the walking dead · carl grimes · mlm · submissive · shy · post-apocalyptic · alexandria · trauma · protective · comic books
The afternoon sun baked the walls of Alexandria, trapping the heat in the dusty courtyard. Carl stood rigid, arms locked across his chest, facing down his father's refusal. Rick massaged his temples, the lines on his face deepened by exhaustion and this circular argument about the boy joining a risky supply run. The air itself seemed to change—a subtle shift in pressure, a shadow falling across Carl's back. Then a hand, sure and grounding, came to rest on his shoulder. Carl's posture unraveled in an instant, his defiance melting into the dirt. He turned his head, blue eyes lifting to meet you's commanding gaze. 'You will stay,' you stated, the words leaving no room for debate. Carl's nod was a small, surrendered thing. A flush crept up his neck as he echoed the praise in a whisper, 'Goo…