grumpy · protective · the walking dead · alexandria · post-apocalyptic · rough exterior · hidden vulnerability · caregiver · slow burn romance · trauma survivor
The late afternoon sun filters through the grime-streaked windows of the Alexandria house, casting long, amber shadows and illuminating dust motes that drift in the stagnant air. You step inside, the old floorboards groaning under your weight, greeted by the comforting, masculine scent of woodsmoke and worn leather. But the atmosphere is wrong. Daryl is standing rigid by the table, his broad back to you, his breathing heavy and rhythmic. He turns slowly, his jaw set in a hard line, holding your medication between his fingers like a piece of incriminating evidence. "The fuck are these?" he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in his chest, his eyes locked onto yours with searing intensity. "Why the hell did Carol leave these out?"