#and being cursed with memory issues I can barely remember what I did back in the day lmao and tumblr changed so much it feels ??? idk man

[boyfrillish]

at some point I’ll go back and retroactively add the “fave” tag again to stuff I’ve reblogged in the past couple of months but today is not that day

[reviewdiaries]

Nancy x Ace and the riddle of knowledge in 4x11

The sweet smell of being right on the money, I love it. You know what else I love? The development in this episode. Because things in Horseshoe Bay have gone from suspicious AF to completely demented, and I am HERE FOR IT.

We finally have confirmation for why things have felt so off these last few episodes. And we’ve started to explore the jenga puzzle, if I remove this one thing - vanished as though it never existed - what else falls down? What other relationships and feelings change? Can they be pieced back together again?

Let’s start with my boy Ace, because I personally am really enjoying his storyline. Do I completely get where the frustration lies for those who would have liked to see more pining and curse breaking and TENSION? Absolutely. I too would have loved that, because Ace and Nancy serve up delicious tension for breakfast, and it’s a treat to watch it. But I’m also genuinely enjoying seeing what we’ve got, because it’s all about growth.

Ace has been given time and space this series to find himself and flourish. He’s fought through heartbreak, and yes, that heartbreak has been distorted, we know that now. Can feel the chiming sense of wrong wrong wrong, how his feelings towards Nancy have shifted, vanishing like smoke in the air. Memories and feelings erased until there’s nothing left but the bare bones of a friendship and an aching sense of something gone - reaching for his phone in the middle of the night before realising he has no idea why. Because suddenly he’s left with the sense of a relationship that stalled before it could start, an idle heartbreak, the feeling of throwing himself into work, into the next mystery, the next person who shows an interest. A tension under his skin that he can’t ever explain. But he’s found a job that he loves, he’s carving out his own space, learning where to prioritise, where the important parts of him lie, where they join together, and how to take up his own space in the world.

His sense of self worth is still battered, his issues with his parents rampant, but he’s starting to hold his ground, mark his own boundaries, find an inner steel we’ve not yet seen in him. He’s always been so quick to please, to try and do what others have wanted, and this episode we’re finally seeing him stand his ground. 

We haven’t ever seen his parents come into his space before, and we get that not once but three times in this episode. We see the tension and friction between him and his father (which we haven’t seen much of but was alluded to greatly in the first couple of seasons) and we see how his mother tries desperately to keep the peace whilst supporting her son. 

GIF Credit @goodobservationshirley

I love this moment. Because Rebbeca is right. The Claw is absolutely Ace’s house, and that means that she and his father are coming to him to lead, they are stepping into his space and they are going to treat it as his, can acknowledge that it’s his, which is such a huge thing. Sure his dad is dismissive and thinks it’s going to go terribly, but that line is drawn. This is Ace’s space, and that means he is the head of the house.

As he becomes more preoccupied with his ghost he becomes less passive with his father. He stands up for himself, he refuses to be cowed by the disappointment, the expected failure. He does this on his terms. And yeah, he stumbles at the start, but he doesn’t let that phase him, he carries on, he leads. He steps into his own and it is such a joy to see. By the end of the episode we have that beautiful moment where his dad comes to tell him how well he did. And moments like this? They’re everything. The growth, the evolution of their relationship. The way they start to meet each other as equals instead of Ace cowering before his dad, it’s amazing to watch.

And then the confrontation with Nancy. Oh guys, they needed this. Sure, it’s about the ghost, not about them. How can they get this argument out when they don’t even remember their feelings for each other? But this is the first time that Ace asserts himself. Stop. I do not consent to what you’ve done. Stop. He never stands up to Nancy. Never holds space for himself, for his needs. The closest we’ve seen him come is 4x02 when he’s desperately pushing for her to tell him what he’s missing. But even then he doesn’t come out and say it, he doesn’t communicate effectively, doesn’t express himself. He acts the part of the spurned wife, veiling everything behind passive aggressive snark and stone wall silence. 

This is everything. This is beautiful. This is communication. Expressing what he needs, what he wants, and refusing to back down. This is everything that they have been missing. I’ve said it over and over and over this season, so much of their problem has been their inability or willingness to communicate openly with each other. And here, laying down the groundwork, is the first step. The first flag Ace is planting. A map of muscle memory for the next time he needs to hold his head high and say stop, no, this is not what I want. 

But as he starts to find those boundaries, Nancy is finding her sense of self eroded. She is floundering, desperate, panicked by the timeline she’s been thrust into, desperate now she knows there are too smooth edges where her memories have been stitched together. Suddenly she doesn’t know herself, doesn’t trust herself. What is her and what is what’s left behind when it’s been taken - the trip on the pavement versus the assault? What would she do, what could she possibly have deemed so bad it had to be removed? Because this Nancy, the Nancy with the pieces removed, she doesn’t have the framework of her love for Ace, the undying certainty that she would do anything for the man she loves, even tear herself to pieces with her bare hands and a handful of words whispered in the dark. She only has an aching sense of loss and a hundred shifting pieces she can no longer make sense of. 

So she goes back to the basics. Back to the handful of things she can hold onto, the facts of the case. Over and over and over as she spirals into panic and fear and the desperate certainty that she is broken beyond repair, irredeemable, lost and alone.

She knows the date. She knows the time. She knows the call log on her phone. The memories are gone but the facts are there. A handful of truths to hold onto and whisper to herself in the dark. We have seen Nancy at her best and at her worst. But even at her worst - lost in the depths of the Hudson name and sure that she can only be the worst version of herself, she knew her mind. Trusted her memories. Could hold onto the pieces of her that she knew to be true. But this, this is a violation that she knows is self inflicted. A scalpel precise removal of pieces of her she doesn’t even know to miss.

We now have a definitive timeline - Ace called Nancy after the boat trip, after the memorial, her hair still wet from washing buttercream icing out. There’s around twenty minutes between that and her going to call on the Sin Eater. And Nancy, because she’s shaken, she’s been given proof that she’s done something she can’t imagine ever doing, no longer trusts herself, no longer trusts what she’d do, what terrible atrocities she could commit. She goes to Ace and tells him that she thinks they are responsible for the Jane Doe.

GIF Credit @whitefluffyyeti 

 But that doesn’t track, that doesn’t make sense. The Nancy we know and love would never try and erase a murder, cover up something terrible. She’d face it head on, hold herself to the same truth and justice ideal that she holds everyone to, because as far as she’s concerned she’s not special, she’s not above this. If she did something wrong she’d take herself to the police station and confess.

So that’s not it. 

But Nancy would also do absolutely anything for those she loves. Not murder, not hiding something like that. But she would absolutely run to the Yacht Club to erase something to save someone she loves, someone like Ace. It’s something time critical, otherwise why would she go there so quickly. She’s desperate. But it’s not something illegal, no for that she’d call Carson, get a lawyer involved, get it sorted out the right way. She’s not always stayed on the right side of the law - too many opportunities to show up the police when they can’t do their jobs, use her lockpicks, her sleuthing beanie. But if it was something illegal, something bad, something murderous, there is no way she’d erase it, she’d work on building the strongest defence possible, but she wouldn’t undo it.

I don’t believe it’s that they accidentally triggered the curse either. We’ve seen before, the Sin Eater erases the memory, it can’t undo the damage. If the curse were triggered, if Ace were doomed to die, the Sin Eater wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop it.

So what does that leave? I genuinely have no clue. There are some great theories floating around about that night, about the Captain of the ship mysteriously cancelling, about the curse that Ace drops overboard. Something about that is off. And we can no longer trust what we’re being shown as viewers. Is what we see the truth? Or is it the altered version after the Sin Eater has removed it from the characters’ collective consciousness? Did Ace and his dad have a lovely bonding fishing trip or did something else happen? Did Nancy and Ace actually have that conversation as we saw it? Clearly not. But what have we had erased? What parts are missing? What jigsaw pieces are we going to be gifted to fill in to make the picture make sense?

My two cents, for what they’re worth - I don’t believe the ghost and the Jane Doe are the same. I think these are two things thrown together to make us think they’re the same. If the Captain theory holds true I’m willing to bet that they’re the burned corpse. But I think the ghost is the figurehead from The Governance. 

The Governance was stormed away from its original course thanks to the Aglaeca - thanks founders and your truly terrible treatment of women. Like I was in a storm. 

They then ripped the boat to pieces and left the figurehead as a protector of the Black Door, literally in the basement. The sky is gone.

The figurehead that has watched over as they tried over and over to merge the Sin Eater with the stolen children. There’s only one left.

She’s ethereal, not wearing the clothes she died in, but a white robe - like an angel, like a woman in white, like a being of magic. And Nancy Drew have been at great pains to point out throughout that there is a balance. Plugonia - plural, one doll for evil, one for light. What if the figurehead is not just a watcher, but part of the literal balance of the Sin Eater?

Now, @flythesail has done a truly excellent post exploring this theory which makes me feel much less like I’m going crazy connecting dots that aren’t there, and I highly recommend checking it out, because she does a fab job exploring the ideas of reincarnation that the writers are bringing into play this season, and makes a very compelling argument for this.

And once you start putting those pieces in, suddenly Nancy and Ace behaving as they are over the ghost and Tristan begins to make even more sense than memory erasure and heartbreak. And honestly, that’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.

But the thread has been found - how can you find a thread to pull when you don’t even know it’s missing waiting to be discovered? Against all the odds the photo, the timeline, it’s starting to emerge. And we know how Nancy gets once there’s a mystery. That desperate all consuming urge to uncover the truth, the light, the justice for a town steeped in darkness and secrets, for the people caught up in the web, for herself.

[or0ch1maru]

i have an idea for some angsty headcanons.

reader got into an accident/fight and got a brain injury making her loose some memories, ability to communicate, walk etc.

For a solid three minutes I was playing eenie meenie miney mo, trying to pick who I wanted for this lol. Soooooo tonight will consist of some angst with our sadistic bby who has a hard time expressing his emotions😩

Warnings?: argument, reader being called stupid, slight memory loss, raised tone of voice. Comfort but not until the end

Hidan x GN reader😘

•

•you cursed that shinobi, the one who caused you to lose some of your memories

•because now, you’re stuck in an uncomfortable argument with your partner

•it was rare that Hidan got upset with you, he usually got pissed off with Kakuzu, or an enemy when on a mission, but it still stung when his tone changed and he’d look away from you when speaking

• “it’s not my fault this happened..” you pouted, trying to defuse the situation.

•losing your memory and receiving a head injury was NOT your fault in the slightest. The rogue shinobi you fought against, did their research and knew your weaknesses.

•which was only one. Hidan

• “if you weren’t so stupid, we wouldn’t be having this conversation” Hidan retorted back. His tone shifted, being one full of frustration.

•this fight started when Hidan had mentioned plans you two put together a few weeks ago, but that obviously changed after your accident.

•the day came around and you forgot. He had wanted to take you out for a nice dinner and movie date. The two of you being so busy with back to back missions that you two barely got a full nights rests in the same bed before having to run off.

• “I-.” You would start, opening and closing your mouth multiple times before giving up entirely. Not sure what can help calm down your lover.

• “shut up.” He snaps over his shoulder at you. Tears begin to burn in the corners of your eyes. You’d wish he’d just tell you what was wrong but it’s not always that easy.

•being a member of the akatsuki, let alone dating one would always come with risks and complications.

•they all come from a difficult past, some worse than others. All coming with trauma and issues of some kind

•and you knew that, and it didn’t stop you from falling in love with Hidan. The most sadistic being of this entire group

• “please, just tell me what’s wrong.” You manage to say. Your tone soft, unlike your usual confident voice.

• “it’s nothing important.” Your grey haired lover begins. His tone laced with annoyance. Deep down he knows this isn’t your fault, and he tried his hardest not to let it affect him. Some days just being harder than others for him.

• “apparently today wasn’t special enough for you to remember. What kind of partner are you anyway?” Your heart drops, he doesn’t mean it. He’d never mean something so hurtful. Is what you tell yourself.

• “it’s not my fault…” you say again, the four words fall from your mouth through a choked sob.

•ever since your accident, you’d notice you would forget the smallest of things. Like where you placed the remote after you paused a movie or heating something up in the microwave, only to be reminded when somebody went to use it later on.

•but over the few weeks since you hit your head, the nagging feeling of worthlessness have hit you harder and harder.

•you felt like a failure as a comrade, a ninja, and as a partner. Just like Hidan said, what kind of partner are you if you can’t remember something so basic and easy.

• “get out. Just get out.” You cocked your head and looked at him, his back still turned towards you and you could see the strain he’s putting on himself to avoid looking at you

•which only made you feel even worse

•you crawled out of the comfort of his bed, nervously playing with the sleeves of your jacket as you walked towards the door. “I’m sorry..” the two words fall from your lips quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. But you were still loud enough that he heard you.

•you slipped out of his room without another peep, and disappeared into the confines of yours.

•over the span of a few hours, you’d gone through a range of emotions. Your cries turned to anger, cursing the person who caused this, to telling yourself that you’re okay, and then back to crying.

•sometime during this, you fell asleep, arms wrapped tightly around one of your pillows, wishing it was your boyfriend

•it was late into the evening at this point. Hidan had a lot of time to reflect on how he treated you. Feeling like shit, he opened your door, finding you sleeping. A small smile formed on his face at how cute you looked

• “baby. Love, wake up.” Your partners voice gently pulled you from your rest. You open your eyes, finding him hovering over you. One arm holding him up while the other sits on your waist.

• “I’m sorry. I was an ass to you.” Hidan’s usual gruff voice was soft, his voice a whisper as he finds his words. He lowers his forehead until it’s touching yours.

• “there’s no excuse for how I acted. It’s not your fault. None of this is okay? I love you baby.” He coos, planting soft kisses along your jawline before pressing his lips against yours.

•the two of you stayed like that for a while, snaking your arms around the back of his neck. The immortal flipped, now laying on his back while you straddle his hips. Hands planted firmly on his torso.

• “I’d understand if you don’t forgi-.” He starts, you cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips. “Stop talking. It’s okay. It’ll take us time to get used to this. Just wish we didn’t have to, you know?” He nods, his eyes wide, full of patience and love as he looks at you.

• “just do me one solid okay?” He states, his hands palming the soft flesh of your hips and upper thighs. “If I ever, and I mean ever, speak to you like that again, I give you permission to smack the fuck outta me.” He finishes, a smile toying on the corner of his lips but his expression is firm. Letting you know he truly means what he’s saying.

•you press another kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him. “Okay.” You say softly, giving him a gentle smile. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. His fingers pressing into the muscles of your back, loosening all the knots and built up tension you’re carrying. A faint chuckle leaving his lips when a snore falls from your mouth.

[joculine]

DIE Issue #2 Reread (Gillen & Hans)

I was pretty hooked on DIE from the concept alone, but this issue is what showed me the story itself would be something special. Sir Lane, the knight of kisses wraps up everything special about this comic to me into one, horrible little story. I love it. Let's dig in.

Art

Eyes are a big deal through the series, but they're an especially big deal in this issue. Hans is really killer at showing emotion through them here, the guilt Ash feels, the anger Sol & Matt feel, and of course the hate from Sir Lane.

I especially love her fight scenes. They move in broad strokes, not focused on any specific sequence of action, but the specific moments of victory and defeat that occur through the fight.

That's important when you're dealing with a cast as large and unique as the party. Everyone has these super powerful attacks with over the top video-game flairs, so she has to make sure to draw your eye with color and shapes.

I especially like how red is used in this scene, a strong color associated with violent magic from just about everyone. Historically, I've associated the red licks of fire with Ash and her dictator powers, but I think that applies to all members of the party here. Perhaps we are meant to see red as the color of violent magic? Or perhaps just the party's magic?

Isabelle's talks with her gods are another standout for me. These panels are always so interesting, I love to see how each one speaks, how they treat Izzy, and how little she seems to care about them. She keeps her back to them, refuses to meet their eye, but is still shadowed in most interactions. It also looks like a persona summoning scene, which is fun to me.

A special shout out to the cartoonish look of Ash's memory of Sir Lane. So idealized & flat, the perfect way to do this childhood flashback. Everything was so much simpler then... NOT. We'll get into it further on.

Actually, why wait?

This is up there for my favorite moments in the comic. Like I said, this is where I realized what DIE was doing—this is a story about careless people ruining their lives and the lives of others for the sake of "fantasy." And it's a story about the logical conclusions of those fantasies crawling back to you and covering you with awful worms.

What's incredible is the conciseness here. In just 8 panels over 2 pages, we see the entire tragedy. Sir Lane, the Angrian knight of kisses, was a fling for young Ash back in the 90s. Maybe even her first fling as herself:

It's an exciting thing for her, to be kissed as a woman. To be wanted as a woman. But Ash barely remembers this guy. She does recall their last meeting—he joked he wouldn't rest until he saw her again, asked her to use her power to make it true. She did. He died. He never rested. His eyes rotted. A lover's joke became a never-ending curse.

We see here how careless Ash has been with a very serious power. As the Dictator class, she can speak things & feelings into being. If she isn't careful, this power will rewrite reality to make her words true. Sir Lane is only the first casualty of this we see. What other horrors are waiting for them in this world, still reeling from the fickle whims of teenage demigods?

House Rules & The Fallen

Isabelle tells us the party takes this world seriously. They can't know how "real" Die is, so they have to treat it like it is real.

I don't think anyone in this party is actually playing this way though. The proceeding bit with Sir Lane is strong evidence against it, but even just moments before this interaction, we have the party going all out on the Fallen and this nice little explanation from Ash:

You know, some people would call me a trap with legs, but I hope there'd still be moral question to killing me. Anyway.

I was really mad the first time I read this, back in 2018. Orc discourse wouldn't hit its stride for a few more years, but even then I found it frustrating. If we're supposed to believe that these characters are treating Die as real, why are the Fallen different? Are "orcs" not people? Are they not conscious? Perhaps are used as unquestionable fodder in early D&D and LOTR, major influences on DIE, but I feel like we're past that now. The easy answer for the moment is that they are more like zombies than orcs, but that's still not satisfying for me. This whole scene appears to be a weirdly out of place statement for the comic.

Let's hold onto that feeling of dissonance—it feels bad for a reason. Without spoiling too much, Ash & the party's knowledge of the Fallen is pretty sparse at this point. They know them as hungry, diseased automatons. There's a lot more to them. A lot more. As we'll find later, this statement is just wrong.

This is a really important theme for the comic: The party is often wrong in what they think and what they do. Their attitude as 90s gamers will keep butting heads against more modern TTRPG ideas. This past thoughts/present thoughts conflict will continue not just with the Fallen, but in pretty much every aspect of the story.

So What's Up With Sol?

You've gotta love this guy—the dramatics, the get up, the ambush, it's all classic GM shit. Look, he's even having to stop himself from spoiling things here, he's just so excited to see his friends again!

Okay, maybe there's something a little worse than that going on here. Sol is (obviously) a really bad friend here. He's stating that he wants to bring the party back for another game—the war is over, now we're here for fun.

Ash reads this differently. She sees him as furious, furious beyond the point of sanity.

The other players have their own ideas. Isabelle, it seems, might be taking Sol at his word, but she's trying to talk him down. Matt is, pretty rightfully, furious. He's been brought out of his normal life into the worst place in the world. Angela bargains. Maybe she thinks Sol is crazy enough to fall for it.

So what's really going on here? Why did Sol bring them back, why now? We don't get an exact answer here, but I don't think it's anything put forth in this scene. Or maybe a bit of all of it. We'll learn more the next time we see Sol.

Other Thoughts

Well, here we go. We've got our quest, we've got a combat in, even some roleplay. A pretty good first session! I do like how these early bits are all structured like standard D&D sessions.

I already gushed a bit about the art in this issue's action scene, but I also want to call out the way Ash's narration works there too. Everyone's role in the party and their powers are very clear. It's a good set piece to show what everyone can do and why they're cool.

If you're considering reading DIE, I'd try to get through at least these two issues. If you like the tone and the characters, keep going! It just gets better from here.

In fact... next issue introduces one of my favorite bits of world-building in the series... but we'll save that for later.

[linaisfunny]

Hot take of the week; The castle swimmer fandom hates on Susca WAY TO MUCH and liked Shoal WAY TO MUCH.

Okay, hear me out. Both Susca and Shoal are written incredibly realistic. They’re not perfect at all, they have flaws, they have faults and regrets. However, i see people scorn and hate Susca to an extreme amount and I think it’s completely unfair to hate HER if you like Shoal.

Susca not only lies to her people, she almost kills the Beacon to protect her sons life. She would willing kill and lie to protect Siren. Ask any parent and they’d say, “Yes, I’d do anything to protect my child.”

Pim threatens her castle’s leaders because they were mistreating Pagoon and left with him.

Mucku gives up her memories to protect Neth.

So why are we hating Susca for trying to protect Siren?

“But Susca tried to kill Kappa!!! She lied to Siren!!! She hurt him!!”

If you had a child, would you rather have them killed by a stranger or kill that stranger to protect them?

She did lie. She lied to everyone. But not for her own sake of being. She didn’t lie to comfort herself or because she could bare seeing people get hurt, she lied to protect her child.

But so did Shoal.

“Did I really leave to find a way to break our curse? Or was it too much of a coward to stay and watch our people die because of our decision?”

Shoal lied. Both he and Susca made the prophecy up. If you hate on Susca for putting Siren under pressure, you should also hate on Shoal for doing it to. It’s both their faults.

Susca hurt Siren on complete accident. Siren was the one to jump in front of her spear. And after she told that castle what she did and owned up to her mistakes and would have accepted being banished. She got insanely good character development.

But what did Shoal do?

He abandoned both his wife and son. He is, by definition, a deadbeat dad. Yes Susca made mistakes but she owned up to them and apologized and let Siren leave and accepted that Kappa and Siren love each other.

Shoal wasn’t even there to see Siren turn ten!

Shoal uses excuse after excuse to try and say he made the right choice and that leaving his wife and child behind was excusable. It wasn’t.

Yes, he does regret it, but what does he do to show his remorse for abandoning his family? Stay gone.

He had ten years to come back. He never did. He even admits the real reason he left is because he couldn’t bare to see his people get hurt because of his decision.

“Did I really do this to save Siren? Or did I abandon him because it’s to painful to stay by his side?”

Yes, Shoal, you abandoned your son.

I think the only reason people like him is because he’s attractive and he’s shown to love Siren.

But how much can you truly love someone, if you abandoned them because you couldn’t handle emotional turmoil?

Shoal does regret leaving, but never comes back? Back to his wife or son? Or his people?

He forces Susca to become not only a Queen, but a single mother raising the child Shoal couldn’t bare to stay around because it was to painful and forces Siren, who was nine at the time, to lose his father and go through life without a father.

Imagine the abandonment issues Siren must have because of Shoal. Most Sharks die for their family, Shoal left his.

Shoal is never shown to have any character development at all. He doesn’t change from the sad, deadbeat dad he was ten years ago.

Susca changes into a much more responsible and mature women and admits her mistakes and accepts if Siren never wants to see her again.

What did Shoal ever do for Siren that was for only his benefit?

Susca is a liar but Shoal is a coward.

Hate on Susca all you want, but remember that she was the one who stayed.

Susca was the one who stayed. Shoal wasn’t.

[strdstd-m]

{Speaking of my Dain, here are some notes abt my portrayal of him:}

6'4" in height.

To me, Khaenri'ah is based on Iceland & has strong Norse influences, & the language is based on Icelandic, with that being (one of) the oldest Nordic languages.

Dain used to have long, near-elbow length hair back in Khaenri'ah, but cut it short after the fall. Sort of being symbolic to his change in roles, from Royal Guard captain to Abyss hunter, as well as it being overall practical. Less of a chance to be used against him in fights, but that'd be the reason he'd say as to why he did it to save himself from recalling the true reason.

Love the idea of Dain having mastered many different weapons other than his main sword: bows, polearms, & even some catalyst experience.

Blind in his left eye (the one behind the mask) due to his curse progressing up his face, since I hc the blackened skin & blue marks on his left arm to be a physical manifestation of the curse. The nails on his left hand are claw-like & he has visible fanged canine teeth as well.

Has the tendency to growl, hiss, & snarl involuntarily due to the Abyssal affliction, as well as bare his fangs when angry/upset.

Has chronic pain due to the curse as well as due to absorbing Abyssal energy from every Abyssal being he kills. Mainly in his left arm, but it can be full-body, too.

Dain? 100% has muscle on him. Mans did not fight against Abyss Heralds day in & day out for 500 years to not gain some serious muscle. So, ye, Dain's buff. Likely looks like Alhaitham. Along with his curse-enhanced strength

His memory was somewhat improved after his journey through the Chasm due to the cleansing effect/easing of the effects of the curse the Chasm itself gave him, but he still has issues with remembering short-term things. Especially when it comes to recently-learned, 100% new information to him.

Is clearly deeply traumatized by the fall of Khaenri'ah, how much of it he shoved down, left unprocessed, or overall forgot due to his foggy memory, the curse and/or the sheer amount of time that'd passed since. Heck, one could even classify his one-track mind when it comes to tracking the Abyss as an unintentional coping mechanism in order to distract himself from not delving too deep into what he does remember.

Has a strong urge to avoid the Chasm and even the area above it, not wanting to succumb to the urge to stay there and let himself finally rest. As well as wanting to avoid coming face-to-face to his former comrades and former people. The cleansing effect lessening the effects of the curse being just enough to where he can remember with a somewhat clearer head, the guilt downright slamming into him even though it wasn't outwardly shown the first time he was there.

Speaking of the Chasm: due to the amplification device & the strong toll it took him on, him warring with past memories and guilt throughout the time the Traveler was going through Inazuma while trying to continue investigating, fighting Abyss beings even in his weakened state to avoid thinking too much about past events & people he only just remembered.

He still feels random jolts of the amplification device's pain if he overexerts himself/overuses his abilities.

Abyss energy emanating from Dain like a miasma when his emotions are high or after he uses his Abyss abilities- Affecting/harming those near him, which is another reason why he's so intent on staying solitary, bc he doesn't want others harmed by him/his curse.

Dainsleif... with galaxy-looking scars- Just, his scars from before Khaenri'ah fell are normal, but the ones he gets post-fall are all bright blue & glow a bit.

Regarding the Abyss, it is attracted to those with strong ambition & those with personal ties to it have been known to gain an ability to cause havoc & conflict. As well as prolonged exposure causing changes to appearance & personality. And Abyssal corruption, if far enough along, it apparently makes the haver feel like they're being gnawed on by sharp teeth. So Dain also now has the intense feeling of being gnawed on. As well his hair & eyes being far duller in color than they once were.

And the biggest thing: The Abyss using Dain's strong sense of duty & guilt to lure him deeper in, creating a horrid loop. To keep him exposed to their energy to hasten his corruption. Just, he feels this strong urge he cannot ignore no matter what; he MUST go out & hunt down the Abyss. Even if it leaves him in even more pain compared to when he left.

[danieltrades]

❖ tell me of home ❖

Rating: Mature (mentions of sexual activity-non explicit, cursing, tav trauma mentioned- cut off before going too deep.)

Pairing: Astarion x Dox (Tav) - Pre-relationship

Summary: Dox (Tav) realizes something about his feelings for Astarion and is not okay with it.

Series: TO BE ADDED

Tags: 2nd person POV, He/They Protagonist, Transmasc Protagonist, Dox Backstory, Pining, Light Angst, Dox is Bad at Feelings, Dox is ignoring his feelings, Dox has a -1 to intelligence, Act 1, Pre-Confession, Lae'zel and Gale being friends(and dipshits), Based off of Sovereign Glut's In Game Dialog

A/N: To be seen is to be known. And by Gods, that's terrifying. I'm looking to update this as a series because I adore my scrungly Dox and how incredibly insane he can be.

Heads up this wasn't beta read so if you find some issues--just let me know and I'll do some edits. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: >1k

Story under the cut!

“Tell me of home.”

Sovereign Glut’s words echo through your mind, and you can feel the spores attempt to reach out to hold onto the memories that have such a title. You, Dox, haven’t thought of home for a long time. In your heart, you weren’t even sure if you had a home to begin with. 

While prior to your adventures, you could have claimed Baldur’s Gate to have been your home. But truly, that wasn’t the case. You were only a citizen within those walls for a short amount of time, and while you practically drank in that city like fine wine…that place wasn’t your home. You could barely call yourself a Baldurian and the only reason you felt comfortable enough to do so was because you managed to win quite a few bar fights. Being trained as The Lady of Silver’s paladin from a young age had some perks. But no…as much as you tried- Baldur’s Gate wasn’t home. Not yet, at least. 

You thought about the woods you grew up in. You could barely remember it now–as if a faint memory. That wasn’t your home either…you were orphaned at a young age and sent to live in an isolated community. The people who raised you…used you. They trained you to be their offering to Selûne. Her perfect warrior…her perfect cleric...your priest's perfect-

. . .

Only after you broke the oath those people made you take, do you realize that the goddess had nothing to do with your upbringing. Your anger was misplaced. But still…home did not reside there.

So..what is home to you, little dove?

Your hardened eyes glance over to your party;  Gale, and Lae’zel,had trailed off to do gods know what. From where you stood, you can see the two bickering over..something. Gale must have gotten a little too interested in the local fauna. Strangely he and Lae’zel had developed a friendship built on one getting into trouble while the other got them out. Much like a mouse finds companionship with a cat. You can’t help but let out a gentle chuckle upon seeing the gith take off her gloves to smack the man in the back of the head for getting his face too close to some mushrooms. His body goes flying forward and the spores erupt around him. The coughing noise he makes sounds like a mixture of a hyena’s laugh and a sad boar.

After a moment, you realized that a third member was not in your field of vision. That was until you felt a hand come down on your shoulder. You find yourself glancing to your right, Astarion suddenly appearing beside you. He looks..bored. And tired. His eyes softened in a way that you never got to see too often. You can’t help but look at the lines of his face-studying them in a way you really haven’t been able to before. The longer you look, the more your stomach churns in a way you’re not used to. 

“What is the hold up?” You hear him sigh. His voice lulls in a way that makes your ears turn red. For the first time you find yourself happy to be wearing the stupid wooden crown. You never realized how nice his hand on your shoulder felt.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this.

You’ve acknowledged your infatuation for the vampire a long time ago. He was beautiful–and he knew it. You didn’t have to tell him. But his looks or the ‘are we about to die’ and ‘holy shit we didn’t die’ sex weren’t the only things that caused your heart to stutter when you spoke to him.

Astarion and you had this unspoken friendship–one that developed from a connection you formed as you both begin to divulge in your pasts. Also the way that you both were just...chaotic. You both understood each other…Astarion was the first person to actually see you and you were the first to see him.

But it wasn’t until now..until you were being asked by this stupid fucking mushroom what your home was did your heart pound more than usual. And what Astarion seeing you actually meant.

Your mind flutters from place to place, and you can feel the spores mingle their way into memories but…fantasies of what home could be. A place in Baldur’s Gate, a warm bed…Astarion in that bed with you. Not because of your lust or your bonding but because of something so much worse. Something that you fear more than any devil, or creature you could face. The word itself makes you want to vomit. You knew you would do anything for Astarion since the Grove but knowing the reason-

Your eyes catch for a moment, his vibrant red ones pierce into your dull purple. You can see his pupils dart for a moment-he’s gotten to know you so well. He knows your stares and what they mean but this one causes his eyebrows to raise. He looks... concerned?

Fuck.

You quickly look away from him, moving to the side so his hand slides off of your shoulder. Astarion gives you a confused look, and his eyes soften as if the act may have hurt him. However, you’re refusing to acknowledge it. Your heart is beating too fast in your chest.

“My home is where I travel, and we need to set up camp now,” You quickly explain to Glut. “We can avenge your Circle after we rest. “

You give the strange figure a nod, before excusing yourself to grab Gale and Lae’zel from their mission to piss off the other myconids.

“What the hell was that?” You hear Astarion question no one in particular as you try to expand the distance between you both. However, the Sovereign Glut responds.

“A heartbroken song.”

[rokutouxei]

the curse of memory

blade/dan heng | 2438 | also on ao3 (link in bio) the events at the Xianzhou Luofu forces Dan Heng to face the things he'd long run away from--at the end of it, including Blade.

(what is memory)

Remembering will do Blade no good.

It’s such a shame that it’s all he can do now. Splotches of the past stain his mind, clouding his vision. The only lens he can see the world through.

Inside of him, there is a smaller, more pathetic version of him that cries and scratches at the walls of his consciousness. He is begging him to forget.

Too bad the mara prevents that version of him from speaking up at all.

So now, he is always hungry, bloodthirsty, craving something he can never have anymore.

Good thing there is no sweeter feeling than the hunt.

--

(what is beyond recall)

Being an archiver and guardian on the Express is no problem for Dan Heng. He enjoys learning. His strength in battle is not an issue either. With the freedom to go as he pleases, Dan Heng finds the arrangement agreeable.

With Himeko and Welt with him, Dan Heng lets himself breathe a little easier. There is always the chance that he would be found here—by that man. Of course, he would. Maybe he already knows Dan Heng is here. But finding companions has softened the edges of Dan Heng’s worries.

At least, when he returns from battle bloodied and bruised, he has a place to come back to.

Eventually, he will need to leave the Express. There is only so much they can do for him. A stopover for an unknown destination.

But right now, he stares at the data bank until he’s dizzy, and knocks out from exhaustion. Looks at the blurred edges of dream and memory, coming face-to-face, cowardly, at the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

--

( what is memory)

There is only so much running he can do before everything catches up to him.

If fate will not do it, then Blade will do it for him.

Inevitably, they meet again.

There is something sickeningly comforting when they fall back to their usual. Weapon against weapon. While Blade’s technique has only been sharpened by time, Dan Heng’s hiding power is electric underneath his calculated movements. They go toe-to-toe. It only becomes a matter of who gets exhausted first.

Usually, it is Blade. And not because his body can no longer take it.

While nightmares haunt Dan Heng in his unconscious, Blade lives it. Slowly, as their sparring progresses, Dan Heng becomes not Dan Heng but ███, and he becomes not Blade but ██. Old names that at once no longer have any bearing, but at the same time, carry all their history.

Today, it takes shorter than usual. Blade aims a decisive blow at the young man, one that would normally push him back with a strong thud. Instead, his sword meets the bracer around Dan Heng’s arm.

And there is a moment of hesitation.

Just enough time to give Dan Heng the chance to dart backward, breath heaving.

After that, Blade falls into a state of acquiescence. Half-hearted blows until Dan Heng finally spears him straight through his uselessly unyielding heart.

Blade collapses.

Closes his eyes. There’s a moment, when he is killed, where all is silent. No more than a faint ringing in his ears so quiet he can barely hear it. In those moments alone does Blade know peace. The young man gives him a hard look before pulling his spear out of the flesh; Blade’s body follows for an inch off the ground before it falls back down.

Silence.

Footsteps fade away in the distance.

While Dan Heng retreats, Blade lays in a pool of his own blood, thanking the young man in his mind, calling him ███, as tenderly as he used to.

--

(what is beyond recall)

Dan Heng does not remember.

Not in the way you would remember what you did last week, or what you ate the other day. Dan Heng has no access to those kinds of his memories. Instead, it comes to him more like you would data in the archives—knowledge.

That is: with a distinct separation from the self.

“I am not him,” over and over again until someone—anyone—believes him. It is painful because Dan Heng knows it is only half-true. In a way, he is still Dan Feng. The same way he is still all the past High Elders that have come before them both.

But doesn’t it count?

Even if he hadn’t molted completely—even if he and Dan Feng were the same in body and soul—would it really not count, the rest that he’d lived afterward? Ship to ship, the Express, the Nameless—are all those lofty illusions in the face of facing who he had been before he was who he thinks he is now?

A sigh.

“As a descendant of the Vidyadhara, I will fulfill my duty to the Luofu.”

Something banging in his chest. Already in Imbibitor Lunae’s form, he buys time. Walks around the Dragonvista Rain Hall looking for answers—in the walls, in the people he knows, in the statue.

He does not find them.

So eventually, inevitably, when he steps up in front of the High Elder monument, when the waters part and the power inside of him responds to his call, something in him breaks.

--

(what is memory)

Blade wakes up from a dream.

Blade rarely dreams now. In a rare gesture of kindness, the mara spares him in his sleep the agony of reliving what has long past. 

But when he does dream, it is always crystal clear.

Oftentimes, what comes are nightmares. The calculating, cold gaze of a swordswoman who would not let him go. The prisons on the Luofu. The vague haze of a catastrophe unraveling behind him. Not memories—but engraved in his body nonetheless.

But there are nights like these when the dreams are gentler to him. A gift being given. A garden. Talking in hushed whispers. Alcohol under the moonlight. It hurts worse the more he tries to recall it. 

He does not want to recall it.

Blade gets up from the sofa.

No one else is there with him, the rest of the Stellaron Hunters god-knows-where. But he still hides away, in the room he refuses to call his own. Still, it is there where he feels most alone.

On nights like these, he wears that bracer around his arm even though it makes him sick to the stomach.

Masochist. 

He enjoys it. He hates it.

When Blade finds that, even now, this bracer still remains warm, he does what he can not to cry.

In becoming “Blade”, he had made an effort to become someone else. Shedding his old name in favor of a new one, the same way his body had succumbed to the fate of infinite repair. 

But then why can’t he let him go?

Why do those emerald eyes still haunt him like a waking dream, coaxing him forward?

It hurts , he thinks, it hurts to think of . Their twin promises, their broken vows.

For only a few seconds, he gives himself permission to muse what’s impossible. ██ wonders, if his beloved eventually remembers,

what then?

--

(what is beyond recall)

After the conclusion of the events at the Luofu, Dan Heng finds himself wandering the hallways of the Express like looking for answers.

The more he thinks, the more he wishes he could remember it all, all at once.

Instead, things rise to his mind one at a time, a patchwork of memories he still has to rearrange. Reasons. Events. Feelings.

The ghost of Dan Feng looming over him, cursing him for forgetting.

Dan Heng still wakes up from nightmares. Only this time, he no longer remembers them. They float away like a fog of memory not his own. But when he wakes up, he is crying. He is asking for forgiveness, the taste of “sorry” sour in his mouth. His hands trembling in his lap.

One night, he has enough of it. So much has risen to the surface and yet the core of it hangs, invisibly, in his mind. So he forces himself to recall it. Sits in his bed with his hands fisted at the roots of his hair. 

Eventually, the past coalesces into a vivid memory. The aftermath of a devastating tragedy. Arrogance rising. Decisions made at the last minute. The face in his dreams so familiar and yet so different. A name that echoes like stars.  

Oh, a pang in his heart.

He knows him. Then. Now. They made promises. They made vows. They promised they would meet again—somehow. 

Dan Heng would recognize him anywhere.

He wishes he wouldn’t.

For now, though, he gets up from bed to go splash water on his face. When he looks up at the mirror, he is forced to face the hollowness in his eyes. The past, a specter haunting him relentlessly. Wanting something out of him. Something he no longer knows how to give.

Just die, Dan Heng thinks. Just die and leave me alone for good.

Except it won’t.

Perhaps it never will.

--

( now or never)

“What do you mean you’re going alone?!” March’s shrill voice cuts through the parlor car. “You just said he’s been wanting to kill you!”

“There are things I still need to settle with him,” Dan Heng says, maintaining an icy composure. “It is not necessary to drag you all into our mess.”

“It’s not—Himeko, Mr. Yang, tell him!”

“I’m sure Dan Heng appreciates your concern, March,” Welt says. “But I think it’s best we don’t interfere with his wishes.”

“But—!”

“We’ll be right by his side,” Himeko attempts to placate her. “The minute he calls for us we will be right there.”

“Thank you.” Dan Heng bows. Whether it is in gratitude or to hide his face is uncertain. He knows they are waiting for assurances— I’ll be safe. I will be back. I’ll return soon. But he does not have them on him.

When they disperse, Dan Heng finds the Trailblazer looking at him with solemn eyes.

Dan Heng turns away.

--

(what comes after what is remembered)

Dan Heng thinks he is ready to face it all again. This time, he comes to Blade.

Blade’s mouth goes from a thin line to a madman’s grin.

“Did you walk into my trap,” he asks, “Or did you just miss me?”

Dan Heng remains silent. His hand hovers by his side, his spear waiting for his call. He doesn’t know where to begin. He imagines Dan Feng urging him.

“Still not a talker, are you?” Blade continues. He’s trying to sound intimidating. In the face of everything, Dan Heng thinks he sounds miserable. “Maybe we ought to talk with our weapons instead.”

The taste of blood fills Dan Heng’s mouth. Only then does he realize he’s biting his tongue. The same one waiting for his permission to speak.

He needs to say it out loud, for his remembering to become real.

Dan Heng thought he was ready. He really did. In returning to the form of his previous self, in coming back to the Xianzhou at all, he admitted defeat to the crushing weight of Dan Feng’s memories.

What was another memory amongst all memories?

But he is not ready. In front of Blade, Dan Heng cannot find the words.

If there are any left to say.

No I understand you now . No the past still haunts us like ghosts. No don’t we pay our debts every day, living our miserable existences unable to forget and unable to remember? No aren’t we both the products of consequences that we now have no control over? 

Not even if things were different, I would have been able to give you what you deserve. 

Instead, he watches Blade closely as he shifts form. Into an appearance more familiar to the other—long hair, elegant clothes, translucent teal horns on his crown.

Like this, Dan Heng sometimes wonders who Blade really sees in this moment.

But it doesn’t matter, not anymore.

Remembering will do ██ no good. Dan Heng knows this. Dan Feng knows this. But now, there is no turning back. There is only facing the fact that Dan Heng does not have the ability to give ██ what he needs.

He may as well give him what he wants, as a way of atoning for his sins.

He summons his weapon and narrows his eyes to aim. Blade laughs maniacally. His expression only ever comes alive when they fall into their rhythm like this.

Alive. Still here. The same way Dan Feng once wanted. The same sickening way Dan Heng still does.

Dan Heng aims his weapon, taking a deep breath as he feels his power fill him.

The name tender in his mind.

██, I’m sorry. 

--

(what comes after what is forgotten)

There is no satisfying ending to this story.

Blade’s sword lays untouched a distance away. Dan Heng’s spear has cut through flesh, as it always does, right into the other man’s heart. His sputtering and coughing had given way to a quiet sleep. Death eludes him. At least, there is rest.

Dan Heng feels like he is crumbling. No matter. At least, until ██ wakes up, there is this.

A head cradled on his lap. A duet of quiet, unlabored breathing. Dan Heng returns to his usual form. The bracer rematerializes on his arm. It is cold, but slowly getting warmer by the second. If he were to pull the other man’s sleeve up, he will find the matching pair. He does not need to do so to be sure.

Is there any love crueler than this?

To forget and to recall, to hunger and never be satisfied.

Dan Heng knows that eventually, he will have to leave. Return to the Express and trailblaze. Dan Heng is, after all, one of the Nameless. But for the rest of eternity while that is happening— Dan Feng will be trapped in a never-ending chase with this man. Until his mind and body fall asunder, until his heart breaks in more ways than it already has.

Until he can be forgiven, if that sort of thing is even possible.

For now, though, there is this. Dan Heng, placing a shaky hand over the tuft of black hair on his lap. Tracing the shape of the familiar jaw under his fingertips. The ones that make something pinch in his heart, features he knows like the back of his hand. The curve of ears, the corner of a mouth.

What was once his and now never again. 

Remembering will do Dan Heng no good.

The familiarity, the curse of memory.

There’s no sweeter feeling than the surrender to what one once loved.

[aroundthefir]

Have you ever been in a DV relationship? If so how did you survive it and move on?

Yeah actually my first boyfriend was abusive in every way possible. I really thought I was going to die in that relationship. I remember I just turned 18 and before I knew it he was in my blind spot and had complete control over me. He moved into my apartment within a few weeks of meeting. We broke up many times and got back together. Probably for years we would sneak behind our friends and families backs. It was kinda a blessing and a curse that he lived in the state next door. It was nice when we were broken up because he was like 5/6 hours away. But the cops were called off and on. I have a vivid memory of going to South Dakota with him, his bestfriend passed away from a drinking and driving accident and my ex blamed me for it. I just ran out of that house because I knew what he said wasn’t true. He just wanted to put me down. He followed me around this neighborhood in his car and grabbed me by my hair and forced me in his car. I mean it was mid winter and everything was super icy. That was a moment that I will never forget. I was so close to making it to safety and here I was in his car again. His demeanor when he was upset and behind the wheel was one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced and I didn’t have a car at the time. I was basically stranded. I remember my parents drove all the way to SD to come save me. He threatened to beat my dad with a baseball bat if they took me away from him and I STILL stayed. I think the next day got worse and I had to secretly email a family friend to pick me up and he drove 5 hours to come save me. My friend called the cops and the cops picked me up. I still met up with “D” for a few times way later but the same scenario kept happening. Im really really surprised im still alive honestly.

I barely survived. This relationship took a toll on me for a really long time. It was probably my hardest break up. It took many attempts to leave and try to fix things but nothing could be fixed. Once you see that side of someone- it’s poisoned. Trust issues will rise, things will continue to get worse. So when you see that side of someone you can’t unsee it. There was no official break up we would continue to see eachother. It was my worst mistake. He did some really fucked up things that will have me mildly traumatized for the rest of my life. You don’t want that. Life is too short to stay in relationships where you aren’t valued or respected. Time and you’re own strength is the only thing that will heal you. The sooner you leave the sooner you can get through this process you know? I’ve found so much comfort in being alone now I really don’t need anyone Actually im scared of most ppl

[violentdelightstheseviolentends]

woah! was that PRINCE ADEM walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from BEAUTY AND THE BEAST/DISNEY. they’re 27 and live in GLEN OAKS HEIGHTS but watch out because they can be TEMPERAMENTAL + INSECURE but are actually GENTLE + KIND despite them HAVING SOME memories, you’ll always think of ROSE PETALS, CURSED EXISTENCE, DISTORTED SELF-PORTRAITS impression when imagining them.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, in a land far away there was a kind Queen married to a cruel King. They had one son, Adem, and for a while he had a happy childhood. But after his mother died things changed as his father’s cruelty was now completely focused on him. He grew up, crueller and unkind. When his father died, he barely even reacted and instead threw himself into partying and ignoring his own duties. That was until the Enchantress arrived. When he rejected the rose she offered twice, she revealed her true form, and cursed him into being a beast with the servants in the castle being turned into objects. Time passed and there was no sign of the curse ending. The condition was to find someone who he loved and who loved him in return, but he never really left the castle, unsure how he could looking the way he did. That was until a man arrived at the castle, running away after seeing the talking furniture, but stopped to take a rose. Adem’s original plan had been to keep him locked up for the theft, afterall he had been damned over a rose, but his daughter took his place. As time went on, they learnt how to co-exist together, eventually becoming closer. However he also knew she was only there as a prisoner, and so let her go. But a man from her town learnt of the castle and led a mob to destroy them. In the aftermath, she admitted her feelings and the curse broke.

And They Lived…

Adem's family was old money, and it was a fairly lonely childhood with cruel parents, and his own anger issues keeping everyone at a distance. When a fire broke out in there house one night, his parents were unable to get out in time. Many thought Adem had started it, though it was quickly proven to be a tragic accident. Since then, he has kept to himself, knowing what people think of him. Then the memories returned, or at least... some of them. He remembered being cursed, he remembered the decade of loneliness, and he remembered being shot in the back. But Belle, Maurice, Gaston, and the rest of the town's people he has no recollection of. How he's human again, he doesn't know.

[buffalowingsfortwo]

3/16/23 10:35 pm

ash to faith

what a fucking day. 

today started fine, i guess. i fell asleep last night crying over the phone, discussing a probable last break up. i woke up to hozier announcing a tour and the reminder that he'd be putting out new music tonight. i was thrilled.

i did my hair and makeup for work for maybe the second time ever? my coworkers liked it but my two favorite coworkers werent there and id be lying if i said i didnt do it partially to get them to talk to me. ive never been very good at making friends in a normal way. i sometimes wonder if im cursed to never experience a real connection again. cursed is probably the wrong word. that makes it sound like someone elses fault. its obviously mine.

work was okay. i realized today/yesterday that one of my coworkers doesnt like me and has been making fun of me and i just didnt realize because i wasnt really thinking about it. i think theres more people that like me than dont there so its probably okay.

the news of marcus hit during my break. i feel like i have to acknowledge this here, and i have to say his name. i didnt know him really, and i barely have any memories left over from middle school. from what i do remember, he was funny and nice. i feel bad that i dont know how much more he was than that. i hope hes okay now, wherever he is. mostly i hope its not lonely there.

im very caught up on the idea of death and the way it makes people act. we hold so much back because we're scared of judgment or of being wrong, but when faced with the reality of it all too closely, we frequently act out too much and end up causing messes just to feel like we did anything at all. maybe there is no good middle ground. ive been thinking about it a lot and i think the only way to be okay is to do whatever, but to mean it every time.

i want to do everything like i mean it. i want to love you like i mean it. i want this to be rushed, because i want to make up for lost time, and we dont have forever. i want this to move slow and steady so i can hold on to every second of it and have the time to process and weigh every word you say. i want everything to move back in time and stay there so i can realize what i have while i have it. i want the future to get here now and keep pushing us forward so it can get better every day. i wont pick a medium. im not happy with how life goes. no one ever is. the most unremarkable wish is to be remarkable. ill say every thought i have because each one is so important, and not important at all. all we have is each other. i cant make sense of anything. maybe the point of you is to keep me looking straight. maybe the point of me is to make you go crazy. i hope we have forever. im scared we wont. ill follow you in every life, begging for more every time, a bad dog with abandonment issues, coming when called, biting the hand that feeds me.

i dont know what else to say. thats the thing with it. sometimes all there is left to do is waste what little time you have. theres always going to be words left unsaid. theres always going to be things we wished we couldve done. all the things we couldve done that we never will. these are my thoughts today. cut short. i wont waste all of your time, just some of it and all of mine. my thoughts, cut short. our friendship, cut short. this entry, cut sh

"we dont talk about it, we dont have the time. we thought love was something we werent meant to find. but now youre a stranger, and im still july, but do you remember? august, honey, you were mine." - august by flipturn

[haruhey]

Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

buy me a coffee ¿?

Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.  

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.  

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙ 

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired​ @phoenixblack89​

comment to be on my taglist!

[edenmemes]

resident evil village starters

❝ oh, keep growing! one day your head might actually fit your ego. ❞   ❝ running will get you nowhere. ❞     ❝ you don’t have to trust my words, but do you have any better options? ❞   ❝ you shouldn’t be out here. it’s not safe. ❞   ❝ i know you don’t like to talk about it, but can we really just forget everything and pretend it didn’t happen? ❞   ❝ well, what do you think? it’s hopeless, right? ❞ ❝ i wish it could stay like this forever. ❞   ❝ oh, such a disappointment. i thought we could join forces.  ❞ ❝ i don’t have time for this bullshit. out of my way. ❞   ❝ i don’t give a damn about your personal issues. ❞   ❝ it’s a pleasure to see you safe. ❞   ❝ just give up. flesh and blood will never win against me. ❞ ❝ quit acting so full of yourself. ❞ ❝ the clock is ticking. playtime’s over! ❞ ❝ ohhh, don’t give up! ❞ ❝ you think you can take me on? ❞ ❝ you should have never refused me.  ❞ ❝ these are the fruits of my power.  ❞ ❝ leave it alone. you are out of your depth. ❞   ❝ i’ve learned all i can from you. your worth as a lab rat has run out. ❞   ❝ no, no, this can’t be the end for me! ❞   ❝ i can’t escape from here... i can’t do anything! ❞ ❝ what are you talking about? you think this is a game? ❞   ❝ don’t get cocky. i’d kill you if you weren’t the trouble. ❞   ❝ hey, do you know anything about what’s going on around here? ❞   ❝ i’m not used to relying on other people. ❞   ❝ you’re the real deal. well done.  ❞ ❝ i gotta...keep going. ❞   ❝ i think it’s time you left things in my hands. ❞   ❝ my power is leaving me! ❞   ❝ do me a favor... try to stay under the radar. ❞ ❝ you don’t get it. you don’t stand a chance by yourself. ❞ ❝ alright, alright. i guess i owe you an explanation. ❞ ❝ you must be pretty tough, huh? ❞   ❝ all your power’s done is drive you nuts. ❞   ❝ i gotta say, i’m surprised you made it this far. it’d be a shame if something happened to you now. ❞   ❝ so you finally came to see me! everyone falls for me in time. ❞   ❝ it’s all i can spare. take it, take it! ❞   ❝ you’ve got fight, i’ll give you that. ❞   ❝ i didn’t want to keep it from you. i didn’t want to lose you again. ❞   ❝ i’d kill you if you weren’t worth the trouble. ❞   ❝ is there something you’re not telling me? come on, talk to me. ❞   ❝ you can hear it, can’t you? someone’s waiting for you. ❞   ❝ oh, careful what you wish for. ❞   ❝ i don’t want to die. oh, it hurts so much. ❞   ❝ don’t look at me that way. ❞   ❝ i told you to sit down. ❞   ❝ you’re the reason ___ doesn’t love me. ❞   ❝ hey, kiss me? ❞   ❝ if it’s for you, i would do anything. ❞   ❝ come on, it’s not that much further! ❞   ❝ you’re the only one to see me in this form. ❞   ❝ ugh, my temper got away from me. ❞   ❝ play with me some more. ❞   ❝ trying to get on my good side? ❞   ❝ i don’t know if it’s the scent of the flowers, but i feel light headed. ❞   ❝ in all my years, i’ve never been this overjoyed. ❞   ❝ look forward to what i have in store for you. ❞   ❝ mmm, that smells good. what’s that? ❞   ❝ you really should have taken my deal. ❞ ❝ truth hurts, don’t it?  ❞ ❝ i’ve waited so long. but dreams really can come true. ❞   ❝ you coward! come out and face me. ❞   ❝ quit hiding, asshole. i’m not letting you get out of this.  ❞ ❝ i won’t let you have it. even if you beg. ❞   ❝ this is my territory, and i won’t let you leave. ❞   ❝ damn, i’m so cold. my legs won’t work. ❞   ❝ local wine, too. but if you’re going to keep sulking all evening, maybe you shouldn’t have any. ❞ ❝ it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. ❞   ❝ you’re the last asshole in my way, aren’t you? ❞   ❝ well, at least we’re together. ❞   ❝ hey, now. think positively, all right? we talked about this. ❞   ❝ come now, don’t be shy. show me your terror. ❞   ❝ i would’ve sliced you to ribbons if they hadn’t stopped me. ❞   ❝ it’s only a riddle if you don’t know the answer. ❞   ❝ shouldn’t we face what happened there so we can live our lives without it hanging over our heads? ❞   ❝ rest while you can, because i will hunt you, and i will break you. ❞   ❝ this village is full of monsters. we can’t fight them! there’s too many. ❞   ❝ a dead body? wait...there’s more... ❞   ❝ you’re a lot like your father, you know. ❞   ❝ it barely flinched when i shot it. i feel like it’s toying with me. ❞   ❝ it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. ❞   ❝ listen. you’re being played.  ❞ ❝ too bad you’ll pay for it...with your life. ❞   ❝ please won’t you stay with me? forever? ❞   ❝ you are lucky to die before your child. ❞   ❝ quiet now, child! adults are talking. ❞   ❝ there’s nothing wrong with my memory. you’re just being paranoid. ❞   ❝ this is...this is just too much. ❞   ❝ awww, you’re blushing. ❞   ❝ how can a man be ‘almost’ dead? that’s a question for the wise. ❞   ❝ what kind of sick medieval shit is this? ❞   ❝ i’ve spent a lifetime creating this moment...and you try to take it away from me? ❞   ❝ i’m sick of fighting you! ❞   ❝ why didn’t you fucking tell me right away? ❞ ❝ shut your damn hole and don’t be a sore loser! ❞   ❝ but i’m not paranoid, i’m just cautious. ❞   ❝ don’t get close to me when i’m cooking, babe. ❞   ❝ anyone who is anyone has heard of the likes of you. ❞   ❝ i haven’t cut open a man in a while. ❞   ❝ we moved here so that you wouldn’t have to deal with any of that, remember? ❞   ❝ why? why would you do this? ❞   ❝ i knew you would want to be involved. and this job is hard enough without civilians getting in the way. ❞ ❝ oh? you have something to say? ❞   ❝ tell me what’s out there! ❞   ❝ you’re still alive...? impressive. ❞   ❝ hey, are you listening? hey! ❞   ❝ exactly how much do you plan on annoying me? ❞   ❝ oh, no. they’re coming! ❞   ❝ do you have a gun? please tell me you have a gun. ❞   ❝ it’s not---nevermind. i’m sorry. ❞   ❝ drunk or not, you are welcome---and safe---in here. ❞   ❝ you know how to push my buttons. ❞   ❝ hey, don’t i get a say in this? ❞   ❝ you wouldn’t know proper manners if it slapped you in the face. ❞   ❝ i won’t forgive you, you bastard! ❞   ❝ why...why do you treat me the same as them? am i not your favourite? am i not special? ❞   ❝ at night, i hear wailing, as if ghosts roam the halls. ❞   ❝ quit your whining; we’re almost there! ❞   ❝ i’m afraid you can’t return to your old world any longer. ❞   ❝ how dare you bare your teeth at me. ❞   ❝ you couldn’t save them. they were already gone. ❞   ❝ in life and death, we give glory. ❞   ❝ can you even understand that humiliation?  ❞ ❝ even i can get angry. ❞   ❝ what the hell is that thing? ❞ ❝ we will meet again soon. ❞ ❝ let’s just say parts of the human imagination are better left alone. ❞ ❝ some treasures still lurk in this village. ❞ ❝ my decision is final. there will be no argument. ❞   ❝ everyone leaves me. even you. ❞   ❝ there is no safe! every sorry bastard out there has been ripped in half! ❞   ❝ come inside. the others are waiting. ❞   ❝ come with me. there’s something i have to tell you. ❞   ❝ what the hell is wrong with this place? ❞   ❝ the strong will destroy the weak. that’s the way of the world. ❞   ❝ no, we’re getting out of here --- together. ❞   ❝ but what i saw was...frightful. ❞ ❝ i suppose it’s what they call ‘the beauty of the grotesque’. ❞   ❝ you taught me so much and for that i will be forever in your debt. ❞   ❝ it is my curiosity that ties me to this place. ❞   ❝ please let me know if you’d like to strengthen your weapons. ❞ ❝ you’ll pay if i find out this is a lie. ❞ ❝ speaking of foolish questions, who --- what are you? ❞   ❝ if i don’t kill them then my life will never be my own. ❞   ❝ you are abominable. your deceit knows no bound. ❞   ❝ quit holding out, and get to the damn point! ❞ ❝ you’re the one who’s cursed. ❞ ❝ i hope you will be able to achieve your goal someday, too. ❞   ❝ that is why i had to leave you. i will regret never telling you goodbye. ❞   ❝ if i had but a little more time, i know i might be able to turn the tides of this battle. ❞   ❝ i can hear it shuffling about outside. ❞   ❝ and now you even try to steal my property? how dare you? ❞   ❝ ugh, just another simple little manthing. ❞   ❝ oh, good. i was just thinking of ways to pass the time. ❞ ❝ nowhere to go but up. ❞   ❝ where are you? show yourself! ❞ ❝ not without me, it’s too dangerous. ❞ ❝ shit, that was close. ❞   ❝ i heard explosions. what happened? ❞ ❝ you’ve dirtied my dress! ❞   ❝ you’re my daughter...now act like it! ❞   ❝ i don’t think we will make it through winter at this rate. ❞   ❝ the wounds are severe. i won’t last much longer. ❞   ❝ will you please stop talking in riddles? ❞   ❝ goddamn. it really is you. ❞ ❝ you sure of this? your body is, well, falling apart. ❞       ❝ how long have i been out? ❞   ❝ keep your distance. do not move until i give the order. ❞   ❝ i’ve got a tough guy here, i need some back-up! ❞   ❝ if my mom saw this shit, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell. ❞   ❝ shut your fucking hole! ...sorry about that. ❞   ❝ who are you? who sent you? ❞   ❝ please, be well. ❞   ❝ there’s more than we thought. watch out. ❞ ❝ to hunger...is to be alive. ❞   ❝ goddammit! why is everyone dying on me? ❞   ❝ hey! hey. don’t talk like that. ❞   ❝ my word, you truly are as strong as they say! ❞   ❝ don’t you love me? ❞   ❝ oh, you didn’t think i’d let you get away, did you? ❞   ❝ taken alive? dead? which would you prefer? ❞  

[bubbledumbbinch]

Hi, there! I'm new here! Can I get the dorm leaders' (including Jamil's) reaction to their fem! s/o who suddenly passes out due to stress and when she wakes up, she tearfully confesses that she was traumatized by their Overblots. What can they do to comfort her? Fluff/angst combo. Please and thanks!

Yes yes! I will only be including the people who have overblotted so far so no Ignihyde or Diasomnia yet!

I also am sorry I just didn’t want to make s/o faint in all scenarios? I did in most tho!! Sorry >< I hope this is okay!!

Also also, sorry I haven’t posted in SO long!! I just came back from 2 vacations including a week long trip to Disney world!!

Warnings: angst, spoilers for everyone’s chapters I guess?

Riddle Rosehearts

In the following weeks of Riddle’s overblot, he was working to try to be a better leader to Heartslabyul. However, old habits don’t die very easily. You saw Riddle’s wrath once again when he scolded some students who had gotten into a fight and had promptly used his unique magic.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!” His voice resounded off the walls and the harshness of his voice brought awful flashbacks into your mind. Then, everything went black.

When you wake, Riddle is over your body, his large grey eyes were scanning over you panicked. When he asked what happened, you broke down and told him that you remembered his overblot and fainted.

Riddle’s guilt would skyrocket. He never intended to hurt so many people including one of his closest friends Trey and especially not you. Even after a few weeks he didn’t realize it would weigh so much on so many others.

Riddle would turn red from shame while hiding his face in the crook of your neck. As he starts to chant “I’m sorry”s over and over, he starts to sob shakily, also making you start to release the tears that were in your eyes.

Riddle takes care of you personally - brings you to bed, attempts to cooks for you, studies with you, anything he can do to gain your trust back.

“I- I’ll be better. A better person. For you, for everybody in Heartslabyul, for me.” Riddle was hiccuping from crying. You kissed Riddle’s cheek and stroked it, trying to wipe his tears from his face. “I know, Riddle. I can see you trying every day and you’re getting better and better.” It was true. You personally saw him interacting with students and knew his relationship with everyone was improving. With time, things will get a lot easier to process emotions and the feelings from that eventful day.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s practice session for Magift wasn’t going as planned. You noticed he was getting angrier and angrier with his poor plays while sitting on the sidelines.

When he finally had enough he grabbed the disc and turned it into sand, growling in anger. He shouted at his teammates and physically threatened them.

You felt your heart stop as your boyfriend continued to scream. The last thing you saw before falling was Epel’s shocked face as you hit the ground.

When you woke up, the team members were all circled around you, only to be scared away by Leona’s growling.

When you admitted you had PTSD from his overblot, he looked away in shame. The beastman didn’t say much - it’s not like he COULD say anything. He knew he was wrong at that moment but he was only frustrated at the game.

Leona tries to spend more time with you by pulling you into his arms when he naps. He mumbles softly about being sorry and telling you he loves you. You know that it’s a lot for him to even do that, so it means a lot to you.

As Leona held you in his arms, you couldn’t help but tighten your arm’s grip on his. “My little herbivore… I’m sorry..” It was a whisper. Almost quiet enough to the point of you not hearing it. Soon after, the soft rise and fall of his chest indicated he was asleep. Leona’s pride was high. He never expressed his feelings through words - but feeling his arms embrace you protectively, you knew how sorry he was and how regretful he was to make you feel so upset.

Azul Ashengrotto

It had been a few months since you’d seen Azul overblot. You figured everything had gone back to normal - you were dating steadily, which was going well, and Azul treated you well.

One day though, he lost his control. Under his own stress and when his business affairs weren’t going as well as planned, he blew up and you heard him scream at someone from the outside the VIP room - all too familiar to the yelling he did when he overblotted.

You felt stuck - your feet were planted outside of his office and your nerves got the better of your motor functions. You knew you loved Azul but that moment when you saw his insecurities and too much power getting a hold of him, you were truly scared. You barely remember registering any memories as things started to fade.

“Shrimpy wake up!!” You were suddenly being shaken about, earning a gasp from you. Azul sighed next to Floyd and Jade. He asked you what had happened - he found you outside his office in a daze.

Once you truthfully told him about your memories of his overblot his expression fell. Azul was emotional and his feelings of rejection would flare up. You would need to tell him you still love him because something in him will tell him you don’t.

Azul spoils you a bit and makes sure you are not present or in the area, working in the lounge only when he isn’t dealing with complicated contracts.

Azul is also happy you weren’t traumatized due to the fact you saw his octopus form - he was very worried about that possibility.

“Angelfish, tell me, what is it you want? Anything, I’ll give it to you, please just forgive me…” Azul tearfully grasped your hands in his, glasses fogging up. It was seldom at times you saw Azul break his smile. “A-Azul, you can’t just give me something to make me forget. I need to process this and I wouldn’t be surprised if other people need to, as well. Just… be there for me.” You spoke, rubbing his cheek with your thumb as your hand cupped his face. Azul freely let his tears run down his face. “Of course, angelfish. I promise.”

Jamil Viper

You were simply looking over at the view of the desert sand from the common room of Scarabia. It wasn’t long after Jamil’s overblot.

Things have changed in the dynamic of the dorm - him and Kalim were closer now that suppressed feelings could be free, Jamil gained the trust back from most if not all the members, and you both started dating.

The more you stared into the distance, the more it reminded you of that fateful day. Visions of the dark red stormy sky invaded your thoughts while you swore you could hear Jamil’s sinister laughter growing louder and louder.

Memories being hurled from the dorm to the cold desert sand invaded your senses as you fell to the ground.

When you opened your eyes, you flinched back when you saw Jamil so close to you, making his eyes look hurt. Jamil would surround you with soft pillows and a silk sheet he must have borrowed from Kalim.

Once he finally pries your feelings out of you after you don’t want to tell him the truth, Jamil looks pained. He didn’t want to hurt you.

Jamil would give you time to think, knowing how much alone time is valued. Whether you want him to give you space or spend time with him is up to you.

“I’m, I’m sorry, y/n…” his eyes dropped to look at the floor, ashamed. “I’ll give you some time alone to think about our relationship, if that’s what you want.” The weight he added to the bed was lifted as the raven haired boy started to walk away. “No, Jamil, please stay with me.” Your voice seemed to shock him. He turned and looked at you, surprised. “I like you for you. I know you were having a hard time, and it was scary for you too. We can get stronger together! So please… don’t leave me.” You pleaded, cursing your voice for sounding weaker than you intended. Jamil’s brown eyes softened and a smile, a genuine one at that, made its way to his face.

Vil Schoenheit

Surprise surprise, Vil was checking the internet search results to see who the most beautiful one of all was. Vil had recently shot a movie and the trailer had come out an hour prior.

When the phone had still said the name he dreaded, he threw his phone down in frustration, making you flinch. He didn’t even know you were in the vicinity, you were in the hallway looking into his room as his back faced you in his room.

When you spoke his name softly, he replied callously in his response, making you freeze. His demeanor was mean to say the least, his eyes looked tired and he just looked angry.

It reminded you all too much of his overblot, which happened a few weeks back. You slowly backed into a wall and started to whimper.

Vil would realize his errors quickly and come running to your aid. He coos and strokes your hair, telling you he was sorry for lashing out. When you tell him it reminded you of his overblot, guilt racks through him.

Vil hugs you tightly and apologizes over and over. He would definitely be one to spend an entire day devoted to spoiling you, taking you to your favorite restaurant, giving you personalized facials, and shopping with you.

Vil knows this won’t resolve the issue, but he’s going to let you know how much you mean to him and how sorry he is, over time.

Vil looked over your shaking form with trembling hands. His soft, slender hands came to grasp your own. “Y/N, Y/N please answer me..!” You could only look away. “Vil, it reminded me of your… your overblot! I’m sorry…” your tears flowed freely now, staining your cheeks. You always thought you looked ugly when you cried so this only felt like salt in the wound. When Vil looked at you now, his eyes were looking into yours, deeper into you than what you physically offered. “I… that must have been scary for you, Y/N. I’m truly, so sorry. You had to see an ugly side of me that I never want to come out again.”

[getouswh0re]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast. 

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end. 

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months. 

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated. 

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.” 

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy. 

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.” 

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex. 

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure. 

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train. 

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague. 

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night. 

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?” 

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you. 

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!” 

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!” 

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart. 

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!” 

That is when he activates his domain expansion. 

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way. 

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms. 

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...” 

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love. 

“In time and evermore.”

[dodo-begone]

When you Wish Upon a Star

Pairing: Karlnapity x Reader

Request: Can you maybe write some poly karlnapity x reader fluff with a bit of angst?

Word count: 1.7k

Warning: memory loss, angst, cursing, loss/relationship strain, depression (?)

A/n: haha memory issues go brrrrrr. Sorry if it's bad, i wanted angst but didn't know how-

Your world was slowly becoming a monochrome film. So meaningless and alien to what your life once was. All color and life had left and all that remained was an empty shell of what once was. Your boys were no longer sticking together, acting like the loving couple that they are. Or were. You couldn’t tell what the status of y’all relationship was. It felt like everything was falling apart. Nobody was communicating with each other and they weren’t coming home sometimes, going missing for days on end with no contact.

Now sometimes business could be rough and long, so that wasn’t an abnormal thing. No, the issue was how increasingly common this “uncommon” occurrence was. Anxiety boiled in your chest with every night that passed without your lovers. Cuddling with just one wasn’t the same as with them all. You just wished everything would return to its original state; all four of your being a giddy and affectionate couple. Back to that honeymoon stage.

Everything was becoming so different, much less vibrant. Like a depression had fallen onto y’alls happily-ever-after. You only had Sapnap for comfort, and vice versa. There was no Quackity to rely on or Karl to giggle all the worries all away. And it was painfully obvious how it was affecting everybody, yet nobody did anything to fix it.

Quackity never came to y’all for comfort. He was always at his damn casino or scheming a way to end Techno’s anarchy. Slowly he just stopped talking to y’all like he loved you. Now you and Sapnap were like a war council, but even then he wouldn’t listen to y’all advice. He’d just rant to y’all about how much he despised Techno and wanted to kill him, destroy the damn god complex the man had.

But Quackity was blind to himself; he was on a high horse and saw himself as a worthy opponent, somebody who could subdue such a savage beast. Every time Quackity came home bloody and on the brink of death, it killed you on the inside. Why wasn’t he coming to y’all about the issues? Why did he think he was so alone in his endeavor?

And you didn’t even want to mention Karl’s condition. He was acting so odd now. More forgetful and aloof. It was like he was a complete stranger now. Your interactions were slowly becoming shorter and shorter, less meaningful and shallow. From meaningful, deep and loving talk during cuddle sessions to a curt, cold and disconnected. Sapnap even tried to get information out of him, but he stayed closed and guarded like a clam. Then he’d also come home with some injuries, but there was never an explanation for why he got hurt. Quackity at least admitted to what happened, so you knew what possible dangers he was facing. But Karl? He was an absolute mystery now.

Karl wasn’t the type of person to be so mysterious. Well, cold and mysterious that is. Definitely a mystery though, but so charismatic that you could easily push that fact aside. He used to be so cute and “unsuspecting”. Now that’s the same case, but subtract the “cute and unsuspecting” part. His newfound apathy worried you to no end. It was like he was completely detached from reality.

It was such a silly thing, but you wished for the stars, asking them to help you. Please, you needed your boys back. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep living through this cycle.

Quackity’s hyper-independence and Karl’s now apathetic attitude was disheartening. And the effect it had on Sapnap was heartbreaking. He kept blaming himself for the relationship for falling apart. You reassured him that it wasn’t his fault, but you were hypocritical. Telling someone that it wasn’t their fault that a relationship was failing yet blaming oneself for the same thing? Honestly it wasn’t just one singular person’s fault; everyone was to blame. Nobody was communicating, which harmed the relationship you once thrived in.

So you begged the stars for guidance, for a chance at mending your dying relationship. There wasn’t a way you could live without your lovers.

You should’ve been more careful for what you wished for.

________________________________________________

Sapnap commed you one day, which wasn’t abnormal by any means. You two talked throughout the day multiple times. That was the only consistent thing that was still steady. A constant in your ever changing lives. But when you got on call with him, he sounded different, desperate and panicked. Your anxiety started to peak when he spoke, but the subject of the call made time stop. No way- there was no way.

You fucking chunked whatever the hell you were holding or doing out of your hands. It was way less important now. Honestly you can’t even remember what you were doing. All you knew was that you had to get to them and swiftly. No time could be wasted. Sapnap needed you right now. Your boys needed you. Everything was on the line. Well, for you it felt like that. Your boys were your everything; if one more “unfortunate” accident occurred to them, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You were absolutely failing at protecting them. They protected and loved you for so long, and you wanted to protect them now.

Sapnap had begged, nearly demanding you come to Karl’s library that instant. Karl had apparently appeared there, and he wasn’t looking so good. He said he also contacted Quackity so he should be there too, but who knows if he’ll actually be there.

When the library came into sight, your anxiety both increased yet decreased, allowing joy to grow alongside it. The combination was odd, one that sounds like it shouldn’t be put together. Yet that’s exactly what you felt; bitterness and cold with some warmth hidden beneath the surface like a sun chasing the night way at dawn. You bolted into the building, frantically sweeping the immediate area for Sapnap and Karl. No sign of them. Your panic grew exponentially. Where were they? You yelled out, hoping to hear any sign of them.

Some commotion was made from your left. Walking closer to it, you caught sight of Sapnap’s shoes. He peaked around the corner to check the new visitor, and almost ran to you. The moment he stood, he hesitated. He took a step forward and stopped, looking between you and where you presumed Karl was. Ultimately he just took a few more steps toward you before turning back to Karl. When you arrived at Sapnap’s side, you dropped to your knees alongside him. There one of your worst fears faced you.

Karl lay on the ground, unconscious and bloody. He was so pale, it scared you. How long was he like this? What happened to him? Would he make it? You didn’t want to know the answer to it. Specifically, you didn’t want to know in case he wasn’t going to make it. Seeing him like this, it’d hurt too much to know the reality. You just wanted your old picture-perfect life back. Yes, it wasn’t absolutely perfect, but it was perfect for you and your boys.

So much time must’ve passed with you and Sapnap just watching Karl, tending to the wounds he had. It was fortunate that only his head showed clear signs of damage. Yet that was also a very unfortunate thing. There could be so much potential damage done and you’d never know if he was or wasn’t okay unless something happened to him.

You were so focused on Karl that you hadn’t realized that Quackity had joined y’all until he gently laid his hand on your shoulder, which shocked you out of your trance. Quackity’s eyes and face were red and puffy, tears trailed down his face and he was out of breath and panting. But he was here. You jumped up to hug him, pulling him down to the ground with you, Sapnap and Karl. Sapnap joined in the hug without a word. A sniffle left Sapnap, but you never mentioned it. This was a very stressful situation.

After a short period of pseudo peace, the exhaustion finally started to take ahold of y’all with the adrenaline slowly leaving your systems. Talking it out for a bit, after seeing how visibly tired everyone was, it was decided that y’all would watch over him in shifts. There was a small squabble for who’d be first; each of you wanted to be first to sate your guilt. It wasn’t long until a victor was declared; Quackity would take the first shift. Then Sapnap and finally you. The plan fucking pissed you off so much and there wasn’t a reason for it to. It just did, and you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. But you didn’t question it. If conflict could be avoided, then it’d be best to go along with the plan.

One moment you were blinking, trying to fight off sleep and the next Quackity was shaking you awake. You were so groggy and barely heard what he said. It must’ve been so obvious to Quackity that you just weren’t hearing jack shit, but he kept repeating- something. You actually had no clue if he was repeating something or just babbling. All you heard was noise and his mouth was moving. What could be so important that he was just fucking shaking you like a damn earthquake- oH SHIT!

Without a second thought, you jump to your feet and flop just a bit closer to Karl. You got up too quickly but you made it to your goal, kinda, so score! Scrambling to your feet, more accurately your knees, you view the situation.

All you could see was Karl sitting up and talking to Sapnap. That’s all that mattered though- he was alright. Karl was alive and thriving- okay that was debatable- but still! Your Karl was okay!

You’re on your feet in a flash once again, flinging yourself into Karl’s arms. The relief that washed over you was immense. Cleansing you of all your anxieties.

Yet he didn’t hug you back. Matter of fact, he did nothing at all. He froze up. Though it went unnoticed by you. Salty tears dripped down your face and splattered onto his jacket. Quackity joined in on your group hug, cry and babbling his apologies along the way.

Suddenly you and Quakity are shoved away, landing into Sapnap’s waiting arms. Saying you were shocked would be an understatement. Confused also couldn’t, yet they were the first words your frazzled mind could conjure.

“Who are you all?”