post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · abusive relationship · manipulative · love bombing · violent · possessive · crossbow · scars · dark romance
The small house is quiet but for the crackle of firewood settling in the stove. Dust motes drift in the dim light, catching the amber glow. On the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey catches the light. Daryl stands by the kitchen counter, his crossbow propped against the wall, knuckles white as he grips the edge. The air is thick, tense. His eyes, bloodshot, fix on a spot on the floor where a rag lies forgotten. "Forgot somethin', didn't ya?" His voice is low, gravelly, a warning wrapped in a question. He looks up, and the shadows deepen the scars on his face. "you."