That Sullen Girl Rick Grimes

that sullen girl ♱ rick grimes

Rick knows you’re younger. You’ve got at least 13 years on him. And maybe in a life before that double digit number would’ve stopped him and he would’ve dragged his mind elsewhere. Stuck to what was “right”.

But he’s lost too damn much in the last few years to overthink this. He cares about you. It’s as simple as that. He wants you to be okay. Always.

And Alexandria is new territory. It’s terrifying how perfect it is here. An untouched world.

Rick knows a majority of his group is settling in, grateful to have a safe roof and walls around them. He’s glad his kids are safe.

Rick also knows you’re one of the ones still skeptical of where you guys are trying to take home in. Like Daryl.

Though, you’ve taken a shower.

Everyone in the group seems to have connections to an olden life, you don’t fall under that. Your younger kid sister closed her eyes for the final time a few months ago, Rick guesses. He knows it feels longer.

You’ve gotten quiet since then. He doesn’t blame you, the same damn thing happened to him after Lori—his reaction was a bit worse though.

He just doesn’t want you to lose yourself. You’ve got a good self. You keep him well.

Though, he can’t find you. It’s making him a little nervous, though, he tries not to show it.

He goes walking for awhile before he does find you, it’s a mistake when he does. Your hair a flash in his peripheral. He paused his walk and see’s you fully.

You’re with the graves.

You’re bent at the knees, all your weight resting on your balancing feet. You’re before your sister’s grave. A few flowers under the wooden pallet with her name craved into it.

Rick knows there’s not anything under that grass, six feet under. He knows it bothers you, even if you don’t say anything. He knows them having to bury your sister in the middle of nowhere under a large tree months ago bothers you too, even if you don’t say it.

He’s gotten good at reading you.

He walks over slowly, hands shoving in the pockets on his jeans. You hear him before you see him. “Hi, Rick.” You say gently, you seem to know him as well as he does with you. You know his steps, he hasn’t gotten there with you—yet.

He smiles small, it’s almost like a frown. “Hi, sweetheart.” His voice is deep and soft, softer than it normally is. He only talks to you like that, and Judith.

He sees you shift a little, like you’re getting up. He pushes a hand out for you and you take it without a second wasted. “You alright?” He asks gently. He can see the color draining from your eyes with each day passing. You get more tired. More like sludge under his palms. You aren’t sure how to move on. He wishes he could take your pain, though, he knows you’d never let him have it. He’s had more than you, you know he has, even if he wouldn’t agree. We’ve all lost something, he’d say. He’s right, but still. No one’s lost like Rick.. Nor what he’s done to stop from losing more.

You nod, your eyes on your sister’s name and your hand still in Rick’s. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just wanted to say hi to her, I guess..” Your voice fades off and your shoulders sink. He can see you roll your eyes at yourself. He hates when you’re cruel to yourself. You need to give you more credit.

Rick frowns gently. He squeezes your hand before letting it go, and his arm slips over your shoulders instead. His fingers mess gently with the ends of your hair, it’s gotten longer since he’s met you. It’s been years.

You sigh and lean into him, “sorry I disappeared. Should’ve told you I was heading out.” You know him too damn well. His worries. His fears.

Yeah, he feels good in Alexandria, but old habits never die.

He hums, pulling you even closer, if possible. His eyes are on your sister’s name. “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

You hum gently and finally look away from your sister’s empty grave. Your arms weave around Rick’s waist and you push your face softly into his side. His chin leans down on the crown of your head. He feels you hold onto him tighter.

“Things are okay, right?” You whisper into his clothed skin.

They are, for now at least.

He nods against your head, his other arm wrapping around you. “Yeah,” he says soft and quiet. “Everything’s alright, baby.”

He kisses your head. You squeeze him even tighter, makes his lungs feel like they’re going to pop with admiration.

You’re a strong sullen girl, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

daryl dixon in this shirt has me physically aching.

like are we seeing this?? the way my knees would constantly be bruised from how often id—

The favorite girl

Summary: You, Negan’s favorite “wife”, have been captured after trying to escape. Now you have to face the consequences of your actions.

(Little disclaimer: English is not my native language, but I try my best, I promise x.)    

Weiterlesen

I Didn't Ask For This (part one)

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: yeah soo... I think I have some kind of obsession with this trope. And I have never ever seen any azriel x reader forced marriage fics, so I decided to write one myself. But I could be wrong and there are fics out there that I haven't seen, in which case, please let me know about them. (Also, because we do not know who azzie's father was and if he was a camp Lord, for the sake of this fic, lets pretend that he was, indeed, a camp lord.)

Tw: Forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so please let me know if I need to add anything.

•○🌑○•

Y/n poured the imaginary tea in the cups set on the low table in front of her, talking to Mister Fluffkins about the weather. He was her daughter's husband, or she pretended that he was. Her daughter, Alisa, was her favourite doll, who was going to be married today.

"I hope there was no troubles while on the way here?" She asked as she set down the teacup and turned towards her other toys.

Before Mister Fluffkins could answer though, Y/n's mother walked in, crouching in front of Y/n, smiling.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just asking Mister Fluffkins about his travels today. Do you want some tea?"

"No dear. I just wanted to tell you that a friend of father is coming here today with his son. I want you to try and become his friend, as he has none. Okay?"

"Okay mother." The little girl turned away and settled down opposite her to be son in law, sipping her imaginary tea. Excited that she'll be making a new friend today. Maybe he can play with her. He could be Alisa's father, and they would be one big and happy family.

As little Y/n was busy musing about her new friend, she lost track of time, and soon they had arrived. The door opened once again and her mother stepped inside, Y/n stood. A small boy, probably her age or older, stepped in behind her, his hands clasped together nervously. His eyes flitted around the room, his hair dishevelled and messy. He looked too thin to be healthy.

Y/n mother nudged him forward, and he hesitantly took a step forward. Then another and another.

"I'm Y/n. What is your name?" She asked when he was standing in front of her.

"Az– Azriel."

"Let's be friends." She said, before practically shoving him in the chair next to Mister Fluffkins and pouring him some tea. "It's tea. Drink, you'll like it."

He blinked. "There's nothing there."

"Obviously. We're playing, I can't use real tea."

Her mother had laughed, walking away. It took some time for Azriel to get accustomed to playing with her, but when he did, he enjoyed it, cherishing this rare moment of happiness. And though he was quite odd, saying he had never played anything in his life, Y/n didn't mind.

But then both of their father's stepped in, as if in a hurry. Azriel's father yelled at him to be quick and clasp her hand, and Y/n decided she didn't like this man. He was too loud.

Y/n's father was looking sadly at her when the bad man told him to make haste. They made Y/n and Azriel hold hands, guiding them through it.

"Listen girl, I want you to say I agree to everything he says, understand?" Y/n nodded, afraid of his father. "Now," he began saying to Azriel, "repeat after me. I will marry you, when I see you after we come of age. Say it." Azriel looked scared, but repeated nonetheless. And she mumbled a I agree after him before a pain shot down her left ring finger and she wrenched it from Azriel's grasp, tears pooling in her eyes. At that exact moment, the door slammed open and her mother stumbled in, gasping and clutching at her head.

"No..." She stared at her husband angrily with tears in her eyes.

Y/n didn't understand, but it wasn't as if she could question the adults. Because, even though her father didn't hate her, he didn't like her very much either, hitting her whenever she got too loud. But he wasn't bad, atleast Y/n didn't think so.

Maybe when her older siblings came home from school, she would ask them about it.

•○🌑○•

As she stared at the rain droplets pelting the window of her room, Y/n couldn't stop thinking about that day. It had been almost five centuries since then.

Asking her siblings about it had yielded no information, after all, they were kids too.

But now she knew.

Azriel's father had fame and control over the camp they had once lived in. Her father wanted to be in the good graces of the Lord and also the recently vacated position of the second most powerful person, the camp Lord's second in command. Azriel's father was giving Y/n's father what he wanted in exchange for her marriage to his bastard son.

Who had run away.

But she couldn't fault him for that, knowing what his father was like. She knew Azriel fairly well, considering she met him a few more times after the day they had been promised to each other. The last time they met, he had finally told Y/n that his father kept him in a dungeon. Then he left. They could have been called friends once, but now, Y/n didn't even know if he was alive or rotting somewhere. But, even after all these centuries, Y/n still cares for that tiny, skinny, timid boy with disheveled hair, who would get extremely happy if provided with one small act of kindness.

But she also couldn't stop the tiny kernel of resentment that bloomed in her, because, after he had run away, his father had decided that he no longer wanted to share the power when he wasn't getting anything out of it, kicking their family out of the camp. Her father had gone nearly crazy.

Her sister, Velda, had been in a similar situation as Y/n, having been forced to marry one of the more prized warriors. But she didn't have to make a promise for it, as the warrior wanted to marry her. Y/n had been forced to promise herself to Azriel because his father somehow knew that he couldn't marry Azriel forcefully.

She would have been married too, if not for the mark on the second last finger of her left hand, encircling it like a ring. Every day she woke up with a pot of dead and hope in her stomach. Dread, for if Azriel came to take her, she would be forced to marry him, but if he didn't, she'd have to ensure her father's taunts, as if it was somehow her fault Azriel escaped. Those taunts, which had increased since her mother's death, haunted her at night.

Hope, for if he came, maybe she'll be able to have the life she always dreamed of, and that Azriel would still be the boy she had befriended. And if he didn't, she won't have to leave.

Her father had waited all these years in hopes that Azriel would come to get his bride. But he was tired of waiting, it seemed. And so, today, she and her father they would be visiting Hewn City, in his hopes that the High Lord could find her husband.

•○🌑○•

The Hewn City was hauntingly beautiful. That's all Y/n could describe it as.

They were waiting on the side, her father conversing with someone named Keir while she stared at everything she could get her sights on in awe.

The doors to the court room suddenly opened, everyone falling silent as the High Lord and the Lady, with the little heir in her arms, walked in, with their Inner Circle, as they were called. Y/n kept her eyes downcast, hiding behind her father. Her neck prickles, as if someone was staring at her, but it wasn't something she was unfamiliar with.

Soon, everyone dropped to their knees, rising when the High Lord commanded. After a few people conversed with him, her father stepped forward, her following, still staring at the ground. He bowed, and she curtsied.

But then, when a shiver wound down her spine, she lifted her eyes.

She had to take a step back, her jaw dropping.

Because, staring at her were wide, hazel eyes.

She stared and stared, hoping she was dreaming and hoping that she wasn't. Because those eyes, she would never forget.

Azriel.

Her father bowed, turning away, and she shook her head at Azriel, slightly. He dipped his chin and looked away.

But when Y/n tried to step away, a sharp pain shot through her chest and left hand, a scream tearing from her throat. She fell to her knees, gasping and clutching her hand to her chest. One glance at the dais told her that Azriel had fallen to his knees as well, and everyone was silent, looking between the two of them.

She looked at her father, the confusion in his eyes clearing and a wicked smile blooming on his face.

"Finally."

•○🌑○•

Part 2

The Nurse (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf @mcuclintasha @8crazy-freak8 @peepeepoopoobutt

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You’d always wondered where he’d ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), sickness, vomiting of blood, blood from the eyes, animal sickness, mentions of quarantine, swearing, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: A plot heavy chapter???? In this economy??? It's more likely than you think. I did actual medical research on this one, so... Also, 'there's only one bed trope' except there's no bed. I will not be taking any questions at this time. Thanks for reading :)) ]]

That day really started midway through you cleaning up a few of your tools, it was an extensive process -especially considering the circumstances. Infection was not an option here, so you usually took a few hours to soak some of your materials in some antibacterial you'd recovered from the few runs you'd been on.

The fumes were a bit much, so you'd done it near the prison but not inside -dedicating a space distant from the crops and where the others strayed outside. Without a mask, you couldn't imagine the long term effects of inhaling the mass of well... germ-x that you accumulated to clean things. You'd been a stickler on using it as often as you could, even taking times within the day to run by everyone with it and having them run it over their hands. It got, let's say, varied reactions, but you knew with what ease an outbreak of any kind could frolic through the prison. So, they just had to deal with it.

That day, you were almost done cleaning your last scalpel -the coating washing away in some of the bottled water you hadn't quite finished. When you'd seen the smudge of a figure coming up to you.

You dunked the rest of the water over your hands and placed the scalpel on the rag -quickly folding it on the stool you'd taken out to use as an extra surface.

When you looked back at the figure now, they were much closer like they were running to you. You squinted, trying to see through the sun, and made out the edges of a cowboy hat -Carl?

Before you could so much as say a word, Carl was barreling up to you -eyes glossy (just a touch, you hadn't seen him cry since you got here) and eyebrows furrowed into so much worry that you only found fit for an adult.

He simply wrapped his arms around your middle, nestling his head into you -effectively knocking the hat off, and immediately felt a spike of worry shoot up your spine. Despite your head buzzing with questions and worries, you exhaled a shaky breath and gently held the back of his head against you.

"Everything okay?"

"No," he muttered into you -before pulling back to look at you with a seriousness that you found easily matched Rick's, "-you have to help."

Your worry spiked, help. Still, you coached yourself -crouching down to his level, "Help with what? Is someone hurt?"

Carl started then -tumbling over the speed of his words, "Violet, Dad says she's sick. She's laying around, she won't eat and she always likes to e-"

"Carl," you laid your hands on his shoulders -hoping to soothe the nerves out of him, "-breathe. When you say Violet, do you mean-"

"The pig," he answered, after exhaling a deep, long breath -something you taught him just out of habit once.

So, that was why you were now by the pigs' pen -carefully watching the one he called Violet with Rick, Hershel, and well... Carl. You hadn't known much about animals, but you knew some of the basics of something not feeling well. And Violet was... well, she checked all those boxes.

"How long has it been since she ate?" Hershel asked, his gaze just a bit more analytical than yours -he was a veterinarian after all.

"Just the past day," Rick answered, his hand passively rubbing along his son's back -he still seemed a bit shaken, "-Looked at their food, and there was more than there shoulda been."

"Okay, well," you added, turning to Rick and Carl "-it's early then. Any sort of early is better than too late. I'm just not sure what it could be, other than the basics."

Rick questioned, "Which is?"

"Swine flu," you answered, flickering to Hershel for his opinion, "-but it's not my specialty, I could be wrong."

Hershel hummed, rising back to his feet with his cane where he seemed to be looker closer at Violet, "Could very well be. It's not like we have any medicine for 'em either."

"Do we need to go straight for medicine?" you asked, watching Violet as she slowly seemed to inhale and exhale, "Are there other options?"

Hershel rubbed at his beard, "Not much without some sort of medicine."

You pursed your lips, "Should we risk it though? What if it's not whatever we may assume it has and it gets worse?"

"Guess that's true," Hershel spoke, looking at you now -intent on discussing your point of view, "-what's your idea?"

"Well," you started, a bit hesitantly, "-I'm not a vet but if this was people, we'd quarantine them. Try and limit the contagion, if it was even contagious. It's how we... It's how we started investigating when the walkers showed up."

"It's a good idea," Hershel agreed, and you felt a piece of you relax, "-singles Violet out so we can try and get more information on whatever she's sick of. And sometimes quarantining 'em can help 'em heal."

"What, so-" Rick responded -looking to the two of you, "-we get more pens?"

"Yeah," you answered, following your own thought process, "-just do a few resource runs? There should be enough containers to individually feed them around the prison. And just as a base, we wait a week. It's a typical time for human sicknesses, so I imagine it's long for animals? If any one of them gets worse, we cut it short and look for other options."

Rick and Hershel were just staring at you -eyes wide and a bit astonished. You hadn't been quite one to order others around, or make plans, or anything of the nature. But you'd been passionate about nursing -knew all you could, you were trained for crises and problem-solving.

"Sorry," you echoed, trying to recognize any of the emotions in either of them's eyes (all you could get out of Rick's was wonder and that really was not helping), "I didn't mean to just... take over. I just-"

"No, no," Hershel shook his head, gently placing a hand on your shoulder -soothing whatever idea that he had felt overstepped in your head, "-you got that brain of yours, best you use it."

You smiled, a bit bashful because well nursing had been a big portion of your life for so long -you were glad to be doing it well.

"Just hold back a little," he teased with a touch of a chuckle, "-or I think Rick might be out of a job."

Laughing, you turned back to Rick whose eyes were still steadily focused on you. It was always a little odd, but you were getting more used to it.

"I'll ask around, see what we have around the prison. Rick-" Hershel cleared his throat, effectively knocking Rick out of his daze -you bit back a smile, "-you wanna see if you can gather up some people to help build? The quicker they're built, the better."

"Yeah, yeah. I can-" Rick blinked, shaking his head just a touch like he was clearing his head -eyes disconnecting from yours, "-I can do that. Carl, you wanna stay with Y/N for a bit?"

You rolled your eyes, teasing, "You're lucky I'm free, cowboy."

Rick grinned, and you felt your stomach flip, as he brushed past you, "I'll owe you one, fair?"

"Fair," you bit back the grin that threaten to split across your lips -solely to limit his ego. Carl was beside you now, so without much of extra thought, you crouched down and asked him what he wanted to do for the rest of the day.

That had been a week ago, and your life had become significantly more difficult since then. Maybe you should've expected it.

It had started when someone, who you hadn't really individually known too well, had come into your office. He'd just said he was tired, much more than usual and you'd figured it'd been his body fighting off an infection. You gave him a few antivirals and sent him on his way.

He hadn't come back to see you after that initial visit, why you didn't know -it had only been just a few days but someone in a nearby cell had approached you. They were the ones that told you that he'd been throwing up blood.

Needlessly to say, when you rushed to his cell, you were too late. For two lives instead of one.

So, here you were, frantically writing on every scrap of paper you could find -detailing symptoms as they arose. It was the outbreak you really had dreaded -you'd last heard Glenn had been struck with some of the symptoms last night. And that had spurred the current frantic writing spree you were in.

Early in that week, you'd sat everyone down at respectable distances and told them of the quarantine plans. Everyone who had felt sick must be distanced and is to rest until further notice. They were most likely to heal with more time for their body to address it.

Still didn't stop you from focusing on the symptoms, running through different options with Hershel -who didn't have as much experience but enough to bounce ideas off of.

It was late, Hershel had headed to get some rest and you'd let him -still scratching away at the paper, and noting somewhere deep in your head to request some iron supplements from the next run. If someone was going to lose blood, they'd at the very least need the iron replaced -maybe that would help with the weakness? That was about as far as you'd gotten. You were sure it was something easily taken care of, just needed a little bit more time to even-

"Hey," the drawl echoed into the room, and you jumped a bit in surprise -you hadn't been expecting anyone, especially at this hour. You spun to the door as quickly as your body would allow it.

"Didn't mean to scare ya," Rick clarified, hands up in the air for a moment before his look smoothed into one of concern -blue falling to what you assumed was your eyebags, "Have you not been sleeping?"

"Rick," you blew an exhale through your mouth -your eyes heavy and clothes disheveled, "-what do you think the answer to that question is?"

He raised his eyebrows, retorting -probably noting your snappy comeback, "So, you haven't..."

"I just-" you sighed, tapping your pencil against the paper that currently held all the noted symptoms and a few of your ideas so far for the disease, "-it's right here, I can feel it. I'm almost there."

Rick pursed his lips, sidling up beside you -pulling up a spare stool to sit directly in front of you, "And this can't wait until just a few hours of sleep?"

"They're-" you swallowed, your hands shaking slightly, "-they're dying Rick. I can't- I can't lose another one. What if you get it, Rick? Or god-forbid, Carl or Judith? I don't know what I'd do-"

"Look at me," he placed his hands -calloused fingers brushing against your chin tilt your eyesight to his, "-that's not happening. Me, Carl, and Judith are all fine."

"But," you urged -tears prickling at the edge of your eyes, "-that could change."

"It could," he agreed, rubbing his thumbs under your eyes -maybe you'd actually started crying, "-but I think a few less hours of writing the same thing over and over again on a piece of paper won't make it worse. You said it yourself, it exhilarates over a few days."

"Rick," you whispered, eyes connected to his, "-I can't."

He sighed, pulling your head forward, and brushing back your hair to leave the gentlest of press of his lips. You hummed, letting your eyes flutter close -just to relish in the warmth there.

"One hour," he hummed against your skin.

You laughed, barely there but it still counted, "Cowboy, I know what you're doing-"

"45 minutes."

"Rick, it's not going to-" you sighed, the smile growing on your face -even just for a second.

"30," he offered, breathing against your hair -you could feel the grin seep across the words.

You pulled back, raising an eyebrow at him -as if testing how far this would go, "Really?"

Rick wasn't one to give up, though, "15."

"Rick," you groaned, "-I'm serious..."

"We all are," he interrupted, leveling a more serious gaze on you, "-it's not just you. Look, what if we have Hershel work on it while you rest, so no time is wasted? That work for ya?"

"I can't wake him up," you answered.

"Y/N-" he started, and you could tell in the infliction that he really wasn't going to give this up. It was his lecture voice, and that always meant business with Rick Grimes.

You caved, and maybe the allure of sleep convinced you a little too, "30 minutes, and you wake me up."

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose -a sort of frustration radiating from him which was unsurprising, "Okay, anythin' is better than nothin', I guess. C'mon-"

"Oh, Rick, no-" you clarified, "-I'll sleep down here."

He furrowed his brows, scanning the space for anything that you could've squinted at, and thought would be okay to sleep on, "What? Where can you sleep down here?"

"That bench will do fine," you spoke, digging around for something to lay on and another to use as a blanket.

"Y/N, you can't be serious," Rick responded, looking around, "-you even have a pillow down here?"

"I..." you faltered, scrunching your brows together, "-I think so."

He sighed, fingers brushing against his temples, making his way over to the bench, "Okay, no, that's not happening. I'm not letting you hurt your neck like that."

"Well," you huffed, "-what am I supposed to d-"

Rick, instead of passing by the bench to look for something close to a pillow, sat at the left side of it -a look in his eyes that said he'd found a solution, as he patted his shoulder, "C'mon, the clock's ticking."

You blinked, was he going to let you cuddle him? Were you going to cuddle?

You were more awake than you had been in the past week at the mere idea of that.

"Look," he started, explaining himself, "-I know it won't be the best, but it's better than the cheapass cushion, I swear."

Good, he didn't really know why you hadn't responded. You couldn't realistically wait much longer though, if that excuse was to hold. He was very persuasive, but could only convince you so many times before it got ridiculous.

So, you grabbed an extra blanket you had stored away and moved to his side. It was agonizingly slow, mostly because there was a part of you that was scared he'd suddenly change his mind. You knew the two of you touched, a lot. It was just... This was more long-term, not a 'heat of the moment, it just felt right' kind of touch. It was all casual things, brushes of fingertips, forehead kisses, spare moment motions. This was new.

Wonderfully new.

"Okay," you whispered, barely a breath and gently leaned onto him.

You were hesitant and didn't want to overstep in any sort of way -afraid of losing this closeness, you went rigid against his skin. Not necessarily because you were uncomfortable, but rather because you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Rick's breath stuttered in his chest as you pressed into his shoulder, you could hear his heart beating fast under your cheek. Without another word, to soothe you maybe, his hand wrapped around you -pulling you tighter against his side.

You relaxed, breaths coming out slowly through your nose -his scent filling your brain it made you fuzz up a bit, then. The deep wooded scent buzzed against your eyes, and you let them flutter shut -just absorbing well... him.

Still, your mind was humming against the darkness -facts and symptoms fluttering past your mind. It was all consuming.

"Can you-" you faltered, feeling a bit out of place to ask something, "-Can you just talk? Tell me something, anything."

"'Course," Rick hummed, you felt it in his chest as you lay against it -his fingertips brushing up and down your arm, soothing, "-let me think."

You opened your eyes, tucking yourself more gently into his side -the gate was open already, and you found it easier to relax with the knowledge he had offered this himself. He had wished to be this close, and that made your heart beat faster.

"I got my first pair of boots when I was 6," he started, and you laughed into his skin -still intent on listening, "-my Dad told me it was a rite of passage."

You smiled, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing at himself, "-couldn't walk in 'em for months."

"Mmm, well-" you hummed, teasing -as your eyes fluttered along his boots, "-you seem like a professional now."

He grinned, drawling low -as his hand began to brush his fingers through your hair, "Thanks, sweetheart."

And you exhaled, relaxing into his touch -as his fingers massaged into your scalp. The name was new, but you weren't quite awake then -your head filled with the fuzz of sleep and eyes faltering heavily. Maybe you could sleep for just a little while.

"Violet's feelin' better," he hummed, and you could feel his breaths against your temple -he was so close, "-ya must've done somethin' right."

You froze, body rigid -the sleep dissipating from your brain, sitting up enough only to dislodge yourself slightly, "What?"

Rick stared at you -a bit in disbelief, "Violet's okay. It's a win."

"Oh my god," you stood, the blanket falling to your feet -frantic and hopeful as you siphoned through the piles of books and papers scattered everywhere, "-oh my god."

"What-" he stood with you -hesitating to reach out and touch you, "-you alright?"

"No, no, it's not-" you stopped searching to lock eyes with him, "-I'm fine, I just... How long have they been quarantined?"

"'Bout a week."

That was it, that was it. You laughed, wide and bright, "I... That's familiar, I read it somewhere."

"Y/N," he spoke, watching you flutter through the papers -trying to keep his tone calm, and soothing, "-what is this about?"

"I had this theory, remember?" you explained, skimming across some of the pages in books you'd marked, "-Violet got sick and then some of the group had, so maybe it was from them?"

"What, so you were right?"

"Maybe, I just have to-" you corrected, finally finding the book that read 'Swine Flu: The Farmer's Guide', "-bingo."

You skimmed through the words, on edge -waiting for the familiar words. For the words that had buzzed over the bouncing in your head, you knew they were there. You just knew it-

And there it was. Quarantine for a week.

You grinned, wide and bright, tapping along the paper -god, you had been right. You jumped up, rushing up to Rick -grabbing his face, and pushing your lips against the stubble of his cheek. You laughed, bright and joyous, rushing over to the book -spinning around with it pushed to your chest.

He stood shocked still, before blinking out of a daze -eyes twinkling bright and grin wider than yours, a blush barely brushed across his face.

"I've got it!" You yelled out, before pausing, faltering, "...I got it. Shit, I have to-"

"Hey, hey," Rick whispered, stepping forward to press his hands on your shoulders -eyes seeking yours, "-talk to me. Let me help ya, I want to."

"Okay," you hummed, inhaling slowly, "-okay. I'll... We'll just need hydration, lots of hydration-"

"Got it," he spoke, scribbling down on a little notepad he must've found around here somewhere.

"-and still quarantined. For at least a week. They just need some rest. That's it. And keep an eye on their iron and protein intake, keep it balanced-"

Rick didn't speak this time, hand fluctuating through the page -handwriting messy but somehow organized all at once. He was intently listening -it took you aback almost with all the attention he laid upon you, but you were still on a train of thought.

"-and painkillers for whoever needs them. Um, maybe some lesser ones? Aspirin, something smaller, it doesn't-"

"Okay," Rick answered, scribbling down the final note, "-right. I've got it."

"Wait," you started, as he gently placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you, "-what are you-"

"Y/N," he leveled, turning you to face him, "-you need to rest. I've got it all in here, I'll wake Hershel up if I need help. I've got it."

You sighed, matching his eyes -he really wasn't going to give up on this, "Are you sure? I can rest after-"

"No," he echoed, seriousness etched into his face -and the warmth of his hands on you was alluring, almost made you want to sleep there, "-rest. I'm not jokin'."

"Okay," you responded, exhaling and leaning further into him, trusting him to guide you, "-okay."

Carefully, he leaned forward -sliding his lips onto your cheek. It sent goosebumps to your toes, at the soft pillow there -it was new, wonderfully new.

"I'll check on you in an hour, 'kay?"

"Okay," you spoke, breathless with heavy eyes -droning with sleep, "-you gonna take me there?"

"Yeah," he pulled you to his side by the waist, muttering into your hair with the cusps of a grin, "-I'll take ya there."

The Nurse (Part Five) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, angsty!Rick, hallucinations, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Much happier vibes this time around, but I figured a story like this one should be a little bittersweet. This one has got the good stuff. (Farmer Rick, patching up his wounds, TENSION, etc.) Also sorry if you're good at juggling, this is no longer realistic for you lol. Thank you for reading. ]]

"Alright," you hummed, bandaging up the hand, "-just try and keep the bandage clean, we're really only worried about infection."

Glenn nodded, simply just listening to you, "Right."

"Oh," you remembered, grabbing up just two bandages and antiseptic, "-and here's some replacements, just in case you get into something that can't wait."

"Got it," Glenn spoke, standing and kind of roaming towards the door, "-and how often should I check in with you?"

"Once a week," you answered, "-just to make sure the inflammation has gone down."

With confirmation and a smile that only Glenn could produce on prison grounds, your space was empty. You'd had a makeshift area down in one of the front offices of the prison because, well, the medbay was currently... off limits, so to speak. Your most important supplies, though, stayed on your person -certain medicine types and a few medical instruments in a fanny pack often hanging over your shoulder (unless you needed your hands).

You sighed, wiping your hands off with a spare rag, pushing your fingers into your temples for a bit of headache relief. It wasn't hurting in that moment, but you could feel the pressure building, keeping an eye on yourself was hard enough as is.

It was really not the time.

Muttering, you rifled through a few of your drawers -trying to keep track of the supplies was key to this working out in the long run. So, you were running through what you'd given out and what you still had. Eager to make lists for runners later on in the week.

Hershel still helped sometimes, so you couldn't always get the amount used down to a science, but you could get close enough. It worked.

"Hello?" a voice spoke, the drawl ever so familiar to you, "-Anybody in here?"

You, who were currently ducked behind a cabinet rifling through supplies, didn't even think about the fact you weren't visible, calling out, "Just a minute!"

"Alright," Rick hummed in response, seeming to trail off in his speech -looking at something else you assumed.

"Okay," you scribbled down some more numbers, before coming to eye level with Rick -focused and a touch playful, "-So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Grimes?"

Rick smiled, light and airy, "Mr. Grimes, huh? 'Been a long time since I heard that one."

You looked at him, donned in a plaid shirt and sweat dripping down his face -hands dusted in dirt, and pants even worse. But still, his blue eyes twinkled. Ever since he'd started to work on the farm, you'd seen that haze clear. He seemed to find it calming, easier to manage. You were happy for him.

"Too professional for you?" You hummed, trailing your fingers along some of the bandages -keeping count in your head.

Rick smiled before muttering off -tone soft and reminiscent, "Just feels like a different time."

The lull in conversation brought you back to the issue at hand, Rick was one to work as long as he could. Doing only a few checkups throughout the day, he'd found himself busy often. Or you guessed, you found him busy often; that was very much on purpose, though.

"Alright, enough of that, what do you need from me?" You questioned, fully focused on him now; the man had a tendency to under sell his injuries, so you'd need to see it.

"Hershel told me to come see you," he spoke, drawl slow and sure, "-I fell on one of the runs recently. Got a scratch on my chest. He patched it up a little, but-"

"He wanted me to take a look?"

"Yeah," Rick confirmed as you motioned to a chair -dousing your hands with some antibacterial.

He was sitting on a stool, one someone probably found in an old bar, the leather was worn, and the metal squeaked loud any time you so much as breathed. It would work.

You took your place beside him, pulling out some extra bandages, "Which side? And what exactly did Hershel do?"

"My right," he answered, and you moved to that side, "-and just cleaned it and bandaged it up tight."

"Okay," you noted, grabbing a few extra things (most likely looking like a chicken with your head cut off) before spinning around. Where he was sitting as still as a statue, "-Rick? You okay?"

He blinked, eyes cleared of the daze he'd apparent found himself in, "Oh, yeah, sorry. It's just... nice."

"Nice?" You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows together, and pulling up your own stool close to him.

"You," he paused, before stuttering through the rest -hand going to rub at the back of his neck, "-bein' in your element, I mean."

"Oh," you responded, softly -ignoring the soft blush rising to your ears, "-well, thank you."

He smiled at you, and the silent buzz was nice, warm even. You really couldn't dwell on it, though, not sitting this close to him.

"Alright, cowboy," you spoke, "-let's see."

Rolling his eyes at 'cowboy', you assumed anyway, his hands made quick work of the edge of the shirt, pulling it up in a swift movement. Just an edge.

You held your breath, watching as unblemished skin matched your eyes, and suddenly, you realized that it was much higher than you'd anticipated. So, that wasn't going to work.

"Rick, I'm not pressuring you into anything, but-" you spoke, kind and soft, this was a personal boundary, you'd treat it as such, "-I think the shirt's going to have to come off."

There was a moment there, where he just stared at you in silence -eyes focused and intent- and you were truly worried you'd just crossed a boundary.

"If you're not comfortable with that-"

"No, no," he shook the motion off, clearing his throat to himself -to clear the air maybe, "-it's alright. Just been a while."

You laughed, tilting your head a bit in curiousity, "Since what, exactly? Since you took your shirt off? Rick, you did that yesterday-"

"Oh?" he hummed, a smirk peeking at his lips, "-Didn't know I had an audience."

"Ha, ha-" you rolled your eyes, ignoring the buzz of warmth that hit your cheeks -he could not see that, "-you're just stalling."

Rick raised his hands in defeat, smiling at you in a way that you wish you could keep for yourself for later. His smiles had always been so bright, you supposed that was why you could notice when it was absent for a while.

Digging through your bag, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye, the fluid motion quick -so quick you'd hardly noticed it, really. He'd done it enough, you assumed.

Not the time, you chastised yourself, not letting your mind linger on that fact. Not now, you were professional.

"Okay," you pulled out some of the materials you may need, "Let's see what you've-"

Your eyes flew up to see his chest, which was bandaged, wrapped tightly around his sternum. They had gone over his right shoulder and under his left arm, the blood stain just a bit under his collar bone and down from there. It didn't seem too long, based solely on the pattern.

You were completely focused now, eyes drawn across the bandage and fingers dancing along the stain, "Did Hershel tell you how deep it was?"

"No," Rick answered, and it took you a bit out of you to hear him so close -drawl low and gravely, "-we didn't have much time. Needed to stop the blood, I'd guess."

Fingertips fluttering over the torn edges of the bandages, you could feel the heat of his skin a breath away. You pursed your lips, these bandages were quite worn, "And when was this?"

"About a week ago," Rick answered.

"Rick..."

"I know, I hear you," he started, explaining himself, "-it was the last run, ran over a bit. Had to camp out, remember?"

You hummed in confirmation -relaxing in the slightest, before continuing, "Did you have somebody check it then?"

"Couldn't chance it," he explained, tone soft and earnest, "-any fresh blood woulda been dangerous."

"Okay," you exhaled, "-okay. I understand, Rick, you shouldn't have to explain yourself to me."

Rick interrupted tone solid and unwavering, "I want to. You should- No, I want you to know."

"Okay," you whispered, softly, a bit speechless at the admitance, "-thank you."

There was a fizzling there, as you sat a breath away from him -fingers laid gently on his chest and barely a bandage between your fingertips and his skin. You could even feel the heat there, gentle gusts against your fingertips.

You took the biggest breath you could take without startling the man, deep and focused. Not the time to let your mind wonder.

"Okay, I just need-" you pulled back, the fizzle dissipating and began searching for one of your sharp edges... particularly one you could wipe down ahead of time, "-here it is."

Within seconds, you'd doused the instrument in whatever you could nearby, wiping it solidly with a cloth that has been safely sealed ahead of time.

"You're fast," Rick spoke up, eyes apparently watching you as your roamed around the room -gathering a few extra things in case of worst case scenario.

"You'll get used to it," you smiled, chuckling and making your way back to the chair -where he sat, his own little smile on his face, "-Alright, so, first order of business, Rick."

He blinked, and sat up a bit straighter in your gaze.

"If anything hurts, you tell me," you asserted, eyes connected to his directly, "-this will go as comfortably as it can."

"'Course," he answered, serious and eyes unwavering, before cracking a smile, "-plus, can't disobey doctor's orders, can I?"

You snorted, scooting in closer and trying to find a comfortable place to start, "Whatever you say, Grimes."

He laughed, small but still felt nice against your ears and on instinct, you smiled brightly. He was contagious. To you, anyway.

With a steady hand on the tool and the other gently holding his shoulder, you gently pressed it along the bandage. The threads unweaving themselves with the movement, almost like a seam breaking, it seemed quite fluid.

Gently peeling back the bandages, which were solidly tightened around his skin, your fingers drifted across the newly exposed skin. Even for just a second and your heart would jump out of your chest. You held the hitch in your breath without thought -you really needed to be focused right now.

And there it was.

The cut wasn't too much to look at. It was thin -the edges were a bit dirty from the worn bandage you assumed. No telltale symptoms of infection, you let out a hum of relief.

"Good," you spoke, mostly to yourself, leaning back from his space -sorting through your supplies.

Rick spoke, questioning, "Everything alright?"

"All good," you answered, hands preoccupied, "-just needs a bit of cleaning up. You're lucky, though. It's healing on its own."

"Lucky?" he hummed, watching you move across the space -eyes trailing behind you.

"Would've needed stitches, otherwise," you answered, dousing the cloth in your hands, "-although, I'm sure a scar would fit you well, cowboy."

Rick chuckled, motioning towards his other shoulder, "Already got one."

You paused, looking towards the shoulder; there it was. The wound you knew him from. It reminded you of so long ago, your coworkers, your friends, your boss-

"Right," you hummed, settling down back into your chair, "-I remember."

He shook his head, a little in disbelief, "Right, you were there."

"I was," with a distant hum, you pushed forward -warning before you started, "This might sting a bit. Feel free to keep talking if it helps. I'm told I'm a good listener."

"Oh, really?" his tone quirked in interest, and you could feel the familiar playfulness seep into his tone.

"What? You don't think so?" you questioned, gently dabbing at the cut -soft and gentle.

"No," he began, voice smooth and gravelly, "-just wonderin' what you aren't good at."

"Well, I could tell you that, cowboy," you smirked -the peek of a smile on your lips, "-if that's what you want."

He chuckled, slightly wincing as you cleaned the skin around the cut, "I'm all ears."

"Hmm, let's see," you hummed, pulling back and unraveling some bandages, "-I've never been good at juggling."

Rick laughed, his body leaning forward, his shoulder bumping into yours. There was a buzz there, between your skin and his - and your nose filled with the familiar smell of just... musk, strong wood tones, and a bit of dirt.

You blinked, bringing yourself back down from your head, where Rick was looking at you with a smile -the crinkling by his eyes sending warmth through your skin, "What?"

"Juggling?" He questioned, "That's all you got?"

"No," you laughed, pulling out the bandage and holding your hand in the beginning place of the wrap, "-you didn't let me finish."

"Go right ahead," he spoke, his tone lilting to a tease -you knew it well.

"Don't try me, Grimes," you tsked, before rearranging your hands, to hold the bandage in place, "-here, hold this."

Unflinchingly, he moved his hand where yours was -his fingertips (calloused) brushing against yours with a spark. You try to school your facial expression, cursing at the rising pink on your cheeks. Just because he was pretty and the low drawl of his voice was insanely attractive-

"Okay," you threaded the bandage around his shoulder, leveling to his eyes but not looking there -preoccupied with the placement, "-now. Something I'm not good at... You know, I used to think I wasn't good with kids."

"Really?" Rick asked, disbelieving, and you could feel his breath on your face -puffs of breath across the bridge of your nose.

"Yeah," you answered, humming as your hands completed the motion, "-why? You don't believe it?"

"I don't," He answered, simply and honestly, "-just... You with Judith and Carl... I'm surprised you ever thought you were bad at it."

"Well," you hummed, feeling oddly flattered, "-thank you."

"No, actually-" he began, tone a bit unresolved, "-I never... I never thanked you for taking care 'em. When I was..."

"Rick..." you interrupted, looking into his eyes -attentive and gentle, "-you don't have to."

"No, no, I do," his voice was thick with earnestness, "-I wasn't. I couldn't even think straight... And you- And everybody took care of 'em for me. You deserve a thanks."

You faltered, blue eyes so open and honest -it was so familiar, the same stare burned in your head so long ago. The one you couldn't shake as you watched over him when the world was falling apart, still stuck to your brain as you ran through the woods scared of every step you heard.

It would never leave, not now.

There was a cut along his cheekbone, thin, maybe from a tree branch snapping in his face. Your hand almost naturally went to it, to trace it with your fingertips. You held it back, fingers tightening on the bandage slightly.

"Rick," you hummed, holding your hand where it was -despite your instincts being elsewhere, "-it's really nothing. I'd do anything for them. For you, even. You needed your time, I'm not- You're a great father, you just couldn't be one then. So I helped, really."

He stared at you, eyes bright and warm -he looked like he was just analyzing you. Eyes skimming across your face in rapid succession, like he was trying to understand you, dissect you.

"Okay," he sighed, a hand laying on top of yours -soft, gentle, it sent a shiver down your spine, "-okay."

You exhaled, shaky and your head filled with a fuzz of intimacy, affection, that you hadn't felt in so... long. You felt safe, here with him. Seen amidst the darkest things you'd ever laid eyed on was Rick, and his open vulnerability that you could never shake.

Slow breathing, you had a thought. Just one thought and your eyes almost dipped to his lips. It felt so natural then, just lean a bit forward and-

Clearing your throat, you shook your head before scooting back just a touch -you couldn't think, not with him so close. The buzz under your skin was so strong, and you sat a breath away, it was easy to fall into it.

"Let's uh-" you stammered slightly, "Let's get you patched up, okay?"

Rick swallowed (you watched his Adam's apple bob for a second before dragging your eyes away), eyes darted to yours for a split second, and he nodded.

Without much more thought, you tightened the bandage around his chest -enough to allow it to heal without exposure. As the bandage ran thin, you carefully lifted his hand, which was heavily calloused from the days work against your own, and sorted out the ends.

Just like you'd done it often, rhythmically.

"Keep an eye on that," you spoke, pulling back and sorting through your supplies, "-if anything, and I mean anything feels wrong, come to me."

Rick hummed, eyes hazily focused on you -it kind of made you giddy, "'Course."

"You sure you listening?" You asked, smirking to yourself, "Everything alright?"

"Just... you too," he spoke, tone cautious and honest.

"What?" You tilted your head, turning around to view him in your curious.

"The headache," he hummed, not standing up yet -as he slipped on his flannel, hands working on the buttons.

"How-" you began, pursing your lips, "How did you-"

"Saw ya on the way in, with the temples," he added, fingers working their way up the shirt, nimble and practiced, "-high time you took a break, you know."

"I have," you spoke, stuttering a bit, "-I am."

Rick smirked, bright and boisterous, "Is that when you're lookin' at me shirtless?"

"Yeah, yeah," you hushed him, waving him off with a passive smile and a blush buzzing up your cheeks, "-get your laughs out now, cowboy."

He laughed, trailing towards the door but not stepping out of it -feet stayed solidly in your space, like he didn't really want to leave. It made you bite back a smile.

"But, seriously-" Rick continued, smile fading slightly and eyes leveling to yours as he put his hand on your shoulder, and leaned forward to brush his lips across your forehead -his words exhaling along your skin.

"There's people who care about you, ya know?"

"Okay," you whispered, placing your hand over his on your shoulder, "-okay."