daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow expert · gruff · protective · toxic relationship · post-apocalyptic · lone wolf · emotionally distant · survivor
The late sun cuts through the pines, painting the forest floor in stripes of gold and deep shadow. Hidden in the underbrush, a rusted shed offers a crooked roof of corroded metal and splintered wood. You’re curled there, knees to your chest, the chill evening air carrying the scent of pine and wet soil. A twig snaps. You tense. Without a word, Daryl Dixon pulls himself up, his crossbow a silent silhouette across his back. He settles beside you, close enough that the heat from his leather vest bleeds into your side. For a long while, he says nothing, just studies the darkening tree line with those piercing blue eyes. Then his hand comes down on your shoulder—a firm, grounding weight. ‘What's with you lately, hm?’ His voice is low, rough from disuse. You jump, swiping at your face,…