#twd fic

A cool breeze bit through the summer heat, nipping at your arms. The sun was relentless. Sweat dripped down your forehead, your neck, arms—anywhere the sun could reach its rays. 

Some of the group had gone out for supplies. Only a few of you were left to guard the camp now, promises of food, water, and medicine kept you hopeful while you drowned in the humidity. Sifting through the heat, you hoped Glenn remembered your request for sunscreen—your shoulders already began to peel and blister—a near hyperthermic sluggishness to your movements.

Even if he didn’t, as long as everyone came back safe, you would’ve been content with whatever they brought home.

Home. 

It was funny you thought of it like that.

With the people you stayed around, there never was just one place to call home. Shane, the group’s self-proclaimed leader, kept the team wandering, always on the move. It was the only way of survival now, but it never stopped feeling like you lost a piece of yourself at each stop. The days blurred together, exhaustion wore thin as supplies dwindled and the trek just kept getting longer.

When the end of the world had struck, your mind went blank. Nothing had ever prepared you for this moment, there was no rulebook to follow. If you couldn’t figure this out on your own, there was only one thing you knew you could do: Find a group.

Stuck in piled up traffic along the highway, you became friends with the nearby drivers, striking up conversation when things started to sound more serious than just a car wreck. Carol and Lori were the first two by your side, idly chatting about what could’ve caused this traffic. Then, when things got more serious—drivers started attacking each other, gunshots in the distance—you all agreed to stick together. 

Shane came along with Lori, practically inseparable with how protective he was of her and Carl. He was possessive, not only when it came to his family, but the group as well. Although no one outright said it, Shane was what you all needed to get through this. It always felt like he knew more than he gave off though—that he had secrets he’d never let go—but he was Lori’s husband and you didn’t want to overstep.

Or at least you thought he was.

A few weeks into forming a real group—one supported by vehicles, supplies, and a real chance at survival—Lori had mentioned her actual husband.

“He was a real good father– husband too.” She turned her head to look around then, “Always looked out for me and Carl. I’m sure he would know what to do right now…”

The confession had taken you by surprise. It was one of the few times you had truly been alone with Lori—no Carl, Shane, or Carol listening in. It was a brief encounter, one entirely by chance, but it stuck with you for a while.

You had gone out in the middle of the night for a breath of fresh air. It was a full moon that night and you hoped the clouds parted just enough to let you catch a glimpse. When you peeked through the opening of your tent though, you saw a figure, hunched over and quivering over the smothered campfire.

Pulling a knife from the back pocket of your jeans, you planted quiet, careful steps towards the logs. Blade held at your side, nervously anticipating your next move, you quickly realized that this wasn’t a walker, nor was it a raider—it was Lori, crying in the dark.

That night you got closer to Lori than you had ever been with anyone since the outbreak. She wept to you about her late husband, how he was in a coma when the world turned to shit. How Shane—her saviour—went back for him, but was too late.

You couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through—the pain she had to mask for the sake of her son. She had clearly leaned heavily on Shane, even before everything, he was her rock. The two were so close that you thought they had been together for far longer than this. They just seemed so in love.

From then on, you watched the dynamic closely. How Carl slowly attached himself to Shane and how Lori lovingly watched from afar. Even in the mess of everything, they still managed to pick back up the pieces of their shattered family. It was something you admired, how she could look past her grief to make a better life for her son—for herself.

That hot, summer day was no different. 

Most of the group idled around, waiting for the results of the supply run as if it were any other day. Carl and Shane were out by the lake, catching fish. Lori and Carol bathed in the shade, hunched over the wash bin. Dale was taking watch up on the RV, looking for the rest of the group who was supposed to be back long before now.

“Merle said he was gon’ be back here before sunset ‘n by the looks of it, the sun is fuckin’ settin’.”

Daryl was growing restless now, driving the rest of the group mad while his brother was out on a run. He was pacing back and forth in front of you, his hand clawing at his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair.

“You know what can happen on these runs,” you said, leaned back against the RV, your arms crossed. “They probably just had to take another way home. Glenn’s good with directions, I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

To be honest, you weren’t sure of anything, but if it got the younger Dixon to stop pestering you, then a little white lie couldn't hurt.

“Y’ain’t sure of shit!” He yelled, throwing a punch at the old, rusted metal of the motorhome.

“Don’t dent my RV!” Dale shouted from above. “I better not see a scratch on her when I get down there!”

Rolling his eyes, Daryl took a few steps back to get a good look at the man posted on the roof. Laid back in his lawn chair, Dale had a gun sprawled in his lap, binoculars pointed right down at you two.

“This old thing? S’got more scratches than I can count.”

“How many is that—ten?” you quipped, a sly smile creeping on your face.

Daryl sneered, his footsteps clouding up dust until he was right in your face. “I ain’t messin’ ‘round right now, little princess.” He spat, so close you could smell his breath. “You’re sittin’ around while my brother s’out there takin’ care of the useless group y’all sent out with him.”

“Useless?” Standing up now, you shoved Daryl’s chest, sending him stumbling back a couple feet. “You should be grateful we even took your-”

“Quit arguing, you two!” Dale hissed. “I see a truck coming up the hill.”

Grumbling, Daryl pulled his bow from around his shoulders, getting himself into a good position. 

“You better hope this s’my brother.”

Shoving him further behind the RV, you pulled out your gun. “Or what, Daryl?”

The soft gnashing of gravel grew closer, a faint scent of gasoline filling your senses. Through the clearing, you could see a box van coming up the mountain. It looked harmless so far, no raiders peeking out the windows with guns, waiting to rob your camp. Pulling to a stop just shy of the RV, you could see through the windshield—it was Glenn in the driver's seat.

A crowd started to form as the other members of the groups noticed the arrival. Everyone was cautious when the stranger tumbled out of the truck, people were almost worse than walkers nowadays.

Shane was quick to make his way to the front, especially when he noticed the familiar face next to Glenn. He looked astonished, pale almost, at the sight of the officer.

“Rick?”

Whipping your head back, Lori clutched onto her son, quivering in fear like she was seeing a ghost. To her, she really was. You had only heard that name once from Lori’s lips—that night you comforted her outside of the camp—it was the name of her supposedly deceased husband. But here he was, alive and breathing, spinning Carl around in his arms.

===

Rick had become an integral part of the group, almost succeeding Shane in his leadership position. Things were taking a turn for the better, having two strong minds working together instead of Shane’s impulsive drive leading the group to disaster.

Although Carl was grateful to have his father back, things between him and Shane didn’t falter. Things with Lori, however, took a drastic turn. Like night and day, her feelings for Shane seemed to fade. 

Following her husband into the tent that first night, she never looked back, but you could tell the pain it caused her—the agony it caused Shane.

Unknowingly, you became trapped in the triangle too.

Never would you have done it on purpose, but the longer Rick weaved his way into the group, the more your feelings grew for him. It started off slight, his looks catching you off guard the moment you saw him. He was attractive, a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind about any man since the world went to shit. 

But the moment you realized he wasn’t yours for the taking—and never would be—you rid that thought from your mind.

Then you saw Lori with Shane again.

They seemed to be arguing at first, Lori’s hands up in the air until they curled into his hair, tugging at the roots. Then, Shane pulled her in by the waist, slamming his lips onto hers. For a moment, she went stiff, debating the consequences of her actions until she went limp, falling into his touch.

You stopped looking after that. Anything more and it would have felt like an obligation to tell Rick though you had barely known him. He just looked so happy to find his family again—god knows how long he was searching, the things he had done to get here.

From that moment on, you began to unknowingly attach yourself to the man. Whether it was pity, some sort of guilt, or a hidden attraction—you’d never know—but something had you and the officer tied to the hip. You tagged behind him on supply runs and perimeter checks, helped out with chores—basically became his second shadow.

He obviously took notice, so did the others in the group, but just like with Shane and Lori, they kept their lips sealed. Everyone knew better than to press, had more important things to focus on than a messy love triangle. It’d all blow over eventually.

You found yourself with Rick and Daryl, doing a perimeter check of the farm. The entire group was still very wary of the new location, but with a working agreement between Hershel and Rick, tensions seemed to be lessening.

“Ya keep walkin’ so close t’tha fence ‘n yer gon’ get zapped.” Daryl said teasingly, his boots dragging in the dirt.

“Maybe I’ll take you down with me,” you quipped.

Things between you and Daryl wouldn’t seem to have changed just listening in, but the way you spoke to each other now was softer—more joking rather than harsh jabs. It took a while, and a lot of convincing from Carol, but you finally came around to him.

Rick chuckled, shaking his head as he marked another weak spot onto his map.

“If Carl ever had a sister,” Rick turned his head to look at you, “I imagine this s’exactly what it’d be like, you two argue like children.”

“Yet you still bring us with you.” Scrunching your nose, you took the map from Rick’s hands. “Maybe if you gave us something interesting to do we wouldn’t have time to argue.”

“Alright then,” Rick took a moment before speaking, like he suddenly regretted saying anything in the first place. “Come with me on a run tomorrow. Goin’ to check out the next town over. S’that interestin’ enough for ya?”

You expected Daryl to chime in, complain about how he wasn’t invited or how he ‘didn’t even wanna come anyway.’ That never came though and the three of you just sat in a passing silence. The two men shared some sort of knowing glance, awaiting your response.

“Yeah.” Shrugging, you looked back at Daryl. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Are you not coming, Daryl?”

He opened his mouth to say something, eyes nervously flicking to Rick before he stuttered out, “N-nah, I’m busy t’morrow.”

“Busy, got it.” You laughed, unconvinced. “Sounds fun.”

The rest of the search fell in a deep silence that you couldn’t seem to wade out of. Drowning in the tension, you waited for it to flood over and find a moment to breathe before you thought too hard about it.

Both men were painfully silent, sharing secret glances like they were having a whole conversation with just their eyes. It made you feel small, suddenly self-conscious around these people you had spent every day around.

When you got back to camp, you were quick to part from them, ready to shed the uncomfortability that grew on your skin. Before you could get back to your tent though, a familiar voice called out your name.

“Tomorrow morning, remember?” Rick called out from across camp. 

A few heads turned at the interaction, including an inquisitive Lori whose eyes flicked between the two of you, and the moment felt unnecessarily vulnerable—like this was something you were caught doing.

Nodding your head, you flashed a thumbs up before dipping into your tent for the rest of the night.

You didn’t know why things felt so tense all of the sudden. You and Rick had never been alone like this before. Daryl or Glenn typically tagged along, keeping you company as you babbled along, allowing Rick to complete the task at hand. It was always through the playful banter of your groupmates that you spoke to Rick—just teasing jokes and mindless chatter about the weather.

Everyone in the camp—except you—noticed the way you looked at Rick. How each time he turned a corner, a smile appeared on your face and your back would straighten just to get that much closer to him. It was all subtle, just your body trying to get your brain to catch up on how badly you had fallen for the man. That idea was strictly forbidden though—not even something that crossed your mind in the slightest. He was Lori's husband.

Though, you had noticed them sleeping in separate tents lately. During the day, they played up the role of a happy couple, but at night they were nowhere near each other, and occasionally, you’d hear Lori slip off with Shane deep into the night.

You liked to think that Rick could see through them. That he was smarter than his heart would let him and realize what was going on between his wife and best friend. If he did know, he did a damn good job at pretending not to care.

Unbeknownst to you, Rick did know—and he didn’t care. 

Blindly enamoured with his wife, Rick did anything in his power to find his family when he first woke up in that hospital. Stumbling upon this group was unknowingly the worst thing to ever happen to him as the weeks unfolded. A prickling feeling that something was just out of reach followed him everywhere. Some deep sense of dread followed him for days until he finally saw it.

Shane and Lori—his best friend and his wife—holding hands beneath a tree, having some sort of serious conversation. He wanted to wait and watch, find some more incriminating evidence than just hand holding, but he felt sick to his stomach at just the thought. Resentment was quick to grow towards the both of them, a rekindling of feelings inadvertently growing towards someone else.

In his time at the camp, Rick found himself gravitating towards you. Unlike the others, you didn’t seem to get caught up in all the fighting, choosing to keep close to Daryl and Carol. You were always a fresh breeze after a long day of putting up a front with Lori, saving face for Carl’s sake, and secretly wishing he was with you the entire time.

A large part of him felt guilty for his feelings. He tried his best to push them away and ignore them until he just couldn’t anymore. That was when he started assigning you to the same tasks as him, but always with another person to accompany you. It just didn’t feel right to him, the way he wanted to look at you, the things he wanted to say—to confess.

It was all too much for him that he’d bring Daryl along almost as a chaperone. He wasn’t too scared to talk to you—like Rick was—and could coax an easy laugh from your lips. The sound was heavenly to him, bathing in your voice as he walked around doing different chores, the time flew by with you chatting behind him.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of your relationship with Daryl. The two of you had gotten close so quickly after being sworn enemies that he wished he could make conversation just as easy.

 Of course he talked to you—always so interested in what he had to say—but that was the problem. You’d look up at him with those eyes, arms across your chest and your head tilted with a soft pout. He just couldn’t keep himself together when you looked at him like that.

And he knew it was wrong. He was married—still had the ring around his finger to prove it. So why did he invite you on a run tomorrow?

When Daryl pulled him aside after he had called out for you at camp, he still couldn’t answer that question.

“The hell y’doin’?” He said roughly, dragging Rick away from the crowd—away from the timorous eyes of Lori. “Thought we weren’t doin’ this?”

“Doin’ what?” Rick said dumbly.

His eyes flicked back over to his wife for a moment and a feeling of guilt panged his chest.

“You know exactly what—you’re married.” Daryl was seething, words barely audible with how he gritted his teeth. 

He was never one to press someone's morals, but this was Rick, the one person he knew to be noble and loyal. Without Rick to stand behind, he would have no one—the group would have no one—it’d only be a matter of time for things to crumble if he didn’t keep his head straight on his shoulders.

“We’re goin’ out for a run.” Rick crossed his arms, ready to walk away from the conversation. “S’not like we’re gettin’ eloped.”

“Bet you’d love that.”

“Well the plan’s already been made, so there’s no goin’ back.” Fumbling out a poor excuse, Rick stalked back towards the camp, catching a brief glimpse of Lori’s face before heading into his tent.

It was hard to gauge what she thought, nothing in her gaze besides a silent, defeated observation. Some part of Rick told himself that she deserved it after lying to him for so long, but another part of him—the part he liked to think was the real him—was disgusted he could brush off his wife’s emotions so easily. 

Rick tossed and turned through the night. When the sun finally rose, he wasted no time unzipping his tent. Though his lids were still heavy, his body exhausted, a rapid, thrumming heartbeat thrashed in his chest.

He really did need to go on this run, but was it too late to just go by himself? Maybe you’d wake up, grateful he had gone and left you the day to relax. 

The longer he stalled, the more he was starting to think Daryl was right.

He was married. So what was he doing going out alone with the only woman who made his heart race and his cheeks flush—a woman who wasn’t his wife.

Biting the skin on his fingers, Rick tore his knuckles raw, the skin puffy and bleeding. He was so caught up in his own mind, that he didn’t notice you had already woken up.

“You ready?” Beaming up at him with a warm mug in your hands, your breath frosted a little in the chill morning air.

It was barely light outside, no sight of the sun peeked above the horizon just yet. The rest of the group were tucked away in their tents, chasing warmth in their sleeping bags. That left just you and Rick alone in the middle of camp.

Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his throat closing in on itself.

Just one offhanded comment about going for a run and you were up bright and early with a smile on your face just for him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—how happy you seemed to be here with him. There were none of those fake eye rolls or witty jokes you threw at Daryl. This was a side of you he rarely saw, a slightly less bubbly, but softer side. He felt special getting to see you like this, wanted to reserve this view for himself and no one else.

A quiet yawn left your lips and curled into a lazy grin. Tiredly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, looking to Rick for the next direction.

His lips parted, tongue jutting out to wet them—anything to get another moment of you like this. “Yeah, truck’s all warmed up. You got everythin’?”

“Mhmm,” Motioning to the bag slung over your shoulder, you nodded sleepily. “Gun, knife, water, and some food. I even brought a surprise in case the ride gets too boring.”

Rick couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face. “A surprise, huh? Might have to drive extra slow then.”

Starting towards the truck, the engine rumbled gently, the lights flicked off to not wake the rest of the camp. It was nice just being able to talk with Rick for once. Your time together always felt sort of disconnected, or maybe it was just the boundary you had put up for yourself to not get too attached.

Rick's arm reached around you, pulling open the passenger door. His fingertips ever so slightly grazed your back, guiding you in the cab, stalling for a moment too long before shutting the door.

While he rounded the truck, the pieces of the puzzle—the one you had been trying to fit together ever since he invited you out here—started to fall into place. 

You couldn’t sit still. Now that he had touched your skin, it felt like you were on fire. Since you met, you had always thought your feelings towards Rick were purely physical. That the presence of a man this attractive was uncommon nowadays and the way your mind wandered was just a product of that.

The guilt seeped in, making you want to hop out of the truck and crawl back in your tent like none of this had ever happened. The way he spoke to you—his words finally meant for just you, his eyes focused on yours—made your body electric, practically buzzing in your seat. 

This was no small crush like you had thought. Over these past few months, you were falling in love with Rick Grimes—the husband of one of your closest friends.

You had thought it was just a coincidence that you and Lori had grown apart when Rick arrived. Figured she was preoccupied with the shock and patching things up with Shane. But maybe, just maybe, she saw what you couldn't see. 

Maybe Lori saw the way you looked at Rick like he hung the moon. The way you followed him around like a dog, obedient to his every word. What really had Lori’s eyes following you two that day though, was the way Rick looked. She knew that look anywhere because it was the same look he used to give to her.

That sappy, lovesick look that used to be solely reserved for her was now directed towards another woman—and Lori couldn't help but feel relieved? She was at a crossroads, having to take her place beside her husband, knowing her heart truly resided with Shane. It was a choice she didn’t want to admit was difficult to make, but seeing that maybe her husband felt the same gave her some hope.

Rick hadn’t lied when he said the ride would be slow. It started out with him telling you to get some rest and to ‘save up some of that energy for the interesting part.’ Little did you know, he just wanted to get a good look at you, up close, without anyone else watching, and not be too nervous to look you in the eye.

When you had finally dozed off, he brushed the loose hair from your face, watching the way your lips pouted out and the soft snores that left them. He drove extra slow as promised, but not for anything other than to make sure you didn’t wake up. Avoiding any potholes or branches in the road, he opted for the smoothest route possible.

He never would’ve admitted it to his face, but Daryl was right. The longer he was alone with you, the more his mind spiraled. Guilt was eating him alive even though he hadn’t done anything. The simple fact that he felt something was enough to crush him. The weight of his feelings were enough to drag him into a pit for the rest of the drive until you woke up.

Groaning, you squinted your eyes to adjust to the sun now peeking in through the glass. The truck seat was more comfortable than any place you had slept in months and the rhythmic rumbling of the tires was enough to lull you to sleep. A yawn escaped your lips, absentmindedly flipping in your spot until your gaze fell on Rick in the driver’s seat.

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” he rasped, eyes focused on the road.

“Shit,” you cursed, sitting up in your seat. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long. We almost there?”

“Told ya to get some rest, y’know I don’t mind.” Rick said, flashing you a smile. “Town should be right up ahead—right on schedule.”

Abandoned cars littered the roads and Rick tried his best to maneuver around them, but when he got to a certain cluster, there was no way out. You didn’t say anything, wanting to let him concentrate. A frustrated grumble left his lips, head peeking over his shoulder as he started to reverse.

“M’leavin’ the car here, there’s no way ‘round.” Slamming his palm onto the wheel, he set the truck into park. “I can see buildings right through the clearing. It should be close enough to bring stuff back.”

Nodding, you followed Rick’s lead. The sun was up now, just barely peeking through the clouds to pick up the morning dew that tickled your ankles. You both walked a few feet from each other, eyes focused on the couple of buildings ahead.

The walk was quieter than you had expected. You wanted to throw in some joke, one of those witty remarks that always came so easy when Daryl was around. Things felt so fragile now that you were alone, like all the things simmering just below the surface were starting to rise and the both of you could feel it bubbling over.

“I’ve been uh.” You stared at the ground, kicking a stone ahead of you and repeating the process all over again a couple feet ahead. “I’ve been talking to the Greenes a little more since we got here. They’re really nice people, especially Maggie—looks like her and Gleen have been hitting it off too.”

That last part made the both of you chuckle, the entire group letting Glenn awkwardly shuffle his way over to Maggie each day, trying to make a good impression. It was a noble attempt and Maggie seemed just as into him to relay the nervousness right back his way.

Rick laughed, running a hand over his jaw. “I remember bein’ like that—makes me miss bein’ young.” He said, his feelings more recent than he was admitting to.

In all honesty, Rick did miss being that young, nostalgic over the freedom he once had. Maybe if he was a little younger he wouldn’t feel the guilt that tore him apart each time he looked at you. If he was younger then maybe he would feel like he had a sliver of a chance with you. 

“You’re not that old,” you giggled.

“Thanks,” he laughed dryly. “Sounded real convincin’.” 

Rick looked over to you, not expecting you to be looking right back. He sucked in a sharp breath. Time felt frozen, like he was stuck here, body paralyzed by the force of you. 

“I mean it,” you said, a little more serious this time. “I know the world has gone to shit, but we have the whole world to make something of ourselves, to do whatever we want.”

He smiled to himself.

‘We’

The way you spoke like you were a unit, two pieces of the same puzzle. He knew you probably didn’t mean it that way, but his heart couldn’t help but hope that somewhere deep down you maybe felt the same.

When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to fill the gap. “The world clearly favors you, Rick.” Your tone started off more lighthearted, but shifted into something more serious, weighing down the air just slightly. “After everything you still made it back to your family, your best friend, still alive. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but you’re handling it a hell of a lot better than the rest of us.”

“You’ve got to,” he words were rushed, intense, with a fierce gaze that locked your eyes. “The only way Carl stays strong is if I’m strong for him.”

You noticed how he only mentioned Carl. Trying not to think too deep into it, you glanced over to the town right ahead of you now. There were a few walkers that roamed the streets and with how rummaged through the entire town looked, the risks seemed to outweigh any possible benefits.

“Just don’t wear yourself out.” Turning back to Rick, you gave him one last small smile before pulling a weapon from your bag. “Let people help you every once in a while.”

“I brought you here with me, didn’t I?” 

That statement felt more charged than he probably meant it. A heat flushed your cheeks and you refocused back on the threat ahead of you.

“Let’s get in there then.”

The crowd ended up being more than you could handle. What just seemed like a few walkers aimlessly roaming in the streets ended up being a whole horde. Even just the sound of your knives and heavy panting drew a flood of undead from out the alleyways. They seemed to be coming from every direction, crawling out of abandoned cars, old buildings and shops. There was no escape, having to result in your guns, you hoped that some nearby group would hear and come to help. As unlikely as that was, it seemed even more unlikely that you both were making it out of here alive.

Pulling the trigger, the empty chamber rang out in the air. Panic filled your body and you reached into your empty pocket as a last resort.

“Rick!” you yelled out into the crowd.

No answer.

Ducking past a few reaching limbs, you weaved through the crowd trying to find Rick. Heartbeat thrumming in your ears, the monotonous groaning was drowned out and your vision blurred at the edges.

Everything was blurry the longer the adrenaline coursed through your veins. It was a strong, heavy, and unwelcoming feeling that made you disoriented and wobbly. You hadn’t realized you lost Rick, let alone where. Now that you were separated, you had no way into the truck, no way home, and no way out of here alive.

There were no more gunshots ringing out and the mass of walkers drowned out any sounds Rick could make to call out for you. It felt hopeless and for a moment you just wanted to accept that you would die here. Your feet couldn’t carry you for much longer and even if you could outrun the crowd, where were you to go after that?

Then, an arm curled around your waist, pulling you away from the store you were about to hide in and carried you back towards the crowd. You didn’t think, just acted as you tried to claw the fingers from around your hips. Thrashing, you fought the body dragging you closer to the danger, thinking you were surely done for.

“Quit it.” A voice, low and rough, hissed out. “It’s jus’ me. I’m gettin’ us the hell outta here.”

Your brain slowly started to catch up, allowing your feet to drop to the ground and run alongside Rick rather than have him drag you along. He blew through the crowd, using a combination of his knife and the barrel of his gun to strike down the crowd. Trying to help out where you could, you took down a few walkers, fishing through the back pocket of Rick’s denim when you saw the truck in the distance.

“Here!” Running up beside him, you made a quick exchange of the keys and his gun, slipping the weapon into your bag.

It felt like your lungs were on fire and your heart would just pop out of your chest if you didn’t stop, but it was too close to give up. Reaching the vehicle, you tossed open the door, throwing yourself inside before locking the door shut.

The two of you sat in a heavy silence, letting the fastest of the walkers bang on the glass while the rest staggered behind. Your chests heaved, slumped in your respective seats, trying to comprehend how this all went so terribly.

Then, as the crowd started to thicken, Rick put the truck in reverse, ignoring all the thumps beneath the tires. Leaving the road, he merged onto the empty highway, biting the skin on his fingers.

Never had a run turn so quickly on him and of course it happened to be the one time you were with him—the time he was supposed to keep you safe. The crowd has just appeared out of nowhere without any shot being fired, there was almost nothing you two could've done differently.

“M’sorry,” Rick whispered finally. “I should’ve never brought you out here. It was dangerous ‘n I shouldn't be puttin’ your life at risk like that.”

His voice was low and even, almost monotonous. He was clearly scolding himself. After everything with Carl, Rick had been a lot more harsh on himself—questioning whether he could lead this group like everyone thought he could—only to drag you straight into danger.

And for what—a moment alone with you?

Shaking your head, you propped your legs up on the dash. “Are you kidding me? I asked for something interesting and you delivered. I haven’t felt this alive in months.”

“Yeah?” Rick quirked a brow in your direction. “M’glad you had fun. I feel like I’m ‘boutta drop dead from a heart attack.”

You laughed. A real, belly laugh. One that Rick had always heard, but never been on the receiving end of—at least not as often as he’d liked to.

“Well,” a sly smirk curled your lips, arms digging in the bottom of your bag, “if that didn’t take too much out of you…” Pulling out a sealed mason jar from the pack, you held it next to your head. “Here’s that surprise I was talking about.”

Rick flicked his attention from the road for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Which would be…?”

“Some moonshine I stole from that bastard Merle after you left his sorry ass up on that roof.”

He cringed at the memory. 

As much as Daryl had claimed to have forgotten about it, the thought of leaving that man—as terrible as he was—up on that roof, haunted Rick almost every night. Though you clearly didn’t seem to mind, almost relieved the older Dixon was gone.

“And what’re we doin’ with that?” Laughing, he couldn’t believe the idea you were proposing—nevertheless with him. 

“Drinking it, duh.”

He had never seen you anything more than tipsily chatting with Daryl over the fire. Now here you were, proposing he get drunk with you. Not only did the idea seem dangerous, out here just a few miles away from a marauding horde of walkers, but he wasn’t sure he could trust himself around you. He was a grown man, could surely control his body, but his mind was different—the things he might blurt out.

“C’mon,” you whined when he only bit his lip, staring out onto the road. “We have nothing but ourselves and this truck to look after. No one is expecting us until later tonight, might as well use up the day to its full potential.”

This was a bad idea. 

The temptation Rick felt told him how much he probably shouldn't have been doing this. If it were anyone else he’d immediately object, probably even confiscate the bottle, but this was you. Looking at him so eagerly, he couldn’t find it within himself to say no. He loved that yearning look in your eyes, the one that told him you really did want to be spending your time with him.

Wordlessly, he pulled the truck onto the side of the road.

“A few sips—but that’s all. I mean it.”

Already unscrewing the lid, you flicked it back at him, letting the metal hit his shoulder. Lifting the glass to your lips, your face soured, the smell immediately filling your senses. It was strong, pungent, and although it had been years since your last hangover, the feeling hit you like a truck.

“God,” you cringed, pulling your head back, “this smells awful. First sip is all yours.”

Shaking his head, Rick ushered the jar back towards you. “Ladies first. This was your idea after all.”

He seemed more relaxed than earlier. His shoulders were more slack, his body leaning into the cushions with the belt unstrapped from his shoulders now. There was a soft mechanic rustling as he pushed the seat further back, stretching his legs, watching you fuss over the drink.

Taking the first sip was brutal. It shocked your senses, bringing you upright in the seat, jolting you awake. It tasted awful, just what you expected from a handcrafted Dixon creation, but you couldn’t deny its effects. It surely did its job, immediately working its magic with the second sip. You could feel that slight tingle deep beneath your skin that was slowly giving you the confidence alcohol always seemed to.

“Here, five sips.” Shoving the glass into his hands, you dramatically scrunched your face, words garbled by the liquid. “Beat that.”

Raising a brow, Rick cautiously lifted the jar to his nose. “M’surprised you didn’t puke on the first sip—this smells like Daryl’s feet.”

Giggling, you curled your legs into the seat, leaning over the center console. “You know what Daryl’s feet smell like?”

Nodding, Rick gulped down a generous sip before handing back the glass. “Can’t miss it. He avoids showerin’ like the damn plague.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t come with us.”

Then, taking another sip from the jar, you could feel your mind numbing. The questions you had always wanted to ask, the things you always wanted to say, didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Why didn’t you invite him?” you asked suddenly.

The question caught Rick off guard, snatching the glass from your hands to stall his answer.

“Needed someone to watch the camp,” he breathed out, the remnants of the moonshine glistening his lips.

“You don’t trust Shane?”

Questions were coming in quick now, not giving him a moment to breathe. The glass kept getting passed between the two of you, mainly ushered by Rick each time he felt too overwhelmed by one of your questions or intense stares—anything to buy him just a moment.

He drew his lips tight, the skin paling slightly. “Shane’s always been…” Taking another sip he took a moment to control himself, or maybe find the courage to say what he truly felt. “Impulsive. Don’t know if I can trust him in an emergency.” Then his last words were hot on his tongue, spitting out fire with every syllable. “Not with my son there.”

Nodding, you curled into yourself, knowing you tugged a thread too loose, letting his emotions unravel. Rick had always been so levelheaded that this was foreign. Sure, he had a lot on his shoulders—the stress was always evident—you had never seen him this unguarded though. He was letting it all out now. Finally bringing you into the space he always bridged so far with his silence. Letting Daryl typically fill the gap, Rick was able to feel close to you for so long without having to actually let you in. Now that the alcohol was talking, his true feelings began to spill over the edge and there was no turning back now.

You kept your mouth shut. Your feelings about Shane had always been the same, and it was hard to gauge if your hatred stemmed from the same place. You knew the things Shane was doing outside of his role as the group’s leader. There was so much you wanted to tell Rick, but it didn’t feel like the time—it never did—just seemed like something that would unnecessarily crush him.

“I agree with you,” Was all you said, letting the cab simmer in whatever this was.

“You see it too, right?”

Your heart stopped, stuttering a few times to catch back up—Could he know?

His words were vague, but deep down you knew what he meant. Feigning ignorance, you pressed your lips thin, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“See what?”

Scoffing, he shook his head, fists rocking against the wheel. “Y’don’t think I notice the way everyone looks at me? Y’think I don’t know my best friend is fuckin’ my wife?”

The words came out so even, so calm, that it frightened you more than any outburst could've. It was like he had rehearsed this. Like the anger bubbled within him for so long he had replayed this conversation in his mind more times than he could count. Instead of confronting them though, he was with you—vulnerable, voice raw and shaking.

“I-’

You didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve convinced myself not to believe it for long enough.” About half the glass was gone now, still switching between the two of you. “I can’t ignore it like it’s not happenin’ right in front of my face.”

Jaw slack, you didn’t know how to react. You and Daryl had spent countless hours on the topic, weighing the options between you, ultimately deciding it was better for Rick—and the group—to keep this a secret. Knowing he was aware the entire time made you wonder how he could keep it together for so long.

“I’m sorry we never said anything- that I never said anything…” Drawing a blank, your mind clouded—fuzzy from the alcohol but also from how broken Rick looked in front of you.

His head was heavy, eyes focused on his lap so intently that you were waiting to see smoke from the hole he had burned through the seat. Never had he been this vulnerable with you. Things with Rick were always surface level, light hearted conversation that left you in a lovesick daze. Now, this was just as real as your feelings for him, and once again you just wanted to tuck it all away and let this hot feeling of awkward shame leave your shoulders.

“That ain’t your job, darlin’.”

The nickname slipped off his tongue smoothly and although he had never used such a term of endearment towards you, it almost felt natural leaving his lips. Still, you felt the heat of it on your cheeks, starting to spread lower as the alcohol took its hold.

Nodding, you bit the skin on your lips, debating how to diffuse this tension. 

You both looked out onto the empty road, letting the silence clear your minds. For the first time tonight, you wished it wasn’t just the two of you here. That Daryl or somebody was here to relieve the tension, chime in and save the day whenever your feelings for Rick had your head too clouded.

“Yeah, but I still mean it, I really am sorry,” you said anyway, deciding speaking what was on your mind was better than nothing at all. “It’s not right. You woke up in the hospital, came all the way back here, just for her to act like she’s the one making the difficult decisions? I don’t get how you’re not furious, how you can just pretend everything is fine-”

The alcohol had you rambling now, a slight slur in your words the faster you spoke, your hands flailing around.

“It’s because I’m not pretendin’, sweetheart.” 

He cut you off politely, a deep, gravelly chuckle leaving his lips. There was a subtle blush on his cheeks, the alcohol affecting him too. Surely not as much as you, but it did guide the truth out easier, letting him get closer to you than he ever thought he could.

“What?” you gawked, dumbfounded.

Shaking his head, he smiled softly. It wasn’t a genuine smile, just one of those placeholders that said something like ‘ya caught me’ or a sarcastic ‘surprise!’ 

“S’not worth stressin’ over.” Raking his hands through his hair, he tried to distract you from just how misty eyed he was getting. “Can’t change what’s happened ‘n I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

“Cheers to that,” you nodded, handing him back the jar, “but you can’t just ignore it forever, Rick. You don’t know what that would do to you.”

Though you desperately wanted to lift the mood, you couldn’t help but express your concerns for the man. You knew first-hand the toll it took looking on from the sidelines. When Rick first got here, you experienced it everyday, watching him go off with Lori while your feelings got stronger and stronger. Even now, with the alcohol coursing through your veins, you don’t think you could ever form the words to tell him. This felt like the perfect opportunity with him so disconnected from his wife—but would that make you just as deceitful at her?

“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout that.” He leaned back in his seat now, seemingly more relaxed. Turning his head to you, he had a lazy smirk splayed on his lips, body caving into the exhaustion you both felt. “Been through a lot of heartbreak in this life. This surely ain’t the worst of ‘em.”

“Really?” Turning to him, fully intrigued, you leaned further over the console. “Thought you would’ve been the one breaking hearts,” you joked playfully.

Scoffing, Rick reminisced for a moment. “Then y’got the wrong image of me, darlin’. Wasn’t no athlete or anythin’ back then. Jus’ barely enough sense to get me outta highschool.”

“Sounds like you’ve changed a lot since then.”

“Glad to know ya think of me that way, doll.”

You both just stared at one another, the remnants of the past half hour swirling around both of your minds. It was strange for Rick to be this vulnerable, but with you it didn’t feel so bad. You wished you could’ve said more, found the words through the haziness of your mind and say something to truly heal the broken man in front of you. You just didn’t expect him to be so open with you. How much he didn’t care. It all caught you so off guard that anything you might’ve rehearsed in your head flew out the window.

His words were sharp talking about the situation, but any time he led back to you he always softened his words. Those nicknames kept tumbling off his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, like now that he got the first one out unquestioned, it was something he was addicted to.

“I really do,” you urged, trying not to let your feelings drive your words too much. “I think what you’ve done for the group is amazing. We never would’ve found somewhere like the farm without you.”

His tongue jetted out to wet his lips before he ran a steady hand over his jaw. "You're awfully sweet, darlin’, but you shouldn’t be thankin’ me after today.”

Scrunching your eyebrows, you lightly shoved his shoulder. “God, you’re such a drunk sap, Rick. You’re really still thinking about that? Shit happens, it could’ve been anybody-”

“But it was you.”

The words tumbled out faster than he could stop them, his eyes widened, heart frozen in place. He had just dug himself a hole, and by the look you gave him, there was no getting out.

Your lips were dry, stomach churning with bad moonshine and an unnerved tension. His words weren’t making sense, all this mindless babbling he’d done tonight, it just wasn’t Rick. That didn’t mean you hadn’t liked it though. His words were the closest thing you’d had to quelling that thought in your mind that maybe your feelings were reciprocated.

Breathlessly, you tried to repress your nervousness. “And I’m fine, Rick– barely even have a scratch on me.” You huffed out a sigh. He had been beating himself up over this all day when he should’ve just been grateful to be alive, and unharmed at that. “Just be in the moment for once. Enjoy being alive.”

The curls tossed atop his head, the back of his arm coming up to wipe the alcohol that dribbled from his lips.

“Can’t do that no more, sweetheart,” he sighed, taking a moment to lean back, really take a look within himself. Whatever he’d seen must’ve been too much because he reached for the lid, tightening the old rusty cap back on tight. “Got a whole group of people relyin’ on me to keep ‘em safe, can’t be wastin’ time livin’ in the moment. Even this…” he gestured to the jar, your empty bags, “I shouldn’t be doin’ this…”

His palms splayed wide, stretching his long fingers, nervously tapping them along the steering wheel. You watched them curl around the leather, the roughness of his hands audibly scratching against the threads. It sent a wave of heat through you, your legs crossed and the cab closed in tighter.

“It’s just one drink.” That was a little bit of an understatement. “It’ll be our secret– even Daryl won’t know.” That was the truth—no matter how difficult it was going to be keeping your mouth shut around the shaggy haired man.

It wasn’t the drinks Rick cared about, or the failed supply run. He was only worried about saying the wrong thing—ruining all of this. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment except you, but that confession was also the one thing that could ruin it all.

He fumbled with the ring on his left hand, the one he found himself wearing less and less now. He didn’t know why he chose to put it on that morning. Maybe he had expected this all along—the temptation he would feel—knew he would need some reminder of why he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, staring into his lap.

He had ruined it.

Rick had finally been able to talk to you alone, make you laugh, and he had gone and squashed the moment while drowning in his own self-reproach.

Then, it was slight, but fingertips crept up his bicep, wrapping around his shoulder. He looked to you to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. You gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. With nothing else to offer him but your presence, you fought through the shakiness of your hands and the haze of your vision.

You were definitely drunk now. It wasn't enough to set off any alarms by the time you got back to camp, but right now, kneading the warm, solid muscle of his arms was enough to tell him your mind was a little cloudy. 

Throughout the conversation, you had migrated closer and closer to Rick until you could almost feel his breath on your skin. He was hot to the touch, the tip of his nose and cheeks a bright shade of pink, and his messy mop of curls stuck to his forehead. Closing the gap, you could even feel it radiating off onto your skin.

Rick swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling your breath that crept up the side of his neck. You were swaying, leaning on your elbows across the center console—no longer interested in what you had been talking about, the weight of it seemingly gone from your mind. 

“I think…” Fingertips trailed his skin and you watched him shudder under your touch. “You should smile more…”

Your tone caught him off guard, more sultry and suggestive than you had been all night—than you had ever been. 

He shifted, not uncomfortably, but stiffly, weighing his options of how to move further. You were obviously drunk and your out-of-character behavior was definitely a product of that. As much as he wanted to convince himself you felt the same, that these were pent up feelings finally coming out within the heat of the moment, he knew it was wrong. 

“Sweetheart,” he shuddered, shutting his eyes as if he’d wake up from a dream. “I think we should get back to camp.”

Frowning, you jutted out your bottom lip, wet and slicked from the last of the moonshine. Your pupils were dilated, no longer flickering away from his gaze but holding it, strong and steady, tempting him closer.

“M’serious, Rick,” your words were more slurred, hands trailing lower. “Don’t like seeing you like this…thought I could cheer you up today.” Crackling in your throat, your voice got less and less confident and tears started to well in your eyes. “And I just made everything worse…”

His jaw went slack, your confession taking him by surprise. This whole time, you had been skating through this conversation just the same as him, treading on thin ice, too scared to make one wrong move. Now as the alcohol boldened your moves and softened your mind, it didn’t take long for the ice to break, dragging you beneath the surface.

“Oh darlin’,” he cooed, pulling you further into his chest, letting you grip onto his shoulders. “Such a sweet little thing…y’don’t have anythin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Your limbs were crumpled in the seat behind you, awkwardly twisted so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the hot, sticky tears that clung to his skin, the vulnerability that sunk in with each dig of your nails. 

“What’s got ya so worked up, doll?”

He was trying to be gentle and soft to not let you see how much his heart broke at the sight of you trembling in his lap. His hands roamed your back, tracing little shapes onto the skin from over your shirt, pinching the fabric between his fingers.

“I-It’s not fair,” you hiccuped.

Your drunken state had flown through all the stages so quickly: A bashful tipsyness that led into more thoughtful conversation, letting you both speak your truth until that unavoidable sappiness bled through the cracks and had you like putty in his hands.

“You work so hard.” Your voice was muffled in his neck, fingers desperately grabbing at the curls on the back of his neck. “Why do you let everyone run over you like that?”

This caught him even more off guard, the way you cared so earnestly. The way you sobbed into his neck like this had kept you up for nights, taking his problems just as personally as you own, had him reeling.

“Shhh…breathe, darlin’, breathe.” He smoothed a hand over your hair, shushing your sobs while you hiccupped into his skin. “Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. S’long as the group’s safe—as long as you’re safe—I don’t mind takin’ a few hits.”

You lifted your head, shaking it frantically, cupping Rick’s face into your hands. Squishing his cheeks in a little, he looked at you, face scrunched and lips pouted. 

“I just wanna see you happy again– like when you first got here.” Your back stiffened, trying to bite back the anger from your voice. “The way she talked about you…I-I don’t know how she could do that.”

Your words held a certain discretion to them, like even after all this you were too nervous to breach this topic. This was meant to be a good time. You had brought the moonshine in hopes of getting closer with Rick, letting the alcohol dull your senses until you were no longer too nervous to talk to him. 

Whenever you and Daryl drank, it was never like this. The two of you would have lighthearted conversation, maybe wander down to the lake and playfully splash water at one another. You didn’t realize with so much hanging on this moment, all the time you had spent stressing over making it perfect, that you’d crumble the second the liquid touched your lips. Alcohol clung to your insecurities, peeling back the layers until that was all you could see.

The apples of his cheeks pinched between your palms. He couldn’t help the laugh that rippled from his lips with the sight of you, so fixated on making everything right. Truly, things couldn’t have been more perfect for him within this moment. This was the closest you’d ever been and though you grabbed him with a force that made his face sore, he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

Hearts pounding in sync, neither of you understood the weight of this moment, both sharing the hot, cavernous shame that buried itself within—wedging its way between you.

The grief Rick felt over his crumbling marriage was complicated. At first it tore him from the seams, pulling each thread until he was left a scrap of fabric on the floor. Then you came along and Rick started to notice the effect your presence had on him. What started with mindless babbling on supply runs or perimeter checks, slowly, unknowingly, let you weave the pieces of him back together.

“Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout all that,” he cooed, tucking a sliver of hair behind your ear.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell you that he was that happy again—when you were around. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t care about his wife anymore not only because she had cheated, but because he had feelings for someone else—for you.

Instead, he only let himself say what the silver band on his ring finger allowed.

“Don’t go stressin’ over this old man’s problems, yeah?” Copying your movements, he carefully wiped the edges of your eyes, holding your face in his hands just gently enough he could excuse the action.

Leaning into this touch, you let your lashes flutter against his palm. Nodding against his skin, you breathed in his scent—the remnants of the alcohol on his lips and that deep, musky pull from the crook of his neck. 

Your small hands still held his arms, fingers creeping along his skin—feeling, tracing, memorizing—you felt him shudder beneath your touch. Readjusting his hips, Rick felt the denim on his legs getting more confined and he reached for his belt. Shifting the buckle, he tried to relieve the tension, but you just kept creeping closer.

He felt disgusting. Here you were, confiding in him, pouring your heart out to show you cared, and all he could think about was the blood rushing between his legs. His grip on you had tightened, palms greedily splayed on your waist, resisting every twitch to pull you onto his lap.

You didn’t say anything else, the moment felt busy enough with all the tension coming to a standstill. Though there were no words, the slow, lazy movements fused between each other were enough to speak for itself. Pure want filtered through every action and Rick found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

He saw you glance once, twice, at his lips. Jutting out his tongue, he slipped them beneath his teeth, maybe to dissipate the tension, or maybe to stop himself from giving in.

“Rick…?”

God, you were irresistible right now.

With spit-slicked lips and tear-puffed cheeks, you looked the closest to fucked out Rick had been able to see you outside of his imagination. 

He cleared his throat, grumbling out a soft string of curses. “Yeah, doll?”

Your eyes held a certain seriousness he hadn’t seen from you all night. He gave you his full attention, his heart beating fast with uncertainty. 

“M’sorry I got too drunk,” you slurred out sleepily, a gentle yawn leaving your lips.

Rick chuckled, shaking his head. He squeezed your cheeks between his palms and they almost disappeared with how his hands swallowed your face. 

You were so different now compared to just a few minutes ago. Like a cat, you curled up in his lap, claiming your territory. It was a cramped spot, huddled up between his chest and the steering wheel, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

His breathing shallowed the closer you pressed and he tried to fill his mind with thoughts that would stop the bulge from growing in his jeans. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. If you saw how he truly felt about you, the way his body just couldn't resist, maybe he’d never get to see you again.

He smoothed his hands over the outside of your thighs, putting your legs on either side of him. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, darlin’.” You smiled into his neck. “Been havin’ a real nice time with ya…s’been a while since I spoke my mind. Nice to know someone cares.”

That last part was quietly whispered into your ear. Wriggling your toes excitedly, he felt the vibration of you humming contentedly against his neck.

Pulling back your head from the crook, he saw your cheeks dusted a rosy pink. They matched his and the heat of the cab that painted droplets on his forehead. Both of you were breathing heavier now, stickily clung to one another with desire hot on your tongue.

“I’ve always cared, Rick,” you pouted, almost offended. “You just never let anyone in.”

He hummed in response, lips pressed thin.

Rick knew you were right. Even Daryl, his right-hand-man, was oblivious to most of the things that raced through the man’s mind. There was so much he had lost—so much he felt he could never obtain—that the grief of it all was too much to speak out loud. 

“Want you to talk to me,” you whined, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “S’not fair how they treat you.”

Your head dipped low, stealing a gasp from Rick’s lips when you started to gently nibble at his collarbone. He sat there, frozen, his fingertips pressing further into your skin the more you licked. Your nose nuzzled the fabric of his shirt, breathing him in deep. A trail of kisses were planted from his pulse point to that soft, sensitive notch behind his ear. Your breath ghosted the shell of cartilage, feeling him twitch with every graze of your lips on his skin.

“T-thank you, darlin’.” He was fighting for his life now—one look away from bursting a blood vessel. “Awfully sweet of ya.”

Watching the Adam’s apple bob in his throat enticingly had your tongue flicking out, licking a stripe down the middle of his throat, feeling the groan he fought back. 

With the way he was holding on, you’d definitely have bruises where his hands sat on your hips. He was gripping onto you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drifting away. You weren’t sitting on his lap anymore, but he had it so you were just slightly hovering above him, trying to lessen the temptation he felt. His hips would still twitch upwards with each sloppy kiss you left on his neck though, chasing friction like it was his only will to live.

You didn’t respond to him anymore, just happily sucked along the skin of his neck, feeling the goosebumps rise on his skin. His large hand closed down on the back of your head, sliding up your scalp until he had a firm hold of your hair.

“You’re killin’ me, doll.” His voice was low, guttural, with a breathiness at the end that sounded like he was pleading with you. 

Still, you didn’t look up, didn't even respond, just kept exploring the underside of his jaw, tugging helplessly at his curls. Getting a more hardened grip, he dragged your head to face him. 

“Look at me.” He demanded.

His words weren’t harsh, just firm.

Eyes blown wide and jaw slack, Rick couldn’t help but stare at your kiss swollen lips. He could feel every splotch on his skin where your touch still lingered—how much he had to pretend he didn’t want more.

“We can’t be doin’ this.” Repeating Daryl’s words from earlier, Rick tried to scold himself out of wanting.

“Do what?” you asked, playing dumb.

It was clear you knew what you were doing. It was what you had always wanted to do, but never had the shield of apathy to hide behind. Your embarrassment fizzled away with your sobriety, leaving you an empty husk of pure want—and Rick the target of your desires.

Lacing your fingers with his, you didn’t give Rick a moment to stop you. Didn’t give him the chance to tell you this was a bad idea.

His left hand covered your entire vision, his palm spread wide in front of your face. Cracks and scars littered the skin, hair curling between his knuckles and brushing roughly against the softness of your skin. Hand barely wrapped around his thick wrist, you toyed with the wedding ring on his finger, a cloud of guilt and anger clouding your senses.

You wanted to rip the damn thing off. It felt like some sick joke he was married—if you could even call that facade a marriage. It didn’t feel like she deserved him, but at the same time you wanted to understand the grief she was going through, and somehow process how she could do this to him. She was your friend, and you wanted to believe there was something redeemable under all the mistrust she created.

Rick stared at the band with you, both your eyes lingering on the metal, an unspoken conversation shared within the silence.

Cautiously, your eyes flickered to his, trying to read the mix of emotion in those icy blues. Then, slowly, you pressed a gentle kiss to the tips of his fingers, starting from thumb to pinky. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes not leaving yours as you worked your way across his digits. Lips pressed to his pinky, you trailed back, painfully slow, dragging the tip of your tongue over his ring finger, swirling around the tip.

He stifled a moan as you popped the digit between your lips. The band cooled your lips the further you took him, letting your eyes meet his in a deadly hold.

“Fuck,” Rick sighed, tipping his head back against the seat. “Y’don’t know what you’re doin’ t’me.”

He set you down on his lap, your plush thighs flush against his denim clad legs. You could feel him through his jeans and the way he tried to shy away from you. 

“I told you I had a surprise,” you giggled into his ear, bashfully hiding your face in your hair.

You wanted him bad and Rick could only resist for so long. The more he tried to pull away, the more of yourself you gave to him—it felt like an endless back and forth.

“You’ve been plannin’ this then, huh?” He rasped.

His guilt began to simmer and the realization that you wanted him just as badly—plus the grinding of your hips—dimmed any doubt he had before. A slight cockiness smoothed over his tone with you so desperately pawing at him, crying in his ear for more.

Nodding, you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. “Wanted you for so long.”

You whined, pulling yourself closer to him. His hands smoothed down your back, twisting the hem of your shirt around his fingers until he skated a light, feathery touch along your skin. 

“Yeah?” He laughed a little at your eagerness, the way you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. “Coulda told me sooner, darlin’. Woulda taken care of ya.”

Pressing your hips down even harder, Rick took hold of your waist, stilling your movements. The pads of his fingers tapped gently against your side, beckoning your attention. Eyes blown wide, you looked up at him, lips parted like you were drooling over the sight of him.

“You want that, hmm?” Even with you crawling on top of him, nudging the buckle of his belt, there was a part of him that still needed to hear that yes. A deep, gaping part of him that still didn’t believe you could want him in this capacity, that in his position as a leader he had somehow swayed your thinking. “Wan’ me t’take care of ya?”

Impatiently, you clawed at the collar of his shirt, stretching out the fabric, trying to pull it over his head.

“Mhmm,” you nodded exaggeratively, your tongue poking out to wet your lips. “Please, Rick, that’s all I want.”

Well if you were gonna ask so nicely…

He smiled, washing away that last shred of doubt with that persistent look in your eye.

“Okay, sweet girl.” He glanced over his shoulder, wishing there was somewhere else other than the front seat of this truck he could be having this moment with you. The seat was cramped, your legs tangled in his lap, pressing against the steering wheel with a certain discomfort. “C’mere.” He lifted you onto the center console, guiding his seat back, and widened his stance for you to sit comfortably between his legs.

Happily, you perched yourself in front of him again, roaming your hands over the expanse of his chest. You tugged yourself closer, allowing yourself to get lost in the scent of him, letting your face absentmindedly brush against his skin.

“Wish this coulda been somewhere more special,” he started. Teeth grazed the shell of your ear, biting the lobe and tugging the skin harshly, making you whimper. “Been thinkin’ of this for a while, doll…” His hands slipped up the legs of your shorts, cupping your ass beneath the fabric, toying with the hem of your underwear. “How soft your skin feels in my hands…how good you’d taste. Feels like a dream jus’ gettin’ to touch you.”

You tossed your arms over his shoulders, bucking into his touch. Forehead pressed against his, you whined, wanting more of him. You placed your lips on his, tugging him closer and pushed deeper into the kiss. His lips were warm just like the rest of him, skin cracked and rough on the edges, reminding you that he was really here. Hands firm, he held you like it was something he owned, something he couldn’t live without. 

Brushing your tongue over his bottom lip, he gave you a false sense of control, letting you explore him eagerly, shamelessly circling your hips. You were chasing your own pleasure through the confines of your shorts, moaning into his mouth each time you felt him brush up against you.

If he weren’t so close, Rick could’ve lived in this moment forever, letting your bodies meld into one another. He couldn’t fool himself though—he wasn’t getting any younger. It had been a while since he’d felt like this, been this close to somebody. Though his mind was cherishing this moment, taking it all in one breath at a time, his body was chasing a fast release, his balls tightening with each roll of your hips.

“Slow down, doll” he chuckled, hands resting on your hips, stilling your movements. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

That made your head dip low and cheeks flush in embarrassment. It had been so long since you’d been intimate—spent so much time daydreaming over this man—that the moment you got the opportunity you were rutting up against him like a hormonal teenager.

You softly mumbled out an apology, hips twitching with need as you tried to give him some space.

“Jus’ a little eager, ain’t that right, darlin’?” His fingers held tight on your jaw, cheeks slightly pinched together. Your eyes were glassy, lips pouted with a pent-up frustration that made his cock twitch beneath the denim. “Ain’t nothin’ t’be ashamed of.”

Nodding, you smiled, pawing at the loops of his belt, tugging his hips towards you.

He curled his fingers more sharply around you, cupping your heat, feeling the damp, sticky wetness through the fabric. Your body was a stripped wire, feeling every touch times ten, flashing sparks with each graze of his fingers.

Rick was so gentle with you in his words. You could feel through his touch that he wanted nothing more than to strip you down and claim you as his. His mind was a complicated thing though, always had been, seeking confirmation with every interaction. He didn’t move his lips or wander his fingertips until he had found the spot that made you shudder, moving on to claim the next piece of you, lapping up your sounds like praise.

He turned you in his lap, pressing you back flush to his chest. You could see out onto the street now, fingers curling around the leather of the sterling wheel while you tried to ground yourself. Lifting your hips, he popped the button of your shorts, sliding the fabric down your legs until they pooled at your ankles. 

Sucking in a breath, he groaned out a low string of curses, taking in the view of your soaked undergarments. Looping the waistband over his thick digit, he snapped the elastic back onto your skin, watching you flinch forward.

“Stop teasing.” You pleaded, arching your back, chasing his touch. “Please.”

The sound of your desperation, those salty tears rasping your voice, had his fingers moving even slower. He wanted to hear you beg. Wanted you sobbing in his lap until your tears soaked the denim, just pleading for a taste of his cock. But you were so sweet with your tear stained cheeks and puffy lips, asking for him so nicely. This time he’d let you off easy, figuring he’d savoured the moment long enough.

“Okay, darlin’.” His thick middle finger breached the hem of your underwear, pressing up the seam between your thigh. “Easy now.”

You were thrashing against him, bucking against the empty air. He kept you still though, one arm wrapped over the front of you, pressing down on your hips. His head dipped next to yours that was lulled back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut with an impatient scrunch of the nose. His stubble scratched your skin and you could hear his stuttered breaths while he looked down at your core fluttering around the tip of his finger just barely grazing your entrance.

Collecting your wetness onto his fingers, they glistened in the light, matching your slick coated thighs. Pulling the rest of the fabric from your thighs, he brushed his thumb against your clit in a long, slow stripe. Again, you arched your back up off of him, tipping your head back with an unrestrained moan.

That was the sound he was looking for.

Latching his fingers onto the bud, he pinched, watching you squirm beneath him. Once again, you flooded his ears with that melodic sound, the unspoken praise perking up his ears.

“Rick…” you sighed, reaching down to his wrist, urging him for more.

Pressing down firmly, he traced slow, lazy circles onto your clit, watching the way your face scrunched in pleasure. He took in every subtle nuance, matching his fingers to the pace that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. With full control, he used his leg to guide you along his slick coated fingers, slinking his hand to brush against your entrance. 

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he said in awe. His movements were quick, dipping the tip of his fingers between your walls before retreating with a squelching ‘pop’. “Y’hear that? She’s jus’ beggin’ f’me.”

You babbled incoherently, all thought going to the chase of your hips after his fingers. Rick forced his fingers past your lips, garbling the words on your tongue as he pressed the pads further down your throat. You gagged around him, spit bubbling up through your lips. He experimentally dipped his fingers even further back, testing your limits for just a moment before retreating, letting a string of spit connect him to your gasping lips.

He could do this all day if you’d let him. Looking at the way you twitched in his lap, mind numb, body pliant, you honestly might’ve let him. Watching you writhe in pleasure, chasing after his touch, having you call out for him—it was all too much.

Rick was studying—learning the ins and outs of your body in case you ever gave him the honour of touching you like this again. He could ignore the discomfort in his pants if it meant he got to hear those pretty moans on your lips just a little longer.

Eyelids fluttering open., you cried out his name again. “Need you,” you mewled. 

“Y’got me, doll,” he whispered huskily. “All of me– jus’ gotta tell me what you need.”

“Your cock,” you said shamelessly. 

You were always bold, cracking crude jokes that made the group stifle a laugh, maybe even roll their eyes. This was beyond any of his expectations though. This was pure, blatant desire—all directed at him—tumbling off your lips one confession after another.

“S’all yours,” he rasped coarsely. 

Your little fingers tugged on his belt, haphazardly unlatching the clasp the moment he gave you the go ahead. You were beaming, practically buzzing, to get your hands on him. Palming him through the fabric, you pulled down his jeans. Leaving him in just his boxers, the plaid fabric stared back at you intimidatingly, doing little to conceal the rest of him.

Shy fingers poked through the opening, carefully pulling out his length. He held his breath, watching you in awe, a crazed look in his eye while you lazily stroked his cock. Letting out a shaky groan, he couldn’t stop his hips from twitching up into your palm or they way needy moans filtered through his lips.

Rick was a giver—would’ve let himself go untouched if that’s what you wanted. You seemed to be enjoying his pleasure just the same though, taking in those beautifully parted lips and messily scattered curls. 

As much as he wanted to collect himself—focus on your pleasure—he was content with letting you take, take, take, his cock further and further into your palm, wrapping another hand to compensate for the girth.

He was big. Enough to make you a little nervous through your brazenness. The length of him was average, a perfect six or so inches that curved deliciously to his flushed tip. Wrapping your hand around him though, the base of him was wide, the tips of your fingers barely meeting back together. 

Rick was a mess beneath you, heaving out breathy moans and squirming his hips. He was close, more than he’d like to admit, and although your hands felt like heaven on his dick, he tore away your wrists.

Your eyes flicked up at him with a sharp insecurity, the hastiness of his movements taking you by surprise. He still had your wrists taken in his palm, chest heaving while he tried his best to collect himself. Every movement had him sensitive, on the verge of release, but he couldn’t let himself finish before he got inside you—before he made you finish.

You yelped as Rick lifted your hips, tossing your arms over his shoulders for balance. He was steady in the confined space, lip tucked beneath his teeth as he watched you with precision. Leaning back, he angled his hips towards the wheel, guiding you back so he could watch himself slide into you.

Sliding his tip through your slick, you gasped, tipping your head against the glass. He notched his tip to the brink of your entrance, watching your chest heave. As much as he wanted to watch the way you swallowed him in, he kept his focus on your face, stilling his movements each time he saw you wince.

He only had the tip in and you were already scrunching your nose, squirming away from the sensation. The intrusion burned, his cock bullying its way through your walls, pushing its way in with a brutal stretch.

You hissed, latching onto his arm, your other hand against his chest, trying to push him away. “S’too much, Rick,” you yelped, watching his swelling tip push past your folds. “C-can’t do it.”

Guilt burned his chest hearing you squeal like that, clawing into his chest to relive the ache. Seeing you so fucked out though—eyes rolled back, lips parted with a shiny trail of spit slicking your skin—he couldn’t pull out now.

He cupped your face, callouses scratching against your skin to refocus you, to bring you back to him. Curling his fingers around the back of your neck, he pulled you to his chest, easing in another couple of inches while he smoothed out your hair.

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he shushed your cries into the fabric of his shirt. Tracing shapes into your skin, he waited for your sniffles to subside before taking your hips back into his hold, guiding you down the rest of his length. “You’ve got it…” He picked your limp head off his shoulder, watching it soften as you got used to his size. “See? Ain’t too bad.”

He felt a tight squeeze around his cock and wriggle of your hips telling him he was allowed to move. Still, he needed further reassurance through your frantic nods into the crook of his neck.

“This okay?” Slowly, Rick pulled all the way out until it was just the tip, letting you sink back onto him with a loud squelch. You murmured some sort of praise into his skin, a conglomerate of ‘yesss, please, more’ muffled into his shirt. “Gotta hear ya, doll.”

“Yesss,” you moaned, lifting your head the best you could to look at him through teary eyes. “So good…please.”

Rick let out a satisfied hum, content with himself in how quickly he was able to make your mind go stupid on his cock.

Picking up the pace, you could feel the truck rocking beneath you. His breath was ragged, keeping himself flush against the back of the seat and holding a solid grip on your hips. As he pounded up into you, the edges of your vision blurred out, getting fuzzier the closer your bodies got. Your bodies clung together, sweat dripping off his curls and into your lap, only adding to the soft sloshing between you. 

He had fully stopped talking now, too close to the edge to hear your sweet voice try and respond to him. Just your gasps, stuttering out with thrust, was almost enough to send him over the edge, his eyes squeezing shut with the last of his restraint.

Trailing his hand around your front, he dipped his fingers between your folds, collecting the slick you were so generously pouring out for him. Deft fingers crept to your clit, starting with light, fluttering taps that had you biting your fist, trying to conceal your noises. He built up the pressure, finding a steady rhythm around the bud until he felt you shaking, your walls squeezing him in tight.

“C’mon, doll.” He leaned forward, swallowing back a groan, choosing to sink his teeth deep into your shoulder. “Let it all out.”

You cried out at the sensation, all of too much as you came tumbling over the edge. Little crescents indented the skin on his shoulders the deeper you dug, trying to ground yourself through your release. You were trashing in his arms, feeling the drag of his cock past your walls even through the aftershocks. 

He didn’t let up, kept pounding into you with the same force while you rode out your orgasm, chasing his own release. Just moments behind, you heard a broken moan stutter out from his lips, a rosy pink dusting his cheeks. Lifting your hips, he guided you further back against the wheel. Pulling you off his length, he frantically brought up a shaky hand, imagining it was yours as he tugged along the length of his dick. 

His eyes were focused on the tears bubbling in your eyes, that blissed-out look behind them, and the way your pussy fluttered around nothing, trying to coax his length back in. His hips stuttered once, twice, and he was painting the inside of your thighs with his release, blindly smearing the rest along his tip, leaning his head back with a sigh.

“God.” He looked at you in disbelief, almost reaching down to pinch himself. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Giggling, you felt a hot embarrassment creep up your neck. Sobriety had settled its way through the cracks, your orgasm washing a needed wave of clarity over you. Now, despite being the one to initiate all of this, you felt embarrassed to have been so needy in front of the man you had been crushing on for months.

Rick took notice of your silence, the way you avoided his gaze like the plague. Scrunching his brows, he took hold of your chin, forcing you to look his way.

“Doll?” He blinked, trying to read your expression. “Y’alright?”

Bleakly, you nodded, somewhere far off from yourself.

“Talk t’me,” Rick urged, growing more concerned. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Frantically, you shook your head, palms splayed out in front of you. “No, no, it’s just…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “Was…was that okay? I was pretty drunk and all over you…Are you sure that’s what you wanted?”

A laugh leaked from his lips before he could stop it from happening. 

You thought you’d forced yourself on him? 

He could’ve never thought of something further than the truth—the same exact thought clouding his mind except about himself.

“That’s what got ya so down?” Chuckling, he brought a hand to your face, pinching your cheek with his thumb. “Thas the last thing you need t’be worryin’ ‘bout. Could never stop me from wantin’ ya…was worried that you didn't want me, darlin’.”

“Really?” you giggled, popping your head off his chest. 

“Yes, really,” Rick smiled. “An old man like me would be crazy passin’ up a pretty girl like you. ‘Specially if she wanted me s’bad as you do,” he teased, giving your hip a playful squeeze. “Needy lil thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the blush that crept on your face. “Yeah, yeah, Grimes.” Crossing your arms, you gave him a feigned look of annoyance. “Thought you said we needed to get back to camp?”

Squeezing your thighs, he took one last look over your figure before clearing his throat. “Anythin’ you say, darlin’.” His eyes were unfocused, darting up and down your frame—god, he was pussy whipped. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first, yeah?”

Smirking, you dipped your pointer finger down to the puddles splashed on your thighs. Swiping at the liquid, Rick watched you intently as your lips wrapped around the digit, sucking off the salty fluid.

“Fuck,” he hissed, taking your thighs in a bruising grip. “Gonna be the death of me, doll.”

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

___

It took Daryl almost two whole years to realize he was in love with you.

You’d been around each other since the beginning, moving from camp to camp, never staying long enough to call anywhere home. The world didn’t give much room for that. But when you finally made it to the safe walls of Alexandria – something in him settled. That’s where he got close to you, closer than he ever thought he could be with anyone. Close enough to realize one quiet night that what he felt for you wasn’t just friendship or family anymore. It was something more. Something he couldn’t ignore. He was damn glad you felt the same way.

It took Daryl exactly two weeks to realize you and him were officially a thing. 

After that first kiss, things just kept happening. You started crashing in his bed sometimes, cooking together, doing basically everything together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you talked about what it meant – didn’t seem like you had to. You were his, and he was yours. That was enough.

Until someone brought it up one night at a family dinner. You both got so flustered trying to answer that the poor guy gave up and changed the subject. Later that night, you’d gone home and had the most awkward talk of your lives, finally deciding you were, in fact, in a relationship. As ridiculous as it sounded to both of you – considering neither of you “did” relationships, and Daryl never had – that’s how it happened.

It took Daryl another three months to realize he wanted to marry you. 

He heard Rick introduce you as his girlfriend to a newcomer one day and felt something weird in his chest. The first few times someone called you his girlfriend or partner, he’d felt his whole body warm – embarrassed, flustered, proud – he couldn’t tell. But this time was different. Still warm, but not in a good way. There was an irrational frustration bubbling up inside him. It just wasn’t enough. “Girlfriend” suddenly didn’t sound right. What he felt for you went way beyond that.

“Marry her already,” Carol joked one day, half-laughing.

Daryl only scoffed and brushed it off. Marry? That was absurd. If someone had told him two years ago he’d be thinking about marrying anybody, he’d have laughed his ass off. Marriage wasn’t in the cards for someone like him – hell, a relationship wasn’t supposed to be. But then again, he was in one. With you. So maybe absurd wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

He managed to shove those thoughts aside for a while. Until it happened again.

“Daryl and his partner…” Michonne said it this time, talking to someone from another community Daryl didn’t recognize. You were right next to him, so he looked over, trying to see if the word “partner” bugged you the way it did him. You didn’t even flinch. So he told himself he was being ridiculous and took a small step closer to you – just in case whoever she was talking to didn’t get what “partner” really meant.

Shit. He was doing it again. Overthinking. 

The word just felt too vague. What if the guy didn’t realize “partner” meant you – the person Daryl would kill for, die for, and everything in between? Why the hell did he care anyway? When did Daryl Dixon ever care what people thought? But he guessed it was because it was you. And he fucking adored you. He needed everyone to see that even if neither of you were big on PDA.

“You okay?” your voice broke through his thoughts. You’d placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with those soft, knowing eyes. You always seemed to catch him thinking too hard.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his hand finding yours. He gave you a look that said don’t worry. You stared at each other for a moment before you started to pull your hand away. Daryl almost let you but then he reached for it again. This time, he held on. The look you gave him said everything. You were smiling, cheeks flushed, and he felt that warmth again, the good kind.

Carol’s words came back to him then. Marry her already.

Looking at you now, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Maybe the idea wasn’t so ridiculous. Maybe he could see himself marrying you. Calling you his wife-

He looked away before you could notice the way that thought made him all jittery. But he could see it – you and him. Forever.

So yes. Daryl was going to marry you.

Daryl felt a certain kind of peace after making up his mind about it but only for a short while, because then came the question: what now? What was next? Did he have to go about it the traditional way? Get down on one knee and just ask? The thought alone made him cringe.

No. That wasn’t him. And it wasn’t you either.

But still, what the hell was he supposed to do? He realized he was missing one crucial thing in the whole equation – a ring. No, two. He needed one for himself too, right? Fuck. He was terrible at this.

Finding the perfect rings was a pain in the ass. 

Daryl’s head was completely blank. He didn’t know shit about romantic gestures before you and not that he knew any better now, clearly. So later that night, when you were fast asleep next to him, head tucked into the crook of his neck, he lifted your left hand carefully and studied your ring finger. Then he pulled a small piece of thread from his pocket – he’d been keeping it there just for this – and quietly measured it.

He searched every possible source, thinking maybe he’d stumble upon one in some abandoned jewelry store, except there weren’t any left within a hundred-mile radius of Alexandria, as he found out the hard way. He almost wished he’d realized his feelings for you earlier, back when there were still stores to raid. Maybe he could’ve grabbed one of those cheap rings from the counter near the cashier in Atlanta.

He even considered Glenn’s old method – taking a ring from a walker on the Prison fence. It was smart. Daryl thought about it a million times, even went out looking for a few days before giving up. Not because he didn’t want to but because it didn’t feel right. Even though he knew you wouldn’t care where it came from, he wanted it to be something special. Something just for you.

That’s when it hit him: he could have it made.

So, the next time he was visiting Maggie at Hilltop, he wandered off to the blacksmith and asked Earl for a favor. The man looked confused at first, like he thought he’d misheard. Then realization hit, and the big grin spread across his face made Daryl want to bury himself right then and there. It was embarrassing as hell.

But it was worth it.

Daryl stayed the night at the Hilltop, claiming he was “too tired” to go back to Alexandria (really, Earl had said it’d take him a full day to finish the job). When Daryl saw the pair of simple silver bands the next morning, his chest warmed. First from excitement because he was finally going to do it, and then from pure mortification because he was finally going to do it. 

Shit. What if you didn’t like the idea? Daryl was so clouded by his own wants that he forgot to consider yours completely. Sure, you’d told him once that you’d stay with him forever, said it like it was obvious, but some small, scared part of him still thought it might all fall apart one day. He could take on a few dozens walkers, fight those Saviors fuckers twice over, survive five more apocalypses – but asking you to marry him? That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what a coward would do. He didn’t ask. Not yet. He just kept the rings in his pocket – waiting for the day he’d miraculously grow a pair of balls and do it.

The day it finally happened, you and Daryl had gone out with a few others – Rick, Michonne, and a couple more – to survey the area near the broken bridge that had once connected the communities. If the bridge were still there, travel would’ve been easier, shorter; now, it was all roundabout roads. Rick had split people into pairs to cover different sections, and naturally, Daryl went with you.

That had been three weeks ago. 

You were mid-conversation when a gunshot rang out. Both of you froze, scanning the area. Then another shot. And another. Heart racing, you and Daryl ran toward the sound, spotting an old shed along the way. But as you approached, the unmistakable groans of walkers filled the air. A herd. Big. Surrounding the area.

Without a word, Daryl grabbed your arm and pulled you back the way you’d come only to find more walkers, drawn by the earlier shots, blocking your path. The rapid firing had slowed to single, measured shots, and all you could do was hope it wasn’t because whoever was shooting had run out of ammo or was already being torn apart.

Before you could protest or think, Daryl shoved you toward the shed. Closer inspection revealed it wasn’t just a shed. The inside had clearly been lived in despite the crumbling exterior. 

Once safe inside, Daryl moved one of the last heavy pieces of furniture against the door, blocking every entrance. He turned to you and asked if you were okay. You nodded and returned the question. He gave a short, curt nod, then sat down beside you, glancing through a small hole in the window one last time.

“I hope they’re okay,” you murmured after a long silence.

Daryl looked at you and thought he saw a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place on your face. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded again, restless. After sitting there for what felt like forever, you stood and moved from one hole to another, assessing the situation.

Daryl studied you silently and came to a realization that you were definitely planning something, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. 

He didn’t. In fact, he hated your plan. It was stupid.

“We can wait it out,” he growled. 

“Daryl, they could be dead right now for all we know. We have to do something!” 

Normally, he’d already be out there, stabbing his way toward Rick and Michonne. But you were here, and your safety came first. He couldn’t risk both of you going out until it was safer. He sure as hell wasn’t leaving and abandoning you in this rusted, crumbling box either. 

“Just cover me. Your bow is quieter. I know I can make it to that car and distract them long enough-”

“Nah.”

“Daryl.” He didn’t look at you. You sighed and paced a little before announcing, “I’ll check the back.”

But Daryl was too slow. The next thing he knew, you were shouting outside – of course you had slipped out – luring the walkers away from the front. He bolted, moving whatever had been blocking the door, and ran into the fray, forced to follow your plan. Together, you successfully outran the herd. 

Daryl opened his mouth to scold you then but Rick came running up, shouting his name, Michonne and the others behind him.

“Are you two okay?” Rick yelled.

Daryl, still catching his breath, asked, “What the hell happened?”

Rick explained that the herd had come out of nowhere and everything had gone to shit from there.

After everyone caught their breath, Michonne decided it was best to come back out later; they only had a few hours until sunset. Daryl told the others to head home and pulled you aside somewhere safe, away from any wandering walkers. Michonne had asked if you were both okay, and after seeing the looks on your faces, she didn’t press. It was obvious: you needed to talk.

“We can talk at home, you know?” you said, averting your gaze, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Once Daryl was sure the others were far enough away, he walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. You let out a surprised gasp but hugged him back. He’d thought about yelling at you, letting his anger out for making him worry and almost getting yourself killed. It would’ve been easier to be a dick, but he didn’t want to. All that mattered was that you were okay. He buried his forehead against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I had to,” you said softly, feeling the tremble in his hands resting on your back.

“Ya didn’t have to.”

Pressed together, Daryl thought back to the moment he saw you running into the herd and his heart dropping. That was the instant he realized he couldn’t wait any longer. After days and nights obsessing over how and when to ask you, the timing didn’t matter. Not anymore. 

Marry her already. 

Carol’s words had been echoing in his head for weeks, and somewhere along the way, they’d started to sound like his own.

Fuck it. He was going to do it now.

Daryl pulled back from you slightly, reaching into his jeans pocket – and froze. Only one band. One ring. He tried not to panic as your hand reached for his face so affectionately. Shit.

He pulled back completely, scanning the forest floor for the missing ring.

“Daryl?” your voice made him even more nervous. He could only pray that the ring left in his pocket was yours, if it wasn’t then he could only hope that the next trip to Hilltop wouldn’t make you suspicious. He squinted at the ground, tracing his own footprints, considering going back to the shed when your voice made him turn around.

“Looking for this?” The glint in your hand was unmistakably the ring he’d been frantically searching for, and it made him feel like a complete idiot.

“It fell when you were moving the shelves back in the shed,” you said matter-of-factly. Daryl almost forgot how to breathe.

“I didn’t wanna say anything then because…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to admit the truth – the part about being scared, never imagining yourself marrying anyone, but with Daryl, none of that mattered anymore. You stepped closer, eyes glassy. “Is this what I think-”

“Yeah.” The word left his throat like a whisper. This was it. He had to do it now. He pulled the other identical ring from his pocket. You gasped, and he couldn’t tell if it was shock, joy, or “what the hell are you doing?” But Daryl didn’t care. He had to say it.

“I had Earl make ‘em a few weeks ago. I ain’t good at this. I-” He paused as your other hand touched his arm, your voice softly calling his name, and he continued. “You’re it for me. If ya think this is-”

“Yes,” your voice was shaky. You smiled at his confused face before continuing, “Yes, I’ll fucking marry you. Daryl.” 

Awkward silence hung between you as you processed everything, until you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him. Daryl kissed you back immediately, unconsciously letting go of the crossbow in his hand.

You broke off the kiss and looked down at the rings in your and Daryl’s hands. Your cheeks were visibly pink, and he was sure his were the same. You both slipped the rings onto each other’s left ring fingers, your hands naturally finding each other again after, fingers laced tight.

“Oh my god. Do we have to, like, have a wedding or something?” you asked, half joking, half serious.

Your lighthearted question echoed one of Daryl’s thousand silent thoughts about the whole thing since he’d decided to do it. He didn’t know what to say. Personally, the idea of standing in front of everyone while Father Gabriel said his name out loud made him want to crawl into a hole and die. But if you wanted it, if that’s what made you happy, he’d do it. Anything for you. Anything.

“Do ya wanna…?” he asked carefully.

“Hell no. I’d rather die.” You let out a breathy laugh. “Besides, this is all I need.” You lifted your intertwined hands, the rings glinting softly in the fading light. “I love you, Daryl Dixon. That’s all I need.”

Daryl felt his whole body go warm again. The good kind of warm. The best kind. He didn’t even have to think before muttering, “I love you too.” And then, after staring at your radiant smile for what felt like an eternity, he felt the need to add, “So fucking much.”

The kiss that followed started out soft and turned hungrier when your hands found each other again. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, matching yours beat for beat. He kissed you like he’d been waiting forever and held you close like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. 

When you finally broke apart, both out of breath, you stayed there for a moment – foreheads touching, breathing each other in, the world outside going silent for once. You whispered against his lips, a small grin tugging at yours, “We better fucking get home. Now.”

Later that night, as you both lay tangled in his bed, Daryl was overcome with a sense of joy and something he didn’t even know how to name. A part of him cursed himself for not doing it sooner, for ever doubting your affection, for being too much of a pathetic loser to do it more romantically – not immediately after almost getting mauled by the damn walkers and losing one of the rings in the process. What the hell? 

And now he’d have to deal with people coming up to congratulate him later, all the fussing, the explaining. Though, he decided he didn’t give a fuck anymore.

He was just glad it finally happened. Glad that, somehow, everything led to this moment – you, beside him, wearing that ring he thought he’d never find. And he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, every bit of it, because now you were officially his forever.

You were his wife.

___

if you enjoyed my writing pls leave a like to show me some love! feedbacks are always appreciated♡

Negan doesn’t wait for permission. Just slings his arm around your waist and guides you up the stairs like this is some romantic weekend getaway. And the worst part? You’re so gentle about it. So sweet. You glance back at Rick like you’re sorry, maybe like you wish things were going differently—but your fingers are already curled into Negan’s belt, tugging him closer as he leads you away.

The door doesn’t even make it closed all the way.

Negan leaves it cracked on purpose. Just enough for Rick to hear everything.

It starts soft. A little giggle. The creak of the bed frame. Your voice, breathless and light, whispering, “Negan, slow down…”

Rick’s downstairs on the couch, staring at the dark ceiling, jaw clenched so tight he’s shaking.

Upstairs, Negan’s fucking you slow. Deep. Taunting.

“Oh, yeah… this pussy’s so sweet tonight. Must be the air here, huh?” His voice is loud on purpose, echoing down the hall like a fuckin’ performance. “Thinkin’ I might have to bring you back more often.”

You moan—real, not forced—and the mattress groans under his thrusts. “M-might have to redecorate,” you whisper, voice sticky with pleasure. “It looks like a William Sonoma came here to die.”

Negan laughs. Loud. Unhinged.

“Oh baby, you are bad. Bad girl talkin’ shit with Daddy’s cock all up in her—fuck, look at you. Just a pretty little toy.”

Downstairs, Rick is still. Eyes wide open. Breathing like he’s drowning.

Negan knows.

That’s the point.

You cry out again, sweeter this time—high and whiny—and Negan cuts in over you like he needs him to hear:

“Gotta wonder, Rick,” he half-moans, voice lazy and brutal and loud, “how’s it feel knowin’ your little girl’s sleepin’ down the hall and I’m up here fuckin’ mine?”

You gasp like he hit something deep. Because he did.

Because Negan’s hands are on your hips, dragging you back into him, fucking you slow but filthy, and whispering, “That’s it, sweetheart, give Daddy one more. C’mon, make it real pretty for Rick, let him hear it.”

And you do.

You fall apart with a sob, voice high and wet, thighs trembling as you cum around him—loud enough that Rick can’t not hear it. Loud enough that Negan laughs again, breathless and wrecked and victorious.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, spilling inside you. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever had.”

And then it’s quiet again.

Just the sound of the bed creaking as Negan rolls you both over and pulls you against his chest, still thick and wet inside you, still claiming you.

“You think he’ll listen better now?” you whisper into his neck.

Negan hums, dragging his palm down your back. “He’ll do whatever the fuck I say now, baby. How could he not?”

You kiss his jaw and giggle softly. “Bet he’s hard.”

Negan chuckles darkly and presses a lazy kiss to your forehead. “Oh, I’m sure he’s jealous as hell, honey.”

AUTHOR NOTE(S): if you’re saying “claire, this was not on your wip list from earlier.” You’d be correct. This literally just appeared in my brain and I had to have it. So yall get to have it too

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl @fratboychrisera @angelically-yours @dina-winchester @maneaterarabella @ralilda @ilikw @lupinslibraries @ladykitana90 @kyleighsstuff @deans-yn @k-illdarlings @ohperiodtpoohhh @poisonivy2267 @scrmqwn @sadpods @mochminnie @estelleyyyy @spookyysinsanity @nevercameraready @ladykitana90 @mindfulmesses

if on one hand you’re experienced, he’s a bit more at ease. albeit insecure, but carl would be as much in this situation regardless. you’d take it slow with him, kissing all over his body and showing him where to touch you.

you two would probably try riding first in this case. you can take control and watch him unravel beneath you. though, he wouldn’t know where to put his hands, and you’d have to guide him through everything.

while if you’re both in the same boat, he’s a little more nervous, but excited to learn with you. adapting to each others bodies and having each other be your only experiences made his head spin.

either way he’s quite shy, with everything else he’s so sure. survival, defense, scavenging, you name it. but not knowing what to do in such an intimate situation leaves him a little flustered.

speaking of intimate situations, he’d be a little wary about his eye as well.

you pull away from his lips, the both of you have already rid each other of your clothes. but one more thing remains that you’re itching to take off. your hand entangled in his hair goes to undo the bandage when his hand hurriedly comes over yours. “i don’t…” he trails off, his gaze avoiding yours. your hands rest on the back of his head.

“what’s wrong?” your voice softens from the lust-filled tone it was previously coated with. it makes his heart flutter and he takes a deep breath. habitually his hand comes up to his hair to cover the bandage once more.

his head slowly picks up a bit, just enough for him to look at you, “i don’t want to scare you.”

“you won’t scare me,” you whisper, fingers going to undo the bandage. you feel him tense up, but he moves his hand away. you slowly unravel it, and the more you do the more exposed he feels. the whole situation is nerve wracking, he doesn’t go around advertising his wound.

you’ve only seen it at the beginning, when aiding him with treatment. but he feels like with more time the worse it gets. the end of the world isn’t exactly the ideal situation for taking care of gunshot wounds. especially one that catches other’s attentions immediately. every time he looks in the mirror he feels weird at how it’s healed.

but to you, he’s as pretty as ever. you’ve adored this boy far too long, everything about him endears and entraps you entirely. when the bandage is gone you cup his face, smiling softly at the sight of your boy laid beneath you in his entirety.

your thumb gently, barely grazes over his right cheek as you speak. “you’re such a pretty boy.”

his pale cheeks flush a tint of pink at your words, hands awkwardly coming up to rest on your hips. he’s bad at this, it’s always been awkward to him. and learning to be the perfect boyfriend hasn’t been his main priority. he doesn’t know what to say in return. following your lead is typically what he chooses to do in this relationship. even if you’re new to this just like him.

“you’re.. such a pretty girl.”

he’d be a bit vocal. he’d be embarrassed by it, flustered at the noises forcing themselves out of him from your motions. but it just feels so good, you feel so good. and after all, these are relatively new feelings for him. as it’s doubtful he’d be taking matters into his own hands often, he’s always been too busy fighting for his life.

and no matter how many times he tries to keep them down, you beg him to let you hear. it’s almost just your voice that gets him. you know just how to talk to him like he wants, telling him what he wants to hear.

he’d really like being able to kiss and touch you everywhere. he enjoys the feeling of being the closest to you he can get. being inside you feels like he’s connected to you, and you feel so good around him it drives him crazy.

he didn’t expect to enjoy it this much, thinking it was some overhyped thing. but with you? you’re so perfect for him, and you look so pretty when you tell him how good he’s making you feel.

he loves when you praise him, and when you tell him what’s just right. if he even notices you get louder when he hits a certain spot, he tries to do it again. just to hear your pretty noises and to feel you squeeze around him again.

all in all it would be pretty sweet and gentle, he wants to learn for you and fuck you right <3