#hoping 2025 will be better. at least in small ways.
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missingnoneko · 25 days ago
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my very purple v + ci flower shrines as of recently...
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janiehellion · 7 days ago
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Revved Up
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ONESHOT
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Learning to ride a motorcycle should’ve been simple. After all, you knew your way around bikes better than anyone in Alexandria—except Daryl Dixon. But one crash and one pissed-off redneck later, and you're stuck with him giving you a hands-on crash course in focus and control.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / MINOR INJURIES / VAGINAL FINGERING / CUNNILINGUS / SEMI-PUBLIC / ROUGH SEX / PAIN PLAY / MARKING
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.441
ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S05E13—ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ & S05E14—ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅ
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: My first oneshot of 2025���and my longest yet! Sorry, not sorry, for the length; Daryl Dixon refused to stop until the lesson was fully drilled in. Hope it's worth the ride.
MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES
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You couldn't take your eyes off of him.
Out of everyone from the new group in Alexandria, he was the one who made the least effort to fit in. He was quiet and always looked ready to leave, like this wasn't a place to call home. He preferred to keep his distance, doing his own thing around the community, and that made him even more interesting to you.
Daryl Dixon was certainly different from the rest.
The first time you caught him working on the motorcycle and the parts he got from Aaron, in Aaron's and Eric's garage, something caught your attention. It wasn't just the way he moved, though the way his hands worked on the machine was something you couldn't ignore. No, it was more than that, and it pulled you in.
And for you?
The sound of metal and the smell of oil were all too familiar. You'd grown up around motorcycles and spent hours watching your old man work on his Harley Davidson most of the time, until you decided to become a mechanic after school, especially for motorcycles. That knowledge was something you didn't share with many others in Alexandria, but when you saw Daryl putting that motorcycle together piece by piece, you figured it might be a good way to start a conversation, if nothing else.
Sure, he kept to himself mostly, spending more time with his crossbow than with humans. But it made him stand out in a place where most people were getting used to living 'normally' again. And you didn't want anything normal. You wanted real.
That's what led you to the garage.
Daryl, of course, was bent over the motorcycle he'd been working on for some time now.
As you walked closer, you pretended to inspect his work. "What is this, a '92 Honda? Nice setup. Yamaha front end, though? Bit of a Frankenstein's monster, huh?"
That got his attention. "The hell ya know 'bout bikes?"
You shrugged, smirking at him. "What, do you think just 'cause I live in Alexandria, I can't tell a carburetor from a walker? Oh, please."
He hadn't spoken to you much since he arrived, but then again, Daryl didn't talk to anyone much. But you? You barely ever got a grunt in your direction since he'd been here.
"Looks like it's finally coming together," you started, trying to sound bored. It was a shitty way to break the ice, but small talk wasn't your thing after all.
Daryl didn't even look up. Grease covered his hands, and his current expression made him look like he'd rather punch you than say hello.
"Yeah, maybe if ya'd stop annoyin' my ass," he murmured, tightening a bolt.
"I'm only annoying the bike," you snorted. "And I'm making sure it doesn't fall apart the second you ride it out of the community."
That earned you a glare. A quick one. And you held his stare for that moment, refusing to look away.
"So yer always this annoyin'?" He shot back, wiping his hands on a rag and finally standing up to his full height.
"You tell me. So what is it? This… special kind of build?" You asked, gesturing to the motorcycle. You had to admit, it did look quite nice.
His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be a little surprised about your curiosity. "Do ya really know bikes?"
You shrugged, playing it cool. "Enough to know that this isn't a normal setup, but that's just personal taste, you know?"
"It'll work."
"Sure, until it doesn't," you continued with a smirk. "But hey, it's your funeral. Or someone else's if that thing gives out mid-run."
He grunted, clearly not in the mood to admit you might have a point.
"Still, not bad for what you had to work with. Must've been a pain in the ass to track down some of the other parts," you moved closer, getting a better look at the setup. "But I heard Aaron's been helping you out. He's good with scavenging stuff. Though, I bet he didn't know half of what you needed."
That got a grunt of agreement from Daryl. "He ain't bad. Jus' don't need anyone watchin' when I'm workin'."
"Noted." You raised your hands, but you didn't back off. Instead, you crouched next to the machine, inspecting the details up close. You could feel Daryl's eyes on you, probably wondering what the hell you were doing.
After a moment of silence, you looked up at him again. "You ever really gonna take this thing out, or are you just building it for the hell of it?"
Daryl looked over to the garage door as if he was thinking whether or not to answer. Finally, he sighed. "Gonna use it. Aaron wants me on the road, recruitin' and all. Need somethin' fast."
"Yeah? And what if you end up with a flat tire out there? Wait, that might not even be a problem, since it kind of looks like you're building yourself a time machine there," you answered, standing up. "But you're gonna need more than just duct tape and spit to get this thing running."
Daryl's eyes narrowed again. "Told ya I know what I'm doin'," he snapped, his hand tightening around the wrench like he was itching to throw it at you.
But you weren't about to be ignored that easily. "You've really got some interesting mismatched parts here. Yamaha forks on a Honda… Look, I'm just saying that you might wanna check the suspension before you ride outta here. Unless you're aiming to get launched off it."
"Gonna manage."
You snorted. "Sure, you will. But hey, if you ever feel like teaching someone else how to ride, I wouldn't mind learning. I mean, someone's gotta be around to save your ass when that thing tries to kill you."
Daryl shot you a look, his jaw clenching slightly, but this time, he just stared at you like you were the most confusing person he'd ever seen.
"Ya wanna learn how to ride?" His voice sounded annoyed, like the idea was somehow offensive to him, but there was also some slight disbelief to be heard as if he wasn't sure why you'd ask him of all people. "Ain't got time for that. Got 'nough problems without babysittin'."
"Come on," you pressed further. "What's the harm? Or is the asshole routine just for me? Besides, if you ever crash, I promise I'll write you some kinda eulogy. Something about how you died doing what you loved—which is looking perpetually pissed off."
You could've sworn you saw the slightest smirk, but Daryl quickly busied himself with the motorcycle, like he hadn't shown you might really have a point with your tips.
Keeping your voice casual, you stepped back. "Let me know if you change your mind," you continued, brushing off your knees. "Might be fun."
With that, you gave him one last smirk and turned around, leaving him to think about whatever he thought of you.
You spent the next couple of days trying not to think about Daryl Dixon, which was about as easy as trying not to notice a walker biting your arm. But despite your best efforts to act like it was no big deal, the thought of riding that motorcycle—and more specifically, him teaching you—kept making its way into your head.
Daryl didn't say anything about your offer for those few days, too. Hell, he didn't say much of anything, really. He'd pass by you in Alexandria, his crossbow by his side, always looking like someone just spit in his drink. But you had gotten used to the silent treatment by now, so you didn't let it get to you... much.
Indeed, it didn't take long to figure out that convincing Daryl Dixon to teach you how to ride a motorcycle was like trying to herd cats—but grumpy, feral ones… with knives.
It was late afternoon when you found yourself near the garage again, and you hadn't planned on seeing him, but let's face it, you were intrigued. And there he was—still working on the motorcycle and still looking like it personally insulted him.
However, the thing looked all patched together with scavenged pieces and maybe a little bit of wishful thinking. It had a certain look to it, like it wanted to run off into the wild and never come back.
Daryl didn't even move. He didn't look your way. He just kept wrenching something near the seat before he glared at you like you'd asked him to solve a math problem.
"Thought I'd come by and bless you with my knowledge once more," you announced, smirking as you leaned against the workbench.
Daryl only rolled his eyes—actually rolled them—like he couldn't believe he had to put up with you again. "Ain't nobody asked for that."
"Yeah, well, nobody asked for that bike to look like it's held together with a plea and a prayer, but here we are," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "'Livin' on a Prayer,' in fact."
He grunted, shoving the wrench into the toolbox with force. "The hell do ya know 'bout motorcycles, anyway?"
"I do know motorcycles! I told you, didn't I? And that thing," you pointed to the machine, "is one bad pothole away from turning into scrap metal."
Daryl scoffed, clearly not a fan of having his work criticized, especially by someone who, in his eyes, hadn't earned the right to say something about it. "It'll hold. 'S a good bike."
"Sure, sure," you said, grinning at him. "But if you're so confident, why don't you accept my offer? Teach me how to ride. Let's see if this thing here can handle it."
He stared at you for a long moment, like he was thinking about his options. You could practically see the gears running in his head—whether to shut you down and tell you to piss off or give in just to prove you wrong.
"Ya serious 'bout this?"
"Dead serious," you said, holding his stare. "What? Are you afraid?"
His nostrils flared in the way they did when he seemed to be two seconds from snapping at you, but instead, he just turned back to his work. "Ya wanna learn? Fine. But don't come cryin' to me when ya hurt yer ass."
"Oh, don't worry, Dixon. If I hurt my ass, I'll make sure you hurt yours, too," you said, biting back a laugh as you straightened up. "But I swear, this thing's gonna be your mid-life crisis. What's next, leather pants and chaps?"
He showed you one of those stares again—half-annoyed, half-confused—like he wasn't sure if he should bother responding or pretend you didn't exist.
"Ya done?"
"Done? I'm here to save you from yourself, Daryl. You keep this up, and in a week, you're gonna be having a mullet and wearing a crop top."
He stared at you like you'd grown an extra head. "What the hell're ya talkin' 'bout?"
"Mid-life crisis, Daryl. First, it's the bike. Then, it's questionable fashion choices. Next thing you know, you're coming back from a run with a Corvette and crying over Bon Jovi ballads. I'm just here to make sure it won't happen."
"Ain't havin' no damn crisis."
You smirked. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say. Just remember, I offered to help. I can't wait to see you when you're rocking those chaps and a bandana."
"So, ya still wanna learn to ride or not?" His voice sounded definitely pissed off.
You raised your eyebrows, as if in shock. "Oh my, was that an offer in return? From you? I'm touched, really. Let me just—" You pretended to wipe a tear away from your eye and sob. "This moment's very special to me."
"Shut up," he grumbled, but his voice gave way that he almost sounded amused.
"I'm just saying, this is progress," you said. "Next thing I know, we'll be exchanging friendship bracelets."
Daryl didn't respond right away, but you thought you had seen enjoyment, maybe? Or irritation. It was hard to tell with him. Either way, he was back on his feet now, pulling the motorcycle upright and kicking the stand back. Soon enough, the familiar sound of the engine made its way through the garage, and damn if it didn't make your pulse race just a little.
"Get on."
His sudden words made you blink at him in surprise. "Wait, like… right now? Where's the foreplay, Dixon? At least buy me a drink first."
"Nah, when I'm dead. Yeah, right now," he snapped, unable to believe you were even asking.
"Okay, okay," you mumbled, swinging your leg over the motorcycle with as much confidence as you could have at that moment. The seat seemed normal, but it still felt bigger than you expected.
Daryl stepped beside you, his arms crossed as he watched you. "Ya know how to start?"
"Of course I do," you said, reaching for the handlebars.
You were halfway through fumbling with the throttle at first when Daryl's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. "That ain't how ya do it," he growled as he leaned in. "First lesson: This here's the throttle—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know what a throttle is," you interrupted, waving him off. "I'm not a complete idiot. I could turn this thing into scrap and piece it back together if you wanted me to, so..."
His eyes narrowed. "Then maybe shut up and listen."
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You couldn't help it—pissing him off was just too easy.
"Clutch on the left, throttle on the right," he continued, his fingers tapping the handlebars. "Brake's here. Don't yank it like an idiot." He then gave the machine a once-over. "Ya pull the clutch, twist the throttle slowly. Too much, and yer gonna stall it."
"Okay, understood. Show me."
Daryl let out a frustrated sigh but soon moved behind you, reaching around to grip the handlebars. His strong chest pressed against your back, and you immediately forgot how to breathe.
"Ya gotta ease into it," he instructed while his fingers guided yours on the throttle.
"Uh-huh, yeah, sure, ease into it," you mumbled, trying to sound unimpressed. "And what happens if I don't ease into it? The whole thing explodes?"
"Nah. Ya gonna wipe out an' eat dirt," he shot back, his lips showing a bit of a smirk. "But maybe ya'll learn faster that way."
"Yeah, well, I've eaten worse," you answered, glancing over your shoulder at him. "Besides, I doubt you've ever taught anyone how to ride before. What if you're just a terrible teacher?"
He huffed against your neck. "Ain't teachin' ya much. Now, idle it forward."
You followed his instructions, twisting the throttle just enough to get the engine purring beneath you. The vibration went through your legs, and despite yourself, you had to admit it felt very, very good.
"Okay, now what?" You asked, trying to sound bored even though the adrenaline was starting to kick in.
"Now ya balance," Daryl said, his voice neutral like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Try not to fall over." You could feel his eyes on you, judging every movement you made. "Quit messin' 'round. Friction Zone is how ya idle forward."
You shot him a look but did as he said, trying not to stall the motorcycle. For a second, you wobbled, and you swore you heard Daryl whisper something—probably betting on how soon you'd crash.
But you didn't. You steadied yourself. It was a weird feeling—kind of thrilling, kind of terrifying.
"Well, look at that," you said, showing him a grin. "Didn't fall over. Guess you're not the worst teacher after all."
"Jus' keep 'em hands on the bars," he instructed, his voice rather patient—well, as patient as Daryl ever got.
You did as he said, gripping the handlebars harder, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His smell wasn't exactly unpleasant. In fact, it was kind of… intoxicating.
Not that you'd ever admit that to him out loud.
"Fine, so what's next? Do I just rev it up and hope for the best?"
Daryl snorted, clearly unimpressed with you being unable to wait. "Ya listen, or yer gonna end up on yer ass."
"You know, Daryl, I don't usually take threats during lessons, but I'll make an exception for you."
His grip tightened on the handlebars, and you thought he might just leave you there. But he didn't. "Don't jerk the damn throttle, woman, or yer gonna take off too fast."
"Throttle, got it. Don't jerk it off. Guess I'll save that one for later." You wiggled your eyebrows, even though he couldn't see it.
Daryl stiffened, grumbling something you didn't quite catch, though it definitely wasn't a compliment.
"C'mon now, twist it—slowly," he ordered.
You followed his lead, the motorcycle easing forward just a bit as you worked the throttle.
"There ya go," Daryl said, his voice sounding a bit less harsh now that you weren't about to play around. "Gotta ease into it."
"Wow, who knew you could be so supportive?" You teased. "Almost makes me think you care."
He grunted. "Jus' don't wanna pick yer ass up off the ground."
"Got it, got it. Now, let's see if I can actually ride this thing without killing myself."
Daryl's hand moved to the clutch, his fingers touching yours as he guided you through the motions. You weren't sure if it was the machine or him, but your heart was beating much faster than usual. Maybe it was both. Either way, you were in for one hell of a ride.
His hand was warm, calloused, and—despite everything—comforting as he guided you out of the garage.
"Okay, slow down a bit, but not too much," he instructed, his voice almost a growl. The way he said it made you shiver, but you refused to let it show. You could be cool about this, right?
"Or I could just go full throttle and see how far I can fly through the streets of Alexandria," you laughed back.
"Real funny," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Jus' don't fuck up. Y'ain't flyin' nowhere. Ya gotta keep it steady."
"Right, no jerking off," you said, moving your head to the side just enough to glance at him. "That's usually my motto, you know, but I can make an exception for you regarding that as well."
"Focus. Don't push it," he warned. "Ya gotta keep yer focus on the bike, not me."
"Really? I thought you were my main distraction." You leaned back a little. "Sure, I'll focus. But I'm also pretty good at multitasking." As you worked the throttle again, you felt a rush of adrenaline. "So, what happens if I actually do fall? You gonna come to my rescue?"
Daryl didn't answer immediately. Instead, he loosened his grip on the handlebars, his body tense next to you. "Ya get back up. Everyone falls. 'S what ya do afterward that matters."
"Profound," you smirked. "You should start writing poetry! 'When life knocks you down, just get back on your bike.' Classic wisdom."
"Shut up and drive."
The motorcycle moved as you used the throttle too hard, and you fought to regain control, laughing nervously. "Shit! Maybe I should have listened to that part about not jerking it!"
He sighed, not bothering to hide his amusement this time. "Ya keep talkin', and ya might jus' convince me to kick ya off myself."
"Promises, promises," you smirked, adrenaline rushing through you, making everything feel a bit more exciting.
He grumbled something again—probably another insult—but he didn't try to stop you. Your movements weren't exactly smooth, but it was a start.
"You're a terrible teacher, by the way," you soon said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.
"Good," Daryl answered. "Means ya won't ask me to do this shit again."
You were just getting into the rhythm, feeling the motorcycle beneath you and getting the hang of it, when you heard the sound of footsteps getting closer behind you.
"Hey! What's going on here?" Aaron's voice destroyed the moment, and you felt Daryl tense near you.
"Shit," he groaned, practically gritting his teeth. You tried to process what was happening as you got off the seat, the way Daryl's body stiffened and the smirk faded from your lips.
"Oh, nothing, just a little driving lesson," you announced, trying to keep going despite the sudden stop. "Motto: 'Try Not to Die, but If You Do, It Ain't My Problem.'"
Aaron laughed, walking closer to you both. "So, it's finally finished?" He looked at the machine, inspecting the mix of parts that somehow came together into something that resembled a proper motorcycle.
"Jus' 'bout," Daryl replied dryly.
Aaron raised an eyebrow, looking from you to Daryl, who was already stepping away from him and you.
"That's great. Looks like you're making some great progress," Aaron continued, stepping closer.
"Ain't needin' ya to worry 'bout that," Daryl grumbled, the annoyance in his voice unmistakable. "Lesson's over."
"Wait, what? You can't just—"
"Don't push it," he snapped, shooting you a look that said he was done. "Ya wanna learn, ya have to find someone else."
You blinked, stunned as he walked away with the motorcycle by his side. "Daryl, stop!"
"Forget 'bout it," he called back, almost like his voice belonged to a different person. "Y'ain't ready."
Your frustration boiled over, and you turned to Aaron, arms crossed. "Thanks for ruining my lesson, by the way. Just what I needed today—more interruptions."
Aaron frowned, glancing between you and Daryl again as he watched him walk away. "What did you expect? He's still new here. Trying to keep his distance from the rest of us."
"Yeah, well, he doesn't need to be an asshole about it," you snapped. "I was getting somewhere!"
"You have to understand that the whole group has been through a lot. Daryl's not always going to be open with people," he explained, but it didn't help your mood.
"I get that, but I was just trying to learn something! Guess it's my fault for thinking he could actually teach me without being a complete asshole about it."
"Maybe give it some time?" Aaron suggested, his voice softer now, sounding more sympathetic. "He'll come around."
"Maybe," you sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "But just when I thought I could finally get him to smile and to talk, you pull this."
Aaron's expression was by now somewhere between concern and curiosity as you huffed, glaring at Daryl walking away.
"Really, Aaron…" You continued, throwing your hands in the air. "You couldn't have waited five goddamn minutes longer to come and ruin my day? You see me finally making some progress, and you think, 'Oh, hey! The perfect time to interrupt!'"
Aaron raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I didn't mean to ruin anything. I didn't know you two were having... whatever that was."
"Whatever that was?" You repeated, your voice rising. "It was a goddamn driving lesson! Or, at least, it was supposed to be before you came along with your good intentions and your bad timing!"
Aaron frowned, the tone in his voice still kind, but he wasn't backing down. "Look, I was just checking in because I heard the sound of the engine. I thought Daryl wanted to head out, and I only wanted to see if he's done with his work on the bike. I didn't realize you were both so busy."
"Busy?" You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head. "You know what? Forget it. Next time I'm about to get Daryl Dixon to do something other than grunt or skin dead animals on the porch, I'll write you a goddamn note so you don't fuck it up. Now he's all pissed off and stomping away with my only chance at learning how to ride a damn bike and not kill myself."
"I doubt he's mad at you," Aaron responded. "Daryl's complicated. Like the rest of the group. They're still very new here. And you were the same when I found you and brought you here. But you're probably closer to getting through to him than anyone else."
You snorted. "Yeah, sure. 'Cause nothing says 'bonding' and 'getting to know each other' like storming off with his damn Franken-bike in a hurry. Really fucking touching."
Aaron smiled, squeezing your shoulder. "Just think about it."
You exhaled loudly, putting your hands on your hips. "Sounds like it's from a fortune cookie. Thanks for nothing."
With that, Aaron simply walked off, leaving you alone.
Soon, some days had passed since your lesson with Daryl. Days that quickly turned annoying when you realized he was avoiding you like you were the last slice of cold pizza at a party.
It felt weird.
Like, ridiculously weird.
And it didn't help that every time you tried to casually walk into the garage or catch him before he went on a supply run, he was either nowhere to be found or suddenly too busy to talk. You even half-expected to see a 'Do Not Disturb' sign near the bike.
It wasn't like you were stalking him—okay, maybe a little—but it was hard to stop thinking about him.
"Should I ask for him? Should I knock on the garage door? Maybe he's just sleeping? Or dead?" You laughed at the last thought. With Daryl, it wasn't a real possibility.
Finally, you sighed and decided to call it a day. "Alright, Daryl Dixon, you win," you said to yourself, kicking the dirt as you turned to leave.
But just as you made it halfway down the street, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, followed by a clink of metal that made your heart race. You turned, and there he was—finally. Daryl Dixon, leaning against the side of the garage, arms crossed, his eyes hidden behind his hair, and with a cigarette in one hand.
Oh no, you're not getting away this time.
"Been hiding from me, huh?" You asked as soon as you reached him. "Gonna run off again? Or maybe you've just been too busy?" You faked a yawn, your eyes narrowing. "Or hiding from the bike lesson, maybe?"
Daryl simply scoffed, the only sign of life you got out of him as you stood a few inches from him. His eyes looked down, clearly not thrilled to see you standing there, but you didn't give a damn.
You put your hands on your hips, pretending to inspect him like he was the most boring human in Alexandria. "Hey… You did promise, you know? I didn't just imagine that part now, did I?"
"Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout."
You raised an eyebrow, your smile growing wider. "Oh? Sure feels like it. Guess you finally realized you're not as good of a teacher as you think."
Daryl sighed, sounding not only frustrated but... pissed off? Maybe both?
"Don't need to explain shit to ya," he grumbled in return.
You grinned, shrugging. "Well, if you're busy doing... whatever it is you do when you're not being an asshole, I guess I'll just go back to trying to learn from someone else." You turned to leave, but not without looking back over your shoulder again. "Don't worry. I won't ask you to teach me again."
That got him. He pushed himself off the garage, taking a few steps closer.
"You promised, Daryl. Or is that just another thing you like to say and not follow through with? You were gonna teach me. Not that I care; I'm sure I'll learn from someone else... unless you finally stop being an ass," you taunted, still looking over your shoulder at him.
Daryl's hand shot out before you could get too far, catching your arm in a grip that could've cracked a tree in half if he wanted it to. He was definitely pissed.
With a growl, he yanked you back toward him. "Fine. I'll teach ya. But not here. Not in Alexandria." He released your arm. "Meet me by the gates. Tomorrow, at dawn."
Without waiting for a response, Daryl walked back inside, leaving you standing there with a grin.
The next morning, you woke up early, a little earlier than you'd planned, but that was the least of your problems. There was a knot in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of, not even with a few stretches or by putting on your clothes.
This wasn't just another run. It wasn't just another 'do this or die trying' kinda deal. No, this was different. And for some reason, you were extremely nervous. What was he gonna do? What was he thinking?
You threw on your jacket, tied your boots like they were the last thing you'd ever do, and then... you hesitated.
What the hell was wrong with you?
With a deep breath, you forced yourself out the door and towards the gates of Alexandria. When you finally made it, you saw him. There he was—Daryl Dixon, standing there like he was waiting for the bus, except minus the whole 'bus' part. The motorcycle was leaned up against the walls, and he was staring straight ahead as if you were the last person he wanted to see right now.
"Well, damn. You did show up. Thought maybe you'd hide behind that attitude of yours for another day," you said, taking your time to walk up to him, not quite giving a damn whether he was ready for you or not.
But Daryl didn't even acknowledge you. He just flicked his cigarette away and gave you a look that could probably kill.
He then grunted, clearly not amused. "Ain't here to talk."
You looked at him, smirking a little. "Oh, I thought we were here to talk. 'Cause last time I checked, you were too busy to teach me anything useful. Guess you did promise, isn't that right?" You continued and raised an eyebrow. "So... what's the deal, huh? You just gonna stand there, or are we gonna start this driving lesson?"
He was still giving you that dead-eyed stare like you just asked him to swallow down rusty nails. The way Daryl was looking at you, all calm but irritated at the same time—it made everything weirder. But now, you had no choice. You had to get on that machine if you wanted to learn.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer to him after he took the motorcycle and got onto it himself. "Get on."
You hesitated before swinging your leg over it as well, the movement too awkward to be smooth. There was no denying it—there was a whole lot of you that wasn't exactly eager to be pressed up against him.
You bit your lip but tried to keep your cool. "Alright, I'm on."
Daryl didn't answer. He just started the engine, his hands gripping the handlebars, and that was when you had to settle into place—right behind him. You were close now—way too close—and that knot in your stomach was only tightening itself. You couldn't help it. You had to steady yourself, right? And as much as you hated to admit it, you found yourself sliding your hands down, almost instinctively. But... it wasn't enough.
And it wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair. The way he was so broad, strong, and so very close made it impossible to think straight. Your palms were sweating, and it wasn't because you were nervous about falling off. It was him. Just him. And God, it was infuriating, letting your thoughts run wild.
Why does he have to smell so good? Why can't he just be an asshole and not… this?
Your hands moved. Lower.
You didn't mean to, but... there you were. Your fingers grabbed his hips, right there in front of you and so, so very close. He was warm, so warm, and you couldn't not notice it, even if you tried. But you weren't even trying.
Oh, no. Don't. Don't do it. Not now...
But your hands stayed right there. Resting on his hips. You couldn't help it.
God, he feels good. Warm. Strong. Hell, if I slide even lower, maybe I can make him feel me, too. What if I just—
You quickly cut your thoughts off, but the temptation was there. It was stupid. It's Daryl, you reminded yourself, though it didn't make the racing of your heart in your chest any less intense.
"Quit it. Jus' hold on," he suddenly said, still keeping his focus on the road in front of you.
You snapped out of it, blinking as though you were just pulled back from the edge of a cliff.
"Me?" You shot back, trying to sound as neutral as possible, hoping he didn't feel the way your heart was pounding. "You're the one acting like you've got a stick up your ass. Don't act like I'm the problem here."
Daryl didn't respond—again. His hands tightened on the handlebars, and you felt him move slightly on the motorcycle. You wondered if he could feel the way you were still pressed against him, too. If he noticed, he didn't give any sign, but hell, you weren't sure whether that was calming you down or just making everything worse.
Your hands were still grabbing his hips. Still low. Still in the danger zone. And every second you stayed on that seat that close behind him, the more you realized just how close you were to crossing a line you couldn't uncross, too.
Just stop touching him like that. For God's sake, control yourself...
But it was too late, wasn't it? Your hands were already doing what they wanted, sliding ever so slightly as Daryl revved the engine beneath you. And as the machine roared further and you felt the vibration between your legs, you couldn't deny it—you were holding on tight...
And shit, you hated yourself for it, but you couldn't think straight.
Your hands—those traitorous, slightly trembling hands—started to move further without you even trying. At first, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his shirt. You didn't mean to, but your fingers couldn't resist anymore.
What the hell is wrong with me?
You kept telling yourself you weren't like this, but the warmth of his body in front of you, the vibrations of the motorcycle—the whole situation—it was clearly messing with your head.
And then your fingers touched the waistband of his pants. Your mind started spiraling.
Fuck, stop it.
But your hands were moving still, just a little further, and before you could catch yourself, you were dangerously close to slipping one whole hand past the button of his pants.
Why does this feel so fucking good? So right? No! This is so wrong!
You knew you shouldn't be doing this. You were driving yourself crazy just being this close to him. You should pull away and act like nothing happened. But the thought of him—of the way he looked, the way he smelled—it was too much.
Should I really keep going? You wondered, heart racing. What if I just slide my hand inside and just feel him?
The idea was so sudden it made your stomach growl, but you couldn't stop imagining it. The way he'd react—if he'd stop the motorcycle and throw you off, or if he'd just let you have your way.
But your hand froze at the button of his pants, resting there, barely touching it. You hated how much you wanted to go further, how much you needed to.
Pull back. Move your hand away. Stop thinking about how strong he is.
The way his muscles moved under your fingers, how he wasn't even saying one thing to stop you. Did he want this? Did he feel it too? You hated how much you wanted to find out.
But Daryl kept driving, focusing on the surroundings and possible dangers as you left Alexandria.
Why isn't he stopping me?
He was tense, but that was it. No words, no warnings. And that drove you wild.
Maybe he wants this as much as I do.
Your mind was on fire now, and you wanted him so badly, it felt like your whole body was about to explode. And the weirdest part? You weren't sure you even cared anymore if this was wrong.
If you don't stop me, I swear I'll—
You didn't finish that thought, and as soon as Daryl pulled off the road and into a clearing surrounded by trees, the motorcycle came to a stop.
"This'll do," he said, getting off it and motioning for you to follow.
You stumbled off, your legs still shaky from holding yourself together.
Right now, you wanted to hate him. To scream at him. But the truth was, you were more pissed at yourself. You were supposed to be learning how to ride a motorcycle, not imagining what it would feel like to be all over him and…
No. Stop it. Get your shit together.
"Alright, what's next?" You asked, doing your best to sound casual even as your heart was still racing. "You gonna teach me how not to eat dirt or just let me ride it?"
Daryl glared at you, one eyebrow raised like you were the one making this complicated. "Jus' pay attention."
You snorted, shaking your head. "Sure, 'cause that's been working out for me so far." You crossed your arms, a little too aware of how your body felt like it was overheating.
Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him...
He was already gesturing to the motorcycle again, explaining the controls all over. "Clutch, brake, throttle—all that stuff."
You nodded, doing your best to stay focused despite how goddamn awkward you felt.
Focus; you can do this.
You glanced at him and caught the way his hands moved around near you, the way his fingers got hold of the throttle like he was born to do this.
"Ya won't wreck it if ya listen."
You scoffed, trying to hide your nerves. "Yeah… 'if,' but okay."
Daryl took a step closer, the space between you suddenly feeling way too small. "Stop makin' jokes, and start payin' some real attention."
You could feel how he stared you down, even without looking into his eyes, and before you could stop yourself, you were blushing—hard.
Shit, shit, shit.
He then smirked, only a little, and you wanted to punch him for it. Or kiss him. You weren't sure. Either way, you tugged at the collar of your shirt like it was too tight, but there was no escaping it.
Daryl was watching you, though his smirk was already gone again. "Jus' sit down on it. Let's see if ya can at least do that alone while out here, without fallin' over."
You had to swallow hard.
Just get on, just get on, and don't think about him.
Your mind was screaming at you to stop acting like you wanted to crawl all over him, but your body was betraying you.
And Daryl for sure wasn't even trying to make it easier, and all you could do was grit your teeth and pray you didn't lose it.
The first time you tried to balance the motorcycle, you almost tipped it over, but Daryl quickly got a hold of it—and you—before you really ate dirt.
"Goddamn it," he groaned, yanking you upright and keeping the motorcycle steady. "Yer fightin' the damn thing instead o' drivin' it. Quit makin' it harder for yerself."
You shot him a glare but didn't respond, figuring it was easier to just get the lesson over with. This time, he stepped in behind you, hands landing on your waist like he was holding onto a ticking time bomb. His grip tightened just enough to make you aware of his presence, but you weren't going to let him throw you off balance.
"Ease up on the damn clutch," he grumbled. "Slowly. Ya ain't in a damn hurry."
By the third or fourth try, you were starting to get the hang of it. You made it a few feet without the motorcycle wobbling like it had been possessed. You didn't even stall it this time.
"Look at me!" You grinned over your shoulder at him all triumphant as you stopped at a treeline. "I'm basically a stunt double at this point! Wanna try jumping flaming buses next?"
Daryl shot you that look again. The one that made you want to throw something at him. "Nah, yer bein' an amateur stunt double wantin' to set yerself on fire… 'cause ya can't keep yer hands to yerself."
You ignored him.
You had it now. You totally had it.
But who needed to play it safe when you could push this lesson to the limit and prove yourself?
You twisted the throttle again but felt a sudden rush of speed. "Shit!" You screamed from far away. "Fuck!"
"What the hell are ya doin'?!" Daryl shouted before you were hurtling forward at fast speed, your stomach dropping as it made everything around you blurry in sight. You had no idea how to stop in the heat of the moment without throwing yourself off it, and that realization hit you hard. You were in panic mode now, and trying to steer only made it worse.
"Daryl? A little help here, please!" You screamed, gripping the handlebars as your hands shook.
"Hold on!" Daryl yelled, but his warning was already too late. The front wheel hit something—a big rock? A tree stump? You didn't even see it. All you knew was that the motorcycle lurched like a wild animal wanting to throw you off its back.
For a moment, you were sure you were about to die. But Daryl wasn't about to let that happen. He lunged forward, grabbing you and yanking you off the seat just before it tipped completely and threw you off.
You and Daryl went down, both of you slamming into the ground hard. You landed on top of him—completely on top of him, with your thighs pressed against his hips and your upper body crashing against his chest.
You knew you fucked up, but his expression only made it worse. The slight pain in your body was nothing compared to the humiliation you felt. All you could do was catch your breath and stare at him.
And Daryl was flat-out pissed. His face was full of rage, and he was breathing hard from the crash. He shoved you off him, his hands on your shoulders as he stood up.
"What the hell were ya thinkin'!?" His eyes were practically burning holes through you. "I told ya to slow the hell down and focus! Ya don't listen for shit!"
You didn't want to admit that he was right, that you'd been very reckless. "Well, maybe you should've taught me how to actually ride instead of standing there like a statue and just barking orders!"
Daryl's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
He wasn't just angry.
He was livid.
You were both breathing fast now, adrenaline still running through your veins. "And maybe I'm just a fast learner, okay?" You continued.
Daryl looked at you like he was about to rip you in half. "Yer not a fast learner; yer a damn idiot! And now I gotta drag yer dumb ass back!"
He grabbed the motorcycle and swung his leg over it with a grunt. "Get the fuck on," he growled in frustration.
You glared at him for a moment, but you weren't about to argue. You had to get home. You had no choice but to follow him.
Throwing your leg over the seat, you settled behind him. You couldn't even look up now. Every time you did, your stomach hurt in a way that made no sense. The anger, the shame—it was all so degrading. You wanted to argue. You really did. But you were too embarrassed, and your body was too sore to keep up any fight.
Daryl started the engine, and the motorcycle roared to life under you. As he sped down the road, you couldn't help but notice how tense his body still was. Every muscle in his back seemed to be stiff. And he didn't say a word anymore. Not a single word as you rode back toward Alexandria in silence.
His hands gripped the handlebars with such force, you swore the motorcycle might crack in half under the pressure if he kept it up.
You were pissed as well. Pissed at yourself for fucking up and pissed at him for making you feel all... this. You hated that you couldn't read him, hated how he could just shut everything out like that, and especially for making you feel something you didn't want to feel.
Once back at Alexandria, the garage door had barely been shut when Daryl's frustration exploded. He was still breathing hard from the ride, and he hadn't pushed you away since you'd now gotten back, but the way he was glaring at you said enough.
He took a step toward you, pushing you back a little. "Crashed my damn bike…"
"I didn't wreck it, Daryl," you argued. "It's fine!"
"Fine?" He repeated. "That's what ya call near splittin' yer skull open?"
"I didn't crash on purpose!" You shot back, the frustration boiling over. "I'm not dumb!"
He let out a mean laugh, his eyes narrowing. "Coulda fooled me, dumbass!"
"You're the one all trembling here, not me!" You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto whatever bit of defiance was left. "It was an accident, Daryl," you continued, glaring right back at him. "It's not like I'm trying to be your damn stunt double!"
He scoffed, not buying your excuse. "Bullshit. Ya were pushin' it, tryin' to prove somethin', weren't ya? Ya coulda gotten yerself killed!"
Maybe he was right; maybe you had been showing off, but why bother with giving him the satisfaction and letting him know that it was the truth?
"What's your problem, Dixon? It isn't like I destroyed the damn thing," you scoffed.
He shot you a glare. "Problem is, ya don't think. Out there, one screw-up ain't jus' a scratch—it's the difference 'tween comin' back or not comin' back at all!"
You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please! Spare me the PSA! It isn't like I don't know how this shit works! We're all one wrong turn away from dead anyway! What's the big deal?"
"The big deal," he growled, "is ya don't get to pull that shit with my bike!"
His finger shot out, pointing toward the side of the motorcycle. "Look at this," he growled. "Ya see that?"
You glanced where he was pointing and shrugged. "What, a couple of scratches? Boo-fucking-hoo! Rub some dirt with your spit on it; it'll be fine!"
"Couple o' scratches?" His voice rose, and he bent down to run a hand along the damaged part. "Ya know how I worked on this, ain't that right? To get it runnin' smooth?"
He crouched, looking at the machine like he was inspecting a wounded animal. "Look."
"What?"
"Look," he snarled once more, pointing his finger at the gas tank.
Reluctantly, you stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. The scratches weren't as bad as you'd expected—some scuffed paint and a tiny dent, hardly catastrophic.
"Oh no," you pretended to be shocked and threw your hands up. "It's ruined! Better put it out of its misery!"
Daryl turned around, staring at you in disbelief and anger. "That funny to ya?"
"A little," you shot back, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded. "Newsflash, Dixon! This is a hunk of metal. It'll survive!"
His jaw clenched, and he stood up so fast you stumbled back. "Ain't the damn point," he snapped, stepping closer.
"Then what is the point?" You demanded in return.
"The point is," he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "ya don't listen. Yer always so goddamn dumb, thinkin' ya know better—"
"I do know better!" You interrupted him. "I could rebuild this bike with my eyes closed! Hell, I could build you a new one from… a scratch!"
Daryl's hands dropped to his sides, his breathing fast as he stared at you. His eyes looked down to your arms, and you followed his line of sight, realizing for the first time that you were trembling.
His eyes softened, just for a second. "Ya hurt?"
"No," you lied, crossing your arms to hide the shaking.
Daryl huffed, and his frustration was boiling over again. "Bullshit."
He moved toward you, closing the space between you as he grabbed you by the arm. You flinched but didn't pull away. His grip tightened, pulling you back toward the motorcycle you'd nearly wrecked.
"Get on," he growled, holding you still.
You froze, glaring at him. "Excuse me?"
"Get on the fuckin' bike," he repeated, his eyes narrowing.
You shook your head. "You're out of your damn mind."
But you didn't fight it when he shoved you over to the seat, guiding you like you were weighing nothing at all. You hadn't expected this—his touch and his obvious anger.
But it wasn't just the crash. No. It was the way his eyes looked at you—like he was waiting for you to back down, to beg for mercy even.
"What?" You scoffed. "You're pissed 'cause I fucked up your bike? Is that it? So fucking ridiculous!"
"'S part of it," he answered, and before you could respond, his hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.
And you weren't sure what you expected from him, but you didn't expect the force of his lips on yours.
His kiss was aggressive. It wasn't tender. It wasn't gentle. It was all teeth and tongue and the feel of his stubble against your skin.
You tried to pull back, pushing at his chest. "What the hell—!"
"Shut the fuck up."
You barely had time to react before he was pushing you against the motorcycle, and his hands found their way under your shirt. It was almost too much to bear—the roughness of his touch. It had no place here, not with you two practically being strangers in this world, but somehow it made sense.
And no, you didn't pull away. Not now.
"Daryl—" You cut yourself off when his hand slid down to your waistband, tugging at your pants, a movement that was fast and urgent. Your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your throat.
He didn't respond, not in words anyway, as he lowered himself to his knees in front of you, his hands on your thighs, forcing you to stay still.
He wanted you—had wanted you, maybe for longer than he'd ever care to admit.
You gasped again when he pulled your pants down roughly, his hands moving along your hips before dragging them down your legs. You knew his hands were capable—he could gut a deer in under a minute, rebuild a bike from scratch—but this? This was a whole different level of skill, and you weren't sure whether to be impressed or terrified by how quickly he had you undone.
But you didn't have time to process it before Daryl was standing again, his face dangerously close to yours, eyes burning with a fire that made you blush.
God, his eyes.
They weren't just looking at you—they were staring you down.
Before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to your hips and pushing himself closer until there was no space between your bodies.
And then, his fingers slipped beneath your panties, and he slid two of them into you. Without warning.
You cried out at the suddenness of it, at the overwhelming feeling, but you didn't stop him.
"Still think I'm tremblin'?" He asked as he moved them inside you with a pace that made your head spin. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
Sure, he was frustrated—but now it was all coming out, only in a way that you'd never expected. You didn't know what this was—what this would be afterward—but damn if it didn't feel like the only thing that mattered right now.
As his breath turned quicker against your neck, the urgency of his fingers quickened, too. Until he pulled them out of you. The moment he removed his hand, licking his fingers clean, you almost cursed aloud, the emptiness threatening to drive you mad.
He didn't give you time to say anything, didn't even let you think about it, because in the next moment, his hands were yanking your shirt up over your head, and your bra was gone just as fast.
But the way he studied you, every inch of you—like he was savoring the moment as if you were a piece of art he needed to drink in—made everything feel too much. Too much to take. Too much to bear. But also too good to stop.
You couldn't protest, couldn't do anything but let him have his way, and your eyes squeezed shut as you fought to hold it together.
Without a word, Daryl kneeled back down onto the ground again, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing them apart for him.
"Open yer eyes," he ordered, but you didn't. You just couldn't. But you could feel him there, right between your legs, and the anticipation was nearly killing you.
No, you couldn't do anything but obey as his hand was pulling your panties down and his other hand's thumb stroked across your clit, but something else caught his attention. A bruise on your thigh started to slowly form itself from when you'd crashed.
And then, without a word, he leaned forward, his lips pressing hard against the bruise. His teeth bit into the skin, and then he sucked on it with a hunger that had nothing to do with the motorcycle and the crash.
You gasped loudly, eyes opening wide as the sharp sting of his bite was followed by the slow, deep suck of his mouth.
His lips left the bruise for a moment, but it wasn't gone long. His tongue licked over the edges of it, then his teeth, scraping some more, making your legs shiver with lust and a little bit of pain.
As his fingers moved toward and away from your wet pussy, to brush over the scratches on one leg from the crash, you could feel the pressure of his touch as he traced over each one. He didn't care about the discomfort it caused, didn't care about the marks—they were his to play with.
A growl left his throat as he scratched them a little harder, just a little deeper, making you whimper.
You didn't even realize you were staring at him until his blue eyes looked up into yours, a silent claim that went deeper than anything else.
"Ain't lettin' ya look away," he warned as his hands gripped your thighs again, forcing your trembling legs to stay open for him.
And God, they were.
His touch was everything you didn't know you needed as he slipped his fingers back into you—simply all-consuming. His thumb stroked your clit yet again, and you were sure you were going to lose it way too fast.
And the way he kept looking at you—like he was daring you to look away…
But you didn't. Not once.
The pressure was building, that sweet, unbearable pressure, until it felt like you were going to burst into flames.
Indeed, it was pure fire.
"Eyes on me," he growled. "Don't ya look away."
His fingers found their rhythm, slow but deep, making you moan out loud, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and on him.
"Yeah, 's it," he growled. "Focus."
You nodded wildly, the feeling overtaking everything, your body desperate for more. Every bit of your skin was burning, and you hated how badly you needed this.
"Daryl… I," you gasped, your hands holding on for dear life on the motorcycle seat, trying to stay upright but close to losing the battle with every pump. "I can't—fuck!"
"Can't what? Focus? Ain't nothin' new," he answered, his thumb still on your clit while his fingers were thrusting away. "Can't handle it? Ya jus' gotta focus. Keep yer eyes on me."
You were close, so fucking close already, but he wasn't letting up.
His fingers moved so roughly inside of you, pressing against your G-spot, which soon made you feel certain this was it—this was the moment.
Your legs were shaking hard, your breath coming in quick, desperate moans. "Fuck… fuck…" You whimpered, fingers tightening on the seat behind you.
But then he stopped. Just stopped.
The sudden loss of his fingers was like being thrown into a room full of walkers. You groaned, your hips bucking in a desperate attempt to go after what was just within reach, but he pulled his hand away completely, leaving you trembling and half-crazed.
"What the fuck, Daryl!" You cried out loud as you glared down at him, but Daryl only had the audacity to smirk, licking his fingers off once more like you hadn't been about to shatter into pieces.
"Keep still and shut up," he growled, and before you could scream at him, his head was between your legs.
Your words turned into a choked cry as his tongue moved over your clit, the feeling of his stubble against your inner thighs making you squirm.
It wasn't fair. You were already so close, your body trembling so hard it hurt, but now he was dragging it out, taking his sweet-ass time, licking and sucking like he had all damn day.
"Fuck—fucking hell, Daryl," you hissed, hands grabbing his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you. The vibrations shot straight through you, making your thighs clench around his head, but he didn't stop—he didn't even flinch.
"Thought ya were so good at takin' risks," he taunted, his lips brushing against your clit as he spoke.
And with that, he sucked on it so hard you nearly screamed, the feeling of it being just on the edge of pain, but God, it was perfect. You were so damn close again, and this time, you needed it.
If he pulled away now, you swore you'd kill him.
"Please," you whimpered, your hips grinding against his mouth in a way that should've embarrassed you. "Daryl, fuck, don't you dare stop again—"
His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his tongue pushed you further and further until there was nowhere left to go but over the edge.
But it wasn't just his mouth—oh no. His hands were keeping you in place, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was claiming you, and maybe he was. You didn't care. You just wanted more.
"Fuck—Daryl, I'm—" Your voice broke, too far gone to even finish the sentence.
He pulled back just enough to growl, "What? Yer what?" His voice was rough and way too sarcastic for a man who was driving you insane.
"Stop it and finish me!" You snapped, your hands pulling at his hair like it would somehow speed him up.
He laughed—actually laughed—and that sound went straight through you. But before you could cuss him out for being an 'insufferable bastard,' his fingers were back on you, two sliding inside so easily you swore you saw stars.
Your breath hitched, and then he added a third.
"Fuck—holy shit!" You gasped, your thighs trembling as he stretched you wide. The feeling was nearly too much, but it was just right, and when his fingers started pumping in and out, so deep and hard, you couldn't do anything but ride it out.
He looked up at you then, his blue eyes searching for yours. You wanted to look away, to hide from the way he was watching you like he was saving every second of this to memory, but you didn't. He wouldn't let you.
"Eyes on me," he growled. "Don't ya fuckin' look away."
You didn't think you could blush any harder—you didn't think you had the energy left for it—but then his other hand moved, his thumb pressing into the bruise on your thigh, just hard enough to make you wince.
"Shit—Daryl, that hurts!" You hissed at him, but his grip tightened, keeping you still.
"Good," he growled, looking at you. "Should hurt."
His fingers inside your pussy were picking up speed, driving you mad with how good they felt.
"Ya think I'm jus' gonna let ya off easy after crashin' my bike?"
He pressed harder into the bruise, making you whimper from the pain that somehow only made everything hotter.
"Nah. Yer gonna feel this. Remember this."
You hated how much it turned you on—the sting of his thumb on your bruise along with the pumping of his fingers inside you and the way his mouth was so close to your clit again.
"Please—fuck—please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore. You just needed something—anything—to finally push you over the edge.
"C'mon," he growled against you, not stopping. "C'mon, woman. Fuckin' let go. Let me fuckin' have it."
And that was it. That was all it took.
Everything inside you exploded so intensely you moaned out loud, your whole body arching as the orgasm ripped through you.
"Fuck—fuck, Daryl!"
You tried to keep your legs from giving out, but they were done, trembling so hard you had no choice but to lean fully against the motorcycle once more, trying to hold yourself steady. But Daryl didn't stop. His mouth stayed on you, his tongue again working your clit, dragging out every last bit of your orgasm until you were shaking all over, whimpering and sobbing from the overstimulation.
Only then did he pull his fingers out in a way that made sure you'd feel everything.
But before you could catch your breath, his hands were on you again, gripping your thighs like they belonged to him. Without a word, he hoisted your legs up, wrapping them around his neck. The sudden movement made you yelp, but he didn't care—not one bit.
"What the fuck are you—"
"Shut up," he growled, his voice ragged as he shifted you off the motorcycle and onto his shoulders like you weighed nothing. "Focus."
The cold floor hit your back as he lowered you down, your body shivering against it. He moved near you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide as he settled between them again, his face just inches from where you were still dripping for him.
You barely had time to process the new position before his tongue was back on you, licking slow and deep, making you moan aloud through the garage. All you could do was writhe and shake beneath him, your hands searching for anything to grab and hold onto—his hair, his shoulders, the cold floor—trying to keep still as he worked you over.
But then, just when you thought he'd keep going until you couldn't take anymore, he moved, his mouth leaving your pussy as he started to lick and kiss—hot, wet, and sloppy—all over you.
And he didn't move fast. He took his time, crawling up your body like he was deciding which part of you he should tease next. You felt his breath across your skin, so warm yet unsteady, while his hands worked on keeping you exactly where he wanted you—legs spread wide, no room to close yourself off, no room to argue.
His hands? Oh, you knew those hands could kill you if they wanted to, but the way he traced the edges of the scratches on your thigh? Fuck, it was worse. Slow. On purpose. Just enough pressure to remind you it was there. A reminder you didn't need, but apparently, he thought you needed.
The tip of his thumb ran over them once, twice, then pressed down harder. You flinched—it was pure instinct—but his other hand clamped down on your leg, pinning you to the floor. His thumb didn't move, didn't give you a break. If anything, he pressed harder, and you hissed through your teeth. He groaned, low and deep, like your slight discomfort was exactly what he wanted.
Daryl soon leaned down and kissed them. He kissed them like he was apologizing. Then his teeth grazed over the same scratches, and you realized he wasn't sorry for it at all. His tongue followed, licking slowly and wetly over the stinging feeling of them, and your back arched itself off the floor.
By the time he moved up to the bruise on your hips, his fingers found it first, pressing into your flesh like he was testing it, seeing how much it was hurting you. You flinched again, but this time, his response was immediate—a growl coming out of his throat as his fingers dug in deeper.
"Daryl," you started, but your voice cracked, and you knew that he wasn't listening anyway. His mouth replaced his fingers, and the first kiss of his lips made your head snap up.
Not soft, not tender—he sucked on the bruise as if he wanted to drag the pain out of you, to make you feel every sting of it.
He kept going, his mouth kissing up your ribs, licking, biting, sucking, finding every bruise that was forming itself, every scratch, and making sure you knew he'd found them.
"Fuckin' hell…" He whispered as his mouth moved higher, pressing kisses to your chest, in between your tits, before his tongue licked over one nipple.
You gasped as he sucked it into his mouth, one of his hands moving to tease the other, pinching and rolling it between his fingers.
"Daryl, please! Please… just—"
He didn't let up. He crawled higher over you, his body pinning you down, his mouth moving up to your collarbone, where his tongue licked over it next.
By the time he reached your neck, you were a mess, your hands now clawing at his shoulders, desperate for him to give you more, to stop teasing. And he knew it.
But he wasn't done. His teeth found your neck, and he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, your thighs instantly squeezing around his hips.
"Goddamn," he growled as his mouth finally reached yours. "Look atcha… all wrecked."
Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and hungry, his tongue pushing into your mouth like he needed to taste every part of you.
And fuck, you didn't care.
Daryl left no room for argument—not that you had any strength left to argue.
His hands were everywhere at once, sliding over your thighs, your hips, your waist. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved back down between your legs, slipping through the wetness he'd left behind when he dragged his fingers through your wet folds, and his smirk certainly showed that he was satisfied with himself.
He wasn't asking for permission, no, but he wasn't rushing either. And he was now giving you the chance to stop him without saying a word.
When you didn't push him away, he leaned back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes seemed darker now, his pupils all wide, searching for something, waiting.
Your hands slid up his strong back, trembling slightly but steadying themselves as they reached his shoulders. You gave him a small but quick nod as you took a shaky breath.
That was all he needed.
With a growl, Daryl's hands gripped your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach fast but not harshly. Before you could even process it all, he pressed himself down against your ass.
"Don't move," he whispered.
You weren't planning to.
He grabbed your hips again, pulling you back just enough to hold them upward. You felt his cock pressing against your ass, still in his pants but unmistakably hard as he grunted and pushed it against you, his hands only holding on harder.
The deep and loud groan he made? You couldn't help but push back against him.
You barely had time to listen to the sound of his zipper before he was back, his cock sliding between your thighs, teasing, the wetness of your pussy making it too easy for him to glide against you.
Your fingers were clawing at the floor as you tried to push back, but his hands held you in place.
His hips rocked forward, and the tip of his cock pressed into your pussy. You tensed, your breath stopping at the sheer size of it, but he didn't push in—not completely. He was letting you feel every inch of how big he was.
When he did push inside, it was enough to stretch you wide open, and with one slow thrust, he sank into you, filling you up. Still, Daryl didn't move right away. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, as he gave you a moment to adjust and made sure you were okay.
Then, he finally started to move.
Slow at first, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, each movement so controlled.
But it didn't take long for him to move faster.
Harder.
Deeper.
And you couldn't do anything but take it as he pinned you down.
"Daryl—" you moaned, but he cut you off with a growl, his arm sliding down around you, pulling your hips higher to give him better access.
"Don't talk," he ordered, trying not to lose himself. "Jus' take it."
And you did. God, you did.
The garage felt almost suffocating now, and all you could smell was the scent of sweat and sex. The only sounds to be heard were your fast-breathing moans of yourself and his feral grunts as Daryl moved behind you. Every thrust was deep, driving you forward just to pull you back again with a growl, his grip on your hips leaving marks you'd wear for days.
Your hands still searched for any kind of hold against the floor, trying to ground yourself as the intensity of it all threatened to break you apart. His cock stretched you in a way that still bordered on too much, each thrust rougher than the last, and yet you couldn't get enough of it—of him.
"Fuck," Daryl grunted, his voice sounding as if the word was being dragged out from deep inside him.
You couldn't respond to him, not with the way he filled you so completely, your body trembling under his control. But he didn't need any words in return from you. His hand slid from your hip, moving along your ass and up your spine, before he put his arm around your shoulders to keep you steady.
"Don't lose focus now," he growled, leaning over you, his chest brushing against your back. His stubble grazed along your shoulder as he pressed his mouth down, his lips rough, almost punishing. He bit down hard, his teeth sinking into your skin just enough to leave another mark.
You cried out, clenching around him involuntarily. "Daryl—"
"Shut up," he said, cutting you off with another bite to your shoulder, this one softer than the last. His teeth were still on the mark he'd made, right before his tongue soothed it, leaving you shivering.
Daryl's pace quickened, each thrust making your overstimulated body shudder.
"Goddamn, look atcha," he grumbled, his voice full of lust. "Really fuckin' wrecked, ain't ya?"
You whimpered in response, your head falling forward and almost hitting the floor, but your body was still being held on tight by his grip.
"Ya like that?"
You nodded.
"C'mon," he growled, his hand tightening around your chest to keep you steady as his thrusts grew erratic. "Stay with me, woman. Focus. Fuckin' focus."
You didn't have a choice. His arm around your chest and his cock buried so deep inside you made it impossible to think about anything else. And the pressure was building again, unavoidable, and you knew he could feel it—the way your pussy clenched around him, desperate to feel him come, too.
And he didn't slow down. He didn't ease the pace or give you any room to breathe. Instead, he buried his face against you again, his lips sucking on your neck, his tongue following to taste the sweat of your skin.
"Shit," he hissed, his voice all muffled against your neck. "Goddamn, ya feel so fuckin' good."
His hips thrust forward, harder and faster, and you could feel him getting close, his movements losing their rhythm as his breathing turned ragged.
"Fuck—fuck," he groaned, his arm moving from your chest to hold your hip again, his hand grabbing you roughly as his thrusts went deeper. "Gonna—fuck, I'm—"
He didn't finish the sentence. With a loud groan that was almost sounding more animal than man, he pulled out, his hand gripping his cock as he came all over your back with force.
You stayed there momentarily, still on the cold floor of the garage, as you tried to piece yourself back together. Your legs felt like jelly, trembling so badly you weren't even sure they'd hold you if you tried to stand up.
Daryl soon moved off behind you, his heavy breathing just as loud and uneven as yours as he leaned against the motorcycle for balance. His cum was feeling all warm across your back, but you didn't have the energy to care—not yet.
Finally, he straightened himself, pulling his pants back up and putting his softening cock away. You heard the sound of his footsteps next to you as he walked around the garage, and for a second, you thought he was going to leave you there, fucked and half-naked in the garage.
But not long after, he was back, something soft and slightly damp rubbing over your skin.
"Hold still," he grunted. "Gotta clean ya up."
You flinched, moving your head to see what he was doing. Daryl had an old, torn rag in one hand, smudged with a little bit of dry oil, but it was enough to do the job. His other hand pressed against your shoulder, holding you still as he wiped away the mess of his cum he'd left behind.
"You could've at least grabbed a clean one," you grumbled, but there wasn't any real annoyance in your voice.
When he was done, he tossed the rag aside. "Yer alright?"
You smirked, despite the ache in your legs. "What, worried I might've cracked under all that control?"
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he just grunted before crouching in front of you. His hands found your arms as he helped you up, his strength the only thing keeping you from falling right back to the floor.
"Easy," he mumbled, sliding one arm around your waist to steady you. "Ain't wantin' to pick yer ass up again if ya fall."
"Not my fault," you answered, your legs wobbling as you tried to find your balance. "You're the one who—"
"Don't even start," he cut you off quickly, but definitely with amusement. "Ya got no one to blame but yer damn self."
His arm stayed around you as you took a few shaky steps with him by your side as if you had to learn how to walk again, your knees still threatening to buckle. You hated how he looked at you right now, showing you a smirk as he watched you struggle.
"Shut up," you grumbled, leaning against him more than you wanted to admit.
"Ain't said nothin'," he smirked, but the way his hand tightened on your waist betrayed his satisfaction.
Once you were steady enough to stand on your own, he let go, his hands falling to his sides. As you reached for your clothes, putting them on with clumsy, trembling fingers, Daryl leaned against the motorcycle again, watching you with that same gaze he'd had earlier, his blue eyes tracking every movement of your body.
"So? Ya still reckless?" He suddenly asked, as if to taunt you.
You glared at him as you put on your bra and shirt. "Excuse me?"
"Crashin' my bike," he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then gettin' all riled up when ya can't handle shit."
Feeling your cheeks turn red, the heat was spreading all over your face as you turned to zip up your pants. "Maybe if you weren't such a goddamn caveman, my attention would've—"
"Caveman, huh?" Daryl stepped closer, the space closing between you until you could feel the presence of him behind your back. One hand came up, his fingers brushing lightly over the bruise on your thigh from earlier, the touch rather gentle.
"Caveman kept ya focused now, didn't he?" He continued, his lips all close near your ear. "Got yer attention real good."
You hated how easily your body responded to him even now, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
"Next time," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "ya might think twice 'bout tryin' to show off."
His fingers then pressed into the bruise just enough to make you wince, reminding you of the lesson he'd drilled into you—literally.
"Control," he said, stepping back again. "Might save yer damn ass next time."
You turned to face the motorcycle with a scowl as you adjusted your clothes, looking around for your jacket. "Are you done lecturing me, or should I grab a notepad?"
"Nah. Jus' get yer shit together," he answered. "We're headin' out again tomorrow. Yer ridin' bitch till ya prove ya can handle it."
Laughing at that, your words were coming out faster than your still-wobbly legs could even move. "Riding bitch, huh?" You repeated as you turned to face him. "Next time you're teaching me to drive, I'll be riding something, alright—but it sure as shit won't be the bike."
It was a bold answer, considering your legs still felt like they'd been switched for spaghetti, but you weren't about to let him see you back down.
Daryl's lips twitched, that small smirk coming back as he closed the distance between you in a few quick movements. One hand shot out, gripping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze.
"Keep talkin'," he grumbled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "See where it gets ya."
You grinned, biting his thumb just enough to make him hiss. "I think it gets me exactly where I want to be," you responded, voice all daring, even as your pulse kicked up a notch all over. "Don't you think?"
Daryl's silence was answer enough, and for a moment, you thought he might snap again, dragging you into another round right there on the spot. But for now, and for once, you decided to savor and enjoy your little victory. Of course, it didn't last long.
You weren't sure who moved first, but before you knew it, you were pulling him down by his collar, your lips crashing onto his like they had something to prove.
The kiss was all grunts and stubbornness, his teeth biting at your lip as you ran your fingers through his messy hair. You didn't even notice when his hands found your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies.
"Y'ain't got any sense o' self-control," he mumbled against your mouth, but he didn't stop kissing you, one hand sliding up to grab the back of your neck.
You broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, smirking up at him. "And you've got too much of it," you shot back.
You knew this would've gone on longer—should've gone on longer—but the sound of the side door from the garage to the house opening stopped you both in place like a couple of kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
"Daryl?" Aaron's voice was to be heard, and you felt the blood freeze in your veins. "Are you both back already?"
Daryl let out a growl, his forehead slowly dropping to yours like he was trying to collect himself before turning to look toward the unwanted interruption.
Aaron stood in the doorway, his eyes looking between the two of you, taking in the sheer awkwardness of it all. His eyebrows shot up, and he blinked like he was trying to reset his brain back to factory settings.
"Oh…" Aaron said after a moment, his voice sounding a little bit higher than usual. "I just—uh—saw the garage door was closed from the outside when I came back. Thought you were done with, uh, teaching? I just wanted to get—"
Daryl cleared his throat, stepping back from you but not bothering to hide his irritation. "'M still teachin'."
Aaron's mouth opened like he was about to ask something else, but you jumped in before he could make things even worse. "Yeah, exactly," you said, smiling at him before you looked back at Daryl. "He's teachin' me how to… focus."
The words had barely left your mouth before Daryl shot you a look. Still, he couldn't resist adding, "And 'bout… control."
Aaron stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in urgent need of water. Finally, he managed to let out a quiet, "Still teaching, huh?" His voice was full of disbelief. "About control and focus?"
You crossed your arms, smirking. "Of course! And let me tell you, Daryl's got a real hands-on approach." Daryl gave you a warning look, but you ignored him. "Next time, maybe we'll move on to, I dunno, accelerating!"
"Yeah," Daryl answered flatly, his tone as casual as if Aaron had walked in on him fixing the motorcycle, not having had you taken against it. "Focusin' on the road ahead. Controllin' the bike while… ridin' it."
Aaron arched only one eyebrow this time. "Right," he said, dragging the word out like it was hurting him. "Well, maybe teach her outside of Alexandria next time instead of Eric's and my garage?"
You snorted. "Oh, we can, for sure. But Daryl's really good at teaching me how to focus on what's in front of me," you said sweetly. "It's the control part I keep getting stuck on."
Aaron let out a short, strangled laugh, already backing toward the door. "Yeah, okay! Don't let me interrupt your lesson." His face went red, and he backed up so fast he nearly tripped. "I mean, it sounds, uh... productive. I'll just—yeah." He gestured around awkwardly as he was about to hurry back inside the house.
When he left, you could've sworn he whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "What the hell is wrong with all these people?" before he closed the door behind him.
The second the door clicked shut, you leaned against the workbench, your eyes moving to the motorcycle that had started this whole situation, after all. It stood there innocently enough, like it hadn't been witness to your absolute lack of keeping control. Stepping forward, you traced your fingers along one of the scratches on its gas tank.
"Looks like Frankenstein's bike's seen some rough handling, thanks to me," you said before your eyes moved back onto Daryl, who was watching you like an animal sizing up its next meal. "Guess it'll get used to bein' ridden hard."
Eyes looking up, you were daring him to take the bait. "Think you'll leave some scratches on me next time?"
His muscles were flexing like he was seconds from pulling you back to him. "Keep talkin', woman, and I jus' might."
You grinned, stepping away from the motorcycle and grabbing your jacket, which was on the floor near the workbench. "Guess I'll just have to wait and see, huh?" You put the jacket on, taking your time on purpose to let him stew in his frustration.
Just as you reached the garage door and opened it, you turned back toward Daryl, who'd started to talk, watching you lean your shoulder against the frame. "Yer walkin' funny, woman."
You stopped, moving your head up with a glare. "If I walk funny, I'm tellin' everyone it's 'cause of the bike." You made sure to add a smirk. "I'm going to say it was a wild ride—not a crash."
As you pushed yourself off the frame and stepped outside onto the streets of Alexandria, your grin was as wide as ever. "Thank you for the thorough lesson, Dixon."
But before the garage could even close behind you, something soft and slightly damp was flying past your head, landing on the ground in front of you.
"Jesus, was that—?" You started to laugh, realizing exactly what he'd thrown after you. "Oh, come on! Did you seriously throw that at me? Gross!"
Daryl leaned against the motorcycle, his smirk not obvious, but it was there. "Missed, didn't I?" He didn't flinch, didn't apologize. "Didn't miss on purpose."
"That's disgusting," you called back and laughed, unable to help yourself. "And I'm not picking that up!"
"Didn't ask ya to," he answered, pushing himself off the machine and taking a few steps closer to the street. "But yer might come back in here 'n pick up somethin' else."
"Not a chance," you snorted, shaking your head while you stumbled a little bit. "Better luck next time. Or… tomorrow."
"Fuckin' reckless…" Daryl growled, but with amusement in his voice as he watched you disappear ever so slowly. But he didn't move, not yet. "Jus' get yer damn ass back here!"
You were already down the street and smirking to yourself as you tried to walk and just waved him off, making it clear that it was all for show as you held up both middle fingers, trying to make it seem like you were stumbling away with your body intact.
And, of course, you were—kind of.
Either way, Daryl knew that next time, the only thing you'd be riding was him, and you'd make sure he would be the one struggling to keep focus and control.
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postmoe · 14 days ago
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Can you do a Yandere ZZZ men getting rejected. like the genshin version same reason that they just weren't their type and misunderstood. Also I saw this art about Seth older brother.
https://x.com/yougei_/status/1872198958057169238
omg pls if Seth's brother isn't something cool like that. They bring him up slightly in Harumasamasa story and I was so O.O tell me more.
Happy new year everyone! Welcome 01/01/2025!
Wise, Ben, Billy, Anton, Seth, Lycaon, Lighter, Harumasamasa - drugging, fighting, suggestive themes, I think i made it pretty gn so it could go either way, knocking out.
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Wise:
It takes a lot of courage for someone introverted like him to speak up about his feelings. He goes through all the possible scenarios before even bringing this up, deciding that if he's going to be true than he will shoot his shot in person and not message you the dozens of deleted texts he had initially typed.
That's why when you say 'no', it's very disheartening but he's not all that scared about the consequences.
"The city is a terrible place, you know? Generic crime is the least of its worries, not when corruption is rampant in every security and business corporation that exists."
You're not really listening to his rambles, shoulders shaking as you cry through the gag in your mouth, saliva ripping down your chin. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, around the back of the chair you're sitting on and preventing you from moving freely. When Wise finally removes the blindfold from your eyes, the room around you is blurred by your constant tears. He has the generosity to wipe them for you, seeing your a concrete room with a few necessities. A bed in the corner, a small couch, a television with some movie tapes (nothing too scary), a small, wooden coffee table. You see a mini fridge ahead and the bottom of a staircase. There's no windows, though a mirror behind a plastic sheathe in front of you shows a room behind you with a toilet and possibly a shower.
Despite your spit coating your face and the hyperventilation through your nose, he tenderly cups your chin and kisses the corner of your mouth, almost shyly if it weren't for the heated glint in your eyes, "Humans can adjust to anything, with time. Don't worry, you know I'll always keep you safe, with or without your consent."
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Billy:
"What do you mean?! It's because I'm a robot, isn't it? That's low, starlight, suuuper, suuuuuuper low."
You shake your head, smiling innocently with your hands up to indicate that that's not the case at all. "Billy, you're one of the most charming people I know-"
"- Then date me! C'mon, I promise I'll be the perfect partner for you. I'm your knight in shining armour, after all! Literally," he taps against his chest to make a 'ding ting!' sound.
You refuse the laugh that bubbles up, thinking back to all the times he has 'coincidentally' been there when you needed it most. "Yeah, about that... I wanted to talk to you..." How do you say this? 'Billy, be honest, have you been stalking me?' It is probably best to just be out with it, "Have you been following me, Billy? It's kind of weird that we keep running into each other all the time, especially whenever you seem to think I'm 'in danger'." Which could literally be you mis stepping and having him rush over to you in worry from seemingly nowhere.
As a robot, you'd think one of the better things he was capable at was lying. However, the animated nature of his gives him away too easily. He knows that all too well, deciding it was easier to just come out with the truth. Billy nervously rubs the back of his neck, "Ah, Anby said it would come across as creepy... But, you have to understand from my perspective, starlight! You're made of breakable materials. Flesh, bones, muscles, meat, it's all something that can be so easily taken advantage of."
With a sigh, you shake your head, hoping to get through to him since he obviously has the wrong idea about your species, "No, we're not that fragile. Humans-"
"-No, but, see, you are!" He's too into it now, grasping your wrist with little effort. You step back in shock, wincing at the pain, asking him to let go but he doesn't. Billy's voice is softer, the yellow lights of his eyes narrowing in on the pained expression your face so easily portrays, "I'm not even using a lot of pressure here. If you listen closely, you can hear the splitting of your bone. No, seriously! Put your ear to it," he holds up your wrist when you start to cry, looking around desperately for anyone nearby. It's late, not even a bangboo in sight.
With a loud 'snap!', your voice chokes and your crumple to your knees, except Billy doesn't let you fall to the ground. He picks you up in his arms and holds you to his cool, metal chest. He's cooing over you as you cry and cradle your wrist. You look up with such a hurtful expression, "W-Why did you do that? I need a hospital."
As if something clicks, he quickly changes mode and started fretting, holding you tighter, "Oh, shoot! Dammnit, starlight, why'd'ya make me do that? I didn't mean to go that far. Hah... Come on, let's get you home and fix you up. No more late night escapades, 'kay?"
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Ben:
The guilt riding him when he takes you is immeasurable... He knows it's for the best. Statistically speaking, you're more likely to get hurt without him around to protect you. It's just unfortunate it had to go this route.
At the moment you were in a cage in the corner of his home office, shaking with anger and cold as he had stripped most of your clothes in punishment, your arms restrained behind your back and a blindfold to keep you more sensitive. He checks the time on the corner of his computer; it's only been 20 minutes.
Once you rejected him, he had seemed to take it in stride. It wasn't meant to be, sometimes you see a juicy fish just too late and miss it, he had to move on.
But he couldn't.
Your fiery attitude and boisterous laughter filled the calm void inside him. You are everything to him.
So one night, when he's walking down the street to clear his mind, he sees you getting off work late. When salmon travel upstream to go home, it's the bear's job to catch it. Or, something like that. With the way his mouth salivates and his body jitters in excitement, he can't help but compare you to a delicious meal, even if he doesn't want to devour you - in that sense.
Once you wake up, you fight, of course you do. He doesn't necessarily blame you for it, but, bad behaviour needs to be punished. It's when you tried to bite through his thick fur did he snap. Intentionally hurting someone is a no-go. Though, it is your first offence. Another ten or fifteen minutes and he'll let you out.
"I don't want to keep you trapped here forever. I'd like if we could go out together, too. We just need to be civil about this," he states, hoping to appeal to you with calm incitements.
Instead, you grit your chattering teeth and curse, "Fffff-uck yo-ou."
His shoulders sag, his frown deepening as he turns back to his monitor to continue working.
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Anton:
He and his bro had spent countless hours rehearsing and none of the answers to come out were negative. So, how is it that you say anything but a resounding YES?
"I dunno," you say, shyly rubbing your arm as you avert your eyes, "I just always thought I was one of the guys. Whenever you introduced us it was always 'Anton and his two bros'."
His jaw goes slack as his brain catches up. It takes a moment of cogs turning and mathematical calculations as every moment he's ever 'friend-zone'd you comes flashing in his mind. Then, he bursts out laughing, his large hand coming to land on your shoulder, "Dude, no way! Okay, I can see where you might think that." In a completely different display of affection, one you haven't exactly experienced from a man like Anton, he runs his hand down your arm and catches your own hand in his, collecting your other as well to intertwine his fingers and hold you close. He swallows the lump in his throat, as though saying it a second time is harder than the first, - though in his defense, he and his bro had concluded that you would say yes after the first confession, this wasn't in the script. "I really do like you, (Y/n). A lot. I'd do anything for you."
Anton truly is one of the sweetest people you know. However, "I'm sorry, Anton. I think our lifestyles are just too different to begin with. But hey! I'll always be your bro!"
It's getting awkward, and you have to tug a few times before he lets go. With a small farewell, you turn on your heel to leave and give you both some time to think. He will be okay, Anton always bounces back, no problem!
Except, he doesn't. In another turn of events for someone like him, he zeroes in on a nerve near the back of your neck and hits it hard. Immediately, you collapse into his arms, unconscious.
The drill on his hip shifts from the adjustment he has to make to carry you, causing him to look down before averting his gaze with a guilty conscience, "What? Don't look at me like that, they were getting away! Besides," the smile of his is unparalleled as he stares at your sleeping face, "We just need to show them their place with us; they'll come around."
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Seth:
He knows it's wrong, it's so wrong. The stalking. The lying. The manipulation. Saying something as, "Wow! What a coincidence, I didn't expect to see you here, (Y/n)." is enough to make his heart hurt with deceit. You deserve better, you deserve the word.
But you just won't listen.
You run down any empty alley to help someone who calls for help and have been scammed and attacked four times this month because of it. Yes, he knows he does it too, but, he has the skills to deal with it! It also means your money gets stolen easily and you're left with cup noodles every night for a week because you can't afford a proper meal. Not to mention your sleep schedule taking a toll because you refuse to close up shop if a customer is taking their time because you don't want to 'hurt their feelings'. Or what about that cat bite that struggled to heal because-
Seth takes a deep breath, calming his racing and distraught thoughts. His superior Zhu Yuan said it herself, "If someone I love kept putting themselves in danger, then I'd step in, no questions."
He's offered countless times to handle things, to get you to call him in any sort of emergency, and wishes so badly that you would accept his feelings rather than saying something stupid like you'd get in the way of his goals.
Why is he so scummy?
The sound of the lock to your shop is loud in the empty street. It's 11pm, you usually shut at 9 tonight. You're so tired and unconcerned that you don't even jump at his presence when you finally turn around. Your parted lips spread into a smile, tired eyes crinkling as you greet him, "Officer Seth! What a lovely surprise, are you out patrolling?" When you step forward, you notice that he's hunched in on himself, a prominent frown on his usually cheerful face, ears back and looking solemn. You come even closer, unaware of any possible signals he could be giving you to stay away, "Seth? Are you okay, what's happening?"
Instead of saying anything directly, he just walks forward until his body meets yours, collapsing into you for a hug. You let him melt in your embrace, hands coming up to rub his back gently and pet the soft tufts of his hair, murmuring how you're there for him. He has to stop his hand from shaking when he holds up the injection pen, calmly moving your hair away from your neck as though he was simply returning the favour of comfort. "I'm sorry," he mumbles into your skin, his own tired eyes closing to shut out the world, allowing it to be only him and you, "It'll only get worse if I do nothing, and it's already so bad now."
You don't have time to ask him what he means, the sudden pressure in your neck causing you to yelp. The sting comes after the shock, you try to pull away but he doesn't let you move, only continuing to squeeze you against him as your legs buckle and go numb. "Seth...?" You whisper his name, looking up with such a worried expression that he can't help but smile softly.
"No, dummy," he lifts you up when your arms go paralysed next, walking in the direction of his car, "You're supposed to scream for help when something happens."
Your lips wobble as you begin to cry, unsure of what your dear friend is planning by doing something like this. His car comes into view and you shift your head against his chest, voice weak, "Help."
"Shh," he hushes you, savouring your warmth in the quiet night, "It's too late for any of that now. You'll be safe with me."
For weeks he had been dealing with this dark, malicious substance oozing through his veins at the prospect of doing something so criminal. Now, though? Now, as he holds you and feels you and sees you in front of his, he feels like everything is suddenly right with the world. He must've been overthinking everything like usual.
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Lycaon:
You shouldn't be so surprised to see that Lycaon has such a nice apartment. His job isn't exactly middle class and he rarely spends money outside of his fur upkeep products.
Still, as you sit the wet umbrella in its plastic sheath - curtesy of the building staff - next to the door way, you can't help but look around in awe. There's no a lot going on, a large lounge that has enough space for at least ten people, accompanied by a larger tv that is currently off. An open kitchen, hallways to the left and right, an upstairs with a balcony over half the floor plan.
And a lovely table and chairs by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the city of New Eridu, which was currently pouring with rain and being illuminated by lightning.
Lycaon was standing by the lovely table, placing down the teapot down after pouring two cups before turning to face you. In an unusual turn of events, he wasn't wearing his signature uniform which you have grown accustomed to seeing, instead, he was in a simple black, buttoned down shirt and long pants. He hadn't changed the patch and belts on his face, however, which he regards with a tender touch and explanation, "Apologies, I barely had time to change before you arrived. Even though I invited you over, it's unforgivable of me."
You purse you lips at him, walking towards the set-up and stating, "You said you had feelings for me and yet you still talk to me like I'm one of your clients."
The corners of his lips tick up in a dejected smile, "I suppose it's habitual at this point. Besides, I'm still a little unsure how to go about this."
He pulls out the chair for you to sit, your body resting in the comfortable cushion on the hard seat. It takes you a moment to realise that what you said probably wasn't the best call right now. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that... I was just trying to lighten the mood."
This time, his smile is a little more sincere, "Please, do not worry about it. Our previous meetings have been a tad awkward so I understand."
This relaxes you greatly, your shoulders sagging in relief. You turn your attention to the hard rain hitting the windowsill next to you, the home is warm but you're close enough for the cool air on the window to still hit you, "It's really coming down, huh?"
"Indeed," he agrees, not that he could really argue against it. Lycaon takes your cup and opens a small sugar bowl, taking a spoonful and stirring until it all dissolves, "I believe the forecast stated that it would be storming all week."
"I hope the outer circles are okay, they tend to flood easily," you mindlessly pray, accepting the teacup once he's placed it back on the saucer. You both enjoy a silence of words as you sip from your respective beverages, the rain soothing your mind.
Lycaon's ears flicker every-so-often to the sound of thunder, an endearing attribute to witness. You wonder if days like these would be common if you had said yes. It would be nice, but, you know now just isn't the right time for something like that.
Lycaon considers differently.
He clears his throat after a while, once you both had enjoyed a substantial amount of tea, "I must admit, my reasons for inviting you over are not quite... honourable."
You finally look away from the drowning city lights and to your friend, "What do you mean?"
He sets his palms in his lap and takes a deep breath, exhaling from his mouth to steady any unease, "I'm afraid I won't be allowing you to leave here, (Y/n). I've contemplated back and forth about my actions and decided that this was the most favourable outcome."
Confusion hits you before any sort of fear or anxiety, "Huh? Are you going to kill me?"
When Lycaon stiffens at that, you can't help but feel like your joke wasn't exactly off the mark. It's only until he shakes his head, almost exasperated, that you finally remember to breathe, "Goodness, no! I would never entertain such a thing. I merely mean that unless supervised by myself, you won't be leaving the premises."
You roll your eyes and play along, "Okay, so, do I have to find a hint to unlock the door? Is this a new thing for your business-" everything suddenly blurs and you double over in exhaustion. What the heck? It takes a moment to recover but when you do, you stand abruptly from the table, both hands steadying you as your body is overcome with unease, "Actually... I don't wan'na to play anymore..."
One step turns to two, and perhaps you get another half in before you're knees are collapsing beneath you and Lycaon is holding you up. He's kneeling, carefully monitoring your condition to make sure you go down as simply as the drug entices. He's talking calmly, saying something to soothe the process, perhaps, but you'll never know beyond the jumbled noise being muffled by your own hearing.
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Lighter:
"You're not taking this seriously!" You shout at him, charging forward to get one good, hard punch to his cheek.
Lighter easily sidesteps you, grabbing a hold of your arm and twisting it backwards. You yelp in pain as he pins you down, finally doing something other than dodging your attacks, "Oh? Is that better or, do you want me to punish you more?"
His knee rubs suggestively between your thighs, your eyes tearing up in frustration as you thrash and kick. Mercifully, he retreats off of you and you you're quick to stand in another defensive position, "What is your problem?! If you're going to fight me than fight me properly!"
"I think you've forgotten that you're the one who issued this challenge," he pushes his sunglasses up his face nonchalantly, refusing to take them off despite the fact it's nighttime.
You growl and rush in to deliver a swift kick to his shin - which he artfully evades, "Only because you won't leave me alone! I'm fine by myself, I've always been fine by myself! I only ever started having troubles when you came into my life!"
He tuts and shakes his head, jumping back from another attack, "You know Big Daddy says it's not okay to tell porky pies. Little pigs like you who do get in big trouble for it."
That makes you falter, stepping back in bafflement and frankly a bit of discomfort, "What?"
Lighter is quick on his feet, stepping aside you, kicking out to trip up your ankle and catching you from behind. He spreads your legs with his own and holds your wrists behind your back, "If it weren't for me, nobody in the outer ring would look twice at you before robbing you blind and leaving your body dead in a ditch. Vulnerable city folk like you aren't exactly welcome here."
"Why go through all that trouble for someone like me, then?" You try to get out but this time, he isn't faltering, so you relinquish yourself for a moment of clarification, "If you guys hate me so much then why did you step in?"
"Because I like you. I really, fucking like you. And all I wanted was a bit of thanks and appreciation," he leans down to mumble in your ear, biting the lobe not all that gently. Again, you're pushed to the ground, his hips easily keeping you down without so much as breaking a sweat, "I win. Now, as per our agreement, this time you have to say, 'yes'."
+-+-+-+-+
Harumasamasa:
You're hands are shaking so badly that you can't hold a cup of liquid without spilling it. Your head is swimming with nausea and you seeing double of everything. How long had he been doing this without you knowing? Was this why your back didn't seem to ache the same way anymore, or your knees or your shoulders?
The door to your cell opens and you're greeted with the man himself. It's amazing how easy it is for people with power to abuse the system. "So, how're you feeling, honey? Changed your mind yet?"
"Y-You're a monster," you spit, stuttering not because you're scared or cold, but because your teeth won't stop chattering from withdrawals.
Harumasa laughs, closing the cell behind him and crouching down so he's at the height of your quivering body on the bench, "Awh, I never claimed to be a good guy! But, I wouldn't go as far as say 'monster.' Still," he reaches out and gently tucks back some of your hair, "In this scenario, you might not be wrong."
You jut your head back, smacking the brick wall with the back of your skull, 'thud!', "Fuck off."
"Oof," he winces, eyes cringing, "That had'ta hurt. C'mon, baby, just say yes and I can make all this disappear."
You're swaying from lack of balance, gods you think you might throw up, "Can't you find someone else to force your love onto?"
He stands abruptly and the motion makes you fall back, only being supported by the construction that was now the cause in your skull, "Nope! I want you. I have since I started dosing you with these." He pulls out a baggie of colourful tablets, his medication for his rare affliction. Sighing wistfully, he cradles the rainbow meds against his cheek, "If it weren't for these bad boys than I wouldn't have been able to get you do addicted to me. No one else can help you now, honey. I'm all you've got."
"Someone will come," you wish under your breath, body falling forward while you clutch your stomach in pain, "Someone will notice."
Harumasa purses his lips at you, humming in thought. With a defeated moan, he pockets the medication and stretches his arms above his head, "Welp, let's see how strong your will is after another day in the cell." Striding to one corner of the room, he grabs the little, plastic rubbish bin and brings it between your legs, "Here, you're gonna need this. The next 24 hours will not be fun for you."
You only notice he's gone when the shutting door echoes through the room, too lost in trying to keep your withdrawing body from keeling over.
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disneyprincemuke · 10 months ago
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a feeling so peculiar * fem!driver
the new season is finally starting and it doesn't start out as great as she'd expected
pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, mick schumacher x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, liam lawson x fem!driver
notes: whatever is on the masterlist for the 2025 season is all i'm going to write for the 2025 season (i think) and it's all angst so sry in advance
(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)
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for starters, she’s never been shy of being on the receiving end of bad news. or devastating news, or ones that feel earth-shattering.
she knows that because growing up in a male-dominated scene has prepared her for that. people used to tell her to give it up because she wouldn’t get anywhere with it, or not to get her hopes up expecting something from a place where she’s clearly not wanted.
but she’s made it this far to formula 1. with her best friends.
her first year in the sport, she climbed to a mere 6th place and ended 4th in her sophomore year. just months ago when the 2024 season had wrapped up, she was on top of the world. a woman in the top 5 of the driver’s championship — it’s definitely something.
to her, she expected that the only way was up.
she could not have been more wrong about that.
the lights have just gone out, the cars on the grid have just skidded off for the evening and she’s… in the garage? in liam’s garage, to be exact.
noise-cancelling headphones on her ears as she stares dreamily into the screen of data of liam’s car. realistically, she should be helping out because she’s always been big on numbers, but not today. something didn’t feel right.
she’d been so excited all winter break to get back into the car, hopping from all the adrenaline and glory she put in her pocket from the year before. only for her car to have an irreversible problem that would force her out of the race before it even began.
she didn’t even have a chance to participate in the first race of the season. no way to shut down all of the unwanted background noise of the critics of her involvement still in the sport.
“hey.” she feels a bump against her hip, flinching at the sudden intrusion of her thoughts. “brought you ice cream.”
her eyes flutter close and a sigh of relief passes her lips. she smiles and takes a small cup into her hands. “i was wondering where you’d run off to.”
matt grins. “you looked pretty upset so i went ahead and got you some ice cream. does it at least make you feel a little better?”
“yeah, a little,” she says softly, pursing her lips. “thank you.”
but there’s still a yearning in her chest to be the one in the car to race tonight. that’s not fair — how come liam gets to race this weekend and she doesn’t?
she thought about politely asking for his car, but she couldn’t get herself to do that to him. he’s now become one of her best friends after all.
“rocky.”
she tilts her head at the call of her name, turning around to meet a familiar pair of eyes. one that she’s honestly been avoiding all day from the turnout of the weekend.
sebastian had been the one to break the news to her: that she wouldn’t be able to participate in the race due to a fault in the car. she had simply nodded while tears formed in her eyes and turned to walk away from him.
if you were to ask sebastian, the lack of a response from her scared him.
“ice cream?” the girl offers with a small smile, extending her hand towards him.
sebastian glances down at the ice cream before lifting his hand to reveal a cup of himself. “matt got me a cup too,” he admits with a small grin. “i just wanted to check if you’re okay. with the car and the pulling out of the race…”
she smiles politely, lips pressed into a thin line. what exactly is she supposed to say to someone who doesn’t really have anything to do with the development of the car? well, he does have involvement in it — being a retired world champion warrants that kind of valuable input — but she hardly believes it’s his fault.
“it’s okay,” she says softly, feeding herself another spoonful of ice cream. she blinks as her answer registers in her head. she shakes her head with a small laugh. “i mean– i’m okay. it’s just one race.” she glances at matt, standing next to her. “right?”
matt blinks at her. caught off-guard by her sudden want of his opinion; he’s an actor, not a race car driver. he only knows more about one of the two and it’s the answer that his girlfriend wants to hear. so he nods, “right.”
she turns back to sebastian. “a little frustrating,” she shrugs, “but things like this happen. that’s what you always say.”
sebastian smiles. “you learn quick, kid,” he pats her head endearingly. “that’s a good grasp of the concept. you’ll be back on the track next week good as new, i promise.”
she nods, forcing herself to swallow down the words that sebastian spoke to her. but there’s a churning in her stomach that she cannot seem to ignore as she feels her appetite come to a halt suddenly.
she huffs softly as she turns back to the screen. things like this happen, she repeats in her head. surely it can’t get any worse than this.
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so it apparently can get worse.
she sits in the car slightly longer than she needs, eyes staring intensely at the steering wheel in her hands.
something’s not right, something’s off. something doesn’t feel okay.
she wants to blame something — rather someone — that isn’t the car. perhaps, she’s suddenly become the problem without her knowledge? it feels like something has shifted in the air recently because nothing seems to go her way anymore.
“is everything okay?”
she flinches at the sudden voice that fills her ears, reminded that she’s still sitting in her car in parc ferme. “yes,” she answers softly at first, “yeah. i’m okay. sorry. it was just a long race. i’m quite exhausted.”
“copy. let me know if you need help, okay? or if you need to talk. it was a tough race.”
a finish out of the points feels so foreign to her. to be two races into the new season and not be in the top 10 of the driver’s championship. this time last year, she was at least in the top 8 in the standings by the second race of the season.
not this time.
but a slow start isn’t so unheard of for her. it feels like the only thing she can do now is hope that everything gets better eventually. it can’t stay like this all year, right?
when she does arrive at her garage, though, it seems that sebastian is not the only one concerned about her first finish out of the points in almost a year. a crowd has formed in her garage, her friends all staring at her cautiously as they await to see the big reaction that they’ve been expecting from her.
“what?” she asks softly, putting her helmet down on one of the vacant tables. “why are you all staring at me like that?”
the silence doesn’t stop. eyes dart all over the garage, some avoiding her gaze and some staring right at her every couple of seconds.
logan is the first to step forward; the boost from mick prompting an annoyed click of his tongue as he throws his arms into the air. “you uh,” logan blinks at her, “didn’t finish in the points today. how are you feeling?”
she blinks back at him. “i’m,” she trails off and catches oscar’s stare, to which he immediately looks away, “okay?” she tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows. “are you guys okay? you’re acting kind of… weird.”
her friends’ consideration for her feelings during this trying time is valid. once upon a time, she couldn’t handle the outcome of her not finishing in the points. she just had — has — so much to prove.
but it’s just one time out of her many races.
liam smiles. “we’re just concerned.”
“well your concern is concerning,” she laughs sheepishly, now tearing the velcro from her neck and unzipping her race suit. “i’m 22 — i can handle my emotions when i finish outside of the points. also, not my first time.”
a lie. she actually wants to start throwing things around. perhaps the steering wheel since it’s the only part of the car that she could actually detach and yank around, unlike others.
but it’s just one race.
“yeah, but we’re just saying,” mick speaks with a smile, “if you need to scream and cry and vent because you were out of the points — you can talk to us.”
“i won’t even take it personally if it was because of the team orders,” liam adds with a grin. “you know what? i’ll even scream with you.”
there’s only one person she wants to scream with right now, and it’s the only person that isn’t directly involved in whatever the hell this is.
“as will i,” logan presses his lips together, “i feel like i need to scream into the void until my lungs give out actually.”
she runs a hand through her hair. “i’m okay,” she holds her hands in the air to stop any more chatter from her friends who decided they know her better than herself. “let’s freshen up and regroup at the mclaren camp. ice cream, right? maybe dinner? oscar made podium — we need to celebrate!”
oscar shakes his head, taking a step forward. “we really don’t have to. it’s okay, it’s not even a big deal.”
“no,” she says firmly, head snapping over to the australian. oscar flinches back at the way she’d turn to him with his hand pressed against his chest. it’s silly that after all these years, he still tries to minimise achievements when she’s not had the share of the glory. “i’ll see you guys in a bit. 40 minutes?” she looks around. “where’s matt?”
“in my garage getting ice cream,” mick smiles. “40 minutes, right?”
“yes,” she mutters, quickly dismissing them as she heads for the exit to the paddocks. “i’ll see you then.”
the air feels thick when she steps into the paddocks. the whispers are louder than they used to be and the stares are boring holes into her again.
a heavy sigh passes her lips as she picks up her feet into a run, heading straight for her racing home. she just needs to be alone; be by herself.
because surely, it can’t get worse than this.
right?
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taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool
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jeonginslefthand · 14 days ago
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A day in your garden 🪴 🌱
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Pairing: FlowerShopOwner!ChoiSan x reader Genre: Little Shop of Horrors AU/Fluff Word count: 3.7k+  Plot summary: You decide to see that flower shop owner again and he decides to show you his favorite place.   Warnings: Murder towards the end. That’s it. A/N: This is part two of my Little Shop on 8th Street series! For those who’ve been keeping up so far, thanks for waiting so patiently!! Also, this is technically my last fic for the year so have a happy new year everyone, and here’s to more writing in 2025!! Click here for part 1 of the series! Little Shop on 8th Street masterlist ATEEZ masterlist
~~~
After a long day of running more errands, you swiftly lay down on your bed as tiredness washes over you. You pull out your phone to begin your nightly doom scrolling, but your mind continues to wander off to the flower shop owner San. You replay your interaction with him today over and over thinking of all the things you could’ve said to him, questions you should’ve asked to get to know him better, wondering when you could see him again. Your heart flutters thinking about his visuals, the structure of his beautiful face, the slickness of his hair, the way his shirt perfectly hugged his toned muscles, it’s an image you paint in your mind over and over again. Until you break out of your trance and come back to reality.
Wait, why am I acting like this? You think to yourself. You haven’t felt this way about anyone in a while. You also don’t usually believe in love at first sight, but something about San is different. Maybe you are too focused on his looks, or maybe it’s the way he carries himself. Maybe it’s his passion for what he does. Whatever it is, you want to see where this goes and that hopefully it works out well. 
~~~
A week passes by and you return to the flower shop once more. Only this time, you’re not looking for anything specific, at least regarding plants. This time you’re hoping to see the owner again, who’s been making your heart race every time you think of him for the past week. You walk up to the door only to be met with a disappointing sign posted on the door. 
“Little Shop on 8th Street will be closed today. Come back tomorrow!” The sign read with a cute drawing of a bunny in the corner. 
“Dang…” you say to yourself. A part of you understood. It seemed like he ran the shop by himself. Of course, he’ll need a break now and then. Maybe you can stop by tomorrow. You still have work in the morning, but can always visit in the afternoon.
“We’re not closed for my new favorite customer!” you hear a voice behind you say and you turn around startled. 
You see a smiling San towering over you as he’s carrying lots of gardening supplies and a heavy bag of soil. 
“Jeez this is the second time you scared me like that!” you respond. 
“Sorry, bad habit of mine. Do you want to come inside?” 
You nod in response and wait for San to get the shop keys. You notice him struggle reaching for his keys and you offer to help hold some of his supplies. He eagerly agrees and hands you some plant potting and plant seeds. He then successfully reaches his keys and opens the door to the shop, leading you inside. The shop looks just about the same since the last time you visited, but there’s a feeling of emptiness this time. Maybe it’s the knowledge that no one else will dare enter the shop, but following around San while standing mere inches away from him feels different than the last time the two of you were in the shop alone.  
“I realized I never got your name the last time,” San says breaking the silence. 
“Oh! I-It’s [Y/N]!” you stutter startled by his sudden statement.
“[Y/N]... such a lovely name! A pretty name for a pretty girl like you!” San responds making you blush hearing your name from his mouth. 
San leads you to the back of the store to a storage room and turns on the lights. You’re welcomed with more gardening supplies, plant starters, and flowers growing small buds that aren’t in bloom yet. 
“You can put the gardening supplies over on that shelf,” San says breaking you from your trance.  
“Oh! Okay!” you say eagerly heading over to the supplies. You begin sorting through the supplies, doing your best to figure out where the right places are. You eventually pick up on where things go, but get stuck on the last item realizing it goes on the top shelf. You do your best to reach the shelf but continue to struggle for a while trying to find a way to reach the top. Until you feel a hand graze your wrist and take the supply you were holding, moving it to the top shelf. 
“You know you can ask for help! Nothing wrong with that!” San says behind you. You start to realize how much taller he is than you. And how bigger his body is compared to yours. Add that with the sound of his breathing filling the room and the air of his breath running down your neck is enough to give you goosebumps, making this situation more intimate than anticipated. 
“G-good to know!” you respond holding back how worked up you are right now. “Anyway, that was the last thing I had so I’ll be on my way ou—”
“Wait! I want to show you something.” San interrupts. 
“Yeah?”
San steps away and begins walking out of the storage room as you follow. You both walk around the shop until you reach a staircase and you follow San up. This leads you both to the shop's second floor where you’re now standing in a common area. You look at your surroundings, noticing the kitchen with the sink halfway filled with dishes, the couch mostly clean with some clothes here and there, and another staircase you assume leads to a third floor. San quickly realizes the mess and frantically straightens a few things up. 
“Apologies for the mess. Had I known you would stop by, this would have looked much neater,” San explains as he throws clothes into a laundry area. 
“It’s okay! I’m the one who stupidly stopped by on your day off.” You respond. “And trust me, my place is much worse.”
“I would love to see it sometime! I’m sure it’s lovely messy or clean.”
“Hmm… maybe give me a heads up so you can see it in its fresh clean state!”
“Or maybe I’ll swing by on your day off! Then we’ll be even no?”
“Fair point. Now I’m sure the thing you want to show me is not your living room right?”
“Oh! That’s right! Follow me.”
San walks up the second set of staircases and you follow. The stairs lead to a rooftop patio filled with an assortment of plants. You recognize some you have seen in the store, but plenty of others you haven’t seen. The collection of plants are arranged like a garden. With the carefully crafted color scheme and the combining scents of the flowers filling your nostrils, you feel like you could get lost in this garden forever.
“This is so beautiful…” you say to San in awe.
“Welcome to the Little Shop’s secret garden! I come up here to work on personal plant projects and sometimes to get some fresh air after a long day.” San replies.
“Personal projects? Like what?”
“Well… I like cross-breeding different flowers. It’s so interesting to see what new features come from them. And sometimes I grow the plants I sell here. I have to know how best to take care of the products so I can inform the customer. What better way than to experiment in my own home.”  
“That’s amazing!! And cross-breeding is difficult. Tried it one time and didn’t get far…”
“Takes a lot of practice. Everything that goes into the process is very strategic. Believe me, it took a long time to get my method down.”
San picks up a watering can and starts walking around. You tag along admiring the array of plants bringing life to the patio. As San is watering plants, he stops on a particular flower. You stand next to him, feeling something drawing you to the flower. 
“Seems like you like the lilacs!” San says.
“Had a feeling they were lilacs. They look a bit different though.”
“These are my crossbreed lilacs and they’ve been the most difficult ones. They only crossbreed with other lilac species so it’s been a lot of trial and error, mostly error.”
“The way the colors blend is so pretty, reminds me of a sunset. And the leaves… they’re shaped into tiny hearts.” You go to touch one of the leaves as you’re admiring them. 
“Want to know something? The two breeds that created this can only be cross-breed with each other. I tried other lilac breeds on them but it hasn’t worked out. It’s like the two breeds were made for each other. Like they were waiting for their perfect match.”
“Huh, true love found through plants… who would’ve thought—” You think to yourself. 
San gets closer to the lilacs as he carefully waters them. Something is soothing about the way he waters this specific plant. The way each droplet falls on each leaf perfectly and how he monitors the amount of water going in. Delicately tipping the watering can making sure the water pressure is just right, like the lilacs could break at the slightest miscalculation. 
You follow San around some more as he waters more plants. He even hands you the watering can and lets you water some of the plants. You’re very familiar with this sort of task but you still allow San to help you. And by helping you, putting his hands where your hands are, and guiding them to water the plants with just the right amount of water. 
Following the garden adventure, you stay a little longer in San’s apartment. San pulls out some wine and two glasses and you both begin to loosen up and get comfortable. A little too comfortable. 
“So what’s a handsome man like you really doing in this small town?” You ask in a more sultry tone than usual.
“I already told you, I wanted to get away from the big city. I love the smaller towns anyway. They have so much more to appreciate than the crowded stuffy cities.” San responds. 
“Reallyyy? Are you sure you’re not getting away from other things? Like a dark secret past? Or… a dark secret ex?” You mentally question why you said the last part. Why would you randomly ask about his relationship life when you barely have gotten to know him?
“You’re funny. Unfortunately, there’s no dark past or… crazy ex for me. I had a… pretty uneventful life in the city…”
“Dang. Not even one crazy ex story? I feel everyone has a crazy ex story.”
“Not me, unfortunately. But… what about you? Do you have a crazy ex story?” 
“Oh yeah! This one dude I dated Minho was insane. I don’t know why I even dated him. First, he was so obsessed with his cats which was weird but I didn’t think anything of it. Then he would always get jealous when I hung out with my guy friends, a little too jealous. He even got jealous when I hung out with my brother once and it was super weird. One time, we were on a break from each other and it turned out that he was stalking me and taking pictures of me wherever I went. It was so strange!”
You kept going on and on rambling about Minho as the alcohol fully took over you. In your mind, you wondered why you were even telling all this to San. Being with Minho was not the best moment of your life but here you are joking about it like it was nothing. Part of you wondered if you would have been able to tell all this to San without the alcohol. Perhaps he just has a presence that makes him easy to trust. After all, he did let you into his home so you assume that there is some connection between you two.
“Anyway, I definitely only kept going back to him because he was hot and I was desperate. I mean who wouldn’t keep going back to a beauty like this?” You wrap up by showing San a picture you still had of Minho. “It’s a shame he turned out to be a psycho…” 
San closely examines the photo like he wants his face imprinted in his mind. He chuckles and mumbles “Not as pretty as me though.”
“What was that?” You ask. You heard what he said, you just wanted to hear it again.
“Nothing,” San responds. “Anyway, it’s getting late and you are in no position to drive home. Do you want me to call a cab?”
“It’s fine. I walked here and I can walk back.” 
“Then, let me walk back with you!”
You let San walk you back to your home. The two of you are about to part ways on your porch when San suddenly says “Do you maybe want to hang out again sometime? Maybe we can go somewhere that doesn’t involve flowers.”
You pause, shocked at the sudden proposition. “S-sure I would love that!”
“Great!” San pulls out a notepad and pen from his pocket and starts writing something down. He then tears the paper off, folds it, and hands it to you.
“Here’s my cell number. Text me when you’re available!” 
“Well, guess I’ll be seeing you again soon!” You smile. 
You unlock your door and head inside and you see San start walking back toward the direction of his shop. As you close the door you giggle to yourself feeling like you just scored big time. You open the note and pull out your phone ready to save his number as you read it to yourself:
“3XX-5XX-8XXX! Text me soon dear ;)” it reads with a bunny doodle and some flowers surrounding it. 
~~~
Three days pass without San hearing from you. He worries a little bit that he was too forward, but also assumes that you’re hopefully just busy. He keeps himself distracted by interacting with the other customers in the store remembering he still has to make a living. 
About two hours before closing San decides to clean up around the shop and he hears the front bell jingle. 
“Oh hi! Welcome to the Little Shop!” San cheerfully says looking up toward the door. “Anything I can help you with today?”
“Oh, I’m just looking around for now.” A man with a soft voice says.
“Well let me know if you need any help! You can come find me at the register.” 
San finishes cleaning his area and walks back to the register. He also gets a clearer look at the man who is currently checking out the begonias. In his mind, San feels he looks familiar and he’s searching through his mind where he’s seen his face before. And then the dots start connecting and a lightbulb lights up in San’s mind.
“Oh. My. God. THAT’S Y/N’s ex!” San thinks to himself. Granted he was a little tipsy when he saw the pic of him, but San was sure that was Minho. He looked a little different from the photo, possibly because of his longer hair, but his facial features are an exact carbon copy. 
San wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, he thinks he should leave him alone and let him shop like a normal customer. On the other hand…
“Audrey keeps pestering me about needing to be fed. And that plant’s not gonna last on my blood much longer. It’s not like I would be killing an innocent person either. He seemed like he caused so much pain in Y/N’s life, despite her hiding it through her jokes. And I can do it discreetly now that I’ve waited long enough to drive out suspicion…” 
“Hey! Flower boy I need some help!” Minho calls out to San.
Snapping out of his thoughts San quickly walks over to Minho, holding two flower pot samples. 
“Which one would be the better option for my girlfriend? It’s our anniversary and I want to get something special.” Minho asks. 
“Well I’m not familiar with your girlfriend’s preferences, but for an anniversary, I would recommend the lilies. They’re in season and will look stunning bundled in a bouquet.” San responds. 
Minho contemplates San’s suggestion and nods in agreement. 
“Alright! Then I’ll take two bouquets! One all black and one all pink.”
“Great! Follow me to the register and I’ll ring you up and get some more information!” San responds, putting on his best customer service voice. 
San leads Minho to the register and starts ringing him up while taking down other important information.
“So I will need time to prepare the arrangement which should take about 1-2 days. I will contact you by phone when the flowers are ready. Would you like to add a personalized note with the bouquet?” San says to Minho.
“Actually yes,” Minho responds clearing his throat. San prepares to write down the message in his notes.
“Awesome! What would you like the note to say?”
“To my kitten… Fate may often separate us, but it will always align for us to be together. Love you dearly my darling Y/N, waiting for fate to bring you back soon.” 
San stopped his writing as soon as he heard your name. Now he can confirm, this dude is psychotic. He also now knows that he’s been lying the entire time. According to your tipsy rant last night, you’re not his girlfriend, at least not anymore. 
“This man is beyond insane he’s delusional… just what is he planning?” San thinks to himself. 
He pretends to write down the part that he missed after your name and seemingly reads it over to himself. 
“Huh… interesting note for an anniversary bouquet. Is your girlfriend traveling right now?” San asks.
“Not really. But um, we haven’t seen each other in a while, and last time we talked she said she wanted to “take a break.” I hope to make up with her on our technical anniversary with these lovely flowers.” Minho responds. 
San pauses to think to himself again. 
“I was hoping this guy had changed and gotten over Y/N but seems like that’s not the case. I can’t let him get close to Y/N. Who knows what he’ll do if I let him go…” 
San returns to reality with Minho.
“Well, if that’s the case… might I recommend one more flower to add to the arrangement?” San says.
“Hmm, depends on what it is,” Minho responds.
San walks across the store to a cabinet. He opens the cabinet that is filled with fresh poppy flowers. He takes one of the yellow ones and walks back over to Minho, holding the flower between the two of them but holding it closer to Minho.
“These are a rare breed of California poppies. I think this would show how much you value and care for your girlfriend. Also, they smell nice and can lift the room's mood. Go on, take a sniff and see for yourself…” San explains. 
Minho gets a good whiff of the flowers and lets out a pleasant sigh.
“Wow… they smell delicious. You know they remind me of—” Minho starts, but cuts himself off as he passes out on the ground in front of San. 
San puts the plant down on the cashier counter and quickly walks to the door, adjusting the front sign from “Open” to “Closed.” He quickly walks back to Minho’s unconscious body and leans over to pick up his legs.
“Oh, one more thing I should’ve mentioned… poppy scents are so intoxicating, they can also be used to render one unconscious. So don’t sniff them for too long.” San says to Minho almost mockingly. “Oops! Guess I should’ve said something sooner.” 
San hums to himself as he drags Minho’s body across the shop floor into the forbidden room where he keeps the now larger plant. He unlocks the door and the plants sprouts up hearing San enter.
“Guess what Audrey? Looks like you’ll be eating a real meal tonight!” San says in his usual happy upbeat tone. He’s also happy that he won’t have to use his blood for the next few days.
“About time flower boy! I’m dying here!” Audrey says in response.
“Yeah, I know. It’s all I’ve been hearing from you for the past few days. ‘Oh I need some food’ ‘Some real human food’ ‘Get me some human food…don’t you love me boy?’ I’m sick of the whining so hopefully this shuts you up.”
“It would if you quit your yapping and gave me the damn food.”
San pulls Minho closer to Audrey and takes a step back.
“He’s all yours!” San says smiling. 
Audrey uses one of its vines to wrap Minho up. The plant brings Minho closer to its mouth getting a taste of the savory meal to come. Minho however, slowly starts to wake up and notices what is going on, and begins to let out a scream. But Audrey uses a smaller vine to cover his mouth. San walks over closer to Minho and leans in toward him.
“Shhh. Not too loud. The lovely baker next door will get suspicious.” San softly says with a sly smile.
Minho angrily mumbles something, but San couldn't care less what he has to say now.
“Well, let’s say I heard a thing or two about you, and now… this is your karma.”
Minho says another muffled line.
“Don’t worry I’ll be sure to deliver the flowers personally to Y/N. On the house!” San says in response. 
Minho struggles to get loose and tries to call out for help. However, San steps backward as the large plant throws Minho into its mouth taking a big chomp. Some blood splatters as Audrey bites down and San closes his eyes as some of the blood accidentally sprays on him and his clothes. 
“I always forget this happens sometimes…” San mutters to himself a little annoyed. 
San walks over to a corner and gets a mop and a towel to start cleaning up Audrey’s mess. As he’s cleaning he feels a buzzing in his pocket and takes out his phone to see what’s going on. He smiles when he sees it’s a message from you. 
“I guess we’re both having good days Audrey. Seems like I got that date with Y/N!”
~~~
If you enjoyed this leave a like, reblog, and/or comment! I appreciate it and thanks for reading. If you would like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know with a comment too! 🫶
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quintessenceofdust88 · 14 days ago
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Little Blobs, ch. 4
Hi my loves! Ch. 4 of LB is up before 2024 is over for me, woo-hoo! (and for those of you who are already in 2025, here's the first update of the year hehe) This is a very Tommy-centric chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! On the positive side: Nonna Rosa is here! On the down side: so is Tommy's dad. You're in for a (angsty) treat! I wanna add a special shout-out to @peppermintquartz and @bidisasterevankinard who helped on the writing process and made the chapter (and the next one) a lot better bc of it! Thank you, my loves ♥♥
Ever since Tommy and Evan got back together, they’ve visited Tommy’s grandmother in his home town in Indiana about six times: for Christmas in 2024, when Buck met Nonna for the first time; a few random visits whenever Tommy could find the time, just because, well, Nonna isn’t getting any younger, he wants to check in on her as much as he can. And, of course, to deliver their wedding invitation, which Nonna promptly framed and added to her mantelpiece. In none of these visits, Tommy had been as excited to see her grandmother as he is now.
Tommy never thought he’d get to tell Nonna she’d be a great-grandmother, at least not from his part (his three cousins, as good Italian-blooded people, have about four kids each). He’s giddy with excitement, and the best part is that Evan’s as excited as him; his husband loves his Nonna and adopted her as his own grandmother from the moment they met. 
The cutest part, though, is how Evan has repeatedly been manifesting his excitement; he’s been hit with what Maddie has cheerfully informed them is called ‘pregnancy brain’, which means he’s prone to forgetting things and getting distracted (even more than usual). At the airport, Tommy had to keep a hold of his boarding pass, or else he’d have lost it, and he still asked Tommy where it was about four different times. When they landed in Indiana, he had to gently remind his husband that no, they couldn’t go straight to Nonna’s house, they had to get their luggage first (and then he had to remind Evan that his bag was, in fact, the green one that had passed by him four times already). And now, in the car, he’s asked Tommy three times if…
“Tommy! Did we bring the yarn and the box? It’s gonna ruin the whole thing we’ve planned for Nonna if we didn’t!” He says, and Tommy has to hold back his laughter, just nodding patiently.
“Yes, sweetheart, it’s in your handbag. Two rolls of yarn inside the box, yellow and green because we don’t know the gender of the babies yet and we don’t want to impose gender stereotypes anyway” Tommy recites dutifully, and Evan nods in relief. 
“I mean, gender stereotypes are so stupid anyway” Evan says, and lights up as he always does when he has a fun fact to share. “In fact, did you know that in the beginning of the 20th century, the colors were inverted? Blue was considered a soft color, for girls, and pink, which was considered stronger, was for boys. It was actually Sears who inverted it, and then all of the other stores just followed their lead”
“Really? I didn’t know that” Tommy says, even though Evan told him this exact same fact yesterday when they had this exact same discussion, but if he doesn’t remember, Tommy won’t be that guy. He knows how much Evan enjoys sharing the information he researches. “So no pink and blue yarn, it’s a deal. Are you ready, my love?” Tommy asks, placing a hand on Evan’s small bump. 
He’s thirteen weeks along, and the only reason it’s not showing too much right now is because he’s wearing a navy hoodie (Tommy’s, by the way, because ‘it just fits better and smells like you’) to protect himself from the cold November weather in Indiana. But he’s already put an order for new uniforms, and when he’s wearing T-shirts, their blobs are already showing. Tommy is ridiculously happy any time he sees it.
[Read on AO3]
Tag list (lemme know if you want to be added or removed :) ) :
Tag list:
@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul 
@asmugfirefighter
@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld
@buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie
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darkmatilda · 14 days ago
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i have this eternal problem with giving wishes (new year's and otherwise) that when i try to say something positive this little often cynical rationalist starts speaking up in my head so when I want to say 2025 will be better they respond with it could just as easily be worse lol
but despite that i'll try to say something. i truly hope the coming year will treat you fairly and with care. that you’ll manage to fulfill (or at least some of) your goals spend as many good moments as possible with those you want to be with (if it’s just you, alone that’s okay too) that it will be wild, if that’s what you desire, or calm, if that’s what you need. or maybe it will be a mix of both. and that you will be healthy and happy.
this year will suck at times, but I hope it won’t be too bad. in a way that, in hindsight, you’ll recognize as necessary. and that in a year’s time, you’ll be able to think of each of those twelve months with a small, even fleeting, smile on your face.
happy new year! <3
my baby is ready for the fireworks 🤞🏼
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also yk i love the new year's kiss concept so kisses kisses kisses for all of you 💋💋
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bybdolan · 19 days ago
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thoughts on books i read in 2024
This was kind of an abysmal reading year for me ... i did not read a lot, very few books were truly excellent, and most of what I read was written by white guys (which is on me). Let’s hope 2025 is better on all fronts. Anyway, here’s a list of what I read, and about 4 sentences written in 3 minutes trying to summarize my thoughts on the book.
The Autograph Collector (Zadie Smith) – started the year off pretty strong with this one. It’s been a while since I read it, but what I do remember is that smith is an excellent storyteller and I liked how the themes of grief, dreams, and fame were woven together.
Die Insel der 1000 Leuchttürme (Walter Moers) – eh? I was constantly hoping that this would go in a “horror as metaphor for bigotry” or “small communities with strict rules are fucking scary” (think The Wicker Man) kind of direction, and thus was not on board with the way the plot ended up developing. It’s also way too long and Hildegunst’s neuroses are annoying after a certain point.
Faserland (Christian Kracht) – this is as good as everyone says it is. Full stop. I admittedly just love books about sad young men who are or pretend to be assholes (Catcher in the Rye), so this was perfect for me. Very sad and very pale, but in a good way – it felt clear, like nice winter wind. Also: I couldn’t get the boy to kill me but I wore his jacket for the longest time. Etc. etc.
Das fliegende Klassenzimmer (Erich Kästner) – a classic for a reason!!! Children’s books are at their best when they take their audience seriously, and this passes that test with flying colors. Incredibly fun, incredibly moving. Made me cry more than once. Eisern!
Call Me By Your Name (André Aciman) – this was a really interesting experience for me because I strongly disliked the movie when I watched it, as I was constantly put off by Oliver’s behavior. I think the book does a better job at making you understand the fragile and confusing back-and-forth between Elio and Oliver, and I found myself really really liking it because of that. I also greatly appreciate how unapologetically horny it is. Being horny makes you act fucking weird!!! I love weird horny representation!!! YAY peach scene! The style was beautiful as well, though a bit imagery-heavy at times, which did fit the heavy summer atmosphere.
Rico, Oskar 1 – 3 (Andreas Steinhöfel) – listened to the audiobooks on my way to uni. A very fun time all around. Similarly to Kästner, Steinhöfel has a lot of respect for his audience and also doesn’t shelter them. What other kids’ books can you name where the protagonist’s mom works at a strip club? The representation may not be perfect but I love that he went there. Mama Doretti you are forever famous TO ME.
The End of Loneliness (Benedict Wells) – always pains me to say this because Benedict Wells legit is so fucking sweet and nice in person and I’d LOVE to have dinner with him, but ... he is not thaaat good of a writer. This one essentially is a John Irving wannabe, and despite the “dark” themes it feels incredibly shallow and cliched at times. The female character(s) are particularly offensive. However: at the very least Wells is earnest about it all?
22 Bahnen (Caroline Wahl) – Caroline Wahl who had 2 books on the bestsellers list for over a year now recently complained that she wasn’t nominated for the Deutscher Buchpreis, which is partially meant as financial support for authors whose a) books do not sell well because b) they are good and complex pieces of literature, so I hope that she’ll be at least a bit consoled by receiving the “Book That Made Me Seethe With Hatred 2024” award <3 the writing is ass the story is shallow it’s all just a big fucking cliché and the depiction of poverty and addiction is appalling. I’d be ashamed to put a book like this out into the world.
HOOL (Philipp Winkler) – this still is THE book about violent men to me. I read it 5 times in the summer of 2018 and I am happy to report that it has lost none of its appeal and grit and ugliness. Simply a 10/10 and deeply formative to my taste.
Emil und die Detektive (Erich Kästner) – everything I said about Das fliegende Klassenzimmer is also true for this one. Ultimately I do prefer Klassenzimmer though, simply because the themes of friendships and camaraderie appeal to me much more.
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson) – As a thriller this is near perfect, I could not put it down for two days. Larsson manages to do the whole “intersection of faith and violence against women” thing without it feeling exploitative (I’d be inclined to believe he may have started this trend), and I am glad that he allows his female characters to take gruesome revenge. Howeveeerrr unfortunately the narration still has a very chauvinistic edge to it and Mikkel feels like a male mid 40s wish fulfillment fantasy.
The Goldfinch (Donna Tartt) – I bought this in the Mauritshuis after seeing the Goldfinch so :’) it has a nice little sentimental edge to it. And this is another one of those “it really is THAT good” books. Looking back now, I am surprised that relatively little has stayed with me though – I never was that invested in Theo, and I also didn’t love Boris a ton, so a lot of the novel was just me hanging out with characters I didn’t like reading about that much. What stuck with me the most was the love for beautiful things that comes pouring out of every pages. Especially the parts in Hobie’s shop were just awe-inspiring. I’m planning to do a reread where I just focus on the descriptions because they were so unbelievably rich.
Bluebeard (Kurt Vonnegut) – I don’t remember a ton about this. What comes back to me most is my fondness of Vonnegut. He has a lot of humor and warmth in his writing, and I always find myself deeply moved by him writing about people loving one another, as funny or dark or even sad it may be.
The Virgin Suicides (Jeffrey Eugenides) – IT REALLY IS THAT GOOD. I could go on about the genius of that narrator perspective (the boys who watched the Lisbon girls as this big shapeless faceless conglomerate of first person plural) for ages. The prose is embroidery-worthy and the amount of detail and specificity do not only bring the Lisbon girls to life, but also the entire small town ecosystem around them. A beautiful capsule of stifled adolescence. And yet a horrifying read. (Bonus: I read this at the time when my boyfriend was reading Lolita, so when we were reading in public we looked like Mr. + Mr(s). Coquette.)
The O’Henry Prize Winners of 2024 – I love a good short story collection what can I say? I highly recommend these collections to everybody, as they present an array of innovative, diverse, well-told short stories that you may have not heard about before unless you are a literary magazine afficionado. My favorites were “Roy” and “The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz”.
Everybody Jam (Ali Lewis) – listen. Nothing hits like a good middle grade book. This one is veeery heavy at times and I was honestly not ready for some of the stuff that was happening, but it still was an engrossing experience and I just love coming-of-age stories that get into the mess of living. I also learned a lot about Australian cattle farming. Yay.
Fighting Ruben Wolfe (Markus Zusak) – another book about men and violence, yay! Finished this one today (it technically is only the first half of my German joint edition of this + “When Dogs Cry” but shhh). The writing was really good for the most part (I read it to get a feel for slightly gritty and simple vocabulary-wise yet rich in imagery narration for a project of mine, and it definitely delivered), however, it is very cut-up and not very subtle at times. I also felt like it was just missing. Something. I wasn’t really satisfied by the end of it.
so uuuh I think my favorite new reads of the year were The Virgin Suicides and Faserland. Maybe I should lighten up.
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skyfallscotland · 11 days ago
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My first book of 2025! 🥳
Just For the Summer by Abby Jimenez
Sometimes the best way to show love or be kind to someone is to meet them where they are.”
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I'd seen people raving about this one everywhere, and the kindle edition went on sale for $4.99, so I bought it. I found out almost immediately after that, that it's third in a series (oops!) but oh well.
A friend told me it shouldn't matter that much, and it didn't, but there were times where little call backs were obviously being made, but I didn't have the context to understand them. It wasn't a big deal, but if that would impact your reading experience, maybe read the first couple 😂
I liked all the main characters well enough, they all had completely normal names, which was nice (lol) and I'll say I enjoyed the book, though I'm not sure I think it was as amazing as other people have said, but it's well-known around these parts that I'm picky, so that probably won't come as a surprise.
Personally, I'm just not sure contemporary is really for me because I do find it a little boring.
One thing that really bugged me was that it's first-person past-tense, which just made my brain freak out for at least the first half of the book. It might be because I write in first-person present, or it might be that it is weird, I don't know, but for me, first-person past feels like you're telling me what happened to you all those years ago, and it just sucks the heart right out of it in some respects, generally. If I'm not experiencing it with you, what's the point of writing in first?
Apart from that, I also found some of the writing to be quite choppy, which...I know I write quite long-winded sentences so again, maybe it's just me, but this felt jarring sometimes. Eg:
I turned to look at her. “You could make one that does. You could always stay.” I couldn’t read the smile she gave me. I wished I could. I could ask her what she was thinking. She’d have to tell me.
and
Emma looked over at me and smiled, and I let myself hope. “You ready to go?” I asked. She shoved off the railing and we left.
Like???
But despite that, it was enjoyable, and at times there were some real gems that shone through and made me feel.
It was easier to pretend to be angry and tough than to admit to being devastated and heartbroken. And by the practiced way she wielded attitude, she’d been devastated and heartbroken for a long time.
“It’s like there’s a part of me that’s always small,” I whispered. “And I don’t know why and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“You’re not asking too much,” he said. “You were just asking the wrong person.
Maybe it's just that I'd been writing beforehand, or maybe I'm just always thinking about her, but some of these are so Remi it hurts. I often have a gripe to pick with contemporary romances that bring in trauma in such a blatant way because they never explore it properly.
There was a lot going on in this book, and as expected, they never fully explore the scope of that trauma. They do the classic FMC is struggling with this mental illness and you can see it, but she won't realise it, she does, (sort of) third act breakup, oh look, timeskip, she's gone to therapy off screen for a few months and is magically better, happily ever after.
I think it's nice for it to be included as representation to an extent, I definitely think it did well within the scope of the word count to address it, but I also wonder if we needed to throw so many different things into the one novel, given the word count. I don't know, maybe it will settle better in hindsight and I shouldn't be writing this impression so soon after finishing, maybe I'm just not experienced in what most contemporary romances are like and I'll be pining for this representation later—I don't know.
I guess I'll find out, since reading more contemporary is one of my goals for the year. For now, I'll leave it with this 🥺
“Unhealed trauma is a crack. And all the little hard things that trickle into it that would have rolled off someone else, settle. Then when life gets cold, that crack gets bigger, longer, deeper. It makes new breaks. You don’t know how broken she was or what she was trying to do to fill those cracks. Being broken is not an excuse for bad behaviour, you still have to make good choices and do the right thing. But it can be the reason. And sometimes understanding the reason can be what helps you heal.”
And this:
But if you don’t think your life would be better without them in it, then accept that they have cracks. Try to understand how they got them and help fill them with something that isn’t ice.”
Let me know what you thought if you've read it! 🖤
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tokidokitokyo · 2 months ago
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Photo by Svetlana Gumerova on Unsplash
2024年10月31日
Cozy season is in full swing, and it's almost JLPT time. I hope everyone's studies are going very well and that you have seen improvement since last month! As the holiday season and the end of the year (!) approaches, I would like to begin to assess my progress for the year and prepare a path for my studies for next year. Every year at the end of the year I feel like I fell short of my goal, and wish to ramp up for the next year. But I have been trying to be more realistic, so I'm excited to see how my goals and my actual studies line up at the end of the year.
秋と言えば勉強したい季節ですね。もうそろそろ日本語能力試験の時間になりますね。皆さんの勉強が上手く進んでいますように。後少しで年末年始なので、自分の進歩を調べて、そして来年の目的を考え始めようと思います。毎年の年末で目的を越えなかったと気がしますし、来年もっ��頑張らないといけないと気分があるんだけど、最近はもっと現実的に目的を作るつもりんですが。今年の目的をどれくらい当たったのを調べるのを楽しみにしています。
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October Progress
This month I spent the most time Reading (I read every day!) and the least time on Kanji. I practiced a lot of Vocabulary, focusing on learning and remembering vocabulary rather than just reviewing a large amount. I reviewed Grammar (both N2 and N3) so that I can try to make the usage stick in my mind.
I realized that I really can't do passive Listening, which I tried to do while doing mindless work, because I don't catch a single thing. It isn't like osmosis either, where something entered my brain without having to try. I was listening to native material (child-rearing info) but it really didn't leave any kind of impression. Active is really the best way for me, otherwise I tune it out.
Study Habit Check-In:
〇 = Great, △ = Decent, ✖ = Not Great
Read daily - read something almost every day 〇
Write sentences 4 times a week - I wrote sentences more like once a week which could be better △
Review kanji and vocabulary flash cards daily - lol no ✖
Review 1-2 N3 grammar points weekly - reviewed once a week 〇
Learn 1-2 N2 grammar points weekly - learnt 2 N2 grammar points this month △
Listen to 1 podcast a week - yes! 〇
Continue to work on hiragana with my son - writing is going well with しまじろう drills to supplement his reading practice 〇
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November Goals
As the end of the year approaches, I want to wrap up any goals that seem doable for the end of the year. I tried earlier in the year focusing on one area of study (e.g. vocab, kanji, reading) each day, but since my days are so busy that has kind of fallen apart. I'd like to continue to try to balance my study so that each area receives somewhat equal attention, and then start looking forward to my plans for 2025.
Goals for this month:
Continue working through Sou-Matome N2 workbooks
Continue practicing with Sou-Matome N3 drill workbook
Continue working on Keigo textbook
Finish working through various borrowed Japanese textbooks
Finish one novel this month
Continue with small daily study habits
Continue with hiragana writing practice
I wish I could spend long hours just practicing Japanese whilst wearing a comfy sweater and drinking hot tea, but unfortunately life doesn't allow that, so I will keep trying to fit in my study where I can. Wishing everyone the best of luck during your journey to the JLPT!
何時間連続勉強しながら暖かいお茶を飲みたいんだけど、それはなかなか無理です。そしてできるだけ日本語を勉強しようと思います。皆さん日本語能力試験の勉強頑張ってね!
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leupagus · 11 months ago
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Please note that this fic is going to take the better part of 2024 and probably 2025
(and given my track record might never be done):
Sansa
"Do you like the taste?" asked Littlefinger, watching her closely as she tried the wine. He always watched her closely.
They had stopped at the Inn at the Crossroads; she hadn't wanted to, but she would have had to explain to Littlefinger why. So she had choked down a meal and refused to think about the last time she had come through this way, where the first member of her family had been murdered in the stable while Joffrey had sniveled and lied and shown her, for the first time, who he really was.
"I don't see what all the fuss is about," she answered. "Why do men love it so much?"
Littlefinger shrugged. "It gives some men courage."
"Does it give you courage?"
He smiled, the way he did when she had stung him. He would take his revenge on her somehow, she knew. He was nothing like Joffrey, but there was a smallness to him that reminded her of the king.
The dead king, now.
A flash of armor to her right made her look up; a familiar woman, tall and broad of shoulder in a suit of armor, had approached their table. "Lord Baelish. Lady Sansa. My name is Brienne of Tarth."
Sansa opened her mouth to reply, to tell her she knew who she was, of course she knew. Tyrion had mentioned her often, usually after rebuffing yet another request by the lady of Tarth for an audience with Sansa. I hope you don't mind, and Jaime vouches for her, but Cersei has made it clear she's to go nowhere near you and frankly this giantess makes me a bit nervy. He'd been glad to recount the tale of Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, traipsing through the Riverlands on their way to King's Landing.
Before Sansa could speak a word, Littlefinger had made some cutting remark, the sort he was so good at. She'd yet to be on the receiving end of any of them but she flinched all the same, watching Brienne's face. Littlefinger was something like Joffrey — and something like herself, too, when she'd been young and pleased at her own wit. Looking back, she knew now that she had only ever been cruel.
Lady Brienne seemed not even to hear Littlefinger; as though he were no more than a gnat to be tolerated until such moment as he could be swatted. She knelt, awkward but not clumsy, and looked earnestly up at her. "Lady Sansa. Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for you if needs be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."
Would she have given the answering vow? She would never know, because once again Littlefinger was talking, sliding his glance over to Sansa to see what remarks might prompt a reaction. Sansa stayed still and watched as Lady Brienne's attention was at least drawn away, glaring at Littlefinger.
"Strange," Littlefinger was saying. "I knew Cat since the time we were children. She never mentioned you."
"It was after Renly's murder," said Lady Brienne, direct and blunt. She and Sandor would get along well, Sansa thought suddenly. Pity they had never met.
"Ah, yes," said Littlefinger. "You were accused of killing him."
Lady Brienne blushed, a splotchy red spreading across her cheeks. Shame, Sansa thought, but not guilt. "I tried to save him," she spat out. She did not glance over, to see if Sansa would believe her.
"But you were accused."
"By men who did not see what happened."
"And what did happen?"
"He was murdered by a shadow. A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."
"A shadow? With a face?" Littlefinger turned to Sansa, and that was when she knew whatever he was about to say was a lie. "This woman swore to protect Renly. She failed. She swore to protect your mother. She failed." He smirked up at Lady Brienne. "Why would I want somebody with your history of failure guarding Lady Sansa?"
Lady Brienne made a face. "Why would you have any say in her affairs?"
"Because I am her uncle. I married her Aunt Lysa shortly before my beloved's untimely death. We're family now. And you are an outsider. Forgive me, Lady Brienne. But experience has made me wary of outsiders."
She gaped at him, then looked back at Sansa. "Lady Sansa," she said, and paused, as though at a loss for how to convince her. "If we can have a word alone?"
"Yes." Sansa rose, knocking into the table. The goblet of wine spilled and ran down her dress, but she was on her feet at last. The sellswords Littlefinger had brought with him moved in, one of them putting a hand on Lady Brienne's shoulder. She tensed and in just a few seconds there would be bloodshed, there would be someone dead on the floor and it would be her fault.
"Uncle Petyr," she said loudly, her heart rabbiting out of her chest, "Thank you very much for understanding. I will speak with Lady Brienne as you suggest, and then we shall resume our journey."
The sounds of eating and talking died out as faces turned toward her. A round-faced boy came bustling up, a wide, customer-friendly smile pasted on his face. "Is there anything I can help with, milord?" he chirruped.
"A room for the ladies," said Littlefinger, still watching her. She nodded very slightly and his mouth twitched.
"Have you anything on the floor above?" she added, addressing the boy with a nervous glance toward Lady Brienne.
"Er," came the reply, "Yes? Right this way, milady. Miladies."
Sansa leaned toward Littlefinger. He smelled of wine and the oils he used on his hair. "Could some of the guards watch the door?" she whispered. "And some near the stairs. Just…in case."
"Of course," he said, though his eyes were on her mouth.
The way Littlefinger had spoken of her mother, there had been a great rivalry between himself and Ned Stark; and before that a rivalry between himself and her uncle Brandon, who'd been betrothed to Catelyn before his murder. Littlefinger had always sounded like the defeated lover, the man who had nearly won his beloved's hand.
Mother had never mentioned Littlefinger. Father had, once they were in King's Landing and he'd been forced to admit an acquaintance. He'd sounded irritated more than angry; her mother had never loved him, had hardly ever thought of him. Her parents had lived and loved each other and all the while Littlefinger had stewed in his own curdled affections, imagining a love story that had never existed.
She could never decide what had moved her to kiss him on the cheek. Perhaps it had been a clever ploy to distract him, or a way to tell him she would return. She would have liked to have been that clever. But in the moment she could remember only how sorry she felt for him. "I'll just be a few moments," she promised him, lying.
Minutes later she was in a small bedchamber, with two dirty windows on each outside wall and the ominous creak of leather and metal just outside the door, signaling that Littlefinger's sellswords had taken up position. Lady Brienne, for her part, looked as uncomfortable as she had downstairs. "Thank you for speaking with me, my lady," she said.
"Can you fight them all?" Sansa asked her, keeping her voice down. They would need to be overheard soon, but they had a few seconds. Enough time, perhaps enough time. "If there's four in the corridor, and four downstairs."
"What? Yes, of course," said Lady Brienne, expression torn between confusion and offense. She fought off a bear once, Tyrion had told her with glee. Even beat my dear brother in a sword fight. When he still had both hands.
Sansa went to the first window. A long drop onto hard ground, and it faced the road as well as the hitching posts. The second was more promising: hay bales stacked haphazardly next to the wall, and the wood only twenty hards away.
"Start talking," she hissed at Lady Brienne.
She frowned. "I'm sorry?"
Sansa mimed opening the window. "Start talking. About anything. Honor or duty or what my mother was like. Whatever you'd say if you were trying to convince me."
Lady Brienne's eyes widened in understanding. "I…am not much for speeches, my lady," she said slowly, then more loudly as Sansa pulled open the window slowly, mindful of any squeaking. "But I found your mother an honorable woman, and your brother too. I brought Ser Jaime Lannister back to King's Landing at her request, so that you might be returned to your mother in exchange."
It would never have worked; she'd known that even then. The Lannisters did not understand the notion of letting go of an advantage, once they'd sunk their teeth into one. Even Tyrion had never offered to take her to her family once they'd been married. He'd had his reasons, and they had been good ones, but she'd learned another lesson that day. "So you sacrificed your oath to protect my mother for an oath to protect me?" she asked, making sure her voice carried as she swung her legs over the sill. "How can I know you'll not abandon me, too?"
It was important not to think. If she thought about it, she wouldn't do it.
She held her breath, put her hands over her mouth, and fell.
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miimo96 · 6 months ago
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Thoughts on the TRAILER for TBHK Season 2
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Ngl when I 1st saw this was out I immediately was skeptical due to how much attention the spin off series was getting, but No, THIS IS the MAIN SERIES!!
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Omg the New animation looks beautiful, like just Look at HIM!!, in all seriousness tho it's good to see that TBHK back and is FINALLY getting the recognition it Deserves, like it's such an underrated series and In opinion could be one of the Greatest series. Really Happy that it's back, It's been a awhile So I can't exactly rember what happens Next, but whatever it is, I'm sure it was worth the wait ^^;
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IT'S THE CLOCK KEEPERS ARC IT'S THE CLOCK KEEPERS ARC!!! Omg I Knew they were gonna do this, I was like it's either gonna be this or The young Exorcist arc, since they skipped it last season, i mean I'm sure we're Still getting it but I'm SO Happy we're also getting this too; 2025 is Already looking like a Great year, get ready for the Tears because aidairo DON'T PLAY >_<
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Manga SPOILERS ahead But if we're getting who I think we are getting then I think Sarah Wiedenheft Needs to voice her for the Dub, Because it's literally like the perfect, I mean she already has some experience with playing small playfull yet scary female characters, and her personality literally reminds me of Charmy from black clover, So yeah we should go with this, Also We missed a Huge opportunity with Tiara minamoto not being portrayed by lisette monique Diaz, So I'm hoping we don't repeat the same mistake again with this 1 next
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Omg are we in store for So much shit Next season and if I remember correctly, We should be getting at least 3 freakin Arcs, Oh yeah this is definitely gonna be a good season, TBHK IS OFFICIALLY BACK BABY!! ^^ Also I understand that Some people want the picture perfect arc to be part of this season, but in my honest opinion, I really think they shouldn't do that, because that arc works Way better as a movie in my opinion, also Because the 3 arcs we should be getting are the Clock keepers, the young Exorcist, and the Star festival arc,especially since those were Skipped last season, if we get those that should at least cover the entire slot for the season, Adding another arc would be giving too much and in my opinion, completely pointless, plus think of all the things we could get if this were a movie: Plushies, artbooks, key chains, and many other things, like the list goes on and on; Also regarding the Opening for Season 2, I'm sorry but I Really think they should go with Resuing the same 1 from last season, i mean i understand why they wouldn't but in my opinion, They legit totally should, because it's just That Good; from the visuals, to the tone, to even the title everything just Screams TBHK, and besides other animes like HxH and Sailor moon have re used the same openings before and Look how well they've turned out , So why can't This 1 do the same; Anyway whaddya think, Are you excited for Next Season?
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carylerxsecretsanta · 20 days ago
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Written For: @theresnosafeharbor4myships
Title: blushing Author: @lola-andheruniverse Rating: T/ Teen and Up Audiences Summary: “Between running for their lives, scavenging non-stop for food, sleeping with one eye open and trying to not to freeze to death, making Daryl blush becomes a welcome distraction to push Carol throughout the winter.” A/N: Dear Michelle, I tried (emphasis on tried) to give you some flirty early Caryl goodness since that’s what you like. It’s set between the S2/S3 interlude and the Governor’s attack on S3. A very short fic, almost a slice-of-life, but I really hope it puts a smile on your face this Christmas. Happy holidays and a beautiful and kind 2025 for you.
                                                             X
It starts small and without purpose, as all seemingly unimportant things usually do.
They both needed a break from the claustrophobic storage units Rick decided should be their home for the foreseeable future because Lori kept getting sick on the road. Daryl wanted to try one more time to hunt something big to fill their stomachs, muttering that there must be some deer out there that those damned walkers hadn’t chewed up yet. Carol wanted to harvest some greens to, at worst, guarantee some kind of soup to warm them up for the night, and at best, serve as a side dish for whatever game he managed to catch. So they leave at dawn, while most of the group are still sleeping bundled together; T-Dog guarding them, chain-smoking at the rooftop.
The early morning air is crisp and invigorating in her lungs. Even though winter is fast approaching, the woods are still vibrant with all the fall colors that the slow rising sun reveals to them. They remind her of Sophia, but today it doesn’t make her heart hurt. Not really. Carol cannot feel or see any sound, smell, or trail that would indicate the proximity of any horde, and the fact that Daryl is walking relaxed beside her rather than in front of her makes her feel confident that her assessment is correct. It’s not the first time she joins him on a hunt. Or to walk the perimeter. Find water or wood to make a fire. After the farm fell, they tended to navigate towards each other. Together, on the outskirts of everything else.
“You seem quite chill today.” She says quietly, crouching down to bag some wild kale.
“Uhm, jus’ like mornings like this. Fresh. Clean.” He takes a deep breath while scanning their surroundings. “Way better than those stinking metal coffins we sleeping in. If Carl keeps taking his nasty shoes off to sleep, I’ll have to cut his feet off.”
Carol snorts. “Be nice. We need to find him some bigger shoes. It’s not Carl’s fault he’s growing and going through hormonal changes. Teenagers smell, Daryl.”
“Not my nose’s fault neither.” He grunts, extending a hand to help her get up.
“Well, you’re really hot, you know?” Carol says, arranging her shoulder bag to make room. “You could always try sleeping outside, at least as long as the temperature isn’t too low.”
When Daryl doesn’t answer, she looks up. His whole face is flushed red and he’s staring at her with a completely new, baffled expression. It takes a beat for Carol to understand what it means.
“Hum…We’re missing daylight.” He murmurs and instantly walks away, almost tripping on an exposed tree root.
Embarrassed.
And it’s such a foreign notion that Daryl Dixon could get so flustered over a poorly phrased sentence like that, that Carol can’t help but file the knowledge away for the near future, while chuckling softly to herself.
                                                             X
Between running for their lives, scavenging non-stop for food, sleeping with one eye open and trying to not to freeze to death, making Daryl blush becomes a welcome distraction to push Carol throughout the winter. She throws silly (but smart) innuendos at him whenever they are alone, sharing some chores or just keeping each other company while avoiding the rest of the group. It takes some of the weight off both of their shoulders, as she finds that Daryl does get flustered easily, but doesn’t really seem to mind her dirty sense of humor. Or her fondness for making him squirm.
Uh, are you glad to see me? She asks every single time she catches Daryl cleaning a gun, with a perfect Mae West impersonation, that paints the tip of his pointy ears bright red. Not really. He always says back, snorting or squinting his eyes in her direction, depending on his mood, but never sending her away or ignoring her presence.
Any compliment Daryl gives her cooking is met with fluttering eyelashes and bright smiles that put a healthy flush on his cheeks. And Carol calls him a dirty, dirty man when Daryl comes back from the woods with so much blood or mud on his clothes that they need to be washed. The more languid her voice, the redder his face becomes.
It is funny and sweet and she can’t get enough of it.
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“That’s a big cock.”
Carol happily observes when Daryl comes back from a hunt with three dead chickens and a giant rooster. It’s a Christmas miracle, the last good meal they have before the group is forced to leave the storage units behind because it got too cold to live on bare concrete and metal.
“You’s seriously unhinged, woman, you know that?” Daryl manages to answer back, not before almost choking on his own spit.
No one understands why she keeps laughing throughout the meal, nor why Daryl’s face is as red as a ripe tomato the entire evening.
                                                                X
“It’s pretty romantic. Screw around?”
Daryl double checks before snorting and Carol laughs, feeling as happy as she can get after they conquered the field around the prison that afternoon. A permanent home after so many months on the road.
“I’ll go down first.” Daryl mumbles, a light but very present blush on his cheeks.
“Even better.” She can’t resist. It’s like he’s asking for it.
“Stop.”
                                                                X
“What yah doin’ up?” Daryl asks as he takes the large plastic box she’s carrying from her hands, only to find that it’s empty aside from a blanket. “You should be restin’, woman. You just came back from the dead a few hours ago!”
“Yes, I did, thanks to you.” She answers, resting a hand on one of his upper arms. “I’m feeling fine, Daryl. See, I got cleaned up and all. Back to the living side.”
“Yah sure?” He insists, checking her from head to toe.
“Yes, I am. Look at you, all sweet and worried about me.” Carol teases, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Stahp.” Daryl squints, not without humor in his voice, and she laughs, taking the box from him “What this for, anyway?”
“For the baby. She needs something safe to be put on. She can’t be held all the time. This can work as a crib while we don’t find one.”
“Lil’ ass kicker.” He informs her, matter-of-factly.
“What?”
“Lil’ ass kicker. That’s how I’m callin’ baby girl while Rick and the kid don’t choose a name for her.”
“Of course you are.” Carol feels her heart swell a little bit with affection for the man in front of her. “When are you all leaving to get Maggie and Glenn?”
“Any minute now.”
“Okay. Let me put this on my cell. I’ll see you out.”
Carol doesn’t notice the rubor that takes over Daryl’s face as he watches her walk away.
                                                               X
“He is your brother, but he is not good for you. Don’t let him bring you down.” Carol tells him, like she sees it, because she has to. “After all, look at how far you’ve come.”
Daryl looks all around the cell and back to her, jokingly taking her point as the literal place they come to. She just smiles and shares the small laugh that it’s only theirs, content to be reunited with him, even with everything else changing around them.
                                                             X
“So, what exactly happened out there?” Carol inquires after he joins her in the courtyard. She is sitting on top of one of the tables, rifle resting on her thighs, eyes on the horizon as the sun sets. He mimics her pose with his crossbow.
“Rick and that eye-patched prick talked alone. Me and Hershel stayed out with his men. Had a smoke, talked some shit. Don’t think no one on that side wants no war either, but they have a murderous asshole as their leader. They’ll do as they are told.”
“As we will on our side, you mean?” She asks just for the sake of it.
“Yeah…yeah, ’s we will.” He agrees, sounding defeated.
“War it is.”
They sigh, somewhat synchronized, reluctantly sharing the same loyalty towards their group. Their family. Daryl rests his hand on her shoulder, so very lightly, and Carol turns to look at him.
“No matter what happens, though’, I’ve got your back.” He tells her in a soft but firm voice, looking straight into her eyes.
The air entering her lungs feels too thick to breathe. “I know you do.” She blinks twice and swallows, before putting a cheeky expression on her face and whispering. “You’re my knight in shining leather.”
“Ugh, stop!” Daryl complains, taking the hand off her shoulder and facepalming to hide his blush. “Why are you like this?!”
Carol giggles in response. She rests her head on his shoulder to keep him from escaping, eyes trained on the increasingly dark sky.
“You’re just too easy, that’s why. I can’t help myself.” She says a few moments later, after giving him time to calm a little bit.
“So you saying you have no self control, that’s it?” Daryl retorts.
“That’s pretty much it.” She admits, not feeling a little bit ashamed of herself.
“Yah know? One day, I’ll make you regret all this shit.” He says, as seriously as he can, while tentatively putting his arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, and what do you mean by that?” Carol snuggles, testing her luck.
“What I mean is that I will get you when your ass is distracted and you will be the one that gets all hot and red in the face.”
Daryl’s eyes are also trained at the sky, like he is pretending not to acknowledge the half embrace his own arm initiated. By the corner of her eyes, Carol can see that he’s still blushing hard and can’t help to feel the same kind of heat spreading through her own face.
She wishes her own blushing away and responds in a small voice, grateful that he won’t be looking at her face anytime soon. “That doesn’t sound as frightening as you think it does. Quite the opposite.”
“Ugh, just shut up.” Daryl says, squeezing her tighter so she adjusts her body to rest more comfortably next to him. “Impossible woman.”
They stay like that long enough for Carol to formulate three different sexual innuendos that could be used in a life-or-death situation, should they find themselves in one when the Governor comes for them. And for his scent to rub off and linger on her clothes, which would guarantee nighttime blushes, unbeknownst to Daryl.
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justanoasisimagines · 13 days ago
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Late night Revelations
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Summary; Victor wakes in the middle of the night to find you missing, late night conversations lead to revelations. Pairing; Victor Zsasz x Female Reader WordCount: 636 A/N: Hey lovelies, first post of 2025. I hope you enjoy! Happy new Year! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!
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Victor found pleasure in a few things; killing, eighties disco music, freshly baked cookies and you.
You were opposites to Victor; you held a normal nine-to-five, and you saw the goodness in everyone you met. You shied away from violence. It took months of strenuous convincing to get you to learn self-defense. The first time you held a gun it trembled in your hand.
Yet Victor couldn't risk your safety. He had to be certain you could protect yourself. At least until the moment, he sought out the individual who hurt you, then they would his wrath.
It didn't take long as Victor's bare feet padded into the kitchen. There you were, moonlight guiding him to what his heart desired most. You looked ethereal as he wrapped his arms around your waist, smirking when you jumped. Lost to your thoughts.
"It's only me," Victor whispered slowly swaying you from side to side. Victor smiled into your cheek when he felt your body melt against his.
"What you doing awake, pretty girl?"
"Couldn't sleep."
Victor pressed a tender kiss to the column of your throat. Pulling you back towards his bare chest. His hand finds its way under your sleep shirt to rest on your bare stomach drawing small lazy circles.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"You've been working flat out lately."
Whilst that was true, Victor had been with Carmine until the early hours. Victor didn't care. His work was important to him. He enjoyed his work, yet you were his top priority.
Sleep deprived or not.
"Don't care. I hate sleeping without you anyway." Victor untangled you from his arms, opting to take your hand instead. Leading you the short distance towards your bedroom.
Within the safety of your shared bed. Victor got himself comfortable as your head made his way to his bare chest. With an arm draped lazily around your waist, his other came to rest on top of your hand.
"You can talk to me…if something's bothering you."
Victor felt you raise your head, he could feel your gaze but couldn't quite see you in the darkness of the room. He was almost tempted to turn the bedside table light on, for just a glimpse but it wouldn't help matters.
"Work's being demanding. The stack of papers on my desk. eeps growing. My manager's been on at me."
Victor had seen you come home exhausted and burnt out. Too frequently if you asked him. You gave everything to your job, working out of hours, and always worried about getting a report sent over. He knew your talent was being wasted at your current job.
He also knew you wouldn't leave. You were too loyal which in any other circumstance he admired. However, he refused to let someone treat you this way. He refused to witness your struggle.
"Your calling in sick tomorrow." "Vic, you know I can't do that." "Then I'll do it for you." Victor wasn't going to argue with you on this. The decision was made. Even if he could sense the roll of your eyes in protest.
"You're also coming to work with me tomorrow." "But Carmine-Why?" "Carmine won't mind. Besides, I know if I leave you alone then you'll just work from home." Victor pressed a kiss onto your forehead to soften the demand he was making. He didn't like to put his foot down, however, right now your welfare was his only concern. "Okay." "We're also going to talk to him…to get you a better job."
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yeowninefive · 12 days ago
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My 2024 Art Retrospective (Part 1)
Sorry for this lackluster introduction, but I've worked on this for quite some time and this is (once again) super long as it stands. So here goes.
Fanart: Last year I talked about how at the start of 2023, I had a decent start in drawing fanart; only for it to fall at the wayside due to my work on OC projects at the time. The story is pretty identical for 2024 where an OC project I worked on for the spring (Mime En Blanche) and some big major changes IRL (taking up on a new job following my degree completion/graduation) ended up scuttling my plans quite a bit to do more fanart work. I do think I tried to make up for it somewhat in that for the rest of the year, I made quite a few works of my OCs in the appearance or attire of characters from notable works (and at least a couple works featuring the other way around).
Nonetheless, still not too satisfied with that outcome; so what I'm hoping to do is take a "one for me and one for them" attitude with my art for 2025; where I actively make sure to have a more even production cycle of art of my OCs and art of works I like or have a passing interest in.
Animation: Again, similar to 2023, I made some pretty small results, though I think they represent some notable advances. *batteries were included (as part of my Mime En Blanche project) was an interesting one where it was originally supposed to be just artwork, but somehow I managed to find time to develop it further into a short animation, so that was cool. It may not be too surprising that it was made at the same time as the bigger --and standout animation project-- Pan Rebanado, which I actually took additional steps to expand it into a very small video (with some technical elements such as a camera pan and later added sound effects). Both of these also fulfilled a goal I wanted to do for 2024 where both animations were done in color.
Unfortunately, this is pretty much where my animation efforts for the year end for 2024. Both of these animations were from the spring, and my aforementioned job pushed it way towards the back in terms of priority. There is/was one other animation that I only barely started and haven't done much with. Moreover, all of these were in Clip Studio Paint, I didn't do much --if anything-- with OpenToonz.
My hope for 2025 is that I try and work on animation more consistently, in more casual/small doses. To that end, I hope to address that by getting back into learning animation more, publishing more "WIP" works for stuff I started on but didn't/haven't finished, and trying my hand at animatics when not publishing small/simple animations/doodles.
Backgrounds/environments: I think my focus on backgrounds/environments weren't quite as strong as last year (which I feel was a better return to form after the dip in 2022), but it was still a pretty good effort. Namely with some of my character-specific artwork (Name, Come On Home, and Strum Against the Storm to list as highlights) and some of the environments I made for my Mime En Blanche project, though I also got at least one landscape (Merge) and mixed media artwork (Zoe and Coffee) in for this year as well. As a negative, meanwhile, I again didn't get to try and revisit any of my previous landscapes for a remake, unfortunately. I'll be surprised if I ever get around to making one at any point for 2025.
Speaking of my mixed media artwork, one of the goals I mentioned I wanted to do was to produce more mixed media work with my OCs, as I still have photos left over from my 2023 Canada trip I haven't gotten around to yet. As a matter of fact--I actually have *more* photos from another trip from this year that I'd like to use for my art as well. So my goal is return to those photos and start cranking out more of those throughout 2025--this will probably be a domain The Commodities OC band will be occupied in for quite a while. (I also imagine any additional landscape/environment work I do will be showcased in future comics, which I'll talk about in my next section.)
Comics/stories/OC projects: The aforementioned Mime En Blanche (MEB) project was my landmark for this year; and while I'm still pretty pleased with it, I do wish it garnered a little more interest like my Clock Robin Caper did. (Part of it I feel is besides a smaller OC roster, I honestly don't know if one of the creators of the featured OCs ever saw or noticed it.) I probably would had gotten another OC project done this year, but my new job disrupted a lot of my art plans.
In the meantime, I also do like the handful of comic strips and one-page cartoons I also made, the main thing I like about them is that a good number of them had pretty short production turnarounds—the path fro idea to product for at least two (Woe Betide Deu in particular, which was actually reworked from an older idea for a comic strip) was actually pretty brief, compared to numerous other ideas that still remain on the shelf.
My goal for 2024 was the hope to improve my time management to get more of my ideas/stories I've written done adapted into an artform (via illustration, comic, or animation/animatic); and it's pretty much the same goal for 2025. Though at this point, I feel like anything I get done at the rate things are going is going to be a win inof itself. I'm going to elaborate about this in length later.
Art trades/commissions: Pretty much the same as before--no real movement towards commissions, and any art trades I wanted to do was taken up by my MEB project, and then later by my current job. (I did get a couple of art done in lieu of then-current trends, but that was before I got my main job.)
The main difference I would say going into 2025 is that in light of my current job (in that it's not related to either my recent education/studies or my hobbies) I think I feel confident enough that I want to do some kind of standalone test run for some sort of commission/freelance work. I'll probably end up doing some research or asking some other creators for advice. On a related note, I might also open a Patreon, Ko-fi, or some other equivalent. I just want to try and force some movement in this area, especially if pushes me in a direction to be more conscious in how I arrange my time.
Art output/reception: Honestly, my job and changes regarding art platforms has changed things enough to the point that the best I can do is point to individual/specific achievements and use that as a yardstick to show any evidence of growth. Normally I would be been able to produce a tally of the total art I made in 2024, calculate the total number of interactions (based on certain metrics), and compare it to previous years to show the differences; but I simply haven't had the time and/or interest. This is where I will active give tumblr some genuine credit here in that it's actually been telling me in my art notifications certain milestones I've crossed with my likes and my reblogs (with at least over 2000 reblogs and over 2500 likes across all of my blogs, if I understand correctly). Maybe I will submit a post out of the blue somewhere in 2025 that does this (or at least compares that point in 2025 instead of 2024's end), but I'd advise not to hold your breath.
The one thing I can say is that in 2024, I wanted to try and take a step back from my art for my other hobbies; as well as start adhering to a more predicable art publishing schedule. I'd unfortunately say I failed on both aspects, though I definitely think my current job situation played a factor in both aspects. (I feel that I did net myself a minor win in discovering and starting to regularly use PostyBirb+ to publish my art across multiple platforms, although at times it certainly feels like it takes almost as much time publishing art individually to other platforms. I also do have to publish individually sometimes, since there are certain features PostyBirb+ doesn't support.)
So my desire to spend less my time on my art feels like it's hit a major crossroad with my art goals for 2025, which I feel would demand genuine time for me to develop certain skills and make certain accomplishments (like the animation and comics/stories stuff). I feel like the best scenario I can come up with is try and take more of a monthly (if not weekly) scheduled approach, where I try and focus on a particular goal for each month. (You may have noticed that try is a major key component of this retrospective.)
Much like with last year, I think this has gotten long enough that I’m splitting this up into two parts (I was trying my damnedest to avoid doing so, but one section just spiraled out of control). A link to the second part should eventually show up here. Here is my genuine gratitude to whomever that bothered to parse the whole thing (so far). Normally I would say "have a Happy New Year's Eve/Happy New Year's Day," but we're past both days. So I'll just say for now, have a Happy New Year...or at least, have a 2025 that's as least-awful as possible.
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jeannahas · 14 days ago
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MIDNIGHT MUSINGS
Well… we made it another year I guess. If I had to sum up the entire year in one word, I would say “Loss”. In nearly all senses (not fully all)
- lost my job as they couldn’t afford my salary. This dropped me from a salaried position to 12.35$ an hour. With 2.5 kids.
- lost connections to friends and students. (see above)
- business I managed and taught for collapsed, and officially went bankrupt this month, meaning everything I worked to build in Las Vegas over the course of three years is officially gone. Dust. Again, for me. No legacy for me it seems. (See above)
- had a major falling out with a sibling I respected greatly, and we still haven’t talked to each other since. I was in the middle of two gifts for him, and both sit on my desk unfinished. I want to finish them; and send them, it hurts to look at them.
- purpose? What purpose?
- motivation? What motivation?
- I have only been able to put food on the table this year thanks to the fact that my family owns a small house in the middle of nowhere where, and we’ve only had to pay utilities. So self image? Sense of self sufficiency? Gone.
- Hope or faith in humanity? Not really after this November.
- student loans kicked in- not like I have any money anyway. Just sitting there. And of course, in my notice it said any excess payments will go to interest- and why not allow me to pay on the principle????
- Die to a misfiling, my wife and I don’t actually have medical insurance and we’ve been fighting to get on a new program for oh… four months. Unsuccessfully, obviously.
That said, Some good things did happen this year- my son was born, I got to finally meet my youngest niece, and the two of them seem to be fast friends- both born only a couple weeks apart. I saw my younger brother for the first time since his wedding, and almost the whole family was together for Christmas this year, playing games, catching up, being family. I had a really good boss this uear, and he made sure I had time to be with my family whenever I needed it, or whenever they needed me, which meant the world to me this year.
It took almost seven months after having to resign from my job teaching martial arts, but my mental health is finally intact enough to try to get a teaching degree for this next year. Will it work? Maybe! Will president idiot and his oligarch puppeteer kill the education system and put me out of a job again? maybe! But I’m at least trying to crawl my way up from this particular nothing.
I finished the first draft of my book, met some really interesting people that have made life more entertaining, started the second draft of my book, and helped my mom publish her first kids book. My son took his first assisted steps, my daughters are growing independent and feisty (as they should) and my wife and I have never been closer.
I’ve been able to spend more time with my parents this year than… ever, since I moved out, and honestly, it’s been great just watching my kids play with their grandparents.
For once though……… I’m in no way sad to see a year slip by. Goodbye 2024- you were a rough year.
Forgotten gods in the heavens, I am so tired.
May 2025 be better than I am expecting.
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