ଘ(*. .) with care ! ˚₊ · »-♡→ ⋮ c . grimes
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carl grimes x fem!reader !
summary ! - upon the eruption of the apocalypse occurring during carl’s earliest stages of life, his father never informed his young son about the birds & the bees, the complexities of intimacy, nor the wonders of female anatomy. so, you explain it all to him !
background ! - you and carl met eachother in third grade, swiftly becoming inseparable, indulging in eachother’s interests, constantly displaying physical affection, handcrafting gifts for one another. and, in fourth grade, the two of you began officially dating. sure, it seemed silly then, but your relationship hastily blossomed into something so indescribable. then, halfway through fifth grade year, the outbreak began. you and carl never separated, not once. now, you’ve been together for an entire decade, living amongst the rest of the group in alexandria whilst you work as a kindergarten teacher.
content warnings ! - smut ⋮ overstimulation ⋮ dacryphilia ⋮ assisted masturbation ⋮ premature ejaculation ⋮ draining ⋮ true love ⋮ sunshine!reader ⋮ sub!carl ⋮ no use of “y / n” ⋮ intended lowercase. (all characters are 18+ !)
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days like these went by slowly, deliberately, you treasured the leisure, the sluggishness. awaking in carl’s bed wasn’t necessarily a sacred ritual anymore, but now a domestic tradition.
the early morning sun has risen within the sky, bathing your surroundings with warm, undefined depictions caused by the lace curtains concealing the windows. it’s summertime now, which means the children have ridden themselves of obligation to attend the makeshift school. you, as well, have ridden yourself of that responsibility.
you and carl occupy the arisen dawn with coffee and conversation in bed, chirpily babbling to one another about plans that may ensue with the jocundity that comes with midsummer, heather grey bedsheets remaining bunched beneath carl’s weight. the bedroom becomes desolate momentarily, a comfortable wordlessness blossoming throughout whilst you begin observing the dust bunnies traveling airily amongst the filtered sunlight.
“do you ever wonder how babies are made ?”
carl’s sheepish dialogue shatters the silence, he’s positioned upon his stomach, idly swaying his calves - the sweltering climate has caused him to reside within a pair of loose boxers, the curve of his backside defined prettily beneath the patterned material : hotdogs lingering throughout the fabric amidst a navy blue background, how charming.
“. . . do you want a little biology lesson ?” you question, allowing a sweetened smile to sprout throughout your facial expression. you’re currently positioned upright against the wooden headboard, observing as carl timidly shuffles within your direction before lowering his head atop your left knee, your right leg briefly protruding upwards prior to descending overtop the arch of his spine. he nods, the movement causing his unkept hair to tersely tickle your leg, cold hands beginning to trail delicately across the length of your thigh.
“well . . . babies are a product of love,” you begin, rhythmically- lethargically drumming your fingernails amongst the margin of your handcrafted mug, the dish having been gifted to you by carl just recently, the polished porcelain containing an image of a puppy playing basketball, the colorwork visibly wobbly due to carl’s shaky hands. throughout your occupation as a kindergarten teacher, you’ve experienced plenty of collective curiosity amidst students about the magic of where babies really come from. of course, the answer is constantly sugarcoated, but you won’t be sugarcoating anything for carl.
the world love causes a pleasant warmth to blossom throughout his torso, the word creates thoughts of you and only you to emerge within his mind, he adores the way in which you speak with such passion. “love makes babies ? how ?” carl chirps inquisitively, tracing hearts into your lower thigh with the dull fingernail of his forefinger.
“to make a baby, two people engage in sexual activity. have you ever heard the term sex before, carl ?” you inquire, observing as an intensely crimsoned pigment develops beneath the freckles throughout carl’s face. you’ve never been one to shy away from the topic of intercourse, you view this variant of physical connection to be immensely beautiful.
“yea- i mean- . . . i’ve heard about it, just never quite understood what it meant . . .” he murmurs sheepishly, his cheek hollowing subtly, which means he’s gnawing upon the inside of it.
“that’s okay !” you chirp kindly, always so quick to reassure him that his faults don’t always require an apology, nor even a tidbit of embarrassment. “sex can be a lot of different things. it’s a broad term, really, referring to physical activity that conducts pleasure and arousal.”
carl’s eyelashes flutter, dark- dainty ribbons battering overtop his purpled under-eyes. he’s evidently intrigued, a look one could only describe as fascinated encompassing his facial expression. he’s developing a vague sense of what all these unfamiliar terms truly represent : sex, love, pleasure, arousal. he feels that, or- at least, he thinks he does, whenever he looks at you, whenever he feels your skin against his. “how- . . . how would you conduct those feelings . . . ?”
“well, there’s many different forms. penetrative sex involves inserting the penis into the vagina or anus. the latter is usually referred to as anal sex. there’s also oral, which is when one uses their mouth, lips, and tongue to stimulate another’s genitals. and, a thing called outercourse which doesn’t involve penetration. like, kissing, rubbing, etcetera !”
“so . . . two people have to- . . .” he begins, trailing off shortly afterwards as to avoid potentially humiliating himself, beginning to draw a star overtop a particular beauty mark upon your knee.
“you can say it, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” you respond with consolation, observing as his facial expression subtly tightens, as if beginning to hold his breath.
“have sex . . .” sure enough, he exhales shakily, that breath must’ve been accumulating within his lungs much longer than you’d anticipated.
“exactly !” you exclaim pridefully, “the actual baby-making part comes in when the man ejaculates in the woman’s vagina — ejaculating is when a burst of milky liquid comes out through the tip of the man’s penis, it’s usually referred to as cumming. that fluid contains sperm, and the sperm enters through the woman’s vagina to her uterus, where it’ll find an egg, and boom ! you’ve got a bun in the oven.”
his eyebrows furrow, carnation pink lips stretching outwards upon either corners. he looks as though he’s experiencing discomfort, evidently unfamiliar with the terminology necessary to portray the process of conception. “is that what- . . . we have to do eventually ?”
your eyelashes flutter, breath briefly catching upon the inner walls of your windpipe before managing to dislodge the malaise there with a simple clearing motion of your throat. “well- if you want to have a baby with me someday, then . . . yes — but, y’know, carl, sex is truly a beautiful thing. and we could try it out anytime you’d like without me getting pregnant.”
“really- ? anytime ? with no risk ??” he queries disbelievingly, eyebrows raising upward towards his hairline.
“have you ever heard of the term contraceptive ?”
“a contraceptive is a barrier that prevents sperm from meeting the egg. there’s a ton available ! but, what works best is condoms and birth control. do you know how a condom works, honey ?”
he indicates his refusal by decisively shaking his head, the occasional whisper of skin against the bedsheets occupying carl’s wordlessness.
“a condom is this little circular piece of latex. you roll it down to the base of your penis, and it’ll prevent any sperm from entering the vagina ! but you have to make sure it isn’t expired or damaged, because that could cause a leak.”
his stomach flutters internally, a visual representation of your hands applying the latex overtop the length of his dick appearing within his mind. “i see . . .” he mutters, dialogue somewhat strained, as if pressure were being applied to his throat. “and . . . birth control ? how does that work- ?”
“it’s a hormone pill that tricks a woman’s body into not producing an egg ! pretty cool, huh ?”
carl hums thoughtfully against your thigh, his fingers now moving in slow, nervous spirals, mapping your skin as the surface holds answers he’s too bashful to ask aloud.
“that is cool . . .” he utters, voice faintly hoarse, as if managing to register the vulnerability of the moment. “you’re really not embarrassed about this ?”
“not at all,” you reply truthfully. “i want you to know how it all works, how to take care of yourself. there’s nothing shameful about that.”
his lips begin gradually separating, as if he wishes to speak again, but the words dissolve before they reach the surface. instead, he shuffles tighter against you, partially rotating his head so the pudge of his cheek squishes more fully into your thigh, his ear catching the muted thump of your pulse. “what do you mean- . . . take care of myself- ?”
you can feel the warmth radiating from his flesh, the dainty tremor evident within his breath. he’s thinking, you can tell, not just about the biology, or the steps, or the scientific terminology you’ve shared — but about you, about the prospect of doing all of this with you. alongside the intimacy, the trust. “well . . . have you ever heard of masturbation ?”
you feel it, the subtle stiffening of his frame beneath your leg, not out of fear, but out of the same wide-eyed curiosity he’s been carrying like a second skin throughout this entire conversation.
“. . . i’ve heard the word,” he mumbles dully, his fingers pausing their movements of circling patterns upon your thigh, now becoming unmoving. there’s a vulnerability in his stillness, a cautious openness you recognize — like a flower bud bearing itself to sunlight, pleading to bloom. he’s not just asking for knowledge, he’s asking for permission to not feel ashamed for needing it.
“masturbation is when you touch yourself in a way that feels good, to experience pleasure or release ! have you ever masturbated, carl ?”
“n- no . . . i’ve- i’ve never done that . . .”
“it’s normal,” you continue warmly. “it’s something a lot of people do, especially when they’re curious about their own body. it’s private, and it can help you learn what feels good — so when you are with someone else someday, you can share that with them, too.”
you begin shuffling then, removing your left leg outwards from beneath his weight. your knees imbed within the cushiony layer of mattress, shifting to lean downward towards him — slow and warm like honey, your nose brushing against his cheek before your lips narrowly grace the corner of his mouth. not quite a kiss. a suggestion. a promise. “would you like me to teach you how . . . ?”
there’s a pause. the fan within the center of the ceiling creaks faintly as it oscillates, and outside, the wind rustles through a tree — a lullaby of leaves. in here, the two of you exist in a quiet little world of your own making. one where no question is too strange, no topic too taboo.
his cheeks pinken further, a color that blends with the warmth of summer and sentiment alike. “. . . please,”
currently, you’re situated partially upright with your nude breasts to carl’s bicep, legs tucked beneath your weight whilst one hand remains descended atop the center of his abdomen, your opposite shoulder nestling the plethora of pillows surrounding the headboard.
he’s trembling, evidently so, arms remaining stiffened beside either margins of his torso while his fingers entangle themselves within the bedsheets, heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.
you’re capable of feeling the heat building between you — not just the summer kind, but the variant that lingers within the air between shared heartbeats and strained sighs.
tonight wasn’t about rushing, it was never about that, but about memorizing the way in which someone’s lips feel at midnight, the way such a timid boy can fall in love with a girl who lights up every room she enters, and the way he burns, quietly- but visibly, just for her.
“i’m gonna put my hand around you now, okay ?” you mutter honeyly, trailing your palm downwards throughout the lowermost portion of his stomach before encircling your palm around the base of his member.
“okay . . .” his cock remains partially limp, pliable within your hand, as if struggling to harden. but, upon the pleasurable sensations caused by your physicality, his erection gradually begins forming.
he’s beginning to pulsate, his heartbeat coursing throughout the chubby length of his penis, fluttering beneath your fingertips.
“i’m gonna start stroking you now, just let yourself relax . . .” you hum, beginning to trail your palm throughout the erect length straining itself upwards between his thighs, a pearl of pre-cum perched within the slit of his tip.
“h- hnngh . . . okay, phew . . . okay,” he whines, releasing a wobbly exhalation shortly afterwards. he’s already breathless, as if the oxygen within his lungs had been replaced purely with your perfume, his heart straining to mimic the rhythm of yours.
his fingers, once fisted within the linen beneath his weight, encircle the width of your wrist. not pulling, not guiding, merely cradling — as if his soul may drift from the vessel of his physical casting and vanish upon any sudden separation.
your hands don’t rush. every movement of yours is put out into the universe as if it deserves ceremony. and, that’s because of the fragility within him. he holds himself so firmly, with such white-knuckled control, to the point in which you’re aware of the fact that any sudden shift could cause a fracture.
his chest heaves, beginning to weakly rut his pelvis upwards into the circular form of your palm, pudgy dick straining itself so painfully for more, more.
“breathe, carl,” you chastise delicately, observing while he begins shallowly hyperventilating. fortunately, he registers your warning, forcing himself to suppress the abnormally rapid pace and depth of his current breathing rate, ribs stuttering upon the constraint.
it begins in his chest. a stuttering inhalation tearing itself from the deepest depths of his ribcage, escaping raggedly, caught upon the inner walls of his throat halfway through. then, his shoulders cave forward, pebbly tears developing within his eye before beginning to frequently trail throughout the lengths of his freckled cheeks.
you’re tempted to stop, to cease your movements prior to beginning to kiss away the appearance of pain throughout his facial expression. and, yet, you refrain. it’s concerning, really, the way in which he’s begun to blubber and plead incoherently. but, the realization strikes hastily, the abrupt acknowledgment that his sobs are derived from the overwhelming amount of pleasure caused by your hand motions.
“see what I’m doing ? twisting your hand provides a bit more stimuli,” your dialogue abruptly shatters the bubble of stimulation that’d been accumulating, although, the words separating between your lips don’t make the situation any less intimate.
the cushiony balls beneath the underside of his shaft draw upwards whilst you begin twisting your palm, the muscle there tightening immensely. he’s wailing now, portraying his concurrence with several vigorous nods of his head.
“make sure to pay attention to your tip, as well . . . it’s extra sensitive,” you chirp, beginning to delicately thumb the flushed, bulbous head of his penis, collecting a portion of the pearly substance being produced there.
the entirety of his stature stiffens, releasing an intensely thunderous- strangled sob whilst semen erupts from the erect appendage between his thighs, warm ribbons of ivory cum descending abruptly upon the surface of his legs, alongside the linen bedsheets rumpled beneath his weight, and the encirclement of your palm . . .
“i’m- i’m sorry, i- i dunno what happened-“ he stammers anxiously, dialogue narrowly detectable amidst the surfacing whimpers and incoherent garbles continuously tearing themselves from within his throat.
you, on the contrary, remain silent, unmoving- stunned. the only indication of your existence being the frequency of your heartbeat, pounding against your ribcage. you hadn’t expected him to burst so soon, and, yet- you’re not complaining, this just allows for an opportunity to force yet another load outwards through the head of his cock. “no, no, carl- it’s okay. there’s no point in worrying yourself right now,”
“i- . . . i didn’t know it’d feel like that . . . i thought i’d be in control, but . . .”
“was it scary for you? at all-?”
“no- . . . not at all, not with you . . .”
it took a significant amount of time for poor carl to harden once again, seeing as he’d exhausted himself during the duration of his introductory orgasm. you’ve milked him, not necessarily dry, but- most definitely past the point of coherent dialogue, even mere indications of words having been entirely diminished after his second climax.
you’re now situated atop the center of his torso, the cushiony spheres of your ass perched just below his pectoral muscles. you’ve been pumping his flaccid dick for the previous four minutes, his palms uncoordinatedly pawing at your rear through the lace-ridden fabric of your underwear while saliva steadily dribbles past the corner of his mouth and throughout the length of his chin.
“can’t- . . . can’t cum anymore- . . .” he blubbers, legs continuously writhing beneath your weight, despite owning no desire to separate himself from you.
“c’mon, carl . . . just one more, please ?” you hum with encouragement, beginning to hastily rotate your slick palm around the flushed head of his cock until the slit there ultimately releases the weakest little eruption of semen, the pearly substance narrowly managing to escape past the barrier of your hand.
your voice escapes as a hush, like the final note of a lullaby, and- for a moment, the room was still, all breath and heartbeat and the invisible tether stretching further between the two of you.
carl receives a few more seconds before you cautiously shift your weight forward, planting your palms beside either margins of his ribcage. the mattress dips beneath you, springs creaking quietly, but carl doesn’t flinch. his palms had descend away from your backside, fingers beginning to twitch as the digits lower amidst the bedsheets.
you hoist your hips upwards from atop the surface of his stomach with a muted exhale, a mildly sticky resistance appearing while the downy cotton of your underwear peeling away from the warmth of his muscles. you didn’t rush, as to avoid jarring him or shattering whatever stillness he’s retreated into.
carl’s breathing begins evening out, the hum of the oscillating fan above blending with the low rustle of trees outside. his limbs remain loose, sprawled outwards amongst the rumpled bedsheets. and, for a moment, you simply observe. he’s so overly flushed with post-coital emotion, his dampened eyelashes fluttering in an attempt at remaining unlatched, a subtle glimmer left along the dark ribbons there from earlier.
“i’m gonna draw you a bath, alright ?” you hum delicately,
carl releases a small sound in response, somewhere between an affirmative hum and a whimper, refusing to protest whilst you coaxingly guide him within an upright position, his limbs remaining heavy and uncoordinated as if sleep had already begun clawing at him from the edges.
amidst the imperceptible hush of the post-storm stillness, you lead him within the adjoining bathroom, the tiled floorboards cool beneath your bare feet, contrasting with the summer heat that lingered amongst the walls. the tub stands awaiting, porcelain shimmering pale in the now-late morning sunlight spilling emitting from the nearby window. you activate faucet before analyzing the warmth with your fingertips, allowing the stream to rise gradually amongst the margins of the basin.
after entering the tub, carl descends beneath the water with an exhalation so heavy it seemed to empty the remnants of tension within his bones. his knees coil upwards partially, arms lowering along the circular periphery while you seat yourself upon a wooden stool behind the outermost boundary of the bath.
you retrieve carl’s specific shampoo, the familiar scent blooming within the air whilst you begin kneading a small amount between your palms, delicately trailing the sudsy substance throughout his hair shortly afterwards, massaging his scalp until his shoulders roll. carl releases a meek, contented noise — a hushed whimper, of sorts. your movements remain steady and deliberate: slow, loving passes that coax appreciative hums from the depths of his throat. you repeat an identical process with his conditioner, as well.
there’s no shame in it, only a variant of reverence — the quiet, all-encompassing kind of reverence that’s derived from caring for someone who has entirely delivered their trust to you, and- only you. carl’s face develops that familiar crimsoned hue once again, but- not necessarily out of embarrassment, but out of the vulnerability of being seen, both internally and externally.
once you’ve rinsed the remnants of shampoo, and conditioner, from his scalp, you direction your attention towards the loofah, allowing the fibrous material to soak through beneath the surface of the water. you begin upon his shoulders, squeezing the sponge in order to create a soothing cascade throughout his collarbones before sweeping the loofah amongst the lengths of his arms. the warmth of the water alongside the pressure of your physical connection guides yet another ripple of relaxation through him, his hands resting loosely atop the lip of the tub.
you claim either of his forearms within your hands, turning the muscled limbs to scrub the undersides, tracing the prominent freckles and gnarled scars there as if attempting to memorize each beauty mark by heart. every movement feels like wordless reassurance — that he could allow himself rest here, that you’d handle him with care.
by the time in which you’ve traveled your way downward towards his hands, he’d opened his eyes again, observing you with a timid- narrowly perceptible smile. you returned the action, of course, delicately caressing his weathered knuckles before lowering the sponge beneath the whirls of steam upon the surface of the water.
“almost done,” you whispered, though neither of you are currently in any hurry to end this.
the silence that follows is warm — heavy, maybe, but- not in the manner that weighs you down, more like a blanket. carl basks within the aftermath, as if the edges of his bones had melted away, leaving only a dull heartbeat and short breaths. the speckled bridge of his nose twitches, lips remaining separated in a dazed expression that depicts the many volumes of his exhaustion. he’s gazing upon you like someone seeing the sky for the first time.
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phew !!! i was planning on posting this before my classes started again but uhhhh, at least it’s finished ! i spent two months on this. hope you enjoyed !! xoxo
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