#posted on Wattpad

[sharksscripting]

Stress and Relief

Bridget Von Ascheberg x Rhys Larsen

After attending many events, parties, weddings, even his own, Rhys Larsen was tired. Currently he was buried in paperwork, since becoming his wife's Prince Consort he hasn't had a break, Bridget intends to give him that.

OR

Bridget gives Rhys a blow-job for his hard work!

Word Count: 1.1k

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51154276

On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1393367855-𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝-𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬-stress-and-relief

Rhys Larsen say at his desk, mounds of paper stacked upon the hard wood. He sighed, it's been so long since he has been able to relax, let alone properly fuck his wife—The Queen, Bridget Von Ascheberg.

His hands slam down on the desk, crumpling another useless piece of parchment before tossing it in the waste bin.

"Something wrong?" A voice chimes from the doorway, Rhys instantly snaps out of his anger and meets Bridget's eyes. A sight that lights up his world, one he couldn't live without.

"No." The new Prince Consort replies, his tone is still grumbly from the workload.

"Liar." Bridget walks over, her blonde hair tied back into a high ponytail, an elegant light yellow—near white—dress on, the trail drags behind her as she strides over. "What's wrong?" She places her hands on Rhys' cheeks, cupping his face in her delicate, soft fingers.

The former bodyguard sighs, he leans into his wife's touch. "I'm stressed... I know it is nothing compared to your work as a literal Queen-"

"Rhys Larsen!" Bridget interrupts. "Usually I am the one complaining, mister." She kisses his forehead, her lipstick leaving a slight smear, Bridget chuckles then wipes it away with her thumbs after licking them. "I know something that can always help..." The queen states suggestively.

"Princess." He warns, fuck, how Bridget loves that word, the same term he's called her since they first met, she more than loved it, Bridget adored it when he called her that. "We can't right now."

"I never said we had to go full on, god only knows how long you take." She winks.

Rhys smirks. "What? When I fuck you for so long you're limp? Perhaps even not walking at all?"

Bridget's cheeks flush a light hue of pink, she nods. "Yes, that." Her hands remain on her husband's face. "May I help you now, Mr. Larsen?"

"Of course, princess."

Bridget sinks to her knees, sliding under the desk Rhys was working at, she trails her hands from his cheeks to his thighs in the process.

The Prince Consort watches her every movement, from the twitch in her lips as a smirk forms to her fingers clenching around his legs, he loved it. Bridget spreads Rhys' legs before unbuckling the belt he wore, she unlocks it before moving to the button and zipper. Bridget quickly undoes both, Rhys lifts his hips slightly and the Queen quickly pulls his boxers down along with the black pants.

"Don't stop your work for me, Mr. Larsen. It is important after all."

Fucking tease.

But, Rhys complied, he picked up another piece of parchment and begins to scan the report. Bridget and the rest of the Royal Court—Only Bridget, Rhys didn't actually care for the Court's opinion, he was after all, a Prince Consort. He had more power—decided that he would take over resident issues. However, most of the recent issues have been nothing but unreasonable complaints.

'This restaurant is too expensive!' That isn't the Court's problem.

'The roads have too many pot holes.' The roads are made of gravel or are newly paved.

'There are too many-'

Rhys has to suck in a breath as Bridget took his cock into her mouth, she quickly sucked the tip, sucking the pre off of the head. He fees his cock twitch, it only grows more hard by the second.

Her tongue slips into the tiny slit before she circles around the tip with her tongue, Bridget then slides him further into her mouth, Rhys' cock now halfway in her throat.

"Fuck, Princess." Rhys moans, his free hand gripping her blonde hair. "You're always so good for me, well..." A small chuckle escapes his lips. "Almost always."

Bridget says something along the lines of 'Whatever' against his cock but it only came out as 'bmphf'. However, that very noise sent a shiver down his spine, his grip tightens on her scalp.

"More, Bridget." Rhys groans, he begins to buck his hips when Bridget removes her mouth from his cock, he sends a small glare his wife's way.

"You're suppose to be working, Mr. Larsen." She smirks, voice hoarse.

"And you're suppose to be sucking my cock, princess." He growls.

Bridget's smirk falls, her cheeks fade into a maroon color. "Then get back to work and I will do my job."

Rhys glares but nods, he brings his eyes back to the papers and Bridget begins to bob her head on his cock, pre was now pouring down her throat, Rhys was so close to cumming it was inevitable, he had to think of the weirdest things not to shoot his load.

Rotten tomatoes.

Grizzly bears.

Table cloths.

But the objects weren't enough, especially not when Bridget brought her hands to his balls and began to toy and play with them, squeezing and lightly tugging. A loud moan passed his lips.

"Bridge- Fuck, Princess. I'm going to cum and you are going to take it, do you understand?" Rhys looks down at his wife, Bridget on her knees was a sight to see.

She moans around his cock, a confirmation that she understood.

Within a second his load shoots down Bridget's throat, filling her esophagus with his cum. The blonde swallows every single drop, she then slides his cock out of her mouth, it causes a loud 'pop' sound. Bridget uses her index finger to swipe the release that slipped out of her mouth, she then sticks her finger into her mouth and then she finally, truly, swallowed every drop.

She stumbles a bit as she stands, knees red from the hard wooden floor. Rhys' hands instantly fly to her hips, stabilizing her balance.

"You're not hurt, are you?" Rhys blurts out, worry filling his tone.

Bridget only giggles. "No, my love, I am not." She straddles Rhys' lap, kissing his neck then jaw before kissing his mouth. Her tongue slips into his mouth and Rhys tastes himself on her tongue. They moan in unison.

"Thank you, Princess."

"Of course, Mr. Larsen, are you less stressed?" Bridget smiles, kissing his cheek.

"Yes, you're magical, Bridget."

The blonde headed woman laughs, she smiles widely, a sight that makes Rhys' life worth while.

"Yes, I am."

"Thank you, truly, Bridget." Rhys adds. When she raises her eyebrow he continues. "For everything, for loving me for who I am, for... for being yourself around me, thank you, my love." He cups her cheeks before slamming their lips together.

She melts into the kiss and presses back, slipping her tongue back into his mouth to deepen the kiss. But this embrace was different from before, instead of hungry it was loving and sweet, every moment of the kiss was magical.

Rhys and Bridget truly were perfect for each other.

A/N: I realized that there are nearly zero Twisted Series fics, I plan to fix that! I hope you enjoyed this short one-shot! 💕

[l30n-m00ns70n3]

I figured I'd share the cover art I made for Solarchanged! Hope you like it!

[the-dragon-hearted]

Aight, chapter 13 of The Dragon Father on Wattpad will be posted tonight! I'm also trying to catch up on AO3 so I've just posted chapter 10!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61137889

The plan is to catch up on AO3 and then keep the schedule across both platforms. So, at least for now, there will be more frequent updates on AO3 but Wattpad will stick to one chapter every 28th of the month.

Just so y'all know!

[makenzie-ash]

Familiar (Dabi)

You looked at the dozens of photos scattered across your desk. The blurry ones were completely useless, but you had to keep them in the file for some reason—the others could lead to something, but nothing that could make a good case. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, your head was starting to hurt.

“Detective?” Your intern’s voice brought you back to reality. You looked at him. He had a worried look in his eyes. 

“Yes, Kenzo?” You smiled at him. He had been working for you for about two months now, so he had grown accustomed to your reverie. Though, he never seemed to get used to it. You were older than him by a couple of years, but he still seemed more mature sometimes. 

“It’s six o’clock. You usually leave at five, so I came to see if you were okay.”

“I’m alright,” you sighed, “go ahead and leave, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Whatever you say, Detective.” His eyes told you he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he smoothed down his shirt and turned towards the elevators, throwing a “good night” over his shoulder as he did so. 

You brought your attention to the pictures again. You knew exactly who was in the photos, a criminal named Dabi, but, conveniently, none of the photographs showed his whole face. None of them ever went past his nose. 

You started to sort the pictures into two piles, ones where you could see him clearly and ones where you couldn’t. This would be your last task for the night. You could feel your headache coming back.

The photo at the bottom of the stack was the clearest one you had. A victim of Dabi had taken it on her phone, but her thumb was covering most of his face. He had a smirk on his face, proud of what he was doing.

When you finish placing the photos into piles, you put the file into your desk drawer. Maybe a weekend away from your stressful work is just what you need to refresh your mind and come back to work with a clear head. You could even go to that new spa in town. One of your co-workers said that a massage was her go-to stress reliever, so what’s the harm in trying?

You grabbed your bag and walked to the elevators. Pushing the “1” button, you started to scroll on your phone. You came across an article, the headline in big bold letters… 

“Evasive Criminal Outsmarting the Police”

You didn’t click on it. You already knew it was about Dabi. The public was outraged that a dangerous criminal was running around and the police seemed to be doing nothing about it. The excuse “We don’t have enough evidence” was starting to sound like the police were lazy, and honestly, they were. You felt like you were the only one trying to find him. Kenzo was a big help, of course, but he can only do so much as an intern.

You put your phone back into your bag. You wanted a stress-free weekend and these articles weren’t helping.

***

As you walked out of the doors of the station, you could see the sun was already starting to set. It wasn’t dark yet, but it would be soon. You started your walk home.

Walking home was the best part of your day. It gave you time to decompress from work. You didn’t need to, but you always felt something was missing when you drove or took public transport.

You hadn’t been walking long before you began to sense someone behind you. It didn’t worry you at first, this was a public street after all. There were always pedestrians walking these streets, no matter the time. This shouldn’t bother you, but as you got farther away from when you originally noticed, you could tell they were still following you. You turned, but there was no one behind you.

You started walking forward again, a little faster this time. You dug around in your bag, pulling out a knife you carried as inconspicuously as you could. You could hear footsteps behind you, and they were getting closer.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and at the same time, you turned, knife in hand. You stopped when the knife was pressed up against your assailant's neck. Their hand froze in the air.

“Easy, killer.” A gravelly voice said. There was a smirk on his face, matching the one in his picture, one you had been chasing for months. You knew exactly who you were looking at, the unfinished portrait in all the photographs.

Dabi. The Evasive Criminal.

“What the fuck do you want?” You asked, snapping you out of your surprise.

“Just to chat, Detective.”

He had some nerve. He’s been running from the cops, from you, just to show up, wanting to “chat”. You should be the one doing the talking, not him. You pressed the knife harder against his skin, not enough to break it, but enough to hurt. He winced slightly, but the smirk returned to his face just as quickly.

“You’re bold. Following a lead detective home. I saw two police officers on my way here, I could scream and they’ll come running.” You didn’t actually believe that. Those police officers were too busy gossiping to worry about public safety.

“You wouldn’t.” His tone made it sound like his statement was the most obvious thing in the world.

“How would you know?” You glared at him.

“Because you want to know what I have to say. You’re the curious type,” he paused, looking you in the eyes, “you always have been.”

What did he mean, you always had been? He doesn’t know the first thing about you. This was a stranger to you. This is the first time you're even seeing him in person, right?

Before you registered what he was doing, he already had your knife in his hand, the pointed end pressed against your neck, and his other hand was on your shoulder, keeping you from backing away. You cursed yourself for getting distracted. You went through years of training for this not to happen. 

His smirk was gone, now being replaced by a nonchalant look, like he was bored.

“Can I talk now?”

You wanted to say no, to fight him off and yell for those officers, but you didn’t have your knife anymore. And the bastard was right too. You were curious. You nodded your head the best you could.

“Great,” he said, “How is it that you’ve been following me for a long time, and yet, you don’t know who I am?”

“I know who you are,” You huffed, “you’re Dabi.” Whatever game he was playing, you didn’t understand.

“Come on, Detective. Don’t be stupid.” He leaned closer.

You scoffed and slowly dragged your eyes across his face, studying him. Bits of black hair were falling onto his face, you could see a small amount of white near his scalp. He had three piercings on the side of his nose. His eyes were a bright shade of turquoise, and, thanks to how close he was, you could see small flecks of gray. They seemed to glow, despite the night growing dark.

The more you looked, the more you realized there was something familiar about him. His hair, his eyes, even the way he smirked. You racked your brain for where you could remember him from. There has to be something.

Then it hit you. Those eyes gave him away. You could remember seeing them years ago, though, then, they were more teary and sad. His hair was way lighter then, too. 

Your old friend, Touya, who died when you were thirteen.

He must have seen the recognition on your face because his eyes softened. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but a voice interrupted you.

“Hey!” 

As if he was never there, Dabi (Touya?) disappeared into a nearby alleyway, and the knife dropped to the ground. You looked up at the person who yelled. She stood in front of you, a concerned look on her face.

“Are you ok?” She asked.

“Um, yeah, I am.” You blinked, giving her an unconvincing smile. You could hear your voice shake.

“Are you sure? I can walk with you to the police-”

“No!” You said, probably a little too loudly. You cleared your throat. “I’m fine, really. I’ll handle it, thank you.”

“Ok…” She said, hesitantly turning to her friends. “Walk home safe, I guess.”

You watched as she walked. When she turned, you looked into the alleyway, but you could tell he was gone. He had gotten away from you again, but this time it was different. 

You weren’t only looking for Dabi, the evasive criminal anymore.

You were looking for Touya, your best friend.

[trashartgalleries]

A tiny section from a story I'm cookin' up

This is, like, the middle section of a chapter I just finished writing. I might post a chapter on here, but I won't be the one this section's from

The story's called "A Light in the Darkness" and it's inspired by mistanfishu's animation on TikTok (i saw it on YouTube)

-

         The inside of Theodor’s home looks as fancy on the inside as it did the outside; Benjamin was almost scared to touch anything or sit on one of the plush couches in the living room. There’s not a lot of decorations in the spacious room, other than a few house plants and the fireplace with a large (flat screen) television hanging on the wall above it. The hero manager could feel loneliness dancing in the lightly scented air around him; the vibe of the house doesn’t match Theodor’s personality, or the amount of his personality Benjamin’s seen thus far.

The two text each other any and every chance they get, even if it’s just to check on one another.

Ben accepts the glass of iced fruit juice Theo offers him before the taller sits down next to him.

“Like I said outside, before I help you look into the Mocker of Heroes… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The shorter nods his head, remaining silent while he waits for the taller to continue. Theo, “I’m not a hero. I’m a vigilante; that’s the reason you and I have never run into each other at the Grand Hall.”

Benjamin hums, “Then… why were you there the other day?”

“I figured you’d be there,” Theodor teases kindly, “you’re always at your job, you workaholic.”

The smaller man pouts slightly with blush staining his cheeks, “I am not,” he huffs out, “technically speaking, being a hero is a twenty-four hour job!”

That flew right over Theo head while he laughs softly at Ben, “I didn’t mean for that to upset you, my dear; I was just trying to tell you what I’ve noticed about you. … I’ve noticed a lot of things actually.”

Benjamin tilts his head to show his curiosity. Theodor, “You work hard, and you seem to enjoy what you do to some extent. Otherwise, you’re just willing yourself to continue down your career path. You’ve probably held out a helping hand to the majority of the heroes’ managers when things got hectic for them.” He smiles softly, “You deserve every break you earn, and all the rest you can get.”

“Th-thank you,” the shorter mused softly, “I um… oh!” he lightly punches the taller’s firm arm, “We’re supposed to be talking about the Mocker of Heroes, not me! … but,” he averts his gaze while moving his hand back to his lap, closing his orbs while setting his drink on the coffee table in front of his shins.

“Since you told me what you actually are… I think it’s fair that I share with you what happened about five years ago; the reason why I’m so tired all the time. It relates to Doc, so I was going to bring it up anyway.”

This caught Theodor/Wraith’s full attention, his expression relaxing as he turns head and body a bit to sit facing Benjamin. Ben, “About five years ago, there was a villain with powers we’d never went up against before. Heroes and vigilantes teamed with the hopes of takin him down, but… nothing they did was enough. Our city would’ve been done for if Nightengalen hadn’t used his full power… Nightengalen: Overdrive.”

“Is that what he, himself, calls it?” the larger man asked with a curious eyebrow cocked. The smaller shakes his head, “Nah; he never came up with an official name for the form himself, and different people call it different things. Using his full power was more than enough to take that villain down, but… it came at a price.”

Theo, “Exhaution?”

“And limitation. The amount of energy he needs to replenish is… far beyond anything I could calculate off the top of my head. Being a hero who always needed gets in the way of that, and Sun Beam thinks we’ll need Doc’s full power soon.”

“Does she think that the False Hero’s going to make a move?”

“Yes… and if he knows about what happened to Doc then, that might confirm her suspicions.”

Theodor hums as he leans back into the cushion of his couch, “I think she’s worrying over the wrong villain.”

Benjamin tilts his head curiously, “What makes you say that?”

“I caught a glimpse of those notes before I left,” he stands up, “follow me.”

Ben stands up and then follows Theo out of the living room and down a long hallway, walking until they reach a specific door. The taller man opens it then allows the shorter to enter the room first before doing the same, closing the door behind him. Theodor approaches the table at the center of the room then taps something underneath the edge of it to turn it on, “Plug your phone into this please; there’s a cord that connected to the side you’re standing at.”

Benjamin pulls up the picture he took of Sun Beam’s corkboard before connecting his phone to the projector table, blinking twice when a holographic version of a picture appears before his eyes. Theodor moves to stand (close) behind Ben the lifts one of his hands to unstack the holographic sticky notes to make it look neater, fully aware of the blush that’s taking over the smaller male’s features. It’s starting to creep down Benjamin’s neck.

“This note,” the larger says while enlarging it, “this note is the reason why I said what I did in the living room. The Mocker of Heroes likes to do as he pleases, and it looks like it mostly involves sparring against people who pique his interest.”

Ben shifts timidly, “Ni-Nightengalen has um… super strength and super speed, along with his powerful healing abilities, s-so I guess I have a better understanding of why he’s being targeted. I-if true.”

Theodor hums with his eyebrows raised in amusement, his gaze moving to the pen across the table. He doesn’t need it, but he could pretend that he could to make Benjamin bend over in front of him. With how close he is to the shorter, his crotch will be pressed firmly against Ben’s clothed ass.

“Excuse me,” the taller chimes before leaning forward to grab the pen with his other hand gently gripping the shorter’s waist to keep him in place. Blush takes over Benjamin’s entire body as his frame quivers underneath Theodor, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support.

“Fuck,” Theo/Wraith cursed mentally with his hungry gaze on the back of Ben’s neck. He the desire to leave a mark there is tempting, and the villain subconsciously sharpens his canine teeth into fangs the longer he stares. It didn’t help that the smaller’s plump rump rubbed against his rising erection with each little shift and tiny sway of the hips he does, sweat beginning to show on his reddened skin.

“Ah… are you going to um… grab it?”

“Hm?” Theo hummed as he snapped back to reality.

“The pen.” Benjamin timidly turns his head to look over his shoulder, “You could’ve let me move out of the way for you, or you could’ve just gone to the other side of the table to get it.”

“Ah… the pen….” Theodor moves off of the smaller with his hands raised and an innocent smile on his face, “I completely forgot what I needed it for!” his smile softens as his hands lower to the pockets of his sweatpants, “Why don’t we call it here for the day, and come back tomorrow to make a plan? The table’s already memorized the photo, so you don’t have to worry about reconnecting your phone.”

Ben shyly averts his gaze after turning to face Theo, “N-not tomorrow… the next time I’m free, I’ll let you know.”

The two blink twice when the shorter man’s phone began to ring, both knowing where the call’s coming from.

“Until next time then,” the taller sighs, “be sure to text me when you get home.”

[abreathlessplace]

"i wonder if we ever think of each other at the same time."

[2soulscollide]

free resources to write a novel in 2024

hello hello! it's me, rach!

as the new year approaches, many of us set goals and resolutions - myself included. one of my goals for 2024 is to write a novel (I've been procrastinating on this for quite a long time now). i assume that some of you might have the same goal, that's why I'm writing this post today.

over 2023 i've been releasing some freebies for authors just like me, so I thought I could compile my favorites in this post. hope you find this useful :)

1) the writer's workbook

this workbook has over 60 exercises to help you develop characters, scenarios, etc. if you're ever stuck, I'm pretty sure this workbook will be your best friend.

2) author's corner (notion template)

this is the most downloaded freebie in my shop! it is a notion dashboard with everything you need to organize your writing and has some templates included (like scrivener)!!

3) another notion template

this one has two themes you can choose from: cottage-core and dark academia. they're very similar to the previous template, but this one is more recent and I added some new features. feel free to explore both and pick the one you like the most.

4) the author's journal

this is a cute printable with 20 pages that will help you stay on track and manage your social media accounts as a writer who shares their work online. you can also register what you're currently writing and your personal research and resources.

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this is a 6-page printable for you to fill out and plan your book easily and effectively.

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this is a simple excel sheet, but it is very effective for keeping track of your tasks & word-count of your novels. also, it is 100% customizable to your liking!

that's all for now! feel free to explore my gumroad shop where I have plenty of freebies to grab! also, don't forget to subscribe so that you never miss any opportunity to get a goodie for free :)

hope this post was useful!

have a nice day,

rach

[aphrmoosun]

ㅤ۫ ⠀⠀✿֔ᮬ᳘ ׅ ㅤ۫ ⠀Iria [97] she / her • Spain _ fat bi woman

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ׅ writer, editor, translator, fanfic-enjoyer ┄

OPEN FOR MORE

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﹙📚 ᪲﹚ masterlist ۪ ۪

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[janiehellion]

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐔𝐩 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 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.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Minor Injuries ⋮ Vaginal Fingering ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Semi-Public ⋮ Rough Sex ⋮ Painplay ⋮ Marking

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 14.441 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S05E13 & S05E14 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: 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.

[sunnypopoki]

— 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ; P.4

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘈𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺. 𝘖𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.3 / Р.5

Days passed and it was those days that depression started to kick in. While you knew you struggled with basic anxiety and moments of sadness, what came the following days after the store incident felt otherworldly. And not in a good way.

Kieran was busier than normal. This said a lot because he was always busy, but now you were starting to notice minor details that worried you. Busted knuckles, a cracked lip, and a worsening mood. He was beyond stressed and you hadn't the faintest idea of why, but because of this, you've done your best to avoid him entirely.

You believed not talking to him as much as why you were depressed. Among all your other suspicions and worries, everything started to turn downhill when you picked up on the fact some of his clothes had specks of blood and his knuckles were busted. It was one of the few things you tried asking him about. While you avoided the arousing suspicion of cheating, your heart dropped thinking that he was doing something else like getting hurt somewhere. Whenever you asked why his hands were hurt, he brushed it off, said he had a moment of anger, and took it out on a wall.

You didn't believe him. He knew you didn't believe him too. However, you were running out of energy to continue asking and he was running out of energy to continue lying.

You were starting to question if something else was going on. His busted hands were odd but the way he was talking to you was even odder. He seemed paranoid about you going anywhere alone. A good example was that you tried driving to a doctor's appointment yesterday and he was adamant about driving you himself. He wasn't there to drive you. He stopped everything he was doing just to pick you up and take you himself.

Were you selfish for wanting him to worry about you? Yes, you were concerned for him, but there was this small spark of glee each time he rushed to take you places and to see if you were okay. He was finally paying attention to you, even if that attention stemmed from something else, even if you had that gut feeling he'd eventually lose interest and ignore you. What a horrible way to think. It wasn't like you didn't care about what he was going through, but his attention made you feel... better. But it also made you feel worse.

"Are you almost ready?"

He looked up when you peeked into the bedroom. He was in the middle of putting on his belt and he smiled ear to ear. Dark bags were under his eyes and the cut on his cheek from yesterday was slowly healing. He refused to tell you where he got it and each time you asked, he changed the subject entirely. You hated it when he did that. Kieran was good at making others unaware when he changed subjects, even you. You only realized until later that he did. By then, it was too late to ask again.

"Yes," he finished putting on his belt and then rolled up his sleeves, "do I look weird? You're staring at me again."

You couldn't help but smile. "You're handsome as always, I'm just worried about the cut on your cheek. Is it feeling better?"

"It's okay."

You opened your mouth to respond but Kieran was next to you in seconds. Ever since the ordeal with the two men outside the store, he's been extra touchy. And extra means extra. He would hold onto you for as long as he could before he was forced to let go or you moved him off you. It was as if he couldn't get enough. Your face burned when he twisted his head to the side and nipped at your ear, smiling against your skin.

"You're beautiful," he confessed, "it makes me want to keep you here with me. We could just skip this whole outing and cuddle on the couch, or we can take a nap in bed..."

As if that would work out. You were surprised he was heading out with you in the first place. Taking you to the doctor was one thing, but going out for hours was another. Whenever you told him that an old friend from high school wanted to meet up with you and chat, he didn't want you to go alone, even if it meant he'd likely miss his suspicious phone calls.

"We have to go. I already promised."

It was even more suspicious that he wanted to go with you to meet this old friend. Especially considering their track record of insults when they used to hang out together. You squinted at him.

"What?" he tilted his head.

"I'm surprised just you agreed to go. You've never liked Danny."

Daniel Evergrown, better known as "Danny", was a boy you went to high school with. He was the opposite of Kieran back then; straight A's, valedictorian, and a genius when it came down to business. He was your friend back in middle school when your parents wanted you to connect with other children. Particularly of higher status, which Danny was, with both of his parents being surgeons. He stayed your friend throughout your teen years. The two of you split after graduation like most friends did.

You never thought he'd reach out and ask for you to catch up with him. It was even more shocking that he invited you to meet up at a fancy restaurant. Even if he was raised in a rich household, he never enjoyed fancy places to eat. He always said that they made him sick to his stomach.

Kieran bared his teeth in a bright smile and chuckled. "I didn't like him in high school. That was a while ago. He probably has changed since then."

"You never told me why you disliked him, you know?"

He tilted his head and ran his hands up your back, trailing your spine with his fingers, then grabbing the back of your neck to scratch tenderly. His teeth nipped at your jaw when he leaned down. His breath was hot and needy, and he cradled the back of your head. "Hm... you couldn't realize he had a crush on you back then?"

A second passed before you busted out laughing. Everything about that was preposterous. Danny? Having a crush on you? That was impossible! He was so obsessed with his grades in school that you doubted he loved anything else. While his parents also forced him to have the best grades in school like yours did, he actually enjoyed learning, unlike you who hated it.

"No way he had a crush on me!"

"He did. It's not my fault that you're oblivious. You were oblivious to my crush on you for the longest time," he huffed with a small pout. "I gave you a kiss on the cheek once and you questioned me right after like I committed a crime."

"That's because you hated me!" you gaped, pointing at him, "you always used to do nice things and then prank me right after. You even made fun of my accent once and called me a leftover, moldy pizza box."

He scoffed. "That was a long time ago. I love your accent now."

"So you didn't like it at first?"

"Forgive me, Котик. I was a dumb teenager who hated anything American."

"You still hate many things Americans do," you rolled your eyes. "I could list a whole ton of them off the top of my head."

"Americans are very touchy and smiley with people they don't know. I only want you to touch me," he leaned in, "and smile at me, kiss me, and talk to me. Everyone else can go rot."

There were times when you swore everything was just in your head. Unlike the game you always played when he avoided eye contact, you didn't take three gulps of breath, you merely held it and stared at him. He looked like he could only lean on you. That was when you started to melt, when he took your breath away and made your heart flutter.

"You know, when you talk like that, you sound obsessed."

His eyes crinkled around the edges. "Can't I be?"

When he talked like this, it made you feel special. Wanted. Desired. Your throat swelled up and heat spread across your cheeks. Looking away, you cleared your throat. You never knew how to respond when he acted like this. It always left you speechless. He acted like this in high school too, muttering how you were the only person he ever wanted near him. That he was hooked on you like a drug.

"That's unhealthy thinking."

"But you like it," his throat rasped and you shivered when his hands raked down your sides to squeeze your waist again, "you're not good at hiding what you like, Котик."

"Oh shut up," you grumbled.

"Mm, kiss me and I might."

You didn't get a chance to respond before his lips smashed against yours. The breath that wasn't even in your lungs was knocked even farther away, your back arching into him while he pulled you closer. He couldn't keep his hands off of you. Your back, neck, arms, waist. He kissed you like he was starving. The heat under your cheeks worsened. By the time he pulled away, you felt dizzy.

His eyes sparkled. "You're not supposed to hold your breath, Котик.”

"I—no—shut it! We need to leave or we will be late."

He raised his hands in defense. "Yes, yes."

You hated it when he embarrassed you like that. Not that he tried to embarrass you on purpose, but he did like to tease you when he noticed you got shy. It was moments like that when you realized that you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. Hooked on him like a drug you'd never be able to get rid of, that was why ever suspicion you had hurt so much. It made sense why you loved him so much. Even when things got hard, he was still your Kieran. You heated up at the thought.

You slipped from his grasp and scurried away. You grabbed your bag from the back of the couch in the living room and ran to the front door, listening to Kieran walk right after you. You wrapped your scarf around your neck.

"Want me to drive? Or you?" he asked.

"You."

He chuckled. He was a better driver than you even if you never wanted to admit it, plus if you had to be honest, you never enjoyed driving. As you two headed out to the car, you yelped when a hand smacked your ass. Whipping around seething, you hissed at him. Your face was even hotter than before.

"Kieran!"

He looked like a kid who got his hand caught in the cookie jar. Grinning cheekily, he slipped into the driver's seat, giggling like a boy. Your heart swelled up and he turned on the radio. Paranoid or not about something, he looked to be in a good mood today. Maybe it was because he was going out with you, maybe he heard good news earlier in the day, you weren't entirely sure. But his giddy smile filled your heart with butterflies.

The heat was quickly turned on. You held your hands in front of the vents and hoped the air would melt away the cold bite in your fingers.

"Where are we meeting Danny at again?" he asked, glancing in the rearview mirror as he backed up.

"A restaurant called 'Papillon'. It's closer to the city."

Kieran raised an eyebrow. The whole reason you asked for him to dress up nicer was because it was a four-star restaurant, and while it didn't have a dress code, it was a fancy place. It's been a while since you wore a dress. You weren't fond of dresses, you were always forced to wear them as a kid, so you had a natural distaste for them now.

He was dressed in a simple white dress shirt and nice black pants. His shoes were shiny and his hair was let loose down his shoulders. His tattoos peeked out from his collar and sleeves. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and fixed the GPS, not brave enough in his memory to drive there on his own. He placed his other hand on your thigh when he was done.

It was refreshing that you weren't ignoring him anymore. It was even more refreshing to see him smiling so much, not stressed or horribly tired after he came home late. But of course, not ignoring him came with a price nowadays. You couldn't ask any questions because he might just ignore them. Not about his cuts, his job, his life. You ignored the bitter taste in your mouth.

"We have to be here in 30 minutes, right?"

"Yes, so there's no reason to rush. We have enough time," you nodded.

"Mmm."

You opened your mouth to say something. Anything to switch your mind off your depressing thoughts, but your prayers were heard. Not in a good way. You distracted by the radio, which was blasting the news, the news reporting sounding strangely serious for the middle of the day.

"Three people have been found deceased today on route nine. They were discovered at sunrise, around 7:00 AM, and their names are Rhonda Layne, Roman White, and Garret Wood. All of them are between the ages of 30 and 35."

"Holy hell," you mumbled.

Now you weren't usually interested in the news or gossip, but this was so sudden that it felt like a slap to the face. Route nine was surprisingly close to your house and a well populated road, not a place where you'd randomly find dead bodies strewn about. Maybe an accident, but found? Kieran glanced at the radio as well, pursing his lips in displeasure. He almost looked disgusted. You didn't blame him, hearing about three dead bodies being found didn't sit well with the mind or stomach, especially knowing how close it was to your house.

The newscaster continued to ramble on about the situation. You turned it up to listen.

"From what we have gathered from the police department, we have been told that this might as well be a murder case. No suspects have been taken into custody. If you or anyone you know has a tip on what happened, please call the number—"

"Murder? So like a serial killer?"

Bile gurgled in your gut. What if those tattooed men you met a couple days ago were the killers? What if someone else was? What if you got kidnapped and murdered that day just because you decided to walk at night? You weren't a strong person. If someone came after you with the intent to kill, you didn't think you'd make it out alive in any scenario. In fact, you'd probably rush your own death. You'd rather die immediately instead of a prolonged end.

Kieran's hand squeezed your thigh. His fingers kneaded into your flesh, massaging gently. Glancing over, you saw him watching you from the corner of his eye as he drove down the road. He looked worried.

"It'll be okay, Котик. The police department will take care of it and catch them," he rubbed circles on your skin. "They won't touch a single hair on your head, I swear it."

"I know. But like—I don't know, what if they hurt you?"

He blinked. "Me?"

"Sometimes you leave late," you swallowed the sudden dryness in the back of your throat, "what if they find you and hurt you? What if they kill you and dump—"

He smiled warmly. He squeezed your leg so tightly that you were sure that his hand would imprint there forever. It was some comfort for your pounding heart. He almost looked amused, but you shook the thought away, knowing that he didn't take joy from seeing you worried. You had to be seeing things. He was never the type to get amused when others were hurt. He was either indifferent or annoyed with the entire situation, sometimes disgusted.

"I won't get hurt, Котик."

"But you could.”

"Hmm," he paused, "then I'll start staying home more to be safe. I'm sure my clients will understand."

Your jaw almost dropped. Out of all the things he could have said, you didn't expect that. Your heart soared but you quickly tied it down. No, why should you be excited that he was forced to stay home because of some dangerous threat? Why were you excited for his freedom to be limited? Deep down, you knew why. If he was fine with staying home, then that meant it would be less likely he was cheating on you. It meant he wouldn't be meeting up with some woman named 'Sam'.

Maybe you were a bad person. Being grateful for the situation yet the whole situation was caused by three innocent people being found dead. Guilt swamped your head and you looked out the window at the houses and businesses you passed by. You were selfish, weren't you? Some pig that deserved to rot. Maybe your parents were right—

"(Y/N)?"

Your head snapped to look at him. He looked serious.

"You have that look on your face."

"What look?"

"Like you're ashamed of something."

Like being punched in the gut, your face twisted up, and you quickly looked away. There were some things about Kieran that you had a love/hate relationship with. His ability to read you was one of them. He always hit the nail straight on the head and he never pulled back his punches. You felt his eyes burning into the side of your head and he sighed.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asked, his voice so gentle, you almost believed you were made out of glass. "You don't have to tell me, but I am here for you, Котик."

"...I just feel like a bad person sometimes."

His hand shifted and his fingers found yours, holding your hand tightly. When he spoke, he sounded pained, as if he was taking on all of your burdens onto his shoulders. "Do you think I would have fallen in love with a bad person?"

"Well, no--"

"So why do you think you're a bad person?" he took a deep breath. "Out of all the people in school, you were the only one who didn't bully or treat me differently because of where I came from. You were the only one who stood up for me when I was targeted by assholes. Every day, you worked so hard, and even when you had bad days, you never took it out on someone else."

Kieran sounded so sincere. He was devout as if he was speaking to a goddess, not just a random woman he decided to make his wife. Your throat closed up and he quickly brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles and mumbling sweetly against them.

"You feel like a bad person. That doesn't make you one."

You knew what he was saying. Emotions weren't a fact and they didn't make things true. As someone who was studying the brain and human behaviors just for your future job, you knew that you couldn't count your emotions as a judgment of your character. But that was hard. It was hard to like yourself when you had such... nasty selfish thoughts sometimes. You gnawed on your bottom lip and glanced at him.

"...thank you."

"Always, my Котик."

He switched the radio station to some light-hearted music right after. The hand that held yours only left when he had to turn, but quickly grabbed yours again. His pep talk did make you feel a little better but you weren't out of the woods entirely. Guilt continued to look over your shoulders with a suffocating glare, burning holes into the back of your head, staring down every selfish that you've ever had.

Just think about something else. That has to be easier than that.

You let your brain wander to more serious topics. There had been gang activity recently, right? At least that was what you heard recently. From the cashier lady mentioning kidnappings, and some people at the university talking about gangs, and then now there were the three murders; the idea didn't seem so far off.

It was even more odd when you thought about how Kieran has been coming home hurt. Now, you didn't expect him to be in a gang, you didn't think someone like him had enough 'teamwork' in him to do that. But what if he was in danger? Or stuck in something he didn't know how to get out of? What if he was being threatened by someone? You examined the cut on his cheek. It was healing but it was a little red around the edges, a little tender. It'd probably ache if you touched it. He didn't have a black eye so it wasn't like he got it from being punched.

It could have been an accident. Maybe I am overthinking it.

It was just odd to think about. All these started happening around the same time he started coming home with busted knuckles and cuts. You couldn't be the only person who thought that was odd, right? You chewed on the edge of your tongue and debated on egging on a conversation to see his reaction. But what if it backfired? You weren't sure what you'd do if you found out he was involved with something dangerous. Obviously, you'd confide in the police, that's a no-brainer.

Then there was the issue of if he was involved personally without being threatened. No, no. There was no possible way that he was involved like that. Kieran was violent at times, but he was only violent to people who deserved it, people who harmed you or others. He wouldn't go out of his way to do crime. He wouldn't do it even if it was in the way. He preferred peace over stupid chaos.

Clearing your throat, you decided to bring up a small conversation. Just to see his reaction. That was all.

"You know, now that I am thinking about it, what if it's a gang or something? A sweet cashier at the store mentioned kidnappings to me when I was leaving and others at Uni have talked about gangs. Plus three murders just found out of nowhere? Isn't that a little odd to you?"

He pulled down a highway that led straight to the city. He took a second before he responded. "I don't know, I haven't heard much about it. Though I can tell that you're worried about it."

"Well, I'm not worried, it's just..."

"It's okay to be interested in something. Especially since it happened close." Kieran let his arm rest in his lap and grabbed the steering wheel from below. The sigh that dragged from his lips was relaxed, his eyes focused ahead on the highway. "I'm just worried you'll get hooked on this and make yourself paranoid. You did that once with a crime documentary when we were dating in high school."

"I won't make myself paranoid!" you retorted, "plus that was a long time ago."

Kieran chuckled. "True."

"You just have to be cautious! It could be something worse than a gang."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced over. He looked skeptical, as if he was trying to read your mind and had a gut feeling whatever you were thinking of wasn't plausible at all. "And what's worse than a gang of criminals?"

"Uh, like, the mafia?"

"Mmm. You think there's a mafia family on the outskirts of the city where we live?" he asked. Turning the blinker on, he turned onto another road. "And that they killed three people and left their bodies on the side of the road?"

"I mean, it could happen!" you rebuked.

The car stopped at a red light, leaving him asking, "And you're thinking about the Italian mafia?"

"Well any type of mafia! Like the.. American mafia.. or something!"

Kieran looked at you like you grew two heads. "I think, Котик, you've been reading too many articles online. A gang would be more likely than the mafia. Wouldn't the mafia hide all evidence, not leave it out? Like the movies, you know."

Well, when he put it like that, you almost did sound crazy. The mafia sounded a lot more serious than gang rivalries or debts in your head. From all the movies you showed, the mafia always seemed clean and cut to the T with how they did things. Movies weren't real life but you knew that men with debt weren't the same as criminals who happened to be business men.

"The police will catch them," Kieran comforted, "I just pray you don't start playing detective. Gang or not, I don't want you getting too swamped up in something dangerous."

"Of course I won't. I'm not an idiot who wants to throw away their life."

The conversation didn't continue much after that. The air seemed awkward, but only for you, as he started humming and bobbing his head to the music as he drove. There was a small smile on his lips. Whatever he was thinking about, it wasn't about murder or gangs, because he looked so cheery that it almost reminded you of a giggly high schooler. There was no reason for you to ruin his bad mood. You trusted him enough to tell you if he was in something dangerous like that. Ha, how funny. You could trust him over that, but had a hard time trusting if he was cheating on you or not.

Why, didn't that say a lot about you, didn't it?

You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. The car was warm, the glass was cold, and his hand was perfect in yours. Danny would be shocked to hear that you married Kieran. None of your high school friends were invited to your wedding since it was strictly family and you doubted he heard about it, especially since he was away on the other side of the country when Kieran proposed. You couldn't wait to see his face.

There were some parts of you that wanted to dwell on the bad. Thinking about the good made you anxious, as if something bad would happen and ruin everything. You wanted to be prepared—but what would happen? The two of you were just going out to lunch to meet an old high school friend. Kieran's pep talk made you feel a little bit better about yourself too.

But should you feel better about yourself? That didn't change the selfish thoughts you had earlier. Feeling excited he'd stay home with you more just because something bad happened to other people. Of course, you weren't happy something bad happened to anyone, but you were crude enough to have a sliver of excitement in a bad situation.

Just don't think about it, you thought. Think about it later. Just enjoy your time now. Stop self sabotaging.

The GPS signaled for the car to turn left and beeped when it arrived at its destination. Luckily for you, it didn't seem to be packed with people, and you were glad that Danny scheduled for the meet up to be at a time that wasn't close to rush hour or after work hours.

The car pulled into the parking lot beside the restaurant. You glanced at the city line that wasn't far away, the skyscrapers stretching up to the clouds, and the distant plane that carved through the clouds. You popped out of the car and shut the door behind you. The restaurant you were going to was three stories tall, each floor with seating. There were a couple of people on the balconies eating and you debated on how insane they were to eat out in the middle of winter. At least it wasn't snowing today.

Anxiety started to jitter your bones and you already began to blame it on the cold. Every second was another second your brain would bounce between thoughts, not giving you enough chance to breathe. One moment you felt excited, then guilty, then worried, and now you were anxious. Why? You weren't anxious before? So why did you suddenly want to throw up?

Kieran stepped out of the car, locked it, and held out his hand. You noticed the healing scabs from his busted knuckles and the scratches over the top of his hand. Nonetheless, you took his hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. He noticed your anxiety and tilted his head. "Are you having mean thoughts again?"

"No, no, just... normal stuff."

His hand squeezed yours and pulled you into his embrace. He kissed the crown of your forehead and his breath tickled. In his normal fashion, he said, "I'll be with you. If you want to leave at any time, just tap my leg, mmkay?"

You nodded. Times lately hadn't been the greatest, but you were grateful for this one good day. For once in a long time, Kieran was in a good mood and all your worries seemed to fade away when he held you.

"Be nice to Danny," you teased, "we haven't seen him in ages."

Kieran shrugged with his signature, charming grin. You gave him a look and he snorted, saying, "I'll try my best."

You had a gut feeling that he wouldn't try his best. Not at all.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LINKS:

— Discord Server

— Wattpad

— Quotev

[ Read P.5 Here ]

[thatstolenpayal]

ngl but if i were a boy i would have been the best boyfriend

[l30n-m00ns70n3]

Solarchanged || Book 1

A Solarballs AU || Chapter 5 || Mars Ain't the Kind of Place to Raise Your Kids

-------------------------------------------------------

James didn't know what was going on - he must be going insane. First all the moons and planets and even the Sun were talking and they wouldn't shut up. Now all the planets, the Sun, and Earth's moon are not responding to anything - they were just balls of rocks and gas floating in space. He really didn't know how to react, and now Mars's moons, Phobos and Deimos, were freaking out. It was getting annoying; He could feel a headache coming on.

A persistent ringing shook him out of his thoughts. Pulling out his phone, he looked at the caller ID, upon seeing it was his wife, he let out a sigh of relief. He assumed that this was about the children she took in during his absence.

"Hey, honey."

"Hey dear. How are you?"

"I'm good. The kids want to meet you."

"Really? Put them on the line, I'd love to meet them."

"Alright, I'll put Luna on the phone. I need to go get Terra from their room."

A rustling can be heard over the phone.

"Uh... Hi..?" A very familiar voice said over the phone.

"You're....Luna? Earth's moon?"

"Astrodude?!"

"How'd you become human? Are the others with you? Wait- Marie said she took in two children. Who is with you? Do you know where the others are?"

"It's just me and Earth here... Wait- THE OTHERS ARE ON EARTH TOO?!"

"Well, I'm not sure, but they're in the same state as you and Earth..."

"Well-" Luna started before pausing.

"Hold on, Mrs. Solar wants me to put the phone on speaker." Luna pauses, presumably turning the phone on speaker as he said he would. "Okay, it's on speaker now."

"We'll, uh. Hey everyone!"

"Astrodude...? Is that you?" Another familiar voice asked.

"Hello, Earth."

"Babe? What's going on? Why are they calling you Astrodude?"

James let out a loud groan. "This will be a long explanation. You might want to sit down." And with that, he started a long explanation of his experiences in space, Luna and Earth jumping in when their input is needed.

// 1 Hour Later //

The family sat there silently, the mother and youngest child processing the new information.

"That's.... a lot to take in.."

"Mhm... I understand if you want us to leave now-"

"Terra- Earth?- You can stay. I won't kick you out just because you're not originally human. Physically, you're a child, and I won't let a child be on the streets." Marie said, making James smile; his wife was so sweet.

"Thank you, Mrs. Solar."

"There's no need to thank me, Luna."

"But there is! I don't know how Earth would handle being kicked out- especially if we got separated because of that! He'd probably try to kill himself like he did when Venus and Mars stop talking to hi-" Luna rambled, taking a sharp gasp when he realized what he said, "I'm so sorry, Earth! I didn't mean too-"

All James could hear after that was static, realizing the implications of that.

("Hey, hey, Luna, it's okay! I'm not mad! They'd figure it out soon enough!"

"But-"

"Is that why we were heading onto the Sun a few months ago?"

"I'm sorry! I was just-"

"Terra you don't need to apologize!")

"You what?" Was James could say when he returned to his senses.

"I'm sorry!" Earth repeated, "I wasn't thinking right! It was just- Everything was just too much! It hurt! I'm sorry!"

"Hey! Hey, it's- Well it's not okay, but- ugh, I'm not good with words. Look, what you did was reckless and stupid, but I'm not mad at you. I know humans have not been treating you right. We've been harming you for centuries, and we've been toxic. I'm sorry for the way we've been treating you."

"It's okay! There's no need to apologize! I'm your planet. You just need to focus on living!"

"Earth! It's not okay!" Luna cried, "You- you're in constant pain and-"

"Shhh... Luna, it's okay! Look, I'm not in pain right now, see!"

"Oh, Terra..."

"I'm fine Mo- Mrs. Solar. Can we not talk about this?"

"Alright... This has been one crazy phone call.."

"That's for sure." The man concurred with his wife, "Hey, isn't it pretty late down there?"

"Yeah," the woman dryly chuckled as Luna and Earth yawned, "Let's get you two to sleep. We will discuss this tomorrow. You're still children, at least physically, and children need their sleep. Bye, honey."

"Bye." The man said, ending the call. After which, he went to his bed, deciding to try and sleep. This was not what he expected when he got a call from his wife.

Ugh, this will make things so much more complicated.

[the-dragon-hearted]

Oh my fucking god

This lil shit - THIS BEAST - took me four months to write, scratch that, the last scene took me four months to write but finally, FINALLY the writing block is over. OH my god. I am NEVER writing another emotionally charged scene with Zeref in it. That's a lie - Also, hello, I guess this tells you guys how far along in the entire rewrite - not far haha.

BUT it's movin along now!

[makenzie-ash]

Two's Silent Company (Tomioka Giyuu)

Tomioka could hear the loud bangs from the fireworks and the muffled sounds coming from the party he’d run away from. What seemed like hundreds of new adults crowded into an apartment for New Year’s sounded like a disaster to him, but his friend dragged him here so he wasn’t alone tonight. Being alone sounded like heaven to him right now.

He decided to go to the roof of the apartment building. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed, but he didn’t care. He climbed the stairs, debating whether or not to text his friend, just to let him know. He shook his head. When they walked through the door, his friend brought him here and left him, so he didn’t want to talk to him right now.

When he got to the entrance to the roof, he pushed the door, expecting it to be locked. But it swung open easily. He was confused, of course, but didn’t think much of it. Maybe the building managers just forgot to lock it. He felt the cold air lifting his hair as he stepped onto the roof. Finally, he can be alone.

“Oh.” A voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. He looked up at the owner of the soft tone, to see you. He’s seen you around campus, so he knows of you, but you’ve never spoken more than two words with each other. Maybe a hello here and there, but never enough to count as a conversation.

You just looked at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Then, slowly, you moved your jacket from where it rested and gestured for him to sit down. He thought for a minute and walked forward, swinging his legs over the ledge, being extra careful. He saw an untouched bottle in between them. He wasn’t quite sure what, but it was probably wine if he had to guess.

Nothing else was said. The only sounds were the occasional fireworks and the sounds of the party, which were louder thanks to the open balcony door of the apartment. He pulled out his phone and checked the time.

11:59

He’d made it to the roof just in time. Just one more minute and he could leave this party. You were silent next to him, looking at the stars and fireworks that began to wind down with the night. Your face was unreadable to him, it always was. That stoic look must’ve taken years to perfect.

After the last firework, Tomioka knew the night was ending. He could hear the patrons of the party counting down on the TV, their voices carrying even though they were a few floors down from the roof. The owner of the apartment was definitely going to have some noise complaints in the morning. He assumed you heard them as well. You were counting down with your fingers. He quietly counted down, as well.

5

He never would’ve guessed this would happen. You and him, sitting here, watching fireworks but not speaking a word to each other. Just enjoying the company, as if you’d been friends for years.

4

You were looking at him, he could see you out of his peripheral. When he turned to face you as well, he could see you were playing with a piece of your hair, rolling it between your fingers. A habit you had when you were thinking of something, he’s seen you do it before. He wondered what you were thinking.

3

You continued to stare at each other, still not saying anything. Have you always been this close? He leaned closer without thinking. He just knew he wanted to be close to you. You didn’t back away.

2

He could feel your breath on his cheek. If either of you leaned even just a little bit forward, you would be touching. 

1

A crash interrupted the two of you. You both jumped backward and looked towards the noise. The unopened bottle of wine had fallen onto the roof and broke. One of you must’ve hit it while you were distracted. Tomioka looked at you and opened his mouth to say something, but his phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw his friend was calling him. He shot you an apologetic look, though, you most likely hadn’t seen it since you were facing forward again. 

“Hello?”

“Yo, man, where are you?” His friend slurred. How much has he had to drink since Tomioka left?

“I’m on the roof.”

“The roof? Why are you up there?”

Before he could answer, there was another voice on the other side of the phone. The other voice sounded equally as drunk as his friend.

“Hey, Tomioka, a buddy of mine wants to go to another party down the road, you coming?”

“Uh, no, I’m ok. I think I’m just going to go home.”

“Your loss, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomioka said his goodbyes and put his phone back into his pocket. Not knowing what to do, he started to pick up the broken pieces of glass. You glanced at him. When he saw what he was doing, you started cleaning as well. He held his hands out to you, so you put the pieces you had picked up into his hands, careful not to cut him. 

He looked around and spotted an ashtray near the door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now. He dumped the glass into the tray, carefully brushing his hands together to get all the glass off.

He turned and saw you standing, throwing your jacket over your shoulders. The silence you two had shared now became awkward. Should he say something? What would he even say? Apologize, maybe? What would he even apologize for? Would that just make it more awkward? Instead of saying anything, he gestured towards the door exiting the roof.

“Um, I’m gonna-”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll,” he paused to take a breath, “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Tomioka, I’ll see you later.” You played with the hem of your shirt, not meeting his eyes.

He didn’t move. He wanted to say something else, anything else. He knew he didn’t want to leave yet. By the looks of it, you didn’t want to either. But, you had the whole night, you both said nothing.

“Bye.” He opened the door and started down the steps. He could hear you exhale from behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He knew his face was bright red and looking at you would make it worse. 

When did he start looking at you like this? He couldn’t recall. He’s never felt like this with anyone before, so why you? Someone he has barely interacted with? His brain had to be fooling him. You were pretty, sure, but was he really that shallow to fall in love with looks alone?

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. No, he wasn’t shallow. He knew he couldn’t just fall for looks. Shinobu was pretty, but he never felt any kind of attraction with her. So why you?

He was so confused.

[abreathlessplace]

"tell me it was real, because it was real to me."