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an-idyllic-novelist · 8 months

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dark schenider with shinobu!reader headcanons

Warnings: ooc, violence, KNY manga spoilers, Bastard!! anime season two spoilers, mentions of night-terrors and PTSD.

If you are not comfortable reading this type of story, please push the back button and read something more pleasant.

Hey guys, welcome to the fluffier version of the yandere headcanons, featuring the handsome, arrogant wizard Dark Schneider of the Netflix's anime series Bastard!! Heavy Metal, Dark Fantasy and the character!reader who is Shinobi Kocho from the beloved world of Demon Slayer aka Kimetsu no Yaiba! The link to them will be here.

Special thanks to @anniespostssworld for helping me bounce back ideas and scenarios that would work best for these headcanons, so this dedicated to them and to all of the other fellow Bastard!! fans.

If you haven't seen either of these shows, I highly recommend them as to me, they are well worth watching and give me a good laugh after a particularly long day at work. Please bear in mind that Bastard!! might not be suited for everyone and does have some moments that may not be ideal for photosensitive viewers.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy this ride of heavy metal, magic, and blossoming romance :)

PART TWO

Yoko was starting to worry about you. These last two years hiding in A-Ian-Maide haven’t been easy. Between training and helping the samurai fight back against the Dark Rebel Army, the high priestess barely had time to herself but she did care about you. You and Lucien, that is. If she was lucky, she would see you in the compound’s dining hall or holed up in the medical wing treating patients with that small, patient smile of yours.

Still….she couldn’t help thinking you were actively avoiding her too.

Could it be…that you still carried the guilt of what happened in Meta-llicana in your heart? Is that also why you have been training too? Trying to hone your swordsmanship and expand medical knowledge to the point where Joshua has carried you in his arms, collapsed from utter exhaustion?

How could you even think like that when the downfall of the kingdom wasn’t even your fault? Is that why you looked like you haven’t been sleeping well?

You were being suffocated again. The flowery cologne was the only thing you could smell, tinged with the coppery undertone of your own blood as strong, cold arms held you close to a man whom you despised with your entire being. Douma. Douma, the cult leader who had devoured his followers as a way of showing them true enlightenment even when he didn’t believe in the gods or the afterlife. Douma, the monster who murdered Kanae and drove you to the point of twisting your body’s organs with high concentrations of wisteria poison for an entire year. Douma…the person who had embraced you in your final moments, your ninichrin blade sticking through his chest as he absorbed you, declaring that you were his strongest opponent and his love for you under the same disgusting breath.

Go to hell!

That was the last thing you said to that rotten bastard before you lost consciousness. You would soon be found by the High Priest Geo Noto Soto in a sea of blood and blade fragments….and the rest, as they say, is history. And then the fall of Meta-llicana. Your current, precarious situation.

But why are you here again, trapped in Douma’s arms and listening to the same words, feeling the pain from your battle with him as if the gods took delight in seeing this macabre play rehearsed over and over? Is this truly someone’s idea of a joke? Or….is it a reminder that no matter how hard you tried….you cannot save everyone? That the hours you had dedicated to nurse warriors back to health, to reading medical texts until late hours of the night and getting stronger….it will never be enough?

You wiggled in the demon’s arms, snarling and writhing as you felt yourself being sucked into his body. No. Your mind was racing, heart pounding against your ribcage No, you are still alive. You’re alive, and so was Yoko, and Lucien! You tried to help them! You tried to help the knights evaluate the citizens of Meta-llicana before rushing to help the others fight against Abigail!

“Who said you could be forgiven?” An icy hiss ticked your ear. “Who said you could live when others had died that day? If anything, you deserved to die, not them. You have and always will be the weakest Hashira of them all.”

Frustrated tears began to swell in the back of your eyes as a sob lodged in your throat but damn it all you refused to let it crawl up and be released into the air for this bastard to see your moment of weakness, even if this is all an illusion.

You are the Insect Hashira, and you will always be ready to lay your life on the line for the people you cherished, past and present. Just as these words echoed in your mind, you felt someone else’s arms coil around your hips. With a hard yank, you were pulled away from Douma’s body and then…you were free. Weightless, boundless, floating in a bright white space that you no longer recognize as part of the Infinity Castle’s lotus pier.

That was when you felt warm fingers lightly caress the top of your head, calloused pads brushing against your clammy skin. The hand did not belong to someone you knew; it was gentle, cautious, and even a little scared. It’s as if the person was trying to comfort you, but was afraid of your reaction.

You immediately thought of Kanae, and that was when the dam in your mind broke. The tears easily spill out of your closed eyes, followed by an anguished wail that causes more tears to slide down your face. Finally….finally you can let everything out, to be weak for just a moment. In this moment of vulnerability, the hand became two, then stretched to muscular arms that enclosed your body in a warm embrace.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now, nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.”

Dark Schneider is the greatest wizard in the entire universe with a limitless arsenal of magic at his command. He hadn’t expected, however, that he had nearly depleted his magical reserves in the fight against Abigail. What little remained after the Helloween spell was used to perform two spells at the same time: resurrection of the fallen ones, and teleportation. In his case, he had made sure Yoko and [First Name] had gotten as far away from the kingdom as possible before it was destroyed, and he regressed back into the recesses of Lucien’s mind.

Two years. It took him this long to restore the magic he had lost into his body as he had no other choice but to let his weaker half take control. Last year, about six months after Meta-llicana’s destruction, he finally woke up…and saw the world through Lucien’s eyes. Sleeping for that long left him drowsy, so hearing Yoko’s voice after being surrounded by silence for so long should have been a blessing. And it was, though the dark wizard wasn’t exactly glad to be on the receiving end of her abrasive attitude, again. Granted she did take care of him as Lucien for as long as he could remember; fed him, made sure he ate and did his fair share of the chores, and so on.

Is it really necessary to always hit him as soon as she thought he was being a disgusting pervert as the handsome, bad-ass Dark Schneider or sighed in exasperation, wishing that he would grow more of a backbone as Lucien?

Quite frankly, he’s surprised himself for being so patient with her, and this is only the second season of the anime. He really thought she was his woman, the one who was worthy of bearing his children in the far, distant future once he had conquered the world. But now that he’s had all the time in the world to think…he doesn’t feel that way anymore. If anything, his feelings for Yoko had simmered to the affection towards an annoying older sibling who thinks they know you better than everyone or can boss you around just because they ‘raised you’.

And he never went past first base with Sean Ari or Kai Harn, so far as he’s concerned, he’s been a saintly hero in this show.

Even thinking about the women at this base, all who were actually quite attractive in their own way, felt wrong when the image of [First Name]’s pinched smile flashed across his vision. And it’s been like that for a while now.

[First Name] may not possess the powers of a cleric, a highborn status or trained rigorously under Kai in the art of the Hariken Slashing Implosion swordsmanship, she did treat others with respect and kindness as Yoko did, and a bit more. She even provided medical aid to people who had once been an enemy.

But above being a good-hearted apothecary and an exceptional swordswoman, the Insect Hashira adored Lucien. She loved his weaker self, and respected Dark Schneider. She never tried to control either of them, instead giving them attention and praising them for doing a good job. She never raised her voice at him, and occasionally snuck some candy to him behind Yoko’s back.

[First Name] Kocho loved Yoko Tia Noto too, in her own way…though she had almost attacked the high priestess in the middle of a night-terror just a few nights ago. Yoko naively went to check on the apothecary when she heard screams coming from [First Name]’s room and instead got pinned to the bed with a knife to her throat.

Yoko forgave [First Name], but [First Name] could not forgive herself. She threw herself more into her work; spending hours in the medical wing’s laboratories to create a poison strong enough to destroy three different types of demi-humans, including a paralyzing agent that would require just a small dose to knock down an ogre, or sparring with the samurai until late at night. Skipping meals periodically became a habit, and now rumor has it that she hasn’t slept in her own room since the supply runners had come back grievously injured after an encounter with one of the Shogun Sorcerers.

Scowling in Lucien’s form, Dark Schneider snuck out of his room and headed towards the medical ward. He had a silent agreement with his weaker self: under the condition that his intentions are only to ensure [First Name] did not keel over from overexhaustion when Yoko was too busy with being on the frontlines with the samurai, the wizard would take control but he still needed to use Lucien’s quirks so the cleric didn’t get suspicious of them.

It did not take him that long to arrive there, stealthy evading the samurai stationed for night-time patrol in the hideout. Dark Schenider quickly found his woman thrashing on one of the empty beds, eyes closed and hands clawing at the sheets, tears running down her face.

He gritted his teeth. Damn it. He cautiously approached the side of the bed just as [First Name] suddenly curled into a small ball, clutching the sides of her head. He might’ve raised Arshes and Kall-Su, but they never came to him when they had nightmares, nor did he ever really care unless Arshes wouldn’t leave his room until he allowed her to sleep in his bed for the night. That was then, this is now.

Would just holding her even make a difference, when he had no idea why she was having night-terrors and she never breathed a word about it? How’s she supposed to take care of anyone when she can’t even take care of herself? Idiot. He thought. Still, he had to try something. He brought a pillow and blanket with him, so Yoko wouldn’t think twice if she sees him, Lucien, curled up with [First Name] because it’s happened before in the past.

Sucking in a deep breath, Dark Schneider removed his shoes and climbed fully into the mattress, laying the pillow down first before covering himself and [First Name] with the blanket.

The reincarnated wizard then began to stroke the top of her head with his hand, softly whispering words into her ear before a choked sob left her mouth, followed by more tears that he wiped away with his thumb. When he saw her breath begin to slow and deepen, he daringly lowered his down to her side, alternately between patting and rubbing the Hashira’s trembling frame until she relaxed under his touch.

Her frown soon morphed into a tiny, content smile as she sighed softly. Dark Schneider was about to leave and let his woman get the sleep she needed until she leaned forward, placing her head on his small chest, an arm loosely wrapped around his waist.

No, his face was not burning and no, his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribs. The great Dark Schneider isn’t some innocent maiden in love! He’s just here for [First Name] because it’s been decided that she will become his future queen in a world he’ll one day conquer…and the only woman who is worthy enough to bear his children.

Against his better judgment Dark Schneider leaned forward, pressing his lips against the crown of [First Name]’s head before hugging her close to his smaller body. That was the last thing he remembered when sleep claimed his drowsy mind.

[Part Two, anyone? 😉]

Taglist:

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#an idyllic novelist #bastard anime #bastard 2022 #dark schneider #dark schneider x reader #bastard!!#shinobu!reader #fluffy headcanons #comfort headcanons #hurt and comfort #cw grief #cw death #cw ptsd #cw nightmares #tw grief #tw death #tw ptsd #tw nightmares #x reader headcanons

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redd956 · 11 months

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Whump Prompt List: Medieval Era (Middle Ages)

CW: Historical Violence, PTSD, Blood

Veteran whumpee hearing the sound of metal clang, and promptly having a PTSD attack

Being dropped from the walls of a high castle after being injured or sick for way too long

An arrow flying through a slit in whumpee's armor

Whumper going to an apothecary with a great big grin on their face, smiling at all the possible new concoctions they could choose from

Blood letting

Being exiled into the desert, thick forests at night, or out into the arctic. Whumpee has nothing, no one, and most definitely cannot go back

Whumpee lying half-dead, surrounded by fellow armored bodies, covered in a mixture of blood and mud

Caretaker finding a knight from an unidentified group in their stables, at first they were going to alert the local authorities, but now staring at how slumped over the figure is, they're having second thoughts

Knight whumpee swears that they're fine, but Caretaker sees the blood seeping out of the neck of the helmet

Caretaker returned home long ago to find their hometown ransacked by Vikings, now they've met another destroyed town with an equally devastated whumpee

Being stabbed with a sword

Merchant whumpee running out of food halfway through their travels

Stranded in the ocean, clinging to a piece of driftwood

Unknown whumpee being forced to reveal their identity, taking off their helmet

Caretaker spies a knight in the distance finally losing their strength, and falling off their horse

Being ran over by horses

Caretaker tracing their fingers over whumpee's back, feeling over thick scars caused by whippings

Infection, sickness, or similar with no modern medicine there to help

#whump prompt list #historical whump #whump #whump prompts #whump prompt #cw violence #cw ptsd #whump stuff

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peachsayshi · 6 months

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I constantly think about the after effects of what the shibuya incident does to nanami when he makes it out alive. like, the man definitely develops ptsd from the experience.

#jjk manga spoilers #cw ptsd #like he lost his eye and nearly his life that night #almost didn't live to spend the rest of his days with you #he wakes up in the middle of the night covered in sweat #he suffers form panic attacks #he's fighting this battle while still trying to hold on to being the strong composed husband you married #only you can see how much it chips away at him #he's so good at hiding it from everyone else #you have to enlist shoko for him #staying right by his side to help him through it </3 #jjk angst #nanami angst #*enlist shoko to help him

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lady-phasma · 13 days

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Happiness at the end of the world

Chapter 3 of ?

Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; this is really different than anything I have ever shared on Tumblr before - it's fluffy and has lots of feelings and quite a few warnings; Smut, Not Canon Compliant, PTSD, mentions of past SA, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, p in v sex, ultra-Light Dom/sub

Summary a/n: I'm terrible at summaries, it's just more fluffy smutty stuff like chapter 2. No beta. 4.5k words.

Kristina scrubbed her eyes with her fists and squinted at the sun light. They had fallen asleep, possibly overslept. Thankfully neither of them had a run planned. Daryl might have work detail, she wasn’t sure, but she had the day off. He would probably need to take Dog out soon. She yawned as silently as she could manage, not wanting to wake Daryl yet. She was surprised to find she had fallen asleep naked. He was still wearing his jeans. He was barely snoring but the soft sound made her smile. She snuggled in close to his side. One of his arms was flung above his head, the other draped across his chest. She put her head close to his arm pit, indulging in the guilty pleasure of how wonderful he smelled, embarrassed even though only she knew. She thought she might not care if he did know, he would probably like that she liked it. She curled next to him, took a deep breath, and slipped her hand under his on his chest.

He stirred just a bit, one eye opening to assess the interruption, then he swept his arm down and crushed her into his side. She smiled against his skin. The illusion of being small with him would never get old. She let her mind wander and relished being here, in the moment, no urgency. She savored it. Her thoughts drifted through the sleepy fog of memories from the previous night. She was more satisfied than she had been in years. She watched his stomach as he breathed, the sunlight from the window highlighting a few scars and fine blond hairs. It took all of her willpower to resist the impulse to touch them, move her palm over and down his stomach. The waist of his jeans was low on his hips, revealing the darker hair just below his bellybutton. Of course she noticed the bulge in his jeans. Her mouth watered. She suspected it wasn’t a particularly comfortable way to sleep.

Her lazy thoughts drifted through things she would like to do with him, to him, back to their present arrangement, and then to coffee. It was a luxury she had long ago learned to live without but this morning felt so normal, so like before, that she could almost smell the dark roast in the French press. An impromptu fantasy formulated in her mind’s eye of a world without walkers, Daryl in her bed in her last apartment. Laying with him on a Saturday maybe, windows open to let in the cool spring morning air. The smell of him, coffee, clean sheets, and the anticipation of toothpaste combined into a snapshot that made her a little melancholy. She let the thought of toothpaste guide her back to the present and wondered if he had any. He probably did, he had the basics most of the time.

She wriggled from under his arm. When she started walking to the bathroom she was very aware of her nakedness but didn’t cover up, just in case he was awake enough to watch her. She smiled to herself as she searched the bathroom sink and medicine cabinet for toothpaste. Fuck yes, she thought, as she picked up a flat, rolled up, tiny tube of the stuff. She never knew she would love it, miss it, so much. With just the tiniest spot of it on her finger she scrubbed at her teeth. Her toothbrush was at her place. She took her time, it was a lovely feeling, then sipped some water from the faucet and rinsed. She breathed into her palm, sniffed, and was satisfied that most of the morning breath was gone.

Daryl had at least one eye on her as she stepped out of the bathroom. He tried to play possum but she saw his eyelids flutter. She leaned against the door frame. If he was pretending then he would be curious when he didn’t hear the expected footsteps approach or feel the dip in the mattress as she got back in bed. Ha! There it was again.

“Playin’ possum, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Huh?” he opened his eyes slowly but his lips made a tight line as he suppressed a smile.

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” she walked toward the bed. She tossed the toothpaste at him. “I’ll pay you back what I used and find some more on my next run. That shit needs to be a priority unless some hippie around here can make us some from tree bark and dandelions or some shit.”

He scoff-laughed and picked up the tube from the bed. She knew him pretty well, knew he wouldn’t care if he had water or not. In a pinch just the paste would do and she didn’t want him out of bed just yet. She stood at the side of the bed as he pushed his toothpaste around his mouth. No one ever looked dignified “brushing” their teeth with their finger. She waited until he was done and held out her hand for the tube.

“Wha?” he asked.

“Gimme and I’ll take it back to the bathroom,” she answered, making a grabbing motion with her hand.

“Nah,” he said, tossing the tube on the floor. “Com’ere.”

She blushed while she hesitated. She had wanted his attention, that’s why she hadn’t put on clothes. However, Daryl’s attention was intense, she kept forgetting that.

He put his hand out to her but he remained laying down. She gingerly stepped onto the mattress, using his hand for balance. She was unsure where he wanted her so she stood, one foot on either side of his hips. She felt a bit like an Amazon and didn’t hate it. He slid his hand out of hers, letting each finger trail down hers. His eyes moved slowly over her. Just before she was about to sit down or run or sink into a hole in the floor, he sat up and slid his hands up both legs from her ankles, over her calves, and cupped her ass. Their communication was simple, silent queues, pressure with fingertips, glances with eyes. She loved it. Some combination of his signs instructed her to kneel, straddling him. She did.

She shivered. It wasn’t a cold morning at all but she felt like all the heat in the room was now only where their skin touched. His grip on her ass never faltered. This helped her get to her knees gracefully instead of the careless, unsexy way she probably would have done on her own. He also wouldn’t let her sit back on her heels. As much as he was learning her, she was learning him and she had not moved her hands from her sides since he let her hand go. She was looking at him, shivering a little, and struggling to think of anything other than her bare pussy spread open exactly how he wanted it. She blushed a deeper shade of pink.

“Mornin’,” he said. Before she could reply he moved both hands in tandem to cup her ass cheeks. She bit her bottom lip. Then his fingers began to move between her thighs. One hand held her thigh from behind, the other found her pussy.

“Ya get wet real fast, huh?” he grinned. She nodded, lower lip still pinched between her teeth.

“How come?” he asked.

“Uh, you, uh,” she mumbled and gulped and remembered she actually knew words. “You make me wet. Thinking about you, looking at you, smelling you…” She trailed off. His eyes had flashed a little at the last one.

“Mmmmhm,” he responded. Then he started to move his fingers. The sensation of being played with from behind while looking at him made her knees weak and her mouth dry.

He pulled her legs toward him, for better reach, but she lost her balance a bit and steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. She was now straddling his lap, her stomach almost pressed against his. He looked at her and slowly shook his head. As soon as she understood she dropped her hands from his shoulders and made an apologetic face. His face was unreadable.

Then his fingers parted her lips and pressed against her clit. He stroked back the full length and then forward again, stopping to dip into her and then out quickly to circle her clit. He repeated the motion. God she was dripping wet. His hands were rough and felt amazing on her sensitive skin, on her swollen clit. She had never been stroked in quite this way before and found herself once again admiring his instincts.

“Oh Daryl,” she moaned. “Oh shit you feel so good.”

“Yeah, ya like that,” he growled. “Ya want me to make you come?”

“Fuck, please,” she begged. She had started to sway with his rhythm and her back arched to push her hips closer to him.

“Nah,” he said as he pulled his fingers out. Her eyes flew open at the sudden loss of stimulation. Before she could protest she watched him lick his fingers, tasting her, and she moaned.

His other hand still held her in place. Her breasts were nearly level with his mouth and he leaned forward sucking a nipple into his mouth. She squirmed and his grip on her thigh tightened. He placed his other hand on her side, high up on her ribs, and pulled her chest closer. She felt off-balance and unsteady. Every sensation from his mouth and hands on her tugged at her cunt with electric strings.

“Daryl, please,” she moaned.

“Please what?” he immediately put his mouth back on her nipple.

“Can I please touch you?” she whispered. She wasn’t afraid to ask but was unsure of the answer.

An mmhmm vibrated from his mouth through her nipple and straight to her clit. Her hands flew to his hair and grabbed fistfuls. Her hands roamed everywhere without thought. She caressed his neck and shoulders, his chest, arms, anything she could reach while remaining upright. She kept her eyes closed and made a mental map of him. He had given both nipples attention as well as the sensitive skin under her breasts. The sensory overload forced unintentional sounds from her.

He hands rested on his upper arms. She couldn’t get enough of his biceps flexing under her fingertips. She didn’t grip to steady herself, she didn’t need to.

His mouth moved away from her and his hands began to slide to her hips, his thumbs pressed hard in the hollow of her hip bones. He understood how much she enjoyed that almost immediately the night before. He gently pulled down on her hips so that she was sitting on his lap. Her knees ached but she cared with only a small sliver of her mind. His dick was so hard that she gasped when her pussy came to rest on the zipper of his jeans.

Kristina took advantage of the permission to touch him and slid her hands to the back of his neck. She held his gaze while she moved close enough to kiss him but stopped just out of reach. He leaned in to meet her lips and she pulled back, teasing, grinning a little. She enjoyed having his lips just out of reach, sharing his air, watching his expression change from control to something like pursuit. She darted out her tongue and licked his bottom lip. He was faster than her. He pressed his lips against hers and tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. She moaned into his mouth as he released it. She wanted to learn every way he liked to be kissed, felt she could do that all day. She moaned again when he forced her mouth open with his tongue. He responded to her moans by gripping her hips and adjusting his.

His jeans were rough and delightful against her. She was almost sure they were soaked by now. She was aching and couldn’t imagine how he must feel. She wanted to make him feel everything, help him experience everything, she was impatient. As they kissed she moved her hands from his neck to his chest. She ran her fingers through the rough hair and avoided the scars she could remember with her eyes closed. She was learning as quickly as she could but sometimes part of learning was testing. She let her fingertips graze his nipple, her nails tracing the muscles of his pecs, and returned to his nipple. Each time she did, he moaned and slightly rolled his hips.

She didn’t want to be made to choose but this new information was intriguing so she pulled back from their kiss. She placed small, delicate kisses up the line of his jaw to his ear, and breathed hotly next to it. She increased the pressure of her fingers as she passed over his nipple again. Slowly, she told herself, don’t rush. She circled her other arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer. There was almost no space between them She loved this closeness. She got a bit braver and made gentle circles around his nipple. His short, quick breathes guided her. His head was in the curve of her neck and he was lazily sucking and kissing her neck and collarbone. She hummed, licked his earlobe, rolled her hips, and almost pinched at his nipple.

This was too much. Daryl grabbed her by the waist, moved her off his lap, and almost pushed her onto her back. He was hovering over her before her surprise had subsided. She giggled. She squirmed a bit, wiggling her hips and him, taunting him. Her giggles turned into quiet laughter at the look on his face. God it was endearing. It was a comical mix of delight and annoyance but with a trace of something like fear.

He began to smother her chest and stomach and hips with greedy, kisses, sucking and nibbling at times. Her laughter transformed into panting and moaning as he slipped a thigh between her legs. He ground the coarse denim against her as he kept kissing. When she felt his teeth she arched her back toward him, forcing her hips against his thigh. He groped and searched for her wrists while his kissing slowed. He brought them together in one hand and pinned them above her head. He raised up to do this and was looking down at her, hunger and need in his blue eyes.

Kristina defied him and raised her head to kiss his chest, reach her mouth almost a nipple. He pressed harder on her wrists, not painfully, and she dropped her head back on the pillow. She bit her lower lip in a challenge. He made a point to push his leg against her cunt as he moved off the bed. She knew better than to lower her arms. She had no idea what he was doing until he walked back into the room with one of his bandanas. He got back on the bed, straddling her. The cloth smelled of motorcycles and Daryl and earth as he wrapped it around her wrists. After he tied the knot he tugged on it and her arms moved but her wrists stayed together.

He looked at her. Just looked. She tried to make her face unreadable but the more she tried the hotter the blush felt. He got up from the mattress again. He assessed the scene and tapped the inside of one of her ankles. He was gentle but knew what he wanted. She spread her legs.

He nodded once, satisfied, and the rested a hand on the fly of his jeans. He held her gaze to ensure she was watching. He was insecure about almost everything about himself except his abilities to track and hunt. Only a day ago what he was doing now only existed in his imagination, nothing he could actually do. Kristina looked at him the way he looked at her. He wasn’t comfortable in his skin, might never be, but that seemed okay when he was with her. She didn’t expect him to be. Not that he thought she preferred he be some beat up mess but that it didn’t really matter to her or if it did at all it only made her enjoy him more. He always overthought, analyzed, tried to anticipate what would happen next. A survival skill he developed to dodge words and fists and pain. Last night he had moments when his brain took a break from the extra work, when his world was nothing but being wrapped up in her. He could do that as long as she would let him.

So with her he did things that scared him at first or made himself feel a little unhinged. He was sure her psychology shit had words for all that. The words didn’t matter to him. He just wanted to keep returning to that edge and finding out that he could go past it. And that he had someone who stood on the other side with her hand out, helping him. He rarely felt brave, he did what was necessary, but there was a small flicker of bravery when he pushed past the fear.

He watched as her eyes did what he wanted and followed his hand to his jeans. He cupped the bulge, pressed the zipper a little too hard against his dick, but the slight pain helped him focus. Once his jeans were unzipped his narrow hips couldn’t hold them up. He let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them. She licked her lips. He liked that a lot. He enjoyed being able to watch her shallow breathing in the sway of her breasts, how her belly rose and fell, close to panting.

He wrapped his hand around his dick and stroked, long, lazy strokes. Her eyes followed. He swiped the precum off the tip and she licked her lips again. Oh yeah? he thought. He leaned over the mattress and painted her bottom lip with it. Her eyes nearly closed as she slid her tongue out to taste it. Watching her enjoy that tugged at the base of his dick and he groaned through gritted teeth. He knelt down next to her, hand back on his aching dick, and licked at her nipples, her belly button, kissed her carefully above her pussy. He breathed in her smell. He wanted his mouth on her, to taste her, feel her with his tongue, almost as much as he wanted to fuck her. He had already moved his mouth away though. The very fucking last thing he ever wanted was to make her uncomfortable. He kissed her ribs, her arm pit, mostly to watch her squirm but also to learn all of her smells, kissed her elbow, and her curled fingers.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him sit down beside her. He reached over and helped her sit up, her bound wrists making that action particularly difficult. Then he guided her over him while he lay back. She let herself be led. He positioned her straddling him, she was so easy to move like this, compliant, willing, but, most of all, enthusiastic about letting him take control. She sucked in a small gasp of air when he had her where he wanted. Her pussy rested on his lower stomach and his dick was hard against her ass.

He slid his hands in tandem over the insides of her thighs, let his thumbs brush her swollen lips, press into her hips, and continued up her sides, along her ribs, and then pulled her down onto him. Her arms relaxed with her wrists on the pillow just above his head. She felt almost weightless. The only part of her not supported by him were her knees. When he breathed she felt herself lifted with him, her breasts pressed hard into his chest. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips as he moved his hands to her ass. She liked being able to figure him out and not be too many steps behind. He wanted her to get used to letting him hold her up, feel safe.

Daryl kissed her cheek, her neck, her arm beside his head, and started to lift her ass. For a moment he knew it would be awkward and difficult for her but he had her. Having her lay on top of him was a wonderful feeling. For a brief flash he wished he could communicate that to her in words but then he focused on where his hands were. He had to strain just a little to reach behind her. He guided the tip of his dick into her hot, wet pussy, taking his time to brush against her clit before fully sliding in. Then he slowly pressed her hips down with his hands. She didn’t make a sound, she only breathed, her head tucked between them. Her breath was warm and almost damp on his chest.

He groaned enough for both of them. He adjusted his hips for a better angle and they both hitched in breaths. He didn’t know quite where to put his hands so he placed one on her lower back. When he brought his hips up he could keep her steady with that hand. She made a soft purring sound when he did that. He pulled out a little and slid back in, repeated, just to hear that sound again. His other hand searched her body as he rolled his hips. He wasn’t fucking her yet. He wanted to go slow as long as he could. When his fingers grazed the fold of her hip she twitched away from his hand but pressed her hips into his. He touched the side of her belly, she was so soft that he sighed, nothing in this world was soft anymore. He gently worked his hand between them, palm on her stomach, and circled her clit with a finger.

She pushed down onto his hand. She wasn’t in control of her body anymore. Her hips moved without her instruction, her arms were jelly beside his head, her mind was empty, and now every nerve in her body was either focused on her clit or his dick inside her. The slow, steady rhythm of his hips and finger were overwhelming. She wanted to grope and grab at something. Her hands clenched into fists. With her wrists bound she couldn’t touch anything. Her forehead was pressed hard into his chest and she was breathing her own recycled air in the space between them. He held her still with his hand on her back and couldn’t fuck him like every part of her ached to do. Panting, her eyes closed tight, she could feel her lips on his chest. Without thinking she bit. She knew it wasn’t hard, probably not even enough to bruise, but it was the only action her mind could find.

“Shit,” Daryl groaned, at first in surprise and then a wave of intense feeling ran from her mouth to his dick. His hips jerked as a reflex and she gasped. The place where she had bit him throbbed momentarily. He snatched his hand from between their bodies. He grabbed her with all of his strength and rolled them over. Kristina made a small oof sound and when he looked at her to make sure she was okay she was smiling. In one smooth motion he pinned her bound wrists above her head with one hand and swept one of her legs over his shoulder with the other.

He thrust deeper into her. He leaned into her leg as far as he felt he could without hurting her and put his mouth next to her ear.

“This what ya want woman?” he asked through gritted teeth, quickening his pace with shallower, faster thrusts. “Ya wanna be bad, that it?”

“Yes, oh god, yes Daryl,” she yelled. “Fuck!”

“Fine,” he growled as he lifted himself up enough to move his hand from her wrists. At first he gently slid his hand to her throat. She looked into his eyes and nodded. He squeezed and she rasped out a please. Just a bit more pressure and they found the sweet spot. Her breath was ragged and her eyes rolled back. He felt her leg wrap around him, pressing on his ass to push him deeper. His thrusts became more erratic as her muscles tightened around his dick.

He watched her face carefully as his orgasm started to tug at him. Her lips were parted, her eyes shut, and her cheeks flushed. She was so beautiful. Seeing his rough, tan hand around her pale throat nearly sent him over the edge. He didn’t pull back on his last thrust, he ground his hips against hers. He felt her groan in his hand before he heard it. Then he released her neck and her body rocked against him. Her muscles pulsed around his dick.

Her orgasm tore through her. She yelled his name and gasped. Loud, hitching breaths shook her chest. He let her leg slide off his shoulder, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her breasts. His hips bucked against her. He felt her hands find his neck.The bandana strained against her movement. The sensation of the fabric on his skin made him moan a quiet, drawn-out fuck against her chest. He felt his cum pour into her. She wrapped her legs around him and held him as his entire body vibrated.

Kristina kissed the top of his head. She loved his smell and nuzzled her face into his hair for a moment longer. She felt his body relax on top of her. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her wrists, her cunt. His cum seeped out from between them before he pulled out. He slid his arms from underneath her and raised up to see her watching him. She held her bound wrists in front of her face. He didn’t think he had ever seen someone as beautiful as her in his life. He carefully pulled out of her with a small moan in his throat. He sat up and untied the bandana. He pressed his lips against each wrist. When he let her hands go she sat up and kissed him hard.

She flopped back down on the mattress, completely graceless. Daryl laid down beside her. She kissed his shoulder. It was so easy for them to forget what the world was like now. Walkers didn’t exist, they didn’t have to forage for toothpaste, potable water wasn’t a limited resource. Unfortunately this spell would break. They would have some daily tasks to do and normal human things to attend to but for a moment she enjoyed this small bubble of peace.

“Guess Dog’ll be needed some attention,” Daryl sighed. “Imma take him out and feed him. Ya want breakfast too?”

She smiled and nodded, her eyes half closed.

#I have about 5k words of chapt 4 done already #daryl smut #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl x oc #twd fanfiction #cw ptsd #tw ptsd

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baldurs-gate-official · 5 months

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Thinking about Astarion and trauma again (shocking)

He really is the first character I've seen that depicts PTSD/C-PTSD the way he does. He's angry. He's collecting the pieces of himself he had to chip away over the years and figuring out how to fit them back together again, and it's hard.

I rarely see good PTSD rep in media (and C-PTSD is even less depicted/understood). And when I do, it's always the soft pitiable side of it. The side of it that's more palatable and easy to accept. But the reality is that the trauma that stems from such abuse can be vicious, and messy. It can lash out and push people away. Bring out the worst in you, at times. It can be so, so angry.

I love that we see that in Astarion. Both because it's good representation, and because I'm a survivor too. I'm angry. I'm upset. I want to kick and scream about it, but I can't. I feel like I must always remain in control, or that displaying those feelings will only hurt those around me and push them away. I don't want that. I don't want to hurt others or be alone.

Seeing Astarion do those things, being angry and messy over it all... It makes me so happy. He says things to Cazador I wish I could say to my own abusers, with no regard to how others perceive it. He doesn't hold back. And I get to see a character with a very similar kind of trauma do/say the things I only dream about, and not be abandoned for it. He's given the chance to heal and grow as a person, and feel loved. He gets to have a happy ending.

And he gets to be mad. And that's ok.

#bg3 #astarion #text post #cw trauma #cw ptsd #ive never seen a character before with such a similarish past to mine #i feel so seen and understood #i hate that ive had to be silent about it #i hate it so much #it means SO much to see a character with such good CPTSD rep #and see so many people love his character #i recently escaped my own abusers so this sort of thing makes me very emotional #the way he talks about torture too and doesnt try to sugar coat it #i was tortured too. my bones were broken repeatedly for someone elses amusement and it was fucking horrible #years of that #and starvation #among other things #and ive never seen a character before thats been through something similar #ive never even seen a character before this that specifically has CPTSD #ive seen characters who *should* have been written with CPTSD but its as if the writers just googled PTSD and went with that #(C-PTSD comes from continued exposure to trauma over the course of months or years where PTSD is often from a singular event)#(the symptoms differ a bit. and Astarion is a very good example of C-PTSD)#it just makes me really happy. and it makes me feel like people might understand and not blame me for what happened #well. some people do anyway. but. this kind of representation helps a lot with helping people understand #seriously though ive had people act like theyd have fared better in my situation. or blamed me for what happened #how fucked is that???? i want to chew glass whenever it happens #its always people whove never had any experience with abuse too #but they have the audacity to tell me theyre built different or something #q

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orgaslink · 5 months

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43, Wild and Twilight!

43 was "we'll get through this" kisses and I also had an anon ask for 23 which was "calming kisses" both for Wildlight, so I've combined the two. I'm not so happy with how this turned out, but I've been looking at it for days now and it's not getting any better. Still, hope you like what I came up with, even if I don't. 😅

CW: Wild having a panic attack, flashbacks that could be PTSD

Terror crept up his spine and sheer dread pooled in his stomach only to climb the ladder of his ribs to grip his heart in it's ice cold grip. He couldn’t stop the shaking even if he was aware of it. And Wild very much wasn’t aware of much beyond the fear that engulfed him and the booming sounds of violence overhead.

Thunder rumbled as if the Goddesses themselves were waging war in the sky, lightning so frequent it may as well have been daylight for all anyone knew. Yet in the clouded haze of Wild’s mind, he’s back there, where it all ended in agony and in blood.

It wasn’t thunder that Wild heard, but the booming explosions of Guardian beams aimed at him and the kingdom he was meant to protect. Lasers lit up the sky and even the mechanical sound of marching, spindly legs can’t drown out the sounds of carnage and destructive terror the machines bore down onto Hyrule.

Twilight found him huddled between two beds in the stable they sought shelter at, Wild’s white knuckled grip grabbing his own hair so tight Twilight was scared he’d actually pull it out at the root. Wild’s eyes may have been open, but it was clear for anyone to see that he wasn’t there with them, not in the present.

Gesturing nosy guests away, Twilight asked the stablemaster to bring privacy screens over while one of the stable hands encouraged other patrons to the other side of the stable to leave the two in peace. Once privacy (as much as could be) was gained, Twilight was carefu to approach a rocking Wild.

“WIld-?” Twilight’s voice kept low as to not startle his friend. Although a gentle soul, Wild wasn’t in the mindset to be accountable for his actions right now, and if his mind was where Twilight suspected it was, then he needed to tread carefully for both their sakes.

After a moment of no recognition from the younger hero, Twilight tries again, this time adding a gentle judge of his foot into Wild’s bent leg to gauge his reaction, it was a technique he’d learned back in Ordon to ensure he wasn’t about to be charged by an injured goat. When he’s met with a weak whimper, Twilight’s heart broke all over again for his friend.

“Oh, Wildflower…”

Twilight somehow managed to wedge himself in the small gap that Wild had found in his panic to escape the monsters in his mind; a lull in the storm allowing enough cognition to return to Wild for him to realise that Twilight was a friend and was there to help him so Wild did the only thing he can in that moment, and gripped Twilight for dear life.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Wild, Twilight cupped Wild’s head in one hand, encouraging Wild to rest his head on his shoulder while his own work calloused hand covers Wild’s ear to try and block out the worst of the storm.

“It’s okay, Wild. I’m here. It’s just a thunderstorm, everyone is safe and the guardians are long gone.”

There’s a rigidity beneath Wild’s skin with the indecision of whether to choose fight or flight, but with no visible enemy to fight, Twilight fears that Wild may bolt in his confusion. He needs to find a counterpoint for Wild to latch onto, something to keep him grounded and in the present.

Another loud clap of thunder has Wild set to panic, tension coils in his body as if deciding that moment was when Wild needed to act, to do something, anything to protect a kingdom so dependent on his success.

The motion is halted when Twilight pulled Wild onto his lap, gentle kisses placed to his hairline as he’s faced away from the stable entrance to shield him from the view of the lightning; one ear cushioned against Twilight’s collar and the other being gently held by his partner. “Shh, now. Just listen to my heart and my voice, can you do that for me?”

Kisses like raindrops litter every inch of Wild’s face that Twilight can reach, gentle words and soft hums filled the space around them as the storm raged on both outside the stable and in Wild’s heart.

They stayed like that, with Twilight holding Wild close and safe, all the while placing calming kisses and promises of safety and love into Wild’s skin in the hope they will penetrate his very soul.

For Twilight would do everything in his power to make sure Wild never has to endure pain and destruction like he had before; he’d even fight Hylia herself if it came to it.

“We’ll get through this, Wild. We’ll get through it together, you and I”.

#orgaslink asks #orgaslink games #kisses ask #linkshipping #link kisses #WildLight #CW panic attack #cw PTSD #CW flashbacks #Wild x Twilight

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sukunasbabygirl · 1 year

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On a serious note with Percy’s character, I think part of the reason I myself am drawn to him is because he’s a very good portrayal of PTSD, especially because he touches on the aspects of it media tends to cover less.

PTSD, especially Complex PTSD, can often cause a person to do things that don’t just harm themselves, but harm others as well. It can sometimes, from personal experience, feel like there is a monster inside of you or that you a monster wearing a person’s skin. With C-PTSD, which is what Percy likely suffers from, there especially tends to be a difficulty with self identification, as that long-lasting trauma and repeated stress has made you unable to fully recognise who you were before as it has practically shaped your person.

Percy is not a good person either. He’s more akin to a bad person trying to do good things, someone very morally grey. You can, of course, still be a good person with trauma, just as much as you can be a bad one, although that’s a simplification of it. The point is, there are no rules as to where you end up after experiencing something traumatic - it differs. Percy, in this case, is someone who seeks vengeance to an unhealthy degree and his morals tend to rest in a very blurry, grey area because of that. He is someone filled with anger and resentment and he can bottle that up, but eventually he completely loses it and it all spills over. He is shown to be visibly scared and panicked, but he is also shown to be aggressive and unhinged, and these are things that can and do co-exist with PTSD.

He kills his tormentors in an act of revenge and does so mercilessly, believing his actions completely justified, whether they are is a question for another day, but the point here is that Percy walks a fine line where he nearly becomes more like his tormentors. That is an experience that hits very close to home. And what I appreciate is that even after defeating Orthax, he doesn’t stop being like this. Yes, he stops his plans for revenge and manages to calm down a bit, but you can still see the trauma evident in the way he acts*, he isn’t suddenly better by defeating his inner demons, those demons go beyond a physical manifestation. Trauma doesn’t just go away, and with C-PTSD - PTSD too for that matter - because these events have shaped your life, it’s very common for them to always be there, even if you’ve managed to heal.

* Editing just to clarify that his behaviours in season two and more subtle and he seems to be back in the repressing a majority of his emotions phase. His fear of being abandoned and his impulsive behaviours are definitely still visible though and he overcompensates a lot to make up for what happened with Vex, which, considering he was in his late teens when his family died, and he’s barely in his twenties now, it’s likely he, as many traumatised individuals do, puts blame on himself for what happened to his family as a way of processing and coping, and so to have killed Vex, that’s another person he’s responsible for. The overcompensating is another thing that hits painfully close to home. He’s not suddenly better in s2 but he’s also probably scared to express himself negatively anymore after what happened previously, and thats just as harmful for him, and it won’t end well. So I’m hoping season three addresses that.

Percy shows a range of the different effects trauma has, from a scared boy to a man filled with destructive anger, and I’m glad. Every time we get a portrayal of trauma that shows all the sides of the coin, whether they be ‘pretty’ or not, I gain a few extra years to my lifespan.

This is about the show specifically as I am still not on the Briarwood arc of the campaign, but perhaps I’ll add more to this when I do reach to that point.

#critical role #vox machina #the legend of vox machina #tlovm #percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #character analysis #cw ptsd #cw trauma #(tagging these just in case as I am not sure how to properly tag these sorts of posts)

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my-autism-adhd-blog · 11 months

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Hi everyone,

I found this ven diagram showing the similarities and differences between ADHD and PTSD. It’s interesting to see what symptoms overlap. I’ll leave the article below so anyone can read it.

ADHD

PTSD

#adhd #adhd post #adhd & ptsd #ptsd #tw ptsd #cw ptsd #post traumatic stress disorder #feel free to reblog #if you’re neurodivergent feel free to reblog

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wishing-stones · 11 months

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Don't imagine The Boys + Boss dealing with a partner dealing with severe CPTSD 'attacks'/flare ups

Fortunately, you're in good company.

Killer gets kind of aggressive on the rare occasion that his gets triggered. He understands how it is. The joking, the playing, the toying and teasing all stops immediately, and he's deadly serious, supporting you through it. He makes it very clear that you aren't alone, and you're out of that situation Dust, too, especially with not being alone. He's there to ground you however you need it-- words, physical contact, nuzzles, you name it. He doesn't play with attacks like that-- his are extremely violent. Axe focuses on grounding you in the present and making sure that you know you're safe and out of whatever caused it. No one's going to hurt you, you don't have to fight anymore. You're okay, you survived, and you're here with him and he won't ever hurt you. Cross fumbles for a minute and doesn't know what to do. He eventually settles on staying near you, holding you if you want it, or even just a hand, reassuring you that he's not going anywhere and that you'll be okay. Baggs is a pro at any and all things mental, and so is very patient and calm. He might put you under if you're especially dangerous to yourself or others, or run the risk of hurting either of you... but encourages mostly that you work through things. He's here to help, but directly intervening with his magic is a last resort to prevent harm. But, congrats! You just earned yourself a therapy session. He cleared his schedule for you. Nightmare keeps you safe and anyone else out-- you essentially get cloaked in an area by his tentacles, so that everything else gets blocked out, and it's just the two of you. He helps you calm down, takes the edge off the worst of it, and encourages you to tell him what happened. He's... no stranger to these things, either. He's just gotten good at compartmentalizing dealing with his own.

and Boss is strong and silent, insisting on separating you from the cause, or just... keeping you somewhere safe and quiet until the worst passes. He places a lot of worth on being able to protect those he cares about, so having something he can't physically get back at is difficult for him to deal with. Still, he's there for you and will not leave your side until you're okay. He'll gladly hold you and talk you through it, too.

All of them make sure you know you're both not alone and are loved.

#k answers #k headcanons #feat. r&r crew #feat. boss #cw ptsd

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unhonest-iago · 4 months

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Whumpee who’s passed through the hands of multiple whumpers, all with different personalities and methods.

One who they thought was kind and could be trusted. A psychiatrist who knew all their deepest fears and secrets. Only for that to be used against them. Their food poisoned with psychotropic drugs that gave them waking nightmares. And when they refused to eat or drink, that was fine by whumper. They’d just wait until whumpee was on the brink of starvation or dehydration. Sometimes they wouldn’t be as patient, simply hooking them up to an iv drip or a feeding tube. Whumpee’s more afraid of that, turned into a pin cushion thanks to their veins being small and deep.

The next is the polar opposite, not bothering to hide their depravity. This one makes whumpee want to return to the previous. They’d rather deal with the falsehoods than such sadism. Being strung up like a hunk of meat. Experimented on, watched like prey to see what is most effective at breaking them down. Only to be forgotten about when they were no longer whumper’s shiny new toy. Laying in agony on a dirt floor, covered in bruises, cuts, and a few broken bones. A puddle of vomit under them.

They go through so many that the experiences melt together. To the point, they think caretaker is simply the next one when they first meet. Thinking they’re luring them into a false sense of security. Surprised when caretaker lets them ask whatever they want to know. The most open book person they’ve met so far. It’s extremely slow—recovering from it all. Caretaker gets frustrated when whumpee walks on eggshells around them. The caseworker who relinquished whumpee to them didn’t give them any info. And because of it all, there are a few times where whumpee regresses. It takes a little over a year before whumpee starts to tell caretaker what had actually happened to them.

#iago writes #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump writing #whumpee x whumper #whumpee x caretaker #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #tw drugging #tw torture #tw vomit mention #cw ptsd

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happy-tree-huggers · 2 years

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imagine the Reader helping Flippy get over his trauma. The reader being a calm and caring person just trying to help a traumatized war veteran recover as they sit on a couch together with a warm blanket wrapped around Flippy.

Flippy - Calm, Caring Reader Comforting Him During an Episode

Note: Decided to add a bit to the scenario, hope that's okay! Here you go!~ Congrats on being first request! Word Count: 0.7k Warnings: PTSD, panic attack episode

♡ Whether you have known about Flippy in the town for months, or merely a few weeks, you're well aware of his mental struggles as a veteran soldier. His somewhat frequent "episodes" are quite infamous in Happy Tree Town, but with your compassion (and knowledge of self defense,) you've learned to see past that side of him. Once you have the chance to truly speak with him, you can't help but talk with him every time you cross paths. Flippy himself is astounded that someone is now so openly comfortable to be around him, despite that unwanted side of him, and the two of you become fast friends. He often invites you over for tea or other simple activities, and you oblige with open arms.

♡ Over time, Flippy realizes that he's fallen for you—and it appears to be obvious to some degree for others, too. The frequent, seemingly platonic hand-holding in public does seem to catch the eye of many onlookers on the streets. He isn't surprised, either; your calming personality certainly puts him at ease whenever he starts to feel stressed... and, in the rarer circumstance that he starts to 'flip out' while near you, you've been able to eventually pacify him; which was a relief in his eyes, as he couldn't imagine what he'd do if he had hurt you.

♡ One morning, as a kind gesture, you decide to bake some muffins for him, as he's recently taught you his favorite recipe and you had wanted to try it out soon. Finally finishing them and filled with pride over your success, you pack them up and head to Flippy's place. Knocking thrice as you usually do at his door, you wait for a response, but none comes. Which is strange, you thought, because he's usually up at this hour by now. You knock again and call out for him, to no avail.

♡ Out of curiosity, you place your ear up to the door. When you hear the sound of infrequent, muffled whimpering, you immediately place the tin of muffins by the door and call out once more that you're coming in. You hope it doesn't seem rude to him, as you creak open the door cautiously.

♡ The first thing you see is Flippy curled up on his sofa, knees tight to his chest and a paw clamped over his mouth as he hyperventilates. Upon you entering, he peers over at you while fighting back piercing yellow eyes. You were swamped with worry as you shut the door behind yourself and stepped into his home. Flippy, alarmed that he could flip out any minute, among uneven breaths, warned you to leave while you still could. Deep down, you knew you couldn't abandon him like this to struggle by himself.

♡ Insisting that you're going to help him through this, you rush to the closet and grab the fluffiest blanket you could find. (Having a surplus of them was unsurprising for him, as he knitted frequently as a pastime.) You approach Flippy, who was trembling, and lightly laid the blanket over his shoulders, encouraging him that he'll be okay in the process. He clutches the blanket desperately to himself and looks away from your direction.

♡ Noticing his eyes were still a bright yellow, you sit on the sofa next to him at a distance, unsure whether or not it was alright to be too near him yet. You didn't want to make him feel trapped, or worse. You continue to reassure him that you're here for him, telling him to take deep breaths.

♡ After a while of quiet comforting, Flippy has finally stopped hyperventilating, while hiding his face into his paws. He was crying, you realize. In desperation to make him feel better, you ask if it's okay to hug him. He freezes, then nods quietly. Scooting over to him, you wrap your arms around his shivering body tenderly. Shockingly quickly, he reciprocates, claws digging into your back. You don't mind, however, as you feel him slowly stop shaking in your arms.

♡ Once Flippy recovers enough to be able to speak, he apologizes profusely, but you cut him off and tell him that you would do anything to help him. And, gladly enough, his eyes were now back to those large happy ones that you grew to love.

♡ You both end the morning with a movie (Unfortunately, popcorn wasn't an option, as the sounds it made in the microwave were quite triggering for Flippy), sitting next to each other with the blanket around you both.

♡ ...may include a confession.

♡ Then you realize you forgot the muffins by the front door.

#happy tree friends #htf #happy tree friends x reader #flippy #flippy x reader #imagines #headcanons #cw panic attack #cw ptsd #🌳 written request

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lady-phasma · 14 days

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Happiness at the end of the world

Chapter 2 of ?

Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; this is really different than anything I have ever shared on Tumblr before - it's fluffy and has lots of feelings and quite a few warnings; Smut, Kinda Friends to Lovers, Awkward Flirting, Not Canon Compliant, PTSD, mentions of past SA, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, p in v sex, ultra-Light Dom/sub

Summary a/n: I'm terrible at these, it's just more fluffy smutty stuff like chapter 1. No beta. 3.6k words.

They lay in the fading light, drowsy, him on his stomach, her on her side. Kristina had tucked an arm under her head and was tracing lazy circles and swirls on his back with her other hand. His breathing was slow and relaxed. She watched his back rise and fall with each breath. Sometimes the shiny scars caught the light. She was brave and occasionally traced one, outlined it, caressed it. But mostly she stayed away from them. She wanted him to feel her adoration not feel like a freak show for someone to stare at. She understood that feeling too well.

Their friendship had graduated quickly as a lot of things seemed to do in this new world. There wasn’t time to get to know people the way one used to. There had been a couple of nights of safety and beer with him. One night of utter drunkenness with some others in Alexandria. Mostly there had been stolen moments of respite between runs and work details and fear. She had told him a lot of things about her past and intuited a lot about his.

Daryl stirred and turned his head to face her. She smiled down at him. She felt so relaxed with him. Possibly she had never lain naked without even a sheet with anyone in her life. She was honestly amazed at how comfortable they both were.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” he asked somewhat sleepily.

“Lots,” she replied. “Too much to say right now. Also thinkin’ about how perfect your ass is.” She drug her fingertips down to the hollow of his lower back but not quite to his ass. She watched a shiver run through him. Well it is perfect, she thought.

“Sure,” he replied. She could almost hear him roll his eyes. He brushed his knuckles over one of her nipples. He shifted to lay on his side and kissed her nipple, her breast, her shoulder, gently he kissed her lips. He let his lips linger and breathed her in. Then he rolled and stretched like a giant cat, arching his back and groaning. They weren’t young anymore and they would hurt tomorrow. The muscles they had used today were different than the ones they used when killing walkers. When he laid back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, she rested a hand on his stomach just below his chest. He was so tough, so taught. After all this time she was still soft in places, smooth, round. He apparently had no body fat, just exquisite muscle.

She liked touching him. She couldn’t get enough of him. But it nearly broke her heart to really see that his chest was as covered with scars as his back. New ones over older, faded ones. Dark, deep scars alongside barely visible ones. He was a tough motherfucker for sure. Not all of these were from something horrible and scary but how many were? She had so many questions. Which were made since the world ended? Which from before? How many from The Sanctuary? All horribly invasive questions that she would never ask, only wait for him to drop crumbs of information.

“What’s this from?” he asked and she jumped a little. Almost as if he had read her mind he touched one of her scars. It tickled when he did. It wasn’t large but it was noticeable. It sat low on her belly just to the right of center. It had a smaller, less obvious sister on the left.

“Oh,” she rolled half onto her back but didn’t pull away from his caressing fingertips. “Before everything, I had a partial hysterectomy.” She laughed a little. “I didn’t want kids and I had a condition that couldn’t be cured so they took out most of my lady bits. They left one ovary and my cervix. Because of my age I guess, pretty young.”

His eyes were wide but not judgmental. A little concerned perhaps so she explained.

“Endometriosis. A big word that means a lot of pain and bullshit but isn’t usually life threatening. Fortunately for us I made this decision ages ago and that’s why I didn’t freak when you didn’t wear a condom,” she smirked and winked at him.

“So ya can’t ever…?” he trailed off.

“Nope, no baby making equipment in there,” she grinned. She stroked his arm from wrist to shoulder, still trying to touch every inch of his skin. “It was definitely a perk after the world went to shit, no periods either.”

His hand rested on her lower belly, almost spanning the width of her. He felt like a giant sometimes even though she wasn’t particularly short and he wasn’t abnormally tall. She liked the illusion. She sighed, enjoying the weight of his hand, the ease of being with him. She felt his fingers tracing her scar again, finding the other of the pair, following the jagged lines of her stretch marks. Walkers were a great weight loss plan, she hadn’t always had this small body. And she had never let anyone touch those much less felt like she could almost enjoy it, especially with his rough hands. But it did still make her twinge with that familiar insecurity, just a little, and she felt herself accidentally recoil. Without missing a beat Daryl grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of him, kissing her roughly. He held her for a moment, her laying on him, his hands on her ass, her head on his chest.

Her mind raced with all the things she wanted to do, say, ask, and then her stomach growled. She held her breath hoping it had been her imagination until he started laughing. It was contagious. He laid her on the bed, still laughing a bit while she giggled and covered her face with her hands.

“Hungry, huh?” he goaded.

She nodded and answered with a muffled uhuh behind her hands, more giggles. He stood up, grabbed some presumably filthy jeans from the floor, and yanked them on. She couldn’t help watching him, jeans sitting low on his hips, as he walked to the kitchenette.

He came back to the bed and plopped down. He brought what was beginning to be the norm for every meal: part of a loaf of homemade bread, some fruit, some meat jerky that was mostly just salt and probably venison. He sat, legs crossed, barefoot, hair a mess, no shirt, and looked as happy as a little kid with a new toy. He might not smell like he was still in the woods but he ate his food like he still was. This thought made her giggle and he looked up at her with a side-eye that sent her into snorts of laughter. She yanked the sheet over her lap as she sat up to eat before he inhaled everything.

“Chew often, Dixon?” she teased while trying not to inhale a bite of bread.

“I’ll teach ya to laugh at me,” he growled as he crammed the last of his bread in his mouth. She squealed and he pinned her down. Food crushed between them, flew off the bed. He continued chewing loudly and comically while kissing her sides, her stomach, her neck, and chest. His unshaven face tickled her even more. She raked her hands through his hair and laughed harder than she had in years. Her stomach and sides ached with laughter. He finally swallowed the last of his bread and took a deep breath, flopping onto his back with dramatic flair and a huge exhale.

Still struggling to catch her breath Kristina laid her head on his chest. They both stared at the ceiling, small giggles bubbling out of her occasionally. She felt around above her head until she found his arm and she hugged it across her breasts. He maneuvered the sheet down from her chest so there was nothing between their skin and cupped one breast.

Dog had padded into the room to investigate the commotion. He looked at Daryl with accusation.

“Ah shit,” Daryl groaned as he stood up. “Imma take ‘em out.” Before he stepped off the mattress he placed a kiss on her forehead.

She heard them when they came back in: some yipping and a lots of whosagoodboy. Daryl kicked off his boots before sitting on the bed.

“You got one of those nasty rolled cigarettes handy?” she asked.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he went into the living room and came back with a small leather pouch. Like so many guys she had known in high school and college were able to do with weed he balanced the components on his lap. Pinch, roll, lick, voila. He handed her the nearly-perfect cigarette and started working on his own. She scooted up so she was leaning with her back against the wall. Still naked, still relishing being comfortable naked. He lit his cigarette and held the flame out to hers then clicked the lighter shut. He was fastidious in a lot of his actions but not his housekeeping, he dropped the pouch on the floor and sat on the bed facing her. Cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth he reached down and snagged an empty bottle off the floor for their ashtray.

She adored the way he sat cross legged and grinned at the thought that he hadn’t put his underwear on, grinned that she could take his jeans off and have him again if she wanted. She tapped her ashes into the bottle and picked some tobacco off her lips.

“Damn this shit is rank, Dixon,” she exhaled a cloud of the stale smoke. “But thank you for sharing.”

He grunted toward her, ashed, and took another long drag on his smoke. “It is but it’s all we got. Nobody’s tryin’ to grow anything ya can’t eat.” They smoked mostly in silence.

Kristina put her cigarette out. She stood up to go pee, wobbling a bit on her weak legs. She wasn’t going to take the sheet with her but wasn’t quite ready to walk naked in front of him. She looked down and spotted one of his button down shirts in the floor. She leaned over, holding the wall for balance. He was finishing his cigarette and watching her. She dropped the sheet, slipped the shirt on, and started to button it.

“Where ya goin’?” he mumbled.

“Gotta pee,” she flashed an almost embarrassed smile at him.

“Unh-uh,” he wasn’t smiling. “Take that off.” He tipped his head toward her, indicating the shirt. She groaned in her head, it couldn’t have been that easy. She slowly shrugged the shirt off her shoulders. She hadn’t had time to button it so when she shrugged it started to fall, catching only on her breasts and now-hard nipples. She tugged at the hem and it fell away completely. She was too aware of her breasts while she was standing, how different they looked from when she was laying down. Ugh she thought again because literally every body part she had she now wanted to hide. Wanted him to stop looking at her. He didn’t stop.

“Better,” he said. He jerked his head toward the bathroom and took a long drag on his cigarette. His sign that she was free to go but to do so she had to be naked. She wanted to die. Shrivel up and disappear. But she set her jaw and carefully stepped off the mattress. She was conscious of every imperfection and movement, feeling things she realized she hadn’t felt since before. She wasn’t angry with him exactly, not thrilled but not angry. She felt cracks in her armor. But she put one foot in front of the other and made her way to the bathroom, in reality only a dozen steps or so but in her excruciating thoughts it felt like miles.

He never took his eyes off her after he put out his cigarette. He shifted, adjusted for the increasing erection he was getting, his pants becoming uncomfortable. She didn’t close the door all the way and he listened to everything. Something about her allowing him to hear this excited him. He tugged at his jeans and tried to be still when she came back into the bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of her. She walked toward him carrying the lantern from the bathroom. He hadn’t even noticed that it was almost dark now. It cast an unusual shadow, lighting her from the side where the lantern hung from her hand. Her full hips, the slight slope of her belly meeting the curve above her naked pussy, he couldn’t look at anything but her.

She sat the lantern next to the bed. Before she could get back on the mattress his hands caught her hips and centered her in front of him. He was sitting so low that his eyes were almost level with her pussy and she blushed, hard. Her hands flenched to cover herself and he stopped them. Even in the dim light he could see her blush move down her face and neck and flood her chest. He looked up at her leaning in closer and closer. She was mortified but incredibly grateful that she had kept up shaving at every opportunity. She was pretty sure the end of the world had ushered in the revival of the huge bush but she couldn’t stand it. Somehow shaving her pussy completely felt like armor, powerful, and all signs pointed to Daryl Dixon liking it.

“Damn,” he sighed as he closed the distance and kissed her just above her clit. Kristina felt her head swim, thought she might pass out, and he had her wrists. She couldn’t hold onto him for balance but she also realized he would never let her fall. Her vision blurred but she forced herself to focus on his searching eyes. He was looking up at her. Disheveled hair, scruffy beard, heavy-lidded eyes, and he was kissing. Just kissing but she was shaking all over. And then it wasn’t just kissing.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, exhaling a hum against her. His tongue was slow and gentle. He had never done this before. The porn his brother used to watch didn’t make it feel like this. That stuff made everything look… gross. But none of this was, would be. This felt completely natural. She tasted wonderful, salty and a little bitter but he thought part of that was from their sex earlier, that if he did this first it would be nothing but salt and sweet and whatever this other amazing taste/smell was. He wanted to go slowly, not just for her but because this really did seem natural. He could feel her tremble while he held her. That he wasn’t entirely sure was natural but he was still learning to pay attention to her queues.

He paused and listened, looking up at her. Her breathing was shallow and not at all like how it had been before. This was more like gasping. He stood up and cupped her face in his hands.

“What did I do?” he asked softly, gently.

She shook her head in hands. “Nothing, not you. I need to sit for a moment.”

She sat down on the mattress and had the silliest thought Well fuck, that escalated quickly. She knew what to do but not how to communicate with him in this moment. Especially in a way that wouldn’t wound him, push him away, or make him doubt his instincts, his perfect instincts.

He didn’t reach to comfort her or hold her or touch her at all. He wasn’t afraid or anxious. He was confused and his brow knitted together expressing that but otherwise he was a rock, solid, reliable, there. So she took a deep breath and struggled to find things on her list: 5 green things or something similar. She did reach out for his hand while she scanned the room, sure she looked like a wild animal but not able to care. He held her hand or, more accurately, let his hand be squeezed. He used his other hand to pull the sheet over her. He thought she would want that. She finally mumbled the last brown thing of 5 because goddamn if Daryl didn’t have the most monochromatic life ever with only brown, grey, or black to choose from. This made her smile. She was coming back to herself, grounding. He noticed the smile and moved a little closer to her.

“Hey,” he whispered, searching her face for some clue as to what he needed to do. “Hey. Ya okay?”

“Um, yeah, I will be, I just need…” she mumbled. “Water maybe?” So of course he got her some. She gulped it and breathed and leaned back against the wall.

“Hi,” she opened her eyes and looked at him. “So I can explain that or we can pretend it didn’t happen and talk about it later but I have to tell you either way: not your fault.” She reached for his hand again. He took hers and gently, soothing, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

“Ya can tell me anythin,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxed. “Imma good listener,” he teased her and they both smiled.

“Well, if you were anyone else, Daryl,” she said, “I probably wouldn’t but you are truly the coolest cat, no judgment, and ya have this fundamental understanding that life hands out shit nonstop.” She smiled to soften her words but he looked down at their hands anyway. God now she wanted him closer, pressed against her, wanted that small, safe feeling.

“Do me a kindness, Dixon?” she asked. “Come over here?” He nodded, let her hand go, and sat beside her, back against the wall. She was working up the words, the ways to speak around things, to communicate pretty awful shit without saying it. Plus she didn’t want to talk about it all night or have it tarnish everything they had done before. It was helping that he was next to her, gave her some stability as she stumbled forward with this pseudo-confession.

“So ya know how I told you I had seen shit too, like before, and we talked about some of it, or mostly I talked and you grunted?” she began, throwing him a smile to emphasize the teasing. He wasn’t having it and reached out and took her hand in both of his and just rested them in his lap.

“Well when I was young, younger than I want to say, but it’s important so I have to,” she watched Daryl’s jaw clench. “When I was four years old a man did things… I’m not comfortable talking about. You know what PTSD is?” She continued when he shrugged, yeah/kinda/maybe. “Well it’s a bunch of words that mean ‘something bad happened that fucked you up for a long damn time.’ Most people know it ‘cause soldiers get it from combat. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Means that a trauma was bad enough, wrong enough, that our brains can’t deal with it. Shit, I figure now everyone has it and it’s just the human condition but before it was a diagnosis. Anyway, short version, some people who have this get flashbacks, like the thing is happening again right then and there. Like those Vietnam Vets in movies who hear a helicopter and dive under a table. That shit’s not made up. That is fact. And it fucking sucks.” Her voice broke on the last two words and what she feared would happen, did. She started to cry silently.

God fucking dammit I didn’t want to do this, she yelled in her head. But perfect Dixon only waited and rubbed her hand. She sniffled and gulped some air. She wanted to get this done.

“One of the things he did to me I can see and hear and feel when the flashback comes and unfortunately it’s what you started to do. So I kinda go into survival mode, well my brain does, and I don’t get a choice.” She looked at him, tried to read something in his face this time and was startled to see his eyes were wet. He wasn’t going to cry but she knew then that he had them. She had suspected, as any good psychologist would, that he had PTSD from childhood trauma of some sort but she wasn’t positive his manifested with flashbacks. Now she was. Her protective instincts kicked in and she reached toward him, every intention to ease his pain but he intercepted her. He pressed her back against his chest and she curled her legs up next to his, not quite in his lap. He put both his arms around her and she let her head drop back onto his chest. She closed her eyes.

“So that was not anything you did. And hey, check this out,” she turned a little awkwardly to make sure he was listening. Satisfied she put her head back. “I want you to do it. I mean I really, really do. I want Daryl’s mouth and only his mouth on my cunt.” She felt his hips shift a little when she said the last word. “I just need to work up to it or have some notice. It’s perfectly normal and even wonderful that you want to do that. I just can’t do it without some mental preparation. Maybe you know things like that in your life, ya kind hafta get your mind right first? So yeah, too heavy for you?”

He took a deep breath and cautiously said “Heavy, sure, but I got ya.” He sighed and tightened his arms around her.

“So does that mean you still wanna go down on me? Try again soon?”

“Fuck yeah,” he replied, the gravelly words vibrating through his chest into her. “Hell yeah I do. Ya make me wanna do a lot.”

“Good, that’s the best answer a woman could hope for.”

Chapter 3

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