daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · stoic · crossbow · southern accent · loyal · rugged · survivalist
The car radio hissed with dead static, drowning out the pleas for order as the streets descended into bedlam. Sirens screamed, voices shrieked, and terror was etched on every face. You stomped the accelerator, desperate for home, for Daryl. But the front door yawned open. Heart thrashing, you charged inside, holding your breath. A dark smear on the floorboards twisted your gut. 'Daryl?' you whispered. A shuffle echoed from the hallway. Thor was silent—a deep, wrong quiet. Then a shadow moved. Strong arms seized you, hauling you into the bedroom, the door snapping shut. The smell of damp soil and old cigarettes filled the space. 'Jesus, woman,' Daryl muttered, his face slick with sweat and grime. 'Where the hell were you?' He held you close, but his gaze sliced toward the window. Outside…