#old house kitchen remodel

[aftmartwork]

Transitional Kitchen

An undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, a yellow backsplash, a ceramic backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and a peninsula can be seen in this small transitional u-shaped enclosed kitchen photo.

[baphofemme]

SIKE! here's another vivid dream i'm attempting to recollect

[rogersx]

Transitional Kitchen in Seattle An illustration of a medium-sized transitional eat-in kitchen with a green floor and a l-shaped linoleum floor, an undermount sink, white cabinets with recessed panels, marble countertops, a white backsplash, and porcelain tile on the backsplash, stainless steel appliances, a peninsula, and black countertops.

[neilirving73]

Started The Day With A Nice Walk With Thunder Paw's

After a mad busy week it was nice to chill out this morning and take Thunder Paw’s out for a walk, Hope also got a clean bill of health from the vets, she met my colleagues at the garage and had a lot of fussing, we had a nice couple of hours at the stables after I spent some time in my workshop Please give a thumbs up (like) and subscribe to my YouTube channel

[zuley7]

Traditional Kitchen - Enclosed

[betterviewltdca]

Home Remodeling Contractor Richmond Hill

Looking to renovate your home in Richmond Hill? Look no further than Betterview Construction Ltd. We are a complete house renovation company that will be able to help you with all aspects of your project, from start to finish. We have a team of experienced and qualified home remodeling contractors who can handle any kind of home renovation project, no matter how big or small. So why trust anyone else with your home renovation needs? Contact us today and let us show you what we can do!

[homehoedesignsbykathy]

These are pre renovation pictures. The house was bought and flipped in 2021 then sold to me in oct 2022. Some of the things would have been cool to keep but bleh modernization and appeal.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Gorgeous 1889 Queen Anne Victorian in Omaha, NE for under $500k. 7bds, 2.5ba, 3,656 sq ft, with central a/c, $430k.

Look at the floors- the entrance foyer looks like it has original tile, and the new wood flooring has inlaid around the perimeter. Plus, all the wood is natural - no paint-overs.

Look at the millwork on the stairs, the wainscoting, and built-in bench. The wood looks like it's been refurbished.

Cute small sitting area in the turret tower.

They decided to go with a dark theme, but the house gets plenty of light. Look at the re-done fireplace. Beautiful original design.

This is nice, the dining room has a door to the porch.

This room looks like a dining room, also. Maybe the other room is supposed to be the 2nd sitting room, but this room has the beautiful built-in cabinet and look at the original fireplace.

The kitchen has hi-end appliances, but hasn't been given one of the horrid modern remodels. It clearly has the original footprint of the room and minimal modernization.

It still has modern cabinetry, but they did their best to keep it as original as possible- they left the brick wall and stove pipe opening where the original stove was, and put in open top shelving. Look at the staff stairs on the left, too.

That looks like a refurbished original cabinet in the corner. I would definitely have to ditch the gray walls, though.

Love this original looking sink in the guest powder room.

Beautiful wainscoting and millwork going up the stairs.

They went full-on funky with this bedroom. Looks like an original light, though.

I wish they would've papered the whole feature wall in here. There's a nice curved wall and I guess the bed goes against the black wall w/the 2 light fixtures.

This nice, especially if you need an art studio.

Not bad, they did a vintage-y redo in here. So, it needs some wallpaper and decor.

This bedroom needs some floor work. I would sand and repaint it.

The other bath is smaller and all it needs is some decor.

Nice laundry space in the basement, but that's not the best part of the basement.

They made an exercise room, but still not the best part.

Check this out- with a little work, this can be the coolest mini theatre or TV room. A sunken cinema. And they left the old theater seating.

Look at all the wonderful porches. It definitely appears that there's a big unfinished attic w/the turret. What potential. Wish they would've at least shown it unfinished.

There's parking, but no garage. (Look at all the windows in the attic space, plus that turret.)

4,356 sq ft lot

https://www.redfin.com/NE/Omaha/3524-Hawthorne-Ave-68131/home/103522512

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Pairing: Joel Miller/Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

Read on AO3 | 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: I’m playing fast and loose with ages and timelines here. Joel is 38, reader is 23, and Sarah is 5. No mushroom apocalypse here, y’all.

Additional tags/warnings: explicit sexual content, age gap (15 years), reader is 23 and Joel is 38, he’s a lil guilty about it anyways, pet names, dirty talk, lack of aftercare, oral (f receiving), fingering, begging, angst, drying humping. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

You hear the heavy footsteps of your dad and the contractor coming up the steps to the front door. You turn from the stove, spatula in hand just as your dad comes into view with a man you’ve never seen before.

He’s tall and broad, shoulders stretching the worn flannel he’s wearing to what must be near its breaking point. He’s got a strong nose and sharp jaw highlighted by his tan skin. His hair is brown that’s streaked with gray, messy curls sticking up in all directions.

Woah, you think. Your eyes meet warm brown ones that make your knees feel a little unsteady.

Your dad gives the man your name followed by, “My daughter. She’s home for the summer while she studies for the MCAT. I hope that’s not a problem that she’ll be here?”

“Not a problem for me. Noise might bother you, though, if you’re tryin’ to study,” the man says, deep voice making your mouth go a little dry. He holds a hand out to you. “I’m Joel, by the way. I’m doin’ the remodel on your parent’s room.”

That’s right. Your dad had mentioned that your mom had finally broken him down and made him get a contractor out to update their master bath. They scheduled it while they’re away on a six week cruise, leaving you to house sit while you studied for your exam.

“It won’t bother me,” you reply, shaking his hand. They’re calloused and warm and just the brief contact is enough to have you wondering what they would feel like trailing over other parts of your body. “I’ve got noise canceling headphones.”

He smiles, but it’s short lived. He sniffs the air, brows pinching together. “Is something burning?”

“Shit! My eggs!” You turn back to the stove and shut the burner off, moving the pan off the heat and trying to scrape your now burnt scrambled eggs from the surface.

“Come on, Joel, let me show you upstairs.”

________

Joel returns to the house a few times that week to take measurements and talk materials with your mom. Each time you’re there in the kitchen, books spread around you at the dining table and your head bobbing to music he can’t hear.

He can’t help the way his eyes linger when he comes inside, stomping his work boots against the mat inside the doorway as a courtesy and, if he’s honest with himself, to get your attention. And every time you glance up and smile at him, bright and beautiful.

As soon as he’s back upstairs and remembers he has a job to do, he berates himself for the thoughts he has. He has no goddamn right to be looking at a client’s daughter, much less one as young as you.

His presence in the house is sparing over the first couple weeks of the job, mostly just dropping by for measurements and to get an idea of a plan for demo day. He’s got orders in on tile placed, fixtures picked out, paint purchased. Everything’s in place to get started next week.

Satisfied, he heads downstairs to leave. He both hopes you’re in the kitchen and prays you’re not, if only to ease his guilty conscience.

But there you are, bent over in front of the fridge in shorts that hug your ass a bit too well. You straighten up with a can of beer in your hand, popping the tab and taking a sip.

“You even old enough to drink that?” Joel can’t help but ask, lingering in the doorway.

“I bought it. Why, you wanna see my ID? You moonlight as a cop or somethin’?” You roll your eyes.

Brat, Joel thinks, rolling his lips together. He turns to leave, he’s made enough of a fool of himself for one day.

“I’m twenty-three, in case you were wondering!” You call out as the door shuts behind him.

Fuck.

________

Joel’s been upstairs since early this morning, smashing things with a sledge hammer, prying things with a crowbar, and all sorts of other destruction that filters through your headphones.

It’s almost noon when you decide to give up and give into the temptation to go see what the man is doing. You head upstairs, stepping carefully into your parents room. There’s plastic tarp leading from the door of the bedroom to the door of the bathroom that crinkles beneath your feet as you move further inside.

You peek beyond the doorway of the bathroom and clutch the frame almost painfully when you catch a glimpse of a rather sweaty Joel, white t-shirt sticking to his chest and back as he wiggles a crowbar between the wall and vanity, leveraging his body weight against it to get the fixture to detach from the wall.

He repeats the process a few more times until the vanity is completely removed. He tosses the crowbar to the side and wipes the back of his hand across his dusty forehead. You clear your throat, his eyes shooting to the mirror to meet yours.

“Hey, uh. Hi. I’m about to make something for lunch…did you want anything?” You ask. His chest moves rapidly with his labored breathing.

“Sure,” he finally says.

_______

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be sitting at the kitchen table, watching you move around the kitchen like a picture of domesticity as you make two ham and turkey sandwiches for lunch.

You set the plate in front of him, along with a cold can of Coke, before sitting across from him with your own matching meal. He takes a bite, humming in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” he says when he’s swallowed. You nod, picking up your own sandwich and digging in.

The two of you eat in silence for a few minutes. Joel lets his eyes wander over you while you’re focused on your food. You’ve got a University of Texas tank top on, white with an orange Longhorn stretched across your chest, and another pair of shorts, giving him an eyeful of your long, smooth legs.

Tearing his eyes from you, his gaze lands on the stack of books on the table. “So, the MCAT. Must mean you’re pretty smart.”

“Not to brag, but I did finish organic chemistry without crying,” you reply, lips tilted in a smug grin. “I’m taking it at the end of August, before senior year starts. Dad said I didn’t have to get a summer job if I moved home and saved him some rent money.”

“What kind of doctor are you lookin’ to become?”

“Pediatrician. I love kids.”

Joel’s heart rate kicks up as he thinks about you chasing a toddler around a manicured lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. Or in the kitchen with a baby on your hip.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Joel?” You ask, breaking through his mental flagellation.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you have any kids,” you repeat.

He can feel his face go soft. “Yeah, Sarah. She just turned five. She starts kindergarten at the end of the summer.”

“How sweet,” you say. “I bet you and your wife are excited about that.”

“There’s, uh…there’s no wife,” Joel replies, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He stands, taking this empty plate to the dishwasher. “I better get back to work.”

Joel feels the weight of your stare on his back as he heads upstairs.

________

It goes on like that for two weeks. Joel gets to the house early and you study at the kitchen table until lunch time, when you ask him if he wants anything to eat. He should say no. It’s not your job to feed him, he’s got a stash of granola bars that’ll do just fine.

But each time he sees your hopeful doe eyed expression, his resolve crumbles to dust.

So he sits at the table each day, eating the sandwich you made him and drinking the Coke you gave him, learning tidbits of information about you.

Like how you weren’t sure about pursuing medicine at first, so you’re a bit behind schedule in taking your studies and will be graduating late. You changed your degree path when you volunteered in the pediatric oncology service at the medical school, sitting with young kids undergoing chemotherapy and making their days brighter. Your last roommate had a cat that always hid your keys, but you still liked him anyways. How your favorite color is yellow.

He tells you about Sarah. About how her mom left not long after she was born and how he’s gone at this parenting thing alone, save for the support of his brother, Tommy. He tells you about how only finished a semester in community college before dropping out to pursue construction. His favorite drink is whiskey, neat, and his favorite color is red.

One day, you’re not at the table when he lets himself into the house with the key your dad made for him. He finds he’s disappointed, not starting his day with your smile.

Upstairs, he’s working on laying the mud for the shower pan when he hears a splash from outside. He peeks out the window of the bedroom that overlooks the backyard.

His mouth goes dry and his pants get uncomfortably tight as he watches you lift yourself from the pool. You’ve got on the skimpiest red bikini he’s ever seen, the top barely containing your tits and doing nothing to hide the hard peaks of your nipples. You wring your hair out over your shoulder before moving to lay down on a nearby lounger. Your body glistens with drops of water that Joel wants to chase with his tongue.

You turn over on your stomach and Joel bites back a groan, greedily committing the view of your ass to memory. Jesus Christ, he’s never felt like a dirty old man more than in this moment.

He returns to his task and tries to chase his lustful thoughts away with manual labor.

_______

You can see him watching you from the window. Your sunglasses keep your own gaze hidden as you revel in the undivided attention of the man you’d been drooling over the last few weeks. You’d put on your tiniest bikini for the occasion, laying yourself out on the lounge like a meal you’d like him to dig into.

He stood there for a few minutes and you could practically hear his teeth cracking from how tense his jaw was. You could tell Joel really struggled with his attraction to you. He’s staring down the barrel of a fifteen year age gap, after all.

You didn’t see an issue with it. You’re an adult, he’s not abusing any sort of position of power, hell, all the man has done is check you out. He hasn’t even touched you. You don’t want him to feel guilty about being attracted to you because god knows you don’t feel guilty for wanting to climb him like a tree.

You don’t bother with a towel or changing when you go upstairs to tell Joel lunch is ready. When he sees you in the doorway he freezes, and you bite back at a laugh at the look of surprise on his face.

“Lunch is ready,” you tell him.

He clears his throat. “I uh…I think I’ll just eat a protein bar. Thank you, though.”

Your bottom lip pops out in a pout. “But I made pasta salad.”

“I got a lot to do,” he tries again. His jaw keeps clenching, his hand wrapping tightly around the tool he’s holding like he’s hoping it’ll anchor him in place.

“Please, Joel?”

That gets him. He sighs, standing with a groan.

“Fine.”

________

This was a bad idea. He should have held strong and insisted he’d eat by himself today.

You’re still in that goddamn bikini and he is fighting for his life sitting at the table as he watches you plate up pasta salad. Usually you would drink a Coke with lunch but today he’s surprised to see you pouring a glass of wine.

“It’s my day off from studying,” you say as you take your seat across from him, sipping from the glass. “I think I deserve a little treat. Don’t you?”

He has to be imagining the double meaning of your words. He gives you a tight nod in response before focusing all his energy in eating his pasta and avoiding your gaze.

“You okay, Joel?” you ask. Your sweet face is pinched in concern and goddamnit, Joel can’t take this.

“Fine,” he grunts. You give him another pout, the same one that broke his resolve upstairs.

You finish before him, sticking your bowl in the sink before picking up your wine glass from the table and refilling it. Instead of taking a seat, you lean your barely clothed hip against the table in front of him.

“You seem tense,” you comment. Joel swallows roughly, throat dry. You set your glass down and take a step closer.

“What are you doin’?” He asks, voice rough and low. He can barely breathe. This can’t possibly be happening.

You plant your hands on his shoulders for balance as you slide onto his lap, legs on either side of his waist and pussy dragging across his hard cock. He hisses, hands grabbing onto your waist before he can stop himself.

“You can’t be doin’ this,” he says, voice strained. “We can’t be doin’ this.”

“Why not? I see the way you look at me. I’ve been lookin’ the same way.”

“You’re young, baby. Too young for an old man like me.”

You loop your arms around his neck, pressing your chest to his and fuck, he can feel your tight little nipples as your tits press against him. “‘M not too young,” you murmur, dipping your head to mouth at his neck. His fingers flex against your ribs. “You’re not doin’ anything wrong, Joel.”

His head drops back as you keep pressing sweet little kisses to the stubbled skin. His hips flex beneath you and you gasp, arms tightening around him.

Joel is so fucked. So, so fucked. Has been from the moment he stepped into this goddamn house and saw you sitting at this very table.

Maybe…maybe just one time. One time should be enough, get it out of your systems, cut through the tension and move on.

You’re whimpering against his neck, squirming over his lap as his hands drag up your waist until his fingers find the edge of one of the pathetic triangles covering your breasts. He can feel your breath hitch as he pulls it to the side, exposing your tight little nipple to the cold air.

“God, baby,” he groans, dipping his head forward to wrap his lips around the little bud. You moan so loud and wanton as he licks you that he knows he’s fucking done for.

He digs his fingers into your still damp hair, tugging your head back so that he can finally drag your mouth to his. You taste like wine and sunshine and he’s never been much of a wine guy, but from your tongue he’ll taste anything.

You open up to him so sweetly, your hands clutching his shoulders and your hips moving against his painfully hard cock as he devours you, dragging his own hands over all that exposed skin like it’ll disappear if he doesn’t touch you everywhere at least once.

It’s still not nearly enough.

He stands and you squeak in surprise as he sits you on the edge of the table. “Holy shit,” you mutter. He glances at your face to make sure you’re okay.

Your hair is messy from his hands and lips swollen from his kisses, eyes wide and dark as you stare back at him. Your top is half off, and Joel can’t help but reach out and tug the other cup down to expose your other breast.

“Pretty as a goddamn picture, darlin’,” he murmurs. He presses a hand to your chest, urging you to lie back.

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask. He huffs a laugh.

“Don’t be a brat, fishin’ for compliments,” he admonishes. He plucks at the strings holding those little bottoms in place, the bows falling loose so that he can push the material aside. “Look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re drenched, baby.”

“Been like this every day,” you reply, voice all breathy as you squirm beneath his rapt attention.

“That right?” He asks, dragging his thumb through your wet folds. You moan, hips jumping from the table. He kneels, placing one arm around over your hips as he presses your legs apart with his free hand, spreading you for him.

You’re breathing so fast he’s almost worried you might pass out. “Shhh, pretty thing, let me take care of you.”

He licks a broad stripe over your core, his tongue swirling around your aching clit before dipping back down to your entrance. You fight against his hold, hips trying in vain to chase his mouth.

“Oh, god,” you cry out. Your hands find their way to his head, fingers scratching against his scalp as he feasts on your cunt. “Joel, more, please!”

He keeps his arm tight against you and uses his other hand to slip one finger into your wet heat, groaning at how tight you are. His tongue focuses on your clit while he slowly strokes his finger in and out, adding a second then a third when you start babbling about more more more.

“Fuck me, Joel, please,” you beg. He shakes his head against your cunt, the scrape of his beard against your sensitive flesh making you scream. “Please!”

He stands, continuing to stroke his fingers inside you as he uses his thumb on your clit to replace his tongue. “I don’t have a condom with me.”

“I’m clean, I’m on the pill, please, Joel, I need your cock so bad,” you plead. Joel groans. He’s already crossed a line but he can’t go there. He knows damn well that if he feels you clenching around him with nothing between your bodies, screaming his name as he pounds inside of you, he won’t ever leave.

“No, sweetheart, you’re going to come on my hand and my mouth or you’re not going to come at all,” he snaps, hand moving faster, curling against your front wall.

_______

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes as Joel continues to drive you higher and higher toward release, your muscles tightening painfully as his fingers curl inside you and his thumb circles your clit.

You don’t know what you expected from all this, but Joel Miller dirty talking and finger fucking you on your kitchen table was not on your deduction bingo card. He’s better than anything your brain has conjured up thus far and you just know this one time isn’t going to be enough to sate you, especially since he keeps calling you “good girl” and “darlin’” and “sweetheart” in his rough southern accent.

You want him to fuck you so bad, you’re desperate for it. But he’s staunchly refusing to cross that line despite the hundreds that have been crossed already.

You try to hold back your orgasm, not wanting this to end, but it crashes over you anyways, leaving you breathless and sobbing his name as his hand slows its pace.

Joel’s fingers slip from your body and he leans forward, pressing them to your lips. You open your mouth, licking and sucking at his offering.

“Goddamnit,” he groans. “That was gorgeous.”

You sit up, supporting yourself on shaky arms. He steps back, but you hook a leg around his waist to stop him.

“Wait, let me—“

“No, baby, I’m good,” he says, cutting you off and dodging your hands. “I gotta get back to work.”

You can feel your high leave you in an instant. “Oh…okay.”

“Thank you for…lunch,” he says awkwardly. “I’ll be upstairs. If you need me.”

You don’t say anything as he turns to leave.

————

Upstairs in the bathroom, the one not being remodeled that he presumes is yours due to the messy countertop and fluffy yellow towels, Joel takes his cock from his pants and fists his length, grip almost painful as payment for his transgressions.

He cums with the thought of your eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, shouting his name as you clenched around his fingers. Your name is on his lips in the softest whisper he can manage as he cums, hard and hot, into a tissue.

He slumps against the wall, breathless. And while he may have come faster than a teenager, he doesn’t feel an ounce of relief.

Fuck.

[amourane]

sweeter than candy

pairing: baker!james potter x baker!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 1.2k

summary: six years ago you left the small town you were trapped in and you would have never thought that the cute boy next door would be the one running the bakery your family once owned.

warnings: none

a/n: CUTE!

Since the very beginning of time you’ve always loved baking. Baking was your one true joy, your one true love. Ever since you could remember it was always you in the kitchen. The first thing you held was a spatula, the first thing you said was cake. There was something so amazing and fascinating about being able to whip up baked goods. You simply loved the satisfaction it gave you whenever the delicious treat was finished. Whether it be a cake or a pastry. You grew up surrounded by sweet treats and the scent of freshly baked goods in the air. 

Both your parents co-owned a bakery and it was their pride and joy. You were often behind the counter helping to whip things up and it couldn’t have made you happier. The customers always commented on how one day you would be running the bakery, stepping into the shoes of your parents.

As you grew older you started to look at baking in a more professional way. You wanted what your parents had and you were going to achieve it. You went to culinary school, became an apprentice for bakers all around the world. Yet now it all seems to have failed as you find yourself back in the small little town you grew up in, living with your parents. 

You were dragged away from your job to help your mother move into her new house. Ever since your father died, she had sold the bakery and it was just you and her. Being the great daughter you were you decided to assist her with whatever she needed but it seemed in vain considering how your mum was adamant she could do things on her own, a trait you inherited. 

So now you were left to wonder about the small town and how it had grown while you were away. Most things had stayed the same and by most things you meant that the same old, dusty shops that had been there years prior. It was the same town you left six years ago. The nostalgia hit you like a tidal wave and suddenly you were experiencing memories you had thought you had forgotten. 

You hadn’t been back in so long and now, being back, it was overwhelming. The only new thing was the bakery that had once been your parents was now taken over by a new owner. It had been renamed and completely remodelled. It now bore light pastel blue walls and a bright red door that only seemed to draw you in. Curiously, you made your way towards the new bakery. Your mother hadn’t mentioned any of this to you and you were curious as to why. 

As soon as you opened the door the smell of baked bread and frosted cupcakes hit you. The interior was the same as when your parents had owned it. The same beige chairs and wooden tables. The same cream walls that had beautiful flowers painted onto them. The outside had changed but not the inside. You spied the spectacular crafted pastries. The tarts that looked unreal and the cakes that were frosted perfectly. There were name cards indicating what was in each item and you saw how they were handwritten, a chicken like scrawl but still legible - you recognised that from somewhere. A deep voice cut through your thoughts. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” 

Your eyes darted up to meet with a familiar face. 

James Potter. 

You’d recognise him anywhere but he looked so different. Was this the same James Potter that would squeak and run to hide whenever he saw you approaching? James’ cheeks went bright red once he registered it was you. Yep, it definitely was. 

You bit back a smile at the reaction. James was the boy next door and he never failed to make your day brighter when you were younger. The two of you knew each other but you weren’t ever close as friends. You’d always wanted to get to know him but he’d run away or find an excuse to not talk to you. Your friends had always said it was because of the raging crush he had on you - which was true. 

“Hi James.” You waved your hand and gave him a beaming smile. “Finally decided to visit and decided to pop in, you’ve got a nice place here.” You never remembered James being into baking and yet here he was. “When’d you get into baking?”

“Um, a while ago, I can’t exactly remember. After your mum sold the bakery it was just an empty shop until I bought it. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “It’s just something small I run, nothing like you of course.”

You were pretty sure everyone in town knew about how you had upped and left to the big city to pursue your dreams. They obviously knew that you had made it since your mum was one for gossip. There were a lot of things different in the city than in the town you grew up in and honestly the first few months you cried yourself to sleep but now you were happy - not really though. You thought you would have at least opened your own bakery by now but you’re still working in a tacky restaurant. Your dreams had halted. 

James cleared his throat and gestured to the array of treats that were laid out. “So what would you like?” 

Carefully, you eyed each one. They all looked so delicious. It was so hard to pick. You read each label with care and saw how much detail was provided. You could tell how much love was poured into it and for some odd reason it made your heart swell. You’ve always been indecisive so choosing something to have was hard. 

“Just give me your favourite, whatever you like I’m sure I will.” You smiled at him and rummaged through your bag to take out your card. You didn't notice the way James’ cheeks lit up fire truck red again and how he was staring at you like you were the light of his life.

James caught himself staring and quickly muttered okay and made sure to grab his favourite strawberries and cream tart for you. He charged your card and packaged your order. He could feel your eyes as they watched his every movement and he couldn't help but burn bright pink. He’d had a crush on you since the first moment he had laid eyes on you and right now, seeing you after so many years, it made his heart speed up with joy. He’d never tell you but he had started baking because of you. He missed you so much when you had gone away. 

You took your order gratefully, thank James one last time before heading out and back home. You peeked into the box to see a beautifully baked tart and it made your mouth water. The smell wafted to your nose and the sweetness comforted you. When you had tasted it it was even better. The flavours exploded in your mouth and you savoured the sugary taste that was left on your tongue. Everything about it made you happy. There was some unknown love that had been dedicated towards this and it made your stomach and taste buds so ecstatic. This was definitely more delicious than anything you had tasted before. 

You were definitely going back.

[dreamstatesims]

did some remodeling on this old victorian, giving it a whole new kitchen and informal family room. and, for the anon who asked to see the floor plan of this house, it's under the cut!

[talaok]

Chapter one: The perfect life

Pairing: No-outbreak!Joel x married!reader

Series summary: You moved to Austin Texas with your husband due to his job, but your already troubled marriage is about to get more complicated when the contractor remodeling your home, Joel Miller, will enter both of your lives.

Chapter summary: Moving to Austin was the right decision, but you can't shake the feeling that something's wrong.

warnings: hints to the reader's unhappy childhood, and a very short smut moment

Next chapter

New city, new home, new life.

You should have been happy, you really should have been, but the weight that had sat on your chest as you got on the plane had lingered.

You wanted this. You had to.

You had the perfect life.

A big house with an even bigger lawn, more money than you ever thought possible, and a loving husband.

A loving husband of two years, a loving husband who had to move to Texas for work, a loving husband who you followed across the country, leaving everything and everyone behind, because it's him, and you love him. 

Yes. You love him, just as he loves you.

You just needed time, time to adjust, and find a way to start new.

And Austin seemed as good a place as any.

It's warm and sunny here, and the city has an aura you had never quite encountered in any other place.

It's different from New York, yes, but different is good, different means change, and you needed a change.

"I smell burnt"

"oh- shit" you hissed, your gaze finally dropping from the window and down towards the pan where bacon was frying.

You turned the stove off and opened the window, trying to get some of the smell out. 

"You ok?" 

You looked at Richard, his deep blue eyes, perfectly slicked-back hair, and the tailored suit hugging his body like a second skin made him look as if he had come straight out of a commercial.

He wasn't watching you anymore, his attention had moved to the coffee maker.

"yeah I'm fine, I'm just a little tired I guess"

"you should rest today," he said, pouring some coffee into a cup

"I will" you nodded, glancing at the pan "I should probably make more bacon"

"don't worry" he stopped you "I'll just eat something on the way"

"you sure?"

"Yeah" He took a sip from his mug and set down on a stool 

"So..." you walked to the opposite side of the kitchen counter to face him "Are you nervous?"

He raised his eyes from his phone to look at you.

"Why would I be? I'm the boss"

"yeah, but it's still your first day"

He shrugged "I just want to get it over with, today's only gonna be meetings and people introducing themselves, tomorrow's gonna be my actual first day"

"right," you offered him a small smile "And have you talked to Francis?"

"Yeah, he said he'll show me around today" 

He stood up to place the cup in the sink.

"and about the remodeling?"

"Right, yeah he gave me a number, I'll text it to you"

"great"

Silence fell, and with it, a spell seemed to turn you both to stone

He broke it first

"Right" he glanced at his watch "I better go"

"Right," you said, taking a step closer to him.

His lips were on and off of yours so quickly you wondered if you had imagined it.

"Have a great day" you managed, as he walked out of the room

"you too"

__ __ __

The shelves had finally started to come to life.

"Why do we have to bring all your books, it's a waste of time" you recalled Richard saying "It's not like you're gonna read all of them again"

It infuriated you how he didn't get it, how completely baffled he was by your decision.

Like hell you were leaving such an important part of you back home.

Some of the volumes filling the living room you've had since you were a child, some of these stories raised you when there was no one else bothering to do the job.

A small, unexpected smile pulled at your lips as your gaze fell to the last remaining book in the box.

'scary stories to tell in the dark'

You were only 12 years old when you read it. You had found it in the school library, and tempted by a bravado that didn't belong to you, you had picked it up and stuffed it in your bag, carrying it all the way home as if it were the most precious treasure ever known to man.

It had helped silence the screams down the hallway, but it also made it impossible for you to sleep for a whole week.

A quiet laugh climbed your throat as you remembered watching every shadow in your room mutate into a horrifying monster.

You had never given it back.

The barely-together copy in your hands was the same one you had held 22 years ago.

For some reason, out of all the books you've read, this one you held closer to your heart.

Perhaps it was the rebellion behind the act, or perhaps, it was the feeling that that book had given you, the courage, the proof that you could do it, that you were gonna come out the other end, the proof, at last, that monsters can be fought, and at times even defeated.

You sighed, as you settled the book onto the now overflowing shelf, taking a step back to admire the living room.

That's it.

Piece by piece, you were gonna make this your home.

The next hours passed in a frenzy and by the time only a box was left on the floor, it was two in the afternoon.

You had been so caught up with your work you had forgotten to eat.

And now that you realized... god if you weren't hungry.

It's just one more box though, you thought as you peeked at it.

Yeah, c'mon I can do this

Only the stuff for the coffee table remained, and as you took the first item-

Fuck.

The shattered lamp rested on the floor like paint on a Pollok.

Fuck me, man, that was expensive.

You cringed as you bent to try and pick up the sharp pieces, but of course, as a ringing sounded across the room, you gasped and lost your focus, cutting your finger on the glass.

A stinging pain shot through you and you winced loudly, stumbling backward while trying hard not to look at the blood.

This really wasn't the time to be fainting.

Your phone was still annoyingly ringing.

"What?" you picked up without bothering to look

"I'm sorry is this a bad time?" what sounded like a confused male's voice spoke through the phone.

"Richard?" you frowned as you realized it was an unknown number "I'm sorry who's this?"

"I'm Joel, Joel Miller, from the contracting company" he paused "Your husband gave me your number"

"oh" you breathed "I-I'm sorry, he didn't tell me"

"Ma'am if this is a bad time I can call you later"

"no, no please don't worry I just- Now it's fine"

"ok good, your husband has told me you want to do some remodeling?"

"Yeah, we have a big room on the second floor that's unutilized and I'd like to build up a wall and make it into two rooms, perhaps a guest bedroom and bathroom"

He hummed, considering your words "That shouldn't be a problem, I'd like to come to your house one of these days so I can see the space firsthand"

"Yeah sure" You nodded, wrapping a paper towel around your finger once you walked to the kitchen "Would tomorrow be alright?"

"Absolutely, how does 10:30 sound?"

"perfect" you smiled 

"Alright then, if you just give me your address we're gonna be all set"

"of course"

__ __ __

he didn't come home for dinner.

"I'll eat out with some of my colleagues"

That's all he said.

And before you knew it you were heating a frozen pizza in the oven, and watching the sun disappear on the horizon through the kitchen window.

It was good that he stayed out, that's what you kept repeating in your head.

It's good that he's already getting to know his colleagues, and it's good that he's already settling in, it's perfect.

It's what you should be doing.

And yes you would have liked to spend more time with him today, but there's still tomorrow, and the day after that... there's still the rest of your life, one day certainly won't make a difference.

And it's not like you didn't enjoy the quiet, it gave you time to think, to look around the bare walls and ponder what you should fill them with.

A painting there, a mirror there, photos there... it was all coming together in your head.

The house had started to look more like a home, your home.

It was 9 pm by the time you decided to go to bed, it was early for your standards, but you'd had a long day.

He wasn't home yet.

You didn't know what time it was when you heard the front door open, but you were still awake, having tossed and turned hoping to tire yourself out for what felt like an eternity.

"hey" you murmured, once he entered the bedroom

"What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep"

He only nodded, as he started undressing

"So how did it go?"

"well," he said "Everyone seems nice enough"

"I'm glad" you smiled, turning on your side to look at him better "I unboxed everything for the living room today"

"cool," he sighed, hanging his suit and walking into the bathroom.

You laid there, listening to the toilet flush and the sink being shut on and off.

He emerged from the door again and made his way into the bed.

"And the contracting guy called" you continued, as he made himself comfortable "He'll come by tomorrow"

"that's good" he breathed, turning the light off 

"I told him what we wanna do and he said it shouldn't be a problem"

"yeah?" he asked, as you felt him shuffle closer to you

"Yup, he said he's done stuff like that before and he just needs to-" Your words got lost in your throat once you felt his hand travel to your chest.

"Richard?" you murmured, while his mouth moved to your shoulder and slowly up your neck.

The smell of his two hundred dollars aftershave hit your nostrils immediately.

"mh?" he hummed, letting his hand sneak down to find your ass through your shorts.

"Richard... I'm tired" you whimpered

"C'mon baby, you don't have to do anything I'll do all the work"

His hands on you felt inexplicably wrong right at that moment.

"I just-" you tried to slowly shift away from his grip "I've unpacked all day, I don't feel like it"

He emitted an audible groan "Y/n it's been like a month since you've last felt like it"

Your mouth closed as quickly as it had opened.

It was the truth, you hadn't been in the mood for a while now. 

"I'm sorry, I don't know- maybe tomorrow..."

He sighed, pushing himself off of you

"Whatever"

A small gust of air sent a shiver up your spine as he got up.

"where are you going?" you asked, watching his shadow move around the room.

"I'll just watch some tv or something"

"oh- alright," your voice was so small you almost didn't sound like yourself.

He didn't seem to hear you as he closed the door behind him, casting a veil of darkness over the room.

Once again, you were alone.

You turned towards the window, the moon's soft glow split the ocean of blue in the sky, shily lighting the neighborhood.

You felt a knot in your stomach, a sudden urge to cry, but as you watched the wind glide through the leaves and trees and grass, you were able to breathe, breath with each gust, slowly willing your heart to stop racing and your eyes to dry.

There was nothing to cry about.

Everything was good, great, fantastic even.

You had the perfect life.

Everything you had ever dreamed of was right in your grasp.

You just needed time, and everything was gonna work itself out fine.

…

Next chapter

...

(if you’d like to be added to the taglist comment or text me)

[elusivewildflower]

i would love to hear your domestic six thoughts (if you have any)

Oooo, yes I do have some domestic Six thoughts! Domestic Six and letting him be all soft is probably one of my favorite things to think about, and some of these will tie in heavily with The Other Fitzroy series. Shout out to @lloydsbitch for brainstorming with me for some non-smutty ideas 🤣

I think that after Six gets away from the CIA that he will teach himself how to become a handyman. He's not used to having so much free time, so he needs something that will keep his mind and body active. I feel his father probably taught him some things, since he was so determined to make his sons "macho," and that he's learned things as needed throughout his life -- but I'm talking about learning how to remodel a whole house just for you. You want to turn that spare room with a lovely view into a library? He'll build bookcases and a window seat by hand to transform it into the space you've dreamed of.

Whenever he's not busy keeping active, he's more than happy to sit on the couch and binge watch your favorite shows and movies. Six hasn't exactly had the time or internet access to watch everything that's came out in the last 20 years, so he has a lot to catch up on. Expect to spend several nights a week and potentially all weekend cuddled up on the couch, his arm wrapped around your waist and your head on his chest. But if you're watching an action movie, he won't be able to stop himself from calling out everything that's unrealistic.

Six clearly likes to be self-reliant after retiring, so he also has a garden in the backyard that he tends to on a daily basis. You certainly enjoy watching him tend to the crops from the covered porch. He's shirtless, dripping with sweat and covered in dirt by the time he comes up to you for a refreshing glass of lemonade. It's also fun to watch him chop firewood in the fall with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. He might be wearing more layers in the cold air, but the sound of his grunts carry across the yard and straight to your.....*ahem*

There was never much time for date nights while on the run, so Six makes quality time one of his big priorities after you've settled down. It still can be difficult to achieve with a child to take care of, but at least Claire is old enough to babysit for a few hours. Something easy that the two of you enjoy is taking a drive out to get ice cream (and maybe some fries to dip in it? I love salty & sweet, sue me.) and sitting together in the car. You'll find someplace to park and eat your dessert, happily chatting or snuggling up to each other. And if you can't manage to get away from the house, then Six will go out and get the treats for you after the kids are asleep. You'll cuddle up on the couch, or on the loveseat on the porch during the summer, and fall deeper in love with the sweet man by your side.

smutty thoughts are under the cut.......

For starters, I want to give credit to @hederasgarden for this because she's the one who said Six has a housewife kink and I fully agree with it. By no means is he a lazy partner, but he does love to watch you cook in the kitchen and clean around the house. Both of those things make him look at you with hearts in his eyes and a growing erection in his pants. Especially if you happen to be wearing a pretty sundress. If the two of you are home alone when he gets riled up, he'll take you anywhere. He'll fuck you on the countertop, bend you over the side of the couch, or even halfway up the stairs on the way to the bedroom.

I also believe that Six has a major breeding kink. It might take him a year or two of being safe & settled to fully give himself into the kink, but once he does, he wants to pump you full of his seed every night. Six wants to see you barefoot and pregnant, and better yet — in a pretty sundress — and he won't rest until he gets it. If you thought him being riled up with his housewife kink was bad, just wait until he has to have you morning, noon, and night while you're ovulating. 🫣

After having kids, it's a lot harder to get that alone time together, but Six will happily sneak you away for a quickie. He knows your body so well that he can get both of you off in under ten minutes. Laundry needs switched over? He'll follow you in to "help." As soon as the dryer is on, he's got you bent over it — the sound of clothes tumbling around helps cover the noise of him pounding into you. Your baby just went down for a nap? Six will take you into your shared bedroom for a quickie, giving you an orgasm that puts you right to sleep. After all, you should be sleeping when the baby is, right? You need your rest, and while two of the most important people in his life are napping, he'll go downstairs to clean up the house or prep for dinner.

[softerhaze]

grandma’s old farm;

an unofficial simblreen gift! but also something i’ve been meaning to upload for over a year 😅 you may recognize this lot as a slightly remodeled version of what i used for my cottage living gameplay 🐣

stuff you should know;

- 50 x 40, 3 bedroom 3 bath residential lot, built for the “2 olde mill lane” lot in henford on bagley

- some cc is included either because the tou allows it or it’s named so vaguely that i couldn’t track the item down 🤷🏽‍♀️ everything not included is listed below

- standard tou applies; don’t re-upload, don’t claim as your own, be normal please etc etc

- the landscaping may not look exactly like the photos when placed because i used TOOL to put more trees around the perimeter of the lot

cc list;

brownstone windows // university windows expanded // oak house bathroom // winter garden doors // drainboard sink // london kitchen // london doors // brick foundation // art deco lights // alter eco set // brick accents // cottage garden deco //  paris doors // strangerville expanded // berlin (for outlets omg, very very optional) // witching hour decor // functional radiators

download (dropbox)

[lvrs-street2mmorrow]

Scary? My God, You’re Divine

| part 1

link to masterlist

pairings: ghost! beomgyu x fem! reader, coworker! yeonjun x fem! reader

summary: you’re excited to start a new chapter of life, moving into a relatively nice little place. though your landlord had said the place was old as rocks, it was remodeled and made new. you were never the type to be especially involved with the paranormal, but it becomes hard to deny that your new place has some quirks.

warnings: nothing really just a little angst

wc: 1.4k

a/n:i wanted to show you my work but i tried to get it out quickly so I’m sorry it’s short😭

You stand with your hands on your hips, admiring your hard work of getting those heavy boxes full of furniture into the sad, empty house by yourself. You mumble to yourself, "This is stupid."

You turn around to walk back outside since there’s no heater or AC yet, and it’s boiling in the new modern house.

Once you’ve left the house, you lock the door behind you and get in your car. Once you’re back home, you're holding your cup of coffee, your keys, and a bunch of other stuff, including your phone.

As you unlock the door, you hear something and brush it off as some sort of water pipe noise because the website said it was just remodeled, but the house is fairly old.

When you walk in, you see the old ceramic vase your mother made for you in your freshman year of highschool. You wonder why it’s on the ground since it was packaged away in some big heavy box you were too lazy to look in. You convince yourself you’re just too tired to remember that you grabbed it because you just moved in. Why would you try to make yourself scared like a little kid?

As you pump up your temporary air mattress and lay down your pillow, you hear a small tap on the wall but just roll your eyes, thinking it’s nothing.

When you wake up and check the kitchen where you planned to unpack things first, you see a fork on the marble counter that you didn’t place there. You shrug and put it into the silverware drawer with the silverware organizer you put there yesterday before you slept.

Once your two best friends, Huening Kai and Huening Bahiyyih, arrive, they help you move things and place items such as shelves and your couch. Kai hears a sound from the pantry full of cans you packed. He opens the door and sees that somehow one of the corn cans ended up with the green bean cans. He huffs, "Bahiyyih, I swear if you put this corn can on the—"

He and Bahiyyih hear a sudden scream from upstairs followed by a shout of "BUG!" and a few footsteps. But once she gets off the stairs, there's an extra footstep behind her that wasn’t hers. They think nothing of it because there is practically nothing in the house besides basic furniture: a couch, a bed, a desk, and a few appliances in the kitchen so it could have just been an echo.

Kai calls out your name, “Yo, did you put this can here?” You walk over and shake your head as you grab a water bottle. “No, why? I thought you guys were in charge of the food.” He huffs, “We were until Bahiyyih decided to spill water everywhere.”

You laugh as she pouts. “It was an accident!” she confesses, and Kai rolls his eyes. “Right…”

As the three of you set up the sleeping arrangements for the night, Kai and Bahiyyih leave to get some food. You are by yourself, sitting on the bed you are sharing with Bahiyyih, while Kai sleeps on the mattress on the floor.

You feel a cold gust pass through you and turn your head to check the temperature in the house. Something moves out of the corner of your eyes, and quite literally nothing could’ve prepared you for there to be a man standing at the doorway of your bedroom. You freeze.

“What are–who are you?’ You ask, muscles taut and ready to bolt. He just looks at you for a good minute, then opens his mouth to talk and says “you can see me?” he says with a tilt of his head.

You sit up and say, "Get out of my house, or I'll call the police!" He doesn't reply; instead, he sits there for a moment, then goes invisible for a second and reappears. You stand there in shock, your mouth open, and he just stares at you.

As soon as Kai and Bahiyyh get back, the man is immediately gone. They ask, "Girl, we just got you food. Are you okay?" Still a little shaken up, you reply, "Yeah, I'm just tired from moving a bunch of heavy boxes." Kai laughs, and you nod, going to grab the food the two goblins started eating before they got to the house.

You huff getting up and the others say they’re gonna go sleep so you decide to leave your food uneaten and just go sleep.in the morning your friends wake you up and it’s around 7 and 8am and you whine “shut up” she say with a pout because you want to sleep and they say “girl you have to wake up if you want to be over fixing up the house”

Once the house is finally organized, they leave, give you hugs, and you wave them goodbye. After they’re gone, you plop onto the couch to watch a movie. The only thing you're interested in is Mean Girls, it’s the only good thing on Netflix.

A few minutes before the movie ends, you hear a sound from the kitchen. You get up to check if it’s a mouse, as the landlord mentioned there might be mice in the first week. However, when you get there, the same man is standing there.

He’s wearing a fancy outfit with a white button-up top that looks like something a prince would wear, black dress shoes, and black formal pants. You back away and say, “Why are you in my house again? I said I’ll—”

He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you. When he steps, his steps don’t make a sound as he says, “Your house?”

You threaten to call the police on him again, and the handsome man tilts his head. “What’s the police?”

You say, “Are you stupid.” He just looks at you and shrugs his shoulders.

He says, “Well, my name's Beomgyu—”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not asking for your name. I’m asking you to get out of my fucking house,” you say,watching his movements with caution.

You sigh. “How long have you been here?” you ask, not as a question but as a demand.

When you try to touch him to drag him out of your house, your hand goes through him. You stop, and the world crashes around you. Did your hand just go through his arm? You sit open-mouthed, grasping at straws for a plausible reason for why that would happen. There are none. He seems a bit startled, too, watching your hand go through him. You stare at each other, a bit comically.

And then, like a wave that curls over and sucks you under, it hits you; you’re insane.

The man speaks. “how did that happen?”

You stand in shock like a deer in headlights, thinking you're literally insane, and you shrug. "I… I don't know what just happened." You go to grab him again and again, but your hand just keeps going through him with a small 'woosh' each time.

He says, just as scared as you, "I can't feel anything." he turns his head to look around your room and he says “are we insane?” you shrug replying “wait..what’s your last name..” you trail off forgetting his name “it’s Choi,Choi beomgyu is my name”

You look him up and down despite being terrified of him. "What are you wearing?" you ask, sighing as you judge his old-looking clothes. This guy looks like he's about to go to a Renaissance faire, you think, before your thoughts are cut off by him.

"Does your husband possibly know you've intruded on his wardrobe?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and a cocky smirk you just want to smack off his face.

You put your hands on your hips. "I don't have a husband. What do you mean?" You say it like you're truly offended, but you know you're not and you'd like to stay without one. You remember some sob story your aunt told you about boys when you were thirteen, and you've been avoiding boys left and right since then.

Later, you (well, mostly you) search up his name on Google, and it says that he was born in 1500 and died in 1523. He was a poet and a songwriter. It doesn’t mention the cause of death, and Beomgyu himself doesn’t seem to know how he died. He says, "I'm dead?" with a sad tone. You look at him in terror because you're literally looking at a ghost.

END PART 1

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception - Part I

Being shot is a real pain in the ass, especially if you're coming down with a cold. And that's exactly what's happening to this perpetually surly mercenary who has been forced into seclusion while he recovers.

But he's not the only one stuck in the middle of What Kind of Fresh Country Fuck Hell Nowhere. Someone is in the apartment next to his. Someone who knows something he shouldn't . . . and is obviously allergic to air.

Neither man is what they seem to be.

____________________________________________

The driveway is as long as a damn subdivision block, but the house at the end of it sure as hell isn't like his place.  Tall and shaded by trees, the rambling, archaic property sits by itself with no neighbors, no sidewalks.  No nothing.

When the boss said "the middle of nowhere," he wasn't even kidding.  

Goddamn it.

"Let me carry that."

Max's gruff voice at his side.  Not an offer, really.  More like he was going to do it and there wasn't room for discussion.  Typical.

Grimm grunts.  "Yeah. Whatever."  

Not like he can't manage with his good arm.  But Max isn't having any of his shit today, or any other day, for that matter.

"You're upstairs on the right," Max says as he falls into step beside Grimm, bag in hand.  "I tried to get you space on the first floor, but they're remodeling the--"

"It's fine," Grimm interrupts.  "It ain't my leg that's broken."

Max hefts the bag over his shoulder and fishes through his pocket for a key.  "You're still going to take it easy. Behave yourself or I'll see to it that we extend your stay."  He flicks icy blue eyes to Grimm.  "I mean it, Amadis."  

Oooo, resorting to surnames. So fucking terrifying.

"Yeah, yeah."  Grimm waves his good hand in a dismissive gesture.  

Not like he has a choice.  Couldn't be out in the field with a busted shoulder, much less with his arm in a sling.  The wound had been clean enough not to fuck up anything permanently.  He hopes.  At least, that was the line the doctors had fed him.  But damn, there had been a lot of blood. Lucky as hell that the bullet hadn't ripped through both sides of his body.

If one could call that a silver fucking lining.

He follows Max up the questionable facade of a staircase, the wooden slats complaining beneath his footfalls with every step.

Definitely a death trap in the making. 

"How old is this place?"

Max glances over his shoulder.  "Old."  

Grimm rolls his eyes.  

By the time they reach the third story, sweat has begun a steady trickle down the back of Grimm's neck, the small amount of physical exertion taking an unpleasant toll.  Which is stupid.  And annoying.  Fuck, the stab wound across his chest hadn't hurt as badly as this.

Max sets the bag down in front of a door that looks like it might cave in if Grimm breathes wrong and holds up a set of keys.

"The black one is the front door.  Silver is your room.  You've got a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, all of it.  We'll have groceries delivered to you once a week, but if you need anything, call Rex.  He'll make sure you get it."

"And if I wanna leave?"  

Max levels his stare at him.  "You won't."  

Hmn.  Grimm hooks a loose strand of his dark hair behind one ear as Max finagles the keyhole and convinces the door to open, carting his bag inside and dropping it in the middle of the living room area. 

"Fridge and cabinets are stocked.  Clean sheets on the bed.  Towels in the bathroom.  There's a curator on the property who takes care of all that, so she'll be by to check on you now and then. She's also a nurse and she'll help you with dressing that wound and repacking it.  Be nice to her."  

Grimm rakes a hand through his hair with sniffle.  "I'm nice, dammit."

"Uh huh."  

Max reaches into his pocket and produces a bottle with a white label.  "Take these."

Grimm eyes the label with a look of marked disdain.  Opioids. Not a fucking chance. "You know I'm not taking that shit."

 Max shoves the bottle at him.  "Take it anyway."  

He sets the bottle on the nearest piece of furniture and folds his good arm across his chest.  Too bad the damn sling ruins the effect.

"I'll be in touch," Max says.  "Rest, Grimm."

Like he has a choice. 

"I can't believe you're making me do this country isolation bullshit."  

Max's expression doesn't waver. "Believe it."  He pats Grimm's shoulder with one hand.  "And change your shirt.  You're about to drip sweat all over this ugly-as-hell rug."  

Mother. Fucker.

 "Smartass," Grimm says.

Max cracks a hint of smile. "Take care of that cold, too."

Grimm narrows his eyes. "What cold?"

Max doesn't respond, but takes off instead, leaving Grimm standing in the middle of his new quarters with a whole lot of silence and weird-ass furniture.  Floral couch with a high back and wooden feet.  A carved, pockmarked end table with wooden feet.  Mismatched coffee table with some kind of folded flaps on the side.  With wooden feet.  

"Somebody got a damn foot fetish around here or what?" Grimm mutters to no one in particular.  

Max is wrong about the "cold," but is right about his shirt.  A combination of a bumpy ride and a short stair climb has him sweating bullets.  He hefts the bag onto the couch and paws through it until he finds a black tank top.  A hell of a lot easier to manage than a T-shirt.  At least his target had the decency to shoot him on his non-dominant side.

He slips the sling over his head and pulls his arm out of the thing, grabs the back of his T-shirt with his good hand . . . and hisses with a wince.  

Fuck, fuck, fucking FUCK.

A deep breath.  A struggle.  The material peels its way from his damp skin with far too much effort, leaving him sweating and panting as if he's run a good ten miles without a break.  A shock of cold travels down his spine and he fights against a sudden wave of nausea that forces him to take a seat on the floral fuckery of a couch.

The bottle sits on the coffee table.  Beckoning.  Mocking. He flips it the middle finger and tosses the tank top back into the bag.  Fuck this whole shirt-wearing shit.

After securing his arm in the sling once more, he meanders into the kitchen, takes a quick inventory of the food.  

Chicken, veggies, some ground beef . . .and an entire shelf of instant ramen.  The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.  Max knows him too well.

Not to mention, it's easy as hell to make with one arm.  A few minutes of boiling water, some frozen stir fry veg, and a little soak later, dinner is served.  Grimm sits at the table, palms a pair of chopsticks, and settles in.  

From the stairwell comes the sound of footsteps, a jingle of keys, and the protesting creak of a door.  A rustle of bags.  Footfalls on aging hardwood.  

Grimm tilts his head.  Max had mentioned the house was sectioned into apartments, but he hadn't mentioned other visitors.  Who else even knew about this place, anyway?  It's not like it was on the map. 

And man, are the walls thin as hell.

Pretty much every move his neighbor makes is audible from dropping the keys on the table to moving into the kitchen to put away whatever it is that they're carrying.  Or maybe Grimm's hearing is just too finely tuned for his own damn good.  Not like it didn't come with the job.  

It is not until his neighbor retires to the back of the apartment that Grimm stops being able to hear him walking and moving around.  The soft tinkle of piano keys wafts from the other side of the wall in place of movement, a wistful and almost sad melody.  Was it being played or just listened to?  Not like Grimm knows enough about music to tell.  Still, whatever it might be is oddly soothing and he finishes his "dinner" and drags himself to the bedroom for a rest.  Or maybe just some tossing around and growling.

At least the bed is enormous and inviting enough, all carved with huge spiraling posts and some kind of bars connecting them.  Maybe for a canopy or something at one time.  But whatever, all he cares about is if the mattress is comfortable.  He eases himself onto the duvet and sprawls out as much as his damn shoulder will allow.  The sling isn't exactly comfortable, but he makes do with it via a few propped up pillows and little bit of shifting around.

His eyes drift shut, the whir of the fan a comfortable, lulling nuance that nearly drags him into sleep immediately.  Or at least until the abrupt sound of a sneeze from the other side of the wall snaps him out of it.  A bitingly sharp “EKSSCH!”  And another.  And another.

“EKSSCH! EKCHISSH!”

Well, damn.

A fourth follows less than a minute later and Grimm tilts his head back, eying the wall with a raise of one eyebrow.  

He raps his knuckles on the aging sheetrock.

“Hey,” he says. “You dying or what?”

Silence. Guess the guy didn't realize he had a neighbor, either.

“Yes,” comes the curt response after some time.

Grimm chuckles. Obviously male.  Deep voice, but not as deep as his rumbling bass. Some kind of posh-ass accent, too.  

“-iihEKSSH-uuuh!”

An irritated frustration of a sound that is clearly a “stop this shit right the fuck now!” level of annoyance.

“Bless you,” Grimm says, more out of amusement than anything else.

A pause he can almost feel follows before a quiet "thank you" is issued from the other side of the wall.   

His neighbor opens and closes a drawer or two and wanders back to the other side of the house, accompanied by a few more sneezes and what sounds like a well-placed curse at one point.�� 

That gets another round of chuckling.

Somewhere from inside the apartment, the piano music resumes and Grimm is now certain it is, in fact, not a recording.  The man is definitely playing whatever it is himself.  With a sigh, Grimm closes his eyes again. Maybe the guy will keep playing long enough for him to ignore his throbbing shoulder and pass the fuck out.  

The fan whirs, the plaintive strands of whatever the guy is playing a nice counterpoint to the white noise.  Grimm takes a deep breath. Exhales.  Repeats.  Sweat beads his brow, threatening to trickle into his ear and the ramen feels like a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach.  A hint of a groan escapes him.  The first few days are always the worst with a wound like this.  It'll pass.  Eventually. 

(TBC . . .maybe)