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but i don’t know were to start. i think of small ideas and when i sit down to write, nothing comes and i get overwhelmed by the idea of having create everything little detail of a new and unique world. i struggle to write and create characters from nothing, i always find myself mixing an assortment of characters together to make my own.

maybe this is why i find it easier to write for characters that already exist in worlds where everything is already known. but i want to do more then write about fan fiction. i yearn for more fulfilment and creative freedom… but when push comes to shoves, i can’t. any creative juice leaves my body as soon as i sit down to create my own stories and characters.

over the years since leaving school i have really struggled with concentration in terms of my creativity. i often find myself reminiscing on how i was able to create these short stories and build small worlds for school projects with ease. maybe it has something to do with growing up. maybe it is so do with my ability to focus in my busy and overwhelming life. or maybe, i’m just not creative as i used to be.

if you’re reading this, i am not really too sure why i needed to post this is an audience who i do not know and most likely an audience who will not care, but i needed to get it off my mind. with very few creative literacy friends or even people i know, i feel like this is the one space that maybe one person might understand what im saying.

“Gotcha this.” Daryl grumbled, fishing a small, crystallized rock out of his pocket. A smile crept onto your lips as the natural quartz rolled around in his palm. “Thought yer might like it.” He added, his eyes finally meeting yours.

Your fingertips touched his calloused palm to give the rock a closer look. “its beautiful.” You spoke in a low whisper, looking back to Daryl to flash him a warm smile. “where’d you find it?” You asked as your fingers ran over the smooth pointed surface of the quartz.

He took a moment to reply, his eyes transfixed on the skin your fingers had touched. “down by the quarry.” He finally answered.

The following day you had made a necklace out some old twine you found in dales camper. When Daryl saw the quartz hung around your neck, he just about choked on air. Your skin glistened in the Atlanta summer heat and right above the hem of your singlet sat the little crystal that Daryl had fished out of the water, just for you. It was like you carried a little piece of him everywhere you went.

Almost a year later you found yourself playing with the little piece of quartz while sitting in front of Hersal as he cleaned up a fresh cut going from above your eyebrow to halfway down your cheek. “you’re lucky it missed your eye.” Hersal noted, cleaning the blood that surrounded your fresh wound.

You hummed along, anxious for Daryl’s return. If it weren’t for Daryl the bastard that cut you probably would have gotten your eye, or maybe even worse. Without the luxury of stitches or even surgical glue, Hersal put some medical tape and gauze over the wound before sending you on your way.

While you caught some fresh air in the crisp spring night, Daryl burst through the doors all flustered and hot-headed, entirely unaware of you sitting on the steps a few meters away. “you alright Dixon?” You asked, causing him to spin around.

“shit.” He muttered, rushing toward you. “you alrigh’?” Daryl asked his hand instantly reaching out for the cut causing you to wince.

“i’m okay.” You giggled as Daryl stepped back, finally able to breathe. “just a little scratch.” You smiled as Daryl began to pace back and forth in front of you. For a moment you watch him to back and forth, muttering small insults towards the man that had swiped at you. “will you sit dow-”

“he could’a killed ya!” Daryl snapped, continuing to pace back and forth like his life depended on it. “should’a killed ‘im when i had the chance. Should’a never let ‘em near ya!” He snarled.

You quickly stood up, understanding how riled up Daryl had become over the incident. Your hands reached out to his shoulder, causing him to stop in his tracks as your hands snaked their way up to cup his cheeks.

“i’m okay.” You smiled softly, closely watching Daryl as his rapid breathing began to slow. “s’just a scratch.” You whispered.

Daryl finally looked at you, his eyes tracing the freshly cleaned wound going from the middle of your forehead all the way down to your cheek, and suddenly he became aware of how close you were. His eyes wondered down to the crystal hanging on your chest. You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you.

“‘m okay.” You repeated as your hand momentarily parted from Daryls cheek to push a piece of stray hair back behind his ear. “are you okay?” You asked, trying to refrain from giggling. Daryl didn’t understand why you were smiling, nothing about this was funny. To him you almost just lost you- “Daryl?”

“hmm.” He grunted, his eye’s finally connecting with yours as his breathing finally returned to normal. “just worried abou’ ya is all.” He spoke quietly.

You looked up at Daryl through your eyelashes, your childish smile softening as you whispered back to him. “well i’ve got you to protect me don’t i?”

All Daryl could do was nod. He knew that if he tried speaking it would come out in a mixture of stammered words, making him look foolish. Although Daryl couldn’t lie to himself, he liked the idea of being your sole protector.

Later, when the prison fell you and Daryl were separated. You had hope of one day finding each other again and that’s when you’d finally tell him how you feel. In such an uncertain world there was no room to dwell on feelings like these. You had fallen in love with Daryl Dixon and the day you found him again would be the day you felt whole.

At terminus Daryl had expected find you with the others, but when he walked into the train cart to find the rest of his people, you were nowhere to be seen. In fact, no one had seen you since the fall of the prison. Once he had escaped terminus and had to carry Beth out of the hospital he had lost all hope of ever finding you. There were moments when Daryl had wished he had gone back to the prison to find your tracks and hopefully he’d find you. Hopefully one day you’d find each other again.

Your life on the road was lonely. You hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone in what felt like a small eternity. When days turned into weeks on the road your hope of ever finding the others had long gone. You had accepted to fate that Daryl and the rest of your family were gone, and you had been long forgotten.

When you found yourself stumbling towards large iron walls a weight was lifted off your chest. Finally, you could rest your aching body after weeks of travel. Guards from the top of the fence aimed their weapons at you, causing your hands to fling up into the air, hoping they wouldn’t shoot. After a few moments, a large, rusted gate began to roll open. You quickened your pace as they waved you in cautiously.

“What’s your name?” A name asked, his clothes clean and his face covered in stubble.

You took in a few breaths as you looked around the busy community before returning your attention to the man in front of you as guards stood behind him. “Y/n,” You mumbled, your voice broken and barely loud enough to hear.

“My names Aaron, welcome to Alexandira.” He smiled cautiously, giving the guards behind him a stern look to lower their weapons.

As the man began to talk about the community, asking you questions about how you found them, your eyes wandered, more carefully looking around the community. You saw children, and the elderly. It was like a slice of old life. Then your eyes landed on someone sitting on their porch, cleaning a cross bow.

You had noticed who it was almost instantly and without thinking you shouted out to him, “Daryl!”

He looked up from his lap and when his eyes met yours, he instantly dropped his things. You pushed past Aaron and ran towards the man you had been searching for. It was like the world stopped when you collided with Daryl. The strength of his embrace was like nothing you had ever felt before. You held onto Daryl tightly as a crowd of people watched on.

“I thought yer were dead.” His voice broke, he sounded so fragile, like he could have broken at any moment.

You nestled your head in the crook of Daryl’s neck, holding onto him tightly to make sure you’d never loose him again and whispered, “I’m not goin’ anywhere Dixon.”

For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like the world had finally granted you mercy. You had found your family, carved out a fragile sense of belonging, and discovered a sanctuary that — for the first time in what felt like forever — made you believe your life was worth living. Alexandria was supposed to be a second chance, a place where laughter could exist without fear, where Carl and Judith could grow up without blood staining their childhoods, where Daryl might finally lay down his crossbow and rest. For the first time since the fall, you allowed yourself to imagine a future — one where you could breathe without waiting for the sound of gunfire, one where you could love without the looming shadow of loss.

But deep down, you knew better. Good things never lasted in this world. Hope was a fragile thing — brittle, delicate — and the universe had a way of shattering it without warning. You’d seen the storm gathering on the horizon long before the rest. Every skirmish, every whispered rumour of the Saviors, every hollow threat you thought you could ignore had been leading you here. And now, with the cold weight of dread pressing into your chest, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something irreversible was about to happen.

Even the air felt different — heavier somehow, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The roads were too quiet, the forest too still. And though Alexandria had given you walls, it could never shield you from what was coming. You didn’t know exactly when the breaking point would come, but you could feel it creeping closer with every passing second — the slow, inevitable pull toward the lineup. Toward the moment where everything you had built, everything you had fought for, would balance on a knife’s edge.

Somewhere deep down, you already understood the truth: this peace was temporary. The sanctuary was temporary. And soon, you’d be kneeling in the dirt under the weight of an empire you never stood a chance against, praying to a god you weren’t sure you believed in, as fate decided who lived and who died.

The air was thick with silence. Dirt clung to your sweat-soaked faces as you knelt in a jagged line on the gravel road. Your knees pressed hard against the earth. Above you, dozens of Saviors stood like phantoms in the dusk — faceless, voiceless, armed to the teeth. They had swarmed like locusts, trapping you and the others, corralling them, leading them here... To their leader.

The rv door creaked open. Boots hit the dirt. And then he appeared — someone you never thought you’d see again. Your older brother Negan. You noticed him before he noticed you causing you to lower your head. In one gloved hand, he carried a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire — not casually, but reverently, like it meant something. Like it had a soul.

The weight of his presence settled like a storm cloud. He walked with the calm of a man in total control. Leisurely. Almost bored. Like this wasn’t a massacre waiting to happen — just business. Rick’s chest heaved. Maggie, pale and sick, swayed slightly beside him. Glenn hovered near her, trembling but ready to die before he let harm come to her. Abraham sat like stone, unflinching. Michonne stared hard, as if trying to will this man into nothingness. Carl was still — too still.

“Pissing our pants yet?” He chuckled, swinging his bat around to sit on his shoulders. You looked up, his voice sending chills through your body. “boy, do i have a feeling we're getting clo-” then he stopped, his eyes locking with yours. “holy shit, is that my baby sister?” He exclaimed, a grin creeping onto his lips.

“Quit being a fucking idiot and stop this!” You demanded, knowing well enough there was no convincing your brother of anything once his mind was made up.

“Get her outta here.” He spoke bitterly signalling to one of his men to take you away.

You wake to a knock. Three sharp raps. Not loud enough to startle, but enough to twist your stomach into a knot. Morning light filters through the narrow window of the room they gave you—if you can call it a room. Four walls, one bed, a table, a tray of untouched food from last night. Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You push yourself upright, your body sore from the night before, every bruise and ache reminding you where you were—kneeling in the dirt, hands shaking, unable to stop it. Negan stands there. No theatrics. No jokes. Not like last night. Now, he just stands there, subdued, holding a tray of food like some twisted host playing nice.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You don’t answer. You don’t move. You stare at him, searching his face for guilt, for answers, for something human. He places the tray down on the table and leans against the doorframe.

“i get it. You’re pissed. You should be.”

“what did you do to them?” You ask, voice hoarse.

He tilts his head, almost like he didn’t hear you right. But he did. Of course he did. Negan let out a low chuckle, “oh come on y/n.” He began to smile.

“no!” You repeated causing his smile to disappear and his laugh to silence. “don’t pull that shit with me!” You said brusquely. “what did you do to them?” You questioned.

His eyebrows furrowed as he leant forward. “what makes you think i did something bad?”

He was no longer the man you knew or the brother you grew up with. It made your skin crawl to know this was the man your brother had turned into.

“because i saw the fear in their eyes when you walked out of that camper.” You spat. He was the man everyone back at alexandria had feared. “now tell me the fucking truth!”

Your brother stayed silent for a moment, thinking long and hard about his answer. “i gave ‘em a stern talkin’ to, is that what you want me to say?”

There was no reasoning with negan. Even when you were kids he was impossible to reason or barter with, but now there was really no hope. You now just had to focus on finding your way to home, back to alexandria, back to Daryl. Every morsel in your body prayed and hoped that they would all be okay.

“are you gonna let me go or am i a prisoner here too?” You quipped, standing up from the bed and your head motioned towards the door.

He let out a deep chuckle, following your actions of rising to his feet. “you’re my sister, what makes you think your a prisoner here?” He asked condescendingly.

“so you want me to stay. Here with you?” He furrowed his eyebrows, confused as to why you’d want to leave your family.

“your family. Of course your staying here.” He laughed. “why don’t you take a look around and meet me back here for lunch? If you still want to leave i will personally take you back to alexandria.” He bargained, that stupid grin going from ear to ear as he opened up the bedroom door.

“fine.”

The sanctuary is alive, but not in a way that feels human. People pass you in the halls—some in uniforms with rifles slung over their backs, others in worn-out clothes, eyes down, moving quickly like ghosts. There’s a rhythm to this place. A system. Controlled, efficient, cold. And then you hear it. Faint at first. Music. Happy. Too happy. It repeats, over and over. Mocking.

You follow it, winding through corridors until it grows louder, bouncing off concrete walls. A guard watches you approach a thick metal door. He doesn’t stop you—just opens it. Inside, the music is louder. Twisted. Warped by repetition. There, under the dim light, sits Daryl. He’s slouched on a cot, wearing a gray prison jumpsuit. Gaunt. Pale. There’s a tray on the floor beside him, untouched. His eyes are blank, staring at nothing.

“oh my god! Are you okay?” You asked in a hushed whisper, pushing the door open as you sat by his side, combing his hair from his face. “Daryl?”

“how do you know ‘im?” Daryl mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper as he avoided all eye contact with you, in fact, he didn’t even look at you.

You took in a deep breath, you know this news wouldn’t come easily, “he’s my brother.” You muttered, thinking nothing of it as you continued to press Daryl with questions. “are the others okay?” You asked, in hopes Daryl wouldn’t remain stuck on the thought of negan being your brother. “Daryl?” You softly whispered, your hand resting on his shoulder.

“glenn and abraham.” He snapped, his voice still quiet as his temper slowly built.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you murmured, “what?” Then he finally looked at you. His eyes were full of hurt and anguish, it looked like he had been crying for hours. “fuck.” Letting out a breath of air you looked over both your shoulders, checking your surroundings. “let me get you out of here, let me take you home?”

Daryl didn’t need to say it. Something deep within you knew that your brother had committed an unspeakable act, something you knew you’d never be able to forgive him for. Your second hand latched onto his other shoulder as you tried to pull him towards you. You just wanted to go back to alexandria and forget this whole thing had ever happened.

“yer think he’s just gonna let me walk out of here?” He quipped, his voice only raising slightly as his hands grasped onto your wrists before throwing your hands away from him.

A frown grew between your eyebrows, “i’ll make him!” You hissed, your hands planting themselves back on his shoulders. “Daryl!” You snapped, getting the attention of one of negans nearby henchmen.

You pulled away from Daryl and stood up. You were at eye level with dwight as a smirk crept onto his smug face. “you’re not supposed to be here.” He spoked snottily.

“bite me.” You hissed, your eyebrows piercing together as you looked the man up and down.

“s’he your boyfriend or somethin’?” Dwight laughed pathetically, looking down to you begrudgingly. “if he finds out you love him theres no way your both getting out of here alive.” He spoke, looking down to Daryl before looking back deeply into your eyes. “trust me.” He added.

You looked down at Daryl who had his head up against the wall before looking back at dwight. “fuck right off ya prick.” You muttered, looking at him like the scum on the bottom of your shoe.

Dwight said nothing. He looked at you, then at Daryl and in the blink of an eye, he had walked off, roaming the hallways with a watchful eye. You quickly turned back to Daryl, his entire body sunken and defeated as his head hung low between his chest and knees.

“i need you to know the brother i knew and loved, i lost a long time ago.” You whispered, your hand reaching out to touch Daryls shoulder as you bent down beside him. “he means nothing to me know.” You insisted. “you are my family now and i need you more then ever.”

Daryl looked up, hurt in his eyes as he whispered, “i ain’t yer family.” He spat, his voice barely louder then whisper.

Not family? His words cut you deeply. You had been hurt all too many times in this life time but this, this was another world of hurt.

“you really mean that?” You quivered, on the brink of tears as you slowly stood up.

He didn’t say a word. His head fell back between his knees and chest and just like that it seemed like the entire world had gone silent. The grumbles or growls of every threatening walkers and no chatter from negans people could be heard. Tears fell from your eyes and ran down your cheeks.

Without saying another word, you left. You left Daryl behind, hurt by his bitter words. Maybe one day you’d make your way back to your family, and maybe one day you’d make it all up to Daryl but now? But now you needed to figure out how to take down negan.

Joel had always been more than just your best friend — though, back then, you didn’t have the words to name what he was to you. From the moment you could walk, he’d been there, his shadow stitched to yours like a second heartbeat. Growing up as neighbours meant your lives were tangled together from the start; his front yard bled into yours, and so did everything else.

You, Joel, and his little brother Tommy were inseparable, orbiting each other through every corner of childhood. You went to the same school, caught the same buses, spent your summers in the same sun-soaked parks where your scraped knees and dirt-streaked faces were badges of adventure. There wasn’t a milestone in your life Joel hadn’t been part of — every first (most of which he had been a part of in one way or another), every fall, every moment that mattered had his fingerprints on it.

He was there when you lost your first tooth, standing in the kitchen holding a blood-stained napkin while you cried. He was there the day your father left, sitting cross-legged on your porch until the sun went down because he didn’t know how to fix it — but refused to leave you alone. He was there when you failed your first exam, when you learned to ride a bike, when you snuck out at night just to lie on the grass and watch the stars because neither of you could sleep.

By the time you grew into young adults, something had shifted — subtle at first, like a change in the wind you couldn’t name. The line between friendship and something more began to blur, soft and gradual, like it had been inevitable all along. A glance would linger a little too long. A laugh would carry something heavier beneath it. Every brush of his hand against yours felt like a secret neither of you were ready to say out loud. Joel wasn’t just woven into your past; he was stitched into your becoming. And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, you’d started wanting him in ways you didn’t know how to want anyone else.

But then he moved away. Texas called him for his final years of school, and though he had promised he’d write, that he’d visit during every school break, the words felt hollow the moment the moving truck rumbled down the street and out of sight. The world seemed to shift in that instant, smaller somehow, emptier.

For months, you mourned him—not just the friend you had lost, but the quiet, unspoken part of yourself that had gone with him. Every corner of your home felt heavier, every familiar path through town a reminder that he wasn’t there to laugh at the small absurdities of life with you. Nights were the worst, when memories flooded in unbidden: the way he used to grin over some private joke, the careless warmth of his hand brushing yours, the way his presence made everything feel safe.

It wasn’t just loneliness you felt; it was a sharp, hollow ache, the kind that seemed to settle in your chest and whisper that a piece of your heart had been packed into that moving truck, never to return. Even as life pressed on around you, the emptiness remained, a quiet echo of what had been stolen and a sorrow you didn’t know how to release.

As the years slipped by and high school finally came to an end, you threw yourself into your future with everything you had. Nights blurred into mornings as you poured over applications, chasing every opportunity you could find. Dozens of scholarships, countless essays, endless hope — most doors closed before you could even reach them. All except one. The acceptance letter from Dell Medical School arrived like a lifeline, the kind of chance you’d only ever dreamed of. For the first time in years, the path ahead felt real, solid beneath your feet.

In the quiet days before your departure, you visited your mother’s grave, the weight of everything you’d lost pressing heavy against your ribs. You laid down a small bouquet — her favourite flowers — and whispered a promise only she could hear. Then, with your chest tight and your heart caught between past and future, you booked a one-way flight to Austin, Texas.

After graduating from medical school, you decided to stay in Austin, the city that had slowly begun to feel like home. With no family to return to, you built a new life piece by piece — new friends, new routines, and a purpose that anchored you. You found your place at St. David’s Medical Center, working as a midwife, and for the first time, it felt as though you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Every day, you walked alongside women from all walks of life, guiding them through a chapter that was fragile, overwhelming, and beautiful all at once. You held trembling hands; soothed fears whispered through tears and celebrated quiet triumphs when tiny cries filled the room. In those moments, when new life took its first breath, you felt something close to peace. You had delivered hundreds of babies, and yet each one left an imprint on you — a reminder that, even in a world that could feel so uncertain, there was still something sacred and unbroken about beginnings.

And today was no different. You had been working all morning when one of your particularly difficult women had come in for a routine appointment. For weeks now she had been promising to bring in the father as per your request and today, she finally had. As the young couple — barely older than you — rose to their feet, it was as though the air had been sucked from the room. Your chest tightened, breath snagging somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

Then your gaze met his. You watched the colour drain from Joel’s face, the easy warmth in his expression faltering as recognition struck like a blow. His eyes locked on yours, wide and unguarded, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist.

You couldn’t move. Neither could he. It was as if time folded in on itself, pulling every buried memory, every laugh, every heartbreak to the surface in an instant. And from the way he stared — stiff, unmoving — it was clear he saw the same thing you did not the person standing in front of him now, but the ghost of everything you used to be to each other, returned without warning to unravel the careful life he’d built.

“Hi love,” You chocked out, correcting your expression from shock to warmth. “How are we feeling today?” You asked as you began to walk her and Joel back to your office.

The woman groaned, rubbing her rounded stomach. “Like shit.” She mumbled, taking a seat at your desk with Joel not to far behind her.

“The morning sickness?” You questioned, looking at the notes you had written on your desktop.

She nodded, her voice thick and full of condescension as she spat, “More like every hour of the day sickness.” She rolled her eyes, sipping on a green juice she had carried in with her. “Those pills you gave me do nothing; I can’t keep them down.” She added.

You nodded, only just for a second looking across to find Joel still in a state of shock as his eyes remained glued to you. “Like I said, there was only a small chance they would help, unfortunately its something that cannot really be fixed.” You advised, offering her a warm smile.

The woman scoffed, growing frustrated as most women do this late into their term. “This must be dad!” You spoke, your tone trying to remain chirpy despite the pit that was beginning to form in your stomach.

“I finally dragged him away from work for a day.” The woman added, finally a bit of excitement coming from her voice as her hand began roam across Joel’s back. “He’s just started a contracting business with his brother, and they are swamped!” She added, looking across to Joel only for him to be looking at his lap.

“I’m glad you could finally make it to an appointment.” You smiled warmly. “She talks about you a lot.”

Joel glanced at his partner first, a fleeting, fragile smile tugging at his lips before his gaze finally found yours. The expression didn’t reach his eyes — those soft, familiar brown eyes you could never forget. Beneath them, you saw it immediately: the weight of something unspoken, a quiet sadness that hadn’t dulled with time. You offered him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension, to make this less awkward than it already was. But it didn’t land. If anything, it only deepened the silence stretching between you.

Meanwhile, the woman at his side — the mother of his child — seemed blissfully unaware. Her voice filled the space between you as she launched into a rant about the mood swings and cravings she’d been wrestling with since your last visit. You nodded when appropriate, trying to focus on her words, but every time you glanced at Joel, you caught him doing the same — watching you from the corner of his eye, then looking away just as quickly. The air between you two felt tight, strained, as though there were entire conversations trapped in the silence, begging to be spoken but neither of you dared to start.

Joel never attended an appointment again; fearful he would see you again. When you delivered her baby – a beautiful baby girl – you had to see Joel again. This time he didn’t seemed so shocked, but you could see the shame lingering in his eyes every time he caught your gaze. But after a few days, you said your goodbyes to little baby Sarah and her mother and came to accept the fact that you and Joel were never destined to be in each other’s lives.

Six months later, in the stillness of the night, your phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. Hesitation froze your hand for a heartbeat — part of you worried it was a client, another part dreading something worse. Reluctantly, you answered. Silence. Nothing but a tense, unbroken pause on the other end. And yet, a flicker in your chest told you exactly who it was. It was Joel.

“She’s gone.” You heard a sniffle, he had been crying. “She took everything and left; I need you.” He pleaded. You had never heard him so desperate. “She left Sarah.” Joel added.

“Where are you?” You cut in, stopping him from rambling any further. Joel gave you his address, his voice shaky. “I’m not far, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?” You could hear Sarah crying in the background and you could hear Joel sigh with grief. “Joel, it’ll be okay, I promise.”

Without question or hesitation you left your home in the dead of night, still in your pyjamas with no bra on but you could tell from the desperation in his voice that Joel needed someone. He needed you. The roads were close to empty and you got to his house within ten minutes. When you knocked at his front door, after a moment or two the door swung open. Joel stood there was little Sarah crying over his shoulder.

You could see it in his eyes. He was heart broken. His eyes were puffy and tired from hours of no sleep. “You need me to take her?” You asked quietly, opening up your arms.

Joel carefully manoeuvred Sarah to your arms before allowing you to take a step inside. “i didn’t know who else to call.” he apologized, making his way into the kitchen were a single piece of paper sat on the small breakfast table.

“Its okay.” You hummed, cooing Sarah to try calm her down as Joel flopped down into the dining chair, his hand raising to pinch his brows.

“She left this.” He spoke quietly, pushing the paper towards you as you sat down beside him, still slightly rocking as you tried to put Sarah to sleep.

You read the letter. You read every horrid word she wrote and every poor excuse she used. Leaving your child and partner in the middle of the night with nothing but a letter. You finally understood why he had been so distraught.

“Wow.” You breathed, pushing the letter away, patting Sarahs back as she finally calmed. “I don’t know what to say.” You spoke quietly, looking to Joel as he watched you and Sarah.

“I could think of a coupl’a things.” He hissed bitterly. “You want a drink?” He asked.

You nodded, watching Joel as he walked to the kitchen. He pulled down a bottle of Whiskey and two glasses. Before you could stop him, he grabbed two blocks of ice and poured the whiskey into each glass. You hadn’t planned on drinking alcohol, after all you had work in a few hours but Joel was in an hour of need and one drink couldn’t hurt.

“Do you want my advice?” You asked, not really knowing the reason as to why Joel had chosen you.

He could have called Tommy. Joel surely would have had new friends but out of everyone he called you. Someone be hadn’t spoken to in almost seven years. Joel hummed in response before taking a sip of his drink.

“I would go to the IRS tomorrow and claim CTC for Sarah.” You advised. “There are a few more places you’ll need to go to start collecting different benefits now that your a single parent. I can take the day off tomorrow and help out with Sarah until we can find you a sitter or maybe get her into childcare early.” You started, taking a sip of the whiskey as Joel sat down. “I know enough people in different governments departments what will be able to help you out.” Joels eyes were glued on Sarah as she had finally fallen asleep for the first time all night. “I don’t mind helping Joel.” You spoke softly.

After nearly seven years of silence, that very night felt as if no time had passed at all. Over the next twelve years, you and Joel slowly rebuilt your friendship. You watched Sarah grow up, becoming a motherly presence in her life, stepping in where Joel was a little unsure. Over the years, something deeper blossomed between you and Joel—something that words couldn’t quite capture. Tommy and Sarah had teased both of you about it for years, but neither of you could ever fully define what it was.

Today was Joels 36th birthday and Sarah had been planning everything for weeks. Every year for Joels birthday, you, Sarah and Joel would stay up late and watch Curtis and Viper while eating a mixture of cake and candy. This year, like Sarah had planned, you arrived at their home just before six with a cake from the local bakery with a big grin plastered on your face.

“Hello!” You shouted into an empty house, your eyes scanning for sarah.

“In the kitchen!” Sarah yelled back.

You made your way through the home before finding Sarah in the kitchen eating some food from dinner the night before. “Wheres the birthday boy?” You asked, putting the cake in the fridge because resting on the edge of the dinner table.

“Still at work I guess.” She shrugged. “He should be home soon though.” Sarah added.

A few movies later and most of the snacks gone, you heard a carl roll into the drive way. Your eyes were heavy and just about ready for bed.

“You locked the door for once. Good job.” Joel mumbled, walking through the front door with his phone in hand.

Joel flashed you a smile as he found you cuddled up on the couch with Sarah. “I didn’t lock it.” Sarah grinned, looking across at you before pulling a face at Joel.

The glowing light of the tv flicked off as Joel tossed the remote onto the coffee table causing Sarah to groan. “It’s ten.” Sarah stated, reminding Joel he was late for his own birthday.

“I know,” Joel groaned, slumping down on the couch between you and Sarah. “They gave us the wrong size for the headers.” He paused for a moment, looking at the uninterested Sarah beside him. “That doesn’t mean anything to you, I’m sorry.” He apologized.

“Lucky I remembered the cake huh?” You teased.

“Shit.” Joel groaned.

Sarah sat upright with a grin creeping onto her lips as she giggled, “Yeah lucky! Otherwise I wouldn’t have given you your present!”

“You got me a present?” Joel smiled, giving Sarah a little nudge. Sarah pulled out a small green box and handed it to her father. “Wow.” He breathed.

“Fix it for you.” She spoke quietly, looking across to you and giving you a warm smile knowing it was the watch you gave Joel for his thirtieth birthday.

“Did you?” He asked, lifting the watch to his ear. “I don’t hear anything.” He mumbled, causing Sarah to snatch the box.

Sarah let out a scoff of annoyance before letting out a soft laugh. “That was lame, You’re lame.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grinned, leaning back and wrapping his arm around the back of the couch, his hands draping over your shoulder. “Where’d you get the money for this?” He asked.

“Drugs.” Sarah smiled. “I sell hardcore drugs.” She giggled.

Joel smiled, his fingers running up and down the top of your shoulder. “It’s better than what I do.” He smirked, making Sarah giggle.

“It was only $20, which I stole from you.” Sarah added causing Joel to shoot her a look. “I could’ve stolen sixty, but I put the change back because I’m an honest thief.” She smiled, leaning back into the couch.

“Mhm.” Joel grinned, his eyes looking over to yours as you tapped his leg. “You headin’ home?” He asked quietly, his soft brown eyes giving you enough of a reason for you to smile. You nodded, your eyes heavy after having a long shift at the hospital. “I’ll walk ya out,” He offered, standing up and offering you a hand.

“I’ll see ya later Sar!” You smiled, waving goodbye to her before walking towards the front door. She yelled out goodbye and turned the tv back on. “Did you see all the traffic today? Downtown was a nightmare.” You mumbled.

Joel nodded, experiencing some of the traffic himself. “Almost made me late this morning.” He grumbled, leaning up against the door frame as you stood in front of him, the warm night air wrapping around you. “You sure you don’t wanna stay?” He asked quietly, his voice soft and warm.

“I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.” You weakly smiled, wishing you could stay and spend a few hours with Joel. “I can stop by tomorrow, I think Sarah’s stayin’ at a friend’s place so I can bring over some Chinese.” You teased, earning a smile from Joel.

“Sounds like a date.” He smirked, leaning forward just by half an inch.

You let a breathy laugh slip from your lips causing Joels eyebrows to pinch together. “You wish.”

After sharing a warm hug and a gentle kiss on his cheek, you made your way home. The traffic was unusually heavy, and the radio stations seemed to be consumed with talk of a pandemic overseas. Fatigue settled in, making it harder to keep your eyes open as you searched for your house keys. The moment you laid down on your pillow, sleep came quickly, pulling you under. You were completely unaware of the turmoil starting to unfold around you, too tired to notice the world shifting.

When you woke the next morning, the world was already unrecognizable. The silence was wrong—thick, unnatural, broken only by the distant wail of sirens and something else, something feral. Your first thought was Joel, Sarah, and Tommy. Panic clawed at your chest as you reached for your phone, dialing number after number, but all you got was static, half-words swallowed by the chaos on the other end.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed your keys, left your home, and stepped into a nightmare. The street outside was a battlefield. Dozens of bodies lay twisted and broken, strewn across the asphalt like discarded dolls. Some were fresh. Some were already cooling. The air burned your throat—smoke, gasoline, blood—all tangled into one suffocating stench.

You drove fast, too fast, every shadow and flicker in your periphery making your hands tremble against the wheel. By the time you reached Joel’s house, your stomach had already sunk. The front door gaped open like a wound. The street was littered with motionless bodies, some curled in the fetal position, others sprawled unnaturally as if they’d fallen mid-run.

Inside, the silence was deafening. You searched every room, every corner, calling their names in a hoarse whisper you barely recognized as your own. Nothing. No note. No trace. Just overturned furniture and the faintest hint of Sarah’s shampoo clinging to the hallway air.

You forced yourself back outside and made your way to Tommy’s apartment, heart pounding in your ears. Another unlocked door. Another hollow home. Another crushing absence.

When days blurred into weeks, and weeks decayed into decades, hope rotted away like the dead cities behind you. The world had long since burned, and with it, any trace of the family you once knew. You wandered the shattered skeleton of America — through ash-choked valleys, over rusted highways haunted by silence and the screams of the forgotten.

Nearly thirty years later, your body barely clinging to life, you staggered toward towering wooden walls rising from the wasteland. You didn’t recognize the town. It didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

The guards eyed you like a feral animal but let you pass, rifles always within reach. They dragged your half-dead form to an infirmary where old medicine and wary kindness kept you from dying. After a few days, once the fever broke and the shaking stopped, they gave you a choice — if you wanted to stay in their sanctuary, you’d have to face the town council. No one stayed without proving something. Not in a world like this.

They led you through the ruins of what had once been a town hall — the bones of the old world repurposed into something colder, harder. The front foyer was dimly lit, the air thick with dust and distrust. A long, battered table dominated the space, ringed with silent figures who studied your every movement like carrion birds deciding if you were worth the trouble.

You forced your head up, muscles screaming, vision swimming — and then the world tilted. Among the council, half-hidden in the shadows, sat a face you had long buried in memory — a ghost wrapped in flesh. His eyes, once wild with conviction, were now sunken, surrounded by the deep canyons of age. Grey threaded through his hair. But the fanaticism… that was still there, smoldering quietly beneath the years.

“I thought you were-” He breathed, face riddled with disbelief as he slowly began to stand up. “Come ‘ere.”

You walked forward and opened your arms as Tommy pulled you into a warm hug. He hugged you tightly and for a little longer than you had expected.

“I tried looking for you.” You whispered, almost on the brink of tears as Tommy eventually pulled away.

A down turned smile ghosted over Tommy’s lips. “I’ll talk to the council, but I wanna take you somewhere first.” Tommy spoke quietly.

You nodded quietly, letting Tommy’s voice guide you as he laid out the plan for the others. You followed him through winding paths and narrow streets, and for the first time, you truly saw the community. Despite the walls meant to keep the world at bay, life still thrived here. Laughter spilled from open windows. Children darted between houses, chasing each other with sticks as if the earth beyond those gates wasn’t rotting. The faint sound of hammering carried from somewhere nearby, mingling with distant voices. For just a second, it almost felt like the world hadn’t ended. Almost.

Tommy spoke to you softly as you walked, a few quiet words exchanged, but your mind barely registered them. Every step made your chest feel heavier, your breaths slower. It was only when he stopped that you looked up and saw it: a modest house tucked beneath the shade of an old elm tree, its paint chipped, its mailbox battered and rusted. The name Miller was scrawled across it in faded black paint. Tommy climbed the porch steps and knocked against the weathered wooden door. The sound echoed, sharp and hollow, like it carried too much weight. You stood frozen on the path, heart pounding harder with every passing second.

When the door finally creaked open, Joel stood there. For a long, fragile moment, neither of you spoke. He looked different — older, worn in ways that went deeper than skin and bone — but those same soft brown eyes stared back at you. Eyes you had memorized once. And in them, you saw it all: recognition, regret, and something you couldn’t name. It was the same look he’d worn the last time you saw him, standing in that hospital hallway, surrounded by blood and ghosts. And just like back then, you felt the weight of everything you’d lost crash over you all at once.

Joel said nothing. For a moment, he just stood there, framed by the doorway, his gaze locked on yours like he was searching for proof that you were real. His breath hitched, just barely, and you caught the faint tremor in his jaw — the weight of unspoken years pressing down on him. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you. His arms wrapped around you in an embrace so raw, so full of things neither of you could name, that it stole the air from your lungs. It was desperate and fragile all at once — as if he feared that if he held on too tightly, you might shatter or vanish.

You sank into him before you even realized you had moved, your fingers gripping the back of his shirt like you could anchor yourself there, in that moment, away from everything else. No words could have carried the depth of what was being said in silence — the grief, the longing, the years of what-ifs tangled between you. For the first time in so long, you felt the ghost of who you both used to be. And somehow, that hurt most of all.

“I’ll catch up with you two later.” Tommy spoke quietly, his eyebrows pinching together slightly before he turned around and walked down Joels porch steps.

Joel ushered you inside and without words needing to be exchanged you sat down in his living room, the soft morning glow of the summer sun shone through his curtains. “I don’t know what to say.” Joel said quietly, as guilt that had consumed him for more than twenty years began to resurface.

“Where’s Sarah?” You asked, your voice riddled with a sadness you couldn’t quite explain.

“She died.” Joel answered plainly, his hand instinctively beginning to play with the watch you had gotten him for his thirtieth birthday and the same watch that Sarah had fixed for him. “She died the night of the outbreak.” He added, his voice stricken with grief.

You looked at the green weathered watch he wore on his wrist, surprised to see it even after all these years and you noticed the chips and broken glass. He had been wearing a broken watch for almost thirty years. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you.” Joel spoke after a beat of silence. “I should have gone and got you.”

“You know,” you started, your voice trembling before you could stop it, “I went to every damn QZ in Texas looking for you.”

Your tone was sharper than you intended, but once the words left, you couldn’t reel them back in. Joel sat there on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He didn’t look at you, and that only made the anger twist deeper in your chest.

“I was five minutes away,” you choked, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Five minutes, Joel.” Tears blurred your vision, spilling before you could stop them, but you kept going, each word like ripping open an old wound. “I never stopped looking for you!” you cried, breath hitching as you pointed a shaking finger at him. “I went to every city, followed every lead, talked to anyone who would listen. I… I waited at your goddamn house for months.”

Your voice broke entirely, raw and ragged. “I thought you might come back,” you whispered, so softly it barely carried between you. “I prayed you weren’t dead.” Joel’s shoulders sagged, his head bowing, but still he said nothing. Not a word. “Why didn’t you come for me?!” you shouted, the sound tearing out of your chest before you could swallow it down. “Why didn’t you even look for me, Joel?”

The silence after your words was deafening, filling every corner of the room, suffocating. Joel finally turned his head, his eyes glimmering beneath the weight of all the years and all the ghosts between you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, cracked around the edges — barely more than a breath.

“I… I don’t know,” he rasped, the words sounding like they cost him something to say. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, as though meeting your eyes might break him completely. “I thought the worst,” he whispered, each syllable weighted with years of unspoken grief. “I told myself you were gone. That you were…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening, struggling to finish. “I couldn’t bear the thought of finding you out there — one of those things.” Joel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort, and when he finally looked up, his eyes were glassy, haunted. “I didn’t want to be the one to… to put you down.”

The confession hung heavy in the silence between you, settling in your chest like ash — suffocating, bitter, impossible to swallow. It was raw, painful, and achingly human — tangled in love, cowardice, and the unbearable weight of survival. A part of you wished you had screamed at him, wished you had poured out every sleepless night, every unanswered prayer, every moment you spent standing on shattered hope. You wanted to hurt him the way his absence had hurt you. You wanted to rage, to make him feel the years you’d lost.

But then his eyes — those unforgiving, storm-dark brown eyes — found yours. The fight drained from you in an instant. You hated him for leaving. You loved him for surviving. And when he looked at you like that — like you were a ghost he’d been carrying in his chest all these years — you wanted nothing more than to collapse into him, to let him hold you the way he used to when the world was still whole. Your throat tightened painfully, the tears you’d been holding back finally threatening to spill. Every breath burned. Every second stretched endlessly between you. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to forgive him. And, God, you wanted him to love you still.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow, unsteady breaths, every muscle coiled tight as if your body couldn’t decide whether to run or to fall apart right there in front of him. Joel didn’t move at first, didn’t speak. He just sat there; shoulders hunched like the weight of everything he’d never said was crushing him. His fingers twitched against his knees — the smallest, most human tell — like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t believe he had the right anymore. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and rough, like gravel dragged across stone.

“I thought I was protectin’ you,” he whispered, his accent thicker, softer than you remembered. “I told myself lettin’ go was the only way I could live with it. But I never stopped thinkin’ about you. Not once.”

That was it. That was the fracture point. The sob tore from your throat before you could stop it, raw and uncontained. You pressed the heel of your palm against your mouth to muffle the sound, but Joel heard it anyway. His breath caught, his jaw tightening as if your pain was his own. Then he moved — hesitantly at first, like a man testing forbidden ground — and reached for your hand. His touch was warm, calloused, achingly familiar. The moment his fingers brushed yours, the dam inside you broke.

“I waited for you,” you choked out, your voice trembling, barely more than a breath. “All those nights, Joel… I waited. Every shadow on the street, I thought it was you.”

Joel’s hand closed over yours fully now, firm but shaking. You could feel the guilt radiating off him like heat.

“I know,” he rasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “I know, darlin’… I know.”

You hated how the endearment still melted you, hated how a single word could undo years of hardened resolve. You leaned forward, your forehead almost touching his, tears sliding freely down your cheeks. You could smell the faint trace of leather and earth on him.

“I don’t know how to forgive you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Joel’s thumb brushed gently across your knuckles, slow, reverent.

“You ain’t gotta forgive me,” he murmured, his breath shaky against your skin. “Just… let me be here now. Please.”

The words settled between you, fragile and uncertain, but heavier than any promise he’d ever made. And though you didn’t move, something in the air shifted — the years of silence, grief, and longing collapsing into this one moment where love and regret became indistinguishable. The silence between you stretched, fragile and trembling, like the final breath before a storm. Joel’s thumb traced absent, careful circles over the back of your hand, as though he was terrified that if he let go, you might vanish again.

You stared at him — at the lines carved deep into his face, at the exhaustion in his eyes, at the weight he carried in every subtle tremor of his body. He wasn’t the same man you remembered, and yet… he was. The one who used to make you laugh until your ribs ached. The one you had loved, even if you’d never said it out loud.

Tears blurred your vision, and you blinked them away, though they clung stubbornly to your lashes. “Joel,” you breathed, his name breaking in your throat like a prayer, like a plea.

Something shifted in his gaze then — something raw and unguarded, cracking through the walls he had spent years building. His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, and brushed against your cheek. The roughness of his palm grounded you, familiar and foreign all at once. You didn’t pull away. Neither of you moved at first, locked in the space where memories and heartbreak tangled, where longing lived alongside the pain. His breath was warm against your skin, uneven and unsteady, and you realized yours matched his.

Your forehead tipped forward, meeting his, and for the briefest moment you hovered there, suspended between past and present, between all the years lost and the possibility of something unspoken. Joel’s lips brushed yours so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a sigh. The kiss was hesitant, trembling, like neither of you trusted it to be real. It tasted of salt and sorrow, of regret and the weight of everything unsaid. And yet, beneath it all, there was something else — something warm and familiar that had never truly gone away.

When you finally broke apart, your breath caught between you, Joel didn’t speak, and neither did you. Words felt too small for what had just passed between you, for what had been buried and unearthed in a single fragile moment.

He rested his forehead against yours, his thumb still brushing gently along your jaw. “I’m so damn sorry,” he whispered, his voice splintering.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself close your eyes and lean into him, letting the grief and the longing fold into one.

Hi! I was wondering if you could do my request. Here's my basic idea: (f)reader x Rick Grimes in The Walking Dead, season 3 and 4/ prison era because I'm now listening to season 4

I visualize that the reader is neutral in her feelings. That is to say, she very rarely shows her emotions. She is a good person who listens to the orders given to her without replying. (A bit like a female version of Daryl?) She speaks very little, but shows affection in her actions like she would give half of her meal to Carl (this is a kind of affection for the reader) and the Reader HATES being TOUCHED

So, here's my basic idea: The reader and Rick have always had this unexplained tension. Rick and the reader have never noticed the tension, finding it "normal". Could the other members of the group not have noticed the tension? Maybe except Carol. Carol, who is alone with Daryl, points out to Daryl what is happening between the reader and Rick. Each of their own, they try to make Reader and Rick admit that something is going on between them. But the reader just doesn't notice it and Rick ignores their remarks. (during a race with Daryl, he points out to the reader the little attentions Rick has for her and Carol points out to Rick the attentions that Reader has either for Carl, for Judith or for him. or something like that. I don't care if it's Carol with Reader/Daryl with Rick. I just want something like that) Coming back from a race, the reader was injured, but not wanting to bother anyone, she tried to heal herself. And Rick notices that Reader has been injured. He tries to convince her to get treatment from him or someone else, which she refuses. So, Rick forces her to treat her against her will and it is during this rather awkward interaction that the two notice the tension between them.

The air hit you first—raw, rich with the stench of decay and the wild musk of untamed earth. Every scent was an assault, every sound a scream. And then, the dead: shambling husks of what once were men, women, or children, dragging themselves across a broken landscape, their eyes vacant yet ravenous. It was horrifying.

It was beautiful. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were free. No more endless tests. No more needles, restraints, or whispered theories behind glass. Gone were the fluorescent lights and the cold, white silence of Jenner’s laboratory—a tomb disguised as salvation. Those four sterile walls had not protected you.

Upon your escape alongside Rick and his weary band of survivors, the road ahead was fraught with peril. Days turned into nights, and the weight of your secret grew unbearable. Beneath a blood-red dusk, you finally unburdened yourself, revealing to the adults the truth of what you truly were. Gasps filled the air like a sudden storm—some recoiled in fear, others regarded you with a newfound dread. But none so sharply as Lori, whose distrust ran deep. She whispered poison into the ears of the others, warning that your presence was a harbinger of death, a beast in human form who might turn on them when the hunger took hold.

For weeks her words sowed unease. Eyes lingered too long, and hands hovered near weapons. But time, relentless and unforgiving, tells all truths. The children still smiled at you. The others began to see—not a monster—but a guardian who walked the line between dark and light.

As the seasons bled into one another and the dead roamed ever nearer, the group no longer feared you. They came to depend on you and seek your counsel and your strength. Lori's whispers faded into silence, and your place among them, once precarious, became undeniable. You were no longer merely part of the group. You were its shadow. Its shield. It's necessary darkness.

Nearly two years had passed, each day bleeding into the next like ink into water. While the others dreamed fitfully beneath fractured skies, you kept vigil in the shadows, eyes ever watchful. In the dead of night, when the world was at its most cursed, you hunted—dragging sustenance from the jaws of death so that they might see another dawn.

You asked for nothing. You expected less. Yet, with time you carved your place into their hearts. Those who remained—the frayed remnants of what once was a family—had come to see you not as something other, but as something essential. They no longer questioned the chill in your presence or the unnatural grace in your movements. You were theirs.

After the fall of the prison, you, rick, his son, and Michonne found yourselves on the road once again. The rest of your family was nowhere to be seen, and it was too dangerous to double back on the small chance there would be survivors. With Rick's authority, you trekked forward, not daring to look back.

The night was unnervingly still, the kind of silence that felt like it was listening. The fire burned low, its light flickering and stretching shadows across the dirt like dark, reaching fingers. Rick’s gaze kept flicking to Carl—sitting a few feet away, hands in his lap, his face pale and drawn in the weak glow—before drifting back to you. Exhaustion clung to both of you after endless days on the road, but your eyes lingered on him, tracing the lines of his face, the tension in his jaw. Then his head tipped back, the movement unthinking, baring the strong curve of his throat to the firelight. The sight sent a shiver through you, hunger curling hot and deep in your chest. The idea of having him alone—just the two of you in the quiet—made your mouth water.

Then they came out of the dark. A handful of men—filthy, armed, eyes glinting like predators who’d already sunk their teeth in. Their smiles were wrong, stretched too wide, too sure of themselves, as if the outcome was already written. The stench of sweat and rot rolled off them in waves, mixing with the damp night air until the very ground seemed to sour beneath their boots. And behind them, lingered a familiar face you didn’t think you’d see again. Daryl. He looked ashamed and afraid.

It happened fast. Too fast. With the precision of men who’d done this before, they moved like shadows with blades. You didn’t see the signal, but suddenly their formation shifted—cutting Rick off. His path to you and Carl vanished in a wall of bodies and weapons. You caught a flash of his face—eyes sharp, jaw set, every muscle in him ready to fight—but it was already too late.

Two of them seized you, hands like iron around your arms, their grip bruising. You tried to twist away, but their strength was brutal, calculated. You knew you could have taken on maybe two or three of them with ease, but not while knives were held up to the throats of your family. Carl’s shout cracked the air, high with panic, before another set of hands dragged him back.

Your stomach turned cold, but the fear only sharpened your hunger. The men didn’t know what you were—not yet. You could taste the metallic tang of their blood already, could feel the thrum of their pulses vibrating through their grips on you. Somewhere beneath the terror was an almost unbearable urge to bare your fangs, to tear their throats open before they ever laid a hand on him.

Rick strained forward, a dangerous stillness settling over him. The night around you seemed to narrow, the firelight catching on the edge of his stare like sparks before an explosion. They thought they’d won. They had no idea they’d just stepped into the jaws of monsters.

One of them, tall and mean-eyed, spoke as he walked, his words dripping with mockery. “This is how it’s gonna go,” he said, pacing in front of Rick. “You’re gonna watch. You’re gonna listen. And you’re not gonna do a damn thing.”

You could see the look in Ricks eyes change. Something in him had shifted. Your wrists burned from the rope digging into his skin, but it was nothing compared to the burn in your chest as you glanced between father and son. The leader nodded toward one of his men. The guy stepped forward and yanked Carl to his feet. Carl stumbled, trying to twist away, but the man’s arm locked around his neck, forcing his head back. A knife flashed in the firelight. Daryl cursed under his breath. Michonne tensed, but the man holding her shoved her down harder.

The leader leaned close to Rick, almost whispering. “First, the boy.”

Rick froze. Something in him—something deep, buried—snapped awake. His breathing slowed, heavy, like the moments before pulling a trigger.

“I’m gonna kill you,” he said. His voice was low, shaking, but there was nothing empty in it.

The leader only smirked. “No… you ain’t.”

And then Rick moved.

It happened in a blur—savage, unrestrained. He tore himself free from the man holding him with a burst of force that rattled the air, slamming into the one pinning Carl. They crashed into the dirt, rolling in a tangle of limbs, fists, and snarls until Rick’s weight pressed the man down. His mouth opened before thought could catch him, and his teeth drove deep into the man’s neck.

The scream was sharp, ragged—cut short when Rick bit harder. Skin tore. Blood spilled hot and fast, flooding over his tongue and running down his chin in crimson trails. Carl’s voice broke in the background, shouting for him, but Rick didn’t stop until the man went limp beneath him.

You should have been horrified. Instead, your heart hammered with something darker, more dangerous. The scent of blood hit you like a thunderclap—rich, metallic, intoxicating. It surged through your veins, calling to the hunger you had spent years mastering. Your fangs ached, pressing against your lips, straining to break free. Rick Grimes, fierce and breathless, was painted in blood, and every primal instinct she owned screamed for her to take him.

He ripped free from the man’s throat and shoved Carl behind him, chest heaving, eyes lit with a wild, untamed fury. His voice was a low growl. “Let them go.”

They obeyed without hesitation, melting back into the shadows like the cowards they were. But you didn’t watch them go. Your eyes slid to Michonne, who had Carl clutched tightly in her arms, rocking him against her chest. His small body trembled, his face wet with tears that caught the dying firelight. You held her gaze, your expression sharp and deliberate. Understanding flickered in her eyes. She shifted her grip, pressing Carl’s face into her shoulder, covering his eyes, while her hands clamped gently but firmly over his ears. Her voice dropped to a whisper—soft, soothing lies meant to keep him calm—while her own tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

The moment Carl was shielded; you moved. You slipped into the darkness without a sound, swallowed by the cold. The forest seemed to close around you, the air thick with the metallic tang of fresh blood. The men ahead laughed under their breath, confident they’d gotten away. They never heard you coming. One by one, you found them. The first barely had time to gasp before your teeth sank into his throat, hot blood flooding your mouth. You left him slumped against a tree, eyes staring at nothing. The second turned, confused by the wet sound of his companion hitting the ground, only to have your shadow wrap around him like a shroud. He didn’t even scream—just gurgled as his life poured out between your fingers.

By the third, the scent of fear was thick in the air. They began to run. It didn’t matter. You were faster. Hungrier. When it was over, the forest was silent again, save for the slow drip of blood from leaves and branches. You stood among the bodies, breathing in the quiet satisfaction of knowing none of them would ever hurt Rick—or Carl—again.

And when you stepped back into the firelight, there was nothing on your face to betray what you’d done. When you returned you found Rick still dripping in blood, watching his son slowly drift to sleep. Rick spat into the dirt, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the copper tang lingered in the air. It wrapped around her senses, sweet and maddening. Her heart was racing as she watched Rick like a predator held at bay, her lips parted, lust burning behind her gaze. The man she had grown to love was covered in blood and fuming with an animalistic rage she had never seen before.

“Come on let’s get you cleaned up.” You instructed, your voice soft and sultry as Rick finally looked at you.

Rick glanced toward Michonne, her arms wrapped protectively around the sleeping form of Carl, before turning to follow you into the shadowed depths of the tree line. As you stepped beside him, the darkness pressing close, your mind ignited with forbidden, indecent thoughts—wild, reckless desires twisting beneath your calm exterior, fuelled by the heat of the night and the dangerous nearness of Rick’s steady presence.

You and Rick slipped quietly through the dense trees, the muffled sounds of the camp fading behind you. The night air was cool and sharp, a welcome contrast to the heat simmering just beneath your skin. After a few minutes, the soft rush of water grew louder ahead—a nearby creek, its surface catching the faint moonlight like scattered shards of glass. You stopped at the bank, the ground soft and damp beneath your boots. Rick’s eyes met yours in the dim light, heavy with unspoken tension. The creek’s gentle flow seemed to echo the steady thrum of your racing hearts.

Without a word, you stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until there was nothing but breath and the electric brush of skin. Rick’s hand found your waist, warm and steady, while your fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing every rough edge. Your gaze caught the dark smear of blood on his cheek—the deep, vivid stain that stirred something fierce and primal inside you.

With slow, deliberate hunger, you leaned in, letting your tongue flick across the crimson, tasting him—warm, metallic, intoxicating. Rick’s breath hitched sharply, his eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and raw desire. You traced your tongue slowly over every drop of blood glistening on his chin and lips, each lick deliberate and teasing. Your mouth followed, planting soft, lingering kisses along his jawline and down his neck, the warmth of your breath sending sparks across his skin.

Rick’s breath hitched, a low, guttural groan rumbling from deep within his chest as desire coiled tighter between you. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingers exploring the hard planes of his back, pulling him closer until there was nowhere left to escape. Every touch, every kiss stoked the fire burning between you—raw, urgent, and impossible to deny. Your bodies pressed together, heat with the cool night air, the creek’s gentle murmur fading beneath the rhythm of your racing hearts.

You moved against him with a slow, teasing hunger, lips brushing and biting just enough to drive him wild, hands roaming, tracing, claiming. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth back to his, deepening the kiss until it was a desperate dance of need and release. The world narrowed to skin and breath and the electric charge pulsing between you—two bodies aflame beneath the indifferent stars.

“Fuck.” He swallowed hard, eyes darkening as he looked down at you—your breath shaky, lips parted, the slick sheen of desire glistening on your skin.

The heat pooling between your legs wasn’t just from the night; it was from the storm of thoughts racing through your mind, setting every nerve ablaze before a single touch was even made. Beneath the tangled canopy of trees, the night pressed close—thick with scent and shadow, hiding the heat simmering between you. The moon spilled silver light in shards, catching the sweat gleaming on your skin as Rick’s hands gripped your waist with a desperate hunger.

His lips crushed against your neck, teeth grazing and biting with a savage edge that made you gasp and arch into him. The sharp contrast of rough bark against your back only sharpened every sensation—every slick slide of skin, every slick wet whisper of breath. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him deeper into the fierce kiss, your tongue sliding over his as you both groaned low and ragged. His hands didn’t hesitate—exploring, claiming, trailing fire wherever they touched, dragging you closer until there was no space left between you.

Clothes fell away like dead weight, forgotten as your bodies pressed naked against one another, slick and slickening with heat. The earthy scent of the forest mixed with the raw musk of desire, thick and heady in the night air. Rick’s mouth moved from your lips to your collarbone, sucking bruises into your skin as his hands roamed lower—over curves, teasing, grabbing, making you shiver with want. You ground your hips against his, needing, aching for the feel of him inside you.

“Get on the ground.” He murmured, watching you as you instantly knelt. Rick loomed over you, watching you, sprawled out on the ground. “Your so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Rick popped the button of his jeans, dragging down the zipper with a harsh breath, kneeling between your spread legs—his breathing ragged, desperate. Instinctively, you opened yourself wider, inviting him closer.

A low, breathy laugh escaped him before his hand shot out, gripping your ankle and pulling you toward him, his body pressing fully against yours, engulfing you in heat and weight. His hands roamed hungrily over every curve, exploring with rough confidence, before one palm slid down the smooth skin of your thigh, sending a shiver racing through you.

“Your so fuckin’ needy.” Rick muttered, his middle finger tracing along the seam of your underwear, teasing you.

The thought of waking tomorrow with his mark pressed into your skin made your stomach twist with anticipation.

“Please, Rick,” you whimpered, voice thick with need, desperation creeping into every word as you ached for any kind of friction—any spark to set the fire roaring inside you.

“Say it again,” Rick murmured, his voice low and thick with heat as he pressed himself closer, grinding slowly against you. He watched, eyes dark and hungry, as you writhed beneath him, every shiver and gasp feeding the fire between you.

Your fingers curled into the dead leaves you laid on, the frustration and desire burning in your core. “Rick.” You moaned senselessly. “Please Rick.

He revelled in the sound of your desperate pleading. Rick’s hands clamped firmly around your hips, grounding you as he slid inside slow and deliberate, if only for a heartbeat. You gasped, breath catching as he vanished deeper within you, inch by agonizing inch.

Your hands scrambled along the broad planes of his back, nails digging in, desperate and relentless, as you adjusted to the overwhelming fullness you’d longed for. Every motion stoked the fire burning between you both, raw and consuming, until nothing else existed but the fierce rhythm of your bodies entwined.

“That’s my girl.” Rick coos as he begins a brutal pace.

His grip was relentless, fingers digging fiercely into your hips as he pulled you back against him with raw, unyielding force. The wet, primal sound of skin slapping against skin shattered the silence of the forest, filling the night with a hungry rhythm.

Your soft gasps and moans echoed like a secret song between the trees, swallowed by the dark but impossible to ignore. Rick’s eyes burned as he watched you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands clawing at his skin and tangling in his hair—desperate to anchor yourself to something real, something solid.

Every powerful thrust sent electric shockwaves rippling through your body, stealing your breath and making it hitch with need. The wildness in his gaze matched the fire burning in your veins, a fierce hunger that neither of you could—or wanted to—resist.

His hot breath brushed your ear as he whispered, “This what you needed, baby?” his voice low and thick with heat as he pressed himself closer.

The speed of his hips quickened, driving faster and deeper as the tension between you snapped tighter, both of you teetering on the edge, lost in the wildfire of your rising pleasure. With every thrust, every breathless whisper, the world around you blurred into nothing but heat and sensation. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the tension built, raw and unrelenting.

Rick’s voice dropped to a husky growl, matching the rhythm of your racing heart. “Come for me baby,” he urged, and you did—shattering into a rush of pleasure that sent shockwaves through your body.

He followed, his release rough and powerful, grounding you both in the fierce, trembling aftermath. For a long moment, you lay tangled together beneath the stars—skin slick with sweat, hearts still pounding, the cool night wrapping around you like a whispered promise.

“I love you.” His voice cut through the quiet, soft and trembling, his eyes locked onto yours in the silver glow of the moonlight.

A shiver rippled through you—not from the chill of the night, but from the weight carried by those three simple words, spoken like a vow carved into your very soul.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

[ MASTERLIST ] 𖤐