#Small Backyard Pool Design

[resdraft]

Top Considerations When Drafting Pool Plans for Small Backyards

By focusing on efficient space utilization, safety, aesthetics, and lifestyle needs, you can transform even the smallest backyard into a personal oasis. At ResDraft, we specialize in drafting custom pool plans tailored to fit your space, preferences, and budget.

[dantechnologie]

Best Swimming Pool Manufacturers: Space-Saving Tips and Ideas for Small Backyards

Having a swimming pool in your backyard is a luxury that many homeowners dream of, but if you have a small yard, you might feel like it's impossible to make it happen. Thankfully, with careful planning and the right design ideas, even the most compact spaces can be transformed into a beautiful, functional oasis. In this article, we’ll explore space-saving tips and creative ideas for designing a swimming pool that fits perfectly in your small backyard. Plus, we’ll highlight how choosing the best swimming pool manufacturers, like Dan Technologies, can make all the difference in bringing your vision to life.

1. Assess Your Available Space

Before jumping into the design process, it's essential to assess how much space you have available. A small backyard can still accommodate a pool, but it’s all about optimizing that space. Take measurements of your yard and visualize how a pool would fit into the layout. Keep in mind any existing structures like patios, gardens, or outdoor furniture that need to be factored in.

For very small backyards, you may want to consider compact pool designs such as plunge pools, lap pools, or even swim spas. These types of pools take up less space but still provide all the benefits of having a pool.

2. Consider the Shape of Your Pool

When it comes to smaller backyards, the shape of the pool is crucial. A rectangular or lap pool is often the best option for a tight space. These pools can fit neatly along one side of your yard, providing a long, narrow swimming area that doesn’t dominate the entire space.

If you're looking for something a bit more unique, consider custom shapes like an L-shape or a geometric design that blends well with your landscape. These shapes are often more flexible in fitting into smaller, irregular spaces while still offering an aesthetically pleasing look.

3. Opt for a Plunge Pool or Cocktail Pool

If space is tight, a plunge pool or cocktail pool might be the perfect solution. These smaller, shallow pools are ideal for cooling off, soaking, and relaxing without taking up too much room. Plunge pools can be designed with modern features like built-in jets or fountains for added relaxation.

A plunge pool is usually between 5 to 8 feet wide, so it can fit into even the smallest backyards. With the right design, it can still offer a chic and luxurious vibe while being space-efficient.

4. Maximize Vertical Space

In a small backyard, you need to get creative with how you use every inch of space. Vertical space is an often overlooked area that can be maximized to create a more expansive feel. Consider adding walls or fences with built-in shelves, planters, or even vertical garden systems around your pool area.

Incorporating a vertical garden or climbing plants around your pool area can help soften the hard lines of the pool while providing privacy. This creates a more intimate and cozy atmosphere while keeping the design minimalist and streamlined.

5. Incorporate Multi-Function Features

To make the most of your pool and backyard space, think about incorporating multi-functional elements. For instance, you can choose a pool design that doubles as a hot tub or an infinity edge that enhances the visual appeal while making the pool feel more expansive.

You can also install a pool with a built-in lounging area, which will give you extra room to relax without needing to use up additional space for furniture. By combining multiple functions into one area, you’ll maximize both space and utility.

6. Use Lighter Colors to Create the Illusion of Space

In small spaces, the color scheme you choose can significantly affect how large or small the area feels. Lighter colors like whites, light blues, and soft grays can make a small pool area look bigger and more open. Opting for light-colored pool tiles, walls, and decking can help open up the space and create the illusion of more room.

In contrast, dark colors tend to make a small space feel more enclosed, so they should be used sparingly in smaller backyards.

7. Consider the Pool’s Surroundings

While focusing on the pool itself is essential, don’t forget about its surrounding area. Choose landscaping elements that complement the pool without overwhelming the space. Go for minimalist designs with clean lines and choose plants that won’t grow too large or block natural light.

Opt for modern, low-maintenance materials like stone or composite decking, which can give your pool area a sleek and contemporary look. Consider built-in seating or hidden storage that can help keep the area organized and clutter-free.

Read more: Top 10 Important Questions to Ask Before Hiring a Swimming Pool Manufacturer

8. Select the Right Pool Manufacturer

Once you have a design idea in mind, the next step is selecting a pool manufacturer who can bring your vision to life. Choosing a reliable and experienced manufacturer is crucial to ensure that your pool is built with quality materials, designed to fit your space, and installed efficiently.

One of the best swimming pool manufacturers in the industry is Dan Technologies. Their innovative designs and expertise in custom pool solutions make them an excellent choice for homeowners with small backyards. With a focus on quality, aesthetics, and functionality, Dan Technologies can help you design a pool that maximizes your available space while staying within your budget.

9. Maximize Functionality with Smart Pool Technology

Incorporating modern pool technology can also enhance your small pool’s functionality. For example, automated pool systems allow you to control temperature, lighting, and cleaning schedules from your smartphone, helping you save time and energy. LED lighting can also add a stylish touch to your pool, making it a beautiful focal point in the evening without taking up any additional space.

10. Work with a Professional Designer

If you're unsure about how to optimize your small backyard for a swimming pool, consider working with a professional pool designer. They can offer expert advice on layouts, design features, and the best materials for small spaces. Professional designers, like those affiliated with Dan Technologies, can ensure that your pool not only fits your space but also complements your overall landscape and lifestyle.

Conclusion

Designing a swimming pool for a small backyard doesn’t have to be a challenge. By thinking creatively about the shape, size, and surrounding elements, you can create a beautiful and functional pool area that maximizes your space. Remember, working with the best swimming pool manufacturers like Dan Technologies will ensure that your pool is built with the highest standards of quality and craftsmanship. With the right design and expert guidance, you can enjoy the luxury of having a pool in your small backyard, no matter how limited your space may be.

[simontonpoolconsultants]

Best Pool Building Contractors in Houston

Simonton Pool Consultants understands that a pool is a place to relax, host guests, and make memories that will last a lifetime. Together, you and our skilled pool-building contractors in Houston will design the pool of your dreams. Give us a call at (919) 307-4478 for additional details. Check out our website.

[staycationfiberglasspools]

Unveiling the Benefits of Fiberglass Pools Near You: Why Choose Fiberglass?

Searching for a swimming pool for your backyard without denting your pocket, can be a daunting task. We know when it comes to picking a perfect swimming pool for your backyard oasis, fiberglass pools become the superior option. Reasons making it a perfect choice for your personal oasis - versatility, durability, and low maintenance requirements. In your search for "fiberglass pools near me" or "fiberglass swimming pools near me," it is extremely important for you to fathom why fiberglass can become your appropriate choice for your home backyard. So Let’s explore a slew of advantages of fiberglass pools and dispel common misconceptions surrounding them.

Affordable and Long-lasting

Having doubts that a Fiberglass swimming pool can cost you a fortune? We can assure you that fiberglass pools are not only budget-friendly but also durable. So if you are wondering if pocket-friendly fiberglass pools really exist, then the answer is a resounding yes. Having said that, it is crucial to differentiate between quality fiberglass pools and subpar alternatives, when it comes to creating a personal oasis. Hence, investing in a reputable fiberglass pool guarantees long-term durability and real deal.

Versatility in Design

Worried about the pool design for your dream pool? So, here is some good news for you, we not only offer budget-friendly pools but also offer versatility in design, giving the homeowners full freedom to select an array of shapes, sizes, and features as per your pool preference. If you are having a sleek, modern pool design or a more traditional aesthetic in mind, staycation fiberglass swimming pools have got you all covered. Furthermore, fiberglass pools seamlessly integrate with various landscaping elements, uplifting the complete ambiance of your backyard and making it instagram worthy.

Low Maintenance Requirements

Another attractive feature of these fiberglass pools is that it requires minimum maintenance, which is not the case for traditional gunite pools. Traditional gunite pools, often calls for frequent repair and refinishing, not letting you to arrange impromptu pool parties. Besides, fiberglass pools boast a smooth, non-porous surface that resists algae growth and staining. So installing a fiberglass pool in your backyard lets you spend less time on cleaning and maintenance, allowing you to enjoy your pool without any worries.

Lifetime Warranty and Reduced Chemical Usage

With a lifetime warranty, fiberglass pools usually give homeowners peace of mind and long-term investment protection. Moreover, because of the fewer chemicals, swimming becomes environment-friendly and more economical.

Superior Installation Practices

While picking a trustworthy fiberglass pool installer, it is important to prioritize industry-leading practices and expertise. Staycation fiberglass pools take immense pride in customer satisfaction, integrity, and education guaranteeing that every pool installation meets the highest standard of quality and craftsmanship. By joining hands with skilled professionals, homeowners can easily avoid expensive repairs and enjoy a fiberglass pool in the coming future.

Jaw-dropping Designs and Customization Options

With more than 150 stunning designs to select from, our fiberglass pools take care of every taste and preference. So if you are willing to give a touch of elegance of Latham, or the Hollywood vibe of Staycation Signature Line, our extensive pool collections guarantee you find the right pool for your backyard.

Final Words!

To recapitulate, it becomes essential to consider numerous benefits of fiberglass pools while searching for "fiberglass pools near me" or "fiberglass swimming pools near me". So, what are you waiting for? Contact us today and get free quotes for fiberglass swimming pools and give a luxurious look to your backyard in just 30 day

[fuggettapools]

Maximize Your Small Yard with Custom Swimming Pool Designs!

Do you want to transform your swimming pool? If so, consult an experienced team at Fuggetta Pools. Our skilled team focuses on bringing up new ideas for swimming pool designs for small yards that efficiently utilize space without any trade-off of style or usability. Whether you are looking for a modern lap pool or a comfortable plunge pool, we will assist you in building it the right way.

[alex8cr]

Natural Pool Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional backyard custom-shaped natural pool remodel

[robertomusci]

Pool Hot Tub Example of a small classic backyard brick and custom-shaped hot tub design

[ibs-gateway]

Miami Fountain Pool

An illustration of a small, modern, rectangular pool fountain in a backyard

[trippingout-tour]

Pool - Modern Pool Example of a mid-sized minimalist backyard concrete paver and custom-shaped lap hot tub design

[rromani-in-art]

Modern Pool Los Angeles Inspiration for a small modern backyard concrete paver and rectangular lap pool fountain remodel

[mmostuff]

Pool - Fountain Ideas for remodeling a mid-sized, classic backyard with concrete pavers and a naturally occurring pool fountain

[resdraft]

Custom Pool Plans for Every Budget and Style

Create your dream oasis with our custom pool plans, tailored to fit your space, style, and budget. Our detailed blueprints ensure functional and visually stunning designs for every backyard. From small spaces to luxury layouts, we deliver personalized pool solutions.

[starkeymeow]

super rich kids. ( prologue )

rafe cameron x reader ; “super rich kids with nothing but loose ends”

plot ── trapped in a world of money, parties, and nothing real, you spend your nights with your boyfriend and your secrets with rafe who watches, waits, and wonders if the man who holds your hand knows about the one who holds your heart.

content ── heavy inspo from “super rich kids” by frank & ��moth to a flame” by shm / the weeknd, bestfriend!rafe, toxic relationships (both romantic & platonic), jealousy & possessiveness, alcohol & substance use, angst & morally gray characters

authors note ── EEEEHEHE ok potential mini-series that might not go past like 3 parts bc everyone knows i cant commit to a full series for the life of me. lmk if ud like to be tagged !

the thing about you and rafe is that no one’s really surprised.

not your friends, not your parents, not even yourself. maybe it’s the money, maybe it’s the recklessness, but from the moment you met him, it was like the universe had already decided that you two would burn bright and fast, beautiful in the way a car crash is beautiful.

but rafe is not your boyfriend. he’s your best friend.

and that’s what makes it worse.

because he watches. he watches as your boyfriend grips your wrist too tight at parties, as he talks down to you like you’re something small and breakable. he watches when your smile falters, when you laugh at things that aren’t funny just to keep the peace. he watches as you excuse every bruise, every raised voice, every night spent crying in the backseat of his car.

and it drives him fucking crazy.

but this is your world. toxic, rich-kid relationships wrapped in luxury, diamonds and daddy’s lawyers, bruises covered by designer sleeves. people like you don’t have real problems. you are young, rich, and beautiful. what else could you possibly need?

but deep down, you crave something more. something real. something that doesn’t feel like drowning.

for now, though, you are here. at rafe’s house, where the party is in full swing.

the backyard is an ocean of bodies, with girls in bikinis, boys in linen shirts, everyone sun-kissed and high off something. the pool glows neon blue, rippling under the soft glow of lanterns strung between palm trees.

inside, the house is just as chaotic, with weed smoke curling in the air, bottles of liquor sweating on marble countertops, someone’s laughter breaking into a scream of delight. the walls are lined with people who don’t care about anything beyond tonight, beyond the next drink, the next line, the next fleeting thrill.

and then there’s rafe.

he is effortless in a way that makes people jealous. clear skin, sharp jawline, blunt dangling between his fingers like it belongs there. he moves through the crowd like he owns it, because, in a way, he does. the eldest cameron, heir to a fortune, the golden boy with a wicked grin and a dangerous temper.

but he isn’t looking at them. he’s looking at you.

watching. waiting. knowing he’s going to have to step in soon.

early tags: @nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @lotuslovers

[simontonpoolconsultants]

Create Luxurious Pool builders and contractors in Houston with Simonton Pool Consultants

Simonton Pool Consultants makes finding the best pool building contractors in Houston   straightforward and uncomplicated. Because of our many years of experience in the industry, we are skilled at creating distinctive pools that perfectly fit your outdoor space, preferences, and lifestyle. Visit our website for additional details, or call (281) 831-6787.

[honeyryewhiskey]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

— dean accidentally opens the box of a familiar, and you're not exactly thrilled to have been bound to a hunter. — not much for warnings, gross witchy scenery? 3k words

The hunt should have been over the second Dean sent a bullet through the witch’s heart. That should have been the final act, clean and simple. But Sam—of course—was adamant about raiding her lair for books to add to the their archives.

Dean could handle hunting a witch just fine—gross as hell, but manageable. A coven? Sure, stomach-churning, but he’d get it done. A witch’s lair, though? That was where he drew a hard line.

The house itself had looked deceptively normal, an old Victorian tucked amongst a dense forest of willow trees. As the witch’s body turned to ash in the backyard, Dean followed Sam into the basement. Cool, damp stone walls seemed to absorb every bit of light, the beam from their flashlights swallowed by shadowed corners as though the darkness itself were alive. 

Dean lingered near the stone steps as Sam meandered around, not nearly as phased by the chaotic graveyard of horrors stored on every rotting wooden shelf.

The space was small, unease creeping up Dean’s spine as he stood between the shelves and tables that buckled under the weight of dozens of glass jars. Each filled with murky liquids or splintered bones, some crammed with grotesque chunks of something—hair, teeth, both. A viscous, questionable goo dripped from the edges of the shelf near his head, pooling onto the cold stone floor. In the corner, an ominous object shrouded in swirling fog pulsed faintly, as if it were breathing.

Every fiber of Dean’s being recoiled in protest.

His grimace deepened as his eyes flicked between the copious amount of jars, trying to find the least disgusting focal point. But the cauldron on his left was impossible to ignore, its grotesque contents bubbling and hissing as steam curled into the air. The smell of rotting flesh wafted through the air, sharp and cloying with each pop, hiss, pop. It burned his nose enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Dean squinted at the rancid brew, his brows drawing together in disgust. “Is that—blood?” he muttered under his breath. “Oh, hell no.” He thought he saw something floating in it—a hand, maybe. Pointing his flashlight at the pot, a small pale patch of skin gleamed in the light. Definitely a hand. 

He swallowed hard, forcing down the rising bile, when Sam’s voice rang out like a gunshot, sharp and urgent.

“What the—Dean!”

The urgency in Sam’s tone trigged every sensitive nerve, turning over into adrenaline that surged through Dean’s veins. His body moved on instinct, rounding the corner with his ivory Colt raised, his heart pounding in his ears.

“What?” he barked, his voice sharp with a dreadful medley of fear and irritation. Clearing his throat, he tried again, steadier but no less on edge. “What is it?”

He skidded to a stop, the sight before him turning his stomach anew. Sam stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, staring at an altar of what Dean could only recognize as archaic dark magic.

The altar dominated the room, massive and ominous. Carved from dark, weathered stone, it looked ancient, as though it had been forged centuries ago in a time best left forgotten. Symbols and figures sprawled across its surface and the surrounding walls, their etched edges worn smooth by the passage of time. The carvings seemed alive in the flickering light of dozens of candles arranged in a deliberate circle around the altar’s platform. The golden glow casts eerie, dancing shadows that seem to twist and shift like living things.

At the center of the altar sat a sleek, coffin-shaped box, the soft brown wood a stark contrast to the horrors of the stone above. A massive steel lock secured it, its design intricate, almost ceremonial, and clearly ancient. From the edges of the box, faint tendrils of white mist curled outward, drifting like restless spirits.

Dean’s gaze narrowed as he approached the box, his instincts prickling. A glass window gave view to the inside, something like a face looked back at Dean, obscured by the swirling mist. But as he leaned closer, he could just make out the curves of a woman’s face. He couldn’t if he was looking at something dead or alive, the haze and stillness disorienting any semblance of life.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, a silent plea in his worried eyes as his chin jerked toward the box sitting ominously in the middle of the room. Faint glints of magic pulsed a glowing green in the veins of the woodwork, as if the box itself contained more life than the body inside. Dean couldn’t ignore the slight hum emitting from the cursed thing, oppressive and low like a growling predator—bowed and ready to lurch. 

Dean turned to him, incredulous, his expression a mix of defiance and disgust. “I’m not touching that thing.” He straightens his back, but can’t help glancing back. The humming invaded his senses, seeping into his ear drums and beckoning his attention. 

Sam’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he shot Dean a look. ���We have to check if she’s alive.”

Dean crossed his arms, glancing between Sam and the coffin. “Okay, great. You do it then.”

“Oh, come on—” Sam started, exasperated.

“No. Absolutely not. You do it,” Dean cut him off, taking a step back for emphasis.

Sam rolled his eyes, his shoulders tensing with irritation as he mimnicked Dean’s retreat, but the advantage of his longer stride puts far more distance between him and the entity. “You’re closer.”

Dean scoffs, “I’m also smart enough to not mess with whatever that is,” Dean shot back, jabbing a finger toward the box. 

The tension hung thick in the stale, musty air of the room. Their argument devolving into a silent battle of glares and clenched jaws, the kind of stubborn standoff only brothers could maintain. The faint sound of something dripping—water or something far worse—echoed from the shadows, an eerie rhythm pattering to their exchange.

Finally, Sam huffed and threw his hands up, his patience wearing thin. “Fine. Rock, paper, scissors.”

Dean groaned loudly, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. He rubbed a hand down his face as if physically preparing himself for what was to come. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, but Sam’s determined look left no room for argument.

With a resigned sigh, Dean tucked his colt behind his back, exchanging it for a fist in one hand, the other opened flat beneath it. His lips curled in a reluctant grimace. “Fine, let’s do this.”

They counted together, the rhythm of their voices tense and clipped between the echos of dripping water and magic’s hum. On the third count, Dean groaned, his shoulders sagging as Sam’s paper crushed his rock.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, punctuating his frustration with a string of colorful curses. Sam smirked faintly as he handed over his sawed off shotgun, clearly enjoying his victory a little too much. Dean snatched the weapon with a scowl.

“She better not bite me,” Dean grumbled under his breath, rolling his neck as if psyching himself up. He flexed his fingers around the gun, shaking out his hands before turning his full attention to the box.

The object loomed in the dim light, taunting him. The faint metallic tang of old blood mixed with the musty smell of decay hanging heavy in the air. Dean’s lip curled in distaste as he stepped closer, shotgun poised.

With a muttered curse, he raised the weapon and brought the butt of the gun down hard on the rusted lock. The sharp crack echoed off the stone walls like a gunshot, the steel clasp clattering to the floor with an ominous finality.

The lid creaked open with an almost deliberate slowness, releasing a thick plume of white fog that hissed as it spilled out, curling unnaturally across the floor. The fog carried a potent floral scent, one that would be sweet had it not come billowing out with an offensive invasion of every sense. It clings to their throats, earthy and rich on their tongues. Both brothers cough and sputter, trying to expel the heady fragrance. 

Dean swatted futilely at the cloud as he shoved Sam’s gun back into his brother’s grasp, his face twisted in irritation. The air felt suffocating now, thick and almost alive as it pressed against their skin.

“Fucking witches,” Dean grumbles, gagging on the fog’s assault. 

“Check for a pulse,” Sam said, his voice muffled by the sleeve pressed to his face as floral notes lingered stubbornly in the air.

Dean shot him a withering glare, his jaw tightening. “What do you think I’m doing, sightseeing?” he snapped. His nose wrinkled as he steeled himself, reluctantly extending two fingers toward the ridgid figure.

The carved wooden edge bit into his arm as he reached inside, his fingers brushing against skin that was far too warm for someone who looked so deathly still. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing his fingers to the wrist, his touch tentative against the unnerving softness.

A single thud of a pulse reverberated beneath his fingertips, firm and slow. Then, without warning, a sharp, electric jolt shot up his arm, stinging like a live wire.

“Son of a—” Dean hissed, yanking his arm back as if burned. He stumbled a step, cradling the assaulted limb against his chest. His glare darted toward the box as if it had personally insulted him.

The altar around them seemed to shudder in response, emitting a deep, reverberating hum that thrummed through the room like a living heartbeat. The vibration rattled the shelves and sent a few jars tumbling, their contents splattering across the stone floor in a sickly mess.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed, his eyes wide as he leaned in. “Dean, look—her wrist.”

Dean’s gaze snapped back to the figure, narrowing as he focused on the exposed wrist. A faint marron glow illuminated the dim space, drawing his attention to the intricate mark now etching itself into skin. It twisted and spiraled inwards like a labyrinth, a perfect circle of maze-like lines leading to the hexagram at its center. 

“What the hell…” Dean muttered, his voice low and uneasy. The symbol pulsed faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light, each flicker sending a fresh wave of unease crawling up his spine until the glow simmered into an angry red scar. 

“Wait—” Sam’s voice cuts sharply through the tense air. His hand shoots out to grab Dean’s wrist, drawing a startled groan as Dean instinctively jerks back, cradling his arm to his chest.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean snaps, his glare fierce.

“Uh, Dean…” Sam’s voice wavers as he nods toward his brother’s wrist.

Dean follows his gaze, his irritation draining into a nauseous unease. On the inside of his wrist, a faint red symbol begins to glow. The intricate maze-like lines twisting in the same fashion as before.The pulsing light feels alive, like claws sinking deeper into his skin, its rhythm uncomfortably in sync with something else.

You.

A soft, languid yawn escapes your lips, and both men startle, their weapons drawn in unison as your body shifts against the confines of the box. You twist and turn, your spine stretching almost unnaturally as you work the slumber from your body. Your eyes blink open slowly, heavy with drowsiness. The room is dim as you sit up, but even in the low light, you can see the tension etched into the brother’s postures.

Flexing your fingers with a deep, patient breath, you glance between them, taking in the guns pointed at you without a flicker of fear. Your gaze drifts lower, catching sight of the faint glow on Dean’s wrist. Your expression hardens, any hint of lethargy vanishing.

“You killed my witch,” you say flatly, your tone devoid of warmth, cutting straight through the silence.

Dean’s jaw tightens as his grip on the weapon steadies, his green eyes narrowing. “Don’t move,” he orders, his voice devoid of care.

Your lips curl into a smirk—a slow, mocking thing that dances at the corners of your mouth. You rise to your feet slowly, stretching your neck with the causal grace of a predator. Your movements are smooth, deliberate as your eyes dig into his.

“What are you?” Sam asks, his voice tight but undoubtedly curious, his brow furrowed in cautious concern.

You tilt your head, your gaze flicking to him briefly before settling back on Dean. “What am I?” you echo, the corner of your mouth twitching upward, but the slit of your stare drowns your smile in mockery. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before binding my soul to his.”

Dean’s frown deepens, his confusion plain, but his voice sharpens like a blade. “What did you just say?” Dean demands, his voice low and sharp, a dangerous edge that matches the glint of the gun in his hand.

Sam’s face drains of color as he lowers his weapon, a soft, horrified “Oh, God,” slipping past his lips.

Your eyes flash, an unnatural luminous green light flaring briefly before fading back into something more human. You sigh, exasperated, as if their ignorance is almost too much to bear. “I am not going to spell it out for you,” you spat, each word cut with your impatient disdain. You cross your arms, turning your focus to inspect your nails, waiting for the brothers to put two glaringly obvious puzzle pieces together. 

Dean’s eyes narrow, his scowl deepening, but before he can snap back at you, Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, cautious yet tinged with realization. “Dean, uh… I think she’s a familiar.”

Dean’s frown deepens, you can physically see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he tucks the colt back into his waistband as his head snaps toward Sam. “A what?”

Sam’s gaze flickers nervously between you and Dean. “A familiar. Y’know—like a witch’s magical companion.”

The disgust on Dean’s face is immediate and unfiltered, his lip curling as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “You’re saying she’s some kind of… pet?”

You whip your head toward him, eyes narrowed into slits, the sharp retort escaping your lips before you can stop it. “I am not a pet, you Neanderthal.” Your voice is as tough as steel, every syllable cutting through the room with precision.

Dean’s brows lift, his dismissive smirk only adding fuel to the fire. “Oh, relax,” he shoots back, waving you off like an annoying stray hissing pathetically at his feet. “Sammy, tell me you can fix this.”

“I—I don’t know,” Sam stammers, clearly out of his depth. His eyes dart between you and Dean like he’s watching the beginning curls and clashes of a cat fight. “I’d have to—”

“Research!” Dean interrupts, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Because that’s always the answer.” His voice is practically vibrating with frustration as he pivots back to you, green eyes narrowing again. “Alright, familiar-lady, let’s go.”

You tilt your chin up, tightening your hold on yourself with an air of defiance, your posture radiating every pulse of your obstinacy. “No.” The single word is crisp, final, and as razor-edged as the glare you toss over your shoulder before turning away entirely.

Dean exhales slowly, the sound heavy with a barely contained vexation. His jaw tightens like cement setting on top of earth. As he speaks again, his octave drops, dangerous, each word laced with displeased command. “Let’s go. Now.”

The words hit like a shove, heavy and unavoidable. The edges of his piercing tone dig into your throat like iron spikes anger pooling from your glowering eyes with pure venom. Teeth clenched, you step out of the box reluctantly, your movements stiff with rebellion as you stalk towards the door.

Dean watches your retreat, the muscles in his jaw tensing and popping as if he’s trying to bite back every curse in the book. His stare snaps to Sam, eyes fierce with confusion and frustration. “What the hell just happened?”

Sam shifts uncomfortably, his lips pressing into a thin line as he pats Dean’s shoulder. His expression teeters between unease and a forced attempt at reassurance. “I think you just gave your first command,” he tries apprehensively.

Dean groans, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so messed up,” he mutters, his boots already thudding heavily as he starts after you.

Sam trails behind him, casting a wary glance at your retreating figure before leaning in toward Dean. “Yeah,” he interjects under his breath, his voice edged with genuine concern. “And for the record? I don’t think she likes being told what to do.”

Dean shoots him a withering scowl, his bitterness simmering just below the surface like a fire ready to ignite. “Yeah, ya think, Einstein,” he grumbles, quickening his pace.

Sam lingers for a moment, his brow furrowed as he watches you stride ahead, your defiant posture radiating silent fury. He sighs, falling into step beside his brother, his voice quieter this time. “Dean… if we can’t figure this out—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean cuts him off, but there’s a crack in his armor. His shoulders are rigid, his steps heavy, every muscle in his body coiled tight with anger.

They walk in silence for a beat, the question hanging between them like the dark thundering skies of a brewing storm. Both brothers, lost in their own thoughts, feel the weight of the situation pressing down—a bond they don’t understand, but know enough to see the problem without an easy fix.

Sam finally breaks the quiet, his voice tinged with reluctant worry. “How do we even start breaking the bond without… you know…?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, his lips set in a grim line as his gaze flicks toward you ascending the basement’s stone stairs. “I don’t know, Sammy,” he mutters, his voice low, almost defeated. “But we’re gonna figure it out. We have to.”

Ahead of them, your darkly dressed silhouette looks almost ghostly against the light of day. And as they follow, both brothers are haunted by the same question: how do you undo a bond like this without killing the human who holds it?

hiii this series will be very dark whimsy fun, derived from the story of hecate and her familiars

tagging ( i always forget to do this ) my mooties but lmk if u wanna be added <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @ultravi0lence14 @deansbeer

[mountainsandmayhem]

Maid Discreetly - Chapter Four

Tommy Miller x Female OC (18+ only)

Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man? Chapter Summary: Fourth of July is supposed to be a holiday, so why does it feel like you're living your worst nightmare; aside from Tommy, that is. AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Please remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for all future chapters. Divders by @saradika-graphics. As always thank you to @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for helping me expand on my ideas and add all my punctuation xo. WC: 3.9k

Story Masterlist || My Masterlist || Joel and Kim

TW: mentions of emotional abuse/manipulation (not by Tommy), parents being parents, drinking alcohol and eating, emotional distress (Female OC is going through it, okay?)

You 

Fourth of July

“Kiddo!” Your dad bellows up the stairs, “Let’s go. Guests are going to arrive soon and your mom needs help in the kitchen.”

I’m almost twenty five, you scream internally as you apply the last swipe of your red lipstick and double check to make sure your black winged eyeliner is even. For as long as you can remember, people have been telling you that you look like Audrey Hepburn or a young Elizabeth Taylor. All of those comments have shaped your style; a carefully curated blend of 1950’s and modern. Today, your long chestnut brown hair is in a high ponytail with the ends curled under, a white and red checkered ribbon tied in a bow around the elastic. You spin in the mirror, checking to make sure your high waisted navy blue shorts aren’t showing anything they shouldn’t be and then adjust the tie of your white button up shirt. You undo another top button. The bits of collarbone and the sliver of skin between the bottom of your shirt and the top of the shorts gives your outfit that flirty, modern edge you often incorporate. 

“KIDDO!” Your dad yells again, right outside your bedroom door this time.

“Ya, I heard you,” You deadpan, grabbing your white flip flops and opening the door. 

“There’s my little Hollywood star,” he says, smiling down at you as if he and your mother haven't spent all morning stress yelling at you, and each other, over every little thing. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply with a smile. “I’ll go see what Mom needs.”

Over the next hour or so, you and your mom chop, mix, and set everything out. Your parents are some of the wealthiest people in Austin, yet refused to hire people to help with the party. You wanted to be mad about it, but when your mom said that everyone deserves a day with their families you had to respect it. People with your kind of money are usually not concerned with anyone but themselves. You can often see that trait in your father, but your mom always puts others before herself. 

As you head out the patio doors to the yard, your mind wanders to Tommy. You saw him briefly when he came to pick your dad up for a round of golf the other day. It was the first time you saw him in short sleeves. You tried not to stare at his arms…you really fucking tried. Unfortunately for you, Tommy Miller was not only ripped, but his arms are also covered in tattoos. Every inch of his exposed skin, aside from his hands, was covered in black, grey and white designs. Your dad’s voice pulls you from your memories of Tommy.

“Here, kiddo,” he says, handing you a bag of ice. “For the bar.”

Your parents’ large backyard is all decked out in red, white, and blue. The pool is set to the perfect temperature, towels embroidered with the family crest rolled perfectly on the chairs, striped umbrellas popped open to offer shade to those who want it. Tables of food and small seating areas occupy the grass. Lights are strung above the entire yard for when it gets dark. It’s another incredibly hot day, so your dad had misters brought in to keep people cool. You switch the one on by the open bar before dumping the ice into the tub then double check to make sure every drink ingredient known to mankind is out for the guests. As you pour yourself a glass of chilled white wine, the one voice you didn’t want to ever hear again sounds from far too close behind you. 

“Bar maid, I’ll take a whiskey sour.” Preston laughs, thinking his jokes about you being his maid are one, still funny and two, don’t make him a misogynistic asshole. 

“Just when I thought I might actually enjoy this party,” you sigh, spinning to face him.

He holds his hand out as if he’s expecting his drink to appear. Just the sight of him sets your teeth on edge.

“Absolutely not,” you state, trying to step around him. His footsteps follow yours, blocking you between him and the bar; his eyes on your exposed skin makes you feel itchy. 

“It used to be your pleasure to make a drink for me. Remember?” His eyes haven’t met yours once, they started on your lips and are now firmly planted on your chest.  

“Things were different then,” you say. The way he stands there, one hand out in demand, the other buried in the pocket of his red dress shorts - which he’s paired with blue suede loafers and white button up shirt - is almost predatory. Even though you know him, alarm bells ring through your entire body and you move your drink out of his reach. He’s not much taller than you, but you feel small and exposed as his midnight blue eyes try to burn holes into your shirt. 

“Be the obedient daughter your dad and I always wanted, baby.” His voice is low and almost serpentine; like could strike at any time. “Make us proud. Make my drink with a smile, like you actually understand what an honour it is to serve someone from the Barnes family tree.” 

His words get sharper towards the end. Red splotches appear on his neck; your sign to either listen to him or get the fuck out of there. Preston Barnes never hit you, he was never physically abusive, but he was this. Manipulative. Conniving. He’d make a great politician, and the thought of that is enough to have bile rising in your throat.

“No.” You hate that it comes out as a shaky whisper. 

“Come on, be a good girl.” He steps in closer and you inhale as if to brace yourself for whatever is going to come next. A high-pitched voice interrupts whatever he’s trying to prove here. 

“Preston, baby! I was looking for you.” A perfect, little blonde woman appears in your vision and as she continues you pick up a hint of an accent, “Oh, hi! I’m Sasha, Preston’s fiancé.”

It shouldn’t feel like a slap in the face or like being doused with cold water and hot water collectively, but it does. She holds out her left hand, a too large square diamond perched on the slender finger she wiggles in your direction. Either she is blissfully unaware of who you are, or she’s a total bitch and you and your friend group will now have a new person to gossip about. Of course Preston would move on quickly, on paper he is a perfect match. He pulls her into his side and places a kiss on top of her head. 

“I was just getting us a drink and catching up with my old friend,” he looks back at you, at your eyes this time. He doesn’t bother to introduce you, a power move he often bragged to you about when you were on his arm. He told you he’d do it when the person in front of him isn’t worth knowing. “If you’ll excuse me though, I’d like to make my petite love a drink.”

The switch in his personality from intimidating you to love bombing her is almost enough to knock the air right out of you. As you step around him, you see Tommy across the yard. You hold his gaze for a second too long, but for whatever reason, looking in his golden brown eyes calms you; brings you back to who you are and who you promised to never be again. The insecure woman you were with Preston is not who you are today. As Preston and Sasha make their drinks, he loudly tells her about how he wants to introduce her to Jim since he’s in line to become CEO of Maid Discreetly. You swallow down the rage and walk off, letting the warmth of Tommy’s eyes burn off the oily feeling that Preston’s spiteful gaze left.

Once everyone has finished eating, you move to help clean up, collecting serving dishes and American flag embossed paper plates and napkins. Preston has found a way to pop up in every circle of conversation you’ve participated in tonight, and much to your dismay, he always manages to bring up his fiancee. Turns out, Sasha is quite a talented ballerina. She grew up in Russia, and came to America at twelve to study dance. She recently turned nineteen and her dream is to dance for the New York City Ballet. When she mentioned her goals, Preston quickly told her that she has two years before he wants a family and she’s not getting any younger. You almost feel bad for her. As you stack dishes to go into the house in your arms, Tommy’s hands appear. 

“Can I help you?” He asks before grabbing the few Pyrex dishes you have resting in your arms. 

“I’m not in the mood, Tommy,” you huff, avoiding looking at him.

“I promise you, I just want to help.” 

You place the dishes in his hands, let out a sigh, and then grab more dishes before following him into the house. As you place everything on the island, you can feel his gaze is fixed to your profile. He’s shoulder to shoulder with you - or as much as he can be since he’s almost a full foot taller than you - and close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne; a mix of fresh mountain air and sawdust.  

“Thank you,” you say, trying to muster any sort of happiness into your voice, keeping your eyes on the dishes and the counter. You’ve been raised to smile and be polite, say “it’s good to see you” even if it isn’t, but something about Tommy feels…well, you aren’t really sure, since you’ve never felt this before. At first you thought it was comfort or care, but neither of those words seem strong enough. 

“Of course.” He leans forward a bit in your peripheral, getting a view of your face. “Hey, are you ok?”

Sasha’s melodic laugh comes through the large open window above the sink and rage bubbles deep in your gut. You brush past Tommy to slide it shut with a wince and a huff. He says your name softly and when you finally look at him you finally have a word for how Tommy Miller makes you feel.

Safe.

It’s like a live wire, humming, but not dangerous, and none of it makes sense because just a few weeks ago you looked at him and thought ‘asshole’. The only logical explanation is that anyone looks good when compared to Preston, but you also thought about crawling into Tommy’s lap in your dad’s office the other week. Maybe he’s just around too often when you’re feeling vulnerable. Or he’s trying to use you to get an in - just like Preston did. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tommy asks. 

It happens before you can stop it: an embarrassingly sad sob works its way up your throat and out your mouth. 

“Shit, sweetheart.” This time the pet name you thought you hated comes out sincere and full of love. “Come here.”

Tommy

He pulls you by the wrist into the butler’s pantry. This would be what a normal person's kitchen would look like if they were hosting a party like this; cutting boards and knives in the sink, half empty boxes of crackers and open bags of chips ready to refill bowls. He leads you to the stool in front of the counter and guides you to lean back on it before looking for tissue. 

“Sorry,” you sniff. 

“You don’t have to be. Just let it out,” he says, handing you a few Kleenexes. 

You dab gently under your eyes, looking at your lap. “This is so embarrassing.”

He should keep his hands to himself, he should get your mom or someone to come in here. He knows it's going to be his undoing, but he places his hands on the outside of your thighs and crouches in front of you. 

“Hey, look at me,” he whispers. Your sad, sparkling green eyes collide with his and his heart cracks at how broken and defeated you look. “I’m here, or I can go get someone else if you want. But I think you need to get some things out, and that’s nothing to be embarrassed about. If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me. I could tell you were uncomfortable by the bar earlier, but I didn’t think you’d want me to intervene.”

You take a deep shuddering breath in. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Tommy.”

“This time,” he says with a small smile and you laugh humorlessly. He should have stepped in, he knows that, but he's all turned around in his head as to where the two of you stand. Plus, he’s still feeling guilty about what he said at the gala. When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“Do you want me to get someone else? Your mom, maybe?” His fingers flex into the soft warmth of your smooth thighs subconsciously, not wanting to go. 

You shake your head, more tears flooding your lash line. 

“Alright. Are you okay?”

“No, it’s - I’ll be fine.” You give him a fake smile, just like you gave your dad in his office. He’s not fooled by that in the slightest and hates that you feel the need to act like that with him. However, he hasn’t proven to you yet the type of guy he really is, so he’s the only one in this pantry to blame for your actions.   

“I didn’t ask if you’d be fine. I know you will come out of this stronger than you already are. I asked, at this moment, if you’re okay. Those are two very different questions, sweetheart.” He swirls his thumb along your skin as you let out a slow, sad exhale. 

“Preston is my ex-fiancé. My dad fucking loves him.” He watches as you swallow hard, and even though his knees are screaming in this position, he refuses to move. “I don’t know how much you know about my family, but when I was seven, my older brother passed away. As gross or outdated as this sounds, families like ours are supposed to have a son to carry on the legacy. He’s going to give the business to Preston. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with all of this. For what it’s worth, your father speaks very highly of you and I’ve never once heard him mention Preston when he talks about being in California.”

A tear escapes the corner of your eye and he catches it before you can. For a split second he swears you lean into his touch as the pad of his middle finger wipes the tear away, your skin is soft and warm under his hands. His mouth waters as he catches the pear and mint scent of your perfume. Your bright green eyes sparkle sadly, but he revels in the feeling of you really looking at him for once.

“Thank you for saying that,” you whisper.

“I don’t say things that aren’t true, sweetheart.” 

“I’m sorry for ruining your time, Tommy.” 

He stands, and without thinking about it, cups your chin and tilts your gaze up to his. “Stop apologizing to me. I know we started off wrong, but if you aren’t having a good time, then neither am I. Understand?”

You nod into his palm, and then your hand lands on top of the one he still has on your leg, holding him there. “I just wish my dad would see me on the same level as Preston. He should see me above him since I’m his daughter. Fuck, at this point I would settle for equal.”

Everything about this night is killing Tommy; the feeling of your skin against his, the tears that line your lash line. If he couldn’t get you out of his mind before, he’s utterly fucked now. Regardless of that, he’s not letting go until you do.

He clears the sand that’s formed in his throat before speaking. “I think that’s a tricky thing about dads and their daughters. They’ll always see them as their little baby girl, regardless of how old they get. My niece is twenty six and a doctor, but Joel just sees that little girl he taught to ride a bike.” 

The realization of what he just said hits him like a Mack truck. Jim mentioned you were almost twenty five, which means you’re younger than Sarah. And Tommy’s standing here at thirty nine cradling your chin and wishing he could press his lips to yours and tell you everything is going to be ok. Your skin starts to burn under his palms. This is wrong. What he’s feeling, what he hopes you want, too; everything about it is wrong. He pulls his hands away and steps back, his rough palm scratching against your soft thigh as he does. He has to get some distance before he does something cataclysmic.

“I know that’s not helpful, sweetheart, but your dad is proud of you. I think I’ve heard more about you than any thoughts he has for the renovations.”

You smile and then bite the inside of your cheek before speaking. “Thank you, Tommy.”

God, he wants to kiss you. 

“Of course, sweetheart. I know we don’t know each other well, but I’m always here. Okay?”

“Yea,” you say with a nod. When you stand he steps further back to stop himself from grabbing you.

“We should get back.” He says, jerking his head towards the kitchen and the party. 

“I’m just going to go check my makeup. Thank you, Tommy. I know I already said that, but I mean it. You are slowly proving that you maybe aren’t such an asshole after all.”

He can’t stop the shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. With a laugh he says, “That killed you to say, didn’t it?”

You laugh, too, easy and genuine as you walk past him and into the kitchen. “Fuck off, Miller.”

You 

It’s been a few weeks since the Fourth of July. The rest of the party went smoothly; Preston and Sasha were gone when you got back outside, and you ended up having a really good time. Laren eventually showed up and the two of you floated in the pool on large flamingos, drinking champagne and watching the fireworks your dad arranged. Tommy looked absolutely beautiful under the dim lights. You tried not to sneak glances his way, but you swear anytime you weren’t directly looking at him, he was looking at you. 

You have a meeting with him next month to discuss the office renovation, and every time you see it in your calendar, you get butterflies. It’s ridiculous, really; he’s got to be nearing forty, what is he going to want with someone younger than his niece? Granted, Kim is younger than Joel's daughter and that didn’t stop them. Since she’s on your mind, you send Kim a quick text to see how her internship is going before heading to the office kitchen to make a coffee. 

Knowing that you’re going to be in charge of the renovation has you looking at the office differently lately. Your dad and the finance department have their offices on one side; meanwhile, you and all the other departments are on the other. There’s a large lobby and breakroom in between the two sets of offices. The lobby rarely gets used since your dad goes to the clients homes to properly quote their services, and most of the contracts are done through email or your dad meeting them for lunch or a drink. Furthermore, the purchaser’s office is downstairs in the warehouse. It’s simply not practical to have all the offices spread out like this. Your dad laid out a budget and even though it’s not much, you think you and Tommy will be able to come up with something much more efficient. 

As you steam your oat milk, Yolanda, your dad’s assistant, knocks on the door frame of the kitchen and says your name. “Your dad would like to see you.” 

She’s a firecracker of a woman; small and Hispanic, and not someone anyone would dare to mess with. She runs around the office getting your dad exactly what, or who, he needs. Anyone else in her position would be perpetually stressed, but she takes no shit and everyone, your dad included, asks ‘how high’ when she says ‘jump’. She nudges you out of the way, your cue to let her finish your coffee so you don’t keep your dad waiting. 

You knock on the open door as you walk into your dad’s office. “You asked to see me?”

Another thing that bothers you about the offices is how differently each person's office is decorated, like they were all designed by someone else and the furniture was an afterthought. Case in point: your office has large windows, a glass desk and pink and gold furniture, while your dad’s has one window with a cheap plastic shade over it, a cherry wood desk that’s way too big for the space, and a black metal filing cabinet. 

Your dad extends a hand towards the chairs across from his desk and you take a seat in one of the worn down blue chairs across from him. “Honey, I want to discuss your additional task when you’re sitting in for me. As you know, I’m going to California to start expanding and I know you’ve been chomping at the bit to onboard clients.”

“Are you giving me a client?” you ask, trying not to sound too eager or presumptuous.

“Kiddo, you know the pricing structure better than anyone else, but you also know this future client so I think it will be a good practice round.”

Excitement bubbles in your chest and you beam up at him. “Thank you, Dad!”

“It’s a bit out of town, so factor your mileage in when quoting it.” He slides a black folder with the Maid Discreetly logo on it across to you. It’s silly, but you remember when you ordered these custom folders. They’re the only black folders allowed in the office and every single one of them stays with your dad. They hold the confidential information of the hundreds of clients. Each one gets locked in that ugly black metal cabinet. 

“He’s expecting you on Wednesday at 10 AM. That gives you today and tomorrow to ensure you’re free all day for him.”

You smile. “Wednesday, 10 AM,” you repeat. “I won’t let you down.”

Yolanda appears with your coffee in hand. After you take it from her, she taps her foot impatiently, like your dad has something more important to attend to now. “Is that everything, Dad?”

“Don’t lose that folder,” he says sternly.

“Of course, Jim,” you say, using his first name so he knows how serious you’re taking this moment. You keep it pressed tightly to your body as you make a beeline for your office. It feels like every employee in the office is staring at you as you carry that important folder. Anyone who isn’t your father or the billing department has no business being in possession of this file. When you get to your office, you shut the door and take a calming breath. The name written at the top of this file is about to change the trajectory of your career, putting you on the path that you’ve been dying to take. 

You sit at your desk with shaky knees before opening the folder slowly. Your eyes eagerly scan over the name of your first potential client. Your heart thunders as you read the name again. This person both excites and terrifies you; it’s someone you can’t wait to see again but also won’t hold back with how you do during the onboarding process.

Tommy Miller.