alex 𓏲ּ𝄢

warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, reader + rick going insane, hallucinations, mentions of cannibalism, whole load of angst w/ fluff , isolation, age gap (readers in their early 20s), themes of guilt, paranoia (just the usual rick emotions basically), depression from reader, mentions of michonne, andrea, jim etc

pairings: rick Grimes x gn!reader - s2-s4

word count: 3.4k

songs I listened to while writing: the lakes, same ol' mistakes, who is she?, it almost worked, dagger, western nights, tongue, this is me trying

a/n: Thanks to my beloved writers server i've decided to make the lakes a series!! Im so excited to write this for you guys I have high hopes for this fic and where its going to go <3

moodboard - p1 - p3

You remembered how it had been before this. Waking up to the sound of crickets chirping in the early morning, having the ability to wake up knowing you were somewhat safe on the farm that your group, no matter how much you disliked being with them, had found sanctuary on. You'd really taken that for granted.

You were left behind, surrounded by the walkers that invaded what had became your home these past few weeks, only company being Andrea as you both made your way out with the little rounds you had left. Michonne had came through like the last gift god was willing to give, more so for Andrea than yourself but still, you were thankful.

You knew why this had happened, of course you knew why. It was the raft of god, condemning you to hell for what you had done, for laying with a married man. You had been unlucky, and that continued to follow after the fall of the farm.

The little relief you had felt with Rick that night meant nothing now, surrounded by walkers at all sides, Andrea screaming your name as the two of you were on either sides of the horde.

Locking eyes with Michonne as she held Andrea back, you knew the choice she had made. As always, it wasn't for you. To believe that even for a second that it could've been was foolish, when had you ever been first pick after all?... you surely weren't to Rick, that being clear when he had left you behind and now, you weren't to Michonne.

The days blended into each other after that, always alert for what was coming, walkers or basic threat, anything set you off now. It didn't take long for you to realise nobody was coming to save you, Andrea and Michonne weren't coming back, why would they? Nobody ever came back, at least not for just you. Back at the CDC, you were mean't to die there, you wanted it more than anything. But Dale had came back for Andrea and you had put in your piece, spoke your truth on how the world would never be the same, how it was better to go out on your own accord. But the old man had shut you down, spoke about Jim and how he wouldn't have wanted this for you and so, had you walking out the building with him and Andrea. You wished you'd never left, wished you'd died there because everything that had followed after the CDC proved the point you had made that day, the fact that the world you were living in now would only get worse.

Maybe it would be better to let go, let the walkers rip you limb for limb as they should've done before all of this. You'd been so close to using your last round and driving a bullet into your skull, the impact of it killing you once and for all on your own accord. That was until you saw him.

'Jim?'

You whisper, barrel of the corroding gun still pressed gently against your roughened skin, head cocked to the side as you try to make out the figure before you.

'you need to get up.'

The voice mutters towards you, a little incoherent but you can still make out the words enough to turn your head again, peering up to the man you now recognised to be Jim, sickly pale in the same way he had been when you left him.

'I'm not listening to a dead man...'

You laugh this time, but the noise comes out dry, scratching at the insides of your throat from the lack of appearance in these past few months. Turning to squint up at him again and seeing the pity he held in them lifeless eyes, you sigh, dropping the gun and letting the pistol bounce once against the forests fallen leaves and leaning back defeatedly against the hollow trunk at your back.

'happy now?'

You murmur, looking up from your gun which lay unused at your side and he's gone, leaving you all by yourself once again.

It had been a while since Rick had seen you in his head.

After Lori's death he'd lost it, shouting up at walls he seen the woman's face in, scaring not only his son but everybody else around him. The prison had became his own personal hell, trapping him within its walls and the visions of you and Lori along with it. Their leader, the man who had hauled them through everything so far, gave them hope, was quite frankly losing it. And it wasn't stopping there.

Rick thought back to the first time he had heard you, the crackle of your voice coming through that broken old telephone down where Lori had passed and how his body had jolted, frozen in place at the sound of your rasp.

'what happened Rick?

You'd asked, and all the man could do was cry, whimpering into the phone as he fell to the floor, tattered cord tangling with his movements.

'm'sorry y/n. m'sorry, 'm so sorry'

He repeats over and over, needing to apologise, not just for leaving you behind but for what he had done to you, having you feel the way that he had also felt just to completely avoid you on the following days after the event. He hated himself for it every single day, now more than ever as you cried quietly into the phone, mirroring his own sobs which broke between the words he tried to speak.

'I was gonna' end it- thought I could keep ya' both alive n I-'

He stops, teeth clenched tightly in his mouth, stopping himself from crying even more than he should've been. But he just couldn't, he was breaking, and you weren't there to pick up the pieces. You were gone, and so was Lori. That was more than enough to send him into this state of psychosis.

The days after the phone call, it had only gotten worse. Watching Lori turn into yourself was what had him fully break, crying loudly for you to go away , taking out his gun in a fit of hysteria and scaring off the group that had came to him for help, now ushered away by Glenn. He was losing it, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. All the group could wonder was why he had called your name in the midst of this breakdown and not his late wife's. Michonne, stood off to the side, had her head bowed low, hiding the guilty expression on her face as she remembered what had happened to you in the end, a memory that was all too familiar.

Hershel had gotten him out of that hole after he had found him outside the next day, wandering out of the prison fence and talking to himself incoherently. Hershel knew something had to be done after michonne had came to him, explaining how she had been with you before all of this. Putting the pieces of the story together, Hershel knew he had to help. The people needed their leader, Glenn couldn't live up to Rick, no matter how hard he would try, he just couldn't. So, Hershel had to get him back.

Hershel was no man that judged, Rick knowing that well enough spoke of his troubles, helping the older man understand why he was out there and that there was an answer in all of it. Hershel met him halfway, telling him the half-truth on what michonne had mentioned about you still being out there, still fighting with nothing left to fight for and with the news of your survival, Rick made his way back.

He had hope again. With the protection of the prison and having it turned into a real home after the Governor's leave, him, Michonne and Daryl tried their hardest to look for you. The group searched across the entire state for any signs to where you might have gone and where the Governor may have been hiding, holding out hope for his own sanity and Michonnes.

You wouldn't be found. At least not until God had deemed your suffering enough.

After the brief encounter with Jim, you did what you could to keep going, even when it pained you to do so. You knew if you were to put the barrel to your head again, your brain would conjure up another person you spent your days missing, a sick way to keep you alive, even if there wasn't many options on the list of people to visit, you couldn't bare for one of them to be Rick. Instead, you kept going, killing lonesome walkers that stumbled across your path down the Georgia roads until you were stopped at a railway track, observing the area as you always did now and stepping onto its tracks.

You figured staying on the tracks was safer than the woods you were accustomed to now. Before, you would've said the opposite of that statement. But before, you had the safety provided by Michonne's two chained walkers, even with how sick it may have been, it was nothing compared to what you'd seen in these past few months of survival. You'd only survived now out of either sheer luck or severe punishment. Either way, you supposed you were to be grateful.

Walking slowly down the tracks, you noticed a sign, moving closer to the slab of wood held up by a rather weathered pike and reading the words that were there before you.

Sanctuary

for all

Community

For all

Those who arrive

Survive

Maybe it was sheer luck after all.

The first night after the prison had fell, Rick had dreamt of you.

He wasn't sure if he was dreaming at first... the pain in his side remained, still rested atop of the couch him and carl had found the night before, having to adjust by themselves for now.

You walked steadily towards him, bringing light to the darkness of the room. He hastily adjusted, rubbing his tired eyes and looking upwards to not only see yourself, but Judith, cooing softly against your unblemished chest. You looked the same as you had the last time he had seen you, not through altered visions his mind had conjured but from the farm, purely you.

'Rick... your face.'

You observe, voice laced with concern as you lean forward towards him, delicate fingers grazing against the coarse cuts which were now etched onto his face, blood dried and cracking whilst you held Judith closer.

You felt so real. Rick could feel the heat of your skin against his own, a feeling he hadn't felt since that night... how he had missed it. He lets his eyes flicker shut at the notion, his own hand coming up to take the hand held closest to his face and hold it, squeezing just once to test that you were really there. Really with him in this moment, with Judith.

'you've gotta wake up Rick... Carls worried'

you whisper softly after a few seconds of shared silence, squeezing back into Rick's hand with a tender smile, one which was broken around its edges but there, for him.

He shakes his head at the words you speak, letting his eyes flutter back open and onto your face, taking it in while he still can, holding your softer hand to his own.

'jus'... let me stay for a little longer, please.'

He whispers, pleading now as he looks up, thumb caressing the skin atop your knuckle languidly, scared that if he applied too much pressure, you and Judith would disappear.

'you need to wake up... keep Carl safe.'

He reachs for your hand as it slips but you're gone, leading him to lose his balance and fall off of the shabby couch. He gasps for air, rasping as the pain of his injuries immediately hit, throat itching harshly at itself. He reaches for Carl, trying his absolute hardest to speak the boy's name as he cries, the sound of his snivels tearing him further apart than the dream of you and Judith had already done. However, Carl drops his weapon with the lack of response from his father, sobbing harder as he begins to speak.

'I can't... I was wrong. Just do it.'

He whimpers, Rick's strained hand outstretched to him , voice clawing its way out of his scratchy throat before he finally gruff.

'Carl... don't go outside. Stay safe.'

He struggles on the words but, he continues, doing what you had said and keeping Carl safe. He couldn't lose anybody else.

With that, he turns over again, collapsing against the floor and silently praying that you will return through his slumber again.

Terminus was anything but sheer luck.

The track to the sanctuary had been longer than you had hoped, avoiding at all costs other groups, knowing the trouble they brought from fleeting experiences along the way. You dealt with it when you had too, no regret, just the need to survive by any means necessary. Was that not how people got by now?

Walking through the gates of Terminus and seeing the laundry baskets and hampers already had you feeling uneasy. The domestic life this place was already beginning to offer felt too good to be true. After being on your own for so long, the ruminating thoughts had switched off. But now, they were in overload.

What if this place is wrong? What if Rick and everybody are already here? What happens if you turn the corner and the place has been overrun with walkers?.. knowing your luck, you really wouldn't be surprised.

But even with all the thoughts, you turned, clutching onto the last of your weapons - a small and dainty pocket knife situated in your jacket pocket. You knew it would do nothing if there was a horde but still, you were prepared.

And there there was, a woman, mid 50s maybe, stood opposite a burning grill, cooking what you had guessed at the time to be deer with a welcoming smile on her face.

'Hi, I'm Mary. Looks like you've been on the road a while.'

She speaks, the smile on her face turning pitiful as she looks over your appearance, catching the bruises and cuts, as-well as the rips and dirt on your once clean clothes. But with no response from yourself, she sighs softly, voice still soft as she speaks again.

'Let's get you settled with a warm plate. Welcome to Terminus.'

'that deer?-'

clunk

After finding Michonne and Daryl, Rick made a beeline for Terminus, knowing that if there was somebody the group had holed up after the fall of the prison, it would be this place.

The events of the night before were still replaying in his head. The feel of his teeth sunken into human flesh, hand held tight around his blade as he stabbed the man who touched his son. It'd all happened so quickly, in a fit of rage, he had let Carl, Michonne, Daryl, all of them, see how far he had fallen into the darkness.

He knew none of them blamed him, how could they when he practically saved them?... Nevertheless, knowing his son now rested with Michonne inside the stationary car restless with the memories of his father acting the way he had had him feeling a whole lot worse.

With his back against the car, he reached into the inside of his jacket pocket, doing his best to not ruin the pages of the journal but then failing miserably.

'shit'

He grunts frustratedly, moving to wipe the remnants of blood smeared across his hands against his already browning shirt. To think that the shirt had once been white was slightly amusing.

He picks up the journal once again, specks of red now smeared slightly across its front which Rick just sighs at the sight, no energy for anything else, leaning back further against the car as he opens it up.

When the prison had fell, he'd been insanely grateful to himself that he had slipped the journal into his jacket pocket earlier on into the today, thinking he was to be going on look out into the night. But of course, that was cut short.

He can't help but smile weakly as he always does at the first few pages. Light sketches which had been done by yourself back at the farm, are what were depicted on its pages, some of the farm's appearance but most being sketches of himself.

He flicks again, fragile pages crinkling against his nimble fingers as he reads the poems, finding his favourite towards the end of the journal and staring down at the words for a few seconds. He remembered the first time he'd read this piece of yours, the night after the fall of the farm, curled up in a deserted car with Carl on his lap and needing some peace during this time. It did nothing to calm him, at least not then. It however, did now.

‘if i follow you to the river,

would you come and bring me peace?

will you stay with me forever?

will you chase me in my dreams?

if i throw it all in the river,

if i let my thoughts run free,

would you stay here forever?

would you come be lonely with me?’

Delving back into the old memories, he hadn't noticed that he had began to cry, not until Daryl placed down his crossbow, metal clanking against the rusted car's metal and knocking rick out of his trance.

He sniffles, grasping the book and closing it shut as he moves to put it back into his tattered jacket pocket, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand quicker, not wanting the man to see him like this, no one for that matter. But Daryl batted no eye, handing him a much needed rag to wipe his face, no words needed just, a shared look, a look that mean't that he knew. He knew.

You didn't fight it. What was the point of fighting against four walls of steel? The pain from where you had been hit on the back of your head was gone now. Once again, you were left to your own devices, trapped in a container in a place disguised as good. God really fucking hated you huh?

You weren't sure how long you'd been here now. Long enough for them to chuck in small amount of foods you refused every once in a while but, not long enough for them to kill you. What sort of sick torture even was this? If they were going to eat you, why not just do it now? You wondered for the 100th time, staring at the same red walls as you had for the past however many hours.

Something was happening though. The day before, all you had heard was gunfire, banging on the container for help that never seemed to come but then, it was gone, leaving behind its eerie silence with it.

You were about to doze off, it being the only thing you really could do to take your mind off the current situation at hand until the sounds outside of the container grew again. But this time, it wasn't just gunfire.

You banged louder than you had all the previous times, voice breaking from the lack of water as you shout for help again, praying that somebody, anybody, would get you out of there.

The screech of the container's lock moving up had you stilling, fists bunching up incase of any threat that was to come your way. The adrenaline running through your bones was running faster, prepared to attack for any reason deemed necessary. Prepared to run. Hide. Anything.

So, as soon as the door swung open, you attacked blindly, pouncing onto the man before you, voice too broken to scream, just a cry coming out weakly.

Yet, he pushes back, having you stumble into the hands of another, catching his own breath doing so.

‘please- jus’ , let me go'

You fall against the second man, squinting at the sun you hadn't seen for much too long, eyes flickering shut in defeat as you weakly beg. It was the first time you'd ever even done so. Your voice was weak, barely audible with the sound of gunfire and walkers all around you.

But they heard, heads turned up, especially Rick’s which was to the back of you when Glenn, stood in-front of the two of you, realised who exactly they'd let out.

‘y/n?’

© 𝘬𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘥 2026

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI !, smut w/ fluff + angst, porn w/ too much plot, reader is a #loner like myself, age gap (readers is in their early 20s), cheating , suggestive, mentions of shane, lori, etc , somnophilia, slight obsession from reader (theyre just a lil yearner), confused lovers,

pairings: s2!rick grimes x gn!reader - s2, ep4

word count: 2.2k

songs I listened to while writing: the lakes, illicit affairs, visions of Gideon, your best American girl, crush, the river ...

a/n: this is my first time writing smut in a while so pls, dont judge <_>. i personally really like this fic (kinda proud of it) so i hope you guys like it! i left the ending ambiguous but if people want a p2 i might consider doing it. also finally proof read LOL. confirmed series <3

moodboard - p2 - p3

You didn’t belong. You never really had and even as the world came to an end, you still couldn’t fit into the group, even at the stakes of your own survival. To the group you were seen as weaker, you knew how they thought, had been with them so long to know exactly how they were thinking and for some, it made them feel inferior, leaving them to disregard you when it came to group conversations and more.

The only person who had ever had your back apart from the family you had lost so early on was Jim. Back in Atlanta he had been like a brother for you, somebody you could always rely on but, he had gone too, just like they all had. But lately, you had found yourself coming into conversation with Rick a whole lot more than you had used too.

Since your arrival at the farm, Rick had come to acknowledge you more. You still found it hard to understand why but, you weren’t unhappy with the change, far from it in fact. It was nice to have a man like rick looking out for you, an older authorial figure, it was comforting, a feeling you hadn't felt from anybody in a long, long time.

And as ricks life slowly began to unravel around him, there you were, looking to him with them deep set of eyes. You were a temptation he knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist for long, not with the stress of what Lori and Shane had been and not with the pressure on how a leader should guide his people instead of continuing to let them down, again, and again.

On the days where the refuge of the farm had gotten too much to bare, you found yourself nearing the swamp, never too close to the walkers but close enough to hear the calming sound of the stream. It wasn't as if anybody would notice your disappearance on camp anyway… to them, you were invisible, an extra mouth to feed and you hated how it had started to make you feel, so much so you were genuinely starting to consider the offer Shane had placed infront of you a few days prior.

You spent most your days on the farm drowning them out, sitting by the stream writing whatever you could in your journal. Recently, the pages of your journal had only been on Rick... little poems on how sweetly he had spoken to you, quick sketches of his face peppered with salt and pepper stubble as the sun set on the farm… you knew it was silly and most of all, you knew it was wrong. But, could anybody really blame you? Rick was a handsome man and there was no harm in fantasising a little, right?

but it wasn't just a fantasy.

Rick had began to notice your drifting away from camp, disappearing in the early mornings or into the late hours of the night. But this evening after Lori had finally decided her secrets were worth telling, he acted on impulse, needing to clear his head and walked down to where he knew you would be hiding.

The snap of a twig in the growing darkness of the greene’s woods made you jump, clutching your well-used pocket knife in your twitching hand as you turn, heart racing faster than it had in months.

‘only me darlin’’

rick says gently, making you aware of his presence as he moved slowly towards your smaller form, not wanting to scare you. A hint of a smile finds its way onto his face, just noticeable in the only light of the moon creeping through the tree branches.

You sigh softly, letting your grip, still held tight, against the ruggedness of your pocket knife drop inside your pocket, closing the journal which lays beside your feet and beginning to stand. He looks even more beautiful in this lighting and you hate yourself even more as you are already making a mental note of this image of him in your head, stored away inside your brain for the nights you want to get off to something you wished didn't have to be somebody already claimed.

‘I know , I shouldn’t be out here… I'm sorry’

You already begin to apologise, a common habit of yours seen already from Rick at camp. You're not able to meet his eyes, to ashamed from what you were just thinking and instead, move o return back to camp. However, he stops you, reaching out and taking your smaller hand in his own. He’s surprisingly warmer against your numbed skin and the feel of another’s skin against your own is foreign but, nice. He lets his thumb move against the skin, just below your own ever so softly before meeting your eyes and gently, taking his other hand to cup your cheek, providing more warmth for your bleak skin.

For a second, Rick dosen't think about Lori. Or Shane. Or the family that he had here. The only thing that can form inside Rick Grime's head is how it finally felt to hold your face in his palm, how it had felt so right. The amount of nights he had imagined himself doing this, letting his thumb graze against your lips and taking you right where the both of you stood. What scared him the most was that he nearly had.

‘should be gettin’ back to camp, t’s dark.’

With that, he drops his hand, retreating the piece of flesh as if it has been burned to the touch and placing it back into his warmer pocket, retreating away from yourself. before the silence between the two of you is broken by the sound of your voice cutting through it.

‘i'm leaving rick.’

You announce, leading the man to turn back, right eyebrow slightly raised in confusion as his eyes skim over your softened features once again, taking them in as the seriousness of your words slowly start to sink in.

‘shane wants to go and- and so do I. I don't belong here rick, y’know that better than anybody. i'm causing problems and you, you don’t need that, not from me, not now’

You admit, words slightly hoarse as they come out your throat but still, you hold your ground. It was the right thing to do, you were sure of it and you knew that deep down, he was too. You couldn’t continue to stay in a place where you knew you weren't welcome and stirring problems... it would never work out for you, you didn't expect it too, Not when the man you loved too dearly wasn't yours.

‘don't be tellin’ me what i need y/n, you dont- you dont have to leave, especially with- with Shane. You aint cousin' no problems, not for me.’

Rick begins to explain, words coming out a little more frantic than he had hoped they would as he found himself placing his own hand across yours again, eyes focused to your face once again. If anybody was causing problems it was Shane, he should be leaving by himself, not dragging you down with him. He wouldn't allow it.

‘Let's get you back to the farm and, we'll- we’ll talk about this, properly.’

his thumb moves in its regular motion against the crease of your own as he had done before to soothe you, to try and make you believe in what he was saying. But it just wasn’t cutting.

‘I'm sorry Rick, i'm going’

You let go of his hand with that, holding what little self respect you had for yourself left and walking away from the conversation, back to the camp. In the morning you would be gone, set off down the highway with Shane, away from the group who had never accepted you as their own but also, departed from the one man who’s soul had been torn apart onto your pages at the hands of yourself, now to be carried with you for however long you were to survive without him.

The thought had your body running cold but, you dismissed it, climbing into the little space you had been given in your tent and setting off to bed. Tomorrow, you would be rid of this farm, rid of all the bad luck you had been carrying with you and onto these people but most of all, rid of Rick.

He just couldn’t see you go, not without the goodbye he so desperately needed.

You didn’t know how long you had been asleep. A few hours, a few minutes. It didn’t matter now. The feel of somebody’s colder fingers tracing against your now warmer skin had led you to stir, a slight movement made half-asleep, welcoming the fingers that were now moving upwards of your inner thigh. You hadn’t fully woken up yet, hadn’t fully opened your eyes but, the feel of hard lips pressed against your pulse point and the pressure of another body on your own led you to awake this time.

‘Rick?, what- what are you’m doing’

you murmur as the man creeps on top of you, sturdy hands moving to press your thighs apart and you cant help but moan softly when he does so, the feel of his growing erection pressed against your most needed area feeling exquisite and, you couldn't help but feel the need for more. This was crazy, this was wrong… but you weren’t about to back out now, and neither was he.

‘dropped that lil book of yours, had a quick read- couldn’t let ya’ leave all riled up now could i?’

He whispers with a soft grunt, belt buckle clinking against itself as he begins to rid himself of his trousers, needing to feel himself inside of you like he had wished for so long, craved for so long.

You must have completely forgotten about the journal, left it by the swamp after your talk with Rick. Fuck. He must’ve seen everything from the small doodles to the poems written on how the temptations building between the two of you were coming to much to bare, itching to get out of your skin and be acted on. Before you could even ask about what he had read, he pushes inside of you without any warning, body immediately irking up into him and a pathetic whimper falling past your lips before you could stop it.

‘God-‘

Is the only word you can fathom as he settles his thick, pulsating cock inside of you, relishing the feeling of how he felt around your tightening walls before letting himself move against them, pleasuring the both of you with it.

‘couldn't let you go- not without doin’ this...'

He grunts against you, burying his face up against the cuff of your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point before settling down onto it lightly. His hands move on impulse up your body, touching whatever he could feel as his movements into you came into a regular rhytmn, a rhythm which had you whimpering softly beneath him.

‘s’good. knew you’d be- always knew’

He admits lowly into your ear as he kisses up your neck, body consumed by the fire and no longer caring for the burns he would receive, only the feel of you beneath him and the noises which had him hurling towards his finish faster than he had been expecting. He speeds himself up in a second, touching you in the places you needed the most so you would come and finish with him, needing to feel you squeeze around himself.

‘rick- rick im gonna,’

‘yeah, yeah- let go f’me’

he grunts again, sweat glimmering off of his skin, reflecting off the candle light inside of your oil lamp, the only light inside of the tight space of your tent. and as your eyes flickered open, resting upon his own blue ones, you saw past the unbridled lust and instead, the love that was beginning to bloom between the two of you. it was wrong but it was there, something that couldn’t be mistaken and as you found it, your body let go, letting out a cacophony of moans under his palm, eyes still held onto his own in a trance like state, not being able to pull yourself away from the bright blue iris’s that you had sketched so many times before.

Rick found himself leaving a few minutes after the two of you came down, a little lost in his way after the incredible orgasm he had felt but also the other feeling he had felt, one he had known you had too and one that would stick with him a whole lot longer than the fleeting feel of pleasure.. but what was he to do with that new found information? He had a wife, a son. This had been wrong, something he should have never acted on. But he had and now, in just a few hours, you were going to leave him behind and Shane would do the same for Lori.

Everything would be okay again, his family, so broken now, would be fixed again. But what if he didn't want that? If he was to lay next to his sleeping wife and son and read through the pages of your journal for the rest of his life, would that be fair? would that be right? that, that is what he would now have to decide for himself.

© 𝘬𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘥 2026

• Merlin, he missed you.

"Jesus swwetheart" harry mutterd fingers digging into your hips as you sat on his lap placing sweet kisses down his jawline.

harry hadn't seen you all summer. and when he realized for the first time, that you had surprisingly gotten a compartment on the train all to yourselves, he quickly pulled you onto his lap kissing you harshly.

you loved kissing harry. the soft giggles inbetween, the quick pauses so he can fix his glasses, you loved it all.

a soft groan left Harry's mouth as you tugged on his hair pulling him deeper into the kiss.

you would have been lying if you said you didn't miss harry, because you did lots. and you hated that you were stuck working in some muggle coffee shop with rude people all summer.

this time, it was harry who broke the kiss planting rather harsh kisses onto your jawline and neck, and you let out a gasp of shock "Merlin harry."

harry looked up at you with that stupid grin rubbing his thumb over the newly placed mark on your neck.

"what can I say I missed you."

Hi :) First time writing for Harry...I'm not anxious at all (also, I'm lying)

English isn't my first language, so there might be some mistakes!

I'd appreciate any kind of feedback!!

Summary: Harry gets injured during a Quidditch match and you, Ron, and Hermione pay him a visit in the hospital wing.

Remus felt dirty and perverse, his eyes staring at your form. Unable to pull his eyes away from you, mind clouding over.

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➢ Daryl liked you—you knew that—but all you’re getting is mixed signals, and its’ driving you crazy.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➢ none! Daryl is bad at expressing his feelings, awkward kissing, touch starved Daryl, hurt/comfort

The camp had settled into that quiet kind of night—the one where everything felt too still, like even the wind was holding its breath.

A small fire crackled low, barely alive, more embers than flame. most people had already turned in. a few murmured voices drifted from the far end, but out here, it was just you… and him.

Daryl Dixon sat on an overturned crate, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers. the glow lit up his face every few seconds—just enough for you to catch it.

And every time you did, he wasn’t looking at you.

You noticed that.

You always noticed that.

It had been like this all day. small things. subtle enough that no one else would clock it—but you weren’t stupid.

Short answers. one-word replies. walking off mid-conversation. like the second you got too close, he needed space.

But last night?

Last night he’d been different.

Closer. softer, in that quiet, awkward way he had. like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling, but didn’t want to let it go either.

And now—this?

It made your jaw tighten.

You pushed off the wooden post you’d been leaning on, boots crunching softly against gravel as you crossed the space between you.

He noticed. of course he did.

His shoulders tensed slightly, just for a second—but he still didn’t look up.

That was it.

“That’s getting real old, y’know.”

Your voice cut through the quiet, sharper than you meant it to be.

Daryl took a drag from his cigarette, slow, like he was buying time. smoke curled from his lips as he finally glanced your way—quick, fleeting—before looking off again.

“Ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

You let out a short, humorless breath.

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

No response.

Of course.

You stepped closer, close enough now that the heat from the dying fire brushed your side, close enough that he couldn’t pretend you weren’t there anymore.

“Whole day, Daryl. You’ve been—what? Avoiding me?”

“Nah.”

“Then what is it?”

He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. like you didn’t matter.

Something in your chest twisted at that.

“Don’t do that,” you snapped, quieter now—but worse. “Don’t act like nothin’s changed.”

That got him.

His jaw tightened, fingers flexing slightly around the cigarette before he flicked ash into the dirt.

“Nothin’ changed.”

You stared at him for a second, searching his face, waiting for something—anything real.

But he wouldn’t give it.

And that? that pissed you off more than anything.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

His head turned then, finally meeting your eyes—and it hit harder than it should’ve.

Because there it was.

That look.

The same one from last night. the one that lingered too long. the one that said things he wouldn’t.

Then, just as fast, it shut down again.

“Go get some sleep,” he muttered, looking away like that solved anything. “Ain’t worth gettin’ worked up over.”

Your laugh was quiet, disbelieving.

“Not worth—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You don’t get to do that.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there, like if he stayed still enough, this would all pass.

It didn’t.

You stepped even closer now, right into his space.

“I’m not crazy,” you said, voice lower. controlled—but barely. “Last night wasn’t nothin’. So don’t sit here and pretend like it was.”

Silence stretched between you.

Heavy. thick.

Daryl’s grip tightened slightly on his knee, knuckles going pale for a second.

For a moment, you thought he was just going to shut you out again.

But then—

“…ain’t sayin’ it was nothin’.”

It was quiet. rough. almost reluctant.

Your breath caught a little at that, even if you didn’t want it to.

“Then what is it?” you pressed.

He didn’t answer right away.

His eyes flicked up to yours again, lingering this time—longer than before. there was something there. frustration. confusion. something softer buried underneath it all.

Like he didn’t know how to say it.

Like he didn’t even know what it was.

His gaze dropped again, shoulders tensing.

“Don’t—” he started, then stopped, jaw clenching. “Don’t make it into somethin’ it ain’t.”

You frowned slightly.

“And what is it, then?”

That did it.

He stood up abruptly, the sudden movement closing the space between you in a different way now—closer, more charged. the cigarette dropped, forgotten, crushed under his boot.

“Don’t,” he said again, firmer this time—but not angry. not really.

More like… overwhelmed.

You didn’t back up.

Neither did he.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Just stood there, too close, tension thick enough to choke on.

And it hit you then—

He wasn’t pulling away because he didn’t feel anything.

He was pulling away because he did.

Your voice softened, just a little.

“…you’re real bad at this, y’know.”

A faint huff of breath left him—almost a laugh, but not quite.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

Silence again.

But different this time.

Less sharp. Still tense—but warmer, underneath it.

Unresolved.

Not over.

Not even close

For a second, neither of you move.

The air between you feels different now—still tight, still complicated, but no longer snapping at the edges. Just… heavy. Waiting.

Daryl shifts first.

Not away—just enough to break the stare, his hand dragging briefly over the back of his neck like he’s trying to shake something loose. His boot grinds what’s left of the cigarette deeper into the dirt.

“…shit,” he mutters under his breath.

You almost smile at that. Almost.

“Yeah,” you murmur, quieter now.

Silence settles again—but it’s not as sharp as before. Not cutting. Just stretched thin.

Daryl pats his vest, then his pocket, frowning slightly.

“Got another?” you ask, nodding toward where his last cigarette used to be.

He huffs, already pulling a crumpled pack free.

“Yeah.”

He taps one out, bringing it up to his lips—but when he reaches for his lighter, his movements stall.

A beat.

Another.

You raise a brow.

“…don’t tell me.”

Daryl clicks it once.

Nothing.

Again.

Still nothing.

He exhales through his nose, irritation flickering across his face as he shakes it slightly.

“Great.”

That does earn a small smile from you.

“Here.”

You step in—closer again, like you hadn’t just argued, like the space between you had always been this small.

Your hand brushes his as you pull your lighter out, the contact brief but enough to make something flicker in his expression.

He stills.

Just for a second.

You flick the flame to life, holding it up between you.

“C’mon.”

Daryl hesitates.

Not because of the cigarette.

Because of you.

Because now he actually has to look at you—and this close, there’s no pretending he doesn’t feel it.

But he leans in anyway.

Slow.

Careful.

The tip of the cigarette catches, ember glowing as he inhales—but neither of you pull away right after.

The flame is still there, held between you.

Too close.

Way too close.

You can feel his breath—warm, uneven, ghosting against your fingers. His eyes flick up, meeting yours through the dim light, and it’s—

It’s the same look.

That same one.

Only worse now.

Stronger.

Like he’s thinking about it.

Your grip on the lighter tightens just slightly.

“…gonna burn yourself,” he mutters, voice lower than before.

But he doesn’t move back.

Neither do you.

“Then move,” you reply, just as quiet.

He doesn’t.

The flame flickers between you, small and unsteady—like it’s caught in the same tension.

Then you snap it shut.

Darkness rushes back in, leaving just the faint glow of his cigarette—and the two of you, still too close.

Daryl exhales slowly, smoke curling between you, but his eyes don’t leave your face this time.

Your heart kicks a little harder than you’d like.

“You keep doin’ that,” you say softly.

His brow furrows. “Doin’ what?”

“This,” you gesture vaguely between you. “Actin’ like you don’t want this—and then lookin’ at me like that.”

That hits.

You can see it.

His jaw tightens, shoulders going rigid again—but he doesn’t step away.

“Don’t know what you want me t’say.”

“Try the truth.”

A beat.

Another.

The fire crackles faintly behind you, but it feels miles away now.

Daryl looks at you—really looks this time. Like he’s weighing something. Fighting it.

Then, quieter—

“…ain’t good at this.”

You huff softly. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Something almost like a smile ghosts across his face—but it fades just as quickly.

“Don’t—” he starts, then stops, eyes dropping briefly before lifting again. “Don’t wanna screw it up.”

Your expression softens, just a little.

“You already are.”

That earns you a small, breathy exhale from him—closer to a real laugh this time.

“Yeah,” he admits.

And there it is again.

That shift.

That moment where neither of you are fighting it as hard.

You don’t even realize you’ve leaned in until you’re already there—until the space between you is barely anything at all.

Daryl notices.

Of course he does.

His breath hitches—subtle, but there.

He doesn’t move away.

“…you sure?” he asks, rough, like the words are dragged out of him.

You nod, just slightly.

“Are you?”

That’s all it takes.

He hesitates—just for a second longer, like he’s giving himself one last chance to back out.

Then he doesn’t.

His hand comes up, slow and unsure at first, brushing against your arm before settling more firmly—like he’s grounding himself.

And then—

He leans in.

The kiss is… not smooth.

Not practiced.

A little off at first, like he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing—but it’s real. Careful, almost hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean into it, closing that last bit of space, and something in him shifts.

The hesitation cracks.

Just a little.

His grip tightens, the kiss deepening—not rushed, not overwhelming, but more certain now. Like he’s finally letting himself feel it instead of holding back.

It’s quiet.

Slow.

A little messy.

But it’s him.

And when he finally pulls back, it’s not far.

Foreheads almost brushing, breath uneven, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out what just happened—and what it means.

“…shit,” he murmurs again.

This time, you do smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

And neither of you step away

I feel

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : A few weeks after the gala, things between you and Bruce Wayne shift. Bruce stops trying to control things or win you back with money, instead letting you set the pace completely. He only sees you when you want, speaks when you allow it, and follows your lead without complaint, almost afraid of losing you again. | Word Count : 2.0k

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Post breakup angst, explicit sexual content, emotional dependency, boundary issues, desperate love confession, wet + messy Bruce Wayne, reunion sex, soft dom/sub undertones, unprotected sex, Bottom!M!Reader, Top!Bruce, Lovesick, Yearnful, (A Little Subby) Bruce Wayne.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

A few weeks had passed since the gala, and somehow… the balance had shifted. Bruce didn’t push anymore, He didn’t send money—He didn’t orchestrate your life. You called when you wanted to talk, You asked to see him when you felt like it. And Bruce followed that rhythm without complaint—almost like he was afraid one wrong move would scare you away again. Tonight had been his idea, though. A date, but even then he’d left the choice to you. The restaurant was small. Quiet. Candlelit but not extravagant. No paparazzi outside. No socialites pretending to care about each other’s lives. Just the low conversations and rain tapping softly against the windows. Across the table, Bruce watched you like a man starved. His eyes dragged over you slowly, deliberately —like he was memorizing every detail. The collar of your shirt. The way your fingers curled around the wine glass. Your mouth when you smiled. 

“Enjoying the view?” you asked dryly. Bruce didn’t even try to deny it. “Very much.” His voice dropped slightly. “You’re distracting.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. The waiter came with the check a few minutes later. Bruce’s hand hovered over it, but he didn’t grab it immediately. Instead, he looked up at you. You’d noticed he’d been doing that all night —that quiet, wordless asking. Permission in his eyes for every small thing. You took a sip of wine, pretending to think about it. Then you mumbled into the glass, “Go ahead.” Bruce’s shoulders relaxed almost instantly. “Thank you,” he said softly, taking the bill. Outside, You waved down a taxi easily, the city lights reflecting off the damp pavement. Bruce stood beside you, hands in his coat pockets, watching you with that same heavy gaze. “You’ll make it home alright?” he asked when the taxi pulled up. You turned toward him with a small smirk.“I’ll be alright, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce opened the door for you automatically. But he didn’t close it. Instead he leaned slightly against the frame, still looking at you like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end. You tilted your head. “Come tuck me in?” Bruce didn’t hesitate. He slid into the cab beside you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your apartment hallway was quiet when you reached it. You walked ahead, Bruce following a step behind like he’d learned his place in this strange new dynamic. At your door you paused, turning toward him. “Thank you for the night out, Bruce.”He stepped a little closer, hands clasped behind his back—almost formal. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Anytime.” That pause returned. The one that always seemed to hover between you two now. That pull neither of you quite knew how to resist. So you closed the distance. Your hands slid into his hair as you kissed him. Bruce made a quiet sound against your mouth— surprised and desperate all at once— before leaning into it hard. You stumbled back against the door. His hands moved instinctively to your sides, gripping lightly before sliding down to your thighs. In one smooth motion he lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as the kiss deepened, both of you breathing harder.

When you finally pulled back, Bruce looked completely wrecked. Hair messy. Lips swollen. Eyes dark. All from thirty seconds of kissing. “Put me down,” you said softly. He did immediately, slow and careful, like you were fragile. You turned, grabbing your keys with trembling fingers. The adrenaline from the kiss buzzed through you. Your hand slipped on the lock. Behind you, Bruce stepped closer. His larger hand covered yours, steadying it. Together, you twisted the knob and opened the door. You stepped inside, Then turned back.“Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.” And closed the door, Leaving him in the hallway.

Present Day

Rain hammered against your windows. It had been a little while since you’d seen Bruce last. Which was why the knock at your door surprised you. You weren’t expecting anyone. When you opened it, Bruce stood there completely drenched. His hair clung to his forehead. His shirt was soaked through. Rainwater dripped from his coat onto your floor. Bruce Wayne looked unsure. Like he didn’t know what to say now that he’d actually made it here. “Bruce—what the hell?” you said immediately. “You’re soaked.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Water pooled on the floor beneath him. “Are you okay?” Bruce looked at you for a long moment, Then he shook his head. “No.” The honesty hit harder than anything else. You softened immediately.“Bruce…” He ran a hand through his wet hair, breathing out shakily. “I tried to stay away,” he admitted. “I tried to do everything right this time.” He looked up at you again, eyes raw. “But every day without you feels wrong.” He stepped closer. “I hear people say there’s life after love,” he continued quietly. “That you move on. That you find something new.” Your chest tightened. “For me… there wouldn’t be.” His voice cracked just slightly. “I don’t think there would be anything left of me.”

Silence hung between you, Then you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. Bruce froze for half a second before melting into it, hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you might disappear. When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. “I want you,” you whispered. “All of you.”You kissed him again. Bruce breaks the kiss just long enough to lift you effortlessly, his muscles flexing under your touch. You wrap your legs around his hips instinctively, locking your ankles behind his back, feeling the hard ridge of his erection pressing against you through your clothes. He walks toward the bed in your dimly lit bedroom, each step deliberate, his breath hot against your neck as he nips at your skin. he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine. He reaches the edge of the bed and lowers you onto the soft mattress, his hands lingering on your thighs as he straightens up. Standing over you, Bruce's eyes darken with desire, locked on yours while his fingers move to the buttons of his crisp soaked shirt. One by one, he unbuttons it slowly, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. You watch, transfixed, as he tugs the shirt free from his pants and shrugs it off his broad shoulders, the fabric whispering as it slides away.

Bruce tosses the shirt aside carelessly, letting it land in a heap on the floor. He kneels between your spread legs, the mattress dipping under his weight, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook into the waistband of your pants. He pauses, looking up at you with those piercing blue eyes, a silent question in their depths—permission, always, even in the heat of the moment.“Go ahead,” you whisper, your voice thick with need, reaching down to thread your fingers through his dark hair. A slow, genuine smile curves Bruce's lips, softening the intensity of his gaze for a heartbeat. His hands working your pants open and sliding them down along with your underwear, freeing your hardening cock. It springs up, already leaking pre-cum at the tip, and Bruce's eyes flick to it appreciatively before he leans in. His breath ghosts over your skin first, warm and teasing, making your cock twitch. Then his lips part, and he takes you into his mouth slowly. The wet heat envelops you, and you gasp, hips bucking slightly. Bruce's hand wraps around the base, stroking what his mouth can't reach yet, his other hand gripping your thigh to hold you steady. He hums around you, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as his head bobs, cheeks hollowing with each suck.

“Fuck, Bruce...” you groan, your fingers tightening in his hair, not guiding but just holding on as he works you over. He pulls back slightly, lips dragging along your cock before swirling his tongue around the head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum there. “You taste so good,” he murmurs against your skin, voice muffled, before taking you deeper, throat relaxing to swallow more of you. His pace is unhurried, savoring every inch, every reaction—your moans, the way your abs tense, the flush creeping up your chest. He alternates between deep sucks and lighter licks, his free hand massaging your balls gently, rolling them in his palm. The build is torturous in the best way, pleasure coiling tight in your gut as he brings you to the edge but doesn't let you tip over. After what feels like an eternity of that exquisite torment, Bruce pulls off with a wet pop, his lips shiny and swollen, a string of saliva connecting him to your throbbing cock. He strokes you lazily, eyes meeting yours. “Not yet. I want to be inside you when you come.” You nod, breathless, as he stands to shed the rest of his clothes—pants and boxers kicked aside, revealing his thick, hard cock curving upward, veins prominent and tip glistening. He grabs lube from the nightstand, slicking his fingers generously before kneeling back between your legs. One finger presses against your entrance, circling slowly before pushing in, the stretch burning sweetly as he crooks it to find that spot inside you.

“Oh god,” you hiss, arching off the bed as he adds a second finger, scissoring them to open you up. Bruce leans down to kiss you again, swallowing your moans, his free hand pinning your hip. “Relax for me,” he whispers against your lips. “You're doing so well.” His fingers thrust steadily, curling just right, until you're panting and rocking back against his hand, ready for more. Finally, he withdraws, coating his cock with lube before positioning himself. The blunt head nudges your hole, and he pushes in inch by inch, slow and controlled, letting you feel every thick ridge. You both groan at the sensation—him sinking into your tight heat, you filled so completely. “So tight... perfect,” Bruce breathes, bottoming out and holding still, forehead pressed to yours as you adjust. When you nod, he starts moving, pulling back almost all the way before sliding back in, deep and deliberate. Each thrust is passionate, measured, his hips rolling to hit that sweet spot every time. The bed creaks softly under you, skin slapping skin in a rhythmic cadence. One hand bracing beside your head while the other strokes your cock in time with his thrusts.

“Tell me how it feels,” you manage, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer, deeper. Your hands roam his back, nails digging into the flexing muscles.“Like heaven,” Bruce replies, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. He picks up the pace just a fraction, still slow but more insistent, grinding against you on every inward push. Water beads on his skin, dripping onto yours, and you can feel the tension building in him, in you—the way his cock throbs inside, your own pulsing in his grip.“I'm close,” you warn, and he nods, thrusts turning even more focused, angling to drive you both toward release. “Cum for me,” he urges, breath hot in your ear. The words tip you over, pleasure crashing through you as you spill over his hand, clenching around him. Bruce follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural moan, filling you with hot pulses of cum. Bruce collapses gently onto you, both of you breathing hard, his lips brushing your temple. He rolls to the side, pulling you into his arms, and you nestle against his chest, sated and warm. Sheets tangled around both of you. You lay half draped across Bruce’s chest, tracing slow circles against his chest. Bruce watched the ceiling for a long moment before speaking. “…Marry me.” You lifted your head. “What?”Bruce turned to look at you. There was no hesitation in his expression now. “I know the timing is terrible,” he continued quietly. “And I know I’m still learning how to love you the way you deserve.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said simply. “Not chasing you. Not trying to buy my way back into your life.” Your chest warmed, You leaned up and kissed him. “Yes.” Bruce’s breath caught. “Yeah?” Bruce exhaled a laugh of pure relief, pulling you close. “Love you, Mr. Wayne,” you murmured, tracing circles over his heart. He smiled against your hair. “I love you too, Mr. Wayne.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~@magicstarbits @capsicleforever @loverclear @gayaristocrat @godjustkys @sluttyhusband @carnalcrows @amor-xoxo @loverboyisaac @gayaristocrat @manlover0729 @cronasluvr @celestiallightking @spnfanboy777 @elreystories @billyloveworld88