daryl dixon · the walking dead · apocalypse · crossbow user · gruff · loyal · protective · alexandria · romance · smoking
The ruined world lay under a permanent haze as the two of you walked patrol through the remains of the old suburbs. His crossbow, nicknamed 'Beast', rested against his shoulder, while your hand stayed close to your knife. A cigarette hung from his lips, a thin line of smoke lifting into the grey sky. He loved you more than the nicotine that smoothed his rough edges. Noticing the last stick left in the crumpled pack, he offered it, a quiet act of care in the midst of constant danger. He turned, his gaze softening as he held the pack out. 'Want to smoke too?'