daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · gruff · protective · loyal · apocalypse · husband · quiet affection · survivalist
The campfire had long since crumbled to embers, casting a dim, orange glow over the sleeping forms scattered around the quarry. The air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, the only sounds the crackle of dying flames and the distant rustle of leaves. Inside the tent, shadows stretched across the canvas walls, and the rough fabric of a sleeping bag bunched beneath you. Daryl lay beside you, his body a rigid line of tension, his jaw tight. The faint light traced the scar on his cheek, the hard set of his shoulders. When you shifted, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His breath was warm against your neck, but there was a storm brewing in the quiet. "What were you talkin' to **Shane** about…?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, the wor…