Just so you guys know. I am dyslexic. So my spelling isn’t gonna be great.
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@dixonangel
Just so you guys know. I am dyslexic. So my spelling isn’t gonna be great.
On His Worst Behavior
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary: After a night of drinking, your drunk boyfriend starts acting like a total brat.
Warnings/Tags: smut with no plot, sub!daryl, soft dom!reader, teasing, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, hand job, use of the term ‘good boy’, dubcon (only one character is drunk), drunk sex, orgasm control, aftercare, season 8, established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 923 words
A/N: I love writing sub!daryl and he’s extra bratty in this one. This is for my 650 followers celebration, so you can check out that post to see the context behind this request. Finals week is killing me, so I apologize for being inactive.
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
“You want me quiet? Make me.”
At Daryl’s bratty tone, you rolled your eyes and stopped stroking his cock. He’d come home after a night of drinking, and his tipsy ass was giving you hell. Your boyfriend groaned and started whining the second your hand ceased its movements.
So…
Toddler Dixon, standing in the middle of the kitchen and pointing directly at the top cabinet: UP.
Y/N: What do you want up there? The cookies?
Toddler Dixon, completely speaking baby: -Insert gibberish-
Y/N: Daryl, translate.
Daryl, squinting at his son: Wants the jerky. An’ he says if ya don't give it to 'im, he's gonna hide your left shoe.
Toddler, nodding aggressively: SHOE!
Y/N: He can’t chew jerky. He’s got two teeth.
Toddler Dixon, jabbing a finger at Daryl: -insert gibberish-
Daryl: Nuh uh, kid. I ain’t crossin’ your mama.
Y/N: What’d he say?
Toddler Dixon: -Insert gibberish-
Daryl: Better not let her hear ya say that.
Y/N, watching Daryl walk away: Daryl Dixon, what did our son just say?!
Theses are killing me
quick 3am thought!!! this def isn’t polished so don’t expect any literary masterpiece😭 maybe i should elaborate and write something fr about this later
BUT,,,
thinking about old man daryl with a younger reader who is extremely eager and being an absolute brat about it !!
he isn’t exactly as young as he used to be, and his stamina clearly reflects that. so his new method? trying to tucker you out early on so he can finally take his time with you. fingering you, making you ride his thigh, anything to drain some of this energy from you— and boy, was he getting a mouthful for it.
“daryl pleaseeee”
“c’mon gimme your cock already… need it so bad”
“been waiting forever dare…”
“hmph. such an old man… didn’t realize you couldn’t handle me anymore…”
oh. that was enough for him alright. you think he can’t handle you? he’s starting to think getting a head start on wearing you out wasn’t such a bad idea.
—
after getting his cock driven into you at a brutal pace for what felt like forever, you finally begin to plead with him.
“p-please, dare… ‘m sorry… so sorry- mphhh, fuck, i can’t take anymore!”
daryl grips a fistful of your hair— not tight enough to hurt, but enough to pull you back toward him, his warm breath tickling your neck, “oh c’mon, doll. you needa watch your mouth with all that running its been doin’. the least you can do is take my cock real nice for me, yeah? ain’t no one teach you to respect your elders?”
HOLY FUCK Imma die before this magazine comes out.
Practise
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary: You hate seeing Daryl hurt, he hates you seeing him weak
The second Daryl walked through the gates, you knew something was wrong.
To anyone else, he probably looked the same as always. Crossbow slung over one shoulder, hair hanging messily around his face, boots dragging dirt across the ground like he had just come back from any other run. His expression was closed off, jaw tight, eyes low like he did not want anyone looking too closely.
But you knew him better than that.
You noticed the way his hand stayed pressed against his side.
A Fine Line
Summary: In the dark of the night, he pulls you close. In the harsh light of morning, his pride pushes you away. But when the countdown begins and the blast doors start to seal them, Daryl's tough-guy act completely vanishes. Because if the world is going to blow, he’s getting you out alive —or dying trying.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader
Genre: fluff, slow burn, comfort, angst
Word count: 1.1
Warnings: brief mention of toxic family environment/abuse, canon-typical violence/explosions, mild swearing.
He felt his body lighter than usual. The hallway's air conditioning, now refreshing due to the alcohol in his blood, didn't bother him as much as when they first arrived. The windowless walls and the industrial air of the place made him claustrophobic.
Daryl walked slowly down the bedroom hallway, his boots feeling heavier here on the floorboards than they ever did in the woods. Instead of entering the room the doctor had offered him, he stopped by the door, leaning against the wall. Only the low hum of the air vents filled the space. He stared down the empty hallway, thinking, his head heavy from fatigue and the drinks. Without Merle’s chaotic shadow telling him what to do or how to act, his own mind had been running too fast lately. He thought that despite the horrors out there, a part of him still preferred the woods over a charming little cubicle that felt more like a trap. He thought about Merle, wondering where that tough bastard could be... especially without one of his hands. And he thought about you.
About how your eyes had started crossing paths with his, at the quarry without an ounce of fear. You looking for edible berries and checking the fish traps. The smiles you’d give him in the morning, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the camp. In those moments alone, away from the group, Daryl didn't feel that constant urge to snarl and fight. He felt like you could see him beyond the rough facade of a Dixon, like you knew he wasn't just like his brother... And to Daryl, that was dangerous...
The sound of a door opening caught his attention. Daryl turned his head toward the noise and saw you.
With your hair wet, wearing a shirt and your legs bare, he swallowed hard. The dim hallway light illuminated your figure at the far end. Your eyes met. You looked serene, secure.
Daryl noticed you approaching him, taking your time. You didn't say a word, just looked at him and then down at your own hands. Only now did he notice you were holding something. In your hands was a bottle of water and two aspirin pills.
"Figured you'd be needing this, after all that alcohol," you said softly, your voice a complete contrast to the hum of the vent and the chill of the hallway.
" I don't need a babysitter." Daryl looked at your hands and then up at your face, but he reached out to your hand anyway. His thick hand and rough fingers brushed against yours as he took the bottle and the aspirins. That tiny spark of contact made his blood run hot. "Thanks," he muttered, swallowing the pills.
The two of you stood there, close to each other. Daryl could feel the warmth and the scent of shampoo radiating off you, while you caught the scent of alcohol mixed with the woods clinging to him. The moment was cut short by the sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway. Daryl immediately stepped into a defensive stance, blocking you with his back. Shane walked past, agitated and huffing, clutching the side of his face with a scowl of pain. Two seconds later, Lori appeared, pale and shaken. Her eyes caught Daryl's, and the fear in her face was unmistakable; her hands trembled as she opened the door to her and Rick’s room and vanished inside.
He just stood there, watching without a word, but his jaw clenched hard. He’d seen that exact routine too many times growing up in a house with an aggressive, abusive father. The alcohol in his system suddenly felt heavy, making his stomach churn.
"...Daryl?" you called softly, touching his arm.
Daryl blinked and turned to look at you, but his gaze had shifted. It was sharper, guarded by what he’d just witnessed.
"Ya oughtta be in ya room," his voice came out sharp, raspy, as he took a step back, pulling away. "Ain't supposed to be walkin' around dressed like that. This place is a damn rat trap with folks losin' their minds."
You crossed your arms, unfazed by his tone. "I can take care of myself, Daryl. And Shane doesn't scare me."
His jaw locked the second the words left your mouth. His blood boiled with pure irritation now. To him, this was no time for you to be playing brave and tough when you were cornered in this place with people with alcohol in their veins.
Daryl lost the little patience he had left. To prove just how naive you were being and that he was right, his thick hand snapped around your wrist in a swift motion, not to hurt you, but with an unquestionable firmness. With a rough shove, he finally threw open the door to the room he had been avoiding all night. Daryl pulled you inside and slammed the door shut, leaving the dim hallway and the hum of the AC behind.
In the gloom of the bedroom, lit only by the faint moonlight, he didn't let go of your wrist. He took a step forward, pinning you against the wall. His breath brushed right against your face.
"How 'bout now?" Daryl whispered, his voice raspy as he stared intensely into your eyes. "Ya scared now?"
You didn't flinch. Even with your back pressed against the wall and his chest nearly brushing yours, you held his gaze in the dark. Slowly, you raised your free hand and touched his arm, feeling his muscles tense like steel cables.
"No," you answered, your voice steady yet soft. "I'm not scared of you, Daryl."
The answer hit him like a heavy blow. Daryl caught his breath, his heavy breathing faltering for a second. That was the last reaction he expected. He wanted a fight, wanted you to pull away or hit him just so he could prove to himself that he was a dangerous monster who drove everyone away and that you're wrong. But you stayed right there, reaching into his chaos.
Slowly, the grip of his hand on your wrist loosened. His rough hand slid down, releasing you, and Daryl took a step back, running a hand over his face with an exhausted sigh. The weight of the alcohol and his own memories seemed to crash down on his shoulders all at once, leaving him terribly tired.
"Ya too damn stubborn, y'know that?" he grumbled, staggering toward the twin bed in the room.
He let his crossbow drop beside the bed and collapsed onto it on his back, without even taking off his boots. Daryl stared up at the dark ceiling, one arm thrown over his eyes.
You walked silently to the side of the bed. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by his heavy breathing. Kneeling beside the mattress, your elbows resting on the edge, you watched him.
"I'm going back to my room," you said softly, your voice gentle but firm. "Just wanted to make sure you took the pills."
The second the word going floated into the air, his arm yanked off his eyes in a sudden jerk. The silent terror of being left alone with his own demons in that cubicle spoke louder than any Dixon pride.
Before you could even make a move to stand, his large, calloused hand moved fast. His rough fingers slid along the side of your neck, burying themselves firmly into your hair, still damp from the shower. The grip was rough, but it carried a desperate urgency. He pulled you upward, bringing your face mere inches from his.
For a second, the world stopped. His mouth was millimeters from yours, his warm, alcohol-scented breath fanning over your lips. But Daryl didn't push for a kiss. It still felt too dangerous, too intimate for him to handle.
Instead, he tilted his head to the side, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sweet, clean scent of your shampoo.
His grip on your hair softened into an almost imperceptible caress, his large fingers cradling the back of your neck as if he were anchoring himself in the middle of a storm.
"Stay, Y/N," he whispered your name against your skin, his voice so raw and low.
You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs. He had called you by your name for the very first time. The surprise left you frozen for a second, especially because Daryl Dixon never asked for anything from anyone. Slowly, you pulled your face back just enough to look into his eyes in the dark.
"Are you sure, Daryl?" you asked in a whisper, wanting to give him a chance to back out if his pride got the best of him.
Daryl let out a heavy breath through his nose, his fingers still loosely tangled in your hair, refusing to let you go completely. He averted his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
"Ain't lettin' ya walk out there with Shane prowlin' around," he grumbled, his rough voice trying to sound purely practical. "And I ain't gettin' up to walk ya back to ya room. My head's splittin' open."
A soft chuckle escaped you at his excuse, knowing exactly how to read between those harsh words. "Alright," you gave in quietly.
Before you could even think about how to get comfortable, his arm wrapped around your waist with a possessive tightness and pulled you in. The twin bed at the CDC was narrow, way too small for a man his size, which meant there was no room for hesitation. When you lay down, your body fitted perfectly against his.
Daryl turned onto his side, pulling you flush against him until your back was pressed to his chest. His heavy arm rested over your waist, holding you there as if you were the only real thing left in that scientific nightmare. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the texture of his shirt against your back, and his breathing, which slowly grew deep and steady against your neck. The scent of wood and alcohol mingled with your clean shampoo, filling your senses. Tucked tight into that small bed, the world outside seemed to fade away.
When you woke up in the morning, his side of the twin bed was already cold. Daryl was gone.
After getting dressed, you walked out to the common area where Dr. Jenner was serving breakfast. The mood among the group was normal, free of the shadows of what had happened the night before. You spotted Daryl sitting in a far corner, sipping coffee, his defensive scowl firmly back in place as if the last few hours had never happened.
You approached carefully, holding a mug, and tried to speak to him quietly. "Hey... is your head feeling any better?"
Daryl didn't even look you in the eyes. He turned his face away, his posture rigid.
"I'm fine," he spat the words, his voice cold and sharp, a tone that made it crystal clear he didn't want you near. "Go eat with the others. Quit crowdin' me."
The senseless hostility stung, but you knew his defense mechanism. He was pissed at himself for letting his guard down last night, for letting you see the man behind the wild Dixon facade. Before you could answer or push further, the entire atmosphere shifted drastically.
The last gulp of coffee went down bitter, matching the regret pooling in his gut. Daryl stayed seated over there away from the rest, watching you stand with the group. He knew he’d been a total prick to you just minutes ago. But the moment daylight hit that room, it brought back the crushing weight of who he was: a Dixon. A rough, broken piece of trash who didn't know what the hell to do with the memory of his own fingers buried in your damp hair, or the sound of your quiet voice saying you weren't scared of him. Vulnerability terrified him way more than the monsters outside. So, he snarled, pushed you away, and put his walls right back up.
But fate didn't give a damn about his pride.
In a flash, the ceiling lights started flickering, draining the color from the room. The blast doors began to slide shut, like the whole place was sealing itself up. Daryl bolted to his feet, his right hand instinctively reaching for the stock of his crossbow. On the massive central screen, violent red numbers started ticking down fast in a countdown. The generators were dying. The AC that had been suffocating him just cut out completely.
The group's panic hit the walls. Shane started screaming like a madman, Rick’s voice echoed demanding answers from that crazy doctor, and Lori was yelling for the kid. Daryl felt his chest tighten; the scientific trap he’d been dreading was finally snapping its jaws shut on 'em.
Gotta get out. It was the only primitive thought left in his head.
The doctor finally gave in, and the heavy thud of the metal latches opening on the emergency exit was the cue. The group stampeded, trampling over each other toward the sliver of light. Daryl moved among the first, his eyes locked on the exit, but his tracker instinct—that damn internal clock that only seemed to work for keeping tabs on you—made him look over his shoulder to make sure you were right behind him.
The hallway was empty.
His stomach dropped into a massive, freezing void. He saw Carol pulling the girl, he saw Glenn, he saw the others... but he didn't see you.
"Where is she?" he muttered, his blue eyes scanning the panicked crowd in sheer desperation.
"Daryl, we gotta go! The door's closing!" Shane yelled, his heavy ex-cop hand slamming onto Daryl's shoulder to shove him toward the exit.
Shane’s touch was the breaking point. The terror that you’d given up, that you’d chosen to stay behind with Jacqui, Andrea, and Dale in this godforsaken place to die, blew away whatever damn sanity the hunter had left. He wasn't leaving you. Not if he had to tear this whole building apart with his bare, calloused hands.
"Get the hell off me!" Daryl roared, driving a violent elbow straight into Shane’s chest, sending the man stumbling back.
Without looking back and tuning out the group yelling his name, Daryl bolted back into the darkness of the CDC. The adrenaline was pounding so hard in his temples he could practically hear his own heart hammering.
Where are you? Why'd ya run off?
He rounded the corner of the metal corridor in long, heavy strides, chest heaving, and that’s when his world finally caught its footing again.You came running from the opposite direction, eyes welling with tears, your face pale. You didn't want to die here. You were trying to get out.
The relief was so violent it almost knocked the wind out of him. Daryl didn't slow down; he charged forward like a piece of shrapnel straight toward you, and before you could even dodge or say a word, his thick hand clamped around your wrist—again. The grip was tight, rough with the sheer force of desperation, his calloused fingers locking onto your skin with a possessive need he’d never shown before.
"I thought you..." his voice cracked, choked by the panic still scratching at his throat, but he swallowed the rest of it. Didn't matter what he thought. You were here now.
Daryl gave a sharp tug, yanking you behind his broad back in one clean motion, using his own body like a blast shield against the dark corridor. He started running back toward the exit, dragging you along, refusing to loosen his grip on your wrist by even a fraction of an inch.
Over the deafening roar of a distant explosion, he glanced back for a split second, his intense blue eyes locking onto yours, laying bare every bit of truth he’d tried to hide at breakfast.
"Stay close to me!" he bellowed, his raspy voice echoing off the metal walls. "I ain't leavin' ya in here! Move!"
The tough-guy act was completely gone. If this place was going to blow in a matter of minutes, Daryl Dixon only had one truth burned into his soul: he was gettin' you out of there alive, or he was gonna die tryin'.
Daryl get ur ass back to judith RIGHT NOW!!
can i request for daryl dixon finding out his ex gf is alive living in alexandria with their teenage son (they got pregnant in early 20s and have been coparenting since until before the apocalypse)? i've seen so many daryl fics with kids but i wanna see him with a teenage son. and everyone in the group was just so surprised daryl has a whole teenager because he's so private with his life.
Back to you - Daryl Dixon
gifs made by @caraleedixon and @taiturner | dividers by @chrisssiren
pairing: ex-bf!Daryl × uptown girl!reader
warnings: mentions of pregnancy
word count: 2.1k
a/n: thank you for requesting, I really enjoyed writing thiss🫶🏼. to anyone who's a Daryl simp ou there, would you guys maybe be interested if I formed a taglist? please lmk bc I think I really need to make one.
📍Georgia • 15 years back
You sat on the cold bathroom floor of your childhood home, blankly staring at the two pink lines very clearly displayed in front of you, thinking it had to be a mistake, even if it was the third test that had shown you the same result. Denial. First stage of grief.
You were grieving the rest of your youth, your freedom, college, so many things all at once. Grieving a future you hadn't even lost yet, but one that suddenly felt doomed by those two bright lines. You felt stupid. Reckless. You fucked up.
The test trembled between your white-knuckled fingers as you stared so hard as if you looked long enough, the lines would disappear. The house around you had gone silent in that eerie upper-class way expensive homes often did, where every room was too large and too polished to feel lived in.
Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, dirt on his boots and oil beneath his fingernails from the garage he'd spent the afternoon working in, looking painfully out of place beneath the warm yellow chandelier light spilling down the hallway. He had been twenty-one years old and already carried himself like someone much older, shoulders permanently braced for impact, hands roughened by work, eyes too guarded for a man that young, but the second you looked up at him with tears threatening to spill over, he hovered over you protectively.
"S’okay,” he murmured, pulling your head gently against his chest, unsure of what else he could possibly say. “We’ll figure it out.”
Me trying to hold back tears at work. Imma need a 100 chapter of a book like this
Words like Grenades
Pairing: Daryl x Reader
Genre: mutual pining, fluff
Inspired by the @dixondisease fic idea! 🩵
Daryl felt his face contort into a grimace as he noticed the words that had slipped from his own mouth.
"I love you."
He had said it. He, who never believed that love existed and that he could feel it for someone. His eyes scanned every inch of your face, clueless as to what you were thinking. Daryl felt sweat trickle down his neck and his heart pounding in his chest. Why the hell ain't she sayin' nothin', just lookin' at me with an idiotic expression? He thought to himself.
That old, blind frustration began to take hold of him. Daryl turned his back to you, his heavy steps crushing the dry leaves as he began to pace back and forth, both hands pulling at his own hair, elbows raised. He looked exactly like the Daryl of years ago, in those first weeks on the road: a cornered animal, huffing, mentally cursing himself for being so stupid as to let his guard down. He was already ready to march into the woods and disappear among the trees.
"Daryl," you call out, your soft voice cutting through his turmoil.
The sound of his name on your lips makes his gears lock. Daryl turns abruptly toward you, his eyes narrowed and his chest rising and falling forcefully. Before you can formulate the sentence that would make sense of that silence, he simply gives in to the impulse.
He closes the space between you and unleashes all that anxiety on you. Daryl cups your face with his rough hands and crashes his lips against yours in a desperate, almost brutal clash. It was a hungry, clumsy kiss, tasting of tobacco mixed with the urgency of a man trying to silence the world —and his own mind by force. He presses you against his body as if he were holding onto a rope in the middle of a storm, using the heat of your mouth to erase the words he should never have said.
When he finally pulls away, his lips separate from yours with a wet smack, both of you gasping for air. Daryl takes a shaky step back, unable to hold your gaze, his cheeks flushed as he quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to regain his tough-guy pose.
"Forget it. Forget I said that shit," he spits the words, his voice hoarse and hurried, turning his back again to try and escape. "I shouldn't've..."
"Daryl, stop!" you step forward, grabbing his arm before he disappears. Letting out a soft, emotional laugh, you say what the silence had been holding back: "I love you too, you idiot."
The words hang in the air, and their effect is instantaneous. The tension that stiffened Daryl's shoulders vanishes all at once. He freezes in place, looking at your hand that still holds his arm, then slowly raises his eyes to your face, blinking as if trying to process if he heard correctly. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. For the first time in his life, Daryl Dixon didn't seem to want to run away; he seemed to have finally found his way home.
This time, when his lips touch yours again, the urgency is still there, but now there's a touch of certainty.
"Better not change your mind, woman," his voice comes out hoarse, panting, trying to fight the smile forming on his face.
Your eyes shine, gripping his arms tightly.
"Same here, Daryl... Same here."
Reunited - Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
masterlist , navigation , request rules , taglist
pairing: you x daryl dixon (established relationship)
summary: you and Daryl finally reunite at Alexandria after being separated at the prison.
warnings: didn't proofread, can't think of anything else.
This is part of my rewrites collection
word count: 1.2k
When the governor tore down the prison, you were forced to run and leave everyone behind or die trying to round up everyone who was either already dead or already running.
You waited for Daryl, you waited for his bike, but the explosions from the tank drew too many of the undead to cross your one clear path to your meeting place, and you had no choice but to abandon the man you loved.
While Rick and the others were on the road, exposed, finding one another along the way, you weren't on the road for any longer than two days when you stumbled across Aaron; when you noticed his clean-shaven face and clean clothes, you knew he was staying somewhere good.
Alexandria gave you a fresh start with new faces, and you needed it, but no matter how busy Deanna made you with odd jobs around her community, you couldn't stop thinking about Daryl. You needed to know if he made it.
Maggie: Are they fighting again?
Carol: Wait for it.
Y/N: YOU ARE SO STUBBORN!
Daryl: Y’NEVER THINK ‘FORE ACTIN’!
Y/N: MAYBE I COULD IF YOU’D STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Daryl: LIKE WHAT?
Y/N: LIKE YOU WANNA PRESS ME AGAINST A WALL!
Daryl: …
Carol: And there it is.
reminder that daryl wore beth’s shoe laces for longer than he knew her
came from TikTok. God i love your recs
HIIIII WELCOME!! Thank you! My honryness will never failed.
I HAVE AN IDEA (please)! daryl dixon and reader are secretly dating or sleeping together or whatnot, probs during alexandria. when reader was bent over fixing things up or smth, he instinctively slapped her ass, forgetting there were others in the room lol. thankyou!
Don't kiss and tell
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114
Classification: Suggestive fluff
Temporal setting: Season 6
Word count: 1.6k
Divider by me :)
daryl dixon is gay idgaf