I’m 22💖🤍🧡 Yep I guess it’s totally normal for me to fall for middle aged women who are three times my age... no biggy! I’m a total dork! I’m in soooooo many fandoms, that my sanity is always being questioned. And don’t even get me started with the amount of ships I have! My other board names are ................................... ahseveryonedies onceuponatimeisfamily spnsupernaturalsweetie lawandordersvubaby rizzoliandislesaremeanttobe snapeisbetterthanpotter sheraprincessofpower elsaannaolafkristoffsven eveandvillanelleareadorable rebaisabadassredhead missperegrinschildrenarepeculiar pennydreadfulismessedup thedevilwearspradasodamngood theworstwitch supergirlkicksass willandgracearefunnyashell bossofcriminalminds thespellmansarebadasswitches hamiltonisforever winxfatesaga tissaiaandyenwivesfrfr greysanatomyischaotic privatepracticeisgreysbutcalmer korraisalegend batesmotelispsychotic thewheeloftimeneverstops ashestoashesalexandgene thedurrells imthedoctorsfavorite greysrippedoffertellmeimwrong crowleyandaziraphalearemarried hackshackedmyheart tedlassoandrebeccaareinlove sgelessoanddoveykissing larrisaweemsisqueenofw motherlandfortsalem peggycartergoddayum scullyandmulderxfiles hannibalbedeliawill kathrynbeverlydeannamyspacewives agathaharknesspulease franfineandccbabcockmmhmm
Have I missed anyone? I don’t believe I have, but feel free to say something!
Ngl trying to go with the same vibe for who I put down,
But I actually wanna add a few I feel need love
River Song
Olivia Benson
Alex Cabot
Casey Novak
Emily Prentiss
Alex Blake
Maura Isles
Jane Rizzoli
13th Doctor
Missy (Master)
Keeley Hawes (basically any of her characters, to me she doesn’t have that 1 character that everyone associated her with. Maybe Louisa Durell, or Julia Montague)
Narcissa Malfoy
Minerva Mcg (the books duh)
Addison Montgomery
Hela daughter of Odin
Tina Goldstein
Rebecca Ferguson (same with keeley, maybe Jenny Lind? Or ilsa from mission impossible, oh y’a the red tent to. Absolutely breathtaking acting from that one)
Bro Catherine zeta jones( enough said about her characters. But Velma Kelly)
Lorraine Warren (or like y’a know any of Vera Farmigas characters)
Esme Cullen
Rebecca Welton
Larissa Weems
Lady Lesso
Sarah Alder
Lilith (Madam Satan)
Melissa Schemmenti
Peggy Carter ( basically Haley Atwell in general)
Dana Scully (Literally Gillian Anderson)
Bedelia Du Maurier
Stella Gibson
Jean Milburn
Helena G. Wells (Jaime Murray like come onnnn)
Kathryn Janeway (bsffr)
Violet Bridgerton, have u seen those mommy milkers
Agatha Harkness
Rio Vidal
Lilia Calderu
Jessica Pearson
Jessica motherfucking Vosk
Dr. Quinn
Deborah Vance
Fran Fine
C.C. Babcock
Sabrina Fairchild
Elphaba Thropp
Deanna Troi
Beverly Crusher
HONESTLY AT THIS FUCKING POINT IM JUST NAMING ALL MY FAV CHARACTERS
people will say “they’re only friends” and then show me two people who would crawl through broken glass to hear the other laugh once. two people who have memorized each other’s coffee orders, fears, childhood stories, and emergency contacts. two people who would haunt each other’s houses as ghosts. be serious.
My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.
I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.
I make lentil soup through the recipe my gran gave me.
I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.
I learned to love books because my father loved them first.
How terrifying, how excruciatingly painful to acknowledge this. That I am a jigsaw puzzle of everyone I have briefly known and loved. I carry them on with me even if I don’t know it. How beautiful.
some people are afraid of being possessive but PLEASE be possessive of me. please. call me yours. say i belong to you. add “my” to every petname you call me
Summary: Ever since the world fell, you've learned to survive alone, untill one day you stumble on two strangers who saw your struggle and welcomed you into their home. For once, you learn to stay and wait.
Pairing: Carol Peletier x Fem!POC!Reader
TW/Tags: age gap; canon-typical violence; solitude; wlw;
Word count: 8.7k
A/N: this fic is about stolen teenage years and it shows in what i think is real truthfull and honest how someone learns atypical love in the end of the world
“Caralho!” You cursed when the first dead appeared out of nowhere. Your backpack fell from your shoulder, as empty as it was before you entered the house, and you pushed the dead as hard as you could against the other ones coming out the kitchen door. As they fell, you used one of the pots to break the glass window and climb through it.
The years since the world fell made you better at climbing, and that was your first instinct as soon as you got outside. Once safely out of the dead’s reach, on the roof, you took a deep breath. Only then you felt the sting on your calf. You pulled up the leg of your pants to see blood smeared all over your calf, the cut small but bleeding like hell. Your first instinct was to reach for your backpack, only to remember it was now lying on the kitchen floor.
“Merda! Merda, merda!” You yelled again and again, echoing yourself. There was no one to hear you in that neighborhood, or at least you hoped so. You were always careful to scavenge at night, but it had been two days since your last meal. You were starting to get desperate.
You tried to rip out a piece of your shirt, tugging at it harder and harder, but your fingers felt weak and useless. The fabric simply wouldn’t tear. “Que droga…!” From below, the dead clawed and groaned, uselessly trying to reach you from the siding of the house. At least eight of them. Maybe a dozen. Your vision blurred around the edges as hunger and fear tangled in your skull.
Then you heard a low rumble in the distance, and you froze while you watched a car coming up the street. You tried to shrink and hide, but there was nothing to hide behind, and a bunch of dead looking up a roof was already something one would find suspicious, to say the least. And when you moved, one of the roof tiles fell, shattering on the floor.
The car stopped not far from the house, a grey-haired woman and a man with a biker vest came out of it. The man had a crossbow, the woman had a knife, but none of them headed for the dead, they both looked at you instead.
“Where are the others?” The man yelled. You flinched, swallowing hard, but didn't move. The dead heard him and headed straight for them, and they exchanged a look before the woman took a knife from her belt and went for the dead.
You closed your eyes, you didn’t want to see it. You've seen it before, the way they ripped people apart, the way they chewed them alive.
“Dis yours?” You opened your eyes to see him holding your backpack, the woman standing by his side, intact, only a drop of dark blood on her cheek and you knew it was not her blood.
Your breath was fast and shallow. You weren’t sure which scared you more - his weapon, or the idea of coming down at all, you couldn’t even recall how long it had been since you’ve interacted with another person. But the arrow aimed between your ribs made the decision for you. You raised your trembling hands and slowly went to the edge of the roof. He kept the bow aimed on you the whole time. The woman stood besides him, observant.
When your boots hit the dirt, they were both immediately on you. “Where are the others? How many?” He demanded. “Who ’r ya with?”
You shook your head.
They exchanged a look. One of those silent conversations people who trust each other have.
“Arms up” he said.
You obeyed.
The woman stepped closer, her hands patted down your arms, your sides. She felt your pockets, your belt loops. When her palm brushed your sides, your ribs, she paused. You saw the change in her eyes, but she swallowed whatever reaction she had and kept going.
From your back pocket, she pulled out your tiny folding knife. The only weapon you had, which you used for opening cans and cleaning under your nails rather than fighting. She said nothing, only slipped it into her own pocket. Her touch moved to your ankles, socks, inspecting your wound.
“She’s hurt.” the woman said quietly. “Is it deep?” You shook your head again.
The man grunted, then crouched down and unzipped your backpack, dumping your stuff onto the ground. An old MP3 player, a can of beans, half a bottle of water, a spare pair of socks, a long sleeved shirt.
“That's all you got?” he asked. You nodded. “How the hell ya charge this thing?” He held up the MP3 player.
“I don’t… I just carry it.”
His jaw ticked. Another quick glance at the woman. You knew they were trying to read you, figure out if you were lying, if you were bait, if you were dangerous.
You were none of those things.
The woman nodded at him, then stepped into your line of sight again, softer than the man but no less sharp.
“When was the last time you ate?” she asked.
You looked at the can of food on the floor, the one you were saving when things got too bad to handle. “Two days.”
You remembered the car ride to their home, Alexandria. They asked you many questions. Where you were coming from, where you were headed. How many dead had you killed. They called them walkers. How many people had you killed. They didn’t believe any of the answers.
You walked into Alexandria with ropes tying your hands behind your back, like a criminal. When you walked past the gates, you understood why. They had everything: gardens, water, solar panels, children, babies, elderly. Like the world hasn’t ended for them.
You were not sure how many days you had spent in a basement, which was their jail. But you had water, three meals, and sometimes the woman would come back to check on you.
Her name was Carol. Just Carol.
There were other names. The man was Daryl. There was also Rick, the leader. Maggie, Michone, Carl, Glenn, Noah, Enid… But Carol’s name rolled off your tongue easily.
One day, Rick took you out of the cells. Said you were there for safety. He had a council, and they said you could live in one of the empty houses. You were no harm.
You remembered your first shower.
You took the soap bar into your hands, brought it to your nose and inhaled its smell deeply. You closed your eyes and did it again, tears rolling down your cheeks. The bathroom was pristine, the towel clean, fresh clothes… To think not long ago you were stuck in a roof, in the middle of nowhere, thinking those would be your last moments.
It had been years since you’ve last taken actual care of your hair, instead of detangling and putting it in an afro puff. But that day, you took your time. Afterwards, you felt clean, human. Less ashamed, even if you knew none of it was your fault.
You had no idea what to expect from people before Alexandria. Whenever you saw signs of people anywhere, you’d go the opposite direction. You had little, but you were not willing to risk what little you had.
Now you felt almost welcome. Almost as if you were part of it.
You needed to do something. At first, you helped at the gardens, but there wasn’t much to do, so you came back every two days. You also helped Olivia with the inventory. But the one thing you did most was to follow Daryl and Carol around. It was the only thing that didn’t make you feel completely isolated, even if other people were welcoming.
You sat on the sidewalk one afternoon as Daryl fixed one of the cars. You knew nothing about cars, never learned to drive either, but kept him silent company. You wanted to ask him how did Carol kill all those dead the other day, but you didn’t.
“You like cars?” She asked, walking closer with a basket on her hips. You shook your head. “You want to help me cook dinner?”
You got up in a minute, following her inside her house. It was the first time you went there. Carol looked peaceful as she washed the tomatoes, peeled the onions… you sat on a stool on the kitchen island, helping her silently.
“You’ve met Rosita.” She said. You were not sure if it was a question or a statement, so you just nodded. “She’s going to teach you how you kill walkers. Tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” Carol looked at you for a moment. Really looked. You could see it in her eyes, she was worried about you. You were not sure if she was worried about you being alone or about you being useless.
Rosita was too much for you. She was fast, precise, and serious. Lethal. She handed you a blunt machette and showed you how to aim for the brain. You felt clumsy and slow compared to her, your movements tentative. For the first day, you mostly just sliced air.
Her friend was there too, Eugene. And he came back for the second day with a book. You had no idea why he’d give you a book, and it made even less sense when you saw the cover, which was a bunch of plants. “Guia rápido de identificação e consumo seguro de plantas variadas”. You had no idea how he guessed where you were from, though your accent and appearance were a big hint.
“I figured you would enjoy reading something in your native language.”
And you did.
By the end of the day, your arms ached, but you’d successfully taken down a practice dummy made of old hay bales and a pumpkin. It wasn't the same as a real walker, but it felt like a start.
You settled into a rhythm. Gardens, inventory, training with Rosita or whoever was willing to when she was busy. Alexandria was calm, but it was full of fierce survivors. You learned that Daryl was fiercely loyal and soft beneath the rough exterior, and that Carol’s peaceful domesticity was a highly effective mask for a terrifying competence.
One evening, after helping Carol fold laundry, she looked at you with gentle eyes. “You’re adjusting."
“Alexandria feels safe.”
“Does it feel like home yet?” You shook your head and she offered you her fruit basket. You took a pomegranate and smelled it. “And where’s home?” Carol was a good liar, you could see it, besides stories you’ve heard, but she could not hide her curiosity.
“Far.” You held back a smile.
That night was harder than any other. You felt homesick, wondering if Alexandria could ever feel like home. You reached for the book Eugene had gifted you, flipping through the pages, holding the pomegranate close to your nose. You ate it the morning after, before going outside to help tend the garden.
“Girl” You heard Daryl’s voice behind you. You turned to look at him walking towards you, crossbow on his back, looking ready. He pointed his head at the gates. “Com’ here.”
It was the first time you joined Daryl and Carol on a run, looking for anything useful: food, batteries, medicine, herbs… They said you were fast, smart, good at walking in and out of places without being noticed, and good at climbing if needed.
You were still bad at killing, though. Not for lack of technique, you had learned enough of that, but the sight of the dead groaning at your face… you still froze at that.
Carol put a hand on your shoulder, asked if you wanted her to take care of the single walker hanging from a tree near where Daryl had parked the car. Before you could answer, Daryl shot it. As he went to retrieve the arrow, you saw Carol glaring at him.
None of them were really talkative, but neither was you. You were silent, observant, sometimes letting a comment or a joke slip out. It wasn't home, but it was comfortable with them. Easy, soft silence.
“What year is it?” You asked, looking for something useful at the gas station. Carol shook her head.
“Eugene says… about 2015… maybe ‘16.” Daryl answered. “Got a schedule?”
You managed a snort, but something inside you trembled. “I'm older than I thought.” You muttered. Carol gave you a look that you knew was something between pity and pure sadness. Daryl looked at her apprehensive, worried. Carol took a deep breath and touched your shoulder.
“You're fine, sweetheart.”
That word lingered, and you couldn’t tell why. You thought about it for longer than you should have, and even muttered it to yourself once. Carol just seemed to always find her way into your head. Her cooking, her smell, the way she looked around and looked at you, her words, always careful around you. As if you didn’t live in your head enough before that.
Sasha complained, once. She was going to teach you how to shoot. You were on your way out of Alexandria, not too far, just far enough that you wouldn’t attract the dead, and she was speaking to you. You were not the type to let your head wander, but you saw Carol walking by. She smiled at you. You waved.
You started recognizing the plants from Eugene’s guide. It was helpful when one of the children got sick with fever that wouldn’t cease. You went out on your own for the first time after that, and took the book. You didn’t mind being alone. Carol seemed to mind.
“I know you’re used to it, but that’s not how we do things here. Something could’ve gone wrong.” You nodded and apologized at your well deserved scolding, then handed her the herbs you found, explaining what they were for.
You followed Carol and Daryl around like a lost puppy. It was a familiar routine now - hunting, scoping out abandoned buildings, moving silently, and keeping watch. Daryl always gave you a tip or another about how to track and hunt properly. You were getting better at spotting trouble, and good at keeping silent and staying observant when Daryl and Carol were discussing their strategy, but sometimes… sometimes you’d get captivated by the sunlight shining on Carol’s hair, making the gray strands shine silver.
She was pointing at something on the map, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked capable, calm, and utterly in control. The domesticity was gone now, replaced by sharp competence. The way she could balance domestic life and lethal precision never failed to amaze you, and you wondered how she had come to be the person she was now. It was always a struggle for you to drag your gaze away from her.
But Daryl was right there, blocking the sunlight. He wasn't looking at the map or the perimeter. He was looking at you. And you were looking at her. Even when she folded the map and started walking, you were still looking.
Daryl’s eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion or scanning the horizon, were steady and knowing. He didn't have to look back to know who you'd been staring at. He didn’t move. He didn’t grunt, he didn’t ask a question, and he didn’t make a joke. He just stood there for another beat, then shifted his weight and nodded toward the car.
"We’re moving" he said, his voice flat. You wondered if his tone meant a warning, a threat, or nothing at all.
You fell into step behind him, feeling as if you were stepping on a minefield, your heart still hammering a quick rhythm against your ribs. You knew Carol’s eyes were quick, and that she was always aware of her surroundings. You wondered if she was aware of your eyes on her too.
You sat on the backseat of the car, the backseat of their relationship, wounded by things that existed only in your head. She called you sweetheart, but called him by his name, and you were not sure you were ready to find out if meant something.
Daryl sat by your side on your frontsteps. He was cleaning his crossbow, but it felt like his attention was on you. “Yer alright, kid?” You nodded.
“Maggie is moving to Hilltop… some people are going with her.” He hummed, eyeing you suspiciously.
“Yer’ better off here.” You couldn’t bring yourself to hold his gaze, staring at your boots instead. “People like ya her’”
“Oh… okay.” You nodded. Daryl looked back to his crossbow. You wanted to ask how did he know that, that people liked you, but you didn’t.
Daryl told you to take it easy before he left. You stayed sat on those steps for long after the sun had set. You didn’t want to go inside and sleep, you wanted to go to Carol’s house. You wanted to hug her, wanted her to smile at you in that kind way, to call you her sweetheart.
You didn’t know how to ask her any of that. Instead, you just looked at her, desperate for her to notice your heart ripping apart for reasons you did not know, but also wished she’d just… look at you, and move on.
“I don’t know how to.” You said, staring at the steering wheel. “I’d take the bus everywhere back home.”
“And where’s that?” Carol asked from the backseat. Daryl waited for the answer, hand on the hand brake, eyes on you.
“Saquarema.” They waited for you to continue. “In Rio. Rio de Janeiro.”
“You’ve come a long way.” You knew what they were asking. The reason why you came.
You had just finished high school and gotten into college. A year into college and you got a scholarship for an exchange program, and then you woke up to people yelling at campus. You never got exactly what the instructions said, everyone shouted, power was off.
You felt comfortable now that you knew you were not on their backseat. But then, you didn’t know where you were either. You just wanted to be with them, bouncing between Carol and Daryl the whole time, asking a hundred questions, making little comments, humming under your breath. Daryl liked playing tough, but he paid attention to every word you said. Carol was surprisingly entertained.
“Hold up” Carol murmured suddenly, squinting through the trees. “Is that…?”
You followed her gaze, standing on tiptoe even though it didn’t help. But then you saw the mango three, loaded with perfectly round, pink and yellowish shapes hanging heavy on the branches. Her breath caught.
“Ya like ‘em?” Daryl asked. Carol nodded.
“I haven’t had one in years.” Daryl had already pulled his crossbow up and aimed at a ripe one among the leaves. “Hold on. Lemme try.” The mango didn’t even budge. “Dat one’s just…-” Daryl aimed again, jaw working. Fired.
Nothing. Not even a wobble.
“I’ll try” you said, leaving your backpack on the ground, approaching the tree.
“Nah. T’s a bit high.” Daryl tried to warn, but you were not worried at all.
“I’d do this all the time when I was little.” You had already started, a few feet high, using your knife too. “Carol, don't peek under my skirt!” You yelled. You heard her giggle.
“You’re wearing pants, sweetheart!” You looked down just to smile at her, and to see her silly giggling face. Daryl huffed. You got all of the mangoes you could reach, and Daryl catched them. Later, Carol made salad and added mango cubes to it.
You rehearsed the question in your head. You just couldn’t live with not knowing anymore. You looked at yourself in the mirror and asked it, again and again, but when the opportunity came, you faltered, stuttering, choking on yourself.
“When do you know… how. How do you know if it is right?” Daryl narrowed his eyes at you.
“What dat mean?”
“The time.” You avoided looking at him, something between feeling sheepish and uncomfortable, but Daryl didn’t look away from you. “For stuff, you know. My mom used to say if you wait too long, you miss the bus.”
Daryl sighed, scratching the scruff on his chin. He looked away from you, focusing his attention on the dirt near his boots, but his posture softened just slightly. He knew. He knew what you were asking about, even if he wouldn't name it.
"Yer mom was right" he grunted, the words low and slightly rough. "'bout the bus." You waited, your breath held, watching him. "Ya just… gotta do it. Ain’t no one gonna hold your hand and tell ya when."
You nodded. You felt like there was nothing else you could do. Daryl looked at you, a caring seriousness in his eyes. "Ya gotta know what yer wantin’ first, kid."
You didn’t push it. Daryl had given you an answer, though you were not sure what to do with it. You followed him deeper into the woods, hoping to find a deer, the conversation echoing in your head.
Gotta know what yer wantin’ first. You knew. You just didn’t know how to ask for it, or if you were the only one wanting it.
When you arrived back to Alexandria, Daryl put a hand on your shoulder and caught your eye before you could move. "Don’t go overthinkin’ it.” Again, you nodded, because you had no idea what else you could do.
But you did overthink it. You couldn't get out of your own head. You once stared at Daryl for a full minute, your mouth opening then closing, the words on the tip of your tongue… only to then wish him a good morning.
Did any of them see it? Could they feel your desperation?
Carol once found you in the gardens, your hands full of dirt, weeding the plants. She looked around, the garden mostly empty except for the few elderly people tending to it. She sat on the edge of the stone path, brushing a bit of dirt from her pants.
"The others your age, they’re not usually out here." Carol observed, her voice quiet. "Enid and Carl are helping with the kids… Tara and Rosita are scouting today."
You kept pulling weeds, not looking up. You knew she knew Carl and Enid were younger than you. They were teenagers. And Tara and Rosita were a bit older. You felt like you couldn’t connect with either of them. "I’m better here" you mumbled.
"Sweetheart, you have a whole life ahead of you" Carol said, her tone gentle but firm. You finally looked at her. Her expression was soft, but her eyes held that mix of pity and concern you had seen before. "You have a chance to live… but you’re here, gardening. That is for people my age."
A knot tightened in your stomach. "Do you think I’m wasting time?" you asked, the words barely a whisper.
Carol paused, but never looked away. "I think you might be."
Wasting time. The words echoed Daryl’s advice. If you wait too long, you miss the bus.
There. Missed it, and you felt like it was not the first time, like you have been there before, wasting time on her, waiting for something that would never come. You had been so focused on getting closer to her, on being with her, that you hadn’t considered she might be wanting you to point toward a completely different path, one without her.
You swallowed hard, your hands still covered in soil. You wondered if that all meant what you thought it meant. You wish you could just push the words what do you mean out of your mouth, but you swallowed them instead and nodded, looking down at the dirt, feeling completely lost.
The air shifted between you and Carol, heavy and unspoken after her words in the garden. You pulled away, and she kept her distance too, subtly. Her usual gentle touch on your arm or shoulder was gone, replaced by a quick nod. Her smile never lasted more than two seconds. No more dinners, no more helping with laundry, no more late night talk on the front steps.
Did she know how much you wanted to be around her? Was she seeing your desperate gaze when she asked how you were doing and you just answered you were fine? You still helped in the garden, still helped with inventory, still went out on runs, but you kept your eyes down and your comments brief.
Daryl noticed. Of course he did. He didn't ask what was going on, he did not intervene. That wasn't his way. But one evening, he found you sitting on the porch steps, watching the sky.
"Yer alright, kid?" he asked, his voice low.
You didn't look up, just nodded. "I'm just tired."
He grunted. “Get some sleep.” He didn't press. He understood misery when he saw it. But when Carol came to talk to you the day after, you wondered if Daryl had anything to do with it.
“Daryl found a spot.” You nodded, and she furrowed her brows when you answered with ‘okay’ instead of ‘I’ll go get ready’. “He'll take the car if you come.” Carol hated the bike.
You wanted to deny it. You had been having little sleep these days, and with the way things were between you… She should take someone else instead, but you hated the thought of Carol wanting someone else to tag along.
It was quick. Daryl went left, you and Carol went right. When you got stuck in a bathroom, trying to escape the dead, you avoided looking at her, staring at the floor instead. You were tired, hurt. If you looked at her, really looked, and saw pity on her eyes again, you knew you’d break down.
On the way back home, you fell asleep in the backseat. You woke up, Daryl was still driving. You kept your eyes closed, breath shallow, wanting to avoid having to talk.
"She's miserable" Daryl's voice was low. There was a pause, and then Carol sighed, a sound that held regret.
"Yeah… she’s been off."
“She's just... young. Got a whole different thing goin' on in her head." The silence stretched, the hum of the engine was the only noise. You didn't dare move, terrified they would realize you were awake. “She looks at you like yer’ the sun or sum’thin.”
“She’s a girl. She’ll grow out of it.”
“Nah… ya know t’s mor’ than dat. She’s in love with you, Carol." Daryl’s words hung in the air, heavy.
You knew Carol was glaring at him, even if with more apprehension than reprehension. "She’s attached. She was so alone and she just found a safe place, so she clinged onto the first person who showed her kindness. It’s not love. It’s just… attachment."
"She ain’t a kid lookin’ for a mommy, Carol. She’s lookin’ at you. Yer ain’t gon’ be able to pretend you don’t see it forever."
"I don’t have to." Carol hated being pressed. You knew the impatience in her voice. "She’ll move on. She’ll find someone her own age, someone who hasn’t got all this… baggage. She needs to live her life, not stand around waiting for mine to end."
Daryl didn’t press further, but you felt when the car went faster. For the rest of the night, you felt as if there was a brick on your stomach. Heavy, uncomfortable, painful. You needed to pull away, so you did, but it did not protect you the way it should.
You started helping Rosita and Tara more often, but it was painful. They were funny, but they loved each other. They hugged and kissed and held hands and it was stupid and funny and it made you laugh and want to run away all at once. It was the same with everyone else: Carl and Enid, Aaron and Erick, Beth and Noah.
It made you want to go back to when you’d sit with Carol, folding laundry or cooking dinner and teaching her words in portuguese.
Once you went to Oceanside with Aaron, to trade weapons and resources. It took two whole days, and when you came back, Carol knocked on your door. “Did your laundry.” You looked at the basket of clean, neatly folded clothes in her hands. She must have seen the look of pure, agonizing longing in your eyes, because her expression, usually so guarded, had shifted into a touch of guilt.
"Thanks" you managed, your voice a little rougher than you intended. You took the basket, careful not to brush her fingers. "I appreciate it."
"It’s fine, sweetheart." The word slipped out, familiar, but what used to sound like gentleness and care now felt like a punch to the gut. “How was Oceanside? Find anything good?"
"Yeah, it was… fine. We traded for a good few rounds of ammo. And they have a system for filtering water that Eugene’s going to look at." You kept your answers clipped. You wouldn't give her a reason to pity you.
"You’ve been spending a lot of time with Rosita and Tara. And Aaron. It’s good. Getting out there, connecting with new people."
Your throat tightened. "It’s what you told me to do." The words were out before you could stop them, but deep down you did not really care if it sounded bitter. You felt bitter.
A moment of silence stretched. Carol took a slow breath, her gaze dropping to the porch floor. "I… I know I’m not being easy on you, but it’s true, honey. You need to live your life. You shouldn't be focused on mine." She was gentle, but the boundaries were sharp and clear. She was doing what she thought was right for you, even if you were yelling what you really wanted to her face.
Instead of pulling away, you took her hand. She didn’t pull back, just watched. “Carol…”
“Don’t.” She warned.
You squeezed her hand, your thumb caressing the back of it, trying to hold onto her, trying to make her see the sincerity, the ache. "Please, Carol… let me say it." Your voice was pleading, desperate.
She knew it was coming. She looked away, to the floor, to your folded clothes, to your wallamp, anything but you. Then, she pulled her hand away. "Why?" you half whispered, half choked out. "Is it because I’m younger, or is it because I’m a girl? At least tell me if it is something I can fix! I’ll fix it! Just tell me… please."
Carol's eyes were shadowed with sadness, her lips parted as if she were wrestling with an impossibly difficult explanation. She opened her mouth, closed it again, opened it again. She wouldn't usually falter, but she did.
"Carol!" Rick called out, his voice carrying the authority of the leader. He was walking briskly toward his house, looking worried, Glenn and Noah behind him. "We need everyone capable in the armory, now! There’s a horde!” You froze, the unspoken confession dissolving into a surge of adrenaline, but Carol was always quicker to switch into survival mode.
"Stay inside!" Carol said quickly, her voice sharp with sudden command, eyes fixed on the retreating figures of Rick, Glenn, and Noah. “Lock the door.” You didn’t. When you did not obey as you usually would, Carol frowned at you, but you simply left the basket on the floor before closing the door and jogging after Rick.
The instinct that had saved you countless times - the need to move, to be useful, to survive - overlapped her command. Carol followed after you, and all the while Rick explained what was everyone to do, you saw her mouth sat in a thin, worried line, her eyes on you instead of him. She knew you were bad at fighting the dead, you knew that too, but this was bigger than your attachment.
The horde hit the walls with a terrible, massive, collective groan, followed by the sickening splinter of wood. Part of the wall fell. People scrambled, then gathered in a circle, guarding each other’s back. No guns firing, the noise would attract more death, but still, the temporary safe shelter of Alexandria was crumbling.
When the chaos finally subsided, and the last of the walkers were put down or scattered, the damage was even more evident, and the courtyard was littered with bodies, both human and unhuman.
You didn't stop moving. You joined the cleanup crew immediately, dragging the dead bodies to the burn pit. The smell was overwhelming. You worked until your muscles screamed, not slowing even when Michonne ordered you to take a break.
After the fires were set, you moved to the infirmary. You quietly assisted the wounded, fetching bandages, holding water for those in pain, and listening to the low, steady instructions of Dr. Carlson and Denise. When there was nothing left to do, you volunteered for the overnight watch, taking a post near the damaged section of the wall. Your eyes were gritty, your body aching, but your mind was blessedly empty of introspection. It was a shield.
"Sweetheart?" You turned. Carol was standing a few feet away, the worried look she had been giving you more and more often, lips pressed together. You hated yourself for it, for making her worry, for the way she looked so small and vulnerable. "Walk with me." She nodded towards the gates.
You hesitated. Every fiber of your being screaming no. You didn’t want another conversation, another gentle dismissal. But your feet were already moving, as if your body knew - even if your mind didn’t - that you’d never be strong enough to stop gravitating her, especially not when she looked like that.
You followed her out of Alexandria, walking in silence for a few minutes, away from the immediate perimeter, until any sounds but the wind and your steps were muffled. She stopped near a stand of trees.
"I didn’t mean to hurt you." Carol said, turning to face you. Her voice was low, careful, as if testing the waters. When you didn’t answer, she crumbled a bit. "Fuck, I did. Didn’t know you… I didn’t know it meant so much to you. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance." She took a deep breath. "Look at me, honey."
You reluctantly met her gaze. The pity was still there, but it was mixed with a deep, weary sadness. Guilt. Seriousness.
"I told you to live your life. And I meant it, but not because I don’t… not because I don’t care about you." She rubbed her hands together, a nervous gesture you hadn't seen before. "It’s about me. Not you. You are… you’re good, too good. You deserve someone who can be good for you."
“Carol-”
"I have so much baggage, sweetheart, and you’re young, and…” She stopped when her voice sounded strangled. You didn’t push, just waited and listened.
There was more to her distance than you could have guessed. Carol was always so guarded, so ready and sharp… you could never tell it all came from such amount of pain and suffering. She kept walking as she told you about Ed, about how she’d have to go to the hospital lying about having fallen from a staircase to cover up his beatings, about how she thought she would never escape him.
Sophia would be a teenager now.
You watched Carol as she spoke, the setting sun casting long shadows that emphasized the weariness etched around her eyes. She told her story without a single tear, even if her voice trembled sometimes. Each word made it harder to imagine what it felt like to be on her skin, but it was the chilling, contained strength that broke you.
You cried for her. For her child, for the people she lost, for the life she could have had if it wasn’t for that man. You cried for the weight, for the pain she had endured, and for the miraculous, terrifying resilience that allowed her to stand here now, whole and fierce.
She paused, looking at you, expecting a reaction, the final push she needed to send you away. But you said nothing. You couldn’t voice any of your feelings, choked on her story. Couldn’t say you were sorry, Carol would hate to hear that. No compliments on her competences either, she didn’t need them. You could read the objectiveness, the warning in her eyes. You knew, in that moment, that the feelings you had for her weren’t going anywhere. They were cemented in the respect and awe you felt.
You didn't reach for her hand again, but held yours out, palm up in an open, trembling invitation. The day before, you wouldn't risk another rejection, but it all felt too small now. Carol looked at your hand, then at your face, her lips twitching into something that was almost a smile, but held too much exhaustion to truly be joyful. She shook her head.
"You’re so stubborn" she murmured, the phrase sounding less like a complaint and more like fond acceptance. Then she placed her hand on top of yours, and you intertwined your fingers.
You had baggage too. The world had ended, every last standing person had weight on their backs. When the world had already ended, the past would not be the thing to take her away from you. You walked back toward Alexandria in the twilight, hand in hand, the previous tension replaced by a profound yet fragile connection that didn’t feel quite like a beginning, but perhaps a real start.
You thought about timing, again. She looked pretty in the sunset, inviting, the way her blue eyes looked at you with light reprehension, the way you knew she was being brave enough to give in to whatever this was… But were you on the bus?
Carol looked down at your hands, and huffed a laugh at the way you caressed the back of her hand with your thumb without even realizing it. You felt a sparkle on your chest. You should kiss her. She was already so close… but the weight of her story was still heavy on your mind and shoulders.
Bad timing. Not now.
That night you stayed wide awake. Your body was still exhausted from the watches and fixing the wall, but your mind did not stop for a second. It made sense now, the way Carol pushed you away so that she wouldn’t feel anything. The way she balanced being caring and being guarded… You stared at the ceiling, the agonizing ache of loneliness was gone, but there were still so many feelings battling in your chest.
Daryl found you trying to fix the mess the horde of dead made in the gardens. Tools on the floor around you, your knees covered in dirt and your hands full of fertilizer. He didn't speak, just grabbed a discarded little shovel from the floor and started working on the section next to yours, eying you every now and then. Daryl wasn’t one for gardening, hunting was more his type, but you kept quiet, waiting for him to say something first.
After a long silence, Daryl grunted, the sound a question more than a statement. "You still thinkin’ ‘bout that bus?"
You paused, wiping sweat from your forehead. "I don’t know… maybe. I just… I don’t know where the stop is. Don’t know if I missed it already… or if it hasn’t passed yet." You tried to sound light but the fatigue in your voice betrayed you. "You know something I don’t?" You started. You wanted to tell him about holding Carol’s hand, but you felt like you shouldn’t, you felt like maybe holding her hand wouldn’t mean as much to her as it did to you.
Daryl resumed his work, which was mostly poking around in the dirt. He didn't answer, just offered a non-committal hum that could mean anything yes, no, or mind your own damn business. You watched him for a beat, frustration building, not letting you return to your own task.
"Bus likes your hair" Daryl said suddenly, without looking up.
You froze. "What?"
"The bus said yer’ adorable… she likes it when yer’ following her around."
“Oh” You could feel the heat rising in your neck and face. He had really just said that, in his low, matter of fact tone, like he was telling you not to water the tomato bush too much “You’re lying.” You accused him like a stunned child, but it was empty. You were a mess of tangled feelings and awkward confession-like rants, hiding behind the hard work you had been doing, but he saw it. He saw you.
You dropped your gaze back to the soil, with not a clue of what to do with that information. Daryl gave you a quick, knowing look. "You gon’ be fine, kid." he said, his voice softer than before, before turning and walking away.
Things were different, back to dinners and laundry and keeping her company when she was trimming Daryl’s hair. You worried about finding the right moment, worried about holding her hand again, about making sure she was comfortable in her head even when you were not in yours.
Carol spent a week at the Kingdom with some others, Rick and Tara and Daryl. The three leaders wanted to make a bridge, to make things better for trading and rescue if needed. You went to the library, helped Eugene fixing a few panels, learned to be useful any way you could.
“Ever got drunk?” Daryl asked, holding two bottles up. He got them at the Kingdom, one of King Ezekiel’s man used to make his own vodka before the world ended. You shook your head, following him to Carol’s house. People gathered there, the ones who were not tired after the trip back home, but when they left, Daryl brought out the bottles. He called it booze.
“My father would let me have a sip of his caipirinha when we went to the beach.” You pulled out the cork and smelled it. Bad.
“Whats dat?”
“Cachaça, limes, mint, sugar…”
‘Sounds good.”
“Make three of ‘em.” Daryl said as if ordering a drink at a bar. You stared for a minute, and he meant it. He even harvested the limes and mint himself at the gardens. You pretended it was not the first time you made a drink, and it did not turn out bad at all.
It was not meant to be this strong, but the drink was warming your chest and loosening your tongue. Daryl was chuckling more than usual, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Carol watched both of you with a slight, amused smile, drinking more slowly. You felt as if they could hold their posture while yours crumbled embarrassingly. You were still halfway through your first cup, and it was making you feel funny already. Talkative, accent slurring, switching some words, forgetting others.
"My father would make his without mint, sometimes without sugar, when he didn’t want to share. Mine tastes better, t’s more… gostosa."
"Gostosa…" Carol repeated, pronunciation hesitant. "Means tasty, right?" You nodded. Daryl hummed before agreeing, raising his glass to you.
"Yer’ quite the bartender."
Everyone was up for seconds, so you headed for the sink. You grabbed the knife, the limes, but discarded the cutting board, which got you a cut on your palm. Not long, not deep, but enough to burn. You hissed, pulling your hand back, a little blood pooling on your palm.
"Ai!" you muttered.
"You okay?" They asked from the other room.
"Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing." You grabbed the ribbon that held your hair back, a thin piece of worn fabric, and quickly wrapped it around the cut, then went back to the drinks, using the damn cutting board this time.
"Easy, or yer’ gonna be payin’ for this in the mornin’, kid." Daryl warned as you used a bit more vodka and a little less lime this time.
"Morning comes in the morning…" You knew it made little sense, but let them believe it was a saying from home instead of a lack of better judgement from your part. They let you have it.
"What else you got back home?" Daryl asked, tilting his head.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the island. "There’s… a lot of caipirinha… with strawberries instead of limes. Passion fruit, pineapples, pomegranates too. There’s also quentão in the winter, hot wine with… caramel… cinnamon, ginger… sometimes orange peel, and… I don’t remember the rest."
Daryl made a face at the spiced wine. You didn’t like it either. He told you about the first time he got drunk, with his brother Merle.The exhaustion and fear of the last few days completely drowned out. Daryl then pushed himself off the stool. "Gotta take a piss" he announced, blunt as always, heading toward the bathroom. Carol made a face, but the moment the door clicked shut, she turned her full attention to you, her expression soft and calm.
"Let me see that hand, sweetheart." Her voice was quiet, gentle, made you want to lean into her and close your eyes, but you didn’t. You showed her your hand wrapped in your improvised bandage. She took out the damp fabric, cleaned you hand with some wet cloth.
You sat and waited. She could be pouring poison on your hand and you wouldn’t notice, your eyes were on her face. She was sober enough to notice but not comment on it. “I like your hair like that.” She said.
“I like your hair too” You answered immediately. She laughed, not in a way that felt like she didn’t believe you, but in a way that felt as if she was hunting you, and you were more than happy with being her prey.
“There. Done.” You didn’t even look down at it.
“No… keep holding my hand.” You whispered, a plea slurred slightly by the booze. Carol’s blue eyes searched yours, hand holding yours, and you wish you had some, any experience in your baggage so you’d know what to do.
You pulled her closer, bringing her hand to rest over your thigh, because it felt right. Nothing had ever felt as right as having her just a few inches away. It was clumsy, but the intent was clear. Your free hand rose, touching her cheek, your thumb resting just beneath her eye, then moving, caressing, just feeling her skin.
You were impossibly close, and it made the air feel thick and still, smelling of limes and mint and Carol. You could feel her breath on your cheek, both hands on your thighs, and you saw the exact moment her eyes fell to your mouth.
This was it. The bus. The stop.
Your lips brushed, your eyes closed. Her hands squeezed your thighs, yours cupping her face, and Daryl, and the door closing, and… Merda.
Carol only moved back a fraction, but you felt cold as if she was miles away. You didn’t move, didn’t pull back, you didn’t care if Daryl or anyone else saw it, but now there was an almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, her eyes twinkling with a look that seemed to find your mesmerized face utterly adorable. You pulled back too, sitting straighter.
Daryl just gave you a grunt, scratching his head as he walked into you. He didn't say a word, none of you did. It didn’t make you hate him any less. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out, and you were not sure if it was due to the drinks or because you just wouldn’t care enough to speak right now.
No one was up for another round. When you woke up the morning after, the kiss was the first thing you thought of. Almost. It was almost a kiss, but it was enough to have you touching your lips with the tip of your fingers and wondering what if?
If you had kissed Carol, you’d know not to be scared of meeting her again. Perhaps you’d even greet her with another kiss. Hold her hand. Do something. But an almost? You didn’t know what to do with that.
But she did like your hair, so you decided to waer it loose. "Rough morning, sweetheart?" Carol looked annoyingly sober, effortlessly neat and stupidly pretty in the morning sunlight, sitting by your side on your front steps.
You groaned in response, rubbing your face. "It was stupid, wasn’t it?"
"It was fun." She offered you a smile. The silence that followed was easy, a familiar comfort. You watched a group of children playing tag near the gate, a scene so normal it felt surreal against the backdrop of their fortified walls.
You took a deep breath, the lingering smell of lime and mint finally gone, replaced by the fresh morning air. The memory of her breath on your cheek, the brush of her lips, her eyes on your lips… You couldn't live in the almost anymore. It was harder than having nothing at all.
"Carol…” You started, but the words died in your mouth. She turned her body slightly toward you, waiting. You swallowed hard. "Am I on the bus?" Carol didn’t pretend not to know what you were talking about. "Daryl told you about it, didn’t he?" you asked, recognizing the knowing look in her eyes.
She paused, then took your hand. Her hand was firm, warm, her fingers were delicate. For a moment, she just held you. “It’s cute, you know, to see it all again for the first time. You, I mean." You knew what she meant. You knew she knew she’s your first love. "The world ended. There is no hurry for anything."
"But you told me I was wasting time… and you were not wrong at all. We’re not getting any younger, Carol. And the world is not getting any better."
Carol looked away, staring at the floor for a moment. You feared if you looked away she’d disappear, so you didn’t. Your own words felt heavy to you, but not any less truthful, so you waited. You were good at waiting for her, and you knew if there was any hope, even if from far away, you’d keep waiting.
"What you were trying to say the other day…" she continued, her voice barely a murmur. "before the horde hit. You can say it now. Once."
You blinked, your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate. All the fear and uncertainty of the past weeks collapsed into a surge of hope, of finally being sure. "I'm in love with you, Carol." The words rolled out of your tongue easily, but they made it feel like the world had stopped… again.
Carol didn't pull away, didn’t let go of your hand. She didn't look sad, or pitying, or guilty, she just looked at you. Holding your breath, without even realizing it, you looked at her. “Carol… I haven’t felt alive ever. Not before you. I don’t think you realize how much you…”
You trailed off as she leaned in.
Her lips met yours, and they wiped away every almost. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of her lips moving against yours, her tongue brushing yours, her hands cupping your face to bring you closer like she wanted to wear you on her skin. It was overwhelming, your face heated up, your neck, even your damn ears. Your body felt her everywhere, wanted her everywhere.
You’ve had a few kisses before, as a teenager. Curious, exploring. None of them were like this. Even her kisses were fierce, like she was trying to rip your lips away with hers, and you were just as eager. Then it was quiet, gentle pecks that traveled from your lips to your neck, where Carol inhaled your smell, then further down to your shoulder, where she rested her head.
It was no use trying to keep cool, you knew she could hear your heart thumping against your ribcage. You felt the fragile weight of her trust, the quiet acceptance of your love, and the profound exhaustion of someone who had fought hard to stay guarded. But her hand found her way back to yours.
You didn't speak, just brought your free hand up, stroking her gray hair, finally allowed to take care of her. “Your hair grew longer.” You whispered, quiet, afraid you’d break the moment. Carol looked up at you, and gave you a bashful smile.
“Fine… you can say it one more time.”
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if you liked it, please consider buying me a coffee
Please be nice this is my first fanfic and my first ever gn reader. If you end up liking it and wanting more, I can write a x female reader story. (What can I say I’m gay af for this woman)
My word is law
Taking a deep breath, I stand outside the Captains Ready Room doors. Preparing for whatever awaits on the other side. “Fucking hell” I whisper to myself a second before I walk through.
Sitting behind her desk, looking at a padd is Janeway. She doesn’t look up when I enter, just lets the silence settle over us. The room feels suffocating, like waiting for a worpcore breach. Which honestly I think I would prefer right about now.
Keeping my posture straight, hands behind my back and eyes straight forward. I finally speak, “You wanted to see me Captain?”
Setting her padd down, she finally looks up at me, her blue eyes narrowing. “Yes lieutenant, I did.” Standing up with calculated focus she walks around from behind her desk to stand in front of me. “You disobeyed a direct order from Commander Chakotay, which by definition means you disobeyed me.”
My breath catches in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yes ma’am I did, but it was because-”
“I don’t give a damn the reason behind it lieutenant, you made a choice and now you deal with the consequences.” Stepping closer to me, I can feel the heat from her body inches from mine.
“Look at me.” She whispers
Oh god I can’t, if I look into her eyes I’ll fucking combust. Jesus Chri-
Reaching up she grabs my chin, tilting it down to her face “I said look at me you insolent brat.”
Gasping, my eyes snap to hers, the fire behind it makes my breath quicken.
“Captain I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again.”
A wicked grin spits across her face, “You’re exactly right, it won’t.”
Grabbing my hips, she turns us, my back hitting her desk with her in between my legs. “Captain-”
“No. You do not speak, you will listen and you will keep ur fucking mouth shut is that understood?”
All I can do is nod, because what the actual fuck is happening right now. Am I dreaming? Is this the work of an alien species?
“I have watched you for years, watched you do your duties with the upmost perfectionistic mind set. You are an exceptional officer. And I have the upmost respect for you… until now. You disappointed me today lieutenant. I look at you and all I want to do is punish you. Remind you that my word on this ship is law, you do not get to make the decisions “just because”. If I find out that something like this happened again, I will throw you in the brig. Do I make myself clear?”
No words are able to come from my mouth, my brain is frozen. Here is the woman I have admired for years in between my legs, reprimanding me and all I can think about is how bad I want to kiss her lips. Fuck!
“Are you even listening to me?!”
Her voice lowering into that deep growl she uses when she is completely pissed off. Which makes me do the unthinkable.
I kiss her.
Moving my arms from my sides I wrap them around her waist, pulling her flush against me. My lips crashing into hers. She lets out a gasp, her eyes going wide. I attack her lips like my life is about to end.
Which it probably is but at least I’ll die happy right?
I feel her raise her hand, to push me away I assume. Getting ready for the impact, I’m surprised when I don’t feel anything. What is she… oh
Wrapping her hand around my throat she deepens the kiss, her tongue dominating mine. I can’t help but let out a moan.
God this woman is going to kill me
Tightening her hold under my chin she bites my lower lip. Hard. I gasp as she pulls away, moving her fingers to the hair at the nape of my neck she pulls my head back. Lowering her face to my throat, biting and soothing the sting with her tongue.
“Fuck Kathryn.” I can’t help but whine.
This seems to only encourage her, she nips and licks her way to right behind my ear. My hips buck from the sensation. Whispering she says “I will do whatever I want to you, and you will take it like the good little officer you are. Because while on this ship, I control you, you are mine and I don’t tolerate disrespect.”
Stepping back, she just looks at me. At my darkened eyes, flushed face and heavy breathing.
“Now get the hell out.”
I scrambled to pull myself together, cause holy fucking shit what just happened.
Running out the doors, I take one last glance behind me, she’s licking her lips and smiling that smirk of hers.
God damn do I want to disobey her orders just to get her to look at me like that again
Authors note: I have no excuse for this. It is nearly 6000 words of pure nonsense. And then smut. Why? Cher is hot and I've been on a burlesque kick. That is all I can say. Also I promise to update my actual fics later, this little chestnut just hit me.
Trigger Warnings:
Def mommy kink
Rude men
Hot Cher
Wet dreams
Dirty talk?
Cliches
You’ve been working at the burlesque cub for a few months now, and thus far it’s been a whirlwind. Sequins, feathers, sparkles, and girls half naked everywhere you looked. You were happy to be tucked away behind the bar, out of the spotlight.
Even now that’s where you stood, finally finished with your drink tickets and catching your breath. The club was ridiculously busy as usual, and you found yourself exhausted after every shift. “Time for one more?”
You knew that voice. The smug, sultry tone of your boss filled your ears and you looked up to find her sitting at the bar. She was still in the outfit she wore for the opening number, a bodysuit that shimmered beneath the lights, a ringmasters blazer over it. Topped with fishnets and pointed heels that made her legs go for days. You cursed yourself mentally, while still giving your boss a bright smile.
“What’ll it be, boss, the usual?”
The dark haired woman rolls her eyes at you, “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
You pout teasingly for a second, “Bosslady?” You try.
She laughs, scoffing at you, “Tess will do, and yes, a dir-”
“Dirty martini straight up, with a twist, and two olives.” You finish with a small smile. Tess raises her eyebrow but gives you a smirk, as she nods. You get to work on her drink quickly, handing it to her within a few moments.
Your boss takes a sip, and a small moan leaves her lips, sending a shiver down your spine, “How do you make it perfect every time?” She asks you, her dark eyes staring right through your own.
It was no secret that everyone found her beautiful. Hell, most of the staff was in love with her, but for some reason you two just clicked. Your first day was terrifying, mostly because everyone warned you that after some weird even the year prior Tess was extra tough.
You spent most of it trembling and breaking glasses when she finally came down from her office to figure out why the hell the new girl couldn’t pull it together. You hadn’t realised Tess was indeed, the Tess, your boss, and you felt yourself relax when she sat at the bar. She ordered a dirty martini then, and you’d made it perfectly so she decided not to fire you.
“It’s a talent.” You shrug with a small smile. As soon as you say it, you find yourself inundated with more drink tickets. You give Tess an apologetic look, and get back to it. By the end of your shift, you’re exhausted. By the time you’re done breaking down the bar, and the glasses are polished it’s late, and you can feel how tired you are in your bones.
“I am sooooo ready for the date I have with my mattress.” You grumble, as Jack, the other bartender laughs softly.
“That good of a shift, huh?” He asks.
You nod, but before you can answer you hear your name called at the top of the stairs. You groan and Jack gives you a sympathetic look, before pointing towards backstage. Your tired body takes you up the stairs, and you find Sean at the top of them. He’s eyeing you with a smirk and you frown.
“Oh God. What?” You ask and his smile grows.
“Y/N why do you always assume the worst with me?” He asks.
You give him a pointed look, “Because I know you.” You deadpan. Sean merely rolls his eyes, cigarette between two fingers before he hands you a hangar. There’s a corset on it, white with rhinestones, and a pair of tiny pink shorts to match. “What the hell is that?” You narrow your eyes at the bald man.
He seems unphased, “Your new uniform. Now go, change so I can make sure it fits.” You want to protest, but as soon as you open your mouth Sean is holding up a hand, “Orders directly from the Bosslady.” He teases and you frown deeply.
“Why? I’m not on stage!” You groan. He shrugs, “Beats me kid. Did you want to ask her?” You nod no, and begrudgingly go behind the small curtain to change. You stare at your reflection as soon as you're out of your normal bartender clothes, and have the outfit on. It’s tight. And revealing. And you pout as you stare in the mirror.
Why in the hell would she want you to wear this?
“Have you changed yet? I’m nearly thirty.” Sean deadpans. You sigh, but comply with him, exhausted from your day. You step out of the curtain to find four sets of eyes on you, your cheeks immediately flushing.
“Uh-”
“Mmmm. I don’t think it’s tight enough.” Sean frowns and puts out his cigarette. He walks over to you and places you in front of the full length mirror, “What do you mean?” You ask, avoiding the way that Tess is eyeing you. “Ah.” Sean says, and pulls the ties to your corset tighter, you gasp, letting out a small whimper at the sudden tightness.
Tess coughs but nods along, “I agree.”
You find her eyes in the mirror as Sean looks you over, “So why am I dressing like this? Is JAck wearing one too?” You raise an eyebrow at her and she smirks at you.
“Jack can’t push his tits up the way you can. Think of it this way, there'll be a lot more tips.” She teases, shooting you a wink, before grabbing her things. Tess says her goodbyes quickly, and you groan. You wanted to leave. You needed sleep. After what feels like hours of Sean adjusting he finally deems you ready and lets you leave.
The drive home feels like hours before you’re finally in bed, and shutting your eyes. Sleep comes easily, as soon as you shut your eyes……
“Y/N.” She moans, and your eyes flutter up to look at her. You're on your knees, in the middle of the stage, staring up at the goddess before you. Her hand caresses your cheek softly, before drawing back and her fingers wrap into your hair. “Are you going to be a good girl for mommy?” She purrs and you gasp, the grip on your hair tightening.
“Use those pretty words of yours, darling.” She hums and you shiver, choking out a small, “Yes.”
“Then open your mouth, pet, and let me fuck myself on that pretty face of yours.”
You wake with a gasp, alarm blaring on your phone. 3PM. It screams at you. With a groan, you fall back in bed, letting your arms cross over your face. You throw on sweats, and a tank top as you finally start to get ready, doing some light makeup at home. You toss a fleeting goodbye over your shoulder to your roommate, bagel in your mouth.
Driving to the club is easy, your apartment is only a few miles away in West Hollywood. You’d prefer something closer, but the rent was ridiculous and you’d been rooming with Bella since college. It was easy enough, and she was neat — but not overly so and didn’t seem to mind your hours.
“Good Morning, Y/N.” Jack greets with a grin, and you groan, “Coffee?” He hands you a cup, pre-made from the bar, you nearly moan with happiness. “You’re a God, Jack.” He shoots you a wink, and you take a long sip before setting it on the counter and going upstairs to change.
The dressing room is bustling with beautiful girls doing makeup and laughing together and you immediately gun for Sean who smirks at you, “You look like hell.” He says, handing you the outfit from yesterday. You grimace but decide not to retort. You set your things in a locker and go to change.
Today, you add fishnets beneath the shorts, and it makes you feel… slightly better. Not by much.
Think of the tips.
The little voice inside your head says and it’s right. You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ear. You bring your normal clothes to lock them away with your purse, and make your way downstairs. The dream from last night is still lingering in the back of your mind.
The way Tess moaned…. And God her words. “Are you going to be a good girl for mommy?”
A shiver runs down your spine. Since when did you even react to something like that? You shove it down, shaking yourself as you come down the stairs. You make your way behind the bar, and it’s business as usual as the club starts to open up.
During the opening number however, you can feel eyes on you. A specific set, that when you finally look up, is burning your skin. Your very soul. Internally, everything in you wants to collapse.
All you can think is Tess. Tess on stage. Tess teasing you. Tess in a very tight bodysuit—
‘If you want a little extra, well, you know where I am.’ Her voice is deep and sultry, hands ghosting the underside of her breasts as she sings. You let out an audible whimper. Tess does this to you almost every night. Since night two of you bartending at the club. You’d joked about how sapphic the opening number was with Jack and she’d overheard you. Making your life hell ever since. Invading your dreams. Your daydreams.
God those eyes. Those eyes staring down at you. Looking up at you from between your legs-
You shake yourself, focusing once Jack calls your name.
Sean is sitting at the bar, and he gives you a pointed look,“Manhattan, rocks.” He says.
You nod, trying to keep your gaze on anything but the stage. Anything but your boss. Your boss who in that stupid dream had you on her knees, telling you to be a good girl— Telling you to use your words. Fucking hersself on your-
“Eyes on my drink sweetheart.” Sean teases.
Your cheeks flush at his comment. As if he could read minds. You stir the drink with ease and pour it into Sean’s favourite rocks glass. “I’m your favourite bartender, I always have eyes on your drink.” You say with a small smile.
As the opening number ends, you feel yourself let out a deep breath.
You were saved.
That is, until you look up from the new drink ticket in your hands to find your boss smirking at you. Her long eyelashes casting shadows on high cheekbones, “I guarantee you have record breaking tips tonight.” Tess purrs, eyes not so subtly glued to your cleavage. You watch her tongue dart out to lick her lips, as she looks over you. You feel like a gazelle, caught by a lion. Terrified, yet unable to move.
You do your damndest not to blush.
“Ugh, that would be amazing.” Leaves your lips. You wonder how you managed to speak but begin to shake another drink as Tess watches you, one eyebrow raised, silently.
You decide the silence is worse, “Then Bella won’t kill me.” You say quickly as though it’s all one word. You swear you can see her eyes flash with something you can’t place, before crossing her legs on the barstool.
You nearly drop the shaker on yourself, staring at her legs in fishnets.
“My roommate.” You clarify, pouring the liquid from the shaker into another glass. You set it on the serving tray, wondering where the hell the waitress could be, before grabbing another ticket.
“We’re slammed, and of course the waitress is missing.” You whine.
Tess laughs softly, “Then you should get back to work instead of flirting with me.” She winks.
You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing, but do exactly as she says. You get back to work, and lose yourself in it, groaning when you realise the waitress is still missing after another half hour or so. Jack, who’s been there the longest and is therefore the lead bartender, instructs you to start running them yourself. You want to protest but decide not to.
You needed extra points today if you wanted to complain about the outfit later.
How were you expected to be efficient with Tess staring you down like that? The throbbing between your legs was growing, and last night’s dream didn’t help.
So, like the ever helpful bartender you are, you pick up the tray and start running the drinks yourself and you don’t seem to mind. It had been a while since you’d been a waitress, and it came back within a few orders.
It goes smoothly for a while, the system you and Jack have, until it nears midnight and the man who’s been very generous with tipping you all night decides to call you over again. You sigh deeply, and put on a smile.
Only two more hours. And he’d bought nearly six bottles already.
You tell yourself.
As you approach his table, tray in hand, he grins at his friends and then up at you, “Y/N.” He says, an arm wrapping around your hip.
You stiffen.
“You’ve been such a good girl all night.” He says and you nearly gag, “Why don’t you be an even better girl for me, hmm?” You try to pull away, but for an old, rich, asshole, he's remarkably strong.
You take in a deep breath and muster a smile, heart rate hammering in your chest, “No, thank you. Um… I’m not allowed to drink with the customers.” It’s a lie but you hope he’s stupid enough to believe it and he’ll let you go.
Just your luck, he doesn’t.
“Oh, I insist, Y/N.” He says, a bit less friendly this time.
Your eyes flick to the dark wooden bar, scanning for Jack, who unfortunately for you, is swamped and not coming to your rescue. “N-no really I shouldn’t-” You stammer. The grip on your waist is nearly tight enough to leave bruises.
“Is there a problem?” Comes from behind you through gritted teeth.
Tess. Thank God for Tess.
The dark haired woman comes into your view. She’s changed out of her show costume and is instead wearing black skinny jeans and a tight tank top, paired with her usual leather jacket. You would be drooling over her, if you weren’t so panicked.
“No problem.” the man, who’s hand is still on your waist says, “I was inviting Y/N to have a drink with us.”
Tess smirks at him, hands on her hips, “I suggest you let my staff go, Arthur. You may be a long time customer but I don’t tolerate scum in my club.” Her tone is ice and even you shrink a bit.
The man, you now know as Arthur, merely chuckles, letting your hip go. With a strong hand he pushes you forward.
You squeak, and the floor comes at your face quickly, tripping over your feet, eyes shutting tight. As you brace for impact you find yourself in soft arms that are surprisingly strong. You look up through eyelashes to see Tess looking down at you, fury written on her face. It twists, until she takes a deep breath, “Are you alright, sweetheart?”
You nod, and she helps you stand, her voice soft though you can hear anger behind it, “Why don’t you go sit in my office for a few, hmm?”
“But Jack is alone and we're swamped.” You protest.
Tess has none of it, her thumb brushing your inner arm, “I’ll take care of Jack, Y/N. Go. Before I fire your ass.”
You laugh softly, but do as she says. You know better than to not.
You don’t know what she says when you leave, but there’s a hush that falls over the crowd when you ascend the stairs. The dressing room isn’t nearly as busy, but still bustling. The lights of the vanities and the girls giggling with one another soothes your frayed nerves as you make your way to Tess’s office.
You knock on the door, just in case (Your anxiety wouldn’t let you do any less) and push the door open slowly. Tess’s office isn’t large, but it is dark and cozy. With heavy curtains hanging from the ceiling, and the thick lace covering the window panes of the double doors, it has a vintage atmosphere.
Sketches, and pictures of a young Tess litter the walls, and the lamp on her desk casts a soothing yellow glow. You find yourself sitting on the plush couch in her office, popping off your high heels and tucking your legs beneath you. You’re lost in the comfort of the space, and smile to yourself. You don’t know how long you sit there for, but at some point your eyes become heavy and flutter shut.
You awaken to the sound of the door shutting, and Tess grumbling something under her breath. She looks livid still and you frown, “Tess?” You mumble, sleep still at the forefront of your mind. Her eyes flick to you in shock, almost like she forgot you were there, and her face softens.
“Oh, Y/N. Are you alright?”
You nod, sitting up fully, “M’Okay. I think I fell asleep.” You frown.
Tess pours two drinks, before collapsing onto the couch next to you. “Not for long.” She says softly. ”
Your nose scrunches as you take a sip of the whiskey she poured. You find dark eyes sparkling as you look up at them.
“What?” You ask, smiling softly.
“You’re a bartender and you still make a face when you sip whiskey?” She teases.
“Uh, excuse me! I’m a tequila girl, sorry to disappoint you boss.”
Tess chuckles, taking a long sip of her drink, “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me boss?”
You pout for a moment, before smirking, “Ugh fine we’ll stick to Bosslady.” You snicker, taking another long drink.
Her eyes darken, lips pursing, “Oh that is so hot.” She says in that teasing tone that makes your lips part. It’s the same one she uses when she sings every night. The satisfied smirk on her face makes you swallow hard.
“HA HA. Tess it is.” You grumble, cheeks flushing as you try to regain your dignity.
Your boss’s legs cross over each other, body turned towards you on the small couch. Hand holding her head up, “I’m sorry about that prick tonight.” Her tone is suddenly serious, dark eyes staring down at you, “It won’t happen again, by the way. I threw him out.”
Your eyes go wide, “You didn’t have to do that I- Tess he usually spends so much!”
“No. Y/N. I have a strict policy. No one treats my staff like shit and gets away with it. I won’t tolerate it.” Tess takes another drink after she says it, and you have a horrible feeling she’s this way because of personal experience. You choose not to ask.
You hear the bass thumping still on stage and you sigh.
The show must go on.
“I should get back to work.” Your voice is barely a whisper, and a finger lifts your chin, making you look up at her, “Oh? Even if you’re having a meeting with the boss?” Tess says the word boss pointedly, and you find yourself smiling softly, eyelashes fluttering.
“Well when you put it that way…” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
You’d done this dance before with Tess. At Ali’s wedding to Jack a few weeks ago. You both were outside smoking a cigarette when, both of you a handful of shots and whoever knows how many glasses of champagne in. You’d stumbled into her when you took a step forward and wound up looking up at her dark eyes, her hands grasping your chin. Thumb stroking your bottom lip. As you took it into your mouth she moaned, and then the back door opened, making you two jump from one another.
Her thumb is dangerously close to your lips now, making your eyes flutter shut, “Y/N.” She hums, and you swallow hard, eyes opening again, “Y-yes?”
She smirks at you, “I’ve never seen you stutter so much, I wonder why that is?” And oh God it’s the same tone from your dream.
“I- um.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “I don’t know.” Her hand drops from your face as she finishes her drink, “You really have no idea?” She asks, smirking still.
“I mean I- um..”
“You, um?” She asks, teasing still, “Can you use your words for me?” Tess purrs, your mouth opens, and you desperately want to speak, yet nothing comes out. “Oh sweet girls.” She tsk’s, “If you can’t use your words I can’t give you what you want.” Much to your surprise, Tess stands, and helps you off the couch, pulling you flush against her.
Your breath catches, body nearly trembling. “Now.” She says, lips dangerously close to your ear, “Go shut down my bar.” You’re released and you stumble backwards a bit, watching the woman before you stand perfectly, as if none of this happened. “Go!” She shoo’s you out of her office and you go, in a daze, back down the stairs.
The show has just ended and through the throngs of people around you are clapping as you make your way back to the bar. The girls bowing on stage. You know Tess will be up there at some point and you look at Jack in a daze.
“That guy really shook you up, huh?” He asks, and you just nod, mumbling a ‘yeah’. You move behind it, and begin your closing duties. It doesn’t take you long, and the club is mostly empty by the time you’re almost done. Jack had finished his already, so it was you alone, most of the dancers gone as well.
“Time for one more?” You squeak with a jump as Sean approaches the bar, and the bald man throws his hands up, “I come in peace, mostly thirst.” He says in that sarcastic tone of his. You laugh softly, “Manhattan?” You ask sweetly.
He nods, “You bet gorgeous.” Your smile grows as you begin to make the last drink of the night. Sean remains silent for most of it, until you set a glass in front of him and pour.
“So, what’s gotten into you?” Sean asks, “Tess?”
Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head, A bit of Sean’s drink spilling onto the bar, “What?! Jesus. No.” You say quickly.
Sean clicks his tongue, “So she didn’t have you bent over her desk then?”
You scoff, “Oh my God, you’re insane! That’s so inappropriate, Sean!” You grumble throwing a dishrag at him. You’re used to his teasing. Sean’s said far worse, and if he’s as many drinks in as you think it’ll only get worse. You go back to closing and as it’s finally done allow yourself to take in a deep breath.
You were used to whirlwind nights at the club but this was… another level. Your forearms rest on the bar, your head falling between them as you take in a few deep breaths to calm your nerves. Your eyes shut for a few seconds, and you feel yourself begin to fall into a zen space.
A hand tracing up the back of your knee however, makes you grumble.
“Sean, fuck off. I am not in the mood for your teasing.” You snap. You hadn't even heard his dress shoes on the floor.
The chuckle that comes from the person behind you makes you freeze. “Oh darling, what a disappointment.” She purrs. Your head snaps up, heart racing in your chest. “Tess?”
Both hands find your hips, and she pulls you flush against her front, “Yes, sweet girl?”
Your eyes dart around the room, luckily not finding a single soul around. “Oh god, tell me I’m not dreaming.” A hard slap to your ass echoes around you, and you let out a hiss, letting your head fall against your arms again, “Still think you’re dreaming?” Your boss whispers, lips brush the spot beneath your ear. You gasp, feeling her taller body over your own.
You nod no, eyes nearly rolling back. Your lack of words earns you another slap, and this time a moan leaves your lips as Tess rubs your ass over your clothes, “Now what do I always say, Y/N?” She nips at your neck, earning a gasp from you.
“Don’t be late or you’re fired?” You ask before you can stop yourself. Tess hums in your ear, and her long fingers find their way into the sides of your stupidly small shorts, and you hesitate, “Tess-”
“There’s no one here.” Her head lifts off your shoulder to look at the empty, and still mostly dark club. “Tell me to stop.” She says and you nod no. “Words, Y/N, I want to hear you sweetheart.”
You nearly whimper, “Please don’t.”
“Good girl.” She praises, making quick work of sending the shorts down your legs. Her praise sends a shockwave down your body. A fire is blazing in your stomach from months of her teasing — her praise.
Tess groans, realising you’re still in fishnets, “Don’t move.” She growls and you suddenly feel a chill on your back. You pout, wiggling a bit to get her attention. Your tights are grasped and you squeak when you’re pulled roughly into her, “What did I say, Y/N?”
You pout further, “But I was cold.”
Tess chuckles, kneeling down, “And shaking your ass in my face keeps you warm?”
You purse your lips for a second but nod, “Yes.”
Another laugh leaves her, “I mean it when I say don’t move.” You pout again and extend your arms back onto the bar, head leaning against it. Your legs are out in a ‘V’ and you can see Tess between them with a knife in her hand, smirking at you.
You gulp, suddenly understanding the need to stand still.
“Y/N,” She begins, as she cuts a hole through the fishnets, “Only good girls get rewards.” Her eyes flutter as she cuts them at the seams, pushing them down your legs. You watch them darken as the knife is set on the counter, and the wet spot on your thong comes into view.
“You smell divine, darling.” She coos, pressing a kiss to the back of one of your thighs. The other is next, and before you know it, she’s standing, and turning you in her arms. Tess’s lips meet yours in a heated kiss, backing you into the bar. Her tongue swipes at your lips, begging for entry and you comply, allowing her to take control.
Her hands find the backs of your thighs, lifting you onto the bar with ease, and you whine as she pulls away, both of your hands splayed behind you supporting your body upwards. Tess’s lips latch onto your neck, nipping at the skin and placing open mouthed kisses down it, moving lower until she’s at your cleavage, groaning.
“Damn this corset.” Leaves her in a growl and with little caution she’s ripping it off of you, throwing it somewhere in the bar. The cool air makes your overheated skin burst into goosebumps, nipples hardening into peaks. Her dark eyes take you in and you can feel yourself flush as she steps between your legs, pushing them apart.
You let out a whine, that makes her smirk, “What is it, sweet girl?”
You sit, chest heaving, legs spread with her cocky smirk looking down at you. The white’s of Tess’s eyes are nearly gone and it makes you shiver, “Please?” You ask sweetly, pulling her into you by the leather jacket. Your arms wrap around her waist as your lips latch onto the skin you’ve been dreaming of for weeks.
Her hands come up to cup your breasts pulling them into her hands and running her thumb just beneath your nipple, you groan, lips finding hers once more. “Darling.” She murmurs against your lips, “Let me taste you, hmm?”
A loud moan leaves you and you nod eagerly. You watch as she pulls you to the edge of the bar, slowly bending between your legs. Tess kisses the inside of your knee, before looking up at you. She’s mesmerised, the sparkle in her eye proving it.
Her fingers trail up your thighs slowly, lips pressing to your inner thigh, your hand wraps into her hair, pulling a moan from the woman between your legs. You nearly lose it at the sound alone. “Tess, please.” You whimper and you feel her smirk against your skin.
“What darling? Please what? Tell me.” She coos, blowing cool air into your overheated flesh. You whimper again, horrified at having to vocalise what you want, “Tess, I need-” Her tongue darts out, running over your wet panties, the groan that leaves her vibrates against you, ripping an obscene moan from your lips.
She pulls your underwear to the side, tongue swirls around your clit, making your hips jump before standing again, “Tell me what you want, Y/N and I will give you everything.” Her voice is hoarse, darker than you’ve ever heard it.
“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper and she turns her head, fingers tracing up your thigh teasingly, “What was that, darling? I couldn’t hear you.” She coos.
You groan, frustration taking over, “Tess, please, please, fuck me.” You pout.
“Mmmm, you’ll have to do better than that my sweet bartender.” She chuckles, hand cupping your sex. You groan, “Tess!”
Her smirk only grows, “I’m sorry darling, who are you speaking to?” Tess whispers, lips pressing beneath your ear. Her hands have grasped the sides of your panties. You feel tears piercing your eyes, you’re so frustrated, “Um-”
“Think darling.” Tess says, pulling them down gently.
“Mistress?” You ask, and she pulls back a bit, still pulling them down your legs. You help lift your hips and she raises an eyebrow, “No. I’ll give you a hint, you say it in your sleep.” Your eyes go wide, embarrassment flooding you as your mind flashes back to your little nap in her office.
“Mommy.” You whisper in horror.
Tess moans into your ear, tugging your underwear all the way down your legs, “Good girl.” She praises, two fingers swiping between your lips, making your already throbbing clit ache, “Now tell me what you want sweetheart, the right way.”
“Please, fuck me mommy.” You whimper and without hesitation two of her fingers slide into you, making you both moan, “You’re so wet for me.” Tess groans, and you nod with a whimper as you begin to match her movements, “Is this what you dreamt of sweetheart? Being mommy’s little slut while I fuck you on my bar?”
You nod, words completely leaving your brain. “Say it.” She husks in your ear, “Tell me you’re mine.” Her teeth latch onto your neck, and you know there will be a large mark there tomorrow.
“I’m mommy’s little slut — Fuck” You groan, legs spreading wider. Somehow you manage to become coherent enough to undo the button of her jeans, sliding your hand into them. Her movements falter for a second as you waste no time feeling how wet she is. You moan into her mouth, circling her clit, making her gasp, “Fuck, Y/N-” She manages to find your mouth again, kissing you hard and whining into it when you begin to move faster.
“Darling I won’t last long if you keep doing that-Oh God.” You smirk against her lips, though you can feel the coil in your stomach tightening. “M-mommy I’m going to-” You warn.
Tess nods against you, “Cum for me.”
The coil within you snaps, and your body begins shuddering as your eyes roll back, loud and obscene moans leaving your lips. You can feel Tess not far behind movements erratic on your tense hand, she cums with a loud groan, falling into your neck, gently lulling you through your high.
You can feel yourself panting, sweat beading at your hairline as you begin to come back to Earth. You carefully move your hand out of her jeans, making her shiver, with a small moan when you do. You bring your fingers to your lips and bring them into your mouth, moaning as you suck them clean.
The older woman in front of you smirks, kissing your neck softly, “Good girl.” She hums, wrapping her arms around your waist. “Now— I thought I heard something about you being bent over my desk earlier.” You feel yourself grin as your arms wrap around your neck, suddenly hyper-aware that you are very naked on the bar in the club, “I think we can make that happen.”
Holy mother of god, Jesus Christ on a bike, fucking excuse the ever loving fuck out of me. This was delicious, stunning, I devoured it. This has to be one of my favorite ones iv ever read and believe you me I have read A LOT. I want you to know that I am currently frothing at the mouth, clawing at the walls. S(creaming), Writhing, my legs are crying.
we have dandelions EVERYWHERE, they are basically our State Weed, it is absolutely impossible that my mom has never interacted with a dandelion before, this requires further investigation
So after extensive interrogation I have an update:
my mom is in fact aware that dandelions exist. she temporarily forgot the name and there was some miscommunication.
the truth is actually weirder
she’s aware dandelions look like this
she is familiar with this flower. she knows the name of this flower. she declines to believe, however, that these are also dandelions
she does not believe these are the same plant. I tried to explain, and she thought I was either misinformed or lying. so I asked her what exactly did she think the yellow ones were called?
she answered, with complete confidence: Daffodils.
