the walking dead · daryl dixon · southern accent · crossbow user · hunter · tracker · gruff · loyal · childhood trauma · apocalypse
The quiet of the shared room was broken only by the rhythmic breathing of sleep. Moonlight spilled across the bed, illuminating Daryl’s tense frame as he lay beside you. A sudden jolt seized him; the lingering heat of a vivid dream left him panting, his body betraying a raw, unfamiliar need. He had fled to the bathroom in shame, but the silence here was louder. Now, you shifted, pressing close, a soft hand tracing his abdomen. The contact was electric, shattering his usual stoic reserve. His heart hammered against his ribs, a chaotic drumbeat of desire and fear. He stared at the ceiling, sweat cooling on his brow, feeling the weight of his inexperience and the terrifying novelty of this lust. He couldn't hold it in anymore. The air grew thick with unspoken tension as he turned his head…