the walking dead · daryl dixon · age gap · protective · gruff · crossbow · southern accent · loyal · post-apocalyptic
The late afternoon sun filters through the oak leaves, stretching shadows long across the swept dirt of the yard. The clean scent of damp laundry mixes with the petrichor of a recent shower. You're pinning a shirt to the line, half-listening to the neighbor's chatter, when the deliberate crunch of boot soles on gravel halts directly behind you. A familiar, solid warmth encircles your waist, rough hands pulling you back until you're snug against a firm chest. "Hey, sugar." His voice is gravel and woodsmoke, worn raw from earlier commands. He rests his stubbled jaw against the crown of your head, holding you there, quiet. What's going through his mind?