#made this last year and is still very very true

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Daquiri: splash of cold water

Word Count: 3.8k Contents: angst, cursing, some dark themes, violence, Gojo's pov, highkey rushed and not proofread so bear with me pleaseeee

“I’m disappointed in you.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. He’s been hearing that line for as long as he could remember — from his mother, father, teachers, friends, and especially from his grandfather, who sits on the opposite side of the mahogany desk. 

It was stupidly early in the morning when he was roused from sleep by Ijichi, the family’s Head of Staff. He has all sorts of titles, but the family dog is the most fitting. Truthfully, he’s a good guy. Somewhat of a friend. But damn, is he annoying?

Being hurriedly shoved in a car, half naked and still sleepy, Satoru had no choice but to follow along as he was dragged out and into the Gojo estate to meet with the head of the clan, practically paraded for all the snivelling, grubby-handed relatives and gossiping staff. Not the first time, for sure. One could even say he's used to it.

Of course, if he could avoid it, he'd never come here. Anyone with half a mind would hate it here. The people who live here hate it here. Sure, it’s all pretty with the beautiful woodcraft furniture, extravagant decor and lush gardens, but it’s a really big place, and it gets really lonely. The worst part, though? Running into people. He can’t stand seeing family members who either look at him with scorn for being the heir, which he never asked to be, by the way, or try to kiss his ass. 

But worst of all, he can’t stand the look of shame on his grandfather’s face. 

Older than he remembered, the man sits, hands clasped on a knee, legs crossed, and leaning back on the leather chair, no doubt crafted by hand by some artistic genius or other. His face has deepened with age, marred by years of experience and carrying the burden of leading the clan. It couldn’t have been easy, even if he had made it look as such, and it’s precisely why Satoru’s spent most of his life running from him and all that he represents. 

“Yeah, I know,” he yawns. 

Grandpa sighs. “I would have thought some time away in university would teach you to grow up. Yet, there you sit before me, just as immature as you were at eighteen, ten and two.”

Satoru, frowning, resists the urge to mumble some petty comeback. It wasn’t true, anyway. He’s matured a lot. Especially in the last couple of months when he was literally engaged and oh so close to walking down the aisle. That’s enough to send anyone into an early grave, so how much more mature did he need to be?

Hearing a lack of a reply, the older man asks, “You resent me, yes? For springing the engagement on you?”

“I won’t say no.”

It’s always the same story between them: two stubborn men, one old, the other young. Two sides of the same coin. When he was younger, his grandfather was his role model. His hero. At tedious and stupid family meetings, the older man would wink at him and slide a piece of candy over; they had secret games, sharing whole conversations with just their eyes. He was his first best friend. The leader of their precious clan, the man who struck fear in the most powerful men in the world, was who the boy would run to when he tripped and scratched his knees, when his parents would fight, and when kids at school would pick at him. 

The man cared for him more than his parents did. He practically raised Satoru. But then, as the boy grew older, they saw each other less and less. No special reason. Life got in the way. Responsibilities and yada yada yada. Then, his grandmother died, and the ones left behind were never the same after. In an inevitable twist of fate, more and more, those meetings turned him from pitiful observant, forced to bear witness to petty squabbling, to the very subject of those meetings. 

They changed from grandfather and grandson to Head and Heir, and there was no Spare to hide behind. 

“Satoru, son," he begins, pulling his thin-frame glasses off, "do tell, what was so wrong with being engaged to that young woman? To stepping up. To maturing and doing your part for this family?”

He groans. “You don’t get it. It isn’t about her. It’s about being engaged at all. They don’t get to make that choice for me. They don’t get to throw me into their schemes and plans when they know I want nothing to do with it. Any of it!”

“A boy so smart, with eyes that see more than they let on, with strength that surpasses us all, and yet you cannot see past yourself, past your own truth. That is the true disappointment. Not your acts of rebellion, not your games, but your refusal to rise to the occasion.”

Talking to the old man is like talking to a brick wall. Always lecturing him with riddles and think pieces. Satoru wants to leave. He’s having a terrible time as it is, what with the media whirlwind he has caused and the fact that he's still recovering from the bruising his friends had given him for ‘being a dumbass prick.’ He’s been holed up in his room, refusing to see anyone who wasn’t beautiful and adorned in black lace. Even as parties raged on below, nothing could tempt him to face the world. No classes had been attended, though that's just standard practice, and he didn't even check up on social media; he was scared he'd see her having fun without him, he supposed. 

Partly out of stubbornness and partly from shame, he didn’t reach out to the one person he so desperately wanted to. He was pretty sure she wouldn't want to see him after what he did. After he decided everything on her behalf, he blew up at her at dinner, left her to deal with their parents, and never answered her messages after that. 

Fuck. 

He's gonna die alone.

“Can I go, Gramps? I want to talk to her.”

A strange look passed over the man’s face. Satoru couldn’t place it, couldn’t understand, couldn’t even begin to know what it meant. But whatever it was, it made him sit up. 

“You can’t.”

He closed his eyes. Tight. “What do you mean? 

A fist falls on the desk. Satoru is jolted from his thoughts. 

“Satoru, she is engaged.”

Groaning, the younger man, exasperated and completely done, bolts out of his chair, shoving it forward as he feels the morning chill settle on his bare chest — they hadn’t even dressed him before ruining his day. “No, she isn’t. That was the point: to break the engagement by going to the media and telling them it was forced. Which it was, by the way. Thanks for having my back, Gramps. So, if it’s all the same to you, I gotta go wine and dine her and apologise. Maybe hit up a vampire shop and communicate in her language or sacrifice a child — don't tell her I said that. I'm tryna be better.”

He doesn't wait for a reply or notice the deadly silence that hangs in the air, suffocating and all-consuming. It's wild and unwise youth that takes him away without questioning the real reason he's been taken in his sleep. Years of shrugging off everyone who wasn't his age, wasn't drunk or stupid, had dulled his senses. 

Halfway to the door, stomping and muttering under his breath, the next words that come out of his grandfather’s mouth stop him dead in his tracks. A chill settles over his skin, clawing down his back. Sudden ringing deafens him, and he swears the room shifts, swaying him where he stands. 

“No. What? When?” Hearing only a tense sigh as a reply, Satoru grits out, “When?”

“Tonight.”

Satoru whirls around. “Who is she marrying?”

“Sit down.”

“No!” He screams.

This is impossible. 

She was his just days ago. 

This entire time, he had thought he’d taken a step back and was preparing to return, to go further, to promise himself in ways he couldn’t have under that restrictive alliance, but he’s just been showered in an ice-cold bucket of reality; hehadn’t stepped back. He had pushed her away. Shoved her. 

All the way into the arms of another man. 

Which man didn’t matter. Or maybe it did. 

He can’t think. Knees threatening to buckle, he can only try to catch his breath as dread settles in the pit of his stomach. Over the years, he had met many Zenins — it’s impossible not to run into them. And every single instance, every single one of them, left a bitter taste in his mouth. They were awful. Arrogant, spoiled, cruel, downright monstrous. 

Would she have been paired up with someone closer in age? If that were the case, only one person comes to mind. No. 

No. 

No. 

Not him. 

Feeling like he’s going to laugh and cry and scream at the same time, his voice lowers, fragmented and weak. So weak. “S-she can’t marry him. She can’t. H-he’ll hurt her. Crush her spirit. Fuck!”

Men come into the room, pinning him to the ground as books, vases and paintings are thrown around. He doesn't remember how his body moved, how his arms reached for anything and everything he could, and whose hands were on him. It all passes by in a blur. He can’t recall who tore down what and whose blood he spills, whether it's his own or someone just doing their job. Everything's hurting, and, at the same time, nothing is.

One thing he does remember is the shake of his grandfather's head and the glasses neatly folded on a damaged desk.

Restrained and barely conscious, he’s dragged somewhere and locked. 

This is his fault. In his pursuit to liberate her — both of them — he had inadvertently trapped her, driven her into the clutches of a man who’d place her on a mantel. 

Regret weighs him down. Everything has gone to shit. How could he fix this? Fix them? 

Would she want him to?

No, she would. Of course, she would. No matter how annoying, irritating, and irresponsible he is, Zenin could never be preferred. Not by anyone. Not when she deserves so much more. Someone who understands, who’d appreciate her artistry, her grace, elegance and intelligence. Someone better than both of them. Someone who wouldn’t be so impulsive and immature. Who wouldn’t react the way he had. 

Whatever she feels for him or against him, Satoru swears he will fix it. He’d free her the way she was supposed to be the entire time. And she can go wherever she wants. Be with whoever she wants.

Even if it isn’t him. 

———

“Tell me everything,” he demands. 

The old Gojo has never seen his grandson quite so serious. Having marched back into his office an hour later with bruised knuckles and a torn lip, he had approached the desk with a calmness that set an uneasy mood in the room. He’s dressed now, at least. Wearing jeans and a grey hoodie a maid had dropped off, Satoru sits, filling up a new leather seat, legs spread and fingers pressed to his lips as if to hide their pursing. Seemingly collected to anyone else, Grandpa Gojo knew better. 

His knee is bouncing impatiently, fingers drumming, and the way those familiar blue eyes are honed in onto every rise and fall of the chest of the older man in front of him, every twitch, every blink, and even on the dust that settles between them betrayed the peaceful facade he wears like armour.

Sighing, he relents, and so, the older man gets settled in and prepares for the storm.

“Your grandmother was the person I loved most in the world,” he began. 

“She was just a servant when we met. Young, beautiful, and the most headstrong woman I ever met, even then. No one at that point, or ever, dared glare at me or turn their nose up. She resented me for being a spoiled boy. Of course, she wasn’t wrong to dislike me; I was, admittedly, not a very conscientious young man then. Much like you, I skirted around my responsibilities and allowed others to take the fall. I never wanted this life, and truthfully, I didn’t think I would be well-suited.”

This is the most his grandfather has ever revealed about his past and despite the fact that he knows time is against him, Satoru listens intently. That's the man's cursed gift. Mesmerised by the charming baritone of the head of the clan, his fingers stop drumming against the armrest and he envisions a life not his and has since long past. 

“But your grandmother changed my life. She was never afraid to let me know when she thought I was doing something wrong. You remember the face she makes, don't you, son? All scrunched up and disapproving. That woman had a way of making you want to impress her.”

Chuckling to himself, he continues, “She made me want to be better. To be deserving of her. That continued well into our marriage. All that you see of our empire, far-reaching and ever-developing as it is, could not have been achieved without her. Every setback I ever faced was only made bearable because she’d smile at me as if I could get back up and try again. Do you understand what I’m telling you, son?”

“Grandma was great?”

His grandfather pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. Well, yes. But no, Satoru. What I’m saying is, women make us better. Not just any woman, but the one. I could not have managed for as long as I did without her. Even now, when she has been gone a long time, my ability to tolerate your ridiculous, weak and greedy aunts and uncles, and indeed your lousy parents, has been because of her. Because I hold memories of her in my heart. Because I can hear her voice guiding me to the right decisions. I want that for you, son.”

A sinking realisation made the younger man’s mouth dry. He sits up. And with an accusatory tone, he says, “It was you. You set us up.”

He was disgusted with his parents for stooping so low, for prioritising wealth and reputation over their son’s wellbeing again. And yet, the entire time, it had been him, the man who he thought was on his side. Always. Satoru thought he could turn to his grandfather for help, and he had actually deluded himself into thinking the man would be proud of him for having resolved it himself — or at least, attempted to. 

“Yes. I did.”

“Why? Why would you do this to me? To her?” There’s a strain in Satoru’s voice. The wood of the armrest creaks under the deadly grip he’s inflicting. Tension rides through his body, an animal ready to pounce, to rip it all to pieces. If he hadn’t been set up like this, she’d be free; he wouldn’t have driven her into the arms of a Zenin, and she wouldn’t hate him for ruining her life. Maybe they could have even run into each other on campus and had just been a boy and a girl searching for something real in a sea of greys and beiges. 

Grandpa Gojo leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together. Then, as if looking into the distance, he recounts yet another story from his past, one Satoru hadn’t been a part of. 

“Not that long ago, I had attended a funeral for a great woman I once knew. It was your average affair: faux sincerity, faceless crowds, off-hours negotiations. Truly dull.”

The younger man knows all too well how those events go. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t enjoy his own frat parties; they remind him too much of the parties he had grown up in. 

“Just a few years before that, as you know, we buried your grandmother in the very same place but in our own family plot. It's nice, or rather, as nice as those dreadful things can get. But she loved this little clearing far back in the forest behind the cathedral. Said she grew up playing in that land with her siblings. We used to have dates there, back when we were in our youth and we had to hide our relationship. Did I ever tell you my father never approved? Ah well, a story for another day. Where was I? Oh right. To commemorate her death, in my own personal way, I built a swing set. Two seats. For her and for me. Every time I missed her and the grief overwhelmed me, I’d visit, and I swear I could feel her with me.”

Satoru, breathless, feels the ground cave from under him. 

“I don’t get to visit as often as I’d like, a consequence of being who I am. But I am sure to maintain it. And at that funeral, I was given an opportunity to see the fruits of my labour and, as you do so very often, I snuck away. I don't mean to encourage that behaviour but I think I get a pass for being so generally well-behaved, no? Anyways, son, all the way out there, I saw a young girl.”

The grandson is standing before he even realises it. “You saw her?”

“I saw a girl coming into her own. I saw a melancholy air about her and a certain sadness that I could relate to. Why, she reminded me of myself, of my wife, and of you, all at once. Like the universe had aligned, I felt my wife guiding me to her last gift. In that moment, without ever exchanging a word with her, I knew she was special. In the way I recalled mygrandson was special. Is special. I left her to herself — she was grieving, after all. But I could never forget that little girl who had been abandoned by the adults around her, left to deal with the dangers of solitude. Through the years, I kept track of her, and, as a consequence of the family business being passed from the great woman I knew to her son, I watched her father drive their family to ruin with his gambling addiction, her mother dig her manicured claws in and twist, chasing thrill in luxury goods and losing herself in a flurry of white dust. Through it all, that little —no, that budding young woman — stood tall. But we all have limits, son."

There's a pathetic sense of jealousy growing in the white-haired boy. His grandfather's reminding him of how tiny his pool of knowledge regarding her really is. All he had done the past couple months was argue with her when he should have been at her side 24/7, begging her for every morsel of information.

Gulping, he shifts in his seat. "Limit?"

"She lost her dear friend. And rock bottom came soon after. Chained to a hospital bed, she took care of him when no one else would. But that is far too much responsibility for anyone. Once again, I saw you in her. Both running away from the problem, searching for comfort at the bottom of a bottle, and filling that void with countless people whose names you could not even begin to list. It was a pity.”

Reeling, Satoru tries to make sense of it all. The nonchalance in his grandfather’s words sends his blood boiling. Everything. Every second. Every fucking person in his life is a product of someone’s manipulation. Always. “So what? You wanted to help her out by bringing her into our family?”

“Well, yes.”

“That’s bull. Why couldn’t you just give her money? Why not build up her family's business like you do with literally everyone in this family if she's so special? Why go through this elaborate scheme? Why play games?”

Grandpa Gojo shakes his head. He looks thoroughly disappointed in his grandson and when he responds after a second or two of further thought, his voice reveals the age that has been wearing him down more and more. “Because when I go, I’d like to be certain you have somebody like I did, Satoru. Because you are young and you need guidance.”

It has become clearer than ever before: she was sent as a final nail in his coffin.

Satoru finds himself getting back up onto his feet, hands flailing in the air and a furrow in his brows.

“Now what? Huh? Your stupid games got her as good as dead. What are you going to do now?”

She's going to be a Zenin by the end of the day and he's going to have to watch her spirit fade at every ridiculous function for some charity event no attendant of the party could even hold a conversation about. They'll pass each other by like strangers, like two ships in the night, like nothing they shared had even happened. Was it better to have mattered for even just a second than to be nothing to each other?

SLAM!

A heavy fist quakes the mahogany desk, rattling every bone in the young man’s body. 

“We are the most powerful family in the country! We rule with both hands on a shield and a sword. A sword, Satoru. And deny it all you want, son, but the brutal truth will always be that you are not just a Gojo, not just a powerful man, a boy with a trust fund. You are the Gojo heir. A god among men! What you want is the will of our clan, don't you understand, my boy? Power courses through your veins. Limitless. Infinite. Accept it. For you, alone, are the honoured one. Embrace it. Use it. Weaponise it." 

When two pairs of eyes collide, one sees himself in the other and, after years of being at opposite ends, repelled by the weight of responsibility that hung between them, they finally arrive at the same page. After all those misunderstandings, all those stern talking to's, those never-ending arguments and disappointments neither could speak about, they're finally, finally friends again. 

One of them almost smiled. 

"So, what are you going to do?”

Satoru has one hand on the door and the other on his phone in a flash. For the first time in his entire life, he knows what to do. That thing that has been haunting him, forcing him deeper into the facade of an inconsiderate fratboy, brews to the surface. The privilege he had always considered a burden and a curse, that he had locked away and allowed to collect dust on, becomes his very lifeline.

“I’m gonna get my girl back.”

[74thcookie]

Brainrot part two

Bear with me guys my brain is not silencing for some reason and I can’t draw this due to school. So I’m just going to write it so I can share it.

This one is related to the SMilk Brothers particularly the Sage. When I said in the last post he’s part maybe similar to the CondensedMilkAU..yes probably.

-start-

In the beginning Sage and Fount work in the same school. Fount was loved and admired by all, Sage cannot deny that nor he is against the idea because he too admire his brother’s wits and intelligence but also his grace.

For years they raise the university they work in into what it is today which is a very well respected university with the goal of knowledge and finding one’s true self in life.

As the demands of the schools need increase so does the workload of the brothers. Fount was excellent as expected, all jobs were finished in one swop till one day an unexpected event happened. That event left Fount brutally wounded while saving a student.

The families of the students were outrage such an event happened and the school with all its title and glory failed to prevent such matters.

The fount manage to fix the issues with both the parents and the school staff which amazes the people and gain their respects once again but due to his wounds he cannot continue his role as the principle hence he needs to resign. People especially students were sadden by his resignation and no ceremony was able to be held since the moment it was announced he retired. Rumors says the principle vanish without a trace, no one knows where he went not if he is still in the country.

Sage was left and questions are given to him about the Founts whereabouts but all the Sage could answer is silence. Making the people think the fount had died from his wounds and mourns for him.

The Sage then continue to take care of the school but a bit more stricter due to the event. Though the goal of knowledge is still there and the value of truth is still recognized, the Sage put those two missions of the school to the absolute extreme without him realizing his adjustments for safety is such a restraint in the students freedom and their mental state.

Nurse Recluse and the Counselor Vanilla were the ones who made the school breathable for the students to study in. Word of mouth spread, opinions are shifted and the environment changed a lot as the years passed since Founts resignation.

Rumors says that the Sage has gone insane due to the loss of his brother hence his strictness. Doesn’t help he has a demon of a little brother but it’s not an excuse for him to be a terror teacher. The Nurses disapproval and distaste for the Sage gave the campus a signal of validation of that rumor being real.

The Sage caught wind of the rumors but don’t mind it because it’s not true. The Fount is still alive but his wishes of living in peace is now being respected. Nurse Recluses distaste/distain for him isn’t without it’s reason since he is the brother of the one who bullied him back then, bias are bound to happened even if they never interacted but the opinions of his teachings was the one to hurt him. He didn’t mean to make the student feel so pressured and yet it’s not easy to change the curriculum or its plans that fast. Time isn’t with them to redo the whole thing.

As the school year ends. The faculty had a meeting in where they reprimanded the Sage for being a stain on the school reputation and his brother’s legacy. The Sage can only do is agree to all, he knows all their words are facts. He loves his students and teaching, he will do anything for them but his only one guy, and is already burnt out. The counselor in the meeting advise the Sage to have a break since he knows his been working one stop for years. The Sage was appose to this idea since he doesn’t have hobbies outside of teaching. The counselor remembers when they were kids he would show them the arts and how it heals their souls, maybe finding a hobby related to the arts can be a start.

The Sage happy to see the counselor still remembers his teachings which he ironically forgot. He accepts the break and off he goes.

During his break everything slowly dawn on him on how tired he became, he cried to his brothers on what he became and other irrational words come out in which his brothers told him it’s alright. They know his out of his senses and his brain finally got time to breathe. The youngest of the brothers drags his brother to binge watch videos with his since he knows if they watch a movie he’d go straight to critiquing the whole script. Videos like reactions and vlogging is something Sage can’t critique since it’s a live reaction and cannot be controlled or scripted, though when the youngest introduce the world of Vtubing, all hell breaks lose. The Sage never seen such tech before, motion tracking?, live-streaming using such features, model illustrations and so much. He has to study it. The youngest feeds on to the Sages hyperfixation and tells him that most people do this for escapism from IRL things and get to social with people under a new identity.

A new identity he says?, the idea of it intrigues the Sage. It’s like playing as an actor from a stage, a secret identity where he can act as someone else outside of the people’s gaze. His already well-known and now he wonders if his natural charisma can gather the same audience but somehow he wants to use this new persona as a form of comfort for those students who suffered in the hands of teachers like him. He knows if he apologizes to the students with his current reputation right now, it will feel dishonest.

Hence he made the persona of Mama Berry.

He made sure the model to craft the perfect woman. One who sounds and looks pleasant but also something he knows he can cosplay as if he accidentally got his camera on showing his actual face. The perfect disguised.

Though he hates lying, using his disguise made him feel free.

Time flies so fast. He return to work and his demeanor still as strict but fun as ever. Students and staff do miss him and welcome him back, though there is still some people who ain’t but he doesn’t mind because those same people are enjoying his little persona he created.

-end-

Welp that’s all my brainrot.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Hey! P here!! How are you? Been busy a lot 😔 Can I request fic about James Vowles x wife reader? Since last season, James has been pursuing Carlos to join Williams but to no avail. To extend spending time with his family (I read somewhere about it, which is good I think 🤔) Anyways, she's been saying (jokingly) that he loves Carlos more than her with the amount of attention he's given to him even especially after Carlos joins the team. Compliment his hair, making it look like James had fallen in love with Carlos and now his wife. I can imagine how shocked and baffled James is about her jokes🤣🤣🤣 All these things lead to the F175 event at O2 and chaos happend. You decide how it goes. Add anything you want. Ask me anything. Thanks!! :))

Smooth Operator

James Vowles x Wife!Reader

feat. Carlos Sainz as the Unexpected Third in Your Marriage

hi I’m back after ages I have so many requests im working through I’m sorry it’s taking years but life is horrible rn anyways this one made me laugh hope yalls like it.

You were this close to adding Carlos Sainz to your Christmas card list and not because you liked him. Oh no,because at this point, it felt rude not to.

“Just admit it,” you said one morning, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as your husband stared lovingly oh so lovingly at an image of Carlos on the Williams simulator. “You’re in love with him.” James blinked. “Excuse me?” “With Carlos. Your hair idol. Your strategic soulmate. Your beautiful Spanish muse.”

He turned slowly, expression pained. “We’re not doing this again.”

You leaned on the kitchen island with a smile that spelled chaos. “He’s got thick curls, James. You said he’s a data genius. Yesterday I caught you complimenting his turn-in technique. What’s next? Love poems?”

James pinched the bridge of his nose like a man suffering. “I am the Team Principal of Williams Racing. This is business.”

“This is a crush. You’re emotionally cheating. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

He sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you, my dear husband, are flirting with danger. And Carlos.”

It had all started last season, when James became laser-focused on “Project Carlos.” He claimed it was about rebuilding Williams, strengthening the team, reshaping the future.

But all you heard was:

“Carlos is incredibly adaptable.”

“Carlos has unbelievable race awareness.”

“Carlos doesn’t just drive the car. He becomes one with the car.”

At one point, you genuinely wondered if James was going to name your future child Carlos.

When Carlos actually signed with Williams, you half-expected James to cry.

Instead, he opened a bottle of champagne and said, “This is the beginning of a new era.”

“For you and Carlos?” you asked.

“For the team,” he said. But you weren’t convinced.

The true chaos began at the F175 Launch Event at the O2.

You’d promised to be chill. Polished. Supportive.

You even wore your Nice Wife at PR Events dress. The red one. Very “I’m fine, my husband’s not cheating on me with a race car driver.”

But then someone on the panel asked James what it was like to sign Carlos.

And your darling husband turned to the mic with the serenity of a monk and said,

“Carlos brings something really rare. He’s sharp, strategic. He reads the car like a language only he understands. Honestly, watching him drive is like art. It’s… elegant.”

You turned your head slowly. “Elegant?” you mouthed. Elegant?

Then, like a woman possessed, you strode onto the stage.

“Hi, yes, sorry to interrupt,” you said sweetly, grabbing a mic. “I just wanted to confirm that I’m still married to James Vowles, even though he appears to be in a deeply committed emotional relationship with Carlos Sainz.”

Carlos, sipping water off-stage, choked.

The crowd erupted.

James looked like he’d aged fifteen years in fifteen seconds.

“Darling,” he said, his voice that calm, brittle tone you only hear when someone is internally screaming, “this is not the time.”

“No, James,” you said, planting your hand dramatically on your hip. “This is exactly the time. I just want to know if I’m going to be replaced by someone who has better curls and a smoother overtake.”

“I can explain-”

“Oh, no need. We’ll work out a custody schedule with Toto and Fred. Maybe alternating grands prix?”

“YOU’RE BEING RIDICULOUS,” James hissed.

Someone in the audience shouted, “LET HER COOK!”

Carlos was now hiding behind a curtain.

The next morning, your phone exploded.

Sky Sports: “Carlos Sainz Caught in Love Triangle?”

F1 Twitter: #VowlesVibes

CarlosFan69: “Why is this woman funnier than every man on the grid?”

James stood in the kitchen, scrolling grimly through the headlines.

“I’m a Team Principal, not a Bachelor contestant,” he muttered.

You, in your robe, sipping tea: “Maybe you shouldn’t flirt with Spaniards on live TV.”

“It wasn’t flirting,” he snapped. “I said his driving was elegant.”

You raised a brow. “You’ve never called me elegant.”

“Because you walked on stage and accused me of strategic adultery!”

“I was brave,” you said. “A woman in love. Defending her man from another man.”

His face dropped into his hands. “I’m married to a gremlin.”

You leaned in, grinning. “But I’m your gremlin.”

Later that day, Carlos sent James a text:

Carlos: Hey… everything okay? Do I need to issue a public apology? I didn’t mean to come between you two.

James: It’s fine. My wife just thinks I’m in love with your hair.

Carlos: …Are you?

James: I’m blocking you.

That night, James curled up beside you on the sofa, resting his head against your shoulder.

“You know I love you, right?” he mumbled into your shirt.

You smiled, stroking his hair. “Of course. But if Carlos ever invites you to a shampoo commercial…”

He groaned. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’ll understand,” you said sweetly. “I’ll pack your conditioner myself.”

After The Incident at the F175 launch the one where you jokingly accused your husband of being emotionally married to Carlos Sainz in front of God and every Sky Sports mic things had settled.

Barely.

The memes were still circulating. Your phone was still getting tagged in Twitter/X posts captioned “Me third-wheeling my parents’ divorce like #VowlesVibes.” And people were still calling James “a loyal yet emotionally confused king.”

But James? He was trying to carry on like everything was normal.

Which is why, when Carlos invited both of you to dinner, James said yes without hesitation.

You, however, stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Dinner?” you repeated. “With the man you abandoned me for?”

James groaned. “I did not abandon you. You stormed the stage like a Real Housewife of Monaco.”

“You called his driving elegant, James. That’s practically foreplay.”

“You’re lucky I love you.” “You’re lucky I didn’t bring a slideshow.”

The dinner was at some trendy, overpriced Italian place in London that clearly catered to rich people who wanted to pretend they were casual. You sat down at a three-person table tucked in a corner, candlelight flickering between bread baskets and sparkling water.

Carlos arrived ten minutes late, curls bouncing, smile too charming for someone who’d accidentally become the center of your marriage drama.

He hugged James. He hugged you.

You tried not to squint suspiciously at the way your husband’s hand lingered on Carlos’s shoulder.

“This place is nice,” Carlos said, settling in. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I was worried I caused some tension?”

You sipped your wine. “Carlos, you did nothing wrong. You just exist. With your hair. And your tactical driving style. And your surgeon hands.”

James choked on his water.

Carlos blinked. “Sorry??my what?”

James cleared his throat. “She thinks I talk about you too much.”

“You do,” you and Carlos said at the same time.

James raised a hand. “Okay, betrayal.”

The waiter came by, and just as you were ordering pasta, someone at the table next to you gasped—loudly.

“Oh my GOD,” a girl whispered, clutching her friend’s arm. “It’s them.”

You raised a brow.

“The… Williams love triangle!”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“They went viral,” the friend whispered back. “The guy, the wife, and the other guy with the perfect hair this is them!”

You stared at James. “You see what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t ask to be in a tabloid throuple,” he hissed.

Suddenly, the girl leaned over, clutching her phone. “Can I get a picture of all three of you? You’re like, iconic. Like PolyF1Goals.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry?? what?”

She beamed. “You know, like a throuple! You, your husband, and Carlos!”

Carlos blinked. James looked like he’d swallowed a fork.

You?

You smiled sweetly and said, “Of course.”

So yes, there is now a photo floating online of James in the middle, looking like he’s questioning every life decision, you smiling like the chaos demon wife you are, and Carlos doing a confused peace sign like he’d just stumbled into a cult.

The caption?

“Williams going for podiums and polyamory in 2026. #ThroupleTrouble #VowlesSainzWife”

Later that night, back at home, you flopped onto the bed and checked your phone.

Another headline.

“Carlos Sainz Caught in Unexpected Romantic Dynamic With Williams Boss and Wife”

Experts weigh in: Is this the future of F1?

James walked into the room and faceplanted on the bed beside you.

“I’m going to be buried with this story on my tombstone, aren’t I?”

You stroked his back lovingly. “Right next to a bouquet of Carlos’s curls.”

James groaned into the pillow. “I hate you.”

You kissed his temple. “No you don’t. You love me more than Carlos.”

He hesitated. “…Yes. But only slightly.”

That caused another wave of the endless storm of “ you love Carlos more” rant from you.

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Blind Love Chapter 22

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

It was a quiet night. In the deserted palace, Victor and I were making our way to our destination. At the end of a hallway, the sound of our footsteps walking up the stairs rang out in the otherwise silent night. He walked just a step in front of me, his hair still seeming to shine despite the darkness. We didn’t speak. We just kept walking. The closer we got to our destination, the faster my heart began to beat. The countdown to death had begun.

Privy Council Leader: You sent word that you had something private to discuss, but it appears that you aren’t alone.

The leader of the privy council stood in the room, where not even a glimmer of moonlight shone. With his white hair and wrinkled brow, he gave off the appearance of a disgruntled old man. His expression turned disinterested as he quickly glanced me over. He soon returned his attention back to Victor.

Victor: I do indeed have something to speak to the Lord President of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council.

As the council leader focused his attention on Victor, I hid my arm behind my back as I silently closed the door.

Victor: You are aware that Crown was the one who resolved Her Majesty’s kidnapping as well as dealt with the perpetrators, yes?

Council Leader: I am. You informed me in confidence. Council Leader: But why do you bring that up? Has something else happened to–

Victor: No, Her Majesty is safe. For now, at least.

The council leader’s brow furrowed.

Victor: But there is no telling when she may be targeted again.

Council Leader: The perpetrators caused a similar ruckus a few years ago, correct? At the time, some of the people involved were from the palace.

Victor: Correct. There was most certainly a leak of information somewhere.

Council Leader: But everyone involved has already been wiped out to the last man… by Her Majesty’s very own private order, no less.

Victor: Correct again. They have been dealt with. Victor: Except for one person.

The temperature seemed to plunge. Though I was standing behind Victor, I knew what expression he was wearing at that moment.

Victor: It is true that Crown eliminated Nox Liberator many years ago. Victor: From the nobles at the top to the commoners at the bottom, all of them were condemned to prevent any similar incidents from ever happening again. Victor: But motivation and desires are not as easily killed as people. They are things that linger, to rise up once more in another age.

Victor began approaching the council leader, step by step. The council leader moved back in response, but stopped when he collided with his desk.

Victor: The fact that Nox Liberator’s will has rose up again so quickly, in only a matter of years, suggests that there were other factors at play.

Council Leader: That is… 

Victor: Allow me to rephrase. Someone was providing Nox Liberator with both information and financial backing. Victor: Someone entrenched in the heart of this nation.

Victor stood directly in front of the council leader, looking down on him.

Victor: I am speaking about you, Lord President. Victor: Years ago, I noticed that you were one of the figures involved with Nox Liberator. Victor: But you had not provided them any direct assistance at that time, so you were spared from Crown’s wrath. Victor: You had left it to your subordinates to coordinate directly with them, and left behind no evidence of your involvement. Victor: Any information passed was done so only through verbal means, and any financial contributions were made by your subordinates, leaving yourself clean. Victor: Even if they were captured and confessed that you had directed them, Victor: Without any direct proof, you could easily dismiss the accusations with any number of excuses. 

The council leader began to tremble in fear.

Victor: And those years ago, Crown had eliminated your subordinates along with the rest of Nox Liberator, leaving you innocent of all wrongdoing. Victor: At the time, the only reason we had let you slip by was that we saw some merit in having you free. Victor: But now, acting as Lord President of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, you have materially aided Nox Liberator. Victor: The acts you have committed are unforgivable.

For a moment, all was silent. And then the council leader, who had been steadying himself against his desk, stood up straight. He slipped past Victor, and moved towards the window. And with his back to the window, he began to laugh.

Council Leader: Hah… Hahahah!!

He was laughing so hard he was clutching his sides. Victor merely continued watching him silently.

Council Leader: You’re right! I was selling information to those republican scum, and funded their activities!

Kate: !

The council leader wiped away his tears of laughter as he looked in my direction.

Council Leader: The queen is in my way. Her, and Crown.

His expression turned frigid in an instant.

Council Leader: I became Lord President of the Privy Council a number of years before the queen took to the throne, during the days of the succession crisis. Council Leader: While they squabbled and dithered about who would become the next ruler, who was it that kept the country from collapsing? Council Leader: It was us. The council. Council Leader: And more than that, it was me, as Lord President of the council. Before the next ruler ascended, I was holding everything together. Council Leader: And for what!? I did all that, for some woman to come out of nowhere and claim the throne! Council Leader: A little girl who wouldn’t even show her face took over everything and started running the country as she pleased! Council Leader: Just like everything that we had done had been meaningless!

(How dare he? He doesn’t know a single thing about why Victor took the throne, or how he feels…)

Though I wanted to snap back at the manic council leader, I held back the urge.

Council Leader: Then she goes and creates a personal attack force of these random cursed people. Council Leader: And all the people who have been working to run the country from the shadows started being murdered, after being declared to be evil!

He collected himself and began speaking haughtily.

Council Leader: I believe that one should make use of whatever is available to them. Council Leader: Whether that is people, or money, or military might. It’s all the same. Council Leader: Spare me the joke about serving the country. I am the kind of man who uses, not the kind who is used.

He smiled distantly.

Victor: …So in your eyes, ruling over the unfortunate and exploiting them for money is not evil?

Council Leader: Of course not. They exist to be used.

I’d never felt the urge to be so violent before. I bit my lower lip to try and restrain myself.

Council Leader: If the country were a republic, that eyesore of a queen would be gone. And Crown would be nothing without her backing. Council Leader: We can reveal their curses to the public, tell the world just how many people they have murdered! Council Leader: The people would never tolerate the queen making use of a private team of assassins! Council Leader: There would be nothing standing in the way of a republic once the queen and her dogs are gone. Council Leader: And then who else but me would stand at the top of a country that has lost its ruler?

The council leader turned his gaze upwards as if he were speaking to the heavens. Victor began to speak.

Victor: A ruler is someone who gives every part of themself to serve their nation, even willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Victor: Are you prepared?

The council leader looked dumbfounded.

Council Leader: What are you even saying? Council Leader: An existence like that is fine if it suits our purposes.

He laughed as if he were mocking Victor’s resolve.

Council Leader: The queen is an eyesore, but I can’t deny that she helped the country’s industry thrive. Council Leader: But even if the technology we develop is best in the world, it’s all meaningless if it can’t be used.

I couldn’t hold back from responding to his statement.

Do you want to start a war?

It’s not meant to be used for evil. (+2/+4)

What do you plan to do with it?

Kate: It’s not meant to be used for evil!

Council Leader: What do you know about anything? A war could have some impact on the country, true. But there’s so much more to be gained. Council Leader: Besides, the ones doing the dying are just commoners and soldiers. Nothing will happen to the nobility like me. Council Leader: Power exists to be used. Council Leader: Land, manpower, all the territories from here to the end of the ocean are mine for the taking! Council Leader: Why not go to war?

(He’s actually serious…)

He was lost in his own fantasies, unable to comprehend the dangers of his ideas. No, that wasn’t it. He just didn’t think they had anything to do with him. Because…

Council Leader: And it’s only the undesirables who will die. Council Leader: All we need to do is sit back, drink our tea, and wait for the spoils of war to come our way.

(He is evil.)

I knew this for sure. I had accompanied Crown on many missions, and seen evil of all kinds brought to justice. He was someone who thought of the people of the country as pawns to be sacrificed, and saw nothing wrong about that. On the contrary, he saw that as only natural, trampling over the unfortunate and weak, exactly the same as all the other evils that Crown had condemned. There was no doubt: he was pure evil.

Victor: A leader who rules solely through fear is not a long-lasting one.

Victor looked disgusted. He suddenly moved closer to the council leader.

Victor: It’s a lesson proved by the reigns of many people throughout history. Victor: Such nations collapse sooner or later. Victor: Whether it is through invasion by another country, or a revolution by the people, such rulers are all inevitably scorned as tyrants and put to death.

When he was standing directly in front of the council leader he stopped.

Victor: Betrayed by those you trusted, having lost everything including what you were supposed to protect, the only thing waiting at the end of that road is the guillotine. Victor: That is what it means to be a ruler.

Council Leader: What–

From my position, the council leader was completely hidden behind Victor. But I could still tell he was losing some of his conviction.

Victor: If you are not prepared to place your head beneath the blade for the sake of the country, then, also for the sake of the country, I must pass judgment on you.

I forgot to even breathe as I watched the scene before me. His cold, low voice echoed in the dark room.

Victor: This is my evil.

I knew what was coming next. Silently, I opened the door. Victor briefly looked my way and gave me a small nod. I slipped out of the office, leaving the two of them inside, and shut the door. And then I sat with my back to the wall, covering my ears and shutting my eyes, waiting.

…

From the other side of the door, Kate would not hear what occurred within this room. She would probably be waiting, with her ears covered and her eyes shut. Secure in that knowledge, Victor let the order fall from his lips.

Victor: By order of the king. Victor: Pledge your loyalty to my evil.

…

Kate: Huh?

I could barely make out the sound of something falling. I opened my eyes and removed my hands from my ears.

Kate: –Victor.

When I opened the door, I could see Victor standing in front of the open window.

Victor: …Kate.

Kate: I heard a loud noise… Are you hurt?

It was then that I realized that the council leader was nowhere to be seen. All that was left of him was a single shoe, lying in front of the window. When I looked up at him again, Victor just shook his head.

(He jumped out…)

I began moving towards the window, but Victor grabbed my arm.

Victor: You don’t have to look.

His large hand settled over my eyes as he hugged me from behind.

Victor: He was so tormented by guilt that he killed himself. Victor: Alright?

I knew what he was implying, and nodded.

(We were never here. The council leader, tormented by the last vestiges of his conscience, chose to commit suicide tonight.)

I would have to lie in the records I was duty-bound to keep as Fairytale Keeper. But to keep Victor’s true identity hidden, it was necessary. With Victor still clinging to me, we left the room.

…

When he removed his hand, I squinted because of the sudden light. We were back in the stairway. He held onto my hand as he led us downstairs. We made no sound save for the sound of our footsteps, just like how we entered.

Victor: It’s rather late. I’ll see you to your room.

Kate: Thank you. But your room is…

Victor’s bedroom was hidden behind a bookshelf in his office at the palace.

(I feel bad for having him escort me all the way to Crown’s castle, then have to return here to the palace.)

However, Victor just laughed lightly.

Victor: Kate, you haven’t forgotten where we are, have you?

Kate: …The palace?

Victor: And my territory. Without any secret passageways, how would I ever manage?

Kate: Oh…

(That is true.)

There was no way there weren’t secret passages built into the palace where the country’s rulers lived.

Victor: My bedroom has connections everywhere. From my office, to Crown’s castle. Victor: It’s linked to the queen’s chambers, the audience chambers, various other locations in the palace, even some external locations.

Kate: Are you sure you should be telling me something so important?

He’d almost sounded boastful earlier, but now continued speaking as if it were no big deal.

Victor: I’m telling you because I want you to know. Victor: By the way, even William doesn’t know about that room.

Kate: He doesn’t?

Victor: So if someone else finds out about that room, I’ll know it’s either you or me who spilled the beans. Victor: And you also know about the secret passageways too, now. Victor: Quite a big responsibility, isn’t it?

He sounded playful as he smiled mischievously, and the way he spoke made it sound like everything was one big joke.

(But he’s telling me all this because he trusts me.)

The knowledge that he trusted me with more of his secrets warmed me from the inside out.

Kate: My lips are sealed. Kate: I won’t tell a soul.

Victor beamed.

…

We walked through the forest that connected the palace and Crown’s castle. Because of how cold it was tonight, the warmth radiating from our joined hands felt stronger than normal. It was the exact opposite of the night that I had hurt him, and ended up crying while running through the woods. With the council leader out of the picture, Nox Liberator wouldn’t have any source of funding left, and no one to pass information to them. And after being declared a terrorist organization, it would make it much more difficult for them to organize and continue their activities without drawing attention from the police.

(It’s all over now…)

Or so I thought.

Victor: I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, so I’d like you to get changed and wait for me.

Kate: Why?

Just as Crown’s castle came into view, Victor stopped walking.

Victor: We’re going to condemn the last person involved in this mess.

[theseawitch-1102]

(❁´◡`❁)_DRAW A CHARACTER YOU LIKE!_

Hi girlys! It's been a while since I last posted anything here, so I thought it would be nice to come back with a little drawing challenge. Here are also some comments on what I think of these characters.

Striker 🌵: Being a Striker fan… it's a daily routine of having a pie thrown in your face and still hoping that one day that won't happen and you'll be able to enjoy the pie. I still remember how intrigued I was by his character in his first appearance. There was something that made him different from all the previous villains. He seemed poised to be the antithesis of Blitzo, the one who would lead him to rethink his very questionable relationship with Stolas, and the one who would actually take action on the issue of discrimination and mistreatment of imps, even if it resulted in questionable methods and disastrous results. Unparalleled narrative potential. …Only for all his potential to be thrown away, ridiculing and discrediting even the true parts of his message, transforming him into a hypocrite with a single purpose: to keep the main couple unaffected and ensure that a certain owl prince wouldn't have to take responsibility for his actions. If it hurts enough that a character can't reach his potential because his series was cancelled… It hurts even more to see how his creators voluntarily throw him away.

Apple White🍎 : Oh Apple, the series never got to show you all your glory. This young woman is EAH's co-star and public enemy of half the fandom. You can hate her or love her, but you'll always have an opinion about her. Arrogant but fair, kind but narrow-minded, she can be many things. But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that compared to the books, the series doesn't explore the complexity of her character as much, the pressures she was under, the microaggressions, the insecurity, and above all, the fear of the future, uncertainty, and even death. What can I say, I have a weakness for complex characters in narrative (and also for pretty clothes, but shhh. I am just a girl).

Emperor Belos 👑: Wow, what a pleasure having you as a villain. The context of his upbringing, an extreme emotional dependence on his brother, during a period of religious fanaticism and persecution, a boy who only grew up to be a witch hunter. This son of a bitch is a bastard, and his writing is fabulous. Manipulative, macabre, and extremely cruel, so dedicated to his cause that for hundreds of years he never abandoned his mission. He's a fabulous villain, and to this day I regret that we never had the chance to see more of his story in the series.

Martin and Chris Kratt 🌿🌊: DON'T JUDGE ME, GUYS. I DIDN'T FIND OUT THESE TWO WERE REAL PEOPLE UNTIL I WAS 16. I still think of their animated versions as endearing characters from my childhood. Both brothers are quite similar, but they still have clear differences: one is an optimist who's more careless but protective, and on the other hand, Mr. Sassy, ​​organized, calculating, but just as absent-minded at times. If you're an anxious person who doesn't mind being told 20,000 random facts about animals, you should watch this series to relax.

Tom Lucitor ❤️‍🔥: This doesn't need any further explanation. HE'S ONE OF SVTFOE'S BEST CHARACTERS, AND I'LL FIGHT ANYONE WHO DENIES ME. I didn't leave the series just because of him; it was that simple.

Ford Pines 🤚: Ford, you're a disaster, but you're my disaster. It's hilarious that he was selected for the "by design" category when I'm a fan of shows like EAH or Monster High, but what can I say? He fulfills the cliches I always include in my own characters: long trench coats, boots, turtlenecks. I found it too comical how he matched everything. But I can't deny how much I love this man's story: his ego, his desire for glory, his dreams of redemption, and the inevitable catastrophe, the paranoia, the helplessness, and ultimately, peace.

[thee-morrigan]

@wayhavenots like in the sense that it's still part of my ruminations and (I assume probably eventually canon divergent) character arc for Holland? Very much so! There were a number of elements I ended up finding in those rabbit holes that ended up having both distal and proximal influences on what I tend to think of (albeit super loosely and somewhat vaguely!) as Holland's probable canon arc (canon to her, anyway. Not necessarily the books since who knows right now, obviously). Or at least, a narrative/character arc that I think would be very true to her (if that makes sense?). (Again: loosely and vaguely!)

But if you’re interested: I dropped some more semi-coherent lore below ���

OKAY, SO — My oldest notes about Anežka (which annoyingly have limited citations — idk what I was thinking there) center around histories of witches (broadly) and instances in which stories concerning Baba Yaga (specifically) as morally grey and/or functioning as more as a neutral, trickster figure, especially when children are involved (rather than, for instance, stories like Hansel and Gretel — considered a German analogue of a Baba Yaga type story — where the witch figure is usually clearly more of a standard villain). And apparently there are instances of Czech analogues/equivalents of Baba Yaga (or Baba Jaga) wherein there’s often more emphasis on her as neutral and (somewhat obliquely?) inclined to help orphaned or semi-orphaned children (no idea of specifics on that last bit, bc I apparently made these notes in a time where I decided citations didn’t matter??? smdh)

I think the main driver of this (other than personal general interest in Baba Yaga) was that Holland has always felt kind of witchy to me in ways I can’t really explain. Nebulous vibes only out here. So then I thought: well, from her perspective, maybe that kind of draw is because she spent a lot of time basically being raised by one. She wouldn’t have known for sure at the time, of course, but she’s both generally observant and extremely nosy, so I imagine between the supernatural actually existing alongside child-typical magical thinking, Holland had some fairly specific private conspiracy theories (and in retrospect probably contributed to her unbothered response to learning UB were vampires in B1).

And THEN, while in one of my regular “does she or doesn’t she” spirals about Holland’s humanity, I started thinking about most likely scenarios if she did Turn and came up with two* thoughts, one of which was: what if she didn’t become a vampire but something else instead?

There's an old ask that confirmed it’s possible to be Turned into most kinds of supernaturals in TWC (assuming survival ofc). Which prompted what is essentially a fairy tale/Into The Woods-esque AU that's been living in my mind for literal years now. Specifically, while on the fence about what she wants to do, she's reminded of Anežka (idk how, but probably something in passing at the facility or something along those lines). And she remembers her childhood conspiracy theories that Anežka might not be a regular human in the way that most people in her life were. Except now she knows what she knows. So she seeks her out in a very traditional, fairy-tale-journey kind of way — like Cinderella, if the fairy godmother had iron teeth.

And when Holland finds Anežka and learns her suspicions were far more correct than she could've realized as a child, Anežka serves as a kind of analogue to Baba Yaga in her depictions as a trickster figure, which usually is meant to encourage metaphorical transformation in children's stories, but in Holland's, could become a bit more literal. 🌚

*Thought Number 2 (aka Schrödinger’s Supernatural): she stays on the fence for A While — Something Goes Wrong on a mission/whatever and results in a scenario wherein a probably flippant earlier comment about UB making sure she doesn’t die becomes a Surprise Omen and results in her being Turned in an attempt to save her life. So, you know, just as fun as her fairy tale au.

@serenpedac yes! (and thank you for the excuse to ramble further about Holland lol)

the most direct/short answer is that Holland's favorite/most long-term nanny, Anežka, taught her when she was little. Anežka often called her "beruška" (ladybug) as a pet name, and Holland, naturally, was interested in not only what that word meant, but what other ones she could learn. I like to think tiny!Holland would have felt a bit like it was a kind of secret language between them, because I can't imagine she knew many (or, more likely, any) other Czech speakers in rural Michigan!

the more ill-formed, rambly answer is that several years ago I went down a rabbit hole writing childhood/teenage Holland snippets as a developmental exercise for fleshing out more of her lore, which resulted in a folklore rabbit hole (i.e., deciding what type of supernatural(s) she might have unknowingly encountered as a kid), detoured into Slavic myths, and then ended up in Czech fairy tales🤷🏼‍♀️

Also! I didn't screenshot your other tag question, but the woman in the collage is actress Lucy Boynton, who is indeed her faceclaim (this is probably weirdly specific lol but something about the way she rolls her eyes is peak Holland energy to me. Like I saw a gif once and my brain immediately latched onto it and now here we are).

[kyeterna]

"if rescuing you is a sin, I'll gladly become a sinner" is the sapphic way to say "I love you"

favourite ship dynamic

[vargaslovinghours]

Happy Vargas Day! Stop saying 100%

They are truly Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-ing it up around the Institute ♥ The role(s) was made for them!

Doctor meme!Edgar is here to assist! Scriabin is also here, to make quips at Edgar’s expense, equally important

He’s swooning! Catch him! Hold him in your weak noodle big strong arms!

Not an MD. Maybe. The text on his certificate is blurry, it must’ve been printed weirdly. It’s totally legit, don’t bother checking, just trust him

[shiori8]

Di Angelo Siblings

Sooo, to absolutely no one's surprise the new Percy Jackson reboot kicked me into full-blown pjo brainrot mode again lol. I saw these super cute fits and some vintage photos of Venice alleyways floating around on Pinterest and was consumed with the need to draw the Di Angelo siblings in them (it's probably wildly "historically and geographically" inaccurate for them, but we're just going to have to deal with the fact that I'm dumb and uncultured xD It's the vibes™ that count, okay!)

Psst, wanna see something cringe😂? Found this old sketch of them from one of my first forays into digital art years ago:

And to quote past-me "I can barely look at the old one, but at least that means I improved, aye?"😂

[sysig]

Starkly, sparkly (Patreon)

[sskk-manifesto]

Atsushi's back in the game!!! ۶( ˆ o ˆ )

[hiddenbeks]

more than a month after my previous kotor update i am happy to announce that i have finally met jolee and had him join me <3

[forcedhesitation]

druckmann's michael bay movie product placement garbage will never be the brilliance of end transmission, and misses the fucking point of sci-fi entirely...in just a teaser trailer. but what else do we expect from a hypocritical and spineless slime like him, really?

[gregmarriage]

it’s so hard being a lesbian, bc it’s in our nature to bring out the u-haul immediately, but also, i have a really bad habit of rushing things in an unhealthy way, and losing myself. so now i’m trying to take things slow with ppl (it’s…difficult 🙂)

[madamechrissy]

I'll look After You

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x fem reader (reader is a mom)

Summary: You longed to hear from Satoru, After an epic night hooking up in a club bathroom, sure you'd been strangers, but he has your number, he made you feel so special... but... he never contacts you again. Ten months later, you have a beautiful baby named Reign, with those exact blue eyes. You never saw him again, couldn't even find him, so now, you are living your life as a single mom. Messy bun, dark circles, exhausted, you run into Satoru one day, and he sees her, his baby girl, and sees you struggling, he knows then, you're what's been missing in his life.

CW: MDNI- Sweet and emotional story, SO MUCH fluff here, Satoru is a freaking doll, misunderstanding led to him not knowing (nothing is kept from anyone on purpose) Fluffy long oneshot, watch Satoru fall in love with reader and his lil girl. Gojo being a dad and being cute! Explicit smut at the end- warnings- breed kink (it's me???) oral (f receiving) dirty talk, possessive Satoru (When isn't he?) Also some flashbacks to the original bathroom hookup (fingering, dirty talk etc) Sexual tension, 10.6k WC <3

Here is the full oneshot! Comments and reblogs SO appreciated if you enjoy <3

You often wondered about him, Satoru was his name.

As you look down at your baby girl, with her brilliant blue eyes while she’s cooing happily, giving you a gummy little grin, you wonder what he’d think if he knew about her. The random guy at the bar you gave your number to after hooking up in a bathroom, the guy who never called, the guy with no social media of which to speak. The guy you never, ever saw again.

Your baby’s father, the best thing that ever happened to you, surely, but also it was very difficult, being a single mom, you’d have to go back to work soon which you were dreading, spending sleepless nights up feeding, changing her. It had been a rough pregnancy, and a shocking one at that, people had questioned you over and over, some mentioned not having her.

But something in you knew you could do this, you could have this baby, you’re broke as fuck but she has all she needs, and she makes you so happy, but those eyes are unmistakable. No one has eyes like that, except her and her… well was he her dad? You wonder if he’d run ten million miles from you if he knew, or would he have been okay with it?

It’s odd that just a night of fun, alcohol and being on antibiotics created this amazing little girl, but you can’t be upset, not when she brightens your world. But you still ache at times, for her to have a dad, you hope you’re enough. You wonder about him though, the bright energetic man, the one that had made you feel more in one evening than anyone ever.

The last man you’d been with.

Yes, it’s been that long, Reign was two months old, so you’re damn near a year, you say it’s because you’re so busy, but something deep in you knows that you felt something for him, deeper than the obvious physical. Something about how he looked at you, at how he laughed, at how he made you feel so special.

You assume it must have been some act, clearly, here you are, alone after all. You both only knew each other’s first names, it’s true, but he had that number. Maybe it wasn’t all you thought it was? Maybe he just was that sort of guy, the one that made women think they’re his everything with one of his kisses, maybe you were just too drunk, and he was too pretty.

You blink a bit, shaking the haze thoughts of him as you yawn a bit, exhausted from Reign keeping you up all night, her tummy had been hurting. You’re sleepily putting things in the cart, baby items, groceries, the essentials, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror above the produce, wincing then. You have a messy bun and are in pajamas, god help you if you ever wanted to meet a guy.

‘Oh hi, I have a baby with a random blue eyed dude from a bar, I’m broke as fuck, and I wear pajamas to the store. Wanna date?’

Yeah. That would go over well.

“It’s… it’s… you!?” You sleepily look up then, so exhausted you barely register the six foot three man for a moment, then suddenly it all hits.

He stares at you, those blue eyes, the eyes your baby has, wide now, his pouty pink lips dropped open. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember him, like it’s some dream, you feel weak then, chest rising and falling as your breaths come too quickly. He steps closer to you then, he hasn’t seen her yet, nestled in her little car seat on the cart, you’re panicking.

“Do you even remember me? Oh my god, that night my phone broke, and I had just got it, they couldn’t transfer the numbers! And I tried to look you up? But I couldn’t find you… and I never saw you… and then- fuck I’m rambling.” He laughs nervously, swiping his hand through his snowy locks. “Forgive me, please… what I mean to say is… Hi?”

“Hi…” Your baby whines then, and Satoru pauses, blinking and you move to the side then, he steps closer when Reign opens her eyes, grinning at him.

Satoru’s heart pounds in his chest, his entire world tilts on its axis, he was already so thrown off by seeing you again, the girl he hasn’t been able to stop thinking of, but now… he looks at you in shock, you look exhausted, but so beautiful, your eyes tear up then, he watches your shoulders slump, then he looks back at the baby, realization sinking in.

“She’s… is she… there’s no way…”

“She’s yours, I only hooked up with you for the past… year.” You manage to say softly, right in the middle of the fruit aisle, Satoru was finding out you have his baby.

“You did this alone?” He says then, blinking back emotions for a girl he barely knew, but who now has a part of him, a part he wants to know so badly suddenly, shocking him.

“I had no clue who you were, how to tell you, even if so, it’s not your responsibility okay? I take care of her just fine, I make it work.” Satoru’s heart breaks then, seeing how tired you are, seeing the endless baby items and cheap toilet paper, a cheap bottle of wine, is that all you get yourself?

You did this alone, you have his baby alone, altering your life while he’s living his just the same, partying with his best friends, working and living a luxurious life. Satoru was rich, and it’s clear his baby and his baby’s mother are struggling, and he’s here doing what? Could he have tried harder to find you!? Could he…

“We’re okay, you don’t have to worry. I’d never come for you for anything, I am happy being her mommy.” You say with a tired smile, reaching to touch her little chubby cheek, and Satoru has never seen anything so beautiful, the two of you.

He’s felt so empty for this year, is this what he was missing?

“Can I… please… Can I know her?” He asks, gulping now, and you blink in shock, nodding quickly.

“I would love that.” You can’t stop your tears then, sniffling and shaking your head. “Please, let’s talk out of a produce aisle?” You whisper, he nods quickly, unable to take his eyes off you, off his baby.

After paying for your groceries, which you protest to, he’s out by your car now, a little minivan that makes him smile, picturing you as some pretty soccer mom already. You take her out of the car seat then, holding her carefully, smiling up nervously at Satoru. His chest swells at seeing you hold her, some instinct takes over, he instantly knows then.

He needs to take care of you both.

“I thought you’d freak out if you knew, be upset or want nothing to do with…”

“God no, no. I mean I don’t know what to think, but… she’s beautiful. Like her mom.” His words make you flush.

“I’m a wreck, Satoru, look at me.”

“You just need some help, doing it all alone?”

“You don’t have to, okay? I can do it.”

He brushes a tendril back off your temple, sighing as he looks at you, at those dark circles that just make you more beautiful, but show the fragility you’re keeping under wraps as best as you can. “I want to help, this is on me too.”

“It’s not, I was on the pill but… antibiotics.” You grumble, holding the baby to your chest now, she is sucking on her little binkie, bright pink. “It’s all on me, I’d love you to be in her life, but don’t feel obligated to pay for anything.”

“You’re stubborn, will she be too?” He narrows his eyes, and you giggle then, the first time in a long time you’ve heard that sound.

“She’s already stubborn, she gave me a hard time, wouldn’t come out.” She wriggles then, and you step a little closer to Satoru. “Wanna hold her?”

“Can you… tell me how to?” He asks, and you smile at him, for a tall, buff man he’s so sweet and precious, nervous even.

“Yes, hold your arms like this.” He does as you ask, holding his arms out, as you gently place Reign in his arms. “Hold her head just so. There you go, hey Reign, this is your dad.”

“Reign?” He asks, in shock as he looks into her eyes, his eyes, but she has your nose, your hair. His lips. She’s… “Perfect.”

“Isn’t she? Is it okay if I call you her dad?”

“It’s… perfect.” He says again, smiling at you, tears making his snowy lashes spike just so, you feel so complete then somehow. You can’t explain it, seeing this melts you, and Reign is so happy she's cooing, sucking on her binky and staring at him, you watch him melt right with you. “HI there, dumpling.”

“Dumpling? She's got a nickname huh.” He grins so big, nodding.

“I moved out of the city for the past year but I just came back to town. How far are you?”

“Oh like ten minutes. Would you… like to come over tomorrow? I'd say today but my place is a wreck.”

“I'd love to. Can I get her something please?”

“You don't have to… but she can always use binkies she throws these things. Ugh, see?” Reign spits out her binky and Satoru snorts as you catch it. She then touches his cheek, and he chokes up.

“I… oh my god. I love her?” He whispers in wonder, and you exhale, blinking tears that refuse to stop falling. “Is that crazy?”

“No. I loved her when I first saw her too. Fuck I'm a wreck “

“Hey…” He steps closer, handing you her carefully and then placing his big hands on your shoulders. “I am here now for both of you, however you'll let me be. Shh.” He brushes your back, resting his head on yours as you hold her close.

“I never thought I'd see you, tell you. I'm overwhelmed. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah me too.”

Of course he is, fuck. He just found out he's a dad, and he's honestly taking it better than anyone could. He brushes your tears away, and your pulse quickens, you clear your throat then. “We don't even know each other, it's insane huh?”

“Absolutely insane. But… I can't wait to spend time with her.” He says softly, you smile up at him, trying not to read so much into it, so happy he wants to be in her life but you have to remember that doesn't mean with you.

“Come over tomorrow I'll cook you lunch? Please don't break your phone again.” He laughs then, nodding as you two exchange numbers.

“Last name is Gojo. I hope one day hers can be?” And yours, he thinks, but he knows it's crazy to say, as he watches you smile so pretty through your tears.

“Maybe we can do that someday. Well, Reign, say bye to dad.” Satoru kisses her little forehead, leaning up then, thinking of kissing you. You both stand there a moment before he opens your door, and you set Reign back in her little pink car seat. You smile up at him again. “I am sorry I'm in pajamas by the way, ugh.”

“They're cute, little snowmen.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you slide in your car, hoping you will see him tomorrow with everything. “See you both soon.”

You drive away, and Satoru calls his driver and assistant then. “Can you order me everything a baby girl needs? And I need it by tomorrow.”

******

There’s a knock on your door, you peek in the mirror one more time, you took a bath last night, your hair is shimmering and clean for once, you have just a little concealer on for those dark circles, a little lip gloss. You’re wearing clothes and not sweats or pajamas, a little top with a cardigan and jeans, nothing fancy but you look human again.

You can’t believe that Satoru will come, until you open that door and see him, standing next to a tired looking dark haired man holding an insane amount of glittery pink bags. Satoru’s grinning at you, wearing Gucci shades and a dress shirt probably worth more than your rent, only one little bag in his hand swinging side to side as he greets you.

“Satoru, you… what is all this?” You ask curiously, and he shrugs a broad shoulder, handing you the little bag.

“All that is for Regin, this is for you though.”

“What!? It’s too many things!”

“Miss, may I?”

You realize he’s just standing there struggling, and come to then. “Oh, yes I’m so sorry! Put them on the table?”

Satoru and Kiyotaka walk in then, you have a little place, it’s about the size of Satoru’s living room altogether, but it’s comfy and clean, lived in and every bit of it has something of you. He sees pictures of you pregnant on your little silver fridge, pictures of Reign all over, along with Christmas cards all placed with magnets. He sees you’ve baked cookies, too, the scent making him starve.

Almost as much as your scent, so sweet and intoxicating, as he stands next to you, gesturing to the bags. “I wanted to get her something, remember?”

“This is a whole store though!” Kiyotaka leaves now, and you’re delving into the bags, gasping as you pull out the softest, fuzziest pink blanket. “Oh my god…”

“I just had them buy everything for a girl? Is pink good?”

You giggle then, smiling as you pull out a pretty pink dress. “She doesn’t know colors yet, Satoru.”

Of course she doesn’t.

Satoru truly doesn’t know shit about kids, he called and told his mom, asking for advice, and almost gave her a heart attack he thinks. “Of course not, I… where is she? Is she napping?”

“She is, but don’t worry she usually wakes up soon. Oh these are so cute, how expensive are these!? She’s gonna wear them for like a week!” You ask then, pulling out a little baby pair of fancy shoes, then two more. “She can’t even walk yet… ah, but these are so cute though.” You’re clearly conflicted, he chuckles a bit, then you stand up. “Oh my god, I’m a shitty host!”

“You’re cute.” His words, all husky with that deep voice of his, make you flush now, making you even cuter to him. “You look pretty today.”

“Oh thank you, I didn’t want you to think I’m constantly a monster.” He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“You’re cute either way. This was you pregnant?” He asks, as you lead him to the kitchen.

“Yes, I was a whale, oh god.” He touches the photo then, a longing surging through him, he missed this, he missed you like this. He feels an ache washing through him, looking at your glowing face and round tummy.

“No, you were beautiful.” Your breath catches, eyes shooting to his as he looks at you now, feeling something pulling you towards him, it’s like he takes the air out of your lungs just standing here.

“You’re very sweet, Satoru… thank you.” You manage to breathe out the words, when he looks down at your body now, heating it up with his gaze.

“Did you like being pregnant?”

The words throw images in your mind, of him over you, putting more babies in you, fucking insane ones that you shove down quickly. He was clearly caring, and wanting to be involved, you needed to keep your thoughts to that and only that, despite the way your stomach is fluttering at his proximity.

“I did love being pregnant, feeling her move and kick, singing to my tummy and feeling her calm down. But towards the end it was really rough, because she decided she wasn’t coming out.” You say with a little laugh, Satoru can see in how you speak how much you adore her. “Would you like to see more pictures later?”

“I’d love to. You didn’t open what I got you.”

“You shouldn’t get me anything. Oh, do you want some cookies?”

“Yes please.” He starts munching down on them, moaning. “You baked these?”

“I bake when I’m nervous? It gets insane how much I bake.” He smiles then, you’re tucking your shimmering hair behind your ear, grabbing him a glass of milk before you go grab the little bag.

“Open it, now.” He sips his milk as you sit on the barstool by the counter, fingers gently pulling apart tissue paper, until you open a little box and see a gift card.

“To a spa!? I haven’t ever been to a spa? What I can’t!”

“You will. When you’re comfortable I could watch her, so you could get some time to yourself.” You sniffle then, the kindness of him after all the overwhelming months you’ve had is too much, you shake your head.

“I can’t, it’s all too much, you shouldn’t feel like you have to do this!” He walks to you then, brushing a tear from your cheek, exhaling as he leans down so close.

“Sweetheart, I’m fucking rich, okay?”

“I assumed… wealthy with your clothes…”

“No, filthy fucking rich. Let me spend it on my baby and get her mom just a little thing please? How can you take care of her without any care for you?”

“I just do it, Satoru. I just do it.” He brushes more of your tears now, his lips far too close, you still don’t know him truly but the gesture is melting every defense you may have had up.

“Just go relax one day, not now, when you’re more comfortable.” Reign starts crying then, making Satoru back off just as you’d leaned your chin up, and you two had been so close. You back away too, nervously standing.

“I’ll go get her for you.” You say with a big smile, eyes still watery, and then you bring her out, Satoru’s heart swells even more than it did seeing you, he eagerly picks her up this time, versus being so nervous as before. “Dad spoiled you already.”

“Not even close to spoiled yet.” He murmurs, snuggling her to him.

“Have a seat, please.” He sits on the couch with her, you take one of the many little blankets, gently laying it over her and then sitting on the couch with him, as he stares at her in wonder.

“She barely cries?”

“That’s around you, it seems. She likes you already.” Your words fill him with far too much happiness, a happiness he’s never known, but also such a longing.

“I wish I could have been there.” He whispers, brokenly, the handsome white haired man holding your little girl, and suddenly you can picture it, maybe his big bright smile during what was a difficult labor.

“You’re here now.” You assure him, a hand gentle on his shoulder, the caress delicate before you think better of it, pulling your hand back. “I thought about you a lot, I mean… I tried to find you.”

“I wish you had.”

“Really?” He nods then, emotional. “Satoru Gojo, you surprised me, I thought for sure you’d turn and run.”

“Nah, why? Look at her.” She’s blinking her long lashes, grinning at him then. “So what do I like… do with her? Besides holding her?”

You laugh softly then, it’s so easy to have him around, it feels so natural that it’s weird. “Well you can feed her a bottle I pumped, but I breast feed mostly.”

He gulps now, looking at your top, where your nipples were pressing against the thin fabric. “Oh?”

“Yeah, depending on her mood, sometimes she is vicious. I’ll show you.” You gently take your top up, feeling his gaze when you pull off your nursing bra.

“That thing is easy access.” He murmurs, you giggle a bit, nervous for him to see you when you let it drop, revealing one of your pretty breasts to him, leaving him dazed before he snaps out of it, handing you Reign.

It’s very intimate, sitting with him while you feed her, she’s sucking hard, so hard you wince then, her little long nails digging into your breast as Satoru smirks. “You’re gonna laugh at this pain?”

“She’s just like her dad, look at her go. A pro.” You snort, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as Reign aggressively punches your breasts for more milk.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t think you did that.” You murmur thoughtfully, pushing back flashes of the night while she suckles.

“That’s a tragedy.” You look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, while you feed his daughter, his daughter, it’s still not comprehending, it’s still taking him a lot to conceive it’s real. “Look at her face, oh my god!”

Your heart warms as he leans over, and Reign has stopped drinking, a goofy smile on her face. “She’s milk drunk.”

“What now? She looks high as fuck.” You hold in your laughter so you don’t wake her now, her eyes are shut and she’s still sucking on nothing.

“She does look stoned, it always cracks me up. Do you wanna put her to bed? I’ll show you where she sleeps.”

He nods and takes her again, watching your nipple with just a droplet of milk on it, he swipes it away before he can think better, making you shoot your eyes to him, lips parted. You hastily put the bra back up as a blush pinkens Satoru’s cheeks, slipping down your top, his touch on your sensitive nipples almost ended you just now. The desire for him in every way is almost insane.

You show him to the only room in your little place, it’s got a crib and a bassinet, and a tiny little bed that he assumes you must sleep in. You start wrapping her up in the new pink blanket then, swaddling her so tight, he watches in wonder at it, as you bundle her up.

“She’ll like a little burrito.” You snort in laughter, trying to keep quiet and covering your mouth then, looking up at Satoru in amusement.

“She kind of is? Babies like to be swaddled, they feel comfy.”

“You know so much… Have you had any experience before?” You both watch as she settles now.

“No, I learned all this from lots of books and bugging the shit out of my mother. Though she even thought I was crazy to have her. But something…” You trail off then, shaking your head. “Sorry.”

“No, please go on. Something?”

“Something told me I was meant to have her, it sounds crazy. But… I knew I could do it, even if it’s a lot.”

Satoru’s hand comes to rest on the small of your back, as you turn your head to look back up at him, seeing the emotions written all over his perfect face. “You’re doing great.”

You break down then at that, sobbing against his chest as he holds you, soothing rubs on your back. “I needed that, shit I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” You stay like that for a moment, letting him hold you against his chest, your face buried against his shirt, tears spilling freely while you take several breaths. “You’re a great mom, I can already see.”

“Shit…” You pull yourself together, taking several breaths and leaning back then, Satoru’s cupping your face and it takes everything not to kiss him, this man who you still barely know. “I really appreciate that. It’s been hard so far, but I love her so much, it's impossible how deeply.”

“I can feel it already. You, missy, need that break.”

“I couldn’t…”

“I want to be involved, I want to care for her, and that means her mom too. Yeah?” You shake your head, earning his little glare. “Stubborn little brat.”

“Excuse me!?” You glare right back, and he grins.

“You are one!”

“Me a brat?” Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms.

“Mmhmm.” Satoru tilts your chin up, your head falls back then, and he imagines entwining his fingers in it, imagining kissing you just like that night. He leans even closer and you pull back, clearing your throat.

“We should step out so we don’t wake her.” You murmur, when you’re back in the living room you’re carefully folding all the clothes he’s bought. “Oh, I promised lunch! You up for stir fry?”

“I’m up for anything you wanna make, after eating those cookies.” You set to work, and soon the two of you are eating lunch together, Satoru moans as he devours the food. “My god you’re a good cook.”

“Thank you, I love to cook.” You nibble on your rice thoughtfully. “Ugh, I’m gonna hate leaving her to work.”

Satoru scowls now. “Huh?”

“Maternity leave is over in two weeks. I’m just going to work part time though, so I’ll still see her plenty. Maybe I’ll bring her to work?”

“Where do you work?”

“A library, I’m very exciting.” Satoru grins now.

“You look like a little librarian.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Goodie goodie, despite the bathroom…” You both quiet then, as his mind whirls, and yours spins, remembering.

“S-Satoru!” You’d cried out as his fingers had pumped in and out of your tight little entrance, soaking his fingers as he kissed down your neck, you watched your reflection in the mirror as he pressed you against the sink, free hand gripping you right under your chin.

“Fuck, look at you? So sexy…” He murmurs, the club's music pounding like your heart in your chest. He has a big hand muffling your cries as you soak his hands, dripping all over him. “Hear her?”

His murmur against your ear makes you tremble, shivers sending down your spine as he builds that pressure inside you. You nod, drooling against his palm, when he is hitting that spot that has your eyes rolling back, pressing on it over and over with his long, thick fingers. You’re screaming into his hand, ass arching against him.

“That’s it, pretty, cum f’me huh?”

You both get quiet then, you see it clear as day, your face in that mirror as he’d filled you, and he remembers sucking your juices off his fingers, god it’s been almost a year and he can’t get your taste off his mind. He’d been with a few women here and there since he didn’t think he’d see you again, but they were nothing like it, nothing like you.

How your body responded, every little muffled cry, he remembers dying to get you fully naked, planning it all out when he would call you. He wanted you to not even leave his bed, he’d fully taste you, make you cum with his mouth. He’d get to look into your eyes as he filled you so good, have your legs up over his shoulders while he pumped inside.

It’s like electricity in your quiet little home, the two of you sitting in a daze, your breath comes quicker when he leans across the table, brushing your cheek with his fingers, feeling the heat on them. “Warm?” He teases.

“Um, a little.” You stand then, taking his plate and smiling, acting as normal as you can. “All done?”

“Yeah, thank you.” He watches you wash them then, he can’t even fathom not having a dishwasher, but you’re there with your pretty hands and that sponge. He doesn’t want you to work, he doesn’t want you even doing this, you should just enjoy the baby.

But with how stubborn you are, how independent? He doesn’t know if you’ll even take his offer when he makes it.

“How about you come to my place with the little Dumpling this weekend? Maybe… stay a night? I’ll have her something set up.”

“Stay the night?” You nearly break the dish you’re drying, Satoru catches it, suddenly next to you. “Who are you, Edward Cullen?”

“Pshh, I look like a glittery fucking vampire?”

“A bit.” You’re both laughing softly then, he dries the plates and you show him where to put them up. “It’s nice having a giant around.”

“Almost whacked my head on your ceiling fans.”

“The hardships of being stupidly tall, hmm?”

“Hmm.” He leans against the counter now, snowy lashes lowering as he studies you intently, those eyes that just do something to you, even after this long. It feels like you’ve known him, when one of his hands delicately brushes down your shoulder, feeling the soft knit of your cardigan. “You dress like a little librarian.”

“Do I now? Not that night.”

His nostrils flare just a bit. “Not that night.”

Satoru had you lifted on that sink, sinking inside you for the first time, damn near whimpering in your ear as he kissed on your breasts, trying to yank them out as much as he could but failing. “Slutty little dress.”

“S-slutty? You’re… slutty!” You’re clinging to him as he stuffs you so full, too fucking full, your cunt is drooling down his veiny length as he fucks into you, your thighs pressing against his narrow hips.

“Both are, listen to her… ha…” He’s got one hand cupping your face, looking at you before he slams his lips down, tongues dancing while his cock keeps thrusting, tip dragging your spot, as you fall apart in the bathroom, a tangle of limbs intermingling with muffled cries. “F-fuck…”

“That dress still does things to my mind.” He admits, and you wonder then, how’d you both get so close? How were you nearly flush against him?

“Does it now?” Your attempt at a tease meets with a broken voice, and you clear your throat, looking down shyly. “I don’t think my ass would fit in it now, your baby girl gave me some hips.”

“I bet they’re sexy.”

“She gave me stretch marks too.”

“Sexy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You shake your head then, brushing a hand up his chest, wondering just what his body looks like. He's clearly built, you can tell he's muscular, but you have to wonder just how he looks. “You… don’t date anyone?”

“Nah. I mean I have had some dates this year, but nothing serious.” He couldn’t say it’s because of you, because he compares women to this random girl he felt such a pull to, and now it’s a million times worse. Even picturing cute little stretch marks from having his baby makes Satoru feral, it takes a lot not to show you, to act cool and calm with a little smirk.

“I haven’t at all. I mean… I’m so busy with Reign, and the pregnancy.”

“Been a while then?” His words are full of suggestion, his hand now brushes the air across your waist, hovering, like he wants to pull you in, and you’d let him, when Reign starts crying. You both step apart, his hands in his pockets, yours nervously fidgeting with your sweater.

“I’ll go get her.” You come back with her now, and Satoru lights up at seeing her in your arms, bending down to kiss her downy soft hair, sighing.

“Why does she smell so good?”

“Baby smell. I know, it’s addictive.” You inhale her scent, smiling as you are once again a centimeter from Satoru’s lips, your gaze goes to them, glossy and plump.

“Will you come this weekend?”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be there Satoru.”

“I am going to learn things, I promise.”

“Satoru, just take it one day at a time. You’re doing great.” He nods then, gulping down his every emotion as he leaves you two, and it feels so awful and wrong to leave you both, every force in the world pulling him back.

“How’d it go, Mr. Gojo?” Kiyotaka asks, as he’s driving him back home.

“Amazing. They're so beautiful.”

“They?”

“I mean…” You both are. “Kiyotaka, do you know shit about babies?” The man smiles tiredly then, shaking his head.

“No, Mr. Gojo, but I see you’re so… happy?”

Satoru has a silly grin then. “I am, I want to set something up for them, think you can order more baby things? For my place?”

“Certainly, Sir.” He smiles as he watches Satoru in the rearview mirror, he never would have pictured something like this, but it’s clear Satoru is beaming.

*****

“Come in, come in!” You pause in awe as you carry Reign inside Satoru’s insanely beautiful home. It's probably ten of your place if not more, sleek and elegant, everything brand new and sparkling clean. He’s instantly taking Reign, who is babbling at him as he cradles her, melting you completely before you even take a step.

“Your place is beautiful.” You murmur, he smiles at you then, taking your diaper bag off your arm and leading you inside.

“Thank you for coming, I missed her already!? Yes I did, dumpling!” He plants kisses all over her face now, Satoru Gojo holding your baby just did things to your heart, rewired your brain, seeing them both light up.

“She missed you too.” You murmur softly, Satoru looks at you then, white teeth glinting under the soft lights, taking in your pretty dress.

“Mama looks pretty.” He whispers, loud on purpose clearly, you’re a blushing mess, when Satoru’s blue eyes sweep over you.

“You’re too much.” You say, but you’re lowkey falling bad, you’d talked with him so much these past few days, as he asked endless questions, but also as you two got to know each other. You’d fallen asleep on the phone last night, Satoru had listened to your light little snore, smiling and falling asleep with you.

It seems too easy, which terrifies you, but so far it’s been Satoru being excited to be a dad, so you keep trying to remind yourself that is what this was, but it’s hard when he looks at you that way. “Too much? You haven’t seen shit. Come on.”

“Oh god.” You follow him now, as he leads you through a wide open hall, winking at you.

“Ya ready?”

“I think so?” He opens the door and it takes your breath for a moment, it’s a fully done nursery with everything a baby could need and more. There’s a pretty crib, a bassinet, a rocking chair even, it’s painted a baby pink with little teddy bears lining the ceiling. 

“I know, I went overboard, I don’t know how to not go overboard when I do things? And I want the best for her? I know you probably won’t be-”

“Satoru.”

“Hmm?”

You smile then, placing a hand over his where it rests on Reign’s lap. “It’s beautiful, it’s so beautiful.”

He exhales in relief then. “Yeah!?”

You’re giggling now. “Yeah.”

“Mommy likes it, yes!” His enthusiasm is infectious, it’s the first time you think you’ve truly been light hearted in so long, as he places her gently in the crib. “I had my mom go crazy and paid for it to get set up, really I did nothing but pay out.”

“It’s the most thoughtful thing in the world.” You hug him then on impulse, before pulling back shyly, your eyes meet each other, his hands on your waist. “But how will she go back to my shitty place? I hope she doesn’t get bougie.”

“I want her bougie.” You laugh again softly, she’s playing with the little ovehanging baby mobile, she’s enamored by the hanging stars. You watch him lean over the crib then. “She’s a princess, you know.”

You can’t take it then, you have to step out, shaking now, struggling to catch your breath, when Satoru steps out with you, looking at you with concern. Your feelings of him are utterly overwhelming, the beauty of Satoru fawning over his little girl puts these thoughts in your mind, of being a real family. As someone who didn’t have a father, and didn’t think Reign would, the hope filling you is so much.

“I got too excited.” He nervously admits, leaning against the wall next to you and rubbing the back of his neck. “I want her to have everything, if my mom didn’t talk me out of it she’d already have a pony.” You snort then, even through your tears. “There, a little laugh.”

“It’s not you, this is amazing, it’s just… I planned my life, I planned it all out with her, alone. And now… we won’t be? I don’t know how to process it, how to really believe it. But I’m so happy she’ll have it.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you against him into a big hug, arms wrapped around you tightly, bringing you against his chest. “I didn’t think I’d have this, a baby girl? I know what you mean, it’s not what I pictured.”

“Exactly. And… maybe I enjoy this too much.” You look up at him now, his lips quirked up at the side.

“Me too much?” He raises a brow.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.” Satoru leans down close, when the doorbell rings, he exhales then, laughing softly, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “So I may have invited my mom. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” You are trying to calm your nerves when you meet her, long silky white hair and bright blue eyes. It's clear those genetics are strong, she surprises you by wrapping you in a hug.

“Where’s this grandbaby of mine?”

Soon she’s melting over Reign like the two of you have been, and Satoru’s made you both hot cocoa, family isn’t something you’ve really had, and to feel this comfortable and good? It’s almost like some dream, as you all are so cozy inside, and Reign is just getting fawned over, giving you a little bit of a reprieve until she’s hungry.

“I have a bottle, do you wanna feed her, Satoru?”

“I can do that?” You smile at him, nodding, and soon he’s got a bottle in her mouth, you position his arm just so as his mom watches you both with a knowing smile on her face.

“You know, I could always babysit sometime. For you two… to go out.” You both blush now, looking up at her.

“Go out?” You almost squeak the words out, sipping your cocoa now that it's gone just a little cold, enamored with watching Satoru.

“Yes, go out. Parents need time away.”

“We’re not… um…”

“I’d take you out.” Satoru says softly, and you feel those butterflies in your tummy going wild.

“Yeah?” You manage to ask, failing at being subtle.

“Yeah.” He smirks a bit, then Reign coughs. “What’s wrong!?”

“She needs to burp, calm down.” You lift her against your chest, patting her back now. “This is what you’ll do, it’s just some air in her tummy.”

“Oh thank god.”

“You three are precious.” His mom checks her phone then. “I have a meeting, but I hope to see much more of you both.”

“Me too Mrs. Gojo!” She smiles, planting a kiss on Reign’s head then yours before she leaves. “She’s amazing!?”

“I know, right? She was dying to meet her.” His hand rubs Reign’s little back, so big it’s as long as her almost, his other arm resting over the couch, brushing against you when he leans closer. “Thank you for having her.”

“Oh, Satoru… I just wish…”

“Yeah, me too.” He inhales and exhales, his eyes swimming with emotions. “I wish badly. I hate that I missed her coming into the world.”

“I’m so sorry… but I swear, she’ll not remember that, she won’t remember it at all.”

“But you remember.”

“Satoru, it's not your fault, don’t dare blame yourself.” He sighs now, his hand dropping off Reign to rest on your thigh over the thin black tights you wore.

“I don’t want you working yet. Will you let me help?”

“Satoru…” You shake your head. “You are not going to pay my bills.”

“Then stay with me? Stay the year with your baby… with our baby, please. She should have her mom home.”

“It’s too much of an offer, I can’t just live here! We aren’t even…”

“If you hate it I’ll get you your own place. I promise. Just let me take care of you… of both of you?” You stand, turning away, Satoru’s hands grip the sides of your arms as he leans close. “Please think about it.”

“I’m not a charity case, Satoru. I’m okay where I am.”

“I know that, okay? But I missed all of the pregnancy, I didn’t get to help with any medical bills, anything. Please just…” He turns your chin to face him, his glossy lips ever tempting as they hover just above yours. “Please think about it.”

“It’s overwhelming, okay?” He nods then, you lean back just so, feeling his lithe body against your back, leaning back just so.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

“Satoru…” He wraps his arm around you, resting his chin on your head. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to.” For you and Reign, but Satoru can tell your pride is getting in the way, and he can tell you’re conflicted. “Give it time, no rush, yeah?”

*****

After a few weeks of constantly being at Satoru’s house, you damn near almost live there. You come over at about the same time Satoru’s off work, and he learns more and more about Reign every single day. He’s learned how to change diapers, how to feed her, and learns what certain cries mean. Reign rolls over for the first time on her mat and you’ve never seen anyone more excited than Satoru.

He takes selfies with her and they are Insta famous, he has Reign’s name painted on the nursery door, though she tends to still sleep in the room you stay in, with her little bassinet. Satoru’s had you in the guest room, but what you don’t know is at night he checks on you both, he kisses Reign’s forehead and tucks you in, he watches how cute the both of you are.

He watches you with Reign, ever attentive, and it’s about the time you’d have to go back to work, he can feel how devastated you are thinking of it, when you all are quietly sitting in the living room, having nibbled on takeout as Reign sleeps. You take a breath then, looking at the man you’re falling deeper for every day, every moment you spend with him.

“Satoru…”

“Yeah, sweets?” His little nickname always does something to you.

“I would love to stay with you, to stay home with her for a few more months, if you’re sure it’s still okay?”

Satoru jumps up then, picking you up and spinning you, you’re laughing breathlessly as he eases you down, and you’re flush against his body. Despite the endless times you’ve ached to kiss him, to do so much more, you both have been a little apprehensive, you both don’t know what’s okay, what’s not. You both feel far, far too much and are afraid of it.

“You’ll stay!?”

“I’ll stay. But I’ll cook, and help pick up, and-”

“Shh. Just stay.” He’s cupping your face, he’s so close you can almost taste his sweet breath, your lashes lowering over your eyes now. “I want you with her, let me do that for you? And… I want you here. All the time I… miss you when you’re not.”

“Are you giving me puppy dog eyes!?” You demand with a grin, and he pouts his lips.

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“It’s working.” You don’t stop yourself, not this once, when you lean up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his, and when you do, the eclectic shocks shoot from his lips, it’s just like that night a year ago, but more intense. You pull back nervously, looking away. “I’m sorry, I…”

“No.” Is all he says, pulling you back, bending low and taking over your lips, he moves them gently over yours, big hands taking over your waist and dragging you closer, mouth opening, tongue slipping past the seam of your lips. Your mouth opens in a gasp, and then his tongue delves inside it. “Don’t apologize for kissing me.”

“Satoru…” He’s exhaling against your lips, kissing you again, soon your back is on the couch, and he’s moving over you, his hand trailing your waist, up to your breasts, your hands clinging to his shirt, gripping the smooth fabric as you fall apart from his kisses. They’re sweet, intense kisses, slow like he wants to savor every moment with you, growing more and more insistent.

He pulls up, just looking at you now, your thighs are around his hips, you feel that ache between them, not just physically either, you crave more and more of him, and you have been since you saw him again. You both just look at each other, speaking without words as he slips up your top, and you yank it nervously, earning his frown, stopping your hand.

“Not ready yet?” He asks, you shake your head.

“You won’t… I’m not… I don’t like my tummy anymore.” You admit softly, tears threatening to spill, Satoru lifts your shirt then, leaning down and running his thumb across the little stretch marks Reign left.

“Well, baby girl… I love your tummy. Should I show you?” You shake your head, breaths coming quicker and quicker now. “You had my baby, you carried her for me, and she left you more beautiful than before.”

“Oh, Satoru…” He kisses your tummy then, and desire shoots straight through you, your hands finally entwining in that silky hair you’ve craved to feel for so long, he’s looking at you under lidded eyes, pressing kisses lower.

“You’re beautiful everywhere. I bet it was sexy pregnant.”

You giggle just a bit, making Satoru smile against your skin, fingers tugging down your pants then, earning a little cry that makes his cock so hard it hurts. He’s been dying to taste you on his tongue, to feel you around his fingers, watch that pretty face in pleasure again, but he’s tried to take his time, tried to focus on Reign, but the thing is, he loves both of you.

He’s in love with you.

The way you move, the way you smile, the way you are with his baby? How your eyes brighten when Reign did something new, how you blushed when he gave you a compliment. But also, how your hips are shifting now, how your eyes are getting lidded, dilated with desire, and how the little silver lines run across where his baby was inside you.

“Satoru… that feels too good I… mmm!” You cry out quietly when his fingers find your slick heat, finding you drenched already.

“You this easy for me?” He asks, you want to retort, something witty, but you can’t, you just gasp out in pleasure when he’s got your pants off, and he’s parting your thighs, long fingers pressing in the plush of your skin as he stares at your pussy. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

You’re trembling as you’re fully bare in front of him, his breath on your clit alone makes you jerk, he places a teasing flick of his tongue right on your clit, you cover your mouth to hide the pathetic moan. He flicks his tongue again, thumps slipping the plump lips of your sex apart, watching the wetness pool out of your little hole, he catches it with his tongue, groaning as he tastes you.

Your hands clutch his hair so hard you’re tugging at his head, eyes rolling back in your skull, biting your lip hard not to make too much noise. He looks up at you, slinking his tongue all the way up your dripping pussy now, from your hole to your clit, groaning as you drip all over his mouth, his face.

“It tastes as good as I remember.” He whispers, enjoying that ruby red blush on your cheeks. “You’re so cute like this, sensitive?”

“You’re torturing me.” He chuckles, the hot air making you whimper, a sound that shoots desire through him. “Please…”

“Please what, pretty?” He casually licks you once more, leisurely as if he has all the time in the world, tilting his head just so to flick the underside of it, watching the tiny little clit twitch. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Make me cum, please.” He moans then, devouring your pussy, his movements less teasing and precise and sloppy, now, lapping up all the juices that pour as you cry out in pleasure, hips bucking up for more, then you feel his fingers sliding in and out of you now, pressing in deep, finding that spongy spot that makes you shiver.

“There you go, you’re clenching me s’good. Can’t wait to feel you around me.” He murmurs, curling his fingers just so,  your legs are shaking so hard, you’re falling off that edge, chest rising and falling with your breaths.

“M-gonna… Toru…” Satoru moans now, the sound vibrating against your heat, he looks at you then, eyes dilated and dark, leaning up, his chin coated in your slick, shimmering.

“Cum for me, baby.” At that he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue swirling around it, humming and making you shatter under him.

You come so hard you see stars bursting, eyes rolled back, your mouth in the most slutty O as you gasp out, you’re arching off the couch, his name a quiet little broken scream in the quiet room. You feel his smug grin against your sensitive bud, as he nips at it then with his teeth, making you jerk and whimper, leaning back to study your clenching little hole.

“There you go, so good for me, hmm?” He coles those words, slipping up you now, sliding his finger up and down your drippy slit, kissing you, letting you taste yourself off him.

“Need you. All of you.” You murmur then, he pauses his kisses, looking down at you, and emotions surge and mix with the pleasure, the insane need for him to fill you, over and over again.

“If we do, I want more than just… co parenting. I want more than just sex. I want…” Satoru gulps then, cupping your face carefully, your hand comes to grip his wrist, thumb brushing over his strong, fluttering pulse.

“I want more too.” You admit, swallowing nervously, as one of your hands rests on his chest.

“I want you to be my girl.” You’re crying then, nodding eagerly at his sweet and pure words, when he’s kissing you again, salty tears mixing with your taste. “Will you be? My girl?”

“I would love to be yours.” He moans again, standing then, helping you up, your arms wrap around his neck as he carries you, your lips don’t separate when he backs into his bedroom.

“Want you in my bed, every night.” He whispers, easing you onto the floor to stand, slipping your top off and revealing your breasts which sway just a bit, you eagerly unbutton his shirt, showing every inch of his chiseled, perfect frame. You gasp when you finally see him, fingertips trailing across sculpted muscles.

“You’re perfect, Satoru.” You whisper in wonder, and he cups your face again, kissing you deeply, a kiss so beautiful it ruins you forever, Satoru has ruined you forever, you know now what you knew that night deep down. “It’s only you.”

“It’s only you. You’re perfect.” You gasp as he picks you up again, laying you on the bed, you’re eagerly tugging on his pants, gasping when you see his huge, veiny length, something you’d had inside of you bud hadn’t even seen. You stroke him, earning his soft whine, he pins your wrist above your head.

“Lemme touch him, please?” You beg, earning both your hands pinned, as you laugh breathlessly.

“No way, I’m not busting quick, I’ve waited too long for this.” You giggle, earning his pretty glare. “I’m not.”

“You didn’t bust quick that night?”

“Yeah, I did.” You shake your head at him, gasping when he’s pressing against your entrance, he tenses, muscles flexing, when suddenly you both hear it, Reign on the baby monitor. “Shit.”

“Shit…” You both stay completely silent. “Maybe she’ll stop?”

“I sure hope so. Need to get you pregnant again.”

You blink in shock now, as Reign quiets. “Huh!?”

Satoru grins, a devious fucking grin, as he presses your legs apart, one over his shoulder, sinking in as you bite your lip, so filled by him, trembling beneath him as you roll your hips. “I need to see you pregnant, gonna be so fucking sexy.”

“You’re insane, Satoru Gojo.” You gasp when he shoves his length fully inside you, bottoming out and you’re so full you can’t breathe, clinging to his bare shoulders desperately as he moans, feeling your walls flutter.

“You didn’t know that yet? I’ll have to show you, sweetheart.” He’s fucking you then so good, thrusting in and out of your slick cunt, which is drooling all the way down his veiny length. He’s smirking as he rolls his hips just so, watching you start to come apart. “You love it, huh? Cock filling you so deep?”

“Please…” His leaking tip kisses your cervix, you shudder under him, cumming so hard you can’t tether yourself anymore, and he revels in it, in your pretty face all scrunched up, all reddened as you cry out.

“That’s it, can’t help yourself? Want me to fucking fill you?”

“Please…”

“You’re such a good girl, hmm?” The words short circuit what’s left of your brain, as Satoru leans back on his knees, hands slipping up your body, gripping your breasts, which have little droplets of milk. You whimper, trying to cover them. “Ah-ah.”

He leans forward, sucking them then, you’re so sensitive you scream, thanking everything Satoru has a huge home and that the baby couldn’t hear anything, because the sounds he writhes out of you are filthy. He leans up, licking the little droplets off and grinning again, possessively gripping your throat, hovering over you as his cock slides in again.

“God, even that’s sweet. All of you. Sweet and slutty.” He huffs, you’re kissing him desperately, nails pressing against his scalp as they grip his hair. “My girl, you’re all mine now, hmm?”

“Wanna be… y-your girl.” You whisper, ending him as your cunt gushes down on him, as he feels the tight muscles grip him like a vise, he eases back, shoving your legs up then in a mating press, every instinct making him crave to make you his again. Cum in you, fill you, make you pregnant. “Toru… I haven’t… not a lot of… exper-ah!”

“That’s alright baby, I’ll fuck you so good, all you gotta do is take it, yeah? Look so fucking pretty f’me.” The sweet, emotional and cute Satoru is now feral, psychotic and possessive, his eyes so blue they hurt to look at, but you’re nodding eagerly. You’ve never been fucked like this, not even close, but he assures you, over and over that you can take him. “That’s right, gonna take all of me.”

Your thighs are smushed against your breasts as Satoru fucks you harder, perfect strokes that hit every spot, spots you can’t even figure out, the ridge of his cock hitting again and again until you’re close, already having cum twice. You’re sobbing under him as he leans his weight on your thighs, folding you in half and going deeper, deeper, bottoming out.

His balls slap heavy on your ass, so full and ready to pump his load in your eager hole, you’re a mess, tears on your cheeks, mumbling incoherently, pussy drooling and loosening more and more. You take him, all of him greedily then, as he slows just a bit, leaning up to press your thighs even higher, watching his cock disappear as your cunt sucks him in.

“Oh look, she’s taking me s’good, she wants it huh? You want it, greedy, slutty pussy.” He’s talking to your pussy, but you also can’t care, not when you’re so close, incoherently whining. “Can’t talk, sweetheart?”

“Gonna… cum… again… Satoru!” He moans as you speak his name, using a forearm to press your legs up, angling his cock just so, shoving deep as he presses a thumb to your clit, ending you utterly.

“There you go, cum on lemme fuckin feel her milk me.” He huffs, husky voice hoarse as your orgasm washes over you, full body, you’re shaking and sobbing as your arousal pours down him, making him tense, gasping. “Oh fuck…”

“Cum in me. Cum in me, please.” You beg weakly, and Satoru does then, full mating press, pumping all his cum so deep, filling you to the brim as he leans down, whimpering with you, tongues sloppy as you kiss.

“Feel s’perfect… gonna make you a mommy again, yeah?” You nod weakly, cunt throbbing as he pumps more and more, nails pressing into his back as you both ride your orgasms out, until you’re sensitive messes. “F-fucking… b-baby…”

“Satoru, g-god…” He is exhaling, easing your sore thighs down then, pulling out and watching the mess that pours from your pussy, a mix of his cum and yours, he grins at it.

“You’re so messy, hmm?” He shoves two fingers in your cunt, pushing his cum back in as you scream out. “Aww, you can’t take it baby?”

“Too much, ngh!” Satoru slips his fingers out, sucking on them and moaning, before repeating it, shoving them in your mouth, you moan as you suck them greedily, both kissing again, a tangled mess of limbs.

“Taste us together, god.”

“So yummy.” He kisses you again, again, again, as you struggle to come back down, heart still racing. “My god…”

“Yeah, holy fuck.”

“You’re like… you have a breed kink like bad.” He snorts then, kissing up the side of your neck.

“Could it have to do with the fact that my girl is gorgeous with my baby? And I’d love to really see her pregnant?”

“I want you there too. I do, even if this is insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, first we have a baby, then we move in together? What next, a first date?”

“You know… yes. Mom offered?”

You giggle at him. “So is this you asking me on a date!?”

“Mmhmm, with my cum pouring out. Wasting it, tsk tsk.” He starts kissing down your body again, when Reign cries, this time loudly. “Ugh.”

“Ugh.” You agree, brushing back his hair when he kisses your tummy. “You make me feel beautiful, Satoru.”

“You are.” He says simply, kissing you deeply, helping you up. “Most beautiful girls there are.”

“I…” You almost say it, but you’re still so afraid, those words on the tip of your tongue. Satoru smiles as if he knows.

“Go check on her.”

“Yeah.” You are soon all dressed, and Reign is no longer crying once she gets swaddled, her binky in her mouth. Satoru comes behind you, arms wrapping you tightly and pulling you against him.

“So, that date?”

“Mmm, got plans already?” You look back at him, as he holds you so sweetly in the quiet room.

“Yeah, the spa you never went to, brat.”

“Oh! Yes, let’s.”

*****

Satoru Gojo and you have had a baby, then moved in, and then you had your first date, which was both of you getting pampered, you were giggling when Satoru kept eating the cucumbers meant for his eyes, when he moved the masseuse because he got jealous of him. “My girl, I’ll rub your back.”

“So jealous.” You tease, but you then sigh in pleasure as his big hands rub your body just so.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t ever wanna lose my girls.” You pause then, leaning up, breasts revealed as you’re just wearing a little towel. But Satoru’s eyes are serious, when he gently rubs his hands down to the back of your hips.

“You’re not losing us.” He’s kissing you, leaning over you in the spa, when he whispers in your ear.

“Let’s go.”

In the backseat of Satoru’s driver’s car, headed back home, you and Satoru devour each other, his hands on your rib cage, his lips on your nipples. Your head falling back, arching up for more, never, ever able to get enough. He’s filling you again, and you’re soaking him again, he’s fucking up into you one moment, one moment you’re controlling it.

A push and pull, a back and forth, endless kisses, until he’s filled you up again, whispering the lewdest things, picturing you as his wife, picturing you pregnant again, but the words are coming out as muffled, dirty words that don’t match. And you feel the same, you think the same, but you’re too fucked out to speak, too lost in everything that is Satoru Gojo.

That night, Reign is up and down, and you’ve just given her a bath, singing to her and cradling her. Satoru watches you, emotions catching in his throat, as a sliver of moonlight darts through the windows, illuminating the faces of the two girls he adores. Reign is being fussy, huffing, but then she hears you sing, and she’s calming, drifting off just so.

You catch him watching you, smiling at him, laying her back down gently. Satoru leans over, brushing a thumb across her cheek, as she sleeps so peacefully. “I love you, dumpling.” He murmurs to her, your heart aches at his words, as you repeat them softly to her, and Satoru wraps an arm around you.

“I love both of you.” You look at him then, so nervous, but he exhales, kissing you softly, feeling tears fall from his eyes, pulling back to see you’re trembling. “I know it’s a lot, but you have to know that I love you. I love both of you so much it hurts.”

“I love both of you.” Your heart hammers in your chest, as a hand slips up your back, and he leans down, blue eyes swirling with tears. “I’ll take care of you both, always. I… I’m complete now, with you both. I can’t ever lose you.”

“Satoru, never. I never want to be without you again.” Your hushed whispers are followed by sweet kisses, until you both close the door quietly, and Satoru has you picked up in his arms, effortless as you hold onto him, resting your foreheads against each other. “I’m home, here.”

“You are home, here. Want you to have my last name, both of you. Please.” You nod, sniffling as he carries you, kissing you desperately, pressing you against the door of his room once you’re back inside. “Need you to have my last fuckin’ name.”

“We will, Satoru. We’ll all be Gojos, hmm?” He grins so big then, easing you down and turning you, vivid memories of that night filling your mind, overwhelming your senses. Your head falls back as he kisses down your neck, slipping your shorts to the side to find you.

“So ready f’me?” You nod weakly. “Good, need to have a whole fucking clan of Gojos, yeah? Gonna give it to me?”

“Mnh, yes.”

You would give Satoru anything, and finally every piece that seemed so out of sorts is in place, as you found something you didn’t know was missing, and he found a family he didn’t know he had. As he eagerly works you so well that night again, you also know you want to give him more.

Taglist: @tiredofeverythingandmyself @yenayaps @bunheadusa @moonlitwitchdaisy @heartsteelkaynconsumer @zoebella30 @twinkling-moonlillie @iamrgo @sylussss7 @minaa-06 @kindablackenedsuperhero @alygator77 @lilica75 @ufoev3 @bub-ss @ailoveyuta @i-luv-ateez-sm @strawberiicreme @gina239 @uhnosav @myahfig4 @silverfangmarks @stxrlingpearl @gojodickbig @jkslaugh97 @ivyvenus333 @msbfc @karmcrim15 @ap-o-llo @loafteaw @kimkimoruo @gh0stgirl333 @victoria1676 @its-carlerrr @evelynxxo @lynnist @burdened-by-images @safixiovi @nanamis-eyebrow @clqxuds @safixiovi Perma tags: @cuntphoric @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo

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read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62133598

[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.”