#to follow the normal pattern of names

[dragonroilz]

lore written by Ccmaci:

She used to be your typical low brow Karen, but then she tripped into the rabbit hole of really fringe conspiracy. She didn't trust America to train her for the coming thermal nuclear crisis cause they put steroids in the military's food that down the line will turn their children into sleeper-agent-zombies, and she doesn't go to foreign governments because when you get your picture taken for a passport, the flash from the camera imprints your Social Security Number into your brain, a number she believes decodes the subluminal messaging in fast-food commercials that make you want to not question the yearly 0.50 cent price raises for a burger (burgers which are laced with micro-pathogens that cause you to love the concept of being called in for jury duty, obviously).

The only place that was safe place to acquire military training was [insert fake county name here], a legally unrecognized country off the coast of Alaska, with a population of less than 200 people. Obviously, all boats are rigged with ice-berg attracting magnets which go off incase an American hasn't had their daily intake of jury duty micro-pathogens, so swam the coast of Canada as to avoid crossing the boarder where she'd likely be asked to give the Canadian government a sample of her blood (cause we all know what horrors Canadian's can commit with 2 liters of blood from a woman born south of the global hemisphere).

Anyways, so she makes it to the unrecognized country, and thankfully they let her into their militia cause SHE GOT JACKED FROM LITERALLY SWIMMING FROM WASHINGTON TO ALASKA. Obviously she did her homework before this, and was already pretty knowledgeable on basic military concepts like rocket jumping, so this was really just to round out the edges on her proficiency's (that's what she thinks, in reality she really needed this training to be competent lol).

Sadly, after discovering the unrecognized country was literally planning thermal-nuclear-warfare, she decided to leave Alaska, which strangely after she did, all evidence of that legally-unrecognized country ceased to exist. She was later picked up by Mann-Co after being coerced into thinking that she was stopping the enemy from furthering the goals of the shadow-government-fast-food-conglomerate, and as been working with the fem-mercs ever since.

similar to how the mercs lie to normal soldier about all being american, the female mercs lie to female soldier about various beliefs like how they're totally not all vaccinated and all of the rations delivered to them are definitely not inspected by the government. shes particularly distrustful of the scout and medic, the former being a borderline material gorl, and the latter being involved with more than questionable medical practices.

[trekkies-unite]

Rare for me, but I finished a project!

I’ve been working on this sweater for about a month and I’m finally done!

~Made with Lion Brand Mandala yarn in colors “Sasquatch” and 4.5, 5, and 6 mm hooks~

~pattern “granny hexagon cardigan”by Passioknit Kelsie on YouTube~

[callixton]

i need to get to the moreau eliot plotline before i start going crazy btw… rn all i can really do is rotate eliot in my mind and speculate but i Hate unfounded speculationnn

[flowerflamestars]

Migration Patterns snippet

Amsterdam was Talia’s now, and he’d started there.   It was a quick, easy shot that brought him to Bruges, warm seventeenth century stone worn beloved by the rotted out heart of a retired master weapons maker.   They bought their guns. Armed themselves all the way across the world. But the daggers- the mark of belonging, of rank, came only from within.   He was the best- had been the best to live that long, before Jason put two bullets in his skull.   The girl had been dead for a longer.   She looked, like any second, if Jason could ignore division and missing pieces, like she could take a breath. He could track the way light would move across the room from the marks of faded color on her clothes, slow decaying of fabric. Dressed not just for another decade, but another era entirely.   The fucker had kept it all.   Hairpins. Her hat. A little valise, cracked open to reveal outdated currency and letters yellowed beyond repair. A person, a life, trophies- he hadn’t known where the magic ended, and it was the worst goddam thing Jason had even seen.   A still witch- outside time, outside nature.   If she’d died in this very room seventy, eighty years ago, there was no evidence left to tell of it. No blood, no rot, nothing-   The death of a witch, to kill other witches.   She didn’t look like Elle. Magic didn’t seem to work like that, for all Jason knew, it just was- but in the light, her hair was nearly the same color. His eyes kept catching on it, deep, rich brown remaining intact on one side.   There was a horrible delicacy to it- used and divided so slow, a fucking prize-  Dick answered his phone on the third ring, out of breath from a laugh. “Jason”-  Jason closed his eyes. Turned his back on the worktable, the desk, that snow white coffin’s half a remaining face, and felt more than saw the warm out of season sun slip back behind dense clouds. “Are you with Llewellyn?”   “Yes,” Dick said, and the laugh was gone, “Did something- is Elle okay?”   Blind, Jason pressed his head into the window frame hard enough to hurt. Considered banging his skull against it a few times.   “I need you to give the phone to Llewellyn.”   He didn’t say he’d explain later, and Dick didn’t ask. He would have, three, five years ago. Instead, there was a pause, weight soft, just the sound of his brother breathing before, brisk and accented in his ear, “Todd?”   “You’re a magic doctor,” Jason swallowed, “What do you do with the bodies?”

[one-half-guy]

A name pattern to your blood-related characters? Sounds great! Amazing actually! The many parallels and trivia... THE MUCH THOUGHT YOU PUT ON THEM!!!

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Whaaaaaat? Do you wanna I do it myself? Like every time? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH great joke

[cryiling]

what if i made a spidersona... then what..

[aharris00britney]

AxA Mommy & Me

By request, Ayoshi and I have made the decision that Jada is now a mother. Of course, her children must wear AxA. So, please put down the snow boots and miniskirts for the time being, cause this AxA is focused on the kiddies. We have outfits for your mommys and daddys, and children of all age groups. Get your kids, toddlers, and infants all ready and strapped in cause they now have some AxA clothing for themselves.

Item Index Download |  Download  |  Follow Ayoshi

The item index linked above will show the basic info for the items in this collab. Below are credits + Patreon .zip download of the entire pack

Basic info

All items are BGC and do not require other meshes/packages/versions.

All hairs come in 24 EA Colors

The clothes come in 1 out of 2 palettes ► 30 colorful solids  |   palette used ► 20 denims ► 30/35 patterns/graphics

Report any issues to me through Tumblr DM with images.

Follow my TOU for all items

File Name Info

Items that are named the same are differentiated in the file name by age group ► CU - Child ► TU - Toddler ► IU - Infant ► Adults do not have this so their files look like normal AxA files

[lostandbackagain]

I shouldn't be petty but im pissed this person named their doll the same as mine and it's not a common doll or name so like. how'd YOU come to decide on it 🤨

[ms-demeanor]

making my own post because nobody needs my bullshit on their post:

OP:

Reblog 1:

Reblog 2:

My response:

The IRA blogs were here and they were active and they were quite popular; their posting patterns did not match normal tumblr users (i was followed by lagonegirl and followed back only to be put off by the account reblogging the same five or ten posts every hour for a day before selecting another five or ten posts to reblog hourly the next day - it was clear engagement bait).

Tumblr has never been as transparent about these accounts as both Twitter and Facebook were, but several of the accounts had shared names across platforms and you can find a significant amount of data that was released by both facebook (ex: ads purchased by the IRA accounts) and twitter (over three million tweets from IRA accounts). Academic researchers have published papers on the data released from facebook and twitter. Several papers. So many papers. Soooooo many papers. We have a LOT of direct evidence that you can explore for yourself that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) of IRA accounts that were created on Facebook and Twitter. Of those accounts, some shared usernames across platforms, and of those accounts, a few had tumblr accounts that posted the same content on twitter and tumblr.

To quote a buzzfeed news article from the time:

The Russian-run Tumblr accounts used the same, or very similar, usernames as the account names contained on a list of confirmed IRA accounts Twitter submitted to congressional investigators. In some cases, the Tumblr and Twitter account has the same profile image or linked to each other in their bios. Some IRA Tumblrs and Twitter accounts also cross-promoted content between platforms, further linking them together.

Current tumblr user @ alwaysbewoke (who I don't want to tag because I'm sure he's got better things to do) is interviewed in that article and talks about following one of the blogs identified by tumblr as an IRA blog that had a matching account on twitter identified as an IRA account but unfollowing when the left-leaning blog supposedly run by a black creator started rooting for trump in the election.

Dr. Jonathan Albright is heavily quoted in the article; the data review he collaborated on is one of the only reviews of this subject that includes data from Tumblr and Reddit.

One of the claims that I've seen is that tumblr just deleted funny black people, but these were blogs with thousands of followers on tumblr who never recreated, never popped up on another social media site, never started a reddit account after getting banned; nobody ever showed up saying "hey this is 4mysquad, I got banned on tumblr and twitter, follow me to pillowfort". These very popular blogs got deleted and, as far as I know, nobody ever popped up claiming to be a person who was deleted - and it's not like tumblr users haven't figured out how to evade bans.

What you are doing when you make posts saying that the IRA accounts on tumblr never existed is *absolving tumblr of guilt for their utter lack of transparency.*

Tumblr is not the only tech company that has tried to fly under the radar as its larger counterparts face regular scrutiny in Congress and in the press. Earlier this month, Reddit revealed it too had deleted hundreds of accounts with ties to the Internet Research Agency. A WIRED investigation found more than a thousand links to Russian propaganda websites are still live on Reddit, and unearthed two suspicious accounts that Reddit immediately shut down.

So should you believe what Tumblr says? No, because Tumblr has been functionally fucking silent on this issue and the information about this subject aside from the list of blogs has come from the hard work of data scientists, journalists, and researchers.

(For the record; some of those bot accounts that were recorded by Dr. Albright also had Google+ accounts in 2017 - there is every possibility that they had myspace accounts).

Now, the reason that I'm popping onto this post as an annoyed anarchist is that I was tracking a similar group of blogs for a while and was discussing them and I stopped precisely because of the galaxy-brained liberals who are now trying to dunk on communists for criticizing electoralism. One of the people who was following my project was one of the ones who started calling out the "joe biden kills dogs" posts as disinfo and I realized they were using some of the guidelines I'd written up to "identify" misinformation and that is very a rock fucking stupid approach to what was clearly a leftist making jokes and was horrified and realized there was no way that I could continue documenting what I was documenting without someone attempting to call actual leftists russian bots.

I've seen the post that OP is referencing [it's one where someone makes a very obvious joke about the democrat presidential ticket and people jump on to call them a bot and then someone tries to do the "AI tell me a story" thing and OP is just like "I don't want to :(", proving that they are in fact a person and not an AI] and have deeply enjoyed the humor of watching liberals a) not understand a very, VERY obvious joke and b) become the unwitting butt of a joke they were trying to make, but also I am so exhausted by watching normie dems call leftists AI bots after years of watching normie dems call real live actual leftists who hold actual political views that real people actually have, like prison abolition, russian bots.

But I am also so fucking tired of left conspiracism and how stupid it sounds when leftists dismiss a preponderance of evidence that is easily accessible and publicly available for analysis as "lol so you just trust everything tumblr tells you?"

No, dipshit, learn to click a fucking link or twelve.

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Guilt (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader)

Description: Y/n was the one person he never meant to kill, but Alastor didn't have a choice. Years later, much to his surprise, they run into one another in the depths of Pentagram City.

Warnings: Murder, cannibalism mentioned in a metaphoric sense. Un-detailed descriptions of rotting bodies.

Word Count: 2,701

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N I promise I will get to the rest of the requests soon, I just wanted to write something that has been stuck in my head for a hot minute since I've like only been doing requests the past couple days. I think the only ones I have left are ones that have been sent in since February 15th so I hope that is okay.

Alastor recognized her the minute he first saw her. It had been a year since his arrival in Hell and he was already making waves. Demons avoided him on the streets, shot him fearful glances over their shoulders. He enjoyed the privacy it afforded him, the padding of air around him.

He didn't pay the others mind, focused on his own goals and patterns of being. Friends, relationships, they were far from his top priority but still, Alastor recognized her the minute he first saw her.

In his years of blood soaked escapades in the world of the living, he had wreaked havoc on the world. In all those years, he had only ever made two mistakes. The first had been getting caught, getting killed by that hunter. The second? Had been killing that girl.

He hadn't had a choice. Normally, Alastor chose his victims carefully following a specific criteria. She had been an accident. He had gotten careless one night, cocky even in his streak of successes. Alastor had been transfixed, carving a man's intestines from the cavity of his stomach. The girl had had wide eyes, her mouth open. She had trembled.

Their eyes had met across the darkened street. She had clutched at her coat, pulling it tighter. She hadn't even tried to run.

Alastor never learned her name, avoided all reports on her disappearance and death like the plague. She haunted him. He saw her around corners, when he shut his eyes at night like a vengeful spirit. Always just staring at him with those big, knowing eyes. He didn't need more reminders, more facets of feeling, than he already had.

Alastor had recognized her the minute he first laid eyes on her in Hell. It had taken him a moment to realize she was real, she still looked so deeply human after all. He had never expected her to be here. He had never expected to see her again.

When he opened his eyes and she was still there, sitting placidly at the cafe table, it was like some uncontrollable force pulled him to her. He pulled out the spare chair, falling lazily into it. She looked up at the noise of metal against concrete, curiosity painting her features as she lowered her book onto the table.

"Hello?" she said after a moment, though it was more of a question than a greeting.

Alastor had never heard her voice before except for when she had screamed. It was melodious, it was soft and sweet. His smile grew.

"Yes, hello indeed."

She stared at him with those eyes, those same eyes that had haunted him for years.

"My apologies but, who are you? Do I know you?"

He was unable to keep the surprise from his features. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him something like that, he couldn't tell if she was joking. But then there were those wide eyes, earnest in their honesty.

"No, my apologies. I did not introduce myself. My name is Alastor, quite the pleasure to meet you. Quiet the pleasure."

He grabbed her hand from where it lay daintily across her open book, shaking it in his own.

"Oh!" Y/n lightly exclaimed in response to the action, "Oh, well, Alastor, I am Y/n. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well."

The contact broke and Alastor leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands.

"Forgive me for saying this but, you seem a bit unsuited for all this mess. Prim and proper. What landed you here?"

"Is that why you've come to join me?"

Alastor nodded after a second's thought. It was an easy cover up for his true motives. Y/n seemed to have no idea who he was after all and to be perfectly honest, even Alastor himself was struggling to understand his motivations. Guilt wasn't an emotion he was familiar with. It was confusing, writhed in the pit of his stomach like a snake.

"Well, thats a rather personal question to ask someone right off the bat, isn't it?"

"I suppose you're right. How about this one then, what are you reading?"

After that day at the cafe, Alastor followed Y/n like a hurt puppy. He didn't rightly know why. It was a compulsion of a sort, he couldn't stop it. She was disinterested by radio, by the newfangled video boxes popping up. She knew nothing of his reputation, she just thought he was a friend. A fairly determined friend, but a friend none the less.

Alastor didn't understand it. He was a man obsessed, not with Y/n per say but with the opportunity she offered. She smelled like making good on past wrongs. That wasn't something Alastor had ever been interested in before. Y/n was the exception. She was always the exception, he supposed.

It wasn't long before their little lunches, their random rendezvous in the streets, carefully orchestrated by Alastor of course, not that she knew, became something more. Spending time with her calmed the raging sea of uncertainty in his gut. Being kind to her felt like salvation.

Alastor had never been concerned with that before, but it was such an intoxicating thing to hear her words of thanks, of praise. To witness her smiles and her apparently unending kindness. They would spend hours pouring over one another's collections of books. They would spend hours in deep philosophic discussion. It was Y/n who first brought up their previous lives.

"Do you ever miss it?" she had asked when they had been making lunch together one day in her apartment.

Alastor's hand had stilled, his knife halfway through the cut of veal he had been handeling.

"Miss what, my dear?"

"Life."

He began to move the knife again, letting out a slight hum of thought.

"Not particularly. I take it you do?"

Y/n leaned over the pot, checking to see if the water was boiling yet for the potatoes. It wasn't and so she turned to him, leaning up against the counter.

"Sometimes." she admitted.

Alastor turned to her as well. The apron over her dress was stained with jam from the times they had baked together just a few days before. Y/n hair was tied up and away from her face. He felt his heart stutter in his chest.

That had been happening a lot lately when he looked at her. Alastor figured it was a progression of guilt, a giving away of it. He figured spending time with Y/n was helping it go away.

It wasn't like it was a burden for him. They actually had a surprising amount in common.

"What do you miss?"

"My mom."

And there it was again, the cannibalistic sickness eating away at his brain.

"Were you two close?"

Y/n nodded, turning her gaze to the window.

"Yeah. She... I didn't have a big family. Or a lot of friends growing up. I was shy, painfully shy. She was... she was all I had. And now she's alone up there."

"What landed you down here?"

Y/n looked back to Alastor, smirking.

"Back to this are we? Only took what, six months?"

"We're friends now, aren't we?"

"Alastor..."

"Shoot me, I'm curious."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"Okay, I tell you, you tell me. Deal?"

Alastor thought it over for a moment. He could always lie to her, make up some story or another but, she was bound to find out eventually. More than anything, he wanted to keep her from connecting the pieces. Y/n figuring things out felt dangerous, it pained him to think about how she would react.

"Deal."

"Okay, um," Y/n looked away again, her hands fiddling with the frilled edge of her apron, "I don't really like to talk about it. It's kind of embarrassing."

"You made a deal."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"So spill."

Y/n smiled lightly, meeting Alastor's eyes for a second.

"Well, I was kind of... maybe... sort of... a thief?"

"Really?"

Alastor hadn't expected that. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to be honest but, it wasn't that.

"Yeah. Times were... tough growing up. Single mom with a kid in the early 1900s? Not everyone was a fan. It was hard for her to find work so I would... supplement. No one suspected the little girl, you know?"

There were two types of demons in Hell. There were the ones that had their demon forms, and then there were the ones like Alastor with more than one form, more abilities, more strength. It was the anger that fed it, the person they were on earth. Alastor had always assumed Y/n fell into the first category but, as she relayed her tale to him, her body began to change. She rotted before his very eyes, becoming a standing corpse with his bones all showing.

"I always felt awful about it but, we didn't really have a choice. You know? I didn't want to do it, didn't like it, but I did it and I was good at it. When I grew up, well, sometimes it is just easier to stick to what you know. I worked for a cleaning service, maids for hire, working parties, stuff like that. I, well, the people I worked for were rich. They didn't need the money but my mother and I certainly did."

It was then she seemed to realize her own changed appearance. Her eyes shot up to Alastor as she retook her original form.

"Sorry about that." she awkwardly laughed, "Guess the guilt is still eating me alive, even in death. So, what'd you do?"

Alastor took a breath, appraising the situation. The guilt, the sense of having truly sinned.

"I was a serial killer."

Y/n's eyes went wide.

"Really? You? But you're so..."

"So what, my dear?"

"So nice."

Alastor stilled.

"Nice?" he repeated.

Even in life, it was a word that few had directed towards him. Polite, yes. Talented, yes. Charming? Of course, but never nice.

At the sound of bubbling from the pot, Y/n turned his back to him.

"Yeah." she shrugged, opening the lid and dropping the potatoes in, "You probably one of the nicest people I've ever met."

The way Y/n saw him was intoxicating. Nice. He began to spend more and more time at her side. It was hard to keep the other half of his life from her but, he managed. It was a delicate balance, a game he knew well.

It was a day about a year later that Y/n approached him, blushing and unable to meet his eyes. It was a year later she told him how she felt and he realized he felt the same. They moved in together, did nearly everything together. It was a happy afterlife for them both. The first time they had kissed, she had tasted like redemption.

Y/n never questioned what Alastor did on his late nights out alone. She trusted his fidelity and when he said he liked going for walks alone in the evening air, she accepted it. When he said he was at work, broadcasting his radio show, she never asked why they didn't have a radio of their own. It was an unspoken agreement, he didn't ask where the money came from and she didn't ask what he did in the long hours he was away.

The guilt felt heavy in the pit of his stomach, growing stronger every day but still, Y/n remained blissfully ignorant. Alastor could practically hear the clock ticking. Every kiss felt like it might be the last, every caress, every meal shared at the kitchen table. He did everything he could, but knew one day she was bound to find out.

Alastor knew the day had come when he entered their lovely home on the outskirts of the Pride ring. He called his usual hello out into the house from the foyer, letting the door fall shut behind him. Y/n didn't come.

"Y/n?" he called, taking a step further into the house, "Are you home?"

All the lights were on. That was something she was careful about from the old days, making sure not to use electricity unless necessary. There was no way she wasn't in the house.

Tentatively, he stepped into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, her head in her hands.

"Are you alright, my love?"

It was then he noticed the radio on the table.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Y/n sighed, looking up at him, "Oh."

"Where did you get that?"

"Someone dropped it off, left it at the door. I thought it was you originally but, now I'm not so sure."

Someone had left it for her? One of Alastor's numerous enemies was responsible no doubt. He had always been so careful to keep her protected, out of the public eye. It didn't make sense.

"You heard todays broadcast?"

"Oh you mean the screams of innocent demons mixed in with your stories about New Orleans?"

Alastor was silent. Y/n's eyes were rimmed with red, her hair a mess.

"They were far from innocent. Everyone is down here for a reason. Besides, I told you. I'm a killer."

"You didn't tell me you were my killer."

His heart stopped. He hadn't realized exactly how much she'd managed to piece together from the simple broadcast.

"Am I now?" Alastor asked placidly, trying to remain calm as he clasped his hands behind his back.

He didn't know what he was playing at. He was grasping at straws. Y/n got to her feet.

"You never told me you were from New Orleans, just said you grew up in the south. I let it slide but, I shouldn't have. I should have known, the similarities in our experiences... god, I was such a fool! I should have known we grew from the same patch of dirt. Alastor, there was only one serial killer active in the city at the time we were both alive, at the time I died."

"And you think it was me, my heart?"

"Alastor." she crossed her arms.

"I..."

"How could you not tell me?"

Y/n's anger mixed with grief, it misdirected itself, it got caught on the details. It hurt more that he'd been lying to her. The act itself was something to be dealt with later. Now was the time for the lies. They had spent years together, built a life together and the whole time, he had been lying.

"I didn't me-"

"Mean for me to find out?"

"Well, yes." he took a step forward, he tried to grab her hands but she pulled them away.

Y/n's skin was rotting now, she was taking on her other form. It was the first time he'd seen her do it when not remising about the past or telling stories about her mother. He had no idea what she was capable of when in this state.

"But also, I didn't mean to-"

"To what, to kill me? To marry me? To make me fucking trust you?"

"I..."

The world was falling down around him. The one thing he couldn't lose, the one thing he cared about besides himself or his power. The person that meant the most to him.

"My darling, my heart, m-"

"No, Alastor. Just... just stop." she sighed, a hand to her forehead.

She rubbed her temples, exhausted and overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry."

The words were spoken softly but they crashed into Y/n like a speeding truck. They broke her ribs. She lowered her hand.

"I... I need some time."

"No, Y/n, wait. Please."

Again, she brushed off his attempts to hold her, making her way to the door of the kitchen. Alastor followed her out into the hallway.

"Y/n. Please. Please don't leave."

"What, so you can keep up your pity project?" she scoffed, rounding on him, "I am better than that Alastor. I deserve better."

"It... you aren't a pity project. You're my world, I love you."

"No, your world is this city. Your world is running Hell. I... Alastor, I'm leaving."

[xwritingdixonx]

Is It Better To Speak or To Die? | Daryl Dixon |

----------

Masterlist

Summary: After being rescued from Woodbury by Rick's group, you struggle with living a "normal" life in the walls of the prison. The trauma's inflicted on you at the hands of the Govenour drag you to the deepest depths. A certain archer is the onyl one who can drag you back out.

Warnings: slow burn, language, smoking, grief, depression, talk of body scars, implied smut, implied past abuse, Governor (enough said)

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison, Alexandria.

Song Recommendation: Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Ray, Would That I - Hozier

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The survivors of Woodbury had called The Prison “home” for only a week. The war and downfall of the Governor and Woodbury were still fresh in everyone’s gut, though others were making themselves comfortable very quickly. You were not. It was such an irony to you. Taking shelter in a prison as if this world wasn’t a prison. As if the traumas of the past year of survival didn’t hold you by your throat. Your own mental prison.

The bowl you held still warmed your hands. Though you knew no appetite arose in your stomach, you still took the bowl Carol offered just to be polite. Standing alone, your back leaned against the support beam of the gazebo all the benches sat under for meals. You had been a part of Woodbury...but you certainly hadn’t been a part of the community. Not near the end at least.

Most people steered clear of you. Avoiding your tired hardened eyes and threatening gazes. Avoiding the tenseness in your persona. Completely removing themselves from the possibility of having an interaction with the emotionless shell you had become. Others were compassionate, showing you any empathy they could bear. You’d get a polite head nod and warm smile occasionally, though you never returned it.

In Woodbury, no one asked questions, they talked and gossiped amongst one another but never bothered. But at the prison, you were new. Fresh meat. So in turn, you had your fair share of stares and whispers from Rick’s group.

Carol had become your latest bother. In the mornings, just like today, people would slowly make their way to line up for their share of breakfast. Your desire was to simply come out in the crisp morning air and smoke a cigarette, attempting to forget the night of terrors you encountered when you closed your eyes. You’d be sure to isolate yourself a bit away so the smoke didn’t bother anyone’s morning. But Carol simply wouldn’t accept it.

The last few days she’d noticed the lack of breakfast passing your lips. You’d smoke a cigarette and then wait to eat a proper meal for dinner. Reminding her of another certain someone.

She couldn’t make you line up and wait like everyone else. She couldn’t make you come and sit at a table and be social. So, she’d make you your own bowl and walk it over to you, giving you a polite smile, and then walk away. She did this for the past 3 days, catching onto your pattern early on.

“How’s she doing?” Rick drawled as Carol handed him his own bowl of powdered eggs and steamed potatoes. “Can bring a horse to water but you can’t make ‘em drink.” Carol joked back, Rick nodded in response and thanked her for his bowl.

Rick had been keeping an eye on you ever since you’d arrived. Unlike most of Woodbury, who willingly came running out to be rescued, you were found by Rick. The door to the room he found you in had been locked from the outside.

Everything he found out about you from that point had been from the mouths of others. You hadn’t even used words to tell him your name, he had been told by someone else. “Morning.” Rick greeted Daryl who was already almost finished his own breakfast, “Mornin’.” He stood with Daryl, neither of the men having time to sit with all the plans to improve the prison.

Daryl followed Rick’s gaze, noticing the way Rick seemed to be lost in thought. When the gaze ended on you, Daryl scoffed. “Figured that one out yet?” He asked, shoving a spoon of egg in his mouth. “Not yet.” Daryl had tried himself to scramble for puzzle pieces of you but had no success. You didn’t talk. Not a word, not even a whisper. There was a part of him that was intrigued by you, a part of him that wanted to dissect. But there was the other part that told him to mind his business.

“Good morning.” Riley begins to pass by, greeting Rick and Daryl. If the term Southern Bell was a person, that would be Riley. Blonde hair, dark emerald eyes, sweet smile, curvy in all the right places, and a smooth southern drawl. Smooth and sweet, nothing like your jagged sharp edges. Riley had been brought in with the Woodbury group and quickly made herself useful in running her mouth…but also in learning medical. “Morning.” Riley’s green eyes darted in the direction the men were looking. Because how dare their attention be on anyone but her.

“I feel so bad for her…” She commented, putting herself into their conversation. Rick and Daryl both gave each other a glance. Rick wanted to know about you from you. Not from the gossip and storytelling of others. “I swear it’s like her mouth was sewn into a frown when Jackson died.” Riley actually looked quite empathetic when she said this. “Who was that?”

“Her twin brother.”

Rick took a pause from eating his breakfast to let this new information marinate into his brain. Though neither of them asked for it, Riley continued. “When they first got to Woodbury, everything was fine. But then the Governor wanted Y/n to be one of his soldiers.” Using air quotations at the word soldiers.

“Y/n refused over and over. One night, Governor took Y/n and Jackson for a walk outside of Woodbury’s walls and Jackson didn’t come back…Governor said he got bit but…” Riley’s words trailed off as she looked at your stone-like features. “Y/n joined him after that…some people thought he killed Jackson and used it to force her to.” Her tone was uneasy as if the Governor would come to get her if she dared speak of it.

Or maybe she was more afraid of you.

“After that, I mean..” Riley scoffed dramatically and tried to ease the tension with a laugh, “I-I shouldn’t be talking about this anyway.” She gave the men a sheepish smile before swiftly walking away, joining a full table.

"Forgot how much people love to gossip huh?"

"Hmm," Daryl hummed in response. Rick took Daryl's empty bowl and stacked it on his own. "Gonna go give Judy her breakfast, alright?" As he nudged Daryl with his elbow, Daryl responded with a hum that was accompanied by a nod.

Daryl had learned the art of minding his business a long time ago. He didn't want people in his...so why pry into others?

You had finished your cigarette and smushed it into the concrete under your boot, now aimlessly poking around in the texture of the oatmeal. Carol frequently cooked her oatmeal for a tad too long and with too much liquid, giving it a mushy, snot like texture. It gave you another reason to skip out on breakfast but you at least wanted to try.

Daryl watched as you took a bite from the bowl. You moved around the food in your mouth, chewing slowly. The texture on your tongue was enough to turn you away. You looked in the direction of the bench where all of the younger children sat. Some talking with food still in their mouths. Their chattering stopped when they saw you approach like a dark gloomy cloud threatening rain.

Without saying a word, you placed your bowl in front of Patrick, offering him your share. Behind his thick glasses, he looked at the bowl then at you, and smiled. “Thanks Y/n.” You replied with a nod and walked away. Patrick was one of the few people from Woodbury who was consistently kind to you. He was always polite and never treated you any differently. You had actually heard him defend your name more than once. Perhaps he was just too young to feed into it but it was an act that didn’t go unappreciated by you.

And your act towards Patrick hadn’t gone unnoticed by Daryl. It wasn’t as if you had saved his life but you could’ve thrown your share away. Snuck over to the pig's pen and scraped it in. Instead, you gave it to a child.

Daryl would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't intrigued by you. He had never been intrigued by anyone in his life, though he couldn't deny the itch that was the mystery of you.

Two mornings after that one, Daryl had woken up particularly early. Readying himself to go outside the fences. There was a steady whisper amongst his friends the true reason he wondered out of the safety of the prison walls. The thought of The Governor still being alive haunted Daryl’s mind as it did the others. But no one would do what he did nearly every morning. No one except you.

Not many were typically up at this hour. The sun had barely risen and the morning air was still chilly from the night. When Daryl walked out into the courtyard, he didn’t expect to see you. He knew you were typically up earlier than others but not as early as him, not on days like this. You sat on the top of a picnic bench, feet planted where someone would typically sit. You faced away from Daryl but he could see the puff of smoke that typically followed you.

He could tell you weren’t in your typical nature. Despite the circumstances, you typically kept yourself put together. You wore a black long-sleeve fitted to your body and a pair of old gray sweatpants. Your hair was untamed and frizzy, having not been brushed yet. What had you up this early? What had you out of your cell so disheveled? And obviously, in such a rush?

The drag of the cigarette burned the back of your throat. It wasn’t as if you actually enjoyed smoking them. They tasted bad, itched your throat, and the smoke made your eyes water. But it felt as if holding them stopped your hands from shaking so badly every morning. It didn’t. But you’d keep lying to yourself and saying it did. You had woken up from another devilish dream, jolting you awake with a rapid heart and heavy breathing.

Typically you’d sit on the edge of your bed, head in your hands until your heart rate returned to normal. But on this particular morning, you couldn’t sit any longer in those walls, feeling the tightness of their build.

“Mornin.” He greeted you. What was he doing? Why was he even over here? Daryl’s mind ran with thoughts and questions as he awkwardly disrupted your own running mind.

You glanced over at him, your eyebrows furrowing with confusion. Someone disrupting you at this time wasn’t expected. As soon as Daryl saw the harsh glare hit your features, he regretted his decision. He didn’t know what to say to you or what he was doing. Both of your heads turned at the sound of a door shutting, Carol lugging a big pot over to the serving table.

“Carol’s gonna start setting up soon…if ya wanna get outta here.” Your eyes followed Carol for a second before meeting Daryl’s.

Daryl had never seen you face to face, he’d never even spoken a word to you. Your initial glare wore off your face and you gave Daryl a single nod, standing up from the bench. Daryl caught his bottom lip and nervously chewed at it. “M’going…out” Daryl pointed in the direction of the woods, “If ya wanna come.” You glanced between Daryl and the woods and thought for a second before giving him a proper nod.

“Alright. I’ll wait for ya at the gate with my bike.”

It didn’t take long for you to meet Daryl. You’d switched your pants out with jeans and your bare feet with boots. Accompanied with your backpack and a pair of fingerless gloves to fight the chilly morning. You had obviously run a comb through your hair as well.

Daryl appreciated the space you gave him on the bike. You sat an inch or two back, your arms loose around him. Typically when people rode with him they held on tight, maybe a little too tight and too close for Daryl’s comfort, but you didn’t. A steady routine had been built between you and the archer after that morning. Along with a growing friendship.

Carol had picked up on this growing routine. By the fourth day, she began waking up even earlier, packing both of you lunches and a snack as if she were a mother sending her children to school.

The first few days your silence made Daryl uneasy. But soon, he actually began to enjoy your company. He even enjoyed your silence. It came in handy when he was tracking a deer or bunny.

The two of you had created your own language of looks, touches, and whistles. One morning you had gotten separated from Daryl while tracking and the song of the whistle was born.

The once colorful leaves were now a dirty brown and crunched awfully loud when you stepped on them. The early Fall months were slowly becoming even colder which meant being on the lookout for anything edible became far more important. Especially meat. Daryl had begun to teach you how to track on your own, which meant the two of you could cover more ground on the same hunt.

Your footsteps were steady and quiet, your eyes trained on the consistent tussle of the leaves. There was a specific herd of deer that had been on Daryl’s radar that he’d spotted a few mornings ago. Daryl walked a few feet behind you, checking that the tracks you eyed were accurate.

The leaves began to blend together, and the steady path you found was now lost from your sight. You kneeled down and dug the leaves away from the ground hoping the tracks would be embedded in the dirt. But the ground was too cold and dense to be marked with anything. It was when you turned to face Daryl and accept your defeat that he was no longer there.

A sense of panic seized through you. Your eyes scanned around the surrounding tree lines for a sign of his silhouette but you saw none. You’re fine, you told yourself, but the comfort Daryl’s presence provided was now gone and you were beginning to spiral. You didn’t know these woods well and you didn’t know your way back to the prison from here.

Out of sheer desperation, you brought your lips together and let out a two-tone whistle. You gave it a second of silence and just as you were about to repeat, a long one-tone whistle replied back. Daryl quickly came back through an opening in the trees looking as if he had run back to you. His eyes were filled with panic. “Ya alright?” You nodded, seeing him again immediately put you at ease. “M’sorry. Found the tracks, they go off this way.”

Daryl spent a lot of time studying you. It wasn’t intentional…but he couldn’t help but pay attention to every detail. He knew when something was on your mind by the way you dazed off more or the more cigarettes you smoked. Or the way you fiddled with the sleeves of your shirts and jackets. He understood the different expressions on your face and what every one of them meant. You expressed yourself a lot through your eyebrows and eyes. No matter what expression, your eyes were always filled with such sadness. You never smiled. Even on days when Daryl felt good and felt as if he was going to have some major breakthrough, you never did.

Daryl enjoyed what he’d built with you over these last few months but his mind and body were becoming restless. He yearned for you, he yearned to know you. It was like being covered head to toe in mosquito bites. And then someone tying your hands so you’d never be able to scratch them. He wanted to hear your voice and he wanted to see you smile. He told himself that if he ever got to hear you laugh, he’d start praying and going to the prison chapel.

He realized he’d never even seen your teeth before, though it was an odd thought, it would be added to the pile of things that itched and irritated.

Then there were the other thoughts. The bites that itched but also ached and throbbed. He wanted you to sit closer to him on the bike and he wanted your arms tight around his torso. He wanted to hold your hands and stop them from shaking in the morning. He wanted to keep you close after running away from a hoard.

Daryl had spent his time dissecting you like a frog in science class.

Now, he had grown impatient of dissecting. He’d never wanted anyone how desperately he wanted you. You were his sweet tooth craving, you were his stomach-decaying hunger, and you were his fucking mosquito bite. But despite all of Daryls itches and desires, he'd never try to change you. He'd never push you out of the comfort of your silence though he would always be waiting.

The time spent with Daryl had put a piece of you at ease. You’d had grown a special attachment while Daryl had practically sewn you to his hip. The only time you weren’t with him was when it came time to shower or sleep.

You met Daryl every morning at the gate, ready to go wandering amongst the trees or scavenging. Some day's you made it back in time to catch lunch together. Especially if you had an early morning catch and had to get back before the meat went rancid. Most days, you'd find a quiet and safe spot to eat the lunch Carol packed and made it back to the prison before sunset and dinner.

There was peace in this routine...but you couldn't live in this routine forever. There were other duties that needed attention around the prison. The early morning adventures had become less but the time together never changed.

When you weren't enjoying the company of Daryl, you enjoyed the company of the garden. And when it was too late in the day for either of those things, you read books about the garden and thought about Daryl. You learned what crops could be grown in the winter and then looked for their seeds in old gardening stores...with Daryl.

Some, Most, Every night you thought of him. You thought of all the things he'd taught you, of his patience with you, and all the stories he told to fill the air. He'd tell you stories of him and Merle. You wanted to tell him that you knew Merle. That when the Governor locked you away, Merle would come visit you and sneak you food. That he was kind to you despite being such a prick to everyone else.

But no matter how much time and peace Daryl provided, the nightmares never left you. You still woke up with shaky hands and a racing mind and memories of your brother. Although you did cut the habit of reaching for a cigarette. Mainly because your pack was running low and it was becoming impossible to find any more.

Unknowing to you, Daryl had been finding them while scavenging and hiding them in spots you didn't look.

You grabbed the carrot at its very base and pulled it from the soft dirt, a soft snap following. The gloves that kept your fingers from freezing were covered in mud and bits of green. It had rained in the night which made the ground perfectly soft to harvest produce. So, instead of going out this morning, you and Daryl were in the gardens. Well, Daryl followed you to the gardens and wouldn't leave.

"This one alright?" Daryl held up a cabbage with his own gloved hand only a few feet away. You glanced over and gave him a approving nod. He tossed it into the basket that already held a mixture of carrots, celery, and fresh herbs for Carol's cabbage soup.

Carol had become less of a bother to you. In fact, you'd actually created a swift routine with her. You read and researched the books about plants and gardening while she read the ones about cooking. You were the farmer while she got to play Martha Stewart.

"How's it going you two?" Rick and Carol approached the gardens with a little extra pep in their step. The rain fall had made this winter day chillier which meant everyone was bundling up and multiple fires were lit in the courtyard and cell blocks for warmth. "S'alright!" Daryl shouted as he fought with a carrot that seemed to be deep rooted in the ground. From your kneeling position on the ground, you watched Daryl with amusement as he struggled. You would’ve thought that carrot was as big as a egg plant with all his pull and tug.

“You got it Pookie?” Carol teased, Rick and her both getting their own dose of amusement. “M’fine.” With one last pull, the carrot popped from the dirt. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’” Daryl held up the carrot, it was about the size of his thumb. You heard Rick and Carol have their own set of laughter, “Maybe you should stick to huntin’ those deer.” Rick said between a few chuckles. Daryl scoffed and tossed the baby carrot into the basket, as he kneeled down to continue picking, he caught your expression.

It was so small he could’ve missed it but he didn’t and he was so glad he hadn’t. You looked back down towards the dirt, a smirk tugging up the corners of your lips and poking your cheeks, dimpling them. For a second, it felt as if someone had punched Daryl in the chest. But it was there just as fast as it was gone.

From that moment on, Daryl wanted nothing more than to feel that again…as did you. You felt foolish. There was this awful gnawing inside you that was telling you every day what you already knew within your heart. He was chipping away at every wall you’d built up and beginning to break down the wall to a very soft spot of you. You had begun to feel like a turtle removed from its shell. Mushy, sensitive, and vulnerable. Gross.

"Hey Y/n!" The youngest Greene girl greeted. The community of the prison had begun to warm up to you. They no longer avoided you like the plague opting to actually say "hello" or "good morning" or maybe even a "goodnight." It had become very well known the closeness Daryl and you held and if people knew, people talked.

You looked up from your current book to Beth standing in the doorway of your cell clutching a small pile of tan books to herself. "Can I..come in?" She awkwardly shuffled her feet farther in and adjusted the books, you nodded. Beth let the curtain that covered your doorway drop and happily took a seat on your bed. You sat up straight and set your book of, Wildflowers Of All Seasons, on the bed beside you. While you adjusted yourself, Beth seemed to be studying your room.

It was more decorated than she had imagined. Your cell was on the upper level, one down from Daryl's. You had a very small wooden nightstand beside your bed that had various half-melted candles. Their wax dripped down the sides and embedded itself into the wood. On the wall across from your bed stood a very slim wooden table.

It was decorated with different trinkets and bottles you'd scavenged, a zippo lighter, and a stack of your growing book collection. Shoved underneath was a wire basket that held all your clothes. Your only 2 pairs of boots and bookbag sat beside it. Your everyday black, fleece-lined jacket was hung off the pole of your bed.

"I found these in the library and thought you might like them." Beth laid out the books on your bed, making it a point to show you every single one of them. Peterson - Field Guide to... They all read. They were very small and slim, a pale shade of tan, with various illustrations on the front pertaining to the title. Perfect to slip into your bag.

"I thought they'd be nice for you to carry when you go out in the mornings." Beth watched as you examined each book, "I wanted to grab them for you before anyone else found 'em." Beth held a very innocent hopeful smile the whole time she spoke to you but your silence was causing her to become uneasy. You picked up a specific one, Field Guide to Animal Tracks. You looked up at the girl and gave her a thin-lipped smile to show your appreciation.

A wide smile formed on her face and she left with a very sweet "Goodnight."

Glenn relieved Daryl from watch tower duty later than expected. It had to of been close to midnight when he got back to his cell. As he walked by your cell, he carefully peeled back your green curtain to check on you. You were a restless sleeper, Daryl heard you almost every night tossing and turning or waking up with a jolt.

Most of your features were concealed by the darkness but from what was visible, you appeared to be in a peaceful sleep. There was a veil of softness to you when you slept. A softness and calmness that never graced you during waking hours. He knew it wouldn’t last very long but he wanted to ensure that at least right now, you were okay. But he could not stand and watch all night. He felt creepy enough.

Daryl noticed the little tan book sitting on his bed as soon as he pulled back his curtain. The moonlight slightly gleamed off the sleek shiny cover. Field Guide to Animal Tracks. As Daryl flipped the book open to its title page, he felt his ears and cheeks warm up. Thankfully the darkness concealed his cheeky smile.

To Daryl. Not like you need it. - Y/n.

The group of deer that Daryl had spotted a month ago was still high on his radar. Though he still had yet to actually catch any of them.

The cabbage soup was still hot in your thermal, emitting a cloud of steam when you popped off the lid. You and Daryl sat in each other's company in your typical spot. A large tree had fallen down just at the entrance to a clearing in the woods providing a perfect resting spot. Had it been Spring or Summer you could only imagine the beauty of the green scenery. But this cold winter didn't provide much besides dry grounds, barren trees, and a frozen pond.

There was a peaceful silence that settled, as it always did. You both ate your soups and turned the pages of your books. Surprisingly, Daryl had actually learned a good bit from the book you gifted and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Ask ya something'?" You broke your concentration from your book and looked to Daryl. "Ya know why I started coming out here in the first place, right?"

You took a second to think before hesitantly nodding. "Ya never said anything." Daryl truly never understood why. He never hid it from you but still, you never asked questions. You didn't ask what the notes were on all the maps he had, never asked where you were going, or when you'd be back. But he always knew that you knew he wasn't just hunting deer, he was hunting the governor. "What would ya do...? If you ever got to him?"

Perhaps Daryl had pushed too far. Your head snapped back down to your book, though Daryl knew you weren't actually reading anymore. Your eyes were out of focus and your lips formed a frown. You had never taken the time to think about it. You just knew you wanted him to suffer.

Daryl hadn't spoken another word to you since lunch knowing he had poked at a very sensitive subject. "Wait here a second," Daryl said just as you made it back to his bike. He jogged back into the tree line leaving you sitting on the bike, awaiting his return. Daryl returned soon after, a cluster of bright yellow daffodils in hand. You gave him a puzzled glance but as he held out his hand and said, for you, you felt the urgency to cry. Your nose burning up with tingles and your eyes becoming glazed.

"Thought ya might like 'em, I saw them in your book earlier." Your hand gently took them from Daryl's and you stood still. Very still.

Daryl awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "They're uh...daffodils, right? Start bloomin' late January into March?" He had secretly been sneaking reads of your books over your shoulder. It was so fast it startled him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into you, every muscle in his body stiffened. Daryl was reluctant to hug you back but he gave into his heart and gently laid his arms around your torso. The large jackets you both wore proved to be a barrier from feeling the true touch of the other.

“Thank you.” Your words were raspy and just above a whisper. Had you not been so close, Daryl probably would’ve missed them. “Course.” His words were mumbled against your shoulder, not wanting to make a big deal. A low groan in the distance disrupted your short moment of peace, telling you it was about time to go.

The sun was beginning to set when Daryl’s bike rode up the gravel path to the prison. The smell of a brewing soup hit your nose as the two of you began to walk closer to the dining area. “Find a table, I gotcha.” Daryl’s hand lingered on your shoulder for a second longer than it typically did. Despite wearing such a thick layer of clothes, it was as if you could still feel his touch. Even after he was already at the serving table striking up a conversation with Carol.

You sat your pack down at the usual table. It was farthest to the left, farthest away from all the other tables. “Mind if we join you?” Glenn asked, he and Maggie both holding a steaming bowl. Just as you were about to take your own seat, a loud chuckle sounded snapping you around.

“Oh come on Y/n.” Two men had been walking past on their way to fetch their own dinners. You recognized them, they were commonly on wall duty at Woodbury. The taller one motioned to the flowers that poked out from the front pocket of your jacket. “You can’t be serious.” You could feel your heart drop to the very pit of your stomach. It was as if your body was preparing you for the merciless mocking that was sure to come.

“You’re telling me the Governor’s number one soldier is walking around with flowers in her pockets?”

Stop.

You wanted to say but the words became a ball in your throat. Your eyes darted off to the side. All of a sudden, you didn’t know where to look or what to do with your hands or how to stand properly on your feet. You knew the truth behind their “jokes”.

You are not soft. You are not delicate. You are not loveable.

“The hell are ya doin?” Daryl had practically appeared out of thin air, putting himself between you and the men. You saw this as an opportunity to make an escape for your cell block.

“We were just teasing man. We were friends in Woodbury, just joking around.” They still had slimy smirks on their faces that only poked Daryl even more.

Daryl was fuming. “Didn’t look like she was fucking laughin’.” He took a step closer. “She never fucking laughs!” Before Daryl could unleash his fiery rage, Rick intervened. Rick beckoned Daryl to walk away, mumbling that everyone was looking. “Hell if I care.” Daryl snapped swinging his arm in the air. He turned on his boot and snatched up your pack that you’d left behind before going off to find you.

Daryl hadn’t found you in any of your traditional spots. He checked your cell, the library, the garden, and even the showers. He asked everyone he walked past if they’d seen you but no one had, it was as if you just vanished. And the thought of that was throwing Daryl into a deep pit.

The prison chapel had been restored and decorated by Carol to be used for the grieving prison folk. She had put as many candles as possible on a long wooden table. They had been burned and replaced so frequently that the wax dripped down the sides of the table and dropped dots on the floor. There were many different pictures of lost family members or lovers littering the table…it was quite depressing truthfully. The glow of the candles lit up the room and cast an orange glow on your sad features.

You didn’t look at Daryl as he sat down beside you.

“Didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not.”

It was an odd thing…to hear you speak so openly but Daryl wasn’t opposed. “I just…” Your voice was hoarse and low, as low as a whisper. “I find this a way to be with my brother.” Daryl had gotten so used to silence that it almost startled him to hear so many words come from your lips. You shook back the hair that fell on your face and let out a deep sigh, resting your back flat against the wooden church pew. Daryl didn’t want to speak, he didn’t want to scare your voice away, he just wanted to listen.

“I hope that doesn’t sound foolish.”

“It doesn’t.” Daryl shifted himself closer to you. “It doesn’t.” He repeated, his thigh pressed against yours. And for some reason, you felt the need to spill your guts. Perhaps being in a church would drag you to confess. “I-uhmm…I never fought against the prison. I refused to do any of it. I truthfully didn’t care if he killed me for it.” You didn’t have to explain yourself to Daryl but you felt the need to. If what you felt towards him was what you thought, you had to. “But, he just locked me in my room. Wouldn’t let me out.” Somehow, Daryl knew. He never saw you with the Governor, never saw you fighting. And when Rick told him the locked room he found you in, he pieced it together.

“Everything is true though. Everything they say about me, everything he made me do before that.”

Daryl didn’t care, he never had. Daryl cared that you didn’t want to. He cared about the fact that you were forced to. You shrugged your shoulders and looked off, “I’m as guilty as they come.”

Daryl couldn’t stand the sad look on your face, “Alright then…put yer hands behind yer back. I’ll take ya to your cell.” His joking manner caught you so off guard that a laugh escaped you. It was airy and gentle. He truly couldn’t believe it.

You laughed. And Daryl was in church.

Daryl returned to his serious demeanor to reassure you, “I care about how he hurt ya, Y/n. Don’t care what you did.”

Your eyes found Daryl’s in the dimly lit room and for a second you felt it, deep within your chest. And it ached and feared but it also loved. “Good.” You couldn’t fight the smile that squeezed your cheeks as you looked at him. Your eye contact broke allowing silence to welcome itself back. But only for a short time. “Daffodils are the birth flower of March…Jackson and I were born in March.”

After that night in the chapel, Daryl wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. It felt like his ears were filled with honey every time you spoke. It was raspy yet smooth with a hint of a southern drawl from growing up in Georgia. A thick rich honey that he wanted in a cup of hot tea and to take down his throat.

Winter was soon turning to Spring. The sky was bluer and most days the sun shined. The green of the grass and trees were returning. The garden was beginning to look even more promising come warmer weather. And just as the flowers were beginning to take bloom, so were you.

Your hard demeanor had softened, especially for Daryl. You still didn’t talk to many people besides him but you said a word or two when you wanted. Daryl took it upon himself to give Jackson a “grave” where the others were. It was just two pieces of wood, formed into a cross with his name carved in it, planted into the ground. “So that ya don’t have to go down to the chapel. Ya can be outside with him and the garden and stuff.” He had said when he showed you.

“It’s rotten work trying to find these deer.” You and Daryl strolled the wooded area, eyes on the deer tracks that embedded themselves in the dirt. Daryl shushed you and continued his concentration on the tracks. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. “I was rotten work…at the beginning.”

“Nah ya weren’t, not to me.” Daryl didn’t even hesitate, he didn’t even turn look at you. He just continued walking ahead of you, following the tracks.

The two of you settled in your usual spot. Leaning against the fallen tree at the opening to the clearing in the woods. You were right about the clearing looking more beautiful in the warmth of Spring. The trees were plump with fresh green leaves and the water in the pond sparkled under the sunlight. The grass grew tall with a mixture of white and yellow wildflowers. Your fingers ran the edge of the book page as you turned it.

Your current book was, Field Guide to Medical Plants and Herbs. There was some type of cold floating around the prison and finding the medical supplies to treat it was sparse and you’d do anything you could to help.

Daryl was interrupted from tending to his bow by your elbow jabbing his side. Without looking at him, you held up a folded piece of paper and pen. Daryl gave you an odd glare before plucking them from your fingertips. You did this often. When you couldn’t be bothered to use your voice or if you didn’t want to break concentration from a book.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

Daryl could feel his heart begin to quicken its pace within his chest. He didn’t know what your words meant but at the same time, he did.

The folded paper got tossed back into your lap.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

Just then, a rustling sound sounded from within the trees from across the clearing. You gripped for your blade as Daryl grabbed for his bow. Two deers came through the trees, their white and tan tails flicking back and forth. You could’ve sworn you heard Daryl stop breathing for a second. Daryl slowly leaned up on his knees, bow in hand raising to his eye. Your eye caught it before Daryl’s did.

Another deer emerged from the trees, a fawn close behind her…and then another. “Don’t.” You brought your hand to Daryl’s bow and lowered it to point at the ground. He went to protest but when he saw the twin fawns happily nibbling at the tall grass, he stopped. It was a beautiful sight, as were you.

When your eyes broke away from the deers and to him, that’s when he decided. Daryl cupped your cheek lightly and met your lips with his. His lips were gone just as fast as they were there but his hand didn’t leave. He was still so close that your lips feathered his. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him down to you again.

What happened that day was never spoken of. But as Daryl sat in the darkness of the train cart in Terminus, he so deeply wish it had been.

But now, you were gone as was the prison. The look on your face, when the Governor stood outside the prison, was burned into Daryl’s eyelids. The way your chest heaved with anger, your hands shook with rage, and revengeful teary eyes stared off. The last he saw was you slipping out through the prison fence to go after him. Daryl yelled at you to not do it, to come with him, but you didn’t listen. You’d let yourself die if it meant you finally got your hands on him and Daryl knew it.

You could be dead. You could’ve died weeks ago fighting the Governor. You could be out there alone and starving and scared. Or you could be just fine. Daryl would never know.

When Terminus fell and he watched Rick cuddle and kiss Judith in his arms, he had a surge of hope. And when he saw Carol alive, he had more hope. As everyone said hello, it was as if he waited, waiting for you to magically appear. “Nobody has Y/n?” A deafening silence followed, quieter than you ever were. “Daryl…” Michonne stepped towards him. As he went to walk away, she stopped him placing a hand on rising his chest. “Darlyl. I’m not saying she didn’t make it. I’m just saying she didn’t look good.”

“Yeah? And you didn’t help her?” Daryl snapped shoving her hand off his chest. “Get off me.” Daryl seethed with hot tears in his icy blue eyes. It became an unspoken rule to not speak your name around him.

Your hand pressed firmly on the wound that oozed blood down your side as you limped your way into the cell block. Your right side was stained in the crimson color, all the way down to the knee of your jeans. You strained and let out a groan of pain as you took a step up the stairs that led to your cell. You didn’t need to look at yourself to know you looked awful. The walkers that completely ignored your existence when you limped by them told you enough.

Your entire torso throbbed in pain. The bruising from the kicks you took to the stomach were forming and it felt impossible to move. Your head felt like tv static and you had an undying desire to sleep. But you couldn’t. You likely had a concussion and knew that if you slept now, you wouldn’t be getting back up. Besides, you had to find Daryl. There was a hope that he’d stayed in the area and you’d find him if you just looked. You knew the woods around here well, you could find him. He was waiting for you, he had to be.

In your fuzzy state of mind, you threw whatever you touched into your pack. You changed out of ruined clothes and into clean ones. When the collar of your shirt dragged down your face, you let out a whimper of pain as it got caught on your bottom lip. There was a cut that dragged from the under your left nostril, across the left corner of your lips, and ended at the bottom of your chin.

It became a blur how you left your cell safely and ended up on the path Daryl and you walked every morning. You had to get to your spot. The spot with the fallen tree and clearing. Daryl would wait for you there. You were sure of it. When you got there and he wasn’t there, it was okay, you told yourself. You just had to wait for him.

You lowered yourself to the ground, a few whimpers of pain escaping your lips. With your back resting against the tree and arm draped over your mid section, you slipped into unconscious. You awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. “Hey, hey.” He said trying to wake you but your eyelids were too heavy to lift and you felt the weight of every muscle in your body. “Heath! Go tell Laura to bring the car around. We gotta take her back.”

“It’s a ten hour drive back Aaron, you think she’s gonna make it?”

“I don’t know.”

You awoke with a slight jolt. Your chest heaved with heavy breathes as your eyes dilated to the bright and unfamiliar room. Your body ached but the softness of the mattress you laid on seemed to comfort it. “Pete, go get Deanna.” Aaron instructed, sitting up in his seat next to your bedside. Your eyes wandered the room, trying to figure out where you were. “Hey. I’m Aaron. You’re in the infirmary in a community called Alexandria.” You looked to the man that sat to your right. He had a very kind face and gentle eyes. His clothes were perfectly clean and his curly brown hair was freshly washed and fluffy.

“Myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast to look for survivors to bring here.” Aaron clarified further, “We found you and brought you back, you were in really bad shape…you still…you still kind of are.”

Aaron could see the confusion and panic drawn on your face. Your head snapped to the door when you heard footsteps on the polished wood floors. “Hi” Deanna gently said approaching your bedside. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. What’s your name?”

Your mouth hung open for a second, your mind still wasn’t clear, and you had no clear memory of the last three days. “Y/n” You finally replied, voice hoarse and raspy. Deanna smiled at you, “Where am I?” You asked finally finding your voice. Deanna and Aaron exchanged a glance, “You’re in a safe community called Alexandria in Virginia.”

Virginia?

You could feel your world begin to tumble, a thousand thoughts racing your mind. You were so far away from Georgia. You were away from home. Away from Daryl. “No.” You attempted to pull yourself out of the bed but were stopped by Aaron softly holding you back. “No, no, no.” You repeated and dropped your head down into your hands as panicked sobs racked your chest. “Pete! Go get her something to calm down.”

You didn’t want pills to help calm down. You wanted to go home. You wanted to be with him. You sat yourself up in the bed despite the pain in your torso telling you not to. “Daryl?” You asked Deanna. She could see the desperation in your teary eyes, “I’m sorry we only found you.”

Aaron sat up from the dirt floor of the barn after Rick had knocked him unconscious. Rick’s group continuously went back and forth with one another debating their plan. Once they finally decided and everyone was being assigned a position, Rick turned to Daryl. “Daryl, go keep an eye-“

“Wait, Daryl?” Aaron interrupted Rick’s order from his spot on the floor. He felt everyone’s eyes on him in an instant. “Daryl Dixon, right? Y-you knew an Y/n?” Daryl stomped over to Aaron and gripped him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “How the hell ya know Y/n?” Daryl’s tone was threatening yet shaky. Aaron knew if he didn’t start talking he’d end up back on the floor.

“She’s in Alexandria, she lives with me, she’s safe! A-a little over a month ago, myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast looking for survivors. We found her in the woods down in Georgia.” Aaron took a pause, “She was in really bad shape, we brought her back and she’s been there ever since.”

“She talks about you all the time.” Daryl’s hand shook around the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his eyes studied his face trying to find any indicator that he was lying. ”I don’t fuckin’ believe ya.” The thought of you being alive and safe comforted Daryl but he wouldn’t so easily believe a stranger. “I’m not lying, I swear.” Aaron frantically said, “She-she gave me something to give to you. It’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

Daryl shoved Aaron back to the ground with a thud. Rick tossed Aaron’s bag to Daryl, practically tearing off the zipper getting into it. Daryl’s unsteady hands pulled out the familiar small tan book. As he flipped open to the title page, he read the words you’d written to another that day.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

As Daryl read the new words you’d written, he could feel the lump forming in his throat.

It was easier to die than to say them.

“I probably should’ve led with that, huh?” Aaron joked attempting to lighten the mood. Rick’s gruff voice responded, “Shut up.”

The sun shined in Alexandria despite the rainstorm that came through the night before. You found yourself where you always were, in the gardens. The heavy rain had bent many of the plants out of shape and the raised wooden garden beds were flooded. The mixture of water and grass squelched under your boots as you examined the damage. With a deep sigh, you pulled out a box of cigarettes from your back pocket along with a zippo lighter. It wasn’t a habit you proudly picked back up. But after the fall of the prison and Daryl no longer being there to help you, it found its way back.

You tilted your head up to the sky and blew the smoke from your lips. You closed your eyes and let the sunlight cast its rays onto your face. And as you did, you tried to imagine that you were standing in the garden of the prison again. That Daryl stood only a few feet away, fighting with a vegetable, and cursing as he did.

“Hey Y/n.”

Spencer disrupted your daydream, standing a few feet away and calling out your name. “Sorry,” He jokingly held up his hands in surrender, “Aaron’s back, he asked for you at the gate.” Aaron had returned to Alexandria several times over the past month with new faces. Every time you’d go to the gate and wait for him to return, your heart full of hope. But every time the same disappointment rained down on you. It was never who you wanted, it was never him. So, when Aaron told you about a group he’d been tracking and trying to bring back, you didn’t care to listen. You saved my ass and now you think you can save everyone? You said to him a few nights ago.

“Going.” You replied bluntly. You wouldn’t allow your hopes to grow just to be smashed into pieces. Your eyes were on the ground as you walked to the front gate, cigarette dangling from your lips, and hair falling in your face. Spencer talked his jaw off beside you, every word he spoke going in one ear and out the other. But the sound of a familiar whistle vibrating against your eardrums perked your head up in an instant.

You tossed your cigarette from your mouth and found your way back to him. Daryl met you halfway, his arms desperately pulling you in close. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, feeling his shaky breaths on the skin of your own. Your hair was soft and smelled of shampoo. Daryl grasped the fabric of your shirt that smelled ever so slightly of cigarettes.

When Daryl pulled away to look at you, he finally saw the fresh scar drawn on your lips. He wanted to scold you. To tell you how foolish you'd been to go after the Governor alone. "Ya got him?" Was all he could bring himself to ask. You avoided answering but you nodded, "Come on, I wanna go see everyone else."

Despite the group still not fully trusting Alexandria, they felt more at ease knowing you’d been kept safe here. After helping Rick settle the group into the Alexandrian homes, you sat on the front porch with Daryl. Daryl hadn’t let you out of his sight for a second. Everything you did and every where you went, he was there. Besides when Carol shoved him away to shower.

The two of you passed back and forth a lit cigarette, comfortable in the silence of the night air. “Tara asked me about the Governor.” Your words were quiet just incase anyone were listening. Daryl looked to you. “Yeah?” With a deep sigh, you blew the smoke from your mouth. “Yeah…asked what he did to me.”

Daryl could see the way the thought of it dragged your lips into that familiar frown. “Told her I didn’t wanna make her guilty conscious even worse.” You said it as if it was meant to be a joke but Daryl saw through it. “It’s gettin late.” Daryl begin to break you from those thoughts. He was right. The sun had set about an hour ago and everyone was setting up their beds for the night.

“Ya ah….Ya gonna go home?” Daryl didn’t want you to leave, he never wanted to be without you again. “I am home.” There was no hesitation in your reply. Daryl’s eyes snapped to yours in an instant. “Ain’t what I meant.” You stood from your spot and reached a hand out to him, “Come with me.” Daryl glanced between your hand and your eyes. The night was dark and the porch light dim but you could see the rosy color blotch at his cheeks. You lightly kicked his foot with your own, “Just wanna show you where I’ve been staying.”

Your room was in the fully furnished basement of Aaron and Eric’s home. Aaron had welcomed you in, knowing you couldn’t be on your own in your condition. The stairs were on the farthest right wall of the basement, leading you down into a lounge like area with tan carpet and white walls. An L shaped leather couch sat in front of a, now useless, flat screen TV. Past the couch, on the back wall, stood two white doors. Daryl presumed behind one of them laid your bedroom.

You walked him over to the left door and pushed it open. There was nothing special about your room. Simply a bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a bookshelf in the corner. You sat at the foot of your bed, Daryl took it as a sign to do the same. “I’m sorry Daryl.” Your voice was just above a whisper, avoiding his eyes when you spoke. “I should’ve looked harder for him…I shouldn’t of gotten so distracted.” Your head hung low in shame, “I should’ve talked about that day..in the woods.” The dimly lit room hid the tears that fell from your eyes. “I should’ve said everything I wanted to say.”

“We should’ve.” Daryl corrected you, stopping all your blabbering. Your watery eyes met his with a look of confusion. “Everythin’ ya said. I was there too. S’not all your fault Y/n.” The impact of Daryl’s words made you go quiet. “Ain’t yer fault what he did to you either.”

“I love you.”

Daryl had never shut his mouth so fast in his life. You weren’t sure where your outburst of confidence came from but you didn’t regret it. You accepted it every waking day and every sleepless night you were apart from him. “Nah, ya don’t.” Daryl rejects your confession at the grace of his own insecurity. Your hands raise themselves to his face, a stern look gracing your features. “I have since the prison.”

Daryl didn’t know what to do. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the warmth from your hand on his cheek. You gently lean in before connecting your lips with his. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his own. If you had just ruined everything Daryl and you had, you at least wanted to bask in his presence one last time. “I love ya too.” Daryl leaned back in, capturing your lips in his.

The night you’d spent together was full of gentle touches and whispers. The only time silence happened was the sleep bestowed upon you afterwards. Your bedroom was dimly lit come morning time. The only windows in your room were up towards the ceiling, just above ground level. For the first time since Jackson died, you woke up peacefully. No panic attack awaiting you, no need to run away and fill your lungs with smoke. Feelings of the night before returned to your mind, memories in vivid detail. Daryl awoke when he felt the movement of the sheet from beside him.

With your back turned to him, Daryl took it upon himself to graze the skin of your bare back with his fingertips. He caught a glance at the deep scarring along your side. The gash had turned into a raised, dark pink, bruised color on your skin. Daryl could see shadow of lines covering its length from the stitches that had held it together.

As his fingertips traveled down, they stopped on another scar. The left side of your lower back was imbedded with the letter “G”. The scarring of the initial raised your skin, though it wasn’t pink and bruised like the other. It had healed to a shade paler than your skin tone. Daryl simply couldn’t believe it. Fucking bastard.

“Branding iron.” You begin, voice slightly rasp from sleep. “Never did it to anyone else…just me.” Daryl’s hand fell from your back, “Come here.” You reluctantly did so, turning to face him. His hand found the side of your face that didn’t rest on the plush pillow. His facial expression’s became serious but his eyes remained gentle. “Ain’t gonna let no one treat you like that ever again. Ya feel like someone breathes around ya the wrong way, you tell me alright?” You playfully rolled your eyes, a cheeky smile forming but you still replied “Alright.”

Daryl thumb drug along your bottom lip, stopping at the pale scar. “Promise ya won’t ever stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“…Bein’ happy.”

–––––––––––

A/n: I've proof read this over and over so I hope everyone is able to enjoy it and theres no mistakes! If anyone would like to submit a request, feel free too. If it's a project i'd be willing to take on, I will try my best to get to it.

[tetzoro]

ONE NIGHT STAND — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. geto suguru !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : you’ve always had a love/hate relationship with one night stands and learned an easy way to avoid the awkwardness it can bring. but what happens when someone sees through you and decides to call you out on it?

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI ! fem reader. protected sex, slight degradation, fingering, manhandling, use of pet names (sweetheart, pretty), edging, multiple orgasms, mentions of overstimulation, very minor impact play (smacks your ass once), & he’s a lil condescending at times whoops. — WC : 1.8k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : like i said .. i blinked and this just happened … enjoy !!

one night stands were always your thing. it beat taking care of things on your own and it never seemed to follow up with awkward pillow talk or murmurs of breakfast. it was simply a transaction that you were more than ready to profit from. all you had to do to guarantee a night full of pleasure was whisper those sultry words just right to your next victim.

“no man has ever made me cum before.”

simple, effective. men loved a challenge and this was the best way to ensure that the focus was on all on you and your pleasure. it never failed to make you have a good night.

until you met your match.

“never cum before, huh? that line usually work?” geto asked, a seemingly sweet smile on his face that was just asking you to fold.

every part of you froze. you’ve never been called out or questioned on it. most guys jumped at the opportunity, but all he did was tut and teasingly narrow his eyes at you.

“not bad, so let’s see how long you can keep up before you give out.”

“wait-“ you start, words failing you as you straighten up on the couch. suddenly, the short skirt you normally parade around in felt too short, and his eyes felt all too piercing.

without much hesitation, geto pins you down on the couch, encasing you in his hold so you couldn’t escape — not that you wanted to. his hand slowly slips down your hip, watching how you gasp a baited breath when he squeezes it slightly.

feigning submission was one thing, but this was different, new, exciting. you couldn’t help but let him have his way with you, all for the sake of curiosity. or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“you poor thing, no one’s ever made you cum?” his mocking words cut through you, leaving you exposed as his palm smoothes up your thigh and under your skirt. “at least, no one’s made you cum like i will.”

your breath hitches as he slides off your lace underwear, tucking it aside in his back pocket. you don’t have time to protest as his face lowers itself in between your legs.

placing a soft kiss against your cunt, he slowly drags a fingertip along your folds, gathering up some slick that’s already formed. he brings it to his lips, his dark eyes holding yours with an intimacy you can’t pull away from, and sucks on it with a satisfied groan.

with a heavy gulp, you shift under his gaze, suddenly feeling more seen than you were ever used to. his fingers return back to your entrance, he slips one in and begins thrusting it at a slow pace.

“what a pretty little pussy.” a second finger slides in, instantly moving in a little quicker.

“i bet you tell that to all the girls.” you try to bite at him, wanting some semblance of control back.

“yeah? well then i guess it’s your turn to hear it.” he just gives you a cocky smile that you want to rip right off his face. the teasing glint in his eye shines as his finger crooks deep within you, prodding at the soft spot that no one has ever reached before.

“geto-“ you breathlessly moan out his name, gripping onto the couch cushion. your eyes flutter shut, savoring the way just two of his fingers seemed to fill you up so well.

his fingers pump in and out of you, the sloppy sounds filling the room as you all but rode his hand. and he just sat there on the couch as if he wasn’t hurtling you towards the edge in just a few simple motions.

his thumb draws untraceable patterns along your clit as his fingers keep the steady pace. visions cloud your mind of what it would be like if he was the one panting under you, but the quick withdrawal of his ministrations almost sent your body into shock.

“h-hey!” you gasp out, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him better. “what the hell?”

“that’s no way to talk to me, but since you’re so pent up, it’ll be our little exception. just this once.”

grabbing your waist, geto swiftly turns you onto your stomach — propping you up so your hips are up in the air. you let him manhandle you with a squeak, anticipation shooting all throughout your body.

he softly caresses down your back, basking in the warmth of your skin before he reaches your bottom, giving it a firm slap.

“now, it’s time for you to be good for me, alright? otherwise i won’t let you cum.” you hear the familiar sound of a condom ripping and you try to turn your attention back to him. but he takes your head and pushes your cheek down against the soft cushions. “behave.”

“yes sir.” your cunt clenched around nothing as he spoke down at you. never had you been with a guy like him, one so domineering that you actually listened. normally, most guys were all bark and no bite — but you could sense the fangs he had hidden under that sweet smile he gave you earlier. and as much as you wanted to toe the line with him, you really wanted him to make you cum.

his tip prodded at your entrance and it took everything in you not to push your hips back and take what you so desperately wanted. instead, your nails dug into the cushions, waiting for him to make his move.

inch by inch, he pushes in. the stretch wasn’t anything you could prepare for, an unfiltered moan tumbling from your lips as he fills you up with his girthy cock.

“that’s it-“ he whispers to himself, watching as you swallow him up. he bottoms out and you both let out of soft gasp. his hand still weighs on the side of your head but his other one grips at your hips. “ready for me?”

“yes.” you all but whine out. he gives a condescending chuckle before you feel him pull back out. tears flood your eyes as he moves away, already craving for him to fill you back up.

thankfully, he doesn’t leave you hanging, thrusting right back into you so violently your body lurches forward but his hold on you keeps you firmly in place.

and he doesn’t stop there. no easing you into it, no soft and slow movements — just pure, unadulterated fucking. the exact way you had been fantasizing about for so long was here and you could feel your coherent thoughts leave your head with each pound of his hips.

“so fucking tight-“ he groans out. “almost has me believing your little lie.”

“geto-“ you whine out, wanting more than anything to flip over and dig your nails into him instead of the scratchy fabric below you.

“you can call me suguru.” he groans, his palm sliding up your back and grabbing your shoulder, using his own force of his thrusts to pull you back onto his cock.

“suguru!” you mewl out, “s-so good.”

“yeah? i thought so.” he continues relentlessly pounding into you, the harsh sound ricocheting off of the walls in your small apartment. your eyes roll to the back of your head, an endless stream of moans falling from your lips.

his hand moves from your head and slips in between your thighs, finally paying attention to your aching clit. with a few simple swipes against it, you’re thrown into your high — clenching down on him so harshly his pace stutters for a moment.

“oh, look at that.” he purrs. “looks like she can cum.” he goes back to his brutal pace and you can barely keep up, your brain still drowning in the pleasure he just poured all over you. it was all becoming too much and you try to crawl forward a bit to reprieve yourself. but he didn’t like that. “oh no no, we aren’t done yet. i haven’t cum yet.”

you whimper as he continues to use your overstimulated cunt, another high creeping up your body causing your mind to buzz with an aching need. all you knew right now was him — his cock, his groans, the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin. suguru, suguru, suguru.

all of it was too much and you couldn’t help but clench around him again, your cunt doing all of your thinking for you as it chases another high.

“gonna cum for me again, sweetheart?” he rasps out, his hips stuttering slightly. he must’ve been close too. “well, aren’t i lucky.”

“please! gonna cum-“ you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut as pleasure coils within you, begging to be released.

“go ahead, pretty.” he pushes into you one final time, shoving his cock as deep as he can as he fills up the condom with a heavenly groan of your name. it sends you over the edge with him, crying out his name in return as your thighs tremble in his hold.

after a few moments, he collects himself while you’re still trying to catch your breath, slowly sliding out of you. you whine pathetically at the loss. geto gently turns you back around so you’re looking up at him now, his pretty dark hair hanging around his face like a fallen angel.

the sweet smile is back, the fangs no longer barred as he leans down to kiss you — a kiss you didn’t realize you were waiting for all night. he takes it slow, languidly moving his lips against yours to lull you back to him.

soft caresses and murmurs of praise fill your senses, causing you to reach out for him. he breaks the kiss too early for your liking but the look he gives you almost makes up for it.

his eyes have a softer touch to it, something that makes you feel so warm inside you’d be willing to do anything to keep it that way. a small smirk takes up geto’s face as he shifts his body around.

“fuck, you’re pretty sweet, you know that?” he let out a soft chuckle, moving to lay next to you so he could pull you in his arms. “satoru was right.”

“who?” you ask, blissed out of your mind as your cheek hits his chest, exhaustion settling in your bones.

“you don’t remember?” you feel a soft laugh rumble against you. “he’s the one you told two weeks ago about how no one ever made you finish.“

“oh i-“ your face heats up, thoroughly embarrassed by your little charade. but it had led you to this moment with geto and suddenly, it wasn’t so bad.

as much as you hated one night stands, you didn’t mind drifting off with geto on your couch, curled up in his side and ready to sleep off the pleasures of the night. and something stirred in your heart when he tightened his hold on you — silently assuring that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

taglist : @sookisaurus @collin-thegreat @the-tenth-shadow @strawberrystepmom @buggylicious @mrs-kurooo @oooohno

[soupuurr]

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑘 - christopher sturniolo

pairing. sub!chris x dom!reader

genre. smut

⟶ content warnings. explicit content, porn with plot, guitarist!chris, dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral, handjob, dacryphilia, overstimulation, creampie. MDNI

⟶ summary. you never expected to be drawn to your new guitar instructor, finding it hard to concentrate during lessons as your mind wanders. But what unfolds when you find yourself at his house for a lesson?

holy shit.

your breath hitched—eyes moving with reverence across the expanse of the shabby downtown studio you stumbled into. its wooden plank walls were adorned with numerous colorful guitars and basses. a breathtaking musical maze. timber stools had been meticulously placed amongst the lengthy isles, bringing you to a palatial library filled with guitar books.

your fingers ran along the straps of the acoustic guitar case resting snug against your back. as you wandered deep into the studio, your eyes bounced off of the unique furniture and decorative pieces scattered around the area.

you were quickly captivated by faint strumming echoing throughout the building, and with each venturous step inside, the sound seemed to intensify. you curiously spun around the corner of the last isle before halting—all of the air escaped your lungs as you stood, dumbfounded, in front of possibly the most ethereal boy you’ve ever seen.

he sat on a wooden stool, beat up air forces resting against the bottom. his back was hunched over a dark brown acoustic embellished with an intricate pattern along the sound hole—blue eyes trained on his fingers that expertly glided along the fretboard. wavy brunet hair peeked out from his black, lyrical lemonade beanie, and a thin silver chain rested neatly on his neck.

you must’ve startled the poor guy—he jumped after noticing your presence, nearly dropping the precious guitar in his hold.

“s-shit.” he mumbled, swiftly clearing his throat and adjusting his posture.

“i’m sorry about that. you must be my new student!” he smiled professionally before sticking his hand out,

he was your new guitar instructor?

you stretched out your own hand, his much larger one entirely engulfing yours as he shook it. your eyes lingered on his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, his pretty hands were decorated with attractive veins and silver jewelry. you couldn’t help but imagine how they might feel inside of your pussy, your heart fluttered at the thought.

“my name is chris, nice to meet you.” he stated as he hopped off of his stool, carefully placing the guitar on a nearby stand.

chris. his name seemed so moan-able too, tumbling right off of the tongue like sweet honey.

fuck, everything about him was perfect.

“our lessons will be upstairs, in the private rooms.” your tummy flipped with excitement. you couldn’t trust yourself alone with him, fearing you might pounce on him the very moment he would shut the door behind you.

you followed him up the narrow staircase, the surrounding air tense with sexual frustration—at least for you. your gentle footsteps reverberated around the tapered space as chris led you to a roughed-up door ornamented with multiple stickers consisting of lyrical lemonade, guitars, music artists, you name it.

the interior, however, was plain and simple. holding only a tiny cabinet—filled with books you assume—and a couple of movie posters. two different guitars were leaned against the back wall, a normal acoustic, and a beautiful red electric one. chris chuckled next to you, observing your piqued interest.

“that one’s my favorite.” he nodded his head towards the cherry colored guitar.

“it’s so beautiful.” you remark. he smiled, gazing at you intently. after a sharp exhale, he reached for the acoustic guitar—preparing for your lesson.

the lesson itself was pretty uneventful to say the least, you couldn’t focus on a single thing that chris had instructed you to do, often finding yourself hypnotized by his plump lips or icy blue eyes.

truthfully, chris also found himself to be enamored by you. he found your fascination incredibly endearing. there was something about you that made him eager to learn more.

with each lesson, your bond undeniably deepened—the friendship blooming into something raw and beautiful.

and, with each lesson, chris wanted more. your cute giggles and lengthy conversations would no longer suffice. chris didn’t know what was wrong with him, he knew it was fucked up when he would catch himself slipping a hand past his waistband in the after hours, needy pants and whimpers leaving his desperate lips as his hand would wrap around his base—pretending that it was your own. he felt so dirty, so wrong.

you would be doing the same. pumping two fingers inside of your cunt whenever your mind would drift off to lewd, disgusting thoughts about your guitar instructor—his fingertips that would move so swiftly on the guitar strings would probably feel amazing rubbing against your puffy clit, plus his gorgeous face was way too perfect not to ride. just thinking about him made you giddy and immensely horny.

therefore, it was only natural that your heart would race upon receiving the text he sent you the following day.

the studio is closed today, we’ll have our lesson at my house if that’s okay with you.

*address*

a lesson at his house? you bit your nails nervously before smoothing your hand down the skimpy skirt you had planned to surprise him with. as you drove to his home, the atmosphere was suffused with unbearable silence, the prospect of being alone in his house making you nervous—you pictured him patiently waiting for you in such an intimate setting and it churned your stomach with anxiety.

you rang his doorbell and the door swung open almost immediately. chris’s eyes filled with lust the moment they landed on you, swallowing thickly as he caught sight of the skirt that wrapped so nicely around your thighs. he cursed at himself when he felt his dick grow in his pants.

“c-come in!” chris prayed that you somehow missed his obvious hard-on, stepping aside to allow you to enter while shielding himself with the door. he depravedly watched your hips sway with every step you took—knowing that he needed to control himself before he would make a mess in his pants.

“are we going to be over here?” you gestured towards the couch and small stool positioned in the center of the living room. chris nodded silently in response. what was he thinking? having the girl he fantasized about every night in his fucking living room? chris wished that he could go back in time—he wished that he never met you because fuck, you drove him insane.

and you weren’t stupid. you saw chris’s cock stir in his pants the moment you stepped foot inside, however you had to admit that you absolutely loved playing with him, doing things like stretching purposefully—exposing your navel to his hungry blue eyes.

you sat on the tiny stool, your plump thighs deliciously resting on the wood. chris wanted nothing more than to run his soft hands under your cami shirt—kiss your neck feverishly while grinding his painfully hard dick against you.

“i practiced this piece at home and i just can’t get this chord right.” you pulled your guitar from its case and hugged it tightly, wearing a pout on your face.

“will you help me chris?” you looked at him seductively from under your lashes, a tiny smirk carving its way onto your pink lips. chris gritted his teeth—you had to know what you were doing, right?

“uhm, yeah. this one’s a bar chord so you have to make sure that your pointer finger is pressing down on every string. like this.” chris adjusted his hand and you observed as his fingers curled perfectly around the guitar neck, you squeezed your thighs together in want before a brilliant, filthy idea struck you.

“hmm, i don’t think i get it” you frown, chris watched with wide eyes as you got up from your seat and alluringly strode towards him—moving his guitar out of the way so you could place your ass right on his erection. chris hissed from underneath you, still in shock as he hovered his hands over your hips. he wanted to thrust his hips against you so fucking bad, but he had to be professional. you just needed help, nothing more.

"can you show me now?" you set the guitar back on your lap and gently took hold of chris’s wrist, guiding his fingers to position them over yours on the fretboard. his fingers deftly directed yours to the correct position, while his other hand strummed the chord, its beautiful sound ringing in the air.

you softly bit your lip as you felt his breath tickling your neck, you could smell his aromatic scent—feeling him everywhere. his chest against your back, arms curved around your figure and cock pressing against your soaking wet cunt. you couldn’t help yourself as you ground your hips against his experimentally. chris gasped and placed his hands against you. fingertips curving around your hipbones so he could push your hips back onto his clothed cock. you held the guitar tightly as you rubbed your pussy against him. you felt as if you were going to explode, his teasing touch lingering on your sides.

fuck it.

you swiftly placed the guitar on the ground and flipped around—straddling him. his blue eyes greedily ran themselves down your body, landing on the spot where you intimately connected. your hands ruffled through his long messy hair before pulling at the lone strands—bringing your lips together with fervor. chris moaned, your teeth clashing and noses bumping as your heads nodded into the lust filled kiss.

chris’s hands traveled along your back, pressing gently against your skin as you wrap your arms around his neck and grind your body against him once more. your tits pressed onto him and your perky nipples grazed his chest every so slightly. you disconnected your lips with a soft smack, gazing lazily into each other’s eyes.

“tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” you huffed, placing your hands on his chest. chris hummed in response, eager for you to finally touch him. you leisurely removed yourself from his lap and perched in-between his thighs. your hands land on his belt, pulling it through the loops before yanking it off of his body. chris sat obediently, biting his lips raw—cheeks sprinkled rosy pink.

your fingers hooked themselves on his jeans, sliding them off with ease—and your mouth salivated at the sight of his pretty cock standing painfully against his abdomen, cute pink tip spurting beads of pre-cum. chris dropped his jaw as your thumb found his tip, sliding his slick along his cock. you place your lips on him and tenderly purse your lips around his slit before sliding him further down your throat. chris’s hands shoot to your hair, hips bucking helplessly while pretty little moans spew past his lips. you gently squeeze his balls against your fingertips as you watch him roll his eyes back in pleasure.

“f-fuck!” chris pants out, your acrylic nail slides its way along the base of his cock before you wrap your fingers around him, pumping him painfully slow while you hollow your cheeks. the movement of your hand gradually increases, constant squelches of chris’s slick filling the room. you pull away until your mouth was occupied with just his tip, sucking on it harshly and pushing his hips down when they would buck against your mouth, you observe his desperate gasps and pants as he got closer and closer to the edge.

it wasn’t long before lengthy, thick ropes of chris’s cum squirted down your throat. the slightly salty taste on your tongue ripping a moan from your lips, chris squirmed with overstimulation as the noise vibrated against his cock.

he looked so pretty with his face fucked out, lashes fluttering on his pink cheeks and chest heaving with every breath he took. you wanted to ruin him. please him so well that all he would be able to do is sit there and take it like a good boy.

you prod your fingers at his lips before pushing them past, watching as he sucked on them with hooded eyes—plump lips resting against your skin.

your lips curled into a smirk, abruptly pulling your fingers out and rubbing the palm of your hand against his sensitive tip. chris yelped and arched his back deliciously, body squirming against the couch as your palm pushed deeper. your fingers curled around him—digging your thumb in his slit. chris cried out, eyes pooling with tears of absolute pleasure. he squeezed them shut and sobbed, the welled up tears sliding down his cheeks as he came again. the warm spurts striking your hand and ruining his shirt.

“can you handle another one?” you stood up, straddling his hips once more. chris nodded and pushed his lips against yours, whining into every smack of your lips. you drag your hands underneath his spoilt shirt, peeling it off of his body. your other hand pushed your thong to the side before stretching your precious cunt over his cock. you both moan in unison as you begin to rock your hips—hands trailing up his chest to pinch his nipples between your fingers. chris winces and leans his head against the couch, your hips swiveling on his cock while you pinned his wrists against the cushions. you were so close, capturing his lips in a kiss when you finally felt yourself fall apart, chris’s cock twitched inside of you—filling you spurt after spurt until a ring of white cum leaked around his base.

you fall limp against him, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

"that was amazing," chris panted—kissing your cheek as you lay on top of him. you giggled in response, brushing your hand against his jaw.

“i guess we should continue our lesson right?”

a.n.

i cannot even begin to fathom the amount of love my dilf!matt fic got. you guys are actually insane. thank you SO MUCH for reading my works and supporting me, this is such a surreal moment.

also thank you for 300 followers. ALREADY.

but seriously, i’m in shock. thank you guys so much.

tags.

@luverboychris @sturniololvrrs @sturniolo0ntop @deadiish @robins-scoop @ihad-athought @matt444nixi @delooshunalhoe @sturnlover4eva @nwlluvsturnsstars17 @sturni0l0 @pepsiboyy @devscottage @leahsbussy @sturncon @asimp4chris @gdsvhtwa @stvrnmc @bimbob1tch @m0r94n @mattsturnxoxo @themattgirl17 @lauras14567 @ev3rgreenxtrees @autsturni @killuaxgabby @sturniolosarethebest @mattssluttygf @getosuckers @kenzieiskoolaid @fuckshitslover @miabumbia @t77te @futuristicladywonderland @janiellasblog @strnzzvsp @mattsdirtylittlehoe @stvrnmc @ifwfrankocean @sturniolosl0t @madssturniolo @poopydroopt @ilymusic27 @vetej05 @anisahgonzalez @satvisfavetoodles @youtubelover03 @nicksrosetoy @mattsturniolosgirlfriend @matts-whore

i’m so sorry if i couldn’t find you/put you in here, i can only tag 50 of y’all 😭

[fairyhaos]

seventeen as types of soulmate aus

requested by 🍉 anon! this one was cute hehe

masterlist

seungcheol

soulmark that complement your soulmate's. they're not exact replicas, but rather pairs of shapes that fit together well, and if someone other than your soulmate touches the mark, they burn. but as seungcheol cleans your wounds after a battle, both of you startle at how, when he accidentally brushes over your mark, a flood of warmth fills you both

jeonghan

compass on your skin that points in the direction of your soulmate. only, your compass seems rather confused. it glows whenever jeonghan is near, and spins wildly when he's not. you're quite sure he's your soulmate, but the compass doesn't make sense... that is, until you catch him with his shining halo and white wings.

joshua

meeting them in your dreams. underused type of soulmate au tbh but it's just so sweet!! at the end of a long day, you fall asleep and find joshua already waiting for you with a smile on his face, and every night, you fall harder and harder for someone who you haven't even met in person yet but who still has captured your heart

junhui

body swap for three hours when the youngest of you turns 21. the entire thing is chaos because it's impossible to truly prepare for when it will happen. and even though the body swap ends in disaster, somehow, inexplicably, he finally finds his way to you

hoshi

whatever they draw on their skin appears on yours. he likes the fact that you can almost... communicate with each other, without having ever met. he likes the little scribbles that appear on his hands, the ink marks, the reminders. it feels like being a part of your life, long before he actually meets you.

wonwoo

telepathic link. on his 21st birthday, he'd jumped out of his skin because he didn't realise your voice would be so loud. you're so hyper, always chattering to your soulmate in your head, and whilst it's definitely a change to wonwoo's normal life, he likes it. and when he finally meets you, he finally gathers the courage to say he really likes you, too.

woozi

stars appear on your skin when they touch you. it's devastatingly intimate: his touch burns gentle marks into your skin, painting unique patterns that only you can see, and it makes you yearn for him to finally realise that it's him, him with his warm hands that bleed stars beneath your clothes, who you love the most.

minghao

one-sided soulmates. you're minghao's soulmate, but you don't have a soulmate in return. slowly, carefully, minghao helps you heal from all those years of being told that you're broken, a defect, unworthy of love. he does it not just because he's your soulmate, but because he really has come to love you, and he wants you to be happy.

mingyu

red string of fate. you have this red string on your finger that fades into the distance if your soulmate is too far away. but one day, you look down at your hand and realise you can follow it, the red string winding translucently down the street until you look up... and there stands mingyu, string connected to yours, the softest smile on his face.

dokyeom

the world turns colourful when your eyes meet. it's fitting, for dokyeom, because of course the world bursts into colours the moment he meets your eyes, because of course him and his shining gaze and bright smile make your entire world come to life before you. that's just the kind of person he is.

seungkwan

a soulmark that changes colour depending on how your soulmate feels. you find your soulmark fascinating because it always goes through a whole range of colours at any given time, swirling majestically with emotions. it takes a while for you to notice that the colours might, just maybe, match with the emotions of your hyper, passionate best friend, seungkwan.

vernon

your soulmate's name appearing after you fall in love. vernon has had your name on his shoulder for almost as long as he's known you, so he knows you're his soulmate, but he still patiently waits for you to fall in love with him too, wanting to give you that choice, willing to wait for however long it takes for his love to be returned

chan

countdown until the first meeting. something about chan and having that fateful first meeting when the numbers on your wrist finally reach zero and you look up and see him smiling at you, surrounded by the golden light of the sun, looking like he really is your one, precious, fated companion for life.... just fits him so well, really.

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @kikohao @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @bananabubble

[coriphallus]

The Dark Urge thoughts (and prayers)

anyone whos been following me knows im absolutely not normal about durge and i wanna share some tidbits that are implied, but not necessarily canonised, from their story;

I already made a post about it but it seems like bhaal has a degree of control over whether they live or die. he can deny them death, if they fail the duel with orin.

bhaal can command the slayer. he forces orin to transform if you talk to her about sarevok and the scene makes it clear that its against her will.

bhaal manipulates his kin in a subtler way. in the colony you can find a letter from old durge thats apologising to his father for 'liking' gortash. you can interpret their relationship as something deeper but even if it wasnt, this reads to me as terrified and desperate.

the reason being, if you have a LI in act 2 you get the famous bondage scene. coupled up with the letter above makes me think this is a pattern. bhaal can use their feelings against them. he did it with sarevok and orin's mother, orin's mother and orin, etc... it's not as straightforward as 'if you disobey ill kill the one you love'. you will. durge will.

bhaal is testing them in act 2, he revels in chaos, sure, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't care about isobel. even if you tell scel that you'll kill her you're told that youre too late, you ignored your urges. from durge, bhaal doesn't expect calm calculated murder, he expects blind obedience. failing to receive that his first punishment is to take away something they cherish. there are no half measures, theres no bargaining with a god.

we get so many snippets of information that this has happened before, their foster family being their first victims. theyre made to kill their support system with their own hands, with no one to blame but themselves. they are actually apologising to their father for being fond of gortash because (in my humble opinion) theyre genuinely afraid.

how many times could this have happened, how many nights durge couldve woken up covered in the blood of someone they love until they gave in, became daddys obedient puppet?

durge is groomed for murder. scel says 'you always failed to conduct yourself without me' and given who he is i dont think hes talking about table manners when he says 'conduct'. durge needs 24/7 oversight to set themselves right lest they get tempted by softer things. lest they dare to step away from bhaals grand plan.

durge do have a choice. just as shadowheart had a choice, just as wyll or astarion had a choice. its a choice only in name.

theres no ending besides refusing bhaal that their friends and LI wont die by their hands. the entire lore of bhaalspawn is that theyre meant to conquer the world in his name and slit their own throat a top the mountain of corpses. as cazador aptly put, 'theyre made to be consumed.'

you can pray to bhaal and the narrator says he won't accept [any offering] but the entire world.

durge (and bhaalspawn) do get some sort of euphoria from murder. they crave it like an addict, but bhaalspawn (on prev games) don't constantly have to grapple with these urges as durge does.

now durge is a slightly special case but not in a good way. its implied that theyre not like a regular bhaalspawn, that theyre made by bhaal directly -so to speak-. which is to say, if youre playing a drow, they are bhaals closest approximation of a drow rather than a drow flesh and blood.

thats why theyre fighting tooth and nail against these urges every step of the way, they are literally bhaal himself(in essence). the personality they develop, the person who calls themselves 'tainted' and 'wretched', the character thats making choices throughout the game, theyre the tumour.

theirs is the story of cycle of abuse cranked up to 1000 and it is in parallel to all other origin companions.

[kitkat13001]

☆⋆｡𖦹° 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝙻 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

>> l lawliet x reader

i feel like he’d thrive with a pet. he’s never had any exposure to animals so it’s definitely a new experience for him. i think the unpredictability of a cat would suit him. its irregular behavior keeps him on his toes, given his tendency to analyze patterns. he’d be very affectionate with a cuddly cat 

i think he would also like the loyalty of a dog. he needs stability in his life 🫶 and a cute little puppy that’ll grow w him is just perfect for him. plus, im sure it’d force him to exercise a little more (couldn’t hurt him tbh) w all the running after it he’d be doing

he watches true crime for background noise—if he actually sits down to watch it, he’ll figure it out in the first five minutes (if he didn’t already know the case outcome himself). he needs to multitask in order to genuinely enjoy it, so he usually puts it on while he cooks or cleans so he’s not dedicating his full focus to it and proceed to act like a mom watching a telenovela 

*gasp* “they found the body in the lake!”

“hmm…that was anticlimactic.”

“‘breaking news’? i had already figured that out three episodes ago.”

“oh, i worked this case!”

his cooking is shit at the beginning. you have to be patient with him. he goes in thinking bc he’s so smart it’ll come out good no matter what. (this is the case with a lot of activities he’s now discovering due to the new lifestyle). he is wrong. 

HOWEVER…he does improve with time. he’ll follow a recipe to perfection and study it until he gets it right. the only downside is his food tends to be on the more plain/bland side, so if you like strong flavors i’d keep seasonings handy. he grew up in england, what do you expect? he does excel at making sweets and baked goods though, those tend to come out more flavorful.

for all his previously normal ‘secrecy’ he’s actually a chronic oversharer. because you’re bonded for life now, he feels the need to tell you everything, all of the time. his brain runs a mile a minute and he voices pretty much every thought he has. 

“does the fan seem louder to you?”

”no, ryuzaki. go to bed.”

“but we’re not doing anything tomorrow, so we can sleep in. there’s no need to go to bed right this instant.”

“…”

“that won’t be the case next week, though, we’ve got that birthday dinner to attend.”

“…”

“dinner sounds nice enough, but i loathe the thought of shopping for a present. maybe—“

“ryuzaki. go. to. sleep.”

“hmph.”

similarly, he has a tendency to notice your patterns (he calls it a “detective’s habit”). he’s freakishly accurate with it too. sometimes it’s useful, like when he stops at the store to pick up your favorite snacks and hygiene products when he knows your time of the month is approaching. however, sometimes it’s…just weird

“darling, do you need to use the restroom?”

“um…no?”

“really? interesting. your diet hasn’t changed the last couple days, and you usually use the restroom at approximately this time for about 10 to 12 minutes every day.”

“…what the fuck?”

even though you’ve both changed your names in order to secure your identities and safety, he still calls you by your real name when it’s just the two of you. in public he prefers to call you pet names instead of your newfound aliases

he has no issues switching back n forth and he’d never slip up for fear of exposing you both, but he just tries to avoid calling you by your cover name. he feels a little guilty because if he was a ‘normal person’ you wouldn’t have had to undergo all these procedures just to be with him. he’s used to using different names for himself, but it makes him a little sour that you now have to do that too :(

speaking of sour, he’s a veeeryy jealous man. he’s not obnoxious or even outright about it, but he doesn’t like when other people get too close to you (physically and emotionally). part of it is him being paranoid that they “know something” about you, but part of it is just bc he’s just a clingy lil guy 🥺 and he just wants to be your only special guy

he’s like a territorial cat

he gets nightmares about the kira case and all of his other past cases. he doesn’t make a scene when he wakes up from them, but if you notice he’s awake don’t ask him about them. it’s unlikely he’ll answer you, and he’ll feel bad thinking he woke you up. just pretend to still be asleep and subtly cuddle closer

it coaxes him right back to sleep knowing you’re safe and sound beside him. if you’re brave you can ask in the morning, but it’s likely he’ll have forgotten the dream by then

pleeeeassee take up yoga with him. since he doesn’t need to be crouched in his heightened-deductive-skill position 24/7 anymore, it’s a worthwhile investment to fix his posture and his numerous back problems. he might enjoy the calmness and flexibility yoga provides

he might be open to the idea of children. according to canon, he only interacted with the wammy kids once very briefly, but i like to think he was fairly involved with the orphanages considering they were raising his successor. it only makes sense they’d need to get to know him at least a little—and it would explain why near’s mannerisms are so similar to his. 

i think contrary to popular opinion he would be good with kids—in his own special way. he’s not exceptionally cuddly, but he won’t reject affection either. and his intuition and reflexes are so keen that it’s not like the kid would ever be in danger. 

he’s such a homebody. i mean, we already knew that—but him being able to go out in public now has not changed his desire to want to be alone (w/ you)

he has mixed feelings about crowded places. on the one hand, the anonymity of it is kind of nice and it sets his mind at ease that no one will be able to recognize you two in such a swarm. but on the other, someone is touching him and all the noise n stuff sorta overstimulates his nervous system

the next best alternative? take him to places that are still public and out-and-about but a little more secluded. a corner booth in the back of a little restaurant, a sprawling botanical garden, an independent cafe that’s not overcrowded, etc 

HE CANT DRIVE LMAOOO. a helicopter is one thing but cars??? on the road??? with other cars?????!!! he cannot. he’s a MENACE. hopefully you can drive, but if not then it comes to public transportation 🤷‍♀️