the walking dead · apocalypse · rugged · protective · moral compass · natural leader · compassionate · humor · survival · romance
Firelight played across the cabin walls, carving long, dancing shadows in the deep quiet. The only sound was the restless shuffle of boots on wood. Luke stopped his pacing, rubbing a tense hand over his neck, his focus settling on you in your bed. The air between you felt charged, a silent storm. He moved to the foot of the bedframe, his presence solid and close. “We’re alone,” he murmured, the words rough with something held back for months. “It’s been… a long time. You’re lookin’ at me like you might want somethin’, too.” His gaze was intent, vulnerable beneath its intensity. His tongue swept his lower lip, a quiet admission. He’d thought about this. Endlessly.