fictional-lvr - Tumblr blog

fictional-lvr · 19 days

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WICKED (d.d)

a/n: note to self, stop taking tumblr breaks!!!

pairing: daryl dixon x fem!reader

summary: you were sensitive, daryl was hot headed. daryl often carried anger in his voice to protect you, never did you think he'd use it against you.

warnings: yelling, argument, sensitive!reader, blood, gore, fighting walkers, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 💞

words: 2,136

the prison had fallen, tensions were rising. it was just you and daryl on the roads now, attempting to find your group again. you should have noticed the way he shook his head earlier or the way he sighed loudly and squeezed his eyes shut.

you cursed yourself for not knowing sooner.

daryl dixon was never a man that anyone could say was overly patient. but when it came to you, he’d wait years for you to utter a mere sentence. he was suddenly as patient as they come. but that didn’t change his true nature.

you’d been separated from the group for quite a while now. it was just the two of you on the roads.

at first, you’d been silent as a mouse, wondering if everyone was okay.

soon after, you realised that it was daryl who was also just as silent. you began speaking, in hopes of raising his mood. you assured him, the group had found their way back to them hundreds of times before, this would undoubtedly be no different.

but daryl didn’t so much as glance at you, barely letting out a grunt before turning his head. obviously, your plan in trying to lift his mood only dampened it.

however, you didn’t stop there.

and you should have, you really should have.

perhaps if you’d spent less time talking and waffling on, he wouldn’t be as angry as he was. perhaps if you’d just listened to him and nodded with your head bent, he wouldn’t have snapped.

albeit everything was happening so quickly.

you hadn’t even registered the infected make their way out. it took only moments before your life practically flashed before your eyes.

daryl’s back was against yours, his own knife out as he plunged it into walkers heads. in return, you attempted to do the same, holding the knife at it’s base with shaky hands. but you weren’t strong nor brave like daryl was. when fighting, it was obvious just how different the two of you were, how different you’ve always been. and you couldn’t lie as to say it wasn’t throwing you off your game.

not that you ever really had game.

a walker grabbed at your shoulders causing you to let out a fearful whimper. you used the time you had to plunge the knife into it’s head. your eyes widened as you missed the brain, blood spurted out into your face and onto your clothes. you took the knife out and tried again, this time the walker fell limp at your feet.

before you could so much as try and attempt to take out another walker, one practically lurched onto you from the side.

daryl felt you hit against his back and cursed you. you were so damn clumsy and usually, he was okay with it. more often than not he’d smile at you, kiss your hurt forehead and tell you that you must begin looking where you’re going but now, he was anything but comforting. if anything, it took everything in him not to spin around and yell at you then and there.

but he didn’t, merely because he was too preoccupied with killing the walker in his hands. he plunged the knife forward, hitting two walkers and piercing straight through their heads. with a separate hand, he shoved the knife into another.

he couldn’t deny the relief that flooded his veins as he took out every last walker on his side.

he rolled his eyes before readying his arms, beginning to spin around and just knowing you’d need help.

his eyes widened at the sight of you on the ground.

foot pushing up against a walker, you attempted to get it away. while another was crawling on you, you could have let out a whimper, knowing your knife had been tossed away from you.

there were too many.

as if the ‘big man in the sky’ had answered your prayers, you closed your eyes shut at the feeling of blood spurting out onto your face. finally, you peeled them open upon the sound of groaning and gargling coming to a stop. the sight of daryl dixon came into view, he’d taken out every last walker.

and he did not look pleased.

“daryl―” you couldn’t so much as get a word out. before you could even try to defend your cause, he was speaking.

“are you fuckin’ stupid?!” daryl was an angry man, through and through. he channelled that anger, using it for things like this, taking out walkers or any other said enemy. never, had you been on the receiving end of his bellowing voice. “you ain’ gonna fucking make it out here if you need me watching your back every other second!”

you could feel your eyes sting, pathetically.

you didn’t want to cry nor did you want to let daryl see you cry, not like this. he’d wiped your tears a thousand times over, even if it was because someone was yelling at you. you’d claim that it’s no big deal, that you were being dramatic and he’d always swoop in, telling you that it’s not dramatic and nobody should yell at a ‘flower like you’. you wondered what changed. “i was trying.” you uttered out pathetically once more, voice all broken.

“wasn’t tryin’ enough!” his hand roughly grabbed yours, practically hoisting you up from the ground. you let out the smallest of whimpers. not because it hurt but because you’d never seen him this angry at you. “are you hurt?” but his voice was anything but caring. it seemed as though you were just another burden to him.

instead of replying, you merely shook your head, it was bent down so he couldn’t see your watery eyes.

but he took it as a well enough response, because he cleared his throat, pocketing his knife. “we have to keep moving.” you wondered if he’d fallen guilty after his words spat you in the face, you guessed he did because for the duration of the walk, he kept glancing back at you, as if to see if you were still so upset.

and you were.

perhaps it really was a silly thing to be upset about. but daryl knew how much you hated yelling. he was well aware of all the baggage it came from, the flashbacks it may have caused. he knew you better than anyone, he’d been the one to wipe your tears from the same thing many times ago.

deep down you knew he was only yelling because the emotions were high. he was worried about the kids of the prison, everyone else. he was worried about rick and carl, carol and judith, everyone there was to worry about, he was doing the worrying. he got in his head like that a lot.

but that didn’t change the fact that he’d yelled at you so easily, as if he’d been dying to all day.

and could you so much as blame him anymore? you had been talking his ear off. no doubt, because you thought you were doing the right thing but you tried to put yourself in his shoes. you’d get annoyed too, right?

the difference between you both?

you never would have so much as dreamed about talking to him the way he spoke to you.

“there’s a cabin around here, we’ll hole up for the night.” he received no response, so he turned his head. “y’ listening?”

once again, you didn’t speak, merely nodding. he sighed before turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut. he didn’t apologise, stubborn to the end. he didn’t often apologise to you, probably because he never found himself in a position where he had to but you were the complete opposite, always apologising profoundly for everything you did, even if it hadn’t been your fault.

you wondered if he wasn’t apologising because he wasn’t actually sorry.

he used his hand to beat down on the door, waiting to hear groans and gurgles. when he didn’t, he opened the door, peering inside. it was safe.

he let you go, watching as you practically scurried inside, ready to get away from the horrid outside world. maybe you were ready to get away from him. he found guilt eating at his insides, like a walker biting into flesh. the thought of you being angry with him was worse than the thought of getting bit right about now.

but he knew you, knew you more than anyone. and he knew you weren’t angry with him, you were merely upset.

stubborn as he was, he needed to make it better for he shouldn’t have yelled at you, as annoyed as he was.

after lighting a fire, he made his way towards the kitchen, where he somehow knew you’d be. as if he could sense your presence and everywhere it loomed. he could have spotted the back of your head from a mile away. there you were, stood in the kitchen in front of the sink, you must have been checking if they had running water. surprise, surprise, they didn’t.

he leaned his body against the door frame, head gently landing on it as he watched you. you were yet to notice his presence, your hands scrubbing dryly at the other. there was blood coating all over your hands, not your own, walker blood. you needed it off and you needed it off now.

daryl knew how you got, always fussing over getting dirty as it was but when it came to walkers, you didn’t want any of it on you. it was always a challenge when the group was willingly putting walker guts all over their coats to disguise themselves.

he’d had enough of watching you, opting to walk inside the room. “c’mere, angel.” you heard his words, freezing up and he could only feel guilt eat at his bones. he carried a cloth, slightly damp. you allowed him to take your hands in his own, cloth gently working against the dirtied skin. “y’alright?” you didn’t respond, nodding.

you hadn’t so much as opened his mouth since he’d yelled at you.

“baby…” and then he heard it, the mere sniffle that had you turning your head.

“‘m okay.” voice cracking showing that you were not, in fact, okay.

he could only frown at you. he felt you try to move away but his hands kept you still, grasping your own and keeping you in place. he waited in silence until you were ready to look up at him. when you did, he almost wished you’d hadn’t. your eyes were red rimmed and watery. you’d been crying. no longer was there that judgemental piece in his eyes. instead, you could only catch the guilt swarming in them.

“‘m sorry.” was the words that you practically clung to, that left his mouth. “‘m so sorry, baby, c’mere.” you felt his arms wrap you up.

you were too upset to argue.

so instead, you allowed him to take you into an embrace, hell you threw your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly closer. there was that gentle feeling again, the one you’d longed for so much. but you couldn’t have asked, no. how could you ask for comfort from the same person that’d hurt you in the first place?

thankfully, daryl made most of your decisions for you.

“‘m sorry.” you croaked out. “i wasn’t looking and then the walker just came out of nowhere and i swear i tried―”

daryl was quick to cut you off.

your head was held in his own dirty hands. though you hated the dirt on yourself, there was almost a comforting feeling to the dirt on him. perhaps it was the familiarity. “you ain’ got nothin’ to be sorry for, alright? nobody should yell at you, ‘specially not me.”

you didn’t know whether to agree or not.

“you did what you could ‘n i’m proud of you, y’know that?” you felt your eyes begin to get watery again, god you wished you could stop crying. as if he could read your mind, he spoke, “‘n it’s okay to cry, i was bein’ an asshole.”

you sniffled before giggling slightly. “you were.”

he couldn’t help the way his lips turned up at the sound he’d missed so dearly. “yeah, i was, wasn’t i? ‘m just… worried, y’know? for everyone. not everyone has a flower like you in their group.”

you shook your head with a sniffle, ignoring his words directed to you. “they’re gonna be fine, we’ll find ‘em.”

“yeah, we will.” he nodded, as if whatever came from your mouth, he could suddenly believe. you had that effect on him that he’d never tell. “but right now, i jus’ care about you, alright? c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

and how could you deny hands once so angry, now so gentle?

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

a/n: rahhhh (this was horrible.)

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fictional-lvr · 20 days

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daryl dixon is such a little cutie patootie

#daryl dixon #twd

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fictional-lvr · 26 days

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Thinking about domestic!hotch with a disabled partner (chronic pain and fatigue)

- him helping them get up in the morning and after naps, getting them sat up and letting them lean their head against his shoulder while he rubs their back to wake them up.

- stopping at the store on his way back from work to get their prescriptions and painkillers incase they've run out

- being THE BEST at getting the right temperature in the bath tub to try and soothe their joints

- him and Jack helping them decorate their walking aids if they have them.

- always keeping track of their water intake and if they've had enough to eat (also taking meds on time) because we all know this dude is organised as hell

- calling every night when he's away to get updates on what kind of day they're having. hating when he's not there and they have a flare up because he knows how difficult it can be to be in that much pain and have no help.

- he definitely worries, but I think also he'd want to let them be independent, he knows to only ever push their chair if they ask- but at home he always asks if they need anything if he's getting something too. He's helpful without smothering.

- being the absolute comfiest pillow for naps even when they're out. He knows sometimes they really need the rest even if he'd prefer to go back to the car, without that option he may as well make it safe and comfortable.

- I think it'd kill him a little that there really isn't anything he can do to help when things get really bad, but he knows being there to distract them or just hold them is more important

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fictional-lvr · 27 days

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On the case

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fictional-lvr · 27 days

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Why does Negan talk about piss so much? Is there something he needs to admit?

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fictional-lvr · 1 month

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i’ve been watching a lot of documentaries lately and…

“it still fits” “still fits?” “yeah, like yesterday.”

“quiet on the set” “you ready, eddie?” “born ready…born ready.”

[indistinct muttering] [shushing sounds] [background noises gradually cease] *camera focuses in on eddie* “aaaand, action!”

🎬 “hi, i’m eddie munson. i’m 32. and in the spring of 1986 — when i was 20 years old — the unexplainable happened in my hometown.”

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fictional-lvr · 1 month

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appreciation post for my husband

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fictional-lvr · 2 months

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"I don't have a type-"

oh apocalyptic father figures...

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fictional-lvr · 2 months

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thinking about daryl giving you a nickname…

18+, mdni

AN: this was a midnight brain worm while i was working on something else, so just walk with me ok!

daryl wasn't really one for nicknames.

he'd never had one coming up, always just "daryl" or "merle's brother" or something else sneered and distasteful. that was fine with him. to daryl, nicknames were rooted in sarcasm and mean jokes.

it hadn't started any differently with you.

that day in the quarry way back, the morning after the walkers had attacked their people. daryl was already aggravated, sweaty and thinking about merle (alone and hurt and alone), and he didn't much like these fucking people anyway, so when you stood with glenn, insisting on a burial over burning, dried tear tracks on your face (those people were your people too. you were mourning with the rest of them), he didn't hold back, sneering "well ain't you just a fuckin' peach," and watching your face harden in the wake of his words.

daryl didn't mean for it to stick, but he found himself defaulting to the silly name anyway. first when he was annoyed at you. you were soft, unfit for the grime of this new world, then when he was poking fun, and eventually... something else.

in the cdc, with a hangover keeping you slumped over the table, "shoulda stayed out the bottle if ya couldn't handle it, peach."

over the long winter on the road, with barely any food or water, "keep up, peach, i ain’t gon’ carry you.”

in the prison, sharing shifts up in the watchtower (because you were sort of friends now) (because daryl felt almost rewarded when your eyes lit up at your nickname), "don't need to teach you on the bow, peach. you're just fine with a knife."

trapped in the train car in terminus, fussing over his injuries even though you could barely map him out in the dark, "peach. peach. quit it, ‘m alright."

the road to alexandria was long and brutal. 'peach' turned into your name and your name turned into silence. daryl was grieving, you were grieving, and the space between you felt like a chasm, dark and wide. finding that community was a blessing in disguise, not just for the group, but for you and daryl specifically. you came back together behind the walls, both unwilling to acclimate, but knowing you needed to try.

‘peach’ made its way back into circulation slowly and then so frequently that even the alexandrians began to catch on.

when daryl had to leave with aaron for a run, “later, peach. i’ll find ya after your shift.”

laughing over your assigned job, “the hell you know about gardenin’, peach? they shoulda put ya in the tower.”

inevitably your relationship shifted into something more intimate. it wasn’t a secret, hell, the group had seen it coming long ago.

‘peach’ stopped being a nickname and became a term of endearment. something daryl reserved for tender moments.

startling awake when daryl joined you in bed, late after a long run, “just me, peach, go back to sleep.”

when you came back from a run that turned dicey, a little worse for wear, “lemme see it, peach, i got ya.”

and in… other moments as well.

your body pressed firmly against daryl's, his lips a breath from yours, whispering, “tell me what ya need, peach. you know i’ll give it to ya.”

daryl laid between your legs, two fingers curling cruelly against your g-spot while you rode out your orgasm above him, “there ya go, peach, so fuckin’ good.”

daryl had never been one for nicknames, this fact held up even after the world ended. your own family was rarely on the receiving end of a playful moniker. but to him, ‘peach’ was easy as breathing and, to you, it sounded like “i love you” every time.

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fictional-lvr · 2 months

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“I saw the way you were looking at her. I’m not stupid Ed-”

“Do you want some head?” Eddie asks suddenly, cutting your sentence short. You were in one of your moods and your mouth hadn’t stopped running ever since you left the restaurant.

“What?” your head whips around, meeting his dark eyes, your scowl now replaced with a look of surprise.

“Do you want some fucking head? Would that fix whatever the hell is wrong with you right now?” he grumbles, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he grips the steering wheel tighter.

“I- well, I mean..”

“Thought so. Now please just stop with the damn attitude until we get home.” he gripes, a small smirk appearing on his pretty lips.

“And then head?” you pout slightly, biting down on your plump lip as Eddie rolls his eyes playfully.

“And then head.”

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fictional-lvr · 3 months

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fucking love pinterest. i can get anything on pinterest. there's no transphobic dogwhistles or nazis on my pinterest feed. pinterest would never hurt me i love her

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fictional-lvr · 5 months

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i listen to a lot of audio porn man (r/gonewildaudio thank me later)

LAWRD this audio is SO bfd!joel im frothing at the mouth

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fictional-lvr · 5 months

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STOPPPPPPP

thinking about this picture <3

#SOBBING #WAHHHH

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fictional-lvr · 5 months

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SHUT UP IM CRYING THIS IS SO CUTEEEE

Guardian Angel

Castiel x Winchester child!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: Castiel gets to know the Winchester’s little sister

Sam and Dean had a tendency to be cautious around new people. A tendency, they were noticing, that was not passed on to their little sister.

At least not where a certain angel was concerned.

“Why is the sky blue?”

“Because blue light travels in shorter waves than other light, so it’s scattered more than other colors, and therefore blue is the color you see most often in the sky,” Dean looked up to see you, the edge of Cas’s trench coat gripped in your small fist as you followed him around.

“Ok. Why is grass green?”

“Because of the pigment chlorophyll in the leaves and stems.”

“Ok. Why is-“

“Baby, how about we leave Castiel alone,” Sam scooped you into his arms, carrying you to his bed in the dingy motel room.

“I wanted to ask him more questions!” You protested.

“Yeah well, you’ve asked him enough for now, it’s bed time.”

After Sam put you to bed, he stepped over to his angel friend.

“Thanks Cas,” he sighed. “You kept her occupied for quite a while.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sam was surprised at the sincerity in Cas’s voice. “She has some very good questions.”

“Cas?” Sam sighed at the sound of your voice, but Castiel stopped him as he stepped towards you.

“I’ve got her, you had some research to do, right?”

Sam glanced at you, before looking back at the angel. There weren’t many people he trusted with you, and just because you liked Cas didn’t mean that Cas was safe; the angel thing was all relatively new to Sam.

“Cas?” Your voice came again.

“Yeah, alright,” he finally decided. “But I’m right over here if you need anything.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Cas made his way over to your bedside. “Hello, little one. Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“Can you sing?”

Cas glanced self consciously over at the Winchester brothers, but they were engrossed in research.

“I…have the ability, yes.”

“No, I meant like now. Can you sing me a song?”

“I…I suppose. If it would help you sleep.”

You grinned and settled back against your pillow as Cas began to sing softly.

You were asleep in minutes.

…

“Castiel? Cas, I have a question.”

“He’s probably busy, why don’t you-“

“What was your question?”

Dean jumped in surprise when Castiel appeared suddenly next to him.

“Why can’t we see your wings?”

“I don’t often show them, as it would be counterproductive to my attempts to appear human.”

“Oh.”

“Was that all?” Dean could tell Castiel was eager to return to wherever he’d come from, but he hid it well from you.

“Yeah,” Castiel stiffened in surprise when you ran up to him and hugged his leg. “Thanks, Cas.”

“I…you’re very welcome.”

And just like that, he was gone.

…

“Castiel?” You curled your legs into your chest. “Cas, I-“ your voice broke, struggling to escape past the lump in your throat. “Cas please come. Please.”

“I really don’t have time for questions now, I’m sorry, I-“ Castiel stopped when he got a good look at you. “Little one, what is it?”

“S-Sam and Dean were supposed to be back by now,” you couldn’t hold back your tears, but you were managing to hold back your sobs. “And-and they won’t answer their phones, and-“

“Hey, hey,” Castiel placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, worried when your tears increased and your breathing labored. “I’m sure they’re just in the middle of a hunt. They’ll call when they’re on their way home, I’m sure.”

“I’m scared,” the fragility in your voice broke Castiel’s heart.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Castiel knelt by your bed and looked you in the eye. “Your brothers are very strong, and they’ll do anything to make it back home to you.”

“W-will you stay until they come back?”

“Of course I will,” Castiel promised. He was surprised when you launched yourself forwards and into his arms, but it only took him a moment before he reciprocated, holding you as though you might break.

“Thank you, Cas.”

“Any time, little one.”

Sam and Dean returned home a few hours later to find you fast asleep in the arms of your favorite angel.

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