#wooden car parking shade

[anilaalhassan20]

Uncover top car parking shades manufacturers in UAE — TradersFind

Are you searching for top car parking shades manufacturers in UAE? Discover the best companies through TradersFind and get a wide range of options for car parking sun shades for your business needs. Find reliable car parking shades suppliers in UAE to grow your business and connect with them who offer durable and efficient wooden car parking shade. Visit TradersFind and post your request today!

[pergola-company-in-dubai]

Benefits of Wooden Shades from 800Pergola to Protect Your Car in Dubai!

With great challenges that going about in Dubai has entailed, especially regarding the car protection from extreme weather conditions, it can easily be devoured over time. There is intense heat, UV rays, and sandstorm that may cause considerable damage to your vehicle. Any outdoor car parking station will testify to how these environmental factors take a life out of your vehicle’s paint, interior, and overall condition. Thankfully, there is a stylish and practical solution: a Wooden Pergola from 800Pergola. Let’s look at how such wooden pergolas can be a protective shield for your car and increase the value of your property.

Why Wooden Pergolas Are Ideal for Car Protection?

Wooden pergolas are more than a good-looking addition to your outdoor space. They really are a strong and excellent means of safeguarding your car from adverse conditions. Unlike most other carports, wooden pergolas provide a natural, rustic appeal while still giving you the protection you need.

Wooden pergolas are therefore the ideal answer to everyone who wishes to enjoy a combination of functionality and beauty. 800Pergola is the best manufacturers of wooden pergola in Dubai that provides customized wooden shades to complement any outdoor space with great premium protection for your vehicle.

Key Benefits of Wooden Shades for Car Protection

1) Protection from UV Rays:

The hot sun in Dubai can prove pretty destructive to the car’s paint job and fade out its color. A Wooden pergola provides crucial shade; this will block UV rays that tend to damage it this way. This simple solution can extend the life of your car’s exterior, thus keeping it newer-looking for much much longer.

2) Guarding Against Weather Damage:

Other than protection from UV, wooden pergolas give cover from rain and other unsought weather conditions such as sandstorms and winds. Such conditions may ruin the surface of your car, not forgetting internal car components. For this reason, you protect your car from such conditions by parking it under a wooden shade-a condition very common in Dubai.

3) Heat Reduction:

Anyone who has ever spent some time in Dubai would know just how hot the interior of a parked car can get. The heat will warp the interior materials and make getting into your car an uncomfortable thing to do. A wooden pergola would serve to minimize the temperature inside your automobile, providing enough shade to make your car cooler and comfortable to get into, especially during the very hot summer months.

4) Enhanced Curb Appeal:

Wooden pergolas come with an essence of sophistication. Wooden pergolas enhance your home’s exterior in a more appealingly polished and nicety added-up general look. As the top wooden pergola builders in UAE, 800Pergola designs customized wooden shades in tune with your house architecture, thus boosting the look value and market value of your home.

5) Durability and Low Maintenance:

At 800Pergola, we uses quality wood materials while building the wooden pergolas, which is treated against Dubai’s extreme weather. It will be one good investment if you want to have long-term car protection because it only requires a few needs for maintenance, and you can have its benefits with minimal constant repairs and upkeep for years.

6) Environmentally Friendly:

The wood is a renewable resource, and wooden pergolas are extremely friendly to the environment to be considered by modern-day homeowners looking to green their carbon footprint. All the wood coming for fabrication at 800Pergola is sourced responsibly, hence making your wooden pergola beautiful and sustainable.

Why Choose 800Pergola for Wooden Shades?

The right company has to be picked while investing in a wooden pergola for car protection. Being one of the Best Wooden Pergola Designers in Dubai and across UAE, 800Pergola provides outstanding craftsmanship and personalized service. Our professionally spirited staff collaborates with clients to design, build, and install unique wooden pergolas suited for functional and aesthetic needs.

Additional Benefits of Installing a Wooden Pergola from 800Pergola:

Customization Options: Customization is that feature you will surely appreciate because we offer a range of customizable options so that your wooden pergola perfectly fits your home and the outdoor spaces.

Affordable Pricing: Our wooden pergolas provide great value without sacrificing quality. They offer a premium solution that won’t break the bank.

Professional Installation: Our highly qualified installers will ensure that your new wooden shade is installed quickly and painlessly. This way, you can start enjoying it right away.

After-Sales Support: Here at 800Pergola, we believe in a long-lasting relationship with our clients. This is why we offer reliable after-sales support. Our goal is to ensure that your pergola remains in the best condition.

Supporting Facts and Data

Industry reports indicate that UV rays may damage up to 40% of the car paint in case the vehicle experiences direct sunlight.

Cars parked under a shaded structure such as pergola may be up to 50% cooler than those left under full sun, keeping interior materials fresh for much longer.

It is well-known that the weather conditions in Dubai will result in rust and wear-and-tear in a vehicle, but use of wooden pergola can reduce such incidences.

Conclusion: Protect Your Car with a Wooden Pergola from 800Pergola

Choosing the right protection for your car is crucial. This is especially true in a place like Dubai, where extreme weather conditions prevail. Therefore, Wooden pergolas from 800Pergola provide the necessary protection for your vehicle. Additionally, they enhance the beauty of your outdoor space. As the Leading Parking Pergola Construction Company in Dubai and across UAE, we strive to provide well-crafted, stylish, and functional solutions.

Are you ready to invest in a Parking Pergola to protect your car? Contact 800Pergola today at +971-56-96-56-555 / inquiry@800pergola.com for a consultation and let us help you design the perfect solution!

OFFICE Address –

Office #60, M. Floor, Al Fajer Building, Airport Road, Al Garhoud, Dubai- United Arab Emirates

Mobile: 056 96 56 555 / 055 380 5148

Email: inquiry@800pergola.com

Website - https://800pergola.com/

Our Social Media Presence –

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/800pergola

Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/800pergola/

LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/company/800pergola

[decorhome66]

[homunculus-argument]

Rural Finland gothic

the asphalt road you are driving has been cut through the woods. the sky is clouded and grey, the asphalt is grey, the forest on both sides of you is green. no other colour exists other than green and shades of grey. sometimes blue roadsigns point towards places whose names you've never heard. you don't google them. it's none of your business.

sometimes you drive past a house, a wooden house painted white, yellow or red. the paint is faded and chipping, there is moss growing on the roof tiles. there are lace curtains in the windows and a bench on the yard, but you cannot tell by the quick glance you get whether the house is abandoned or not. the residents don't want you to know. it's none of your business.

you pause at a gas station. it seems to be a part of a chain that you thought went bankrupt in the 90s. a handful of those wooden houses are settled around it, and you wonder if any of the people living there work at the station. not that it matters. it's none of your business.

there are a handful of locals gathered inside the gas station, drinking coffee at the table. They smell like pine soap, resin and mosquito repellent, and you can't tell whether paused their conversation to silently stare at you when you stepped in, or whether they had been sitting in silence to begin with. you don't ask. it's none of your business.

the station cashier doesn't talk to you save for a greeting and a few quick nods. you can't tell whether it's because they assume you don't speak finnish. they don't ask where you came from, or where you're going. it's none of their business.

the road leads you somewhere with more houses and buildings. the locals don't call the town by the name. it's just church town, the church is there. people don't say they're going to the town to buy their groceries, they say they'll be at the church. you're not sure whether the town was built around the church or the church was built into the town. It's none of your business.

people talk of going to the church when they're going to the town, but nobody seems to go in the church. people only go there to be christened, for confirmation, to get married and to be buried. a child has not been officially named before they're christened, and no-one will tell you the name of their baby before the child has been given their name by a priest. most of them don't seem to know why, and you don't ask. it's none of your business.

even the town is strangely quiet. you see seven people altogether, and half of that number is a family of four. besides the sound of a car rumbling by, and the occasional barking of a dog, you hear nothing. you're standing in the parking lot of a grocery store, across the street from a library, in a walking distance from the town square, and it's so quiet you hear the sound of wind whispering in nearby trees.

there is a dog barking somewhere. of course they are barking, they are guard dogs and hunting dogs. they're supposed to do that. they bark to alert their masters of game, of intruders, of strangers and outsiders. sometimes they bark at the woods, when it doesn't look like there's anything there. the locals don't go investigate it. it's none of their business.

you see the same symbol drawn, doodled and carved anywhere that graffiti accumulates to. an oval divided in the middle, with rays like a sun. it's called the "church boat", though everyone knows it's meant to be a cunt. you remember reading somewhere that it's an ancient symbol, from the time of the Old Gods before the christians came, when the inherent power of the woman of the house was considered stronger than even death magic. you don't ask what the people here know about this. it's none of your business.

the locals can tell you're an outsider here because you don't look like anyone they know. if you were someone's visiting grandchild, they could tell by your face which clan you belong to. they don't ask you what other business you could possibly have here. it's none of their business.

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER'S DAUGHTER PT3 | MV1

an: we delve into the rest of their lives, god i would commit actual crimes for these two i hold them so close to my heart bro, next part will be angsty a bit bad have some special topics

wc: 6k

part one | part two |

The road stretched endlessly before them, the sun low in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of gold and pink. Max’s work truck rumbled along the highway, the familiar hum of the engine filling the cab as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the gearshift. Beside him, she sat cross-legged, her hair pulled back loosely, a soft smile on her face as she looked out the window.

The truck was old, the radio temperamental, so she had plugged in her phone and played something softer than what Max would usually listen to—some sweet, folksy tune that felt right for the quiet between them.

They were headed out of town, chasing down a car part he needed for a project at the garage. He hadn’t planned to bring her along, but when she’d looked up at him this morning, her eyes bright with curiosity and her voice soft as she asked, “Can I come with you?” he hadn’t been able to say no.

Max glanced over at her as they drove, the sunlight catching the curve of her cheek, her profile etched against the golden backdrop of the open road. She was so effortlessly beautiful, and even now, almost a year into being together, it still took him by surprise.

“What are you smiling about over there?” she asked, catching him staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

She rolled her eyes playfully and leaned back in her seat, humming softly to the music.

They had been driving for just under twenty minutes when she suddenly straightened, her hand tapping his arm. “Max, slow down,” she said, her voice excited.

He raised an eyebrow but eased off the gas as she pointed to something up ahead. “What’s up?”

“Over there,” she said, motioning toward the side of the road.

Max followed her gaze and saw it—a small chapel nestled beneath a canopy of trees, its white paint faded but charming, with a little steeple that seemed to reach for the sky. A sign out front read St. Mary’s Chapel—Open for Visitors.

“I want to see it,” she said, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Max frowned slightly, glancing from her to the chapel and back again. “Why? It’s just a little church.”

“Please?” she asked, her voice soft, her hand brushing his arm.

He sighed but turned the wheel, pulling the truck onto the gravel drive that led to the chapel. She was already unbuckling her seatbelt before he had even stopped, practically bouncing in her seat.

Max parked and watched as she climbed out, her eyes fixed on the little building like it held some kind of magic. He leaned back in his seat, arms resting on the steering wheel as he watched her wander toward the chapel, her movements slow and reverent.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the steeple, and then glanced back at him, her smile warm and inviting. “Aren’t you coming?”

Max sighed again but climbed out of the truck, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed her.

The closer he got, the more he noticed the little details—the peeling paint, the way the flowers around the building had grown wild, the faint smell of old wood that wafted through the open doors.

“It’s cute,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him as they stepped inside.

The chapel was small and simple, with rows of worn wooden pews and a modest altar at the front. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the floor. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt sacred.

Max stood beside her, watching as she walked down the aisle, her fingers grazing the back of one of the pews.

“What do you think?” she asked, turning to face him.

Max shrugged, but there was a softness in his eyes. “It’s nice.”

She smiled, her gaze drifting back to the altar, but Max didn’t move. He stood there, watching her, something stirring in his chest. The way she looked in this moment—peaceful, content—made something click into place in his mind.

He took a deep breath, his hand reaching for the chain around his neck, where her ring hung.

“What do you say about making it official?” he said, his voice low and steady.

She turned to him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Max stepped closer, lifting the chain from beneath his shirt, the ring catching the light as they swayed between them. He let the necklace dangle between his fingers, his eyes locked on hers.

“We’ve got everything we need,” he said, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “You. Me. This place. It doesn’t have to be fancy, angel. It just has to be us.”

Her lips parted, her eyes widening as his words sank in. “You mean... here? Now?”

Max nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? I’ve known I wanted to marry you since the day you said yes. Why wait?”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Max...”

He stepped closer, cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing against her skin. “You’ve already given me everything, angel,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You made me believe in a life I never thought I could have. You made me believe in us. I don’t need a big wedding or a fancy party. I just need you.”

Tears filled her eyes, but her smile was radiant. “Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Max smiled, leaning in so their foreheads touched. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Her answer was a soft, breathless laugh, followed by a single word.

“Yes.”

Max barely had time to process her "yes" before she tilted her head, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “We ain’t dressed nice,” she teased, gesturing to her skirt and sweater, and his well-worn flannel over a white t-shirt.

He blinked at her for a moment, and then dramatically rolled his head back, groaning like a man being asked to do the impossible. “Angel,” he drawled, “do we really have to get all dressed up? It’s just us.”

Her laugh was soft, melodic, and far too endearing for him to resist. “It’s my wedding day, Max,” she said, raising an eyebrow, her tone sweet but firm.

And just like that, she had him. Because it was her.

Max sighed deeply, though his lips twitched into a smile, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a wad of cash held together by a rubber band. He held it up and wagged it in her direction. “Fine. You win. Let’s go.”

Her face lit up, and she took his hand, pulling him back to the truck.

They found a small boutique a few streets over, a little shop with lace dresses and secondhand suits in the window. Max held the door open for her, stepping in behind her as a bell jingled overhead.

She wandered toward a rack of dresses, her fingers trailing over the fabric until she found a simple knee-length white dress with delicate embroidery along the hem. She held it up to her chest and turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “What do you think?”

Max leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his smile soft and slow. “You look perfect,” he said, and he meant it. She could’ve worn anything—or nothing at all—and she would’ve still been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She grinned and disappeared into the dressing room. Max turned toward another rack, reluctantly picking out a plain white button-up shirt to pair with his jeans. “This’ll do,” he muttered under his breath.

When she came out in the dress, Max froze. She looked... ethereal, like she belonged in one of those fairytales she loved so much. “Angel,” he said softly, his voice low and reverent. “You’re gonna kill me looking like that.”

She rolled her eyes, blushing, and tugged him toward the counter to pay.

They drove back to the chapel, the dress and shirt tucked into a bag, and found an older gentleman standing near the altar. He introduced himself as Pastor Reaves, his smile kind and a little amused when they explained their impromptu plans.

“Well,” Pastor Reaves said, chuckling as he gestured to the empty pews, “it’s just the three of us here, and you’ll need a witness to make it official.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her as if to say I’ll fix it. He pulled out his phone and dialled Danny.

It rang a few times before a groggy voice picked up. “Max? What the hell, man, it’s barely noon.”

Max smirked. “Hey, Danny, you awake?”

Danny groaned. “You just woke me up, so no, not really.”

“Well, wake up for real,” Max said, his tone casual but tinged with excitement. “I need you to be my witness.”

Danny yawned on the other end. “Witness for what? You in trouble or something?”

Max glanced over at her, grinning as she adjusted the skirt of her dress. “Nah, man. Witness for my wedding.”

There was silence on the line, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Wait, what? You’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” Max said, his grin widening. “Right now.”

Danny’s voice shot up an octave. “Right now? You’re getting married now?”

“Yup.”

“Jesus Christ, Max, give a guy some warning, will you? Where are you?”

“St. Mary’s Chapel,” Max said, his tone easy.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t start without me,” Danny said, his voice a mix of exasperation and excitement.

Max chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning to her with a shrug. “He’ll be here soon.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You didn’t even tell him you proposed?”

Max gave her a sheepish smile, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I forgot. He’ll get over it.”

Her laughter filled the quiet chapel, and Max couldn’t help but watch her, his chest tightening with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words. She was his, and in just a few minutes, the whole world would know it.

True to his word, Danny arrived in just under ten minutes, screeching his old car into the gravel lot in a cloud of dust. Max heard the clatter of a door slamming and turned to see his best friend barreling toward the chapel.

Danny was a sight. His usually tousled hair was messier than normal, as though he’d tried to fix it on the drive and given up halfway. He’d thrown on a wrinkled suit that looked like it had been yanked from the back of his closet, and his tie was hanging awkwardly around his neck, the knot halfway done. He was still tucking his shirt into his pants as he jogged up the steps, looking harried but determined.

“You’re lucky I love you, man,” Danny panted as he reached Max, clapping him on the shoulder. Then his eyes darted to her, and he froze.

“Oh, wow,” Danny said, blinking as he took her in. His expression softened, and he gave a low whistle. “You look... amazing.”

She smiled, blushing slightly. “Thanks, Danny.”

He cleared his throat and looked back at Max, his voice gruff. “You really don’t deserve her.”

Max smirked. “Yeah, well, she said yes anyway.”

Danny huffed a laugh but didn’t argue.

As they stepped inside, Danny fumbled with his tie again, muttering something under his breath about damn knots. She noticed and stepped up to him, her hands gentle as she reached for the tie. “Let me,” she said, her tone light and teasing.

Danny froze, his face going red as she expertly fixed the knot. “You didn’t have to, uh, I mean—thanks,” he stammered.

She smiled up at him, her laughter soft. “I appreciate the effort, Danny. You clean up nicely.”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t want to embarrass Max on his big day.”

Max snorted from where he stood near the altar. “Pretty sure you do that just by existing, man.”

Danny shot him a glare but didn’t argue, instead stepping back to admire her handiwork. “All set?”

She nodded, and the three of them turned toward Pastor Reaves, who stood patiently at the altar. “Shall we begin?” the pastor asked, his smile kind.

The ceremony was short and simple, but no less emotional for it. Pastor Reaves spoke of love and commitment, his words resonating in the small, quiet chapel. Max held her hands the entire time, his grip firm but gentle, his eyes never leaving hers.

When it came time to exchange vows, Max took a deep breath, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I don’t have anything fancy to say, angel,” he said, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “Just that you’re my whole world. You’ve given me a reason to believe in something bigger than myself—bigger than either of us. I promise to love you, to take care of you, and to never take you for granted. You’re it for me. Forever.”

Her eyes shimmered with tears, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she whispered, “Forever.”

When it was her turn, her voice trembled but never wavered. “You’ve been my safe place, Max. My anchor. You make me feel brave, like I can do anything as long as I’m with you. I promise to stand by you, to love you, and to keep believing in us—no matter what.”

By the time they exchanged rings, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even Danny, who had been trying to keep it together, sniffled loudly and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Man,” Danny said as Max pulled her into a kiss, his voice cracking. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Max laughed against her lips, pulling back just enough to look over at his friend. “Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?”

Danny shook his head, grinning through his tears. “Not in a million years, man. But—” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat, his smile softening. “You look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

Max turned back to her, his hand cupping her cheek. “That’s ‘cause I am.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright and filled with love. “Me too.”

As they stepped out of the chapel, the sun warm against their faces, Danny cleared his throat, his hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets. “Not to kill the vibe or anything,” he started, glancing between the two of them, “but you know you’ll still have to go to the courthouse when you’re in town to make it all official in city terms, right?”

Max raised an eyebrow at him. “Why you gotta ruin the moment, Danny?”

Danny shrugged, smirking. “Just doing my civic duty, man. Didn’t want you thinking this was a done deal without a little paperwork.”

She laughed softly, squeezing Max’s hand. “Guess we’ll have to take care of that soon, huh?”

Max sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll handle it.” Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, “You gonna come hold my hand for that too, Danny?”

Danny snorted. “Only if you cry.”

Max flipped him off, and she laughed again, the sound light and full of joy.

As they walked back to the truck, Max paused and glanced at Danny. “You wanna join us? We were headed out to pick up a car part.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You inviting me on your honeymoon, man?”

Max groaned, but she elbowed him playfully and turned to Danny with a smile. “Come on, Danny. We’d love the company.”

Danny glanced between them, clearly debating, but finally nodded. “Alright, but only ‘cause I don’t trust you to drive responsibly now that you’re all giddy and married.”

Max rolled his eyes but waved him toward the truck. “Get in the back, smartass.”

The drive started off quiet, the hum of the truck’s engine and the warm breeze filling the cab. But it didn’t take long for Danny to start digging into Max’s past, clearly relishing the opportunity to embarrass him in front of his new wife.

“Did Max ever tell you about the time he got his head stuck in the railing at the park?” Danny asked, leaning forward from the backseat, a grin plastered across his face.

Max groaned, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Danny—”

“Oh, do tell,” she said, turning in her seat with a wide grin.

Danny laughed, ignoring Max’s protests. “So, we were like nine, right? And Max here decides he’s gonna be some big hero and climb up to get this kid’s toy truck that got stuck in a tree. He gets the truck, no problem. But on the way back down, he slips and falls into the railing. Head first. Got stuck there for a good twenty minutes until our teacher had found us and came with butter to grease him out.”

She burst into laughter, her hand flying to her mouth as she tried—and failed—to stifle the sound. “Oh my gosh, Max, that’s adorable.”

Max groaned again, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “It wasn’t adorable. It was humiliating.”

Danny cackled. “Yeah, but you were a hero, man. The kid got his truck back.”

Max shot him a glare in the rearview mirror. “Keep it up, Danny. See if I don’t leave your ass on the side of the road.”

Danny just laughed harder.

The teasing continued for most of the drive, with Danny pulling out every embarrassing childhood story he could remember. She soaked up every word, her laughter filling the cab and making Max’s heart swell despite his mock protests.

By the time they reached the shop to pick up the car part, Max was thoroughly red-faced but couldn’t stop smiling.

As he parked, Danny leaned forward, slapping him on the shoulder. “Man, I gotta say, I never thought I’d see you like this. Happy. Settled.”

Max glanced at her, his hand automatically reaching for hers. “Guess it just took the right person.”

She squeezed his hand, her smile soft and full of love. “Guess it did.”

Danny groaned from the backseat. “You two are gonna make me puke with all this lovey-dovey crap.”

Max smirked. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop talking.”

But even Danny couldn’t hide his smile as they climbed out of the truck, all three of them laughing and ready to tackle whatever came next—together.

As quick as they came, Max and Danny loaded the car part into the bed of the truck, back on the road before she’d had proper time to stretch her legs.

When the truck pulled back into town, the warm glow of the setting sun washed over everything. Max eased the vehicle to a stop in front of the chapel where Danny’s car was still parked. Danny hopped out, looking a little more put-together after the ride back, though the loose tie still hung crookedly around his neck.

“Thanks for the lift, lovebirds,” Danny said, leaning in through the open window on Max’s side. He gave Max a sly grin. “Try not to celebrate too hard, alright? Don’t wanna see you dragging tomorrow at the shop.”

Max rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched with a grin. “Get lost, Danny.”

Danny smirked and gave a casual salute. “See ya tomorrow.”

He turned to her, his grin softening. “And congrats again. He’s a lucky bastard.”

She smiled back, warm and genuine. “Thanks, Danny. Drive safe.”

Danny waved as he walked to his car, and Max put the truck in gear, heading for their new apartment uptown.

The place still smelled faintly of fresh paint and new carpet. It wasn’t much—just a one-bedroom unit in a modest building—but it was theirs, and that made it feel like a palace. The furniture was sparse: a cheap bedframe, a small dining table with mismatched chairs, and a single couch in the living room. Boxes were still piled against the walls, waiting to be unpacked, but neither of them minded. They were building their life together, piece by piece, and that was all that mattered.

As soon as they walked through the door, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief and made a beeline for the bed. She flopped down, stretching out and burying her face in the pillow with a contented groan.

Max chuckled, shutting the door behind them and tossing his keys onto the counter. “Tired already?”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “It’s been a long day, Mr. Husband.”

He grinned at the title, leaning against the counter. “Don’t get too comfortable. I gotta head to the shop for a few hours, at least long enough to check the piece works.”

Her brows furrowed, and she sat up. “Don’t you want to celebrate?”

The words were innocent enough, but the way she said them—soft and teasing, with a hint of something more—made his throat go dry.

He ran a hand through his hair, giving her a sheepish grin. “Angel, you can’t do that to me when I’m about to head to work.”

She tilted her head, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “Do what?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words died in his throat as she stood, smoothing her dress. Then, without a word, she reached behind her, unzipping the back of her dress and letting it slide off her shoulders.

Max froze, his eyes widening as she stepped out of the fabric, now standing in just her slip. She didn’t look at him, didn’t say a word, just walked casually toward the bathroom, the sway of her hips deliberate and maddening.

He groaned, his head falling back against the cabinet with a soft thud. “You’re killing me, angel.”

From the bathroom door, she turned to look at him over her shoulder, her smile innocent. “What did I do?”

Max pushed off the counter, crossing the room in three long strides. She gasped softly as he pinned her lightly against the doorframe, his hands bracketing her waist.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his lips found hers in a heated kiss. Her hands slid up to his chest, clutching at his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening slightly on her hips.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged. “Behave,” he warned, his voice teasing but strained. “I’ll deal with you when I’m home.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll be waiting, husband.”

He groaned again, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before stepping back. “You’re trouble, angel.”

With one last look at her, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door, muttering under his breath about how he was supposed to get anything done with her around.

She watched him go, her heart fluttering in her chest. This was their life now—simple, chaotic, and full of love. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

In the eight months that followed, the two of them built up a good routine. When she finished work first, she’d wait on his work bench and they’d go home together. On days he finished first, he’d wait for her outside and pick her up.

Max leaned against the side of his truck, his leather jacket zipped up against the evening chill. The familiar sound of her heels clicking against the pavement caught his attention, and he turned, smiling as he watched her approach. Even after months of marriage, she still had the power to take his breath away.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted, opening the passenger door for her.

She smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey.”

Sliding into the seat, she let out a small sigh, her hand instinctively rubbing her temple. Max climbed in beside her, his brows furrowing as he started the engine. “You feeling any better today?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her pale complexion and tired eyes told a different story.

Max glanced at her as he pulled onto the road. “You’ve been ‘fine’ for days now, and you’ve looked like you’re ready to pass out every time I see you. Maybe it’s time to take a day off, huh?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. They’re already short-staffed at the clinic. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

Max sighed but didn’t push further. He knew how stubborn she could be when it came to responsibility. Instead, he reached over, resting a hand on her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Alright. But when we get home, you’re putting your feet up, got it?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Got it.”

The apartment had transformed in the months since they’d gotten married. Thanks to her trust fund she finally received, they’d been able to furnish it properly—soft rugs, cosy furniture, and a dining table that didn’t wobble. The space felt warm and lived-in, with her personal touches visible in every corner: photos of them on the walls, a vase of fresh flowers on the table, and a bookshelf that seemed to grow fuller every week.

Max dropped his keys on the counter as she slipped off her shoes, heading straight for the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want to just order something tonight?” he called after her.

“No, I’m cooking,” she replied firmly.

He sighed, following her into the kitchen. “Angel, you’ve been queasy all week. Maybe tonight’s not the best night for—”

“I’m fine, Max,” she interrupted, pulling out a couple of fillets of fish from the fridge. “It’s just a little nausea. It’ll pass.”

But as she stood at the counter, the smell of the raw fish hit her, and her stomach lurched. She gagged, clapping a hand over her mouth as her other hand gripped the edge of the counter for support.

Max was at her side in an instant, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Angel,” he said softly, guiding her to sit at the table. “You can’t keep ignoring this.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted weakly, though her face was pale and clammy.

Max crouched in front of her, his hands resting gently on her knees. “You’re not fine,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “You’re throwing up every morning, you can’t even stand the smell of fish—hell, you’re gagging just thinking about it.” He paused, his dark eyes searching hers. “Have you considered that you might be pregnant?”

Her eyes widened, and she blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. “Pregnant?”

He nodded slowly, his hands sliding up to hold hers. “Yeah. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Nausea, exhaustion…”

She shook her head, her voice quiet. “No… I didn’t even think about it.”

Max tilted his head, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Why not?”

Her gaze dropped to their hands, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “My mum never really talked to me about… you know, any of this. I don’t even know what pregnancy symptoms are supposed to feel like.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words, a wave of tenderness washing over him. He reached up, cupping her cheek and tilting her face so she’d look at him. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

She nodded, leaning into his touch.

“First thing tomorrow,” he said gently, “I’ll run out and grab some tests. We’ll take it from there.”

She hesitated, then gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, standing and pulling her into his arms.

Max woke before dawn, the faint light of the rising sun filtering through the curtains. He turned his head to look at her, still sound asleep beside him, her face relaxed and peaceful. Her soft breaths were the only sound in the room, and for a moment, he just watched her, his heart full.

Then he slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, careful not to wake her. Grabbing his phone, he stepped into the hallway and dialled her clinic, for once he was glad it was a 24h clinic.

“Hi, this is Max Verstappen. I’m calling about my wife—she’s not feeling well, so she won’t be coming in today.”

The receptionist, someone he’d met once or twice, was understanding. “Of course. Tell her to rest, and we hope she feels better soon.”

Max hung up, feeling a small sense of triumph. He hated seeing her push herself when she clearly needed a break. Returning to the bedroom, he silenced her alarm before it could go off, then grabbed his jacket and keys.

When he returned an hour later, he had a small bag from the pharmacy in one hand and a coffee for himself in the other. Quietly letting himself in, he set the bag on the counter before heading to the bedroom.

She was still asleep, curled up on her side, her hair fanned out across the pillow. Max slid back into bed beside her, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her forehead. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” she murmured sleepily, a small smile forming on her lips.

“Hey, angel,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I called in sick for you. Figured you could use a day off.”

She blinked at him, her smile widening. “You did?”

He nodded. “Yep. You’re officially off duty.”

Her hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him down into a lazy kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.

“Anything for you,” he said, his voice soft and full of affection.

She started to sit up, but her face suddenly paled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no…”

Max was up in an instant, helping her out of bed and guiding her to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before she began to throw up, and he knelt beside her, rubbing her back and holding her hair.

When she finally sat back, her face flushed, he handed her a glass of water. “You okay?”

She nodded weakly, rinsing her mouth. “I guess we should take the test now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Max agreed, his voice gentle. “I picked up a few, just in case.”

Minutes later, they were sitting together on the floor of the bathroom, the test resting on the counter above them. Max held her hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her skin as they waited.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice quiet. “What if it’s not positive?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Then we’ll figure out what’s going on. But if it is…” He smiled, his heart thudding at the thought. “If it is, we’re gonna be the luckiest people on earth.”

The timer on her phone beeped, and she sat up, her breath catching. Max reached for the test, holding it up so they could both see the result.

Two lines.

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh my God…”

Max stared at the test for a moment, his own eyes shining, before he turned to her. “Angel, we’re having a baby.”

She nodded, laughing through her tears. “We’re having a baby.”

Max’s knees gave out, and he sank to the floor in front of her, his hands gently resting on her waist. His lips pressed to her stomach, reverent and full of love.

“Hey, little one,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s your dad. Can’t wait to meet you.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, her own tears falling freely. “Max…”

He looked up at her, his face lit with pure joy. “You’ve given me everything, angel. I didn’t think I could ever feel this much… and now we’re gonna have a family.”

She leaned down, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you more,” he replied, pulling her into his arms as they held each other, their hearts full of hope and love for the future.

By seven months she felt like she was carrying a whale.

The apartment was warm, sunlight streaming through the windows, and the faint scent of lavender from a nearby candle filled the air. Max walked through the kitchen, spotting her by the sink with her belly pressing against the counter as she washed dishes. Her movements were steady but slow, and he could see the strain in her back even from across the room.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Angel,” he called, leaning against the doorway.

She didn’t look up, just hummed in response, her focus on scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing this? I can handle the chores.”

“Max,” she said, glancing at him with a playful smile. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I can still wash a few dishes.”

He shook his head, walking over to her and turning off the faucet. “Nope. Not today.” Before she could protest, he scooped her up into his arms with ease, ignoring her laugh of surprise.

“Max! Put me down!” she exclaimed, her arms looping around his neck instinctively.

“Not a chance,” he replied, grinning as he carried her to the living room. “You’re done for the day.”

He gently set her down on the sofa, pulling a blanket over her lap and kneeling in front of her. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

“You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head.

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, smirking. “But I’m winning this one.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, if you’re going to be so chivalrous, you might as well give me a foot massage.”

His grin widened. “Deal.”

He grabbed a pillow and placed it under her feet, gently pulling one foot into his hands. His thumbs began working over her arch, and she let out a soft sigh of relief, sinking further into the cushions.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed.

“I’ve had practice,” he teased. “Keeping you happy is a full-time job.”

She chuckled, her hand idly rubbing her belly. After a moment, her expression grew thoughtful. “Max, can I ask you something?”

He glanced up, his hands still working over her foot. “Anything.”

“Have you thought about baptism?” she asked.

He paused, tilting his head as he considered her question. “Not really. It’s not something I grew up with, but I know it’s important to you. Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’m on board.”

She smiled at his easy acceptance, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

“It’d probably be best to do it at the church in town,” he continued gently. “But… that means your dad would find out.”

Her smile faded slightly, and she nodded, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “I know.”

He shifted closer, resting his hands on her knees. “You don’t have to do it there if you’re not ready. We can find another place.”

She shook her head, her voice steady. “No, it’s okay. I can do it. I need to do it.”

Max’s heart swelled with pride. He leaned forward, cupping her cheek and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You amaze me, you know that? You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you.”

Her eyes shimmered with emotion, and she reached up to touch his face. “I’m equally proud of you, Max. You’ve built such a good life for us… for our baby. You’ve come so far too.”

He smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “We’ve done it together.”

She nodded, her hand moving to cover his where it rested on her belly. “Together."

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou

[swordsandholly]

Steel Magnolia

Part 1 - paused

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

[httplilyyy]

𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 || 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐎

pairing: alessia russo x reader

summary: pumpkin picking and carving with your girlfriend

warnings: nothing but fluff

word count: 2.5k

a/n: since my birthday is tomorrow, and despite my hiatus, i thought i’d give you guys a little present from me. happy halloween!

woso masterlist

It’s one of those perfect mid-October afternoons, where the world feels saturated in shades of orange, gold, and muted greens. The air is fresh with a slight bite of chill carried by the autumn breeze. 

Alessia sat in the passenger seat of the car beside you, practically bouncing in her spot as you pulled up to the pumpkin patch. 

When you had suggested this as a date Alessia was quick to agree, planning the whole day in her mind within seconds. 

Finding a space and putting the car in park, you smile at Alessia before getting out and walking to her side, opening the door for her. 

Alessia thanked you as she got out and pressed a gentle kiss against your cheek before heading to the boot of the car to get her coat. Once the two of you were wrapped up warm, you took Alessia by the hand and walked towards the entrance. 

The pumpkin patch stretched out like a golden canvas beneath a pale, overcast sky. Soft, dappled sunlight filtered through the thinning branches of towering trees, casting long shadows on the ground. 

Rows of pumpkins of all sizes dotted the field, their vibrant orange contrasting with the rough brown soil. Some were smooth and perfectly round, while others were lopsided or covered in twisting stems - each one unique in its own way. 

Along the edges of the field, old wooden fences, weathered and grey, line the pumpkin patch, while hay bales were stacked in small clusters, offering spots for families and couples to sit and take photos. 

The ground was strewn with dried leaves that crunch softly underfoot as you walked side by side with Alessia, the wind occasionally lifting a few into the air, sending them swirling in a lazy dance.

Your shoes left firm imprints in the soft dirt as you weave through the patch, the ends of your hair fluttering in the wind. Alessia came to a halt and kneeled to inspect a massive pumpkin, turning it in her hands before lifting it effortlessly. Her smile was infectious, wide and carefree, like the sun breaking through clouds. 

“You like that one?” you questioned, watching as Alessia inspected the pumpkin carefully. 

Alessia nodded, her smile expanding broadly. She looked back down at her pumpkin and made sure she held it tightly. 

“Do you want me to carry it?” you asked with your own smile forming on your face. 

“I’m okay,” Alessia said, appreciating your offer.  

The two of you continue your walk around the pumpkin patch as you desperately try to find the one for you. Alessia pointed out a few but they weren’t what you had in mind. 

Making your way deeper into the pumpkin patch, the rows of pumpkins seemed to stretch in every direction, a sea of orange, yellow and even speckled green. You would stop occasionally, bending down to pick up a pumpkin, feeling its weight, brushing off the bits of soil clinging to its bumpy surface. 

Picking up a particularly small, round pumpkin, you smile and hold it up so Alessia could see. 

“It’s the perfect size,” you teased, securing it in your arms. 

Alessia chuckles and shakes her head, resting her cheek on your shoulder as she looks down at the pumpkin you had chosen. 

“The bigger the better,” Alessia played along, gesturing to her pumpkin. 

“At least mine has character,” you said smugly. 

“Mine is definitely the winner, perfectly round, no weird bumps. I could go on,” Alessia said competitively. 

“That’s the winner?” you scoffed with a grin. “As if.”

“What?” Alessia said, pouting teasingly. “Don’t have an argument to back your pumpkin up?”

“Mine speaks for itself,” you shrug, looking at your pumpkin proudly. 

“It looks like it’s already  been through Halloween and back!” Alessia said, unable to hold in her laugh. “Mine’s classic, sleek - it’s practically a pumpkin model.”

“Yours is too perfect,” you said with mock seriousness “No personality. My pumpkin has stories to tell. This stem alone - look at that! It’s like it’s been through the pumpkin apocalypse.”

“Mmm,” Alessia hummed, tilting her head to examine your pumpkin. “I’ll give you the stem. But mine will have the perfect face for carving. Yours might end up looking like it’s melting.”

“Only because it’ll have the most expressive face!” you grinned. “Yours is too symmetrical - it’s going to be boring.”

Alessia couldn’t contain her laughter any more as she stood beside you. She held up her pumpkin next to yours and compared them.  

“What if we make a deal?” Alessia proposed. “We each carve our pumpkins tonight and we’ll let our dog decide who’s looks best.”

“Deal,” you said, smirking. “But don’t get mad when Bear chooses mine.”

“Please, he’s going straight to mine without second thought,” Alessia said, scoffing. 

The two of you exchange competitive but lighthearted glances, knowing it’s all in good fun before continuing their search through the patch, joking about which pumpkins would make the most ridiculous or impressive carvings.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, amber hue over the pumpkin patch, the two of you made your way to the checkout area with your pumpkins nestled carefully in your arms. 

At the small wooden booth near the entrance, the cashier greets you both with a friendly smile. You let Alessia place her pumpkin down first before you place yours with exaggerated effort. 

“You two have some great picks there,” the cashier said with a smile. “Going to do some carving tonight?”

“Oh, definitely,” Alessia grinned. “We’ve got a competition going - best carved pumpkin wins bragging rights for the whole season.”

“Not that I’ll need the bragging rights, since mine’s obviously going to win,” you said cockily. 

The cashier laughs, handing the receipt to you after a brief exchange of payment. You both thank the cashier, and with pumpkins in hand, head toward their car. 

The gravel crunches underfoot as you approach the car, and after a bit of manoeuvring, you carefully secure your pumpkins in the back. Double checking the seat belt around your pumpkin, you hum happily before sitting in the driver's seat. 

“Is that necessary?” Alessia teased, waiting for you to start the car. 

“Obviously,” you grinned, turning on the ignition. 

Pulling out of the car parking space, you begin to make your way home. Golden fields and trees turning shades of orange and yellow flash past as you drive through the country roads. 

The windows are slightly cracked, letting in the fresh, cool air as a playlist of Alessia’s choice fills the car.

“So, are you ready to lose tonight?” you said, glancing over at Alessia with a smirk. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Alessia grinned, looking out at the road ahead. “I’ve got the perfect design in mind.”

“Let me guess,” you said teasingly, “something pretty and perfectly symmetrical?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Alessia laughed. “Yours is probably going to end up with mismatched eyes or a crooked smile.”

“It adds personality,” you shrug, glancing over at Alessia again. 

“Yours is going to look like it got hit by a tractor,” Alessia added playfully. 

“Hey!” you said in faux hurt. “You didn’t mean that.”

Alessia laughed once more as you continued to drive. The drive through the countryside was serene, with the orange and red hues of the sunset fading into purples and blues, the soft glow of headlights lighting up the road ahead. 

The car smells faintly of apples, hay, and damp earth, a lingering reminder of their afternoon in the pumpkin patch. Alessia leant her head against the window, watching the landscape blur while you hummed along to a song with your hand resting casually on the wheel. 

The trees along the way seem to catch the last light of day, glowing in rich, warm tones. It’s peaceful, and the teasing back and forth between you two only adds to the cosy, playful atmosphere.

Finally turning onto your road, the lights of nearby houses begin to twinkle on, and you begin to imagine the mess of pumpkin guts and seeds that awaits you both once you start carving. 

The moment Alessia opens the front door, your dog, Bear, bounds over to greet you both. It was clear that he had been waiting eagerly for you two to return, ears perked and nose sniffing curiously at the pumpkins you carried inside.

You bring the pumpkins inside, setting them down on the kitchen table with a thud before going to get a couple of carving tools from a drawer and lay them out neatly on the table.

“Hey, Bear,” you laugh, kneeling down to pet him. “Did you miss us?”

“I think he’s more interested in those pumpkins than us,” Alessia chuckled, leaning against the counter. 

Bear, still wagging his tail, sniffs at the pumpkins eagerly as if trying to figure out what new game you’d brought home for him. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and he nosed at the table as though offering to help.

“You think you can carve, too?” you asked Bear teasingly. “Maybe we should’ve gotten him a mini pumpkin to work on.”

“He would’ve ended up eating it,” Alessia laughed, giving Bear a playful scratch behind the ears. 

A few candles flicker in the background, casting a warm glow around the room. The air smells faintly of cinnamon from a candle burning on the counter, and the windows reveal the darkening evening outside, with the sky now a deep shade of twilight.

Two large bowls sit nearby, one for you and the other for Alessia to put the pumpkin seeds and guts the two of you’ll scoop out.

“Alright, no backing out now,” Alessia teased as she tied her hair back. 

“May the best pumpkin win,” you smile, picking up your knife of choice. 

With a laugh, you both dig in, starting by cutting around the tops of their pumpkins. The scraping sound of knives cutting through thick pumpkin skin fills the air, along with the occasional groan or playful complaint.

After a bit of effort, you both pull off the tops of their pumpkins, revealing the stringy, gooey insides. Alessia scrunches her nose a little but dives in, scooping out handfuls of seeds and pulp, tossing them into the bowl.

“This part is always so gross,” Alessia said, wiping her hands on a tea towel.  

“Forfeiting already?” you asked teasingly. 

“You wish,” Alessia said, going back into her pumpkin. 

Bear watched intently, his head tilted as you and Alessia scooped out the pumpkin guts, clearly interested in the new smells filling the room.

“What do you think, Bear,” you said, pretending to offer him a handful of pumpkin guts. “Want to help us clean up?”

Bear sniffed at the stringy pulp, but quickly backed away, wrinkling his nose in distaste, earning a laugh from you and Alessia.

“I guess that’s a no,” Alessia grinned. 

You both work in relative silence for a bit, the sounds of squishing pumpkin innards and scraping echoing through the room, interspersed with the occasional playful comment.

Once the pumpkins were hollowed out, you moved on to the carving part. The two of you hunched over your respective pumpkins with intense concentration.

Bear settled at your feet, laying down but keeping a close eye on the action. Every so often, he’d lift his head, watching intently as you both carve, especially when pieces of pumpkin hit the floor. You’d toss him small bits to nibble on, but mostly he seemed content just to be part of the fun.

Alessia’s lines were neat and precise as she carved with care, creating a symmetrical, classic jack-o’-lantern face with sharp, triangular eyes and a toothy grin. You, on the other hand, were freehanding your design, occasionally stepping back to check the progress. Your lines were a bit more erratic, but you clearly enjoyed the process.

“Is that supposed to be a smile?” Alessia asked, glancing over at your pumpkin. “It looks more of a grimace.”

“It’s a smile with attitude,” you grin. “Besides, personality wins.”

“Well,” Alessia said with mock seriousness. “Personality isn’t going to save you when mine is clearly superior.”

“We’ll see,” you said, leaning back to admire your work.

After a while, you both finish carving, stepping back to admire your creations. Alessia’s pumpkin is almost picture-perfect with symmetrical, clean lines and an evenly carved smile and eyes. 

Yours is a bit more lopsided, with one eye larger than the other and a mischievous, crooked grin.

“Mine’s definitely the better one,” Alessia said, crossing her arms with a proud grin. 

“Yours is too perfect,” you chuckle. “At least mine has character.” 

“Character my ass,” Alessia grumbled playfully. 

“What was that?” you teased, leaning closer to Alessia. 

“Keep those hands away,” Alessia laughed, dodging your pumpkin gut covered hands with a mock glare. 

Moving towards the drawer, you pull out two tea light candles and hand one to Alessia. Together, you light the small candles and place them inside before turning off the lights. The room was instantly filled with a soft, flickering glow as the candles illuminated their designs.

“Okay, I’ll admit yours looks better in the dark,” Alessia said, gazing at hers with a smile. “But mine still looks the best.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you smile, wrapping your arm around Alessia’s waist. “Mine wins in the dark and everyone knows that’s the true test.”

“Bear still hasn’t decided yet,” Alessia said. resting her cheek on your shoulder. 

“Let’s see shall we?” you smile, taking the candle out of your pumpkin and placing it on the floor whilst Alessia did the same. 

You turn back on the lights and see Bear watching the pumpkins with quiet fascination. You stand beside Alessia and watch Bear quietly as he sniffed the pumpkins curiously. 

He takes a longer sniff at Alessia’s and sits down in front of it, nuzzling his nose through the pumpkins carved out mouth. 

“See,” Alessia said with a triumphant grin. “Bear thinks mine is the best.”

You let out a small huff and hang your head in defeat, accepting your fate before you hear a crunch. Looking back up, Bear seemed to be eating something but it wasn’t a pumpkin. 

Gasping, you turn to Alessia in shock, “You cheat!”

“Hm?” Alessia hummed with a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You hid a treat inside your pumpkin!” you said, crossing your arms. 

“No,” Alessia drawled teasingly. “I’d never.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you chuckle, pulling her in by that waist and placing a delicate kiss on her lips. 

The two of you part at the sound of Bears whining and you kneel down to give him some kisses too. 

“I love you too, Bear,” you smile. 

Getting back to your feet, you and Alessia head to the living room with Bear hot on your heels. You both settle down on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around you for extra warmth as Bear rested his head on your thigh. 

Alessia turned on the t.v and flicked through Netflix trying to find something to watch before deciding on ‘Beetlejuice’. Pressing play on the movie, the two of you cuddle up together with Alessia resting her head on your shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. 

Feeling left out, Bear pawed at your hand causing you to chuckle softly and begin to stroke through his fur. Letting out a content sigh, Bear watched you and Alessia, clearly satisfied with his role as the evening’s honorary pumpkin-carving companion.

[avroravia]

☆ desert eagle. - I ☆

pairings: trailer park!dallas winston x f!trailer park!reader

summary: dallas can’t seem to keep himself from the pretty girl wandering throughout the park, now can he? but, it seems neither can she.

warnings: f!reader, swearing, familial descriptions, outfit descriptions, may not be time accurate (?)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡

the blazing summer sun of tulsa beat down onto the park, yet everybody seemed unbothered. children continued running around, water guns in hand as they seamlessly weaved through all the trailers. teens funded the gas stations and mini-marts, with icees and cokes in hand as they flocked to the shade. adults were either at work, or running errands throughout tulsa.

wiping the sweat off of his forehead, dallas shut the hood of the car. he tossed his borrowed-box of tools onto the grass, before making his way to the entrance of the car owner’s trailer. living in the park wasn’t necessarily bad, just mundane. going from odd-job to odd-job, then party to party.

dallas’ boots thudded along the metal ramp towards the entrance. met with the sight of an open door, he rapped his knuckles against the frame before peeking his head inside. dallas didn’t see the woman who had originally ‘hired’ him, but rather a younger girl. you. your head perked up from the small mini fridge’s door, which you seemed to be stocking.

“money’s on the table.” you told him, gaze returning to your chores.

dallas examined the trailer further, narrow brown eyes darting from the dusty chandelier to the bruised wooden floors. despite the years of use, it was still relatively clean. he could see the crumpled 10$ bill on the dinner table, which he stuffed into the pocket of his dark-washed jeans.

as you stood up, dallas’ gaze was averted to you. he had known of you, but he never held more than a two second conversation with you. dallas recognized you as ‘angela’s best friend,’ having seen you many times in the shepard’s trailer when he went to visit tim.

once dallas’ brain had made the connection, he turned to actually look at you. he took in the sight of your brown, beat-up cowboy boots, low-rise denim shorts far too short for any mother’s taste, and a cropped budweiser shirt. with your lower midriff exposed and a hand on your hip, you waited for him to say something, anything.

“you- you’re angel’s friend, huh?” dallas asked, almost instantly regretting it. he thought his words were stupid.

“something like that, yeah.” you responded, a faint southern accent showing through.

stepping closer to him, you had an almost sinister smile on your glossed lips. you placed a manicured hand onto his exposed shoulder and slightly swayed your hip outward, making butterflies bloom from every crevice in his guts. regardless, dallas kept his unamused expression. brows furrowed and his drowsy brown eyes narrow per usual.

“s’dallas, right?” you drawled, thumb toying with the thick strap of his white tank top.

dallas only hummed in response. something about you seemed so enticing to him. it drew him in like a sailor to a siren, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. despite the mixed feelings, dallas would be a liar if he said he didn’t like the feeling of your hands on his skin, or the way you looked at him.

“well, dallas,” you mused, “i’ll see you around then...”

he watched as you returned to tidying up the trailer, before taking your words as a cue to leave. stepping out the trailer, dallas shut the door behind him. his thoughts were kept clouded with the memory of you, and he swore he could still feel your soft hands on the skin of his shoulder.

grabbing the tool box, dallas made a mental note to return it to buck. though, the thought was quickly replaced with you. as he walked home, dallas looped your voice in his head, particularly the way you said his name.

man, would dallas get his kicks in with you...

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed this little drabble! i’m planning on making it a little series, on how tp!reader and tp!dallas first met along with the beginning of their relationship. once im satisfied, it’ll probably just be random moments in their relationship from then on. i’m also happy to take requests on these two and all my other readers >:)) my ask box has been so dry lately lmaoo!

[rotworld]

Fitting the Collar

that weird guy from the club wants to go for a walk in the woods in werewolf territory. a continuation of sheep's clothing and savior.

->sawyer/reader/corbin. explicit; contains noncon, coercion, implied stalking, feral behavior, typical werewolf-pack human power imbalance, outdoor sex, thighfucking, knotting (doesn't actually happen but discussed in detail)

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WOLVES IN THESE WOODS screams the vandalized trail kiosk. These words are scrawled over a map of the mountain, each big red letter spray painted in so many thick, messy layers that they drip like blood. This eyesore greets you at the edge of the parking lot where gravel turns to dirt and sunlight strains through the leaves. It’s not news, to you or to anyone who’s lived near the mountains for any amount of time. Dogwalkers and families on bikes barely spare the sign a glance as they set off, because of course there are werewolves. They shop at the hardware store and sell produce at the farmer’s market. Once a year, they come to Eastridge City Hall to negotiate another year of peaceful cohabitation and give the local news something to catastrophize about.

And yet, the graffiti gives you pause. It’s probably just some mischief but it looks so dire, clashing with the rustic charm of the wooden kiosk and the tranquil beauty of the forest all around it. You tell yourself there’s nothing to worry about. You’ve seen werewolves before. But the fearful part of your brain that makes you flinch and look around nervously every time a twig snaps reminds you that this is different. You’ve seen them in town, in public, at gas stations and second-hand stores, one time at a coffee shop. You’re on their turf now. You glance back at your car, parked in the shade, and think about backing out. Texting an apology and an excuse, some last minute emergency that you can’t neglect.

“Hey, you made it!” You don’t see him coming because you’re watching the parking lot, not the trail. An arm slings around your shoulder, dragging you into a sideways hug. You’re startled and off-balance, too stunned to do anything about a relative stranger nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with an uncomfortably deep inhale until it’s already over. He pulls away with one last stroke of his thumb against your cheek, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets and stands at a distance like it never happened. “I’m glad you came,” Corbin says. He looks like he’s been hiking without you, prickly seeds stuck to his jacket and mud caked to his boots. Those vicious markings littering his neck are on full display with his hair pulled back. You try not to look at them but your gaze is repeatedly drawn back down. Some of them look fresh, still puffy and irritated. “It wasn’t too hard to find, right?”

“No, it was fine,” you say, wondering for the hundredth time how he talked you into this. 

“Great! You’re gonna love this trail. It’s super easy, don’t worry. And we can go slow…” Something over your shoulder catches his eye and his brows furrow, his mouth pressing into a tight frown. “Well, that’s annoying. And covering up the map like that! Packless—” He cuts himself off abruptly, glancing at you with a sheepish smile like he said something you might find offensive. Strangest of all, he goes out of his way to take a picture of it, standing back with his phone raised so he can get the whole sign in frame. “Some people, right? Anyway, let’s get moving.” 

You remember the conversation that led to this outing. Idle chatter in a mall food court, held hostage out of polite obligation because he’d bought you lunch even when you insisted he didn’t have to. You smiled nervously while he went on and on about how nice the weather had been lately, how perfect it was for long walks in the woods and how all the best trails were in the next town over. You should’ve seen the invitation coming but instead you were thinking that it was weird, right, that this random guy had suddenly become such a big part of your life, weird that you kept running into each other when he didn’t even leave in Eastridge. 

You were relieved when he stopped showing up at Club Mountainview to tip you obscene amounts of money for serving him appetizers and occasionally refilling his water between drunk, demanding customers, but then he started showing up everywhere else. Not all the time, though. Not so often or so conspicuously that you could confidently call it stalking. Sometimes he comes into your favorite coffee shop just as you’re leaving and he doesn’t even wave. Sometimes he disappears for weeks at a time without explanation. But when you do talk, when he smiles at you and pulls you into his shamelessly intimate affection, rubbing his face in your hair or humming in contentment against your neck, something in you responds with embarrassing eagerness. Maybe you’ve just been too busy lately, starved for interaction. You can’t shake the feeling that he can see right through you. You never say much, but he seems to know you better than you know yourself.

“I appreciate you coming all this way. It doesn’t seem like you get a lot of time off,” Corbin says. The trail is wide enough that you can walk side by side with some room between you, but he sticks close. Your sleeves brush sometimes.

“I’m glad I did,” you tell him. “You weren’t kidding, it’s really nice out here.” 

His eyes light up, smile widening as though you complimented him instead. “It is, isn’t it?” 

The trail is a gentle winding path into the mountains full of birdsong and warm breeze. You see speckles of moss and wildflowers, a sea of swaying greenery that seems to go on forever. Corbin stops halfway across a bridge straddling a river and you clasp the railing beside him, watching the water stream white-capped over the rocks below. You linger for a while, enjoying the sound of the rapids and the occasional glimpse of a fish darting downstream. You catch him staring in the corner of your eye. He smiles, unashamed, and scoots closer. His shoulder rests against yours.

“This is wolf territory,” he says. His tone is strange and hard for you to identify. It’s not sad, exactly, but it’s stern. Solemn. Like he’s telling you something profound. “Do you know much about the pack that lives here?” 

He’s watching your expression carefully and trying to pretend he isn’t. The scrutiny makes you uncomfortable. You push back from the railing and he follows with a small frown but begins walking again, giving you more distance than he did before. “Not really,” you say, shrugging. “I don’t know much about werewolves in general.” 

It’s an odd question, you think, and it’s odder still when he hums in acknowledgement and drops the subject. You keep walking, keenly aware of his presence beside you. You’ve wondered for a while now if Corbin might be a werewolf. You’re sure he was with some when you first met. It wasn’t just that they were a little intense and eccentric. You felt cornered when they looked at you, a spark of fight-or-flight igniting in your chest. It was instinct. You sensed something wild and powerful, and you braced yourself to run if it bared its teeth.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks. The way he looks at you, the sly smile on his lips, makes it seem like he already knows.

You don’t want to ask. That would be rude, right? And what difference does it make? Werewolves haven’t been going around hunting and eating people for centuries, no matter what the tabloids say. “Just thinking,” you say. 

“Mhm? About what?” 

“Just…stuff.” Now he’s staring and not being subtle about it at all. You keep expecting him to trip but he keeps his eyes on you the whole time instead of on the path ahead without any trouble. Like he’s walked this trail a thousand times, you think. Like it’s second nature. “What do you do?” you ask, desperate for something else to talk about. 

“Like, for work?” His gaze wanders away for a moment and he tilts his head, his expression becoming amused and wistful. For such a simple question, he takes a long time considering his answer. “I guess it’s kind of like a human resources job.” He grins. You feel like there’s a joke you’re not getting. “Not the stuffy office kind. I work out here, actually.” 

“Out here?” you echo. “Like with the Parks and Rec service?” 

“With parts of it, yeah.” The path splits, a fork meandering into thicker brush and foliage. You’re not sure if it’s a proper trail or just a common footpath worn into the grass. It’s narrower, rougher and more uneven, carpeted in fallen leaves as though few people have been through to disturb them. There’s a tree right where the smaller path breaks off, a symbol carved into the bark. You don’t know what it is; a mishmash of jagged lines intersect with squiggling curves, gouged into the wood with something sharp. Corbin insists on going this way despite your reservations. “It’s part of the trail, I promise,” he assures you, his hand resting on your lower back with just the slightest pressure, urging you to keep moving. “Unless you’re tired and wanna go back?”

You wouldn’t mind seeing more of the trail, but you stare down the path with apprehension. You see it curves gently upwards as it goes, slowly ascending further into the mountains. “We could head back,” you say, but Corbin doesn’t let go. He keeps pushing, offering a reassuring smile.

“Can I show you one more thing?” he asks. “Just a little further. Then we can go.” Just like that time at the mall, you plan on refusing. The words are on the tip of your tongue but you can’t seem to get them out. There’s something about Corbin—not any particular thing he says or does, just the way he is. He stands close to you. He looks you in the eye. His hand rises from your back and slides up and down your arm instead, a soothing gesture that you find yourself embarrassingly reactive to, and then he takes your hand in his. “You’re afraid of wolves, aren’t you?” 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you answer. He just smiles. 

“It’s alright, I get it. They seem kind of scary, right? A lot stronger and faster than us. But y’know, they’re actually pretty gentle. I’ve been living and working with one of the local packs for a while now. They take good care of me.” 

“You live with them?” you ask, disbelieving. 

Corbin laughs. He takes your hand in both of his, rubbing his thumbs into your skin. “I want to show you something,” he says softly. “Please? I promise, you’re safe with me.” He does it again somehow; quells your worries and draws you closer, talking you into something you didn’t want to do. He keeps holding your hand when he starts walking, looking over his shoulder periodically to smile and tell you it’s not far now. You pass a fallen log with squirrels shuffling around inside, a wooden guardrail at the edge of a ravine, a hill dotted with wildflowers. The birds are louder here, the sunlight even softer where it manages to trickle through the trees. Corbin slows his pace when you almost trip and fall, the toe of your shoe catching on a tree root snaking across the path. He’s looking for something. He keeps talking, telling you the scientific names of everything you can see, but his gaze scans the forest as you walk. 

He must find it, because suddenly he stops and drags you to a halt beside him. You’re quickly ushered off the trail, dragged into a crouch beside Corbin behind a mossy boulder. He doesn’t respond to your nervous stammering except to press his finger to your lips with a mischievous smile. Then he points, over the boulder and up ahead. You don’t see anything. Corbin exhales sharply in amusement at your pinched, confused expression. He gets closer, an arm draped over your shoulders to pull you in as much as he can. He smells like these woods; earth and grass stains, sharply evergreen. His body heat warms your side. He points again. 

This time, you see it but only because it moves. There’s something out there. A blur. A shape. Brown, black and gray, drifting in the spaces between the trees. With a sudden surge of breathless panic, you realize those are wolves. Not one but several, moving with nearly silent, predatory grace. Their tails flick as they trot briskly through the dappled shade. You can tell they’re enormous, even from here, bigger than any dog you’ve ever seen. The one in the lead has thick, coal black fur, and it stops suddenly with a quiet bark. The others spread out in a semi-circle, ears pricked and attentive. 

Corbin squeezes your shoulder as if to remind you he’s there. He leans in, whispering into your ear. “Shepherds. They’re on patrol.” 

You’re not sure if you’re watching a meeting, an argument, or something else altogether. The wolf in charge chuffs and paws at the dirt, the others watching, tilting their heads. They seem to reach some kind of understanding because all but the leader start moving again. That one lingers, watching them leave. It sits in a sunbeam, its dark fur looking silky in the light. Then it lurches forward with a strained whimper like it’s going to be sick, foamy saliva dribbling from its open maw. You watch in speechless horror as the wolf’s fur starts to bulge and shiver like something is moving under its skin. Corbin’s grip on you tightens just as you tense, ready to run.

“It’s alright,” he whispers. “He’s just shifting. He has trouble with it sometimes.” 

You don’t want to watch this but you’re afraid to look away. The wolf curls around itself with limbs that are all wrong, too long and bending strangely. Its paws stretch and lengthen. Its snout shrinks. It groans and the sound is wet and throaty, its fur receding in patches that expose the shift of sinew in sudden, cracking snaps that hurt to hear. You see skin, slick and shining with sweat. You see fingers tipped with thick, black claws. The sound of bones popping in and out of sockets finally fades and you hear soft panting. The wolf is halfway to man. It goes no further. Still breathing heavily, he sits up and runs a hand through long, messy bangs the same dark color as the stubborn patches of fur still clinging to his limbs and back. He climbs to his feet and—

he’s naked. Completely head to toe naked, soft cock and heavy balls dangling between his legs. You think, for the second time, that you shouldn’t be seeing this, but Corbin still doesn’t let you get up. You find him watching you, studying your expression intently. Has he been doing that the whole time? 

“Corbin.” The werewolf’s voice is low, rough and growling. He’s looking right at the two of you like the boulder’s not even there. Corbin laughs. He lets you stand up when he does, but he keeps you trapped against his side. His hand slides from your shoulder to your waist. 

“Beta,” Corbin greets. He lifts his head and tilts it to the side, exposing his throat. The werewolf makes a sound in his throat, something like a dismissive grunt. “This is Sawyer,” he tells you, nodding to the wolf. “He’s not a shepherd anymore, but sometimes he goes with them—”

“Who is this?” Sawyer asks. He approaches slowly, almost cautiously, pointed ears twitching. 

Corbin tries to push you forward but you dig your heels in. “My friend—”

“Shouldn’t be here.” Sawyer’s eyes are like a wolf’s—no sclera, only inky black and golden-brown. You’re afraid to even breathe when his wide-eyed animalistic stare pins you in place. “You’re lucky I found you first, before this became a problem. No one’s thinking clearly this time of year.”

“My friend,” Corbin insists. “The one I told you about, from the club in Eastridge.” Sawyer’s gaze leaves you momentarily, meeting Corbin’s eyes instead. Corbin’s practically vibrating with excitement. His fingers tap a quick rhythm into your side. 

“Ah,” Sawyer says. He looks at you again, still frowning and pensive. “Should I go?” you ask nervously. 

“No.” Your heart skips a beat when Sawyer and Corbin answer in unison, the word pronounced as a firm growl. Corbin laughs. Sawyer doesn’t, shifting uncomfortably. His tail sways in a slow, uncertain wag. “No,” he repeats quietly. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m…cautious with outsiders.” 

You never expected to hear a werewolf sound so anxious and awkward. “It’s okay. I get it, I’m in your home.” 

“My home is open to you.” He looks off into the distance. It’s hard to deny that he’s handsome. He has unusual features, everything sharpened and wolf-like but still recognizably human. He’s taller than both you and Corbin, lithe and muscular, the story of a long, difficult life told across the many scars carved into his skin. His limbs are long, unnaturally so, like something didn’t settle where it was supposed to while he was shifting. 

“They’re a little nervous around werewolves,” Corbin chuckles, making your face fill with embarrassed heat. 

“I just haven’t met very many,” you insist. Sawyer glances at you and you still can’t tell if he’s angry or not. You break eye contact and hear him take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

“You can look at me, if you’d like,” he offers. He tilts his head, a gesture that strikes you as very dog-like and endearing. “I prefer doing search and rescue in wolfskin, but some people are afraid of dogs. So I approach slowly. I lay down and let them get a good look at me first. It tends to help.” You try to insist that it’s not a problem, you’re not afraid of dogs, but Sawyer just shakes his head. “Come look. It doesn’t bother me. I know I’m a little strange compared to the others.” 

Corbin nudges you gently. You resist the first time, more weakly the second. The third soft push sends you a few steps forward. Sawyer doesn’t move, letting you come to him. You’re still nervous but Corbin encourages you with a nod and a grin. “He doesn’t bite. Not unless you’re really good, or really bad.” 

“Corbin,” Sawyer says, his tone almost scolding. He’s still not smiling, but maybe that’s just how he is. He looks calm, at least, no longer terse or frustrated. His posture is loose and open, arms at his sides and gaze casually wandering the woods, but his tail is moving faster now. Wagging, like a happy dog. It’s hard not to find him cute. The closer you get, the more details emerge. He has freckles on his shoulders. A habit of leaning, resting all of his weight on one leg or the other. Old scars, mostly on his chest and upper body, a few bald patches in the fur on his arms in jagged stripes. When you’re close enough to touch him, you notice he has scars on his face, too, mostly hidden by his unkempt hair. “You’re from Eastridge,” he says. It doesn’t sound like a question, but you nod. “Corbin says you work at a…nightclub.” He says “nightclub” like it’s a city in a foreign country, some place he’s heard of but never seen. 

“Yeah, in the restaurant. I wait tables, nothing fancy.”

“Hm. Sounds unpleasant. Thankless.”

Thankless. Didn’t Corbin use the exact same word when you first met? “It can be sometimes,” you admit.

Sawyer looks at Corbin again. You get the feeling that they’re communicating somehow, sharing an understanding you’re not privy to. “Do you mind if I…greet you?” Sawyer asks. There’s a rasp to his voice that wasn’t there before, some emotion he’s trying to mask. “The traditional way.” 

“Uh, I guess that’s fine?” You’ve barely finished speaking when he steps forward. Two long strides and he has you, his thumb on your chin tilting your head to the side. He has to bend slightly to bury his face in the side of your neck. He takes long, audible sniffs and rubs his face into your skin, one cheek and then the other. Your hands are on his shoulders but you don’t push him away because this is familiar, you realize. Corbin does this to you all the time. It’s a little more intense with Sawyer because he wants you as close as possible, right up against him so it’s impossible to ignore the twitching heat of his cock nestled against your abdomen. 

Sawyer makes a low, rumbling sound, something between a growl and a purr. “Mm. Hello,” he drawls. He sounds happy, almost intoxicated. He nuzzles into you again with a relieved sigh. “Sorry, again. Hard to tell at a distance. You smell trustworthy.” 

It’s such a strange thing to say that you can’t help but laugh. “What does that smell like?” you ask, nervous. Trying to pull away doesn’t get you anywhere. Sawyer’s arms are a vice around you and it’s a struggle just to turn far enough to look back at Corbin for help.

“Like me, basically,” Corbin says. He almost sounds smug. 

“Like him,” Sawyer agrees. He cups your face in his large, clawed hands and “greets” you again, cheek to cheek, forehead to forehead. Your heart flutters when he noses along your jaw and under your chin, maneuvering you as he likes. He speaks in a low, steady murmur while he explains. “Some emotions come through, if they’re strong enough. Some intentions. What isn’t there also matters. No wolf blood. No gunpowder. No chemical accelerant. I can tell the difference, you know. Whether you were just filling up your car or if you’ve been…up to something. Especially out here.”

“Gunpowder?” you repeat, startled. “Accelerant? Wh—why—?”

“Hunters.” Corbin is closer than you remember him being. He stands right behind you, rubbing your shoulders. Trying to move away from Sawyer presses you against Corbin instead and he chuckles like you did something cute, nuzzling the back of your head. “The regular kind’s bad enough,” he mutters. “But the worst ones are infiltrators, acting like they want—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sawyer says sharply. You feel Corbin stiffen behind you. He bows his head meekly, kissing your shoulder. Sawyer takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He rubs his cheek against yours one more time and then he pulls back far enough to look you in the eye. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his tone softening. “It was nice to meet you. I should…” He trails off. You watch the muscles in his throat tense and bob when he swallows. His gaze lowers to your lips, your neck, your chest. His cock twitches again. You feel it stiffening, filling with blood. 

“How do they smell?” Corbin asks. His hands slide down to your hips, fingers kneading their way into the waistband of your pants. 

Sawyer grips the back of your neck with sudden firmness. He makes that rumbling sound again in response to your frightened stammering, hushing you softly before he inhales against your throat. “Afraid,” he murmurs. “But not just afraid.” He rocks his hips, grinding his hot, hardening cock against your clothes. There’s not enough room to struggle. Trying to wiggle out from between them just makes them both close in harder, chest to chest with Sawyer while Corbin drapes himself against your back. 

“You’re okay,” Corbin coos, his gentle tone completely at odds with how roughly he grabs your wrists and yanks them behind your back. “Shhhh, no, you’re okay. He’s not gonna hurt you.” 

Sawyer tilts your head back and makes you look at him. Fight or flight fails you. You freeze in terror. Those haunting black and gold eyes don’t belong to a man but an animal, hungry and about to pounce. “Please let me go,” you beg him, your voice quivering. “Please, please don’t—” His hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t have to. The threat is there, his callused palm resting on your windpipe. Why didn’t you scream earlier? Why aren’t you screaming now? You can hear your own thudding pulse in your temples. “It’s okay,” Corbin whispers. “It’s all okay. You’re safe, and you’re so special and so loved. Do you want him?” You stammer out a refusal, pleas, scared sounds. Corbin chuckles and noses against your ear. “You can be honest. It’s okay if you do. Wolves want us, and we want them. That’s just how it is.”

Sawyer’s trying to undress you. He tugs at your pants but he stops when you make a shrill sound of panic and start to twist and fight. He seizes the back of your neck again, harder this time, and you go completely still when his teeth scrape the tender flesh of your throat. 

Corbin takes over for him. He holds both of your wrists in one hand, the other gradually exposing your hips to the cool air. “You’re being so good. That’s it. Deep breaths. He’s not mad at you. He wants you so much.” He’s hard, you realize. Fully hard and throbbing in his pants. Corbin’s breath hitches and he moans softly into your ear, getting off on all of this. “He’s gonna use your thighs,” Corbin whispers, low and excited. He gets your pants down just far enough to expose your sex and the swell of your ass, keeping your legs trapped. “Just your thighs. Don’t be scared. He’s gonna let you feel his knot.”

Sawyer growls. He grabs you by the hips and you feel his cock poking your inner thigh. He drags you into his movements, long, slow thrusts against your sex that make you whine. He’s still growing, still getting harder every time he pushes against you. His fat, flared tip narrows to a point, a pearl of precum beading right on top. He changes his angle to smear it into your skin, rubbing his tip back and forth against your sex until you’re both a sticky mess. His hands slip behind you, between your bare backside and Corbin’s clothed erection, groping your ass and kneading the cheeks apart. He gets your thighs open just enough to slip his cock between them, nestled right under your sex. You feel every inch of him when he moves back and forth. His shaft is long and thick, bulging along the bottom. 

You can’t remember when you started holding onto him, when Corbin let your wrists go, but Sawyer growls, “Good,” in a gravelly rumble that sends heat rushing between your legs. The praise startles you, makes your heart race faster. “So good, giving in like this. Your instincts know what to do.” He moves faster, harder. You hear your bodies together, skin to skin, the slap of his balls against your thighs every time your hips meet as if he’s really fucking you, as if you’ve taken him all the way to the base. Your sex throbs. Sawyer pants and grunts and ruts like an animal, needy like he’s been waiting for this all his life. You’re lightheaded with a heady mix of fear, shame and desire. He mouths at your pulse, hungrily lapping at your neck like he can taste how much you want him. 

“God, you’re a natural,” Corbin whispers. He’s still touching you, still humping your ass while Sawyer fucks your thighs. When did he get his pants off? You can feel the metal of his open zipper warming on the back of your legs, his cock sandwiched between your cheeks. “That’s it. Don’t think so much, just feel. Move with him. Just like that, sweetheart. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

You feel delirious, dizzy and burning. You’re really doing it, grinding back on a stranger, a werewolf, in the middle of the woods. It feels good to let go. To not worry or think or even decide what happens next, letting him guide you, letting Corbin tell you how perfect you are for it. You arch your back, pushing yourself into Sawyer’s steady thrusts and Corbin’s frantic grinding, hearing them both groan appreciatively. There’s something swollen at the base of Sawyer’s cock, an engorged, sensitive bulge that he loves to shove between your thighs and grind back and forth, shaking his hips so you feel just how big it is, hot and pulsing under your sex. 

“Squeeze your thighs together,” Sawyer says. His voice is low and broken, more growl than human speech. You do what he asks without hesitation. It feels good to trap his knot right under your sex and feel it throb against you. It feels even better when he hisses “yes, fuck, yes!” and ruts mindlessly, short jackhammering thrusts into the tight warmth of your thighs. “Good, so good. Sweet bunny,” he moans. He buries his face in your neck again, alternating between deep breaths and sloppy kisses with his sharp teeth threatening to break the skin. He says more but you can’t understand him with it all slurred and muffled, sounding like another language entirely.

“Fuck!” Corbin wraps his arms around you when he cums, clutching your waist. He presses against you everywhere he can reach, his chest to your back, his cheek against your shoulder, humping like a rabbit in heat. He babbles and whimpers as his thrusts go from fast and hard to long and trembling, cum splattering your hips and ass and dampening your shirt. “You’re so good, so sweet, want you again, wanna see you on alpha’s knot…” He’s determined to take you over the edge with him, groping and grabbing at you even while he’s still trembling and catching his breath. He nuzzles into your neck on the opposite side from Sawyer, kissing and licking, nipping the lobe of your ear. “You want that? You wanna get stretched on a werewolf knot? There’s nothing else like it. You’d be so fucking full. And our beta’s so big, he’d get nice and deep. You’d be stuffed…” He rubs your stomach. “All the way up to here,” he whispers.

Sawyer swivels his hips again, grinds his knot against your sex one more time, and that’s all it takes. You’re grateful when he surges forward and crushes your lips together, swallowing the embarrassingly loud sounds you make as you buck your hips and ride out your orgasm. You cling to him like you’re drowning, arms around his neck and moaning helplessly into his mouth. His claws dig into your ass and you wonder what this would feel like if those hard, grinding thrusts were inside of you instead, if his length was dragging on your inner walls and his tip was hammering your sweet spot, his knot popping into place. The heat and the friction build to maddening overstimulation and you’re whimpering, begging wordlessly for mercy. His tongue strokes yours and you’re drooling, slack-jawed and fucked senseless from nothing but this frantic, animalistic humping and Corbin’s voice in your ear. 

“You’re so cute,” he purrs. “It’s like you already know how to submit. Not so scared now, are you? No, you’re perfect. You’d take a knot so well. Fuck, I knew I was right about you.”

You don’t know when Sawyer cums. You don’t know much of anything but heat and sensation, pleasant friction and painful chafing, Sawyer’s tongue and teeth and claws. Eventually, his knot shrinks. His cock slips out from between your legs and you’re lowered gently to the forest floor, held between two spent, sweaty bodies. You feel sticky and disgusting. Someone strokes your hair and someone squeezes your hip and you aren’t sure who’s doing what, just that they’re there with you.

“Really wish you’d warned me first.” You can feel the vibration of Sawyer’s voice against your skin, a deep rumble. 

“If I did that, you’d just run and hide,” Corbin says quietly. One of them kisses the top of your head. “You and Linden have that in common.”

“Watch yourself, hrefn.” The words are playful. They shift around you. You hear a kiss exchanged, a soft sigh. “Are we bringing them up now?” 

“No. Gonna do it properly, next time. This was just a test. I had to make sure.” 

“Next time?” Sawyer asks, concerned. “I’m not the human expert, but…” 

“Well, I am. So trust me.” Corbin reacts immediately when you start squirming, trying to sit up. He helps you, steadying your shoulders. “Hey,” he coos. “Welcome back. Feeling alright?” 

You don’t say anything. The reality of what you just did—of what just happened to you—creeps in slowly. He tricked you. Pressured you into this. Kept pushing even when you didn’t want to, even when you were terrified. You tug your pants back on, wincing at all the cum sticking to your skin. Sawyer tries to touch your shoulder and you flinch, leaning away from him. His fingers twitch like he thinks of grabbing you, forcing you to show him your neck again, but he never does. He lowers his hand slowly and you let out a shaky breath. You only let Corbin pull you to your feet because your legs are shaking too badly to stand up alone. 

“Let’s get you back to your car,” he says sweetly. Like he didn’t just lure you into the woods to trap you between him and a werewolf. “I’ll be back in a bit, just gonna walk them down the trail.” 

“Mhm.” You don’t look at Sawyer but you feel him staring. His gaze burns into your back when you stumble away, clinging reluctantly to Corbin. You look back just once to make sure he doesn’t follow you. The trail is empty. There’s only trees and bushes and fallen leaves. Somehow, you still feel like you’re being watched all the way to the parking lot. 

“It was so nice to see you—”

You slam the door in Corbin’s face. He just smiles, stepping back as you hurriedly shove your keys in the ignition. You need to get out of here. Need a shower, need the safety of your home, need to throw a few things in a bag and find somewhere else to stay for a while. Corbin is still standing there at the start of the trail when you start driving. He waves at your rearview mirror and then he walks away. Not into the parking lot, but back up the trail. Into the woods and up the mountain. When he’s gone, all that’s left is the trail kiosk standing sentinel, casting its shadow across the trail.

WOLVES IN THESE WOODS, it says.

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,375

Your fingers drum along the steering wheel as you navigate the winding backroads, nothing but bare trees and a littering of snow to keep your mind occupied as you hum along to the radio station. 

You had exited the highway almost an hour ago, and the longer you drove, the less cars you passed and the more trees appeared. 

A part of you was worried you were making a mistake; what if this town ended up being too small? Or what if your rental was a total sham and you got scammed? You could always dispute the charge with the bank, but the embarrassment of being conned and having to admit that to your family would be the worst part. An “I told you so” would definitely be waiting for you from your mother. 

But your GPS showed another thirty-five minutes before your arrival, so you figured you might as well check it, hoping to be pleasantly surprised. 

This was definitely out of your comfort zone, but you deserved this. A month of no work or responsibilities. Just taking each day as it came and answering to no one but yourself.

This is going to be good for me. You keep reminding yourself.  

About twenty minutes later, a few buildings appear in between the trees; houses and some small, specialty shops like a hardware store and a car repair shop. As you drive further in, brick buildings, all connected to each other line your path. You slow down as you begin taking in the shops and restaurants, noticing an antique store and Irish pub first, as well as some art galleries and thrift stores. The town is certainly picturesque, with a charmingly old downtown, the stone sidewalks dotted with trees that are surely full and vibrant in the warmer months, but their bare branches still clinging to string lights from the holidays. 

You smile, this was exactly what you were hoping for. Maybe this was going to work out after all. 

True to the posting, your GPS announces your arrival about ten minutes later. The driveway is long and unpaved, and your eyes widen as the log cabin that sits proudly to your left comes into view behind the trees. Large, dark logs, perfectly sat on top of one another, leading up to a green, gable roof and thick stone chimney. A large porch adorns the front facade, and you see two empty rocking chairs swaying in the winter wind. 

Continue past the main house for another 15 seconds or so, and the guest house is located towards the back of the property. Lisa had messaged you instructions after your booking was confirmed. 

As you keep driving, more trees appear, the back of the property not as cleared out as the front. But through the lifeless trees you spot your home for the next month, exactly how it appeared in the posting; gray, wooden siding with two porches; one off the front and another off the bedroom. The same gabled roof graces this home, though shaded red. A small, tin chimney sits perfectly atop, completing the picture you saw online. 

Turns out, you didn’t get scammed at all. Maybe it was your Aunt Rose, or a guardian angel, but someone was clearly looking out for you and made sure you were getting exactly what you deserved. 

You park on the side of the house, per Lisa’s instructions, and gather up all your bags, not wanting to make more than one trip. You struggle with your suitcase against the gravel, but thankfully it doesn’t take you long before you arrive at the front, all-glass door, allowing you a sneak peek before you even step foot inside. 

Key is under the flower pot to the left of the door. And you smile when you find it exactly where it’s meant to be. 

You unlock the door and push it open, and despite the purse and backpack you're carrying, your shoulders immediately slump and you take in an easy, deep breath of relief. The house is immaculate; bright, pine plank floors, plaid, comfortable looking couches facing the tv and wood-burning stove. The living room continues into the kitchen, the whole floor plan wide and open. The cabinets match the floors, and the countertops are a forest green granite. The appliances are a bit outdated; the older, white stove and microwave combo that looks very similar to the one you had in college, but that doesn’t bother you. You can see straight back to the only bedroom, the open door and revealing a sliver of the bed for your next month. The house is adorned with floor to ceiling windows, making the atmosphere feel light, even in the dark, winter twilight.  

You drag your stuff back to the bedroom, heaving your extra large suitcase up the four steps that lead to the space.

The bedroom is simple; a queen bed with cream comforter, curtains that match the bedding, and two pine nightstands, each with a glass-bottomed lamp. 

You drop your suitcase onto the floor and carefully place your purse and backpack on the small ottoman in the corner of the room. 

As you turn in the space, you spy the hot tub on the back patio, string lights strung above, and you smile. 

After three and half hours in the car, you knew exactly how you were going to start your trip.

The clock on the radio dash illuminates 6:27 as Dean throws his car in park and cuts the engine, exhaustion radiating through his shoulders and down his back as he steps out, the gravel crunching beneath his work boots. He’s looking forward to reheating leftovers, pouring himself a beer, and hitting his bed early tonight. 

The shop had been overrun today, and with Benny out sick and Adam on vacation, Dean found himself without a single break since he started at 7:30 this morning. He usually tried to be home around 5, but by the time he finished the last car, cleaned up and closed up shop, it was well past 6. 

As he takes a few steps across the unpaved driveway towards the front steps of his house, he perks up, his ears catching a sound. He stops, narrowing his eyes as he realizes it’s music. He can’t quite make out the lyrics or the beat, but it’s definitely music. And as he focuses closer, he realizes it’s coming from the guest house. The empty guest house. 

With careful steps, Dean hurries to the garage, unlocking the side door instead of using his automatic opener which would make enough noise to alert whoever wasn’t supposed to be here. Dean makes quick work of opening the locker along the wall and typing in the code to his safe, revealing his pistol, the marble-handled one his father got him when he turned eighteen. He checks to make sure the magazine is loaded and clicks off the safety, not wanting to be caught off guard by whoever was where no one was supposed to be. 

With his weapon ready, Dean takes quiet steps towards the guest house, expertly avoiding the creaky first step as he walks up to the porch and peers in through the open windows. He doesn’t see any movement, but his brow furrows at the shoes resting to the side of the door. 

He reaches for the handle, and it twists open, the lock undone, but not broken, and steps inside. His eyes scan the front room, looking for anyone or anything out of place besides the shoes, and seeing everything in order, starts towards sliding back doors that lead to the patio, where the sound of the music grows louder. As he reaches the door, he peers out, his shoulders dropping as he notices the string lights illuminated and the hot tub cover pushed off, a head lounging against one of the built-in pillows.

God damn kids pool hopping again. He sighs and clicks the safety to his gun back on. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with after the day he had. 

This wasn’t the first time he’s found someone using his hot tub when they thought he was at work, but he figured he had put a stop to it after the McDowell twins and their girlfriends had snuck in and he called the cops on them for trespassing. Granted, he didn’t press charges, Dean wasn’t out to ruin the kids' lives, but the embarrassment of getting picked up naked and brought to the police station was enough to scare them and anyone else from trying it again. 

Or so he thought. 

The tension in his shoulders builds again as he pushes the door open, making his presence known with heavy steps before he shouts, “I thought you kids would know by now to stop–”

His words drop as a woman jumps up from the hot tub with a screech, her eyes wide as she takes quick steps away from him, or as far away as she can get in the hot tub. 

She’s definitely not a kid. From the looks of it, she’s probably in her late twenties, or maybe someone who looks good for her thirties. Her short and wet Y/C/H drips onto her shoulders, and Dean unintentionally follows the path of a water droplet as it races down her chest, through her bikini-coveraged cleavage and down to her navel, before getting soaked into her bottoms.

Yeah, definitely not a kid. 

“I’m calling the cops!” She shouts, her phone in hand, music blaring from the speaker as her fingers are ready to press the three numbers as she stares at him with fear in her Y/C/E eyes.

“Take it easy,” Dean holds his hands up, and the woman looks like she’s going to have a heart attack as she notices the gun in his right hand. Realizing his mistake, he quickly tucks it away into his waistband and holds his empty hands out to her, wanting her to know he’s not a threat.

“First off,” Dean holds up a finger at her. “If anyone should be calling the cops, it’s me.” He points back to himself. “Secondly, what are you doing in my house?” 

“Your house?” Her voice drips with confusion as her brow furrows.

“Yes my house.” He echoes, emphasizing his ownership. She continues to frown.  

“Well if it’s your house, you would know I’m renting your guest house for the next four weeks.” She crosses her arms defiantly, confusion and fear gone as she challenges him. 

“What are you talking about?” Now it’s Dean’s turn to be confused. He’s never rented the guest house out, nor would he ever. Especially not for a fucking month. 

Dean had no problem chatting with people at the shop or meeting friends for drinks downtown, but here at home, this was his private space, where he came to get away from it all. He rarely had anyone over as he just didn’t want to bother with people in his space. 

“I rented this house from you and your wife on AirBnB.” She states simply, having no idea the weight behind her words as realization crosses Dean.

“That bitch.” He mutters under his breath and runs a hand down his face. 

“Excuse me?” The woman seems to have heard him and he looks back to her. 

“No, not you.” He quickly clarifies with a sigh. “My soon-to-be ex wife. I’m gonna take a guess she’s behind this.” Her brows fold again. 

“Is her name Lisa Brandon?” She asks, and with a tight lipped, ghost of a smile, Dean nods, noting the use of her maiden name. He hadn’t heard her called that in years. 

“How’d you know that?”

“She’s listed as the homeowner. She sent me the instructions for how to get into the house.”

Dean lets his head fall back and groans. His day was getting worse and worse. 

Now he had to call his bitch of an ex and find out why there’s a woman planning to stay in his guest house for the next month. 

“Got it,” Dean straightens himself out though his shoulder slumps. Leave it to Lisa to bring some poor woman into the middle of their mess. 

“Seems we have a miscommunication. Sorry to ‘ave scared ya.” He holds his hand up in a half wave and forces a smile as he begins to turn back to step off the patio. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Dean hurries down the small path around the side of the house, not wanting to cut back through the house now that he knew someone was staying there, even if it was his space.  

He vehemently shakes his head as he makes his way to the main house, his fists tight by his side as he prepares for his upcoming battle. 

This was actually the last thing he wanted to do after the day he had. 

Dean and Lisa have been separated for almost two years now, both unhappy for a long time before Lisa declared one day she had enough and had met someone else. 

As he stomps into the house, he kicks his boots off messily at the door and removes the pistol from his waistband and drops it next to the keybowl. Initially he was thinking a beer, but now, he wandered over to the bar and poured himself a finger of whiskey, quickly throwing it back and feeling the warmth spread as it travels down to his stomach. 

He runs a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath and pulling out his phone.

Her. Is what her contact is now. It wasn’t always. But that ship had long sailed. 

He closes his eyes and licks his lips as the line rings, four times, before she answers.  

“What do you want, Dean?” Her exasperated voice sighs through the other end of the line. He’s bothering her, but he’s only calling because she’s started it. 

“You’re renting out my guest house?” He barks. He knows her well enough to know she’s smirking. 

“Our guest house.” She corrects him and his hand balls into a fist. “Figured I’d make use of that house. No one’s used it in years.” He lets out a deep breath through his nose. 

Except you and your boyfriend. He wants to throw in, but he won’t get anywhere if he starts throwing low blows, even if they are well deserved. 

“You’ve got my attention, Lisa, now what do you want?” Dean cuts to the chase. He wants to keep this call as quick as possible.

“I want the property.” Dean scoffs. This was the one reason the divorce hadn’t been finalized yet. Both Dean and Lisa wanted to keep the house they bought together. She wanted it for a second income, and he wanted to keep it just to spite her because she wanted it. Was he proud of it? No. But after everything that happened, he wanted to keep her from getting the only thing she wanted in the divorce. Plus, she couldn’t marry her boy toy until their divorce was finalized, so Dean saw no reason to give in anytime soon. 

“Nice try. You know that’s off the table, and I’ll have my lawyer look into this little stunt of yours.” Dean figures he can either hit her with a cease and desist since she was the one who left and moved away or negotiate getting half of the income she’s going to earn off the rentals. Not that he wants anyone in his space, but if he figures he can take half the cut, Lisa may just stop bothering.  

“In case you’ve forgotten Dean, we’re still married.” No one needed to remind him that. “And my name is still on the property agreement. So that house is just as much mine as it is yours, and I have every right to rent it out. But feel free to get the lawyers involved. All you're doing is wasting my time and yours, not to mention your money.” Dean shakes his head and tightens his jaw. 

The goddamn lawyers. As much as he was enjoying prolonging the inevitable, it turned out, lawyers were pretty damn expensive to keep on retainer. He made good money at the shop, but it wasn’t two-years-worth of lawyer money, and Dean knew that he was close to ruining his finances just to satisfy his pettiness. But Dean was stubborn, and wasn’t ready to give in just yet. 

“Get her out or I will, Lis.” And with that, Dean ends the call. He picks up the bottle of whiskey, this time forgoing the glass as he takes a big swig. There was no way he was going to bed early tonight now.

Once your heart had finally settled and you were sure you weren’t going to pass out from the fear of the strikingly tall and broad-shouldered man who apparently was the co-owner of the home sneaking up on you as you relaxed in what was his hot tub, you whipped out your laptop and settled down on one of the bar stools that sat under the extended kitchen counter. You had opened the bottle of red wine you had brought up with you, not expecting to open it so soon, but after your hellish meet-and-greet with the actual owner, you needed it. 

You cross your legs underneath you as you pull up your AirBNB inbox, finding Lisa’s name and starting a message as you take a big sip of wine that you had poured into a coffee mug, the cabin not equipped with any barware. 

You sigh through your nose and purse your lips. The other shoe had to drop at some point. Between the amazing rental price, picturequest town, and beautiful guest house, everything had seemed too good to be true. Turns out, it was. 

Hi Lisa, it seems there is a miscommunication. I met your husband this evening and it sounds like he was unaware I’m renting the space. I’m not looking to get in the middle of anything so would you please be able to refund me and I’ll stay elsewhere? Your message flies off with a whoosh and you take another sip. 

Your life had been enough of a mess the last few months, you had no interest in getting involved in someone else’s drama. So you would have Lisa refund you for the stay, try to find a new spot to stay, and hopefully be on your way in the morning, even if it meant spending more than you initially were planning. 

You’re about to stand up and head to the tv but your inbox pings with a response from Lisa. 

Don’t worry about him. You rented the guest house and it’s yours for the four weeks. And per the booking site, I do not need to issue you a refund for any reason unless the house is uninhabitable, which it isn’t. So if you are going to leave, that’s up to you, but I will not be refunding your stay. But if you will be canceling, let me know.

You stare at the text flabbergasted. What a bitch. You don’t even know her and you were getting a glimpse into why this marriage didn’t work out. 

You really didn’t want to be a part of her mind games, you had had enough of that in your own life. Your vacation had barely started and it was already on the verge of being ruined. 

You hop onto the booking site and start looking for other options, with a check in starting tomorrow. As you scroll through, the few options available are wildly expensive, and seem to be a room share versus a private rental. And you couldn’t return to your apartment; you had told your landlord about your trip and agreed to let him sublease the space while you were gone, which initially you agreed to since it would cover your rent for the month, but now was just another series of bad decisions since you quit your job. 

Which really just left you with one option; suck it up, keep your head down, and try to make the most of your trip. 

Well this sucks.

Keep Reading

NEXT TIME:

“Look,” You snap and point a finger at him. “I’m not here to be the pawn in your divorce game. I came here to relax. Problem is, every other place I’ve looked at in the area is either sold out or way more expensive than here, and I can’t afford it. You wife-”

“Ex wife-” He interjects curtly. 

“Whatever,” you snarl at his interruption. “Rented this place for a good deal, and considering I don’t have a job right now, I can’t really afford to go somewhere else.” 

“If you don’t have a job, what the hell are you doing here then?” He challenges, crossing his arms and matching your stance.  

“That’s none of your business.” He tsks his tongue and throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. 

“Look,” You lower your voice, hoping a calmer tone will help ease the situation. “Unless you need this house for anything, I promise I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t bother you, and you’ll barely know I’m here. But I already paid Lisa and I don’t have any other options, so you’re stuck with me.”

The man takes a deep breath through his nose and purses his lips.  

“Fine.” He snaps. “Enjoy your freakin’ vacation.” He huffs before he storms away from the porch and back to the main house. You shake your head at his antics.

Like a toddler having a temper tantrum. 

Between Lisa’s bitchy attitude and his man-child behavior, it’s a wonder how those two ever actually liked each other enough to get married.

Tag List

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[oriistar]

Chapter One - Welcome to Camp Superstar!

Sun and Moon x GN! Reader

Summary: A substitute teacher looking for a summer job finds themselves applying for the position of camp councelor at an old rundown summer camp.

Warnings: None!

Masterlist | Next

Wind whipped your face as you drove down the spruce tree lined highway that your trusty GPS was instructing you to take. With the windows down, you could take in the glorious scent of damp dirt and fresh leaves and it only had you brimming with excitement for your destination. This job had been lined up for almost two whole months now and finally you were on your way. You tapped the steering wheel of your beat up old 2005 Honda Civic as you bobbed your head along to the opening beat of Violet by Bad Suns, a staple on your summer vibes playlist. With the sky a clear expanse of blue above you and the hazy outline of the Colorado mountains in the distance, you were glad that it was finally the end of May and summer was starting. 

You were a substitute teacher, still going through your last years of college, and while working at a middle school one day you had stumbled across a flier advertising open positions for counselors at a summer camp in the Rockies. You needed some form of income until school started back up again anyway so you decided to apply for the position and were ecstatic when you saw the acceptance email in your inbox a week or so after. Sure it'd be one hell of a drive and you were required to live on the grounds for the three months the camp was open but you were honestly looking forward to the escape, especially when you were in a place as gorgeous as this. 

The camp wasn't so excluded anyway. When you had looked up the location you took note of a small town about a thirty minute drive from the camp grounds which wouldn't be a huge trek if you really needed a break from the camp. While looking up the location though, you had found out that the camp was shut down some time in the late 90s and this would actually be its first summer back in operation. You were excited that you got to be part of it's reopening, the few old photos you had seen on Google looked adorable and for the excruciatingly long two months you waited for the time to depart on your mini road trip to the area, you had often daydreamed about giving your lucky little campers the greatest summer of their lives.

Sure you didn't have any prior experience as a camp counselor but you did have plenty of experience with kids thanks to your job and you were aiming to become a full fledged teacher after you finished college anyway so a little extra experience with kids of all ages would be perfect practice for your future. All things considered, it probably was your time spent as a substitute teacher that had secured you the job and for that you were grateful. 

You hummed along to your music as you took your exit off the highway and closely followed your GPS’s directions as you drove down some unkempt roads. Eventually you found yourself on a rather rough dirt road and a large, old looking wooden sign hanging from two rustic pillars that suspended it above the road let you know that you were in fact in the right place. The sign’s raised letters were painted with a faded forest green, spelling out ‘Camp Superstar’ proudly. You gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as your car bumped along the road and you could hear your luggage rustling in the back with every rock your tires jostled over. Eventually the shaded road opened up into a clearing that functioned as a parking lot and you were shocked to find that there were only two other cars parked in the lot, a yellow 2012 Jeep Wrangler and a black 2004 Volkswagen Jetta. 

According to the schedule you were given, the camp was supposed to be officially opened in two days and you assumed that more of your fellow counselors would have already been here by now but you assumed more of them would show up by tomorrow. There wasn't anything wrong with being a day ahead of the crowd after all! You parked your little Honda Civic next to the large Jeep and quickly put the vehicle in park before taking the key out of the engine so you could get out and finally stretch your legs. You weren't exaggerating about the long drive, the city you lived in was over 3 hours away and you had made sure you had plenty of water and snacks for the drive so you wouldn't have to stop along the way. Sure your knees were a little sore but it was worth it. 

You took another deep breath to really savor the fresh air. As you turned around, you examined the yellow Jeep you had parked next to and smiled a bit to yourself when you realized that it was decorated with little star decals, how cute. Deciding to leave most of your things in the car for now, you grabbed the papers you were instructed to bring with you and your phone before you pushed your car door shut and started up the pathway connected to the parking lot. Your eyes widened a bit as you stepped out from the cover of the trees and were met with another, much larger, grassy clearing that made up the main area of the camp. 

A large wooden cabin was the first thing to greet you and you tilted your head curiously as you realized that it was rather.. worn down. Someone had clearly made the effort to patch up most of the damage but its age was still prevalent and you wondered if this was one of the original buildings from the camp’s previous operation time in the 90s. The glass of the windows were sporting a filmy yellow hue and plaster was smeared between the aged logs that made up the walls. The large sign above the door marked it as the ‘Canteen’ and there was a smaller, newer looking cabin beside it marked as the ‘Office’. You admired the structure for a few moments before you clutched the folder in your hands a little tighter and started towards the office building. 

The office building had an almost identical look to the canteen but the wooden planks and logs that made up the walls were very noticeably much newer. You assumed that this building must have been built no more than a few months ago. You stood awkwardly in front of the door for a moment, trying to decide if you should just walk in or knock first and wait for a response. You pulled an uncomfortable look and decided on a midpoint between the two as you rapped on the door lightly and then pulled it open. You were pleasantly surprised to find that the building was air conditioned. Inside was a counter that sectioned off most of the building from the front that was decorated with a potted fern in one corner and a few uncomfortable looking chairs pushed against one wall. Behind the counter you could see a very outdated looking computer and various filing cabinets.

The room had a sort of musty smell to it. Like old paper and moth-eaten fabric but it wasn't so bad. You were more concerned with the fact that there didn't seem to be anyone inside. “Uhh, hello?” You called out uncertainty as you set your small stack of important papers on the counter. You leaned over it a little bit as you heard shuffling from deeper inside the building, hardly audible over the humming of the window AC unit that was keeping the small building cool. A moment later, a woman that looked to be in her late twenties popped her head from around the corner and seemed confused to see you at first. Recognition crossed her features for a moment before she smiled awkwardly and quickly made her way up to the counter. 

“Hey! You must be the new counselor.” She greeted you, placing her hands on the counter. She was a bit taller than you and had long blonde hair that was pulled up into a ponytail, a few strands loose around her hairline that gave her a borderline frazzled appearance. “I'm Vanessa, the general manager or whatever you wanna call it. Basically I'm in charge while the big corporate guys aren't around.” She introduced herself with a light laugh as she pulled the papers you had set on the counter closer to her. You gave her your name and she nodded in confirmation as she took the papers from the counter and moved over to the old computer. “I'm glad you got here a bit early, it'll give you plenty of time to get familiar with the grounds before the kid's get here.” She said as she booted up the computer and began typing into the system. 

“Well I do try to be punctual.” You said with a lopsided smile as you watched her type away at the computer. You weren't sure what to say but thankfully Vanessa didn't leave much room for small talk as she started moving around the office space while explaining some basic stuff to you. “Okay so, I guess I should start out with how we do things here..” She said with a hum as she started gathering a few papers. “Basically, we split the kids up into three groups that we call ‘teams’. Each team has their own cabin area and a team leader, which is you, their designated counselor.” She explained as she set the new papers in front of you. A map of the campgrounds and what seemed to be a schedule of sorts. “There's team Solar, team Lunar, and team Stellar. You'll be in charge of team Stellar and your other two counselors will be the heads of team Solar and Lunar.” She went on and you furrowed your brow a bit at her explanation. Only three counselors on site plus her? That seemed like way too little given the size of the camp.

“Don't worry about them though, you'll meet Sun and Moon soon.” Her words only confused you more. What strange names but you guess you couldn't really judge. Vanessa went on to explain some more things about the camp and soon she approached the counter with a badge in her hands. She reached over to a charging port that held a few handheld radios and snatched one up that was fully charged before she set it and the badge down, pushing them over to you. “Radio so you can contact me or the other counselors whenever you need to. You should have a connection anywhere on the grounds as long as you don't wander too far. Just stay within the barriers, lotta dangerous animals out there y’know?” She said as she pointed to the map she had given you earlier. Vanessa made sure you really got the point about the perimeter before she moved on to point out the more important buildings on the map like the team cabins, showers, staff quarters, ect. It was a lot of information to retain but she assured you that you'd have plenty of time to get things down before the kids arrived.

“Oh and of course you’ll have access to the office here. Your badge will let you into any rooms that have chip readers locking the doors. There isn't much in here but you’ll be able to get a hold of me on the phone when I'm not around.” Vanessa said with a bored sigh as she gestured to the space behind her. Her words confused you again though. “When you’re not around? I’d be able to call you on the radio though, wouldn't I?” You asked curiously as you picked up said device and fumbled with it for a moment, clipping it to your belt similarly to how Vanessa had hers. “Oh I won't always be on the grounds.” She said it so casually, as if it was common sense but her statement had you reeling. If she wasn't going to be here all the time then that meant there was really only you and the other counselors taking care of possibly hundreds of kids all summer? Three adults was nowhere near enough. “Wait, what?” You asked, your tone dripping with disbelief.

Vanessa just shrugged. “I’ll be in town, I've got stuff going on over there, but I'll visit about once a week for check-ins.” She attempted to explain a little more but it didn't help much, you were still shocked. “Don’t look so scared.” Vanessa huffed, laughing a little under her breath at your expression which you could assume was one of horror. “Sun and Moon are more than capable and we aren't expecting more than maybe fifty or sixty kids anyway. Honestly those two could run the whole camp on their own but we have labor laws to adhere to.” She laughed again. She was really hyping this ‘Sun and Moon’ up and it did ease your worries a little with how confident she seemed but you still had your reservations. What did she mean by labor laws anyway? Was there some sort of minimum employee quota they had to meet or something? You still weren't sure how a camp like this was supposed to run. 

“Uhh.. your confidence is.. Something.” You muttered as you reached for the badge that she had slid across the counter earlier. “Who are Sun and Moon anyway?” You decided to ask about it since she had been good about answering your questions so far. Vanessa tapped a finger against the wooden counter and hummed in thought before she answered. “They’re.. Interesting. Personally I think Sun is the easier of the two to get along with, Moon can be really standoffish sometimes but they’re sort of a package deal.” She said with a huff, as if just thinking about this Moon guy was making her annoyed. She looked like she was going to continue but stopped when you both heard what sounded like the rev of an engine outside. Vanessa sighed as she looped around, pushing open the door that separated the counter from the waiting area of the office. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall arrive..” She said as she folded her arms across her chest and stood beside you, glaring at the door. You were confused once again, did anything in this place make any sense? You didn't get the chance to ask though as the door to the office was pushed open and nothing could have prepared you for what, or rather who, you were now facing.

[pergola-company-in-dubai]

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Discover the benefits of wooden shades from 800Pergola to protect your car from Dubai’s harsh weather. Stylish, durable, & eco-friendly solutions for ultimate vehicle care.

[razypie]

Colors of Different Hue (You) || Gun Park x Reader

cw: a bit graphic in one of the scenes, wc: ~5.2k summary: gun is a lovesick idiot but doesn't want to admit it third-person pov, fem nurse!reader, ooc gun (my delulu version actually), and reaally fast-paced a/n: heavily-inspired by 'Hotarubi no Mori e' story-telling, so there are lotsa flashbacks hehe

"Oooh, look who’s got a date today!" Goo giggled as he peeked back from the wooden porch facing his partner's backyard.

Gun almost had uncharacteristically gotten on his knees in front of the chairman to let him off on this specific day, and now this weapon freak's presence was about to wreck the day before it started.

"Not now, Goo. Why the hell are you even here?" Gun fixed his tie in front of his wide half-length mirror, scooped a generous amount of gel, and brushed his hair back neatly.

"Oh, come on, I was getting bored. Samuel wasn't picking up because of his Workers' Affiliate BS, and Logan has exams this week. For real? That guy should drop out already, it's no use."

"So you decided to stroll your way here to annoy me instead?"

"You got that right!" The blonde eyesore jumped up and hopped his way on square concrete blocks to one of the bamboo trees lined up along the fence.

"Whatever. You better leave the house before I do, or I'll stick that bamboo shoot you just pulled up your ass." Gun warned his house's intruder, who reached out to one of the young bamboo plants.

"Not everything is a katana, you anime samurai wannabe." He picked up his sunglasses and black coat and made his way to his Porsche parked in the space opposite the bamboo trees.

"Says the guy who bought a Japanese mansion in the middle of nowhere." Goo huffed a childish pout. "Jeez, I was gonna use these for cooking snacks, but you just had to give me a disgusting picture."

He gave the man in the car a side glance and sighed. "I was doing you a favor here, man."

-

The morning sun radiated a warm glow on the dark sheen of Gun's sunglasses as he swiftly drove through the outskirts of Seoul. The wide stretches of green pastures emerging from both sides of the road whistled a soft tune into his ears.

Unlike most people who want to live in extravagance with cameras shoved in their faces every single moment, there were times when Gun preferred to settle in a remote area, far from the reeks of city lights, where he could be alone with himself, his thoughts, and his hard-earned (i.e. bloodstained) money.

But of course, the nature of his work required Gun to be by his employer's side around the clock else his grand funeral wouldn't be much later.

So he made the best of these hand-picked moments when he could persuade his boss to grant him off-days.

-

Gun has the whole map of Seoul memorized from his monthly crusades and made that mental map involuntarily take the wheel and let his mind wander off for a while.

-

He pulled his car to a stop in front of a flower shop. As he got out, he noticed a gray umbrella hanging on a covered shed's railing.

'That bastard still owes me for that… and a shit-ton of money for losing in every bet.' But then again, he wouldn't have met Y/N if Goo didn't break his umbrella.

'Hah. No way I’m telling him.'

-

It was a stormy night with distant rumbles of thunder.

His eyes landed on a small figure of a lady in front of him and a bit to his right; the two were taking refuge under a mono-sloped roof of a bus stop.

Even with thick layers of bright-colored clothing enveloping her figure, Gun noticed her shivering with her arms crossed to her chest gripping her shoulders.

The man had nothing to do anyways beside impatiently waiting until the rain wanes, and everything else around him was too dull and gray to entertain him. So, his eyes remained on the peculiar lady, the only other color he could see; a color that penetrated even the darkest tints of his shades.

He examined her.

'The hell is up with this woman? It's not even that cold.'

-

Gun turned up an amused grin at the memory as he stopped over at a flower shop. He grabbed his coat and caught a whiff of lavender-scented detergent he recognized as Y/N's.

-

'Oh. It's her again.' Gun recognized the woman from the other day who had now crouched down to check his injuries. He tried telling her off but to no avail.

"I knew you were a gangster five meters away, dumbhead, but that doesn't mean these 'scratches' (as you called them) will heal themselves… I'm only here to do my job."

'Okay, lady. Be my pest.'

He yielded and rested his back against the brick wall at the end of an alleyway where this meddlesome woman found him.

A light trail of lavender caught his nose; 'That's odd…” his eyes lingered on the lady. “for someone with a sharp tongue and flashy style.'

Now that she's much closer with her hair tied up in a bun, Gun could examine her more closely. Unlike yesterday, she's in full white get-up now: a clean set of white scrubs matched with white shoes.

'A nurse, huh. Probably an intern because I'm looking at a fucking dwarf.'

…

"Shoot."

Apparently, patching Gun's 'scratches' made her miss the last bus.

"That's what you get for doing your job."

"Oh, shut up."

Droplets of pouring rain halted the bickering that was about the start.

…

Gun had to admit though, she did a stellar job mending his wounds.

Ego not permitting him to tell her his thanks, he nonchalantly dropped his thick coat over her head instead while noticing blotches of rain wet her uniform.

Recalling her trembling the other day, the self-proclaimed gentleman also offered to drive her home.

-

Gun's eyes lingered down his coat and figured he hadn't picked it from his wide selection of corporate attires to wear since Y/N returned it; he might've intentionally kept it there to let her fragrance rub off on his other clothes… or not, only he and God knew.

A bell chime signaled his entry to the shop, and a lady from the opposite end greeted him with a welcoming smile.

-

After paying for a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, Gun bowed and turned his heel to the wooden-framed glass door.

The cashier gave him a concerned look but settled with a short smile.

-

Gun decided to walk the rest of the way, paced long strides along the stone-paved sidewalk into the busier streets of Seoul.

Turning his head towards ordinary stalls he used to turn a blind eye to as flashes of Y/N’s twinkling eyes with her hand around the doorknob and an arm linked to his tattooed one surfaced.

A grin crept up to his cheeks.

Since their first encounter, Gun found himself driving past the hospital Y/N works at. Later on, it became a routine. Random nights when he stops by and waits for her at the bus stop in front to chat about each other's day or to give her a ride home, especially when it's raining. 

But of course, he took account of his schedule. He's a busy man, and his spare time, scarce; all of which however, have been filled in by Y/N the more they hung out:

Mondays to Thursdays, he would take the longer route to HNH Building, to have a cup of morning coffee (or so he says) at a restaurant near the hospital. Y/N would walk in, couple of squints later, then wave at him. 

"What a coincidence!"  she exclaims. "Yeah." he replies dryly. 

Fridays to Saturdays, Y/N's off-duty schedule. She would go to the public library to study for her weekly moving exams. It just so happened that Gun also reviewed for GED exams there (the real coincidence).

Surprisingly, Gun is good at memorization, so is Y/N at general trivia. It was effective mutualism.

Sundays were the wildcard. One is busy. Or both are busy. If neither, Gun would accompany Y/N to a random place she keeps going on and on about for the entire week or they would chill in his house (whether he wants it or not).

It's an actual miracle that Goo didn't catch them hanging out, really. Although, he had suspicions… getting a sweet trace of lavender in his partner's house when he barges in without notice (you don't just put "sweet" and "Gun" together). Or when Gun's mood swings become less and less frequent despite the blonde's incessant annoyance sprees.

Goo was itching to bully him for it, but he needed concrete evidence—the ones that would put the jackpot horrified look on the demon's stoic face.

Gun needs to be more cautious around his pest of a partner.

It won't be too long until Goo sees through his lies of checking into brothels on Sundays.

Ah, about that.

It's been ages since Gun set foot into one.

…

Huh.

Guess he found Y/N a more entertaining distraction from work than any bent back he broke.

They just… instantly clicked after their first encounter–like a string of Fate wrapped each of them in a disgustingly cute bow as a present for each other.

They were inseparable. One was the other's breathing space: from Y/N 's tiring hospital duties and from Gun's major crew business.

They were each other's pieces in the puzzle they didn't know were missing.

Friends... they would call each other. But were they really? Might've been even more if they knew what the force that attracted them to each other actually was.

(Ugh. Fate was having none of this folly.)

-

Gun stifled a laugh. A lot has happened in the short time he met her, yet there's still a lot to be unpacked for this lady.

-

"W-wait!" Y/N huffed, holding up a hand between her and Gun. "Not the one to use gender cards here but… go easy on me here, man. Clearly, you have the men's advantage in stamina." Y/N pouted at Gun with what seemed like an attempt to do a puppy face, but she only looked like a constipated shih tzu to him.

He raised an eyebrow but maintained his stance.

"Oh, cut the bullshit, woman. You run around the hospital 24/7. Sparring should just be a piece of cake to you."

"Still–"

"You think those harassing fuckers were the same brats you fought in middle school and go easy on you because you're a girl?"

His eyes scanned her from head to toe. He sneered.

"I bet bruises aren't the only thing they'll leave you had you let your guard down."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway, I don't know why you're suddenly so adamant, teaching me how to fight." Gun didn't answer, earning a glare from Y/N.

"Besides, I only wrestled those wimps back then to keep them from bullying other kids. That doesn't mean I'd actively engage in one now," She put her hands up in the air in surrender and crossed her legs to sit down, to which Gun loosened up.

"...unlike SOME people."

"You did last time at the park." He jeered.

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. Those two creeps kept pestering me, asking for my number. I also texted you, but you left me on read. Did it look like I had a choice?" She eyed him daggers.

"Could've at least used your strength for something genuinely helpful, you sadist."

"Which I did, your punches were getting slow, and you couldn't defend yourself for two whole minutes when I got there, so I finished the job for you. Good work lasting for even a minute."

He was lying, of course.

As soon as he read her message, he sped to the location she sent. When he arrived, the fight had just broken out with Y/N caving in one of the creeps' faces with her clenched fist. He saw her give the other one a solid kick on the ribs and counter back with a knee to the face.

He could tell she had fighting experience, despite sluggish, with those limbs; and he just watched her fend for herself until she wore out…

He cringed.

Yeah… he is a sadist.

"You're right. Let me make it up to you by making you tea then." She used that as an excuse to end their training for the day as she stood up and went to Gun's kitchen.

The latter watched her back disappear in the hallway.

With how their conversation went, it seems Y/N isn't interested in becoming his successor at all. She already rejected him before he could even offer it.

"I guess beating people up for money isn't her 'cup of tea.' It's way easier than having a hospital suck your life out."

…

But not long after, when they were on their way to a cake shop Y/N wanted to check out, some weak-ass thief was also on the loose and unfortunately chose Y/N to be his target. 

Yes, that's right. Unfortunate for the thief.

Long story short, Y/N's hospital will get another patient.

Gun looked at the disfigured face of the stupid fucker with beaming pride at what his student is capable of (Y/N dislikes the idea of Gun calling her his student, though).

He then turned to his masterpiece with a pleased grin and noticed her with arms across her chest while shaking.

"What are you doing?" No response; she was uttering something with her eyes closed.

"I am safe; I am strong."

…

She seemed shocked.

'Eh. It'll pass. I taught her enough to deal with punks like these.'

-

The sun's afternoon rays peeked from the thin linings of thick-smoked cumulonimbus clouds. It dulled the shadow of the man walking on copper-bricked pavement.

Gun heaved a deep sigh. A couple of months ago, he was laser-focused on managing their debt-collecting business, then working as Crystal's bodyguard and finding a successor.

That felt ages ago somehow. His recent calendars have been him dealing with Y/N's antics. Not that he was complaining, he found it amusing to know a woman he could see eye-to-eye on things. No strings attached.

There was something about how she looked at him; neither a hint of fear nor looming intimidation.

Just warmth.

Warmth that melts the iciest of his glares. A soft smile that ebbs his turbulent chaos. Words that tear down his barriers, strip him off his 'Shiro Oni' persona, leaving him with just plain Jonggun Park.

He's also seen patterns of her behavior: the way her eyebrows arches up when she looks at him, the glimmer in her eyes when talking about her pets at home, her nose scrunching up as she recalls medical acronyms, her fingers curling up as she tucks strands of her hair behind her ear, her pouty lips and rosy cheeks when he teases her (his favorite). He memorized them all; and still she continues to surprise him with more.

Stitch that with mood swings and annoying outbursts, and you have Y/N!

How can a woman be so complex yet so... normal?

'One moment she gets mad when I keep my clothes all over the place in my own house, but then when I visit the hospital, she's the one who was all over the place herself with stress and panic...'

-

"The hospital was packed when you came in; it was just bad timing. I'm perfectly calm most of the time." She huffed.

That didn't convince him one bit.

-

She continued to weave questions into his mind.

'What was this weird fixation on this lady? How very unlike me to have interest in anyone beyond their physical strength. When did I start to…'

She does have a slightly above-average physical strength; he wouldn't have batted an eyelash at her if he didn't see potential.

Was that the reason why he was so drawn to her, though? Did Gun ever really sit down and mull over his odd relationship with the quirky Y/N, who is living a life opposite to his?

…

Oh.

...

That IS the very reason he got attracted to her; the fact that she's composed of a lot of things.

Unlike him, who lived the script laid out for him, she wrote her own.

Unlike him, who has only ever seen the thick crimson stains on his shirt, the light gray smoke he exhales from his cancer stick, and the overall black-and-white world he's caged in, hers was made up of different shades of life, the different hues of people she met, and different flavors of memories she savored.

All of them painted a picture of a woman that spilled color onto anyone she touched--including him.

She showed him what lies beyond his dog-eat-dog world.

-

"Dude, tell me. You're actually blind, aren't you?"

'Ah, shit. Here we go again.'

"Your eyes were gouged out in a fight and you spent years training with your remaining senses, didn't you? Now, you're hunting to seek revenge on those who wronged you."

Y/N gasped at her eureka moment. "I cracked the code."

"Cool backstory you've built there, but no. How the fuck could see the road if--"

"Or maybe you are a famous celebrity! They always wear sunglasses to hide their identity."

"Ever heard of famous celebrities getting into gang fights?" Gun knows one, though. But Y/N doesn't.

"..."

"There's your answer."

"Ditch the sunglasses then, you hitman try-hard." She pouted in dismay and looked away with her crossed arms on her chest.

"It baffles me how you still wear them even in training. Even now, you look more like my bodyguard instead of a friend. What the hell?!"

"Then, deal with it."

"Gah! You insufferable prick!" Y/N buried her face in her arms on the table.

Gun stared at her small figure with the very eyes that tickled Y/N's curiosity.

He had long forgotten what his inborn eyes looked like… those wretched eyes.

He'd rather gouge his eyes himself had he failed to unlock his unconscious sense.

He hated those eyes.

He hated how they made him look vulnerable and inferior.

He hated how "soft" they were and made people deem him incapable at a young age. Gun eventually made them eat their own words.

But most of all, he hated how they began to resurface around Y/N and became more frequent the more they hung out… he didn't want her or anybody to see his image that's been long since buried.

So Gun dulled them out with tinted shades. 

"Hey."

He called to break the awkward silence.

No response.

Gun leaned closer. At the same time, Y/N looked up.

He was caught off guard when she suddenly sandwiched his face between her palms.

"Hehe. Gotcha!" She snickered.

His sunglasses loosely fell down the bridge of his nose. Y/N caught a view of his ebony eyes for the first time, at which her eyes widened.

"Gun, your eyes..." Naked eyes meet each other for the first time. Locked as time stopped. Her sudden perplexion eventually subsided, turning soft as she rubbed his cheek.

"They are pretty."

He didn't know which pair of eyes she was looking at right now. But it didn't matter anymore.

The red string was dusted off to clarity.

-

He was taught to discard his humanity aside and embrace his pitch-black monstrosity all his life. Since then, that was all he saw--darkness. The void he had ever known engulfed all colors visible in the spectrum.

On the other hand, white emitted them, like how her ridiculously bright-colored clothing pierced his dark-tinted sunglasses. Her comforting rays of light were outstretched for him to latch on.

It was no wonder how he was captivated by her, ensnared in her mere presence.

He was a pathetic moth bewitched by the warmth of her lamp's flame. It was blinding. He knows she is a whole 'nother kind of destructive, and he shouldn't come close, yet her tiny blaze's euphonious crackle, egging on him to inch closer, lulled him into submission.

He was an Icarus flown to her scorching sun. He knew she would destroy him all along, and he let her.

-

Gun stopped in his tracks at the sight of Y/N 's family nameplate. He collected himself and took a deep breath.

"What a surprise, Jonggun! Are you paying Y/N a visit?" Her mother greeted him with a warm smile.

"It's been months, young man! We missed you!" Her father guffawed, lightly smacking Gun's back.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. L/N." Gun bowed his head and offered them a box of cupcakes he remembered Y/N was gushing about. He appeared calm in front of her parents, but he couldn't meet their eyes–not like they'd notice anyway.

-

Gun snapped his eyes open and landed on Y/N below him; her eyes closed, and her hair sprawled messily around her. She looked ethereal with white draped over her peaceful form.

He got so used to seeing her face filled with intense expressions that her relaxed face seemed fresh as her other features popped out.

It's like falling in love with her all over again.

God, does she look beautiful right now.

She resembled an angel with wings spread on the cold, hard ground.

…

Ground?

…

…

Color drained from Gun's face as he got pulled back to reality at the sight of carmine ichor oozing from Y/N 's side, seeping through the stitches of her white dress.

It… it all happened in a blink.

She darted towards a lost kid who aimlessly crossed the highway, unknowingly about to get hit by a speeding car. She pushed him to safety and took the hit.

The lady beside Gun shrieked in panic and frantically fished out her phone to call an ambulance.

'She might not make it if we still wait for the damn thing.' He knelt down and checked for response and airway in her system.

She was unresponsive but breathing.

He knew this method. With how frequently he and Y/N were together, how she talked 80% of the time, more often than not, she had run him down the basics of first aid, even if they were out of the blue.

'Must've thought I didn't pay attention, huh? Too fucking bad, Y/N. I always listened to you.'

He carefully roamed his hands on various parts of her unconscious body to check for severe bleeding.

'Shit. Three of her ribs are broken. Her right arm is fractured, and she's rapidly losing blood.' His calloused hands cupped the side of her face where her silky strands loosely hung.

'Her temple is also bleeding, probably from the impact when she hit the ground.'

Blood. All too familiar. It never left Gun as soon as he got his first kill.

The sight of blood shouldn't faze him. But his hands were trembling the more he realized how grave her condition is.

It took everything for him to stop driving his fingers to her hair despite being spotted with dried blood. He withdrew his hands and brushed his stray locks back instead in an attempt to keep his composure.

He was planning on taking her to the hospital himself or treating her in his house (he already has enough nursing supplies for his personal use, but Y/N constantly nagged him to buy more for emergencies). But, in her current state, he couldn't carry her otherwise the issue with her ribs gets worse and affects her internal organs, if they weren't already.

"For emergencies, my ass. Can't use them right now, can I?"

Funny how Y/N remained her composure and even kept their banter going when she first treated Gun. Just goes to show that she IS calm at work.

It's kind of ironic now that they've switched places, though. Even if Y/N taught him all this medical stuff, Gun still couldn't do anything more helpful than wait anxiously for the fucking ambulance.

Gun pinched the bridge of his nose. These injuries wouldn't be a problem for Jinyoung Park. Gun could certainly vouch for that, as he and Goo were regulars in his lab when they were still on probation… when the man was still borderline mentally stable.

He would phone him immediately if he wanted to but decided against it because God knows what that maniac would do to her now at his current state, if he even agrees to tend to her injuries.

Gun withdrew his coat and covered Y/N 's upper body. He rested his left hand on her cold ones in hopes of delaying Death's touch on her.

Honestly, he was at a loss--which was a first; he didn't know what to do with it. But Gun knew he had to stay with Y/N until help arrived.

He curled his hand around Y/N's.

"She is safe. She is strong… She isn't alone."

-

Gun found himself uttering the same chant again as if in prayer.

He always viewed Y/N as a warrior shielding the weak, a saint devotees pray to for protection. She had always put others' well-being above hers--a trait befitting of a nurse.

But that overshadowed the image of blood and bones beneath her soft, paper-thin skin as it was under the guise of a rigid exterior.

Fucked up it may seem, but Gun knows he isn't at fault entirely for what happened: Y/N made her decision, was well aware of the consequences, and still chose to do it.

Even so, he could feel a stinging pang in his chest, telling him that he should've caught up to her had he ran and pushed Y/N and the stupid boy himself. But the four major crews were at peak then, so he ultimately chose to do nothing.

And it tore his heart--something he thought had been long abandoned.

The 'heart' was meant to be just an empty hole where every last bit of tenderness was carved out of his chest. The hollow pit that reminded him of his decision to walk the path of blood… was forcefully filled with infectious laughter, sweet melodies, and soft rhythmic heartbeats of life.

The words "Gun" and "sweet" didn't seem uncharacteristic when put together now, huh.

-

He gazed at what remained of her longingly, reminiscent of memories they'd shared, despite short.

"You painted my heart in different forms that I can hardly call it my own anymore."

Gun's grip on the bouquet tightened.

"We shouldn't even have met--we're worlds apart, for crying out loud. But Fate decided to fuck around people and chose us, I guess."

But at least he was able to see the world in color--for the first and last time.

He was never meant to have it, anyway.

…

…

...

"PFFT--"

Gun jolted on his seat as laughter echoed around the room.

Y/N wheezed. "I didn't know you could be so poetic, Gun Park!"

It took a moment for Gun to process his surroundings.

He is currently in Y/N's bedroom. A relatively small space compared to his bedroom, which is infinitely wider. Her room looks more lively and festive than his empty one, though.

Other than her working table, everything else was decorated with strings of polaroids, LED lights, and stuffed toys ranging from tiny crocheted keychains to life-size pillows randomly decorated the room.

Wow. There's a whole new world to be explored in here.

Gun waved his trailing thoughts away and finally faced Y/N, who sat on her bed. Her lively demeanor didn't cover up her poor condition though, which is painfully understandable.

He should've brought medical supplies that were piling up in his house. And cupcakes, really? He didn't go out for a picnic.

Well, it's nothing worse than her in a casket.

He cleared his throat.

"More importantly, how long since you left the hospital?"

"Two months."

"And you never even contacted me once?"

"Well, you've never visited me since… the accident. I thought you simply forgot about me, you being a busy person and all."

-

He TRIED to forget her, for Christ's sake.

After Kouji tracked the bastard's location with the car's plate number he sent, Gun didn't waste a second and pummeled the hit-and-runner to death.

Then… he carried on to another chapter of his life, as usual.

Gun wholeheartedly believed Y/N was just another fleeting name in his book, just torn scratched pages of requiems lacing love songs that weren't supposed to be written.

So, he let time help him forget.

Spoiler: he never did; he just couldn't. How could he when everywhere he looked, he saw her?

-

"I was… busy at work."

"See? Anyway, that's okay. Don't sweat it, man. My prank made up for it." She laughed it off.

Gun prepared himself for the worst when he entered Y/N 's house; he felt his stoic façade crack as a flash of disappointment in Y/N's face was conjured in his mind.

Her cheerful welcome (sneaky prank) washed all of his worries away.

In the end, it was better than what he anticipated.

"So, how are you feeling?"

She frowned, an eyebrow arched up in disapproval.

"The Gun I know doesn't give a shit about 'feelings'. Who are you and what did you do to him?"

He deadpanned. "Just… answer the question."

"To be honest, I feel like shit right now. Being bedridden for months? Getting injected with pain relievers, tons of prescriptions and rehab sessions, everyday? Now, I know how my patients felt…"

How talkative for someone feeling like shit. Even so, he let her talk–like how they usually did. It felt melancholic.

"...and I was finally discharged. They said I can go back to work when I'm fully recovered." She sent him a toothy grin.

Her eyes landed on the bouquet in his arms, and cocked her head to the side.

"Are those white chrysanthemums?"

"...Yes." He could almost see a question mark form on her lips.

"Dude, you thought I died or something? Why bring 'mourning' flowers?" She giggled.

"No? But…" He set down the bouquet on her bed.

"I heard that they have other meanings…"

"Oh? What are they?"

He plucked two flowers from the bouquet and inched closer to Y/N.

'Eternal…' he tucked one of them behind her ear.

'...and devoted love.' he pried her hands open and placed the second flower on them.

Gun rested his forehead on her shoulder, his eyes welled up at the contact.

He couldn't say the words out loud.

Not after leaving her when she was at her lowest.

...

Ugh.

This isn't how he planned it to go.

He really did love her--but he was also selfish. Distancing himself didn't do any better for the both of them; quite the contrary.

Would stitching back the torn pages heal their wounded hearts this time? Let their colors paint over the dried stains of their past and turn over a new chapter?

-

Splashes of rain decorated her bedroom window. The colors in her room desaturated as evening enveloped the sky.

"Gun," Y/N held his arms, squeezing them. "It's getting dark. I'm gonna turn on the lights."

"Let's… stay like this for a while." was Gun's only response.

…

Their close proximity. The familiar scent of her detergent. The nostalgic periods of tapping raindrops. The yoke of her shirt getting wet.

It was similar to their first meeting but a little different.

Y/N felt him shake. She chuckled and rubbed circles around his back.

"What's up with you, dummy? It's not even that cold."

[lucywrites02]

The game of cat and spider chapter 2: Nice running into you!

Main Masterlist | The game of cat and spider Masterlist | Miguel O'hara Masterlist | AO3

Miguel O'hara x black cat! Reader (gender neutral)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

A/N: Here we are with another chapter! This bad boy *slaps the fic* can fit more than 3k words in it. This chapter is about them meeting as normal people UWU. It includes: Miguel in a compression shirt, a cat who terrorises your apartment and coffee. <3. *swings a pocket watch right in front of your eyes* "If you see any grammar mistakes... no you didn't xoxo

Have fun and let me know how you liked it!

If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me an ask :)

Series Summary: You are a criminal and he's a hero. You don't know each other's names, never seen the person behind the mask. You aren't enemies- you are supposed to be but that didn't work out quite well. You liked each other a bit too much, but your relationship was strictly…. Professional? What happens if you meet as normal people, with no masks and responsibilities in your way? What did the universe plan for you? And most importantly…. Will it last?

Miguel woke up to the silence of his apartment. The very first sun rays of that day shone through the curtains the man forgot to close last night. The golden hues embraced his tired face, making the man squeeze his eyes and groan.

The rest of his room was engulfed in darkness, just like Miguel liked it. The walls were painted the same shade of blue one could see in the clouds right before it started raining. He didn't have many things in his bedroom- just a queen sized bed covered with black satin sheets and a small nightstand table with an electric clock on it. Not even a lamp. O'hara only used this room for sleeping so he didn't have many things in there. He would only sleep in his own bed if he didn't fall asleep in his lab. Or collapsed on the couch after a long day. Some nights he didn't sleep at all. That's why he didn't see a point in decorating the place.

Miguel sat up, placing his feet on the cold wooden floor. The numbers on the clock read 6:30 AM and the man knew he wouldn't get any more sleep. He stood up, adjusting his white sleeping shirt and slowly walked to the opened window that he also forgot to close last night.

Thankfully no one would even think of breaking into his apartment since it's located on the 10th floor. He pushed the heavy grey curtains away, letting more light inside and just stood there for a while, looking at the city below him. Even though it was early in the morning he could see the crowds of people on the streets. He could hear the sound of cars speeding down the highway. Sometimes Miguel liked to make up stories about those people and their lives. Maybe the couple eating breakfast outside that little bakery just got married and decided to spend their honeymoon in Nueva York. What if that taxi driver that almost didn't stop at the red light is secretly a famous poetry writer?

Miguel knew those stories were stupid and didn't make any sense whatsoever, but it was the only thing to get his mind off of his… loneliness. It never worked because watching people living their lives and being happy only made him feel even more alone.

He ran his hands through his messy brown hair and decided that he needed a better distraction. A good jog could probably make things better. There was a park 20 minutes away from his home that he liked to visit- a secluded area on the west side right by the river. It was one of his favourite spots in this neighbourhood. Miguel didn't even bother to eat breakfast or make coffee- he just took a quick shower, put on his dark red sweatpants, black compression shirt and a hoodie that matched his pants. Ever since he became the spider-man he invested in some good noise cancelling headphones because his heightened senses couldn't handle the constant stimulation that the outside world provided. He took them with him every time he left home- as a civilian, not a hero. Miguel wasn't in the mood for music so the only thing playing through the headphones in his ears was some white noise.

He shrugged and decided that it was good enough for now. The last thing he needed were his sunglasses- he would surely get a migraine if he got out in this sun with no protection against the light. He had a favourite pair that he took everywhere with him- ordinary wayfarers with tinted glass. They looked exactly like his regular reading glasses and Miguel loved them. The man sighed heavily when he couldn't find them and put on his black baseball cap instead. He has to start putting his things in places he can find them again, but that seemed like a problem for later.

"LYLA, I'm going out. Turn on the security."

The man called, not bothering to hear the robotic response of his digital assistant and closed the door behind him. He waited for the silent 'click' to make sure LYLA did what he asked. The artificial intelligence he created was in the testing phase and he still had to supervise it. It was a simple AI- Miguel gave it his vocal command and it did the job. So far the system has been running great, but there was still something missing, Miguel just couldn't figure out what. The AI was supposed to be his assistant, but Miguel felt weird when he talked to it and expected to have an actual conversation only to be met with silence. His social skills weren't the best and he knew it was stupid to even think that way, but he really wanted this AI- his creation- to be human enough to speak with him like a normal person. He wasn't sure how he could accomplish it. Maybe he would get some good ideas after his little workout. Now that he thought of it he cringed, knowing he was so desperate for social interactions he made an AI he could talk to. Even though the system wasn't that well developed yet.

He jogged at a slower pace down the road leading to the main area of the park. The mornings were getting more chilly as the seasons were changing. The trees were still green- it would take a few more weeks for them to adapt to different weather and turn different colours- and it actually made Miguel smile a bit. He wasn't a fan of fall. It was rainy and depressing. And he knew that winter came after fall which meant spending another holiday alone. Which caused more depression, of course. But now wasn't the time to think about the future.

Miguel jogged to the secluded area of the park and started running faster. It was almost a sprint as if the velocity of his steps could make the thoughts in his head disappear. It didn't.

What did make his thoughts stop racing however, was someone's body colliding with his broad frame.

Your day couldn't have started better. That statement was purely sarcastic of course because you woke up to the sound of a ceramic pot crushing into the tiled floor of your kitchen. You immediately jumped out of your bed, forgetting about the ache in your thigh and headed to the source of all that noise. The pieces of soil and terracotta were scattered across the room and you wanted to just lay down in all that dirt and cry. Your cat however was sitting down on the highest shelf in your kitchen - meant only for your poison ivies -looking pretty pleased with herself.

"I hope it was worth it because you just lost your snack privileges." You scolded your furry companion as you cleaned the floor. You took one of the biggest mugs you had and put the remaining of your plant in it. "She won't hurt you again, I promise." You spoke to the plant and gently caressed the leaves. The mug would have to suffice until you get a new pot. After throwing out all of that dirt to the trash and mopping the floor you finally took a glance at the clock hanging on your wall and groaned. It was barely 6 AM and you were already on your feet.

Well, you couldn't go back to sleep now. You weren't tired anymore. It would help if you had something to make you busy, but there was literally nothing to do. Your dishes were washed and your laundry folded. The cat has been fed and her litter box cleaned. You always did those chores at night so that your morning would be more enjoyable. But now you were yearning for some tasks.

You pushed the white curtains in your kitchen to the side, letting the morning sun into your apartment. The sticker you put on your window created beautiful rainbow areolas on the sage green tiles on your wall. You loved mornings like this even if they started on a more chaotic note. You went through your routine like always- it was your day off so you settled on more comfortable clothes. Sweatpants and hoodie was the best combination for a lazy day. Your wound didn't hurt as much as it did last night and it made moving around easier than you thought.

You spent months making your apartment feel like home and it really did feel like it. But in moments like this- sitting on the balcony all alone and looking at the people on the streets with a deep longing for some sort of connection- you felt lonely. You had Migsy who was more than happy to keep you company, but he wasn't a human being who could give you a hug after a long day at work or kiss you goodnight. You were desperate for a genuine and meaningful human connection.

People you called friends were actually just your co-workers or people you regularly interact with at the grocery store- people who had their own family and real friends to come back to after a long day at work. You gave up on dating a long time ago and the only person who made your heart skip a beat was a guy in a red-blue latex suit whose job was to send your ass to jail. It was fun to flirt with him- especially ever since he actually started to flirt back- but you knew it wasn't…. Real. It wasn't someone who would want a relationship with you. How would that even work? You always felt more confident behind your mask. But the person you were while wearing your costume wasn't really you. It was a character you created to make your life easier and if someone liked the black cat they would be so disappointed when they realise who has been hiding behind that mask. So if the spider-man harboured any sort of affection for the black cat, he wouldn't have the same feeling for the real you. That's why you would never take this 'relationship' seriously. You liked the flirting, but that was it. Because he wouldn't…

Your thoughts were entertaining a dangerous territory and you had to find a good distraction. You couldn't stay at home- this apartment even though it was your little sanctuary, reminded you of how alone you actually were.

Hmm, since your thigh wasn't hurting too much, maybe you could go on a quick walk to your favourite bakery in the park nearby. You could get breakfast there and maybe buy some flowers for yourself on your way back. Yeah…that sounded like a plan.

You made sure to pack some things into your little backpack before you went out- just the essentials like your wallet, the keys to your apartment and a sketchbook you always took with you. You styled your hair a bit before you left to look less messy and smiled when you were satisfied with the outcome.

"I'm going out, Migsy." You gave your cat a little kiss on the forehead before you put on your headphones. "Please don't terrorise any more plants while I'm gone" Your little angel meowed at you in response which made you giggle.

You left your apartment complex and chose a fitting playlist. You picked up your pace to match the beat of the song and headed to the park. There was a path along the river on the west side that was perfect for morning walks. There was a small coffee shop around the corner that you had to stop by before you could continue your little journey. You could smell the freshly brewed beverages from a mile and you knew your day would be bad if you didn't stop by to get a drink. Coffee was like a nectar for your soul and you couldn't deprive yourself of this small happiness.

The baristas behind the counter knew you and your order very well since you were one of the regulars so they started preparing your favourite drink the moment you stepped inside. They didn't try to start a conversation with you and it only evoked a deeper feeling of loneliness. Even though you interacted with those people plenty of times you still weren't worthy enough for them to even try and make some small talk. Maybe you were overthinking the interaction too much- they did smile at you when they saw you walk in and even waved at you. But you just couldn't help yourself and had to analyse every move of their muscles to make sure they didn't secretly hate you. You left the shop as soon as they handed you your order, trying to calm down. You hated when that happened- when the anxiety overwhelmed you so much you couldn't think properly.

You didn't even notice when you entered the main area of the park, too focused on your coffee and the music playing through your headphones. And you surely didn't notice a stranger running in your direction.

"I am so sorry!" Miguel quickly apologised, ripping his headphones off his ears. "Are you okay?" He looked down at the person sitting on the ground right before him. He felt so stupid for running into you and if you paid enough attention you could see how red his cheeks have turned.

You looked up at the stranger and groaned in pain. You were thankful that the coffee wasn't hot because you would have to add burns to the list of your injuries. The drink ended up all over your clothes and you had to try your hardest not to cry in front of a stranger this handsome. Wait-

"I should have paid more attention, I am really really sorry." The man kept apologising. Miguel's face was burning with embarrassment. He felt so bad for bumping into you and he knew it probably hurt a lot- colliding with all those muscles of his surely wasn't the best experience.

"I'm good." You smiled awkwardly, readjusting your wet hoodie that stuck to your skin. Miguel gave you his hand to help you up. "It's okay, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been thinking about so many things at once..."

Miguel's brown eyes finally met your gaze and the man thought about something bizarre. Your face seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had the feeling he had met you before, but he wasn't sure, and it was driving him crazy. However, he shook his head and pushed the thought aside. Millions of people lived in the city and it was actually very possible that he had seen you before and simply forgot about it. But if that was the case why did he feel like there was something more to you than meets the eye?

"Are you okay though?" You asked, looking down at the coffee stains on your clothes. It will be a pain in the ass to clean later.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He gave you a small smile. "Are you sure you're okay? I kinda feel like you might have gotten hurt, it felt like a pretty harsh fall… and I'm sorry about the coffee, too…" He looked concerned as he looked at your face for a second, before looking elsewhere- anywhere but your eyes- as he scratched his neck.

Miguel could have sworn he has seen you before. Or maybe he didn't. But if you truly were a stranger how could he explain that weird feeling deep inside him. Or maybe you were just so pretty his brain had to somehow rationalise this foreign attraction towards you. Aaagh, he should stop making a fool of himself and stop overthinking this interaction!

"It hurts a bit, but I will be fine." You replied. The man standing before you was much taller and - you hated yourself for thinking about the person you just met that way- very very handsome. Which only made you even more embarrassed once you realise how you must have looked. "I can always get another coffee later so don't worry about that."

"I…i-i w-" The stranger stuttered, fiddling with his fingers as he spoke. He took a deep breath before he continued. "I feel bad for bumping into you. Could I maybe… make it up to you somehow?" Miguel's heart was beating against his chest like a hammer as he was stumbling on his own words. "I could buy you another coffee." He proposed and cringed, thinking he sounded desperate. "If that's fine with you, of course…."

He wasn't sure what took over him because he knew he wouldn't ever do something like that for any other person. He would probably just apologise again and run in the other direction, hoping he will never have to see that person ever again.

"I don't think I want another coffee right now" You giggled in response. "But thank you for the proposal, Mr…"

"Oh, it's Miguel." The man mumbled, giving you his hand to shake.

You introduced yourself as well and chuckled. "It was nice running into you." You joked and cringed internally. But the stranger- Miguel- actually laughed. Not giggled, laughed.

He let go of your hand to cover his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to hide his smile.

"So, you were going for a morning jog, too huh? Where were you heading, if you don't mind me asking?" The man spoke. He really wanted this little interaction to last longer.

"Yeah, I wanted to relax a bit and decided to take a walk. I was heading to the bakery down the street" You explained. "I didn't expect to be swept off my feet like that though." You felt comfortable talking with Miguel. It's as if the two of you knew each other already.

"I am really sorry about that." Miguel repeated. "If there's anything I can do to make it up to you…"

"You could give me your number" You suggested and mentally slapped yourself. You had no idea where this confidence came from and you started to get nervous. "So that you can take me ou- BUY me another coffee." You continued your mumbling and chucking awkwardly. "Because you spilled mine." Definitely not because you wanted to see him again.

Miguel smirked down at you and took out his phone. He didn't want to admit it, but he was as excited as he was nervous. The one time he decided to go out he bumped into some stranger, making them fall down, spilled that person's coffee all over them and then somehow managed to get their number? Migiel wasn't sure what he did to be this lucky, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

He handed you his phone with his number on the screen, so that you could type it into your own. You saved his contact as 'the guy who owes me a coffee'. Miguel saw that and chuckled again.

"I sent you a text so that you can have my number as well." You cleared your throat and inhaled deeply when you noticed how close the two of you were standing. "I guess I will see you around, Miguel."

"I guess you will." He saved your number in his contacts before he showed his phone into the pocket of his pants. "It was nice bumping into you. And I hope the other people will pay more attention to the road than I did." He scratched his neck and took a step back to create more space between you. "Wouldn't want you to spend any more time falling down." Miguel winked at you and slowly jogged away, not waiting for your response.

He made sure that he was out of your view before he stopped to slap his forehead. He still felt bad for running into you, but thankfully, he didn't feel any awkwardness like he did in the beginning. But for the love of God, why did he have to wink at you?

Tag list: @serpentstarr @bucketluvr @nxrdamp @strangeobsessed @atlaincorrect @rorel1a @saturnknows @onfuis @spicysleepysloth @levisbebe @ok-boke @keepitreal001

[thevestigeofvanillaan]

Daddy's Girl.

"i wouldn't say i called it if i hadn't. but i called it when i said it was a sick joke"

karma akabane x spoiled!reader.

content: smut, mention of weed, smoking, getting high, innocent reader, corruption, "daddy", bully!karma, enemies to lovers ig, belly bulge.

hey guys!! first karma post. also first post on the new "EARTH'S GRIMEY CRIES" page!! i lately have taken interest in the color palette for cyan, blue, dark blue, and darker shades of red. "The Delicate Sound Of Thunder" live concert by pink floyd was an influence on this particular page design, and i love it. it's always nice that i can create a whole new page when i get out of room on my navigation centers, or when i want to. hopefully my sp fans aren't too upset that i want to write about other shows/people!! i'll be posting drafts and finishing requests soon.

karma is such an asshole.

to everyone, not even just you.

having not known him pained you as you thought he'd hated you for no reason other than you're a "taut daddy's girl who gets daddy's money". which was unreliable truth that nobody except select few in the entire school system knew. karma was one of those people.

he knows everything about everyone, it's terrifying, honestly.

"talk of that brat" karma scoffs as you walk over to talk to your tutor, nagisa, who'd oddly enough been on speaking terms with karma regardless of their differences and past experiences.

"nagisa, i got a b on our recent test, can you help me more in the future?"

"i don't see why no—"

"maybe if instead of buying you ponies, your daddy bought you an education; you wouldn't be in such a pickle, darling."

you sigh and walk away, assuming the help is useless anyway, and karma was right. you were just not bright when it came to academics because you were raised with everything a kid dreams of.

but he catches up to you.

"no hard feelings, princess?"

"no hard feelings? asshole. what is with you? can't you leave me alone?" you scoff and continue to walk, not bothering to eye him.

he sighs and jogs slightly to catch up with you. "alright– listen, i got an a+ on the recent test.. alright? let me help you."

"you? offering to help me? what kind of sick joke?"

"it's not a joke. come to mine at.. say seven." karma stops walking beside you to go find someone else to bother.

i wouldn't say i called it if i hadn't. but i called it when i said it was a sick joke.

you showed up at karma's doorstep at 7:00 PM, like he'd told you to. alarming detail being no cars in the driveway, where his parents cars are usually parked.

he'd opened the door. "hey princess. make yourself at home, you might be here a while." he invites you in with his usual sarcastic tone you hated.

"want like.. water? sorry it's not sparkly or whatever i don't drink that weird shit." he says as he grabs a glass and fills it with water, handing it to you.

karma starts to head upstairs and so you follow him into his room that's weirdly tidy and large.

karma was not poor, in fact his parents made the same money your dad did. just, karma took individuality when it came to money. decided to get a job at a young age and has been making his own money ever since and even bought his own car.

you didn't do that. you were always handed everything, so you grew up differently than karma. or at least with a different mindset.

"your room is nice." you compliment awkwardly to fill the silence as you just stand in the middle of the clean wooden floors.

"uh, are you gonna sit down or just stand there?" he tilts his head and chuckles, patting the spot right next to him on his bed.

you place your cup down on a table and cough softly even though you didn't need to, heading over slowly and sitting down fairly far from him.

but that distance didn't stay when he scooted closer anyway. "so! what's the score ya got on the test?"

"hey wait. why do you make fun of me all the time? for.. being fortunate i guess."

karma stays in silence for a moment before laughing. "you.." he pokes your chest and doesn't look into your eyes as he talks. "you aren't the fortunate one. your daddy is, and you take advantage of it.. that's what i make fun of."

you look down at his hand that lay still in your lap and grab it with your own hand. "i never got to know what it was like to be a teenager because my dad was strict. he used money to keep me away from the public, sex, drugs, parties, everything. that's not my fault."

he doesn't say anything for a couple seconds before he looks into your eyes. "huh. so you have never done any of that?"

you nod 'no'.

"hah! baby do you have a lot i need to teach you. to hell with the stupid test that we already did." karma laughs. "you've never even gone to a party?"

"nope."

"shit. you're such a virgin." he laughs and you look down in embarrassment. but he brings a hand to your chin and makes you look back up at him. "hey, no need to be embarrassed. hey let me help you."

"help me with what?"

"you ever wanted to get high?" karma asks, opening a drawer before taking out a pen. "this makes you tired, jus'so you know. your daddy cool if you stay the night? because baby you'll be out."

"mhm." you nod and bite your lip, shifting the way you're sitting in excitement. you always wanted to get high but never had the chance.

"you're ampy. guess my little innocent girl's not gonna be so innocent anymore, huh?"

my? you'd wonder about what he'd meant. but you didn't care because it made you feel good; at least in the way you took it.

he holds the pen up to your mouth. "breathe in.. then.. breathe in again. that's the only way i can really explain it to you."

and with that you took it to your mouth and did as he told you. "take another hit. but that's it, this can be strong and i don't know your tolerance, baby."

after you take another, you watch as he takes his and after that, it starts to hit you. the room starts moving into .5 and it's all zoomed out. it's cool, nothing like you'd ever experienced before.

you start to giggle.

"mhmm. you okay, baby?" karma asks and you nod, moving closer to him.

"uhuh. hey. what's next?" you ask, crawling into his lap and laying on him in tiredness.

"what do you mean, what's next?" he asks, rubbing my arm and conforting me. this was the sweetest karma had ever been.

"well you said— you said you were gon' teach me stuff. can teach me bout sex. take it from me?" you didn't even know what you were saying, or that it would affect you tomorrow. and you didn't care.

karma chuckles lowly and lays me down. "you're tired, can see it in your eyes."

"fuck me to sleep." you sit up and grab at the hair at the base of his neck, pulling on it before pulling his face into yours, kissing him softly. "please— all i wan' right now is you."

he takes his hands and parts your legs and rests himself between them, laying you back down to lean over you as he kisses down your neck, playing with the hem of your shirt.

through your shorts you felt the bulge inside his jeans pressing against your clothed core. you wanted it so bad. you take your hands to his face and pull him back up to kiss your lips.

whispering into his mouth "please, need you so bad.. karma."

now that he knew you knew what you were doing and with who, he went feral. he took off your shirt and unzipped your jean shorts.

you trace his jawline with your fingers and admire his pretty face as he removes his own clothes.

not long later his tip is pressed against your entrance. "are you sure you want this, baby?"

with one nod he thrusts into you painfully and your back arches as you moan loudly. he doesn't give you time to adjust as he starts thrusting at a quick paste.

your moans are loud and you scratch at his biceps and his back as tears prick your lash line.

"fuck karma— please.." you moan as he uses his thumb to play with your clit as the rest of his fingers press down on your lower abdomin, creating intense pleasure. the bulge in your belly was felt on his finger tips.

"oh, baby moan louder.. let my neighbors hear who fucking owns you.."

"fuck!! ugh—karma please please please please fuck harder." you moan out loudly, pushing him down into your chest and locking your legs around his waist so he can't pull out.

"baby don't do that.. im gonna cum soon." both hands go to your thighs so even if you tried to take them off you couldn't because he holds your legs firmly there, against his own command. "you're— real tense!" he squeezes his abs in a groan from the throat. "you're gonna cum?"

"mmmmhmm." you whine and nod, tears streaming down your face with all the pleasure.

"fuck im gonna breed you all good.. fill ya full with daddy's cum, yeah? you're mine, you know that? huh? tell me you're all mine." he groans and whines at you in a needy voice that makes your orgasm peak.

"all yours–! 'm cummin'!"

"god yes, cum with me baby." he groans and you release together, heavy breathing and leftover moans fill the room as they echo against the walls.

karma pulls out and falls beside you, who's about to be sleeping mind you.

"hey wait, don't you fall asleep. knew indica would get ya like this.. it always does with first timers." he sighs and gets up, grabbing a towel and walking back over to you, half lidded and looking up at him with dried mascara tear stained cheeks.

karma smiles softly at your expression once he knows you can't see him, rubbing the towel on your thighs and everywhere between your legs. he grabs a shirt and helps you sit up, putting it on you and grabbing your panties, that he also puts on you before laying you back down.

he lays beside you and you drag heavy limbs to snuggle into his chest and side. "thanks.. for all this. guess im not your little innocent girl no more."

"you're still my girl.. told ya that, didn't i?" he says and you giggle softly, nodding into his chest. "good, so.. you're my not-so-innocent little girl now, huh?"

[campgender]

“Stone Butch, Drag Butch, Baby Butch” by Joan Nestle

published in A Restricted Country (1987)

1.

New words swirl around us

and still I see you in the street

loafers, chinos, shades.

You dare to look too long

and I are turn your gaze,

feel the pull of old worlds

and then like a femme

drop my eyes.

But behind my broken look

you live

and walk deeper into me

as the distance grows between us.

Shame is the first betrayer.

2.

The birth of Lesbian feminism. New York. The old firehouse on Wooster Street. Wooden chairs pulled across the cobbled floor. Pretty young women form a circle to form a group called the Lesbian Liberation Committee. Two old-time Lesbians arrive, grey-haired, short DAs. They stand on the outskirts. I go to the bathroom on the floor below. Two of the young women stand in front of me. “Why do they have to look like men? I hope they don’t come back.” When I returned upstairs, the grey-haired women were gone. They never returned. Jean and Ginny told the world who we were and what we wanted. Books were written saying the bad old days were over. The national organizations started, the presses and newspapers began, and the grey-haired women receded further and further, as if they had blended into the walls.

Shame is the first betrayer.

3.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

the litany of the unwanted.

I see your eyes smoking

behind the self-congratulations

of the vegetarians

the Goddess worshippers

the healers.

Your magic worked in other places

in church alcoves

in diner toilets

in moving cars

pants with sharp creases

shirts cuffed

hair slicked back

riding Brooklyn subways

at five in the morning

shades worn just right

for mystery, for protection.

Rigid, you walked the gauntlet of their sneers

Hey lezzie, hey queer

and even when it was the end of the line

you kept moving.

A strange witch,

my baby butch.

4.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

leaned me back against the bathroom door

tuned for the intrusion, you sucked my breast.

Alert and wanting, we made love in a public place

because territory was limited.

You pushed my wetness out

only when cunning had won for us a place.

In a subway station toilet

I held your head between my thighs

heard the roar and thought it was

our secret rushing out.

5.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

Sandy tells me of the time

she walked in Prospect Park

with her lover on her arm.

Forgetting they were freaks,

they let the bending trees

caress their day.

The men, outraged by Sandy’s pants

and Carol’s skirt,

attacked with chains.

The women fled,

past playgrounds

past the benches made for lovers.

Sandy, smiling, says

through all the years

they never hurt me,

but we both know better.

6.

A hot dark night on Eighth Street.

Held tight with love,

the butch yells up to a shadow on the wall

all she can see of her lady

who calls out

“I’m here baby”

and we all hear her.

A shrine for separated lovers,

the Women’s House of D.*

They tore it down

replaced it with a garden

but those voices still are there

the lasting blossoms of our surviving time.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

I keep you deep within me

warning voices in a changing time.

Shame is the first betrayer.

*The Women’s House of Detention stood for many years on the corner of Eighth Street and Sixth Avenue in Greenwich Village.