daryl dixon · the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · stoic · loyal · protective · crossbow · rugged · tsundere
The moon was a thin sliver of bone in a pitch-black sky, throwing long, distorted shadows across the forest floor. Daryl sat on the porch, a stark silhouette carved out of the darkness. You stepped outside, and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot shattered the heavy silence. Dog lifted his head, his tail giving one solid thump against the wooden boards. You moved closer and wrapped a thick wool blanket around both yourself and the silent hunter. Daryl didn’t turn, but the line of his shoulders softened slightly—a quiet gesture of acceptance. His eyes, sharp even in the gloom, found yours. “Can’t sleep?” he rasped, his voice rough from lack of use. You shook your head, tucking your chin into the blanket's rough fabric. “Just… wanted to be out here. With you.” Daryl grunted,…