#So it makes sense he was doing it so he'd be easier to find by Lestat and Lestat would be affected enough by it to come looking for him

[fayewoodss]

idk if this makes sense but what things do u think push dteam to the point of overstimulation/complete overwhelm

I've been thinking a lot about this, and I really think it's a mixed bag for all them and there are certain things that are tolerable one day and then terrible the next.

For Dream, I definitely think that being out in public and being recognized and perceived is a difficult thing for him. If he makes his appearances known and public, like irl livestreaming, wearing the mask in public, oe attending events, I think he is better prepared to handle crowds and recognition. If he knows he will be out and publicly perceived, he can script and prepare for if. But even then, there has always been a noticeable discomfort with irl content and public notices. I think he would be quick to being overwhelmed if he had to deal with unplanned large crowds and/or recognition.

I think another point of possible overstimulation for him could definitely be clothing. Having lost weight and had skin removal surgery, it's easier now for him to find clothing that fits properly, but he still wears compression tank tops while also usually layering with oversized clothes. From one of his childhood emails to his teacher, there is also a note from his mom about waistbands being uncomfortable for him and elastic being preferable. So, I think it's fair to say he prefers loose fitting clothing that doesn't restrict his movement in anyway. Instance where he'd have to wear things more tailored, or harder in materials and construction, could lead to physical awareness and discomfort that could be overstimulating. (I struggle with this a lot with my own clothes.)

I would say George is similar with clothes, but not to the degree that Dream is/may be. I do think he likely struggles with the same issues of restrictive and structured clothing being uncomfortable for him, which is why he also dresses in oversized clothes and elastic waistbands, but I would say he is someone that could handle wearing non-comfortable clothes for a longer period of time. He would likely complain the whole time though, seeing as that's his nature.

I think something that would really overstimulate him is texture both in touch and taste. For touch, he's very quick to complain about when he doesn't like the feel of something. Even with his new found love for fishing, he is constantly complaining and overreacting to the feel of the fish. I think if he were in a situation where he'd be stuck with a slimy texture on his hands, or any undesirable texture for that matter, it would push him to the point of a meltdown.

Now for taste, we already know that he has food aversions and the few things he has warmed up to usually came down to the prepared texture of the item. An avocado in Britain wasn't as ripe or fresh as an American avocado, leading to a rubbery texture he didn't like. Tomatoes make or break dishes entirely dependent on how they're prepared texturely, whether they're raw or cooked, mixed in or on their own. I think if in a situation where he couldn't choose his own meal and had to work with a limited provided option, he'd be overwhelmed by the lack of safe foods and abundance of bad textures.

I would say that similar to Dream he is also likely to be overwhelmed by crowds, and even individual interactions, as we've seen his anxiety play out on stream. I think about the Universal stream when he went into one of the Harry Potter shops but immediately left because he felt very attention grabbing and awkward in a closed area with people. I think he's more open to being extroverted for his audience, but the separation between the entertainer and the real person is quick to break down when he is overwhelmed by real life attention. Sometimes I see his irl streams as a way of doing things without feeling alone, like a safety blanket or a crutch to try something new but have something familiar with him. And, yes, obviously he does a lot with Dream Team, Gia, and Tony, so he's not always out and about alone, but I do think having the camera on him does help him a bit with just getting out of the house.

Lastly for George, I think he's unfortunately very quick to overwhelm himself. His reactions and moods can be a bit extreme at times, whether it's anger, frustration, or excitement, but that elevated adrenaline high is very impactful on him. Say he's at a party like the party on Komanche's IG stories. Everyone else is casually standing around, bouncing a little to the music, while he's jumping, twirling, and shouting. He's clearly having a good time, but his extremely elevated mood compared to the mismatched vibes in the rest of the room could lead to him being more aware of his behavior and then overwhelming himself without knowing how to pull back. I think moments where his mind or body aren't acting and reacting in the way he wants it could really upset him.

I do have a few more ideas I want to explore, but I think I'll make a second part as I develop them more. And also so this doesn't become more of a novel of a text post than it already is, lol.

Also, I kept this DNF just because I am reacting it to autistic overstimulation and meltdowns, but I can and will add Sapnap in as well. I just don't really speak to ADHD overstimulation and behaviors because it's not my knowledgeable area.

[zvahlne]

THERE'S MORE???? I MISSED THESE???? i'm so happy rn

now. that said.

i am sensing that soon i need to make an actual lore post to explain all of this. but for now! (note: this one is definitely sad i gotta talk about her dying LMAO so. prepare? got a little into this one..)

first, context, recap, pre-gene breakdown, emma and him were never close, but she was incredibly close to dante. she only spent time with dante, and really only even talked to dante, out of everyone in boboros. it wasn't personal, she was just a really shy, quiet kid, and dante was the only one she felt safe with... but gene took it personally. he tried to force that relationship, but predictably, that did not work! it only made the situation worse. (i want to note though - he wasn't awful to her during this time. it's more like a distant family member who really wants a hug at a family gathering and gets a little pushy about it, but all the time)

it's sad to me, because if he'd waited and let her initiate, if he hadn't scared her away, she would have loved him just as much. she did love him, before everything...

gene took her with him after getting his revenge on dante. after finding that he couldn't manipulate emma's memories, next best thing was erasing dante's memories of her (if he remembered her, he would know that someone remembered him. that's no good!). emma would NOT shut up about dante (this is, unfortunately, the most she's talked to gene ever) and he was 1. worried that might ruin his awesome cool revenge if he just let her be and 2. pissed him off. but he didn't want to flat out kill her, because despite everything, she was his little sister. something in him loved her still.

so he proceeded to erase everyone else's memories of her too, so that FINALLY, there would be no one she could talk to but him. oooh gonna hide behind dante's legs instead of talking to gene?? TOO BAD, he has no idea who you are! gotta talk to your big brother gene now, idiot!

absolutely deranged of the man but you know when you're having an evil breakdown and getting revenge on your village who wronged you you may as well go all the way yk

so now emma is a little girl no one remembers, and so gene takes her BACK WITH HIM to the nether. it's awful for her. he thinks it's pretty shitty for him too! it's hard taking care of a kid and it's harder taking care of a kid in the nether. it doesn't help that emma hates him, and doesn't even thank him for the work he's putting in here! wow! and she still won't shut up about fucking dante! HE DOESN'T REMEMBER YOU. GET OVER IT.

he's less human than he was when he took her with him originally, and he's getting frustrated. and now, he's had a thought. she'd be easier to keep 'alive' if she was a shadow knight... and if she dies, well. that solves the problem too!

(the vastly preferably end is that she comes back, but he's hit a point that he thinks he's ready to accept the alternative. personally, i think he'd have been more upset than he realizes if she hadn't come back)

and so...

emma died in the nether. i've cycled through a few deaths over the years (current thought? fell in lava. but it could have been mobs, or even other shadow knights). that's not the important part: the important part is that gene lets it happen. he doesn't make it happen, he doesn't do it himself - but he stands by while it does. he watches. and emma knows this, she saw this, her last living thought was desperately wishing for her big brother to save her, and her first unliving thought was that he didn't.

for gene's part, he did encourage the shadow lord to make emma a shadow knight for him to mold! that's... something...? but he didn't get confirmation on that before he let emma die; he just floated the idea, and let it turn out how it may...

emma was filled with enough hate for gene, that even as young, and completely untrained as she was, she was brought back. she's told him this, that it was hate for him that brought her back - and he's shrugged it off. whatever keeps her here.

whether gene killed emma is up to one's own interpretation... he would say he didn't! she got herself killed. he'd saved her enough times. and she came back stronger, he even trained her, so he did her a favor.

...emma never says he killed her, either. she thinks it's worse that he just watched. she'll never forget that moment. there was no urgency on his face. no distress. only intrigue. morbid curiosity. like he was watching a bug struggle in a spiderweb, wondering if it would wiggle out before the spider devoured it.

THIS IS MY SECOND TIME WRITING THIS POST BECAUSE TUMBLR CRASHED AND KILLED IT

@plutoonwheels tags:

QUESTIONS ABOUT EMMA?? IS IT MY BIRTHDAY???

mcd emma lore under the cut but first a sketch of her<3 she's not usually smiling but she can smile for this post. as a treat

did dante's lore go to em?

nope !! gene still did all the "someone needs to remember" stuff... emma was always meant to be an addition to the lore, not a subtraction... i partially came up with it as a kid because i thought it was a clever way to explain why dante would never have brought up emma - he doesn't remember her! so he CAN'T mention her!

but SHE remembers him - so actually ("crazy for Dante if his sister turns up as a guard and he's just gotta pretend he doesn't know her"), SHE'S the one pretending not to know him! the first person who finds out she knows dante is laurance, because laurance sees her staring with a deep longing sadness at dante all the time and assumes she's yearning romantically... to which she protests in horror "?!? HE'S MY BROTHER!??!" without thinking and then she has to explain EVERYTHING to him lmao

(i fear dante is like. the last to know. because she keeps telling everybody not to tell him. then when he finds out, he doesn't believe it, and gives emma the cold shoulder while he tries to sort it out. she lets him, because she's not sure he should be talking to her anyway... but it wasn't meant to be forever! dante just needed a few days to process! but... then he doesn't see emma for 15 years. haha .)

they make me so sad

is emma a knight of phoenix drop?

her lore is currently undergoing a little reworking now that i'm better at writing + rewatching diaries, and this is one aspect i'm reconsidering, BUT - at time of writing - emma is not a knight of phoenix drop at any point! she kind of is in everything but name - she'll do anything to protect aphmau and phoenix drop, and has the means to do so, and is close with many of aphmau's knights. but she doesn't like fighting, and she doesn't want to be considered a knight.

gene was a knight. she never wants to be like him.

that taste will never get out of her mouth. and she wasn't officially trained as a knight; any training of that sort was from gene in the nether. so she really doesn't like associating with it, and she isn't technically qualified.

at the same time...

dante is also a knight, and she could never be good like him.

somehow she's torn between "i don't want to be a knight because they're bad" and "i don't deserve to be a knight because i am bad".... and BOTH feelings are fueled by her family issues!

so she doesn't consider herself a knight, and rejects any suggestions she should officially become a knight of phoenix drop. she doesn't need to be a knight to protect people she loves, so long as they allow her to <3

(if she DID ever become a knight though, i think it would be between s2 and s3! which is an era i haven't really explored for her with canon in mind so i plan to get to that tehee)

as for the last name - if you're willing to loan that to me i actually LOVE that, "emmalyn alighieri" is so pretty??? and i love the explanation ..

okayyy tysm for reading if you did!! as i say every em post. i love emmalyn questions. if you ask me an emmalyn question i will be so excited.... everyone who has taken an interest in emma, you're so cool forever <3333

[faithandfairies]

Louis spent some time there in the 70s eating and sleeping his way through the gay drug addicted population of San Francisco. And if that wasn't a huge neon "I am here. And I am single and ready to mingle." sign meant for Lestat I don't know what was.

[birthclod]

thinking about ch0mpkin's evil evbo post (evilbo, if you will) and going "How can I align this with My Interests (the axes)" and the answer is Very easily actually

[yeonban]

I always find it funny when I come across posts about Wammy's House disbanding "now that Near is L" bc logically speaking that wouldn't be the case 😭 after how many of the orphanage's best died to catch ONE criminal (Kira) including L himself, they know better than ever that Near could also drop dead at any point. Even Near himself is aware of this. And then what. Who'll become the next L? Who'll save the world if not for these geniuses? This orphanage's a generational prison I fear

[specialgradefckr]

Satoru Gojo who thinks you're only with him for the money.

He's pretty insufferable, after all. And a shitty boyfriend to boot - always bailing on dates, showing up at weird times, telling you vague stories about his work that don't make sense.

Honestly he's surprised you've stuck around this long.

That you still read every message he spams you when he's bored and lonely fighting special grade curses.

(after all, he always has to go on those missions alone. there's no one who can go with him.)

You still text him back. Open the door to let him in. Smile when you see him, like it's the very first time and he can tell you're just so star-struck by his eyes as he tugs down his blindfold with a grin, "Do I look blind to you?" "Blindingly handsome!"

He'd laughed at that. You're shocked by his appearance, but you're earnest, and so obviously smitten, and he loves a woman with a little humor.

Satoru Gojo who didn't expect you to text him back after the first night, but you did.

cutie pie: omg, those look so good! what flavor? satoru: my favorite, the edamame and cream~ cutie pie: bring some for me next time you visit <3 i'll feed them to you ;)

On a lesser man, that might have sounded presumptuous. To Satoru, it's the perfect come-on. Casual, flirty, and easy to do - all the makings of a great hookup.

He hadn't expected to spend half the night on his knees like a dog, licking at your fingers. Watering over a thumb pressed down against his tongue while you drooled your mochi-sweet saliva straight into his open mouth.

Unexpected, but amazing! Satoru knew then that you were going to be a treat worth savoring.

It was just a shame that he could only enjoy you for one night.

Not even that much, really. He'd been called away in bed; one arm wrapped around your darling naked form, holding you pressed against him.

Left while you were asleep without a word. He'd texted you on the way, a blase little "sowwyyyyy smth came up! u were gr8 last night." and no real expectations of a return.

If you were (reasonably) upset with him, he'd block you - his one act of kindness to a woman he couldn't treat right.

Instead he gets "thanks! you weren't so bad yourself haha" and your enthusiasm is obviously a bit defused, but he can work with this.

He lays it out to you, next chance he gets. Tries to text you often enough to make sure you don't think he's ghosted you.

"I know this might sound like the kind of thing married men say," He says with a big, sardonic smile, "But I have a very demanding job. I don't have time for a relationship. And for personal reasons, I can't agree to be exclusive, either."

There's a look you give him that makes him wonder what exactly you think of his job. Satoru vaguely wonders if you think he's a sex worker.

He hopes you try to find him on porn websites later. Maybe he should film himself jerking off real quick sometime so you can watch it.

"That makes sense," Is what you say, instead of any of the ridiculous thinks he'd imagined.

You don't seem thrilled about it, but you don't look immeasurably disappointed, either. You're a smart girl. You'd probably already figured he couldn't commit.

"But!" He chirps, "I am very very interested in seeing you again. Multiple agains. And I'd like to come to an arrangement that makes that easier for you, since my schedule is so tight..."

For a moment, you stay quiet, and Satoru wonders if he should just offer you cash upfront. But you're receptive, and things go well.

Worryingly well, to be honest. What type of girl are you, exactly? Naughty thing. Get money from a lot of men, do you?

You laugh when he tries to bring it up in bed, "You're one to talk, Mr. can't-promise-exclusivity," you tease, running a hand through his hair while you smile at him.

He likes it when you do that. He likes a lot of things you do.

The real wonder is - although he is absolutely spectacular in bed of course - how much do you like it?

The whole relationship has to happen on his shitty, inconsistent schedule. He can't commit to a relationship or tell you about his job - you're better off that way. Even if you don't know.

Satoru Gojo who pretends to go on dates with other girls sometimes just so that no one watching him thinks he's serious about you. He can't have the Higher Ups thinking of you as a tool to use against him.

He can't even offer you exclusivity. Even if he wants to. Even if he struggles to get it up with those girls - his heart just isn't it in - when he's making sure everyone who's watching him knows you're just one of several people he's having sex with.

After all, the only thing that could be worse than people thinking you were the strongest sorcerer's weakness, was if they thought you might be pregnant with the strongest sorcerer's child.

But if he's fucking around, if he's the whore his so-called superiors make him out to be - then you're safe. Just another girl.

And god, does he take advantage of it.

Texting you late at night. Early in the morning. Times don't mean a lot to him these days.

The most sleep he ever gets is the rare night he spends with you, maybe once or twice a month, five hours in your arms before he pulls himself away and slinks out of bed while you're still asleep like a guilty dog.

He doesn't deserve your warmth or your bed. But he'll take it while you're offering. Eat it all up and beg shamelessly for seconds.

He makes up for it with money, or tries to. Leaves you treats and sweets and other gifts. Spam texts you and facetimes you constantly - when he can.

To be perfectly honest, he's kind of expecting to be dumped any day. He'll take whatever he can get.

If paying your rent or buying you a house makes you feel guilty enough to stay a few days longer with him, that's a good use of his money.

He arranges for you to receive an offer for a remote job, something flexible that will let you meet him whenever he comes calling.

His gifts get more lavish. He's always generous in bed, makes sure you have a good time.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sometimes he just stares at you when you're asleep. It feels like a waste to spend his precious few hours with you sleeping.

Look at you. All peaceful in his arms. Cuddling up to him.

He can admit, in the dead of night, with no witnesses but himself; the sight makes his heart tug.

If he could, he'd stay. Wake up next to you in the morning. Make breakfast, flirt, joke, maybe even take a little ~morning shower~ and have some fun in there.

It's so clear in his head. How you'd joke back. Smile and giggle and playfully bump against him. Give him a little kiss, a little hug before he leaves for work.

You would kiss his forehead when he got migraines. Hug him when he talks about his difficulties at work.

Your soft smile, your warm lips, your tight hug. It's all so vivid in his head. How you'd look in the morning light, staring at him while you think he's asleep.

Would you stare? What would show on your face, then?

He tries, very hard, not to imagine what your face must look like when you wake up alone every time you sleep with him.

What you think about when he's not there.

Do you wonder if he's with other women? Do you see his flirty texts - "sorry kitten daddy's gotta work late" "babygirl you're not my dad, he goes to bed at 9." - and wonder if he's said that to a hundred other girls?

Because he has. And that's what hurts, really. He could message a hundred girls and get a hundred vapid responses, all those notifications could build up in his phone and he wouldn't care.

But when it's you messaging him?

When you tell him about your day, or text him a picture, or pick up on the rare phone call he gets to make - Satoru's heart skips a beat.

What about you? He thinks about you checking your phone constantly to see anything from him, and it hurts.

You don't show any unhappiness about the arrangement. Every gift, every little arrangement or donation he makes, you accept it all with grace. Everything money can buy is yours, he makes that clear.

As long as you're with him, he'll spoil you rotten. And you were starstruck in the beginning, he could tell.

Expensive hotels, exclusive restaurants. First class flights everywhere, even a private jet if you want it. He brings you custom made jewelry worth more than people make in a year, pulls it out of his pocket and clasps it around your wrist like a passing trinket.

You get used to the constant spa days, the shopping trips. Ordering food for every meal. Living in a city center in a beautiful penthouse with brilliant fixtures. And you're happy like that. At least you look like you are.

But every time he sees you, you're with him. He can't tell if you miss him, if you're sad when he's not there.

He... he sort of doesn't want to know.

Satoru Gojo who loves you. And he hopes to god you don't love him back.

After all, if you did, then you'd want things from him he can't give. Shouldn't give.

But if all you love is his money? He's got tons of it. You can have as much as you want. He can make you happy. He can buy the love he can't afford to earn. He'll never run out of funds.

As long as it's only his money you love, he can have you forever.

[differenteagletragedy]

The one where Simon Riley gets a roommate and the roommate is you and eventually you fall in love etc.

There's a bar in Simon's neighborhood where he goes sometimes when things get a little too loud in his head. A few nights a week or so, when he's home, he finds himself there, sitting at a corner stool at the bar and nursing a whiskey. He doesn't like being around people, not really, but he likes this better than he likes being alone with his thoughts.

That's why he started going anyway, a long time ago. Now, he mostly goes for you.

A pretty little bartender with a past -- one you haven't told him about, but he can smell it on you. It's in the way your eyes dart to the door every time it opens, and in the way the tension builds in your body when some drunk gets a little too loud. He'd noticed how gorgeous you were the first day, but now the pull is in the mystery.

Where did you come from? What happened to you? And why do you smile at him like he's not the most dangerous man you'd ever met?

He doesn't understand it, but you're always kind to him. You always greet him warmly, pour his favorite whiskey with a heavy hand without him asking. Sometimes, when he comes in on a slow night, you'll lean over the bar to talk to him about nothing until someone pulls you away. You laugh at his jokes.

You're too pretty for him, the scarred, hulking monster of a man that he is. And you're entirely too sweet. You deserve someone better, younger, more stable, more whole. You deserve more than whatever it is that you'd gotten before, and a hell of a lot better than him.

But one night when he comes in and sees you looking quietly frantic, eyes red-rimmed and anxious as you flit about the bar, that knowledge goes out the window.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly, studying the slight shake of your hand as you pour his drink.

"Nothing," you answer automatically.

"Bullshit."

You sigh, and after a little more prodding, you tell him: the owners of the bar are selling the building to developers, who are going to tear the place down, so soon, you'll be out of a job. But worse, you rent the small little attic apartment over the bar, so you'll be out of a home as well.

Simon can see it in your eyes, knowing the look all too well: you feel hopeless.

"I've got a room," he says.

And it's a stupid thing to say, because he has no business offering you something like that. He doesn't know you, not really, and you don't know him, and the room isn't a guest room so much as it is an empty space in his house that he's never had any reason to fill.

What can he really offer you? Not just with the room, but at all? Whatever it is, he knows it would never be enough.

But you give him the tiniest of smiles, and he sees something flicker in your eyes, and it doesn't matter how ridiculous the idea is. If you want it, it's yours. If he has it, you can take it, and he'll give it gladly.

"Really?" you ask. "I don't have a lot of money or anything."

"Don't need it."

"I haven't had a chance to look for a new job yet, but I'm gonna start tonight," you assure him. "So hopefully I can find something right away and --"

"Don't worry about it, love," he interrupts. "Not offering because I need the money. Room is yours if you want it."

He speaks gruffly, as he always does, and he hopes that you won't ask too many questions, because truthfully, he won't be able to answer them, not in any way that makes sense. He doesn't want to lie to you, but how could he say that the thought of you in his space was enough to stir something in him that he’d long thought dead?

Thankfully, you don’t ask. Instead, you lean across the bar and wrap your arms around his neck. It’s an awkward hug, but it means something, and before you pull away he’s already making a mental note of everything he’ll need for the spare room.

Your room.

“I can’t thank you enough, Simon, really,” you tell him, smiling a little easier now. “I’ll get another job soon anyway, ok? And I can clean and cook and --"

"Start by getting me another whiskey, yeah?"

Your smile turns a bit sheepish, but you nod and turn to get the bottle, and he takes a breath.

This is a bad idea. There's no way it isn't. It's going to go poorly, one way or another, he's going to be too much or not enough, and one day you'll leave and his house will feel even emptier than it already does.

But Simon is no stranger to bad ideas. And this one, at least, should prove to be a little bit of fun along the way.

PART TWO

[veggiesxxx]

POV: You spend time with a guy "behind their back." (Part 2/4)

(reader is NOT cheating!!)

ft. Jealousy, fluff,

Sylus

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your conversation with your friend.

"And then, it started charging up it's attack-"

"Ugh, sorry. Somebody's spamming me." you mumbled, rolling your eyes, reaching to turn your phone over on the table, screen face down so you wouldn't have to look at the relentless messages.

"As I was saying-"

You tried to continue, only to hear your notifications blow up even faster, the buzzing incessant. You were convinced that if you didn't reply, your phone would combust in the middle of the café.

"Sorry. I've got to check this," you sighed, picking up your phone, lazily going to see who was the contact spamming you relentlessly.

"Sweetie who is that." "Is he bothering you?" "sweetie?" "Are you hurt? is he threatening you." "Y/N." "If u dont reply im coming over" "Why did you turn ur phone around." "Kitten who is he?"

Scrolling through the barrage of texts, your brows furrowed, immediately becoming suspicious. Sylus? How did...

You looked up, gazing intently at any pipes on the ceiling or dark corners a certain mechanical spy could be hiding. Knowing Sylus, and what to look for, it made finding the problematic Mephisto a lot easier. Your frown deepened, as the bird noticed you glaring at it. As if sensing your glare, the robot flapped its wings, cawing loudly. A customer walked into the café at that moment, and the bird cawed a final time, making it's presence known, returning your glare before taking the chance to fly out the open door before the owner chased it out. Poor man who walked in had to duck the diving 'bird' as it soared into whatever shadows outside.

After witnessing that 'spectacle', you turned your attention back to the phone in your hands, immediately tapping your thumbs on the screen, sending a reply to the spammer.

"Sylus? Why are you suddenly spying on me- in Linkon??" "I saw Mephisto. How long have you been watching me?" "No! Don't come!! I'm fine!"

You started to panic, heart sinking, frantically texting back so Sylus didn't appear and do something drastic-

"It's a bit too late for that, kitten. look up."

'What-?" You didn't get to snap out of the baffled daze before you felt a hand on your shoulder, and a rather threatening, unmistakable presence towering over you. You froze up, embarrassed that he was having this fit in front of your friend.

You glanced up at the Onychinus's big boss, your gaze following his— which was locked dangerously onto the man sitting opposite you.

"Sweetie, let's go." He snapped his eyes back onto you, his voice laced with not-so-subtle possessiveness and suppressed irritation, not leaving much room for argument. Sylus was obviously in one of his 'fits'.

Sighing, you shook your head in exasperation, getting up. You quickly apologised to your friend, shooting him a "sorry about him" glance. Sylus didn't wait for your pleasantries to be exchanged. In his eyes, getting you away from the other man was something to be done immediately.

Once outside the café, pulled by the hand, you confronted Sylus for his abrupt interruption of your peaceful lunch. "Seriously? You couldn't have waited for my answer? I replied in less than 5 minutes..."

"You turned the phone over." He asserted, like it was some important evidence. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow, not a hint of any teasing smirk on his face. This was serious, you noted mentally. In your head, it wasn't a big deal– he'd seen you flip the phone over multiple times when notifications became too annoying– but if he actually felt that this situation was significant...

"I did. Still, you know it's nothing- I do it all the time."

"Not to me. You always answer."

That.. was true. You never did ignore his messages.

"But you turned me away. For him." He continued, and you could swear you've never seen him so serious. Never.. not since your first meeting. "I thought something happened." his voice was low, however, it couldn't hide the trace of vulnerability. Like he was trying to pretend he was this concerned because he thought you were unsafe with an unarmed man, rather than just afraid of losing you.

"Nothing happened, I'm fine, Sylus." you murmured, putting your hand over his, uncrossing his arms for him. You gently squeezed his hand, not really wanting to let him off the hook yet. "He's my friend. Just a friend,"

"Friend or not. He can't have what's mine.'

Your cheeks flushed, not expecting him to express or even acknowledge his own feelings so openly. You didn't look up at him, and he was glad for that- so he could hide his red ears.

"Overprotective, much?"

His solemn eyes raised, missing their usual glimmer of mirth, meeting yours, tilting his head, and a piece of his hair bobbed against his forehead.

“Call it what you want, sweetie. I'll always be here to watch over you.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile. As infuriating as Sylus could be, his unwavering devotion had a way of making you feel safe—even when he went overboard.

“Fine, fine,” you gave in with a sigh. “But next time, just call me instead of sending your creepy bird, or yourself.”

Sylus’ smirk came back faintly, more like a relieved smile. “No promises.”

"I'm proud of you, though, kitten. You spotted Mephisto faster than I thought you would. How'd you learn that?"

"Yeah.. because all pipes have glowing red eyes.." you said, sarcasm slipping out.

"...Wait. Did you say next time?" His gaze grew more intense, eyeing you down.

"No next time. I'll snap his neck." He hissed, gripping your hand tighter in his.

"You keep those sharp eyes on me, sweetie. Where they belong."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧༶

Hope you enjoyed!! Pls leave a note if u liked yay

Next :

╰┈➤ Zayne/Xavier (Part 3/4) -voted below-

Previously :

╰┈➤ Rafayel (Part 1/4)

A/N: I don't know if this is too long lmao

Tags: @cordidy @liz9898 @crystalfay

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan who glitches in his transmigration, but the original Shen Qingqiu still dies of a qi deviation.

So the System still needs someone with narrative relevance to throw Luo Binghe into the Abyss. In a fit of desperation, it contrives circumstances after Shen Qingqiu's death to move Luo Binghe to An Ding Peak (not that difficult), and then the System makes Shang Qinghua be Luo Binghe's new scum master who casts him down.

Airplane's thrilled, really. Cultivators aren't supposed to get ulcers but damned if he doesn't come close to one anyway. Between Shen Qingqiu and then just a while later Liu Qingge both dying from qi deviations, and Shang Qinghua looking like a stiff breeze could take him out any day now, poor Mu Qingfang is also just about at his wits' end.

But it's not all bad news! On An Ding Peak, Luo Binghe actually finds himself surrounded by the kinds of people who are accustomed to being bullied by the rest of the sect. So they're pretty sympathetic to him, and it's easier for someone with basic laboring skills to advance on that peak too. His chores don't decrease too much, but he actually gets rewarded for doing them well, and no one tries to kick him out of the dorms or anything. Shang Qinghua doesn't either go out of his way to bully or praise Luo Binghe, correctly reasoning that his best shot at not getting a gruesome death is to just be a more forgettable bad guy than an abusive dirtbag or a heart-wrenching betrayal. He doesn't sabotage Luo Binghe's cultivation (no point, and it would just farm resentment later) but he also doesn't go out of his way to help him improve (not gonna arm his inevitable maybe-probably-murderer with better weapons!), so Luo Binghe's situation sees an overall improvement but not the zero-to-hero treatment he'd have got with Shen Yuan either.

When Shang Qinghua shoves Luo Binghe into the Abyss (he just full on picks him up and tosses him like a sack of beans, better to rip it off quick like a bandage), LBH is upset, but he's not especially surprised or dismayed about Shang Qinghua's part in it. Later on he'll be kind of confused, because he just assumed that of course the righteous sect cultivator would abhor the demon, but it turns out Shang Qinghua has been working for a demon since before Luo Binghe even came to the sect? But then it still kind of makes sense because a Heavenly Demon would definitely pose a risk to Mobei Jun and to Mobei Jun's rule. Shang Qinghua, he supposes, is just really loyal to his specific demon.

Luo Binghe's subsequent revenge quest is also somewhat mitigated by the Abyss actually not being that bad.

The Abyss is not actually that bad thanks to the glitched out Shen Yuan having been camping there for several years now.

So when Shen Yuan's transmigration failed it failed because he "woke up" during the process, realized where the System intended to put him, was like no way in goddamn hell am I being that guy about it, and actually kind of won the ensuing tug-of-war. The System couldn't put him in Shen Qingqiu but Shen Yuan didn't want to go back to his dead body either, so he ended up stuck in the nearest available space for lost interdimensional beings. Which was the Endless Abyss.

Luckily Shen Yuan's quasi-transmigrated imparted an equivalent cultivation level as Shen Jiu's to him, and the glitch made him able to sense and manipulate certain extra-dimensional energies, so he manifested as this weird godlike being able to manipulate and control aspects of the Abyss. So he set about transforming Airplane's Torment Nexus into a viable ecosystem (the current version would not be anything approaching sustainable were it not for divine/narrative intervention, and is constantly on the verge of destabilizing into unlivable ruin that would only be fit for some particularly hardy microorganisms).

It's still like, a monster land full of demonic creatures and terrifying phenomenon, but with Shen Yuan's assistance it becomes something more like a demonic wildlife reserve than a dimensional horror plane. Though it is still a dimensional horror plane, and Shen Yuan is its chief dimensional horror. He treats it sort of like those dungeon building or wildlife park sims, figuring out how to keep everything in balance while still preserving all the interesting parts. A lot of the extreme survival issues of the Abyss are more of a result of it being environmentally unstable than a result of its actual denizens, and once he smooths out a lot of the messy dimensional edges and creates stable vents for the fluctuating energy run-off, the demonic inhabits start behaving less like horror movie monsters and more like animals. They're still wild and dangerous and prone to killing one another, but also more cautious, and able to access enough stable resources that they can even start to be picky about what they pursue.

Turns out that a lot of creatures in the Abyss actually don't like fighting and dying and being brutally injured on a regular basis, even if they can heal from it!

Shen Yuan has even discovered that some like chin scritches (he's not terribly worried about habituating them to people, given how rarely any people actually access the Abyss, but also because he's not really all that people-ish himself these days).

This means that one of Luo Binghe's first encounters with the horrible creatures of the Abyss, is in fact a pack of wolf-like monsters thoroughly avoiding an actual fight with him. In fact most of the denizens of the Abyss just avoid him. They can smell the Heavenly Demon energy rolling off of him, and given the current abundance of alternatives to dealing with that, virtually none of the monsters actually choose to challenge him. There are still a few that will go after anything that's bleeding, but that problem stops once Luo Binghe's physiology heals his wounds, which takes like... a couple hours, max.

Despite the stories he's heard, Luo Binghe is relieved to find that the Abyss is not quite so terrible as all that. Normal survival skills suffice for seeing him through much of it. He's able to hunt for food, scavenge for tools, and even finds potable water fairly easily. After a few weeks, he also comes across a ruin which seems to be inhabited.

The being inhabiting it is plainly a god, although he demurs and refutes such assertions whenever Binghe is too frank. He's a strange being, at turns looking like some queer approximation of a human, at other times blinking and winking in and out of existence, in patterns of strange lights and oddly geometrical fire. But he's surprisingly not hostile, letting Binghe rest in his residence, and even directing him towards points of interest. Accompanying him, too, though he seems to think that Binghe doesn't notice the odd almost spiderweb-like patterns that appear on things which he's influencing. The god calls himself The Peerless One, or at least that's what Luo Binghe infers from some writings on the ruin. The Peerless One offers instruction, seemingly without thinking about it, and gets flustered at being addressed by title, so Binghe also begins to refer to him as Shizun after a while.

[quarterlifekitty]

really fucking loosely inspired by this

Imagine dying with Soap. Complete strangers, a complete accident. You were on the crosswalk, the light was yours, but the car sped through anyways, distracted.

Dying in the same place and at the same time has a way of tethering spirits together. And in a short time, you find that you and Johnny get along famously. Shame you couldn't have met when you were alive. And thank god you died outside-- you'd hate to be housebound. So you follow Johnny when he wants to check on his mates. He's good company, and you get this feeling in the pit of your soul that you can't stray too far from each other anyways.

His best friend, Ghost, is not taking things so well. In fact, he's taking things very fucking badly. Terrible enough that Soap died-- it's made worse by the fact that his death was so random, so meaningless. He hadn't known it, but he'd made up his mind a long time ago that either he'd die in combat before Soap or they'd both live forever.

He fails to accept losing Soap to a random accident. Which, Johnny had predicted easily when you were on the train to Manchester. Man's gonnae be bloody inconsolable, I reckon. Probably lose all his sense, too. What he hadn't predicted is that you'd be a part of his breakdown.

Simon had always had a way of finding things out. And you're the latest subject of his obsession. He seemed to think that the accident had had something to do with you. It must've been that you were the target. There had to be a reason. There had to be more to this than some distracted driver. Before long, he knows everything that there is to know about you, but he's no closer to solving the mystery, because there is no mystery.

Something about death tends to make you take things less seriously. Soap is laughing his ass off about how Ghost is pretty much losing sleep looking at shit like your yearbook photos and work emails. Meanwhile, being unable to talk to anyone else in the entire world has made you and Soap a lot freakier. It probably takes less than a week for Soap to solve the eternal question of 'can ghosts fuck'. And he takes to testing what other limits his new form has. Simon won't react to anything you do at all, no matter how close Johnny gets when he's whispering in his ear. You get very slightly more success, for reasons not clear to either of you (you tell Johnny it's because you're not a fucking idiot, which prompts him to smack your ass).

You heard when you were alive that it was easier to psychologically suggest things to people by talking to them while they were asleep.

What this is all leading up to, really, is you laying on opposite sides of a bed with Ghost between you, whispering filth into his ear while running your spectral hands over him and watching him tremor and writhe while his cock twitches in his boxers.

[muleumpyo]

The day Eddie left for Texas, Buck made a mistake—the biggest of his life.

And that's saying a lot for a kid who was born a failure.

—

The realization had hit the moment he sat down on Eddie's couch, tablet in hand, head still ringing with the words "El Paso" and "leaving" and "Chris." The words hadn't made sense when Eddie had said them, not at first. He hadn't understood what they really meant.

I'm moving back to Texas.

Buck's own response had come out automatically. He could tell what Eddie needed in that moment—the awkward tilt of his head, his hands squeezing tight, his whole body radiating nervousness—and it wasn't whatever clawed, cold thing had suddenly tightened its grasp around Buck's heart, forcing it still.

Eddie wanted encouragement, so Buck had given it, smiling wide, his voice suddenly too loud in the small space.

It wasn't until he strode over to the couch and dropped himself onto its familiar cushions, that he realized that soon, he wouldn't be able to do that anymore. Eddie would find a place in El Paso, hire movers to wrap up his furniture, and start packing up the little house Buck had come to know as a second home. This couch wouldn't be here anymore, and everything else around him—the art on the walls, the pictures on the mantle, the plates they had eaten off a thousand times together—would be gone.

And Eddie, too. His best friend, his partner, the person he thought he'd see basically every day for the rest of his life. He'd be gone.

Nobody ever stays, Buck thought.

That was unfair, he knew. Of course, Eddie had to be with Christopher. There was no question. Eddie had been miserable these last few months without him. But Buck had always thought—had hoped—that Eddie would get through to Chris, or Chris would realize how much he missed his dad, or how much his dad loved him and wanted him home.

Home. Here, in LA.

Here, with the family they had built with the 118, and Maddie, and Jee, and Karen, and Athena, and all the people he and Eddie both loved...

Love.

For a second, Buck wasn't even sure he was breathing.

It was only when the couch dipped next to him and a familiar hand had landed on his shoulder that Buck realized how long he had been sitting there, frozen. When he looked over, he caught Eddie's relieved smile and his warm brown eyes, crinkled in the corners, all the tension from the kitchen gone.

And his heart, which felt like a stone in the center of his chest, restarted. This was Eddie, and Buck would do whatever he could to make sure he was happy. No matter what it took.

And the thought came then, so familiar it was as if he'd had it a thousand times before, although he never had. Not like this.

I want to kiss him.

But he couldn't do that. Eddie was leaving, and Buck wasn't going to do anything to mess up their friendship before he left.

—

The thought followed him around for the next month, as Eddie found a place (close but not too close to his parents and Christopher, with a pool already in the backyard) and put in an offer, as he put in his resignation and packed up his things and said goodbye to everyone, one by one.

Everyone was emotional about it. Buck's weren't the only tears shed at the goodbye (for now) party. That made it a little easier. It wasn't just him that loved Eddie, even if he was 98% sure nobody else there loved him in quite the same way.

But the thought followed Buck all the way out the front door with Eddie on that final morning, carrying the last boxes from the quiet, empty house. The weather had endeavored to comply with his mood, sending a rare storm through southern California the night before. In the pale morning light, rain silvered the edges of the trailer and the messy strands of Eddie's hair.

This was it.

They put the boxes in the trailer and Eddie pulled it closed, the metallic clank of the latch echoing in Buck's ears like some screwed up record playing the same five seconds of a song, over and over again.

Eddie turned to him, awkwardly clapping his hands together, an uncertain smile pressing into his cheeks.

There was now nothing left to say or do but make their goodbyes.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"Have a good drive," Buck said suddenly, the words coming from somewhere outside himself. "Let me know when you get there."

The smile on Eddie's face shifted slightly, through some emotion Buck couldn't quite read. "Of course."

Silence drew long between them again, awkward in a way it never was. Buck's stomach twisted, his throat tight with some emotion he couldn't name. Was this it? His goodbye with Eddie?

"Well, I—"

"You should—"

They both stopped, each waiting for the other to continue.

This whole thing felt so wrong and it couldn't just be because he didn't want Eddie to go. It was wrong. But he couldn't keep him here, either.

Finally, Buck tried again, attempting to inject levity into his voice that he didn't feel. "You should probably get going, before traffic gets bad."

Amusement lifted the corner of Eddie's lips. "It's LA. Traffic is always bad."

Buck's heart curled up inside his chest. Why couldn't he do this right? "Yeah, I know, I just—"

"I know," Eddie interrupted quietly, stepping closer, his hand warm on Buck's shoulder. He looked... unhappy. "Sorry. I just—" he let out a low breath, shaking his head "—thanks."

Buck wanted to say it was okay, he understood, but he couldn't seem to speak. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Eddie and pulled him in close.

He tried to keep the hug light, friendly, but it was Eddie who squeezed him in closer, until they were fully pressed together and Buck couldn't help but hold him tightly in return.

They wouldn't have this again. Not in the same way, he was sure. The scent of Eddie's shampoo, the solidity and strength of his body in Buck's arms, the press of his face, so briefly, into the crook of Buck's neck. They fit so perfectly together, Buck never wanted to let go.

But eventually Eddie pulled back slightly, his grip loosening, and Buck made himself do the same. His heart felt like a fatal weight, pulling him underwater.

He didn't know why he did it. Perhaps it was that last second close together, their faces inches apart, the weight of Eddie's hands on his shoulders, or the way he hesitated when Buck went to pull away.

Or maybe it was the fear that he wasn't going to see Eddie again, not for a long time.

So Buck made the biggest mistake of his life: he leaned in and kissed Eddie.

The kiss was perfect, small and soft, Eddie's lips warm against his, the rain falling cool against his cheek. He felt suspended in space, his whole body lifted free from gravity's pull for just a moment. But it was wrong.

Eddie wasn't kissing back.

Fear slammed him back into himself, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. Of course, Eddie didn't feel the same.

Fuck. He had screwed this up, worse than any other screw-up.

He pulled away, mind reeling with excuses he couldn't quite get out of his mouth. But when he opened his eyes, it wasn't to accusations, or anger, but to tears on Eddie's face. Buck's whole body went cold.

"Eddie," he said helplessly, "I'm—"

Eddie shook his head, something painful stealing across his expression. 

The silence between them felt heavy, pulling at Buck's heart. But before he could ask, or continue, Eddie wrapped a hand around his arm and pulled him in again.

And this time, Eddie kissed him. 

If the first kiss had felt perfect, this felt better—and worse. Eddie pulling him close, lips soft on his, breath fanning across his cheek. The small sound he made when Buck leaned further in, the way he rose into the kiss, like he couldn't get enough. 

Perfect, and just—Eddie. 

But it was worse when he pulled away. It was worse when he met Buck's gaze, that pain from before not gone, but even more deeply embedded. 

"I'm sorry," Eddie said, his voice rough. "I have to go." 

Buck swallowed around the lump in his throat, unable to do more than say, "Y-yeah. I know. Have a safe drive."

Eddie nodded, eyes tracing over Buck's face like he was afraid he'd forget it. "We'll talk later."

Buck nodded, unable to speak. 

Eddie gave him one last look, and then he was gone.

[digi-diareis]

Teen MC snapping at Caleb

Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.

Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.

Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.

So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.

"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."

Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.

He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.

"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"

And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.

"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"

You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.

"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"

"I-I never said -"

"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"

Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.

Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.

He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"

He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.

You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.

"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."

After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.

And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.

[janiehellion]

𝐂𝐫𝛐𝐬𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You’ve been scavenging and trying to survive the war against Negan and the Saviors—but lately, it’s hard to tell if you and Daryl are left fighting for more than just your lives.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Angst ⋮ Car Sex ⋮ Breeding ⋮ Hurt ⋮ Comfort ⋮ Established Relationship

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 5.631 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: MID S7 & EARLY S8 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑩𝒚: @francisofthespook

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

You and Daryl had been together for quite a while now, though it didn't feel like it anymore. Not really.

Both of you had your walls built high at first, but over time, things changed. The feelings between you grew, as did the undeniable desire. It wasn't soft or tender; it was raw and real. When you weren't scavenging for supplies, you were stealing moments with him—rough, sloppy kisses and even harder fucks, the kind that left you both breathless and craving more.

But lately, it hadn't been that easy.

Daryl had grown distant.

The world had gone to hell, and somehow, the quiet had become the loudest thing about your relationship.

It had been days since the war against Negan and his Saviors started. Everyone seemed scared—no one knew when the next fight would happen or if it would even be a fight and not the end. But you had your role.

Scavenging.

You were good at it, or at least, that's what you'd tell yourself when you were on a run. You were good at finding what no one else could, but your choices? Well, Daryl didn't always appreciate them.

You'd found bullets, medical supplies, tools, and even weapons on occasion. But you had a thing for bringing back things he called 'useless bullshit.'

While Daryl's always been practical—focused on things that kept the group alive—your mind wandered to… other things. Things that didn't make sense during the war against Negan, like a book, a mirror you found at a broken-down store, or some postcards you scavenged last week.

It wasn't like you planned it. It was a distraction. The communities were falling apart, and if you could find something that made you feel a bit more human, even just for a minute, you grabbed it. But Daryl? He couldn't understand. You could see it in his eyes whenever he found out you came back with something that didn't make any sense, he'd growl and shake his head. And you hated how that felt. Especially since he'd escaped the Sanctuary only days ago and you were so happy to have him back by your side.

Sure, he'd fuck you when you asked, but it was always that quick, no feelings but routine kind of fuck. And even then, it didn't feel like it was enough.

Maybe it was the tension from the war with the Saviors; maybe it was the ever-present danger—but the way he looked at you lately… it was just so different. Frustrated. Annoyed.

But it didn't matter to you. You were bored with scavenging for the same shit over and over again. It was easier, and it felt like your own little rebellion against the monotony.

Daryl's silence and his glares were enough. But still, you kept doing it—finding things that served no purpose, hoping it would get under his skin. And it did.

The store you chose for the supply run was quiet except for Daryl's grumbling from a few aisles over. It wasn't much different from the last stores you'd scavenged. No walkers, empty shelves, old signs thrown everywhere, and the reminder of a world that used to make sense.

"Grab somethin' useful, would ya?" Daryl's voice came through the silence, and you could hear how annoyed he already was. He'd been in a mood since you set foot out of Alexandria, and he wasn't bothering to hide it.

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, not wanting to look up as you searched through a box on the counter. Daryl's idea of usefulness was a wrench, a roll of duct tape, or maybe a box of nails if you were lucky enough to find one. Your idea? Not so much.

You turned over a cassette tape, smirking as the name caught your eye—Cigarettes After Sex. The world had gone to hell, and here you were looking through its ashes, scavenging a tape that probably hadn't been played in a while. Useless as hell. Exactly the kind of thing that you wanted and needed.

And then there was the other find—a pink lace lingerie set shoved to the back of a dusty rack of mismatched clothes. It was ridiculous. Completely impractical. Which made it perfect.

You went into the tiny bathroom at the back of the store to try it on, biting your lip to keep from laughing at yourself as you adjusted the straps. The mirror was cracked, the lighting awful, but the sight of you standing there, wearing something so out of place in a world like this? It was too good. If Daryl saw it… well, that was the point, wasn't it?

Slipping back out of the bathroom, you walked over to another shelf, pretending to search for something useful during the supply run, and Daryl was still focused as you took a glance at him. He wasn't in the mood to talk, not that he ever was these days.

"Got everything we might need?" You asked, keeping your voice light and playful, knowing full well that he wasn't in the mood for any of it.

"Yeah, and yer jus' wastin' time, s'usual," he grumbled quietly, turning around to face you.

You rolled your eyes, moving to another aisle before you heard him exhale loudly, and it was clear that his patience was already going away. That was just how things were now. The world had changed, and so had your relationship.

But it wasn't long before Daryl caught you with something else. A hairbrush.

"Seriously?" He snapped, the tone in his voice rather harsh. "Ya can't help yerself, can ya? We're in the middle of a damn war, and yer scavengin' shit like it's a goddamn mall run!"

You shot him a look, biting back a scowl. "Life's gotta feel normal sometimes, Daryl," you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "It's not all about the damn war."

He gritted his teeth, slamming the tools he'd found into his bag with more force than necessary. "Ya don't get it," he growled. "Yer actin' as if everythin's still the same like we're not fightin' for our lives."

You couldn't help yourself, and you refused to back down. "You really think all we need to focus on is to fight? Do you think that's enough? We're still alive, Daryl. We're still here. We need to feel… something."

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "Don't know what ya want from me," he growled, almost to himself. "Ya need t'grow the hell up."

The words hurt more than you wanted to admit. But you wouldn't let him get away with it. "And you need to loosen up," you snapped back just a bit too loud.

Daryl was about to say something, but you didn't wait to hear it. You turned around, making your way toward the exit, feeling the fire of his stare burning into your back.

"Thought we were lookin' for actual supplies," he grumbled as you stepped into the sunlight outside and he walked past you. The bags over his shoulder looked ready to burst with everything you hadn't bothered to help him find. "Ya even find somethin' useful, or ya jus' wastin' time again?"

"I found stuff, Daryl," you shot back. "Might not be practical, but at least it's not boring."

"Yeah, s'great. Let's throw a damn party while we're at it."

"Maybe we should," you said. "Wouldn't kill us to relax for once."

He stopped walking, so suddenly you almost ran into him. "Ain't 'bout relaxin'," he said, his voice only a whisper. "Ain't been 'bout relaxin' in a long time."

You stared at him, your heart racing. "Maybe that's the problem," you said softly, but the words only seemed to push him further away.

By the time you reached the car, the silence between you felt suffocating. He threw his bags into the trunk, then leaned against the side of the car, lighting a cigarette.

"What'd ya even find?" He finally growled, throwing his bag into the backseat.

"Stuff," you said simply, throwing your own bag in after his. "Like I said."

"Stuff," he repeated, his tone sounding rather biting. "Right."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Maybe not everything has to be about the war, Daryl. Ever think about that?"

"Yeah, maybe it don't. But that ain't the world we're livin' in."

"Oh, so this is about you giving a shit all of a sudden?" You shot back before you could stop it.

His jaw twitched, and for a second, you thought he might yell, but he didn't. Instead, he opened the driver's side door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him. You stood there for a long moment, staring at him through the window, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you finally got in, he didn't even look your way, throwing out the cigarette before turning the engine on, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

"What's your problem, Daryl?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stared straight ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Maybe this," he said finally, "ain't workin' no more."

The words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, all you could do was sit there, staring at him, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He didn't answer, and the look on his face made it worse. It wasn't anger, but something else entirely.

"Say it," you pressed, leaning forward, your voice trembling despite yourself.

He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. "Ain't got nothin' to say to ya no more."

You wanted to slap him, shake him, kiss him—anything to break through that damn wall he kept building.

A while later, you slumped against the passenger door, staring out at the trees rushing past. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out the cassette tape you'd scavenged earlier, but you hesitated for a while, glancing at Daryl, but his focus was fully on the road.

"Fuck it," you whispered, more to yourself than to him, and slid the tape into the car's stereo.

The opening of 'Young & Dumb' filled the silence with the kind of sound that wrapped around you like smoke. You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes as the music played. The lyrics came out of the speakers, which now felt bittersweet, and without thinking, you started to hum along. By the second verse, you were singing softly in a shaky attempt to drown out the pain in your heart.

...wearing black lipstick, bleaching your hair blonde…

...put on your socks...

...cut-offs or jean shorts, vampire fangs and your...

...'I Love New York' shirt…

Your voice cracked slightly, but you kept going. Anything to distract from the growing knot in your stomach, the one that had been there since Daryl's cold words outside the store. You could feel his eyes on you now, looking over at you like a blade pressed against your throat. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt; you wanted to hide it.

"Turn that shit off."

You ignored him, letting the song pull you further in with a melody that you just needed to listen to right now.

...well, I know full well...

...that you are the patron saint of sucking cock...

...señorita, you're a cheater...

...well, so am I…

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Daryl's hand shot out, turning the volume down, though the music still played in the background. "What the hell is this shit?"

"Music," you shot back, but you didn't look at him, keeping your eyes on the passing trees. "Something you clearly forgot exists."

Daryl just snorted in response. "Yeah, 'cause what we need right now's a fuckin' sing-along. So damn useless."

You clenched your fists in your lap. "Sorry if I'm not looking through shit for duct tape," you snapped. "Didn't realize music was illegal now."

"It ain't 'bout music; s'bout survival!" His voice rose, the frustration boiling over as he slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

You didn't respond. Again. What was the point? Every word felt like throwing gasoline on a fire you couldn't control. Instead, you turned your attention back to the tape, singing the words of the next verse.

...you wanna go...

...where the girls are young and dumb...

...and hot as fuck...

You didn't stop. No. You turned toward him and leaned closer, moving slightly to the beat. Your fingers tapped against your thigh in time with the music, and you kept singing just a little louder.

God, he was so easy to rile up when you wanted to. Weeks of quick fucks and rushed moments between runs had left you frustrated and aching for more—more attention, more sex, more him.

"What? Don't like my singing? Or are you mad that I'm not as sad and devastated as you want me to be? Want me to break down and cry painfully in the car?"

His eyes looked toward you again, and you saw the fire in them this time—the way they stayed on the curves of your body, watching every move you made.

But you licked with your tongue across your bottom lip and sang further along with the song. "Where they're dancing in the streets... With nothing on..."

"S'nough!" Daryl snapped out of nowhere, yanking the car to the side of the road so abruptly the tires kicked up a cloud of dust. The engine growled before going silent, leaving nothing but the music from the cassette tape and the pounding of your heart.

He turned to you, his face unreadable. "What the fuck is wrong with ya, huh?!"

You stared back at him, wide-eyed, your breath stopping in your throat. "Me? What the fuck is wrong with you!?" The words came out before you could stop them. "You're the one acting like—like I'm some kind of burden! Like you can't stand to be around me anymore!"

Daryl didn't answer.

"You might as well say it," you continued, your voice breaking. "If you don't want me around anymore, just fucking say it! Do it, Dary! Just fucking do it! Let this be over!"

"Don't," he said, his voice only a whisper.

"Don't what?" You demanded, your voice rising. "Care about you?! Love you!?"

You didn't mean to say it. The words just came out of you all desperately, and you saw the way they hit him. He still stared at you, his hand gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from slapping you across the face.

For a moment, you thought he might actually do it. Then something changed. His gaze dropped, looking at the skin of your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt had slipped just enough to reveal a bit of the lingerie.

"The hell's that?" He growled, trying not to blink even once.

You froze, your heart racing in your chest. "Nothing!" You said quickly, but the lie wasn't convincing enough, and Daryl's eyes narrowed.

Without warning, he leaned forward, his fingers grabbing the collar of your shirt to pull it down just enough to confirm what he already suspected. The sight of the lingerie seemed to shock him for a moment, his breath hitching as his eyes widened.

"Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled, though his voice had lost some of its earlier anger. It was quieter now, almost trembling, like he was fighting something he didn't want to admit.

"Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out weaker than you intended.

But his reaction alone was worth every ounce of trouble you were about to get into.

"Yer outta yer damn mind," he said, his voice rougher now, like he was barely holding himself back. "Gonna fuckin' kill ya..."

And the way he leaned toward you, his hands now gripping his knees like he was about to break, told you he was feeling something else entirely. Was it anger? Lust? Both? "Puttin' on some shitty slow music, draggin' useless shit back as always like we ain't got a damn war t'fight?"

"Well, if you didn't spend so much time worrying about everything," you said in defiance, "you might actually see that sometimes, we need to calm down a little. Got any problem with that, Daryl?"

The muscles in his neck flexed as he turned towards you fully. "To calm down?"

You couldn't tell if you were mad or if you were just doing this to get a reaction out of him—but you could feel the rage between the two of you like a storm that was brewing.

"Ya think this—" He motioned to the car, to you, to everything around you. "—this s'a damn spa trip? That I can jus' keep watchin' ya act like everythin's fine? Like it's all gonna work out without ya dyin' in the end?"

"Shut up, Daryl, I get it! I've been getting it since day fucking one, weeks ago! But it feels like we've been stuck in this shit for months!"

There was no way to hide from the look in his eyes. He saw everything—everything you'd been trying to keep buried. The way you didn't try to give a shit about the war, the way you needed something to feel in a world that had stripped you again of every little thing you didn't want to lose. And this—this was your rebellion. The lingerie was just a part of it, a pitiful attempt in the face of everything going wrong.

He shook his head like he couldn't believe you were this reckless. "S'a damn waste. Yer a damn waste..."

You clenched your jaw, feeling the tears in your eyes and fighting them back, completely trying to focus on the music.

But despite the fight, despite the anger, you couldn't help but want it. Want him.

And Daryl didn't wait for an answer. His hands shot out again, this time grabbing you by the waist and yanking you over with force. He pulled you onto his lap, your knees awkwardly pressing into the car's seat, your thighs straddling his. The steering wheel pushed into your back as his hands dug into your hips, his grip bruising and possessive, and his eyes, dark and wild, held yours in place.

"Could really fuckin' kill ya…"

His fingers moved fast, pulling off your jacket and tearing at your shirt without hesitation before ripping it off. You barely had time to react before he was yanking at your pants. Soon, he got them down just enough, pushing them away like they offended him.

And then, there it was—the lingerie you'd scavenged, fully visible, old, and a little worn. It wasn't perfect, but it had been enough to make you feel human for just a moment. Now, under his gaze, it felt both ridiculous and utterly electric at the same time.

Daryl scoffed as his eyes looked you up and down. "This what ya wanted, huh?" His fingers slid over the lace, touching it in a way that betrayed his anger. "To piss me off so I'd fuck ya?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out but a choked sob.

"Fuckin' dumb," he mumbled, but his hands didn't stop. They wandered, moving along your thigh where the lace garter was before pushing you down against the bulge in his pants.

The feeling made you whimper, and you couldn't stop the way your body arched toward him, desperate for more. His smirk was almost cruel as he watched your reaction, his hands moving over your thighs, squeezing, teasing, but never giving you exactly what you wanted.

Not yet.

You swallowed hard, the heat in his eyes making it impossible to look away. "I wanted to see if you still cared…" You admitted, your voice shaking slightly, but you didn't break eye contact, even as a tear rolled down your cheek.

"Ya think I don't care?"

You gasped, your fingers clutching his shoulders as his hands slid lower, gripping your ass, pulling you even closer against him until you could feel every inch of his cock pressing against you through his pants.

"Ya really think I don't care?" He asked again as his grip tightened, and he pulled you closer, his lips kissing your tears away as he spoke.

"I care," he whispered against your wet skin. "I care too much…"

And you believed him. Every word.

Meanwhile, the lingerie didn't stand a chance; it gave way under his fingers, leaving you half naked as quickly as he could get you out of it.

He worked his pants open right after and the sight of him made your heart race—his cock, thick and already leaking, sprang free, throbbing and unapologetically hard. Your mouth watered, but before you could even think about reaching for it, his hands were on you again.

"C'mon… I need ya so damn much…"

He pushed one hand under your thigh, guiding you up just enough to position himself. His other hand slid between your legs, his thumb brushing over your clit in a way that made you jerk, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You trembled as the head of his cock pressed against you, the feeling almost overwhelming. But he moved slowly, pushing you down inch by inch. The stretch was intense, almost too much, and your fingers clutched at him as a broken moan and another sob escaped you.

"Feel that? I want ya… Always."

You couldn't respond, couldn't think, your body trembling as he pushed deeper. The fullness was maddening, his cock stretching you to your limit. He didn't stop until your hips were against his, your thighs trembling against his own and making you feel every inch of him.

Your forehead dropped to his shoulder, your breathing uneven as you tried to adjust. He didn't move, didn't thrust, just held you there, his hands keeping you in place.

"Look at me," he whispered against your ear as soon as he moved. When you bit into his shoulder in desperation to hold your tears back, he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes to look into his. "Don't cry…"

Your mouth opened, but no words came out again, just a broken whimper as he changed his angle, hitting the right spot inside you which made you tighten around him.

Daryl's thrusts were deep and torturously slow like he wanted to see every second of watching you fall apart on top of him. He let out a quiet groan as you moved against him, your body desperate for more even as he made you work for it. One of his hands slid up your back, holding your neck before pulling your face forward, his teeth biting softly along the sensitive skin of it.

"Ya feel that, too?" He mumbled over the sound of your uneven moans. "That's me. M' still me…"

The car was rocking slightly with each movement as he buried himself inside you, over and over. His grip was controlling, and every deep grind of his hips made your vision blur. When your body trembled harder, your thighs beginning to shake with the effort, he slowed down just a bit.

"I care…" His hands guided you, forcing you to grind down onto him, his cock pushing against every sensitive spot until you were moaning his name in broken sobs and whimpers, and his lips kissed your cheek as he continued. "I want ya to feel me…"

When his hips pushed up on purpose, driving his cock impossibly deeper, you cried out, your body tightening around him hard. Daryl grunted in shock, but you didn't care. All you could focus on was the way his cock stretched you, filled you, and claimed you back with every movement.

"Mine," he growled, his teeth now sinking lightly into your bottom lip as he thrust into you. "All mine..."

He kept his hands on you, one still gripping your waist, to guide you down onto him. The other soon moved over your body again, squeezing one of your tits, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple.

"That's it," he growled. "Jus' let yerself feel me. Don't stop."

His words spurred you on, your thighs trembling as you rode him, the feeling of his cock inside you just perfect. You threw your head back as it overtook you, moaning loudly, but Daryl wasn't having it. One hand was back on your jaw in an instant, forcing your eyes down to meet his.

"Eyes on me…"

You simply obeyed, looking into his eyes all helpless.

"Don't ya look away," he groaned, teasing your lips softly with his. His thrusts became faster, his other hand gripping you so tightly you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. But you didn't care. You wanted it, loved the way he was making sure you're all his.

"Daryl, please," you suddenly whispered, your voice trembling as the need in you burned hotter. "I—fuck—I need more. Harder, faster… please!"

"God, look at ya," he groaned further. "Shakin' for me, beggin', lovin' me…"

"Yes," you choked out, your nails digging into his shoulders as another deep thrust pushed you closer to the edge. "Please, Daryl—Fuck, I'm so close…"

Before you could finish, he slammed into you, the force of it pushing out the breath from your lungs as he hit the right spot again, making you cry out with this hard, punishing thrust, and it was enough to send you over the edge.

Your pussy tightened around his cock, a strangled but loud moan escaping you as your orgasm finally overtook you, and every cry muffled when he crushed his lips against yours, swallowing your desperate sounds.

And even as your body shook with the force of your orgasm, he didn't stop. His thrusts remained deep and hard, drawing out every second of it until you were trembling in his arms. But Daryl's control was breaking with each thrust like he couldn't hold back anymore himself.

Each time he slammed you down onto him, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock filling you so completely it left you gasping and wanting him all over again. His eyes were now closed, his forehead pressing against yours as he growled. "That's all me—every inch. Takin' what's mine..."

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as his orgasm hit. His growl turned into a loud groan, his body tensing up beneath you as he filled you up and made sure you felt every drop.

As soon as he was done, he slumped back against the seat, holding you in his arms while you were both drenched in sweat and neither of you moving just yet.

"Ya should…" He started, his voice hoarse, while he moved his head to look at you. "Ya should never put that song and 'em clothes on again if ya don't want this to happen more than jus' once…"

Your laugh came out breathless and shaky as you let the moment sink in. "And what if I do?"

He snorted, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "Jus' to let ya know… yer lucky I didn't already fuck ya in that store."

He moved slightly, his cock softening as he slipped out of you, and your legs felt weak as you slid off his lap, your thighs still sticky. You tried to move carefully, your fingers fumbling to quickly adjust your clothes, but there was no hiding the cum between your legs. Every little movement made you wince, reminding you of how deep he'd been inside of you—and how much he'd wanted you.

Daryl didn't say a word at first. His breathing was still heavy, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon. You saw his hands tremble as he zipped himself up, and for a man who always seemed so silent, it was rare to see him like this—wrecked, raw, and a little out of breath.

Reaching for the seatbelt to get a better grip as you made your way back into the passenger seat, you hesitated, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His expression wasn't angry anymore or frustrated. If anything, it looked softer now—like he was finally letting himself breathe after holding it in too long.

Before you could settle back, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the wrist. You froze, heart racing, as he pulled you back toward him. His free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before he kissed you.

This wasn't like before. There was no anger to it, no frustration coming through. His lips were warm and gentle, moving against yours like he was trying to tell you everything he hadn't said.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours once more. "Ya gotta clean yerself up 'fore we head back. Can't have ya sittin' in this seat, drippin' everywhere."

Your cheeks burned, and you shoved him back lightly, but he didn't let go. If anything, his grip only tightened, his hand sliding down to your thigh as he looked at you.

"Hell, maybe I'll help. Or…" He let you go, nodding toward the glove box. "There's some clean rags in there."

You rolled your eyes but did as he said, grabbing a few and making a half-hearted attempt to clean yourself up. His cum was thick and sticky, and no matter how much you wiped, it felt like there was no getting rid of it, as if it just kept coming.

Daryl watched you the whole time, smiling a little like he was enjoying the show more than he should. "Missed a spot," he said, leaning over to slide his thumb against the inside of your thigh. He brought it to his mouth without hesitation, his eyes looking into yours as he sucked it clean.

"Oh my God! What the hell are you doing?" You asked in surprise, barely holding back a laugh.

He just smirked at you. "Ya can jus' call me Daryl, ya know? But 'God' 's fine s' well."

You just laughed again, but your cheeks turned red as you tried to focus on buttoning your pants, and he let you finish this time until you finally settled back into the passenger seat.

Soon, he turned the engine on, but before he pulled back onto the road, his hand was finding your thigh. He gave it a quick squeeze and left it there, which was saying more than words could.

You smiled despite yourself, leaning your head back against the seat as the car started moving. Whatever had been between you, it was gone now. For the first time in a while, it felt like you were both on the same page again.

Meanwhile, the song that you had listened to earlier on the cassette tape started all over where it had left off, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself singing along again.

"We'll drive your car to the beach with the song on repeat…" You sang softly as you closed your eyes for a second, but this time without any feeling of sadness or hurt. "You showed me..."

Daryl didn't say anything for a few minutes, but his eyes were looking from the road to you ever so often, as if he couldn't bring himself to look away, fearing that you might be not there anymore, by his very side, even though he held so tightly onto you with his fingers.

"Ya know," he then finally said, breaking the silence between the two of you, "we might jus' do that." His words were quiet, but they were a promise, a suggestion of something simpler—something outside of the war, outside of everything.

That was what you needed. Something real, something between the two of you that wasn't starting to break by the constant threat of danger, something more than just scavenging or fighting for survival. A moment where it was just you and Daryl. Together.

As you began to put your jacket back on, Daryl's hand moved out to stop you. He tugged at it, pulling it off your shoulders gently.

"Hell of a thing to find," he said with a smirk before he reached over, turning the volume up of the stereo.

"Thought you hated all this 'useless' stuff," you teased, running your fingers over the lingerie, or rather, what was left of it.

"Stuff... Yeah, I guess I jus' never really understood why ya did all that," he confessed, his voice quiet, like it took everything in him to say the words. "But I get it now. I do."

It was some kind of understanding that maybe the war wouldn't ever truly go away, but there was still something worth holding onto.

Daryl moved in his seat, his hand never leaving your thigh. "We gonna drive to that beach," he murmured, his voice so tender it almost seemed out of place for a man like him. "And we'll figure the rest out as we go."

Sure, the beach wasn't an actual destination—you both knew that. The final war against Negan was still about to happen. And, of course, Daryl wasn't saying everything, but he didn't need to. He never had to. With him, it was the little things—moments like this, where everything felt just a bit more certain and safer.

In this moment, the world outside the car didn't matter. The war, the fear, the uncertainty of what lay ahead—it all went away, leaving only the two of you.

And right now, with his hand on your thigh and the music drowning out everything else, it felt like maybe, for just a little while longer, the world didn't have to exist beyond the both of you.

[georgeclarkesgf]

shush, it's a secret | george clarke

it's not unusual for you to be over at george's flat considering you and him met at university and both moved to london around the same time. but about four months ago, your relationship changed from close friends to just that, a relationship.

you'd both decided to not tell anyone, despite how difficult it was proving to be to not be all over each other 24/7. the fans knew of you, to an extent. you'd appear in the backgrounds of videos or tiktoks posted by the boys. your social media was public, however, none of your accounts included your name, making it less likely for fans to find you.

tonight, you're over at the flat again, legs strewn over george's lap and eating some of the dominoes he'd ordered. a movie chris had picked out plays on the tv, but was now long forgotten about since a debate has broken out amongst the boys. over what? you don't know. you're too focused on the way george's hand is subconsciously trailing up your thigh, dangerously high for a 'close friend'. he honestly hasn't noticed that he's doing it, too engaged in the ongoing debate. so, you pick your phone up from your chest and message him.

too high x

his phone dings and he leans forward, grabbing it off the table before noticing it was from you. you watch as his brows furrow in confusion, before sending him another message.

your hand x

realisation hits george and he squeezes your thigh gently as an apology, moving his hand back down to rest above your knees. he mouths 'sorry' at you, to which you can't help but giggle and shake your head. arthur (hill) looks between you two in slight confusion, going to say something but deciding to keep his mouth shut.

it wasn't that you didn't want to tell people, you'd both just agreed it would be easier figuring things out and adjusting to this shift in dynamic without other people prying their noses in. it didn't make the thrill of getting caught any less exciting though. even the simple things such as him wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder made you get an adrenaline rush.

you can feel your eyes growing heavy, despite it still being relatively early, and decide to call it a night.

"sorry guys but i'm gonna head to bed," an echo of boos fill the room while you shrug, laughing, "i'm tired guys leave me alone. mind if i crash in your bed george?"

it feels weird having to ask your boyfriend if you can sleep in his bed, but it seems to be doing the trick of keeping the relationship a secret. there are only three bedrooms and you've known george the longest, so it makes sense you'd stay in his room.

"no go for it, i probably won't be long." you give him a smile and climb off the sofa, heading to his room.

george's eyes widen when he next checks the time, not realising it was so late.

"shit." he mumbles to himself, gaining a weird look from the boys.

"you alright george?" arthur (hill) questions.

"yea i'm fine. just didn't realise it was so late that's all, got stuff to do tomorrow. i'm gonna go to bed though, night guys." he was lying right through his teeth, he had nothing to do tomorrow.

what george had meant to be ten minutes or so had turned into an hour and a half. arthur (tv) ended up coming over and they'd gotten so caught up in conversation that time seemed to fly by. he knows that you hate falling asleep without him and feels guilt seep into his skin. especially since he knows you won't ask for him to come to bed, not wanting it to come off weird since to the others, you're 'just friends'.

you're staring at the ceiling when he shuts his bedroom door, having fallen asleep for all of twenty minutes before you woke up to an empty bed over an hour ago.

"i'm so sorry baby, i didn't realise it had been that long," you turn to look at him, enjoying the way he starts stroking your cheek with his thumb, "have you been waiting for me?"

"mhm, fell asleep for about twenty minutes and been awake since. it's okay though, kept myself busy," george's jaw drops slightly, clearly misunderstanding your words, "oh my god george, no! i meant by reading some more of my book you perv. get your mind out the gutter."

he laughs and goes in to kiss you but you push his forehead away before he can. you scrunch up your face in disgust.

"ow, what was that for?" he's rubbing his forehead like you just hit him with a bat, making it much more dramatic than necessary.

"brush your teeth, you have pizza breath." he tries to do it again and catch you off guard but fails, "i mean it george."

"yes ma'am."

he disappears into the bathroom and returns a few minutes later. his teeth are brushed and he's wearing a pair of grey joggers. your arms open wide, inviting him to lay on top of you so you can run your nails through his hair and up and down his back. a feeling both of you love.

"can i kiss you now?" he teases, grin widening when you nod your head.

several kisses are planted on your face and you know he's purposefully missing your lips. you frown, wanting him to kiss you properly, not having felt his lips on yours in what felt like years. realistically, it's been a few hours.

"george, kiss me properly." you whine.

and he does just that. one hand holding himself up to hover over you, the other stroking your cheek and bringing you in closer until your lips finally meet. the kiss starts off slow and loving, until he presses you further into the mattress, his hands beginning to roam your body. every ounce of sleep you were feeling disappears, suddenly becoming hyper aware of what's happening.

pulling away, you mumble, "we can't, everyone's here. they'll hear us."

"never stopped us before." george whispers against your mouth, connecting your lips once again.

well touché.

a/n don't ask where the inspiration for this came from at 2 in the morning cause i don't have an answer. not proofread either sorryyy. shall i make a part two? i feel like i'll end up doing it anyway but what do you guys think??

[14dayswithyou]

As a humble admirer of Everything Yandere and of the inner workings of the sick and twisted minds of loving, lovesick maniacs and of their warped and muddled perceptions of love and intimacy, I pose you the question: What type, kind, flavor, species of Yandere is Ren/Redacted? I've gone through the asks on the blog answering what lovesick and yearning behaviors he goes through, why he does them, what they mean to him — but can we go deeper? What disturbing things does Ren do, be it for his own twisted satisfaction and perception of "love", be it to those he sees as threats to his Angel? What are his limits, where does he draw the line, how far is he willing to go to get what he wants, and who is he willing to hurt and how? Where does he draw the line when it comes to Angel? I know he would never physically hurt them, but what kind of mental warfare would he inflict on them to get them where he wants? Are we talking isolation, manipulation, gaslighting, brainwashing? And if so, how does that happen?

I'd be very very happy if you'd be okay with going into this analysis — and would it be possible to answer the Yandere Alphabet for Ren? Thank you for blessing me with this mess of a boy and sowwy for the ramble ♡ ♡ Tell Ren to clean up the bloodstains he left earlier ♡

⌞♥⌝ Because I get this question a lot, I personally feel like I've answered it to the fullest possible extent that I can gdkfgjdj ^^; So if you haven't already seen them, I reccomend going through these asks: one, two, three, four, and five!

As for your other questions:

I've highlighted them in pink to make it easier to reference/link it back to the questions above

The "disturbing" things Ren would do to his victims have been answered more or less in a few of the asks mentioned above.

Ren honestly doesn't have any major limits aside from physically harming or forcing himself onto Angel in any way. He doesn't find any pleasure in doing so, nor would he ever want to turn out like his father — much less subject the only person he genuinely cares about to the same things he had to endure as a child.

Ren also doesn't really draw the line anywhere — again, aside from upsetting Angel in any way — so anything is fair game when it comes to everyone else. But speaking as his creator for a moment, I will say that Ren is not the type to harm babies, animals, abandon his own/Angel's children, force himself onto anyone, or coerce anyone into sexual activities in order to get what he wants. That's icky af and I'm not rocking with it /gen /lh

On a slightly lighter topic, Ren is willing to go as far as necessary if it means having Angel rely on him and him only... So long as it keeps them happy at the same time. As much as he'd love to "remove" Angel's friends and family permanently, he won't entertain that thought if it'll make them upset. At most, he'd likely try non-lethal ways to get rid of them in hopes of keeping Angel happy (and oblivious).

One of Ren's major characteristics is that he's willing to change himself to suit Angel's needs, no matter how drastic it may be. If they find any sort of reliability or comfort in him by doing so, then he'll latch onto that notion and feed into it. By becoming someone Angel can trust and confide in, Ren would (potentially) be able to manipulate them and sway their thoughts... Almost like a metaphorical devil on their shoulder, in a sense lmao

I've said this a few times on this blog before, but Ren is the CEO of gaslighting and manipulation. He's down to try a bit of isolation if it's somehow possible to keep Angel happy while doing so, though I don't think Ren would be into mindwashing since he idolises, honours, and blindly trusts Angel's original thoughts more than his own. He wants them to genuinely develop feelings for him, not because he forced them to.

I've actually been asked to do the Yandere Alphabet by a few other people recently, so I'll get around to doing it sometime!! ^^

[navybrat817]

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

credit here

Look at him!

Handsome and Beautiful

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to look good for you. He also wants dessert.

Word Count: Over 700

Warnings: Established relationship, slight insecurities, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: In the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky scowled at this reflection in the mirror as he studied himself. He couldn't seem to get his hair quite right no matter how much he tousled it. He also wasn't sure when he got wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, but age and general stress would do that. Since when did he care so much about his appearance? He hadn't since the 40's.

Until you came along.

“Hey there, handsome,” you smiled from the bathroom doorway. “Looking good.”

A touch of heat went through his cheeks from your compliment. “Why aren't you dressed yet, beautiful?”

“I need your help putting on my dress,” you said all too innocently as you strolled into the room in just your bra and underwear, the color matching the shade of his suit jacket.

Bucky cursed under his breath when he took in the sight of you. “That's what you need my help with?” He questioned. He knew exactly what you needed help with. You'd tell him you have a few minutes before you had to leave and urge him to take off his suit jacket, roll up his sleeves, move your underwear aside, and take what he wanted from you. He wouldn't just take from you. He'd give and give. "My naughty wife.”

“I'll always need your help, my equally naughty husband,” you smiled, kissing him on the cheek and moving a few strands of his hair. Now he looked perfect. All he needed was your touch. “And don't think I didn't notice you deflecting my compliment.”

“I didn't deflect,” he argued. He sure as hell did. Maybe he could consider himself handsome by some standards, but you were a goddess. Some higher being smiled upon you the day you were born and knew you'd be a gift to the world. His world.

“You did and I demand a photo as payment,” you said, crossing your arms when he scoffed. He wasn't one for taking selfies or whatever the hell people called them. “Please, Mr. Barnes? For me?” You added in a softer tone, looking into his blue eyes in the mirror.

He couldn't resist you if he tried.

“Fine, Mrs. Barnes. For you,” he said, sighing as he took out his phone. Putting a hand on his hip, he held up the phone to take the picture you so demanded. “And you were right. This looks better without the tie.”

“I know best,” you teased, cringing slightly when he snapped the picture. “Oh, Bucky…”

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately when he showed you the image. Did you not find him attractive? “You said this was a good color on me.”

“It is. You really do look handsome,” you assured him, making him breathe easier. “But, my god, when are you going to get a case for your phone?”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling. Oh, maybe that was why he had wrinkles around his eyes now. Because of how much you made him laugh and smile. “When I find one I like,” he replied, knowing how much it drove you crazy that he didn’t have a protective case on his phone.

“We have already had to replace your phone twice,” you reminded him as he snaked an arm around you and pulled you against him. “No, don’t you dare distract me. If we have to get you another phone, I-”

“But you said you needed help getting your dress on,” he pointed out, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your fingers gripped the lapel of his jacket as his lips lingered, making him smile. “Don’t you want my help?”

“I do,” you whispered, whimpering when he kissed the other corner and gripped your hip. It was sounds like the ones you made that made him appreciate his super soldier senses. “But-”

“Or maybe we can focus on me fucking you in front of the mirror instead,” he smirked, wondering how wet your panties were now. “C'mon. We have a few minutes before dinner. Let's have dessert first,” he said, finally bringing his lips to yours and snapping a photo when you melted into the kiss.

Maybe he wasn’t a fan of selfies overall, but he’d take as many as you asked him to and would continue to create many happy memories with you.

We still need a breeding fic with these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi