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dixons-sunshine · 1 month ago

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Sweet Treats | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Day One: Cookies/Cocoa

(GIF by @jaaryl)

“Jesus fuck, s’colder than a witch’s tit out there. M’freezin’ my ass off.”

The sound of your husband’s voice echoed through your shared Alexandrian home. You chuckled lightly to yourself, shaking your head as you continued with your task; placing the cookies you had baked into a tin, two steaming cups of hot chocolate resting on the countertops next to you. You had made the beverages when you had initially heard the roaring rumble of the archer’s motorcycle, knowing fully well that Daryl would be feeling like an ice cube when he returned.

And you were right.

The sound of Daryl’s footsteps grew closer, until the man himself was standing a mere few feet away from you. He hummed in approval when the aroma of the freshly baked cookies filled his senses.

“Mhm, smells good,” he started, rubbing his hands together in the hopes of heating them up. “What’cha makin’?”

“Hello to you, too, Daryl,” you began in a teasing voice, turning around to face him and nearly colliding with his chest, not expecting him to have been so close. However, you quickly composed yourself. “How was your day? My day was okay, thank you so much for asking.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. M’sorry. Lemme try again.” He cleared his throat, stepped forward and gently pulled you closer by your hips, his ocean-like eyes sparkling under the faint light of the kitchen. “Hiya, Sweetheart. Whatever you’re makin’ smells fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Hmm, not exactly right, but we’re getting there.” You smiled softly and leaned forward to catch his lips with yours, slowly and tenderly moving your mouths against one another’s. When you pulled back, you reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Okay, but you weren’t lying. Even your lips are cold.”

“S’what I said. S’fuckin’ cold out there,” Daryl replied, moving to lean against the countertop while he carefully watched you grab a cup of, what he presumed to be, coffee and pass it over to him. However, when he took a sip, his eyes widened, and he looked back over at you. “S’this…?”

“Hot cocoa,” you confirmed, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you smiled at the almost child-like glee on his face at the sweet beverage. “I found some on a run the other day and I swiped it. And—” You grabbed the tin and opened it, before extending it to him. “—I asked Carol if I could borrow her cookie recipe, because you can’t have one without the other, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, taking a cookie from the tin and taking an eager bite from it.

He groaned in satisfaction and you laughed lightly. “Good?”

“Fuckin’ amazin’,” he complimented through a mouthful of the sweet treat. “You truly outdid yourself with this.”

“Thank you,” you replied, picking up your own cup and holding it up for a ‘toast’. Daryl scoffed but smiled faintly, before clinking his mug against yours.

“What’re we toastin’ ‘bout?” he inquired.

“Nothing in particular. Maybe about our love for each other.”

Daryl shook his head, but could not stop the warmth that bloomed in his chest at your words. “Way to make the moment sappy.”

“You love it, and you know it.”

“Nah,” he admitted after a moment of silence, “but I love you, and s’enough to make me overlook all of your chick flick moments.”

“You know what? I’ll take it.”

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hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog · 5 months ago

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Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she’d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”

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littlecub9666 · 8 months ago

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Y/N: You have no idea what I'm capable of!

Daryl: Don't take this personally, but I feel like I'm being threatened by a cupcake.

#thewalkingdead #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead x reader #twd #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl #twd x y/n #twd x reader #twd x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #twd characters #otp prompts #imagine your otp #otp

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discolizardx · 8 months ago

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daryl dixon headcanons

darylxreader specifically :)

hello! i always enjoy seeing hc posts so i thought i'd make my own! p.s. send in fic/hc requests if you have any! i'm currently writing for daryl dixon, ted lasso, javier peña, and joel miller. k, thx byeee!!!

he doesn't really show affection early on in your relationship. it takes time for him to let his guard down but once he does, good lord.

if you're walking around together, he is usually making some sort of physical contact. (holding hands, hand on your shoulder/back, just straight up walking so close that your shoulders touch, etc.)

he holds doors open for you. you've told him time and time again that you can open your own damn door but he still power walks ahead of you to get to the door before you can.

he enjoys feeling like your protector. he knows you can hold your own in any fight but he has a need to protect you. he likes knowing that he can keep you safe.

he can get possessive at times. once, he overheard a new resident trying to flirt with you. as you were talking to him, you noticed the his gaze move above your head and the color drain from his face. you turned around to see daryl standing about two inches behind you and death-glaring at the poor man.

one time, late at night after you were nearly bit by a walker, he told you how scared he is to lose you. how he has lost so many people over the years that losing you would break him. he had never been vulnerable in front of anyone like that before. he felt relieved to get it off his chest.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon headcanon #the walking dead #fic request #fic prompt #send requests pls

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daryltwdixon · 2 months ago

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Writing Prompt Blurb: Daryl x Reader

The fire crackles low, casting soft, flickering shadows over the grass as you lean back against a nearby tree. It’s quiet up here, almost peaceful, no groaning of walkers nearby as you sit on a hilltop outside Alexandria. Daryl’s beside you, busy fiddling with his crossbow, though his gaze keeps drifting to the stars above, a rare moment of calm settled on his usually tense features.

You always looked forward to the nights you could sneak out undetected with him. There was something about being outside the walls. Something about the open air out here, senses heightened for danger unlike when you were safely tucked in your house.

You’re staring up at the stars then too, letting the silence stretch, feeling a strange, weightless calm out here, away from everything. Beside you, Daryl is silent, focused on pulling out the jerky out of his bag that he brought, eyes scanning the darkness.

After a long pause, you sigh, almost dreamily, “You ever think about aliens?”

“The hell you on about now?” Daryl grumbles from beside you, his words muffled as he gnaws on the jerky.

“Just sayin’,” you side-eye him, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Aliens probably wouldn't like us when they come to visit. We suck.”

He snorts, shaking his head in that way he does, amused but guarded. “You say the weirdest shit sometimes, girl.”

“I mean, come on,” you persist, gesturing around at the vast emptiness. “Look around. You think they’d stop by and be like, ‘Oh, the apocalypse hit these guys, let’s hang out and see what happens next!’”

There’s a pause, and you turn to see him watching you, a rare smile slipping across his lips as the moonlight catches in his eyes. He leans back on his hands, settling into the grass, his gaze moving to the stars. “Could be kinda entertainin’ ,” he mutters, “maybe they’d grab some popcorn and watch.”

“Probably already are,” you sigh, letting yourself fall back onto the grass, feeling its prickly texture against your back, arms folded behind your head, “Just can’t see ’em.”

writing prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting :

"Aliens probably wouldn't like us when they come to visit. We suck."

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #Daryl Dixon blurb #daryl blurb #the walking dead blurb #writing prompts

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snailss · 10 months ago

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MARCHWERES PROMPT 6- WET DOG PLEASE GIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.

Main Masterlist

Daryl Masterlist (includes marchweres)

Prompt list by: @marchweres

CW: Poor writing, short, swearing, reader is referred to as ‘woman’ once but it is otherwise gender neutral, mentions of scars, characters are naked but it is still semi sfw, slightly suggestive, not proof read, lemme know if i missed anything!

Daryl was filthy.

The man was a walking biohazard, his clothing stained with grime and walker guts, yet he still refused to hop in the bath, stating that it was ‘fuckin’ pointless’ until after he had shifted for his hunt later. In a point of desperation to get him clean, you told him you would join him.

Which leads you to now.

You’re slowly rubbing shampoo in the mans hair while he grumbles about something incoherent, his words garbled. There’s a smile on your face while you nod along to the stories of his run, your hands massaging his scalp lightly with each pass of his hair. Despite him being taller than you, you’re behind him, his back pressed flush against your bare chest.

Slowly, you rinse the suds out of his hair and move down. You pour some soap on your hands and begin to rub his back, loosening the tight knots and stress out of his muscles. Your fingers trail lightly over his scars, being sure to kiss the occasional one before you pass by it with the soap.

With open mouth kisses, your lips trail up to his scent gland, sucking against it softly and giggling at the small whine he lets escape. Such a big, strong man, all just to be unraveled by the slightest touch.

“Shit, woman..” his voice trails off, his torso melting into your body and leaning against you.

You hum in acknowledgement, kissing and sucking his neck, leaving a nice plum coloured mark on his throat. The procedere forces a groan out of Daryl, and you think that maybe, just maybe, you should bathe with him more often..

A/N: I’m still new to writing, so please be kind in the comments! I wanted to try some Marchweres Prompts, so here we go!!

#daryl fluff #daryl dixon #werewolf daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #fluff #x reader #the walking dead #marchweres #prompt 6: Wet Dog #MarchWeres

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

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Whumpuary Day 17-18

Prompt: Headache (alt)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

You had not been home long when Daryl came shuffling through the door. He had gone on a run, leaving at the ass-crack of dawn but they were back by early afternoon with two boxes of medical supplies as fruits of their labor. Then he had been helping to move the solar panels and work on the battery hookup with Eugene. You were certain he was thrilled about that.

You knew he hadn’t stopped; hadn’t told anyone he needed a break. It’s just who he was. Help until the job was done. It was a given that he’d be exhausted. You’d let him relax, maybe shower, while you made a quick dinner.

Except… he stumbled after closing the door, the tips of the fingers on his left hand pressed against his temple. He didn’t so much as wave before depositing himself face first onto the couch, long legs hanging over the edge of the cushions. If it wasn’t so out of character for him, you’d find it comical.

“Uh, hi.” You leaned into the room before actually entering. “Rough day?” There was a muffled mhm. “Hungry?” Another muted answer, but this one was mm-mm. God, you wanted to laugh, but that would need to wait until you found out a little more about why your boyfriend came home and immediately attempted to suffocate himself on the living room furniture.

You knelt slowly, rubbing your hand over the warm leather on his back. You were pretty sure the next noise was a sigh.

“Are you okay?” You ventured, probing a little more while leaving space in between questions so as not to irritate the archer. You thought he might have said super and was a bit dry, but it was hard to tell with the thick fabric pressed against his face.

You shifted to properly sit on the floor, moving your hand in random patterns over his back. Maybe if you were patient, he would decide air was a good thing and sit up to enjoy it. You didn’t have anywhere else to be. It took about five minutes for him to very slowly roll his head toward you, expression drawn and eyes squinted. Uh oh. Your Dixon sense was tingling.

“What’s wrong?”

He visibly attempted a scowl but gave up after only a brief effort. “Head.”

Oh, the jokes you could make. Not the time, Y/N.

“Headache.” It wasn’t a question. It was blatantly obvious after he’d given you a clue. Judging from his flushed skin and the tension nearly vibrating over his form, it was a bad one. “Okay, just a second.” Daryl didn’t normally get headaches, so you were unsure how to treat one in a man that never complained and despised feeling weak or vulnerable. As you pulled the shades and closed the curtains, you glanced back at him.

Weak was a fitting word. If a herd plowed through right now, he’d probably thank them when they started to eat him.

With the room sufficiently darkened, you crouched in front of him, brushing his hair away from his eyes with a barely there swipe of your fingertips. “I’m going to go get a few things for you. Just relax here until I get back.”

“S’okay.” He mumbled, his arm falling away from where it had been tucked at his side. He let his hand hit the floor with little care. “Don’ need ta go outta yer way. M’good.”

A tilt of your head and tender smile should have been enough of a response, but just in case it wasn’t. “You know better than that. Sit tight.” You backed away from him in case he was about to offer any other objections but he surrendered and turned his hand with a thumbs up.

You made a list in your head as you shuffled around the house. Pain killers. Tylenol would be okay but you were hoping for one of the stronger ones he’d been given when he’d broken his ribs. He was just as stubborn then so there were probably at least a couple left.

While on your search, you were passing by other things you needed. Washcloths. The small basin that you reserved for cleaning him up when he came home bloody. And eureka! Pills!

You contemplated getting him some comfortable clothes but the less he moved right then, the better. As an afterthought, you toed off your boots, quieting your steps significantly when you descended the stairs. If he noticed you bypassing him to disappear into the kitchen, he didn’t voice it. He’d need a glass of water to take the pills though you were certain he wasn’t beyond swallowing them dry. You filled the basin with cool water as well and strategically balanced your burden while padding back into the living room.

Placing the items on the end table, you leaned down to press the most gentle kiss to the crown of his head. His eyes were closed but you were almost certain he wasn’t asleep.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to move around for just a minute and then you can stay still as long as you want. Deal?”

“Don’ wanna.” He groaned, reminding you very much of a grumpy toddler. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, pulling up as gingerly as you could to motivate him.

“Come on.” His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched against the throbbing in his skull. Those things were counterproductive when dealing with a headache but if you could get him to take the pills and lie down more comfortably, maybe he’d relax a little. “I got the leftover strong ones so this should start helping pretty quickly.”

“Okay.” He was so quiet and looked so small at that moment. You wanted to wrap him up and hold onto him forever. He held out his palm and you handed over the medication, barely getting the glass in front of him in time for him to swallow with the water.

“Okay, now you get pampered.” You crawled to the far end of the couch next to your supplies and sat, patting your thighs. “Your pillow awaits, handsome.” You were barely able to stifle the giggle when he rolled his eyes before promptly pressing his palm against his forehead with a drawn out whine of ow.

He stayed silent while stretching out on his back, his head resting on your lap. You smiled down at him while one hand dipped cloth into the water and squeezed out the excess.

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got you.” You were gentle and careful when lifting his head slightly to place the cool cloth over the back of his neck. He winced at the movement regardless, making you frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He murmured, but you still felt a pang of guilt.

The second cloth now wrung out, you folded it and placed it over his eyes. When he melted deeper into the couch with a sigh, you grinned triumphantly. That part out of the way, you pressed two fingers, gently but firmly, against each of his temples and began massaging the area. You could feel the pulsing there, so too much would not be beneficial. You began to alternate between that and carefully scratching your fingernails over his scalp to stimulate blood flow.

After no more than five minutes, before you even needed to rewet the cloths, he was softly snoring on your lap. Still, you continued, determined to make sure the headache was gone before stopping.

An hour later, you had removed the cloths and stopped massaging. Your fingers carded idly through his hair as he slept. He had turned onto his side and pressed his face into your stomach, not a single line of pain left showing.

Daryl so seldom got to relax that seeing him like that and just being able to take it all in was something you found you wanted to do over and over again. Maybe you’d start being more appreciative of the time you could spend watching him sleep in the moonlight from the bedroom window. You knew that was going to be your new favorite bedtime ritual.

A deep breath drew you from your thoughts and back to him, his eyes fluttering but barely opening.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He whispered against your shirt, back asleep before you could reply.

“Anytime, love. Anytime.”

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno9 #headache #alt prompt #the walking dead #fic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #murda writes #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon walking dead #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl

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ghostboneswrites2 · 4 months ago

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A Daryl Dixon Fanfic Challenge

Welcome back, fellow Dixon fiends, to yet another mediocre challenge from yours truly. 🩸

This challenge is (obviously) in honor of spooky season, so let’s jump right in! 👻

How to participate:

Simply select a prompt from below the cut and get to writing! 🔪 Be aware, each prompt has a unique set of challenges!

🩸Deadline is October 31!

🩸Winners will be announced in the second week of November!

Once you’ve completed your story, just post it, tag me, and tag the post #ddhh so I can find them all easily!

Rules:

Daryl Dixon x Reader only!

500 word minimum*

5k word maximum*

Must be able to stand alone!

Can be part of an ongoing series, but again, must be able to stand alone without outside context.

Writers may only enter one story from one prompt.

Please clarify which prompt you chose somewhere on your post.

* minimum & maximum word counts are approximate!

Prizes & Results:

Each prompt category will have one winner each.

Results will be decided via polls beginning in the first week of November.

🩸Each poll will be up for voting for 7 days.

🩸Winners will be announced in the second week of November.

The winner from each prompt will:

🩸Be tagged in an honorary winner post!

🩸Have one story of their choosing linked to every fic I post + my masterlist until December 31, 2024.

Prompts:

Choose wisely! Each prompt has its own unique set of kill counts, quotes, advantages, and challenges.

Here is a key for reference:

Kill Count: Mandatory number of deaths.

Setting/Era: Mandatory setting/era.

Quote: A line that must be included in your dialogue.

Challenge: Something that may make a prompt harder than the others.

Advantage: Something that may make the prompt easier than the others.

Slasher

summary: A classic, gory horror trope! Someone in the group has gone insane! The horrors of the post-apocalyptic world has driven them mad! They’re killing everyone! Who are they? Why have they done this? Who will survive?

setting/era: must be set either in Alexandria or the Prison

kill count: 4 to 8 kills

quote: “How could you?”

challenge: The killer must be a canon character from your chosen era, and your kills must also be canon characters from your chosen era. Killer cannot be Daryl or Reader. Killer also cannot be a canonical villain (like the Governor, Termites, Negan, Alpha, etc.)

advantage: Kills can be done with any weapon of choice, to any character of choice.

Supernatural

summary: A (supernatural creature of your choice) is terrorizing and killing off members of the group. What is it? What does it look like? How does it kill? More importantly, how will the survivors kill it?

setting/era: The Greene Farm

kill count: 3 to 5 kills

quote: “What the fuck is it?!” / “Dead, as soon as o figure out how.”

challenge: Supernatural creature cannot be a ghost, demon, or other spirit of any kind.

advantage: Your supernatural creature can be a classic (werewolf, vampire, wendigo, etc) or it can be something completely original and unexplainable. This gives freedom to describe your monster with as much/little detail as you please.

Paranormal

summary: A paranormal force has made its presence known and brought pain and terror upon its victims. Maybe it’s a demonic possession taking over one of the survivors, maybe it’s an angry spirit taking its home back. You decide!

setting/era: —

kill count: —

quote: “Kill it!” / It’s already dead!” / “So are the walkers!”

challenge: Your paranormal entity must not be visible to the human eye, creating an extra layer of difficulty for the survivors.

advantage: Kills are optional. No mandatory setting/era.

FAQ

Do major characters have to die (like Rick, Carol, etc) or do minor characters (like Olivia, Axel, etc) count towards the kill count as well?

Anyone can die!

Can my supernatural creature be anything that isn’t a ghost or spirit?

Yes! Could even be an alien!

Can I write a story for multiple prompts and only use one for the challenge?

Sure! You can even post them! Just be sure to specify which one you’d like to enter in the challenge, even if you do so by just sending me a message.

For the Slasher prompt, who qualifies as a villain?

Good question. Lots of morally gray characters on TWD, so it can be hard to decide who’s a villain and who’s just an asshole. For our purposes, let’s say Negan, Alpha, the Termites, and the Governor are the villains that are off limits.

Credits:

dividers from: @sister-lucifer

I do not own TWD and its characters, blah blah blah.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway @negansbestie @mfnqueen1 @raynelbabe

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peyton-warren · 4 months ago

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Help a girl break her writer's block

I have been fighting bad writer's block for a while (years). And dealing with some mental health issues. So I am running away this weekend to a place with no cell service, just mountains and a river and a tent and my dog, with a brand new notebook and a pretty pen that writes beautifully.

Now here's where you come in....

I need prompts. I need new prompts. I wanna ignore my WIPs and dive into new stuff, drabbles, one shots, what have you to get my writer's block out of the way. I'm hoping by doing this it'll help me get back into the stories I know some of you are patiently waiting for me to finish (Blinded by the Fog, The Art of Resilience, Stick Handling ).

So send me your thoughts, thots and prompts for our favorite muses. You have til Thursday Night (Mountain Time Zone in North America) to make it into my new notebook.

Here's a list of characters I will write for/ want to write for.

Anders Lassen

Aril Levinson

Billy Butcher

Cavillrine

Curtis Everett

Daryl Dixon

David “Deacon” Kay

Dean Winchester

Eddie Munson

Evan Marshall

Franklin Clay

Geralt of Rivia

Gus March-Phillipps

Hannibal King

Jake Jensen

James 'Logan" Howlett/ Wolverine

Lloyd Hansen

Ransom Drysdale

Raymond Smith

Sherlock Holmes (Cavill Version)

Syverson

Wade Wilson/ Deadpool

Walter Marshall

Tagging my tag lists for more traction. Please reblog and share.

General Tag List: @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire, @jvanilly, @identity2212, @avengersfan25,

@ellethespaceunicorn @foxyjwls007 @gummydummy19 , @cynic-spirit , @rosecentury Anders Lassen Tag List: @wunder-blunder Blinded by the Fog Tag List: @mis-lil-red, @sconnie-doesnt-know, @ronearoundblindly @toooldforobsessions , @hooomansstuff HC Tag LIst: @m07belzen, @used-to-be-bourbonwithice, @hawklin, @geralts-yenn @summersong69, @sillyrabbit81 @mistressmkay Syverson tag list: @mrsevans90 Between a Wolf & Hard Place Tag List: @zealoushound Hidden Sun Tag List: @enchantedbytomandhenry @red42985 @liecastillo @lokislittlewarrior @littleone65

@inlovewithhisblueeyes

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fanfics4all · 23 days ago

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Naughty List

Request: Yes / No Fluffcember Day 15!

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Word count: 619

Warnings: Just naughty fluff!

Y/N: Your Name

Prompt(s): Naughty List

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

If you enjoy my work, you could also show support by buying me a coffee!

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Daryl’s POV*

Snow crunched under my boots as I walked up the narrow, snow-covered path leading to the cabin I shared with my wife, Y/N. The winter chill bit through my jacket and my cheeks were red from the wind, but I didn’t mind. After spending hours scouting for supplies, all I wanted was to head inside, get warm, and enjoy a quiet night by the fire.

When I opened the door, dog came running up to greet me. I pushed him down and gave him a few pats on the head. I looked up to see Y/N waiting for me, bundled up in one of my old flannels with a smirk on her face. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, eyeing me with a mischievous glint I recognized all too well.

“Well, look who’s back, thought you’d sneak in here without gettin’ noticed?” She said with a teasing tone. I raised a brow, brushing snow off my jacket.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shrugged, pretending to examine her nails, though her grin only grew wider.

“Oh, you know. I was just thinkin’ about Santa’s list. You know, the whole naughty or nice thing? And I gotta say… you’re not exactly giving off ‘nice’ list vibes.” I rolled my eyes, a slight smirk betraying my amusement.

“I don’t give a damn about Santa’s list.” I said though I couldn’t help but glance at her with a playful glint in my eyes.

“Besides, I’m nice enough. You’re just biased.” She let out a laugh, stepping forward and playfully poking my chest.

“Oh, no, you don’t get off that easy, Mr. Dixon. I mean let’s see, tracking mud all over the cabin, muttering under your breath, that scowl you give just about everybody, and pushing poor dog away… definitely naught material.” I scoffed, though I couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips.

“I don’t scowl all the time. Only when people give me a reason to.” I defended.

“Oh, sure, that’ll convince Santa.” Her voice dripped with mock seriousness.

“He’s definitely gonna see the soft side of Daryl Dixon and be like, ‘Oh, this guy deserves extra presents!’” I chuckled, as I took my jacket off and hung it by the door. I moved closer to her, my gaze narrowing.

“You keep talkin’ like that, you’re gonna end up on the naughty list too.” She raised an eyebrow, looking up at me with a challenging gleam.

“Oh, is that so? And what would you do about it?” Without missing a beat, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“Guss I’d have to teach you a lesson.” I muttered, my voice gruff, but laced with teasing. She laughed, reaching up to ruffle my hair.

“Nice try, Dixon, but I think you’re all bark and no bite.”

“Is that what you think?” I asked, tilting my head down to brush my lips against hers in a gentle and heated kiss. We broke apart because dog started barking and nudging our legs. She leaned down and scratched his head with a smile.

“You know, maybe I’ll let Santa know you’ve been a little nice this year.” She teased, standing back up.

“Just a little?” I asked, arching a brow.

“Hey, don’t push it. You’ve still got a lot of scowling to make up for.” I laughed, wrapping my arms loosely around her.

“Fine, but if it keeps me off the naughty list… guess I can try to be a bit nicer.” With that, she pulled me to sit near the fire. Dog laid across her lap as she rested her head on my shoulder. For once, the world outside was quiet.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @dracoswhvre

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dixons-sunshine · 24 days ago

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Mistletoe | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Day Fourteen: Mistletoe

Your eyebrows furrowed together at the sounds of your friends’ barely contained giggles. “Michonne? Carol? What—”

Michonne smirked knowingly. “Look up.”

You did just that. When you did, you saw a plant hanging above the entrance to the doorway of the gate leading into the main part of the prison. You sighed and rolled your eyes at it.

“Really, guys?” you asked rhetorically, shaking your head at them. “Sorry to tell you this, but there’s not exactly anyone standing next to me right now. This doesn’t mean—”

You got cut off by the feeling of someone coming to stand behind you. You jumped slightly and spun around, coming face-to-face with Daryl. He quickly steadied you before you could fall, although you weren’t actually stumbling. It was just an excuse to touch you without having it be awkward.

However, if Daryl knew what he got himself into by standing in the same doorway as you, he would definitely feel awkward at any second.

“Oh. Hi, Daryl,” Carol greeted him with a teasing smile. “You’re just in time.”

Daryl frowned and removed his hands from your arms. “What’re ya on ‘bout?”

“Like I told Y/N: look up,” Michonne repeated, her eyes darting up.

You quickly ducked your head in embarrassment, suddenly feeling very shy. It was no secret to your friends about your feelings for the archer, and now they were doing anything they could to speed up the process of getting you to admit your feelings for the man.

Daryl looked up and felt his cheeks heat up. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what that stupid plant meant, and now he was expected to follow the rules of a game he hadn’t even wanted to participate in. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you. God knows he really wanted to. He just didn’t want to kiss you because you felt like you had to.

“Well? Don’t get all shy on us now. You know what needs to be done,” Carol teased, her arms folded over her chest as she looked at the two of you.

“Yeah? And if we dun’ wanna do it? Then what?” Daryl asked, desperately trying to conceal his blush.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”

“It’s okay,” you said softly. You turned to Daryl and sent him a shy smile, before quickly pressing a soft, tender kiss to his cheek.

Daryl’s blush deepened even more. He ducked his head in an attempt to conceal it, but the laughter of his supposed friends told him that he wasn’t doing a good job at it. He really wished that the ground would just swallow him whole at that point.

“Well, not exactly what we were aiming for, but we’ll take it,” Michonne voiced with a shrug, before turning to whisper to Carol. “We’ll get them to break one day.”

“Oh, we will. I have no doubt about that.”

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hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog · 5 months ago

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Famous Last Words

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Summary: She'll never let him believe he isn't loved, even when he doesn't deserve it.

TW: None.

“Be careful. I love you”

She hears the snort of derision he lets out and resists the urge to roll her eyes at him lest she makes things worse. He’s like a cornered animal when he’s upset, all consuming anger to cover the vulnerability he doesn’t want to acknowledge exists. She’s worried the wrong move will make him tell her to ‘fuck off an’ then fuck off som’ more’ like he had the night before.

“Though’ ya were mad at me” He grunts, scuffing the toe of his boot in the pebble-dashed dirt, other leg poised to keep moving further away from her and closer to the run he’s supposed to be going on.

“I am mad at you, you’re mad at me too” She raises an eyebrow before scanning her eyes down, taking note of the way he’s picking at the skin of his thumb; a nervous habit he’s had the whole time she’s known him. He’s nervous, as if one fight will make her leave him, as if she’s going to suddenly realise he isn’t worth the effort. She huffs a small, understanding smile at him “I still love you, and I’m never going to risk that not being the last thing you hear me say”

He pauses at the gate, tilts his head to the side and looks at her properly, sees the way she’s looking at him wide eyed and concerned, the way her shoulders are tense. Whenever they fight he convinces himself he’s being left, talks himself into thinking she doesn’t care and here she is, mad at him, fighting with him and still refusing to let him believe she doesn’t whilst being scared he won’t come back for different reasons.

He strides forward suddenly, twisting his body to close the gap between them and slings an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in to press his lips to the top of her head. He lingers, lips against the hair he loves so much.

“I love ya”

“Be careful. I love you” She repeats, knowing the words have sunk in when he raises one side of a lip fleetingly before opening the clanking metal chain.

It was a stupid fight, in hindsight, the kind they probably wouldn’t have if anyone had eaten a full meal for dinner rather than whatever percentage of rabbit there was split between twelve people. Or maybe they would, because they could have twelve rabbits and Daryl would still give his up for someone else, and it would infuriate her just the same that he sacrifices his own wellbeing for them at every opportunity. She suspects it’s only half about taking care of others, and maybe a solid thirty percent just not thinking he deserves care; the other twenty percent she is entirely unwilling to examine.

It was a fight though, one that ought to have been kinder than it was. One that she wishes she could have kept her cool in, but she’ll be fucked if Daryl is the only one who gets to be angry. She stews on it, sitting perched on the solid prison cot, playing it over and over in her mind until she hears heavy footsteps outside the makeshift door. She’d recognise them anywhere, his distinctive gait and well-worn shoes that always scrape on the second step when he’s not trying to sneak. The consideration, even in his unconscious actions, is part of the reason she loves him as fiercely as she does.

She doesn’t get up, doesn’t allow herself to follow the overwhelming urge to rush towards him when he opens the bars and lifts aside the curtain. He bites the inside of his lip.

“’M sorry”

“Me too”

She moves then, coming to a stop in front of him to run her hands over the solid muscles under his shirt, checking him for cuts and scrapes, feels him exhale underneath her palms. He’s always taken by the act, no matter how long they’ve been together or how often he goes out. He remains captured by the tenderness and care she bestows upon him. He is, still, so unused to the kindness, so out of depth when the only gentleness he’s known has been a cover for malice, false sense of security so quickly followed by pain.

“Ain’t sure what I did t’ deserve ya love” He mumbles into the same spot on the crown of her head. The spot he kisses when he fucks her, the place his chin rests when he hugs her after a long day, the spot he’d patted condescendingly when he was too embarrassed to admit he liked her but needed an excuse to make contact.

Finally, after almost twenty four hours of not making contact, at least twenty three too long, she kisses him, presses her lips firmly to his, relishing the way he instantly responds. When she pulls away it’s with a smile, an always fucking present smile he’ll never get enough of, the smile that’s his.

“You don’t have to deserve it, you don’t have to earn it, its just there”

He eats more that night, sitting by the fire running a thumb soothingly on her knee as he takes a well earned swig from a bottle of water. He wants her to see it, wants her to know he's trying; and if he has to trick himself into it by thinking it's for her, caring for himself because she needs him to, then it'll have to do for now.

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