#too uncomfortable for Carole

[in-sightjournal]

Ask A Genius 1013: Thunderbird and Ranch Rides, "You have no idea"

Rick Rosner, American Comedy Writer, www.rickrosner.org Scott Douglas Jacobsen, Independent Journalist, www.in-sightpublishing.com Rick Rosner: We recently returned from a two-night stay at a dude ranch. I tend not to inform people in advance when we travel out of town due to concerns about online privacy, so I apologize for any inconvenience. The ranch we visited has operated for over 150…

[unit3947]

when i first played deadprem, i liked emily but i don’t think i loved her as much as i do this time around— her place in the narrative is just so fascinating to me. george calls her free from sin and then impure almost in the same sentence— her purity is seen as the corruption for a town wracked with a historical and environmental trauma, an easy scapegoat for the ones so devoured by their nature-entrenched trauma (carol, george, thomas). she’s the character that holds up the mirror to a reality of their pain, made into a saint, a martyr, despite ripping the tree out of her stomach and putting an end to the constant pain that people place onto her. i love her, i loooove her.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"His only one." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

You are his only one, Daryl told you that the day you got married, that's why you don't mind the neighbors' blatant flirting with your husband, but the third time's the charm, and at that moment, you make clear to that woman that his ass belongs to you (literally)

A/N: Someone here asks for someone to write about Daryl and the flirty neighbors making him feel uncomfortable haha ​​so this is my failed attempt, although it made me smile a little so I hope you like it at least a little, too. Thanks!

The first time it happens, you let it go.

It's not that you don’t care, but you know that a relationship is built on trust, and if there is one person you trust even after someone had put a blindfold on you, that’s Daryl. Daryl was quiet most of the time, but his personality was actually very funny after you saw who he really was when you two were alone, when you saw his true self behind his crossbow and the way he used to push others away for fear of getting too attached. But when Daryl became open about showing his own vulnerabilities, only with you, it was so easy to fall for him, plus, the love and shyness in his gaze every time he saw you coming was sweet—a love only reserved for you.

After Daryl let you in, you realized he had a lot to offer as a person with a good and brave heart, so willing to protect others even if it put his own life at risk. Daryl was always a good company: he spoke little but paid attention, remembering even the smallest detail that you swore was unimportant, just because to him, everything related to you was important. But when he asked you to marry him along the way, that was a big surprise. However, you found a shelter in his arms, a real home with him: and maybe because his gaze always made you trust that there would be no one else, you never doubted him even after you saw how the neighbors turned to look at him. Maybe it was also because everyone was focused on his exterior, on that almost pornographic image that Daryl was, (with his broad shoulders, his arms in that sassy sleeveless shirt, and that face that seemed carved by God when HE was in a VERY good mood) but no one paid attention beyond the obvious, so you never felt threatened.

Now, slowly, like a pretty moving photograph, the sun starts to hide away in the infinite horizon, painting the calm sky of that new world with beautiful shades of orange. The end of the day is quiet on your home, with your husband sitting on the porch steps, carving an arrow because several are never enough, Carol on the wooden floor close to you while she solves another crossword puzzle, and you, rocking lazily in the rocking chair, eyes and mind on the book you managed to find in the last search for supplies.

A comfortable silence abounds in the air, until Miss Ellie walks by on her way to her own home.

"Hi, neighbor." She practically purrs, with a bright smile and the way the corner of her lip curls like a kitten's.

Like meerkats when danger is latent, the three of you raise your heads (almost in a comical way) to see her walking away, watching her lowering the hand with which she had just greeted Daryl, and only Daryl: although his first reaction is to look in your direction, like he’s asking for help to understand what the hell was that. You know Daryl has a tough exterior, but his personality, when it came to accepting flirtations, almost reached the point of stuttering.

“Wait a sec, weren't there three of us here?” Carol asks, frowning playfully.

“Yeah… did we suddenly become Casper the damn Friendly Ghost or what?” You chuckle, turning your attention back to the book. “Not to state the obvious, but I think the neighbor has a crush on you, love.”

Carol chuckles too, but your disinterest in the matter and his best friend's mockery makes Daryl frown even harder.

“Whatcha waitin' for, woman? Go over there an' defend yer husband’s honor.” He says with a swing of his hand.

Carol shrugs, agreeing with him.

“Well, she just looked at Daryl like he was a piece of meat, (Y/N).”

You nod, but you don’t even bother to look up.

“I know. But going there would only prove Daryl has some interest in her, and since I know he doesn’t, I don’t see why I should bother.”

Daryl scoffs, but he knows you are absolutely right, so he returns his attention back to the arrow.

“I see yer not even the slightest bit afraid of losin’ me, woman.”

Carol chuckles at your silence.

"Yeah, (Y/N), I mean, Daryl's such a great catch, especially with his gruff personality."

You chuckle.

“I know. I know the neighbors have been staring at him ever since we arrived in the community, but I don't blame them because, look at him..." From top to bottom, you point at him with one hand, still paying attention to the words in the book. "Daryl is like walking porn."

Carol laughs, longer this time, but your unfiltered words make Daryl blush under the sunset as he keeps his eyes down, still carving the same arrow.

The second time it happens, you are a little far to say something.

At the end of the day, you arrive last to the community meeting after your rotating job at the infirmary, taking your place against the concrete wall in Deanna’s backyard. Alexandria’s head keeps talking, directing people and you pay attention for a moment, until your sight catches the image of Mary several steps away from you, who is probably one of the most striking neighbors, and the way her mischievous fingers try to touch the exposed skin of Daryl’s bare arm as she keeps trying to make a conversation with him, who looks like a kitten cornered in an alley by a pack of dogs, while giving her weird looks that she doesn't seem to notice.

The comparison makes you laugh, but you stifle the laughter with a gentle smile when some of the neighbors in front of you turn around. Waving back, they turn their attention to the front, and you keep your eyes ahead too even after you feel your husband’s presence next to you, after a very short while.

“What did I miss?”

Daryl shrugs.

“The same shit as always. How was work?”

“Quiet, just two people with a cold and a baby who came for his second vaccine.” You try to keep a calm expression as you speak your next words through a softer voice. “You are a grown ass man, Daryl Dixon, and yet you looked terrified of a small woman.”

Embarrassed, he grunts.

“Whatcha want me to do? Fight her? That’s yer job n' ya ain’t doin’ it.”

You chuckle.

“I don’t fight over a man, love, never did, never will.”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest, eyes still ahead.

“I forgot ma wife is the most unbothered person in this damn world.”

You chuckle again.

“There are priorities even in this life, my dear husband, but if you want, next time we go on a supply run we can take her with us, and something mysterious can happen to her. We can make it look like an accident.”

You’re joking and Daryl knows it, so he chuckles, the corner of his lips curling adorably.

When the meeting is over and everyone returns to the safety of their homes, you and Daryl are one of the first to leave, walking side by side to your house that is almost on the other side of the community. The weather is warm during that season, and for the first time in a long time, the night doesn't grow deeper, darker or scarier. However, your gaze travels from the moon to your hand when you feel your husband's on yours.

You frown, making an amused expression.

"What are you doing?"

Daryl mimics the look on your face.

"What? I can't take ma wife's hand?"

He scoffs, making you shrug while looking ahead again, but you know that some neighbors are behind you two, with Mary between them since her house is close to yours.

You know why he's doing that like never before. Daryl is reserved with his married life, always keeping his displays of affection within four walls or while being alone with you, too shy and slightly awkward to let other people see how needy for your love he became sometimes.

"But… uh, ain’t yer job to mark yer territory or some shit like that? Like, make it clear to her that m’ yer husband?"

You frown playfully, looking back at him.

“I'm not a damn dog, Daryl. Or do you want me to pee on your leg?"

A little surprised, Daryl chuckles.

"Yer really not worried? Or slightly jealous?"

You shrug again.

“No. I mean, I trust you, but if you start bringing squirrels just for her, that’s when I will get worried. You are like those cute penguins who bring the most beautiful stone to the love of their life: believe me, the squirrels are your stones.”

Daryl chuckles again, letting go of your hand only to slide it over your shoulders and pull you into him, doing it because he wants to.

The third time it happens, you intervene.

A few minutes earlier, you walked out of your house to sit on the rocking chair with a sandwich on a plate, eager to continue with your book after a successful supply run. Daryl and Rick took the lead to leave the things found in the community warehouse, walking down the street towards your house about half an hour later. But too engrossed in old poems from the last century, you miss the way Daryl is intercepted by Ellie two houses away, until the voice of one of your family members catches your attention.

"Aren't you going to save your husband, (Y/N)?" Rick chuckles, standing near the porch steps. You follow his gaze, lingering on the way that every time the female neighbor tries to make a subtle step, Daryl takes one back. “Please, do, this went from being funny to being sad.”

You roll your eyes, leaving the book aside.

“Fine.”

“Wait... are you going to fight her?” With his gaze slightly more open, Rick stands there as you walk past him. “Because I've seen you take out walkers for less.”

“Goodnight, Rick.”

He chuckles, walking towards his own home.

Maybe it's your height, maybe it's the way your gaze turned serious, with a quiet but menacing personality when the occasion called for it, but there's something about you that makes the neighbor take a step back when you stop next to them, slapping your husband’s butt playfully but shamelessly, almost making him jump in place.

“Whatcha doing, buttercup?” You smile at him, with his surprised look on you, even after you turn your attention to Ellie. “Hi, neighbor, I didn’t see you there like you didn't notice me last week when you greeted my husband. Ellie, right?”

She nods, surprised by your calm outburst.

“Don’t be scared please, I’m not going to hurt you, although, I could, you know? But I just wanted to ask you nicely not to try to suck all the air out of my husband’s face because you make him uncomfortable, and he’s not going to do anything about it, but I will: trust me, I’ve killed people for less, so imagine what I’d do for his ass, which is mine, so… yep, I guess that’s it.” Keeping the cutest smile you can muster, you take Daryl’s hand to make him walk with you. “Say goodbye to the neighbor, sweetheart.”

As all words have left Daryl’s mind, he simply waves goodbye once. And he lets himself be guided in silence until you’re within the four walls of your home, but once the door lock has clicked and a second after you let go of his hand, he catches it again to pull you towards him, lifting you up in those strong arms of his until you have no choice but to tighten your legs around his waist.

Daryl is smiling, in the way he only does with you.

"Fuck, woman, I dunno if m’ scared of ya, impressed, or turned on."

You chuckle, holding his face in your hands.

"Your ass is mine, Dixon, why do you think I married you?"

He chuckles along with you, before pressing his lips to yours.

@fluffy-dixon

[lovebugism]

do something with king steve who secretly likes female/shy/reader

hope u like it xoxo — the one where king steve keeps his best girl a secret (shy!fem!r, secret relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

“Boo!”

You jump when a figure appears suddenly behind the door of your opened locker. They’re wearing bell bottoms and a sparkly clip in their strawberry curls. Carol Perkins giggles when her attempts to scare you work. Tommy Hagan follows just behind her, laughing louder until his freckled face scrunches together.

The only reassuring thing about seeing both of them together is knowing Steve isn’t too far behind. He’s got his tongue in his cheek, and his arms crossed over his chest, visibly unamused.  “What are you guys— three?” he scoffs, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.

“Yeah, three inches deep in your mom,” Tommy retorts with a boyish chuckle.

Carol squints her made-up eyes at him. She deadpans, “That’s not the comeback you think it is, Hagan.”

You turn to Steve with a panicked glimmer in your eye. You’re so used to being the butt of all their jokes that being in their proximity now fills you with something close to ice-cold dread. You peer at the boy beside you with pinched-together brows, knowing he’s the only one who cares about you past cheating off your homework.

“What’s going on?” you wonder quietly, for only him to hear.

Steve grins, brows raised and eyes twinkling. “My house is gonna be empty tonight. ‘Cause, you know, my dad’s got a work conference or whatever, so… No parents. Big house—”

“A total recipe for disaster,” Tommy interjects with a laugh.

“You’re throwing a party?” you ask, voice trembling. There’s little more that scares you than crowds — well, crowds and loud music and drunk people. Parties were never your scene. Steve knows that better than anyone.

He corrects you quickly, stammering over himself because he never wants you to feel uncomfortable. “No! No, not a party. It’s gonna be lowkey. Just a— a get-together, you know? Just the four of us.”

“Ooh,” Carol croons from behind you. “So no priss?”

“Shut up, Carol,” Steve snaps.

“I’m just used to you following her around like a lost puppy, that’s all.” Carol and Tommy laugh about it together. ‘Cause that’s all they’re really good at — making stupid jokes and cackling like supervillains.

Steve rolls his eyes with an annoyed huff and turns his attention back to you. You take it from him wholly, every ounce of his focus. 

There was something ethereal in your vagueness — in how softly you spoke and how pretty you looked when you weren’t even trying. You’re quiet and mysterious and hidden. Steve desperately wants to be the one that deciphers you.

“Are you in?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone.

Your gaze falls to the tile. “I don’t know…” you murmur.

“C’mon,” he croons and steps closer to you. His sneakers enter your vision until you look up at him again, peering at him from beneath your lashes. His grin is pink and pretty and lopsided. “Don’t leave me with these assholes all night.”

“Dick,” you hear Tommy scoff from behind you. He sounds much further away than that ‘cause all you can see now is Steve. And his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his stupid pretty smile.

You cave instantly. 

You never really stood a chance, anyway. Not with the way he was looking at you.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble and turn back to your locker. You switch your English textbook for a History one and cradle it in your arms. Steve grins, knowing he’s forgotten his on purpose just so he could sit next to you all period.

“Good,” the boy hums.

“We’re finally wearing Wallflower down,” Carol muses, giggling to herself.

Tommy knocks you too hard on the shoulder. “You’ll be one of us in no time,” he grins.

You grimace as they walk off down the hall. That’s the last thing you’ve ever wanted. The thought of there being an ounce of similarities between you and them makes your stomach ache.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Steve tells you, smiling quietly when you nod. 

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and passes you a folded-up piece of paper. He doesn’t look back at you when he follows his friends down the corridor. You don’t open it until he’s gone.

West wing chem lab, he’s written in chicken scratch. Come find me. 

—————

The hallway at the west end of the school is dim and empty. The floors are untouched, and the lockers are sparingly opened. The air is thick and noticeably stale. You open the door to the old chemistry room with a high-pitched squeak that sounds like something out of a horror movie.

Steve waits for you in the dark classroom, lit only by the natural sunlight streaming in through translucent curtains. He sits at a table in front of the window and toys with the burner at the end of it. He turns the thin blue flame on and off and on again, silently wishing he’d plucked a cigarette from Tommy before he left.

His honey eyes flit to yours when you walk into the room. He grins at the soft smirk on your bitten lips. “What’s that look for, huh?” he teases, turning off the burner and sliding off the desk.

You shrug. “Nothin’…”

“I missed you.”

You scoff when he wraps his arms around you. His wide palms smooth over your back. “You just saw me.”

“It doesn’t count when I’m with Tommy and Carol. I need you all to myself…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs lowly, ducking down to kiss you. His plush lips lock with yours, tasting of nicotine and chewing gum — a near-lethal concoction. He smiles against your mouth when you melt further into him. He parts from you with a gentle smack.

“They’re starting to like me, I think,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over his chest. “Tommy and Carol.”

“I think so, too.”

“It’s awful.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” he concurs, grinning wide when you giggle.

“But, you know, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” you stammer, gaze falling when it becomes too hard to hold his. “If they don’t think I’m, like, the lamest person on the planet.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why you don’t want them to know about us, right? ‘Cause you’re King Steve, and I’m… fish bait,” you conclude with a forced laugh.

“No,” he answers instantly. “What? No. That’s not— That’s not why.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want them to know about us because they’re assholes,” Steve confesses. “I mean, they were awful to Nancy when we were together. ‘Cause they’re miserable, and they hate when other people are actually nice. I just don’t want them to… ruin anything, that’s all…”

You muss with a rogue thread at the neckline of his sweater and smile quietly to yourself. “I thought you were scared because you accidentally fell in love with the Wallflower instead of the Prom Queen.”

Steve scoffs. “I didn’t accidentally fall in love with you, first of all.”

“No?” you murmur, brow quirking in disbelief. 

“No, it was very intentional.”

“I don’t believe that,” you argue with a lighthearted chuckle. You think it’s easier than saying, I don’t believe you because there’s no way you love someone like me because you want to.

Steve’s palms squeeze your sides reassuringly, like he can hear all the mean thoughts swirling in your head. “Well, you didn’t make it any easier on me,” he tells you, a crooked smile tugging at his pink lips. “You started talkin’ all smart in Ms. Click’s class, and I started melting.”

“That’s when you knew you liked me?” you scoff. “After I gave a presentation about geopolitical tensions in China?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, licking his lips with heavy eyelids. “See what I mean? That’s hot.”

“God, you’re such a boy.”

[lynxgriffin]

Deltarune Chapter 3 and 4 RANDOM THOUGHTS

Spoilers so it's going under the cut! This is just me gushing about the madness

Geez I have like 50 different things I want to do art for and I can't focus on any of them long enough to start, SOB

Was NOT expecting Susie to find out that Darkners are objects immediately upon starting up the chapter. I'm glad she took it as well as she did, though! Still think this may come up much much harder later.

Holy crap Tenna's designs and animations just hit like a truck LOL. It wasn't until much later that I was like "wait...this guy is not getting recruited to Castle Town, is he. There's no way those sprites will get integrated."

Disappointed we did not get a proper Susiezilla sequence, I wanted that!

All the banter of them sitting around playing Legend of Kris was adorable

Did not expect Lanino-Elnina-Rouxls Kaard DISASTER THROUPLE???

Lancer MY BOY

Geez all of the stuff where Kris was playing their solo adventure was just. SO unsettling.

"You didn't do Snowgrave in chapter 2? Well you're doing it here now lol"

"You were used up" UH OH!!!!

I managed to S-Rank both boards somehow and got to the Shadow Mantle boss but got my ass handed to me; I'll need to go back and try again later.

Totally called Toriel being in the prize capsule from the start

saxophone noise

Me at the end of the Tenna boss battle: Kris Knight is real? Well, not what I would've liked, but I'm sure it'll be--

Me five minutes later: I'M SORRY, WHOMST??????

But no for real the Knight design and demeanor is LEGIT scary, I'm so glad we got a proper really intimidating villain

But yeah absolutely got thrashed by the Knight as well SOB SOB

THAT ENDING THO??? AND THEN THE TRANSITION INTO THE NEXT CHAPTER?

Please give Susie MORE PANCAKES

Absolutely fascinated by the fact that the monster religion is also just. Like. The game legend. The implications

Cannot believe we had friggin Tom and Jerry-ass shenanigans in Noelle's house with the soul including Kris beating the crap out of us with a hockey stick

banging fists on the table SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE!

Asgore how did you get more awkward every chapter

The whole scene with Carol was just generally so, so DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE

Evil and intimidating deer by awesome lesbian couple indeed

Me earlier: Man Carol Holiday is going to get a pretty brutal death in Eldritchrune, I feel a little bad, it's probably going to feel unwarranted--

Me after chapter four: Hell naw this bitch gettin' what she deserves

I gotta say that I REALLY loved the music in this chapter, absolutely outstanding. I might like From Now On even more than Rude Buster

All in all in chapter four was SO cool, loved that we're taking everything seriously now, it felt like a real turning point

OKAY SO turns out THIS KINDA HAPPENED A BIT? But while my initial thought was Gerson being the Knight, I honesty like this better

IDK Gerson was just SO funny as a J.R.R. Tolkien-esque party member and I absolutely appreciated him being a mentor to Kris and especially Susie

Did NOT expect Susie making her own dark fountain before Noelle did!! But oh man all the differences in her version of the world that you can see compared to the usual one...

In any case I love Susie more and more every day if horrible things happen to her I will teleport to Toby Fox's house and push everything breakable off of his shelves

YOUR TAKING TOO LONG

Ralsei I am DEEPLY WORRIED about you my dude

He was looking so ragged this chapter and missed good chunks of Susie's dark world, too

I am extremely anxious about that critical part of the prophecy that we conveniently missed but that Susie saw, my weird kids need to be okay

Also uhhh??? Am I nuts or like? Did my half-human Susie crack theory get more evidence?? I was expecting just a solid debunking but if anything there's just more hints of it???? I'm kind of terrified???? Half-human Susie real????

Seriously I may just finally dive into the nightmare realm of making a theory video for it

HELLO NEO DARK FOUNTAIN ALREADY

HI TITAN ALREADY THAT WAS SICK AS HELL AND ALSO TERRIFYING

Seriously that Titan boss battle was crazy hard; it took me a lot of tries and it was a LONG fight every time

I have no solid thoughts on whether it's Carol Knight or Dess Knight; I'll have to ruminate on it more

It's Raining Here made real...

CANNOT BELIEVE WE ENDED THIS CHAPTER ON FRIGGIN KRIS MISERABLE IN BED WHILE SORIEL DISCO HAPPENS DOWNSTAIRS

Again: I want to draw but have no focus aaljsda

Also I got like two hours of sleep last night because my brain would not stop buzzing lol

Once again THIS GIF REMAINS MY ULTIMATE REACTION TO NEW DELTARUNE BYE:

[floralpools]

Guard Dog

Warnings: Part one of two (is smut), stalkerish lol, fluff, mentions of death, mutual pining

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x you

Summary: Set after joining Alexandria, Daryl's overtly having issues settling in, and even more problems leaving you alone.

Word count: 1.8k

...

You and Daryl have known each other for years. Through thick and thin, your found-family has each other's backs. But your group has been wearing thin. From Beth to Tyreese, now in Alexandria, a strange and new environment— it's safe to say, Daryl’s been on edge. He was losing his nerve, and that somehow entailed keeping you close, very close.

Every and any second you're alone, he appears, determined to invade your space, and it's becoming difficult to keep your feelings at bay, because you’ve been in love with him since your time at the prison. Even then, when shit hit the fan, he raced to get you out. Though you feared your affections for him made such a delusion — one that posed he would think to save you first— his recent clingy behaviour has made you believe in said delusion.

Today, he's back at it. You’re alone gathering food for dinner, for less than 10 minutes, before he marches into the garage. Bearing in mind that he has no reason to be here, and spent most of his time hidden from the locals, his appearance would be considered unusual.

You let Daryl silently stand there, patrolling the entrance for a few seconds, till your heart gives out.

“Is something the matter?” You utter, shifting your eyes to his dark ones, and they snap to you, slightly taken aback. “Nothin,” is all he grumbles before looking outwards to your surroundings, observing and scanning like the hunter he is.

“Daryl, we’ve been here for weeks," huffing, "we’re alive, and well,” you state, swallowing quietly. “You can relax you know.” You turn to lift a basket of supplies. When heading for the exit, Daryl swiftly steps in front of you.

“I ain’t doin' nothin' but standing,” he rumbles defensively.

“Standing in front of me, might I add,” you retort, smiling, trying to ease the strange tension, but his face remains stoic. Daryl stares directly into you, and a shiver rolls down your spine. His intense gaze doesn’t last long, as he chooses to walk off without a goodbye. Your shoulders instantly deflate, and you exhale, closing your eyes.

“Now what was that?” Sasha’s voice makes you flinch, popping your eyes open to peer at her. “You tell me,” you sigh and she laughs.

“I’ll be damned if I ever try to read that caveman's mind,” she grins, “You're better off leaving that question for Carol.” Her smirk tells a different story, one that says she knows something more, and you can’t help the second shiver that racks through your body.

...

Desperate to figure out Dixon, you go to Carol’s, asking for her assistance with dinner as a cover.

As you both cook, it takes little time for her to notice your incessant gawking. She pronounces your name, and your eyes snap back to the sizzling food. “Cmon, you can talk to me,” she assures.

When you decidedly stay hushed, she releases a sigh that eases into a snicker. “You should speak soon before Daryl finds us, or you, rather,” she mentions, attempting to contain her humour. You spin to face her. “What do you mean by that?” You question far too quickly, that the words practically jumble together. “Exactly what it seems,” she smiles pleasantly, ignoring your eager tone. “You’ve got yourself a lifelong, loyal guard dog.”

“Why? I mean, Daryl’s protective of everybody? But why does he only follow me?” You ramble, “Doesn’t he trust me to not end up dead, in a friendly, gated community?” You pout and Carol laughs again.

“That isn’t quite why,” she dwindles.

“Please just spell it out for me, I can't take it anymore.” Now square to her, you drop the stirring utensil, and tug your apron over your head. She watches you move, absorbed in her thoughts, as you jump to sit on the edge of the kitchen island. “He’s making you uncomfortable?” She asks warily.

“Yes,” you pause, “and no.” Your head lowers in embarrassment.

After a moment, you look at Carol, while she refocuses on adding more ingredients, to the dish you abandoned. “Why does he do it?”

Her moving actions falter, and she pivots to face you. “It isn’t for me to say, but being around you, knowing you’re safe, clearly calms him." Though you don’t truly get it, you nod slowly so Carol goes back to finishing the meal.

Just as she puts meat in the oven, Daryl waltzes through the door, without so much as knocking or giving some sort of warning. You yelp when you spot him. When you lock eyes, you refuse to hold it, so you turn your head over your shoulder quickly, with a grimace, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Daryl.

“What? Somethin' happen?” His hoarse voice sounds almost panicked. As you swivel your neck to soothe Daryl’s unnecessary worry with a "No," he suddenly grips your wrist, far too roughly. You squeak as he grabs your full attention.

You assess how he stands motionless in front of your knees, eyes widened, regarding his hand as it holds your wrist. He looks kind of appalled, as if he couldn’t believe he touched you. He then briskly lets go of your arm, like it burned him, retracing into himself.

You gulp and your bottom lip trembles. 'Was he disgusted? Did he see you as a child? What had you done to warrant this behaviour?' You think anxiously.

You look between Carol and Daryl now, as they share a lengthy stare. You swear under your breath, then push Daryl's chest with your fists, shocking both of them.

“I’m leaving, do not, follow me.” You order, with a vexed, yet hurt look. His mouth gaps with a soundless word, and you leave.

...

Sitting alone in your home, your empty stomach growls, and you start to seriously regret what you did earlier, which left you too ashamed to stay for dinner.

As your thoughts run wild, a quiet knock at the door diminishes them. You stay still, almost wondering if the noise is no more than a tree branch, moved by wind, but he bellows your name.

"Daryl?" You respond, and his voice simply calls your name again, almost like a plea. You turn the lock and knob, opening to find Daryl, fidgeting on his feet uncomfortably at your doorstep. "Um, come in?" You allow meekly, and he enters, faintly brushing your side.

Picking up his musky, pine scent, you bite your lip examining him, slowly leaning back on the closing door. He looks around agitatedly, seeming completely out of place, and somewhat flustered.

Growing stiff, you can't bear the awkward silence for much longer.

"I'm sorry," you mumble an apology for something, you're not sure what, and clearly, neither is he. He whirls towards you, stepping into your space. "For what?"

"I was rude earlier and-"

"Not rude, just, confusing." He interjects, brows furrowing in tune with his sentence. You scowl, "Well, if I'm being honest, I wouldn't say I'm the 'confusing' one here." Your remark reminds you of your previous feelings, and they bubble to the surface.

When he says nothing, you continue. "I'm safe here Daryl, and pretty happy, all things considered," you breathe out in exasperation. "Is there some danger that I should know of? Is someone here out to get me?"

"No-"

"So why do you keep chasing me around?" You just about shout, interrupting him. Daryl flinches and looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here, with you. He fixates on the door behind you. "I ain't doin' nothin-"

"Daryl! Please just," you cut yourself short as your voice escalates. "Please be honest with me, after everything we've been through, you owe me that," you beg.

His tense frame withers in defeat. "I just can't leave your side," he grumbles, his words barely understandable. "Why?"

"Don't wanna lose ya," Daryl's voice trails off as his head wheels to the side. "You won't, and I can take care of myself, just like the others, who you don't follow around." You fail to hide your ignominy, visibly disappointed that he believes you need special attention, over the rest of the group. "Can't," he mumbles.

"'Can't' what?" You inquire, now stepping into his space, voice rising.

"I can't, 'cause I don' wanna lose you," he exclaims again in a burst. Your face twists further in ignorance. "Christ woman," he runs his hand down his tormented expression. "Daryl, please stop dancing around what you mean." You cry out, "'Lose me?' Tell me what you mea-"

Abruptly, he grips your shoulders. "I want ya." He states, baring his teeth as if it were a threat. "I want you, I want you to live."

"You 'want' me... To live...?" You ask slowly and his eyes roll back in frustration. "No, not just to live-"

"Because I love you," you blurt and immediately try to pry your shoulders from his clutch. He stills with you firmly in his grasp, so close that his nose nearly grazes yours. His hold increases its strength, and he shakes his head to himself, seemingly battling his own thoughts. "Daryl?" You whisper.

"How can you?" He utters so quietly it's barely audible, so quiet you don't think he expected to say it out loud.

While his eyes squeeze shut, you snake your arms around his waist, and his entire build clamps up. Now afraid of a possible rejection, you loosen your embrace. But his hands move from your shoulders to your upper back, arms drawing you to him, fully caging you in. You take in his broad chest as it presses against your less impressive one. Your fingers seize his leather vest, aching to know how it feels in your palms.

His heavy breathing fans your nape, and you swear he sniffs your hair, as his nose and scruff tickle the skin behind your ear. His fingertips tease the ends of your hair, and you take this as an opportunity to breathe him in. Just as you do, he pulls away, moving you to an arm's length. You blush.

"Sorry," he mutters and your brows crease. "I smell bad, I know," he murmurs and goes fairly red himself. "I don't mind," you say sweetly with a smile, ignoring the urge to tell him you like it.

Finally getting a chance to gaze into his eyes properly. You virtually melt when his pupils appear glassy. You've only seen him cry once, after losing Beth. 'So would he really be brought to tears over a confession? From you no less?'

"Daryl?" He peeks up from behind his fringe. "Do you 'want' me, or like me, like I like you?" You ask, trying to minimize the pressure he may feel to admit any feelings, but you so desperately want to know —how desperately you want him to hold you again.

"Both," he rasps.

You nod and smile sheepishly, "I can work with that."

When a comfortable silence envelops the room, your stomach growls loudly. A modest smile takes shape on Daryl's face. "I put some food aside for you, back at Carol's." He emits, gesturing to the door behind you, wordlessly asking you to go over there, with him. You nod a yes and your heart pounds, swooning at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

You reach your hand out, and he very hesitantly holds it, after wiping his twice down his thigh. You beam, heading out the door.

Part two

[katethewriter]

Just For A Picture

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Words: 2.6k~

Summary: Based on the song Smile by Morgan Wallen

Warnings: grab your tissues my friends, depression, anxiety, all the sad feelings, I wrote this instead of sleeping and haven't proof read it, so there are probably many, many errors

A/N: I actually listened to the lyrics of this song for the first time, and they hurt my feelings. Jokes aside, idk if this is how he meant to write the song, but I heard it and thought, "that's exactly what it feels like to love someone with depression." The song got stuck in my head, and... well... this happened. It was actually really cathartic to write. I hope you enjoy!

When you began getting ready for the party, they were surprised... 

...pleasantly.  

Natasha and Wanda share a small smile before continuing their own prep. Wary that a larger reaction may cause you to change your mind.  

Yesterday, you had told them you would go to the party, but they weren’t sure if you would still feel the same today.  

It had been so long since you had gone out with the team.  

You’ve been able to keep up with training and missions for the most part, but everything else is just too much. Socializing, exercising, cooking, chores, bathing, eating, even getting out bed some days just seems impossible. 

The last few months being the worst you’ve had in a while.  

The team does all they can. Your girlfriends most of all. They try to take as much of the burden for you, but they know there are some parts of this they can’t take from you, no matter how much they wish they could. So, they do what they can and enjoy whatever moments they are able to share with you. 

Which is why tonight means everything to them. 

I can’t remember the last time you looked as happy as you did tonight.  

The team has the entire place to themselves.  

Carol is on Earth for a few days, and Tony had bought out the entire bar to celebrate.  

Wanda and Natasha stand with you at a table to the side of the bar. Each of you have a drink in front of you, even if you hadn’t taken a single sip of yours. 

They can tell your uncomfortable, but you’re trying.  

For them, right now, that is enough.  

“Thank you for coming out with us tonight,” Wanda wraps a careful arm around your waist. 

Natasha reaches across the table to take one of your hands in yours, “we’re so proud of you.”  

You give them a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching your eyes and bring your glass to your lips.  

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Carol asks, coming up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.  

“Just a little quieter,” you answer her with a small smile.  

The blonde steps away from the table pulling gently on your arm, “come take a picture with me?”  

You give a quick glance to your girlfriends, before allowing yourself to be pulled away. 

Your tipsy friend grabbed that bar tender, gave him her phone and pulled you over there with her.  

Carol hands her phone to the guy behind the bar and pulls you close to your side.  

You’re not particularly fond of pictures, but seeing as she is your best friend, you oblige her. You ready yourself to make your best fake smile.  

As the bartender holds up the camera, Carol whispers a joke in your ear.  

... and for the first time in a really long time, a genuine laugh bubbles up from your throat. 

He counted to three, and baby I haven’t seen that side of you in forever.  

From the table, your girlfriends watch as the two of you pose. They know you dislike photos, but they also know Carol, as your best friend, is capable of talking you into doing anything.  

They watch as the bartender counts 1...2... You smile.  

Most people would probably think nothing of it. They would see that smile and think you’re the happiest person alive. 

 But not the two of them. They know you. They know that smile. They know it's the mask you put on when that's the best you can do.  

Just before he gets to 3, Carol says something they can’t hear, then the most beautiful sound cuts through the air. 

A laugh.  

Your laugh. 

Your real laugh. 

The bartender snaps the picture and captures you smiling ear to ear. 

A smile they barely remember but still takes their breath away every time they see it.  

Natasha and Wanda relish in the sight. The concern ever present in their chests lifting, if even for a second. 

I hate it's the truth, but baby you never do when we’re alone together.  

As the night goes on, the weight on Natasha and Wanda continues to lift as you become more yourself then you’ve been in months. 

You don’t order your own meal, but you help both Wanda and Natasha finish their plates.  

You even take up Yelena’s offer to taste her mac ‘n cheese. Normally the blonde would never share with anyone, but you having any kind of appetite is more than worth it for her.  

You tell Carol about the new book series you’ve read since she was last on earth. She makes you pinky swear to let her borrow them before she has to leave again. 

You playfully debate over the correct order to watch the Star Wars movies with the guys.  

You roll your eyes when Clint and Kate let you win a game of darts. 

It takes a couple drinks, but they are eventually able to get you on the dance floor for a bit.  

When the dj slows the music down, Wanda and Natasha wrap their arms around you and sway softly to the music.  

“Are you having a good time?” Wanda asks gently. 

You nod your head with a smile. The alcohol has turned your brain a bit fuzzy. The thoughts that normally cloud your consciousness are quiet. You feel like you can relax. ... like you can breathe. It’s not weighing you down. It's not unbearable. 

 “Are there plans for tomorrow?” you ask quietly, resting your head on Natasha’s shoulder, feeling just a bit sleepy.  

“Do you want plans?” Natasha answers your question with a question of her own.  

You don’t answer verbally, only nodding. 

“Ok,” you can hear the soft smile in Wanda’s voice, “what about brunch and maybe a walk in the park?”  

“Does that sound good?” Natasha asks. 

Again, all you give them is a nod, this time with a smile to accompany. 

They share a look full of relief and hope.  

Relief that you have this break from the demons in your head.  

Hope that better times may finally be on the horizon. 

It was good to see you smile.  Girl, you know it's been a while. 

Natasha had woken first like normal. She slid out of bed, kissing both yours and Wanda’s heads without waking either of you.  

Her regular morning run seemed so much lighter today, like she had an extra pep in her step.  

She knows the culprit.  

You.  

You at the party last night. 

You agreeing to go out with them today. 

You finally coming back to them.  

This wasn’t the first depressive episode you’ve had since the three of you had been together, but it was the longest.  

They know this mental illness isn’t you.

Just a thief.

A thief that comes and takes your joy. Takes you from them for a time.  

They know this. They know all they can do is love you in every way they can, until the thief releases you again.  

They take advantage of those times. Cherish them, every second.  

When she returns to the compound, Natasha pulls out her phone. She calls your favorite brunch spot, making a reservation for three at your favorite table by the window.  

She ends the call just as she reaches the door to your shared room.  

She opens the door as wide as the smile on her face.  

She’s met with a look of despair on Wanda’s face. Her green eyes are glassy as her arm wrap around you. Your face is buried into Wanda’s chest. Your hands gripping her night shirt. Your shoulders shake tremble with the sobs you struggle to restrain.  

Natasha’s smile falters as reality sinks in.  

The thief had returned. 

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but you ain’t said one since you woke up.  

Wanda shushes you gently, rocking a bit, rubbing your back. Anything she can to bring you even the smallest bit of comfort.  

Natasha lays behind you wrapping her arm around your waist, “no spoons?” She uses the same analogy you had when you explained your depression to them the first time. 

You shake your head as a shaky breath claws its way down your throat.  

“That’s ok,” she comforts, “I’ll go steal some for you.” 

You chuckle lightly at her usual response. She knows it's not that simple. If only it were, you would never know a moment’s misery.  

But just knowing she’s here, that they're both here is enough for now. 

Silly me, thinking we could make it work, but can you blame me for getting my hopes up? 

Wanda holds back tears as she holds you together in her arms.  

The thoughts in your head are too loud for her to block out, and they tear her heart apart. The way you think about yourself.  

She’d give anything to take them from you, especially because she can. Her powers give her that ability, but it would require her crossing a line she doesn’t have permission to cross. So she won’t. 

But it take everything in her not to. Especially after last night. The glimpse. The reminder of life when you aren’t being weighed down by the demons in your head.  

When you get to be happy again.  

You know it took me right back to how it used to be. 

Wanda and Natasha step into the kitchen. They didn’t want to leave you by yourself, but you assured them you were ok. You just wanted a minute alone, and they should go eat.  

“Morning.” Steve raises his cup to say hello.  

Natasha heads for the coffee maker, while Wanda goes to the fridge gathering a few ingredients for breakfast, “good morning.���  

“Is Y/n coming down?” Yelena asks. Everyone’s eyes turn to Natasha and Wanda, hopeful. 

Neither can bring themselves to voice it. They glance to each other for a moment, before Wanda gives them a tight-lipped smile followed by a shake of her head. 

A collective sigh of disappointment settles over the group. 

There’s a sweet sadness they feel together. They all miss her. She is their family. Without her, they feel like something is missing. 

Last night, they felt complete. 

“She did really good last night,” Clint says, sending Natasha a small supportive smile.  

She nods, “she did.” 

Baby seeing us like that, is still a little bittersweet.  

“Hey, can I show you something?” Carol asks, sitting down while Wanda and Natasha began to eat their breakfast.  

The pair nod and lean in as the blonde holds her phone, “I got a few pictures last night.”  

As she flips through the pictures, tears gather in both Wanda and Natasha’s eyes.  

First is the picture of you and Carol that the bartender took. Then a selfie of you, Carol and Pepper. A group shot of several of you around a table. You aiming a dart with Clint and Kate cheering you on behind you.   

The last picture is of you, Wanda and Natasha on the dance floor during a slow dance. You’re standing in their arms. Natasha in front of you, Wanda behind. You’re laying your head on Natasha’s shoulder. Their heads are resting on yours. 

They had no idea the picture was being taken, but you did.  

You are looking right at the camera with the softest smile. 

“I can send them to you if you’d like.” 

Wanda quickly wipes away the tears that have fallen, “please.” 

If someone were to see this, they’d think everything’s alright. 

Wanda stares. She can’t stop.  

Everyone else has finished breakfast and left the kitchen. The only one with her is Natasha who is cleaning the dishes.  

Wanda stands at the counter holding her phone in her hands. The last photo from last night fills her screen.  

There’s an ache too deep for words that settles in her chest.  

The aching wish that she could keep you in that precise moment the photo was taken.  

There on the dance floor, between the two of them, with that smile.  

Completely at peace. 

No raging thoughts. No anxieties. No feelings of inadequacy. 

The longer Wanda stares the stronger the ache gets. Tears fill her eyes until she can’t keep them at bay. Her lips quiver, and her face collapses in pain. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha quickly wraps both arms around Wanda from behind, “I know, I know.” She tries to provide comfort as her girlfriends cries. 

Wanda drops her phone onto the counter and leans back into Natasha, “I just want to help her.”  

“I know.” 

They both look down to the photo.  

“I miss her.” 

Natasha holds her closer, “me too.” 

At least we got a pretty little moment frozen in time.  

They returned to the room a little while later. After they had put themselves back together well enough to be there how you needed them to be.  

They find you still in bed, curled up on your side. 

“Can I lay down with you?” Natasha asks, wanting to respect your space if you still need it, but you don’t. You just need them.  

You nod, and she curls herself behind you again.  

Wanda kneels beside the bed with a bowl in her hands, “I brought some fruit if you think you’re up for it.” 

You shake your head and just reach for her hand instead. 

She sets the bowl on the nightstand hoping for better luck later. When she lays in front of you, you curl into her chest as her fingers card through your hair.  

“I’m sorry.”  

“For not eating fruit?” Wanda questions. 

“You never have to apologize for that,” Natasha kisses your head, “we know you can’t control your appetite-” 

“No-” you interrupt, “for being like this.” They try to hush you, but you continue, “for being sad all the time, and not being able to do anything. I’m sorry you have to take care of me. I’m sorry you have to see me like this-” 

“Shhhhh, what do you mean see you like this?” Wanda takes your face into both of her hands. She brushes away your tears with her thumbs, “can I show you how we see you?”  

After a moment of looking into one another’s eyes, you nod. 

She gives you a kiss on the forehead, and suddenly you’re not in your bedroom in the compound. You’re at the bar from last night, but not in your perspective. You’re seeing through Wanda’s eyes.  

You watch as Carol drags you away for a picture you don’t want, but then you watch yourself laugh, truly laugh, and you can feel Wanda’s relief in that moment. You watch as Wanda shows you the rest of the night. You can feel the way she delights in your happiness. You watch your friends gravitate towards you. The way they look at you. The love they feel. The happiness to just have you with them.  

Then you’re on the dancefloor. The vision fades away and you’re left with Wanda’s feelings and emotions of holding you like you are the most precious thing there is left in this world. 

“We love you so much.” 

It was good to see you smile.  Girl you know its been a while.  It was good to see you smile.  

They lay in bed with you all day.  

They hold you as you doze in and out of sleep.  

You always sleep more on your worse days. 

So, they hold you.  

Praying that at least in your dreams, you get to smile again like you did last night. 

Even if it was, just for a picture. 

a/n: how did I do? I know it's been forever since I've posted anything new. Of course I come out with an angsty heavy hitter lol thank you for reading!

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table. 

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

       Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

       ❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

 “I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform. 

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

       Eddie –

       I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

       I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

       I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

       I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

       Yours,

       Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

PART 2

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

[stvrnioloslvt]

you should change - chris sturniolo

genre: smut / t.w.: semi-public sex, unprotected sex / check masterlist to read the other fics of ficmas 2024

②

"hop in, baby"

you shut the door behind you, immediately reaching for the A/C of the car to turn on the heat.

"'s fuckin' freezing in here," you grumbled, rubbing your hands together.

"maybe if you put on something more appropriate for this weather your pretty ass wouldn't be freezing, yeah kid?"

"shut the fuck up, i'm perfectly fine like this."

now, chris wasn't totally wrong: wearing a miniskirt with no thighs under on a snowy day wasn't exactly the smartest decision you could take, but pride would never let you admit that. especially not to your boyfriend who looked like he was waiting patiently for the moment you would fold.

"yeah sure, whatever you say."

the car ride went on smoothly, with you and your boyfriend singing christmas carols and munching on the gingerbread cookies you had baked to bring to the party.

an hour in, you glanced over the GPS, your eye dropping to the "15 minutes left" at the bottom. you sighed, gnawing your lip, relaxing against the seat. your eyes skimmed over your boyfriend who was totally focused on the road (or so you thought), full on checking him out.

"i'm going to turn into dust if you keep looking at me like that, kid."

you gasped startled, not expecting for him to speak suddenly - and to call you out - since he looked totally taken by his driving. you shifted uncomfortably on the seat, feeling the familiar tension down there grow by the second.

"chris," you exhaled shakily, "pull over, please."

your boyfriend's head turned to you for a split second before his hand ended dangerously high on your thigh, his fingers tracing small circles near your clothed core. you closed your eyes, pushing your legs together as you felt yourself get wetter and wetter, the heat from the A/C suddenly too much to handle.

"what's wrong baby, are you not feeling well?" he asked with faux sympathy, still driving as if nothing was happening. his fingers pushed your legs apart, dipping under your miniskirt to tease you over the thin fabric of your panties, spreading the dampness around more.

"oh-" your hips bucked up, trying to get as much friction as possible. you panted, brows furrowed in a focused expression as chris let you grind against his hand.

he chuckled darkly, mumbling "such a slut" under his breath. your eyes snapped open as you heard the familiar clicking sound of the blinker, chris's car finally pulling in an empty parking lot.

he unbuckled his seat belt, patting his legs, "come here."

you didn't let him tell you twice, jumping out of your seat to straddle his lap. chris held you up against his chest, his hand reaching under you to pull down his pants, sighing relieved at the new found freedom. you noticed a little wet spot on his briefs, his tip dripping precum as the spot widened.

"fuckin' hell," he grumbled annoyed, pulling his dick out of his underwear. your mouth ran dry at the sight, his tip an angry-type of red leaking big drops of clear fluid that ended up tracing the veins that popped out.

you felt his finger hook in your underwear pulling them to the side, hands pushing your skirt up so that it would pool at your waist. you eased yourself on his length slowly, the both of you moaning out loud. you cradled chris's head in your embrace, hugging him tight while you fucked yourself on him, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips.

your boyfriend's hips met yours, thrusting up when you went down, enhancing the sensations you were feeling.

"i need- oh god- chris please please please," you pleaded him, knowing that you were gonna snap at any moment. your walls clenched around him, sucking him in more. you felt his dick throb inside you, his finger flicking your clit a couple times before choking out a "give it to me, baby, make a mess of me."

you threw your head back at his words, your head spinning as you finally let go, releasing all over his cock.

chris followed you right after, cumming inside you with a loud moan stifled by your clothed skin in front of his face. he pumped a couple more times inside you before pulling out, observing hypnotised as his cum leaked from your entrance.

you whined, clearly still shaken by your orgasm, nuzzling into chris's neck.

"i think i need to change," you mumbled quietly, earning a snicker from your boyfriend who, finally satisfied, replied: "yeah, told you so, kid."

© stvrnioloslvt

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃/𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓

taglist: @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn 🤍

[norman-fucking-reedus]

BEGGING ON MY KNEES FOR CORRUPTION KINK WITH DARYL YOU WRITE SMUT SO HEAVENLY😫😫😫

SWEET LITTLE SINNER

THE YUMMY STUFF: Age gap, (Daryl is in his late 50s, Reader in her early 30s) Creampies, breeding kink, fingering, bit of cockwarming, just smutty stuff, ...petnames 😇, semi-public?? guys they fuck in the church, virgin fem!reader, religious!reader, dont cancel me for this, but religion kink

DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK YOU'LL FEEL OFFENDED BECAUSE HOW YOU FEEL IS NOT MY PROBLEM

OKAY ANON I KNOW IM ANSWERING THIS REQ MONTHS LATER BUT BEAR WITH ME ALRIGHT 🎀

Im playing around with a new posting format and I honestly really like it so far! Im just literal dogshit at summaries so I don't necessarily bother with them (I mean at least I try) but eeeerm guys let me know if its cutie AND PLEASE LOOK AT MY BLOG PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I CHANGED THAT TOO

So after scrolling through the mounds of unanswered asks I have, I found this one and it reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister abt Daryl x a Christian girl who holds herself very high to her faith and has a deeper understanding of the bible

This takes place around the time they find gabriel, and somehow this ended up being a !greene reader, I also had to extend the church for... purposes :3

Believe it or not this is my first time ever writing corruption kink 😭 I got this request back when I was still fresh on tumblr and its been sitting ever since because I just didn’t know what to do (and I still dont)

southern gothic has me in a chokehold and I cant breathe

"Come on! Fight to the fence!" The sound of Rick's voice bellowed over the deafening clang of metal and ringing gunfire, rapidly taking down any walkers that shuffled within range as the men helped the women to climb over the fence first, Carl dropping down and catching all the weapons that were tossed onto the safe side.

Rosita crawled up the chain fence quickly, noticing that you were behind her when she was balanced right on top and extending a hand out to you. "Up and over" She lightly yet urgently joked, and you could only let out a small huff of air as you grasped her hand, and hauled yourself upwards, swinging a leg over to join her in scaling down the other side.

"Let's go! Move your asses!" Abraham shouted as he fired his gun, covering Rick as he made a break for the fence, the redhead man not far behind once the walkers had started to herd up. He threw the firearm over the fence and easily jumped onto half the fence, using a walker's head as a boost to fling himself over onto the other side.

As you and the others hastily gathered your belongings, no one dared to look back at the remnants of Terminus, trying to stay together as you all ran for a safe place behind Rick, expecting that he had some kind of miracle up his sleeve and would find a place to hunker down for a few hours, days even.

Despite the chaos and the destruction that surrounded you, you and the rest of the group hastily gathered your belongings, not daring to look back at the ruins of Terminus. Trying to stay as closely together as possible, you all followed Rick's lead as he dashed through the trees. He was the one who had kept the group alive for so long, and everyone was hoping that he could do it for just a little while longer.

After what felt like forever, you could feel the intense heat seeping into your skin and making your clothes stick to your body. Every step you took felt like a burden, with the fabric rubbing against your flesh. The air was thick with humidity, and you could feel the moisture clinging to your skin, making you feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced around at the other people around you, all of them appeared to be struggling in the heat, with their foreheads glistening with sweat and their breathing labored.

As you looked over at Daryl, you couldn't help but notice the solemn expression on his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. It was clear that he had been struggling to come to terms with Carol's sudden disappearance, and had been much more withdrawn and reserved than usual. He seemed to be lost in thought, lost in his own world, and it was hard to know how to reach out to him.

"Right here," Rick spoke as he brought the group out to a small clearing that was surrounded by trees, briefly scanning the area before crouching down in the dirt and beginning to frantically dig.

Abraham scoffed, "Tha' hell are we still around here for?" taking a few steps forward as he analyzed and addressed Rick, watching the man pull out a blue duffel bag.

"Guns. Some supplies," He said bluntly, pulling the black zipper back and further exposing the bag's contents, multiple guns, and other hand-held weapons. "We go along the fences, use the rifles, and take out the rest of 'em."

"What?" Glenn gawked, staring at Rick in disbelief as he listened to the words spewing out his mouth, bouncing around uncomfortably in his head.

Rick started to pull out the variety of weapons one by one, not once turning to meet Glenn's gaze. "They don't get to live."

The latter pursed his lips and huffed, stepping closer to Rick as to get his attention. "Rick, we got out. It's over."

"It's not over till they're all dead." Rick growled, shaking his head.

"They are dead. That place is on fucking fire, crawling with walkers in every which way." Rosita spat, laughing in annoyance at Rick's stupidity.

You shake your head as Rick continued to pull items out of the bag, "We got lucky back there," you said, voice low and trembling. "It's not worth risking our lives by going back in" your eyes meeting Rick's in a plea for him to understand. "God doesn't always give us a second chance. Just play the hand you were dealt" The thought of going back into that walker-infested place made your skin crawl, and you couldn't understand why Rick was wasting his time.

"Does he think he could give me one?" A familiar voice spoke softly from behind your group, faces lighting up in surprise and joy as Carol lightly stepped through the forest, appearing from behind a tree with her signature smile tugging at her lips, stretching all the way up to her ears when all of Daryl's weight barreled into her frame, almost knocking her straight onto her ass with a shocked laugh.

Her unexpected appearance managed to lift the once extremely heavy atmosphere, now bright and bubbly as it was filled with smiles.

"Did you do that?" Rick questioned once it was his turn to hug Carol, not getting a verbal response but the cheeky smile painting her blood-covered face was more than telling. However, it didn't last long once she scanned over the entirety of the group. "You have to come with me."

Carol led the group through the forest and down the train tracks until reaching a small cabin hidden in the trees where Tyrese and sweet little Judith had been holed up waiting for her return, everyone watching as Sasha, Rick, and Carl sprinted towards them, each cradling their respective loved one. It was another emotional yet much-needed heartfelt reunion, especially considering that the last few weeks had been nothing but hell in a handbasket.

"We should get moving, the fire's still burning" The grey-haired woman suggested as she gave the tall, rising black smoke one last look over.

"Yeah. We need to go" Rick nodded as he took stared at the smoke, an unreadable expression on his face and in his eyes.

Daryl huffed slightly, "Yeah, but where?" glancing around the remote area.

"Doesn't matter. Somewhere far away from there."

It had been a long few days since the group had gotten somewhere far away from there, and a long few days since anyone had anything to eat. Stomachs were empty and energy seemed to only be decreasing, the hunger gnawing away at all of you.

As the sun slowly began to rise above the horizon, Daryl quietly made his way into the dense forest in search of something to eat. It was quiet, and peaceful as he gingerly and skillfully walked through the mess of vines and roots at his feet, blue eyes scanning the dirt floor for any sign of movement that might indicate the presence of an animal.

Oddly enough, it felt like he wasn't necessarily alone in these woods, glancing around and over his shoulder more than he typically would. Maybe it was just a nearby walker he could sense before he could see, but he knew way better than to believe something like that. His gut told him that there was someone else out here, and Daryl learned to always listen to his gut.

He instinctively raised his crossbow to be eye level, scanning the treeline as he took careful and quiet steps, moving from the west to the north and then east. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the leaves, tousled dark hair in his face, and flowed a dirty white skirt from a few feet from him, a tiny but audible gasp heard.

It had come from behind a thick collection of bushes, Daryl carefully combing them out of the way with one hand and ducking to prevent anything from getting in his eye. He had a tight grip on his crossbow, ready for whatever potential danger could be on the other side.

Luckily for him though, there was no danger. It was just you, the weird and off-putting Greene who had somehow turned into a new interest for Daryl, not quite being able to put his finger on just what it was that drew him towards you.

You were a quiet, soft but strange Christian girl, much different than Maggie and Beth. Unlike them, you seemed to have some kind of spiritual connection to the bible, a deeper understanding of it that often made others feel oddly safe around you, as if you truly did have God protecting you.

Funny enough, it reminded Daryl of when his parents would drag him to the southern church, forcing him into the small confession box where he would sit and sob for hours, silently begging for God to come save him.

He could hear you softly murmuring something, but the full words didn't entirely reach his ears. You were kneeling in front of a large moss-covered log, hands clasped together with your head down, looking up every so often. He watched how every time you leaned back, your hair fluttered back and fell back into position.

Not wanting to be creepy, he decided to come out from where he had been hiding, a little taken aback when you seemed to not be bothered, as if you had already known he wasn't any sort of threat.

"Hell ya' doin' out here girl?" Daryl grumbled out, standing a few feet behind you. He watched as you repeated the motion with your head a few more times, eventually pushing yourself up off your knees.

You knocked the gathered leaves and a few bugs off your skirt, smiling at him softly. "Prayer. I come out here every mornin' for it"

He scoffed slightly, glancing down at the ground as he rolled a rock under his shoe. "Why bother? Not like s'gon get heard anyway"

“Yeah? We’ll see. I prayed we find a safe place today” You said as you brushed some hair our your mouth, wind starting to pick up in speed.

Daryl hummed, “Pray we also find some food?” flipping his own hair out his face.

“Of course,” You laughed slightly, airy and light. “But with you out here I think that’ll be answered”

The man scoffed again, this time ducking his head at your words. “Yeah right” He mumbled out.

“I mean it. Look, there’s a squirrel in that tree” You point to a nearby oak tree and Daryl follows your finger, pulling the trigger of his crossbow faster than you could even fathom.

The squirrel hit the ground, Daryl stepped over a few roots and bushes to pick it up, pulling the arrow out and tossing the carcass over his shoulder.

“Good eye girly. C’mon, guess yer God is gon help ya’ help feed us” He glanced at you from over his clear shoulder, motioning for you to follow him with a short nod of the head.

You followed as he walked through the thick mess of bushes, the green leaves staining your cowgirl boots as you stepped on them. The birds chirped loudly above head as the sun got higher and higher in the sky, the air starting to increase in temperature.

It was quite a nice walk through the forest regardless of the heat, Daryl making for much better company than you expected even though he didn't have much to say. You filled the silence by humming softly to yourself, staying a few feet behind and looking around the wooded terrain, keeping an eye out for animals and walkers.

Daryl paused for a moment, holding up a finger and then positioning his crossbow again. The weapon fired, and you watched as it struck another squirrel, this time pinning it against a tree.

He yanked the arrow out, sliding it back into the holder on the front of his bow and tossing the second squirrel over his shoulder.

"Need'ta get at least five," He said as he continued walking, glancing at you again from over his other shoulder just to make sure you were still there.

You scoffed slightly at his words. "Five?" You repeated, staring at the angel wings on the back of his vest.

Daryl nodded, peering up into the trees and looking around on the ground. "Yeah. Got a lotta people to feed"

"And you think five is the lucky number?" You joke lightly, a small smile tugging your lips as you stay hot on his heels.

He shrugged, squirrels bouncing with the motion. "Dunno. Depends on how many ya prayed for"

"Well, if you told me, I would've prayed for at least ten" You appeared at his side and bumped his arm with yours, his gaze meeting yours for only a split second before you were suddenly startled by Rick and Glenn's out-of-nowhere appearances.

They pointed their guns at both of you, and you put your hands up to show you weren't a threat. "Jus' catchin' some breakfast," Daryl said as he dropped his arms and nodded at Glenn in greetings.

"Ready to get some concrete under your feet?" Rick asked him as the four of you began to make your way out of the forest and back to the rest of the group, the day only getting hotter and hotter. "I think it's time."

Daryl hummed, a thin layer of sweat starting to form on his forehead. "That is sweet music to my ears, Officer."

"We take the next road we come to, try to get back to going north 'till we find a vehicle." Rick gestured slightly with his hand, gun still in his grip just in case.

You all stepped up the steep hill leading back to the road where the group had decided to set up a temporary camp for the night.

Rick meet Daryl's eyes, placing a hand on his squirrel-less shoulder. "Good?"

"Good"

"–And Father God, I once again call upon you to ask for a blessing, a miracle, an answer. You've got me so far, this group, I ask, will you continue to do so? Will you bestow us a safe place? A home?"

Back on the road once again. It was hot as the group ventured forward, worn down shoes and boots slapping against the burning pavement as you all conversed amount yourselves and entertained one another, Michonne and Carl in some form of competition while you lingered behind, Daryl nearby just in case a walker somehow nabbed you.

He silently listened to the soft whispering of your voice, the gentle lull you used as you spoke your prayers, walking with your head down and the palms of your hands facing towards the sky, almost reaching out in a sense.

There was a few questions lingering on his tongue, but growing up in the southern church Daryl had learned not to ask questions until after prayer. Hell, he had learned not to ask questions period.

Daryl only watched you out the corner of his eye, your plush lips moving slightly as you murmured. There was just something about you that was captivating, the fact that you were almost a mixture of Beth's sweet and softness, Maggie's stern and stubbornness, it made him curious to know what the third mysterious Greene had to offer.

"Amen" You mumbled a little louder than intended, clasping your hands together as you finished and concluded your prayer. You brushed some hair out your face when you lifted your head, catching a glimpse at Daryl's watchful eye.

He looked away when your gaze met his, furrowing your brow slightly with a small and playful smile. "What?" You appeared closer to his side and purposely bumped into him, watching how he staggered a little in his pace.

"Nothin'. Jus' hot as hell out here" Daryl shrugged slightly, sweat rolling down his face and back.

You hummed softly, "Hell is a lot hotter than this, but it is super hot. Just wish we could find a river or something" fanning your legs with the loose fabric of your skirt.

Daryl glanced at you, eyes dropping the flowing motion of the fabric. "Tryna' go swimmin'?" He questioned, because a dip in the cool river didn't sound that bad at all

"We weren't really allowed growing up, swimsuits were always super revealin' so we just stayed inside most summers" You shrugged, a tiny smile on your lips as you recalled past memories with your sisters, even if it was just sitting inside trashing the kitchen. "We weren't even allowed to wear shorts that didn't stop at the knees"

It made sense, ever since the farm you, Beth, and Maggie had always been more modestly dressed then the rest, never wearing something too short even if it was the only option.

But even then, as long as your skirt as, Daryl still couldn't help himself from picturing the entirety of your bare legs, a shiver coursing through him as he tried to wipe the image away as quickly as it had come. You were sweet, almost too sweet for him. He was damaged and tainted, you were pure and holy.

"My moms used'ta watch me 'nd m'brother when we went to the river behind our house 'cause I ain't know how'ta swim as a kid" Daryl forced himself to say, tearing his eyes away from the dingy fabric and looking anywhere that just wasn't where you were.

Of course, it wasn't it that easy, especially when you giggled at his sentence which almost caused him whiplash from how hard he snapped his neck at you.

"Sorry, sorry. Just– You didn't know how to swim? Even I can swim" You covered your mouth as you spoke through your laughter, cheeks starting to hurt a little from how hard you were smiling.

Daryl scoffed, the sound of your giggles being music to his ears. "Laugh it up girly. Won't be funny when I throw ya' in a river"

You did laugh even harder at that, maybe because you knew it might be true. "It'll be hilarious! Even more because you'll be the one finding me a new outfit"

"Jus' a little water. S'not like yer damn skirt s'gon wash away" Daryl rolled his eyes, watching as you fake a look of offense.

"How do you know that? It just might! Then you'd have to cover me up" You folded your arms over your chest, quirking a brow at the older man as he glanced you up and down.

"Maybe I don' want to" He mumbled with a short shrug of his mouth

"What do you want?" You asked with a small tilt of your head.

Daryl's lips moved way faster then his brain, and he found himself suddenly muttering out "Wanna see wha's under tha' pretty dress"

You stared at him for a little, and he wished he could just bury an arrow in his head now, but then you chuckled a bit, nudging his arm with yours. "That's a sin, Daryl"

The two of you fell silent, your words lingering in Daryl's mind as he focused his gaze down on the floor, his ears perking slightly when they caught the gentle sound of your humming, some kind of song that he had surely never heard before.

He didn't wanna admit that your voice was soothing and melodic, it almost reminded him of his mother when she would cradle his trembling body in her arms, bruised and bloodied as the soft vibrations of her humming buzzed through him, comforting him as he softly sniffled into her chest, clutching onto her shirt and wondering what it was that made him so undeserving of God's–

"Help!"

The scream of terror rang out from the forest to the woods, and you all looked around at each other as your movements halted, everyone turning in the direction they thought the cry had come from with their weapons drawn, you subconsciously inching closer to Daryl for safety.

"Help, anybody! Help!" The cries came again, this time audibly and undeniably from the left side of the trees.

Rick nodded his head, gun drawn and pointed as he dashed off the road and into the forest, the group all following closely behind as the screams and pleads for help didn't cease, getting louder and closer which drew the attention of nearby walkers, having to dodge and take out any that got too close.

"Anyone, help! Help!"

As you all sprinted deeper into the trees, the sound of snarling and clicking teeth began to mix and become more audible, eventually leading the group out into a green clearing where there was a... pastor cowering ontop of a large stone rock, slipping off and making a half-ass attempt at kicking the walkers.

There weren't that many walkers, but it was still enough to where Rick felt firing his gun was necessary. The gunshots rang out through the forest, and you covered your ears at the loud noise, wincing slightly as it bounced around uncomfortably in your head.

Daryl took out the last straggler with a hard stab of his knife, wiping the thick blood off his blade on his pants before he slid it back in his holster, appearing at your side as he analyzed the pained expression on your face.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He murmered softly, hands hovering over your face but not quiet touching it, almost as if he was restraining himself.

You nodded, uncovering your ears and glancing at the pastor on the top of the rock, Daryl and everyone else following your gaze.

He whimpered softly and quietly from where he sat, eyes frantically darting between the all of you as if you all were the threat.

"Come on down." Rick said in a loud, stern voice, taking a few steps forward in front as the group took a few steps back.

The man rolled on his stomach and awkwardly wormed his way down grunting slightly and crying out when he slipped the rest of the way and landed on his ass.

A few giggles erupted from you and Maggie, stifling your laughter in the same way you've both always done by simply turning your heads away from the source of humor.

Rick didn't seem too entertained though, glancing the man up and down when he stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. "You okay?" He raised a brow, emotion unmoving and flat.

"Sorry. Yes, thank you. I-I'm Gabriel." He stammered out, his lips pulling themselves into a small an nervous smile.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick titled his head as he asked condescendingly, taking another step closer to 'Gabriel.'

The man in question chuckled slightly. "Do I look like I would have any weapons?"

"We don't give a rats flying fucking ass what it looks like." Abraham barked out, and you could only nod your head in agreement.

Gabriel mumbled out some kind of understanding before he put on his best brave face. "I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need"

At that you scoffed, covering your mouth in a fake apology. "Oh sorry, just that, didn't really look like God was protecting you now was he?"

Gabriel smiled nervously and awkwardly at your words, his eyes taking in your attire and the sparkly cross around your neck. "Well, he led a woman of your nurture here, so that must mean something right?"

"Oh of course. It means that you have something we want" You spoke softly, yet your tone was oddly dark. It somehow flipped the aura surrounding the group, replacing it with a heavy presence that just couldn't be explained.

"I-I have nothing to offer. Whatever food I- I had left, it just hit the ground." He glanced down at the ruin pile of whatever it was he had.

Carl stepped forward, fishing something out his pocket and holding it out to the pastor. "We've got some pecans, sorry if you're allergic" He partially joked, taking a step back and behind his dad.

Gabriel thanked him, dumping a few into his mouth and chewing. Judith cooed sweetly from where she rested against Beth, the mans eyes softening as he spotted her. "That's a beautiful child," He said, glancing around at just how many of you there were. "D- Do you have a camp?"

"No. Do you?" Rick asked without hesitation.

"I have a church." Gabriel mumbled, and your ears perked up at the sound of that. Daryl also noted the way your face lit up, while his twisted in distain.

Rick stuck his gun in the waist band of his jeans, aggressively grabbing Gabriel. "Hold your hands above your head."

"How many walkers have you killed?" He questioned, roughly patting the man down in search for any weapons.

"Not any, actually." Gabriel answered nervously.

"Turn around." Rick commanded and he spun the man, continuing his thorough search. "How many people have you killed?"

"None." Gabriel said as Rick spun him back around, narrowing sharp, quizzical blue eyes at him.

"Why?" He almost hissed the words out, whispering them out through the skin of his teeth.

Gabriel was silent for a moment, glancing at all of you before back at Rick. "Because the Lord abhors violence."

"We've all done something, we were all born as sinners. Nobody's perfectly pure." You spoke up from where you stood behind Daryl, shaking your head slightly. Daryl could argue with your words that you were the most perfect damn thing he’s seen, but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut instead. You were pure and holy, he was damaged and tainted.

He looked at you, slightly taken aback. Rick finished his search by nodding in confirmation that he was clear, taking a step back from Gabriel but not too far.

"I sin almost every day," He murmured out after a moment, scanning you all once more before his lips shifted into another small nervous smile. "But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers."

"You said you had a church?"

You sat outside on the church step with all the other women, plus Gabriel, while all the guys stormed inside to do a thorough search of the building, in search of any weapons or any other people. Although Gabe claimed it was just him and himself, Rick didn't believe him and didn't want to take any risks.

It was quite peaceful, birds chirping above with a slight breeze that brought a little bit of cooling relief from the burning sun. Judith cooed softly in Beth's lap, shaded from the sun courtesy of Carl's hat, too big to properly fit her head but big enough to cover her body.

"I spent months here without stepping out the front door." Gabriel's voice cut through the blissful silence, and you tried not to shoot him an irritated glare. Rick came out first, followed by Daryl and then Glenn. "If you found someone inside, well, it would have been surprising."

"We found a short bus out back." Rick said, hands on his hips as he squinted from the harsh glare of the sun. “Nothing else besides that. I think we can settle down here for a minute”

“Shit ain’t settled ‘till we get Eugene’s ass to Washington” Abraham’s voice barked from behind the man, Eugene and Rosita following suit.

Daryl stood on the step above yours, and you turned to smile softly at him as his large frame blocked the scorching light of the sun from spilling down onto you.

He scowled in response, but only because he didn't wanna make his cheeks any more red than they already were. He turned his head away and decided to just blame the burning sensation on the Georgia heat.

Rick shrugged his shoulders as he dismissed Abraham. "Yeah, well, people are exhausted. This place has four walls and a roof. Safe. In other words, we're staying here."

"Sounds pretty good to me, I've slept inside a chapel before," You said as you twisted your head to look at Rick, glancing inside the church to get a glimpse at the size inside. "Plus we can all fit in there, so why not? We could even do our own version of 'The Last Supper' but with squirrel meat" You added, gesturing towards the string of squirrels Daryl had managed to catch on the journey here.

"That kinda does sound good" Beth smiled as she bounced Judith on her leg, the thought of eating meat making her really hungry. "And we can have a bonfire! It'll be even better 'cause we won't have to sleep outside after we put it out" She gasped slightly when the idea crossed her mind, sitting up a little straighter as she talked about it.

Maggie smiled softly at the two of you as you both made light of the situation, grateful that you had always been able to see the bright side of things and just simply brush things off, sometimes falling and scraping your knee but getting right back up to walk it off.

Out of the three of them, you had always had a much stronger connection to God even as a child, sometimes walking right out of Sunday school because you claimed the teacher "silenced" his voice. Growing up, you only continued to believe more and more, so much to the point that it almost worried Maggie, like you could always see something that she couldn't.

There were times when she found herself a bit envious of you, especially when you both had reached your teen years, Maggie starting to take a dive at rebellion and you still as perfectly holy as you had been at age five, wardrobe consisting of nothing but your pristine white clothes, and the same faded white cowgirl boots daddy had bought for you a decade ago on Christmas. He had gotten you all a pair to wear around the farm when dealing and riding with the horses, you and Beth wearing yours down to absolute hell.

By the time you were both in your early twenties, petty rivalry put aside years later replaced by constant gossip and the latest guy Maggie was going out with, she realized that there was no reason to envy you, because she didn't wanna be you. You were pure, holy, and kept yourself high within your faith, studying the Bible in a way that she sometimes couldn't even wrap her head around.

"We need supplies, no matter what we do next" Rick spoke up as he glanced around at everyone, watching Beth pass over Judith to you to sit in the shade Daryl provided.

Glenn nodded in agreement. "That's right. Food, water, ammunition, anything we can find"

You quirked a brow at Gabriel, glancing him up and down. "How'd you survive here for so long?"

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice and stuttered as all eyes landed on him. "W- Well, I had God protecting me"

"No, you didn't. God doesn't protect, he watches" You rolled your eyes at him, as if this wasn't common knowledge.

Gabriel was taken aback by your response, mouth slightly agape as he scrambled to find a different answer. "Our annual canned food drive, things fell apart right after we finished-"

"That's great 'nd all, but Rick, seriously, we're gon' get heatstroke s sittin' out here in the boilin' sun" Maggie cut the man off, fanning herself with both her hands even as she was pressed up against your side, trying to hog the shade that you were already sharing with Beth and Jude.

Carol nodded her head in agreement, also dripping in sweat. "Yeah. You said it was safe, so why aren't we inside yet?" She gestured to the church.

"Alright, alright. Everyone inside. Let's cool off and rest our feet. We can discuss what's next later." Rick nodded and propped the church door open so that the group could easily fit through with all their stuff and guns, loud clattering as these things were dropped on the floor.

You followed after Maggie as she helped Glenn haul a bag inside, holding Judith on your hip as she sucked on her tiny fist. The way you held her almost looked natural, as if she was your very own. Daryl tried to pry his eyes away, but he just couldn't. He was drawn to you in a way he couldn't understand.

It bothered him in a way, the world had ended and you treated every day as if it was just an average day, as if dead people walking around was nothing more but an inconvenience. You were a carefree and buoyant spirit, as if your mind was consistently clear and levelheaded.

But it also intrigued him, how somehow someway in a world plagued with darkness that forces people to be tough and hard, you still manage to be soft and dainty, as if the plague hadn't even touched you once.

There was a combination of walker blood and mud splattered all across your white dress, some of it on your sleeves and your face, yet it didn't make you look any less tender, especially now as you seemed to sit cozily in the nave of the church, bouncing Judith on your leg as you softly hummed her a song.

Inside the church was fairly big, the back of it containing a few large offices that Rick deemed the safest the camp out in for the night, explaining that the doors had locks and that if someone were to break in everyone would hear and have plenty of time to wake up, claiming that everyone could sneak out the back door or just fight if need.

"The food lasted a long time," Gabriel said once the large wooden door creaked shut, other members of the group finding a place to settle down. "And then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby, except for one."

"What kept you from it?" Rick questioned.

Gabe shrugged. "It's overrun."

"How many?" Glenn pipped in from against a wall.

Gabriel slightly tilted his head in thought. "A dozen or so? Maybe more."

Rick scoffed, hands on his hips as he stared at the man. "We can handle a dozen."

"Bob and I will go with you," Michonne said calmly as she stepped forward. "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."

"That'll be okay?" Rick glanced over to the man in question, who nodded his head.

"You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here" Tyreese said with a small smile.

The corner of Rick's mouth slightly quipped upward in a tiny smirk. "I'm grateful for it."

"I'll draw you a map–" Gabriel spoke up but was quickly cut off, "–You don't need to, you're coming with us." by Rick who shot him down with a cold icy glare.

It caught Gabriel off-guard and made his anxiety go through the roof. "I– I'm not gonna be of any help, you saw me up on that rock, I'm no good around those things." He stammered, trying to plead his case nervously under Rick's burning gaze.

"You're coming with us."

The sun had set long ago, and the inside of the church was lit up with a warm candle ambiance that fueled that lighthearted mood, everyone in the group chattering and laughing with one another for the first time in what felt like years.

"I'd like to propose a toast." Abraham loudly announced over everyone and all conversations ceased as the ginger easily captured all eyes in the room, raising his glass of wine that Gabriel had pulled from his own office.

"When I look around this room... all I can see is survivors." He said, scanning his eyes over the nave and everyone inside. "Each and every damn one of you has earned that title."

Abraham was silent for a moment, giving the room one last glance over before tipping his glass. "To the survivors."

"Survivors! Cheers!" You all said in unison, raising your glasses and clinking it against the person beside you, the church erupting back into its previous laughter as everyone resumed drinking and enjoying the night.

You scooted your way over to Daryl who was sat in a corner, purposely getting in his space and holding out your glass to him. "Survivors." You mumbled, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

He glanced at you, a faraway expression on his face as he raised his glass to yours, mumbling out a soft,"Survivors" that was only loud enough for the both of you to hear.

"Now," Abraham said out loud once again, all eyes falling on him. "We get Eugene to Washington, and he will make the dead die, and the living will have this world again." He took a swing of his drink, raising his pinky. "And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

From where Judith sat snuggly in Rick's lap, she cooed and fisted some of his shirts in her small hands.

"Eugene, what's in DC?" The ginger questioned, all eyes now falling on the scientist for the answer.

He took a moment, clearing his throat before he spoke in his usual flat and unwavering tone of voice. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude, that means food, fuel, refuge."

"Restart," Abraham concluded, Eugene giving a short and curt nod at the response. "However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you've been since this whole thing started."

"Save the world for that little one, save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there, who don't got' nothin' left to do except survive." Abraham spoke, his words of encouragement ringing out through the church's walls.

Judith cooed loudly as she squirmed in Rick's lap, and he smiled at her as he readjusted his grip on her tiny torso. "I think she knows what I'm about to say," Rick joked, managing a few laughs from people. "If she's in, then I'm in too."

"We're all in" Carol interjected, smiles spreading across everyone's faces as conversations and laughter began to fill the room again, people started to celebrate by drinking, clapping, and cheering, the energy in the room upbeat and positive. "Let's do it!" Abraham exclaimed, clearly now tipsier than everyone else as he raised his almost empty glass in the air one more time.

The once warm and cozy atmosphere that the church had inside during the earlier activities had been snuffed out long ago, leaving a cold and empty feeling inside the nave.

It wasn't literally cold, or maybe it was just the cigarette that was keeping Daryl warm, taking long drags from the small stick every minute or so. He couldn't be bothered to go all the way outside, and the natural glow of the moon seeping into the room was more than enough.

Plus, it's not like he was alone, considering that you were sitting in the aisle over from him with your head down.

It had been just the two of you in pure silence for about thirty minutes, and Daryl had only been staring at you for twenty. He tried not to, he really did, but it was hard for his eyes to peel away from the way your dress reflected the light, hands neatly folded together in your lap as hair spilled down your shoulders.

Because of the wine from earlier, there was a slight buzz that ran through Daryl's nerves that somehow encouraged him to stop staring and stand, making his way over to where you were sitting.

"Smoking is a sin, and so is interrupting my prayer," You said once he was sat a few inches from you, not even glancing up at him once.

Daryl let out a tiny scoff, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Yeah, well, s'gon fall on deaf ears anyway"

"Do you not believe in God?" You asked as you blinked your eyes, now turning your head to look at him with genuine curiosity etched on your features.

The man shook his head. "Ain't ever believed in no God," he said, pulling another hit and speaking around it. "Hell, ain't ever believed in nobody"

You sighed a little, leaning back against the bench. "God believes in you"

Daryl scoffed a lot louder at that. "Don' even believe in m'self"

"Well, I believe in you," You said with a shrug, scooting a bit closer to him to bump him with your elbow.

He grumbled as he bumped you back, more so pushing as he held his cigarette between his teeth. "Wha' else ya' believe in? Sandy Clause?"

You let out a small giggle at his butchered version of the fictional character. "Santa, and no, I don't. But I do believe that this is the next world though."

"Why? We ain't dead yet" Daryl analyzed you from the corner of his eyes.

You shook your head, "No, we're not. We never have been. Don't you see? This, this is the resurrection" waving your hands around for emphasis.

"I thought everyone was s'pposed ta' disappear or some shit?" He questioned and you rolled your eyes at him. "Oh come on, I thought you didn't believe in stuff like that. Did you also think that Jesus was gonna fly down from the sky and save us all?"

Daryl huffed as he took a long drag, getting more toward the last few puffs of his cigarette as he raised a brow at you. "Ain't that tha' whole point?"

"That's what people want you to think. They always talk about the resurrection and how Jesus will come back from the dead to save humanity from its wrongdoings, which is exactly what's happening now"

"Tha' hell ya' tryna' say, girl?"

"That God has a plan. He wants the world to be pure again, he wants us to be pure again"

At your words, Daryl scoffed, taking a long and final drag of his cigarette. "Well, m'not very pure unlike yerself" He said as he stomped out the butt of the remaining stick, crushing it under a muddy a boot.

"You're tainted, and its okay. No need to be envious of my non-sinning streak" You jokingly said, flipping your hair which got a tiny chuckle out the older man.

"Now I definitely don' believe ya' ain't ever committed no sin" He said, shaking his head.

You had a small smile playing at your lips, shrugging both shoulders as you looked at him. "I mean, technically walkers aren't people, so I don't really think I've killed anyone"

"Steal anythin'?"

"Thou shall not steal, Daryl. Plus, looting stores is only against the law"

"Well, everyone's told a lie"

"Oh, I'd never lie. The truth will set you free"

Daryl frowned at your words. "Yer startin' ta' piss me off, girl"

"I'm just not a sinner, Daryl. I was raised inside a church, so I spent all my time studying the bible and asking God questions." You said with a sigh, thinking back to when you were still a little girl.

"Wha' kinda questions?" Daryl asked, and you turned once again to meet his gaze.

"Well," You started, taking a moment to think before glancing back up at him. "I've always wondered if you commit a sin inside a church, if it still counts as a sin"

"How would ya' know?"

You shrugged. "I don't, I've never really had any sin to commit"

Daryl hummed, eyes flickering down to your plush lips, tracing the shape of them a few times before shifting his gaze back up to meet your eyes. "Lust is a sin"

"Now that's just unholy, Daryl" You scoffed at him, crossing your arms and turning your head away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks, because lust was indeed a sin. "It's extremely important to save yourself for the person you're gonna marry. Sex is an emotional gift"

The man furrowed his brows, "How do ya' know tha' if ya' ain't ever fucked?" suppressing the shiver that ran through him at his own words.

Something dark twisted and turned in his stomach just thinking about the idea that you were just as pure as the day that you were born, and he tried not to think about the wildly dirty things he wanted to do to you that he knew would potentially leave a stain. You had probably never even thought of doing something like that, let alone with someone of his nature.

But you had, and you were right now, nervously and subconsciously squeezing your thighs together the more self-aware you started to feel within the older man's presence, feeling his eyes traveling over the length of your body. "I told you, I studied the bible. Sex is the connection of two people who are bound to one another for life, aka being married of course"

"Sex could also just be sex," Daryl shrugged, his brows unmoving as your words confusingly rang out in his ears. "Ain't much of a difference is there?"

You sighed, shaking your head at him. "Of course there is silly. When you're married, sex is a form of art and beauty, as well as conception. God intends for us to use our bodies as a way to communicate with our partner. Any other time, sex is just a form of escape and pleasure, abusing the gift that God has given us in a sinful way, or as you know, lust"

Daryl hummed as you simplified the words for him in a way that he still didn't necessarily understand, but he just decided to pretend like he did. "Ya' ain't ever go through hormones growin' up?"

"Are you asking if I get horny?" You let out a tiny giggle at how his eyes snapped to yours at the blunt question, his cheeks starting to tint pink as he grumbled and looked away. You laughed and wrapped your hands around his forearm, pulling at the man and trying to get him to look at you. "Don't get embarrassed! Are you?"

Unknowingly, you had instead pulled yourself a lot closer to Daryl, and when he twisted his head back in your direction, you were both face to face, noses almost touching.

Daryl stopped breathing for a few seconds as your doe eyes stared up at him, flickering down to where your fingers gripped what you now realized was his very muscular forearm. Sitting this close to him under his burning blue gaze made you feel a bit small, and made a funny feeling form in your lower stomach.

His own eyes flickered back down to your lips, finding himself using his other hand to brush some hair out of your face, curling his fingers at the back of your hand and cupping your cheek in a big, calloused palm, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. "Maybe I am"

"This is God's house, Daryl." You muttered in a hushed whisper as you curled your fingers around his arm, trying not to downright melt into the warm touch of his hand.

"Think he's gon' watch us?" He whispered back, and your lower stomach tingled in a way that made your whole core heat up, feeling a mild throbbing sensation coming from your private area as you looked up at the older man, running his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

"I– I don't–" You stammered, shifting your eyes away from his as you found yourself at a loss for words.

"Said ya' always wanted ta' commit a sin inna church, righ'?" Daryl tilted your gaze back to his, stroking your cheek with a gentleness you didn't even know he could muster. "Might as well do the one tha' feels best"

"But I've never done something like this... Will it– Will it hurt?" You said as you searched his eyes, the blue orbs going soft and tender.

"M'not gonna hurt ya' at all sweetheart," He said in a genuine voice, holding your face a little tighter. He couldn't even imagine hurting something as dainty as you, especially not with the way you were looking up at him with curious and innocent eyes. "If anythin' I do hurts, tell me, alrigh'?"

You nodded, the corner of your lips twitching into a smile as it felt like there was an entire butterfly exhibit in your stomach, Daryl learning down into your space and first giving your lips a small peck, before pulling you completely flush by the back of your nape, a shiver running up your spine that went all the way down to your clothed cunt, legs squeezing together as Daryl deepened the kiss, your first and hottest kiss ever.

It made your head light and dizzy, leaving you starstruck and dazed when he pulled away with only a thin trail of saliva connecting your lips, Daryl brushing the skin of your cheek once again as you slowly blinked, still feeling airy from the kiss you just experienced.

"Do that again please" You murmured in a tiny plea, feeling both sets of your lips tingle in excitement at all the new sensations Daryl was showing you.

He pulled you in for a chaste peck, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. "Ya' like tha', pretty girl?" He mumbled the words against you, pressing another kiss to your plush lips and swallowing the tiny moan you let out.

You moved to wrap your arms around the older man's neck, Daryl now taking both his hands and gripping you by your waist, pulling a shocked gasp from you at the way his touch made your cunt ache. He carefully moved you to lay on your back, slotting a thigh between your legs and pressing the denim material against your soaked panties, a noise mixed between embarrassment and need coming from your throat.

It felt so good, and you found yourself trying to rut against Daryl's thigh as he started to kiss and suck at your neck, making you giggle slightly as the skin there was more ticklish than anywhere else. His body was big and warm as it was pressed on top of yours, feeling a pulsating sensation traveling through your nerves as you continued to needily hump his leg, whining softly as you tried to further fuel the feel-good moment you were having.

"Let m'help ya' out doll, jus' leave it all ta' me, gon' make ya feel real good" Daryl spoke the words from the underside of your jaw, kissing his way up to your lips before he leaned back, pulling his thigh back and leaving a hand on your hip, courtesy of your fingers scrambling to curl around his for comfort.

"I'm a bit nervous," You said, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment as you spoke the words. "What if I mess something up?"

"Tha' ain't gon' happen, m'gon do all tha' work fer ya'" Daryl said as his hands moved down to your thighs, lifting and pulling your legs to circle his waist, a shrill shriek tearing out your throat as your dress started to slip down and pool at your waist.

It left your lower half completely exposed, and it was almost an instinct to drop your hands down to cover your panties, a hot blush painting over as Daryl gripped both your hands in one, moving them away and pinning them to your chest. "Nuh'uh, ya' ain't gonna hide from me, pretty girl"

You whined softly as he released your wrists, ducking his head down to kiss and lick your stomach, causing you to jerk from the wet muscle dragging across your skin. His fingers traveled down past the hem of your undies, pushing them midway down your thighs before sitting back up and lifting one of your thighs, yanking the flimsy blue fabric the rest of the way off and stuffing it in his back pocket, pulling you a bit closer as he licked his lips, eyeing the prettiest pussy he's ever seen.

You weren't exactly sure what to do with your hands, deciding instead to clench the cross around your neck in one and prop yourself up on the other, all this being so new and different, dirty and sinful, that you couldn't help but wanna watch.

Daryl placed a hand on your hip, the other moving to gather spit on his fingers. "Gotta get ya' stretched out so I don' hurt ya'"'

"Is this part gonna hurt? I've only masturbated once, but I was too scared to actually finger myself" You frowned a little, feeling your nerves spike as it started set really just how inexperienced you were.

Daryl leaned down and placed a soft peck to your lips, dipping his fingers into your cunt gently and rubbing the digits up and down your slit, pressing down against your clit and moving in a circular motion, his actions on the bundle of nerves sending shivers sparking up your spine, letting out a moan that was deep in your throat right against the older man's lips.

He let out a low chuckle, adding a second finger to his movement against your clit. "Doesn' hurt now, does it?"

You shook your head, body tingling in a foreign way that almost made you feel like you had been tased but in a good way, not that you've ever been tased before. The rough pads of his fingertips against your clit drove you absolutely crazy, the faster they moved the more you found your hips jerking down in a clumsy attempt to speed up whatever high it was you were riding right now, feeling better than you ever have in your whole life.

"There ya' go beautiful, c'mon, cum on m'fingers" Daryl murmured the words out, quickening his pace as he could feel your legs twitching around him, your whines and whimpers getting louder and louder. He spread your cunt lips apart more which revealed your raw clit more, a few harsh strokes to the small bud before you were biting down on your bottom lip and letting your head fall back, a shaky, pleased cry tearing out your chest as waves of electricity coursed through your entire nervous system.

Rather than pulling his fingers away, Daryl dragged them back down your now much more sensitive slit, this time slipping a single digit past your tight entrance, the feeling foreign and oddly unique. Daryl's finger was a bit bigger than average, so you could feel there was a slight stretch to your virgin hole.

Daryl could feel it too, as well as the way you experimentally clenched and convulsed around his stilled finger, giving you a few minutes to adjust to the new feeling.

When he began to slowly thrust the digit in and out, curling the tip of his finger each time in search of your sweet spot, carefully watching the way your face twisted and contorted.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He asked, starting to brush his thumb against the skin where he was gripping your hip.

You nodded, involuntarily clenching around him. "Yeah, it just feels really funny, maybe I just had my expectations too high," You said as you furrowed your brows, a bit upset that 'fingering' wasn't all you chalked it up to be.

"First finger ain't much, second one might feel 'bit different" Daryl said as he pulled the digit back, this time pushing back into you with both fingers, the stretch and drag of the two digits feeling agreeably more different than just one.

This time Daryl just kept up his steady pace, continuing to thrust and curl his fingers into your cunt, starting to scissor you further open. Your eyes trailed down to follow the movement of his other hand as he released his grip on your hip, beginning to undo the zipper of his jeans and shoving them halfway down, the first and biggest cock you've ever laid eyes on.

Your jaw went a little slack, scrambling to find words as you felt panic boil in your stomach. "That– That's not gonna fit!"

"Calm down doll, I swear yer'gon be jus' fine" Daryl murmured softly, reaching down to reassuringly press his forehead against yours, so close that your eyelashes were almost touching. "Told ya', m'not gonna hurt ya'. S'probably not gon' feel tha' best at first but it gets better, righ'?"

Taking his words into consideration for a minute, you nodded your head against his and let your eyes flutter shut as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips, followed by another, and then the feeling of his fingers slipping out of you.

It left you feeling oddly empty, but there was excitement building up as you watched Daryl spit on his cock, using it as lube as he dragged it up your already slick slit, pressing the tip into your hole and easily pushing past, the stretch of his cock slowly slipping into you a lot more painful than expected, your hands finding his forearms where he gripped your waist and squeezing them tightly, wincing slightly as you dug your nails into his skin.

Daryl caressed the skin of your waist with his thumb, trying his best to ease the discomfort he could see and knew he was causing you. "I know, I know, s'gon be alrigh' gorgeous, yer' alrigh'" He muttered, pulling his hips back and pushing them forward again, repeating the motion in long, deep strokes.

Whatever his method was, it was definitely working, each drag of his cock against your walls feeling better and better, your cunt only getting wetter and wetter which made it so much easier for Daryl to increase his pace, trying his best to restrain himself from completely plowing into you like he had been craving to do for days, weeks now.

He didn't wanna hurt you or go too rough, this was your first time for crying out loud, a sweet christian girl who hadn't even dipped her own fingers inside herself, and here he was, a grumpy tainted man who had somehow managed to stuff himself balls deep into her pure little pussy, hugging his cock in a warm, velvety hold that he just wanted to absolutely ruin.

He watched the way your eyes fluttered, soft moans coming from you as your face seemed to be pleasantly relaxed, the tight and fearful grip you once had on his arms now reduced to a lazy and content hold, fingers squeezed every once in a while when Daryl's cock would bump a rather sensitive nerve. "That actually feels good" You mumbled as a small smile twitched on your lips.

But Daryl knew how he could make it feel even better, and his restraint to hold back from completely plowing into you had run down to nothing, a sharp grunt leaving his throat when he snapped his hips forward, shoving the entirety of his cock into you suddenly.

You let out a surprised squeak at the action, Daryl's hands planting themselves awkwardly but firmly on the church bench, your own moving to keep yourself steady as he ducked his head down to begin sucking your neck, setting a rough and unforgiving pace.

"Oh my fuuuck" You moaned out in a shaky, pleased breath, fingers curling into the wood and your toes curling in your boots. It's like you were dancing on cloud ten, each hard bump of his tip to your cervix making your mouth practically water, sending bolts of lightning licking up your spine.

Daryl groaned into the skin of your neck, sucking and kissing against your pulse as he got lost in the warmth of your cunt. "Got such a perfect fuckin' pussy, love tha' s'all fer me"

You whined and couldn't help but clench around him at his words, a shudder running through you when you felt him start to speed up, pulling tiny moans out of your chest at every thrust.

Daryl muttered in a husky voice right by your ear, "Feels so fuckin' amazin' doll, so damn tight 'nd wet, might fuck ya' fer hours" grabbing you by the hip and pulling you impossibly further in his lap, driving his cock faster and deeper into your body, nailing your tender sweet spot dead on which caused you to let out a high pitch cry, Daryl muffling your sounds with a slow but sloppy kiss.

He slammed his cock right into the sensitive bundle of nerves, each thrust making you feel dizzy and lightheaded, knocking the air out of your lungs but it felt so good you couldn't even care, eyes starting to roll back when Daryl slid a hand down to roughly finger at your clit, the way he was stimulating your whole cunt making the entire room spin, a shaky, needy sob spilling pat your lips as your whole body was drowning in pulsing and throbbing tingles, Daryl placing another kiss to your lips as he only went faster.

"Ya like tha' huh m'lil sinner? Goin' against everythin' ya' stand fer, feels real good don' it?" He groaned the words out against your lips, and you downright whimpered at his words, heart pounding in your ears as he worked your clit, still ramming in and out of you at an animalistic pace. You couldn't think, and the only word you could muster was a small, broken "D-Daryl"

Your hips jerked down to clumsily grind against his fingers and his cock, needily chasing the building high of your second orgasm as it became difficult to keep your volume at a low, moans starting to tear themselves right out your throat.

Daryl reached an arm underneath your back and flipped you into a sitting position, straddling his lap with his fat cock now one hundred percent of the way buried inside you, so deep that you were convinced for a second that he was in your stomach. You draped your arms over his shoulders and muffled a lewd moan into his neck, the first thrust sending him deeper than ever.

He held you flush against him and bunched your dress up with one hand, and squeezed your hip with the other, letting out breathy, heavy moans of his own as he bounced you in his lap, the tight and slick drag of your raw cunt against his throbbing cock straight up addictive.

"So goddamn wet baby, ya' was saving this wet ass lil' pussy fer me huh, lil' devil?" As the man spoke, he sounded extremely winded, with deep and passionate huffs, you couldn't help but convulse around him at his words, a tiny noise leaving your lips as you clung to him tighter, whining as his hand on your hip pulled you even closer against his pelvis. "Fuck, so fuckin' perfect doll"

Only choked-off moans and whimpers came from you, trying to muffle your sounds into Daryl's neck as his cock shifted angles inside, driving himself right into a soft and squishy spot that made you mewl, the man holding you down as he continued to slam into that spot head-on. His thrusts were fast and unforgiving, fucking your cunt almost as if he hated you, but his grip was tight and protective, holding your body against his like he loved you.

Which he did, but he just didn't know how to say it. His only hope being that you could feel it in the way he fucked into you, hips starting to falter slightly as your tight cunt milked his cock, practically sucking him in and making it impossible for him to ever want to pull out.

From the way you had started to tremble and spasm around him, Daryl could tell that your orgasm was getting closer and closer, encouraging him to quicken his pace. “Gonna cum, pretty girl?” He murmured as he moved down to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yes! Oh my goodness yes” You moaned as your entire body pulsated, each bump of his tip to your cervix sending you further into bliss. Your arms dropped down and you curled your fingers into his sturdy shoulders for purchase as he relentlessly pounded your twitching pussy, keeping your limp body closely pressed against his.

Daryl could feel the boiling heat of his own orgasm rising in his gut, the wet and warm slide of your cunt against the throbbing pulse of his aching cock pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He hitched your dress up further as he adjusted his grip on you, speeding up his pace even more as he started to chase after his own relief, the squeeze of your soft and squishy walls practically making him drunk.

He groaned as electricity licked and burned through his veins, thoughts flashing and racing through his head. “Let me cum in ya’ doll. Gonna get ya’ nice ‘nd plumped up with a lil’ baby, huh?”

That sent tingles shooting down your spine, clenching down around his thickness at the words each time they rang out in your head. Growing up, all you've ever wanted was to have a sweet little baby of your own, and after unlocking such a world like this you couldn't possibly picture life without Daryl at your side.

"Please, please give me that" You almost whimpered as you trembled against his chest, heart pounding in your chest as a heat burned and built up in your stomach. You jerked your hips and made a clumsy attempt to rut down against him, but he tightened the hold he had on your lower half to stop your movements. "I've got ya' gorgeous, m'gon take care of ya', told ya' m'gon make ya' feel good"

Daryl readjusted his position, moving you to sit up properly and gripping you at the waist, pinning up your dress there as well as he started to bounce you in his lap, downright using your body as a sex toy as he plowed right into your sensitive sweet spot, pulling strained and guttural moans from your chest as you tried your hardest to keep your volume down as to not echo off the church's wall, biting back sobs as your hands found their way to Daryl's chest, fingers curling into the strong flesh as all the digits had a hot buzz to them, lungs suddenly not being able to take in any air as your stomach burned, toes curling in your boots and teeth clenching as a wave of scorching hot pleasure washed over your whole entire body, this time not being able to hold back the loud cry that tore it's way out your throat, uncontrollably convulsing around his cock as he thoroughly fucked you through your orgasm, muffling your pleased moans with a messy kiss.

With the way your now overly sensitive cunt squeezed and roughly gripped his pulsating dick, Daryl wasn't far behind in his orgasm, grunting into your mouth as his hips stuttered inside you, cock twitching eagerly as he pumped his load deep into the warmth of your heat, Daryl slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressing it up against yours.

When he pulled away, you were nothing but a puddle of pure jelly, going limp in his grasp as he wrapped a secure arm around your middle, moving to kiss and suck your neck as he covered you back up by dropping your dress, deciding he wanted to stay wrapped inside you a little longer.

"Are you gonna give me my panties back?" You questioned from where you now rested against his shoulder, eyes following the older mans movement as he flicked his lighter, holding the flame up to a new cigarette.

The tip burned red as he took the first and long drag, blowing the smoke up in the air and holding the cigarette away from you by stretching his arms across the bench, humming softly as if taking a moment to think. "Nah"

You pulled back from his chest and gawked at him. "No? There'll be a sticky mess between my legs in the morning!"

He smirked at you, showing a sliver of his porcelain teeth as he did. "Tha's the point, lil' sinner, yer gonna be feelin' me fer days"

The nickname made you blush, turning your head away from the man as you also considered his words, a part of you wanted to feel and experience it all over again, almost arguably a divine slice of heaven itself, and you wanted to taste it once again.

"Well you should never commit a sin twice" You mumbled instead of your real thoughts, cheeks now starting to heat up from embarrassment and a bit of shame, Daryl's cock still buried inside you as a reminder of what you had just done, a reminder that the purity and sacrality you had been preserving for your future man had been completely stripped by another.

Unless, Daryl was your future man, clenching down around him as he took another drag of his cigarette, placing a hand back over your now-covered hip, traveling up to your waist, and squeezing the flesh there. He wasn't the God-fearing, clear-minded, faithful man you had dreamed about as a little girl. Still, he was the strong, protective, and leaderful man that you had dreamed about as a young woman, the man you dreamed of to provide for you and the home you built for another, to protect and preserve the family he's made.

His hand grazed your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek and tracing over the shape of your lips. With his gentle and soft touch, you could feel each blister and callous formed on his hands, the rough feeling of hard work against your skin causing goosebumps.

"Somethin' bad gon' happen ta' us?" He questioned, talking around an exhale of smoke as he did.

"We'll go to hell, Daryl!" You rolled your eyes at him.

He lazily shrugged a shoulder, staring at you with searching eyes. "We'll go together"

Your mouth gaped at his words, stammering as you struggled to find your own. "W– Well I'd much rather prefer we go to heaven together"

"They not gon' let me in" Daryl scoffed slightly as he spoke.

"Not when you commit sins like lust, Mr. Tainted" You flicked his forehead, and he grumbled swatting your hand away, rubbing the reddening skin.

"Ain't my fault, Mrs. Holy, yer' dress leaves little ta' tha' imagination" He muttered, and your eyes widened at his words.

"Are you– My dress goes to my flipping ankles!" You picked up some of the pooled dingy fabric, tugging on it for emphasis.

Daryl shrugged again at that, his eyes now traveling the length of your body where you sat still in his lap. "Don' matter, ever since I saw tha' pretty lil' face I've wanted ta' see the rest of ya', 'nd I ain't disappointed"

You scoffed in disbelief, turning your head in an attempt to hide the heat rising to your face, speaking in a hushed whisper. "My gosh, you speak such foul words in such a sacred place"

"We jus' fucked" Daryl said bluntly, taking another drag from his cigarette as he watched you snap your neck back to him, mouth slightly agape as you scrambled for words. "Y– Yes. But, that doesn't mean you have to talk like that in God's house"

At that, Daryl's cock twitched inside you, a smirk taking over his lips "Ya' said tha' same thing before m'tongue was down yer' throat"

"Daryl!" You hissed, the man chuckling as he gripped your hip and moved to kiss at your already marked-up neck, the weight of your faith starting to weigh heavy as you felt Daryl's cock hardening to life against your walls. "Fornication is straight up breaking the laws of God. We can't– I can't do this again"

The smell of cigarettes and sex painted the church air as you planted both hands on Daryl's chest, pushing yourself up and slowly off his dick with a restrained groan, turning into a sharp gasp when the elder pulled you back down, flush against him.

"Think fornica-whatever s'allot more than jus' sex, 'cause I don' have a problem makin' ya' mines" Daryl mumbled the words into your hair, holding you to his chest with one arm and stubbing out his cigarette in the wooden bench with the other. "God can't stop me from wantin' ya', can he?"

"He can, if you don't truly want me" You muttered into his shirt, and could feel the rumble of his short laughter through his stomach. "'S'good tha' I've wanted ya' fer a while then"

You sighed as you pushed yourself up to meet his gaze, eyes sharp and focused on yours as you moved. "It's more than just want, marriage is a life-long commitment, spiritual and eternal, it's about your faithfulness and loyalty to the person you love, the person you wanna become one body with, share your body with. That's why it's important to save yourself for marriage, to keep yourself pure and clean for the one you want to share it with"

"Aren't we one righ' now?"

"I– I mean– yes, but n– not in the way God intended for us to be–"

"–Why? 'Cause we ain't married? Pretty stupid if yer' askin' me"

He took your left hand in his, bring it up to his lips and placing soft kisses on your delicate fingers, lips lingering against your ring finger.

"Don' need no God ta' tell m'tha' I do or don' love ya', 'cause I know I do, dammit woman, loved ya' since I met ya' on yer' daddy's farm" Daryl scoffed as he finally spoke his feelings into the air, listening to himself and how ridiculous he sounded.

You listened intently, staring at him with glossy eyes as he spoke, your lips twitching and tugging into a tiny smile.

A provider, a protector, a man, a real man, was what Daryl Dixon was, the type of man that you thought could only ever exist in your head and bible, yet here he was, clinging to you and holding you close to him, pressed tightly against and in you, so tight that it felt like you'd just melt right into him at any second, his heart beating erratically in his chest, so much that you could feel it against the beat of your own heart.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" You whispered, watching how Daryl's eyes shifted away from yours in the embarrassed way that they always did. "Tell me!"

The man grumbled as you grabbed his face and shook his head, forcing his gaze back on you as he pulled your hands away with his, dropping them down to his chest and holding them there. "I didn' think ya'd want someone like me"

"What? Someone unholy?" You tilted your head slightly at him.

He shook his head, fingers squeezing your wrists. "Someone damaged"

"Damaged? You aren't damaged, Daryl. You're just tainted" You furrowed your brows, frowning slightly at his words.

"Ya' always say tha'" He mumbled, and you sighed. "Because there's no other way for me to put it. You're just a corrupted soul, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person"

He stared at you, licking his lips as he looked at your own, his cock twitching back to life again. "Even if I wanna corrupt ya' too?"

"And how exactly would you do that?" You laughed, but couldn't ignore the heat starting to pool in your gut, feeling a familiar buzz in your fingertips as Daryl ran his hands up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress all the up past your tits, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the cold air hit them, the older man pulling you close and popping one of your tender nipples into his mouth, rocking his hips to full hardness. "M'gonna slut ya' out, pretty girl. Gonna turn ya' into my sweet lil' sinner, a little holy fuckdoll"

"I'm not a sex toy" You whined as he dragged his tongue across your boobs, involuntarily clenching around him as you tried to defend yourself, but Daryl laughed lowly as he trailed his lips up to the skin of your neck, kissing his way up to your ear and taking the lobe between his teeth. "Not yet, gorgeous, not yet"

GUYS. GUYS I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS I SWEAR.

I can't believe its done??? I've snipped so many snippets, cut so much out, stared at it for so long, and now its done (after a few decades) so I hope that everyone who I hyped up for this fic was satisfied and it was everything that I had made it out to be

Anyways this fic wouldn't have even existed without @tylermaxxine the local instigator and chronic coffee chugger

[keeryhours]

how do i live without you? - billy hargrove

Billy Hargrove x female! Reader, some platonic Steve Harrington x Reader

Masterlist

Billy Hargrove Masterlist

Summary:

An accidental pregnancy turns your world upside down, but losing your boyfriend and having to go through it without him? Things couldn’t be worse.

Warnings:

S3 spoilers, angst, Billy’s death, pregnancy, grief, depression, labor and birth

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N:

This is a scenario that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I’m always thinking about Billy and making myself emotional. I really hope you enjoy. Requests open <3

—

The feeling that went through your heart and body when you saw the two lines on that test was something you would never forget.

It was pure fear, panic, shock, sadness, and also awe. You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do, or if Billy was even going to stick around to find out.

The thought of being pregnant and having a baby was terrifying in general, but the thought of doing it alone was even scarier.

You held that secret close to your chest for a week. You wanted to wait for the perfect time to tell Billy, but that time never came. You never stopped being terrified, your stomach was never not in knots when you were around him. He noticed something was up, and he kept trying to get you to tell him, but you’d brush it off.

It became an issue when he wanted you to come with him to a party at Tommy’s house. You didn’t think anything of it at first, agreeing to go without hesitation like any other time. You felt stupid (maybe you could blame it on pregnancy brain already), but it didn’t occur to you until you and Billy pulled up to the party that you would be expected to drink.

When you walked in, Billy brought you straight to the alcohol, filling up two cups before you could say anything over the pounding music. He went to hand you yours with a grin, and you paled, feeling like it was suddenly too hot in the house.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you said, trying to decline the drink politely and casually but knowing you wouldn’t be so lucky as to not be questioned.

Billy looked at you as if you’d grown two heads. “Uh…you’re not drinking?”

Shit. You absolutely should have thought this through. Who goes to one of these parties to stay sober, anyway?

“She’s not drinking?” Tommy asked, sliding over with Carol under his arm. “Like at all?”

“That’s weird,” Carol giggled, clearly feeling the alcohol she had consumed tonight. “What, are you pregnant or something?”

Your blood ran cold. You actively tried not to react, but the question hit you like a slap to the face. “No, Carol,” you snapped back.

Billy’s eyes never left you throughout the entire interaction. His brows were furrowed, the gears turning in his head.

“I just don’t feel good,” you added, feeling like you were standing on stage with a spotlight on you. “I thought alcohol would make it worse.”

Tommy and Carol weren’t even listening anymore, having moved on to making out in the corner. Billy’s intense gaze was beginning to make you uncomfortable, you felt like he was reading you like a book.

Despite your fears, Billy didn’t bring it up or push the alcohol again. You had a pretty shitty time, because hanging out in a crowded house full of drunk people is probably the least enjoyable sober activity. Billy had two beers before he decided you should leave early. He didn’t look like he was having any fun either, and he knew you weren’t.

In the safety of Billy’s Camaro, you let out a breath. You buckled your seatbelt as Billy climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the car and began to drive back in the direction of your house.

He drove in silence. He didn’t even turn music on, which was not like Billy at all. The tension in the air was so thick you could barely breathe. The only sounds you could hear were the rumbling of the engine and your own shaky breathing.

Billy pulled a cigarette from his pack, sticking it between his lips. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it, bringing the flame to his face and lighting the cigarette. He took a big drag, blowing the smoke mostly out the window. The smell of it nearly made you gag, but you watched his every movement with bated breath anyway.

Finally, he spoke.

“Are you going to tell me what that was really about?” he asked, driving with one hand. He doesn’t look away from the road, doesn’t look at you.

You felt like you were going to really be sick (that had been happening recently), but it was all nerves this time. You debated if there was any chance of talking yourself out of this believably, but then you realize what’s the point, he has to know sometime, somehow.

You let out a long, shaky exhale. Billy’s eyes flicked to you for just a moment at the sound, sensing that there really was something big going on. He had hoped it was some silly explanation. He took another long drag from his cigarette.

“Billy…” you began, looking away from him and down at your hands as your fingers played together nervously. “I, uh…I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Billy doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything.

Finally Billy sighed deeply, taking another drag and then putting his fingers on the bridge of his nose as if he had a bad headache. “Christ…”

You felt sick to your stomach. You didn’t want him to be mad at you, You didn’t want him to leave.

You didn’t say anything, still trying to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look happy, but you couldn’t really figure what he was thinking. He was never an open book.

Billy pulled up in front of your house. You half expected him to kick you out of the car and never talk to you again, but instead he shut the car off entirely.

“Can I come in? To talk?” he asked, which took you by surprise.

“Yeah,” you said. “My parents are home, though, so you’ll have to come through the window…”

He nodded. He was familiar. “Give me 10 minutes,” he said. He leaned over and kissed you softly on the lips and then you were climbing out, headed up the walkway to your front door as you heard him drive off. He would be going to park around the block to walk over so your parents wouldn’t be suspicious.

You didn’t know what to think. He didn’t seem mad at you, which was a good sign. He even kissed you before you got out of the car like he always does.

Your stomach was in knots as you slipped into the house, saying a quick goodnight to your parents as you headed to your room. You cracked the window for Billy before getting changed into some comfortable pajamas while you waited for him.

Just as promised, you heard your window sliding up about 10 minutes later, and you turned in time to see Billy’s large body awkwardly maneuvering in through the window.

When he was in, he shut the window behind him and let out a sigh, running a hand through his messy blonde curls. He sat down on your bed next to you, neither of you saying anything for a while.

“Well,” Billy finally said. “This is some shit.” He laughed, but nothing was really funny.

You felt bad. You felt like this was all your fault, although you knew logically that wasn’t true.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, rubbing his sweaty palms over the thighs of his jeans.

“Yes,” you said. “Do you want to see the tests?”

He hesitated before nodding. “Not that I don’t believe you,” he added quickly, his voice gruff. “I just…want to see ‘em.”

You opened your bedside table drawer, pulling out the five positive tests you had taken. Billy’s eyes widened as you handed them to him, and he realized this was really happening. There was no mistake.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, looking at those two pink lines.

“Yeah. Fuck,” you agreed.

Billy turned to you then, and he surprised you by smiling at you softly. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his firm, warm body. You always felt safe there.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, which was maybe the last thing you expected him to say.

You looked up at him. “Really? You actually think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he looked genuine. “You know I’m serious about you, right?”

You blinked at him. You hadn’t known that, not really. You had hoped he felt the same way about you as you felt about him, but he avoided talking about his feelings so much you were never really sure where you stood.

He looked at you incredulously. “You are. You’re so special to me, you have no idea.”

Your eyes began to water at that, a couple tears falling. “Billy…”

He lifted a hand and wiped your tears away. “Come on, baby girl…” he muttered. “Don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

He was never this tender. It was making your heart beat about a million times a minute, your head spinning in circles.

“You’re not mad?” you finally asked, voice weak.

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, looking genuinely curious. “It’s not your fault. It was both of us.” He gave you a little smirk when he said that, and it made you blush.

“I just thought you’d be upset,” you said, eyes trailing down to look at your comforter. He placed his hand beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m not upset,” he said. “Sure, this is…really not great timing, but we’re gonna be okay, yeah? We have each other.”

You nodded. You felt like you could get through anything with Billy by your side, and now that it was clear he had no plans to run, you felt yourself breathing for the first time in a week.

“I love you, Billy,” you said, and you froze as you realized what you had said. You and Billy had not said that to each other yet, and now you were positive you had really scared him off this time.

But Billy didn’t miss a beat. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. “I love you, too,” he said, and you couldn’t believe your ears.

He gently placed his hand on your still flat stomach, rubbing his thumb over the material of your shirt.

“And I mean it,” he promised, looking into your eyes with his deep, gorgeous blue ones, more serious than you’d ever seen him. “You won’t do this alone. I’m right here.”

—

Billy began to act strangely in July.

He stopped calling. You stopped seeing him around anywhere. You went to the pool to see him at work, which he usually loved for you to do, but you found him there looking sweaty and sick, his body covered up from the sun. You knew something was seriously off right away.

It turned out Max and El had already figured it out themselves. They had been watching Billy, and discovered the Mind Flayer was back, and he had possessed Billy.

You felt angry. You felt scared. But Will had been able to be saved from the Mind Flayer, so surely Billy could be, too. That’s what you held onto, what you told yourself.

—

It had been a month since the Starcourt incident. A month since Billy sacrificed himself to save all of you, a month since you watched your boyfriend die horrifically right in front of your own eyes. You still had nightmares about it, seeing it over and over again behind your eyelids when you tried to go to sleep at night. When you realized you’ll never fall asleep in Billy’s arms again, never feel him again at all.

You didn’t leave your bed for weeks after his death. Really only getting up for necessities like the bathroom or forcing yourself to eat enough to keep your body going. Steve and Robin came over and begged you to get up and get out of your dark, depressing bedroom. You weren’t ready to face a world without Billy in it. The thought of going outside and seeing the world continuing on like nothing happened made you feel sick. You felt like they didn’t understand - Steve didn’t like Billy anyway. They were never fans of your relationship. The only thing that eventually gets through to you and gets you out of bed is the reminder that you’re still growing a baby, and that baby needed a mother who could function.

You had never lost anyone close to you like that before. Not even touching on the brutal way he died, or the fact that it happened while you stood helplessly watching. You thought of Billy constantly, it was a neverending physical ache in your chest that was so severe your doctor thought you might be having heart problems and sent you to have it checked out.

Nope, just heartbreak. You wondered if the pain alone would kill you, too.

You became close to Max. The two of you may have never been friends before, but you had always liked the kid, and when you and Billy first started dating, she had told you she was glad Billy finally had a real girlfriend and that you were better than any of the other girls Billy had brought around. It made you laugh at the time, and you instantly liked her.

In Billy’s absence, being the only two people you knew who really felt the pain of his death, you leaned on each other. You became a true big sister to Max, and she became a real friend to you. The excitement over being an aunt and having that piece of Billy to carry on was the only real light she held onto in life some days.

One of the biggest surprises in the aftermath of Billy’s death came from Steve Harrington himself.

You and Steve had been friends for ages, only becoming closer in the past year. You knew Steve loved you and would always be there for you, of course, but you didn’t realize how much until one day that August.

You were 15 weeks pregnant, at that point the secret was out to any and everyone. You were already beginning to show, no longer able to hide under baggy t shirts and hoodies. You were tired of the sympathetic looks everyone gave you, oh, she’s a pregnant teenager and the father died in that horrible mall fire! You could see it in everyone’s eyes when they looked at you.

The doorbell ringing jolted you from your busy day of crying in bed. You were surprised to see Steve there, looking like he had something really important to say.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and your thoughts immediately went to the pajamas you were still wearing at 4pm, the mess of a depression den your bedroom had turned into.

But you knew Steve was the last person who would judge you. You let him in, both of you walking to your bedroom. You had to step over various water bottles, cans, and dirty clothes on the way to sit on your bed.

When you sat together, Steve turned to you, grasping your hands in his. He looked at you seriously, and it scared you a little.

“I just…I have something to say,” Steve said, and you searched his eyes for any clue as to what he was about to drop on you.

“I…you might think I’m crazy,” he laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his long hair before he grabbed your hand again. “Listen, I can’t stand the idea of you doing this alone.”

You looked at him, confused. “Doing what…?”

Steve gestured towards your stomach, the still small bump visible there now. “Having a baby.”

You felt like he wasn’t making any sense. “Steve, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Steve sighed, but he didn’t seem annoyed with you. He squeezed your hands, looking you in the eyes. “I’m saying, if you want me to, I want to do this with you. I’ll be like…the dad.” He shook his head, speaking quickly again before you could say anything. “Not the dad, Billy will always be the dad, obviously, I don’t want to erase him or anything. But like the step dad maybe. I want to help you raise the baby.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Were you crazy or did Steve really just offer to step up and be a parent to a child that isn’t even his?

“Steve…” you breathed, tears coming to your eyes as you scanned his face for any sign of hesitancy or insincerity. You found none. He looked at you determined, like he had made up his mind and nothing would change it. “You don’t have to do this. You’d practically be throwing your life away.”

“I wouldn’t be throwing my life away,” Steve scoffed. “I’ve already graduated. I can get a good job with my dad, with insurance and benefits and stuff. I can take care of you. Both of you.”

He really had thought this through. He meant what he was saying. You couldn’t imagine someone ever being this selfless, it was hard for you to wrap your mind around what he was truly offering.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told him again. Your voice was shaking now as you felt the tears threatening to fall.

“I want to,” he said again, his hand moving to rest on your cheek. “You’re like, my best friend in the world. I can’t stand the thought of you stuck doing this alone. Plus, I love kids.” Steve took a deep breath. “And…I feel like I owe it to Billy. I won’t ever forget his sacrifice. He would want you two to be taken care of.”

Those words are the ones that push you over the edge, and you cried, sobs bursting from your chest without warning. Steve was surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly. He didn’t say anything, he just let you get it out of your system. You had been so fragile since Billy died, he knew this conversation would bring up some big emotions.

You felt safe in Steve’s arms. You were surprised at how much comfort they brought you, and you thought maybe you would have been better off with your friends after all than rotting in your bed, burritoed in your blankets. You just hadn’t been able to stand the idea of bringing everyone down when you were stuck so deep in your personal pit of despair.

When your cries finally calmed, you pulled away from Steve’s chest, looking at him with puffy red eyes. “I feel like I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking me, I’m offering,” Steve answered quickly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I know I can’t force you to believe me, but I want this.”

You felt the tears threatening to fall again, but you pushed the feeling back as far as you could. “Okay,” you finally croaked out. “But you can change your mind at any time, okay?”

Steve smiled at you. “Not gonna happen.”

And Steve kept to his word. He didn’t leave your side the entire pregnancy. He drove you to every appointment, sitting next to you and holding your hand when you needed him. The nurses would refer to him as “dad” and he wouldn’t correct them unless you did. He liked the sound of that, deep down. Yeah, he knew this baby wasn’t his, but he would love them like they were.

The first time Steve got to see the baby and hear the heartbeat, his eyes shone with love, his own heart nearly beating out of his chest. The fast, rhythmic whoosh whoosh whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room. You looked up at Steve teary eyed, and he looked back down at you like he had never been more proud of someone in his life.

It warmed your heart that even though Billy couldn’t be here, which is a pain that would never go away, the baby had a found family that was larger and stronger than you ever could have hoped your support system would be. The whole friend group was so invested in the pregnancy - it had nearly become the friend group’s baby by this point.

The 20 week anatomy scan was a monumental day, because you’d finally be finding out the gender of the baby. There were only supposed to be 2 people allowed back in the room at a time, but somehow your friends were able to talk their way in.

It was like a party in the exam room when the tech came in, wide eyed and taking in the excited group. You laid on the table with Steve in his normal spot next to you. Then there was also Max, Robin, Nancy, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, and El, all crowded into the room with you.

The tech looked a little nervous as she got started, not used to having quite an audience. When the scan started, everyone leaned in, fighting each other for the best glance at the screen. They all began taking bets on whether it would be a boy or a girl.

“Do you want to know the gender?” the tech asked, and the whole room practically yelled a chorus of Yes!

The tech couldn’t help but smile, despite the chaos of this appointment. It was sweet to see an unborn baby already so loved by so many.

“It’s a girl,” the tech announced, and the room erupted into cheers. There were some “I told you so!”s and some money exchanging hands.

The chaos of the room around you fell away as you turned and looked right at Steve. He was already looking at you, tears brimming in his eyes to match yours.

“A baby girl…” he muttered, lightly brushing his hand across your cheek. “A daughter.”

You smiled, and your heart felt like it was swelling out of your chest. You felt so happy. Then you remembered Billy, how he’d never know and never see his daughter, and that familiar, comfortable ache settled over your bones again.

The group took you out to eat after the appointment, you all laughing, throwing out baby girl names, and talking about plans for her future. It meant the world to you how genuinely excited all of your friends were.

By the 7th month of pregnancy, Steve might as well have moved into your house, because he was there all the time. There was still nothing romantic between you, but he slept in your bed, and you loved the way he would hold you at night, his front pressed against you and hand splayed out over your pregnant belly protectively. It was innocent, but it made you feel less alone. You had spent many nights after Billy’s death jolting awake at night from nightmares, feeling like you were free falling through the emptiness.

By month 8, Steve surprised you with a small but cozy two bedroom apartment for the three of you. You had no idea he had even been making plans to move out with you, the gesture catching you completely off guard. Already an emotional mess from the pregnancy and your never ending grief, you had cried, which made Steve panic and think he did something wrong. But really, you couldn’t believe how sweet he was, how much he loved you and the baby already.

Steve, Robin, Nancy, Max, and Dustin helped you set up the nursery. You made a day out of it. There was a lot of sweating and arguing setting up the crib and dresser, mostly between Steve and Dustin, but it all came together. You were shooed out of the room as they opened the windows and painted the walls a pale pink before moving the furniture to their spots.

You nested over the next couple of weeks, and the nursery really started to come together. There was a rocking chair in the corner next to her bookshelf already stocked with baby books. There was shelving attached to the walls, filled with stuffed animals, a framed ultrasound photo, a framed picture of you and Billy.

You even had a wall hanging made with her name to put on the wall, but you kept that hidden in the closet for now, wanting her name to be a surprise for everyone.

Baby Girl was all set now, really, the only thing left was for her to make her arrival.

You had been in your pajamas, watching a movie with Steve one night when you were 38 weeks pregnant. You didn’t make it out of your pajamas very often anymore. You felt like a house at this point, you couldn’t even stand without Steve’s help. You dealt with a lot of back pain in your third trimester, your doctor said the baby was most likely laying on a nerve. Little brat. Thankfully Steve was always there, ready to help however he could, unless he was at work.

You rubbed a hand over your large belly, feeling your baby girl moving beneath your palm. You thought of Billy again, as you always did. You wondered if he could see you somehow, if he knew that you and his baby were okay, that she was about to be here and how you’d never missed him quite as badly as you have lately. Steve was great, but you would have given anything to be going through this with Billy like you were supposed to.

“Can you help me up? I have to go to the bathroom,” you asked Steve with a sigh, hating feeling so helpless. You didn’t like relying on people to this degree, not at all. You had pretty much been assigned an around the clock babysitter over the past few weeks. Someone from the friend group was always here if Steve wasn’t, and you suspected he did that on purpose.

“Of course,” Steve said, standing without hesitation. He held out his hand for you and pulled you to your feet. You made it up with great effort, but at least you were finally up.

Steve sat back down in the recliner as you started moving your aching body towards the small bathroom down the hall. As you were almost halfway there, you felt it - a huge gush, and you froze in place.

“Uh- um, Steve??” you said, panic in your voice.

“What?” Steve asked, his head snapping in your direction. “Are you- did you just pee yourself?”

You glared at him. “My water just broke.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and he was frozen for a minute. Then he jumped out of his seat, looking frantic like he’d lost his mind and didn’t know where to go first.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit-“

As Steve freaked out, the contractions kicked in for you. You placed a hand on your stomach as you doubled over in pain and cried out, feeling like you were experiencing the worst period cramps of your life.

When Steve noticed, he panicked even harder. “Oh god-“

Steve slapped himself in the face. He had to pull himself together. This is what you had both been preparing for for months, and now it was happening, and he could do this.

He sprinted into the bedroom, grabbing the overnight bags you had already packed. There was a big one for you, a smaller one filled with Steve’s things, and one for the baby.

When Steve ran back out into the living room, he found you holding onto the back of the couch for dear life, breathing through a contraction just like the two of you had practiced in the birthing classes.

“Good, good, you’re doing amazing sweetheart,” Steve said, running a hand through his messy hair. “You think you can get downstairs and into the car with me?”

You held up a finger, telling him to wait as you rode out the last of this contraction. When the pain faded, you let out a long exhale. “Yes. Let’s just go before another one comes on.”

Steve carried all three bags in one arm as he put his other one around you, helping you out of the apartment and down the stairs. Another contraction hit halfway down the stairs, and Steve had to stand there with you, making sure you didn’t collapse and go toppling down the damn stairs. They were coming fast now, you both noticed, and that made him feel like he was going to panic again, but he pushed the feeling down deep. He breathed along with you, coaching you as he had learned in class. He had paid attention. At least he felt like he could be somewhat helpful.

When it was over, he got you the rest of the way down the stairs, helping you into the car and buckling you in himself. He tossed the bags in the back and then he was sprinting to the driver’s side.

Steve drove to the hospital fast, speeding up a little every time you had another contraction. He was terrified of the baby being born in his car, him delivering her himself. He shuddered at the thought.

Steve parked as close to the emergency room entrance as he could get, running inside like a madman to grab a wheelchair and wheel it out to you. He got you settled into it, grabbing all your bags and pushing you inside quickly, but a little less insane this time since he didn’t want to throw you out of the chair.

You received a cervical check in the ER, and it was determined you were already 7cm dilated. Things were moving extremely fast. Your head was spinning, and Steve looked like he might pass out.

They got you up and into a delivery room immediately. You were offered the epidural, but you said no, you wanted to see if you could make it without it - this is a decision you would regret soon.

At some point, the pain went from intense to unbearable. You screamed out, tears streaming down your cheeks, as the contractions got more and more intense until you felt like your body was literally splitting in half.

“I want the epidural,” you begged, and the nurses looked at each other. You didn’t like that look.

“We’ll have to do another cervical check first,” one of them said gently, and you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The check was performed, and the nurse announced you were already 10cm. It was too late. It was time to push.

You cried like a baby as the delivery room turned into chaos, nurses bustling around, bright lights turning on, the doctor coming in dressed in scrubs, all preparing the room for the birth. It was actually time. Steve never took his eyes off you, brushing your sweaty hair off your forehead.

“I can’t do this,” you cried to him, desperate for someone to give you that goddamn epidural. “It hurts too bad.”

Steve looked at you sympathetically. He wanted to take every bit of your pain away, and he felt powerless that there wasn’t a thing he could do. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” he said, offering you some water. You gratefully drank through the straw, the cool water easing your dry mouth. “You’re almost done. If you came this far, you can finish it.”

His words did bring you a little comfort, although all you really wanted to hear was Yes, here’s the epidural you ordered! You won’t feel any more pain at all!

But of course that was not your reality. The nurse lifted your right leg, and they offered to let Steve hold the other. He looked between you and the nurse awkwardly, looking like he wanted to ask if it was okay, before he wrapped his hands around your leg, holding it back just like the nurse was.

You had never felt so exposed in your life.

“Don’t look down there during all this,” You warned Steve, your expression serious. “You’ll never look at me the same.”

Steve laughed, but he didn’t take your words lightly. He did not look.

The doctor was between your legs now, and if you weren’t in so much pain you probably would have felt embarrassed.

The doctor told you to push with every contraction. The first one came on, and you pushed, screaming loudly, a primal scream ripped straight from your soul. Steve winced, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to. He didn’t care if you broke every bone in his hand, as long as it helped you in some way, as long as he can help you feel better.

You continued to push at the appropriate times, each time feeling like your body was tearing apart. You had never experienced such pain in your life, women weren’t lying when they said this shit is the worst.

“I can see her head, you’re almost there,” the doctor encouraged, and you felt relieved that the end was in sight, but at the same time the pain was only getting worse.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you cried, looking at Steve like there was anything he could do to help you. He felt helpless, and that was the worst thing when all he wanted was to take all your pain away. That’s all he had ever wanted.

“You can,” he told you, padding your forehead with a cold wash cloth. “You’ve come so far. You are almost done. She’s almost here.”

At Steve’s words, you took a deep breath. He was right. You were almost done, and there was no turning back now anyway.

You pushed hard during the next contraction, the doctor encouraging you.

“The head is out,” he announced, “The worst part is over. Just one more good push.”

You had never been relieved to hear something more in your life. You pushed hard for your last push, and you knew she was out. You tried to look down, and then you heard the most beautiful sound. A cry.

The doctor held up a tiny little thing, pale and covered in blood, crying loudly. Your eyes went wide, but you were too exhausted to sit up. The nurses wiped off the baby, and then they were placing her on your chest, this tiny little warm wiggling thing.

You wrapped your arms around her, cuddling her close to your chest, wrapping your hospital gown around her for warmth. A nurse placed a baby blanket over her as well. She settled against your skin like it was where she had always belonged.

She had a head full of blonde or maybe light brown hair. She opened her eyes and looked up at you with bright blue eyes - Billy’s eyes. God, she was his twin. Your heart clenched at the sight, and you felt tears beginning to fall.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of Steve’s arm wrapping around your shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on the baby’s back.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, and you could see the tears falling down his cheeks. “Absolutely perfect.” He smiled softly, running a hand over her soft baby hair.

You wished Billy was here to see her. You wished for that more than anything.

“Little Molly,” you hummed, taking in her perfect features, her soft skin, her tiny fingers and toes. Molly Louise Hargrove.

You could have held her all day, but finally you passed her to Steve, giving him a turn. Steve took her like she was made of porcelain, holding her so tenderly like he was terrified she’d break at the slightest wrong move. He rocked her gently, looking at her with pure love and adoration. He looked like a new dad.

When Steve called your friends the next morning to let them know the baby had arrived, he got hung up on. He looked at the phone, confused, attempting to dial back with no answer.

20 minutes later and your entire friend group was busting through the hospital room door. You laughed, shushing your loud friends as you gestured to the sleeping newborn in your arms.

Surprisingly, they all quieted down, but then they joined together in a soft chorus of Awww! as they leaned over, trying to get a better look at her. You finally announced the name, and everyone loved it.

You motioned for Max to climb onto the bed with you, and she did, careful not to jostle your sore body. She learned over, trying to get a good look at the bundle of blankets in your arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked softly. You had wanted her to be the first.

She looked at you wide eyed, her blue eyes full of emotion. “R-really?”

“Of course. You’re Auntie Max,” you answered her with a gentle smile and she smiled back. She held her arms out, and you carefully laid Molly in them. “Just be careful to support her head,” you added, but the girl was a natural.

Max looked down at her niece, her eyes wide. Tears brimmed at her waterline, and she looked like she had about a million thoughts going through her head at once.

“She looks like Billy,” is what Max finally said, a huff of breathless laughter coming from her lips as tears began to fall. The sight of the younger girl crying made you cry too, it didn’t even matter that you had a whole audience. You felt Steve’s hand rubbing your back.

Every member of the friend group held Molly, even the ones who originally said they didn’t want to (Mike and Will). Molly seemed to adore Robin especially.

Your friends visited until they were kicked out, visiting hours over for the day. Only Steve was allowed to stay, since he was sleeping there.

That night, you smiled softly to yourself as you watched Steve in the dark of the room. You were supposed to be asleep, but were having a hard time. You watched Steve, who definitely thought you were still asleep, as he paced around the dark room, gently bouncing Molly in his arms.

“You are really the cutest ever, you know,” he muttered lowly to her, like they were having a conversation. “And I love you so much. Did you know that? I may not be your daddy, but I couldn’t love you any more even if I was.”

Your heart felt full as you watched them. Molly was awake, but not a single cry came from her. She was content to be gently walked and bounced and staring up at Steve’s face. She knew his voice. He had talked to her through your belly the whole pregnancy.

“We’re gonna have so much fun. We’re gonna be the best family.” He gently patted her back as he walked with the bundle in his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about your daddy. Billy. He was a hero, you know.”

You wiped away the tears that fell with the back of your hand. You still couldn’t handle a mention of Billy without crying. But your little girl was so loved, which meant everything to you, and you knew Billy would be happy to know she was loved and taken care of, too.

The day you went home from the hospital, you and Steve bickered over how the infant car seat worked. You snatched the instructions back and forth, both desperately trying to figure out how the contraption worked. Finally Molly was settled in her seat, safely and cozily strapped in, and it really wasn’t that hard to begin with.

A nurse pushed you to the hospital entrance while Steve walked ahead, carrying the baby carrier. You could see Molly peacefully snoozing in her seat as he walked.

Steve got the car seat settled into the back of the car, and then he was helping you into the passenger seat, mindful of how sore you still were. You felt like a stranger in your own body, but you knew all this weirdness would pass.

Getting home was surreal. Entering the apartment as a family of three finally. Steve carried the car seat around the whole apartment, giving Molly the grand tour. It wasn’t much to see, but it was home.

Your eyes caught sight of the framed photo of you and Billy sitting on the living room table. You thought about how things would be different if he were here. You imagined Billy holding Molly, meeting her for the first time, getting to be her dad. You had to shake the thoughts away before they consumed you again.

You knew you would miss Billy for the rest of your life. Especially seeing Molly every day, you were sure she would only look more like Billy as she grew up. But you had built a family here. Even with all the tragedy, you had your baby girl, and you had Steve. You were grateful for the love that surrounded you, even when all you could see was darkness.

[felonytaxevasion]

Vicky Amy Costume Concept Dump Where Canon Goes To Die

2008, Glory Girl: simple outfit Vic got to pick to use for practice and maybe minor crime fighting. Custom accessories like shoes and her crown but main body of the costume is modified off the rack pieces.

2009/2010, Glory Girl: custom commissioned dress. Hair is loose and fabrics are nicer. Looks better on camera. Vic started bleaching her hair to be platinum blonde over natural blonde

2011, Glory Girl: A second commissioned outfit, this time made working with Victoria alongside the professional designer. More dramatic more iconic.

2016, Antares?: casual wear for fighting crime on the down low. One of Vics only costumes to feature a mask

2016, Antares Part Deux: Made with Crystal, Sveta, Weld, Ashley, and other Breakthrough too. Same logo placement as Glory Girl. Doesn't notice the irony

2016, Antares two 9/11s away from putting on the strap: fully buying into the MCU over designed leather panelling garbage costumes. It looks bad but Vic thinks it looks great. Took 0 input from anyone else

2008/2009/2010, Panacea: similar to Glory Girl this costume was made from repurposed mass market clothes, lightly customized to have Amy's emblem. Amy liked this costume :)

2010, Panacea: had a custom dress made to match Glory Girl. Hated it and would only wear it for official press purposes while still wearing her old costume to work. Looked really uncomfortable the whole time she wore it. Tripped over her heels during an interview once and Carol never made her wear it again

2011, Panacea: Her cloak and scarf :). Born from a combination Carol frustrated by her refusal to acclimate to her matching outfit with Vic and Amy's own anxiety leading her to want a place to hide while doing cape business

2016, Red Queen: there's nothing she does in canon where she would wear this so hold my hand and walk into the pretend zone ok. Designed by Marquis, matches him and is mainly for effect as she attends his Villainous Business with him. Her cane is for fashion but it is also made of bone matter so that if she is separated from her papa he can use it to stab people to protect her from a distance

2016, Red Queen: this is Amy Dallon getting so visibly lost in the sauce it's scaring people. Amy doesn't dress like this so when she walks out with Bianca in this dress and cape it's meant to freak out everyone who knew her and visually signify how far she is fallen

2016, Red Queen Culmination Of Her Villain Arc: meant to match Vic's terrible MCU suit. Visual representation of them at their absolute worst. Great outfit for Amy to wear during a TV appearance where she declares she's releasing more titans and or Earth Shin will refuse to help the other Earths. Modified from either her dad's or Biancas closet

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (8/20)

I'm woke up in the middle of the night I thought: "why not?"

So, here we are...

The chapter is large, so, you're welcome and sorry for the cliffhanger Lmao 💕😂

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy and cliffhanger

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem reader

Summary: Agatha has strange ways of apologizing

Gambit

noun

1. an opening in which a player makes a sacrifice, typically of a pawn, for the sake of some compensating advantage.

You peeked through the peephole and your heart stopped for a full second.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Agatha Harkness.

Wearing informal clothes. No makeup, with that unreadable look as always in her eyes.

You opened the door.

“What are you doing here?”

She looked at you for a moment that lasted too long, as if the question didn’t matter.

Or as if the answer would set you on fire.

“I need to talk to you.”

She said it without really looking at you, and you were sure that if she could, she’d be wearing sunglasses to hide behind.

“Does it have to be now? It’s really late and—”

“It has to be now.”

She emphasized the last word like someone crossing a line they shouldn’t. 

You held your breath for a second.

Agatha Harkness. At your door. At night. Wearing a white shirt and sweatpants, with something about her off. Like the emotional zipper had split open somewhere and she hadn’t noticed yet.

You couldn’t stop staring at her eyes. That green-blue that always seemed to calculate everything with surgical precision—but now, they hesitated.

They trembled.

Searching for something even she didn’t know how to name.

“Okay…” you said, opening the door a little wider. “Let’s go outside then.”

She nodded and turned around, her steps slower than usual.

You closed the door behind you, the silence in the hallway hanging like an electric wire.

Carol was inside, waiting and you just wanted to get this over with before she showed up and made a scene.

“It’s polite to let a guest into your home.” She said, arms crossed, looking totally grumpy.

Oh, God.

Agatha Harkness was a fucking drama queen.

And while that was more adorable than you’d ever admit, you sighed, too tired for this.

“What do you want, Agatha? It’s almost midnight and… I had a long day.”

She looked at you for a moment. A long, long moment. Silence reigned, and all that was left between you was the howl of cold air in the hallway.

“I… I came to apologize.” She finally said after a few more seconds.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Not because she was wrong, but because Agatha Harkness didn’t do apologies like this. You knew that. She was flawless, precise, surgically composed in everything she said.

Except now.

She looked small under the dead hallway light. Shrinking into herself, like she didn’t know what to do with her arms, or her eyes, or the weight of being here.

“Wow,” you whispered, genuinely. “That is… unexpected.”

She scoffed quietly. “I didn’t… I don’t know why I said those things. I mean, I do, but… not like that. Not that way.”

“You dumped a thousand demands on me with an insane deadline,” you pointed at her. “That’s abusive, you know.”

“I know, fuck.” She snapped.

You looked at her for a second, and the vulnerability in her was almost absurd.

She, who swallowed men alive with half a sentence. She, who made investors compete for five minutes of her time.

And now here she was… battling her own pride, trying to get back control of something she clearly didn’t understand anymore.

She shrank a little more, like she was trying to fit into the space between her own collapsing certainties.

You smiled. Just a small smile, but real. “You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.” Agatha said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight.

“You are.”

Her jaw tightened, clenched hard, like she was trying to hold onto a rehearsed speech that had already vanished.

Too bad for her, you were too stubborn for your own good and too good at reading what people tried to hide.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know?” You continued, voice gentler now. “You could’ve just sent an email, or ignored me completely, like you usually do.”

“I tried,” she admitted, her gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “But… I couldn’t sleep.”

You tilted your head. “You came here because you couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” she replied way too fast. Then she exhaled. “Yes. I don’t know. I… I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

The confession landed between you like a crystal glass shattering on the floor.

You had never seen Agatha admit she didn’t know something. It was like watching a mountain tremble. Like watching fire hesitate before it burned.

She ran a hand over her face, breathing deep, trying to clear her head.

“It’s just… This is all so wrong.”

And it kind of was.

Your relationship had never been fully professional.

If first impressions were what stuck, then yours would be… Agatha kissing you. Agatha taking your fingers inside her very well. Agatha sending you away.

It started wrong.

But it felt so good.

You chose to ignore the growing pulse between your legs.

“I know.” You said, letting your shoulders drop in understanding.

“And this can’t happen again.” She said more to herself than to you.

“I know.” You agreed, even though your heart ached.

Agatha went silent. Not an empty silence, but one full of everything you weren’t allowed to say.

She shifted slightly, body leaning forward then pulling back, like she was fighting the urge to come closer. A small gesture, but desperately human.

“I’m not this person,” she said suddenly, her voice low but full of anguish. “I’m not someone who loses control.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know that too.” You whispered, with a half smile.

Her eyes met yours and for that moment, nothing else existed in the world but that look.

As if time had frozen in that cold corridor. As if every breath was measured, and every heartbeat was a choice.

She didn’t say a word.

But you saw it.

In the way she looked at you. In the way her eyes dropped to your lips and flicked back up with guilt. In the way her hands clenched into fists, trying to hold back something that had already broken free.

And for that moment, you forgot about Carol and the impossible expectations.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, your voice warm, like melted butter.

Maybe if you were inside, in private… she’d finally do something, maybe she’d kiss you…

She hesitated, looking at the sliver of light from the door. 

An invitation.

“You’re not alone in there.” She murmured, avoiding your gaze.

Oh. Right. Carol. You’d completely forgotten.

“She’s just… my roommate.”

Agatha didn’t reply, but her expression was an open book written in wounded pride.

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “I came here to say that… this… This can’t happen again. What happened. That—”

She couldn’t even name it.

“That was real, Agatha,” you said gently. “Even if it was wrong.”

She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, there was pain. Confusion and desire.

“You’re a fucking distraction.” She said. But her voice sounded more like a confession than an accusation.

“And a problem,” you smiled, bittersweet. “You’ve said that before.”

She took a deep breath. Her chest rising and falling sharply. She wanted you—you knew it. She came here for you. Because she couldn’t sleep, probably thinking about that night at the bar.

Then, without another word, she reached into a bag you hadn’t even noticed she was carrying and pulled out a small white box.

“Open it.” She said, handing it over like it meant nothing.

You took it.

A brand new iPhone. Still sealed.

You looked up, surprised. “Agatha… this is—”

“—perfectly appropriate,” she cut in. “If we’re going to be working together, I need you to be reachable. All the time.”

She talked like a boss.

But her eyes… they weren’t boss-like at all.

"Why not just give me your number like a normal person?" You asked with a crooked smile, suspicious. "Instead of showing up at my door at midnight with a new phone?"

She hesitated. For a moment, she almost seemed to be asking herself the same thing.

Then she looked away.

"Because it’s appropriate." She said without looking at you, making you smirk.

"Appropriate. Appropriate. Appropriate. You love saying that when everything you do is the complete opposite."

You teased, and watched as Agatha’s eyes burned with something as they locked onto yours, like they could devour you. Like she was speechless or worse—realizing what you meant just now.

She didn’t answer. In fact, silence fell between you again, heavy like a blanket neither of you dared to pull off.

Agatha gripped her purse strap tighter than necessary. Her fingers tense, nearly white.

Deciding to break the silence that was already getting under your skin and her intense gaze that gave you chills, you turned the new iPhone in your hands, the plastic wrap still intact.

"This number is just between us, then?"

She nodded, eyes back on you.

"Yes. Exclusive."

You gave a half-smile.

"Ugh. How intimidating, Governor."

"I’d call it practical."

"And I’d call it personal."

She didn’t reply.

You took a step back, your hand brushing the doorknob like your body needed the support not to slip on everything this night was turning into.

"Agatha…" you said her name like it was a question, a prayer, a dare.

You swallowed hard. Your tongue heavy in your mouth with the weight of the things you wanted to say. Maybe a “stay.” Maybe a “do you really wouldn’t like to come in?” Or maybe words were just bullshit and you should send it all to hell and kiss her already.

Fuck.

She was here just for you.

 But all you said was a: “Good night.”

And once again, she looked like she had to convince herself to leave.

She turned slowly. Took three steps down the hallway, her hand nearly touching the railing, then stopped.

“Text me once you set up the phone.”

You stared at her back for a moment, heart pounding. Honestly, you weren’t even sure how it was still beating.

“Will do, Governor.”

She froze for a second. Maybe she’d say something, maybe she’d ask to stay… But she kept walking without another word.

Back inside, Carol was on the couch watching some questionable MTV reality show, as usual.

“Your boss is a tyrant,” she said, unprompted. “First she gives you homework to take home, and now she shows up at your house?”

“I know, right?” you murmured, trying to hide the box from her view. “I… I’m going to bed, Carol.”

“Hmm. Yeah. After tonight, I think you really should.”

“Good night.” You ran to your room.

You shut the door behind you, resting your forehead against the wood for a second like you could unload all your feelings or the ones you weren’t supposed to feel—right there.

With trembling hands and a heart pounding too loud, you unwrapped the new phone.It was black. Sleek and intimidating, like everything that came from her.

You turned it on.

The screen lit up like the beginning of a new era.

Set up. Connect. Activate.

A new number. Clean, like a well-kept secret.

And then it appears—the only saved contact.

Agatha Harkness

Private number. Exclusive.

You bit your lip.

Sat on the bed, legs twitching with nervous energy.

Should you text her now? Wouldn't it be better to wait until morning?

Fuck.

Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Sighed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart was beating too hard. You closed your eyes and, with a nearly desperate gesture, hit send.

"Phone successfully set up. Ready to be available… all the time ;)”

Your thumb hovered over the power button, but you didn’t have the courage. Your stomach turned, and suddenly the Chinese food you thought you needed felt like a mistake.

Two seconds later, the three little dots appeared.

She was typing.

Then they stopped.

You held your breath.

The dots came back.

One more second…

And the reply came.

"Good night, girl."

That was it.

No emojis. No added pleasantries.

Just a short sentence.

And somehow, it was so Agatha.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Girl. The way she always said it… like a warning. A reminder, a line she wasn’t supposed to cross.

You held the phone a moment longer, feeling heat rise in your chest. Your mind already spinning with images you shouldn’t be remembering.You two had agreed on the terms.

But the throbbing between your legs made it clear the emotional overload she left in you was very real.

You didn’t text back. Just wrapped yourself deeper in the blankets, like that could somehow quiet the storm inside.

A dumb little smile on your face.

Not because of the reply, but because of what wasn’t said.

On the screen, her name remained.

Agatha Harkness.

As if you were each other’s secret.

And in many ways, you were.

[...]

The morning sun filtered lazily through the auditorium windows, lighting up scribbled notebooks, half-washed coffee cups, and students half-dead after the second lecture on bodies and sexuality.

You were there. Physically. But your mind floated somewhere between socio-political theory and a certain governor with sly, sideways eyes.

Billy was doodling in the corner of his page with a purple pen, when you felt it.

The vibration.

Your other phone. The new one.

Still in your backpack.

It was instant. Your body reacted before your mind could. A jolt in your stomach. Trembling fingers. A heartbeat picking up like it knew who it was, no need to look.

You tried to play it cool, because it was just a message.

But holy shit—Agatha was texting you.

The Agatha Harkness.

You pulled your bag into your lap and discreetly unlocked the screen.

There it was.

Good morning.

Friday is the investor dinner at the Fairmont Hotel.

High-profile guests will be present. Wear something appropriate.

Dry, direct, cold and Completely inappropriate for how she made you feel, just like she’d touched you with those words.

You read it again.

And again.

Appropriate.

You rolled your eyes so hard. That word was starting to get on your nerves.

But the fact that she could’ve just emailed it or told someone from the team to pass it along, made you smile.

She wanted to text you herself. From the phone she bought just for you. She wanted to say it, already picturing the dinner.

You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head like she could see you—sitting among a sea of bored students, about to flirt with the future governor of the state.

You typed slowly, savoring the audacity.

Good morning to you, Governor.

Is “appropriate” the word of the week?

You stared at the screen, waiting for the dots.

But nothing.

Maybe she was busy. Reading reports. Or trying not to think about last night—the way her long fingers trembled when she handed you the box with your secret phone.

You licked your lips, waiting.

Appropriate is the minimum expected at public events.

You know that.

Oh. Her sense of humor was as cold as her ice-blue eyes.

You smiled, putting the phone down for a moment. Pretended to pay attention to how young women have married early in a conservative culture and all statistics datas for that while your classmates mumbled something about what Freud would say about that.

But your mind was elsewhere.

The phone buzzed again.

But if you're unsure about what to wear, I can suggest something.

Or go with you.

You stopped breathing for a moment. Read the message over and over again—and still didn’t believe it. 

The first part sounded like her. The last? Not at all. 

You swallowed hard, heat crawling up your neck, your cheeks. Your heart pounding like crazy. Your legs fidgeting under the desk.

Go with her? You couldn’t even picture that happening. 

If this was a game... she had just moved a dangerous piece.

Will you come with me to the store? Your schedule must be far too busy for that, Governor.

Three dots.

Maybe I want to make sure you look appropriate.

Class ended without you hearing a word from the professor or anyone else, really. All you could focus on were the signals your body was sending.

You didn’t reply. You locked the phone the moment you saw Billy approaching, eyes full of curiosity.

“Okay,” he said, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Whose phone is that?” 

You tried to act casual, shoving the device into your backpack like it was a stolen cookie. “I bought it. It's a... a work phone.”

Billy let out a low whistle, overly suspicious. “Uh-huh. A brand new iPhone? You could have bought a second-hand one, but instead, you let some MILF take care of that, didn’t you?”

 “Billy!

He laughed, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Babe, you know I support all your life choices. Including being the sugar baby of a high-powered political Mommy.”

He winked, teasing.

And you froze.

This… this wasn’t really happening. But you weren’t being that obvious, were you?

Sugar Mommy.

The word lingered, hovered and echoed inside your head with a sinful taste.

First it was the perfume. Now the phone. Her constant presence. The subtle commands. Her voice, low and demanding appropriate behavior from you.

Mommy…

You shivered. Not from cold, but from something deeper—a recognition you didn’t want to have.

Billy was already walking down the hallway, distracted by his own phone, but you stood there one second longer, feeling the word echo inside you like an uncomfortable secret.

The kind you try to hide even from yourself.

[...]

You walked into the store with discomfort dripping down your spine.

The racks full of expensive dresses stared back at you, like they knew you didn’t have a cent to your name—and yet, here you were.

Because Agatha Harkness had told you to.

And when Agatha says something... you obey.

Mostly.

The saleswoman guided you with a trained smile and a quick glance up and down. You just smiled back, like someone who knew exactly what they were doing, even if you didn’t.

The dress was silk, ivory-colored. A soft V-neck, cinched waist, hem just below the knees.

Minimalist.

But if you turned around and bent just slightly, the curve of your lower back appeared in a way that was… delightfully strategic.

Simple, yet tempting.

You adjusted the mirror camera carefully. A little tilted. Perfect lighting. One arm raised, playing with your hair like a distraction, exposing the bare skin along your side.

A casually rehearsed pose.

Appropriate enough?

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself and stood there. Alone in the fitting room, heart pounding in your throat, heat between your thighs, and the echo of a single word.

Appropriate.

Then finally, finally—three dots and a reply.

Looks cheap.

You swallowed hard. That wasn’t what you were expecting. But of course—it was Agatha. A woman of taste. Of status. She’d know cheap fabric from a mile away.

You typed:

It’s what I can afford.

Simple and honest.

And the reply came quickly.

Pick something. I’ll cover it.

Oh God.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head against the fitting room wall.

Billy had joked. But now, his words echoed with a bitter truth:

'Sugar mommy vibes.'

You didn’t want this.

This wasn’t about money at all. But... there was something about being taken care of by her. Something that messed with your gut, that throbbed between your legs.

The perfume.

The phone.

Now the dress.

Mommy.

The word sounded like a whisper against the padded walls of the fitting room.

And you didn’t respond.

You just stared at your reflection and, for the first time, wondered what exactly was happening between the two of you.

Is this really necessary? 

Your whole body reacted. A shiver ran from your neck to the base of your spine.

Her words hit you like a hot breath against your ear. You bit your lip, legs clenching together, as if that could contain whatever was blooming inside you.

You stared at the screen, jaw tight.

Pick.

Like it was that simple.

Your thumb hovered.

Then stopped.

You took a deep breath.

Was this what she wanted? For you to depend on her? To become just another one of the many orbiting her world, grateful for golden crumbs?

You know I can’t accept that. I don’t take charity.

Three dots appeared almost instantly and stayed there, like she was picking each word with silver tweezers.

Don’t be foolish, girl. I’m not offering charity. I’m making sure you represent my name well.

Your stomach flipped.

She actually meant it… wanted you to accept. Wanted to see you in something beautiful. As if this wasn’t even about you, but about her.

And that’s where it got complicated.

You gripped the phone harder than necessary, like it was a tightrope strung between you both.

I’ll choose, but I’ll pay you back every cent, Agatha.

No justifications. No verbal surrender.

Just the weight of your pride, wrapped in future promises.

You expected a dry response. Maybe a "we’ll see."

But what came was a:

As long as it’s appropriate. 

You closed your eyes, biting your lip to keep from smiling. She’d been a smartass this whole time, and she was driving you insane on purpose.

The anger, the attraction, the challenge—they all burned the same now.

Appropriate.

You didn’t even know what that word meant in her mouth anymore.

You walked through the store with feline steps, eyeing the dresses differently now.

Armani. Versace. Elie Saab. Every rack seemed to glow under the boutique’s diffused lighting.

Perfect.

If Agatha wanted expensive, you’d give her expensive. She wanted representation? Fine! You’d make damn sure to be unforgettable.

The third dress you tried on felt like it had been molded onto your skin. A deep wine red, almost black, with heavy silk fabric and a neckline that was more a promise than a cut.

The thigh-high slit climbed like a bold whisper.

The fitting room mirror couldn’t hide the way your whole body reacted to the moment—especially with the cold air brushing your nipples, teasing the thin fabric with no shame.

You bit your lip, gave yourself one last look.

Armani. Appropriate enough, Governor?

The photo went. And you stood there, still in the dress, heart hammering, waiting for a sign.

Waiting for her to criticize the price, to scold you for extravagance.

But it didn’t come.

You checked your phone like a maniac.

No reply. 

And time stretched.

Your heart pounded with pure anxiety.

And then…

Three dots appeared.

They lingered.

Like she was holding back.

Reading. Watching. Feeling.

Your throat went dry. 

The dots vanished and you cursed under your breath, biting your lip too hard.

She deleted.

Rewrote.

Then it came, short, sharp.

And so very Agatha.

More than enough. I like it. Take it.

You laughed loudly. This woman was unbelievable. You bit your lip again to keep from grinning like a complete idiot at your phone.

You don’t reply.

You decide you deserve a moment to breathe—after all, she made you suffer through those minutes of waiting.

Sitting on the bench inside the fitting room, the dress still clinging to your body, the soft light highlighting your exposed skin, you felt everything at once—anger, desire, pride, confusion.

And worse, the unbearable urge to say yes to all of it.

[...]

Friday arrived in the blink of an eye. The driver opened the car door, and Seattle’s cold air embraced you like an elegant sigh.

The Fairmont Hotel looked like a palace that night. Illuminated facades, red carpets, discreet flashes.

You took a deep breath. Your heels tapped against the marble like part of a soundtrack.

Inside, it was a spectacle.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like artificial constellations. A castle made entirely of champagne flutes rose at the center, gleaming under golden light like a monument to luxury.

You’d seen things like this in movies. Never in real life, for sure. 

Your fingers nervously slid over the silk of your dress. You moved carefully, aware of every curve, every glance.

The feel of that expensive fabric against your skin was a constant reminder of where you were and who had put you there.

From across the room, you saw Jennifer.

Surrounded by campaign directors and key investors. She smiled with the ease of someone who knew she was in complete control.

But when her eyes landed on you, her gaze stuck.

She raised an eyebrow. The smile was widened and surprised.

“Armani?” She asked, looking you up and down through perfectly curled lashes.

You just smiled—a small, elegant smile.

“The Governor demands excellence, doesn’t she?” you replied lightly, tilting your head just a little.

Oh God.

And how she did.

You were wearing the dress she bought. You smelled of white leather and vanilla—Cuir Béluga, the scent Agatha had insisted on.

And it made you feel so… deliciously owned.

That was it.

It wasn’t just a dress, a perfume, or a stupid phone.

It was the bitter, sweet taste of belonging to someone—without her ever having said it aloud. Every detail about you had passed the scrutiny of her cold, exacting gaze.

In some sick, twisted way, that turned you on and made you feel all gross down there.

You were being seen by her.

Woven for her.

And there was something deeply fucked up about it.

The dress cost more than you had in your bank account. The perfume was a luxury you hadn’t even heard of a week ago. But you wore both like a second skin—like silk and vanilla instructions. 

As if daring Agatha to look again and to want more you, to control more you.

You wanted her attention.

All of it.

Exclusively.

You wanted her to see you as something no one else was allowed to touch. 

A private piece of art.

And that feeling…

It was twisted.

Obsessive.

Pure fascination.

You wanted to be the most beautiful object in the room—the most dangerous, too.

And you wanted Agatha to know it to suffer for it. Because if you couldn’t happen, then let her burn wanting it.

Jennifer let out a low laugh. “Well, darling… looks like you understood the briefing better than most people here.”

You noticed the glances starting to turn your way. You were being watched, but for the first time, not like some invisible intern.

You were a mystery.

A woman who smelled like leather, dressed in luxury, with something in her eyes no one there could quite decode.

Jennifer showed you off.

Paraded you from table to table as her “latest secret weapon.” You smiled as you should—polished, poised.

But inside, everything in you was pulsing. 

Burning.

With each new introduction, you scanned the room with sharp eyes.

You spotted Steve Rogers with his blonde wife and kids, looking like an ad for family values. Bruce Banner was deep in debate with a pharmaceutical executive.

White, rich and straight men. 

Too secure in their roles, too trapped in their egos to notice the fire you were barely containing.

But then...

You saw her.

Agatha.

The world slowed down for a second, like in those stupid romance films you used to mock.

Now here you were, wearing an expression that probably made you look like some obsessed lunatic.

Which, well, you were when it came to her.

She walked through the ballroom like she owned it. Like the chandeliers, the Persian rug, the crystal flutes had been placed there solely to reflect her presence.

Dressed to kill.

All in black. A perfectly tailored suit hugged her waist with surgical precision. A deep V neckline called your name. Heels sharp and high, striking the marble like threats.

God.

You were salivating.  

How could you not?

She looked like a damn panther entering the room. Cold, dangerous, fully in control and yet hers were the hungriest eyes of the night.

For a second, you forgot where you were.

Forgot who you were.

You wanted to cross the room like a bomb made of desire and tear off that suit with your teeth.

Fall to your knees right there. But you held yourself back.

Of course you did.

Because you were nothing.

But the strange thing was... you didn’t seem like nothing to her.

To her, you looked like a problem.

A mystery.

A secret made to be unraveled, layer by layer, by the right hands.

And there was only one person in that entire room with hands capable of undressing you without touching you.

Your eyes met for just one second.

And she stopped walking.

The only thing the two of you did was look.

But it was enough to set the ground between you on fire.

She smiled.

Barely.

Only with her lips.

Just for you.

You smiled back.

And the world started spinning again.

Slower.

Hotter.

You didn’t know if she wanted to punish you for being this beautiful… Or if she wanted to reward you.

But you knew one thing: She was coming.

And you were no longer in control of your body.

Your legs trembled in those heels, barely holding you up. Your clit throbbed with a growing pulse that made you moan softly, pressing your thighs together.

Alcohol.

You needed something strong.

Agatha drew nearer, like a gravitational force. Greeting everyone in her path with that voice that always sounded like she knew more than anyone else.

You felt the air disappear from your lungs. The whole time, people spoke to her.

She smiled. Nodded.

But her eyes—that impossible blue-green—stayed on you. Rubbing over every inch of your exposed skin with a gaze only she possessed.

You tried to keep your smile, trying not to bite your lip. But the heat inside you was so intense, you were sure you were sweating in a refrigerated ballroom.

And then, the spell broke.

Tony Stark appeared. Of course he did. One of the major investors. The mayor of Seattle. A whirlwind of energy and charm with a stupidly perfect quiff.

Bourbon in one hand, arrogance in the other.

“There she is! Our future governor!” He announced, like she was an old friend or a fucking trophy.

Before you could blink, he had already grabbed her arm, pulling her away, speaking too loud, laughing too loud. Effortlessly placing himself between her and you.

Agatha hesitated, for a split second. A single misstep in her heel.

And looked back.

At you.

You met her eyes, clearly hating this.

But fuck…

Who were you to feel anything toward her?

A nothing. Right?

And yet… Something in her eyes said she didn’t want to go.

But it was.

Because she too was a prisoner of her own name, her own image. 

And you? A forbidden distraction.

You turned, still trembling, and walked to the bar like someone fleeing a fire.

“A Black Rose.” You said to the bartender, who nodded.

The glass was placed in front of you with a soft, elegant clink. A faint aroma of bourbon and cognac into the air before you even took the first sip.

You were just about to bring the drink to your lips when a soft voice, low and absurdly self-assured, appeared at your side:

“A rose for a rose.”

You turned.

Rio Vidal, President of the Chamber.

Fuck.

She was stunning.

Beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Like those carnivorous flowers that lure you in with scent and kill with a touch.

Her skin looked like polished gold and satiny.

Her eyes were large, brown, lined in sharp black that accentuated both her cutting intelligence and the elegant boredom of someone who’d seen too much to be impressed by anything here.

But there was curiosity in them.

Directed at you.

Rio looked at you like she was trying to figure out what exactly Jennifer Barkley had dug up. Or maybe… what Agatha Harkness had chosen.

You tried to hold your posture. Held the glass delicately, like nothing was out of place inside you. 

But it was, everything was.

She leaned in, wearing a red two-piece suit that looked straight out of Vogue. Young, powerful, connected and, apparently, very interested.

“So you’re Barkley’s newest secret weapon,” she said, not smiling, but her voice was laced with an irony that flirted with charm. “I confess I expected something a bit more… institutional. Less Armani, more H&M.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I expected the top seats in office to be less… cinematic.”

She laughed. A short laugh, but real. And she stayed there… watching you, for a long moment.

You felt the heat rise up your neck. Her gaze wasn’t like Agatha’s. There was no restraint, no judgment. It was ravenous. Rio was deciding whether she wanted to play with you.

And all signs pointed to yes.

But before she could toss another quip, a short woman with her hair in a low bun approached and whispered something in her ear, and Rio nodded.

“It’s good to see young women like you claiming your space,” she said. “Welcome, darling. Enjoy the party.”

She picked up her drink, raised it slightly in parting, and walked away.

My god…

Do all these women really have to be so hot and powerful?

You downed the rest of the Black Rose in one gulp. The flavor burned your throat. A burn that didn’t match what was happening inside you.

You were dizzy, but not just from the alcohol.

It was something deeper.

More dangerous.

A volatile mix of desire, resentment, and fear of drowning in this world of perfect women—rich, confident, high-ranking, full of secrets and sharp teeth behind charming smiles.

The music softened. The lights shifted. Movement on stage, a mic being tapped.

The host stepped up, began speaking, listing names, parties, polite thank-yous.

You didn’t hear any of it.

You were too busy staring into the bottom of your empty glass, feeling your lipstick wear off your lips.

Another drink appeared and you didn't needed asked for this one this time. Some men started giving speeches—the usual kind.

Talks of progress and family, national pride and moral duty, all the crap you’d heard your whole life in a hundred different tailored-suit variations.

Steve Rogers stepped up. A monument to outdated masculinity. He was applauded, loudly.

You didn’t clap, of course.

You were too busy trying not to think. Trying not to look.

Banner came next. Softer, more measured. Still cut from the same cloth. You were halfway through your second drink, and your legs were starting to tingle.

And then…

Agatha Harkness was announced.

And the world seemed to hold its breath.

You couldn’t describe it, not even drunk. Because alcohol strips the filters away and leaves only truth, raw and glittering—like the subtle, dangerous stones on her necklace.

She walked onstage like someone stepping into her own empire. Steady, deliberate steps.

The room fell completely silent. Every eye turned to her and she looked at no one. She simply walked to the center, as if she were the center.

Someone adjusted the mic, and when she spoke… oh God...

“We live in a state that likes to pretend it’s progressive. That boasts its indie coffee shops, electric bikes, its eco friendly façade. But the truth… the real truth… is that our young people are still dying from lack of perspective. Single mothers are still choosing between diapers and rent, and our elected officials…”

A brief, lethal pause.

“…still treat people like statistics.”

A heavy silence followed, but she held it.

Because Agatha knew: silence is also oratory.

“I don’t want to be just another photograph on the governor’s wall. I want to be the woman who pushed until the broken structure finally gave way. I want to build new pillars where the people who hold up the foundation: women, immigrants, the youth, are heard and respected.”

Agatha wasn’t just being heard, she was being listened to. Every comma that left her lips had the room spellbound. Lips you desperately wanted to taste again.

“I’m not here to maintain old deals. I’m here to break obsolete contracts.”

Her hands gripped the sides of the podium. Her eyes glinted, and it wasn’t just the lights.

It was real emotion. Righteous anger. A beauty born of fire within, not the outline without.

It felt like she was speaking to you, like each word was being sewn beneath your skin. Each sentence, a tug between your thighs.

A shiver in your chest, your throat dry. You gripped your glass like it was the only thing keeping you from imploding.

She was brilliant.

And fuck, how you hated her for it.

For making you feel this way. Small, turned on, useless and completely undone.

“They’ll say I’m radical, dangerous and maybe I am. But only to those who’ve profited from the suffering of others. To them, I am a real threat.”

Applause.

Not polite. Not obligatory. It was real. It started slow, then swelled. People rose to their feet, clapping like their hearts were in their hands.

You didn’t clap.

You were trembling.

Because in that packed ballroom, on your second drink—maybe third, in your expensive dress and that suffocating perfume that she’d probably chosen with you in mind… there was one feeling stronger than all the rest.

Lust.

Lust for her.

For that woman who spoke from the gut and still managed to be impossibly elegant.

Who called you foolish over text and now had a room full of grown adults drooling in admiration. Who could destroy a government—or destroy you.

You wanted to kneel.

But instead, you drank. Again. Until the ice hit the bottom.

How dare she?

How dare she be so smart, so beautiful, so right? And still so fucking untouchable and admirable.

You were wrong.

Agatha Harkness is a big deal.

The music was absurdly refined soft strings, a melancholy oboe. The kind of thing that sticks in your ears like perfume on a designer shirt collar.

You rolled your eyes.

Rich people parties suck, the phrase echoed like a mantra, trying to mask what you really felt.

You turned your gaze toward the dance floor and your heart twisted.

Agatha.

Dancing.

With Tony Stark.

His hands were on her hips. Too low to be respectful, too natural to be accidental.

The way he laughed near her ear, like he knew every secret hidden behind that dark lipstick. The way she smiled back—subtle, professional, almost automatic… and yet, she smiled.

Something caught in your throat, a lump that wasn’t physical.

It was wounded pride.

It was jealousy.

It was a sharp sting of rage that didn’t have a name.

You tried to focus on your drink, but you couldn’t. Your eyes kept drifting back, always to her.

And her?

She was spinning.

Black suit, deep neckline, hair streaked with light that framed her face, as strong and unreadable as the self-control she pretended to have.

You knew Agatha well enough from a handful of messages, from a few searing seconds…

You knew she wasn’t comfortable.

Not with Stark.

But she was good at pretending. Too good. Like a woman who could smile through her own funeral.

And that only made you want her more.

You imagined being in his place. Your hands on her hips. Your voice, low and filthy, in her ear, making her lose control.

Your clit throbbed again.

Fuck.

You downed your drink in one go, the alcohol burning your throat reminding at your place—a nothing. But a nothing with a body, with a fucking need.

But you refused.

Slamming the glass on the table, you stood too quickly, feeling the alcohol rush through your veins.

You needed air.

From this. From everything. From her.

You shoved the glass door open too hard, nearly stumbling on your heels as you stepped outside.

The cool air slapped you across the face, but it wasn’t enough.

Not the wind, not the silence, not even the solitude of the small terrace wrapped in warm lights could rip Agatha out of you.

You leaned on the railing, hands trembling.

You had promised.

Promised it would mean nothing. Promised to keep your distance. To stay professional. To keep your dignity.

And yet, here you were.

Drunk on whiskey, on jealousy, on want.

Your mind spinning with images of her dancing with that fucking Stark. His hands, her smile, that look... What the hell kind of look was that?

You bit your lower lip until it almost bled and you hated yourself for feeling so much.

For not being cold like her.

For needing her to see you.

Then you heard it—footsteps. Slow and steady.

She stopped a few paces behind you. The sound of heels ceased, but you didn’t turn.

“Enjoying the view?” Her voice sliced the air like silk wrapped around a blade.

You closed your eyes for a second, feeling the breeze. “I thought you were busy.”

“I was,” she replied, light, almost cynical. “But you vanished. You looked so unsteady.”

You laughed, dry and humorless.

Silence.

She took another step, but you still didn’t look.

The woman was behind you now, close enough that her body heat seeped through the fabric of your dress into your skin.

“How observant,” you replied, still facing away. “But don’t worry, Governor. I’m not your problem. Never was.”

The silence between you turned heavy, thick with everything unsaid.

You turned slightly, finally facing her. She looked perfect, as always.

Rebellious hair, tailored suit that fit like a weapon. But her eyes—her eyes were hard.

Furious.

“Don’t play the martyr with me,” she said, voice low and measured. “You’re my responsibility now. Whether you like it or not.”

You let out a short, sarcastic laugh and stepped closer.

“Oh yeah?” You spat the words like venom. “Your responsibility? Tell me, Agatha! Is that how you take care of what’s yours? Twirling around with some billionaire like a desperate debutante?”

Her jaw clenched.

You hit a nerve.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it?” You pushed further, your blood boiling. “Because it sure as hell feels like it. Like everything between us is a goddamn minefield.”

She narrowed her eyes, like she was barely holding herself together.

“You think this is easy for me?” she whispered, voice taut with tension. “You think I don’t see it? That I don’t feel it?”

You felt it too, and it was overwhelming.

“Then why the fuck do you run?” You snapped, voice cracking, eyes glossing.

Agatha didn’t move.

The warm light of the terrace bathed her face as if the universe had paused, waiting for her answer.

She blinked. Just once, but it was enough.

You saw it.

The wall, that one built with steel and silence—had cracked.

“Because I have to,” she said and her voice wasn’t cold anymore. It was flesh. It was soul. “Because if I don’t pull back... this will become a real problem. And then I’ll ruin us. I’ll ruin you.”

How could you tell her that was exactly what you wanted?

To be hers.

You scoffed under your breath, eyes darting away.

“You can dance with him, but not with me.” Your voice came out wounded, bitter.

Agatha rolled her eyes, exhaustion and nerves painting every line of her face. 

“God... you’re drunk. Completely unhinged.”

Maybe you were. Maybe not.

But right now, you didn’t care.

Ignoring the warning, you stepped forward.

And again.

Until you were so close, the air between you turned electric.

Without asking you wrapped your arms around her neck, pressing yourself into her with reckless need.

“Don’t you think I’m pretty anymore, Governor?” You rubbed against her like a bitch in heat.

Desperate.

Not sure if it was lust or liquor driving you.

“Step away,” Agatha said. But she didn’t move. Her voice came out low, hoarse, like every word burned her throat.“You promised.”

It was almost a plea. 

Almost a warning.

You rested your forehead on her shoulder, lips brushing the heat of her neck. 

“I did promise,” you whispered, voice shaky. “But you were so good up there…”

Your lips grazed her skin again, and both of you shivered.

“You deserve it, Governor,” you kissed her neck, begging. “Just for tonight…”

And that’s when she broke.

Agatha growled like a wounded animal, like she was fighting something bigger than herself.

Suddenly, she grabbed your arm and started walking. You barely kept up, heels catching as you stumbled after her, unsure if you were about to fight or sin.

The elevator felt like a forbidden shrine when the doors closed behind you.

Inside, you kept going.

You pressed into her, needy, ravenous—mouth chasing any patch of skin—while her fingers dug into your hips.

“Behave.” She growled through gritted teeth, trying to hold herself together.

But you could feel it, she was melting.

Then, the ding of the elevator.

The room.

The door barely closed.

Agatha pinned you against it with her whole body. Her scent was a spell. Her heat, a fever.

You panted, unsure where fear ended and relief began. She gripped the back of your neck, holding you still, her eyes burning.

“Just tonight.” She said against your mouth.

And then she took you.

Like someone claiming a secret.

Like someone kissing ruin and tasting salvation.

~*~

Welcome to the Hypocritical World of Agatha Harkness! And I'm sorry... Please, Saturday is right there 🙂

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Daryl Dixon SFW alphabet."

Summary: Daryl Dixon's version of the SFW alphabet with you as a couple.

@artsynana: hii dear, i was thinking, have you ever though about writing some sfw headcanons with daryl? i would love to see something like that written by you🥰🥰

Hey love. Sorry it took me a while to do this, my brain has been out of ideas :( This isn't the best, but I hope you like it! Thanks.

A/N: I sometimes include some excerpts from my stories to give you an idea (don't hate me, I have to promote them haha)

A = Affection (How affectionate is he? How does he show affection?)

In public, Daryl is painfully uncomfortable with displays of affection considering he never knew what it’s like, so he’d just stand by your side, always close, always making sure you’re in his line of sight if he can’t get close. He just… has to know where you are (not possessively, but the idea of ​​losing you is inconceivable). Daryl is a protector, now imagine him with the person he’d want to spend his life with. Maybe cupping your cheek as a quick caress or a kiss on your forehead before either of you has to go on a search for supplements.

Privately Daryl became more accustomed to them until he needed to do it himself.

B = Best friend (What would he be like as a best friend?)

Whether you're the talkative one or the quiet one, or both, the beginning of a friendship would be confusing for Daryl. Having someone Daryl could confide in, someone he could open up to, considering that his whole life he's had to keep quiet or bottle up his own feelings, both good and bad, would be a huge step for him. But like I said, Daryl is a protector, to the point where he'd beat the shit out of anyone who dared to disrespect you (a warning first, of course. His temper is short, sorry, but he's learned to handle it), but disrespecting you in the sense that he feels you're being insulted, threatened, or way before he feels you're in danger.

C = Cuddles (Does he like to cuddle?) (The little spoon)

Glenn helps Carol as Daryl places his arms under your legs and shoulders, lifting you up so he can carry you into the bedroom, but then, a silly thought shines in your mind and pushes out of your lips before you can stop it.

“Did you know Daryl likes being the little spoon?”

Daryl feels the heat rise to his cheeks as everyone stops to stare at him.

“I like it, so what?” He says embarrassed, but trying to keep a straight face so no one would laugh at him.

Daryl would come to love the idea of ​​cuddling too, because for him, feeling HIS person against him, protected even in dreams is comforting because it's the only place he can protect you 100 percent, (I mean, with those strong arms, hehe) Rick or Carol may be the only ones who can tease him when they sense Daryl is somewhat grumpy for not being with you at night due to some runs, telling him not to even think about trying to cuddle up against them. Also because Daryl wasn't a deep sleeper or even didn't sleep at all, maybe that's why feeling the body of the person he loves helps him fall asleep, to feel like he's not alone anymore.

D = Domestic (Does he want to settle down? Like, make him and you a real family)

Daryl would hint (shy and awkward hehe) that it would be nice to have a house of your own, maybe in Alexandria. He did live in a house, yes, but with you, it would be his first home. It would be like giving the child living in him a chance at being loved correctly, too.

E = Ending (If he has to break up with his partner)

It's so hard for someone like Daryl to trust another person, to love another person, that when he is in a relationship, it would be for a long, long time. His whole life, he lived without thinking about the future or having expectations for anything, so if Daryl dared to love you even though he thought you deserved better, or that you could be loved better, he wouldn't break up with you on purpose.

F = Fiancé (How does he feel about commitment?) (What it means to me)

“Why did you come back for the ring?”

As the men keep digging a grave for Tina and the other bodies, Daryl stops to look at Sherry, who’s looking at an empty spot beyond all that pain. She doesn’t look back at him, and just wait for an answer.

"S’ jus’ a ring for ya but it means somethin’ important to me.”

A second later, Sherry finally looks at him.

“What is that?”

Daryl knows a promise can be broken, not by him, but by that dangerous world and how a life can end in a second, so the ring is, or will be a symbol of a truth, if he gets the opportunity to give it to you.

“It means I’ll love ma wife for the rest of ma life. S’ the only promise I can make to her.”

Daryl never thought about being anyone's something, not wanting to settle down and much less commit, it would be something he dislikes (it terrifies him actually) but with you, who showed him only the good and the beautiful that life has to offer, he would unwittingly start having those thoughts about what it would be like to do all of that only with you. The idea of ​​getting a ring for you, of having something visual that makes you his (not in a possessive way) that after having nothing, having you bearing his last name would be everything.

G = Gentle (How gentle is he?)

Daryl is tough and imposing with his physique and the menacing way his gaze alone can convey, but he quickly learned to be less rude with you and the people he loves and considers family.

H = Hugs (Does he likes hugs?)

It's not that he doesn't like it, it's just that Daryl doesn't know how to be physically loving. My poor baby is awkward as hell, so maybe at first, just to annoy him and even make him uncomfortable, you'd give him hugs even for breathing because even you can tell he's never received one. But the idea of ​​you expressing your love like that is fascinating to Daryl until he understands that it's a normal part of life, and that he doesn't have to work hard to deserve one.

If you haven't seen each other in a while, Daryl would need to keep you pressed against his body for a while, so that he physically understands that you're really there, close again.

I = I love you (Like Gravity)

“God dammit, woman, if I didn't love ya so much they'd be cookin' in a stew.” He freezes for a second, listening clearly to his heartbeat as he walks away, but Daryl has to clear his throat so his voice wouldn’t break off mid–sentence. “Let's go over there and see if we can get some squirrels instead.”

The L word. Daryl knows well that you love him and that he loves you, but saying it out loud, it would be the thing that would forever define your relationship at the beginning, perhaps when he still fears that the foundations of your love aren't fully built, when he still senses that someone better will come along. But the moment Daryl understands that, despite his imperfections, you won't walk away by your own choice, he'll feel safe saying it because he knows well you'll say it back. For him, love is in the small things, but every once in a while, he says it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous can he get? (You are)  

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts running wild with the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

Insecure more than jealous, but jealous too (?). At the beginning of the relationship, Daryl is jealous of everyone because he’s convinced that everyone is better for you than him, that anyone could offer you more and something better, that at any moment he's going to ruin what he has with you, to the point of indirectly sabotaging the relationship without realizing it. Daryl needs time to understand that what you feel for him isn't temporary and isn't in danger of disappearing, until he no longer feels threatened by anyone.

But if you two are together and someone is trying to flirt by making you uncomfortable and even trying to cross the line of your security, it's like letting the lion out of its cage. Daryl would literally eat the poor bastard alive. (In fiction, I love those men hahaha)

K = Kisses (What are his kisses like?)

It depends, if they're those in the middle of the game, they'd be pretty deep. The idea is consuming in his mind, the idea of ​​knowing that after those comes the best *wink* Daryl loves the idea of ​​feeling his person's lips on his, because the nerves they still produce in him are exciting, how something as simple as greeting each other like that at any time of the day is simple but powerful for him. It's not something he takes for granted, especially at the moment when someone has to go to a run if you both can't go together.

L = Little ones (Babies?) (Make you happy)

“It means positive.” You answered softly, your heart beating faster.

Daryl’s mind ran as fast as possible, registering your words, processing who he was and who he will be: a future father?

“Are we…” Daryl finally said, but he had to clear his throat first. “Happy ‘bout it?”

He looked confused, not angry.

“I don’t know. Are we?”

Then, he did the last thing you thought he would do: Daryl started smiling, just a little bit.

“Yeah, I mean, I'm fuckin’ scared, but…” He paused, looking at you with a worried expression, and his voice became even lower. “But if ya don’ want to have her I would get that, ‘cause for yer face ya ain’t lookin’ so sure ‘bout it.”

Daryl was always terrified of the idea of ​​becoming his father, or even just a shadow of that man and harming a baby, which is why he never wanted children. He knew his temper was short and explosive to the point of losing control, and that was a big NO. But Daryl, without realizing it, cared for Judith since she was a baby until a thought settled in his mind: the idea that he couldn't be that bad, not when he would give his life for someone who wasn't his blood daughter. And if Daryl would do it for her, what wouldn't he do for someone who was?

Whether it was an accident or something you two were looking for, Daryl would be an amazing dad, showing his baby nothing but love and happiness.

M = Mornings (How are the mornings with him?)

Daryl sleeps more soundly since you've been with him, but he's not someone who wants to spend all day in bed every day. The day starts early for him, although the idea of ​​waking up next to someone after sleeping alone his whole life does make him want to stay there a little longer.

N = Nights (How are nights with him?) (The way to heal a heart)

From his side, Daryl sleeps with his back to you. However, lying on your left side and as you drift off into a light sleep, you feel Daryl rolling over in bed, blindly searching for the warmth of your body, pressing himself against you, because that reminded him that he is still alive.

With nightmares or insomnia after a lifetime of abuse, Daryl didn't relish the idea of ​​going to sleep, but sleeping together solved the problem. Even unconsciously at first, his body blindly sought yours when you first started sleeping together, until it became a necessity for Daryl to physically feel you, perhaps a hand on your waist or your stomach or your back, or until his body was pressed against yours.

O = Open (When would he start revealing things about himself?)

Little by little, because the traumatic memories felt like reliving them once Daryl said them out loud. The idea that saying them and look weak and vulnerable was inconceivable to him, but there was something about your tone of voice, without a hint of pity for him and only understanding when he crossed his own line and told you the first story one night.

P = Patience (How easily angered he gets?) (A little hope)

But too terrified to feel too much when Daryl was used to feeling little, or nothing at all, he turned away from you for a very long time, always taking the opposite path, coming when you were leaving, never coinciding, confusing when his feelings awaken and made a mess of his life.

But being shot by Andrea was like his breaking point, leading him to isolate himself in the room until he was better, walking outside only during the nights so as not to suffocate within the four walls all day. A random night as you walk back late, you see him standing against the back wall, and fighting against the current, you try to get closer, just one more time before deciding to walk away from him forever, but Daryl was the reflection of a battered animal, always on the verge of attacking before being attacked.

And he gives you the WHOLE speech.

“…battin’ yer eyelashes at me n’ always hopin�� for the best, givin’ me hope for somethin’ I know ain’t gonna happen between us. M’ fuckin’ sick of seein’ ya.”

Again, a really short patience, or sometimes Daryl doesn't have any of that, but he learned to calm his temper, not to get carried away by his own frustration, and not to yell or want to escape quickly from situations that made him uncomfortable. The idea of ​​attacking so as not to be attacked again was burned into his mind, always feeling that he was not wanted anywhere, but the time and the family Daryl made taught him that he was loved and that he was an essential part of others' lives.

Q = Quizzes (How much would he remember about you?)

He remembers absolutely everything. Daryl has a practically perfect memory, recalling even things you considered unimportant. Like a good hunter, Daryl is able to notice even the smallest pieces, tiny things that go unnoticed by others, but not by him, and this ability is even more surprising because he started paying attention to you even before you were a thing: storing in his mind even those tiny behaviors of yours that no one else noticed. Now imagine when he and you became something.

R = Remember (What is his favorite moment in your relationship?)

Daryl doesn't take being with you for granted, so he believes every moment means something special.

S = Security (How protective is he?) (Karma Butterfly)

“A fuss?” Daryl grunts under his breath, those words souring his mouth. “A moron threatened ma wife and ya don’ want me to make a damn fuss?”

But as the sweet karma that is about to punch Spencer right in the face just as Daryl’s fist would do, Spencer walks down the street toward the car, smiling at Rick like the good boy he pretended to be. However, Daryl’s anger covers his eyes and paints the world red as he walks towards him just to punch Spencer before Glenn or Rick can try to stop him, hitting him so hard that Daryl makes him fall. Daryl falls on him too, with all the weight of his body, punching the thick skin of the wolf. His strong arms push away who tries to pull him back, his ears covering with the word threat, his fists turning red as blood leaves Spencer’s face.

“Daryl, stop!” Finally, Rick pulls him hardly, giving Spencer some time to breathe again. “You’re gonna kill him!”

“That’s the fuckin’ plan!” Daryl shouts back, trying to avoid Rick’s body as he looks straight at Spencer. “M’ gonna kill ya, coward! Nobody messes with ma wife!”  

Once again, Daryl is a protector, to the point of giving his life for the person he loves. Keeping you safe from any kind of threat is a duty to him. Feeling like you're in any kind of danger is devastating to him, which is why Daryl would dedicate his life to keeping yours safe, from anything living or not. Losing you is what terrifies him more than the thought of something happening to him.

T = Try (How much effort would he put into different things)

Love for Daryl is in the little things: like bringing something for you during a run, for example, a book, a cassette, something simple but a meaningful reminder that life in that new world is still life just because he has you.

U = Ugly (Some bad habits of his?)

That he's not bothered at all by the grease of his motorcycle when Daryl's fixing it or the blood on his clothes, that he doesn't notice it until you point it out. He'd respond that it's not that bad and that you're just being picky until you threatened to make him sleep in the yard if he didn't fix it.

(I'm not saying smoke because I do it too, sorry)

V = Vanity (How concerned is he with his looks?)

Not worried at all. Even though Daryl's physical appearance has attracted the attention of the local women in Alexandria, he's oblivious to his appearance, becoming even shy when you tease him about his long hair, which makes him look like a rock star, or the muscles in his arms exposed in his sleeveless shirt.

 W = Whole (How would he feel without you?)

After living alone his entire life, finding you gave Daryl the desire to never be without you again. The idea of ​​falling in love was almost like a bad joke to him, although in reality he was also terrified of loving too much and losing (among other things). But feeling loved by you made him feel complete, so yeah, he doesn't want to live without you anymore.

X = Xtra (A random thing about him?)

Maybe how quickly he becomes shy when you tease him? but he tries to hide it with a snort.

Y = Yuck (What are some things he doesn’t like about you?)

Nothing. Maybe just your own tendency to do things alone, which sometimes got on his nerves because of his fear of you getting hurt. Daryl knows you're independent and can take care of yourself, but since life taught you that you could handle everything on your own, you sometimes forget that it's okay to have someone else to help you.

Z = Zzz (What are some sleep habits of his?) (My everything)

“15 minutes to make the milk? I was starting to get worried actually." You raise an eyebrow, speaking softly. "Why did you take so long? The milk is in the kitchen, not in another country."

"Sorry, sweetheart." Daryl apologizes as he hands you the bottle, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch his daughter stop crying the moment she feels the bottle against her pretty pink lips. "I closed ma eyes and jus' fell asleep for a minute."

You frown, continuing to stroke Marley's back.

"In a chair? On the counter?"

At the sound of your voice, Daryl's head falls until he almost hits his chest with his own chin, waking up from his light sleep before looking back at you. It's still funny to you how easy it was for him to go without sleep all those years, but after a month with Marley, Daryl considered killing walkers an easier task.

"What? No. Standin’. Didn't know that was even possible."

Being a light sleeper, or not sleeping at all sometimes because of nightmares was Daryl's weakness, but sleeping with you developed a good sleep habit on him. He still wakes up early, but sleeps soundly since you two lived within the safety of Alexandria's walls, although since his daughter was born, Daryl truly understood what it was like to go without sleep.

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth. She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

💫 What We Never Were Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Author's Note: FRIDAY TREAT - 2 PARTS!!!! Wrapping up Chapter 1!!! All your thoughts and feedback are highly appreciated!

Chapter 1 

Part IV: The Ask

The drive back to your hotel was quiet.

Jake’s hands stayed tight on the wheel. You leaned your head against the window, the night air still clinging to your skin and the remnants of tequila warming your veins. You hadn’t meant to stay that long. And you definitely hadn’t meant to dance that long with Rooster.

Jake had let it happen. Let you spin under Rooster’s arm. Let his hand settle on your waist. But he hadn’t enjoyed it. Not one fucking bit.

“I like your friends, J,” you said with a tipsy smile, trying to break the silence.

“I noticed,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Especially Bradley. He’s a lot of fun.”

Jake’s fingers clenched the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did, and pretended not to.

A beat of silence.

Then, soft and casual—too casual—you asked, “Do you think he’d say yes if I asked him to Celine's wedding?”

Jake slammed the brakes and swerved into a side pull-off so fast your seatbelt caught you with a jolt.

“Excuse me?” He turned to you, stunned.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

You bit your lip. “Okay. Yeah. That sounded crazier out loud. You’re right—I don’t know Rooster like that. I’ll ask Javy. If that’s okay with you?”

Jake stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “Why the fuck are you even thinking about asking one of my friends?”

“Because you’ll be there. But you’re going as, like… family. I need a date.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “A date?”

You sighed. “Jake, I just don’t want to spend an entire weekend being pitied by relatives who think I’m defective for not being married by 30. I need to show up with someone who’ll shut them up.”

“And a date will do that?” he asked, voice flat.

“I can always make it look like more than a date,” you said, not looking at him.

Jake’s brows drew down. “Elaborate, Y/N. Now.”

You groaned. “God, I hate when you use that tone.”

Jake said nothing.

You covered your face with both hands. “Fine. Maybe that date could pretend to be my boyfriend. Jesus, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

When you finally peeked through your fingers, Jake was gripping the steering wheel like it had insulted his mother.

“So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “Your first choice for a fake boyfriend is Rooster?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… he’s hot. Mysterious. Navy. My family will eat that up.”

Jake scoffed. “He’s not that hot.”

“He is objectively hot, Jake.”

Jake shook his head, eyes back on the road. “So is that the plan? Ask Rooster to be your arm candy so Aunt Carol shuts up?”

You paused. Then smiled. “Well, if Rooster’s too much of a stretch, I could ask Javy—”

Jake turned to glare at you so hard you laughed.

“I hate you,” he said, jaw tight.

“No, you don’t.”

Jake exhaled hard and pulled back onto the road. You drove for another mile in silence.

Then he asked, quietly, “Why not me?”

You blinked. “What?”

“If you need someone to play your boyfriend,” he said, eyes on the road, “why not ask me?”

You stared. Then snorted. “You? Jake Seresin as my fake boyfriend? Yeah. Totally believable.”

He looked over at you with a flat expression. “You don’t think I can pretend to be into you?”

“That’s not what I—ugh.” You groaned again and looked out the window, cheeks flushing. “Jake… you’re out of my league. Even my mother says so.”

Jake’s head whipped toward you. “That’s bullshit.”

You didn’t answer.

He softened. “You know that’s not true, right?”

You offered a weak smile. “Since Mark and I broke up, I’ve just… I don’t know. My confidence hasn’t been great.”

Jake was silent for a beat. Then, “You think I don’t know what a catch you are?”

You looked at him, surprised.

“If we’re talking leagues,” he said, voice low, “you’re out of mine. Always have been.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing it off. “Don’t pacify me, Seresin.”

Jake looked at you then—really looked. And it made something tighten in your chest.

“I’m not,” he said. “I just don’t like the idea of you thinking I wouldn’t want to be seen with you. Or that you’d have to settle for someone else just to feel worthy.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you just reached out.

Jake took your hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb stroked along your knuckles as he drove you the rest of the way in silence.

But that silence was full.

Of unsaid things.

Of maybe’s and could-have-beens.

And of one very dangerous question neither of you dared to ask out loud.

What if it wasn’t pretend?

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Bi Panic

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Max and she were sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through the streaming platform. She stopped suddenly and clicked on “Carol” before Max could even ask what it was about.

“This one. Cate Blanchett’s in it,” she said decisively, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Max glanced at the screen, frowning slightly. “What’s it about?”

“I have no idea,” she replied with a grin. “But Cate Blanchett is in it. She’s, like… amazing. So classy. Just… really cool, you know?”

Max raised an eyebrow, amused. “You have a thing for Cate Blanchett?”

“What? No,” she said quickly, though her face warmed slightly. “I just think she’s… talented. And, you know, elegant.”

Max chuckled, settling back into the cushions. “Alright, alright. Cate Blanchett it is.”

As the movie began, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. The film’s drew her in immediately—the soft, snowy landscapes, the charged glances between Carol and Therese, the unspoken tension that seemed to fill every frame. 

By the time Carol and Therese shared their first intimate moment, she was completely hooked, her hand subconsciously gripping the pillow a little tighter. Max, who had started half-watching, glanced over at her and noticed her intense focus.

“You’re really into this,” he remarked casually.

“It’s just… good,” she said without looking away. “The acting is incredible, and the way it’s shot—it’s so beautiful,” she explained, brushing off further questions.

“Just that?” Max questioned with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. 

As the movie went on, her reactions became more telling. She smiled a little too fondly during the quiet moments, her gaze lingering during the intimate exchanges. When the tension between the characters reached its peak, she found herself feeling… something. She couldn’t quite put it into words, but it was there—a warm, fluttery sensation that made her shift uncomfortably on the couch.

Max noticed, of course. “You okay?” he asked, his voice light.

“Huh? Yeah,” she said quickly, trying to sound casual. “Just… the movie’s intense, you know?”

“Sure,” he said, though his tone was teasing. “You’re not crying, are you?”

“No!” she said, laughing nervously. “I mean, maybe a little. But it’s just… emotional.”

Max chuckled, leaning closer. “So, let me get this straight—you’re obsessed with Cate Blanchett, you’re way too invested in this movie, and you’re crying. Anything you want to share?”

She threw a pillow at him, her cheeks burning. “Oh, shut up. I just like good movies.”

“Uh-huh,” Max said, catching the pillow and tossing it back. “Well, if you ever figure out why you really like Cate Blanchett, let me know.”

She rolled her eyes, sinking deeper into the couch, but his words lingered. As the credits rolled, she found herself thinking about it.

“I just really admire her, she’s inspiring” she said defensive.

“Uh-huh,” Max said, catching the pillow she’d thrown at him and tossing it back with a smirk. “You ‘just admire her.’ Sure.”

She glared at him, though there was no heat behind it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, his grin widening. “I don’t know. It’s just… you’ve got this look every time she’s on-screen. Like you’re trying to memorize her face or something.”

“I do not!” she shot back, though her cheeks betrayed her as they acquire a pinkish tone.

Max chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered state. “Oh, you definitely do. You’ve been suspiciously quiet whenever she’s on screen, and don’t think I didn’t notice you leaning forward during that scene in the car.”

She buried her face in the pillow, groaning. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re trying to deny the obvious,” he teased, poking her side lightly.

She peeked at him from behind the pillow, her voice muffled. “I just think she’s a good actress, okay? That’s it.”

“Right, right,” Max said, nodding exaggeratedly. “Because this has nothing to do with her being, like, ridiculously elegant or the way she smiles at Therese.” He paused, his smirk turning into a mischievous grin. “Or the fact that she’s basically the queen of lesbian energy.”

She froze, her eyes narrowing at him. “The what?”

“Come on,” Max said, laughing. “Cate Blanchett is, like, a total lesbian icon. Everyone knows that.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” he said, poking her again. “So maybe that explains your little crush.”

“I don’t have a crush!” she protested, but the defensive edge in her voice only made Max laugh harder.

“Sure, you don’t,” he said, still grinning. “You just wanted to watch this specific movie because of her, totally coincidental that it’s, you know, a love story about two women. No big deal.”

She groaned again, throwing herself back against the couch dramatically. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am, still your boyfriend,” he quipped, leaning closer with an exaggerated wink. “So, what’s next? Should we binge all her movies and see if the ‘just admiring her acting’ theory holds up?”

She swatted at him half-heartedly, but a laugh escaped her despite herself. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Max said, pulling her closer with a satisfied grin. “Now, do we watch something else, or should I start preparing myself for an all-out Cate Blanchett marathon?”

She chuckled at the teasing suggestion. “Honestly, the marathon sounds good.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: Honestly, I found out I was bisexual because I liked many lesbian icons, like for no reason.

Anyway, English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <333