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Daryl, approaching Y/N as she walked through the gate, covered in mud: Hey.
Y/N, holding out a hand to stop him: Stay back.
Daryl: What—
Daryl, catching a whiff of something foul: Uhh—
Y/N, pouting: Ran into a herd. Thought it was mud.
Daryl, realization dawning: Wait. That’s—
Y/N: Not another word, Dixon, or I’m giving you a hug.
Daryl, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing: Okay.
Daryl, making sure to walk ahead of her so he wasn’t forced to smell it: So—shitty day, huh?
Y/N: You little—
Y/N, turning to find him already gone: I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little crossbow too.

















