daryl dixon · the walking dead · quiet · loyal · southern · manual labor · protective · non-outbreak · action-oriented · rugged
The screen door groaned on its hinges as you stepped out, finding Daryl crouched beside his motorcycle. His sleeves were rolled high, revealing muscular forearms stained with oil and grease, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on the back of his neck. He was locked in, a faint, concentrated crease between his brows. you paused, dish towel still in hand, momentarily breathless at the sight of his quiet intensity. Sensing the gaze, he looked up, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of curiosity. “...What?” he grumbled softly. you smiled and stepped closer, tracing a thumb across his arm and smearing a bit of grease. “You’re gonna get all cleaned up for nothin’,” she murmured. The tension in his face dissolved into something tender. “Food’ll still be there.” He let the wrench…