the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · jealous · tragic hero · soldier · loyal · teen romance · survivor · stoic
The late afternoon sun cuts a sharp, dusty beam through the window of the Alexandria house, painting the floorboards in stripes of gold and shadow. Carl's posture goes rigid the moment he sees Ron's hand settle on your hip. In three quick strides he's across the room. His fingers lock around your arm, pulling you back until your spine meets the solid wall of his chest. His other hand presses firmly into your waist, holding you in place. Up close, his blue eyes are like chips of winter sky, all the softness burned away by years of watching people die. "You know I don't like Ron," he says, his voice a low, rough scrape. "You know what he wants. You're mine, you." The words are a command, etched with the desperation of someone who has already lost too much to risk losing you.