Daryl has never been comfortable with affection. He swears it's how he's lasted this long at the end of the world. But that doesn't stop your three year old toddler attaching herself to him both physically and emotionally.

It's simple enough. Daryl is sitting alone, eating in peace, when your daughter plops herself down next to him uninvited. Daryl shifts awkwardly where he's sat, mumbling a "...uh", when her big, round eyes continue to look up at him, not blinking. Only when you come over, apologising, does she look away from him and up at you before casually stating: "Stick man." Pointing her chubby little fingers at Daryl's crossbow which was propped up next to him. She then looks back up at Daryl, pushing herself to stand on her feet, reaching to tap his cheek before declaring: "Stick man. Friend."

Daryl just stares at her: “…Do I get a say?” Your toddler just shakes her head, her curls bouncing as she does. "Nope." And by the end of the day she's told everyone that Daryl, the Stick Man, Dixon is her friend now. Despite Daryl acting annoyed, he absolutely doesn't correct her.

Or when your daughter is walking with her tiny hand in yours across the streets of Alexandria and getting tired halfway and dramatically collapsing on the ground, making grabby hands at you, her bottom lip sticking out and trembling slightly: "I too little. Legs broken." Before you can even respond Daryl is walking by, she clocks him immediately, her arms reaching for him. "Stick man. Up." You try to encourage her to stop, that her legs are fine, that they're not broken. But you're silenced when Daryl sighs like he's being deeply inconvenienced but still crouches to pick her up immediately. You don't miss the glee on her face as he settles her on his hip, or the tiniest tug of the corner of his lips when she reaches to pat his cheek, resting her head against his shoulder.

The first drawing your daughter draws for Daryl absolutely doesn't destroy him. Don't be ridiculous. The picture is just scribbles, but it doesn't stop her from proudly explaining: "Dat you." Pointing at the terrible recreation of him on paper. Daryl looks confused, but holding the piece of paper like it's worth it's weight in gold. "Why's it got sticks?" She doesn't hesitate, "din-saur gun". His crossbow. Daryl pretends he doesn't care. But you clock him tucking it safely into a pocket in his vest when he thought no one was looking.

But what gets him is the morning your daughter proudly marches up to him whilst he's messing with his bike, leaving you behind like she does now whenever Daryl is around. "Stick man!" Daryl doesn't even look up anymore, just a sigh and a "what, kid". He only looks up when she stops beside him, opening her tiny fist to reveal a slightly crushed dandelion, and her voice is soft when she says "for you." And when Daryl clears his throat and sets his wrench down carefully, slowly turning to face her, she doesn't hesitate to place it carefully in his big hand. Daryl just stares at the flower in his hand. Because what do you mean she saw this… and thought of him?

When Daryl clears his throat, his ears turning red and suddenly interested in the ground, he mumbles a quick "thanks" he doesn't miss how your daughter beams so brightly at him, making something in chest crack.

Later, you catch Daryl tucking the flower into one of the seams of his bike where it won't get crushed. He notices you watching, his entire body stilling before he grumbles a "don't". You just grin at him.

Never mind the affectionate nickname Daryl gives her... Bug. She had developed a habit of bringing him 'gifts' that consisted of rocks, leaves, but mostly bugs - those were her favourites to bring him, making it her mission to find new ones to show him.

And her reaction when she finds a new one? The cutest things ever. She lets out a tiny squeal as she tears through Alexandria on her tiny legs, curls bouncing, hands cupped carefully like she's carrying treasure. Daryl is crouched outside his house, working on his bike when he hears: "stick man!!" He barely looks up before she's skidding to a stop in front of him, breathing hard and grinning so wide her chubby cheeks hurt. "Look! Look what I finded!" Daryl is immediately suspicious but carefully peaks at her small hands, and very, very carefully she opens her hands and tiny beetle crawls across her tiny palm.

She gasps like she's just seen the most amazing thing, her eyes wide and glinting with excitement. "Bug!" "...Yep. S'definitely a bug."

Whereas most kids would've lost interest in a couple of seconds, she doesn't. Instead she plops down right next to him on the porch steps, holding the beetle carefully. Silence. A minute passes, then two. Then Daryl mutters, almost under his breath: "Careful, Bug. Don't squish it." That makes your daughter freeze and look up at him with huge eyes, her curls falling over her eyes at the sudden movement. "...Me Bug?" And Daryl immediately looks like he regrets opening his mouth, turning his attention back to his bike and keeping it there. "Didn't say nothin'." But then she scoots closer to him anyway, smiling to herself before mumbling a: "otay, Bug."

But the real kicker? Daryl returns from a run injured, nothing life-threatening, but enough for everyone to notice when he walks back through the gates. And before anyone can say a word, your daughter sees him, her tiny feet hitting the ground as she runs over to him, her face crumpling instantly. Daryl stops walking, "what?" The group goes quiet around them when her tiny voice asks: "why you broke?" Daryl doesn't hesitate to kneel down in front of her, despite the pain. "Hey, hey... I'm alright." He doesn't even realise his voice has gotten softer, his expression just as soft. But everyone else does and they can't stop their smiles, some pressing their lips into thin lines to stop small laugh escaping.

Daryl's breath hitches when she grabs his vest in both tiny fists, telling him he has an 'owie' and asking if someone hurt him, and that, that breaks him, his resolve breaking: "yea, but I'm ok." She stares at him for a long second before reaching up with one tiny hand and patting his cheek. Before asking if he "needs a kiss?" Making Daryl completely freeze, and you press your lips together, trying not too laugh. And before Daryl can respond your daughter leans forward and presses a loud, messy kiss right onto his bruised cheek, telling him simply: "makes it better."

Daryl has never been comfortable with affection. He swears it's how he's lasted this long at the end of the world. But that doesn't stop your three year old toddler attaching herself to him both physically and emotionally.

It's simple enough. Daryl is sitting alone, eating in peace, when your daughter plops herself down next to him uninvited. Daryl shifts awkwardly where he's sat, mumbling a "...uh", when her big, round eyes continue to look up at him, not blinking. Only when you come over, apologising, does she look away from him and up at you before casually stating: "Stick man." Pointing her chubby little fingers at Daryl's crossbow which was propped up next to him. She then looks back up at Daryl, pushing herself to stand on her feet, reaching to tap his cheek before declaring: "Stick man. Friend."

Daryl just stares at her: “…Do I get a say?” Your toddler just shakes her head, her curls bouncing as she does. "Nope." And by the end of the day she's told everyone that Daryl, the Stick Man, Dixon is her friend now. Despite Daryl acting annoyed, he absolutely doesn't correct her.

Or when your daughter is walking with her tiny hand in yours across the streets of Alexandria and getting tired halfway and dramatically collapsing on the ground, making grabby hands at you, her bottom lip sticking out and trembling slightly: "I too little. Legs broken." Before you can even respond Daryl is walking by, she clocks him immediately, her arms reaching for him. "Stick man. Up." You try to encourage her to stop, that her legs are fine, that they're not broken. But you're silenced when Daryl sighs like he's being deeply inconvenienced but still crouches to pick her up immediately. You don't miss the glee on her face as he settles her on his hip, or the tiniest tug of the corner of his lips when she reaches to pat his cheek, resting her head against his shoulder.

The first drawing your daughter draws for Daryl absolutely doesn't destroy him. Don't be ridiculous. The picture is just scribbles, but it doesn't stop her from proudly explaining: "Dat you." Pointing at the terrible recreation of him on paper. Daryl looks confused, but holding the piece of paper like it's worth it's weight in gold. "Why's it got sticks?" She doesn't hesitate, "din-saur gun". His crossbow. Daryl pretends he doesn't care. But you clock him tucking it safely into a pocket in his vest when he thought no one was looking.

But what gets him is the morning your daughter proudly marches up to him whilst he's messing with his bike, leaving you behind like she does now whenever Daryl is around. "Stick man!" Daryl doesn't even look up anymore, just a sigh and a "what, kid". He only looks up when she stops beside him, opening her tiny fist to reveal a slightly crushed dandelion, and her voice is soft when she says "for you." And when Daryl clears his throat and sets his wrench down carefully, slowly turning to face her, she doesn't hesitate to place it carefully in his big hand. Daryl just stares at the flower in his hand. Because what do you mean she saw this… and thought of him?

When Daryl clears his throat, his ears turning red and suddenly interested in the ground, he mumbles a quick "thanks" he doesn't miss how your daughter beams so brightly at him, making something in chest crack.

Later, you catch Daryl tucking the flower into one of the seams of his bike where it won't get crushed. He notices you watching, his entire body stilling before he grumbles a "don't". You just grin at him.

Never mind the affectionate nickname Daryl gives her... Bug. She had developed a habit of bringing him 'gifts' that consisted of rocks, leaves, but mostly bugs - those were her favourites to bring him, making it her mission to find new ones to show him.

And her reaction when she finds a new one? The cutest things ever. She lets out a tiny squeal as she tears through Alexandria on her tiny legs, curls bouncing, hands cupped carefully like she's carrying treasure. Daryl is crouched outside his house, working on his bike when he hears: "stick man!!" He barely looks up before she's skidding to a stop in front of him, breathing hard and grinning so wide her chubby cheeks hurt. "Look! Look what I finded!" Daryl is immediately suspicious but carefully peaks at her small hands, and very, very carefully she opens her hands and tiny beetle crawls across her tiny palm.

She gasps like she's just seen the most amazing thing, her eyes wide and glinting with excitement. "Bug!" "...Yep. S'definitely a bug."

Whereas most kids would've lost interest in a couple of seconds, she doesn't. Instead she plops down right next to him on the porch steps, holding the beetle carefully. Silence. A minute passes, then two. Then Daryl mutters, almost under his breath: "Careful, Bug. Don't squish it." That makes your daughter freeze and look up at him with huge eyes, her curls falling over her eyes at the sudden movement. "...Me Bug?" And Daryl immediately looks like he regrets opening his mouth, turning his attention back to his bike and keeping it there. "Didn't say nothin'." But then she scoots closer to him anyway, smiling to herself before mumbling a: "otay, Bug."

But the real kicker? Daryl returns from a run injured, nothing life-threatening, but enough for everyone to notice when he walks back through the gates. And before anyone can say a word, your daughter sees him, her tiny feet hitting the ground as she runs over to him, her face crumpling instantly. Daryl stops walking, "what?" The group goes quiet around them when her tiny voice asks: "why you broke?" Daryl doesn't hesitate to kneel down in front of her, despite the pain. "Hey, hey... I'm alright." He doesn't even realise his voice has gotten softer, his expression just as soft. But everyone else does and they can't stop their smiles, some pressing their lips into thin lines to stop small laugh escaping.

Daryl's breath hitches when she grabs his vest in both tiny fists, telling him he has an 'owie' and asking if someone hurt him, and that, that breaks him, his resolve breaking: "yea, but I'm ok." She stares at him for a long second before reaching up with one tiny hand and patting his cheek. Before asking if he "needs a kiss?" Making Daryl completely freeze, and you press your lips together, trying not too laugh. And before Daryl can respond your daughter leans forward and presses a loud, messy kiss right onto his bruised cheek, telling him simply: "makes it better."