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Blood Ties Chapter 29

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Slightly graphic depictions of labor and childbirth A/N: Maybe a cliffhanger. Maybe not. You'll have to read to find out! ;) Daryl is definitely ooc in this. I'm sorry, I tried to get as close as I could to how he might react. Also, the saying he uses is one we use in the south that means "how is that relevant?" You'll know it when you read it, lol.

“About 4cm now. Progressing nicely.” Hershel informed, wiping his hands on a cloth that Carol had provided.

Rick and T-Dog were out doing yet another night run in the van. It was also low on fuel but the map showed another town close by. Fuel, gloves, and other necessities were on the list. Glenn was on watch with Daryl for backup if anything happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it couldn’t be helped.

Thumper was calling the shots at that point.

Before the men had left, Daryl had confiscated all the blankets except for those that were for Lori and Carl. When Glenn began to complain, one look from the anxiety-driven archer had brought the young man very close to hiding behind Rick. While some blankets were used for your comfort, others were fashioned into a tent-like structure over the bare branches of a decently sized bush. You needed some sense of privacy.

Carol and Lori had dug through the maternity clothes that hadn’t been lost on the road and found a button up dress. It was comfortable and made things much easier than leggings.

After your immediate needs had been met, Daryl then perched himself just beside your shoulder and hadn’t moved since.

“S’the number we’re aimin’ for?” He asked with frustration lacing his tone, making sure the blankets were back over you and tucked tight to keep you warm. He had been muttering to himself how he wished he had made time to read the rest of the books. Daryl was not a man that liked being in the dark on anything. It made him feel helpless, as you had learned over the last several months.

“She needs to be at 10cm and the baby needs to be in the correct position before she can push.” The old man positioned the ear tubes of the stethoscope before pressing it against several spots on your belly. “Heart beat is strong. Everything is looking good.”

You had remained quiet until that moment. “Do I just—I don’t know—lay here?”

“Walking encourages the cervix to dilate and soften. Once you dilate a little further, the contractions will likely be stronger, whether painful or not.” The calmness that man practiced really made you want to strangle him with that stethoscope. “Make sure you don’t go alone, and—”

“She ain’t.” Daryl snapped.

Hershel shot him an admonishing look. “As I was saying, take breaks. Sleep when you can. I’ll check you periodically. You’ll need to keep timing the contractions, son.” Daryl nodded. “Sip small amounts of water, no food. Keep me informed of any changes. And as unpleasant as it may sound, if you feel the pressure and urge as if you may need to have a bowel movement, call for me immediately.”

You, as well as Daryl, reared back, lips curling.

“The fuck that gotta do with the price’a fish?” The archer queried, not so nicely.

“Settle down. The pressure from the baby’s head moving into the birth canal can feel similar to that.” Shaking his head, Hershel shuffled his way out of your tiny tent.

Finally alone, you turned onto your side and scooted your upper body toward Daryl. He stretched out his legs so you could rest on his thigh.

“Get some rest.” His hand wiggled beneath the blanket and rubbed up and down the length of your upper arm, but moved to your belly when another contraction took over. Without prompting, he slid his warm palm around to your lower back and applied the least bit of pressure, rubbing small circles. You buried your face into his thigh to ride it out, but you had to admit the light massaging helped, if only a little.

“You’re supposed to be—” You were panting when you rolled your head to remind him, but found the watch already lifted to eye level, his gaze shifting from it to your stomach.

“Sleep if ya can. I got this.” His brow was furrowed in concentration, your heart swelling and warm. Any worry you had entertained of him running when things got real, just gone in an instant. He was there. He was there.

“I’ll try.” You whispered, the pain finally an afterthought. You felt him slide his hand back to the side of your stomach before you let yourself succumb to exhaustion.

“Sorry, Sunshine. Doc says up, so up ya get.”

You let Daryl take your dead weight and pull you up by a grip beneath your arms, making it as difficult as possible so you might get to stay in your warm little nest. You were still at 4cm. Hershel had said you had to start walking to help labor progress.

“This isn’t fair.” You whined, rubbing your back once you were upright. The pain that accompanied each contraction had lessened but was still ever present. “Can’t you walk and I dilate?”

Daryl snorted. “Don’t think that’s how it works.” He placed a careful hand on the small of your back and kept your pace, slow as it was.

“Okay, then how about if it gets worse, I kick you in the balls and punch you in the kidneys so you can participate properly?” You were only half joking.

“If it gets ya through this, I guess.” The archer shrugged. You regarded him with a skeptical brow arched.

“You’d really let me do that?”

“Hell nah, but s’the thought that counts or some shit like that, right?” He didn’t even try to dodge the smack you aimed at his shoulder.

“You’re hilarious.” You deadpanned, even as you leaned into him while you strolled in circles around the perimeter. The moonlight caught the watch in his right hand, his finger tapping against the casing. Bless him, he was taking his role of supportive partner very seriously. You gasped when the next contraction came, stopping to bend slightly and breathe through it while Daryl secured an arm around you and flipped open the watch.

When it was clear you weren’t falling, he slid his hand to the middle of your back and massaged the length of your spine using gentle pressure from the heel of his palm. He never said much—if anything—during the episodes themselves, but kept you informed of the timing of each one.

“Oh, goddamnit, this one sucks.” You managed through clenched teeth. You swayed slightly when it was over, grasping blindly for the man next to you.

“Thirteen minutes since the last’un. A minute, twelve.” He was slow and careful when turning you back toward camp. “Let’s getcha back to Hershel.”

You shook your head. “One last loop, then we can go back.” Daryl didn’t say anything but you felt him tense. “I’m sure. They’re just getting a little more painful in the stomach, less in the back.”

He still hesitated. “Alright. One more.”

Hershel stepped into your path before you started the second loop, allowing Daryl to fill him in on the last contraction.

“Do one more. Rest. And then again.” The old man ordered curtly.

Once he had vanished back toward the small fire, you mocked his words. “Rest and then again.” Daryl shook his head beside you. “I mean seriously, how much help can walking actually be?”

“Fuuuuuck!” You were digging your fingers into the blankets below you, swatting away Carol’s hand when she tried to dab your face with a piece of cloth. Daryl was sitting beside, wide-eyed and lost, the watch forgotten by his leg. Hershel was between your knees, sporting his medical gloves that had been brought back by Rick and T-Dog.

The archer cleared his throat. “She alright?”

“Do I look alright, Daryl?!” You hissed, making an admirable attempt at breathing the way Carol was instructing. The contraction finally ended and you fell back onto the folded blankets. “I’m sorry.” You found his worried blue eyes easily and fumbled for his hand.

“S’okay.” He whispered, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“She’s at 6cm. We can still time the contractions but I think she may need your attention more than that watch does now.” Hershel reached for the item and placed it in his pocket once Daryl handed it over. “Keep moving but stay closer, no more perimeter walks.”

Daryl nodded, you whimpered.

“I’ll be back soon to check again. If we’re lucky, things will move a little faster now that you’re in active labor.” Hershel left the tent while Carol fixed your dress.

“I know it hurts, but you two will have little Thumper in your arms in just a matter of hours.” She smoothed your hair and tucked it behind your ears. “You’re doing great.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing great.” You murmured, ducking your head almost bashfully. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you, Daryl. It just—well, it hurts and it’s hard to think.”

“Ain’t mad.” He tried for a half smile but it was weak. “Better than gettin’ kicked in the balls, I reckon.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. “Guess we oughtta getcha up again.”

“I’ll help.” Carol offered. You could see that a refusal was on the tip of Daryl’s tongue but he never voiced it. With Carol under one arm and Daryl under the other, you were pulled upright.

Your body already felt wrung out and sore, and the epic finale hadn’t even begun. Still, you allowed Carol to pass you off to Daryl.

“We movin’ on? Be better to find a house or somethin’.” He looped an arm around your back, following as you shuffled your way around.

Carol shrugged, not touching you but keeping up with your small strides. “Both vehicles have fuel but Hershel isn’t sure we should move her. He thinks the baby will come soon and she needs to be kept in one place.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration. “She is right here. And if my opinion matters, I’d rather not—” The contraction came on strong, halting you suddenly with your hand fisting into the lower part of Daryl’s vest. The archer stepped around in front of you, rough but gentle hands grasping your wrists to guide your arms to his shoulders.

“Try to breathe. Sometimes humming or even moaning helps, like an outlet.” Carol advised while rubbing your back.

Your head fell forward against Daryl’s chest, a deep but quiet moan muffled against the firm muscle beyond his shirt. His hands had fallen to your hips, his body followed you as you swayed back and forth. The episodes were growing more intense, coming closer together and lasting longer. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that things would be growing more difficult to handle.

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do for ‘er?” Daryl asked quietly above you, each word blowing his warm breath over the top of your head. Carol must have answered in the negative because his fingers flexed against your hips.

The skin of your belly was pulled so tightly that you swore it would tear open, the muscles feeling as if they would pulse right out of the gaping hole your torn flesh would leave.

“Shit.” You whimpered, your voice finding its way back during the last dregs of pain. You almost didn’t register warm hands gliding up and down your sides, a smaller hand on your back. “I don’t want to have the baby here.” You argued weakly. “It’s too open. Things will be too chaotic, too loud.”

“I know, Sunshine, but the doc says—”

“I don’t want to risk Thumper here in the open, Daryl. With—with walkers or people.” With enough strength having returned after the pain, you lifted your head, eyes pleading. “Please.”

The archer was visibly upset. He was just as vulnerable as you were at that moment, torn between what he felt was right and what Hershel said was for the best. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he pulled it in between his teeth, looking to Carol for guidance.

“Could lay down the seats in the van. Use the back.” He suggested. Plenty’a room an’ if we need to move fast—”

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” Carol agreed, rubbing your back in a few soft strokes before beginning to move away. “I’ll go talk to Hershel. You two keep walking.”

You watched her go, turning your gaze up to Daryl when he shifted back to your side to urge you along. “Gotta keep movin’.” You groaned, dragging your feet with your head falling back in frustration.

You were in the middle of a contraction, when you heard it. A snarl, a raspy growl much too close. You were already clinging to Daryl and breathing through the pain that was readying your body for Thumper’s arrival, but you’d have to let him go. He had to protect the baby. And to do that, he had to protect you.

But he didn’t move. He was nearly vibrating, rigid beneath your hands on his shoulders. He was just as scared as you were, even more so. He knew he could take the walker but that would mean letting you go. He needed to protect you but he wanted to support you. He had told you he'd never let you fall and you knew he had meant it.

“Go.” Your hands slid from his shoulders, down his chest before they released him completely to clutch your belly.

His boots disappeared from your view of the ground but you couldn’t focus after that. The pain was growing in intensity, immobilizing you with your lips tightly pressed to withhold the cries that vibrated behind your teeth for release. You couldn’t, you just couldn’t make a sound. You’d attract more, endanger everyone. You’d endanger Thumper. Daryl.

There were scuffles. More snarls. Tears were threatening your waterline. Pain was coursing through you like a serpent, slithering around each muscle and tendon and pulling them tight. You felt disappointment and guilt over all the agony when your mouth fell open with a guttural moan, your will to cut off the scream that begged to follow barely holding true.

“D—Daryl.” You cried out. And he was there, hands on your face, your biceps, your belly.

“M’here. M’here. Gotta move, though.” He swept you up with the slightest strained noise. “Gonna getcha to the van. Gonna find somewhere safe for ya.” The pain was fading. You could focus on the dark blood on his face, the dirt and grime.

“Herd?” You whispered.

“Ain’t your fault.” His expression emanated fear and stress. “The hatch.” Someone was with him. The small hands that opened the back of the van and spread out the blankets, those were Carol’s. She sat a pile of smaller blankets and squares of fabric toward the indents on the floor where the seats had been stowed.

“Get as many in the truck as you can! In the cab and the bed!” Rick was calling out at the same time that Hershel climbed into the van. Daryl was careful when he placed you inside, climbing over you before pulling you further in to make room for Hershel and Carol.

Through your haze of exhaustion, you saw Rick climb in the driver's seat and Maggie beside him. That meant that five others had to somehow fit into the truck.

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, eyes pleading with Daryl for an honest answer.

“Yeah, they’re all good.” He nodded, smoothing a hand over your hair.

The van was moving, though you didn’t realize when it had started. Hershel was between your knees when another contraction came. It felt like only moments had passed since the last one. In the safety of the van, though you couldn’t be bothered to consider that, you bowed forward with a scream. Daryl gingerly worked your fingers loose from the blanket to take your hand.

“She’s at 9cm. This baby is coming soon.” Hershel didn’t move this time, he and Carol began sorting things that you couldn’t see. Panting, you leaned to the side, knowing Daryl would be there. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed.

“What—” He swallowed audibly. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Just be with her.” Carol poured some water from a bottle onto a piece of fabric and passed it across you for Daryl to take. “Wipe her face, put it behind her neck.”

The archer’s hand was trembling fiercely when you felt the blessed cool cloth touch your forehead. The moan that left you was not one of pain but utter relief. “Oh, that’s nice.” You breathed. Your skin was on fire, every cell of your being felt twisted and wrong. But that trembling cloth wiping at your face grounded you, centered you around what your body was preparing to do.

You were so close to being a mother.

But that didn’t stop the scream that ripped from your throat when the next contraction tore through you. You sat up, propped on your elbows with your eyes screwed shut. Tears leaked from the corners, the wailing cutting off into wretched sobs when you felt Daryl’s forehead fall against the crown of your head, his mantra of m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry shattering you into a million shards.

You couldn’t tell him it was okay. You couldn’t remind him why you hurt. You couldn’t reassure him that he was the one you wanted and you were more than happy to do this with him. For him. You didn’t have the breath.

“Don’t push, Y/N. Not yet.” Hershel’s tone was even but not cruel, his gloved hands on your knees.

“It fucking burns!” You shrieked, squeezing Daryl’s hand until you were certain you felt the bones shift. The contraction let up, the fiery sensation dulling but ever present.

“What’s happenin’?” Daryl sounded breathless. Terrified. You were still catching your breath when you looked up at him. His tan skin was white as a sheet, no color in his lips. His blue eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen them. From tears or fear, you couldn’t be sure.

“The baby’s in the right position. Y/N, it’ll be time to push soon. It’ll be very important for you to listen to everything I say. Can you do that?” Hershel wasn’t looking at you, between moving around things Carol was handing to him and keeping a constant eye on your progress. Distantly, you wondered why it was Carol at his side and not Maggie. Maybe because you were close with Carol? For your comfort?

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You turned your attention back to Daryl when his grip on your hand loosened slightly. He swayed, the pallor of his skin growing more concerning. “Daryl?”

The archer shook his head almost violently. “M’good.”

“Okay, I just—oh, fuck, already!?” You grit your teeth as your stomach tightened, a visible shift beneath the fabric of your dress.

“Maggie, can you climb back here?” Hershel requested calmly. His eldest said nothing but maneuvered her way into the back and on your opposite side. “I fear we may lose Daryl at any moment and Y/N will need support.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Daryl snapped but it was a weak effort. He inhaled deeply and began squeezing your hand to keep you from dislocating his fingers.

“Here.” Carol passed him an opened bottle of water. “Drink a few sips. You’re white as a ghost.”

You were barely aware of everything happening around you, shaking almost violently to refrain from bearing down until Hershel told you to do so. It was bordering on excruciating.

“Jesus Christ, it feels like you’re holding a flamethrower to my fucking pussy!”

Hershel sighed while Maggie and Carol chuckled and Daryl snorted out a quiet nice, Y/N.

“It’s just the birth canal stretching to make room for the baby.” The veterinarian explained coolly.

“Just?” You mocked. “Just, he says while it’s my—oh Jesus fuck!” With all the presence of mind you could summon, you managed not to start screaming at Daryl for putting you in that position. You knew that beyond the pain and fear, you wanted Thumper in your arms more than anything in that fucked up world.

“Okay, Y/N,” Hershel patted your bare knees just at the tail end of the contraction to ensure he had your attention. You had fallen back against Maggie while Daryl held the cool cloth against the back of your neck. His hand was vibrating your skull to the point that you nearly asked him to move away. “You’re ready. On the next contraction, you need to push.”

“God, your calm voice makes me want to kick you in the teeth.” You didn’t mean it—mostly. Hershel must have known that because he chuckled. You could feel the next contraction already building when the van lurched to a stop, throwing everyone in it.

“We got a herd in front of us!” Rick called from the front.

“Go ‘round it! Turn ‘round! Just keep ‘em off us!” Daryl yelled as the pain peaked. “Fuck!” He bellowed when your hand began to shake with how hard you squeezed his own.

“Push!” Hershel shouted over the bumps and jerks of the van doing whatever Rick had deemed best. “Good, good!” He began to countdown from ten while you screamed.

You were being torn open. Thumper was going to rip you in half on their way out. Your throat was raw, surely bleeding from your wails. When the old man reached one, you fell back against Maggie but Daryl’s hand was there too.

“Maggie, Daryl, hold behind her knees. Help support her legs. It’ll keep her hips open.” Both moved forward, taking you with them to sit you up a little straighter. Daryl had to release your hand to hold you and your leg. The archer hissed with the pressure against his abused palm. “Perfect. Alright, Y/N. A nice, strong push this time.”

You almost snarled. “Last one wasn’t good enough?”

“Easy, Sunshine.” You felt Daryl's lips against your temple and yearned to keep them there.

“I’m sorry, Hershel.” Once again, the man simply smiled. Lori has told you that childbirth in the movies was often dramatized but so far, you weren’t seeing the truth in that statement. When the contraction reached a crescendo, you leaned forward while Maggie and Daryl held your legs steady. The pain was extraordinary. You almost wished you could see what was happening, but any train of thought was derailed with Hershel’s next words.

“The baby is crowning!”

Gasping, you swallowed hard, glancing at Daryl—who had a front row seat to what was happening—and then back to Hershel. “Crowning?”

“The head will be out soon.”

“All this and we don’t even have the head out?!” You screeched, just as your stomach rippled into a rigid mound and you were pushing again. This pain was different. Thumper was definitely ripping you apart. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! It burns!”

“S’that—” Daryl cleared his throat and swallowed, swaying on the spot. “S’that normal?”

“Perfectly normal.” Hershel glanced up at the archer, back down, and then up again. “Carol.” He needn’t say anything else. The other woman was moving to grab the back of your leg and let Daryl fall against her so he didn’t smack his head on the side of the van.

You were completely unaware, your entire focus centered on the inferno between your legs. There was no way any woman would willingly do this unmedicated. Never in your life had you wanted drugs more than you did in that moment. Thumper. Thumper, Thumper. You chanted internally, even as your vocal chords vibrated harshly with your screams. And just as you thought you would lose consciousness from the pain, it lessened. It hadn’t disappeared but comparatively, you would take that over the prior.

“The head is out!”

Panting, you smiled but then fell into confusion when you saw Carol beside your leg and Daryl slumped against her. “Daryl? Daryl?!” You shifted but Maggie held you still. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Hershel chuckled.

“Who knew a man that could gut a walker without batting an eye couldn’t watch his baby’s head come out?” Carol smiled but began to act, jerking her shoulder to jar the archer. “Daryl. Daryl, wake up. You don’t want to miss this.” He stirred and started to lean back. “Think you can take a look without losing it again?”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head hard, grunting. His hand was the first thing to move, sliding beneath Carol’s to take hold of your leg. Then he was looking at you. “M’sorry. That was—fuck, m’a pussy.” Maggie was moving your hand and pulling you forward as you watched your partner.

Then your fingers were touching a soft, albeit slimy, head.

You gasped. “Daryl.”

The man gulped, but then sat up on his knees a little. You watched the fear and apprehension melt away into awe, his jaw loosening, eyebrows rising, and eyes beginning to shine. “S’that—”

“That’s Thumper.” You were able to say before Hershel announced your miniscule break was over. He didn’t need to say a word, your body was already letting you know. Daryl’s hold felt stronger now and he was watching with an awestruck intensity that just made your heart want to explode even as you rode out the waves of agony. You were going to be a little family.

Then, out of the blue, you could feel something was different, wrong.

“Her—Hershel—Ow, fuck—” You fingers clawed at Daryl’s chest, his wet eyes going wide with concern. The contraction ended and you were gasping and swallowing convulsively, feeling nauseous regardless of your lack of food. Daryl’s eyes were darting back and forth between you and the old man. “Daryl, something—something’s wrong.” You could tell the baby had not moved an inch during the pushing, but not only that, it felt like they had actually pulled back toward your opening.

“I know.” Hershel’s voice had lost the calm and was taking on an emergent edge. “The baby is stuck.”

Panic flashed over Daryl’s face in the form of anger. “The fuck ya mean stuck?!”

Still trying to catch your breath, sweat dripping into your eyes, you thought for certain Daryl was going to jump across your leg and attack the old man. Thankfully, he remained at your side. Trembling and breath stuttering, but he wasn’t moving.

“Shoulder dystocia. The baby is turned in such a way that the shoulders can’t fit through the pelvis. Carol, I will need your help, please.” You were already on the edge of the next contraction when Hershel nearly barked “Y/N, don’t push.”

“What the fuck’re ya doin’?” Daryl snapped, leaning over your leg to investigate. So many emotions were battling for dominance in his expression that you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling.

“Daryl, please.” You pleaded, trying your hardest not to sob. For once, you cared nothing about being self-reliant or what the group thought of you and how much you needed Daryl. As you fought through the pain and against your body’s natural insistence to push, you just cried. Daryl kept a hand below your knee, too afraid to move unless Hershel gave the okay, but he leaned as far as he could to hold you without influencing your position.

“S’okay, Sunshine. S’gonna be okay.”

“Y/N, listen to me. I can feel the shoulder.” Now, the veterinarian’s tone was just downright frightening. “Maggie and Daryl are going to pull your legs back on the next contraction. I’m going to apply some pressure above your pubic bone. It’s not going to be pleasant, but if I’m correct, the head should come and then the baby. I need you to push with all you have, do you understand?”

You pressed your cheek further into Daryl’s chest and nodded, hiccuping through ragged, exhausted breaths. When the contraction began to tear through you, Maggie and Daryl reacted immediately, pulling your legs toward your belly while you curled inward with a guttural scream. Hershel pressed into the area just above your pubic bone, the pressure only compounding the whirlwind of pain you were already caught in. And then it was over and you let the two supporters take your weight.

The van rocked again, but was ignored. Hershel looked at Carol gravely and shook his head.

“S’that ‘bout?” Daryl hissed, trying hard for your sake not to lose his cool.

“It didn’t work.” Before Daryl could speak, the old man continued. “We’re going to try one more time. If it doesn’t work, there are a couple of other things we can try but time is of the essence. The baby isn’t getting the oxygen they need like this.”

“Whatever ya gotta do. Just take care’a both’a ‘em.”

Hershel nodded. “Alright, same thing, Y/N. A big, big push for me.”

You shook your head, exhausted. “I can’t.” You whispered, your eyelids heavy as hope attempted to flee and you accepted that once again, the world would take from you. It would take from Daryl. “I’m so tired.” You felt movement beneath your left leg and then Daryl’s hand was grasping your chin, firm but gentle.

“Hey. Cut that shit out.” He wasn’t angry. He was using the same tone you’d heard him use when he had told Thumper to cut you some slack. When he had started communicating with the baby. “Ya’ve gone through hell an’ back for this an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya quit at the goddamn finish line, ya hear me?”

“I’m tired, Daryl.” Your face screwed up in pain as the next contraction began to build.

“Nu uh. Ya ain’t gonna bust into my life an’ fuck up my world six ways from Sunday, make me love ya an’ this kid, an’ then just give up. S’you an’ me an’ Thumper. S’what ya said!”

You blinked at him, slowly starting to sit up.

“I’ve seen ya be a badass before, Sunshine.” Your breaths were coming faster, the contraction nearly on top of you, but you only had eyes for Daryl. “Be a fuckin’ badass now.” His hand left your face and went back to your leg, pulling it toward you at the same time Maggie moved the right one.

You screamed so loud that you were certain the rocks and bumps of the van were due to your wails alone. Something shifted, you felt it and it hurt. You were on fire and aching at the same time. When the contraction ended, you still felt painfully stretched and bruised and uncomfortable. “Did—did it work?” You panted, grasping desperately for Daryl’s shirt.

“The head is out, the shoulders are turned. One more big push, Y/N. Just one more.”

You breathed harshly through your nose, trying to amp yourself up. Maggie and Carol were throwing encouragement your way, but you didn’t hear them. You only felt Dary’s breath against your ear, his stubbled cheek rubbing against your skin.

He whispered, only for you to hear. “I love ya.” Kissing your temple, he moved back to his spot and when you looked at him, exhausted and crying, the corner of his mouth twitched and he nodded.

You could do this.

When the next contraction ripped through you, the world went silent. It was only you and the pain, white hot and all consuming. You were indeed being torn in half but if it meant Thumper would take that first breath, would open those little eyes to see the world—fucked up or not—then you would gladly be wrenched into pieces.

The moment the baby slipped free of you, you felt the emptiness. You still hurt, but the worst of the pain was suddenly absent. Sound and sight came back to you in an onslaught that had you sucking in a breath like your lungs had been starved.

“Is—Hershel, the baby?” You asked, trying to move as Daryl and Maggie lowered your legs. The archer was leaning across your knee. You couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but his eyes were wide and darting.

“Doc—”

The ferocious first cries of the distraught newborn echoed throughout the van. Maggie had moved behind you to keep you sitting up while Daryl had staggered backward and fallen on his ass against the interior wall, eyes on the little thing that Hershel was looking over intently. Maggie reached over your shoulder and began unbuttoning your dress, whispering in your ear as she moved.

“The baby needs to nurse, bond with you on your skin and it’ll help when you have to push out the placenta, okay?” You blinked at her, concerned. “It’s okay. It’s nothing like what you just went through. One or two small pushes and it’s out.”’ You nodded robotically, watching Hershel maneuver some sort of tape around a slimy cord.

Thumper was not happy. They were probably cold and that thought made your heart ache. Your baby should never be uncomfortable. Daryl was slowly, clumsily making his way toward you, but wasn’t taking his eyes off the baby. When he was sitting beside you, Hershel finally leaned over you and placed the squirming, slippery baby on your chest.

“Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl angst #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd

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celtic-crossbow · 2 hours

Note

always leave with a nice cliffhanger

Still thinking about it. Everyone's waited so long for little Thumper though! 🤔 Decisions, decisions.

#anon #answered asks #murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader

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celtic-crossbow · 4 hours

Text

To cliffhanger or not to cliffhanger?

That is the question.

Already at nearly 1,000 words more than my usual chapter length and it would be a great stopping point but I fear you all might come for my throat if I stop there.

Hmmmmmmm

-Insert Jeopardy theme here-

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction

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celtic-crossbow · 6 hours

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I think I may actually finish chapter 29 today. I have some downtime and actually feel okay. It’s about 2/3 done. Just a couple of end details to work out.

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction

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celtic-crossbow · 8 hours

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So, so good. 🩵

Chapter 8 - The Attack (Save Me, Save You)

Summary - The convoy gets attacked by walkers and you have to hold your own, which earns you the respect of some of the Saviors.

Chapter warnings - canon-typical violence, injuries, blood, stitches, smoking, explicit language

A/N - Can’t have a Walking Dead fic without some walkers, right???

Series Masterlist

Tag list - @celtic-crossbow @rosegoldrosieee @heidiland05 @princesssparkle2024 @spectacular-skywalker @itwasntaphasema @duckybird101

Not far from the gates of Alexandria, Negan motions for Dixon to pull the truck over. He does, hitting the horn for Dwight on the motorcycle in front of us. Soon, the entire convoy is parked on the road.

You look at Negan. “What are we doing?”

“Just handling some last minute business,” he replies as he gets out of the truck, leaving the door open. “Stay here.” You turn to Dixon, who shrugs slightly and climbs out of the truck too.

You sigh, and lean back against the seat, closing your eyes. You’re glad to be out of Alexandria. No, you correct yourself, you’re glad that the Saviors are out of Alexandria. You would have done anything to be able to stay and be with your family, especially after finding out about Maggie. You cover your face with your hands. You know this isn’t the time or place to mourn your friend, but god was it hard to keep your shit together. Think about something else, you tell your brain. Anything else-

A loud thump from outside the truck draws your attention. You drop your hands to your lap and lean forward. You watch the Saviors tossing mattress after mattress into a pile on the side of the road. All the mattresses they just stole from us. You keep watching, trying to figure out what they are doing. You witness Dwight pouring a can of gasoline onto the pile.

“What the f-” you start, but then you watch another Savior light up a homemade torch and throw the flaming stick onto the pile. The fire catches quickly, filling the air with bad smoke and the awful smell of burning plastic.

They’re burning all of the fucking mattresses. Fear freezes you as you watch in horror as more and more mattresses catch fire. They stole them just to burn them, not even fucking use them.

The Saviors stand around their fire, whooping and cheering at their handiwork. Some light up cigarettes with the flames while others throw more items into the pile. They appear very proud of themselves. Negan stands back with some of his men, laughing and talking, watching the fire grow taller and taller. You notice Dixon standing apart from the rest of the group, with his head down, looking away from the destruction.

His head snaps up and looks in the opposite direction as yells emerge from the back of the convoy. You turn around to try and see where the yells came from, but then you hear the growling.

“We got company!”

The Saviors snap into action, some quicker than others, as a small herd of walkers stumble through the parked trucks. Most of the men left their weapons in their vehicles and are now scrambling to get them while dodging the dead. Dixon grabs his crossbow from the back of the motorcycle and runs past the truck you’re in. You scoot into the driver’s seat to see better. You hear the swish of an arrow cutting through the air, then the soft thud of it hitting its target.

Suddenly, a hand grabs your ankle. You whip your head around to find a walker, one hand holding you, trying to climb in the door that Negan left open. Your hand instinctively reaches to your hip for your knife, but finds nothing. Fuck. You forgot Negan had confiscated it, and now you’re unarmed and very much in danger.

You scream as you pull yourself closer to the driver side door, trying to find the handle. You try to yank your ankle out of the walker’s grasp. No luck. You start kicking at it with your other foot, trying to break free. The walker growls and starts pulling you towards it, leaning down with its mouth open to land a bite. You pull your free leg up as high as you can, and kick with all your might. The heel of your shoe stabs into the walker’s eye, killing it. Its grip on your ankle loosens just as you find the door handle, and you tumble out of the truck, cracking your head on the asphalt below.

The world around you goes quiet. Your ears ring. Dazed, you realize your eyes are clenched shut. You try to open them, but the bright light forces you to close them again.

You roll onto your back - why am I laying down? You can’t remember. Sharp pain on your head. You reach a trembling hand up. It’s wet. Why is it wet? You pull your hand away and force your eyes open to look. Red. Am I bleeding? What -

The sharp sound of gunfire brings you back to your senses. Too loud. Growling. The sound of something - someone - falling nearby. The smell of something burning.

It comes back to you. The mattresses. Alexandria. Saviors. Walkers. You scramble to your feet, one shoe missing, vision blurry. You use the truck - the one you just fell out of - to pull yourself up. Hanging on to the mirror, you take in the scene around you: Saviors taking down walkers, walkers taking down Saviors. No Negan or Dixon or anyone you know in sight. You turn and a wave of lightheadedness washes over you. You nearly fall just as a walker stumbles around the corner of the truck, right towards you.

The walker - walkers? You can’t tell, you might be seeing double - lurches towards you, grabbing your arm. Still weaponless, you use all of your bodyweight to push it off with your shoulder. It falls into the side of the truck but stays standing. Your hand finds the handle to the truck door and you open it. The walker staggers towards you again, and you push the door as hard as you can. It hits the walker and knocks it to its knees. Seizing the opportunity, you put both hands on the door and slam it again and again into the walker’s head. It bursts like a water balloon, spraying the truck and you with blood and brains. You don’t stop until there’s no more head left.

You let go of the door, chest heaving, vision spotty. You trip backwards over something and hit the ground again, landing on your ass. Looking down, you discover the thing you tripped over was a fallen Savior. Face half chewed off, he stares at you with open, dead eyes. You scream again as you start crawling away from it, backing up until you hit another truck.

Another walker spots you and veers towards you, also tripping over the Savior on the ground. It continues towards you, crawling. Nowhere to run, you start looking for a weapon, reaching your hands out in every direction.

“Where is my wife?” you hear Negan yell, but he sounds miles away. Your head is still fuzzy. It feels as if you are underwater.

The walker crawls closer. Panic begins to envelop you: your chest feels tight, your hands shake, you struggle to breath. Then your hand hits something heavy under the truck behind you. Blindly, you grab it. A rock. Good enough, you think as you throw yourself towards the approaching walker, and smash the rock into its head with both hands. It keeps moving, so you hit it again. The rock caves its skull in and the walker stills. You pull the rock out, blood spilling down your arms, as you sit back on your heels, chest heaving. You close your eyes and try to focus, but feel lightheaded again. You sway, then feel a hand clamp down on your shoulder.

You scream and whip around, wielding the rock again, but the hand lets go. You look up into a set of piercing blue eyes. Dixon. He’s watching you, his crossbow in one hand, his last arrow notched.

“You okay?” he asks. He reaches towards you, but you flinch away from it. He freezes, and you watch his face fall in real time. Dixon almost looks - hurt? He crouches down in front of you, and you crawl away, still clutching the rock. He looks at the rock, and his eyes trail down your arms, covered in blood, then back up to your face, with your eyes wide in fear.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says quietly, placing his crossbow on the ground gently. “Yer alright,” he whispers, “yer alright.” He raises his empty hands, and holds them out in between the two of you. You watch him, not moving, rock still raised. He waits. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You notice one of his sleeves is ripped, and there’s blood on his arm.

“Are you - “ you start, voice small, but can’t finish.

He looks to where your eyes are focused. “Nah,” he answers. “Son ova bitch knocked me over, but I got ‘im.” He looks back at you, and motions to you with his hands. Understanding, you nod, and reach one of your bloody hands out towards his. He takes it gingerly, and helps you to your feet. His hand lingers on yours for a moment. You watch his thumb brush across the top of your knuckles.

“Ho-ly shit!” a voice booms. You and Dixon both jump apart, and reach for your weapons - your rock, his crossbow - and turn to see Negan walking up, followed by a few Saviors. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, and Lucille is dripping with blood. He is looking over the walkers at your feet, heads bashed in. “You did all this?” he asks you, eyebrows raised.

You nod slowly, looking down at yourself: dress torn, one shoe, bloody rock.

Negan whistles, impressed. “Wow!” he calls out. “My wife is a certified badass!” He steps forward and wraps an arm around you. You notice Dixon quickly move out of his way and disappear into the crowd. Negan plants a kiss on your head, causing you to flinch from the pain. He looks at you confused, taking your face in his big hand. “Aw shit, looks like you took a pretty bad crack to the melon,” he says. When he pulls his hand away, there’s blood on it. You suddenly feel dizzy again. “Let’s get you home so we can patch that up,” he says as he leads you back to the truck.

After pulling out the dead walker, your heel still stuck in its eye, Negan helps you up into the truck. Dixon is already in the driver’s seat. You can’t help but notice that as you slide in towards him, he shifts over, as if making sure that you don’t touch him. Huh is all you manage to think as your mind starts to fog, and your eyes close.

You wake to Negan slapping your face.

“We’re home, doll,” he is saying as you startle awake. You look around quickly and immediately regret it. The pain in your head causes you to see spots. You groan. Impatient, Negan starts dragging you out of the truck and plants you too firmly on the ground. Your knees buckle and you catch yourself on the door.

Around you, the rest of the Saviors are exiting their vehicles. A crew is already unloading all of Alexandria’s guns and moving them into the Sanctuary. Negan watches them, Lucille in hand.

“What a good day!” he booms. A few of his men whoop in agreement. He begins twirling the bat around, taking a few practice swings. “Man, I am fired up right now. Who wants to go have a good time?” Even more Saviors cheer in response. He swings the bat again and turns back to you. His smile falters a bit.

“Yeah….” he drags out the word, “you don’t look like you’re up to it.” He walks towards you, placing a hand on your cheek. “I think I’d just end up hurting you some more.” He laughs as he pats your cheek, causing your brain to rattle around in your head. You close your eyes to steady yourself, trying not to fall again.

“Dixon!” Negan calls. The volume sends another sharp pain through you. The man in question appears from the other side of the truck.

“Mmm?”

“Take my wife to Dr. Carson to get fixed up,” the leader orders. Dixon’s eyes go narrow, and he opens his mouth as if to protest, but Negan starts walking past him, planting a hand on his shoulder and saying “I’m gonna go screw one of my other wives. This one’s too damaged.” Dixon pales, and you feel your cheeks burn as Negan laughs and saunters off into the Sanctuary.

You both watch him go before turning to each other, neither one of you looking very happy.

“C’mon,” he mutters, and you sigh as you follow him to the building.

Inside, the Saviors are going through their spoils, cheering and laughing at all of their new toys. The noise is too much for you, and you reach your hands up to cover your ears. Dixon takes you by the elbow, and leads you out of the room to the quiet of the hallway. You have to pause for a minute to lean against the wall, trying to calm the pounding in your head before you can walk again. Your escort lets go of you and waits until you peel yourself off of the wall, and then the two of you start down the hallway.

Even though you’ve been there before, the walk to the doctor’s office feels twice as long. With each step, you become more unsteady on your feet. You end up giving up on your heels, electing to walk barefoot with them in your hand. More than once, you take a turn too quickly and hit the corner of the wall. Eventually you start to confuse what’s up and what’s down and nearly fall before Dixon catches you.

“All right, princess,” he says again. You try but your knees buckle again, so you hang on to his strong arms. He sighs, and drapes one of your arms over his shoulders. Supporting most of your weight, he helps you to keep walking, slowing his pace significantly. The closer you get to the doctor, the more you lean into him to keep from collapsing. You feel him stiffen, but he doesn’t let go. When you look up at him, he is pointedly facing away, but you see redness creeping up the back of his neck. Finally, you see the office door and let out a breath of relief.

Still holding you up, Dixon bangs on the door. There’s no answer at first, so he punches it again, harder. The door swings open, revealing the old doctor.

“There’s no need to - oh my god,” he cuts himself off when he sees you. “Bring her in and get her up on the table, please.” He hurries off into the office.

Dixon helps you to walk towards the table, and when you hesitate, he huffs and lifts you onto it with one arm. You lay back on it, taking deep breaths. The room spins in front of you.

Dr. Carson rushes back over with a tray of supplies. “What happened?” he asks. When you don’t answer - have the lights in here always spun like that? - he turns to Dixon and repeats the question. You barely hear Dixon recounting the events of the walker attack. You’re too busy trying not to throw up.

The doctor listens to Dixon as he puts on a clean pair of gloves and pours rubbing alcohol onto a piece of gauze. “This is going to sting,” he says unnecessarily, “but I have to clean off the blood so I can see how bad it is.” He barely finishes the sentence before applying the gauze to your head, and you hiss as the alcohol burns your cut. Dixon flinches. The doctor ignores you both as he cleans the blood off of your face.

“Yup,” he sighs. “Definitely need a few stitches.” Great, you think to yourself, huffing. He turns to his tray and starts getting his supplies ready. “I don’t have anything to numb the area. However -” he motions to Dixon and points to a cabinet behind him. Confused, Dixon opens it and finds a bottle of bourbon. He picks it up, and turns back to the doctor.

“You serious?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

The doctor shrugs. “It’s the best I got. Besides, most of my patients are fine with it,” he explains, nodding at the Savior. Dixon glares at him.

You snatch the bottle out of his hand. “It’s fine,” you say as you uncork it. You take a big swig, cough a few times, then take another one for good measure. You hand it back to an astonished-looking Dixon, who takes it and gulps some down himself. You smirk at him, but he ignores you.

Dr. Carson clears his throat. You turn back to him. “Are you ready?” he asks. You take a deep breath, and nod. He nods back, and moves in with the needle and thread.

The pain is immediate. It feels like your head is on fire. You clutch the paper covering of the table like your life depends on it and squeeze your eyes closed. You wince with each new stitch, ignoring the doctor’s murmured apologies. Instead you focus on your breathing.

Inhale. You can do it.

Exhale. You’ve done it before.

Inhale. Fuckin shit.

Exhale. Almost done.

Inhale-

“And you’re all done,” Dr. Carson announces. As you hear him clattering to clean up his supplies, you exhale that last deep breath. See? You’re fine, you tell yourself.

When you open your eyes, you find Dixon is watching you closely from beside the table. You meet his gaze, and he quickly looks away and takes a step back.

Dr. Carson hands you a mirror. “Since I know you’re an expert on stitching, how’d I do?” he asks, evidently trying to lighten the mood. You look at your reflection. The cut runs from your hairline down your forehead towards your eyebrow. The skin is red and swollen, but the stitches are neat. You’ll definitely end up with a scar, but what else is new.

“Not bad,” you reply, giving back the mirror.

The doctor offers you a small smile. “Keep them clean, and I’ll be able to remove them in a few days,” he instructs. “Definitely be careful showering.”

“She gonna be alright though?” Dixon asks from his position on the other side of the room.

Dr. Carson directs his response to him. “She should be. She doesn’t appear concussed, but she has been banged up pretty good.” Dixon snorts. “She might experience headaches and sensitivity to noise and light, but nothing too bad. If it becomes too much, bring her back to me.”

Thanks for talking about me like I’m not right here, you think, but honestly, you’re too exhausted to put up a fight, so you stay silent.

After Dr. Carson discharges you, Dixon walks you back to the wife's suite. But when you get there, you can hear the music and conversation from within. You stop before the door. Negan is loudly recounting how he “humiliated Ricky-Dicky into submission” to the room, and there’s an eruption of laughter. The ache in your head twinges and you turn away from the noise. Dixon watches you.

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask him, hand on your head. “Somewhere quieter?”

“Sure,” he responds gruffly, and indicates for you to lead the way. You go left down the hall, knowing exactly where you want to go.

A few minutes later, you open the door to the library. You walk in, take a deep breath, and immediately feel a bit better. The only thing that makes you happier than the outdoors is the smell of books and paper.

You turn and see Dixon standing there, looking around the room like he’s discovering a new land. You watch him as his eyes graze over the shelves of books and across to the big windows, before landing on you.

“What?” he asks you.

“Have you never seen a library before?” you ask back.

He shrugs. “Didn’t know we had one.” You can’t help but laugh.

Dixon walks over and falls into one of the chairs at the table. He watches you as you stroll over to the nearest bookshelf. You scan a few of the spines, and pick up an 80s sci-fi book with aliens and a damsel in distress on the cover. You take it over to the couch and sit, tucking your legs under you as you crack the book open.

The two of you stay this way for a while: you reading, him sitting. A comfortable silence falls upon the room. Focusing on the book hurts your head a bit, but you do your best. Anything is better than the noise of the celebration going on back in your room. Besides, it’s not like you had anything else you could do here. Dixon isn’t known for his conversation skills.

The sound of a lighter snaps you out of your book. You whip your head around and see Dixon about to light the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

Dixon pauses, holding his hands out. “What’s it look like, princess?”

“This is a library,” you snap at him.

“So?” You glare at him. He stares at you in disbelief, then sighs, slamming the lighter on the table. “Fine, fine.” He stands up. “Let’s go then.”

“Go where?”

“To Disney World. Where the fuck do ya think?” he asks, exasperated. You glare at him again, but close your book and get up anyway.

Dixon leads you back to the usual smoking stairwell. However, this time, he starts walking up the steps. Confused, you follow. At the top of the stairs, there’s a door. Dixon takes a key ring out of his pocket, flips through them, then unlocks the door. He opens it and turns back to you. When you don’t move, he impatiently beckons you toward it. Hesitantly, you walk up the rest of the stairs and out the door, and let out a gasp.

You’re standing on the roof of the Sanctuary. Not the tallest roof, one of the lower ones, but still. You walk forward to the edge and look out, past the walls and fences towards the treeline. There’s a slight breeze, and you close your eyes as you breathe it in and listen to the rustle of the leaves. You feel Dixon move to stand next to you.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you ask him.

“T’ get some air,” he responds. “It’s really stuffy in this place.” Recognizing your own words from the other day, you open your eyes to scowl at him. He ignores you, instead placing two cigarettes in his mouth and lighting them. He hands one to you.

“Thanks.”

“Mmm,” is his only response.

The two of you smoke in silence, the only sounds coming from the swaying trees and the occasional call of a bird. Up here, you can barely even hear the guard walkers at the gates.

Dixon clears his throat. “I come up here sometimes t’ get away,” he explains, looking out at the forest. “This place can be-” he pauses “-suffocatin’, I guess.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’ve been a few places like that.” You take another drag of your cigarette. “Alexandria can get like that sometimes.” You look down but keep going. “I used to have a tree, in the woods not far from the walls. I’d sneak out there and sit for hours, when it would get to be too much. Too confining, after so much time on the road.”

“Like tha prison,” Dixon said, so quietly you barely caught it. His words catch you off guard. He’s never talked about his time there. You turn to him. He’s looking down at you. This close, you can see that he’s more relaxed than usual. His usually squinting eyes look at you with the slightest bit of softness.

“Yeah,” you say back, “like the prison.” You continue holding his gaze. “I used to have a hammock there.”

Dixon snorts. “Prob’ly my hammock.”

“Probably.” You laugh, then you sigh. “I miss it.” Dixon raises an eyebrow. “The hammock. The prison. The people.” You look down, a wave of sadness rolling over your shoulders. “Those days were simpler.”

Dixon looks down too. “Yeah,” he mutters. The two of you settle into the reminiscent quiet. Your mind races over your time there, all the friends you made. All the friends you lost. It's bittersweet. Tears prickle your eyes. Dixon sighs next to you.

“You, uh,” he says quickly, fidgeting with his lighter “you were good out there today.”

“Oh,” you respond, surprised at the change in subject. “Uh, thanks.”

Awkward silence.

“I’ve had to survive enough out there to handle myself,” you ramble on to fill the space. “It woulda been easier if I had a weapon though.”

Dixon huffs. “You seemed fine without one.”

You glare at him, but there’s no fire behind it.

“‘m serious,” he continues. “A heel, a door, and a rock. It was impressive.” This time you both laugh.

“Had to do the best I could with what I had,” you say, smiling at the man. The two of you fall back into silence, not quite comfortable but not awkward either. Together, you and Dixon watch the sun set behind the treeline. As it gets dark, the temperature drops and you shiver. Dixon notices right away.

“Wanna head back in?” he asks.

You push yourself off the ledge. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leads you back inside, locking the door behind you. You walk back towards your quarters slowly, taking your time. For once, Dixon doesn’t rush you. He just matches your pace, and you walk together until you eventually reach your door. You look at Dixon, who nods and turns to leave.

“Hey,” you say, placing a hand on his arm. Dixon stills, looking down at your hand on him. “Thanks. For everything today.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t do much.”

You give his arm a little squeeze. “You did a lot.”

He looks up, blue eyes boring into yours. “Nah, that was all you, princess.” For the first time, the annoying pet name didn’t feel like an insult. He pats your hand once, and takes it off his arm. He holds your gaze - and your hand - for a moment before letting go and walking off down the hallway. You stand there and watch him go, realizing that you don’t want him to. This surprises you. Who would’ve thought this man who once held a knife to my throat could make me feel this - safe?

#fic recs #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #negan smith

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celtic-crossbow · 13 hours

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gif by @jaaryl

Y/N, trying to put out the kitchen fire: Shit! We need an adult!

Daryl, trying to help: We are adults!

Y/N: We need an adultier adult! Go get Carol!

Daryl: An’ let her see the kitchen on fire?!

Daryl: Hell nah! I’ll get Rick!

#murda writes #daryl dixon #generated + original #daryl dixon incorrect quotes #daryl incorrect quotes #twd incorrect quotes #the walking dead incorrect quotes #daryl dixon humor #daryl humor #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead

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celtic-crossbow · 13 hours

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whenever you write caryl or carol i’ll be here hyping you up, love daryl in a platonic be my bestie and protect me way rather than romantic but still

I might try for this at some point but there has never been a reader in any of my Caryl stories because my focus is on that relationship. Carol is always protective of reader in Daryl x reader. If you sent in the requests, they are there, in my notes though. 🩵🩵🩵

#anon #anon request #answered asks #thank you #encouragement

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celtic-crossbow · 14 hours

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appreciation from others is lovely but write for yourself and because you love to do it. sometimes when you rely on others for that enjoyment it makes it feel like a chore :(

you’re doing great, there’s always more unspoken appreciation than you think.

Oh gosh, I love to write. It’s my escape. I’m too critical of my own work (I know I am, I’m trying to get better about it) and the replies and messages really help. I mean there, are things I post that get little attention and that’s okay cause I had fun with the idea.

Thank you for this🩵🩵🩵

#answered asks #anon #thank you #encouragement

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celtic-crossbow · 14 hours

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so i just found blood ties by accident and i binged the whole thing!! its sooo good and i am so excited for chapter 29!!!!

Thaaaank you. 🩵🩵🩵 I’m so happy you’re enjoying it!!!

I’m slowly working on chapter 29!

#anonymous #anon #answered asks #thank you so much #encouragement

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celtic-crossbow · 20 hours

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Sometimes I read works by others and I’m like “why do people even look at mine when there is gold like this out there?!”

And I reblog. Cause you are all so talented and everyone needs to see it.

I bow before your greatness. All of you.

#murda writes #murda reads #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #i just read one that was just so stunningly written #my fics are trash compared to this

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celtic-crossbow · 21 hours

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pretty eyes (3)

summary. picking up where you left off isn’t always the easiest thing to proceed with, especially when you and daryl are still bickering. but there are ways to make amends

warnings. smut, fingering, a lottt of making out, swearing, slapping, brief angst

a/n. again there will be another part, i apologise for this having taken so long 🖤

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

He was rough yet tender as he cupped your face, his thumbs tracing the structure of your jawline as his mouth devoured your own, the broad and crisp sunlight bringing heat to your skin. Your noses traced back and forth together, your heavy breaths became one notion of inhaling and exhaling. There wasn’t a thought surpassing your mind as you physically reconciled after your stubborn disdain at one another, moulding together as though you could melt after the other’s touch.

Alas you were forced to part from the oxygen that your lungs required, and you breathed heavily, your chest rising in a rapid motion as the two of you wordlessly stared at one another. His pupils were transformed into an enlarged size, there wasn’t anything that could surpass the silence that brooded scornfully between you, as neither of you both were sure on how to proceed. You could feel the swollen lining around your lips, and you bit nervously at it, attempting to scratch an itch to make the quiet around you less tense.

“Shoul’n’t a done tha’.” Daryl stated, however he seemed less appalled by the contact that you had made than he had shown previously. His cerulean orbs raked across your face as his feet jaggedly trudged backwards, committing some distance from you. He felt almost drunk from your kiss, and that made him feel absurdly foolish. It wasn’t in his nature to be so astounded by a simple touch, but it was definitely affecting him.

His pulse raced in the depths of his flesh, and his bloodstream pounded heavily in his ears as he awaited for your response, hoping that you would agree with him. It was a mistake, one that certainly shouldn’t happen again. Those damning eyes of yours were distracting him from his shield of resentment, and he tried to shun them from his sight, however you were staring straight ahead at him, which made it defiantly impossible.

“Daryl,” the sound of his name escaping your plush lips had him desperate to hear it fall from your lips over and over… No. He wasn’t some idiot that was willing to fall head over heels, he was simply attracted to your physical form, that was all that it could be. It was all that he would allow it to be. He never wanted anyone close, he’d be a pussy as Merle would call him if he had any feeling for you and his brother were here.

“Don’ got time for this.” He remarked as he swiftly turned around with the purpose of getting as far away from you as possible, however he hadn’t anticipated for you to follow him like a lost lamb, with a frown written upon your face. “Why the hell ya followin’ me? Huh, ain’t no one else yer wanna fuck ‘round here?” In truth, he’d inwardly resent it if you shacked up with one of the other men in your group, but he’d silence the qualms he’d have with your sexual relations.

“Honestly, no.” You crossed your arms once again, and he battled with looking in your eyes to your raised breasts, sucking in a much needed breath. “But again that’s not why I’m here Dixon, we have to sort this tension between us out; and I didn’t come on my own accord, Shane sent me here for the sake of the rest of the group. It’s not about me and you screwing, it’s about being civil. I think we can do just about that, right?”

Daryl scoffed, shaking his head. “Ya listening to Shane now.” He laughed mockingly and you rolled your eyes at his behaviour, already wishing you hadn’t bothered. You were prepared to stalk away, and so to relent from this dispersive attitude you were being given, you headed to the woods, touching your side in a double checking fashion for your blade. Yes, you had it. You were all good to go, and escape this hellish debacle. The trees surrounded you, hiding you in their shrubbery and shading of leaves as you tried to clear your head. “Ya tryna get yourself killed or somethin’ woman?”

Of course he had followed you, but you raggedly shook out your hair, ignoring him. He had wanted you gone, to leave him be in his solidarity, and the next moment he had trailed after you, in a marching stride as he recalled you to return back to the campsite that you had set up on the farm. “No.” You blankly stated, you weren’t stupid and knew damn well how to defend yourself. “No I’m not Daryl. You wanted me to leave you alone so that’s what I’m doing. So go back to being by yourself, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Wait. Just hold up a second.” He sighed, stalking alongside you to make your steps pause. “I- uh, I jus’, fuck you woman.” He closed his eyes, as your palm collided with the side of his face and the sting blossomed upon his cheek. The man was a little taken aback, but he shouldn’t have expected any different for his last words. Daryl was full of copious frustration, and he was done with it. “Fuck it.” With his body weight he grasped you by the shoulders, leading you backwards until you were trapped between him and a tall shot of bark.

You were furious, but all discretions were smothered into dismal whining as Daryl pressed against you, his mouth hungrily colliding with your own. Your eyes were closed as you could do nothing but reciprocate his motions, licking into his mouth with vigour as his hands strewed in your hair. He became lost in your kiss, as he allowed one of his hands to grapple down and pledge your ass in his grip. His administration caused a gasp to shatter from your lips as you allowed him to do as he pleased, his hands worked desperately at the fly of your faded and worn jeans as he began to pull the denim down.

“This is definitely a way we might be able to get along.” Inherently you mumbled as you felt lips and teeth tug at the flesh of your neck, and you hadn’t even thought of him leaving bruising marks along your throat. A pleased moan fell deliriously from your lips as you felt his rough hand slide into your cotton panties, feeling your cunt over as he stroked his ring finger against entrance. He ensured you were wet enough before he plunged it inside of you, and when he did your eyes flew open.

As he licked his lips in concentration, he became adherent to anything other than your eyes, even with his wrist continuing to move to prompt you pleasure. “Such pretty eyes.” He muttered to himself, allowing a soft smile to capture his mouth for a moment as he brought you to the brink of pleasure, slipping another finger inside of you. Your eyes were blow wide like those of a deer, and you grabbed at his arm, lips gaping open as you released silent moans, restraining all noise if there were any walkers nearby.

“Daryl.” His name burned like an ember on your lips, and he was compelled to capture them again, as your hands caressed wantonly down his body, grabbing at the prominent bulge he wore beneath his clothing. This was a sure way to reconcile your arrogance towards one another, and you were futilely desperate for more.

#fic recs #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut

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