#Crow's Eye View

[literallys-illiteracy]

Crow's Eye View and Limbus Company

Poem No. 9, "Muzzle", Crow's Eye View poetry collection:

Every day was a spate of gusts and now a largish hand touches my waist. Just when the smell of my sweat seeps through the ecstatic vales of my fingerprints: fire. I shall fire. In my digestive tract I feel the stout gun barrel its slick muzzle kissing the back of my clenched teeth. Then at the moment I close my eyes for the blast just what have I spit in lieu of a bullet.

By Kim Hae-Gyeong (김해경). Pen name Yi Sang (이상)

There are two notes to make about this poem. The first is that it has been directly referenced prior to this, in the Solemn Lament Yi Sang's passive name:

Fire.IShallFire

I want to note this in relation to the EGO's mention of "My viscera", which carries the implication of shooting one's self, alongside the awakening line's "feeling of the gun barrel" (or in other words muzzle).

Now in order excluding the mentioned

This poetry collection has been referenced several times throughout the game, and i thought i would compile all the places that it has been referenced so far (and with a healthy dose of conjecture)

Note that i am aware these were written without spaces, however for the sake of being readable i wont be removing them.

Poem No. 1 "13 Children":

13 children speed toward the way. (For the road a blocked alley is apt.) The 1st child says it is scary. The 2nd child says it is scary. The 3rd child says it is scary. The 4th child says it is scary. The 5th child says it is scary. The 6th child says it is scary. The 7th child says it is scary. The 8th child says it is scary. The 9th child says it is scary. The 10th child says it is scary. The 11th child says it is scary. The 12th child says it is scary. The 13th child says it is scary. Among 13 children there are scary children and scared children and they are all they are. (It is better that there is no other excuse.) Of those it is fine to say that 1 child is scary. Of those it is fine to say that 2 children are scary. Of those it is fine to say that 2 children are scared. Of those it is fine to say that 1 child is scared. (For the road an opened one is apt.) It does not matter if 13 children do not speed toward the way.

This poem has been referenced a multitude (2) of times in different places.

The first is the use of the word children in the uptie stories, referencing the 13 children, as there are 13 sinnners (remember that dante is still a sinner, even if they have no ID's (yet)).

The second is during Yi Sang's Dimension Shredder Corrosion:

As a matter of fact, the alley is an open one

alongside its profile line being "open alley", in direct reference to the second line of the poem.

Poem No. 2:

When my father is dozing by me I become my father and I become my father’s father and even then my father is my father like my father so why do I keep becoming my father’s father’s father’s…father why must I jump over my father and why at last must I be acting out myself and my father and my father’s father’s and my father’s father’s father’s roles all at the same time staying alive

This one will return in later mention.

Poem No. 4:

This above poem is a symbology of death, the geometric sequences all ending at zero, reaching their terminus. This relates to Hae-Gyeong's tuberculosis, which would eventually kill him.

Poem No. 5:

Relating back to, but not being the origin of, Yi Sang's motif of the "Wings".

Alongside Poem no. 2, this relates back to the concept of stagnation in ones life.

Poem no. 10. "Butterfly":

In the tattered wallpaper I see a dying butterfly. It’s a secretive mouthpiece a hotline to the other world. One day in my glassed beard I see a dying butterfly withered and feeding on the poor dew that respiration makes. If I die with my palm over the mouthpiece the butterfly too shall spring away. Words like these are never to be let out.

This is the inspiration for the abnormality named "Funeral of a Dying Butterfly" within the mirror dungeon, and arguably the "Funeral of Dead Butterflies" in games prior.

The second is the line "ISeeTheDyingButterfly" in the Solemn Lament ID itself. One could consider the fact that Yi Sang received this ID in itself a reference.

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide and self harm in the proceeding section, read with caution

Poem No. 15:

1 I find myself in an interior with no mirror. Me-in-the-mirror has surely gone out. For fear of him I tremble. From where and how does this sinister figure machinate against me. 2 In a cooled bed I slept cradling a crime. I was absent in my certain dream and my military boots which held prosthetics soiled my dream’s blank sheets. 3 I steal into an interior with a mirror. To release me from the mirror. But crestfallen and without fail he too and in sync enters. Bestows his regret upon me. Imprisoned by me as I am by him me-in-the-mirror too trembles. 4                                                          My dream where I am absent. My mirror where my counterfeit does not appear. Yearner for my solitude to whom even incompetence is OK. Finally I have decided to prescribe suicide to him. I indicate the awning window which does not even have a view. The sole purpose of that window is suicide. But he cannot go before I kill myself he instructs me. Me-in-the-mirror is almost a deathless bird. 5 I occulted my heart with metal held the pistol up to the mirror and aiming leftward the chest pulled the trigger. The bullet dug into where his heart should be but his heart is to the right. 6 Crimson ink spilled out from the carbon heart. In my dream to which I am late I’ve been sentenced to capital punishment. It is not I who rules my dreams. I am guilty of a grave crime for holding captive the very two who cannot even shake hands.

The largest and most obvious reference that can be drawn from this is the "me in the mirror" relating back to canto 4 and Yi sang's relation to mirrors as a whole.

The second, in stanza (the term for a paragraph in a poem) 5, can be linked back to Fell Bullet, once again relating to the bullet piercing the heart that was present in the story of the Freischutz, however the failure of this to kill, or take Yi Sang's soul.

the 6th stanza is also interesting for its relation to both dreams, alongside its relation to handshakes. One could relate this to the abnormality "handshake of handshakes" or alternatively "Wandering Mind" (source of Wrist Guards and Phantom Pain respectfully), however, in Poem

[dedfly]

Girl I about to write long ass critique of weddings and marriage like I'm some mister cynical but i actually love weddings and well weddings drama

Anyway here is me getting married to smilk

Don't make his cute look and sentimental sibbing at the wedding fool you he's fucking bridezilla

[whereifindsanity]

Gunnar Freyr Gunnarsson

[conceptofjoy]

kind of crazy dave was throwing off his alt doomed selves bodies off into the lava like whatever, dissasociative queen

[myreputatioooon]

Died 2022 Born 2023

Welcome Back, Ph1LzA Minecraft

[5sosnobody1420]

Word to the wise : if you enjoy being happy, don’t listen to Noah Kahan’s Extended version of the entirety of Stick Season (Forever) after reading SOTR. I may never know happiness again. Please somebody help me.

[oopsallmabari]

pia is my one non-circle mage oc (I don't think calling them a hedge mage or an apostate is as useful even though it's technically correct-they were never trained in a circle but I think the crow's perspective on magic probably isn't completely divorced from andrastianism, even if they don't really have templars. now I'm thinking abt crows potentially calling in templars/training some mage handlers in templar-like abilities to handle mage fledglings that are too dangerous to continue training...hm)

but all that to say I realized she's my only mage who hasn't gone through a Harrowing! but they have an experience that's...close enough...to prove she's not susceptible to posession. at some point before being promoted to full assassin pia gets veerrrry pissed off at some of the other fledglings (baby pia is a very easy target for bullies) and it reminds her of her general anger at the situation she's in (leashed to the crows w no other real connections) and nearly burns down a building/invites in a rage demon. one of the handlers calms them down and they learn better control but i do think that's the moment they...lock their own cage, so to speak.

[thats-not-okie-dokie]

Cassidy finally gets some of what's coming to her part: 1.

This is based on a scene from chapter 5 of my novel! The Good Luck Duo were bullying Oscar again, and Corvid rushed in to stop them, pinning them both to the floor. Mark's supposed to be there too if I was being accurate, but I haven't drawn him in a while and I didn't want to try here when I was already struggling with a new perspective I've never done before. AKA, worm's eye view

I'm proud of how it came out though! It turned out better than I expected. I should try playing with perspective more often

Black and white version:

[squuote]

I do often think about how much of my art I never finish or the stuff that I keep to myself and then imagine all the art and creations from others that will never be seen by the wide audience. truly, we are creators in our own little worlds that are kept in the depths of our own creative space light years away from any other life

[whats-in-a-sentence]

There's a red-eye crow on the powerlines outside my window in the city.

"Right Story, Wrong Story: Adventures in Indigenous Thinking" - Tyson Yunkaporta

[neofelis----nebulosa]

Saw a yellow-bellied sapsucker and a pileated woodpecker for the first time today

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

[dollychou]

ONE PIECE MEN AND THEIR FAVOURITE SEX POSITION ♡

ᰔ . . ꒰ featuring: monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinsmoke sanji ꒱

monkey d. luffy ིྀྀི cowgirl

luffy loves to see you like this — it's his favourite view. your tits are bouncing up and down in front of his face and he salivates at the sight. he's ramming up into you dripping cunt, hands grabbing ahold of the plush of your ass.

he hikes his knees up and begins thrusting into you harder and faster. your hands come to rest on his chest in an attempt to start yourself at the dogged speed he is going at. your wails and whimpers grow louder and that only riles him up more, slamming harder into your warm pussy.

"you look very pretty," he praises, bringing his hands up to squish your tits. he loves how soft and fleshy they are. he pulls you down to latch his mouth onto your nipples, flicking his tongue on your sensitive buds. you whine feebly at his touch, clawing harder at his chest.

he feels the hot white waves of pleasure building up inside him and he's biting his bottom lip from crying out your name. he gives you a light spank and squeeze your ass cheeks, leaving his hand imprints on them.

"baby, baby, baby," he blubbers out, popping your nipples out of his mouth with a harsh 'pop'! "'m gonna cum in you."

the best you can do is nod and answer him with a frail whimper and that's all he needs to know before he's filling you up with his warm, white seed. your walls clench around him deliciously, milking him dry and taking everything he's giving you.

once he's come down from his high, he places his hand on your tummy, patting it softly as he says more to himself, "you take me so well. filled you up good, didn't i?". there's this boyish grin across his face as he says so.

roronoa zoro ིྀྀི doggy style

zoro has you bent over the couch in the crow's nest, ramming his thick cock into you after a gruelling workout sesh. fap! fap! fap! he's thrusting into you at such a calculated yet desperate pace, groaning quietly at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

you'd think after his sessions, he'd be too knackered to do anything but your boyfriend never fails to surprise you. he's going at it at so divinely and you can feel him so deep inside of you, his tip repeatedly hitting your cervix. your sweet moans echo throughout the room and the way they're getting needier with each thrust has him rolling his eyes.

he looks down and sees the way his abdomen is slapping against your pretty ass and it's as if something in him short-circuits. he's digging his nails into your sides, pulling you roughly to meet the snaps of his hips which has you grabbing onto whatever you can in front of you to keep yourself steady.

"you feel so good," he groans. "so, so good!"

you mewl helplessly at his praise, turning your head to look back at him and the second you do, he tilts his head back in pure pleasure. oh my god, you look so gorgeous. the way your jaw is slack; the way your eyes are hooded and blown with lust; the way that adorable, little moans spill from your lips — he feels his cock twitching inside of you, feeling his orgasm coming.

the rhythm of his hips are now needy and reckless, grunting lowly as he chases his high. he feels your walls flutter around his cock and that's all it takes for him to shoot ropes of his warm seed inside of you, coating your walls white.

he leans down, placing a gentle kiss to the side of your head. "wanna go another round?," he whispers and the second you mutter out a 'yes', he's sticking his dick back into your syrupy walls, biting on his lips to stifle the pathetic noises that threaten to come out.

vinsmoke sanji ིྀྀི missionary

sanji is ever the romantic, even in these intimate moments. he rocks his hips gently and slowly into you, holding you close and allowing himself to feel every part of your velvety walls. he stares deep into your eyes, full of love and affection.

"darling, you're so beautiful," he whispers, brushing the strands of hair that's fallen in front of you. he peppers tender kisses all over your face, starting from your forehead and leading all the way to your swollen lips. "and you're all mine. the most divine woman i've ever seen."

you smile sweetly at his compliment, a pink hue tinting your cheeks. he loves when you get like this — all shy and cute for him whenever he showers you with his praise. even though you get so embarrassed, he just can't help himself. you're the most beautiful girl in the world to him and the fact that you let him even be with you in such a vulnerable position, he feels so blessed.

he rubs delicate circles on your hips, looking down to where you both meet and admiring the way in which his cock slides in and out of your wet pussy, coating it with your arousal. he lets out soft, quiet whimpers, his grip on you tightening as he feels himself getting closer.

your dainty moans only bring him closer to his climax. and the way your face is contorted so prettily, telling him that you're close too — he's on cloud nine. he feels your nails bore into his back, the sensation making him nearly forget his name for a few moments. he's getting closer and closer and he cannot hold out any longer.

"sweetheart," he moans. "'m gonna —"

before he can get the end of his sentence, he pulls out of you and stains your lower tummy with ribbons of his cum. he pumps his cock, letting every last drop spill onto you. he grins proudly at the mess he's made on you and beams, "you're always so pretty for me."

© dollychou ⋮ do not copy, repost, or translate any works.

[yueichihara]

A date with Mephisto

Our little pretty crow was feeling down for being left behind on Sylus' birthday! So I thought about taking him out for a date.

cw: major fluff | yearning looks | Sylus x MC |

word count: 1,656 words

“I’m pretty sure there’s no need for this.” 

You don’t need to turn around to know Sylus is still lingering behind you, his arms crossed and one brow arched as he shaked his head. “I am sure I need to do this.” 

It had been about a week and a half since Sylus’ birthday, and Mephisto had yet to forgive you both for leaving him behind. Again. This wasn’t the first time you two went on a date alone, but it seemed to have been something he had been expecting to be allowed to tag along to. According to Sylus, he’d been pouting since that day, following instructions but refusing to get closer to you like he always did. You’d tried luring him out with snacks and shiny things, but he’d only let out a noise that resembled a snort and turned his head away. 

You’d come to the conclusion that there was just one option left: a date with him. Of course, it wouldn’t be something you’d usually do with Sylus, but you needed to get his trust back. Both of you. So you’d go with this: Mephisto and you would go on a date, visit a few places, go for dinner by the beach, and Sylus would stay. Mephisto had cawed with an eager flap of his wings when you’d presented him with the idea, turning to look at Sylus with a smug glint in his eye, earning a glare from his boss. 

You were currently in Sylus’ garage, looking for a bike to use as tonight's vehicle. Sylus had not been pleased with the idea, immediately refusing to stay behind and let you two go out alone. He’d only backed down when you’d teased him about Mephisto being more charming than him and taking you away. He’d laughed mockingly and closed the distance, lifting your chin with one finger as he leaned down. His voice was low, almost a whisper “Sweetie, I don’t think anyone else is ever gonna be able to satisfy your desires.” and then he’d kissed your cheek, his lips lingering more than necessary, before pulling away.

Now you turned to him and couldn’t help but snort, all that sass had suddenly turned into some kind of uneasiness, trailing behind you and still trying to dissuade you from going.

Narrowing his eyes, he walks closer “Care to share the reason for your good humour?” 

Not letting him have his way, you walk away from him towards the bike that had caught your eye, acting unimpressed at his attempt to corner you. “My humour is good because I get to have a date with the most interesting character in the N109 Zone.” You take your helmet that had been hanging from your elbow and put it on as you settle yourself over the motorbike. You’d agreed to drive to the entrance of the base and get Mephisto from there. The garage’s door opens in the distance. “I am the ruler of this place and you find him more interesting?”

Smiling at him, you put your visor down and start the bike, making the engine roar to life. “It’s because you rule over this place that you’re not, mafia boss.” You don’t let him react to your teasing before driving away.

Mephisto lands on your shoulder as you take off the helmet, leaving the bike parked near the beach. There was a gathering of people in the distance, a band playing indie music was giving a free concert at the fair according to your research. It was a warm summer night, you’d worn a light dress and shorts beneath it for the ride, your make up matching the pink of your dress. It didn’t matter that it was Mephisto, you wanted to give a good impression to your date companion. 

You wandered in between stalls, looking and enjoying yourself, talking to Mephisto about trivial stuff, him cawing in response every now and then. He nipped at your neck when you passed in front of one specific stall, filled with handmade jewelry and exquisite sea themed gems. 

“Oh those are so pretty, Mephi!” You exclaimed, leaning closer to get a better view. “Tell me which one you want, I’ll get it for you.” Beaming with energy, he nuzzles against the side of your face before jumping on the table. “Careful!” You send an apologetic smile to the vendor. 

“Oh don’t worry, I can see your buddy is eager to get something nice. Here,” He says, offering a box that was stashed away “these are the ones I save for people who have a good eye.” 

Mephisto peeks into the box and uses his beak to rummage inside, looking for something that might catch his eye. You see movement from the corner of your eye a few stalls away, but when you start to turn towards it Mephisto caws at you, signaling that he’s made his mind and grabs the gem with his beak. You help him choose a matching chain before paying and heading towards the restaurant you’d made the reservation at. Wind was starting to rise this close to the sea, and you make it a point to dress better next time you came regardless of the season. You rub your arms as you curse at yourself for leaving your jacket inside the bike’s compartment. 

Mephisto looks at you curiously and you smile at him, changing the topic. Announcing yourself at the door, the staff guides you to one of the outdoor tables where the view of the sea was stunning. The lights from the boats drifting in the distance contrasted with the darkness of the water, the stars shimmering in the midnight sky. Some of the other customers looked at you weirdly but you paid it no mind in favour of enjoying your company.

One of the waitresses brings over the menu, looking at Mephisto with curiosity but saying nothing about it. You’d obviously mentioned your companion for the night when making the reservation, and the staff had been kind and open about it. A sudden cold breeze makes you shiver, wondering if it would be worth it to change this beautiful scenery for a table indoors. But as soon as you see Mephisto watching the waves and the reflection of the stars in the water, as if they were pearls drifting away, you decide not to. 

The smile vanishes from your lips the moment you feel a touch on your neck, your body tensing and readying for battle. Mephisto looks over and tilts his head, his eyes gleaming.

“Aaand… you’re dead, sweetie.” With an irritated sigh, your body relaxes as you turn to look at Sylus, his expression relaxed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You shouldn’t get your guard down just because you’re having fun.” He puts a jacket over your shoulders -your jacket-, before sitting before you on the empty chair. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, but your words lack curiosity or bite, already knowing he’d been tailing you since a while ago. 

He points to Mephisto with the tip of his chin “You should ask him that, he’s the one who called me over, kitten.” 

Your eyes narrow on Mephisto and you playfully pinch his beak, your eyes then softening as you proceed to pat his head. “If you wanted us both to come, you should have said so, Meph.” 

“Caw” He flaps his wings and motions to Sylus and you with his beak. “Caw”

You laugh looking over at Sylus, his gaze warm as he watches the two of you. Your eyes meet and you stay like that for a while before Mephisto nudges your hand. 

“Caw” He says and points to your purse. 

“Right! You want to give it to him now?” Reaching inside, you take out the necklace with the gem you’d bought before. “Here.” He grabs it with his beak and jumps over to Sylus. “What is it?” Sylus says, trying to sound annoyed but failing completely. “Oh. Is it for me?” 

“Caw” You see as Sylus’ gaze softens surprisingly more as he takes the necklace offered from Mephisto’s beak, with a gentleness that leaves your heart aching.

“You should have seen the glint in his eye while he rummaged through the gems. He found something that goes with your aesthetic.” You lean your elbow over the table, your chin on your hand as you watch Sylus examine the gift. It is a deep red translucent gem, shaped like a natural heart. A delicate golden metal thread framed it, as if it were veins. The golden chain you’d chosen matched it perfectly. 

“Thanks.” Sylus says looking at Mephisto, patting his head. “You, too.” He smiles at you and you grin at him. The sea’s icy breeze disappears as your dinner unfolds, lighthearted chat and laughs filling the space around you.

When dinner’s over, the three of you head over to the shore, few people around now that the stalls have started closing down for the night. Sylus holds your sneakers with one hand, the other firmly clasped in yours, fingers intertwined. You feel the sand between your fingers, still warm from the afternoon’s sun. Mephisto suddenly flies overhead, perching on a rock further away, giving you both space. You feel Sylus’ thumb softly stroking the back of your hand before he speaks. 

“I initially refused, you know.” You look at him, knowing he’s referring to Mephisto’s invitation. He lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. As he puts it down again he looks back at you. “But he told me I shouldn’t be missing out on how beautiful your smile looked today.”

Your heart fills with warmth as you look over at Mephisto, his eyes locked on the moon. Looking back at Sylus, you say, a wide smile tugging at your lips “See? He is the most interesting character in the N109 Zone.”

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

part 2 ➡

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

[starshipsofstarlord]

divine like aged wine | daryl dixon

summary. daryl begins to feel like you will get bored of him sooner or later as he is older than you, and starting to show his age. you show him just how much that doesn’t matter, and that despite the grey hairs and looming wrinkles, that you still love him (6.2k)

warnings. smut, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, praise, slight hair pulling, insecure!daryl, older!daryl + younger!reader (reader is mid 30s, daryl is mid 50s), age gap relationship, mentions of death, angst, fluff

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The silhouette that Daryl saw in the mirror was a different man than who he had once been, he was no longer the young tracker that he was at the beginning of the outbreak. He’d aged, and there were clear staples in his appearance that made that evident. His hair was waved with its grown out length, and he carried the definition of crows feet around his eyes; his eyes that had witnessed so much misery, that had cried when he had mourned those lost.

He was bulkier, his arms held memorised muscle from his tactical efforts of taking down walkers and fighting the bad men and disastrous women that wished to cause pain in order to earn themselves power through the transpiring impact of fear. But that weight that rested either side of his torso had also brought additional huskiness to his stomach, he was no longer slender and lean like he had been when he had met you, he was a unit of the world’s making, and he was losing his appetite from looking at himself.

It would be a sin to deny the prize of food, he was aware of that, considering that in the past tense he had to survive days without consuming a meal, and you were preparing the finest dining that you could effectively make in the dim reality of the apocalypse. Years had gone by and he’d never once taken in his appearance so sullenly, but the chaos had calmed for the moment, and his thoughts were entangling in his insecure peripheral. Perhaps he could eat less, he thought to himself, understanding that there were men in better shape than him whom would risk their life to be sat at the dining table by your side.

Daryl squinted his eyes at the version of him that appeared in the bathroom mirror, the act bringing more attentive focus to the scar that ran down the left side of his face. It was on the right in the crafted glass which opposed the realistic truth, and he raised his hand to slant his fingertips against the damaged flesh. It was best for him not to turn, he was focally aware of the scars which were imbedded with cruel love upon his back’s damaged canvas. If he told himself that he was not troubled goods, he’d be lying to himself, he was imposed with the tragically acclaimed boulder of daunting tragedy casting a bland and aging shadow across his entire being.

The towel hung lowly on his wide hips, shielding the appendage that fuelled his testosterone from his own belittling view. He didn’t want to change into his everyday clothing, he’d have to discard the material that concealed half of his body and see another mound of flaws that made his heart heavier. He was lost in the time frame in which he had been discriminating his body, it had felt as though everything had been put on pause around him. But that was idly not the certified case, the soft approaching footfalls met with his ears before the door creaked to be ajar, and Daryl whipped around on the intrusion.

It was the first time that he in fact minded being interrupted following a shower by you, he’d never once flinched at your presence, and that made a light frown appear on your surprised complexion. He had been too cooped up in picking apart all the things that he did not like about his form that he had almost forgotten that you had expected him to return to you in the kitchen, and he felt surreally guilty that you had walked in on him during such a disappointing moment. “Is everything alright Daryl?” Your tone made it clear that you were concerned, and that emotion was only emphasised when he drew his gaze to the floor.

As he did so he realised that even his feet had scuffs and blisters on them, and he felt repulsed. He was attuned with the morals that he followed, but he hated the capsule of flesh that he was trapped in whilst he routinely kept somehow striving onwards. Before there had hardly been a moment where he could ponder on all the things that he despised of himself, but now there was, he realised that he had a dislike towards everything that his body had grown into. “‘m fine.” His words were not convincing, Daryl did not give you the chance however to get a conforming answer, he strode out of the bathroom, gripping his towel around himself with tight fingers as he fled from your view.

You stood there in your lonely and confusedly adjourned suffering, misunderstanding the cold attitude you had seemingly earned. All you had clambered the stairs to find Daryl was so that you could inform him that supper was ready, but he had slunk away into your bedroom, taking up the efforts of closing said door behind his retreat. Your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared into the mirror, your saddened reflection gazing tiredly at you, feeling fruitless in your attempts to make the man that you loved happy. Maybe he had fallen out of love with you, you thought with solemn afflictions, knowing that if he had it would still be impossible to hate him.

The behaviour that Daryl was displaying was strange, and you felt as though you were the root for the cause, especially since he had been aiming his attention in any direction but you. With a shaky sigh you ran your hands through your hair, tidying up the frizzed strands that had moved on their own accord from the heat of the stove. Spite boiled up inside of you as you saw your first mere strand of grey, however you held it in, shaking your head softly as you realised that there were bigger problems in the current world than your own appearance. You were in your mid thirties, making you roughly twenty years more youthful than your lover.

It had never been a problem before, your age that was, it had barely come up in conversation. With a surrender towards Daryl wishing to be left alone, you trudged back down the stairs, eating your meal by yourself and enclosing the portion that you had spared for him in a tupperware container, assuming that he would venture downstairs to eat it later. But later never came, the house remained indignantly silent and still throughout the falling dusk, and you twiddled your fingers with nerves. He needed some time to mull whatever was racketing through his brain over, and you wanted to give that to him, and so you pulled a blanket onto the couch, deciding that was where you were to lay your head tonight.

Dog curled up on your midsection, and you ran a numb hand along his back, ruffing up the fur and then smoothing it down. He was nuzzled atop of you, his chin curled in the crook of your neck, gifting you with more warmth than the blanket with. The company of the loyal canine made you feel a tad better from the distantness that Daryl had treated you with, your brain mulled over the situation as you drifted out of consciousness, feeling dread for the approaching morning. You would discover the rouse that was clouding Daryl's brain, and aid him in fixing whatever was broken within it. As you closed your eyes and drifted off, you were oblivious to Daryl's presence descending down the stairs.

The bowman watched your peaceful slumber without disturbing you, his weapon of standard choice draped over his shoulder with its leather strap. He felt guilty leaving the house in the night when you were asleep, but he found solace in clearing his head through the art of hunting. To be outside the walls was something that he had always favoured, and whilst this was his home and so were you, he was aware that he was in dire need to screw his head on straight. It wasn’t fair for him to take his toll of insecurity out on you, and guilt bubbled within him from his sudden exit from the bathroom previously.

He was now draped in his outdoor wear, the same damming boots slung on his feet that had given him those gnarly blisters. There was no time for rest, he thought solemnly, it would only enforce the fact that he was growing older in your mind, and that wasn’t how he wanted you to picture him. He wanted to be the lean, protective redneck that he once was, the one that you had met during the outbreak. There was a dwindling twine of sadness that harboured within him, there was no situation where he could go back into the far past, he’d been too preoccupied with searching for a future in which you would all survive that he hardly had a chance to glance backwards.

But now the calm of the storm had set, he had that opportunity, and he resented the journey that had drifted him into the arms of safety. Your arms would be the angelic wings that would console him, but admitting his insecurities would only damage the exterior that he had built up throughout the difficult years. His age was the threat that grabbed with ferocity at his throat, with each passing 365 days his body was now growing weaker, slowing down only had the capability of enforcing the democratic, virtuous stance of becoming a senior citizen.

He wished to bend down and press a featherlight kiss to the brim of your forehead before he departed, though he would be swindled with repenting guilt if he were to wake you, and so he plodded by his lonesome out the front door, Dog watching his fleeing footsteps with one eye open. The weight that pressed infinitely down onto his shoulders did not lessen as he stalked away, his eyes were withdrawn from anything that he could fixate on, he was relevantly seeking out a distraction in his mind. There was a subdued ache in his knee, and he had gotten used to the afflicting discomfort despite it making him feel eons older. He assured that the door closed with nothing more than the click of the flattened hinge, and Dog's ears pricked up from the sound, though he remained across your torso.

The sonnet of chorusing crickets rattled their legs against their emerald wings outdoors, the symphonised ruckus leading you to peel your eyes open. It was still fairly early in the morn, the dawning sunbeams casting shapes and dusty shadows across the wooden floorboards. Dog remained atop of you, groaning with a tiresome tone as you shuffled beneath him, removing yourself from the horizontal position that you had slept in so that you could simply be seated on the aged couch. You felt disdained, there was an enveloping silence in the house, and as you drifted your gaze over to the front door, you could only release a defeated sigh. Whilst the door remained in its closed state, the scarred boots that fit Daryl's feet and his companioning crossbow had vanished from their placements.

Daryl had left. Left you and your home to find the flavour of solace elsewhere, and you were conveyed with regretful sadness; you should have assured him that he was able to open up to you, followed him earnestly until you were assured that he was fine. The youngest Dixon was the man that you had heartedly fallen for, and whilst the deterrences that he had faced had impacted him, he was still the one that you loved. With shaky hands you brushed your knuckles under your eyes, refraining any tearful emotion from sloping down your face in the form of beaded salt. There was something the matter, and it was upon you in dutiful position to uncover what it was.

You remained seated, Dog beside you as you waited and waited. However your head instantaneously whipped to the side as you heard the door moan to be ajar, and watched as Daryl entered your home with the look of failure written in irritated scripture on his face. He’d been out hunting, it was clear from his attire and stance, however there was no game strung to his belt loops, it was starved from any prey. Daryl dared not glance at you, despite how besotted with you he was - he just wasn’t good enough, those words repeatedly whirled in his brain like a thorn stuck in his side. This time though, you were not going to let the silence create a divided space between the both of you, and so you stood, and crossed the entry way into the living space. Dog retreated from his seating, first going over to greet Daryl before excusing himself, no doubt going to rest on your bed in peace.

“Talk.” The command was missing the pressure that the word often enforced by it, instead your tone was as light as a feather, it brushed across his ears in a gentle caress that tickled his senses, and you hoped that it did not provoke his problem once more. You reached out with your palm, holding his jaw with sweet exasperation as you angled his irises to connect the dots with your own. “Whatever the matter is D, communicate it with me. I’m here to listen, it’s give and take in this relationship, so don’t, for the love of god, do not shut me out.” He wasn’t going to back away this time, the sigh that he released with fruitless despair stated as much. Even though he was evading direct eye contact, he licked his dry lips as he began to speak, his sentence breaking your heart into helpless smithereens.

“I’m gettin’ old, sunshine, an’ one of these days, you’re gonna get bored of me.” There was a somber cast across his blue paned irises, derived from his prevailing insecurities that gripped him suffocatingly tight. “An’ that’s alrigh’ if yer do, I get it. Jus’ wanna be with ya fer as long as I can.” The rolling pebble of emotion drifted down his waterline, despite the irony of him leaving to hunt. Perhaps it was his sorrowful minded thinking of lessening the blow on himself of the departure that would inhibit him from losing you, though his brain’s protective coping mechanisms were righteously silly, as you had not once had the intention of ever abandoning Daryl, and you never would.

“We’re all aging honey,” you proclaimed, copiously understanding that the toll in which your partner was experiencing were enhanced due to him being your elder age wise. But since the beginning of the outbreak, none of you were as youthful as you had began your walker killing journey on, and since being induced with every inkling of distasteful grievances that outlined your persons, you certainly all appeared older than your first scuff of survival. “And that is definitely not a flaw; we’ve lived through years of shit that has been thrown out of blue at us, and we are the ones who have lived through it. You are still Daryl Dixon, the man that I love and will always love. Your age does not define what you mean to me, and it never will. I have fought my ass off to remain beside you, and there is nobody, nobody else that I would rather have settled down with. We aren’t young any more, and there’s nothing wrong with that, we’ve grown older together, and I intend to grow even older with you until our last days.”

Daryl was possessed by speechlessness, his tongue felt like it was trapped by the sharp indent of a pin that held it to the bottom of his mouth, he was strongly relieved that was your point of your view on his mental qualms, though there were still some sirens springing a constant, nightmarish lullaby in his head. “Bu’-“ He felt as though his insistent problems may irritate you after your consoling speech, and he did not want to rouse the need for your forgiveness in the air. But he could not in-debt himself with remaining quiet now, not since he had opened his worrisome rambling heart up to you. “You still attracted ta me though? I’ve got all those ol’ scars, an’ I’ve got wrinkles now, an’ I ain’t as fast on my feet as I used ta be.”

“Daryl, honey.” You braced your hands on the same biceps that were often once flaunted by his torn sleeveless flannels, holding him steady as you leant your face closer, the tips of your noses tapping against each other. “None of that makes you any less beautiful to me, it shows that you have survived an eerily long time, and I cherish anything that you see as a flaw in yourself. Because to me, you don’t have any flaws, sure sometimes there’s decisions you make that I don’t agree with, but we all do things in the spur of the moment. And in no moment will I up and leave you for a singular reason, as there is nothing that you could do or have upon your flesh that could ease everything that I feel toward you.” You words were viper sharp with passion, and in the midst of your sentimental wording, your bodies had drawn against one another, in the proximity that you never took advantage of. Just being close to Daryl was a gift, there was a whim of it being the last time, and so you made sure that you made the most of it.

“I love you woman, more than I ever thought I could.” He traced the outline of your form with comforted serenity, his hands picked your own in the clasp of his unshackled wrists, as his thumbs stroked across the back of them. “An’ there ain’ nothin’ that could stop me from worshippin’ ya. Yer sweeter than those nasty berries that you and Maggie planted, an’ more peaceful than watching the river brush over itself.” His face lowered, as he nudged the hair out of your adoration filled expression, kissing you with vigorous need. You participated with as much necessity, as you breathed heavily through your nose for oxygen access. Your body was endorsed by the coursing adrenaline that travelled within your veins, your heart was palpitating uncontrollably in your chest from the premise of a sexual endeavour with the only man in the world that you were so enamoured with.

Releasing his hands, you gripped his locks, tugging at the rooted strands as Daryl cupped your waist with sensual desire. Your mouths were copiously in sync, moulded together in blissful animosity, as you devoured every inch of controllable humanity that rested in your skeletal bodies. He moaned into your mouth as you gave one last defying tug to the brunette strands attached to his scalp, before your fingers inadvertently danced with poisoned temptation upon the metal buckle of his belt. You laughed lightly as you gave yourselves a momentous breath from locking lips, as you unshackled the entrapment that encircled his waist, allowing the combination of metal and leather to fall to the ground. “Boots off too?” You enquired, and Daryl smiled, loving how well you knew him, the blisters were excruciating although he had masked the biting pain whilst you were orally entangled in arousing physicality.

“Yeah.” He smiled, his cheekbones becoming brightly prominent during the emphasis of his lips; with you he felt truly happy, more so now that he knew that you accepted him with age riddling his entirety. “Take ‘em off sunshine.” His tone was as smooth as a block of farmhouse butter, and you were attuned to the fact that he was not referring to his tattered footwear. With the tasking tips of your fingertips, you drew down the teeth of his zipper on the jeans that he wore, descending the metal partition lower until the top of his trailed abdomen was exposed, and the tough denim became looser around his waist. The coil of starving lust swirled around in your stomach as you shimmied the hugging fabric lower until his precum ebbed length sprung up from its aroused state. He needed this, and you, and whilst he often had the preference of being the giver in these situations, he was captivated with the notion of being the centre of your devoted attention.

Daryl always looked out for others, it was a loyal tendency that he hadn’t ever relinquished, and he felt proud with you being the focal point of his priorities, though it was admittedly nice for him to feel cherished by your body and mind. His hips surprisedly jolted as you wrapped your hand around the thick girth of his cock, the contact causing an array of hormones to shoot out from the core of his apocalyptic designed being. Air rasped in puffs inwards and outwards from his mouth as you stroked him, your motions being made up from slow and teasing intentions. You wanted him to feel like he was about to burst, he had to feel alive, which was the most important part of surviving as if there was no other time to breathe a last breath. The tip of his cock was a deep hue of pink like a well gardened rose petal, precum leaking from the slit at the very top.

Daryl’s arousal rarely was as apparently throbbing in the visual aspect department in comparison to the present; his length would usually already been sheathed within one of your pleasurable spots, such as your mouth or cunt. Patience was not a virtue to either one of you, however you wished to admire every inch of his ridged flesh, as its weight was balanced in perfect disposition upon your palm. The desire to taste his supple flesh was crawling down your spine in a stoking manner, causing bumps of paralleled anticipation to outline the shape of your vulnerable human skin. You were salivating, the moisture wafted around your tongue as you leant closer to Daryl’s shaft, the swelling waiting time lessening as you opened your mouth to take his length within its oral capacity.

“F-fuck.” His accented whisper was strewn ruggedly out from his lips as he bit stubbornly at his bottom one from the sensations that raptured his soul that had felt weakened by the clouding insecurities that bereaved any whisper of judgment into a contorted flaw which made him significantly lesser than he had once been. The feeling of your supple lips gliding down his length and towards the base of his wide cock made his mind become clouded from the affects of euphoria, it was a paradise of escape from the qualms that he often faced, and he was physically too weak to push your head away from his most personal area of his form. The large tip finally reached the back of your throat, and you swallowed down the instinct to gag, instead forcing your body’s primal limitations to continue applying pleasure to the man that you so wholly adored.

This was to be about him, and you found it to be your own duty to ensure it remained so, stretching your tongue out from beneath the heavenly weight of his cock to stroke farther down the parts of his shaft that you couldn’t quite accommodate to fit into your mouth. Your cheeks ached in a delightful way as your lips were stretched around his width, and you had to focus your breathing through your nostrils as there was no route for airflow to make passage through your mouthful of him. In a gentle notion, one of your hands found purchase around his balls, lightly stroking the skin to grant the man that you called your own more pleasure.

Sweat framed his brow, glistening beneath the dim lighting as it trickled upon his temples, his teeth gnawing frustratedly upon his bottom lip, peeling at the blood flushed flesh. This was the solace he needed, not the sexual advances of your warm, wet mouth, though he wasn’t to to complain about your heavenly lips, but you in your entirety, accepting and loving him as the same. It had riddled him with an anxiety that had rattled his bones throughout thinking that he was naught enough, contorting his mindset into one of wallowing in silence and submission that he never would be.

He was attained to wearing his flaws unto his sleeve, although you had finally brought silence to the insistent pacing of his mind. And though his body was tensed, it was for an alternative reason, as he fought off the inexplicable ending that his body would succumb to with a physical release. The motive to vanquish all tension from his body was upon him, barrelling through his veins in strokes of pleasure as your tongue danced over his sensitive flesh, but he relented, taking mouthfuls of air as he staved off from surrendering to emptying his seed into your mouth.

You were intoxicated by the careless sonnets that ripped out from his chest, they were almost that of a beast than a man. He was becoming feral, you could feel as much as his sack tightened, ready to spend all that lay within. But surprise chortled you as Daryl leant decisively backwards, pushing your head away from his nethers attentively, grasping lovingly at the line of your jaw. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?” You spoke now that your mouth was vacant of his length, ogling up at him with eyes that adored to take in his appearance, not only in moments like this.

Everything felt better now that you had consoled him with the assurance that you had no intentions of abandoning him in the now nor future, and he wanted to repay your kindness with his own actions, that too would bring him a simple man’s sin of gluttonous pleasure. He lightly pulled you up by your arms, bringing you closer to his height, his lips flush from the rotation of blood in his body that you had caused. “Nah.” Daryl answered, eyes trailing across each curve that shaped your figure with his heart practically in his throat. “Not a single thing, jus’ need ta be inside ya sunshine.”

It would be the most secure embrace that would ground him to his very core, a haven from all the shit that surrounded the both of you. Times like this reminded Daryl that the difference in age between the both of you in fact was not crucial, though sometimes it did numb his mind with it as a distraction. He pulled you to him, laying you delicately on the couch as though you may break, because you were fragile, but not in the literal sense he knew. There was nothing in the world that he cherished more than you, you were his slice of peace in the fucked up reality that you both endured, and he would be damned if he cracked any mental or physical attribute that your soul attained.

You resumed your battle of tongues, playfully biting his bottom lip that stirred an animosity within him, driving him forwards to clamber over your body, pressing himself closely to you, but it was still not close enough. His hands slithered downwards, pulling with uncoordinated vigour at your pants, appreciating the aid you granted him with removing them. He was consumed by his supple lust, a man hungered for the need to be connected with the woman who he loved. All that remained was your panties that concealed you from him, and he had little patience to toy with them.

And so he tore them from your hips, the cotton splitting in two from his lack of restraint, a half in each hand which he discarded on the floor, having peeled away all of the layers that kept your sex hidden from his gaze and touch. His digits could not resist in feeling the slick that had gathered upon your core, created from the image of him lost in his pleasure. It astounded him that your attraction to him could make you so drenched, practically lathered in a river of lust; even if he was aging you found him to be as beautiful as a deity, weathered by survival but still regarded among the gods. Though he didn’t see it, and you did, there was no other man remaining in the world that was like him, he was a perished breed of human that remained on the earth. A survivor, hardened by time but continually fighting for the beliefs that formed layers around his soul.

“Stop teasing Daryl. I thought you needed to be inside me.” His previous words spat desperately from your tongue, as you regarded him with an impatience to feel all of him. It was merely torturous waiting to feel every inch of him within your cunt, even as he adjusted himself, taking a grasp of his shaft and angling it to slide down to your entrance that was yearning to be stretched open by his length. He sung a groan out as he felt how much your body desired him against the tip of his cock, he wanted to bury himself within your heavenly warmth and become doused in the comfort that the tightness of you wrapped around him allowed him to surrender to.

His movement was slow yet backboned with intent as he pushed into you, breathing out a strung out breath that had built in his chest for far too long. He had felt inflicted by the consciousness of his wilting appearance the last handful of times that you had made love together, and he had hidden that voice. It had been imprisoned in the corners of his mind, and he had tried with determination to push it away but it had not yielded. But all he had required to dull the commenting thoughts that digressed his own body was you to pour your adoration onto him despite the flaws that he resented. “Fuuuuck.”

The tone of his voice was gravelly, stripped down by the raw emotion that he felt. Your nails imbedded themselves into his shoulder blades, sketching crescent moons into his clothed flesh as your head sank deeper into the seating of the couch. A moan was strangled out from your throat from the pleasure that sparked in your midsection as he pushed deeper into you, until he was filling you with his entirety. “You feel so- fuck, fucking good baby.” The praise that you bestowed upon Daryl lit him up like a flame, a depraved hunger danced behind his eyes like burning embers. From your words, he leaned back, his hands on either side of your head and pulled back, only to push straight back into your pussy, bringing both of you ample pleasure.

There was nothing that could compare to being so close to the man that raked his hips to pivot against your own, his pace building as the explosions of ecstasy transcended between your bodies like a cycled blood transfusion. Not a single thing. Each movement was an act of pristine intimacy, a link that blessed your vessels with the passion of having the ability to be so vividly close to one another. “So do you s-sunshine.” Daryl hissed out, having forgone thinking about a singular qualm that had blinded his perception of how lucky he was in this reality. He had survived this far, and not only that, but you had too, giving you the chance of a life together throughout the maelstrom like carnage that had changed the entire planet for eternity.

He felt his tongue become drowned by the gruff noises that it permitted to leave him, responding to each whimper and keen and moan that released from your parted, panting lips. His brow bone was tense with a frown put together by focus, as he stared down at your face, pride swelling in his chest as he had the knowledge that it was him giving you rolling waves of pleasure to spin uncontrollably throughout your veins. Your arousal coated him, making it far more easier to slide in and out of your succulent walls, they parted for him each time from the accustomed entry that you always granted him. He knew that he never had to worry about another man being in his position, he couldn’t imagine it, and nor could you from the blissful contortion that rested heavily and without care on your features.

“Getting close Dar.” The information was heaved out from puffs of air, your lips mindlessly moving even when words were not falling from them. Daryl too could feel the oncoming tide of his own release, it crept up on him like a hunting predator, staving off the kill until the prime opportunity presented itself. There was plenty of things that he was still not certain of in this world, but one that he was sure of was that he was going to ensure that you came first - as he always did. Daryl’s body continued to move, spinning the room out of focus for your eyes as he continued his motions, staggering his pace just a little, but not too much so that the looming of your high would not collapse and crumble.

Your legs bound themselves strictly around his waist, your teeth clenching as spots swayed in your vision, peppering the sight of the man fucking you with pixels of black and grey. He had you where he wanted you, topping over the edge of your orgasm as it transpired around you like an aura. He thought selfishly that he was pleased that no other soul had witnessed you appear so distracted, you were always on guard when out of the confines of your home, aware that the unexpected could traipse upon you at any second that it desired. “You getting there?” Too fucked out to form full sentences, you tangled your hands in his hair, and that seemed to pull the trigger within him.

The sound of your name escaped Daryl’s lips as he buried his head into the safety of your throat, spreading little kisses against your skin as his tension dissolved. Ropes of his seed spilled within you, filling your core as he remained inside, small, almost inaudible whimpers leaving him. You pressed your lips to the crown of his head as you brought your arms around him, cocooning him in the afterglow that you shared. He remained there for minutes longer, composing himself before he removed himself from your cunt, falling beside you on the couch that was too small for most, but for the both of you was as cozy as it could get. “Thank you sunshine.” Daryl murmured as he brought you closer to be resting against his body, and you stifled a chuckle at the doziness that had befallen him

“You don’t have to thank me for sex.” Your eyes rolled, but the archer shook his head of brown locks, his hand angling around you to raise your face to meet your his own, your lips meeting in a delicately languid kiss. His fingertips traced the line of your jaw, his heart swimming with leaps of love for you and only you. Daryl was a good man, he knew that he tried his best to be, however he was delirious with how you saw him. Not everyone would find him to be a diamond in a pile of cracked rocks, but here you were, always caressing his scars with care, and reminding him that he was allowed to be loved. A long, long time ago he wouldn’t have believed that he would have someone that stood by him through everything, let alone the silent battles ongoing in his mind. You had your own opinions, and you depicted them outright, always giving him time to himself when it was required, and as soon as there was a place to console him, putting yourself in it.

“Not fer tha’, for everythin’.” He thought of his life with you, and he could not have been more appreciative of it. It was never going to be perfect, you were both humans fighting to live in a world that wished to eradicate your species, but there were moments to be cherished when you were not trying to protect yourselves. Daryl wanted to kick himself for even attempting to protect himself from; it was foolish on his part, but you always managed to understand his mindset. That was one of the very many reasons as to why he loved you, and he could not voice it enough as he remained curled up with you, basking in the mortal emoting of the love that you held dearly for one another. He was aging, and he had hated it, but he despised it far less now that you had brought a light that only you could give to the natural process that was weaving through each of you, reminding him of the normality of it.