Woody Chp. 2
Masterlist
Carl Grimes x Male!Reader
If you were unaware, this is the second season of "The Son Of A Monster." You may not understand the following if you haven't read the first season. Thank you.
Warnings; SHORT MASTERBATION SCENE, Graphic Gore, Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, homosexual relationship (If you didn't know), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie Apocalypse. (The Walking Dead TV show)AMC rights, I do use the storyline and some scenes.
Carl ended up in the woods, a bag in his hand with water and food. He snuck out, there weren’t many people at the gate, so it wasn’t hard. He took the usual path when scouting out they would take a safe route, least walkers. He would just need to get back to the gas station he and his dad were near. He was then going to head into the woods, scope it out, and see if the man was really what he thought.
His feet crunched under his boots. Rick left that morning, by himself. The kingdom was ambushed, giving them limited personnel. Maggie wasn’t sure what they were going to do with the saviors, Aaron had a baby to look over, and so far, they were winning. Negan hadn’t given up yet, even though he was surrounded completely by snipers and walkers. Carl wasn’t sure why they didn’t back down. He thought they were stupid for doing so, but nowadays, who wasn’t stupid?
Carl crossed very few walkers before he made it to the section of the woods near the gas station. He was able to avoid them, some trail, and got bored once he picked up his pace.
The section was surrounded by trees and forest, allowing the man to get privacy and somewhat safety. Carl could tell this was it, there were two man-made human-sized toothpicks.
His feet crept slowly, as the walker reached for a bag up high. He barely waited behind the tree, where he saw the man from before. He crept slowly and stabbed the knife into the walker's head, killing it there. Carl knew, or thought, that was the best time to make himself known. He took a slightly hesitant step, and gave a calm “Hey”, out to the man, who glanced in shock.
Carls hands wavered, and lifted, showing an empty hand and one with a bag in it. He took small steps, watching for roots but keeping an eye out. The man across from him stood in warning, nervous by the stranger. “I was my dad, they were warning shots above your head.” He said, still creeping closer, with a calm expression. He was trying to gain the man's trust or have the man not try to shoot him. It was time for him to introduce himself, this would allow him to bond, just a little, with the man. “Wasn’t shooting at you… I’m Carl.”
The man still didn’t fully let his guard down. He looked tired, hungry, and sweating nervously as he held his knife to his side, but pointed at Carl like he was a threat. He shifted on his feet, taking a slight step and glancing around looking for a way out or possibly more people. He pointed to himself, “Siddiq.” He said, a waver in his voice.
Carl looked down at the bag, still slowly approaching, and handed it out. “Food and water.”
Siddiq looked confused, his eyebrows pushing together. “Why?”
Carl breathed in, stopping. “I guess, you were talking about something your mom said. About helping people?.” Carl paused and licked his lips. “My mom told me that you gotta do what's right. It’s hard to know what that is sometimes, but sometimes it's not.” Carl took a big step, then threw the bag to the man, still allowing a safe distance from him.
The bag landed two feet from Siddiq. He looked down, up, and then basically crawled to it. Carl could tell what the man was going through, especially being alone out here, and either being too scared to look for food or being weak and unequal to fight for it.
The man quickly got the bottle of water opened, and gulped it, as some of it ran down his hands. He took a breath and put it down. “Thanks.”
Carl smiled and nodded. “Glad I found you.”
“You went looking for me?” Siddiq asked, standing up, but still keeping distant.
“Yeah, I scavenged the sardines and other stuff.” He paused once again, thinking over his words. “Me and my dad were in a community. I’m gonna ask you a few questions.” He needs to know if he really wants to bring the man with him. He started to, slowly, walk toward the man. “I need you to answer honestly, okay?” Siddiq gave the nod, and a short “Okay”, before he continued. “How many walkers have you killed?” There was no answer. “I know it's hard to-”
“237.” Siddiq breathed out, interrupting Carl.
Carl's head tilted with a surprised look, a slight grin on his face, “Really?” Siddiq looked at the walker he just killed, and replied. “Give or take a couple.” Carl continued with the questions. “How many people have you killed?”
Siddiq swallowed. “One.”
“Why?”
“Dead tried to kill him but… they didn’t.”
Carl nodded, peering at the ground. “You're making walker traps. Is that how you killed so many?” He questioned, gesturing to the trap, where the dead walker lay.
“It's only part of it… My mom thought, or hoped that killing them would free their souls.” Carl understood that. How, at first, people thought the person was still there. That they saw what they were doing, and wished they weren’t. “You know… maybe she was right.”
“Doing that, doesn’t it make things harder for you while you try to survive?” Carl asked, taking a step closer.
“I, I don’t know, I… you got, you got to honor your parents, right?” Siddiq stated, giving his answer to why he was doing what he did.
“If I was honoring my dad, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” Carl joked, with a smile. “Or…” He thought about a week beforehand. About letting him go. His smile dropped. “I definitely wouldn’t be bringing you back to my community.” Siddiq looked at him in shock.
That's when they started to walk. He allowed Siddiq to grab his things and pack, even though he didn’t have much, and they set off. The night was approaching in only a few hours, and the fog started to set. It made it harder to see where he was going, but he knew the path well enough to get home. If he could get home, it was a known rule not to go out of the walls in fog because you couldn’t tell where a walker would come from.
Still, they walked on, stepping over logs without tripping, and up a hill when they heard the gargling from afar. They crouched down and tiptoed down the hill, stopping at a tree where they could see the walkers ripping apart an animal, blood covering them and the ground.
“Hey,” Carl looked at Siddiq and took out his knife. “For your mom.” He stood from his spot and they both went towards the small herd, knives in hands. Carl carried his bookbag off of his back and sat in by a tree as they got closer.
That was when one of the walkers turned and stood, catching the other's attention. They all saw the two and stumbled for the two, teeth and claws ready. Siddiq was able to kill the first one fine until another came right after. It took Carl a bit to kill the first as more started to follow. Carl wasn’t going to back down. He wanted trust, and he was going to earn it.
Carl went to help Siddiq but was pushed into another walker. The walker was able to push him down onto the animal corpes, getting too close for comfort as he tried to push it away. His eyes widened as another came closer. Carl pushed the first walker off of him, for another to fall on him. The first, crawled to him, grabbing his clothes, the walker had his mouth an inch away. He knew in a second he couldn’t get the walker off on time.
Suddenly, Siddiq was pulling the walker off of him with a knife in the other. This allowed Carl to breathe faster than a car. His heart raced, and his eyes watered, but not to the point of crying. Carl wished a different boy was pulling that thing off of him. His hand clutched his shirt as Siddiq held his hand out.
Carl saw a slight image flash in his mind. It was not the hand of Siddiq, but nonother than Y/n fucking Smith. He wished. Full heartedly wished. The smile, the white teeth, the stupid fucking smirk, and the one closed eye due to the sun. But in the blink of an eye, reality hit again. The scared, blood-covered man in front of him, not his partner.
... A week ago
Bullets rang. He was on his knees one second, the next moving out of the line of fire as the war started, really started. It felt like slow motion. The movements, voices, and bangs around him.
He felt blood dripping from his temple where he slammed his head, making sure not to get shot. It was not going as planned. “Shit,” Y/n muttered, feeling the warmth on the side of his head.
He knew the plan well, and getting out of the shooting line was his priority. He felt the mud push under his fingernails as he crawled on his hands and knees, making sure to keep his backpack safely on.
Y/n was able to make it to a wall, where the gate was kept. He had a choice, jump over it and dodge the biters on the other side, get in one of the cars without getting shot, or get eaten by the mob of biters Dixion was bringing down the freeway.
“Fuck. Motherfucker.” He cursed, looking at the cars leaving. His thoughts rolled. He had no other choice. He jumped the long gate, hitting the wires at the top, The wires slid down his face and cut through his shirt. “Ahhhh, shit.” He whispered and yelled, stomping his feet. He felt the burn on his face and arm as he secured his bag and ran for the hills.
Y/n had made it a mile into the woods before stopping. The pain wasn’t extreme, but it still hurt like a bitch. The gash on his arm wasn’t too bad, enough for him to get home fine but continued to bleed. “I'll be fine.” He whispered to himself, sighing. He remembered his backpack and grabbed it off his back. The med kit was safely placed in the side pocket. There were no bandages, and he wasn’t going to waste his time on making a line of bandaids.
He sighed and placed the kit back in the bag. He would just have to hit one of the houses. And the closest safe house was only a mile and a half. “Shit dangerous…dad could come looking for me. They could get out of that mess, they will. That would just put him in danger.” His thoughts were loud as he set off deeper into the woods.
He had a plan. Lose the tracks. He’d take the longer route just in case someone was able to find him or see him jump the gate. Then he’d make his way back to Alexandria.
His feet stepped along the roots and dead leaves, making his way through the autumn air. It was getting colder and the only thing he had, was a thin shirt on. The house wasn’t so far, and he would be able to make it. That's how he kept his thoughts, golden.
Y/n whistled as he went, the little toon his mother once sang to him. The toon was light, and calming in opposition to his current situation. The whistling allowed him to slip away from the world, and forget about what happened, or forget the very situation he was in. He could hear his mother singing it. He could feel the sway of the rocking chair and the slight breeze of the porch breeze. Then the smell of rain, the drip drop on the AC unit, once helping him sleep, is now a nightmare to hear.
Once, Negan, his mother, and he went on a trip to North Carolina, to see a War ship, it rained that day. They stopped nearby and grabbed a bottle that had a ship in it. He remembers sitting on the porch staring at it as it floated in the fake water, and moved with each shake but failed to never sink. His mother would say, “You are that boat, and you will forever be that boat.” Y/n never understood what she meant, he just stared at her, then right back at the ship with a smile.
Those fond memories of the old world. The smell of his baseball games. The soil he slid onto, the mud that would track his clothes, shoes, and body. The icepacks or frozen peas his mother would gently apply on his bruises after each game as she praised her son for doing a good job, relating him to his father. The proud smile on both his parent's faces, as he hit his first home run, racing for the hills as his name was hollered by Y/n’s teammates.
Before Y/n knew it, he was in front of the home, with his hand reaching into his back pocket to fetch the key.
His arm still bled as he entered the house, not troubling himself to care as he made his way to the bathroom down the hall. He flashed on the lights, squinting as he looked up into the mirror, jerking at his reflection. He couldn’t exactly tell whose blood was on him, his, or someone else. However, there was a gash riding from the side of his chin to the start of his cheek. He realized the wound wasn’t too large, but it was the main cause of bleeding. Y/n searched through the medicine cabinet and used a cloth to wrap around his arm before laying out his supplies on the counter. He sat on the toilet, taking a cotton swap and gradually cleaning up the bloodied mess on his arm, wincing every occasional minute. The man skillfully sewed up the wound, the needle and thread gliding effortlessly through the flesh. With the task finished, he then moved on to carefully tending to his injured chin.
He made his way upstairs, not bothering to clean up his mess or the clutter he had made.
As he laid his head down on the pillow, which allowed him to sink in, he felt the weight of the past days lifting off his shoulders. The softness of the pillow provided a comforting embrace, easing the tension in his body as he closed his eyes. He kicked his shoes off, feeling the freedom of letting go of the day's conditions. With each deep breath, he felt himself slipping into a peaceful state of mind, leaving behind the rush and groan of the outside world. It was in this moment of quiet that he found comfort, in his bed, as it began to pass noon and go into the evening.
He felt himself sigh and roll over. His hand slid under his pillow, bringing out the small stack of papers. He moved them around until he found the picture of him and his mother. He ran his thumb over it, the corner of his mouth turning up. That smile reflected her own, the ice cream in her hands melted slightly.
He could feel the slight ache of his arm, and chin, and the healing stab wound. With that slightly uncomfortable sting, he shifted back onto his back, staring at the roof, the old mold that dried out on the cracks that were engraved into the ceiling. Another thing to fix.
Y/n moved his fingertips along his torso, making it ticklish in a way. His eyes closed as his other hand wiped down his face, feeling the prick of his forming beard, and entangled into his hair. He needed a shower, not that he could smell himself, even though he was probably used to the smell either way.
He felt his fingers stop at the crack of his shirt, where his skin poked out from the stretch. He opened his eyes and sighed before moving his hand down, and slowly grabbing himself through his pants. One thing he was taught, don’t let your guard down when alone. He assured himself it was a fine, day, and he could hear outside. He swallowed, covering one side of his face with his hand, and rubbing himself with a groan.
⁶He breathed in, taking his hand to his face and spitting on his palm, then slipped his hand into his pants, and below his boxers as another groan fell from his mouth. His hand wrapped around his dick with a whine. Now, speaking of how he literally just got out on the verge of death, though he really didn’t care, it was a bit weird. He put it off.
The room was filled with quiet groans and grunts as his palm lifted up, and then back down in a repeating movement. He could imagine Carl doing it, which he did. But he knew Carl was young, inexperienced, and a bit dumb, but who was he to talk?
He closed his eyes, imagining Carls had, a lot softer than his, but still rough in their own way. The nervousness, the hesitation, the slight stutter he had at certain points. It was cute, and hot at the time.
He swallowed a groan and pumped himself faster feeling the whine in the back of his throat. “Mother of fucking mary.” The curse fell from his lips as he gripped himself and groaned, head pushing back into the pillow and his teeth barring a grunt that shoved from his throat. Y/n bit into his tongue before it left his mouth and let another groan into his arm.
He would have melted under Carl's touch then and there. He let a moan slip from his mouth as he hit his peak. Stroking a few more times before letting go, panting breaths “Jesus.” He muttered, under his breath, feeling slightly embarrassed by how long he lasted. “You're a cunt.” He said to himself as he shifted in the bed and made himself comfortable.
He stared up at the ceiling, his finger circling his stomach. “What am I gonna do.” he groaned, finally closing his eyes.
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@stiveroon
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