#daryl dixon x ftm reader

[dixonsemoboy]

"not all men" yeah daryl dixon would NEVER

#my baby #daryl dixon #norman reedus #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x male reader #daryl dixon x ftm reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon twd #dixonsemoboy

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

Daryl Dixon comforting his dysphoric trans bf by calling him “my man” gives me butterflies istfg 🦋

#x male reader #daryl dixon x male reader #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon #daryl Dixon x ftm reader

[dantesunbreaker]

Why Do You Lie? Ch. 3/3

Daryl Dixon x Transmasculine Reader

I have this posted on Ao3, but I like having my work cross posted. This has some pretty heavy themes so be warned. I kind of hate this chapter. It was rushed and I wasn't motivated. Some traumatic stuff happened during the writing of it so I went a month without working on it. So apologizes if it doesn't live up to the rest of the story.

Trigger Warnings: Attempted Suicide, Mention of Transphobia, Mentions of Drug Overdose, Self Harm, Mental Illness

Stunned sums up about all that Daryl can feel in the moment as he staggers backwards when you barrel past him into the cell block. Shit. Of all the things, making you cry was the last thing that Daryl wants to be responsible for. Just.. he always struggled with this kind of thing. Relationships. Emotions. Anything of the like was almost like a foreign concept to him, something that would just make his head spin when he tried to wrap his mind around it. Not that he didn’t want those things. He really did. Especially with you. But it is far easier to fall back on old ways than to adapt to change. Kind of like the saying you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Daryl sometimes sure felt like an old dog.

With a heavy sigh, the archer crouches down to examine the bottles spilling out from your discarded messenger bag. Taking the time to actually read the label, Daryl finds himself still at a loss for what it could possibly be. It’s baffling. Merle was notorious for his experimenting with drug use. If you could get high from it, you can bet your ass that Merle had tried it at least once. So why didn’t Daryl recognize this one?

Lifting your bag, Daryl stuffs all the bottles back into your bag and sets his way towards the one person he trusted to know the answers to what it was and why you were after it. Hershel. Probably the only other person at the prison you readily would confide in. With such a calm, gentle soul, the old man could put anyone at ease. Daryl finds him in the infirmary, book in hand as he peacefully reads to pass the time.

“Hey,” Daryl breaks the silence as he steps into the room, setting your bag down on the table but choosing to remain standing opposite Hershel. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

Giving a content hum, Hershel snaps the book shut and sets it down on the table as he turns to give the archer his undivided attention.

“Certainly. How can I be of service today?”

In one swift motion a single bottle is pulled from your bag and placed onto the table directly in front of Hershel with the label facing him. A word hasn’t even left Daryl’s lips before the older man is plucking the bottle off the table and turning it over in his hands.

“Hopin’ ya might be able to tell me whatever this is used for,” Daryl explains as he shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, a small pit of dread forming in his gut.

“Propranolol. It’s a beta blocker, which means it blocks the effects of epinephrine. Adrenaline. Commonly you will see it used to treat heart conditions or high blood pressure, but in some cases it may also be used in treating the physical effects of anxiety,” the bottle is once more set on the table between them. “Not something on our usual lists of medicines. Who did we pick this up for?”

That small feeling of dread forming in Daryl’s gut is suddenly a dense heavy weight that makes him feel he might drop to the floor. Of course. With all the time spent watching over you or spent with you, he knew you to be a highly anxious individual. The hunter in him often thought of you as a skittish buck, always moments from freezing in the metaphorical headlights or bolting for the trees. Things as simple as a wrong word said in conversation could stall you up, with only Daryl’s hand resting on your shoulder seeming to pull you back to reality. But somehow Daryl never put much thought to your behavior. With the way Daryl felt towards you, it was hard not to think everything about you was normal and perfect.

“Y/N,” Daryl finally manages to get his dry tongue into motion. “Had his whole bag stuffed with ‘em. Froze up and nearly got himself bit doin’ so. I uh... sorta got into it with him about. Twice. ”

“I suppose that’s why the boy seemed so distressed when I saw him run past?” The archer gives a short nod. “Well, you best go find him and not waste anymore time. Y/N is a very troubled young man. I fear that he may do something rash to himself if he hasn't already.”

Fear spikes at Daryl’s heart as he realizes the gravity of the situation. Heart thudding against the cage of his ribs, Daryl bolts towards the only way you could have gone. How could he have been so stupid? Hershel watches as the archer races away before he slowly stands to begin gathering supplies to prep the infirmary. If you were still alive, your best chance for survival was to be able to get the necessary medical help as soon as possible.

Reaching the cell block he had helped clean not too long ago, Daryl throws open the door and takes a cautious step through. Part of him expects, hopes, that you would pop your head out of one of the cells to greet him. But of course that isn’t the case. However, about halfway down the block the archer thinks he can see something scattered across the floor. Impending dread seeps further into his senses as he takes silent steps closer. Tiny blue pills pepper the ground in a sporadic pattern.

No! Rounding the corner into the cell, Daryl feels as if his heart stops dead in his chest at the sight of your crumpled form pressed back against the wall. Crimson pools on the ground just below you while a slow dribble continues from your left wrist. Dropping to his knees without grace, Daryl rips the bandana from his pocket. In most circumstances he would care more about the cleanliness of the scrap of fabric, but in his urgency he doesn’t bother checking. All that matters at the moment is getting something around your wrist to staunch the flow of blood. Tightly, perhaps too tight for your comfort, Daryl binds your injured wrist with his own trembling hands.

“Come on, Y/N,” Daryl’s words come out as a pained growl, fingers traveling up your neck in search of your pulse. A short lived wave of relief crashes over him when he feels the still steady beating of your heart. Having a pulse was good, but it didn’t guarantee that you were out of the woods.

Rough, calloused fingers brushing against your cheeks slowly coaxes you back to the realm of consciousness. Worried crystal blue eyes peer back into your eyes the moment you convince your eyelids to flutter open. Perhaps there is life after death. Why else would the man you’ve been secretly pining over for so long be kneeling in front of you? But then the pain returns and hits you like a sack of bricks. Of course, it would be far too good to be true to think you had made it to heaven. A swift and peaceful death would be too much to ask for.

“Daryl?” Your voice is thick as if from sleep, a dull ache beating at your throat.

“I’m here,” the archer shuffles closer, open palms moving to cup your cheeks as his thumbs stretch to the corners of your eyes as if it somehow would help keep them from closing again. “Stay with me, sunshine.”

There is a soft fluttering in your heart at the gentle tenderness the normally gruff archer seems to display in this moment of darkness. So unlike your previous interactions of the day. A sad smile paints your lips as you feel the need to rest once again pulling at your senses.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” you can’t keep back a half giggle half content sigh. “For what it’s worth... I love you. I care for you... Always have.”

With a trembling hand, you reach up with your blood stained appendage to stroke the archer’s cheek, leaving a trail of scarlet in its wake. For a moment you swear you can see unshed tears welling up behind those crystal blue orbs.

“I. Love. You,” you hope to drive the message home. If anything, Daryl needs to know that he is capable of being loved, that he is worth something.

When your eyes snap closed, the archer lets out an undisguisable sound of protest as he attempts to keep you from slipping away from him. Pulling you to him, Daryl presses you tight into his chest and holds you there for a tense moment. Then you are lifted up and cradled against his chest and supported by his arms. Carrying you back to the infirmary seems to take an eternity, though only because Daryl knows that your life's on the line. Sweat clings to the archer’s skin as he is finally easing your limp frame onto the bed Hershel already has prepared for you. Stricken with shock, the archer can do little more than stand beside the bed with a feeling of numbness as he finally pulls away from you. Only the nudge at his shoulder from Hershel breaks him from his stupor.

“Daryl. Daryl, I need you here with me son,” there is a sense of urgency in the older man’s voice, yet he manages to stay calm and collected. “Tell me how you found him.”

Spying the blood soaked bandana around your wrist, Hershel presses two fingers to your neck in search of your pulse. It is still there beating slow but steady. Now it is the matter of doing what he can to keep it that way.

“In one of the empty cell blocks,” Daryl is quick to answer, watching Hershel’s every move intently. “Bleedin’ from the wrist there,” he points to the fabric Hershel is slowly unwrapping. “Had little blue pills all over the floor around him. Managed to keep him awake for about a minute or two before he was like this.”

A sigh leaves Hershel. “Do you know how many he took?” Daryl responds with a shake of his head. “Let’s hope not enough. We don’t have anything on hand to treat a beta blocker overdose.”

Tense silence washes over the room as the archer begins to anxiously pace back and forth across the concrete floor. He hates this feeling. Like he is powerless, useless to do anything to help you. But he doesn’t know enough about medical shit to be of any help. He would just be in the way. So he just has to place all his trust in that Hershel will do his best for you.

“Y/N is a lucky young man,” Hershel hums as your wound is exposed to the world and wiped clean with a damp towel. “He hit a vein instead of an artery. Bleeds slower.” In fact, part of the wound is already beginning to clot and slow the flow of blood leaking out of you. “Appears he also managed to go without causing any severe nerve or tendon damage. Indeed a lucky man.”

Glancing over Hershel’s shoulder, the archer considers the wound, stunned to only see a wound no longer than an inch and a quarter. How could something so small have the potential to cause such damage? The time it took between Hershel tying off the few stitches and securing a fresh clean bandage around your wrist was miniscule.

“I’ve done what I can,” Hershel begins to clear away the supplies, cleaning up the impromptu workstation. “Physically, he will be alright,” the older man turns to fixate Daryl with a particular look. “Psychologically, he may still need some help. Y/N is going to need you, Daryl.”

Sucking in a much needed breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, Daryl gives a wordless yes as he fights the feeling of tears wanting to tickle at his eyes. As Hershel leaves the room Daryl continues to pace the floor for a few tense moments before he drops into a chair he pulls up alongside the bed.

It seems like hours that Daryl sits beside your bed, eventually reaching to pull your hand to rest in his lap. Eventually you begin to stir in the bed, making soft groaning noises as your face scrunches up in discomfort. Hopeful, the archer squeezes your hand ever so slightly in hopes to coax you further back to him. Blinking a few times you manage to return to the land of the living. Even the dull lighting of the prison hurts your eyes, but you focus on pushing past it.

“Hey,” is all you hear from your side as you finally take note of a firm hold on your hand.

Forcing your head to turn, you feel a pause in the beating of your heart as you see none other than Daryl gazing back at you with a look of pained fondness. Why was he here? Why was he looking at you that way? What happened? And then it all comes rushing back to you. The pills, the arguments, the blood...and Daryl finding you with tears hiding behind his eyes.

Before you can say anything, Daryl breaks the silence. “I’m sorry,” there is regret dripping from his voice as he stares back at you. “Hershel told me...about what the pills are for. I’m real sorry, I shouldn’t have been so hard on ya without knowin’... And I don’t expect ya to just forgive me. But I didn’t ever want to hurt you like this.”

“I forgive you,” you blurt out without a thought. It was never in question that you would forgive him, people make mistakes all the time without thinking about it. And, you knew that Daryl would truly want to cause anyone pain or distress on purpose. “Just...don’t do it again please?”

He nods simply. For a while, you think that is the end of the conversation. You glance down at the bandages wrapped tight around your wrist and can only assume Hershel took care of you. Despite the circumstances, you are grateful. Some things just happen for a reason. The world must still have some purpose for you.

“Look,” Daryl lets out a sigh after a long moment and turns his gaze to your hand still in his lap. “Ya know I’m not real good with this shit, but I’m tryin’. But...I like bein’ with you, caring for you. I’m a fool for not sayin’ nothin’ sooner.” There is a long pause of silence, you ever so patiently waiting for his next words with bated breath. “But, if you’ll have me...I’d like to be your fool.”

A new pain blooms in your heart, but not in an unwelcome way. Rather, you feel your very being ache in that moment for Daryl. But also for yourself. It is hard to fight against what you know and is your comfort, no matter how much you want what’s waiting just on the other side.

Sensing the archer’s growing unease at your lack of answer you finally part your lips. “I’d love nothing more, Daryl. I’ve sorta been hoping for a long time that you might feel that way,” feeling shy, you try to push away the heat rising up your cheeks.

Silence that is not quite comfortable, but not quite awkward fills the room as both of you look at anything around the room besides each other. It will be a while before there is a sort of comfortable ease in this newly formed relationship. Neither of you really knows how to do this, but you know that it is worth it as you feel Daryl gently squeeze your hand that still rests within his. Pink dusts his cheeks as he continues to look at the wall beside you, but there is an innocent smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

#daryl dixon x ftm reader #daryl dixon x trans reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #walking dead fanfiction

[d-dixonimagines]

any headcannons to daryl falling for a trans ftm (uses he/him pronouns) character? or any of the twd characters falling for a ftm character? ive just never seen any characters ftm representation (that i remember) and i wonder how they’d go about falling in love w him! <3

I haven't personally written any, I haven't ever gotten a request to write a Trans Reader. Daryl is my main focus, any other characters that are in them are usually "guest stars", and I do try to keep things gender neutral unless someone specifically askes for a female reader. I've never written a trans character in general and doing something for this, I would want it to be done properly. I've also never written Daryl paired specifically with another male because he's straight in the show (and I've also never gotten any requests to pair him romantically with another male). I have two ways that I could do this. One way would be to have the trans ftm character with someone else, like Jesus or just someone else and have it be in like a POV of Daryl seeing that relationship bloom, or I can attempt to write it where it is Daryl with the ftm character. Or I can link other writers on here who have written what you're looking for. I've found a few of them but none are headcannons and they're more on the spicy side or deal with intense trigger warnings. Representation is important to me and I want to be as inclusive as I can for all readers

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagines #the walking dead imagines #daryl dixon x ftm reader

[ghostboneswrites2]

Daryl Dixon x ftm reader, fluffy smut, I feel as if this has been done, but he helps reader take their t-shot cause of fear of needles

Anon, I apologize for how long it took to get to this and I apologize for the length (or lack there of). I can absolutely do a part two if that’s something anyone would like.

I had to write this one on my phone vs my usual laptop set up. Forgive the formatting.

Morning Sex and T-Shots

18+MDNI || Warnings: smut, needles

      Heavy breaths and the sound of skin slapping together filled the dim room. It was early morning, barely even daylight. You were both groggy, but what better substitute for coffee than an erotic pre workout? Gripping the sheets, clawing his back, his stubble scratching your neck as his lips graze it.

        “Mmmph.” He growled, picking up the pace as he grew closer to his climax. You came already — a few times — but you were quickly on your way to another bone-rattling orgasm. Your palm slapped onto his bicep, gripping tightly as his pelvis slammed into yours. “C’mon, baby boy.. one more for me.” 

        The words sent chills down your spine. Your back arched a little as a heat built up in your gut and exploded. You groaned deeply, body quaking as you rode the wave. He followed quickly after, collapsing on top of you. You chuckle and run your hands through his sweaty strings of hair, finger catching on knots as they combed through. 

        “You really need to brush your mop, dude.” You teased.

        “I brush it.” He defended. “Sometimes…”

        “You might consider making it a regular process. Like, once a day, at least.” 

        “Man, who the hell has time for that?” He scoffed, rolling to the side and falling on his back as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.

        “Like, literally everyone with long hair.” You smirked, running a hand through your hair. 

        “My hair ain’t long.” He insisted. 

        “Okay. Medium, then. Shoulder-length.” You rolled your eyes.

        “Whatever.” He grumbled, pushing himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He scanned the floor for his clothes. 

        “Ah, shit.” You sighed, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. 

        “Hm?” He hummed thoughtlessly, sliding his jeans over his thighs.

        “It’s time for my T.” You mumbled. You knew it was silly. You had been taking your T-shot for years now. Still, though, every time you knew you needed to take it, you’d get that familiar pit in your stomach. You hated needles. 

        “Again?” He asked.

        “Well, yeah. I have to take it regularly.” You chuckled at his cluelessness. 

        You crawled out of the bed and pulled your boxers on, dragging your feet as you approached the little drawer beside your bed where you kept your injections. As you readied your needle and swiped an alcohol pad over your thigh, Daryl hovered behind you. 

        You took a deep, shaky breath as you hovered the menacingly thin tip of the needle over your flesh.

        “Here.” He said softly, holding his hand out. You raised your eyebrows. He nodded down at your shot. Reluctantly, you handed it over. “Right there?” He asked as he held the needle where he thought your previously held it. You nodded. “Alright. Deep breath.” 

        You sucked in a breath so deep and full that you were sure your lungs would bust out of your rib age. By the time you deflated all the air out, he was wiping the area clean with a fresh alcohol pad. 

        “Wait — that was it?” You asked.

         “Mhm.” He passed you your pants. 

        “Wow.” You let out a sigh of relief. “I barely felt anything.”

        “Not so bad when ya ain’t lookin’.” He agreed. “I hated shots too. Always got real nervous when I had to get ‘em for school.” He admitted.

        “Yeah.” You chuckled. “Never was my favorite either.” 

        When you were both fully dressed, he pulled you close by your shoulder and planted a kiss on your forehead. “Meet ya by the wall. Got a run today.”

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #ftm reader

[darylsdelts]

do u think i could get more daryl x ftm reader smut ? it can be anythingg . also IM SORRY 4 ASKING AGAIN BUT I NEED 2 BE FED AND IM 2 LAZY 2 WRITE . love ur writing 💗

Darylxftm!reader

Mdni, 18+

Warnings: p in v, cream pie, anger, mentions of dysphoria, I think that’s all!

Daryl had a shit day.

He hates being new in Alexandria, he hates all the questions and especially hates all the damn questions from the women.

When carol had asked him to go to the pantry for her, he reluctantly obliged but he internally cursed Carol when he got there.

One of the women that wouldn’t leave him alone was in there.

“So… Daryl, right?” She asked, pretending she doesn’t know.

He grunts as a reply.

“Hm… well… you gotta job around here yet?” She bats her eyelids at him and Daryl visibly winces and looks away, god he hates this.

“Recruitin’”

She steps a little closer.

“Are you… with anyone? Yknow it gets a little lonely sometimes…”

He steps away, not answering her question, none of her business.

He was with someone, you, so eventually he nods, trying to quickly find what carol needed.

“Oh… you are? Who’s the lucky woman?”

Despite the fact Daryl had just told her he’s with someone, her advances didn’t stop, her fingertips grazing his leather vest.

Who’s the lucky woman… for Christ sake.

Daryl grabs her wrist and pushes her off but not too forcefully, knowing that she could turn it into a big thing, getting him kicked out.

He couldn’t get kicked out, needed to be with you, you’re his boy.

The woman hadn’t even considered that Daryl weren’t into women, but no one ever does. He’s not sure why, he supposes it’s either the way he presents himself or if people know about his background, they just assume.

They shouldn’t though, Daryl never assumes anything.

Eventually, Daryl found the damn chocolate for carol and bolted outta there.

Once he stormed into the house he shared with you and Carol, he slammed down the chocolate on the counter in front of Carol.

“What’s up with you?” Carol asks, surprised by he apparent anger.

He groans, “where’s y/n?”.

“Downstairs, in your room I’m pretty sure, you okay?”

“M’fine” he growls.

He turns to head downstairs before stopping, noticing that there were no dishes in the sink.

“S’he even been up ta eat sumthin’?”

Carol frowns as she thinks, “no, I don’t think he has”.

With that, Daryl makes heavy foot steps down the flight of stairs to his basement bedroom, trying to calm himself before entering.

Once he steps in, he sees you, sat on the edge of his bed in just your boxers and a baggy t shirt.

You can sense the frustration straight away.

“What happened?”, you ask gently.

He doesn’t answer yet, striding over to his work bench and shrugging his leather vest off to hang it on the back of the chair.

Then he turns to look at you, he’s got that dark look in his eye which can mean two things. He’s either pissed off… or horny.

Your eyes flit to his jeans and that’s when you notice the bulge at his crotch.

“Yknow what I can’t stand? Hm?”

Now is when you realise he is in fact, pissed off and horny, a combination that you quite like so you smirk a little but try to hide it.

Daryl steps closer so that he’s stood between your legs as he looks down at you.

“Hate when fuckers assume shit…”

He reaches down, hooking under your armpits and lifting you slightly so you’re in the centre of the mattress.

Stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes drag down your body, which is smaller than his.

“Did you assume I wouldn’t find out ya ain’t eaten today, y/n?”

His fingers pull at his belt, undoing it skilfully, eyes not leaving you.

“Told ya to eat sum’n by the time I got back didn’t I?”

He kneels on the bed, his body towering over yours as his hands come to your boxers shorts, tugging at them, pulling them down your thighs.

He pulls them off your ankles so he can spread your thighs apart, seeing how wet you are already when he hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Didn’t I?” He’s eyes move to yours, waiting for an answer.

Your cheeks redden a little at his attention, your thighs trying to close against his force.

“M’sorry, Daryl…”

He holds your thighs apart, “Mm, yer gon’ be, boy”.

Despite being dominant in this moment, Daryl really does treasure you like an angel, he wouldn’t want to force anything on you so he lessens his grip, realising that he’d let his pent up anger get the best of him so far. Despite knowing you quite enjoyed how he was acting, he never wanted to assume.

His hands move to your hips, slipping under your shirt to rub and your sides.

“Can I take this off ya, pretty boy?”.

He always made sure to ask this, every single time, knowing that sometimes you struggled with dysphoria and might be uncomfortable with taking your shirt off.

You nod.

“Need your words, baby boy”

“You can take it off…”

So then he slowly pull the t shirt up off your body, revealing your small chest, no binder.

He was so grateful that you felt comfortable with him like this.

He leans over you and starts peppering kisses across your collar bone and then down your chest to your stomach then he pulls away, taking in the view of your completely naked body, all for him.

He squeezes your hips one more time before undoing the button on his jeans and pulling them down, revealing his dark grey boxers, a small wet patch where his tip is.

He squeezes himself through his boxers gently, groaning.

Your eyes are fixed to his seven inch erection, willing it out of its confines.

Daryl chuckles as he unbuttons his blue striped long sleeve, letting it drop to the floor.

“Needy little thing, ain’t ya?”, he says cockily as you let out a soft whine.

He grabs your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed, then he drops to his knees, hissing your ass cheeks and inner thighs before pressing a single kiss to your swollen clit and he growls into your wet cunt.

You assume he’s going to use his mouth, but then you remember you really shouldn’t assume when he stands back up, pushing his boxers down, his heavy cock springing free.

You lift your head to look down your body, wanting to see every action.

Daryl grips his erection in one hand, tapping his leaking head twice against your throbbing clit, making you gasp.

“What do ya need, Hm?”

“You.” You reply quickly.

“Me?” He teases.

You buck your hips upward, searching for friction, “pleeeease, need you in me, Daryl, please” you whine out.

Daryl lines himself up with your entrance.

“That’s a good boy”

Then he pushes in fast, grunting at the tightness.

“Shit, y/n”

You wiggle you hips slightly, to adjust to his size.

He grips your hips tightly, “none of that, behave” he warned, knowing he won’t last long if you keep up your antics.

Then he pounds into you, roughly, seeking the release of his pent up frustrations from the day.

He leans over you, burying his face into your neck to nip at your flesh as he lets out small whimpers moans whilst you whine like a needy puppy, getting closer to your climax.

Daryl knows, so he moves one hand from your hip to press his thumb against your aching clit and massage circles into it.

“Want ya to cum for me, pretty boy, cmon..”

His words send you over the edge, squeezing your eyes shut and you grip his shoulders, your orgasm taking over your body as your small frame shakes beneath his large one.

The feeling of your inner walls clenching around him makes him gasp as he give a powerful thrust, his hips flush against your as he empties himself into you, you can feel the hot load fill you up.

He pants as he holds himself up on his elbows, his large hands cradling your head as he kisses your forehead.

“Did I hurt ya?” He looks at you with concerned eyes but you shake your head, he gives a relieved sigh.

He shifts his hips back, pulling out gently and then reaching for his boxers.

You frown a little, assuming he was going to give you cuddles like he usually would, but you should never assume.

“Cmon, get dressed… I’ll give ya all the cuddles after ya eat sumthin’, can’t have my boy wastin’ away now, can I?”

You smile a little, he’s so good at taking care of you in his own way.

Once you’re up and dressed, he pulls you into an embrace, holding your head to his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair.

“I love ya, y/n”.

You hum, contentedly, “I love you too…”

Please forgive me if this sucks!!

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl smut #norman reedus #twd smut #ftm #ftm!reader #ftm ns/fw

[redcoralpot]

Can you do Daryl finding out reader is trans? Early season 4, perhaps? :3

Attentu - Daryl Dixon x FTM Reader

Your wish is my command!!

Warnings: Gore, murder, violence, blood, cussing, mentions of transphobia and death, and addictions.

Word Count: 2.6K

You eagerly join in on the medical supply run, despite the group's awful luck. A confession from Bob has you feeling quite guilty about a personal matter...

-

It was dead.

You threw the car battery to the side, sick of the luck your supply group had. Daryl was on the other side of the room, shuffling through drawers in an attempt to obtain the right part. For an auto repair shop, it was horribly disorganized.

“Got anything?” you called over, impatient.

A grin took over your face as he tossed the find at you, catching it in a firm grip, “Nah.”

The car was not in terrible shape, not really. Some rust here and there, with paint scratched off from long road adventures before the outbreak. Your father had a similar car when you were just a child, and he was insistent that he passed on his knowledge, despite your mother’s constant objections. It was not fit for someone like you; that your hands should never be calloused from the tough ground nor covered in grease, she said. He always ended up laughing in her face.

So as he would have it, the two of you got in all sorts of trouble. Hijacking cars, picking locks, prying cabinets open with a pocket knife; all things he said would come in handy one day. Daryl seemed like he had the same type of upbringing, all rough and tumble, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him. That, or he was just really damn good with surviving.

Daryl’s footsteps creaked as he led the way out of the building, shining his flashlight on any possible threats around. Someone had to, as you weren’t keen to look after Bob found an old walker stuck under a desk, ending that misery. It was the only one left. One by one, you circled out of the building, with Bob’s silent trepidation behind you as you arrived back at the car. Daryl opened its hood again, and you both set to work.

His voice was muffled around his cigarette, “You never told us about the group you were with, before.”

You glanced up as Bob replied, “Which one?”

“You know,” he continued, when Daryl gave him a look, “when you found me out on that road, I almost kept walking.”

“Why’s that?’

“I was done being a witness. It happened two times, two different groups.”

…

“I was the last one standing, like God intended for me to see it over and over; a curse,” he shook his head, pursing his lips, “but, when it’s just you out there with the quiet, I used to drink a bottle of just 'bout anything just so I could sleep at night.”

“The run to the big spot, I only did it for me.”

You froze, a jug of clear liquid still in your hands. Daryl took it from you, completely unfazed, and managed to get a swig out of it.

He licked his lips, “You gotta keep busy somehow.”

“No, I did it so I could get me a bottle, a bottle of anything. That’s what got Zack killed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Daryl peered at him, “why don’t you get in there and try the engine? Should be the red and green wires, it ain’t rocket science.”

Even as Bob walked away, you stayed silent. Your fingers burned as you rigged the working car battery back in, but never as much as your thoughts. The other man nudged you, urging you to take your hands off as the engine roared in front of you. He clapped his hands and brought them up to his mouth; a sharp whistle rang through the air. Bob’s alcohol troubles seemed to be forgotten by Daryl, since he gave you a rusty smile while you slammed down the hood.

“Nobody coulda’ known, and you ain’t gonna be standing alone. Not anymore,” he reassured Bob.

You huffed, swinging a few plastic bags of gas in the back seats, ducking to join them. Tyreese and Michonne got the rest and the three of you squeezed together with the luggage, closing the door. With that, you left the burdensome place behind.

The ride to the college was short, but Bob still parked a little ways out, and the group set off to walk the rest of the distance. You passed most of the buildings on campus; dull brick that plants jumped at the opportunity to outgrow after a year of inactivity.

“Looks like the building we want is up ahead,” Tyreese stated.

For the first time since Bob’s confession, you spoke, “Are we splitting up? We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“Is that safe?” Michonne questioned, and Daryl eyed you.

“I know I can cover myself, if I end up alone.”

The brunette scoffed, and you shifted a glare at him, “You know I can, too. You’ve seen me.”

“I think,” Bob uttered, “it’s a good idea.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, I’ll shoot if I run into any trouble. Meet me back at the car.”

Outside of the Learning Resource Center, you split from the group, sneaking close to the ground. You heard the rest shuffle in the opposite direction with a soft “C’mon, c’mon.”, and let out a shaky breath. Two pairs, then three pairs of footsteps faded away.

The lights of the wing flickered and let out fading sparks as you padded along, dust pillowing up from wherever you stepped. God, the outbreak sure did a number on this place. Shadows grew as abundantly as the plants, but never dulled the smears of blood along the walls, floor, and shattered glass. It cracked and snapped under you, somewhere behind you, and you hissed as you looked at the walls alongside you. There were several doorways leading to different rooms, most likely supply closets or classrooms. Carefully, you dipped yourself into the nearest doorway, a heavy feeling on your back. Your heart pumped wildly in your chest and your stomach had a sick pit of anxiety as you thumbed through the biggest drawers. There were plenty of jars, containers, and vials, but none of them had what you needed. You read all the labels once, twice, the text in messy handwriting or tiny fonts.

Testosterone, in its liquid form made for injections, should be a clear liquid. You knew that much from what your provider told you, and from your own studies. Any colored liquids, or any with particles floating inside, you discarded from your search immediately. You were taking too long, you started to think, or were you? You didn’t know if you were gone for ten or if you have been here for thirty.

Once again, you slid back into the trashed hallway, trying to make your way towards the next doorway. The only things you could hear were your quick breaths and a creak, most likely from the forgotten building. A set pattern was in your mind as you dove into the room, and the haze of adrenaline made it hard to think. Walkers, as the prison liked to call them, were not your biggest concern. Even before the outbreak, it was dangerous for you to step outside; to live your life. If you passed by the wrong person, your face would be on the hot topic of the community for the week after. Getting caught was not an option.

You blinked, trying to clear the thumping in your ears. The vial’s label looked like a foreign language, though you knew it wasn’t, so you peered closer at it. A gust of hot air hit your neck, and again. Hot air. This place was cold.

Your fingers scrambled for the knife at your side, it was there, wasn’t it? You slashed before you could think. Hair scratched your fingers; your knife dug into a warm crevice. The hot air turned into a raw, groaning noise. The hot air stopped. 

You pushed the body to the ground and your blade was released. The blood trickled hot down your wrist. Instead of the red you expected, it was a sludgy, filthy brown. It dripped in slow droplets on the floor beside your shoes. This was the first opportunity to look at the thing, and what a sight it was.

The knife had caved in a part of its skull, which itself was like a rotten, stomped on pumpkin. It oozed and dripped the same muck over the tile, muddying the disfigured face underneath. It made Osbourne’s stage trick look like simple child’s play to anyone who witnessed the act. Its eyes were still open; bulging out in that manic, hungry way only a madman got before the outbreak. You looked away from the mess, your breakfast seizing in your throat, and you busied yourself with getting more testosterone vials in your bag. The most important thing was that it was not human, not anymore.

Stuffing your full hand in your bag, you made a beeline for the doorway.

You should have learned your lesson.

A weight tumbled over you and knocked you to the floor, breathless. It screeched, rabid, like some sort of fucked up dog. If a dog hadn’t eaten for a month, that is. It stunk, too. It stunk so bad that you thought you might die from suffocation first.

It clawed at you, gnashing its yellow teeth. Your hands were pinned underneath the mass and you heard your knife land across the floor with a clang. This was going to be it. The end. It’s funny, isn’t it? Dying searching for your lifeline. You almost giggled at the irony.

The teeth were close to your neck, aiming to kill. To eat until you were nothing but an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bones. You had to do something, and soon. The only part of your body you could move were your legs, and you tensed them up. You were going to survive this, you were going to get back to that car. 

Three.

You struggled to prop your shoulder up, knocking the danger away from your neck. Its eyes were bloodshot and cloudy. As empty as a corpse.

Two.

The walker got more desperate to bite you, wiggling around harshly on top of you. You tried your best to keep your face far away from its own, but it successfully nipped the edge of your nose. This was going to hurt.

One.

Its final noise was a gurgling one, close to your ear. The weight flopped to your right side, stilling its frugal attempt to destroy you.

“You got yourself covered, huh,” a voice remarked.

You wheezed, “Christ.”

“What were you doin’?”

“Shit.”

Daryl stepped over you, pulling his arrow out of the corpse, “I’m serious.”

You finally got your legs under you, and the first thing you did was back a good distance away from him. There was no getting out of this, you both knew that Daryl would know if you lied to him. Yet, he was one of the last people in the prison you felt comfortable telling. Daryl was a classic redneck, with a bigot older brother and a taste for mysteriousness. There was so much you didn’t know about him, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up like a wildfire. You would have much rather told Carol or even Michonne, if you had to choose. 

“You know what Bob said.”

“Yeah,” he stated, “but you ain’t an alcoholic. I know that much.”

“I’m not, but that wasn’t the point. I only came on this run for one thing, and it isn’t medicine. It’s testosterone.”

“Why do you need that? You’re strong enough without that steroid shit.”

“I don’t get as much as you do naturally.”

“So a medical condition?”

“Kind of.”

“Even if it was, that don’t explain why you had to sneak away from the group to get it. What’re you hiding?”

“I’m transgender, Daryl. I wasn’t born a boy like you,” you murmured.

There was a parade of footsteps down the hallway, and Tyreese burst through the door, the others close behind. He looked spooked, with sweat dripping down his disheveled face. Michonne and, speaking of the devil, Bob looked no better off.

He exclaimed, “Jesus, there you two are. We gotta go, now.”

“What, why?”

“Walkers. Tons of ‘em. Let’s go!”

You gladly took this chance, shoving past Daryl to dart out into the hallway with the others. Everyone else was rushing, but it was a minute before you also heard footsteps behind you. The infected corpses swarmed the building, even though it wasn’t like that before, and it made you wonder what the hell released them. Your group ran up the stairs with walkers not too far behind, and those trapped banged on whatever surface they could reach. 

“There was a ledge near the fire escape,” Michonne hissed, “we can go through there.”

No one responded unless a quick nod could be considered one, and you were off. Michonne went first, then Tyreese, you, and finally Daryl. Your legs were shaking, and you paid Bob a glance. He tensed up, seemingly trying to gauge the distance, before jumping. He was barely right, and landed a little too close to the edge, teetering off. His arms flailed and an army of bodies from below swarmed up to grab his heavy bag. You rushed to catch him, attempting to pull the man up, but he refused to let his backpack go. 

Finally, you ripped both the man and his bag away from the grasp of the walkers, panting, “What the fuck were you doing? What’s in that bag that could possibly be so important?”

“He’s right.” Daryl took the bag from Bob, zipping it open.

Bob rushed to stop him, but it was too late. Daryl dropped the backpack as quick as he picked it up, and he seized Bob by the collar.

“If I ever catch you puttin’ a bottle before a need, I’ll feed you to the walkers myself. You hear me?”

You froze as Daryl let the shorter man down, pushing him as he did so. Everyone else shot him a disappointed look or a glare, and Michonne waved her hand. You were all to keep moving; the run was over, and on an especially sour note.

The group arrived back to the prison safe and sound, the most daring of injuries being bruises, or small cuts. Tyreese and Michonne left to do their own activities, while Bob left to lick his wounds. This retired Daryl and yourself alone, to an awkward silence. With nothing else to do, you picked at a particularly nasty cut on your forearm. It was starting to look infected.

You cleared your throat, “Do you have anything left in your bag?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I use some?”

“Nah.” Daryl tossed you his bag.

Carefully, you peeked inside. There wasn’t much left, some disinfectant spray and vials of a clear liquid. No, that couldn’t be, could it?

Testosterone. At least three good vials of it.

You raised them up to your face, not believing your eyes, “Daryl, where the hell did you get these?”

“Grabbed them from that drawer you found the others in,” he refused to make eye contact, “after you left.”

“Why?”

“You might’ve needed more than you got.”

That… meant a lot to you. You had expected him to at the very least ignore you, or even worse, disgusted by you. What were the chances he would grab extras for you, just in case? Instead of yelling or hitting or kicking you out of his life, Daryl did that. If you were being honest, this was one of the weirdest coming out stories to date, but nothing can really beat zombies being included.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Nah. I’m a little confused, though.”

“On the topic?”

Daryl sighed, “Yeah. Wasn’t educated that much.”

“Well, if you want, I could help with that.”

Just for a second, he looked you in the eyes. In that moment, you didn’t see hate, anger, or anything negative. Only a sharp, beautiful glimpse of curiosity.

“Yeah.”

-

#x male reader #male reader #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon #gay #lgbtq #transgender #male y/n #michonne #tyreese #bob twd #coming out #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x male reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #trans ftm #ftm reader #trans male reader

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes Masterlist

Summary: Pheonyx Greene is the oldest of the Greene siblings. He’s always been different than the rest of his family; having endured abuse from his biological father as a kid and growing up as bisexual/transgender in conservative rural Georgia. He finds himself on the family farm recovering from top surgery when the world falls apart. As the dead begin to rise, Pheonyx finds himself becoming the sole protector of the farm as his family lives in denial about the Shadows of loved ones past. His life is changed the day Rick Grimes shows up on the farm, and shortly after a certain gruff archer as well. Daryl is drawn to younger man but how does he deal with the internal prejudices he’s grown up with?

Series CW/TW: Homophobia/transphobia/biphobia, zenophobia/racism/sexism(Merle), age gap romance(11yr difference. Pheonyx is 28, Daryl is 39 ), sexual assault/rape, child molestation, canon character deaths, body mutilation, child abuse, torture, hunting, smut 18+( P in V, unprotected sex(please practice safe sex!), creampie, breeding kink, rough sex, marking/biting, oral sex, sub/dom undertones), animal deaths(NOT KISMET), scars, blood, corpses, depression/anxiety, body dysphoria, religious trauma, menstruation mentions

AO3 FF.net

Playlist (Songs that remind me of Pheonyx/the story, or just songs I listen to while writing in general)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

#twd daryl #daryl x oc #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x trans!reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon masterlist #daryl dixon x omc #daryl dixon x oc #daryl x ftm oc #daryl x male oc #daryl dixon x trans!oc

[kurtz-ghotz]

I'd really like to start writing stories for all the none fem presenting folks on this app. So if anyone would like to request anything, I'll try my best to write it, and to make it seem like you are in that place. :) I will even try to do some fem presenting stories too. I hope I can get some requests, they won't be the best but I will mostly definitely try! :))

#daryl dixon x male reader #the walking dead x male reader #the walking dead #male reader #gn reader #twd daryl #supernatural #non binary reader #ftm reader

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

I just watched power of the dog and I’ve got something for you to imagine.

Ranch owner daryl Dixon x young ranch hand y/n

The aesthetic of the film was absolutely phenomenal as well as the entire film

#x male reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #twd daryl x male reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x ftm reader #daryl dixon x you

[dantesunbreaker]

Why Do You Lie? Ch. 2/3

Daryl Dixon x Transmasculine Reader

I have this posted on Ao3, but I like having my work cross posted. This has some pretty heavy themes so be warned.

Trigger Warnings: Attempted Suicide, Mention of Transphobia, Mentions of Drug Overdose, Self Harm, Mental Illness

Scavenging what you could find within the convenience store had been simple as a breeze when you once again had the relief of medication in your system. When two walkers had stumbled out from a blocked door you didn’t so much as flinch before driving your knife through both their skulls. But, you feel an icy stare at your back. Daryl watches your every move like a hawk, expecting that you are going to freeze up again. It hurts more the fact the acher won’t utter a single word to you.

So, when all bags are full to the point none of you could even imagine being able to carry more, you eye Daryl ask he starts his bike. You watch him turn his head back towards you a fraction of an inch, but not daring to turn enough for you to enter his field of vision. Hesitant, you let all your insecurities bubble up inside you. Sucking in a deep breath, you make your decision.

Thankfully, while Michonne gives you a look as you drop into the passenger seat of the car, she doesn’t make any remark. Fidgeting with your seatbelt, you miss the way Daryl’s muscles tense up before he is back on the road again. You fiddle nervously with the strap of your bag before you sigh and place it on the center console between the seats. Daryl kicks off onto the journey back home and you find yourself watching him shrink into the distance as he keeps a large lead between you.

“You know how Daryl is,” Michonne breaks the silence, noticing the way you continue to gaze out the windshield at the archer. “He’s a stubborn man that doesn’t know how to handle his emotions. But Y/N, he only is being like this because he cares about you. Daryl just wants you to be safe.”

“Maybe,” you force yourself to turn away, forehead resting against the side window as you watch the world go by. “I’m not so sure of that right now. I know he cares in his own way, but I just don’t know if I can convince myself it’s about me and not just because I'm part of the group.”

“Give it time.”

Sometimes you wish that you could be as certain as Michonne. You don’t give her a response, knowing she doesn’t really need or expect one. Instead a comfortable silence falls over you for the rest of the trip, leaving you to your own thoughts once more.

It’s peaceful, to the point you nearly drift to sleep on the trip, feeling both mentally and physically burnt out from the roller coaster of a day you experienced. But it isn’t over yet. As the prison slowly creeps into view, you know that you have plenty of work yet to come. Probably a million questions soon await you as well. Rick and Carl are already waiting, having seen your vehicles approaching and are quick to open the gates just long enough for you to pass through. Driving up the dirt path to the second gate, you watch the pigs in the small hand built pen with a smile as you pass. As Michonne parks just inside the perimeter of the yard you notice that Daryl is nowhere in sight, likely having gone off somewhere secluded to unload his bike.

You’re first out of the vehicle, moving straight to the back of the car to begin unpacking. It takes a moment for Michonne to follow you out, and you notice your bag clutched by the strap in one of her hands.

“Don’t forget this,” she calls while skillfully tossing it across the top of the car to you. “I’ll be back to help in a moment.”

Not questioning where Michonne is off to, you begin to inventory your haul. There is probably enough food to feed everyone for a couple months, though with Rick’s crops coming it, it had the potential to last even longer. When it comes to the medical supplies, it is hard to judge how long everything will last however. But it certainly is enough to replace everything in the infirmary at least three times over.

As you are about to begin unloading, you look up to see Rick and Michonne walking side by side in your direction. Michonne catches your eye and gives a completely neutral expression you are left utterly unable to gauge. This could be bad. Ducking your head you quickly turn away from them and attempt to look deep into sorting supplies.

“Y/N, can I borrow you for just a moment?” At Rick's words your stomach drops. Anything but this. Facing Rick, knowing that he knows you weren’t being honest... well let’s just say you would rather shoot yourself in the foot. But you aren’t a complete coward.

With eyes closed tight, you suck in a deep breath before you turn to accept your fate.

“Yes, Rick?”

As much as you don’t want to meet his intense gaze, you lock eyes with the scruffy older gentleman. If only for the briefest of moments. Better than nothing. But in that moment, instead of anger in Rick’s sky blue eyes, you swear you see something else. What is it? Remorse.

“Walk with me.”

Casting your gaze to your own boots, you fall into stride with the other man. There is a knot growing in your gut as you dwell over every possible way this conversation could go. Would he send you away? In pulling the wool over his eyes to go on the run, did you jeopardize your welcomeness within the prison? After a while, when you’re well past the cell blocks and away from the others gathering out in the yard, Rick stops with a deep sigh, his back to you and rests his hands on his belt.

“You’ve been with us for a while now, Y/N,” Rick begins, voice soft yet full of authority, just loud enough for you to hear. “We found you, we took you in just a few months before taking this place. I’ve seen you put yourself at risk to save others. To protect Carl. To protect Judith. So, it’s just something I don’t quite understand.”

Rick finally turns back to face you, a strained look of something akin to pain in his eyes as he takes a step closer to you. Your lip trembles. Distress and fear makes you want to turn and run from the situation. Flight or fight instinct kicking in and telling you to leave an uncomfortable situation. But you keep yourself together, grounding yourself as best as you are able.

“You are part of this group, part of this family, Y/N,” Rick leans closer to you, adjusting to your height until you can’t help but look into his eyes. “You are important. Not a single person here would judge you, and if there is, be sure to send them my way and I will get them sorted.”

Appearing to be out of near thin air, Rick holds one up of the bottles of your medication in front of you for you both to see. Shit. Michonne must have slipped one out of your bag while you weren’t looking in the car.

“You gotta know, there is no need to hide from us,” grabbing your wrist with a firm calloused hand, Rick turns it over and places the bottle back into your palm. “If this is what keeps you safe, what keeps you with us, then it’s important to us too. You give us a list of what you need, what to look for, and we will get it for you. You don't have to be afraid. We will take care of you."

You can't help the few tears that trickle down your cheeks before you hastily wipe them away with the back of your sleeve. It’s hard knowing what to say. But the look on Rick’s face as you continually wipe at the tears that just won’t seem to stop, you know he understands what you want to say without needing to utter a single word. With a wink and a nod, he moves past you, giving you a firm clap on the back as goes.

Feeling as though a heavy weight has been lifted from your chest, you allow a small smile to form on your lips. Maybe there is hope. Maybe the time has come to take a chance and to stop letting your inner demons be your voice of reason. Tucking the small bottle into your pocket, you turn back to help unload the car with a much lighter spring in your step.

With the help of a few former citizens of Woodbury, it doesn’t take more than half an hour to have the vehicle completely unpacked. Neat stacks are organized by where they need to go while people carry what they can to their designated locations. By the time everything is said and done, you are exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to the back of your neck. All you can think about is how nice it will feel to drop into your bunk for a much needed rest.

All that is left is your personal bag, still loaded with your haul of anti-anxiety meds, which is slinging over your shoulder. You try to tell yourself that perhaps after a night to unwind and settle from all this excitement you will talk to Hershel about stocking some in the infirmary. Maybe someone else was struggling just as much as you and could use them as well. Distracted, you pay no mind to what is in front of you, and thus let out a startled gasp as you collide with something warm and solid before falling flat on your backside. Beside you is your bag splayed out against the ground, contents scattered all around you.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going!” You stumble over an apology before you even look up, but once you do your voice catches. Crystal blue eyes stare down at you. Daryl.

Panic creeps in as you fumble to shove everything back into your open bag before the archer takes note of the numerous bottles of pills. But that of course is an unrealistic fantasy. With heart beating fast, you think it may explode as you watch in slow motion Daryl crouching and taking a bottle in his hands where he turns it over carefully.

“Just like Merle,” Daryl’s voice is a low growl, hard eyes staring through you. The bottle is thrown back at the ground. “Always hoarding whatever shit he could get his hands on. I’m tired of losing people, so not gonna keep takin’ that risk. Ya ain’t going outside that fence no more. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

So badly do you want to correct him, to explain what the pills are for, why they are so important and essential to you, but you can’t find your voice again. Though, this time your instinct for flight gets the better of you. Forgetting your bag, forgetting your meds, you leap up and push past Daryl, nearly knocking him over as you sprint inside the cell block. Tears sting your eyes as you run, ignore all those that call out your name as you pass. Not until you reach an empty cell block far into the depths of the prison do you slow to a stop. Just a few days before Rick had sent in a group to clear the block.

Making sure both entrance and exit doors are secure, you make your way to an empty cell and press your back against the wall and slide until you hit the ground. Trembling hands grab your shins and pull your center until your head rests on your raised knees. A violent sob shakes your body, tears burning your eyes.

“Why am I like this?” You cry out to the empty room. It echoes back in your ears and reminds you how truly alone you are.

Hours pass as you stare endlessly at the concrete wall across from you that you see but don’t actually acknowledge as being there. You teeter somewhere on the edge of being numb and debilitated with pain. But nothing erases the aching pain that stabs at your heart. There is no light that can pierce the darkness that is your thoughts as you think of how you could eliminate a problem for those at the prison. In ending your suffering, you could relieve them of the burden of your care.

Choking on a sob, you rip the shirt off your chest to stare and the raised white scars that scatter from shoulder to elbow, some ever so fainter ones bleeding down into your forearms. Besides the two large scars under your chest is a fine speckling of scars stretching across your ribs and soft stomach. Beyond the beltline it only continues. Hip to knee is not only thick with scar tissue from repeat injections but criss crossed with jagged lines.

At least that was something you could say you were good at, being smart enough to only place your wounds where it was easy to hide. You can’t recall the last time a new scar was added to your mass collection. Sometime after the dead began to walk the earth, but not long before Rick and the group had found you and taken you in. The joy and sense of belonging that had brought you was enough to combat that ever present part of you. Or at least you thought it was. Rick may think of you as part of the family, but you can’t shake the feeling they would be better off without you. Daryl, the one you care for and love most of all, you fear never really cared for you at all. Though it’s too late now though, you wish that you had told him how you really felt about him. You know it’s something he needs to hear, that people are capable of loving and caring about him. Something you fear he doesn’t realize himself.

Drawing your knife from the sheath on your belt, your hand moves without an active thought as you stare at your wrist. Letting out a soft sigh, you watch the dark red line that begins to travel down the length of your forearm. Location shouldn’t matter this time. You don’t have to care if anyone can see the scar, because this should be the last one.

Numb, you remember the bottle that Rick handed to you. It is still in your pocket. With the hand not trickling with blood, you pull the medication from your pocket and pop the lid. A cold and empty laugh leaves you. Something that is so necessary to your ability to function has somehow brought an abrupt halt to your happy ending. You put one on your tongue and promptly swallow, frowning at the horrid taste. At least you can be calm as you wait.

For a moment you consider why just stop at one. You could take the whole bottle just to make sure that you’ve finished yourself off. But you pause. You think back to Daryl. What would he say when he saw you like this? Death by overdose just like he probably expects from you. You can’t win, even in death. Fresh tears fall as you let out a guttural scream, throwing the open bottle at the wall and watch the explosion of pills rain down around the cell. With a quivering sob, you close your eyes and wait, dreaming of better days of being without pain.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x trans reader #daryl dixon x ftm reader #daryl x reader #walking dead fanfiction

[slasher-male-wife]

About me and request rules

Hey I'm Ziggy and this is my blog where I obsess over men and sometimes women. I use he/him and I'm 18. I really like fall stuff, vampires, Halloween in general, and my special interest is specifically horror movies. My favorite horror movie is Texas chainsaw massacre. My side account is @slashers-offical-boyfriend and my non fan fiction account is @living-dead-author. Below is the information on my request rules and info. Enjoy your stay <3

Master list Ao3 account Depop

Taken anons: 🦝🌾🎟🐾🫀🤡🐚🍼👻♠️ 13 🎸🦇🦌🐝 🦕🎨

Requests: open

Match ups: closed

Do not interact with me if you are

Homophobic

transphobic

racist

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Terf/Swerf

Match up rules

Specify the fandom you want and your gender preference.

Include things like hobbies, dream career, ideal parter, personality traits gender identity.

Feel free to include anything else you think is important.

Make them as long as you think they should be.

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Light or regular angst

head cannons

drabbles

fics

gore

hurt x comfort

x gn, male, trans masc and ftm reader

Autistic, depressed, anxious, etc reader (I won’t write about mental health issues/ mental illnesses unless I have it myself or I feel comfortable enough portraying it)

Darker topics like past mentions of abuse, sh, kidnapping, murder, etc all with proper trigger warnings

poly stories and head cannons (unless you tell me you want them to be poly I won’t write them as poly)

Slashers in a Dbd setting if they're actually in the game

Yandere characters (I think I know how to write one)

Iffy (Not common or might not write about depending on the request)

character x character

suicidal reader

Characters hurting reader on purpose

Recovering Ed related things

Heavy angst (More likely to be written with a happy ending)

Age regressing reader (Only if it's sfw)

x fem reader (Won't be very common for now unless it's essential to the fic)

I won’t do

sexual fics or head cannons

Child reader

pregnant reader

parent reader

Pro Ed related anything

Characters

Horror characters

Scream: Billy Loomis, Stu Macher

Black Christmas: Billy Lenz

Halloween: Michael Myers (og or rob zombie), Corey Cunningham

The Boy: Brahms Heelshire

Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Nubbins Sawyer, Chop top Sawyer, Vanita "Stretch" Brock

House of wax: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair

Behind the mask: Leslie Vernon

House of 1000 corpses: Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly

The Lost boys: David, Paul, Marko, Dwayne, Michael, Star

The Black phone: The Grabber/Albert Shaw

Spree: Kurt Kunkle

Friday the 13th: Jason Voorhees, Tommy Jarvis

Child's play: Tiffany Valentine

Re-animator: Herbert West, Dan Cain

Carrie: Carrie White

Saw: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner, Mark Hoffman, Peter Strahm

Candy man: The Candy man/ Daniel Robitaille

31: Doomhead

Psycho: Norman Bates

My bloody valentine: Harry Warden

American psycho: Patrick Bateman

Hannibal nbc: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter

Near dark: Severen

Laid to rest: Jesse Cromeans

Martin: Martin Mathias

The Collector: Asa Emory/The Collector

Thanksgiving: Sheriff Eric Newlon

The Walking dead

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

Negan Smith

Glenn Rhee

Maggie Rhee

Dead by Daylight

Danny Johnson/Ghostface

Pyramid head

Any slasher listed in the above section that is in dbd

Interview with the vampire 1995

Lestat De Lioncourt

Louis De Pointe Du Lac

Call of Duty

Phillip Graves

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Misc. Characters

Johnathan Crane/Scarecrow (DC, based off Cillian Murphy portrayal)

#billy loomis #stu macher #michael myers #bubba sawyer #thomas hewitt #jason vorhees #brahms heelshire #billy lenz #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #gay #horror #slashers #scream #halloween #slasher #brahms the boy #house of wax #friday the thirteenth #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #black christmas #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #johnathan byers

[sinsandsweetness]

Thank you for the lovely answer about the ftm trans reader. I haven’t actually been able to find any authors who write it. Are there any you recommend I check out? I’ll let you know about a prompt. I just need to think on it first. :)

Thank you so much.

of course anon! i would love for my blog to be as inclusive as possible in every way, but specifically in regards to my content! i don’t check bios a whole lot but for those who comment often and reblog often, i definitely do. i have noticed i do have a few trans followers that read and indulge in my content pretty regularly. which of course makes me very happy😊🫶

so for those who are searching for a trans writer or someone who writes for ftm specified reader: here are the (very few) i have stumbled upon in my search for Rick/Daryl fics on this app. (i’m sure there are much more on the fluffier, sfw side of things, but if you follow me, y’all know i keep it rated R on this blog, so smut is usually what i have found)

@softhairedhotch has a ftm reader x Rick oneshot

@hopefulatrocity was recommended by someone in the comments of my repose to your last ask, they have a Daryl fic

@drewmorg4n has a Rick oneshot as well

@garlic-the-gnome also has a Daryl fic

(i have seen much more negan x trans reader fics then anything in my hunt on Tumblr and even ao3. but i don’t rlly read for negan a whole lot so i haven’t actually taken any glimpses at those. i would also suggest looking through the rick grimes x trans reader and daryl dixon x trans reader tags to browse around- tagged below)

****I’ve been meaning to make an entire post for fic recs and author recs, so for all my followers who it may pertain to, (writers, it’s ur time to shine) please, please, please comment or even inbox your recommendations of x trans/ftm reader fics you have found or wrote😉 and I’ll compile a list as a shout-out for my lovely followers and fellow authors <3

sorry this answer is so long! I just wanted to cover everything! thank you for the ask, anon. you are loved and you are wanted and I’m so glad to have you here, indulging in any of my writing, even if it isn’t specified ftm reader💗

xoxo

#anons <3 #💌 asks #twd x trans reader #rick grimes x trans trader #Daryl Dixon x trans reader

[darylsdelts]

PT2 to this ^ as requested!

Daryl with a ftm partner:

DEFINITELY calls you a good boy, whether it’s during sex or not. He’d ruffle your hair after completing a job or task and say it.

Or during your time alone, that’s just how he talks to you. “My boy”.

Wants to find out exactly what you want from him sexually, he wants you to feel comfortable and relaxed.

I feel like no matter what, if Daryl was in a relationship with a man he’d never fully accept himself. Obviously not that he’s against it, he’d love you, its just that his upbringing is so ingrained in him that he finds it hard so when someone questions what you guys are he’ll just say “…s’my boy”.

He touches you so gently and only where you want him to, but he’d definitely get a little rough when pounding into you, holding your chin to keep you looking at him.

In the beginning, you might both keep your shirts on for different reasons but eventually you both get comfortable enough without shirts.

Worships your body for sure.

LOVES when you sit in his lap.

He can sometimes be a bit submissive but it’s rare, however, if he is then he lets you take control, letting you feel him up all night whilst cuddling until his boxers are soaked through and he’s painfully hard, subtly rocking his hips up into the air. “stop fuckin’ teasin’ me boy… please… s’too much. Lemme cum in ya, Hm?”. One time you accidentally tease him too much and he does cum in his pants, without you properly touching him.

He practically begs for you to touch him or let him push inside you.

If you wear a binder, that obviously doesn’t bother him and he doesn’t judge you if you do or don’t want to keep it on during sex, he’ll still touch you all over.

Obsessed with your ass! That’s for sure, he’s watching it when you’re walking around, he has you laying across him when you’re sat on the couch. He just likes seeing it and squeezing it. Makes his dick twitch just thinking about it.

This suck I’m sorry, I’m not really sure how to write about it since I’m not ftm but I hope it’s okay! ❤️

@dixonsboytoy

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl smut #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd smut #ftm ns/fw

[redcoralpot]

Masterlist:

The Walking Dead (TWD)

• Acula! (Pt. 1 + 2) - Daryl Dixon X Male Reader

• Glenn Rhee X Male Reader (Smut)

Dead Man Walking (PT 1. ONLY, REMAKE ON AO3) - Daryl Dixon x Walker! Male Reader

Attentu - Daryl Dixon x trans male Reader

Upcoming TWD Requests:

• Malu Tiempu - Negan Smith X Male Reader

The Courage to Get What the World Cannot Say - Daryl Dixon x Male Reader (Angst)

The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (TASM2)

• Peter Parker (AG) x FTM Reader (Smut)

Upcoming TASM Requests:

N/A

Sally Face (SF)

N/A

Upcoming SF Requests:

[NO TITLE] Ch. 5 Sal Fisher X FTM! Reader (Fluff, comfort)

[NO TITLE] Ch. 5 Travis Phelps X Male Reader (Smut)

#twd #lgbtq #gay #transgender #male reader #x male reader #the walking dead #negan smith #male y/n #daryl dixon x male reader #daryl dixon #spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #tasm 2 #tasm #tasm peter parker #sally face x male reader #sal fisher #sally face

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes-Chapter 7

Note:  Note: First off, thank you for your likes and comments. This is a lot later post than I intended it to be. I’m working really hard on Chapter 9 and it’s taking me longer than I thought. That chapter is when Pheonyx and Daryl officially start the search for Sophia.  So, they’re alone and there isn’t a lot of show dialogue for me to bounce off of. I had a couple days of writer's block and I’ve been working slowly on it. I keep rearranging how I want their conversation to go and also rewatching the season over and over to make sure I’m characterizing Daryl correctly. I want it to be believable. Long story short, I don’t want to post chapter 8 until I have 9 done, so it might be a bit until I’ve posted it. I think once I get over this hump, since it’s the first one on one scene with Daryl and Pheonyx(with Kismet as his wingman) that I’ll be able to write faster. Hopefully. Also sorry for how short this is. The last chapter and this one was originally one chapter but I want to keep my chapters around the same length(3-4k) and it ended up over 6k. So I split it up. 

Chapter TW/CW: internal homophobia, transphobia, descriptions of past abuse, denial of sexuality?(Not sure how to describe it), self-deprecating thoughts, parental death.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @omiyours

Banner by: @liminal-creations​ 

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Masterlist

DARYL'S POV

As Daryl was making his way away from the service, fully intending to head straight into the woods to continue the search for Sophia, Rick caught up to his long strides and cut him off. The cop stood in front of him and Daryl narrowed his eyes at the man. 

“Before you head out, I want to get the group together to make a plan for the search.”, Rick said. 

“Ain’t got time for that, man. Shoulda been out at first light lookin’ for the girl.”, Daryl snapped, annoyed at being held up. 

Rick placed his hands on his hips, one hand hovering on the grip of his Colt Python. “Just listen, please. Hershel’s stepson has offered his help for the search. And I’d like you to partner up with him.” Daryl was about to cut in, but Rick continued,  “He’s an experienced tracker and hunter, and he knows these woods better than any of us do. He says he’s been working with his dog on scent tracking, too. With both of you, and the dog, looking for Sophia, I think we have a better chance of finding her.” 

Daryl shook his head, irritated. He worked better alone. His focus needed to be on finding the girl and he couldn’t do that with someone else following him around. Having the group with him yesterday was bad enough. The woods were his domain, his comfort zone. Some stranger on his coattails, mucking up the trails, and making noise while he was trying to concentrate, wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. Not when a little girl’s life was on the line. 

As if reading his mind, Rick said, “Just talk to him. That’s all I ask. If you don’t want to work with him after that, then fine.” 

Daryl wanted to tell him off, or to just walk away. Before he could, Rick was turning and waving a hand to call over Pheonyx, who had been walking back towards the house from Otis’s tribute. Daryl noticed a slight hesitation and stiffening of the man’s body as he looked between Rick and himself. But it was gone in a blink of an eye. The hound dog followed behind Pheonyx and they both stopped in front of the two men. 

Rick smiled at the younger man. Daryl felt his ears warm as Pheonyx lifted the corners of his mouth in return. The heat spread to his face as the other man’s green eyes met his own. The light shade of green reminded him of the pair of fern plants his momma planted in front of their trailer when he was 7 years old. The old mobile home had been extremely run down. Paint was peeling off the walls and several windows had cracks or were missing from his Pa’s violent outbursts. The small grass patch in front of the trailer was often overgrown and full of weeds. But his momma wanted to fix the place up. Unfortunately they didn’t have a lot of money for paint, or pretty flowers to plant. They didn’t have a lot of money for anything really. Momma worked as a waitress at the local diner but most of the money she made, his Pa stole to use for drugs or alcohol. He remembered the day she brought home those little ferns though. His Pa had been off on a bender for a week, like usual. She carried the tiny plants in with a huge smile on her face. They'd been on clearance at the local hardware store because some of the leaves were dried out but his momma was convinced it just needed a little love and care. That afternoon, Daryl and Merle helped her clean up the yard. Merle borrowed the neighbor’s push mower to mow the small yard and Daryl helped Momma weed the area around the front door. He and Merle dug the small holes on either side of the door for the plants, stopping to throw dirt at each other occasionally. When the ferns were planted, the trio stood, Momma’s arms wrapped around both boys’ shoulders, and looked at the trailer. It was still shitty. The paint was still falling off and there was still cardboard on the windows. But the little plants with dried leaves made it look like home. Over the next couple of years, as his mother’s depression and alcohol problems grew, so did the plants. They grew so big that his Pa forced him to cut part of them down because he kept tripping on the long leaves when he would stumble home at night. Despite that, the plants thrived and every time Daryl saw them, he was reminded of that day with Merle and momma. The look of joy on her face. It was one of the few happy memories he had with her. And it was all destroyed the day the trailer caught fire.

The ferns burned away. Right along with his momma. 

Daryl felt his heart ache at the reminder of his mother. But the green of Pheonyx’s eyes still reminded him of that happy day and he was almost entranced. He barely even registered Rick standing next to him. 

“Pheonyx, this is Daryl Dixon. He’s the tracker I mentioned yesterday. He’s been headin’ up the search for Sophia. Daryl, this is Hershel’s stepson. Both Maggie and Hershel say he is an expert on the property and woods surrounding it. He’s offered his services-”, a loud bark from the mutt sitting at Pheonyx’s side had Rick pausing for a moment. “And his dog, to help find Sophia. I’d appreciate it if you two would work together to head up the search for her.”

The arms he had crossed over his chest tensed. As entranced as he was by the man across from him, he couldn’t work with him. In all honesty, he was slightly scared of the emotions he was feeling. They were unraveling the identity that he had clung to for so long. He hadn’t even spoken to Pheonyx yet and his stomach was already in knots. He had to stay far away from him. Maybe then, the feelings would go away. He wanted to lash out at Rick, at Pheonyx, the emotional turmoil raging in his head. But that wouldn’t do anything besides alienate himself further from this group. It might even put them in jeopardy of being kicked off the farm. And he couldn’t do that to them. 

“Work better alone”, he grunted at the man, not even looking at Rick. 

Pheonyx gave a nod, not taking offense to what he said. “So do I. But I spent last night creating a plan for the search. We can split up tomorrow but I need your help at least for today. I’ve been working with Kismet,” he tilted his head towards the dog at his side, some of his brown hair falling over his forehead. Daryl fought the urge to reach out and brush it back. “, on scent tracking for the last month. I need you to take me to exactly where she and Rick split up. He can follow her trail from there. It hasn’t rained so he shouldn’t have too much trouble.”

The sound of the younger man’s voice was like a soft blanket draping over his sweaty shoulders, it eased the tension in his muscles on contact. The sound wasn’t deep but husky and light. Creeping around his head like smoke from a campfire and easing the ever-present vigilance that Daryl had grown accustomed to. Almost losing his train of thought over the drug-like effect of Pheonyx’s voice, Daryl looked towards the sheriff, wondering why he couldn’t be the one to show the other man where Sophia went missing. As if reading his mind, Pheonyx continued, “Rick needs to stay here for Carl and Lori. And Shane fucked up his ankle at the high school. Or else one of them would take me.”

Pheonyx was right about Rick. Daryl couldn’t, in good conscience, ask the man to leave his son, who had just been at death’s door the day prior. And his stomach clenched at the idea of sending Pheonyx off with Shane. Daryl wasn’t entirely certain about Pheonyx’s gender identity. He could just be a biological male with more feminine features. But he suspected the man was transgender. It was no issue to him, but he had a fair idea that it would be an issue to Deputy Douchebag. Shane wasn’t as openly hateful as Merle was, but he was judgmental and sexist. Merle was a loud hateful person. He screamed and hurled slurs, made threats but he rarely ever reached the point of violence, unless he was high. But Shane, his hate was a simmering cauldron, just on the cusp of boiling. Quiet little bubbles that could easily lead to an exploding pot.   At the Quarry, the man kept camp duties fairly segregated in regards to gender. Women weren’t ever allowed on watch or runs, and were mostly kept to cleaning and cooking duties. Shane made the argument every time that the women weren’t trained and therefore would be liabilities. But he also refused to do gun training for anyone, citing lack of ammo as the reasoning. He didn’t go on long winded rants like Merle did. He chose sly comments and verbal digs as his weapons of choice. Offhand comments about “women’s work” and snorts when Andrea offered help with watches or runs. While Shane had never specifically said anything about LGBT people, Daryl just had a feeling that the man’s views would not be friendly. And with his suspicions regarding Otis’s untimely death, Daryl refused to put Pheonyx in the possible firing lane. Why he cared so much about a man he just met was something he was trying to avoid thinking about. 

Despite his personal preferences of working alone, and avoiding any more contact with Pheonyx to quell the feelings building in his chest, Daryl had to admit that having a scent tracking dog would give them a leg up in finding Sophia. Looking down at the dog, he had to contain a snort. The pup was on his back, body curled around, chewing on his back leg like it was a rawhide. He met Pheonyx’s gaze. 

“That mutt is a tracker? He don’t look like he’s got much goin’ on behind those eyes.” 

Pheonyx’s eyes drew together in confusion and he looked down at Kismet. Daryl noted a blush spreading across his tan cheeks when he realized what the dog was doing. At the sheepish look, he couldn’t contain his snort, and he heard Rick chuckle along beside him. 

The younger man nudged the dog with his boot, causing him to roll over into a regular down position. Daryl heard him mutter something unintelligible. Pheonyx stood firm though, the conviction in his expression settling in Daryl’s chest. 

“Okay, Kismet may not be the brightest crayon in the box, I’ll admit. But when he’s got a job he works hard. Unfortunately, you guys don’t have the luxury of shopping for a certified dog. I stand by him though. We’ve only tracked wildlife so far, but I would bet my life on this ‘mutt’”

Despite the voice in his brain telling him it was a bad idea, Daryl nodded his agreement to work with him and the dog. His heart sped up a bit at the thought of working closely with Pheonyx, but he brushed it off. He’d work with him to find Sophia. Then that was it. He’d back off and these intense feelings would fade. 

He hoped.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @yoongibaybee, @edgyboi10000

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x oc #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x trans!reader #the walking dead #fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x trans!oc #daryl dixon x oc #daryl x omc #daryl x ftm oc #daryl x male oc