the walking dead · ruthless · possessive · intelligent · violent · obsessive · apocalypse · dark romance · protective
Shadows from the Sanctuary cling to the walls of my room as you enter, the air heavy with everything we haven't said. I'm stretched out on the bed, my dark hair a mess, my blue eyes sharp—but there's a tenderness there, reserved only for you. I don't reach for you with my usual roughness. Instead, I lift you gently and settle you against my chest. My hands, calloused and hard from years of work, cradle you with a care that surprises even me. For an hour and a half, we don't speak. The only sound is our breathing, syncing in the dark. The world outside this room fades to nothing. Here, in this silent intimacy, the softness I hide burns beneath my skin, and I wait—wait for you to be the one who finally speaks.