#if anyone ever wants to talk to me about it i'm here for you

[tuttle-did-it]

If you see the tags, I've seen Father Brown and it's... fine. It's fine. I don't think it's a very good show. And whilst I have nothing against Mark Williams or anyone else in the rest of the cast, no one on that show makes me want to watch any more. I don't care about any of the characters or the world they live in. Father Dowling was a more entertaining show in comparison for me. And generally speaking, cosy mystery shows are not the best tv in the world. It's an engaging lead that you need to pull it off. The rest is window-dressing. If the lead is delightful to watch, and the show even half-way written and directed, you'll have a fun murder mystery show. I have yet to find that here in UK. And forgive me, I just don't think Mark Williams is engaging and fun to watch. So it makes the whole show not enjoyable for me.

I don' felt the same way about Sister Boniface. It's fine. I just done care of I ever e another episode. I stopped enjoying Death In Paradise when Ben Miller left, honestly. I have seen eps every time they do a cast change to see if i enjoy it again. I do not. And the cast is far too young on DiP for what I'm looking for. I want an older detective who potters around the way Fletcher, older Perry or Ben Matlock did. With older guest stars. DiP had a few great older guest stars-- Peter Davison comes to mind as one. But I don't enjoy DiP as a show because I don't enjoy the main characters. I did when Ben was there. He it's not there, now. I try every time they soft-boot with new characters. I haven't found any others I like.

Harry Wild is probably the closest show in UK/IRE that I've seen that fits the bill. Jane Seymour is older, she is engaging, she is fun to watch. I wish her surrounding cast were a bit older as well, but she's fine. It's the closest I've found, here.

Also, as much as I love a lot of UK/IRE tv, my favourite character actors have, by and large, been American. Maybe it's because I primarily watched movies from 20s-50s-- especially in my formative years-- and US-based tv from 1950-1980. So the majority of my favourite character actors were getting older and appearing in these 80s/90s US cosy mystery movies/shows because they had worked with the main lead of the cosy mystery show (who was older).

Hell-- Dame Diana Rigg had her own cosy mystery show for a couple of years. It was fun. It was UK-based. So it can happen. I just haven't seen it happen in many years.

Also, I know ACD and Agatha Christie established the cosy mystery style, but the cast majority of tv shows I have enjoyed of this genre are American. Although I have a LOT to criticise America for (trust me, neither of is have the time or energy for how much I can criticise America for) they took the cosy mystery genre and perfected it-- those of the 80s/90s in particular were a lot of fun. There are a lot majority of UK-based things I prefer far more over US imports. But I have yet to see a UK-based murder mystery show that is as fun to watch as Murder, She Wrote, Matlock, Perry Mason and Columbo. All of our (UK/IRE) best actors had moved to the US in the 70s/ish, anyway. So I still got to see Patty McGoohan on cosy mysteries-- but it was Columbo. Patty Macnee was guest starring on Murder she Wrote several times. He wasn't working here in the UK. By and large, I think the US has done better with this genre -- especially when it comes to dotty older people-- than Britain. Which is hilarious to me on many levels.

(No, I am not talking about all the dozens of MSW/Columbo rip offs such as the Hallmark murder mysteries like Murder, She Baked. Are they cosy murder mysteries with aging guest stars? Sure. Are they remotely watchable? No. Not At all. Unless you are very drunk and making fun of the show instead of watching it to enjoy it.)

I have seen Father Brown. It's not enjoyable to me compared to Father Dowling-- and certainly not in comparison to the giant shoes left by Columbo, Ben Matlock and Jessica Fletcher to fill.

I know Matlock is being rebooted with Kathy Bates. I love Bates. She is delightful. But I'm tired of reboots. Give her any other fucking name. Kathy Bates deserves her own show without being forced to compete with Andy Griffith's shadow.

Same goes for Jamie Lee Curtis. She is rumoured to be doing a reboot if MSW. JLC deserves her own cosy murder show. Forcing her to compete with one of the biggest legends of all time in cosy mystery genre is entirely unfair to JLC and to Angela Lansbury.

Anyway. What I'm asking for is a cosy mystery with an engaging older lead that I want to watch every week. More Cannes Anne wheelchair's and false teeth. Ideally, with a decent writing team. DiP is no longer that for me. Father Brown has never been that for me. Am I glad it fits the bill for other people? Sure. Does it fit what I need? No. Harry Wild is the closest and even that has not entirely satisfied my itch.

You know, it's genuinely sad to me that aging favourite character actors no longer have any fun murder-mystery tv shows to guest-star as murders on.

[royalarchivist]

This is what it feels like every time a new SMP has streamers I like

[janiehellion]

Revved Up

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

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.

[ssentimentals]

Hi, are you only take requests from the prompt? I’m gonna leave my request and if you want to write it I’ll be really happy…🙏🏼

So the reader is also a singer but her brother is one of the f1 drivers can be Sainz or Leclerc, and she is dating (can be S.Coups, Joshua or Wonu) and they meet for the first time at the GP and get along really well .

Thanks 🤍🤍🤍

oh my god. my dear anonie. i have no hope left that you are still here, but in case you are - i am so, so sorry for catching up so late with this wonderful message. i was focused on prompts and my inbox was floored. but i got to it now and i am hoping that you'll like it!! sorry again :((

seungcheol + singer!reader (carlos sainz's sister)

seungcheol had many nerve-wracking moments in his life. his first ever performance, first tour abroad, performance on international festival, performance in front of a president for god's sake. but nothing really made him as nervous as he is now, entering the race venue. for all his bravado on being the fearless leader, seungcheol feels fear gripping his heart at the thought of meeting your brother. he tries to tell himself that it's all good - it's not like cheol has anything to hide and it's not like your brother is some kind of-

'is that carlos? oh my god, it is! carlos! carlos, carlos sainz!'

right. no biggie. seungcheol follows the direction of running and screaming girls and instantly clocks familiar red posters and dozens people with cameras around. he pauses and pulls his cap even lower, taking a deep breath. you can do this, he pep talks himself, slowly coming closer. so what that he's a famous f1 driver? so what that he looks like one punch from him will send me flying to the next wall? it's all good, all good. seungcheol notices you too when he comes as close as fans allow him to; you're standing not far from your brother, looking beautiful in red ferrari merch, smiling happily at the sight of people swooning over carlos. seungcheol lets himself enjoy these few moments of just looking at you without you noticing, just taking you in. he saw thousand photos of you from your concerts and red carpets, even more from your ads and magazines, but nothing beats just looking at you up close. your beauty never fails to amaze him; he still has no idea how he managed to make you his. sometimes it all does feel like fever induced dream from his part.

'sorry, excuse me,' seungcheol makes his way through the fangirls and photographers, waving a little when you notice him. your face lights up at the sight of him and his heart skips a beat - how did he get so lucky? waving him over, you giggle loudly when he hugs you tight. 'hello, gorgeous.'

'you made it!' you squeal, hugging him even tighter before pulling back. 'you weren't replying, i thought maybe something else came up.'

'sorry babe, just wanted to surprise you.' seungcheol is relieved that for once cameras are not pointing at you two; he confidently wraps his arm around your waist. 'everything's okay?'

you nod, smiling. 'i'm so excited! it's been a while since i came to the race.' your eyes drift to your brother's tall figure before looking back at your boyfriend. 'are you ready to meet my brother?'

seungcheol hopes his smile is convincing. 'of course i am. i'd love to.'

you see through his acting and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. 'you have nothing to worry about, cheollie. he's amazing and he already knows so much about you!'

seungcheol gulps. he knows exactly what? does he know that he made you cry one month agoo during your fight? does he know that he gets weirdly possessive over you? does he know this or does he also know that seungcheol makes sure you have a bouquet waiting for you in every single hotel you stay whenever you're touring or that since you came into his life he never had eyes for anyone else? what exactly does carlos sainz know?

'come meet cheollie, carlos!' you wave at your brother, who walks over to your side, eyes trained on seungcheol.

seungcheol does not tremble. he does not shiver. he's a world class performer and he puts on his best smile and shakes carlos's hand with what he hopes is an adequate amount of strength. carlos's raised eyebrow tells him that he fucked up that one. 'nice to finally meet you,' carlos says, voice rather friendly even if his face remains impassive.

'likewise,' seungcheol says and tries to come up with something else, hating his own short answer: 'uh- happy to be here! on the race, i mean. good luck today, beat everyone.'

carlos tilts his head and chuckles. 'it's just a free practice today, race is on sunday.'

next to him, you snicker and seungcheol feels how tip of his ears burn in shame. god, what a way to go. right when he's scrambling for words to say, carlos saves him with a friendly pat on the shoulder: 'it's okay. you know nothing about racing, right?'

'i'll teach him everything!' you volunteer, snuggling closer to his side. seungcheol is thankful for your support and he's also happy that carlos doesn't point out anything about your pda. 'by sunday he'll be your main fan, carlito.'

'i already am!' seungcheol rushes to say. 'a fan, big fan, i mean.'

carlos is nice enough to let his awkwardness slide. his eyes linger on the way seungcheol's arm is wrapped around his sister's waist, but he says nothing. 'let's go to the paddock, you'll meet my team.'

seungcheol has a running suspicion that he fucked everything up, but the way you glow happily makes him think otherwise. he leans in, kissing your cheek and smiling at the way you lean more towards him; it feels so good to be able to do this without worrying. 'are you happy?' seungcheol asks, not being to look away from your shining face.

'i am,' you confirm, turning to him. 'you are here, my brother is here, it's a race weekend! everything is great.' you reach out, caressing his cheek. 'he likes you. i can tell, don't worry.'

'i am making a fool of myself in front of him,' seungcheol whispers, very close to whining. 'tell him that i am not like that usually.'

'i know how you are usually,' carlos suddenly says, turning to him with a wide smile. 'she tells me everything. always gushes about you.' carlos pauses, letting them catch up with him. he jokingly slaps seungcheol's shoulder. 'you're putting that bar very high, my friend.'

seungcheol rarely blushes but he is sure that his face is all red now. it feels undeserving to have carlos praise him like this, for some reason.

'he makes me happy!' you proclaim, making seungcheol's heart squeeze in his chest.

carlos's gaze softens and he reaches out, gently ruffling your hair. 'i know he does, bebe. it's good.' he then turns to seungcheol: 'you better keep it that way.'

seungcheol clears his throat. 'planning on it.'

carlos nods, satisfied. 'good. now let's go and turn you into tifosi.'

a/n: what a crossover this is :D hopefully you liked it, let me know! - nini

find more seventeen works HERE

find more formula 1 works HERE

[antinousletmehit]

Hello pookie

I hope your having a good day, anyways, I saw you were asking for requests so I figured I'd give you one even though I'm sure your already getting many, also no pressure to actually do this or anything I don't want you to feel like anyone will be disappointed if you don't do this, but if you were looking for some inspiration or an idea...

(I know it seems out of the question to suggest a Telemachus x reader when you are already doing a story on that (which is very good btw))

Oh well, if you are looking for ideas - Telemachus x fem reader who is a servant at the palace. Well, there's my two sense.

Have a great day <3

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x fem!reader

୨୧┇note: I love Telemachus chat

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The palace was quiet, its grand halls wrapped in the heavy silence of midnight. Telemachus tiptoed past the sleeping guards, his sandals barely making a sound on the cool stone floors. His heart raced, not from fear of being caught, but from excitement. He knew you were waiting for him. Out in the garden, hidden among the olive trees, you leaned against a gnarled trunk, the moonlight casting a silver glow over your features. When you saw him, your face lit up with a smile that made his stomach flip.

“You’re late,” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Blame Athena,” Telemachus whispered, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “She wouldn’t stop lecturing me about responsibility.”You laughed softly, the sound like the gentle rustling of leaves. “And here you are, sneaking out with me. Very responsible, my lord.” Telemachus rolled his eyes, though his smile widened. “If you keep calling me ‘my lord,’ I might have to stop meeting you.”

“Oh, is that so?” you said, stepping closer. “What should I call you, then?”

“Just Telemachus,” he said, his voice softening. “When we’re out here, I’m not a prince. I’m just… me.” You nodded, your smile turning gentle. “Alright, Telemachus. Shall we go?” The two of you slipped through the garden and out into the open fields beyond the palace walls. It wasn’t the first time you’d done this, your secret nighttime escapades had become a routine over the past few months. You’d explore the countryside, climb hills, and sit by the shore, talking about everything and nothing.

Tonight, you ended up on a hill overlooking the sea. The stars sparkled above, their reflection dancing on the dark waves below. You sat down on the grass, and Telemachus joined you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “You know,” he said after a moment, his voice hesitant, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…free before.”

You glanced at him, your brow quirking. “Free?”He nodded, picking at a blade of grass. “When I’m in the palace, I’m always being watched, judged. Everyone expects me to be like my father, to grow into this great hero. But out here, with you… I can just be myself.” Your expression softened, and you reached out to touch his arm. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Telemachus. You’re already enough.” His breath hitched, and he turned to look at you. The way you gazed at him, your eyes full of sincerity, made his chest feel tight. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, you smiled and leaned closer. “Can I show you something?”

Telemachus blinked, confused. “Show me what?” Without answering, you tilted your head and pressed your lips to his. For a moment, his entire body froze. His mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that he couldn’t quite process. This was his first kiss, his first real kiss. And it was with you. When you pulled back, he was still staring at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. “I—I—uh—” You bit back a laugh, watching him flounder. “Telemachus? Are you alright?”

“I—yes—no—I mean—” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice cracking slightly. “Did you just—did we just—”

“Yes,” you said simply, your smile teasing but kind.

“Oh,” was all he could manage, his brain still trying to catch up. You reached out and gently touched his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. “Was that okay?”

He finally found his voice, though it was quiet and a little shaky. “It was more than okay.” Your smile widened, and you leaned back, propping yourself up on your hands. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” Telemachus stared at you, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. “You… you have?”

You nodded, glancing up at the stars. “You’re kind, and thoughtful, and you have this way of making people feel safe. How could I not?” He didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he sat there, watching you with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Eventually, you turned back to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Telemachus?”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice faint.

“You can breathe now.”

He let out a shaky laugh, finally exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right. Breathing. Good idea.” You laughed with him, and the sound filled the night air, light and full of joy. As the two of you sat under the stars, Telemachus couldn’t help but think that, for the first time in his life, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[cometblaster2070]

ranting for a bit because the entire scene where elphaba tells glinda her secret makes me go rabid and actually makes me want to chew concrete because not only is it actually absolutely heartbreaking to see just how deeply elphaba believes all the horrible things her father reinforces; how she thinks she's responsible for her mother's death and is the reason for nessarose's disability even when it's literally not her fault in any way and is actually DIRECTLY her father's fault.

and just the fact that elphaba tells glinda all this and tells glinda her father hates her and that everything's her fault and glinda looks at her and she's absolutely heartbroken to hear elphaba saying all these things and she becomes the first person in elphaba's life to look her in the eyes and tell her that none of that is true and that it is NOT her fault, it was NEVER her fault despite whatever anyone said.

ik a lot of ppl see glinda's "it was the milkflower's fault" line as a very sort of shallow take by glinda (I'm explaining it poorly but ik some ppl wonder why she didn't just call out governor thropp directly) but I've got to disagree with that take because personally I think glinda heard elphaba talking, heard her describe her secret and heard how her father forced her mother to chew milkflowers constantly during her pregnancy all because he was afraid the baby would come out green like elphaba and she heard all this and she hears how elphaba thinks this is all her fault.

and yk they're roommates. glinda sees the way elphaba talks about her father and how even though she says that he hates her in an almost casual manner despite how she says he's justified for hating her, elphaba still loves her father and she still wants to do right by him and she still wants him to love her.

so glinda knows that elphaba will not listen to her if she straight up tells her that her father's fucking mental and completely wrong and that it was all his fault and that she's probably going to bludgeon him to death. she knows that elphaba will never accept this and she knows that right now it won't do any good for anyone.

so instead she tells elphaba it was the milkflower's fault. and she looks her in the eyes and she tells her this was never your fault you shouldn't think this was ever your fault and anyone who ever told you that it was your fault was completely and totally wrong and I need you to know this.

because the primary concern isn't about telling elphaba she's got a shitty dad the primary concern is telling elphaba that it is not her fault for simply existing. and to let her know that there is nothing wrong with her and that there is someone here, right now, who loves and cares for her so so much and wants her to know that. that there is someone who will hold her hand and who will tell her that they are there for her and that she is fine the way she is. that she is loved.

[floralscented]

the amount of times i've had to address this because she literally will not fucking stop is insane. @artyandink, for the last fucking time, leave me alone <3 stop coming in my inbox anonymously trying to get me to talk about your fics & promote them thinking i can't tell it's you. stop asking to use my ideas even after you've BEEN BLOCKED. stop keeping tabs on me to see what i'm writing for now so you can start writing for it. i'm dead serious it's about to give me a fucking aneurysm.

it is not subtle. and as stupid as you think i am, from the way you did all of this & are still fucking continuing, you sure do like the things i put out! i am noticing it. people are SHOWING me it. move the fuck on. find your own voice! stop trying to steal mine and what i'm writing about. i'm tired of speculating on why you are doing this and just want it to fucking END.

writing clark kent & making bots for him just because i started it is fucking mental. naming people in your fic bonnie & clyde after the au that i made that you asked to use, and still did anyways even if it was private, when i said no is MENTAL.

on this note, anyone that follows me that also supports or interacts with arty, please show yourselves out, too. if you want to know why, look here & here since i've had to address this publicly three times now. but i'm tired of going about my life & pretending that over on her side of the internet, she's not STILL taking my ideas, or using the ones that she already has, because she doesn't have a single original bone in her body.

no! i do not know about your bodyguard & president fanfic, arty! because i did not ever actually fucking read it!

and if by the grace of god, somehow, this isn't you ( which is highly doubtable ) i'm sorry to these anons that this two faced, five identitied grown woman has made me this weary to have to respond like this. i am not usually hostile, i don't think, but constantly having her shit in my dms, having her try to make me promote her shit, is INSANE.

i have moved on. you are the one that cannot keep my name out of your mouth to other people trying to salvage your fall from grace, saying that whatever i'm saying isn't true, and then coming into my messages the one other time within EIGHT MINUTES of me unblocking you, saying that you're so sorry that this is happening and feigning ignorance. go to hell. i tried to handle this civilly and privately and every single time instead you took to your tumblr feed to try and paint me as a bad guy, or discredit everything that YOU PUT ME THROUGH. so truly, go to hell <3 and actually fucking listen to me and leave me alone. i do not talk about you or think about you when you're not actively doing this shit, so stop monitoring my account and especially stop stalking my cai just because i cant block you on there.

and while you're at it, find some creativity on your own. it'd do you some good in the long run to actually make something yourself and not piggyback off of others & their success and THEIR WORKS.

[cakepoppresent]

Don't Worry About A Thing

Winterfest is gonna be so much fun!

Transcript under the cut~

[Luna]: I’m sorry! I was dealing with a lot. You won’t stay mad at me right?

[Daisuke]: It’s been a while Luna. I don’t like when you don’t answer my calls or texts

[Daisuke]: I can never stay mad at you

[Daisuke]: But I did see what has been said about you and your family online. I'm upset you had to deal with that alone

[Luna]: Don’t be! You’re a busy man how can I bother you with something so silly

[Daisuke]: That’s not the point sweetheart and Im never to busy when it comes to you

[Luna]: Speaking of being busy. It was so surprising when my lawyers finally got around to sending out cease and desist letters when they noticed the articles had been removed and I was getting a slew of apologies. Even Chantel Williams herself

[Daisuke]: I think they probably realized that it would be better for everyone involved if they admitted their mistakes and reflected on them. Yes?

[Luna]: You are wonderful has anyone ever told you that?

[Daisuke]: They do but I like hearing it from you. You should praise me more

[Luna]: Haha that's enough praise from me

[Luna]: What question?

[Daisuke]: You never answered my question from before.

[Daisuke]: I want you to spend Winterfest and New Years with me in Mt. Korembi and meet my family

[Luna]: oh...right I remember that

[Daisuke]: Are you not willing?

[Daisuke]: I understand. If you are concerned about his well-being I would love to also have him spend the holidays with us

[Luna]: I am willing! It’s just...I finally made up with Malcolm and we finally agreed to talk to Andre together. I feel like the fallout between the two of them will be intense and I don’t know if I can leave them like that

[Luna]: Really?

[Daisuke]: Of course. It’s clear he means a lot to you and I would like to extend the invitation personally.

[Luna]: Oh my...I don’t know how he will take that. He’s very sensitive

[Luna]: You really mean that?

[Daisuke]: I assure you I dealt with my fair share of prickly and sensitive sims. Speaking with your brother won't be an issue

[Daisuke]: Of course. It's important to me and it's a good chance to finally meet your brother

[Luna]: Then yes! I’d love to! This is going to be so much fun!

[Daisuke]: Yes. It will be. Don’t worry about Malcolm. I’ll arrange everything

[Luna]: What a man you are! You’re amazing!

[Daisuke]: More praise

[Luna]: You get all the praise!!

[Daisuke]: I’d do anything for you Luna. Don’t ever forget that

[Luna]: I mean it Daisuke. You have no idea how much this means to me, my brother is very important to me. These past few weeks have been hard and I think this will be a good break for him

[Luna]: I won’t

[Daisuke]: Good. Now come here

[Daisuke]: Don’t worry about a single thing

[Luna]: Okay~

[electricneonvalkyrie]

Abby notices when you’re depressed. Let’s talk about how she handles that as your partner.

These are modern Abby headcanons. The list was much longer, but I cut it down considerably to keep it from getting too long-winded. I do have a piece written for WLF Abby. If it's something you want to see, let me know.

Thanks for reading. I'm glad you're here.

• Maybe it’s a slow descent this time… little by little, losing interest in your favourite pastimes and finding it hard to discover meaning in daily life. In the midst of trying to survive, there is suddenly no room left for indulging in your hobbies.

Abby, with every random blanket and sheet she owns, constructs a blanket fort in the living room, offering a pressure-free zone where you can do nothing but feel completely safe and loved.

Super cozy, not too busy, and mega peaceful against the demands of a world that is asking far too much of you in this moment.

Does she deep-dive Youtube tutorials on how to build epic forts that probably belong in a magazine? I mean, yeah. Give her a break, alright? Complete dedication is the way this girl operates, and I’ll die on that hill. Also, Abby is a tall, sturdy girlie, and she needs to fit inside it with you. If you’re going to live in this fort together for the foreseeable future, she needs it to be good for you.

Now, if you want an enormous blanket hanging precariously off the side of the couch with a half-dead flashlight and crinkled comics shoved underneath some pillows, date Ellie. Still cute, still the thought that counts, but she’s no Abigail it’s my mission to save you Anderson.

• Abby stocks up on all your go-to snacks because she gets that it's hard to think about the basics when you're too bone-tired to move… nevermind prioritizing measly things like providing yourself sustenance. She’s got you covered.

• She refuses to let you marinate in the feeling of being a burden. She shuts that shit down fast.

“You’re my person, okay? I’m not going anywhere. End of story.”

• Abby grew up around doctors, so she'll for sure be the one to look up therapists and leave the info pinned to the fridge beneath a small magnet that is, of course, a laminated photo of the two of you on your first date. She describes it as the most important day of her life and brings it up regularly.

“You know, I’ve seen this picture a hundred times, but every time I look at it, it hits me all over again—how much that day meant to me.” Her voice dips low as she confesses something so immensely sacred to her. “The day I realized you weren’t just someone I wanted in my life. I’d been waiting for you without even knowing it. I thought I had it all figured out before you. Fuck, was I ever wrong.”

(Just know there's no rush to decide anything big when it comes to choosing a method of healing, but it's there when you're ready.)

• On your hardest days, she stays close, but she doesn’t push. She’ll busy herself with repairs around the home or folding the mountain of laundry shoved up against the wall in your bedroom.

• Abby loves to buy those cute nightlights with little animals on them or the ones that change colours, and she scatters them around the house. When you’re lost in the darkness, right?

• She serves you warm drinks in your favourite mug and nothing else. She’ll handwash it a million times a day if she must.

• Abby's phone chirps with little alarms throughout the day, reminding her to do something special for you. This is all the time, not just when you’re depressed, to be certain.

• Weighted blankets everywhere. Vehicles included.

• I don’t care what anyone says, Abby is soft as a motherfucker, okay? Is she rough around the edges? Maybe. Yes. 100%. Fine, she’s a hot mess, but will she read you poetry aloud, until her voice is hoarse, and her lips go dry? Without a doubt. There are sticks and jars of lip ointment all over the place wherever Abby resides.

Fun fact: Abby hates when her lips feel dry, even slightly. She is constantly reaching for ChapStick and all its cousins. Whenever someone tells her she should stop using her precious lip stuff because it will improve the sensory nightmare in the long run, she’ll immediately do that pouty, nose crinkle thing at them and ignore the advice without a breath.

• Abby lets you wear all her sweaters. That’s a given. But when you’re depressed, she tends to reach for yours as well. It helps her feel close to you when she’s dealing with her own inner turmoil.

• She doesn’t fuck around when she senses you’re starting to spiral. Her routines are extremely important to her, but she will put them on pause to be there for you.

Now, does she gently, lovingly, force your ass to go on walks with her to get some fresh air somewhere you feel comfortable? Yeah, she does. This might be annoying at times when you’re really struggling, and she knows it. She’ll still encourage movement in a way that is manageable for you if leaving the house is too daunting.

If that means you’re standing on her feet, arms wrapped around her neck while she sways side to side with you, so be it.

• She'll binge-watch your favorite shows and movies with you until she drains all the power in the entire city.

• Abby won't make you feel awkward if you cry. She'll just start crying, too, even if she tries so hard not to. She gets better at keeping it to a little glossy eyed moment, but sometimes your pain is her pain, and the dam just… breaks.

• Abby is an actions over words type of human. She’s a doer. Also, timing doesn’t matter much to her. She is desperate to give you a future to believe in because she is so certain that what the two of you share is everlasting.

Abby proposes to you when your hair is a mess, and you’ve been in the same pajamas for days. Fuzzy teeth? Fear not. She isn’t afraid of the hard times. Her love is an anchor. A constant.

She wants to remind you that you’ll never have to face your dark times alone.

Shadows dance on the tapestry walls of the blanket fort, illuminated by the warm, flickering lights hanging inside. Across from you, Abby lounges with her legs stretched out and her back propped against a pile of soft pillows. She’s quiet for a moment, fiddling with something in her hands.

“You know,” she begins, her voice gentle and husky, like gravel smoothed by unrelenting water. “When I was little, I used to make forts like this with my dad. We’d sit in the middle of all the chaos and just… talk about random shit. Nothing outside could touch us.”

As she glances at you, there is a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips.

“That’s what this feels like—being with you. Even when everything else seems like it’s falling apart, you’re my safe place.”

Abby leans forward, her knees brushing yours, and you realize she’s holding a small velvet box. Her confidence wavers, revealing a hint of vulnerability you rarely see.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. About us—what we mean to each other.” Her voice cracks a little, causing her to pause and clear her throat before she continues.

“I know you’ve been feeling lost. And I know I can’t fix it, even when it kills me—even when all I want to do is make the hurting go away. But I can promise you this...”

She opens the box, the ring glimmering in the soft light, her affectionate, earnest gaze meeting yours.

"I promise you'll always have someone by your side to help you through it. No matter how dark it gets, I’ll be right here with you. For the tough days, the good ones, everything the world throws at us. Because you’re it for me. You always have been."

With each word, her voice grows softer, filled with an unmistakable tremor of emotion.

“Let me be your person forever. Let me love you, fight for you. Let me build you giant blanket forts until we’re way too fucking old to do it by ourselves—and then let me find new ways to take care of you. Because it’s all I want in this lifetime. You’re all I see. Will you marry me?”

[serxinns]

Harsh words from a beloved friend

Forgotten reader au scenario

Btw this was inspired by this post right here, and the concept and AU are NOT mine. They belong to @lovelybrooke . If you want to know more about the AU and support the creator, please do. They need all the love for their hard work!

WARNING! Before you read this fic includes: violence towards the reader, bullying, infantilization towards the reader, xenophobia? (I think idk), yandere behaviors, manipulation, gaslighting, and other topics that I may have forgotten that are probably triggering as well read at your own risk

A/n: whew, it's done finally. I hope you like it, everyone! Please tell me if I did represent infantilization inappropriately or not accurately in the comments. Constructive criticism is allowed. Also, if anyone can tell me what the headboard represents, it means you get your request written next!

You were lying in your bed relieved at last after barely surviving another harsh day at UA ever since the teachers and your classmates found out about you and Shigaraki's relationship for things have been going crazy and downhill, Aizawa would always have a strange expression on his face as if he was ashamed of himself and pitying you, it felt strange and discomforting like he NOW realized his actions which ticked you off a little but you brushed it pretending to be nonchalant about it

Next was your former friend Izuku, ever since he heard the news he and his gang would make constant checks on you which was very unnecessary in your opinion, izuku would purposely get in the middle of you and Neito's conversation, asking about your concerns and try to get you to spill out how you currently feel in his intention to try to be a better friend again by comforting you in his imagination to your luck tho Neito would shoo him off before he could even continue and quickly drag you away which you thanked him for.

But Bakugo and his friends were the worst. If not worse hell. Every time you walk into the class, they start to give you piercing glares as if they intentionally want to make you tense up. Their words have been becoming harsher during training but you tried to ignore them until they started using physical threats under a ruse as "jokes" Honestly you were scared for your safety so you tried to avoid them as much as possible, begging either Neito or Shinso to assist you while dismissing their questions or concerns, not even thinking what could happen if you were to ever run into them alone

Whenever you are, you repeatedly check your surroundings, making sure nobody is following you, making sure the coast is clear enough to make a run for it in your dorms and locking it.

You were beginning to be more skittish and more anxious about your surroundings always getting started by every single touch on the shoulder or when your friends tried to get your attention, whenever they asked about your sudden behavior you quickly pushed it to the side or made excuses

One day you decided to eat lunch with Tamaki since Hitoshi and Neito were busy with training and stuff, the two of you didn't talk much when eating together but you were comfortable with his presence enough to make some small talk here or there then continued eating, as you were enjoying your lunch Tamaki spoke something out the blue "y/n..are you ok?" You stopped eating and looked up at him "Of course I am why wouldn't I be" Tamaki hesitated a bit but he continued "Y-you're acting all skittish all of a sudden whenever we talk you feel like someone or something is watching you please I'm your friend you can tell me anything-" "I'm fine Tamaki I promise you dont need to be asking me" Tamaki was taken aback at your quick response you noticed his guilty expression and took a deep breath

"I-I'm sorry I'm just stressed from all the tests and stuff you know hero stuff can be stressful" A chuckle left your mouth as you took another bite "Oh alright if you say so but if anything birhtering you dont be afraid to c-come to me alright" you sighed in relief happy that Tamaki believed you so the Two if you continued with your lunch hang out

But that was so far from the truth

Tamaki knows when something is wrong especially when it comes to the people he cares deeply about, for example, he knows when Mirio is faking a smile or when he senses Neijire feeling uncomfortable or how Kirishima tries to stay determined even tho he can hear the slight tremble and stutter in his voice, and this time he now sees it more Cleary as he sees you slowly taking a bite out your food sweating in fear and your fingers twitch a bit it's so clear that you're nervous about something so why not tell him?

He swore to this day he swore he'd find out about whoever is causing you this, and he would protect you from them; for now, he just needs to keep a close eye on you from a distance...

When the two of you finished lunch, Tamaki offered to walk you to the class which you accepted as two if you walked towards your class in a comfortable silent, as you made it to the door you waved farewell to Tamaki and made it to your seat

As the class carried on and everyone was writing down notes for the next test, you couldn't help but feel some glares in you. Of course, you knew who they were, but you felt a particular glare, a glare that made your spine curl up. You wanted to ignore the feeling, but it just wouldn't go away curious but scared you grabbed a mirror/glasses (just any object that fits with a mirror) faced towards you, and slowly rotated it to see a reflection of a couple of your classmates

It seemed fine everyone was either focused on their notes reading or doing whatever until it hit Kirishima... you jumped when his eyes were staring directly at the back of your head intensely his teeth almost showing as if he was gonna rip you apart after class, your heart rate was now increasing you tried to steady your breathing to cover up the fear and confusion, why was he looking at you like..wait of course you know why but why does it feel like he's gonna do something to me...

You looked around to see something or someone to save you from this situation until you remember you do not have anyone in this class to rely on and Neito and Shinso were extra busy, as the class bell rang everyone got up to their seats including Kirishima he began slowly walking towards you with a dangerous glint in his eyes you stood still shaking a bit in your seat trying your best to avoid contact he was inches away from your desk

As he was about to take another step, a sickly sweet voice came out of the blue and blocked your view between Kirishima and you. "Why don't we go to the library for tutoring? We haven't done it in a while, plus I'll help you improve!" You looked up that the black ponytail girl momo was it? The two of you would do tutoring together at the beginning when she began to "forget" them and just stop hosting and inviting you all together

You didn't like her sessions at all now that you remember she would always treat you like some sort of baby early on as if she was holding an animal picture book and pointing out all the animals and mimicking the noises you were so glad Kendo and teru eventually teached you

But it seemed like you didn't have a choice, but you would rather go with a ponytail than wanna know that guard dog would do; all you had to do was zone out of Momo's lessons and wait until it got dark to make an excuse to meet up with Kendo, perfect plan right?

The library would've been peacefully quiet if it weren't for Momo constantly getting your attention to look at some words that you already knew and then talk to you slowly so you could "understand" better you muster up a smile at best to reassure her that you were listening when in your mind you wanted to leave as fast as possible and meet with Kendo

As the clock finally gave you mercy and struck 5pm, you hurriedly made an excuse to end today's session. "Oh man, momo, I think the tutoring session is up. Gotta leave!" You quickly got up, pulled in the chairs, and were about to walk out. "So soon? We just got started! Plus, I can do 2 more hours-" "Oh I would love to but I'm meeting up with Kendo and I don't wanna be a bad friend and ditch her" You didn't see Momo's cheery expression fall as you were too busy packing up and heading out the library "I'll see ya later!" You bid her as the door slammed shut the library became quiet once again with only the ponytail girl's blood boiling trying to keep her cool with a tight lip smile as she waved

You pull out your phone quickly texting her that you are coming which she replies with a smiley face emoji you chuckle texting her some memes and pictures as the two of you are spamming each other's memes back and forth you don't notice how much trouble you'll be in

As you accidentally bump into someone, you quickly backed away for a split second and apologized. You took your eyes out of your phone for a second to see who you bumped into to give them a proper apology and saw..

Oh no...

Kirishima

"You.." you mentally cussed as you backed away from him cautiously. "Oh uh hey-" "Don't 'hey' me, you traitor, you, Mole!" His anger was building up as he stomped towards you and pushed you on the ground; you could barely comprehend what the hell he was talking about and why he pushed you. "What-" "You sympathizer, you traitor. I don't even know how a villain like you could still be in this school!" His words are full of venom" "I know we were a bit harsh to you, but outing us out to the most dangerous fucking villain?! What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I didn't know he was a villain nor did I know his name!? It's not like I knew he played video games!" "Again with these weak excuses, it was so obvious he was Shigaraki!" "Maybe I would've known I had friends and not be bullied by some blonde brute and his lapdogs!" Kirishima turned to you now with a more angry expression as if he was offended without a moment he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and lifted you to his level

"You have no right to call us that when you're a simple Mole to a dangerous villain who is trying to kill us all!" He molded his free into a fist and reeled it back you bit his hand as hard as you could to make him let go but he bit his tongue and endured the pain even when his hand drew blood

As he was about to land a punch, a sudden tentacle came shooting out of nowhere toward Kirishima's free hand restraining it "Kirishima" The red hair froze at the familiarity of who that voice was, he slowly turned to see where the voice came from and only stopped mid way when he saw the indigo hair male, Tamaki his eyes glared at Kirishima in disappointment and betrayal, Kirishima quickly dropped you as you landed with a harsh thud, rude.

"T-Tamaki senpai!!, it's not what it is-" "insulting your classmate and was about to punch them? Yeah, seems how it exactly is." his words were cut off as he walked past him and toward you, gently helping you up and getting on your feet. "Are you okay? He didn't leave any bruises or marks on you, did he?" You shook your head, still in shock about Tamakis sudden behavior, as Kirishima's anger grew at the sight of the person he grew respect for that he looked up to! Is defending you?! He couldn't stand it

"Why are you defending them you don't know how much danger they put us through!" As Tamaki looked back at the boy with a serious expression," And, do you think bullying and degrading them is any better? This isn't something a hero should do, Kirishima. Have you ever thought about what they feel about it or if they intentionally wanted to?" Kirishima paused for a moment and didn't utter anything, only just avoiding his gaze. "I thought you were better than this, Kirishima; what happened to you being the "manliest hero in the hero alliance?" Was that all a ruse?" "N-no tamaki senpai it no-"

"I don't want you anywhere near me or them I don't respect someone who bullies others"

Those words shattered Kirishima as he looked in disbelief. His thoughts became a blur as he saw his mentor, his friend, leaving with his hands protectively around you, getting far away from him... was he the problem all this time?

Was he actually a lapdog?..

...

"Thanks back there you didn't have to." He stopped at his track and smiled. "No, It's fine. You weren't in the wrong anyway he was. Don't feel guilty for something you did that wasn't in your control." You looked up at him, surprised."You're not mad at me? even when I became a...mole?" That's when Tamaki embraced you with a warm hug "Of course not, even when you make a dangerous mistake like that it was the villain's fault for trying to get in your head and manipulate you but you stood strong and made the right choice by informing the teachers therefore you're not a traitor nor a Mole in my perspective"

Your eyes brimmed with tears with his words, "Thank you, thank you," as you hugged him back a little tighter. Was your luck finally turning around? Maybe not, but slowly, but at least you had more people who didn't see you as a nuisance, a child, or any traitor. It felt nice that you were treated as a human being Even if it was temporary.

A sudden buzz on your phone caught your attention, and it was still snuggled in your pocket. As you pick it up, you see a bunch of missed calls and messages from Shinso, Neito, and Kendo, all spamming concerns about your safety or if they needed to come. "Oh shit! I gotta run my friends are worried for me and Tamaki thank you I'm sure you're gonna be a great hero one day as you gave him one last hug before running off looking for you're friends before they hunt someone down to find you

Timeskip

The next day was a regular day as usual you went into class avoided everyone as possible (mostly Izuku and his gang) sat down at the back of the class and started the school day as you were doodling down stuff you noticed how dull and quiet Kirishima became when he usually would go to mina as they chat each other's ears off all-day but instead he stayed where he was and just looked down at his desk mina came over looking concern for him

"Hey Kirishima you ok man" The bubbly teen hit him on his shoulder playfully but he all did was look at her, nod, and go back to what he was doing which made the hair girl awkward and murmur an "ok" and sat back down when the teacher came in to start the lesson

Even at training, Kirishima didn't utter a single word to you or his friends. Even when they were teasing you, he just looked away. "Hehe, yeah, they're so weak, right? Kirishima, cmon say something!" His other friend Denki kept pressuring him poking his shoulder and urging him to speak but all smack his hand away and walked back leaving his friends in shock and disappointment

Even at lunch, he wasn't even interacting with anyone, just playing with his food as he barely ate. Everyone sat in silence and stared at him until his best friend finally spoke up, "The hell is up with your shitty hair?" He was then ignored as the red hair kept poking with his food staring down at it, making the blonde more irritated. He snatched his tray away and put it far from the table "Are you ignoring me?" Kirishima finally looked up at him with an annoyed expression "I just said millions of times I'm fine blasty so can I please have my food back" bakugo slammed his hand down hard infront of him

"Like hell you are! You've been acting quiet for the whole damn day! And It's getting pretty damn annoying, so spit it out. God damnit, I'm tired of this childish shit" "Kaccha,n, chill o, ut, . Don't you think you're being a bit harsh?" Denki butted him, trying to de-escalate the situation "he's right. What if he's having a bad day today? Or recently but he's right Kirishima we're all worried for you so please stop ignoring us and tell us" Everyone at the table joined him questioning and pressuring him to speak

He covered his ears not wanting to hear more without glancing a final Time at Tamaki and you talking and smiling at each other laughing tears began to brim his eyes as he got up from his seat and quickly ran out leaving his group and even Katsuki speechless

As he made it to the bathroom, he locked himself in there and took a deep breath. He then lifted his head and stared at the mirror, his reflection. "Why, just why did he have to go side with them fuck.." tears slide across his cheeks and fall through the sink he wanted to be angry at you so bad wanted to pin the blame on you or something to make him feel like he was in the right but the memories the flashbacks of how he and his friends mistreated you keep flooding back into his mind making him frustrated and yet gulity..?

Is he feeling guilty? For himself, no... for you, but how?! You're supposed to be the bad guy, not him. Why is he feeling remorse for you out of all people? Why does he suddenly feel like he wants to go on your knees and apologize it was supposed to be the opposite it's such a headache honestly and he couldn't make it stop he wants to stop thinking altogether

A knock at the door startled him and snapped him out of his thoughts. "Uh hey, is the bathroom available he stared at the door for a moment until he spoke up, clearing his throat, "Uh yeah, sorry! I'll unlock it!"

[comeforthepizza]

TW: Pedophilia Men., Abuse Men.

Note: I've talked some about people in the past, but I don't want to name any specific names here to keep the peace of myself and my loved ones in the fandom. That being said, I will openly suggest staying away from the Showbiz Mafia as an entity. If you don't know what that is- you're already on the right track!

Okay. So. I wanna take a step back and rewrite the post I wrote yesterday with a clearer mind. Because a lot of it came from a genuine place, but I want to make my point clearer/less aggressive.

I love the Rock-afire. I want to keep making content for it. I was in an exasperated place yesterday, but today I've resolved not to let terrible people destroy something that has meant so much to me since I was a kid.

But the gist of it is: this fandom has a genuine problem with terrible people. And I don't mean slightly mean people, I mean bullies. I mean predators. I mean abusers, manipulators, suicide baiters. And what's just as scary are the people who seem nice but will turn on you and go to bat for any of these people in the blink of an eye.

I'm genuinely glad that a lot of people have responded to my posts about predatory behavior in the fandom with actual surprise, because it means that there's a part of the fandom that's spearheaded by genuinely goodhearted people who are here because they love Showbiz, and because they want to make friends with other people who love Showbiz. I LOVE the Tumblr side of the Showbiz fandom, because y'all have such a legitimate passion for it. As far as I know, the problem has NOT made it here.

But I've witnessed a lot of it firsthand in other spaces. If not the abhorrent behavior outright- adults preying on teenagers, doxing, death threats- then definitely people outwardly defending the behavior, or the people who did it. And that makes me genuinely sick to my stomach. And it's teaching a LOT of kids- especially young boys- that this behavior is okay as long as you have a solid collection.

My enjoyment of the Rock-afire comes secondhand to the real problem here: that too many spaces in this fandom are facilitating a place where REAL people are GENUINELY getting hurt. And too many fandom members are banding together to protect the people responsible for that pain.

That being said, I warrant you: protect yourselves. I'm not trying to cause anything, I'm not trying to tell you that you can't trust anyone in this fandom, but I am saying that personal safety is more important than EVER in Showbiz spaces. Trust me when I say the block button is your friend. If ANYONE- and I mean ANYONE- says anything that makes you uncomfortable, block them! Even if they're a prominent fandom member, they have no real power.

You have a right to curate your fandom experience in a way that keeps you safe. NEVER let ANYONE tell you otherwise.

TL;DR: Please understand that while there may not be a predator/bullying problem in the Rock-afire fandom on Tumblr, there definitely is in other spaces. Always put your own safety and protection above a pervy adult's feelings. Love you guys. <3

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Hey I'm back with more arcane thoughts and they're sad! Because god forbid we catch a break in this fandom, right? Anyway (spoilers ahead)

MEL DOESN'T HAVE FRIENDS :(

I know that's gonna sound crazy. You're probably saying, "oh but she's so cool and lovely" and I agree but I really need y'all to think about this. Who does she talk to for any reason except political intrigue? Nobody but Jayce and Viktor. You could make an argument for Lest but she was also spying for her, so we don't know the nature of that relationship. It may very well have been another political thing.

Now I just wanna say upfront that I don't think any of this is really her fault, I mean you've seen how the council is and she probably doesn't know anybody else in Piltover. I mean think about it, she's a whole princess, her life IS politics. Her existence is political. Anyone she knew before her exile is probably a noble of some kind and it's very hard to remove politics from those relationships. That's probably how she ended up on the council to begin with. Jayce and Viktor are the only people who aren't nobility that she talks to. Jayce is a part of a family that was only just starting to gain significant wealth and respect, he's new money. Viktor is from the undercity. All of his money is coming from whoever's paying for him to be there. They're the only people who exist outside of the politics of the council. They're also dead now.

So let me summarize and put it in perspective. Mel lost her brother, was exiled from her home and whatever relationships she had there (which was probably with a whole bunch of nobles), went to Piltover and became a politician, thus becoming surrounded by nobles once again, she then had to kill her mom, and the only people who didn't want anything from her and didn't pressure her are now space dust. Let it sink in.

It makes this scene right here just that much sadder. She's really doing it all on her own now. Once again, her whole life will revolve around politics and there's nobody to give her a break. Nobody she can trust enough to be vulnerable around. She has more power than ever before but I don't think that's ever what she wanted. She knew she'd get it, I don't think this was a surprise, she knew she didn't have a choice.

I'm also thinking about how she didn't even have time to process her grief. They just cleaned up the aftermath of the war, which took a few weeks if not a month. They're probably still wondering what happened to Jayce and Viktor, did they figure it out yet? Can they even figure it out? She's probably still waiting on that news here. She probably already assumed they were gone in some capacity. That must be hurting her like you wouldn't believe, especially considering that she and Jayce never officially ended their relationship. They got separated, argued a little bit but made up, and then just went to war. There was no time to break up even if they wanted to, and honestly I'm not sure that they did and I'm saying this as a Jayvik truther. And don't even get me started on the guilt she probably feels about her mother. That could be a whole other post in itself.

Anyway, point is, Mel needs a hug so so badly oh my GOD

[sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan]

Introducing…

Ex!BSF/BF!Matt x Reader

Warnings/Contents: fluff, mentions of characters being hurt – physically, mentally, & emotionally, internet trolls, break up, ANGST !

Note: This is an original idea of mine. Please inbox or personal message me if you'd like to use any of these characters as 'inspiration' of some sort !

(If any of this seems familiar, like you've already read it before – you most likely have! I took bits and pieces of a previously written work called 'Silently Suffering' and either copied it or edited it to fit the background information of this introduction)

To read more about this au, click here !

I do NOT give permission for my work(s) to be copied, translated, or re-uploaded to ANY site !

Want more like this? Visit my masterlist !

Taglist: @forgottxen @ariastur9z @watercolorskyy @daniel-is-bae

Comment, personal message, or ask via my inbox to be added to my taglist !

Reblogs are always appreciated, but never needed :)

The divider is by a random Pinterest creator

Enjoy 💜💙🧡 ☆ :) $

How It All Started

Reader and the triplets all grew up together in Somerville, Massachusetts – going to the same school and everything.

One day while at recess, little kindergartner Reader was simply swinging on the playground's swing, minding her own business.

Meanwhile, the triplets were kicking and passing around a soccer ball – their mom had wanted to sign them up for soccer that evening.

All of a sudden, Nick made a bad pass to Chris. The ball went flying – straight into the back of Reader's head.

She looked around the playground, trying to find the reason for her now throbbing head. She picked up the ball and marched over to them, angrily ready to tell them off.

Her anger faltered, confusion glazed over her expression just slightly. It appeared as if she were seeing triple. Three same faced, slightly freckled dirty-blonde boys stood in a row, eyeing her sheepishly.

She tossed the ball onto the ground as she spoke sassily, "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit girls?” One of the boys at the end spoke up, "It was an accident, we swear!"

She had rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with her foot, tapping the mulch angrily. “Well, I expect an apology because that hurt!” Her eyes had drifted towards the boy standing in the middle.

His eyes stared back at her with this look of intensity in them that caused her stomach to churn with butterflies. "I'm sorry about that. Our brother, Nick, isn't very athletic like Chris and I,” the boy had said, pointing to his brother on one side, then at his other before holding his hand out for her to shake.

"I'm Matt, by the way. And yes, before you ask, we are triplets,” she couldn't help but laugh at his words. She was sure they were constantly getting asked that.

She took his hand in hers, shaking up and down once before quickly letting go. His hand was warm, presumably from working up a sweat playing soccer. Hers were clammy too from gripping the handles of the swing. “Wanna play with us?” Nick had offered.

She quickly agreed, kicking and passing the ball around with the three brothers. From then on, the four of them remained close. Like a tight-knit group of friends.

How They Got Together

Throughout elementary and middle school, they all remained good friends. That was until around sixth or seventh grade, when Reader caught feelings for Matt.

Sure, he was attractive and pretty to the eyes, but that wasn't what drew her near to him. It was the kindness of his heart. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about one of his interests. It was his smile. The one that made her heart absolutely melt anytime she saw it.

She always kept her feelings to herself. Not wanting to ruin the friendship between her and him. Or even mess up the dynamic between her and his brothers.

But anyone could see it. The way she stared at him, like he was the only person in the room. Even if it was crowded, her eyes always looked for him.

When freshman year of high school started for the four of them, that's when it all changed. Matt had finally noticed her – in more than a friendly way.

It was soccer season again. Matt and Chris never dropped the sport they grew to love in kindergarten. Nick and Reader did though. They were in the photography club together. The only two.

Because Nick was Chris and Matt's triplet, he had to go to their games anyway. So he thought, 'why not take photos of the team for the school's yearbook?'

Of course, being the only other person in the club, as well as being best friends with the boys, Reader had decided to tag along to assist with the photos.

The rain was pouring down hard during a particularly close match. Matt was a striker along with Chris. He was about to score, a good strong pass from a midfielder aiming straight towards him.

Until he slipped. He ended up landing oddly on his ankle. Reader ran onto the field, ignoring the protests of the people around her or the way that the rain was beating down onto her skin. All she cared about was making sure Matt was okay.

When she got to him, he was lying on the ground, groaning out in pain. She dropped to her knees, gently placing his head in her lap. She held his cheeks as she looked down at him with worry.

Matt smiled up at her, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. Reader couldn't tell though. It was raining too harshly. His hand weakly reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, staring into her eyes lovingly.

That's when it happened. Matt had leaned up, connecting their lips in a soft, tender kiss. He tried putting all his emotions into it. Reader was shocked at first, and did not kiss him back. His confidence faltered – 'had I been reading this wrong the entire time?' – so he tried pulling away.

Only to be met with her lips right back on his. Her pent-up emotions – the frustration of having to hold back how she truly felt for so long, the love and desire to be his, the longing of wanting, needing to be his, all of it – seeped into the second kiss they shared.

When they pulled away, they were breathless and smiling. MaryLou and Jimmy had rushed onto the field with Nick following closely behind. Chris was too busy goofing off with his teammates, telling them all about how he just knew Matt and Reader would be together.

Where It All Went Wrong

When the triplets had started their group socials, Reader had created her own. About the same time that the boys were going viral, so was Reader. They were featured on each other's platforms quite often in the early parts of their careers.

They each told the viewers from the beginning – Matt and Reader were together. They loved each other dearly.

When the boys moved to LA, so did Reader. Matt and his brothers bought their house and had a manager oversee everything, while Reader maintained her things by herself.

Reader had an apartment not far from the Sturniolo's new home. A five-minute drive – if that. It was within walking distance. Which Matt and Reader both enjoyed and took full advantage of.

The first few months with the four of them in Los Angeles were going well. They were thriving, living their life exactly how they had always dreamed.

Until, five months into their new lives in LA, things went downhill. Fast. Madi, their manager's daughter, had started to receive extreme hate from the triplet's fanbase. As was Reader.

Reader couldn't take it anymore. So she broke up with him. She broke up with Matt, much in the same way she got together with him.

It was a rainy day out, the sky a dark, sad, shade of gray that fit the mood of the Sturniolo Triplet's home quite well. Reader had told Matt that she couldn't – wouldn't – handle all of this negativity from his fans any longer.

Matt's reaction was heartbreaking. He was upset, and understandably so. The love of his life wanted to walk away. Wanted to call it quits. He couldn't deal. His eyes showed the pain he was feeling. The way he was hurting.

As Reader walked out the door for the last time, Matt broke down. She didn't spare him a final glance like he'd hoped. She was done. Done with the relentless hate that she was receiving, simply for loving and being Matt's partner.

They were both broken. Both hurt. Every social media post, every video felt empty without the other by their side. Not only had Reader and Matt lost each other romantically, they had also lost each other in a friendly way too.

Reader didn't even talk to Nick or Chris anymore either. All communication, all ties leading to the triplets, had been cut off. Permanently.

What Are They Doing Now?

It's been three months. Three painful months of not having the other by their side. Three excruciating months of having to act like they are fine. Like their worlds weren't crumbling to the ground. Neither Matt nor Reader was okay.

They tried to hide it. Tried to pretend that they were fine. That there was no hurt. That there was no anguish. But that's a lie. Not only are they lying to themselves, but they are lying to those around them as well.

Reader and Matt made other friends in LA. Other influencers and people besides each other. Reader had these other friends besides the Sturniolo's. But it wasn't the same. The connection wasn't the same.

Reader missed Nick's sass. Reader missed the way he wouldn't be afraid to call someone out about something, no matter what the situation may have been. Reader missed the way they were able to tell each other anything. Like how in high school, Reader was one of the first people Nick came out to – even before his own brothers.

Reader missed Chris's goofy personality. Reader missed the way he was always able to make her laugh, no matter what the situation may have been. Reader missed the fact that he was the first person to support the relationship between her and Matt. Like the time Matt took Reader to New York just a month before they broke up. It was just the two of them. Chris immediately supported the idea.

Most of all, though, Reader missed Matt. Reader missed everything about Matt. From the way that his hair fell into his eyes when it needed to be cut to the way that he drank his coffee. She missed it all. Everything. Every detail, big and small. She missed it. She missed him.

The boys had missed her too, but it was Matt who sat up in his room at late hours of the night. Wondering where he went wrong. Wondering what he could've done differently to make her stay. Wondering who exactly was to blame for their separation. Wondering when these intense feelings of hurt and pain would end. Wondering why the world – specifically the Internet – had to be so cruel to push away the love of his life. Wondering how he could possibly fix it, possibly erase the damage.

It was frustrating. Watching the other pretend on a screen for their millions of fans watching. Watching the other pretend that everything was fine. Watching but not talking. Watching but not touching. Watching but not holding. It was frustrating.

There was no going back. Not attempting to make up for the lost time from the past three months. The days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds – all this time that had passed. None of it would be taken back. None of the wreckage – from their hearts, their minds, or even their souls – would ever be mended.

People could tell. People could see. People could notice. People were aware of just how miserable Reader and Matt truly were. But neither ever said a word. Neither ever told anyone how they were truly feeling inside. Inside their minds. Inside their hearts.

[echantedtoon]

Turbo/King Candy x Jessica Rabbit Like S/o Headcannons

This was a request a friend really wanted from me so here it is for anyone else to enjoy.

TURBO:

-You're a flag girl for a racing game similar to Outrun or Pole Position (both 80s racing games) although the big difference was that your game wasn't as popular as Turbotime so there wasn't really any reason for the guy to be jealous of the competition. At least not until Road Blasters but that's jumping the gun a little bit.  

-You don't exactly meet each other until you finally decided to leave your game one day to go join others at Tapper's for the anniversary of Litwak's arcade opening or some similar celebration that many other games were celebrating. Of course your taller than the average video game women height and body type would turn some heads and the smaller racer was no exception. 

-Dude literally has to strain his neck for a double take just to be sure he was seeing things from the amount of surgery root beer he's consumed by now. But once he confirms that you actually exist- MAN. IS. SMITTEN. ON. SIGHT!! I'm talking about the guy chokes on his drink as you gorgeously smile his way even if you weren't smiling at him, just his general direction, but it gives him enough confidence to make his move. 

-He starts by buying you a drink, Tapper setting it right in front of you, before this tiny man gracefully struggled to climb onto the stool next to you slicking his helmet back like it was hair, and giving you a sly smile. "Hey, Baby.~ Are you a parking ticket?~ Cuz you got FINE written all over you?~"

-If it doesn't work out the first time be prepared for MANY 80s pick up lines including- "If I had to rate you from one to ten I'd give you a nine because I'm the one you need." "Hey. I'm writing a phone book. Can I have your number to put in it?" "Hey, Doll face. Wanna get physical?~" And other similar ones not considered cringey quite yet.

-He's pretty egotistical in personality so expect him to brag about everything involving him to you. His trophies, his winning streak, how his game's the most popular in the arcade, how he totally beats the Turbotime Twins in everything- Did he mention that he's also the greatest racer ever? He's trying to prove how much you should be smitten too often inviting you to come view him race.

-He secretly daydreams about you being the one that waves the checkered flag upon him crossing the finish line and plastering him in affection with him showing off to the world. Gold trophy in one hand while holding a beautiful woman in the other. Everyone knows his deep crush on you. 

-Remember when Felix and Calhoun kissed and little hearts appeared? Yeah. That happens every time he thinks about you or he happens to see you in Grand Central Station or Tapper's. Other's make fun of him for that a lot and he absolutely hates it and denied it every time but everyone and their programmers know about his crush. It's super obvious by this point.

-If by some reason you do happen to date him expect him to brag about having the most beautiful girlfriend in the entire arcade. "Hey, Pac-Man. How's Mrs. Pac-Man? Guess what?! My girlfriend's hotter than that yellow beachball reject!!" You're going to have to stop him from opening his mouth before Pac-Man tries to eat him again and he was very close to Mario just goomba stomping him after he insulted Princess Peach/Toadstool. Please stop this idiot from insulting everyone's wife before someone punts him back to Turbotime.

-He's not picky about personality and would genuinely love you but he'd be very happy if you were able to knock him down a peg(he thinks it's hot his girl can kick his behind-) or two. If you pick him up he'll also fight against it and complain the entire time you hold him, but ngl he's actually very into it. He has a thing for taller women after all...Even if he hates it when you tease him or hold things out of his reach.

-However one of the downsides of you deciding to pursue the relationship with him is his jealousy. Doesn't matter who's approaching you, if Turbo's around he always gives them a death glare that can put Bowser's fire breath to shame. So some game characters might avoid you because of that temper. And if someone were to flirt with you- Overprotective guard dog with rabies he is. Don't underestimate him because of his height. More than once he's started a bar fight at Tapper's over someone getting too close or attempting to make unwanted advances especially if you had already said no. 

-Don't underestimate him because of his height. More than one person has had a personal experience with Turbo turning into an angry honey badger infested with rabies as he was provoked.  People have learnt quickly to not make fun of his height, and to not try any funny business around you. More than once you'd have to pry him off someone and walk away with him tucked under your arm screaming profanities like a crazy Chihuahua.

KING CANDY:

-IK he's just Turbo in disguise but his personality shift in his KC disguise is notable enough to be different from how OG Turbo would go about it. However like OG Turbo once he sees you he's absolutely smitten by you. Unlike OG Turbo however his approach to you is much more normal if by normal having a guy with Tinkerbell shoes shuffle up to you and tell you how much your eyes remind him of sparkling rock candy.

-Honestly this pairing gives more of the Jessica and Rodger Rabbit vibes. Goofy little man with a gorgeous knockout GF. His goofball charms and shyer attempts at courting you are probably what got you falling for this man in the beginning.

-Instead of eyeing your form like many others, this man instead decides to court you in the most cheesy ways possible. Bringing you chocolates and other candy from his game(it's not like there's a limited amount of  it). Flowers (specifically either chocolate roses or edible flowers arrangements). Love notes, those really cheesy ones that don't even rhythm but they're so sweet you don't mind. 

-Mans loves you endlessly and will spend hours just gazing at you with literal heart eyes with hearts popping around his head. Very sweet alongside being goofy. Surprisingly a romantic too. Offers to drive you around on the back of his car. Plans at least one date that has you both sharing two straws in one milkshake. If he's feeling really romantic then he gets you those Valentine's hard candies shaped like hearts or those red lollipops also shaped like hearts. He even dedicates his wins to you in an attempt to impress you.

-Speaking of- He's very much the Rodger Rabbit of your relationship. Always gazing goofily at you with a love struck grin to the point Sour Bill has caught him daydreaming of you all lovestruck with a dopey grin. He's a king so anything you want in Sugar Rush is at your disposal. Want a glass of chocolate milk? How about a front row seat to watch the races? Would you like Sour Bill as a personal servant? Sour Bill completely disagrees with that last gesture.

-You once agreed to be a flag girl for one of the Random Roster Races, ironically one HE won, and when you gave him a winner's kiss he's been begging you to wave the checkered flag at other races too.

-Very sweet and energetic. If his goofy antics aren't making you giggle or smile, he's always flirting with you with cheesy puns since he's a guy who loves a play on words. "Are you a piece of cake? Custh you're the scheetest.~" "What's sweet and curvy? A candy cane of courseth but you're better.~" "Your voice is more beautiful than golden honey.~" "Did you sit in sugar? C-Cuzth that's -...Gumdrops! Forget what I said." He tried being more bold but ended up becoming too flustered and couldn't finish that last bit.

-You're going to get lots of cute candy nicknames. Honey. Sugar. Honeypie. Gumdrop. Angel cake. Cupcake. Sweetheart. Sweet cheeks. Tootsie pop. When he's feeling more romantic or sentimental he'll call you more special names like My Dear, Darling, My Queen, etc. 

-When you pick him up and kiss him he just melts in your arms. Giving a loud 'HOHO!' as you press kisses to his cheeks and forehead leaving him a bright cherry red and kiss marks all over his face. The first time that happened it left him just staring off into space blue screened but now he just blushes all over and this just might be his new favorite thing ever!

-If he ever proposes to you it's either going to be with one of those ring pops or with a gem made of the shiniest rock candy he can find.

[elfieafterdark]

All right, 353 a.m. is the perfect time to talk about Commander fucking Wake. Embrace yourself for some stream of consciousness on the chaddest woman to ever live (/neg), the peak of toxic masculinity (this is just a joke)

First of all, can we all appreciate a woman who hates something so much that she becomes that thing, to kill the thing? Can we appreciate a woman who hates necromancers so much that she pilots around a necromancer's corpse, just for a chance to kill God 2.0?

Elaborating a little further, it's incredible that a bunch of 10,000-year-old virtually immortal assholes hold her in such high regard, considering that she's just a normal person. Wake doesn't have any special powers other than the power of her unyielding rage.

Woman literally too angry to die, guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree huh?

But really, she is the literal antithesis of motherhood. She didn't intend to get herself pregnant, she wanted to use some random eggs to create her baby bomb. When there were no other options, she dated herself, which I guess is admirable but damn. DAMN!

Ma'am, you don't have to slam the entire baby against the blood rune you know right? Just a little bit will do? Ma'am? Ma'am put down that baby.

Putting the jokes aside for a minute, she is so devoted to her cause that she is willing to murder her own daughter. And it's time for me to reverse my narrative here, because that's fucking horrifying.

Jesus h Christmas in a handbasket what the fuck? Girl must be immune to oxytocin, because that's the most unhinged shit imaginable.

And yet, there has to be just a little bit of humanity left in her. When she sees Harrowhark with her daughter's eyes, KNOWING that Gideon is inside her, she seems happy. Tasmyn even mentions as much in the narrative.

I don't have the answers for this character, and I seriously doubt we're going to get them. Which just makes her so fucking compelling to me, what the hell makes her tick?? I absolutely need to know.

If anyone else has any opinions or theories on Wake, feel free to reblog or comment or whatever 💖 I'm going to try to be more active again now that it's the new year. So expect more TLT nonsense.

[yourfellowhuman07]

Hello, my fellow Entrapdak shippers!

I am happy to say it is once again time for Entrapdak Positivity Month, a fandom event created by the always lovely @maireadralph, who works tirelessly to put on all the major events, zines, and is currently running the Entrapdak Community here on Tumblr.

Now, like last year, I have decided to make another Ask Game for those who don't plan on drawing or writing anything but still wish to participate in the event this year.

The game is simple, just open your Ask Box and reblog this post so fellow shippers can ask you one of the questions I have written for this year. I will also link the Ask Game from last year if anyone wants to answer those (I know I'm willing).

Now without further ado, the questions:

What were Entrapta and Hordak’s first impressions of each other?

Who fell first, and who fell harder?

When and what made them realize their feelings for each other?

Who proposed first and how did they do it?

What’s the first Human/Our World AU that comes to mind when it involves Entrapdak?

What is the worst take on Entrapdak you’ve ever seen/heard?

What part(s) of their relationship made you fall in love with the ship?

How long have you been shipping them for?

Which of Hordak’s various designs throughout the series is your favorite (Season 1/2, Season 3/4, Season 5, or the flashback design in the finale)?

What is one thing they don’t like about each other that they can look past?

What is an interest/hobby they each have that you have no evidence for, but you know in your heart they love?

What is a weird crack headcanon you think about for fun?

What would happen if Entrapta joined the Horde before she was offered to join the Alliance?

What does Hordak wear now that he is out of the Galactic Horde?

What kinds of movies/TV shows/books do you think they like?

If you have/hypothetically had a playlist for them as individuals and/or as a couple, what is/would be on it?

For my writers and imaginers, what is an old story idea you had about or involving Entrapdak that you abandoned?

What was Hordak’s reaction when he met Wrong Hordak?

In your mind, what happened to Entrapta’s parents?

What was (x character)’s reaction to finding out Entrapdak was a thing?

How long did it take for Entrapta and Hordak to get into a relationship after season 5?

Who’s the most likely to tell the other about their feelings first?

How do you think Entrapta’s hair works (Robotics, Genetics, Magic, etc.)?

 What type of music would they listen to?

Who’s bringing the stray animal they found on the street home?

What do they find the most attractive about each other (besides their mutual intelligence)?

 What, in your mind, is Hordak’s punishment, and how does he feel about it?

 Could you tell me about any potential kids they might have?

 What’s something random you wanted to talk about regarding Entrapdak?

Your own SFW question?

And for those who would like to use it, Last Year's Ask Game: