pairing: maggie greene x fem!reader
summary: unfortunate circumstances brings someone you thought was gone back to you.
warnings: MINORS DNI fingering (r!recieving), soft sad shower sex, baby maggie, season 2 maggie, carl getting shot, slight panic attack, hurt/comfort, and smut ofc
author’s note: first fic posted! maggie is my baby and for all my svu lovers, casey novak fic is next!
“Help!” You shout, your voice hoarse from how much you’ve been crying.
Rick runs beside you, Carl’s limp body cradled in his arms, while Shane drags a man you recognize as Otis behind the both of you.
“Somebody help!” Rick yells, picking up speed as you approach the large farmhouse.
A family rushes out, startled by the commotion, an unusual sound in a world gone so quiet. Your vision is too blurred with tears to make out their faces, but you keep running, desperate for help.
“Are you Hershel?” Rick asks the older man desperately, panting with his son still in his arms.
“Yes, I am. Oh dear, what happened?” Hershel’s eyes widen as he sees the bloody boy.
“He’s not bitten. He was shot.” You say breathlessly, determined. There’s no way in hell you’re letting someone with the ability to help walk away.
Your body collapses into the grass as everyone rushes inside. Maybe you’re in shock. That would explain the tingling in your limbs and your blurred vision. In your panic, you don’t notice one of the family members hesitating at the doorway, eyes lingering on your motionless figure.
“I didn’t mean to shoot him!”
“Shut up!” Shane snaps, dragging Otis by the shoulder of his jacket.
You don’t bother to spare a glance at the two men stomping past you into the house. Your mind is on Lori and the others. They have no idea what happened. They must have heard the shot echo through the woods.
Maybe if you’d stood your ground more about taking Carl along with the others, none of this would have happened.
It’s not until someone rides out to find Lori and bring her back that you snap out of your dissociative state.
Walking into the cozy home, the atmosphere doesn’t match the aesthetic of the house. You can hear Lori’s sobs—something you’ve never grown used to, even after growing up together.
When your gaze falls on the young boy lying on the bed, your lip trembles, and your vision blurs again. You rush into the kitchen, gripping the counter to stay steady on your feet.
Soon, arms wrap around you and pull you into a comforting embrace. You don’t even bother to look. You’ll take any comfort you can get.
The soft southern accent makes your eyes snap open.
You know that voice. It’s been weeks since you last heard it—weeks since you thought you ever would again. You pull back, your hands resting against her chest.
“Maggie?” You whisper in disbelief.
Your teary eyes meet hers. Your hands rise shakily from her sternum to her face, cupping the warm skin of the girl you never stopped thinking about. Maggie leans into your touch instinctively, her own eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I thought you were dead.” Maggie mumbles, her voice cracking.
“Oh god.” You breathe, before throwing yourself back into her arms. Maggie’s grip tightens around you, as if afraid that if she opens her eyes, you’ll disappear.
Before the world went to hell, you and Maggie had been neighbors. Not quite house-to-house neighbors, but in a town that small, everyone was basically everyone’s neighbor.
You met at a local convenience store in the middle of the night, both bonding over your late-night cravings for sweets. The two of you walked through town for a while but ended up leaving without exchanging numbers or names.
Maggie couldn’t stop thinking about your smile and your soft nature, so when she saw you again in town, she was ecstatic. That time, she made sure to leave with your number, and a date on the calendar. She figured if she didn’t ask then, she’d regret it if the world ever went to shit.
Little did she know it would happen sooner than later.
You had been dating for six months when you had to travel to your sister Lori’s house, after Rick was shot in the line of duty.
Shane took you in along with the others when the walker population exploded, starting with small towns and quickly devouring big cities. You’d traveled with the group, believing the love of your life and your brother-in-law were both dead.
Now, it feels like the world’s cruel joke, that only when your nephew is lying at death’s door, does fate finally bring Maggie back to you.
“Who is that little boy?” Maggie asks softly from across the small table, where the two of you have chosen to sit and take a breath.
“My nephew.” You whisper, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay.
Maggie rests her hand on your fidgeting ones, gently taking them in hers, her thumb brushing slow circles along your skin.
You sit in silence for a moment before taking a shaky inhale. “Is he good?”
Maggie’s green eyes lift to meet yours, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“Hershel.” You clarify quietly.
Maggie nods after a moment of understanding, then looks away toward the far side of the room, her thumb slowing over your hand.
“Daddy’s the best we got. The best you can get out in this world.”
Both of your heads snap toward the hallway as sudden screams erupt from the other room. In a split second, you’re on your feet, heart pounding, rushing toward the sound of horror.
You stand frozen just a few steps inside the room. Carl is pale, scrambling, and so small on that bed. Blood is everywhere—on the sheets, on Rick’s hands, on the tools laid out in front of Hershel. Lori is sobbing, Shane is pacing, and Rick… Rick looks like his world is ending.
Your legs won’t move. Your body won’t move. You’re locked in place, watching your nephew fight for his life. You can’t do anything. You’re useless.
Then you feel a gentle hand slip into yours.
“Hey.” Maggie’s voice is low, her breath warm against your ear. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
You blink hard, as if doing so will keep the tears in, but they still fall. Your eyes turn toward her. Maggie. With her steady hands and tired, green eyes. She’s scared too, but she’s holding it together. For you.
“I—I can’t.” You whisper, voice barely there. “I can’t watch him die, Mags.”
“He’s not goin’ to die.” Her hand squeezes yours. “My daddy’s gonna do everything he can, y’hear me?”
You nod, but it’s shaky. Your knees feel like they might give out, wobbling profusely. Maggie notices because in the next breath, she pulls you to sit with her on the floor, just outside the chaos but close enough to feel the tremble of tension in the air.
You rest your head on her shoulder, and she wraps both arms around you, grounding you as the world spins too fast.
“I should’ve—he shouldn’t have even come with us.” You choke out, guilt clawing at your chest.
“No.” Maggie says firmly, pulling you closer. “No, this isn’t on you.”
“But it feels like it is.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then her lips brush your temple. “I know it does. But it’s not. You’re not alone in this.”
The sound of Carl crying out in pain breaks through the room, and your whole body tenses. You try to turn, to stand up again, but Maggie holds you in place.
“Don’t look, baby.” She whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t make yourself watch that. Just hold onto me.”
You bury your face into her neck and do exactly that, squeezing your eyes shut so tight that it causes a slight pain in the back of your head.
Behind you, Hershel’s voice stays calm but commanding. Rick mutters frantic prayers, Lori sobs uncontrollably, and the room continues to buzz with desperation.
But in Maggie’s arms, just for a moment, you find something solid to hold onto.
Your nerves and panic spurts have come and gone all the way until Shane and Otis finally came back with the necessary medical equipment to save Carl.
Maggie didn’t leave your side for one second, coaching you through anxiety attacks, stopping you from biting your nails, and whatever else she caught.
Once Carl was all stitched up, you were quick to sit on one of the now free chairs just to watch over your nephew. Maggie helped her father clean up the blood soaked fabric and everything else that shouldn’t be in eyesight.
You now sit, biting your thumbnail almost all the way to its bed as you watch the little boy’s deeper breathing than it was just hours ago. Rick and Lori sit on each side of their son, resting their heads on the bed to relax from such a stressful moment.
“Would ya stop that?” Maggie scolds lightheartedly, smacking your hand away from your mouth.
“Sorry.” You murmur with the best smile you can conjure up, which you’re not sure if it can even be considered small.
Maggie can see the fear in your eyes along with the twitch and hesitation of your lips. Deeply sighing, she offers you her hand, expecting you to grab on with not many questions.
“How about you take a shower? We still got hot water for now.” She grins, hoping it will cheer you up even just the slightest.
You glance toward Carl again, the smallest part of you afraid that if you take your eyes off him, something might change. That his chest might stop rising. That the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing might disappear.
But then you look back at Maggie and the way she’s offering her hand, steady and sure, it’s like a lifeline.
She leads you gently through the house, careful not to pull too fast or speak too loudly, like she knows you’re on the edge of unraveling. And maybe you are.
The bathroom up the stairs is small, but the pattering and warmth of the water starting from the shower is comforting. Maggie grabs all the necessities you need and place them on the shelf next to the curtains.
“I’ll be right outside.” She murmurs, squeezing your hand before going to let go.
As Maggie takes a step, she feels the tug of her arm from your hand still gripping onto hers. Looking back at you, she sees your head tilted down and directed at the tiled floor.
“I don’t want to be alone. Will you join me?”
Maggie wants to protest, but when she sees the desperation in your eyes, she decides against it. Stepping forward, she wraps her arms around your waist and nods before kissing your temple.
Her hands find the hem of your shirt, helping you strip out of the clothes that almost suffocate you from today’s events. The smell of blood and sweat that once clung to your skin now drapes onto the floor, though it doesn’t stop the churning of your stomach.
“Go ‘head.” Maggie nods her head toward the running shower, but when she notices your hesitation, she quickly assures you. “I’ll be there in just a minute, sweetheart.”
Your movements stutter for a moment before you nod, stepping into the unfamiliar warm water. Not sure what to do with yourself, you remain standing still under the showerhead, letting the water drip and trail down your skin.
Eventually you hear the soft rustling of fabric beside you before the sound of the curtain pulling back gently. Maggie steps in quietly, her presence immediately grounding, even though neither of you speaks at first. The water mists her skin, darkening her hair as it falls around her cheeks, and she closes the curtain behind her with care, like you might jump if she moves too fast.
She steps close—close enough that you feel her warmth before she even touches you. Her hands lift slowly, brushing back the hair matted to your forehead before curling her index finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to hers. Her other hand trails down to reach yours.
“You’re shakin’.” She says gently, feeling your hand tremble under her touch.
You hadn’t even noticed until now. You lift your hands, placing them on either side of her face. Your thumbs rub over the apples of her cheeks as your eyes soak in every ridge and pore on her skin.
“I thought I lost you.” You finally whisper.
Maggie inhales deeply as her hands slide to your hips, desperate to feel your skin. Looking into your eyes, she watches as tears begin to build, causing her own throat to tighten at the sight.
“But ya didn’t. ‘M right here and that’s all that matters now.” She assures you gently.
You nod rapidly, reminding yourself that she’s really here. In front of you. Touching you. Holding you. And yet it still doesn’t feel close enough.
Your hands still tremble against Maggie’s face, but it doesn’t stop you from finally pulling her lips down to yours, connecting for the first time in what feels like centuries.
Your lips are slightly chapped—neither of you had the time nor mind to care about something like chapstick—but to you, hers feel as soft as clouds.
Kissing Maggie had always felt cliché, like two puzzle pieces slotting together. But now? Now it feels like two branches that have finally reached one another after years of growing apart.
Her hand trails from the curve of your hip up to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, noses bumping harshly in the process, but neither of you care. Your grip tightens on her cheeks, your shoulders rising from how tightly you’re curled into her.
“Don’t ever leave me again.” You murmur against her plump lips.
When your lips quickly slot back against hers, tears finally begin to trail down your cheeks. You were already incredibly sensitive before the shower, but now, overwhelmed by the kiss, by her, the feeling consumes you entirely. You’re basically a pile of mush.
Even though the water is pouring over both of you, Maggie can still see the difference. She notices the way the drops fall differently from your eyes. She feels the quiver of your lips and pulls back slightly.
“Please. Please, I just need to feel you. I need you close.” You practically beg, your hands now flat against her chest.
Maggie’s eyes scan yours, reading every unspoken word written in them. After a pause, she nods and leans back in, crashing her lips into yours once more. This kiss feels like more than a reunion. It feels like a promise to stay.
Your hands slide up from her chest to the back of her neck, your arms coming to rest loosely over her shoulders. Maggie’s fingertips trail down your stomach, and your body twitches instinctively at the touch.
Though she doesn’t want to part from your lips, Maggie shifts to the side, kissing your cheek, then slowly moving to the soft skin of your neck. Her kisses remain tender and loving, but there’s a lingering edge of need—an ache born from all the time lost and the fear of losing you again.
She knows that in both of your fragile states, moving too fast or too rough would only unravel the moment. But after believing you were both gone to the world, it’s hard not to blur the lines.
You gasp softly when her lips trail across the sensitive skin just below your ear, your fingers tightening slightly at the nape of her neck. The water continues to pour down, steaming around the two of you, blurring everything outside the embrace.
Maggie’s hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. Her mouth moves with the kind of patience that says she’s in no rush, like she’s memorizing the taste of you all over again.
“You feel real.” You whisper, your voice trembling against her temple.
She pulls back just far enough to look at you, brushing her thumb gently across your bottom lip.
“I am.” She says, barely louder than the sound of the water. “And so are you. I’ve got you now.”
Your lips meet again, slower this time deeper. The kind of kiss that leaves you breathless, the kind that makes your knees feel like they’re seconds from buckling. Maggie’s hands slide up your back, fingers splayed, grounding you like she’s anchoring you to the present.
Her lips trail to your chin, then lower to the center of your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. Then lower still—to your collarbone, then your sternum. You feel her top lip drag lazily down your body, her kisses messier now, more desperate. She keeps going until her knees nearly touch the floor.
But before she can sink any lower, your hands reach down to grab her biceps, steady but firm, guiding her back up until you’re face to face again.
“I need you here.” You urge, your voice low, your hands remaining on her arms.
Maggie smiles softly, something tender flickering in her eyes, before leaning in once more to capture your mouth with hers. This time, instead of moving lower, her right hand drifts from the curve of your waist, down over the swell of your ass.
Your breath hitches when her fingers slip to the inside of your thigh, dragging upward with agonizing slowness, stopping exactly where your body aches for her most. You’re practically pulsing with need, so overwhelmed it feels like you might shatter from the sensation alone.
Maggie pauses only for a moment, eyes searching yours, waiting for permission.
You nod once, twice, then tug her mouth back to yours with urgency. You could kiss her for hours and never grow tired. You want to. But right now, you want more.
Her touch is gentle at first, just the slightest pressure of her fingertips against your nerves, enough to make your breath catch and your knees buckle. Maggie wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you before you can fall.
“I’ve got you.” She whispers against your lips, steady and sure. “Always got you.”
She continues, circling your swollen clit with a tighter, more deliberate rhythm, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips as your hips jerk into her hand. You’re so sensitive now, every nerve in your body on fire. Your forehead presses to hers as your breathing deepens, your body leaning into her like she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. Every brush of her fingers, every kiss to your mouth, your neck, your shoulder—each one feels like a promise.
Maggie’s eyes clamp shut at the sound of your whimpers, grounding herself so she doesn’t go too far, too fast. You need this moment. She needs this moment. And the beautiful sounds spilling from your lips remind her of everything she thought she’d lost forever.
Soon, her hand drifts lower, the tips of her fingers lingering at the swell of your entrance. She hesitates for a second, but it’s all the confirmation she needs when your forehead presses against her cheek and you nod, quick and sure.
She starts slow, her middle finger easing in, pumping gently in and out as you stretch around her. When a shaky moan escapes your lips, she slips in her ring finger beside the first, curling them in perfect rhythm.
Her free hand finds the underside of your knee, lifting your leg to curl around her waist, adjusting the angle. She doesn’t dare let go, holding it there firmly so you can stay connected, supported, held.
You cling to her like a lifeline—hands tangled in her wet hair, body arching toward every point of contact, desperate for more. Each thrust of her fingers ripples through you like waves. One rolls out, and another crashes in stronger, deeper, and more intense.
When your hips begin to subconsciously grind with each pump of Maggie’s fingers, you reach out, placing your hand behind her neck and pulling her back toward your mouth, connecting your lips as the pressure builds in your core.
Between the small gaps in your kiss, breathy moans escape, brushing against Maggie’s lips and urging her to move faster. She can feel your wetness grow, dripping down her wrist, and with your moans becoming more consistent, she knows you’re close.
“I love you, Mags.” You gasp, your head falling back against the wall as the coil in your stomach starts to snap.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” Maggie mumbles along the column of your throat, having made her lips busy there with your head cocked up toward the ceiling.
You try to contain your whines and moans the best you can as your orgasm crashes over you, not wanting anyone to overhear this deeply private, intimate moment.
After a minute or two of deep breaths and sweet kisses, you both agree to finish washing up quickly before someone comes knocking about hogging the hot water.
“That girl was crazy as all get out.” Maggie says, shaking her head with a smile as she picks a card up from the pile between you two. You’d both decided to play Go Fish to pass the time.
After your shower, Maggie had offered you one of her shirts, the t-shirt you used to constantly steal from her back when you stayed at her apartment. When you returned downstairs, Carl was awake and okay, just tired and needing rest, which helped ease the worst of your worry.
Now, the two of you sit at the small table by the windows leading out to the porch, where the others are gathered. Otis plays his guitar softly while you and Maggie reminisce about old times.
“I missed that most about you.” You admit after a fit of giggles.
“And what’s that?” The older girl asks, quirking an eyebrow dramatically over the hand of cards she’s holding.
Maggie’s jaw shifts to the side before she places her cards face-up on the table. “You’ve got one too, y’know.”
“Yeah, but yours is thicker.” You shrug. “Oh, and by the way…I can see your cards.”
“You cheater!” Maggie scoffs, reaching across the table to swat at the cards held in your hand.
You laugh, leaning back in your chair, eyes glinting. “Not my fault you place ‘em like a damn billboard.”
“Oh, now you’ve got jokes?” She says, narrowing her eyes in mock offense. “Maybe I oughta take my shirt back.”
You gasp, clutching the fabric at your chest like it’s sacred. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Maggie chuckles, eyes softening as they rake over you, like she’s memorizing the image—your damp hair, your legs curled up in the chair, her shirt hanging off your frame like it belongs there.
“No.” She murmurs, her tone gentler now. “Wouldn’t dare.”
The table falls quiet for a moment, save for the muffled sound of Otis’s guitar outside and the soft rustling of the wind against the porch.
You glance over toward the window, then back at her. “Kinda peaceful here, huh?”
“Yeah.” Maggie agrees, sliding her foot under the table to nudge yours. “Almost makes you forget the world’s gone to hell.”
You nod slowly, fingers fidgeting with a card in your hand. “I don’t need the world to be perfect. Just need you.”
Maggie stares at you for a beat before reaching out and lacing her fingers with yours across the table. “You’ve got me.”
“Always?” You ask, quieter this time.
She squeezes your hand. “Always.”
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