ms.juicy juju for short

˚୨୧⋆.˚ i’m juju ˚୨୧⋆.˚ 18+! BLACK!! ˚୨୧⋆.˚

♡‧₊ request box is currently open — for anybody! ♡‧₊

i write about black women but— everyone’s open to read

Masterlist

TVD coming soon..

TWD - daryl dixon

SCANDAL - mr president

fitzgerald grant x reader

idk how i feel about this but i will be making another jealous fitz after this!

warnings: fitz being a eater 18+ , possessive

The East Room was filled with powerful people. Crystal chandeliers casting golden light over senators, aides, and socialites nursing expensive champagne. The jazz band played something slow. You stood near the tall windows in your cream silk slip dress, the fabric clinging softly to your curves, your brown skin glowing under the warm lighting. You tried to look composed, but inside you were unraveling.

No one could know about you and Fitz. Not a soul.

Ethan Caldwell appeared beside you holding two glasses of champagne, his smile too bright too sure. “There you are i’ve been looking for you all night,” he said smoothly. “You look absolutely breathtaking in that dress , like you were made for rooms like this.”

You offered a shy smile accepting the glass. “Thank you Ethan, that’s kind of you.”

He stepped closer his voice dropping intimately. “Kind? I’m being honest. A woman like you graceful, intelligent, beautiful , you shouldn’t be standing alone in corners. You should be danced with. Admired. Taken care of properly.” He glanced toward the dance floor then back at you. “Let me have this dance. One song. Let me show you what it feels like to be with someone who can actually give you his full attention.”

You hesitated. Your eyes drifted across the room and your stomach dropped.

Fitz and Mellie were dancing in the center of the floor. She was laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his shoulder. He was smiling that practiced, charming presidential smile his hand on her waist as they moved together perfectly for the cameras. It felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

Ethan noticed your distraction and gently took your hand. “Come on. One dance won’t hurt.”

You swallowed hard. “Alright just one.”

He led you onto the floor and pulled you close, his hand settling low on your back. “That’s better,” he murmured near your ear. “You feel incredible. Soft. Warm. Tell me why does a woman like you spend so much time alone? You deserve to be shown off. Publicly. Proudly.”

You forced a small laugh, trying to stay polite. “It’s complicated, Ethan.”

“Nothing has to be complicated,” he pressed spinning you gently. “I could make things very simple for you.”

Fitz’s gaze burned into you from across the room the entire time.

The moment the song began to shift, he smoothly extracted himself from Mellie and cut through the crowd. He tapped Ethan firmly on the shoulder voice calm but commanding.

“Mr. Caldwell,” Fitz said, eyes never leaving you. “I’ll take this dance.”

Ethan blinked but released you. “Of course, Mr. President.”

The second Fitz’s arm slid around your waist and pulled you front against him, the tension crackled. His body was rigid, possessive. His hand pressed firmly into your lower back holding you closer than appropriate.

“You let him put his hands on you,” Fitz whispered harshly against your ear as you swayed,“You let him hold you while I was forced to watch. Smile at him. Laugh with him. Tell me did it feel good? Did his touch make you forget who you belong to?”

Your breath caught. “I saw you dancing with Mellie,” you whispered back voice trembling. “You were smiling at her. Holding her like she still means everything to you. What was I supposed to do, Fitz? Stand there and let it tear me apart?”

His grip tightened almost painfully, his fingers digging into your silk covered hip. “That was theater. You know that. But you chose to let him touch what’s mine. You let him think for even one second that he could have you.” His voice dropped to a raw growl only you could hear. “You are mine. Every inch of you. Even if we have to hide it from the entire world. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You looked up into his eyes, your heart pounding. “Then stop breaking my heart in public.”

Fitz’s eyes darkened. After a charged moment, he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Fifteen minutes. My private study. Come to me. And when you do… I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Fifteen minutes later, you slipped into the private study. The heavy oak door had barely clicked shut before Fitz locked it with a sharp turn of the key. The room smelled of aged leather , polished wood , and the faint trace of his cologne warm sandalwood and spice that always made your knees weak.

He was on you instantly.

Fitz pushed you back against the cool solid wood of the door, the surface smooth but hard against your back. His mouth crashed into yours demanding, tasting like whiskey and raw need. The faint stubble on his jaw scraped against your softer skin as he kissed you like he was trying to erase every trace of Ethan’s touch.

“You danced with him,” he growled against your lips, voice rough and thick with jealousy. His large hands slid down your body, bunching the cool silk of your dress up around your hips exposing the heated skin of your thighs to the air. “I watched every second. His hands on your waist, On my woman. It made me want to drag you off that floor.”

“Fitz—” you gasped as his fingers teased between your thighs finding you already wet and aching for him. The contrast of his warm, calloused fingers against your sensitive clit sent sparks racing up your spine.

“Tell me,” he demanded, nipping at your bottom lip. “Tell me his touch did nothing. Tell me only I can make you this wet.”

“Only you,” you whimpered,your fingers gripping the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “It’s always only been you, Fitz.”

He dropped to his knees right there on the Persian rug, the fabric rough against his pants. He pushed your thighs apart, the cool air hitting you for only a second before his hot mouth was on you, tongue sliding through your folds his lips sucking gently then firmly. The wet sounds of his mouth mixed with your muffled moans filled the quiet study. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling as pleasure shot through you in hot waves.

“Fitz… oh god,” you moaned softly, hips rocking against his face.

He stood up suddenly, freeing himself from his pants. The thick, hard length of him pressed against you before he thrust in deep in one smooth stroke. You both groaned the stretch of him filling you completely, the slick heat of your bodies joining. He set a hard rhythm the desk creaking slightly behind you with every deep thrust. Skin slapped against skinthe scent of sex and his cologne and your perfume mingled in the air.

“This is what you need,” he panted his forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on you. “Not some boy who thinks he can have you. Me. Only me. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. “I love you, Fitz.”

He thrust harder, voice breaking with emotion. “I love you too, my sweet girl. More than anything. The thought of losing you… it destroys me.”

You came undone around him trembling, clenching tight, crying out his name into his neck to muffle the sound. He followed moments later with a deep, guttural groan burying himself as deep as possible, pulsing inside you while holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

After, still joined together and breathing hard, Fitz kissed your shoulder softly, his lips warm and lingering.

“I know this secret is killing us both,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “But I can’t let you go, my sweet girl. I won’t.”

daryl dixon x reader

small picnic date with you and daryl

warnings: public sex 18+ , fluff

daryl steals you away for a secret sunny picnic outside alexandria

The sun felt like warm honey dripping over everything that day.

Daryl had come back earlier than usual, dust on his boots and that quiet look in his eyes. He found you in the garden, yellow sundress swaying as you worked. “Grab that blanket you like,” he grunted. “We’re goin’.”

Your heart fluttered the whole walk. “Where are we going?” you asked softly staying close.

“You’ll see,” he replied his voice low. His fingers brushed yours. “Just trust me darlin’. Ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you out here.”

He led you to a hidden meadow, grass whispering in the breeze, dull yellow wildflowers swaying under the golden sunlight. The air smelled sweet, Warm grass, earthy soil, and delicate floral perfume that you made sure to put on before leaving out. He spread the old white blanket out carefully.

You sat down, the fabric warm against your legs. “Daryl… you did all this for me?” you whispered, looking around in awe.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he unpacked canned peaches, warm flatbread, and a jar of golden honey. “You deserve somethin’ nice. Been workin’ too damn hard keepin’ things alive here. Figured I could give you one afternoon that don’t feel like the end of the world.”

You smiled shyly and picked a few wildflowers, tucking them into your curls. “These are beautiful. Smell them,” you said holding one out.

He leaned in inhaling. “Sweet. Like you.” His blue eyes lingered. “You make me forget how ugly shit gets sometimes.”

He pulled out the old film camera. “Don’t move, darlin’. Look just like that.”

You turned onto your stomach, chin on your arms, the sundress riding up slightly. “Are you really taking my picture out here?” you asked with a soft laugh.

“Yeah. Wanna remember this. The way the sun hits your skin… the way you look when you’re happy.” The shutter clicked. “You’re too damn good for all this. Makes me scared sometimes.”

The air shifted when he set the camera down. He crawled closer, calloused fingers tracing your ankle and sliding slowly up your calf.

“You’re too damn pretty for this world,” he murmured. “Too sweet. Makes me wanna keep you safe from everythin’.”

You reached for him shy but wanting. “Then stay with me right now,” you whispered, pulling him into a kiss. “I feel safe with you, Daryl. You make me feel alive.”

His mouth tasted like peaches and salt warm and hungry. “You sure?” he asked against your lips.

“I’m sure,” you breathed. “I want all of you. Every piece.”

Clothes came off slowly under the open sky your sundress slipping down your shoulders. “God, look at you,” he groaned , his hands reverent on your smooth brown skin. “So beautiful it hurts sometimes.”

He laid you back. The blanket brushed softly against your back while his rough palms cupped your breasts, thumbs circling until you whimpered.

“Daryl…” you gasped.

“Tell me what you need sweetheart,” he said, kissing down your neck. “I got you.”

“You. All of you,” you whispered. “Don’t hold back with me.”

When he finally pushed into you slow, thick, stretching you open you gasped sharply. “Oh… you feel so good,” you moaned nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, so tight .. so warm,” he grunted, hips rolling deep. “You’re mine. Been mine since I saw you in that garden.”

Your soft moans mixed with the rustle of grass and his heavy breathing. “Faster please,” you begged. “I love how you feel inside me.”

He thrust deeper, voice rough. “Love you too, darlin’. More than I know how to say. You make me want things I thought were gone.”

When you came undone trembling, pulsing around him, “I love you, Daryl! Don’t ever leave me.”

He followed with a deep groan, holding you tight. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Afterward tangled together, he rested his head on your chest while you played with his hair. The sun warmed your skin, breeze carrying floral sweetness.

“Could stay right here forever,” he muttered.

“Me too,” you whispered. “Thank you for today. I needed this… needed you.”

The walk back was slower, his arm around your waist. But when you reached the gates Rick was waiting near the watchtower, arms crossed watching the two of you with his steady gaze.

Daryl tensed slightly. You stayed close to his side.

Rick stepped forward. “You two alright? Look like you found something good out there.”

Daryl grunted. “Yeah. Needed a break. She did too.”

Rick looked at you, his expression softening. “You’ve been good for him you know that? I’ve known Daryl a long time. Never seen him like this. Softer , More… alive.” He paused, his eyes sincere. “This world takes everything. But moments like today? They remind us why we fight. You make him fight harder. Don’t ever doubt that you belong here with us.”

You felt tears prick your eyes. “Thank you, Rick. I was so scared I’d be too soft for all this but Daryl makes me feel strong and safe.”

Rick nodded, clapping Daryl on the shoulder. “She’s right. You deserve this, brother. After everything you both do. Hold onto it.”

Daryl looked down, voice thick. “Ain’t used to havin’ somethin’ good. But I ain’t lettin’ her go. Not ever.”

Fitz Gerald x Fem!Black!Reader Headcanons

18+

BF!Fitz is the definition of an attentive boyfriend even while running the free world. He’ll have secret service deliver your favorite takeout from that little spot in DC at 1am when you text him you’re stressed.

He calls you “baby,” “my girl,” or “love” in private, but slips in a respectful “Ms. [Y/LN]” during briefings just to watch you fight a smile.

The age gap hits him hard sometimes. He’ll randomly say things like, “I’m an old man stealing your youth,” and you have to shut him up by climbing in his lap and reminding him exactly why you chose him.

BF!Fitz gets quietly jealous when younger staffers or diplomats flirt with you. He won’t make a scene, but later he’ll pin you against the wall and growl, “They have no idea you’re already mine, do they?” before reminding you with his mouth and hands.

He’s extremely protective of your reputation. If a reporter even hints at something inappropriate about you, Cyrus gets called in at 3am. Fitz’s stance is always: “She’s not some scandal. She’s the woman I love.”

He once said during an argument: “I’ve buried too many things in my life. I’m not burying us. I’ll choose you in front of the whole damn country if I have to.”

Late nights are when he’s most vulnerable. He’ll hold you against his chest, fingers playing with your braids or curls, and confess, “You’re the first person who makes me want to be more than just President. You make me want to be a man worth loving.”

He loves tracing your stretch marks, your curves, your dark skin in the morning light. “Every inch of you is beautiful,” he whispers while kissing them. “Don’t ever let this town make you feel otherwise.”

After tough days, he becomes the big spoon, burying his face in your neck and saying, “Stay right here. The world can wait. I need my girl.”

BF!Fitz is obsessed with pleasing you. He takes his time slow, deep strokes while maintaining eye contact, whispering “Look at me, baby” as he makes you fall apart.

He loves when you ride him in his office chair. Hands gripping your hips, salt and-pepper hair messy, groaning, “That’s my good girl take what you need from me.”

The age gap kink slips out sometimes when he’s deep inside you “I’m too old for you… but I’ll ruin you for anyone younger.” Then he’ll apologize with the sweetest aftercare warm cloths, cuddles, and forehead kisses.

Quickies in the residence turn emotional fast. He’ll press his forehead to yours mid thrust and say, “I love you. I love you so much it scares me.”

He tries to cook for you on rare off days. It’s usually terrible, but the effort (and the flour on his cheek) makes you love him more.

BF!Fitz secretly saves every little note or text you send him. He keeps them in a locked drawer like they’re classified documents.

Family introductions stress him out. He worries your parents will see him as “that old white President who’s too powerful.” But once they see how gently he treats you, they warm up. He still calls your mom “ma’am” every time.

He supports your career whole heartedly. If you want to move up in politics or leave the White House for your own path, he’s your biggest cheerleader even if it makes hiding your relationship harder.

There are nights he pulls away because the guilt hits guilt about the age difference, about what this could do to your future, about his messy past with Mellie. You have to pull him back every time.

He fears you’ll wake up one day and want someone “easier.” You counter with “I don’t want easy. I want you gray hairs, baggage, and all.”

Public announcement fears: He keeps promising “Soon. I won’t hide you forever,” but the timing never feels right. When it finally happens, he holds your hand the whole time.

BF!Fitz buys you jewelry with hidden meanings (a necklace with coordinates of where you first kissed, etc.).

He’s learning how to properly care for your natural hair because he wants to be the one to help you take it down at night.

Fitz Grant x !Black Reader

Warnings: secret relationship, public sex, 18+

The late afternoon sun filtered through golden leaves, casting a soft glow over the secluded riverbank just outside the presidential retreat. It was supposed to be a quiet walk a rare moment away from the constant eyes of staff, Secret Service, and politics. But with Fitz nothing stayed innocent for long.

You sat perched on a large smooth rock by the water, one leg crossed over the other. Your dark curls framed your face as you watched him. Fitz Grant the President of the United States was on one knee in front of you, gently holding your ankle in his lap as he carefully tied the laces of your black combat style boot.

His fingers worked slowly, almost reverently pulling the laces tight and double knotting them. The same hands that signed executive orders and commanded nations were now delicately fixing your shoe like it was the most important thing in the world.

“You don’t have to do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. Your hand rested under your chin as you looked down at him.

Fitz glanced up, those blue eyes locking onto yours. “I want to.” His voice was low and warm. “Let me take care of you even in the small ways.”

The tension had been building all day stolen glances during meetings, his hand brushing yours under the table, the way he’d pulled you behind a tree earlier just to kiss you breathless. Now, out here with only the sound of the river and rustling leaves, that tension snapped.

Once he finished tying your boot, his hands didn’t move away. Instead, they slowly slid up your calf, over your thigh, gripping the soft fabric of your pants. He stayed kneeling between your legs, looking up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Fitz…” you whispered, glancing around. The area felt private, but it wasn’t. Secret Service was stationed further up the trail. Anyone could walk by.

He leaned in, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh through your pants. “I can’t wait anymore,” he growled softly. “Been thinking about this since you walked into that briefing in that blouse that hugs your tits just right.”

Your breath hitched. “We’re outside someone could see.”

“That’s what makes it so fucking good.” He rose slightly, capturing your lips in a deep hungry kiss. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping you possessively. “Let me fuck you right here, baby. Right where I just tied your boot like a lovesick man.”

You moaned softly into his mouth as he unzipped your pants and tugged them down just enough, along with your panties. The cool air hit your exposed pussy, making you shiver. Fitz freed himself quickly, his thick dick already hard and leaking.

He stayed on his knees, pulling you forward on the rock so your ass was right at the edge. In one smooth motion, he pushed inside you deep stretching you open.

“Fuck, Fitz—” you gasped, gripping his shoulders. “You’re so deep like this.”

He groaned, forehead pressed against yours. “This pussy is mine. So wet already… dripping down my cock while we’re out in the open.” He started thrusting slow and deep at first, then harder, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the river.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you on that rock. One of his hands gripped your hip, the other braced on the stone beside you. Every thrust pushed you back slightly, your boot the one he’d just tied brushing against his side.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, biting his shoulder to stay quiet. “Fuck me harder, Fitz. I don’t care if they hear.”

“Such a dirty girl for me,” he panted, snapping his hips faster. “Taking the President’s cock outside where anyone could walk up and see you getting fucked like this.”

He reached between you and rubbed your clit in tight circles, making your thighs shake. The risk, the way he was still mostly dressed while you were exposed, the tender moment turning filthy it pushed you over the edge fast.

You came hard around him, pussy clenching as you cried out into his neck. Fitz followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name as he filled you with hot, thick pulses.

For a moment, you both stayed locked together, breathing heavily. He kissed you softly, tenderly again, hands gently fixing your clothes before tucking himself away.

He looked down at your boot, now slightly scuffed, and smirked. “Guess I’ll have to tie it again later.”

MasterList

fluff 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

smut ꫂ᭪

angst ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

request are always open

SCANDAL

Fitz Gerald Grant

watch me choose you

quiet walk ꫂ᭪

bf!fitz

who you belong to

TWD

Daryl Dixon

new parents

sunny picnic

Daryl Dixon x reader

The first fragile week after your newborn arrives in Alexandria. Daryl stays close, worried and protective as you navigate postpartum exhaustion, sleepless nights, and the heavy fog of new parenthood.

Daryl Dixon never expected any of this. Not the solid walls of Alexandria keeping the dead out, not a real house with actual glass windows, and definitely not the life he built with you.

It had been five days since the birth. Siddiq had been there the whole time, calm and steady with scavenged medical books and whatever clean supplies the council could gather. No dramatic emergencies just long hours of labor in the infirmary before they moved you home. Your body was recovering slow the deep ache in your muscles, the tenderness that made walking careful, the heavy fatigue that settled into your bones after months of pregnancy on top of years of running from walkers.

The house smelled like weak herbal tea Carol had dropped off, fresh laundry soap from the community wash station, and that faint newborn scent that clung to everything.

Daryl hadn’t left your side much. His crossbow stayed propped by the front door untouched. He moved around the house in that quiet, purposeful way boots soft on the floors so he wouldn’t wake the baby. Right now, early morning light filtered through the curtains he’d adjusted twice already.

“He’s got a good latch today,” you murmured, voice tired but warm.

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on both of you with that constant furrow in his brow. “Still looks like it hurts you. If he’s pullin’ too hard—”

“He’s fine, Daryl. This is normal.” You reached out with your free hand and squeezed his knee. His rough fingers immediately covered yours, thumb stroking slow like he needed the contact to believe you.

He watched the baby with a mix of awe and worry that hadn’t faded since the birth. “Kid’s strong. Ate like a champ last night too. But he was fussin’ again at 3 a.m. Thought maybe I did somethin’ wrong burpin’ him.”

You smiled softly. The baby made a small sound, eyes fluttering as he ate. Tiny dark curls already showing, little cheeks full. Daryl leaned closer, one big hand gently resting on your shoulder rubbing small circles. The worry was still there he kept glancing like he expected something to go wrong any second but the feeling of new parenthood was starting to peek through in quiet ways.

Downstairs, a soft knock came from the front door. Daryl tensed, then relaxed when he heard Carol’s voice calling up.

“Just me. Brought some broth and those soft cloths you liked.”

Daryl went down to let her in. You heard low voices - Carol teasing him gently about looking like a ghost from lack of sleep, him grunting responses but accepting the basket. She didn’t stay long knew the house needed its space. But she left extra vegetables from the garden she tended with Maggie and a note saying Michonne would swing by later with some baby clothes Judith had outgrown.

When Daryl came back up, he carried a tray with the broth, weak tea, and a piece of bread from yesterday’s community bake. He set it on the bedside table, then carefully took the baby once he was done nursing so you could eat.

“Look at you, little man,” Daryl muttered, cradling him against his chest with one arm. The baby blinked up at him, tiny hand grabbing at Daryl’s shirt. “Already tryin’ to hold on tight. Gonna be a fighter like your mama.”

You ate slowly, watching them. Feeling peaceful in the middle of the exhaustion Daryl pacing the room in slow steps, humming a broken old tune under his breath while the baby cooed softly. He looked natural despite the worry lines. Every few minutes he’d glance back at you, making sure you were still okay.

“Carol said Rick’s got a short run planned today but he’s keepin’ it small. No need for me,” Daryl said after a while. “Maggie dropped off more formula supplements just in case. Siddiq’s comin’ by this afternoon to check you.”

The reality of it all settled heavy but comforting. No perfect nursery setups or endless supplies just what the community could spare. You’d washed diapers by hand in the basin out back yesterday with Daryl’s help, hanging them to dry on the line while he held the baby in a makeshift carrier. The ache in your body reminded you constantly that this wasn’t the old world.

After you finished eating, Daryl helped you downstairs to the porch for fresh air. His arm stayed around your waist the whole way, steps slow and steady. The baby was tucked in the basket Carol had brought months ago, padded with soft scraps. You sat on the porch steps together, his jacket over your shoulders because the morning breeze still raised chills. Alexandria moved around you, someone hammering at a fence panel a block away, laughter from the gardens where Tara and Rosita were working.

Daryl kept one hand on the basket, rocking it gently when the baby stirred. “He likes the sun on his face. See? Calms right down.”

You leaned into Daryl’s side, head on his shoulder. “He does. Reminds me of you when you’re out in the woods. Peaceful when it’s quiet.”

He huffed a small laugh, rare and precious. His free arm wrapped around you carefully, mindful of every sore spot. “Still worried. You went through all that… pushin’ him out, bleedin’, hurtin’. And I’m just standin’ there. Feels wrong not fixin’ it faster.”

“You’re fixing it by being here,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw. The stubble tickled your lips. “Look at him watching you. He already knows his dad’s got him.”

The baby made a soft gurgle, little legs kicking under the blanket. Daryl’s face softened more, the worry easing into something warmer. He reached down and let one tiny hand wrap around his finger. “Gonna make that crib stronger today. Sanded the edges yesterday so nothin’ catches. And I’ll take the night shift again. You need real sleep.”

Later, when Siddiq arrived for the check, Daryl hovered the whole time asking questions about your recovery, how much bleeding was still okay, if the baby’s weight gain was on track. Siddiq was patient, reassuring them both that things were progressing normally for the world they lived in. No hospitals, no fancy meds, just time and rest and the community pitching in.

Michonne stopped by in the afternoon with Judith. The little girl peeked at the baby with wide eyes, asking a million questions while Michonne smiled tiredly. “He’s beautiful. You two look good. Rick says to rest up we’ve got the walls covered.”

Daryl nodded his thanks, but his hand never left your lower back. After they left, he fed the baby a small supplemented bottle so you could nap on the couch. You woke to him rocking in the chair by the window, baby asleep on his chest, one big hand patting the tiny back in steady rhythm. Golden afternoon light caught them both, making the moment feel soft against the hardness outside the gates.

Dinner was simple stew from the pantry and garden veggies, eaten at the kitchen table while the baby lay in the basket between you. Daryl made sure you had seconds even when you protested. “Need it to keep your strength. For him. For you.”

Night fell with the familiar sounds of Alexandria distant walker moans beyond the walls, the soft hum of generators, someone on watch whistling low. Upstairs, another feed. Daryl took over changing the cloth diaper, his movements careful and practiced now after a few days of trial and error. The baby fussed a little, but Daryl shushed him gently, voice gravel-rough but tender.

“Easy, buddy. Your mama needs break. We got this.”

You watched from the bed, heart full. When the baby settled, Daryl climbed in beside you, pulling you close under the blankets. No pressure for anything more than closeness his leg tangled with yours, arm under your pillow so he could play with the ends of your hair. The baby slept in the cradle right next to the bed, soft breathing filling the quiet.

“I love you,” Daryl said into the dark his words still rare but heavier now. “Both of you. Even when I’m worryin’ myself sick. Ain’t losin’ this. Not after everything.”

You curled tighter into him, the postpartum ache dull but bearable with his warmth. “We’re okay. All three of us. One day at a time.”

Fitz Gerald x Black!Reader

warning- Age gap - smut - angst 18+ minors DNI

The Oval Office felt smaller tonight, the weight of history pressing in from every polished wall and gilded frame. You stood in front of the Resolute Desk, heart hammering against your ribs, while Fitz leaned back in that damn chair like the whole world still bent to his will.

“I can’t keep doing this, Fitz,” you said, voice low but trembling with everything you’d held back for months. “Sneaking through back halls like I’m some dirty secret. Cyrus cornered me today—eyes like a hawk, asking questions that weren’t questions. And Mellie… God, the way she looks at me. Like I’m the storm that’s finally going to drown this administration. I’m Black. I’m young. I’m the girl from the poor area who was never supposed to be here. This ends in flames for both of us.”

Fitz stood slowly, blue eyes locked on yours with that intensity that always stripped you bare. He crossed the room in measured steps, the air between you crackling like it did before every stolen moment.

“Flames?” His voice was rough velvet, that commanding timbre that made senators fold and made your knees weak. “You think I don’t see the fire coming? Every night I lie awake knowing what this could cost me. Knowing what it could cost you. But damn it, I can’t stop. You walked into this room six months ago and nothing’s been the same since.”

You swallowed hard, tears threatening as you looked up at him—the salt-and-pepper hair, the lines carved by power and regret, that twenty-four year gap staring back at you. “Then why keep pretending? Tell me, Mr. President. Why drag this out when we both know how it ends? With me broken and you standing alone on that podium trying to salvage your legacy.”

He reached for you then, hands gripping your waist like you might vanish. “Because I’m tired of legacies that mean nothing. Tired of rooms full of people who don’t see me—they see the suit, the title, the myth. But you… you see the man. The one who’s been drowning in duty for decades. You challenge me. You make me feel alive in a way no one else ever has.”

His forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling. Your hands fisted in his dress shirt, the fabric warm from his body.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely. “.This is real. And I’m done choosing between you and everything else.”

Your heart stuttered. “Fitz… don’t say things you can’t take back.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, thumb tracing your jaw with heartbreaking tenderness. “Watch me choose you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and irreversible.

You shook your head, even as your body leaned into him. “You’d throw it all away? For me? A girl half your age, from a world they’ll never understand. They’ll call me your weakness. Your midlife crisis. Your scandal.”

“Let them,” he growled, voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “I’ve spent my life making the safe choices. Marrying the right woman. Fighting the right wars. Smiling for the cameras while everything inside me screamed. Not this time. Not with you. You’re not a crisis—you’re my salvation. The only thing in this godforsaken city that feels like home.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. He kissed them away, slow and reverent, his lips brushing your skin like a vow.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice cracking in the way only he ever got to hear. “Scared they’ll tear us apart. Scared I’ll watch you lose the presidency because of me. Scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize I was just the storm you let in.”

Fitz cupped your face with both hands, eyes blazing with that Fitzgerald Grant fire. “Then let me be clear. I see you. All of you—the fire in your eyes when you fight for what’s right in those briefings, the way your mind cuts through the bullshit, the strength it takes to stand here knowing what this could do to you. I choose that. I choose us . Publicly. No more shadows. No more hiding how much I need you.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t gentle. It was years of restraint breaking open—his mouth claiming yours with desperate hunger, tongue sliding against yours as he lifted you onto the desk. Papers fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

“Fitz,” you gasped against his lips as he shoved your skirt up, fingers finding you already soaked.

“Say it back,” he demanded, voice husky between kisses down your neck. “Tell me you’re choosing me too. Even when it hurts. Even when the world burns.”

“I’m choosing you,” you moaned as he freed himself, thick and hard, pressing against your entrance. “God help me, I choose you.”

He thrust in deep, one smooth stroke that stole your breath. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely, stretching you in that perfect, overwhelming way.

“Look at me,” he ordered, hips rolling slow and powerful, eyes never leaving yours. “Feel this. This is me choosing you. Every thrust. Every breath. I’d give up the Oval, the power, all of it—for nights like this. For you falling apart in my arms.”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, emotions and pleasure twisting together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. “You’re insane… but I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me.”

He groaned, pace quickening, one hand pinning your hip while the other tangled in your hair. “Then let it terrify us. We’ll face it together. No more running. Just you and me against the storm.”

Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through you as you clenched around him, whispering his name like a prayer. Fitz followed moments later, burying himself deep with a broken moan, spilling inside you as he held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Afterward, he didn’t move far. Still buried in you, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. His fingers gently wiped your tears, the touch so soft it made fresh ones fall.

“I meant every word,” he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion. “We’ll do this right. I’ll handle the fallout. But tonight… stay. Sleep in my arms where you belong. Let me hold the woman I love without hiding it from the walls.”

You smiled through the tears, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Okay. But if this explodes, Fitz Grant… you better still choose me in the ashes.”

He chuckled softly, that rare genuine sound that warmed you from the inside. “Always. You’re my choice. Today. Tomorrow. Every damn day after.”

The Oval felt less like a cage in that moment. Just two people flawed, desperate, and finally honest holding onto something real in a city built on lies.