Give You Peace -Ā When he canāt sleep, Geralt turns to Reader (who is a healer) for relief.
Javier PeƱa (Narcos) x Reader
Series
Landslide -Ā Itās been ten years since Javier left her on their wedding day, fleeing to Colombia without a word. And now theyāve both returned to Laredo, forced to face each other for the first time since. But things have changed. The years of silence and loneliness have only driven them further apart. The question is whether or not that rift can be mended.Ā
When We Were Young -Ā Reader is the woman that Javier left behind on the day they were to be married. She sees him again ten years later, when he returns to Laredo for a short break from hunting Escobar.
When Itās Finally Over -Ā Javier comes home after the death of Pablo Escobar.
Marry Me - Javier has another wedding to attend.
You Should Be Here -Ā Javier is hit hard by your absence after the DEA finally wins against Escobar.
Some Things You Just Canāt Speak About - Reader and Javier work through the emotional baggage that comes with their jobs in Colombia. Unofficial Prequel to When Itās Finally Over (but can be read as a standalone).
Drabbles
Jealous Kiss
Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones) x Reader
One Shots
The Kings Who Are Gone - Reader visits the ruins of Sunspear after Dorne is conquered. Based on the songĀ āJenny of Oldstonesā from Game of Thrones.
Drabbles
āWhat a pretty sight.ā //Ā āWell, fine; just this once.ā
āYouāre special to me.ā
Oberyn comforts Reader after a nightmare
Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels (Kingsman: The Golden Circle) x Reader
One Shots
Need You NowĀ -Ā Itās been a year and a half since Reader left Jack, but when she receives a voicemail late one night she wonders if she made the right decision.
Closer to Heaven (And Closer to You) -Ā Jack spends a few tender, post-coital moments with Reader.
Drabbles
āI want to take care of you.ā
FrankieĀ āCatfishā Morales (Triple Frontier)Ā x ReaderĀ
Drabbles
āDonāt leave me...ā //Ā āI cameĀ to say goodbye.ā //Ā āHold me and never let me go.ā
āDance with me.ā //Ā āThis is why I fell in love with you.ā
Touch -Ā The Mandalorian is hurting and touch-starved.
No Living Thing -Ā The Mandalorian has never shown his face to another living thing since he swore the Creed.
Goodnight -Ā The Mandalorian returns to the Razor Crest after a particularly long hunt.
Vaarātur (Morning) - The Mandalorian savors precious moments in the early morning.
There Can Be Peace -Ā Sometimes the Mandalorian just needs space to talk and a place to be at peace.
Solace -Ā The Mandalorian finds solace in the place he leasts expects to.
Among the StarsĀ -Ā The Mandalorian voices his doubts about his Creed and his ability to uphold it. Prequel to Solace (but can be read as a standalone).
The Beginning of Goodbye -Ā The Mandalorian comes to terms with the fact that he will have to eventually give up his Foundling.
What Remains -Ā The Mandalorian and Reader deal with the aftermath of the events on Tython.
The Last Stand -Ā The Mandalorian rescues his Foundling from Moff Gideon. (Spoilers for 2x08) (Ex-Jedi!Reader)
Drabbles
The Mandalorian getting flustered when Reader teases him
āYou never cared about me before, so why start caring now?ā āā¦because I love you.āĀ
āCould you give me a hand?āĀ āI could, but will I?āĀ
āTell me something I don't know.āĀ āYour eye twitches when you get annoyed.āĀ āOnly because itās you that annoys me.ā //Ā āWhere are you taking me?āĀ āYou need to relax more. You need to see the world around you, and find some sort of peace within yourself...even if it isĀ just for a little while.āĀ
The Mandalorian comforts the Reader after a stressful time
The Mandalorian tells the Child the story of how he fell in love with Reader
āShh. Come here. Itās just a nightmare.āĀ
āIād hurt anyone who ever left a scar on you.āĀ
you know that trope where itās princess + knight, but theyāve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because heās thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
Summary: Daryl can't tell if he's jealous of you or Dog
A/N: this isnāt really my usual kind of imagine, but i wanted to try something a little different and see how it feels. iāve been wanting to write for Daryl for a while, so this is me testing the waters a bit. the Joe and Steve imagines are still staying, donāt worry, iām just letting myself branch out a little.
Daryl Dixon would never say it out loud, but it was starting to piss him off.
Not the walkers. Not the endless road. Not even the group and their constant noise. No, it was his own damn dog.
It had started small, the kind of thing he could almost ignore at first. Dog would trail after you during watches, sticking close like heād quietly decided you needed guarding more than anyone else in camp. Daryl had brushed it off in the beginning, you had a habit of slipping the mutt scraps of jerky or whatever was left from dinner when you thought no one was looking. Dog had always been a sucker for anything edible, never one to turn down a handout.
But then it kept happening. Night after night.
Now Dog was stretched fully across your lap by the low fire, his head heavy on your thigh, eyes half-closed in pure contentment as your fingers worked slow, steady circles behind his ears. The dog looked stupidly relaxed, like heād found a rare bit of heaven in a world that usually offered nothing but dirt, blood, and hard ground.
Daryl stood a few feet back from the flames, crossbow slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dark tree line out of habit. He kept glancing over anyway, unable to help himself.
āTraitor,ā he muttered under his breath.
You looked up from where you sat against the fallen log, a small smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. āYou talking to him or me?ā
āDog,ā Daryl answered, walking closer with that familiar loose stride. He dropped down across the fire from you, elbows resting on his knees as he settled in. āDefinitely the dog this time.ā
Dog flicked one ear at the sound of his voice but didnāt bother lifting his head. His tail gave one lazy thump against your leg, like he was too comfortable to do anything more.
You chuckled quietly, still stroking the dogās side with slow, absent movements. āHeās got good taste. Warmth and company beat sleeping alone on the cold ground any night.ā
āHeās got fur,ā Daryl grumbled, pulling an arrow from his quiver just to have something to do with his hands. He checked the fletching even though it was perfectly fine. The fire crackled softly between you, pushing back the evening chill that had been settling in around the edges of camp. Somewhere out in the dark, a walker groaned once, low and distant. Nothing close enough to worry about tonight.
You shrugged lightly, glancing down at Dog with a fond look. āDoesnāt mean he doesnāt like a little extra attention now and then. You gonna sit over there all night pretending youāre not feeling the cold too?ā
Daryl eyed the narrow space beside you. Dog was hogging most of it, sprawled out like he owned the spot, but there was just enough room left. He hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then stood with a quiet sigh and moved around the fire. He lowered himself down next to you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. Close enough to share some warmth, not so close that it felt forced or awkward.
Dog immediately shifted, stretching out lazily until half his weight rested against Darylās leg. The tail thumped again, slower this time, full of quiet satisfaction.
āPushy bastard,ā Daryl said, but his voice had lost most of its earlier edge. He let his hand rest on the dogās back, fingers idly brushing through the thick fur. Not quite petting, just acknowledging the animal was there between you.
You leaned your head back against the rough bark of the fallen log, keeping your shoulder pressed comfortably to Darylās. āSee? Heās happy now. Both of us here. Feels better than sitting alone on opposite sides of the fire, doesnāt it?ā
Daryl grunted in response, staring into the dancing flames. The firelight played across his face, softening the usual hard lines around his eyes and mouth just a little. āYeah. Suppose it does.ā He paused, then added gruffly, āYouāre good with him. Real patient. Most people lose interest in a dog like him pretty quick out here.ā
You smiled a little, your fingers continuing their gentle path through Dogās fur. āHeās not hard to like once you get used to him. Loyal. Quiet when it counts. Reminds me of someone else I know pretty well.ā
Daryl bumped your shoulder with his own, the contact light and almost playful. āShut up.ā
But he didnāt pull away. Instead, he settled in a bit deeper, letting the comfortable quiet stretch between you for a while. The night felt calmer with the three of you like this, the steady crackle of burning wood, Dogās even breathing, and the solid warmth of Darylās presence beside you. Small comforts like these were rare in a world that rarely handed them out willingly.
After a few minutes, you spoke again, keeping your voice low. āYou know he still follows you every morning when you head out scouting. Looks for you first thing, every time. Youāre still his favorite. Iām justā¦ extra.ā
Daryl glanced sideways at you, his expression guarded but with something warmer flickering underneath. āDidnāt ask for extra.ā
āToo bad,ā you teased lightly, the words carrying no real pressure. āYou got it anyway.ā
He snorted softly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in that tiny, rare almost-smile he sometimes let slip. Dog sighed deeply between you, completely relaxed, like he knew exactly what heād accomplished by nudging the two of you closer together without trying.
Darylās hand shifted slightly, brushing against yours where it rested on the dogās side. Neither of you moved away. His rough fingers lingered there for a moment, tracing a slow, absent line across your knuckles before settling comfortably.
āStill a traitor,ā he muttered, looking down at Dog with a hint of reluctant fondness.
āYeah,ā you whispered, leaning your head lightly against his shoulder. āBut a good one. Gets us sitting like this instead of freezing separately in the dark.ā
Daryl didnāt answer right away. He just stayed right there, letting you rest against him while the fire kept the worst of the chill at bay. The distant groans of walkers felt farther off than usual, almost easy to tune out. For a little while, the whole world narrowed down to this simple moment: the dog warm and heavy across both your laps, Darylās shoulder steady under your head, and the quiet understanding passing between you that didnāt need big words or declarations.
āGuess it aināt so bad,ā he said eventually, his voice low and rough around the edges.
You smiled against the fabric of his jacket, the expression small and content. āNo. Not bad at all.ā
The three of you stayed like that long into the night, sharing the small stretch of peace and warmth while the rest of the uncertain world waited just beyond the reach of the firelight.
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 Ć uptown girl!reader
warnings: mentions of pregnancy
word count: 2.1k
a/n: thank you for requesting, I really enjoyed writing thissš«¶š¼. 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.
šGeorgia ā¢ 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.
"Sāokay,ā he murmured, pulling your head gently against his chest, unsure of what else he could possibly say. āWeāll figure it out.ā
Despite everything people assumed about Daryl Dixon, despite the cigarettes and the silence and the rough edges that made strangers dismiss him before he even spoke, his first instinct had always been loyalty. āAināt runninā from it.ā And you knew him well enough to know he meant it.
The months that followed were ugly in ways neither of you had expected. Not because of the baby, but because the world around you made it painfully clear how little faith it had in the possibility of people like you surviving together.
Your parents looked at Daryl the way people looked at storms rolling over the horizon when they'd just planned to go out: dangerous, inconvenient. Your mother cried quietly over dinner while your father spoke in measured, humiliating sentences about ruined opportunities and "so much wasted potential", about all the money spent on private schools, ballet classes, and piano lessons just to watch you throw your future away for some mechanic from the āwrong sideā of town who barely spoke in complete sentences.
Daryl sat through every word with his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack from the pressure. He never defended himself, raised his voice or begged. He simply endured it because you were pregnant, exhausted, and scared, and somewhere in that silence he had decided your comfort mattered more than his pride.
Your son was born during a thunderstorm after nine painful hours of labor. It felt like the weather itself mimicked your screams with thunder shaking the hospital windows. And against your parentsā wishes, Daryl stayed beside you the entire time.
The gentle nurse who spoke to you afterward admitted she had never seen a man more terrified in her life than when he heard you screaming in pain.
Once the baby was finally placed against your chest, Daryl felt his entire world change. He muttered something under his breath while staring down at the tiny screaming infant wrapped in blue blankets, looking stunned in the purest sense of the word. The baby had his eyes.
For a while, the two of you tried. God, you tried harder than most people ever knew. Daryl picked up extra work wherever he could find it, often coming home with grease on his hands and exhaustion dragging beneath his eyes so heavily it aged him years overnight, while you balanced college classes with motherhood and constant battles against your parentsā disappointment.
You were exhausted all the time, surviving on burnt coffee, interrupted sleep, and a stubborn love that refused to die even when life gave it every reason to.
But eventually the pressure became unbearable.
Your parents escalated from disapproval to ultimatums, threatening to cut you off completely ā tuition, housing, every safety net you and your son had left.
You and Daryl had your final fight the night your son turned three, screaming at each other in the apartment kitchen while the little boy slept in the next room. You knew in that moment that you would remember the look in his eyes for the rest of your life, the exact moment Daryl realized you were drowning beneath expectations you could no longer carry.
āYa think I wanna be the reason your whole damn life falls apart?ā he snapped, voice raw with frustration and heartbreak tangled together. āThink I donāt see what this is doinā to you?ā
āItās not you." you cried back immediately.
āBut Iām in your way.ā
āDarylāā
āYer familyāll never see me as one of āem, and they already said theyāll cut you out if ya stay with me.ā He cupped your cheeks, taking a deep breath before continuing, calmer now. āI donāt want our son havinā a life like mine.ā a tiny pause. āHe has opportunities here.ā the last sentence was barely above a whisper.
You let out the most heartbreaking sob he had ever heard, simply because loving someone wasnāt always enough to survive the machinery of the world crushing down around you.
You separated six months later. There were nonstop tears, shaking hands, and promises to stay kind to each other for your sonās sake, and somehow, against all odds, you managed it. You became good coparents. Great ones, even. Better friends than lovers by the end of it, as you liked to lie to yourself.
Daryl stayed involved no matter how far life dragged him, showing up for birthdays with awkwardly wrapped gifts and scraped knuckles, teaching your son how to fish before he learned long division, how to track deer prints through mud, how to throw a punch without breaking his wrist, how to survive disappointment quietly.
Your son adored his dad with that fierce, uncomplicated love children reserved for fathers who made them feel safe, and Daryl loved the boy with a devotion so profound it terrified him.
You kept your relationship heartfelt, every time you asked him how he was doing it was genuine, and vice versa. Every year since your son turned four, you sat on the corners of his birthdays enjoying to catch up with eachother, slipping curious questions like "Are you seeing anyone?" after some alcohol kicked in and the answer was always no, of course it was no.
Truth be told, you kept expecting something change and finally get over eachother, but you weren't really willing to let go, some time after his 13th birthday party ended, you caved in, had a relapse, snuck out with Daryl like a teenager and had sex on his trailer. The next morning you came back home with the bitter taste you weren't allowing yourself to have more of him purely out of cowardice, that you should face it like an adult and allow yourself to be fully happy for once.
Then the world ended.
You had taken a trip with your son to visit your aunt Deanna miles away from where Daryl lived, the true love of your life, if you were honest enough to admit it. You were ready to be back and tell him how sorry you were that you didn't try harder, you didn't push more and you didn't face your folks for him. And then you grieved him again. So much harder this time. You spent two years believing Daryl Dixon was dead.
Alexandria smelled like fresh bread and woodsmoke the afternoon everything changed. The gates opened to receive Aaron back with another group of survivors. You'd grown fond of him in these years and he treated you and your son like his own family.
Aaron walks in first, dirt-streaked clothes and a tired look on his face. You were halfway through unloading crates with your son, he was talking about his last hunting trip when he suddenly froze mid-sentence beside you. Almost sixteen now, he towered over you already ā all broad shoulders and long limbs, his sharp blue-gray eyes mirroring his fatherās so painfully that sometimes you had to look away not to cry.
The abrupt tension that overtook him made you glance to where his eyes layed immediately. Then you understood why. It felt like a mirage. You had dreamed of this moment so many times before that your first instinct was to believe this was just another cruel fantasy made up by your brain, that it would disappear the second you blinked.
But it didn't. He didn't.
A group of strangers entered through the gates alongside him, people you had never seen before. They looked exhausted, starved, worn down by the world. And right in front on them, Daryl.
He stood only a few feet away near the gate. A crossbow hung oven one shoulder and he looked older now, older than you'd expect someone to age in two years. His hair was long, streaked faintly near the temples, his gaze was harsher and his face was scarred in ways visible even from a distance. Grief had settled like concrete into the lines of his face the way exhaustion settles into old soldiers.
But his eyes were exactly the same. And they locked onto you so intensely you felt it burn.
A woman with snow-white hair stood beside him saying something he clearly wasnāt listening to, because he had gone completely still. Completely, horrifyingly still.
For one suspended second, neither of you moved. The noise around you faded strangely, like the entire world had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale again.
The crate slipped from your hands and hit the pavement hard enough to crack open one corner, canned food spilling across the ground, but neither of you cared because Darylās expression had already begun collapsing into something raw and disbelieving and dangerously emotional. You watched his gaze move frantically over your face like he was trying to confirm you were real before running to your encounter, he hugged you tighter than he ever did "You're alive." he kept repeating hoarsely, over and over like he genuinely could not process it. āJesus Christ, youāre alive."
When he finally opened his eyes to look behind you, he shifted his gaze to your son. The boy stared back at him in stunned silence, every feature unmistakably Dixon beneath the years neither of them had shared together, and Daryl looked like someone had physically struck him across the chest.
The woman beside him glanced between all three of you once before realization visibly dawned across her face, then spread silently through the rest of the group nearby.
Daryl Dixon had a son, a nearly grown son. And somehow none of them had ever known. He'd mentioned having lost people, they all did, but nothing ever specific.
āHoly shit,ā a tall, muscular redhead muttered somewhere behind them, not even trying to lower his voice, and nobody corrected him.
Daryl broke from your hug, finally took one shaky step forward, then another.
His breathing looked uneven now, chest rising too sharply beneath the worn fabric of his vest, and you realized with sudden overwhelming clarity that this man had mourned you. Deeply mourned you. Somewhere out there in the brutality of the apocalypse, Daryl had believed you were dead all these years, and whatever walls he had built around himself afterward were cracking apart in real time right in front of everyone.
His voice broke the second he spoke your sonās name.
He blinked rapidly, clearly trying not to look emotional in front of an entire audience, but his composure failed almost instantly. āDad?ā
The sound that escaped Daryl after that barely qualified as human. He crossed the distance in seconds.
And when he wrapped his arms around his son for the first time in two years, holding him so tightly it looked almost desperate, the entire courtyard fell silent around them because nobody there had ever seen Daryl Dixon unravel before. Not with tears visibly gathering in his eyes while his son clung back just as fiercely, laughing shakily despite himself because he could barely breathe beneath the force of the embrace.
When they parted he held you again, afraid that if he let go maybe you'd vanish on thin air. And just like that, the pain of the years apart disappeared between you. There was no more space for it. You had spent years regretting letting him go after believing the two of you had been permanently separated forever.
Now, standing in his arms again, you could physically feel the love that had lingered there all this time. Quieter now. Older now. Reshaped by time and grief and survival. But still there.
Still stubborn as ever, and stronger than ever too.
I deadass think steve rogers ending was character assassination and conservative rhetoric (send the progressive man back to the decade epitomes with traditional values for a white picket fence life) but it was also just cruel to steve and bucky. āoh ur just mad ur ship didnāt go canonā no im mad the friendship that was the most important thing in both of their lives was tossed aside and the audience was gaslit into believing it didnāt matter despite three films proving otherwise. steve dropped the shield twice for bucky and would have died rather than live in a world where bucky didnāt remember him. bucky broke thru 70 years of brainwashing at the sound of steveās voice. their catchphrase was essentially ātil death do we partā. the fuck
i absolutely adore your writing btw keep up the amazing work š
Ā¹ā¹ā¾ hands kneading at sore muscles
a/n: pure hurt/comfort, sorry it is super late :D inspired by charlie busting his shoulder + matt icing his shoulder in the latest ddba ep. hope u feel better and better kings
pain, when pushed past the limit, must burn like a fever. you've just been pulled from sleep by what seems to be the sounds of pained exhalations next to you. it breaks your heart to hear his breathing short out like this, seemingly trying to keep from making too much noise. so as not to wake you, you suppose.
"okay, matt?"
"m'fine," he grits. you can barely see him in the dark. he's sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back turned to you, hunched over as he rubs his shoulder. "go back to sleepā ah."
the sound escapes him before he can bite it back.
"hey." you sit up, the duvet falling to your waist. "what's going on?" reaching out, you find that he's burning up. this in itself is nothing new. for whatever guilt or determination matt has in him, the human body's limited only to physics, after all.
he flinches, leaning away from your touch before sighing and leaning back into it, defeated. "it's just stiff. that's all."
"this keeps happening, matt." you move your hand down and hover over his shoulder without touching yet. maybe it's just your imagination, but you can almost feel the heat radiating from the inflamed joint. "maybe you need to take it easier."
matt only barks a laugh at that. "you don't know what you're talking about."
"okay, jesus," you mutter, pulling your hand back as if burned.
"what?"
"just trying to help. not like you're getting any younger."
he shakes his head dismissively. it's a chastising motion that used to make you feel stupid, but you're used to it by now - loving a hurt man always hurts you a little too, in the process. maybe even makes you equally hostile, though you hate it.
you move to swing your legs out of bed to give him space, but before you can, he reaches back and catches your wrist. his grip's loose. weak, even.
"i'm sorry," matt says. he exhales shakily, dropping his head. "it just... it- it fucking hurts."
his voice cracks on that last word and you feel the anger drain out of you instantly. it'll be one of your fatal flaws, you're sure: you can never hold a grudge when it comes to matt murdock.
"hey. i know, i know," you say softly. you shift closer and kneel on the mattress behind him. "so let me, okay?"
your hands settle on the bunched-tight muscle of his shoulder. it's rock-hard and knotted beneath the skin, so you start gently, testing the waters and pressing your thumbs into it gingerly.
he groans and leans back to give you better access.
so you apply more pressure, fingers digging and kneading at it firmly. it's intimate work, feeling the way his body fights you, the sore muscles resisting before they finally begin to loosen under your persistence.
"you're too hard on yourself," you say.
you keep going until the feverish tension in his frame starts to ease up. his breathing slows down from ragged gasps, and you can't believe you were so quick to irritation earlier. really, it's not rotten work at all.
a/n: having chronic pain, and even taking care of someone who has chronic pain, takes a great deal of effort and love :)
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
