#itch and carl

[godhasforsakenthee]

Carl Grimes reminds me of Dean in the way that when something remotely strange happens, they both reach for the gun

[jils-things]

ok i was hiding. i started thinking abt him because of the unholy amount of tiktok edits saved of him in PINTEREST

[gothgoblinbabe]

I Wanna Be Yours (D.D)

Daryl Dixon x fem reader

A/N: heeyyy…how yall doin….long time no seeee

Big apologies for such a long writing hiatus, I literally have been writing since the last story I posted in OCTOBER OF LAST YEAR, just uh I’m American and the election happened and my life fell apart ngl! It’s coming back together and I’m sober enough to want to write more often instead of smoke and drink so I hope I’ll see you again soon with another story. If you followed me for Logan Howlett content, it’s not like I’ll never write for him again - I just went through a hyper fixation that has ended, BUT I still think he’s sexy and I still have 3-5 unfinished works about Logan in the docs so those will eventually see the light of day. For now I’m closing requests as well just because it’s overwhelming <3 hope yall understand but I will be back on that eventually. If you read all this thank you sm for finding this or still following me after so long, it’s the reason I have motivation to finish!

Summary: Being outside the walls leads to an interesting discovery that then leads to you being stoned on your front porch with Daryl Dixon, and to something else entirely…

Warnings: recreational drug use (marijuana) , fem reader, nothing else I can really think of, maybe swearing? Mild intimacy, this one’s a pretty clean one

Word count: 3-4K ish I believe?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Supplies running low always meant the same thing - you had to go outside the walls.

It was almost always you and Daryl - Rick was too busy now keeping things straight in Alexandria, especially with Carl and Judith, and that left the two of you to do the dirty work.

That led you to where you were, begrudgingly following behind Daryl as you scavenged another place.

The house smelled of rot and death - same as most of them did these days. Peeling wallpaper, molded ceilings and eerie silence was all you were met with when entering every abandoned home.

“Clear,” Daryl muttered in front of you, stepping over a broken coffee table. The smashed glass crunched under the weight of his worn boots.

You nodded, entering the last room of the house - a mostly trashed bedroom. The mattress was stripped bare and the contents of most of the drawers were strewn about, except for a closed one in the dresser. You both briefly sorted through some of the clutter until you opened that particular drawer.

“No way..”

Daryl turned at the sound of your voice, watching you pull something out of the dresser drawer.

It was a small jar with a sealed lid, about big enough to clutch in your palm. You shook the glass jar slightly and he watched the dried plant inside tap the glass.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, stepping closer and inspecting the container from afar.

You unscrewed the air-tight lid and brought the jar up to your nose.

“Sure as shit smells like what I think it is,” you replied with a chuckle, holding it out for him to take a whiff.

“Damn straight,” Daryl nodded after smelling the substance, “that's definitely bud. I’d be surprised if it was any good after bein’ in there for long.”

“Well, we’ll find out,” you smiled widely, shoving the marujuana into a pocket in your backpack, “you in for smokin’ later?”

Daryl couldn’t remember the last time he smoked, though it was probably with Merle. What he did remember was being hungry and horny, the latter of which he already had a hard time avoiding when he was with you.

“Nah, I’m alright,” he finally replied, watching your shoulders rise and fall in a ‘suit yourself’ kind of shrug.

“Well, come find me tonight if you change your mind,” you told him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Daryl didn’t know what possessed him that night - maybe his childish crush, his need to relax, the stupid itch he had to be around you all the time - whatever it was, it moved him out of his house and onto the road of Alexandria, watching his worn boots shuffle across the pavement under the dim moonlight.

He was walking to the fourth house down from his, on the left - your house. A nice place painted a beautiful sage green, fitting perfectly between the other well kept houses. Before he passed the second house, he could see your form in the dark, sitting curled up in a chair on your porch. When he squinted, he could see a small, warm glow between your fingers.

“Hey, you change your mind?” you spoke when he approached your front porch, raising your eyebrows and flashing him a smile.

Even in the light of the moon, he could still make out your expression. Your grin made his heart feel heavy.

“Maybe, unless ya’ already smoked it all,” Daryl joked, stepping up the porch and leaning against a pillar that held up the roof above you. The potent scent of the burning plant filled his senses.

You held up the joint between your fingers, letting out a small giggle.

“Nope, plenty left.”

You held it up to him, the smoke swirling and spiraling into the night sky. He took it, squinting at the small words printed onto the paper used to roll the joint.

“What’d ya’ roll this with, anyway?” He asked, feeling the texture between his fingers. He was too afraid to inhale before you answered and your hesitation to do so made him even more alarmed.

“It might- uh, it may be paper from a bible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Gabriel ain’t gonna be too happy about that,” he said before finally lifting the joint to his lips, inhaling slightly. The last thing he wanted to do was cough his lungs out and embarrass himself.

He let the smoke enter and exit his lungs, watching it disappear under the background of the stars. It burned, just like he remembered. He took another hit and passed it back to you, holding in a cough when his second hit was too ambitious.

“Don’t green out on me,” you joked, taking it from between his fingers and putting it back between your lips. You tried not to think about his damp saliva wetting the filter of the joint, indirectly passing it to your lips. It may have been the closest you’d ever get to a real kiss and you’d take it. You’d take any bread crumb Darly would give you, whether or not he realized he was even leaving them.

“Off two hits? You think I ain’t ever smoked before? Hell, if we’d met years before, back when I was with merle - I’d smoke you out.”

You stifled a laugh and shook your head, passing the joint again. He told you many stories about his older brother.

“Yeah, right. You never met twenty year old me - I smoked like Bob fucking Marley.”

That made both of you chuckle, Daryl stifling the noise from his throat with a hand over his mouth. It made you smile even wider - hearing his laugh, even if it was muffled, and seeing the wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiled so wide. It was rare, but you were one of the very few people who could pull that out of him.

After a few more passes back and forth, the joint was nothing but a paper filter topped with ash, forgotten on the sidewalk in front of your porch. You moved from your seat onto the top step, feeling the wood underneath your bare feet.

“Feels nice,” you explained with a small giggle, wiggling your feet atop the finished wood.

Darly only shook his head, joining you on the step. He felt like tv static - whatever that meant. It was the only word he could think to describe the feeling. It really had been a long time since he smoked, so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like. His eyelids felt heavy and he was almost positive you were genuinely glowing under the light of the moon. He wanted to feel like this more often, truthfully. He wasn’t worried he was staring, too engrossed in his view of you beside him to realize he hadn’t taken his eyes off your face in a solid thirty seconds.

“You okay?” You asked with a slight chuckle,raising your eyebrows at him.

He nodded, blinking the dryness from his eyes and turning his gaze away from you and onto the front steps below him.

“Feel fucked up.”

That pulled another giggle fit from the both of you, one in which you thoughtlessly grabbed Daryl’s arm and buried your smiling face in his shoulder. His skin burned where you touched him and he was smiling for an entirely different reason now, wishing you’d stay this close to him.

To his absolute pleasure, you remained with your knees pressing into the side of his legs and your arms wrapped around his bicep, like he’d run if you let him go.

Without knowing how to describe it, Daryl didn’t quite realize what he felt in that moment was absolute adoration for you. Carol would always insist it was love, to which he constantly told her she was ‘off her damn rocker’.

You didn’t even realize you were so close until you finally pulled your face from the leather of his vest and your nose brushed up against the scruff on his cheek.

“Oh, sorry- I’m sorry,” you apologized, letting go and attempting to scoot yourself away before you realized you couldn’t.

Daryl acted without thinking and wrapped an arm around your waist the second you began to pull away. He couldn’t help himself.

“Nah, I don’t mind- ‘s chilly anyway.”

You swallowed, hyper aware of the sensation of his large arm around you. You felt nervous being so close to him, but it ignited a warm buzz within your stomach, something that crept up your spine and chest.

“Bet you can see all my gross pores, bein’ this close,” you joked, only to be met with a slight smile in response.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “ya’ look pretty.”

Was that his voice? Did Daryl say that? He wasn’t quite sure.

“Th- uh, thanks,” you stuttered. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. You tried to think of another, smoother reply but nearly bit your tongue when your ill thought out response left your mouth.

“You’re- you look handsome.”

The words came out nervously in quick succession, sincere nonetheless.

“You’re goin’ blind, then,” he joked.

You furrowed your eyebrows, genuinely confused, but kept your sweet smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I’ve got an ugly mug.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Definitely not.”

Definitely. Daryl wondered why that made his stomach turn. Not in the way it would when something went wrong - in a way that was unfamiliar to him. Something only you did to him.

“What, ya got some kinda crush or somethin’?” he teased with a wide grin, dipping his head down.

You could feel his hot breath fan your face and you swallowed hard. You tried to crack a nervous smile but became too overwhelmed by just how close Daryl was. Your faces were inches apart. He leaned in further and you felt yourself drawn to him like a magnet, doing the same until your noses were just brushing up against each other. Your breath was heavy, mirroring his, and your heart was racing out of your chest. His smile had long fallen, shaky breaths coming and going between his lips. One nudge from either of you would be all it took to finally share a moment you’d been dreaming about for months.

“Daryl…” your soft lips barely grazed his, fanning your breath over his lips.

“I-I should go home. Gotta be up early.”

Daryl was off you in the blink of an eye, detaching himself and jumping up from the wood like you’d burned him. You inhaled sharply and wrapped your arms around your chest, suddenly aware of just how cold you felt.

“Uh, sure,” you muttered, shaking your head at your own foolish disappointment. What did you think was going to happen - that he’d kiss you? How stupid must you have been to think that?

You said your goodbyes and watched him disappear into the night, his figure fading further and further into the darkness.

“Way to make things fucking weird,” you chastised yourself, groaning in frustration and turning around to head inside for the night.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Daryl barely slept that night. He kept replaying that moment in his mind over and over, where he was centimeters from kissing you, and kicking himself for pussying out at the last minute. He didn’t want your first kiss to be that way, though - stoned on your front porch. He had always told himself he’d confess to you some way - find you flowers or some trinket when out scavenging that he thought was fitting for you and give it to you as a token of his affection or some cheesy shit like that. However he did it, he just knew it couldn’t have happened last night.

The next morning, he felt his punishment for lack of sleep. He’d never been more off his game. He missed every other shot when he went hunting and came back with about half of what he’d usually bring, visibly agitated. What was he going to say when he saw you next?

‘Sorry i didnt kiss ya’? ‘Sorry i ran off ‘cause I was too scared to’?

What if you hadn’t even wanted to kiss him? And why did you say his name - what were you going to say?

He racked his brain for answers, habitually chewing on the inside of his cheek and lower lip. It was around noon when he got back from hunting, the sun shining hot overhead, and he knew you’d be on infirmary duty around now. He could picture you, hunched over a textbook with those old, cracked readers sliding down your nose.

His imagination was right, though you weren’t any better off than him. You hadn’t seen Daryl all day and the worry settling in the pit of your stomach was almost unbearable. You weren’t sure what to even expect from him - certainly not some grand confession of hidden feelings. Maybe he wouldn’t bring it up at all the next time you saw him; maybe he’d sweep it under the rug, like he did most things.

Still, you hoped he’d say something, anything. After what must have been months at that point, the back and forth of wondering whether or not something was there felt like it was carving away at you from the inside out. Even passing onto the front steps the next morning made your stomach twist into a knot of barbed wire.

You closed the medical textbook on the desk in front of you with a loud sigh, stretching your arms over your head. Just as you were about to stand, Denise appeared in the doorway of the office, a wide and mischievous smile on her face. She spoke your name and held up the sweatshirt she had in her hand - your sweatshirt.

“Can I ask you something?”

You gave her a confused expression but nodded anyway.

Denise took a deep inhale of the fabric, chuckling a bit before she spoke.

“Where’d you find pot?”

You caught the article of clothing as she threw it to you, balling it up in your fists and inhaling as she did. Sure enough, the sweater you wore to smoke definitely stank.

“Out scavenging, some stoner’s room,’’ you answered honestly.

Denise sat down across from you and before you knew it, you told her everything - the discovery, the rolling of the joint, the sharing of the joint, and eventually - of the almost-maybe kiss.

“You talked to him about it, right?” she asked finally, arms crossed with her feet up on your desk, “because you need to talk to him about it.”

“I haven't seen him all day.”

The sound of your own voice drowned out the small squeak of the front door opening and closing.

“I don’t even know what i’d tell him.”

Daryl stopped in his tracks at the echo of your words through the empty infirmary.

“That you wanted it?” Denise suggested, “that he should have just done it?”

He stood still, frozen, terrified that even a shift of his weight from one foot to the other would alert you of his presence. You weren’t talking about last night, surely.

“He almost kissed me, Denise.”

Nevermind.

“And you almost kissed him! I don’t see the problem!” she let out a short laugh to cover her frustrated tone.

“It’s- I don’t know, because what if that wasn’t what he wanted? And I- I almost…” you trailed off, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

She stared expectantly until you finally spoke, muffled through your fingers.

“I almost told him I did want him to kiss me, but he ran off before I could even start.”

Daryl’s mouth felt dry and his hands felt like pins and needles, all somehow more intensely than he felt when he’d actually been high. That’s what you were going to say - that you wanted him too. He was sure he had to be hearing you wrong until you kept babbling on, spilling the truth like sticky sweet syrup into the quiet room.

“I was gonna tell him how I felt, how I’ve been feeling, but- but, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bad idea. He’s just so…he’s wonderful, Denise, he’s-he’s…my best friend. He’s just everything I want, and I want to be more than friends-”

He was lightheaded, looking around for something soft enough to fall into incase his knees gave out from underneath him. He had to get the hell out of there. As much as he wanted to listen to you gush about him, if he heard any more, he feared he may really faint. He had to do something now - no more hesitating, no more waiting to see if you felt the same - he just had to act.

Your conversation with Denise was cut off by the click of the front door closing and you both stood to look down the hall, being met with empty silence and a desolate room.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It wasn’t until later that evening that you finally saw Daryl, not for your lack of searching. When you got off your shift, you asked around for him, only to be told that he’d went outside the walls again. As always, that worried you. He could handle himself, but every step outside the walls was riskier than the last.

You were still thinking of him when you heard a knock on your door at sunset. You hurried down your stairs in your loose pajama pants and tank top, heart racing. It had to be Daryl.

Sure enough, you swung open the door to be met with his familiar face, one that always erupted your stomach into butterflies. Your eyes fell from his face to his hands in front of him. A small, tin box decorated in complementing colors fit perfectly in his palms, twine tied neatly around it.

“Had this for awhile,” he said gruffly, voice lower than usual, “figured it was stuff ya’ might like.”

He held it out for you to take and you obliged, fingers brushing his when you took the cool, metal box from him.

You unwrapped it right there, untwisting the twine. Inside, wrapped in an old bit of cloth, were a few pretty things he’d collected for you.

Dried, pressed wildflowers laid atop the contents, still fragrant. Underneath was a beautiful piece of green sea glass and a rusted silver Zippo lighter with your initial scratched into the front.

You blinked, speechless from the sweet, thoughtful gesture.

“I was gonna wait, give it to ya’ another time,” he continued, eyes never leaving the porch floor, “but I don’t want ya thinkin I ran off ‘cause I didn’t wanna kiss ya’. ‘Cause I did.”

Your eyes locked with his when he looked up at you finally. You were frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

“You did?” You asked, almost in a whisper.

There was palpable tension between the two of you - a spark lit by the confession.

Daryl nodded, slow and sure, his fingers picking at the skin around his nails nervously.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad that it scared the hell outta me,” he swallowed hard, “not ‘cause i wouldn’t mean it - cause I would - I just didn’t want the first time I kissed ya’ to be all sloppy and stoned on your porch.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. All you could do was look at him. The light from the setting sun highlighted the tension in his jaw and the vulnerability in his eyes. All of it was so raw, so real, that you could barely believe it. He wasn't a man who opened up easily, yet he was laying himself bare for you.

“I thought maybe I messed up,” you spoke finally, voice trembling, “I never thought you’d feel the same.”

“I do,” he answered with no hesitation, “I feel it. I think ‘bout you all the time - drives me crazy. When i’m out there, i think of gettin’ back to you. When i’m here, Im wonderin’ what you're doin, if you're okay. I wanna be near ya’ all the time - wanna be yours.”

Before you could speak again, Daryl let his confession unravel further.

“I heard ya’ earlier today, y’know, with Denise?’’

Your face fell.

“You heard-”

“I heard, an’ I’m glad I did. I don't know if I woulda’ ever had the guts to tell ya’ anything if I hadn't heard you say somethin’ first.”

Your ringers traced the edges of the tin box in your hand while your heart pounded against your rib cage like it was trying to get out. You wanted to crawl into the floorboards and disappear but instead, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

“Guess I don't have to figure out how to say it now."

He shifted on his boots, awkward like a teenager.

"Still wanna hear it, if you wanna say it."

You stared at him for a moment. You knew you wanted to be honest, finally feeling free to do so. You stepped closer, so close that your toes touched his boots.

“I want to be yours too,” you said slowly, almost in a whisper.

Daryl’s eyes searched your face, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe you at first.

“You do?”

“I do,” you smiled softly, nodding.

He took a deep breath, something unreadable across his face - like a combination of relief and disbelief. Hesitantly, he reached up to touch your face. His calloused fingers grazed your soft, warm cheek.

“Ya’ still think I’m so wonderful? After runnin’ off?” Daryl teased a bit, recalling your earlier words he’d heard.

“Absolutely,” you answered honestly, “plus, you didn’t technically run off - you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I’ll always come back to you,” he told you truthfully.

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Those words would ring through your ears for a while after.

“And I’ll always be here for you to come back to.”

Daryl’s smile lit his entire face in a way you rarely saw - as if all the weight he carried had been lifted, even if it was just for a moment.

Finally, after all the second guessing, the misunderstandings and feelings suppressed, he leaned in. His nose brushed yours and his warm breath fanned your face just like it had the night before. His lips met yours, soft and hesitant, like you might burn him.

You didn’t.

You kissed him back, slow and gentle, careful not to scare him off. Your hands snaked around his neck and your fingers tangled in the back of his hair. His kiss tasted like cigarettes, a habit you’d always got on his ass about. His arms wrapped around you in silent desperation, pulling you against him after wanting to do so for so long.

When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead against yours, a satisfied grin plastered onto his face.

“It wasn’t sloppy,” you told him quietly, shooting him a smile.

“No?”

“Uh-uh,” you shook your head very slightly, your hair brushing against Daryl’s face, “it was perfect.”

You stood in the golden glow of the sunset for a while, wrapped in each others arms on your front porch as if anyone walking by couldn’t see you. It didn’t really matter - you felt like your world was only the two of you in that moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Daryl didn’t feel like running.

[magical-reid]

Just One Kiss

Paring: Lip Gallagher x Gn!Reader (uses Y/N)

Warnings: Reader and Lip kiss while they're in a relationship

Word Count: 1.5 K

Summary: Lip Gallagher finds you on his porch late at night, vulnerable and seeking reassurance, leading to an emotional conversation about your relationship with someone who isn't treating you well. After sharing a kiss, Lip realizes he wants more, but is determined to wait until you're ready to choose happiness over guilt and uncertainty.

Lip didn’t mind being up late. The chaos of the Gallagher house quieted down after midnight—most nights, anyway. He’d been sitting on the porch, nursing his third cigarette, the sharp scent of nicotine mixing with the South Side’s usual cocktail of city grime and regret. It was peaceful in a way.

But you didn’t look right when he saw you walking toward the house, arms wrapped tight around yourself, your steps hesitant. You always walked with purpose, even when you were nervous. This? This was something else. He felt the cigarette slip from his fingers. He stood, his brow furrowed, his chest tightening as a dozen possibilities raced through his head.

“Y/N?” he asked, voice low but concerned. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

You hesitated, your arms crossed tight over your chest. “I needed to talk to someone.”

Lip’s stomach twisted. He’d seen you like this maybe once or twice before—when you were at your lowest, vulnerable and unsure. It killed him to see it.

“Everyone’s inside,” he said, already moving toward the door. “I’ll grab Fiona or—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice shaking. “I want to talk to you.”

Lip’s stomach twisted and his chest ached at the sound of your voice, and for a second, he hated himself for how happy that made him, but the weight in your voice told him it wasn’t good. “Yeah, alright. Come on,” he said, motioning toward the worn couch on the porch.

You followed him, sitting down slowly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Lip sat beside you, his hands itching to reach out, to steady whatever storm was churning inside you, but he didn’t. He didn’t trust himself to touch you—not when you looked like that.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Lip’s mind raced with worst-case scenarios: did that asshole David do something to you? Did he hurt you? He was already planning out how many hits he’d get in before Ian or Carl pulled him off.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but trembling. “Do you… do you think I’m attractive?”

Lip blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What?”

“Do you think I’m attractive?” you repeated, refusing to look at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you, the question twisting his gut in knots. He’d spent months—years, maybe—trying not to think about you like that. He didn’t let himself notice the way your smile lit up a room or how your laugh made the worst days bearable. He’d buried every thought that strayed too far because you weren’t his to want.

But now you were asking, and the walls he’d built were crumbling fast.

His heart stumbled, confusion and frustration tangling in his chest. “What the hell kind of question is that?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

You flinched, and he immediately felt like an ass. “Y/N, come on. Why are you asking me that?”

“Just answer me,” you insisted, your eyes pleading with him.

Lip stared at you, his chest tightening so hard it was hard to breathe. Did you know what you were doing to him? You had to know.

“Of course, I do,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “You’re—you’re beautiful. You know that.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “Then why doesn’t he want me?”

Lip’s entire body went still. And then, like a spark hitting dry tinder, the fire inside him roared to life.

“Who?” he demanded, though he already knew.

“David,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He barely touches me. He doesn’t kiss me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Lip. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Lip clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his nails biting into his palms. He hated David—hated the smug, self-centered asshole for every time he left you feeling like this. Lip didn’t need much of a reason to want to hit the guy on a good day, but now? Now he was ready to hunt him down. Now he wanted to break the guy in half.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not you, alright? That guy’s a fucking asshole.”

“He’s not,” you said weakly, but Lip wasn’t listening anymore. “He’s sweet, he’s kind—”

“Then why the hell is he making you feel like this?” he snapped, his voice rising.

You flinched again, and his anger evaporated instantly, replaced by guilt. “Hey,” he said softening his tone, reaching out to touch your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just… it pisses me off, okay? You don’t deserve this.”

You nodded, your bottom lip trembling as you wiped at your tears.

Lip’s hand lingered on your shoulder, his chest aching at the sight of you so broken. “You don’t need him to tell you you’re worth something, Y/N. You’re amazing, okay? And if he can’t see that, then screw him.”

A shaky laugh escaped your lips, and for a second, Lip thought maybe he’d gotten through to you. But then you said, “You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”

“Not a chance,” Lip said firmly, his hand dropping to yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You stared at him, your eyes searching his like you were looking for something—validation, honesty, hope. Lip’s stomach twisted under your gaze, knowing he’d give you all of that and more if you just asked.

“Lip,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “If we kissed… would you tell me the truth? Would you tell me if it felt wrong?”

His breath caught and his heart stopped, the world narrowing to just you. He knew he should say no, should stop this before it went any further. But then you reached out, your hand resting lightly on his chest, and every ounce of self-control he had left shattered.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I’d tell you.”

You leaned in, your hand resting lightly on his chest as your lips brushed against his, soft and hesitant, and Lip froze. His entire body was on fire, his hands hovered in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them, his mind screaming at him to pull away. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, terrified that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. But then you kissed him again—this time deeper, more certain—and the only thought left in his head was don’t stop.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. You made a soft noise of surprise, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you leaned into him, and Lip thought he might lose his mind.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It was years of unspoken feelings, months of pretending he didn’t want you, all crashing to the surface at once.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, Lip rested his forehead against yours, his hands still gripping your waist.

“Well?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Lip let out a shaky laugh, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “It didn’t feel wrong. Not even close.”

Relief flooded your face, but it quickly shifted to guilt and Lip’s chest ached. “I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, pulling away.

“Hey,” he said, catching your hand before you could leave. “Look at me. Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is your fault.”

You hesitated, but eventually, your eyes met his. “It is,” you said quietly. “I kissed you.”

“And I kissed you back,” he shot back, his grip tightening on your hand. “You deserve better than him,” his voice steady and sure. “You deserve someone who looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. Someone who’ll kiss you so much you’ll get sick of it.”

You laughed softly, tears spilling over again. “That sounds nice.”

Lip’s grip on your hand tightened, his heart breaking at the sight of you so vulnerable, so unsure. “You don’t have to stay with him, Y/N. You know that, right?”

You stared at him, your eyes filled with guilt and something else—something that made Lip’s heart race. “What am I supposed to do, Lip?”

“Whatever makes you happy,” he said softly, his voice breaking. 

“I just… I don’t know if I’m ready.” you said, tears spilling over again.

Lip nodded, his chest heavy but his heart steady. “Whenever you are, I’ll be here. Okay?”

You gave him a small, watery smile. “Thank you, Lip.”

As you walked away, Lip sat there, his heart in his throat, his lips still tingling from your kiss, his hands still burning from where they’d held you.

He wanted you—God, he wanted you—but not like this. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you how he felt, but he couldn’t. Not yet. You deserved more than some rebound, more than a distraction from a guy who didn’t deserve you.

He’d wait. No matter how long it took, he’d wait for you to realize what he already knew: you were worth everything.

So he sat back down, lighting another cigarette as the world slowly came back into focus.

[carlsangel]

UNDER THE WEATHER

carl grimes x reader

(you’re sick and carl takes care of you.)

tags: fluff but warning for sickness!

masterlist here!

Living in the apocalypse, the only sort of sick you were ever worried about was getting infected. For some reason it’d never crossed your mind you’d actually maybe catch a cold or a fever until the prison. Even then you never got sick. The most you’d ever actually been ill was throwing up when you killed your first walker and you got a bit sniffly as the seasons changed.

Thankfully, Alexandria was the first place you actually gotten a cold at, which left you room to rest and get better without worrying about walkers n such. You didn’t worry much when you became sick, but Carl definitely did.

It’s not like you were extremely unwell, you had just a sore throat, unsteady body temperature, headache, all the annoying symptoms. You tried to act normal all morning as you were supposed to go on a supply run. You were exhausted though and it showed in your face. You arrived at the gates to meet with the group. Daryl, Rosita, and Aaron were waiting at the cars when you walked up.

“Where’s Carl?” You croaked out before clearing your throat. They all sort of consider the rasp in your voice before Daryl responds. “He’s comin. What’s wrong with you?” You try to act like you have no idea what he’s talking about. “What?” Before Daryl can respond, Carl arrives and taps your shoulder. You turn and greet him with a smile.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not going.” Rosita states, placing her hand on your forehead. “You’re burning up.” She adds. Carl looks to you and notices how pale you’re looking. He did look at you before but didn’t particularly think anything of it, he was excited to go on the run. “She’s right. I’ll stay with you.”

“No I’m going.” You complain, it’s practically a whine. “We won’t allow that.” Aaron chimes in. You release a sigh of frustration and look at Carl, realizing you’re definitely staying home for this one. “Such bullshit.” You roll your eyes and begin to walk back to the house.

“You’re welcome!” Rosita laughs and they begin to get in their cars, Carl behind you somewhat. “Hey we should get you checked out.” You hear him say. He speeds up a bit to catch up with you. “I’m okay I’d rather just go home.” You give him a small smile and continue to walk. “Well what’s wrong? I’ll try and get whatever you need-” You cut him off. “Carl it’s okay, seriously. I can handle myself.” Coincidentally, as you say this you feel an itch in your throat which prompts you to cough, turning into a chain of very violent coughing. How embarrassing.

“Yeah okay I’m gonna get the stuff you need.” Carl remarks concerned. You accept defeat and nod at him. “Fair. I’ll be at home.” You explain your symptoms and he nods, heading wherever he needed to go to find anything to help you. You go home in the meantime and change into comfortable clothes to sleep in. You grab a blanket as well as a comic and sit on the couch to wait for Carl to get back. He comes home about twenty minutes later with a bag in his hand. He greets you and goes to place the bag on the counter.

“Don’t get mad, but I told Denise to come check on you since you’re too stubborn to go to the infirmary.” Carl explains as he begins unloading random stuff from the bag he brought home. You look at him from the couch with a peeved look. “Seriously? The last thing I want is a checkup.” You frown. “It’s not a checkup if you know you’re unhealthy. Now just lay down and rest, I’ll take care of you in a moment.” He smiles. Your eyes linger on him for a moment before you continue to read your comic on the couch.

Carl later comes over with medicine that Denise told him would help with majority of your symptoms. Times like these made you appreciate being able to breathe through your nose regularly a lot more. Denise came over and checked on you as well to make sure your temperature wasn’t too high. After that you rested for a while.

“Hey.” You hear, feeling a nudge as your eyes are basically glued shut while you were napping on the couch. You pry them open to see a smiling Carl. “I made you soup.” You open your eyes fully and prop yourself up on the couch. You look at the coffee table to see a bowl of chicken soup and then back at him, sort of concerned. He wasn’t the best in the kitchen when it came to specific dishes. “Um…it was canned actually. Not sure why I lied but…yeah you can enjoy that.” He says awkwardly, you sort of giggle and he sits beside you on the couch.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick?” You pull the bowl of soup onto your lap and stir it a bit. “I don’t care.” He responds shortly. “You don’t care?”

“Not if it’s because I’m taking care of you. You’re my top priority.”

You stare at him, sort of appalled that he cared that much. He was a great boyfriend, he was but…you never expected him to be that perfect. He stayed home from a supply run he was so excited to go to just because you were feeling under the weather. He isn’t making you feel bad about it either. There’s no way he can get any better than this. You find it a bit hard to respond to that but before you can muster up any sort of response, he continues.

“Anyway I asked around hoping people would spare some of their teabags since we’re out and so is the pantry. I got a few. Do you like honey?” You shake your head, still slightly appalled at the fact he’s putting this much effort in. He got up to go make your tea and you sit there silently as you eat your soup. He later comes back and sits next to you, placing the cup down on the table in front of you. “I hope I made it right. I had to ask Carol.” He giggles.

“Thank you.” You say genuinely. He kisses your forehead and then your cheek, not a care in the world if he were to get sick.

“No problem.”

a/n: hey guyss i’m feeling a bit better and i thought i’d try and write today and i was able to do it comfortably soooo woot woot! i don’t love it butttt i’ll live :) sorry it’s so short. (mac read this first.)

[bumblesimagines]

this wasn't supposed to happen.

i did a number on your back. sorry about that.

we should do that again sometime.

Fiona Gallagher

we should do that again sometime.

this wasn't supposed to happen.

i did a number on your back. sorry about that.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

As consciousness seeped into his body and his senses slowly awakened, he was hit with a few realizations that quickened the process of waking up. He couldn't hear Génesis babbling away in her crib nor the loud strays he often fed mewling for food outside. The springs in the mattress beneath him dug slightly into his skin and the smell of cheap booze and perfume lingering in the air invaded his nostrils. The mattress abruptly dipped slightly and strands of hair tickled his shoulder, startling the exhaustion fully out of his system.

The room around him was unfamiliar. The walls were covered in chipping paint, there were enough clothes on the floor to give to twenty people, random bottles of water and beer were sat about in different places, and there were odd stains on the barely visible rug. The chaos and mess of the room made his skin itch. (Y/N) exhaled quietly and tilted his head to look at the owner of the bedroom. Shit.

"I can't wait for ya'll to meet them. I swear, they are the kindest people in this whole city." (Y/N) hummed, absentmindedly listening to his cousin's girlfriend go on and on about their neighbors, the Gallagher family, as he raked his fingers through his eldest daughter's hair and detangled the small knots that had formed. Veronica held his other daughter at her hip, cooing and clicking her tongue to keep the toddler entertained whilst they made their way over to the tall house right next door. 

"V's right, (Y/N). You'll love 'em. Debs and Talia are gonna get along great." Kevin piped in and scrunched up his face at Génesis, a wide smile breaking out on his face when she burst into giggles and gleefully clapped her tiny hands together. Talia clutched her dolls close to her chest and tentatively peered up at the house when they entered through the front yard. 

"I bet Carl's going to be tripping over himself when he sees Talia." Veronica giggled and gently pinched one of Talia's reddened cheeks, listening to her boyfriend pound loudly on the front door until it swung open and a teen's freckled face greeted them. He looked between them all curiously and a fond smile appeared on his lips when he noticed the bundled-up toddler in Veronica's hands. 

"Hi, I'm Ian." He introduced himself a bit meekly and stuck out a lanky arm to shake (Y/N)'s hand before stepping back and allowing them to enter the house. The house seemed bigger with an archway connecting the living room to the kitchen and dining room. There were two staircases on opposite sides of the house leading up to the second story, nearly each step covered in toys and beer cans alike. It looked like a tornado had rampaged throughout the rooms but (Y/N) tried to contain his judgment and put on a smile for the family. Veronica had mentioned there was only a twenty-one-year-old managing all five of her younger siblings with their drunk father occasionally crashing on the couch. 

"Oh, a baby!" A little girl not much older than Talia squealed and sprang up from the couch, nearly trampling her brother in the process of reaching them and earning a swift glare. She jumped up onto her toes and smiled widely as she delicately ran her finger over the back of Génesis's hand, cooing softly and introducing herself. "Hi, baby. I'm Debbie." 

"Guys, I'd like you to meet (Y/N) and his daughters, Génesis and Talia. They're going to be stayin' with us next door for a little while so make them feel at home, alright?" Veronica called into the living room, barely drawing the other teenager and his little brother's attention away from the action movie playing on the television. She scoffed quietly and muttered under her breath before flashing the woman heading down the stairs a smile. The pretty brunette returned it and gasped softly at the sight of Génesis in her arms. 

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing?" She cooed warmly and chuckled sweetly at Debbie's fascination with the baby, one hand rising to comb back the hairs sticking out from Debbie's ponytail. He assumed she was Fiona Gallagher, the eldest daughter taking care of all the kids. Fiona was tall and slim, almost lanky like her brother but held a more at-ease air to herself than he did. The bags under her eyes were subtle, just barely noticeable, and her hair had been tied up into a messy ponytail that barely restrained the wavy locks. She looked up from Génesis and met his eyes. Her brows slightly lifted and her lips parted and closed, a hint of red spreading across her cheeks. 

"Nice to meet you, Fiona."

He'd promised himself before leaving Kentucky he'd stay in his lane, that he wouldn't involve himself with anyone again for a while. Talia's mother had been one thing, someone he couldn't bring himself to be resentful despite her refusal to be in their daughter's life. They'd been two naive fourteen-year-olds messing around who faced the consequences of not being more careful. Becoming involved with Génesis's mother, however, had been his fault. The lengthy criminal record and history of short relationships should've been big enough red flags to abort ship before they could be tied together permanently, but he'd ignored them and her own recklessness led to her incarceration. Two failed relationships, two motherless daughters. With his shit luck, he could only hope Fiona was on some sort of birth control.

"Fucking hell." He sighed heavily and rubbed his palm over his face, making vain attempts at ignoring the subtle throbbing in his temple. (Y/N) pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge, picking his briefs up from the floor and slipping them on. Fiona groaned quietly behind him and he peered over his shoulder at her as she rubbed her eyes and stretched out across the small bed, the mattress beneath her creaking with each movement. 

"Jesus, I did a number on your back. Sorry about that." She chuckled and tucked some of her frizzy hair behind her ear a bit sheepishly. Fiona sat up and leaned back against the wall, one arm reaching out to rummage through the nightstand until she found a cigarette pack and pulled one out. Dangling one between her fingers in his direction, she said, "We should do that again sometime."

"No, Fiona, this wasn't supposed to happen. I- I have too much on my plate right now to deal with... whatever you want this to become. I don't need the girls getting confused either. I appreciate the warm welcome into the neighborhood but... for your sake and mine, we should just stay as neighbors."

[celandeline]

You’ve Got A Pretty Kind Of Dirty Face

Carl Grimes X Reader, Part 3 [previous part | next part]

Someone’s tapping at your window. 

Even after two years of being behind the walls of Alexandria, you can’t break the habit of waking up at every small disturbance, so it only takes a few taps before you’re slipping out of bed, pulling the knife you keep tucked under your mattress out and skirting around the bed to your window. 

You peer around the edge, knife in hand, only to see Carl crouched on the roof of your porch, gently tapping at your window. He smiles when he sees you, and gestures for you to open the window. You set your knife down, and start on the locks. You shouldn’t - it’s after dark, he most definitely snuck out, you already let him get too far by kissing you in the car today - but you do. It’s Carl, you can’t not. 

You push the window open, and hold it so that he can climb through before sliding it back into place. He still has that stupid smirk on his face when you turn to look at him. “Should I even ask why you’re here?”

“Probably better if you don’t.” He says, playful. “Plausible deniability and all.”

“That makes it sound like you’re planning something nefarious.” You say. 

“What if I am?” He steps closer, narrowing the distance between you. 

Before he can completely close the gap, you place a hand on his chest, keeping him a short distance away. “I don’t know what you were thinking in the car today but if your dad had seen, I swear-”

“He didn’t.” Carl cuts you off, voice low. You can feel his heartbeat against your hand. “I just wanted to thank you for saving my ass.” One of his hands comes up to wrap around your wrist, moving your palm from his chest so that he can press closer, his other hand finding your hip, holding softly. “Still feel like I should thank you again.” He says, just above a whisper. 

He’s so close, you can feel his breath against the skin of your cheek when he talks. “Carl.” You say. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t; if Rick ever found out-

You don’t get to say more than his name because then his lips are on yours again, hungry just like they were before. He kisses you fiercely, and you can’t help but kiss him back. It feels good, it scratches that itch that only gets worse every time you stop yourself from enjoying him for fear of his father. You wind a hand into his hair, and kiss him back with the same intensity, working his mouth open so that you can dip your tongue inside.

He groans, low in the back of his throat as your tongue sweeps over his, and the hand he has on your hip tightens its grip. You can’t help but smile into the kiss, the hand that isn’t tangled in his hair finding one of the belt loops on his jeans and fiddling with it teasingly. 

When he pulls back, he’s breathing heavy. He doesn’t go far, still holding onto you as he rests his forehead on yours, looking down at where your fingers are still looped in his jeans. “Wish you wouldn’t keep doing that.” He says.

“Doing what?” You ask. 

“Saying my name like you want to say stop.” His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“It’s not-” You stop to figure out what you want to say. “I like you, Carl. A lot. I think you’re cute and funny and smart and I admire your strength. And I would like to be with you. But I don’t want to be with you at the cost of your relationship with your dad. I see how close you guys are, and I don’t want you and I getting together to drive a rift in that. And-” You pause. “I don’t want you to take this to mean that I don’t like you.”

He shakes his head. “How could I, when you just went on about how cute and smart and funny I am.”

“Shut up.” You say, the way he repeats it all back to you making it sound embarrassing. “I just… there's more than just that I don’t want to come between you and Rick. It’s also that you’ve never done this before, and I have, and I know that the first relationship you have is the one that sets the standards for the rest. It’s a lot of pressure not to fuck up. I don’t want to accidentally fuck up your conception of love.” You sigh, and then, to lighten the mood, “Also I think Rick would actually kill me if I took your virginity.”

Carl laughs, and lifts his forehead off yours to look you in the eye. “He probably would.” He agrees, smiling. And then, “But, um…” He pauses, brow furrowed slightly. “Hm.”

“What?” You ask. 

He smiles sheepishly. “I’m just trying to figure out how to say that I don’t care about what my dad thinks or that you or that you might fuck up or whatever without saying that I don’t… care.”

You laugh a little under your breath. “I guess I should’ve expected that.” He’s made it pretty obvious, with his insistent flirting and the way he so recklessly kissed you in the car today, that he’s too wrapped up in this thing to think about the impact it’ll have on his dad, or himself, or you. 

His hand skips under your shirt, fingers brushing along the skin of your back. “I get what you’re saying. And I think it’s really… admirable that you’re so concerned about me and my dad, but,” He pauses. “I could die tomorrow. You could die tomorrow. I don’t want to let this go without trying to make it work, ‘cause we might never get the chance again.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes that sends a pang through your heart. You know what he means - you’ve seen it for yourself. It’s very easy to die these days, and no one ever ties up all their loose ends before they go. The world is littered with ‘almosts’ and ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. It’s only natural to not want this, us, to end up in that ever growing pile.

“You’re very persuasive.” You say. 

Carl smiles, and his fingers play with the hem of your sweatpants. “So..?”

“So what?”

“So you’re not gonna tell me to go back home?”

“I guess not.” You say. “I have a feeling you didn’t come over here just to talk.”

“Not really.” He says. “Not that I don’t like talking to you but I also really like kissing you…”

You laugh as he tugs you closer again, and your lips connect. He doesn’t wait to slip his tongue between your lips, and his grip around your hips tightens. He kisses like he’s hungry for it, and you suppose he is, after you’ve been keeping him waiting. You wind your hands into his hair again, playing with the strands and grinning when you feel a shiver run up his spine from the touch. 

He whines against your lips, and suddenly you don’t know why you’ve been denying yourself this for months. 

You pull away only to step backwards towards your bed, your hands dropping to Carl’s belt loops again to tug him with you. He comes easily, grinning as you pull him into bed. You make yourself comfortable amongst your pillows, and he settles next to you, the both of you laying on your sides so close that your noses bump together. 

For a moment, you just look at each other, only able to make out each other's features in the semi-darkness because you are so close together. This time you’re the one to close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his and sliding a hand under his shirt, trailing your fingers along the plane of his stomach. He shivers again, and you smile against his lips. He’s so responsive, even to the littlest of touches. 

You pull away to trail kisses down his jaw until you reach the junction of his neck just below his ear. Your fear of Rick stops you from leaving a hickey there, but you still lick at the spot, just to make him shiver again. His fingers wind into the fabric of your shirt, holding onto you like he’ll die if he lets go. You move to nip at the lobe of his ear and he pulls you on top of him, crushing you to his chest. 

You can feel him hard underneath you when you sit back, straddling him. His hands fall back to your hips, and you place a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart under your palm. His pupils blown wide as he looks up at you, dark hair fanning across your pillow, you know what he’s going to ask before he even parts his lips. 

“Have sex with me.” 

You purse your lips. “Rick’s gonna murder me.”

Carl shakes his head, smiling. “No he won’t.”

“He so totally will.” You laugh. “He already accused me of corrupting you for trying to smuggle you alcohol, he’ll put my head on a pike for this.”

“I won’t let him.” He says, squeezing the sides of your hips. 

“And how exactly would you stop him?” You tease, leaning down to brush your lips over his again. 

He catches you in a proper kiss before he speaks. “I’ll ask real nicely.”

You sigh, and kiss him again. Rick’s going to kill you, but right now, when it’s just you and Carl in the comfort of your bed giving in to the feeling of his lips on yours and the way his bangs sweep across your face like butterfly kisses, you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not incredibly turned on with this beautiful boy underneath you. And more importantly, you like him and he wants this.

“Okay.” You say, pulling your shirt over your head in a fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. His words from earlier, that you might die tomorrow, echo in your head. You want this as much as he does, so why not? Why wait, when either of you could very easily wind up with walker teeth around your neck in a few hours?

Carl’s grins, eyes trailing down your front. “Really?”

“Did you want me to say no?” You ask, rising up on your knees so that you can ruck his shirt up his chest, purposefully trailing your fingers up the planes of his stomach to make goosebumps rise. 

He sits up, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off. “I just expected you to make me work for it more.”

As soon as his shirt’s all the way off, you attach yourself to his collarbones, nipping at the thin skin. Carl lets out a breathy gasp as you take the opportunity to begin trailing hickeys across his chest, confident that they’ll be hidden under his shirt. What you can’t leave on his neck, you leave across his collar, until he’s almost writhing under you, his hands fisted into your sweatpants. 

The moment you lift your head up from his skin, he’s pushing your shoulder, gently knocking you over so that he’s hovering over you now, trailing his lips up the side of your neck until he’s just underneath your ear. “Can I?” He whispers, breath tickling your skin. 

“Go crazy.” You say. What do you care if you’re covered in hickeys? He’s the one with the overbearing dad, not you.

Still, maybe you should have phrased it differently, because Carl does, in fact, go crazy. You’ll be surprised if your entire neck isn’t purple tomorrow. You can’t pretend you don’t enjoy his enthusiasm though, it’s been a while since you felt so… desired. You wind your arms around his back and trail your fingers up his spine. The way he arches into the touch makes you grin. 

He’s so warm, pressed against you as he leaves a necklace of bruises across your neck, his moans muffled by your skin between his teeth as he grinds against your thigh. You can feel his hard-on through his jeans, and you slip a hand down his stomach to dip into his pants, palming his dick. 

The whin he emits at your touch is delicious. You bite your lip to stifle your grin. 

“You’re making fun of me.” Carl accuses. 

“‘M not.” You say, even though you are a little. It’s cute, how sensitive he is, how obvious it is that he’s never done this before. “You’re just cute, ‘s all.” You bring your hand out of his jeans for a moment to undo the button. 

Carl rolls off you to shuck his jeans off, and you slide out of your sweatpants as well. You don’t let him climb back on top, pushing him down into your pillows so that you can straddle him again. Despite the hand on his chest, he still tries to sit up, brow slightly furrowed. 

“Why-?”

“‘Cause you haven’t done this before.” You cut him off with a kiss. “Just let me. You can be on top another time.”

The promise of another time makes him grin, and he lets you lay him down. His hands find your hips and you watch as his expression shifts, the sensation of your bare skin on his enough to make him sigh. Looking down at him, suddenly, your stomach swirls with nerves. Not for your own sake - no, you’ve done this before, and you’re under no illusion that he’ll last long - but for his. You want to make it good for him. 

“You have to tell me to stop if you want me to stop.” You say. “Or slow down, or anything - just, talk to me. I want it to be good-”

“I know.” He interrupts you. “Promise I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to stop.”

“Okay.” You say. Still a little nervous, you shove it down and rise up on your knees again, gently guiding his dick between your legs. His gaze drops to your hand and he sucks in a breath as you begin to sink down on him, his grip on your hips tightening enough to leave a bruise behind. 

He only exhales when you’re fully seated and his grip relaxes. “Fuck.”

You’ve just opened your mouth to ask him if he’s alright when he bucks beneath you, unsettling your balance. You gasp, falling forward, and he wraps his arms around you before he rolls over, still seated inside you. Your back hits the mattress before you can really realize what he’s done, and he tucks his head into your shoulder, groaning as he starts to fuck you. 

“What the fuck?” You say, voice breathy. 

He shakes his head, hair tickling your skin. “Just let me fuck you please. I don’t want you to go slow, you’ve been making me wait for months-” He cuts himself off with a moan, his hips knocking against yours. His thrusts are sloppy, but eager, and he trails his lips underneath your ear, letting all the little whines and moans slip right from his lips to your ear. 

You let him have his way with you, just winding your arms around his neck and enjoying the ride. He’s not half bad even though he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s his openness, you think that’s doing it for you. The way he holds onto you like you’re precious, the way he’s not ashamed about all the little noises slipping out of his mouth, the absence of the posturing and dominance that you’ve had to put up with from other guys. 

It’s not long before his hips are stuttering, and he lets out a long groan before he slumps against you, utterly spent. You move a hand from his shoulders to wind into his hair, playing with the strands. He sighs against your chest, and you smile, hugging him to you. 

“Thanks.” He says, rolling off you to lay against your side. “And sorry.”

“Sorry?” You laugh. 

“For lasting all of three seconds.” He mumbles, making himself comfortable in the valley of your chest. He drapes an arm over your stomach, gently tracing your hip bone. 

“‘S okay.” You say, pressing your lips into his hair. “It was your first time.”

You can feel him falling asleep against you, and hear it in his voice. “Gotta practice I guess.” He smirks against your skin. 

You laugh again, and stroke his hair until you both fall asleep.

[juuuulez]

📰 | part nine: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, finally they kiss, enemies with benefits, based on s7 finale, secret relationship except they’re not in a relationship, Carl almost dies.

summary: Alexandria has regained their power, and Carl narrowly escapes death. Finally, your feelings catch up to each other. Season 7 finale.

-> masterlist <-

okay!!!! FINALLY i got this done! this will be our LAST sorta canon chapter, because we all know the tragedy of season 8……so now i’m diverging the story into my own canon ;)

also entering a new phase of the carl and reader relationship..definitely a more exciting one! don’t worry, it’s still slowburn, just a bit more heated!

You were trying your best to ignore Carl, the past couple of days. Maybe you were a tad embarrassed that he’d seen you during a vulnerable moment. There was a part of your brain that still hadn’t accepted it, and knew that being around Carl would only remind you, that you’d receive the brunt of his sympathy.

Sympathy was not what you wanted.

But as always, sooner or later, you wound up within those walls once more.

Tensions were high.

They had weapons, too many of them. This surely wasn’t it, right? The Saviours had been through worse. But these people were like cockroaches, their spirit didn’t die, they kept coming back up and rebelling. You were getting sick of it. Negan was, too.

Everything went sideways when Sasha’s zombified corpse fell out of the coffin. It all ramped up too quickly, and before you knew it, there was gunfire.

It was relatively easy to get under control, yet still, there was always that voice that wondered if this would do it, this is the fight that kills you. It never does, yet you consider it.

A few members of Alexandria are killed in the process. One you take with your metal bat, disarming the man initially, yet his persistence to live claws at your feet, dragging you down onto the concrete. He’d pulled a knife from his sheath, trying to stab you, leaving you to finally crack the bat down onto his skull.

You were a high ticket item, I guess. It’s a surprise nobody else was itching for this chance to end your life.

Eventually, it all dies down. You take a moment to wipe the blood off your hands, trying to catch your breath and regain your composure before stepping back into the chaos.

When you do, a frown fills your features. Not exactly at upset expression, just something pensive.

Carl and Rick, on their knees. You weren’t listening to Negan, likely able to guess what he’s saying. What he wants. God forbid you try to stop it.

In fact, you didn’t want to.

Carl grit his jaw to ignore that urge to get up, to fight, to try to escape. He glared across the grass, practically into your soul. It wasn’t an urge for help, just a pointed look. This is what your family does.

If this was it, if he died, he’d want you to see it. Maybe just to rub it in your face, that he’d died for a noble cause, whilst you’d eventually fall victim to the uprising of Alexandria. At least, that’s how Carl saw it happening.

When the countdown ends, he unconsciously tenses, eyes screwed shut to combat confronting whatever happens next.

Were you really going to do nothing?

And yet it doesn’t happen.

Shiva mauled a nearby Saviour, taking the attention off of him, and back onto the simmering rebellion. Carl recovers quickly from the shock of near death, forced to rejoin the fight, even if his mind is still reeling.

Maybe he thought you were softening up, after that night in the cabin. It had humanised you. This sort of reversed all that.

The gunfire become unruly, and it was clear who was winning. If this was any indication of the future, then the Saviours were at the end of the line, and Carl was more than happy for it.

He’d managed to escape into a narrow alleyway between two houses, hoping to sneak around and get behind the enemy group, take them by surprise.

However, he makes it a few paces down the alley, before crossing into the gravel path behind the buildings. His senses are sharpened, luckily, for within seconds a dense mass is swinging at his head.

Carl narrowly avoids the bat, ducking fast enough that it swings into the house, getting caught in the wooden boards. They splinter around the metal, concaving inwards, rendering it stuck.

“Fuck!” You swear, tugging with all your might to free it, knowing it’s your only weapon. The adrenaline still pumps through your veins, moreso focused on rearming yourself, less on Carl finally standing within your vicinity.

There’s no doubt he’s angry, hence why you need your weapon back, pulling furiously to try and break the wooden confines. It’s too late, because then Carl harshly shoves your shoulder, pushing you away from the trapped baseball bat.

“What the hell was that?” He sneers, finally letting the frustration and fear towards almost dying pour out. “He was going to kill me, and you just watched?”

You roll your eyes, that snarky attitude resurfacing, reverting to this version of yourself that doesn’t care. “He wasn’t, alright? You would’ve been fine.”

The assurance means nothing, for Carl still invades your space, his face practically inches from your own. “Bullshit!” He yells.

In response, you shove him away. It sends the boy stumbling back into the alley, and the second he’s regained his footing, he’s trying to push you against the wall.

It’s almost childish, the way you fight. Pushing and shoving like toddlers, yet with the strength of two teenagers, fueled by years of surviving and adapting and hormones.

You manage to sweep your foot out, tripping Carl up, letting him fall to the ground. Before he can try to get up, which he attempts immediately, you’re pinning him to the ground, planted firmly on his chest.

One hand lands on your neck, almost putting enough pressure to choke you. Carl’s other hand grips your waist, trying to push you off him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” He shouts, despite how close you are, “You want me dead, huh? After all that bullshit—“

“Shut up!” You yell, cutting him off, slamming your hand over his mouth. It tastes salty like sweat, and little bits of dirt are pressed into his face, but Carl can’t do much but let it happen.

With him finally silenced, you manage to take a few deep breaths, trying to organise your thoughts. You two glare at eachother, before you slowly remove your hand, lifting it away from him.

“You—“ Carl attempts again, only for your palm to reclaim his face. This time you pinch his cheeks with your pointer and thumb, causing a disgruntled expression to overtake his features, trying again to squirm from your grasp.

“Don’t talk.” You hiss, this time not letting go, just needing him to be quiet whilst you try and explain.

That, and it felt a little good to put him in his place. But you didn’t have time to savour the feeling, for Carl tightens his grip on your neck, forcing you to hurry with the explanation.

“Negan is not going to hurt you,” You try to tell him, speaking slowly and clearly, wanting to get it into his thick skull. “Let alone kill you. Okay?”

The suggestion causes Carl to try and protest, likely having ten billion reasons why he thinks otherwise, but you’re quick to silence him with a firm grip on his jaw. He shoots you an irritated look, yet remains quiet.

“As long as you’re alive, we can control Rick,” You explain, “The second something happens to you, he stops caring. Right now, you’re the only leverage we have. So, Negan bluffs. I mean, c’mon, you really thought he was gonna do that?”

Carl gives no response, maybe because he’s thinking about it. But you give him the benefit of the doubt, loosening your hold on his jaw, yet leaving your hand there. The pair of you are still panting, and Carl struggles to breathe slightly under your weight on his chest. As such, you shift down a little, but still remain atop him.

For some reason, you keep talking. Maybe there is an inkling of regret, a bubbling guilt over just standing and observing whilst Carl confronted potentially imminent death.

“But that doesn’t mean you get ‘t do stupid stuff, yeah? Especially not now. Things are getting messy, and now you’ve all got guns, so.. I dunno, don’t get cocky, because we can still punish you for it.” You ramble on.

Carl stays silent, letting you run your mouth. He’s not really listening. This is the closest you’ve been before, and you’re practically sitting in his lap, knees planted either side of his thighs whilst you hover.

The hand on your waist remains, settled there, feeling the warmth of your body. That white tank you always wear is thin, dirtied from todays fight, and rides up just enough to reveal a slither of your stomach. God, this is so irrational. But right now, you’re looking less like the enemy, and more like a pretty girl.

Somehow, you’re still talking, rambling about how these next few days will be dangerous, and how Carl should watch out for any surprise Saviour visits. How Negan will be trying to catch everybody off guard.

You’re not even looking at him, staring down at the dirt next to you whilst your mind runs. Carl let’s his hand shift downwards from your waist, just a bit, wondering how low it could get before you caught on. Those tight black jeans, clinging to your form, have never been so tempting.

“That, and I don’t think..” You trail off when you notice Carl’s silence, finally becoming a little more aware of your position. He’s barely even paying attention. “Carl.”

His eyes flicker back up to you, from wherever they’d been looking at. You realise that he’s essentially eye-level with your chest, causing you to tug at his jaw, pulling his face up to force his attention back on you.

Neither of you speak, as Carl shifts a little, pushing himself into a sitting position, approaching in on your personal space. You stay put, on edge, trying to decipher what he’s up to. The hand on your waist travels lower, to your hip, whilst Carl’s grip on your neck loosens so he’s simply holding you.

“Carl.” You whisper again, almost as a warning, quickly catching on to what’s happening here. There’s still gunfire outside the alley, people fighting. That, and this is definitely a bad idea.

This isn’t the face of somebody who wants you dead. Carl is looking at you with an certain want in his eyes, and it’s precious and innocent yet dirty at the same time. For a second, you actually just feel like a teenage girl. Smitten.

Shaking your head, you try to look away from his face, his lips, his eyes. “We’re not doing this.” You whisper, and yet, make no attempt to get off him.

He clocks this, more aware than yourself of how much you might actually want this, even if you say otherwise. But he doesn’t make a move, trying to coax you into a position of agreement, like he needs to hear you say it first. “C’mon, just a little bit.” Carl whispers back, and you can feel his breath on your face.

It’s ridiculous that you’ve let it get this far. You try to consider all the consequences, all the reasons this is stupid, but your brain feels all foggy and mushy. It takes the slightest movement and your lips are brushing together.

You pull back before it can even be called a kiss. Just the tiniest bit, brows furrowed, looking slightly worried. Carl doesn’t chase you down. He doesn’t move, allowing you to take the lead, as if trusting that you do want this. And you do.

That’s why you go back again.

This time, your lips actually meet, and it’s hesitant and awkward at first. But it doesn’t take long to find your footing. One hand still holds onto Carl’s jaw, tilting his head back slightly, giving you access to lick into his mouth. The other hand shifts into his hair, thumb brushing against the back of his neck, fingers gently twirling in the brown locks.

They’re soft. You’d thought so.

Carl leans backwards so he’s laying down, letting you properly sit on his lap. His arms are wrapped around you, hands planted firmly on your ass over those tight jeans, tugging you further down into his body.

You’ve never kissed someone like this before. Neither has he. The adrenaline in your veins pumps hard, urging you to claim his mouth as your own, to which Carl eagerly kisses back.

Eventually, you have to pull away for air, resting your forehead against Carl’s. Your lips are red and swollen from the kissing, coated in a sheen of spit, an expression mirrored on his features. Except that after a moment of breathing, Carl begins to grin, which makes your expression sour.

“Don’t.” You grunt, not wanting to hear whatever he has to say.

But Carl shakes his head, the movement small to not disturb your rest against him. “I just think you look pretty from this angle.”

You still roll your eyes, even if the compliment settles it’s way into your heart, making an unfamiliar warmth spread in your chest. The blush on your face must be evident, because Carl moves his hands upwards, settling over your waist and holding you close to him.

“I’ve gotta go. They’re still fighting.” You remind him, voice lowered to a hushed whisper due to the proximity of the situation. It’s weird, being this intimate and private with Carl. The person you hate more than anything.

His grip tightens on you a little more, holding firmly so that Carl can roll over, placing you down on the dirty path, leaning over your form. “Or I could take you hostage.” He suggests, a wicked grin on his face. So cute.

You don’t know if he’s being serious, but you don’t really care. That’s why you’re drawn to him. Because Carl is one of the few people who isn’t afraid to challenge you.

“That’s not happening,” You scoff, “You’re on thin ice, Grimes. Especially if you want this little stunt to repeat itself.”

The suggestion causes Carl to let up, rolling off you and allowing you some space. You sit once more, dusting some of the dirt off your white tank, pulling it back down to cover up your skin.

“So… you’d do it again?” He asks, watching as you stand, a hopeful expression on his face.

You move towards the building, where the bat is still stuck in splintered wood. It only takes one firm yank to pull it free, leaving a sizeable dent in somebody’s house.

So you’re not facing him when you answer, which is potentially a good thing, because you’re definitely blushing. “Maybe. Play your cards right.”

A sharp sound cuts through the commotion. That whistle you’ve grown to love, and Carl has grown to resent. To you, it means safety, someone to stand by. To him, it’s disaster.

Knowing you have to leave, that the Saviours are retreating, Carl backs off. He stands a few paces away from you, preparing for your sudden departure, mentally reminding himself of this unspoken divide between the pair of you.

Yet, you shoot him one more glance, an awkward little smile on your face. “Don’t get yourself killed.” You tell him, it likely being the most sincere string of words you’ve ever expressed to the boy.

He’ll take it.

He’ll take anything, at this point. The price of hatred was worth it, if this were the outcome.

So Carl let’s you leave, where you run back between the houses, deftly sneaking away to reunite with the Saviours before they can take their trucks and leave Alexandria. Sure, he probably should have backed up that hostage comment, but experiencing this again? That wasn’t something he could pass up.

Now was to make sure nobody found out.

[celestialsymbiosis]

Love and Mercy p.1 - Rick Grimes x reader

I know it's October.

But here's a little something on the group's first winter in Alexandria:

u_u

“What’re you doin’?”

Rick’s voice is heavy with sleep, quiet but enough to break the silence in the house as he shuffles closer to where you’re kneeling. You don’t need to see him to know he’s got that almost permanently etched frown on, the soft dip between his eyebrows. 

You tilt your head up in greeting, focused on your task, skillfully wrapping items with old newspapers you’d found on a run earlier that week. “Nothing,” you mumble, as if it were enough, your fingers pressing down on the paper with a sleepy determination. You hunch over them to shade from Rick’s view. “Go away.”

Rick hums, depositing himself onto the couch. “No. Missed you in bed. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking away from me. I’m onto you.”

“You’re not onto shit,” you reply, hands splayed over your projects. 

“Hey,” he lilts, nudging your back with his knee. “What is it?”

There’s a soft noise you release at that, something like annoyance. “Can’t say. It’s not time yet.”

“Time for what?”

You groan, turning around to put your chin up on his knee, looking up at him. “Christmas.”

“You’re still on that?” Rick’s eye twitches a little.

It had been a few weeks ago when the cool air starting breezing through Alexandria. With Winter on the brink and the group relatively settled and sheltered for the first time in years, you’d off-handedly mentioned the season’s festivities. 

Rick hadn’t been too keen on it however. He was everything but settled into the new Alexandrian lifestyle you had found easy to slip into. On edge and restless, as if the universe would detect his comfort and throw it’s next disaster his way. He’d informed the rest of you all, with a hand poised on his belt and fingers itching for the Colt Python Deanna had stored away. Be ready, we can’t let our guard down. 

That may have been weeks ago, but Rick never truly looked comfortable here even now- though you’re not sure he ever did. So between his stubbornness, the fact that Judith hadn’t ever celebrated a holiday, and your proclivity to do first and ask for forgiveness later, you were set on doing something small for the kids at the very least. 

Something to finally look forward to. 

You had gone to Deanna first, telling her of your plans to bring some cheer for Carl and Jude. Her eyes sparkled in that way they seemed to do when she was inspired by something so normal- but she sadly revealed they really did not pack shiny wrapping paper in the community. You weren’t derailed however. 

Any time you were on the run, you tried grabbing things the family would’ve enjoyed that would be painfully human. Glenn laughed when you handed him a new baseball cap, Tara nodded appraisingly at the palm tree snow globe, shaking it around aggressively to see the tiny white flakes swim around. 

So, you had immediately pushed the few issues you’d found of Y: The Last Man for Carl inside your backpack. The stuffed lamb you came across would need to be cleaned and fluffed, but it had made the cut for Judith’s gift. 

Rick noticed when you started crumpling newspapers into your bag, though, raising an eyebrow. 

“Figured we could do something for the kids,” you had said, moving to the next aisle to get some actual supplies too. 

“For what?” Rick’s gruff voice intoned, a hint of a warning behind it. You weren’t quite sure why he even had an issue with the idea of a gift-giving celebration; it’s not like the rest of you haven’t passed items to each other before. 

Kneeling in front of him now, the soft sound of snow pattering down outside and the hum of one of Deanna’s heaters, you nose at his knee. 

“Baby, you gotta- can you relax?” you say a little exasperatedly. “I cannot believe this is even a conversation we need to have when we literally deal with the dead. Is this like, Christmas related trauma or something that I need to be aware of?”

Rick rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Then what’s your damage?”

He scratches his arm, looking at the gifts you’ve wrapped with a suddenly weary sigh. “No damage.”

You tilt your head up at him curiously, tapping his hand to pull him out. 

“I just don’t want…” he groans softly, looking down at you before tangling a hand in your hair. “I don’t want to give them hope so soon. We don’t know how well these walls are gonna hold up when a hoard comes by. We don’t know if this community will survive anything yet. I don’t want to give Carl and Judith this and then have to take it away again.”

When you continue to just stare at him impassively, he nods with a huff, leaning back further back into the couch. “I know, I know,” he waves his hand vaguely. “Trust me- I can hear myself too.”

“So you’re aware that you’re being… difficult?” You choose your words carefully. Rick must find it amusing at the very least because he smiles almost sheepishly. “They need to know there’s more to life than everything we’ve gone through. You’re not taking anything from them. You can give them these moments, the time to just be children.”

“I’d just… feel bad if anything happened. ” 

You hum, his baby blue eyes glazed over with some far away memory for a mere second before they focus back on you. “Everyone’s okay, Rick. We’re all okay here. You don’t need to be so on all the time anymore,” you drop a kiss on his knee. “You’ve done so much for us already. Just- slow down.”

He considers this, considers what you’re saying to him. “A day,” he concedes. “I can slow down for a day. Only tomorrow.”

You let out a startled laugh. “So you’re declaring Christmas to be tomorrow? You’re just choosing?”

“Yes,” he nods once, rubbing his jaw like it’s a hard decision to make. “You get your day, and then I want you with me to assess the barricades. I can’t do it alone.”

You nod easily. “I’ll need help on the decorations. We don’t have much,” you gesture at the crinkled paper and frail twine on the ground. “Don’t suppose we can cut a small tree down with your hatchet?”

“I’ll figure out your decorations, just-“ he beckons you forward, pulling you up easily to straddle his lap, “come here for now.” 

------

Title's from the Gazelle version of Love and Mercy that plays in the show!

part 2 is nsfw and posted here!

and all together on ao3.

[grim333z]

Carl x male reader head cannons!

Warnings - slightly suggestive {aged up} and maybe a little bit of sad (mostly fluff!)

~when the group found out they were surprised, most of them said they never even would've guessed the two of you would be together.

~daryl would be especially onto anyone who had anything to say about the two of you, especially after growing up around Merle's hateful comments, he never wanted to see anyone be as hurt as merle made them feel, especially since he'd known the two of you since you were both younger way back at the camp in atlanta.

~you were the first person he showed his scar to after losing his eye (other than Denise ofc) and you did nothing but comfort him. Running your fingers through his overgrown fringe, brushing it away from the still healing wound, tilting your head to get a better look before kissing him and reassuring him, "doesn't change anythin"

~when it came to anything intimate, you were both super awkward. Of course, you were both inexperienced, but what you did know was about a boy and a girl, not two guys.He didn't mind figuring it out, though.

~ You found yourself relating to arron on the odd occasion you had to do something together. He was good to talk about issues with whom someone like Daryl or Rick wouldn't understand.

~ You're literally his everything, long drawn-out embraces after he's been on a longer run , each of you breathing in the others' warm masculine musk.

~ he's not one for PDA, really just holding hands while walking around communitys. Finding it feels like all eyes are on, then when they do anything coupley out side.

~he refuses to hold your hand while on runs together, preferring to have his knife out ready to keep you safe while out.

~ Negan clocked you two were boyfriends at the line up much faster than anyone else in the group managed to realise you were together, using it to taunt the two of you, "wouldn't wanna split up another happy couple, Or would I?" Chuckling as he waves the blood-soaked lucille in you and carls face's.

~he adores your laugh, the way your Adams apple bobs as you try to tell a joke without laughing at it before it even manages to leave your mouth.

~ You'd let your hair grow out with his, gender rules didn't really matter in the zombie appocolypse, but it still scratched the itch of teenage rebellion. You knew why he kept it long, to honour his mom, and you were almost doing it for the same reason, You'd been doing it before You'd even got together.

~Carl admitted first, just after they escaped from terminus, the whole losing the prison and road to terminus made him realise he could lose the people he loved at any moment. Deciding he needed you to know how he felt just in case you never found out. Sat quietly together in the corner of Gabriel's church, a sleeping judith on his chest. "I think, I love you..." quiet and breathy so no one else but you could hear, you probably wouldn't have heard had you not been looking at his lips, and shit you loved him back.

[itsgrimeytime]

Scratch That Itch || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Available on AO3

Summary: Honestly, you weren't sure how it started. It wasn't a competition, at least you didn't think it was. There'd been something between you and Rick, something that people couldn't quite label. And maybe you batted your eyes the first time, and maybe he smirked the second. Either way, this was getting out of hand.

TWS: suggestive AF, FLIRTY, TENSION, innuendos, pregnancy mention (Maggie is pregnant in this one), violence, blood, mentions of guns, the undead, all things TWD.

[[A/N: Basically a 5 plus one. just wanted to establish how dumb it was that no one absolutely dived for this man. I think he'd be flattered, personally, if you took every chance you could to hit on him. Also FUCK the horror part of this show, Alexandria is paradise and Negan is not allowed. Thanks for your time !!! So, here's what I'd picture would play out. Enjoy!!]]

The first time you remember it happening was just a slip of the tongue. Or that's what you said anyway.

You'd known Rick for a while at that point; the group had picked you up somewhere after the prison falling -you'd been holed up in a shack for probably a year.

And fuck, you knew Rick Grimes was handsome. Everyone under the sun knew that (all broad shoulders and baby blues, his voice-), and you thought you'd gotten a hold of the reigns -at least enough for decency. Sure, you stared at him for way too long a lot of the time, and had been noticed by several people -including Rick. ("You've got something... uh, on your face," you scrambled, and honestly you'd never been more mortified in your life-)

It wasn't the first time it happened, looking back on it, but you couldn't quite picture earlier. He'd been too suave for it to be the first time and maybe he was just that suave, but you kind of hoped it wasn't you that started it. So, you'd live in your delusion.

You were tired, exhausted really. The past few days you couldn't sleep, mostly because you felt unsafe in Alexandria -it was all so new that it gave you a sense of unease. You, naturally, went on every run available to feel that burst of adrenaline that felt so familiar -killing walkers was what you knew.

After Rick caught up with your plans, he'd made you stay. That didn't mean you were sleeping though.

Hence the current you sat at a table in a meeting of such, he'd liked to have these every once in a while -establish the plans and how he was running Alexandria. Rick was nothing if not connected to his people. It was honorable if there was such a thing in the apocalypse.

You think it was Carol, maybe, who'd said it. Referring to the resources, you'd come to learn. Apparently, Rick had been planning too much -maybe they were talking about bullets, food? You really didn't know.

"We can't keep up with you-" she was so earnest, you should've known that it was more of a pressing issue, but instead, your brain running on day (four...?) of no sleep had... other connotations.

"Oh, I'm sure I could."

You thanked whatever god was left above that Carl was out on a run with Glenn that morning. Everyone else? You weren't so lucky.

It wasn't like you could pass it off as not... what it was. Your tone was perfectly readable, slurred actually from sleep which, in retrospect, only added to the... interpretation.

You hadn't even realized you said it, so far off in whatever fuzzy reality you were currently in to notice you'd spoken. Until, Maggie who was somewhere near the back burst into laughter -cutting it short by holding it back, but the break of noise was still there.

There was something that acknowledged the embarrassment, the silence and laughter only registering after a few heavy seconds. To say you were more awake than you had been in weeks was an understatement -your eyes felt pried open with a bundle of nerves sinking deep into your stomach. You might throw up.

Talk about mortifying.

You felt frozen in your seat, hesitating to make even a single move like he couldn't see that your eyes, once heavily lidded, were now open -detailing the woodwork like your life depended on it, but still awake.

And then, after a few agonizing seconds, the voice you had dreaded spoke up. Normally, you wouldn't have noticed. Trying to find an escape route from at least this room, the grand scheme would be leaving Alexandria but that was-

There was a calloused fingertip underneath your chin, guiding you to meet his eyes -amused in a way you hadn't seen before. His mouth had to be maybe an inch from yours -breaths mingling and his lips turning into a smirk, you willed yourself not to look.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, sweetheart."

The silence was even louder after that, nobody making a move like what was happening at this moment like it was a dream. It could definitely be a dream, you thought to yourself -eyes dipping to his lips in a moment of weakness.

Then, Daryl yelled, "Get a room, nobody wants to see 'at."

And Rick had laughed in a sort of crooked way, his smirk seamlessly budding into a grin. Without so much as a blink, he moved his finger and addressed Carol like nothing had happened.

There was something petty in you because you had taken that as a challenge. Well, you would when you could think straight again.

The next time was more casual, more natural. You'd always been attracted to Rick, but since then you felt so open to it like you'd crossed a boundary and he had... well, he had done what he did.

You still couldn't think about it too hard or your brain would turn to sludge.

You had the running theory that if you were fully present in the... flirting game? Was it a game? You didn't feel like it was, but then again, you had gotten competitive of all things.

Didn't matter, your theory was if you were more present, he'd been more affected. It's one thing to have a half-asleep person flirting with you, and another if it's a fully awake person. You were hoping to plan it out, get exactly the right words to say -it was going to be perfectly crafted to get a reaction out of Rick Grimes.

But, it didn't end up that way.

You were folding clothes, which was a bit of hell within itself but you were helping Maggie -she made it much more bearable. Even though just about every few minutes, she'd remind you of your... incident.

It was all in good fun, she was always giggling and teasing in a sister sort of way. You found yourself close to her pretty much as soon as you'd met her -catching her eye lingering on Glenn for a few seconds too long. They were well-established at that point, but you'd found an interest there in the budding... romance.

After she'd lost so much, your connection was nice, fresh, and easy in the apocalypse. It was light and airy when it needed to be, and strongly protective otherwise.

You'd threatened Glenn pretty much immediately after you met him -something about 'you hurt her and I'll grind your bones into paste'. It was in a joking tone, but he took it as you intended. (He'd grinned at you afterward, saying something about you fitting right in. Needless to say, you didn't get the desired effect.)

So, you sat -carefully detailing the piles as you worked through them, Glenn, Maggie, and a tiny pile of onesies. You smiled at it, as it continued to grow, and the conversation was easy to be in -nothing too substantial, just casual topics.

"Saw Glenn the other day," you remarked, remembering the deadly cold stare he'd passed onto some of the Alexandrians -Daryl falling close behind, "-you got lucky, Mags."

Maggie laughed, bright and loud -her face was somehow glowing, you guessed pregnancy would do that to you, "I know, he's... He's amazing."

"Hey, don't start on the ooey-gooey 'I found my soulmate in the apocalypse' shit," you groaned -you loved her, really you did, but with your mortification... you were truly going to die alone.

Maggie huffed, elbowing into your side, "You started it."

"Well, I wanted to talk about-" the door to Maggie and Glenn's swung open, revealing a Rick who'd just got done working -sweat on his brow and dirt on his jeans, "-something... different."

She, on the other hand, was acting completely natural, "We could get into those things if you want, I just figured-"

"Rick, thank god you're here-" you turned to him dramatically -still folding clothes without much extra thought, "-please rescue me from this torture. She's on her Glenn kick-"

He paused before a smooth smile melted upon his lips -you bit back the urge to watch it from there, salt and pepper beard stretched along his mouth, "When is she not on a Glenn kick?"

"You're not helping," you sighed, retorting with a passive playfulness, "-you're supposed to give me an out, you know. Save the day, isn't that what gentlemen do?"

Maggie spoke up, in agreement, "That's what gentlemen do."

Rick was staring at you, eyes flickering along your face and then settling on your hands. You were in your own space, carefully placing each fabric in as nice of a stack as possible -fingers swift and practiced. You could still feel it though.

His eyes heavy on every motion -following you like you were a shooting star in the sky, a sight to be seen. Jaw twitched, licking a line against his teeth, as a grin peeked up then, and you knew you were in for it.

"Well," he sighed, leaning against the doorframe casually as if the words were as true as the sun rising in the morning, "-I can think of a few better things to do wit' your hands."

You startled, the shirt (clearly Glenn's if the bright graphic had anything to say) held up in front of you -tips of your fingers tight on the fabric, almost too tight. Exhaling a breath, as you wordlessly stared at the shirt in front of you, you vowed to yourself you wouldn't freeze again. And somewhere deep in your head, your competitiveness sparked up in a single flame.

With the casual speed of folding the shirt, you wordlessly placed it into Glenn's pile -it was teetering dangerously, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, and stood.

Your steps were slow, deliberate, and despite the flurry of thoughts in your mind, you were clear-headed.

"What," you spoke, it was low and breathy (but there was no need to be loud, he was right in front of you, "-these?"

Rick hadn't spoken, as you wordlessly traced your nails across his arms, not enough to scratch -watching as the goosebumps lay in their wake. His flannel was rolled up to his elbows, and the skin there was golden from the sun -muscle underneath your fingertips, detailed and extensive.

His breath hitched, and you grinned, biting it back at the success on your side -a familiar buzz tossing your stomach in a pleasant sort of way. It spurred you on further.

"What did you have in mind, Grimes?" you were a breath away now, breath mingling and your fingers still absently tracing his skin -eyes intently locked on his.

Rick's face was still, except for the tiniest twitch of his nose -eyes clouded with something you hadn't quite grasped. It was intense and heavy, left a sort of burning on your skin -you felt a sort of flush there, but ignored it in favor of-

His eyes flicked to your lips, it was a languid gaze like he was watching the puffs of breaths. He was certainly not ashamed, eyes focused and for a second, you truly thought... maybe this wasn't a game. Maybe he would break then, and kiss you with a fever that you'd felt in the air. His own hands-

"Ahem," Maggie cleared her throat, "-as much as I enjoy this, really I do. I've got laundry that needs foldin'."

Before Rick could even blink out of his stupor, you'd smiled -wide and bright, "Rick will help you, won't you?"

He blinked, seeming to filter through the heavy fog, "I was actually lookin' for Glenn-"

"Don't worry," you hummed, still barely a breath away from him -voice low and eyes heavy, "-I'm sure he'll understand. Everyone gets distracted, right?"

Rick was hanging onto your words, eyes shining in a kind of way that made you itch to touch him -breathy and on the edge of something, "Right."

"Good," you grinned, patting his cheek -much like an aunt at Thanksgiving, a bit condescending. Simply, leaving him as he was, and stepping back -you could hear him mutter something not very gentlemanly.

Glancing towards Maggie, you spoke casually -remaining as unaffected to the naked eye, "Let me know if you need anything else, Mags."

Maggie rolled her eyes, patting the bed for Rick to sit, and Rick well, he was grinning at you -eyes light and smiley. But the smooth smirk that gathered at his lips said all it needed to: game on.

Count that as a point for you.

The next time was a bit more of a mixed bag, you'd done something stupid. An extra run, you'd gone out on your own and you were fine. Just a few cuts and bruises, some blood (not yours) encrusted into your skin.

But you were exhausted by the time you approached the Alexandria gate -feet dragging, and hands aching to reach your own home for a hot shower. Anything really to soothe the pain in your back, you'd fallen, not far. You doubted anything was broken, but you knew it'd bruise -big and purple. You just figured you'd ask around and get a heating pad to sleep on until further notice.

One night would be fine.

What you hadn't accounted for was Gabriel watching as you left and watching you sneak back in. Nor had you accounted for just who he would tell.

"What the hell-" Rick's tone was low, not loud enough to wake anyone -as he faced you in the streets, "-were you thinking?"

You didn't ask how he'd known, you figured at that point it was pointless, "I wasn't. I know, it's stupid. Look, it's nothing major. I'll just deal with it in the morn-"

There was a shuffling in the nearby houses, and you both froze in place -air rushing from your mouth in a worried heap. Waiting for a light to switch on, or a door to open, anything-

After a few seconds, nothing echoed in the silence, and you opened your mouth to continue.

But, Rick -gruff and almost a growl (it made the hair stand up on your arms), interrupted, "Not here."

Your mind was in a fuzz, as his hand wrapped around your wrist (long, calloused fingers-) guiding you among the barely lit streets. The sound of walkers was distant in the night, and with your heart beating so loud in your chest -you had a spare thought to wonder if he could hear it.

With a dazed glance, you realized that Rick was leading you to your home -a tiny piece of you was crushed at the notion of not being in his home, but with Judith so young... it made sense. Your fingers dragged briefly along the familiar splintered wood, where you'd carved out initials of some people you once knew.

The thought passed quickly, as he pulled you inside -only stopping to shut the door and guide you further. There was a spark in your mind at the idea that maybe he'd guide you somewhere more private for different reasons than to cuss you out in the early morning hours, you stopped the thought process before it could get much farther.

"What-" you began, eager for an explanation, and he simply shushed you -not even turning back, he was so focused on his destination.

You'd tried to be offended, but the sudden turn into your bedroom cut the thought short. His fingers still closed around your wrist, you wondered again if he could feel it -bumping against his skin. Loud and nervous, because of him-

And then wondering, what would he do if he did?

Before you could put too much into that discussion, he turned into your bathroom. It wasn't exactly small, but Rick (in his broad shoulder and leader stance glory) had to squish up against you. Even slightly, the buzz of his body warmth against yours sent a zip up your spine that made you incredibly aware of the... Rick around you.

Woodsy smell, and calloused fingertips, you almost spoke -on instinct, trying to cool the fog of your brain. Regain anything but the overwhelming sense of salty sweat and heavy worry delicate wrapped around you. And yet-

He spoke then, simple, direct, "Up."

At first, you hadn't known what he meant, standing in the bathroom -merely noticing how close his chest would get to yours when he breathed in, until your fingertips brushed upon the countertops of your sink.

Oh.

Your body had a mind of it's own, extending your arms outward as Rick lifted you. And even just for the sole second you stayed in his arms -flannel fabric rubbing against your side, and fingers curled under your arms, you felt a sort of bliss.

Rick was in no such state, stepping back from you with a hand reached out (making sure you were steady in your place) and all at once giving you a look over. You truly didn't know how you looked, the bruise blossoming on your back was the only thing that was causing an ache right now. You thoroughly doubted he could see that.

And a few other scratches on your face maybe? And your shoulders? It was a bit blurry now. You seemed to remember the scraping of nails, and a sting following suit.

Rick's face stayed unmoving, blue eyes flickering in the low light -brief across your skin but it still felt quite vulnerable. Broken open in front of eyes that kept looking at you -intent and focused; you kind of wanted to shrink into yourself, disguise from them.

He didn't let up, eyes heavy on the task at hand -a sort of determination set in his jaw, "First aid?"

"Yeah, uh-" you cleared your throat, tightening your fingers on the counter -a spare thought almost had you skimming through his hair, "-it should be in the cabinet. It's the same one that was here when we arrived, is that-"

"'s fine," he interrupted, swiftly pulling the tiny case out of the cabinet -eyes set across a few of the spare scratches, "-better than nothin'."

He stayed focused, sliding between your legs -urging your chin up with the tiniest of touches, and using the motion to look at some of your scrapes. Your head was swimming in a sort of fuzz, following the motion like you were boneless -maybe you were.

"They aren't that bad," you tried to urge, sinking into the intimacy of having someone care for you -it was probably the first time it'd happened to you without asking.

Rick hummed, carefully wiping at one on your forehead -the most tender of touches with calloused fingertips (the contradiction making your head spin), "And that means what?"

You faltered, "Well, we shouldn't waste resources on-"

"I've got plenty of bandages," he answered, concisely, "-if someone needs some, tell 'em to come to me."

"Rick, I can't ask you to do that," you relented, unfamiliar with this energy in such a vulnerable position -when you felt like this, you'd been batting eyelashes and he'd do that smirk that made you forget what you were saying. It wasn't... it wasn't this. The tenderness in his hands, and the act of it being so natural to him, not a bother.

"Ya didn't," he answered, simply, hands wiping away at your skin so gently you almost leaned into it. The urge to let him hold you like putty, let him care for you, he clearly knew how-

You chose not to speak then, eyes dashing along his face -following the crinkles, and a few blemishes. You were close enough to memorize them, you might as well. The thoughts of wondrously connecting them on his face, brushing your hands along -it was something that you hadn't thought of.

You wouldn't let yourself.

"Why are you doing this?"

Rick paused in his motions, eyes littering down to yours -trying to read the look on your face. He exhaled, heavily, and took a few steps back -it cleared your head a bit, the smell of Rick just a tad less overwhelming all your senses. (You kind of missed it.)

"Can I ask you somethin'?" he questioned, tossing what he could in the tiny trashcan without much semblance of thought towards it.

You stiffened at the shift of tone, retorting with a tight smile, "I thought I just did, but uh... yeah."

"This," his finger flicked between the two of you -your eyes followed it with an embarrassing fervor, "-it's... What is it to you?"

If he'd asked yesterday, you would've answered much differently. Not that you hadn't felt... this, it was just a much different perspective. You hadn't thought of this part of it, the protectiveness, the concern, because of course, Rick Grimes was a force to be reckoned with. And if you got... involved, you imagined it extended to you.

"'Could ask you the same question," you deflected, fingers trailing down your arm and messing with your sleeve -it was partially rolled up and you flicked the button between your fingers.

"'Kay," he hummed, stepping closer -in your space just as seamlessly as before but this was more intentional, "-we can do it this way."

Without another word, he grabbed your hand by the wrist -stopping the motion with a heavy sort of look, "Pay attention."

You froze, watching as Rick stood a breath away from you -blue intense in a way you'd become familiar with, but still somehow different. You nodded, wordlessly.

"I'm-" he started, before seeming to scrap it, "There are no conditions with me. If I go anywhere with you, and I mean anywhere-"

Your breath hitched.

"-I'm for everythin'. There's no one thing," Rick continued, seeming to not notice the implications affecting you, "-it's everythin'. Mornings, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and if I can swing it... dates."

You exhaled, your gaze softening on the man -he wasn't shying away, eyes intently on yours. There was a new energy in the air, something softer -not as suffocating on his smirk, but warmer, enveloping you.

"You-" you started, tone shaky in a bit of disbelief, "-everything?"

His hand matched up to yours, fingertips detailing your palms without so much as a look down. Biting back a smile (like you weren't hyperaware of his mouth being so close), he mumbled -low gravel brushing across your skin, "Everythin'."

It took you less than a second to process the words, heart heavy against your ribcage, "Okay."

He blinked, stunned, "You... That was quick, I wasn't expectin'-"

"Rick," you exhaled, a bit breathy at the slightest touch of his hands, "-have you seen yourself?"

He laughed, short but it still sent a pleasant buzz up your spine -his hand rested an inch from your leg on the counter edge. And somehow your mouth kept running at the closeness.

"You're the best man I've ever met," you hummed, more sentimental but still in the rush of his scent and the dizziness of his body warmth, "-although, I'd hope you keep your... promises. I will gladly take anything you offer."

"I'll keep 'em," his voice was low, bubbling something up in your stomach -eyes heavy but something new there, affectionate even, "-I never say anythin' I don't mean. And trust me, I mean it."

You still hadn't crossed that boundary, mere looks and touches that lasted a bit too long -you shivered at the thought. It was building, loud and yelling in your head every time you so much as saw Rick in the corner of your eye. Eyes lingering for much longer than usual, you felt a bit like you were stopped.

Rick was leading, it wasn't that hard to tell -every smooth hand on the small of your back, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and recently, without so much as a break in the conversation, pulling you into his lap.

There were perfectly good seats, many of them.

And yet, he sat you there -one of his big hands splayed along your side holding you steady and the other rubbing a soothing pattern in your thigh. The brush of his hands still ghosted over you even now, and if you focused hard enough, you could feel the drag of his fingertips on your skin.

Maggie hadn't let it go for weeks. Fuck, you hadn't let it go for weeks.

Maybe that's why you'd been grumpy that morning, the itching of having Rick Grimes's hands on you had set you a bit on edge. The building tension only made your throat close up and your brain sort of lack words, but you'd truly be dead before you'd give up.

You knew Rick was up early, he always was -set to do whatever he had to that day, or even to take care of Judith. Conveniently, though, Maggie had taken Judith that night and Carl had slept over at his new friend's house (Rick had been hard to convince on that front, but his weakness had always been his kids after all).

It was a Saturday, he liked to rest on Saturdays. You knew that because he'd sit out on his porch in the heat, sweat dripping from his face and the top few of his buttons undone to accost for the warmth.

Or, he totally could've known that you watched him like clockwork -eyes heavy on the touch of chest that showed and trailing the sweat down his collarbone. You were sure if you'd gone up to him when he sat like... that, you wouldn't have had such a clear mind.

He had that edge of cockiness now, he would unbutton his shirt just a little bit more to get your head spinning. It was in his character.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way into the neighboring house -the distant puff of sleep on your limbs but your mind had never been clearer. The door was unlocked, as you waltzed into the house -the emptiness was a sort of unfamiliar tone in the house, yet your body moved forward.

You made your way to the door -his bedroom, before you stopped. Your feet froze in place, as you followed the trail of the wood -seeming to realize just what you had done. Running into a man's house, and ending up at his bedroom door... in your pjs.

At the thought, your head swam and a blush of crimson flushed down to your collarbone. Biting your lip harder than you ever had in your life, your eyes lingered over the wood -hesitating to even imagine what was behind that door.

He had a white duvet, they all did.

You groaned, not even noticing the volume level, because it was early and you weren't thinking- and spun on your heel, ready to confront him later. At a more reasonable hour, and more reasonable clothing.

The door creaked open, and something in you stayed frozen to your spot, only halfway spun towards the door. It was obvious, big t-shirt and sweatpants that you had just woken up, and in that bliss, you thought that maybe the shadow hid you in the hallway. It was early enough to cast the world in a sort of darkness -halfway between the sun shining and the cloudy early morning.

And then he chuckled -a sort of warm gravelly tone, "You want some breakfast?"

You opened your mouth to respond, turning back to the door -eyes settling on the man in the frame. His figure seemed somehow towering, more than usual, curls a bit wild -your fingers itched to smooth it down. And he was shirtless, the expanse of his skin making your head flutter in a pleasant sort of way -slight marks of freckles etched across him, and plaid pants hanging low on his waist.

You felt your anger dissipate, despite the urge to hold onto it, sighing, "I... yes."

"Good," his voice was low, sleep-slurred, and you suddenly got the thought this was a very bad idea. His arm wrapped around you -body warm tripled with just skin, as he guided you into the kitchen.

You had beaten this before, the sort of buzz that Rick Grimes put you in, but he had never been so close and shirtless before. The bare skin of his side pressed into you like it was nothing, your mind spun -lucky he was guiding you so swiftly.

"You gonna tell me why you're 'ere?"

He was looking at you now, the kitchen was much brighter -open curtains, and light cabinets. He looked domestic in here, and the kitchen itself seemed like his. A few bowls dirty in the sink, dish towels hanging on the oven, some baby snacks sorted into little baggies, it all screamed Grimes household.

You cleared your throat, "You wanna know?"

"I asked," he smiled, toothy and bright -so warm and fuzzy, "-didn't I?"

"You're not," you paused, trying to coil down the nerves tight in your stomach, "-freaked out that I'm here?"

Rick laughed, somehow getting somewhat closer to you, hands rubbing up and down your arms without much extra thought. Before his face settled into something heavier, affection still high on his face, but something more familiar there.

"Y/N," the smooth upturn of his lips, as he gathered closer to you, his breaths quick despite his demeanor, "-if I had my way you'd be here every night and day."

Your heart was fast in your chest, heavy against your ribs and you thought about it for a second. Waking up here, dinners with Carl and Judith, Rick... everywhere. It wasn't... bad.

It was far from bad.

And that wasn't just Rick, it was everything. A domesticity with Rick that you had come to terms that you'd never get, and yet here it was. Laid beautifully in front of you.

Rick was nervous, you could tell. The shift on his feet, his eyes glazing over your face so intently like he was memorizing every shift but to try and find out what you were thinking. He had always looked at you, you realized.

The amount of that blue shine you'd seen with such intense focus wasn't just this. And he'd always touched you. If danger was present, he'd tug you behind him without a single extra thought. With the gentlest of touches when you were injured, he was sure to help you through it -if not there with you, he'd stick someone he trusted. (Insanely, he'd told Daryl once when they were trying to raid another camp and Daryl would've been immensely useful-) And the smirk, it wasn't new... You'd seen it in banter, he'd make you laugh so hard and he'd make that face like he was smug, like he was proud.

"Y/N?" he asked, a bit scared of the silence, "-Everythin' alright?"

"I-" you started, a bit startled at the revelation but confident in pursuing it, "This was never a competition to you, was it?"

Rick furrowed his eyebrows, reiterating, "I told you-"

"No, no," you interrupted, taking a few dangerous steps forward, "-before that. Before that meeting when I didn't sleep enough... You-"

You couldn't finish it, the word hanging heavy in the air, just on the cusp of your tongue. It would be real then, and you still weren't sure. You couldn't say it, you could just act like it never happened-

"I love you."

And there it was, silencing your train of your thought, as you looked at him with a sort of curiosity. He wasn't looking at you, eyes scrunched closed as he rubbed at his face, embarrassed almost. Like he had never intended to tell you, or never have you find out. Was he... Was he afraid?

"I-" he started, trailing off in a deep sigh, "I never meant for it to be... Shit, this looks so bad. I wasn't trying to convince you to feel the same. I just- It just started. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"Rick," you tried -but your voice was so quiet.

"I never. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to go this far-"

"Rick-" you urged, louder, but it didn't stop his pacing.

"It just happened, over the years... I couldn't stop it, everythin' just kept adding up. I kept lookin' at you, and I couldn't stop. And then, you were half asleep but you said it- I thought maybe... I just wanted it to be real-"

"Rick," you leaned up, placing your hands on the sides of his face and making him look at you, "-breathe."

He stopped, eyes wide and blue -looking right into yours, and following your whispers of instructions. Trying to keep his brain right here with you, you counted out his breaths and he looked with something you wouldn't have noticed before. But now you did.

"You with me?"

He swallowed, nervous, "Yes, but-"

And without a second thought, you pushed forward and put your lips on his. It was a quick motion, a bit frantic, so Rick had to adjust. He originally wasn't responding, still and unmoving against every molecule of your body trying to be close to yours.

Then he did.

Rick was smooth, moving his arms to wrap around your middle (urging you even closer) and dipping into you without much less restraint. Your hands brushed across his stubble and tucked behind his ears, twirled up in his curls like it would keep you grounded. And maybe it was. The simple press had evolved, a sort of emotion lingering in the touching skin. You itched to somehow be closer, to ignite that sort of attention everywhere. The sparks were alluring, and all you could think about was more.

Rick was on a different page, pulling back with a grin so bright you'd almost flinched at it. After a few moments of looking, you watched as he slowly leaned forward -your body naturally leaning forward a sort of bliss piercing over your mind.

And then, he swerved.

He pulled his hand out of its position against your back -brushing your stomach as it came to your throat. And then, as gently as a butterfly landing on your finger, he pressed his thumb into your pulse. It was currently crazy, running on the adrenaline of showing up here so early and his confession, and the kiss-

All he did was grin.

"So fast," leaning into your ear, huffs of breaths hot on your skin -you just knew that he knew what he was doing, "-that for me, sweetheart?"

You growled, frustration at its peak, and pulled back to match his face -at a sudden mix of affection and anger, you let your heart speak, "Fuck you, Grimes."

He merely smiled brighter, head tilting ever so closely, "Well, since you asked so nicely-"

[missz3lda]

What are you currently reading? Any good reads recently?

This is this year so far, I can only really help you if you like smut or romantasy... haha

That aside, dungeon crawler Carl was a surprisingly good read. Butter was slow but really itched my foodie brain nicely. And I am legend was interesting just to see how much they changed the film.

[duchessonfire]

ONE YEAR OF CEGAN

On this day last year (December 20th, 2023), I posted the first chapter of Nothing Left to Save, the second part of my Savior!Carl AU series. I had completed the first part all the way back in 2021, after binge-watching The Walking Dead again during lockdown, and I hadn't touched it for over two years. Every once in a while, I would re-read part 1 and look at all the wonderful comments that people left on it and tell myself that one day I'd write part 2. For almost three years, I would add little plot lines to the word document in my files. Then, in November 2023, I was finally done with my PhD and on top of absolute relief, I also felt the need to be creative again. I'd written almost exclusively Marvel for the past two years and I felt that my well for that fandom had run a bit dry. So, out of curiosity, I played the first episode of The Walking Dead on Netflix and I opened my Word document for part 2.

I could never imagine that this would lead to my most creative year ever on AO3. Between December 20, 2023 and today, I wrote almost 400k!! That is mind-blowing to me, especially considering that my total wordcount on AO3 since I opened my account in 2018 is almost 700k. In one year, I wrote more than half of that total wordcount. And all of it was for the Cegan fandom, which is especially insane when I think about how it all started.

More on this under the cut:

One thing that stands out to me most of all is that all these numbers happened in the Cegan fandom, which is a very small community. Back when I was posting part 1 of my Savior Carl!AU in 2021, the engagement was very small and sparse. I think I would get maybe 5 or 10 kudos between updates and two or three comments on each chapter. Back then, I was writing mainly for myself and every update was a labor of frustration as much as love. I had fallen into Cegan hard during my TWD re-watch on Netflix and I had tentatively tried to dip my toe into the Cegan fandom on Tumblr.

(Funny thing: I hadn't created a Tumblr account yet and decided to look at the Cegan tag to see if I could find a community there. What I found instead was harassment and hate spewed by antis all over the tag. It scared me so much that I closed Tumblr and didn't start an account until I got into Marvel. Honestly, I'm probably downplaying how utterly traumatic this first experience was, and I'm so thankful that I kept going anyway and posted my fic on AO3, where, for the first time in my life, I clicked on the 'enable comment moderation' button, because I was so scared that some anti and hater would find my fic and decide to go off in the comment box.)

As I said, I posted part 1 of the Savior!Carl AU in 2021 and by then... Cegan was already pretty much a dead ship already. This might be my skewed memory playing tricks on me, but I remember this being a very small and not really active fandom on AO3. The tag was updated very rarely, mainly by the same people keeping the ship afloat through sheer tenacity. Which makes sense considering season 8 finished airing in 2018, so by 2021, Carl had already been dead for over two years. And yet, in spite of this, I kept writing because I had this very clear idea of the kind of fic I wanted to read and I couldn't find it even after browsing pretty much all of the Cegan tag on AO3 (btw, did you know the first Cegan fic was posted in May 2016, right after the end of season 6 and the first part of the line-up episode? Insane). I knew I wanted a fic that delved into the slow build-up of Carl and Negan's relationship, one set in the apocalypse and which didn't shy away from the fact that Negan was a villain. Two things were most important to me: a slow-build (many fics in the tag where about a love at first sight type of encounter, and it didn't scratch the very specific itch I had back then) and a focus on power dynamics (mostly how unbalanced those dynamics would be when Negan was basically a tank crushing everything and anyone in his path). So, because I couldn't find the fic I wanted, I decided to write it myself.

This is how No Savior to be Found came to life. 45k. 4 chapters (which were supposed to be 3, but even back then I had no self-control over my chapter count...). And, because I was chicken shit about smut back then and because I was still afraid of antis, a Teen and up rating and a Carl & Negan platonic tag. I already knew this was going to be a series, a first introduction into a fully romantic and more sexual relationship between Carl and Negan but I didn't have the courage to write it then so I created the series on AO3 and told myself that one day I'd be ready for the follow-up. I told myself the series would only be 2 parts. A before and an after of Carl and Negan's relationship. If anyone was interested in reading it, cool, but most of my satisfaction would have to be derived from writing it.

This was a very dark and psychologically heavy fic, which I hadn't ever really written before (not in English at least). It was also the first time I tried my hand at flashbacks and a non-linear timeline. Part 1, especially the first chapter, is mainly made up of little vignettes because I wasn't very confident in my ability to write a long fic in English (I had only written one-shots back then, and one Teen Wolf fic which I never finished). It was experimental in so many ways and came with many challenges, first and foremost Negan's voice. As a non-English speaker, Negan's way of speaking was SO DIFFICULT to capture. I remember obsessively re-watching every single episode he was in in S6-8 of TWD to try and get used to the cadence of his words, to his constant delve into the vulgar and obscene. It was a nightmare. Every time I had to write a dialogue with him, I was basically pulling out my hair trying to make it realistic. It was also the first time in my life I ended a fic on a cliff-hanger, but it felt right because this wasn't for shock value or to spike viewer's engagement (what engagement lmao). If you've read part 1, you know the ending I'm talking about and it truly felt like a satisfying wrap on Carl's journey in the Savior AU, from child to man, from blunt weapon to active participant, from survivor to Savior. Honestly, I am still in awe of the courage I had to write an ending like that considering how self-conscious I was about my writing skills in English and what little audience I had. 2021 Duchess, you were a badass.

After I finished part 1, I pretty much lost interest in TWD. I was still incredibly proud of finishing it but I had no desire to get started on part 2 anytime soon. My PhD was taking up more and more of my time, I fell into Marvel hard, I created a Tumblr account to interact with the Stucky fandom, I got a Discord, I participated in Marvel events, I met wonderful Stucky people, and all around had a fantastic time in the Marvel fandom. Every once in a while, I'd get a comment on part 1 of Savior!Carl and... they were all so nice? I remember being actualy shocked by how sweet and how detailed those comments were, dropping in my inbox every few months, telling me how much they loved the fic and how they screamed at the ending. Whenever I received a comment, I would check the fic and get stunned at seeing the stats rise, more and more people engaging with it over the years. With every comment, my belief that I would one day go back to the Savior!AU series and write part 2 became stronger. I knew it would happen some day, it was just a matter of when.

And then, November 2023 rolled around. I defended my PhD and started a new job. Winter had come to Paris, and everything was dark and wet, and my new job had insanely long hours which left me very antsy when I came home. I knew I wanted to write something to distract me and be creative, but I had only written Marvel for two years and yet neither Stucky nor Stony called out to me. I knew I was craving something angsty and violent so I thought, you know what? Let's re-watch TWD on Netflix and see what happens. And lo and behold, I spiralled right back into my Savior!AU. A month later, I was posting the first chapter of part 2.

Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to still be interested in this fic 3 years later. I answered every single comment on part 1 and told each commenter that I had posted the first chapter of part 2 in the hope that someone would be curious enough to check it out. Marvel ships like Stucky and Stony were very active back then so I'd gotten used to a certain amount of stats on my fics, but I knew Cegan was a very rarepair in comparison and so I steeled myself for a return to very low engagement. And you know what? I couldn't have been more wrong. In terms of numbers, sure, it was barely a fraction of what I was used to. But in terms of comments? Of people interacting with the fic and telling me what they thought of it? Cegan was miles ahead of Marvel. To this day, some of the most consistent, most thoughtful comments I've ever received have been in the Cegan fandom. And it's not even a question of length either. I have people who have been commenting nothing but heart emojis on every chapter of my Cegan fics for the past year and I love them to death.

There is no word that can encompass how grateful I am for the Cegan community. I remember how scared I was back in 2021, terrified of antis and people criticizing the ship over, frankly, dumb matters (it's all fiction, enough said). 2021 Duchess could never imagine what today Duchess knows: that I have found so many loving and encouraging people to share my stories with. In one year of writing Cegan, I have met new friends, new readers, new writers, and all around incredible people. This is what fandom is about and I can only say thank you to everyone who has commented on my fics and reached out to me on Tumblr to talk to me about Cegan. This is worth more to me than any stat or number ever could.

2024 has been a fantastically productive year and I don't know if I'll write as much in 2025 but I know it doesn't matter, because more than a wordcount, this year has been about community. Thank you again to everyone who has been with me on this journey, from the bottom of my heart thank you. I couldn't have done any of this without you.

Love,

Duchess

PS: thank you so much @louferignojr for the tag. I'm tagging other people who might want to fill out the AO3 wrap card by Spicedrobot on Tumblr with the blank card at the bottom if they want to :)

@sparkagrace @confusedhockeyslut @lovelythunderstorm @ryisbread @ex0rin

@livefasteattrashh @honestlydarkprincess and anyone who wants to join in!!

[telephonicsonnyboy]

I’ve been itching to do a character lineup!! Here’s one from my favorite movie :-)

(Design ramblings under the cut)

Okay. Putting on my costume designer hat for a second…

For Woodward & Bernstein, I combined a couple different looks from the movie to settle on two outfits that would contrast each other yet fit together perfectly. (The costume design in this movie is already incredible!!! I noticed they’d both wear stripes/grid checks when they were on the same page about something, particularly when they were approaching Bradlee with the story for the first time. So I incorporated patterns for both of them.) The color dynamic was already somewhat present, but I enhanced it slightly to be a quasi red/blue trope. The silhouettes are true to the movie, but also to their characters (Bernstein is more tailored because he’s more experienced & Bob less so. But also, Bob’s ill-fitting suit was just something I really liked from the movie.)

With Woodward and Bernstein’s suit pieces themselves, I wanted it to look like they belonged to the same ensemble (they share a byline, they share sources, they operate as a unit, but they do it differently!!) So Bob gets the tan suede jacket (it’s big, he’s swimming in it) and Bernstein gets the tan suede pants (tight and flattering) so it’s the same set just worn differently. Different effects. But they go together. Two parts of a whole. Blah blah you get it. I could talk about the costume/production design of ATPM for a VERYYY long time.

Also just for fun character design purposes (cause this is really more more of a general reference sheet compared to how I usually approach costume design renderings) I gave Carl a blue coffee cup to tie into Bob’s color palette, and then Bob is holding the red flag to tie into Carl’s color palette. These objects are also both super important to their approaches to getting information (Carl weaseling his way into getting coffee with the sources in their homes…Bob setting the red flag out to plan his clandestine meetings…)

Every other character’s outfit is just a replica from the movie. The only one I took liberty with was Felt. In the book, he’s always described as looking exhausted physically, so I figured his costume should match to a certain degree. His distinction shows in his demeanor and the substance of his words; he can still be uniquely powerful even if his top button is undone and his tie is missing. I did however put him in a double breasted herringbone suit and I kept the teal tint in the garments to keep that underground lighting feel, even though we’re seeing him out of the parking garage in this illustration.

Anyways, costuming real people is my favorite because you get such solid references and LIFE to go from!!! And these Woodward and Bernstein were very fun cause their personalities are Very Apparent in the book. And the film is such a good extension of it.

(This was originally supposed to be more cartoony, almost as if ATPM was animated. But I just ended up drawing everybody in my normal style, whatever that is!)

Thanks for reading if you got through that!!!!! I love this story a lot :-)

[meta-squash]

Calli reblogging my @shamelessdvdcommentary for my fic The Needle And The Burning Body had me looking at my Shameless fics again and I realized that I now have entirely accidentally created two collections of fics that essentially go together like a series. One is fics dealing with 3x06 and the other is fics dealing with Ian's bipolar and hospitalization.

Abrade - The aftermath of 3x06. Mickey can't stop thinking about it. Proof Of What You Want - Ian's on his goddamn mind all the time and this isn't like bruises or near misses with cops or his dad's fucked up punishments. It doesn't matter what he does. He's not thinking of anything else. You've never been like this. Slow and soft and someone asleep at your back. Vulnerable. Ever. There have been very few bright spots in your life: your mother, Mandy, Ian. You try and convince yourself it's not what you want. It is. It's what you want. Scar Tissue - Mickey's mouth feels sour. He can feed the baby, he can change the baby. He can't look at the baby. Ian looks at the baby like it isn't made of pain. Mickey wants to claw his own skin off. The three of them have a conversation that nobody wants to have. It happens anyway. Just like the first time happened anyway.

To Wash You Clean And Hold You - It's been over a week. Ian hasn't moved from the bed, hasn't eaten, barely speaks. The worry gnaws at Mickey's chest. Even the simplest actions seem so hard for him. Carl's advice doesn't make him feel much better. But at least Mickey knows he can help Ian, that he's not going to give up, that he's going to get him through it, even if it's something as small as a shower or a glass of water. Scraped Palms, Future Proof - Every morning that Ian's out of bed, it feels like that first morning again. The relief, the smile, and Mickey's not sure what he's supposed to be doing as the smile grows brighter and then maybe almost too bright. What Mickey does know is that suddenly all he's ever wanted to do was stay. He wants to hold something that will make his hands soft. He wants to cut his palm and make a promise, for the first time in his life. My Brother's Lover - She always had this dream they would save themselves. And she saw how in love Mickey Milkovich was with her best friend. Only Ian was coming apart at the seams, Mickey grasping at edges he didn't know how to hold onto and this was getting crazier the more they tried to save him themselves. The more they tried to figure it out themselves. Because Brothers Don't Let Each Other Wander In The Dark Alone - Lip has been Ian's big brother for as long as he can remember. It's always been his job to take care of Ian. Take the beat downs and give advice and ask questions. Maybe now that he's in college he can't do his job like he used to. Only Ian has Mickey now. Mickey Milkovich twitching and scared but solid and stable and still fucking here even when they're driving to Indiana, even when Ian is disappearing from view around the corner. High Elopement Risk - A sign on the door says 'High Elopement Risk' in bold black and white. He can't stop thinking about the idea of marriages of the mad; vows jumbled in cotton-dry mouths, church bells tolling crooked and joyous, benzo-sloppy kisses, heavily medicated laughter painting the halls. Glassy eyes and white gauze and rings made of toilet paper, promises made for or by the not-quite-there. It scares him that his fingers itch for Ian's skin. It scares him that even through the clenched heart, the way his stomach is in lovelorn knots, the way his mind shuts down at the thought of Ian doing the things he did, he still wants to stay.

I also wrote 5k words of a fic from Ian's POV as he drives away with Yevgeny, but my laptop crashed right as I was finishing up and I lost it all. I wrote down the specific lines I could remember but I haven't had the courage to try and rewrite it, even though I was really really happy with it before.

[emswritingsstuff]

Drink Up (Carol Peletier x Fem! Reader)

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summary: giving up your food and water for everyone else starts to take a toll on you. and carol notices it.

note: drabble! and shout-out and credit to the bestie @idkwthgoitmww for the idea

WC: 0.8k

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The world felt like it was spinning, a lightheaded feeling flowing through your whole body. You couldn't really recall how long you had gone without eating or drinking, but you knew that was the culprit of your sickness. 

With being stuck on the road for days, food and water was very limited. Needing to split all the rations in sixteen different ways obviously being a hassle every time. When it came down to eating, a lot of the time you had given up whatever you had for someone else, Usually it would go to Carl or Judith, sometimes sneaking some to Carol as well. Same with all the water you had. If someone needed it, you offered it up. No questions asked. All you wanted to do was make sure the others had something, even if it meant sacrificing your own health. 

But all the sacrifices you made were starting to show through. Moving forward, you felt yourself getting more and more woozy as you walked. Tripping over your own feet, running into others by accident, you just didn’t feel real. Just being completely off balance and out of it. 

Rest of the group grew tired, and Rick made the choice to stop. Plopping yourself down, you brought your knees up to your chest and rested your head there. Just hoping if maybe you rested you would feel better, but the rumbling in your stomach and itch in your throat told you otherwise. 

Your frail state didn’t go unnoticed, Carol’s eyes were locked on you. She couldn’t recall a time where you looked this weak, it worried her to not end. You were one of the strongest people she knew and seeing you in such a state was obvious, she mentally kicked herself for not seeing something wrong sooner. 

Getting the attention of those around her, she gestured toward you. “Have any of you seen her eat or drink anything?” 

The responses confirmed her fears, just mere shrugs and nods causing panic to surge through her body. Instantly getting up, she slowly made her way toward you, sitting down beside you. Her hand soon found your back, just rubbing it gently. 

Lifting up your head, you flashed her a weak but genuine smile. “Hey,” your voice was slow and almost broken. Practically a mumble, causing the panicked feeling Carol was feeling to skyrocket. “Hey sweet pea, you don’t look too good,” Carol tried to make her voice as gentle and quiet as possible. Doing her best to disguise the anxiety she was feeling. 

Trying to respond and talk to her, nothing really came out coherent or clear. Coughs sneaking up on you every other word. Carol finally let her walls down and looked at you, tears starting to form in her eyes. She tried to hide it, but to no avail. 

Scrambling through her stuff, Carol tried to at least find something to help you. But she didn’t even have water, she felt helpless. A strong figure soon stood in front of the both of you. Daryl pulled his canteen off his belt and held it in front of you. “Here. Drink up, ya need it,” you took the canteen before he made his way back to the fire. Helping to prepare the food that had stumbled across the group. 

Trying to take a drink, you could barely take a full swig without coughing it up. Your throat is not used to the feeling anymore, and you were feeling it. Carol watched as you struggled, immediately taking the canteen and holding the back of your neck. “Let me help, least I can do,” you just simply nodded before she brought the canteen to your lips. Taking it slow and helping you pace yourself. 

Feeling the little bits of water was a relief, a feeling you had missed for a long while. Not long after, the meat Daryl and Rick were cooking was done. It was heavy, knowing it was dogs you had to eat, but you couldn’t be picky now. 

Staring at the food, you didn’t know if you could even stomach it. Taking small bites at a time, you were pacing yourself, careful to not make yourself sick. Carol’s eyes were glued to you, wanting to help in case you started to feel gross again and just wanting to make sure you were okay. 

From that point on, Carol was practically glued to your side. She never let you leave her sight, scared of what would happen if you did. 

The group kept moving, trying to find anything they could need. Shelter was a concern as well, but no one really had their hopes up to find anything. As you all walked, you started to feel small rain pellets hit your skin. Distracted by that, you barely even noticed the group had stopped to investigate the mysterious water in the road. As they bickered, the rain picked up more and more, rain absolutely soaking you. 

It felt wonderful, and soon a jacket was placed over your shoulders. Carol being the one to give it to you, sneaking her arms around your body to keep it in place. Holding out her hand, she let the water puddle in her hand before showing it to you. “It’s going to be okay; We’re going to be okay.”