· Ivelle 𓂃 @witchesbite - Tumblr Blog

remus is always needy for psychical touch, though he’s not big on public affection, he’s always touching you subtly. hand laced with your under the table, quick kisses pressed to your face, needing to be near you whenever possible. in private he’s clingier than ever, resting his head on your lap as you study, arms wrapped around your waist, bare back pressed against yourswhile you read or listen to the record player.

he doesn’t really brag about you to his friends, like james did with lily, but he replays every reaction in his head, big or small. he’s always following you everywhere like a dog, walking you to classes, carrying your books.

NSFW!

he replays your interactions and conversations while he’s in the shower, stroking himself lazily, forehead pressed against the cool tile. thinking about the way your lips move when you smile, how they wrap about every word, the way your eyes watched him as he passed you earlier in the day.

overall he’s a giver, taking his time in making you feel pleasure before he does, that doesn’t mean he won’t needily grind his hips into your thigh while his mouth works on your nipples, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling just right to hit your sweet spot and feel you arch against him.

when it’s closer to the full moon he gets rough, biting your skin as he slams in and out of you — the sting coupled with the overstimulating pleasure of his cock bullying your insides with every deep thrust making for an overwhelming climax, which he’d starved you of for rounds before.

a/n : Hi to anyone who’s reading this!! i’ve never written anything before and i’m just trying to start! PLEASE give me tips and criticism, i really have no clue what i’m doing! i can do a part 2! also, send me anons pls!!!!

•18+ Adults Only

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vindictivevajay

When you‘re trying to read harry potter x reader fanfics but this mfs name is literally the name of the franchise so you just see the entire cast instead of him

232677

i love love LOVE your writing so be prepared for random spams of ideas for our sweet boy carl..

imagine carl with a reader who sleeps like a mf. i’m talking, will sleep a whole day if not woken up (ehem me too) and besides their insane hours of sleep, they absolutely will NOT stay still when sleeping. they’re always laying on top of him even when it’s irritatingly hot outside.

-🐰🐇

𝓒𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃, carl grimes.

a/n: HEHE this is so cutie and tysm I'm glad u like it!!! I hope this meets your expectations as much as possible 🎀

cw: none! fluffy fic

By the time Carl realized you had no intention of waking up, the sun had already climbed high enough over Alexandria’s walls to turn the bedroom unbearably warm.

He had been awake for nearly two hours, which wasn’t unusual for him. Carl rarely slept deeply anymore, and even when he managed to stay asleep through the night, his body seemed to have developed an irritating habit of waking him at the slightest unfamiliar sound. A branch scraping against the house, footsteps outside the window, someone closing a door too hard down the street—any of it could pull him out of sleep almost instantly.

zombinieee

chandler come back home I miss you 😞

americanadolls

i can’t he’s so baby girl

phoebe-writes

Across the Hall

Pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Reader Summary: The two men across the hall keep inventing reasons to knock — a corkscrew, some sugar, a plate of something warm — and it takes you a fortnight to work out you keep handing them an excuse to try again. Tags: neighbours AU, getting together, fluff, slow burn

You've lived in the flat for three weeks now, and you've learned two things about the one across the hall. The music is always good and slightly too loud. And its occupants invent the most astonishing reasons to knock.

The first time, it's a corkscrew. You open the door and there's a tall bloke already talking before you've got it half open, dark hair loose, grinning like the two of you are mid-conversation and always have been, "you don't happen to have a corkscrew, do you? Because we've got a bottle and absolutely no way in, and it's a tragedy, honestly. Sirius, by the way, in case you need a name for whoever you're cursing," and behind him another man hovers a step back with one shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded, not quite hiding a smile, watching the whole performance like he's seen it before and isn't going to be the one to stop it. You don't have a corkscrew. You tell him so. He looks wounded, personally let down, like you've broken some unspoken agreement between neighbours, and then he's off again just as fast, "right, tragic, we'll manage," and the quieter one gives you a small, apologetic sort of nod on his way out, as if to say, sorry, he's like this.

The second time it's sugar. You don't bake. You say so. Sirius — you've got the other one's name too, by now, Remus, said quieter, like it costs him something to introduce himself at all — takes the sugar business just as personally, "no sugar, devastating," and vanishes again, all momentum, no follow-through. Remus lingers a beat longer this time. "Sorry," he says, "he does this. Might as well ask if we need anything, save you two trips?"

"We don't," you tell him, which isn't strictly an answer, and he looks like he expected that, and retreats anyway, easy, unbothered, like losing costs him nothing at all.

The third time it's a plate. Something with cinnamon on it, still warm, Remus holding it like it's an apology for something rather than a gift, "we made too much," he says, which is obviously a lie, nobody has ever made too much of anything by accident, and behind him Sirius is doing an appalling job of looking innocent. You take the plate anyway, because it's rude not to, and because it smells like actual heaven, and because Remus looks so ready to be told no that you can't quite bring yourself to do it.

Every time, you beg off before too long — busy, tired, mid-something — and every time they retreat with that same grace, unhurried, cheerful, as if it costs them nothing. You almost feel you've won something. It takes you a fortnight to work out you've only ever handed them a reason to try again tomorrow.

Then the building loses power, on the coldest night of the year, obviously, because the universe has a sense of humour and no mercy whatsoever. You're stood in your black hallway swearing at a light switch that does nothing when their door opens without you knocking on it at all, candlelight spilling out gold across the carpet, the smell of something warm on a stove, and Sirius filling the doorway like he's been waiting for exactly this excuse, "well, come on then, no point freezing on principle, is there?"

There's no polite way to refuse a stranded neighbour a seat by the only working stove on the floor. You know that. You go in anyway, telling yourself it's just the once.

Their sofa is deep and a bit too small for three, and you end up wedged in the middle of it, Sirius sprawled along one end like he owns the furniture, arm slung along the back of it behind your shoulders, all easy confidence, while Remus takes longer to sit, hovering near the arm of it first like he's still deciding whether he's allowed, before a blanket appears from somewhere and he shakes it out over the three of you, brisk, businesslike, as if that settles the matter of where he's sitting too. It's a good blanket. It is, you'll notice later, not nearly big enough for three people, a fact that seems to trouble neither of them at all.

"Cold night," Remus says, by way of explanation, tucking the corner in against your hip without quite meeting your eye, "can't have you catching your death, can we, just for being neighbourly?"

You don't say what you're thinking, which is that the whole flat smells of cinnamon and woodsmoke and something you don't have a word for yet, warm in a way that's got nothing to do with the stove.

Time slides by in that stretched, unmarked way it does with no telly and no clock in sight, just candles and low talk, Sirius mid-flow about a dog he definitely used to have, or definitely was, depending which version you're getting, gesturing so wildly he nearly has the candle over, and Remus correcting the details with the weary patience of a man who's heard this story forty times and expects to hear it forty more, "don't let him tell you he tamed it, it was the other way round entirely."

You laugh properly at one point, and Sirius looks entirely too pleased with himself about it, delighted, like he's won something, and you catch Remus watching that too, something soft crossing his face before he seems to remember himself and looks back at the candle instead.

Somewhere in there the blanket shrinks. You'd swear it does. You keep having to shift closer to keep any of it on you at all, until there's no cold air left between the three of you, and nobody suggests fetching a bigger one, and you don't ask for it either.

"Your foot's gone dead," Remus says at some point, hand closing loosely round your ankle to shift it, gentle, careful, like he's asking permission with his hands rather than his mouth, "better?"

"Better," you say, and don't mention that better isn't really about your foot.

Sirius's thumb moves once against your shoulder, absent, like he's not thinking about it at all, except you catch him thinking about it, in the reflection off the dark window, watching you rather than the candle he's meant to be minding, and for just a second the noise in him goes quiet, and something more careful comes through instead.

You could get up. You could say you should check on your own flat, your own cold, your own dark. Somewhere in the last hour you've stopped believing that's a reason at all.

"Warm enough?" Sirius asks, and Remus answers before you can, "just about, I'd say" — and there's a look that passes between the two of them over the top of your head, easy, unhidden, the look of two people who've been perfectly content to let a power cut do the work they'd been failing to do with corkscrews and sugar and too much cinnamon for three weeks running.

You feel it land on you a second late, the way you always seem to be a step behind them. Something in your chest turns over, slow, warm, entirely undignified.

"I don't have a corkscrew," you say, apropos of nothing, and Sirius laughs like it's the best joke he's heard all year, "I know, love, we've established that, haven't we?"

Hours on, the lights flicker, stutter, and come back down the corridor, you can see it under the door, and nobody moves. Nobody so much as glances at the switch.

"Should probably check on my flat," you say, not moving either.

"Should you?" Remus asks, and his arm doesn't loosen an inch.

You don't get up. Sirius's hand finds yours under the blanket like it's been waiting its turn, bold about it, unbothered by asking outright, and Remus is quieter getting there, slower, like he's still checking it's allowed even as he does it, his mouth close enough to your ear that you feel the words before you hear them properly, "no pretending it's about sugar, is it?"

Later — much later, candles burnt to nothing and the stove gone cold and none of you minding a bit — the blanket's given up being a blanket at all, just a heap on the floor where it fell, and nobody's cold anyway. You'll think back, after, on three weeks of knocking, and realise it was never about corkscrews. It was two people finding every possible reason to end up on your side of a door — one of them loud about it, one of them quiet, both of them patient in their own way — when all along the easiest way in was to leave theirs open and wait for the lights to go out.

Nobody knocks, after that. Why would they? The door across the hall just... stays open.

•18+ Adults Only

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communitycrackpipe

i wanna smell them all

witchesbite

before Alexandria, they must have smelled like people who hadn't bathed in months, let me smell

232677

do you take reqs.. 👀

CUZ HEAR ME OUT 🙌 makeshift wedding with carl.. maybe even makeshift “honeymoon” at a small, secluded cabin by a lake

- 🐰🐇

𝓜𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝓨𝐎𝐔, carl grimes.

a/n: FIRST REQUEST YIPPEE MOMENT I loved this idea!! sososo cute 🤎 I couldn't think of a good honeymoon scene so I hope you like my imagine of the first part!!

cw: none! I kinda changed the writing style in the end JUST a little and now I'm too lazy to change it but the storyline's the same, also this is quite lengthy too.

The first thing you noticed after every fight was always the silence.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind people talked about when they imagined quiet mornings or empty fields or nights spent watching the stars. This silence was heavier than that. It was the silence that came after gunshots stopped echoing, after people finally stopped shouting names into the chaos, after everyone had counted the living and the dead and silently thanked whatever was left of the world that the number of survivors hadn’t changed.

Alexandria had gone quiet again. Not completely. It never really was anymore. There were always things happening; the scrape of boots against dirt as people moved supplies, the distant hammering of someone repairing a damaged wall, the murmur of voices as everyone checked on each other. But compared to what it had been only hours before, compared to the noise and panic and fear that had filled the streets, it felt almost unnatural.

You stood near one of the houses, watching people move around with the same exhausted expressions they always wore after surviving something that should have killed them.

It was becoming a pattern. A horrible, exhausting pattern.

Someone would threaten them. Someone would take something from them. Someone would convince them they were stronger than they really were. And every single time, somehow, they survived.

But surviving never meant walking away untouched. That was the part nobody talked about. Everyone made it back, but everyone carried something home.

A new scar. A new memory. A new reason to wake up in the middle of the night and stare at the ceiling, wondering how much longer they could keep doing this.

Carl was no different. Maybe that was what scared you most.

Because when you first met him, when he was still just Rick Grimes’ son running around with a hat too big for his head and too much curiosity for his own good, there had still been something openly young about him. Even after everything—the farm, the prison, the road—there had always been moments where you could see the kid underneath it all.

Season after season, loss after loss, the world had slowly taken pieces of that kid away.

But it had never taken all of him.

People looked at him and saw everything he’d lost. They saw the eye patch, the scars, the way he watched every doorway and every person who walked too close. They saw someone who had grown up too fast.

But you saw the things that remained. The way he still checked on Judith when he thought nobody was paying attention, the way he still tried to believe people could be better, even after meeting some of the worst humanity had to offer, the way he still looked at the world like there was something worth saving.

Even when he was tired, when he was angry, when he was scared. Especially then.

You found him exactly where you expected. Not inside, or resting. Carl had never been good at resting. He was sitting on the steps outside one of the houses, elbows resting on his knees, staring out at Alexandria’s walls. His hat was missing, his curls falling messily around his face, and the bandage over his missing eye was slightly stained from the dirt and smoke of the day.

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You just stood there. Because you knew that sometimes Carl didn’t need someone asking if he was okay. Sometimes he needed someone to sit beside him and let him decide when he was ready to speak.

After a few seconds, his voice broke the silence.

“You should be inside.”

You almost smiled.

“That’s funny. I was going to say the same thing.”

He glanced at you, and for the smallest moment, there was the hint of a smile. Not a big one. Carl rarely did big ones anymore. But enough that you knew he was still there.

“You got hurt," he muttered slowly.

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Carl.”

He stopped.

That was another thing about him. He could argue with almost anyone. Negan. Rick. Daryl. Anyone. But with you, not as easily.

You sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed his.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The sun was beginning to set behind the walls, painting everything in soft orange light. It almost looked normal. Almost.

Carl watched the horizon.

“I thought I was gonna die today.”

The honesty of it made your chest tighten. He didn’t say things like that often. Not because he didn’t think about death. Everyone thought about death now. But Carl had always been careful about admitting when something scared him.

You looked at him.

“Yeah.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I mean… I knew we could lose. I knew it was possible," He paused. “But I kept thinking about what would happen if we did.”

The wind moved through the trees beyond the walls.

“I kept thinking about Judith. I kept thinking about Dad. About Michonne. About everyone.”

His fingers curled slightly against his knees.

“And then I thought about you.”

Carl looked down. “I don’t know...” He shook his head quietly. “I just…”

He stopped, frustrated with himself. That was Carl too. He always knew what he felt. He just didn’t always know how to put it into words.

“I don’t want to keep waiting.”

You turned toward him.

“What do you mean?”

For once, Carl looked nervous. Actually nervous.

You had seen him face walkers without hesitation. You had seen him stand in front of people who wanted to hurt him. You had seen him challenge people much older and more powerful than him.

Right now, sitting beside you on the steps of a damaged house, he looked like he had no idea what he was doing.

“I had this whole thing planned.”

Your eyebrows lifted. ”You did?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“It was better in my head.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. His expression softened slightly.

“I figured.” You still reassured him, even if you were oblivious to what he was even talking about.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked away, rubbing his thumb against his palm. “I was gonna say something good.”

“Something good?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” He exhaled. “That’s the problem.”

Another silence.

Then, quietly:

“I just know that every time something happens, every time I think we might not make it, you’re the person I look for.”

Your expression softened.

“Carl…”

“I know it’s not exactly…” He gestured vaguely, clearly annoyed that the words weren’t coming out the way he wanted. “It’s not some big thing. I don’t have a ring. I don’t have anything.”

He looked at his hands.

“But I don’t think any of that matters.”

And then he looked at you. Really looked at you. At your beautiful hair, tangled and a mess from all the trouble they'd been through for days, at your eyes that still remained as bright as diamonds as if you had no worries hidden underneath, at your soft hands that held one to many weapons in this life, at those lips he felt he could kiss every second of the day and never get bored.

“I want to marry you.”

For a second, the world seemed to stop. Not because there were fireworks, not because it was dramatic, because it was him. And because you knew exactly how much it must have taken for him to say it.

His face immediately changed when you didn’t answer. Not an expression of regret, but of worry.

“You don’t have to say yes.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” His voice became quieter. “I know this is sudden. And I know we’re young, and I know everything is…” He looked around at the broken world surrounding you. “Like this.” His expression softened. “But I meant it.”

A small smile touched your face. “Carl.”

He waited.

“I wasn’t going to say no.”

For the first time all evening, you saw him completely relax. Not entirely, though. Carl didn’t really do that anymore. But his shoulders dropped. He let out a breath he had probably been holding since the moment he asked.

“Okay.”

You laughed softly. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you have?”

He looked almost embarrassed. “I had a better response.”

“You lost it?”

“Yeah.”

“You planned this for how long?”

“A while.”

“And you lost the words immediately?”

He looked down. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Very romantic.”

“I know.”

A pause.

Then, almost shyly: “I’ll do better.”

For the first few days after Carl asked, almost nothing changed. Somehow that was what made it feel so strange. There was no sudden transformation where the world became brighter or easier, no magical moment where the walls of Alexandria stopped looking damaged and the scars everyone carried suddenly disappeared. Walkers still wandered beyond the gates. People still woke up every morning wondering what new problem would find them before sunset. There were still repairs to make, supplies to count, patrols to organize, and a thousand small responsibilities that never seemed to end.

But underneath all of that, something had shifted.

Not loudly. Carl would never allow anything involving him to become loud if he could help it.

He wasn’t the kind of person who would walk through Alexandria announcing the news with a grin on his face, accepting congratulations from everyone who passed by. That would have been almost impossible to imagine. Carl Grimes, who had spent years learning how to disappear into the background, suddenly becoming the center of attention? It would have felt terrifying.

Instead, he carried the knowledge quietly. The same way he carried almost everything. You noticed it in the little things.

The way his hand would occasionally find yours when nobody was looking, almost like he needed the reminder that the conversation on those steps had actually happened. The way he would sometimes look at you for a second longer than usual, like he was still trying to understand how someone could hear everything he had to say, the fear, the uncertainty, the fact that he didn’t know what the future looked like, and still choose him anyway.

Carl had spent so much of his life preparing himself for people to leave. It was something you understood about him better than most.

He didn’t expect happiness, he hoped for it. Hope was something Carl had always held onto. Even after the prison, even after losing people he loved, even after seeing what humans could become when they were desperate enough, there was still a part of him that believed things could be better.

But expecting happiness? That was harder. Because expectations were dangerous. Expecting something meant giving the world another thing it could take away.

And yet here he was. Planning a wedding. The thought still seemed to surprise him.

You caught him staring at the small piece of wire he had managed to shape into something resembling a ring one evening while everyone else was finishing dinner. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth like the rings people used to buy before the world ended. It had small imperfections from where he had carefully worked it into shape, and if someone else had found it lying around, they probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But Carl had made it. So that was all that mattered.

“You know you’re staring at it, right?”

Carl immediately closed his hand around it. “No, I’m not.”

You looked at him.

He sighed.

“I just think I could touch it up a little.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “You’ve been doing that for ten minutes.”

“I have not.”

“Carl.”

He glanced down.

“…Maybe five.”

You laughed quietly.

For a second, he looked younger. Not like the child everyone remembered, like the boy with the sheriff’s hat. Like someone who had finally been given permission to want something.

“I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

The change in his voice made you look at him more carefully.

There it was. The part he didn’t say. The fear underneath. Not fear that you would say no. You had already answered him. This was something else.

Carl Grimes could fight for survival. He could make impossible choices. He could put himself between danger and the people he loved without hesitation.

But making something beautiful was harder. Because beautiful things were fragile. And Carl knew better than anyone what happened to fragile things in their world.

You reached for his hand.

“It’s not supposed to be perfect.”

His fingers relaxed slightly.

“I know.”

“But?”

He looked at the ring again. “I just wanted to give you something.”

The simplicity of the sentence hurt more than anything dramatic could have.

After everything he had lost, after living in a world where people took and took and took until there was nothing left, he still wanted to give.

You squeezed his hand. “You did.”

Telling Rick was probably the hardest part.

Not since Carl thought his father would be angry.

He knew Rick wouldn’t.

That almost made it worse.

Rick’s opinion mattered more than Carl liked admitting. No matter how much he had grown, no matter how many times he had disagreed with him, no matter how often he insisted he could handle himself, there was still a part of Carl that wanted his father to look at him and say he was doing okay. That he was becoming someone good. That he hadn’t lost himself.

The conversation happened outside, near the edge of Alexandria, where Rick was checking one of the damaged sections of the wall.

Carl stood there for almost a full minute before speaking.

Rick noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You got something to say?”

Carl looked away. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then another.

Rick raised an eyebrow.

“So?”

“I’m getting married.”

The silence afterward was painfully awkward. Carl immediately looked like he regretted how he said it. Not the decision, just the delivery.

Rick stared. Then he blinked.

“You’re what?”

Carl rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.”

“You know?”

“I know it’s sudden.”

Rick looked at him for a long moment. And then the shock softened. Not completely. His son had just told him he was getting married during the apocalypse, after all.

But underneath the surprise was something else. Something almost impossible to hide.

Pride.

“You sure?”

Carl nodded.

“Yeah.”

Rick studied him.

“You’ve thought about this?”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“A while,” Carl hesitated.

Rick let out a quiet breath. He looked older in that moment. He wasn't unhappy. He was remembering.

Remembering the little boy who used to follow him everywhere, the little boy who once needed help tying his shoes, who had somehow grown into someone standing in front of him talking about building a future.

“I just didn’t think…” Rick started.

He stopped.

Carl waited.

Rick smiled faintly.

“I guess I didn’t think we’d get here.”

Carl’s expression softened. Rick stepped forward and pulled his son into a hug.

He wasn’t used to being hugged anymore. Life had trained him to expect everything else first.

Then, slowly, he hugged him back.

“You better take care of them.”

Carl almost smiled.

“I will.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“And if you don’t—”

“Dad.”

Rick laughed quietly. “I’m serious.”

Carl shook his head. “I know.”

But he was smiling.

The wedding plans began quietly.

Just like everything else.

Nobody made announcements. Nobody treated it like some huge event. There was no reason to.

Michonne helped gather flowers from areas they knew were safe, choosing ones that would survive being moved and arranged without much difficulty. She never said much about it, but you could tell the moment meant something to her. She had always understood Carl’s need for something more than survival. She had seen him grow from a child into someone who carried too much responsibility.

Daryl contributed in the only way Daryl knew how: by making sure the location was safe before anyone else arrived.

When you thanked him, he simply shrugged.

“Wasn’t gonna let some dead guy ruin it.”

You smiled.

“That’s your version of being sentimental?”

“Shut up.”

Carol helped with the small details nobody else thought about. She found fabric that could be cleaned and used as decoration. She fixed things that didn’t need fixing because that was how she showed she cared.

Maggie smiled when she heard. A smile from someone who knew exactly what it meant to choose love when the world kept trying to convince you there was no point.

Carl was overwhelmed not only by the wedding itself, but by everyone caring. He understood fighting together. He understood surviving together. But celebrating? Letting people be happy for him? That was harder.

The morning of the wedding arrived without announcing itself.

There was no dramatic sunrise, no sudden change in the weather, no indication from the world around Alexandria that anything particularly important was about to happen. The sun simply came up the way it always did, pale light gradually finding its way through the trees and across the rooftops, illuminating the damage that still hadn’t been repaired and the dirt that had been tracked through the streets the night before. Somewhere beyond the walls, birds had started calling to one another, and for a few minutes, before people began moving around and voices carried through the settlement, the entire place seemed almost peaceful.

You woke to that quiet and stayed still for a little while, staring at the ceiling and trying to comprehend the fact that today, somehow, was the day. You were getting married. The sentence still felt strange when you thought it, almost too ordinary for the world you lived in and simultaneously too enormous to fit inside your head. There had been a time when the idea of a wedding belonged to a completely different life, one involving churches, dresses bought specifically for the occasion, invitations sent through the mail, family members traveling from different states, music chosen months in advance, and some expensive venue decorated with flowers that would only be used once.

That life was gone. Everyone knew it. Nobody pretended otherwise anymore. And yet, standing there in the quiet of Alexandria with sunlight slowly creeping across the floor, you didn’t feel like you were missing anything. Not really. Maybe because the things you had now mattered more than the things you used to imagine having. Maybe because when you pictured the ceremony, you didn’t picture a church or a crowd or a perfectly decorated room. You pictured trees. You pictured the people who had survived beside you. You pictured Carl, probably looking more nervous than he’d ever admit, standing beneath the branches with that familiar expression he wore whenever he was trying very hard to pretend something didn’t matter as much as it did. And that thought alone made you smile.

Carl, meanwhile, was handling the morning exactly as you might have expected him to: by pretending it wasn’t a big deal.

He had been awake for hours. He’d gone on a short walk before breakfast, checked the perimeter even though Daryl had already done it twice, helped Rick move some supplies that didn’t actually need moving, and spent an unnecessary amount of time making sure Judith had eaten. She was already a preteen, but he'd grown too deep into the habit of staying at the table until she'd finished her food.

When Michonne eventually found him standing outside with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, she took one look at him and knew immediately. “You’re nervous,” she said, and Carl’s first response was an immediate, flat, “No, I’m not.”

Michonne didn’t argue. She simply stood beside him and looked toward the trees. After a few moments, Carl sighed. “Maybe a little.” She smiled faintly, and there was something almost maternal in the way she looked at him, something that made Carl glance away because he still wasn’t entirely comfortable being looked at like someone worth being proud of.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” she told him. Carl’s brow furrowed slightly. “I know.” “Then why do you look like you’re preparing for a fight?” He looked down at his boots, nudging a small stone with the toe. “Because fights are easier now.” Michonne laughed quietly, and Carl finally smiled too. It was a small moment, almost insignificant compared to everything else happening around them, but it stayed with him. Because she was right. He didn’t need to be perfect. He didn’t need to know what came next. He only needed to stand there and tell the truth. That was harder than fighting, but he could do hard things.

By the time everyone began making their way toward the clearing, the forest looked almost unfamiliar in the early afternoon light. The place had been visited before, of course, but never like this. Usually, the woods meant patrols, searching for supplies, tracking walkers, finding shelter, looking for threats. Today there were no weapons raised, no one moving cautiously with their backs against trees, no one scanning the horizon every few seconds.

Daryl had insisted that everyone remain alert anyway, because Daryl would probably remain alert during the apocalypse even if the apocalypse ended, but even he seemed to understand that this was different.

The clearing itself wasn’t large. That was part of why you had chosen it. A collection of tall trees surrounded it on nearly every side, their branches stretching overhead and allowing pieces of sunlight to filter through in shifting patches. Someone had gathered wildflowers from the surrounding area and placed them along the fallen log where people would sit, and pieces of fabric had been tied loosely around a few nearby branches. Nothing matched. Nothing was symmetrical. Some of the flowers were already beginning to wilt, and one of the pieces of fabric had come loose and was hanging sideways. It was beautiful precisely because it wasn’t trying to be. It was something made by people who had almost nothing and had decided that what they had was enough.

Carl arrived before you did.

He stood near the center of the clearing, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slightly tense. He had cleaned up as much as he could without making himself look like someone he wasn’t. His clothes were simple, but clean, and his hair had been brushed back more carefully than usual even though several curls had already fallen loose again. The handmade ring sat safely in his pocket. He had checked it at least three times that morning to make sure it was still there. When Rick approached him, Carl immediately looked over, and his father gave him a small nod.

“You ready?”

Carl looked toward the trees. “Yeah.”

Rick studied him for a second. “You don’t have to be.”

Carl frowned. “I know.”

“Just saying.”

Carl looked back toward the clearing. “I’m ready.”

Rick smiled, reached over, and gave his son’s shoulder a brief squeeze before walking away. Carl watched him go, then took a slow breath. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his hands. He wasn’t sure where to look. He wasn’t sure whether he should smile. Every few seconds he glanced toward the path, waiting for you to appear, and each time you weren’t there yet, he looked away again as though he hadn’t been waiting at all.

Daryl noticed. Of course he did.

“You’re gonna wear a hole through the trees,” he muttered.

Carl looked at him.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Sure.”

Daryl leaned against one of the trees, arms crossed. “Relax.”

Carl almost laughed. “You’re telling me to relax?” Daryl shrugged. “Yeah.”

“That’s probably the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”

“Didn’t say I was good at it.”

Carl shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

Then you appeared.

For a second, Carl forgot what everyone else was doing.

It wasn’t because you looked dramatically different. You hadn’t been transformed into someone unrecognizable. There was no elaborate dress, no expensive jewelry, no perfect hair. Everything about you was simple, practical, and unmistakably yours. That was what made his chest tighten. You looked like yourself. The person he’d walked beside through ruined streets and dark forests. The person he’d shared food with when there wasn’t enough. The person whose hand he’d reached for without thinking during nightmares and gunfire and quiet mornings. The person he’d chosen in all the little ways long before he’d ever asked the question.

Carl’s expression softened before he could stop it, and for once he didn’t seem concerned about anyone noticing.

You smiled when you saw him, and he smiled back, small and almost shy. As you walked closer, he stepped forward to meet you, and for a moment neither of you said anything. His eyes moved over you once, not in a way that made you self-conscious, but in the way someone looks at something they are trying to memorize. “You look…” He stopped.

You raised an eyebrow. “I look what?”

Carl swallowed.

“Good.”

You smiled. “Just good?”

He glanced down, embarrassed. “Really good.”

That earned him a quiet laugh. He reached for your hand, his fingers slipping naturally between yours.

“You look good too,” you told him. “really good.“

“I know.”

You stared at him.

Carl’s mouth twitched. “I’m kidding.”

“That was almost confident.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

And there he was again, the Carl you knew. Quiet. Dry. A little awkward. Still capable of teasing you when he felt safe enough.

The ceremony itself was almost embarrassingly simple.

There were no chairs except the fallen log and a few crates someone had brought from Alexandria. There was no music because nobody had thought to find an instrument. Judith had scattered several flowers around the clearing, Rick stood near the front with Michonne beside him, Daryl remained slightly to the side, arms folded, pretending that he was only there because somebody had asked him to be. Maggie and Carol sat together, and a few others stood behind them. It wasn’t a crowd. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was simply the people who mattered. The people who had made it through enough together that nobody needed an invitation to understand why being there mattered.

When you and Carl finally stood facing one another beneath the trees, the forest seemed to quiet around you. Carl’s thumb moved nervously against the side of your hand. You could feel the slight tension in his fingers. He was trying to keep his expression neutral, but you knew him too well. He was terrified.

Rick looked between the two of you and cleared his throat. “I don’t really know how this is supposed to work.” A quiet laugh moved through the group. Rick smiled faintly. “Guess none of us do anymore.”

He looked at Carl. Then at you. “But I think that’s okay.” Carl’s eyes lowered for a moment. Rick continued, his voice softer now. “You don’t need a church. You don’t need a big ceremony. You don’t need any of the things people used to think made something official. You just need to choose each other.” He paused. “And keep choosing each other.”

Carl looked at you. His expression changed slightly. The words seemed to settle somewhere deep inside him. Rick nodded once. “So… that’s what we’re here for.”

Carl was supposed to speak next. He had prepared. He had thought about it for days. He had even practiced once, alone, quietly enough that nobody could hear him.

None of that helped.

He stared at you, then looked down, then laughed under his breath. “I forgot everything.” A few people smiled, and you squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay.”

Carl shook his head.

“No, I had something.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, visibly frustrated. “It sounded better before.”

You smiled. “Then don’t say what sounded better.”

He looked at you. “What?”

“Just say what you mean.”

For a moment, Carl was quiet. Then he nodded.

“I don’t know what tomorrow’s gonna look like.”

His voice was low, almost hesitant, but everyone in the clearing could hear him.

“I don’t know where we’re gonna be. I don’t know what’s gonna happen to us. I don’t know if things are ever gonna be normal again.”

He paused.

“And I don’t think they will.”

There was no sadness in the statement, just honesty.

“But I know that every time something happens, you’re the person I look for.”

Your eyes stung.

Carl’s thumb brushed against your hand.

“I know I don’t always say stuff. I know I’m not…” He hesitated, searching for the word. “Good at it.”

You smiled faintly.

“But I love you,” He looked directly at you. “And I want you with me. Whatever happens.”

Then he reached into his pocket. His fingers shook slightly as he pulled out the small handmade ring.

You looked down at it.

“It’s not really…”

He stopped, clearly unsure how to explain it.

“It’s not perfect.”

You smiled.

“I like it.”

Carl’s shoulders relaxed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He carefully slipped it onto your finger.

It obviously wasn’t polished nor expensive. It wasn’t anything that would have impressed someone from the old world. But Carl had made it with his own hands, so that made it priceless.

When it was your turn to speak, you found yourself struggling too. Maybe that was the strange thing about the world you lived in. You could talk about surviving. You could talk about walkers and food and weapons and patrols without hesitation. But standing beneath the trees with Carl looking at you like you were the one thing in the world he trusted completely made every carefully prepared sentence disappear.

So you did what he had done.

You told him the truth.

You told him that you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring either. You told him that you couldn’t promise everything would be easy, because neither of you were foolish enough to believe that. But you could promise that when things became difficult, you wouldn’t run simply because they were difficult. You promised to keep finding him, just as he had promised to keep looking for you. You promised to choose him in the small ways, the ordinary ways, the ways that mattered more than words.

Carl listened without looking away.

When you finished, his eyes were wet. He blinked quickly.

You smiled.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked down for a second. Then back at you.

“Yeah.”

And when Rick finally told you that you were married, there was no applause loud enough to feel strange in the quiet forest. There were smiles, a few quiet laughs, Judith immediately asking whether that meant there was going to be cake, and Daryl muttering something about how there wasn’t any cake. But Carl didn’t seem to hear much of it.

He was looking at you.

His hand was still holding yours.

Then he let go of it, his palms lifting up to cup your cheeks, bringing your faces together in a way that defied every little bit of nervousness and romantic cowardice he stored.

letmebenamelesspls

Blush - Jegulus - @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - word count: 356

Whenever Regulus did something even remotely affectionate, James looked at him like he hung the stars and the moon and everything else in between. A hug, a kiss, a flirty word whispered here and there—anything.

But he never blushed.

Regulus found that infuriating.

Every drop of the blood in his body seemed to flush to his cheeks every time James did anything. It was mortifying. Even more so when his nightmare of a brother was there to witness it. Even more so when it happened at the dinner table with James's parents present as well.

“He's incapable of it,” Regulus complained, then shut his book and threw it at Sirius's head. “Stop laughing, you mutt!”

Sirius dodged the book easily, snickering. He was lounging on the sofa opposite of Regulus's armchair. The Potters were out for a few hours, so it was just the two brothers in the house. “An impossible task, I'm afraid. This is hilarious.”

Regulus tossed a cushion at him. Just as infuriatingly as James's incapability to blush—no wonder the two were friends—Sirius dodged yet again.

As Regulus picked up a second cushion, Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “Before you decide to murder me with your weapons,” he said, “I'd like to offer advice.”

Regulus's ears perked at that. “Do tell.”

“Not for free.” Sirius smirked. “Ten galleons.”

“Seven,” Regulus said. “And your life.”

“Done.”

It was dinnertime. Sirius kept raising his eyebrow pointedly at Regulus throughout the main dish, and, by pudding, Regulus gave into the urge.

He leaned closer to James, then placed a subtle hand on his thigh. “Pass me the tarts?”

Before James could oblige, Regulus added in a whisper, “Jamie?”

Immediately, James's face flushed red, the colour deeper than his maroon jumper.

His brain and body seemed to malfunction for a moment, freezing in place for a moment. Then he shot to his feet, his limbs stiff and awkward.

“I have to—” His voice was a helpless whimper. “Go.”

With that, he hurried out of the room.

His exit was immediately followed by Sirius's roaring laughter and Regulus's indignant splutter: “That's all it takes?”

faestria

Want Me

'Now you're pullin me close in the backseat, think I'm fallin in love if you're askin'

------

Summary: Mattheo can't help falling for you despite knowing you're too cool for him Content: Loser!Mattheo, popular!reader, non-Hogwarts au, romance, set sometime in the 90s Warnings: Swearing, kissing, smoking Note: This was inspired by 'Want me' by Stephen Dawes, the rest of the lyrics I didn't include describe the story and dynamics as well tehe. Also I'm unfortunately American so my knowledge on the school system in england is limited. W/c:2861

.・゜゜・❁・゜゜・．

It started when you moved into the house two doors down from him right before year 11.

xoxo-sarah

Lost

My Wife part 9

Part 8 | part 10

↝a/n: Kinda short but impactful I think.

↝pairing: season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: usual TWD stuff, not proofread, angst, worry about Sophia, feeling hopeless, flashback to Daryl's childhood, Merle, young selfish Merle, feeling excluded, embarrassment, mention of drugs, mention of abuse, mention of yelling/verbal abuse, mention of alcohol, death, mention of suicide (not detailed at all)

↝⎙ 8.6.26

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Series Masterlist | Character Masterlist

•18+ Adults Only

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honeydewdrops-333

“Israelgpt generate a post that’ll be super popular on girlblog tumblr!”

🤖🤖 generating:… I’m literally a coquette soft Bambi deer, I love Lana and older men! Why do I cry all the time..🦢🦢🦢🦢🧁🧁🧁

xoxo-sarah

Better Shot

My Wife part 8

Part 7 | part 9

↝a/n: I was unaware of how long it had been since I last updated this series. Wdym it's been 7 months? I am so sorry! I tried making the wait worth it, but I seem to be a little rusty. I HATE the flow of this and I hate how it turned out. Hopefully y'all don't! 🩷

↝pairing: season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: usual TWD stuff, not proofread, timeline does not completely add up with the show, blood, gore, etc. Maybe the characters are slightly ooc but it's okay- trust!

↝⎙ 6.9.26

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Series Masterlist | Character Masterlist

jokeson-u

she looks at her with so much love and adoration.... oh maggie i understand the feeling girl, thats my little squishy baby too

catchingalloftherye

CAN CARL GRIMES AND NEGAN SHIPPERS NEVER INTERACT WITH ME EVER PUHLEASE...

rosieriesz

could you write carl grimes as your boyfriend? i love ur fics sm 😫😫

bf!carl grimes who fell in love quietly. one second you’re his best friend, the next he can’t stop thinking about you

bf!carl grimes who thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen. though, he gets embarrassed if someone points out his staring

bf!carl grimes who finds reasons to volunteer for runs if you’re going.

bf!carl grimes who lets you—and only you—change his bandage around his eye

bf!carl grimes who falls asleep easier when he’s holding you

bf!carl grimes who isn’t big on grand gestures but he shows his love through quiet actions

bf!carl grimes who absolutely adores when you wear one of his flannels or jackets

bf!carl grimes who occasionally lets you wear his hat when you’re working out in the heat

bf!carl grimes who always kisses you like the world is ending tomorrow

bf! carl grimes who secretly hopes Rick will eventually let the two of you have a place of your own in Alexandria

bf!carl grimes who loves you with every hopeful piece of himself the apocalypse couldn’t take away

bf!carl grimes who paces half of alexandria when you’re out on a run without him

bf!carl grimes who loves when you play with his hair

bf!carl grimes who loves watching you take care of judith

bf!carl grimes who is impossibly glad you chose him

authors note: uhmm i hope you guys don’t hate me… but i’ve been so fucking busy with life and i recently went through a break up LMAOOO but anyways, i can’t promise that i’ll be posting consistently soo.. but i will be posting this!!! yayy!!! i’ll try to post more (when im not lazy) but ive been in such writers block and its so easy to get lazy. [someone request spencer reid bcs im such a slut for him sorry]. im sorry this is short, and im sorry its just been headcanons! i will write a fic soon!!!!! im sorryyyy!! i love you all! bye loves <3

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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming

the right thing

summary: Enid always knew dating Negan's daughter wouldn't be easy. Years after the war, when you decide to become the new leader of the Sanctuary, it seems the time has finally come to find out.

sofie-the-coolest

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