#fenced sanctuary

[vintagehomecollection]

Deck & Patio Styles, 1996

[henk-heijmans]

Path of the panther: a female Florida panther creeps through a fence between Audubon’s Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary and an adjacent cattle ranch, in Naples, Florida, USA, 2020 - by Carlton Ward Jr., American

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

Okay, so I remembered my pet peeve in the Sanctuary fandom, bear with me.

Ashley.

More accurately, how multiple fics, especially older ones, set her up as a vessel for Helen's future. The mother of the people that will keep Helen company through the upcoming years, once she's gone.

But to me, that diminishes Ashley's role in Helen's life.

Helen didn't freeze Ashley's embryo to preserve potential future generations. She froze Ashley's embryo to keep her safe from John when he was the Ripper, and probably because being a single mother with a bastard child at the time would have made both their lives even harder.

She did say that she finally carried Ashley's embryo to term because she couldn't bear the loneliness any longer, but that was a child that she already had. A child that she had been waiting to have. A child that she already cared about so much that she had gone to massive lengths to keep her safe.

There are stories out there that have Ashley being able to provide Helen with on-going generations of family pointed out when Ashley is just a few hours old. Or talk about how Helen was mourning the loss of future generations along with Ashley.

And, honestly? That annoys the hell out of me.

Reducing Ashley to a baby-machine. Reducing her worth to the children she can produce for Helen.

That view also diminishes Helen, I think, but mostly Ashley.

Ashley is her own person. Yes, she grew up in a strange world and was born to an immortal mother who loved her desperately and lost so many people before she came along and would one day lose her.

Expecting her to have children without considering her desires is bad enough, expecting her to have children for Helen's sake is even worse.

Ashley is a person that was wanted, a potential that already existed that Helen wanted to protect.

Any children Ashley might have borne were not stolen from Helen and I don't think Helen herself ever placed her happiness and hope in the idea of future generations. She told Ashley she was her life. Not once did she ever place expectations for continuation on Ashley.

Ashley was the person she loved. Ashley was the person that she lost.

Helen was not mourning her future descendants when she lost Ashley, she was mourning Ashley.

Reducing Ashley in Helen's life as a vessel for future generations so she won't be lonely diminishes both their characters and their relationship with each other.

Thank you for coming to my vent Ted talk.

[wandering-wolf23]

Oh god what did Owlvid do now?

1). Entertaining a user who wants to start harassment against a Redditor for the following reasons: said Reddit user doesn't think the Save a Fox is literally Satan incarnate, but fur farming really needs to be overhauled and Sea World isn't that great. Keep in mind, I found the Reddit user who said this and had to find some serious scrolling to find the "confrontation". It was civil and basically boiled down to the fact that the Redditor didn't think it was moral to wear fur from farmed foxes and that the current drama around Save a Fox is really overblown.

SAF isn't great. It's a damn sight better than a lot of sanctuaries because they euthanize for medical reasons and actually provide vet care, but it's not as good as some of the ones I've worked with. Granted, my rescue work has been focused around rescuing abused Amish workhorses, so I'm not the best to ask here. The food situation is probably boiling down to a "fed is best" approach (meaning: the food they are using is hyper-palatable, but not the best for the animals. They are probably trying to make up for it in supplements).

However. I have a similar situation with my cats. My vet told me that it's best to offer a food that everyone will eat every time and manage the issues as they come up.

SAF has a lot to be criticized for. I don't agree with a lot of what they do, but I can appreciate the mission. I can also appreciate the fact that Fish and Wildlife is not going to do anything because the proper permits are filed and paid for. I'm also assuming there's a rabies plan (the one I worked with had a rabies plan because they had dogs, cats, and an animal everyone suspected to be a wolf-dog).

However. Inciting harassment against a random Redditor for not agreeing with you 110% is a dick move.

2). Inserting themself into a discussion around the state of XL bullies in the UK and parroting lines from The Daily Mirror that came straight out of the anti-pit bull lobby. The Mirror is known for bad journalism. It's a tabloid. It's no different from those "Princess Diana was really a sex changing alien!!!1!!" magazines.

What's going on in that situation is a genetic mutation in the most popular line of dogs that didn't start popping up until fairly recently. The breeders were either A), puppy mills or B), didn't know the dogs had it.

Owlvid and Co picked up that, ran with it, and came up with the idea that XL bullies were bred to guard drug dens and eat people. Which, uh, is not the case. They're a companion breed. The issues are coming from one line of dogs that was super popular and than inbred. But of course, that doesn't get as much attention as a line from a racist rag.

TL;DR: drama around people not fully agreeing with them and wanting attention.

[shotmrmiller]

another thing i had in mind for ex husband simon was that this time you're more resistant. no touching, no nicknames that make you weak-kneed, nothing. divorce means divorce, and the wedge that split the two of you up would probably still be there.

fine by simon, he follows the rules to a T. hands to himself, polite greetings and only talks about the children. maybe for a birthday for the boys, he takes the family shopping for gifts since it's a tuesday and there won't be any party or whatever and when y'all come back home, the lights are on.

they'd been off when y'all left. simon quickly opens the middle console and pulls out his weapon and tells you to get in the drivers seat. should anything come running out, pedal to the metal.

a little bit of time passes, you're about to be driven crazy with anxiety but simon finally comes out, except he's empty handed.

comes to the side and opens the driver door. "whoever was in there is gone. probably hopped the back fence. i've already called the guys."

you're a sobbing mess because how dare someone come into your home? your sanctuary? what if-

and you come to a startling realization. what if you and the boys had been here? alone?

simon's looking down at his phone, and furrows his brows. "i gotta go get-" but you don't let him finish, trembling fingers grabbing the front of his shirt. "you cant leave us here. don't leave me alone. don't- just please. stay."

you're too upset to resist his embrace or correct him when he calls you sweetheart. the guys get there eventually, price and gaz waste no time in sweeping the area and you, accompanied by simon, tuck the kids to bed.

price calls it later, that the place seems to be clear. nothing really taken nor left behind. they all leave, johnny and kyle deciding to stay overnight across the street their car and simon also turns to bid you goodnight, except you don't let him.

you practically beg him to stay, that you won't feel safe without him here. the couch won't do because he's too far away, what if whoever that was comes in through the bedroom windows.

you seek comfort in him and in the dead of night, he whispers promises into your ear as he slides home. promises to keep you safe, to keep the kids safe. that he'd let nothing ever happened to you, not while he still lived and breathed.

when you're finally dozing, with his spend drying in between your legs, he grabs his phone and texts johnny that it's done, they can go home now.

johnny responds in seconds, telling him that he tore his very nice jeans jumping that rough hewn fence of theirs and that simon owes him a new pair.

[fawnsflowerbed]

I feel like over time Leon developed a belief that he simply wasn't supposed to be loved. That after endless bloodshed, the lives he took, the mistakes he made and people he lost, it just wasn't meant to be. The last time he dated someone they broke up, and he drank himself stupid before heading to Raccoon City with the world's worst hangover.

So how is he supposed to trust this?

How is he supposed to trust you?

You're a knife through the back waiting to happen, a car crash, a cleanly lined sniper's shot through the windows of the home you both shared. Being with you is a risk to every party involved. What if he turns his back, he looks away, and he loses you?

You and your gentle words, your delicate hands that cradle him. You and that smile that envelops his mind, that presses a wax seal into the second-thoughts and what-ifs, that mails away his insecurity. You who cares for him, takes care of him, holds him. Who cooks bad meals with him and bans him from the stove, who fixes what he breaks. It shouldn't be right, sometimes it doesn't feel right. Sometimes he snaps or sinks like a shark without a dorsal fin, sometimes he hopes he drowns in his sorrow so you realise that he is not the one you should love.

But you come out like a buoy, and you pick him up. And you give him space when he needs it and closeness when he needs it, you familiarise him with the concept of love.

And one day he realises how much he truly craves it. How much he wants your hands and touch and love to feel right. He can't promise he'll put down the bottle immediately, or that gunshots won't ring through his mind to awaken him in the night. He can't promise you a white picket fence life with a stable job and a neighbourhood shrouded in sanctuary and safety.

But he can promise he loves you. And that scares him more than anything.

And really? It feels like it's worth it now.

[wandasaura]

BENT RIGHT TO YOUR WINDS

summary — visiting your wife at work has become a normal part of your routine, but when she gets particularly handsy one afternoon, you find yourself christening her office whether you like it or not

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, consensual free use, established safeword (it’s not used), public play, office sex, groping, nipple stimulation, choking, teasing, semi brat!reader, oral fixation, fingers as a gag, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, slight degradation, making out, nearly getting caught, alludes to aftercare, wanda in a lab coat deserves a warning, men/minors dni

authors note — happy happy happy birthday to @godhatesgoodgirls !!

kinktober

The day had felt askew since you’d rolled out of bed, something amiss in the routine you’d settled yourself into since moving to the small beach town Wanda had secured a promotion in just seven months prior; when the weather had been warmer and the leaves had been vibrant with hues of green. You bristled at the breeze that swept off the shore the closer you got to central town, able to see the rippling high tides if you craned your neck just slightly to the left and peered through the shrubbery that framed an old ice cream parlor named ‘Sprinkles’, but your gaze was fixed on the large brownstone building that you’d initially sought out, your thoughts spiraling as you considered the misleading appearance. The work that was done inside was prestigious, innovative, a true slice of the future right at the fingertips of those that had access to the futuristic laboratories inside, but the outside fit the quaint white picket fence aesthetic of Westview seamlessly. Had you never been inside before, had you not been married to Wanda who left each morning in a wrinkleless white coat, you’d have thought it was just another Mom and Pop shop for tourists to ogle at, but you weren’t blinded by ignorance – for once you were liberated with knowledge and effortless love. 

You smiled softly at Darcy as you stepped inside, finally away from the chill that October had brought with it. The warm nights and blisteringly hot days of September were long behind you, replaced by the unforgiving assault that fall brought upon you and the other residents of Westview. The thick burnt orange and brown flannel around your shoulders did little to keep you warm, but at the very least it provided a sanctuary for your hands to hide away in as you walked the short mile from your two story house to the identifiable brownstone with ‘Romanoff Industries’ pinned to the front. There was a styrofoam jack-o-lantern on the front desk, and a string of harvest leaves behind the counter as well. The touches of decor were soft, delicate, but enough to revive the spirits of those that trekked into work each day; a thoughtful addition that didn’t make the routine of life feel so mindless. 

“Wanda’s in her office.” Darcy’s smile was sweet as she nodded her head toward the elevator despite knowing that you preferred to take the stairs. You wouldn’t call her a friend, but she was always a comfortable face to see when you made the journey into town to visit Wanda during her lunch break. Since April when you’d come to help set up the office space despite Wanda keeping her decor minimal and devoid of heavy personal connection, she’d picked up on your habits, and it had become something of a running bet to see how long it would take for you to give into her quiet pestering. You’d yet to take the elevator, and Darcy huffed quietly from behind the desk as you pointedly avoided the silver plaque with glimmering white buttons to instead enter the stairwell, which was decorated with a wooden pumpkin sign hanging from a single clear command strip. 

Natasha was definitely the one who had decorated, that much was obvious as you glanced at the decorations hung up within the interior of the stairwell. She was a very business oriented woman, that much you’d come to know since getting acquainted with Wanda’s coworkers and all of their unique relationships, and every story she retold of Natasha’s behavior throughout the day led you to believe that while she maintained a no bullshit attitude, there were soft, fleeting moments of tender care hidden beneath her stoic actions and expressions. She always pushed for Wanda to take a full hour lunch break, even though she preferred to eat as quickly as possible before returning to the lab, and on her birthday, which she hadn’t told anyone about, there had been a present sitting on her desk that was admittedly not very personal, but still touching because it meant that Natasha had remembered reading it on her transfer application. The touches of halloween decor was minimal, and honestly, somewhat laughable, but there was a softer message beneath the taped up scarecrow and the wonkily hung jack-o-lanterns. Even if the holidays were of no relevance to Natasha, who you knew worked every holiday that she could because Wanda was always prattling on about her data being changed during the few days off they received for things like Christmas and Easter, she knew that it mattered to her staff, and she tried her best to put some effort into boosting moral around the office. 

When you entered Wanda’s office, the meticulously clean room being just beside the stairwell door, you noticed her lack of presence, which was odd. Wanda was always around when she knew you were coming, not wanting any of her other co-workers to get the chance to report back to Natasha claiming you were snooping through classified files. It had never happened, but the people at her old placement had started that rumor anyways, and Yelena, her boss that had become something of a close friend to you even if you rarely spoke with her grueling work schedule and your lack of genuinely trying, had merely rolled her eyes, but had still been required to scold Wanda for her negligence. Natasha’s hand would be forced the same way if anyone began those rumors again, so Wanda, bless her, had tried to nip them in the butt before they could even truly begin, which brought you right back to your confusion as you looked around the office. The salad she’d made before leaving was sat on her desk, picked through and beginning to wilt, signaling that she’d either forgotten to put the ice pack in her lunch box again despite the pink sticky note you left on the freezer door, or she’d taken lunch early by Natasha’s forcing. You hoped you weren’t interrupting anything important, not aware of your plans being subject to change, but before you could dwell on what she could possibly be doing somewhere misplaced in the large office building, you felt hands wrapping around your body and pulling you backward. 

A soft gasp fell off of your lips when the door was kicked closed, and then you realized what was happening. A breathy whine fell off your lips when fingers pinched at your nipples through the thick material of your shirt, the unbuttoned flannel thrown over your shoulders allowing your attacker to feel the way they pebbled without a bra to conceal them. The flash of white as one hand reached up to hold onto your neck had you melting against her chest, somewhat out of breath from the shock that had rattled you initially. 

“Wanda.” You sighed softly, head lulling to the side when teeth nipped at your neck before passionate kisses were pressed into your skin and trialed downward toward the collar of your shirt. “Wanda, you’re at work.” You tried again, face growing flush as you stared ahead at the open blinds. If anyone was standing across the street, if they craned their head just the slightest bit upward, they’d undoubtedly be able to make out the silhouette of your body being groped. A whine fell off of your lips when a curious hand pinched at your nipples once more, relishing in the way they hardened beneath harsh pressure. 

“Shh, baby. Just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.” She’d have stopped if you really wanted her to. All that you had to do was say a single word, and her hands would be off of you faster than they’d grabbed you to begin with, but the rush of excitement that had your clit pulsating against the seam of your leggings deterred you from making that choice. Wanda clearly knew that her office was safe enough to touch you in this way, and not so secretly, you yearned for the thrill of somebody knocking on the door, forcing the both of you to spring apart and attempt to collect yourself in time for them to not grow concerned beyond the threshold. Another added bonus was the dominance in which she touched you with, leaving nothing up for your consideration, merely taking what she wanted and giving what she wanted you to have. There was something so tantalizing about being at her disposal whenever and however she pleased, and you’d both gone to great lengths to ensure that this element of your sexual relationship was both consensual and comfortable for the both of you, not just her. She wasn’t doing anything that you hadn’t previously agreed to, in fact, you wish she’d do more. You wished her hands would stop toying with the collar of your shirt and wrap around your neck the way that you adored, that her hands would stop fiddling with your nipples overtop of your shirt and seek the price you hid beneath the thick cotton. You wished she’d travel lower, exploit that sensitive nerve between your legs that she knew how to manipulate until you were merely putty in her hands begging for release that she had every right to deny you. You wished she’d stop handling you so softly. 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to at least make it worth my while, Maximoff.” You rushed out, eyes closed as pleasure seized your thoughts, pinning you in place as she twisted your nipple sadistically, enjoying the way every muscle in your body tightened before it melted away into bliss that you couldn’t fight. She chuckled darkly against your neck, her hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear. 

“Trying to tell me what to do, pretty girl?” She quizzed, pulling you back against her chest with a firm grip around your midsection, her fingers that weren’t taunting your sensitive nipples fiddling with the waistband of your leggings that begged to be slipped down lower until your cunt was exposed to the heat circulating through the spacious office. “When has that ever worked out well for you?” 

“Never.” You gritted through clenched teeth, taking in a large breath when the first instance of getting what you wanted from her presented itself, but you were foolish to think she’d cave to your bratting so easily, and just as easily as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings to pull at the hem of your delicate panties, they were gone and trailed back up your body until they found a comfortable home against your neck. Her fingers squeezed tightly, and the sudden change in air going to your lungs had your eyes fluttering closed as you slumped against her chest, writhing in pleasurable pain as she again pulled at your taut nipples and chuckled whimsically. 

“I applaud your efforts, detka, but you’re not here to make demands.” You gasped when teeth sank into your neck, right above where her thumb rested along the column of your skin, practically burning you with its possessive grip. A deep sense of pleasure rolled through your body when her knee pushed between your legs, her toned thigh sitting around against your clit, further driving the seam of your pants into your intimacy, giving you just an ounce of friction, which you took eagerly, rocking against her clothed thigh as you felt the impression of her pens in the breast pocket of her lab coat digging into you shoulder blade. “So easy, malyshka. Would you let anyone touch you like this? Have you wherever they wanted?” She knows that answer is a firm no, but still she likes to taunt your desperation for her touch, and it only adds to the humiliation that's beginning to pile up on you as you become desperate enough to rock against the thigh between your legs, desperate sounds falling off your lips as you attempt to silence your need. “So noisy, we’re gonna have to do something about that.” 

You’re shoved away from her body like merely touching your skin is enough to burn her, and you can’t help but meekly whimper at the loss of contant. It lasts for merely a handful of seconds, her hungry eyes undressing you as you found your footing and steadied yourself. “Pants around your ankles. I don’t have time for you to look at me like a deer in headlights.” She grumbles, already beginning to move around the office and ensure that the blinds are properly drawn as you push down your leggings and fold yourself over the desk in the way that you know she wants. Your ass sticks out just enough for your glistening cunt to be visible, and a sadistic chuckle warms your skin as she sets her eyes on you already dripping for her. “You like when I take advantage of you, baby? When I tell you to come meet me for lunch just so I can play with your cunt?” It all makes sense now, and you can’t help but cry out in surprise when her palm comes down on the globe of your ass and leaves a stinging sensation in its wake. Another hit follows, this time harder and directed at your lower thighs, but there’s not time for you to respond before she’s pushing two fingers into your folds and setting a brutal pace as she works to have you coming undone. 

She’d nearly been late to work that morning, too focused on obsessing over you to a degree that should’ve made her plans for the afternoon obvious. She’d asked you a few hundred questions, about how you were doing mentally, how you felt being in Westview now that it wasn’t so new, if you were still getting caught between feelings of sadness and longing in moments that you couldn’t have predicted such a strong overcoming of emotion. You hadn’t thought anything about it until now, but as you gathered the full picture, you can see that she was checking in, ensuring that none of this would affect you in any way other than positively. If her hand wasn’t holding your back firmly against her desk, you would’ve spun around to kiss her, but all that you could do now was whine as her fingers hammered into you, curling upward if only to graze that sensitive spot within your walls minimally. She was toying with you, teasing you, seeing how long she could prolong your pleasure until you begged for her to give you more. 

It came quickly, because the overwhelming assault of your love for her only multiplied the pleasure that her fingers were provoking within your core, and the small movements of your hips pushing back against her fingers only gained you so much. “Please! Please! I need more!” You begged, tears blurring in your vision as your moans and whines became too loud, and were quickly silenced by her fingers forcing themselves into your mouth. She pressed down on your tongue cynically, chuckling to herself as you gagged and moaned around her now sodden digits. 

She didn’t try to deny you though, working faster, pressing against that sweet spot within you with purpose now, dragging out every ounce of pleasure you allowed her to take, her thumb falling onto your clit as she guided you towards an orgasm that had to be silent, the sounds of footsteps just beyond the office door reminding you of where you are. 

“Cum for me, detka. It’s okay, you can let go.” She cooed as she felt your walls begin to squeeze her fingers, fluttering and pulsating with each ounce of pleasure she drew out of you. That was all it took for you to fall apart, her fingers in your mouth silencing the whines and moans that attempted to fall into the air, but became muffled and soft sounding as her digits prevented them from fully forming on your tongue. Your thighs trembled as she withdrew her fingers, your brain a jumbled mess of pleasure and submission as you reached for your pants and worked them up your legs. 

You smiled softly as she turned you around in her arms, laying a kiss to your lips that was soft and tender like she always was. “Did you eat?” She checked in, no longer radiating dominance that had your mind whirling with pleasurable incoherence, and just barely did you manage to nod your head before the door swung upon and one of her colleges that you’d heard about stood in the doorway with a beam of pride on her lips, entirely unaware of what she’d almost barged in on. 

“We made a development! Like, a big development!” Kate rambled with excitement, taking off down the hallway and back toward the lab before Wanda even had a chance to reply. 

You batted at the woman's chest, your hand landing right against her breast pocket where three black pens were meticulously pinned, your cheeks flush in mortification. “You didn’t lock the door?!” 

“Whoops?” She grinned bashfully, stealing one last kiss before she was racing out of the office and in the direction that Kate had fled to. “I’ll see you at home, baby! Love you!”

[gurugirl]

Next Door Neighbors

Summary: You just wanted peace and quiet and Harry just wanted to jam out in his garage for his birthday. So you decide to confront your new neighbor but things don't go as you planned.

A/N: Here it is! Sorry I didn't get it out earlier but it's here now! Enjoy this little 🎈 Harry Styles Happy Birthday Treat 🎈xoxo

Word Count: 7.8k

Warning: 18+ only, smut

It was the perfect house with the perfect backyard in the perfect neighborhood. You’d hit the jackpot. Your first big girl purchase. A house with a lovely garden, two bedrooms, a lovely little kitchen with the perfect rays of light that shone in through the big windows all morning. And the neighborhood was nice and quiet where you could enjoy your weekends in peace reading to your heart’s content.

It was a huge upgrade from the apartment life you endured for years while you saved up for just this thing. And you’d finally found it. Things seemed to be coming together for you in life finally.

On Friday after you got off work, Zoya called, asking if you wanted to go out with the girls but you politely declined, “I’m just gonna stay in I think. I hope you don’t mind. Maybe next weekend, Zo.”

You had a bottle of wine tucked under your arm as you held your cell phone to your ear on your way to the checkout lane at the little neighborhood market a few blocks from your house. Your new house. The one with your name on the mortgage.

Your plan was to drink a little wine in your cute new backyard and read a book, just taking in the peace of your new place.

You turned on the twinkle lights over your back porch (your dad had helped you put them up into the trees) and sat down in your outdoor lounge chair with a glass of wine and the book you’d been looking forward to reading. The sun had just gone down and you could hear crickets. A perfect Friday night, in your opinion.

That is until you were twenty pages into your book and suddenly the loud racket of what sounded like obnoxiously loud live music playing from next door had you closing your book and standing up to investigate.

The closer you got the more you could hear the unmistakable sound of a live band playing, the pop of a snare drum, the trill of a guitar... You looked over the wood fence into the driveway of your neighbor’s home and couldn’t see much but you saw lights on inside of the garage and the loud ruckus of a homemade instrumental band.

You didn’t want to be one of those neighbors. One of those awful people who complained about everything their neighbors did. But this was ridiculous. It seemed they had no regard for any of the people that lived around them.

Walking back to what was supposed to be your little oasis you sat down and grumped to yourself about how rude some people could be. You’d give them one hour until you went over there and told them in person to lower the noise.

You’d only been living in your little house for a few days and this was your first Friday night. You had really been looking forward to a peaceful night at home. Not even your second glass of wine could calm you down.

You didn’t know why you were so mad about it. In your apartment, you were bombarded with noise from all the neighbors who shared a wall with you and the loud heard of elephants that lived above you.

But this? It was meant to be your sanctuary. Your place of solitude.

But you’d had it. When an hour had passed and you paced around your backyard getting up the nerve to walk over there you huffed and psyched yourself up as you made your way into the front yard of your neighbor’s house and could see three men inside the wide open garage. A drummer pounding away, and two men standing – one with a guitar and another with a bass.

You stepped into the driveway and clutched your cardigan closer to your chest as you appeared at the threshold of the garage and the music abruptly stopped when the tall one with dark curls laid his eyes on you.

“Hi. You’re the new neighbor,” he raised his hand from the neck of the guitar he had slung over his shoulder and smiled.

You instantly no longer were raging with anger when you heard his voice and realized this was the man you’d seen briefly the morning before as he got into his car. You imagined he was attractive but not this attractive. Tattoos along one arm, thick curls, plush pink lips, dimples…

“Uh… yeah. I just moved in next door a few days ago.” You looked behind yourself and back toward the men before continuing, “I was hoping you guys could–“

Your voice was cut off by the clash of a symbol then the hit of a snare before the drummer tapped his sticks together, “We’re in the middle of something here in case you didn’t see.”

“Hey… chill. Don’t be rude man,” the curly-headed man with the guitar shot a look at the drummer before looking back at you, “What were you saying? Sorry.”

You shifted on your feet, “I was wondering if you guys could keep it down. It’s so loud and it’s all I can hear while I’m trying to read.”

The guy with the bass guitar spoke, “Oh come on, lady. We hardly ever get to do this.”

Your neighbor began removing his guitar, lifting the strap over his head as he looked at the other two, “Let’s call it a night guys. That’s enough.”

The other two began to grumble as they packed away their things and your neighbor stepped out of the garage in front of you with his hand held out to you, “I’m Harry.”

You smiled and placed your palm against his, “Y/n.”

The drummer came up beside Harry, “Today’s his birthday you know. The only thing he wanted today was to jam out for a bit.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Harry, “Oh. I didn’t know. I’m sorry… you–“

“Don’t worry about it. We had a good hour. I’m beat anyway. Long week at work.”

The bassist gave Harry a side hug, “I’m gonna head home. See you later, okay? Happy birthday, dude.”

“Oh. I should leave. I’m really sorry again,” you waved as you began to back away.

But Harry stepped in toward you, “Stick around for a minute okay?”

The drummer followed suit, bidding Harry a happy birthday and then getting into his car to drive away as you stood awkwardly at the edge of the garage until it was just you and Harry.

“I’m sorry. I feel really bad that they left. And it’s your birthday too? I’ll… do you want a bottle of wine or something? Let me grab you a bottle as a gift and an apology…”

Harry grinned at you and shook his head, “Mind if I come with you? I’d love to see the inside of the house. Never got the chance to see it before. That can be your birthday gift to me.”

You noted the smirk on his face, his confident posture, and then you realized he had crystalline green eyes. Something in the way he was looking at you gave you those ridiculous butterflies in your tummy.

“Yeah. Of course, Harry.” You turned and he followed behind you as you led him into your backyard, closing the gate behind yourself.

“This is the backyard. I’m gonna put in some flowers over there,” you pointed, “And maybe do something with the porch at some point.”

Harry looked around the backyard briefly before he put his gaze back on you as you opened up your door to let him inside. You were sure you were insane to be letting your neighbor, whom you did not know, into our house with you alone at night, but you only live once, isn’t that what they say?

“Kitchen,” you gestured your hand and then moved through into the living room where Harry trailed behind you and looked around.

“It’s nice. I like how big the windows are. Always was jealous of how big they are compared to mine.”

You looked up at him and smiled, “It’s one of the reasons I bought the place. The window in the kitchen overlooking the backyard kind of sealed the deal for me. Lots of great light comes in for most of the day.”

“I bet it does,” he kept his eyes on you and your tummy was still fluttering about.

“Over here is the bedroom,” you flipped on the switch, “It’s got its own full bathroom. Tiny but I like it.” You turned to move down the hall and flipped on the switch to the hallway bathroom, “Another bathroom, here,” and then moved to the final door, pushing it open to an empty room, “And at some point, I’ll furnish this. It’ll be like an office, guest room sort of thing.”

You turned off the light and looked back at Harry who was standing right behind you.

“Thank you, for showing me around.”

You felt your face warm up as you looked at him. You liked how he said your name. Liked how his lips moved around his words when he spoke.

“Of course. Um… do you want any wine? I was a glass and a half into a bottle if you want to finish it with me?”

That was an easy yes from Harry. You brought your glass in from outside and pulled out a clean one for your neighbor before pouring a bit of the burgundy liquid inside for him.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” you held your glass out to him and he tapped the edge of his glass to yours, “Sorry that I ruined it, though. I kind of feel awful.”

Harry shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. Like I said, it was a long week at work and we had a good hour anyway. Plus this is nice. Getting to know my neighbor,” he took a sip of his wine.

“How old are you today?” You took a sip of your wine as you watched him.

“30,” he sighed, “Grown adult officially.” He smiled.

You laughed at his remark and nodded, “Yes, 30 marks the official entry into adulthood. That’s my belief as well.”

You really liked Harry. He was easy to talk to and you decided he made you feel very comfortable.

“So, you’re a musician?” You raised your brows.

He shook his head and chuckled, “Well, I like to sing and play instruments. I’m not really great or anything. Just a hobby. Used to be in a band in college but then I realized I had to get a real job and figure out how to pay my bills and get along in life.”

You leaned your bottom into your kitchen counter and smiled at him, “Oh yeah. I know all about that. Would be nice if we could make good money just doing our hobbies so we didn’t have to get real jobs,” you laughed, “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an electrical contractor. Have a small business with three employees. It’s hard work but it pays well. Most of the time.”

You smiled. He continued to get more attractive the more he talked and the more you learned. It didn’t hurt that you could tell he was in incredibly great shape as well. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and his shirt stretched tightly over the lats at his back and hung loosely where his waist was, indicating a nice healthy build and upper body strength. His arms were lean muscle and even his thighs filled out the tops of his jeans so you understood it wasn’t just his upper body that was well-muscled.

You heard Harry chuckle as you darted your eyes back up to his. You’d been caught checking him out. You hadn’t meant to let your eyes scrape down his frame but… well. Here you were.

“And what do you do, Y/n?”

Harry kept his sight on you as he sipped from his glass. His sultry gaze was doing things to your hormones and making your heart pump a little harder behind your ribcage.

“I’m the general manager at SpendCo,” you laughed and shrugged, “Not a fancy job but I like it. Good benefits. Was able to save up for this place,” you gestured your hand around the kitchen.

“My job’s not fancy either,” Harry laughed, “But yeah. It’s steady work. A good paycheck.”

You nodded. You could relate in some ways. You’d gone to school for business but wound up working your way up from the bottom at SpendCo. When you started you were making just over minimum wage as a cashier, but now you worked in the office, Monday through Friday (no more weekends for you) and had shift managers and employees working under you. It felt good to be the boss.

“Wanna sit in the living room? Couch is brand new. In fact, I’ve hardly even had the chance to sit in it myself.”

“Yeah. Let’s break that couch in, Y/n,” Harry grinned as he nudged you with his shoulder.

Oh?

You laughed at his comment but decided to not take it the way you imagined he meant. Of course, he obviously meant just sitting on it and breaking it in that way. Certainly, there were no innuendos behind his words.

You didn’t have a proper coffee table yet so you pulled an empty bin with a lid to the front of the couch, “We’ll use this to put our glasses on. Still not done decorating or buying things I need, as you can tell.”

Harry sat his glass down on the plastic lid of the bin and pointed at your stereo setup next to the TV, “Can I put on some music?”

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled as you took another sip of your wine and watched your handsome neighbor get up and turn on your stereo and speakers. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and searched for the Bluetooth to connect and a song began to play over your speakers.

“Like Chris Isaak?” Harry asked as he sat down on the couch, right next to you, his knee knocking into yours.

“Yeah… I think. I’ve heard this song before anyway,” you smiled as you looked down at your thighs.

Harry leaned his back into the cushion and you felt him shifting next to you, his arm propped up on the back of the seat behind you.

“So where did you live before you moved in here?”

You turned your head to look at him before placing your eyes safely on the plastic bin, “In an apartment over in Roger’s Park. Nice little neighborhood. But I hated living in an apartment. Lugging groceries up three flights of stairs every time I went shopping. I mean I got used to it but still…” you laughed.

“Oh yeah. I know what you mean. I used to live in an apartment too. Actually also in Roger’s Park… but that was like five years ago.”

You peeked at him with your brows raised, “Yeah? You lived in Roger’s Park too? What area?”

“Off Grand near the big bus terminal.”

“Wait. For real? At Sheraton Oaks?”

Harry furrowed his brows and squinted, “Yes. Shit. Is that where you lived?”

“It is. 3rd floor. Apartment 10.”

Harry turned his body toward you, his thigh flush against yours, “No fucking way, Y/n. I lived in apartment 10,” he pointed his thumb at himself with a wide surprised grin on his face.

You shook your head and looked at him in disbelief, “That’s wild. How funny that two people who used to live in the same apartment at different times became next-door neighbors. What are the chances?”

Harry laughed, “Seems quite unlikely in such a big city.”

You and Harry sat facing one another in amazement as a new song came on.

“You okay?” Harry’s pupils ran over your features and you saw him looking at your lips as he poked his tongue out to wet his own.

“Yeah. Why?”

Harry softly smiled as he lifted his hand to your face and you felt the pad of his thumb press into your cheek, “You’re biting the inside of your cheeks. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t nervous or something.”

You puffed out a laugh and shook your head, “No. I’m not nervous. Sometimes I chew on the inside of my cheeks. Bad habit.”

Harry nodded shallowly with his eyes on you but he didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for his glass and took a sip of wine.

“So… um…” you glanced at him and shot your eyes to his hand that held the stem of the glass. His hands were nice and big and you noticed he had his nails painted, alternating blue and yellow.

“So, um… What? What were you gonna say?”

You gulped and forced yourself to look into his eyes. He was so handsome and you were beginning to get hot all over. He was too close (not that that was a bad thing), his thigh was solid against yours, and his eyes were drawing something out of you. He was alluring.

“I don’t…” you shook your head, “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth, a muted grin on his face as you watched dimples carve into his cheeks. Like he knew what you were thinking.

“I like this sweater,” he gestured toward your cardigan and you looked down at it. It was knitted with a cat playing with a ball of yarn on the left side.

“My aunt bought it for me for Christmas last year,” you smiled and as you brought your eyes up you noticed he was wearing a necklace but you couldn’t see the whole thing as it was tucked under his t-shirt.

He pulled at a button on your cardigan and cocked his head as he looked at you, “Are you sure you’re okay, Y/n? Do you want me to leave?”

Your eyes widened, “Oh no. This is nice. I… I’m okay. Honestly.”

“Okay. You just seem a little frazzled. Want to make sure I’m not doing anything that’s making you uncomfortable.”

You shook your head, “No. You’re great. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable.” You bit your bottom lip into your mouth and tried to give off an air of calm and confidence like Harry was but he was something else. He was so incredibly attractive and the eye contact was making you slowly melt. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to what it would be like to kiss him.

He grinned, one side of his mouth pulling upward, “I see.”

You watched as he took a deep breath and placed his wine glass back down before looking back into your eyes, “So, um… can I ask you a personal question?”

You nodded, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you have a boyfriend or…?”

Your brows raised upward, “Oh. Uh, no. No boyfriend,” you put your hands into your lap and fiddled with your fingers, “And, uh… you? Significant other?”

A breathy laugh fell from his chest as he shook his head, “Nope.” He popped the p as he responded.

You nodded and looked down at the hand that he’d placed over his thigh. His pinky was pressed into your leg. You were sure he was giving you some kind of signal. All the signs were there. His body language, eye contact, asking you about a boyfriend, and the nearness of him… He was so close you could smell the soap he used.

“Mmm…” you racked your brain to think of anything to say, “How long have you lived here?”

He licked his lips again, “Five years. Moved out of Sheraton Oaks and then bought the house next door.”

You smiled, “So that means I moved in right after you moved out.”

Harry slowly moved his hand further toward your leg and you felt his pinky and ring finger press into your leggings before subtly bending his pinky finger out to rub the fabric under his digit, “Sounds like we have a lot in common.”

“Yeah. Guess so,” you gave him a weak smile and looked down at his hand.

“Am I overstepping?”

You shook your head and looked up at him.

“No? What about if I kissed you? Is that too much?”

Your breath caught in your lungs as you kept your eyes pinned to his and shook your head again.

“No, it’s not too much? Or no you don’t want me to kiss you?”

You swallowed and your heart bounced around in your chest so wildly you could almost hear it, “No, it’s not too much.”

The smile on Harry’s face was soft as he looked from your eyes to your mouth, “It’s okay then? You don’t mind the birthday boy stealing a kiss from his cute neighbor?”

That pulled a laugh from you just as he hoped it would, “I’d like that I think.”

Harry slid his free hand up to the side of your neck, his thumb at the base of your jaw close to your ear, “Last chance to say no.”

You laughed again and placed your palm over the top of his hand that had fully moved over your thigh, “Kiss me.”

The slow movement of his face toward yours, the nudge of his nose to your skin, hot puffs of breath spreading over your cheek, soft lips brushing against the edge of your mouth, before he finally pressed his smooth pink lips against yours was alchemic. Something about him, about the way he handled himself and spoke to you and devoured you with his eyes… But with his mouth against yours, his thumb softly rubbing at your jaw, and his hand moving to fit his fingers between yours as he kept it pressed over your thigh you felt electrified.

And he tasted like mint and smelled like soap and his lips were smooth and moist against yours. Your Friday night had already turned out far better than you imagined it would.

Yeah. Making out on your new couch in your new house with your new neighbor was way better.

You slid the palm of your free hand up his shoulder and to the nape of his neck as his own grip on the side of your neck and jaw tightened the slightest.

But your mind was on his mouth. The heat coming from his touch. The way his tongue slid through your lips to beckon them open…

Harry pulled at your hand and urged you toward his lap. Parting your legs you sat down over the spread of his thighs, settling yourself as close to him as possible.

He slid his hands up your thighs and you felt ravenous. It was as if sitting in his lap made it so much more real. He was moving things along and you were keeping pace.

You pressed your tongue against his and softly rocked your hips down. As your pelvis tilted against Harry, he moaned into your mouth and it was the hottest thing you’d ever heard.

“Fuck. You still good?” He parted from the kiss, keeping his nose bumped against yours.

You breathed out a yes as you nodded and when you lifted your face your lips brushed against his and it started all over again. Lips smothered over lips and tongues wetly dragging against tongues.

Harry’s hands inched up to your hips and you pressed your fingers into the back of his neck, feeling his pulse, steady and strong under your skin.

He lapped over your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and then dropped his cushiony lips down to your jaw, peppering damp kisses under the space of your chin and over your neck.

You loved having your neck kissed. Not just loved it… you craved it. The feel of a man’s breath and mouth and tongue and nose against your pulse point and the delicate skin that wrapped over blood pumping through your arteries had your skin tingling.

Another rock of your hips down and you felt the obvious swell of something growing under his jeans. He hissed and you backed away from his mouth, not knowing if his sharp inhale was from pain or if he liked the slide of the fabric over your crotch pressing against him.

When you looked at his eyes he was a different man. His pupils had widened and his plush pink lips were wet and parted, nostrils taking in air heavily as you felt his fingers dig into your hips.

“Did I hurt you?” You brought one of your hands toward his jaw feeling the light scruff along the bone under your knuckles.

He shook his head, “No. Not at all. But I do need to reposition.”

You looked down between your bodies and moved back on his thighs to give him space but before your brain could connect to your motions you were reaching down for his button to unpluck from the thick jean fabric. He gently lifted his hips as you unzipped his pants and then you looked at him as you pushed the bottom hem of his shirt upward over the band of his underwear.

“You wanna help?” He spoke breathily as you nodded and pulled the elastic away from his skin with one hand and used the other to reach under the fabric. It was sparse hair and skin and then and then denser hair and warmth until you felt him tucked awkwardly to the side against his pelvis.

The small coo that fell from your mouth was involuntary as you wrapped your hand around him. Hot and thick in your hand. He inhaled sharply again when he felt your palm on his cock as you helped guide him upright.

Your breath was unsteady and shallow as you kept your eyes on Harry’s, “God, Harry.”

“What?” His teasing smirk gave away that he knew what. He knew his cock was big and watching your reaction to that was pleasing.

You gulped and peeked down at it, your hand still holding the fabric away from his hips. A swollen, smooth ruddy colored tip that matched the pink of his lips. The length of which pushed out from the top of the band and sat perfectly in between two fern tattoos at his hips along the bare part of his skin.

“It’s…” you looked back up at him, “It’s nice.”

Harry breathed out a laugh, “Nice? Why thank you.” He grinned.

But then you felt his fingers slide under your t-shirt, pushing the fabric up slowly until his skin was pressed into your sides. It felt like he was urging you to remove your shirt so you did. Pulling your cardigan off first you let it fall to the floor at Harry’s feet before you peeled your t-shirt off.

Harry was surprised to see you weren’t wearing a bra. It had been easy enough to hide under the knitted sweater you figured, so you never put a bra on when you went to confront him earlier. And of course, you weren’t wearing one. It was meant to be a quiet Friday night in. There had been no need.

He pushed his hands up your sides until his fingers were wrapped around your ribs with his thumbs pressing into the soft plump underside of your tits.

You watched him take you in. Your nipples were straining and goosebumps littered your flesh as he ghosted his thumbs along the sensitive tissue.

It felt like so much. You had never done anything remotely sexual with someone you didn’t know. But Harry was hot and you were turned on. So much so that you could feel the dampness in your panties.

You reached back to his chest, pulling at his shirt. You wanted to see more. Wanted to know what he looked like underneath it all. You knew he was fit. And you were positive there were more tattoos hidden away under the material of his shirt.

With his eyes on yours, he moved his hands away from your breasts and pulled his shirt off, taking the back and bringing it over his head at the front. You got a glimpse of the necklace he wore. A white gold cross that slapped against his chest when it caught on the fabric of his shirt as he removed it.

You had been right. His body was defined and strong. Bulky muscular pecs and toned abs. Inked skin from his clavicle to the butterfly under his pectorals and down to the ferns, where his cock poked out of the top of his underwear.

Pressing your palms over his pecs you smoothed your hands down over his nipples and to the butterfly tattoo underneath.

Harry put his hands on your hips again while you admired his torso and you felt his fingers dip under the waistband of your dark-colored tights. Another signal. A question seeking approval for more.

Drawing your eyes up to his you put your hands over his fingers and pushed the material down with him.

Of course, sitting in his lap hindered too much movement but he understood your hint as he pushed you up by your hips and you found yourself being moved off of his lap to your back on the couch.

“Still good, Y/n?” He looked at you with those dark pupils, an air of respectful authority. He made your skin boil.

You nodded, “I’m good.”

Harry began to pull at the stretchy fabric, bringing it down your hips and over your thighs til your knees were free and then he lifted your legs so he could get the leggings off your feet.

When your pants were on the floor, he still had your legs held upward, one hand at the back of your ankles and you peered down at him indulging in the sight of your skin at the back of your thighs and down to your bottom covered in your panties.

You saw a grin on his face as he brought your legs down before he stood up and pulled his jeans off his legs.

His body was so strong and masculine. He could easily dominate you, the thought briefly crossed your mind as you watched the muscles in his arms flex, his abs clench, and the sinew on his powerful-looking thighs bulge as he steadied himself one leg at a time until his jeans were off and he was only clad in his underwear with dark inky designs on his skin and even on his thigh.

He kneed himself down onto the couch, hovering over you as you naturally spread your legs to allow him space between your thighs.

And the feel of his hard shaft pressing over your mound before his lips dropped down to yours once again had you dazed. It almost didn’t feel real.

“So fucking hot, Y/n…” he whispered against your lips, “Made me so hard.”

You gasped when he rocked himself down over you, fabric rubbing against fabric until your arousal had seeped through your panties and began wetting his underwear.

He moaned and parted from this kiss, “You’re all wet.” He slid himself upward and then back with a grin. “You like that?”

You nodded with a moan.

“Yeah? What else do you want, Y/n? Hm? Want to get rid of these panties?”

You moved your shaky hands down your hips and pushed at the fabric to bring them down. All you wanted was him. Your hormones were screaming at you and all you could think about was his big cock and how it would feel sliding inside of you.

Harry laughed at how enthusiastic you seemed and moved back to help you remove your panties, “Okay. We can get these off. Mind if I lose my underwear too?”

You sat up and reached for the band of his briefs as he began to push them down until he was completely bare before you.

His cock hung heavy outward, pointing toward you, like it was beckoning to be touched so you did, reaching for him and taking your palm from his tip to his base until your hand hit the dark thatch of hair and then pulled back up to his smooth head.

“I want it. Want to feel it, Harry.” You looked at him as you pumped him again.

He groaned as he watched your small hand move along his length.

“Do you have a condom?”

You swallowed and paused your motions. You definitely did not have a condom. Which was quite unfortunate because that could only mean sex was not going to happen unless he had one and was willing to go to his house to get it.

Shaking your head no you frowned.

Harry licked his lips and trailed his eyes over your tits and down your tummy, “S’okay. Plenty of other ways to have fun.”

You whined as you looked down at your hand. You had really wanted to feel that big thing wrecking your insides.

Harry took your chin and tilted your face to look up at him, “What’s wrong?”

You inhaled and let go of his pretty dick, “I wanted to feel you so bad.”

He pressed his mouth against yours, soft reassuring kisses had your heart strumming in your chest.

“Well I would hate to disappoint you,” he grinned, “Want to go to mine? I’ve got condoms. We’ll just have to put some clothes back on.”

You nodded and pushed yourself up, quickly pulling your cardigan on and slipping your leggings back up your legs.

Harry liked how desperate you seemed. That was quite the ego boost. He put his shirt back on and pulled his jeans up but left the zipper down as he clutched the fabric to keep it up.

“Guess that’s good enough for breaking your couch in, yeah?”

You laughed and nodded, “Was a good first use for it I think.”

Harry laughed as he took your hand and you two made your way out your front door to his, hurrying over grass under bare feet and small chuckles until you were in the safety and privacy of his living room. He kept your hand in his until he got to his bedroom where he pulled his shirt off and you followed suit, ridding yourself of the annoying clothing you’d had to put back on.

But you knew it was going to be worth it.

Harry dug into his bedside table for a condom and laid it on top of the wood before looking back at you, “You still want this?”

You nodded and climbed onto his bed. The tunnel vision you had was keeping your mind from wandering too far off course as you watched Harry stroke his cock, long pulls up and down to his base as he crawled after you onto his bed.

You easily opened up your legs for him to fit his hips between and felt his warm cock slipping through your folds, rubbing against your clit.

“So slippery, Y/n.” You knew you were as he drove himself over your labia, smoothing his cock against your arousal back and forth.

A shaky moan fell from your throat and Harry grinned as he smeared his lips against your mouth.

He worked himself up and down, wetting the outside of his cock and his tip as he inched through your pussylips smoothly.

You loved his mouth. Loved how he kissed you. It was raw and felt like he gave a damn. Felt like he was enjoying your mouth just as much as you enjoyed his.

Finally, he pushed himself back and reached for his condom looking at you, “Do want anything else first? Or do just want my cock?”

You looked down at his hard dick with your arousal spread all over him and it was all you wanted.

“I want your cock,” your words were breathy as you looked up into his eyes.

“Yeah? A greedy little thing aren’t you?” Harry began to pull the condom over his shaft, pinching the tip as he dragged the rubber down as far as it would reach before settling himself back against your hips, pushing your thighs back slightly, “So desperate for it,” he nudged his cock down against your pussy and then slid it up to your clit teasingly, “Couldn’t wait to have me inside you. Insisted on it even,” he grinned as he tormented you with his wide girth slipping back and forth against your cunt.

You tilted your hips up and groaned, trying to get him to push inside but he continued his taunting movements, “Now, now… so impatient. I’ll give you what you want soon enough sweetheart. But today’s my birthday so I get to control the pace. Don’t want you getting all bossy with me.”

You moaned and slid your hands over his shoulders as you rolled your hips upward again, kissing his slit with your entrance but this time he placed a hand over your thigh and held you in place, “Is it that bad, Y/n?”

You nodded, “Please, Harry.”

“Mmm… love a well-mannered lady. You gonna be good for me?”

You sighed and you would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so horny, so out of your mind desperate, “I’m gonna be good. Please.”

“Yeah? Cause once I slide inside of you there’s no turning back.”

You gripped his shoulders tight and groaned, “Please.”

The feel of his warm, heavy cock smeared against your clit was almost too much. In fact, you could probably come from that alone if given enough time.

“So sweet for me, Y/n,” Harry took the thigh he’d been holding down and brought your leg over his low back, smoothing his hand over your skin as he positioned himself at your entrance.

The moment you felt him pressing his bulbous head through your slick muscle you dropped your mouth open and moaned but then his mouth caught yours and the noises you were making became muffled as he moved his lips against your mouth.

You knew he was going to split you in half. The slow glide of his cock inside your warm walls was intense. Inch by inch he pushed in as his lips were wrapped around yours.

Holding onto his lats you lifted your hips against his as he slid back and then buried himself into the hilt. You gasped into his mouth at the ache of him nudging into your guts and then pulling back to his tip only to slide himself back in. Working you open slowly, he continued to drive into your cunt with gushy wet noises coming from your pussy as he stretched you open.

You appreciated him plunging in slowly and easing you into fitting around his cock properly. You liked the warmup but more than that, you needed him to destroy your pussy.

When he felt you bucking upward into him he parted his mouth from yours and sat back with his knees bent. You saw him watching the space where he was connected with your cunt as he continued rolling into you.

His abs were flexing as he steadied himself in and out. You gasped when he began to fuck into you a little faster, his cock sliding through your walls and bumping into all the slick bits on your insides.

A gurgled moan fell from your lips as he smacked his hips into yours. The patting of his balls against your ass came out in wet thuds. Your tits bounced with every long stroke into your tummy and he was panting as he let his eyes scan over your body and up to your pretty face.

“Taking me so well, Y/n. Making me leak into my condom already, pussy’s so good.”

You both moaned as he drove into you, his mattress under you giving way to the force of his thrusts.

“Feels so good, Harry…” you panted.

“Yeah?” He bucked inward and ground against you, swiveling his hips and you gasped at the deep press into your cervix.

His fingers were pinching into your thighs as he stuffed himself in and you gripped his forearms for leverage and lifted your neck to watch as his cock disappeared into your body over and over again.

His shaft was coated with your shiny arousal as he slid in and out, your pussy gripping around his skin perfectly.

Harry’s moans were growing louder as he continued fucking into you wetly, hips slamming against yours making his balls strike into your ass.

His thighs were flexing as he rocked against you while your body was shivering and feeling the bliss of getting an itch scratched that you’d been needing.

You felt his right hand release your thigh and then watched him press his thumb over your slippery clit.

You let out a pathetic cry of relief when he smoothed the pad of his digit in circles on your bud, “Yes! Oh god!”

Harry coughed out a moan as he watched your face twist up, “That feel good, Y/n?”

You focused your sight on his eyes and nodded, “Yes…”

The grin on his face could have been akin to something cocky but your brain was mush as you let him wreck you with deep strokes into your tummy, wet and sloppy, dripping arousal down your ass.

The springs in his mattress were bouncing in time with his thrusts and the wooden frame on his bed creaked when he jerked his hips forward into you.

“Just like that, huh? Pussy needed fucked, yeah?” Harry’s words were coming out tight and shaky. You could hear it in his voice how good it felt for him too.

He pressed down and moved his thumb deliciously over your puffy clit as his cock punched into your organs and tissue making you throw your head back and close your eyes arching your back upward.

Harry loved the sight; your sloppy wet pussy spreading apart for his cock as you arched your back like the sexy thing you were, soft tits swaying every time he buried himself in balls deep, lips parted, neck long and stretched out as you breathily moaned his name, “Hh… Harry…”

He could watch you like this all night. Stretches of skin covered in goosebumps as if you were cold, hard nipples at the center of your wobbly squeezable tits, soft tummy clenching, and wet pussy ruined and clenching around him.

The way he was smushing and circling his thumb over your clit had your head fuzzy and your heart racing. But then he leaned over you and pressed his other hand over your low tummy as he fucked into you, pushing against your insides and making the space he was invading with his cock feel tighter as he slid upward and nudged into your guts.

“Gahhh…” you let out a gasped moan when his hand pressed into your stomach.

“Does that feel good, Y/n?” Harry’s eyes were on yours as he drove himself into you.

You nodded and scrunched your brows upward when your insides began to twist with your pussy stretching around him indulgently.

Your legs began to quiver from the strain of your muscles as you felt your orgasm nearing. Everything he was doing to you set your body alight. You reached for his strong biceps and dug your fingers in tight gasping at the depth of him.

“Be good for me, honey… there you go,” he spoke through clenched teeth, holding back his release, “Right there, huh? Feels good like that?”

You whimpered with a nod as you pinned your eyes to his. The expression on his face was lusty and filled with need as he dipped into you, pasting his hips against yours now, only fucking inward, pressing solidly against your insides.

You cried out when you felt the small burst and snap of your orgasm and he quickly moved his hands from your tummy and clit, leaning his hips against yours before pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of your shoulders and angling his body so he could pound into you and fuck you through your orgasm. The way his pelvis smushed against your clit, hips grinding against you as he pulled back and then forced his way through your opening to bury himself deep inside sent you over the edge.

You clung to his shoulders as you spasmed around his fat cock, slipping deep inside of you with a wet squelch as he reared back to his tip before rutting into the hilt.

Your vision and hearing grew muted as you came so you couldn’t hear him clearly when he babbled off nonsense, “Shit! Squeezing the fuck out of me, honey! Oh my god, that feels good. So fucking hot. Gonna make me come so hard…”

Harry’s hips struck against you repeatedly until his balls constricted and tightened and then he was pumping into his condom, his muscles stiffening with his hips pressed into yours, mashing your body into the mattress underneath you.

He choked out a moan as his cock spurted his release, throbbing and twitching inside of you as you panted at how hard he’d come. The front of his thighs were pressed into the back of yours, holding you down with his hips as he drained every drop of his come into his condom.

Then it was silent. The sound of sex and moaning was quieted and the bed was no longer creaking and thumping.

Harry pressed his chest against your tits and you felt his plushy lips on yours again and you sighed against his mouth. Slowly your ears stopped ringing and you smoothed your hands up his strong back.

He pushed his face into your neck and his warm breath dampened your skin, “Happy fucking birthday to me,” he laughed.

You grinned with a tiny giggle and opened your eyes before running your fingers into his thick curls.

When he’d pushed himself up to look down at you, you couldn’t get over how adorably handsome your neighbor was. He was sexy as hell and yet so cute at the same time.

“You all right?” His raspy voice was quiet as he searched your face and brought a hand up to your temple, his thumb drawing over your skin.

The grin on your face should have told him as much as you nodded, “Very much all right.” You puffed out a laugh.

He laughed with you and smiled widely, dimples appearing in his cheeks, “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Y/n.”

Raising a hand up to his jaw you nodded, a cheeky grin still stretched over your mouth, “And happy birthday to you, Harry.”

Part 2

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[bring-forth-his-sac]

World of Trouble

Summary: Your Halloween costume leads to a punishment from the man himself...

Pairing: Saviors! Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW! spanking, fingering, p in v penetration, (consensual) punishment sex, Negan being a cocky asshole, orgasm denial, praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, little bit of cum play ?

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: ok this fic is choppy, janky and just all over the place. I wrote it in a day and a half so it was a complete rush cause I want to get it out for Halloween so yeah, pls be kind

You thought it was funny.

After all, don’t people need a joke in times like this? Isn’t everything bleak enough? That was your reasoning when the idea initially popped into your head for the perfect apocalyptic Halloween costume.

Despite Negan being a man who loves to tell a joke, no matter how risqué or inappropriate the timing, you weren’t sure how Negan would react if he's the butt of one. 

Ever since late August, you had been wavering on the idea. Some nights you were adamant that your choice in Halloween costume would end in you being bound to the fence alongside the dead. 

In the midst of your internal debate, while out on a run, you came across the ultimate sign that set aside your indecision. 

A leather jacket.

It wasn’t an exact replica of Negan’s and it hung loosely on your frame but it was the push you needed. You already had a white t-shirt in your limited closet and you’d pay the few points needed for some black jeans. 

A red scarf was harder to come across but most definitely a necessary piece. Ever since the leaves began to fall off the trees surrounding the Sanctuary, Negan’s red scarf has been making an appearance, tucked neatly in by the collar of his leather jacket.

You had to be inventive, scavenging an old sweater and cutting it up to create a makeshift scarf that at least remotely resembled the original.

And finally, the pièce de résistance. Your trusty companion. Your very own, bootleg Lucille. 

Thankfully barbed wire wasn’t the problem. In the Sanctuary, something like that can be found stored in at least half of the supply closets, hoarded away for the fence or in case the real Lucille needs a quick spruce up.

The real issue was a baseball bat. It wasn’t as if the Saviors were regularly raiding school gyms or stadiums, and so there was hardly any sports equipment for you to choose from.

It was a struggle and eventually, you ended up with a hockey stick that some Savior decided to put into the armoury.

It wasn’t Lucille but hell, it’d have to do.

Everything was ready. You even found some long expired brown eyeshadow and decided to dab some on the bottom of your face so it looks like you have a beard. And so your look was complete, possibly the very first costume to ever exist of your fearsome leader.

And how long did it last?

40 minutes. It didn’t even take a full hour of you strutting around before word got back to Negan. 

When you imagined the impending confrontation, you assumed it would be a lieutenant telling you off as Negan spewed insults over a walkie talkie.

It’s only now, when you hear the low grating noise of Lucille dragging along the ground, growing nearer and nearer, do you realise you won’t be getting off so easily. 

Slowly turning, you bring your hockey stick decorated in barbed wire up to your shoulder, mirroring a pose you’ve seen him do plenty of times.

“Well, ho-ly shit! I don’t know whether I should be smug or freaked the fuck out!” he declares, his gaze wandering down your outfit “you’ve really out done yourself this time, doll”.

You shrug, hoping that if you seem casual about this then he’ll let it slide. “It’s Halloween” you say bluntly, hoping that’s the only excuse you need. 

Some Saviors linger around you both, a mixture of excitement and anticipation radiating from them at your Negan costume and Negan's ambiguous reaction.

“And you thought the creepiest thing you could dress up as is me?” he narrows his eyes at you, subconsciously mimicking your own pose as he lifts Lucille up onto his shoulder. 

You open your mouth to respond but no words come out, a slight sense of dread setting in. A beat of tense silence hangs in the air, thick and charged, as if the whole Sanctuary is holding its breath. 

A deep chuckle cuts through the silence as Negan clasps a hand on your free shoulder. 

“Well, fuck me, I am honored!” he beams “you even smeared some shit on your face so ya look like you got a beard! Now that’s the kind of dedication I like to see from you sorry fucks!”.

He steps away from you, letting his hand drop off of your shoulder as he raises his voice, making sure the others hear.

Relief washes over you. You could feel the tension draining from your muscles at his approval. 

“I love it,” Negan says, his voice growing serious again “but Lucille? Now Lucille here isn’t a big fan of copy cats and that limp dick excuse of a Lucille you got hanging over your shoulder? That shit just makes her see red”.

Any warmth in Negan’s eyes fade. His brows knit together as his mouth becomes a hard line, replacing any sense of humor. “And she thinks this is worthy of a punishment” he adds.

Fuck. 

Negan doesn’t wait around for your reaction, turning on his heels as he barks for you to follow. You do so hesitantly, knowing there’s nowhere to run and that this is something you’ll unfortunately have to face head on.

This isn’t the first time you’ve done something daring while living in the Sanctuary. Although, this is the first time you’ve seen him genuinely annoyed. 

Usually Negan has always appreciated your boldness, especially when most of the Sanctuary’s residents are too scared to even look him in the eye. In the past, you’ve tried to poke and prod at Negan’s authority by complaining about sanitary products costing points or the lack of blankets available to the workers during Winter. 

Grimacing to yourself as you follow behind him, you wonder if you’ve finally taken it too far.

Marching up the flights of stairs to his private quarters, you try to ignore the confused looks of others as two Negan's pass them by. 

Despite knowing you’re in for a world of trouble, a small smirk tugs at your lips, glad to have brought some sense of silly excitement to the Sanctuary.

You try not to show your shock as he brings you to his bedroom, making sure the door is locked behind you. You only take a few steps into the room before you stop and simply loiter there, watching as Negan sets Lucille down by the doorway to the ensuite before going inside. 

“Y’know there are no actual rules about impersonating so I don’t think you have the grounds to punish me” you attempt to defend yourself, setting your fake Lucille against the wall.

“Talking back won’t help your case,” Negan calls out.

You scoff out a laugh as you get distracted by his room. A part of you can’t help but wonder why a man like Negan would want half the things that litter the area: trophies from other people’s past glory, a vase, a houseplant.

“Yeah well, it’s just some fun, it’s—“ suddenly Negan’s there, right next to you with his gloved hand too close for comfort.

He cups your face, squishing your cheeks together as his other hand brings a wet cloth to your face.

“And get that shit off your face,” he does the job for you “my beard ain’t that fuckin’ bad”.

You stay quiet, not wanting the embarrassment of trying to speak with your cheeks squished and a cloth rubbing at your face.

Once he’s satisfied your face is clean, he simply drops the cloth to the floor. Negan looks down at your attire “Well hot damn, good news is my style is incredibly sexy… but no matter how hot you look, thanks to me, you know I can’t let your shit slide anymore, sweetheart”.

You frown, a challenging look in your eyes.

“I’m serious, you’re pissing off too many Saviors with the shit you pull,” he yanks off his scarf, letting it land on the couch “and now, with this, you’ve forced my hand”. 

Next, Negan takes off his leather jacket, inadvertently showing off some tattoos as he delicately places it on the back of his armchair. 

“You know I gotta give you some kinda punishment… but that don’t mean it can’t be enjoyable for the both of us” he continues.

The smirk on his face says it all. 

And just like that, it all makes sense. Of course he would bring you up to his bedroom and not to the cells when this is what he has in mind.

You shrug, some of your spirit returning in the form of a playful smirk “What? You gonna spank me?”.

“You want me to?” He unbuckles his belt and slowly pulls it through the loops of his jeans, the material hissing as it moves. 

Negan has never been a man to bluff.

You try to act nonchalant but you can feel your cheeks heating up. “Maybe,” you play it coy “will you iron off half my face even if I say yes?”.

Now it’s Negan’s turn to shrug. “That depends, this a trick or a treat?” he asks.

Normally you’re not this bold. Maybe leather jackets give people unlimited confidence? That seems to be the only solution as you walk over to his couch and place both hands on the armrest. You bend forward just enough for Negan to see your intent.

You glance back over your shoulder, your eyelids at half mast as you throw him a sultry look. Negan keeps his eyes locked on to yours, his boots heavy on the floorboards as he walks up behind you.

The leather of his glove growls as he places his hand on the centre of your back and pushes you down further. 

There’s no point in ignoring how your pussy throbs as he makes sure your head is against the couch cushions and your ass is up in the air, the armrest providing the perfect support.

“That's what I thought“ Negan praises, his hand slowly making its way down to your ass. 

“And I thought I was getting punished, not a yoga class” you goad.

Negan doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even wait or let the anticipation of his response build. He goes straight for it, smacking your backside hard enough to leave a handprint. 

A gasp leaves your lips, the sensation more stingy than it is painful. You have little time to prepare yourself as Negan wraps his belt around his hand.

“Just relax, baby,” he instructs softly, his tone in complete contradiction to his actions “and be grateful I’m letting ya keep your jeans on… for now”. 

Despite your thin layer of clothes acting as a barrier, the belt bites into your flesh. The sound of the belt whistles through the air before meeting your ass with a sharp crack. He does it over and over again, alternating between cheeks. 

You hiss at the sudden heat, your body clenching as the pain morphs into a dark, intoxicating pleasure.

“Well, damn!” Negan exclaims approvingly, momentarily stopping “you’re taking this like a trooper, ain’t ya?”. 

He pauses and you wonder if he’s waiting for a response. You swallow, your throat dry from the amount of gasps you’ve let out in such a short span of time. 

But before you can answer, you feel it. Not the belt. Not his hand delivering another slap. This time, it’s him; proud and unabashed as he brings his clothed crotch right against your ass. 

Suddenly, the belt didn’t seem too hard.

“I think it’s about time I see my work of art” he declares, pressing his hips forward to make sure you feel his entrapped boner.

For a man so brutal, Negan’s touch is gentle as his fingers glide around the waistband of your jeans. He lets his touch linger there for a few moments, waiting for your sign of approval. 

You’re well aware of Negan’s ego and how he wants to know just how badly you need him. He yearns to see that raw desire. As much as you want to banter back at him again, your brain fogs with need and you push back against him, your sore ass rubbing against his bulge.

He responses with a grunt as his hands slowly leave your waistband, too distracted to continue. Negan has something else in mind as he gives a slight tug of your hair, gesturing for you to stand upright.

You don’t even have time to turn to face him, your ass still snug against the tent in his pants as he roughly pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

His hand fists your hair, holding you in place as he devours you. Desperately trying to keep up, your breaths come out in short, sharp pants between desperate kisses.

Negan keeps his hand in your hair, using it to manoeuvre you away from his couch and over to the bed. The only time he takes his hands off of you is when the back of your legs hit against the soft bedsheets. 

The second you’re able, you take off your leather jacket, watching Negan follow suit as he begins shedding his clothes.

Your jeans are the worst to take off, the rough denim scratching it’s way across your sensitive backside as you quickly discard it. Once you get to your bra and panties, you stop, wanting Negan to take off the rest.

Negan doesn’t have the same sense of modesty as you, not stopping until he’s completely bare. Sitting back on the bed, you bite your lower lip and shamelessly dart your eyes across his body. 

The dark curls that cover his chest, the tattoos that scatter across his body, the happy trail of body hair that lead you lower, to where he stands erect and proud.

You gulp.

Negan joins you, kneeling on the bed in front of your body as he studies you. With a hum, he shakes his head. “No, this won’t do,” he tuts.

As the words hit you, a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. Whatever excitement that was evident in your face slowly drops away and you do nothing but blink up at him, waiting for Negan to continue.

“Yeah, I’m gonna want to fuck you in the leather jacket,” he elaborates “now that would be hot as all hell and I ain’t letting that jacket go to waste on my bedroom floor”.

You rolls your eyes as you let out a breath. “You fucking asshole” you huff, well aware that Negan was being vague on purpose just to toy with you. 

He chuckles, unable to deny your accusation. “Careful baby, you start insulting me like that and you’ll be getting another spankin” he threatens playfully, though you know he’s being serious. 

Negan leans down, almost hovering over you as his hands gently touch your bra straps. 

“But first, you got more layers to shed” Negan lets each strap fall to your arms before his fingers deftly work the clasp of your bra, the metal giving way easily. 

Without looking where it lands, Negan lets your bra drop to the side. You feel utterly exposed to his hungry gaze, watching as he drinks in the sight of you. 

A groan leaves him as he reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping the weight of your tits. His thumbs brush over your pert nipples, making your squirm at the contact. 

“You going to play with my titties all day?” You question, hoping to spur him into action.

“It’s a punishment, doll,” he reminds you, bending to the side to pick up your leather jacket “if I decide all I want to do is stare and watch you finger that sweet little pussy till it’s raw, then that’s what’ll happen”.

“And is that what you want?” You ask, trying to maintain any self control you have. Part of you would actually apologize for your costume if it means getting his dick closer to your pussy.

“Nah, I want you to sit back and really think about what you did,” giving the jacket a quick shake, he spreads it out over your shoulder “think you can do that for me, darlin?”.

Making sure the jacket is secure over your shoulders, you adjust it to make sure your tits are still in view. “I guess I could try” you reply in a flirtatious tone, scooting back against the pillows.

“On the bright side, even though this is a punishment, I’m still a fuckin’ gentleman,” he says with a proud grin. 

You're quick to notice how his hands inch up past your thighs and towards your panties. Hooking a finger underneath them, Negan gives a slight tug “So I’m gonna need to loosen you up before I fuck you senseless”.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gently lift your hips. That cocky smile never leaves his face as Negan slowly drags your panties down your legs. In an instant, they’re gone from view and end up on the floor alongside the rest of your clothes.

Negan’s eyes lock onto your core, unable to help himself as he reaches out and parts your folds.

“Fuck, you’re that wet already?” he says it like a question despite the answer being on his fingertips. You bite your lip as his fingers brush against your wet, swollen flesh. 

With a groan, Negan plunges two fingers into your warmth, scissoring them apart to stretch you out. You moan out, your back arching as he sets a steady pace. 

“Y-yes,” you gasp out when the pad of his thumb finds your clit “keep doing that!”.

Negan curls his fingers upward, targeting your g-spot. The look on his face is like a kid at Christmas, completely elated to have his fingers deep in your pussy.

He adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you, listening to your moans and gasps to gauge how close you are. Leaning down, Negan meets your arched body and nips at your breasts.

His mouth brushes against your skin as he tuts “C’mon now, don’t tell me you’re about to cum already!”.

You nod frantically, hands clutching at the bedsheets “Yeah, yeah I’m ready, I’m gonna—“.

Negan chuckles darkly and before you can reach your high, his fingers slow their pace.

“Oh, I don't know about that," he pulls his fingers out abruptly and gives your clit a light tap with them "you haven't earned that privilege yet, baby". 

Your mind is in a haze as he licks his fingers clean, tasting you. It takes a few moments for your brain to compute what he’s denying you. 

“I…” you begin but you trail off, your throbbing pussy begging for release “Negan, please, I— I get it, ok?”.

His smile softens slightly and if anything, it only makes you more wet. “I know you get it now,” he agrees, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek “maybe, sweetheart, just maybe… if you beg nice enough, I'll let you cum on my cock instead”.

You take his words as a challenge. Throwing out all sense of pride, you babble on “Please! Y-yeah I just, I need you inside of me, please Negan, I’ll be good”.

Every word goes straight to his dick. 

Negan takes a moment to truly savour the sight of you begging and writhing under him, knowing this is some top notch jerking material he can use at a later date. 

"Now that’s what I like to hear" he praises, positioning himself between your thighs. He grips your hips and thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely.  

Even though the sudden stretch and fullness makes you feel breathless, you practically shout out “Negan!". 

He pauses but only for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. “Shhhhhhh,” he coos, his tone bordering on patronising “best be quiet before you wake up the wives, I’d hate to make those gals jealous”.

With a low groan, Negan begins to move, pulling back almost to the point of withdrawal before slamming into you once more. The leather jacket beneath you squeaks, each thrust pushing you further up the bed.

You can feel every inch of him, the primal yearning to cum on his cock sounding more and more appealing. Negan’s chest heaves as he labors over you, his body glistening as he works up a fine sheen of sweat. 

He doesn’t know where to look. His eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in each part of your body. Negan watches your face, the desperation to cum etched into each expression. Of course he watches your tits too, seeing them jiggle with each thrust he gives you. 

But his favourite part to watch is how well you‘re taking him. To see how your pussy welcomes each inch, letting him go flush against you every single time.

Bringing his gaze back up to your eyes, he pistons into you. “You’re close, I can feel it” he says with a clenched jaw, trying to hold off. 

“Please!” is the first word out your mouth followed quickly by a gasp as Negan goes for your clit again. His thumb rubs firm circles around the sensitive nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

You inner walls clench desperately around his cock and before you know it, everything crashes around you as you finally cum.

It’s as if your whole world blurs together and all you can focus on is his cock deep inside of you. 

Your pussy spasms violently around him, your vision whiting out as you moan loudly. Negan wants nothing more than to feel your sweet pussy throb around him but he knows he can’t hold off any longer. 

He quickly pulls out and thrusts into his hand to finish. His cock glistens with your juices before Negan unloads a thick load right onto your tits. 

You both pant, taking a brief moment to come down from your respective highs.

“Look at those beautiful titties,” Negan breaks the silence, admiring his handiwork “just when I thought they couldn’t look any better”.

Gently bringing a hand up, you run your finger along one of the lines he’s painted. “If I knew this is what the punishment would be, I would’ve pissed you off a lot sooner” you say breathlessly.

Negan hums as he flops down beside you, his eyes glued to how your fingertips play with his load. 

“Maybe you should’ve,” he replies “or maybe this is a sign that we should have some fun like this more often”.

You bite back your smile “Maybe it’s both?”.

“But y’know I can’t really just be going around screwing anybody and everybody,” he continues, making you pause, unsure where this is going “it’s bad for the image, y’know?”.

Your expression doesn’t change.

Negan takes in your confused look, trying to put the pieces together for you. “I mean, I don’t think the wives would appreciate me screwing around… unless, of course, I was screwing around with another wife…”.

“Oh”.

That’s all you feel as though you can say. A part of you immediately tries to rationalise this, trying to convince yourself that you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here. 

“Goddamn, did I really fuck you that hard?” Negan laughs “I’m asking you to marry me, baby, you should be jumping for joy right now!”.

You sigh, bringing your non-sticky hand up to your face “Negan…”.

“Negan, yes?”.

“Negan, I’m covered in your jizz and you’re seriously asking me this?! Now?!?” You exclaim. 

He stops for a moment, taking in your words. “Huh, ok, good point,” Negan grunts as he gets up, giving you a great view of his ass “I’ll go get some towels and you think about it, yeah?”.

Before you have time to reply, he’s walking into his ensuite “And I want an answer when I come back!”. He disappears into the adjoined room, turning on the light.

You lay back, allowing the pillows to practically consume you. The thought passes through your mind if only for a split second.

It wouldn’t be that bad to be yet another wife, would it? All you’d have to do is look pretty and have good sex… and never socialise with anyone else… and only be seen as one of his wives and nothing more.

You close your eyes, hoping that would prolong the impending decision.

Letting out a long sigh, you curse “Fuck”.

[libraford]

Okay so here's what's going on with the bird crimes.

On thursday I was going to Powers Park when I saw what I thought were 2 chickens hanging out in the parking lot, and a lady watching them from the fence. I thought... they could belong to the lady, but chickens aren't the kind of pet that you just let hang out loose.

I approach.

Lady: "These aren't mine."

I look closer. Its actually 2 roosters, one of which is a very small breed and is missing his tail feathers. Both of them have an injury to their backside- like its been plucked.

So we talk about what to do, I end up calling Animal Control. The actual Animal Control officer doesn't get there until noon, I get a police dispatcher. She says she can send one of the cops to grab them until the actual professional gets there.

I tell her that the roosters are being kept by the woman I met, she's coaxing them into her house.

I post about it on the facebook group in case someone knows who they belong to. The comments are full of jokes, obviously. But no leads. Eventually the big rooster gets caught by someone running a sanctuary for abandoned and abused livestock, but they're still looking for the little black one. Evidently they got out of the lady's backyard and were loose again.

I figure he's going to be a coyote snack and don't think about it for the rest of the week.

So now it is Sunday and I'm opening up the bathrooms. I'm at Summit Grove park and as I'm about to reserve the shelter for a birthday party I see...

A black pigeon.

Pigeons are not a common animal in this area- you're more likely to see house sparrows, crows, and mourning doves. So that's odd. What's more, she doesn't seem to be skittish and is definitely accustomed to humans. And she keeps trying to bite my fingers, so she associates hands with food and she's skinny as a rail so she's been abandoned for a minute.

Why does this keep happening to me? Is this the Morrigan come to teach me a lesson in pigeon form?

So I remember the number of the woman running the sanctuary and I give her a call. I tell her I've got a pigeon here that can't fly, is super hungry, and doesn't seem to have any issues biting fingers. She says she can't take her, but she can find a home for her because pigeons have specific needs. But she won't be able to get there until 12:30. We (my work partner and I) have to deal with the bird in the meantime.

We absolutely cannot take this bird with us on our route because we are in a tiny truck cab and don't have a cat carrier to put her in. So our solution is to lock her in the janitor's closet until the rep can get here.

Around 12:15, we head back to the shelter to make sure she's still there and hasn't been disturbed... and I realize that the reason I even saw her in the first place...

...was because there was supposed to be a birthday party at the shelter at noon.

The party is strongly underway and they have shoved a table against the door of the closet.

The sanctuary lady comes by and waves, we ask the party people politely to move the table slightly because we're trying to rehome a pigeon that's inside that closet.

They move the table, but not all guests see this interaction- because it looks like a bunch of maintenance people are just here to boss folks around during a little girl's birthday party and this draws a crowd.

The sanctuary rep arrives and we open the door just a little bit to let the bird out. She bobbles towards us, hoping for food, when one of the older ladies at the party exclaims:

"Does that ANIMAL just LIVE in there?!"

I mean... sure. For the past few hours, she did live in there.

"Do you have any IDEA how many DISEASES pigeons carry?"

The rep scoops the pigeon into her arms and takes her out of the shelter area to inspect her wings, feet, and back. She shows us her breastbone and explains that its been several days since the bird ate anything, which was why it was going for fingers.

Meanwhile, Aunt Ornithophobia over here: "I can't BELIEVE you would just TOUCH a BIRD like that in front of CHILDREN!"

We take the bird away to the van so the rep can thank us and explain what likely happened- which is that someone abandoned the bird when they couldn't take care of her anymore they just let her loose.

"I understand you got one of the roosters," I said.

"Yes, the big one. But the little bantam rooster is very fast- he darted into someone's backyard and I never found him again. If you see him, give me a call."

"I've been told that chickens are legal to own here, but roosters are not."

She gets an exasperated look on her face. "If you're going to allow backyard chickens, you're going to have to allow roosters. It's impossible to sex an avian chick and they don't get their dimorphic traits until they've reached the young adult stage and chick sellers don't care about whether they're a hen or a rooster. They care about the sale. We get roosters more often than egg-layers because someone sold them a male as a female and they don't want to pay the fine. I'd rather have the laws allow both, or neither. But disallowing roosters is patently stupid."

"Hm. Well. Note to self."

"Anyways, you're heroes to this little rock dove and I want you two to know that. She's going on a trip to a bird sanctuary in Toledo where she'll have lots and lots of snacks to eat that aren't fingers."

[karlachismylife]

Local Spot || The Queen of the Clan pt.6

CW: fem!chubby!reader, some tame unwanted attention.

If not for man-made structures, you wouldn’t be able to tell the border between the territory of the natural reserve you got your filming permit for and the sanctuary that cuts off a smaller part of the landscape. Fenced off, it looks just the same – no surprise there, to be honest; sunlit tall grass, sandy and dusty ground and scattered trees, shielding the inhabitants with their shadow. No doubt, they have water sources too – everything in sanctuary’s power to tend to quite simple needs of animals that can’t be let out back into the wild after surviving each their own trauma. Driving past the tall mesh that makes sunbeams ripple when hitting your little Rover caravan, you try covering your eyes to look into the reserve, but no animals come close to the road, hidden securely somewhere deep in their new forever home.

“I hope you’re prepared to be blown away by the luxurious housing, we’re working our asses off to impress city cookies like you here.” With a distinct chuckle, Kir beckons you inside, holding a simple plywood door open for you and dropping your backpack from his shoulder on the porch of the little cabin – a whole line of them drags along a narrow road, animals’ enclosures basically on the other side of the “street”. Land too expensive, government too hesitant to “lose” everything it could provide by leaving it as untouched reserve; thus, someone had to make room for their neighbours, and humans decided to sacrifice their own comfort for the sake of the animals.

“Check this out,” Kir waits until you finish looking around the single room that serves as bedroom, living room, office – even a kitchen, if you can count the tiny portable stove and a kettle on a counter – and with a theatric gesture of a magician opens a narrow door, revealing the tiniest bathroom behind it: a toilet, a small sink hanging off a wall and just a cheap curtain to separate the shower area with a drain in  the floor. “Not bad, huh? No hot tub, but pretty close. Don’t recommend you putting candles and champagne there, though, if you even mange to find those around here somehow…” Laughing with you at the deeply impressed and amazed expression you feigned at the sight of your lavish bathroom, Kir raises a finger calling for your attention once more and then struggles with the sink tap for a moment, finally getting it to sneeze and run clean water. “Actually working plumbing. You feeling like a queen yet?”

“Grandiose, brother,” you snort and come closer to hold a handful under the stream, gathering slightly warm water and using it to wipe sweat from your face and neck. “But no, really, don’t think there’s much more I could need, so this is perfect. You’re my neighbour or what?”

“I’m just three cabins away, door’s always open for you.” Having closed the tap, Kir shuffles his way out of the cramped space and leaves your cabin, hands in his pockets. Remembering something, he turns on his heels and nods at your backpack. “Laundry’s in the main building, there are bags to separate yours, it’s all done together in the mornings so it’s best to leave yours in the evening. Oh, and I’ll ask around about something to get rid of the stink.”

With a dazzling grin and a wink, Kir salutes you and finally turns his back, returning to work and leaving you to sort through your belongings and settle in. If everything goes well, you’ll spend just a few days here before the head of your crew successfully prolongs the filming permit and you head out into the savannah once more. Having this bureaucratic delay doesn’t feel good, but in a weird way you feel relieved.

You don’t think you would be able to leave this place without a heavy heart if the shoot lasted just three weeks like planned initially.

Settling on the top step of your low porch, you pull your backpack closer and hold your breath instinctively, even though a week in the wild has somewhat tamed the stink. It’s not strong per se, but it has a stinging undertone of concentrated boiled soap, to the point where it almost tastes sweet on the back of your mouth roof. Scoffing, you pull your belongings out of it, throwing crinkled plastic bags onto the floor behind you.

Finally reaching the one with dirty laundry inside, you grab it along with the empty backpack itself and make your way all the way to the main building, quick to find the laundry room – just as tiny as everything else. You empty your crumpled laundry into a nice canvas bag and write down the slightly scraped off number on it to know which one to pick up later, and then drop off the backpack in the corner, only just noticing teeth marks on it in several places – a chewed up strap mostly.

Somehow you don’t even doubt it was all Stinky’s doing.

“Adorable bastard,” you grumble under your breath and nearly ram into Kir’s firm chest at the door, too distracted with thoughts of your spotted acquaintance trotting around somewhere in the yellowish grass of the savannah.

“You called?” He laughs watching you roll your eyes and squeezes past you with a pat on your shoulder, a spray bottle of some kind in his hands along with his own laundry. “It’s for your aromatherapy backpack. If you want, you can spray it yourself, I’ll finish my shift sooner and we’ll hit the town. Bet you didn’t get a good look around when you arrived, yeah?”

Only fair for you to deal with your stink problem yourself, Kir already went above and beyond to help you, so you take the spray from his hand and return to the corner to drag your backpack outside, humming in response.

“No, they picked us up pretty quickly… only saw the bus station basically.” You shake the rattling bottle and make a trial spray, high-pressure mist with another harsh, sweet smell – most similar to a mosquito repellent – bursting into the air. The sticker on the can reads as some water- and sweat-repellent for shoes. “Anything interesting to see?”

The spray hisses, covering your backpack in a generous cloud of chemical smell and slight plastic-y glint after it settles. From inside the laundry room Kir raises his voice, admitting that there’s basically nothing except a couple stores and a dingy bar that can be of interest – it’s still worth it, you decide: just fifteen minutes of scootering down a bumpy dirt road and you get to buy something to treat yourself after a week on canned food and maybe even get a drink.

“I’ll come knock on your door then after I finish, then.” Kir leaves the laundry room and catches the spray can you throw him – if your watering eyes and coughing are any indicators, you’ve applied more then enough. Hanging the backpack outside to let it air out the possibly deadly concoction of sweat repellent and hyena sprayings, you finally drag yourself to your cabin.

A cool shower and a little bit of gentle persuasion via banging on the kettle stand until the loose contact clicks and the heating starts, you settle on your porch with your thermos and breathe in deeply. Nothing disturbs you, the feeling of being watched forgotten like it wasn’t even there. Must have really been the savannah getting in your head..

Sun is slowly sliding to the west, still high, but already a bit dimmed and oranged by the incoming dusk. Dry, clear air is rippling and throbbing above the ground, cooling off, weak wind snaking through the dust of the little road. Crickets and cicadas are chirping repetitively, like an ancient ethnic instrument from the good old times when music had more rhythm than melody. From your steps, you can’t make out which direction the call comes from, but somewhere on the sanctuary’s territory roars a buffalo – must be that young bull Kir told you to be careful around.

Two of the sanctuary employees walk past you, dirty gloves and sweaty noses – they smile and nod at you, barely interrupting a lively discussion, something about water going green in one of the biggest water sources. That’s not good, you think, but they don’t look particularly worried. More like confident.

Like they know what they’re doing and why.

Closing your eyes, you take another deep breath and sip your tea, careful not to burn your mouth. Red and pink prints of the vascular system in your eyelids mix with the way you already saw sky go up in flames at sunsets here, a peaceful feeling washing over you. There’s serenity in the way life flows measuredly around here, clocks and calendars slowly growing meaningless in the face of greater time countdown – seasons and solar cycles dictating times to migrate, to hunt, to procreate. People here made the decision to tie their lives to the nature, preserving and studying, and thus their time obeys the same laws, no hectic anxiety of semesters, quarter reports and tight schedules keeping them in a never-ending race.

It’s a blessing – to do the right thing with a reasonable pace, day after day, knowing you have something meaningful to do every time you wake up. In the outside world no one thinks highly of someone digging elbow-deep into the green mud of a small pond antelopes come to drink from, but here it matters.

You’d like to matter.

“Thinking of me with that smile on your face, I hope?” Kir’s cheeky voice drives you out of the meditative headspace and you open your eyes lazily, wrinkling your nose at him – he even made sure to approach you in a way that wouldn’t obstruct the softened sunrays caressing your face.

“Yeah, you wish. We’re going already?” With a grunt, you raise to your feet with his assistance, noticing just how long you must’ve been sitting there, daydreaming. Kir nods and plops a helmet on your head, adjusting the strap under your chin.

“Shopping first, then the bar?” He leads you to the several scooters in sanctuary’s possession, rolling the most new-looking, sandy and just slightly scraped on the wings, on the road and helping you onto it. The machine dips under your combined weight, but Kir doesn’t seem concerned, starting up the engine and driving off the sanctuary territory.

Nearby town can barely pass as one, looking more like a glorified village – small buildings, no higher than three stories, basically a single curved street between them and continuing on to the bigger road. Finally seeing it in the daylight and without the exhaustion of a long trip that kept weighing your eyelids down when you first arrived there on a bus to be picked up by your crew, you find it just as charming – as well as noticing some larger signs of civilization a couple kilometers to the west, tall power transmission poles and antennas around some fenced off facility.

While you try to remember if there was something industrial mentioned when you read about the place you were going to, Kir drags you inside a cramped convenience store, literal mountains of fresh fruits, vegetables and nuts in crates at the entrance and the most random selection of imported goods on the shelves – in a moment of weakness, you pick up some suspiciously looking lime-flavoured crisps and a few cans of cold soda from a fridge that sounds like a fighter aircraft going down from a direct hit, but still manages to keep products inside cool and wet with the condensate.

You leave the store, chewing on some dried fruits Kir helped you choose – even got a discount from a familiar cashier that was happy to inform that they can place orders for some goods if you’re planning to stay longer. Behind your cheerfully polite smile you felt that same wave of belonging that keeps coming back to you.

“We’re a bit late, so all the tables are probably taken, do you mind sitting at the bar?” After you leave your groceries in the scooter trunk, Kir leads you up to the pub, its neon sign already glowing in the slowly approaching darkness, and holds the door open, nodding at the bar counter with just three free stools to your luck.

Keeping in mind that he has “precious cargo” to deliver back, as he calls you, he orders a coke for himself and pays for your cider, promising that it’s one of the things you can actually drink there.

“That’s my favourite, the pear one. When I come here on foot, always grab a bottle or two.” You lean onto the counter, feet dangling above the dirty wooded floor, as you chat with him – he indulges you in the town gossip with some additions from the bartender, making you chuckle as the cider tickles the roof of your mouth. It’s actually good, you admit, and Kir buys you another one before leaving to the bathroom “to see if they have another spider infestation”, which earns him a shoulder slap from the bartender.

When you turn to watch him make way through packed room, you feel your heart stop for a moment, like a prey that finally notices it’s being watched. It’s a fleeting sensation that almost immediately disappears, but you almost hit yourself in the teeth with the bottle neck, once you notice them.

Four men in the furthest corner, staring at you openly – they’re not trying to be discreet, the bearded one saluting you with his whiskey tumbler and two of his buddies flashing you smiles. Friendly smiles, not the ones that make your skin crawl in similar bar encounters back in the big city. Even the one with his face covered by a mask and arms crossed over his bulky chest nods at you and sinks further in his seat, as if it could help him look smaller and less threatening. They seem chill, clearly minding their own business and avoiding the other patrons in that corner, not interested in the rowdy fun of a work day evening among tired people unwinding before heading home.

To fight that initial creeped out feeling, you nod back at them, quickly averting your gaze with a chuckle once you see them light up almost too obviously. Must’ve been ogling you for quite some time, if the smallest acknowledgement gets you such a reaction. It’s kinda sweet, their excitement radiating from the corner, and you watch from the corner of your eye them exchanging a few words before one of them has to force the big guy with a mohawk back into his seat, as if he was already ready to rush through the bar to talk to you.

“I go away for five minutes, and you’re already making eyes at someone?” Your eyes shoot up to see smiling Kir, but as you watch his expression change once he glances over his shoulder at your four watchers, your brows knit together. “Oh, no, cookie, you stay away from that folk, alright? Come on, let’s go, before they come up here.”

Before you even can object, Kir tugs on your elbow insistently, and you have no choice but to grab your almost finished bottle, say a hasty goodbye to the bartender and follow him, stumbling from the sheer force he drags you with, clearly in hurry to get out of the tightly packed bar.

“Hey, can you at least explain? I’m coming, don’t need to drag me, you know,” you try to keep your irritation down. After all, he has done nothing but look out for you, and if there’s anyone you can trust to know all locals, it’s him. Still, you steal a glance at the four-men company and get the unsettling feeling once again, this time not without a reason: the concentrated, slightly frowning looks all four of the men watch you leave with, don’t feel as friendly anymore.

It's only outside, once the night breeze strokes your heated from the alcohol and crowd proximity cheeks, that Kir lets go of your arm and sighs, putting the helmet on you. His voice sounds hushed, and he looks you dead in the eyes, as he says:

“Don’t mess with them, don’t even talk to them, okay? No one wants them here, they’re not locals. The less business we have with them, the better, especially since you’re here just temporarily. I don’t trust them, and you shouldn’t either. Can you promise?”

By the way you look at him, utterly confused, Kir finally realizes how paranoid he sounds and runs a hand over his face, before looking around and leaning to your ear to say even quieter:

“They’ve been roaming around for months already, cookie. They’re military. They’re bad news from the West.”

Suddenly, you realize what that fenced off facility you saw earlier was. A military base.

Just twenty minutes away from the natural reserve.

Part 5 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Tagging: @elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts @terraantarctica @henhouse-horrors @blizzivy @perfectus-in-morte @danielle143 @llavalada @yukichan67 @sleepisfortheweakpooh @ilxina @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @misscaller06 @etherealinthewoods

[wildemaven]

life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight. 

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life. 

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book. 

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens. 

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime. 

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.  

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for. 

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head. 

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started. 

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness. 

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden. 

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love. 

[sea-lanterns]

is there any moment where vet!reader just went "😨😨 what. the. fuck." like seriously wondering

-🐆

One time Goat! Ganyu got her head wedged between the bars of the fence at the sanctuary, and then Vet! Reader was called in to saw off parts of the fence while keeping a nervous Ganyu calm.

The Vet was definitely thinking “what the fuck” because woodworking was not in the job description for being a Vet and yet here she was; sawing off fence pieces like a lumberjack while Goat! Ganyu bleats for her to hurry 😭😭

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

I was reminded by a reply that I should probably emphasize this: the Big Cat Public Safety Act literally has an exemption specifically for state colleges and universities. Why? Because there’s two schools with live mascots who live in habitats on campus, and their representatives absolutely would not have supported the bill if it had taken away their college’s cats.

Meet Mike VII at Louisiana State University:

And Leo III at the University of North Alabama:

(Leo III’s mate, Una, passed away a few years ago).

It’s tradition for these schools to have a live mascot, so the bill that *checks notes* is meant to end unethical commercial of big cats had to ensure that they’d still be allowed to have a big cat living next to their stadiums. Luckily neither school takes their mascots to the sidelines of football games anymore, but LSU actually only just stopped that practice in 2017.

These mascot cats have consistently been part of the commercial trade in big cats, although it’s unclear if they will continue to be (even though it’s still legal for these schools to buy their next mascot). Una and Leo III came from a wildlife park in New Hampshire as young cubs, and Mike VII is ostensibly a rescue but the story of the facility he came from doesn’t quite pass the smell test.

Here’s the wild thing. Under the new law, right, most entities that want to keep big cats - like sanctuaries and zoos - have to follow certain rules regarding fencing and breeding restrictions and preventing public contact in order to be allowed to do so. But state schools? Nada. They can buy, sell, and breed without any limits. They could, quite literally, run a tiger puppy-mill or start a cub petting franchise across multiple state universities and it wouldn’t be illegal. Obviously that’s a worst case scenario that’s super unlikely, but it goes to show just how odd it is that these entities have a totally unrestricted exemption. Credible zoological facilities and sanctuaries have to comply with much stricter regulations to prove they’re not exploiting the cats in their care, but for the sake of football, state colleges and universities can do whatever they want!! (sigh). It’s amazing how really specific political interests, such as the culture around football mascots, can result in carve-outs in even bills promoted specifically to create consistent regulations for animal welfare.

[archangeldyke-all]

Sevika and reader being grumbly whiskey aunts together!!!

They just want to sit on their porch together. <3

this is EVERYTHING to me

men and minors dni

you spend your evenings on your screened-in front porch, passing a smoke back and forth, one of you occasionally getting up to grab fresh drinks and snacks from the house.

you're both total grumps, but the kids (vander and silco's ofc) know that if they're ever in trouble, the first house to call is their aunts'.

lmaoooo now i'm imagining jinx calling you for a ride home from a party she shouldn't be at-- and you and sevika showing up to pick her up-- grinding and making out in front of all her friends just so she learns her lesson adkfj;laskjd

over the years, you've hosted the kids in your house for all kinds of reasons. claggor spent a month living with you guys when the three little kids were bogged down with a flu they kept passing around. in a rebellion against his dads' video games ban on him after they caught him smoking weed at fourteen, mylo and his xbox moved in with the two of you. jinx and vi come over for 'girl nights' all the time when they're growing up, and when violet gets laid off from her first job, she crashes with the two of you until she can get back on her feet.

they're the only kids you tolerate though. neighborhood kids are terrified of you and sevika-- both of you are total grumps, and little slayer and sugar are the exact same.

(but you make up for your bad reputation in the neighborhood on halloween-- you're always the house that gives out full sized candy bars.)

your elderly neighbors though? they love you and sevika.

they appreciate that you're just as grumpy as them. they always wave to you from their porches, where they sit every evening along with you guys. they like that you don't give a shit about the home owners association, and that sevika sometimes even does shit just to piss them off. (she painted your fence hot pink after being told by the HOA that the natural wood needed to be painted white. she earned the hearts of all your grumpy old neighbors with that move.)

as a result, you're always being given plates of cookies and pans of casseroles by the old ladies in the neighborhood, the old men are always coming over to share a smoke with sevika and exchange books, gardening tips, and garage tools. (you and sevika repay their hospitality by shoveling their sidewalks and raking their leaves for them in the shitty weather.)

you're constantly being told by old folks that you're 'the nicest lesbians we've ever met.'

sevika always laughs at this, then asks how many lesbians they have met. the answer is always just the two of you.

(one time, though, a little old lady informs you that her granddaughter is a lesbian 'just like you two,' and that she was so happy when she came out to her because 'you'll be just like my lovely neighbors!' this one makes you cry... and even sevika tears up a bit.)

in the summer, you've got a big fan you can flick on to keep you cool on your porch.

in the winter, you've got a little space heater you can pull closer to your matching rocking chairs.

after a few years, sevika even builds you an outside bed, so that after an evening of drinking whiskey and sharing a joint you can cuddle in each other's arms outside and listen to the crickets and frogs chirping before heading in for the evening.

your porch is your favorite little spot in the whole wide world. sevika's planted a jungle of plants surrounding it, and it's like your little oasis from the real world. you've got christmas lights strung around the ceiling that stay up all year long, lighting the porch when the sun finally sets. you've got dog and cat beds scattered everywhere so your animals can join you. there's ash trays, pipes, books, and bottles littered everywhere, and there's always at least a dozen potted plants scattered around inside your little sanctuary.

it's heaven.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

[belovedivies]

Gurl imagine, just imagine a rejuvenated peter with his three ducklings, bumping into raphael's older sibling how would that go?

a/n: THREE DUCKLINGS LMAO- i had too much fun writing this piece. this should have came out on a while back but uni whipped my ass rip- anw, enjoy!! cw: minor spoiler, minor character death, they have fun clowning around and absolutely nothing bad happened. wc: 3.6k m.list

offshore ft. multi

The sky above is pitch black by the time Soongu leaves his dorm and heads to their promised spot. He goes for a casual look that evening: gray hoodie, black pants, a pair of Sketcher that soon gathers dust on the outsole when the guy navigates his way through the city’s park, dry leaves crunching with every step. 

His long legs eat up the distance rather quickly, and there isn’t much until a right turn at the local pub leads Soongu down a dimly lit alley. The streetlights on both sides flicker; it’s a beautiful moonless night. He isn’t on his way to another meeting, not really. There’s a certain ease in his movement, fingers drumming slightly against the lining fabric where he digs his hands into his pockets. Soongu feels lighter, easier to breathe somehow. When he crosses by a traffic mirror attached to a rusty-looking post, a young man stares right back at him. He can almost pretend he’s just another boy; no debt of blood and death marring his youthful features.

The exterior of the convenience store looks tame, but his comrades are already there: lazing around on a long bench that overlooks an empty parking lot through a fairly new chain-link fence. They remind him of a bunch of high schoolers. People with obligations rarely extend outside of the established social circles. It’s Simon who sneaks up to him first, wrapping an arm around the boy’s neck with a cocky smirk.

“Sheesh, took you long enough brother. ” His voice booms against Soongu’s ears like bus tires. “We’re about to ditch your ass.”

“As if,” Soongu replies in faux-annoyance, though there’s no denying how his lips curl up into an amused smile. The years have taken a toll on his old pal, but it’s still Simon at the end of the day and no one else. Lost an arm, chipped a tooth, but still ever the loudmouth who fought with him through life and death during their time as Apostles.

One meter away, Jiwon—the woman of their little team—crosses her legs with a wistful look while Alexander McKing rests his head on her thighs, basking in the little head scratches his owner delivers every few seconds. Simon might have always been the boisterous one, but Soongu was surprised to learn that the hangout today was actually her idea. For someone who constantly fusses and loses her cool over the smallest of mistakes that might give away his true identity, trading her usual gold-plated sanctuary for some simple bonding time on a Friday night is a bit… questionable, if not to say downright odd. 

“Jiwon~” Simon sing-songs, still keeping his arm looped around the boy’s neck as his old pal drags him towards the bench. “Bo— I mean Soongu is here, what are the plans?”

“Shut your goofy ass up.” Ah, there is she. Their blind grumpy old mom. Jiwon uncrosses her legs with an irritated face, brows drawn together behind her near-transparent glasses. “I’m trying to remember the name of that BBQ.”

Simon’s face falls at the insult like a child just got robbed of his favorite toy. Soongu lets out a quiet chuckle this time, and it isn’t long until the two of them jump at each other’s throats for another round of bickering. But tonight isn’t about just that. They are here to hang out, as Jiwon has put it—

(—wasted out of her mind halfway past a bottle of Château Margaux. She lamented through the phone about the horrible hangover she had in the morning, yet somehow the suggestion remained.) 

“You wounded me!” The gray-haired swordsman exclaims. He’s feigning hurt obviously, but it’s those next words that manage to get on Jiwon’s nerves. “Didn’t you remember how you used to hang around little ol’ me and fawn like a pup—ow ow!”

“I. Was. Young. And. I. Was. Stupid!” With each syllable, her hand strikes down Simon’s back in a poor attempt to chastise her jerk of a comrade. “I’d never date you in a million years, not even Peter—“

Soongu cocks an eyebrow at the mention of his infamous codename. Jiwon clamps a hand over her mouth as the realization of what just slipped out hits her. Peter. It would have been fine to mention it if all of them were lazing around in her fancy lair with ice whiskeys on the stainless marble countertop, but here they were out in the open. Not to mention the mutual agreement to only refer to Soongu as… well, Soongu.

“Shit, my bad.” She gulps, a drop of sweat rolling down her forehead. The dog continues to curl up and snuggle her lap.

“Careless, aren’t cha?” Taking the chance to tease, Simon bends his knees and flashes Jiwon a toothy grin that she luckily can’t see, but pisses her off enough to the point her jaws clench, ready to wipe it off his stupid face with another punch.

“You little—”

“Alright, break it up.” As fun as it is to watch the shenanigans carry on, that brief mention of his name reminds the boy to interfere in the little fight. He puts his hands on either of his friends’ foreheads, creating some distance lest they decide to headbutt each other into concussion. “You’re forgetting someone.”

Kageo tenses up ever so slightly in Soongu’s peripheral vision, not used to being the center of attention now that the spotlight is suddenly on him. In his white T-shirt and 6’7 frame, their new companion still ominously blends into the background and contents himself watching every interaction. Old habits die hard, Soongu supposes. Back then those shoulders were unshackled by the weight of hatred and revenge, Kageo was but a shadow standing behind Yuika, serving the girl with all his might. Now with the corpse of his first love rotting on the seabed alongside what’s left of their ship, Kageo is forced to be who he thought he has never been before.

Someone who actually matters.

“I’m fine with whatever you suggest.”

It takes a while for a response to come. Humble and demure, typical for the guy. Soongu can’t blame him; it’s hella awkward for four of them to just stand here and do nothing but stare at each other. 

Simon, unsurprisingly, is the one to break the silence. Taking a step forward, the old man pats Kageo on the back. A classic bro move to let him know there’s no hostility between them anymore. 

“C’mon kiddo,” he clicks his tongue playfully. Simon talks to Kageo like an uncle does his nephew, and Soongu can’t help but wonder if it’s a direct result of months of being an undercover guard at that local grade school, “we’re gonna let loose just this one night. Show a little more enthusiasm, will ya?”

The boy in question tenses up, clearly not used to the casual skinship between friends. Then again, he has only ever been with Yuika, and even then there wasn’t really a time for them to “hang out” between the constant killing and running from authority.

Kageo ducks his head with a loud “Y-Yes, Uncle! I’ll try!” that makes Simon’s smile grow impossibly wider around the edge. Almost hard to believe that the swordsman himself was seconds away from slashing the younger boy’s hand back then. Truly the development of all time.

The atmosphere seems to ease up a bit with that interaction out of the way. While the two of them are busy in their bubble, Soongu turns his attention to Jiwon—who somehow chose to stay quiet throughout the past few minutes. It isn’t very much like her, so he takes his spot on the bench next to the woman.

“Are we going in?” He looks over to his comrade, obviously referring to the store next to them.

“Yeah,” Jiwon hums with a smile, sounding happier than what Soongu usually hears from her. The German Shepherd hops off her lap, instead running up to nuzzle against his legs, which the boy happily rewards the dog with more head scratches.

—

This 7-11 smells… nice. Just the usual cleaning chemicals and lavender spray, but still nice. Anything is better than that funky smell of burnt cheese and melted slurpees.

Soongu hasn’t been to that much to draw the conclusion, honestly. Even back then, all he did as a young and invincible Peter was going on missions from one country to another. Between the seemingly endless list of targets to take down and people to protect, his meals only ever consisted of instant noodles and takeouts. Sitting down at a restaurant to enjoy the food was rare, going to a convenience store for it was even rarer. As an Apostle, the boy doesn’t want to risk a mass shooting that would harm innocent citizens. But as a now just-another-D-rank-Glory-killer…

“Danbi!” 

His mom-comrade calls out an unfamiliar name before rushing past him to reach someone. He turns around to see a girl, the store’s logo plastered on her red apron as well as a beverage-filled box in her hands. Interestingly, she doesn’t end up toppling over despite how quickly the woman sprints in her direction to pull this Danbi into a bone-crushing embrace. 

“You brat—” Jiwon grits her teeth, squishing the younger girl’s cheeks together like Play-Doh. Soongu can’t help but wince just by watching the interaction; she really loved to pull this move back when he first revealed his rejuvenated self, “—where the hell were you?! I called you ten times and you didn’t even answer!”

Her aggressive yelling manages to get the other two’s attention, who up until now were eyeing neatly arranged lines of alcoholic drinks inside a freezer at the back of the store. Kageo gives Simon a mild questioning look when they draw closer to the source of drama, an expression that the old swordsman mirrors. Now it just seems like all three of them are at a loss for this new girl’s identity.

“Ow, ow— unnie!” Danbi squeals like an injured animal. With her hands already occupied, she’s helpless against the onslaught of Jiwon’s pinching. “You’re so mean! You know I can’t use my phone during my shift.”

The blind woman clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “I texted 30 minutes ago too, and you left me on read!”

If she plans to guilt her, it works. Danbi deflates with a sigh. Just before she can say anything else, however, Simon chimes in with a question they’re all dying to know.

“Um… who are you, Missy?”

Danbi’s eyes snap open at the unexpected inquiry. She looks like she doesn’t realize they are right there. Soongu notes how her gaze travels from Kageo’s neutral face to Simon’s amputated arm and then—

—to Soongu himself.

She lingers on him for longer too. Three seconds too long, he counts, with just her blank, doll-eyed stare boring holes directly into his skull.

But then the girl shrivels up, bowing until the box in her hands sweeps the ground, bottles of fizzy drink inside clicking together when she says, “I’m Ahn Danbi, nice to meet you!” then proceeds to straighten up her back with a smile so bright it immediately makes Soongu second guess his decision, but to what?

…to what?

Jiwon grins, the joy evident in her voice. Her affection is softer this time as she returns to wrapping her arms around Danbi’s shoulders. 

“Danbi, these idiots are under my care. Idiots, Danbi here is my cousin—“ Alexander walks up and nuzzles its face against said girl’s legs, “—and protégé, too.

Simon looks shocked by the reveal. “We never knew you had one!”

“Now you do~”

The old man just rolls his eyes before turning to the girl, a big smile on his face as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet ya too, kiddo! I’m Simon.”   

“Hello~” Danbi, still holding onto the box, manages to shift its weight into one hand while squeezing out of her cousin’s embrace just enough to catch a handshake, “Unnie told me a lot about you!”

Uh oh, that scratches a spot. Soongu watches as Simon’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree before his old pal makes a smug face.

“Oh, did she?” The guy pretends to his stubble thoughtfully, though not without the smirk still plastered on his face. “I hope she didn’t blast your poor ears off talking ‘bout me. You know how obsessed she is—”

Jiwon does end up punching him in the face this time. 

—

“So you drain the noodles with these right here…”

Danbi gestures to the tiny dots at the edge of the sealing lid. Using the tip of a wooden chopstick, she pokes three holes before lifting the cup noodle up and tipping it forward so the water can escape through the small space. Above her, Kageo looks strangely out of place as he towers over and watches with hawk-like attention. 

“Here you go!” The girl turns back to him, presenting the now soft instant ramen inside. “Now you just need to add the seasoning.”

Kageo tilts his head. He’s more of a lost child than the unfeeling giant Soongu saw on the Ghost Cruise weeks back, void of Yuika’s cunning giggles or million-dollar chandeliers that render him stationary in the golden lights. When she drowned, a part of him no doubt went down along. But here, there’s a small yet still-there glow in those inky eyes when his friend takes the cup, voice filled with curiosity.

“There’s no water?”

“I saved a bit for easy mixing. Other than that,” Jiwon’s cousin gives him a kind smile. Despite the less-than-ideal introduction to their little team, she seems to have no trouble breaking the ice, “this is a type of 'stir-fried’ dry noodle. You picked Buldak Cream Carbonara, which is usually prepared with just the sauce and powder.”

A small hum leaves Kageo’s throat as he takes in the new piece of information. He then gets to work, finishing the rest of the preparation by mixing two said packets together. The fusion of butter and cheese gives Soongu’s nose a funny tingle, though he isn’t that hungry yet to ask for a bite.

Kageo looks quite amazed at his handiwork, watching as the ramen turns from platinum blonde to a shade of amber—coating in the Buldak sauce and cream powder. Unable to resist, the boy digs in. The flavors left an instant impression on his taste buds, and Kageo’s eyes widened almost comically.

“This is amazing!” 

Danbi beams at the heartfelt praise, even if it isn’t directed at her. “I’m glad! This brand is popular worldwide. Let me know if you need anything else!”

The conversation ends on a comfortable note, with Kageo giving her a quick thank you before heading out to join Jiwon and Simon on the tables outside, whose heads are probably buried in another meaningless argument. Danbi, all smiles and relaxed shoulders, turns back to arranging the drinks into the freezer. She doesn’t seem to mind the silence that follows, nor the fact that Soongu is still here, leaning against the wall a few steps away. She doesn’t even spare him a glance. 

And he isn’t paranoid, definitely not—anyone and anything he’s wary of always turns out to be a threat in the end. Soongu just can’t let loose; he doesn’t know how to. The cool tiles tickle the Apostle’s scalp, his ears buzzing with soft mechanical hums from the AC running above. It’s awfully bright in here, and the more he looks, the more spots and afterimages blind his vision.

Fuck, he needs some nicotine to think. 

And a beer. 

Nicotine and beer.

Soongu fishes into his pants pockets for a nonexistent cigarette, his chest rumbling with a quiet groan. Of course it isn’t there; he barely smoked this month. He sees Danbi in the corner of his eyes, hands on her lap while she sits on her haunches. She stares at him unblinkingly like he’s strange. Like he’s not a real person. And maybe that’s all he needs. Maybe Soongu doesn’t want to drag the painful interaction out longer than a few surface-level exchanges. 

Maybe he’s just that pent-up.

But Danbi smiles again with a glow of satisfaction. She gets up and makes her way towards him, spreading her palms out to reveal a pack of Zest like she’s treating Halloween’s candies to the neighbor’s kids. 

“Last one in stock.” The girl goes on like nothing happened; the same customer service smile with a small hint of sugary emptiness. “Enjoy.”

And Soongu doesn’t know how to feel. He’s very much skeptical, some part impressed, yet not at all touched by the deceitfully thoughtful gesture. There’s a stark difference in how Danbi hugs Jiwon back, shakes Simon’s hand, and guides Kageo through a simple routine versus the stench of death she has been subtly reeking from every small pore on her body.

“And,” the corner of Soongu’s lips curl up into a smirk. It takes two to tango, “how exactly would you know?”

Danbi lets out a small sigh, tilting her head slightly to the side with her arms crossed. A wistful look graces her face, and only there does he finally pick up the first glimpse of blood relation between her and his blind comrade. 

“That was all the guys in Glory ever bought when they crashed.” The way she sounds it out genuinely feels like a complaint. “Lo Crux isn’t out of the equation, but that’s for older men.” 

What a theory. Soongu’s fingers graze one edge of the pack. The sticker and thin wrapper are already peeled, though the whole thing inside remains untouched. 

“Why not?” He quips. “Can’t a young man enjoy his cigar?”

“Not really...”

Danbi giggles, leaning closer.

“Unless you’re Peter.”

Soongu froze, his spine growing cold just as the tiles behind him.

But she provides an easy out, clasping her hands together with a sheepish smile. “Welp, that’s just me though! Everybody has their own preference.”

She places the empty box on the ground aside, leaving him to comprehend her words. And that’s it. The girl crouches down and grabs a few cans of beer when she opens the freezer door with one hand, balancing the drinks in the other. Danbi looks at him with a cheerfulness that is hard-wired into her facial muscles, just the right amount of casual insanity to keep the Apostle guessing.

“Give these to her, ok?” She nags him in an easygoing voice, passing them after she dumps the cans into a 7-11 plastic bag. And Soongu takes it. It’s mainly for Jiwon, but they are all likely to share everything later. One look inside reveals more and more boozes, some brands he vaguely recalls to be his friend’s favorites two decades ago before she trades them for high-end goods.

Eating at a well-known local BBQ and hitting a karaoke booth until morning are their ultimate goal for tonight. He’s sure swinging by here has just been an added bonus for Jiwon to see her sibling and grab beers on the way. Soongu stops humoring Danbi’s mind games for a while, opting to let his gaze trail naturally along the see-through glasses that wall this place with the world outside.

 The moving smudges of brown, gray, and white in the distance are his friends. Comrades. And he appreciates them. He really does. There’s always more to their bond than that of people who share a mutual goal to take down Glory—there’s a common ground too. A dynamic he finds himself growing comfortable with. They knew who he really was, and Soongu thinks it’s nice: he doesn’t have to put up a mask like he does around Yuna and the Doggo brothers. Around them, he can just simply be him.

A dysfunctional family, but still a family nonetheless.

Danbi watches in his peripheral vision, a curious look etched on her face. When the Apostle pulls up to the counter to check out, she waves her hands dismissively with a smile; Jiwon slipped her something much more valuable under the table.

—

You click the door shut behind you, staring up at the ceiling.

They gang up, and you can mostly get behind that logic. 

Kageo is little more than emotionally driven at the moment, but there is plenty of room to grow once the pain mellows out. Simon, too. Goofy and unserious as he is, the man was Peter’s best student back in their days. Even if Jiwon is no match for Johan and his god-like echolocation, she’s still a formidable opponent on her own. Overall a team… a strong one. If they can make it work, they’re bound to be an eyesore for Glory in the long run. 

Then why the hell is he there?

That guy is undoubtedly Kim Soongu, the face you saw digging through the pile of documents one night after Nathaniel’s comment about a certain newbie piqued your interest—you weren’t impressed with what you found. Average stats, average height, no remarkable features. What potential was there to tap into?

Washing down the budding bit of annoyance with a huff, you lean against the hollow metal surface of the door.

“Danbi, is there really no cigarette left?~”

No answer.

“Oh.”

You let out a soft chuckle. 

A few footsteps forward, Danbi’s body rots away near the entrance leading to the store’s dumpster area. She was like that when you first found her—on her stomach with cheeks caked in a thin layer of mud and rainwater. She’s neither moving nor breathing—her skin grows cold and her muscles become stiff. Even then, Jiwon hadn’t been able to pick up the telltale signs of strangeness and death in your movement—letting her guard down around the ones she called family. 

“Huh,” you nudge her corpse with one foot, just enough to get her lifeless eyes to meet yours. “a seizure it is. That surgery sure fucked you up.”

Well, not that’s any of your business!

She’s dead, the security camera is down, 7-11 is empty, and you have a new bedtime story to tell Raphael tonight. Leaving through the door in the back, you bid Danbi farewell with a smile.

Her body is found in the morning.