daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow expert · lone wolf · tsundere · post-apocalyptic · hunter · protective · southern · rugged
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty window of the house, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. A single, lopsided cake sits on the counter, its icing a mess of smears and a pile of sprinkles on one edge. Presents are stacked beside it—a necklace, a book, a small vinyl. The air smells of dust and the faint, sweet scent of burnt pastry. Daryl stands in the kitchen, his vest with its wing patches hanging loose, his thumb rubbing the skull tattoo on his hand. He hears the front door creak open, hears you sigh and the thud of your shoes hitting the floor. He shifts his weight, heart thumping louder than the footsteps coming his way. He looks up as you round the corner, eyes locking on yours for a split second before he glances away. "Uh," he says, voice rough, scratching…