#Mini Series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

janiehellion · 3 months ago

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𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ ℜ𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You were a sin too tempting to forget—a fire that burned Rick Grimes alive. Consumed by desire, he realized repentance would never be enough, and redemption was never an option.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Cheating ⋮ Age Gap ⋮ Infidelity ⋮ Adultery ⋮ Somnophilia ⋮ Angst ⋮ Obsession ⋮ Dacryphilia ⋮ Size Kink ⋮ Outdoor Sex ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Praise Kink ⋮ Possessive Behavior ⋮ Manipulation ⋮ Character Death ⋮ Language ⋮ Shane Walsh

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 22.822 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S02E07 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 ��𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋮ 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑶𝒏𝒆: 𝑨 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒏

You were still catching your breath when you left Rick alone by the chicken coop.

With your legs feeling shaky, your skin sweaty and sensitive from where his hands had been, from where his mouth had devoured you, his taste was still on your tongue.

And with every second you closed your eyes only to open them again as you walked, all you could see was him—his shoulders trembling, his voice breaking, his hands grabbing you like he was desperate to hold on, even as he tried to convince himself to let go.

To not lose himself in the temptation of you.

You turned your head just enough to get a look at him disappearing into the dark behind you, his steps uneven, his belt still loose around his waist. Smirking to yourself, you turned back toward your tent, only to realize you weren't alone.

Shane was nearby, walking toward his own tent, eyes locked onto Rick... and then back on you. He hadn't said a word, but you'd seen the look on his face. The way his mouth had twitched, showing just a small, little hint of a smirk, his head had tilted slightly, like he was working through something in his mind, seconds before he left.

Like he knew.

Meanwhile, Rick barely made it back to his tent without stumbling.

His legs felt unsteady, his arms too heavy, his skin wet with sweat. He still smelled like you. The scent of you clung to him, sinking into his clothes and his bones.

His lips were still swollen from yours.

His hands were still trembling.

And then he saw them—Lori and Carl, curled up together in their tent, their breathing quiet with only a little snore here and there. Peaceful.

Rick stared at them for a while.

The rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his racing heart in his chest as if it was trying to break free behind his ribs, and the ache still pulsing in his cock—it all stopped as reality came back to him.

What the fuck did I just do?

His mouth went dry, his stomach dropped, and the knot in his throat felt so tight it made him feel unable to breathe.

He had just fucked you—had let himself drown in you, let himself give in to something reckless and wrong—and now he was standing here, looking at the family he had just betrayed.

Goddamn it. Goddamn it.

Rick had no idea how he was supposed to do this—how he was supposed to step into that tent, lie down beside his wife, and pretend like he hadn't just—but then he saw it.

Something small. Something barely noticeable, near the edge of the tent.

He frowned, trying to get closer, his breath still coming too fast. His fingers reached down before he could think, before he could even stop himself.

A package.

Pills.

Not just any pills.

Abortion pills.

He froze in place. His pulse rang in his ears, louder than before, louder than anything else in the world.

Lori moved slightly in her sleep, but Rick didn't care.

She had been planning to get rid of… a baby?

The thought of it cut through him like a knife, the blade slicing him open. First, he betrayed Lori. Now, he was standing here, holding proof that she had been about to betray him, too.

But what if she had already betrayed him at this point?

His fingers clenched around the package, his grip tight, his whole body tense as he turned to reach out, grabbing Lori's shoulder and shaking her awake.

She gasped, her eyes flying open, her body stiffening slightly.

"Rick?" She grumbled, voice groggy and seemingly confused.

He didn't give her a second to fully wake up. Didn't give her a second to pretend like everything was normal.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

Lori blinked at him as he stepped out of the tent, pushing herself up on her elbows, frowning before she finally followed him.

"Rick, what—?"

He turned around in an instant, holding up the package right in front of her eyes.

"We can't leave," she interrupted herself immediately, her voice quiet and careful. "I'm pregnant."

"Are you?" Rick asked in return, leaving no time for her to argue, but not letting it show how much this had just affected him, his voice sounding cold and empty.

Lori looked exhausted. Defeated.

"I threw them up," she continued. "You can yell if you want. You can scream if you have to, but talk to me."

Rick stared at her.

Talk to her?

His fingers tightened around the package in his hand. "How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?" Lori asked, but Rick simply clenched his jaw in return.

"Days? Weeks?" His voice rose slightly, just enough to make her tense up. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"No." He held up the package again, bringing it closer to her face. "I found these. So Glenn knows, right? Instead of going to me, you sent him to get pills?"

"I panicked," Lori answered and looked away.

Rick shook his head, scoffing, running a hand over his mouth. "You tell me we have no roof and no walls—"

"Do not put this on me!" Lori snapped, but Rick continued further.

"You tear into me for keeping secrets," he hissed, stepping closer, "when you're holding onto this?"

Lori's expression changed—frustration, confusion, anger—her emotions were all over the place.

"You want me to bring a baby into this?" She demanded. "To live a short, cruel life? How can you think like that? We can't even protect the son we already have!"

"So this is the solution?" Rick shot back, letting the package of the pills fall to the ground in front of her feet.

Lori let out a deep breath, shaking her head. "Rick, I threw them up. I screwed up. I don't know how we do this."

Rick still stared at her. His pulse was like a hammer pounding a nail into his ribs.

"We can make it work," he suddenly said, voice quieter now, but still tense. "You threw up the pills. You want this baby. I know you do."

Lori's lips parted slightly, her expression changing again—with uncertainty and doubt.

"Not like this," she whispered. "Not giving birth in a ditch. Not when its life will hang by a thread from the second it's born. Not when every cry will put it, and Carl and everyone we care about, in danger. That's not right."

Rick swallowed, his throat dry, and he hesitated for a while, thinking about what he could say next.

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

Lori pressed her lips together, but she didn't wait. There was no going back.

"Shane and I..."

The words hit like a punch in the gut, but he wasn't very surprised.

Rick exhaled slowly, staring down at the dirt beneath his boots.

"I know. Of course, I know. You thought I was dead," Rick mumbled, unable to look into her eyes. "The world went to shit, and you thought I was dead. Right?"

"Yeah," Lori nodded as he let out a long breath, the abortion pill package still on the ground between the both of them.

He had nothing left to say.

And Lori didn't say another word after that as well.

She just stood there for a moment, watching Rick, his face unreadable. Then she turned and ducked back into the tent, trying to be as quiet as possible as she crawled inside.

Once back at Carl's side, she was waiting for Rick to join her, but as soon as she realized that he didn't, she was unable to close her eyes. How could she? She lay there, staring at the ceiling of the tent, her mind racing as she cuddled closer to Carl.

She thought about the pills. About Shane. About the baby growing inside her—a baby she wasn't sure she wanted but couldn't bring herself to get rid of. And then she thought about Rick.

Deep down, Lori knew the baby wasn't his.

But the way he'd looked at her when he'd found the pills? The way his voice had cracked when he'd asked, "Is there anything else I should know about?"

She didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to fix this. But one thing was clear: their marriage was hanging by a thread. And Lori? Lori wasn't sure she had the strength to hold on.

Outside the tent, Rick still didn't move. Not even having looked at her once, she turned back and crawled into it. He was still standing there, still trying to piece together what the hell had just happened.

Lori must have thought that was the end of it. That she had said her part, that things would somehow go back to the way they were before. But Rick knew better.

There was no going back. Not after tonight.

His head felt like it was spinning, thoughts crashing into each other, haunting him over and over.

He had betrayed her. She had betrayed him.

And now he was supposed to lie down next to her, close his eyes, and pretend like none of it had happened?

Rick swallowed hard, his throat so dry it hurt, spit almost not able to run down inside it. He let out a slow, shaky breath, rubbing a hand down his face, then through his hair, gripping the curls tight like the pull of it might get his head back into place.

But all he could feel was how his hands remembered you. The way you had felt beneath him, around him. The softness of your skin, the way you had wanted him. Desired him.

His mouth remembered you. His lips, his tongue… The taste of you. The way you had moaned into his kisses, the way your lips had parted so sweetly when he had devoured you like he needed to. The way your moans had vibrated through his cock made him feel pure ecstasy, the kind of euphoria he hadn't felt in years.

Jesus Christ...

Rick clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply, so deeply, but all he smelled was you. That warm, intoxicating scent of sweat, sex, and sin.

His cock twitched, still aching, still wanting to harden, even now.

Again, he ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing against his eyes and his temples.

What the hell was happening to him?

He had always thought of himself as a good man. A man who did the right thing, even when it was hard. A man who kept his promises, who honored his vows. A man who didn't stray.

But tonight—tonight, he had lost control.

He had kissed you. He had touched you. He had fucked you right against the chicken coop with the sun still shining and the others not that far away, and now—now he had to crawl into a tent with his wife, pretend like none of it had happened, like it wasn't still burning in his veins.

No.

He took another deep breath, but it didn't help. His body was restless, his skin still aching from where your hands had clung to him, your nails digging in, your mouth on his…

His fingers tapped against his thighs, his chest rising and falling too fast from his quick breathing. His whole body was screaming at him to do something, to move, to get away before he lost his goddamn mind.

So he did. Rick pushed himself away, his movements stiff and his muscles tense.

He told himself he was just going for a walk. Just a simple walk. Just to clear his head. But somehow, his feet carried him straight to your tent after having walked around in circles for what seemed almost endless. He barely even realized he was moving toward it until he was standing there, just a few steps away, looking around to see if anyone else from the group had noticed him. So far, it looked safe.

But Rick knew he should leave.

He knew he should.

But he didn't. Of course not. How could he resist? How could he resist and stop those desires that had burned themselves into his mind like a fire he hadn't dared to put out?

So Rick just stood there, breathing hard but still quietly enough to not be heard, his mind a mess, his cock aching, and his body hurting with how much he wanted to be near the source of the heat that had crept up on him, spreading itself throughout his most tempting thoughts.

And then, he slipped inside.

The air was warmer in there from the summer heat, your scent invading his nose instantly. His pulse kicked up, his body moving slow, carefully, as he lowered himself to his knees beside you.

You were curled up on your side, your breathing all soft and steady by now. The blanket barely covered you, the still somewhat sweaty skin of your thighs peeking out.

Rick swallowed, feeling the unmistakable knot in his throat, the one he was sure he could never swallow down, no matter how hard he would try.

What the hell was he doing?

This was wrong.

He should turn around and walk out. Right now. Before it was too late. Before he did something he couldn't take back.

But his hand was already moving.

His fingers hovered over your shoulder, barely touching your skin, but even that tiny touch sent flames straight through his already burning veins. He moved his fingers down slowly, over your arm, down to your thigh, trailing them along the naked skin just above your knee.

God…

How he admired the way your skin reacted to his touch, the goosebumps forming right where his fingers had been only moments before.

"Just… just a taste," he whispered to himself.

Just a little taste of you, and then he'd leave. Leave it behind, this situation—you—wanting to put out the scorching fire burning him alive.

That's what he told himself. But deep down, he already knew it was a lie.

Rick leaned in slowly, his lips stopping just over your skin. He could feel the heat of you, the warmth coming from your body, the quiet rise and fall of your breath.

Then he pressed a kiss to your jaw. Barely a brush of his lips.

Then another. Just below your ear. And then lower—his mouth moving down with slightly trembling lips, still slow, to the side of your throat. He stopped right there, inhaling deeply, drinking you in as he kissed you again, with a little more pressure and deeper this time, just enough to taste.

You still smelled like sin. You still tasted like sin. Pure temptation in its finest form.

Rick's fingers slid higher, moving up your thigh, slow, teasing, his touch light.

But then—you stirred. A soft, sleepy sound slipped from your lips, a little noise, barely more than a quick breath, but it broke him some more.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed hard, every muscle in his body tensing up as his cock throbbed all over again, hoping you wouldn't wake up now.

But he knew he should wake you up. Tell you this was a mistake. A misunderstanding. That whatever had happened between you—it couldn't happen again. That he couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep letting himself need you like this.

Still, he didn't wake you. For a long moment, he just watched.

Your body moved ever so slightly, your head tilting, another soft sound slipping from your lips—a sigh—nothing more, but that sound—that unholy sigh?

It was breaking him further apart. Piece by piece.

Rick's fingers instantly grabbed the blanket that covered your body to control himself, he hoped, but he was hanging by a thread already, wanting nothing more than to lift the fabric and crawl next to you, hugging you, keeping you close.

His lips stayed again over your skin, his body still shaking, his hands still wanting to take.

"What the hell are you doin' to me?" He whispered with a voice that sounded wrecked, desperate even. But he stayed like that for a moment longer.

And then, with every bit of strength he had left, he forced himself to move. Rick pushed back, his breath ragged, his hands shaking, his cock still painfully hard, throbbing, and desperate for more.

But he couldn't stay. If he stayed, he wouldn't be able to stop. So he left and slipped back out into the night.

Sleep wasn't an option. Not after this.

Not after you.

Rick started to walk. He circled the tents, paced around as he kicked the dirt, and kept watch. But it didn't help. Nothing could silence his mind. Nothing could rip away the feel of you beneath his hands. Nothing could stop the way his body burned for you.

And he kept walking, his hands still trembling, his mind a mess, his body on fire with restless, useless energy. His eyes were focused on scanning the dark fields, the trees, and the fence. Looking for any sign of danger. Anything to distract him.

But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he stood there, his body still remembered. And as the hours dragged on, as the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, Rick knew one thing for certain. He was already too far gone.

The next morning came too fast as well.

Rick felt the sun shining down on him before he even looked up. The exhaustion was felt deep in his bones, a weight that made his legs and arms feel heavy, a headache pounding along with it. He hadn't slept. Not for one single second.

So when he finally forced himself to move, to walk back toward the others, to pretend like he hadn't spent the night drowning in the memory of you, Rick already knew he was failing. He could feel it in the stiffness of his movements, the way his body dragged itself, the way his skin still felt too hot and cold at the same time.

He barely had time to sit down before he felt eyes on him, slowly letting out a quiet cough and pressing the nails of his fingers into his thighs as he prepared himself, already knowing what was coming before he even looked up.

Shane stood there, next to him, his arms crossed, and with that goddamn smirk on his lips, like he was just waiting for Rick to crack.

"Shit, man." His voice was lazy, amused even. It sounded irritating in a way Rick really didn't have the patience for. "You look like you've been up all damn night."

Rick's blood went cold. His breath stopped for just a second before he forced himself to keep it steady, to not react. But it was too late. Shane had already seen it.

Rick knew that he saw how his teeth clenched and how his hands trembled, but he forced himself to let it slide. "Nah, man. I'm just tired. Kept watch all night, just in case. T-Dog and I repaired part of the fence yesterday. Near the chicken—"

He stopped talking in an instant, his eyes widening and his head trying to find a believable answer, even if the part with the fence was the actual truth.

"Part of the fence was loose there, and it isn't fully repaired yet. Gonna ask T again soon. We still need to earn our stay here, and you know it. That's why I kept watch. Just. In. Case."

Rick knew he had no room to speak. Not after what he had done.

Because Shane had fucked Lori, had taken her while Rick was still breathing, while he was still out there fighting to get back to his family. Did both Lori and Shane really think he was dead back then? Or has Shane been after her for longer than he'd ever care to admit? Rick didn't know; he shouldn't dare to think about it. And now here he was, with your touch still haunting him.

He was no better. Maybe he never had been.

Rick let out a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face before turning away. He didn't look at Shane again. He didn't need to. He could still feel the smirk burning into the back of his head and could hear the quiet laugh beneath his breath as Rick walked away.

As soon as everyone else was awake and ready, breakfast had never felt so unbearable. Everyone sat scattered around the camp, eating in silence, but Rick wasn't really there. His body was, sure. He was sitting next to Lori, with Carl beside her, who had a plate of food in his lap and a fork in his hand. But Rick's mind?

Still somewhere else.

His eyes kept looking around, pulling him toward another thing that he couldn't stop pondering about.

Lori.

She sat right next to him, talking to Carl as if everything was normal again. As normal as the new world could be. She hadn't said a word to Rick all morning, hadn't even looked at him, and maybe that was for the best.

Because Rick didn't know what he was supposed to say to her anymore.

And still, there was Shane, wasn't he?

Still smirking, walking around with a frying pan in his hand, and eating straight out of it. Still acting like he had all the power in the world, like he wasn't there knowing exactly what Rick had done, knowing exactly how deep a certain innocence had already sunk its claws into him.

And then—there was you.

You sat on the other side of the camp, your legs crossed beneath you, your hair still a little messy from sleep, a small smile on your lips as you spoke to Andrea. You looked relaxed, unbothered… and innocent.

But Rick knew the truth. He's seen it.

Because the second his eyes landed on you, your head lifted itself, your eyes looking into his like you felt him watching.

Shit. That look. That goddamn look in your eyes.

Like you knew. Like you had been awake last night, had felt his touch, had heard his voice, and had let him kiss you while you pretended to sleep.

His breath hitched in his throat. It hit him all over again—the hunger, the need, that growing addiction that was already eating him alive. This wasn't just want anymore.

But then he heard Shane near him again, who was by now leaning against one of the trees. He laughed quietly to himself. It wasn't loud. Not enough to draw attention from the others. But it was enough to make Rick glance his way.

And there it was again—that look.

But he still didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He just chewed his food, tilted his head ever so slightly, and kept his eyes on Rick like he was reading every thought in his head. Shane knew. And Shane never let any weakness go untested. Certainly not when he looked at a man who he thought was not made for this kind of world.

And you? You sat there, your plate of food long forgotten, barely able to choke it down anyway. Not when you could still feel him.

Rick.

He was sitting across the camp you had set up as a group near the farmhouse of the Greene's, with him looking like he was carrying the whole goddamn world on his shoulders alone. And maybe he was.

But it wasn't just that.

It was the way his eyes kept looking up, landing on Lori, then Shane, and back to you—his gaze burning like he was daring you to say something.

Like he was waiting for you to say something. But you didn't.

Because what were you supposed to say? That you'd actually been fully awake last night? That you had felt his hands on your body, his warm breath against your skin, his mouth whispering sin onto your flesh?

That you had let him?

Even now, with the whole group around, with Lori and Carl next to him and the tension between him and Shane, all you could think about was his hand sliding so softly along your arm, his lips trembling and kissing your jaw, and the way he had whispered, What the hell are you doin' to me?

No. You didn't say a word. But you looked at him.

"Where'd you go?" Lori then asked, pulling him out of his thoughts while caressing his neck with one hand and leaning in close.

Rick barely reacted to her words.

"I'm here."

It wasn't an answer, not really, but it was all she was going to get.

And you knew why. You knew where he had been.

Your body still remembered it. The feeling of his touch on your skin and the warmth of his breath still so hot against your throat. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his lips there, still hear the way his voice had cracked when he whispered to you in the dark, his hands shaking as they moved over your body.

Since then, you haven't slept much either. But there was no time to dwell on it now.

Meanwhile, Glenn moved a little from where he sat, his expression looking uneasy. He glanced toward the farmhouse, his eyes staring at Maggie, who stood on the porch, shaking her head slightly before Glenn looked back to Dale. Dale met his gaze, gave the smallest nod, and then—Glenn exhaled deeply, bracing himself.

"Um, guys. So..." He hesitated like he was trying to find the right words, but there weren't any. "The barn is full of walkers."

Silence.

The whole group made its way to the barn in an instant, gathering in front of it, but you still couldn't help yourself, looking at Rick ever so often. You forced yourself to look away, to pretend you weren't still watching.

This wasn't your problem, was it? Except—it kinda was.

Because now, you were all standing in front of a barn full of walkers.

Shane was the first to break the silence, standing at the front, looking between the wooden slats, his mouth slightly open, before he stepped back as a walker pushed against the doors from the inside.

"You cannot tell me you're all right with this!"

Rick stood next to him, his expression just as tense, but his voice was calm so far.

"No, I'm not," he admitted. "But we're guests here. This isn't our land."

Shane let out a breathy, quick laugh, shaking his head. "God, this is our lives!"

"Lower your voice," Glenn warned, looking around, but Shane barely heard him.

Andrea stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest at first before resting her hands on her hips. "We can't just sweep this under the rug."

"It ain't right," Shane shot back. "Not remotely. Okay… we've either got to go in there, we've got to make things right, or we've just got to go. Now, we have been talking about Fort Benning for a long time—"

"We can't go," Rick interrupted him immediately.

"Why, Rick? Why?" Shane turned to him, unable to understand.

Before Rick could answer, Carol spoke up, her voice quiet, standing a bit in the background before she walked over to Rick.

"Because my daughter is still out there."

The words hit hard. Everyone fell silent for a moment.

Then, Shane let out another humorless laugh, running his hands over his face, as if he couldn't believe all of this.

"Okay," he said, his voice just a little lighter now. "Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."

"We're not leaving Sophia behind," Rick continued, until Daryl stepped forward, too.

"I'm close to findin' this girl. I jus' found her damn doll two days ago!"

Shane turned to him, his face unreadable at first—but just by looking at Daryl Dixon, one could see how annoyed he was by him.

"You found her doll, Daryl," Shane said, gesturing around. "That's what you did. You found a doll!"

Daryl's expression darkened, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Ya don't know what the hell yer talkin' 'bout," he snapped back at him, waving an arm dismissively.

"I'm just saying what needs to be said," Shane argued further, his voice rising in anger. "You get a good lead; it's in the first 48 hours!"

"Shane, stop," Rick warned, trying to get both men to back off.

But Shane wasn't done.

He turned back to Daryl, stepping closer. "Let me tell you something else, man," he continued, "If she was alive out there and saw you coming all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!"

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew it was a mistake. Daryl moved fast.

"Shut yer mouth!" He growled, lunging toward Shane, his fists clenched, and his whole body tense like he was about to throw a punch.

"Don't come at me, man!" The other man warned in response, but Rick was quite fast to hold him back before he could jump at the younger Dixon brother.

"Now just let me talk to Hershel," Rick then cut in, his voice loud but steady, demanding attention. "Let me figure it out."

Shane just scoffed. "What are you gonna figure out?"

But that made Rick not back down.

"If we're gonna stay," he continued, trying to calm him down, "if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land."

"Hershel sees those things in there as people... sick people... his wife, his stepson," Dale spoke up, taking a few steps forward as well.

Rick turned to face him as soon as those words left his mouth. "You knew?"

Dale hesitated, then nodded. "Yesterday I talked to Hershel."

Shane let out a bitter laugh. "And you waited the night?"

"I thought we could survive one more night," Dale explained further. "We did. I was waiting till this morning to say something. But Glenn wanted to be the one."

Shane shook his head, stepping away, pacing slightly, his movements tense.

"The man is crazy, Rick," he said, his voice full of frustration. "If Hershel thinks those things are alive or not—"

"Then it is not up to us," you suddenly cut in, your heart pounding from the whole situation and everything that was happening along with it.

The second the words left your mouth, every pair of eyes snapped to you.

Shane's jaw clenched tightly as if he was grinding his teeth. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

"I'm not saying I like it. I'm not saying I agree with it. But this is not our damn land, Shane. We are guests here. You think we can just do whatever the fuck we want just because this isn't the world we once knew anymore?"

"We are talking about a barn full of walkers. A whole damn ticking time bomb!"

"And we will handle it," you shot back, shutting him up. "But we do it the right way. Not like some goddamn animals! Or do you really wanna go and take over the whole damn farm by yourself, Shane? That would put all of us in danger."

Silence... Again.

Then, Rick inhaled slowly, smiling to himself a little, looking at you for just a second too long before he turned back to Shane. "She's right. And you know that."

"Look, I understand, okay? It doesn't matter what Hershel thinks," you continued, your voice strong, really drawing attention to yourself for the very first time.

Everyone else still looked at you, but you didn't care.

"What matters is that we're on his land," you continued, your eyes looking from Rick to Shane. "And if we start acting like we own the place, if we just take what we want, we're no better than the damn walkers in that barn. That'd be the Greene's death sentence, and I won't let that happen just because you don't know shit about respect!"

Shane laughed loudly, rolling his eyes. "So what, little girl? We just sit here and let ‘em get us killed instead?"

"No," you shot back, still not backing down and ignoring what he'd just called you. "But we don't get to make that decision without Hershel. Let Rick handle it. Let him talk. That's all we're asking for, Shane."

Rick was still watching you, like he was seeing you in a different light, like something about your words had done something inside of him. Shane, on the other hand, just shook his head, letting out another annoyed laugh.

But for now, at least, he let it drop. And you knew—it was only a matter of time before everything exploded. But you also knew… you should've left.

Everyone else was already walking away from the barn—some of the group going back toward the tents, others disappearing toward the house.

You should've followed them. Should've gone anywhere but here. But you hesitated. You didn't know why, but you stayed. And that was your mistake. Because now, you were alone with him. With Shane.

He stayed near the doors of the barn, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark, and expression unreadable. Like he had all the time in the world.

You were about to turn, about to take one step in the opposite direction…

"Y'know," Shane stopped you, his voice low and teasing. "I didn't think he had it in him."

Your stomach dropped. Slowly, you turned back to face him, already feeling the blood start to boil in your veins. "The hell did you just say?"

"C'mon little girl, you heard me. Stop pretending," Shane smirked.

That lazy, shit-eating smirk.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to react, refusing to give him anything. "You know what? Go to hell, Shane."

"Already there, baby." He answered with a laugh, shaking his head, stepping forward just enough to close the space between you.

Not touching you. But close enough.

Close enough that you could see the way his eyes looked you up and down, stopping at the hem of another one of the sundresses that Maggie had given you the day before, that smirk still on his face.

"You got some damn nerve," you mumbled, but he simply snorted.

"Oh yeah? And you don't?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes looking back up to meet yours. "What was it, huh? Quick little roll in the hay? That why he was lookin' all fucked out this mornin'?"

Your breath hitched. It was so damn tempting to just punch him. Right on that goddamn nose. But instead, you smiled. Nice and sweet.

And then you swung. Not your fist—only your words.

"You would know all about quick fucks, wouldn't you, Shane?" You leaned in, keeping your voice just quiet enough. "Or did Lori at least let you finish inside of her before she ran back to her husband?"

That slapped the smirk right off his face. But you weren't done.

"Bet you told her Rick was dead, huh?" You continued, watching the way his fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders going rigid. "Bet you've had your eyes on her long before the world has gone to shit. For how long? Months? Maybe even years?"

One second, you were standing there, triumphant to have won, having shoved it right back in his face, but then his hand was gripping your jaw.

Hard.

Not enough to hurt. But enough to make you gasp in shock. Enough to make your heart pound faster and faster.

Your hands moved up instantly, grabbing at his wrist, but he just held you there, his fingers pressing against your skin, his face being so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheek.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth..."

Swallowing loudly in return, you knew you should've been scared. But you weren't.

Because you noticed it—the way his grip trembled just slightly, the way his breathing was just a little too heavy, the way his eyes looked down to your lips for half a second before looking back up.

So, you just smiled again. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"You really wanna play this game with me, Walsh?" You whispered.

Shane's grip tightened for a moment before he suddenly let go, stepping back and laughing to himself.

"You know what? Yeah, I did fuckin' finish," he responded, clapping his hands together several times in front of your face to mock you. "So what?"

But you stood your ground, your chin held up high, heart still racing, yet refusing to let him see it.

Refusing to let him win.

"Are you done?" You then asked flatly, but Shane shook his head, still smirking.

"Nah, little girl, I ain't done."

Neither of you moved. Neither of you walked away. You just stood there, with Shane still looking at you. Of course, with that same damn smirk. That same smirk, like he had you, like he knew exactly what to do to annoy you, and exactly what to say. That same smirk, as he couldn't have any other facial expression to use around you anymore.

He huffed loudly, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, trying not to burst into laughter. "Y'know," he started again, his voice as casual as ever. "If you wanted it rough and a lil' older, you shoulda just said somethin!"

He then grinned as he saw how red your face was getting, which only gave him more fuel to continue. "Bet Rick ain't got it in him, huh? 'Cause he ain't made for this world. Bet he—"

"Shut the fuck up, Shane."

But he was still enjoying this. And that was what pissed you off the most. You forced yourself to take a step back, heart pounding, your jaw so clenched, it felt like it was going to dislocate itself any second right now.

"Go fuck yourself," you grumbled, voice shaking just slightly. Maybe because you were angry, or, deep down, you liked this.

Not him. Not Shane.

But the fight. The way it made your blood pump faster, the way it boiled so fast in your veins.

Or maybe it was the way he wasn't done, either.

"You gonna stand there all day, little girl?"

That stare-off between you felt like it went on for hours even though you knew it was only a few seconds.

"You tell me, Walsh. You seem really happy just standing here, keeping your damn eyes on me rather than the damn barn behind you."

And with that, you turned and walked away toward the farmhouse. You told yourself the way you had reacted was anger—that it was just the heat of the moment. But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Shane had gotten under your skin. And not just because of his smirk or his stupid jokes. No, it was the way he looked at you—like he knew exactly what buttons to push and as if he could see right through you.

It pissed you off. But it also excited you in a way.

Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. This wasn't the time to get distracted. Not with the barn full of walkers. Not with the search for Sophia and all the other problems the group had. Still, you couldn't help but wonder—what would happen if you pushed him a little further? And what would happen if you let Shane push a little further?

By the time you made it back toward camp, things had calmed—at least, on the outside. Everyone was moving around, busying themselves with whatever tasks they could find, trying not to think about the fact that everything felt like it was actually starting to fall apart.

You spotted Rick up by the house, standing at the porch steps, his hands on his hips before he climbed them, and then knocking on the door.

From where you stood, you could hear Hershel's muffled response from inside the house.

"Come on in."

Rick stepped inside. And you just… watched.

Watched as the door went shut behind him. Watched as Maggie moved past the door and inside as well, stopping only for a second to look over at Glenn before shaking her head and continuing. Watched as the camp kept moving, kept breathing, and kept pretending like they weren't all terrified about what had to happen eventually.

And still, all you could think about was the way Shane had looked at you and what he'd said. Even now.

Inside the farmhouse, Hershel sat at the table, the Holy Bible open in front of him, barely looking up as Rick stepped in.

"A little light reading for lunch?" Rick asked, stopping right next to him.

Hershel turned a page, not looking up to acknowledge Rick with his eyes. "Been working so hard lately I get my studying where I can."

"You know we can help you out with your work."

Hershel shook his head. "It's my field to tend."

Rick looked around the house slowly, thinking about what to say, while his hands still rested on his hips.

"We found the barn," he said next, just waiting for Hershel to respond in anger.

But Hershel barely blinked. "Leave it be."

Rick's jaw tightened. "Well, I'd like to talk about it, but either way… your barn, your farm, your say."

The man finally looked at him, using a napkin to wipe his mouth. Completely unbothered.

"I don't want to talk about the barn. I don't want to debate."

Rick held his stare. "Not a debate. A discussion."

After a moment of silence, Hershel closed the Bible, standing up with the empty plate and the silverware. "I need you and your group gone by the end of the week."

Rick didn't react. Not at first.

Didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

Then, quickly, he followed him into the kitchen of the house.

He stood behind Hershel, who was putting the plate and silverware into the sink, only to look out of the window, hoping he would just leave and let him be.

"I talked to Dale," Rick continued. "You and I have our differences with the way we look at the walkers. Those people, they may be dead; they may be alive. But my people—us—we are alive right now. Right here. Right in front of you."

Hershel didn't say anything, still looking out of the window and not once having turned around. But Rick pressed on.

"You send us out there, and that could change."

Still not turning around, Hershel let out a huff through his nose, like he was done with the conversation. "I've given you safe harbor. My conscience is clear."

"This farm…" Rick started again, shaking his head slightly. "This farm is special. You've been shielded from what's been going on out there," he continued, taking a step closer. "Dale said you saw everything happen on the news. Well, it's been…" He let out a dry, humorless breath. "It's been a long time since the cameras stopped rolling."

But Hershel's back stayed turned away from him.

"The first time I saw a walker, it was just half a body snapping at me from the ground," Rick explained to him. "My inclination wasn't to kill it. But what the world is out there isn't what you saw on TV. It is much, much worse. And it changes you. Either into one of them or something a lot less than the person you were."

Finally, Hershel turned around.

"Please," Rick said further. "Do not… Do not send us out there again."

Silence.

Hershel still didn't answer him; he looked him up and down.

Rick shook his head, his eyes looking down at the floor before shaking his head again and turning toward the door, dragging a hand down his face.

Then, he stopped. And said the only thing left he had to say.

"My wife's pregnant."

Hershel blinked, but Rick barely gave him time to react.

"That's either a gift here or a death sentence out there," he continued. "If we were to stay, we could help you with the work. With securing this place. We can survive together."

But Hershel was turning away from him again. "Rick, I'm telling you, we can't."

"You think about what you're doing," Rick answered in return, his voice rising ever so slightly, which made Hershel respond faster than before to finally get his point across and into the man's head.

"I've thought about it."

"Think about it."

"I've thought about it."

And Rick didn't argue any further.

He just opened the front door, stepped outside, and said, "Think about it again. We can't go out there."

Then, he closed the door behind him, his mind racing. Hershel's words were a mess in his head, but they were again pushed away by the memory of you once he saw you. He clenched his fists, trying to shake it off, but it was no use.

Rick looked across the camp, his eyes landing on you again. You were standing near the tents, your arms crossed, your expression unreadable. Taking a step forward, he stopped.

What was he supposed to do? March over there as if nothing has ever happened?

No. That wasn't him.

Rick forced himself to look away, to focus on the task at hand. But even as he walked back toward the group, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing control. And the worst part? He wasn't sure he even cared anymore.

And you saw it from a distance as you watched him—the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands curled into fists before forcing himself to relax.

The way Rick looked like he was holding himself together with nothing but willpower. And all you could do was watch as you saw him coming down the porch steps. He didn't even look in your direction anymore and kept walking.

And still—still, you moved toward him.

"Hey, Rick—"

Nothing. Not even one single word. He just kept going, walking past you like you weren't even there.

Fine. Fuck him.

You turned, watching as he made his way toward the barn. Rick stopped just short of Shane, exhaling hard, making Shane look at him in return.

"What's it gonna be, man? Which way does this thing go?"

Rick dragged a hand down his face before answering. "I don't know yet."

Shane's head tilted. Just slightly. "Well, what did he say?"

"We're negotiating."

The other man's laugh was humorless, bitter. "You're nego—clock's ticking, Rick."

"No, it isn't, Shane." Rick's voice was annoyed. "That barn… The barn is secure. We didn't even know about it till this morning. We didn't."

Shane's eyes looked fast toward the barn, then back to him.

"Well, we know about it now. Right? We know there's over a dozen walkers in there. We know that it's about a stone's throw from our camp, Rick… Where we sleep."

Rick's fingers twitched at his sides.

"So look," Shane pressed on, "if we're not gonna go in there and clear it out, then we just got to go."

"We're not gonna clear it out, and we're not gonna go."

"We at least need our guns," Shane argued back, but Rick wasn't about to let it slide.

"We can't have them. Not here."

Shane stared at him, his mouth slightly open, before he leaned back more comfortably against the small, red tractor. "Why do you wanna stay here when it's not safe?"

"We can make it safe."

"How we gonna do that?"

"We will, okay?"

"How we gonna make it safe, Rick?" His voice had an angrier tone now, that barely hidden hate starting to boil up, pushing him further.

"We will, okay?"

"No, man, it's not okay."

Rick took a deep breath, already turning away from him before he finally said it.

"Shane, Lori's pregnant. We need to stay."

Silence. Shane blinked, his mouth falling open in shock, unable to know how to answer that. "We... need our guns," he then said, trying to process the information he had just thrown into his face, but Rick shook his head once more.

"No. I can work this out." Rick turned to leave again. He was done with this conversation. "You good?"

Shane didn't answer right away, rolling his shoulders back, which tensed up to the point of being uncomfortable.

"Yeah…" His voice was quieter now. "Lori's having a baby, man… Congratulations."

"Thank you," Rick nodded, and that should have been it. He should have kept walking. He should have left.

But Shane? Shane wasn't done.

"Hold up, Rick."

Rick stopped. But he didn't turn around. Not at first. And that made Shane take a slow step forward. And then another.

"You know," Shane started, "I was just wonderin' somethin'. Somethin' been on my mind since last night."

Slowly, very slowly, Rick turned to face him. His expression was blank. But his eyes? His eyes were burning.

"Tell me somethin'." Shane continued, now in an almost amused voice. "That little thing you and I got in common now? That happen before or after you went crawlin' back to Lori?"

Rick's expression didn't change, and Shane tilted his head, pretending to be curious.

"How'd it go, huh?" He took another step closer. "You go all slow and sweet, or was it fast? Rough?"

Rick's jaw was so tight it looked like his teeth might break if he ground them any harder.

Shane's smirk widened. "Bet it was rough." His voice sounded mocking now. "Bet she was greedy for it. All soft and pretty, makin' those cute little, desperate, needy noises—"

Rick moved. Fast. He grabbed Shane by the front of his shirt, shoving him hard, slamming him back against the red tractor so violently that it slightly moved.

"You ain't got no room to talk anymore, do you, Rick?"

He didn't answer and just stared at him. And the way they looked at each other—it was dangerous. It was personal. It wasn't just about Lori. It wasn't just about the walkers in the barn. It wasn't just about the farm. This? This was about them both.

"Wonder how much longer you're gonna play pretend, huh? I mean, c'mon, man! You really think you can just walk away after what you did?"

That line they were both standing on? They knew one of them was about to cross it eventually.

"You wanna say somethin' else to me, Shane?"

Shane took another step closer. "Oh, you know what I know. Knowing what you did."

Rick's jaw twitched, and Shane tilted his head.

"Behind the chicken coop, huh?" He laughed, smirking. "She loud? You had to keep her mouth shut?"

Shane didn't even flinch. He now just grinned like he'd won until Rick calmed himself down and let go of him again.

"Bet she moaned real lovely for you, huh? Like honey and all excited, so damn wet and just beggin'—"

Unable to look at him anymore, Rick shoved him to the side and away from him. Shane stumbled sideways, laughing breathlessly and shaking his head.

"Oh! That's rich, man! You wanna throw hands with me about it?" He laughed out loud. "You wanna look me in the fuckin' eyes and act like you got the right to be pissed? You fucked that lil' girl. You fucked her, Rick. Behind your wife's back. So tell me—what's that make you?"

Shane leaned in, but not too close, just in case Rick was about to snap again. "You ain't no better than me, brother."

Rick's head snapped back toward him, and for a second—just one second—Shane thought he was gonna swing. Thought he was actually gonna throw that punch, knock him down to the dirt, and finally give in to what had been happening between them for some time now.

But instead, Rick straightened himself and stepped back. "I ain't you."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, man," Shane answered in an instant, running a hand over his head.

Rick didn't say another word. He turned and walked away.

He stopped once he was far away enough from the man he'd once called his best friend since he was young, dragging both hands down his face before gripping the back of his neck, trying to breathe through the anger raging inside him. His pulse was hammering against his skull, and he knew—he knew—if he didn't get a hold of himself, he was gonna break something.

Or someone.

His teeth ground together as his eyes looked toward the chicken coop in the distance. It was like his body was drawn to it, to you, to the memory of last night. But now, he felt sick. He felt starved. He felt like if he let himself go back to that place, back to you…

No.

Closing his eyes, Rick inhaled deeply and forced himself to look away.

More important things needed to be done.

So he walked back toward the tents, his face unreadable, and that was when he spotted the map. Something he could focus on.

This was what mattered. The search for Sophia.

Once you saw Rick walking back toward the tents where you were still standing around while everyone else had occupied themselves, you knew you should've let him go.

You knew that. You should've just turned around, walked off, and focused on anything—anyone else—you should've let him stomp away like he always did when his head was too full of problems he couldn't solve when he got so lost in himself that it was like nothing and no one else existed around him. You should've let him deal with whatever war was happening in his mind on his own; let him pretend like what happened between you both behind the chicken coop was just some stupid mistake, some meaningless situation he could shove aside, bury deep, and move on from.

But how could you?

No, you stayed where you were, near the cars with a bitter taste in your mouth as you watched him stand at the hood of one of the cars, looking down at the map spread across it, his hands braced against the vehicle, his body tense like he was forcing himself to stay still, to stay focused.

His head was looking down, his eyes narrowed in deep concentration as he traced his fingers over the roads and backwoods trails, already moving forward with his thoughts, already figuring out the next step, already trying to keep his brain focused on something else, and not the argument with Shane, the conversation with Hershel, or the situation with Lori—like none of it had happened. As if he was fine and hadn't completely fallen apart last night and done something he couldn't take back.

No, Rick had to think of something different, something important, like searching for Carol's daughter.

Andrea stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at the map along with him, her body leaning slightly toward his, listening as he spoke in that calm and concentrated way of his when he was keeping himself together by sheer force of will, like if he let go of that control for even a second, he might not be able to pull himself back together again.

"...also shows she could be moving this way south. If Sophia kept in that direction, she might have gotten out of the forest and into the farmland. So we take 74 up to Ivy Road, then push down south on foot through the forest till we hit Christopher, go east a couple of miles, and then double back."

You took a slow step forward, hesitant, unsure if it was even the right move, unsure why you were doing it, but unable to stop yourself all the same.

And Rick went completely still once he noticed you. His fingers stopped where they rested against the map, his breathing turning a little faster, and his shoulders went a little stiffer—just for a moment. Then, just as quickly, he forced himself to concentrate again, to act as if he hadn't noticed, as if you weren't standing there, as if he wasn't aware of you, just a few steps away.

Like you weren't even there.

Frustration overcame you.

It wasn't the time. It wasn't the place. You knew that. But you also knew you had to talk, especially regarding Shane.

"Rick, I—"

Nothing.

Andrea moved beside him, looking toward you, one eyebrow arching slightly like she wasn't sure if she should say something. If she should step in and if she should tell Rick you wanted to talk to him, but he didn't even acknowledge her either. He just kept talking, kept staring at the map, kept pretending like you didn't exist, like he couldn't hear your voice, and like he couldn't feel you watching him.

You clenched your fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, resisting the urge to grab him, to shake him, to force him to see you.

Before you stepped away, a voice stopped you.

"Rick."

Hershel.

Rick turned around immediately, looking toward the older man.

"Hershel," he greeted, nodding once, like he was relieved for the excuse to pull away, for the reason to leave, to walk away from you without actually walking away from you. "We just have our guns out because we're gonna go look for Sophia."

Hershel barely even looked at the map. "Before you do that, I could use your help with something."

Andrea put a hand on her hip beside Rick, stepping forward. "Count me in."

But Hershel shook his head. "Thank you, but I just need Rick."

And just like that, Rick went with him after Jimmy had joined them. No hesitation. No second thought. He folded up the map, put it away, and walked off after them like he couldn't get away fast enough. Like he hadn't just spent the last several minutes pretending you didn't exist and like he hadn't just made you feel so unimportant that you wanted to scream.

And you should've let him go. You should've just let him disappear behind the trees, let him keep pretending, let him run.

But you didn't. Because something inside of you wouldn't let you. So you followed them.

Kept low. Kept your steps light. Kept your hand around your knife, just in case.

And you knew you weren't supposed to be out here. Not without telling at least one person from the group about it. You remembered it the second you started following them, the second your feet left the safety of the farm, slipping past the trees, staying quiet. You didn't have a plan. Didn't even have a good reason, just in case someone would search for you and you'd have to come up with an excuse.

But after everything—after last night, after this morning, after the way Rick had avoided you like you didn't even exist—you weren't about to sit around the camp doing nothing.

So you followed and kept your distance, moving slowly but carefully.

Once at the swamp, the first thing you noticed was that it smelled like rot.

You could hear insects buzzing somewhere nearby, the sound of water, and the rustling of birds chirping in the trees above, but none of it was enough to drown out the sound of them.

The growls.

The snapping of teeth.

The noises of the dead.

Hershel, Rick, and Jimmy had stopped near the edge of the muddy water, just a few feet away from where two walkers stood stuck in the sludge, their bodies sinking slowly, arms reaching, fingers clawing uselessly at the air.

"The silt on the bottom is like glue," Hershel explained. "You just sink in."

Rick followed him quietly.

"That's Lou Bush," Hershel continued, nodding toward one of them.

"You knew him?"

Hershel sighed. "Lou as in Louise. She has a farm up the road. Sweet corn mostly. Worked at Hapman's bar on weekends." He nodded toward the other walker, the one in coveralls. "The man, I don't know him, but the uniform… I've been to where he worked."

Rick was silent for a long moment, staring at them, his face unreadable.

"How many have you killed?" Hershel then asked.

Rick exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching slightly on instinct as if wanting to reach for his Colt Python. "Too many to count."

"Can you stop?" Hershel asked, and Rick's eyes narrowed slightly.

"There are people out there who haven't been in their right minds," Hershel continued, not letting him answer. "People who I believe can be restored."

"You're not talking about the walkers, are you?"

Hershel didn't answer. Didn't need to. Rick knew he thought the dead were just sick people. People you could still help find their way back among the living.

Rick turned just slightly, making sure no other danger was close—and suddenly looked directly at where you were hiding.

Shit…

For a moment—one quick and uncomfortable moment—you thought he'd actually seen you.

The way his shoulders stiffened, the way his head turned ever so slightly, and the way his eyes looked toward the tree line where you were crouched low in the shadows, barely breathing and barely even blinking, made you gasp.

It was instinct, pure instinct, the way you tensed, the way your fingers grabbed the handle of your knife even tighter, ready to run if you had to, ready to fight if it came to that, even though you knew there was no real reason for it. Rick might've been pissed as hell at you; you didn't really know for sure—might've spent the entire day so far acting like you didn't exist, like what happened last night was some shameful, disgusting little secret where he'd rather set himself on fire than acknowledge it—but he wouldn't hurt you.

"Rick..."

Just like that, his attention went right back to Hershel, like he hadn't just gone stiff, as if he hadn't just been looking directly at the spot you were crouched in, and like he hadn't just felt something in that quick, passing moment.

Taking your chance, you moved.

Not fast. Not loud. Not stupid.

Just carefully walking backward, deeper into the woods, deeper into the shadows, further away, and far enough that you could still hear them, could still make out their silhouettes through the gaps in the branches, but not close enough that Rick could feel your presence anymore.

Or maybe he never had.

Maybe it had just been your own paranoia. Your own guilt.

But it didn't matter now, because you stayed and you still watched. Listened.

Jimmy stepped forward, adjusting his grip on the catch pole in his hands, the kind with a noose at the end, the kind they used to get strays under control back in the old world.

"Otis said if you get them halfway out, they'll do the rest of the work," Jimmy said hesitantly, his voice nervous and uncertain.

"How many times did he do this?" Rick asked as he remembered Otis, who had died not that long ago when he was out on a run with Shane to get some of the medical equipment Hershel needed to save Carl after he'd been accidentally shot by him.

Meanwhile, Hershel let out a sigh as he looked toward the two walkers still stuck in the mud, their arms still reaching and their teeth still snapping. "If one wandered onto the property, Otis would get them into the barn. Now we have to."

Rick kept staring at them, his jaw clenched. "And what happens when the barn gets full?"

He took one step toward the edge of the water before his boots slipped, the mud sucking him down, yanking him straight off balance, and making his body hit the ground.

"Jeez!" He cursed, struggling to get a solid hold, his boots sliding off grip as he tried to push himself up. "Get the pole! Jimmy... Jimmy!"

But Hershel's voice remained calm, infuriatingly so. "You got it. Easy. Easy, Rick. Lead him. Jimmy will spot for us."

Rick's breath was ragged, with him grumbling around frustrated as he yanked the pole forward, trying to keep it looped around the walker's throat while still fighting against the mud beneath him. "This is easy?!"

Hershel still didn't care much, seeing no danger. "Lead him, lead him, Rick. You're the carrot, not the stick. You heard me, just lead him. He'll come to you."

"You told me he handled them easily!"

Once Rick stumbled behind them, Hershel took the lead and walked forward. "It's easier than some things."

"Come on! Come on, over here!" Jimmy said in the background when suddenly, a sound was to be heard.

A scream.

Not just any scream. Your scream.

Rick's entire body froze, and the pole slipped from his hands before Jimmy quickly took it into his own, staring at him in confusion.

But Rick wasn't there anymore. Wasn't thinking. Wasn't waiting.

"Rick!" Hershel's voice was alarmed, but Rick was already gone, already stumbling away from the mud, running through the trees, rushing toward the sound, toward the scream.

"Wait here or go back to the farm!" He yelled back over his shoulder, but he wasn't listening to their answers, wasn't thinking about them, wasn't thinking about anything other than getting to you.

Because he knew that sound. Knew it all too well and knew what it meant.

The walker came down on you so fast you didn't even have a second to think, to move, to do anything other than hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind straight out of your lungs, your back slamming into the dirt, and your knife slipping from your fingers, just out of reach.

Its weight was pressing down on you heavily, the smell of rot, blood, and death suffocating your senses, its jaws wide open, teeth snapping only inches from your face, its fingers trying to tear into your flesh, and trying to sink its teeth into any part of your body it was able to reach.

You struggled. A lot.

Your hands shoved against its chest, your muscles burning from the adrenaline, your legs thrashing beneath it, trying to slip away from under its weight, trying to grab for something, for anything, for your knife, but the walker was too heavy. It was too strong, and no matter how hard you fought, it wouldn't move. It wouldn't stop, and it wouldn't let go.

Then—a disgusting, wet noise.

But there was no gunshot.

Because Rick didn't use his Colt Python.

No. He had a rock.

It was in his hand as he pulled the walker away from you, covered in blood, pieces of skull, and rotted flesh smeared against it, his breath coming out in fury as he stared down at what had almost—almost—taken you from him.

Rick's fingers ached. His entire arm trembled from the force he had used, but he didn't stop after the first hit.

He just kept swinging.

"Stupid—"

Crack. The first hit crushed its temple.

"Motherfuckin'—"

Crack. The second cracked its skull open.

"Piece of—"

Crack. The third caved its shattered face in, leaving nothing but bone and blood splattered across the dirt.

"Shit!"

It wasn't moving anymore. It wasn't even recognizable.

But Rick was still hovering over it, his fingers gripping the rock so tightly his knuckles had turned white, his entire body trembling, and breathing so hard it sounded like a long, endless growl.

You had never seen him like this before.

Not even when he was mad at Shane. Not even when the group was in chaos. Not even last night, when he had slipped into your tent and put his hands on you like a man who had already lost his mind.

But now? Now, he looked feral.

And when his eyes finally looked back up to meet yours—when you saw the way they burned, wild and pissed—you weren't sure if it was from anger or from something else entirely.

Something that made you forget how to breathe.

Before you could say something, before you could think, and before you could even process what just happened, Rick was pushing the dead body away, grabbing you, and yanking you up with so much force it almost hurt, his fingers digging in, dragging you to your feet, and pushing you back until your back hit a tree.

He was right there, towering over you, his eyes full of anger and his face full of rage, his chest rising and falling with every deep and furious breath.

Rick was enraged.

And you?

You still didn't even know what to do.

"You stupid—" Rick started, his voice nothing more than a snarl.

He was so close you could barely react, his fingers digging into your arms, holding you there, pinning you back against the bark of the tree as his eyes burned through you like he wanted to set you on fire.

"You outta your goddamn mind, sneakin' out here like that?!" He asked with his grip tightening, his whole body trembling with all that anger, all that frustration. "You got any idea what coulda happened to you? Any idea?"

You pushed against his hold, trying to shove him off, trying to create even an inch of space between you, but he was unmovable, too strong, every inch of him tense, like if he let go, if he even so much as relaxed for a second, he might do something reckless.

Something he couldn't take back.

"You don't get to be mad at me, Rick!" You shot back, your own frustration boiling over like two storms colliding. "Not when you—"

"The hell I don't!" He cut you off, his voice like thunder, as if he was close to losing his mind once more. "What were you even thinking, huh? Following me… us, out here?"

"You think I don't know what the hell I'm doing?" You shoved at his chest again, harder this time, pushing back, fighting back, your heart hammering against your ribs, adrenaline still surging through your veins from the walker attack, from the fear, from the fact that Rick was right here, all over you. "You don't get to act like you care about what happens to me when you can't even look at me, Rick!"

His breathing stopped, letting you feel the way his fingers tightened around your arms, and the way his whole body was so full of adrenaline as if he was trying hard to hold onto whatever bit of restraint he still had left.

"Are you outta your goddamn mind?" He asked again, but not expecting any answer.

You knew there'd be bruises later on your arms—not that you cared, not that you even felt it over everything else.

You weren't scared, but also not backing down.

"And what about you?" You shot back, your voice shaking from the situation alone, your chest rising and falling just as hard and fast as his, with your heart pounding against your ribs. But you were still trying to finally put the much-needed space between you, knowing full well he wasn't about to let you. "Because last time I checked, I wasn't the one creeping into somebody's tent in the middle of the goddamn night!"

Rick went still. Too still.

His breath hitched, and his fingers twitched against your skin. But he said nothing. He didn't deny it, and he didn't even blink. He just stood there, with his eyes staring deeply into yours.

That silence?

That silence made you want to scream, and before you could even think about stopping yourself, before you could even process what you were doing, the words were already tearing themselves freefrom your mouth.

"I know it was you," you spat at him, your breath coming out fast and heavy, your entire body shaking. "I felt you. I heard you. You were right there—right fucking there."

His grip turned tighter, making you wince in response.

"Shut up."

"You kissed me," you went on, still not looking away from his eyes. "You put your hands on me—"

"I said, shut the fuck up—"

"And now?" You continued, stuttering a little bit. "Now you wanna stand here and act like I'm the crazy one? Like I'm the problem? Like I didn't just see you standing next to Shane, looking like you were about to rip his goddamn throat out because he knows—"

And you saw it. That slight movement, that quick twitch in Rick's jaw as if he was about to smirk. That was the confirmation.

"You know Shane knows, don't you?" You asked him, your eyes narrowing and your voice dropping lower. "You know he knows that you fucked me."

"Don't."

That one word was a warning, but you couldn't care less.

"You think I don't see it? The way he won't stop smirking like he's just waiting for one of us to say something? And do you really think I don't know that he talked to you as well?"

Rick's hands moved away from your arms only to shove both hands into your hair on the back of your head, with his fingers digging in roughly, trying to hold something back and trying to keep control.

"Enough."

Rick's voice was different now.

Darker.

"You think I don't know? You think I don't know he knows? He told me. Yeah. He told me—"

And then—it broke. All of it. The rage. The frustration. It all broke in that simple moment.

Because one second, you were just there, daring him to do something, to act on anything, to move.

And then Rick's lips finally pushed full force against yours, hard, brutal, and all-consuming. He was swallowing up every one of your ragged breaths, every sound, and every bit of fight left in you like he was trying to erase it, trying to shut you up the only way he knew how.

His hands went away from your hair and the back of your head, his fingers grabbing, gripping, and dragging you in, pulling you against him as close as he could, and pressing his body down on yours like he needed to feel you, needing to make sure you were real, to make sure you were alive, and to make sure you were his.

You kissed him back like you were drowning, like you needed him just as bad, and like you wanted to tear him apart with your teeth, as if wanting to suffocate him with your tongue, all the while your hands clawed at his shirt, at his back, yanking him closer.

You barely even noticed him moving you away from the dead body before your back hit the ground a few trees away, the dirt and leaves pressing against your back, with Rick right there, covering you, pushing himself onto you, his hands already gripping at your thighs, spreading them wide and sliding beneath the hem of your dress.

"Fuck—" You gasped against his mouth, barely getting the word out before he devoured it, before his lips moved over yours again, before his hand gripped your jaw, fingers digging in like he wanted to keep you right there, right under him, right where he needed you to be, no matter the place.

Rick's breathing was fast, still furious, his body pressing against yours, one of his knees pushing up between your thighs to keep them spread, and the outline of his cock already throbbing against your thigh, being so hard it was painful.

God, you felt it…

Felt the way his hands touched, the way his mouth claimed, the way he devoured every inch of you he could reach, all heat and desperation, all frustration and need, like he was trying to consume you whole.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His voice was a growl, all breathless and raw, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ever so warm against your lips, and his hips already grinding against yours, already so far gone it was making you ache. "This what you were askin' for last night, after all. And you liked it… You, walkin' around naked in that little fuckin' dress, makin' me lose my goddamn mind—"

"Fuck you—"

"You already did."

And then his mouth was on you again, teeth moving roughly against your throat, fingers hiking your dress up and shoving it past your hips, his breath trembling as he was about to take you, as he finally—finally—did act.

Your hands were on his chest before you even knew what the hell you were doing, shoving, pushing, and tugging at his shirt like you wanted to rip it off, like you wanted to tear him apart the same way he was tearing you apart, inside and out. "Get off me," you said, breathless, furious, shaking with the kind of anger that burned hotter than anything else, hotter than his mouth on your skin, hotter than the way he was grinding into you, and hotter than the need you felt inside of you. "Get the fuck off me, Rick."

But he didn't move.

His chest heaving against your palms as he stared down at you, the expression on his face had turned into something that looked wrecked, something ruined, something that had already gone past the point of no return. His hands were still on you, fingers now finding their way to your thighs, your waist, your soul, and you felt like you were the one suffocating beneath him, beneath the weight of his, the weight of it all.

Beneath the lies, the guilt, the frustration, and the lust that had been building for months.

"You don't want that," he said quietly, calm even, making your stomach flip and your fingers twitch, making your hesitation crack almost in an instant. "Nah. You don't want me to stop."

"Fuck off," you hissed back at him, but you didn't really mean it anymore, and you weren't strong enough to push him away one way or another. No, your fingers were still holding onto his shirt; your body was still arching into his without thinking, without meaning to, without caring. "But you don't get to do that—you don't get to come to me in the dark, you don't get to put your hands on me, you don't get to want me when you're still acting like—like—"

"Like what?" His fingers grabbed you harder, rougher, more desperately, his eyes demanding your attention to be fully on him like he needed to hear you say it, and like he needed you to break right along with him. "Like I don't already know? Like I don't already know what she did, what he did, and what they both did? And what we—"

He cut himself off, his jaw clenching with the unspoken truth, with the reality that had been stabbed inside his thoughts like a knife since the second Shane had confronted him.

"Lori's baby ain't yours," you then let out, the words meant to make him hurt the way you were hurting, the way he made you hurt every time he pretended like this was nothing. "And you know it, Rick. You know. And deep down? Deep down you couldn't give less of a shit about it. Ain't that true?"

Rick huffed loudly like you'd just knocked the air out of his lungs, like you'd just taken the knife from his thoughts, only to ram it into his heart until he couldn't breathe.

You should've stopped there.

Should've let it be enough.

But it wasn't, not after the last night you spent staring at the ceiling of your tent after he'd left, replaying in your mind how his hands felt on you, his mouth, his voice whispering in your ear and sounding like he was falling apart. Of course, you couldn't stop thinking back as well… All the mornings where he wouldn't even look at you while at the Quarry, where he acted like you were nothing, where he went back to Lori like he hadn't kept an eye on you every single time you bent over or walked past him. No, you were invisible, and right now, you felt like you would be unseen all over again.

"You know it, and you're still choosing her," you pushed further, your own breath shaking now, and your own anger burning through every last rational thought you had left. "You're still holding onto something that ain't even real anymore—"

"I ain't choosing her," he snapped back, his voice breaking apart as his fingers tightened around you, as his body pressed you down, as his lips came so damn close to yours you could taste the breath he exhaled, the frustration, and the need. "You think I don't want this? You think I don't—" He stopped and swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry, his body trembling like he couldn't hold it together anymore, like he was breaking right there in front of you.

"But you don't get to want me when you're still fucking lying to yourself," you responded, and it came out quieter this time, as if all the fight was draining out of you like you were exhausted and you just couldn't take it anymore. "Again… You don't get to touch me like this and then pretend like it didn't happen. I can't—" Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated the way it made you sound weak, greedy for something wrong, as if you were just as far gone as he was. "I can't fucking take it, Rick."

His fingers were at your jaw in a second, gripping it tightly, holding you there, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see every single emotion behind those blue eyes.

"You think I can?" His voice was strained, barely even a whisper now. He wasn't just talking to you—he was talking to himself as well and trying to convince himself of whatever was going on inside his head. "You think this doesn't kill me since Atlanta? Wakin' up every morning, seein' you, knowin' I can't—" His breath hitched, making him gulp. "Knowin' I ain't supposed to—"

And that was it. Because your hands weren't pushing anymore.

Suddenly, your fingers were pulling, dragging him down, closing the space because you couldn't take it either anymore. It was too much. After all, you were drowning in it, suffocating in it, burning alive in it. In him.

And when Rick's lips pressed back against yours, it wasn't controlled, wasn't careful; it was only like he was trying to memorize the taste of you once more, to remember the taste of sin he'd already started to crave again.

Your nails went down his back once his fingers slid into your hair, his body pressing down hard, holding you there, owning you there, like he needed to feel every inch of you, needed to know you were his, even if he wouldn't say it.

"Rick," you moaned against his mouth, and his response was a groan, sounding quiet and wrecked, his hands gripping, his hips bucking, his body trembling as he kissed you like he needed you more than air, more than reason, more than whatever life he was trying so hard to hold onto.

"Tell me to stop," he stuttered, his forehead against yours, his breath shaking and muscles tense, like he was waiting for you to make the choice for him. "Tell me to walk away."

You didn't. Because you couldn't.

Instead, your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers grabbing his hair, your lips finding his again, hard, needy, open, and desperate, and that was all it took.

For him to break completely.

When Rick pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest was rising and falling like he'd just fought for his life—like kissing you had been some kind of battle, some kind of war he was already too deep in to ever walk away from unscarred. And maybe it was. Maybe it always would be. Maybe that was why he was still here, his fingers now sliding under the hem of your dress like he couldn't help himself, like he had to feel you, had to know that you were real beneath him, warm and alive, and his for the taking, even if just for a moment.

But before Rick could let himself get lost in it, before he could let the fire in his blood burn him up from the inside out, he pushed himself up onto his forearms, his eyes looking over to the trees around you, listening to the uneasy silence that always meant one of two things—either you were alone, or something was waiting, watching, and creeping closer. His body tensed up as he tried to calm down his racing heart, ready to fight, to kill, to protect—until he was sure and certain that the only sound filling the empty woods was the ragged, uneven way you were breathing beneath him.

The second Rick's attention went back to you, the second he focused on the way your lips were parted and slightly swollen and the way your pupils were all wide, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, uneven movements, he was gone, already sliding his hands up, pushing your dress out of his way, and dragging it higher—knowing you wouldn't be wearing anything underneath—his mouth already back on you, already burning a path across your skin like he was trying to mark it.

And you let him.

You let him as his fingers dug into your waist, as his mouth found the soft, sweaty skin at your throat, as his lips moved lower, and his teeth biting the places he knew would make you sigh and shiver for more. Rick wanted to make you press your body up into his to make you need and want him closer. He wanted you to need him everywhere.

Like you needed him to break you apart just so he could put you back together again.

Once he licked his way down your neck and over your collarbone, his tongue then sliding slowly—so slowly—over your breasts, down to your stomach, lower and lower, his hands already holding on to your hips.

"God," you gasped, your hips bucking up on instinct, with your back arching and your legs spread wide, your whole body betraying you, giving into the desperation. "Rick—"

He growled in response, a deep sound that vibrated against your skin, making your thighs shake, and you could feel how gone he was, how much he needed this.

How much he needed you.

And then, before you could catch your breath, one hand was sliding lower, his fingers finding the wet, swollen folds of your pussy between your legs since he knew exactly just how much of a mess you already were for him.

"Shit," he groaned as if he wasn't just talking to you and more like he was talking to himself.

Rick couldn't believe how wet you were, how soaked you were just from him craving you, just from him grinding against you, and from the way his mouth felt on your skin.

His fingers started to tease you slowly at first, sliding through the slickness, parting you open, and pressing barely against your entrance, with his thumb rubbing against your clit ever so softly, but not enough—not even close to enough—just enough to make you moan.

Enough to make your thighs twitch, enough to make your nails dig into his shoulders, and bite your lip so hard you thought you might bleed.

And Rick felt the way your pussy clenched for him, the way your hips bucked up, and the way your breath hitched. That was it, because, in the next second, his mouth was going lower, pressing sloppy kisses down your body, as if it was the only thing that mattered anymore.

And then—then he was there.

His mouth was right where you wanted it to be.

And when his tongue slid out, when it ran slowly up your slit, parting it for him once more and tasting you, groaning deep and hungry against your pussy—you almost cried out loud.

Arching your back, your fingers were desperately trying to hold on to his hair, to keep your legs still, but all you could focus on was the way his tongue moved against you, devouring you like a man who had been starving for months, for years, for his whole life, like this was something he needed to survive.

Rick's hands immediately gripped your thighs harder, his fingers bruising, thumbs digging into your skin and wanting to hold you there, to keep you from moving, keep you from running, keep you from doing anything but taking it. And from the way he moved his tongue against your clit, the way he sucked it into his mouth and moaned against your pussy? The taste of you made him realize that this was the feeling he'd always craved in his life.

To be desired this much, just by existing and letting you feel him in return.

"Rick—" You choked out again in a pathetic sob, just a desperate, whiny plea as your body tensed, as you got closer, closer still, too close too fast.

But he didn't stop until you were gasping, whimpering, and shaking; he didn't slow down until you were crying his name quietly with a shaky voice and a trembling body, so wrecked, so ruined, and his all over again.

You were right there, right on the edge of an orgasm, your muscles straining in anticipation inside your body; it almost hurt, every nerve screaming silently for more. You could feel it in the way your thighs clenched around his head, the way your hips bucked up into his mouth, chasing it, needing it, knowing it was right there.

Until he stopped.

Simply stopped.

One second, his mouth was on you, devouring you, his tongue working you over like he was on a mission to destroy you completely, and the next?

Nothing.

Just the cold shock of a sudden loss, of being denied when you were already on the edge, and about to get wetter and wetter for him since the second he had laid his hands on you.

To come all over his face, just like he had on yours the night before.

You let out a cry that barely even sounded like it came from you, your hips bucking up and your pussy desperately chasing after his mouth, after his tongue, after anything to replace the sudden, unbearable emptiness between your thighs, but Rick just laughed in amusement, which made your whole body burn with heat because he knew exactly what he was doing.

Starting to twist your fingers in his hair, making your nails dig into his scalp, you tried to push his head back down. To force him back where you needed him, but Rick still wouldn't move, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he pulled back just enough to look at you with wet, swollen lips that were shining with just how soaked you were for him.

"Look at you," he grumbled, voice rough, teasing, mocking even.

You wanted to kill him for it, wanted to slap him; maybe at that moment you even wanted to break him apart once more—but mostly, you wanted to come for him, wanted to grab his hair and shove his mouth back where it belonged and take what you needed.

"So fuckin' needy now, huh? Where'd all that attitude go, sweetheart? Thought you had somethin' to say to me about a minute ago."

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you? Say it, sweetheart. Say you want me to eat you out."

You whimpered, fingers still scraping against his scalp, but didn't answer. You only sobbed in response, half a warning and half begging, again trying to pull him back down, but he only grinned until he decided to make his way toward your pussy again.

"Mhm…" Rick's tongue flicked against your clit, just enough to make you shiver until he pulled back a bit. "Ain't gonna say it? Guess I'll have to make you cry some more then. I wanna hear more of 'em pretty lil' sobs."

When he leaned back in and his lips finally touched you again, it wasn't the same as before—it wasn't the desperate kind of hunger that had been there, and it wasn't the fast, unbearable way he had been tasting you, no.

Now, he was taking his time.

Rick hummed against your inner thigh, leaving behind an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn't torturing you. "Y'know what's really cute?"

"Shut up," you spat out, trying to force him back to your pussy. "Just—just fucking do it!"

Rick laughed—actually laughed, his breath warm, his fingers still barely teasing the wetness between your thighs. "Oh… you beg real pretty, y'know that?"

"Rick—"

He cut you off by dragging his tongue over your clit in sudden, lazy, torturous strokes that weren't nearly enough, and he wasn't letting you have it.

"You remember last night, sweetheart?" He grumbled against you, taunting you. "How you rode me, got me all worked up, had me right fuckin' there—" His tongue licked your clit again, just for a second, just enough to make you whine like he wanted you to, "—and then you just slid right off? Left me standin' there, hard as a fuckin' rock, while you got on your knees and put that sweet little mouth on me instead?"

You knew what this was now, knew exactly what he was doing, and why he was holding you here, keeping you right on the edge on purpose.

He was punishing you.

"Rick, I—" You started once more, your voice breathless, uneven, and pleading, but still, he wasn't letting you come for him just yet.

And when you tried to grind up into his mouth, tried to push yourself over the edge, he held you down, his grip tightening, his breath ragged as he grumbled, "Nah. Not yet."

You could've killed him. Again, you wanted to. Could've killed him for this, for the way he was keeping you here, for the way he was playing with you, for the way he was controlling this, controlling you, making you suffer for what you did to him the night before, for leaving him hanging, for teasing him, and for making him lose his mind when you had stopped.

But the worst part?

The worst part was that it was working.

The worst part was that you were falling apart for him in return, that you were sobbing for him, that you would've said anything, would've begged for anything, would've given him anything if it meant he'd just let you have it.

Suddenly, you heard it, with you getting immediately pulled away from this high—you heard it somewhere past the trees, beyond the branches, dead leaves, and the suffocating feeling from the heat of Rick's mouth on you.

Something cracked, something moved; you were sure of it, and it was enough to make your fingers twist in his hair for an entirely different reason as your head snapped up.

But Rick—he didn't even care.

He didn't lift his head at all, didn't stop dragging his tongue over the inside of your thigh, slow and lazy like he hadn't just had you on the edge of a breakdown, with your body being a trembling mess that was spread out on the forest floor as if he had all the time in the world, even when you knew he didn't.

Every second wasted was another chance at something going wrong, at someone coming looking for you, or a walker creeping up from behind the trees.

"I heard something," you breathed out, trying to push up on your elbows and see past the branches and shadows, but Rick just tightened his grip, holding you down.

"We're gonna make it quick," he answered, making you feel every touch of his lips, his tongue, and his teeth as he moved over you, kissing and biting, inching further up with every passing second, making it clear that whatever you thought you heard, whatever danger might be hiding behind the trees, it wasn't about to stop him.

Maybe you should have pushed him off; maybe you should have listened to that uneasy feeling in the back of your mind, but instead, you just lay there—knowing that he was the one in control.

And maybe that was why you couldn't stop yourself—maybe that was why, instead of just letting it happen, instead of drowning back into the way his mouth was moving higher, already crawling back up to lick over your stomach, you had to ruin it.

"I—" You started, voice still breathless and uneven, "Shane told me something interesting..."

You felt Rick stop in an instant.

It wasn't obvious—not at first, not enough that anyone else would have noticed, but you did.

The way his breath hitched, just a bit. The way his lips paused against your ribs, staying there for a second too long like he was bracing himself for whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

"Lori's pregnant, isn't she?" You continued, keeping your voice casual, almost amused, because now you wanted to see what he would do, wanted to see how he would react.

Rick? He didn't say anything. He didn't immediately try to deny it, didn't try to tell you Shane was lying, and didn't even try to tell you it wasn't any of your business.

His hands only slid higher, up your body, pulling you with him and forcing you closer, forcing you to look at him and to feel him, and to watch as his fingers reached for his belt, undoing it to open his pants, like he was daring you to keep talking. He was giving you one more chance to shut up before he made you regret every word that had just come out of your mouth.

"Bet you don't even know if it's yours, do you?" You continued harshly, your voice quieter now, softer, while something angry but also sad could be heard beneath those words, something that dug in, because you wanted him to know that he wasn't the only one who could take control.

That he wasn't the only one who could get inside someone else's head the way he had tried to get inside yours.

But Rick just laughed, shaking his head. And it wasn't the kind of laughter that was meant to be heard as he leaned in.

"It ain't."

And then—then his mouth was on you again.

His lips were trying to take back the control you had just stolen from him, trying to reclaim the power as he kissed his way back up your body, dragging his tongue over your throat, each sloppy kiss feeling possessive, almost angry, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to devour you or destroy you.

And God, you wanted to let him as soon as he was biting and kissing your lips, groaning into your mouth.

But when he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, you tensed up, your fingers digging into his shoulders, that panic rising up in your body, because you could hear the noises deep inside the surrounding woods still around you. The branches creaking, the wind rustling through the trees, the distant sound of something still moving out there.

And it didn't matter if it was a walker or just the wind; the fear of it made its way into your head all over; it still made you want to push him back, because as much as you wanted this, you also didn't want to die with his cock inside you.

"But—" Your voice barely made it past your lips, too scared, too quiet, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head as you tried to get your thoughts together, but it was useless when he was this close. "Rick, we—"

"I got you," he reassured you, cutting you off before you could even finish the sentence, his voice quieter now, like the anger had burned itself out the second he felt you hesitate. His forehead dropped against yours, his fingers trailing down the side of your neck, his touch so tender it almost made you moan. "I got you, alright? Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you."

You sucked in a quick breath, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you still didn't move, not when the fear was still in your head.

"What if—"

"They ain't out there," he said, cutting you off again. "Ain't nothin' out there, sweetheart. Only you and me right now. Just look at me. Don't think about nothin' else, just me."

His cock was pushing against your pussy now, slick with how wet you already were, the head nudging against your clit ever so often.

"You're still thinkin' about what's out there, aren't you?" He mumbled. "Ain't nothin' gonna touch you. But I will."

Without waiting, he pushed in just an inch, enough to make you gasp, but pulled back just as quick.

"You feel that?" Rick growled, his forehead still against yours. "That's all you need to worry ‘bout right now. How good I'm about to make you feel. Nothin' else. Just this."

You looked at him, at those deep blue eyes watching you, at the way his face was slightly red, and his brows narrowed like he was barely holding himself together.

When his hands grabbed your thighs to lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist, the head of his cock still rubbing right against your clit, you let out this quiet, desperate little sound that had him moan, his hands tightening on you like he wanted to crawl inside you and never leave.

"Yeah… that's it," he groaned, his lips just above yours. "You with me?"

You nodded, feeling a little too dizzy to even form words, and that was all he needed—one second, you were barely holding onto him, and the next, he was pushing his cock inside you, stretching you open and making you gasp, your body trembling from how overwhelming he felt.

"There you go," Rick whispered, kissing your temple ever so softly, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed in deeper, filling you up completely, his voice slightly strained, like he was trying to take his time even though you could feel the way he was trembling as well, the way he was struggling not to just slam into you. "That's a good girl. Feels good, don't it?"

Simply nodding once more against his shoulder while your body adjusted to him, the feeling of his cock inside you was starting to push away the fear. And when you finally bucked your hips up to meet his, Rick let out this deep, wrecked moan, his fingers tightening on you as he finally started to move, slow but deep, making sure you felt every inch of him.

It was different this time. Not like the night before.

There was no rush in it now, no guilt. Just heat, just need, just the way his hands trembled against your skin, the way he kissed you between gasps, between praises, whispering, "You're doing so goddamn good, you know that? Doing so fuckin' good for me."

Rick knew you wanted this. He could feel how much you wanted it with the way you held on to him, the way you were already so wet for him, pulling him in, keeping him there, but he wasn't about to let you get lost in it—not when he had you like this, not when he had you wrapped around him, gasping against his skin, melting into him in a way that made something inside him go weak and desperate at once.

So he didn't do much at first; he just let one of his hands slide up until he was cradling the back of your head, his fingers moving into your hair as he pulled you in close, pressing your face against his shoulder, against the sweaty fabric of his shirt, letting you feel the warmth of him as he quietly moaned into your ear.

"There you go," he whispered, his voice sending a shiver straight through you. "Just hold onto me, alright? Keep quiet, sweetheart. That's it."

And when you let out this soft, muffled sound against his neck, something halfway between a sob and a shaky whine, with your arms tightening around him like you were trying to press yourself closer to him, Rick felt it—the way your body started to relax, the way that fear started to melt away, piece by piece.

That did something to him.

The way you trusted him enough to let go and let him keep you quiet, the way you let him keep you safe while he was buried so deep inside you it barely even felt like you were two separate people anymore—and he wasn't sure if he could handle that.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned against your hair, his fingers tightening on the back of your head. "You feel so goddamn good…"

You made another soft, helpless sound, barely more than a whimper against his skin. Rick's other hand was holding one of your legs as he pushed his hips back, pulling every inch of himself out until only the head of his cock remained inside of your pussy before pushing forward again, deeper this time, making sure you had no choice but to feel how hard he was throbbing for you.

"Taking me so damn well," he praised, his voice rough but gentle as if he couldn't believe how perfect you felt around him. "So fuckin' desperate for me…"

And that—God, that made you shake against him. It made you gasp all quietly against his shoulder like you were trying so hard to keep from making too much noise. But Rick wanted to hear you, wanted to get those sweet sounds of lust out of you, wanted to get you so lost in it that you forgot about everything else—forgot about the walkers, forgot about the group, forgot about the way he'd been avoiding you the whole day until now.

So he kept his movements deep, grinding into you in these long, slow strokes, making sure you felt every bit of his cock, making sure you had no room to think about anything else except how good he was making you feel.

"Just like that," he whispered into your ear, his voice all low and tender. "You love that, don't you? Tryin' so hard to keep quiet…"

It was almost too much for Rick as well. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back, wasn't sure how much longer he could keep from completely losing himself in you.

"Look at you," he breathed out against your skin, his fingers tightening on your thigh, his grip almost bruising now as he fucked into you. "My good girl, aren't you?"

Shit…

The way you clenched around him at those words—it almost made him lose it right then and there.

"Yeah, that got you, huh?" He smirked, putting his lips to your cheek, his fingers still holding the back of your head. "You like bein' my good girl?"

Rick's hand went to your neck as his hips pressed against yours, keeping you full and stretched around his cock. When you tried to turn your head, he didn't let you. He kept your face right there, inches from his, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't go hidin' from me now," he laughed quietly, his breath heavy against your lips. "You cryin', aren't you?"

You shook your head, but it was useless. He could feel and see it—your body trembling, breath uneven, and your eyes wet with the tears that threatened to roll down your face.

"Lyin' to me, too?" Rick smiled, tilting his head as his cock pulsed deep inside you, drawing out a wrecked little sob from you. "Tell me why, then. Why're you all teary-eyed, huh?"

"Rick, I—" Your voice trembled, but he wasn't letting you get away with it.

"Come on, sweetheart," he pushed, grinding into you again, making you moan, and your pussy tighten around him, pulling a deep groan from his throat. "Tell me. Ain't gonna stop ‘til you do. Admit that you're cryin' for me."

You swallowed hard, your whole body burning from how deep his cock was hitting, from the way his words went straight inside your head. You were trying to fight it, but you couldn't. You felt yourself breaking, felt your heart racing, and Rick could feel it, too.

He was waiting for it.

"Be my good girl," he whispered. "Admit that you're cryin' for me ‘cause I'm makin' you feel that damn good." He brushed his lips over your cheek, over the tear that had finally fallen. "Bet you love it, don't you? Bet you love bein' my sweet little girl."

You sobbed again, nodding fast as he pushed deeper, harder, to drink in the way you were crumbling beneath him.

"C'mon," he urged, licking the tear from your cheek and pressing wet kisses down your jaw. "Gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you just how you need it. Just admit it."

You sobbed again, barely able to hold back the sound, and Rick smirked in return.

"Bet you'd let me fuck you like this every goddamn night—keep you bouncing on my cock ‘til you can't think straight, ‘til all you can do is beg for more."

You were sobbing harder now, your pussy squeezing around his cock so tight that Rick groanedas he picked up the pace just a little. And he saw it before he even heard it—the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes squeezed shut as another tear rolled down your cheek.

"Shit," he smirked, his voice all rough and uneven now. "Bet you love cryin' for me. Why don't you just tell me, huh?"

You shook your head again, your whole body trembling against him, but your eyes were all wet and shiny. "N-no," you whimpered in response, trying to calm yourself down. "I—"

You sucked in a shaky breath as Rick suddenly pushed hard and fast into you, making you let out another little sob, "You just—Rick, you talk to me like that, and I can't—"

"You can't… what? Tell me, why do I see tears on your pretty little face?" He let his thumb swipe over the wetness under one of your eyes, his gaze locked onto yours as he forced you to acknowledge it. "Ain't nothin' wrong, is there?"

"No," you whimpered, gasping as his cock twitched inside you, every thick inch pressing against that spot that had you clenching around him.

"So, what is it?" He demanded again, rocking his hips just once to tease you, barely pulling out before sinking back in deep, watching your mouth fall open at the feeling. "Tell me. Now."

You swallowed hard, your fingers digging into his biceps now, your whole body burning. "I—I can't help it, you just—" You let out another shaky breath, trying to look away, but he wasn't having it.

Rick grabbed your chin once more, forcing your gaze back to his. "Nah, sweetheart. You don't get to hide from me." He leaned in, his lips licking over yours, taunting you, but still holding back. "You're cryin' ‘cause it feels that fuckin' good, huh?"

You let out a helpless little noise, and your eyes squeezed shut, but Rick wasn't letting you escape it. His grip stayed, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

"I wanna hear you say it," he continued. "Tell me how good I make you feel."

Your breath hitched, another tear slipping from your eyes. "S-so good, Rick," you whispered with a needy voice. "You make me feel s-so good, I—fuck, I just—"

Rick let out a deep, satisfied groan, kissing the tear off your skin. "That's my good girl… So fuckin' pretty when you cry so lovely for me."

Then, without warning, he started slamming deeper into you, harder, dragging more choked sobs from your lips.

"S-shit—!"

Rick groaned against your skin, his hands soon gripping both your thighs as he started to move faster. "That's what I want," he commanded. "Wanna hear you cry for me."

And you did.

Because the way he started to fuck you now—faster, rougher, keeping you full with every stroke—made your head spin and your back arch up against him. It made you whimper and cry every time his cock pushed against the spot inside you that had your whole body on edge.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispered. "So fuckin' good for me—feel how tight you're squeezin' me?"

You let out a breathless little cry, not able to answer.

"Goddamn," Rick groaned, his thrusts picking up, still deep but quicker now, his control slipping with every sound you made. "You cryin' on my cock… Fuckin' love it—"

He was losing himself in you, but still, he wasn't done with you yet. Not until he had made you come for him.

He put a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it softly and just right. "I wanna feel it," he whispered, his voice strained. "Wanna feel you come around me."

You moaned for him, your body tensing as you got closer and closer.

Rick was barely even thinking now, not even trying to hold back, and when you gasped, when your whole body shook against him that he could barely move, Rick realized—too late—that he wasn't gonna be able to stop himself. But he wanted to see it—wanted to watch you come before he lost himself, before he let go.

"You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock? C'mon, come for me," he growled, his fingers pressing down harder and his hips grinding against yours with each deep, punishing thrust. "Give it to me, sweetheart. Let me feel it."

You let him.

Your whole body went stiff, your pussy squeezing around him so hard that Rick let out a ragged, choked moan, with his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, refusing to stop, making sure you felt every second of it.

"Good girl," he choked out, still grinding into you, watching your face as you came apart beneath him. "You feel so fuckin' good…"

He should've pulled out. He knew he should've. But shit—watching you like this, feeling you like this, the way you were still trembling around him, still sobbing for him?

"Fuck—"

His movements turned uneven, his cock pulsing inside you as his hips jerked forward, his head dropping to your shoulder as he lost control, burying himself in your pussy over and over.

Then he lost it.

His control broke all at once. His thrusts turned erratic and rough, his cock slamming into you deeper, and he cursed, a strangled, desperate sound leaving his lips as he bit down on your neck and held you close.

"Fuck—I—" His whole body tensed up, and then he came—barely pulling out in time before he came against your thigh, his cum way too close to where it shouldn't be.

"Shit, shit, shit," he grumbled, his voice panicked, his hands now gripping at your hip, and his mind spinning.

"Rick," you breathed, your voice still shaky, still wrecked, still catching on the end of your orgasm. "Tell me—tell me you didn't—"

"I pulled out!" He cut in fast, too fast, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you, like saying it out loud would somehow make it true. "I pulled out, alright? Just—"

He immediately ran a hand down his face, his breath coming too fast, but he couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop replaying this moment in his head, couldn't stop panicking, because it was too close, too risky, too stupid. "Jesus Christ..."

You were staring at him now, your chest still rising and falling all uneven, your pupils still wide, your body still trembling, but there was fear to be seen in your expression now, real fear, and that? That made Rick want to vomit on the spot when he felt his stomach drop.

"We're okay," he quickly said, but even as the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure he believed them, wasn't sure if he was saying them for your sake or his, because he didn't know; he really didn't know.

"We… we don't know that."

Your voice was still strained, but it didn't matter because the second those words left your mouth, they hit Rick like a bullet to the head, tearing straight through him, because you were right, and that was the problem, wasn't it? That was what made him almost puke, what was making his pulse race too fast, and what made him feel like he couldn't breathe—because you didn't know, because he didn't know, because neither of you could be here and pretend the risk wasn't there.

His jaw was clenched tight, his breath still uneven as he sat back on his heels, one hand caressing your thigh while the other went to grip his leg, but he didn't even realize he was shaking until he saw his own fingers tremble against your skin instead of his.

Rick's eyes looked down between your legs, down to where he could still see his cum smeared all over your thigh, way too close, and his stomach twisted itself into a knot so hard he thought he might actually be sick.

"Rick," you said again, more urgent this time, and when he moved his gaze back up to yours, he could see the panic, could see the way your chest was rising too fast, and the way your eyes were wide and glassy with actual tears. And that? That just made him feel worse.

"You should've pulled out sooner," you then said, and there it was, you sounding judgmental, and maybe you didn't mean for it to come out like that, maybe you weren't even thinking about how it sounded, but Rick was.

"Excuse me?"

"What… It simply means you should've pulled out sooner!" You stuttered, shoving at his chest, and even though you were still underneath him, still all shaky from what just happened, that panic was starting to turn into anger, and Rick could feel his own temper start to rise right alongside yours. "Jesus, Rick, do you not fucking get it? What if—"

"Oh, I get it," he cut in fast, not wanting you to panic even more.

"Do you?" You shot back, grabbing your dress and putting it back on as fast as you could. But your voice sounded like a betrayal, as if you couldn't believe him and thought he wasn't taking this seriously enough. And that? That just pissed him off more.

Rick let out a deep breath, dragging both hands through his hair, trying to think, trying to breathe, but it wasn't working, because his blood was running too hot, his mind was spinning too fast, and all he could think about was how stupid he'd been and how reckless.

"I can't be the next goddamn woman carrying a baby," you suddenly whispered, barely able to say it, barely able to breathe past it, because this? This was real, this was happening, and it was too much, way too much. "Not in this world… Not when your wife—"

Rick sucked in a slow, quick breath through his nose, his fingers twitching, and then, before you could say another thing, he let out this short laugh—humorless.

"Oh, here we go again," he cut you off, rubbing a hand down his face. "Lori. You really wanna talk about her right now? Is that what you're tryin' to do? Tryin' to remind me?"

"Rick, I—I'm not trying to—"

"Yes, you are. Always bringin' her up. Always throwin' her between us like she's what's stoppin' this!"

Your heart was racing. "Isn't she? She still… loves you."

"She fucked Shane." Rick let out another laugh—this one quieter, sadder, almost like he was laughing at himself. "But that's not what you're askin', is it?"

You blinked, your breath hitching. "Rick… she thought you were dead!"

"Stop it," he said it so plainly that your whole body went still. "I know why you bring her up. It's not about Lori; it's about you. About this."

You looked away fast, but he wasn't having it. He grabbed your chin, tilting your face back to his, forcing you to see him.

"Well? Am I wrong?"

"I don't know what you mean…" You answered quietly because you already knew, of course.

"Means you're the one that wanted this in the first place," he answered, but not in an angry way, just tired, sounding frustrated. "You knew the risk. You knew what could happen. Same as me."

Rick's eyes looked down to your mouth, then back up to your wet eyes, and his voice softened—just a little bit and just enough to make you want to cry some more.

"You think I don't know how risky this is?" He asked, shaking his head before he finally stood up, putting his softening cock back into his pants and fastening the belt. "You think I didn't lose sleep over it? Over you?" His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop, didn't let you answer him, until he said something he didn't mean to.

"But you're the one that came to me. You're the one that wanted me."

"Are you fucking serious?" You finally answered in shock, your voice sounding close to rage. "You really wanna put the blame on me?"

"Ain't that what happened?"

"Oh, fuck off, Rick," you snapped, standing up fast and shoving at his chest, hard enough that he actually stumbled back a little. "You wanted this just as much as I did; don't act like you didn't—don't act like this was all me!"

His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything, and that just pissed you off more.

"Maybe," you let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe I was stupid to think this actually could mean something to you."

Rick looked back over to you, but you didn't let him talk.

"Guess I was just some—what... a distraction? Something to make you forget about your wife fucking Shane behind your back?"

Rick stiffened.

That hit.

Your lips were trembling now, and you hated the way your throat tightened when you swallowed. "You can't even say it, can you?"

Rick opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first, like he was struggling to find the right words—any words.

"Lori's got nothin' to do with this," he finally answered.

"Bullshit," you shot back instantly.

"No, no, it ain't about her," he continued, shaking his head. "Not with… not with you."

You looked up at the sky, trying not to burst into tears, and you weren't sure if you wanted to scream at him or kiss him.

Rick stood up straighter, his hand reaching out like he wanted to touch you, to hold you, but then he hesitated—like he wasn't sure if he even should.

"This wasn't just about the sex, not with you."

You blinked fast, trying to keep from breaking, trying to fight whatever it was that was hurting you deep inside.

"Then why don't you say it?"

"Maybe ‘cause I don't know what the hell to do about it. About us… and then there's Shane. You know it, too."

"I'm—I'm scared," you whispered, barely even realizing you were saying it, not even meaning to.

With that, Rick sighed. Not in a bitter way, just deep. Slow. Like he was finally letting himself feel it.

"Yeah," he responded, his voice calmer now. "Me too."

Trying to keep the tears from running down your cheeks, Rick was leaning in again, finally reaching out and hugging you tightly. "We'll figure it out. Glenn got those pills for Lori. She threw ‘em up, but he knows where they came from."

Putting your arms around him, Rick tilted his head, leaning in close to your ear, forcing you to focus and to listen.

"We'll go get ‘em," he whispered quietly. "If we have to."

And then—then he kissed you.

Soft. Gentle. Like he couldn't help it. Like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind right now.

So instead of snapping at you again, instead of letting that panic out, instead of making this worse than it already was, he just let out another slow breath and reached for your face, his fingers brushing along your jaw, his thumb swiping over your cheek as he touched it, pressing his lips against yours and trying to calm you down, to push away the fear with something real.

Him.

For a moment, Rick wasn't thinking about Lori, about Shane, about the farm, about anything except you.

Because you were here, in front of him. And it hit him then, so suddenly and so violently it nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs. How much he wanted you. Not just like this, not just for fun, not just to shut you up—just you.

His grip on your jaw tightened, just enough to make sure you didn't pull away before he kissed you harder this time—his lips parting against yours, his body pressing into you like he needed to know this wasn't slipping through his fingers the way everything else was.

You gasped softly, but it was enough. Enough for him to push, to hold you close and slip his tongue past your lips, tasting you, drinking you in like a dying man.

God, he could get lost in this.

He could stay right here, could forget it all, could just be.

But then you pulled back, your lips swollen. "…Rick?" Your voice was questioning, like you felt it too, and you knew he wasn't trying to shut you up. You knew this wasn't just about calming you down. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think I—"

He almost said it. The words had been right there, on his tongue, ready to slip past his lips. But he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stop.

"…I think I just need you to breathe, sweetheart," he said instead, his mind still catching up to what had happened between you. His hand moved down, fingers sliding down your throat, feeling your pulse race beneath his fingertips. "With me… C'mon, breathe," he whispered against your lips, his voice still rough but quieter now, more controlled.

You exhaled slowly against his mouth, still trembling but starting to calm down, starting to relax, and Rick took that as a win, took that as enough, took that as proof that maybe, just maybe, you could get through this without being scared of what might happen.

"Just breathe. Don't ever run from me."

Don't run from him?

Wasn't Rick the one who started acting like this wasn't happening? Like this wasn't something deeper, something impossible to come back from?

But before you could talk about any of that—before you could say anything at all…

BANG.

A sudden gunshot rang out like an explosion, destroying the moment and sending both of you into shock, and for a second, neither of you moved. You just froze, just listened, just waited.

BANG.

Another shot, then another, closer together this time, and Rick's eyes widened, because that wasn't hunting and definitely wasn't practice.

"No…" He whispered, already trying to process what was happening, and you were right there with him, scrambling to even out the dress and get rid of the dirt that was still clinging to it.

"What was that? What is going on?" You hissed, your voice urgent, your eyes wide, and Rick was just about to answer.

BANG.

Another shot, then another, and another, almost rapid-fire by now, and then, it clicked.

The barn.

Rick's head snapped toward the direction of the farm, his pulse quickening, because no, no, no, no, that wasn't what he thought it was, was it?

And then—shouting.

Muffled at first, distant but getting louder, and Rick barely had time to process it before he was grabbing you, gripping your wrist, and yanking you with him, running toward the noise.

BANG.

Another shot. And this time, Rick heard it—the inhuman groans.

Walkers.

"Shane…" He snarled, gripping you tighter, pulling you faster, his heart racing.

You and Rick had barely made it halfway back to the farm when Dale came rushing toward you from the woods as well, his face full of shock as he stumbled to a stop in front of you, eyes looking between you and Rick like he was trying to figure out whether or not you already knew.

"Rick," Dale panted. "It's the barn—Shane—he just—"

"We know, Dale, we know," Rick cut in fast, all business now, all instinct, his panic shoved down from what you and he had just talked about. "We heard it."

Dale shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides like he didn't even know what to do with them. "He let them out," he gasped. "The walkers—Hershel's people—and Shane—he lost it, he—"

Rick didn't wait for him to finish.

He just grabbed your wrist again and started hurrying up, pulling you with him once more and dragging you both toward whatever hell was waiting ahead, with Dale following before the three of you rushed across the field until the farm came fully into view.

And that was when you saw it.

The barn doors were wide open, and from the inside, they were still stumbling out, groaning and moving their rotting bodies into the sun.

The rest of the group was already there, scattered in front of the barn in a half-circle, weapons raised, some already firing, some still frozen in the background, some still trying to process what was even happening. Further back, you saw Hershel, you saw Maggie, and you saw Beth, Jimmy, and Patricia. You saw the horror on their faces as everything they had been trying to ignore, trying to deny, and trying to pretend wasn't real came crawling out into the daylight, proving them all wrong.

But you barely had time for any of it before another shot rang out—Shane leading the charge, his face full of fury and anger, like he had been waiting for this, his own kind of justice.

One by one, the walkers dropped dead to the ground, with the sound of soulless bodies hitting the dirt, and slowly, the chaos started to turn into something closer to an ending.

But then, the last walker stepped out of the barn. And the world stopped.

She was small. So very young.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

She wasn't supposed to be like this.

Sophia…

"Sophia? Sophia… Oh, no... Sophia… Sophia... No—"

Carol's cry broke the silence, and before you could even process what you were seeing, she was running forward, calling her daughter's name and reaching for her, her voice cracking. But Daryl was on her in seconds, holding her back, saying, "Don't watch."

And Rick?

Rick was still standing next to you, trying to hold onto that same control he always had, but you saw it. You saw the way his fingers flexed around his revolver and saw the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Then, he moved.

One step forward. Then another.

Gun raised.

No hesitation. No turning back.

And when the shot rang out, loud and final through the fields, Sophia fell to the ground, dead. And in that moment, Carol's heart died right along with her.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Even Shane, who had been so full of rage just seconds ago, was frozen now, staring, his weapon still in his hands.

Not until Carl sniffled in the background, while Lori was pulling him into her arms, shielding his face and telling him not to look.

Rick still stood there, staring down at Sophia's small, lifeless body, his gun still raised but lowering it slowly, his whole body still rigid as if he was waiting for something, like he was trying to process what he had just done, and for the first time since you met him, he looked… lost.

You reached for him before you even realized what you were doing, your fingers grabbing his wrist, and at first, he didn't react, didn't acknowledge it, didn't even seem to feel it—but then, slowly, painfully, he let out a deep breath, and without looking at you, without saying a word, he let you take the weapon from his hands.

As the group stood there and the reality of what had just happened sank in, with the sun burning too bright overhead and shining down at the blood that soaked into the dirt, Rick finally turned around. He looked at you, letting you see the exhaustion in his face, the grief.

Since the second he had lowered the gun, the second it really hit—that this wasn't just a walker, not just another nameless, faceless corpse, and not just another body to bury—this was Carol's daughter, her little girl, the one you all had spent days searching for, the one you had hoped for, the one you had all convinced yourselves was still alive out there—his whole body sagged.

It was over. The search for Carol's daughter. Along with the hope to still find Sophia alive.

Just like that.

Andrea, who had been so eager to prove herself, who had been one of the first to draw her gun when Shane snapped, had been ready to take the shot at every single walker that stumbled out of that barn—but not this one.

Hershel, who had seen this moment coming the second Shane put foot on his land and who had been kneeling there in shock, has watched his wife, neighbors, and loved ones get gunned down one by one, but he hadn't looked truly defeated until now.

You braced yourself, your heart still racing too fast, because you thought now that it was over and took his revolver, Rick might look at you, or he'd search for your eyes, that he'd need something from you—your presence, maybe even your touch, something to help him, something to keep him from drowning in whatever this had just done to him.

But he didn't.

He didn't look at you at all.

He looked past you.

Straight to Lori. Straight to Carl.

Straight to the family that was still his, that would always be his, no matter what, and no matter where.

Even after the way his hands had been on you just minutes ago, gripping, shaking, needing, even after the way his mouth had been on you, his tongue, his…

You clenched your jaw.

This?

This was a reminder.

Of who he was. Of what you were.

And Shane? Shane saw it. He saw you standing there all stiff, and when you tore your gaze away from Rick, only then did you feel Shane's eyes on you—there he was.

Watching. Knowing.

Because of course, he knew.

And he was smirking. That tiny, knowing smirk that was barely even obvious, that barely looked like amusement, and that barely counted as anything other than a warning.

Because he knew exactly where you had been before this. He knew exactly why Rick had been late and why he hadn't come back with Hershel and Jimmy. He knew exactly what Rick had been doing when he should've been here. And he knew exactly why he was coming back with you by his side.

Now you knew that he wasn't ever gonna let that go. He tilted his head just slightly, just enough for you to notice. Just enough to say—told you so.

And you?

You realized that you had given yourself to Rick Grimes like a sin, and now you stood here, understanding the truth—you weren't his salvation.

You were just another taste of his damnation.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: So, funny (or not-so-funny) story—Tumblr shadowbanned this post for a few days, and I have no idea if anyone actually saw it before it came back. So, if you're seeing this new repost of it now, where did it show up for you? Dash? Blog? Tags? A smoke signal in the sky? I'd appreciate any comment! Because I was literally fighting for my life trying to get this post visible, and now I'm lowkey paranoid.

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slytherinsimp12 · 2 months ago

Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ 𝓖𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱 ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: James Potter was charming, mischievous, captain of the quidditch team and very popular among the girls at Hogwarts. He had a certain talent for making his presence aware , a charisma that was unmatchable. You didn’t have many friends, no matter how hard you tried, people never seemed to acknowledge you. To put it quite plainly, you were the polar opposite of James. You spent years trying to push out and ignore any romantic feelings you had for him, because come on… there is no way he even knows you exist…. Right?

Warnings: Mild swearing and kissing/ making out.

Author’s Note: Hi my loves, this is part 1 of a mini series called- Gold rush. I will keep updating, as fast as I can. If you like my work, feel free to send in requests and leave comments 💌. Happy reading xx. Part 2 and Part 3 out now! (Comment to be added to the taglist)

The lively chatter of students filled the corridors. Golden light shone on the cold, aged walls. The air was heavy with the scent of old books, dust and a hint of magic. You made your way towards the dungeons, just in time for Potions class. You were fairly late; your usual spot was taken by another student. You scanned the classroom, looking for a vacant seat. Unfortunately, there was only one, at the very front of the class.

You settled in the empty seat, when you noticed the boy sitting next to you. His messy black hair was overgrown, and ruffled in a way that looked purposeful. His hazel eyes appeared large beneath his round glasses. James Potter was unreasonably attractive, that wasn’t a secret. You spent your first few years at Hogwarts trying to deny it, but it was of no use. You tried telling yourself his good looks didn’t make up for his arrogant and vexatious personality. He was insufferable.

You hated the way he paraded around the school, hands casually tucked in his pockets, increasing his voice by a few extra decibels whenever a pretty girl walked by. You hated the way he effortlessly drew attention to himself as soon as he walked into a room. And what you hated the most, was when he would catch your gaze lingering on him for a little too long.

“Good morning students. I will be assigning you your partners from now onwards. You will stick to these arrangements for the rest of the academic year.” Professor Slughorn announced, earning disappointed groans from the whole class.

“I have learned my lesson after the ‘incidents’ young Mr. Potter and Mr.Black have caused.” He continued, causing wide grins to spread across James and Sirius’ faces.

Slughorn spent most of the lesson reading out the pairs he had made. You were growing impatient, he hadn’t called out your name yet, maybe this was the perfect opportunity to finally make a new friend… and you know, make it last this time.

“Mr.Potter and Ms. Y/L/N” The professor called out.

You have got to be kidding me, you thought to yourself, a horrified look plastered across your face.

“Why that face, love? I don’t bite” James said turning towards you, then to Sirius and letting out a laugh.

You rolled your eyes and left class, saved by the bell.

The next day, you decided to spend your free time in the library and catch up on some homework. Immersed in your work, you almost didn’t notice the figure walking towards you.

“Feeling studious, are we?” James asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward.

“I was, until you came along.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself, as you stared packing your things up.

“Wait, where are you going?” James asked.

“I’m sorry, is there something in particular you want from me?” You snapped.

“You’re my new potions partner aren’t you? I thought we could study for the upcoming test together.” He said cooly.

“Right… well, I’m y/n.” You said, extending your hand.

“You’re kidding right?” James asked, with an almost offended expression.

“Why would I be kidding about my name?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Bloody hell… I know who you are y/n!” James exclaimed. “Third year, Defence against the dark arts, fourth year transfiguration and history of magic and fifth year, divination and astronomy. Those are all the classes we had together, do you not remember?” James continued.

“Oh- um… yea, I guess.” You said, dumbfounded. You remembered. You obviously remembered. How could you forget? But the real question was, how in Merlin’s Name did James freaking Potter know who you were? Did you hit your head and fall into an alternate reality, where you were one of the bimbos he noticed?

It had been a week since that unforeseen encounter with James. He would wink at you during meals or purposefully walk too close to you in the corridors, just enough for your shoulders to brush. He would pretend like he didn’t notice you, but you could feel his stare penetrate when you weren’t looking.

The following night, you woke up in a cold sweat. Your stomach was churning with nausea; it must have been the puking pasties a girl named Marlene gave you.

You were in desperate need of fresh air. Careful not to wake your dorm mates, you slipped out of bed, not caring that you’re in your pyjamas and decided to take a stroll around the castle. You had to be really cautious to not get caught, you didn’t want your house to loose points. You made your way to the dungeons, as it had a lovely view of the black lake.

“Light them up before Filch comes!” A voice whispered.

“What if the Slytherins wake up!” A shrill voice filled with fear added.

“Leave if you must , Pete! But do not ruin this for the rest of us.” You could recognise that voice anywhere.

You peaked your head from the corner of a wall, spotting James and his group of friends, ‘the marauders’, they called themselves. How cheesy. They were in-front of the Slytherin common room, with what seemed to be dung bombs and fire crackers in their hands.

‘Bloody hell. They’re mental.’ You thought to yourself.

“Shit! Run!” One of the voices shouted.

The crackers exploded, creating loud sounds and a strong pungent smell. From a distance, you could see Filch running towards the mess. Suddenly, you felt someone grab you from behind. Before you could shout, their hand covered your mouth. You turned your head to see James signalling you to be quiet. He pulled you into a hidden corner as Filch scoured the surroundings, looking for the culprits behind the mess.

He released his hand from your mouth.

“What the hell! What are you guys doing! Have you absolutely lost your minds??!!” You whisper shouted.

“Y/N Y/L/N, are you following me?To answer your question, no our minds are very much intact. Just a bit of sweet revenge on the Slytherins. Nothing special.” James smirked.

You noticed just how close the both of you were standing. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. You could see the soft curve of his lips and the slight flush in his cheeks. You could hear his heart racing.

He lifted his arm, gently brushing a strand of stray hair away from your face.

Whatever gap was there between the two of you, was closed by James. His lips crashed into yours with an intensity that set your skin on fire. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. All the years of pent up emotions you felt for James came rushing. He pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath, the overwhelming force left you reeling.

“Prongs! Prongs, where are you?” A voice hissed.

“Shit.” James said, through clenched teeth.

“Prongs?” You asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

“It’s Sirius. I’ve got to go. Will you be able to go back to your dorm on your own?” James questioned.

You nodded.

“Catch you later, y/n” He said, flashing you that famous James Potter smile.

That alone was enough to make your heart melt.

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desturns · 28 days ago

Text

──── favorite position. m.s.

part one

warnings. some grinding, tickling session, major pussy behavior

a/n. bye i decided to make a pt two to this randomly, but this might just be a little series with only three parts sooo... this is fun!!

୨ৎ

matt didn't attempt to move once. after you had fallen back to sleep and somehow melted into him even more than before, it was like he died and went to heaven about fifty times. how else would he have been so lucky to have this angel sleeping right in his lap, practically straddling him as your head rested on his shoulder? it was everything he'd dreamed of and more.

of course, his brothers weren't very angelic when it came to their teasing.

“i’m just sayin’, kid, maybe it's time to actually do something instead of sittin’ back like a bitch—”

“chris, hey! he's not a bitch… he's a pussy, there's a difference.”

“oh, wow, thanks for the help, nick,” matt sarcastically replied as he simply rolled his eyes, no longer focusing on the game as they all just talked. he noticed you wiggled slightly, but didn't think much of it.

“just the truth, bro. only pussies have their crush—” “—not my crush—” “—sleep on their laps without making a move. y’know, not while they're asleep, but y'had the opportunity to do something when she woke up.”

“she was tired and was gonna get off me, me asking her to stay was me making my move.”

“damn, matty, your moves are weak then.”

“shut up, chris.”

“i’m just sayin’, matt. when the opportunity presents itself, y'can't be a pussy and back out. get her, dude.”

again, he felt you move against him and at first, he wasn't going to question it. maybe you were just having an intense dream or you were stirring around on his lap to get more comfortable. that seemed obvious, right? but it wasn't until he felt your hips roll against his thigh that matt thought to himself, okay, a little strange, but whatever.

and then it happened again. and then once more. now being both incredibly confused and slightly curious, he pulled his head back enough to look at your face, and it was no surprise when he saw you were still soundly asleep. both your eyes were closed and for a second, you looked like the perfect essence of peacefulness.

and then it happened again, this time a bit more firmly, and your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, followed by the smallest whine. matt was positive if he was still entertaining chris and nick, he wouldn't have even been able to hear it.

oh.

so you were having an intense dream

it all clicked right there for matt. his eyes widened a bit and his body tensed up, and he could practically feel the blood rushing to his dick. in his defense, nothing could've prepared him for this. here you were, the girl he's been secretly pining after for months, having a wet dream right on top of him, your body subconsciously grinding against him for some relief. yeah, he knew getting hard at the scene was probably extremely wrong and disrespectful in many ways, but he just couldn't help it.

he could no longer hear chris or nick teasing him about his poor flirting skills or even pay attention to the trio on the screen about to kill him because before he knew it, you were rocking your hips again. he bit his bottom lip in order to suppress a groan as his brain was currently racking up ways to get out of this situation. at least before you woke up and it got really awkward.

“matt, hello? y'there?” in that moment, he didn't really want to be.

“y-yeah, um, i’m here, uh,” he stumbled over his words for a second, his hand leaving his controller and moving to your hip, softly holding it so he could get the courage to stop you and toss you onto his bed. okay, maybe not toss, but to stop you definitely. “actually guys, um, i-i’m gonna get off, ‘kay?”

“kid, we’re in the middle of a game right now, are you serious?”

“yes, chris, ’m serious.” was all matt responded with before leaving the discord call, his hand still firmly on your hip as you occasionally rocked your hips, his other working fast to exit out of everything on his pc.

the dim light from the monitor plus the sound of your shorts rubbing against his sweats was starting to become a bit too much for him. matt wasn't dumb, any longer and his dick would be rock hard and then that'll definitely be awkward if you woke up. so, with much restraint and strength and now holding onto both of your hips, he stiffed your movements, bringing you to a stop. he couldn't just get up, he wasn't that strong. plus, matt was a bit nervous he'd drop you before he could even reach the bed despite it being a foot away.

he could feel your body trying to protest the halt, your hands around his waist tightening slightly, more little whines escaping your mouth and matt honestly wanted to die right then and there. of course, the first time he gets you like this, you're not even conscious of it, and there was no way he'd take advantage of you. not like this.

he was going to do it the right way.

suddenly, your body stopped and matt could feel you tense up.

now, to say you were horribly mortified was an understatement. when matt stopped you in real time, it was like your dream came crashing down. the mysterious faceless man in it stopped his ministrations and you were so incredibly pent up, so pent up that your body refused to find solace in sleep any longer. it didn't take an idiot to figure out what the hell happened, especially when you woke up with soaked panties sticking to your folds and matt's hands on your hips. did you…? no. surely not. right? no, there's no way.

but it was hard to deny when you could now feel matt's dick through his sweats and suddenly, you were shooting your head up from his shoulder, no longer tired. “oh my god, matt! i am so– i'm sorry!” you were speaking with a raspy voice, both from the ridiculous amount of exhaustion and humiliation you just experienced.

he quickly shook his head, trying to hide his flustered expression while also finding the strength to take his hands off you. it’ll come eventually, he was sure. “no, no, i-i mean, it happens, right? you're cool, it’s fine!”

“i can't believe i did that, matty, i am so sorry!” you shrieked again and hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at yourself. you were sure your cheeks were now tomato red and, with the way his hands were on your hips, it was getting worse.

matt stared at you as you tried to shield yourself from his gaze, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment. he thought it was downright adorable, the way you got all flushed and shy. he knew it was for good reason, and he so badly wanted to tell you that it truly was okay, that he didn't even mind. but something held him back and instead of making a move, or charm you into having him ease that ache of yours, he chose the safest route.

and maybe he just wanted to see you smile again.

he took one last moment to look at you perched on his lap, all self-conscious now and guarded up before slowly moving his hands from your hips to your sides. you were confused when you felt his hands move, but before you could even question it, his fingers were tickling the most sensitive part he knew would get to you. your hands immediately moved from your face, moving to try and grab him to stop as laughs and giggles left your lips.

your predicament of getting yourself off on his thigh was momentarily forgotten, now focused on getting him to stop making you squirm in a new way.

“s-st-stop, m-matt!” was all you could express as you flailed on top of him, your face burning itself in his shoulder.

there it was. he could see your lips stretched wide across your face, your smile making him forget about his own arousal as he continued to make you laugh. “not until you promise to stop actin’ embarrassed about it,” he chuckled, the teasing tone in his voice making your stomach flip.

“i-it-it's an emb-barassing thing!” you tried to defend yourself through the forced involuntary giggles that were escaping you. as he tickled you, you slowly but gently began to fall off his lap and onto the floor, but that didn't stop him.

“it is, but it's normal!” he rolled his eyes, his hands now moving under your arms and to the back of your neck. god, who needed grinding and sex when just the sight of you rolling around in laughter was enough to get him off then and there. “y/n, babe, i promise— i don't care. i’d just prefer that next time, you're conscious for it.”

his words made your brain freeze. ‘babe’. ‘if next time, you were conscious for it’. next time? he wanted there to be a next time? you tapped his arm twice, the silent but serious “enough” signal the two of you created and he took the hint almost immediately, his hands leaving your body in an instant as he looked down at you.

you were on your back on the floor, all flushed, chest heaving and your hair sprawled out beneath you. you looked gorgeous. and matt was glad he didn't follow any of his brothers advice. and as you looked up at him, you didn't know what to say. thankfully, matt didn't waste time before continuing, his voice now a bit unsure and hesitant as he realized what the hell he just said.

“i mean, y’know, if y’want to. i wouldn't want to make things weird between us or ruin things or make you, um–y’know what? forget i said anything, actually–do y’need some pajamas or anything, wanna go in the living room—”

“matt,” you cut him off once you caught your own breath, a small smile now on your face. “stop worrying. next time, i’ll definitely be conscious for it.”

it was if you took your fist and physically hit his stomach. he thought he was being too straight forward, but knowing that you were agreeing, that you seemed into it... it was doing things for him.

as you got up from the floor and moved to the living room, as matt's brain caught up with the intense beating of his heart and as he ignored the countless texts from chris asking “what the hell was going on up there”—there was a silent understanding.

and that was good enough for matt.

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strnilolover · 1 month ago

Text

Cabin On The Mountain

in which . . . matt and reader decide to go to a cabin for a get away up on the mountains, secluded from everyone and everything else. what happens when they get snowed in their first night and matt decides on how to keep them busy?

content warnings : this is a short little mini series that will explicitly contain smut and mature themes. this whole thing will basically be smut with zero to very little plot whatsoever. this also skips a lot, so they are all different days and things they do each day. length also may very (they will mostly be short, but can be longer).

additional warnings : smut. slight fingering. matt uses the shower head on reader. praising. overstimulating. dirty talk. matt’s a little mean.

intro , one , two , three

SHOWER

day five…

steam curled around you as the hot water hit your back, rolling down in streams against your skin. your head tipped back, running your hands over your hair as you just stood there.

you could feel math behind you, watching as you just stood under the water.

your mind couldn’t help but to still think about his words and what he said, the thought making you wonder if he’d do the same in here—against the wall, pushing your face into the tiles as he fucks you from behind.

the thought had you weak, your thighs clenching without even noticing. but matt noticed with the way he was watching you. he smirked, stepping forward lightly as you were lost in your mind, slipping his arms around your middle, making you jump slightly.

“what’re you thinking about hm?” he whispered against your ear, letting his teeth nip a part of your lobe, making you gasp. you smiled, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. “nothing.” you muttered, face reddening at the fact you may have just been caught.

“uh-huh.” he said, letting one hand move down lower as the other moved up toward your tits. “are you sure? y’look like you’re really enjoying your thoughts here.” and you nodded, not bothering to keep hiding it.

“mm thought so.” his hand came down between your legs, tracing soft patterns into the skin of your thigh. the other hand softly squeezing your tit. “wanna tell me what you were thinking about in your pretty head?” he asked, groaning as his fingers slid up to your pussy, his touch light, feeling how wet you already were.

you shook your head, feeling more shy than you normally would. matt hummed, pulling his hands away which made you whine, before slowly turning you around to face him. “no?” he asked, pushing you back against the tiled wall. you nodded, your body shivering as the cold tiles pressed into your back.

matt grinned, leaning close to you as his arm stretched up to grab the shower head. you hadn’t even registered that he had, your eyes laser focused onto him. “maybe i could do something to change that, yeah?” he whispered, bringing the shower head down between your bodies. “please..” you begged, not even sure what for, but whatever he had planned you knew you wanted it.

he chuckled, leaning away from you before getting down into his knees in front of you, his head tilting up to look at you. his free hand came out, wrapping around your right thigh before lifting it and hooking it over his shoulder—opening you wide for him. you squeaked, one hand reaching out to grab at something to keep you stable as the other came down to grab at his hair.

“mm look at you baby.” he groaned, moving his fingers to your folds, spreading you apart. “such a pretty pussy.” his words made you whine, your hips pushing forward for any sort of friction on your aching clit. matt hummed, his tongue poking out to lick his lips. “so impatient.” he teased before bringing the shower head down between your legs, aiming the stream of water to pulse directly onto your aching bud.

your whole body jolted at the pressure—quick and intense. “o-oh fuck!” you moaned, hips bucking as your fingers tugged on his locks. “that’s it baby, c’mon be as loud as you want.” the sight of you in front of him had his cock hard, his tip red and leaking. he watched the way you clenched around nothing, whimpers and moans slipping past your lips as he increased the speed slightly.

“matt—baby—“ you choked on a moan, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in, his pace already fast and relentless. between the water and his fingers, you body was shaking, already feeling your stomach tighten with your impending orgasm. matt could feel it, the way you were clenching around his fingers like a vice.

your eyes fluttered closed, but only for a second before they opened again when you felt matt’s fingers retreat—along with the water. leaving you right on the edge, a frustrated whine slipping past your lips. “mhm not yet baby.” he said, trailing the water up and down your thighs. “gotta tell me what you were thinking about if you wanna cum.”

he was being so mean, but your need to cum overpowered your frustration. your breathing increased, feeling how your clit pulsed, your release fading away little by little. you gave in. “was—“ you paused, looking down at him as his blue eyes stared up at you. “was thinking about you fucking me against the wall in here..”

matt smiled, bringing the pressure right back to your clit as his fingers plunged back inside you. you gasped, back arching off the wall. “good girl. wasn’t so hard now was it?” he mocked, and you shook your head, grinding your hips down to chase the feeling of your orgasm that was quickly approaching again.

“look at you—gonna cum baby?” he asked, pressing the stream closer to your sensitive bundle of nerves. you nodded quickly, breathy moans filling the room. “yes, yes, yes—matt, m—“ your voice cracking into a sob as your orgasm crashed over you, so intense your knees wobbled, threatening to give out.

but he didn’t let up. just grinned up at you, shower head still working your clit while you gasped and begged and tried to squirm away. “aw is it too much?” he asked, turning the stream up just a bit.

you screamed—a broken, desperate cry that echoed off the shower walls. matt just smiled, eyes dark and hungry. “that’s my good girl.” he praised, pulling his fingers out as he kept the stream directly on you.

“let’s see how many times I can make you cum before the water runs cold.”

a/n : slowly but surely getting this done…i’m sorry it’s taking me so long haha

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alltheirdamn · 10 months ago

Text

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Part II

Summary: Joel just can't leave you alone, and you hate it. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, mentions of guns/violence, smoking, explicit language, sexual tension, brat taming, mild dubious elements, spanking, slapping, choking, rough unprotected piv sex, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, facial/cum eating, joel doesn't really take no for an answer, lots of angst A/N: I just couldn't get enough of these two. all my love to @lotusbxtch and @mermaidgirl30 for squealing over the filth every single day with me. ride that cowboy girlies, it's worth it ;) Part I

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Your fingers were wet from the condensation rolling off your glass of sweet tea, the steady stream of droplets splattering against your bare thighs. The day had been exhausting; the cattle were abnormally restless and decided to drift too far out in the fields. Hours riding Mac left your legs sore, and honestly, you just wanted to smoke your Marlboros and sip on your tea. With your boots kicked up on the porch railing and a cigarette between your lips, you were blissfully content.

That is, until your peace and quiet were shattered.

Dirt kicked up in the distance, and the steady rhythmic hum of an engine grew louder as it drifted closer to your house. You groaned in frustration, already knowing who to expect. Dear God, was Joel Miller relentless. You reached behind your porch chair, fingers curling around the shotgun propped up against the wood. You warned him.

His beat-up Red Chevy stopped beside your home, and you tracked his movements as he opened the door. Lifting the gun to your eye level, you aimed the barrel toward his truck. Your finger hovered over the trigger, steady and calm. Joel stepped out of the driver's seat, adjusting his belt buckle against his stomach. You wouldn’t kill him; you weren’t that mean, although it was tempting.

One quick pull of the trigger and you sent a warning shot into the side door of his truck, rupturing the metal with a resounding bang. Joel ducked down, letting out a startled grunt before turning his head to inspect the damage. Whipping head toward you, Joel stared you down with narrowed eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he huffed. “That how y’welcome all your visitors?”

“Only the ones who piss me off!” You shouted.

Joel ran a hand down his scruff, swaying in place as if deciding whether to approach you. Do it, you thought. He made one cautious step, and you rewarded him with another cock of your shotgun, the barrel loaded and ready to fire.

“Take it easy, darlin’. I only wanted to come talk,” Joel cautioned, his hands raised in defeat.

“S’nothin’ to fuckin’ talk about, Miller,” you said, your eye squinting down the barrel line.

Each step of his cowboy boots crunched the earth below, slow steps progressing forward. Joel walked to the edge of the porch; his shoulders hiked to his ears and arms still raised as if he were approaching a wild bull. Serves him right to be scared of you. You may have let him get the best of you the first time around, but you wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Can y’put the damn gun down, darlin’?” He barked.

“Can y’take your ass back to your side of the pasture?” You tossed back.

The closer he got, the clearer his features became; the scruffy graying beard with small bare patches against his jawline, the worry lines deeply etched into his tan skin, and those damn brown eyes that plagued your thoughts night and day. You still thought about how soft they were when he looked at you before he left the stables, a kindness that flickered through the amber specks and filtered out that rage. It was truly unfair that such an insufferable man could be so damn handsome.

Joel’s boots knocked against the first step of the stairs, and your grip tightened around the shotgun. His eyes tracked your fingers as they flexed around the metal, your knuckles tense.

“I ain’t take you for the murderin’ type,” he said cooley.

“Reckon you don’t know much ‘bout me to be assumin’ that. Who knows, maybe I got myself a pile of bodies lyin’ in the grass behind my house.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he advanced another step, still testing the waters with you. You rocked back in your chair, propping the heel of your boot on the railing for stability.

“Wanna show me all them dead bodies then, darlin’? Prove that you’re not all bark and no bite?” He smirked.

You angled the shotgun past the side of his head and sent a shot flying out into the yard. Joel flinched hard enough to knock himself into the stair railing, his weight jostling the porch. With a coy grin, you lowered the gun an inch and shrugged your shoulders.

“Can’t show ya’ if you’re dead,” you grinned.

Joel lunged at you, ripping the gun from your hand and tossing it feet away from you. He gripped the back of your chair and drew his face closer, his pupils dilating the longer he glared at you. Rolling your tongue across your teeth, you raised your hand to his neck, drifting it up the scruff under his jaw. A shallow breath exhaled from his lips, and he stared at you in anticipation. Oh, he thought you were going to kiss him? Cute.

With a quick snap of your wrist, you smacked your hand across his cheek before shoving him out of your face. Joel barely moved an inch, your hands smacking into solid muscle that wouldn’t budge. All that softness in his eyes was displaced with an unmistakable sense of rage, his friendliness shattering away as his cheek flushed from the impact.

“Now y’done pissed me off, you fuckin’ brat,” Joel snarled.

His hand shot out to your throat, yanking you from your porch chair and to your feet. His grip was hardly as tight as last time but still forceful enough to render you powerless. Your eyes flickered toward the gun across the porch, so far out of reach and unattainable. You should have shot him when you had the chance.

“Be a good girl and invite me in,” Joel ordered, nodding toward your front door.

You wagged your head back and forth, your lips curled up and ready to spew venom. Joel only brought your face closer, his upper lip twitching under his mustache.

“Do it. Now. Or I swear to God, I’ll make last time look like a goddamn walk in the park.”

“Surprised y’got any sex drive left in you, old man,” you gasped, his fingers tightening around your neck.

“Christ, you fuckin’ infuriate me,” Joel grumbled.

He used his grip on your neck to propel your feet backward, guiding you toward your front door and over the threshold. The heel of your boot snagged on the lip of the door, sending you flailing back, only for him to grab you by the waist and yank you forward into his sturdy frame.

Even with his hand wrapped around your throat, Joel had never looked more gorgeous than he did at that moment. Swimming through the rage inside his eyes was a hint of worry, as if he genuinely thought you’d stumble to the ground. The reaction time of his arm circling your waist and the small exhale of breath off his lips, a quiet I got you in his own way.

The moment dwindled as fast as it came, a flickering flame extinguished somewhere between the threshold and the entryway of your tiny farm home. Joel reverted to his aggressive tendencies, manhandling you onto your worn-down floral sofa. The springs beneath the cushions squeaked under the weight of your bodies as he pinned you down, his face a breath apart from yours.

“You ready to play nice, darlin’? Or am I gonna have to ruin that pussy again just to shut you up?” He questioned.

Your hands grazed over his torso, tracing the outline of his soft stomach and over the buttons traveling up toward the collar of his shirt. You watched Joel’s eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment, only to fly wide open as you sunk your nails into the hair at the nape of his neck. You tugged hard on his salt and pepper hair, enough so that his neck strained back.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you seethed, the words snarling out between your teeth.

“We both know that ain’t fuckin’ happenin’.”

Joel wrangled you over and onto your stomach, his hand still firmly clasped around your throat. He quickly caged your legs in between his muscular thighs, molding your body into the sofa cushions. Half your face was smothered into the dingy couch, your hair tossed in streaks over your eyes and clouding your vision. With his free hand, Joel cupped the curve of your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh that peaked out beneath the cut-off of the denim.

“Y’still got my handprints branded into your ass, darlin?” Joel asked.

He didn’t care to know the answer as he smacked his hand down, the bite of his skin against the fabric sending electric jolts of pain up your spine. Truth was, the bruises he left were still there—yellow, horrid welts that were a ceaseless reminder of last time. You wouldn’t ever admit it, but sometimes you found yourself in the mirror tracing the outline of his fingerprints, fantasizing about his hands on your body.

“Answer me,” Joel commanded.

“Fuck you,” you said, your voice muffled into the couch.

“Always gotta have an attitude, don’t you?”

Joel’s hand connected with your ass again, this time hard enough to elicit a small whimper from your lips. You could deny it all you wanted, but it was making you unbearably wet. You squirmed under his grip, finding some sort of relief within the friction of your shorts. Joel caught onto your movements and chuckled at your lost efforts.

“Got you all riled up, huh? This sweet lil’ pussy need takin’ care of?”

He cupped your sex through your jeans, the roughness of his hand spurring you on even more—stupid body for responding the way it did to this man. Joel pressed his fingers against the seam of the denim, finding your swollen clit hidden beneath. You exhaled loudly, your body sagging further into the cushions as he rubbed rough circles over the aching bundle of nerves.

“Right there, darlin’? That feel good for you?” Joel taunted.

“Mhmm,” you whined.

“You wanna cum for me?”

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back the plea for release. Joel knew what he was doing; he knew you wouldn’t beg. You were too stubborn and too defiant to ever beg for it. At least, not again. But his fingers worked faster—harder—keeping you on the edge of ecstasy the longer you stayed silent.

“C’mon,” he urged. “Ask nicely, and I’ll let you cum.”

You turned your head into the sofa, burying your face into the cushions as you let out a frustrated cry. Fuck this man. Fuck his ability to turn you pliant and easy. Your body bucked against his hand as he worked at you in tantalizing movements, the friction of his palm against your sex becoming dizzying.

“Please,” you muttered, your voice muffled and quiet.

Joel’s hand unwound from your neck, taking its place within the tresses of your hair. A swift tug back, and your eyes strained to meet his as he loomed over you.

“I didn’t hear you,” he growled.

You swallowed thickly, trying to form another plea, but you couldn’t make a sound. Joel tugged on your hair harder, enough to make you cry at the pain. Your nails dug into the couch, and you managed a small please through a strangled moan.

“Too bad, darlin’. Bratty lil sluts don’t get to cum. I just wanted to hear y’beg for it.”

He released his grip on your head, shoving you back down. You groaned in frustration as his hand vanished from between your legs. The couch shifted beneath you as Joel rose to his feet, wandering around your living room and into your kitchen.

“Where’s your smokes?” He asked, rifling through the drawers as if he owned the place.

You lifted yourself, stretching your neck and detangling your hair with your fingers. Your clit painfully throbbed against your panties, your core still fluttering from the phantom orgasm that never came. Joel continued his search, slamming drawers shut and opening cupboards without a care in the world as if he didn’t just have you pinned down and begging for release. The temptation to run out and grab your gun was thrumming inside your veins; just one shot and you’d be free of him. Joel glanced up at the exact moment you shot to your feet, gunning for the door.

“Don’t even think about it, darlin’,” Joel warned.

“You expect me to let you roam ‘round my house uninvited?” You questioned.

“I expect you to be a good host and find me a damn cigarette,” he snapped.

“Well, they’re on my porch. So, if you’ll let me leave for a damn second, I can bring you one.”

Joel leaned against the kitchen counter, considering you with eyes narrowed. You folded your arms over your chest and stared at him, both of you in a silent showdown. With a lift of his chin, he motioned for you to go ahead and retrieve them. Disappearing out onto the porch, you scooped up your pack of reds and lighter, lingering an extra moment as you considered the gun lying on the ground.

“I’m waitin’!” He called from inside.

“Christ, I fuckin’ hate you,” you said, walking back into the house.

Joel had made himself all too comfortable on your couch, his legs spread open and arm lazily draped over the back cushion. You immediately noticed the bulge in his jeans, a telltale sign that he was just as worked up as you were. Tough fucking luck. If he wouldn’t get you off, you wouldn’t help him either.

“Y’ hate me, huh?” Joel asked, his lips curving into a smug grin.

You didn’t respond as you smacked the bottom of the cigarette carton against your palm. Joel flicked his fingers, urging you closer, yet you stayed planted to the ground.

“Gonna give me one of those, darlin’?”

“Why should I?” You huffed. “Y’come into my home uninvited and act like you own the damn place. Actin’ all demandin’ and rude.”

Joel let out a low whistle, rolling his neck back and forth. You continued smacking the carton, your lips set in a firm line.

“What’s rude is tryna kill someone who only came to talk. So, come here and sit.”

“And if I don’t wanna?”

“For one goddamn minute, can y’just not be so fuckin’ stubborn?” Joel huffed.

“Fine.”

You strode toward the couch, aiming to sit beside Joel, only to have him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his lap. Your thighs pressed against his as you settled into his body, the rugged muscles of his legs flexing beneath you. You were too close to him, too aware of the way his eyes sparkled with rich amber flecks in this nearness. Joel studied you without an ounce of anger as if none of what had happened between you ever existed. It made it terribly hard to continue hating him when he looked at you that way.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and give me a smoke now?” Joel asked.

Rolling your eyes, you removed a cigarette from the carton, offering it to him. Joel only shrugged, parting his lips ever so slightly to invite it into his awaiting mouth. Your fingers brushed against the scruff of his jaw as you placed it between his lips, his mouth quirked up in satisfaction.

“You trust me with a light?” You questioned.

Joel squeezed your waist softly, his other arm still thrown across the couch. You twirled the lighter between your fingers, your thumb rolling over the sparkwheel haphazardly. One good flick of the lighter, and you could send him up in flames—burn your whole house down with him inside, and you’d finally be at peace. He was a ceaseless man with little regard for you or your damn peace, and you were growing tired of entertaining him.

“Light it,” he ordered, the cigarette hanging between his teeth.

You sparked the flame, letting the heat of it ripple over your skin as you brought it to the butt of the cig. The tip ignited with a flicker of embers, the cherry end burning bright as Joel took a long drag. He lifted his hand from the couch—still keeping one firm on your body—and situated the cigarette between two fingers.

“Wanna tell me where y’learned to shoot like that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side.

“My parents. They taught me everything I know,” you admitted.

“Everythin’ aside from manners,” Joel countered.

“Shut up,” you snapped. “I ain’t gonna sit here and let you speak of my parents like that.”

You didn’t like talking about them; the reminder of their absence was sometimes too much to bear. You had so many responsibilities thrown onto your shoulders when they died, and although you took those responsibilities willingly, it didn’t quell the grief still lingering. You didn’t have your parents anymore, but you had their land to care for and their wishes to uphold.

Joel took a sharp inhale from the cigarette, letting the smoke plume between your faces. The stench of smoke was something comforting to you, always had been, but coming from his mouth, it pissed you off.

“Hey, now,” he said softly. “Was only kiddin’, darlin’. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“Your entire presence strikes a fuckin’ nerve, Joel. Why are y’even here?”

“Like I said, I came here to talk.”

You pulled the cigarette from his lips, taking it to your own and inhaling a long drag. Joel arched a brow, watching as you hollowed your cheeks around it, the flicker of the butt burning brightly in his face.

“Then talk,” you hissed, tilting your head to exhale the smoke.

You leaned back, discarding some of the ashes against the tray on your coffee table. Joel’s hand urged you back to his chest, pinning you closer than you wished to be. You adjusted yourself on his lap, absentmindedly, shifting your body over his hardened cock. Joel choked on a breath, his fingers digging into your waist. Oh. Funny how you had all the power now.

“Talk,” you repeated, grinding your body down against his again.

“I know what you’re doin’,” Joel grumbled.

“Y’gonna talk or what, Miller? I’m waitin’.”

Joel cursed under his breath, grabbing the cigarette from your fingers and returning it to his lips. His eyes never left yours as he drew in a breath, letting the smoke linger inside his mouth a second too long before exhaling. The smoke billowed around your face, and you scrunched your nose in annoyance.

“I wanna negotiate,” Joel offered.

“No.”

It was a quick response, one without a second thought. You wouldn’t even entertain the idea of negotiations. Why? Because there was nothing to fucking negotiate. This land was yours, passed down through generations, and would remain that way. No amount of bitching and moaning from Joel would make you reconsider.

“Y’didn’t even let me finish,” Joel remarked.

“I don’t need to listen to you. I ain’t negotiating my land.”

You reached for the cigarette again, yet Joel suspended it in the air and out of reach. You glared at him, trying to grab his hand to drag it toward you. Joel’s strength outweighed yours, and he had you beat every time you tried aiming for it again. Shoving at his chest, you moved to swing a leg over his lap and climb off, but he dragged you right back to his chest. His hand roamed up your side, curving along your hip and over the swell of your breast. Cupping your face with one large hang, Joel squeezed your cheeks together and forced your lips to part.

You struggled against his grip, your eyes full of rage as you watched him take another drag of the cigarette. With your mouth partially open, he leaned close and blew the smoke over your lips and into your mouth. The fragrant odor of the smoke licked up your nose as you inhaled, your lips inches away from his. You didn’t like it. You didn’t want him close. Joel’s eyes bounced between your eyes and lips, the temptation of drawing you closer palpable in his body language. The nicotine buzzed inside your head, and you pulled away from his face right at the same moment he leaned closer.

“Don’t,” you warned, smoke exhaling from your lips.

Joel dropped his hand from your face, a clear shift in his mood arising as you watched his eyes flicker with disappointment. It was all over his face: the furrow between his brows, the downturn of his lips… He wanted to kiss you. You wouldn’t let him, though; that was too much. If he wanted to manhandle you and fuck you however he pleased, that was fine. You welcomed it, actually, because you knew one taste of his mouth, and you’d be ruined. You didn’t want intimacy with Joel, not when your family’s land was hanging in the balance. He’d reel you in with false pretenses and have you aching for more, only to tear it all away.

He cursed under his breath as he pressed his body to yours, leaning forward to discard the cigarette into the ashtray. The bulge beneath his jeans prodded your sex at this angle, eliciting a ripple of pleasure up your spine. A small gasp bubbled out of you as Joel readjusted himself beneath you.

“You don’t wanna talk?” Joel asked, raising his voice. “Fine. Better not say a damn word unless it’s my name while I fuck you.”

In a millisecond, Joel had you pinned down to the couch again, your hair splayed around you and your breath whooshing from your lungs. His fingers worked at the zipper of your jeans, yanking them down your legs and discarding them over his shoulder. Propping a knee onto the couch, Joel undid his belt buckle and freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. Precum glistened on the tip, and he stroked himself slowly as he pulled your legs apart, molding you into the position he desired.

“Only wanna hear y’scream my name. Y’understand that?” He growled.

Joel coated the head of his cock with the slick covering your folds, pushing himself in with one deep thrust. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your body adjusted to his size. This angle was so much different than last time, and you could feel every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your fluttering walls. You focused on your breathing while he plunged deeper, breaking you open and fucking into you with hard thrusts.

Caressing the back of your knee, Joel drew your leg up and over his shoulder, bending you in half until he was spearing into your core.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You shook your head, whimpering at the sensation of his cock splitting you in half. Searing pain bloomed across your face as Joel’s hand connected with your cheek. Your eyes shot open, tears welling on your waterline, the sting of the pain churning into a wave of pleasure through your core. You forgot how addictive his touch could be when he was angry. His pupils swallowed the entirety of his eyes, a dark, endless abyss staring straight back at you.

“Do. You. Understand?” He grunted between thrusts.

You didn’t respond, a tear slipping down your cheek. The phantom touch of his fingers on your skin lingered still, and your clit throbbed with a sudden flurry of arousal. Joel’s hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He leaned down, pressing his weight into you as his face neared yours. A trail of spit fell off his tongue and crashed into the back of your throat, and you flinched away from Joel as he pressed harder.

“Swallow, brat.”

You struggled to swallow it; your throat constricted as his grip around your jaw tightened. He plowed into you, drilling your core with violent strokes until a gargled wail left your mouth. His spit slid down your throat, and he hummed in approval.

“Good girl.”

He stretched your other leg up and over his shoulder, your ass lifting off the couch. You wanted to beg him to stop, yet nothing would leave your lips. Not even a sound as the noise of his hips slapping against yours filled the air. The thrum of your heartbeat vibrated through your chest, the pressure inside your stomach growing stronger as you propelled closer to the edge of your orgasm. Every muscle in your body grew taut, your clit aching to be touched…aching for relief from the violent flames lapping at your spine. So close. It was so close you craved for more.

Maybe you didn’t want him to stop.

“If you ain’t gonna listen to me in a normal conversation, then you’re gonna listen now,” he gritted.

You flexed your jaw under his hand, trying to shy away from his piercing stare. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to listen… didn’t want anything but the opportunity to seek release. You could handle the pain—you welcomed it. The harder he fucked you, the less you had to think. And if you kept thinking, you’d drown in the consequences of your doubt. Keep him angry, you thought. Keep him the enemy. You couldn’t let him be anything more.

“I don’t want your land,” Joel punched out through clenched teeth. “Keep it. I don’t give a shit.”

The buzzing inside your skin dulled out at his words. It was so hard to focus on what he was saying when your mind was melting from the inside out, his cock driving into you with brutal speed. He didn’t want…

“What?” You choked out.

Joel’s hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling your words as he bottomed out and kept himself seated inside you. The rhythm of his thrusts stopped, and he let his hips press into yours as he stared down at your tearful face. You were so fucking full of him you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen,” he snapped.

You muffled out his name, the sound slipping through the space between his fingers. He only pressed harder, your body folded in half beneath his weight. You clenched around his cock, rocking your hips slightly to quell the need curling inside your stomach.

“I ain’t gonna take your land from you, ‘kay? All I’m askin’ for is permission to come ‘round without you tryna kill me.”

No. The word was lost inside the palm of his hand. You wanted your land, and you wanted Joel gone. You didn’t trust him when he said he didn’t want your land. How could you trust him when he had you pinned to the sofa?

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Joel offered, snaking a free hand down between your legs. “You’re gonna agree with me and let me come and go as I please. Then maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Calloused fingers circled your clit, forcing a cry from your mouth. Tantalizing, slow draws over your sensitive bud pulled desperate sounds out of you, each one of them stifled against his warm hand. Joel worked himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out to the tip and driving right back into you. You couldn’t fend off the orgasm bubbling under the surface, the nerves inside you lighting on fire.

“Please!” You screamed between his fingers.

Joel’s lips twisted into a sneer, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as he pressed his fingers harder against your clit. Your eyes glossed over with fresh tears as you fought off the impending release rolling through your body.

“Say it.”

Your back arched off the couch as you chased the strokes of Joel’s fingers. Circling and circling… You were so close to the threshold of ecstasy, and you knew he’d tear it away from you if you didn’t relent.

Joel ripped his hand from your mouth, tangling in the hair at the crown of your head. He forced your eyes down to where your bodies connected, your focus on his cock as it disappeared inside you.

“Y’wanna cum on my cock, darlin’?” Joel taunted.

“Fuck! Please, Joel!” You gasped.

With your chin tucked into your chest, your legs dangling over his shoulders, and his cock spearing into your core… you couldn’t hold back your orgasm any longer.

“Say it!” Joel commanded.

“Okay!” You sobbed. “Just let me cum, Joel! Please!”

Joel assaulted you with a repetition of thrusts, each stronger than the last, until your orgasm exploded through your body. His name tore from your lips as your back curved off the couch and your legs squeezed around his neck. He kept his thumb circling your clit, your orgasm never ceasing to end as the inferno burned inside your core. Wet, hot arousal gushed out of you, splattering onto Joel’s navel and staining his denim shirt. His eyes flicked up to yours, a wicked grin splitting his face.

“Look at the mess you’re makin’. Just drenchin’ my fuckin’ cock.”

“Joel!” You whined, squirming against his hand.

“Nuh uh, darlin’. Wanna see how messy y’can get. Keep goin’.”

He released his grip on your hair, forcing your head to fall against the arm of the sofa. Shuffling his knees forward, Joel continued his brutal thrusts until your arousal sprayed around his cock and dripped down the seam of your ass. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs as you alternated between screaming his name and begging him to stop.

“Since y’wanted to cum so goddamn bad, you’re gonna keep takin’ my fuckin’ cock ‘til you ruin this damn couch,” Joel grunted.

You were crying… hard. Your mind was on the precipice of hysteria as waves of your orgasm bolted through your veins. Lewd sounds of his body slapping against your wetness echoed through the room, the cushion beneath you soaked from your arousal. You attempted to claw yourself backward and away from Joel, but his grip was violent, and he only yanked you closer.

“I can’t—I can’t anymore!” you sobbed. “Please, Joel…please.”

“Gimmie one more,” he demanded.

You shook your head in protest, your sobs hiccuping inside your chest. Your core was too fucked out, your clit was painfully sensitive, and you were sitting in a pool of your arousal. How did Joel manage to turn the events of the day around in his favor? You had control at the start—you had the gun— but now he had you folded in half and strewn out in a heap of tears.

“I can’t!” You wailed. “Too much—too much…”

“Poor thing,” Joel taunted. “Always beggin’ for it but can’t take it.”

You writhed beneath him, your body twisting and bending to alleviate the painful sensations rolling through your nerve endings. This was it; this was how you died. Drunk on pleasure and torn apart by the man you wanted to hate.

Another orgasm tore through your body, consuming you from the inside out. Your scream pierced through the air, and you collapsed into the cushions, soaked with sweat and tears. Joel made a strangled noise above you as your sex clamped down around his cock, no doubt pulsating harder than it had the last several orgasms. His cock slipped from inside you, leaving you hollow and aching to be filled again. Your body craved the fullness, yet you sagged with relief knowing he stopped.

“C’mere,” Joel grunted.

He slung your legs off his shoulders and yanked you down the couch by your ankle. Positioned over your face, Joel stroked his cock above you, his fingers glistening from the arousal that stuck to his velvety skin.

“Open that fuckin’ mouth, darlin',” Joel urged.

Your head was so hazy you hardly registered his words. Parting your lips, you whined softly and stared at him…waiting. Joel’s eyes connected with yours, that deep furrow in his brow more prominent than before. Rage still sparked behind his eyes, but in your delirium, you saw more. You saw right past his facade, just as he saw right past yours. Whatever terror etched itself into your features, it caught his attention, but he was painting your lips and face with his release before he could decipher it. Hot ropes of cum spattered against your lips, the salty taste covering your tongue as it trailed into your mouth. Remnants of his release coated your chin and neck, warm reminders of his futile efforts at staking his claim.

He hadn’t claimed you, no matter how hard he fucked you. You wouldn’t let him claim you. And you most certainly wouldn’t let him claim your land.

Joel slid his finger through the mess along your neck, scooping his cum onto the pad of his finger and dragging it across your lips.

“So fuckin’ pretty all covered in my cum,” he praised.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, though your words meant shit, as you rolled your tongue over your bottom lip.

Joel gave you a soft grin, smoothing down your hair and cleaning the mess off your face with one hand. The same hand that had inflicted pain just moments ago, the hand that brought you to release more times than you could physically endure.

But now the touch was soft—caring, even. And that frightened you more than the violence he showed when he was provoked. It was this side of Joel that made you scared, and you wanted to run as far from it as you could.

“Let’s get you up, darlin’,” Joel said, hoisting you by the shoulders until you sat under his shadow.

He massaged your legs as you swung them over the couch, attempting to relieve the tension within your muscles. You shrunk away, standing on unbalanced limbs, and distanced yourself from his wandering hands.

“I need a shower,” you decided. “Y’can see yourself out.”

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”

“Well, I’m done fuckin’ talking!” You argued.

You spun on your heel, your hands clenched at your sides. Joel’s eyes stayed focused on you as he worked at stuffing his cock back into his jeans. Half-naked before him, you felt a million times smaller than you had when he arrived.

“Why are you so hateful?” He questioned, rising to his feet.

Your lips curled up, a slew of spiteful words dancing on the tip of your tongue. But Joel wasn’t finished.

“This is your land,” he said, stepping closer. “I ain’t gonna argue that anymore ‘cause it’s a lost cause. And I ain’t tryna steal it from you. I can promise you that.” Another step closer. “So, why do y’hate the idea of me comin’ around?”

“Because I hate you,” you responded.

“You hate me, huh? Is that how y’feel ‘bout me when I’m pullin’ orgasms from your body? ‘Cause I think you fuckin’ love it. You love bein’ fucked by me. You get me all riled up ‘cause y’know what’s comin’ for you.”

“I hate you,” you repeated.

Joel lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a featherlike touch. You wanted to shy away, but you were too tired to move.

“I don’t think y’hate me at all, darlin’,” he whispered.

He leaned closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding off another round of tears brimming over the surface. Pushing your hands against his chest, you shoved Joel away, your body staggering back with the force of your action.

“Get the hell outta my house,” you cried, no longer keeping the tears at bay.

Joel stared at you with a pained expression, his eyes searching through your glassy eyes for the falter within your words. He didn’t budge; he didn’t move an inch. You shoved at his chest again, but it was no use as he wrangled you into his arms and lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“When are you gonna quit fightin’ me?” He asked softly.

It was a sincere question; you saw it swimming behind the rich chocolate of his irises. Pleading. Begging. He wanted the truth, but you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t.

“I’ll quit fightin’ when y’learn to leave me alone.”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

He was a breath away from your lips, the rich scent of farmland wafting off his skin as it mixed with the smell of sex. It was intoxicating being this close—close enough to wonder what his lips would feel like on yours. While your body ached for him in one way, your heart ached differently. It was an ache you wanted to keep fighting because the moment you lost that battle, you’d lose everything.

“I don’t want you comin’ here anymore, Joel.”

“Why?” he pressed.

Silence blanketed over you, weighing down the words lodged in your throat. The rapid beating of your heart matched his as he kept you tight to his chest. You were suffocated by the emotions you couldn’t say, and you were slowly sinking further down.

You struggled against the arm that bound around your waist, helplessly trying to break free of his hold. He finally relented in defeat, letting you shuffle back until there was a healthy gap between your bodies. Running a hand down the scruff on his chin, Joel gave you a simple nod and retreated toward the front door.

“Until you can give me a reason, I’m gonna keep comin’ back.”

He left without a glance over his shoulder, the room around you shrinking in size without his presence looming over you. Searching for your shorts, you quickly dressed and hid behind the window curtains as you watched his truck rumble to life and speed down the dirt roads. There was no goodbye between you, and you knew there wouldn’t be. Joel wasn’t giving up, no matter how hard you pushed him away, and eventually, he’d win.

And you hated knowing the truth.

Behind the billowing dirt trail of his truck, Joel watched as your house faded from view. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he thought about the way he left. He was doing this for fun; at least, that’s what it felt like at the start. Getting on your nerves, pissing you off, seeing you completely unraveled underneath his hands, Joel loved it. He loved the thrill of having you tamed down and quiet, compliant to anything he asked and did.

Then he had you pinned underneath him, and he saw the fear in your eyes. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of the emotions electrifying between the both of you. Then you pulled away from him, denying him any affection, and he fucking hated it.

He couldn’t understand why you got under his skin the way you did, nor why he cared so much. It wasn’t supposed to end up this way, yet Joel wanted to keep tearing down your walls. He wanted to hear you tell him the truth.

He wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x reader #tlou #cowboy!joel #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #smut #mini series #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

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thejujvtsupost · 3 months ago

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I Can’t Pretend Anymore

smau masterlist • Taglist open! (Lmk if you just wanna be tagged for this series or all smaus)

💗F!reader, Gojo mini series, angst and confessions— Shoko is a real one honestly. The next part will probably be longer.💗

✿ Part 2 ✿ Part 3 ✿ Part 4 ✿ Part 5 ✿

🏷️: @kentochronicles @starlightanyaaa @parasite-b @hikariandptakchleb @pixelcafe-network

Series only: @valvoria @cockiiess @xiomaraze @cypherthecreator

#smau series: I can’t pretend anymore #gojo x reader #mini series #jjk smau #reader insert #no use of y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk texts #smau #gojo satoru

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stevesgother · 4 months ago

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Chalkboard Hearts - Pt IV

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

WC - 5.6k

Summary - A snow day prompts Steve and Abbey to spend a little one on one time together.

AN - sorry this one took a little longer! being creative is hard when the U.S keeps sucking me of all my joy. thanks for the patience, love y’all! ~ emma

Three weeks ago, your daughter’s kindergarten teacher gave you his phone number in a chilly, deserted diner parking lot, and every weekday since that night, Abbey has had to all but drag you from his classroom when you go to pick her up in the afternoons. One topic leads to another and another, and before you realize it, you and Steve have been chatting in his mostly empty classroom for over an hour. But this morning, you’re dialing those digits he gave you on your landlines keypad for the first time with shaky fingers. You’d spent the past hour exhausting all your other options. Your mother? Working. Your sister? Out of town. Your usual babysitter? sick.

Steve was the only person you knew for a fact wouldn’t be working today.

It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to that you hadn’t called yet. Every waking hour since that night, you had been wrestling with yourself about what an appropriate reason would be. Was he flirting with you? Did he genuinely just want you to have access to him in case of an emergency? Both? Your inner dialogue was deafening– like a squawking bird in the back of your brain.

The intrusive volume of your thoughts seemed to quiet now as your leg bounced impatiently– anxiety over the prospect of having to call into work outweighing your trepidation– waiting for him to pick up the call on the other line.

He finally answered halfway through the fourth ring, “Hello?” Despite the early hour, Steve sounded wide awake. Probably rousing at the same time you did, not expecting to be temporarily blinded by three feet of bright, white snow piled on top of his car. On the kitchen radio, you can hear the newscaster announcing a closure of the local schools.

“Steve, it’s Y/N,” your voice cuts through the static.

He pauses briefly, yours probably being the last voice he expected to hear when he picked up his phone, “Hey, morning–” he clears his throat, “everything alright?”

“Yes– well– I don’t know.” You rub the tips of your fingers restlessly over your closed eyelids, “I don’t have anyone to watch Abbey with the school being closed, I've tried everyone and I really hate to ask but–”

“Of course, I can be there in thirty. Can you give me your address?”

“Are you sure, Steve? I can just call out if–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, just give me your address,” his incredulity and lack of hesitation sends the wings fluttering about in your stomach again, while cementing the reassurance of his words. You gain the courage to repeat your home address for him to write down.

You can hear the sound of pen hastily scratching paper, then after a few beats of silence he speaks again, “It’ll take me a little bit to clear off my car, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” you can hear the grin in his voice, can picture the flash of perfect white squares, “see you soon,” you breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the click of the receiver being placed back in its cradle. Abbey is bundled up on the couch watching Rugrats, a bowl of cereal in her lap. Normally, you wouldn’t let her eat in the living room, but you needed respite from her usual game of 20 Questions to make some phone calls.

“Hey, Ab,” you say as you approach her, thoroughly engrossed in her cartoons, “Is it okay if Mr. H comes over and watches you today while mommy goes to work?”

The question is more than enough to pull her focus from the television screen. Her face lights up like the Fourth of July as she nearly spills her cereal with the force of her straightening on the sofa, “Really?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes, grandma is working and Julia is sick. Is that okay?” As excited as you know she is, you want her verbal confirmation. Mostly because you’d never put your child in a situation she’s uncomfortable in; but a smaller, more selfish part of you wants to be absolved of the guilt you feel for having to leave her all day.

Your wish is granted almost instantly as she squeals and hops off the couch where she’d been lounging, placing her bowl on the coffee table. Halfway to her room, she calls, “Mommy! Where are my coloring books?”

“They’re on top of your bookshelf,” you call, “don’t make a huge mess, please!”

“I won’t!” She replies, muffled through the drywall separating you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t had time to tidy the house or make yourself look even remotely presentable before Steve arrived. If it weren’t for the relief that floods your body upon seeing his car pull in the driveway, you might even be a little embarrassed. Booted footsteps shuffle up the porch as you’re shoveling things into your bag at the last minute, followed by three light knocks on the door.

“Coming!” You shout from where you stand in the dining room.

Before you even have the chance to reach the foyer, Abbey is darting from her bedroom in plastic play shoes and throwing the door open with immeasurable enthusiasm.

“Hey–” Steve starts, expecting it to be you before he realizes who’s greeting him, “Oh, hi Ab,” he waves to the little face staring up at him, “Where’s your mom?”

“Mommy!” Abbey calls, “Mr. H is here!”

Steve spots you holding two pieces of notebook paper clad with chicken scratch scribblings. You look frazzled– hair thrown up hastily and scrubs wrinkly. He scours the place where he would normally find an emotion akin to pity for your distressed state, but in its absence, he only feels endearment laced with a little concern.

He doesn’t get a word in before you’re shoving the papers in his hands and spouting off information that he’s praying is already on the sheets you’ve given him.

“I should be home by five, if anything happens, this–” you point to a barely legible number, “--is my work phone. This is her doctor’s phone number and she’s allergic to peanuts. There aren’t any peanuts in the house but–” you sigh, exasperated with yourself, “just in case.”

The rest of the pages are filled with ramblings about which channels Abbey likes to watch and how to work the television. How, in case she needs a bath, you have to pull and then twist the knob for the hot water to run. That she is not, under any circumstances, allowed to put nail polish on by herself and where you keep her Epi Pens.

Steve’s surprised at how many of these sentiments he already has catalogued. He’s required to know Abbey’s emergency contacts and that she has a nut allergy for his job, but he knows that channel thirty-seven has the best cartoons because Abbey once told him that Power Puff Girls was her favorite– and you’d already relayed to him the hilariously tragic tale of what happened the last time Abbey attempted to paint her own nails.

Despite this revelation, he doesn’t dare interrupt you. He indulges your ranting, a grin creeping involuntarily along his face.

“-- sorry, I’m rambling– I’ve just never left her with someone who wasn’t my mom or her sitter before,” you’re a little breathless after two straight minutes of talking.

“Hey, hey– you’re okay,” he wastes no time reassuring you, “you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” You nod your understanding, “Besides,” now he’s speaking to Abbey, “we’re gonna have a super fun time right?”

She shouts, “Yes!”

He looks at you with his brows raised, amused, “See?”

“Okay, alright,” you kneel down, chuckling, “do I get a hug? Or am I chopped liver?”

Giggling, Abbey wraps you in a suffocating embrace, like always. Her excitement for Steve has never quelled her affection for you, and you can tell that she’s still hesitant to see you go. You smack a kiss on her cheek, grabbing your bag from the floor as you rise again.

“Swear you’ll call me if anything happens?” You ask him one more time, already knowing the answer.

“Cross my heart.” He smiles fondly, stoking the flames burning bright around the cage that your heart inhabits.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your home is cozy, much cozier than anything Steve had growing up. He’s warmed at the idea that Abbey has the privilege of growing up in a house that feels so lived in– stains on the carpet, soft edges and yellow lighting. There’s clutter on the kitchen counter by the microwave and colorful alphabet magnets securing several bright pieces of artwork to the fridge.

“Are these the pictures you drew in art class last week?” He asks Abbey, who has been trailing behind him all through the house, pointing things out to him as they go.

“Uh-huh, Mrs. Morse helped me with that one,” she points to what Steve thinks is probably supposed to be a zebra.

“Well, you’re very talented, I love them,”

“Can we go play outside?” She asks, drawing out the last syllable and completely ignoring Steve’s compliment.

“Sure we can,” he chuckles, “where do you keep your snowsuit?”.

Abbey takes Steve by the wrist and leads him to the coat closet by the front door. Similar to the rest of your house, it’s stuffed to the brim– full of puffy nylon and heavy winter boots. He catches a glimpse of a familiar brown and green jacket– his jacket. You’d promised to wash it and return it to him, but it must’ve slipped your mind. He grins to himself at the reminiscence as he fetches Abbey’s snow gear and shuts the door.

Steve hadn’t dressed appropriately for a morning rolling around in the cold. He had slipped on a pair of your mittens, probably meant more for fashion than practicality, because his fingers were already completely numb. But he can’t seem to deny her when Abbey pleads with him to make snow angels. They’d just spent the past half an hour building two snowmen– one short like Abbey and one tall like Steve, she insisted, as she wrapped her scarf around the snowman that resembled her.

“Please, Mr. H?” She begs when she notices his hesitancy.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “but then we’re gonna go inside and have lunch. Deal?”

That appears to be a good enough covenant for her, “Okay!” Abbey exclaims, falling fairly harshly to the cushioned ground. Steve braces himself for tears, but Abbey only keeps laughing in that contagious way as she begins spreading her arms and legs out beside her in a repetitive motion.

“Are you gonna make one?” She questions from her place on the ground.

He grunts as he reluctantly lowers himself down next to her, anticipating the icy wetness waiting underneath him. The snow seeps uncomfortably through his jeans, but the sound of Abbey’s unbridled joy nearly makes up for his soiled clothing.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

What’d you want to eat, Ab?” Steve calls from the pantry while Abbey changes out of her wet clothes in her bedroom.

“Not hungry!” She calls back.

He sighs, expecting her stubbornness– she was nearly as mulish as you.

“Remember the deal we made earlier?” He asks, “That if I made a snow angel with you, that you’d have to eat something for lunch, right?”

She emerges from her room, pout prominent on her strikingly adorable features, “But I wanna keep playing,” she whines, giving her foot a little stomp on the linoleum for emphasis.

“We can keep playing after, I promise,” he knows he’s not winning this battle without a compromise, “does your mom let you eat in the living room?” He asks with a lilt to his voice that makes him sound conspiratorial.

“Sometimes…”

“How about…” he pauses as if thinking, “I make us some food and we watch a movie while we eat?”

He can tell he’s got her after that– hook, line and sinker. She still pretends to mull over his proposition for a moment before agreeing, “Hmm…I think that sounds good,” she settles, trying and failing to mask her elation.

That’s how Steve ended up, plates of grilled cheese sandwiches in hand, dodging barbies and miscellaneous stuffed animals on his way to the living room a few minutes later.

“Have you found a movie yet?” He asks Abbey as he sets the plates down atop the coffee table.

“Yes but–” she jumps on her tiptoes, “I can’t reach it,”

Steve walks over to the towering shelf of VHS tapes in front of her, “Which one are you trying to reach?”

Abbey points at the tape in question, “Home Alone,”

“Alrighty,” Steve says as he grabs it with ease, “Your foods on the table, go sit while I put it in,”

Abbey, for once, does as he asks– bounding over to the coffee table with the excitement typical of a five-year-old who has an adult's permission to break a house rule.

While Steve eyes your VCR, he catches a glimpse of a photo out of the corner of his eye, causing him to pause. It’s you, no older than twenty, holding a swaddled baby in a sterile hospital room. He doesn’t recognize the picture as one he’s seen before.

Of course you’ve never seen it before, he thinks, you barely know her. Get a grip.

You’re filled with such youthful brilliance in the shot, despite the underlying weariness of having just given birth; your hair tied messily into a bun at the nape of your neck, sweat beading on your brow bone. It’s just you and Abbey, Steve thinks her father must’ve been the photographer.

He can’t help but think of himself at that age and all the stupid shit he was doing. How, if you had handed him a baby then, he wouldn’t have known the first thing about what to do with it– but here you had raised such a bright, healthy daughter and largely alone. He was struck by such a sudden and overwhelming admiration for you that he nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Mr. H?” Abbey asked, mouth full, “When are we gonna start the movie?”

Her question sends him hurling back to reality. A reality where he’s your daughter’s kindergarten teacher, and the two of you are friendly with each other at best.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

At some point during the movie, once their lunch was reduced to crumbs on empty plates, Abbey had hauled out her box of coloring books and crayons that she had been looking for this morning.

Steve, the less creative of the two, was coloring in a cartoon illustration of a fairy while Abbey was making her own drawing on a piece of white construction paper. The lack of constant chatter is a welcome reprieve, but he knows that Abbey only becomes quiet when she’s particularly concentrated, so he chances a peek to his right at what she’s working on.

She got a death grip on a brown crayon– shaved almost down to the tip– with her tongue sticking ever so slightly between her lips as she focuses intently on her art.

The picture is of three stick figures– two tall and one significantly smaller in between them. It’s set at what looks to be a playground, a bright yellow sun in the sky and blue scribblings around white clouds. Swings, slides and even a little blue dog adorn the rest of the background.

Pleasantly surprised at her artistry, Steve says, “That looks amazing, Ab!”

She’s snapped out of her stupor, her face split with a wide toothless grin. She doesn’t thank him, only lets out a few bashful giggles at his praise and says, “I like yours too,”

“Is that you?” He points at the littlest figure.

“Mhm, see? I made her hair curly like mine!”

“It looks just like you,” he agrees, then draws her attention to the other figures, “Is this your mom and your dad next to you?”

“This is mommy,” she points, “I put her in the blue clothes she wears at work,” he knows she’s referring to your scrubs, but the phrasing makes him chuckle.

“And this is you!” She circles the figure she’s drawn with the tip of her finger. She’s included his voluminous chestnut hair and his silver wire-framed glasses, even one of the stupid striped polos he wears at school. Looking at it now, it’s obvious who it was supposed to be– but it’s so unexpected that he feels his face heat up at the realization.

“Oh, wow, Ab– That’s–” he grapples to find the words to express the juxtaposition he’s found himself in. He’s honored, truly, to be included in this portrait Abbey’s made of herself and her mother– her family– but there’s a gnawing guilt he can’t seem to shake. The fear that, in some way, he’s replacing her father.

“I love it, Ab, thank you,” he smiles fondly at her work, the proud grin she wears slowly melting the flash freeze of trepidation that encased his conscience.

“Can we hang it on the fridge for mommy to see when she gets home?” She asks after a moment.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Around four o’clock, Abbey begins asking what they’re having for dinner. Steve wonders briefly if you always have to deal with her being so ravenous.

“How about we start cooking now? That way it’ll be ready for your mom when she gets home,”

“Okay,” Abbey concurs. Steve wouldn’t consider himself a Michelin star chef by any means, but he can make a mean chicken parmesan.

A trip to the grocery store was needed to grab some ingredients. After scribbling down the required items on a crumpled receipt, and struggling for ten minutes to get Abbey’s carseat in the back of his BMW, they’re on their way.

He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, “Do you want me to put on some music?”

“Christmas music?” She asks hopefully.

Steve isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas music– Christmas in general, really– but he obliges her request and turns the dial to their local channel, soft bells and a choir of voices begin to flood through the interior of the car. She really is so harmlessly manipulative with her saucer eyes and round button nose, he can’t seem to refuse her anything.

Steve drives more cautiously than he thinks he ever has, even more so than when he was sixteen and learning how to drive with his family’s Pontiac as his father stared harshly at him from the passenger seat. He comes to a full halt at every stop sign, and he never takes his eyes off the road.

After fighting some early rush hour traffic, they make it. Without a second thought, Abbey grasps Steve’s hand while walking through the parking lot. He tries not to look startled at the sudden contact, recalling how she always seems to have a firm grip on your hand in public spaces too. Steve’s just glad she feels comfortable with him.

“Can I help?” Abbey asks as Steve grabs a cart from the corral.

“Course’,” he smiles, “do you wanna grab the ingredients and put them in the cart for me?”

She bounces excitedly, “Sure!”

Wandering through the aisles, Abbey never strayed from Steve’s side. Every time he read off an item, she would dutifully fetch it and throw it into the cart with a little more force than necessary, but Steve didn’t mind.

“Do you live by yourself?” She asks out of the blue as they peruse the store.

“I do,”

“Then how come you know how to cook?”

He laughs at her inquisitive nature, “Well I have to eat don’t I?”

“Yeah…” she ponders, “I guess so,”

“Alright, the last thing we need is breadcrumbs,” he informs her, scanning the shelves.

Like earlier, Abbey attempts to stand on her tiptoes to try and reach the can in question, “I’m getting it,” she mumbles in determination, very much not getting it.

“Here,” Steve says as he lifts her up by her waist like it was second nature to him.

“Got it!” She exclaims, tossing it in with the rest of the groceries. “Can I ride in the cart now?” She yawns with a polite hand over her mouth. He supposes grocery shopping takes a lot out of you when all the shelves are at least five feet taller than your head.

“Sure,” Steve chuckles as he slots her little legs through the designated holes.

Despite the ride home only being about ten minutes long, Abbey manages to doze off– lulled to sleep by the subtle hum of the car's engine. Steve veered as gently as possible into the driveway, careful not to disturb her even though he was about to wake her up anyway.

“Abbey,” he shakes her softly, “we’re home,”

Abbey rouses, but only slightly. She yawns again and stretches with her arms over her head before extending them out, silently motioning with her eyes still closed for Steve to carry her inside.

“Okay, c’mon lazy bones,” he grunts at the angle but lifts her from her car seat nonetheless. After unlocking the door one-handed, he sets her carefully on the couch and covers her with a plush throw blanket before heading back outside for the rest of the groceries.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The first thing you notice when you approach your front door is the savory smell of something cooking. Inside, the TV is off and your daughter is sleeping soundly on the couch. Quiet clattering noises flood from the kitchen.

The sleeves of Steve’s burgundy sweater are rolled up to his elbows and the kitchen smells of roasting chicken and mahogany as he stirs a simmering pot of homemade pasta sauce. He’s humming some tune softly under his breath– Bob Segar, you think.

“Hey,” you greet with a grin as you set your bag down on the dining table. Steve turns around to meet you as you ask, “What’re you doing?”

“Cooking?” He replies.

“No, really?” You deadpan back, eliciting an amused chuckle from the man standing at your stove.

“Abbey was asking about dinner,” he pauses, “we were gonna do this whole thing– we were gonna make it for you together, have it ready by the time you got home, but,” he gestures with his arm to the living room where Abbey is napping. Steve Harrington is nothing if not expressive– talking with his hands, eyebrows always either furrowed in concentration or raised in amusement. It’s one of the most charming things about him, you think.

“Well, thank you,” you say, “you didn’t have to do that,” you feel a blush heat your cheeks at how domestic this feels– like you come home to Steve cooking dinner for you and your daughter every night. You can picture it as easily as if it were your actual reality and it leaves you feeling briefly vertiginous. You’re not sure Jeremy ever cooked even one meal for you in the entirety of your relationship.

“The chickens almost done and then I'll get out of your hair,” he assumes a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise the fact that he feels like he’s overstepping– overstaying his welcome or crossing some invisible line.

“Are you kidding?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta at least stick around long enough to see how it came out,”

“You don’t mind?” He asks hesitantly.

“Steve, of course I don’t mind,” honestly, you think you’d start a fire and burn your house to the ground if it meant getting him to stay just a little longer to help you put it out, “plus, I’m sure Abbey’ll be stoked.”

“Alright, well,” he smiles warmly, “it’s ready if you wanna go wake the gremlin up,”

At the table, Abbey insists on sitting next to Steve in the chair across from you.

“This is delicious, Steve,” you compliment.

“Best you ever had?” He teases, but his phrasing makes you choke a little on your pasta.

Abbey makes a twisted face, “The sauce tastes funny.” Saved by the bell.

“Abbey!” you scold playfully, poorly concealing a laugh behind the back of your hand, “Sorry– I think she’s just used to eating Prego,”

“That’s okay– I think she’s right, actually,” he assures you, twisting his expression into something sour and causing Abbey to giggle. His eyes are the color of rich soil as he sends you an oh, so familiar look across the table, communicating another silent thought to you. One that says, I don’t mind how blunt she is, I think it’s endearing.

When dinner is finished, Steve insists on doing the dishes for you too. “You cooked, Steve, let me–” you try to barter.

“--You do enough as it is,” he counters simultaneously.

“You watched my child all day!” You laugh at his stubbornness.

“I do that everyday anyway!” He argues, beginning to fill up the porcelain farmhouse sink with hot, sudsy water.

“At least let me help,” you give him that wide eyed look you always seem to be giving him lately. God, you’re no better than Abbey. “You wash, I’ll dry?”

“Fine,” he tries to frown but his smirk betrays him in his act of faux annoyance.

After a few minutes of stuffy silence, you ask, “She wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass today, was she?”

“Not any more than usual,” he jokes and a plate slips through his fingers, causing a small splash of water to coat your face in dishwater. You gasp at the sensation.

“Oh– Sorry!--” he tries to apologize, but you take your dishwater soaked fingers and flick them in the direction of his own face– small soapy bubbles clinging to his lashes and eyebrows.

“I cannot believe you right now,” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“There, now we’re even,” you smirk.

“I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Mommy!” Abbey rushes into the kitchen, “Can Mr. H stay to watch a cartoon before bed?”

“I don’t know, baby, it’s getting late,” you can just barely see the flash of heartbreak in her gaze before Steve interjects, “It’s okay, I don’t mind staying for a little longer,”

You send him a skeptical glance over your shoulder, but he just nods and asks Abbey what she’d like to watch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The end credits for an episode of The Rugrats flashes across the screen, illuminating Abbey’s sleeping face in muted shades of blue and orange. She snores, slumped against Steve’s chest with her arms wrapped around his torso. You sit propped against the other arm of the couch watching them intently– trying to memorize the sight before you. You’ve never seen Abbey cradled like this before by anyone else except you. It wasn’t something you felt you craved until recently.

Steve turns, catching you staring but not calling attention to it. He can count on several hands the amount of times he’s done the same to you– Steve Harrington is many things, but he is not a hypocrite.

“Did you know the guy from Devo wrote the theme song for this?” He gestures towards the television.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he replies, “I can’t remember who told me that,”

After a few beats of hushed silence, you say, “Should probably put that one to bed– unless you wanna be here all night,” you try to joke but your voice shakes.

He would if you were sincerely asking. He’d stay right here on this uncomfortably worn sofa, with your daughter whom he has such an affinity for, sleeping against his chest for the next millenia. He’d fossilize here if he could– your presence beside him calm and grounding like an anchor in a storm.

He voices none of this. Instead he says, “Do you want to take her?”

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I’ll just come with you.” The three of you slowly make your way to Abbey’s bedroom, Steve carrying her bridal style against his torso and the door creaks on its hinges when Steve pushes it open with his hip. She stirs only a little when he sets her down, but is soothed quickly with a firm palm stroking her back a few times.

The door clicks behind you as Steve leads you both back to the living room.

“I should probably–”

“Do you want–”

You begin to speak at the same time, awkward chuckles leaving both of your nervous lips.

“You first,” he offers, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was– just gonna ask if you wanted some wine, but I know it’s late–”

“Wine sounds great.” His lips form a line across his face as he grins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Half a bottle of wine split between the two of you, and your hands were tingling from the effort it was taking not to reach out and card your fingers through the hair of the man sitting across from you.

“How come you never called?” He asks suddenly, but not unkindly.

“Hm?”

“You never called– well, not til’ this morning at least,”

“Didn’t know what counted as an emergency, I guess,” you shrug, the alcohol shaking your nerves loose.

He must’ve been feeling in a similar way to you– speaking freely in a way he wouldn’t have before, “Just wanted to talk to you,” he smiles fondly.

“Oh,” you whisper, and when you don’t say anything else, Steve changes the subject.

“I like that photo of you on top of the entertainment center,” he says contemplatively, “you looked really…peaceful,”

“Well, raising a miniature version of yourself tends to age you a bit, I suppose,”

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Always”

“Where was Jeremy in the picture?”

“We always talk about me,” you roll your eyes spiritedly and release a contented sigh, “Tell me why you really came to Maine,”

“Don’t deflect,” he teases.

“C’monnnn,” you draw out the last syllable, “answer,”

“I asked you first,” Steve chuckles.

“Jeremy wasn’t at Abbey’s birth,” you admit, it's immediately like an aching weight removed from the length of your spine– one that's been there consistently for years. “He didn’t even want me to have her,” you scoff humorlessly.

You had told almost no one this before. For the sake of keeping appearances, even after he passed, only your mother and sister knew that Jeremy had pushed for you to terminate your pregnancy when he’d found out; and that only once your daughter was actually born did he want to be involved in her life. The burden felt shockingly easy to lay at Steve’s feet, like someone might confess to a priest. This tender man sitting across from you– whether it was the wine or simply his presence, you aren’t sure– but it felt so effortless to be vulnerable right now. Your soft, white underbelly on display for him to do as he pleases, trusting him to have a gentle touch.

“That fucking sucks,” he knows you well enough by now to understand you’ve never cared for empty platitudes, so he doesn’t bother schooling his bitter, empathetic expression, “M’ sorry,”

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, you say, “Your turn,”

“My old man was an abusive, drunk asshole,” he says frankly, “I don’t know if I ever saw him sober,” he huffs a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. “I needed to get out– to see what else there was, you know?” He asks, and you nod, “He died in my sophomore year of college. Didn’t even go to the wake.”

“Well, I’m really glad you ended up in this shithole,” he laughs at that, “I think you’re pretty neat, Harrington,”

“Thanks,” he deadpans, “Juries still out on you,” he pokes your side and you giggle like you’re a damn teenager again.

You swat him lightly on his bicep in retaliation, and before you know it, you’ve both succumbed to a fit of contagious laughter. When it begins to die down, you’re closer to him than you’d been before. It steals the breath from your lungs and your heart thrashes inside your ribcage like a wild animal.

You’re gazing at each other now, heads light from the alcohol and dizzy with proximity. His heavy lidded gaze lands on your lips for a second too long, and then he’s pulling your face flush to his own by the sharp edge of your jaw.

It’s a soft kiss, but it’s maddening nonetheless. His lips are plush and smooth– malleable against yours. You huff a surprised breath of air, but don’t pull away. One of his calloused hands is resting firmly on your waist while the other one snakes up tenderly to hold the back of your head. You feel that familiar itch to bury your fingers in his brown tresses, so finally, you do. What realistically only lasts a moment, feels like hours before he’s pulling away, nearly frightened.

When he looks at you, his doe eyes are wide with fear, glassy with the impending fallout of what he’d just done. He stammers, “I’m sorry–that was–” he runs his hands down the length of his guilt twisted face.

“No– Steve, It’s okay, I–”

“I should go–” he says quickly as he slips his shoes and coat on, not even bothering to tie the laces, he grabs his keys, “I’m sorry I’ll– I’ll see you on Monday,”

He’s closing the door behind him before your mind gets the chance to catch up with your mouth. You wished to tell him that it was okay, that you liked it– that you wanted him to stay and never leave again.

But it’s too late. You’re left alone in the stifling air of your living room, half a bottle of wine on the coffee table and your heart on the floor.

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