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onyourhyuck · 1 year

Text

LOWLIFE. | L.DH

— Prologue: “Dear diary, today Lee Haechan looked so fucking hot coming out of the boy’s changing rooms shirtless and I can’t believe how quickly I got turned on staring at his bare stomach.” — He pauses turning to you holding up the red book. “Oh y/n and you claim to be innocent, then what is all of this?”

— Summary: Where your childhood enemy found your diary one day where you wrote all your dirty thoughts about Lee fucking Haechan.

— Genre: Childhood enemies. Smut dni. Haechan is mean, cruel and horrible to y/n but she somehow likes it. Haechan treats y/n like she’s his pet. Hard Dom x submissive y/n. Edging and overstimulation. Mention of sex toys being used in public. It’s pretty filthy. Haechan doesn’t give Y/n a break. He sorta blackmails her, but everything is consensual. Minors dni. Manipulative Haechan. Y/n peeks and stalks Haechan secretly, she watches him change in the boys changing rooms.

— Notes:

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There is one secret no one knows about you except piece of paper all jumbled inside a journal. Two years worth of research and your dark secrets. You are known as the quiet girl at your school. You don’t have many friends and you prefer your own company than yourselves shared with others.

You’re a pretty girl, the innocent type that looks lost all the freaking time. You wear thick black glasses, your hair is mostly straight and down with your bangs out. You try to stay out of everyone’s eyes because of your shyness.

But one thing no one knows is that you have the biggest crush on your childhood enemy Lee fucking Donghyuck, infamously known as Haechan at your school.

You weren’t sure why you started developing these sudden feelings for the boy when he’s done nothing but completely ignore you unless he wants to bully the fuck out of you with his annoying group of friends.

You see you and Donghyuck used to be friends. Quite close friends actually up until you both started going to middle school you lost your friendship and Donghyuck turned on you suddenly. He became friends with another group of people. Leaving you all alone. But nonetheless you remain the same.

He started doing all things to you because he knew you were weak and defenceless he also knew you cared for him so it made this twice as more thrilling for the sadistic boy.

You’re leaving your classroom soon to leave the high school. You’re a senior who’s going through the terrible exam trauma season, just like every other senior student in your school has been doing for these past month and a half. You left packing your bag in an empty classroom because everyone was dismissed to go home, no student was left behind except of course you.

You’re taking your time packing your things. The class that you’re coming out of was history and that’s something you’re pretty good at. Honestly you’re probably the only student who’s taking that subject seriously. Your teacher always praised you for contributing when no one else was.

You walk towards the doorway about to leave till a long arm blocks the road to leaving the class, you could recognise the arm from mile away, in fact you could smell this distinctive smell from countries if you could. It was Lee Haechan running in with short sleeve white plain shirt and sweatpants he wore the sports attire looking like he was dripping an entire ocean from his hair and down the face.

You hate how much you were weak in comparison to the boy because knowing him he wasn’t feeling as stargazed as you are watching every bead sweating down his chin, to hear the sound of his ruffle pants, the veiny hands clenching the doorway because he wants to go inside to grab his remaining stuff and bag he’d forgot in your class due to the football practice.

“D-donghyuck…!”

You gulp as he saw your gaze lower down and he pushes through you staring you down like you were a piece of meat to him.

“Move out of my way specs.” He taunts going behind the classroom grabbing the black bag putting it on one side of the shoulders while grabbing the grey celine hoodie in the other arm. He turns towards the door again watching you standing there like a lost dumb sheep.

He always called you these devastating teasing names because of your glasses, even though he wears them, he found it to be fun seeing you grow shy or blush at these names. Somehow you never once told him to stop which made him think you probably enjoy the slightest attention you get from him.

He wasn’t wrong.

You did like it even though many people found it to be the term ‘bullying’. In your eyes it was called something that friends do, no, not even friends would do this. Instead it’s something you and Donghyuck do. Just you together.

“Why are you still standing there like you have something to say to me?” A smirk crawls right on his bronze stultifying face he was glowing with sweat making him look like a giant star right in front of you it was impossible not to stare. Donghyuck’s voice had a way of pulling your head into the gutter where everything was ten times more lewd and unnecessarily making you a huge mess.

You look away from the moment his two dangerous daggers were watching you up and down waiting for an answer you could’ve give. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak up enough.

“Oh. You’re not going to answer me now? Don’t you think when someone’s talking to you it’s polite to look at them when they are.” He tauntingly adds closing the space between you where his hands crawls up to your jawline latching it in the hold of his palms and then twisting your face round so you can stare at his face.

Your eyes met and he felt your breathing hitch and your mouth letting out a tiny yelp in the process of twisting you round to face him finally. Your throat goes dry and you swiftly shake your eyes when he was watching you with a face that could kill you. You’re praying that he can’t hear the way your lungs were hyperventilating.

You break midst trying to make sense. “Donghyuck i—“ He blankly looks at you. “Haechan.” He strut towards you once more.

You’re blinking now helplessly, in confusion.

“It’s Haechan. Not Donghyuck.” You can see that he was now visibly annoyed by how you’re freely calling him by his first name. Unlike everyone in the school and even the teachers, they know him by Haechan. They call him Haechan and nothing else.

But you’re not someone who was used to calling him by such a foreign name because he will always be little Donghyuck to you. The Lee Donghyuck who was your friend and will always be that person to you in your heart. You couldn’t help it you suppose you were too used to calling him by that.

“Sorry I slipped my tongue i guess.” You say apologetically.

He wanted to roll at you apologising because he knew no matter what he says you’ll always forget it and do the same again; calling him by his first name that he so hated. He hates the way you call him so sweetly too as if you care for him. If anything it was pathetic. You were pathetic.

“I’m going now.” You announce without Haechan’s care he silently stares, not giving much care to you. You bow your head leaving the classroom and he watches you leave until something dropped at the back of the classroom making the boy twitch around and walk to what could’ve fell.

He thought at first it was one of the paintings on the walls but when walking to the further back something slides on the wall when the left leg hit something skidding a square book on the floor.

It was a red journal with a leather type strapping case round it and he felt his eyebrows twitch when he picks it up standing in middle of the classroom where he was the only one left now.

‘Did Specs leave this behind?’ He thought dusting it off. Donghyuck looks behind him until he sighs trailing off. “She’s so hopeless, what an idiot.” He frowns as he opens the book.

“I bet she’s got class notes here.” He mockingly adds. “She’s got nothing better to do.”

He wasn’t expecting anything in that stupid journal of yours if anything he was expecting it to be the most boring thing ever written and he could’ve read. It should’ve been history. It should’ve been maths or maybe even freaking science he was reading. — but the minute the pages were flipping through like a crust off the bread he saw the life out of his eyes leave his body like he saw the most unbelievable things ever to be discovered.

It was a moment to remember for sure because even the soul inside him was deceiving him when he saw the written things you’ve done and thought about. It will never end now. Donghyuck will never let you live this down even in death he will remind you of this forever and ever, because this was a whole new side to you that you’ve been hiding.

And whatever you’re hiding now is with him.

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“Nonononono!”

You are rummaging around your bedroom trying to find where on earth your diary could be it’s not like it’s easy to forget it somewhere considering how bright red it is. It’s not entirely small either so you have no idea where it could be.

You’re stressing out because what if you lost that thing forever? You had the diary since the start of your second year in high school. You can’t lose it now, it’s too precious to lose.

Your mother is standing by the door arms crossed watching your distance expression go from small sadness to absolutely terrified thought of someone finding it. It’s not exactly the most pleasant thing to find when you have your deepest secrets written on there that no one could ever know.

“Where could it be?” You grab on your duvet lifting it up trying to search your bed now from head to toe. You’re going on all fours looking underneath the bed and then looking over it. Hell you were even looking inside your attic for it and you knew it could’ve be there but there was a slight chance your mother put it up there with the rest of the storage garbage.

You sat down sighing deeply failing at finding your precious item that’s got your heart running hundred miles a minute just by thinking all sorts of bad scenarios that you could be having right now.

“I swear it was just here in my bag, I am sure of it. I never leave it behind without me.” You state seriously, your mother knows how important it is for you now that she saw your eyes searching everywhere for it.

She looks around the room seeing the amount of mess laying on the ground, your clothes on the scattering bedroom floor, your wardrobes open door widely available for anyone to look inside, your bed was a mess and so was your school bag. You forced it open letting everything out when you saw your diary missing.

“Honey maybe you left it at your school locker have you thought of that?” Your mother told you.

It was certainly a possibility it could’ve been there, you will check tomorrow but you swore you grabbed it on your way home in the history class.

Your voice hurls at the end syllables like you were still unconvinced by the whole lot.

“Check tomorrow okay? Clean up for now. Your whole room is a pigsty mess. Afterwards come downstairs to have your dinner.”

She leaves your room and you lay on the bed suddenly before your legs curl up kicking in the air. You wanted to rip your hair out because now you’re here worried as hell about your flipping diary that could ruin you — quite frankly it could make your whole life miserable. If anyone read it that is. But no one would read something like that and expect it’s you, right?

You told yourself it’s okay. There’s many people with your name, therefor no one will expect it’s you. Afterall you’re a nobody at your school.

You turn around when you saw your phone screen pop up with a new notification. Turning to the phone grabbing it with your palm, you saw an unfamiliar username texting you.

‘No way…’

“Lee Donghyuck!” You murmur sitting up on your bed now intensely looking at the screen wondering why was he texting you this late? Actually why was he texting you at all. He doesn’t text you unless he calls to force you to give him your class notes so he could cheat in the tests.

You couldn’t believe it until you open it up fully replying back.

lee donghyuck : Specs come meet me right now.

You : What why?

lee donghyuck : Don’t ask and just do it.

You : I don’t want to donghyuck I’m very busy i don’t want to go anywhere.

lee donghyuck : that’s fine i’m outside your house.

You: WHAT

You couldn’t believe the text in front of you. Your mouth was wide open dropping dead at how fast he responded.

Lee fucking Donghyuck was outside your house, unannounced. It pulled you thinking you did something wrong because why else would the hottest guy at your school be there?

Running down you grabbed the spare black hoodie on yourself before opening the door letting a harsh cold breath of air hitting your face putting all your hair up and your gaze meets the boy standing in front of your door, he wore a white hoodie with a spare denim jeans. He looked super good out of the school uniform you had to admit.

You couldn’t stop drooling but you looked away questionably.

Donghyuck saw your expression falling apart but the moment you had your eyes laying on him like he was the most ethereal person ever he felt a giant egotistical boost to the already large ego he has.

Your mouth opens unable to find any motive nor the reasoning for his sudden actions. “What are you doing here Donghyuck— at 8pm.” You look at your phone lockscreen. The time was taken away and the boy gave a quick smirk to you.

“Y/n?— who is it.”

Your mother rushes to the front door the moment she saw Donghyuck her expression lit up. But yours fell into darkness out of hell because you knew damn well your mother was about to embarrass you through her way. She remembers Donghyuck, in fact she loved little Donghyuck. But she didn’t know you guys were still not friends anymore and she doesn’t know how much of a giant bully he is to you now.

Because of course you don’t want to burden your mother with how much you are confusing with Donghyuck. When he’s without his friends he’s probably half decent and with his friends he’s got no decency to his own persona. However he certainly wasn’t your friends either way.

But you guys still treat and speak to one another as if you guys were.

“Oh my gosh if it isn’t Lee Donghyuck! I haven’t seen you since you were… oh my lord this small to my ankles darling.”

Donghyuck gave this foreign smile to his beautiful face full off mysterious evil because you knew damn well he couldn’t smile for anyone this sweetly. You look at that smile you cannot recognise it felt like everything you knew of him now was gone. Your mother welcomes the boy inside your home. As much as it gave you massive anxiety to have your crush and enemy in your freaking house.

“Ah it’s okay Y/n’s mum i came over to see Y/n. If it’s okay that is. I have something important to discuss regarding our maths test we have tomorrow.”

It somehow made you wonder why he was here in the first place and what was he intending to do.

The room grew into a tiny square because you felt your lungs puff out by the mention of maths. Donghyuck’s scarce energy could kill you there was an eerie sense about this whole thing and you could feel it at the bottom of your stomach ready to cause a spillage over.

Your mother smiles. “Of course. Y/n take Donghyuck upstairs and show him what he needs so he can be on his way.”

You look at your mother giving a nod saying nothing. Your gaze returns to Donghyuck who was staring at you already, smirking widely like he won something.

But you couldn’t put your hands on it.

Donghyuck slowly enters your room seeing how much of a mess it is he can imagine what you’ve been looking for, it somehow would begin to fill his empty stomach with cruel satisfaction seeing you worry because he was five steps ahead of you before you know it the moment he hears you come in and close the door he grabbed your wrist turning around and throwing you on the bed making you lay there as you let out a soft scream that’s cut off by a lean dainty hand with long fingers and a vein stretching on it so mythically making this feel like a fever dream seeing how the boy who hates your guts the most was on top of you covering your mouth.

He smuggles his palm across your soft chapped mouth putting his finger on his lips to shush you down with a look belonging to a man with malicious intents.

A shiver was sent down your neck watching him. He loved seeing this expression of confusion on you, the way your eyebrows furrow together arching down to resemble a small animal scared to die.

“Shhh. Don’t scream okay, understand?” He said looking for somewhat a nod or something from you.

You look at him letting out a muffled okay and a nod with your head. He slowly retracts back his hand when he felt like he could let you go and then going inside the hoodie pockets he would take out,

Your freaking diary.

“How did you—!”

You couldn’t believe your eyes but you open your mouth to shout what and how does he have this but he puts a finger on your lips glaring down at you.

“You said you would be quiet.” He growls at you as if he knew you’d be like this and you move your eyes ready to grab the diary but he has stretched his arm up in the air making you fall over and tip toe to grab it.

“Give me that back. It’s mine.”

But no matter what you’ll always be unable to reach it no matter how much you jump or do the tip toe with your feet you’re never going to reach your diary when he’s got this long arms and legs. He was looking at you smirking widely.

“Donghyuck this isn’t funny give me my diary back!” You shout with your eyes watching the diary in his hand.

“Nahuh.” He said with a condescending laugh pulling away from you holding the diary down again in the both hands. You watch him with your eyes widen terrified by this.

You wished it could be anyone but him, anyone but him. Donghyuck was the spawn of devil in other words he’s going to ruin you now.

You felt small and exposed by this whole thing you couldn’t believe it this whole time your flipping diary was with the guy you were literally begging it not to be with it’s like earth was punishing you. It’s like this was your most lowest point of your life now, you’re doomed and you are in disbelief because how can this happen to you?

You whisper begging. “Please can i have it back?”

You tried to appear pathetic than you already look because embarrassment and shame wasn’t enough to describe how you’re feeling currently in this moment on. But it seems like the boy had no intention of letting you go easily, at least not like this. He hasn’t even had his fun yet with you.

Donghyuck ignores your plead starting to open the diary up. The fingers were flipping the pages to a section in the middle where a crowding smile was drawn on the boy’s cheeks like a Cheshire Cat.

You clench your hands seeing him open it. “Donghyuck don’t read it.” You say out loud in panic.

“Shhhh Y/n I’m trying to find a very specific page.” He retorts back until he found it looking back with a bright light on him. “Aha! Found it.”

He turns to you to get a good wild and live experience of seeing the life crush out of your eyes and leaving your home. You’re dreading it seeing that the boy knew exactly how to push your buttons now. He had control and you weren’t even aware of it until you were read like a story from Donghyuck reading upon the pages with his fingers and his eyes trailing from word to word on the diary page. “Dear diary, today Lee Haechan looked so fucking hot coming out of the boy’s changing rooms shirtless and I can’t believe how quickly I got turned on staring at his bare stomach.” — He pauses turning to you holding up the red book. “Oh y/n and you claim to be innocent, then what is all of this?”

You stand there still like you were a mime stuck in an imaginary see through dimension box. You wish you were actually because Donghyuck’s live vocals reading your own diary out loud to you knowing damn well it’s about him and how your true feelings were there about lingering. It was embarrassment beyond anything you’ve ever felt before and you don’t wish this on anyone, not this feeling not when your enemy.

“Now tell me this. How long have you been spying on me in the boy’s changing rooms?” He smirks waiting for some kind of vocal response from you but all he got from you was bright red cheeks and trembling eyes.

As much as he loved seeing you this ashamed he wanted actual words and not just a physical reaction. Perhaps you were shocked. Too shocked to even speak. Donghyuck fits his tongue across his cheek balling it up in annoyance. “No answer? Of course no answer you’re the one who writes all these dirty fantasies with me in this book.”

You look away stuttering. “I- I didn’t mean to look at you getting changed.”

He laughs. “Oh yeah? Your diary says otherwise darling.” He rolls the pages out. “Here it says you’d want me to fuck your mouth full of my load until you can’t talk anymore so how about that?”

You didn’t want him to re-read all your dirty thoughts about Haechan you have with him out loud it physically pains you and makes you cringe out loud even more than you’d think.

“I want him to make me scream his name so the whole world knows I’m his.”

‘I can’t… make it stop.’

“Lee Donghyuck can be mean to me and treat me like shit and I’d crawl back for more.” He laughs finding this one sort of funny. Who would’ve thought you’d crawl back to him for more.

You clench your nails into your palm.

“My favourite one is this one.” Donghyuck clears his throat straightening up the shoulders as he starts to tauntingly read. “I’m starting to think i may have feelings for my enemy Lee Donghyuck it’s shameful because it began with the moment he started to hate me.”

“Oh specs that’s freaking shameful. Are you a masochist perhaps?” He snorts watching you. He may be right at this moment. Donghyuck knew you could handle this shame considering you wrote a whole diary dedicated to him he must give you the prompt that you did well worshiping him behind the close doors.

It’s an effort to be this diligent as you.

“Can I have it back now… are you done insulting me yet?” You bit your bottom lip now simple angered and Donghyuck could notice the visible fire in your eyes nevertheless he couldn’t care and he took a step forward pushing you down on the bed making you sit down as he grabs a fistful of your hair tugging it.

You couldn’t help but wince but somehow you wanted him to pull more of your head. He made you look up at him as he puts the diary in the air again with his hand raising it up.

“I’m not done with you Y/n. Listen up if you don’t want the whole world to know about your fucking secret then you listen to me and do as i say got it?” Donghyuck spat leering his eyes at you and you harshly clench your eyes nodding as he lets go off your head.

“Good, tomorrow wear this and don’t take it off understood?”

Your gaze goes bleak and pale like you’ve possible seen a freaking paranormal ghost right now but the minute you touch the small pocket sized vibrator you look at Donghyuck with shaky teeth.

“W-What? Why am i going to wear this tomorrow. ” You let out pushing the Vibrator back but Donghyuck taunts you smirking.

“I don’t want to do that.” You state throughly.

“Wear it tomorrow or your mother will know about your diary. You wouldn’t want your mother knowing how much of a slut her daughter is right?”

He coos brushing some of your bangs behind the ears smiling down at you evilly and you shudder at his warm touch against your pale skin. You gulp looking down.

Looks like there’s only one way.

“Good it’s settled then.” He says after you gone quiet thinking about it seeing how you’re up for it now. You couldn’t help but think how cruel and mean he is you are starting to completely change your whole feelings about the boy. But some deep part of you only remembers the little him. It was a war in your body knowing damn well you aren’t able to fully hate him.

But you’re sure of one thing now.

Donghyuck is the biggest lowlife.

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The next day came but you’ve never been dreading more about the sun rising to pass on the next day. You hated that you came into school full jumpy and anxious knowing damn well your enemy is on the hunt to end you. To torture you on endless terms.

The first class you had was English but you couldn’t help but sit down blowing out gentle air waves from your lips as you get out your English’s book and workload papers from the last lesson.

The next minute someone else enters after you slamming down behind you taking a seat there. You weren’t sure who would sit there because no one sat there before. Everyone has an arranged seating arrangement that can’t be changed.

You turn around to see who it was only to be met with the familiar sight of the boy laid back slanting watching you keenly.

“Donghyuck…?” You let out as you turned to look around and the boy leans in whispering. Then a sudden burst of energy from underneath your school black skirt begins to run you down your spine with shivers. Donghyuck saw your face disappear from surprised to shocked knowing you, you were probably embarrassed to realise the situation you’re in. The vibration in your panties had you squirming on your seat suddenly and you couldn’t help but realise it was on a low setting right now.

Your eyes fell down to Donghyuck’s hands who were hidden in the pockets with the live remote controller for the vibrator inside your panties like he said, you wore it today only to get absolutely punished in middle of your English class that’s starting. You were now filled with absolute contempt to focus but no matter what during class you could only focus on your thighs rubbing together to grab more friction. At the same time you didn’t want to do that because the more friction you will lose yourself and you need to be quiet.

It didn’t help that Donghyuck was behind you Whispering remarks only to piss you off. He was pretending to be innocent but you knew well what they meant in actual reality.

“You’re awfully quiet there y/n.” Sang Donghyuck from behind you tapping his pen at your back.

You flinch at the sudden change of his actions he usually would never do anything in class. He often avoids you in your classes with him finding you a complete nuisance but now he’s doing all he can to push you off the edge cliff you’re standing on but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You instead bury your head low and clench your eyes tight when suddenly the finger on the remote controller has increased the speed seeing you resist the low pressure; Donghyuck wasn’t going to let you go easy. He wanted to see you fall apart in front of him and beg him to do something about it.

The speed of the vibrator brushing your clit ever so slowly made you whimper into your hands the classmates around you swore they heard you but they weren’t sure who it came from. Donghyuck saw the people chatting amongst themselves and the teacher was silently marking the papers at the desk. It was quiet and it was starting to hit the dangerous territory where even the slightest sounds can be heard. You never wanted to move away so fast because the vibrator mixing into your wet soaking panties through your black skirt will be having you sweating like you are at a giant room becoming cooked alive. From inside your pussy lips were brushing at the folds of the vibrator where it felt like a whole new sensation and you bite your tongue when a moan was coming out.

You never felt so exposed. You’re squirming at your seat and you’re at everyone’s eyes who could see you slip out if you make any mistake. Donghyuck smirking watching you as his body was slanting back on the chair behind you with an innocent face he sped the next vibrator speed to maximum. But your body began to flinch and trying to run away from your high you felt your hips rut on the chair and the redness coming to your forehead and cheeks making it visible like you’re sick. You put your hand up suddenly standing up.

“Miss I need the toilet.” You loudly announce with a pant and the teacher looks at you. “Okay be quick with it.”

Donghyuck was laughing under his breathe watching you run out of the classroom like your life depended on it. He didn’t change the speed he left it on the maximum so you could suffer with it. The boy chuckling from afar made Jaemin turn around seeing his friend laugh a little for once, with a true smile of something he was addicted on.

‘Strange.’ Jaemin thought.

As you ran out you were inside a toilet stall taking off your panties down to the ankles and taking a seat on the toilet you let out a grasping moan rubbing your folks and the chasing your whole high; you play with your clit clenching your eyes the more pleasuring overstimulation hit your pussy. Your swollen clit was red and abused it made everything so much more sensitive and difficult that you were so quick to your own high. You made sure to keep your thoughts on being quiet but the further you went the deeper you got and you remembered it was Donghyuck doing this to you and somehow you were more aroused than before. You couldn’t help but get your feelings involved and now you’re here moaning his name softly in the girl’s bathroom where anyone could walk in on you. Fingering your tight and wet sloppy hole with your two fingers until you came hard.

You came so hard you couldn’t remember if it was two orgasm or a singular orgasm that felt like it would take forever to get over it. The vibrator eventually stopped and you could feel it turn off. You let out a sigh as your red face was visible when coming out the stall with your panties back on and the skirt lowered down. You’d wash your hands in the sink and then you washed your face to cool it down you couldn’t help but notice how fucked out you look. You can’t go in class like this.

You look away leaving the girl’s toilets and as you did your arm was pulled by a boy you noticed to be Donghyuck standing out the girl’s bathrooms with a low angle levelling your eyes so you could see him.

“Now that was a long toilet break, Y/n. Wonder what took you so long Hm?”

Your eyes drop down. “Donghyuck— how long were you standing there for…” you felt your eyebrows raise up and Donghyuck smirks coming closer.

“From the moment you left the class, and i heard everything.” He whispers.

You never wanted to be buried alive so much until now knowing he heard you moan his name and as well as do so much more, it’s like he’s only going to get more information off of you and use it against you some more. You cannot escape Lee Donghyuck.

You gulp as you saw the boy point at the remote in his front school trousers pockets. The brunette locks on his face made him so much more attractive you couldn’t help but had the urge to caress it and wrap your fingertips in them but you pulled yourself together the moment his stern honeymoon voice broke your thoughts away.

“Next class you can’t walk out to use the bathroom excuse understand? You need to stay in that classroom.”

‘Oh god I’m fucking screwed.’

Donghyuck walks away going back into class leaving you all alone standing in middle of the corridor outside the girl’s bathroom. You never felt so exposed until Donghyuck has the effect on making you feel all sorts of emotions like a rollercoaster on steroids. Somehow, you knew this was going to be a challenge.

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The next class was mathematics which you were luckily okay with but currently with the situation of having a running vibrator pleasure you inside while focusing on numbers was not a good mixture at all. You never felt so tense and frustrated when doing maths unlike now and all thanks to Donghyuck making you feel high and then leaving you dry. Sometimes he let you feel high until you were wanting to scream in middle of your class but you covered your mouth often until he dropped it to a low speed again which you calm down.

Donghyuck knew what you wanted though. He knew what you fantasise about and it intrigued him because now he knows what you hate and what you love. It was like doing things absolute the worst things and you’d love them, because it’s him. You cannot make yourself feel the hatred and the pain to do that for something like this.

You tap your pen on the desk repeatedly as you felt your pussy clutch around the vibration and the shape of the vibrator making you want to lose yourself there and then. Your stomach was breathing in harshly enough to feel your ribcage and your throat was bleeding dry wanting to let so many noises escape. You couldn’t hear anything but your beating heart. Your fingers wrap round the pen clenching it as your thighs rub in circular motion together. The buzzing vibration made you fall into excitement of pleasure that you couldn’t compare to. The speed increased with each time the class went down off and you soon were holding the desk suddenly.

The teacher saw your sudden movements and eyes you suspiciously as you look down at the test paper clearing your throat.

‘Shitshit that was close.’ You mentally screamed, your thoughts were running back to how you’re literally being treated like a sex doll for Donghyuck’s sick pleasures but here you are having the same sick pleasures because this is turning you more and more.

The idea of getting caught was certainly a factor and he knew this he could see it on your body posture you loved being observed as you are getting off in class where a whole examination test is being done. You couldn’t focus on your paper though, because you were lost in your own mind with the way the vibrator was making you feel.

The next thing you knew you felt a wet gushing raindrops down your legs like they were your tears when in reality it was coming from your soaking panties lining down your body. Your thighs were covered with your pussy juice and you came without knowing for once you felt scared and you look back at Donghyuck with a terrified expression starting to beg him with your whimpers.

“Donghyuck please can i leave?” You whisper and he looks up from his math test paper smirking as he hears you finally beg.

This is what he wanted to hear from you, a pathetic beg because he’s the one in control and you’re the one who’s dealing with the consequences.

He was about to give you an answer until the teacher in front of you slams on your desk. “Y/n I expected better from you. Keep your eyes on your test paper until everyone is finished. Do not cheat off Donghyuck.”

You slowly turn around lowly avoiding eye contact but your face was red and feverish. You couldn’t help but feel light headed because the vibrator kept on digging into your sensitive core making you squirm more and more. The teacher walks back to the desk and Donghyuck’s laughter was heard behind you.

“Tut tut tut Y/n cheating.” He trails and you clench your fists together on your lap as you saw the water dripping down on the floor underneath your chair. You whimper once more.

Donghyuck saw you go silent whimpering and he raised his eyebrows as he saw your legs shaking on the floor and your hands were trembling now due to the overt stumbling pleasuring sensation surrounding your body putting it on your back and chest. Your face was swollen with your pleasure from your own pussy aching.

And then the class bell rang. You never got up so fast ready to run out to the toilet for the same reasoning however you were stopped by two arms engulfing you and dragging you into a pair of doors you couldn’t reach until the body pulling you with him dragged you into the boy’s changing rooms where it was empty leaving only you and a specifically someone called Lee Donghyuck. The lowlife you’ve been tortured by the entire door and for once you were glad to see his face as you go on your knees shaking as you let out sudden choking moans. The vibrator got faster with Donghyuck’s thumb putting it on the maximum speed amount you couldn’t put limit on.

“Fuck please— please please Donghyuck fuck me make it stop make this pain stop.” You held your breath putting your hands on the stomach that was aching for a release finally and the remote was turned off the vibrator no longer providing you with the pleasure because he got what he wanted.

You asking him to fuck you senselessly.

He’d grab your shoulders pushing you off the ground and into the changing room showers where he pinned you on the wall where you could both fit. Putting your mouth on his down kissing you roughly he grasps your hips rubbing them rougher than before and stressing down your clotheslines we’re stripped off your body so quickly you weren’t aware of it at all. You grasp between the heavy kisses, Donghyuck swore hearing you gasping for him was the sexiest thing he could ever hear anyone do. “God you’re so fucking lewd Y/n telling me to fuck you senseless in the school where anyone can walk in on us. You’d like that to happen won’t you?” He’d grab your face away as he pressed on the vibrator inside you pushing it out off your hole and instead you felt the hard tip of his body go in.

You never wanted to come back to reality ever again because this felt like a forsaken fantasy. You’re pushed on the tile wall bare naked with your enemy someone who’s been nothing but horrible to you now pushing his hard cock inside your sloppy wet hole that’s been waiting to be stretched by him for over four hours you couldn’t believe it; it felt like years ago when you were friends and now you’re being so mean together you couldn’t even imagine what you’re doing if you were sane in your head. The way your head snuck in and so did your stomach feeling him go up and imprinting his shape deep within you where you let out trembling stutters out. “Fuckfuckfuck hyuck—! You’re in my stomach.” You wanted to scream it out but Donghyuck made sure to take his fucking time with you.

“Hyuck huh? That’s a new one darling.” He couldn’t help but find it hard to dislike. Afterall you were fucked out when saying it. It made it ten times more better.

He wanted to make you know that this will become a daily thing where he will rock your shit and leave you alone right after. This wasn’t nothing sweet and mutual. You are living your fantasy and that’s it, you’re nothing but a ragged doll for him to use you and you were willingly.

“You’re a fucking slut Y/n. You want nothing but my cock to fill your hole and stuff you until you have no fucking purpose for me. Do you want that?” He growls against your face kissing down your cheeks with so much power over you, your skin shivers against those harsh breathing and his voice was so mean you could cry. In fact you wanted to knowing how he was completely right about you.

You murmur when Donghyuck squished you in a whole different position directing you towards a doggy stile where your hands put on the tile he rocked behind strutting the hits right into you going now deeper where the shape travels to your womb and you choke but clenching your eyes in the process. You never expected him to be so long and girthy, he was thick and all departments you were shaking and trembling in the middle of his body weight crushing you with how tough he was treating you. There was nothing single. Not a single moment where he spared you from his dangerous hold over you.

At the moment when he lost himself nearly he was so close to coming in you and you were here dripping in the shower with sweat and panting ramming inside your hole while your ass was perking up in the air for him to spank and grip. He squeezed your hips forward until your face was roughly rammed on the tile as you begin to wail out your moans. Your arms gave up on you and now your entire legs were tired from the excruciating exhaustion from being pleased for hours beforehand.

“That’s right cry for me you stupid whore. You’re crying because my dick feels so good aren’t you?” You wished you could disagree with him but you can’t. You sniff out croaking in broken sentences denting your voice. “It feels so good please please Hyuck I want you to come inside me.” His eyes darken going smaller hearing you and he pushed your head down on the tile smirking.

“Begging me to fill your little hole up yeah? Since you’re asking like a good whore you are, I will.” It absolutely irks your mind how he can sound so attractive but still be completely ruthless to you.

And he did exactly that leaving you down when he was done with you covering your walls full off his load and painting everything in you white. Donghyuck left you on the floor in the shower with his liquid coming out of your pussy down your thighs he smirks facing you as he was doing the zipper on the trousers and you dazed looking at him in the corner.

He whistles leaning down and crouching to your eye level seeing how you’re out of it still. You couldn’t focus on anything but him and the comforting silence of your beating heart.

“You still like a Lowlife like me?” He trails asking you with a deadly smile that knew you would say yes.

You should be hating him because god knows he’s terrible human being on the face of earth. He’s the biggest scum you could meet.

But you know you will always love a lowlife like Lee Donghyuck.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting my work thank youu!! Please reblog this fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out.

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randombush3 · 9 months

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roadside romance

leila ouahabi x reader

summary: when leila’s car breaks down, you come to the rescue

words: 2037

notes: this is an ode to british weather and hot mechanics. i know nothing about cars but i learnt something while writing this!!!!

this was requested btw 🫡

It’s just fucking inconvenient. A closure on the motorway means that they have to take a detour down winding, country roads. And Leila has a sneaking suspicion that her car is going to stop functioning at any given minute now that the blinking, red light has become a permanent fixture on her dashboard.

Leila had looked at her friends apprehensively the minute the light had appeared, but Ona didn’t care and Laia was too wrapped up in posting their day trip to Blackpool on her Instagram to offer any worthwhile advice.

So, lacking expertise and a good enough grasp of English geography to find a nearby mechanic, Leila had carried on with their journey. It was only another hour to Manchester after all.

Which leads them to now, stranded on the side of the road. Laia and Leila stood outside of the car, while Ona spreads out as she naps in the backseat, none the wiser to the situation they have landed themselves in.

“Can’t you just fix it?” Laia asks her friend as they stare at the bonnet helplessly. “You seem like you know how to fix cars.”

Leila places an uncertain hand on the shiny metal, wondering if she even knows how to get the bonnet open. “That’s Mapi, not me. I have no idea what to do.”

They try to call someone, but there is no service and no pavement to walk down the road to see if elsewhere has a few more bars.

Frankly, it’s so unlucky that this has happened that Laia and Leila both have to hold in their laughter, not wanting the other to think they don’t understand how bad the situation actually is. Because, being stuck in a foreign country with no service and no knowledge about the inner-workings of a car is quite comical. It would be a great scene of a movie.

It’s Ona, when she returns to the land of the living, who comes up with a solution.

The defender gets out of the car, joining her friends as they sit on the grass verge adjacent to the road. “We’ve just got to wait here and look like three damsels in distress until someone drives past and helps us.” Though Leila knows she could probably think of something better if she really put her mind to it, she agrees to Ona’s plan, too lazy to do anything other than wallow in her misery. Now she’s going to have to take her car to the mechanic, and she hates doing things like that here because she has to drag Hempo with her to translate strong Mancunian accents into normal, more understandable English.

…

“Yeah, I’m coming. The motorway’s just chock-a-block and so I’ve taken a back route,” you tell your impatient sister, who is annoyed that you are late to her daughter’s birthday party. “Don’t be angry with me, be angry with the M6.” She chides you for your tardiness anyway, and you internally curse her for moving to Blackpool. It’s not like she’s a ballroom dancing fan or anything.

The countryside looks miserable when it’s just your car zipping down the empty roads, and it doesn’t help that the grey sky above makes you think it’s going to rain. While you have lived in Manchester your whole life and strive to not get bummed out by the weather, it makes you a little annoyed that the country can’t get its act together. You wish you had the power to teleport to Spain or something.

You pity anyone who is stuck outside as it begins to drizzle.

…

“Can we get in the car now?” Ona whines, completely going back on her plan after feeling the droplets of rain hit the top of her head. “I don’t want to get wet.”

“Please, Leila,” Laia adds. She hopes to sway her friend's adamance to stay where they can be seen, in case a helicopter flies over and lands in a nearby field to offer their aid (which seems more likely than someone driving past at this point).

“No, it’s only a bit of rain,” she tells her friends. A low rumble of thunder echoes in the fields. Ona and Laia raise their eyebrows. “Fine. You two be pathetic. I’ll stay here, doing the saving.”

“Our hero,” Laia replies sarcastically, chasing after Ona as she sprints to the car. “Have fun getting wet!”

It begins to chuck it down.

When a black Ford pulls up, a bit further up the road, coming from the direction they were heading in, and you get out, Leila finds that getting soaked has become worth it.

“Are you alright?” you shout to her, crossing the road and walking along the grass verge to get a better look at what is happening.

“My car is not working!” Leila shouts back.

You frown, approaching the brunette with concern. She has had to sit in the rain so that someone notices her. You’re a sympathetic person.

“Hi,” Leila says shyly as you help her up, wiping the water from her eyes so that she can see you properly.

“Hi.” You give her a once-over (solely for the purpose of checking she’s okay), and then turn to her car. “What’s wrong with it?” She squints at the sound of your strong accent, and you flush red, embarrassed. “What is wrong with your car?” you repeat with more clarity.

“I don’t know.”

“Was there a red light on the dash?” Leila’s vindication comes out in a muttered Spanish swear, before she nods and follows you down the verge to the road. “Can you pop the bonnet? I’ll give it a look.”

And, while you are doing that, Leila is giving you a look. Along with Ona and Laia.

“Es guapa,” an enviably dry Ona comments to her friends as Leila settles in the driver’s seat. You have instructed her to stay put for a moment while you puzzle at the state of her engine, wanting to know what is wrong before you explain it to the pretty woman you have found on the side of the road.

“Y lesbiana,” Laia points out as you tie your sopping hair up into a bun. Your t-shirt is so soaked that it is no longer of any use, so you pull it up over your head, getting to work in just your bra after wringing out enough water to fill a swimming pool. On your wrist is a bracelet from a Pride event you were dragged to by your friend the other day. You are secretly hoping Leila notices it. “Lei, dile tu nombre. Coquetea con ella.”

“Sí, pregúntale cuál es el problema.”

Leila scoffs, unimpressed with herself at how easily they have picked up on her attraction to you.

“Va. Es de Manchester, también.”

“Guapa, local, y lesbiana. Es perfecta.”

“No sé…” Leila starts, undecided as to whether she should let them convince her she has a chance or not.

Just when Laia and Ona are about to list more of your enticing physical qualities, you appear by the door, knocking on the window to tell her to open it.

“Good to see you’ve dried off a bit,” you joke, feeling as though you are so drenched that you will never be dry again. Leila blushes, but you are unsure whether it's because your joke is terrible or because her friends in the backseat have squashed together in the middle so that they can see what’s happening. You clear your throat. “So it’s a coolant leak. Took me a minute to realise half the water on the ground was actually your coolant and not the rain, but I figured it out eventually! The radiator’s hose clamps were damaged and, obviously, they’ve failed…”

But Leila isn’t listening to you telling her what is wrong with her car, because her friends are whispering in Spanish about how good you look topless. And she is inclined to agree with them.

It is only when you stop talking and the white noise of your ramble is no longer present that she realises what has happened, and she snaps out of staring at you. “Perdón, please could you repeat that?” It’s a phrase she has become very accustomed to, after all.

You laugh, and Leila likes the sound of it very much. “There was a leak, but I can fix it for you. If you’d like?”

“Yes!” Ona answers for her, making Leila practically jump out of her skin.

At Leila’s apparent hesitance, you remember you never introduced yourself to the three women in need of a car mechanic. It’s handy that that is exactly what you do for a living. “Fuck, sorry. I’m Y/n.” You hold out your hand for her to shake, and ignore the tingles where your skin meets hers. “I’ll need, like, an hour to do it, but I can. I’m a mechanic.”

“Es tan perfecta,” Laia giggles, poking Leila to remind her to tell you her name too.

“My name is Leila. I am not a mechanic, but can you… teach me?”

It’s an excuse to watch you fix her car.

You both know it.

“Yeah, sure. I have an umbrella in my car, and I’ll need to get my toolkit and stuff. I’ll bring it over, and then you won’t get wet.”

“I already am.”

You blush, though you know it’s probably not what she meant. All three of them speak with strong Spanish accents, reminding you of your grandmother.

…

It takes slightly longer than expected to sort out the clamps, but you don’t mind having an excuse to not go to a little kid’s birthday party. You love your niece, but the thought of thirty hyper five-year-olds running around and begging you to play with them makes you gulp. You’d rather arrive when the guests have left and your niece has crashed from her inevitable sugar-high.

Leila stands beside you as you work, holding the umbrella above both of your heads. You are too focused on your task to see her check you out every so often, but she has left the car door open so you can hear the eager encouragement from her friends. Ona even takes a picture because the scene is so hilarious.

“What does this do?” Leila quizzes as you finish up, pointing at the engine and enjoying the way you answer so effortlessly. “And this? And that?”

You wipe the sweat (and rain) from your brow, sighing as you step back to observe your work. For an impromptu fix-up on the side of the road, it’s not bad. She may need to bring her car into the garage to get it properly sorted once she gets to her destination.

“Could I borrow your phone?” you ask after catching her staring. It gives you a surge of confidence.

Confused, Leila nods, handing it over to you.

“Mi madre es de España.” All three Spanish women feel their mouths open in shock. And horror. And the realisation that you definitely heard everything they have been saying about you.

Leila feels like jogging to the nearest motorway and diving in front of a truck.

“I’ll give you my number and you can update me on the car? You’ll need to get someone to look over it more thoroughly.”

“Sí,” Leila breathes, hoping that you are signing yourself up for that job.

“I’m based in Manchester, so if that’s convenient, you could always bring it into my garage.”

“We live in Manchester too,” Laia helpfully shouts from inside the car. “And she will do that!”

“And… I could also text you a restaurant where you can ask me even more questions about car engines over dinner?” You grin at her, and she grins back.

“Sí, por favor.”

“It was nice to meet you, Leila,” you say slowly, pleased with yourself but dignified to hold in your cheering until your return to your own car.

“Igualmente,” Leila replies, handing you your t-shirt that you had previously discarded onto the floor. She’s still embarrassed that you understood what her friends said about you, but at least that means she now has a date.

Or two.

Or three.

It depends on how many more problems she can find with her car.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #leila ouahabi #leila ouahabi x reader

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copperbadge · 20 days

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Immediate Writer's Block

Had a comment on another post where I thought I'd probably need more space than the notes in which to respond, so:

constant-state-of-self-discovery Oh I get the envy I feel it right now how the fuck do you manage to write without impassable writers block after 5-9 sentences because I haven't fucking figured it out lol

I do have some advice on this!

I think most writers get blocked from time to time, it's normal and my general strategy is just to wait it out, but if you're frequently blocked after only writing a very little bit, I think the problem is one of two things: either you don't know what you want to achieve with the scene you're writing, or you don't know what should happen next within the scene to achieve that goal. If you frame "I'm blocked" as "I don't have an answer I need" then often you move from just sitting there, sweating and staring at a blank page, to thinking productively about how you're going to get where you're going. It's the difference between not knowing an answer and not knowing an answer but knowing where to look for it.

An invaluable piece of advice for this, which I think I picked up from someone who got it off a National Novel Writing Month messageboard, is "When in doubt, ninjas attack." It's not meant to be literal, you don't need to have ninjas or fight scenes just because you don't know what to do, but it helps to get the creativity flowing again. If you don't know what should happen next, or you know but you're having trouble actually writing the scene, it can be very helpful to induce a moment of uncertainty or surprise -- to have a metaphorical ninja attack. One time I did this literally -- the POV character was just on the road somewhere and I didn't know how to get them from a pastoral country road to their actual destination in an interesting way, so I had them get attacked by highway bandits and have to fight them off, which also allowed me to demonstrate that the character had significant unarmed combat skills. But it can also just be like, two characters who are having a boring conversation can be interrupted by a third person, even just a stranger asking for directions, or there can be, IDK, an explosion, or something goes missing, or etc.

Sometimes it also helps to leave it alone but keep it in your mind and go do something else -- listen to a podcast, take a walk, read a book, not because those things are distracting but because all our inputs eventually feed into our brain and come out as reactions. If you're thinking about your book while you're wandering around a park, something you see in the park might have an impact on it. If you've got YOUR story in mind while reading someone else's, you might be more inclined to look at what they're saying and see what you think of it, how it might play into your work.

And honestly, sometimes you just gotta go past it. I'm working on the next Shivadh novel right now and it opens basically with Simon the chef getting into a spat with his love-interest-to-be over some cheese. He want the cheese, she won't sell him the cheese, so they get off to a very contentious start. But I suck at writing conflict especially when it's basically "A character I like is being pompous and another character I want people to find likable is being stubborn and somewhat unpleasant". I've been stalled on it for a while. But I know where the scene ends up, like I do know what the goal is, so I just...skipped it and went on to writing a scene I like better, where they meet a second time and actually discover each others' identity and that they're about to be forced into the grownup equivalent of a school project. Once I've gotten dug deeper into the story I'll come back and write it, and by then I'll have the benefit of knowing the love interest a bit better.

So yeah -- I think a lot of breaking a writer's block, especially when you don't need rest but are just stumped about what to do, is to twist and look at it from another angle. It's not that you don't know what to write, or don't want to write what you know you have to -- it's that you don't have the correct answer to a question, or you need to leave that part alone to ferment and come back to it later. At least, for me.

#writing #constant-state-of-self-discovery #writer's block #inspiration #archive

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pretending-ican-write · 2 months

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Cowboy Up - Pt.1 - Ryan x Dutton!reader

Um so I watched all of Yellowstone last week and as a result, my multi-year writer's block was broken by a need to see more of Ryan because I am obsessed with Ian Bohen. Idk how many parts this will have or how often it will get updated as I'm in the last few months of uni but I hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!Reader (Kayce's twin sister)

WC: 1053

Next part

Disclaimer: Beyond watching Yellowstone I have zero/little knowledge of Western riding and the ranching lifestyle but I do know horses so that has certainly influenced this! I'm also English so writing dialogue correctly for them is not my strong point! If you find any issues please let me know!

---

The sun was just beginning to dip below the mountains and the cold was starting to set in when she joined him on the fence. Neither of them spoke for a while, just looking out at the vastness in front of them, all that was theirs but came with so many conditions.

Eventually she broke the silence, “so you told him? How’d he take that one?”

Wordlessly he opened his shirt where the ‘Y’ was just starting to scab over, still red and angry.

“Motherfucker,” she swore, “this ain’t fair Kayce. He doesn’t just get to do this.”

He shook his head, “dad does whatever he wants and there ain’t no consequences for him. That’s why I gotta do this.”

“Shit man. What’s Monica gonna do? Besides worrying about you getting your ass shot in the desert miles from civilisation?”

Kayce chuckled, “beats getting my ass shot in the middle of Montana miles from civilisation. She’ll be okay, her family will help and she’ll be a teacher. Just like she planned. It’s you I’m worried about here with dad and no one else to speak sense to. ‘Cept Lee”

“Well I’m leaving, dad be damned. I’m not gonna be a pawn in his power trip. Gonna go see this godforsaken country and win it all so that when I come back he can’t question whether it’s where I wanna be,” she declared.

Her brother rolled his eyes, “you ain’t talking about the same him now.”

“I don’t know what your talking about,” she denied, staring out at the darkened mountains.

Kayce shoved her shoulder, “you can’t bullshit to me y/n. That’s the one problem with being twins, ain’t no way to lie to me.”

“I’m just a kid to him, he ain’t ever gonna see me any other way if I stay here,” she admitted, “hell if I stay here no one will ever see me as anything more than his kid. ‘S why we both gotta do this Kayce.”

He nodded, “no way to stand in the sun in this state, always gonna be a shadow.”

“When I come back I’ll be able to stand in sunlight so bright I’ll have a fucking halo.”

-/-/-

2 years later…

Montana has its charms all year round, but fall has a particular appeal. The leaves had started to turn, there was a chill in the air that only seemed to get stronger and there was still a frost on the grass that the sun hadn’t hit.

With the sun keeping the cold from their bones, the Yellowstone ranch hands were occupying themselves keeping their roping skills fresh. Rip observed from the sidelines as the new hand struggled to keep up with Ryan who turned to lecture the kid about keeping his eye on the steer.

Lloyd rolled his eyes when he missed the horns again, “you gotta try harder than that if you wanna be a wrangler!”

“He keeps pulling the damn steer too early,” the hand argued back.

Ryan glared at him, “don’t fuckin’ blame me for your bad skills.”

Before they could descend into an all out brawl, the group were distracted by the sound and sight of truck coming down the road. They watched it pull up in front of the barn, trailer in tow. A rare silence occupied them as they watched a young woman step out, adjust her hat then stare out across the ranch in front of her.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lloyd muttered, “she’s back. You fuckin’ know about this?”

Rip said nothing, but his face gave the answer. The other hands who recognised her muttered between themselves about what she was doing back after so long.

The new hand leaned over towards Ryan, “who the fuck is that and why does everybody care?”

“That is y/n Dutton,” he answered without taking his eyes off of her.

“I didn’t know John had another daughter,” he responded.

Ryan shook his head, “hell kid you gotta lot to learn about this place.”

“She’s fuckin’ hot mind,” the hand murmered.

The older hand spat out his words, “you keep words like that off your tongue if you want to keep it.”

Lee stepped out of the barn and stepped around the truck to greet her, “the prodigal daughter returns.”

“I don’t see Beth anywhere,” she laughed bitterly, “but it’s good to see you Lee.”

He hugged her, “I’m glad you’re back. Been a long time coming.”

“I came back for me, not for him remember that,” she turned towards the corral, “think I’ve given them enough of a show to explain it so they can pick their jaws up off the floor?”

He gestured for her to follow him towards where the ranch hands were all still quietly watching. She strode over to the group, smiling at Rip who nodded back at her.

“Where’s that mare of yours?” He asked.

Y/n shrugged, “a champion barrel horse would be wasted on this ranch. Sold her for more money than I’m ever gonna earn in the rest of my lifetime.”

“You ain’t rodeoing anymore?” Lloyd questioned.

“I did what I set out to do when I went on the circuit. Saw this godforsaken country and won it all. It’d get boring to win it over again,” she moved her gaze towards where Ryan was watching her, “ain’t no one gonna question where I wanna be now.”

Rip nodded, “afraid we ain’t got a horse to spare for you y/n.”

“I got that covered Rip. Got one coming up tomorrow from a ranch in Wyoming. Some fuckin’ old school boys who don’t know how to be nice to a horse they didn’t ruin,” she explained, “man’s wife broke it and now she’s dead ain’t no one gonna ride him gentle. Figured he might stand a chance with me.”

Lloyd chuckled, “always were a soft hand. Figured that’s how you won it all.”

“Guess that question that remains is, do you have a place for me? Not in the house but here,” she clarified.

Lee looked at Rip then back at his sister, “I reckon so. You gonna stay in the bunkhouse?”

“Oh fuck no,” y/n laughed, “I didn’t drag that thing all the way from Texas to sleep with these fuckheads. It’s looked after me in worse places. Think it’ll do just fine here.”

#ryan yellowstone #ryan yellowstone x reader #yellowstone #yellowstone tv #yellowstone imagine #dutton ranch #dutton!reader #ian bohen

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seat-safety-switch · 10 months

Text

When you know more about a thing, you’ll take more risks. Once you’ve owned enough unreliable cars, you can better sense when something is going to leave you on the side of the road. Maybe you let things slip a little bit, because you’ve gotten lucky so far. This explains why my doctor eats nothing but ground-up pork rinds and four bottles of Olde English 800 for lunch.

Those of you who are particularly attuned to reading the DSM-V for fun will notice this as a gambling impulse. Me, I only like to read DSM factory service manuals, which is also a good way to diagnose mental illness. Us humans want to play it risky, we want to pit our wits against the angry whims of nature. It makes the triumph so much sweeter, even if we had to go through hell to get there.

Let me give you a more concrete example: most cars need oil to run. However, oil is expensive, so having a car that burns it means that you are both spending a lot of money on oil, and also maybe a lot more on a new engine when life gets busy and you forget. Only a weirdo would go across country, constantly topping up their oil at every rest stop. Only an idiot would offset this by spooning leftover liquid oil out of the exhaust pipe and muffler, and feeding it back into the engine.

I wanted to see if I could do it, is my defence, and it turns out that I could. When I arrived on the other coast without having destroyed my (admittedly near-death) Soviet tractor small-block, I was overjoyed. The next morning, that engine was seized up and wouldn’t turn over. While I was sleeping in the back seat, the engine had cooled down overnight and reduced itself to a large chunk of useless iron in the vague shape of an engine. Did I lose? Not at all. I bought another ticket, and by which I mean I made sure to sleep outside the local U-Pick-It junkyard. Within an hour, I was already walking out the front door with some other atrocious piece of engineering that kinda sorta looked like it might fit into the engine bay. And now I’m back here, telling you my story.

The important thing is not to be afraid of taking dumb risks. Sure, there’s dumb dumb risks, but those are often done by people who don’t know what they are doing. In order to take smart dumb risks, you should spend your entire life accumulating knowledge of a niche field, so that you know what you can safely ignore, and what you can put off for another couple thousand miles to save thirty bucks, tops. And with that, I would like to congratulate this group of elementary school children for having graduated from grade six of Miss Maple’s class.

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deadpresidents · 30 days

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Road Trip

On November 8, 1960, millions of Americans went to the polls in what would become one of the closest Presidential elections in American History: John Fitzgerald Kennedy versus Richard Milhous Nixon.

That morning, Kennedy voted in Boston and Nixon voted in Whittier, California. The candidates had spent months canvassing the nation, working to get every last vote – and every last vote was needed. For the past several weeks, Kennedy and Nixon had criss-crossed the country, debated one another, and been working non-stop to be elected the 35th President of the United States.

After they voted that day, there were results to monitor, precincts to watch, election day problems to take care of, and many other things to worry about. Imagine being on the cusp of the Presidency – with a 50/50 chance of being elected the next President of a superpower in the grip of the Cold War, with the threat of Communism and nuclear weapons hanging over your head, and the hopes of hundreds of millions of people pinned on either your victory or defeat. Imagine being in the position of John F. Kennedy or Richard Nixon on November 8, 1960. What would you do?

John F. Kennedy put the control of his campaign in the hands of his younger brother, Bobby, and then took a nap.

And Richard Nixon took a road trip to Mexico.

Once Nixon voted that morning at a private home in a quiet Whittier neighborhood, he had been scheduled to head to the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles (where Bobby Kennedy would be assassinated eight years later) for the Election Day vigil and the long wait for the returns which would indicate whether he would be moving into the White House or facing an early retirement.

Nixon was finished voting by 8:00 AM and hopped into his black Cadillac limousine to be driven to the Ambassador. Several blocks away from the polling place, Nixon ordered the limousine to stop. Along with a military aide and a Secret Service agent, Nixon jumped out of the limo and into a white convertible follow-up car driven by an officer from the Los Angeles Police Department. Nixon took the LAPD officer’s place, got behind the wheel and ditched the press which had been following him.

Driving to La Habra, California, Nixon made a quick visit with his mother, making sure she had voted for her son in the Presidential election. Nixon drove south along the Pacific Coast Highway, with no specific destination. He stopped for gasoline in Oceanside and told a gas station attendant – startled to see the Vice President of the United States on a joyride on the very day that he stood for election as President – “I’m just out for a little ride." Nixon confided that it was his only source of relaxation.

As the group of four men, with Nixon in the driver’s seat, reached San Diego – over two hours away from Nixon’s campaign headquarters at L.A.’s Ambassador Hotel – Nixon pointed out that he hadn’t been to Tijuana in at least 25 years.

As David Pietrusza wrote in his recap of Nixon’s road trip, "Richard Nixon – the ultimate control freak – was winging it on the most important day of his life." Not only that, but the sitting Vice President of the United States and the man who many Americans were choosing to become the next President, impulsively decided to leave the entire country while those voters were still at the polls.

In Tijuana, Nixon and his party headed to a restaurant called Old Heidelberg. Despite the fact it was owned by a German, Border Patrol agents told Nixon that it was the best place in Tijuana for Mexican food. Joined at the last moment by Tijuana’s Mayor, Xicotencati Leyva Aleman, Nixon, his military aide, a Secret Service agent, and an average LAPD officer ate enchiladas in Mexico while John F. Kennedy took a nap in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.

When Nixon’s press secretary Herb Klein was asked about the missing candidate, he had to tell reporters that Nixon often took some private moments on hectic days such as Election Day. Really, though, Klein had no clue where Nixon was, eventually admitting that the Vice President was "driving around without any destination”.

After lunch in Tijuana, Nixon and his companions headed back north towards the United States border crossing. The LAPD officer took over driving duties as Nixon sat in the convertible’s passenger seat. A shocked Border Patrol guard shook hands with the Vice President and asked the man who was currently on the ballot for the Presidency, “Are you all citizens of the United States?”.

Nixon and company drove to the Mission of San Juan Capistrano, which Nixon called “one of my favorite Catholic places” on the day he faced the first successful Catholic candidate for the Presidency in American History. Nixon took his three companions on a quick, informal tour of the Mission. “For a few minutes, we sat in the empty pews for an interlude of complete escape,” Nixon later recalled.

The missing candidate and his three road trip buddies arrived back in Los Angeles before the election results started rolling in. Nixon had to explain his trip to reporters who had been searching for him all day. “It wasn’t planned. We just started driving and that’s where we wound up.”

In his Memoirs, Nixon didn’t go too far into explaining why he escaped on Election Day, but a paragraph about that day is pretty illuminating:

“After one last frenetic week, it was over. Since the convention in August I had traveled over 65,000 miles and visited all fifty states. I had made 180 scheduled speeches and delivered scores of impromptu talks and informal press conferences. There was nothing more I could have done.”

Except escape to Mexico while JFK slept.

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weretheones · 1 year

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All You Got | Part 8

Part 8: Observant

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. a bit suggestive wink wink. A/N: hi hi. apologies for the late posting (again). exam season is in full swing and im drowning a bit. butttt, I managed to get this little (its the longest chapter yet lol) part out for you guys <3 just cause I love u so much. ps. the gif is a hint ;)

Every step west of that cottage distanced you further from the cold front following yesterday’s rain. The day hadn’t started exceptionally hot, but the week’s gradual dip in temperature made the sun’s increasing beat feel more eager than you’d known it as of late. The further you got, the more frequent sips you took from the lukewarm water bottle in your bag, even tying that sweater you’d been cuddling for warmth in, just yesterday, around your waist.

Daryl seemed alright, all things considered. His arm hadn’t proved too troublesome, but the area had proved relatively deserted anyway. The two walkers you came across were tired and slow. Not much of a threat. The heat didn’t seem to bother him, either; he hadn’t shed the flannel underneath his vest yet.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky when you met the border of the next town, a few hours later.

“You’ve been through here before?” You asked Daryl, pointing to your spot on the map while walking side by side down the first commercial strip of the town. The stores looked like something out of a movie, quant but full of country charm. If it hadn’t been for the boarded windows and rusted cars sitting in the road, it would’ve been a lively sight.

“When we first cleared the prison. Made our way through all the places nearby, too.”

“Couldn’t have left a little for us?” You teased, glancing up at him.

“There’s still some left. Shit we didn’t need.”

“Shit we might need?”

“Mhm. Lemme see tha’.” He grabbed the map from your hand, raising one of his own to block the sun from his eyes. He glanced over the paper, squinting at the tiny roads, then at the street sign above.

“We can take this to Red Oak.” He tapped the street lines on the map, then continued forward.

“What's on Red Oak?”

He looked over his shoulder with a slight smirk.

“Somethin’ we need.”

It wasn’t until halfway down Red Oak Drive that you realized what that was.

When it clicked, you smiled.

It was an auto repair shop. Daryl had been here before, briefly as he told it, but long enough to make note of a few vehicles still in good condition. One of which was an old, dark blue hatchback that only needed a new battery and some gas to get started again. It was still sitting in the backlot, bathed in the sun’s last harsh rays of the season after the two of you made your way around the building.

Daryl popped the hood. It was in the same condition as it was when he first found it, with a dead battery and dusty windows.

“Do we… recharge it?”

You didn’t know much about cars other than how to drive them.

“Unless ya got a generator I don’t know ‘bout,” Daryl quipped, to which you softly rolled your eyes. “We need a new one.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something here.” You looked back to the building.

“Mhm.” He nodded, closing the hood again. “Come on.”

He kicked the back door three times. You were surprised that hadn’t been enough to bring it down; it was a flimsy thing. They must’ve not worried much about burglars in a small town like this. The brick wall was sturdy, though. Ridged edges pressed into your shoulder as you leaned against it, one leg crossed over the other while the wait began. A breeze of crisp, much more seasonally appropriate air rushed by, fluttering your few loose pieces of hair; you’d have to redo that mess of a ponytail soon.

Daryl readjusted his hold of the crossbow, rolling his shoulders back— as well as he could, the left one was still noticeably stiff.

You weren’t subtle about keeping an eye on him.

“How’s the shoulder?”

His eyes squinted under the bright sun. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“’S a bit sore,” he admitted.

“I tried to tell you.” The loose smile on your lips was sympathetic, rather than teasing.

“I know.” Daryl chewed at his lip. “But, I know ya get why I couldn’t stay there, neither.”

You stood a bit straighter, and the smile slipped away.

“I do.”

Daryl nodded. The air was heavy, not only with the newfound heat but a lingering tension— knowing— between you. If there was anyone who could understand his urge to find what was left of his family, it was you. The night you told him about your brother was still fresh in memory. There had been a vagueness you kept about the whole thing, a tone that could have sounded like a casual acceptance of fate, but Daryl remembered that look in your eye. The tear that slipped past. He didn’t have any doubt that you’d searched as far as you could for him.

But some people were too far gone.

The shared silence between you two had grown comfortable these last few weeks. This one was different. Stretching seconds, then a minute, it made his muscles heavy. His weight felt unbalanced, even with two feet on the ground.

Daryl had never been good with words— unless you counted those snarky quips he made. He either didn’t think at all or thought too long. It made him snappy and surly, the type of man people would’ve avoided before this thing. Somewhere there was a list of names to prove it. And yet, he had something to say. He wanted to.

“Thank you,” he finally mumbled.

Your expression lifted at that. “For what?”

“For keepin’ an eye on me. Takin’ care’a me the way ya did.”

Still, you seemed confused. A knit of your brows and a sweet look in your eye as you tried to pick apart some deeper meaning. Of course, you helped him. That’s what you promised, back at the start.

“Of course,” you replied. “What else was I gonna do?”

“I didn’t think you were gonna leave or nothin’,” he said, recalling your conversation while patching him up. Loyal ran deep in you, like it did him, and he trusted that you wouldn’t just leave him to rot. “But a lot’a people would’a.”

Maybe that’s what he meant. Thank you for not being that person.

You blinked, readjusting your focus on his serious demeanour. He was reserved, his lips drawn in and eyes barely holding your stare.

“Well, that’s not us,” you said plainly.

A reminder that he’d given you that loyalty, too. You weren’t sure if there were words to express how it didn’t feel so difficult to give your attention and care to the health of the man who fought tooth and nail for you to live, even after all the harm you’d caused him. It wasn’t even that you felt you owed him, but you knew he deserved it.

Daryl gave you a small glimpse of a smile. Soft and sweet, like he was proving to be— deep down, at least. It drew a lopsided grin from you too. Your temple rested against the cool brick wall, and under the sun’s golden glow, you looked quite pretty like that. It was a talent, how quickly you could turn the charm back on; nothing else seemed to grab his attention the same way.

“After all, what are friends for?”

Daryl scoffed. He hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful when he blurted, “Tha’s wha' we are now?”

“I would say so. We keep saving each other’s lives and the conversation is half decent.” You shrugged, as if indifferent. But your smile had turned playful not long ago, about the same time he noticed a warmth at his cheeks.

He’d blame it on the heat, if you asked.

A second or two later, a walker slammed against the door.

Daryl’s shoulder wasn’t too restraining; he lured the lone monster out and freed his knife from its skull without breaking a sweat. You gave him a quick smile of acknowledgment before the two of you stepped inside.

The garage was in rough condition. A sign that was probably falling apart even before the world did, cheap tile floors, and a thick smell of mildew mixed with something decomposing— you were, unfortunately, quite knowledgeable about that smell, by now. The nicest thing about the building was that big roll-down window in the front that let the storefront become soaked in sunlight. The summer must’ve been a lot more tolerable with that wide open.

When the sunlight sneaking into the abandoned building didn’t reach far enough, Daryl held a flashlight in his mouth and scanned the store with his bow. His left shoulder was still stiff, so he had to depend on his other arm to bear most of the weight. Of course, you’d already tried to get him to keep it on his back, if anything, and take the gun instead— but he refused. All but demanded you keep the gun for yourself.

The two of you searched the aisles with quiet steps, waiting for another unfriendly face to jump out of the shadows.

It didn’t come.

Instead, you gathered the few supplies Daryl needed, even pocketed a pair of sunglasses that you were sure would be useless after today, and went back out to that warm autumn day. Sitting on that small bench by the side of the building, eyes protected from the sun, you watched Daryl pop the hood of the car. He was quick at work, dexterous fingers tinkering with different parts of the vehicle that you could barely label.

Between sips of water, your sight caught on those fingers— now smeared with grease— perhaps a second too long. When he turned to wipe his hands along that red rag in his back pocket, he noticed your lingering eye and paused.

Hesitated.

With the pair of you caught off guard, you tried to break the quickly growing tension and asked, “Were you an auto mechanic before?”

Daryl shook his head, bangs falling in his eyes as he did. He stretched underneath the hood again but spared you a glance back. Eyes squinted under the sun, the shine of sunlight hitting the grease along his exposed skin; the scene before you was beginning to look like something out of those ridiculous male model calendars.

“I jus’ know cars,” he rumbled, a slight smirk to match that thick accent.

It was getting absurd, really; the hot sun wasn’t the only thing making you blush.

You swallowed another gulp of water.

It turned out the battery issue wasn’t too complicated. Daryl recounted some of his steps to you, telling you about which wire connected to which point, and so on. It was valuable information, undoubtedly worth paying attention to. The only problem was that by that point, the sun’s beat had stripped him of his vest and hitched the sleeves of his flannel around his elbows. The fact that the top three buttons were undone, opening across that broad and bare chest of his, wasn’t lost on you, either.

It felt like a tease. He did.

All you could do was nod along with his rough drawl and lean against the cool brick wall while you tried to deny checking him out. But really, everything else came second place to the swell of that shirt around his biceps, and his tense, thick forearms. Muscles overworked after dealing with tight gears and heavy equipment.

The shade of those sunglasses was dangerous, giving you the excuse to let your eyes roam free all while Daryl was none the wiser— or so you hoped.

Thoughts you hadn’t entertained in a long time began to roam free, too. It hadn't bothered you when they left; survival was the top priority, not romance or desire. Of course, the lack of time and potential suitors was a factor, too— why would you think about that when there wasn't even a chance for it? But here you were now, staring at Daryl, and recalling that fluttering feeling of attraction in your gut all too well.

He was kind and strong. Whatever brute strength and resilience he had was matched with that three-sizes-too-big heart of his. After all, who else would take in an injured stranger, nevertheless one that attacked you just hours beforehand? Daryl might’ve blamed it on getting even, after you helped him from the window, but you knew there was something more behind that harsh stare of his.

Something delicate.

For whatever reason, you’d been lucky enough to see that gold-hearted nature firsthand. It sliced through his rough exterior, sparkling like a piece of glass caught in the sun. It was fragile, but you’d seemed to weave your way inside, anyway.

You inhaled— stop.

It might've felt otherwise, but there was still parts of Daryl you didn't know. Sometimes you forgot he was a man you’d known less than a month, been friends (barely) with less than two weeks. Even if he proved to be a good person, and was clearly easy on the eyes, from the obvious display ahead, these thoughts were intrusive. Perhaps an outcome of an idle mind. A natural attraction after a string of moments free of tension; all those life-or-death events bonded you, for better or worse, and as the urgency and blood washed off, you were falling victim to the full extent of that tie.

“Got tha’?”

“Mhm,” you faintly hummed.

He said your name— no, repeated it. Embarrassment snapped you back into focus. Here you were daydreaming and practically ogling the man, while he was trying to teach you something. Help you.

“Asked ya to grab another jug.” He gestured to the empty distilled water in his hand. Thank God, you were able to ignore that flex of his arm— mostly— when he did.

“Right, yeah, of course,” you stammered. He tossed you the small flashlight before you scurried back into the building. The dark, cool air was a welcome relief against your hot cheeks, and you hoped it’d bring down whatever flush had inevitably crept up your chest.

At least you had those sunglasses.

Maybe Daryl could feel your eyes roam his bare arms, chest, neck— stop— but you still had an inch of dignity left; he couldn’t prove it past the dark tint of those glasses, now sitting at the top of your head.

Strolling through those same aisles, you grabbed another jug and tried to shake the last of those thoughts from your mind. Like how his eyes were as blue as the pretty Georgian sky, and were quickly becoming a solace for you.

You were starting to like the looks he gave you— like he had while waiting at the door. It wasn’t that he was easy to read, no, you’d probably be fighting for a glimpse into those thoughts of his for the rest of your life. But every time you met those eyes that were once so harsh, you remembered the forgiveness he’d shared with you. The kindness. Perhaps it was a bit selfish because when you thought about that, it made something bloom deep in your chest. Something warm and sweet and good.

You wanted to share it with him too.

Somehow.

Helping him find his people was your first try. You hoped you wouldn’t need a second.

You grabbed the second jug of distilled water and turned to head back.

A thump came from behind.

It was odd. Two years spent in this world and yet, in a week, you’d reverted right back to that jumpy girl at the start. The air became thin, and you had to suck in a deeper breath just to keep your head straight. Heart pounding against your ribcage.

The last time you were in a dark store alone, it ended up with three people dead and Daryl shot.

You spun around, flashlight high. The light danced across the aisles, no walkers or living under the fluorescent glow. That wasn’t enough to soothe your anxieties, so you placed the jug on the ground next to you and grabbed your gun, instead.

It was then that your light landed on an exit sign. You could see the frame of a door below, in the far corner of the store. You approached it carefully, previously neglected as the pair of you assumed it was just a fire exit leading to that back alley, but now, with your heart still beating fast, you suspected something more lying behind that door.

You twisted the handle carefully, gun ready in the other hand, but it was locked.

You checked the front desk, found a ring of keys, and tried two before you found the right one. By then, your heart had slowed a bit. An engaged lock between you and that warning was slightly comforting, but you were still on edge. Finger ready by the trigger, if needed.

The door creaked open and you stepped inside.

Immediately, you found the source of the thump. A lone walker. Long, thin hair that was missing chunks and skin like leather stretched across its loosely hung open jaw. Its eyes were wide, staring out to the door you’d just walked through, but other than that low moan that rasped past its throat, it barely moved.

The walker was old and frail, decomposing in this backroom alone since, if you could guess, the start. It didn’t even try to crawl. It couldn’t, there was a heavy cast on its leg reaching up to its upper thigh. A mop lying on the floor— maybe the thump. A bottle of antifreeze sat next to it, a dried splash of something bumpy and red.

Puke.

She killed herself. Locked alone in a backroom, with a broken leg and no other choice.

The various ways you found the dead often reflected their last moments. Guts hanging out and bits of muscle torn from their flesh meant the obvious. Bullet and knife wounds, too. At the start, the mourning had almost been unbearable. Suffocating. Sympathy never stopped, there were simply too many roaming the world. It became dormant after one too many tried— and almost succeeded— to kill you. Then, something you only ever thought about in silent moments like this one.

You unsheathed your knife and stepped over the fallen mop. It was the least you could do.

The room was untouched. It didn’t have many valuables. Not for this world, anyway. There was a stack of cash and a nice bracelet in the bottom drawer of the desk, but nothing other than a couple of mints and a screwdriver that was worth keeping. In the top drawer, you found a single key on a thick, metal ring.

You pocketed it, just in case.

Other than the desk and those wobbly shelves filled with client records and taxes— a whole lot of paper— there was only that lumpy grey blanket, draped over something leaning against the wall, left to check out. You peeled it off carefully, but a cloud of dust surrounded anyway. Between coughs, you recognized what was underneath. The somber tone of the room lifted quickly, then.

From the front of the store, Daryl called your name. Apparently, you’d been taking too long and his suspicions had arisen.

“I’m okay!” you called back, clearing your throat one last time. “Be there in a second.”

Even though you knew even less about motorcycles than you did about cars, you smiled as you gripped the handles. You were betting Daryl knew about bikes, too. You kicked up the stand and moved the bike through the store. Twisting it around the aisles and picking up that leftover jug of distilled water as you did.

“I found something.” You grinned as you stepped back into the sunlight.

Daryl’s eyes widened when he saw what you were leading.

“No way.” He said, wiping his hands across the red rag, before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Where’d ya find this?”

“Backroom. We missed it earlier.” You pulled out the keys you found as Daryl quickly grabbed the bike.

His hands ran over the handles, then the seat.

“And I think I found the key.”

He had a ridiculous grin plastered across his face. You hadn’t even realized he could smile like that.

“Pass ‘em ‘ere.”

You dropped the ring in his open palm as he straddled the bike, thighs on either side. He looked down at the beast of a vehicle between his legs like it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

And then he looked back at you with that same look, and it almost made those intrusive thoughts from earlier seem a bit less insane.

You were sure you had a goofy grin of your own. “You know how to ride one of these?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry. Stupid question,” you chuckled, eyes roaming over his leather vest— back on— and patchwork jeans. You never liked stereotypes, but Daryl sure was one sometimes.

“Jus’ a bit,” he quipped.

“You know,” you mumbled, smile growing, “I’ve never been on one.”

“Never?”

“Nope.”

“Well, come on, girl.”

You certainly didn’t need convincing. He shuffled forward, giving you the space to swing your leg over the seat behind him. At first, your hands grabbed at the spot, maneuvering your balance into a comfortable sit— but the overwhelming sight of Daryl's exceptionally broad back, draped in that black leather vest, soon had you squirming again.

“Ya gotta hold on to me, alright?”

“Okay,” you mumbled. You placed your shaky hands on his sturdy shoulders, like handlebars of your own. It was lucky that he was wearing that vest now—an extra layer between your skin and his— because you were pretty sure your palms were slick with sweat by that point.

“Not there.” Daryl’s hand wrapped around the bend of your elbow, gently pulling your hands down. “Don’t need ya diggin’ a finger in my scab.”

Then he repositioned them around his waist.

Like it had been nothing.

It had— you reminded yourself. Whatever bothered thoughts that kept slipping into mind today were an exception. Maybe your period was coming back. Or maybe that hot sun had melted away every bit of self-control you had left.

“Ya might wanna hold on a bit tighter. It goes fast.”

Your lungs constricted. Suddenly this felt wrong. Dangerous.

“Wait— what about your shoulder? Should you be moving it—”

“‘M movin’ it less sittin’ on this thing than off’a it.”

“Well, shouldn’t we be wearing helmets or something?”

The vibration of his laugh echoed through his back, which you were practically pressed up against. You might've cared more about his flippant attitude if he hadn’t reverberated a particularly soothing warmth back into you.

“You chickenin’ out?”

“No. I’m just remembering every motorcycle crash horror story my brother told me.”

“He ride?”

“God, no. He was an ER nurse.”

“Well, we ain’t gonna crash.” Daryl rolled his shoulders back, and your grip tightened already. Nerves overcoming you. “Promise.”

His confidence was reassuring. His firm body, even more so.

“Alright then.” You nodded and the engine roared to life.

Daryl’s feet lifted off the ground, landing on the rests just in front of yours. He found his balance quickly, even with you wrapped around his back. The pace was slow at first, a steady crawl that seemed overpowered by the loud rumble of that engine below.

Then, when he finally passed the lot, he shot down the street.

You couldn’t even guess how fast he was going. The world around you started to slip away, a lost frame of reference. The trees lining the road blurred into splatters of green and red, like a watercolour painting, and the wind rustled through those strands of hair that hadn't made it into your ponytail this morning. Racing through the breeze, that chill came back. Cold, little shards of air splintering across your face and hands.

The sudden bolt of movement made your stomach drop, that fluttering feeling of emptiness finding its spot. It reminded you of riding a rollercoaster as a kid, holding your brother’s hand tight and putting on a brave face as the big sister. It might’ve worked all those years ago, but you were pretty sure he’d be laughing at you now. You squeaked like a mouse, digging your face into the warm leather at Daryl’s back. The threading of his angel wings tickled your face alongside your wild hair, and you felt that familiar rumble in his chest again.

“Ya alright?” He yelled back.

You sucked in a fresh breath of air and peeked an eye open. It felt like the bravest peek in the world— the blurry, fast world. Though still huddled behind Daryl, with a vice grip around his steady waist, you were sure it didn’t appear very courageous to anyone else.

“Fine!” You managed to reply, “I just didn’t expect that.”

His gruff voice was harsher when he had to speak over that deafening engine. You barely made out his next sentence: “Want me to slow down?”

You thought about it. But by the time you understood his offer, your eyes had opened completely, almost adjusted to the speed of the world around you. You even sat up properly, looking to your left as he raced past a strip of abandoned cars. That floating feeling inside your chest began to feel less dizzying, like Daryl’s waist was a tether to gravity as the bike ripped down the streets. He was always positioned firm and steady, like that beat of his heart you could feel against your cheek. You trusted him to keep you solid, even as the wind picked up.

“No,” you practically squealed with a newfound excitement. “Keep going!”

Much to your increasing delight, he kept that speed until you noticed a group of walkers at the end of the long-stretching road. He slowed down to turn, the joy and carefree adventure stained with reality, once again. The engine was loud. You glanced behind as Daryl bolted back through the street you’d just gone down, the blurry heads of the dead turning toward you in the distance. It’d been as good a sign as any to head back, with the gas slowly dwindling too.

When you reached the car garage again, the bike crawled back through the lot, allowing you to finally take a deep breath and catch that fluttering feeling in your stomach. The bike paused and the engine turned off. The stark difference in noise was shocking— some time down that road you forgot just how loud the engine was, and just how quiet the rest of the Earth was nowadays.

Daryl sat back, hands limply grasping the handlebars, head bowed to the beast of a motor below him. He seemed content from behind. Relaxed.

You leaned around his shoulder. “End of the line?”

He seemed to snap back into focus then, glancing at you.

“Gas is runnin’ low anyway.”

You nodded, but added hopefully, “Maybe we can find more?”

“We should use it for the car.”

You sighed, “I know.”

The engine was still warm underneath your legs. Your disappointment was just as fresh. That could’ve been your first and only chance on the back of a bike, for all you knew.

“Good first ride then?”

“Are you kidding?” You laughed. “I get it now. Horror stories be damned.”

He chuckled, even throwing you another glance back. But the second after your eyes met, his grin fell an inch. He turned his face away, too, and it hadn’t only taken a second longer for you to notice how close he was like this. You still wrapped around his back.

“Ya gotta move so—”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, climbing off the bike. Trying to steady yourself on the ground was harder than you anticipated; your legs felt like jelly, already missing the smooth leather beneath you.

Your eyes caught on Daryl's vest as he also got off.

In front of you.

The bike balanced on its stand, Daryl on one side and you on the other. Something caught his attention, just above your eyes.

“Ya got…” He gestured with a lazy hand around the top of his head.

Your eyes went wide, hand flying up to the wild mess of your hair.

You patted down a patch. “There?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, giving you the ghost of a smile.

You felt it again. Butterflies.

Fuck.

---

By the time you finished siphoning gas from the other cars, Daryl was done fixing the blue one. Throwing your few bags in the backseat, you climbed inside. You in the passenger seat, him behind the wheel. He liked to drive. It seemed to calm him, from that loose expression he wore.

“We’ll keep drivin’ west, see wha’ we can find.” Daryl gripped the steering wheel with one hand. The other lingered by his mouth, thumb occasionally gnawed at. “Can siphon gas from the cars on the road. Hunt for food, sleep in the back.”

“A home on wheels.” You rolled down the window as the car began to drift down the same streets you’d just sped through. The wind was softer than it had been on the bike. You already missed that terrifying, joyful freedom.

There was another way you could chase it, you realized. You started to dig through the glove compartment.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“CDs, hopefully.”

His eyes flickered over you. Hair now brushed, let loose from that ponytail and tucked behind your ear as you leaned forward. The sun was still strong late into the afternoon, direct rays landing across the dashboard and reflecting onto you. It explained that glow you had.

“God, I’d listen to anything at this point.”

Daryl glanced over to the road, but his attention didn’t slip off you completely.

It never seemed to, anymore.

“Here.” You popped the cd from its case and rubbed it against the soft fabric of your sweater. “Can’t believe this is the only one. Who the hell owned this car?”

Daryl’s lip twitched up at your soft snark. “You a music snob or somethin’?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “I was just hoping for something better.”

With one hand off the wheel, he clicked on the radio. Static rumbled from the speakers until he slid the dusty cd inside. The dark melody was slow, something that reminded him of those nights in the same run-down bar in the early nineties. A favourite of his uncle, then his brother, and while the pair of them served a stint in jail, Daryl’s.

It was strange, feeling better off without your family by your side. But Daryl had all his life to get used to that thought. It wasn’t until he made his own family, then lost them, that he felt the opposite. He missed that group more than he could say, missed that feeling of purpose they gave him.

Though, as the days rolled on, you were beginning to fill that ache in his chest, too.

“Sure there’s nothin’ else in there?”

You checked again, but it was mostly a polite gesture. There hadn’t been much in there, anyway. A pair of old gloves that you’d already stuffed in your bag, some tissue, the lone cd, and a brochure.

“Only this.” You flickered through the pages of the sale brochure. It was for the development of a small community, units starting in the low three hundreds. The prospective opening date was off by a few years, though. You doubted they’d even broken ground before everything fell apart.

“You really don’t like it?”

“Ain’t exactly a fan,” he grumbled. There was a flash of disappointment across your face, caught in the corner of his eye. His frown lifted a bit. “’S fine, though. Ain’t a big deal, neither.”

“What are you a fan of then?” You tossed the brochure back inside the box. “Now that we have a radio, next time I’m scavenging I’ll keep an eye out.”

Daryl thought for a moment. “I dunno. Only really listened to what Merle liked.”

You blinked, brows knitting a centimetre closer.

“You spent a lot of time with him?”

“When he was around.”

Something stung in your chest. No, your heart. From the sparse details Daryl spared about his brother, Merle didn’t seem the reliable type. Every story he told was followed with stiffness. Those memories were distant and cold— the type of coolness that grew from hurt, not time.

You knew to tread lightly.

“What’d you guys do?”

“Whatever.” Daryl shrugged. “Drank. Went huntin’. Nothin’ special.”

“So you hunted even before this?”

“Mhm.”

“Merle taught you?”

“My dad.”

“Oh.”

Daryl had never mentioned a parent before. Given the age gap, you’d assumed Merle had probably raised him a good chunk of his childhood. When he was around, anyway.

That cold tone Daryl had for his brother extended to his father, also. A part of you wondered if that hurt had been deep, too. Maybe as deep as those scars on his back.

It was an insensitive thought. Unfair. Daryl didn’t owe you anything, and he certainly didn’t deserve you stuffing your nose in his family’s business.

“Do you like hunting?”

“I liked the forest. Liked eatin’.” It was better than being home. “But I didn’t do it ‘cause I liked it. Was jus’ somethin’ I had to learn.”

With a nod, you went quiet. A softly contemplative look on your face. It piqued his interest, a flutter of nerves catching in his gut.

“Why ya askin’?”

“Just curious,” you answered. “You’re the only person I’ve had out here that didn’t jump at every snap of a branch.”

“Well I got practice,” he said. “Stuck with a lotta city folk, then?”

You turned back to him then, a sly smile hanging off your lips. “I’m city folk.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

You laughed, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Cause you’re jumpy, too,” Daryl scoffed. “Scared’a your own damn shadow.”

“I like the forest,” you defended with a slight pitch to your words. It made Daryl smirk, too. “I just don’t like how dark it can get. It’s freaky. I’ll never get used to it. Maybe all those bright city lights mess with your brain after all.”

Daryl nodded, and he knew the moment had presented itself. The tone shifted a bit serious when he finally asked the question that’d be pressing him.

“Atlanta, then?”

“Briefly.” You nodded. “My brother and I were visiting before everything happened.”

“Heard it was bad there.”

It was. It’d taken a long time to stop waking up in a sweat with memories of that night.

Still, you shrugged. “It was bad everywhere.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t droppin’ bombs everywhere.”

“I got out before that.”

Good timing.

“We were only there for two weeks. If the trip had been a month later, or earlier, we wouldn’t have been anywhere close to Georgia when this thing hit.”

Daryl felt something fester in his gut. Anxiety? That distant, non-existent what-if made him shift in his seat. He could feel it looking over your side profile— the curve of your nose and lips, the soft flutter of eyelashes— and it hit him like that bullet had. Fast.

It was true. You’d grown on him. He cared.

“You’re not from Georgia?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Explains the accent.”

“Or lack thereof,” you countered. “I like yours though. It's charming.”

Daryl scoffed, and you gave him a look.

“What? I’m being serious. You have a nice voice.”

A pretty shade of light pink scattered across his cheeks. You couldn’t help that loose smile you wore. It was nice to make him nervous, for once. Of course, you weren’t about to rub it in his face. You glanced away, eyes caught in the fast shades of green, orange, and red passing by the window.

“What about you? Where were you at the start?”

Daryl cleared his throat. “Same place I’d always been. Hometown.”

“You never left?”

“Nah.”

“Not even for college or…”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he tried not to side-eye your reaction when he finally muttered, “Didn’t go.”

Though that part of him that held all those pessimistic, self-doubts was a strong force to be reckoned with. He didn’t need to prove himself— never cared to before— but now here he was, sitting with that gnawing feeling in his gut, wanting to.

And yet, you barely even shrugged.

“I almost didn’t go, either,” you said nonchalantly, eyes running over the back of the CD case. “You ever wish you had, though?”

“Nah.”

“Fair enough. I think you could’ve been good at it, though. You’re very…”

Daryl waited, brow hitched as you hummed.

“Intuitive.” You’d decided. “You know, you have good instincts. Sometimes it feels like you know what’s gonna happen before it does.”

He sat with those words a moment, then offered one of his own: “Observant.”

“Yeah, exactly. Maybe you could’ve been a lawyer… Or a cop.”

“Nah,” Daryl huffed. “Cops ’n I never got along well.”

“No?” You teased. “You used to get into trouble, Dixon?”

“Merle did. Guess I tagged along for the ride.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I was a dumbass.”

“You being a dumbass— that’s hard to imagine.”

“I didn’t have to,” he quipped.

You smiled at the easy wit that always just seemed to flow from him.

“So you didn’t leave town before this?”

“Not really. Never even left Georgia.”

“Seriously?”

He shook his head.

“Well, maybe after we pick up your friends we can go on a road trip.”

Daryl gave you a look. It was questioning, sure, but gentle. “Plannin’ on stickin’ around then?”

“Well, I uh…” you paused. Curiously, you hadn’t thought about it much. Since those initially tense first days together, the possibility of parting ways with Daryl, not because of a feverish worry or a herd, but because your shared journey had reached an end, hadn’t come to mind often. The two of you hadn’t been together long, but you’d already been through a lot. Patching the other up, too many close calls to count, sharing what little supplies you had… just to say ‘see ya!’ after everything felt wrong. Incomplete.

“If you’d let me. I don’t really have anywhere else to go— anyone else.”

“Alright.” Daryl nodded.

It was a short acknowledgement. A single word. It still made you smile.

Daryl wasn’t like most people. He was forgiving and insightful. He let you live when you probably deserved to die because he wasn’t like most people. All you knew about the others was that they’d earned Daryl’s loyalty at some point, and made their own way into his sentiment, too. If he trusted them, you hoped that meant you could too.

Hoped.

Worry crept back in. Maybe the others wouldn’t want you there. The stain of the prison could’ve been enough to taint your reputation, completely, even if Daryl vouched for you. And, if it came down to it, choosing between you and them, there was no doubt in your mind. He wouldn’t pick the girl he knew for a couple of weeks over his real family.

It poured out faster than you meant. Words slipped, mumbled and stuttered, “You think they might— might wanna kill me? Or, I don’t know, cut me loose?”

“Tha’ ain’t gonna happen.” Daryl watched the road. “They’re good people. Like you.”

The weight of worry lifted off your chest again. He had a talent for that.

You smiled.

Good people.

You tried to hide the flush at your cheeks and chest, glancing out the window. “How’d you find them anyway?”

“At the start, Merle ’n I were in the middle’a huntin’. Didn’t even know ‘bout the walkers until I found one out there, ’n it tried to take a bite outta me.”

“Shit,” you hissed.

“Douchebag was all over me. Smelt somethin’ awful. I started yellin’, screamin’ at the thing. Punchin’ him. He jus’ kept coming, then Merle shot it.” He scoffed, “Thought I was ‘bout to serve hard time for murder, till Merle said he’d heard something on the truck’s radio ‘bout dead bastards comin’ back to life. We left for Atlanta after tha’.”

“Refugee camps?”

“Never made it. That was when we found the others on the road. We stayed up by a quarry for a while. It wasn’t safe, so we kept movin’, till we found the prison. ‘Bout a year ago.”

“You stayed there a year?”

Daryl nodded. “We lost a lot gettin’ there. Made somethin’ of it, though.”

“I didn’t think anything like that could be real.” You shook your head.

He met your look. It’d gone from smiling to serious in a few sentences. That slight bite at your lip, a quiver in your brow.

“It was," he said.

“Do you think you could ever have that again?”

Of course, he’d thought about it. Even if he tried not to, those memories of the prison and the community they built from a grey, desolate building— a prison— were overwhelming. It was the first time in maybe his whole life that he felt a purpose. People didn’t just depend on him. They accepted him. They liked him.

He stole another look at you. That bloom of familiarity was deep in his chest, again.

“Maybe.”

---

Another hour passed. The sun was softer, a cold breeze shifting through that open window until you finally rolled it back up. You still stared outside, watching the trees slip by.

Daryl had traced the backroads back to the main road leaving the prison, and you’d been travelling west since. The same way he’d seen the bus go. It seemed strange that they hadn’t come up with an official rendezvous spot, just a last chance at loading on that bus together. But maybe a more detailed plan would’ve been useless anyway; places didn’t last long, nowadays.

The car rolled to a stop. Your head lulled to face forward, finding a slight ache in your neck when you finally tore your eyes away from the window. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, about to slip when your eyes landed on the answer.

Instead, you gasped, “Oh my God.”

There, sitting in the road, was the bus.

Splatters of blood painted the siding. A dozen or so bodies sprawled by the back door. Some were piled on top of each other, limbs mixed. Others lay alone. All of them had turned before they were put down for good.

You could just tell.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel. The veins in his hands popped out, muscle turned into stone, and there was no use in glancing up at him; you already knew that look of pain— despair— he had. Could practically feel him begin to bottle up every word, emotion, or care.

You were the first one to exit the car.

Goosebumps broke out on your skin as a cold breeze took hold. That chill sunk into your skin with the sound of the second door opening, and something stiff and heavy clouded behind you.

It was coming from him. You knew that already. It made that pit of dread in your gut even heavier.

Was it fury he was feeling? Grief?

Even when you finally did glance back at him, lingering by the car's side, you still couldn’t say for sure. That glossy look in his eye was certainly bitter. Tense with emotion that you knew he was fighting to reign in. It left him with a dark glare as he stared at the dead faces of his people— the only ones he’d known for sure got out. He had practice keeping that type of anger silent. Not the one that made you punch some asshole at the bar, but the type that was born out of misery and regret.

He’d been abrasive at the cabin. Then softer after the pharmacy. Even strained in the cottage, with you tending to his back. But he’d never forced himself numb before, not like this. You could tell he was holding back. A guttural scream, you thought, from the tension in his neck and that vein threatening to pop out where a swollen bump had been a few days prior.

But his lips drew shut in a taut line, and he was quieter than the rustle of the trees.

It made your stomach knot. Though, you were sure it was no worse than what he might have been feeling— if he'd let himself. His only lead: bloody, dead, and rotting in the middle of the road. If you’d kept driving, the tires would’ve ripped through decaying muscle and crushed bone.

It wasn’t fair.

The gas station. His wounds. The bus. These people, lying like trash on the road. No more significant than the withering leaves beside them.

There wasn’t the time, nor the energy, to spend digging graves. But you dragged each limp body, one by one, to the side of the road. Right where the grass bled into the concrete, they laid.

Sometime around the third body, Daryl began to help. He picked up the opposite limb with his good arm, then eventually his bad one too.

Nothing but that gloss across his eye to tell you these people meant anything to him. He was retreating by the second. Crawling back into that ugly pit of animosity and cynicism that always seemed to have a spot waiting for him. Each body you moved reaffirmed it. Pushed him deeper as hollow eyes fell on the cold faces of the people he cared about. He fed. He protected.

Or, tried to.

It was never enough.

-> part 9

A/N: so much happened in this part I mean... reader finally realizing she might have a lil crush on him... the bike ride... the car conversation... THE BUS

anyway. back to our regular scheduled bad shit happening to our fav fictional characters. if u have any predictions or thoughts, lmk :p

FYI: I'm expecting to miss next weeks posting. I have too much to do with exams, sorry! after that ill be graduated so lots of free time coming up lol.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon / reader #daryl / you #daryl / reader #daryl dixon series #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #norman reedus #the walking dead fanfic

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faegoddessog · 20 days

Text

Woman in Red Ch 12/?

Chapter 12: Jovan and Podgorica

Series Summary: She's a very successful woman who can't seem to find a partner that can keep up with her. He is just wanting to find someone who likes him for HIM, not his fame. Neither of them are prepared for what hits them when she walks into that coffee shop.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ only, just discussion of sex, oh and some like kissing and a lil' submissiveness, and maybe a lil' jealousy. (I had get all 'author's craft' and put some character development and set up in there, I know... so weird. But let me say.. Chapter 13 will put you in heat.)

A/N: In this story, I make no mention of birth control or condoms or STI's. Please, darlings, please love yourself enough to protect yourself appropriately when you have sex. <3

Message me or leave in a comment if you'd like to be added or removed from my tagged list!

@purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight

Here is the Woman in Red Masterlist

Here is the link to all my posted work: My Dirty Little, and not so little Stories.

Chapter 12: Jovan and Podgorica

They are walking the next day in the city of Podgorica. Aya had seemed rushed, though she tried to play it off as excitement.

“The driver is already waiting,” she had said, while he finished breakfast, “it’s an hour away, let's get going!”

He wasn’t sure why they were driving over an hour to the big city, but heck he was always up for seeing new places.

‘What Aya wants, Aya gets,’ he had chuckled to himself as he tied his shoes.

For the capital, it’s not that big of a city. It’s also not that big of a country, Austin reasons. Aya tells the driver to drop them off the south side of the Old Ribnica River Bridge.

Austin is wary as they drive through an urban residential area, past old white plaster and stone work houses close together. They pass old crumbling walls then down a narrow alley like street with a mish mash of graffiti clearly done by rebellious teenagers on one corner and a Mosque on the other. Finally the road ends at a dirt turn around on what looks like a vacant lot. There are mounds of stacked stone just there as though no one actually cares that they are ancient ruins. Four or five dumpsters tagged with spray paint are the only witnesses of their arrival. Bits of the city can be seen through the line of trees at the far edge. This looks like a place that you might be taken to in the boot of car and not return from. Austin turns to look at Aya with concern.

“Oh come on, live a little,” she says with a wink, getting out of the car. “I’ll text when and where,” she says to the driver.

She excitedly traipses down a narrow, nearly hidden trail, lined with weeds and bits of trash. She looks completely out of place in her tailored linen trousers and off the shoulder button down. Her wedge sandals are completely not made for this. He looks at the driver who shrugs as though he’s seen her do this a hundred times. Austin hurries after her, feeling dubious.

The trail opens up almost immediately onto a paved path that was hidden by the weeds. He immediately breathes a sigh of relief as they turn a corner around what looks to be an old ruined tower and he sees the wide manicured steps leading down to an old stone footbridge. It spans a tributary only a few feet from its confluence with the mainstem below. What looks like a courtyard with what once was a fountain is on this side of the bridge, the embankment opposite is a tangle of stone walls, foliage, layered rock and hollows. It feels like a set piece from The Labyrinth, apart from the traffic and city noises.

“You had me worried there for a minute,” he says, coming up behind her.

“Have I steered you wrong yet?” she says with a wink and a smile.

Hand in hand, they cross the bridge and wind their way up the hill. They pop out on a busy street. They walk a few blocks, passing the Montenegrin National Theatre, which makes Austin perk up.

“I think they haven’t started their season yet,” she says when he asks about going, “besides, last time I was there, I ended up getting caught being naughty in the coat closet. I’m not sure I’m welcome anymore,” she giggles as they passed.

They walk the tree lined streets. They pass a few restaurants and art galleries. The architecture is pretty simple and at times brutalist, echoing its past. There are a few shops to check out, but nothing fancy. Austin is wondering what it was about here that made Aya want to come so badly.

They round the corner and find a loose crowd of people around what looks like a construction site on an empty lot. There is a mix of people in business attire, general random people, men in construction clothes and press. Austin makes to cross the street, away from the cameras. Without a word, Aya takes him by the hand and threads her way around to the leading edge of the crowd. There is a podium and a microphone and a few clean, new shovels. It seems to be some sort of ground breaking ceremony. As if on cue, a man steps up and begins a short speech.

Not speaking Montenegrin or Serbian, Austin has no idea what is being said, but Aya seems to understand at least some. Standing next to her, he can’t help but stare at her thinking of how he couldn’t resist her if she drew him into a coat closet. He starts wondering if there are any errant closets near when he hears, “Hvala Aya Glascoc!”

She hands him her purse and winks, then walks the handful of steps to the podium before he knows what is happening. She shakes the man’s hand, speaking a few words to him. They turn, smiling, to the crowd as camera shutters snap. She steps back and someone hands her a hardhat and a shovel. As though she had done it a million times, she shoves the tip into the ground and with her sandaled foot, drives the blade in, leveraging the dirt up, the crowd claps. She kisses her hand and waves. There are a few more photos and she rejoins Austin, a couple people shaking her hand on the way. Austin is just stunned, standing there holding her bag. Well, at least he knew why she needed to come to the city today.

……………

“Ok,” he says, once they are sitting down. “Confession time.”

She and Austin had slipped away, hard hat, shovel and all. She had been evasive answering his questions, telling him she was hungry and needed to eat and that she knew the perfect little place.

“Oh” she says, chin on her fist and leaning in, “what do you have to confess, is it dirty?” her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“No,” he chuckles, “what just happened?”

“Oh, this is my favorite little place, I always come here when I’m in Podgorica so they know me,” she evades with a giggly smile. She knows what he means. She just is shy of the subject.

They had walked into the adorable little cafe tucked away behind a nearby park. It was all stonework and plants and a massive vaulted skylight inside. Aya had been greeted loudly with hugs, before they were seated.

“That’s not what-” he begins.

“Aya!!!” A man, younger and handsome, walks in big strides to the table with arms wide. She jumps up and he bends his muscular form around her and plants a hefty kiss on Aya’s lips. Her hand cups his cheek in familiarity as she returns the kiss in kind. It was the kiss of someone who knew her intimately and lasted a little too long, in Austin’s opinion.

Her eyes sparkle as she leans back, speaking in the lilting mix of what sounds like Italian and Russian to his actor's ear. The man’s hands lingers around her waist, holding her tightly to him. Austin smiles tightly as he is introduced as ‘my friend Jovan’ by Aya.

“Zdravo! Nice to meeting you. I welcome all friends to Aya,” the man says in a loud voice, his English only slightly questionable. He takes his hand from Aya’s waist to extend it out to Austin, still pressing his body to hers. He shakes the man’s hand politely. He finds that he isn’t fond of the casual intimacy between the two, even when they step apart.

Aya and the dark haired man continue talking for a few minutes in a mix of Montenegrin and English, her hand lingering on the man’s arm. Austin watches the exchange trying to keep his face neutral, but twirling the ring he wore on his finger in agitation. He wishes that the table was not in the way so he could step closer to Aya and let this overly intimate man know he was more than just ‘friends to Aya’.

Fuck, but is he? More than just a fuck buddy to her? The thought tightens his chest on the way to his gut, souring in his stomach. He takes a couple breaths, trying to manage what he is feeling.

‘Calm down, you have no right to be jealous,’ he reminds himself. But he admits, it’s exactly what he’s feeling.

Jovan walks from the table to the back of the restaurant saying “I take care of you! You will not pay!”

“You know I will Jovan!” she fires back.

Austin shoots her a questioning look, pointing his thumb after the man. He doesn’t yet trust himself to speak.

“That’s Jovan, it’s his restaurant,” Aya’s grin is ear to ear. “We fight every time over whether or not I will pay. He is the reason I know any Montenegrin at all. Oh and this is his wife, Jelena, she always lets me pay!” She gets up and hugs the young woman that comes around the corner.

The second Aya says ‘his wife’, the tightness in Austin’s chest lessens. Her eyes go wide when she is introduced to Austin, who stands up and shakes her hand with a big smile.

“Wait, you are the Elvis, da?” she says in thickly accented english.

“Yes Ma’am, that was me,” he slips into the accent unknowingly as he smiles shyly and nods.

Family is called over, selfies are taken, autographs signed and the declaration that ‘you are family now!” is made.

Jovan brings out the rakija and pours a tiny glass for everyone. They toast with shouts of Živjeli! Jovan grabs the back of Austin’s head and plants a kiss on his cheek. It’s jarring, but Austin’s Fan Mode is on so he keeps his cool. It’s helpful to know that Jovan treats everyone like he wants to sleep with them.

“He’s uh,” Austin blows out a breath when they settle down, wine in hand.

“Alot, I know,” she reaches over and brushes the back of his hand soothingly, “but at least he is joyful.”

“He taught you Montenegrin, eh?” Austin asks, flipping his hand over to let her fingers dally in his palm.

“Uh huh” she sips her wine, giving him a knowing look, drawing circles with her fingertips.

“Oh really?” Austin tries to play cool, but feels the jealousy creep back in. His hand closes on hers, not exactly possessive.

“Do you really want to know?” Aya asks, squeezing his hand.

Austin blinks, “I don’t ask questions that I don’t want to know the answers to.” His hand slackens against hers.

“Jovan was one of my more enthusiastic paramours here, until he fell in love with Jelena and got married," she says matter of factly. "He taught me to speak what little Montenegrin I know and I taught him how to make a woman orgasm six ways to Sunday,” she stares into his ocean eyes, tracing the veins up his wrist.

She had been at the wedding last year and had given them an enormous amount of money, enough to purchase the comfortable home they lived in. She was pretty sure that Jelena knew that the reason she enjoyed such a satisfying marriage bed was because of her.

Austin nods, takes a breath, shivering at her touch. He laughs, looking down at her hand, feeling the weirdest conflict he’d ever felt. It was one thing to talk about exes, and another to run into them, another still to get hugs and kisses and be called ‘part of the family’. Yet how is it that she can make talking about her ex-lovers such a fucking turn on. Aya was an enigma.

“I bet you did,” his voice is breathy as his fingers do their own dance on her wrist. “Thanks for being honest about it,” he says, trying to find equilibrium.

Jovan brings out the first course, winking knowingly at Austin.

“You lucky, Aya is magic,” he says under his breath to Austin, “She teach me so good, Jelena could no refuse,” He winks conspiratorially.

Austin just nods and smiles, possessiveness welling up again.

The food is so delicious. Austin watches the interplay between Aya and Jovan drop to being casual and he starts to calm.

“Ok Aya, let me try again,” Austin says as they finish the first course, “What was all that with the ground breaking?” he goes for the direct question instead of trying to be amusing.

“Ah yes,” she dabs her mouth with the napkin, “I was a donor for the new building, part of my philanthropy. They asked me to come to the ceremony, I didn’t want to make a big deal for you.”

“Aya was THE donor,” says Jelena behind Austin. “So modest.”

Jelena refills their wine.

“What is it going to be?” asks Austin.

“It will be a hospital for your mind, like depression things,” says Jelena.

“It’s not a hospital,” Aya clarifies,” it’s going to be more like a community center. It’ll have a space for meditation and yoga and art classes. A place to do what makes you happy, plus a little coffee bar.”

Jelana looks at her with pursed lips… “and.”

“And the main part is for a non-profit clinic for emotional health.” says Aya almost sheepishly.

“Oh,” says Austin, “that’s really cool, Aya. Y’know, you CAN tell me these things. You don't have to spring them on me. I want to know about your passions, so I can support them, ” he doesn’t care that Jelena is still listening in.

Jelena's eyebrow lifts at Aya as if to say, 'this one, keep this one.'

"Sorry Austin, I'm just so used to doing my own thing," she shrugs it off.

“Yes, she helps so much. We love her,” Jelena smiles warmly at Aya. Then she is pointing a finger at Austin, “Do not fuck her up… I will not like you anymore.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he says with a smile.

“Good,” she walks away to another table.

“You know, that’s like the third or fourth time I’ve been told that,” he says to Aya, “You really have loyal friends.”

“I love my people, what can I say?” she sips her wine as though she were the reigning queen.

He silently wonders why they all seem so very protective of her. It was clear that she was special in nearly every way. She was magnetic, this he knew all too well, so it only follows that those she touches, literally and figuratively, would love her. If he wanted to be more than just another bit of fluff to her, he was going to have to reconcile these exes still caring deeply about her in his mind. He knows it won’t be the last time something like this happens.

“Why mental health?” he asks, deciding to put focus somewhere else to let his thoughts settle.

“Well,” she says tentatively, “I think it's really important for a better society. I try to help the local clinics in every town I own a place in. They really didn’t have one here so…” she shrugs. What she doesn’t say is that Montenegro has a high rate of suicide and that is actually why she even considered buying a place here.

“Hmm. How, uh, how many more places do you have?” he asks.

“Ok, since you only ask questions you want to actually know the answers to, “ she smiles at him, then begins ticking off on her fingers. “New York City, Kuala Lumpur, London and here are investments or for business so I have apartments. I have private homes in the Caribbean and near Aspen, and the Malibu house of course.” She doesn't mention her apartment in Florence.

“How often do you get to each?” he is astounded that she has so many homes.

“At least once a year,” except Florence. She’s not ready to talk about Florence.

…………………………

“How about a tub with me?” Aya says stretching onto her toes to put her arms around his neck.

She had seen Austin with Jovan, how he went a little possessive then pensive. Jovan was full-on physical touch all the time. Would she admit that part of why she drug Austin to his cafe was to see how he would handle it, maybe. She could tell that he was in his head about it now and thought maybe he needed a little simple reassurance. Besides, if he was going to get his back up every time they met someone she’d fucked, it would get old really fast.

On the way home, Aya had snuggled into him, falling asleep on his shoulder. He watched the view, mentally dissecting his feelings. Currently, he was standing by the piano, looking out over the ocean view, trying to decide if he should tell her.

“Well, you gotta get dirty first,” Austin says with a smile, not yet, he decided.

“Do I?” She returns his smile with a sideways glance.

“Yes of course, otherwise the tub won’t work,” he smirks, running a line down her jaw with this thumb.

“Well, I suppose you could fuck me more, that would surely make me dirty,” she offers with a shrug, as though it’s just an idea.

“And how exactly do you want me to fuck you more, huh? Aya?” he pulls her against his body. “Do you want me to take you up against a wall, or bend you over something? Maybe outside on the terrace again? Do you want me to lay you down and fuck you? Do you want my cock in your mouth again?“ His voice is soft but dominant. He isn’t sure where exactly all this is coming from, he only knows he wants her.

‘So much for feeling simple’, she thinks as he offers her a smorgasbord menu of sex. The same words could have been said with spite, a challenge to her motivations. Indeed she has been accused of using sex to her advantage. But really her way is just wanting sex. Instead of acusitory, his hand is gently on her jaw, turning her face up to meet his. His eyes and his tone both tell a story of dominant desire.

It is sexy as hell.

“I want…I don’t,” her mind trapped by indecision, “Yes,” she finally breathes out, “any way you want me.” She lets go of any pretense that she will have any major say in what happens for the next few hours.

“Any way *I* want,” his eyes smolder at her, “Oh, Aya, that is a dangerous thing to offer me,” he echos her words from two weeks ago, Fuck has it only been two weeks? “Hunny, I have to admit,” his fingers shake just a little as he pushes a hair back from her face, “I don't feel like being gentle tonight.” Aggressive possibilities flash in his mind.

“I meant what I said,” she locks eyes with him, returning the smolder joule for joule. “Any. Way. You. Want.” The bite on her lip and the look in her eyes erase in a flash any trepidation he has.

“Well, we are definitely going to need that soak later. I think after what I want to do to you, we will both be sore and …messy,” the word ‘messy’ melts off his lips. “Newfoundland? Right?”

“Yes Sir,” she says. This is exactly what she wants, she realizes, to not be in control.

“Oh, I like that,” he rumbles, somehow more turned on by her submission. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, only that he wanted to claim her, to have her, rule her, even if just for the night.

“Do you want me to get out some playthings?” she looks up at him through her eyelashes.

“Yes,” he growls and pulls her in for a kiss full of promises.

She pulls away and disappears into the bedroom. He opens the piano, sits and starts playing a series of cascading arpeggios. It’s his go-to warm up when he wants to play, plus it sounds impressive and satisfying. He is the picture of a patient man with nothing to do but tickle the ivories, inside he is all nerves though. They’ve not talked about any sort of sub/dom stuff yet. Honestly he figured if they did, he’d be the one kneeling at her feet, not the other way around. Not that he’s not played like this, he has ideas. It’s just that he doesn’t know what she’s ok with or what ‘playthings’ she’s going to bring. Fuck, as long as she is taking, it could be an entire orgy army she is assembling in there though a secret tunnel.

Aya spends a few minutes digging deep into the back of her closet to find what she is looking for. Her hands shake in excitement as she pulls the box out. She has one similar to this in every house she owns. She can’t remember if she’s used everything in this one or not. She hears him playing her piano and smiles. She has no idea what he’ll be up for as she glances inside. She kicks herself for not bringing it up sooner. But hey, no time like the present. As she turns to leave, she sees something strappy and black peeking out from behind a boho dress. Perfect!

When Aya comes back from the bedroom after freshening up, she is carrying an ornately carved lidded box and wearing a bra and panty set that look to be more like elaborate crisscrosses of black elastic than actual lingerie. It frames her snake tattoo nearly perfectly as well as her naked nipples. Her hair flows down her back, but is held away from her face with a clip.

His eyebrow raises at her appearance and he stops mid arpeggio, the sound from the sustain pedal ringing in the body of the instrument. He decides she was worth the wait, his hard cock agrees. She comes over and presents him with the open box. With one glance, he knows what he wants to do with her.

“Oh my, so many possibilities in one little box,” his look to her is pure devilish lust, “Pet.”

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #sassy unashamed woman

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bettergeology · 1 month

Text

On some nights, I can’t sleep. Sometimes, on those same nights, my lovely wife is with her family and I find myself sitting in the pallid glow of a single lamp wondering what to do.

If there’s anything that’s dependable, it’s the neighborhood dive bar that’s been in business for something near 90 years. I don’t often find myself drinking alone, but once in a while I get out to connect with the fellow neighborhood denizens that apparently populate the bar after 11:30 pm. It’s a surprisingly lively place on a surprisingly quiet stretch of road, and I wasn’t sure if I would be the only one or if it would be packed. There are nine others here with me now, and every time the door opens the heavy sent of wet pavement swirls in with a hint of cigarette smoke.

It hasn’t rained in Portland for a few days. The light drizzle has moistened the pavement just enough for the petrichor to rise. In here, it’s warm in temperature and feeling. A man in a pork pie hat is playing pinball, a nondescript ‘80s movie is playing on the single working TV, and all is well in the world from in here. We’re all sharing the slightly lonely, communal feeling unique to the local watering hole.

City living has its challenges. The human ecosystem is on complete display as well as the gamut of human experience. I doubt that living in the countryside would do me well; in the city we share everything in much closer proximity than they do in the country. Although the local watering hole is a universal constant, city dives are different in that you can come to the same bar 50 times and see a different slate of people every time. Everyone is talking about innocuous things: spray tans, lap dance bars, vacations, smokes, local colleges…

It’s all a vignette into the lives of strangers. After my glass is empty, I’ll doubtless walk out the door onto the quiet street and take a couple extra laps around the block before climbing into bed with the cats. Maybe I’ll see a skunk or a cat. It’s always novel to see the same homely neighborhood in the quiet of night. I’ve lived here for seven years, and that feels so wrong. I found the place I want to spend the rest of my life in my early 20s, starting where I should have ended, and I love every minute of it. The most momentous occasions in my adult life so far have happened here, within a ten minute walk of where I slowly drain my glass of local microbrew.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and go to campus to finish up my peer review edits. I have an orchestra rehearsal far too late at night. Between now and then, I’ll keep thinking. I’m at the intersection of the lives of strangers. Our streams of consciousness will go on.

Maybe I’ll move over to the bar.

#oregon #pacific northwest #portland #pdx #personal #not geology #text post #writing #dive bar #Sellwood

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theunvanquishedzims · 1 year

Text

@batneko wrote a sugar daddy AU so I had to write one back.

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

Bowser's longtime flame has officially tied the knot, she's shooting off fireworks to celebrate, she's leaving the country on a world tour honeymoon, she's taken out an actual literal billboard on the road between their cities to showcase the wedding photos

So Bowser's like hey, I'm not stupid, I can see you're over it, you don't have to rub it in my face, but he can't even say that because she's blocked him on everything

And he was GOING to hire a skywriter to spell it out over the wedding, but the skywriting company said there was a conflict with the fireworks company and they couldn't get clearance, and Bowser is halfway through checking his own plane to see if he can rig something up when he realizes hey, this is kinda pathetic

They are both extremely over-the-top people and it's hard not to escalate when you're both filthy rich.

--------

So Peach and Mario are off on a year-long world tour honeymoon, and Mario privately offered to let Luigi tag along, so he's feeling pretty pathetic himself.

And Mario SAYS they'll still run the business together, but Luigi has seen Peach's schedule as...governor? President? Monarch? And it's pretty packed, and Mario already has his own dedicated bodyguard from her retinue, and Luigi is picking up a lot more clearly than his brother how things are gonna change

For the better! Mario's gonna love the parties and meeting people and playing sports with actual athletes and driving sports cars on closed professional tracks against real racers, and he can fix a sink but he's got the brains to fix a city's infrastructure too. He's gonna do great.

And Luigi...Luigi will be fine. Really! One-man plumbing business. He can do this. Except other businesses are already poaching their customers on the premise that Mario is retired and the Mario Brothers will be shutting down, and the only way Luigi can counter that is by cashing in on his brother's fame to get people's attention. Which, no thanks.

So he's just come out of the tropical storm of wedding prep and parties exhausted and ready to take a break, but he needs to scramble as the business dissolves under his feet, and their house is paid off and bills should be fine but it's such a gut punch to see how easily his life crumbles without his brother, and Luigi is TIRED. Luigi wants a BREAK. Luigi wants someone rich and fun and good-looking to swoop in and take HIM on a vacation.

"Maybe I should get a rich husband to take care of me," he mumbles into the newspaper draped over his face, covered in ads for rival businesses and Peach's honeymoon tour.

And you know...that's an idea. That's a real idea. He's already been on blind dates, there's always somebody who has a gay nephew or cousin or coworker who would LOVE a tall strong man like Luigi, they're sure~! So what if he picks out his own guy? And if they don't click, he can just shrug it off as them not being rich enough for him. That's believable, there's enough photos of him at the palace and Mushroom-Wimbledon and Mushroom-Kentucky Derby to say he's developed a taste for the good life.

In all honesty, he HAS developed a taste for the good life. Not high teas and little cucumber sandwiches, but being able to drop everything and go to an island, or play a round of golf, or picnic in the countryside, or play Indiana Jones in desert ruins while Peach is off hobnobbing with local rulers. He had fun. And it would be even more fun if he wasn't tagging along after his brother, if it was someone doing those things for HIM, because they liked him and wanted to impress him and--and spoil him, he makes himself acknowledge. He wants to be spoiled. He wants to be...a sugar baby.

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

Cue montage! Luigi is a good looking fella, but he's also visually Green Mario, and the idea is to NOT leech off his brother's rep. The mustache goes. The overalls have already been retired. No more baseball cap keeping his thick wavy hair out of his face, no more sturdy waterproof work boots. He regrets getting rid of the mustache, and starts growing a five-o-clock shadow. Maybe he'll grow a beard, those are trendy.

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

That's the picture that pops up in Bowser's inbox as he sorts through correspondence.

He's pulling back and being really honest with himself about what he actually wants. And honestly? Peach isn't it. Not anymore. It was a painful revelation, but a necessary one. She's not the same hyper-giggly cheerleader type he met in university, and he's not the party boy rugby jock he was back then either. He doesn't need a hot blonde girl on his arm to impress his teammates and stop any ugly rumors in their tracks. He doesn't need to beat anybody up for saying he's gay. And honestly, it was freaking exhausting trying to keep up with Peach's schedule when he was a young adult with just classes and games to worry about, now that's he's mumble-something years old and has his own country to run, he couldn't imagine trying to do half of the things she has packed into her schedule.

So...good for her. She got that guy who loves being social and making a bajillion new friends without being rude to them and can probably stay in the background and let her shine without it chafing, either. Good for her. He is genuinely happy for her.

He has a hard time conveying that to the cowering housekeepers as he finishes smashing the last of her portraits into bits, but he doesn't pay them to understand him, just obey him, so he tells them to sweep it up and stomps back to his office.

He needs more people like that in his life, he thinks, if he's being honest. He needs someone who won't argue him in circles or make him feel stupid debating political policy or hint that his family are tyrants. His family gets stuff DONE, okay, no need to go through six layers of wishy-washy old toads and delicately manage public image in the process. Say it and it is so, and the people will see that their needs are met and be grateful. That's the Bowser way.

Romantically, what does he need? He makes a little list.

1. Hot.

2. No arguing.

3. No criticizing or trying to change him.

4. No pink or girly.

5. Just...hot okay? A hot dude. There, he said it. A hot dude he can take on dates who won't try to fix him, who won't think there's anything WRONG with him that needs fixing, somebody who can just be hot and pretty and hang around making him look good without getting in his way or trying to take over.

Ugh. He needs a Mario, that's what he needs, somebody to quietly stand around and smile at him and feed him cake. But way hotter. Way, WAY hotter.

He quits glaring at Peach's wedding ads long enough to type out a basic list of demands and send it to a matchmaking service. (It's a sugar baby service, but he'll be damned if he calls it that.) He's not doing ANY work for this relationship. He's rich, he's powerful, he's reasonably attractive, he thinks? Got a bit of a gut since college but he's still got muscle. Whatever, he's got a castle and a fleet of cool cars and enough money to spoil the hell out of TEN thirsty twinks, whoever he picks can keep their mouth shut about his beer belly. No, he's going full Lizzo, he's not considering anyone unless they LOVE his body. He's rich enough to afford that.

He's all set to send that pic to his potential matches, but then Luigi's pic pops into his inbox, and he panics and switches. He's not trying to scare matches off, that would be self-sabotaging. And he's a fun guy, not some bum who gets drunk and passes out on a deck chair, that was ONE TIME and he was recovering from sunburn, you didn't need to snap a picture of it, guys. Whatever. Fun in the sun dad bod pic, that should be enough to reel in a boyfriend.

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

So. Bowser is a smart man, and the ruler of a kingdom. He does have bodyguards, and he designs most of his own security systems. The service will weed out the scammers, but he's investigating his matches himself, and Luigi is...not unknown to him. He's probably wildly unrecognizable to most people post-makeover, but Bowser was stalking Peach's wedding and has dossiers on everyone in the wedding party. He KNOWS what his ex-rival's brother looks like without a hat.

The only question is WHY. Is this a game? A joke? A sick trap? Why is he doing this?

"Why are you doing this?" is the first message he sends through the service.

And boy oh boy is that the question of the hour, Luigi thinks, staring at it. He has no idea who's he writing to, the...DADDIES are wealthy and important enough to warrant a bit of identity protection. He'll get a picture in advance of any meetings, but for now he's flying blind.

He's not gonna dump his whole life's story on a stranger, and he doesn't need to justify his decisions to anybody. He's not hurting for company, or money, so why is he doing this?

"I want to take a break and have fun with someone who can afford to take me nice places and do cool things" is what he decides on. It's true.

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

The rest is just them going nice places and doing cool things together. No drama, no schemes, no misunderstandings or second-guessing about why they’re there. Bowser pays for everything, and gives Luigi some spending money besides. Luigi works hard to relax and be sexy and flirty and fun. It helps that Bowser is so comfy to cuddle with, and actually taller than him, which is impressive.

He is vaguely aware that he is dating Peach's ex, he figures that out around the third date or so, but the guy is remarkably chill compared to how she described him, (and in this world Peach's security detail handled any incidents, there was no kidnapping (recently,) and the Mario brothers weren't heroes who needed to curb-stomp anyone, so Luigi has never met Bowser directly.)

Bowser is keenly aware that he is dating Peach's brother-in-law, but he works hard to relax, not obsess over anything, and just be cool and fun to hang out with. It helps that Luigi is super hot, a little goofy when he relaxes, and enjoys draping himself over Bowser while they lounge on the beach, or on a train ride through the mountains, or a tour of wine country. Lots of hot guy draped all over him while people stare enviously.

It's definitely envy, nothing to do with how Bowser just chugged half a bottle of merlot. He needed to wash the taste of that horrible rosé out of his mouth, okay? Who bottled that, a skunk? Horrible bouquet. Horrible. Luigi, buzzed and giggly and tucked up against Bowser's side staring at him adoringly, thinks Bowser is the funniest, wittiest guy in the world. They should definitely get out of there. The proprietors sell them a case of the merlot and gently suggest that the gentlemen switch to cheese tasting now, so they do.

Bowser's driver takes them on a long ride up the coast, and they have dinner at a beach chateau at sunset and listen to the cresting waves as the stars come out, and Luigi thinks this is exactly what he needed.

And Bowser just spent a long weekend out of his workshop and not buried in paperwork, and he's got some nice wine and stories to charm some diplomat who's visiting next week, and hey maybe Luigi can handle the charming and let Bowser do the diplomacy, or maybe he'll just sit at the dinner table eating fancy food and looking pretty while Bowser takes care of everything.

Man, it's good to be the king. Especially when you've got a doll like this by your side, cheering you on, waiting to see what you’ll do next. He needed this, this ego stroking and taking care of someone, showing off for them. Not running after a pink velvet track suit who's got a million clubs and committees and parties to coordinate. And wow, he hasn't thought about her in a while. A few days, at least. And he doesn't want to think of her now, under the stars, with a fuzzy face nuzzling his neck and strong hands slowly petting down his chest hair and over his belly. He's good. He’s good.

#bowser #luigi #bowigi #bowluigi #sugar daddy AU #human AU #AUs are still my favorite thing #long post

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unchained-hound-dog · 2 years

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Hey I seen your taking Jack Harlow requests so I was thinking an angst filled request where the reader and Jack have been seeing each other on the low for a few months now but Jack wants to commit but loves the lifestyle he’s living and isn’t sure if he wants to give it up and commit to you but he also can’t stand anyone else having you.. he’s selfish but I’m thinking you maybe go out on a few dates with someone else and Jack realises what he has with you and he maybe sees you in a restaurant one night with your new man and he fights to get you back?

Sorry that was a mouthful!

Here you go!

Your time with Jack had been very low-key, you'd both spent most of your time together in either Jack's living room or your small appartment. Some of his close friends knew about you, they'd walked into you both cuddling on the sofa once or twice and your roommate knew about Jack, but no-one outside of those people knew. You liked it that way, Jack's fame had skyrocketed and as proud of him as you were, you dreaded the day people found out about you, knowing people wouldn't be kind.

Neither of you had said 'i love you', you didn't really know how you felt about each other considering it had been only a few months. Jack had spoken to some of his boys, telling them how he wants to commit to you fully; but the boys had convinced him otherwise.

'You settle dude, you gotta kiss goodbye to every girl you've got across the country' his friend shrugged his shoulders as if to say just think about it

'Yeah but I could have one girl come round the world with me man'

'You think she's gunna drop everything and come on the road? Give it a month away and you'll be bricked up and the girl you're committed to will be thousands of miles away'

Jack took a sip of his drink, his mind racing with what to do. He liked you, he really did but he could see pros and cons to both scenareos.

It had been a few more weeks, and you'd been sitting on the couch at Jack's place watching a movie when you turned to him, asking the question you'd been dreading to ask for weeks now.

'What are we Jack?' his eyes moved from the screen in front of him and down to your face

'Humans?' he replied deadpan, earning an eyeroll from you before you sat up

'No you idiot, what's our status'

'I mean' he moves his hand to scratch the back of his neck, not really sure how to word his next sentence correctly 'I was thinking 'bout this and i feel like when I'm on the road we'll be so far apart, I don't know if I'm ready to commit to anything serious yet'

His words made your heart sink slightly, you moved yourself away from his body to get a proper look at him

'So you'd rather fuck a different girl in every state than have one girl who's commited to you' you nodded your head as though you were understanding before getting up from the sofa.

'Where you going?' he followed suit, standing up and watching as you slid your shoes on and grabbed your bag.

'Well if I'm nothing more than something to pass the time before tour, I'd rather waste my time somewhere else' you didn't bother waiting for his response, you just left his house and made your way home.

The journey home consisted of silence and tears, you allowed the feelings you'd built up to release. You really liked Jack, but the thought of you having to fight for him just didn't seem fair.

Jack spent the next few days before tour absolutly miserable. He'd developed a grumpy attitude which had pissed a few of his friends off. He didn't realise until you'd walked out that door just how good he had it with you, you were the only person to actually belly laugh at his jokes, the person he went to when he was feeling low about stuff. He'd fucked up and he knew that, but you weren't returning his calls or texts and you'd blocked him on socials, leaving him to hope that tour would distract him from his yearning for you.

It was day 5 of tour, Jack hadn't so much as looked at a girl, most of the girls he'd usually hook up with had been left on read, he simply returned to his hotel room after a show and slept.

'I'm getting you laid tonight man, I can't cope with you being so fucking moody'

Jack had agreed to go out for some drinks with his friends, they were hoping he'd loosen up a little and Jack hoped he'd see you. His tour date was in your hometown and he hoped and prayed you were out with your friends just so he could see you.

They entered a bar and were escorted straight towards the V.I.P table when Jack saw you. You were sitting across the table from a guy who looked nothing like your type, you seemed to be fake smiling at something he said as you sipped your drink. Your eyes locking with Jack's as he walked past causing you to choke slightly on your drink. You regained your composure and returned to the conversation, well, listening to the man in front of you babble on about something.

Jack entered the VIP room and sat down, downing the cup that was put in his hand before nursing another. He couldn't work out what he wanted to do, so he turned to the one person who he knew would speak sense to him.

'Urb' Jack slapped his friend on the back and informed him he needed to talk to him, both men walking to a quieter area.

'Y/N here tonight, and I half told myself if i saw her out I'd try and talk to her but she's on a fucking date man. It's been what less than a week!'

'Look, when everyone else was telling you to ditch her and fuck around on tour, I half agreed, but I saw more than anyone how much that girl meant to you, so if you need me to distract that guy so you two can talk, I'm your man' Urban turned, grabbing a glass of red wine from the table behind him and began heading into the main area

Jack watched as Urban walked by your table 'tripping over' a chair and dumping the entire contents of the wine glass onto your dates lap.

'Dude I am so sorry, that chair just jumped out on me'

You watched as your date quickly stood, red wine pouring from his lap as he attempted to brush the remainder off. You watched as Urban walked away, not missing the small wink he gave you before hand.

'I'll be right back' your date muttered something about an idiot as he walked to the bathroom.

Before you had chance to pick up your drink, the seat opposite you was occupied by Jack.

'If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just come over,didn't need to get Urban to do your dirty work'

'Listen to me, we got about 5 minutes before that fucker comes back over here but what I need to say wont take that long if you keep that pretty mouth shut' you raised your brow at his statement, encouraging him to go on.

'I didn't realise until you left my house last week just how much I like you, this past week has been the worst week of my life and i-' you cut him off with 'oh yeah fucking all those girls must have been real hard' he ignored you, continuing on 'and I haven't slept with a single girl. Been going back to the hotel room and thinking 'bout you, 'bout us and what I threw away cause I was scared to commit. But I really, really miss you baby' You watched as Jack sighed, finally getting his point across

'You really haven't slept with anyone?' you're not sure why that's your first question, but you assume its because its the one thing you were most worried about.

'Not a soul, no-one's as good as you are baby' he smirks before letting out a huff as your foot comes into contact with his calf.

'How do I know you're gunna commit to me and me only?'

'You gotta trust me' was all he said,

'Jack if you break my heart again I swear-' you don't get to finish your sentence before Jack has his lips on yours, your hands moving to cup his face.

'Uhm' you hear behind you, you quickly turn and are met with the man you had originally been here with

'I'll just go, nice knowing you' he scoffed, grabbing his jacket and leaving

'Really? Him? Was it the shoes that did it for you?' Jack smirked, standing up and walking you over to the V.I.P room.

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader

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caswouldratherbehere · 1 month

Text

Dean nudged him with his shoulder. Cas hummed in response, leaving his eyes on the sky. Baby's hood was warm under his legs, but the temperature was dropping. Five-point-six degrees in Fahrenheit, to be exact.

"What do you see?"

Cas turned to him. "What do you mean?"

Dean gestured at the sky. It was a minute or two away from totality, when the moon would completely block the sun. Dean wore cheap, gas station glasses that Sam had bought them. Cas's vision was not dependent solely on his human anatomy, and so he went without them.

"He means since you have extra special angel vision," Sam said from the other side of the car. They'd pulled off the road in the middle of the country and were parked in a field in Ohio, not a soul or even building in sight.

Cas hummed again, returning to gaze at the shrinking crescent. "I'm not sure I could explain it."

"You know, what, a million languages? Try."

Cas thought, and as he thought, the eclipse reached totality. The Winchester's removed their glasses, now safely able to enjoy the view. Sam's reaction was audible, a soft "wow" escaping his lips. Dean's reaction was silent, but as usual, Cas was aware of it nonetheless. A soft inhale, shoulder's straightening.

"It's... Have you ever seen a piece of artwork that spoke to you in a way you couldn't put into words? Like there was something about it that reached past the planes of reality and spoke to you in a way you couldn't perceive, couldn't hope to explain?"

He felt Dean's eyes on the side of his face.

"It's similar to that. It's not so much what I can see--which is simply a more detailed version of what you see. That I can explain. Rather, it's a feeling that's beyond even me. It's incomprehensible. I'd describe it as immense, but even that feels inadequate. It's like something greater than myself is reaching out, making me feel like I'm more by extension. I've seen this hundreds of times and it never fails to amaze me. There's nothing else like it." He shrugged a shoulder. "I don't suppose that makes sense."

"It makes more sense than you know."

Cas didn't understand that comment, so he turned to Dean and met his stare. "Dean. You're missing the eclipse."

Dean snorted. "Apparently I'm not."

From the back of Baby, Sam groaned. "Flirt later, Dean. We have, like, 30 seconds of this left."

Flirt?

Dean mumbled a "bitch" but nonetheless turned his eyes back to the sky.

Cas was missing something. Besides the total eclipse. But that one, at least, he could remedy. He could figure out what Dean meant another time.

He followed Dean's lead, and looked up.

#destiel #eclipse #eclipse2024 #ficlet #my fic #fanfic #titleless #I don't have the energy #I'm once again processing an important day by writing destiel fanfiction #what do you mean this is not a normal way to process life

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queerprayers · 1 year

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hello, i hope you are having a lovely day! thanks for having this blog! 💖 my exposure to faith has mostly been through mainstream doubt-unfriendly environments so it felt eye-opening to follow your blog and a few others that are quite welcoming to it!

do you possibly have any recommendations for nurturing faith when one has so many doubts, including the existence of God or belief in the events of the Bible? or possibly even reading recs?

i was raised agnostic in a Muslim-majority country and i have a diverse friend group with Muslims, Christians, Pagans and agnostic friends so whenever i wish to believe i find myself both doubting and also not knowing how anyone chooses any religion or denomination to follow, but i like to think everyone's faith/religion is valid and connects them to God. anyway that was a bit long, thanks for the blog and answering asks again! :)

Welcome, beloved! I'm so glad you're here and it brings me so much joy to know that people can be honest about their doubt here—it's an integral part of so many people's experience and to repress it or pretend it doesn't exist is misleading and painful.

I'm currently reading A History of God by Karen Armstrong (which I'll probably quote from a couple times) and thinking a lot about how conceptions of God have changed over time, and therefore how doubt has changed—we can only doubt when we have something to doubt! For some people, this book would probably increase their doubt (just a fact, not a bad thing), but for me, learning about how culturally-specific and constructed and interconnected religion deepens my faith in a God watching over it all.

One way that I see people talk about doubt (and I've definitely done it myself) is address it as if it were a stumbling block on the road to faith. That it's something we get over. That there's a linear path to certainty. Even when people praise doubt and call it holy, sometimes they imply that that's only because it strengthens the faith that always comes afterward. Doubting Thomas was the first person to name Jesus as God—we know this, this is all true and is very meaningful to so many. But I've learned to accept other ways that doubt exists, because not everyone has this experience. Doubt is a companion sometimes, not a temporary roadblock. Sometimes it's an inherent part of faith, and sometimes it doesn't lead to religious faith at all. In case you need to hear this: don't create some imaginary end of the road where you'll be certain! Maybe you will, but don't expect that of yourself. Your doubt is your questions and your desires, your creative thinking and your love for your friends, it's you caring about finding something meaningful. It's proof that this matters to you, and even if someday doubt is no longer a major part of your religious experience, don't lose it all. Doubt does not need to be cured—it needs to be listened to.

I'm thinking a lot about the existence of God while reading Armstrong's book—how she presents a constructed God, used as a tool for good and evil, and how beautiful and terrible ideas of God can be. While talking about medieval Islam, she tells us this:

. . . [T]he Arabic word for existence (wujud) derives from the root wajada: "he found." Literally, therefore, wujud means "that which is findable" . . . An Arabic-speaking philosopher who attempted to prove that God existed did not have to produce God as another object among many. He simply had to prove that he could be found. . . . [T]he word wajd was a technical term for [Sufi mystics'] ecstatic apprehension of God which gave them complete certainty (yaqin) that it was a reality, not just a fantasy. . . . Sufis thus found the essential truths of Islam for themselves by reliving its central experience."

What if God is more than existence? What if God is more than we could ever believe in—and so instead of believing in Them, we seek to find Them, see Them a little bit more clearly every day? There's such a Christian emphasis on believing the right thing, and I do think it matters what we believe. But there's more than that—there's how we believe, and what we do about it.

C.S. Lewis believed that the fact that we desire something this world can't satisfy is itself proof that we were made for and by something more. I can't talk you into believing in God, and I don't want to. But the desire for more is a space where God can reside, if you let Them. The desire to believe is a kind of belief. Wanting to believe in God is wanting God, and I'm not claiming proof of anything, but I am saying if you connect with that desire, God is already a part of your life, whether because They're there, or because you can't find Them. The lack of God is still a relation to God. Doubt in a god existing is still a relation to God. God exists in relation to you, in you. If we can only doubt when we have something to doubt, if we can only disbelieve when there's something to disbelieve in, that means we have something.

The Bible is more specific than God's existence, and for some this makes it harder to relate to. It is a more clear presence for many people, though—it's something we can hold, memorize, study. Every person of faith relates to their scriptures differently, and I can't tell you exactly how to do so, or which way is "right." But I will say it is not a thing to believe in—"it" is a living, breathing library of transcribed, collected, translated, loved (and hated) books. We could talk about taking the Bible literally vs. metaphorically, or whether it's "historically accurate," or whether God wrote it or told others to write it or had nothing to do with it. Ultimately where I am, the foundation I come back to, no matter how my beliefs change, is that I believe God wanted us to have it. I believe it matters. Once someone asked me whether a psalm was "theologically accurate" and while that's an interesting conversation, my first instinct when reading a poem written thousands of years ago by someone I've never met is not to theologically analyze it but to say, "Yes! I've felt that way too! I hear you! And God hears both of us!" I don't think you believe or disbelieve in myth or poetry or oral history or prophecy or personal letters—I think you listen to them. Before asking yourself whether these things happened, or if we can prove certain figures existed, or anything else super useful but very overwhelming, especially without a history degree, first ask yourself what they would mean if they mattered. What would change about how you move in the world if these books were close to your heart? If you listened across centuries to find people also believing and doubting and searching and finding?

While recommending the Bible (as well as the other books closest to his heart) in Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke tells his student, "A whole world will envelop you, the happiness, the abundance, the inconceivable vastness of a world. Live for a while in these books, learn from them what you feel is worth learning, but most of all love them. This love will be returned to you thousands upon thousands of times, whatever your life may become—it will, I am sure, go through the whole fabric of your becoming, as one of the most important threads among all the threads of your experiences, disappointments, and joys." Don't believe in a book—live in it, love it, let it weave you together.

Reading A History of God, I'm being reminded how much dialogue there has always been between religions, especially Judaism/Christianity/Islam, and how so much of the Bible is built on traditions outside of it. The writers of the Bible were also living in diverse communities, interacting with and reacting to other faiths, sometimes with hostility but also with synthesis—so much of all three of these religions is built on the local pagan traditions of where they evolved, and all three incorporated Greek philosophy in various ways. None of the major religions of the world are solitary faiths that sprang up out of nowhere—we have always lived with each other, and we've been alternately mad about it and inspired by it.

Having relationships with many kinds of people is beautiful and fulfilling, but it also inevitably brings up questions! I've found myself saying, "I love this person, I think they're intelligent and well-meaning, and they genuinely believe in something I do not. What does this mean for me? Am I doing something wrong?" Embracing others' faiths is, to me, a really important part of loving them, but it's also often a challenge to work through. It has ultimately been beneficial to my faith for me to work through this, but sometimes it just feels hard, and that's okay.

Although I never really questioned the existence of a god, there have been moments in my life where I had no particular conviction that Christianity was true or especially holy. I've been captivated by Jewish and Muslim traditions/beliefs/scriptures, and admired countless philosophies and practices. Christianity has hurt me and so many others—does that mean it's inherently wrong? But in every season of my life, I've said a Christian prayer every night. Everyone experiences religion differently, but for me? I am not a Christian because I think it's better than all other religions, or because I reasoned my way into it, but because it's where I'm from, where I live, where God meets me.

Your statement that everyone's faith is valid and connects them to God—it's a beautiful belief and it opens us to explore and love what we might not be able to otherwise. Reading A History of God—I do believe it's all God. If God cannot hold contradiction, why would I honor Them? How could I believe They encompass the (paradoxical, contradiction-filled) world if They can't exist fully in paradox and contradiction? This Sunday is the Feast of the Holy Trinity for me, and I love its mystery and its acknowledgement that God is always past our understanding, that God has more than one face, that God comes to us in more than one way, can never be pinned down. I and Christians throughout history encounter God as Trinity, but the day that I limit God is the day I have thrown away everything I've worked to build in myself.

The good news for you is if you believe all religions connect to God in some way, then you also believe that you will always be connected to God—no matter how your beliefs change, no matter where you call home, no matter what your practice looks like. We can't let ourselves believe one thing for others and another thing for ourselves—I did this all the time, believing I could never be forgiven but never dreaming of saying that about someone else. Give yourself the same grace and openness and hope you give your friends. You know they are valid, you know you love them—what can that help you learn about yourself? your own validity, your own ability to be loved?

I'll let you in on a secret (in case you didn't already know): the majority of people do not sit and look without bias at the major world religions and decide which one is "true" and convert to it. I'm sure people have done that, and maybe that's what you want to do (I won't stop you). I don't even know to what extent we can "choose" a religion—I think often one (or many) finds us—but for me and so many others, religion is a culture and a practice as much as, if not more than, a belief. And often it's wholly or mostly inherited—I don't know if I would be Christian if my parents and grandparents and ancestors weren't. I don't know exactly what you've inherited, but we all inherit beliefs (even if the belief is not believing in something), and yours are also built on tradition and ideas throughout the centuries.

This all means that doubt is part of any inherited culture and practice. It means that doubt and participating in a religion have always gone together. If religion is action and community and music, you don't have to believe anything in particular to live in it. My Jewish friends have shown me this most clearly—I know of many Jewish people who don't especially believe in the existence of a god, but eat kosher and observe holidays and say prayers. If you ask them why, they say it's because they're Jewish, because it makes them a more fulfilled person, because they're connecting with their ancestors. If religion is connection to God, as you've said (and I agree), then you don't have to have belief to connect with God.

I am absolutely not saying that we should never question the traditions passed down to us, or that conversion is not a valid choice, or that if you weren't raised religious you can't have religion. I just wish to point out that many people do not first believe in a system and then join a faith practice, but the other way around. They practice their way into faith. So often we cannot know what a belief means unless we first do it. Unless it first has meaning to us. From A History of God:

[Anselm of Canterbury, the 11th century theologian] insisted that God could only be known in faith. This is not as paradoxical as it might appear. In his famous prayer, Anselm reflected on the words of Isaiah: "Unless you have faith, you will not understand":

"I yearn to understand some measure of thy truth which my heart believes and loves. For I do not seek to understand in order to have faith but I have faith in order to understand (credo ut intellegam). For I believe even this: I shall understand unless I have faith."

The oft-quoted credo ut intellegam is not an intellectual abdication. Anselm was not claiming to embrace the creed blindly in the hope of its making sense some day. His assertion should really be translated: "I commit myself in order that I may understand." At this time, the word credo still did not have the intellectual bias of the word "belief" today but meant an attitude of trust and loyalty.

If you haven't already, ask to go to a religious service/event with a friend, read/listen/experience the faiths of others. When you encounter things you're not sure if you believe, ask yourself what it would mean for you if you encountered it as truth. If God exists, if God is [insert attribute here], if God commanded [insert commandment here], if this or that book is something God wants us to have—how would that change your life? My belief in a loving God transforms my world. My prayer practice orders my days and centers my emotions. I am living (or attempting to live) my beliefs, not just thinking them. What can you trust, what can you be loyal to, what can you live, even if you don't believe it right now? "Lord I believe; help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24)

You can live as if something were true, even if you have no proof, even if you're not sure about it. I live as if there is a loving God—I have no scientific proof of this, I have not always been sure of it. But I live as if there is one, and there is more love in the universe because of it. I have only experienced a loving God when I was living in relation to one. You can go to a church without reading its whole catechism, without knowing all the words, without being sure. My pastor once told me he likes the Nicene Creed more than the Apostles' because it says "We believe" instead of "I believe." A creed not as a personal certainty, but as a communal agreement. I don't always know what I believe, but this is what we believe. I can leave it behind, but I cannot pretend it does not exist. It is my inheritance.

My advice for nurturing faith? Be willing to be wrong. Any god I've heard described is outside of our powers of description. It's dangerously presumptuous to think we can be right about God. Once I let go of the pressure to be right, once I accepted that I could be wrong about everything—that's the only way I got to faith. And the worst thing I can think of is coming to a belief through fear (of hell, of being wrong, of uncertainty, of spiritual homelessness). Fear is sometimes present, but come to it because you want it, because it fills your days with life and love. I'm obviously not a scientist or a philosopher—I've never really searched for capital-T Truth, and maybe it sounds like giving up to say all this, to think that I can never be right. But I have only truly come to Christianity when I've accepted that, as Rachel Held Evans said, it's the story I'm willing to be wrong about.

While it's definitely from a Christian perspective (I'm not sure how relatable that will be to you), the book that's calling to me right now for you is Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others by Barbara Brown Taylor. It's incredibly honest and interested in the experience of exploring envy in a religious context. It completely changed how I approach finding meaning in others' beliefs, and gave me so much peace in my own. And if you do ever begin to follow a religion/denomination, you might need a reminder that you are not abandoning everything else. You may be choosing a home, but you are not locking yourself inside it. We don't look for a home to denounce everyone else's—we look for a place we can live. Taylor says:

I asked God for religious certainty, and God gave me relationships instead. I asked for solid ground, and God gave me human beings instead—strange, funny, compelling, complicated human beings—who keep puncturing my stereotypes, challenging my ideas, and upsetting my ideas about God, so that they are always under construction. I may yet find the answer to all my questions in a church, a book, a theology, or a practice of prayer, but I hope not. I hope God is going to keep coming to me in authentically human beings who shake my foundations, freeing me to go deeper into the mystery of why we are all here.

What are you willing to be wrong about? What do you want to hold close even when you doubt it? What do you want to do, even if you don't believe in it? What brings you closer to the life you know exists for you, the one that fulfills that desire for God? There might not be one religion that is all this for you. Whether or not you ever create/join a concrete belief system, whether or not you're ever sure about any of it, God is with you. Many people live fulfilling lives outside of institutionalized religion; not all who wander are lost; your existence in a diverse community will serve you so well on this journey, which doesn't have an end and always includes doubt, and from which we can always find a new path, and is all encompassed by a many-faced Universe of Love.

And, as I find myself doing so often, here's some more Rilke to his student, which we can receive whether or not we're young or a Sir:

You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

<3 Johanna

P.S.—As well as the things I've quoted from, I would also recommend Not All Who Wander Are (Spiritually) Lost: A Story of Church by Traci Rhoades and all of Rachel Held Evans' books.

P.P.S.—People quote this last Rilke passage a lot, but I'm not sure how many have read the full context? He's mostly giving advice regarding sex anxiety in that letter, which I think is great. It's relevant to most journeys in life, but in case you were wondering what journey it's originally about, there you go.

#i'm the only one who should be apologizing for length :)#asks #had fun thinking abt this one thank u for giving me the space to talk abt this stuff!#oh edit I'm fully aware this ask is like 9 months old but. trying to give myself geace. better late than never?

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