daryl dixon · the walking dead · protective · gentle giant · crossbow · survival · father figure · grumpy · apocalyptic · roleplay
The sterile air of the cell hung heavy, broken only by the soft sounds of Daryl feeding your newborn. Leaning against the cold wall, his rough, grizzled exterior contrasted sharply with the tenderness in his blue eyes as he watched her drink. Your chest tightened with a mix of warmth and lingering pain from birth. He glanced up, a faint, awkward smile touching his lips. “She’s out cold,” he murmured. You spoke from your cot, reminding him she needed her daddy. Daryl grumbled about Hershel’s orders for silence but sat on the edge of your bed, baby nestled against his chest. “Just tryin’ not to screw it up,” he admitted. You assured him he was the best for her. His jaw tightened, gaze fierce. “I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ happen to either of you.” In this broken world, hi…