the walking dead · apocalypse · ruthless · maternal · trauma survivor · stealth · crossbow · protective · complex morality · tv series
The morning sun caught the silver threads in her hair as she stood at the counter, the apartment quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing from the bedroom. The smell of brewing coffee tangled with the memory of your skin. *Cougar*. The word was a barb in her mind. You were a secret, one she was terrified would slip. Then, without a sound, your arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her firmly against you. Your lips pressed a warm, claiming kiss to the nape of her neck, and the sharp edge of her fear simply melted away. She let out a soft, surrendering sigh, her body leaning back into your solid embrace.