DC TWD Fanficcer

Family: Daryl Dixon-Caruso (husband), Dante Dixon-Caruso (son), and Merle Dixon (unwilling brother-in-law), plus more to come. Former family includes his mother and step-father, but no siblings or other major relatives.

Appearance: Face claim of Nick Bateman but more muscular, olive skinned, and blue eyed.

Backstory/History: Raised by his mother until his step-father entered the picture in early elementary school, Adrian had a mostly pleasant childhood. He excelled in physical fitness thanks to his step-father owning a gym, which also led to him being enrolled early in many classes (karate, judo, etc) When his step-father died in his early twenties, the gym passed to Adrian. Pre-apocalypse he had mostly 12-14 hour days on six day work weeks, with his spare time given solely to serial dating/hook-ups or playing music with his band. A serious romantic, Adrian longed for mister right while accepting mister right-now every weekend so long as someone warmed his bed. His silver tongue and chiseled features make getting attention easy. Adrian did have an on again/off again partner over ten years, who reappears & stirs up their dark history when it is revealed to Daryl that Adrian was groomed as a high school senior by his teacher and the pair kept it up after the fact. Traveling through Georgia to meet with a gym equipment manufacturer when the trials hit left him stranded in an unfamiliar state. Adrian was a lone New Yorker with every tell of being a city boy when he met Rick’s group.

Friends: Almost everyone except Merle. Initially struggled with Rick.

Home: Prison -> Alexandria -> ? Job: Former gym owner, leading classes and offering personal training. Post apocalypse, he is still a physical fitness instructor but also a Prison/Alexandrian recruiter with Daryl.

Hobbies: Working out, singing & playing guitar, songwriting, talking to Daryl while cuddling, and finding ways to brighten his family's days.

Favorites: Blue (color), pizza (food), anything by his band (song), leather jackets (outfit), Daryl (person), doggy/blowjob (position to give), anything facing (position to get)

Apocalyptic weapon of choice: Machete gifted to him by Daryl, during Judith’s formula run.

First hunt: Deer hunt with Daryl. The deer was gutted in the woods and he treated an intestine like a noodle. Not a fan of hunting & is too loud in the woods, but likes the time alone with Daryl.

Stories: Anything in the Dixon-Caruso universe, primarily the Outdoor Cat & Indoor Dog.

Excerpt: “You’re like a cozy but cranky cat when you’re sick.” He still snuggles against Daryl’s back.

Daryl groans at the unmanly idea of being seen as a fucking cat. “Ain’t no cat.”

“You are kinda cat-like though.” Adrian murmurs happily against his hair, still clearly relishing the thought. He quietly starts to list the reasons, stroking down one of Daryl’s biceps. “You like to come and go as you please. Like being outside. Cats are great hunters. Cigarettes are like your catnip. Your attention’s gotta be earned, isn’t that a cat thing?” He leans forward and nips at Daryl’s chin and cheek, voice growing more teasingly playful, “And I found your kitten whiskers.”

Daryl’s eyes roll in the middle of the list. “Idiot.” He thinks by now that Adrian is aware of the hefty affection and lack of insult that comes with the less-friendly nickname. He thinks of his loyal, excitable, far more sociable lover and snickers. “If I’m a damn cat, then yer a dog. Like the way ya kept fetchin’ earlier.” When Adrian had set up that knock-em-down type game he had ran those stairs at speed, without a single complaint.

“What breed?” Adrian asks curiously - of course he does. 

Daryl’s lips quirk upwards a bit happily at the ridiculousness of Adrian wondering which breed. Course he would. Everyone else would see purely that drop dead gorgeous, sexy side of him or be intimidated by his muscle, but Daryl knows that hidden adorable, half innocent side. So he shakes his head and amends his statement. “More like a fuckin’ puppy.”

He can feel shakes of laughter against his back as well as hear it, which settles but sticks in Adrian’s voice like a layer of added joy and brightness. Adrian lays close to him and stills, lips not far from Daryl’s ear as he returns to a more traditional spoon. “I’d like being your puppy,” Adrian tells him firmly, sliding an arm around Daryl’s middle. He is not laughing when he says it - he means it.

Daryl’s gaze widens at the unexpected answer from a huskier voice. He expected some cheeky little joking remark, or maybe a perverted one. Adrian always drops those dirty comments at the most unexpected moments. Instead he finds it more surprising to get that offer. My puppy? He knows it is not an actual thing, just the two of them acting stupid and sappy. It feels like something though. Maybe Daryl’s brain got affected by the sickness. Whatever caused it, now he is stuck actually thinking how puppy-like his sweet lover is. He turns, half rolling over and now pressing into Adrian’s front.

I like when he calls me Sweetheart… feels good hearin’ it. He’d prob’ly like hearin’ something like that. Somethin’ just for him. And he is like one.

“Yeah, Puppy.” Daryl murmurs assuredly, instantly gratified when Adrian lights up at hearing it. Those blues pop as if surprised it is a particularly cute nickname. Immediately Daryl has one cheek cupped as Adrian stares at him, all wide eyed and looking completely the part minus the wagging tail.

“Gimme those Kitten Whiskers.” Adrian playfully purrs more like a cat to Daryl’s ears, leaning in and kissing along Daryl’s jaw with at least a half dozen tiny kisses. The tender kisses shut the hunter’s eyes and stop a protest at the stupid feline nickname. Adrian gets more enthusiastic as he nips at Daryl’s chin before speaking and Daryl can practically hear the man smirking, “Actually..”

A long wet caress to his jaw has Daryl’s eyes snapping open. He realizes what Adrian is doing and sticks a hand in the musician’s face, trying to push his tongue away. “Yer lickin’ me?”

“I’m your Puppy, aren’t I?” Adrian cheekily asks, clearly enjoying himself.'

Top left to right: Reddy & Meeko

Bottom left to right: Nulo & Lumi (Lumiere)

Lumi & Nulo, and Meeko & Reddy

Dante's/kids' inspiration for naming them:

“Nah, they’re dogs,” Daryl informs him while bending down to check the mother has no dangerous tells to suggest unhealthy pups. By the state of her sunken belly, he would guess it was hunger and exhaustion on top of the birth that did her in. “‘Sides, that ain’t huntin’.”

“Dogs?” Dante repeats. He has had toys that are dogs, but now that Daryl thinks about it, he does not recall Dante ever meeting any in person. Pets do not exactly exist as they once did, after all.

“Dogs’re pets.” As Daryl tells him that he picks up the all black puppy. It squirms and makes a tiny high pitched squeak as he turns it over in his hand. Little shit on the ass, but not bad. They must not have been here for long since they are not a complete mess. He wipes the puppy off and it stares at him while yipping. Drank what she had left, but they ain’t gonna last long.

“Pets?”

It strikes him that the concept of a pet is an outdated thing nowadays. All the animals they have back home earn their keep. Yet he does think the dogs would be excellent for security, so they would not be entirely frivolous. Could be real good fer huntin’. German Shepherds make for solid hunting dogs. Maybe a small part of him is trying to justify it in his mind already since it would be cruel leaving them to die.

“Like workin’ animals but ya don’ eat ‘em.”

That much he knows his son will understand. The Hilltop has a slew of critters. The inner part of the Hilltop has the cows, goats, some horses, and chickens. Between their double walls are ducks and the makeshift horse trailers.

Ain’t seen a dog in a while.

Daryl has thought about dogs once or twice on runs.

Sometimes you see a wild one, though usually it is a pack of them. He never hunts dogs and they mostly run away from him, so at best it has been brief glances that remind him of the past. Dogs are sort of an old world thing nowadays, because nobody has spare resources for pets. It still feels odd explaining what a pet is to Dante.

Dante reaches out and touches the back of the all white dog. “Papa, he’s soft,” Dante remarks while steadily stroking the puppy’s back. Then he reaches his other hand for the cream puppy with a little black in the face.

Knowing his spouse, there will not be a single harsh word said if he walks through the front door with a dog - or two, or three, or four. Adrian is kind that way. Although Daryl thinks one is enough to saddle to Dante specifically. He figures the rest can be adopted by other kids or just be the community’s dogs. 

Besides, the thought had crossed his mind once or twice before that if he could get his child a dog, then he would. The security value in a guard dog would be reason enough, but Daryl would be lying if he pretended that was it. The idea of being the kind of parent that lets his child have a dog is far more important to him. 

He does not want to have those kinds of regrets, not when it comes to Dante.

Instead of asking to keep it, Dante is bending down and looking closely at the puppies. Daryl draws the one in his hands close to his chest. After waiting for a second, Daryl decides to flat out offer. “You want one?” “Fer dinner? No Papa!” Dante throws daggers with his vivid greens when he glares up at his father, who had only just said they would not be eating the dogs. He lays a second hand protectively over the cream and black colored one he is holding.

“Nah, fer home.” Daryl shakes his head dismissively and picks up another puppy. It feels a little chilly so he draws it close to his body. “You don’ eat dogs.” He can practically hear a sigh of relief from his child when Dante hears they will not have to eat the cute little blobs. Instead Daryl suggests, “We’ll make ‘em guard dogs.”

Dante has kept his hand on the white puppy, but now that his father has the other two he scoops it up under its middle. “Like an outdoor friend?”

“Yup.” Daryl supposes if his husband were here, he would coo like crazy over hearing Dante describe the dog that way. Instead he suggests, “Someday he’ll be a good huntin’ dog if we train him.”

“Him?!” Dante says sharply, like he cannot imagine the tiny puppy stumbling around in the woods in any useful manner. Then he raises the puppy a little in his arms as if to show it to Daryl and say, ‘this, Papa? This can’t hunt!’

“He’ll get bigger,” Daryl reminds his child in minor amusement, enjoying that his little hunter does not see everything the critter can do yet. “You want that one, or one ‘a these?”

“This one, Papa.” Dante declares while keeping a hold of the little cream colored dog. “I like his dark face!”

“He’s yers.” Daryl affirms while watching Dante start to smile. It feels good to say aloud, especially when Dante perks up that little bit more.

“He’s tickly!” The puppy wriggles and lashes its tongue over his face sloppily when Dante draws the creature right up to his eyeline. It is primarily cream colored, with a little black on its back and a black maw.

Hilltop's getting kids AND dogs?!?! Dance party!!

“We’d run outta room.” Daryl quips to him on the impossible idea. His words are mostly fond though.

“Like 101 Dalmatians but with kids.” Adrian states in amusement.

“Two’s good.” Daryl grunts, capping it. One had been enough really.

“Two’s great,” Adrian says while he grins brashly.

A few chapters later....

“What?” His husband answers like it is an obvious thing. Adrian shrugs, eyes giving a bit of a sparkle at the thought of another member of their family. “Sorry, Daryl, but I like the idea of more kids.” His lips start to spread into a far too pleased smile.

Fucking three now?!

And later still....

“Makin’ kids ain’t in the cards so if you get the chance, you take it.” Daryl answers what he thinks is a simple and truthful enough response. Then he adds with a slightly more emotive hint, “Sides, after you, I knew how it’d be.”

It is quiet for a minute or two.

“Where’d I come from, Papa?” Dante finally asks.