ddixonsangel

[ddixonsangel]

happy daddy’s day to joel<3, the owner of the dad pose, the owner of the dad jokes, the owner of my fantasies, the owner of my pussy too

[ddixonsangel]

Daryl prison era has me in a chokehold

[ddixonsangel]

HELLO?! I ALMOST HAD A MINI HEART ATTACK BECAUSE I THOUGHT MY DRAFT OF THE NSFW ALPHABET I'M WRITING ABOUT DARYL HAD BEEN DELETED

i almost cried.

It turned out that it had been published by mistake. 🥰

Well, anyway, I'm writing it a bit too long and it worries me😭 I'm not sure an NSFW alphabet should be so... I don't know, long and descriptive? It's just... I DON'T KNOW, I GOT INSPIRATION AND SUDDENLY I MADE LIKE 6 PARAGRAPHS OF THE B=BODY PART 😭 helpmeplease

I think it's a sign for me to go to sleep. It's quite late now.

[ddixonsangel]

UMM... HELLO? THE END? I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT 😩😩😩😩😩 i have it so bad for this man

━━━━━ ✧˖° 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

warnings: mentions of a possible abusive relationship, mentions of sexual situations, hints of past drug use, implied age difference, very feminine! reader

word count: ~2k

shane doesn’t deserve you.

you love shane. 

well, you did. do? you’re not sure. as much as you obsess over your feelings for him, there isn’t enough time to actually come up with an answer. every single day is all about survival - what to eat, how to stay away from walkers, where the group is going to sleep. 

it’s exhausting, but the fact that you even have these questions about shane shows you how lucky you are. your grandmother used to say that problems meant you were privileged, although these days, you’re not so sure about that. 

because right now, your socks are wet, your favorite sweater has a stain on it, you’re more hungry than you’ve been in weeks, and you can’t even properly unpack what little belongings you have in your tent because the entire group will likely not be staying at the greene farm for much longer. 

fuck your fucking life. 

you just want to cry. the day has hardly started, and you literally just want to die. you’re not suicidal, just overwhelmed, and the shit going on between you and shane is not making your life any easier. maybe that's a good enough reason to end things with him altogether. 

you tried to talk to lori about it, but she acted all weird. told you to stay far away from shane, but her tone was hard to read and - whatever. you tried to talk to maggie about it, and she’s nice, friendly. but her advice was just to never speak to him again. unlikely. 

beth is too young to know anything about men, and glenn practically ran away from you when you tried to open up. carol’s too passive to tell you what she really thinks, and andrea and everyone else has the same opinion - leave shane alone. it’s so fucked up, because part of the problem is that he can’t leave you alone. asshole. 

stupididly sexy, tough, strong, good at kissing, good at fucking - ugh, shane really is an asshole. 

you fell in love with shane so fast. you’d had plenty of boyfriends back before the world went to shit, but they were nothing like shane. you don’t know much about the way shane was before all of this, but you do know that he likes to get his hands dirty. likes to be in charge. wants to be in charge, and truth be told, he has the potential to be a good leader…

so long as rick isn’t around. 

shane was such an amazing leader before rick joined the camp. really - he provided and organized and was so trustworthy, you’re pretty sure you blew him everyday to thank him for all the shit he did for the group. for you. 

from the minute the rest of the group found you, shane took you under his wing. you’d been in college when this all went down, so you were nowhere near your family. when the walkers started popping up on your campus, you fled with some friends, but most of them died along the way. when the group found you, you were all alone on the highway. starving. nearly dead. wishing to just die. 

but everyone was so kind, especially shane. so strong, the way he picked you up and brought you to a camper to let you rest up while a few of the others watched over you. you don’t remember it because you were so out of it when they found you, but you remember how it felt to be in his arms. he was so nice, when he gave you food and let you sleep in his tent because you didn’t have one of your own yet. so safe, when you eventually found your way into his arms in that tent. 

and then, as it goes - he eventually found his way into you. which you wanted. god, you wanted it, from the moment you saw him on that highway with biceps so big they looked larger than your head.

and, okay - you can’t say that you hate his macho, mood swinging attitude. it’s sexy. at times. it’s dangerous. and you love when he loses his shit and he takes it out on you. drags you into the woods, or offers to carry you on his back. fucks you while holding you up against a tree, or pushes you down to the itchy grass of the ground and pounds you until your throw your head back and your ears ring.

you love shane. loved? but ever since rick came back and the group made it to the farm, he’s different. 

“fuck you snifflin’ for? not even lunchtime yet. what the hell d’ya have to be upset about this early?” the comment takes you out of your thoughts, and you stop picking at a loose thread on your pink, fucking wet sock. 

you know who it is. it’s daryl. he’s always giving you a hard time - at least in comparison to the way everyone else in the group treats you. everyone else treats you like something fragile, while daryl, and okay, shane, treat you like they’re not afraid you’re going to break. or maybe they just don’t care.

“i’m upset because i hate my fucking life. what, do you like living like this? is there anything to smile about?” you’ve know daryl for awhile now, and this banter is just what you two do. he scoffs at what you say, and he busies himself behind you but you refuse to look and see what he’s doing. you’re that stubborn. 

“sounds like you should just die, then. you want me to shoot you right here?” you cannot believe he just said that, and you can’t control it now. you’re sitting in the middle of the camp on a plastic chair that maggie dragged out for the group a few days ago, surrounded by tents and the cars and the camper. you’re sweaty and hot and miserable with a wet sock from stepping in the wrong place when trying to avoid a pile of mud (you’ve got sensory issues, okay) - and now daryl is offering to kill you? 

you know he’s got dark humor, but you can’t help it today. you’re sensitive. shane woke up in an amazing mood - kissed you and fucked you, muttered the three words you’d been waiting to hear from him into your ear while he came inside of you, and he promised he’d just fucking listen to rick today. to hershel. he promised. 

but then, at breakfast, he got into it with rick. you love shane, but surely he can see that rick is better equipped to be the leader of the group? he’s got his family to think about, and hershel actually respects him. 

but no - shane couldn’t handle it. he got angry, yelled at rick and shoved at him, then fucked off in a car with andrea all the while you ate a bruised apple and felt his cum leaking out of you. everyone looked at you - but you’re not sure what emotion was on their face. pity? or even worse, do they think you could ever possibly even try control shane? 

yeah, right. 

and then you stepped in a fucking puddle. god, you just want to sleep forever. 

“daryl,” you finally say, turning to glare at him while he rummages around in the basket of fruit that beth brought over this morning. so that’s what he was doing. “fuck you.” 

daryl grabs a peach out of the basket. it looks like he wants to say something with the way his lip twitches, but he’s unsure - ultimately though, he speaks. 

fucking dick. 

“try talkin’ like that to that boyfriend of yours. he’s fuckin’ crazy, you know that, don’t ya?” 

you want to snap something back, but you literally can’t think that quick. you’re so fucking embarassed at the fact that other people have witnessed the fights you and shane get in. well, the fights shane starts that you just try to ignore, but it’s getting increasingly harder because he’s getting increasingly more mean. 

your face heats. you know what daryl is implying. if you can be bitchy to him, why can’t you give shane a hard time when he fucks with you in front of the entire group? 

“stay out of this, sweetheart,” shane will say, whenever you give an opinion or share an idea with the group. “lucky you’re so pretty, you know,” he said the other day, when you tripped over a big branch while on a walk. you two weren’t alone. “not much goin’ on in that head of yours. helps to be pretty.” and the list goes on and on. shane always has a backhanded comment, or a rough hand pulling you or pushing you somewhere. it’s mortifying, but with so much else going on, it’s easy to push the urgency of those things away. 

because shane takes care of you. and he loves you, right? he said it today. that’s got to count for something. 

great. you’re crying. maybe shane was right when he called you immature the other day, for reasons you don’t even remember. maybe you’re so immature, you still love this man when you should hate him. maybe -  

“oh, shit. yer cryin’? damnit,” daryl mutters, and you hear him say something about how he doesn’t have time for this, but truth be told, all there is these days is time. too much of it. not enough of it. you don’t even have a fucking clock, so. 

you hate your life. 

“‘m not crying because of you, meanie,” you say, wiping the tears spilling from your eyes. you’re glad shane is gone and that everyone else fucked off too. you’re not upset that shane didn’t take you with him, even if he was being a nightmare -

except you are.

as usual, daryl did his own thing and you hid in your tent to avoid doing anything, and now you don’t know where anyone is and you can’t find carol to see if she can get the stain out of your sweater, and why does life suck so bad? 

daryl hesitates but sits down next to you. on the ground. “should probably shut up,” he says, with kindness evident in his tone. you almost laugh, but you don’t. daryl continues. 

“cheer up. you wanna go for a walk or somethin’? should be pretty safe if we stay where the trees aren’t so dense,” you’re hardly listening to what daryl is saying, because all you hear is shane’s voice in your head telling you that you’re not allowed to leave the camp or the farm unless he’s with you. 

he said that when you were going to join rick and andrea one day, and you wondered if it was a little controlling but you brushed it off and just assumed it was because he was worried about you. which is valid. he loves you (he says), and you don’t make it easy on yourself with the way you present. 

pink socks and lilac sneakers and a sweatshirt with a picture of a bunny on it. a cashmere sweater that you can’t even think about parting with. clips in your hair and stained cheeks and lips that you’re only able to have because you found some berries. you’re reminded that when shane tried to kiss the berry taste off your lips, talked about how fuckin’ cute you are, that daryl and rick walked by and got mad at you for wasting food. some fucking life. 

you answer daryl. “i can’t,” you go to make an excuse, but daryl scoffs like he’s disgusted. 

“yeah, yeah. ‘cause of your fuckin’ old man,” but you cut him off and wrinkle your nose. it’s gross to hear daryl talk about shane like that. your old man. 

yuck. 

“he’s not,” but daryl cuts you off again. it’s comforting, in a way. you don’t know what is, just - something about daryl dixon is like a heavy dose of xanax for your soul. 

which is what you need by now, truth be told. you sigh. 

“he’s too old for you. fuckin’ crazy bastard. yer too young, too sensitive,” but this time, you get angry. you shake your head. 

“does anybody ever have anything nice to say about me? too this, too that. i’m so fucking sick of -”

daryl stands. 

“too cute. too pretty, ya brat. jesus,” he grumbles. you sit in silence for a moment, trying not to let out another laugh when daryl finally bites into his peach and starts slurping it for some dramatic reason. it’s funny. daryl’s so….daryl. but you’re still trying to recover from his compliments. 

a few moments later, shane’s car pulls up. with that bitch andrea right next to him, grinning? you tense up, and when shane gets out of the car, daryl says one more thing before standing up and walking off. 

“don’t owe him shit, you know,” he says. “he wasn’t the one that carried you that day we found you that day on the highway, anyway.“

you think about what it’d taste like to kiss daryl with peace juice on his lips.

[ddixonsangel]

no comment…

[ddixonsangel]

I am not a "content creator" I am a writer and artist. I do not make the works that an audience demands, or that I think will be popular. I make the works that I'm passionate about, when I'm passionate about them.

[ddixonsangel]

[ddixonsangel]

daryl is a pleaser. that man doesn’t care about getting himself off as much as he does getting you off. he loves watching you writhe beneath him, the way your body contorts and spasms and shakes as he makes you come undone. he could watch it forever. the way your eyes roll into the back of your head sometimes, and your head lulls back. how you tighten around his fingers or his cock, whichever the mood is for the night. or even when he’s just eating you out. god, he can’t get enough of how good you taste, wanting to lap up every single drop. all he wants is to make you feel good and he’d it forever if he could ᡣ𐭩

[ddixonsangel]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒍 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When you're alone, Daryl loves picking you up for absolutely no reason. He’ll throw you over his shoulder without saying a word. It pleases him knowing he can pick you up without breaking a sweat. 

When Daryl first finds out you're pregnant, it scares him A LOT. It will take him a while to gather his thoughts, because he has never had a good role model. The only thing going through his mind is all the mistakes he’s going to make. You reassure him that you see how he connects with the others. That he is a caring and loyal person.

Once the fear clears from his body, he becomes obsessed with the idea of you carrying his child. Before your bump is even visible, he’s holding you by the stomach. He’ll come up behind you and start rubbing your belly, reminding you of how beautiful you are. 

Daryl knows you're capable of taking care of yourself, even while pregnant. But he can’t help but make your life as easy as possible. He’ll walk with you to work and help you complete your tasks, even after being tired of doing his. Daryl begins to go on runs a little less often because he wants to be near you and the baby more. He loves taking care of you so much.

As your body begins to change due to you growing a whole new person, you can’t help but feel a little insecure. Staring in the mirror every night since you’ve noticed the first changes. Stretch marks are beginning to form around your stomach, your chest becomes heavier, and the fatigue that wears you down after a long day. You miss your old body. Daryl is there, telling you how ridiculous you sound. Telling you that it's normal for your body to go through this. His in your corner, cheering you on, telling you how sexy you are to him. Nothing's more beautiful than you creating his child.

Since you don’t have a pregnancy pillow, Daryl holds your stomach while you sleep. It doesn’t even bother him, all he wants is for you to be comfortable. This late into the pregnancy, he can feel the baby react to his touch. 

Worry-free creampies ꨄ︎

Sometimes his mind can’t help but wander, Pregnancy is incredibly risky during an apocalypse. Though you’ve talked about the risks, you still decided that you wanted this baby. It's not impossible, just difficult. Even understanding all this, he can’t bear the thought of losing you. Which is why he wants this pregnancy to be as easy as possible for you. 

Lying in bed together, Daryl talks to the baby about his day. It's the most he says all day. Pregnancy is almost coming to an end, the baby jumps, everytime they hear their father's voice. Daryl lies between your legs, planting kisses along your stomach. You don’t know if it's because you're hormonal or straight up dramatic, but every time he says, “I can’t want to meet you,” it makes you want to cry.

[ddixonsangel]

twd s2 aesthetic..

[ddixonsangel]

daryl and his crybaby girlfriend that bites her lip to stop from weeping so often that he clicks his tongue, shakes his head and tuts “uh uh” to stop her from bawling “can’ cuddle ya right now sweetheart, c’mon, shape up”

[ddixonsangel]

😩

omnomnomnom

[ddixonsangel]

⟢ just thinking about how fucking desperate needy!daryl would be for you.

he’d be a total wreck — sweaty, breathless, already whining before he even got his pants down. his cock, flushed an angry red, would be leaking precum like a damn faucet, his slit glistening, pulsing, begging for a touch that wasn’t his own. his hand would wrap around himself in a tight, punishing grip, pumping with fast, frantic strokes, but nothing he did would ever match the heat of your skin, the softness of your thighs, the sweet little sighs you’d make. he hasn't had the opportunity to taste your delicious body, but he's damn sure it would feel like heaven on earth.

his breath would hitch, stuttered gasps falling from parted lips as his hips bucked into his fist like an animal in rut. his balls ached, heavy and tight, and every nerve in his body screamed for release, but it still wasn’t enough. not without you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” he'd mumble, voice hoarse and ruined. forehead pressed to the mattress as he fucked his own hand like it could somehow feel like your tight warmth.

you were all he could think about — the way you said his name, slow and syrupy like it tasted good on your tongue. those little sundresses you wore around the porch, your thighs peeking out just enough to make his stomach twist. your damn smile, the way it lit him up like he was worth a damn. like he wasn’t just some broken, redneck man jerking off alone in the dark.

god, you had no clue the chokehold you had on him. no clue how he’d gone back home after passing you in the street, cock already half-hard from the sound of your laugh alone. like some needy, shame-ridden teenage boy who couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl next door.

his strokes would get faster, rougher, as shame curdled low in his belly — but it didn’t stop him. he couldn’t stop. he wanted to drown in the filth, to let your name fall from his lips as he came like a fucking mess.

and when it hit — god, it hit hard. his body jerked as thick, hot ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles, his thighs, dripping down his wrist while he moaned your name like a damn prayer. he didn’t stop. couldn’t. even as he whimpered from overstimulation, hips jerking, cock sensitive and twitching in his sticky grip — he kept going, like he was trying to squeeze the last drop of you out of his ruined body.

only when his head finally dropped back to the pillow, chest heaving, did the guilt hit — but even then, all he could do was imagine what your cunt would feel like if you ever let him fuck you for real.

✧ a/n: writing this before going to bed. good night everyone, love y'all. ᡣ𐭩

[ddixonsangel]

this made me so happy 😭 ("why does Daryl have to be so cute?")

thinking about alexandria era!daryl giving you your own walkie and finding a line that seems to always be empty so you two can talk privately even while he’s away

you tried not to use the walkie at first, not wanting to bother him or possibly get him in trouble, settling on answering only when he talked first, when he called your name so sweetly because he was missing you as much as you were missing him

but today you're feeling so sad, you got out of bed to help out and had to go back after barely a few hours because you just couldn't keep smiling at people and pretending like helping them wasn't making you tired and miserable, and the first thing you look at after getting back home and straight into bed is the walkie on your nightstand

you roll away, keeping it out of your sight, deciding to just sleep through the sadness or wait until daryl talks to you first (you're really hoping he does. he always seems to know when you need him to talk to you), but hours pass by, sleep is evading you, and the room is as silent as it is anytime he’s away, so you decide to be needy for once and grab the walkie. you feel silly, like suddenly someone else is going to be on the other end and they're going to laugh at you, but you really need him, and you really want to hear his voice

'daryl?' no response. you wait a few seconds, and then another few, and you're about to put it down (and cry) when you finally hear him

'doll? everythin' okay?' he sounds out of breath, as tired as he is concerned, and it makes you feel even worse to worry him while he's out, possibly risking his life for you and everyone

'uh, yeah, 'course. just wanted to see how you were doing and how long until you get back' he doesn't believe you, you know that much, but all he does is mumble something about not being gone for much longer and needing to get back to work, so you tell him to be safe and put the walkie down, not really all that satisfied with the conversation but not wanting to be even more of a bother

on the other side of the line, daryl’s walkie is still in his hand, and it takes him approximately three seconds to decide that he needs to get back to you, movements hurriedly as he starts putting his stuff back on his backpack, a freshly caught rabbit hanging off one of the straps as he hops on his bike

the ride to this part of the woods from alexandria had taken him almost four hours. he’s back home in two and a half, backpack on the floor and you in his arms the second he steps inside your bedroom

[ddixonsangel]

The cave-in had sent a cascade of silt and sand down over the two of you. Your flashlight and the torch Daryl had lit for the journey through the tunnel were both lost somewhere in the pitch blackness around you, possibly buried under layers of soil.

You tried not to panic. After all, you weren't buried. Things could be worse. You were sprawled out on your stomach and you wouldn't have known which way was up if gravity wasn't holding you down. The darkness was that complete. You coughed and spit, feeling grit between your teeth. "Daryl?!" you called out, panic seizing you again. You thought your could hear movement up ahead somewhere in the darkness. "Daryl?! Are you alright?!" you yelled again.

"Y—yeah," he barked back, his mouth dry with dust. He dug his fingers into the loose silt around him and pulled himself along on his stomach, trying to get out of the deeper pile of soil that had covered his legs. "Are ya hurt?" he called out desperately.

"N-no!" you answered. "Just—a little disoriented." You got onto your hands and knees and then tried to stand but— "Ouch!" Your head connected with a wooden strut overhead. You swore under your breath. You crawled forward, feeling the side of the tunnel with an outstretched palm. "I've got bad news," you announced. "The ceiling is sinking. We need to get out of here before the whole thing comes down..."

"Come towards me. I think the way out is still open over here," he drawled. "Can ya follow my voice?" Daryl pulled himself onto his own knees and sat back on his heels, absently brushing waves of soil and sand from his clothes.

"Yeah. Just keep talking," you said with a wry laugh. You made your way forward. It was unnerving moving around in the nothingness.

"C'mon. This way," he said, holding a hand out in front of him, hoping it'd connect with you any moment. He could hear you shuffling along.

"I—I don't like this," you admitted with a shake in your voice.

"I know. But we're almost out. Just keep on comin' toward me. Yer almost here."

You focused on his sweet southern drawl. Your own breathing was loud in your ears, ragged.

"Righ' here. Almost, Y/N. C'mon. S'alrigh'..."

You let out a small gasp as your extended hand nudged something in the darkness. Then you quickly realized it was Daryl's hand, held out in front of him two. You slid your touch over his fingers and across the back of his hand, up onto his forearm, hobbling along on your knees still. Your heart was pounding, but the panic subsided somewhat now that you had found each other again. "Oh, thank God," you breathed, stopping but not lifting your hand from his bare arm. His skin was caked with sand and silt.

But then Daryl was moving in toward you and his arm looped around your waist and settled on the small of your back. Although you obviously still couldn't see each other, you could sense now that your bodies were a mere 6 inches apart and it would have been so even if he hadn't been holding you the way he was. It was amazing how keenly and sharply your other senses rose when your sight was no longer useful.

His voice was trembling slightly when he spoke, and his tongue felt suddenly thick in his mouth (nothing to do with the dirt and dust). "Are ya okay?" he asked in a low voice.

At first you only nodded, than remembering yourself, you managed to stutter out a "Y-yes."

Daryl let out a sigh of relief. "We're gonna be fine. Just hold my hand and don't let go, alrigh'?" His fingers traced down your arm, over the narrowness of your wrist, and then gripped your hand securely.

You didn't let go, not even when the two of you burst out into the sunlight again. And Daryl didn't let go of your hand either. Not until he pulled you into him again and hugged you tightly, tucking you against him, his fingers daring to barely tangle into your hair. He breathed in your smell, noting how it was heavily masked by the scent of earth. "Jesus—that scared the shit outta me," he finally admitted. "Thought we weren't gonna find each other in there again." "Me too," you managed, relishing the feeling of his hands moving to your waist. Your heart was fluttering in your chest. Daryl had never held you quite like that, like this. It almost made the cave-in worth it. Prompt: Types of touch, from @creativepromptsforwriting's list, #28 Feeling for each other in the dark

[ddixonsangel]

Oh merle if only u were still alive and just a little less of an asshole

[ddixonsangel]

this definitely represents me

gif not mine

Y/N: Daryl, can I talk to you for a minute?

Daryl, working on his bike: M’all ears.

Y/N: And a good chunk of biceps.

Daryl, blinking: …

Daryl, clearing his throat: What’d ya wanna talk about?

Y/N, still staring at his arms: I can’t remember.