hitting the (dye) bottle

Hair dye.

hi! could you write an imagine with daryl where he find some dyeing for hair and gave it to the reader (you can choose the color) because he knows that before the apocalypse she used to dyed it, and it’s all really fluff? thanks!

(A/N): This may be kind of inaccurate, I’ve never dyed my hair —well, I did once but it was with crepe paper (lol ikr wtf)— but I watched some tutorials on youtube, and this seems to be pretty much what happens… Also, I’m sorry that the titles have been so lame lately (i mean, they’ve always been, but i think they’re worse now) i have like no creativity lol. Still, I hope you like it! 💕


You arrived at the prison with one single backpack hanging from your shoulders, and you arrived at Alexandria with that same backpack. When the outbreak started, you grabbed everything you thought you might need and tucked it all inside a red backpack that had now lost its colour and gained a lot of gashes.

No one ever knew what you carried inside, you always kept it under your bed and no one dared to even go near it. Except Daryl Dixon.

One day, he wanted to borrow one of your knives. It was a very fine knife that you had snatched from a well-dressed walker, it was sharp and got the job done in milliseconds. Daryl went into your room and you weren’t there, but your backpack was. It was sitting on your bed, instead of under it —as usual— so he felt really curious about it. He wondered if your knife was in there, so he pulled the zipper open.

He reached inside and the first thing he grabbed was a book. He watched the cover, and then he opened it, scanning through the pages. He was starting to wonder why it had no pictures in it, when a little piece of paper fell, and he picked it up. It was a polaroid picture, it was you and your family at the beach, having fun and smiling for the picture. Daryl noticed something about it, you looked different, but the quality of the picture wasn’t good enough for him to notice it right away. He took the picture closer to his face and squinted his eyes.

“What are you doing?” you asked from the doorway. He dropped the picture in surprise.

“You had blue hair?” he turned around and asked you in an amused voice. You saw the picture on the floor and rolled your eyes.

“Shut up,” you said when you heard him laughing. You picked up the picture and looked at it. “I miss it, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was pretty, wasn’t it?” you showed him the picture again.

“I guess,” he shrugged. “Can I borrow your knife?”

You put the picture back inside your backpack and closed it, then you threw it under the bed, where it was supposed to be.

“Where are you going?” you asked, as you opened the drawer of your nightstand.

“You know, making the rounds with Aaron, but he wants to check some of the old buildings we haven’t checked,” he grabbed the knife you were handing to him. “It’s always good to have one of these in your pocket, you know?”

“Yeah, well, take care of it,” you said.

“Will do, Smurfette,” he said and walked away.

“Lame!” you yelled as he walked out of your room.

Daryl got in the car with Aaron and they drove off towards the buildings that Aaron wanted to check. They were old and overrun by walkers, so they couldn’t quite see what the building used to be in better days.

“Let’s go inside,” Aaron said as he pulled over.

“There’s a lot of ‘em,” Daryl told him, nodding his head at the walkers that where roaming around the building. “We should take ‘em down from here.”

“Don’t you think the sound of the guns will call for more?”

“Who said anything about guns?” Daryl pulled out his crossbow and opened the door. He aimed at the walkers and an arrow pierced their rotting heads.

“What happens when you run out of arrows?” Aaron asked him.

“Then we’ll go inside,” he said and shot another arrow.

Daryl took his last arrow and it went through a walker’s head, right between the eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said and Aaron followed him.

They went inside, carefully, but noticed that there weren’t many walkers left. Just a couple of them, which Aaron took down.

“I think it’s a…” Aaron looked around.

“Drugstore,” Daryl grabbed a bag he found on the floor and started taking every single thing he found. They had to take everything, specially if you had to share half of it with the Saviours.

They left most of the shelves empty, the ones that had medicines and all. But Daryl saw the ‘Hair products’ sign hanging at the back, and that one was still full. He ignored the sounds of walkers back there and ran towards it.

“Daryl, let’s go!” Aaron said in a hushed roar.

Daryl was about to grab one of the hair dye boxes when six walkers pushed the shelf down from the other side. It fell over Daryl and he couldn’t push it off, it was too heavy.

The growling of walkers surrounded him as they fell to their knees and tried to bite him. He reached for your knife and killed one of them, but the others kept coming at him.

Aaron ran towards the scene and shot them. Their bodies fell over Daryl.  He pulled the shelf off as Daryl got out from under it.

Daryl saw some of the boxes scattered on the ground, most of them had been crushed by the shelf and the others were still under it, so he took one of the few that he could reach.

“What the hell, man?” Aaron asked between breaths as he got on his feet.

“Thanks for that,” Daryl said and stood up from the ground.

“Why did you come back here? What the hell is that?” he asked as he pointed at the box that Daryl was holding.

“Just shit, man, let’s get outta here,” he waved him off, but before he could walk away, Aaron grabbed his hand. He looked at the box and then at Daryl.

“Oh, okay, I’m sure it will look good on you” he nodded and started walking back to the exit.

“It’s not for me,” he said, but Aaron was already too far to hear.

It was already dark when they arrived at the safe zone. Daryl gave his bag to Aaron so he could leave it at the pantry, and he headed back home.

He knocked on your door, even thought it was open, and he saw you sitting on your bed, reading your book.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, you’re back!” you closed your book and left it on your nightstand. “I want my knife back.”

He chuckled and gave it to you after wiping the blood off on his clothes.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Sure,” you grabbed it and put it back on your nightstand.

“I got something for you,” he told you.

“What is it?”

He gave you the box. “Sorry, they didn’t have your tone.”

You laughed as you looked at the box. It was pink hair dye.

“Thanks, Daryl,” you said.

“I just thought you looked pretty, why don’t you dye it again?”

“Sure, that would be cool,” you said. Daryl nodded and started walking away. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, well—”

“Aren’t you gonna help me dye it?”

“Me?” he scowled.

“Well, it was your idea!”

“Alright,” he shrugged and went back inside.

You walked to the bathroom as you read the instructions, and Daryl pretended to be listening carefully as he pulled random things out of the box, wondering what they where for.

“Why is this shit all sticky?” he asked with a grimace.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to touch that,” you said. “That’s why there are gloves inside.”

Daryl wiped whatever he had touched on his vest and shook his hand to get rid of it.

You leaned over the sink and let water run through your hair, that had been the first step in the instructions.

“Now, mix those two and shake the container,” you told Daryl, pointing at the bottles that he had pulled out of the packaging.

He opened one of the bottles, the one with the dye, and smelled it. He pulled it away and grimaced.

“Smells like shit,” he said.

“Why would you even smell it?” you laughed at his face.

He proceeded to do as you had said, and handed you the final product.

“But…” you didn’t grab the bottle he was giving you. “I can’t really see my head from behind, so I won’t know what parts I’m not covering. Could you do it?”

You lied, all you wanted was Daryl to touch your hair and stay there with you.

He scowled, and you knew you were hurting his manhood by asking him that.

“No,” he said.

“Please?” you smiled sweetly, and he gave you an exasperated look. “Pretty please?”

He looked at you for a moment, picturing how you would look with a new hair colour, and that was something he couldn’t miss.

“Alright,” he gave in.

Daryl squeezed the bottle and the dye hit you so harshly that some of it went through your hair and hit your neck.

“Uh, sorry,” he said as he wiped it off your neck and roughly smeared it on your scalp, pulling your hair —and face— back.

“Did you put the gloves on?” you asked.

“What gloves?”

“The ones that came in the package,” you chuckled, knowing he had not put the gloves on.

“Why? Is this toxic or something?”

“I don’t think so, but your hands are gonna be pink for like a week.”

“Oh,” he looked down at his hands. “Fuck.”

Daryl finished spreading the dye on your hair, and your ears, and some on your neck.

“Now, we have to wait like half an hour until it sets,” you said, looking at yourself on the mirror.

Daryl rushed to the sink and pushed you to the side; he rinsed his hands, and pink water went down the drain, but his hands were still pink.

“It’s not coming off!”

“I told you to wear the gloves!”

“No, you didn’t! You told me until I had all this pink shit on my hands!” he kept trying to scrape the dye off. “Fuck, I even scratched my goddamn nose!”

He was right, he had a pink spot on his nose.

Half an hour went by quickly, you were having too much fun watching Daryl desperately trying to get his hands back to their original colour.

“So, all we have to do now is rinse it, and I’ll have pink hair!” you said with excitement, and even if Daryl wasn’t happy about his pink hands and nose, he was excited about your hair as well.

You leaned over the sink again and let the water wash off the dye, while Daryl leaned on the doorway, waiting for the results.

“So… How do I look?” you turned around to face Daryl.
“It’s… Really pink,” was all he said. You were a little disappointed at his response.

“I know, but how do I look?”

“You look…” he searched for the word to say. He wanted to say ‘gorgeous’, or ‘stunning’, or even a classic ‘beautiful’, but he almost shook his head at the mere thought of saying that to your face. “Pretty.”

He felt like his face was burning from saying that, his cheeks felt on fire.

You smiled, and felt like you were blushing yourself.

He was about to walk out of the bathroom, when you went to him and got on your toes, you placed your hands on his shoulders and pecked the pink spot on his nose.

“Thanks,” you smiled and walked away.

Daryl was still standing at the doorway, so he could see himself in the mirror. Now he was certain that his face was red, and that way his nose didn’t look so pink. He smiled faintly, remembering what had just happened. Daryl went back to his room, knowing that risking his life for that little box of hair dye had definitely worth it.