daryl knew he was gay from a really young age, and it made his home situation exponentially worse. he didn’t ever talk about it, not even to merle, and any skin mags he bought stayed hidden in a box in the woods. he wasn’t stupid -he wasn’t about to leave evidence of that around the trailer where his daddy might see and try even harder to beat it out of him
the only person he ever vaguely alluded to being gay to was the counselor when he was in high school. she was a nice lady, always had time for him, and didn’t try to pretend it’d be easy, but made sure he knew it was okay.
his first time with a guy was behind a gay bar in atlanta at 24, eight months after his daddy finally bit the dust. he’d been so desperate for touch and love that the moment the guy kissed him he cried just a little, and the guy was nice enough not to mention it
he had an on-off thing with said guy for a couple years, and it wasn’t ever really serious, but if asked he’d probably say it was the first guy he was in love with
the first time he saw rick felt a little like being kicked directly in the heart; the guy was so stupidly pretty and had such an easy sway to his hips it was almost impossible to stay mad at him. right up until he told him he’d gone and left merle up a fucking building attached to a drainpipe
his trust for rick built quick partially because the guy proved himself - he didn’t try to make anyone else walk into the line of fire when he could do it himself, and he went back into atlanta with daryl, which really did go a long, long way for daryl trusting him. also: pretty.
he started to fall in love with rick somewhere between the cdc and the farm, and it made him volatile to a ridiculous amount because christ, the one person in the group who doesn’t treat you like absolute scum and you go and get a crush, you fucking idiot-
he was STUPIDLY ass-over-tits in love with rick up until alexandria, and would do anything to gain his approval. it made it even worse (better) that he didn’t actually have to do anything at all - rick already approved of him
he clings easily to any gay people he finds. tara, denise, aaron, eric -he trusted them from the moment he met them with a fierceness that almost scared him. tara and he, on the long long weeks and months on the road, would occasionally talk about being the resident gays of the group. it was nice to have someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge. it was the quickest someone ever became family to him
he would have done anything for aaron and eric, too. aaron was so so nice and kind and understanding and okay so maybe daryl had a BIT of a crush and maybe he eventually developed some sort of feelings for eric too, but by the time he was even slightly ready to talk about it the saviors came along and fucked everything up
he was definitely flirting with jesus. aaron, eric, tara and denise all mocked him ENDLESSLY about it when he told them, and he might’ve scoffed and been supposedly pissed off but under that he was just so so happy how far he’d come from the scared kid hiding mags in the woods, to being a man who could talk about his attraction to his loved ones faces without flinching
he was never really in the closet with the family as much as he was in the closet to the whole world most of the time. he started letting his guard slip after the farm, and the first person to notice, weirdly, was carl. he’d asked daryl if he ever had a boyfriend, because “you’re really cool, you’d have a cool boyfriend!”. after that it was carol, and she constantly made joking quips about them hooking up because of it
rick took until walking in on he and jesus grinding all up on each other to realise he was gay. tactically smart though he was, he had no logic center in his brain at all.
“you’re telling me he didn’t realise you’re gay? when you own fingerless gloves?”
“fuck off.” a small pause. “but i KNOW?”
the first for real relationship he gets into is with jesus, and after aaron loses his arm, he gets pulled into the fold. daryl spent so much time with him trying to get him to adjust, and then jesus was going out goddamn everywhere searching for some kind of prosthetic before getting earl to make one it felt kind of inevitable
gracie has three dads, and all of them are wrapped around her little finger
nothing bad ever happens to them after that. they all live a big gay happy life being teased by their family and raising a kid between going out on runs-turned-dates
i cannot for the Life of me find this one desus fic where daryl keeps leaving game on paul’s trailer steps and he’s Convinced someone is trying to threaten him because daryl has no idea how to use his words
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Daryl Dixon/Jesus | 21011 words
Daryl hadn't even asked to move in with him. Didn’t even allude to it. He just had a resting depression face, and Paul’s stupid fucking savior complex kicked in and reminded him he had a fully functioning pull-out, and did Daryl mind sleeping on it?)
And thus, the last of Paul's braincells were swept into dust.
Or, the fic where Jesus doesn’t realise Daryl is a) gay, b) flirting with him, and c) absolutely fucking with him on purpose.
for @deafpool , I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it
It’s been snowing for a while, now, so Daryl’s sequestered away in a corner of Barrington’s porch and watching flames dance over Paul’s skin instead of making a move. He tries to convince himself that it’s the cold that’s holding him back, not the cowardice, but his thumbnail’s caught between his teeth and the taste of copper’s flooding his mouth, and he knows the truth of it.
Maggie bumps him with one strong shoulder. “Y’know, he wouldn’t turn you down.”
Daryl does know that. Paul’s too good of a guy to be cruel about it, to laugh. Thing is, though, that knowing that and believing that... that’s two different things. “Hm.”
Maggie slides him a look that says you’re a dumbass, and only when he looks away with a flush on his cheeks does he notice Paul coming towards them with a toothy grin.
His heart doesn’t leap into his chest. It doesn’t.
Maggie shuffles off with some lame excuse of finding Glenn and making sure he doesn’t go headlong into one of the many piles of snow around Hilltop. Daryl doesn’t believe her for a second, and not only because he knows for a fact Glenn’s inside, but for the smirk on her face as she smacks him on the ass.
“Hey,” he says, soft, when Paul’s close enough to hear, and Paul grins at him.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
Daryl swallows. Tells himself to calm down, Paul’s been doing this for god-knows how long, probably does it to everything.
“Fuck off,” Daryl snorts, instead of saying something pathetic like don’t say it unless you’re gonna do something about it.
Paul looks so good, haloed by flames and snow caught in his eyelashes, cheeks bright pink from the chill of the brisk wind. Daryl shoves his hands in his pockets to stop the need to touch.
Paul winks, leans closer, puts a hand over Daryl’s waist. Looks up at him through snow-wet lashes, lip caught between his teeth. “Dance with me?”
“What.”
He knows he sounds like a dick, like every stereotype all his family thought of him once upon a time, what with the way his voice closes off. It’s not like he doesn’t want this; he does, so much it burns to his core. It’s why he shuts himself off, even, because he’s read enough of Carol’s self-help books and had enough talks with Rick to know that this is self-destruction in its purest form.
Whatever. That’s not... Important.
Paul smiles, wider, squeezes a small hand over Daryl’s hip. “Dance with me? I know you’ve got it in you, Mr. Dixon.”
Daryl takes a shuddering breath, hides it with a grunt. “Why?”
“Consider it charity,” Paul thinks, and ouch, alright, that hit him where it hurts, “maybe I’ll warm you up some, yeah?”
Oh.
“Okay,” Daryl says, and Paul’s smile turns just a little wicked when he catches the way Daryl’s voice cracks, trembles on the single word response.
Fuck.
“Put your hands on me.”
Daryl obeys, knows he’s blushing, wonders if it’s immoral to cut Maggie just a little for dropping him in it like this. “Anyone’s gonna think you’re putting moves on me.”
He doesn’t have time to punch himself in the face. Paul ducks his head, shrugs.
“What if I am? Would, uh. Would you- say yes?”
Daryl considers everything. Abraham’s question about settling down, Rick’s concerned glances throughout the war, the way even Judith watches him like she’s not sure where he is even if he’s cradling her close.
“Yeah,” he settles on, and flushes when Paul leans in close, presses a kiss to his jaw, “guess I would.”
This isn’t the first time that naive son of a bitch has been overly optimistic about Daryl’s likability. It is, however, the first time the hunter had actually bought it. And God, he’d bought it hook, line, and sinker—he’d been that desperate to believe Paul’s teasing meant something, something good. But Daryl had been right all along about what it meant: Paul likes flirting, he likes laughing at Daryl, and Daryl’s a chump for taking any of it seriously.
listen im 2k in and it;s already all i want to do with my life ever but like have this
“You ain’t got no one better t’draw?”
Paul doesn’t flinch. Probably he already knew he was awake. It takes the fun out of it, just a bit.
“There isn’t anyone better to draw,” he says, “every time I draw you I’m overwhelmed by just how fucking much of an asshole you are. Sometimes it makes me cry.”
Daryl snorts, rubs a hand over his face, relaxes back into the loose sprawl he’s adopted over the years. So casual it doesn’t look forced at all.
“You like it,” Daryl says, and watches him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Mhm.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes concentrated only on the paper. When he licks at his bottom lip and tugs it into his mouth with sharp teeth, Daryl just barely holds back a deep breath. “I like you.”
“Alright,” Daryl says, and covers his face with his arm.
