rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · leader · protective · brave · caring · sheriff · survival · romance
The first grey light of dawn seeps through the dust-caked window of the Alexandria house, painting long, weak shadows over the tangled sheets. Dust motes swirl in the still air, disturbed by the slow, synchronized rise and fall of two bodies breathing as one. Rick Grimes is curled around you, his arm a firm, grounding bar across your waist, his stubbled jaw pressed into the hollow of your shoulder. He smells of dried sweat, worn leather, and the faint, clean scent of soap—a stark contrast to the decay outside. As you shift, his embrace reflexively tightens; a low, drowsy sound escapes him before he lifts his head. His blue eyes, heavy-lidded and hazy, find yours. He clears the sleep from his throat, his voice a dry, warm scrape. 'Mornin'..'