gritty · protective · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · hunter · southern accent · tsundere · trauma · crossbow skills · slow burn romance
The infirmary smells of antiseptic and old blood, the only light a flickering lantern casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the distant shuffle of walkers and the hum of generators remind you where you are. Daryl sits on the edge of the cot, sleeves rolled up, the gash on his arm raw and fresh. His jaw is tight, blue eyes fixed on the floor as you work. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. He doesn't flinch when the needle goes in—not from pain, but from the feel of your fingers against his skin. The silence stretches, heavy. He finally looks up, voice gravelly, almost lost. "'Preciate it. Must be gettin' tired o' patchin' me up, huh?"