#camp rock is love camp rock is life

[jullovve]

i'm bakugou katsuki for crying out loud 🙄💅🏻

i thought it's funny okay

[stinkrascal]

so does emmrich... like...... live inside the necropolis? do you think he has a fancy house down there? a garden? a backyard??? are there sidewalks? does he have a hoa. how does this work

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.���

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

[gale-dekarios]

okay, no shade, but youre missing out on SO much good characters moments if your girlbossify the bg3 women too much. i get it, they're big, strong, badass, but they are, like all bg3 companions, incredibly cringe in their own ways that i think we could stand to appreciate more.

lae'zel throws the worlds biggest meltdown anytime you do anything not directly related to the githyanki creche, only to almost get her shit immediately rocked. lae'zel on modern day stan twitter would be a shitshow and you cant convince me otherwise. and thats before we even mention her fighting you in act two and then immediately crying about it. babygirl its okay, we were only playing. AND TRYING TO KISS HER IN PUBLIC?? she acts big and bad in act 1, fighting rough with you the entire time, but as soon as you ask her for a little kiss? immediate embarrassment. she could absolutely wreck my shit, but shes still a meow meow.

shadowheart is just fantasy catholic. she gets mad if you pick up a statue of selûne bc shes just that catholic. dyes her hair white in a desperate emo crisis of faith moment. recites smut in public. makes jokes that land incredibly flat. is acting way cooler and more chill than she actually is to hide the fact that shes scared. SHE CHOSE THE NAME SHADOWHEART. need i say more?

karlach may be cringe but she is free, i will give her this. she gets the zoomies. she almost blows up a firework shop with her in it because shes so excited. she has a teddy bear called clive. she hasnt read a book since secondary school. she does a little dancy dance if you leave her alone for too long. her inner monologue is just about how horny she is for most people. bisexual failgirl. i love her.

and then the biggest cringefail of them all, minthara. the fact that she absolutely cannot see that every companion at camp actually does grow to really like, love, and respect her bc shes expecting treachery (bc thats what SHE would have done) is as sad as it is just a liiiiittle bit funny. darling. my wife. people like and care about you. not to mention the fact that shes been poisoning you the entire time shes been travelling with you???? cant communicate for the life of her. regularly threatens to kill you but then gets mad if you die. emotionally stunted loserbabe. we will have a july wedding........

what im SAYING isnt that the girls ARENT badass and compotent and cool, what im SAYING is that the lads shouldnt have a monopoly on complexity and depth. you get me?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag VI

Barcelona Femení x Child!Reader

Summary: You go for a visit to see the Barcelona team

Ingrid ignores the odd looks she gets as she and Mapi step into the locker room.

She walks straight up to Caro, a smug grin on her face.

"I've got The Baby!" She says gleefully, rocking her body side to side as you giggle.

"Mapi," Patri whispers," That's not a baby. Your girlfriend knows that, right?"

"That's y/n," Mapi says in answer, hanging up her bag," She's Frida and her girlfriend's daughter. Ingrid's her auntie."

"Maanum, right? That Frida? What's she doing in Barcelona?"

"They're having a little visit before they go to Tenerife. Ingrid volunteered us for a sleepover last night."

Patri winces. "Was it bad?"

"She's delightful actually," Mapi answers," Ate all her dinner without complaints and had a cup of warm milk before bed. Most well behaved kid I've ever met."

"Caro!" You say happily," Caro! Caro! Caro!"

Caro smiles a bit awkwardly at all the attention, at the way you're trying to fling yourself out of Ingrid's grip and into Caro's arms.

"Hey, squish," She says," You're looking good."

"Caro!" You continue," Caro, cuddles, please!"

Caro takes you from a slightly put-out Ingrid's arms, bouncing you stiffly for a moment as you try to attach yourself to her.

It looks like Marta is trying to force herself not to coo at the sweet scene as you babble at Caro, rushing through everything that's happened in your life since you last saw her.

"This is so unfair," Ingrid complains as she sits down in her cubby, arms crossed over her chest as she watches longingly while you show off your new Barcelona shirt to Caro and Marta," I'm the one that she had the sleepover with. I can't believe she's gone to Caro...Again!"

"Again?" Pina snickers.

"Caro's her favourite at camp too," Ingrid continues," I don't understand how! I'm the one that always buys her new toys! I spoil her!"

"You're jealous of Caro because she's getting more attention from a child?"

"You don't understand, Jana," Ingrid says dismissively," Squish...Y/n...She's...She's such a little sweetheart and she's so nice and she has so much love to give."

"Mama says Caro has a soft spot for Maanums," You're telling Marta as you happily soak up the attention," And that if I'm scared at camp and can't find her or auntie Ingrid, I have to go to Caro because she's responsible and won't let anything happen to me."

Caro's face glows red at the statement and she tries not to meet the teasing eyes of her girlfriend.

"And you really like Caro a lot, huh?"

"Uh-huh! Caro is the best at cutting up my food small!"

"Really? What else is she good at?"

"She makes sure I'm wearing my hat when it's snowing at camp! And! And last camp, she took me to the vending machine to get cookies! But you can't tell my Mama because I wasn't meant to have any."

Marta laughs. "I won't." She grins at Caro, bumping her girlfriend with her hip. "I didn't know you were so good with kids."

"I'm not," Caro says stiffly," Just The Baby. She's cool."

"I think you're cool too, Caro!" You giggle.

Ingrid doesn't end up with custody of you again until after lunch when Caro goes off on a phone call and Ingrid can snatch you up again without anyone getting in the way.

You giggle as she litters kisses on your cheeks.

"There's my squish again!" Ingrid laughs," You came back to me!"

"Ingrid," You giggle, feet kicking out instinctively," I always come back!"

"Oh! I missed you so much!" She pulls you into a hug that you reciprocate quickly.

After Frida and Emma, you think Ingrid gives the best hugs. Even better hugs than Emma's dog Jordan and he's one of your favourite huggers in the world.

"And who's this little girl?"

"Alexia, this is my niece, y/n. Squish, this is Alexia, she's the captain of Barcelona."

You frown. "Like how Kim's the Arsenal captain?"

"Exactly like that."

You grin, face splitting open as you show off your dimples. "Hi, Spanish Kim! Oh...er...Ingrid...what was her name again?"

"Alexia."

"Hi, Alexia! It's nice to meet you."

Alexia can't help but smile as you hold your little hand out for her to shake.

"It's nice to meet you too, y/n. I didn't know Ingrid had a niece."

"She and my Mama are friends!" You explain," But we don't see each other a lot because I live in Sweden."

Alexia pulls up a chair, settling into it and leaning a bit closer so she can hear your properly.

"Really?"

"Yeah with Mummy and our dog Jordan. But then Mama brings me to Norway when I'm on camp so I can see Ingrid and Caro! They say I'm the team baby!"

Alexia laughs. "That sounds about right, you're still very little."

"I start school soon," You tell her, puffing out your chest," And Mapi told me last night that I'm a growing girl!"

Alexia nods along. "Of course you are! And you know what growing girls get in Barcelona?"

"No?" Your eyes go wide. "What do they get?"

"They get to choose things out of the vending machine!" Alexia tells you seriously as she offers her hand," Do you want to pick some stuff out with me?"

Ingrid sighs deeply as Mapi snickers. "Next time we get her for a sleepover, we're not coming into training the next day."

[dominiquealston]

The Wonders of Wanderlust

When I was a young girl, I would hear stories about how my dad would travel from one place to another with not a care in the world. Everyone in my family would call him a “hippie,” without knowing the growing desire I had to follow in those same wandering footsteps. I begged my dad to take me camping up until the age of 13. Then my teenage drama kicked in and I couldn’t be bothered with going…

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

‎ ‎ [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying

word count: 13.4k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.

daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.

he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?

daryl clings back.

“Cookies?”

The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score. 

Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.

“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up. 

Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got. 

Plans and Rick’s hope. 

You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out. 

So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.

You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad. 

“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal. 

You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t. 

Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit. 

There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes. 

“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off. 

It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are. 

All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose. 

Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?

The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder. 

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies. 

“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up. 

But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -

“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes. 

You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?

Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough. 

But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold. 

Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?

It made the world feel a little less broken.

────

“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.

Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general. 

“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings. 

But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”

Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing. 

Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.

Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor. 

You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him. 

“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail. 

Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce. 

You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call. 

One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times. 

You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best. 

After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you. 

Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love. 

A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep. 

Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you. 

You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too. 

It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night. 

You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.  

“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that. 

He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”

“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more. 

You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy. 

“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days. 

Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him. 

You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp. 

“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you. 

Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except - 

You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick - 

Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.

────

Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing. 

You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?

Sushi.

“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure. 

Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”

Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.

Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time. 

The thought makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.” 

“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.

It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after. 

But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you - 

No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile. 

On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago. 

The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.

You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it. 

“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something? 

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”

You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.

“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”

You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?

Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.

────

The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.

But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.

There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes. 

And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else. 

Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him. 

You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck. 

“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit. 

You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code. 

You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and - 

Derek is still talking.

You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch. 

“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?

You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?

You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times. 

Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.

You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.” 

Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive. 

That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.

So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -

“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”

The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap. 

You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching. 

Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?

Does Daryl know?

You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face. 

The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he? 

It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says. 

Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his. 

You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.

Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag. 

A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation. 

He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you. 

“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off. 

“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do? 

You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go. 

And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore. 

But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want. 

After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -

Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist. 

“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.

Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.

Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies. 

He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.

You feel special.

“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain. 

Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying? 

A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.

“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”

────

“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.

Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back. 

You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough - 

And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you. 

Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp. 

When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days. 

“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good. 

Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh. 

“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second. 

Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand. 

“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.

You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -

But god, the way he kisses. 

Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has. 

He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -

When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise. 

There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard. 

Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever. 

Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before. 

Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper. 

He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -

“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again. 

Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl. 

You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains. 

“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket. 

“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck. 

There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly. 

“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone? 

Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder. 

If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is. 

“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -

He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it. 

You nod eagerly. 

“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off. 

Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you. 

“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.

────

At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him. 

You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around? 

You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night. 

Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying. 

Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well - 

He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way. 

“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh. 

“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?

You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally. 

“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard. 

You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that. 

What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot. 

Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run. 

“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face. 

You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject. 

“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.

“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps. 

Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”

────

The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center. 

When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips. 

“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?

The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone. 

In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer. 

When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back. 

“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again. 

“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike. 

Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”

It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease. 

“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure. 

Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave. 

Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that. 

He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do. 

Except maybe Derek. 

And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.

Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs. 

“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod. 

“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself. 

Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though. 

You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt. 

Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.” 

That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs. 

You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick. 

You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back. 

“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube. 

“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours. 

“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you. 

It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle. 

Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle. 

“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -

Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea. 

He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him. 

You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit. 

“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.

“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”

He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.

It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet. 

“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too. 

“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes. 

You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.

Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little. 

“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -

Daryl Dixon blushes red.

────

“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run. 

It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place. 

Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you. 

“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.

But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses. 

“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”

Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time. 

It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone. 

You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do. 

“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl. 

“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off. 

You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.

You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”

You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.

“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.

You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do. 

“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”

You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you. 

“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.

“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.

“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.” 

Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.

“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.  

“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.

You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -

Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name. 

You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head. 

He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker. 

Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight. 

Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees. 

“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns. 

But you don't want Daryl to do it.

No, this is a job you can do. 

Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want. 

Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.

────

You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.

What scares you the most, is how little you care. 

After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.

Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought. 

But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn. 

Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is. 

But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive. 

The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new. 

You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing. 

Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -

The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.

It’s Daryl.

“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”

Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset. 

“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.

It’s the best compliment ever.

You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.

It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.

It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.

Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue. 

It’s a cookie. 

Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face. 

“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes. 

“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face. 

“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms. 

His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking. 

Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are. 

Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts. 

“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours. 

You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run. 

“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?” 

Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means. 

You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.

And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world. 

You found each other. You have each other. 

You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part1 !

multipart story! find masterlist here

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Y/N and Charles had been inseparable since childhood. They met on the first day of school, when Charles, a shy boy with striking green eyes, had been sitting alone during lunch. Y/N, with her boundless energy and warm smile, had plopped down beside him and declared they were going to be best friends. And they were.

Over the years, they shared countless memories. They would often sneak out of their houses at night to sit by the waterfront, talking about their dreams and fears. Charles, who loved racing, would talk endlessly about becoming a Formula 1 driver, and Y/N, who adored his passion, would listen intently, offering unwavering support.

One evening, they were at their favorite spot by the water. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over everything. Y/N watched Charles as he animatedly discussed his latest race, his eyes sparkling with excitement. She loved how passionate he was, how he never gave up, even when things got tough. It was in moments like these that she felt her heart swell with feelings she was too afraid to voice.

"Y/N, you’re the best," Charles said, grinning. "I don't know what I’d do without you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering. "I’m just glad I get to be here with you, Charles."

Another time, they were at a party. Charles, always the life of the event, was in the middle of a group of friends, telling a story. Y/N stood on the outskirts, watching him with a mixture of pride and longing. He caught her eye and gave her a wink, causing her to blush and look away. She knew she was in love with him, but she didn’t want to ruin their friendship by confessing.

Then there was the day he had his first major racing win. Y/N was there, cheering the loudest. When he crossed the finish line, she ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed, her heart pounding with pride and something deeper.

Charles laughed, lifting her off the ground. "We did it, Y/N! We did it!"

But the moment she cherished the most was when they sat by the fire at a family camping trip. The night was cold, and the fire crackled between them. Charles looked at her, his face illuminated by the flames.

"Y/N," he said softly, "you’re my rock. I couldn’t have done any of this without you."

She smiled, her heart aching with unspoken love. "And I’ll always be here for you, Charles. No matter what."

Their bond seemed unbreakable, and Y/N cherished every moment, even as her feelings for him grew stronger. She knew she would rather have him as a friend than risk losing him by revealing her heart.

But one day a few years later, everything changed.

They were sitting in Charles' living room, watching a movie. Charles turned to her, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you," he said.

Her heart skipped a beat. "What is it, Charles?"

"I’ve met someone," he said, his eyes shining with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "Her name is Camille, and she’s amazing. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now and she is so lovely. You'll love her!"

Her heart stopped. Y/N's insides felt cold as she felt her heart shatter like glass. Tears started to form and her breath got stuck in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis. She forced a smile as hard as it was, her happiness vanishing. "That’s so great, Charlie!. I’m really happy for you."

He grinned, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I knew you’d be so happy. I won't bother you every weekend for a movie anymore Y/N/N! I just want to thank you for putting up with me for so long. You’re the best."

She nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Always."

As Charles went on about Camille, Y/N's mind raced. She knew things would never be the same. She would have to make a choice: to stay close and risk her heart breaking every day and potentially damage his relationship or to distance herself out of respect for Camille and protect her own feelings. But right now, all she could do was listen and pretend to be happy for him, while her heart shattered silently.

Y/N stood up abruptly, needing an excuse to leave. "I just remembered I have to help my mom with something. I’ll see you later, Charles."

"Are you sure?," he said, looking a bit puzzled. She nodded. Charles muttered, "See you later, Y/N."

She walked out of his house, her chest tight with suppressed emotions. Once outside, she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her. She knew things would never be the same again.

And with that realization, she made her decision. She would distance herself, for both their sakes, even if it meant breaking her own heart.

taglist : @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @f1fantasys @aundercover @ohthemisssery @ggaslyp1 @hadids-world @matcha---matcha @f1luvur @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @timmychalametsstuff

[apollo-loved-icarus]

the more i think about the gods the more i realise they have always been with me. 

Hephaestus was with me, brimming with excitement, as I grinned at my projects in wood work. Poseidon has been with me since my birth when i was born under the warm water of a bathtub and he has been with me every single time i went to the beach and felt such a distinct calling to the ocean. Demeter was with me as i played in the mud and played pretend in the forest as a child and now as i go for walks through nature. Aphrodite is holding my hand every step of the way as i try and find myself. it was her arms i cried into after every break up. she is tucking my hair back and adjusting my clothes as i look in the mirror and feel confident. she is swimming with me and Poseidon at the beach. she calls me to her birthplace like a moth to flame. Apollo has embraced me every time i smile up with the sun on my face. he grinned at me every time i thanked someone for saying my hair looked nice in the sun. it was his arms that held me upright through every performance and it is he who dances with me every time i dance around my house. Zeus is there when my breath catches as thunder strikes above me. He danced with me and my brother and my mum in the rain when i was a child. Athena is rocking out to bikini kill and green day with me. she lives through me in the rage i feel at the world. i feel her embrace when i get excited about finally understanding my maths work. she holds my hand through every exam. it is Hestia’s arms who cradle me when i am warm and cosy in my bed. she embodies the feeling of waking up when its chilly outside but im warm under my blanket. she is with me when i smell the candles i light. Hera sits beside me and grins over my shoulder when i look at wedding ideas on pinterest. she is the one cooing at baby pictures with me when i get bad bouts of baby fever. she is cradling me in her arms when i hear my parents argue and i feel scared. Artemis is watching curiously as i freeze for a moment when i see wildlife on girl guide camp. she is the complete awe on the younger girls faces when we see a kangaroo in the distance or a cool bug on the ground. she and her brother are adjusting my posture and footing when i hold a bow and aim for a target. she is the happiness i feel when i look up and see a bright moon. she is giggling at baby videos with me and Hera during my days of baby fever. Persephone is the giddy smile on my face when i realise its Spring! its finally my birthday season and i couldn’t be happier. she is holding my hand and laughing herself silly as my friends and i try and figure out the weather during school. she is sitting calmly with me as i weave flowers together to put in my hair. Hades is in the drop of my heart when i feel my life flash before my eyes. he embraces me when i am trying to wrap my head around the concept of death. he holds my friends close when they experience loss. Ares is alive and well in my mind as i type a snarky response to someone i cannot stand online. he is with me, cheering me on as i start arguments and fight for my beliefs. Hermes grins over my shoulder as i receive money for my birthday. he is with me when my father and i watch Italian telenovelas so we can learn Italian together. he embraces me when i am anxious about travelling or going somewhere. it is his arms that hold me close and soothe my panic as i realise how far away from home i am. 

I have always felt the gods around me. I have just never been able to put a word to the feelings I feel. I cherish their love so much ❤️

[lady-ashfade]

Matching flames

Percy Jackson x Soulmate!Reader

-£ Ask: Percy x reader who's his soul mate and he only finds out when she almost dies (could be trying to save him or just because life as a demigod is hard) @poemfreak306

-£ words: 2k

-£ Warnings: Reader being injured, soulmate au, blood & cuts, reader almost dying, angsty, comfort at the end, cursing?? (You can also imagine any Percy you want in this)

Could you count all the stars in the sky?

It was almost peaceful looking up at the stars, mind going blank and your body numb. they looked so beautiful and you realize you’ve never quite looked closely at them. burning rocks floating in space that somehow was the cause of so many poems and love stories. if only you had noticed it sooner.

Blood leaked out of your side and the hand you placed over it started to give up trying to put pressure on the wound. The monster who chased you for miles had finally got to you after being so close to camp, to being safe and sound, when it’s claws finally got ahold of you. Its sharp nails dragged into your skin ripping your clothes and stained them with the blood immediately pouring out. thankfully you had one stroke of luck when your dagger pierced its heart and it was quick to fall.

Not much time has passed since then, however it was enough time for you to loss too much blood.

Had the stars always been that pretty? Just a thought as your eyes blur and the only thing left to feel was the thoughts in your head. The sweet smile of your moral parent’s smile, how it felt to laugh with friends and how some part of you still felt on fire. The shore of the camp’s lake appeared in your mind, and sand beneath your feet as you look at someone’s figure. The smile on their face was so familiar…Maybe it was death being nice to you.

you tried to keep your eyes open but they were just too heavy. maybe you could just rest for a few minutes. there was a sense of warmth that took over your body once more as your eyes fade closed.

“He’s coming, not long little one.”

the campfire wasn’t his focus at the moment but he found himself staring into it as his thoughts ran wild. he had just back to camp but this year was so much different. there was so much on his mind that he just couldn’t focus on one thing. about his mother, his father and how he still couldn’t believe he was a Demi god. even after a long time it just wasn’t normal to him.

then a hiss leaves his lips as he clings to his side in pain. it was stinging and felt on fire. he knew how being wounded felt like all to well but nothing happened, he was just sitting. then his finger felt funny like pins and needles stabbed him all at once. from his left annabeth looks at him worried and looking of his confused face.

“What’s wrong?” But the boy just stared at himself as the pain faded away but his hand became numb and weird. He spun it around a few times to look over it, checking for anything causing it but found nothing. not even a bug.

it was your smile that popped in his head. the warm shoulder he always laid on, he could hear the laugh you had ringing in his ears. why? his name was called from your soft lips but it wasn’t like normal, he saw your lips with blood from the corner. reaching out to him like he was your only hope.

“Y/n.” He stood up immediately at the image in his head. looking around for you in the crowd of campers he didn’t find you with your siblings or around your friends. annebeth looked at him worried and stood up with him, “what is it?”

he knew those trees. he’s seen then a million times. percy knew the grass, but this was different from actually knowing where you were. something was tugging his body and he didn’t need ask where you were. he knew.

his feet moved on their own and he practically ran where they took him and only thought of you. Annebeth stayed behind and told Mr.d that something might be wrong. Percy felt off and not the normal kind he always did. his body felt weaker like it was losing its life. his chest felt off and his heart filled with sorrow.

so when he found you laying in a pool of your own blood he was quick to fall next to you. “y/n” he called out. he checked for a pulse but couldn’t do it right so he leaned next to your nose and listened for your breathing and thankfully he felt some. his heart was pounding when he saw the cuts on your body making his mind wonder to what could have done it. the camp was just a few feet away and you could have been safe.

“Don’t die,” he begged and places his arm under your head, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” his words didn’t make sense to him when he spoke. how was it supposed to be? what was he talking about.

the new light in the sky made him look up to a shooting star shoot cross the sky. it was truly beautiful. something around his finger pulled again and he felt the small feeling of string so when he looked down it was red and tied around him. following the line he found it connected to you. The string of fate.

his string was tied to yours. you were his soulmate.

“no, no” he wrapped another arm under your legs and left you up slightly. he was staring at your face with tears pooling themselves in his eyes. for the first time he was finally seeing you as what you were. his. but how could the gods be so cruel to take you way from him. Percy wouldn’t let that happen. he’d fight hades himself for you back.

“just stay with me.” there he was carrying you passed the camp line to get you to the infirmary. even in the near death you looked stunning as you away did. he was just to stupid to see it before. 

when they took you away from him he was quiet and stood outside the door and refused to leave. percy even refused to leave the room at first but was yelled at and pushed out, so he had no choice but to leave your side. how could he just stay outside when he could lose the one person that was supposedly to stay with him, to love him, and who was supposed to be with him always? how could he just sit still when he was going to lose it all?

his friends came to sit with him and offered him some kind words and reassurance but not much helped. he just sat down on a chair with his legs bouncing and hands fiddling with themselves as all he could think is about you. about the cuts on your skin and all the blood.

luckily they had gotten you somewhat healed, making you stable and fine. just had to wait for your body to heal.

“Percy,” annabeth poked his shoulder as he stared at the floor. they had left and he could go in now but he didn’t notice. “you can go in now.” Percy turn quickly to her and then at the door wide open now. so he sprinted up and inside to find you laying on the bed peacefully sleeping. annabeth didn’t follow him in because he needed a moment alone. she’d let him have his moment

Percy sat beside your bed the whole time you slept. he’d fed you. he’d brushed your hair out of your face and watched you closely as if someone was out to get you. his hand was always ready to pull out riptide in case but nothing dangerous ever came. his hand stayed in yours while he whispered for you to wake up and how much he was sorry.

“Should have realized it before,” he whispered as he leaned near you. “gosh, I’m such a idiot.” he sighed to himself and ran his eyes over you.

His hands rubbed your own, “Just wake up and I’ll make up for it. For all the time we lost, just let me love you.” His lips pressed to your head as you continued to sleep unknowing to his words but your body healing by having him close.

two days of not getting much sleep himself you’d waken up. his head resting next to your leg as he sat in a chair with his hand on yours, his hair messy. you didn’t remember coming to the infirmary or how you got here. and not percy holding your hand. but you couldn’t let go off it because it was to comfortable like it was made to fit in yours.

when you moved your body since it felt so stiff from probably not moving in days you’d accidentally woke him up. you felt bad as he shot up quickly and looked around panicked with his hand going to his side, probably reaching for riptide. once his eyes found yours it made your heart sink into your lower stomach. under his eyes were black circles and his eyes looked so painful that it broke you, like he’d been crying. he was paler then normal.

A sad smile broke onto his face, he was relieved to see you awake. He let out a small chuckle as his eyes almost filled with tears when he jumped forward you take your head into his chest as a small hug. “Welcome back,” you froze at his hug but let him have his moment. of course you smiled and wrapped your arms around him too. It was nice.

“Percy, how long was I out…How did I get here?” Pulling himself back with a red tint in his chest he sat back down.

“I found you outside the barrier. Y/n, I thought you were dead, you were barely breathing.” his voice broke. “but I got you here and now you’re awake. not dead,” there was that damn smiling again that pained you, like he was convincing his demons something.

humming and nodding your head along you look at your side to see it healed, lifting up your shirt just a little and saw a scar on your skin. it made you frown knowing how big it would be. “If it means anything, I think you’d look badass.” you put your shirt back down and look at him.

he was trying to make you feel better. “Percy when I was- When I closed my eyes I heard something and my body, well it felt different. Do you know anything about that?” his heart skipped a beat and his eyes slightly going wide.

was it obvious how fluster he was? was his skin as red as a tomato, did he look like a fool? “I have to tell you something.” Percy played with his own hands again and looked away for a second. you swing your legs to the side of the bed to stretch.

“Go ahead.”

You watched him closely and you could see he was working himself up to speak. how his body bounced and twitched, he was turning redder by the second. he was cute. and you yourself found your own cheeks turning hot when you looked at him.

“I saw you at the campfire in my mind. I could feel the pain you felt, or somewhat, like I was dying. my body was pulling me to you and I knew exactly where to find you without having to look.” As he explained you listened carefully and tilted your head to the side.

“then I saw it. The red string of fate tied to my finger. I saw a shooting star, then I saw your string tied to my. And for the first time I saw you for the first time, as my soulmate.”

“Oh.” Damnit. That was bad.

Percy nodded and now started to shut down as he watched you, your brain moving to figure out what to say. he just ruined everything. you wished to not be his soulmate, that was it. he didn’t blame you. Percy brought danger whereever he went.

But that wasn’t it. you had been thinking something else. everything made sense to you now. why you looked at him when no one else was looking. why he made you feel high in the clouds when he was near. and how he just fit so well in your life without trying. “Percy,” you call out to him again and move closer and scoot to the end of the bed with your feet hitting the floor.

you should have known from his eyes. as they look at you now it just hit you like bricks, how they were so powerful. as you take his cheek in your hands his breath hitches and holds in his chest. “i’m glad you’re my soulmate.”

he pulled you close to him and held you so tight in how arms as you giggled at how happy he seemed. his laugh made your stomach fill with butterflies. “I’ll make you happy.” And that you had no doubt about. you pulled back from his grasp and looked at his lips. you needed to kiss him. and Percy knew what you were thinking and wanted the same.

his face moved forward as his kiss captured yours in a soft but passive kiss, his hands moving to wrap themselves around your body as yours wrapped around his neck. it was nice but didn’t end short. after all you both waited for a long time to feel the love of a soulmate and you didn’t know that you craved it this badly.

The stars never lied when it comes to love. And now you knew that he was the burning fire within you.

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 2

______________

"why can't my parent just claim me? My human parent doesn't like me, and now you're telling me there's a chance my godly parent might not even care about me at all?" You huff kicking a rock while walking to the dining pavilion

Annabeth's eyes fill with sympathy "You never know, maybe they're just busy"

"busy my ass... I've heard that excuse so many times before" you sit down at the Hermes table, where all the unwanted children sit

"So (Name), are you going to be a year round student or just for the summer, because we're gonna need Mr.D to sign you in" Travis Stoll one of the head counselors says to you

You think about it for a while, you saw how other children treated each other like family, how there was a director who loves the children as his own, you could find your place here, it doesn't matter if you have parents, you could find your family, just as everyone else in this camp did

"I-" then you stop, you mind going back to the Manor, how you left the hallways burning, and now you're missing, are they worried? Do they want to find you? What if they think you set the house on fire? Would you even have a home to return to?

It's not like you were as loved as Jason who could just die and come back

This set your decision, you are never going back to that cold mansion, you are never going to sleep in a silent room, here, you could build a life for yourself

"I'd like to stay year round" you say

"well that settles it, I'll explain the rules to you later 'kay?" He says

The infamous Mr.D seemingly groaned, you're pretty sure you heard him mumbling "another fucking kid"

___________________

Two days have passed, you feel like the happiest kid on earth

Annabeth is doing this thing where she's trying to help you find your godly parent, you couldn't care less(or could you?), but listen-

Yesterday you just shot 25 consecutive bullseyes and you've never felt so amazing, everyone was clapping their hands and we're praising you, and everyone was saying you were a natural at farming, sword fighting was one you enjoyed, you know a thing or two about combat so you gained respect from the other campers

But even after all those achievements, no one came to claim you

Now you're trying blacksmithing, you loved all the things you did but... The weapons were kinda ugly, every sword in the weaponry looked the same, only special kids get customized swords, so you were kinda hoping to make your own custom weapons and stuff, I mean no parent is gonna give it to you

"Hello!" You smile at the busy forgers, they acknowledge and some nod and some smile back

____________________

Tim looks at CCTV cameras, his eyes wide and in disbelief

A random woman, who somehow broke into the Manor, with a flamethrower, burned a hallway down

He saw this kid, well his little sibling, but I don't think it's appropriate to call you that, you ran crying for help- well you weren't crying for help exactly but you were screaming, you were seen running for your life away from this madwoman

whom he'll safely assume is one of his father's ex lovers or some villain that decided to get back at him

The problem was you.

No sign of you at all

Batman had everyone patrolling, Bruce Wayne reported you missing, a prize reward given to the one who'll find you dead or alive (alive hopefully)

There was this image he couldn't get out of his mind

In the middle of trying to salvage what could be saved in that fire... He spotted a family picture, a picture where everyone was still visible- and only your face had been burned off

He tried to help with the search, thinking about where you could go, what you could do, but he couldn't

He didn't know how you acted or how you'd decide

He knew nothing about you, and so did the others, it was like you were already dead before it was even confirmed

Damian walked in the room "you're still here? Dad already got the JL to help with search, quit trying to show them up"

"I just don't get it, she ran to the garden, but she wasn't there- could there be other villains waiting in the garden and took her? I don't know-"

The demon spawn scoffed "Anyways dad wants you to send the CCTV footage to JL, they said they'll analyze it or something"

Tim was doubtful, it's not like anyone there could spot what he couldn't, he was very observant (of everyone but (name) apparently)

____________________

Sorry it took a long time for me to update 😞, it was pt week and I had a lot of projects

But I wonder who could possibly be (name)'s godly parent?and who could spot what Tim couldn't?

@bat1212 @jisnothere @erikasurfer @nathaly36

[wileys-russo]

Matildas content has me in a chokehold for my fav aussie girlies! Would you consider something with kyra x r where the girls notice how easily r stops kyra’s annoying little sister behavior (rip mother steffy) maybe something along the lines of r being sleepy and Kyra being loud, a little “baby, im tired” and kyra’s basically 🤐 and the girls are just like this is all we needed for her to not be a menace lol!

around her little finger II k.cooney-cross x reader

"mate she's killing me, i really don't know how you put up with her." caitlin grumbled with a huff, shoving kyra away who tickled at the back of her neck with a grin, all of you exhausted after a long day of travel.

"patience and practice." you smiled bumping your shoulder into the older girls who sighed and grabbed her bag, heading into the hotel before kyra could catch her.

there wasn't a need though as of course kyra's attention was on her most favourite person to annoy, steph.

"kyra get off you rat!" steph laughed, shoving kyra away where she tried to clamber onto her back, smacking the younger girl in the back of the head as she reached for her bags.

"ow! babe did you see that? she abused me." your girlfriend turned to you with a pout. "baby you abuse her on a daily basis, you asked for it." you patted her cheek softly as steph laughed loudly in her face and slung an arm over you.

"and this is why you're my favourite child." steph sighed happily as you shot your girlfriend a grin over the older girls shoulder whose pout had shifted into a grumpy scowl as she grabbed her bags and yours.

"not fair! you've known each other longer." kyra grumbled moodily, steph having played alongside you since your very first pro season in the a-leagues, having taken you under her wing from day one. "i'm also significantly more tolerable than you ky." you teased as your girlfriend rolled her eyes and mocked you under her breath.

"thats the understatement of the century." steph agreed with a hum, yelping as kyra kicked at the back of her legs and sent her stumbling forward nearly taking you down with her. "kyra!" steph growled as your girlfriend beamed and sprinted into the hotel.

"you can do so much better than her, you know that right?" steph sighed taking your face in her hands as you rolled her eyes. "you love us together stephanie don't lie, you meddled about to get us with one another in the first place!" you wagged a finger as she grinned and let you go.

"i do, i really do. she might be a massive pain in the ass but you two are adorable together!" steph cooed and pinched your cheek as the two of you stepped inside the lobby.

"yeah and you've got her on a leash! whipped." you turned around at the new voice as your face lit up. "lani!" you launched at the taller girl, wrapping yourself around her in a hug as the defender squeezed you tightly.

"no longer wanting to punch me now are we baby t?" the blonde teased as she dropped you back to your feet and you pushed her shoulder with a scoff. "one; i hate that nickname. two; it was a dirty tackle and you deserved a yellow!" you warned as the older girl simply grinned and pulled you into her side, the two of you catching up as you wandered toward check in.

"also you might hate it but you're branded with that nickname for life now." alanna warned patting your head as you pushed her away, the nickname in general being a shortened version of 'baby tillie' which you'd earned the day you rocked up for your first senior camp at only fifteen with boots one size too big and your training bib on backwards.

you made your way around saying your hello's, your girlfriend waiting patiently by check in with your bags at her feet already having said her greetings.

"so you finally did it then?" steph looked up and her face broke out into a grin at the sight of hayley, embracing the shorter girl in a very tight hug. "did what?" steph frowned a little as hayley nodded over her shoulder toward kyra who was watching you with a lovesick pining stare.

"oh yes! finally manipulated them both into admitting their feelings for one another." steph smiled victoriously, you and kyra only having been officially together for a few months now after clearly crushing mutually for years.

"i give it a couple more weeks till she gets sick of that." hayley grinned, nodding to kyra who had grown bored of waiting for you, now wrapped around caitlin trying to pull her into a headlock.

"oh that isn't a problem with them. in fact, its a solution! just you wait."

~

sure enough, the others didn't need to wait long to see just what steph meant.

with word of you and kyra spreading rapidly around the team it wasn't long until the teasing started which you just brushed off with a roll of your eyes and a smile.

kyra however took the opposite approach, bragging on and on about how much you were whipped for her and how you were the biggest 'simp' she'd ever met, a charming recount which really no one but kyra actually believed.

after a grueling morning of fitness testing in the hot abu dhabi sun and everyone was cooling down in the ice baths prepared by the coaching staff, protein shakes in hand as time was spent catching up.

"on your left darlin." you looked up with a grin as ellie jumped in beside you, inhaling with a slight hiss at the change in temperature and clenching her top in her teeth, slowly sinking down into the freezing water.

"well well well if isn't little miss le clean sheet!" you teased with a smirk, ellie shoving your head to the side as the media team started their rounds with the mini mic having already cautioned everyone about camp content being needed.

"who would play you in a movie about your life?" you oohed as it was your turn, ellie already answering as you paused to think about your own. "natalie portman?" you laughed, unable to really think of an answer.

"you wish!" ellie scoffed with a grin, a few of the other girls adding onto the teasing as you mocked them and pulled a face. "because you look so much like margot robbie!" you threw back at alanna whose face dropped as your girlfriend hopped into the ice bath with her.

"fuck off kyra!" the blonde groaned, shoving her away as kyra stuck her finger in her ear with a grin. "anyone else want to babysit?" alanna grumbled, huffing and smacking the midfielder who continued to poke and prod at her.

"ky!" your girlfriend paused to look over her shoulder toward you as you raised an eyebrow.

no further words needing to be said the brunette sank down a little deeper into the water, sipping on her shake and stopping pestering alanna who looked on in surprise as you returned to your conversation with ellie and claire.

hayley got to see everything first hand a little later in the day, everyone gathering together for a session in the gym now it was a little cooler and everyone had eaten lunch.

"kyra! you're fucking killing me here." caitlin groaned as the girl clung onto her leg like a child, refusing to let go so she could continue her workout. "kyra please go finish your own reps, burn off some energy or something." steph tried with a roll of her eyes as kyra ignored her and continue to cling on.

a few others tried but kyra just ignored them, caitlin trying desperately to shake her off and even threatening to drop a weight on her head had no effect on the midfielder.

"mini man help me out!" caitlin whined pointing to kyra as katrina held her hands up. "she doesn't listen to me!" the older woman laughed, knowing the younger girls willingness to annoy others much out drove her willingness to listen to them.

"ky, can you spot me please?" you appeared suddenly with a drink bottle in hand, kyra dropping from caitlins leg and immediately jumping up to her feet, following loyally after you like a puppy.

"well, would seem she does listen to someone." hayley scoffed, all of the girls bar steph's faces written with shock, watching as kyra raced off to fill your water up for you after loading up the bench press insisting you not touch a thing until she returned.

"see? told you ras, baby t's got her wrapped right round her little finger." steph smirked somewhat proudly, the girls all shaking their heads and returning to their own workouts, kyra hovering protectively above you watching like a hawk as you did your lifts.

~

if word spread quickly about you and kyra just simply finally being together, it spread even faster about just what an impact and a grip you seemed to have over the rambunctious midfielder and her pestering antics.

"no way! she's that much of a pain." mackenzie scoffed in disbelief at alanna's words about what happened in the gym yesterday and in the ice baths, caitlin adding in several experiences of her own from back in london.

like the time kyra was caught tying katie's shoes together and with one disappointed sigh from you she immediately untied them and raced to katie with an apology.

or the time she wouldn't stop spraying alessia with her water bottle for the entire training until suddenly you were thirsty and she was barreling over toward the taps to fill up about five of them which were ran right over to you.

or the time she stacked up a whole heap of the big black foam training blocks to prove to teyah she could in fact touch the roof.

but with one mention of her name and a raised eyebrow from you, the midfielder was clambering down and putting the blocks back, showering your face with apologetic kisses as you scolded her and warned she could have been seriously hurt had she fallen.

"you are lying! look at her she's a menace." mackenzie rolled her eyes pointing to where kyra was currently rolling around on the rec room floor wrestling with charli as teagan egged them on.

"what are we talking about then?" you hopped over the back of the couch they were sat on, wedging yourself between alanna and mackenzie. "comfortable?" the blonde raised an eyebrow as you tucked yourself into her side and stretched your legs out over mackenzies lap.

"very, thank you lanz." you grinned patting her knee as the older girl rolled her eyes affectionately but moved her arm to drape across you. "how you've got kyra wrapped round your little finger." caitlin chuckled in answer to your previous question.

"oh yeah, absolutely." you nodded with a serious expression as mackenzie scoffed. "there is no way, she's too much of a stubborn pest to listen to anyone." the goalkeeper shook her head as you shrugged, unbothered by the disbelief.

"game of uno?"

"ha! draw four, again." alanna smirked toward mackenzie who was fuming, yanking another four cards up and mumbling angrily under her breath.

"relax mac you're gonna burst a blood vessel in your forehead, at your age that could cause some serious winkle damage." you teased, both you and caitlin down to one card each as poor mackenzie now had at least twelve.

"unless you would like me to hang you upside down by your ankles again, shut it." the older girl warned seriously as you held hands up in defence. "that was so good i've gotta find the video of that again." alanna snickered as you pinched her leg with a glare.

"i didn't even deserve it considering i was framed and both of you knew and didn't say anything!" you huffed at the memory of the goalkeeper indeed hanging you upside down by your ankles when she thought you'd put honey in her gloves.

but really it was of course a much younger sam who didn't even come to your defence as you swore black and blue it wasn't you, mackenzie only letting you down when your face went bright red since the blood had rushed to your head.

"i said i was sorry and i threw sam in the ice bath, don't be a baby about it." mackenzie shrugged finally getting alanna back with a draw four of her own. "you never said sorry!" you argued with a scowl which quickly turned to a victorious smirk as you slapped down your final card with a whoop of success.

"three in a row, unbeatable." you grinned happily, all three girls around you moaning in annoyance and throwing their cards down. "i'm tapping out, leaving as a winner you know?" you flexed with a confident smile.

"goodnight!" you hurried to dart out of the way of alanna's hand which grabbed for your top as you wiggled your fingers at them over your shoulder.

your girlfriend in the meantime was on a winning streak of her own only it wasn't just her opponents whose nerves she was rapidly grating as she sat on a beanbag playing mario kart, yelling and jeering and poking at poor steph who was stuck in dead last.

"nah this is rigged! what have you done to it?" she shot the brunette beside her a fierce glare as kyra let out an over dramatic evil laugh causing a few heads to turn to her with scowls of annoyance at her volume in the shared space.

picking up on the rapidly frosty mood building in the room and not wanting your girlfriend to make too many enemies on her first night, as kyra crossed the finish line in first you decided to step in.

"ha! loser loser looser." kyra leapt up and chanted repeatedly at steph beside her who scowled and threw the remote onto the now vacant beanbag beside her as kyra continued with her obnoxious celebrations.

"anyone else game enough to face the champ?" the midfielder smiled smugly looking around the room but clearly missing the looks of disdain thrown back at her, even charli looking ready to call it a night.

"nobody? everyone too chicken?" kyra made a loud squawking noise and grinned. "just go to bed kyra! you are giving everyone a headache." caitlin groaned from the sofa as your girlfriend started to argue.

"ky." your hand grabbed softly at her bicep, cutting her off mid sentence as she looked to you with a raised eyebrow, the brunette now consumed entirely in giving you whatever you wanted.

"baby, i'm tired. lets head up?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, kyra nodding and immediately tossing the controller onto the beanbag without another word, grabbing your hand and following you right out of the room.

"see? around. her. little. finger!" caitlin smirked at the look of utter shock on mackenzie's face, most of the team looking on in surprise at yet again just how easily kyra would bend over backwards to meet your needs.

"ow! what the hell was that for?" steph huffed as hayley dropped down in the beanbag beside her and handed her one of the abandoned controllers.

"for not getting them together sooner!"

[waayoutofline]

Like Seeing A Ghost.

Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1489

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda come here please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Honey, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they’re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show them? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

[elladreams]

Echoes of the Past // MV1

summary: An unexpected reunion with her high school bully reignites old wounds and unresolved feelings.

trigger warnings: she/her Y/N, mentions of bullying, smut (18+), dom!max, dub!con if you squint, size kink.

words: 5.4K

The warm Mediterranean sun cast a golden glow on the elegant terrace of La Villa Belle Époque, overlooking the turquoise waters of the Côte d'Azur. Y/N took a sip of a Mimosa, her eyes casually scanning the crowd of impeccably dressed guests. Her breath hitched when her gaze unexpectedly landed on a face she had desperately hoped to forget—Max fucking Verstappen.

The shock of seeing him for the first time since high school sent a jolt through her. Y/N had spent countless nights imagining this moment, rehearsing every possible scenario, crafting a mental script to prepare herself. Despite her preparations, now, standing on the brink of reality, she realized that no amount of overthinking could have braced her for the adrenaline surging through her veins. Years of therapy and thousands of Euros spent had not insulated her from the impact of his presence; she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. That’s how much control he still had over her.

She hadn’t exactly been hiding under a rock these past years. His achievements were plastered all over the news, his smug face beamed from towering billboards and shop windows. No matter how many social media accounts she blocked, the gossip, the paparazzi photos—they always found a way to haunt her feed. Somehow, she had meticulously crafted a filtered reality where he didn’t exist in any way, shape, or form. 

She had worked tirelessly to erase that part of her teenage years, especially the memories of a particularly cruel boy who had tormented her during the most awkward phase of her life. Every day, he seemed to find new ways to humiliate her—cutting remarks about her appearance, mocking her every move, and ensuring she felt small whenever he was around. It was as if he took pleasure in targeting her insecurities, knowing exactly where to strike to leave lasting scars. 

Yet, despite the cruelty, her heart betrayed her; she couldn't help but admire him from afar, drawn to the charm he effortlessly wielded over everyone but her. The worst part was the way her love for him only deepened the pain, turning every insult into a twisted reminder of the affection she would never receive from him.

With him spending most of his time training and competing in Formula 3 races, school started offering her sweet relief from his torment. So imagine her shock when he showed up at the annual summer camp—a place she had always considered her safe haven, where she hoped to blend in and finally focus on building her social life. But even there, he found her, and the teasing that haunted her school days followed her to what was supposed to be her escape. 

They were paired together during a hike that led them deep into the woods. She had been quiet the whole time, trying to keep her distance, while he alternated between mocking her and ignoring her altogether. As the sun began to set and the group started heading back to camp, they somehow got separated from the others. It was just the two of them, walking through the trees, the air thick with the sounds of nature and an awkward silence between them.

She was nervous, her heart pounding for reasons she wanted to ignore. Then, out of nowhere, he stopped and turned to her, a strange look in his eyes. Before she could ask what he was doing, he stepped closer, his usual smirk replaced by something darker, more serious. She froze as he reached out, his hand brushing her arm, and without warning, he leaned in and slammed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the kiss she had dreamed of—it was quick, almost rough, and utterly unexpected. It felt more like a challenge than a romantic moment, like he was proving something to himself or to her. The kiss left her reeling, not because it was sweet or tender, but because it was him. The boy she had secretly loved, the same boy who had made her life a nightmare, had just stolen her first kiss in the middle of the woods, with no one around to witness it.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Her lips tingled, her mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. But then he pulled back, his familiar smirk returning as if the kiss had meant nothing to him, just another way to mess with her head. He didn’t say anything, just turned and continued walking back to camp as if nothing had happened, leaving her standing there, stunned and conflicted. She touched her lips, feeling a mix of emotions she couldn’t untangle—anger, confusion, and a tiny, treacherous part of her that had wanted it to mean something more. But it didn’t. To him, it was just another game, another way to keep her under his thumb. And as she followed him back to camp, the weight of that realisation crushed the small spark of hope she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying. She had planned to confront him that very next day, the very day he announced he would be leaving school and joining a Formula 1 team.

Now here she was, dressed in her Sunday best, at this pretentious brunch party with a breathtaking view of the Côte d'Azur, clutching a second Mimosa like a lifeline. She silently hoped that drinking it on an empty stomach might actually give her the liquid courage she desperately needed. But there he was, the life of the fucking party, as always. His dark blonde hair, tousled by the August morning breeze, framed a face that could have belonged to a golden age movie star than an elite Formula 1 champion. His tall, lean frame, clad in a loose linen shirt, towered over an older woman he appeared deeply engaged with in conversation. His crystal blue eyes intermittently scanned the crowd, as he took measured sips from what seemed to be some type of hard liquor on the rocks. The casual yet precise movements gave him an air of effortless control, as if he was both part of the scene and aloof from it, surveying his surroundings with a detached curiosity.

In a surge of raw panic, Y/N quickly turned on her heel, praying he hadn’t caught sight of her. There was still time to slip away, unseen, and pretend everything was fine. But she hadn't shown up just for the free drinks or the minuscule hors d’oeuvres. No, she was here because her darling mother—currently nowhere in sight—had insisted on some quality mother-daughter time, lamenting how rare it was these days. 

She downed the rest of her drink and placed the empty glass on a nearby server’s tray with a silent thanks. She needed to leave—now. As she fumbled with her phone, hastily typing an excuse to send her mother, a voice calling her name stopped her cold. A low voice that haunted her nightmares while simultaneously lingering in her darkest fantasies.

“Y/N?” 

Her chance to escape had slammed shut, and all the carefully crafted scenarios she had rehearsed now seemed like distant, fleeting thoughts, slipping further and further from her grasp. Panic threatened to take hold, but she knew she couldn’t afford to unravel—not here, not now. She needed to get her shit together, swallow the rising lump in her throat, and face the situation head-on. It was time to end this—no more running, no more letting him hold power over her. She had come too far, fought too hard to let the past cripple her again. This time, she would be the one in control.

A surprising wave of calm washed over her as she turned to face him, her chin lifted just enough to meet his gaze head-on. "Max." She offered a small, composed smile, hoping it would mask the lingering adrenaline still buzzing at the tips of her fingers. "What a surprise." Her words carried a faint hint of irony, as she couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth—this wasn’t exactly the kind of surprise she had been hoping for. Still, she held her ground, determined not to let him see the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

"I could say the same," he replied, his voice dripping with a casual arrogance that hadn't faded over the years. His gaze lingered on her, drifting from her slightly parted lips down to the silk dress that clung to her curves in a way that made his mouth dry. He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with a mixture of intrigue and something more primal. "It's been a while. What, pray tell, brings you here?"

She couldn’t suppress the small laugh that bubbled up, partly from nerves, partly from the absurdity of the situation. Grateful for the distraction, she reached for another Mimosa from a passing tray and brought it to her lips, the cool liquid a welcome relief to her parched throat. "It certainly has been quite a while," she said, nodding more to herself than to him, her gaze drifting away as she feigned interest in the stunning view. Anything to avoid the intensity of his stare. She could feel the weight of his presence beside her, and it took every ounce of effort not to let her emotions spill over. But as much as she tried to appear unaffected, the memories of their past tangled with the present, leaving her struggling to maintain her composure.

"Well, aside from the fact that I live here," she replied, her tone crisp, "I’m meeting someone." She took another sip of her Mimosa, using the glass as a shield. "What about you? Don’t you have a crash to cause or a penalty to collect? It is Sunday, last I checked." Her words were laced with a biting sarcasm that she hoped would keep him at a distance, but beneath the surface, her annoyance was bubbling dangerously close to boiling over.

She forced herself to maintain a calm exterior, trying to disguise just how much his presence unsettled her. Every carefully chosen word, every measured breath, was an attempt to keep him from seeing the effect he still had on her. She couldn’t afford to let him know that after all these years, he could still rattle her with just a glance. So she stood there, chin up, desperately clinging to her composure, even as her heart hammered in her chest.

He seemed taken aback by her sharp retort, letting out an actual laugh that filled the air with a mix of surprise and nostalgia. "Look at her, she's finally grown a spine," he remarked, his tone laced with both amusement and a hint of respect. "It is a Sunday, but it’s also summer break, schat. Thanks for keeping tabs tho.” he said, his voice smooth and self-assured as he took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them to almost nothing. The intimate proximity left little room for anything else, certainly not for any proverbial Jesus.

"We need to have a few words, Y/N; in private," he continued, nodding subtly toward an upper deck that appeared to be secluded from the rest of the party. His eyes locked on hers, attempting to read her reaction, to gauge her willingness—or lack thereof.

Y/N felt a chill at his suggestion, despite the warm air. She eyed the upper deck warily, her mind racing with possibilities. His broad shoulders and large hands, which seemed capable of overpowering her without much effort, loomed in her mind. Though she was by no means petite, next to him, she felt alarmingly vulnerable—as if he could easily overpower her if he chose to.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, carried a blend of wariness and mock amusement. “Really, Max, if you think for a second I'm going to follow you anywhere secluded, you might be more delusional than I remembered." Her words were sharp, intended to push back against his presumption, to remind him that she wasn't the same person he used to bully.

Max's smile didn't waver, but she noticed a flicker of something else—was it annoyance?—flash through his eyes. "Come, Y/N" he insisted, his tone softening. "A few minutes, that's all I'm asking.” 

Y/N hesitated, her resolve flickering as curiosity pricked at her defences. What could he possibly have to say that couldn’t be discussed right here, surrounded by the safety of the crowd? Despite her reservations, a part of her needed to know. She nodded, whispering a quiet approval, her voice barely audible over the buzz of conversation around them.

He responded by reaching out and gently grasping her arm, his grip firm yet surprisingly tender. He guided her through the throng of partygoers, leading her up the stairs to the secluded upper deck. As he manoeuvred them through the crowd, his touch—a mixture of control and care—tugged unexpectedly at her heartstrings. It resurrected a swarm of emotions she had diligently worked to suppress, the memories of their past interactions mingling with a confusing sense of present vulnerability and an inexplicable hint of safety. The duality of her feelings, the blend of old fears and an emerging trust, left her both anxious and strangely anticipatory as they ascended to the quiet of the upper deck.

He set his drink down on a railing overlooking the Mediterranean and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, drawing a deep breath. Surprisingly, he seemed just as nervous as she was—a stark contrast to the unflappable demeanour he usually displayed. Hell, he drove at impossible speeds, there’s no way a conversation with little old her would even raise his heart beat. 

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to you if we ever met again,” she confessed. He sighed, turning to face her with an expression that was difficult to read, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and caution.

“And what did you prepare for today?” he asked, his voice steady. He downed the remaining liquor in his glass, the ice clinking sharply against the sides as he set it back with a slight thud.

A wry smile flickered across her lips. “I seem to suffer from a sudden case of amnesia,” she quipped, her tone light but her eyes serious. She placed her glass next to his, the gentle clink echoing their earlier years of discord. “It was something along the lines of: You made a good part of high school hell for me, I’ve talked about you in therapy, and you had no right to steal my first kiss...and so on.” Her voice trailed off, but her stance was firm, her words laying bare the wounds that still lingered from their past.

He seemed aware that he owed her several apologies—aware but clearly not pleased about it. Yet, the mention of that stolen kiss visibly shook him. His hands gripped the rail, knuckles whitening as if he needed the support to stand. “You never deserved the way I treated you,” he said, his voice laced with an angry edge, more at himself than at her. “That was a different person back then, someone I can't bring myself to be proud of.” 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Max paused, taking a deep breath as he continued, struggling to articulate his remorse. “I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on those days, trying to understand why I acted the way I did and how I could have been so cruel.” His gaze met hers, earnest and searching.

Max leaned closer, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, charged with a mix of regret and unresolved tension. "You know, it was always your reactions and banter that captivated me," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, searching. "That curiosity, that fire—I found it irresistible. My father would've had a fit if he knew. He wanted me completely focused on racing, living and breathing every turn of the circuits.” She could feel his whiskey laced breath on her face as he grabbed a lock of her hair and started playing with it mindlessly.

He paused, his gaze intensifying. "So, I hid behind teasing, masked my true feelings with taunts. It was the only way I could interact with you without crossing the line I was supposed to keep. But every jibe was just a poor substitute for what I really wanted to say." He moved a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "I regret that—more than you know.” 

Each word Max spoke seemed to weave around her, slowly turning up her internal heat despite the cool, refreshing breeze off the sea. He was close enough now that she could catch the scent of his skin—a complex fragrance that mingled the fresh, salty air with the rich undertones of spiced woods and amber. The aroma enveloped her, drawing her in, stirring a mix of memories and desires. It was as if the subtle layers of his scent were designed to beckon her closer, awakening a longing she thought she had long buried. As she breathed him in, the proximity made her heart beat faster, her thoughts tangled between the past pain and a present, pulsing attraction. 

She was the one who slammed their lips together this time, champagne mixing with whiskey in a tango only they could dance. His hand traveled from the delicate edge of her hair to the back of her head, gripping a fistful and drawing her even closer. The intensity of his hold only deepened their kiss, pulling them into a moment that felt both reckless and inevitable. 

She was completely and utterly lost as he devoured her mouth with a passion that she never thought possible. He forcefully nibbled at her lips, the pressure of his tongue dancing against her own ripping gasps from her throat. His hands where everywhere and yet not where she desperately needed them as her own trembling fingers were weaving through his hair. When he came up for air he rested his forehead against her own breathing heavily. His expression was reminiscent of Cabanel’s Fallen Angel, both tormented by the impact of their own choices. 

“Tell me to stop.” He ordered as he cupped her face, his forehead never leaving her own. If someone had told her early this morning that she would soon be on the verge of dry humping her high school bully, she would have slapped said someone across the face. Yet here she was, gasping for air and shaking her head because words were just not compatible with the her level of arousal. 

“Please don’t.” were the only words that she could muster out and it was all the confirmation he needed to fully ravage her. Their mouths resumed their favorite dance as Max’s hands started travelling south cupping her breasts through her silk dress, her nipples so hard he could see them through her bra. She couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. Everything was so intense with him, he knew just how much pressure to apply to dance on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

His hands continued their journey finally reaching her heat, making her sigh with pleasure. Her dress was bunched up at her hips now, leaving her legs exposed to his hungry gaze. He traced his fingers down her thigh, slowly, deliberately, as if trying to memorize every curve. As he reached the sensitive spot behind her knee, she let out a gasp, the sensation sending shivers through her body. His touch was electrifying, awakening parts of her she didn't even know existed.

He smirked as his fingers trailed higher, inching closer to her core, never taking her eyes off of her face. She trembled in anticipation, eager for his touch. But instead, his fingers suddenly stopped, lingering just a few centimeters from her center.

His voice was husky, his breath warm against her ear. "Are you sure you want this?"

She could feel her face flush, her body aching for him. "Yes."

"Beg me."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his boldness. "What?"

He chuckled softly, his hand still resting on her inner thigh, just inches from her core. "You heard me." His gaze locked onto hers, a mix of mischief and desire. "I want you to beg me."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through her, her pulse quickening. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But despite her embarrassment, the desire burning within her was undeniable. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, before speaking again.

"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "I want you, Max"

His eyes flashed with satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's my good girl."

With that, he finally gave her what she craved, his fingers sliding over her underwear. She moaned as he stroked her, her body responding eagerly to his touch. His other hand moved to her breast, squeezing it through her dress, and she arched into his palm, desperate for more contact. Without a warning he grabbed her drenched panties, sliding them down her legs. She could have sworn she saw him shove them in his back pocket but with all the dopamine and anticipation, she was simply an unreliable narrator.

Max gathered her in his arms leading them to an alcove where a table sat, patiently waiting for them. She could feel the cool marble on her thighs as he lifted her to sit, spreading her legs and kneeling before her. There was something so primal about the sight of him, her high school tormentor, on his knees before her.

Her legs parted and he took a moment to appreciate the view, making her squirm under his ravenous gaze. She was already so wet and he slid his finger inside her, groaning in satisfaction at the feel of her incredibly tight walls around him. She bit back a whimper, her body aching for more. He added another finger trying to prepare her for him, curling them just right and eliciting a string of whimpers and moans from her.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice husky with lust. She needed more, her hips bucking against his hand. She could feel her orgasm building, her breath coming in short gasps. But just as she was about to fall over the edge, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her aching and unsatisfied.

He looked up at her with a devilish grin, his eyes dark with desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her legs wider, his mouth moving to her entrance. She let out a gasp as his tongue flicked across her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. His fingers joined his mouth, teasing her, exploring her. She was completely at his mercy, her body writhing with pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he was mercilessly lapping at her, drinking her nectar like the sweetest ambrosia.

The sensations were overwhelming, her body overwhelmed with pleasure. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her orgasm imminent. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he curled his fingers inside her, hitting the perfect spot, and she came undone.

"Max!" she cried out, her body shuddering with pleasure. He worked her through her orgasm, his tongue and fingers bringing her to new heights of ecstasy. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, the aftershocks rippling through her body, leaving her spent and trembling as tears of pleasure started streaming from her eyes.

He stood, his erection prominent against his pants. He pulled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers. She could taste herself on his lips, a hint of sweetness mixed with his own unique flavour. It was intoxicating, and she melted into his embrace, her body still tingling from her climax. He took a second to lick her salty tears, as if the very taste of them was an aphrodisiac. She couldn't believe what had just happened, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. But as she gazed up at him, his eyes dark with desire, she knew there was no turning back.

He was everywhere, surrounding her, his presence overwhelming her senses. She could feel the hard planes of his body against hers, the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress. She clung to him, her hands exploring his back, his muscles taut beneath her touch.

As the initial rush of pleasure began to subside, Y/N realized the gravity of what they had done. This wasn't some random hook-up—this was Max, the boy who had once made her life hell. The man she was supposed to hate. The man who, despite everything, she had never been able to fully get over.

She could feel the walls she had carefully built up over the years starting to crumble, the floodgates opening and unleashing a torrent of emotions she had worked so hard to keep at bay. She tried to push him away, to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on her was too strong.

"Let me go," she protested, her voice shaky and uneven.

"Not a chance," he growled, his lips trailing along the side of her neck, his stubble rough against her skin.

"You don't get to walk away this time."

He lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She could feel his erection pressing against her core, his hands gripping her thighs. He carried her to the nearest wall, her back taking the brunt of the impact. His mouth was on hers again, his kiss rough and demanding, stealing the air from her lungs. She was drowning in him, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the taste of him on her lips. It was intoxicating, addicting, and she knew she was lost.

"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"So fucking right," he countered, his mouth claiming hers once more.

She could feel his hard clothed erection rubbing against her bare cunt, she was probably dripping all over his pants. It was the hottest thing she had ever experienced. He ground his hips into her, his covered length sliding between her folds. The friction was incredible, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding to his touch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I've wanted this for so long, dreamed of it."

His words sent a thrill through her, a rush of adrenaline mingling with the pleasure coursing through her veins. He freed himself from his pants, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her. In truth, she had limited sexual experience, but nothing could have prepared her for his size. She had to remind herself to breathe as he positioned himself at her entrance, his tip sliding between her folds, teasing her.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs so hard they would certainly leave marks. He probably read her fear in the expression, "I'll take you slow in the beginning" he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He pushed inside her, his girth stretching her, filling her. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and she buried her face in his neck, her fingers digging into his back. The stretch was unlike anything she's ever felt before, but the pleasure was equally intense. Her body began to relax, the pain starting to give way to pure intense ecstasy.

With another push he was fully seated inside her. He paused, letting her fully adjust to his size. "Breathe through it." he instructed as he stroked the back of her head.

She followed his command, inhaling deeply, and the sharp burn began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of fullness. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, the pleasure almost too intense to handle.

"So fucking tight," he groaned, his voice strained. "So perfect."

"I can't," she whimpered, her body trembling, on the edge of collapse.

"Yes, you can," he growled, his grip on her thighs tightening. "You were made for me."

He began to move, at first his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her. He raised her head from the crook of his neck to gaze into her eyes, finding a slow rhythm, their bodies moving in sync, their breathing ragged and heavy.

Her body responded to his, hips rocking against his, her nails digging into his back. She was lost in the moment, the sensations overwhelming her, her body consumed by the pleasure of his touch.

As their pace increased, her thoughts began to melt away, her body giving in to the pure instinctual urge. His thrusts became harder, more urgent, and her climax was building, the pleasure mounting with each stroke.

She was so close, the pressure coiling deep inside her. But before she could reach her peak, he suddenly stopped, his breath ragged, his expression almost pained.

"Why?" she gasped, her body aching for release.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice strained. "I want to make this last."

He lowered her to the floor, his length sliding out of her, the loss of contact leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied. Before she could protest, he turned her around, her palms resting on the marble table as he bent her over.

His fingers dug into her hips as he thrust into her from behind, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper.

"Fuck Max, you're going to break me." she whimpered, her voice shaking with pleasure.

"Oh, I intend to," he growled, his pace increasing, each stroke sending waves of ecstasy through her.

She could feel her orgasm building, the pleasure rising with every thrust. She was on the edge, her body teetering on the verge of release. He reached around and his fingers found her clit, stroking her, the added stimulation sending her over the edge. She cried out, her body tensing as her orgasm tore through her, the pleasure crashing over her like a wave.

He wasn't far behind, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. His fingers dug into her skin, his movements frantic, the sounds of their bodies coming together mingling with their ragged breaths. "Where do you want me?" he grunted, his voice strained, the effort to maintain his composure clear.

"Inside me, please" she gasped, her body still trembling from her orgasm.

He thrust deep, burying himself in her, and she could feel him pulse inside her as he came, his release mingling with hers. He collapsed against her, his chest pressed against her back, his weight a welcome comfort. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, the euphoria of their climax lingering.

Eventually, he pulled out of her, his grip on her hips easing, his fingertips grazing her skin as if he was reluctant to let her go. Reality once again came crashing down. She was a mess, her dress bunched up at her hips, her legs still quivering, the evidence of their pleasure trickling down her thighs.

She turned to face him, the afterglow of their coupling slowly fading. Her mother was probably downstairs looking for her, there was no way she could meet her in her current state. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, the intensity of his blue eyes too much to handle.

"I need to leave," she said, her voice quiet as she tried to tame her hair with her fingers.

He reached out and cupped her face, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Let me take you home," he said, his voice soft. "I know another way out. You don't have to face anyone right now."

Her mind raced with a thousand questions, but before she could speak, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Trust me, Y/N."

And against all reason, she did.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alba's Version) III

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You wonder if it could have been different for you

*TW: suicide, death, depressive thoughts, overdose*

Sometimes, as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you wonder if you were always doomed to become this.

This shell of a person that no one can recognise.

This phantom inhabiting someone else's body.

You wonder if your life would have turned out differently if Alexia had given you away.

Maybe straight at your birth, to some couple that actually lived half a world away. Would you have even known you were Spanish?

Certainly given away to Jenni when you were younger. Would you have even been a Putellas anymore?

Jenni has faded from your mind a bit now. You used to see her regularly as a kid, back when she and Alexia were dating. But then she went to Mexico and the visits faded. You never went to Spain camp so you never saw her.

Jenni was firmly entrenched in the world of football.

You had always been an outsider.

You wonder if there's something you could have done to make yourself more appealing to Alexia. If something as simple as being good at football was enough to make her like you.

You didn't need her to love you.

You just needed her to like you.

That could be enough for you.

You didn't need a seat at her table or a home in her house. Just a warm feeling from her towards you could be enough.

Anything but the air of neutrality that you know she feels when she looks at you.

Anything but the non-committal hums when you spoke to her.

Anything but the way she so proudly showed off her son but left you in the background, the afterthought that only got brought up when people mentioned that they're sure she had a daughter too.

You don't recognise yourself in Alba's bathroom mirror. Whatever sad, fractured version of yourself that looks back at you can't possibly be who you are, can't possibly be what you look like.

Alexia's face clouds your version, like she's taken over your reflection, like she's trapped inside you every time you look in the mirror.

You wonder if she sees any of herself in you when you meet eyes.

You wonder if in another world, any world, she truly sees you as a daughter.

You wonder if you were always heading here, to this destination.

To the temporary refuge of Alba's home.

You wonder if you were meant to have jumped into the ocean that night. You wonder if your body was meant to have floated out to sea where no one could find you.

You wonder if outrunning your fate then meant it had worked doubly hard to catch up to you now.

The ocean would have been peaceful. You would have been rocked to salvation by the waves.

Now, it will not be so peaceful and you can accept that.

You have always been a runner, always sprinting away from your problems only for them to come back. Worse. Meaner. Holding you in a grip so tight that you suffocate.

You could have taken the easy way out.

But instead you are making everyone suffer with you.

Because of you.

You wish you had taken the plunge then. You wish you'd had the courage to take it all away then.

No one would have known.

You would have been written off as just another one of those people that randomly disappeared. You would have left things open for your family to imagine where you were, living a life better than this.

A runaway to greener pastures.

Not a dead body buried in a watery grave.

You suppose, now that you didn't do it then, that you'd have a proper grave now.

No one ever really thinks about how they're going to go, not truly anyway. People think about what will happen at their funerals, what kind of music they'd want, if they'd want to be buried or cremated.

But people rarely think of their deaths outside of falling asleep one day and never waking again.

You suppose that must be peaceful too, in a way.

You wonder if people at the end of their lives know they are. You wonder if they go to sleep one day knowing they won't awaken the next.

You wonder if they have such clarity like you do now.

Your reflection turns back into you now, not that twisted version of Alexia. You but not you but not Alexia either and there's peace in that.

You sink into the bath, the water rising to your shoulders.

It's only precautionary really.

You know what's really going to take you, the pills you'd swallowed a scant few minutes ago.

But this is reassurance.

This is to make sure it sticks.

You were never made to last. A portrait of a young girl, a snapshot that never ages. Made to look pretty and stand in the background of things. Made to be unimportant, unassuming until you're needed.

There is clarity in this, you think as you glance at the door.

There is peace.

But you could still get up now, go downstairs to your aunt and explain. Tell her she needs to take you to the hospital to pump your stomach. Tell her that you need her like you needed her as a child when she took you away from Alexia for those few days and you felt more alive than you ever did before.

Than you ever did again.

But you don't.

It's too late now.

In a few minutes, a few hours, however long it takes, she will find you.

She will find you and your note.

You thought about writing to others but you couldn't put words to paper, you couldn't work out what you wanted to say.

But Tia Alba has a note because you know she loves you and you know she will blame herself for this.

You know she deserves to be told why you've done this, why her love alone couldn't keep you from imploding on yourself.

You wonder if she will show Alexia. You wonder if Alexia will wonder why she didn't get a note as well.

You wonder if Alexia will even care.

You wonder if she ever felt enough love for you for this to be heart breaking to her.

You don't think it matters though.

This isn't her choice.

It's yours.

And you've made your peace with it.

It's as easy as falling asleep.

[avocado-writing]

BG3 companions reacting to Tav calling them mommy/daddy?

huehehehehe >:) writing as if you shout it out in the middle of sex without meaning to - minors DNI.

Astarion

Surprised but super into it? Not necessarily because he likes being called daddy but because he can see how much it turns you on.

“Oh? Do you like it when daddy slides his cock into you, darling?”

You go glassy-eyed immediately and he continues to murmur against your skin as he fucks you, aren’t you doing well for daddy? you want to cum around daddy’s cock, hmm?

You do. Harder than you have in weeks.

Afterwards you apologise that you sort of sprung that on him out of nowhere. He smiles and says it was a wonderful little secret for you to share with him.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” “Absolutely not, darling. Now let daddy give you a kiss. 😌”

Gale

Fucking flabbergasted lmao. Stops mid-thrust

He has never considered himself a “daddy”…

When you see how baffled he is, you clamp your hands over your mouth. You are mortified.

“I am so, so sorry, Gale…” “No, no, love, it’s fine… but maybe… maybe ‘sir’? Not ‘daddy’?”

Your face splits into a devilish smile. “Oh, I can do that… sir.”

His cock hardens even further and he gets to work fucking you again, with gusto…

Karlach

Grins so so so wide

If you try to cover your face in embarrassment, she pulls your hands away so she can make eye contact.

“Aww, you want mummy to take care of you, darling? Make sure you cum?”

All you can do is nod. She fucks you with such vigour that you think you might be about to pass out.

Afterwards she gives you lots of cuddles and checks that you’re okay with how rough she was (you are. A lot.)

Is definitely happy for you to call her that in bed again…

Shadowheart

Is surprised… but interested.

Gives another thrust of her hips, encouraging you to repeat it, letting you be a little writing mess beneath her.

Will keep prompting you. “Call me that again.” “Mummy…” “Again.” “Mummy…!”

Is a bit smug afterwards, when you’re lying there blissed out of your mind from having cum a lot.

“You know, you could have just told me you wanted to use some pet names, rather than letting it slip out in flagrante delicto…”

Laughs when you’re all flustered, using healing magic to soothe any bruises she’s given you. ❤️

Wyll

Another one not super keen on it, and will tell you so.

He just doesn’t find it particularly sexy? He wants sex to be a sweet and intimate thing and well… if you’re going to use names then…

”can you call me your blade? or the blade of frontiers?”

You apologise for springing the ‘daddy’ on him out of nowhere, but when you begin to whisper about him being your 'brave blade' he gets back into it quickly.

Grab onto his horns while telling him to drive his sword home… he’s putty in your hands.

Both have a healthy discussion about what kinks you are and aren’t into the next day. We LOVE a respectful king 👑

Lae’zel

”What? I am not your mother.” “I know Lae’zel, it’s uhh, a sex thing.” “Oh. Why?”

You then have to explain that it’s sort of about respect and domination. A compliment to someone who’s rocked your world.

She smiles enthusiastically and begins to fuck you again properly. Fucks you so hard that your body aches afterwards.

Pillow talk after: “you may call me that again. I enjoy hearing that you know how well I pleasure you.” “Mmm, thank you for that, Lae’zel.” “You are welcome.”

I think it gets brought up in camp because you didn’t realise how loud you shouted it. Your face is on fire for the whole day. Lae’zel just looks pleased with herself.

Halsin

All the blood goes straight to his cock, if that’s even possible when he’s already inside you. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life before.

He’s been called many things in bed before, but hearing that? From you?

Fucks you with an enthusiasm he didn’t realise he was capable of. You moan and cry out and keep chanting “daddy, daddy, daddy” and he cums so much that it drips out your used little hole all down your legs.

He apologises for his over enthusiasm and checks that you’re alright. You grin and kiss him, and promise to start using that word more…

Minthara

She just smiles, I think, and you know she has you wrapped around her little finger.

She fucks you with what borders on violence, so much force that you actually pass out because you came so hard.

So worth it though.

You wake up in her arms and she’s still grinning, stroking your hair.

”Mummy’s very pleased with you.” This is the only acknowledgment she ever gives of it, but if you bring up the name again in bed, she gives a repeat performance 😌