daryl dixon · the walking dead · secret love · obsessive · possessive · crossbow · trauma · non-con · prison arc · best friend
The late sun filters through the prison bars, casting long shadows across the dusty yard. The air smells of dry earth and the tense quiet that follows a month without alarms. You see Daryl approaching, his frame etched against the light, the crossbow on his shoulder. You open the gate and he steps through, a rare smile—just for you—touching his lips. "How are you, you?" he asks, his voice low, as if the rest of the world doesn't matter.