#sophia x grant | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cameronspecial · 3 months

Text

Assisting In Deception (Part 6)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Heavy Make Out and Mentions of Sexual Thoughts.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: Y/N's jealousy leads them to some office fun and Rafe surprises her outside of work.

Masterlist

Sofia Fiore is one of Cameron Developments' most important clients. Having a social media following of twenty-six million, the up-and-coming social star is good for business. This means that when she asked to speak to Mr. Cameron personally, she got her request granted. It’s no secret that Rafe is a young and attractive individual, and she makes it quite obvious that she thinks exactly that. Rafe sits rigidly at his desk while Sofia’s shoulders are relaxed against the back of her chair and she crosses one leg over the other. They stretch out so that her feet graze Rafe’s shoes under his desk. Y/N begins to grow annoyed at Sofia’s high-pitched voice.

“And I want it to be done by next year. I need somewhere pretty to entertain all of my male guests,” she notes, eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner. Rafe ignores the obvious suggestion of her words, “I can assure you that we will do our best to finish it on time. Now, you said you wanted something in Manhattan. I can take a look after the meeting at different properties for sale and go over the possibilities in another meeting.” Sofia nods at his statements and he can feel her heeled foot, going up his leg. He straightens even more and moves Sofia’s foot off of him. Unbeknownst to the two, Y/N is standing at the door, watching the whole thing. She loudly clears her throat and heads over to place the paperwork to sign on his desk. When she leaves the room, she opens the door even more.

“Perfect! How about we wrap up the meeting with some coffee?” Sofia suggests, not waiting for an answer before going to sit on the couch. Rafe passes a look to Y/N through the door, asking her to do what the client wants as he goes to sit on the loveseat instead of the couch beside the woman. He doesn’t want to entertain her any longer, but she is essential to the company. Seeing where he sits, Sofia gets off of the couch to sit beside him. Very close. She swings one leg so that it is practically over both of his legs. Before he could nudge it off, Y/N walks in and jealousy bubbles in the pit of her stomach. She walks by and ‘accidentally’ knocks Sofia’s leg off of Rafe. Y/N sets the coffee down and goes back to her desk. Her ear is still open to the conversation they are having. Sofia places a hand on his bicep, “So do you work out?”

“I don’t think that is an appropriate question for work.”

“Aww, come on. Just indulge me. Maybe, you can help me figure out what equipment to put in my gym. Or help me with a workout.”

“I do work out, but that’s beside the point.”

“I think that's the whole point.”

She moves her hand on his chest and starts to trail it down. Y/N doesn’t think that Sofia can take a hint and she is sick of her flirting. She makes her last entrance into the office. Y/N sits herself on Rafe’s lap, swatting Sophia’s hand away. She turns his head towards her and gives him a passionate kiss. She places her lips near his ear and says loud enough for Sofia to hear, “What should we get for dinner, babe?” Rafe is a little disappointed that she doesn’t use his usual nickname but is very pleased at how hot he finds her jealous. “Ms. Fiore, my assistant will get back to you with another date for the next meeting. Goodbye,” he doesn’t even look in Sofia’s direction as he dismisses her with a wave of the hand. Her heels decreasing volume signals she finally got the message and has left the room.

Rafe gets up to close the door; Y/N raises with him. He turns towards her with a dark look in his eyes. He stalks towards her until her back hits the wall, slamming his hand on the wall above. His finger finds itself under her chin and he lifts it towards him. “What you did is very unprofessional,” he chides, tapping her chin. She stares into his eyes, “She wasn’t getting the message, Boss.”

“You don’t have to worry about her, Butterfly. I only have eyes for you.”

He smirks down at her and smacks his lips onto hers. Her hands find their way to his hair, running through it. He brings a hand down to the back of her leg and brings it up to his hip. Her gentle tugs on his hair cause him to moan into her mouth. He hikes the other leg up, putting some weight against her chest with his to keep her from falling while he adjusts her. He carries her over to his desk and places her on top of it. “Rafe, do you want to get lun-” Topper pauses as he walks in because of the sight before him. His jaw drops and he stands there for a minute. He moves out of the doorway, closing the door behind him. Rafe and Y/N pull apart, fixing their disarray clothes and hair.

“If you guys are going to have sex in the office, you might want to lock the door before this turns into an HR issue,” he advises, lounging on the couch. The couple join him in the couch area. Rafe gives him an offended look, “We were not going to have sex. Someone just got a little jealous of Ms. Fiore.” Topper gives Y/N a funny look. “Aren’t you guys fake dating?” Y/N glares towards Topper, “You know we are!” “That didn’t seem fake to me,” he begins to argue. “But really, you have to be more careful about professionalism at work. This relationship is supposed to fix a PR scandal, not cause one.” He gets up to leave but turns to make one final comment. “Oh. And Rafe, you are going to lunch and paying to help make up for what I just saw.”

——

Work after the Fiore incident was really stressful for Rafe. The Board members came to complain about everything and he was in back-to-back meetings. He let Y/N leave earlier in the day when it started to look like he was going to stay late. He called her once he was finally able to get some time to himself and she told him to come over, which he did right away.

The door swings open to Y/N in her sleeping shorts and tank top. Her shorts are so short that when she turns to guide them to her room, the bottom of her bum peeks out from the material. It takes everything in him not to bring her pussy onto his face, but the setup in her room helps him resist. The room is filled with the sound of ocean waves and the scent of citrus. The room is dim, lit only with candles instead of the overhead light. She orders him to lie down on the bed and squirts some massage oils onto her hands so she can start rubbing his forehead in concentric circles. He sighs in relaxation, enjoying the warmth of her fingers. Once she stops the messaging, she peppers his face with kisses and he can’t get enough of it. She grabs one of her towel headbands and pushes his hair back with it. Next, she goes to get something from her desk and returns with a package in her hand. The face mask is placed on his face, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheet. Her giggles sound throughout the room at how adorable he looks.

A few minutes later, she takes it off for him, giving him a kiss on his nose. “Can we cuddle?” he pouts, needing a little more of her physical touch. She grins at his request and lies down on the bed beside him. He turns into her touch, placing his head on her breasts. One hand laces through his hair and the other goes to his bareback. Her nails start gently scratching his scalp and back. This soothes Rafe to sleep pretty quickly. Y/N smiles down at him sleepily and gives him a kiss to the temple.

——

The next morning Rafe wakes up with his head still on Y/N’s chest. Her eyes are still closed and her soft breathing almost lulls him back to sleep. However, he wants to get up and cook her breakfast as thanks for what she did last night. He slowly removes himself from her grasp, heading towards the kitchen. Juni sitting at the kitchen island stops him in his tracks. “Morning, Big C. Did you enjoy your pillow?” she taunts with her lips pulled wide and her teeth showing. He gives a playfully annoyed look, “My pillow was great. Thanks for asking. I’m about to make Y/N and me some breakfast. Do you want some?”

“Sure, I’d love some.” He looks through the fridge and starts pulling out some stuff to cook. The eggs are cracked and whisked together before being put into a pan to make scrambled eggs. As he moves on to making the bacon, he starts to think about what Juni calls him whenever they see each other. “Hey, I got a question for you,” he thinks out loud.

“Shoot.”

“Why do you call me Big C? Why not Big R for my first name?”

“I’m not sure I should say, Big C.”

“Ohh, come on. You can tell me. I won’t get upset. Promise.”

“Fine. Well, as you know, your last name starts with a C. But I also call you that because I just know that you have a bigass cock. I mean you radiate big dick energy. Y/N doesn’t know that’s why so don’t tell her. She’d kill me.”

The laugh Rafe lets out could move the earth and it certainly moves Y/N from her sleeping position in her bed. She sleepily walks into the kitchen with her hands rubbing her eyes, “What has you so happy this early in the morning?” “Nothing, Butterfly. Juni just told me a really good joke,” he lies, bringing her to his side to give her a kiss. Y/N shrugs off the lie and gets to work on snacking on the stuff he already cooked.

——

Alexander, Juni, and Y/N are all watching a movie in his apartment. It was one of the rare nights in which they all didn’t have work at night or early in the morning, so they could stay up for as long as they wanted. Alexander excuses himself to get the pizza from the front entrance. “What do you think of Alexander?” Juni questions, looking at the doorframe where he just walked out from. Y/N looks at her with a smirk, “I think he is a really great friend.”

“Not as a friend, but as a romantic interest, Sweetie”

“Ahh. Well, he isn’t my type, but he is definitely cute. I mean he’s a hot firefighter for heaven's sake. What isn’t there to like?”

Juni nods in agreement, “But do you think maybe he prefers guys more than girls? He’s dated mostly guys since we’ve known him.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I know what it is like to be bi or bi preferences, but maybe the reason for that is because all the people he’s liked just so happened to be males. Not the other way around.”

“True. I’ll think about it, Sweetie”

Alexander returns soon after with the pizza and the friend group eats their slices. Eventually, Y/N gets a call from Rafe and she heads back to their apartment to take the call. “So she’s definitely falling for Big C,” Juni comments to break the silence. Alexander chuckles, “Yeah, I think maybe I should follow her lead and fake date one of my co-workers.”

“Well, how about you fake date me instead? Or better yet, you can just date me.”

“You want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, only if you want to.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that ever since we met.”

She grins at him and gives him a sweet kiss. They break apart, a little more comfortable with the idea of a romantic relationship, so they cuddle as they watch the rest of the movie.

——

Y/N has to leave work early today to get to the other side of town. Rafe offered to drive her, but she knew that he had an important meeting that he shouldn’t miss. She packs up her stuff to leave and goes to his office to say goodbye. “I’m going to head out now. I’ll call you when I’m done at Nancy’s exhibit,” she informs, leaning down to give him a kiss. He leans into the kiss, “Okay, send me a text when you get there. Also, take lots of pictures for me.” She giggles at his excitement to see Nancy’s art and nods. He really wishes that he could go. His eyes follow her out of the room. He prepares for the meeting, genuinely disappointed that he can’t be there for Nancy or get to spend time with Y/N. And then he remembers that he is the boss. If he doesn’t want to be in a meeting right now, he doesn’t need to be in one.

He dials Topper's phone line and tells him to come to his office. “I need you to lead the meeting and have your assistant take minutes. I’m leaving earlier,” Rafe orders, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything. Topper’s face turns to confusion, “Why? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to meet up with Y/N.”

“Rafe, do you really think it is a good idea to go?”

“What’s wrong with going?”

“You don’t think you are getting a little caught up in this fake relationship? I mean, you guys are kissing when there is no one around and even though you already went to the wedding, you guys haven’t called off your relationship. Everyone has forgotten what the contractors have said.”

“I really don’t see the problem. We both know the relationship isn’t real. It really isn’t any of your business anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get going before I am late.”

——

The hallway of the gym is crowded with excited family members and friends waiting for the gym doors to open for the class exhibit. Rafe’s tall stature helps him easily spot Y/N and her parents in the crowd. He fights his way to her, tapping on her shoulder to get her attention. She turns around perplexed but it quickly turns to elation when she sees who is there. She jumps to wrap her arms around his neck, “Boss, what are you doing here?” He laughs at her excitement, placing a kiss on her cheek. “I realized that I owned the company and could get others to attend meetings for me. This is more important,” he explains. Nate overhears the conversation, “That is very sweet, Rafe. I know Nance will be very excited to see you.” “Thank you, Nate. I am very excited to see her art,” he admits with his arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist. The doors finally open and they rush in to get to Nancy.

The massive smile on Nancy’s face when she sees her family is heart melting. Her eyes land on Rafe and her cheeks heat up as red as a tomato. She gives everyone a hug. “So little artist, show us your work,” Rafe demands, turning over to the section saved for the youngest Y/L/N. Nancy nods, pulling him over to her paintings. Every time Nancy and Rafe are in the same room, her full attention is on him and he is wrapped around her finger. His eyes glance over her work when they are drawn to one particular. The vibrant colours attract his eyes first and the shallow depth of field of the painting draws his eyes to two people. Y/N wears her dusty blue dress, wrapped in Rafe’s arms. His eyes are on her and the love he has for her is glaringly obvious. Nancy really captured his feelings at that moment.

Y/N comes up behind him and snuggles herself under his arms. She looks at the painting with a fond smile, “It’s beautiful, Nance. I love it.” “How much?” are the only words Rafe can utter. Nancy’s lips fall agape, “Excuse me?” “How much do you want for the painting?” he clarifies, approaching the painting to look at the detail.

“Oh, you don’t have to pay for it. I can just give it to you.”

“No, I want to pay for this one. That way you can put it on your resume that you sold a painting. Is ten thousand enough?”

“No…no…no… That is too much. I didn’t pay for supplies and I didn’t even spend that much time on it.”

“Nonsense, I’ll put it towards your post-secondary education. You can use it for art school. I insist.”

Phoebe and Nate try to argue with Rafe that he didn’t have to pay, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

——

Rafe stares at the level and adjusts the frame of the painting based on it. Once he is satisfied that it is straight, he gets down from off of the bed. She walks into the room after doing her nighttime routine to see where he placed the painting. “You aren’t really going to put that there?” Y/N asks, settling herself into his bed. She stares up at the painting above. Rafe is heading to the bathroom but stops, “Of course, that way I can stare at your beautiful face before I go to sleep when you are not with me.”

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @aprilrudgate @loving-and-dreaming @thepatriarchykeychain @maybankslover @abbybarnesstuff @wh0reforbucknasty @spencereidbasis @drewsmusee @starkowswife @mskezza @h34rtsformilli @ijustwanttoreadlols @forstarkey

141 notes · View notes

havin-fun-imagining-twd · 2 months

Text

Stuck in a damn bed.

What -- Daryl's bedbound and stuck that way recovering for longer than he wants. He's not a fan.

When -- after supper following the chapter That's it. In the show, it is in season 2 following the events of Chupacabra. Note that the Slowpoke Series is canon-compliant, but you'll notice a more realistic recovery time has been portrayed than was able to be shown the TV series.

Relationships -- slow burning Reader x Daryl, but Carol's season 2 crush is coming out.

TWs -- some language and unexpected familial abuse

Pronouns -- she/her

How long is it? -- there hasn't been a new chapter in over a month, y'all...

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

There's a part in the story with abuse by a family member (domestic violence). It's not reader being beaten in the way one might imagine abuse, but it's still abuse.

If you're being hurt by a loved one irl, they are doing something bad to you. Abuse is not earned or deserved. You are worthy of being safe and unhurt.

For help getting safe, you can call the Domestic Violence Hotline (USA) at 800-799-7233, chat online, or text START to 88788.

-------------------------

Day 1 of being stuck in a damn bed

later

-------------------------

Carol brought him supper. Eggs and field greens with crackers and beans. She’d brought breakfast and lunch to him, too. Stayed this time, though.

She ate mostly in silence with him but told him about the day. When she was done eating, she went back to mending a torn shirt she’d brought with.

Sophia wasn’t brought back today.

The whole truckload of these asshats that he’s been sticking with for way too long and for who-knows-why — couldn’t find that woman’s little girl after an entire day of searching the grid he slashed in half? Goddamned bullshit.

Yet, when two of those 'asshats,' Y/N and Patricia, came in to bring him a nighttime dose of painkillers and do another exam, he couldn’t find the words to ask Y/N anything about it. He didn’t feel all pissed and upset anymore, either.

Couldn’t make eye contact much with her just yet, granted. Still felt all stupid nervous.

Ain’t nothing he could do about it for now, his soul got stripped bare with Y/N’s yesterday. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t think of Y/N as stupid. Or Carol, that lady wasn’t stupid.

Hell, maybe no one in his group was, maybe it was just that he was heartbroke about that poor lost girl and in way too much pain.

Y/N was honest and spoke plainly about the situation, which was a welcome relief from how others were getting closed-lipped about it. “Today was so damned disappointing,” she muttered. “Twelve of us took turns goin’ out in teams, man, scoured the grid you narrowed down. Then we went beyond it when we still didn’t find…” After a few moments, she sat up straighter, adjusting the sling on her injured side. “Tomorrow’s the day, then.”

Well, since they’re changing up the search area tomorrow, maybe it’s true. And, maybe Daryl will stop complaining about others and will stop being a pussy and be able to actually get up and walk tomorrow, help out by his damned self and bring back their the girl.

Except that when he implied as much, Patricia shot it down. “We can’t force you, but—”

“Sure as shit can’t,” he yipped back.

At hearing Y/N’s huff, he turned just in time to catch her licking her teeth in annoyance. Her eyebrows were raised and her stare was enough to make his heart pound, loudly.

“You won’t make it far without needin’ to be helped back, if you can get up and walk around normally in the first place,” Patricia cautioned. “Give yourself a few days.”

Yeah, so, Sophia didn’t have a few days. “I’m fine.”

“We just want you to heal,” Carol quietly spoke.

Before he could finish yipping another comeback, Patricia sighed, then surprised him by saying, “Alright. We’ll leave the room so you can get dressed. Clothes are over there.”

Y/N frowned. “Ma’am?”

The lady gently held up a hand in response.

It was a test, plain as day. Which is why before them three had even left the room, Daryl had grit his teeth and held the bedsheets across his shoulder to keep himself covered as he pushed through the pain in order to sit upright all the way.

Courtesy of Y/N, his button-down shirt was tossed to him before she scooted out of the room, and Daryl was wincing and biting back groans as he worked it on for at least three minutes. He thanked his lucky stars it was a button-down and not a t-shirt, or he wouldn’t have been able to put it on.

He should’ve just thrown in the towel right then and accepted defeat, but he had too much to prove.

And when if he admitted it was too much for him…even if he didn't look like a Q-tip, wearing a damn pair of pants while it happened was the bare minimum that could make it bearable.

But he really should’ve thrown that towel in. It took accidentally hissing out a cuss when he tried to be tough as he swung his leg off the bed for him to start thinking he was being a jackass. It took him swallowing a whimper, chewing on his lip all the while, when he stood and had to untangle the bedsheets from his foot for him to doubt he could even get the pants on.

But being stubborn as a jackass had its perks: he gripped the bed frame to help him walk and got to his clothes without knocking anything over. He also worked out that sitting to put the pants on was better because he had to bend less if he was seated.

By the time he’d gotten them plus his socks and shoes on, he was sweaty and had the shakes, he’d also needed to sit awhile before he got the balls to stand up again and hobble his way to the door.

But he made it. Choking down his pride and his groans of discomfort, he made it to the door and pulled it open.

Patricia was waiting on the chair around the corner in the living room, quietly talking with Y/N while pointing at something in a giant, red book.

“Maybe I do need that few days,” he surrendered. Didn’t come out as tough as he’d intended.

Tell you what, though, that twangy blonde woman was one heck of a lady. “Let’s get you some fresh air while you’re up, does that sound good?” she offered. “The porch is only a few steps away.”

-------------------------

You

-------------------------

“Oh, Glenn.” You flop against the RV’s table and end up staring at the ding in the cabinet opposite you. You just left the front porch after Patricia helped Daryl walk there to get a breather, only to find out not 30 seconds after entering the RV that Glenn spilled the news about Lori to Dale.

Instead of Glenn, Dale responds, “Kiddo, my lips are sealed,” but you’re busy trying to sort out how to keep Shane from finding out for a little while longer if already the news is getting out, and not from Lori or you.

You love Glenn to death, but oh my gosh, he is not good at secrets. You didn’t even know he’d known, you only just now drew the conclusion when you made the connection; that that was the thing on Lori’s drugstore list that Glenn was being all secretive about, the pregnancy test.

Right now, you need to stomp down the fears leaping around your dumb little brain because you cannot make this seem dramatic, or it will point to there being a problem with Lori being pregnant — which there isn’t, a new baby is such happy news you could scream, it’s just that there’s the possibility of — with your brother and — ugh, you need to go on a walk or kick something! And Dale and Glenn won’t/can’t know why you’re so upset or it will be even worse.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew, or I would’ve talked about it with you instead of Dale so I wouldn’t explode! Secrets aren’t cool, dude.”

“Seein' as you didn't mention the pregnancy tests, I'd say secrets have their place,” you test.

“Not really. They make things complicated and people get hurt.”

You sneer while letting out a huff, and Dale puts his two cents in.

“I’m inclined to agree with Glenn here.” He’s apologetic when he calmly next points out, “Secrets are an omission of the truth.”

Here you are, gleefully sitting on the secret that Maggie admitted to you that she really likes Glenn. Not-so-gleefully sitting on the secret that the baby may biologically be your brother's, too. Ain't like you're about to spill or you'll burst.

In your mind, you take the simmering tea kettle off the burner so it won’t start to sing. “There are good secrets and bad secrets. And most people wait a few to tell others about pregnancies, y’all,” you state, and then make an executive decision to share something truthful that’s maybe not your place to do so, but you need to save face for Lori’s sake, now. “Lori’s had a few losses, it’s not wrong to imagine the new one might won’t make it long.”

Dale and Glenn both react similarly: they open their mouth and raise their heads slightly, then bow them. Good.

Scratching his neck, Glenn apologizes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“If she loses this one, too, those who know will grieve with her, then, simple as.” You’re satisfied and confident that you’ve saved face for Lori and your brother and Rick.

Except for how Dale peers at you. It reminds you of the gentle way one might look at a preschooler who is nervously trying to cover up the fact that they peed their pants.

One hand on your shoulder, he stops peering all knowingly and strokes his beard. “Irma miscarried, too. Our only one, none came after that,” he shares. Slowly, he sits at the spot by the RV’s right window. “We usually told people we stopped trying, which isn’t not the truth, I suppose. She and I simply stopped being, uh, ‘intentional’ about trying to conceive,” he explains.

“I’m sorry they died,” you tell Dale quietly. “Did you give ’em a name? My Ma lost one after Shane, she named them.”

“Believe it or not,” he says, hesitating before breaking into a smile and chuckling. “We were thinking about ‘Glenn’ for both a boy and girl name.”

Glenn’s cheeks turn purply-red like a beet. “Wait, seriously?”

Dale shrugs and nods.

“Y/N, no wonder I’m his favorite!”

After you play-pout, you notice, “Hold up: ‘Glenn’ and ‘Dale.’ Both are—”

“— Yes,” Dale finishes, turning pink while he laughs to himself and rubs his fingers over his wedding band. “The word ‘dale’ is from the Old English for ‘valley.’ And ‘glen’ is from the, ah, Scottish, the Scots Gaelic for ‘a valley formed by a river.’ My Irma liked the wordplay.”

-------------------------

Day 2 of being stuck in a damn bed

-------------------------

“You must be bored as hell in here, man. Concussion protocol stinks.”

T-Dog had just knocked and brought in the boombox that had been used a few times back at the quarry camp. He’d placed it next to Daryl on the bed, said he was here to help, then told him, “You saved my life with those meds, Daryl. And Carl’s.”

Daryl laid there like an awkward slug, he still felt off. Patricia was right, he really did get a good whack to the head. And...whole body.

He also didn’t expect a declaration like that. Not that it was a bad thing. He’d grown to have a lot of respect for T-Dog. Real decent guy. Maybe they were friends, too? He hoped so, he wanted that. And Daryl understood that him and his brother had been…he knew they was wrong, about how they’d been to T-Dog.

“No TV allowed.” T-Dog started to go on, narrating to himself, “Ain’t like that’s a problem right now. But also no reading, no busywork,” he said louder, “no getting up and moving much for the first couple days — I don’t envy you, brother. But listening to music, that they usually let you do so long as it’s quiet. You know what’s funny, though? There’s a separate, what do you call it, uh— ‘school of thought’ out there that says concussed people should be getting theyselves back to normal right from the get-go.”

The front door to the house opened again. Instead of footsteps going down the hall, there was another knock at Daryl’s door.

Before Y/N could finish her long-ass knocking pattern, Daryl called, “Just open it, s’fine.”

The knob turned and there she was, holding out a cassette tape with a plug hanging off it. “Found it. I’d forgot we’d moved it from Carol’s car. Jimmy borrowed it on the way to gun practice yesterday, left it in his dad’s truck.”

“You went without it all last night? I would’ve borrowed it, Y/N,” T-Dog razzed, “It’s been near a week since I listened to music, gonna turn into a Puritan at this rate.”

She giggled. “I fell asleep around 7:30 yesterday, man, I was out.”

“Yeah, Dale was worried that your brother pushed you too hard at that little fighting lesson y’all did.”

Making a little huh?, she pressed her lips together in what looked like a confused pout. “He was going easy. Oh — if he sounded like an asshole, that’s his way. Usually when you gotta defend yourself, there’s chaos and a lot of, um, of emotion. So, he riles you up, keeps pushin’ your buttons, so that you’ll learn to separate from the emotion and focus. Specifically, he’s tryin’ to help me not react,” she slumped as she said, “angrily. Anger makes you stupid.”

“Whatever you say, little sister. Just don’t go overdoin’ it, hear? You tend to overdo.”

With a teeny huff, she twisted her mouth and nodded.

“Speaking of, how long will you need to have your upper arm tied to your torso there?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “A few more days.”

“Alright, I’ll stop naggin’ you. How about: can I please get dibs on the mp3 the first night this guy can get out of bed? Pretty please?”

Mouth still twisted, it turned into a lopsided grin. “Deal.”

“Thank you much. Now,” he rubbed his hands together. “I do gotta ask, what music did the farm boy leave it on?”

“Hmm…” Y/N pressed the button on the side of the little music player to turn it on. Click, click, click. “Ah, Mumford & Sons. Do you know them? They’re that new band who makes bouncy banjo songs, got the raspy-voiced singer?”

“‘Bouncy banjo songs with a raspy-voiced singer,’” T-Dog chuckled. “I know them. Alright, man,” he said, turning to Daryl. “The batteries in the boombox should have plenty of juice left. You got the mp3 player to hook up to it, just use the tape deck converter. There’s a handful of CDs, too, and some cassettes.” He then made a little ha, and said, “Look like one of these is a book on tape that Dale got from the library. Shit, this was due like a month before the outbreaks, look at the date on here!”

“That’s a lotta late fees.”

“Let’s hope they waive ’em.”

This back and forth between the two of them was serving as Daryl’s minor entertainment for the afternoon. What serves as entertainment when you're stuck in a damn bed...

“D’you wonder if it’s as bad as The Case of the Missing Man?” Y/N droned.

“Oh, did you finish it, Y/N?”

“No. I tried two nights ago when I camped out in here. Couldn’t get passed chapter 4.”

“Surprised you ain’t reading it to this guy,” he told her. “Seein’ as you’re spending all that time in here, anyway.”

This was when Daryl got annoyed and uncomfortable again, there was something about the way T-Dog said it.

He didn’t think he felt (therefore looked) all nervous around Y/N anymore, that was all done, just a one-off. So why did it sound like T-Dog was teasing?

“Daryl’s suffered enough,” Y/N answered, and Daryl didn’t have time to catch her expression before she continued, “Miss Patricia’s certain he’s got a broken rib and maybe clavicle. So there’s the concussion, the ripped side by his rib, the collarbone, the stiff neck, then all the bruises, the abrasions, and that bullet graze — oh, sh — I just broke HIPAA!” she blurted out. “Ain’t never done that before, just blabbed about—that’s so—oh my g—th-that’s—Daryl, I’m so sorry!”

All Daryl could do was snort and ignore the sudden tug in the middle of his chest toward her direction. “Gonna sue your ass,” he deadpanned. Such a square.

“For real, though,” T-Dog spoke. “I still can’t believe you made your way back alive after all you went through, man. Yesterday, I joined Rick, we went to where you fell — Daryl, you should be dead. The way I see it, God’s got plans for you, brother. Just let Him do His thing.”

Awkward about what to say or how to react, Daryl responded with what was on his mind for most of the day. “Any signs out there today?”

Neither of them answered at first, meaning they didn’t find shit.

“I thought Rick talked to you already,” Y/N mumbled.

T-Dog answered better. “We’re searching a new area tomorrow, branching out.”

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

Having music was saving him from going completely nuts. The little music player thing seemed to have something for just about everybody on it, and the CDs were fine, too. He even popped in the book on tape.

Sent him right to sleep.

Dale and Carol came visiting with supper. Carol had eaten every meal with him for the past two days. It made him a little nervous, to be plain. The way she paid attention seemed less like pity or friendship and more like something more, which he didn’t want and didn’t have to offer.

But he liked how Carol was quiet and gentle, thoughtful, and had a dry sense of humor every so often (when she let it out around him, that is).

The grub was eggs and field greens again, but this time there was also rice. Granted, no meat again, but someone must have found onion grass, because it smelled real tasty. If he cared, he would’ve considered to maybe not wolf it down as fast as he did, given that Carol and Dale were in there.

Then came his friend’s signature knocking again.

He was relieved to have felt nothing at Y/N's arrival; no nervousness, no warm cheeks. Everything was back to normal.

-------------------------

Day 3 of being stuck in a damn bed

-------------------------

“After Andy told her there was still a chance, she stopped her and said she didn’t really need to hear it anymore,” Y/N told him quietly. Arms crossed and hood up, she was resting back on the chair in the corner of the room, legs propped against the end of the bed. “I wanted you to hear it from me so if Carol said anything, it wouldn’t be knockin’ you out of left field.”

Y/N’d gone with her brother, Andrea, and Carol to check the spot on the highway where they’d set up a mini shelter for Sophia however many days ago all that shit went down. A few of the group had gone back every day, twice a day.

And now Carol was losing hope or just plain lost it.

For real, how was it that her kid was still goddamned missing?

He and Y/N found a sign at that house, then another at the other house, then he’d found her doll—how far would Sophia have fucking gone?

Her body ain’t been found yet, neither, which meant she had to be out there somewhere.

“Even Shane tried to be optimistic for her. After hearin’ her say to Andrea how she didn’t want to hear it no more, he tried to insist Sophia might could be fine, but she held out her hand so he’d stop.”

“Shane? Really?”

Shane wrote that little girl off as a goner, last Daryl knew. What changed?

Y/N gave a small, tired, very forced smile. “We had a good talk a few days ago. He knows he hasn’t been himself and he wants to do better.”

That’s good. The way her brother’s been acting has been driving screws through her, he knew that much.

“Still, your nine days to Sophia’s…” she trailed off, and when she did, he saw it in her face. Heard it in her voice when she finished her thought. “This is either her day 7 or 8 out there, I-I can’t think right now.”

Yup. She was also losing hope or plain lost it.

The feeling of helplessness jumpstarted and rammed him in the belly.

He swore. “C’mon, Y/N. You, too?”

“Dude,” she hesitated, “understanding the possibility she’s dead ain’t wrong.”

Shut up.

“It’s, it’s a high statistical likelihood,” was her next bullshit excuse. “From day one it’s been on the tabl—”

“—No wonder she ain’t been found yet,” he snarled, interrupting her. “None of y’all shitheads actually think that little girl’s out there!”

The pain from his broken rib seared like a hot poker when he raised his voice, but as he said it, he believed every word of it and liked how it struck home.

But only as he said it.

Because one look in his friend’s eyes afterward, wet and turning red, and he felt the invisible knee to the nards and stomach and knew he’d just been a massive asshole.

Y/N giving him the middle finger was what Patricia saw after she’d knocked on the door and come in.

“What’s goin’ on?” she asked the pair of them.

Y/N wiped an eye and told her honestly, “An argument about Sophia,” before laying this out to Daryl: “Not one of us doubts she’s out there.”

Regretful as he was for being an asshole, he still pushed back, “Yeah, all y’all just think she’s dead anyway, so why bother.”

“You mangy h—” she swallowed. Licked her teeth. “Stayin’ hopeful is one thing,” she started, pointing her finger at him while clear-as-day working to not raise her voice. “But can you honestly say to us that you wasn’t also prepared to find our girl dead every time you was out there?”

Patricia held up a hand and cleared her throat. “I’m here to check your bandages, Daryl. Y/N.”

Y/N apologized to Patricia and exited the room quietly.

Patricia did her thing.

And Daryl, stuck in a damn bed, same as he’d been for three days now, lay there feeling helpless, worthless, unwanted, and now like a massive asshole, and he was goddamned angry about it.

He really wanted to kick something, chug a beer, or cry. And have a smoke. Carol’d brought him his pack, he’d managed to get a good one in through the open window earlier.

“These should be able to come off in a few days,” Patricia murmured, re-wrapping his head. “And the graze is healing nicely. We still need to be cautious about your concussion and that side-wound of yours, hence you bein’ stuck in here for awhile yet.” The lady shifted her weight to her other leg and set her hand on her side. “How do the collarbone and ribs feel?”

“Fine.”

Arching one eyebrow at him, she took one arm and did some gentle movements, then the same with the other arm.

“Those areas are already better than they were the first day, so there’s something. And the rib fracture, unless it’s just a real nasty bruise, is likely hairline, which is light years better than the alternative. Remember to breathe deep through your belly to get full breaths in, don’t expand your lungs wide, do it through your belly. And keep up the good work avoidin’ laying on your left side like you have been. Once you’re up and out, you’ll have to keep things slow so they’ll heal good.”

“How slow?”

She exhaled through her nose and spoke his name. “I need to tell you, it’s by the skin of my teeth that I’ve been convincing Hersh that you and the little boy still need carin’ for. Please work with me on this. Agree to take it slow.”

Nope. He couldn’t just do nothing, Sophia was missing! Why did everybody keep forgetting that part? “He can kick me out all he wants, I don’t give a shit — that little girl ain’t gonna get found in one piece if I keep things slow.”

“There are 9 or 10 people searching for her on the regular, Daryl. You’re gonna heal badly, permanently, if you don’t go slow,” she warned. “You and your friend both need to learn to do what your bodies need.” She paused. Smirked for half a second before tucking it away. “That came out wrong. What I meant is that y’all need rest, and not aggravate what’s gone wrong and make it worse.”

Before leaving the room, she turned back toward him. “It’s that Hershel still wants y’all not just out, off his land. Clean off.” She held up a hand as if she didn’t know what to do next. “I don’t think that’s right, and I don’t want it. And I can see how many of your group want to stay, are helpin’ out. Y’all are good people. So please, mind your manners and that mouth around Hershel, Daryl. It’s you and Y/N’s brother that are causin’ him the most concern, and ultimately, it’s gonna be Hershel’s decision.”

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

Carol brought him supper, again. The meal was quiet, until small footsteps and a knock along with “Mr. Dixon?” sounded outside the door.

It was Carl, asking if he could eat dinner with him. “And I brought you one of my comic books. I figured I could show you the pictures and read to you the words. They’re saying you can’t read right now. That stinks. I get to read and walk around a little, at least, I just can’t move a lot.”

Daryl waved him and his folks in, felt a brief moment of pride that the antibiotics he’d supplied had saved the kid’s and T-Dog’s life, then he asked Carl when he’d be able to run around.

“Mr. Greene is hoping I can do stuff like normal soon. I still get really tired when I move. But I wanna be strong if Sophia needs me, so I’m doing what he says is best.”

Did Y/N or Patricia put him up to this?

“Do you still think she could be okay? I know that a lot of our people are losing hope, but I still think she could be okay. Dad does, too, and Mom, and Y/N.”

Daryl thought to himself how he’d go through everything he had gone through for Sophia again for that kid, gladly. “‘Course I think she’s okay. Prolly sleeping in a queen-sized bed wherever she’s stayin’.

Rick chatted to him in between bites of scrambled egg. “Based on how the search goes tomorrow, we’ll be altering the grid again.” He asked Daryl his opinion on where would be smartest to focus the search efforts in the new area. (It was upstream, obviously. And Daryl wasn’t used to his ideas being taken seriously, it was a nice change.)

He kept glancing at Carol as the conversation went on. She’d gotten all wet-eyed when Carl first spoke up about wanting to be strong for Sophia. Stayed quiet when Rick talked.

But by the end, she didn’t seem so lost anymore.

He watched from the side as she thumbed her cross necklace, kissed it—then caught him watching and gave him a tiny smile.

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

He’d hobbled to the window to have another smoke. Getting in and out of bed still hurt, ain’t that bull?

It was just about dark, there was only a blurry strip of orange left at the very bottom of the horizon.

Daryl looked out at the land. Saw the campfire, saw Andrea on top of the RV.

T-Dog noticed him from his spot by a cluster of trees where he was having a smoke, too, and he waved once to Daryl before turning around to resume his own cigarette break in privacy.

Midway through a particularly deep drag (a tricky thing to do when inhaling deeply hurts because you got a cracked rib), there was some giggling outside his door in the hall to the front.

The dread that he was gonna get caught and kicked out for smoking sent a jolt into his veins. Not sure why he cared so much all the sudden.

He’d already put out his cigarette against the outside of the windowsill when the familiar sound of her laughter registered in his ears, so his muscles stopped feeling so tense.

Leaning on the sill, he then watched her and Glenn just about torpedo down the porch stairs and toward a field as if they were rac—no, wait, they actually were racing. He definitely didn’t snort to himself about it then wince because snorting hurt. The short-haired chick, Baby Spice, and the farm boy spilled onto the porch to watch—nope, scratch that, they were joining in.

Where were they even g…okay, to some old tree stump.

Y/N’d mentioned how Daryl was only 6 or 7 years older than them, but sometimes it felt like a hell of a lot more. Her and Glenn together, especially, together they acted like they was 12-year-olds.

After Daryl saw what was maybe a tie take place, he felt creepy just, ahem, staring at them from the window. So, he shut the screen back down and gimped his sore-ass self to the bed again.

-------------------------

Day 4 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

-------------------------

“Lore? How about you sit a minute?” She looks like she’s either going to pass our or throw up, so you don’t know whether to guide her to a seat or hold her hair back.

“It’s the, um—” she grabs a lock of her hair and folds it over her nose, breathing in slowly while walking in the opposite direction of the campfire. “What is that meat?”

“Rabbit.”

Through her nausea, she’s still encouraging enough to offer a genuine “Well done!” even as she tries to tamp down her gag reflex.

Yeah, Shane and you set up snares yesterday, and today one worked.

You point to the pine grove. “I finally set up my hammock over there. Let’s — it’s just, you look like you need to lay down.”

“I will, I just have to talk to Daryl first, he’s been, um—” she pauses again to exhale slowly. Her color is nonexistent right now. “He’s been smoking outside his window, and, and I’m worried that if Hershel sees—” She suddenly bursts into tears, and that makes her gag more.

The biggest problem right now is that Mr. Greene still wants your group off his land once Carl and Daryl aren’t bedbound.

That Daryl went through his awful accident is a blessing in disguise; it’s buying you all time.

Maggie is openly upset with her dad about it. Miss Patricia and her boy don’t agree, either.

You’re mad at the man, too, like — you get that your group is threatening simply by the fact that there are more of you and you’re armed — but what about your conduct here has been threatening? Minus the mishap with Andrea almost killing Daryl and how Shane has been a little dominant, you’re all helping out, keeping the campsite clean, staying quiet, respecting the property.

Like, yes, y’all killed a walker that had sprouted legit gills because he it was trapped in one of their wells, but the guy was dead. Quite literally a corpse, not even a "he" anymore; it, the corpse, was usurped by a virus. His soul had moved on.

Mr. Greene is a faithful dude, he’s supposed to be a man of God, so why would he kick…never mind, he’s scared for his family, you get it, you get it.

People have done atrocious things to each other since it all went down, no one can deny that.

Well, there’s still hope. He can and will change his mind. Carl, Lori, and new baby need a safe place.

Happily, the awkwardness of trying to sit side-by-side in the hammock makes both you and Lori crack up. You stop awfulizing in your head, and she seems calmer, too.

“What was it you were going to talk to Daryl about again?” you ask.

“He’s been smoking out of his window. I picked up the butts when I saw them. We can’t give Hershel any more reasons to not want us here. He’ll see it as disrespecting his home, his land…” Her voice goes up, and she’s back to crying. So far, you and Glenn (and Dale, just don’t tell Lori that Glenn told him!) are the only ones who know about the new one she’s got in there.

“Y/N, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this — I can’t, I can’t…”

“You already are, mama,” you whisper softly. “Lore, I’ll do whatever it is you and baby need, Ricky will, too. Come hell or high water, Lori, we will do what it takes.”

“If it even lasts that long.” She wipes her eyes and turns her head away “How long will it last, you think? Truly? And if I don’t lose this one, too, how long until one of those things catches them, rips them apart?”

“You can’t think that way.”

“We have to think that way! My son was shot, he nearly died and he, he, he can’t even walk around for more than 10 minutes without getting exhausted. And Sophia?”

You close your eyes. You know; Carol’s been sharing your tent.

“—What are the chances Sophia is alive? Truly?” she challenges. You stay quiet.

Sophia is, most likely, not alive anymore. You’ll search until she’s found for as long as it takes, but it will likely be her body that is found.

“Carol understands it, too, honey, she told me yesterday, said it again today, and I cannot imagine she hasn’t told you, too, as she cries herself to sleep. And, and even if that sweet, innocent girl is still alive, what are the chances she wasn’t kidnapped and God knows what else?"

She's out of breath. "Our families, friends — they died or were killed, and are now dead. Almost everyone we knew, Y/N. So how can you honestly tell me she,” and Lori points to her stomach, “will have a happy life? That my baby will have any semblance of a normal, safe life! Or that, that, that she’ll even survive long enough to make it out of diapers when the only way she will be able to tell someone that something is wrong is by crying, and putting herself and everyone else at risk!”

When she finally stops, she lowers her head to her knees and pulls at her hair, sobbing.

There are ideas and viewpoints floating around your head as something to respond with or comfort with, but nothing is coming together enough yet. Having been raised with fosters, you know without doubt life is never predictable and safe, even with the best-laid plans. Most importantly, you learned that no one’s life, absolutely no one’s life, is ever worthless or meaningless.

But the major thing that keeps repeating in your head is how Lori very clearly just called the new one “she.”

Before you can put that to words, Lori stumbles out of the hammock, stumbles and few yards forward, kneels, and gets sick.

Wiping your own tears, you kneel beside her, hold her hair back, and lightly massage her neck.

She first apologizes, then quickly spirals into putting herself down and panicking about how-awful-she-is-but-she-can’t-but-she-can’t, so you figure it’s a good time to interrupt.

“So. You thinkin’ you’ve got a girl in there?”

-------------------------

Him

-------------------------

“Did he read you the one where Science Dog becomes real?”

Because Carl did happen to read him that comic book, Daryl knew what that sentence meant. “Yeah.”

“That’s a fun episode! Oh, um, ‘issue,’ whatever the word is,” Y/N self-corrected. “Ain’t it just so— ‘miracle’ barely describes how well Carl is doin’.” She shifted in her spot and used her good arm to massage her bad side. “Hey, did Ricky mentioned how Carol was today?”

He shook his head. Y/N grinned.

“She was out first thing, came back last. She was vocal, outspoken about the search and where to go. Probably why she was about to fall out when she got back.” A nod. “It was really good, she didn’t seem so broken today.”

Daryl grunted. “Good. Should be.” He shifted on the mattress and tried to get comfortable again. Ouch.

“Hey, was you—um, were you—smokin’ out your window last night?” She asked the second part under her breath as if it were a big secret.

“Maybe.” Is my square gonna preach about smoking?

She nodded slowly and went to take another bite of food, but paused and lowered her fork. “Lori asked me to ask you. She, um, would’ve come herself, but she’s a mite sick. When you have a smoke, please tuck the butt in a tissue? Lori cleaned ’em up earlier when she saw them outside your window.”

“Why? Is Hershel one of them super-Baptists?”

“Daryl,” she murmured. “Please. We all gotta be on our best behavior so we don’t get kicked out as soon as you and Carl are better. He already wants us gone, you two being injured has been our savin’ grace. If, if Mr. Greene’s sees smoke butts, it might will be seen as another strike. Even as someone who smokes, do you like seein’ butts on the ground?”

He chewed. Swallowed. Grunted, “I’ll put ’em in a tissue.” After piling in another forkful, he hummed in appreciation and asked, “Who bagged the rabbit?” Been about a week since any meat.

“A snare got one. We cracked open one of them Foxfire books and set some up.” Y/N was sad about the rabbit, Daryl could tell. “Shane remembered most of the steps from Boy Scouts,” she detailed.

“He clean it, too?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t cook tonight, too, did he?”

Carol usually made meals, but she’d hit the sack early. He’d last seen her at lunchtime (and Carol probably would have known how to cook rabbit meat a little better)

Y/N answered him with her mouth full. “He actually did, Shane and me.”

“No wonder it’s nasty.”

She made a psht in response, and then right as Daryl was taking a particularly big bite, chirped, “Then starve.”

He snarfed.

It hurt, but he hadn’t burst into a laugh like that in a while.

And in truth, he was really enjoying the food.

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

Another dream that he didn’t want hit him from out of nowhere, the same way Andrea’s bullet had.

Except, he didn’t feel disappointed when he woke up, he felt freaked out.

In the dream this time, Carol was kneeling on his bed, crying and reading the comic book. He didn’t know what to do and he couldn’t move. Then Carol kissed his cheek and asked him “Is this the one where Sophia becomes real again?”

When he woke up, he clawed his way to the window to have another smoke.

It took a lot in him to not holler out with a loud-ass cuss when he stubbed his toes on the dresser. It accidentally hurt his broken ribs and collarbone while trying to not fall over as a result. Lots of hushed cusses.

-------------------------

Day...um…shit, right: Day 5 of being stuck in a damn bed

-------------------------

Day 5 for him. Meaning it was either day 9 or 10 for Sophia.

Day 9 was the day he’d been hoping to not get to. And if it was actually day 10 for her…

It didn't matter the date, what he’d said about Sophia was still true. She was a smart kid, there are just a hell of a lot of hiding places where she could be holed up in. Farmhouses with open doors or windows, barns, empty businesses and buildings, even cars. As for food and water, wasn’t like there weren’t a creek, orchards and overrun gardens for miles around.

Here he was, still stuck in a damned bed while the twangy blonde lady waved that stupid, skinny flashlight in his eyes for the twentieth damned time!

Patricia clicked her tongue. “I get that cabin fever can make anybody get short, but irritability is one of them things that can pop up or get worse after a concussion, Daryl, so I ain’t too sure whether or not this is a change for you.”

I’d be fine if Sophia was back! Everything would be, bitch! “I’d be better if I wasn’t stuck in here.”

She took a moment. “Let’s check your balance again, then.”

He exhaled through his teeth and was enraged to find himself suddenly about to cry.

“If you can walk without tilting, we’ll both know you’re good to go,” the lady continued. “My friend, I ain’t trying to humble you, I want to see if you’ve improved enough.”

So, Daryl held the blanket over himself as he got himself out of bed and slowly stepped down the hallway. He tried to walk normal, got a little dizzy doing it. Not too much, but…

He didn’t quite hold back the tears of frustration.

Patricia must’ve felt sorry for him again, because she walked him back to the room, had him put on long pants and a shirt, then escorted him out to the porch barefoot.

“We should ought’ve brought you out here more regularly these past few days. Fresh air and sunlight can do wonders. Sit here awhile, then we’ll try a around the house.”

Her using a ‘should ought’ve’ made him think of Y/N.

Within a minute, Dale in his little On Golden Pond fisherman hat and T-Dog with a towel over his forehead saw him from their perch on top of the RV, and raised hands to wave at Daryl.

From the far left, he heard Y/N’s laughter along with Glenn’s and what was probably Baby Spice and the short-haired chick Maggie and the farm boy Jimmy’s. He stood up and — damn it, still wobbly and sore — made his way to the side of the porch to see what they were doing.

They were kicking a ball around, squealing like schoolkids.

Carl was sitting on the same tree stump that the gaggle of them had raced to last night, cheering and razzing off and on.

Seeing just, like…innocent shit like this was nice.

But, standing up made Daryl tired, and he (again) felt creepy watching them, so he shuffled back to the little bench right as Patricia was coming back outside carrying two glasses of sweet tea.

“Your two friends and Maggie got back from their search, sad as you can get. Jimmy and Beth did their own check around the pastures and the perimeter again, too. Have every day since you took those falls.” She took a sip of her drink. “Seems this kickball or soccer match, whatever they’re doing, this was their way of cheerin’ themselves up. Looks like it’s working. So long as none of y’all get hurt again, I’m happy.”

When Patricia eventually suggested it was time to try a walk around the house, Daryl did his best.

His best was shit, he was still unstable on his feet and couldn't use his arms much or breathe too deeply without it smarting.

Patricia was upbeat about it. “You have maybe a day or two left with your bandages, anyhow, Daryl. Let’s get you back to a chair, you look like you’re fixing to topple over.”

-------------------------

later

-------------------------

A loud knock and a face he hadn’t seen since the first day he was laid out in there woke him from yet another nap. So many naps! He kept needing more sleep.

“Heard you was still in the hole another day or two. Figured you could use more music to keep you from goin’ too stir crazy.” Shane handed him a cassette with a homemade label.

“This one’s from back in the day when we needed to make our own tapes so we could listen to the good stuff. I know my sister’s mp3 got a ton on it, but this one’s special. No need to skip around or charge it or plug nothin’ in.” Shane offered a flick of his hand in goodbye. “Alright, man, take it easy. Rest up.”

“Wait, how was Carol today?” Daryl called to him before he left the room.

Shane turned. He still had a slight limp from when he hurt his ankle. “Hangin’ in there. Went a little hard today and yesterday, but she seems to be in a real good place, believe it or not. Ain’t lost all hope, but she’s accepting what happened, if you get me.”

Daryl was pretty sure he got him. “Accepting her kid is gone?”

Shane’s stare was hard and felt to Daryl like a challenge. “Yeah, man, accepting that her kid is gone. We’re still goin’ out every day in the hopes we’re wrong, don’t misjudge me. And I want to be wrong, Daryl, I really do.” He licked his teeth and brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “It ain’t rocket science. That little girl is, in all likelihood, dead. Has been for days, you get that, right?”

Daryl was good at glaring contests. “I get it.”

“Look. I’m not out to be the asshole. I just don’t want none of us gettin’ ourselves killed over this. You and my sister could’ve got bit doin’ what you did at that house one week back, and in the process, she ripped her side back open and injured her shoulder worse than it ever was. And you?” He shook his head. “You almost died, Daryl.”

“It was worth it, jackass,” is not what Daryl intended to say, but that’s what he said. Daryl wasn’t planning on saying anything, in fact, because he knew he’d likely blow his cool and risk Dr. Farmer hearing it, and apparently the old guy was ready to chuck them off his land ASAP.

Y/N’s brother bowed his head and rubbed his neck. Didn’t say nothing for a solid…he didn’t know, minute, maybe? Felt awkward as hell, tell you what.

“Listen, dude, I know we ain’t buddies and all that,” Shane told him. “To be real, I didn’t trust you at all, especially when Y/N started going off and learnin’ to hunt with you. I thought you were some white trash tweaker who’d try to feel her up or worse, so I tailed y’all, spied on y’all the first three times you took her out, ready with my shotgun.”

…What the hell was this?

“But I’ve grown to respect you, and what you just said right there told me all I need to know. You’re a decent guy, Daryl.” Another rub of his newly buzzed hair. “Tell you what, I’ll come by tomorrow after the search, tell you what we find and where we looked.”

-------------------------

Day 6 of being stuck in a damn bed.

You

-------------------------

“Dude, you told him how you spied on us?”

“I was moved, Y/N, you should be proud of me,” Shane drawled, winking. “Said I’d tell him about the daily searches, so, today I did. Hey, and his balance was better today, might should be good to go the day after tomorrow. Oh,” he adds. “I lent him my mix tape as a peace offering, too.”

“Aw, romantic.”

He groans, and you twist a corner of your mouth in a tiny grin. “I’m just shocked he didn’t grunt back to you all intimidating with somethin’ like ‘I knew you was there, you was louder than a’…eh, I got nothing.”

Shane keeps the bit going, and does it pretty good, if you say so yourself! “‘Yeah, I knew you was there. Couldna been more damn obvious.’”

His copying of Daryl’s voice and mannerisms is so spot on that you crack up and clap your hands in delight.

Shane looks pleased. “That was a pretty good impression, just then, wasn’t it?”

“Alls you needed was to make it a ’lil more throaty, like a, like a, a grumpy tomcat,” you laugh.

He smiles, opening his mouth to make a funny comeback, then laughing instead. “I’ll have to practice.”

“Speakin’ of practice, can we call it?”

“Yeah, we can call it. Good work.”

Coo, practice is over. You’ve been having self-defense lessons every day the past few days, sometimes twice. Shane’s been wanted to restart teaching you ever since the incident with Ed Peletier seven-ish weeks ago. You could’ve called the sessions quits whenever, obviously, but it feels more satisfying when one’s instructor is satisfied and ends the lesson, right?

Also, Shane kinda needs that control over something — which sounds iffy, you know, you know.

But he’s been so much more like himself since the lessons started! And him instructing you in fighting is doing him good not only because it’s stroking his ego a little and shutting him up about his terrible Fort Benning idea. The lessons are helping offer him a sense of control and assuredness that he’s keeping his sister safe by helping her defend herself. That’s always been a thing for him. Call it a side-effect of having a beater in the house for the first several years of his life, maybe.

It’s a very fruitful side-effect, all things considered — today, stitches and achy shoulder combined, you bested him!

The only catch is that it…kinda involved his balls.

You still feel bad about it. It wasn’t you using practice-strength to simply get the upper hand and then stop, like practice is supposed to be. It was adrenaline/angry-at-and-his-egging-you-on strength. You fought dirty.

“Sorry again about whackin’ you below-the-belt.”

“No way, Y/N, don’t be,” he brushes off. “Don’t feel bad for doin’ what you’re supposed to do. Especially if it’s a man you need to fight off, which is why we’re doing this — you need to fight dirty. So,” he clears his throat, “if you can go for the giblets, go for ’em.” (Grandma Jean referred to genitals as ‘giblets.’) “That’s how you got the drop on me — and that’s what I wanted! You did good, got that?”

“Just — check tomorrow and, and the day after in case you got bruised testes, okay?”

“Don’t call them ‘testes’… weirdo…” he trails off and makes a face. Then, he stands and helps you up. “My boys are fine, I’m sure. Ankle’s hanging in there, too. How are you holdin’ up? Didn’t overdo it, right?”

“Nope, I feel good! And I’m so happy about tomorrow.”

His smile is polite, but not quite reaching his eyes. “Ready to attend Sunday dinner in the house tomorrow night?”

You press your hands together and make a little skip as you walk. “Do you think it means Mr. Greene’s comin’ around, too?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Wet blanket, much? “Grumpy we didn’t risk our necks to visit the jarheads at Fort Benning?”

“Y/N.”

“That was mean, sorry.” Your choice of phrasing was rude, that is, not the sentiment. Shane hadn’t mentioned the military base in a few days, so you’d hoped he’d dropped it. Places with the military, feds, even FEMA, those places had turned out badly, especially if you were a civilian. And you along with your Mama were wary of places like even before what happened to Atlanta.

Miles and miles away from the city as you were when it happened had given you a front-row seat to when it happened, when it got firebombed. It was like watching the Twin Towers collapse over again, expect this time it wasn’t on a TV screen, and the sounds of it happening in real time had been loud enough to reach you. The pops, the rumbling. Then there’s the memory of Carl’s face when he saw it all clear as day before you finally reacted, covered his ears and blocked his view.

This place, this farm, this is the safest place right now. It has good people, shelter, protection, space, food. Probably would be the safest place around for a long time if your brother group didn’t mess things up. Carl needs it, Lori and the new baby need this place.

And with the fact that your brother had been planning to leave the group, you’re worried sick that he’ll change his mind, split and leave you behind, or worse, get you all thrown off the land. If Shane didn’t take the property by force OH my gosh, why the fuck did you just think that, bitch? How could you think that about him? Stupid, stupid idiot girl!

Looking at your brother, you see him staring across the lawn to where Otis’ memorial lays. His thousand-yard stare is back. Poor Shaney. You look away so as to not be, you know, staring at him, but when he breathes out heavily after a few long moments, you turn to look.

His nose twitches before he blinks rapidly and shakes his head a little, rubs his buzz cut, and puts his hands on his belt.

“I know you don’t like the idea, but Fort Benning the smart decision,” your brother declares, doing that thing where he looks in too many directions. “The military is equipped, at least, and they’re trained how to handle things. It’s smart to seek that out.”

Whether it’s because you’re amped after being victorious at practice or because you’re freaked out after thinking something so cruel about your own brother (that he’d take over this place by force??), as you make your statement in response, you imagine it as you pulling the pin from a grenade and chucking it.

“Is that why the powers at be did what they did to Atlanta? Because they were so trained?” The pause you make, as you watch the words connect in Shane’s mind, is the time delay before the grenade’s fuse ignites and explodes. “Or maybe killing civilians or even their own was always a possibility in their eyes. The ends, of course, justifyin’ the means.”

He licks his teeth before running a hand over his mouth. “You’re really goin’ there, Y/N? Do not go there.”

But this has been festering too long. He needs to hear it and understand it. You love him. And he’s gonna have a whole lot else to deal with once Lori’s news gets out — it’s going to be messy. So this Fort Benning stuff has to go.

“But Shane, that would’ve been us with not just Mama, but Carl, Lori, and maybe even a comatose Rick if, if what happened—” your voice rises at the memory. “If what w-went on hadn’t happened, made us wait.”

If your mother hadn’t been killed, you two wouldn’t have found her dead and walking, which had revealed that she must have caught the illness before she died. And if you two didn’t find her dead and walking, you and Shane wouldn’t have quarantined, instead would’ve gotten Rick out of the hospital a day earlier and gone together with your mother and the Grimes to the city. Which means that she would’ve started showing symptoms on the road, and that the rest of you would’ve not only possibly caught it but would have possibly spread it.

Shane knows all of this, he knows it, which is why you only voiced a small part of it.

But instead of Shane standing before you with his hands on his hips…you begin to see the man you don’t recognize again. The one that’s been showing up more and more, the one that’s scary and coldly pragmatic. The one that seems like he’s about to lose control, he’s back. He’s standing where your brother was, and he’s very, very angry.

“Y/N, now, you listen good.” The man’s finger points straight at you and he gets too close to your face. When you step backward, he’s right on you. “We would’ve still been stuck outside the city limits, the wait to get in was over a day long.” With his finger, he jabs at your sternum, hard, and does it again with every hissed question.

“You remember that part?” — “The reason we were stuck in that line of cars that went on for miles?” — “Remember that?” —

You can’t think. You can’t move. The best you can manage is a stuttered “Sh-Shane—” because inside your head is nothing but white noise.

A strong, rough, sustained pinch on your collarbone and his yell of “—I asked: do you understand?” is the only reason you remember to nod as you stare at the ground and steady yourself from tripping backward.

“What happened in Atlanta was a shit show, an absolute shit show and what happened there was a disgrace, hard stop.” He spits, “but you know what? It don’t mean it was like that everywhere else—is that fair for me to reckon, uppity bitch?”

The insult doesn’t have time to sink in because he starts gesturing at his head, then yours, then his again, banging his hand against his head, then clapping his hand against your temple, hard, and now you can' think, he's too close, he’s too close, why is he so close, why does he keep hurting m— “Does that make sense, Y/N? Does that make sense to you?”

It’s not until he tugs you by your shirt and slowly shouts in your ear, “Y/N, I asked you a question: Does that make sense?” that you remember to nod again.

Your throat seizes up, so you swallow and hold your breath.

“Don’t bring up what happened with our mother again,” he orders, letting you go with a slight shove. “She was sick, we didn’t catch it, and we’d have been stuck outside that city either way.”

The man then leaves. You just stand there.

There’s no feeling of relief that he’s left you alone. Your hands are tingly, but you’re otherwise uncertain how you feel other than stupid and sick to your stomach. No, really, you might lose your supper.

You begin to walk in whatever direction, step by step, wiping the tears as they fall and trying to ignore the loud refrain in your head of stupid, stupid girl that interplays with all the noise of what did you do and why didn’t you and why did he and why would he and how could he as well a louder WHO WAS THAT?

Because it sure as hell wasn’t Shane. It can’t have been Shane, Shane’s not that.

-------------------------

Him

-------------------------

The short-haired chick came into his room looking all rattled and asking if Y/N was in there. Woke him up from a nap (so many damn naps), too, what the hell?

He quietly croaked back,“Does it look like she’s in here?” and closed his eyes to try and get back to sleeping.

“I figured she…”

Whatever it was Maggie figured, she didn’t say nothing more, she mumbled “sorry,” and closed the door again.

Was…was everything okay?

-------------------------

You

-------------------------

Footsteps and light panting sound behind you, bringing you back down to earth.

Before dread can kick in at full blast, you recognize who’s behind you even before you hear his voice calling your name, and it is a relief to know he’s there. He’ll know how to fix this. He’ll know what to do.

But what if he saw? What if he’s not the only one?

A water cooler of shame gets dumped over your head like you’ve just failed big at something. Your throat tightens again.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl.

Not turning your head much because your eyes are probably red, you at least control the shake in your voice. “H-Hi, Mr. Horvath, what’s up?”

“Kiddo. What just happened?”

“What do you mean?” Might as well stall when you don’t know how to say it. Maybe Dale only saw Shane looking huffy, maybe he didn’t see or hear any of what just happened and maybe, just maybe, you’re being overly dramatic about what happened. He's your brother, siblings sometimes smack each other around a little, it's not like he punched you. See, that would've been bad...

And it’s just as well you don’t know what to say back, because after hearing a door clack open then shut, you peek to see not only Dale standing before you, but Margaret, jogging from the back of the house in your direction?

She calls your name — and is holding the book you’d lent to Jimmy! Thank God, honest fodder to stall from answering Dale.

“Did Jimmy finish it?” you ask lightly.

But Maggie looks unsettled. “I grabbed this on my way downstairs as an excuse when I saw what was happenin’.”

Oh, no. Y/N, you stupid, stupid girl.

“What did I just see your brother doing?”

Stupid, stupid girl.

------------------------------------------

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 ; @its-freaking-bats ; @whistlesalot ; @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer ; @dreamingaboutthewonderland ; @kwazii-kat ; @darylsmavis ; @outlanderhornet22 ; @battinsonrobs ; @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable ; @writingmybeloved ; @boomergirl123 ; @iheartathena0 ; @moonliight-luv ; @suniloli ; @supernaturalgirl02 ; @cnake-garden ; @daryldixmedown ; @sophehe ; @crashlyrose ; @virgo-sunflower920 ; @jennythe ; @theficbaker ; @vampireautism ; @rosetta196 ; @wifeof-barnes

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox! We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)

38 notes · View notes

kitkatscabinet · 1 year

Text

Snippets of an apocalypse spent with you

Pairing: Rick Grimes x fem reader

Summary: Liking Rick Grimes is not an easy task. Yet loving him comes as naturally as breathing. How you came to see the ugly parts of Rick Grimes, and why that made the good parts more appealing.

Warnings: some slight suicidal thoughts, reader briefly thinks of giving up

Word count: 2.8k

Rick Grimes explodes into the scenes of your life with blaring car alarms and a somewhat stunted family reunion. At first, you had thought nothing of the man, slipping back into the shelter of your own tent once your curiosity about the situation was sated. Rick Grimes would soon be nothing but a distant blip on your radar.

Except that doesn't happen. Not yet. Not even when the CDC had been a complete disaster, and not when he is coordinating searches for a missing Sophia. You did not like children. There was not a maternal bone or inclination in your body. That didn’t stop the sharp stab of empathetic agony that burned in your chest every time you looked at Carol. Nor did it stop you from volunteering to search, under Rick’s command, for a child you knew was already dead. Not that you were heartless enough to say so, nor could you find the energy to rebuff the former officer’s determination. Because for a few moments as his confident gaze met yours, you had believed he would find the lost child too.

Time had become all but meaningless, it is only Lori's symptoms that let you estimate how much time has passed since the farm. Morale was incredibly low and everyone was getting snippy with each other. Yet miraculously Rick continued to soldier on, bearing the weight of fear, discontent and even flat out vitriol on his shoulders.

Glenn and Daryl have become a part of the group's pillars, doing their best to alleviate some of the pressure that has unfairly been piled onto Rick. But three months of having no permanent shelter, of living on scraps and small rations was beginning to overpower the three.

You cannot hunt. Have no talent for organising or rallying the group but you would not be useless. You take longer watches, always bookending Rick or Daryl forcing the two to sleep much longer then they had been. The two of them loudly voice their protestations, but you are not moved. Though you do have to become more and more inventive in your endeavour to get Rick to just go the fuck to sleep. You must have endured over a hundred disappointed dad gazes and lectures before he realises you will not relent.

Runs become a bi-weekly activity, and once it becomes apparent you are quiet, fast and listen to instructions well you become one of the main providers.

You and Rick still don't really talk, only quietly discussing future plans and the state of provisions. Which in itself throws you for a massive loop when you begin to get included in those talks. You do, however, talk to his kid. Carl, despite his protestations that he isn't, truly is still a child. All it takes is a scavenged set of Batman detective comics, in an attempt to alleviate Lori's burden, that you had foolishly admitted to reading and the kid begins to stick to you like a bad smell. Apparently, the combined act of a gift and confirmation that you liked superheroes was enough to grant you the spot of number one coolest adult and advisor.

In an annoying trend, the old adage like father like son continues to prove itself. A run had gone south, a horde of walkers materialising from what seemed like thin air, and it is only your quick thinking and improving skills with a knife that keep Rick from becoming walker chow.

To your dismay, this cements you somewhere between Glenn and Daryl in Rick's hierarchy of trustworthy advisors. It also apparently means you are no longer acquaintances brought together by fucked up circumstances, but friends.

The transition is seamless and unspoken. Just as it is when you begin to stand at Rick's 6, watching his back near 24/7. So where Carl has become your shadow, you have become Rick's.

There was no joy when he finally cracked. No vindication to be had in a dead wife and a traumatised child. Only sour sorrow and unsure glances. Because Rick was a time bomb, and one you were not so keen to indulge in. The rest of the group had made poor attempts, walking on eggshells in his presence before backing off to give him some space.

You hadn't. The resulting screaming match that had erupted after you had chased him down when he hadn't made it back to the prison had been legendary. To this day you couldn't entirely remember what you had yelled, only that it had been purposefully hurtful. Rick hadn't gotten a chance to retaliate, the commotion drawing an alarming amount of walkers.

You moved to flank Rick's side, protecting his blindspots without him having to ask. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine. You blatantly ignored the steps you had taken that would have gotten you killed had Rick not been there, because your body had just moved on instinct, knowing that he would have your back.

By the end of the skirmish, you were panting and wiping walker blood off your face with a grimace. As the adrenaline settled and your chest heaved for oxygen you were quick to search for Rick.

"Are you ok?!" the desperation in your tone took both of you by surprise, even more when you move to check his person and he did not stop you.

The walk back was deafeningly silent, but there seemed to be a newly formed mutual sense of understanding and begrudging trust. Rick had not completely gathered his wits, but he was no longer walking around and talking to the dead anymore. On the downside Rick had begun to actively seek you out.

You learn how he met Lori, how they were having problems, and how Shane had not always been crazy. In turn, you decide it's only fair to offer some tidbits in exchange. Your parents, your last partner, job, favourite colour and more.

The nights he can't speak, no way to articulate his thoughts into words, the two of you just sit silently. The faint growl of walkers and Judith's soft babbles the only noise present.

If one night you fall asleep on his shoulder then neither of you bring it up again.

You were no stranger to hunger. Hunger was an old acquaintance, one that had crept up on you once more following the fall of the prison. You had vowed that if you ever saw Daryl again you would give him anything he wanted for the rest of your life.

You could not recall how many days had passed since the Governor's attack. Since the screams of fear had filled the air as walkers burst through the gates and into the former safe haven. Since you had rushed through corridors and sprays of gunfire, drowning out the stench of blood and death surrounding you. Judith had been the only thing on your mind as your legs pumped desperately, weaving and doing through the chaotic fray.

But you had been too late. Judith was dead. You were alone. Starving, beyond exhausted and struggling to continue on. Sleep rarely came, with no one to watch your back it had become near impossible to rest alone, and the few hours you could grasp were often tainted with horrific nightmares. More than once you had awoken shaking and with a scream dying on your lips, images of your friends... your family being torn to pieces as you helplessly watched on plaguing your every hour.

Your breath was coming in increasingly shallow gasps, it is only the solid presence of the stone wall behind you that has kept your upper torso vertical. Her vision is blurry, marred by an accumulation of sweat, blood and tears. You know you are a sitting duck, sequestered in the unfortified pharmacy.

Simply put. You were fucked. Your head was pounding, a concussion gained from carelessly slipping down the stairs. The result of assuming the body lying motionlessly in the corner had already been dispatched. Daryl would have had your hide for such a rookie error.

Cradling your throbbing right wrist to your chest you attempt to stand, only to immeidately become overwhelmed with a wave of nausea and pain. Your situation was so pitiful you could have let out a laugh if you knew it wouldnt hurt.

You had survived the shitshow at the CDC, the overwhelming horde at the farm, eight months on the move with no shelter and limited food, the fall of the prison and so much more. Yet here you were, lying alone, taken out by a hand on the ankle and a flight of stairs.

Maybe it was better this way. No more scavenging, no more pain, no more exhaustion. Your eyes briefly close in consideration, your family would likely never learn what happened to you. You could only hope they would stop looking, hope that they had already given up on you. That they are not too distraught in your absence, you never stop to entertain the fact that they themselves might be dead.

Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, Carol, Michonne... Rick. They were still alive. Because if they weren't then the past weeks of your life had been meaningless.

It is the sound of a door opening, carefully but still enough to make noise that makes the decision for you. The unmistakable approach of a human, not a walker has your eyes snapping open wildly, left hand clutching for your handgun and clicking off the safety.

There is no doubt in your mind that you are about as intimidating as a wet kitten, still, you persist even when your arm shakes with agony and exertion.

Eyes focusing as best they can, you wait until the intrusion of your pity party steps into your line of sight. It's a man with at least a head on you in height, he looks quite lean but neither of those things is what really catches your attention. He is clean and well-groomed. He is part of a community, one where bathing is clearly not an issue. Just before he can turn to see your slumped form you speak up.

"Turn around. Slowly. Hands where I can see them or I shoot." Luckily he complies, and you are quick to order his weapons to the floor and out of reach. Still, you do not lower your weapon, even when your shoulder burns from the strain.

"Listen you don't have to do this. I have a partner that will be arriving soon. You can come back with us." his words are not as pleading as you would have expected. He is calm, logical and there is no quaver to his voice.

"Yeah, cause that's a trustworthy offer" you scoffed, even as your arm could no longer hold itself up.

"Look, you need help-" he is interrupted by an incredibly familiar voice, a voice that has all the tension leaving your body in disbelief.

"Aaron, what's tha hold..." his words too trail off to a halt as he spots the presence of the person slumped against the wall. He is quick to raise his crossbow with aim you know to be true. Given that you are covered head to toe in grime you don't begrudge him for his lack of recognition. Instead you simply let an insane smile cover your face with a laugh.

There was a commotion at the gates. Daryl and Aaron had returned, and with a new arrival, it seemed. Rick let out a sigh, resigned to the fact he would have to take the stranger to Deanna to decide their fate. He can't help but to imagine you punching him on the arm good-naturedly, a mischievous grin covering your face as you discuss the possibility of hazing any 'newbies'. His smile is quick to dim, however, as he quickly remembers that you are no longer by his side to do so. Two months without you ad the lack of your presence still aches like a phantom limb. Vaguely he recognises that he has become alarmingly codpendent on his shadow. That still does not change the way he turns to gain your opinion or accidentally leaves himself open because you are not there to pick up his slack.

He makes his way over to the idly gossiping group that had yet to disperse. Mistrust was rampant among the Alexandrians and his own group so when he is told the woman had been hauled off to get medical assistance by Daryl personally he can't help but to raise a brow in intrigue.

Spinning on his heel the former sheriff slowly ambles towards the clinic. He is intercepted by an almost frantic Daryl whose words have Rick breaking into a sprint before his brain catches up to his body's actions.

It is the slamming of a door that heralds his arrival. For a split second he is younger, arriving alongside a whooping Glenn and you are silently watching from afar.

Unlike the first instance of Rick bursting into your life, he is quick to close the distance, eyes widened comically and hovering hands seemingly unsure what to do.

It is you that breaks the hesitant silence, offering an embarrassingly soft smile that has Daryl making an unappreciative suggestive face behind Rick's back. "Quite the fancy home you found yourself here cowboy, think you can fit one more."

"It isn't home" Rick's words are terse, almost cutting off the end of your sentence. Your smile falls slightly as you lean away a little, but Rick doesn't stop there. "It's not home. Not without you."

As his words sink in your throat runs dry, and a wounded wheeze leaves your chest at the implications of his words. At the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he stares at you as if you are the most precious thing he has ever laid eyes upon. For a second you swear his eyes dart down to your lips, an action that has your tongue nervously darting out to coat the sudden dryness.

It isn't until Daryl lets out an amused fake cough that you spring apart from each other's magnetic gaze. Getting a quick affirmation from Denise you shoulder your way out of the clinic, avoiding eye contact with everybody and ignoring the heat of your cheeks.

Silence reigns behind you as you realise nobody has moved. So with a deep breath out you quickly turn back before you can chicken out. Your eyes make contact with Rick's once more and you scowl, "you coming or what, can't find a home without my cowboy." You don't stay to see his reaction, spinning once more whilst flipping off a snickering Daryl.

Your scowl is quick to morph into a small smile however, at the sound of heavy steps quickly catching up to you. An arm brushes slightly against yours and just as you exit the clinic you make the decision. Slowly you entwine your fingers with his, gaze determinedly staying on the path ahead. On the future.

#the walking dead #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #walking dead x reader

160 notes · View notes

jarita123 · 3 months

Text

I have been a part of MCU fandom since it started in 2008, watched comic book movies way before it (X-Men were kind of a thing), Keaton´s Batman is still my Batman (I know, DC, I had no idea in the early 90s there was such a thing :D ).

But I don´t remember it ever being so toxic as it is lately. Admittedly, I kind of started to "fan" Tom himself more past few years, I still love RDJ and all the original guys from Phase 1 but my God, people went insane with social media.

And what is going on in Loki fandom? Or around Tom personally? Like people don´t believe he is in a relationship, and I only wait for first crazy to say "It is not his baby!" like they keep doing with poor Benedict. So he found himself a partner, good for him and he is obviously happy!

I loved all the red carpet content we got, I love that he is *finally* getting out of his shell after years of random appearances (granted, we were robbed for red carpets for Loki, first because of Covid and second because of strikes) and The Essex Serpent had some but most interviews were done by video (still not enough of them). So he is going to conventions, which is a fantastic thing. He meets fans, he loves meeting fans and it is great that we are not just waiting for Bobby/baby walk pictures. He can do whatever the hell he wants. And getting paid for it? He is a performer and is paid to perform. It is simple as that.

He just wrapped a movie in October and had a highly successful show in November. And he is still praised for it, may get some more nominations, will campaign for Emmy. Yes, he can do other stuff and he does but it takes time to make something and get things into productions is not easy. He obviously loves Loki and what actor can say they still can work with a character this long and still find something new? He basically created the character on screen and now will be forever remembered and anybody coming after him will be compared to Tom. That is no small achievement.

When it happened that "fans" think they know what is the best for a person they don´t even know in person? Give the guy a break.

And don´t get me started with those crazy "shipping wars", which is something I had now idea existed before (yes, I am a boomer already). Loki even did not kiss or stayed with anybody at the end, so what is the deal? Stop insulting each other, and stop projecting Tom and Sophia as Loki and Sylvie. Yes, it was probably only one or two cases but it is not normal. Sorry.

*Rant over*

#tom hiddleston #loki #marvel

10 notes · View notes

soovermyself · 11 months

Text

Anniversary getaway ❤️

#sophia bush #grant hughes #sophia x grant #sophia bush hughes #hank bush hughes #london #united kingdom

8 notes · View notes

nessa007 · 4 days

Note

Regarding the Ashlyn x Sophia drama, the whole situation made me lose respect for the latter. She was already on thin ice with me because some of the political stuff she's done comes off as performative.

Here's the link to the article regarding Sophia's opinion on Grant's ex & the abortion she had.

https://www.glamour.com/story/why-the-right-to-an-abortion-matters-for-every-person

the secondhand embarrassment i felt from reading that article… why would you make your husband’s ex’s abortion about you and your relationship

#*replies

5 notes · View notes

littlegodzilla · 2 years

Note

Hiii 👋🏼 can I request something angst but with a fluffy ending?? Daryl and Reader are together since the prison but before the apocalypse Daryl was with someone else then the apocalypse happened and they lost each other in the chaos. The group arrived in Alexandria and guess who was there? He’s ex girlfriend. <33

Hiiii!!! 👋

I liked your idea so much! Lately I'm surrounded by angst but I have to admit I love it 🤭

I hope you like it and it's at least similar to what you had in mind.

Enjoy!

*******

The Other Girl.

Daryl Dixon x Reader.

One shot.

Anon request.

Warnings: little angst and fluff ending.

Words: 2100.

Taglist: @phoenixblack89 @browneyes528 @lilythemadqueen @darylsgarden @thefemininemystiquee @green-eyedladywrites @hail-yourselves @ruinedbythehobbit @xxtinasxxblog @ravenwings73 @spenciepoo338 @b-tchymoon @minervadashwood @darylssluttt @let-love-bleeds-red @ravendixon @livingdeadblondequeen

*******

(As always my gifs are just a reference to the story nothing more)

You are happy, despite all you have been through, you feel safe, you feel like family.

The prison was your home after many months of wandering from one place to another, everything was chaos and despair the first days, many losses, many difficult decisions to make, fear kept surrounding us, but finally you managed to settle down, at least for a while.

You found a home and at the same time you found love. And from the one you least expected it.

Daryl Dixon.

You always had a good relationship, you met at the Atlanta camp and at the beginning he seemed distracted, locked in his world, always following Merle's steps, but little by little he changed, at the CDC you had a moment alone. Sitting at the table where Jenner had prepared that huge dinner for you, sharing the bottle of wine, you got to know each other a little better, forging a bond of friendship you never thought you would have.

Side by side you went forward, always with an eye on each other, you helped him look for Sophia, you took care of him when he had the accident, he never said it out loud but he appreciated your presence in the tent those days, comforting his heart when you all lost her, even though he didn't want to see anyone. With each day you spent together your friendship grew stronger and slowly became something more.

When Daryl kissed you that night in the watchtower you felt like you were floating. Your feelings put on the table at last, confessing what you really felt for each other, you were not looking for a physical moment, there were many feelings in the air, but the clothes were left lying on the floor, the warmth of your new shelter protecting you in the solitude of the place, giving free rein to everything that with words you were not able to express.

You never thought you could love someone so much, physically and emotionally.

********

Now you wander aimlessly, the prison was destroyed some time ago, separating you into small groups, meeting again in that settlement of cannibals. You follow Aaron, a man who has promised you that he can take you to a safe place, a well-structured community, with peace and high walls that protect its people. The pain, the tiredness, the hunger, everything makes you doubt and be irascible, be on guard, but there is a baby who deserves to live in peace and you a place where you can finally rest again.

You walk next to Daryl, always by his side, Beth's death has fallen on his shoulders like a huge slab, you know it even though he hasn't opened his mouth, he even seems to repel your touch, as if it wasn't worthy of him, but still you don't move away, wanting to make him understand with your simple presence that he is not alone, that he still has his family.

******

The walls of Alexandria are as high as Aaron promised you, a double secured gate protects the entrance, Aaron asks to be granted passage and you all enter the community. It looks like something out of a fairy tale, the long streets, the little houses on both sides, single-family houses of double height, with its garden, its wooden fences, you hear the barking of a dog, children's laughter, a constant buzz of the whispers of the inhabitants of the community when they see new people, there is a lake in the middle of the place. There is no death, no fear. Without being conscious you hold Daryl's hand tightly and he responds in kind.

"Welcome to Alexandria." Aaron says a nervous smile.

"Daryl?" you hear a female voice in the crowd.

And then your world stops.

A woman rushes out of the melee, she is beautiful, with a smile full of relief, her eyes with tears of joy. Her gaze is locked on your man and when you look at him, you see the surprise plastered on his face.

"No fuckin' way..." You hear him gasp before his body leans forward.

You lose his grip, his hand releases from yours at that very moment, you see him run, his gesture changing completely as he reaches her and his arms wrap around her, their bodies collide and she laughs as he lifts her off the ground only to drop her again. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and they share an intense embrace.

Your heart vibrates inside your chest.

"You two know each other?" Aaron is surprised.

"Well... Daryl and I had our history." She confesses and you feel a rift cut through your heart. "Oh my God, it's so good to see you again."

"I thought I'd lost ya." He replies ducking his head, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

"Come on, Dixon, we both know I've never been a damsel in distress." She jokes.

And Daryl laughs, sincere, from the pit of his stomach, everything around him seems to have disappeared, the pain, the fear, the shitty world you live in now, none of it is there anymore, it seems that woman has brought a new brightness to the world and you've been left hopelessly behind. Hidden somehow.

The group moves then, you follow Aaron, Deanna the woman who takes care of all these people, and her, you don't even know her name, but that doesn't matter, she leads the group along with her own, along with Daryl, the two of them talk to the rest of your family, but you are far away, you vaguely hear the conversation, in your ears the constant beeping clouds the words coming out of everyone's mouth. Your mind lost far away.

Who is she?

Why does Daryl know her?

Why does his world seem like with her his world is brighter now?

A lump tightens in your throat, the urge to vomit churns in your stomach and you have to stop for a second. Your breathing quickens, your pulse pounding your temple violently, you struggle to breathe, the air doesn't get into your lungs properly and your eyes fill with tears.

You are having a panic attack.

Daryl...

You're not even sure if the words have actually come out of your mouth. Your world clouds over in a black blanket and the last thing you see, is the archer turn on his heels to look and you think he's running towards you. Your body falls, but never actually hits anything.

When you open your eyes again, the white of the walls forces you to squint, you feel something wet on your forehead and an uncomfortable pain in your right arm. You try to move, to find out what's going on, but strong hands prevent you. Daryl appears in front of your clouded eyes.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, girl." He tells you in a soft, calm tone.

"W-what...?" you try to ask, but your head still feels dull.

"You gave us quite a scare." That female voice again makes you tense in place and search for her with your eyes.

She is next to you in what looks like a clinic, there are several medical devices, here and there, books, you are on a stretcher. You try to move again, but Daryl keeps holding you down.

"Ya've fainted, ain't make any movements." He asks you and caresses your cheek. "Ya scared the shit out of me."

"Really?" You're able to speak at last, fear and confusion turning to anger. "Because since we've arrived, I've disappeared for you."

"What yer talkin' about?"

"W-who is she?" you ask, looking at the other woman.

You see that she lowers her head in embarrassment, surely Daryl has told her about your relationship, or she herself has found out and now seems to be more measured in her gestures and words with the archer.

"She's a friend..." Daryl speaks, but your attention is caught by her as she shakes her head.

"Tell her the truth, Daryl, you know this panic attack she's had because of me." She speaks and sighs rubbing her forehead. "If she finds out later, it'll be worse for you."

"Find out what?" you frown uncomprehendingly.

"Amy and I were a couple...before the world went to shit." Daryl confesses and you see him blush.

Amy and I were a couple...

Your ears ring again, your vision goes from him to her like a tennis match, you gasp trying to say something, but nothing comes out of your throat. You sit up on the gurney and when Daryl wants to lay back down, you slap him. The blow echoes in the room and they both take a step backwards. Daryl looks at you in surprise and you scowl more.

"You left her?" you gasp.

"What, no!"

"Did you look for her? Did you even care to find out if she was still alive!?" You question him.

"I..."

"How could you just forget her and move on!" you shout in disbelief, but Daryl shakes his head.

"I ain't forget her! What do y'think I was doin' when Merle and I found camp?" He shouts as well. "I ain't stop looking for her, she was always important to me, but then ya showed up and..."

"What, I became her replacement?" you ask angrily.

"Oh for God's sake, of course not." She interjects and you shoot her a hard glare. "Daryl adores you, can't you see that?" she walks up to him nudging him on the shoulder. "It's true we were together, but when all this started I wasn't even with him." She explains. "I was going to start studying away, it had almost been like a goodbye..."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings for you..."

"Believe me, and I know you know it too. Daryl loves you, it was a long time ago between us, he would never have been with you if he had feelings for me. He's faithful to the death." Sh laughs and he reddens, but you know it's true. Daryl has shown you on many occasions everything he feels for you.

How you both feel.

"Doesn't mean we're not friends." Amy speaks again. "Maybe the excitement of meeting us has clouded us a little, but he hasn't stopped talking about you the whole time."

"Amy..." He whispers dead embarrassed.

"See? Besides..." She smiles and then you notice her bulging belly.

Has it always been there? How could you not have noticed it before?

"I also have someone who completes me and..." She shrugs. "I'm sorry, Daryl."

"Y'have nothin' to be sorry for, I'm glad ya found this place and were able to survive and be happy." He smiles warmly.

"I think I'm going to leave you two alone for now." She says again and smiles at you. "It was nice to meet you, I wish we could talk later." Amy says to you and you nod vaguely as she walks out leaving you two alone.

You're nervous, the atmosphere has become rarefied and you know it's your fault. You've blown things out of proportion, you've yelled at Daryl and now it's your turn to confront him. You don't even dare to look at him, but you hear his footsteps, approaching the gurney.

"I'm sorry..." You whisper when you feel his presence next to you.

"No, I'm sorry." He speaks in the same tone as you. "I saw her and... I forgot about the world, I shouldn't have left y' aside... I should have told ya about her..."

"Why didn't you ever?"

"Because y'know I can never...I can't talk about Sophia or Dale...I can't even talk about Beth." His hands ball into fists on the sheets. "It hurts too much...it hurt too much to talk about her, I felt like I had failed her, like I failed everyone...I always lose everything I care about and..." he sighs and you lift your head up seeing his bright eyes. "When ya passed out, I thought..."

"Daryl..."

"I thought I was losing ya too and y'ain't know..." He licks his lips.

"Easy..." You shush him by holding his face in your hands, caressing the cheek you hit him with earlier. "I'm here, I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere..."

"Ya dunno how important y'are to me, what I..." He swallows hard, your foreheads pressed together. "I love ya..." He whispers, and like the first time, your whole body shudders.

"I love you too, Daryl, I'm so sorry for everything I've said to you, for hitting you..."

"No, no, it's okay." He shakes his head and you two stare at each other. "If I had lost ya, it would have been worse..."

You kiss each other slowly, with infinite affection, Daryl's arms around you without stopping kissing you, your fingers tangling in his hair. When you break the kiss you're still holding each other, you press your face against his chest and he rocks you gently.

"What would she want to talk to me for?" you ask then.

"To humiliate me, I'm sure." He groans at the memory and you can't help but laugh.

The End.

*******

I hope you liked it!!

See you in the next stories!!

#my stuff #norman reedus #normanreedus #daryl dixon #daryldixon #ask me #twd fanfiction #one shot #anon request #fluff stuff #little angst #ex girlfriend

109 notes · View notes