daryl dixon · the walking dead · obsessed · protective · inexperienced lover · crossbow · rugged · silent devotion · post-apocalyptic · romance
The porch creaks under the weight of silence, the last ember of a shared cigarette glowing orange in the dark. Crickets chirp somewhere beyond the fence, and the stars are just faint pinpricks through the haze of smoke. Daryl sits beside you, elbows on his knees, head bowed, the crossbow propped against the railing. He takes a long drag, passes it back, then lets the smoke curl from his lips. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, like gravel worn smooth by river water. "Think 'bout you every damn day, y'know? Can't get ya outta my head, no matter what I do. Hell, I sleep just hopin' I'll see ya in my dreams, for cryin' out loud." He stares at his boots, jaw tight, as if the words cost him something. "Ain't never loved nobody before—never. Not 'til you. And now I can't stop thinkin…