#open floor plan extending from the front door to the family

[urbanlookbook]

Mudroom - Contemporary Entry Large trendy front door image with light wood floors and beige walls

[rafecameronssl4t]

Will Rafe and readers children get arranged marriage too? If it’s traditional in reader’s family does that mean that there’s matches found for the children already? Would reader let that happen to her kids? I expect reader’s parents would push for arrangements to be made as soon as a child is born

Always repeating itself || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: lol I was think of this video for the beginning since I saw soo many tiktok comments joking abt it how it would be him walking to the car and saying kids get in the car 😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 2,193

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Kids! Let’s go!” Rafe’s voice carries from the foyer, sharp and commanding, though not without a hint of warmth. You take a moment to smooth down Madeline’s dress, her little hands fidgeting as her eyes gleam with excitement. “Alright, sweetheart, off you go,” you whisper, giving her a gentle nudge as she bolts toward the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway.

Leo lingers behind, slower to move, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your hand. “Careful on the stairs,” you call after Madeline, already bounding ahead, her shoes thudding loudly against the floor. You grab your bag, glancing back one more time at Leo as he moves in front of you. His small hands gripping the railing as he steps carefully down each stair.

“Take your time, Leo,” you murmur, a soft smile spreading across your face as your hand instinctively rests on your rounded belly, the growing weight of the life inside you grounding your steps. Rafe watches from below, his eyes narrowing slightly but softening as he sees Leo’s slower pace. Madeline is already at his side, her hands swinging in his, filled with boundless energy.

“C’mon, buddy,” Rafe says, his tone firm yet encouraging as he extends his hand toward Leo. Leo finally reaches his father, slipping his small hand into Rafe’s, while you take the final steps down, your movements slower, more deliberate. Rafe’s eyes linger on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns back to the children. “Got everything?” he asks, his voice low as he reaches for the car keys.

You nod softly, pressing a hand against your stomach again, feeling the light kick beneath your skin. “Yeah,” you reply with a hum, your eyes locking with his for a brief second before shifting to the children, now racing toward the front door. There’s a weight to the moment, one that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers like the unspoken words always do between you two.

Rafe steps aside, closing the door behind you as he unlocks the g-wagon with a beep. You open the back door for the kids, watching as Leo and Madeline clamber into their seats, their excitement barely contained. Rafe moves around the car, quietly buckling the kids in. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, but there’s an undeniable care in the way he makes sure their belts are snug.

You lean back in your seat, one hand tracing slow circles on your belly, feeling the gentle stirring beneath the fabric of your dress. The feeling always brings you a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the future you didn’t quite plan but now couldn’t imagine without. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rafe shifts the car into gear, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses out of the driveway. The sound of the tyres crunching against the gravel fills the silence for a few moments.

“Do you know what this is about?” Rafe breaks the silence, his eyes flicking toward you with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. There’s something else there too—wariness, perhaps. He’s never been one to be at ease around your parents, and this unexpected meeting only stirs that discomfort. You shrug lightly, your gaze focused out the window for a moment before returning to the rhythmic movement of your hands across your stomach.

“No idea,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost distant. You can feel the tension building in your chest, an old, familiar feeling whenever your parents are involved. The tightness grows as you try not to overthink why they summoned you today, especially with the children. What could be so urgent? Rafe’s grip tightens on the wheel, and you don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw.

He’s never been good at hiding his frustration, though he tries for your sake—sometimes. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s bracing himself for whatever demands or expectations your parents are about to lay at your feet. You glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of Madeline and Leo in the back, completely oblivious to the tension building in the front seat.

~

“You’re joking,” Rafe scoffs, his voice dripping with disbelief as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of bourbon, his eyes narrowing at your parents across the grand dining room. You sit beside him, frozen in place, trying to process the words that had just shattered whatever illusion of calm you thought you’d have during this meeting.

It was bound to happen, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “They’re still children!” Rafe’s voice slices through the tension hanging in the room, his frustration flaring as he slams the glass onto the table, the sound reverberating through the ornate dining room. “And are we forgetting the fact that she’s still not born?” His hand gestures sharply toward your swollen belly, his anger spilling over as your hands instinctively cradle your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze is intense, his blue eyes flashing with a mixture of disbelief and fury. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tightening as he glares at your parents, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, on both of you. The suffocating traditions of your family—arranged marriages, predetermined futures, heirs before individuals—were wearing on him, threatening to tear down the fragile balance you had both tried to maintain.

Your father leans back in his chair, unfazed by Rafe’s outburst, his expression as steely as ever. Your mother, ever poised, crosses her legs delicately, her cool composure only fueling the fire in Rafe’s gaze. They’ve seen this reaction before—yours, when you were told of your own arranged marriage. To them, this is just another step in the preservation of the family’s legacy, a legacy that had been woven into every decision, every expectation.

“Rafe, we understand your concerns,” your mother begins, her voice calm, like she’s explaining a simple business arrangement. “But this is not about today. This is about securing their future. She may not be born yet, but she, like her siblings, will have her place in this family, and part of that is ensuring they all have the right alliances.”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration only building as he listens to their cold, calculated reasoning. He turns to you, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that shows you’re as disturbed by this conversation as he is. You meet his gaze, your hands still resting protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft flutter of movement inside you.

Part of you wants to agree with him, to speak up and tell your parents that this is madness. That your children deserve a choice, a chance at a life that isn’t dictated by contracts and old traditions. But the other part of you—the part that had been raised in this world, where duty and legacy are everything—knows this was always inevitable. It’s the same fate that was chosen for you.

Rafe’s voice lowers, but the anger remains. “You’re planning their futures before they can even speak for themselves. Do you realise how insane that sounds?” He turns back to your father, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, observing Rafe’s reaction with a measured gaze. “Rafe,” your father finally says, his tone cool and authoritative, the kind that commands respect.

“This isn’t about insanity. It’s about responsibility. You, of all people, should understand the importance of that. Our families were built on these alliances, and your children will carry on that legacy.” Rafe leans back in his chair, exhaling harshly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he tries to contain the frustration boiling inside him. He’s always hated this aspect of your family—the suffocating rules, the unspoken expectations that had shaped your life from the moment you were born.

Your mother’s expression was unreadable, though you know her well enough to catch the subtle lift of her chin—an indication that she expected this reaction from Rafe. “Y/n,” Rafe mutters, turning his head toward you, searching your face for any sign of how you were taking this, his blue eyes flickering with something close to desperation.

He’s waiting for you to speak up, to be the buffer between him and your parents, as you often are. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Of course, you knew this day would come. In your world, in the world of dynasties and old money, these things were decided long before feelings or personal desires were even considered. Your children were not just your own; they were the future of two powerful families, and with that came the responsibility to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages.

It’s what had happened to you, after all. “Rafe, I understand that in your family, this may seem insane…” you begin, your voice steady, though your heart is pounding with the weight of the situation. Inside, a storm of conflicting emotions rages—your loyalty to your family’s legacy, the deep-rooted traditions you were raised with, and the growing sense that this isn’t the life you want for your children.

You glance at Rafe, watching as his anger simmers just beneath the surface, his fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his glass. “Oh this is more than insane and you know it, Y/n.” His eyes meet yours briefly, a flash of frustration and disbelief swirling in the blue depths. His family may be wealthy, even powerful in their own right, but they’ve never adhered to these kinds of traditions.

The antiquated practices your parents held onto with such ferocity were foreign to him, and every time they were brought up, it was like another layer of expectation was placed on his shoulders. You shift in your seat, trying to navigate the tightrope between the world you come from and the man beside you. “But in this family—your family now—this is what’s expected,” you continue, trying to keep your voice calm, even as your own doubts creep in.

“Our children’s futures are tied to these alliances. It’s not just about them, it’s about securing the family’s legacy.” Rafe’s jaw clenches visibly, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he sets it down with a little more force than necessary. “So what, they just get to be pawns in some game?” he snaps, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. “Is that all we are to them?”

You wince at his words, knowing that’s exactly how he sees it. It’s how you once saw it too. But you’d been trained your whole life to believe it was more than that—that it was a duty, a responsibility to the family. Yet, sitting here now, with your hands protectively over your stomach, the reality of arranging your own children’s marriages before they’ve even had the chance to live feels like a cruel twist of fate. One you never wanted to inflict on them.

Your father clears his throat, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sharp, watching the exchange closely. “Rafe,” he says, his voice measured, authoritative. “This isn’t a game. It’s about ensuring the stability of the family. The world we live in requires certain… arrangements. We all made sacrifices for this, and so will our children.”

Rafe shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, exhaling harshly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices?” he mutters under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looks at you again, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. He’s desperate for you to push back, to stand with him against your parents and their rigid traditions.

But you hesitate, your gaze dropping to your stomach once more. How can you deny the truth of what your father is saying? You’ve lived it—your entire life has been shaped by these expectations. “I know it’s hard to understand,” you finally say, your voice softening as you turn back to Rafe.

“But it’s how things are done in this family. We have to think about the bigger picture.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration palpable. “And what about them?” he asks. “What about their lives, their choices? Are we just going to take that away from them before they even have a chance?” His words hit you hard, stirring something deep within you.

The idea of your children—your daughter, not yet born—being forced into the same mould you had been, fills you with a sense of dread. But the pull of your family’s expectations is strong, and breaking away from it feels impossible. You can already sense your mother’s disapproval, the way her gaze sharpens at Rafe’s defiance, as if he’s an outsider who doesn’t understand the way things work in your world.

Rafe’s eyes flash with frustration, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s how it’s always been done,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly before he catches himself. “They’re not us, Y/n. They deserve more than this.” Your heart tightens at his words because a part of you knows he’s right. You glance at your parents, their expressions unchanged, as if they had heard these objections a thousand times before.

Your father’s gaze settles on Rafe with the kind of authority that comes from years of making decisions others are expected to follow. “We are not here to debate this, Rafe” your father says, his tone calm but firm. “This is about securing the future. Our future. Our children’s future.” Rafe lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks away, staring out the large windows behind your parents.

The sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the estate’s immaculate gardens, but the beauty of it is lost in the suffocating atmosphere inside. You know this conversation is far from over, and as Rafe’s hand curls into a fist on the table, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep navigating this delicate balance between your family’s expectations and the life you want for your children.

“This is ridiculous,” Rafe mutters again, quieter now, his voice barely cutting through the heavy silence that lingers in the room. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, and just as you’re about to respond, the sound of doors swinging open pulls your attention. You turn to see Leo and Madeline barreling toward you, their shoes tapping against the polished floor, their laughter momentarily breaking the tension.

Behind them, the maid rushes in, her face flushed with worry as she tries to catch up. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, breathless, but before she can finish, Rafe stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It’s fine. We’re done here,” Rafe says, his voice firm as he looks at you, then shifts his gaze to your parents, making it clear that this conversation is over.

The weight of his decision hangs in the air, thick with unspoken words. As Madeline runs up to him, her small arms reaching for him to pick her up, Rafe’s features soften, if only for a moment, as he bends down to scoop her into his arms. You sigh quietly, exchanging a look with your mother, her expression unreadable but the disapproval still lingering in her eyes.

There’s a silent understanding between you—this conversation isn’t over, not really. You rise from your seat, your movements slow as you reach for Leo’s hand, his small fingers curling around yours. With one last glance at your parents, you follow Rafe out, the heavy door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in the pit of your stomach.

[momolady]

Art the Orc

If you live in a small town, maybe you'll know this place. It's a little art store run by the same family for ages. It's not changed in all that time either. Picture it, feel it, you know it's the only place that sells that one supply you like. Now, imagine an orc behind the counter. Female Reader x Male Monster

The visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and weathering away.

The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.

Inside the place had a familiar smell of paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.

“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.

A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered a paint splattered t-shirt.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.

You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”

There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”

You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”

He fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”

You held it in, but he knew where your mind went.

“It’s short for Arthur, but it's also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”

“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.

He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”

“It’s a common issue, Art,” you didn’t look at him as you said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”

He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”

“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can be reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”

Art made a face. “You can do all that.”

You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”

“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”

“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.

You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if he was being kind or underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”

He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”

“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”

His face read: easier said than done.

Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. But for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.

Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.

“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.

You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”

Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”

Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”

“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”

Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.

Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.

“Mom said it was inhospitable.”

You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”

Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.

Once the tiles were cleaned and all the old flooring was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.

“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.

You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrandt or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”

Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.

“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”

There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”

Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”

You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”

“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” you asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”

He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.

Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propped the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.

“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”

Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”

You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”

He let out that heavy, burdened sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh.”

“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. You motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”

Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”

Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose her sentimentality was far too deep for that.”

“It’s a good painting,” you offered.

“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.

“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.

A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.

“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.

“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”

It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”

Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.

That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.

Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”

“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.

The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an in depth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.

From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.

“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.

“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, it's natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.

“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”

You smiled at him, chuckling as your cheeks grew warm.

The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.

“We should stop.”

“We should.”

“Why aren’t we?”

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You smiled at him, kissing him again while his hands moved below. Your panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!

You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the roof of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before! He pressed deeply inside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.

The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.

“Hi” he said breathlessly.

Your smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.

He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”

“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.

Art nodded, his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”

You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”

“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”

You laughed and cupped your hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”

“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.

“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set on the front desk. “What’s this for?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”

You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”

[nhlclover]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 | 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄

summary: nearing the end of your pregnancy, you and jamie are stuck with the difficult decision of choosing a name

warnings: pregnant!reader, talks of accidental pregnancy + out of wedlock pregancy (idk if that needs to be warned but wtvr), one curse word

word count: 1.44k

Jamie shoved his keys into the lock, pushed open the door and stepped into the quiet home, a welcome change from the raucous rink he’d just left. Jamie called out your name but was met with silence. The house was unusually quiet, an almost serene atmosphere that made him curious. He dropped his bag at the door, the soft thud of it hitting the floor echoing slightly in the stillness. He ventured further into your home, glancing into the bedroom and kitchen, finding them both empty. Entering the living room, he finally spotted you on the couch, fast asleep.

Your swollen belly rose and fell gently with each breath, a book propped open on your stomach. Jamie took a moment to appreciate the scene, the soft afternoon light casting a warm glow over you. The sight of you resting so serenely, nurturing the life within you, brought a smile to his face. He felt a wave of affection and protectiveness wash over him, stronger than ever before.

Your falling pregnant had initially been an accident. Neither of you had planned for it and the news had come as a surprise. After consecutive mornings filled with nausea and random cravings for pickles, you brought up the prospect of potentially being pregnant to Jamie. He went out and bought pregnancy tests, with you taking them later that evening. Jamie remembered when the positive sign appeared on all four tests, your hands trembling with tears spilling down your cheeks — a mix of shock, fear, and an underlying sense of joy.

Jamie took you into his arms, whispering reassurances even as his own mind raced with thoughts of your future. The initial shock soon gave way to overwhelming excitement. Jamie had been on the fence about potential parentage, but the sudden reality of it had him more excited than ever.

You were now eight months pregnant, your lives slowly changing and adjusting to the impending rhythm of parenthood. Jamie watched with admiration as you embraced all aspects of the journey head-on, the good and the bad. Your resilience shone through even during the difficult days, which often included waking up with severe nausea and constantly feeling sore all over. Jamie also marveled at the way your body transformed, the pregnancy glow becoming a very real thing for you.

The house gradually filled with preparations for the baby, whom you’d come to learn was a girl. Gifts had come from those in your lives such as your families as well as Jamie’s teammates who had been nothing but supportive in your journey to parenthood. There was a crib in the corner of your bedroom, tiny clothes folded neatly in drawers, soft toys waiting to be loved.

In quiet moments like these, when he found you resting, he hoped to extend the peace for as long as possible. He knew that the stark reality of parenting would inevitably bring many late nights and hours filled with crying. These brief time-outs from life were precious, a refuge from the relentless demands that awaited. He wished to shield you from the exhaustion and overwhelm that he knew would plague you. Your due date was set right in the middle of the season, the both of you realizing that the first four months of responsibility would fall on your shoulders.

Jamie slowly and quietly approached you, reading the front cover of your book. 100,000+ Baby Names. Jamie chuckled softly as he bookmarked your page and placed it on the coffee table. The name of your daughter was something that you had been discussing since you found out about your pregnancy. You’d each thrown out a couple of names, but nothing seemed right.

Jamie moved to kick off his shoes but accidentally bumped into the empty laundry basket on the side table, sending it careening to the floor.

“Fuck.” Jamie said under his breath.

He glanced at you on the couch, hoping that the sudden noise had miraculously not woken you up, however, you stirred awake, blinking your eyes open and adjusting to the sunlight that flowed through the open windows. You spotted Jamie across from you, offering him a sleepy smile.

“Hey you,” you whispered, stretching your arms above your head and sitting up.

"Hey yourself," Jamie replied, coming to your side and kissing your forehead softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

“It’s okay, I wasn’t really sleeping anyways, just resting my eyes,” you tell him. With the baby being particularly active at night, you find your sleep schedule getting messed up and afternoon naps become a habit.

Jamie took a seat next to you, pulling you into his chest, and relaxing back onto the couch. “So how’s my favourite mom-to-be?” he asked.

“Tired as usual. No nausea though,” you said, Jamie offering his hand out for a high five, which you slap with a smile on your lips.

You nestle into each other's embrace, Jamie sticking a pillow under your belly to relieve some of the weight.

“So, any new contenders?” he asked, motioning to the book on the table.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t think so,” you said. “I mean I read Sadie, which is cute but I’m not totally sold.”

Jamie reached over, picking up the book off the coffee table and flicking open to a random page, scanning the names.

“How about… Chloe?” he suggests.

You pull a sour face, shaking your head. “I knew a girl named Chloe back in grade school, and she was a bitch.”

Jamie chuckled, flipping through more pages. “Sophia?”

You sighed, shaking your head once again. It felt like no name was the right one for your daughter.

“Y’know, Trevor called the other day. Told me that if we were still stuck on a baby name, we could always name her after him.” Jamie told you.

You snorted, shaking your head at the idea of naming your baby girl Trevor. “Absolutely not. I do not need two Trevor’s in my life.”

Yours and Jamie’s laughter blended together, as you imagined naming your daughter after his friend. “Yeah, we don’t need to give Trevor even more of an ego boost,” Jamie said. “He’s already declared himself an uncle.”

You and Jamie once again went back to reading names before you spotted one that caught your eye. You placed your finger on it, stopping Jamie from flipping pages. “How about Darcy?” you suggested. “It means dark-haired one.” you read from the page, reaching behind you and running a hand through Jamie’s black locks.

“Darcy,” Jamie repeated with a satisfied hum in his voice. “I like it.”

“Darcy it is then,” you said softly, placing a hand on your bump. “Hi, little Darcy.”

Jamie placed the book of names on the coffee table and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "Darcy," he said once again softly, the name finally feeling like the right one as it came off his tongue. "I can't wait to meet you."

You curled into Jamie, the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his heartbeat creating a comforting rhythm. The room filled with a peaceful silence, as your mind began to wander to the future. As you nestled closer, Jamie's hand found its way to your bump, resting there with gentle protectiveness. "Do you think she'll have your eyes?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

You smiled, imagining your daughter's tiny face. "Maybe. I think she’ll have your smile and your hair."

Jamie chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. "As long as she's healthy and happy, that's all that matters."

You nodded, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you. The future, once a vague concept, now felt more real with a name to hold onto. You could almost see her growing up, taking her first steps, saying her first words.

You and Jamie continued to talk about all the things you want to do with your daughter — reading her bedtime stories, teaching her to skate as you inevitably know you’ll maintain a hockey family. His excitement was infectious, and you found yourself lost in the vision of the family you'll soon be.

The room grew quieter as the evening progressed, the soft glow of the lamp casting a gentle light around you. Jamie's voice became a soothing lullaby, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy.

"You're going to be such an amazing mom," Jamie whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "I love you both so much."

You managed a sleepy smile, your heart full. "I love you too," you say before your eyes close and you drift into sleep.

[moody-alcoholic]

Uninvited Guest

Summary: 2.2k words. Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe

CW: Unconscious person, mentions of drugging someone repetitively.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

It's a little shorter but enjoy <3

19:25

Price was still talking over the plan when they made it to the house. Ghost knew they were only here for one thing; the documents Soap found. It’s the evidence they need but Ghost knows it’s a long shot. He looks over at Soap, he’s smiling, of course he is, Ghost almost wants to roll his eyes.

The van pulls up to the front doors. He can see Chloe’s mother and father as well as extended family talking with officers. There’s a man with a suit tapping things on a tablet, Price said they’d called their lawyers. Everyone gets out the van as Price walks over to who Ghost assumes is the man in-charge of the whole raid.

“Found anything?” Price asks. 

“Seized some electronics as per the order. Nothing unusual though. They have sports rifles and shotguns, licences check out.” The officer says.

“Soap take Ghost to the room you saw strip the place.” Price says turning to them to give orders. 

“Gaz stick with me, we’ll search the ground floor.” Ghost doesn’t wait turning towards to house with Soap on his heals. It’s just how he likes it, as long as Soap is nearby it’s one less thing to worry about. Ghost watches as the eyes of the family follow him and Soap into the house. There are people missing, most notably Jack, Ghost knows from the briefing he’s not deployed. He could be anywhere, they haven’t exactly been keeping an eye on him.

After the incident in Syria he was sent back to the UK, his father-in-law covered for him which was to be expected. Then he went quiet, the theory was he was being told to lay low. A shiver ran up Ghost’s spine, there was something wrong with this picture. Ghost tried to ignore it letting Soap pass him to lead him into the house.

“Excuse me!” Someone calls forcing Ghost and Soap to stop in their tracks and turn around. The man Ghost assumed was the lawyer is walking towards them. 

“Excuse me but you don’t look like police.” He says. 

“Well spotted.” Soap says coming to stand next to Ghost. 

“Well I don’t see anywere on this warrant that you’re allowed access here.” He says showing a piece of paper to Ghost who is mostly ignoring it, not that he would understand the legal jargon anyway. 

“Problem boys?” Price says stepping up behind Ghost. 

“He says we’re not to be here.” Soap says.

“Here.” Price says handing him a piece of paper. 

“MI5? Hold on a second. Don’t enter the property until I have verified this.” The man says taking his phone out and turning to walk away. Ghost turns to Price. 

“Hurry up then, I want to get out of here as quick as possible.” Price says turning to walk back over to the officers and Gaz. Ghost watches the lawyer with his back now turned  on the phone, then walks into the building.   

“Up this way LT.” Soap calls heading for the stairs. Ghost follows him making it up to the first floor. Soap leads Ghost into an office. The place is a mess, shredded paper and books flung everywhere. 

“Shite.” Soap says. 

“Someone's had fun.” Ghost says. Soap walks over to the desk, he’s trying to open the drawers but they’re locked. He looks up at Ghost. 

“Price, we’ve made it but the place has been ransacked.” Ghost says into his radio as Soap starts looking through the pieces of paper that never made it through the shredder. 

“There’s nothing useful here.” He says shoving some papers off the desk. Ghost can hear the annoyance in his voice. 

“What about the drawers can you get them open?” Ghost asks looking round the room. All the walls are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. What parts of the room missing shelves are covered in expensive art. 

“Na, they’re locked.” Soap says trying to rattle them to see if they’re just stuck. Ghost comes around to see the papers, he can’t make out what the shredded ones are but there have been pictures, and folders, all sorts of things have been through the shredder not just papers. 

“Got anything we can open it with?” Ghost asks. 

“Yeah but shouldn’t we ask them if they have a key first?” Soap asks. 

“Price we’ve got locked drawers up here, any chance we can get a key? Maybe some officers to secure evidence?” Ghost wait’s for Price’s response as he walks over looking at the books pulled off the shelves. He notices the wood looks different and presses down on it. 

“Soap come look at this.” Ghost says as the wall gives way under his hand and it opens a secret compartment. It’s empty but that explains the books on the floor. 

“Shite there could be loads of them.” Soap says looking round the room. There is commotion in the hallways as Ghost hears the lawyer and other people making their way up to the room. 

“I told you to wait downstairs until we’d verified your paperwork!” The lawyer snaps. Ghost looks over at him, he can see the mother behind talking to a police officer. Gaz pushes his way through into the room. 

“They don’t have a key.” Gaz says handing Soap a crowbar. Ghost watches as the officers try to keep them out the room.

“You better not be destroying that desk it’s an antique!” The mother calls in horror as she watches Soap go over. 

“Give us a key then.” Soap says. Ghost looks at him, he looks serious eyeing them down as he waits for a response. 

“They can’t do this you can’t destroy property!” The lawyer shouts. Soap looks up at Ghost as he moves round to the desk stopping as he pushes the crowbar into place. Ghost nods. Fuck the bureaucracy this could be their only chance.     

  ——————————  

21:00

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mark asks Jack from the back of the car. Jack doesn’t say anything right away looking at the address written on the paper for the millionth time. This is not a good idea it’s a terrible idea, it could get them thrown in prison or worse killed. He has to do this though prove to his father he can fix the fuck up he’s caused.

“You scared?” Jack asks turning to look at Mark in the back seat. 

“No, just.” Mark looks away shaking his head.

“Spit it out!” Jack snaps. 

“We’re going up against trained SAS soldiers.” Marks says. 

“You are a trained SAS soldier, and besides we’re getting her not them.” Jack says turning back to look out the front window. 

“Why is she so important anyway? She’s just fucking them.” Brian says scoffing. 

“She’s not just fucking them Brian! You should have seen how hard they fought to get her out of Syria. They went to people even my father couldn’t stop.” Jack says looking back at Brian driving the car. 

“What so we’re holding her for ransom? What if they don’t care?” Harry, Marks brother asks.

“They’ll care.” Jake says confidently. 

“Four SAS soldiers versus the 4 of us. I don’t like our odds.” Mark says under his breath. 

“Pull the car over.” Jack says.

“Sorry?” Brian asks looking at him.

“Pull the fucking car over!” Jack shouts. Brian turns on the hazard lights pulling into the hard-sholder of the main road. Jack gets out the car as soon as it’s stopped going round to Marks door.

“Out now!” He snaps. Mark looks annoyed but he undoes his seat-belt slipping out. As soon as his feet touch the ground Jack pushes him round the back of the car slamming the door. 

“If you don’t want to be involved then fuck off. Go back home to dad with your tail tucked between your legs and explain how you plan on fixing this fuck up.” Jack shouts.

“It’s not my job to fix your fuck ups!” Mark shouts back. 

“No but you and Harry are the ones who let her go at the funeral! They managed to snoop around enough to find out about the sales in Syria and Urzikstan! Do you understand how big of a leak that is?!” Jack shouts.

“She would have never even been in the house if you hadn’t killed Chloe!” Mark shouts back.

“You told me she was going to tell, I didn’t have a choice.” Jack says defensively. 

“She was still my sister.” Mark said taking a step up to Jack.

“She was a liability.” Jack responds. “I wasn’t even here I was stuck in Syria preoccupied with trying to get valuable intel.” 

“Yeah right sorry busy torturing innocent army medics.” Mark says pushing Jacks chest so there is distance between them. 

“Do you know how many fucking strings dad had to pull to make sure you didn’t get dishonourably discharged for that? 141 wanted your neck bad, and you still insist on going after them like they’re the only fucking counter intelligence unit on the face of the earth.” Mike says. 

“They’re the only one we need to be worried about and now they have proof, they’re at the house right now confirming that proof. The only option we have is to get a bargaining chip. She is the best bargaining chip!” Jack says jamming his finger in Marks face. Mark shakes his head.

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“Then we kill her either way we hurt them, she’s gone and we come up with another plan.” Jack says. 

“I thought the whole point of this was to get back the intel they’ve stolen?” Mark says.

“As soon as my father finds out which CIA agent is helping them we won’t need to worry about that. Besides we destroyed anything useful it will take the MET months to piece it together.” Jack says. 

“Now are you fucking done with your little spat? Because we need to get her before they’re done at the house.” Mark sighs, shaking his head.

“Fine fuck it, walk home.” Jack says throwing his arms up and turning back to the car.

“Wait Jack.” Mark says striding up to him and putting his hand on Jacks shoulder. “We’re family we fix our own fuck ups.” 

“Yeah, unus pro omnibus.” Jack says looking into his brothers eyes.

“omnes pro uno.” Mark replies smiling.

  ——————————  

22:00

Ghost was stood at the door with Price watching the officers finish bagging up the last of the scraps of paper for evidence. 

“They knew we were coming.” Ghost says, his arms crossed as he watches Soap tap on the walls. 

“Yeah, we knew it would be like that though.” Price said. 

“Think they’ll be enough evidence here to convict them?” 

“Don’t know, we won’t know for a while biased on how well they tried to destroy everything.” Price says sighing. Ghost watches as Soap pulls another panel out from the book cases looking inside. Nothing again, this was a waste of time, they’d done a good job scrubbing everything.

Gaz and Soap had been meticulously searching the book cases for hours. All the evidence had been taken. The mother had passed out from stress and the lawyer insisted an ambulance be called, recording everything. It had been a long night. Ghost just wanted to get back to the safehouse. Before his mind could wander Price patted him on the shoulder. 

“Tell them to finish up I’ll go chat with the chief then we’ll get out of here. Not much more we can do till the paperwork as gone through.” Price said. Ghost nodded, walking over to Soap.

“Don’t think we’re going to find anything.” Soap says as he reaches him. 

“No, Price said let’s pack it up, head back.” Ghost says, he sees Soap smile. That makes him happy, he always loves seeing his smile. Ghost tells Gaz the same thing as he finishes checking behind the last bookshelf. It’s empty, the police wrap up too checking the room one more time before taking their leave.

Ghost follows Soap and Gaz out closing the door to the office as he leaves. It’s a shame they couldn’t find anything, but in a few weeks they would know. The MET was going to literally have to put this case together to get the proof but it would happen. And with Laswell’s help they’ll be able to track their movements even better. 

“What do you think that means?” Soap asks shoving his phone in Ghost’s face. They’ve barely even made it out the house. Ghost stops, squinting at the text. It’s a jumbled mess of auto corrected words. A second text just saying 4-5 armed. 

“Price!” Ghost shouts interrupting, him talking to the police chief.

“Call the house!” He says walking over to him dragging Soap along. Price looks confused for a second excusing himself and taking out his phone. 

“What?” He asks when Ghost reaches them, he shows him the phone. 

“Could mean anything,” he says his eyes digging into Ghost. Ghost can see the doubt in his face. This is bad. Price hangs up the phone calling again. Ghost holds his breath squeezing Soaps wrist. He watches Price as the line continues to ring. It keeps ringing, Price brings the phone down then looks up at Ghost.

“We need to move now!” Ghost calls dragging Soap to the car. 

“Try calling her.” Ghost orders Soap as Gaz and Price follow. He just nods trying to hide the fear in his face. This is really bad. 

  ——————————  

22:20

“Found her phone.” Mark says handing it to Jack. He rushes over to you using your bound thumb to unlock it. 

“Shit, she’s warned them we need to leave!” He shouts moving back into the kitchen looking at the gear. They’ve already kitted up and have helped themselves to more weapons for the potential fight ahead.  

“Is she still out?” Mark asks looking back to you being tied to a chair. 

“We’ve got chloroform to keep her out till we need her.” Jack explains, looking back over at Harry and Brian still trying to tie you to a chair.

“Did you not hear me she’s told them we’re here we need to move! Get her in the car.” Jack orders them, they nod pulling at the restraints.

“Where do you want to go?” Mark asks.

“How about the house in Harrow it’s still empty right?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive though.” Marks says.

“That’s fine the longer we have the better. Plus we can fall back to Kensington if we need to.” Jack says watching Mark nod. 

“Bring her phone, turn it off till we need it but keep it close. We’ll use it to contact them.” Jack says. The house phone ringing makes them jump. Jack walks over to it deciding whether or not to pick it up. He could play all his card right now and tell them they’re holding you for ransom. Or he could wait until they’re in a better situation to make demands. 

“Don’t, we need as much time as we can get.” Mark says. Jack nods his fingers hovering over the phone.

“Okay lets move now! I want wheels up in 10!” Jack says heading for the back door.

“Mark help us get her in the boot.” Harry says as him Brian drag you by your arms out the door. Jack drives, with Mark next to him. They look at each other. They’re in too deep now. Mark nods at him, he’s doing this to prove he can do this. He’s better then what his dad thinks. He has a kid and a wife, he has people he needs to provide for. He can’t lose this job, he can’t fuck his family over like this. He remembers the plan grounding himself, and drives off. 

  ——————————  

Next

Latin translates to 'all for one and one for all'

[pyramid-of-starrs]

12 for da kinks👀👀

Group date at a Haunted House

Kinktober request: 12 Pervy boyfriend San, Public Sex

Pairing: Pervy San x Fem Reader

Summary: A haunted house trip with friends gives San the perfect idea.

Word Count: 2.7K

Kink: Public Sex

Warning: Public sex, protected sex, exhibitionism, perverted acts, voyeurism?

A/N: This maaaaaaay be the start to 15 lol

Minors dni

You loved your boyfriend San, He was sweet, considerate, kind to you and others, got along with everyone and a million other things, there was just one quirk about your boyfriend that you later found out. San was an absolute horndog, and he has no issue displaying that, no matter the circumstance or place, from fingering you while you were having a family dinner at your parents, to eating you out while you were on facetime with your friends. Even now while everyone was gathered at Seonghwa, San, and Mingis apartment to watch scary movies and plan the next group outing with everyone else, you went to San's room to plug in your phone and he swiftly followed you, now you're pinned against one of his walls.

"S-San we have to go back before people notice we are gone." you said in a whispered voice.

"I could smell your perfume when you walked by, and I couldn't help but get hard Y/N." He started to kiss your neck then switched to kitten licks, he lifted your leg to rut his very obvious erection against your thigh and core, small breathy whimpers fell from your lips, and you covered your mouth.

"No my cute little bunny, don't cover your mouth, I need them to hear your sweet little sounds." He said into your ear. "I had to watch you walk around in your cute little jeans and that sweater I let you borrow while trying not to cum in my pants just to not hear your pretty moans." He continued to dry hump you while the jean material rubbed against your clit, the feeling turned you on so much but you had to resist San so you wouldn't get caught, but a knock at the door saved you.

"Hey guys, everyone is coming back so come out as soon as possible." A whispered voice said, the voice belonging to Wooyoung, Sans best friend and always the look out. Whenever San couldn't control himself at the worse times Wooyoung would always be there to save him from getting in trouble. He noticed you go to Sans room then San immediately slip from the group and follow you, luckily, he suggested that everyone gather blankets and make snacks for the movie night so it looked like everyone was busy and it wouldn't seem odd that you and San were gone. He didn't do it for San, he lacked a shame gland, he did it for you, he knew you could be a bit shy and not as open sexually so he always looked out.

"Come on San, let’s go back to the others." you said looking at him with puppy eyes.

"...Fine, but-" he pinched your cheek. "I get to cover this cute little face in cum later, promise?" you rolled your eyes a bit.

"Promise, now let’s go." you replied, he pecked your lips and pulled you back into the living room by hand just in time for everyone else to be coming back, everyone got situated back on the couch in front of the TV with their blankets and food.

"San you didn't wanna grab a blanket for you and Y/N?" Seonghwa said looking over at you two being the only ones without one.

"What? Oh, yeah, my cover is dirty because it was covered in Y/Ns c-" your eyes got wide at Sans sentence, and you jumped in.

"CAMOMILE TEA! I spilled it earlier when I got here." You nodded and smiled hoping no one except Woo, whom was shaking his head as he sat on the floor with his arm on you and Sans laps.

"Oh gosh, Well here share me and Hongjoongs." He extended the blanket that covered him and Hongjoong who was eating his popcorn ready for the movie to start.

"Well before we start our movie." Jongho said as he got up from the floor where he sat with his "lady friend". "I finally picked my fall activity for us to do as a group." Each friend in the group was responsible for finding a fall activity for everyone to do since this was a break season for everyone. Jongho scrolled on his phone then turned it to the group. "It's a huge haunted house called, Hell's backyard, we can all go as a group and split up if we want. There is a huge haunted maze and everyone that gets through it wins a meal voucher for this awesome BBQ place. What do you guys say?"

A haunted house, something that doesn't scare you too bad but your scaredy cat boyfriend on the other hand-

"I'm in." San being the first to speak up, everyone looked at him. "What?" he looked around.

"Really? You of all people are willing to go to a haunted house with no hesitation?" Yunho said.

"Yeah dude, you get scared easier than me." Mingi said building off of Yunhos point.

"I think it'll be fun, it doesn't look that bad." San said, you were very skeptical at this point, anything scary San would reject immediately, he had to have an alternative motive.

...

The following Saturday night came, and everyone met at the haunted house, luckily the weather wasn't that cold, so you wore your cute tennis skirt and another one of Sans sweaters with your sneakers and scrunched up socks, prepared to be yanked around by your terrified boyfriend. You walked up and saw everyone waiting for you, Yunho, Jongho and Mingi also brought dates while Yeosang, Woo, Hwa and Hongjoong didn't, you Saw your boyfriend wearing his reading glasses with jeans and a sweater, you greeted everyone and walked over to your boyfriend. Since it was planned San didn't talk much about the haunted house, he didn't mention being scared or anything, he even said he was excited.

"Alright guys, let’s go through the three houses then end with the maze!" Jongho said excitedly then leading the group on their way through the outdoor haunted houses. They were actually pretty scary you even had some jump scares, by the time everyone got to the end of the third house Mingi was tired from running and Sans Golden skin was pal, in fact everyone was pretty scared except Jongho who was like a kid in a candy store while his poor date was shaking.

"Sannie are you okay?" you asked your boyfriend that refused to release your hand.

"Huh? Yeah! I'm totally fine, Hey Jongho lets hustle to the maze." He said, you knew something was definitely up now. The group continued over to the maze, Jongho suggested everyone split up so everyone could get one ticket since he heard that if you leave as a group you only get one plus, he knew everyone would start arguing. Once in the maze San encouraged wooyoung to leave Yeosang and come with you two, confused Woo made eye contact with San, sighed and shook his head then agreed, you wondered what that was about. The three of you walked through the maze, people dressed up jumped out occasionally and scared you three and other animatronics, surprisingly enough San was leading with woo and you in the back, you couldn't see much but knew to trust the two ahead of you.

As you continue you noticed that you hadn't seen anyone in a bit and then San and Wooyoung both stopped.

"Okay Woo, you got us?" San asked the other male.

"Yeah man, just be fast." Wooyoung replied.

You stood there confused then suddenly you were yanked to a corner hedge, you were slightly covered by a bush and Wooyoung stood covering the entrance to the small area you were in. San backed you into a bush, the small branches and leaves poked your back and you were still confused.

"San what are you doing?" You question, before answering you San lifted your sweater revealing your black lace bra then gripped both your breast, he placed his face into your chest then took a deep inhale while mushing your boobs.

"What are you doing San?!" You demanded an answer.

"Your sweat smells so sweet Y/N, I couldn't help myself." He said as he continued to push your chest around. "I had to go to the bathroom just to jack off after the first stupid house because I couldn't think straight with you wearing this little skirt and my sweater, which explains his lengthy bathroom trip earlier.

"San... we shouldn't, not here and Woo is here too..." you said, San moved up to your neck to start peppering kisses from your neck to your jaw, one hand went under and lifted your bra while his other hand cupped the side of your face. San ignored your words and kissed your lips repeatedly, you felt your body start to heat up, though the kisses weren't long they were hungry and lustful.

"Wait, San, really we, shouldn't." You said between each kiss, eventually San stopped.

"I've trained you too well beautiful be honest with yourself." He continued to kiss you then stopped again. "My precious innocent little bunny loves when I treat her like a little fuck toy, when I touch her in public and when I'm being a total pervert over her and her outfits." His words caught you off guard but as much as you hated to admit it, it was true, though you did get embarrassed by San and his impulses, his constant need for you drove you crazy in the best way. Coming home to your panties covered in his cum or catching him masturbating to you behind the bathroom door while you shower was such a turn on. You started to find your becoming a bit of a perv as well, touching yourself with his balled up gym shirt in hand or even now, you knew to wear a skimpy skirt and his sweater, you knew it would turn him on, though you didn't expect him to act on it.

"That's not true San..." you replied, trying to fight the truth. San looked you in your eyes then removed his glasses and folded them onto his shirt. He brought his hand down to your core and he immediately placed his two fingers on your wet and uncovered folds, rubbing them until he found your nub you yelped at the feeling of his cold fingers connecting to your hot pussy.

"Then why aren't you wearing panties Y/N?" he said, so focused on his fingers brushing your clit you couldn't even fabricate a proper lie.

"S-still, we shouldn't do it here." you said between moans, that’s when his two fingers slid into your pussy with ease, he fucked his fingers into you with no remorse as his sped up, your moans grew louder, and you bit your lip to try to your noises. He took his fingers out of you just as you were reaching your peak, before you could whine he turned you around and prompted you to bend over by pushing your lower back down, you bent over and gripped the bush in front of you, your tennis skirt immediately revealing your wet cunt and putting it on display for San, he didn't fuck you immediately and you wondered why, but that's when you saw a flash of light and a small panic hit you.

"San!" you looked back and yelled at him, he put his phone away.

"Sorry bunny I couldn't help it." He took a condom out of his pocket then slid his pants down enough for his dick to spring out. He ripped open the condom with his teeth and discarded the wrapper on the ground, you watched as you anticipated feeling him inside of you. He rolled the condom down his girth, and you recalled the time he told you you and him can only have sex with a condom on because he knew he couldn't handle feeling you raw and would spend the rest of his days and nights fucking you relentlessly. While you were mid thought San lined his dick up to your sex and pushed into you. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him entering you and small moans started to fall out your mouth. He gripped both sides of your hips as he slid in slowly, he bit his lips and hissed, your walls already squeezing around him.

"Fuck I love how this bunnies tight little cunt feels." he bottomed out in you and started to speed up his pace, he didn't ask if you were ready because he knew you were, he knew you loved being his personal pocket pussy, ready to be fucked any way he liked and wanted. You tried to keep your voice down but just couldn't, Sans dick was pounding into you deeply and his pace made it no better but then you heard footsteps and your heart dropped.

A couple walked up toward Wooyoung and Wooyoung stopped them.

"Oh, excuse us." the man said.

"Oh uh, sorry this way is closed off right now." Wooyoung replied, hearing them so close both terrified you and made your pussy wetter, it obviously excited San because he sped up his pace even more, you reached your arm back to try to slow him down and even lowered your voice. San wasn't having any of that and grabbed your wrist with one hand and gripped your hair with the other, he pulled your arm back more and yanked your hair back as well, the position causing him to dig deeper into you.

"I'll make it fucking worse if you try to stop me again, I don't give a fuck if they see us, I want them to watch me destroy my little bunnies pretty pussy." He said gritting his teeth, he then kissed you deeply while his hips never stopped driving into you. He caught your moans in the kiss but with your climax speeding toward you, you couldn't help but drool.

Wooyoung was able to shoo the couple away by telling them one of the actors was hurt and was changing and that’s what the moaning and groaning was. He walked over to where you were and stood a bit away while San continued, when San released you from the kiss saliva fell from both your mouths, Wooyoung watched with a blushed face.

"Can you guys hurry up, people are coming by and Jongho said half the group is already done." Wooyoung said as he adverted his eyes away from you two and looked at the ground after noticing your chest and ass was out, he occasionally glanced up to wait for a response, this unfortunately wasn't his first time having to confront you two like this.

San looked him dead in the eyes with a smile, he was still fucking you deeply and fast with your arm pulled back and your hair in hand he turned your head to woo as well. "Baby Woo wants us to hurry up, can you hurry up and cum for him please?" Wooyoungs face got just as hot as yours, though you couldn't deny you did love the extra eyes on you.

"Y-yes San." you replied as drool continued to leak out of your mouth.

San pounded deeply into you a few more times than your orgasm hit you like a truck, it was powerful and made your entire body shake uncontrollably, San pulled out then took off the condom and tossed it in the grass, he chose to not let himself cum because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop if he came. You couldn't help but fall forward but San caught you by the waist.

"Hold her for a second Woo so I can pull up my pants." San said, Wooyoung walked over hesitantly and grabbed you by the shoulders.

"Are you okay Y/N?" He asked.

You were dazed and half-awake but nodded your head in your fucked out state. You fixed your bra and shirt and skirt while San fixed his pants and put his glasses back on. The three of you met the group and got your ticket then everyone headed straight to the BBQ place, everyone was drinking while Woo and Seonghwa cooked the meat, you however were slumped on Sans shoulder asleep.

"Hey is Y/N, okay?" Yunhos date asked.

"Oh yeah that maze just tuckered her out." San replied.

Wooyoung shook his head as he flipped the meat and grumbled under his breath. "I need new friends."

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket (Part 5)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,541

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Notes: ugh. i don't like this one.

_________________________________________

“What?”

There’s no way she just said what you think she said. You wouldn’t be able to hear it with the pounding of your heart and your blood rushing through your ears, you can’t even decipher her next words as the floor falls from your feet.

How would she know that? You pride Mor on her innate ability to find out most information about almost anyone, she’s like a secret agent sometimes. Once, when Feyre had had told you and Mor that her sister Elain was to be engaged to a man no one in her family liked, Mor spent two nights digging into his socials and finding out everything she could about the bastard. To this day, Elain still doesn’t know who it was that sent her those anonymous screenshots and photos of him with another woman.

But right now, you don’t think it’s possible for Mor to have found something out like this. You and Cassian have been so careful, to the extend where you’d been a little paranoid even, always checking your surrounding and planning the times you and him meet up down to the second. You’re anal as fuck about it, but it’s worked for eight months. So why isn’t it working right now?

“I know you don’t want me to repeat myself,” Mor huffs down the line, but her voice is all static, your ears ringing. Your phone is buzzing incessantly in your fingers and your arm is numb with it. You’re terrified to pull the device from your ear, not knowing who or what kind of messages you’re receiving right now.

The elevator rings, signaling its arrival to your floor, and the doors sliding open almost feel like a death sentence. On numb legs, you step forward and off the elevator, Mor’s voice still echoing in your head. You’re dating Cassian Bailey?

Bright flashes jolt you from your thoughts. Whipping your head to where the front entrance is located, you quint, holding your hand up to block some of the glare. Your stomach drops to the floor at the sight. A crowd of paparazzi wait outside, snapping pictures of you through the lobby’s clear windows.

Holy shit. This is real. This is really fucking happening.

You’re not prepared in the slightest. You don’t know what to do, your mind is racing with a thousand thoughts a second and the strobes coming from the front of your building blind you, leaving white spots in your vision, taking out another one of your senses. Mor is rambling on in your ear, shrill sounding, and if you could make out the words through your muddled mind, you figure she’s scolding you and feeling a bit betrayed by you keeping this a secret from one of your closest friends.

Outside, the people shout. Their words are muffled by the thick glass, but it only adds to the anxiety scorching your veins. The collar of your shirt tightens around your throat and your breathing turns shakey. You’re frozen to the spot, halfway out of the elevator, the doors trying to slide closed but your body against the sensor keeps them angrily pulling back open.

The people waiting for the elevator upstairs are probably pissed.

“Mor?” you ask, and she falls silent. You must not sound like yourself because Mor never lets anyone interrupt her. Ever.

“Yeah?” Her tone is cautious, obviously picking up the emotion—or lack thereof—in your tone.

“What’s going on?”

It’s the only thing you can think to say. Your mind is being hammered with thoughts and the bright lights trying to blind you aren’t helping in the slightest but your feet are frozen to the ground. You know you look like a deer in headlights and that you should move, force yourself to do anything besides stand here like a fool for them to get all of the pictures they want—

Your body surges into action, striding out of the elevator and turning down the hall, giving them your back. You can hear their pathetic pleas for you to turn around and walk their way, but you know better than that. They’re here for one thing and one thing only—to see exactly who Cassian Bailey is sticking his dick into.

Rumors and stories will be swirling by tonight. Your phone buzzes in your hand again and you’re sure these pictures are already up in the tabloids, social media, every inch of the internet they can reach. You wonder if Cassian’s seen any of it and then remember that he’s finishing up practice, so he won’t be by his phone to see all of this for at least another hour.

You’re all alone in this.

Mor sighs your name sadly, and your chest squeezes tight as you round a corner, putting a wall between you and the paparazzi. What she’s about to say isn’t going to be something that you want to hear, but maybe it will make it all the more real.

“There was a picture of you in the Morning Mail,” she explains, and your throat tightens. The Morning Mail is a stupid tabloid online that updates every morning. Most of the time it’s filled with silly stories of random acts of kindness or pranks gone wrong with the occasional post about the current celebrity gossip. You didn’t even know that many people followed the account. Mor does because she’s been on their feed a few times and it gained her thousands of followers overnight. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

You want to choke. You never leave the house in Cassian’s clothes; you make sure of that. You’ve been so careful all this time, parking down the street from his place when you visit, forcing him to take a car and get dropped off since people are surely tracking his personal license plates. You don’t sit with the other families in the stadium at the home games, and Cassian doesn’t even follow you on social media.

You’re wearing his shirt, you echo, wracking your brain for any chance you may have slipped up. Nothing comes to mind, and when you hang your head, it hits you full force; the t-shirt you’d stolen of his in your rush to avoid his more than cheeky attitude this morning. Distracted by his wandering hands, his charming smile, you’d shoved one of his on, tucking it into your slacks before rushing out the door.

“Fuck,” your voice wobbles, tears pricking your eyes and emotion thickening your throat. It’s a black fucking cotton t-shirt, and apart from the sheer size of it and how it hangs loosely from your body, you haven’t the slightest idea of how they know it’s his. But it is, and they know.

A quick glance around the corner has your heart stammering in your chest. The photographers look like a bunch of wild animals, climbing over each other trying to catch a glimpse of you. You pray that their flashes are reflecting off of the glass and ruining their photos, but surely, your luck has completely run out if this is how your Monday is going.

You need to get out of here, now.

“I’ve already called Feyre,” Mor says down the line, and you’re confused on why you weren’t the first call she’d made when she continues. “My attempts went right to voicemail, and I called you right back as soon as I let her know. We’re already on our way to your place but we can swing by if you want a ride?”

“Yeah, I—”

“(Y/N)?” Tarquin’s voice startles you as he peeks around the corner. His bleached brows are furrowed deeply, a frown painting his face when he catches the frazzled look on your face. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Ah, so he’s also seen the mass of crazies outside trying to capture a front cover photo of you.

You have a choice right now, to lie to your coworker and say that you have no idea what’s going on or who they’re trying to take pictures of, or confide in your best work friend who’s been with you since the start. Literally, you both started on the same day and have been inseparable since.

You choose the latter.

“Would you mind giving me a ride home?” you ask, holding your hand over the speaker of your phone while you talk to Tarquin. “It seems as though my car is surrounded by strangers.”

With a quick glance back in the direction to the front doors of the building, Tarquin agrees, tone hesitant and a little confused, but he’s gracious nonetheless. “Sure, I can do that. Let me bring my car around the back and I’ll pick you up there?”

You nod, thankful. “Yes, please. Thanks, Tarq, you’re the best.”

He smirks genuinely and you’d roll your eyes at his antics if you weren’t shaking down to the bone. With a wink, Tarquin makes his way through the crowd, and you can hear his cheerful voice as he shoved through the doors, obviously loving all of the attention.

“Mor?” you ask into your phone once he’s gone, “I’ve got a ride, just meet me at my place.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“So…are we going to talk about why all of those people were asking me about you and trying to get pictures?” Tarquin asks once you’ve successfully made it out into the busy traffic and away from the fleet of paparazzi surrounding your place of work.

Tarquin had picked you up at the back of the building and you all but dove into his car before any of the photographers could catch a glimpse of you. Your coworker had shoved a baseball cap in your direction, one with the Sealion’s logo on it that you reluctantly shoved on your head, slumping down in your seat so you weren’t seen.

Your phone has been buzzing constantly, and you’re worried you might actually have to get a new number with the onslaught of texts, calls, and notifications threatening to send your phone into the same shock you’re currently experiencing. Your parents have even been trying to get through, but you haven’t had the guts to answer any of them or even dare to look on any social media platform. You’ve just been staring at the screen, constantly lit with incoming messages, buzzing fervently in your lap.

You glance at the clock on the radio, blinking 5:32. How could your entire world have turned upside down in the matter of thirty-two minutes? You’ve gone from normal girl working a nine to five at a graphic design firm to Cassian Bailey’s girlfriend all because of a fucking plain t-shirt.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get over that, the fact that an oversized, black cotton t-shirt is your downfall in all of this. It’s mind-boggling to believe that someone had connected the dots that quickly, but there are some avid fans of Cassian’s that you wouldn’t dare to go head-to-head with.

“What’s there to talk about?” you speak softly, defeated. With a sigh, you shut your phone off. It’s the best way to avoid what’s going on on the internet until you can wrap your head around everything and what you plan to do about it. You’re exhausted already, just attempting to think about it. You let your head fall to the side, the leather squeaking against your head as you look over at your friend. “You heard them, Tarq.”

Everything that you’ve worked for, your privacy, your art, might all be ruined. Gaining your own following in the graphic design community had been hard, and now that you’re about to be known by the world doesn’t sit right with you. How are you supposed to make really work-related connections when people might only be seeking you out to get closer to Cassian? The thought of being used like that makes your stomach roil. Your trust issues are about to be through the roof.

You stare back out at the traffic and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Your brain hurts and you just want to be in the safety of your home.

“So, you’re dating Cassian Bailey,” Tarquin says, like if he almost can’t believe it himself. A sharp pinch to your shoulder has your eyes shooting open and your body bolting upright, only for the seatbelt to lock and nearly choke you.

Yelping, you glare at your friend, but his ice blue eyes are focused on the road. “Hey! What was that for?”

“For not telling me, obviously,” Tarquin scoffs, glancing over his shoulder and flicking on his turn-signal to switch lanes. You peek out of the passenger mirror, anxious that one of the photographers caught a glimpse of you leaving and has somehow followed you thus far.

“I didn’t tell anyone, if it makes you feel better.”

You’re answered with a roll of his eyes.

You don’t know what to say, how to respond to Tarquin, how to respond to any of this. All you want to do is crawl in a hole and hide away for the next few years. How are you supposed to go about your day normally when everything is anything but normal? You’ll be expected to show up with Cassian now, be there in the crowd for the home matches, you know people will be looking for you.

A headache splits your skull at the thoughts running rampant in your mind. There are so many things to think about now, each and every move you make is going to have to be calculated. You’ll have to think about what you’re going to wear, how you’ll present yourself, thinking about what to say before you speak. Anything you do now will reflect on Cassian’s career, and fans will be blaming you for his mistakes.

It's all too much.

“How long has this been going on?” Tarquin asks softly, as if sensing you’re stuck in your head and need help getting out. You don’t really want to talk about you and Cassian at all right now, but you shove those impending thoughts aside with a sigh, and talk to your friend.

“A little over eight months, now.”

“Is he hung?”

You splutter, choking on your saliva, and Tarquin laughs. This, this is why he’s your favorite coworker. Tarquin isn’t afraid of saying what’s on his mind, no matter how HR unfriendly the question may be.

“I’m not answering that,” you laugh, craning your neck to look out the window, hiding your hot face. The blush staining your cheeks is answer enough.

Tarquin tuts, turning down your street. It’s empty, and you breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls up to your building and there isn’t a crowd of people shouting your name and trying to take your picture. A little of the tension eases from your shoulders.

“Do you want me to pick you up for work in the morning?” Tarquin asks, pulling over to let you out.

You shake your head, gathering your things. “I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. Don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Do you think Alis will let me work from home permanently?” You ask. Alis, your boss, is a strict woman who you can’t seem to figure out if she likes or dislikes anyone that works for her.

Tarquin huffs, “I doubt it. She’s tough as nails, that one.”

“Might just have to quit then, I suppose.”

Your friend’s jaw drops and he looks at you with eyes of betrayal. “You are not going to leave me with the wolves like that! I’ll come drag your ass out of this apartment everyday if I need to.”

“But if I quit, you’ll get to take over Tamlin’s project,” you tease, and his eyes widen comically. He hadn’t thought about that one, apparently. Unlatching the lock, you slide out of the vehicle. You lean down, looking back at your coworker. “Thanks for the ride, Tarq. I’ll text you later.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Feyre and Mor meet you at the door to your apartment, their arms packed with grocery bags filled with candles, ice cream, frozen pizzas, and a lot of alcohol.

“You look like you need it,” Feyre had said when you eyed the bottle of vodka she’d unloaded on your counter.

You do.

You have no appetite, picking at the crust of your slice of pizza. Your stomach stirs sickly, the never-ending thoughts consuming you as you fill your two best friends in on the last eight months you’ve spent with Cassian, from when you’d accidentally run into him at the grocery store late one night after a horrible date gone wrong, to this morning, when you’d slipped into his shirt and hastily left for work. You’d left out the part about Cassian trying to seduce you back into bed, but your friends got most of the story.

“This is insane,” you groan, shoving your plate away from yourself with a sigh. “What the hell am I going to do?”

You hadn’t turned your phone back on, you hadn’t wanted to. You left it in your room when you’d gotten home and changed into your most comforting clothes, stuffing that fucking shirt that got you caught to the bottom of your hamper in rage.

Snuggling deeper into your hoodie, you drag the bottle of vodka closer to yourself, pouring a heavy-handed shot. The alcohol burns your throat on the way down and you grimace, focusing on the burn instead of the pricking at the back of your eyes that hadn’t gone away since you’d all but fallen into your best friends’ arms.

“First, we’re going to need to start brainstorming how to get you out of this. Thankfully, I have a little bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

And she does. Mor has been in the tabloids more than a few times, and most of the time it’s a semi-true story with made-up aspects to really make it seem juicier than it is. She was once photographed coming out of a popular restaurant at the same time actor Harry Hybern was headed in to meet with some friends, and the media had a field day with it. As much as she liked the actor, Mor was upset with the fact that he is thrice her age. You would’ve hated being on the other side of that phone call when she’d dialed the magazine that printed the article, demanding a retraction.

“What’s the first thing you usually do when this sort of thing happens?” you ask. Maybe talking to Mor about her experiences in the public eye will make you feel a little better, if not offer an idea of what you can do yourself.

“See how cute I look in the pictures,” Mor answers, unabashed.

You huff out a laugh in response, Feyre giggling into her glass. “That’s the first thing I do when I see you in the media too, Mor,” she says with a grin, “That vomit green look from the other day? Not your best work, and (Y/N)’s plain black t-shirt tucked into her slacks was so cute! I’m totally stealing that look.”

“Go ahead,” you wave her off because you’re never wearing it again.

Mor glares a little, pouting. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Helping our friend and her sudden fame. I’m thinking Cassian’s dick will take care of most of the emotional turmoil,” she says and Feyre laughs a little too hard. Mor reaches into the bag and pulls out a notebook, flipping it to the first page. “We’ll start with some brainstorming—"

A knock at the door startles you from your wallowing. Back straightening, you glance at your friends taking up the other side of the kitchen island, eyes wide and heart hammering in your chest.

“What if it’s more photographers?” you whisper, and your fingers tremble a little so you clench them instead.

Mor and Feyre share a glance, a flash of worry crossing their features as if they hadn’t thought about it.

“I’ll get it,” Feyre decides, placing her half-drunk glass on the counter as she stands. The blanket droops from her shoulders, flopping onto the back of her stool like you want to be right now, a puddle of fabric and emotions. “If it’s them, I’ll say that this is my place and I don’t know who you are.”

“Good idea,” Mor compliments, nudging your glass with the beck of her hand. She gives you a soft, encouraging smile. “Drink up, (Y/N). It’s probably not the paps, but we’ve got to get you less paranoid so you can think better.”

“Not sure getting wasted is going to help with my thinking,” you mutter, tipping your glass back anyway, “But whatever.” Mor is ready when you remove the empty cup from your lips, already pouring you more. You’re glad to have such amazing friends to drop what they’re doing and come over in your time of turmoil, and they haven’t even laid into you yet about keeping this huge secret from them.

Small victories, and all that.

“(Y/N)?” Feyre calls from the other room. She sounds shocked, almost, and the sound of it makes you want to throw the blanket over your head and cower like a fool. “It’s definitely not the paparazzi.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: We're back

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Your bedroom door swings open, the handle knocking against the short shelf of figures behind it. You clutch the black skirt in your hands and face your mother as she gives you that look. The one dripping in disappointment and loathing. She’s hungover, you can tell by how she squints.

“Are you not ready yet?” She sneers, a Louis bag dangling from her elbow.

“Almost,” you assure her, rolling your tongue nervously, “mom, are you sure I should come? Work isn’t very happy about the time off and–”

“How dare you,” she accuses, flinching at the spark of her own temper, bringing her manicure to her temple, “Lloyd has been very nice in inviting us all to the lake house and I will not have you spoil it with your attitude.”

“I wasn’t trying to… I just thought…”

“Stop thinking,” she points at you with a long shellacked nail, “you’ll ruin everything.”

You snap your mouth shut. For her, this is another vacation. You know her plans don’t extend past wine and naps in the sun. And it is supposed to be a ‘family trip’. If you don’t go, your father might just tell her to stay behind too. It’s not that she wants you to go, but she wants to be sure she gets to go.

“I’ll be ready in like ten,” you spin back to your bed and tuck the skirt into your duffle.

“Make it five,” she huffs with the click of her tongue.

She prances off and you shake your head at the stacks of clothes in front of you. You cut it down as you roll up each piece to fit into your bag. You don’t need much. You shove your chest of makeup at the end and tuck your toiletry pouch inside.

You grab your leather knapsack and slide your laptop inside with your textbooks. You wonder if you’ll even have a signal all the way up north. If not, you’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Oh well, maybe it will be nice to get away. Or maybe you’ll be in hell, trapped in an isolated cabin with your own parents.

And him.

You shove a few novels in along with your computer and zip it up. You drag your stuff towards the door and grab your jacket from the clothes rack against the far wall. The long black trench goes well over your wide-leg curtain paints and razor back halter. You pop on a wide brimmed black hat and your favourite pair of sunglasses; black lenses framed with silver.

You grab your bags and haul them out of your room, making the slow and perilous descent to the first floor. You leave your bags right behind your mother’s pile of matching Louis luggage and wiggle your feet into your clunky Mary Janes. 

Your mother emerges with a sunhat and a pair of large square framed sunglasses. She winks at you as she tucks a flask into her purse. You say nothing and cross your legs, perching on the bench impatiently.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” She harrumphs.

“Yeah?” You look down.

“You don’t have anything… lighter? It’s sunny out.”

You shrug, “we’ll just be in the car.”

You stare at her bags. How much does she need to bring? The physics of packing all of it into the SUV worries you. You fully expect to be crammed in next to her bandouliere bag.

“Constance!” Your father’s voice booms as his steps pound onto the porch. You look at the screen door as he rips it open, “well,” he stops short inside, “I told you to start bringing your shit out.”

“I told you, my shoulder,” your mother pouts, “yell at your daughter, she’s the one sitting around.”

Your father huffs and grabs her largest bag, pointing at you then the rest of her things, “well, let’s get this going. I don’t wanna be driving past midnight.”

You get up and grab two of the lighter bags. You roll your eyes behind your lenses, knowing you won’t be caught. You follow your father out the front door, the weight of your mother’s excess chafing your fingers. What did she pack?

The hatch door of the SUV is already open. Your father’s things are neatly placed against the wall of the trunk. He hikes up your mother’s suitcase in the other side and it takes up much of the remaining space. You place the two in hand on top and ponder the last three. It’s like a very unfortunate game of Tetris.

“Go,” your father snaps his fingers, “get the rest.”

You don’t argue. As you come up on the porch, your mother emerges with a bright pink travel tumbler in hand, slurping on the straw as your left to wonder at the contents. You dip inside and retrieve her smallest bags; a perfect circular valise and two more oblong ones.

You hand them off to your father and he grumbles under his breath as he tries to fit them into the hatch. You return to the house to get your own bags. You won’t mind sitting with your own things. 

The backseat offers little hope as you find a large cooler taking up more than half of its length and fishing rods across the floor. So, where exactly are you supposed to sit?

As you stare, perplexed by the puzzle of your own belonging, a horn toots and a car rolls up the driveway, coming just short of your father as he turns to stare down the Bentley. You keep your knapsack on your shoulder and your bag clutched tight.

You face Mr. Hansen as he climbs out of his car, leaning on the door as he looks over it at your dad, “Ray Ray, ready to go?”

“Just loading up,” your father answers.

“Holy shit,” Mr. Hansen snorts, “you know you’re not moving in for good, right?”

“Connie’s shit,” your father snarls.

Hansen shuts his car door as he strides up the tarmac. His focus shifts as he sees you standing listless. He flicks his sunglasses up and gives a crooked smirk.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greets, “uh, Ray,” he stops, just a few inches from you, pivoting towards the back of the SUV, “where exactly is the baby girl supposed to fit? You strapping her to the roof?”

“She’ll squeeze in,” you father dimisses.

“For eight hours?” Hansen’s fingers tickle along the back of your arm and he squeezes just above his elbow, “I got lots of room.”

“I don’t care. Take her, then,” your father barks, “I got Lonny bringing up supplies, I don’t needa worry about all that.”

“Hear that, starbright, go toss your things in mine,” Hansen twirls his keyring and holds it out to you, “lots of legroom.”

“Um, it’s fine–”

“Don’t argue,” your father slams the hatch door. “He’s right, we don’t got the space.”

You could suggest your mother leaves a few things behind but you know that will only end the same. You take Hansen’s keys and thank him. He grins and steps back, not much, just enough for you to pass, just close enough for you to brush against him.

You go down the drive, surprised to find yourself trailed by another set of steps. You glance over your shoulder as Hansen circles around you, “bottom button, sunny.”

You hit the fob and the trunk pops open. He seizes your bag before you can react and puts it in next to his. You slip your knapsack down your arm and he just as quickly has it in hand.

“Couldn’t imagine eight hours in a car with those two,” he says quietly, “you’re welcome.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” 

You cross your arms and step back as he closes the trunk. He keeps his hand on the sleek pant and eyes you up and down. He tilts his head and his tongue pokes out.

“You feel like driving,” he asks, “I don’t mind.” He pats the butt of the car, “she handles well.”

“Um, it’s okay…”

“Come on, you get the first hour and we can switch at the rest stop,” he goads, “I woke up fuckshit early.”

“Alright, I guess,” you keep the keys in your hand and go to step around him.

“Wait, wait,” he blocks your path, “one more thing.”

“Alright?” You frown.

“I didn’t say…” he reaches to tap the brim of your hat, “you look fucking good.”

You don’t know how to respond. You’re unused to compliments and a simple thank you would do but something about his tone has you tongue-tied. You wipe away your chagrin and try to smile. Your lips just quiver and fall straight.

“Right, let’s stop dragging ass,” he spins and struts up the driveway, “Ray,” he calls to your dad, “here’s the spare key. In case you get ahead of us.”

You chew your lip and slowly walk along the side of the car. You unlock the doors and open the driver’s side. You reticently get in and take off your hat, twisting to throw it in the backseat. You turn straight and adjust the seat and steering wheel. It’s a really nice car.

The passenger door opens and Lloyd drops in, sliding the seat all the way back as he stretches his legs. You leave the keys in the cupholder and push the ignition. The engine rolls as you take in the breadth of controls. Nothing too unusual.

“What’s that shade of lipstick called?” Lloyd leans on the armrest of his seat, “how many shades of black can they sell?”

“Um, I don’t know,” you fix the mirror.

“Like those glasses. Where’d you get them?”

“Amazon,” you answer as you shift into reverse, the camera showing on the console screen. You grip the wheel and slowly back out.

“Now, don’t be afraid to put that foot down once we hit the highway,” he says, “she’s got a lot of power. She can handle it.”

“Mhmm,” you stop at the end of the driveway and look both ways down the street. “Got it.”

🖤

As promised, you trade places with Lloyd after the first hour. He’s a bit more heavy-footed and you find yourself with your hand on the door as you brace yourself with his careless and aggressive passing. You’re a cautious driver and his style has you almost dizzy. You’re not bold enough to tell him to slow down.

“Isn’t this nice?” He asks, “no squabbling middle-aged assholes to listen to.”

“Sure,” you grasp the seat belt as you keep a wary gaze through the windshield.

“Hopefully it’s only more of this, baby,” he continues, “my house, my rules. You don’t worry about mommy and daddy.”

You nod and hold back a squeak as he swoops in front of another car. You wish you had kept driving. You hate this.

“I’ll be working on my tan as daddy does all the hard work,” he scoffs, “been a long year.”

You listen, almost curious as he’s rarely anything close to transparent. You would never imagine him having a bad day. He seems to carry it with that no fucks given strut. He swerves again and you can’t help but elicit a rather pathetic noise.

“Mr. Hansen, can you… slow down a little?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer right away but he does as you request. “I get it, you wanna enjoy our time together,” he snickers.

“Uh, well, I get a bit carsick,” you utter.

“Ah,” he accepts with an air of disappointment, “can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“Can you call me Lloyd? This Mr. Hansen business makes me feel old as shit. I’m not, you know, I got all my faculties,” he lets out a small chuckle, “just so you know.”

“Right, Lloyd, sorry,” you say, “dad just… you’re his friend so he–”

“Yeah, real tight ass but damn good at what he does. The biggest fuckers always are,” he scoffs.

“I guess…”

“So, those girls, they bug you again?” He keeps the same pace in conversation as he does driving. You’re disoriented by the flip.

“Haven’t seen them, no…”

“You know, they’re just jealous,” he says, “I know girls like that. I’ve f– met a lot. They’re not worth it.” He shakes his head and laughs, “hate to say it, but your mom is one of those. Never a nice thing to say about anyone but herself.”

You lean into the seat and bend your arms in front of your stomach. You know that. Deep down, you know your family is imperfect, you just didn’t realise how obvious it is.

“You’re young. Shit’s tough when you’re figuring it out.”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

“You got Spotify or something?” He asks abruptly, once more jarring you. “Got bluetooth in here. May as well put something on, we got time.”

“Right, uh, I could…” you dig your phone out as he pushes buttons on the steering wheel with his thumb. The screen flashes with the pairing symbol.

You find the right connection and scroll through your playlists. You don’t know if he’ll like any of those. Maybe you could find something generic.

“What do you like?” You ask.

He answers with a chortle, “nah, you put something on. I wanna hear your music.”

“Well, it’s a bit… of an acquired taste.”

“My car, my rules, put your music on,” he demands.

You resign and tap shuffle on your weekly mix. Joy Division drones from the random selection and you black out the screen. You’re comforted by the familiar tones.

“Holy fuck,” Lloyd says, “this is old shit. Before my time, even.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, “it’s just a shuffle–”

“Not complaining,” he smirks, “glad I actually know this one.”

You exhale and try to relax. It’s going to be a long ride and you're thankful he opened that door. You don’t know how much longer you could handle his chaotic conversation. Only six hours or so, you can make it if you have music.

[deestorytime]

I got prom coming up and what if you wrote something about levi and reader doing a prom send off for their kid (or like some fancy ball their kid is goin to) and like it’s fluffy n cute and tooth rottingly sweetly and romantic 😭

Ok I tried to make it as cute as possible, ngl I was kicking my feet the entire time I was writing it. I hope you like it!

Levi stood at the doorway of your child's bedroom, admiring the sight before him. Your daughter was dressed in a stunning, elegant outfit, ready for her first grand ball. You both had spent weeks planning every detail. She nervously adjusted her attire in front of the mirror as you dabbed sweet, scented perfume behind her ears. Levi stepped forward to straighten the fabric of her outfit.

"You look just like your mother," Levi remarked.

 "And you’ve got your father’s eyes," you added, opening a tiny box to reveal a gold necklace with carnelian gemstones and placing it around your child’s neck. Your family heirloom, passed down through generations, now adorns your daughter.

"You're going to have the most wonderful time," you tried to assure her.

 Levi cleared his throat, attempting to ease her nervousness and lighten the mood. "You know," he began, "…let's just say that dancing was never really my forte." His eyes met yours, and you knew exactly what he was thinking about.

You chimed in, eager to paint the picture for your child. "Oh, you should have seen your father at our first ball. He was all dressed up but absolutely mortified at the thought of dancing. He was humanity’s strongest soldier but put the man on a dance floor…….!?"

Your child's laughter joined yours. "I can't imagine Dad dancing!"

"Alright, let's not exaggerate," he retorted, smiling, and it was a sight that warmed your heart every time. "Let's just say I've had my... challenges. But, in my defense, your mother was incredibly patient with me. She taught me a few steps right there on the dance floor."

 You nodded, “Just let yourself enjoy the moment, regardless of how clumsy you might feel. Your father and I danced most of the night away, those moments we spent stepping on each other's feet are some of my most cherished memories."

Levi's gaze shifted from your daughter to a small music box resting on a nearby shelf. With a slight smile he walked over and picked it up. Holding the music box in one hand and with a flick of his wrist, he opened it.

 A soft melody filled the room. "Come," he said, extending his other hand towards your child. Momentarily taken aback, she smiled and stepped forward, placing her hand in his. Levi guided her gently, showing her where to place her feet, how to move in time with the music. The initial awkwardness quickly faded, replaced by laughter. You watched, your heart full, as Levi and your child began to move more fluidly, her initial awkwardness replaced with confidence. Levi, despite claiming he had two left feet, was an amazing teacher. Just as the last notes of the music box's melody began to fade, a sharp knock came at the front door.

Levi motioned for her to stay put. "I'll get it," he said. Opening the door, he found her date, visibly nervous, standing on the doorstep. The young man was well-dressed, clearly having made an effort for the evening, and held a small bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"Good evening, sir, I'm Matteo," he managed, extending a hand towards Levi.

 Levi assessed him from head to toe before accepting the handshake, his grip firm but not hostile. "Evening," he finally said. "Come in." He stepped inside, his eyes darting between Levi and the staircase where you and your child were standing. The air was charged with silent tension.

“Sir, I—" Matteo started, but Levi quickly cut him off.

 "I trust you understand the importance of tonight. My daughter means the world to us. I expect you to treat her with the respect and care she deserves. Am I clear?"

 Matteo nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. I— I really like her. I promise to take good care of her tonight." Levi studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Have her home by midnight," he added. As Matteo agreed, your child descended the rest of the stairs, her nervousness replaced with excitement.

"You look amazing," Matteo said, his eyes lighting up as they took in your child's appearance.

"Thanks," your child replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "You look great, too."

As Matteo and your daughter made their way to the door, you called out, "Wait, just a moment." You rushed to grab your camera. "Stand together, just there," you instructed, pointing to a spot where the soft light from the hallway fell. "Okay, ready? Smile," you said, your finger poised over the button.

"Thank you, Mom,"

 "Just one more thing," you announced, a mischievous twinkle in your eye that both Levi and your child knew all too well. Before she could protest, you pulled her into a warm, enveloping hug, planting a loud, smacking kiss right on her cheek. Levi's chuckle filled the room; however, your child's reaction was instant and dramatic.

 "Mom! Dad!" she protested.

 "Have a wonderful time," you replied.

"Alright, alright, see you later, guys," she conceded, a laugh escaping her as she waved goodbye and walked away. As he closed the door, Levi pulled you into his embrace, his lips finding yours in a kiss.

 "she grow up too fast," you said. "We did good, didn't we?"

He nodded, your head resting against his shoulder. "We did great."

[retrospacejelly]

A Western Vendetta

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: A look into Miguel’s past, and why he was given the title, El ángel vengador.

Warnings: Angst, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language, death/murder, gore, alcohol

BEFORE YOU READ: This chapter is very dark! It is a huge contrast from the last two chapters so please read with caution!

Part: 2 ½ /?

Part: 1, 2, 2 ½ , 3

Not proofread

A/N: I had this idea brewing for a while, and character AI helped push the plot!  (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

Reach out if you want to be on my taglist!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red. Red was all he could see.

“Mamá…? Papá…?”

A young Miguel, only eighteen, had just finished work for some extended family in another town. He was delighted to be back home. 

“Mamá, Papá?!”

He runs through the house, stopping suddenly at the sight before him.

In front of his eyes, the bodies of his parents lay lifeless on the parlor floor. The stench of iron flooded his nose, and his stomach churned. He looked around. Except for a tossed chair, nothing seemed to be out of place.

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

Miguel stuck the shovel into the cold dirt, makeshift headstones staring back at him. Reciting a quiet prayer, he turns to make his way back into the house. 

He had walked throughout the house, looking for anything of value that might be missing. 

Nothing.

Money that was kept in his father’s nightstand and safe was untouched. His mother’s jewelry was still organized in her cedar jewelry box; an anniversary gift from his father. 

When he opened her jewelry box, he took her beaded rosary and a copper ring. He smiled sadly at the copper ring. Shoving them into his vest pocket along with some money, he made his way to the parlor.

Whoever had done this was going to pay. Whoever had done this would meet the wrath of Miguel O’Hara. 

Miguel snatched his father’s trusty pistol from its spot on the mantlepiece. As he made his way to the front door, he slipped on his cowboy hat and set off for the town. 

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

He first made his way to the saloon, its bright and cheery atmosphere a stark contrast from himself. He quietly made his way to the bar, ordering a whiskey. 

He needed to come up with some sort of plan. He couldn’t just go around asking people if they’d seen any suspicious folk. He didn’t even know who he was looking for.

His thoughts were cut short by the sound of loud, boisterous laughter. Moving his head to the side, he noticed two seemingly drunk men four seats down from him. He shook his head, annoyed.

“...Yea, that bitch squealed like a damn pig, I tell ya! Had it comin’ too.”

Miguel’s attention was piqued.

“Don’t ya…don’t ya think killin’ ‘er was a bit much, though, Butch?” his friend asked.

The man named Butch scowled at his friend. “Hell nah! She made a damn fool ‘outta me when she turned me down at the market. I’m fuckin’,” he hiccups, “Fuckin’ Butch Wyatt. And no one makes a fool ‘outta me!”

Butch slams his glass down. “Planned on jus’ killin’ ‘er and leavin’ the body for ‘er husband to see. But that Bottom-Feeder came home early. Had to kill ‘im too.”

His friend tries to calm Butch down, not wanting to cause a bigger scene. But Miguel had heard. Oh, he heard well. He had to set his now empty glass down so as to not shatter it with his hand.

He watched as they made their way out of the saloon, swaying drunkenly out the doors. They wouldn’t make it far. 

After a couple of minutes, he stood from his seat, placing some coins down by his glass. Nobody seemed to notice as he made his exit.

The street was silent save for the drunken laughter of the two men and Miguel’s heavy footfalls following behind them. 

He watches as they turn into an alleyway, and speeds up his pace. His blood starts to pump faster as he closes in on the two. He slips the gun from its holster and calls out to them. 

“Hey, Bastardos.”

They turn around, their eyes slowly trailing up to his own.

“Whatdya jus’ call me…?” Butch blurts out, reaching for his gun. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Senor,” Miguel answers, his dead eyes trained on Butch. Butch’s friend tugs his arm, a look of dread on his face. “C’mon, now Butch, you don’t know who he is?” he asks.

Butch looks over to his friend. “Am I supposed to know who he is, Casey?”. Casey leans in. “That’s Miguel O’Hara, I’ve seen ‘im doin’ work around town…”.

Butch lets out a laugh. “O’Hara?! Yer’ the bitch’s son?! What? Come ‘ere to seek revenge, boy? It’s two against one, ya know.”

Miguel doesn’t respond.

“Yer’ mother was a fuckin’ whore. When I pointed that gun at ‘er, boy was she-”

“Squealin’ like a pig. Yea, I got that.” 

The sound of a gunshot rings throughout the alley, Butch’s body slumping to the ground. And before he knows it, he aims at Casey and shoots.

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

The sun had risen just above the hills, and roosters crowed from their perches. 

The Mayor’s wife was taking her usual morning walk with her mutt, Captain, humming happily to herself. She always awoke before the town to get a peaceful walk in.

She sees something hanging from the square’s stone statue (the statue being her husband of course). The sun blinds her vision of the statue as she squints to get a better look.

She walks closer, bringing her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun.

And then.

“AAAAAAAH!”

Her shrill scream alerts the homes nearby. She drops Captain’s leash as she covers her mouth, sobs racking her body.

Joshua, the storekeeper’s son is the first to stand by the wife’s side. When he looks at the statue, he retches. 

As more and more townsfolk gather in the square all hell breaks loose. Shouts of fear and surprise fill the air but are soon quieted down as the Mayor makes his way through the crowd.

Looking up, he gasps, horrified.

There, hanging from the Statue’s arm were the mangled corpses of Butch Wyatt and Casey Brown. 

And as Miguel stands at the top of a hill overlooking the town, mounted on a stolen horse, he can’t help but smirk as one of the residents shouts, “El ángel vengador!”

From that day forward, Miguel O'Hara would venture from town to town seeking retribution on other outlaws. Word spread fast of an Avenging Angel making its way throughout the West.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the people of Miguel’s hometown to figure out just who this Avenging Angel was. Word of El ángel vengador’s identity spread even faster and soon wanted posters of Miguel O’Hara were posted on every surface throughout every town.

Some argued that  El ángel vengador was helping towns that were being terrorized by outlaws while others argued that vigilantes had no place to go around killing people. 

As the years passed, Miguel made a realization that killing outlaws wouldn’t bring his parents back and would only make the reward for his head higher. 

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

As he sat on the small bed in Y/N’s guest room, fiddling with his mother’s rosary, he thought to himself.

It had been a decade since the end of his murders, and five years more since the death of his parents. Even after all these years, he is still considered a wanted man, although the hunt for him has simmered drastically.

He couldn’t help as a tear escaped his eye, bringing the rosary up to his lips. 

Tomorrow would mark the anniversary of his parents' deaths.

______________________________________________________________

This was a dark segment! A huge contrast from the previous chapter, I know. There might be some confusion, so here’s some clarification on age:

Miguel is around 33 when he meets Y/N. His parents were murdered 15 years ago, but he quit his murders 10 years ago.

Y/N is around 26. Her ex-husband cheated on her when they were both 21. 

______________________________________________________________

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@codenameredkrystalmatrix @slushycoookie

[snowyslytherinowl]

Joyous Nightmares - Part 2

PAIRING: Severus Snape x (Professor) Reader

SUMMARY: A year after surviving the Second Wizarding War, Severus Snape begins to have joyous nightmares where he dreams of having a wife and a daughter. These dreams bring him nightmares because he doesn't believe that he'll ever get married or have a family of his own. So what happens when the wife in his dreams is revealed to be you?

Warning: Some angst again, but nothing heavy. 

Part 1 | Part 3

*GIF isn't mine

Severus reads a book resting on his crossed knees. Below him, his now three-year-old daughter plays with her stuffed toys. She drags her niffler across the floor and pretends that it’s searching for her play jewelry and toy galleons. When her niffler finds every item, she extends her hand to where the phoenix is sitting, causing it to fly across the room and into her hands. “Daddy, make it sing, please?” she asks as she tugs on the fabric of her father’s trousers.

“Of course, my Half-Blood Princess.” Slightly bending down, Severus takes his daughter into his arms and settles her onto his lap. He waves his wand over the phoenix’s chest, causing it to play a song that enchants his daughter. 

The front door scrapes open, alerting him to the arrival of his wife. “Hello, my love,” he greets after his wife sneaks up behind him and kisses his cheek. 

Right after he awakes, Severus places the palm of his hand on the cheek that his dream wife kissed. Never before has he been physical with her in any way, though he enjoys that one kiss from her. It’s almost impossible to wipe the feeling of her plump, soft lips on his cheek from his mind. 

After failing to drift off for an hour, Severus gives up and works on brewing a new batch of potions that will allow him dreamless sleep. He started brewing them shortly after his first nightmare with his daughter, but he still has these joyous nightmares since he can’t brew enough for each night. As he waits for the cauldron to simmer, he brushes his fingers against his cheek again. 

He heads to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. You quickly glance at him after he sits beside you, and immediately pour him a coffee. “Are you sure that you’re feeling all right? You’ve looked awful lately.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” he drawls, earning a chuckle from you. Severus rarely tells an actual joke, but he likes hearing you laugh. At the last Christmas party, he told some joke that made you laugh harder than he ever heard before. He can’t remember the joke he told, but he remembers how that night, he replayed the moment when you playfully smacked his shoulder in response to the joke. 

“Maybe the Hogsmeade visit today will make you feel better,” you point out. Severus suddenly remembers how the third- to seventh-year students will venture into the village. He's always thought that setting these dunderheads loose in a public place is a bad idea.

“I do not plan to go,” he replies, which earns an exaggerated gasp from you. “Witnessing the students ransacking Hogsmeade brings me no pleasure.”

“How can you not?” you dramatically ask him. “Maybe you’ll come if I join you?”

He turns over the offer in his mind for a moment before deciding to accept. “Fine, I will meet you in the Entrance Hall.”

“Fantastic!” He enjoys the way you beam at him. 

Severus stops by his chambers to change into something more cozy (and of course, all black) for the winter weather. He wraps a fluffy black scarf you gave him around his neck and shoulders and heads out. 

He observes your outfit as you wave students out of the Entrance Hall. Your coat and dress show your figure nicely, and your scarf compliments your eyes. He catches your eye when you turn around, so he lifts his hand in a feeble wave. “I like your scarf,” you jokingly compliment as you head out together. 

“Thank you.” On your way to the village, you discuss your ideas for the outing. You agree to stop by a bookstore, then go to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. Colorful, twinkling lights and pine trees line the path to Hogsmeade. Silver and golden stars hang from the ceilings in the bookstore, and you and Severus separate to look for different items. 

Peacock and pheasant feather quills line the shelves, though Severus chooses two quills with an eagle feather. From a gap in the shelves, he notices a small child looking for picture books with his parents. He’s entranced as he watches the little boy show a book to his mother, who agrees to buy it for him. His father scoops the child up and the three of them head for the counter together, reminding Severus of his dreams with his small daughter. 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you tap him on the shoulder and ask, “Ready to check out?” He jumps at your touch, earning a quizzical look from you, but he nods and you buy two books while he buys the quills. 

You order a Butterbeer and Severus orders a tea with a shot of Firewhisky. When you reach a table near the back, he expects you to sit across from him. Instead, you sit next to him, and close to him at that. A little too close for what is appropriate between two friends.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and taking a sip of your Butterbeer. 

“Nothing of importance. I am merely thinking about how there is not nearly enough Firewhisky in this tea,” he lies. In reality, he’s thinking about how if he stood up, his leg would brush against yours. 

“It’s not strong, but you can have a sip of my Butterbeer if you want.” You swish the drink around in your hand before turning to look at him. Your usual cheeriness has faded away to a serious look. “Severus, I’ve been worried about you. You look… more miserable than usual and you look like you hardly get any sleep. Is something wrong?”

Minerva has also noticed that something is off with him. Instead of pulling him aside to talk things through, she gives him sympathetic looks in the staffroom and reduces the number of days that he's assigned to patrol the corridors. You’ve been more open about your concern and Severus finds it, for lack of a better word, sweet. But he doesn’t want to talk about his joyous nightmares with anyone; he doesn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy or gentle looks. You’d probably laugh at him if he told you how he dreamt of a family of his own. 

“I… I am fine.” You quirk your eyebrow at him and he continues, “Finding the ability to sleep after the war is not hard to believe, is it not?”

You nod and soften a little, but you still look wary. “I was thinking that if you had more company, you’d feel better. With me, for example.” You shift your seat even closer to him and your legs are nearly brushing against each other. Severus looks down and becomes flustered. 

You place your hand on his arm as you continue. “After each day’s classes, we can go down to the Black Lake. On the weekends, maybe we can visit Hogsmeade again. What do you think?” 

“I… I believe…” Severus feels like a fool as he trips over his words. All he can think about is your hand on his arm and how you’re close enough to feel your breath and smell your perfume. 

He’s disappointed when you withdraw your hand from him and straighten in your seat until he notices that Professors McGonagall and Flitwick are heading for your table. “Do you mind if we sit with you?” Filius asks. 

“Not at all,” you reply and smile, but Severus notes a hint of impatience in your tone. He can't help but share your feelings of impatience.

After taking a sip of her drink, Minerva leans in and says, “I don’t know about you all, but I am delighted that the Christmas holidays are near.” She drones on about her plans, the decorations she has already put up, and her favorite Christmas treats. You enthusiastically talk about the holidays with Minerva and Filius, and sometimes give a reassuring smile to Severus while the others talk. 

Severus, on the other hand, barely participates in the conversation except for the appropriate nod and grunt here and there. All his mind can focus on is how close you were with him and why in the wizarding world you would offer to spend so much time with him. 

Thankfully (for Severus, at least), the conversation doesn’t carry on for much longer and the four of you head outside. You’re walking along the path towards Honeydukes when suddenly, you hear children screaming with delight. Snowballs fly between the two sides of the path as the children run around and duck for cover behind trees and buildings. 

Severus whips his wand out and suspends all the snowballs in midair. They fall glumly to the ground, causing the children to stop laughing and screaming at once. “What do you think you are doing?” he asks, enunciating each word. Behind him, you and Minerva are exchanging looks and holding back giggles. 

“Professor Snape, we were uhh…” a third-year Hufflepuff attempts to explain. “We were having a snowball fight.” 

“Obviously,” Severus drawls. “Five points from each of you for endangering yourselves and the residents of Hogsmeade with your reckless behavior.” When they only stare at him, he continues, “Direct yourselves back to Hogwarts before I deduct more points.” 

He turns back to find only you standing there. The other two professors left for a tea shop, so you and Severus resume your walk together. You lean into him and say, “You know, they were just having fun.”

“You would define a snowball fight as fun?” he retorts. 

You roll your eyes at him. “That seems like something that someone who hasn’t been in a snowball fight before would say. What did you do for fun during the winter as a child?”

“If you truly wish to know, I occasionally made snowmen and drank tea by the fireplace,” he explains. He stops short when he notices that you’ve left his side. 

Something hits him on his right shoulder, and he has to brush his hand over his shoulder to realize that it’s snow. He whips his head around to see you forming another snowball in your hands. You fire the snowball straight at his chest, but he uses his wand to suspend it in midair. “What are you doing?”

“Having some fun! Stop using your wand!” you shout before rolling another snowball. 

Severus has a reputation to keep up and he has no time to behave like an immature five-year-old. Quite frankly, your behavior as a professor is far from appropriate. But you look so beautiful with a large grin on your face as you raise your arm to take your aim, and the snow is falling perfectly on your hair. He looks around to make sure no students or staff are present before he allows himself to indulge in a snowball fight with you. 

Ducking out of the way, he crouches on the snowy ground and forms a snowball of his own. He sends it flying towards you and it hits you powerfully in the chest, knocking you to the ground with a little shriek. Concerned, Severus stands up to make sure you’re okay until you jump back up and throw a snowball squarely at his abdomen. 

“You insolent little-” He’s cut off when another snowball comes at him and you run away laughing. Residents of Hogsmeade watch Severus chase you into a side street. Both of you continue pelting snowballs at each other until a door opens behind you and Minerva emerges. Severus’s snowball hits the doorframe beside her and she stands there partly shocked, partly amused. 

“I don’t believe that two of my best professors should be behaving like immature first-years,” she chides. 

Blood rushes to your faces and you give her a sheepish smile. “Perhaps we would be better than first-years if Severus improved his aim.” You flash him a wicked smile when he glares at you. 

“Perhaps Filius and I should escort you back to the castle before you engage in more childish behaviors,” Minerva scolds even though there is a hint of amusement in her voice. 

More snow falls as the professors round students up to return to Hogwarts. Enchanted lights and stars twinkle as you and Severus shepherd the students along the path back to the school. You don’t talk much since you’re watching a family of deer passing by. 

A halo surrounds your head because of the golden lights wrapped around the pine trees. Severus pays no attention to the deer, instead admiring how angelic you look with the halo around you. His skin burns and he looks away when you catch him looking at you, but you only flash him a smile. 

“Think about my offer,” you tell him after you drop off the students and walk away from him towards your quarters. 

Oh, he’ll be thinking about your offer tonight in his dreams. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Okay, this is weird. Apparently, this Pueblo style home on the Rio Grande River in Embudo, New Mexico, was a commune. But, the commune members lived across the river and hosted some famous guests here, like Bob Dylan. The description says that they used the now-restored log cabin to share meals and birth babies (and, it didn't have utilities or plumbing back then). 2bds, 2ba, $1.490M.

The property can be used as a venue b/c it has parking for 100 cars. The home is fine as a single family, but plans were drawn up by architect Greg Allegretti for a future expansion of 2bds, 1ba, and an outdoor deck w/a fireplace. They, also planned to enlarge the current office into a casita. (Additionally, the property is known for its weddings and the cabin is used as a VRBO rental.)

The front door leads into this step-down room with a cute corner fireplace. It looks like they're using it as a guest room.

The home has an open concept living/dining room.

But, it's a relatively small space. There're nice big beams in the ceiling and a stone fireplace in the corner. Doors open out to the garden.

The everyday dining table is right outside the kitchen.

And, there are doors that open directly to the patio.

Cute modern knotty pine cabinetry. Love the reproduction vintage stove, too.

Stairs to the 2nd level bedrooms.

The primary bedroom has 2 sweet window seats on either side of the bed.

I doubt if you can actually see it from the tub, but there's a view of the Rio Grande.

Bedroom #2 is in a loft overlooking the main floor and the rooftop deck.

This small enclosed porch looks like it's also used as a guest room.

The property is beautiful and the lot measures 2.70 acres.

This stone arch and wall make a nice entrance to another area of the property.

Small patio among the trees.

The adobe wall that extends along part of the river bank.

It's a very peaceful looking property. I wouldn't enlarge it to make it a venue.

[callmerainman]

𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

fandom. Mob Psycho 100 by ONE

plot. Reigen is left speechless when you, his part-time employee, aspiring model and high school best friend, ask him to be your boyfriend for a night. Your one night relationship may be fake, but your feelings are not. The problem sparks when you want Reigen to look at you the same way you looked at him, from high school until now.

word count. 3,810k

prompts. fem!Reader, fluff, fake dating, drunk Reigen Arataka, awkwardness, realization of feelings, wedding party, slow dancing, not actually unrequited love, childhood crush, childhood friends, reader is a photo model, oblivious Reigen Arataka

"Please, pretend to be my boyfriend!"

Reigen's eyes widen in the fraction of a second and his jaw drops to the floor. When you, his co-worker, entered the office asking for a favour he didn't expect a twist of this kind. One of his hands clenches around the arm of his spinning chair.

"What?!"

Your face starts to burn from the embarrassment. You were so nervous that you forgot that you needed to at least explain your request.

"I-it's not a long term thing! I need it just for one night" you mumbled between your lips.

Reigen's body seems to melt. The fist around the chair relaxes. A puzzled expression extends on his face.

"Just for one night?" he asks. You can tell that he's still nervous by his leg bouncing under the desk.

"Y-yeah" you stutter "okay, I'll make it short. One of my friends at the modeling agency will get married. I'll probably be the only one without a partner and you know how it always goes, especially when you are a 28 year old woman. All my other colleagues will be there to ask me why I'm still single and when I'm going to settle with a family. I can't stand this stupid classism anymore and if you could pretend to be my boyfriend at the party it would be great".

Reigen pulls the neck of his white shirt, he feels hot "Yeah, I don't think I ever went to a party without people asking me why I don't have a wife and kids yet. But do you think I'll be a plausible partner for a, you know...photo model?"

You take a breath "Arataka, what I'm about to say will be cruel but you are taller than average, slim and blond, a modeling agency will accept you without the shadow of a doubt"

Reigen snaps his fingers and points at you with his index "Good point"

Still refusing to look at him in the eyes, you try a rather shy smile "So...is it a yes or no?"

The light pink colour of Reigen's cheeks darkens a bit, but he doesn't break his posture. Clearing his throat, he says "Alright, not a problem for me. When will the wedding be?"

"Next Saturday night"

"Good, I don't have any plans"

Obviously he didn't have any. Pretending to be the boyfriend of his co-worker wasn't his typical night either, but he didn't have nothing to lose. You, on the other hand, smile.

"Alright then"

There's a small, nervous laugh between you two that echoes in the air. Nervous, not embarassed. It's the same innocence of two kids, and the same awkwardness of two teenagers at a drive-in date. There's nothing more stupid and beautiful.

The night of the party, Reigen comes to pick you up. You open the door for him, almost hesitantly. He really wants to comment the beauty of the (f/c) dress that tightens around your body. Instead, he decides to swallow that impulse and just asks you to go. You nod your head and you follow him to his car, holding the hem of your dress to not drag it on the floor.

"You look good in that suit" you say, smiling behind him.

He stops for a second, surprised. Then, he adjusts his tie knot even if there's no need to.

"Thanks" he slurs in a low tone.

As you extend your hand to open the door of the passenger seat, you see Reigen's moving faster and doing it for you. The gesture amuses and flatters you. Your mind goes to the American movies you loved, the ones where guys show up in front of the girls' doors to accompany them to prom. Inside the car, there's a moment of contemplation, silent, beautiful and maybe one sided. It was probably just all yours. But you really liked Reigen, the same way you liked him in high school when he didn't look at you the way you did. Maybe he's not even looking at you now, but you're still happy just to do it yourself. You like the black suit he's wearing and the way his always nervous hands wrap around the steering wheel as he drives. And you like his frown because it's obvious that he's not used to drive and he's nervous. You even like the small drop of sweat that is threatening to fall from the base of his freshly cleaned blond hair, because Reigen is a man that sweats and not just a little. He's a pretty man to contemplate and you liked doing so.

At the party, you and Reigen are at the last course of the dinner. Cleaning crumbs of cake off the corner of his mouth, Reigen talks to you.

"You know, we could have brought Mob with us"

You raise a very doubious brow "And why?"

"We could have pretended that he's our kid, to make this more convincing"

"Are you insane? Number one, a child outside of marriage for these people would be way worse than being single at my age. Number two, Mob's too grown up. And number three, he doesn't look like us at all! People will think that I had an affair with another man"

"But you have to admit that Mob could totally pass as a 9 year old"

"Reigen, no”

"Alright, alright"

Reigen plunges inside the white chair he was sitting on. He puts his hands in the pockets of his black pants. He looks around himself with the corners of his eyes. Although it's a party mainly maid for upper-middle class people, it's not too glamour. The restaurant is elegant but not pretentious. The backyard, full of blooming spring flowers, is occupied by round tables and chairs covered in pristine fabrics. The tabletoppers are also weirdly sober for a wedding. A lot of fairy lights light up the garden, snaking around trees or resting on top of bushes, some of them imitate constellations on top of the guests heads. The bride and the groom can't take their eyes off of eachother. A small, minuscule smile. peaks from Reigen's face, but he suppresses it quickly. For an instant, Reigen looks at you as you poke the rest of your cake in the plate. You liked it, but you eat painfully slow. Your (f/c) eyes seem like they are analyzing every spot of cream, every colour of the piece of cake. The make up you have on highlights your face, and the soft lights in the garden touch you with delicacy. Even if you are not saying a word to each other, Reigen would have felt really lonely if you were at a table with anybody else but him.

"(Y/N)!"

A really tall and bulk man gets close to your table. With his right arm, he holds a woman by her waist. She is breathtakingly beautiful. She waves at you with her hand and a smile, which you reciprocate by doing the same.

"Komatsu, good to see you" you smile.

Reigen seems a little bit embarrassed as he presses his lips together, his gaze flashing between you and the man.

"Who is this handsome man and why am I meeting him just now?" the other man asks, smiling fully.

You straighten your posture, as if you were trying to give yourself a tone "This is my boyfriend, Reigen"

Reigen takes his hand out of his pocket and offers it to Komatsu. He smiles and gestures with his head "Reigen Arataka, pleasure to meet you"

He also introduces himself to the girl who escorts Komatsu, who squeezes his hand with elegance.

"Reigen, Komatsu is the creative director at my modeling agency. He organizes a lot of my photoshoots and marketing campaigns"

For a second, you've got this feeling that Reigen doesn't really know what to say and that he just feels like nodding his head. However, a second after, he makes a theatrical expression, as if he just remembered something that had been on the tip of his tongue the whole time. He snaps a finger in the air.

"So it's thanks to you if that giant billboard sign of (Y/N) posing for Dolce and Mobbana appeared in Seasoning City?" he asks.

Komatsu's expression lights up "That's right!" he replies.

"Great decision" Reigen says, grinning.

"Yeah, and Dolce and Mobbana's director couldn't say no to a shoot as beautiful as (Y/N)'s! Arataka- I can call you Arataka right? -why don't you come with me to take a drink at the bar? I think you know a whole lot about business!"

Without even waiting for Reigen to respond, Komatsu already has the brightest and most ecstatic smile, so shiny and positive that it was difficult to refuse. Even someone like Reigen, unmovable, is overwhelmed by it. However, before taking any decision, Reigen turns around to look at you. You giggle and nod towards Komatsu, inviting your playdate to go with him.

"Sure, let's get something to drink" Reigen answers.

He turns around to look at you one last time before getting up.

"Ehrm...I'll be back in a minute, darling.

You see his hand hesitate for a second. Then, Reigen caresses your back for a quick instant, and you feel his rough but pleasing touch on your exposed skin. An inevitable shiver runs through your spine. You look at him walking away next to Komatsu, his hands shoved inside his pants pockets again. You always thought that he was attractive, even in his sketchy grey suit and pink tie, but right now Reigen feels new and different. Your pupils can't help but dilate as you watch him holding a drink in his hand, a cigarette between his middle and index finger with the filter touching the glass. Sometimes he would stop gesticulating wildly with his free hand to take the cigarette and put it between his lips, taking long drags of tobacco. Reigen always does these facial expressions that manifested all his self-confidence that marked his persona, even while talking to Komatsu.

"You like him"

You turn around in a flash, your eyes wide open. The woman who stood by Komatsu before smiles slyly.

"Yuko!" that was the other woman's name "what are you even saying?"

She just keeps smiling cunningly, then she sits down on the chair that was previously destined to Reigen.

"(Y/N), c'mon"

"O-of course I like him, he's my boyfriend"

Your face burns everywhere, you don't even know where to look and your face darts everywhere rather than on Yuko's stare.

"That's not your boyfriend, honey"

Yuko always had that look on her face. Elegant, malicious, beautiful. Yuko is Komatsu's wife, your photomodel colleague at the agency, and your closest friend in Seasoning City. She has been recently initiated to the runway world, so she made enough money to not have to look for a part time job. Yuko it's undoubtedly the most beautiful model at the agency, even tonight. Her black dress mixes with her long, sinuous black hair that plung into the fabric. Even though her hypnotic beauty kinda intimidates you sometimes, you answer back.

"And what makes you think such an absurdity?"

"Because you would have told me that you got a boyfriend. Plus, everytime we meet up you can't stop blabbering about your boss at your second job, you couldn't have another man. Tell me, is he your boss?"

Your eyes spread wide again and your jaw drops a little in surprise. Yuko, without effort, uncovered your plan. She's a hundred steps ahead of you and you sigh.

"Yes, he's my boss"

Yuko throws her head back and starts laughing. You cover your face behind your hands from shame.

"(Y/N), you got your boss to pretend to be your boyfriend. You're a badass!"

Your hands slide from your face, still burning. You scroll your shoulders.

"Our relationship is not that professional"

"You sleep together?"

"Yuko!"

"It's a serious question!"

You sigh as you feel the pressure of Yuko's expectancy on you, she always loses her composure when it comes to her friends' romantic relationships.

"We were childhood friends"

"Tell me more"

You swallow, nervous. But then you remembered that everything that happened between you and Reigen is real and that maybe it was worth to tell. It's not a secret to keep with jealousy.

"We were best friends in high school, literally inseparable. And I loved him. I'm not choosing my words just for the sake of it, I really loved him"

Now you glance at Reigen at the opposite side of the party, hand-gesturing and talking excitedly with Komatsu. Always with that self-confident smile, you feel like you're back to your high school self, always looking at him longingly from the other side of the class.

"But I wasn't reciprocated, this is for sure. Reigen talked to me about other girls, and I talked to him about other boys and all the confessions I received, maybe to kick back in some way. I ended up feeling so bad, and after graduating I left the city. Both for work possibilities and because I couldn't stand not being his in that way. We tried to keep contact but it was useless, we drifted away from eachother for 10 years. Then we met again when I moved back here and now he's my boss"

Yuko never stopped looking at your face when you were speaking. The delicacy you had when you confessed that you have loved Reigen, your regret when you said that you lost contact, and your relief for meeting again in the world. She smiles, this time not wittingly but calm and confident.

"(Y/N), answer the question from befo-"

"Yes, I like him"

Reigen, from the other side, turns around and looks at you for a second. He reciprocates your smile before returning to his conversation with Komatsu.

"I thought I wouldn't have fallen in love once again but I still like him"

Yuko looks at Reigen along with you, even though nobody could ever look at him like you do.

"Of course, you can't stop eating him up with your eyes"

You answer with a resigned sigh and a comforting smile. Reigen, in the distance, keeps changing facial expression every two seconds, excessively like he always does. He always knows what to say, how to say it.

"I think I understand you" Yuko says, resting her head in the palm of her hand "he's really hot, in a pathetic way"

"Oh yeah, he is"

Even Komatsu is extroverted and charismatic, really attractive and persuasive even. But there's an abyss between him and Reigen, in the way they do things. Reigen is exaggerated and a dream-chaser.

Suddenly, the lights at the party get dimmer. The guests look at each other in confusion when the music stops. Then, the DJ announces the slow dances. A sweet and calm music spreads in the garden as couples form. Reigen interrupts his conversation to look at you. His face is sort of saying "what now?", as if you were supposed to do something about that slow dance. Then, he looks away. Yuko is impatient and yanks you by your arm, away from the table.

"Yuko, what are you doing?!" you yelp, following her quickly to the other side of the celebration.

"Just come with me" she says abruptly.

You reach Reigen and Komatsu. They look at you curiosly before Yuko lets you go. You feel a strong embarrassment, especially when Yuko gives you a little but firm push towards Reigen.

"C'mon lovebirds, why don't you go for a dance?!" she asks, smiling from side to side.

You look at her with shocked eyes, Reigen straightens his posture as if he was alarmed. You see his adam's apple running down as he gulps.

"Uh, I don't know..." you mutter "I'm not a good dancer"

"Me neither" Reigen agrees.

"Ugh, who cares! It's a slow dance, nobody does them properly. C'mon! Otherwise what kind of couple would you be?"

Yuko pushes you once again towards Reigen, just enough to make him jump a little in surprise. You start sweating cold as you try to find the words to get yourself out of this situation. However, a hand opens in front of you. Maybe it's a little sweaty, and unsure, but Reigen extended it just for you. You look at him in the eyes, he's really sure, just a little embarrassed. You take his hand. Yuko smirks, satisfied. You follow Reigen in the middle of the garden, his back moving under the black jacket as he guides you. You're hypnotized, and you feel his hand shaking under your fingers even though he's trying too look composed.

He straightens himself "Ehm...can I?"

You look down and see now both of his hands open towards you "Yes" you say, smiling.

Reigen nods and puts his hands on your hips. You feel every single one of his fingers tightening delicately around your flesh, it's perfect. Reigen looks at his hands and your hips, his hands on the red dress you're wearing. You cross your arms around his neck. A shiver goes down Reigen's spine as his skin touches yours. You look at eachother in the eyes, at that eye contact you start slowly swinging from side to side. You clear your throat.

"So..." you say, now avoiding his look, he's doing the same "what did you talk about with Komatsu?"

Reigen shrugs his shoulders, moving your arms too and making your bracelets tingle "I think he likes me, he offered to make an ad campaign for me"

"Really? For Spirits and Such?"

"No, for the fake agency in which I told him I am a salaryman for"

Your eyebrows frown, you are perplexed. Now you're looking at him, but he's looking at the ground with a weird, melancholic smile.

"Reigen" you say.

He's still not looking at you. You move forward, just a little and still dancing. Feeling you closer, he finally moves his gaze upwards.

"Why did you lie?" you ask.

"I don't want to talk about my job too much. If someone finds out that I'm a con artist you would get involved and I don't want to"

You shake your head "That's not like you"

Reigen chuckles, ironic "What? Lying? That's exactly like me"

"No" you insist "it's all this lack of confidence"

"Explain yourself"

"We all are insecure sometimes, but there's no need to pretend to be someone else"

"Isn't that what I always do?" he asks you, he's looking at you dead serious "pretending to be someone that I'm not? You're the only one that knows that I have no psychic powers, and only because you were my friend long before I started this act. In another life I would have lied to you too"

You shrug your shoulders. Then, you tilt your head a bit and smile, calm "You're the greatest Psychic of the 21st Century. You wrote it in your ads and on the sign in front of your office. You really are, by now. So there's no need to hide, not as long as you make your clients happy. You may have no psychic powers and you may be a liar, but you never did any harm. I think that's enough to be a good person"

You and Reigen, since you were in middle and high school, had this private language. Hermeneutic, intimate. You lost it as the years passed by, because Reigen didn't look at you the way you wanted him to. But now it's back. It's all in the way he's searching through your eyes, and you're searching through his.

Reigen is looking at you, his mouth half-open. He had already realized that you were the prettiest that evening, no matter how many beautiful women filled the party. The dim lights spread across your face and light up your eyes. Reigen remembers the way you looked at him in high school, with the same glow in your irises, the same smile. His heart starts pumping in his chest and he feels his cheeks heating. Reigen thinks about how you never judged him, not even when you entered his office by accident after so many years without eachother. Not even when he confirmed that he was, as you thought, a con artist with no psychic powers. You never took him for granted, or thought that he should be less self confident. His breathing gets heavier imperceptibly. He feels every inch of your skin making contact with his, he's afraid of burning you. You were always like this, he's realizing it just now. Always so beautiful, so kind with him even though he thought that he didn't deserve it. You were always unconditionally by his side both in middle and high school, and you didn't hesitate to come back to him when you met again. Now you are dancing with him, swinging slowly as if you were scared of breaking an invisible balance between the two of you. Reigen didn't tell you about what Komatsu said to him just some seconds before you and Yuko came along.

"It's clear by the way you talk about her that you're really in love, Arataka"

Reigen didn't make anything up about you two, he just talked about what went through between you two during your lives, and what he genuinely thought about you not necessarily as a fake girlfriend, but as a person. He's still looking at you as you smile to him.

Yes, I really do love her.

Some lemon sours after, you decide to drive in order to take Reigen back to his apartment, keeping his car for a night. You had told the bartender to not put even a drop of alcohol in those cocktails, but nonetheless Reigen still launched himself in the front seat of his car with a drunken laugh. He immediately started snoring loudly. At red lights, you look at him to make sure that he's okay, sometimes even taking some time off the green lights because there was nobody on the streets at night and he's so pretty under Seasoning City's night lights. You arrive at your destination and stop the car in front of his apartment.

Reigen opens his eyes by himself, squeezing them so much that it hurts.

"Here we are, I'll take this home with me" you say, patting the steering wheel "take the bus tomorrow morning, okay?"

Reigen nods.

"Thanks" he says, mumbling "by the way, you were really pretty tonight, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before"

You see your pupils dilate in the reflection of the rearview mirror "Thanks"

"No, no" Reigen replies, stretching his back "thank you for the ride"

Before getting off the car, Reigen looks at you with the full awareness that he's in love with you. He smiles and gets back into his apartment.

[tkhzs]

‘ Home. ’

pairing: nick sturniolo × male reader.

tw: daddy issues, blood, yelling and beating.

summary: When you end up getting beaten up by your father after a argument, and soon after, you show up at your boyfriend's door begging for comfort.

warnings: angst(but fluff at the end), swearing, petnames(baby, angel), use of y/n (🤷) and references to "this is home" by cavetown at the end.

(Y/n) sighed softly as he closed his bedroom door and walked into the living room. As always, his mother had already left for work, and his father had already called him shouting, claiming that ‘they needed to talk’.

“"What happened now?” He questioned as he entered the room, arching an eyebrow slightly as he stopped in front of him, who was sitting on the couch.

“The television bill is late.” The older man responded without taking his eyes off his son, with that stupid frown that he had already learned to unveil, he seemed just a few steps away from freaking out.

“No, it's not, I paid it yesterday…” he tried to continue with a calm tone of voice, that type of demand had been common since the moment he got a job, and his father basically threw all the house bills onto him.

“There's another one.” He almost groaned, extending a paper towards the boy, as he took it in his hands, it didn't take much effort to know that this was an adult channel plan.

God, there weren't enough words to demonstrate how disgusting that man was….

“Sorry, but I'm not going to pay for that.” It was (Y/n) turn to grumble, crumpling the bill and throwing it on the floor, seeing his father's eyes widen and him stand up abruptly.

“We made a deal, didn't we?” He brought his hand up to his chin, forcing (Y/n) gaze to meet his, making him squirm slightly “You pay the bills, and your mother does the household shopping.”

“If you want to watch porn, pay for it yourself…!” He growled softly, frowning as he tried to free himself from the man’s hold.

He just raised his free hand, making (Y/n) eyes widen in fright when he felt a firm slap against his cheek.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!” He shouted as he let go of his face, causing him to almost fall back, But that didn't stop him from continuing his 'punishment’.

Slaps, punches, scratches, repeatedly and in various places…Holy shit, how (Y/n) wished he could disappear from the face of the earth.

timeskip...

The triplets were in the kitchen, Matt and Chris were closely watching the tray of cookies in the oven, an act that made Nick, who was sitting next to the counter, let out a laugh

“Jesus, you guys look like two kids…” He chuckled, seeing the two brothers turn to him, looking at him with a begging expression that he already knew very well.

“Can we call (Y/n)??” The two spoke in unison, smiling happily just when mentioning their brother-in-law, which made Nick's heart melt a little.

(Y/n) always had a good relationship with his boyfriend's family, Matt and Chris were always very welcoming to anyone who showed up at their house, but with (Y/n)... they certainly got special treatment. And even though the boy hadn't had the chance to meet their parents, they all spoke very well of Nick's partner to them.

“Out of nowhere, guys?” The eldest couldn't help but smile, even though he was surprised by the sudden request, he found the brothers' consideration towards the other boy cute.

“You said the other day that he liked candies…” Matt muttered as he turned his attention to the tray in the oven again, making Chris nod as he repeated Matt’s act, fidgeting with the glove on his hand as he did so.

“You're lucky today is his day off…” Nick sighed as he was about to pick up his phone to call his boyfriend, but was soon interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“You answer!” The two boys spoke while still sitting on the floor in front of the oven, making Nick grunt an 'idiots' before getting up and walking to the front door.

Upon opening the door, his blue eyes quickly widened at the sight: (Y/n) was leaning against the door frame, his legs shaking as he forced himself to stand and his whole face and shirt was covered in blood and tears.

“Damn, (Y/n)! What happened to you?!” He asked as he carefully pulled his boyfriend into the house, cradling the smaller body in a hug while being careful not to press on any bruises.

“H-he...did it again…” He forced his voice out as he curled up against Nick's chest, trying to calm himself as he listened to his heartbeat.

“Did you walk here alone?” He asked softly, mentally cursing that man, but trying his best to maintain a calm posture in front of his boy. (Y/n) just nodded weakly, letting a painful whine as Nick scooped him onto his lap “That’s fine, baby, i got you…”

Matt and Chris watched the scene from the kitchen door, scared by the situation as they had no knowledge about (Y/n)'s father.

“You two, first aid kit, now.” Nick spoke without turning around, knowing the two were there but not caring as he rocked his boyfriend gently in his arms.

-

“(Y/n), I know it hurts, but you can't keep throwing a tantrum!” Chris gave a little scolding while holding the bottle of antiseptic in his hand, he was kneeling on the floor in front of (Y/n) and Nick on the couch, watching his brother caress his boyfriend’s hair softly as the boy clinged on his side even more.

“I would rather die!” The boy spoke followed by a sniffle, his voice still weak as he tried to recover from his earlier crying. He hugged his injured leg against his chest, and even though it hurt, he still thought it would hurt more with the medicine.

“Angel, you've already taken a shower, now you need the bandages…” Nick tried to convince him, but gasping softly as he saw his boyfriend hiding his face in his hands, grunting as he curled into a ball. “You're a pain in the ass, boy…”

“(Y/n)!” Matt called as he walked into the living room holding one of the cookies they had made in his hands, a proud smile on his face as he saw the boy look up at him “You want it?”

“Matt, what the-” Chris tried to argue, but soon had his attention stolen by a (Y/n) with sparkling eyes and parted lips, extending his arm towards Matt, opening and closing his hand slightly in an attempt to show his interest.

“So let Chris take care of your leg, I know he seems a bit stupid, but he knows what he's doing… “ Matt couldn't help but tease, laughing loudly when Chris tried to hit his leg.

(Y/n) quickly unfolded his leg, keeping his arm outstretched as he tried to grab the cookie from Matt's hand. “Gimme, please…” He whined, making Nick chuckle at the situation and take the candy from Matt, placing it on his boyfriend's hand and watching as he smiled and chewed his food happily.

Matt and Chris soon stopped 'arguing', Chris carefully holding the boy's leg in front of him and starting to apply the cotton with the medicine, eliciting small grunts from (Y/n), who hugged Nick thigher with every slightest sting.

For (Y/n), it was strange to think that those boys cared more about him than his own family…

But that thought quickly dissipated when he realized that, 'strangely', he felt at home in that place.

[labuenosairesfrancaise]

Prestwald Hall

Hi guys!!

I'm sharing Prestwald Hall . This is the 9th building for my English Manors Collection, and I will add many more!

House History: Prestwold Hall was, for many years, the seat of the Packe family. Before that time, it was the home of the Skipwith family. After the death of Major Robert Christopher Packe (born c.1783) - one time Aide-de-camp to King George III - who was killed during the Battle of Waterloo, the hall passed to his nephew George Hussey Packe who held the hall and estate until his death in 1874.

The Hall was remodelled by architect William Burn in 1842–1844, incorporating the fabric of a mid-18th-century H-plan house. It was Grade I listed in 1951.

One of the finest rooms inside the house is the Entrance Hall with its richly coloured marbled plaster work in the Italian style. The painted ceiling was inspired by Raphael’s Vatican grotesques and incorporates miniature landscapes, showing the house before and after its remodelling between 1842 and 1844. Below the ceiling, wreathing the room, are small medallion busts of the poets from Chaucer to Scott, positioned in the spandrels and are likely inspired by Alberti's external arcade at the Tempio Malatestiano in Rimini. An arcade opens on to a vaulted corridor leading to a top lit inner hall: these spaces also marbled. Off the corridor, the cantilevered stone staircase survives from the eighteenth century house, and was given its bracketed brass balusters by William Wilkins (1751-1815) in 1805.

The Dining Room, added by Wilkins in 1805, was incorporated into the remodelling undertaken by the Scottish architect William Burn in 1842. The room is overlooked by two dramatic full length portraits of Sir Edward Hussey Packe, KBE (1878 – 1946) and the Hon. Lady Mary Sydney Packe (née Colebrooke, 1890 – 1973) by the painter Glyn Philpot RA (1844 – 1947). The portrait of Lady Packe, painted in 1911, was described by the art historian Robin Gibson OBE as an ‘amazing feat of virtuosity’. Its elongated elegance and introspective characterisation is totally without the fashion-plate vulgarity of much Edwardian portraiture. Other portraits hang in this room of the Packe family including a painting of Sir Christopher Packe (1595 – 1682) who purchased the house in the 17th century painted by Cornelis Janssens van Ceulen (1593 –1661).

The library extends nearly the entire length of the house when the large doors that separate it from the drawing room are opened, connecting the two rooms. With clever use of constructional steel, William Burn was able to create these long adjoining rooms. The windows rise from floor level and open onto the garden which enhances the notion that Prestwold was designed in the style of an Italian classical villa. The doors and bookcases in library were made for George Hussey Packe (1846–1908) by Gillows of Lancaster and London in 1875.

A conservatory fills the recessed central bay at the front of the house, and projects out towards the garden. Behind the glass and elegant Doric pilasters, are well planted raised beds with a number of exotic plants and flowers

More history: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prestwold_Hall

Virtual tour: https://www.prestwold-hall.com/virtual-tour/

Night pics

Floorplans

This house fits a 50x40 lot and features the following:

great hall

long Library

formal dinning room

family room

playroom

formal gallery

a winter garden

14 rooms for family/guests + 3 service rooms

several bathrooms

This time I decorated most of the rooms in the main floor for picture purposes, but as allways, you can make it your own!

The second and third floor (bedrooms) are not decorated, but finished.

Hope you like it.

You will need the usual CC I use:

all Felixandre cc

all The Jim,

SYB

Anachrosims

Regal Sims

King Falcon railing

The Golden Sanctuary

Cliffou

Dndr recolors

Harrie cc

Tuds

Lili's palace cc

Please enjoy, comment if you like it and share pictures with me if you use my creations!

Early Access: August 15

Download: https://www.patreon.com/posts/prestwald-hall-104505183

[garfield-mug]

Lights

A/N: Written for Liz's (@sailor-aviator) Christmas Challenge! There was too much shit happening the past few weeks for me to write full fics, so please enjoy these fluffy headcanons instead!

Pairing: Bob Floyd x fem!Reader

Word: Lights

Warnings: none

bob did really enjoy christmas.

since he was little, it had been his favorite holiday. he enjoyed the presents and cookies and seeing extended family, sure, but his absolute favorite part about christmas were the lights.

every year on christmas eve, him and his siblings would pile into the car with their parents and slowly drive through the streets of a few different neighborhoods in town to see the lights.

some houses had no lights, others changed out their porch lights to bulbs of red and green. a few were completely decked out, strings of vibrant, dazzling lights from rooftop to driveway, all blinking in time to whatever christmas song was playing at the time. if little bob had to guess, he'd say those people had miles and miles of string lights wrapping their homes (as an adult, he can't comprehend the sheer cost of their electric bill). there was one house that had a lawn completely filled with different blow-up lawn ornaments. bob didn't really like that one, he thought it was much too busy.

his favorite house, by far, every year was a one story cape cod. it wasn't the most flashy, it didn't have all the bells and whistles. the trim of the roof and the pillar supporting it over the front porch were lined with soft, delicate vintage bulbs, casting a soft yellow glow across the drive and front yard. it was simple in its beauty. it was like the house knew (and the people living in it) that it didn't need to be bright and flashy to be beautiful. bob thought it was absolutely enchanting.

he found his mind drifting back to that house every christmas after he moved away and joined the navy, forever at the beck and call of uncle sam.

he pictured that house when he was on long deployments and craved a moment of peace and quiet. a tranquil winter scene played out before him: the golden glow of the lights gently washing over him as he closed his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the chilled air around him, enjoying the serene silence that winter brought every year.

when he opened his eyes, he was back on the aircraft carrier, but he was also a touch calmer, a touch more grounded.

it's a lot like how bob felt after he met you.

one fateful day during fleet week, and one guided tour later, bob landed your number and a date.

thankfully, it worked out and now you're coming up on your second christmas together.

you knew bob loved the christmas lights every year, and you had every intention of going all out in your apartment, but things just did not go your way.

life was life-ing.

work was extra busy in the weeks leading up to the holiday. longer hours meant less time to do things around the house and more time to dwell on how things weren't going how you planned.

you somehow managed to get the tree up just in time for your next date night, lights on, and ornaments in a bin for you and bob to put on together.

despite all the last minute decorating, you still didn't find yourself in a particularly festive mood.

frustrated, a little bit sad, and a lot exhausted, you decided to lie down on the floor, head under the tree. bleary eyes looked up through the fake branches, watching the vintage bulbs twinkle and sparkle.

so lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear bob come through the door and call your name.

"honey?" he calls again, confused, as he walks into the living area.

bob didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't his girlfriend lying on the floor with her head under the tree. a bit of a strange sight, but a smile spreads across his lips as he watches you for a moment. he knows this time of year can be tough on you.

he shrugs off his jacket and makes his way over to your spot on the floor, taking your lead as he lays beside you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"what are we doing?" he asks, voice soft and sweet as he turns to face you.

"lights." you vaguely gesture to the tree above your heads.

"lights?"

"lights."

you grab his hand and lace your fingers together.