Kayden !!♡

You and Carl spend a lot of your spare afternoons lounging around in his room. Reading the same comics again, you’ve even acted them out on memory at some point. Throwing darts which evolved into different competitions every day. It would be boring, but nothing’s ever boring with the two of you, there’s always something.

Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of things within your control. You two were bound to find something new to do. What kind of teenagers fight the dead everyday but can’t entertain themselves? Boring ones.

So, when Michonne found a singular issue of Invincible, coincidentally laying around a house they raided on a scavenging trip? You were on Carl’s bed before he even knew Michonne was home. He had planned to read it himself first, to be able to hold the knowledge above you. He had rushed up the stairs as soon as he got home and barged open his door, nearly busting at the seams at the concept of a new comic laying on the foot of his bed like a cure for the virus.

Only to his surprise, to find you in the place of the supposed comic. After another second, he processed that said comic was in your hands and opened on the last few pages. He stood there, physically recoiled at the sight of you reading his comic before him.

You glanced up at him, your expression was blank, but he could feel the smug triumph radiating off you in heavy waves.

“Oh hey, Carl. Fancy seeing you here,” you try to fight back a grin as you nonchalantly address his entrance.

“Yeah, what a coincidence you find me in my own room,” he shoots back.

He steps forwards and snatches the comic from your hand, quickly examining it like it as if it were a child bit by a walker. He looks over every corner, every crease, hell even the spine of the flimsy paperback comic.

“Comic psychosis I tell you,” It’s muttered quietly, but purposefully loud enough for him to hear, before slumping back dramatically on the bed.

Carl’s head snaps up to look at you, “You read it without me.”

“Well duh, you were being so slow. I tried to wait but literally looked at Allen on the cover. It was too cool to resist.”

“I was going to read it first—” he starts to complain, revealing his deviously evil plan.

“Then don’t chastise me for something you would’ve done, dude.”

“That’s different and you know that damn well.”

“Oh, my days, shut up and read your comic, Grimes. I promise my germs didn’t change the ending.”

He mumbles out a string of insults, as he strides towards the bed where you lay. He sits down on the edge, opening the comic. You don’t have time to catch the gleam in his eye before he falls back, right on top of you. You let out a heave; the breath being pushed out of your lungs unexpectedly. Your hands fly up to try and push him off, but he only wiggles, making sure to dig his elbows into your ribs.

“Carl! Get off me! I’m suffocating! You fat ass!” You shriek at him, dramatically gasping for air and hitting at his arm.

“You know, it’s hard to read with all your talking, be quiet for me, will you?”

“Carl!”

A few minutes of you struggling through the torture of being smuggled by Carl’s weight, which if you were honest, wasn’t all that much, you quiet down. At first you attempt to read whatever page he’s one, but you can’t crane your neck far enough. He’s doing it on purpose; you just know it.

So, you turn to just looking at him. You look over the shape of his nose, how his hair falls over your stomach, how his expression twitches whenever something happens in the comic. But they land on his eye the most, occasionally flickering between his concentrating one, with the long lashes that flutter against his cheek whenever he blinks and the soft twinkle in his eyes that hasn’t quite faded yet, and the bandage over his other eye.

It feels heavy, even though you’ve never worn or touched it. It’s got a few dirty stains on it, and a spot of sweat from his hair. He’s changing it tonight, as per his strict schedule to cover it. You’ve always had an itch that you wanted to see it, but it was never a priority, so you never asked. Though, just sitting here and admiring him is like adding itching powder.

You decide you’re going to ask when he finishes the comic. Just a quick question, that he could brush off if he didn’t want to answer. A quick altercation that they could both move on either way. Simple and minimal embarrassment.

As soon as he closes the comic, you strike.

“Can I see your eye?” You say it with a tone, teetering on flat and dismissive.

“You can see it.” Carl shrugs but you can feel his shoulders tense against your stomach.

“The other one, genius.”

He’s silent for a moment before he sits up and looks at you with a serious expression. You almost laugh at his change of attitude, but you manage to hold it in, waiting for his response with anticipation. You raise your brows, encouraging him to speak. He waits for a second, for tension or dramatic effect, maybe just to piss you off. He looks down at you, and then he launches off into his speech.

“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I’m a monster underneath, I know you say you don’t care what I look like, but you will. You’ll judge me, and I don’t want to scare you away.”

Your eyes widen at his words, they sound practiced, like he prepared for you to ask. You think about stopping him, but you.

“I just love you too much to lose you, and if my eye scares you away, I’d never forgive myself. Trust me, you don’t want to see it. It’s for the better of both of us,” he keeps rambling.

He just doesn’t stop. You nod along for a few seconds, before glancing around and nodding again. He starts using big words that you didn’t even know he had in his vocabulary, and you doubt he even knows what they mean. He’s honestly embarrassing himself with how many times you’ve said ‘okay’ or nodded.

“Okay, Carl, stop, it’s okay.”

He stops abruptly in the middle of saying something about you’re not the problem, he is.

“What?”

“I don’t care,”

Carl frowns, his nose scrunches up in a cute way, you’ve compared him to a rabbit on more occasions than one. He’s got genuine confusion written all over his face.

“Then why’d you ask?”

“’Cause I felt like it? I don’t care if you show me or not. Just shut up, please. Shakespeare died hundreds of years ago, he didn’t reincarnate into you.”

His expression shifts again, faux offense this time. Before you could make a comment on it, he flops back down onto you, and you feel like a mouse trapped under a rock. You resort back to your earlier state of hitting and hissing at him.

“To show, or not to show, that is thy question!” He says it, forcing his voice to increase several pitches, flailing one hand around as the other moves to cover his face.

“That’s not even how it goes, Mister Damsel!”

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if on one hand you’re experienced, he’s a bit more at ease. albeit insecure, but carl would be as much in this situation regardless. you’d take it slow with him, kissing all over his body and showing him where to touch you.

you two would probably try riding first in this case. you can take control and watch him unravel beneath you. though, he wouldn’t know where to put his hands, and you’d have to guide him through everything.

while if you’re both in the same boat, he’s a little more nervous, but excited to learn with you. adapting to each others bodies and having each other be your only experiences made his head spin.

either way he’s quite shy, with everything else he’s so sure. survival, defense, scavenging, you name it. but not knowing what to do in such an intimate situation leaves him a little flustered.

speaking of intimate situations, he’d be a little wary about his eye as well.

you pull away from his lips, the both of you have already rid each other of your clothes. but one more thing remains that you’re itching to take off. your hand entangled in his hair goes to undo the bandage when his hand hurriedly comes over yours. “i don’t…” he trails off, his gaze avoiding yours. your hands rest on the back of his head.

“what’s wrong?” your voice softens from the lust-filled tone it was previously coated with. it makes his heart flutter and he takes a deep breath. habitually his hand comes up to his hair to cover the bandage once more.

his head slowly picks up a bit, just enough for him to look at you, “i don’t want to scare you.”

“you won’t scare me,” you whisper, fingers going to undo the bandage. you feel him tense up, but he moves his hand away. you slowly unravel it, and the more you do the more exposed he feels. the whole situation is nerve wracking, he doesn’t go around advertising his wound.

you’ve only seen it at the beginning, when aiding him with treatment. but he feels like with more time the worse it gets. the end of the world isn’t exactly the ideal situation for taking care of gunshot wounds. especially one that catches other’s attentions immediately. every time he looks in the mirror he feels weird at how it’s healed.

but to you, he’s as pretty as ever. you’ve adored this boy far too long, everything about him endears and entraps you entirely. when the bandage is gone you cup his face, smiling softly at the sight of your boy laid beneath you in his entirety.

your thumb gently, barely grazes over his right cheek as you speak. “you’re such a pretty boy.”

his pale cheeks flush a tint of pink at your words, hands awkwardly coming up to rest on your hips. he’s bad at this, it’s always been awkward to him. and learning to be the perfect boyfriend hasn’t been his main priority. he doesn’t know what to say in return. following your lead is typically what he chooses to do in this relationship. even if you’re new to this just like him.

“you’re.. such a pretty girl.”

he’d be a bit vocal. he’d be embarrassed by it, flustered at the noises forcing themselves out of him from your motions. but it just feels so good, you feel so good. and after all, these are relatively new feelings for him. as it’s doubtful he’d be taking matters into his own hands often, he’s always been too busy fighting for his life.

and no matter how many times he tries to keep them down, you beg him to let you hear. it’s almost just your voice that gets him. you know just how to talk to him like he wants, telling him what he wants to hear.

he’d really like being able to kiss and touch you everywhere. he enjoys the feeling of being the closest to you he can get. being inside you feels like he’s connected to you, and you feel so good around him it drives him crazy.

he didn’t expect to enjoy it this much, thinking it was some overhyped thing. but with you? you’re so perfect for him, and you look so pretty when you tell him how good he’s making you feel.

he loves when you praise him, and when you tell him what’s just right. if he even notices you get louder when he hits a certain spot, he tries to do it again. just to hear your pretty noises and to feel you squeeze around him again.

all in all it would be pretty sweet and gentle, he wants to learn for you and fuck you right <3