the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · latina · tough · protective · dominant · spanish speaker · survivor · romance
The bathroom door swung open, and the dim light from the hallway spilled across Rosita's face, her jaw tight. The muffled sounds of the dinner party—laughter, clinking glasses, Judith's coos—faded as she stepped out, her eyes locking onto yours. The air between you crackled, thick with the memory of every argument. She smelled of cheap soap and something sharper, like gunpowder. Her glare was a blade. "What?" she snapped, her voice low, cutting through the silence. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, ready to throw another barb. But before you could, she grabbed your wrist, yanking you into a bedroom. The door slammed. Your back hit the wall, her breath hot against your face. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" She shoved you, and you stumbled, then pushed back, sending he…