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janiehellion · 3 days ago

Text

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.

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goodlucktai · 3 days ago

Text

one of the rotten ones

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: don & leo, don & OC title borrowed from anthems for a seventeen year old by yeule part of the archer au :) read on ao3

“I don’t think Gio likes me,” Donnie blurts.

He’d feel self-conscious if he was pressed to admit it anywhere else, but he’s in the infirmary, and the only one around to hear him say so is his twin.

They’re moving into hour two of Leo’s “faves” playlist and the fourth consecutive Taylor Swift song even though he swore he put it on shuffle. Leo is going through cabinets and shelves systematically, updating inventory on his phone, while Donnie infodumps about energy storage and projectile dynamics and the breaking strength of crossbow string.

Donatello’s base knowledge of this particular ranged weapon is severely lacking, which is a significant personal problem for him now that he has a sibling with a preference for archery. He needs to be the world’s leading expert on the subject yesterday. He has half a dozen half-formed plans for things like sonar bolts for 3-D mapping, which may or may not have been inspired by the Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation run.

Only every glance at the project folder simply labeled ‘G-01’ causes an uncomfortable feeling to squirm to life in his stomach, not unlike the Krang tentacles that had attached themselves to his carapace on the day the world didn’t end.

Donnie isn’t good at people. He doesn’t know how they tick, and there are no reliable lines of code or handy user manuals that he can fall back on when he’s mystified by human behavior.

His siblings don’t have the same problem. Leo is perceptive to a degree that borders upon clairvoyance, Mikey is the single-most emotionally intelligent member of their family, Raph is more charming than he gets credit for, and April can talk her way through any closed door, police tape or VIP-only entrance. None of them fumble the way Donnie does when a social interaction goes off-script, like it’s a volleyball that got served his way without the ample warning he needs to be anything approaching passable at the sport.

But he knows he’s not imagining it—the way Gio seems to brace himself when Donnie comes into the room, like he’s expecting a confrontation every time. Like the last thing Donatello could want with him is something good.

Donnie can be a lot. They all can. They come by it honestly, equal parts chaotic lab experiments and their father’s sons. And not every structure is built to withstand hurricane winds. Not every person is equipped to deal with a Hamato level weather event.

But he has never seen Gio flinch away from anyone else.

So he did what he always did when confronted by something outside his formidable repertoire—he took it to Leo.

There had never in Donnie’s life been a problem that couldn’t be made into their problem. It came with twin territory.

And Donnie’s twin in particular is good at translating Donatello and translating other people for Donatello, and jumps on any chance to be helpful and feel wanted, and absolutely loves problems. It’s one of the most annoying and endearing things about him. If there is any trouble within a hundred miles, Leo will find it. He will worm his way into the center of it and then puzzle his way out from the inside. Most other clever and curious people were satisfied by the daily Wordle; Leo would chew through a wall unless he had something more hands-on to occupy his mind with. As polar-opposite as the two of them could be in, in that regard, they were one and the same.

It’s somewhat reassuring to Donnie that Leo’s immediate reaction is plain incredulity. He looks baffled, like Donnie has just started throwing stuff around the room for no reason.

(He knows better. In the medbay, of all places, that would be a death wish. Leo runs a tight ship here and only here.)

“Sorry, you don’t think Gio likes you?” Leo says slowly. “Our Gio? The guy who let you infodump about the mycelial networks of fungi to him for almost two hours, all because Mikey mentioned he was making mushroom stir-fry for dinner?”

Donnie scoffs, but he can’t help but feel warmed by the reminder. Gio had settled right in, the way he always did once he was sure of his welcome, and watched Donnie talk like nothing more interesting existed on this side of the equator.

“His eyes didn’t even glaze over,” Leo goes on, doing what he always does and pressing the advantage. “That’s a new personal best in this family. Even April started looking for a window to climb out of at the thirty minute mark.”

“There was bound to be at least one other mutant turtle in the New York metropolitan area with an appreciation for botany,” Donnie says imperiously, tilting his chin up.

But the worry is still there, firmly rooted, trying to flower. Leo must be able to tell because his frown deepens, playfulness evaporating by the second. He pauses the music and sets his phone down. The room rings in the sudden silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, because it’s a room Donnie exists in with his twin.

“I just want him to like me,” Donnie says. It’s a childish want, it makes him feel half his age, but it’s true.

He was never one of those human kids lingering near the playground, on the edge of the classroom, desperate to fit in. He was never on the outs because he never had the chance to be. But this is probably what that would have felt like.

Giorgio is quiet by default, absorbing everything with dark brown eyes, always pausing to think before speaking in a low, flat register that is becoming as familiar to Donnie as Raph’s comforting rumbles and Mikey’s energetic shrieks and Leo’s sweet or sly laughter.

He hasn’t been anything but kind since he got here. He saved Leo, brought him home from a place it should have been impossible to come home from, so Donatello would put up with any manner of assholery from that quarter in exchange—but it’s not that at all.

Once Gio’s initial guard goes up and then comes down, once they outlive that moment of consideration that verges upon scrutiny without ever crossing the line, the eldest turtle softens for any younger one like clockwork. He indulges whatever noise or nonsense they’ve brought with them like there is no better use of his time.

It doesn’t seem like a lie. But Donnie is the least qualified person he knows to make that judgement call.

There’s a lot at stake if he’s wrong, is all.

Leo looks like Donnie has taken a melon baller to his insides just for fun.

“I’d know if he didn’t like you,” Leo says with absolute certainty. And he probably would. And he would take it so personally. He wouldn’t let Gio know a single moment’s rest until the spotted turtle had a coming-to-Jesus moment and acknowledged his wrongdoings in canceled Youtuber apology video format.

Since that isn’t the reality they live in—and Leo’s daily relentless pestering of Gio is harmless and little-sibling-shaped and decidedly not mean-spirited by any stretch of the imagination—some small part of the tight, unhappy feeling in Donnie’s heart has no choice but to accept that as the compelling argument it is.

“He probably misses you, Tello,” Leo adds, something softening in his face that it hurts to look directly at. “His you, I mean. I know I would be a train wreck cosplaying as a person if I had to go someplace I’d never see you again. Can you imagine how screwed-up I’d be?”

Donnie’s whole soul shudders at the idea, at the nightmare that almost came true when the portal closed around the Technodrome and as good as severed Donnie clean down the middle. At the glimpse of a life he’d be forced to live with one leg, one lung, one arm, one eye, half a heart.

“That’ll never happen,” he says, a little too loud.

“You’re stuck with me,” Leo agrees. He means it, Donnie can tell—even after that almost-nightmare he put his family through, he means it. It’s one thing to take the nuclear option at the actual on-paper end of the world, it’s another to sit in a safe, warmly-lit room with his twin brother and try to conceive of an existence in which their dynamic duo was whittled down to a solo act.

When they were little, Donnie once tried to explain how big the unobservable universe was. He told Leo that light from the big bang hadn’t reached Earth from all the way over there yet. It was a concept he struggled with as a child, that something could be so unknowable and immeasurable.

“That’s how big my ‘I love you’ is,” he said, all of seven years old and putting it into words the best way he knew how.

“I love you bigger than that,” Leo said promptly.

“Ugh, you can’t,” Donnie said, frustrated at his twin for always trying to one-up him, for not understanding the huge thing Donnie was trying to compress and fit into his hands. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” Leo said firmly, eyes gold to match Donnie’s, warm and shining in a way that was all his own. “I do.”

And then Leo went on to prove it. In a way Donnie never would have wanted him to—in an explosion that split the sky and left flash burns in their eyes, and the hollow pain of a surgical removal as the still-beating heart of their family was cut away, and the discordant electronic fuzz where a beloved voice had been rushing through last words, replaced by the sound of a radio without a signal, a device unpaired—but he proved it in a thousand other ways, too.

He was even proving it now, this afternoon he spent leaning on a forearm crutch and ambling around to various shelves and cabinets to keep up with his stock of medical supplies that had been severely depleted in the weeks after the invasion. Leo had carried bandaids and lidocaine spray in a tiny tote bag since he was two feet tall. He couldn’t stop bad things from happening but he could try to make the bad things better.

He’s looking at Donnie like he would right every wrong for him if he knew where to start. Like the unobservable universe was small enough to fit in his pocket compared to the lengths Leonardo would go for Donatello.

Leo is the younger twin, but sometimes the only thing there is for Donnie to do is shuffle over and bonk their foreheads together and believe him.

“If Gigi hated you, he wouldn’t be a Hamato,” Leo announces, muffled and silly and entirely correct. “It’s a required qualification. You must have missed that meeting with HR.” And then, because it’s important, he whispers, “I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Donnie whispers back.

At about that moment, TSwift’s I Think He Knows comes on, proving once and for all that there is actually no way Leo’s playlist is on shuffle. The weighted moment they’re holding on tight to transitions into a lighter one that gets flung haphazardly around as an immediate life-or-death struggle for the phone ensues.

Stalemate is only reached when Splinter barges in to read them the riot act for daring to roughhouse while they had a non-zero number of broken bones between the two of them. Leo is bright-eyed with mischief and already fast-talking their way out of trouble the same effortless way April can rattle off her brothers’ favorite coffee orders, and Donnie’s worry has been soundly evicted, all its belongings in boxes in the yard.

Sitting around has never been his style. He’s a turtle of discovery and invention. And now that he’s been reassured that the absolute worst-case scenario is not on the table—that it, in fact, was never on the table to begin with—curiosity rears its head and snaps up the dregs of anxiety like a hungry wolfhound who mistook it for an unattended rack of lamb.

Hypothesis: Georgie isn’t being weird out of dislike of Donatello. Leo’s certain he’s not, so certain that he was willing to promise, point-blank and absolute, instead of being tricky and sly in the name of cheering Donnie up instead. Leo even offered a much more palatable alternative, but further evidentiary support is required.

So after dinner a week later, as the whole family crowds comfortably around the banana split bar spilling across the entire kitchen island and argues over which toppings Gio and Casey should stack their bowls with first, Donnie blurts, “Can I see your crossbow?”

Giorgio really is one of the clowns in this circus. He proves it by putting his ice cream down, and picking the bow up from where it was relegated to the bench seat where everyone tosses their coats and shoes when they get home, and passing it right over. No normal person would put a loaded weapon in Donnie’s hands just because he asked nicely.

As if in tacit agreement, both of Casey’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline and Raph makes incredulous scoffing noises. April says, “You did not just—” at the same time Splinter blusters, “Purple, you fire that thing off in this house even once and I am grounding you from everything you know and love, including Orange!” and Donnie screeches, over Mikey and Leo’s hysterical laughter, “I can be trusted with projectile weaponry!”

The crossbow has been carefully maintained, but it hasn’t been used in weeks that Donnie is aware of. They’ve all stuck pretty close to home since the invasion, and it’s not like Gio knows anyone but them—it’s not like they need firepower for grocery hauls or pizza runs, though, knowing their luck, that could change any given day.

But Gio still cleans it regularly, and he’s become a familiar sight at the kitchen table; parts spread out on an oil-stained rag, meticulous and methodical with the one belonging he brought here with him from the future other than the clothes on his back and the colorful friendship bracelet on his right wrist.

It’s important to him, clearly, but he’s letting Donnie handle it with an indulgent look on his face. Like there are no better hands to leave it in than his little brother’s.

Because he’s at risk of having a whole emotion about that out loud, where his entire family is assembled to witness it, Donnie quickly turns his mind onto the much safer road of gadgetry.

He has never actually held a crossbow before, has never built or used one, but he’s been doing a lot of research. He has a lot of ideas. He wants to print mechanical broadhead arrows with explosive tips, or tear gas canisters, or EMP charges. It’s a brand new world of creative chaos and that’s not even touching all the build customizations Donnie has in mind. His fingers are already itching to dismantle and reassemble the machine into something better, something that won’t ever fail, something his big brother will love.

Only—huh. What feels like a low-level electric current thrums to quiet life like it was waiting to be noticed by the right pair of eyes, just enough of a static shock to get his attention and guide his hand to the rail. Glowing purple does the work of an allen wrench in seconds and a handful of screws clatter to the table. Donnie removes the scope in one sure motion, and moves on to snap the rail from the stock.

Raph says, low and warning, “Donnie,” intimately familiar with gremlin gadget mode and all the kitchen appliances and shared toys destroyed in Donnie’s early years in the name of science. But he’s not breaking this time, he’s just looking.

He flips the rail over in his hands and finds the source of that odd electricity-conductive feeling. Hidden on the underside is a small embossed logo that Donnie would recognize anywhere, because it’s his.

“A-ha!” he says, absurdly pleased with the discovery. “A Genius Built mod.”

The rail was one of the first things he’d had in mind to upgrade, but it looks like he’d beaten himself to the punch.

“With a custom rail, we can add whatever attachments we want to the stock, way beyond just an average scope or a rangefinder,” Donnie says eagerly, his mind darting ahead in three different directions at once. “The world is our oyster, Georgie!”

He can’t help grinning. His logo on Gio’s prized possession is that last little bit of evidence he needed. He’s never been happier to be wrong, and will endure Leo’s smugness for an unheard of two entire business days before initiating retaliation.

No version of Donatello would put that mark on anything unless he really cared about it.

And Gio wouldn’t lift the rail from Donnie’s hands, and touch his thumb to that stylized “D” as if to prove to himself that it was real, an expression of painful wistful longing on his face, unless he really cared, too.

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #hamato donatello #hamato leonardo #disaster twins #the archer au #my writing #tmnt fic

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ryescapades · 5 hours ago

Note

hello rye! <3 congratulations on reaching 1k followers, you deserve all of them & so much more // i've read all your works, and i can't express in words how amazing of a writer you are ☘︎

for your milestone event can i request:

rin itoshi + sfw + "hey, look at me"

thank you & i wish you the best of lucks on midterms + finals :3c

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: 17 - “hey, look at me.” characters: itoshi rin (bllk) x f!reader contents: comfort/fluff, reader gets bothered by some sleazy guys erm wc ~ 1k

a/n: ruruuu my beloved i uhh dunno what to think of this personally but i hope it’s better for u than it is for me shsdfdfk and thankyou sm for participating and the kind words ilyy !! <3 (not proofread!)

your date has been going so well today.

you had planned this so long ago, wanting to go to the aquarium with rin. it’s been quite a while since you’ve had some alone time with him, considering how busy he is with soccer so it’s only right that he’d wanted to spend the whole day and more with the one he treasures the most.

the aquarium itself was a blast; you had fun learning about and looking at all the beautiful sea creatures, though rin would argue that there’s entirely something— or someone— else that was worthy of being labeled as the embodiment of beauty itself.

he would never say that out loud, of course.

the aquarium aside, the rest of the day went by pretty leisurely. after getting yourselves some matching trinkets (you think that the faint blush brushing his cheeks when he holds the dainty ornament in his hands is the loveliest, most incredible sight you’ve ever seen), the two of you decided to check out the new ramen place downtown, catch up a little bit over lunch (you did all the talking, unsurprisingly) before ending up taking a stroll in the park nearby.

everything’s turning out wonderful, until it was not.

while the two of you were preoccupied in your own little bubble, a few wandering tourists had interrupted you to ask for some help. the both of you knew that giving some mere instructions would be too vague, so you had convinced him that you didn’t mind waiting as he showed them the way instead as he was more versed in their language. rin wanted to dispute, not wanting to leave you alone even just for a second, let alone 3 minutes, though he begrudgingly obliged after one look of assurance from you.

the world would’ve been a better place if some people knew how to keep their hands to themselves and mind their own business, really.

all the while you’re waiting for rin to come back, you catch sight of a couple guys standing just a few feet away, their leering eyes hooked on you as their faces spell nothing but trouble. you try not to visibly grimace, turning away from them as you start chanting in your head for your boyfriend to return quickly and wish that by some miracle he could feel your (hopefully) telepathic distress.

you’d wanted to walk away but unfortunately for you, you don’t get far as a few seconds later, a bold finger taps on your shoulder to gain your attention. turning around, you feel your body tense at the men suddenly looming over you with a grin looking oh so sweetly on each of their faces.

“hey, you alone here, sweetheart?” you resist the urge to visibly roll your eyes at the petname. with a reluctant smile, you shake your head at them before starting to walk off. “i’m heading somewhere else, sorry.”

persistent like a parasite with the intent to make your life worse, they fall into steps behind you. you’re feeling the urge to curse at the inconvenience of the part of the city you’re currently at, reprimanding yourself for waiting at such an isolated place. “your friends? or family?” one of them presses, and your heartbeat rises as they begin to get closer.

“boyfriend, excuse you,” you huff quietly under your breath, wanting to lose yourself in the incoming crowd as you anxiously walk faster. you would’ve been fine with tolerating them until they’d eventually get bored of your lack of enthusiasm, if not for the slimy hand that suddenly extends out to harshly grasp yours from behind, triggering your fight or flight response as your heart goes plummeting down to your stomach in dread.

“oh, come on! we just wanted to–” the scream that has bubbled up in your throat doesn’t get to escape, however, when another figure comes barreling towards the man, a raged hand reaching up to fist at the latter’s collar. your wrist is then freed, and you gingerly rub at the skin as if to wipe away the foreign touch.

“she’s clearly not interested, you bastard.” your boyfriend’s gravely tone enters your ears, and you’d almost cried out in relief at his appearance. there was a dangerous and deathly lilt to his voice, and something about it makes you shiver for some unknown reason.

you initially don’t have any clue as to how badly affected rin is by the situation with how he has his back towards you but the way rin’s grip on the stranger’s shirt tightens, proven by the flexing and slight quivering of his arm. not to mention you can hear the man’s audible gulp, so you know it’s not a pretty sight.

“w-whoa, sorry, man. we were just…” the other guy trails off, and you had almost sympathized with how genuinely terrified they look but it’s really not worth the effort to cause such a commotion here so you try to get him to calm down. “rin,” you call out, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt.

you can see him tensing at your voice for a few moments, then with as much reluctance as he can muster, the striker roughly shoves the man away before backing up slightly to hide you behind him, and they both immediately scurry off into the distance. rin doesn’t take his eyes away from the two, fists clenching and teal orbs sharpening like daggers as if to make sure those jerks are undoubtedly not coming back.

your heart squeezes at this whole ordeal. soothingly sliding your hand down the length of rin’s arm, you languidly take his hand to unfurl the whitening knuckles by weaving your fingers with his. “rin,” you press, reaching up to turn the side of his face towards you. “hey, look at me.”

your boyfriend snaps his head towards you then, tension leaving his body when his eyes land on you. he doesn’t protest when you pull him down by the back of his neck, bumping your forehead against his with a gentle thump, a silly method you’d picked up whenever there is a need to ‘knock’ some sense into him.

because the only way for itoshi rin to simmer down and regain his control is exactly that; having you close to him in whatever way possible.

“i’m here, baby. i’m okay,” you mumble against the shared space between your mouths, and rin doesn’t resist the magnetic pull as he pecks your lips once before planting another one on your forehead. “should’ve brought you along,” he mumbles, exhaling warmly against your skin.

you let out a chuckle, “hm, you’re right…” you feignedly ponder, pulling your intertwined hands together as the two of you start walking again, “though as much as i am thankful, you do look quite hot there getting all mad. and cute too, i guess. like an angry kitty, you know?” you quip, glancing at him with a small teasing smile.

a tinge of pink dusts the apple of his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowing in slight offense. “am not,” rin grumbles.

“are so,” you counter, lightly bumping your shoulder against his side.

“... am not,” he bumps back.

“angry rinnie.”

“shut up.”

taglist open !

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi x y/n #rin itoshi fluff #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock fluff #1kakes event 🎂#🥣 rye works

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fourteendaysinaweek · 2 days ago

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Peter Parker Meets The Batfam

As seen on wattpad here and inspired by this post

A little one-shot that might have a p2 coming (ignore any inaccuracies with the batfam I had too many people I wanted to add and may have gotten confused. Oops)

Peter

I land hard on a rooftop, staring up at the gray sky in front of me. A shiver runs down my spine as I sit up, looking around. I don't recognize the skyline, the buildings are wrong, the sky is too gray for New York, not with the August sunshine we had less than two minutes ago.

"Strange?" I call out, careful not to be too loud. I know he was trying to get that cube— where did he send me? "Karen, where am I?" I'm met with silence as my heart speeds up. "Karen?" I do everything to bring her up to no avail. Did Strange figure out a way to disable her? No, he doesn't want me dead or lost— he just wanted me to stop. He knows Karen controls aspects of my suit and everything, he wouldn't disable her on purpose, right?

Okay, Peter. Think.

You're in a strange city, your AI is down, you have no idea where you are. What do you do? Go to a gas station and ask where you are. Wait no— I'm in the suit. I don't have to go to a gas station, I can just walk up to someone, everyone knows who I am. They'll assume that a bad guy got me lost.

I swing down from the rooftop and land in the street. Weird, not a lot of people out and about.

"Now what the shit is this?"

"Oh thank God I'm still in America—" I sigh and turn towards the cop. "Officer!" I walk towards him. "Excuse me, sorry, I was just in Manhattan fighting— and I seem to be lost— where am I?"

"...Gotham City."

"Fantastic— what state am I in? Is New York close to that?" He raises his eyebrow, reaching for his radio.

"Dick, you're gonna wanna see this." I smile awkwardly even though he can't see my mouth. Karen isn't working, and therefore the controls of my suit aren't either. "You don't know where Gotham is?"

"Uh— sir, you're city is very beautiful, but I attended public school, my geography isn't great, and I'm a little preoccupied trying to get back to the fight—"

"You've never even heard of Gotham?"

"Again, sir, I'm very sorry—"

"Okay, whats going on?" A very tall very muscular officer walks over. He then looks at me. "What the hell?"

"I— I'm so—"

"He says he's never heard of Gotham." The taller one raises his eyebrow.

"Never?"

"Look— I'm so sorry, but I need to get back to Manhattan, I was in the middle of a fight—"

"Who are you?" I blink.

"Who— who am I?" Suddenly I remember why exactly I was fighting Strange. "Oh. Um, I'm sorry, I'll figure it out, didn't mean to bother you, so sorry—" crap crap crap why is my first instinct Oh yay cops will help? I should know better by now—

"Just hold it—" I swing away, illiciting very loud noises of surprise from the two cops.

I end up back on a roof, another roof, and am aware of the trail I am leaving behind. I should stop swinging, so they can't track me. I take a deep breath and reach out with my senses.

"—swinging from webs?? I mean that's kinda cool, to be honest—"

"Just bring him in, be careful. We don't know what he's capable of."

"Yea, Tim. Fan boy later. Catch now."

"I don't know, even with the mask he seemed genuinely confused, like he really had never heard of Gotham."

"Oh, yea, Dick. Every single person on earth has heard of Gotham, if not for our fantastically high crime rates or Batman, then they know Mr. Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist Bruce Wayne—"

"Hey, no government names on the comms."

My blood runs cold. Who the hell is Bruce Wayne and why did they call him that— that's Tony. That's Tony. This... this is wrong, nobody else should be called that— not even as a joke.

I take a breath. Calm down, Peter. You've got this. You can do this.

Orange light washes over me and I look up, seeing Dr Strange looking down at me.

"Strange!" I attempt to swing back through the portal but my web fizzles and falls.

"Enjoy your new universe, Peter. I'll be back in a year to check on you."

"Dr— STRANGE!" I yell as the portal closes. My hair stands on end as I'm surrounded by seven masked forms.

"Who are you?" One in a blue mask asks. I recognize him as both one of the cops from earlier, and the one who was saying I seemed confused. He's also the one called Dick. Full name must be Richard.

"I could ask you the same, Dick." He clearly falters, and the others tense. I think back to his uniform.

"Name calling is going to get you nowhere."

"You think I'm joking, Grayson?" That gets him to freeze. "Should I go down the line?" Please don't call my bluff please don't call my bluff please for the love of whatever do not call my bluff—

"Nightwing, you know this... thing?"

"... you really don't know who I am?" Strange said new universe. I don't know what I was expecting. "Spider-Man? I-I'm an Avenger? America's Favorite Avenger—"

"If this is some sort of weird power trip, like you think you're the greatest supervillain ever—"

"Villain?" I turn to the voice I recognize to be the one called Tim. "I'm not a villain!"

"Exactly what a villain would say." I look around, frantic.

"You have to believe me— I— the Avengers? Tony Stark? Nothing?" They all look to each other. I sink to my knees. "You don't have the Avengers. You don't have... anything." I hear static before a female voice begins speaking in their comms.

"I've got nothing on a Spider-Man, Tony Stark, or the Avengers."

"Of course you don't." They all stare at me as I sigh. "My name is Peter Parker. And I'm in the wrong universe."

"Okay, let's get that mask off and get you to a hospital—"

"Good luck getting my mask off, and I'm not going to a hospital. I need a computer. I have—"

"What do you mean, is your mask glued to your face?"

"No, Tim." He freezes. "It's nanotech. My AI controls it but because I'm in a different universe she doesn't work. I need a computer so I can fix her and then she can help me figure out interdimensional travel."

"How do you know our names?" The blonde girl asks.

"You should listen when your boss tells you not to use your government names on your comms."

"You hacked our comms?" I look at the one who looks like redskull but... less.

"No, I'm a superhuman. I heard you, literally."

"You... hacked our comms?" Dick says again.

"No, I— I didn't— I heard you— I have superhuman hearing?" I look around at them all. I sigh and listen closely. What can I hear... "I hear... something... or... no, someone running towards us? About... two hundred and fifty pounds? Something is flapping behind it— he's about a minute away based on his speed."

"How can you—"

"I told you, superhuman. Sort of. I—" I look at them, sizing them up. No, lifting one of them is probably going to get me attacked. I don't need that. They're not really setting off my gut, I don't feel bad about them. What can I do... I look around. "Ah!" I go over to a giant conveniently placed building air conditioning unit and lift it with one hand. "See? Superhuman. And three, two—" I point as a giant cloaked man appears. I was right, about two fifty. Mostly muscle.

"Meta." The smallest one mumbles. What the hell does that mean?

"Batman, he—"

"I heard." He narrows his eyes beneath his mask.

"Batman?" I say. "You really died on that hill?" Suddenly, my body feels heavy. Weak. "Crap—" I lean against the air conditioning unit.

"Are you alright, kid—"

"Don't call me that." I snap. "The only person who was allowed to call me that is dead— except no he isn't. He's in a different universe— god Mr. Stark, I wish you were here." I mumble that last part, it wasn't for anyone here. It was for him. "I'm fine, I'm just exhausted. I've been fighting an interdimensional sorcerer for like six hours and then I got dumped here, forgive me if I'm a bit tired." The man, Batman, nods.

"Alright, let's get you back to the cave. We can take a look and get that mask off so you can breathe better."

"My suit has a built in—" I stop. "No it doesn't, because Karen is down. Nevermind."

"Karen?"

"My AI. Do you have AI in this universe? Do you have computers—"

"Let's just... focus on you, okay?"

They all take me back to a giant tower.

"Bats, are we sure this is a good idea?" I hear Dick ask.

"He's a kid. He's scared and confused, not unlike how I met most of you. He thinks he's from a different universe, we—"

"I don't think I'm from a different universe, I am. And I'm not scared." They all stare at me again.

"When did you... gain the ability—"

"I was bit by a radioactive spider."

"Oh, metahuman." I furrow my brows.

"You call supers metahumans in this universe?"

"... you call them supers?" I nod.

"Well, sometimes. Other times they have a species."

"Like what?" I look at the blonde girl. I wish I knew all of their names.

"Well, my... kind of coworker Bruce got himself exposed to radiation and can shapeshift into a giant rage monster. I think he's got it under control now, but he accidentally exposed his cousin to it and now she can kinda do the same thing. Then there is Thor and Loki, they're just... gods, so, entirely different species there. Then there is Captain America, he is a super soldier, he was genetically modified to fight nazis. Bucky was also modified except he was modified by the soviets. And then we have uhhh Carol Danvers, she was modified by alien tech, and Natasha is just a trained assassin from... also the soviets? But yea, we're superheroes, so we're superhuman. What, are you guys metaheroes?"

"Vigilantes."

"Okay, moment of transparency, I know two of your names. I don't think it's a good idea for me to keep calling you by your government names while you're in the suit, so... what do I call you guys?"

"Nightwing."

"Redhood." Redskull looking guy.

"Red Robin." Tim.

"Spoiler." Blondie.

"Robin." Tiny one.

"Blackbat." The other girl, I can't see any of her skin or hair.

"Cat Girl." Short red hair and honestly comically large ears attached to her mask.

"And the girl on the comms?"

"... Signal." Dick, aka Nightwing, tells me. I look at Batman.

"And you're Batman. Great. I'm Spider-Man." My hair stands on end as two more figures approach from the sky. I tense before realizing that my new found... allies seem unfazed.

"Wonder Woman, Superman. This is Spider-Man. He says he's from a different universe and he can't get his suit off."

"You don't believe me, fine, I wouldn't believe it either. Is there a mind reader in this universe? Truth serum? Anything?" Everyone looks to Wonder Woman.

"I can use the Lasso of Truth."

"Perfect, hit me." She very carefully undoes the holster and a giant golden lasso unfolds. She takes my arms and ties it gently around them. It tingles.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Peter Benjamin Parker. I am a junior at Midtown School Of Science And Technology. I am Spider-Man, the vigilante hero turned Avenger after fighting Thanos in the Battle of Titan where I, along with half of the world's population, blipped. After coming back, I became a full-fledged Avenger." Everyone shares look.

"How did you get here?" She asks.

"A villain named Mysterio leaked my identity to the whole world and got me labeled as a terrorist. In my effort to fix things, I went to Doctor Strange, a sorcerer and fellow Avenger for help. He had a spell that could essentially turn back the clock and erase my identity from people's minds. I didn't want to go back to hiding things from my loved ones, so I asked for them to be excluded, but I accidentally broke the spell box and brought villains from other universes into my own. I discovered that the villains were misunderstood and hurting, and I am determined to save them from dying in their own universe. Doctor Strange did not like that and throw me here as a time-out. He said he'd back in a year." Wonder Woman nods.

"I see. Anybody else have questions?"

"How do you know our names?" I sigh.

"I told you. I have incredibly keen senses I could hear you all talking on your comms when you were chasing me."

"How did you come into your abilities?"

"Radioactive spider. Again. I already said this. Now can you please point me towards a computer?"

#marvel #dc #dceu #batfam #ironfam #spiderson #batkids #crossover #mcu #dceu fandom #mcu fanfic #mcu fandom #dceu fanfic #peter parker #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd

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f14fun · 10 hours ago

Text

A Cowgirl's Stars, Stripes, and Speed (!black-!cowgirl-!singer x dr3) (C2)

synopsis: in which case y/n, a bold African American country singer, crosses paths with Daniel, a charming Australian Formula 1 driver, both tipsy and unwound by the night.

prose + smau (11.6K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

author's note: completely forgot that i had chapter two in the drafts, here ya go! (so so so sorry this is literally MONTHS late)

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Waking up for Free Practice One, or FP1 as Maddie called it, felt a lot like waking up for a rodeo at 5 a.m.—except instead of dust, horses, and the smell of hay, I was getting ready for million-dollar cars, European accents, and a paddock full of people who probably didn’t know what a boot-scootin’ boogie was.

“Am I the first person to ever show up to a Formula 1 event in cowboy boots?” I muttered to myself, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “Because if so, I’m about to make history.”

Maddie barged into my room, her eyes immediately zeroing in on my footwear choice. “You cannot—cannot—be serious,” she said, pointing at the boots like they had personally offended her.

I raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I’m from Texas, right? I’m contractually obligated to wear these.”

She groaned, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Y/N, this isn’t a rodeo. It’s Formula 1. There are literally people there who probably think Texas is just a setting for Western movies.”

“Good,” I replied, giving my boots an extra little stomp for emphasis. “They’re about to learn a thing or two.”

Maddie, fully aware that no amount of persuasion was going to change my mind, sighed and flopped down on my bed. “You’re going to be the most interesting thing to hit the paddock, and I don’t even know if that’s a compliment.”

“I’ll take it,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Besides, I’m sure Daniel’s already prepared for my... unique aesthetic.”

Maddie grinned. “Oh, he’s definitely prepared. The real question is—are you ready for what’s coming?”

I shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’re about to be dropped into a world of fast cars, faster drivers, and more champagne than you’ve ever seen in your life. Try not to faint when Daniel shows up in his race suit, though. I've seen you salivate like a dog in a man in a suit before, I better not see this behavior in public again,” she waved her finger and raised her eyebrow.

I snorted. “I’ll try to control myself.”

She followed me to the door, a mischievous grin still plastered on her face. “Don’t worry. If you pass out, I’ll be there to catch you. And get it on camera.”

“Thanks, sister of the year,” I said, rolling my eyes as we headed out to face what was bound to be the weirdest and wildest weekend of my life.

As we pulled up to the track, the sheer size of everything hit me. The grandstands, the noise, the sleekness of it all—it was overwhelming, and we weren’t even at the paddock yet. “This is... a lot,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly. My nerves had kicked in.

Maddie, of course, was completely unfazed. “Oh, yeah. Welcome to the big leagues. Now let’s get you inside before you chicken out and run back to the rodeo.”

“Not a chance,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

As we made our way to the paddock entrance, I kept reminding myself to stay cool. I wasn’t some fangirl—I was here to support Daniel and, okay, maybe enjoy the adrenaline rush of being surrounded by the fastest cars on the planet. But when we reached the paddock gate and I spotted the crowds of stylish people and team members buzzing around, I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place.

“This is... fancy,” I whispered to Maddie as I spotted a group of people sipping espresso like they were at some high-end café instead of a racetrack.

“Yeah, and you’re about to be the wild card,” Maddie replied with a grin.

Before I could say anything, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Y/N?”

I turned, and there he was—Daniel Ricciardo, in his race suit, smiling like he had all the time in the world. And damn, Maddie wasn’t kidding—he looked good in it.

“Welcome to the circus,” he said with a grin, his eyes flicking down to my boots before meeting mine again. “Nice boots. You ready for your first Formula 1 weekend?”

I smirked. “I mean, as long as no one tries to race me in those things, I think I’ll survive.”

As Daniel chuckled, leading us deeper into the paddock, I started to notice it—the stares. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but no. People were definitely glancing my way, some openly, others stealing curious looks from behind their sunglasses or over the rims of their espresso cups.

I tried to ignore it, focusing on the sound of Daniel’s voice and Maddie’s occasional teasing, but the feeling started to creep up on me. The combination of being the only one in cowboy boots, the only one not decked out in sleek, designer outfits, and, let’s be real, the only Black woman in this sea of European wealth and privilege—it was a lot.

For a split second, my confidence wavered. What am I doing here? This world, with its fast cars and high fashion, felt miles away from anything I’d ever known. I could feel their eyes tracing over my skin, my clothes, my difference. And that old, familiar feeling of not quite fitting in snuck up on me, catching me off guard.

Do they think I don’t belong here? The thought stuck, and I hated that it did.

Maddie, always attuned to my moods, leaned in, her voice low. “You good?”

I forced a smile, trying to shake off the insecurity that had settled over me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Maddie wasn’t buying it. She followed my gaze, noticing the same looks I had. “They’re just jealous they don’t have boots as cool as yours,” she said with a wink, her voice light but full of understanding.

Daniel, completely unaware of my sudden internal struggle, turned back to us with a grin. “Everything alright back there?”

I cleared my throat, snapping out of my thoughts. “Yeah, just taking it all in. You weren’t kidding when you called this place a circus.”

He laughed, oblivious to the little battle going on in my head. “It’s a lot at first, I know. But don’t worry—soon enough, you’ll be running this place.”

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I wanted to believe him, to feel like I could own this space as easily as he did, but the truth was, I felt like an outsider. It was the same feeling I got sometimes in certain parts of Austin, where people would look at me, sizing me up, wondering how I fit into the picture they had in their heads. But this—Formula 1? This was a whole new level.

We kept walking, Daniel chatting about the weekend ahead, and I did my best to nod and respond when appropriate, but my mind kept drifting back to those stares. I do belong here. Right?

Just when I thought I’d spiral into that uncomfortable feeling, Maddie looped her arm through mine and whispered, “Remember, you’re here because you deserve to be. Plus, you’ve got Daniel freaking Ricciardo practically showing you off. That’s gotta mean something.”

I glanced at her, a small smile tugging at my lips. She always knew how to snap me out of my head. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And just wait until you walk by some of these stuck-up folks in those boots. You’ll have them talking about you for weeks.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Maddie had a point. Maybe I didn’t fit in here the way they did, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe being different was exactly what I needed to be.

As we turned the corner, Daniel slowed his pace, and I noticed a man standing with a group of people, talking animatedly. He had this authoritative air about him, someone who clearly knew his way around the place—definitely important. Daniel gave him a nod as we approached, and the man turned, his face breaking into a smile.

“Daniel!” the man called out, clapping Daniel on the back as we stopped in front of him. His eyes quickly flicked over to me and Maddie, curious but friendly.

Daniel grinned. “Christian, meet Y/N and her sister Maddie. They’re, uh, getting their first taste of the F1 circus.”

Christian turned to us, offering a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, ladies. I’m Christian Horner, team principal at Red Bull Racing.” He extended his hand, and it took me a second to process his name.

I blinked, suddenly realizing who I was standing in front of. The guy who ran one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. Oh, wow. I managed to return the handshake, trying to keep my cool.

"Y/N," I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice was a little more high-pitched than I intended. "Nice to meet you too."

Christian’s gaze shifted between us, still friendly but clearly sizing up the new faces. “I trust Daniel’s showing you around? Not too overwhelmed by all of this, I hope.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay the fact that, yeah, I was definitely overwhelmed. “It’s... a lot to take in. But Daniel’s been helpful.” I shot Daniel a look, raising an eyebrow.

Christian laughed. “That’s good to hear. He tends to make quite the impression.”

Before I could reply, another voice chimed in from behind us. “And who do we have here?” The accent was British, but lighter, more playful.

I turned and found myself looking at a young guy with curly brown hair and a cheeky grin plastered on his face. He was clearly younger, but there was a confidence about him that said he wasn’t new to this. His eyes landed on me, and the grin widened.

Daniel rolled his eyes but didn’t miss a beat. “Y/N, Maddie, this is Lando. Lando Norris. He drives for McLaren.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Lando said, stepping forward and offering a handshake. I took it, trying not to get lost in how friendly his smile was. He definitely had that mischievous look—the kind that said he was always up to something.

“Nice to meet you too,” I said, my grip firm despite my nerves. Maddie, meanwhile, looked like she was about to faint.

Lando’s eyes flicked over me, lingering for just a second longer than necessary, and I suddenly felt like I was back in the bar, dealing with that playful banter all over again. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

I nodded, biting back a grin. “Yeah, first time.”

“Well,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “if you need someone to show you around the paddock, I’m your guy. Daniel’s great, but I can give you the real tour.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself.

Maddie let out a small giggle, and I shot her a don’t you dare look.

Daniel, standing just a little too stiffly beside me, cut in before I could respond. “Yeah, Lando’s an expert at real tours. But I think I’ve got it handled.”

I noticed the slight edge to Daniel’s voice, though he tried to keep it light. Lando, ever the cheeky one, just shrugged.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes, mate.”

Maddie, always ready to stir the pot, jumped in. “I mean, it doesn’t hurt to have options, right?”

I glared at her, my cheeks heating up. Not helping, Maddie.

Lando chuckled, clearly amused by the whole situation. “Exactly. Always good to have a backup plan.” He shot me a quick grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Daniel, clearly not thrilled with the direction this conversation was going, leaned a little closer to me, his voice low but firm. “I think Y/N’s got all the help she needs, mate.”

The tension was subtle, but it was definitely there. Lando, ever the joker, just smiled and backed off with a shrug. “No worries, Daniel. Just being friendly.”

Christian, watching the exchange with mild amusement, clapped his hands together. “Alright, boys, save the rivalry for the track.”

Daniel, now visibly more relaxed, shot Christian a grin. “No rivalry here. Just making sure Y/N gets the proper tour.”

I smirked, nudging Daniel lightly. “I can handle a little extra attention, you know.”

He glanced down at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t need to flirt to make a good impression.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Flirting’s just a bonus.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Oh, this is going to be a long weekend.”

Lando, noticing Maddie’s growing excitement, gave her a mischievous grin. “Well, I suppose I can offer someone a proper tour of the track. Maddie, what do you say? Want to ditch these two and come with me? I’ll show you where the real action is.”

Maddie’s eyes lit up like she had just won the lottery. “Oh, hell yes! I mean, uh, yeah, sure,” she said, trying to act cool, but completely failing at it. This girl was not as nonchalant and mysterious as she thought she was.

I shot her a look, half warning, half amused. “Maddie…”

She waved me off with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you later, sis. I’m in good hands.” Then she leaned in, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t wait up.”

Before I could respond, Lando took her by the arm and started leading her away, his signature cheeky grin firmly in place. “You two behave now,” he called over his shoulder, clearly loving every second of this.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I cannot believe my sister just ditched me for an F1 tour.”

Daniel smirked, watching them disappear into the bustling crowd of the paddock. “Well, I don’t blame her. Lando’s... energetic. Plus, now I get you all to myself.”

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? That your plan all along?”

He grinned, not even bothering to hide the mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe. It worked, didn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, Mr. Ricciardo, so what’s next on this grand tour? Or is this where you start charming me with racing facts?”

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “I could give you the whole rundown on tire compounds and aerodynamics, but I’m guessing that’s not why you’re here.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Actually, I was really hoping for a deep dive into downforce.”

Daniel laughed, the sound easy and genuine. “I can save that for later. Right now, though, how about I take you somewhere a little quieter? Grab a bite?”

My stomach, which had been ignored in all the excitement, grumbled in agreement. “You read my mind.”

Daniel gestured for me to follow him, weaving through the maze of garages and trailers that made up the heart of the paddock. As we walked, people continued to stare, but this time, with Daniel by my side, I felt more at ease. He had a way of making everything feel less intimidating, like I could handle whatever this crazy world threw at me.

As we continued walking, weaving through the bustling paddock, Daniel’s arm brushed against mine, and before I knew it, his hand found mine. The move was casual, like he’d done it a thousand times, but it caught me off guard. His fingers intertwined with mine, and I immediately noticed how smooth his skin was, warm against my palm.

I glanced down at our hands, surprised at how perfectly they fit together, like this was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t just the physical contact—it was the feeling that came with it, a mix of warmth and comfort that settled over me, making the chaotic energy of the paddock fade into the background.

I looked up at him, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled that easy, confident smile, his thumb gently brushing the back of my hand as we walked. It was such a simple gesture, but my heart did a little flip anyway.

“So,” he said, his voice light and teasing, “you still expecting that downforce lecture?”

I laughed, trying to keep my cool despite the butterflies in my stomach. “You know, I think I’m good for now. I’ll save the nerdy questions for later.”

He gave my hand a small squeeze, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Good call. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with all that F1 knowledge right away.”

I shook my head, grinning as we walked. My brain was still half-focused on how nice his hand felt in mine, but I was doing my best to keep up the conversation. “I think I’ve had enough new information for one day.”

We continued strolling through the paddock, and though the stares hadn’t completely stopped, they no longer made me feel out of place. With Daniel holding my hand, the looks from other people didn’t matter as much. It was like there was this invisible bubble around us, and for the first time that day, I felt like I actually belonged in this world.

He led me toward a quieter section of the paddock, where the energy was less frantic, and it was easier to talk without being drowned out by the roar of engines. The sounds of mechanics working and conversations happening in every direction became a soft background noise.

Daniel glanced over at me, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping just a bit, “I’m really glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone... different around.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Different how?”

He smirked, his eyes scanning my face for a second before he answered. “You’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re just... yourself. I like that.”

I felt my cheeks flush at his words, and I looked away, trying to hide the smile creeping up on my lips. “I guess it’s hard to impress people when you barely know what’s going on.”

He laughed softly, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of my hand. “Trust me, you’re doing better than half the people here.”

I glanced back up at him, our eyes locking for a brief moment. There was something deeper in his gaze, something that made me feel like I wasn’t just a guest in his world—I was someone he actually wanted to be around.

Before I could come up with a reply, we reached the small café area he had mentioned earlier. The space was quiet, tucked away from the hustle of the paddock, and the smell of food was enough to make my stomach grumble again.

Daniel smiled, clearly hearing my stomach. “Guess I made a good call bringing you here. Let’s grab something to eat.”

We found a cozy little table in the corner of the café, and I immediately felt the tension from the rest of the day melt away. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, and the quiet buzz of conversation hummed softly in the background. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the paddock just outside.

Daniel sat across from me, still wearing that easy smile that made it impossible for me to stay nervous. As we flipped through the menus, his eyes flicked up toward me. “So, any idea what you’re in the mood for, or should I make a recommendation?”

I smirked, lowering my menu to meet his gaze. “You recommending something non-Texan? I don’t know, that might be risky.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eyes. “I think I can manage. This might not be BBQ or Tex-Mex, but I promise, the food here won’t disappoint.”

I raised an eyebrow, still pretending to be skeptical. “Alright, Ricciardo, hit me with your best suggestion. What’s the must-have paddock dish?”

Without missing a beat, he leaned in, dropping his voice to a mock-serious tone. “You’ve gotta try the... ham sandwich.”

I blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “The ham sandwich? Seriously?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, sometimes the simple things in life are the best. And I’d argue a good ham sandwich can be life-changing.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, still chuckling. “I’ll take your word for it. But I think I’ll stick with something that sounds a little more... adventurous.”

Daniel smiled, leaning his elbows on the table, clearly enjoying the banter. “You’re adventurous, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before I could respond, a waiter appeared, and we placed our orders—him going with the infamous ham sandwich, me opting for something a little more exciting. As we waited for the food, the conversation turned a little more personal.

“So,” Daniel began, his tone shifting from playful to genuinely curious, “tell me more about you. We’ve talked a lot about my world today, but I feel like I don’t know enough about yours. What’s it like being a country singer in Texas?”

I shrugged, fiddling with the edge of my napkin. “It’s definitely... different from this.” I gestured around, indicating the world of Formula 1 we were sitting in. “It’s a lot of late-night gigs, long drives between towns, and trying to get people to listen to your music. But I love it. There’s something special about connecting with people through songs.”

He nodded, his eyes intent on mine. “I get that. Racing’s a lot like that, actually. You’ve got all this hard work behind the scenes, but it’s those moments on track when everything comes together that make it all worth it.”

I smiled, appreciating the parallel. “Yeah, I guess it’s similar. Although I doubt people scream your name at the end of a concert the way they do when you’re on the podium.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. People get pretty wild over a good performance, no matter what the stage looks like.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “What about you, though? You’ve been doing this for so long. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Daniel’s expression softened, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. “There are times when it’s exhausting, yeah. The travel, the pressure, all of it can be overwhelming. But at the end of the day, I love it. The thrill of being on track, the competition... it’s hard to give that up.”

I nodded, feeling a newfound respect for him. “It sounds like a crazy life, but I can see why you love it.”

He smiled again, this time more sincere, and leaned forward slightly. “Enough about me, though. What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you on stage?”

I laughed, thinking back to some of the more ridiculous moments. “Oh, there are so many. But probably the time when a guy tried to propose to his girlfriend in the middle of my set, and she said no. Talk about awkward.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “No way. That actually happened?”

I nodded, laughing. “Yep. Right in the middle of a ballad, too. The whole crowd went silent, and I just stood there like, ‘Do I keep playing?’”

He winced, clearly feeling the secondhand embarrassment. “That’s brutal. I don’t know if I could’ve kept going.”

I grinned, leaning back in my chair. “It’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it.”

He shook his head, laughing again. “I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve had anything that cringey happen on track, but now I’m kinda hoping for it.”

I smirked. “Be careful what you wish for.”

The waiter returned with our food, and as we started eating, the conversation flowed easily. It wasn’t forced or awkward—it just felt natural, like we’d known each other longer than just a couple of days. Between bites of food, we joked about everything from our weirdest fan encounters to the quirks of our respective worlds.

At one point, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and gave me that cheeky grin again. “Alright, I’ve gotta ask—how are you handling this whole F1 thing? It’s gotta be a little overwhelming.”

I swallowed my bite of food, considering his question. “Honestly? It’s wild. It’s like being dropped into a completely different universe. But... I’m kinda enjoying it. It’s different, but in a good way.”

Daniel’s eyes sparkled, and I could tell he was pleased with my answer. “Good. I was hoping you’d like it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Worried I’d bail halfway through the weekend?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I just wanted you to have fun. I know it’s not easy being thrown into all of this.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle in my chest. “I am having fun. More than I expected, actually.”

He reached across the table and gave my hand a quick squeeze, his touch sending a little jolt of electricity through me. “Good. Because this weekend’s only just getting started.”

I couldn’t help but grin, my heart racing a little faster than it should have been. Something told me he wasn’t just talking about the race.

“Guess I’d better buckle up, then,” I said, the flirtatious edge in my voice impossible to hide.

Daniel leaned back, his grin widening. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

Daniel stood up, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. “I’ll be right back. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased, giving me a playful wink before heading toward the back of the café.

I rolled my eyes, chuckling as I watched him go. But as soon as he disappeared out of sight, my attention shifted to the door of the café, and my heart nearly stopped.

Johnny.

There he was, casually strolling into the café like it was the most normal thing in the world. The same Johnny I hadn’t seen in months—the guy I thought I’d left in the past—was now standing less than ten feet away from me.

What the actual hell?

First Carrie yesterday, now Johnny today? It was like the universe was conspiring against me. Why were these two popping up like ghosts from my past all of a sudden? And more importantly—why here?

Fuck me man, I felt like that one story that had Ebenezer Scrooge in it—that's right, that weird story my Mom read to me when I was younger, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. But instead of the Ghost of Christmas Past and the Ghost of Jacob Marley, I was haunted by the ghosts of bad decisions and unresolved drama. Carrie, with her biting sarcasm and unfinished business, and Johnny, the walking reminder of every poor choice I’d ever made. They weren’t here to show me the errors of my ways—they were here to twist the knife.

The Ghost of Missed Opportunities, and the Ghost of "What the hell was I thinking?" Great. Just great. All I needed was one more, the Ghost of Emotional Baggage, to complete the haunting trifecta. Maybe they’d hold hands and sing carols while I watched my dignity fade into oblivion.

Panic fluttered in my chest, and without thinking, I shifted in my seat, tilting my head down so that my hair fell forward, obscuring as much of my face as possible. I pulled the menu up as an extra barrier, mentally chanting, please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

I peeked through a small gap between the strands of my hair, watching as Johnny scanned the room. For a second, I thought I was safe—he seemed to be looking past me, like he hadn’t noticed me at all.

But then his eyes stopped. And locked directly onto me.

Shit.

What are the odds…Nevermind, I actually do not want to know.

His brows furrowed in recognition, and I saw the exact moment he realized who I was. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by what could only be described as mild amusement. My heart sank as he started walking toward me, his steps slow but deliberate.

“Y/N?” His voice was hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure if it was really me, but I knew that tone all too well.

I kept my face half-hidden, silently hoping for some kind of divine intervention. But this was real, and there was no escaping it now.

“Johnny,” I said, my voice as neutral as I could muster, finally dropping the menu and brushing the hair back from my face.

He stopped in front of me, a small smirk forming on his lips. “I thought that was you. Didn’t expect to see you... here.”

I forced a tight smile, trying to keep my composure. “Yeah, well... here I am.”

He crossed his arms, glancing around the café. “F1 paddock, huh? You sure are full of surprises these days.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “I could say the same thing. What are you doing here, Johnny?”

He shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Business. Just checking things out. You know how it is.”

I raised an eyebrow. “At the Formula 1 paddock?”

“Hey, I get around,” he said with a casual shrug, but I could see that smugness in his eyes—the same look that used to drive me crazy. “But what about you? Last I checked, you weren’t into fast cars and fancy races.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Things change. People change.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly amused. “So I see. You always were full of surprises.”

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, the mix of annoyance and nerves bubbling up. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day. Not with Johnny, of all people. And definitely not here.

Before I could come up with a response, his eyes flicked to the empty seat across from me. “You mind if I sit?”

Yes, I mind, I thought, but instead I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Go ahead.”

Johnny slid into the chair, leaning forward on his elbows like this was some kind of casual catch-up, his eyes studying me. “So, who’re you here with? Anyone special?” His tone was light, but I could hear the curiosity behind it.

I hesitated for a second, not sure how much to say. “Just... here for the weekend.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “That’s vague.”

I shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the back of the café, half-hoping Daniel would miraculously reappear and save me from this awkward situation. “It’s not really important, Johnny.”

But he wasn’t about to drop it. “You know, I ran into Carrie yesterday. Small world, huh?”

My heart sank further. Of course he’d bring up Carrie. The two of them had always been close, and after everything that went down, the last thing I wanted was for them to be talking about me.

“Yeah, it’s a small world,” I said, my voice tight.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, studying me with that familiar look—like he knew something I didn’t. “You and Carrie… didn’t exactly end on the best terms, huh?”

I stiffened, narrowing my eyes. “You know exactly why, Johnny.”

He gave a slow nod, as if savoring the tension in the air. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Before I could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching made me glance up—and there was Daniel, walking back toward the table with an easy grin on his face. But the second he spotted Johnny sitting there, his smile faltered, replaced by a look of confusion. “Everything alright here?” Daniel asked, his tone polite but edged with something sharper. Johnny’s smirk didn’t waver as he glanced over his shoulder at Daniel. “Just catching up with an old friend.” He turned back to me, his eyes still locked on mine. “Didn’t realize you’d moved on so quickly.”

The tension in the air became palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Daniel stood there, his posture casual but his eyes sharp, flicking between Johnny and me, clearly trying to assess the situation. Johnny, on the other hand, seemed to relish the discomfort, leaning back in his chair with that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face.

I felt my pulse quicken, the unease settling deep in my stomach. “Johnny, this isn’t—”

He interrupted me, tilting his head slightly. “No need to explain, Y/N. We all move on, right?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, like he knew exactly how to twist the knife. “Though, from what I hear, you didn’t waste any time.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened just slightly, and I saw the flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I think she’s already made it clear that this isn’t your business,” he said, his voice cool but laced with warning.

Johnny didn’t seem fazed by Daniel’s calm exterior. If anything, it seemed to fuel his smugness. He glanced at Daniel, sizing him up in that subtle, passive-aggressive way I knew all too well. “Oh, no offense, mate. Just curious is all. I mean, I didn’t think I’d be seeing her here in the middle of the Formula 1 paddock, much less sitting with you.”

My stomach churned as Johnny’s words hung in the air. He wasn’t just trying to get under my skin anymore—he was trying to provoke Daniel. And judging by the way Daniel’s hand flexed slightly at his side, I could tell it was working.

“Y/N’s welcome wherever she wants to be,” Daniel replied, his voice steady but with an edge that I hadn’t heard before. “You should probably get that through your head.”

Johnny’s smirk faltered for the first time, and a flicker of something darker passed through his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto mine. “It’s just funny, you know? How you can spend years with someone, thinking you know them, and then one day...” He snapped his fingers. “They’re gone. Just like that.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on me. This wasn’t about me and Daniel anymore. This was Johnny’s way of dredging up old wounds, reminding me of the past, and making sure Daniel knew that he wasn’t just some random ex-boyfriend. He wanted to make this personal.

“I didn’t just leave, Johnny,” I said quietly, but firmly. “We both know why it ended.”

Johnny leaned back, that smirk creeping back onto his face as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, yes. My bad. You’ve got it all figured out now, huh? Living the high life, new man, new world.”

Daniel, who had been standing next to me, finally stepped forward, positioning himself closer to Johnny, his eyes narrowing. “I think you’ve said enough.”

The air between them crackled with tension, and for a split second, I thought things might actually escalate. Daniel’s easygoing demeanor had shifted, and he wasn’t playing around anymore. I could feel the protective energy radiating from him, like he was ready to step in if Johnny pushed any further.

Johnny met Daniel’s gaze, the smirk still on his face but his eyes cold. “Just having a conversation, mate. No need to get worked up.”

Daniel didn’t back down, his voice dropping lower. “You’re not here to talk. You’re here to stir things up. I get it. But it’s not going to work.”

Johnny chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. He stood up, adjusting his jacket as he looked down at both of us. “Well, it’s been enlightening, Y/N. Really. I’ll see you around.”

He glanced at Daniel one last time before turning on his heel and walking out of the café, his presence leaving a bitter taste in the air.

I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body slowly unraveling as Johnny disappeared from view. Daniel sat down across from me, his expression still hard, his jaw clenched. He looked at me, his concern evident in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

I nodded, but I couldn’t hide the lingering frustration. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t expect to see him here, or... Carrie yesterday. It’s like they’re everywhere all of a sudden.”

Daniel reached across the table, taking my hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding me. “You don’t have to apologize for him. He’s clearly got some unresolved issues, but that’s not on you.”

I sighed, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, well, I thought I’d left all of that behind. Guess it’s harder to outrun than I thought.”

Daniel’s thumb gently brushed the back of my hand, his touch reassuring. “You’re not running anymore. You’re here, with me. And he can’t touch that.”

I met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. There was something in the way he said it, in the way he was looking at me, that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. Like I wasn’t alone in dealing with this.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that chased away the lingering tension. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ve got your back.”

We sat there for a moment, the café’s gentle hum returning as the intensity of Johnny’s presence faded. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time I’d be seeing him—or Carrie. They were still a part of this tangled mess, and somehow, I knew they wouldn’t let me move on that easily.

But with Daniel sitting across from me, his hand still in mine, I felt stronger. Like whatever came next, I wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Daniel leaned in with a playful grin. “You seriously dated that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Like, in your songs, I thought you were being dramatic, but…” He trailed off, failing miserably as he attempted to imitate Johnny’s gruff accent, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “Oi, I’m Johnny, and I’m here to ruin your day,” he added with an exaggerated scowl, dramatically puffing out his chest.

I couldn’t help it. Laughter bubbled up from my chest, loud and unexpected, catching me off guard. It was the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt, the kind that came out when you were least expecting it. Daniel’s terrible impression was so far off that it was hilarious, and for the first time today, I felt a little lighter. The knot in my chest loosened, and for a moment, the awkwardness of running into Johnny and Carrie faded away.

“Okay, okay, that was terrible,” I said, still laughing, wiping the corner of my eye. “But thank you. I needed that.”

Daniel grinned wide, obviously pleased with himself. “Glad to be of service, love,” he replied, his Australian drawl carrying the words in that easy, effortless way that made everything sound a little more charming than it should. He puffed his chest out again, still half-committed to the ridiculous Johnny impersonation. “Come on now, I thought I nailed it. Pretty sure Johnny sounds exactly like that.”

I shook my head, a smile still tugging at my lips. “Trust me, you’re way off. But, for the record, I think you just made him sound better than he deserves.” I raised an eyebrow playfully, feeling the lingering tension ease just a little more.

“Ah, well, it’s a talent, I suppose,” Daniel shot back, with a wink. “Making your exes sound like halfway decent humans. Maybe I’ve missed my calling.” He reached over, gently nudging my shoulder, and the warmth of his touch felt more grounding than I expected.

For a second, I just watched him, marveling at how easily he could turn the mood around, how quickly he could shift the energy in the room with just a few lighthearted comments. His accent—God, his accent—made everything sound smoother, softer, even when he was trying to joke around. I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to break through the storm cloud that had been hovering over me all day.

I couldn’t help but admire it. There was something about the way Daniel spoke that made me want to listen to him, to let myself be carried away by the sound of his voice. “You know,” I said, my smile lingering, “that accent of yours… it’s kind of unfair.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking mock-offended. “Unfair? You wound me, love. I thought it was my best asset.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” I teased, tilting my head. “You could probably get away with saying anything and still sound charming.”

Daniel smirked, leaning back a little, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well then, I suppose I better be careful with my words, huh? Don’t want to waste this so-called ‘charm’ of mine on just anything.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t deny the smile that kept creeping up on me. “Too late. You’ve already wasted it on that horrendous Johnny impression.”

Daniel chuckled, leaning in closer, his grin still firmly in place. “Ah, but see, now I know my limits. No more terrible Johnny impressions—unless, of course, you ask for them.”

“Not a chance,” I shot back, shaking my head, though the playful glint in his eyes made it hard to keep a straight face. “I think I’ve suffered enough today, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to my strengths then—making you laugh and, apparently, charming my way through this conversation.”

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the bar, my gaze locking with his. “Is that what this is? A charm offensive?”

Daniel’s smirk deepened, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well, it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t argue with that. He had a way of lightening the mood, of making everything feel less… heavy. His presence was like a breath of fresh air, cutting through the lingering tension from my earlier run-in with Johnny and Carrie.

“You’ve got a point,” I admitted, trying to play it cool despite the fact that I could feel a blush creeping up my neck. “But don’t get too cocky. You’re only as charming as I let you be.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” Daniel asked, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “So, you’re saying I need your permission to be charming?”

I tilted my head, giving him a playful smile. “Something like that.”

He leaned in just a little, the space between us narrowing as his voice dropped to a low murmur. “Well then, I’ll just have to make sure I stay on your good side.”

For a moment, I felt the air shift between us, a subtle tension weaving its way through the playful banter. His eyes locked on mine, and for the first time, I noticed the way his gaze softened just a fraction, as if he wasn’t just joking anymore.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could find the words, Daniel’s smirk returned, breaking the moment with a wink. “What do you say? Think I’ve got a chance at staying charming for a while longer?”

I laughed, shaking my head, the tension easing back into lightheartedness. “We’ll see. You’re off to a decent start, though.”

“Good to know,” he said, his grin widening as he took a sip from his drink. “Guess I’ll just have to keep working at it then, won’t I?”

“Looks like it,” I replied, feeling a warmth settle in my chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey I’d been sipping. It was strange, how easy it was to talk to him, how natural the conversation felt.

Maybe it was the accent. Or maybe it was the way he made me forget about everything else, even if just for a little while.

Either way, I found myself wanting the moment to last just a little longer. The ease of being with Daniel, his playful charm, made everything feel lighter. We left the café, wandering toward the paddock, with the hum of the race world buzzing around us.

Suddenly, a group of teenage boys—five of them, no older than seventeen—approached us, all wearing different variations of Formula 1 gear. They were grinning like they’d just hit the jackpot.

“Y/N?” one of them asked, his voice cracking slightly, clearly nervous. “Is it really you?”

I blinked, taken aback. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

They exchanged excited looks, practically bouncing on the spot. “No way! We’re huge fans!” another boy chimed in. “We listen to your music all the time!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Teenage boys? Really? I mean, sure, I had a decent fan base, but I’d always pictured my listeners as mostly women around my age, maybe a few guys here and there. But these boys—decked out in their racing caps and track jackets—didn’t exactly scream “Y/N fan club.”

“Wait, seriously?” I asked, grinning. “You guys listen to my music?”

“Are you kidding?” one of them replied, his eyes wide. “Your last album? Fire. We’ve had it on repeat for weeks!”

The others nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Yeah! ‘Falling Apart’—that’s our anthem, man. We play it before our soccer games to hype up.”

I laughed again, shaking my head in disbelief. “Well, I’m glad it gets you pumped.”

Daniel, who’d been silently observing with a smirk on his face, suddenly leaned closer to me, slipping effortlessly into his role as the comic relief. “You see that?” he said loudly, nudging me with his elbow. “Even teenage boys can’t resist your charm. Should I be worried?”

One of the boys looked between us, his eyes narrowing slightly as he realized what Daniel was implying. “Wait… are you two… like, a thing?”

Before I could respond, Daniel flashed a wicked grin and draped his arm over my shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased, his accent making the words sound far more suggestive than necessary.

I elbowed him lightly in the ribs, rolling my eyes but unable to hide my smile. “Don’t listen to him,” I said, shaking my head at the boys. “He’s just messing with you.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Daniel continued, winking at me as if the boys weren’t even there. “I think they can see the chemistry. It’s undeniable, right, lads?”

The boys burst into laughter, clearly amused by Daniel’s antics. One of them, the tallest of the group, gave Daniel a playful thumbs-up. “Yeah, mate! You’re doing great!”

Daniel puffed out his chest, acting like he’d just been handed an award. “See? They approve. Guess I’m winning today.”

“Winning what exactly?” I asked, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Your heart, obviously,” Daniel shot back without missing a beat, his grin growing even wider.

I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t help the blush that crept up my neck. The boys all snickered like they were in on some private joke. This was turning into a full-blown comedy sketch, but to my surprise, I didn’t mind. In fact, I was kind of enjoying it.

“Alright, alright,” I said, laughing. “How about I sign something for you guys before Daniel’s ego gets too big?”

The boys eagerly handed me a couple of hats and a marker, still buzzing with excitement. As I scribbled my signature, they chatted excitedly among themselves about the race, about my music, and about Daniel’s antics, like we were all old friends.

When I handed back the hats, one of the boys asked, “So, are you gonna write a song about Formula 1 next?”

I chuckled, glancing sideways at Daniel. “Who knows? I’ve been getting a lot of inspiration lately.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, catching onto the innuendo. “Inspiration, huh? Does this inspiration happen to have a devilishly handsome accent and a knack for making terrible impressions?”

I smirked, giving him a playful shove. “Don’t flatter yourself. My inspiration doesn’t come from bad impressions.”

One of the boys, who had clearly been paying way too much attention, chimed in, “Oi, are you saying he’s not handsome? Because, like, I wouldn’t mind if someone called me devilishly handsome.”

Daniel burst out laughing. “Well, look at this guy! You’ve got some competition, Y/N. He’s coming for my title.”

I shook my head, but the whole group had descended into laughter. “Careful, Daniel. I think your reign as the charming one might be short-lived,” I teased, still grinning.

The boys exchanged exaggerated glances, clearly loving every moment. “We’ve got the charm too, you know!” another one of them piped up. “We listen to your music—‘Falling Apart’? Yeah, it’s practically our anthem, so that should earn us some points!”

“Ah, points system now? I see how it is.” Daniel folded his arms, looking mock-serious. “Alright, lads, who can do the best Y/N song impersonation? Whoever wins might just dethrone me as the most charming one here.”

Before I could object, the tallest boy cleared his throat dramatically, striking a pose that was almost too ridiculous to believe. “I got this,” he declared, then proceeded to belt out the chorus of Falling Apart with all the wrong notes, completely off-key, but with so much passion that it was impossible not to laugh.

The rest of the boys joined in, not with singing but with over-the-top interpretive dance moves that had nothing to do with the song at all. One of them even pretended to play an imaginary guitar solo, thrashing around like he was on stage at a rock concert.

I was doubled over in laughter at this point, tears in my eyes. “Oh my God, what is happening right now?” I gasped between fits of giggles.

Daniel wiped a fake tear from his cheek, trying to hold back his laughter. “I think we’ve just witnessed the most beautiful rendition of your song. I’m sorry, love, but I’ve officially been out-charmed.”

One of the boys puffed out his chest proudly. “Told ya, we’ve got the charm. Now, where’s our prize?”

“Prize?” Daniel asked, feigning confusion. “Mate, your prize is the satisfaction of knowing you’ve ruined one of Y/N’s greatest hits for her forever.”

The boys erupted in laughter, but one of them wasn’t quite done. “Wait, wait, I can do better!” He jumped forward, clearing his throat dramatically. “I’m Johnny, and I’m here to—” His attempt at an impression was so bad that he immediately started laughing halfway through.

I groaned, but I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “Oh no, not this again!”

Daniel, with his grin practically splitting his face, leaned in toward me, speaking loud enough for the boys to hear. “See, they’ve got nothing on my Johnny impression. I think I still win.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat from his closeness wasn’t lost on me. “That’s a pretty low bar to clear,” I teased, trying to maintain my cool despite the way he was looking at me, like I was the only person in the world at that moment.

One of the boys noticed the shift in energy and grinned slyly. “Ooh, I see what’s happening here. You two are flirting! Caught in the act!”

Daniel placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “Flirting? With me? Surely not.”

“Can you blame her though?” another one chimed in, wagging his eyebrows. “I mean, with that accent…”

I let out a laugh that was part amusement, part embarrassment. “Alright, alright, enough of this! You’re all officially the worst hype men ever.”

Daniel, still enjoying the show, winked at the boys. “See, lads? She can’t resist my charm—neither can you, apparently.”

“We’re just trying to help you out, mate,” one of them said with a smirk. “You can thank us later.”

Daniel chuckled, leaning in even closer, that mischievous glint in his eyes only growing more intense. “Oh, trust me,” he said, his voice dropping just low enough for me to catch the playful tone, “I think I’ve already thanked her… once or twice.”

I froze for a split second, my eyes widening as I realized what he was hinting at. A quick glance at the boys confirmed that they had caught on too—one of them let out a loud, exaggerated gasp, while the others exchanged knowing looks.

“Ohhhhhh!” one of the boys practically shouted, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Wait, man this is definitely is a thing, you can't deny it now!”

Another one interrupted, smirking as he threw in, “Sounds like someone’s been thanking her a little more than once.”

I felt my face heat up, the blush creeping up my neck as the teasing started in full force. “Guys—no, it’s not like that!” I tried to defend, but my stammering only fueled their amusement.

“Oh, sure, sure,” one of them said, clearly enjoying every second of this. “We totally believe you.”

Daniel, completely unfazed, leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “Don’t worry, lads, I’m a gentleman. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re literally telling right now!” I shot back, my embarrassment only making the boys laugh harder.

“Wait, wait,” one of the boys interjected, barely holding back his laughter. “So, like… when you sing about late nights in your songs, is that about him?” He pointed at Daniel with mock seriousness.

“Yeah, is Daniel the muse?” another one chimed in, mimicking air quotes.

“Oh my God,” I groaned, hiding my face in my hands as the boys dissolved into laughter. “This is not happening right now.”

Daniel, ever the instigator, gave a mock-innocent shrug. “Hey, I didn’t say anything specific. You’re the one who’s giving them ideas.”

I shot him a look, trying to hide my smile. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, winking at me before turning back to the boys. “You lot are getting way too much joy out of this, by the way.”

“We can’t help it!” one of them exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “This is, like, the best day ever. Formula 1 and relationship gossip in the same day? We’re thriving!”

Another one crossed his arms, nodding sagely. “Yeah, it’s like our favorite artist just dropped a new track, and it’s all about a secret romance.”

“Oh God, don’t give them any more ideas,” I muttered, still blushing furiously.

“Too late!” one of the boys shot back. “I’m calling it now—next album’s gonna have a song called Thank You, Daniel.”

Daniel burst out laughing, clearly loving every second of this. “I’m not opposed,” he said with a grin. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied firmly, shaking my head even as I laughed.

“Come on, Y/N,” one of the boys teased. “You gotta admit, it’s catchy.”

“Yeah, and it could go something like…” another one started singing, completely off-key. “Thank you, Daniel, for the wild night we had…”

The rest of the boys immediately jumped in, adding to the absurdity of it all. They clapped and hollered, half-singing, half-laughing. “You swept me off my feet, oh yeah, Daniel, you complete me!”

I groaned, covering my face in my hands. “Please stop, this is painful.”

But they were on a roll now, clearly loving every second of tormenting me. Another one joined in, singing in a terrible falsetto, “Oh, Daniel, why’d you have to go and make me fall so hard?”

Daniel was barely holding it together, his laugh ringing out loud enough to draw a few curious glances from people passing by. He turned to me, shaking his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I think you’ve just been given your next hit, love. They’re writing it for you.”

I shot him a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “This is not helping.”

Daniel chuckled, clearly enjoying the show. “Come on, Y/N. At least they’re being creative. They’ve even got choreography,” he said, gesturing toward one of the boys, who had started twirling around dramatically.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, still laughing despite myself. “This is officially out of control.”

One of the boys, apparently the self-proclaimed leader of the group, stepped forward with an exaggerated flourish. “You see, Y/N, we’re just trying to get you and Daniel to release a collab album. Think of the potential—‘Duets with Daniel!’ We’d be the first to buy it.”

“Yeah, we’ll even design the album cover!” another one added, miming holding a camera. “You, all serious with your guitar, and Daniel in the background with his race car and a rose between his teeth.”

I burst out laughing at the image they were painting, unable to take any of this seriously. “You guys are ridiculous,” I said, still shaking my head. “But I’ve gotta admit, you’ve got some... interesting ideas.”

Daniel, however, wasn’t about to let this moment pass without making it even worse for me. He leaned in close, lowering his voice just enough for the boys to hear but making it sound extra suggestive. “You know, Y/N, I’m not entirely opposed to a duet. I mean, we’ve already had one great performance together, haven’t we?”

I whipped around to glare at him, my cheeks burning. “Daniel—”

The boys absolutely lost it. “OOOOOH!” they chorused, practically falling over each other in laughter. One of them clapped his hands together, howling, “He said it! He went there!”

“Performance, huh?” one of them teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Oh, we definitely need to hear that track next.”

“Guys!” I exclaimed, feeling my face heat up even more. “It’s not like that!”

But Daniel wasn’t about to let me off the hook. “Oh, I dunno,” he said casually, shooting me a cheeky grin. “Depends on who you ask.”

I could feel my blush spreading down to my neck now, but I couldn’t help laughing at how absurd the whole situation had become. The boys were having the time of their lives, and Daniel—well, he was clearly loving every second of my flustered reaction.

“Okay, okay, we’re done,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “No more duet ideas, no more wild night theories. I think we’ve reached our quota for embarrassing moments today.”

One of the boys, still grinning from ear to ear, nodded sagely. “Alright, we’ll stop... for now.”

Another one, clearly still riding the high of the whole thing, added, “But just know, we’re expecting a wild new album soon. Maybe call it Songs from the Paddock.”

Daniel chuckled, nudging me playfully. “There’s your next hit, love. Courtesy of your biggest fans.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be sure to give you guys credit in the liner notes.”

The boys beamed as if I’d just promised them the world, and as they finally wandered off, still singing their ridiculous makeshift song, I let out a deep breath, glancing at Daniel.

“I can’t believe you,” I said, half-joking, half-serious. “You are way too good at making things awkward.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, if I can make you blush like that, I consider it a win.”

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, echoing the same words he’d used earlier, with that damn grin still plastered on his face.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice softening despite myself. “Here I am.”

As we walked back toward the Red Bull garage, the cool breeze picked up, making me shiver slightly. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore it, but Daniel, ever observant, noticed right away.

“You cold, love?” he asked, already shrugging off his jacket before I could protest.

“No, I’m fine—” I started, but he cut me off, draping the jacket over my shoulders with a firm but gentle touch.

“There,” he said, adjusting it around me. “Can’t have you freezing on my watch.”

The jacket was warm and smelled faintly of him—something I couldn’t quite place, but it was comforting. I pulled it tighter around myself, feeling the fabric practically swallow me up. It was way too big, the sleeves hanging well past my hands and the collar brushing against my chin, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of liked it. The way it enveloped me made me feel oddly safe, cocooned in something that was entirely his.

As I adjusted the jacket around my shoulders, I could feel his eyes on me. Not just a casual glance either—he was scanning me, his gaze slowly trailing over how the oversized jacket hugged my frame, his lips curving into a small, knowing smirk. Heat rushed to my face, and I could feel the blush creeping up my neck, spreading to my cheeks. I focused on tugging the sleeves, trying to act unaffected, but the way his eyes lingered left my pulse racing.

“You look good in my colors, you know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, the words sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

I blushed harder, feeling like the jacket wasn’t just covering me, but almost amplifying the attention he was giving me. I kept my head down for a second, pretending to fiddle with the zipper, but inside, my heart was doing somersaults.

I pulled the jacket tighter around myself, feeling his gaze still on me. Way too big, I thought. But in that moment, I kind of liked the way it made me feel—small, and maybe, just maybe, like I wasn’t so invisible to him after all.

Before I could say anything, he took my hands in his, rubbing them between his palms to warm them up. “Gotta make sure you’re properly taken care of,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “Can’t have you getting frostbite in front of the whole paddock.”

I laughed awkwardly, but the truth was, his hands felt so warm against mine that I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let him keep rubbing them, the casual intimacy of the gesture making my heart beat a little faster.

And then, out of nowhere, he pulled me into a hug. Tight. His arms wrapped around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like he’d done it a thousand times before. My face pressed against his chest, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of fabric.

I stiffened at first, aware of all the people milling around us, some of whom were definitely watching. This was the paddock, after all—eyes were always on us. I could feel the stares, the curious glances from the crew members, the fans in the distance, even some of the drivers. But Daniel didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Daniel,” I muttered, trying to sound calm but utterly failing as my voice wavered. “Everyone’s watching…”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against the top of my head. “Let them watch,” he said, his tone light, but with an edge of seriousness. “I don’t mind.”

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “But I—”

He cut me off with a grin that sent a shiver down my spine, and not from the cold. “You look even cuter when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” he teased, brushing a stray piece of hair away from my face.

I felt my face burn even hotter. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said softly, leaning in just a little closer, “here we are.”

My heart pounded in my chest, confused by the swirl of emotions coursing through me. Was he serious? Was this just more of his playful flirting, or was there something more behind it?

Before I could untangle the thoughts running through my mind, he closed the gap between us and kissed me.

Sure we had kissed so many times the night prior, but there was something about today's kiss, that was so different. It wasn't rushed. It was gentle. It was sweet.

It was soft at first, almost like he was testing the waters, his lips brushing against mine in a way that made my breath hitch. The world seemed to pause around us, the only thing I could focus on was the feel of him—his warmth, the subtle scent of his skin, the steady pressure of his lips as they moved against mine. His kiss was gentle, like he wasn’t rushing but savoring the moment, allowing me to feel the full weight of it, as if this wasn’t just a casual flirtation.

For a second, my mind raced, shocked at the boldness of it, but my body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. I felt myself relax into him, every ounce of tension I’d been holding onto melting away as he pulled me closer. His hands slid up, warm and confident, until they found the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. He held me gently, but there was a firmness to his grip that made my heart race even faster, grounding me in the moment, making it clear that this was no accident.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing more firmly against mine now, and I melted—literally melted into him, my body softening as my hands instinctively gripped the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. My mind went blank, thoughts dissolving into the sensation of him, the way he tasted, the slow, deliberate way his mouth moved over mine, coaxing a response from me that I hadn’t even realized I was capable of.

I barely registered the fact that we were still in the middle of the paddock, surrounded by people who were definitely watching. But none of it mattered. The noise, the bustling crowd, the potential whispers—everything faded into the background, like static, as the world narrowed down to just the two of us. All I could focus on was the way his lips felt—warm and commanding, yet somehow soft, his breath mingling with mine in a way that made my head spin.

His body pressed against mine, and I could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, completely unfazed by the fact that we were very much in public. Meanwhile, mine was racing like I’d just run a marathon, a nervous excitement coursing through me that left me breathless. His hand tightened slightly on the back of my neck, as if he didn’t want to let go, as if he was silently telling me, Stay here, with me, in this moment.

When he finally pulled away, it was gradual, his lips lingering on mine for just a beat longer, as if he wasn’t quite ready to break the connection. His forehead rested gently against mine, our breaths mingling, and I realized I was gasping for air, like I’d forgotten to breathe during the kiss. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear the scattered murmurs around us. My mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but nothing seemed to make sense except for him. The feel of him. The warmth still radiating between us.

“You alright there?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, though there was a softness in his eyes that made my stomach flip. His thumb brushed along my cheek, tender and intimate, the gesture sending a ripple of warmth through me. The smug look on his face made it clear that he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on me.

I blinked, still trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “I… um… what?”

He grinned, clearly amused by my confusion. “I think I made my point,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, like we were sharing some kind of secret that no one else was privy to. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along my cheek before he finally stepped back, leaving me standing there, dazed and breathless, still reeling from the kiss.

The world around us started to come back into focus—people passing by, fans in the distance, the low hum of engines in the paddock. I could hear the murmurs, the whispers of those who had witnessed the entire thing. A few curious glances were thrown our way, but Daniel didn’t seem to care. In fact, he looked completely unbothered, as if kissing me in the middle of the paddock was the most natural thing in the world.

He winked at me, his grin still firmly in place as he turned toward the garage, his confidence as unshakable as ever. “You coming, love?” he called over his shoulder, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, like he hadn’t just completely scrambled my brain with one kiss.

I stood there for a moment, trying to gather my bearings, still feeling the heat from his kiss lingering on my lips, the way his hands had cradled my neck so gently but possessively. My fingers absently brushed against my mouth, still tingling from where his lips had been, and my pulse quickened all over again.

What just happened?

I tried to replay the moment in my head, tried to figure out how something so simple as a kiss had turned my entire world upside down in a matter of seconds. And why, despite the embarrassment of being kissed in front of so many people, did I already want it to happen again?

My heart was still pounding as I looked up to see Daniel waiting for me, hands casually tucked in his pockets, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He raised an eyebrow as if daring me to make the next move.

I swallowed hard, my thoughts still jumbled, but there was one thing I knew for sure: this day had just taken a turn I never saw coming.

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taglist: @gyarubunny

author's note: comment to be added to the taglist! i'll probably update after a few more fics about NEW DRIVERS (wow!)

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