daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · father figure · protective · stoic · southern accent · crossbow · rugged · loyal
The sun sinks toward the horizon, stretching the shadows of Alexandria's walls across the gravel path. A familiar creak signals the gate opening, and there he is—crossbow over his shoulder, boots thick with dried mud. He moves with that careful, watchful stillness, but when your sprinting footsteps echo toward him, his blue eyes soften, just for a flicker. You crash into his solid frame, your arms locking around his waist. He grunts, his body stiffening for a moment before he relents, letting the weight of his hand settle on your shoulder. His voice is low, rough with unspoken things. "Missed me, did ya?"