you. He’s always been careful, hesitant to pry, to disturb the delicate balance of your fragile composure. He fears that asking would only exacerbate the anxieties you work so hard to suppress, that he would be the one to shatter the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around yourself. And you, in turn, are terrified of him asking. You fear the vulnerability it would expose, the raw, unfiltered truth of your inner world laid bare.

"It's beautiful tonight," Glenn's voice cuts through the silence, a gentle intrusion into your swirling thoughts.

You nod, your gaze shifting to him from the corner of your eye as he settles beside you. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. The warmth of his presence, usually a comfort, now feels like a spotlight, illuminating every flaw, every tremor.

His eyes, those kind, observant eyes, fall to your hand, still performing its nervous ritual. "You do this thing with your hands when you're nervous. Why?" His voice is soft, devoid of judgment, but the question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken concern.

You look down at your hand, the frantic movements halting abruptly. "Keeps me grounded," you admit, your voice tight. "Gives me something to focus on instead of… the nerves." The words feel clumsy, inadequate, but they’re the closest you can come to articulating the chaos within.

Glenn nods, a silent acknowledgment, a gesture that says he understands more than you realize. He begins to subconsciously mimic your hand movements, his fingers tracing the same pattern, a silent act of empathy, a way to bridge the gap between your worlds. You feel a strange mix of emotions, a flutter of warmth in your chest, a desperate longing for connection, and a sharp pang of fear at the intimacy of the moment.

"Making fun of me?" you ask, a nervous laugh escaping your lips, a desperate attempt to lighten the tension. You lightly smack his knee, flicking the ashes of your cigarette into the darkness. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a jolt through you, a reminder of the unspoken connection that simmers beneath the surface. You wonder, in that moment, if the anxiety that plagues you is worth the moments of fragile intimacy you share with him, if the fear of vulnerability is worth the possibility of something more. You long for the moment the anxiety will stop, and you can simply be close to him.

"Hey, I'm just trying to learn your secret hand-ninja techniques," Glenn teases, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Maybe they'll help me fight off walkers. Or, you know, awkward silences."

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Hand-ninja techniques? Seriously?"

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he retorts, wiggling his fingers in a mock-martial arts pose. "Imagine me, deflecting a horde with the power of… thumb-to-pointer-finger coordination."

You laugh, the sound a little shaky, a little relieved. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love it," he counters, his eyes twinkling. "Admit it, I'm your favorite ridiculous person."

"Debatable," you say, but the playful tone is clear in your voice. Your hands, however, betray your inner turmoil, starting their nervous dance again. Glenn, sensing your unease, gently reaches out and takes your hands in his. His touch is warm, grounding, a silent reassurance.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft, serious. "If you ever feel anxious, no matter where you are, I'll be there for you. Always."

The sincerity in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat. You want to believe him, to trust in his unwavering support, but the fear of vulnerability still lingers, a shadow in the back of your mind. "You don't have to say that," you murmur, your voice barely audible.

"I mean it," he insists, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. "I would do anything for you."

The words hang in the air, a promise, a declaration. You feel a surge of warmth, a flutter of something akin to hope, battling against the familiar anxieties. Impulsively, you lean in and kiss the corner of his lip, a fleeting, tender touch.

"You better keep to your word," you whisper, your voice laced with a playful challenge, a way to mask the vulnerability you feel.

He smiles, a genuine, heart-melting smile that makes your stomach do a little flip. "I always do."

The two of you fall silent, turning your attention back to the vast, star-studded sky. The anxieties still whisper, but they're quieter now, overshadowed by the warmth of his presence, the promise of his unwavering support. You trace the constellations, no longer searching for anchors, but simply enjoying the shared silence, the quiet intimacy of the moment. With Glenn beside you, even the darkness feels a little less daunting, the anxieties a little less overwhelming.

[terranovathemust]

Who would you choose among these four, as the protagonist for a spin-off of TWDG?