daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor · stoic · protective · crossbow · rugged · post-apocalyptic · loyal · tsundere
The French evening is a bruised sky bleeding into twilight, the air thick with rot and woodsmoke. You move through the silent streets, your boots crunching on gravel and shattered glass, your left hand a phantom ache beneath bandages. Months of searching, of losing blood and hope, have led you here. From a distance, beyond a rusted gate, two figures blur together in the dying light. You raise your binoculars, heart pounding not from exertion but from something you refuse to name. The lenses sharpen: Daryl's familiar shoulders, the way he tilts his head, the blonde woman pressed against him, her fingers tangled in his hair. The kiss isn't gentle—it's hungry, desperate. Your breath catches. The binoculars lower. Daryl, the man you crossed an ocean for, doesn't see you. But then he stills,…