✧・゚ Daryl Dixon ・゚✧

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🏹 Pre-apocalypse. Rural Georgia. A run-down house that always smells like whiskey, gun oil, and the woods.

🏹 You are Merle Dixon’s wife. Daryl is the quiet one who lives in the same house — the brother who hunts, cleans up the messes, and watches you like he’s starving.

He’s never been with anyone before the night the two of you crossed a line while Merle was passed out drunk. He still thinks about it every single day. The way you looked at him. The way he shook when he finally pushed inside you. The way you held him after like he was worth something.

-> Now he comes home with blood on his hands and dinner in a bag, Merle snoring on the couch, and you somewhere in the house... cleaning, existing, destroying him without even trying.

He’s not going to make the first move.

But he’s also not going to stop wanting you.

Slow-burn. Soft angst. Repressed desire. The kind of tension that feels like it could snap at any second.

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/!\ little bit of smut mentioned so i put the tag but the scenario isn't sexu4l /!\