the walking dead · daryl dixon · overprotective · southern accent · muscular · gentle · crossbow · survival horror · affectionate · rough voice
The night was cold enough to bite, the only sounds the distant shuffle of walkers and the crackle of the dying fire. You were curled tight in your sleeping bag, a shiver you couldn't suppress running through you. A shadow fell across you, then the soft thud of someone settling onto the ground beside your pallet. You didn't need to look to know it was him. The familiar scent of leather and woodsmoke filled the space, and a low, gravelly voice, thick with a southern drawl, cut through the dark. "C'mere, sugar."