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virginsexgod69 · 8 months ago

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7| Revenge Kill

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

summary As you search the pharmacy, you run into a familiar face.

cw violence, murder, mention of infidelity, mentions of child death, vague description of children as walkers, injuries, profanity, attempted theft, shitty ex husbands, i think that's it?

note i've never written fighting before but i figured it'd be like writing smut, but violent? idk man, it was a challenge. lmk your thoughts and any feedback, if you have it, would be appreciated!

2.3k words

Series Masterlist

The severity of the situation did little to strike fear into your heart. It was the end of the world, the dead were rising, and there were already so many other worries that held your focus that this felt like a huge inconvenience, rather than a life or death dilemma. A frustrated sigh left your lips as your turned to face the owner of the gun with your hands raised in surrender. The gun holder was a shabby, malnourished looking man whose hair was matted and overgrown. He looked to be in such an awful state that you almost wanted to hand him the medicines out of sheer pity. That was until a familiar voice, a voice you’d never forget, said your name in the form of a question.

“I-is that really you?” He asked, his aim faltering for a split second. The pity you had felt at first morphed into hurt, which was quickly washed away by a wave of rage.

“Trent?” You spat the name of your ex husband. While you were technically not divorced, you still referred to him as an ex husband and since the world ended, there were no laws to keep you from doing so. He still kept the gun pointing at you, which boiled your blood even more.

“What the fuck are you doing out here? I thought you left!” Your voiced dripped with pure hatred and venom for the man that abandoned his family in the midst of the apocalypse.

“I.. I did, b-but I came back.”

“There’s nothing for you here. Leave,” you demanded. He cocked the gun and moved his finger to the trigger, fixing his aim on your head, but you didn’t falter.

“I’m not leaving, not without that medicine.” You reached into the bag and pulled out the allergy pills and chucked it at his head, causing him to flinch and fumble to catch it.

“That’s all I’m giving you, now get out of my fucking way!” You slung your bag over your shoulders and picked up your hammer, but his firm grasp on your arm stopped you.

“Baby, please. I don’t wanna hurt you, but I need that medicine.” You tore your arm from his hold and swung at him, your fist colliding with his hollow cheek. He stumbled backward, almost tripping over his feet, but he caught himself on one of the shelves.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you lifted your hammer over his head and brought it down with full force, but he caught the wooden handle just before the metal end could greet his skull. His arms shook as he fought against your hold.

“I’m s-sorry! Please! Don’t k-kill me. I have a family,” he begged. All you could see was red. How dare he use the family he chose to leave as a bargaining chip for his worthless life.

“You had a family and you chose to leave them,” you growled as you yanked the hammer from him.

“N-no, you don’t underst–” his own pained scream cut him off after you slammed the hammer into his shoulder, causing him to drop the gun. It slid across the floor and under the shelf. Shoving him out of the way, you lunged for the gun, blindly feeling for it underneath the shelf. Your fingers curled around the handle and you pulled it from its hiding place.

“No. You don’t understand. You have no family because your kids are fucking dead!” You pointed the gun at him now as he cowered in fear, clutching his shoulder in pain.

“Dead?” He whimpered. Tears fell from his eyes, leaving clean streaks on his dirty face.

“Killed by the dead all because,” your voice shook as the memory of that day brought angry tears to your eyes, “because you ran away to screw my best friend when you should’ve been being their fucking father!” You screamed. You couldn’t see his own grief stricken face through your tears as you pushed down on the trigger. The gun was jammed and nothing came out. You screamed in frustration and tossed the useless weapon aside before reaching for your own gun. He tackled you to the ground before you could unholster it. He, too, was seething with anger.

“Why are you putting the blame on me, when you’re their fucking mother!” His filthy hands encircled your throat, cutting off your airways as he sobbed. Your vision blurred, not only from your inability to breathe, but from hitting your head on the ground when he tackled you.

“I have a baby on the way, and I know for a fact that Sierra will be a far better mother than you could ever dream of being! So give me my medications so I can make sure she’ll live to see that day.” His biting words were only background noise to the ringing in your ears. You thrashed beneath him as you tried to pull his hands from your throat. When they wouldn’t budge, you sank your nails into his flesh, slowly dragging them up his hand. As his skin tore, warm blood flowed from the wounds while he screamed in pain and reflexively pulled his hands away. You took advantage of the opening shoved him off of you, knocking him to the ground. Your sledgehammer wasn’t too far out of reach, so you grabbed it and used it as a support to help you stand through your dizzy spell.

“She can be a good mother on her own, just like I was, because you’re not going home to your new family.” You swung the hammer at his head, but he just barely dodged the deadly hit. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t say anything that would convince you to spare his life. He deserved to die, in your opinion. Whenever you sat and reflected on your life, almost every bad thing could be traced back to him. By some odd stroke of luck he didn’t deserve, he kept dodging your hits and you were starting to become tired. You already weren’t on your A game after having taken a few hits.

“Y-you’re fucking crazy, you know that!” He hissed as he struggled to his feet. Fed up with his entire existence, you tossed the hammer aside and successfully unholstered your gun. He lunged at you at the same time you fired the the gun. The bullet only grazed him as you collided with the wall behind you. It was true that evil never dies. You ducked just in time to avoid the punch he threw at your face. You threw your entire body weight onto him, sending him back to the ground. He let out a pained grunt once his head slammed against the cold tile. His state of disorientation served as the perfect opportunity to land a punch across his face, then another, and another. He writhed in pain beneath you as he tried to fight you off of him. The pain of his face against your fists didn’t phase you because the revenge felt too great. He deserved every bit of this pain, yet it still would never compare to the pain your kids probably felt when the dead ate them alive, the pain you felt when you came back home from a run and found their half-eaten, living-dead bodies stumbling around around with him nowhere to be seen. His scratched up hands blindly clawed at you as he begged for his life between sobs of anguish. Those sobs were nothing but music to your ears, so melodious to you that your own sobs didn’t register to you as your own.

“Please,” he croaked through his swollen, bloodied mouth, “let me at least be there for one of my kids,” he begged. His words gave you pause, freezing you in your position with your fists balled as you straddled his waist. Sparing him hadn’t once crossed your mind, but in that moment, you almost considered it. Almost. But that thought quickly flew out the window when he mustered up enough strength to toss you off of him, leaving you face down on the cold, dirtied tile. He roughly gripped the back of your head in his big hand, lifting it up before slamming it to the floor and holding you down as you struggled to get up. His grip released as he quickly stood up, trying to speedily limp away with your bag of medicine and medical supplies tossed over his shoulder. Dizzy and with your nose and mouth stinging in pain, you grabbed onto his ankle at the very last second, causing him to stumble. He didn’t fall, though, and instead continued to drag his beaten body toward the door, with you slowing him down.

You felt defeated. All this effort you put up just to lose to the same man you’ve already lost to so many times. Seeing him again dredged up so many painful memories, reopening recently inflicted wounds and scratching at old scars. Giving up would be so easy. The pain and dizziness that surged throughout your head and the coppery taste in your mouth were compelling cases on why you should. But your hatred overpowered your exhaustion.

Finding a hammer in that boutique felt like striking gold. Daryl had found it in a random drawer behind the register’s counter, along with other clutter that was left over from a construction project of some sorts. He grabbed it and made quick work of using the claw to pry the nails from the wooden boards. Once he removed what he deemed to be enough wood, he looked around, expecting to see you standing by. You not being there sent his alarm bells ringing. There were plenty of things you could have been doing other than looking for a hammer and he knew you could handle yourself, but he’d still preferred to be safe than sorry.

He unsheathed his knife to have it ready lest he run into any trouble. His walk increased into a slight jog when he heard the cacophony of shouts and crashes coming from the pharmacy. With his knife held out in front of him, he crept inside the building at the same he heard the thud of a body colliding with the ground. At his feet, a man holding a bag laid face down on the floor with his hands held out, clawing at the tile. You -with blood leaking down your nose and from your mouth- crawled up toward the stranger and sat on his lower back, earning a pained groan from him since you knocked the wind out of him.

“Daryl, give me the knife!” You frantically screamed with your arm reached out for the weapon. Daryl was confused as all hell, but that didn’t stop him from handing you the weapon- handle first. You muttered a thanks as you accepted it. You grabbed a fistful of the man’s ratty hair and lifted his battered face from the ground before slicing the knife across his throat. Daryl watched the life drain from the man’s eyes as the blood poured from his throat, oozing toward his feet. You let out a sigh of relief and handed him back his knife. You struggled to your feet and snatched the bag from the dead man’s hands.

“Didn’t find a hammer,” you hunched over to catch your breath, “but I found a shit ton of medical supplies!”

“Wha’ happened back there?” He asked as the two of you left the building.

“Asshole tried to rob me…then kill me,” you replied, omitting most of the story.

“You okay?” He looked at your face with concern, but you waved him off and wiped the blood from your face with the back of your hand and walked ahead of him. Your head and face hurt and you were slightly dizzy, but other than that, you felt fine. Daryl was already doing enough by staying behind and helping out with your cabin, burdening him with something small like this would be too much. He didn’t seem to believe you, but didn’t press any further.

“Found a hammer and got the wood off the door. This outta be enough to patch that hole up,” he told you once the two of you returned to the outside of the boutique where he left the wood when he went to find you.

“Oh. Nice,” you dismissively replied. You truly were grateful, but the pain and dizziness you were experiencing made it hard to focus on anything. You set the bag down before gently lowering yourself to a sitting position on the curb. You closed your eyes and rested your head in your hands.

“Hey. You sure you alright?”

“Uh huh, just need to sit down for a bit before we get goin’.”

Daryl looked around at the surrounding area to make sure there were no walkers nearby. There was a few hours of sunlight left, just enough to get back to your cabin before nightfall, but only if you left now. As for walkers, other than the odd straggler, the area was relatively clear.

“If we wanna make it back ‘fore nightfall, we should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed, despite not feeling any better. You stood up, the throbbing pain and dizzy spell making it difficult. Daryl dropped the wood and caught you when you stumbled. Had you not been injured, you’d have been internally squealing and giggling because he caught you and held you upright in his arms.

“Nah, somethin’s wrong,” he commented as he examined your face.

You weakly swatted his hands away, but they didn’t go anywhere. “I’m fine, I just hit my head once or twice,” you admitted a little too nonchalantly for his liking.

“Think you got a concussion or somethin’,” he hypothesized. You gently removed his hands from your shoulders and picked your bag up off from the floor.

“We should stay here ’til mornin’ so you can get some rest.” As much as you wanted to push back , to disagree and keep going, you knew you needed the rest. He took the bag from you and picked up the wood boards before leading you into the boutique.

note hi, it's me again. with finals and graduation season coming, updates are gonna be a little slower (not that they were very frequent before lmao). i thank you all for your patience <3. also i have my AP Lit test tmr, so wish me luck =[

THANKS FOR READING!

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drymushroomfics · 5 months ago

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Fraye Hill of House Lannister

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Chapter Twenty Five

Sandor's been riding for weeks. He's only half way to Clegane Keep by now. There's a price on his head after abandoning his post and he's had to be cautious. Men have already tried to kill him at two different taverns for the bounty. He gutted every last one of them. He stays out of taverns now and only takes back roads and short cuts, staying off main trails.

He did manage to hear useful information out of the men at those taverns. He heard them talk of Tywin Lannister and his army showing up and defeating Stannis Baratheon. He heard that his brother was by his side, as well. Which can only mean that Fraye is alone. He almost wants to thank the gods for the peace she must have without him. If she's still alive, that is. Sandor takes in a breath, stopping by a river so his horse can drink and rest for a short while. He's been working Stranger day and night to get to Fraye as quick as possible. He isn't sure how much she's suffered but he knows she's suffered more than she ever should have. He leaves Stranger tied up near the river and heads into the trees close by. He pulls out a dagger, stalking out any animal he can find. He's barely eaten in days and he knows he's got to keep his strength. It doesn't take him long before he's made camp long enough to skin and cook a small grey rabbit he had found. He gnaws at it like a beast, chewing on the meatless bones now. He throws the bones to the ground, leaning back against a tree. He can feel the tiredness wearing his body but he knows he must keep going. He's spent so long of his life only fueled by selfish anger that he had no idea caring for someone could push him to do so much more and allow him to feel and be so much more. He hates it and loves it. It's the most foreign feelings he's ever had. He stands up, putting out the fire and gathering his things. Back on Stranger, he drifts off into thought. He thinks about the first time he saw Fraye. The way she looked at him with no fear and only kindness. She was the most beautiful person he'd ever laid eyes on. She still is to him. He thinks about the fact that he may truly lose her now and if he hasn't, he'll find a way to rid Gregor from her hand and wrap his around hers instead. He wants her to be a Clegane by him and not his monster of a brother.

•○•◇•○•♡•○•◇•○•

Fraye takes a deep breath, Raine helping her stand. Fraye has been trying to strengthen herself up as much as she can. The maester supplied her with creams and bandages to heal the boiled burns on her skin. Raine has been applying them to her every morning. What once was raw red flesh, is now scabbed over red flesh. It isn't much of an improvement but it's better than infection. Fraye knows she'll be left with horrid scaring every where. It'll make her and Sandor twins. Fraye's sadness has turned to anger as the days passed. She felt anger for herself and anger for Sandor. She believes she's able to understand him now. She knew Gregor would be a ruthless husband but the thought of someone who is supposed to be your partner until death hurting you and disfiguring you in such a way is revolting. She has nothing but pure hatred for him and she hopes one day she'll put a knife through his heart or burn him alive and watch him scream. Nothing would bring her more joy and she's sure that Sandor would revel in the same feeling. Sitting in the dining hall, she eats her breakfast slowly. She thinks about Sandor, worry still washing over her after all this time. She knows there's a price on his head after leaving Kingslanding. She knows he can handle himself but she wants to pray that he'll make it soon. She feels as though she's starting to go mad, sitting here. She's glad to have Gregor gone. It's the only ease of her days. But still, she sits alone all day with her thoughts, memories, and daydreams. Sandor has occupied most of her passing thoughts but sometimes, she thinks of Jamie. She wonders about his well being. The last she saw of him was when Joffrey forced him into the dungeons. She knows Cersei would never allow his death but that doesn't mean Joffrey can't do horrid things to him. She always believed Jamie was good. He stood up to his own family for her well being for as long as she could remember. She thinks of sending him a Raven but she knows Joffrey won't let him receive it. She hates the cruel cunt of a child she grew up with. She'd give anything to see Joffrey and Gregor burn so that she and anyone else that they've tormented may live in peace.

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