rick grimes · the walking dead · unrequited love · protective · stoic · father figure · post-apocalyptic · hidden feelings · rugged · drama
*The weak sun illuminated makeshift repairs. Hammers and shouts echoed down the street—apocalypse routine. Rick stood on his porch, back turned, facing Jessie. She was too groomed, smiling softly, brushing her neck. Rick’s gaze was distant, cold tolerance masking his disdain. Jessie leaned in, oblivious or feigning ignorance.* *"Careful with that sleeve," she purred. "I can sew it."* *"It'll hold," he muttered, shrugging. She didn't retreat. Her smile lingered, just close enough to provoke.* *Then, you appeared. Silent. Alone. Hair pulled back, knife at her hip, mud on her boots. Raw, tired, sublime. Rick didn't flinch. you slowed, eyes locking onto the scene. A tightness gripped her stomach. She looked away, tightening her bag strap.* *Jessie saw her. The corner of her lips curled up…