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absurdthirst · 3 months

Text

Contracted Fling {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.8k

Warnings: Secret affair, rough sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), semi-public sex, mentions of loss, miscommunication, fight, Joel being sexily violent, make up sex, morning after

Comments: Hired to renovate your parents house, Joel finds you irresistible. Engaging in an affair that turns complicated and scratches beneath both of your pasts.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s not a bad gig. Not all things considered. The house isn’t in terrible shape, it just needs updating and homeowners aren’t the type to squabble if Joel uncovers some problem that will take more time and money to fix, they just want it to be done right. A true rarity in construction.

Then there’s you. He’s old enough to know better and you’re young enough to have moved back into your parent’s house one week after demolition had started. You are a bonafide distraction and trouble all wrapped up in a pretty little package. Right now, he’s moving the little box of your bathroom shit into the hallway to continue to tear the tile out. Trying not to look down into it and see what you use when the smell of your shampoo drives him crazy.

When you moved back in with your parents, you felt like a failure. Your ex boyfriend had cheated on you and you were living in his place. You refused to stay in his apartment a moment longer so you packed your things and left. Moving back home, you plan to save enough money to get your own place but for now, you’re happy to be home.

Especially when you’re greeted with the sight of Joel laboring around the house. He’s older, beard salt and pepper with streaks of gray through his hair. He’s unbelievably hot in a DILF kind of way, and you want him. It’s been a while since you had sex. Your ex hadn’t touched you and you wondered why until you found him balls deep in the colleague he said was ‘just a good friend.’

Joel is working on removing the tile in your bathroom, his brother downstairs is working on the tile in the kitchen, and you walk past the bathroom, eager to catch a sight of him. The way his plaid shirt stretches over his shoulders makes your mouth drool.

“How’s it going?” You ask him when he pauses his demolition, leaning against the doorframe in the short shorts you’ve taken to wearing around the house since he arrived.

Joel glances at your legs and then straightens, groaning slightly and reaching for his handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his face. “Should be done with the demo by tomorrow.” He tells you. “You can still use the bathroom tonight though.”

You cross your arms, biting your lip as you watch him roll his shoulders. “Cool. You and your brother seem to know what you’re doing. My parents made a good choice picking your company. You need some water? I’m heading downstairs to grab a coffee before I get back to work.” You’ve been working from your childhood bedroom, able to work remotely.

“Sure.” He won’t turn down water, especially enjoying the view when you turn around to walk to the stairs. “Thanks.” He calls after you, frowning slightly as he swears your ass shakes just a bit and his cock twitches. “She’s not interested in you.” He grunts to himself, listening to you bound down the stairs and call out a ‘hello’ to Tommy when you go into the kitchen.

You come back about five minutes later with your coffee cup and you hand him a bottle of water, your fingers brushing his as he takes it from you. You stand there, watching as he opens the bottle and tilts his head back to down half the bottle, his Adam’s apple moving. Your mouth falls open slightly and you swallow down the drool. God, he’s so hot and he doesn’t even know it. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything else.” You try to say as innocently as possible and you turn to walk out of the bathroom with your cup of coffee. You’ll keep pushing him, see if he breaks, and if he doesn’t, you know he doesn’t want you.

“Thanks.” He lifts the bottle and watches as you walk away again, hissing slightly under his breath. You have been prancing around the house in short shorts and tank tops with your tits on display, giving him a good fucking view of the body you have. It makes him want to bend you over the bathroom sink and fuck you, but it’s your house, you can wear what you want. He’s just a guest here.

****

It’s been two weeks since Joel and Tommy started working on your parent’s house and you have been frustrated by Joel’s presence. Every night, when the house is quiet, you rub your clit and imagine Joel taking you hard over the under construction kitchen counter. Today, his brother Tommy, is sick and it’s only Joel who is working on the kitchen floor. You work in your room until you decide to seek out a snack, making your way downstairs to the makeshift pantry. “Hey Joel. You want a snack?” You ask and you bend over to see what’s in the box your mom left in the corner.

Joel groans and grits his teeth together. “Yeah.” He grunts. “Whatcha got?” He knows what he wants to snack on. It’s right in front of him, bent over and all he has to do is just pull your shorts down and pull his cock out of his jeans. “Anything good?”

You rifle through the snacks and hold up a couple of options over your head. “Chips or cookies?” You offer and he says “chips.” You take the cookies and stand up, tossing the packet over to him. You lean against the dining table and watch him shove a chip into his mouth. “So…how’s the work coming along? Must be hard without your brother here to help today.”

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes playfully and shrugs. “Better, don’t have to listen to him whine about dealing with his pregnant wife.” He jokes. “Cravings and cramps and aches and pains.” He shoves his hand back into the bag. “Told him just to fuck her good when she’s complaining, but that might be why he’s expecting a kid.”

You wince slightly at the mention of his sister in-law being pregnant. A sensitive subject for you but Joel doesn’t know that. You chuckle after a second, fiddling with the bag in your hand. “Being a woman isn’t easy. Being pregnant, well that’s the hardest thing. Not that I- I don’t have kids. From what I’ve heard.” You explain, “you guys are doing a great job. My parents are already happy with your work. You’re good with your hands.” You compliment saucily, licking your lips of cookie crumbs after taking a bite.

Joel lifts a brow at your comment and stares at you for a moment. “I am good with my hands.” He agrees, staring at you in challenge, waiting to see what else will come out of that mouth of yours. Trying not to think about what he would like to put in that mouth. How you would react to that.

“What else are you good with?” You ask, biting your lip as you wait for his reply. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms and the chip packet is still in his hand.

“Lots of things.” Joel brags, smirking at you slightly. “What are you interested in?” He asks, setting the bag down on the counter and crossing one leg over the other at the ankles as he waits for you to answer.

You set the bag of cookies down on the kitchen table and brush off your hands, taking a step towards him. “Lots of things.” You hum, walking towards him, “not sure if you’re interested in using them on me but I sure have imagined it enough times.”

It’s an invitation, one that he hadn’t expected but he damn sure appreciated. He doesn’t move, just arching a brow at you as he licks his lips. “Take off your shirt.” He orders.

Your parents aren’t home. It’s only you and Joel. You can’t deny him when he looks at you with those dark brown eyes, his gaze burning into you. You reach down to grip the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head to expose your lace bra. You know he wants you to take that off too and you want to make the first move so you reach behind you to unclasp it, letting it drop down your arms to fall onto the floor he’s been working on.

He grunts, his cock twitching and hardening in his jeans. Finally uncrossing his ankles and standing straight as he steps closer to you. “You have pretty tits.” He compliments, palms itching to touch them. “Now I want to see your ass.”

How can you deny him? You reach down to unbutton your shorts, knowing he’s in total control. He could leave you high and dry and humiliated but the look in his eyes tells you he’s going to give you exactly what you want. You push your shorts down along with your panties and turn around as you kick them away. Looking over your shoulder at him, you smirk. “Like what you see, old man?”

You have a fucking gorgeous ass. He wants to slap it and he huffs as he pins you against the counter, newly installed by him. “Unbutton my pants and find out.” He orders.

Your stomach twists with anticipation and arousal and you reach down to unbutton his jeans, snaking your hand in to wrap your fingers around his cock. “Fucking hell.” You gasp in shock. He’s huge. Thick and throbbing in your hand. “Is that - I don’t know if that’s gonna fit, Miller.”

Joel chuckles quietly and smirks at you. “Don’t think it will, little girl?” You’re a grown ass woman, but your fingers tighten around his cock when he calls you that so he assumes you like it. “I think it will. I think you’ll take every inch and scream my name.”

You pull him out of his jeans and squeeze him, starting to slowly pump him as his hands cup your tits. “Big words. Big words I’m not sure you can fulfill.” You taunt him, licking your lips as you clench around nothing.

He huffs and reaches for your waist, pulling you up to shove you onto the counter and spread your thighs. “That right?” He grunts, squeezing your thigh before he slides his fingers to your core and finds you dripping wet. “I think it’ll be nice and slick.”

“Fuck.” You whimper when his fingers find your clit. “You wanna find out?” You ask breathlessly, grinding back against his hard cock. “Joel. I need- I want you to fuck me.”

The next moment, Joel’s too busy lining up and pushing inside your hot, tight cunt to even think about birth control. Groaning as he pushes deep, he doesn’t stop until he's bottomed out inside you and one hand slaps down on the new granite countertop.

Your gasp echoes in the kitchen, your eyes sliding shut as he stretches you out. “Holy shit.” You whisper, “oh my God. You’re - I think you’re in my guts.” You admit, unable to believe how he feels inside of you.

Joel growls, loving how tight you are squeezing him. “That’s the point, little girl.” He reminds you cockily. “To let you feel it.” He pulls back and then slams back into you.

Your head drops back, your mouth open in a silent moan as the delicious friction slams you into the counter. “I feel it. I - fuck - I feel it.” You pant, eyes opening as you turn your head to look at him, loving the way his dark eyes seem almost black with his desire for you.

He start to fuck you, quick hard thrusts that have you gasping his name while your hips bang against the counter. Reaching up to cup your tits and squeeze harshly before pinching your nipples.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You hiss as he fucks you hard and fast. You cover his hands with yours as much as you can, making him squeeze your tits even harder. “Joel. Feels - better than I imagined.” You confess in a squeal when he kicks your ankle to spread you wider so he can push impossibly deeper.

“Gonna- fuck, gonna make you scream.” He huffs, nearly out of breath from how hard he’s fucking you but his hips don’t stutter and he doesn’t slow down. “Want to hear you scream.” He bites down on your ear and lets go of one of your tits to rub your clit.

Your hands slap down on the counter and when his calloused fingers find your clit. “Oh my - fuck!” You squeal, thighs starting to shake as he pounds into you, rubbing your bundle of nerves. You haven’t been fucked like this in - never. You’ve never been fucked like this. “Yes. Yes. Yes! I’m gonna - oh shit. You’re gonna make me cum.” You confess in a wheeze as he rasps in your ear, “that’s it, little girl. Want you to soak my cock.” You shudder and your palms slide on the counter, slick with sweat as he works your body higher. “I’m gonna - Joel!” You shriek as you cum, clamping down on his cock.

Joel growls again and the slap of his hips against your ass becomes even more frantic, fucking you through the high of your orgasm and chasing his own. Groaning filthily into your ear at how tight you grip him, making his hips stutter as you ride out the pleasure. “Gonna give me another?” He hisses in your ear, still rubbing your clit. “Gonna soak me again and scream. I know it, I can feel it.”

Most men would’ve already been pushing deep and spilling inside of you but Joel is still going. Your jaw is dropped and senseless moans of obedience fill the kitchen as you wordlessly promise him you’ll cum again. His hips press against your ass, no doubt leaving bruises from the brutal way your hips are hitting the quartz counter. His fingers rub your clit and he slaps it after a few seconds. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues to ruin you. “Gonna - yes. Again.” You gasp out, walls starting to flutter around his cock.

His back is killing him and his knees feel like they are turning to rubber, but he doesn’t stop. Addicted to the way your body splits open for his cock and your walls hug him close. “That’s it. Cum for me, you naughty little girl.” He groans. “Tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

His raspy words send you over the edge. “Oh fuck. Joel!” You sob his name out, loud enough for the neighbors to hear as he fucks you by the kitchen window. You clamp down on his cock, soaking him and your knees give out but he presses you against the counter while he frantically fucks into you. “Cum inside of me. It’s safe.” You promise breathlessly, slumping down to rest your upper body on the cool counter as he continues to ram into you.

Joel grunts, his body curling around you and he holds onto the counter as he pounds into you. Feeling his own orgasm getting closer with every thrust while you clench around him. “Fuck, fuck.” He growls into your ear. “Gonna fill you up.”

“Yes yes yes. Do it. Oh God. Fuck me. Fill me up.” You beg, wanting to hear him when he climaxes. You turn your head to look at him, his jaw clenched as he rocks into you. “Cum for me, baby.” You plead and that’s his undoing. He grunts as he cums, his cock twitching while he paints your walls with his hot seed.

Joel closes his eyes, his forehead pressed to the nap of your neck as he rocks his hips shallowly. Making sure every drop of his cum spurts inside of you until he is done. “Fuck.” He hisses, enjoying the wave of pure bliss that floods his body and he pants to catch his breath. “You good?” He asks after a moment.

You nod, trying to catch your own breath. “So good.” You confess, looking back at him when he lifts his head from your neck. “Didn’t expect that to happen today but I’m glad it did.” You giggle and caress his forearms as he clings to you.

He pulls out of you slowly, not wanting to hurt you. Rocking back and reluctantly letting you go so he can tuck himself back into his jeans. “Feel a lot lighter now.” He snorts, snagging a paper towel to wipe you up.

“Maybe you can focus on the floor instead of watching me walk around in these tiny shorts I had to dig out of my case to tempt you with.” You giggle, reaching for your panties after he tosses the paper towel. “Took you long enough to make a move, Miller.”

Joel snorts, “maybe, spent enough time thinking about bending you over the bathroom tub.”

You chuckle, grabbing your bra after pulling your tank top back on. “Mmm, now that sounds like a good time. You promise to do that?” You tease him, “but seriously, I want more sex if you want that. Nothing serious. Some fun and you’re - you’re the hottest man I’ve seen in a long time. I don’t want strings after what happened with my ex. I want to have fun. You up for that or is this a one time thing?” You gesture between you, wanting him to make a choice on if this happens again.

Joel contemplates your offer and shrugs. “Sounds like I would be a fucking idiot to turn down sex.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Especially with a woman as gorgeous as you are.” He’s not the best at paying compliments, but he likes the way you smile when he says that. You are gorgeous and you want him to fuck you, the least he can do is make you feel good.

You step closer to him, leaning in to kiss his jaw, “I gotta get back to work but I’ll see you later. This is gonna be fun.” You squeal as you step back and stride off to the stairs, making your way up to your room. Joel huffs, a smirk on his face as he shakes his head. You’re going to be trouble.

****

You bite your lip as Joel works on tiling your parent’s bathroom today. His shirt is off, leaving him in a tank top, a chain hanging from his neck, and you keep walking past to get a glimpse of him. “Stop starin’.” He orders and you lean against the door frame.

“Can’t help it when you’re teasing me all day with those arms of yours.” Your cross your arms, letting your eyes trail down his body as he stands to turn and face you. His brother is downstairs working on the half bath and you know he can’t hear you flirting with his older brother.

“You gonna let me fuck you on my lunch break?” Joel asks, smirking as he looks up from the mortar line he is laying. “Tommy’s running some errands so I’m gonna just stay here and eat my sandwich like a good boy.” He chuckles when your thighs press together on instinct.

You smirk, “yeah? You gonna have your cake and eat it too? You know Tommy won’t be gone for too long and I can’t be quiet so you gotta be quick to make me scream your name and cum before you finish your lunch.” You step into the bathroom and lean on the vanity, pushing your tits together so they meet his gaze when he looks up at you again. “You think you’re up for the challenge, old man?”

“I could make you cum on my tongue now, little girl.” He growls, eyes dropping to your tits. “Then just fill that little pussy with my cum while he’s gone.” Joel smirks at you with glee, “but I don’t know if you can be that quiet.”

You inhale sharply, “I could try. You could keep me quiet. Use your fingers or - or my panties.” You test him, wondering if he’s bold enough to do this while his brother is downstairs. “I can be good.”

Joel chuckles quietly and drops his trowel into the bucket and groans slightly as he climbs to his feet. “Hand me your panties then get up on the counter.” He orders, grabbing his rag to wipe his face. “And spread your legs.”

You giggle, glad you are wearing a dress today while pushing your panties down, handing them to him, and you shift to sit on the vanity he installed the other day, spreading your legs. He’s so hot, his muscles moving while he wears that tank top and his jeans tight around his thighs. He shifts to stand between your legs and you tilt your head to kiss his chin.

Joel pushes your dress up even more, pleased that you are so eager to give him what he wants. He tilts his head down to press his lips to yours briefly, not really kissing you a lot but you haven’t chased kisses either so he wonders if you dont really like it. Balling up your panties, he smirks as he holds them to your lips. “Open up, little girl. You can’t make too many noises while I eat your pussy.”

You eagerly open your mouth for him, wiggling on the cool surface as you impatiently wait for his next move after he pushes the lace into your mouth. It’s dry and you swallow around them, cheeks full of the material and your eyes meet his as his hands trail along your inner thighs, a whine of need is muffled by your underwear.

“So impatient.” He chides, pinching the inside of your thigh slightly and then soothing it with a small rub. “Now-“ he grunts as he kneels back down. “You need to be quiet.”

You watch him, eyes dark with lust as he leans in, his hot breath washing over your wet pussy. You’re always so turned on around him. You’ve never experienced this kind of attraction to someone before. You’re like a magnet to him. You whimper around the material when his tongue slides through your folds.

Joel doesn’t hesitate to lavish attention on your cunt, spreading your thighs apart with his hands you seem so obsessed with. Groaning at the first and second whimpers that you give him. You haven’t asked him for this, but he wants to, wants to have you cum for him. Loves making you cum and your thighs shake around his ears.

Your head tilts back to hit the wall where he hasn't installed the mirror yet. Your eyes closing as you arch your back so he can access more of you. You moan around the panties, his thumbs spreading your lips to suck on your clit.

Your thighs press his head and you roll your hips down, making Joel groan into your folds. You aren’t screaming yet, your moans are muffled by your panties and it’s thrilling. The door into the bathroom is still opened and your parents could come or Tommy could walk in at any moment. His eyes flicker up to watch your face as he sucks.

You couldn’t care less if someone sees you right now. His tongue is magic against your clit. Harsh but perfect as he sucks and licks. His fingers slide along your thighs, pushing your thighs back out to give him room to make you fall apart on his tongue.

He doesn’t rush you, keeping the rhythm of his tongue steady and he flicks his tongue against your hole before sucking on your clit again. Groaning quietly as he devours you.

You pant around the pace, your chest heaving as he works you higher. His tongue flicking and lapping then he sucks on your clit and your thighs start to shake around his head. His name is muffled as you moan it as you get closer and closer. When he pushes his tongue deep, curling it and his nose presses against your clit, you fall apart. Your cry is silenced but he knows you’ve fallen over the edge by the way your thighs squeeze his head.

He can feel the rapid pulse of your heart pumping blood through your veins and he loves it. Keeping his tongue curled up inside you, his curved nose pressed against your clit as he feels your arousal flood his tongue. Your thighs squeeze his head and he huffs slightly when your fingers grip his hair, not letting you push him away just yet.

You whine around your panties when it becomes too much, his tongue languidly swiping over your clit but you're too sensitive. Your hands finally succeed in pushing his head away and he smirks up at you, cocky because he made you fall apart under his tongue.

“Joel!” Joel can move fast when he needs to, lurching to his feed and out the door while you are still sprawled on the counter. Tommy pauses at the door to the master bedroom.

“Yeah?” He grumbles slightly. “Damn near thought you cut a finger off. What’re you yellin’ for?” Tommy snorts at the grumpy attitude of his older brother and shakes his head.

“I’m headed out, you sure you don’t wanna grab a burger?” He offers, making Joel shake his head.

“Nah, packed a lunch.” He smirks. “Even have dessert, ate that already though.”

You scramble off of the vanity, shoving your dress down and spitting out your panties to shove them in your bra. Your face is burning from nearly getting caught but your pussy is throbbing from arousal at the fact that his brother nearly caught you. Tommy stares at his brother, eyebrows raised at his shiny chin, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to when his older brother stares at him as if to say 'don't you dare.'

Tommy holds up his hands and smirks slightly. “Alright..uh, you should finish up the tile in there today?” He asks, nodding to the bathroom.

“Yeah.” Joel nods and shoots daggers at his brother, wanting him to leave. “Have a good lunch.” He tells him pointedly.

Tommy shakes his head, a small chuckle escaping his lips. He isn't dumb. He's seen the way you and Joel look at each other and he doesn't care so long as your parents don't get pissed and blame the company for Joel fucking their daughter while doing the renovations. He's happy that Joel is finally getting some. It's been a couple of years since Tess died and he deserves some happiness after so long. Tommy leaves, purposefully slamming the door shut and you come out of the bathroom, "oh God. He knows, doesn't he?" You ask Joel, slightly mortified.

“Tommy’s not stupid.” Joel answers. “He won’t say anything.” He wonders if you would want to stop now, ashamed that someone other than you and him might know. He grins at you and glances down at the slight bulge under your shirt. “Still not wearing any panties?” He asks lecherously. “Do you want me to fuck you in the bathroom or bend you over mommy and daddy’s bed?” He’s half joking, but he would do it if you wanted.

You smirk, loving that he isn't put off by his brother knowing. "Oh God. I want - the bed. Want you inside of me. Want you to fill me up." You confess, knowing how wrong this is but your pussy is dripping as you stare at him, chest heaving.

“Lay down at the end of the bed.” Joel orders, reaching down to unbuckle his belt to unbutton his jeans. “Gonna put your legs up on my shoulders and fill your pussy with my cum right there on your parents bed like we’re fucking rebellious teenagers.” The fact that Joel’s not too much younger than your parents doesn’t matter, you make him feel younger.

You obey immediately, laying down on the bed and you shove your dress up to your waist. You watch him unbuckle his belt, his cock hard and aching as he pulls it out. You never get over the size of his length. “Fuck me, daddy.” You tease, spreading your legs for him.

“Fuck, do you want me to stay hard?” He huffs, pumping his cock in his hand and rolling his eyes at you. You giggle, not remorseful in the least and he shuffles forward. “I’m going to make you scream now that we are alone.” He warns with a smirk.

You moan when he slides his cock through your folds. “Please.” You whimper, your stomach clenching as you look up at him. “Want you to make me scream.” You demand, your hands caressing his forearms. He notches his cock at your entrance and grabs your wrists, lifting them over your head to press them into the mattress as he pushes into you.

“So goddamn tight.” He hisses. “Best little pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

You love his compliments. He’s not a man of many words but fuck, he’s so sexy. Your feet are behind his head as he lifts your calves onto his shoulders, practically folding you in two as you take his cock. “Oh my God. I think you’re in my throat this time.” You pant, closing your eyes.

“Good.” He huffs, rocking his hips forward sharply as he moves your legs up from his waist to his shoulders. Leaning forward, he braces his hands on the bed, flashing a smirk before he starts to destroy your pussy.

You moan when he starts to move, pushing deep and hard. “Yes yes yes!” You squeal, your head tilting back and you close your eyes.

“Look at me.” He demands, “fucking - keep your eyes open.” Your eyes flutter open and you look at him above you, his jaw clenched as he rocks into you. He stares down at you, his jaw clenched as he fucks you hard enough to shake the bed, the headboard starting to bang against the wall. “Fuck, dirty little slut.” He grunts. “So desperate for my cock you’re letting me fuck you on your parents bed.”

“Yes. Your - your slut. Oh God. Your cock. Only your cock drives me to do this.” You cry out, “so good. You - you fill me up so well.” You moan as he grinds deep into you. “Joel. So - so fucking good.” You cry as he fucks you hard and fast.

He can feel how close you are, bending down even more so he can press his lips to yours and the short hair above his cock grinds against your clit. “Cum.” He demands breathlessly. “Want you to cum.”

You practically wail, your eyes closing as you fall apart. “Oh my - Joel! Joel! Joel!” You squeal as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him with your cum.

Joel groans, eyes rolling back as you pack down around him. Having to really thrust his hips to move as he tries to work you through. “Fuck!” He yells, grabbing your thighs and straightening up as he continues to drill into you.

You watch him, your body pushed up the bed. “Come on. Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you spill inside of me. Come on.” You egg him on, clenching around him as he drills into you until he stutters, his cock throbbing as he fills you up. “That’s it. Oh shit. Never gets old. Love watching you cum.”

Joel grunts and groans as he finally stops cumming. Panting and his work rough hands caress your legs. “Fucking love cumming in you.” He watches as he pulls out, spreading your thighs to watch his cum start to push out of your cunt. “That is a pretty sight.”

You giggle as he watches your pussy for a moment until he lets your legs down from his shoulders. “You wanna have your lunch?” You ask, knowing he’s gotta be hungry after that and he does need a lunch break. He nods and you gingerly shift off of the bed, “I’ll tidy up. Go eat.” You demand, rubbing his shoulder.

Joel tucks himself away and goes downstairs to where his lunch box is sitting in the kitchen. He really had packed a lunch because of Tommy and he opens it quickly. He knows that Tommy won’t say a word, but he will give him shit for taking too long on the lunch break.

****

You bite your lip as you watch Joel work, his shoulders moving with each motion of the brush while he paints the wall. He senses your presence and turns to look at you. Tommy is on a coffee run and your parents are out. "Hey trouble." He smirks at you and you step closer to him.

"Hey handsome." You don't mess around, knowing you don't have a lot of time so you squeeze him through his pants.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, glancing around the room as if someone could walk in at any second. You laugh, making him glare at you and you squeeze him again.

“I want to suck your cock.” You tell him, making him hiss again, this time his hardening cock jump against your palm. You smirk as he twitches under your touch. “No one is here. Just us.” You reassure him, your fingers sliding up to unbuckle his belt. Your nimble fingers unbutton his jeans and you reach in to pull out his half hard cock. “Wanna taste you.” You murmur as you shift to kneel down in front of him, paint splattered on his pants.

“Fuck.” Joel groans, looking down to find you watching him under your lashes while your tongue slides along the growing length of his cock. He’s never had someone blow him in their parents kitchen, and he’s not going to turn you down when you are so eager for it.

You kiss along his length as you feel him harden against your lips. His hands gripping the kitchen counter as he watches you. You moan when you wrap your lips around the head, loving the spurt of pre-cum hitting your tongue. Salty and all Joel. You can’t seem to get enough of him.

It’s fucking incredible, your mouth is hot and wet, tongue eagerly sliding against his shaft. You fucking take him deeper and the first groan bubbles out of his throat. Making you smirk, stretching your lips around him.

He hisses your name and you brace your hands on his thighs. The denim is rough under your palms and you keep your eyes on him. Your moan vibrates up his cock as you take him even deeper, your pussy throbbing at the groan that escapes his lips.

His hips push forward sharply, during his cock even deeper into your mouth. Making you gag as he grabs the back of your head and takes over. Holding you still while he thrusts into your mouth, loving how your hands grab at his hips and your throat contracts around him.

You let him use your mouth, the groans escaping his mouth combined with the grunts make you slide your hand into your shorts to rub your clit. Letting him hold your head and your eyes water as you allow him to use you.

“So fucking good.” He groans. “Don’t know what’s better, your pussy or your mouth.” He catches sight of your hand in your shorts and moans. “That’s right, play with your pussy while I fuck your throat, little girl.”

You moan around him again, choking a second later when he pushes deeper, the curls at the base of his cock brushing your nose, and you rub your clit a little faster. His hands still grip your head, using you and rocking his hips a little faster.

Even as often as Joel is getting sex, he’s still working himself close to cumming quickly. Your mouth is perfect, the pressure around his length too much for him to be able to stand for too long. “Gonna cum down your throat.” He promises. “Fill- fuck- you up.” His hips stutter and his stomach lurches. “Fuck- gonna-“ he chokes out a groan as his cock pushed deep down your throat and starts to throb.

Joel grunts as you swallow around him one more time, spent now the last spurts have been swallowed. His hand softens on your cheek and he stops rocking his hips, eyes looking at your own watery ones.

You let his softening cock drop from your mouth as he caresses your cheek and you offer him a soft smile, enjoying how relaxed he looks right now. “Fuck baby. So- you look so good.” You murmur, throat a little sore, “not stressed.”

He chuckles softly, smirking at you slightly. “Hard to be stressed when I just came.” He rubs his thumb over your lips. “How are you, little girl? You need to cum? Want me to rub your little clit?”

You nod, shifting to stand on shaky legs. He helps you up after tucking his cock away and spins you to press your against the counter where he was standing. “Joel.” You whimper when his hands squeeze your tits. “I want to cum.”

His hand slides down from your shoulder to your tit, squeezing it and then gliding down to your stomach. Hitting your shorts and diving under the elastic waistband, and groaning when he finds you’re not wearing any underwear. “Fuck baby.” He groans. “You’re always ready to take me. Ain’t ya?”

You nod, mouth falling open as his fingers find your clit. He’s been the best part of returning home. Working from your childhood bedroom has allowed you to run riot with Joel over your parents’ house and it’s been amazing.

“Thaaaat’s it.” He coos, smirking smugly at the way your body jerks and pulls taunt as he rubs. Knowing that he’s touching you exactly like you need to be touched. “Such a good girl for me. Doing so good. I know you want to cum.”

“Need to - God. Need to cum.” You pant, head tilting back as his calloused fingertips rub your clit expertly. He knows your body inside out by now. “Joel, baby. Shit. Know just what I need.”

He knows that you are just praising him because he’s giving you pleasure. He hums and presses his lips to the bottom of your ear. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You moan, “need - fingers inside of me.” You plead and he nods, shifting his hand further into your shorts so he can push two thick digits inside of your dripping pussy. “Yesss.” You cry, gripping his shirt as he pushes you into the counter.

He doesn’t stop, curling and pumping his fingers deep inside your cunt. Pressing you close and pushing his thigh between your legs to keep them splayed open. “Come on baby, soak my fingers.”

You pant, fingers curling in his shirt as he pushes you higher and higher. “Oh God. I -fuck Joel. Joel baby. I’m gonna - shit. Shit. Shit.” You cry out, clamping down on his digits as he sends you over the edge. His thumb pressed against your clit and you slump against him while your thighs shake against his knee.

Joel watched you closely, enjoying the way your entire body reacts to your pleasure and he hums softly. “That’s it. You just melt against me.”

You inhale deeply, leaning in to breathe him in. Your lips press against his neck, “so good.” You murmur as he withdraws his hand from your shorts just as the front door opens. Joel steps away from you immediately and your parents walk in. “Hey Joel. How’s it going?” Your dad asks and you exhale shakily, stepping over to the fridge Joel installed the day before.

“It’s going good.” Joel acknowledges, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning back like he just hadn’t had his fingers buried in the other man’s daughter. “We should be finished up right on schedule. Just finishing the tile and trim and she’ll be done.” He glances around and the completely redone kitchen.

You are disappointed that Joel will be done sooner rather than later. You’ve had weeks of sex and you’re not sure what you’re going to do when he’s done. Luckily, he still has the bathrooms to finish along with the laundry room and the flooring in the bedrooms. “He’s done a good job so far.” You comment and your mom smiles, agreeing. “We are having a BBQ tomorrow with the neighbors. Weather is perfect and we wondered if you and Tommy wanna join us?” Your dad asks the older Miller brother.

“I- uh, yeah, sure.” Joel doesn’t often socialize with his clients, but he also doesn’t normally bang their daughters either. He bites his lip and shrugs. “What can I bring? I don’t know if I would trust something I cooked, but I can bring cups, beer, whatever you need.”

Your dad nods, “beer would be awesome. Just bring you and Tommy can bring Maria. Want to thank you guys for doing such an amazing job so far.” He says and reaches out to slap Joel on his upper arm. Your lover nods, his dark eyes glancing at you and you offer him a soft smile, wanting to let him know you want him to come to the cookout.

****

You see Joel across the lawn, sipping a beer and talking to Tommy and his wife, Maria. The entire street is here for the cookout and you sip your vodka seltzer while Darlene from two doors down talks to you about her lawyer son who would be ‘just perfect for you.’ “He sounds perfect for Sally’s daughter.” You point to the other woman who is talking to your mom and you make your way across the lawn to the Miller family. “Hey guys. Everyone is amazed by the kitchen and half bath. My parents have given your number out to nearly everyone here so you should be busy for the rest of the year.” You grin, shifting in your short sundress.

“Good.” Tommy looks very pleased by the prospect and rubs Maria’s back. “This is my wife, Maria.” He boasts. “And soon to be the next Miller.”

Joel’s lips press together but he relaxes his jaw so it’s not obvious he’s uncomfortable. “That’s good.” He nods, holding up a case of beer in each hand. He has splurged on the good stuff since he didn’t think your dad drank PBR. “Where do you want these?”

You greet Maria, “I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things.” You promise, offering her a smile and she says “I’ve heard a lot about you too.” Her eyes look at Joel and he avoids his sister in law. “You can put them on the bar.” You tell Joel, escorting him over to the table full of buckets of ice and various drinks.

“Thanks.” He puts the beers down on the bar and turns towards you. “So…what now?” He asks. “I talk to all his friends about remodeling their bathrooms?” He chuckles quietly.

“That or…we could find somewhere private and you could show me how you manage to get your grout lines so straight?” You smirk, biting your lip and you glance around to make sure no one is watching you. “Unless you’d prefer I leave you with the neighborhood watch mom group over there?” You flick your eyes over to the gaggle of middle aged women who are not so discreetly eying Joel.

“Fuck no.” Joel snorts, looking over at the group of women and then shooting you an annoyed look. He doesn’t want to be fending off those vultures all night. “Where do you want to go?” He asks, wiping his hands on his jeans and feeling a little out of place even though he had showered and even trimmed up his facial hair for tonight. His jeans aren’t ripped or paint stained and his flannel shirt is practically new.

You trail your eyes along his figure, stomach twisting at how good he looks tonight. He smells good too. “I have a treehouse. Used to go in it when I was a kid. You want to join me in there? I might want to upgrade the flooring.” You tease, grabbing your drink and spinning around, you glance over your shoulder at him as you make your way through the yard to the treehouse.

Joel grabs a beer, ignoring the women who are staring after him and follows you outside. There’s enough people here that most of them are talking and not paying any attention when you disappear around the back of a tree and Joel reaches the base just in time to catch a glimpse of your bare ass as you climb. “Fuckin’ too old for this shit.” He grunts quietly, shoving his beer into his pocket and climbing up after you.

You giggle as he climbs up, “come on Miller. Where’s your sense of adventure?” You ask him as you step up onto the treehouse your grandfather built years ago. He was like Joel. Handy and an excellent craftsman. Your dad didn’t inherit the gift. “Gone when I turned 50.” He groans as he steps into the treehouse. It’s not creaking when he shifts his weight and he hums, impressed with the structure. You sit down on the beanbag, holding your drink up. “You look good for your age.” You hum, taking a sip.

He rolls his eyes and huffs as he sits down, knees creaking slightly. “For my age, huh?” He pulls the beer out of his pocket and opens the can. “To aging gracefully.” He toasts, holding the can up and then taking a sip of the cold brew.

You smile, watching him in your childhood treehouse is a bizarre experience but you love it. “You do look really good tonight.” You compliment him, “I like the clean look a lot. I do think I like the dirty look more, though. Rugged, sexy, capable.” You flirt, “and you can still get it up.” You tease, “most of the time.” You joke about the time he was about to fuck you and your parents’ old fashioned house phone voice sounded out their voicemail. Your dad telling you to take the chicken out of the freezer. He went soft as soon as he heard your dad.

“Can’t believe you still hold that against me.” He snorts. “Been thirty fuckin’ years since I’ve been worried about somebody’s daddy walkin’ in.” He grunts, staring at the way your thighs spread teasingly. His cock twitches in his jeans and like every time he’s around you, he starts to harden. “So did you bring me up here to fuck?” He asks. “Or just get away from everyone?”

“Both.” You tilt your head, “I don’t - I have to confess, I’ve never been so sexually attracted to anyone. I want you. All the time. Like I even touch myself thinking about you at night.” You know you’re giving him all the cards but you mean what you say. “So…we can talk since I saved you from the neighborhood ladies flirting with you and the husbands asking for your advice on their latest DIY project…or we can fuck and you gotta keep me quiet since they could definitely hear us up here.”

“How wet are you?” Joel asks, eyeing the exposed skin as your thighs spread again. You’ve talked between flirting and fucking, but the idea of you walking around the party dripping his cum is one he really likes.

You bite your lip and lift your dress higher, spreading your legs to expose your wet folds to his dark gaze. “Soaking wet for you. Ever since you walked into the party.” You confess, sliding your hand down to rub your clit.

“Spread your lips apart.” Joel orders quietly. “Rub slower.” He twitches in his jeans and reaches down to palm himself as he watches you touch yourself. You’ve not really had time for more than frantically rushed fucking, so now he can watch you. See what you like to do to yourself when you’re thinking about him.

You set your drink down and reach down with your other hand, spreading your lips to show him your puffy clit. Your eyes on him as you slowly rub the bundle of nerves and he squeezes his cock through his jeans. You like the way he’s ordering you.

“That’s good, just like that.” He grunts. “Slide your fingers through your slick and then rub your clit again. Gotta make sure you’re nice and wet. But you’re always so fucking wet.” He unbuttons his jeans and reveals that he’s not wearing any underwear, pulling out his cock and then spitting in his hand to wrap around it and pump slowly.

You whimper, mouth almost watering when you see this thick cock in his hand. You follow his order, sliding your fingers down to gather up your slick and you bring it back to your clit, rubbing it a little faster. “Always wet around you. Just looking at you gets me wet. Especially - shit - especially when you strip your shirt off or wear your tank top.”

“Like that, huh?” He grunts and rocks his hips up, working himself into his fist. “You enjoy being fucked. That pretty pussy needs to be fucked as often as possible.”

You whine slightly as he pumps his cock a little faster. “Joel. Please. Let me - let me sit on your cock. Wanna feel you inside of me. Want you to cum inside of me.” You beg pathetically, pulling your hand away from your clit.

“What are you waiting for?” He demands, still pumping himself. “You want to ride, you have to come to me.” You’ve never ridden him before but he wants to see your tits bounce in his face. “Pull out your other tit and come sit on my cock.”

You pull down the straps of your dress, exposing your tits and you shift out of the bean bag, straddling his thighs and he holds his cock up so you can sink down on him. “Fuckkk.” You whimper, eyes fluttering closed as he stretches you out.

“Shhhh shhhh.” He covers your mouth with his hand, the other behind your neck to hold you firm while he bottoms out in your aching pussy. “Silent.” He whispers, knowing that no one at the party can hear, but you will get loud if he doesn’t warn you. Breathing against his fingers, he groans quietly when your pussy flutters. “You like that, huh?” He grunts. “Holding your mouth closed while you ride my cock? Is that how to keep you quiet?”

Your hands grip his wrist, eyes wide as you nod. You want him to keep you quiet. His cock twitches inside of you and you whimper against his palm. “Shhhh.” He coos, “ride me.” He demands softly and you nod, lifting your thighs to pull up off of his cock nearly all the way. You sink back down onto him.

He watches you, feeling the shuddered breaths against his palm, warming it. Thinking that you are fucking gorgeous and too good for him as you grind back down into his lap. Wanting him as deep as possible while you lean back to find the perfect angle for his cock inside you. “Good girl.” He praises, voice low. “Make yourself cum.”

You love his voice. Deep and gruff. His orders have you fluttering around his cock already. Knowing that anyone at the party could figure out that you are together, up here, having sex. Your nails dig into his forearm slightly and you rock a little faster, your thighs aching but you don’t care. You want to cum and you want him to follow you.

Joel’s hips stay down, letting you have complete control of the ride, although he pulls you up straighter by your head. Just enough for him to duck down and wrap his lips around one of your nipples. Biting it before sucking it onto his mouth and lavishing attention on it.

You cry into his palm, muffled as he bites down on your nipple and you tangle your fingers in his hair as you ride him a little faster. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you find the right angle for the head of his cock to rub against your g-spot.

Joel grunts, sucking and biting on your breast while you gallop on his cock. Loving how your moans are muffled by his hand and his cock twitches. He loves how you demand pleasure and are willing to take it for yourself.

You moan into his palm, so close to your orgasm. He switches to your other nipple and it sends you over the edge. You clamp down on his cock, soaking him and your cry threatens to bubble past his palm but he presses his hand harder against your mouth to smother your cry. His groan is soft against your breast as you grip him and you shake above him.

Your hands slide down from his hair to his shoulders, caressing his upper back as he paints your walls with his cum. His hand drops from your mouth as he grips your waist and you rest your head on top of his. “So good, baby. So fucking good.” You gasp, “can’t get enough of you.”

Joel chuckles quietly as you both ride out your orgasms, panting softly. “I can tell.” He teases quietly, running his hand down your spine. “Good baby?”

You nod against his head, “so good. Fuck, Joel. Wish you could stay inside of me alllll the time.” You tease, running your fingers through his salt and pepper locks. “I am gonna be dripping your cum at this party.”

“I know.” He smirks at you and waggles his brows. “I’ve thought about that before you ever even climbed in my lap.” He pats your hip lightly, leaning back and sighing, relaxed and loose now. He picks up his beer and takes a swallow, his cock softening inside you.

You watch him, your gaze softening until you clear your throat and shift off of his lap. You grab your own drink after you pull your dress into place, sitting down in the bean bag. Joel is quiet as he sips his beer and you shift in the bean bag. “I’m gonna head down, clean up. Come down whenever you’re ready. It’s better that we are seen separately.” You murmur, groaning as you stand up and his cum starts to drip down your thigh. You wink at him as you climb down the ladder and make your way into the house to clean up. When you come out of the bathroom, you are grabbing a snack in the kitchen when your mom approaches you. “Sweetheart, we - your dad and I wanted to talk to you. We noticed you and Joel go up to your treehouse and we - we’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re an adult and after what that asshole did to you, you deserve to have some fun but honey…Joel is complicated.” You open your mouth to respond but she shakes her head, “you don’t know his past. You’ve been away from home for a long time and we - your dad knew Joel from his coworkers. Joel lost his daughter. She was thirteen. He lost her and his wife - she left him when his daughter was two. He’s got a lot of baggage and I’m worried that he will hurt you because he doesn’t want to - he’s not the dating kind.” She explains and your jaw clenches.

“Mom, I don’t want to date him. We are having fun. Please…I know I have kept this for you. Been doing this under your roof and I’m sorry for that but I’m not sorry about Joel. He’s fun and I- I deserve to have some fun. I’m not marrying the guy.” You scoff, crossing your arms. She nods and grabs her wine glass, neither of you aware that Tommy was lingering in the hallway.

Tommy finds Joel nursing a beer and listening to one of your father’s neighbors talk about the bathroom that he wanted to remodel. Obviously wanting a quote, sight unseen. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Tommy asks Joel, nodding in apology to the potential customer. Once he gets him alone, Tommy shuffles nervously. “So I heard something…..”

Joel clenches his jaw as Tommy relays the conversation that he had heard between you and your mother. “Right.” He spits after a moment, glancing over at you and then back at his brother. “Think I’m going to call it a night.” He decides.

You frown when you don’t see Joel anymore and you ask Tommy where he went. The younger Miller brother is a little cold towards you and tells you his brother went home, decided to call it a night. You nod and thank him and Maria for coming when he tells you they are leaving. You’re confused Joel didn’t say goodbye but you suppose that’s his MO.

****

The next day, Joel is back working in the house and you glance around to see where Tommy is before you waltz over to him, a smile on your face. “Hey handsome. Working in my bedroom today?” You ask, “I need some help moving the bed.”

Joel looks up at you for a brief moment and then back down at his tools. “Tommy and I will move it. I’d prefer it if you weren’t in the room.” He tells you. “Liability.” He doesn’t look back up and doesn’t say another word while you are standing there waiting for him to take you up on your obvious overture.

Your smile falls, his gaze turning back to his tools and you deflate. “Oh, uh, okay. Sure. I can take my work to the living room.” You step back, wondering if he’s had a bad morning. You leave the hallway without another word and grab your laptop, heading downstairs to work. Later that afternoon, Tommy is out getting their lunch and you walk into your bedroom to find Joel working on ripping up the old carpet. “You need a drink?” You hold out the bottle of water, “figured you could use a break while you wait for Tommy to get back.” You bend over so he can look down your shirt at your tits.

“I’m good.” He doesn’t look up, not wanting to see your tits or your legs on display. “Have a bottle over there.” He doesn’t even stop working and just nods his head towards his tool bag. “Be finished by tomorrow.” His words are short and clipped.

There’s definitely something wrong. You frown and huff, standing up straight and you don’t leave right away. You uncap the bottle and tilt your head back, chugging half the water. With a dramatic sigh of satisfaction, you spin on your heel and leave the room.

Joel continues working but he sighs, hating that he had ever thought that you would want him. He was stupid, he had started to care about you. Way too much, it was better to just keep things professional between you. He was the contractor, nothing more.

****

A couple of days pass by and you ignore Joel and Tommy’s presence in the house, deciding to work at some coffee shops instead, but today is a gorgeous day. The sun is shining, you don’t need to work, so you decide to sit in the sun and have a drink. You walk into the kitchen where Joel is sitting, looking over his materials, and you open the fridge to grab a drink while dressed in the smallest bikini you own. Just because he’s ignoring you doesn’t mean he won’t notice you. Maybe he’s in a bad mood. You’d forgive him if he touched you again.

The muscles in Joel’s jaws have been getting a workout. Clenching every time you walk into a room half naked and primping around. He knows what you are doing and it’s starting to piss him off. He's ached for days, having to go home and jerk off after work every night like he’s a teenager again. “Need to put some fucking clothes on.” He grumbles under his breath.

You turn your head to look at him, “did you say something?” He shakes his head and you hum, taking your drink outside to the sun loungers your parents had bought for the summer. You sigh as you lay down in view on the kitchen window. Taking off your top to sunbathe.

It takes him about fifteen minutes to notice you. Hissing in anger when he sees your tits on display. He grabs one of his work rags and stalks outside angrily. “Cover yourself up.” He growls, tossing the rag over your chest. “My fucking brother doesn’t want to see your tits and his wife certainly doesn’t want him to.”

You glare at him from behind your sunglasses. “Your brother isn’t here, asshole.” You toss the rag back at him. “It’s my day off. I wanted to relax and you are interrupting that.” You hiss at him, “and it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

“Fuck this.” He growls. “I’m done for the day.” He’s pissed off and needs to get away from you.

You huff, grabbing the rag back. “You don’t need to leave. I’ll go inside. If you leave, you’ll need more time to finish your work and I don’t want you staying longer than necessary. You might as well stay and I’ll go inside. Give you a break from my tits.” You growl, shifting to stand up from the lounger.

“I’m just the help, right?” He scoffs. “Someone to use and have fun with?” Hearing what you had said hurt because Tommy had said you had seemed appalled that your mother figured it out. “So I think it’s best that I keep things professional. So there’s no confusion. Not like you’d want people to know you were getting fucked by the carpenter.” He shakes his head. “I’ll have Tommy finish up this job.”

“I- I didn’t - you heard my conversation with my mom? I was - I was trying to save your ass. It’s not exactly professional to sleep with your client's daughter. I- it was fun. Until you decided to be an asshole. I figured you wanted to keep it casual and I want to know more about you but we don’t exactly have time to sit down and tell our life story.”

“Tommy heard you.” He corrects, wondering if you’re just trying to cover your ass or if you were trying to protect him. He waits for a moment, biting his lip. “If you want to know about me, I’ll be at Bill & Frank’s tonight.” He tells you, planning on going to the dive bar that Frank has tried to make a little more classy. “Up to you.”

You nod, knowing it’s best to not push him anymore right now. You grab your bikini top and head inside, deciding to leave him be and meet him later. You head back inside and you don’t look back, figuring that he’d want to be left alone.

****

You brush your dress down, looking up at the crooked sign for Bill and Frank’s and you inhale deeply. Reaching for the door, you head inside and it’s a weird mix of old fashioned saloon and an afternoon tea shop. Lace doilies on the tables with small lamps and worn coasters. The artwork on the wall says “eighty year old woman” while the floor is sticky.

“Well that doesn’t walk in here often.” Bill grunts, looking at the door with an almost annoyed glare, which was normal for the cantankerous bar owner. “Trouble if I’ve ever seen.”

Joel looks over his shoulder to see you and snorts. “Surprised you noticed.” He huffs at the other man, smirking slightly when the bearded man shifts his glare to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Frank.” He’s sort of friends with Bill and Frank, the proprietors of the little bar. Or it’s better to say, Tess was really good friends with Frank, so Bill and Joel had tolerated each other. After Tess had died, Joel had found himself still coming back.

You spot Joel at the bar and make your way over. He turns to look at you, “hey.” He grunts and you offer him a soft smile as he pulls the bar stool out next to him for you to sit down. He slides the shot he had sitting in front of him over to you and you don’t hesitate to tilt your head back as you down it. Bill snorts, wiping down the counter, “what can I get you?” He asks and you order a beer. “I didn’t know if you’d be here. You didn’t give me a time.”

“Sorry.” He grunts, lifting his beer to his lips and takes a sip. “Figured you’d come and I’d be here.” Bill chuckles as he wipes down the bar with a rag, smirking slightly at the sight of Joel and another woman. “You on a date, Miller?” He cackles.

“Joel is working on my parents’ house.” You explain and Bill snorts, “this is the hussy that’s got you running around in circles?” He asks and your eyebrows raise. Joel shakes his head, “go get her drink and get Frank out here if you can’t be nice.” He orders and you huff, “been talking me up, huh?” Joel shrugs and you sigh, “I suppose I deserve that. I haven’t exactly treated you fairly. It wasn’t just fun for me. I wanted more.” You admit softly, looking down at the counter.

Joel snorts as Bill walks away and cuts you a look before he takes another sip of his beer. “I’m old, little girl.” He reminds you. “You’re a hell of a lot younger, wanting things I can’t give you. Like kids and shit.”

You tap your fingers on the counter, closing your eyes for a second. “We never had a discussion about birth control other than me telling you it was taken care of. The truth is…my ex cheated on me.” You take a deep breath, “he cheated on me because I found out I’m infertile. We tried for a year. Figured we would do the tests when we discovered that I can’t - I have PCOS and it was bad. They did some tests and scans and I had to have my ovaries removed then he - he cheated on me. She’s pregnant. That’s why I moved home. I was in his house and I was sure he was going to propose since he seemed to accept that we wouldn’t have biological kids but he - he cheated and I moved home. So to answer your question, I can’t have kids.”

“What a fucker.” He growls, angry on your behalf. “That’s a shit thing to do.” He will never understand someone’s need to cheat. Those people are complete scumbags in his eyes and he’s done a lot of shit he’s regretted. “I’m sorry, you deserve better than that douche bag. It doesn’t matter if you can’t give him kids.”

You nod, “it did to him. I’m glad I found out what he’s really like. Better to happen like that instead of when we have had adopted two kids and I’m stuck with him.” You confess just as another man comes over to set your beer down along with another for Joel. The man, you assume he is Frank, says your name. “Right? The pretty girl you’ve been telling us about. She’s as beautiful as you described, Joel.” Frank says and you fluster, looking at Joel who is busy studying the grain of wood on the counter. “There’s a condom machine in the bathroom.” Frank winks as he walks off to serve another patron.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel hisses under his breath, squirming slightly in his seat in embarrassment. “Gonna stop fucking coming here.” He gripes even as he picks up his new beer.

You giggle softly, “he heard all the details, huh?” You tease and you nudge him gently. “It’s fine. I didn’t know you cared so much, Miller.” You take a sip of your beer and glance around the bar, feeling someone’s eyes on you. A man, younger than Joel but shorter, is staring at you and you offer him a nod before you turn back to the counter.

Joel glances around and doesn’t really think anything of the people in the bar. Plenty of people are flirting and having a good time. Frank is down the bar waiting on another couple and he wonders if you want to get some food.

Frank sets another round of drinks down in front of you after he serves the couple down the bar. “On the house. It’s been a while since I saw Joel smile. Especially not since Tess died.” He says and you frown, turning to look at Joel.

He owes you an explanation. “Tess was my- we were-“ he fumbles for the proper way to describe his relationship with Tess. The ache was still there, deep inside him just like when he lost Sarah. “She was mine.” He finally settled on just that. “She died. Two years ago.”

You can see the pain in his eyes, losing someone else that he loved. Your dad told you more about Joel losing his daughter, Sarah, to a gunman in a gas station robbery that went wrong. Your heart aches for him. You reach for his hand, “I’m so sorry, Joel.” You murmur, knowing that there’s nothing else you could say.

Sorries always make Joel uncomfortable. It can’t change the past or bring back Sarah, or Tess. “Thanks.” He mumbles and drains the rest of his first beer. “I need to piss.” He tells you as he stands. “Be right back.”

You nod, watching him go. You take a sip of your beer and sense a presence beside you as soon as Joel disappears. “Hey baby. You done babysitting the old man? Wanna have some real fun?” He asks and you scoff, “he’s not old.”

The guy leans against the counter next to you. “Bet he needs viagra to get it up.” He scoffs and you snort, “that ‘old man’ can make my legs shake and make me moan his name more than anyone I’ve ever met.” You say and he says, “until you met me.” He smirks, leaning in and you jerk back.

“Please fuck off.” You order, hating how he won’t take the hint. “Come on baby, don’t be mean. Gimme a chance to make you cum.” He coos, reaching for your wrist.

“Get the fuck off of me.” You hiss, trying to jerk your wrist out of his grip but he doesn’t let go.

Joel comes out of the bathroom, walking into the bar and the first thing he sees is you trying to pull your arm out of some asshole’s grip. The fucker not letting you go and Joel’s jaw clenches and his fists bunch together. “Oh shit.” Frank hisses, knowing what that look means. “Joel! Joel! Don’t do it! Joel!” Joel doesn’t even hear him as he crosses the bar in less than ten seconds and is dragging the asshole off of you. Whirling him around and punching him down to the ground before climbing on top of him and whaling away in an angry haze.

Your eyes widen and a shocked gasp escapes your lips as Joel continues to punch the asshole. “Joel. Joel. Stop!” You demand, knowing he’s going to kill the guy if you let him continue. You reach for his shoulder as he pulls his fist back again but he shrugs you off, his vision going red. Bill rushes around the bar, grabbing Joel’s waist to pull him off of the guy before he punches his face in. “Come on, man.” Bill grunts, dragging Joel off just enough for Frank to get in front of him. “Go. You gotta go.” Frank tells you when he hears someone calling 911. “Take Joel. Go.” Frank urges, knowing Joel can’t afford another arrest. “Motherfucker.” Joel growls, trying to get out of Bill’s grip.

“Stop it,” Bill growls, spinning him to drag him out of the bar. You nod, grabbing your purse and Bill escorts Joel to his truck. “Drive him home.” He orders, shoving Joel into his truck, his fists bloody and skin broken. Your hands shake, taking the key from Bill that he pulled out of Joel’s pocket. You get into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat, and you barely manage to start the engine. “You- you gotta tell me where you live.”

Joel doesn’t answer you right away, staring down and his hand and flexing it to make sure nothings too broken. Just a few hairline fractures from what he can tell with the adrenaline still running through his system. “Joel!” You snap, making him look up at you, his eyes dark and focused, causing you to nearly shrink back from him. “Where do you live?” You repeat and he knows he’s in no condition to drive. He murmurs his address and then looks back down at his hand, sirens wailing in the distance.

You drive a little faster when you see the flashing lights on the horizon, wanting Joel to get home safe and sound. Your heart is still pounding but you manage to figure out his street and pull onto it, squinting to see the numbers in the dark. Finally, you pull onto his drive and put the truck in park, killing the engine. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” You murmur, getting out of his truck and rounding it to open the door for him.

Joel follows your instructions, getting out of the truck and following behind you as you climb the steps to the front door of his house. The old craftsman cottage has been a project for him, one that he needed after Tess, but now it is done and it is a beauty.

You unlock his door with the key on his truck key ring and you admire the workmanship that went into the home. Signs of Joel’s hard work are everywhere. You shut the door behind him when he walks in. “Do you have a first aid kit?” You ask and he nods, “laundry room.” He jerks his chin towards the door across the hall and you nod, “go sit” you order before you go find the kit.

He should tell you to go, but he just sits down at the dining room table and sighs. His hand hurts, but he’s fucking still amped up. His leg bouncing slightly as his pulse just jumps around.

You come into the dining room to sit down, opening the kit. Your stomach twists as you look at Joel, the dark look from earlier still not receding from his eyes. You’re silent as you work on cleaning the blood to assess the damage to his knuckles.

He wants you. The way his cock is twitching and throbbing as you work on him, it should scare him. Scare you. Your thumb brushes over his knuckle and he grabs your hand, making you look at him. “You should go.” He growls.

Your eyes meet his and you realize he doesn’t want you to go. You stare at him for a few moments, trying to figure him out until you say “no.” You won’t go. Not when he needs you and you need him. Sometime between the messing around and having sex, it became serious.

“I’m not going to be gentle.” He warns, wanting to be honest. “I can’t be. Not now, not when my fucking-“ he cuts himself off. “Last chance.”

You take a moment to wrap his knuckles. “I don’t want gentle.” You tell him, your eyes meeting his after you finish wrapping his knuckles with the bandage. “I want you. No matter what. I want you.” You promise, your gaze firm, showing him that you’re not running away.

Joel shoots out of his chair and grabs your shoulders, kissing you roughly, his lips bruising. He wants to destroy you, completely break you apart in a completely different way from how he would have handled that bastard. Wanting to banish the thought of him touching you from his mind and replace it with you.

You gasp into his mouth, his hands lifting you up onto the table and you grip his shirt, wanting to keep him close. Your legs wrapping around his waist and his cock is hard in his pants, pushing into your core. His tongue slides into your mouth and your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, tugging as you react to his rough touch.

Joel growls, biting your bottom lip and it’s like he’s lost all reason on control. He wants nothing more to break you down. His hands are rough and demanding, nearly ripping your dress off your body.

You reach out, fumbling to unbutton his shirt. Every time you’ve had sex, he’s been dressed. Tonight, you want to see all of him. You grow impatient and rip his shirt, buttons flying as you shove it down his shoulders to access his skin. Your hands explore his chest when the shirt hits the floor and you lean in, biting down on his peck.

He grunts, cock twitching and he squeezes your hands before he rips your panties off of you. Willing to sacrifice them to his needs.

“Oh my God!” You squeal at the ripping of your underwear. “Joel!” You gasp, moaning a second later when his fingers push inside of your dripping wet cunt. You slide your hands down to his belt, unbuckling it and you rip it out of the loops, working fast to unbutton his jeans and pull his hard cock out.

Joel pushes your hands away but you press your thighs together when he tries to step between them. “Strip.” You demand and he growls, needing to be inside you.

Joel kicks his boots off, his jeans hitting the floor and he shoves them across the floor. Naked in front of you for the first time, you lean back to admire his form. His arms are strong, freckled from being in the sun, and he has a slight belly but it’s so sexy. He’s not overly hairy and your hand lets go of his cock so you can caress his skin. “So gorgeous.” You murmur, lost in your own thoughts as you admire him.

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “I’m old, you’re gorgeous.” It’s the small bit of tenderness he can manage right now, but when he grabs you, his hands are harsh. “You’re not letting that fucker touch you.” He hisses, pushing your thighs apart. “He couldn’t fuck you like I do.” He grabs your leg and pulls it up on his hip, lining up and slamming his cock into your warm and giving cunt in one thrust.

“Joel!” You squeal as he stretches you out. You’re wet enough to take him but it pinches slightly. You don’t care. You grip his arms, lifting your thigh higher so he can push deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby.” You pant, tilting your head back as he starts to fuck you.

The table rocks, shaking and scrapping over the floor as he fucks you. Brutally slamming into you before quickly pulling back out to do it again. Savage and feral, his mouth bites and sucks at your tilted throat, needing to possess and mark you as his.

He’s possessing you with every thrust, bite, mark, and kiss. You’re surrounded by him. His woodsy smell from the lumber he works with in your nose and you moan, fumbling to cross your ankles behind his back to get him even closer.

He might break the fucking table, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way you take him. Your pussy giving way to the harsh thrusts of his cock and squeezing tight around him. He growls and groans, making noises that sound inhuman as he fucks you.

“Joel. Oh my God.” You cry out, your hands scrambling to grip him, needing an anchor as he fucks you hard and fast. It’s harder than anything you’ve ever experienced. Feral and dominating but your cunt is absolutely gushing around him, your stomach clenched with arousal as he rocks into you. “Shit. You’re gonna make me cum.” You pant, reaching down to rub your clit, knowing he’s focused on thrusting into you.

He knows he should ease up, that you deserve tenderness but he doesn’t have it in him right now. The rage, the fury, all being taken out on your pussy. “Cum.” He grunts, the sound nearly demonic from how raspy he sounds. “Cum.”

How can you deny him when he asks you like that? He pounds into you two more times and you’re sent over the edge. Clamping down on him, your scream echoes in his house and your hand falls away from your clit to slam onto the table to keep yourself upright.

Joel hisses your name, so fucking close to cumming himself. It’s so sexy how easily you cum for him. Hips stuttering, he only manages another few thrusts before he is cumming, painting your walls with his cum as he moans your name again, softly this time.

You slump against him when he cums, his cock twitching inside of you, and you moan softly when he rests his head on top of yours. “Joel.” You murmur, throat closing slightly with emotions that you can’t give voice to.

Panting, he closes his eyes, his hands slowly relaxing and he sighs. “Are you- did I hurt you?” He asks softly. He hadn’t wanted to actually hurt you, despite being rough.

You shake your head, “no. No you didn’t, baby.” You promise, leaning in to kiss his chin and he sighs, turning his head to press his lips to yours. It’s surprisingly tender after how rough he fucked you. You cup his cheeks, caressing the gray stubble there to show him how much you care for him without actually telling him.

“Do you want to stay?” He nuzzles his nose against yours, realizing you must have left your car at the bar. He hasn’t even pulled out of you, but he doesn’t really want to. Suddenly tired and ready for bed after the evening.

“Yes.” You nod, knowing it’s too late to head home. He pulls out of you, slow enough to not hurt you, and you shift off of his table that has scraped along the floor. “Can I borrow a shirt?” You ask, watching him bend down to grab his jeans, pulling them on.

“Yeah, come on baby.” He uses his shirt to wipe up his cum and grabs you a bottle of water out of the fridge. “I’ll get you a shirt you can sleep in. Or you can sleep naked beside me.” He jokes, smirking at your wobbly footing when you stand up.

You’re soon dressed in his shirt, sliding under his sheets that smell just like him, and you’re exhausted. The events of the day hit you hard and you curl around him when he slides in beside you, water bottle placed on your nightstand.

Joel doesn’t like sleep, he dreams too much. Of Sarah, Tess and all the mistakes he has made over the years. Haunting him and weighing him down. Tonight, wrapped around you, Joel doesn’t dream.

The next morning, you wake up and groan against the sunlight peeking in through the blinds. “Joel?” You call out softly, voice raspy. The smell of bacon and eggs hits your nose and you get out of bed, peeing before you head downstairs to the kitchen. Your eyes widen when you find Joel cooking and sitting at the counter is a teenage girl.

“Holy shit, Joel! You had a sleepover.” Ellie pipes up, making Joel turn around from the stove. “Ellie! Language!” He hisses before he catches sight of you. “Hey! Uh, good morning. I’m making breakfast.” He explains, as if it weren’t obvious. Ellie snaps her fingers and says your name. “That’s you, right? Joel’s been talking about you.”

You are trying to figure out who Ellie is. You haven’t heard a word about her from Joel. “Oh, uh, yeah. Hi Ellie.” You greet her as you come over to Joel who is cooking. “Coffee is in the pot.” He says and you nod, grabbing the mug he left on the side and you pour yourself a cup. You feel awkward in his shirt, your hair all over the place, and you can feel Ellie watching you.

“Joel, Joel, Joel.” Ellie tsks and shakes her head before leveling a mockingly serious look at him when he slides her eggs onto her plate. “Do we need to have the talk, young man?” She snickers. “Are you engaging in safe sex?” She lowers her voice to a pitch that matches the old sex Ed videos. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses. “Don’t you have school?”

You smirk, finding it refreshing that the teenager is prodding at an otherwise always cool headed Joel. “Safe sex. I’ve looked after him.” You promise her as you lean against the counter and she chuckles, “he was practically soppy when I came in this morning. I slept over at my friend Riley’s house.” She explains and you nod, a little relieved she didn’t hear you and Joel last night. “I’m leaving for school after I’ve had my breakfast.” She adds, looking over at you. “I'm his foster kid, in case this dumbass didn’t tell you.” Ellie says, guessing from your look that you didn’t know about her. “I, uh, I’m sorry. Joel hasn’t really told me much.”

“Got lunch money, kid?” He asks, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some money. “It’s pizza day right?” He asks, smirking when she nods and snatches the money out of his hand before she shoves the eggs into her mouth and pops off the stool. “Well, see ya!”

“Bye!” You call out as she rushes off and you turn to look at Joel. “Another secret you’ve been keeping.” You tease softly and he snorts, “not a secret. Just didn’t want to drag you into my bullshit.” You shake your head, “that’s not bullshit. You- she seems like a good kid and you’re looking after her. You’re a good man, Joel. One I want to know more about. One I could easily fall for…maybe have been already.” You confess, reaching out to touch his arm.

“You….” Joel frowns slightly, setting a plate in front of you. “You like the fact that I’m an asshole?” He asks it like a question, one that he never considered before.

“I love the fact that you’re an asshole. You’re not an asshole to me…most of the time. I’ve never felt so wanted. I want - I want all of you, Miller. Even the asshole.” You joke, slightly flustered at your confession.

Joel shuffles uneasily and sighs. “I’m not good with words.” He admits, looking around the kitchen that he had once shared with Tess. “I didn’t- I don’t really share emotions.” He had realized that when she had thought he hadn’t felt the same way about her. That he hadn’t loved her. He had been raw about that for a long time, although the kid didn’t deserve to blame herself for Tess getting bit. Who the fuck would have ever thought a woman would die of rabies during this day and age? He looks back at you. “I can fuck you until you scream, protect you. Cook you breakfast. But that might not be enough for you.”

You reach up to cup his cheeks, bringing his eyes to yours. “That is enough. You are enough. I’m damaged too. Let’s not put pressure on this. We aren’t first loves. We aren’t teenagers. We are grown ass adults who can communicate. I don’t want a fairytale, I’ve been hurt before by silly dreams and fake promises. I want real. You’re real. I want you.” You assure him, your eyes burning into his.

Joel watches you for a moment and then gives a small nod. Agreeing with you. After last night, he’s not giving you up. You’re his. “I don’t break promises.” Joel tells you. “Not if I can help it.”

You nod, leaning in closer to kiss him softly. “I know, baby.” You murmur and he nudges his nose against yours. “I’m here to stay, baby. Especially with the way you cook bacon.” You grin, taking a slice off of the paper towel and biting into it. “You might want to stay at your parent’s house all the time when we are finished with it.” He jokes and you snort, shifting to sit down at the counter while he plates up the food. “I don’t think so, baby. Might have to convince my parents to add an extension. Keep you working for them.” You tease and Joel snorts, “you can have my cock for free.” He promises and you wink at him, swallowing the bacon. “Now that sounds like a good deal.” You smile and Joel chuckles, knowing that this job might’ve turned into the best one of his career. Not only did he get paid, he got a bonus: you.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 4 months

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Vermont has become the first state to enact a law requiring fossil fuel companies to pay a share of the damage caused by climate change after the state suffered catastrophic summer flooding and damage from other extreme weather.

Republican Gov. Phil Scott allowed the bill to become law without his signature late Thursday, saying he is very concerned about the costs and outcome of the small state taking on “Big Oil” alone in what will likely be a grueling legal fight. But he acknowledged that he understands something has to be done to address the toll of climate change.

“I understand the desire to seek funding to mitigate the effects of climate change that has hurt our state in so many ways,” Scott, a moderate Republican in the largely blue state of Vermont, wrote in a letter to lawmakers.

The popular governor who recently announced that he’s running for reelection to a fifth two-year term, has been at odds with the Democrat-controlled Legislature, which he has called out of balance. He was expected by environmental advocates to veto the bill but then allowed it to be enacted. Scott wrote to lawmakers that he was comforted that the Agency of Natural Resources is required to report back to the Legislature on the feasibility of the effort.

Last July’s flooding from torrential rains inundated Vermont’s capital city of Montpelier, the nearby city Barre, some southern Vermont communities and ripped through homes and washed away roads around the rural state. Some saw it as the state’s worst natural disaster since a 1927 flood that killed dozens of people and caused widespread destruction. It took months for businesses — from restaurants to shops — to rebuild, losing out on their summer and even fall seasons. Several have just recently reopened while scores of homeowners were left with flood-ravaged homes heading into the cold season.

Under the legislation, the Vermont state treasurer, in consultation with the Agency of Natural Resources, would provide a report by Jan. 15, 2026, on the total cost to Vermonters and the state from the emission of greenhouse gases from Jan. 1, 1995, to Dec. 31, 2024. The assessment would look at the effects on public health, natural resources, agriculture, economic development, housing and other areas. The state would use federal data to determine the amount of covered greenhouse gas emissions attributed to a fossil fuel company.

It’s a polluter-pays model affecting companies engaged in the trade or business of extracting fossil fuel or refining crude oil attributable to more than 1 billion metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions during the time period. The funds could be used by the state for such things as upgrading stormwater drainage systems; upgrading roads, bridges and railroads; relocating, elevating or retrofitting sewage treatment plants; and making energy efficient weatherization upgrades to public and private buildings. It’s modeled after the federal Superfund pollution cleanup program.

“For too long, giant fossil fuel companies have knowingly lit the match of climate disruption without being required to do a thing to put out the fire,” Paul Burns, executive director of the Vermont Public Interest Research Group, said in a statement. “Finally, maybe for the first time anywhere, Vermont is going to hold the companies most responsible for climate-driven floods, fires and heat waves financially accountable for a fair share of the damages they’ve caused.”

Maryland, Massachusetts and New York are considering similar measures.

The American Petroleum Institute, the top lobbying group for the oil and gas industry, has said it’s extremely concerned the legislation “retroactively imposes costs and liability on prior activities that were legal, violates equal protection and due process rights by holding companies responsible for the actions of society at large; and is preempted by federal law.”

“This punitive new fee represents yet another step in a coordinated campaign to undermine America’s energy advantage and the economic and national security benefits it provides,” spokesman Scott Lauermann said in a statement Friday.

Vermont lawmakers know the state will face legal challenges, but the governor worries about the costs and what it means for other states if Vermont fails.

State Rep. Martin LaLonde, a Democrat and an attorney, believes Vermont has a solid legal case. Legislators worked closely with many legal scholars in crafting the bill, he said in statement.

“Most importantly, the stakes are too high – and the costs too steep for Vermonters – to release corporations that caused the mess from their obligation to help clean it up,” he said.

#us politics #news #associated press #2024 #Gov. Phil Scott #vermont #big oil #climate change #climate crisis #global warming #Agency of Natural Resources #Vermont Public Interest Research Group #Martin LaLonde

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blooming-violets · 6 months

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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)

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fic #jeb pyre #jeb pyre fic #jeb pyre x reader #jeb pyre smut #under the banner of heaven #utboh #utboh jeb pyre #jeb pyre imagine #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

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thatfreshi · 6 months

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"Light-Headed"

A short sequel to "Undeserving," commissioned by @mosshugs

(Please note that the original piece dealt heavily with disordered eating behaviors and that this one is similar, but a happy ending <3)

It’s been a while since the fall of Cazador, and all your other adventures have come to an end. You’ve settled down since then, Astarion by your side. You stopped counting the days a long time ago, how long it had been since his old master had died. Maybe he stopped counting as well, but you know against your better judgement that he probably hasn’t. Since those times, your group has found new ways of life. Gale has started teaching young wizards, Wyll moved on with Lae’zel to help the army of Baldur’s Gate, and so on. You and Astarion though? You’ve spent a lot of time in your new home, organizing, collecting new trinkets, decorating, building, and overall enjoying having a home. This hasn’t stopped your personal ongoing struggles though.

The two of you have your own issues, things that didn’t end after Cazador died, and things that would probably never end. Especially in Astarion’s case, immortality leaves him with a lot of problems to solve, and a lot of those problems may never have solutions. One morning though, when the two of you are lying in bed, he manages to solve just one debacle.

“Darling? Are you awake?”

It’s slightly lit, the bedroom, with Astarion on the darker side of the bed. You are awake, having just woken up from a long slumber. Turns out being new homeowners is quite tiresome, leaving the two of you with much rest to catch up on.

“Yes, I am awake. Sadly.”

It seems a though shuteye is never enough these days, especially afte trying to catch up on all the missed sleep on your journey.

“I thought… and only if you’d want to of course, that we could try feeding again? I don’t know what it is but today, I feel better than normal. As if this pang of hunger is somehow, more delicate than it usually feels.”

You barely spoke about his feeding habits, but it has been quite difficult for him to find energy with his lack of drinking from you. You try every now again to let him drink your blood, but it never seems quite right. Even with Cazaor gone, the wounds are still there. It seems like maybe, some of them will always be there, no matter how hard either of you try.

“Of course my love, always.”

A common response on your end, one that he quite likes. It’s nice for him to know that there is always a source of food for him, that scarcity is no longer in existence. Security, what a luxury that should only be a necessity.

Somewhere in the middle of your thoughts, you feel a sharp pain in your neck. This process must have happened over a hundred times by now, so you’re used to the cold, the sting, and all of those fun metaphors people use in reference to vampire bites. While you’re thinking though, trying not to put any pressure on him, you ponder what is on the agenda today. There’s still much to be done, many more pieces of furniture to procure, a garden to start outside…

And after a while of listing things off in your head, you realize that for the first time in a long time, you’re starting to get light-headed. Soon after, he releases from your throat, and there’s a sense of joy in your dizzy state. You try not to make a big deal out of it, considering you don’t want to scare him with some big gesture or make it seem like a successful feeding is abnormal, but he’s the one to outwardly express it first. When you lock eyes with him, he’s actually tearing up a little.

“That was… good. It was good for once.”

“It was?”

“Yes.”

And that response brings down the dam, and he fully begins to cry. This isn’t something you see from him often, but this issue with him being unable to feed has been plaguing the two of you for months. You find yourself soon crying along with him.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. Strong? Peaceful? Not like I should be punished?”

That word pangs in your chest, ‘punished,’ as if he should ever be punished for sustenance. Sadly, you know that reality was all too real in the past.

“Good. You should feel strong, because you are.”

He takes one of your hands in both of his.

“Thank you my dear. Maybe I’m stronger than I thought I was.”

Is every other feeding from then on perfect? No, of course not. Healing is never quite as linear as we would like it to be, and it certainly isn’t as pretty either. There are horrible moments in the future, but also grand ones, ones like these that pull at your heartstrings and remind you why you ever fell in love. And slowly, day by day, the grand moments outweigh the horrible ones, and your dear Aster becomes better and better because of it, and the two of you become better because of each other.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #comfort

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year

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Title: cruel summer | chapter 5

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Join the tag list

Summary: Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s Note: Thank you for all the love on this fic and any others you may have read! Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed 💕 There will be one more chapter to this story.

Reminder that I’m open to requests, esp Joel because he’s the source of my brain rot right now. 🫠

Additional Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (38M and 23F), oral (f receiving), pet names, dirty talk, ANGST not resolved in chapter (i hurt my own feelings with this one). Let me know if any are missing!

At the start of November, you ask Joel about coming with you to your parent’s house for Thanksgiving.

The question stops him in his tracks. It makes sense, the next logical progression of your relationship would be meeting friends and family, and you’ve already met his brother and daughter. In any other relationship, it would only be fair that he meets your parents soon.

The problem is he’s met your parents, just under different circumstances. And he doesn’t have much faith in them being particularly receptive to the news that their hired contractor got in bed with their daughter.

“You look worried,” you comment. You’re reclined on his couch with a book, one of his sweatshirts engulfing your frame. You set the book aside as he enters the room and sits beside you, moving your feet to his lap and squeezing your shin.

“I am worried. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says gently. Your face drops and he feels his heart fracture at the sight.

“I don’t want to have to keep you a secret just to keep you,” you say, voice small. He gives you a tight smile.

“Just…give me a little more time, okay?” He leans over until his hands are planted in the cushions on either side of your head. He drops a kiss to your lips. Then another. And another.

The question is forgotten between the movement of your bodies.

________

The next time you ask is around Christmas. You’re lying in bed beside him, head resting on his chest, fingers drawing patterns over his bare skin.

“What do you think about coming to my parent’s Christmas Eve?” You ask quietly. If the hitch in his breath is any indication, you already prepare yourself for disappointment.

“I can’t, baby,” he says. “Goin’ to Tommy’s place that night.”

“Right,” you reply.

He doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t offer an alternative. You recognize that it’s not fair of you to expect that as a response, but the hurt in your heart isn’t helping your sense of logic.

You just want to be completely open about your relationship, and your parents knowing about it is the last hurdle. Your best friend, Hannah, met him a couple months ago when he’d woken up at your apartment the morning after you’d screamed your confession of love at him in your hallway.

Things have been great since then. You spend the night at his place a couple times a week, trying to balance the visits with your study schedule. Together you take Sarah to the park or the zoo or back to the aquarium, spending the days wrapped around the little girl’s finger and the nights wrapped around each other.

But you want him in every facet of your life. You want him and his daughter and hell, even his brother, over for holidays with your family and you want them with you during big milestones like your graduation in the spring.

His breathing goes deep and slow beneath your head and you sigh, sinking into the disappointment.

________

To make up for not seeing you on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, Joel makes plans with you on December 26. You arrive at his house late in the morning to find him making breakfast while Sarah stands on a kitchen chair beside him, mixing a bowl of pancake batter with intense focus. She nearly drops it in excitement when she hears you come in, shouting your name and scrambling from her perch.

Her arms wrap around your legs and her eyes zero in on the brightly wrapped box balanced in your arms as you try to set your overnight bag down.

“Who’s that for?” She asks. “Is it for me?”

“Sarah,” Joel admonishes, taking over her abandoned mixing. The little girl is unfazed.

“It just so happens to be for you,” you tell her, handing over the present. She squeals, ripping into the wrapping paper and pulling out a new Barbie doll, one who’s curly hair looks just like hers. She gasps.

“Daddy, it’s a Barbie! And look at her hair!” She exclaims, shaking the box in Joel’s face. His eyes meet yours over her head, full of gratitude.

“What do you say?” Joel prompts gently. Sarah wraps her arms around your legs again.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly. “Can you help me open it?”

“Of course. Could you get me your scissors?”

She bolts from the room and Joel crosses the kitchen to grasp your face in his palms, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips that makes your knees go weak.

“Now where’s my present?” He asks with a sly grin, earning him a smack on the chest.

“You can unwrap it later,” you tell him, wiggling your eyebrows. Sarah returns to the room, carefully holding her craft scissors with the blades down like she learned in school.

You help free the Barbie from her cardboard confinement and Sarah plays with her through breakfast, alternating bites of pancake and pretend conversation with her new favorite toy. Towards the end of breakfast, the front door opens and Tommy yells out his hello.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he says to you with a wink. Joel glares at him. It’s been a running joke between you and Tommy the last couple of months.

“You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles glaring at your brother like that,” you tease.

Tommy’s come over to pick up Sarah because Joel has a whole day planned, starting with a trip to your favorite coffee shop.

“Get somethin’ hot, it’s cold where I’m takin’ you next,” Joel says while you’re in line, his hand around your hip to keep you pressed to his side.

________

The next stop Joel has planned for you is the ice skating rink. You mentioned briefly at the beginning of the month that you usually go every winter, digging the old pair of skates from your teenage years out from your closet for the occasion. Joel was lucky enough to find them the last time he’d stayed at your apartment, stashing them in the back of the truck for this moment. He holds the bag out to you and your face lights up.

“Joel! Seriously?” You ask, bouncing slightly in your seat.

“Yep. You ready to watch me fall on my ass?” He asks.

And fall on his ass he does. He grips the wall of the rink, inching along on shaky legs as you skate laps past him, the sound of your laughter making the suffering worth it.

You try to help him learn. He holds both your hands as you slowly skate backwards, his knees bent as he’s simply dragged along the ice. As soon as you let go of his hands, his feet slide out from under him and he goes tumbling down.

You stand over him, trying to hide a giggle behind your hand as he groans in pain, the cold seeping into his jeans.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” He asks with a grunt. “Help an old man up.”

“I will always lend a hand to a senior citizen in need,” you tease, holding a hand to him.

Once standing, Joel tugs you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and looking down into your face. Christ, you’re so pretty, face all flushed and smile so wide it’s damn near blinding in its brightness.

“You ready for dinner yet?” He asks. You nod.

You try to pull away, but he keeps a tight hold around you. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you just holding on to me so that you don’t fall?”

“Is it that obvious?” You laugh, ducking until you’ve escaped his arms. He stands still, arms out at his sides as he tries to maintain his balance. “You gonna help me here?”

Your grin is mischievous as you skate away from him, the sound of his cursing drowned out by your delighted laughter.

________

Joel makes a quick stop at his house so that you can change into the outfit you’d been instructed to bring for dinner, a light blue dress with a low neckline that hugged your curves down to your knees. You did your hair and makeup in his bathroom before slipping the dress on, stepping out to request his help with the zipper.

“Shit, baby, I might have to cancel the reservations if you’re goin’ to walk around lookin’ good enough to eat,” he says with a whistle. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Then why don’t you?” You ask.

He blinks, staring at you with his mouth dropped open like he can’t believe you said that. But then his brain comes back online and he marches toward you, backing you up with the press of his body until your knees meet the edge of the mattress and he pushes you down gently.

He drops to his knees, hiking the dress up over your thighs until he’s exposed the lacy black panties you put on. He groans, looking up at you briefly before he turns his head and sinks his teeth into your inner thigh.

Your head drops back with a moan and you can feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. His hands work to slide your panties down your thighs and off your legs, bunching them into a ball and stuffing them into his pocket.

“Dirty man,” you tease. He laughs, a dark low rumble that makes you impossibly wetter.

“Can’t help it when you look this good, sweetheart.”

There’s no more talking after that. He licks through your wet center, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Your back arches from the bed as you shout, fingers digging into his hair to pull him closer.

His tongue dips lower to explore inside your tight heat, his nose bumping your clit and his fingers pressed so tightly into your thighs you’re certain there will be bruises for you to admire in the morning.

“Joel,” you whimper, hips writhing beneath him. He releases his grip on one thigh to slide two fingers into you, curling them as he withdraws his hand and making you see stars.

He lifts his head, circling your clit with his thumb as he growls, “Come on, darlin’, wanna feel this pussy get drenched for me.”

With a shout of his name, your release washes over you, your legs tightening against his shoulders as you clench around his fingers. He works you through the waves of pleasure before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

Joel brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth with a groan, eyes fluttering shut at the taste.

“Such a good girl, baby,” he says. You can’t help the little giggle that bubbles up.

“You gonna give me back my panties?” You ask.

“No chance in hell,” he replies with a wink.

________

Joel manages to get the two of you to the restaurant just in time for the reservation, despite the distraction of your sweet moans and delicious pussy.

He picked this restaurant because of two things. One, it had great reviews for their steak and he’s a sucker for a good hunk of meat. He’s a Texan man, after all.

Two, it was a bit more upscale and he wanted to treat you to something nice. He knows you’ve been disappointed that two holidays have come and gone now and he still hasn’t agreed to meet your parents and bring your relationship to the light. But he just can’t shake the feeling that telling them will pop this beautiful bubble that the two of you have created. This whole day has been as much of an apology as it has been a gift.

The restaurant is busy. Most of the tables are filled and there’s a private room that’s bustling with people as well. The hostess walks the two of you to a small table near the bar and he holds your chair out for you to take a seat. The table is set with a number of cutlery he’s not sure how to use on top of a pristine white tablecloth. There’s a candle and a small floral arrangement in the center, the flame throwing a pretty glow over your face.

“This is beautiful,” you comment once the hostess has stepped away with promises that your waiter will be there shortly. “Oh, they have duck!”

The waiter comes by with a wine list. Joel knows fuck all about wine, so he hands it to you, only for you to stare wide eyed at it.

“Joel, these prices are insane!” You hiss when the waiter steps away to let you make a choice. He grabs your hand.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby, but I don’t give a fuck. Pick whatever you want,” he says. You still look uncertain.

When the waiter returns, he takes matters into his own hands, slipping the list from your hands. “My girl wants the duck. What’s the best white wine to pair with it.” He listens to the options and raises an eyebrow at you to pick one. He keeps the list captive so that you don’t base the choice off the dollar amount.

When the food arrives, you chat about anything and everything while you eat. When you’ve set your silverware down, insisting you can’t eat another bite, Joel reaches across the table for your hand, thumb circling the smooth skin of your palm. You give him the softest smile that makes his heart beat triple time.

“You have fun today?” He asks.

“The most fun,” you confirm. You’re about to say something else, but you’re cut off by a loud voice from the other side of the restaurant.

“Joel Miller!” The voice calls. He looks up.

Right into your father’s smiling face.

________

Joel goes tense all over, the grip on your hand tightening as his eyes flick between you and your father approaching from behind you. You stare at Joel with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. If the earth opening up and swallowing you whole were an option, you’d gladly take it.

He stands as your dad reaches the edge of the table, shaking his hand with a strained smile.

“How have you been, Miller? The wife loves that bathroom, sometimes she’ll just stand in the doorway and stare at it lovingly,” he jokes.

“That’s great. That she loves it. Uh, I’ve been great,” he replies. He runs a hand nervously through his hair.

“I don’t want to interrupt your date—,” your dad starts, turning towards you. His smile immediately drops. Your name leaves his lips in surprise. “What are you doing here?” He asks. You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond, but as your dad’s eyes go between your surprised expression and Joel’s guilty one, his brain seems to make the connection. He turns to Joel.

“Joel. Why is my daughter here?” He asks, voice quietly controlled in the same way it is when he’s asking you something he already knows the answer to.

Joel straightens, throwing his shoulders back and keeping his head high as he looks your dad in the eye. “Because she’s my date.”

Your dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck do you mean, she’s your date? She’s twenty-three!” He snaps.

“Dad—“

“No, I don’t want to hear anything from you right now.” You feel his words like a slap. “What is this, Miller? Spent all that time in my house and thought you could take advantage of my daughter?”

“Dad! ” You snap. “He didn’t take advantage of me, I’m an adult .”

“You’re still a kid,” your dad snaps back. “And he’s a goddamn adult who should have fuckin’ known better.”

“Dad, please. Stop. We can talk about this later, ” you plead desperately. Your dad gives you both one last derisive look before turning on his heel and storming off, heading into the private event room. “Shit. Fuck. His fucking company Christmas dinner. And it had to be here?!”

Joel stares blankly after your dad’s retreating figure. You place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Joel?” You ask quietly.

“How about you go out to the truck and I’ll take care of the bill,” he says, eyes looking everywhere but at you. You swallow nervously.

“Why don’t we at least finish dinner?”

He snaps your name, making you flinch. “Please. Just…listen to me, alright? I’ll be out in a minute.”

You gather your purse and make your way out to the parking lot, fighting back tears with each step.

________

After paying the bill, Joel slips inside the private room, eyes scanning for your father. He finds him at a back corner table, head down as he types on his phone.

Joel approaches and takes the seat beside him. When your father looks up, his face drops from welcoming to downright frosty.

“Sir,” Joel starts. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “I just want you to know that I love your daughter. More than anythin’. This isn’t some sick game of me tryin’ to get my rocks off with some girl younger than me. It’s…she’s the best thing that’s happened to me since my own daughter was born. And I’d do anythin’ for her.”

The man doesn’t respond, but Joel sees the tick of his jaw.

“I just thought you should know,” Joel finishes. He waits a beat for the other man to respond. When he doesn’t, Joel stands with a sigh, heading to the truck with a nervous heart.

________

Joel’s quiet on the ride home. He keeps both hands on the wheel and the spot on your thigh where he usually rests his palm is especially cold.

You don’t know what to say. That whole scene in the restaurant was an absolute disaster, one that you were hoping could be avoided by telling your dad about your relationship, but Joel hadn’t been ready. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, an “I told you so” threatening to escape your lips as you stare out the window.

When Joel pulls to a stop, it takes you a moment to realize that he’s outside of your apartment and not his house. Turning to face him, he’s staring out the windshield with his jaw clenched tight. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel?” You ask. You hate how tiny your voice sounds. “Can…can we please talk? About this?”

His eyes slip shut and he rests his head back against the headrest with a sigh. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about, sweetheart.”

The tears burn as they slide down your cheeks. “Please?”

He turns his head to look at you. “Please what?”

“Please don’t shut me out again,” you beg, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his, resting your head against his shoulder as you shut your eyes tightly against the tears. You can feel him turn and press his lips to the crown of your head.

“Baby…I just need some time, okay? I love you, I swear it, but I just gotta take a breather and think about everythin’, okay?”

You can feel your heart fracture in your chest, your stomach aching as you try to come up with a reply.

“Don’t cry,” Joel whispers. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on, baby, let’s get you inside.” You shake your head against his shoulder. “You’re breakin’ my heart.”

“You’re breaking mine, Joel!” You snap.

He doesn’t reply, and silence has never been quite as loud as this before.

You sit up straight, swiping at the tear stains on your cheeks before shoving the passenger door open. Before slamming it shut, you take one last look at him.

“I love you, Joel Miller. I hope you find it in you to not be a fucking coward and love me back,” you tell him before slamming the door shut.

A fresh wave of tears cascades down your cheeks as you let yourself into your apartment, collapsing against the door as soon as you have it shut.

________

In the truck, Joel sends a text to Tommy letting him know he’ll be home soon and that he can bring Sarah back over if she’s still awake.

He opens the chat thread with you, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He has so much to say, he doesn’t know where to start. He settles on one sentence.

I love you. I’ll fix this.

He opens a new chat thread and finds a contact he hasn’t used since the summer.

Can we talk?

Tag list: @huffle-punk @telepathay @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @caatheeriinee07 @leeeesahhh @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @letsgroovetonighttt @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname

#no use of y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #joel x reader #cruel summer

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bsof-maarav · 4 months

Text

Things I saw on my way to shul this Shabbat:

A house with tons of pro-Hamas signs in the window right next to a house with one huge sign that said "You Need Jesus"

A series of telephone poles covered in pro-Hamas posters, but one was torn one down and in the white residue it left behind, someone wrote Bring Them Home Now

Pieces left behind of stickers about antisemitism that had been torn down, with just a few words left readable, pleas for recognition that Israelis and Jews are human

The poster that's been up since October on a public electrical box that says "The world stands with Palestine" (which always makes me roll my eyes and think, yes, Jews know the world stands with whoever would like to eliminate us, this isn't news) was updated to also say Fuck Israel

The "Viva Palestina" sign depicting a terrorist with a gun that's been in the window of one house since October was updated to add more names of murderous terrorists that the homeowner wished to honor with a special shout-out

The huge banner outside of a church saying "Love demands a permanent ceasefire now!" with an image of a dove carrying an olive branch apparently offended the local bird population who didn't want their image associated with this message so they pooped all over it

Many, many signs campaigning for a candidate for city council who says she is a "recovering Zionist" who did "ancestral healing" so that she no longer feels a stake in the ancestral homeland full of refugees and can now be a Good Jew (her campaign slogan is about her compassion and integrity which is rich when you consider she's part of the mob screaming at Shoah survivors in city council meetings that they're lying and works with a white supremacist guy who literally calls Jews "zios" and pigs)

The most gorgeously lush and varied flower gardens that you could ever imagine gracing every sidewalk

Flowering trees everywhere

Birds, bees, butterflies, well fed squirrels, and prosperous housecats of all kinds

Gorgeous period architecture, much of it beautifully preserved

A homeless person under a freeway overpass, trying to snuggle into a comfortable position on the cement, in the exact place that another homeless person was recently found dead

Multimillion dollar houses in one of the wealthiest areas of a country that never gets bombed, covered in signs advocating their support for Israel to keep being bombed and terrorized

On a street full of houses with pro-Hamas placards, one solitary house with a mezuzah and a sign on its door saying שלום

#im going to start counting upsetting signs and donating a dollar per each to Magen David Adom #jumblr #october 7 #israel #antisemitism #frumblr #terrorism #usa diaspora #attacks on israelis in the us #attacks on jews in the diaspora #attacks on diaspora jews #israel under attack #am yisrael chai #the edge of the west #bsof maarav #i spend a lot of the walk saying Tehillim #this world is a lot in so many ways #im grieving the loss of this place #aliyah

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rjzimmerman · 4 months

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Excerpt from this story from the Associated Press (AP):

Maryland, Massachusetts and New York are considering similar measures.

#Vermont #climate change liability #fossil fuel industry

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gardenianoire · 1 month

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I'm interested in starting a union in my workplace. The employees with children are eligible for government assistance despite have certificates/degrees (I'm a childcare teacher) and working full time. The single childless/childfree women either still live with relatives or in struggle to pay bills because the government things $15 to $18 per hour is enough. Out of the six of us without children 2 have part time jobs after school, 2 do hair on the side, I just lost my home and I'm considering being a shot girl on the side since I can set my own hours doing that (neither here nor there). The only homeowner at our company (management included) only owns a house because her husban was military and they had he GI bill. No one is part everyone works full time but can't seem to make ends met. Our boss has enough money to build a new location from the ground up but won't buy us a new vaccum cleaner. We spent the entire summer buying construction paper for our classes out of our own pocket (amoung many other things). I do like my job and would like to continue in this field but the only thing that will save us (and the rest of America) is a trade union. My thing is I'm afraid to be the one to lead this thing it feels overwhelming and scary and secondly I'm not sure where to begin. Thank you for listening. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Reblog so I can reach more people.

#polls #tumblr polls

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rosepetalgold · 1 year

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the art of saying goodbye

Summary: Remus expects a lot of things from the Queen Anne Victorian house he’s just purchased—a restoration project to occupy his time, some peace and quiet from nosy neighbors, a chance to brag about being a homeowner before his goody two-shoes brother.

What he doesn’t expect is for the property to come with a very real, very curious ghost. But what is he supposed to do, just ignore the spirit? That'd be nothing short of rude, especially considering that the specter's fascination with modern science and penchant for hijacking Remus' technology proves unfairly endearing.

But even as their unlikely friendship grows, so too do the questions swirling in Remus’ mind: Why is Logan still haunting the place he used to live? Who is the mysterious Janus he refuses to talk about? And what will it take for the ghost to finally find peace with the life and the love that were stolen from him so long ago?

Relationships: Platonic Intrulogical, past romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety

Warnings for this chapter: None!

Word Count: 7000

Notes: My fic for this year's @sandersidesbigbang, aka another angsty tale that inexplicably grew out of a single fluffy scene, aka a prime excuse to procrastinate by poring through countless photos of beautiful Queen Anne houses my beloved. I hope you enjoy this ghostie story as much I enjoyed writing it! A big shoutout to my wonderful beta reader @dragonsaphirareads for all their feedback on this fic, and don't miss the amazing art by the incredible @casart and @onthevirgeofdestruction—you can check out their pieces here and here! (Seriously, even if you don't read the fic, go feast your eyes on their work because it is straight-up stunning. Go look, you'll see.)

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

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“This place is definitely haunted.”

Remus snorts, giving his brother a friendly sock in the arm.

“Oh come on, Ro, you scared of a few ghosties now? Afraid a floating white sheet is gonna jump out and yell boo?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just eyes the Queen Anne Victorian home in front of them with the amount of trepidation he usually reserved for any time Remus started a sentence with ‘I have an idea.’ The house does give off distinctly spooky vibes, Remus has to admit, what with its boards in desperate need of a new coat of paint and its broken window in the attic, not to mention the porch that looks liable to send someone plummeting to the ground if they take a single wrong step, but what was wrong with any of that? It all just added to the building’s character, and the risk of falling through the veranda was a delightful way to keep visitors on their toes, in his superior opinion.

And besides, he couldn’t turn his nose up at the property’s many flaws when they made it dirt-cheap. He wasn’t exactly a millionaire.

He grabs Roman’s arm, tugging him forward.

“C’mon, there’s some wicked spindlework on the back you gotta check out.”

His brother makes a sound of protest, dragging his feet as Remus hauls him onward.

“Aren’t we going to go inside?”

“Nah, I don’t have the keys yet. Everything’s still pending or whatever.”

Roman shifts his incredulous gaze from the house to Remus.

“You made me come all this way just to look at the outside of a house you haven’t even officially bought yet?”

Why yes, he had. He was such a good brother.

“Don’t act like it’s such a burden to drive twenty minutes out of the way to get here, especially when it means you’re twenty minutes closer to a booty call with Virgil.”

Roman splutters, face flushing a splendidly scandalized shade of crimson, and Remus cackles. That was more like it.

“Now c’mon c’mon c’mon, the sooner you ooh and aah over all my cool house shit, the sooner you can get some of that good di—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Roman interrupts, slapping his hands over his ears, but he doesn’t protest as Remus pulls him around to the back of the house and points out the expansive if overgrown backyard, the plethora of decorative elements adorning the home, the leaded glass windows that have survived well over a century.

“I don’t get it, though,” Roman says as he eyes the tower gracing the corner of the house, something Remus would swear is a hint of jealousy in his gaze. Made sense. He knows for a fact his brother would sell his soul to be Rapunzel. “If this is such a nice place, why has it sat empty for so long?”

“Dunno. The realtor just said it stayed in the family of the guy who built it for a while before changing hands a bunch. Apparently every time it’s been on the market it’s taken ages to find a buyer, but she didn’t really say why no one wanted to live here for too long.” Probably just her trying not to scare him away from what was clearly a substantial restoration project so she wouldn’t lose her commission. Either that or there was some kind of toxic fungus in the walls that had taken over all the previous residents’ brains and turned them into zombies and Remus was about to become its next victim.

What a delightful gamble to find out which one it was.

“Can we please go now before some serial killer comes charging out of this place and we both end up on the news?” Roman asks, already edging back towards the front of the house.

“Sure, if you really want to give up your one shot of having your fifteen minutes of fame in the media,” Remus replies, dancing away with a grin as Roman aims a kick at his shins. “Fine, fine, we’ll go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from a hot date and some—”

Something catches his attention, a flash of movement out of the very corner of his eye, and he pauses mid-stride, doing a double-take at the second-story balcony overlooking the backyard.

Nothing. Not even a curtain blowing in the non-existent breeze.

“What?” Roman questions from where he’s also stopped a few yards ahead of him.

Remus looks a moment longer, searching for anything out of place, but all is still.

“Nothing. Probably just a bat or something. Wouldn’t that be cool as shit, to have bats as roommates? Hey, maybe they have rabies if they’re out in the daytime. Did you know…”

He launches into a spiel of the most gruesome and fascinating facts he knows about the disease, joyfully watching his brother’s face grow increasingly horrified with each one as they make their way back across the yard, and by the time they reach the driveway, the flicker of movement is barely a blip on his mental radar.

Just a trick of his eyes, surely.

It wasn’t like houses could actually be haunted, after all.

---

Home sweet home.

Or home rundown-and-slightly-musty-smelling home, as the case may be, but who was Remus to nitpick?

He fits his shiny new key into the lock and steps inside, letting the door click shut solidly behind him as he pauses just over the threshold, taking a moment to survey the foyer. His foyer now, in his very own home. The sale had been endless offers and counteroffers and a mountain of paperwork so large he’s positive he could have buried himself beneath it and never been seen again, but the place is finally his.

Him, a homeowner. Who’d have thunk it. He’ll be rubbing this in Roman’s apartment-renting face every chance he can get, thank you very much. It’s the least he can do, really.

He unceremoniously deposits the cardboard box in his arms on the floor and wanders further inside, trailing his hand along the smooth wood of the stair banister as he passes. He’s supposed to be meeting some of his friends back at his old place shortly—or now, actually, but that was wholly irrelevant—to start moving all of his worldly possessions into his fancy new abode, but he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of taking the first load of boxes alone just to have the place to himself for a bit; he could use a few minutes to enjoy the space in peace before it’s filled with Roman and Virgil squabbling about the worst Disney movie heroes or whatever argument they were bound to get into.

Despite its well-worn exterior, the house is in surprisingly good condition inside, he muses as he roams through the empty rooms. There’s clearly extensive work that needs to be done if he wants to restore the place to its Victorian glory, an ambitious undertaking he knows will be neither cheap nor easy, but the bones of the structure are all solid, especially considering how many years it’s stood empty.

He finishes his meandering loop around the first floor and heads up the stairs, the tread of his steps entirely too loud for the pervasive quiet as he continues his exploratory wandering through the second story rooms. He pauses as he reaches what is clearly the master bedroom, surveying the original fireplace, the century-old hardwood, the attached balcony that was just begging to be used to pour water onto his unsuspecting brother’s head. Shit, his new house was cool as fuck.

It’d make the most sense to start hauling his load of boxes here, considering that’s where most of his crap is going to end up eventually, but the longer he hovers in the doorway, the more something feels … off. Just the slightest tingle prickling down his spine, and not the good kind. He steps inside and the temperature drops noticeably, a chill raising the hair on his arms.

“The fuck?” he mutters, raking his gaze over the windows in search of damaged panes letting in a breeze, but everything is intact.

He advances another step on impulse and the pinpricks dancing along his vertebrae only grow stronger, now accompanied by the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He scans the room again, slower this time, but there’s no furniture, no closet, not so much as a nook or cranny for anyone or anything to hide. Even the ceiling is empty when he turns his gaze upwards on the off chance he really does have some bats hanging around that he’s somehow missed on his numerous pre-sale walk-throughs.

Nary a beady eye to be found and still the sensation of being in someone’s sights doesn’t lessen. Not that it’s a threatening feeling, exactly, just distinctly unsettling, like there’s someone behind him no matter how many times he glances over his shoulder and finds nothing but empty air.

But that was crazy. He’d read the final sale documents until his eyes had been about to start bleeding and he’s absolutely positive that the house hadn’t come with any roommates. He’s probably just imagining the feeling, the result of watching one too many horror movies in the last week or his brain making things up in an attempt to liven up the empty space.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, yanking him out of his thoughts, and he rolls his eyes without even looking at the screen, already able to see the text from Roman in his mind’s eye: where you at?? i’m not packing up all your crap for you followed by an absurdly long string of emojis that basically constituted their own Roman-specific hieroglyphic language.

Time to face the moving-day music before Roman got annoyed enough with waiting that he rescinded his promise of free manual labor, then. Any investigations of potential invisible voyeurs would have to wait, no matter how titillating such a prospect sounded when he put it like that.

“You win for now, house,” he says into the quiet as he turns to leave, an edge of coldness still dancing along the goosebumps on his skin. “Keep your secrets. I’ll figure ‘em out eventually.”

---

The afternoon passes in a blur of hauling entirely too many heavy boxes and unwieldy pieces of furniture to the new house, and by the time night settles onto the horizon, Remus is utterly exhausted. He flops back on the couch, too tired to even think about putting his bedframe together, and he’s out in minutes.

He wakes disoriented, mind scrabbling blankly for a moment before the darkness coalesces into the still-unfamiliar contours of his sitting room. He just lies there for a moment, trying to figure out what’s roused him, but all is still. Just his brain deciding to deprive him of some tantalizingly horrifying nightmares, unfortunately—

Tap tap tap.

Remus bolts upright at the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the hardwood upstairs, adrenaline surging in a dizzying rush. There hadn’t been any signs of a squatter all day, and surely he’d remembered to lock the doors so no one could steal all the crap he’d just spent a whole day of his life lugging around. He waits for a moment, holding his breath as silence falls, and just when he’s about to pass the whole thing off as his imagination playing tricks on him, the steps start up again, slow and rhythmic like someone is pacing on the upper level.

Fuck his luck. If someone is secretly living in the attic of his fancy new home, he’s not going to be pleased.

He rolls off the couch and snatches his phone off of one of the plethora of boxes waiting to be unpacked, debating whether to risk turning on the flashlight before deciding for it; he might give away any element of surprise with the beam, but he’s certain to give it away if he starts banging face-first into walls or cracking his skull open falling down the stairs. His eye catches on a glass paperweight on the coffee table, a characteristically pretentious housewarming present from Roman, who apparently thought Remus had so many papers flying about that he needed to corral them with a glorified rock, and he seizes it on a whim.

Makeshift weapon was a much more useful purpose for the thing than its intended function anyways.

He edges around the scattered boxes towards the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and his hand shielding the light from his phone as the footfalls continue overhead, and makes it all the way up the steps without so much as a creak to give him away.

Flawless. He knew all those times sneaking up behind Roman to scare the shit out of him as kids would pay off someday.

He pauses on the landing to triangulate the noise, then creeps down the hall towards the footsteps as the sound grows even more distinct. The master bedroom again? What the actual fuck was going on with that room? Had he really managed to miss someone in there when he’d investigated earlier in the day? No, he couldn’t have, but then how had someone managed to get past where he’d been sleeping on the couch? Unless he really did have somebody living in the walls—

A floorboard squeaks underneath his foot, deafeningly loud in the quiet of the night, and the footsteps abruptly stop. Remus swears under his breath. Traitorous piece of wood. Now or never, then.

He lunges forward into the doorway of the master bedroom, raising the paperweight and howling a war cry as he swings his light across the room to reveal—

Nothing. The space is as entirely and utterly empty as it had been that morning.

Well, shit. There went any element of surprise he had left.

He darts back into the hall, racing to search through the rest of the rooms on the upper level one by one, but they’re all just as vacant as the first. He even hauls himself into the attic, bracing himself to be clubbed over the head by whoever is lurking, but with the exception of innumerable shadows billowing away from his flashlight, the space proves equally empty as the rest.

Unease stirs in his gut, creeping in alongside the lingering adrenaline as he makes his way back down the precariously rickety ladder into the main house. Surely there’s no way someone could have gotten past him, not when he would have heard them in the hall or going down the stairs.

And yet, as far as he can tell, besides a few mice tucked away in the attic, there isn’t another living soul in the house.

He stops in the doorway of the master bedroom again, staring inside. He’s positive this is where the footsteps had been emanating from, lack of proof be damned. Something weird was going on with this house.

Good thing Remus had just made the biggest financial commitment of his life to buy it.

Nothing for it now but to hope some elusive, wall-dwelling ax murderer doesn’t give him the chop in his sleep, he supposes, although he has to admit that’d be a badass way to go.

He reluctantly makes his way back downstairs and shoves a pile of boxes at the foot of the stairs to trip any nefarious intruders coming down, then retreats back to the couch, all the while keeping his ears primed for so much as a whisper of sound above him.

But even though it takes him a long time to drift back to sleep, the house around him remains as silent as a grave.

---

The whole thing must have been an impressively lucid dream, Remus decides the next morning. A second investigation in the light of day doesn’t reveal anything out of place: no shoe prints on the floor, no critters, certainly no people. It was probably nothing then, he tries to convince himself, just his overactive imagination needing an outlet after being a bit too jittery from all the excitement of moving.

But he finds himself pausing in the master bedroom again, something drawing him back to the space. First the chill and the strange feeling of being watched, then the mysterious footsteps? Two separate coincidences, or something more?

God, he sounded about as paranoid as Virgil. Next thing he knew he was going to be inventing his very own conspiracy theory to explain a few bumps in the night.

It really was nothing, he tells himself, shaking off any lingering unease as he tromps back down the stairs. If he starts jumping at every little noise in his old-as-shit house, he’ll be long dead before he gets the property restored. If he starts seeing glowing red eyes in the dark, he’ll start to worry. Until then, he has a mountain of boxes to unpack.

Unfortunately, said mountain does not pull a Beauty and the Beast and begin unpacking itself, leaving Remus to spend a dreadfully dull afternoon doing it instead, only the allure of building a fort out of all the empty boxes keeping him from living out of cardboard for the rest of his life.

By the time he’s finally finished unboxing most of the downstairs and getting the tv and wifi set up, most of the day has passed him by, afternoon sunlight splaying golden fingers across the hardwood.

Break time, then. He’s earned it, if he does say so himself.

He collapses onto the couch, flipping on the tv and surfing through the channels until he finds a rerun of some low-budget horror film from the eighties. Perfect. Nothing like a bit of mindless tv to rot his brain just that much more. Settling back more comfortably into the cushions, he pops open the bag of chips he’s snagged from the kitchen and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through his notifications.

Modern multitasking at its finest, truly.

But he’s barely a minute into atrophying his mind via social media before the tv starts flickering, volume dropping precipitously before ratcheting back up, the picture jumping to the weather channel, then a British cooking show, then the news with Spanish subtitles flashing in and out at the bottom of the screen.

Remus freezes with a chip halfway to his mouth, staring at the remote where it’s very definitely out of his reach on the coffee table, all by its lonesome. He’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure technology was not, in fact, supposed to suddenly start functioning by itself without any human input. Was his new house secretly sitting over some freaky radioactive waste? That would certainly explain why no one had wanted to buy it. Or was this some EMP disaster? Had someone decided to take out the whole country’s power grid, starting with Remus’ shitty tv?

He sits up, reaching for the rogue remote, only to pause as a chill moves over him, then past him like it’s heading for the tv, and the screen crackles, static beginning to fuzz both the video and the audio as the picture continues to leap wildly between programs.

Fuck the remote, then. Whatever freak accident has descended upon his living room, it’s time to go straight to the source.

Abandoning his snack, he stands, striding to the outlet and yanking the plug out of the wall. Silence falls immediately, the screen fading to black, but there still lingers a noticeable chill in the air, cold energy palpable against his skin and all too reminiscent of the feeling he remembers from being in the master bedroom.

“What the hell,” he mutters under his breath, casting his gaze around the room. Empty, just as upstairs had been the last three times he’d checked. He takes a step backwards, then another, and the strange chill decreases. On a whim, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through several apps without even paying attention to them, and sure enough, the hair on his arms raises as the temperature falls again, that sparking feeling of energy growing more intense as his phone begins to flicker on its own.

“What the actual hell,” he whispers again. Roman can’t have been right—this place can’t actually be haunted. There’s absolutely no way there’s a real, live—or dead, technically, he supposes—ghost in his living room right now playing fuck-up-the-electronics.

But if there is…

“Hello?” he calls, and the flickering abruptly stops, chill retreating once more. Shit. One word in and apparently Remus has already fucked things up. “Hello?” he tries again. Did this maybe-possible-potential ghostie even speak English? “I’m Remus,” he says, feeling more than a little crazy for introducing himself to his empty living room. If Roman ever knew of this, he’d die laughing and then Remus really would have a ghost haunting his ass.

He wracks his brain for something to say. If he were a ghost and a stranger started moving all of their shit into his home, what would he want to hear from them?

“Um, cool house you have here. I’m not gonna like, fuck it up or anything.”

Silence.

“I’m planning on restoring it bit by bit as I have money so if you could tell me the original paint color or wallpaper patterns, that’d be dope.”

Still nothing. Apparently the ghost is not amused. Time for a different tactic, then.

“What’s your name?”

Not even a cricket chirping. Jesus fucking christ, Remus is really blowing this.

“That’s the tv—the television,” he explains, gesturing towards the device that had seemingly either fascinated or enraged his new housemate, he can’t quite tell which. “It works by… well, I don’t really know how it works. Something with waves and frequencies or some shit? But you can watch recordings, people acting or baking or doing dumb reality dating shows or whatever, so if there’s something that you wanna see…”

He trails off, surreptitiously scanning the room for any ethereal presences, but the house is quiet, the ghostly feeling fading bit by bit. Great. An actual paranormal experience and he’s gone and shoved his foot so far in his mouth he can practically feel his toes wiggling in his small intestine.

“Alright, that’s cool, no worries. Just lemme know if you change your mind.”

He waits a moment more, hoping for a disembodied voice to speak or an object to start moving on its own or his body to suddenly become possessed, but there’s nothing. Snagging his leather jacket off the back of the couch, he beelines for the door, forcing himself not to run as excitement begins to grow with every step, bubbling up around his bones. He has a ghost. A ghost, an actual fucking ghost, and he hadn’t even had to pay extra for it. No way he’s not going to take advantage of the universe handing him the sickest housewarming present in the world, never mind the fact that he might end up a walking meat suit for the spirit.

He pauses as he reaches the edge of the yard, then thinks better of it and pivots, heading for his car instead. Who knew how far ghost range was, and he doesn’t want his new roomie overhearing. He’s practically vibrating with energy as he makes his way down the long, winding drive, and he only makes it a few miles down the road before he’s pulling over onto the shoulder, hopefully well out of spirit range.

His first call rings through to voicemail, but Remus doesn’t bother leaving a message, just hangs up and tries again, only to be met with the same result. The third time, though, proves to be the charm.

“What,” the voice on the other end spits, cheerful as ever. “Fuck you, Remus, I’m in the middle of—”

“You’re still into all that weird stuff, right? Like the cryptids and the creepies and the ghouls and ghosties and all that?” Remus interrupts. He can deal with Virgil’s wrath another time—he has information he needs and he needs it pronto.

A pause, so long he’s sure Virgil has hung up on him and he’s going to have to keep calling until the emo answers his question.

“Yeah?” the distrustful reply finally comes, anger blunted by obvious wariness. “Why—”

“I need to pick your brain,” Remus cuts in again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Plan Contact The Resident Possibly Unfriendly Ghost Who Might Possess Him, or CTRPUGWMPH to be short and snappy about it, is officially a go.

Unfortunately, it isn’t off to a promising start.

Virgil’s knowledge had turned out to be more spirit lore than specifics about how to get a ghost to actually appear, although he’d been infinitely more helpful than Roman, who’d just stared at him and asked if he’d had the house checked for carbon monoxide poisoning. Remus had soundly ignored him and had left Virgil’s apartment with his head swimming with theories about why ghosts haunt particular places and an extensive lecture from Virgil about how to find any potential objects or reasons tying a ghost to the house that might provide a potential talking point to engage said ghost in conversation.

But despite digging into every crack and crevice on the internet, emailing the local historical society, even calling his realtor to ask again about the history of the property, Remus comes up with precious little. The house had originally been built in the 1880s by a local merchant, everyone seems to agree, and had been inherited by his nephew soon after, but beyond that there’s frustratingly scant information available, and he can’t find so much as a whisper about anyone dying in the home. His ghostie could be anyone, then: A Victorian builder who’d taken a tumble, a flapper girl who’d partied a tad too hard, a hapless victim of some modern serial killer who’d taken advantage of the place sitting abandoned for years to do a bit of light murdering.

With precisely zero context clues as to his new housemate’s identity, then, Remus embraces his remarkable talent of keeping up an entirely one-sided conversation as he works around the house the next few days, rambling about anything and everything related to the property he can think of, hoping something will pique the ghost’s interest. But besides a few more cold spots and flickering screens, the house remains stubbornly quiet. Maybe his ghost just needed a bit of help in communicating, though; drifting around an empty building with no one to talk to for the past god-knew-how-many years can’t have done good things to their incorporeal vocal cords.

Which brings him to Plan B: The infamous Ouija board, favorite tool of grifters and bullshit paranormalists everywhere.

And yet despite the makeshift, very high-budget seance he conducts with the two dollar board and the zero dollar candles he’s lovingly stolen from his brother, there’s once again no reply from beyond the veil besides a chill in the room that somehow radiates disapproval. Apparently his ghost isn’t a fan of pseudoscientific games any more than he is. At least they had standards, whoever they were.

But Remus is a stubborn bastard if he does say so himself, so on to Plan C it is. The used EMF meter he snags off of ebay has definitely seen better days, given the prominent crack across its screen, but the thing had been cheap and still seemed to work, so Remus wasn’t complaining. Fancy equipment was for fancy people, after all, and of all the things he’s ever been called, he’s positive fancy isn’t one of them. He sets up the device behind the tv, which still seems to intrigue his ghost every time it’s turned on, puts on the first show he can find, and forces himself to walk away. His little trap is set. Now all he has to do is bide his time pretending to busy himself unpacking a box of books in the next room—

He barely has the chance to register the tv screen flickering out of the corner of his eye before an ear-splitting shriek is rending the air, startling him so violently that he promptly drops a hefty tome on his foot.

“Shit,” he breathes, surging back into the living room, but the noise has already stopped just as suddenly as it began, replaced by a frigid chill permeating the room. Maybe he should have thought twice about scaring the resident phantom without first hiding any of his valuables. Hopefully he won’t wake up tomorrow to find his tv shattered. “It won’t hurt you,” he calls, though the EMF meter indicates a distinct lack of any supernatural presences. “It just makes noise to let me know when you’re nearby, yeah? Totally harmless.”

No response, but for once he doesn’t mind, not when there’s excitement dancing white-hot across his nerves. There really is a ghost or spirit or demon or something here, and he hasn’t just been imagining things.

Fuck, this house is single-handedly the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, even if he does now have to worry about his haunting buddy getting a bit of revenge on him in the middle of the night.

But Remus survives safe and sound into the next day without so much as a supernatural scratch on his skin. Bloody payback didn’t seem like his ghost’s style anyways, not when their favorite activity seemed to be pressing as many buttons as possible on the tv remote at once. Curiosity is still nipping impatiently at his heels though, urging him to explore this latest avenue of potential communication more, so he sets up the EMF meter again, this time in the master bedroom where the spirit seems most inclined to spend time if the continued pacing in the middle of the night is anything to go by.

A brilliant plan, only minorly ruined by the fact that the device is nowhere to be found when he goes searching for it the next morning.

“Are you disappearing things, ghostie?” he asks the empty bedroom. “Gonna zap me into another dimension next?”

He’s joking, but as his hunt through the house reveals neither hide nor hair of the EMF meter, he can’t help but wonder. Had the ghost really just yeeted the thing into the ether? Or maybe it was right where he’d left it in the middle of the bedroom, but had been turned invisible like the spirit themself? What kind of ghostly superpowers did he even have, if any—

He comes to an abrupt halt as he emerges out the back door onto the porch, a laugh spilling past his lips as he surveys the myriad bits of metal and broken plastic strewn around him. Looks like he’s found his EMF meter. Apparently his ghost wasn’t nearly as endeared to this technology as he was anything with a screen. He glances up to the master bedroom window over his head, shading his eyes from the sun.

“Fair enough,” he calls, still fighting down amusement despite himself, and there’s the faintest shimmer in the air above the balcony, reminiscent of a heat mirage despite the cool morning air. “No more screeching little boxes.”

Left with zero information about his ghost’s identity, a useless Ouija board better repurposed as a doorstop, and the remains of his one piece of official ghost-hunting equipment, Remus concludes his only option is to embark on Plan D. Said plan isn’t so much an strategic approach as it is a wild hail mary to find any way to communicate with his ghost that didn’t involved hurling objects from balconies, as much fun as such an activity was, but then again, Plan D did sound delightfully dirty, so he’ll take the trade-off.

The internet, of course, is the place to turn to for highly questionable ghost advice, and it only takes a single google search to find message boards teeming with it. Half of it is clearly bullshit, he quickly discovers as he trawls through post after useless post, and the other half is baseless theories without any semblance of evidence to back them up, but just as he’s about to call it quits and move on to whatever the hell Plan E is, an old thread catches his eye.

‘Old Ghost Caught By Photography?’ the title reads, and Remus skims through the post, intrigued despite himself at the detailed claims the author had been able to capture the image of a Victorian spirit by using an antique camera and photography methods from the end of the nineteenth century. He pores over the attached images, searching for the slightest hint of photoshop or manipulation, but everything seems legit. And it made sense in some weird, probably illogical way, he supposes, that ghosts might only be spotted by using technology from their day and age—historical continuity in the metaphysical realm or some shit.

It’s the best lead he has after hours of searching, and really, he’s just spent a very hefty chunk of change buying a whole-ass house; what was the harm in dropping a few more dollars on some vintage photography equipment?

Which is precisely how he finds himself crammed into his makeshift darkroom in the tiny closet under the stairs several weeks later, holding his breath as he carefully begins to look through the latest batch of negatives he’s just finished processing. It had taken an obscene amount of research, a healthy dose of trial-and-error, and more than a few failures to figure out the intricacies of the dry plate photography process, but he’d gotten there in the end, even if the most he has to show for it is a few suspicious blurs in a couple of images.

Maybe this whole idea of capturing ghosts in photos was just as bullshit as the others, he muses as he examines yet another empty picture of the dining room, or maybe his ghost wasn’t from the same era as the camera he’d bought. Maybe his ghost simply didn’t want to have his photo taken, or maybe—

His train of thought abruptly derails as he picks up the next plate.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

The image is still a negative, the reversed colors lending a certain eeriness to the picture under the red darkroom lights, but there, right smack in the middle of the photo—a figure. An actual human figure, clear as day, looking right at the camera. Remus whoops, nearly knocking over a vial of chemicals with his elbow as he dances backwards in pure giddiness. Oh fuck yes , there is a ghost haunting the place. His ghost, now that he owns the house. His ghost who is…

He pauses, forcing himself to focus on the figure in the photo even as he feels like he’s about to vibrate right off of his bones with excitement. Spectacles, clean-shaven, dark hair neatly styled. Neat trousers, white shirt, trim waistcoat, and a decidedly fancy ascot, the whole ensemble distinctly old-fashioned. Victorian, then? Or Edwardian? Or some historical reenactor who’d met an untimely demise in costume? And it does seem to be an untimely demise; the man looks to be in his mid- to late-twenties, unless he’d found some ability to look whatever age he wanted in the afterlife.

Regardless, he can’t make himself focus on fashion for long. He has a ghost to talk to. Fighting his way out of the cramped closet, he bounds up the stairs, forcing himself to slow to a respectable jog as he darts into the master bedroom. He stops in the middle of the still-bare room, trying and utterly failing to keep his hopes in check.

“Hello? Ghostie?”

No response.

“Mr. Glasses and White Shirt?”

His skin prickles, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Aha. There he was.

“Hey, what’s up?” He turns in a slow circle, searching for any sign of his specter, any flicker of light off a spectacle lens or a flash of a shirtsleeve, but the room is as empty as ever.

“I have a photo if you’d like to see it.” Could ghosts not see themselves in mirrors or was that only vampire lore? And if he couldn’t see his own reflection, did the ghost even remember what he looked like?

He raises the picture, proferring the negative to the vacant room, and holds his breath. Nothing, for several long moments, and then the chill edges closer. Remus bites his lip, barely able to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect of a ghost being within arm’s reach.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, I just wanted to see if you were real or if I needed to go check myself into a padded room, you know? I’m Remus, if I haven’t said that. What’s your name?”

Several more excruciatingly long moments that Remus is sure has to be the longest span of silence in history, then—

“Hello.”

The voice is thin and slightly hoarse, quiet enough that Remus has to strain to make it out, but it’s as unmistakably real as the form that flickers into existence right in front of his eyes, identical to the man in the photo. He’s distinctly transparent, the edges of him not quite defined, fuzzing out around the edges like the ambient glow of neon signs, but he’s here and he’s real and this is so fucking cool that Remus could keel over right here and now from excitement and join the ghost in wandering around the house for all eternity.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, because if there was ever a time for swearing, by god this is fucking it, and the spirit withdraws slightly, already guarded expression closing in further. “No no no, it’s good,” he rushes to assure him, resisting the urge to reach out and try to touch him. “Good holy shit. Complimentary holy shit.”

The ghost doesn’t seem entirely appeased, but he tilts his head slightly, something like curiosity sparking in his eyes as he evaluates Remus.

“Why are you not frightened of me?” he finally asks, and Remus has to fight back the absurd laugh bubbling up in his chest. He’s being questioned by a century-old ghost in the middle of his haunted home. Life really was delightfully freaky.

“No offense, man, but you’re not exactly terrifying. I mean, I’ve been here what? A solid month? And you haven’t even tried to pluck my eyeballs out or anything.”

Another unreadable pause. Is he just giving the spirit ideas? Were his eyes about to be forcibly unmarried from his skull à la eagles tearing out Prometheus’ liver?

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” he asks after a further absolutely unbearable five seconds of silence.

“No,” the ghost admits after a moment of clear hesitation, “but previous residents certainly have not appreciated my presence here.”

Remus scoffs. “That’s their problem. Some of us are smarter than that.”

The other man’s head tilt deepens, something akin to puzzlement furrowing his brow, as if he can’t fathom why having a ghost is actually the most badass shit on the face of the planet.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Remus asks, exhilaration still racing along the underside of his skin so intensely that he can barely stand it. “You can ask me whatever you want, too.”

The ghost nods, although he still seems cautious as one hand fiddles absently with his ascot. “I suppose that would be alright.”

Twenty questions with an undead spirit. Remus’ life really was getting better by the minute.

“Did you used to live here?”

“I did, many years ago.”

“Did you own the place?”

“At one point in time, yes. It was truly a beautiful house in its day, and a wonderful place to reside.”

Oh fuck yes. If having an old-timey ghost who can give him historically accurate advice about restoring the house isn’t the coolest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t sure what is. He has half a mind to start grilling him on paint colors and wallpaper prints and the original hardwood, but—

“Did you die here?”

The words are blurting out of his mouth without even bothering to detour through his brain on the way out, burning curiosity eclipsing any thought that perhaps asking about death isn’t exactly acceptable ghost etiquette. He barely has time to register the change in the spirit’s expression, the visceral upset written across his features clear as day, before he’s gone in between one breath and the next, vanishing back into whatever thin air he’d come from and leaving nothing but a biting chill in his wake.

Shit shit shit. He’s finally gotten the ghost to trust him enough to show up and talk and then he’s gone and ruined it within the span of two minutes all because he had all the self-control of a sieve trying to retain water.

“Wait,” he calls, casting about in vain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Well, apparently his subconscious had, but that hadn’t been his intention. “Please come back. You can ask me as many invasive questions as you like.” Nothing. “You can haunt me for revenge, if you want.” Utter silence. “Are you gonna hurl me off the balcony like my EMF meter?”

There he goes again, giving the specter ideas, although really, being yeeted out of a window by a ghost would be a damn cool end if he does say so himself. He lingers in the room for several long minutes, forcing himself to keep quiet lest he miss the spirit’s hushed voice, but there’s nothing but the faint sound of a bird twittering outside.

“Alright,” he finally relents, disappointment pooling in his stomach as he glances down at the photography plate still in his hand, the negative serving as indisputable evidence that the encounter hadn’t just been a fever dream. He’ll find a way to make things right with the ghost somehow, one way or another. He has to. “Just come spook me if you change your mind.”

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2023 #tssbb2023 #sanders sides #ts remus #remus sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #intrulogical #loceit #ts fanfic #the art of saying goodbye #my fic #rosepetal writes

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