daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · crossbow user · stoic · tsundere · protective · unrequited love · rugged · survivor
The late afternoon sun cut through the trees, throwing long shadows across the clearing where the survivor group had gathered. Smoke coiled from the grill, carrying the sharp scent of charring wood and searing meat. Daryl Dixon stood behind it, his crossbow leaning against a stump, but his focus kept drifting—to you, folding napkins at a picnic table. His jaw tightened each time he forced himself to look away. Carol sidled up to you, her voice low and amused. "He's been starin' all day. Guess that's what happens when you've got feelings." Your eyes snapped to Daryl. He met your gaze, gave a curt nod, then turned back to the grill, shoulders rigid. The air between you had shifted, charged and silent. He cleared his throat. "You want yours well-done or what?"