#Steps for new homeowners

[soovyclub]

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6 Tips for New Homeowners - Steps Every New Homeowner Should Take Discover tips for homeowners to help you settle into your new home with smart steps to prepare property owners when moving into a new house and the important things to consider and how to get ready for home maintenance by learning basic DIY skills. https://www.soovy.club/blog/tips-for-new-homeowners-steps-every-new-property-owner-should-take-moving-house

[dumpywrites]

Cat-astrophe - Min Yoongi / Suga

Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem. 

Genre/tags: Fluff-ish, strangers to ???, minor mention of anxiety.

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

a/n: cus we're all soft for long haired Yoongi, right? hehe

It had been officially a month since you had moved to a new apartment place. You loved the new place honestly. It was cozy and the neighborhood looked nice. There were many convenience store nearby and the street was always still busy until late at night, making you feel a little bit of secure when coming home late.

While the place was nice it had one tiny downside. It was rather on the far side from your workplace. It took you an hour of bus ride just to get home from the office, so some days could be more tiring than others. And today was one of those tiring days. 

It was around nine at night on a Monday. Having to work overtime for the deadline and missed the bus, really dreaded you out. You were both tired and hungry, arriving home only to find that your pet cat was missing. It really just was not your day.

To say you were panicking would be a bit of an understatement. Cookie was barely a four month-old cat and had a very tiny body. All the negative possibilities start filling your head and you were horrified by all of them. Not to mention how it was basically forbidden to bring pets in the apartment complex. It was one of the policies but you couldn't help it since Cookie was a rescue.

When you arrived at your apartment lobby with a cat snack on your hand, there wasn’t that many people there. You walked past a guy by the front desk, who had medium-length black locks and fair skin, with headphones dangling on his neck. You began to call your pet’s name as soon as you were outside the lobby, but suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder. 

“Are you looking for a small black Bombay cat?” It was the same guy who just walked past you.

“Oh my god, I am! Have you seen him???” You said, your voice was a little bit shaky. 

“He’s in my place, I’m on the seventh.” 

“Oh, me too!”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised at how stoic he sounded saying that, but didn’t further question him on it. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, can I go get him now?”

“Sure, I was just gonna go up as well.”

When you both entered the elevator, you made a mental note to ask his name or at least introduce yourself. He was a neighbor after all. It was pretty silent inside the lift and you just hoped he didn’t hear your stomach rumbling ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, bearing the hunger for a little while. 

When the elevator door opened you followed him from behind as he led you to his door. When he stopped at his front door, your eyes were widened in shock. 

“You live next to me?!” 

“Yeah.” He said casually and unlocked the door. "I've seen you multiple times."

You chose to not further question and followed him but stopped when you had only took two steps in, because technically, the homeowner had not really officially permit you to come in. The guy seemed to notice how you just stood awkwardly and looked back. 

“You can sit down for a sec, I’ll go get him.” 

“Oh, right… yeah. Thank you.” You said awkwardly and walked to sit on his couch. 

A few seconds later the man came back with your cat in his embrace. Cookie was clinging on his tshirt before he tugged him and gave him onto your lap. 

“Cookie!” You called, almost teary. 

“I think he jumped from your balcony to mine. Make sure to close your balcony door next time.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you… uh…”

“Yoongi.” 

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You repeated and introduced yourself in return. “I’m Y/N, and if you ever need anything please let me now.” You said as you stood up, already making your way out. 

“Also, thank you for not reporting it…”

“No problem.” Was all the guy said and by this point you figured he was not much of a talker. 

You bid your goodbye to your neighbor, which only gained a small nod before he closed the door on you. You walked to your door and let Cookie down as soon as you got inside. Sighing deeply, you began to feel your stomach rumble again, this time it rumbled quite loudly. Your feet were aching from standing on the bus and now your body finally got on how tired you were. 

Cookie meowed and immediately went to his cat bed and laid down. You sighed and smiled at the small creature. 

“You little rascal… you’re lucky I love you.” 

You then went to your kitchen to cook yourself some instant ramen. 

The next day you went to work and had to take another overtime. Unfortunately you had to for the rest of the week until your current project was done. It was exhausting but you had to make it and mostly thinking about the bonus pay from it helped quite a bit. You spent the next few days the same, repeating the schedules, and the tiring work. 

It was almost ten at night that you arrived home and found out Cookie had gone missing again. For some reason your first instinct was to knock on your next door, in hope the neighbor who once helped you, could lend you a hand again, and hoping maybe Cookie just ran to his place again instead of being gone somewhere where it wasn't safe for him.

You knocked on the door and didn’t get immediate answer. You waited for what felt like five minutes, before the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of your neighbor with wet hair. He had a small white towel around his neck and the hoop earring that you saw him with before was absent. His skin looked glowing, you probably needed to ask about his skin care routine later.

“So sorry to interrupt you, I was wondering if Cookie might have gone to your place again?” 

“He’s right there on the couch.” He casually pointed. His expression was straight and had you wondering if he did not mind it, bothered, or simply didn’t care. 

You slowly walked to approach your cat and bent down to its level. “Cookie, you need to stop this…” You tapped the cat's nose, as if scolding the poor cat would do anything. 

“He jumped to my balcony again, did you forget to close the door?” 

“But I made sure to close it this morning…” You looked at your neighbor, who walked closer to inspect the cat. 

“I think he knows how to turn door knobs, since he’s quite a jumper. You need to lock the door.” 

“I can’t believe this little demon…” You sighed, fingers still stroking the purring cat. 

“He’s… alright.” 

You were slightly taken aback by the response and looked up to him, but much to your disappointment, his expression still looked the same. You were about to get up and excuse yourself, but you notice a small steel bowl under his dining table, half full with what you assumed to be cat milk (I mean, it would be weird if it was his, duh!). 

“You also have a cat?”

His eyes followed yours. “Oh, that. I got it the first time Cookie came here, I figured he must be thirsty since he came in around noon time.” 

“That’s… that’s very nice of you.” You looked at him and smiled. Somehow him addressing your cat by his name sounded lovely. 

“You can have the rest of the milk if you want, since you’ve figured out how he escaped and all…” 

“It’s okay, you can keep it! Just in case he ran into you again…” You chuckled but then stopped after realizing how that just sounded like you did not mind troubling him with your cat continuously. “I mean… I’m sorry, I’ll make sure he’ll never escape again.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll keep the milk for now.” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just in case.”

You looked at your neighbor and couldn’t help but to feel all warm inside. He seemed like a nice person and from the looks of it he also liked your cat. 

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. I’ll be taking this little guy here then...” You smiled at him and stood up with Cookie in your arms. 

“I got some dim sum…” 

You looked at the guy questioningly. 

“Do you maybe want some?” 

“That’d be too much, it’s okay, you go ahead and eat.” You politely declined. Although you were hungry, you could bring yourself to bother your neighbor any more than what you had done. 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Y-yeah?” You asked, afraid you heard it wrong. 

“Have you eaten?” He repeated. “If not, then I insist you take some.”

“I…” You wanted to lie, but at this point it would come off as rude if you refuse him again. “I actually haven’t. Thank you very much though, I feel so bad that you’re being this nice to me.”

“You can just eat them here.” 

“I don’t wanna disturb—“ You were awkwardly cut by the sound of your stomach rumbling. 

“You’re not disturbing me.” He cleared his throat and looked away. 

That was embarrassing. 

And that was how you ended up sitting down on your neighbor’s dining table, eating dim sums. 

In silence. 

This Yoongi guy really did not like conversation it seemed. He was sitting down on his couch and had turned the TV on. The volume was on but not quite loudly, and Cookie was on his lap, sleeping as he occasionally stroked the cat’s head softly. Funny that somehow you could see some resemblance of Yoongi with your cat.

“So… how long have you lived here?” You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. You kind of regretted asking as soon as the words came out from your mouth, afraid it would be awkward. 

“Around ten months or so.” He paused. “No, I think it’s been almost a year cause I spent two months overseas.”

“Really? What were you doing overseas?” You regretted asking again. Looking at how quiet Yoongi was, you didn’t want to ask too much or indulge into too much conversation, afraid it would be too much for him. 

But much to your surprise, he answered. “I’m a producer. I was working for this artist and all the work had to be done in America.” 

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” You said. At this point you no longer were sitting facing the table, but to him. “Who was the artist?”

“Uh… Halsey.” He replied while looking at the TV screen, seemingly to avoid your stare.

“Oh my god???” You gasped. “That’s incredible! So you’re like crazy talented?!”

“I’m alright…” 

“You should show me some of your work someday!” You said enthusiastically. When Yoongi did not reply to it and stayed silent, you cursed yourself internally. “I mean compared to what I do that’s like really amazing.” You chuckled nervously. 

“I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” He looked at you, a small smile was on his lips. 

You realized it was the first time you saw him smile and it made your heart raced rather faster than usual. It was the first time you saw him with facial expression other than his usual poker face. 

“I’m just a normal product designer at a very normal company.” You shrugged. 

“Don’t downplay yourself like that. You work very hard.” 

“Thanks…” You replied shyly. 

After finishing your food, you got up and went to wash the dishes, which immediately got stopped by the homeowner. He politely told you to go back home and rest. Which again, you could not thank him more for. 

You took your pet in your arms and said your goodbyes to your neighbor. Right when you arrived back in your place you came to realize something. Yoongi did not eat with you and there was only one portion of the food. While it could just meant he had already eaten beforehand, you felt giddy, thinking about another possibility. Was this a crush you sense forming? Frankly speaking, you could not care less. You were welcoming the possibility with open arms.

— 

Friday finally came and you were ready to take it in. The days of working with your company project was going to an end, which meant you no longer need to work overtime after this. The thought of it put you in a very good mood. 

This time right after arriving home, you walked to a nearby chicken restaurant and grab some not only for you, but also for your neighbor. You wanted to repay his kindness the past few days. After changing into some comfortable clothes, not to mention the multiple times you had to re-check the outfit in the mirror for some reason, you took your cat in your left hand and the food in the other. You knocked on your neighbor’s door hoping he was home. 

And he was. You were greeted with his silence but he opened the door wider as soon as he saw your face without question. One thing that caught your eyes though was how he was dressed up like he was ready for a night out. He wasn’t in his usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, but instead in a ripped wide legged jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white tee underneath. He looked handsome. And here you were, in your so-called comfy outfit that you were starting to regret.

“Before you ask, no, Cookie’s right here.” You smiled awkwardly as you raised the small cat in your hand for him to see. “I’m just here to drop by some chicken I got for you… as a thanks for your help these past few days.” You handed the plastic of food to him. “Alright, that’s all…”

He took the food from you hesitantly. “You don’t wanna come in?” 

“Aren’t you going out or something?”

“I was… but you are here.” He said, sounding unsure. 

“That’s ridiculous, why would I stop you from going out?”

“I was gonna go to your place…” 

Your mouth formed a small O shape, unable to form a word. He was going to your place? But what for??? The butterflies in your stomach were having a blast. 

“But you’re all dressed up…”

“I was gonna change back.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, which made you gulped at the sight. “I knew this was a bad idea I shouldn't have listened to Hoseok—”

You stopped his rambling. “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go eat together at that one Chicken restaurant nearby…”

“Oh.” You widened your eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked at you, biting his cheek in annoyance. 

“This is awkward.” You chuckled. 

“Whatever, just… just come in first.”

You saw Yoongi putting the plastic of food on his table. You offered help after putting down your cat on his couch and walked to his direction. Both of you plated the food in comfortable silence, it felt oddly domestic and you liked it. At this point you were used to him being not talkative and see it as his charm. 

After you took the plates to the living room, Yoongi suddenly came back with cans of beers and soju in his hands. 

“We’re drinking?” You said with an amused grin. 

“You can drink, right?” 

“Sure, but can you?” You playfully eyed him. 

“Don’t challenge me.” 

You could see how he was trying to hide his smile, and it brought colors to your cheeks. 

—

You did not know how you got in this situation. Five episodes in randomly rewatching Avatar The Last Airbender and you both were drunk. You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the screen. It seemed like the booze gave you confidence, or made you shameless, or both, but the guy didn’t complain so it could be a sign of a good thing. While you could see Yoongi holding his alcohol better than you, he was not completely sober either. 

It was at this very moment where you saw things through a pink tinted lense. Had Yoongi’s hair always looked that soft? Had he always looked this handsome? You began to question things you should not be questioning.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” You randomly asked. 

“Do I look bad?” He replied, eyes still on the screen, hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap. 

"Of course not, I just feel severely underdressed now..." You chuckled.

He eyed you from top to bottom, which made you nervous, but he shrugged, seemingly to not have any problem with your clothes.

“You look… handsome.”

“You think I look handsome?” He suddenly moved to face you, making you move to look at him as well. The tone of his voice sounded like he was teasing more than asking a question.

You nodded and bit your lips. “And you kinda look like Cookie.” You giggled. 

He raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with your answer. 

“Your eyes…” You began to ramble. “They look just like Cookie’s, and when you look annoyed, or just your plain expression… you look like a cute cat.” 

“Really…” Yoongi hummed. 

“Yup!” You giggled like an idiot. 

You failed to notice how at this point, Yoongi has put Cookie down from his lap to the floor. His face only inches away from you as you kept rambling. 

“Your hair look so soft… like a cat’s fur.” You reached your hands closer to his hair, but stopped mid-way, scared he’d get uncomfortable. 

Yoongi surprised you again by grabbing both of your wrist and putting your hands on his hair, letting you stroke his head slowly. You saw his expression softened and as you kept playing with his hair, he closed his eyes. You swore you heard him purr. 

“Pretty.” You said with a drunk smile. 

“Hmm. Pretty.” He mirrored. 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

—

To be frank, you could not recall what happened after. You recalled some bits of karakoe-ing? Singing random PSY songs in your broken Korean using a bottle of whiskey as your mic. That was probably all? You couldn’t think while the throbbing headache was present in the room with you.

So why were you now in a bed that was not yours, wearing a t-shirt that was too big for you and was clearly not yours, also for heaven’s sake, WHY IS YOONGI SLEEPING NEXT TO ME??? 

You froze. Did you??? There was no way. Sure you found him attractive and all, and you definitely had this huge crush on him, but you couldn’t just sleep with a guy you barely knew. Besides your headache, your body didn’t feel any pain, so that was probably a good sign. What if he was just that gentle? Okay, you need to stop thinking at once before you started a whole fiction about you and Yoongi in your head.

When you turned your back, you felt the other side of the bed shifted as well. 

“You’re up?” He asked with a raspy voice. 

“Yeah.” You said, still back-facing him. “We didn’t… you know…”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, okay good.”

Yoongi did not answered to that, but instead you felt him scooting closer. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you’d wanna spend your weekend.” You chuckled. 

Your breath hitched when you felt a hand over your waist. “Is this okay?” He suddenly stopped when your body tensed at his touch. 

You nodded, heart beating too loudly for you to form any sentence. 

“This is nice.” He said, resting his forehead on your back. 

When you stayed silent, he took your hand and turned you over to face him. Heat immediately took over your body as soon as your eyes meet. You noticed he was back in his usual home attire, oversized tee and sweatpants. His hair was messy, but it seemed like universe had its favorite cause he still looked good. 

“You know, I haven’t had good sleep in… weeks.”

You were surprised by his sudden confession.

“It’s half past eleven now, and it’s not even ten minutes after I woke up…” He tittered. “My anxiety has been getting worse the past month and out of nowhere a black cat suddenly jumped to my balcony, meowing non-stop while I was working.”

You looked at him, letting him finish his talk. This was the most words you had ever heard coming out of Yoongi’s mouth and it made your heart flutter. 

“I haven’t been caring. I’ve stopped caring, for a while now. Seeing you care so much for such a small creature… I don’t know, it feels good. It makes me wanna care.”

“Yoongi…” You cooed, caressing his cheek. "It's not true, all you have been since I first met you until this moment, was caring."

"I'm sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere but I feel at home with you and I don’t know why...” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yet, at least.”

“I… like this too. A lot actually.” You said shyly. 

“I would like to get to know you more if you’d like.” He was being honest and exactly to the point, no flirty bullshit to spice his sentences.

“I’d love that...” 

Suddenly you heard a low meow from under the bed and Cookie jumped into the bed, joining you two. Apparently his bedroom door was left opened and none of you noticed how Cookie had entered. You giggled and he smiled as well, the widest smile and the most genuine you had ever seen from him, as he took the cat and cuddled both of you close.

"I think it's about time you give me your number..." You squinted at him playfully. "You know, so we don't repeat the whole chicken restaurant accident again?"

“Okay, but promise me first you won’t apologize again after kissing me.” He chuckled. 

“EXCUSE ME WHAT???”

— 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi laughed. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

“I can be crazier if you open that whiskey.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Yoongi just shook his head, smiling at your silliness. He stood up and went to grab his Hibiki anyway, which earned a shout of celebration from you. 

Things escalated quickly after opening the bottle. Somehow you were starting a drunk karaoke session which followed by many dance breaks. You ended up crying when a sad song randomly came up in the playlist and when Yoongi asked why, you replied. You replied with your lips on his.

In your head it just made sense. It was his lips’ fault for looking so juicy. Yeah, totally his fault for looking so hot that it was driving you insane.

None of you moved and it only lasted seconds before your mood turned sour again. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…” You pushed him gently. “Oh my god, you’re so gonna hate me!!!”

“Hey, calm down…“ 

You started to panic, tears now forming in your eyes again. “Please don’t hate me, I just wanted to kiss you…” You cried. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough drinking—“

And you puked. 

Yes, Yoongi did see your lilac colored bra when he helped you change into his t-shirt. But that’s a secret between him and little Cookie. 

Thank you for reading! 💎

part 2 is here!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: One more day and I'm a homeowner

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail. 

“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.” 

“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you. 

“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts. 

The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish. 

The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward. 

“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt. 

His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss. 

You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder. 

“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly. 

The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare. 

“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.” 

He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.” 

You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit. 

The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples. 

“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.” 

“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.” 

“Horse pie? But he is fast.” 

“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.” 

“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.” 

“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.” 

“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.” 

You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker. 

“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.” 

You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road. 

“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask. 

“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.” 

You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well. 

“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.” 

“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?” 

“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.” 

He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry. 

⚔️

The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent. 

“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along. 

You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail. 

“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.” 

“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move. 

You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter. 

“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.” 

You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric. 

“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly. 

“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.” 

“Yes, your highness, but the king--” 

“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.” 

You stare at her unmoving. 

“They won’t allow it, your highness--” 

A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands. 

“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!” 

She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away. 

“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.” 

You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either. 

You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion. 

It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion. 

⚔️

The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains. 

You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party. 

Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist. 

“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance. 

You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head. 

“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.” 

He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth. 

“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow. 

“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.” 

“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.” 

“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down. 

He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it. 

“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls. 

You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose. 

⚔️

That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out. 

Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat. 

You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart. 

“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back. 

“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers. 

“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels. 

You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?” 

“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs. 

“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?” 

He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. 

“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds. 

“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.” 

He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.” 

“A skirmish?” 

“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.” 

“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.” 

“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.” 

“Yellow?” You wonder. 

“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”  

You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips. 

“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?” 

Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.” 

You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?” 

“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.” 

You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?” 

“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.” 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Uplinkchump Linkdump

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

It's Linkdump Saturday! This is the day on which I clear the giant backlog of links from the previous week that I haven't managed to post in my newsletter's "Hey look at this" sections. This is my 19th linkdump; here's the previous 18 dumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Let's start with some fun and games. Liam is a high-schooler who created "Bad Plumbing," a Jenga-style boardgame using a variety of 3D printed shapes; the game was a smash hit at his local game-jam, so now he's kickstarting it:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/liamclift/bad-plumbing

The shapes are delightful and Seussian, and there's a very ingenious game dynamic that's not just "make the pile bigger." You can pre-order for $30, and for $100, you'll get a version with a custom-designed shape of your specification. I backed!

It's lovely to see something that's both excellent and delightful, but to be honest, the majority of this week's links are excellent and enraging. Most of these links from The American Prospect, which has, under David Dayen's executive leadership, gone from "a magazine I really like" to "the first thing I read every day."

This week saw a the Prospect publish a stunning series of articles on prices, a sacred object for neoliberal economists, who see them as the carriers of the information that allows society to order itself for maximum efficiency and broadest benefit. Unfortunately for these economists, the love-affair with prices is one-sided: they may love prices, but prices hate neoliberalism.

The dogma that says that any government interference in pricing will destroy the economy by "distorting" prices does not survive contact with reality. The instant the government steps away from regulating monopoly, and its handmaiden, fraud, prices go batshit crazy.

This week's Pluralistic newsletters were dominated by this brilliant series in the Prospect. On Wednesday, I wrote about the Prospect's investigations into algorithmic and surveillance pricing:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

And yesterday, it was the epidemic of junk fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's more than I could fit into the newsletter, though, like Friday's excellent piece on the scourge of surge pricing by Sarah Jaffe:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

Jaffe's piece was especially interesting given economist Ramsi Woodcock's compelling case that surge pricing is a per se violation of antitrust law:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/26/aggregate-demand/#pure-transfer

The Prospect series was so timely. After decades of pricing orthodoxy, economists like Isabella Weber are making huge waves (and attracting a tsunami of abuse). Weber's interview with Vass Bednar on the Globe and Mail's Lately podcast this week is a must-listen:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-millennial-economist-who-took-on-the-world/

(Though if you get your econ ideas from the New York Times, you'd miss this whole revolution, as the Grey Lady's views on prices remain mired in the Reagan era:)

https://twitter.com/HalSinger/status/1798849195664916648

Few prices are more important than the price of the roof over your head – after all, "shelter" is only second to "food" in the hierarchy of needs. Dayen's Friday story for the Prospect in NIMBYism gets to the crux of the cost-of-living crisis: people who own houses want houses to be expensive, and will go to enormous lengths to make sure that shelter costs as much as possible:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-06-07-homeowners-want-housing-prices-to-go-up/

Dayen attributes this to "the wealth effect" – that is, most people would like to be richer, and the minority of Americans who have a positive net worth owe that status to rising house prices, and the plurality of Americans who have a negative net worth thanks to a mortgage are counting on rising house prices to flip them into the black.

When America threw off the Gilded Age, we charted two courses to prosperity for working people: labor unions and home ownership. The ruling class cannily convinced us to rely solely on the latter. The housing emergency raging across the country is the inevitable result of that decision:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

The Prospect's consistent brilliance isn't merely an editorial matter, of course. The magazine features a recurring cast of some of the best muckraking writers in the field, and the absolute peak of that impressive pile is Maureen Tkacik. Tkacik's work on Boeing is stunning:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

Her labor coverage is second to none:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets

And no one writes better than her about private equity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

I am in pure awe of Tkacik's prolific and expert work. So when I read her piece on Long Covid in the Prospect this week, I was stunned to learn that she has been severely disabled by this heavily downplayed – but rampant – chronic illness:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-06-06-nih-perpetuating-long-covid-denial/

The fact that Tkacik is doing this career-defining, high-frequency work while being randomly smashed by a series of acute Long Covid incidents makes her achievements nothing sort of heroic. But Tkacik's Long Covid coverage isn't a lament for her personal situation – it's a characteristically brilliant investigative story about the systematic cover-up of Long Covid by the NIH, which has a long history of dismissing inconvenient illnesses as psychosomatic, from black lung to chronic fatigue.

Tkacik's Long Covid coverage adds yet another subject where I'm learning more from the Prospect than from other sources – part of a host of issues where the magazine leads the pack. An issue far more squarely in its wheelhouse is antitrust, especially the intersection of antitrust and labor rights.

This week, I eagerly devoured Luke Goldstein's story about the latest in a series of lies that Amazon executives were caught making to the US government:

https://prospect.org/labor/2024-06-06-senators-allege-amazon-lied-delivery-drivers/

You may recall when Jeff Bezos lied to Congress, claiming that the company didn't spy on its sellers and clone their best products:

https://www.bbc.com/news/business-58961836

Or when Amazon posted a lying rebuttal to a Congressman who objected to its drivers being forced to pee in bottles in order to meet its punishing schedules:

https://www.aboutamazon.com/news/policy-news-views/our-recent-response-to-representative-pocan

The latest lie: Jeff Bezos and CEO Andy Jassy lied to the Senate about the company's relationship to its drivers, whom it insists are "independent contractors" because they are hired through cutouts called "Delivery Service Providers":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

These drivers work for Amazon. It dictates their working conditions. It installs cameras that watch their eyeballs while they drive. It enforces an illegal "no poach" system that fixes their wages. And it lies about all this. To the Senate.

You know what they say, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up. Tech barons go through life in a warm bath of their own bullshit, surrounded by lackeys who are contractually prohibited from calling them on it. They forget that there are people out there in the world who won't offer them this deference – including lawmakers and regulators.

That's why Facebook lied to the FCC when they bought Instagram, withholding key information in order to secure regulatory permission for the merger:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/ftc-claims-facebook-withheld-information-152834983.html

After decades of inattention, the world's governments have discovered a newfound energy for busting trusts and smashing corporate power. Five years ago, it looked like maybe this was a fixup by Big Cable or Big Content to take Big Tech off the board so they could claim more dominion over our lives:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/04/why-is-there-so-much-antitrust-energy-for-big-tech-but-not-for-big-telco/

Today, every sector is coming in for antitrust scrutiny, and the tempo is only increasing. Just this week, the FTC and DOJ opened investigations into Microsoft, Openai, and Nvidia:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/6/6/24172868/ftc-doj-antitrust-openai-microsoft-nvidia-investigations

Yeah, there's still a lot of policy focus on tech, but that's because tech has extended its tendrils into every area of policy. That's the end-point of a decades-long process of tech going from sitting alongside important policy questions to being inseparable from them. I've had a front-row seat for that transformation, through my work with EFF, whose brief just keeps expanding as tech infuses every aspect of our lives and rights.

The latest example; EFF's "Surveillance Defense for Campus Protests" by Rory Mir, Thorin Klosowski and Christian Romero:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/surveillance-defense-campus-protests

The military has gone all-in on electronic surveillance, and campuses have gone all-in on militarized policing, so campuses are now sites of electronic warfare, and protesters are vastly overmatched. This is an excellent and timely guide.

Well, this is where this week's linkdump comes to an end. It only falls to me to send you off with one last week: Libro.fm's buy-one/get-one sale on DRM-free audiobooks, with a share of each sale going to an indie bookstore of your choosing! This is a heckin deal, and a great way to start weaning yourself off of the Audible monopoly (also, my latest novel The Bezzle, is in the sale):

https://libro.fm/bogo

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/08/medley/#the-prospect

Image: Cjp24 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Automobiles_in_a_french_junkyard.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[dandthegods]

Limitless

The Gods are everywhere, you just have to look. They’re not trapped stagnant in the myths and stories, nor in the stale histories of cultures long past. Omnipresent in their own ways, the Gods can connect with anyone at any time. 

Athena can be found walking the aisles of a Harvard library, in the study room with a first generation college student, or in between the cardboard pages of a child’s first board book. Knowledge isn’t limited to the elite or the privileged, and neither is Athena. 

Apollo can be found in the galleries of prestigious art museums, in the bedroom of an aspiring anime artist, or in the imagination of a child scribbling with crayons. He is on the stage of a sold out stadium as well as in the back row of the cheapest seats. Art and creativity isn’t limited to those with influence or connections, and neither is Apollo. 

Hephaestus can be found in the offices of any corporate building, under the machinery of a blue collar factory, or in the joy of a teenager as they receive their first paycheck. He is found in the Paralympics, boosting the athletes onward, and he is also sitting with the hospital and rehab rooms of those recently disabled. Hard work is not limited to anyone’s status or abilities, and neither is Hephaestus. 

Aphrodite can be found on the covers of fashion magazines, in the dreams of an hopeful makeup artist, and in the playfulness of a child playing with their mother’s lipstick. Aphrodite can be in the appeal of sexy fishnets or the allure of a well tailored suit. Beauty and love are not limited to one’s gender or skills, and neither is Aphrodite. 

Hermes can be found flying alongside the highest reaching airplanes, the fastest driving cars, and on a seat on public transit in rush hour. He is the luck that saves the lives of a vehicular accident, and the thrill in that first payment on a used car. Luck and speed are not limited to how far or how fancy your transportation can go, and neither is Hermes. 

Zeus can be found behind the bench of a supreme court case, in the office of an overworked pubic defender, and in the thunderous laughter of a new father. He is in the welcoming smile of a stranger to those in need, and in the homeless being invited in. Justice and hospitality are not limited to one’s power or status, and neither is Zeus. 

Hera can be found in a fabulous wedding with hundreds of guests, in the celebration of a long lasting marriage, or officiating the ceremony in a courthouse. She is in the “I love you”’s before bed, the hands held in the car after a first date, and in the hospital room of an elderly couple saying goodbye for the last time. Love is not limited to the length of one’s relationship, and neither is Hera. 

Artemis can be found in the fields and forests of nature, in the calm breath of a hunter, or in the tears of grief for a lost pet. She is the courage in the voices fighting for respect and in the cheer of progress made. Equal treatment peace is not limited to those who hold the power, and neither is Artemis. 

Hestia can be found in the jingle of a first-time homeowners’ new keys, in the shared dinner of a multi-generational home, or in the exhausted smile of a single parent. She is the warmth of a household and the love shared within its walls. Family and support is not limited to those you share blood with or in the size of your dwelling, and neither is Hestia. 

Ares can be found in the measured steps of a solider over seas, in the joyous tears of a spouse when their loved one comes home, and in the flag wrapped around a coffin. He is in the voices of those calling for change, in the recovery rooms of the wounded, and in the minds of those struggling with trauma. Safety and wellness are not limited to one’s demographics and neither is Ares. 

Hades can be found in the grief left behind after a death, in the weight of responsibility of leaders, and in the darkness of winter. He is with those who cry and fear for their lives, and in the scars left behind the pain can be too much. Loss and recovery is not limited to those strong enough to withstand it and neither is Hades. 

Persephone can be found in the joy at the first warm day, in the love bridging distance between lovers, and in the will of those daring to strive for their dreams. She is the wonderment of a child at a honeybee, and the beauty found in the darkness. Energy and strength is not limited to the times of light and color, and neither is Persephone. 

Demeter can be found in the engines of the machines in a field, in the bounty of a community garden harvest, and in the first sprouts of an amateur gardener. She is the change of the seasons and the rebirth of the new year. Change and plenty are not limited to those with capital or land, and neither is Demeter. 

Dionysus can be found on the floats of a pride parade, in the movements pushing for equality, and in the bedroom of a closeted teenager. He is both the euphoria and dysphoria felt by some in their bodies, and in the community embracing those who feel lost. Rights and identity are not limited to those who one loves or how one looks, and neither is Dionysus. 

Poseidon can be found on the decks of a ship in a storm, on the docks with a father teaching his son to fish, or in the serenity on a sandy beach. He is the joyful screams of children running from the waves and the persistence in one learning how to swim. Power and possibility is not limited to the oceans and or one’s skills, and neither is Poseidon. 

[grenade-maid]

Honestly find it a little frustrating that so much of mass transit conversations focus exclusively on trains. Trains are great don't get me wrong, but buses are relatively extremely cheap and require very little in the way of city infrastructure planning and construction. You can establish or reroute a bus route basically in the span of time it takes to make that decision and communicate it (both to riders and in terms of training drivers). More buses, staff, and signage may need to be acquired, but are also fairly straightforward and attainable with modest investment even by smaller or poorer municipalities.

Establishing a train line, though, or even a streetcar, requires acquisition of real estate, public comment, environmental impact studies (among other types of research), construction of tracks, stations, and other infrastructure, and so on. It's a long expensive process with many steps that can be delayed for very long spans of time and the result is fairly permanent and for the most part can't be changed.

When there's a problem with the train cars or infrastructure it is very expensive and takes a long time to repair, and whole stretches of the system might be out of commission in the meantime. Buses, on the other hand, are very adaptable. If a road becomes unavailable due to construction, road damage, or other issues, the route can simply change to drive around it. If a bus breaks down it can be towed away and replaced without the same technical issues of, for example, making sure the car is compatible with the rails and other infrastructure.

Here in Seattle the light rail system has been in development for decades and still doesn't reach most neighborhoods, let alone nearby cities. It has not and fundamentally cannot keep up with the pace of population growth in the area. As much as I would love to be able to catch a quick train to visit friends in Olympia or Everett (there is Amtrak but it only runs a few times a day and is pretty expensive), I kind of wish that money had instead been put towards a good central bus station and a large fleet of buses to run frequent trips to all corners of the city and beyond (one bus every 30 minutes is not frequent, sorry).

The cost really can't be brushed off, too. That relatively low minimum investment in time and money makes it possible for buses to serve poor communities, even when people get pushed out of central neighborhoods. Which is important to consider when, well, if homes or businesses need to be demolished for new infrastructure, who do you think they tend to belong to? And who gets pushed out when the area around those new stations suddenly becomes very desirable? Whose voices are prioritized and listened to when this much money is on the line, the white single family homeowner with and HOA and a job that accommodates going to public listening sessions that might not even be accessible by bus, or the renters, the people who work graveyard shift, the single parents who can't afford an extra day of babysitting, the people who might speak English as a second language or not at all?

[heich0e]

tw: mentions of alcoholism/sobriety

The atmosphere inside the little house, tucked in a quiet residential corner of Hyogo, is warm and gregarious; the space bustles with activity as a tight-knit group of old friends, accompanied by their partners and spouses, join together for an overdue meal—chatting and laughing and mingling amongst themselves in the lead up to dinner.

You turn a bottle of red wine over in your hands, inspecting the label. Aran (who you had been introduced to as the homeowner upon arriving) had insisted that you help yourself to anything and make yourself at home, and that particular bottle had called your attention since you approached the table of refreshments. You pour a steady stream of ruby-coloured wine into your waiting glass, and then turn to Osamu, standing at your side.

“Would you like some?” you ask him, reaching out to grab a second wineglass. Your fingers are just shy from grasping the stem when you notice it.

The room has gone completely—deathly—silent.

Around you, surprised faces are all turned in your direction. Your eyes go wide at the realization, frozen in place at the sudden shock; but as quickly as you notice it, the other dinner party guests all hurriedly look away and adopt airs as though they hadn’t just stared at you like you’d said something dreadful.

Beside you, Osamu smiles—a gentle, tender expression. 

“’M alright, thank you.”

You watch, still shaken by the unexpected disturbance, as he looks across the room and shares a pointed look with Suna.

You feel uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

Regardless of how delicious it looks, you barely manage to touch your food, let alone your drink. You take small portions and push the food around your plate to make it look like you’ve consumed more of it than you really have, if only to spare you Osamu’s questioning gaze—though you feel his eyes on your profile more than once throughout the meal.

Soon the plates are cleared, and dessert is served, and cups of coffee and tea replace the wine glasses previously held in people’s clutches. You wish it was more relieving than it actually proves to be.

“Hey.” You jump slightly at how close Osamu’s lips are to your ear, how warm his breath is against your skin as he whispers the word. His hand finds a home on your waist as he tucks himself close to you. “Wanna get outta here?”

After thanking the hosts and saying your goodbyes to Osamu’s friends, who all seemed rather insistent on telling you how nice it was to meet you, the two of you are stepping out across the threshold and back into the cool night. To your surprise, you don’t get into his truck, parked under a streetlight in the road. Instead, Osamu catches your hand in his and pulls you further down the sidewalk, away from the little house.

The two of you end up at a playground a few streets away.

It’s empty, though that much is to be expected so late at night. But there’s still something slightly eerie about a place so lively being so silent.

Osamu leads you up to the swing set.

“Get on,” he says as he pats the seat of the swing. You drop his hand, the warmth of his touch retreating as your fingers slip from his own, and obey his request wordlessly.

He pushes you on the swing gently, the chains creaking each time you arc up into the air away from him. The night breeze kisses your cheeks that have been burning for most of the evening, and it’s appreciated; the air is refreshing after how stifling the dinner party had felt. You feel as if you can finally breathe.

This is the neighbourhood Osamu had grown up in. He’d told you so on the drive to the Ojiro house earlier that evening, pointing out some of his old haunts as the two of you made your way through the quiet streets. You like hearing about Osamu’s past, about his life before he met you—and there’s so much of it to learn, considering your relationship is still so very new.

You wonder if he used to swing on this swing set back then.

Osamu stops pushing you suddenly, and as you eventually come to a stop, he rounds the seat of the swing and crouches down in front of you. You blink at him curiously as he peers up at you, his dark eyes pensive. He sighs—a long, drawn-out sound—before laying his face in your lap. 

Instinctively you reach for him, brushing your fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

“‘M sorry,—”

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for, but you have your suspicions.

“—that musta been uncomfortable for you.”

You’re not really sure what to say. Your mind is swimming with questions you’re not sure how to give shape to.

Osamu lifts his face, his chin tucked into the valley between your knees.

“I don’t drink,” he says quietly, a little awkwardly, before talking on a pointed, meaningful, “anymore.”

You’ve only been on a handful of dates with Osamu so far, spanning the course of only a couple of weeks, but he’s always been driving, always had to work the next day, always had a convenient and unremarkable reason to abstain from whatever drink is on offer in favour of a simple glass of water.

Your lips part.

“I didn’t know,” you breathe. 

The horrified eyes suddenly make sense.

“‘Course ya didn’t, I never said anythin’.” Osamu’s answer is firm, like he’s reprimanding you for your remorse.

He leans back on his haunches, still crouched in the gravel of the playground, and looks away. You watch, still too shocked for words, as he laughs wryly and ruffles his dark hair. “Bit hard to tell the most beautiful girl in the world you were an alcoholic before you were old enough to run for mayor.”

He makes a joke of it, but he still looks at you from the corner of his eye like he’s gauging your reaction.

The silence of the little neighbourhood playground is suddenly every bit as stifling as the dinner party.

“How long?” you ask, but you’re not sure if it’s an inappropriate question to pose. This is uncharted territory to you, and every step you might take feels like it could be the wrong one. That worry you might offend him, like you might tread on unsteady ground, feels inundating.

“Three years since i had my last drink, but things were bad for way longer than that,” he says, and he does so without reservation. Osamu’s transparency is refreshing and reassuring, and it helps to ease the choking feeling of anxiety in your throat. “The restaurant industry’s tough—work hard play harder kinda deal. Real long hours, lotta partying. Things were a bit wild when I first opened the shop, ’n got outta control before I even saw it.”

“That must have been hard,” you say.

He turns his face back to look at you properly, and you can’t resist reaching out for him. Your palm presses to the heat of his flushed cheek, thumbing at the soft skin. He leans into your touch.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t deny it, his eyes closing as he noses against your palm.  “Quittin’ was a bitch, but it’s almost harder havin’ to go through the little things like this. Fer the longest time, no one would even have a drink around me. Treated me like the sound of a can crackin’ would send me into a frenzy or somethin’—like i was made of glass.”

He peeks at you again, his lashes fluttering as his eyes open, and you know that the expression that meets him on your face is sympathetic. You hope he doesn’t mind. His hand reaches up to rest over yours as it cradles his cheek, and you take that as a sign that he doesn’t.

“I know it was ‘cause they were worried about me, and i’m grateful for them ’n everything they did. I feel awful about what I put ‘em through when I was at rock bottom.” There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite place, tender like remorse, but with a ripple of something bitter. Something that flickers like shame behind it all. He sighs. “God, Tsumu dealt with some real ugly shit for a while when i was at my worst. They saved my life, my business, everything. I’m lucky.”

Quietly, you wonder if some day he’ll share more about that time with you. If he’ll give you those pieces of himself and his history for you to know him better, for you to understand the things he’s feeling more clearly. 

You don’t need to hear them tonight, but you hope that the two of you will continue to grow closer, and that he’ll share them with you some day. But there’s still lots of time.

“Ya don’t think I’m some pathetic, washed up loser now, do ya?” Osamu asks, and though he aims for levity, you sense a sincere lilt of insecurity—of panic—in his question.

“Osamu, no,” you say, incredulous that he could ever say that. You take his face in both your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I would never.”

You kiss him, not because you feel you have to but because you need to. It’s gentle and sweet and slow, like all the kisses the two of you have shared so far in your budding romance, and there’s a warmth that’s started to grow familiar—thick and sticky—swelling in your chest for you to drown in.

Osamu parts his lips against your own, his tongue dipping forward to deepen the kiss. He rises to his knees in front of you, gripping the chains of the swing set while you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I really like you,” he admits against the press of your lips, almost like he’s trying to hide how ardently he says it.

It’s not fair how dizzying his words are. Not fair how drunk you feel on five syllables alone.

You pull away from him, but not too far. Just enough distance between you so that you can fight the losing battle of catching your breath.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whisper to him softly, your foreheads pressed together. His nose brushes against yours and he laughs.

Osamu leans back, his hands dropping the chains of the swing and instead coming to rest on your thighs, squeezing lightly. He smiles at you, boyish and bright—a levity in his expression that hadn’t been there before. 

“Thanks fer not runnin’,” he offers to you in turn.

But you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Not when you still have so much about him left to learn.

[blooming-violets]

Saints and Sinners || Under the Banner of Heaven

[Jeb Pyre x fem!Reader]

Summary: Jeb falls prey to his darkest temptations while working a case.

Warnings: adult graphic smut, a cheating fic, heavy LDS religious themes and traumas, brief mentions of the murder of sex workers, light fem!dom/male!sub roles but nothing too crazy, brining it back to the religious trauma stuff - a lot of strong feelings of being trapped in a family/religion you don't feel like you belong in, if you are someone who feels offended with merging religion and sexual themes then this is not the fic for you

Note: "Reader" is nicknamed Daisy as her stage name as a stripper/sex worker. She has no physical descriptions apart from having female anatomy/a human body and wearing a sun dress. She can look however you'd want her to which is what makes her a reader character. Apart from that, she is her own character.

Jeb Pyre considered himself to be a decently good man. 

He was well groomed. He was respectful. He loved his family. He gave his job 100% and loved his neighbors. 

He was a devout son of the Heavenly Father. 

Or, at least, he used to be. 

He had been hiding his true self for his family's sake. He was trying, but failing, to keep up his appearance of perfection. Every day was a new struggle to keep up his flawless Latter-day smile. Docile and submissive. Never making waves. Never voicing questions. Day after day, trapped in his own mind, slowly being eaten alive by his ever growing doubt. It was only a matter of time before he cracked. 

She was his forbidden fruit. The temptress sent straight from the devil to corrupt his soul. The snake in his garden. 

His latest case had led him straight to her doorstep. There were sex workers in the city being murdered. A killer who vowed to cleanse his city from their filth. Jeb hadn’t even known there were sex workers living in his area. He’d never even seen a strip club before he was forced to step inside one to investigate. It was a terrifying world he wasn’t sure how to navigate. 

She had taken his hand and led him through the darkness. 

Daisy. That’s what she called herself. Her stage name. She had told him it was after Daisy Buchanan. The paragon of perfection for men to lust after but hiding a sardonic, amoral soul. It seemed to fit. She was the kind of woman he’d leave a green light on for but never be able to obtain. He knew her real name for his investigation but she refused to have him call her by such. She claimed only the people who truly loved her were allowed to utter her true name. To everyone else, she was just Daisy. 

He used to believe that all sex workers were women who needed saving. They had lost their way from God. They were impure. Drug addicts. Abused. Lost souls desperate to be saved. 

But she fit none of those roles. 

She was strong and sure. A business woman. A homeowner. She didn’t need a man to provide for her. Everything she owned was achieved through her own tenacity. When he looked at her, he saw someone who truly enjoyed their job. He struggled to wrap his head around that fact. A woman shouldn’t enjoy having sex for a living. She shouldn’t enjoy selling her body to perverted men. She should remain pure and devout until marriage. He often wondered what her future husband would think of her lewd, depraved acts. 

And then he remembered that she never wanted to marry. 

What an absurd thought. A woman with no desire for a husband? Utterly bizarre. 

She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he was tempted by the wickedness of her world. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew better than to dance with the devil. Yet, here he was. Allowing her to occupy every existing thought in his brain. She was the one he thought about late at night. She was the name he moaned into his pillow in the early hours of the morning while his wife slept beside him. She was the one he dreamed of being able to touch. 

The one thing he couldn’t have, was the one thing he truly coveted. For Jeb Pyre was a sinner. He wasn't a devout man. He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Father. 

And he hated the life he was forced to be living. 

Everything was an act and he was tired of playing his part. 

So, when a killer murdered two of her work acquaintances, and put her in his targets, Jeb decided to personally oversee her protection. After all, she had been such a help to the investigation thus far. He needed to keep his best informant alive. 

Even if that meant risking everything he had to spend the night in her arms.

Jeb parked his car on the street directly outside of her house. From out here, one would never know what kind of person she was. It looked no different than any other house on the block. He wondered if her neighbors had any idea. He couldn’t imagine if they knew, they would let her stay in the neighborhood without a fight. They’d blame it on the guise of protecting their innocent children from the evil whore but the truth was that they hated anyone who dared to step outside their carefully crafted circle. They hated those different from them. 

But who were her clients then, if not the men who claimed to hate everything about her? 

Everything was a facade. He was so used to hearing people say one thing but act the opposite. The men who would run her from their neighborhood if they knew the truth, were the same men who would cash out their family’s credit card to spend a night with her. Publically, they would denounce her. Privately, they would take whatever they desired from her.

He was no different from them. The perverse thoughts inside his head were just as bad, if not worse. He had seen too much in this job. It had twisted his core. His mind was polluted. He was lusting down paths he could never travel. 

Jeb rapped three, strong knocks on her door. It was later in the evening. He knew she wasn't at the strip club because he had a copy of her schedule in his car glove box. There were other women he had to keep an eye on, too, but she was the one he chose to personally protect. She was the one he feared to lose the most. It was irrational, he knew that. She had no notion of his fantasies keeping him up at night. To her, he was just the lead detective on a case. 

He caught her peeking out the top window of her front door, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and he gave a friendly wave. At least she was smart. She wasn’t opening her door to just anyone. 

He listened to the clicks of two different locks and smiled as she opened to him, “Good evening, ma’am. Detective Jeb Pyre, remember me?” 

She forced a tight smile in return, “Of course I remember you. Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?” 

He let out a half hearted laugh. She was beautiful but she was scared. Women she had worked with were dying. It was supposed to be his job to keep them safe.

He tried to take a subtle glance down her body. She was wearing a sundress and nothing else. Warm yellow with tiny white flowers dotting the sleek fabric. One of the thin straps was sliding down her shoulder. The dress clung tightly around her torso to highlight her stunning cleavage and flared out over her hips whenever she moved. Women around here never wore clothes like that unless they also donned a buttoned up cardigan and tights. To see her display her body so openly caught his breath in his throat. He had to shift on his feet to readjust himself. He refused to allow her to see how excited his body was reacting to hers.

It was unprofessional. Wrong. 

“Not at all. Do you have a moment to chat?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. 

She gave a sharp inhale, “Is everything okay? Did someone else get hurt?” 

Jeb shook his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted…”

What did he want? He wanted to commit a sin. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her entire body. He wanted to slide his cock between her beautifully plump lips. He-

He was going to hell. 

“I just wanted to stop in and let you know that I’ll be stationed outside your house for the rest of the night. With everything going on, I thought it would be best to station some people at various hot spots around town to keep an eye on things.” 

Her eyes narrowed, “My house is a hot spot?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Detective Pyre, but I don’t do business out of my own home. No one knows where I live. I use a stage name at work. No one there knows my real name. I’m not a street walker, I’m a stripper who occasionally takes up extra clients in the vip rooms when the money is good enough. My house isn’t a revolving door for men to come and go whenever they please like some brothel. I’ve taken some time off work for the next week to lay low, anyway. A lot of the other girls are doing the same. I think I’ll be alright.” 

Jeb chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip, feeling like he had offended her, “I didn’t mean to imply…anything…” 

This was not going how he intended. He wasn’t used to women talking back to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“You being stationed out in your car all night, in front of my house, is only going to cause more eyes to look at me. My neighbors already think I’m some crazy heretic for not attending their church. I don’t need them looking further into my life. Thank you for stopping by and offering your support but I don’t need it.” 

As she started to close the door, Jeb stuck his foot between the crack, wincing as it slammed into his shoe. He felt immediate guilt for doing such a strong handed act with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. He couldn’t spend another night laying in a bed next to a wife he no longer loved. 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly added when he saw her look of outrage. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous the man we are hunting is. He could have already followed you home. He probably already knows where you live. I wouldn’t put it past him to break in. I’ve seen it before.” He gave a quiet sigh, nearly begging for her approval. “Please. Let me watch over you tonight. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was supposed to be here.”

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. He watched her peer side to side down the street, taking in her surroundings for anything unusual. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “But do you have to be parked in the street? Can’t you pull your car into my garage so no nosy neighbors will see and spend the night inside? I have a perfectly adequate couch for you to hang out on.” 

Jeb smiled, relieved, “I can do that. Thank you.” 

He shouldn’t be this excited about being inside her home. 

As he slowly walked through her place, he took note of the items she owned. Her house looked like any others he might enter. There were pictures of her with friends hanging on her refrigerator, a television in the corner of the living room, a brick fireplace with a little ceramic frog on top of the mantle. A cozy, hand knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everything looked normal. He felt stupid for imagining her living inside of sex dungeon. Whatever that might look like. He still had a lot of biases he had to work on.  

She walked into the living room after him with a glass of ice water, offering it to him, “The bathroom is the first door on the left down the hall. My bedroom is the last door. There’s a spare room to the right where I do my step aerobics. I have a basement with some empty rooms down there but I don’t really use them. Then there’s the kitchen and, obviously, living room. The front door and the basement door are the only doors into the house besides the garage. It’s a pretty small house with thin walls so you should be able to hear anything if there’s a break in.” 

Jeb smiled politely in thanks. He knew what he was doing would be considered nefarious in his community. A married man spending the night in a single woman’s home, a stripper, no less, would be the gossip of the town. It wouldn’t matter if he was a detective keeping watch on someone who could be in danger. He was still a man alone with a woman. The first night he was ever alone with his wife was their wedding night. It was no wonder Daisy wanted him to park in the garage so people wouldn’t talk. She probably had a hard enough time as it was. 

“I won’t take up much room,” he said. “I don’t want to be a burden. Only trying to help to keep everyone safe.”

“Isn’t this usually the type of job you give to the rookies?” She asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. She crossed her legs at the ankles like a respectable lady should and, somehow, she still looked like a seductress doing so. “Does the lead detective usually make overnight house calls?” 

The skirt of her dress was short. It bunched up around her thighs as she sat. He willed himself to only look at her face and keep his eyes from wandering. 

Jeb blushed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion, “We don’t have too many men at the station. I volunteered to lend an extra hand.” 

She leaned back, eyeing him up with a type of bold, observant intelligence he wasn’t used to seeing, “What does your wife think of you spending the night with a whore?” 

He anxiously twirled his wedding band around his finger. She spoke with such brashness it caught him off guard.

“I told her I was spending the night at the office,” he wasn’t sure why he willingly answered so honestly and without hesitation. 

She had that kind of spell over him. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to give her things. Wanted to tell her all his secrets. She was a siren luring him to his destruction and he was willing to sail his ship straight into the rocks if it made her happy.  

A smirk tugged up the corner of her lips, “Ah, I see. So you’re a liar. What else are you lying to her about?”

Jeb choked on the water he was sipping. His eyes widened. 

“I’m not-what-I’m not-” he sputtered out.

She laughed quietly to herself, “Calm down, detective. I was only joking. An LDS man telling his wife a lie? That’s never been heard of before.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. 

He ran the back of his hand over his lips to hide his smile. He liked her. He liked her sass. She didn't care what he thought of her. She wasn’t playing a game like everyone else he knew. It made him want to tell her the truth. Every truth. Everything he had been holding in for the past year. 

He hated his wife. He didn’t just not love her anymore, he despised her. 

Her words had been echoing in his ears for over a year now, “I love you but I can’t struggle through this with you.”

She had left him when he needed her the most. She chose her faith over him. He should have known. He had married her because of how devout she was. Her love for Heavenly Father was what drew him towards her in the first place. Now, it’s what cast him away. 

If he didn’t pretend, Rebecca would take everything from him. She would leave him for nothing if he didn’t keep on impersonating a saintly man. As if they hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together. As if he hadn’t devoted everything to his family. She would rather jump ship than dare to stand by his side when he needed her most. He would have never left her if she had been in his place. He would have held her hand and walked her through her doubts but she couldn’t do the same. Her love was conditional. 

He hated her for that. 

He hated himself for hating her. 

Rebecca’s faith was what kept her moving forward. It was all she ever knew. She lives in the LDS belief that Jeb, with his priesthood, is the one who must usher her through the veil when she passes so she can enter the highest form of heaven. Without him, without his beliefs, she was fucked. 

Jeb smiled to himself. He liked that word. 

Fucked. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

That was his life.

A big fucking lie. A pile of steaming bullshit. 

He had just met Daisy five days ago and she had already pegged him for exactly the kind of man he was. A liar. A stripper knew more about him than his own wife. She could see straight through the fabricated, bullshit act he put on and he had only been inside her home for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and she could already see the depravity leaking out of him. 

God, he was pathetic. 

“I don’t believe in a God,” he blurted out, shocking even himself with the outburst. 

She gave him a few, stunned blinks in response, “...Okay.” 

Jeb cleared his throat, his face heating with embarrassment, “I don’t know where that came from. I deeply apologize.” 

If he was with anyone else, his confession would have been met with gasps of horror. With her, it was nothing more than a passing sentence. 

She was perfect. He wanted her. Badly. That sundress was only working to fuel his indiscretion. 

She leaned her head into the palm of her hand as she rested it on the arm of the chair, “Is this…something you’d like to discuss further, detective? Men seem to enjoy emptying their traumas onto me. I’ve consoled many men over the years. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” 

“I-” he stammered, his ear heating up in shame for his actions. “No. I’m sorry. Again.”

She wasn’t his therapist. He didn’t have a therapist. Only crazy people had therapists. And he wasn’t crazy. 

Or maybe he was. 

Life might be easier if he was crazy. 

“I love my wife,” he stated. He only said that to try and convince his brain to stop lusting after the woman he was meant to be protecting. He was here to make sure no one broke in. He was working a case. He was not here to turn to sin. 

She nodded her head, pretending to follow along with whatever obvious breakdown was going on inside his mind, “That’s good. A lot of men love their wives. A lot of men don’t. That’s a part of life.” 

“I love…no…” Jeb sighed. Fuck it. The rant was coming out. He couldn’t stop it. He was already too far gone to keep it repressed any longer. “I don’t love my wife. I hate her. Every time I look at her, all I feel is animosity. I think she’s the dumbest woman I’ve ever met and I know that’s wrong to think. I know that makes me a terrible man. I’m an awful husband. It’s just that she blindly follows whatever the profit says. Whatever a bishop tells her to do, she’d do it without a second thought. They could tell her to get on her knees and suck them off because Heavenly Father commanded it so and she would do it. She doesn’t see anything further than her own nose. She follows and never questions. And, I understand, because I used to be the same. I used to believe because that’s what I was taught to do. Blindly believe. That’s all there ever was. 

“She’s never seen true evil. Not like I have. Because she refuses to look even though it’s all around her. I see it everywhere. She puts on her little Mormon blinders and never dares to take them off. So, she follows. And she makes my girls follow. And she makes me follow or else she will take the girls away from me. I am raising my daughters in a world that hates women. My wife is letting them be preyed upon. She’s happy to let them be squashed into submission. Keep sweet. Pray and obey. Learn to worship your future husband. Never think for yourself.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, feeling himself losing it. His voice cracked. “If I give up, is there no hope for my daughters? Who will protect them if not me? My wife would marry again, quickly, so she can still get into the celestial kingdom when she dies. She’ll marry someone who won’t waver in their beliefs. Another man would raise my girls. He won’t care about them. Not like I do. They’ll be sold off to the first Mormon boy they fancy. They’ll be married at 18. Never attend college. Never think for themselves. Never get a job. Because I won’t be there to inspire them to reach for more. I’ve seen what kind of men are out there. My daughters won’t be safe unless I play the part my wife created for me.”

He opened his eyes to look over at the woman across from him. Her face was neutral but her eyes were burning with an eagerness to know more. His sudden outburst of lament had stricken something deep inside of her. He had captured her interest like he was a strange bug forced under a microscope that she wanted to dissect. His spiel may have exploded out of nowhere but she was already on board to follow along. She seemed like someone who enjoyed a feisty debate. He needed someone who wouldn’t hold back. 

“You claim your wife is the dumb one, yet, here you are, spewing a load of shit all over my living room,” she mused, giving him a snarky grin. 

Jeb’s jaw dropped. He forced himself to quickly regain his composure and took another swig of cold water. The fire behind her eyes was enticing. He desperately wished his wife could show that kind of passion once in her fucking life. He hated the docile, sweet act. He craved raging forest fires not babbling brooks. He licked his lips, ready to swallow anything she threw back at him. This is what he wanted. Someone to argue with. Someone he could express himself with without fear of rejection. He wanted this fierce lioness to eat him alive. 

He just wanted something that felt real for once. 

She stood up to pace around the room in front of him while she spoke, “Do you realize your wife is like that because she knows nothing else? That is her way of survival. She chooses to believe instead of question because questioning is terrifying. Questioning means losing everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Your entire world crumbles under your feet if you dare to question. Want to ask me how I know?” She stopped her aggravated pacing to shoot him a look of annoyance. “You’re a man. You have so many options still available should you fumble. If she were to question her faith, she would lose her family. Her mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. She loses them all. And then she is left with what, exactly? I doubt your wife works? Does she have her own career? Skill sets? Does she have her own income? Does she have her own car? Bank account? She dares to question, she is left with nothing. But you know that already. Obviously. Because you are just as scared to speak your truths out loud. You’re no better than her.”

She stopped momentarily to catch her breath, flipping a strand of hair from off her forehead. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hips swayed when she walked. He adored her temper. It felt so natural. Real. She wasn’t holding herself back to placate him. She acted on her own accord without worrying about how others perceived her. 

He wanted to toss her onto this couch and take her right here. He could only half listen to her rant through his ever growing desires. 

“How do you know your wife doesn’t think the same thoughts as you? How do you know she doesn’t hide her truths locked up deep inside her mind and never dares to speak them? It’s fine to voice your opinions when you’re in the safety of my house. To you, I am nothing, I’m just a stripper. A prostitute. Hooker. Harlot. Whore. Whatever you want to call me. I pose no threat to you because, to you, I am so far below you that my voice does not matter. You feel safe to speak freely inside these walls because you face no real consequences here. You’ve seen evil? Well I’ve lived evil. You’re here because of the evil that wants to be inflicted upon me. Because I think differently from you. Because I use my body as a tool. Because I don’t subscribe to your values. Someone out there thinks I deserve death simply because I exist in a way he doesn’t approve of. You want to blame your wife for your problems. Blame yourself because you’re no better than her. You’re all a part of the same system.” 

Jeb sat there in silence. The condensation from the glass of ice water clutched in his hand dripped down his wrist. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he took it all in. He was torn between fully digesting her words and imagining her naked, writhing body under him as he dragged the ice cube from his glass down her stomach. 

“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a whore.” 

He didn’t even like saying that word out loud. He felt a dark cloud of shame rain down around him. But was she wrong?  

He had never imagined his wife in the scenario currently playing in his head. He saw Daisy as a sex object willing to be exploited to his darkest temptations.  

She stopped in front of him. She placed her finger under his chin and lifted his head up to look at her. His wide, pleading, brown eyes took her in, silently begging for some kind of clarity to fix his entire life.

“Tell me what you think of me, detective. Tell me the truth. When you look at me, what is it you truly see?” She murmured down at him. “Why are you really here? It’s not to discuss your lapse of faith, or your wife, and it’s not to keep me safe. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what it is you truly want? Don’t you lie to me.”

The way his world saw it, Rebecca was pure, because she had remained a virgin until marriage. She lived and breathed by the Book of Mormon. Daisy was a condemned sinner, because she sold her body for sex. She was beyond saving. Even the outfit she wore was considered taboo. Modest clothing was the foundation stone to sustaining abstinence. She was the sinner. 

But so was he. 

Jeb was no saint despite the role he was trying to play. 

He took a deep breath and recited the scripture, “He that looketh on a woman to lust after her, or if any shall commit adultery in their hearts, they shall not have the Spirit, but shall deny the faith and shall fear.”

Her eyes flicked with curiosity and a smile tugged at her lips. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, “You lust, Jeb Pyre? For me?”

He licked his drying lips, gently pushing her hand away from his face, “Yes.” 

She nodded, knowingly, “You don’t know what you want. Your mind is in one place but your actions keep you in another. I am not the answer to your problems. Many men have tried but all have failed. The answer is never found between the legs of a whore. Unless, that is, what you say is true and you don’t think of me that way. Something tells me, though, that you’re lying to us both.” She gave him a wink, turning on her heels with her dress spinning out around her, and swayed down the hallway towards her bedroom. “Have a good night on the couch, detective. I’ll be retiring to my bedroom should you decide you need me.” 

She let those last few words linger in the air, the weight of them settling down around him, as the door closed behind her.

The cuckoo clock hanging on her wall let him know that midnight was here. The sudden sound breaking the peaceful silence had caused him to jump up from his spot on the couch and reach for the gun at his hip. Jeb rolled his eyes in the clock's direction and lowered his hands back to his side. He might still have some residual PTSD from his former cases…  

Her house was dark and quiet. 

He liked it that way. Sometimes he missed the quiet. She hadn’t left her bedroom since she entered. Without her in his sights, he could better attempt to control his impulses. He was too weak to be trusted around her. If she hadn’t left when she did, he would have given in. It had taken everything in him to not follow her blindly into that bedroom like a dog on a leash. 

Jeb ran a ragged hand over his face. He wasn’t tired. Late nights were where he thrived best. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. She’d awoken his mind in a way he thirsted for. Even just being in her house, prowling silently down her hallway, gave him a thrill. He felt like a naughty school boy getting into mischief after class. He longed to feel something more. His life was full of boredom and she offered him the keys to adventure. He longed to find solace in the arms of a stripper. 

A soft light illuminated from under her door to let him know that she was still awake down there. He wondered what she was doing hidden away out of his sight. She had invited him to join her. She had invited him to relish in his sins. It would be a line that, once he crossed, he would never be able to erase. The second he gave in to her, he wouldn't be able to stop. He was already past the point of saving. One little push was all it would take for him to delve into the madness. That glowing light under her door beckoned him to her like the light of God calling him home.  

He slipped into her bathroom instead. 

He ran cold water out of her orchid pink sink to splash over his heated face. His eyes sought his reflection in the mirror to stare deeply into his own battered soul. This was his crossroads. Whichever path he took would alter the rest of his life. He had already committed adultery in his mind. It was now the act to see if his body would follow or not. 

The sight of a black and golden lipstick sitting on the edge of her sink caught his eye. Jeb reached for it, popping off the cap, and twisting it up. A deep, berry red. A color housewives wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He brushed his thumb over the top to coat his skin with the color of her lips. The bottom of the stick was engraved with the name of the shade. Walk of Shame. He smiled a wicked smile to himself. 

He knew what road he was going to take. He would take that walk of shame. 

Jeb placed the stick back where he found it. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, mulling over his decision, then carefully plucked it off his body. He placed the ring around the lipstick, listening to it rattle against the ceramic sink, and gave a long, soft sigh. A weight had been lifted from him. He quickly exited the bathroom and allowed his feet to lead him straight to her door. He stood outside, silent, listening. 

Soft moans floated under the door. Little whines. Whimpers. 

His eyes slipped closed and his lips parted. He knew those sounds. She was putting on a show for him. All he had to do was raise the curtain and let her perform. His hand hovered over her door knob. 

It was okay. She had invited him in. 

“-should you need me.”

He needed her. He hadn’t engaged in sex with his wife in over eight months. He needed her now more than ever. 

He slowly and silently turned the knob. Inch by inch. Until he was able to push open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to peek through. He had to make sure she was safe behind those walls. After all, that was his job. 

She laid across the bottom of her mattress. Her sundress was gathered around her hips. Her legs were parted wide, aimed straight at the door, as if she knew he would show up. He was that predictable. Through her half closed, dreamy lids, her long, elegant fingers drew delicate circles through her glistening flower. His breath caught in his throat when he watched her dip a finger deep inside of her. His cock sprang to life, begging to be touched, pushing at the loose fabric of his dark gray suit pants. 

He should close the door. He should leave. 

This was wrong. He needed to repent. 

“I see you watching me, detective,” she whispered to him as he hid away in the dark hallway, lurking in the shadows like a predator. She let out a soft whine, dragging her soaked finger in circles around her clit. “I know you’re there.” 

Jeb swallowed. She was the devil. A demon. He had no power over her. Heat flushed through his veins. His breath was already coming out in heavy pants. He was chained to the doorway, captivated by her seduction. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. 

“Have you ever seen a woman masturbate, Brother Pyre?” She moaned. “Have you ever seen a woman touch herself like this?” 

His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping tightly onto the wood for support. No. He hadn’t. It would shock him if he found out his wife secretly masturbated in private. She was so well behaved. Masturbation was a sin. She would never dare allow anyone else besides him to touch her, not even herself. 

“Do you like to watch me?” She whimpered, sinking her finger back inside of her. “I was hoping you would come. I know you, detective. I see through you. Your mind is just as perverted as the rest of us. You want to give in. You want to taste what is forbidden to you. It’s okay. I won’t tell.” 

She looked hotly up into his eyes, staring straight into his corrupted soul. He was too weak. He had no resolve. The devil looked too appetizing. The sins of the flesh were tempting him forward as he let the door push open to reveal himself in all his shame. 

She gave him a warm smile, taking in the sight of the bulge below his belt. Her fingers swept through her folds, slippery with her arousal. With the expertise of someone with diligent practice, she used two fingers to part the outer petals of her womanhood to reveal to him the hot, sinking abyss he craved to explore. 

Enraptured, he could not tear his eyes from the slender digit plunging into her soaking depths. His mouth opened and closed, silently, begging to seek a taste of such a treasure. He watched in a starving trance as she anointed her needy pearl, bathing it in her honey, tending to it like a precious garden. Her eyes locked with his, burning, tempting him to join her in her display of debauchery. 

Oh, lord, he was tempted. 

Through heavy, ragged breaths she spoke, “Watch me, detective. Gaze upon the kind of life you were kept from. Look at what you could have been given. See what you missed out on.” 

He was watching. His eyes were padlocked to her dancing fingers. She was beautiful. His heart sought to hold her in his arms while he touched her with a wild abandon. 

“Do you like what you see, Jeb?” She moaned out his name extra low and tantalizing. 

He almost came in his pants at the sound of his name in her mouth. A shudder ran through his tightly wound body. 

“Answer me!” She demanded from him.

He gasped, “Yes.” 

A smile spread across her lips, “Good boy. Men like you work so hard, don’t they? You give and give and give but who ever takes care of you? Let yourself relax, detective. Let yourself give in. Let me care for you. Let someone else take control for once.”

Her eyes closed, lost in the rhythmic tones of her own words, casting her enchantment over them both. She had known he would come seek her out. She had known he would watch. She wanted him here. All he craved was to feel wanted again. 

He took a tentative step into her bedroom, closing the door behind him, and sealing his fate with the click of the lock. 

“That’s it, baby,” she cooed. “Come a little closer. Take a look at your new toy. All for you.”

Jeb held his breath, shuffling slowly forward a few more paces. His heart was racing. His skin was on fire. His mind was made up. 

“Why don’t you let Daisy see what her Gatsby is working with, hmm? Take your belt off. Unzip your pants. Show me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand. 

He swallowed, his nerves sending him into a frenzy, as he undid his belt, lost in her trance. His eyes stayed glued to her hypnotic fingers casting circles of magic around her clit. Subconsciously, his tongue dated out to lick his lips, desperate for a taste. 

His hot, heavy cock fell out into the palm of his hand. He listened to her sharp inhale at the sight. It was followed by a purr of approval. 

“I want you to touch yourself but keep your eyes on my pussy, detective. Watch what I’m doing. Watch how wet you’re making me. Listen.” Two fingers sunk into her, squelching and sloppy, as she pumped them in and out. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sound and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. With the tip of his thumb, still stained with her lipstick, he smeared around his own wetness leaking from his tip. He worked it down his shaft, slowly pumping himself through his fist. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the day I met you,” she breathed, keeping him in her watchful sights, each of them working to build their own pleasure. “I saw you then like I see you now. A lost man in need of guidance. I dreamed of you touching me. That first day, when you called me into your office. I imagined spreading my legs for you as I sat on top of your desk, throwing papers to the floor, while you ate me out in front of the large window. I dreamed of you finding me at my work, paying extra to take me to the back rooms, making me suck your cock while you grabbed my hair and prayed to your pathetic God.” He wanted to eat that arrogant smirk straight off her face. “You like watching me, don’t you, pretty boy? You like hiding here, away from the world, where only you and I can bear witness to the blasphemy of your true self. Show me who you really are.” 

He whimpered, tugging on his cock a little harder. He was a sinner. An adulterer. A pervert. A heretic. A liar. 

“Tell me what you want to do to me, detective? Tell me all the ways you’ve dreamed of fucking me while you slept next to your frigid wife.” 

Jeb stuttered over his words, trying to force them out his tightening throat, “I’ve-I’ve…dreamt of dragging you to temple, b-bending you over the sacrament table, and fucking you in front of the congregation so they could all see what kind of dirty whore you are.” 

Tears pricked in his eyes as the shame battled it out with the unbridled lust. He had never spoken like that in his life. A sense of vitality flowed through him. It made his cock twitch in his hand and he stroked it more fervently. 

She licked her lips, letting out a light, amused laugh, “Such a naughty boy, detective. I know there’s more darkness in you. I want to hear it all. What else do you dream of?” 

“Taking you into my home. F-fucking you-” he stumbled over the word “fucking” as it still felt so forgein on his lips to openly talk this dirty. “In my bed. On my wife’s side. Forcing her to watch while I make you unravel on my tongue. Showing her exactly what she is missing out on. Showing her what kind of man I could be if she’d only open herself up to experiment more.”

He couldn’t believe the filth he was allowing himself to admit. These were his private thoughts. They were never meant to be exposed to anyone. She had that effect on him. His skull was cracked open and his most shameless self was laid bare. 

“You’re poor, poor wife,” she mewled. “She deserves to have someone tend to her needs, too. I know she wants it. All women do. You’ve just never pushed her far enough because you’re weak, Jeb Pyre.” She removed her fingers from her pussy and sat up, letting her dress fall back over her hips. She stared him down with her possessive gaze. “Get on your knees,” she ordered. 

He didn’t even hesitate. He released his hand from his cock and knelt down before her. She slowly got to her feet to take a stand directly in front of him. She was so close he could smell her sex clinging to her skin. 

“Men like you are always searching for something to worship.You told me you don’t believe in God. You told me you’ve lost your way. You have nothing to hold onto.” She trailed her finger, still glistening with her slick, over his bottom lip. “If you’ve lost your God then worship me instead. I’m your new God now, detective. Open your mouth and worship me. Cleanse my fingers with your tongue.” 

His lips parted and she slipped two fingers over his tongue. He closed around her, bathing her clean, tasting the remnants of her devine pussy. She slid her fingers down his throat causing him to gag. 

“Good boy,” she murmured her praises to him. “Sing me your devotions. Relax your throat. Soften your tongue. Take it like a man.” 

Jeb reached up to gently take hold of her wrist. He showered her hand in soft kisses, trailing up her arm and back down again, lapping at the tips of her fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth, moaning as she glided down his throat. 

“Look at how hard you are. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to follow directions. Desperate to pray to anything that will have you.” 

She jerked her hand away from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. She grabbed his chin in her grasp. Her nails dug into his cheeks. 

“Who’s your God, Jeb Pyre?” She asked. 

“You,” he replied. 

“Prove it. Pray at your altar.”

She lifted the skirt of her dress to expose herself to him. Her foot rested on the edge of the mattress so he could get an eye to eye look with his new lifeline. Jeb let out a shaky breath. His hands extended to wrap around her waist, drawing himself closer to her. He tilted his head to bring his quivering breaths to her heated core. She draped the hem of her dress over his head to curtain him the darkness where he belonged. In the dark, he could worship in secrecy.

His head pushed between her thighs to force her legs to widen for him. Her salty musk filled his senses, hooking him in like a drug. His eyes slipped closed at the first taste of the almighty. She was the bread of life. Honey flowed from the darkness and he relished in every drop. His tongue probed at her entrance, burying between her warmth, reaching deeper depths with lapping rolls. Teasing. Tantalizing. Tasting. He suckled at her clitoris, nibbling softly at the sensitive flesh, swirling her with his tongue. The sounds of her coos were all the praises he craved. He didn’t need practice to know how to please her. Surrendering to her was as natural to him as breathing. 

“A virtuous woman is the crown to her husband,” she moaned, quoting the scripture. “And, yet, your sinning whore is the one who sits upon your head like a crown.”

He shivered at the debauchery of her words. He smiled against her pussy and took his time to savor his meal. She was a blessing bestowed upon him. A crown upon his head. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly and tenderly. He tightened his grip around her waist to hold her closer, a desperate man clinging to his lifesaver, moaning against her heated skin. The way she ground herself against him, thrusting herself deeper against his tongue, was enough to trigger his own needs. He humped his hips into the air, thrusting into nothing. 

“Oh, sweet thing,” she hummed. “Is my favorite detective in need of some more attention? When was the last time you’ve had that gorgeously thick cock buried inside someone’s cunt?” 

He whimpered, not letting up on his assault of her pussy, and clung tightly onto her waist. Eight months. Eight torturous months. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with lust from trying to control her building orgasm. “I’ll take good care of you. I don’t want you getting too drunk off my pussy. Can’t have you completely let go before I’ve had my fun. Come here.” 

She slid out from his grasp by pulling herself up onto the mattress. Her eyes were glazed over with a needy passion. Glassy and wet. 

“Take your pants off,” she ordered. “I want to see you fully.” 

They were already half way down his thighs. With a little push, they pooled around his ankles, pulled down quickly by the weight of his gun belt. He kicked off his nice dress shoes and stepped out of his pants to leave only his temple garments. 

She smirked at the sight and hopped off the bed to take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his tie to pull him down to her level. Her lips trailed over his as his eyes fluttered close. She glided her tongue across his lips, cleaning herself from them, with a gentle hum of approval. 

“Who tastes better? Me or your wife?” She asked. 

Jeb flustered in her question, “I-I wouldn’t know. She won’t let me. She believes it’s a form of sexual transgression.”

“Did you think about her?” She questioned. “When your tongue was buried inside of me, did she ever cross your mind?”

Guilt filled him, “Not once.”

She smiled, releasing his tie from her grasp, and began to work on extracting him from his perfectly crisp, white button up until he was left in nothing but his sacred garments. 

She slowly eyed him up and down, “Keep the top on. I want you to remember exactly what your betraying as you fuck me.” 

She sank to her knees, pulling down his underwear with her. His cock sat against his left thigh, hard and in need of attention. Her nails dragged along his sensitive, delicate skin. When she reached the tip of his cock, she carefully pushed a nail into the soft flesh while he hissed in pain. She left a crescent moon imprint behind which she quickly leaned down to kiss better. It was her harsh reminder that even if she was on her knees for him, she was still the one calling the shots.

He quite liked how the pain made him feel but he was too nervous to ask for more.

Her throat relaxed as she slipped him between her lips. He skimmed over her warm tongue with little jerking movements from his hips to push himself deeper into her. He wanted to reach out and grab her hair but was afraid to touch her. Instead, he balled his hands up at his side, digging his nails into his palm to try and elicit a bit more pain. It wasn’t the same as when she inflicted it. 

Her head bobbed with an expertise that could only be brought from years of practice. It made his own oral skills seem novice and weak in comparison. His head leaned back as he stared at the ceiling, looking straight through it, and up into the heavens. There was no celestial kingdom up there. There was no God looking down on him. His heaven was right here in this room. His God was on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock. This was the true meaning of life.

Jeb moaned out her name. Not Daisy. Not her stage name. Her real name. The one he kept locked up in a file in his desk. The name he would slowly stroke his finger over as he spent his late nights searching through his notes. The name only people who loved her were allowed to use. 

She froze. 

His cock fell from her lips and she stared up at him with a playful vengeance. 

“What was that, detective?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous, but hiding an impish undertone. “I know I didn’t hear what I think I just did.”

He ran a hand over his face, too overwhelmed to be thinking straight, “Daisy. I meant Daisy.”

“You think you know me?” She got to her feet, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think you know the real me? Because I know the real you, Jeb, but do you know me?”

A heated red tint blushed across his cheeks, “I…don’t know…” 

“Of course you don’t. Are you ever sure about anything in your life?” She raised a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m sure of most things that I do and say and believe. Can you say the same?”

He shook his head, “No. I can’t.”

She flashed him a poignant smile, “Name one thing you are 100% sure of right this very second.” 

Jeb licked his lips. He knew.

“I am certain that I want to kiss you. Certain that I want to tear that dress from your body. And I’m certain that I want to throw you over this bed and fuck you like you deserve.” 

“Then let go, detective. Give in. Become the animal you’ve always repressed. What are you waiting for?”

It was all the release he needed. 

His fingers wrapped around her wrist to drag her against his body. His lips crashed down onto hers as he held her in his arms with a steellike grip. She didn’t kiss him back, so much as, surrendered her mouth to him. Her body went nearly limp and he kept her on her feet with his own strength. Her surrender brought forth a rush of devoted emotions and blind, sexual desire turning him into the beast he longed to become. He seized at her hair, tugging, pulling, wildly gripping, and attacked her mouth like it was the holy spirit he sought to believe in. She shuddered before his onslaught and melted into him. The more he reached for, the more he stole, the more she wanted it. She was driving him insane with an unrestrained passion of pure lust. He pitied any man who didn’t fall to his knees to worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth was a sin that he wanted to violate. 

Jeb violently grabbed at the straps of her sundress, nearly ripping them off, as he tore them down her body. The dress thumped to the floor to leave her completely naked and exposed. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t try to hide and play with her coy modesty. She stood proudly before him exactly how a goddess should hold herself before a mortal man. 

He slid his hands up her sides, grazing over the swell of her breasts, feasting on them with his eyes. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, pinching and flicking, while he attacked her mouth once more. She parted her lips to submit his tongue into her depths, sucking on it and twirling it around her mouth. Whenever he pinched her gorgeous nipples between his fingers, she would let out the most delicious moan and thrust her chest against his palms. His heart was racing with a pace that might kill him if he didn’t force himself to breath. His head was spinning in a dizzying whirlwind of thrill. 

Jeb sank down and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, lashing at it with his tongue, listening to the gospel choir of whimpering moans coming out of her. She had shoved her nail into the head of his cock so he took a mouthful of her flesh, just under her beautifully darkened areola, and bit down hard. He had never bitten his wife in his life. He liked the way it felt as he tumbled deeper into his own carnal depravity. He wanted to defile her body and join her in their mutual corruption. 

She arched her back, letting out a gasping shriek and letting it tumble down into a slurry of cooing whimpers, “Oh, Jeb. Yes. Yes.” 

A circle of intended teeth marks, glistening with his saliva, shone proudly back at him. He liked marking her skin, claiming her as his own. It felt animalistic. Primal. A growl ripped from his throat, he was sick with lust, feverish and sweaty, panting with need. He grabbed at her hips and spun her around, pushing his hand between her shoulder blades to shove her face first into the mattress. Her ankles spread wide to allow him to have easy access. 

He took a stumbling step back to admire the sight. Her pussy was glistening and spread open in wait for him. Beads of sweat dotted along her back down her spine. Her ass was sticking upwards, parted, so he could see her tight, little hole. She looked more ready to be fucked than anyone he’d ever seen. His wife had never presented herself to him like this. He imagined her splayed out in this same position and gave a breathless laugh. He could hardly even create a mental picture in his mind, it was so improbable. 

“Something funny back there, asshole?” 

Jeb gave a dark laugh in response, “Just the neverending joke that is my life.” 

He lined the head of his cock up to her pussy, coating the tip in her slick, and bumping it back and forth over her clit. 

Murder. Denying the Holy Spirit. Adultery. 

Three of the worst things a good Mormon man could ever commit.

He’d already knocked denying the holy spirit off his list…might as well add another. 

He sunk his cock into her. Steady and true. She let out an exhale and he watched her head tilt back to enjoy the sensation. So hot. So tight. Perfection. She was here to be fucked. Here to take his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathed. 

He felt no shame. It was unusual for a Mormon not to feel shame but, tonight, buried balls deep in this woman, he felt nothing but relief. This was everything his body needed. He wanted fast and rough. He wanted to take her from behind with a feral abandon. He wanted to do all the things he wasn’t allowed to do until he was gripped with satisfaction. 

Jeb grabbed her hips for leverage and began his awakening. Tonight, he was becoming a new man. He fucked her with quick, short thrusts that slammed into her. Her ass slapped against his stomach with each pound. She filled the room with the sounds of her gasps and erotic moans. Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she’d even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.

He didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. Those were problems for later Jeb. Present Jeb had everything he could ever need. 

Sweat dripped down his forehead. Ragged, heavy, heaving breaths tumbled from his lips. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her upwards, so he could feel her body against his. She arched her back with her head rolling against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair fusing with the musk of their sex. He fumbled his hands around to capture her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, her rock hard nipples dragging across his palm. She reached an arm around the side of his head to hold her steady from the onslaught of vigor his hips were causing her. 

“Oh, fuck, Jeb!” She cried. “You needed this, baby. You needed this to happen. Let go. Let it all out. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

Jeb whimpered out a sob in response, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. All he wanted was someone to listen, someone to take care of him, someone to understand. 

He tumbled them both against the side of the mattress, falling on top of her. Her head turned, leaning against the covers, so he could shower the side of her face with wet, tear stained kisses. He nibbled on her earlobe, lapped his tongue at the corner of her lips, and dragged his teeth along the edge of her jaw. She was made to be devoured. His hips hammered with an agonizing precision into her heat. They were trapped in a hurricane, holding onto each other for dear life, as the maelstrom of building emotions swept them away. 

He could feel her clenching down around him. He knew she was close. He was, too, but he wanted her to cum first. His goddess deserved to reach euphoria before he did. His hand slipped down her side and wedged itself between her hips and the mattress to find a home between the slick fire of her lips. She whined, bucking her hips, the moment he found her clit, tormenting it with his fingers. 

“Cum for me,” his raspy, lust drunk voice growled in her ear. “Let me feel you unravel on my cock.”

Her body shook. Waves rippled over her skin with each hard pound of his cock into her. He could feel her tightening. Clenching. Gripping. A mangled yelp tore from her throat. When she orgasmed, she gave him everything. Her entire body surrendered to him. It burst from her with everything she could give. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted in a silent shriek, her spine arched. Like a demon possessing her body, she writhed under him with jerking, frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arms around her, collecting her tightly against him, to try and hold her together so she didn’t combust into the flames of Hell. 

He let out a whimper as he desperately tried to hold off his own orgasm. He wanted to let her ride out her ecstasy on his cock without him cumming inside of her. 

Her legs gave out and she sunk onto her knees, letting him slip out of her, “I got you, baby. I’wan’taste you. Use me.” 

Without missing a beat, she ushered him straight out of her pussy and into her wet, waiting mouth. His eyes closed as his head fell back. He let out a long, drawn out moan. His hand found her hair, no longer feeling nervous to touch her or manipulate her how he pleased. He helped push her forward to take more and more of him. He wasn’t going to last much longer. 

She let him slide down her throat, relishing his cock with her tongue, tasting herself on his tender flesh. He balled a fistful of her hair into his grasp. 

“I’m-I’m-I” he stuttered out, not able to finish the sentence, but she got to the hint. 

Her pace quickened. Her suction around him tightened. He felt himself tense up before an explosion of dopamine flooded his brain with a loud cry of pleasure. 

She straightened her back, moaning softly, as she swallowed down the hot spurts of his semen. Her fisted hand continued to massage his shaft while her mouth tended diligently to his crown. 

Jeb’s mouth hung open, tears flowed freely down his face, and he eventually managed to stumble backwards away from her. He crashed into the back wall and slid down to his ass, shaking. 

She crawled across the floor to drape herself into his lap. His arms snaked around her, thankful for having something to hold onto. His mind felt like he was floating away. His body felt amazing but his emotions were in turmoil. She stroked her fingers through his hair and left soft kisses along his neck. 

He had done it. There was no going back now. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured against his sweat stained skin, as if reading his mind. “You did what you had to do. Sometimes your body knows better than your brain. It was telling you what it needed. It’s just like taking a spoonful of medicine to fight off a cold. There are times when you need to give in and give your body what it craves.” 

He craved her. Daisy. And everything that she represented. Even at this moment, after he had already had her, after he had given in, he should be feeling horror, disgust, shame, but he only wanted more of her. That’s why the tears were freely flowing. Not because he was humiliated by his sins but because he wanted more. 

This was the life he wanted to live. He had gotten a taste, a spoonful, of the other side. A side he could never have. A side he would always be reaching for but never able to obtain due to the religion he was trapped in. His priorities had to remain elsewhere. He had family to care for. Children to raise. He was their only hope for a different future. He would never allow Rebecca to take his kids from him. He would do whatever he needed to keep her docile and oblivious. He could save his children from the inside, even if that meant selling his soul to a God he didn’t believe in. 

Everything was so clear to him now. There was no more confusion. No more doubt. 

Daisy and his green light. 

The inability to ever reach what he truly desired. 

A/N: If you dare to ask me to write a part two and you don't reblog detailing in great detail everything you liked and enjoyed about this story, then I will curse your entire family and block you. No one gets to ask for a part two without doing their damn part and reblogging first xoxo

Tagging some people who seemed like they might be interested in this smutty lil fic: @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @lxinesux @liz-allyn (i dont care if youre hardly on tumblr anymore liz i will tag you in everything i do until the end of time deal with it)

[whisperofsong]

Merry Christmas, Darlin’

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Your first Christmas Eve with Rhett in your new home proves to be memorable.

Word count: 4,087

Warnings: language and smut; this writing is intended for individuals 18+

Note: This writing piece was written for @lewmagoo ‘s Christmas celebration. Enjoy!

____________________________________________

You smooth out the creases in your sweater dress and fix a few wayward strands of hair that are out of place. The floorboards creek as you’re leaving your bedroom, something that’s become a comfort to you since you first moved in. You briskly walk downstairs and head for the front door, but before you pull your coat out of the closet, the lights on the Christmas tree catch your attention. You step toward it as your eyes scan the full branches, soft lights, and ornaments, each with their own story.

You’ve admired this tree countless times since you and Rhett assembled and decorated it, but you never tire of it. Scenes of you two unpacking boxes containing fragile and meaningful ornaments, smiling as you share anecdotes with him about each of the ornaments from your childhood, and his arms enveloping your middle from behind as you two bask in the coziness of the way the tree, adorned with lights, illuminates you, Rhett, and everything else its light reaches.

However, your smile dims when you remember that your husband’s not here. You know bull riding is Rhett’s passion and would never want to discourage him from pursuing it. Of course, this doesn’t stop you from fretting every time he winces after a ride or limps for several days after getting thrown off a bull. When he initially shared that this bull riding competition would involve traveling to Montana and leaving you for four days, your heart plummeted into your stomach. The timing wasn’t ideal.

Ever since you moved into your house together and made it into a home, you eagerly awaited all the “firsts.” First home-cooked meal, first Saturday morning, first time making love on your new plush mattress, first Thanksgiving, and now your first Christmas Eve. Rhett’s absence would change things, but the last thing you wanted to be was selfish. This meant a lot to him and he deserved to have this experience, so you encouraged him to go, despite the gnawing feeling in your chest.

Now, as you stare at your beautiful Christmas tree, you realize all you want is him beside you. All you want is to be in his arms, inhaling his familiar scent, and feeling his unshaven face in the crook of your neck. With one final look at the tree and a forlorn sigh, you put on your coat, get your purse, and shut the front door, counting down the minutes until Rhett returns tomorrow.

____________________________________________

Rhett closes the front door with a thud, flattening his palms against the door to ensure it’s fully shut. It’s older and needs an extra push these days to prevent the frigid outside air from permeating your rancher home.

He wipes his tattered work boots on the carpet and drops his hat on the nearby table. You aren’t home from your parents’ place yet, which Rhett had been counting on.

It’s your first Christmas Eve in your home that you saved for together. You both managed to save enough by February and were homeowners by July. Rhett could only shake his head at the memory of the air conditioning unit malfunctioning mere days after moving into this place. A repairman couldn’t make it out there to fix it until several days later much to your mutual dismay. Although it was stifling, Rhett didn’t mind those nights spent holding your naked body against his own.

Rhett wasn’t supposed to be home right now. He left on December 21st for a bull riding competition being held in Montana and wouldn’t return until Christmas Day or, at least, that was the original plan. He knew you were disappointed that you wouldn’t get to spend Christmas Eve with him and he shared this disappointment, but he also knew you understood the importance of his participation in the competition. You wouldn’t want to deprive him of doing something he loves. Instead, you decided to spend Christmas Eve with your parents to distract you from his absence.

When Rhett was seated on the bucking bull last night, moments before the gate opened and the timer began, visions of you flooded his mind. You wearing your navy scarf, the one that your grandmother made for you when you were twelve years old, that you cherish even more after all this time. The way your face exhibited gratitude when Rhett made your morning coffee, your fingertips grazing his own as he handed it to you. How you nestled into his side whenever you watched a movie, promising that you wouldn’t fall asleep, but when he glanced down, he was met with your closed eyes and even breathing, a faint smile on your face.

When the bull darted out of the gates, it was clear he was on a mission to be victorious, to rid himself of Rhett despite Rhett’s efforts to clutch the rough rope beneath him, perspiration gathering on his forehead. With gritted teeth, Rhett tried to maintain his focus, but all he could think about was you. Sure, it had only been a couple of days since he departed, but it might as well have been weeks. His grip eventually loosened and he couldn’t muster enough strength to regain his hold on the rope. The bull threw him off with a flourish and the deafening noise from the crowd amplified, but Rhett didn’t care because soon enough, he would be reunited with you.

Before you two met, Rhett was used to mundane, monotonous days that seemed to blend together. The ranch always took precedence and despite the grueling daily hours devoted to labor, the work never lessened. When the day was done, there was minimal conversation among Rhett and his family members. His house was void of affection aside from an occasional pat on the back or a brief hug that lacked feeling and warmth. Only emptiness resided there, the kind that numbed him during the day and kept him up at night.

But now? Rhett can’t wait for his days to begin because that meant making memories and falling even more in love with you.

As he stands by the stairs leading to your bedroom, Rhett rubs his bleary eyes that are evidence of his lack of sleep. Truthfully, he struggles with getting a restful night’s sleep and only seems to sleep well when you’re beside him. He really wants to wait until you’re home, but he can barely keep his eyes open. He lethargically ascends the stairs and just about collapses on the bed. He can’t even muster enough energy to take off his shoes, even though he knows you’d have a fit if you saw them on the bed. It’s one of your biggest pet peeves. His eyes fall shut within seconds and soon enough, he’s ensconced in a dream in which only the two of you exist.

____________________________________________

Two hours later

You unlock the door, but it only partially opens. You ram your shoulder into the door to open it fully and sigh heavily at your now sore shoulder as you’re certain there will be a bruise tomorrow. Eventually you would have the door fixed, but with the other recent expenses related to the house, it isn’t in your budget right now.

As you approach the short hallway between the entryway and the kitchen, your eyes land on the object resting on the table. Rhett’s hat. Your eyebrows furrow, questioning whether it had been there before. You don’t recall seeing it, but Rhett’s truck isn’t in the driveway. Besides, he won’t be home until tomorrow. He must have left it there and you were just oblivious to it until now. You just can’t believe he forgot to take his hat with him. He’s never forgotten it before. Nevertheless, you shake your head and move past it, deciding not to devote any more time to the subject.

The house is dark, except for the lit up Christmas tree, just as you left it. You stand in front of it once more, wishing you weren’t alone. It’s a dismal wish, considering it isn’t feasible. Your eyes suddenly become watery and you feel foolish for becoming emotional. After all, Rhett’s only been gone for a few days and will be home in less than 24 hours. Still, a melancholia falls over you and you can’t seem to fight it. As soon as you wipe a tear away, several more replace it and now, you’re a blubbering mess.

You’re caught up in your emotion, unaware of Rhett’s quiet footsteps as he slowly descends the stairs. “Hi, darlin’.”

You swiftly turn around, releasing a gasp, startled by the gruff voice in what you assumed was an empty house. The glow emanating from the Christmas tree confirms that the voice belongs to Rhett.

You blink several times, wondering if the solitary glass of wine you had at your parents’ house is making you disoriented. Would that be enough to make you see a mirage? It can’t be him…can it?

“What…what are you…how?” You’re barely able to formulate a sentence, incredulous at the sight of him.

A lopsided grin decorates your husband’s face, amused by your surprise. “Wanted to surprise ya.”

“You did,” you say breathlessly as you remain frozen by the Christmas tree. A deluge of tears streams down your cheeks and you make no effort to stop them from flowing.

“Baby,” Rhett exhales. He walks toward you and pulls you into him, with you melting against his chest. Your tears dampen his shirt, but when you try to apologize, Rhett won’t have any of it. He only squeezes you tighter and kisses the crown of your head.

When you pull back, you’re staring at him quizzically. “How are you here?”

He momentarily averts your gaze. “I lost, so there was no reason to stay.”

You cock your head to the side as you study him. “You don’t seem upset, though.”

He shrugs. “You win some, you lose some,” he tells you breezily.

“But you’re always disappointed after a loss. I don’t understand.”

His large hand cups your cheek, its size almost overpowering it, and his fingertips delicately caress your cheek in the process. “Winning the competition woulda meant another day apart from you. By losin’, I actually won because I get to be with my girl sooner. What could be better than that?”

You want to respond, to verbally convey your gratitude, but the emotion bubbling up inside you constricts your throat and your eyes are welling with more tears. You must look like a mess.

“Please don’t cry, darlin’,” he says gently, concerned eyes focusing on you.

“I just missed you so much. I’m really happy you’re here.” Your shaky voice is barely audible, just loud enough for Rhett to catch your words.

“I missed you, too. And I couldn’t be happier to have you in my arms.”

You give him a wobbly smile until another question surfaces. “Wait. Where’s your truck?”

Rhett chuckles. “I parked it at my parents’ place and wrangled Perry into givin’ me a ride.”

“So crafty.”

“I have to be with you,” he replies. Rhett surges forward, kissing you carefully without any plans of hastening it. You grab the fabric of his plaid shirt so that you’re pressed against each other, leaving no room between you. The kiss is tender and loving, but wandering hands and a mutual need lead to it becoming more heated.

Rhett breaks apart from you, his lips glistening and slightly swollen. His grip on your hips tightens and you know what he needs because it’s what you need, too. That’s one of your favorite things about him; that’s he’s often in sync with you.

He leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes when your palms glide down his clothed chest. You tug his chin forward, causing his eyes to open once more, locked on your own. “I need you, Rhett.”

His gaze intensifies, yet remains just as loving as it was when you first saw him minutes ago. “You have me,” he assures you. Without another word, his lips meld with yours and he effortlessly hoists you into his arms and gingerly carries you upstairs while never breaking contact.

Once you’re in your bedroom, Rhett briefly leaves your side to turn on the bedside lamp. It casts a soft glow on the two of you and you can’t help but smile at your husband.

“I wanna see all of you. I missed you too damn much to miss a thing,” he says in a raspy voice.

The wetness between your legs intensifies and you can’t resist the urge to rub your legs together as you stare at the man you love above you. He begins to remove his shirt, but you place a hand on his wrist to halt his movements.

“I’d like to do that for you,” you reveal.

His eyes light up at your request and he places his hands by his sides so that you can take over. You slowly undo the buttons and intermittently look up at Rhett, only to find pure adoration as his eyes remain on you. When you slide it off of him, he’s left in a plain t-shirt and faded jeans from years of wear and tear. You guide Rhett in raising his arms and he obliges so that you’re able to lift his t-shirt off with relative ease. His sinewy chest is on full display and your hands gravitate to it, touching his warm skin.

Before you have an opportunity to address his bottom half, Rhett lays you down and hovers above you. His lips instantly seek yours and his tongue requests entrance into your mouth. The kiss is fiercely consuming and yet not enough. You want more. You always want more when it comes to Rhett.

His fingertips stealthily slip underneath your dress and move back and forth just above the beginning of your panties. You lift yourself into his hand, signaling that you want what he’s offering. His lips dance across your jawline and travel to your neck as they nip, lick, and suck your skin. Satiated sounds escape you and your hands latch onto his behind, desperately needing something to hold.

“You’re still fully clothed, baby. I reckon we oughta fix that,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear and sending sparks of electricity throughout your body.

“What about you?” You gesture to his jeans and pout.

“There’s plenty of time for that.”

He waits for your approval before he helps you sit up and kneel on the bed to remove your dress. He slides it down your body painfully slowly and pauses when it ends up around your waist. His pupils are enlarged as he notes the absence of a bra and looks at you questioningly.

“It wasn’t comfortable wearing one with the dress.” You bite your lip as you feel a little self-conscious in front of your husband. It doesn’t make sense after all this time you’ve been together, but it never lasts long.

He catches your apprehensive expression and runs his thumb along your bottom lip. “You should forgo one more often. Your tits are amazing.” He leans forward and captures one of your nipples with his mouth, savoring it as if it’s a type of dessert.

“Oh,” you moan lightly, falling forward as your strength dwindles. Rhett prevents you from losing your balance. Your fingers twist in his hair, giving it a disheveled look. “That feels so good, Rhett,” you praise him, reveling in the sensation of his tongue flicking your sensitive nipple. He directs his attention to the other one, licking and sucking with as much fervor as before, and you’re grinding against the comforter. The way he makes you feel is indescribable.

Rhett pulls off of you with a wet popping noise and shimmies the dress off of you completely before laying you down, the coolness of the comforter soothing your heated skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gushes, marveling at the expanse of your body as if he’s viewing it for the first time.

“So are you.” And while it may sound silly, you really mean it. Those steely eyes that only soften for you. His clenched jaw that is now looser. His guarded expression long gone only to be replaced with love for you. Others will never know Rhett Abbott the way you do and perhaps you prefer it that way. You’re the only one who makes him feel safe enough to be vulnerable; the only one who provides him with security to be his authentic self.

He resumes littering your neck with marks and you tug his hair, something you learned drives him wild when you first began dating. Rhett grinds against you with just enough pressure and you know you’ll see a wet spot leaking through your panties if you peer down at them. As much as you relish the feeling of him against you, you need more and can no longer stand the anticipation.

“Rhett. Honey.” You’re barely able to verbalize anything in this moment as his tongue glides across your neck.

He glances at you with a gentle questioning look. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, his tone laced with concern.

“No, not at all.” You brush his cheek to assure him and he leans into your touch. “I just really want you inside of me,” you whisper.

“It’s been a bit since we last made love and I didn’t want you to think I was rushin’. I really wanted to take my time with you before that,” he explains. He swallows while his eyes remain on your attentive gaze. “But…I need that, too. Need to feel you wrapped around me, darlin’.”

Rhett quickly pulls down his jeans and underwear, carelessly tossing them over his shoulder. You wrap your hand around his dick, lightly squeezing it and blushing at the way his eyes flutter as a result of the pleasure it brings him. You stroke him, creating a rhythm, but Rhett stops you.

“If you keep that up, I’ll come and I wanna come inside you.”

You don’t argue with him because you want the same thing and aren’t interested in delaying it any further.

Rhett hovers above you and drags his dick through your folds and over your clit, teasing you with the pleasure that awaits. You clutch his shoulders and whimper at the blissful contact. He knows you love being teased. “Oh, Rhett.”

“You’re soaked, darlin’. What’s got you so worked up?”

You’re almost tempted to roll your eyes because you both know exactly who the culprit is, but the thought exits your mind when your husband repeats this motion.

“Answer my question,” he commands, turning you on even more.

“You, Rhett. Always you.”

“That’s right. And I’m gonna take real good care of my baby,” he tells you as he enters you, stealing the breath from your lungs. His considerable size always requires some time to adjust, but you’ve grown accustomed to it and no longer experience discomfort like you did in the beginning. After the initial pressure subsides, the fullness of him dominates your attention.

Rhett begins to move in and out of you, causing you to jolt as your body relaxes, his movements quelling the ache within you, the one that desires him and only him. You’re so wet that every time Rhett pushes into you, a squelching sound can be heard along with the distinct sound of skin on skin. It’s obscene and further ignites the passion between the two of you. His dick is throbbing inside of you and it only inflates your ego more to know the effect you have on him. When his eyes move downward to where the two of you are connected, his composure falters and his mouth hangs open at the delicious view.

The sounds that leave you are moans mixed with breathless sighs, all evidence of your blissful state. When Rhett hits a particularly deep spot inside of you, you squeeze his biceps to alert him and he continues moving just so to hit it repeatedly. You close your eyes as his rhythmic hips meet yours, uncertain if anything could ever feel as good as he does in this exact moment.

“Feel so good wrapped around me, darlin’. Love feelin’ my wife’s perfect pussy.”

“Yes…yes.” These are the only words you can manage to utter right now because the way that Rhett’s moving in and out of your awaiting body is wickedly sinful and sensational. Without warning, he rolls over so that he’s on the bottom and you’re on top. Your messy hair falls in your face and your perky breasts are one of Rhett’s favorite views. He licks his lips in anticipation of getting his mouth on them again.

“Will you ride me, baby? Show me how much you missed me?” A subtle smirk appears because he already knows your answer. Your answer is always the same, exhibiting eagerness at the thought of taking control.

“Gladly. I’m gonna give you everything,” you tell him. You lift your hips and gradually sink down on his impressive length, reveling in the way his eyes roll in the back of his head and damp strands of hair stick to the side of his forehead. You two have already worked up quite a sweat. Each time you swivel your hips, your clit presses against his pubic bone, one of the main reasons the two of you favor this position. Both of you release approving noises at the sensation. Rhett lets you do this several more times before he sits up to angle himself deeper. You moan wantonly and wrap your arms around his neck to anchor yourself to him.

“Love watching your tits bounce. You’re so beautiful, darlin’.” Rhett wraps his wet and welcome mouth around one of your nipples, causing you to tip your head back as a result of the all-too consuming pleasure. This draws additional sounds from you as you lose yourself in him.

Both of your movements become more frenzied as you cling to each other. You know this act extends beyond a physical need. It’s never solely been physical for you two. You’re each other’s refuge, each other’s home and the love you share is incomparable to anything you’ve experienced. You’re made for each other.

When you sharply roll your hips against him, tiny shocks of electricity course through you, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm.

“I’m close,” you mutter. “So close, baby. You feel amazing. So good to me, Rhett.”

In response, Rhett lifts his own hips and the new angle targets that spot that never fails to have you shaking within seconds. This position in tandem with your swiveling hips brings you to the brink. When you look into his eyes, you’re met with adoration and sincerity and this is all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge. You tremble in your husband’s arms and succumb to the pleasure that repeatedly washes over you as he draws out your intense orgasm.

Once you’ve come down from your high, you feel Rhett begin to twitch inside of you. Your movements quicken and you encourage him to let go. “Go ahead, baby. It’s okay.” With these final words, his jaw slackens and a prolonged moan is followed by him coming inside of you.

“I love you. I love you so damn much,” he says hurriedly, his release filling you and leaving you satiated. You nod because you know the extent and magnitude of his love. You never doubt it.

“Love you, Rhett,” you whisper as the remnants of his release spill inside of you.

When you collapse on top of him, he buries his head into the crook of your neck as heavy breathing fills the otherwise silent bedroom. Your mingled breaths are almost melodious, your tangled limbs almost sacred.

“I’m so glad I came home,” Rhett shares as his hand moves up and down your back in a soothing motion. “Couldn’t stand to be apart a moment longer.” His sweet eyes search yours and although it’s not apparent to you, he’s contemplating how he got lucky enough to call you his.

“Me, too, Rhett. What a perfect first Christmas Eve in our new place.” You peck him on the cheek and lay your head directly over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Rhett tips your chin and locks eyes with yours. “Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he says with a charming crooked grin, the same one you fell in love with years ago.

@luminousnotmatter @bradshawsbaby @sebsxphia @floydsmuse @attapullman @rhettabbotts @withahappyrefrain @delopsia @ryebecca @peachystenbrough

[lefaystrent]

Florida Man Cannot Be Contained

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic dlampr

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Remus is not the menace of the friend group.

It's Patton.

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

The six of them were hanging out for the first time.

More accurately, Logan had recently been absorbed into Virgil's friend group.

They've had classes together over a few semesters. Logan's majoring in Chemical Engineering, and Virgil's majoring in Forensic Science, so there's some overlap and a lot of shared interests. While he appreciated Virgil's clever-streak and conversational merit, Logan never would have offered to spend time together outside of the classroom. He convinced himself he didn't need extracurriculars, like friendship.

"Come meet my friends, nerd," Virgil ordered after class one day.

And that was that.

On their way to a pizza joint outside of campus, Logan observed the others. They were loud, obnoxious, flamboyant, and below his intelligence. His mother would never approve.

Logan vindictively liked them.

"Oh my gosh, I love your new bag, Janus!"

"Thank you, it's Prada."

"I didn't know they sold Prada at Goodwill."

"....they do now."

Virgil maneuvered himself to be his social buffer. He kept close by Logan's elbow, and muttered meanings to inside jokes and slang to him when Logan so much as raised a brow. At some point, he stopped in his tracks.

"What is it?" Logan asked, halting beside him. The rest of the group drifted slowly past them, the gait of their walk unhurried. Everyone was too busy enjoying gossiping.

Except Patton. He had this wild look in his eyes and he began to shuffle off the sidewalk. His lips pressed together tight as if he were holding back a grin.

"Patton, man, don't," Virgil told him, but Patton wasn't looking at him. He stole glances at Roman, making sure that the other was too caught up in conversation with his brother to pay attention to him. He took a few steps to the right into the grass near a house. Then he took off.

Roman, catching on too late, noticed the man run with a strange mixture of dawning horror and exasperated suffering. "Pat– Patton. Pat, please– don't you DARE, GET BACK HERE!" He tossed his bag to Remus halfway through and took off in a dead sprint.

"What is happening?" Logan asked.

"Patton's a lunatic," Virgil sighed. Janus sighed as well and Remus spurred Patton on with whoops.

Patton hightailed it into the backyard of the random house and unceremoniously belly flopped into the pool. Roman jumped in right behind, barely pausing to shuck off his shoes in time, the sneakers flying through the air.

"Does he often trespass?" Logan questioned. "I'm not bothered, just curious."

"Only when there are pools involved. He does it so Roman will save him."

"Why would he need saving?"

"The idiot can't swim."

Out in the pool, Logan can make out some of Roman's nonplussed yelling after he resurfaced with an armful of Patton. Patton, for his part, seemed endlessly pleased with himself.

"My hero!" Patton gushed and began fawning over Roman, much to his chagrin.

Then the homeowner came out and Janus concocted an outlandish story consisting of how Patton fell into the pool totally by accident.

"This is the third time this week," the homeowner accused.

"And to that I say..." Janus paused. He took off his hat, held it to his chest, opened his mouth to elaborate–

And ran the fuck away.

"There he goes," Remus whistles. "How I hate to see it, how I love to watch it."

Roman sat at the pool's edge, arms resting on his knees and absolutely soaked. "You're grounded," he told Patton sitting beside him.

Patton beamed with pride. Virgil tried to hide behind his hands.

"Please just leave," the homeowner requested.

They quickly made themselves scarce.

[frenchfrywrites]

Simeon’s new neighbor

MINORS DNI

Warnings: trans masc top vampire reader, trans human bottom Simeon, blood, both of yall r fucked up.. so like morally gray/dubious things and such, attempt at religious themes and guilt, fingering, humping, blood drinking, fear wetting (nonsexual (if you can believe)), strap on, scent kink, lmk if i missed anything..

tysm to @pulpbeing for helping me w inspiration w this fic :)

It’s a spring Sunday morning when Simeon wakes to find the house across the street from him– the one nobody had lived in for years, and he was certain would never find a buyer– has finally found its new owner. He smiles to himself at the sight of the vintage car in front, and the new doormat placed outside the front door. While there’s not many other signs of life, yet, Simeon hopes that the homeowner will settle in nicely and make the place their own.

It’s out of the ordinary that his new neighbor moved in during the night, Simeon thinks briefly, but refocuses on how happy he is that someone moved in at all. He hums as he brews himself a cup of coffee, exciting himself with imagining what his new neighbor is like. He wonders if they’re friendly. He wonders if he’ll see them at church this morning. Knowing he’ll be seeing a new face around the small town leaves Simeon energized, and truth be told he probably doesn’t need the coffee at all. There’s enough pep in his step anyways.

But his age is catching up to him, and in order to keep from yawning during the service, he downs the cup he’d prepared (though not before adding copious amounts of milk and sugar to make it bearable). 

Simeon does little else before going to morning mass, and when he gets there he scans the familiar faces. All the grannies swarm at him, asking him about his week, how he’s been, among other things. He does his best to give them his attention, but he’s losing focus as he continues to analyze the congregation. 

He tries not to let disappointment sink in as no new face enters the church. The sunny day turning cloudy does little to help his emotional state. Simeon rationalizes that perhaps his neighbor is tired from the move, and even if you never go to church that doesn’t automatically make you a bad person. Smiling to himself, he decides he’ll make you a dessert as a welcoming gift.

It’s not long before he’s standing in front of your door, reaching out to ring your doorbell, holding the sweet treat in the other hand.

“Who’s there?” a beautiful voice calls from within, and Simeon feels rejuvenated, excited, and giddy all over again.

“Your new neighbor!” he responds, figuring that if he only responded with his name, you’d be entirely confused.

“Hello?” you open the door, and Simeon’s heart nearly stops. You’re nothing short of impressive and deeply intimidating in your beauty. He thought he was wearing his Sunday best, but compared to your outfit he might as well be wearing rags. Every strand of your hair is perfect, and you’ve no blemishes or disfigurements. In fact, if it didn’t sound silly to say aloud, he'd say you’re glowing. And what impresses him even more so, is that your beauty seems so effortless. 

His jaw drops slightly, leaving him gaping at you like an idiot. He’s embarrassed to be standing before you like this, as he imagines he must look so frumpy and boring compared to your elegance. You don’t seem to mind though. In fact if Simeon were to guess by your expression alone, he’d say you’re endeared and pleased with him at your doorstep.

“Ah, hello!” he finally shakes himself out of his stupor. “My name is Simeon, I live across the street,” he gestures behind himself, to his house. 

You don’t even spare his house a glance, your eyes instead staying locked on him, and Simeon feels his heart throb at how they’re an unusual, but mesmerizing, bright amber color. He licks his lips, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. “Um- I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so I made you a-” he prattles on, telling you about what he made, and what’s in it. From there he rambles a bit about allergies, anxiety setting in over the fact that he may have presented something inedible for you.

“Simeon,” he gasps softly at the sound of your voice cutting him off. You’re smiling, and Simeon finds himself mimicking you, though his smile is a far more bashful one. You introduce yourself to him, and Simeon thinks your name is as beautiful as you are, “would you care to come in?” you ask, opening the door for him. He enters your home without a second thought.

The two of you get on like you’ve been friends for years. You make him tea and guide him to your living room where you’re able to talk to him for hours, about a myriad of topics, until Simeon’s grumbling belly regrettably leads to him excusing himself for dinner. You walk him to your door, waiting and watching at your doorstep until you see him wave to you from inside his house.

Simeon is a social butterfly, and gets on with just about anyone, but he feels different with you. He feels like a kid with a crush again, and it’s not just that you’re good company, he feels utterly at ease and refreshed in your presence. For the rest of the night he flits around his own house in a haze of bliss, already thinking about what he wants to discuss with you next.

He finds himself at your doorstep the following evening, because that’s the time you told him you were the most available. You welcome Simeon into your home happily, and insist on making dinner for him. Strangely you don’t eat, but you tell him it’s because you had a filling lunch, and promise him you’ll eat later in the night. Simeon feels only mildly awkward being the only one eating at the table, but that feeling melts away slowly as you start up conversation again.

Like the previous night, the two of you talk until Simeon’s body catches up to him and he’s yawning more than he’s speaking. He leaves with a smile on his face, and waves to you happily from his house. He knows that his feelings towards you may become an issue later, because he can’t imagine a world where they’re reciprocated, but he’s enjoying himself too much to worry about it now. He figures he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

The next few nights he finds himself too busy to see you, but that doesn’t mean you’re off his mind. Rather, Simeon finds himself thinking of you nearly obsessively; until the first body turns up.

The town Simeon lives in is a small one, and when someone is found dead, everyone knows the details and feels their absence. The community mourns, and Simeon feels shock and fear ripple through it. This body was mangled and gored, and the main theory is that an animal did it. Despite there being an official theory, all eyes are on Simeon’s new neighbor, the outsider.

Whispers only die down once the family receives a bouquet from you on their doorstep. You’re not welcomed yet, but you’re no longer a suspect.

Simeon finds himself confused, and seeking someone to talk to. Before you, he would have gone to confession, but now he hurries across the street when the world around him turns a deep blue and twilight sinks across the sky.

“Simeon,” you greet him happily, ushering him in immediately. 

“Hi,” he breathes, again taken aback by your presence like the first day he met you. The memory of you that’s been running through his mind doesn’t even hold a candle to the real thing before him. 

The two of you stare at one another in the foyer. You clap your hands, “I don’t think I ever gave you a tour of my home, did I?” Simeon shakes his head, grateful for you taking the lead of the conversation. 

He follows you eagerly as you guide him through the first floor that he’s seen most of. You go through the kitchen, the dining and living room, your study, and the downstairs bathroom. Then you lead him upstairs. Simeon finds himself entirely distracted from the grim events of the week as you move from room to room. 

Upstairs you show him your little library– and you pause here for a while, because of course Simeon has to jealously browse your collection– the room where you do your work, and finally your bedroom. Simeon can’t help but feel bashful when you kindly show him your room. He hopes you don’t notice. If you do, you’re kind enough not to mention it.

Your house is like a museum, Simeon thinks. There’s more artifacts, antiques, and collectables in each room than he’s ever seen in his life. You have things from every era, and he can’t help but be in awe of how much care and love you put into them. 

There are some oddities within your home as well. He notices you have every mirror and window covered. Simeon wouldn’t dare bring it up though, fearing that he’d come off as rude or invasive. 

After leading him through the upstairs, you bring him back down to the living room. 

“There’s a basement too,” you mention offhandedly as you sit down, “but it’s unfinished.” 

“Your house is amazing,” Simeon confesses. You smile, and he continues, “thank you for taking me on a tour, I was…” he trails off for a moment, “I was having a rough time with the recent events, and this was a needed distraction.” In response to that you hum,

“I’m happy to have been able to help, Simeon,” you rest your head on your hand looking at him through your lashes, and Simeon feels a guilty pang of lust grow in his loins. “When death presents itself so violently and suddenly, it can be so consuming,” you muse. “I wish I could have done more for the family, I hope my condolences provided a moment of comfort.”

“Ah, I was going to tell you,” Simeon starts, “I’m sorry that some of us worried that you had something to do with this! I didn’t think that at all of course. I don’t think you could hurt a fly,” he reassures you. You laugh at that, and Simeon feels his cheeks heat with flush. 

“I see how grief could make some see a coincidence where there is none,” you say once your laughter dies off, “but let's not talk too much about all this. You came over for a distraction, no?” Simeon nods, “then let’s talk about something more lighthearted. You said you’d read some of the books you saw in my library?”

From here the conversation turns, and the two of you talk deep into the night. 

“I’ll walk you home,” you tell Simeon once he finally admits he needs to leave. Suddenly, any and all exhaustion is gone from Simeon’s body. 

“Are you sure? I’m just across the street,” Simeon says, though deep down he wants you to come over. 

“I know, but it’s so dark. It’d make me feel better even if it’s just walking a few feet,” you say, pulling on your shoes. 

The night is quiet, save for the chirps and calls from nocturnal critters. There’s light conversation between the two of you as you walk Simeon the very small distance between your houses. 

“Here I am,” he says awkwardly, unlocking and opening the door to his home. You stand outside the doorway, illuminated from his porch light.

“Good night Simeon,” you say softly, reaching out to tuck a stray hair away from his face. Awestruck, Simeon stands in his doorway dumbly, watching you turn to leave.

“Bye,” he breathes, when you’re already halfway across the street. 

He watches you enter your own house, and it’s only when you’re out of sight that he closes the door, and grabs at his chest. He laughs, a relieved and elated sound. 

“Oh Father, thank you, thank you,” he murmurs between his giggles. He goes through his nighttime routine, feeling like he’s walking on air, like he’s in a dream.

Simeon had believed that his crush was silly, that there was no possibility of his feelings being returned. Perhaps that’s still true, that your intentions were purely platonic, but it felt like so much more than that. He sighs wistfully, looking out his bedroom window at your home. You’d done something that felt so intimate so easily, like it was nothing at all. It was everything to him.

The weeks pass, and spring turns to summer, and summer eases into fall. Simeon finds himself at your house more often than not as the months pass. Helplessly he falls deeper and deeper in love with you as you make him dinners, and talk with him, and do puzzles, and quietly read together, and drink fine wines on your living room loveseat with him. He texts you during the day, and during most times that he’s not able to be with you.

Simeon’s not been this happy in a long time, and everyone around him knows it. His community has eventually warmed up to you too. It’s hard when they don’t see you in the day time, and you not going to church is certainly a difficult thing for some to stomach. Simeon praises you enough that they finally come around to accepting you.

It’s not all love and bliss surrounding him, as there’s been more deaths. It’s no big city, so typically Simeon’s town deals with maybe two to three deaths a year, and very rarely are they violent ones at that. The police say there’s leads, but when they issue a curfew, the town begins to doubt them. Simeon feels safest when he is with you, but he can’t deny the way that terror has settled into his town.

Another person is reported missing a week before Halloween, and Simeon feels like he’s going crazy. He knows the curfew is quickly approaching, but the urge to see you overpowers his logic and he finds himself in front of your door. 

It’s only then that his typical anxiety surrounding breaking rules– and even more powerful, his catholic consciousness and the fear of always being watched– sets in. He worries that even knocking will alert someone that he’s breaking curfew, and instead gives the door a try. To his surprise, it turns under his palm.

Simeon pushes in and finds himself in the house he’s grown to love. 

He calls your name, but there’s no response. Quickly, he hurries through the rooms on the main floor, but finds each space empty. As soon as Simeon attempts to take the first step upstairs, he hears the crash from below him. 

The basement.

Simeon would have never guessed to check there, so he thanks God for the noise you’ve made. He honestly forgot you had one, but as he searches for an entrance he remembers how you’d mentioned it when you’d first given him a tour of your house. 

He finds the door relatively easily, now that he’s looking for it. It’s cracked open, an invitation to join you if Simeon’s ever seen one. The lights are off, and he finds that strange, but he’s gotten used to your oddities by now. Softly, he calls your name as he makes his way down the stairs, trying not to startle you. 

Simeon’s brain takes a second to process the scene before him as he reaches the basement floor. At first he thinks it’s a lump of clothes, but he soon realizes there’s a body inside of said clothes. A body. Not your body, either. He registers that there’s blood everywhere, and he can’t believe he didn’t notice that first. He can’t believe anything he’s seeing.

A soft, choked sound leaves him at the massacre displayed before him. He’s stunned, unable to think of how to react, or where to begin. Simeon’s hands are shaking, his pulse beating rapidly in his ears. Distantly– hardly audible at all compared to the pounding in his head– he hears the soft puttering sound of liquid dripping. At first he thinks it’s blood from somewhere, but then he notices the wetness in his pants. Weakly he nearly laughs (it comes out as a strained moan), because now he feels more shame than he does terror.

“Simeon?” a familiar voice shocks him to his core. He turns to look at where the sound came from, and is not entirely pleased with what he finds. 

Your familiar, beautiful face is covered with blood, your eyes shining a bright gold, staring right at him. Simeon should run, he should turn and scramble up the stairs out of your house to the comfort of his neighbors. But he’s frozen. 

“Simeon,” you coo his name, stepping towards him. He has a million thoughts at once, adding to the powerful headache he has growing. 

“A demon?” he whines weakly, finally finding the strength to speak. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and then you’re smiling, showing off your animalistic, lethally sharp canines. 

“No, no,” and maybe it’s because Simeon’s brain is working really hard to keep up with him, but weren’t you further away before? “I know I don’t have the sparkly skin like some more popular of my kind,” you nearly giggle and he feels his knees try to buckle. “But can’t you guess what I am?” you tease. 

“Vampire,” he breathes, no uncertainty laced in his voice. You nod, 

“Oh good, that’s right,” you praise, slowly taking him into your arms. Simeon melts like butter into you. You coo, “aw sweet thing, don't fret, I won’t hurt you, I could never hurt you,” you assure him. Simeon doubts you, but there’s not much else he can think to do. 

You hoist him up carefully. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm,” you start slowly making your way up the stairs. “I didn’t mean for you to see this, of course. I don’t mind others' opinions of me– though you seem to care a great deal on my behalf– anyways I do care what you think. We could have gone a while without you ever finding out. Naughty Simeon, you shouldn’t have been breaking curfew anyways,” you tease, rambling as you take him swiftly all the way up to your room, and into the adjoining bathroom there. 

“Would you take off your clothes?” you ask, setting him down on the toilet, and starting hot water for him. Simeon sits motionless, feeling confused and still quite terrified. You look back at him, and your eyes glow a bright yellow, “You’re safe,” you assure him, “and it’s going to be okay,” and with every word you speak Simeon feels relief and calm wash over him. He exhales a soft breath, almost forgetting what he was scared of in the first place. He remembers your request, and does as he’s told, 

He shakily, with your help, finds himself comfortable in your tub. 

“If I had the working blood to do so, I’d be blushing,” you tell him as you sit next to him, on the floor of the bathroom. When he doesn’t respond you sigh, “lots on your mind, I suppose.”

The two of you sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“God forgive me,” Simeon finally breathes, turning to face you. There’s still blood caked on you, and it makes him gag. You frown, clearly upset by this. Laughable that you’re more upset by his disgust than the dead body in your basement.

“I’m sorry, I should let you go, and– and leave in the morning. I apologize for ever–” Simeon cuts you off with a sad sound.

“It’s not you,” he confesses, “I– I’m disgusted that I still love you, even though you’re…” he gestures vaguely. 

“A cold-hearted, bloodsucking, undead, uncaring killer?” you prompt, smiling at him. Simeon, despite it all, smiles back.

“Yes," you tongue licks your blood stained lips,

"And you love me?" You sound so hopeful. Simeon doesn't hesitate,

"Yes," he breathes. You reach out tucking a stray hair behind his ear like you did so many nights ago. 

"Can I kiss you?" You ask, and instead of answering, Simeon closes his eyes and leans in.

Your lips are cold, but Simeon soon finds he doesn’t mind so much. He’s dreamed of this moment, and while it didn’t come about in the way he imagined, his heart still flutters and soars at the feeling of finally having your lips on his. He reaches up, cupping your cold face with his warm, wet hands, pulling you closer. You moan softly, licking his lips with your cold tongue. 

Briefly, Simeon thinks that God must be watching him right now and cursing him for his choices. Then again, if He is all knowing, He knew Simeon would never stop loving you. Maybe God thinks creatures of the night deserve some love too.

You pull away, your eyes so bright Simeon wonders if they’re actually glowing. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since you knocked on my door all those months ago,” you confess. Simeon smiles bashfully, 

“Me too,” he whispers. You lean in and kiss him again, and Simeon knows he’s in the deep end now. There’s no way he’ll ever return to his normal life again; if it meant not having you in his life, he’s not sure he’d want to. 

This time, Simeon can taste the blood that’s still caked on your lips, and it grows harder and harder to ignore the fact that you’re still clothed and covered in gore. He pulls away this time.

“Get in the bath with me?” he requests softly, never feeling so emboldened in his life. You moan softly,

“Are you sure?” you ask, and the slow heat that had settled in Simeon’s body (just from a bit of kissing) now feels like a raging fire. 

“Yes, please,” and you don’t need to be asked twice. It’s like he blinked and there you are naked in the tub with him. Simeon doesn’t hide the way he ogles your now bare body. He shimmies his way forward, closing the space between you, and grabs a washcloth. You watch him carefully, unblinking, as Simeon carefully washes the blood from your face. 

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper sincerely when he removes the cloth from your face, and sets it down elsewhere. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Simeon jokes, smiling at you. He pauses, “speaking of mouths,” he mumbles, looking at you hopefully. You laugh, catching his drift and opening your mouth for him.

Carefully, like you’re a wild animal, Simeon runs his fingers along your teeth, marveling at how sharp your canines are. “Would you suck my blood?” he asks breathlessly. You lick his finger, and he pulls back a bit.

“If I ever started, I’m not sure I could stop,” you tell him honestly. Gently you take a hold of his wrist, and press your nose against his pulse point. You look at him as you lick across his skin, “it’s hard not to, when you smell so good,” you confess. Simeon flushes and squirms under your gaze. He glances down, trying to avoid eye contact when it becomes too much for him. 

“You’re hard,” he breathes, noticing your clit peeking out from between your pubes, his voice cracking with excitement. He looks back up at you and you’re grinning.

“Yeah,” you let go of Simeon’s wrist, “and you are too. You’re so wet for me” you sound proud, but more than that you're thrilled. Simeon furrows his brow, because how could you tell when you’ve not yet touched him? “I can smell it,” you explain, sensing his confusion. 

Simeon flushes from being found out, and because he is- to his surprise- wildly turned on by the way you’re able to smell his arousal. 

“Oh,” he breathes softly, and there’s a moment of stillness between the two of you. Then, your lips are pressed against his, and Simeon is wrapping his arms around your neck, pulling you between his thighs. You hold onto his hips to prevent yourself from slipping, and Simeon can tell you’re holding back your strength, but your grip is still pleasantly strong. 

Now, instead of his fingers running along your teeth, Simeon uses his tongue to explore your mouth. Your fangs are scarily sharp, and your mouth is cold, but none of that bothers him. He can feel your pussy rut against his thighs, and he moans into your mouth.

“Will you,” he pulls away to start, “would you make love to me?” you groan at Simeon’s request. 

“You’re so cute,” Simeon opens his mouth to argue but you cut him off, “is that really something you want?” you ask, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“It’s all I’ve been able to fantasize about for the last few months,” Simeon confesses easily, and you groan again. 

“Fuck, okay, yes, me too,” you seem thoroughly flustered, and Simeon feels a sharp bit of pride jolt through him at the fact that he’s able to make you feel that way.

You kiss him again as one of your hands drift from his hip to his cunt. Simeon gasps and curls in on himself a bit when he feels your fingers against him. For so long he’s only been the one to touch himself, and it’s exhilarating to feel someone else press against him. You rub easy circles onto his throbbing clit, and Simeon hiccups. 

“Fuh-oh-feels so good,” he whines against your lips, slipping a bit in the tub and mashing his mouth against your chin. You huff out a laugh,

“Are you going to last long enough for me to get my fingers in you?” you tease. Simeon takes your words seriously, and shakes his head, jerking his hips and making the water slosh,

“Probably not,” you coo, leaning down to nuzzle against his neck. You inhale deeply, and moan,

“I want you to be able to take my strap,” Simeon’s breath hitches, “will you be able to after cumming, or do you want me to make you wait?” 

Simeon whines, his eyes fluttering shut. It feels too good to have you playing with his most sensitive bundle of nerves, he can’t think straight enough to give you a response. You pinch his clit and his eyes shoot open,

“Yes sir,” he rushes out, “yes, I-I can do it.” You smile, showing off your fangs. 

“Good,” Simeon’s back arches when one of your fingers slips down and into his aching hole. You’re so cold, he wonders if he feels like a furnace inside. He squeezes around you, panting for air, feeling far too close to cumming already. Faintly Simeon can feel you still rubbing yourself against his leg, and the water splashes gently against the sides. 

One finger quickly turns to two, and you’re stretching him open, your thumb still rubbing insistently against his clit. In the brief moments before his orgasm comes crashing into him, Simeon remembers how the French call it the little death. He’d laugh if he weren’t so busy spasming around your fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head and his mouth dropping open in a silent cry. His legs tremble, and his hands shake. It’s never been as intense as this. 

“There we go, there we go little angel,” you coo, “ohh, look at you,” you sound foggy and far away as Simeon rides out his orgasm. He can vaguely sense that you’re still rutting against him, and feels the way you’re licking at his skin.

It takes him a moment, and then he’s coming down, breathing heavily and slumping into the cool water. 

“Simeon?” you test, but he’s downright dumbstruck, only mumbling incoherently in return. You huff a laugh, and instead let him warm your fingers until he hums softly. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly, a bashful smile on his face. 

“You’re back,” you tease, pulling your fingers from him– causing Simeon to whine. 

“I still want to,” he clears his throat, “um, take your," he coughs, "cock,” he stumbles a bit but finally gets out, “if you’d let me.” 

“Oh angel,” he feels butterflies in his stomach at your use of the nickname for him. “I’d love to.”

The next few minutes are filled with you moving from the bathroom to your bedroom. You insist on drying him down yourself, teasing and touching Simeon all over until he’s squirming and giggling. It’s frightening how easily he can forget about the body in the basement. It’s like it never happened at all.

You guide him to your room, your cold hand fitting perfectly in his, and lay him on your bed. Simeon thinks it’s funny that you have a bed at all. He wonders if you ever sleep. Absentmindedly he plays with his hair while watching you take out your harness. He feels heat growing between his legs as he catches a glimpse of your strap.

Soon, you’re on top of him, with lube in your hand. Simeon spreads his legs making room for you between them.

“You finished pretty quick in the bathtub,” you muse popping open the lube. Simeon covers his face, feeling a bit embarrassed. You coo, using one hand to move his arms so you can see his face, “aw don’t be shy, I’m flattered, really.” 

“It’s because it’s been so long since I had someone– um– touch me like that,” it’s not something that’s bothered him much, the fact that as he’s aged he’s had less and less people make advances on him, but confessing it to you suddenly feels so embarrassing. You don’t seem to judge him though,

“That’s alright sweetheart, I’ll be gentle,” you promise, spreading lube along your fingers. Simeon smiles, again finding himself feeling safe in your presence. 

Just to be safe, you slip a couple fingers in him, stretching him out, slicking up his insides for you. Then you lather your cock with lube, and press against him.

“Wanted to have you like this for so long,” you tell him, rubbing against Simeon’s hole, then against his clit. He presses his hips back against you, so desperate to have you filling him up.

You lean down, taking one of his nipples into your mouth as you slowly push into him. One of your fangs lightly grazes against it, and Simeon gasps. Mistaking it for a sound of pain, you pause, looking up at him with a worried gaze.

“It’s okay, keep going, keep moving, please,” he babbles desperately. You switch to his other nipple, and comply with his request, slowly moving deeper into him.

“Oh,” Simeon sighs when your hips press flush against his.

“Okay?” you pull off his chest to check in. 

“Yeah, yes,” he groans, “feels so good,” he tells you as he wraps his legs around your waist, keeping you impossibly close to him. “You’re so deep, ‘m so full,” you lean down to kiss him, stopping him from rambling more about your cock. 

Slowly but steadily, you begin to fuck into him. It’s an agonizing pace at first, but Simeon realizes you’re trying to be careful with him, and he’s lovestruck all over again. 

Finally he can’t take it any longer. “Faster,” he whines against your lips, “please sir.” You’re happy to comply, picking up the pace to satisfy him. Simeon keens, letting your tongue into his mouth. He drools and pants around your tongue, losing his composure and control. Simeon can’t believe how free he feels.

“Mhmm, angel,” you pull away from him to groan, licking your lips, “you’re so good, you taste so good,” Simeon whimpers at the praise, feeling his pussy gush. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, lookin’ like that, smelling like that,” you drawl, your speech slurring.

“Bite me,” Simeon begs, wanting so badly to have you drunk off of him. Your brows furrow, like you’re upset by the idea, and yet your hips stutter. “Puh-lease,” and with his wanton plea, you lean down and lick at his neck. 

You’re fucking him hard and fast now, getting Simeon closer and closer. He lets out a pleased noise when your fangs sink into his flesh, and then you’re drinking from him. It’s a weird sensation, not one that hurts at all. 

It takes him a minute to realize it, but Simeon thinks you might be cumming. If the gurgled moans, and the way you’re ramming your hips into him at such an erratic pace is any hint. The idea of you getting off from the taste of his blood sends him over, and for the second time tonight you make him cum. 

Minutes feel like hours and milliseconds simultaneously, but soon Simeon feels woozy. 

“Ah,” he moans, feeling lightheaded. You dislodge from him, licking at the fresh wounds on his neck. Then you’re pulling away from him. All Simeon can manage is a weak whine. Shushing him gently, you pull your strap out of him, and gracefully plop down next to him, taking him in your arms.

“Sorry, I think I got carried away,” Simeon says what he thinks is “it’s okay,” but it sounds like a whole lot of nothing coming out of his mouth. “I think I should get you a snack or something,” you muse. 

Exhaustion hits and when Simeon wakes up again you have water, juice, tea, and ten types of snacks available for him. He feels sluggish and nauseous. 

“Do you need any help?” you ask, and Simeon looks over to find you sitting in the armchair in the corner of your room, looking at him.

Simeon shakes his head, shakily grabbing the glass of juice and drinking it down. His body, eager for sugars and nutrients, immediately feels better. 

“What are you doing over there?” he asks carefully. You look nervous, an expression that he can’t remember ever seeing on you before. 

“I didn’t want to scare you,” you say. Simeon laughs,

“A bit late for that,” he teases, and pats the bed. You come over slowly, settling in next to him like a guilty dog. He smiles at you, “if you’ll have me, I don’t expect that I’ll be leaving you any time soon,” you light up.

“Oh what a relief,” you cuddle into him, “because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

[gaysindistress]

When Night Comes - two 

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: cursing, douchebag Peter Parker, drug use (taking an edible), drinking

word count: 4.3k

one | masterlist

a/n: spoiler alert: there’s a surprise coming in the next part

tag list: @cakesandtom @vickie5446 @buckybarnessimpp @hidden-treasures21​ @unaxv​

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

The lowkey kickback she was promised is anything but that. Cars line the already crowded and narrow street while people mill around and stream out of the towering house. Music blasts throughout the house and onto the street, no doubt upsetting neighbors and warranting noise complaints; however the party goers and the homeowner don’t seem to care. Their uber pulls up to the address and practically dumps them and speeds off, probably wanting to avoid any kind of problem that the party might bring. 

Jessica wraps her thin black cardigan around her body, “Let’s go inside. It’s too damn cold out here.”

Sunny rolls her eyes, following the girl up the steps, “I imagine wearing a bra for a shirt would be very cold.”

“Oh shut up. I look hot even if I am freezing to death.”

Her short brown skirt hikes as she climbs the stairs to the point that Sunny has to reach out and tug it down from behind. Her goal is to entice one man and one man only, however he has yet to be seen as they push past drunk and high people. A familiar blonde spots them as they make their way towards the kitchen. 

“Jessica you came!” Yelena shouts over the loud music and people’s conversations, a smile plastered across her face, “And you brought a friend.”

“Yelena this is Sunny,” Jessica beams, pointing between the two women,” Sunny is this Yelena, the friend that’s throwing this party.”

Sunny extends out her hand to shake Yelena’s but she’s pulled into a tight hug with Yelena whispering in her ear, “Jessica’s situationship is here but he brought another girl just FYI.”

“Shit,” she pulls back and offers Jessica a fake smile who is staring off past them. Sunny follows her stare and spots the very thing she’d hoped to avoid until later; the man in question making out with another girl. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she shrieks, marching towards them. Neither of them are fast enough to catch the angry brunette who practically rips the woman off of him. 

“Seriously? You go on and on about loyalty and then you fucking show up with another girl? What the fuck are you on because you’re clearly not thinking right,” screaming at the couple, Jessica’s beyond pissed as she stares daggers at them. 

“Jessica, oh hey I didn’t know you were going to be here,” the man tries to play off the situation, running a hand casually through his hair to hide the evidence. 

“Bull fucking shit, I was the one who invited you and you have the audacity to show up with some other girl? Where do you get off?”

“Babe it’s not that serious, I swear,” the lies slip so easily through his teeth, “You know you’re the only girl for me.”

As he speaks, what looks like a fang flashes ever so slightly but disappears when he shifts his gaze to Yelena and Sunny behind her. He tries to grab her hands to calm her down but she’s quick to step back from him, “I might not be the smartest but I’m definitely not that fucking stupid that I’d actually believe anything you said. Get fucked Peter Parker.” 

Yelena stifles a laugh with a cough and leans over to Sunny, “How much you wanna bet he’s going to follow her around all night?”

“I’ll do ya one better; she’s going to punch him.”

“Deal,” she shakes Sunny’s hand as Jessica storms over to them with a rather pissed off Peter in tow. 

“Jessica  just stop,” his demeanor has shifted to a much darker one, “You know that we aren’t exclusive so you can’t get mad if I date other people. You’re still my number one girl.”

“Oh I’m sorry I don’t think I remember having that conversation. That must have been another one of your girlfriends. Just leave me alone Peter. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

His hand darts out and grips her wrist harshly as a cloud of anger takes over his already inky eyes, “That’s enough. Come on, don’t be like that.” 

“Hold up, take your hands off of her and take a step back Parker,” Yelena demands in a stern tone as she steps up to Jessica’s side, “She said she didn’t want anything to do with you so back off.”

“Stay out of this Yelena, this has nothing to do with you.”

“It does when you’re at my party, let her go or I’ll make you,” she warns. 

“And what are you going to do?”

“It’s not her you should be worried about,” the honey voice calls over the noise and tenses every fiber in Sunny’s body. She doesn’t dare to turn around or even move to confirm if it’s him. The almost spicy smell of his leathery sandalwood cologne is enough to confirm that Bucky is coming up beside her. 

“Let her go and you won’t lose your hand,” his voice is level and calm even though there is chaos descending around them. His brown leather jacket clad arm brushes against hers, sending shocks through her knit long sleeve dress. 

Peter dramatically drops her wrist, making a scene of the action and his frustration as every disgruntled frat boy would. He mumbles something under his breath about how fucking ridiculous this all is but doesn’t dare repeat it when Bucky gives him a warning side eye. Jessica curls into Sunny’s side while Bucky and Yelena create a protective wall between her and Peter. When he’s satisfied with the distance between them, Bucky turns to look at them, “Jessica, right? Are you okay?”

She nods quickly, not really wanting to speak. 

“It’s good to see you, Doll. How are you?” The sudden shift confuses the shit out of her. 

“What are you doing here?”

Yelena takes her cue to leave and nods at Bucky as she takes Jessica from her arms, leading her away from the couple and to a calmer place. He laughs at Sunny’s question, “This is my house.”

“Excuse me?” “Well one of my houses. Yelena crashes here from time to time and uses it to throw parties when she’s in town,” He explains, blue eyes glistening in the LED lights as he stares down at her. 

“And you’re okay with her trashing your house whenever she wants?” She asks while she stumbles forward from the force of someone accidentally shoving her from behind. 

Bucky is quick to catch her, hands steadying her by her shoulders, “Easy there tiger. Can’t have you falling for me just yet.”

She scoffs lightly and shakes his hands off, “I was pushed.”

“By destiny into my arms.”

“No by a drunk asshole into another asshole.”

Once again he lets out another damn addicting laugh, slinging an arm over her shoulder and leads her away from the crowd. The weight of his arm is nice, comforting even as they weave their way through people to the backyard. Maybe it’s how amazing his cologne smells or how she can feel the cold of his body through the thin white t-shirt he’s wearing under his jacket. The edible she took before they left Jessica’s apartment definitely plays a part in how she leans into his embrace and doesn’t immediately pull away when they step out into the cold nighttime air. 

“Do you have an answer?” The question pulls her away from her thoughts. Clearing her throat, she steps out from under his arm and wraps her own around her, mulling over what he asked her. 

“Answer to what?”

“I asked if I could make it up to you with dinner after Scott was rude. You never gave me an answer.”

“Oh,” she looks down to her scoffed docs for a few moments before making eye contact with him, “No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, no I won’t go to dinner with you,” she revels in the way confusion eats away at his beautiful features. 

“Fair enough. How about I pay for dinner for you and Jessica?” a soft smirk dismisses the confusion and she has to look away before heat flushes her face. 

“No.”

“Catering for lunch one day?”

“No.”

“Coffee every morning for a month?” “Jesus no.”

“Flowers?” He tries one last time even though he knows she’s just going to shoot it down. The way she’s struggling under his gaze is worth more than any material thing to him; he’s getting under her skin in the most delicious way possible. 

“Why do you have to make it up? Just leave it, that’s what other people do.”

“Well I’m not like other people. Manners aren’t dead and it’s only fair I reconcile with the beautiful woman who didn’t call the police on us when she should have.”

The view of her docs is no longer interesting and the city lights are too bright to see the stars so her only option is to look at him with that flirtatious smirk and smooth words. Her head body starts to feel weightless as the THC comes into full force and it’s a struggle to form sentences that aren’t littered with giggles, “You think I’m beautiful? Oh… shit that’s not what I meant to say. What I meant is just leave it alone. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

His superstar Adidas barely make any noise against the stone pavers as he slowly saunters towards her. 

“I think you did mean that first part,” his right hand finds her chin and tilts it so she’s eye to eye with him, “And to answer your question, I do think you’re beautiful. You are, by far, the most stunning woman I have ever met and I would love the chance to get to know you better if you’d stop being so obstinate.”

Maybe it’s the THC or the tornado his touch has thrown her mind into but she swears she can’t feel any heat coming from him as he gently grips her chin. 

“Maybe learn to take no for an answer,” her eyes flicker down to his lips briefly, “Besides it’s unprofessional.”

“We’re two consenting adults,” he leans even closer, his nose brushing against hers as he speaks, “It’s only unprofessional if you let it distract you.”

“Hey Sunny… Oh fuck,” Yelena shrinks back into the house when she spots the two of them wrapped up in their own bubble of sexual tension. Bucky chuckles with mild annoyance at being interrupted but steps back and gives her space to breathe again all the same. 

Embarrassment fills Sunny’s body as she rubs her arms to regain control of her breathing again,“What’s up Yelena?”

“Uh Jess wants to leave. She’s a mess about the whole Peter thing.”

“Yeah, okay let her know we can leave. Can you have her call an uber?” she attempts to brush past Bucky but his arm pulls her into his side just like before. 

“Don’t be silly, I’ll drive you guys home.”

“We can take an uber, it’s not a big deal.”

“Doll let me take care of you,” the not so subtle meaning freezes any protests and he smirks at her before heading back into the den of sweat and alcohol to find the damsel in distress. Sounds of sobbing and sniffing come from the kitchen, letting them know she’s been hiding out there. 

“Oh Sunny,” she launches herself at Sunny, tears having ruined her makeup, “I feel so fucking stupid, oh my god.”

“Come on, let’s get you girls home,” Bucky mumms as he lets go of Sunny to pull her under his arm. Still being a gentleman, he offers his other arm to Sunny so she doesn’t get lost and she does take it even though she’ll try to deny it later on. He won’t let her live down how tightly she’s gripping his arm or how she follows after him like a puppy as they zigzag their way to the front door. Yelena isn’t in tow, saying something about having to make sure the party doesn’t end up a complete failure and slipping her number into Sunny’s hand. The action goes unnoticed by Bucky as he’s too focused on Jessica and keeping her shielded from other party goers. 

Slowly climbing down the stairs, he digs into his jean pocket to find his keys. A blacked out Mercedes AMG G63 a little ways down the crowded street lights up when he pushes the fob. A part of her is impressed with his choice in car but the other part is more concerned about why he would leave such a nice car out in the open where it could easily get broken into or stolen. Then again with what she knows about him and his work, he has more than enough money to replace it if anything were to happen to it. 

Jessica immediately clamors into the front seat, leaving Sunny to navigate her own way into the backseat. He opens the door for both women but abandons Jessica to gently lift Sunny into the vehicle. “I can do it myself,” she protests, trying to swat at his hands on her hips. 

“I’m sure you could sober,” he teases her as he clips the seat belt over her and closes the door. 

“Dick,” she mumbles under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What was that?” his blue eyes glitter with mischief in the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. 

“I said you’re a dick.”

“Be nice to him! He’s being such a gentleman and taking us home,” Jessica interjects, placing her hand on his arm in a very flirtatious way. Of course she decides now is the time to try her hand at flirting with the hottest man alive according to the teachers at their work. 

Knowing exactly what she’s doing, he removes her hand and puts it back on her lap, “Sunny means no harm but I appreciate you standing up for me.”

The rejection doesn’t sit super well with Jessica, the hurt from earlier still lingering and she starts to complain about Peter all over again. She throws in unnecessarily details about the pictures she sent him, the sets she bought for him, and all of the things he wanted to try. At some point, Sunny completely dozes off and leaves Bucky to fend for himself as he grows increasingly more uncomfortable with the amount of information she’s rattling off. 

She jolts awake when the car parks and she rubs at her eyes when she notices that they’re parked in the garage of Jessica’s apartment complex. Jessica is still rambling on about Peter as she had been for the last twenty minutes or so and she can tell by the bored look on Bucky’s face he mentally checked out at about the same time. He throws out the occasional hum and ‘yeah’ while he helps Sunny out of the car and into the elevator that leads up to the apartments. 

She’s still complaining about how Peter could never make her finish while she unlocks her apartment door and lets him set Sunny down on the couch. She waltzes off to her room, leaving a very high Sunny smiling like an idiot at Bucky.

“Where’s your phone?” he asks, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

Sunny hands him her purse, mumbling incoherently about how it’s inside. 

Shaking his head at her state, he digs out her phone and has her unlock it. She tries to watch him through her lashes to see what he’s doing. 

“I put my number in so if you need anything, call me,” he answers her unasked question and hands her back her phone, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay Doll?”

She blankly stares at him, not quite catching onto the fact that he asked her a question. Albeit delayed, she nods in understanding, earning herself a reward in the form of his laughter and a feather light kiss to her hairline. 

“I’m leaving Jessica. Lock your doors please,” he yells to the other woman and winks at Sunny before closing the door behind himself. 

“Girl please tell me that you’re going to lock that man down. He’s so into you, it’s so obvious.”

“What?” Sunny drops her head back against the couch to lazily look at Jessica. 

“Are you serious? He wanted nothing to do with me and I was flirting hard. He only has eyes for you.”

“No, no, no,” she waves hand to dismiss the imaginary image of them together, “He’s just a flirt, he acts like that with everyone.”

Jessica locks her door as he had asked and spins to face her very clearly out of it friend, “Sunny, be so fucking for real right now. I bet if you called him right now, he would be knocking on the door in seconds.”

“Yeah because he’s still in the building. Jess I really don’t want to debate whether or not he’s into me. I’d rather go to sleep and argue with you tomorrow.”

“Fine,” she raises her hands in defeat, “If you don’t call him or at least text him tomorrow to say thank you, I will steal your phone and do it for you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Sunny drags herself off of the couch and slowly walks to Jessica’s bedroom meanwhile the other woman is getting water for them to drink in the morning. They’ll no doubt have cotton mouth or a hangover or maybe both when they wake up. Sunny barely gets her boots off before sleep takes over and she passes out on the covers still fully clothed. Jessica chuckles to herself and gets ready for bed before trying her hardest to get Sunny under the covers. 

“Night bitch.”

Sunday mornings with the girls consisted of waffles, fruit, and an endless supply of champagne or weed, it really depended on their mood. Given how shitty last night had been, it seemed like champagne would be the chosen remedy for Jessica’s broken heart and a joint would be the preventive medicine for Sunny’s ears. The sweet smell of sugar and syrup mixed with the earthy smell from her joint coated the air of Jessica's apartment, suffocating the smell of the burning waffles that she’d forgotten about during her endless rant about Peter. 

“I seriously can’t believe that he would do that to me,” she sighed, staring absently at the kitchen floor with her drink in one hand and back to the smoking waffle iron. 

Sunny gently pushed her aside by her hip to get the waffle out, “I mean….”

“I just need your ears, not your opinions,” she stops Sunny from saying anything that might upset her and continues, “I mean look at me; do I look stupid? Do I look like someone who just enjoys being fucked over? I’m getting really tired of his bullshit.”

Sunny just nods along, taking over the waffle station and filling the iron with batter. A plate full of waffles appears in front of Jessica and quickly snatches one off, taking small bites. After a few minutes of her not talking and the sounds of the iron dinging when the waffles are done, Sunny tries to speak again, “Are you done?” “Yes, obviously I’m done talking,” she sneers, chugging her half full cup and making another glass of champagne with a splash of orange juice. 

“Well,” Sunny starts after taking a long drag from her joint, “he is the epitome of Chad, the worst frat boy archetype. You met him on Hinge so in the nicest possible way, what did you expect? At least with Tinder you know what you’re getting but with the other ones, it’s the damn Hunger Games and you offered yourself up as tribute pretty quickly with Peter.”

Even though she’s not looking, she can feel the daggers coming Jessica’s dark eyes but she doesn’t let up, “My advice; ghost him, block him, get so drunk you forget he exists, and find yourself someone new. He’s never going to be who you want and if you keep letting him back in, he’s going to keep treating you like a doormat and you, my goddess of a friend, deserve someone better.”

“Why can’t I just like girls like you? Men are so stupid,” she sighs more dramatically than humanly thought possible and drops her head onto Sunny’s shoulder. 

“First off, that’s not how it works and second off, girls are just as bad as guys are.”

“Yeah but girls are so much prettier and they don’t stick their dicks in anything while walking.”

She chuckles, “Homegirl you clearly haven’t spent any real time around queer people. Douche bag transcends the social construct of gender. My last queer relationship ended because she tried to sleep with all of my friends while planning my proposal. Shitty people are going to do shitty things no matter what.”

“Touché,” Jessica lifts herself from Sunny’s shoulder, “Talking about your relationships, have you texted Mr. Sexy?”

Rolling her eyes, she unplugs the waffle iron and drops the batter bowl into the sink, joint still trapped between her fingers. Before she has to face the music of Jessica on a mission, she hops onto the counter and continues to smoke, “Nope.”

“Why not?” “I don’t want to?”

“I sense a question mark. You want to but your damned ego won’t let you,” Jessica declares, finger pointing at her in a very accusing manner. 

“It’s not that,” Sunny leans back to snuff out her joint on an ashtray sitting on the counter behind her, “That’s not the only number I got last night.”

“Spill, right now.”

She vaguely gestures to the living room where her phone is at, “When I woke up, I had another number stuffed into my purse.”

Jessica stares at her with expecting eyes, “Who’s?” “Yelena.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! YELENA?” Jessica’s loud and very drunk voice bounces off the walls and bounces in their ears.  

“Jesus quit screaming,” Sunny covers her ears and chides her friend. “You have to text her and Mr. Sexy.”

“What? No, I'm not doing that.”

“You kinda have to. You need to thank him and you need to flirt it up with Yelena. If you’re lucky, you might find yourself in both of their beds,” Jessica calls as she rushes to grab Sunny’s phone.

“Oh for the love of god,” she curses, sliding off the counter to catch her friend before she does anything stupid. 

However she is too late; Jessica already has her phone unlocked and is rapidly typing away at the screen. There’s no use in trying to stop her, she’s surprisingly strong and fast when she’s drinking. On more than one occasion, Sunny has had to put an air tag on her or physically tie them together when they go out because Jessica will bolt the moment tequila touches her tongue. 

“Hey there Stranger, thank you for being such a gentleman last night. Chivalry isn’t dead it seems,” the tipsy woman narrates as she types away Sunny’s soul to the devil.

“I don’t sound or text like that.”

“I know. You’re so boring and weird. You call people when they text you. That’s the move of a psychopath,” she pauses her betrayal to tease Sunny, “‘It's too bad I had to leave, we didn't have time to make out’ and send.”

“Oh my god,” Sunny laughs in half disbelief and annoyance. Of course Jessica would pick the most out of pocket shit to flirt with Yelena on her behalf. 

“I’ll have my assistant send over my invoice when you and yelena go out,” she blows a fake kiss and plops down on the couch, Sunny not far behind. 

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Hmmm let me think….. No I’ll be sending your texts for today, ya know to keep the balls rolling,” she retorts. 

The phone in her hand vibrates awake, alerting them that someone has responded to Jessica’s devious messages. 

“And we have our first answer,” she reads the message to herself before a wide grin stretches across her face, “To tell you or to not tell you, now that is the question.”

“For the love of god just tell me, what did they say?”

“It really is a shame we didn’t get to make out, dinner friday and we can try again?” Jessica reads out but her grin drops just as quickly as it appeared. 

“What? What is that look for?” Sunny sits up from her slouched position on the couch. 

Jessica laughs nervously, “Okay so don’t be mad. Be so chill about this.”

“What did you do?”

“I may or may not have accidentally switched the texts around.”

Hands slapping against her face, Sunny drags them down in disbelief as she falls back against the couch, “Please tell you’re fucking joking.”

Jessica smacks her lips and shrugs, “Well on the bright side, you now have a date with Bucky so there’s that.”

“Did you text back yes?”

“Obvi,” Jessica starts typing away again, completely ignoring the girl to her side who is going through an emotional crisis over this, “So now you’ll have two dates and a better chance at getting laid.” 

The groan that leaves Sunny is unnatural, bordering the sounds that a demon would make but alas there is no demon and it’s just the deep anguish that she’s feeling reaching the surface. Her joint from earlier is doing little to ease her misery and the giggles that leave Jessica’s mouth are fuel to the fire. She has no idea what her friend is saying and whether or not it’s going to get her into trouble come Friday. Knowing Jessica, she’s flirting which only means that Sunny is going to have a lovely time the next time she sees Bucky. 

“Could you not flirt with him? I really don’t want to keep it going when I go home.” “Oh my god get over yourself. I’m helping you here, you’re terrible at flirting.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles, reaching for the TV remote to turn on some stupid show to distract her. If she can’t control what Jessica is doing, she can at least control what show they’re watching.

[catsofcalifornia]

Gary and Gigi from Cats of Oceanside in Oceanside, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a link to Cats of Oceanside's main website.

Meet Gary and Gigi: Bonded Sibling Duo Looking for Their Forever Home

At Cats of Oceanside, we believe that every cat deserves a loving home. Today, we're excited to introduce you to two very special kittens: Gary and Gigi. These bonded siblings are ready to bring double the love and joy to their forever family.

Gary: The Charismatic Gentleman Gary is a strikingly handsome boy with bold, symmetrical markings that catch your eye immediately. From the moment we met him, Gary's confident nature and excellent eye contact stole our hearts. He quickly made friends with everyone in the house and is always the first to greet you at the door. Gary loves being in the center of all household activities, ensuring he never misses a moment of fun.

This cool cat is eager to connect with other animals and would thrive in a home with resident pets. His affectionate and social nature makes him a great fit for families, including those with respectful children. Gary will do best with a loving owner who appreciates his affectionate demeanor and cool-boy charm.

Gigi: The Petite Princess Gigi is the only female in the litter. She is a petite little grey/blue kitten with the sweetest round face and a cute, befuddled expression. She loves running around with her brother Gary and doesn't miss a mealtime but when it's time to rest, she's looking for your lap. Don't sit down unless you want Gigi to join you.

Gigi was the first kitten to bond with me, eager to get close before any of her siblings. She was also one of the kittens I easily picked up by hand on trapping day. Gigi is chill, calm, independent, and very loving. She's a beautiful little cat who will grow up to be a glamorous companion. She may take a few weeks to warm up in her new home, but the moment she does, you will have a constant companion. (She's literally stepping on my keyboard as I write this)!

Gigi is a gem who needs a relaxed, gentle owner looking for a sweet companion kitty.

Their Rescue Story: On May 2, 2024, Cats of Oceanside was contacted by a fellow rescuer in San Diego to help trap a mama cat and her kittens living under a house in the valley of Oceanside. With the homeowner's support, we set traps and successfully brought Mama cat and her kittens to safety. Mama was spayed and returned to the caring homeowner, while her four beautiful kittens, including Gary and Gigi, adjusted to life at our rescue.

Initially a bit wary of humans, it didn't take long for Gary and Gigi to reveal their ultra-sweet and playful personalities. These kittens are now healthy, happy, and ready for their next adventure in a loving forever home. They have received their first round of vaccines. Their spay/neuter is scheduled for July 26.

Adopt Gary and Gigi: If you're looking for a pair of loving, playful, and affectionate kittens, Gary and Gigi are the perfect match. They are inseparable and need to be adopted together to continue their journey as the dynamic duo they've always been. By adopting these two sweethearts, you'll be bringing double the love, joy, and companionship into your home.

[faithinus]

Quality Time

Joe Quinn x Reader 🤍

Summary: Reader is long distance with Joe while he is working on a big project. He becomes more distant over time and reader is growing tired of the communication issues. Angst ensues. 

Disclaimers: Some arguing, suggested alcohol misuse, discussions of mental health, and classic relationship hurt. Also some fluffy domestic!boyfriend!Joe simply because I wanted to :))))

Word count: 3.6K

__________________________________________

“That place had the best carbonara in the city no doubt.” You made a mental note to move the aforementioned restaurant to the top of your list of rustic Italian favorites. 

“I can barely move now. I can’t believe we finished all those courses.” Joe clutched his stomach with one hand and threw his head back dramatically.

 Hand in hand with Joe, you strolled around the block. Walks after dinner were so peaceful. You and Joe were the kind of couple that didn’t have to say much. The feeling of intertwined fingers. The sound of two pairs of shoes clicking on the sidewalk. It was more than enough. 

You and Joe had made a habit of trying a new restaurant every week or so. It was fun to be tourists in your own city and keep a running list of the best dishes. You relished finding a hole in the wall, those that were yet to be overhyped by internet reviews. The hidden gems could still be claimed as your little secret. 

With Joe’s newfound fame, it was hard to get away from the media sometimes. You loved seeing his face on TV, social media, and god he looked good in print, but you enjoyed him most sitting right in front of you. Undivided attention was the love language of your relationship. Date night was a golden opportunity to turn your phones on silent and just forget about the masses. Not having to cook or clean up made the night feel luxurious. Something about a corner booth allowed you shut out the rest of the world. 

Your steps fell into a rhythm and you looked up at the sky. Too many city lights drowned out the stars. The only notable shape was a waning moon.

“We should go somewhere in the country,” you whispered. “I wish we could see the stars.”

Joe hummed in agreement.

“I wonder which constellations there are this time of year.” You tilted your head and squint your eyes, but it was no help.

Joe didn’t answer. While you were busy looking at the moon, he was lost looking at you.

__________________________________________

“One more day” you sighed. 

Joe left to film a new project tomorrow and there was a certain heaviness in the air. It’s conflicting to feel proud and unhappy at the same time. This movie was a huge win for Joe’s career, but also a stressful undertaking. In two years, you had never been away from him for more than a month at a time. That was about to change. 

You sat on top of the kitchen counter, legs hanging over the edge. Joe stood steady, feet planted next to you on the granite. He reached up to the ceiling to unscrew the main light fixture. Household appliances never failed to break at the worst times. You were disappointed but not surprised that your final hours together were spent doing last minute projects around the house. 

“I know, darling. As soon as we finish this we can do anything you want... hold this please.” He passed a light bulb down to you. 

As much as you didn’t like having to do chores on your last day together, there was something comforting about it. It was so domestic. You loved being a homeowner with Joe. You got to take care of something and make it your own. Even if everything went wrong, you were a team.

“It’s okay, Joe. I kinda like this.”

He looked down at you, eyebrows raised like you had just said something untoward. “What do you mean you like this? Our light keeps flickering like a haunted mansion.” 

“No, I just like your company. Besides, you look hot when you work,” you said matter-of-factly. 

“Is that right?”

It was. When you were sitting at Joe’s feet, you had an entirely new view of him. Based on the way his chest moved, you could tell that his breath slowed when he was focused. His jaw tensed in concentration. Joe’s hands looked stupidly angelic toying with the glass fixture. When he lifted his arms over his head, the hem of his shirt raised just enough above his hips. How alluring.

Joe’s hand reached down to you, palm open, signaling for you to hand the light bulb back to him. 

You started to pass it to him but paused with your hand halfway to his. “You should tell photographers what a great angle this is for you,” you teased.

Joe rolled his eyes and laughed softly. “If all you are going to do is sit there and ogle at me, does that make me your sexy electrician?”

“Only if I can be your sexy assistant.”

“Deal.” 

__________________________________________

Five weeks had passed since Joe left. You were at the halfway mark and already completely over the long-distance setup. Being alone isn’t inherently lonely. Independence can be freeing, but there is a difference between independence and separation. 

Joe is the kind of person that makes you feel both his presence and his absence.

There was no one to welcome you home from work. You almost made the mistake of announcing your presence as you walked through the front door. By the time you opened your mouth, you remembered no one was going to respond. When you sat down to watch TV, the couch felt alarmingly empty. Suddenly, you regretted turning down Joe’s request for a pet. 

No one played music and waltzed around the kitchen with you. No one snuck up behind you and set their chin on your shoulder while you heated oil in the saucepan. Pouring a glass of wine alone felt more like medicating than celebrating. 

In an effort to cheer yourself up, you took a group of friends out to a restaurant you tried with Joe. Turns out five star carbonara tastes different in the company of different people.

At first, Joe was adjusting seamlessly to long distance communication. He acted the same as he would if he was only gone for a week or two. You two were texting throughout the day and speaking on video calls every night. The third week on set got really busy, but Joe still talked to you before bed without fail. Seeing his face, even through a screen, was reassurance that everything was going to be fine. 

At the end of the first month, contact became more sporadic. Joe didn’t pick up when you called one night. The only plausible explanation was that he running a little late, so you waited patiently for his reply. You smiled thinking of how apologetic he would be when he finally got home. Another two hours passed. StiIl, you gave Joe the benefit of the doubt. He was working so hard and you couldn’t blame him for conditions out of his control. Surely he would shoot you a text any minute now, telling you how wild his day had been. 

Your notifications stayed painfully dry as time passed. You fell asleep with your phone still resting in your palm. 

Vibrations against the mattress are what woke you the next morning. Still bundled up between the sheets, you picked up. A black screen was staring back at you instead of what you hoped would be another pair of sleepy eyes.

“Joe, I can’t see you.”  

“Sorry love, we are rushing to grab breakfast! Don’t want to give you motion sickness!” he chuckled and closed a car door on the other end.

Joe’s use of the word we elicited immediate disappointment. The lack of privacy made you feel less free to speak. You shifted uncomfortably, moving away from the sight of the phone camera. Maybe no one else was watching, but you didn’t want to risk it. Laying in bed with deep bags under your eyes wasn’t the ideal way to meet Joe’s co stars for the first time. 

The calls went on like that for a few days. He was always running out the door, pastry halfway in his mouth, spewing apologies on the way. A handful of cast and crew were in the background. You never spoke longer than the length of a car ride.

Joe kept calling with his camera off.

This week you couldn’t get ahold of him, despite your best efforts. Every time you called you received the same answers:

Long hours on set tonight. Miss you Xx

Early call time tomorrow! Sorry love! 

Hair and makeup needs me at 4:00am... Mornings aren’t gonna work this week

You laid in bed staring at the messages. Your eyes watered from the blue light burning your eyes. That or you just wanted a really good excuse to tear up. The most recent sent text mocked you:

Got a minute to chat?

And below it, [text read thirty minutes ago].

__________________________________________

You didn’t see the photos until the next day when you were sat on your lunch break. Each one looked harmless on its own, but there were SO many. You paused with a fork lifted halfway to your mouth, shocked at the length of the Twitter thread you were reading. 

In light of the lack of direct communication, you had secretly hoped that searching Joe’s name on socials would give you a glimpse of what he was up to. However, you didn’t expect Twitter to serve you an explanation for Joe’s absence on a silver platter. It was too easy. 

The posts started out as photos of Joe entering a bar of some kind. They were a bit blurry from being taken by a passerby across the street. Yet, they were definitely of him. The white dress shirt and chocolate brown slacks from the photo were a simple, signature lineup that you loved on Joe. It was no surprise that he packed them.

Most of the people surrounding Joe were recognizable as other members of the cast. The photo descriptions made it clear that the intent wasn’t even to capture Joe. He was collateral damage of the media frenzy. The account owner gained a large following for being a fan of his female co star. The tall, stylish brunette was the focus of most shots. A few frames later, Joe stepped outside with her for a smoke. 

As you kept scrolling, the inconsistencies between photos became more apparent. For starters, Joe was wearing at least six different shirts. You swiped back forth to compare the different posts. The familiar woman was wearing a ruched skirt in one image, a pair of black pants in another, and a tan jumpsuit in the next. This was either an event that required many outfit changes, or these were taken across several nights. 

The setting transitioned back and forth between the same bar or outside of a flat. Joe was featured punching in an entry code to a gate, clutching a long paper bag in his other hand. 

It’s not that Joe isn’t allowed to drink. He’s a legal adult by a landslide, but sheesh, what happened to the early call times and late nights?

You scrolled through the photos until you could piece together a decent enough timeline. What a shame social media was telling you more about your partner’s whereabouts than your partner himself. You opened the images from last night again and swiped to the end.

Unlike the rest of the photos, there was one set taken from inside of the bar. The quality was noticeably distorted from the dim lighting. The owner must have held their phone at an odd angle to conceal their spywork. Joe had his arm around the familiar co star. One hand was on her opposite shoulder and the other held a shot glass. 

Even in still photos, you caught on to Joe’s posture. There was a certain way he stood when he was incredibly drunk and trying to play it off. She was in heels, yet looked small next to him. You missed that feeling and longed from him to envelope you. Although, maybe now it was the floor that you wished would swallow you whole. 

As you swiped, the images showed the progression of Joe leaning in to whisper something in her ear. The very last photo zoomed in on the woman, head thrown back in laughter.

Nope. 

You shut your phone and tossed it onto the table. You weren’t going to allow your mind to go there. You took any suspicious, intrusive thoughts and shoved them to the far back of your brain. 

Let’s examine the facts. Anybody that knows Joe knows what a professional he is. Any interaction between cast members HAD to be strictly friendly. 

Just an ounce of self reflection confirmed that foul play between co stars was out of the question. However, just because Joe wasn’t a cheater didn’t mean you weren’t being neglected. 

How many times over the past few weeks did he send you a work related excuse and then head out to socialize? 

It was so unlike him to ignore you, but it was even more out of character to lie to you.

You reached out and unlocked the phone again. Your fingers flipped back and forth between apps, eyes darting to compare text messages to the dates on tweets. The frantic behavior was emulating crazy girlfriend energy and you knew it, but you trusted your intuition more than anything else. 

The photos of Joe carrying liquor into the apartment building jumped out. They were taken last Friday around eleven. 

You double checked the only message you received from Joe that day:

Long hours on set tonight. Miss you Xx

sent: 10:35pm

________________________________________

We need to talk. Please call as soon as you can.

It was the first text you fired off after you left work. 

You typed and deleted about five different paragraphs but settled on two sentences. Not calling Joe right away took an immense amount of self control. However, a) if this week had been any sign, there was no chance he would pick up during work hours, and b) leaving him a voicemail of accusations risked saying something you didn’t mean. 

Joe must of sensed your urgency, because your phone was ringing by the time you reached your car. 

“Hi love. I need to run in a few minutes. Is something wrong?” The term of endearment that was normally so comforting now sounded out of place.

Joe’s phone was lying face up. All you could see was a beige ceiling and an aura of light. He fumbled with objects on the other side of the room. You shut the drivers side door and paused, debating on whether it was a good idea to have this conversation while sitting in a parking lot. 

“Yes, Joe.” You spoke slowly, trying not to to get ahead of yourself. “I need to see your face. I don’t want you to lie to me anymore.” Something inside of you hoped that once Joe looked you in the eyes, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

The rummaging stopped. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Sit down and look at me.”

Footsteps drew closer to the microphone, and static cracked as Joe grabbed the phone from his bed. His face came in to view, mouth slightly open, brows furrowed in shock. You were never this short with him.

Joe sank down to the floor, back against a wall. “What is going on? You’re scaring me.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I know why you’ve been ignoring me. I also know how this sounds,” you said hesitantly. “But I’ve seen the photos of you online. You visit the same bar over and over. You were at the same flat nearly every night this week.”

“Are you tracking my every move?” he accused. “You know I’m nearly 30 years old and can handle myself-”

“You said you were at work,” you cut him off. “That’s the problem, Joe. You told me you had late nights filming or needed to go to bed for early call times. When in reality, you care more about your social life than me right now.”

“I can explain-”

“Let me finish. You are allowed to socialize, but you aren’t allowed to lie to me about it. Why are you avoiding me?”

“It’s not a lie. I-”

“Don’t feed me that shit. If you are going to deny it, then I am done. Do whatever you want, but do it without me,” you hissed. The sudden burst of emotion surprised yourself and your face went hot. 

“Listen to me for one second!” Joe’s voice cracking in the speaker caught you off guard. You couldn’t recall any other time he has raised his voice at you. He brought a hand up to his forehead and through his hair. Joe had a habit of doing that to self-sooth.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t tell you the truth, because I just didn’t want to burden you with it. Okay? You just have to trust me.”

“You don’t want to burden me with your drinking habits?” you scoffed. You and Joe told each other everything. Him dodging your questions was so out of line with his usual transparency. It worked you up into a rage. 

You were met with a long, heavy silence on the other end. You raised your eyebrows and gestured for him to continue. 

No response.

“Fine, don’t talk,” you shrugged. “But I can’t let this go without a better explanation. You deserve all you have going for you, and for the record, I tried my best to make this work.” 

Even the suggestion of letting this discussion end unresolved felt like a hit to the chest. They were your own words, yet the seriousness of their implications knocked the wind out of you. 

“I can’t believe you won’t trust me!” Joe tossed his hands up in exhaustion. It was clear at this point that you were not going to allow him to sweep this under the rug. 

“I can’t believe you lied!” you hissed in return. “I have been so goddamn lonely because you won’t give me the time of day anymore. Can you imagine how that feels? To have your partner avoid you and deny it? To be given no explanation?” Your voice shook and salt crept down into your mouth. 

All you ever wanted was his honesty, and for the first time ever, he couldn’t give you that. The corners of your mouth shook as you tried not to let your emotions get the best of you. 

Joe’s eyes caught on your wet cheeks. There was a sigh of recognition on the other end of the line. 

“Im sorry... I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his tone softened and he averted his gaze. Joe was never able to watch you cry. 

You suddenly remembered you were still sitting in the parking lot with only your car windows to separate you from the outside world. You rushed to wipe the tears away with your sleeves. 

“This role... it’s so heavy.” Joe looked up at the ceiling like he was searching for the strength to speak. He took in a sharp breath.

“The scenes get extremely dark. I spend so much time getting into the troubled mind of this character, and it makes me feel like a different person.” Joe brought a nervous hand up to his neck.

“I wake up every day and have to act out disturbing things. I got so good at it that I started to feel the pain even when no one was recording. To me, you are a bubble of safety. So, the last thing I wanted to do is bring that nightmarish mentality into our relationship.” His voice was breathless and full of fear at how you might react. 

“Joe... I didn’t realize-”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. Instead of telling you, I suppose I turned to vices. You are right. I’ve been drinking more than usual... smoking too, to be fair,” his voice trailed off shamefully. “I know how it looks, but I just wanted a way to escape without weighing you down. Turns out I’ve done a really shit job of coping.” He looked up at you to gauge a reaction. This time it’s his turn to blink back tears, and for what it’s worth, you could tell he was fighting. 

“It’s okay,” you said softly. 

“It’s not.” Joe shook his head slowly. “I should’ve realized how lonely it would make you feel.” The way his voice caught in his throat was so sad that it nearly erased all of your anger. 

“I would’ve understood.” You stared back at him sympathetically. “I want to know how you are feeling. That’s part of my job description in this relationship, you know.” 

Joe looked down at the floor, but you noticed the corners of his lips turn upward ever so slightly. It was the first time during the call that either of you saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Do you atleast have someone that will look after you?” you asked.

Joe swiped at his screen and it paused. His image went blurry. “I’m writing myself two reminders,” he said.  You heard the sound of thumbs tapping.

“For what?”

“First, to reach out to the support staff on set. Second, to call you again tonight.” His words were confident and reassuring. They were full of everything you have been missing over the past few weeks. 

“I think that’s a great idea.” Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled tension you didn’t even realize you were holding in. 

Joe will be gone for a while longer, but somehow it felt like he just returned home. 

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

So... you're a bat

Summary: You move to a new town for work, you need a house... you didn't expect a housemate to come with it.

Pairing: Vampire!Natasha Romanoff & Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 2462

Warnings: Mentions/hints of past murders

A/N: Hello everyone I actually managed to write :) It's just a nice fluffy fic with vampire Nat being a cool housemate! Hope you enjoy!

(and also my fics haven't been doing so well since I keep disappearing and reappearing, so any reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!)

—————————————————

The house viewing was pointless; moving across the country for work - on a minimal budget, you were just looking for anywhere to live, no matter the condition. And this was your only option. A house that was being sold for cheaper than any apartment’s security deposit; it was practically free, and from the viewing, you could see why.

A dilapidated mansion on the verge of collapse, the stairs had fallen in years before, so there was no access to the upper floors. Windows were smashed, floorboards were rotten, and some ceiling tiles were non-existent. No wonder the real estate agent looked so surprised to hear you take it on the spot.

What could you do? You didn’t have the money for anywhere else. And this mansion had one redeeming quality in that its front room had been done up by a previous homeowner, redecorated and fully insulated to make it livable. When you wondered aloud why they had stopped at just that room, you were shut down, the agent insisting that was a question you didn’t want answered. 

Off-putting, to be sure, but you left it at that.

—

There wasn’t much for you to unpack; the single livable room was fully furnished and decorated within the day. Almost everything you needed, packed into one place. It wasn’t really that different to a college dorm, and you’d survived that before.

A chill hit you the second you opened the front room door, making you hesitate in the doorway. It would be so cosy to stay in the warmth, but instead, you braved the cold, final box in your arms.

Creaks echoed around the frame of the house with every step you took; it felt like they would echo forever – until another gust of cold wind rushed through the windows to smother any other source of noise.

With it came an even higher-pitched squeak, and flaps of wings came startlingly close to your ear. You turned just in time to see a flash of black graze past your face.

You yelped and stumbled, only just maintaining your hold on the box and keeping your balance.

When you regained your stability, you glanced in the direction the flapping had gone. A bat stared back, perched on the exposed house supports.

Bats in the attic. Another of the many mentioned issues that came with the property; this was just one you’d forgotten about. They were most likely the reason the house hadn’t been torn down decades ago, and why repairing the house was such a difficult task. How could you not disturb them in a place like this?

The bat had watched, unblinking, through your whole musing. You darted your eyes back to it, then ducked your head and carried on to the kitchen, shutting the door behind you.

—

You crossed paths with the bats constantly; each time they would brush close then stare – pure black eyes, unblinking in their gaze. It was creepy, and you learnt to stop walking around in the dark, when flapping wings and grazed touches would be the only indication of where they were. 

Still, if the bats weren’t leaving and you weren’t either, it seemed the only solution was to take care of them.

You searched for their diets; results indicated insects, fruits, or even blood - depending on the species. It was informative, but with one issue. You hadn’t a clue of the species.

That was how you ended up with a bowl of berries in one hand and a bowl of beetles in the other, climbing up the rickety stairs on your elbows and knees. It was one of the worst ideas you’d ever had. There was no railing for you to hold, and you wouldn’t trust any one of the steps with your full weight, not after two instances where the stairs crumbled into dust underfoot. It became even more of a crawl the further up you got, but you were determined to get there and finally managed, both the bowls and yourself left intact. 

Once again, the bat sat patiently at the top, having watched the entirety of your slow ascent. You wondered why you only ever saw one at a time. Did they take turns coming out? Or was there only one? TV always showed them in groups but you had no idea, pop culture isn’t always the most reliable source.

“This is for you,” you told the bat, setting both bowls down. You’d give it a day to see which one was preferred. At least you’d have use of your hands the next time you scrambled up.

—

“NEITHER?!” 

Both bowls remained full. The bat had inspected it. You’d watched the bat inspect it. And it had taken nothing.

“If you don’t like berries or bugs then what do you eat?” you mumbled, gathering the bowls back up.

“While the berries are preferred, my palette is actually a bit different.”

You really couldn’t be blamed for screaming. Which was then drowned out by smashing ceramics, which you also couldn’t be blamed for. The sudden voice startled you and your body’s reactions kicked in, taking control of your actions to drop everything and flinch forward, away from the voice. 

The upper level wasn’t prepared for such a forceful step, and suddenly the environment blurred, everything looking like it was shooting up… or you were falling down. 

“Oh. oh, shi- I’m so sorry!” the voice rambled, “I didn’t mean to scare you!” It has a body now, a redheaded woman. She had rushed forward and caught you, stopping a potentially deadly fall.

You paused. “You snuck up behind me. In my house. And didn’t mean to scare me?”

“I forgot you could understand me.”

“What does-”

Before you could even ask, the woman decided to show you, morphing into the ever-watching bat before your eyes. This also had the effect of removing her arms, and you dropped to the floor once again. The thud echoed.

The woman morphed back into a human, just to gape at you. When you groaned, she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m-”

You waved her off before she could apologise. Yet she continued. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m a vampire.”

“It’s fine.” You stood up slowly, clutching your chest as you did. “So… you’re a bat.”

“Oh… would you prefer blood then…?” You mentally slapped yourself. Why was THAT your reaction to a vampire in your home? They were creatures you thought belonged to fiction. And seeing someone turn into a bat was definitely not a regular occurrence. Was it offensive to ask if she wanted blood? A stereotype maybe?

“Blood would actually be much better, yes, but I have my own sources.”

“Thank god for that because the beetles were hard enough to source.” Speaking of, they’d been on the floor before you fell… you really hoped there weren’t squished beetles stuck to your back. Your cheeks started to heat with embarrassment, what if the vampire’s first impression of you was just falling and having beetles squished into your back?

“Um… I would like to apologise about the stairs though. They’ve been falling into disrepair for centuries and I’ve been meaning to get them fixed. When you can fly upstairs though it’s easy to put it off, then people keep moving into my house and I couldn’t do it without exposing myself, and I guess the years just slipped away.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just stay in my own bit downstairs and then-... did you say this is your house? Um, is it okay that I’m living here? It’s just that someone kind of sold it to me and I have no money or-”

“You have been a gracious guest so far, I see no reason for you to leave.”

“Thank you then, I’ll stick to my own areas and leave you some privacy in your own home.”

She nodded, and you turned away, cautiously approaching the stairs.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

“You know my name?”

“Of course. I’m Natasha. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

—

Vampires had messed up sleep schedules, you learnt that one fairly quickly. Every few minutes another thud reverberated outside your window, almost shaking the house with the weight. You checked your phone; it was 4am.

You didn’t even bother getting changed. Only one person would be up at this time, and if she was going to wake you so early before your alarm, she was also going to get the worst version of you: tousled hair, cartoon pyjamas, and so sleep-deprived you would fight a bear if it meant you could go back to bed.

When you opened the front door, there Natasha stood, in just a vest and jeans, on the back of a pick-up truck. Where she got the vehicle was beyond you, but it was filled with dark oak wood planks, and she was lifting several trees’ worth of it at a time, dropping it down onto the floor to produce the bangs that woke you.

“NATASHA…uh… I don’t know your last name.”

She smirked. “Romanoff.”

“NATASHA ROMANOFF, IT IS 4AM! What on earth are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to risk you hurting yourself on the stairs now you live here, so I thought I’d fix them.”

“I’ve lived a lot of lives.”

“By yourself?”

“Can you at least let me sleep first? I’ve got to be up in 3 hours for work.”

“Right, yes. I forgot about those things. I’ll wait. See you later, Y/N.”

With that, she flew off, while you rubbed your eyes and returned to your room. Did she even have a clock? You should get her a clock.

—

Graciously, Natasha did wait for you to awaken before she continued, and by the time you left the house, she had moved on to hauling the wood inside.

Upon your return, the stairs were near completion; the redhead had a drill in hand, securing the final few steps with remarkable speed. 

You didn’t even register the ‘wow’ that came out of your mouth until Natasha turned, grin widening to see you home. 

“You like it?”

“How-? I mean, yeah! It looks amazing! But it’s been like, ten hours?”

“Practice enough and you get faster.” She shrugged.

“That much faster?”

“Well…that and vampiric super speed.”

“Oh-”

“It’s cute that you believed me though,” she said with a smirk. You grumbled at her smugness, her arms were stretched over the step behind her and a playful grin adorned her face. 

“You were nicer as a bat.” You teased, sticking out your tongue. Your confidence did not come with the same ease as Natasha’s seemed to - leading you to exhale far too heavily when she laughed, relieved that it hadn’t pushed the boundaries of your newfound friendship/living situation.

You noticed Natasha raise an eyebrow, but she didn’t question it further. She just kept up her smile until you began to walk away - at which point she called out for you again. You spun on your toe the second you heard her, looking up quizzically. She wasn’t in the same spot. Before you could even narrow your eyes at the –now vacant– spot, Natasha reappeared in front of you, followed by a characteristic rush of air.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” The vampire apologised, paying little concern to how far back you’d jumped. “The stairs just need to be finished and uh, I was wondering if you wanted to join me? It’s nice having someone to talk to again.”

You smiled. “What do you have for me to do?”

—

The stairs were a massive improvement; your one-room house suddenly became a whole mansion for you to explore. Which, admittedly, meant more issues for you to find. Natasha had done centuries worth of dusting though, so at least they were clean issues. 

But broken floorboards, collapsed ceilings, smashed windows…there were a whole host of issues, and had you friendly resident vampire not been there to help, you might have just smashed the staircase down again and ignored it all.

As it were, you did not destroy Natasha’s hard work. The vampire saw the stress in your eyes the second you made it upstairs, so she volunteered to repair the house as best she could. She’d acquired a whole host of skills over the years, so her work would save time, money, and the hassle of hiring builders. And she’d enjoy it – she reassured you of that.

It took over your lives for the next few months. When you weren’t at work, you would be helping her, though, with Natasha’s speed, she still ended up doing at least 90% of the work. But she seemed to enjoy the company and praised your small achievements, so that was enough for you.

When it came to housemate bonding activities, you had to say, the standard drinking games didn’t come close to completely remodelling a mansion together. She could tell you the history of every room, the moments she’d spent in there, the functions, even down to the original decision on wallpaper. It was fascinating, and offered an insight into how Natasha once lived: regal and rich and respected enough to own an enviable mansion. And now she spent her days hammering floorboards into place with the broke, graduate, housemate she had acquired.

You asked her then if she missed it; the parties, the customs, the people. 

Natasha hesitated, casually holding the entire wall frame upright as she paused to think. “No,” was her simple answer. “I’ve lived too many lives for far too long to miss them all. I learn from them, I enjoy the memories, but I move on.”

You both fell quiet, silently returning to the build. How long had it taken Natasha to stop missing the past? You had a couple of decades of memories, and even that was enough for you to miss and grieve the past, but she had centuries. Lifetimes of experiences also meant lifetimes of loss.

“This, though.” She interrupted, “This will be a memory I enjoy. It’s been a long time since I’ve made one of those, so thank you, Y/N.”

“I’m glad I met you, Nat.” 

“And I’m glad I didn’t drain your blood.” She grinned, fangs on display.

You sighed. “Ever the affectionate, Natasha.”

—

It was interesting, to look back on life and see what might have been. Natasha advised against it, and given her experience with life perhaps she was right, but you couldn’t help it. One house viewing, accepting the least hospitable house you’d ever seen; had led to this. You owned a mansion now, restored to its full glory and craftsmanship. And you’d gained a friend in this new town, an immortal housemate, like it was no big deal. 

So many memories for the future you to enjoy.

[staticspaces]

Abandoned Neighbourhood - House 7

Check out the full video walkthrough in the link below!!

Let's start off a brand new location this week by taking a look at the basement, garage and some exterior photos!!

Across the street from the last house we explored in this abandoned subdivision, this week we explore another two story home that is almost completely original to when it as built in 1988. With a Scarlett O'Hara main staircase, brick fireplaces and 80s colour palette, this large house is like stepping back in time.

Once located down a mature tree lined street and surrounded by forest and walking trails was a group of 14 abandoned luxury houses. They were bought by a developer for prices ranging from $3 million - $8 million dollars. The homeowners were given two years to live in the homes rent free before they were demolished.

Westford Homes was the original builder of the neighbourhood in the 80s, there were 5 different designs of homes to choose from. All of the houses were built in 1988 and each one had a single brick with the builders name on it.

There was opposition to the new development that will replace this one but ultimately it was approved. The current amendment allows for 139 new homes to be built and the size of the houses will be up to 4000 sq/ft. The neighbourhood is already long since sold out and the price of the homes was around the $2 million mark.