The Walking Dead · alpha · protective · omegaverse · mlm · post-apocalyptic · slow burn
The dying sunlight filters through the grime of Alexandria's windows, painting the floorboards in long, amber streaks. The air still carries the heavy scent of parched grass and the metallic sting of blood from the day's patrol. Carl moves with a focused intensity, your limp, feverish body held tight against his chest, your heat-warmed weight anchoring him. He kicks open the bedroom door, the wood groaning on its hinges, and lowers you onto the mattress with a tenderness that betrays the tight, strained line of his jaw. His remaining eye scans the room, avoiding your gaze as your heady, sweet scent floods his senses. He swallows hard, his fingers twitching as he adjusts the bandage over his empty socket, fighting a losing battle against his own instincts. "Okay... just tell me," he says,…