#home care houston texas

[alomahomecarethewoodlands]

Aloma Home Care offers exceptional home care assistance in Houston Texas, focusing on compassion and respect for every individual. Our team of caregivers is dedicated to providing not only physical support but also emotional companionship. We strive to create a nurturing environment that promotes well-being and independence.

Aloma Home Care 12610 Easten St., Houston, TX 77014 (281) 845–2466

My Official Website: https://alomahomecare.com/ Google Plus Listing: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=4876513068466364490

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Other Services

PERSONAL HYGIENE BED/WHEELCHAIR TRANSFER 24-HOUR CARE SERVICES MEDICATION REMINDER DEMENTIA CARE COMPANIONSHIP LIGHT HOUSEKEEPING/LAUNDRY

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[carterahealth]

How Does Houston Long-term Health care Help and What is the Future of the Service

Healthcare has crossed all the barriers and led to a smooth path with the congregation of valuable methods for patients all across the world. On top of that long-term healthcare insurance is there to provide with coverage that overcomes any high amount of cost. As we have entered the phase of technology, you can see how AI and ML power has bettered clinical trials. Moving on to the in-house patient care provided in Houston it again has enriched its routes by the miraculous acceleration for not only the doctors but patients as well.

Houston Long-term Health Care provides with healthcare services that range from giving you the best and foremost treatment if you are suffering from a chronic disease to accommodation. Over here the doctors are specialized with outpatient care techniques, As it is given long-term healthcare is not at all a temporary business as given in the hospitals and institutions. The costs that are associated with extended healthcare services can also vary according to the disabilities and cognitive impairments.

Ph no. (833) 735-2273 Mail us info@carterahealth.com Address 1449 Hwy 6 Suite 320, Sugar Land, TX 77478

[careworksblog]

Dementia Care in Houston, Texas: Providing Compassionate Support and Specialized Services

Dementia is a progressive neurological condition that affects millions of people worldwide, including those residing in Houston, Texas. The city is home to numerous healthcare providers and organizations dedicated to offering comprehensive dementia care services. This content will focus on dementia care in Houston, highlighting the compassionate support and specialized services available to individuals and their families.

Diagnosis and Evaluation: Houston has a network of healthcare professionals specializing in diagnosing and evaluating dementia. Medical practitioners, neurologists, and geriatric specialists conduct thorough assessments to determine the type and stage of dementia. These evaluations include cognitive testing, medical history reviews, brain imaging, and comprehensive evaluations to ensure accurate diagnosis and personalized care plans.

Memory Care Communities: Houston boasts a range of memory care communities that cater specifically to individuals with dementia. These communities provide safe and supportive environments designed to meet the unique needs of residents. They offer 24/7 supervision, assistance with activities of daily living (ADLs), specialized memory-enhancing activities, and social engagement opportunities. Memory care communities in Houston focus on maintaining dignity, promoting independence, and enhancing the overall quality of life for individuals with dementia.

In-Home Dementia Care: Many families prefer to keep their loved ones with dementia at home while receiving professional care. In Houston, various home care agencies specialize in dementia care, providing trained caregivers who offer personalized assistance and support. These caregivers are experienced in managing dementia-related challenges, including behavioral changes, wandering, and medication management. In-home dementia care services in Houston aim to create a safe and familiar environment while ensuring the well-being and comfort of the individual.

Support and Education: Houston is home to several organizations and support groups that provide education and resources for individuals with dementia and their families. These organizations offer support through counseling, educational workshops, and caregiver training programs. They facilitate connections with other families facing similar challenges, fostering a sense of community and reducing feelings of isolation. Additionally, they help navigate the complexities of dementia care, providing valuable information on available resources, financial assistance, and legal considerations.

Research and Clinical Trials: Houston's medical community actively engages in dementia research and clinical trials, offering individuals the opportunity to participate in cutting-edge treatments and therapies. These research initiatives contribute to advancing knowledge, improving diagnostic techniques, and developing innovative interventions for dementia care. By participating in clinical trials, individuals with dementia can play an active role in shaping future treatments and potentially benefit from emerging therapies.

Collaborative Care Approach: Dementia care in Houston , Tx follows a collaborative approach, involving a multidisciplinary team of healthcare professionals, including neurologists, geriatricians, nurses, social workers, and occupational therapists. This interdisciplinary approach ensures comprehensive and person-centered care, addressing not only the physical aspects but also the emotional, social, and cognitive well-being of individuals with dementia.

In summary, dementia care Houston, Texas, emphasizes compassionate support and specialized services for individuals and families affected by dementia. The city offers diagnostic evaluations, memory care communities, in-home care options, support and education resources, research opportunities, and a collaborative care approach. With these comprehensive services, Houston strives to enhance the quality of life for individuals with dementia, ensuring they receive the care and support they need in a compassionate and understanding environment.

[sterlingstaffingsolutions]

Optimizing healthcare staffing is essential for maintaining efficiency, minimizing burnout among staff members, and ultimately improving patient outcomes. By accurately forecasting patient volumes, analyzing historical data, and considering variables like seasonal fluctuations and special events, healthcare organizations can better anticipate staffing requirements and prevent shortages or surpluses.

[usacounselingcredit]

Houston Texas Appliance Parts: Home appliances with pet care features all the rage in Korea - Pulse by Maeil Business News Korea

Houston Texas Appliance Parts

Home appliances with pet care features all the rage in Korea - Pulse by Maeil Business News Korea

by Houston Texas Appliance Parts on Wednesday 15 March 2023 02:21 AM UTC-05

According to multiple industry sources on Tuesday, Korean home appliance company Shinil Electronics Co. introduced a hybrid standing dryer late last ...

Pennsylvania Philadelphia PA Philadelphia March 14, 2023 at 08:54PM

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[eddiernunson]

"Do You Want One?" | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: your cousin shows you around Hawkins High for your first day, and is surprised to say the least when her sweet cousin hooks onto Eddie Munson. Just seeing him brings a swoop to your stomach you've never quite felt before, and become desperate for more of him.

Warnings: late bloomer!reader, virgin!reader, mentions never having experienced lust of the sort or really understanding what it is, corruption!kink, little praise, taking of virginity, slight perv!eddie

Authors' note: I, myself didn't feel any sort of sexual attraction or lust until i was 15/16. I tried to write the reader innocent without being infantilized. Also, these photos are for aesthetics only, not much of the reader is described, except for height. Also, my editor pulled through, despite her busy schedule, thanks @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you! This is a birthday present to @bebe07011, always one of the first to read <3

Word Count: 9k

The subtle, yet annoying ring of your alarm yanks you out of your sleep, a sleep that took hours to settle into after anxious tossing and turning. A yawn overtakes your body as you sit up, looking around sleepily at the boxes that contain the contents of your room. You whine as the stars overflow your vision from the rubbing of your eye.

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, tasting the mint of your mouthwash when your mom pushes a bagel into your hand. Most of the kitchen is still in boxes, just a few appliances on the unnaturally bare counters. “Hey, Aunt Karen just called and said Nancy will be here any minute.” She offers, and a part of you feels for the bags under her eyes.

“Thanks.” You say, garbled with a piece of bagel in your mouth.

“Oh, and Mike is being a little testy, so he probably won’t move from the front seat for you.” She laughs, shaking her head.

You shrug, not caring. “I’ve been in the backseat for this long.”

Two honks out the front announce their arrival, and you ignore the anxious reminders she hurriedly spits out as you grab your backpack by the front door, already filled with school supplies from Texas. You shout an I love you to her as the Wheelers’ Station Wagon comes into your sight from the swung open door, finally out of her worried clutches that you’ve been in from the last week straight.

True to Aunt Karen’s word, Mike gave a defiant look when Nancy demanded he get out the front seat. Again, you didn’t care. “Sorry Mike has a ruler up his ass.” Nancy apologizes, her smirk reaching your own in the rearview.

You roll your eyes, a signal that it really doesn’t matter to you.

Hawkins, miniscule in comparison to that of your old home, Houston, passes by in the windows and you huff a sigh out at how much smaller your world has gotten. Your town, your school…you wish you could go back and give a reality check to the girl who patronized Nancy for it on the phone.

As promised, Nancy shows you to the front office and your first few classes. Being the new girl in the middle of a semester is absolute bullshit, but at least it wasn’t Forks, Washington levels of bullshit. That level of attention would’ve had you crawling under a bridge. Thank God only one teacher asked you to introduce yourself to the class. The rest of them couldn’t even be bothered.

Nancy sits alone at lunch, a notepad in her hand next to a near empty lunch tray. One thing you notice is that this school is much more categorized than yours was. It felt straight out of a high school dramedy, one you would criticize for being cliché.

Oh. Maybe it does some have truth to it.

“Hey loner.” You greet her, your butt hitting the hard plastic chair.

“I’m not a loner.” She huffs, hand moving absentmindedly as she writes. “My news team is getting this week’s paper done, we usually get it done during lunch.”

You roll your eyes, having noted the empty space on her tray. “You work too hard.”

“Nope. If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.” She answers, her signature side smirk on her face. Sometimes, only sometimes, Nancy doesn’t really have a serious bone in her body.

You gesture to the cafeteria, opening your fruit cup. “So, tell me about your very categorized cafeteria.”

She laughs, pausing in the middle of the sentence she’s writing. “So. There’s the jocks/cheerleaders, the nerds, the band nerds, drama nerds, science nerds—"

“Those are different from the regular nerds?” You ask, eyebrow quirked.

“Yes.” She deadpans. “Those are the kids without a clique,” she points, a bunch of kids not interacting, shyly nibbling at their lunches. “And finally, where my brother sits. Hellfire.”

It felt dramatic, but the table definitely earned their last but not least position. They stand out from the crowd, not seeming to care about fitting in like everyone else so desperately does. From the looks of it, individually, none of them would fit in the crowd. As a group, they stick out like a sore thumb. They don’t even care.

Nancy seems to be speaking, but she fades into the background. While you tricked yourself into believing you were observing the table, it occurs to you your eyes are fixated on the head of it, your heart beating out of your chest as you stare at him.

Him.

“Who’s he?” You interrupt Nancy, watching as his long frizzy hair curtain over his face. You didn’t even know someone in real life could be this good looking, you were sure it was reserved for celebrities in magazines.

Nancy switches her glance back and forth between your slack jaw and wide eyes and him. “That’s Eddie Munson.” She answers, her voice calculated. “The dork that I complained about Mike copying, remember?”

Your tongue reaches out to lick your lips, staring at him distractedly. A hot feeling in the swell of your gut overwhelms your senses. “You described a wet-rat loser.”

Nancy huffs in abrupt laughter. “That’s cause he is!”

“Him?” You ask, this hot feeling starting to radiate. You notice it’s especially hot in your crotch, a sort of…want you’ve never felt before. You’ve never craved for anyone this badly.

Nancy laughs in disbelief, surprised to say the least that her sweet cousin is openly drooling over Eddie The Freak Munson of all people. “I can put in a good word, if you want.” She teases, smirking at the way your eyes widen in panic.

“No, no, please don’t.” You insist, your eyes finally flickering back to her.

“Fine, you can drool from afar.” She muses. “Oh, lunch’ll be over in a handful of minutes. What’s your next class?”

“History.” You answer, viewing your crumpled schedule. God, not another boring lecture.

Nancy bites her lip, something she’s clearly not willing to share with the class. You don’t ask, still trying to catch your breath.

She walks you across the school to the classroom littered with historical figures and maps. She salutes you, telling you she’ll see you in AP Calculus right after this one. The look on her face never leaves it, she’s always got a secret right under the surface, but this one seemed more entertaining than the rest.

When you enter the classroom, the teacher tells you there’s assigned seats in this one and lucky for you, there’s one seat left. She directs you to the far-left corner, signalling to the one on the right. You shyly ignore the looks on your new classmates faces, all of them observing the face of the new kid who started so late in the year.

New faces are always hard to ignore, it’s just human nature to stare. Still, your stage fright is present in the forefront of your mind.

Your teacher starts the lecture by introducing you as a new kid, offering a wave to everyone that turns their head to look at you. Why can’t teachers just learn to be normal?

Your head is turned down, leaning on your elbow as she starts to explain a concept you’ve already learned last year. Are they sure they put you in a grade 12 class? At least this will be easier than most. Suddenly the heavy door opens, and your heart stutters as the man who’s taken over your every thought stumbles into the room ten minutes late.

“Mr. Munson! How nice of you to join us!” She greets, her scowl indicating that it’s anything but.

“You are so welcome, Miss. Greyson.” Eddie answers, his voice dripping in a tenor tone that sends a shiver down your spine. Not a lick of sarcasm comes from him, answering as if she was genuine.

She sighs, closing her eyes in exasperation. “Just go have a seat.”

Something in you suddenly realizes that the only available seat is right next to yours. A thrill takes over you, biting your lip excitedly as he struts as if he has all the time in the world.

After a brief stint on the projector, Miss. Greyson instructs the class to open their textbooks and answer questions on the following pages. “You may work in pairs.” She answers the many raised hands, and the room is filled by the harsh sound of desks groaning against the floor.

You get up from your desk, leaning into the teacher as she gathers the laminated sheets she had just used for the lesson. “I don’t have a textbook, yet.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She replies, dropping her pile to shuffle off to her desk. “I completely forgot, in all the excitement.” She hands you the textbook that looks about fifteen years old, the spine cracked to oblivion. She leans in as you grab it, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry about the placement of your desk, just ignore him. There was no one I hated in this classroom enough to place next to him.”

You resist the urge to raise an eyebrow, perplexed at her open disdain for him. It reminded you of the tone of voice Nancy had over the phone, wondering if the whole school was really this open about it. “I’ll live.” You answer, and she winks like you two share a secret.

Your textbook lands harshly on the desk, opening it to the page indicated in white chalk written on the blackboard. God, the reading is four pages, and the questions are a paragraph each. This much reading on the downfall of Mycenae? A jarring noise to your left surprises you, looking up to face his desk come closer and closer.

He leans over, a smile on his face that sends a thrill right through you. “So, how come I’ve never seen you around?”

He talks low, you spend the time hoping he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that trails over your skin. “Uh, I just started today.” You beg yourself to seem normal, to look him in the eyes like a decent conversationalist. You can’t bring yourself to, no matter how hard you try. Somehow you know when you finally look in those eyes of his, you’ll be too mesmerized to look away.

The printed words on the page make no sense, just a blur of boring text in black and white.

He leans back in his chair; you can feel his eyes planted on you. “Ah, makes sense. I would’ve remembered seeing your pretty face around.”

Oh my god he just called me pretty. Surely, he’s lying? Being in his line of sight and being considered good looking enough to him for him to even glance at was never in your wildest imagination, picturing him glazing right over you. Just a bug on the windshield. You gulp, pretending to be infatuated with the page in front of you instead of the man next to you.

“You shy?” He asks. In the corner of your eye, you see him leaning onto his elbow, his eyes staring a hole in your head.

Finally, you tear your glance off the textbook and onto him. God were you right about his eyes. How can a pair of brown eyes be so captivating? They’re a perfect chocolate brown, his mouth in a lopsided expression that sucks the air out of your lungs. “A little.” You admit, distracted by the sound of his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk.

His limber fingers are dressed in chunky silver rings, the sight of his hands moving distractedly suddenly sends the heat you felt in your stomach earlier into a frenzy, the pull strong and overwhelming. “I can work with that.” A shy smile lands on your face, clenching your teeth as a method of resisting the urge to smile ear to ear. “Can I get a name?”

You tell him and hearing it from his lips is a vice and a half. “And you’re Eddie.” You say before he can introduce himself.

“So, my reputation precedes me.” He laughs, crossing his arms. “Or am I exactly like they said?”

You shrug. “Not exactly.”

His shoulders indicate a silent huff of laughter. “Care to expand on that?”

You shrug again. “You’re just…different.”

The look on his face indicates this answer isn’t good enough, but he doesn’t care to ask you to expand any further. As you work on your homework, finally settling your heartbeat and breathing rate, he writes in a notebook littered with graffiti. His left foot rests on the edge of his desk, the book resting on his thigh as he writes with the dull pencil.

He’s not doing any homework, but he’s at least letting you work on yours. The bell finally rings, dismissing you from your class and the room fills with chatter as everyone packs their bags. “You know where your next class is?”

You shake your head; having told Nancy you could work it out on your own. “Uh, no. It’s AP Calculus with Mr. Warner.”

“Mr. Warner.” He muses, his notebook in one hand and carrying a small metal tin. “Here, I’ll walk you.”

You pause, gulping as your bag rests on one shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” You insist, suddenly realizing he’s about a whole head taller than you.

He smiles, his gaze making you feel…hot. “I didn’t ask, sweetheart.”

The way you gulp, your wide eyes darting back and forth between his, your teeth biting on your bottom lip nervously, Eddie was startled at the physical reaction and it was all going straight to his dick. The urge to shove his thumb between your pretty, plump lips is overwhelming, to say the least.

“Oh.” You answer, fingernails digging into the strap of your backpack. “Then lead the way.”

Eddie shakes his head, starting down the hallway to the other end of the school. As soon as he reaches the classroom, he turns around, leaning against the locker on his arm, neck hunching over you. Oh god, he’s gorgeous. “Will you let me take you out on a date, tonight?”

Every bone in your body wants to say yes, fingers just itching to reach out and touch his lithe hips. “My mom won’t let me go out on a Monday.”

So, that was not a No. “I would’ve asked for Friday, but I can’t wait that long.”

His admission drives you crazy, that heat ever present. Things like this just don’t happen. “Neither can I.” You admit, feeling scared of the rush that overwhelms you, yet scared of the idea of it never happening. You think quickly, biting your lip. “Think you can pick me up from my cousin’s house?”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans against the locker. “Who’s your cousin?"

“Nancy Wheeler.”

His eyes bug out of the sockets, sighing in disbelief. “You’re cousins with Wheeler?” You nod, wondering if there’s any unspoken animosity between them. “I’ve dropped her kid brother off a few times, I know where she lives. You gonna tell your mom where you’re heading out for the night?”

You shake your head, sure he knows the answer, already.

Eddie huffs, hoping the crotch of his pants won’t give him away. “You ever snuck out before?”

“No.” You answer, looking up as the bell rings. “But I’m sure I can manage.”

You can’t place the expression on his face, somewhere between bewildered and amused.

For the record, it’s pure lust, having just met you and he’s already accidentally convincing you to sneak out for him. He wants you to, wondering if one day you’ll go so far to skip class to have fun with him under the bleachers.

His eyes leer down your body, watching as your skirt dances across your bare thighs while your feet can’t stay in place. He plays with his fingers absentmindedly, just barely resisting the urge to move them past the barrier and watch your face melt in pleasure.

“What time?” Eddie asks, eyes flickering up to your sweet face.

You think about it, knowing you’ll need time to grab at least a dress and get ready at the Wheelers’. “7:30.”

Eddie laughs, turning away from you and back down the hall to where you presumed his class was. “Pick you up at 7.”

“I-I said 7:30!”

“I’ll honk twice!” He answers, hand in his pocket like he didn’t just glue you into place.

The echo of his voice suddenly reminds you the halls are empty, only a few feet away from Mr. Warners classroom. You know more than anyone that AP Calculus students just aren’t late. Maybe he’ll give you grace on your first day.

You ignore the way every set of eyes switch to you, looking around the room for an empty seat. Luckily, Nance has saved one right next to you. “Hi, sorry. Couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, take this and have a seat right next to Miss.Wheeler, there.” He offers, gesturing to your cousin.

When the lecture ends and he assigns homework, she gets right to the point. “So, how was History?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “You knew he’d be there.” You accuse, her grin affirming your assumption completely. “A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Not like you had to speak to him.” Nancy sighs, opening her textbook to the page indicated.

You stare at her pointedly, opening your book to a random page. “I sat next to him.”

Nancy instinctively knows something is up, seeing something was on your mind. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You’ve barely given me a chance.” You comment sarcastically, looking over at her expectant face. “He…he asked me out.”

To say Nancy is surprised at this development would be simply, an understatement. “I’m sorry?”

You grin, finally letting that smile you’ve been hiding take over. “He’s picking me up at 7.”

“Like your mom will let you go out on a weekday.” She squints, knowing your mom’s tendencies to make you prioritize school over anything else.

“…which is why I need you to cover for me.” You hesitate, grinning shyly when she gives you a look of utter disbelief.

“Seriously?” You nod, pleading with her silently. “Fine. But you owe me big.”

You promise to make it up to her.

When the bell rings signifying the end of the day, your heart beats rapidly as the time for your date comes closer and closer. Nancy said she wouldn’t be able to help with your conundrum of the fact that you’ll need a dress and a way to get from your house to Nancy’s.

As you sit next to her while she writes a rough copy of an article wondering who you could possibly get to drive you. You might be shit out of luck. Like an angel, a freckled redhead appears out of nowhere. “Nance, is that the cousin?” She asks, sitting right across from you.

From the look on Nancy’s face, you’re unsure how close they actually are. “Yep.”

“Cool! I’m Robin, over-sharer, anxiety ridden, fast talker. Nice to meet ya.”

You take her extended hands, sort of hypnotized by her warm green eyes. “You too.”

“Hey, Steve busy?” Nancy asks, a million thoughts behind her head.

“Probably not.” Robin offers, getting up from the table. “Why?”

“Oh, she needs a ride.”

Robin eyes you, a smirk landing on her face. “I can convince him.” She side eyes, gesturing for you to follow.

You follow her around the school to the front where you face a handsome lanky dude sitting impatiently as he waits for his friend. When he turns the window down to ask who you are, you realize he’s not just handsome, he’s hot. God, you’ll have to reprimand Nancy for leaving that detail out. “What’s with the guest?”

“She’s Nance’s cousin. She needs a ride, would you mind?”

“What am I, a chauffeur?” Steve asks, face shifting into a deep scowl.

You stop Robin from responding, having an immediate comeback. “I had to listen to my cousin bitch about you for hours. Hours. I think I deserve a little compensation for my time, don’t you?”

Steve smirks, looking from under the hair falling into his face. “Whatever, get in.”

“Where you need a ride to?” He asks as you get into his backseat.

“My house.” You pause, hesitating to say the second location. “Then Nancy’s house.”

Steve squints suspiciously at you in his rear view. “Why two locations?”

“So my date can pick me up tonight.” You admit, glancing out the window shyly.

Robin turns in her seat, jaw dropping open. “Isn’t this your first day?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “So?”

“Oh shit.” She glances to Steve and back to you. “Who? Do we know him?”

“Um, probably.”

“We know him.” Robin states.

“Turn here, third house on the left…” you tell him, getting out of his car as soon as it stops.

When you get inside your house, you explain to your mom you are way further behind on school than you thought you were and will need some time to get caught up. She asks how late you’ll be, and when you say midnight, she doesn’t even hesitate to let you go.

Thank god you don’t lie, because this should not be this easy. Your hands ruffle through the box of dresses by your bed, grabbing at a few you know look good on you. They’re stuffed into your backpack, cursing yourself for not unpacking your makeup earlier. Hopefully Nancy will be nice enough to lend you some. (You doubt it.)

You rush a love you out to your mom and back into Steve’s back seat, out of breath from running up and down the stairs so damn fast. God, the things you were doing for your goddamn date.

Nancy only lives down a few blocks from you, thus the easy carpool your moms figured out until you get your car. God, in Houston you could’ve just taken a METRORail, you didn’t need a damn car. You thank Steve profusely, thankful for his saving grace.

You would rather tell every member of Hawkins Senior class personally a fun fact about you than go out with Eddie in the same thing you wore to school. You’re shy, not pathetic.

“You don’t owe him anything if you tell us who asked you out.” She calls out of her open window, face full amusement. “C’mon!”

You wait as they pull forward, Steve shaking his head at his best friend’s shenanigans. “It’s Eddie Munson!” You shout, laughing as she shouts a what in utter disbelief.

You wave as they take off, thinking you and her could actually be great friends. She has the kind of spunk you look for in a friend, the same spunk you’ve witnessed in your cousin. A large part of you wonders why they’re not friends.

When your Aunt Karen wonders why she wasn’t alerted, you give the disclaimer you’re just there to catch up on the schoolwork. Your Uncle Ted insinuates Houston must be so far behind Hawkins, and you grit a smile in response, an indent on the tip of your tongue from your teeth. Most of your lessons from the school day you had learned last year, already earning top marks on those questions. The only class that was remotely hard was calculus.

It was borderline hilarious.

You run up the stairs, stomach in knots.                                                                         

Nancy is nice enough to let you use her makeup, grinning up at you with amusement as you ruffle through the dresses you so hurriedly packed. She gives a definite yes to a dress you knew stands out but worry at the way it just brushes against your thigh, and the neckline dives deeper than what you’re used to.

When it cascades down your body, the look in her stark green eyes tells you everything you need to know. This was the dress. Nancy is kind enough to do your hair, talking quietly with you as she curls your hair.

The half hour leading up to 7 has you lying on her bed, freaking out. She does the homework you’re supposed to be doing, answering your questions vaguely. She tries to make you feel better, grinning cheekily as she never imagined her sweet cousin going on date with Hawkin’s resident metal head.

When two honks occur down the street, you sit up starkly at the sound, biting your lip as you glance to her. “Go. I’ll distract my parents.”

She does, asking them for faux advice in the living room as you sneak past them to the front door, closing it with the most care you could muster. When you don’t hear any commotions, that gives you the go ahead to run down the street to the large van that sticks out, headlights on as it sits idly.

You peer up at him through the passenger window, waving as he unlocks it for you. The lopsided smile on his face starts that heat up again, like he turns on burners all over your body at will. The door shuts behind you, and you smile up at him shyly when he turns down the music.

“You look…wow.” He compliments you, watching the way your eyes look up at him, that beautiful shine.

You assess his outfit, a leather jacket worn with a graphic t-shirt and jeans with rips at the knee. He looked casual, but damn fine regardless. Him losing his metal accessories and devil-may-care look probably would’ve disappointed you, anyway. “So do you.” You offer back, taking in the way he looks as he starts his van and pulls out.

“Thanks.” He winks, turning at a traffic intersection. “So, there are several places we can go, the movies, Hal’s Diner, Benny’s Burgers, bowling alley, the Drive In, up to you, sweetheart.” He insists, driving his van around the small town.

The only thing you want at the current moment is to be in close quarters with him, with the need to kiss him crazy, a need you’ve experienced far too much this quickly. There’s only one thing that allows that. “Drive in.” You decide, the prospect of those same close quarters sending a thrill down your spine.

Eddie signals left, the drive-in location the opposite way from where he’s been driving. “Sounds good, love.”

Eddie doesn’t ignore the way you subtly avoid eye contact from him, shyly looking at your near bare thighs. By the way, were you trying to get a rise out of him with this wonderfully slinky dress you’re wearing? The moment you crawled into his van he was overthrown by your sweet perfume and the way your dress smooths over your gorgeous curves. It’s too hard, impossibly hard, to resist leaning in for your sweet scent, to nuzzle his nose in your neck. The idea that you don’t want to leave the intimacy of the van any more than he does is enough to bring the urge to readjust the crotch of his jeans.

By the time he pulls up into the far corner of the lot, turning on his radio so it connects with the movie mid-beginning credit scene, you take in the sparce parking lot, only a few vehicles spread apart sporadically. Well, you wanted intimate. You wanted close, now you've got it. His freshly showered self with the mix of his cologne just adding fuel to the ever-increasing fire.

This fire suddenly sends the need to squeeze your legs together, not completely understanding the feeling, but there’s an inkling. An instinct that on some level you know what it is, but no one ever warned you it could be this intense.

The first act of the movie is shared by you and Eddie laughing at the same jokes together, grabbing candy from his hands when he offers it. You sip on a straw in a glass coke bottle, if only to calm the nerves combined with heat that has completely overshadowed any sense you seem to have. Eddie leans back comfortably in his fabric covered seat, a hand landing on your bare thigh.

Oh, that turned up the heat several notches. It starts to become clearer that this heat is what can now be more clearly defined as a want. A want for…more of his hands, further up, him, close to you. Closer.

As your thighs tense and clench under his touch, Eddie can’t hold back any more like he planned. His other hand is tucked under your chin, lifting your big eyes to look up at his. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, your mouth parting as you look up at him with stars in your eyes. “Can I?”

Your eyebrows furrow, breath stuttering as you peer up at him. You nod your head, glancing at his shiny pink lips. Every inch of air is tugged from your lungs as he leans forward, lips open as he places them on yours.

Eddie had every intention of kissing you delicately, the way he knows you deserve to be kissed, gently and patiently. As soon as the whimper leaves your throat and vibrates into his mouth, he forgets his good intentions. The kiss turns dirty, fast, the pressure of his spread hand increasing in the best fucking way, making your body fold involuntarily towards him.

Just when you’re enjoying the feeling of his tongue against yours, mewling pathetically against his lips, Eddie starts to kiss down your throat. You sigh, leaning back as that heat finally gains a resolve. Oh, god you're horny. Is that what that is? No wonder teenage boys are such perverts.

The combination of teeth and tongue is everything you needed and more; every muscle feeling like jelly as his lips and hands work like magic over you. Eddie licks a strip up to your ear, a startled and blissful moan filling up the car. He skips right past the pleasantries, past any inclination that you were anything other than wild for eachother. “You ever touch yourself, sweetheart?”

Only God knows why, but the dirty sentence just makes you hungrier for him, more eager. However, the answer to that jarring question is an honest and stuttered, “No.”

 Eddie separates from you, giving you a look, you can’t quite place. “Wait, really?” You confirm it, breathing heavily, gasping as his eyes visibly darken. “So, you’ve never cum before?”

The sentence makes your eyes widen, gulping at that gorgeous face of his. You think you know what he means, but you still need clarification.

“Orgasm, princess. Have you ever had an orgasm?” He asks, a hand placed on your cheek as he watches your reaction.

Oh. That’s what you thought. That’s an absolute and definitive, “No.”

His fingers increase their pressure, a reflex of from his reaction. God, you’re more innocent than he even knew. The idea of even teaching you what it means to get off sends a swoop through his gut, picturing you looking at him with those wide eyes as he corrupts you.

God, does he want to corrupt you. He wants to corrupt every inch of you, turn you into someone who begs him to skip class so you can guzzle on his cock. The way you stare up at him waiting for a response, eyes glazed over as you wait for him to continue kissing you, as if you don’t even remember you’re at a drive in to begin with.

His cock has never hurt so much from the blood pulsing through it, probably an angry red at this point.

“Can I give you one?” He asks, thumb starting to rub on your bottom lip again.

“An-an orgasm?” You stutter, voice squeaking through the question. He’s gorgeous, the way he stares down at you, those same chocolate brown eyes making that heat pool. Despite the fear, the arousal is greater. “Uh, sure.”

He smirks, watching your eyes dart back and forth nervously. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” You confirm, pulling him for the kiss you so desperately crave. You weren’t sure how it happens, your hands having a damn mind of their own. Despite him pulling away, he slips back into the kiss easily, the hand on your thigh and hand on your face making you feel dizzy.

You’ve had kisses before, but you knew you were missing something in them. At last, you’ve found it, desperately clinging onto his kiss. God, he’s good at making you turn into mush, relaxing into his seats almost completely.

His hand inches up your thigh, waiting for you to protest. Your breath hitches as he gets closer and closer. “I'm gonna make you feel so good.” He promises, his hot breath turning you into a liquid. Finally, his hand lands on the cotton of your underwear, his strokes tugging mewls into his open mouth. “Shit, you’re soaked, baby. You even know how much you want me? Probably confusing, hmm?”

He puts pressure at the top, rubbing small circles and it feels like fire is set to your center, gasping as your concentration falls apart. His fingers feel good, in a way you didn’t think was possible. Words in your mind echo the thought of how damn good he feels, mouth attempting to tell him, but nothing comes out but wanton gasps.

Eddie watches you wither in his chair, legs opening for him. Sure, giving you an orgasm is a fierce turn on, but knowing you’ve never experienced any type of pleasure or want is sent straight to his cock. He remembers learning how good it felt to start rubbing his cock when it got hard, how often he started doing it when he realized it led to something.

All he wants to do is turn you into a pervert, one orgasm at a time.

That same warmth that’s made home in your gut starts to build, your thighs tensing up when it occurs to you what its building to. “Fuck.” You gasp, Eddie humming at the swear that leaves your lips. “Close, and I haven’t even really touched you, hmm?” He muses, lips starting to add a second sensation on your neck with his hot and wet tongue.

He pushes your underwear aside, fingers finally making direct contact with the wet slick of your folds. “Eddie.” You gasp. The skin on skin makes your head spin, clutching onto his leather jacket with desire. The pleasure jumps up thirty notches, that build reaching an all-time high. Nothing has ever felt better, never so fantastic. Again, now you understand why teenagers are such perverts.

“Let me see you cum, I can feel it coming, baby.” He whispers, licking his lips.

He slides a finger deep in you, the sudden intrusion alien but welcome. On the edge, you become even more completely desperate for him. How was his finger even better? How was that possible? The feat thrills you, happily and willingly giving into everything he gives you. “Damn. Baby. You look so fucking good, think you can cum for me?”

His fingers hook within you, and it pushes you over the edge you’ve been staring down, stars invading your vision, the heat you’ve felt everywhere, all at once. Your tight entrance pulses around his fingers, twitching, not aware of the loud, whiny moans that Eddie’s sure the concession stand less than twenty feet away can hear, but he’s proud of it, grinning maniacally at his hard work.

He guides you through it, thrusting his fingers as he watches you come apart under his touch. When you stop shaking, his hand rubs your pussy gently, admiring the slick that is now pooled down your thighs and even onto his chair. He smirks, catching your eye when they finally open to face him. “How’re you doing, love?”

You forget to be shy in your smile, grinning maniacally as you grab him, yanking him in for a hot, wet kiss. It’s even dirtier than before, attempting to show him how grateful you feel for his magical fingers. “That was…so…good.” You mumble, smiling wider when you can feel him do the same.

“Feels good, hmm?” He asks, his fingers still stroking you gently.

“Jesus.” You answer, thighs convulsing involuntarily.

Eddie chuckles, amused that it takes you cumming to cum out of your shell. “You’re pretty like this, you know?” You roll your eyes, and he can feel the dismissal of his compliment. “Can I eat you out, baby?” It shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but it is. You barely know any of this terminology, and he can feel you tense up below him, your once liquid limbs turning to steel. “You have no idea what that means, do you, baby?”

You shake your head, gulping in the embarrassment.

“That’s ok. Of course, I don’t mind helping you.” Eddie doesn’t mind. When he says that he’s under exaggerating, not showing an ounce of his true feelings. How much does it take for you to squirm under his dirty words? How much patience does he have before he begs you to let him shove his hardened cock down your throat. How long will it be until you’re riding him like a porn star? If he was even slightly sleezier, he’d bet on it with someone. “I’d make that pretty pussy feel even better with my tongue.”

Oh. That sounds miles better than anything your brain could’ve come up with. You bite your lip, staring up at him with pure want. “You’d do that?”

“If you’re willing to come into the back with me.” He muses, nodding his head to his elongated trunk. You turn your head, facing a fleece blanket placed on the floor of the van with a few pillows. Did he do this for you, or is it always this nice?

Eddie doesn’t think you can get any cuter, but when you nod excitedly, starting to crawl into the back before he can say anything, he’s proven dead wrong. He’s never been so happy to be wrong. As you crawl, he watches your ass, your underwear still pulled to the side as the shine on your folds is still visible in the light of the movie.

He smiles, crawling as soon as you land awkwardly on the floor of the van. You sit cross legged waiting for him, one spaghetti strap fallen off your shoulder as you bite your lip anxiously. It doesn’t help Eddie that the strap on your shoulder starts to reveal a breast, just peeking at the top of the nipple. He’s barely seen you, just at the tip of the iceberg of touching you, and he’s about to pop from the anticipation.

How are you doing this to him so easily?

Eddie leans in for a kiss, something as soft as he wanted to give you the moment he saw you sitting in the desk next to his, but his hormones got the worst of him. He kisses each bare shoulder, admiring the way you relax into it.  His long fingers reach to the already fallen strap, fingers brushing as he tugs it down further, fully exposing the partially exposed tit. Your heart races, loud, too loud, in your temple and you wonder if he can hear it.

Eddie can’t, as heartbeats are usually inaudible to the naked ear. He can hear, however, the way those sweet breaths get louder, faster, and even more utterly pathetic for him. Eddie feels a goal take over his mind like a parasite, one he welcomes with a bed made. He plans to make you moan and whine louder so that everyone within ten miles can hear how good you feel, what a good whore you are—he’s getting ahead of himself.

Right now, he focuses on making you feel comfortable, helping you become at ease so you will never be self-conscious with him, never afraid of being too loud, or too eager. He can’t imagine ever thinking otherwise with you. He thought he knew the definition of impossible, but now he knows he had no clue.

Every sensible, distinguishable thought has left your brain, too focused on how good his tongue and teeth feel as he expertly works on your beaded nipple. His brain is going a million miles per hour, yours left behind in the middle of a desert. His hand guides the other strap down your shoulder, fully exposing your chest, the soft material falling so it sits wrapped around your hips.

Teeth scrape against the curve of your breast, as if his tongue is attempting to taste every inch, every centimetre of it. One hand smoothing the skin just below them. Wet kisses trail down your torso, tongue dipping into your navel, the sweet swell of your stomach, his dull nails digging into your soft flesh, the pain adding to the beauty of the mixed sensations.

Your pussy is raging in fire, shouting for the same attention he had been so generous at providing. He feels your thighs tensing, attempting to provide friction for yourself where you need it the most. “Does it hurt, baby?” He asks, mouth now at the base of your neck. “Does that sweet pussy hurt for it?” You nod, rubbing your thighs like a damn cricket. “Oh, I know, I’ll make it all feel better, don’t you worry.”

He admires your face, the way your eyes are closed with the muscles beautifully crumpled up.

“Lie down for me, and I’ll eat that fucking pretty pussy.” Without hesitation, you lay down, shifting your body so you can lie comfortably on the floor of the van.

When you do, his hands tug at the fabric around your waist, not pulling it off you, just clutching it like a vice. They slink under it, fingers tight on the waistband on your panties as he pulls them down your legs. As they leave your feet, pulling them around your heels, Eddie stares at the drenched middle, fingers playing with the thick slick that had gathered. Eddie seems to have a talent for stealing the air from your lungs, doing so as you watch him taste them. “Taste so fucking good, sweets.” He makes a show of placing them into his back pocket, shooting a wink when you give him a questioning look.

He adjusts himself onto his forearms, both hands landing on the top of your thighs as his head dives in between them. Your thigh muscles tense in his hold, begging him for mercy, any kind. “Eddie…please…I need…I need—”

He chuckles, bending over your wanton body. “I love how you say my name, but I’m gonna make you scream it.” He mutters, the scent of your arousal making his vision fizzle.

Finally, finally, his tongue touches you, relishing in the immediate whine that leaves your lips. He hums against you, enjoying the way your legs move restlessly. The first touches are so delicate, your heels digging in his (still) clothed back and grinding your hips to force more contact. “That’s a girl, take what you want from me.” He praises you, hand stroking your thigh gently.

The simple instruction drives your hips to grind more, Eddie’s tongue licking up your slick folds harder in response. At this point, fire isn’t a hot enough word to describe the heat in your pussy. Eddie starts to focus on your clit, his ears suddenly muffled by your thighs abruptly closing on his head. He starts a rhythm, switching back and forth, listening to how your sweet whines answer him.

Any thoughts occurring in your head are long gone, all out of your mouth before your brain even knows you’re thinking it. You wonder how you didn’t think of this, ‘how the first thing you thought when you saw Eddie not how good he would look between your legs’?

Answer: the best thing you’ve ever seen in your life. (Spoiler, there will be better things.)

Eddie is more than happy to play with you, to listen how you react to every touch he provides. So far, his favourite sound is when his tongue enters your sopping hole, fucking it gloriously. It was the first truly uninhibited sound he managed to pull from you. Every decision he made for you was purposeful, doing his damn best to send you over the edge again. He wonders how willing he is to put off his own pleasure for the sake of yours.

Honestly, to hear you come apart repeatedly is 1000% worth it to him, even if he has to rut against the floor of the van.

“Cl-close, Eddie.” You tell him, that sudden ending sneaking up on you. “So, so, so, so, good!”

Eddie takes your admission with pride, and as the stars invade your vision, your every limb tensing as you cum, he keeps going.

In your post orgasm haze, the over sensitivity of your pussy is overwhelming. However, his continuing and relentless mouth feels so good you relish in it, absolutely sure your legs will be sore from the constant convulsing. You whimper through a hushed and delayed swear, your hands weaving through his curls and tugging on his scalp.

His thumb meets your clit, rubbing feverishly and driving another orgasm out of you faster than you ever expected. His name is music to his ears as you shout it when the orgasm takes over you. “Fuck, Eddie, mouth feels…ah!”

His brown eyes open, nose nuzzling your clit as he stares at you through those darkened eyes. His tongue licks a long stripe, chin resting the mound of your pubic bone. “Think you can handle a few more?”

Your chest heaves, struggling to catch your breath as you lift your head up to face him.  Your head feels like a weight, too heavy on your neck. Your mouth opens to answer him, but the weight of your head wins, landing back on the van.

Eddie works your clit again, watching your breasts move up and down as you struggle to catch your breath. “Maybe not that many more, hmm? Maybe just one?” …if he’s strong enough to hold back from giving you two.

Stopping at this point would give you a break you need, but at the same time you can’t bear to, Eddie’s tongue acting as a siren’s song. You’re hypnotized by him. “More, please. Please keep going.”

“I love hearing your voice beg for me. Your whimpers are the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life, sweets.”

Eddie dives in again, your choked whimpers telling any near neighbors that you simply don’t remember they exist. They’re not important enough to care about anymore.

As much as you are sensitive to every single touch, even over-stimulated, you welcome the next three orgasms he gives you. At the end of your third, or sixth, orgasm, Eddie rests his chin on your mound again, staring up at you as you recollect yourself. He’s patient, watching the light making its way back into your eyes.

Eddie nearly asks you a question, when your hand reaches out to grab him by his leather collar. He lets out a yelp of surprise, his fully clothed form an odd juxtaposition against your completely naked one. Well, save for the dress still on your waist. Your lips meet, tongues gliding against each other beautifully, and you taste yourself in his mouth. Even with your brain as foggy as it is, your body feeling as weak as it does, the number one thing you can focus on is getting those clothes off him.

Your hands fidget on the harsh leather collar, forcing it off his back. “Take it off,” you tell him, Eddie grinning cheekily in response. As soon as his jacket is off, you feel the graphic shirt start to come off with it. The reveal of his patched treasure trail, his bare skin against yours a marvel of sensations. You become impatient, attempting to hurry the process of taking his shirt off.

A symphony of laughter leaves his lips as his shirt finally is tossed off to the side, watching your eyes marvel at his tattoo littered chest. Your tits pressed against him pulls a groan from his lips, a sound that drives your legs to tug his tented jeans down against your bare pussy. If you thought his tongue felt good, it’s nothing compared to his hips against yours.

His voice is strained, dripping in husk. “Sh-shit, doll. I-I need you. Need to feel that virgin pussy wrapped around my cock. Need it so bad, please.”

Eddie begging like this being such a turn on is a surprise, to say the least. And from the pleasure he gave you, you’re willing him to do whatever he wants to you.

Whatever. He wants.

“Really? You want me?” You ask, whining as he ruts again.

“Desperately.”

Your hand moves down to the button of his jeans, undoing it with shaky hands and even shakier breathing. “You gonna take my virginity, Eddie?”

Somehow you knew this would make him crazy. You enjoyed it, enjoyed the crazy, adored his moan in approval. “I’m gonna take you, baby.” He grunts, starting to move his jeans down his ass, legs, taking his briefs with them.

He’s quick about it, tongue against your skin as he grabs the dress around your waist and slowly drags it down your legs, tongue dragging down along with it. Slyly, he holds a condom from his pants pockets between two fingers. “You ready?”

You bite your lip, making the bottom lip swell from the constant fidgeting. “I’m on birth control…” you admit, only on it to regulate a heavy flow.

He makes a show of tossing the condom over his shoulder, grinning at his crazy eyes. “Well, shit, darling.” He leans in, feeling the size of him as it brushes against your hip. He’s big, right? “Before I enter that pussy, I need you to do me a favour.”

“Hmm?” You ask, the only thing in your mind is how good his bulge felt when it rutted up against your heat. If that felt that good? Sex with Eddie…your mind goes dizzy from the need.

Eddie takes your hand resting by your head, wrapping it around his hardened length. The moan that leaves his lips is deep and rough. Your unsure fingers allow him to assist you, getting a hold of the rhythm. When you do, he lets you take over, face falling in your neck when your grip tightens. “Okay, I can’t take it any longer.” He whispers, gentle, goosebumps erupting in their wake. “Here, help me, will you?”

You don’t ask, only because you don’t have the chance to, when his hips help you brush the head of his cock against your wet entrance. You tease the two of you simultaneously, brushing it numerous times, both of you gasping in harmony. “Oh, you little tease.”

His hand replaces yours, whining as the head finally, finally brushes into your entrance. “Eddie.” You whisper, clinging onto him desperately. “S-so, so, so full.”

“Yeah?” He asks, both winded by the feel of you and by the blissed look on your face. Maybe if he kisses the middle of your eyebrow enough, he can settle every wrinkle you demonstrate from the pain beautifully mixed with pleasure. “Look at you, so drunk on it, did you ever think a cock could make you feel this good? Ever think how much you could want to be fucked so desperately?”

You shake your head, drunk on his words, drunk on his cock. “More, please.”

“Think you can take it?”

You whine impatiently, legs attempting to pull him in harder. “Eddie.”

He smiles as you fall into his trap, pushing in more than he knows he should. He can’t help it, the smile that takes over your face is the perfect reward. “I thought you were shy?”

You roll your eyes, knowing when someone is this close to you, has seen this much of you, there is barely any time to be shy. “Shut up.”

He listens, kissing you deeply as his hips start to move. Your hand weaves itself into his hair, whimpering into his ear as he hits, deeper, harder.

You can’t fully understand the sounds coming out of his mouth, the once coherent, cocky sentences turn into mumbled groans, and it’s refreshing to know he seems to want you as you did him, craved for you the same way. A string of words on repeat come from your mouth, just his name.

The only thing you seem to be able to think of is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, EddieEddieEddieEddie…

“God, your tight pussy, I’m gonna cum soon…” At least, that’s what you think he says. “Gonna fill you up…” You tighten around him, enjoying the prospect of it. “Gonna see it dripping out of you.”

He doesn’t know how it’s possible you tighten around him more.

“God, you take me so well, it’s like you were made for me, made for my cock.”

Head? Empty. Cunt? Full.

Him? Perfect.

“Fill me up, please.”

“Listen to those dirty little words, gonna turn you into a filthy whore.” He whispers, whining together with you in bliss as his hips rut a final, harsh, jagged time.

Time seems to be endless, as he whispers in your ear, hands on his broad back when he settles, keeping his cock warm. Time is so endless; you don’t even notice the movie turning off and the subtle turnover of engines and wheels driving off past the van.

It takes a poor teenage employee to knock on the van doors, politely asking if you could leave because the drive-in is closed, and they need to lock the gate.

To say the way you avoid their eyes after hurriedly putting your dress back on turns Eddie on would be an understatement.

To say when you waltz with him hand in hand down the hallways the next day turns into a sideshow, would be an even bigger understatement.

You sit on his lap during lunch, curious to the reaction of the other boys sitting with him. When Eddie slips his hand under your skirt and plays with your clothed cunt, he knows he’s just starting to corrupt you as you attempt to seem normal.

He’s just getting started.

-

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[hardlyinteresting]

Nobody's son. Nobody's daughter.

Jake Seresin x Reader

Returning home to Texas for any time has always meant visiting his aunt and uncle. As a kid, their large estate outside of Houston had been an exciting opportunity to sample the finer side of life. Rubbing elbows with businessmen and their rich wives. Still, he feels he's little more than a toy soldier at these events. Perhaps he's found someone who knows exactly how it feels to masquerade.

Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey Wondering Why by The Red Clay Strays Cowboy Like Me by Taylor Swift Moodboard for this fic

Warnings: If you know me in real life do not read this, The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, fake dating-ish, rich people, smut (oral m+f receiving), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please) Word Count: 6.5K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

Champagne bubbles sparkle as another perfunctory conversation fizzles into more ostensible laughter. Jake stands idle, nodding and responding with an easygoing politeness when required, while scanning the room for his uncle. He's always had little patience for people feigning interest in the lives of others, or masquerading in curated caricatures of intriguing lives. His eyes have never cared to be distracted by the glitter of diamonds, or the flash of gold wristwatches. Taking another sip of his drink he finds himself rather bored in this room of pretenders. 

Returning home to Texas for any time has always meant visiting his aunt and uncle. As a kid, their large estate outside of Houston had been an exciting opportunity to sample the finer side of life. Horses were kept for hobby riding rather than ranching; lush green land without a cow in sight; and a backyard swimming pool. As he got older his presence was requested at their swanky cocktail parties. He was rubbing elbows with businessmen and their rich wives. His military career has become a talking point for his relatives and he feels the eyes of the room on him wherever he floats through the grand house. “Your uncle is proud of you,” his mother always insists her brother means the best, “your grandfather was a pilot too, you know. It's in your blood”.  Still, he feels he's little more than a toy soldier at these events. 

Setting his empty glass down on a tray Jake is determined to find his uncle and make an excuse to leave early. As somewhat expected his uncle Robert is chatting with his business partner, Mr Bell. From what Jake can remember from previous encounters, he's a nice enough man, but he can only hope he's not dragged into more small talk before he manages to escape. It’s the Bells who are hosting tonight’s cocktail party, and Jake accepts that an early excusal might not be possible.

 Beside the two older gentlemen stands a young woman. She's gorgeous standing by the glow of the fireplace. He finds his feet moving him in their direction before he has a moment to consider what he might say when he gets there. Immediately, she reminds him of some kind of goddess. It's silly, childish even. But still, he can't help it. Curves highlighted and hidden in the same artful drapes of deep cherry silk of her dress. Her eyes shimmer like focused jewels as she follows the conversation happening next to her. Her shoulders relaxed in an easy elegant posture. He entertains the idea of a world where a man like him might paint her likeness on his aircraft. Comforted by her calm demeanour, and perpetual in awe of her stunning features. 

“Jake,” his uncle waves him over, “you remember my friend George Bell”. 

“Mister Bell,” Jake greets with a handshake, “it's nice to see you again. Thank you for inviting me tonight, sir”.His posture is perfect as the older man nods and claps him on the shoulder. “I believe you were just about twelve the last time you were here. You’ll have to join me in the library later for a drink”. He has no interest in staying any longer than he has to, but a glass of whiskey from a bottle worth a month of his salary, and a round of pool may serve to soften the obligation of his presence. “Yes, sir,” he accepts, and then his attention shifts entirely to her. 

He’s seen this young woman in photographs and painted portraits throughout the house, though he’s certain now the images do her no justice. He’s bold to assume her identity, and it will surely bite him in the ass if he’s wrong, but he feels certain she must be Mr. Bell’s daughter, and he greets her accordingly, “Miss Bell”.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” she smiles, “it's a pleasure to meet you”. He shouldn't be so pleased that she knows who he is, but he finds himself pushing out his chest with pride. “The pleasure is all mine,” he assures her. Her smile grows, a fantastically playful glint in her eyes that tells him she's excited to be speaking to someone she considers to be a peer. “Then it's an honour,” she insists, “if half the stories I've been told are true, you're very accomplished, Lieutenant”. 

In most scenarios like this, Jake has gotten good at walking the line between exaggeration and faux modesty, any attempt to shift the conversation away from himself, yet today she allows her to tease him. “Call me Jake, please”.

“Only if you insist”.

“I do,” he says, urging some level of familiarity to grow between them as they're both dragged into another round of bromidic small talk. 

He endures the conversation about the weather, and fields questions about what the temperatures are in California at this time of year. He gracefully sidesteps conversations about his job, and his politics, artfully avoiding escalating discussions as easily as he had mastered lag pursuit maneuvers in his first year of flight school. With each opportunity to make her laugh he manages to succeed, only fueling his desire to do it again. 

It's too soon that she's called away to speak with a group of women across the room. He kicks himself for not engaging her in more direct conversation, and wonders if the stolen glances, and the subtle wink he'd shot her way were enough to convey his interest. It's stupid, like a middle school crush, and he knows he couldn't have just asked her out in front of her father and his uncle. He’d hate to look untoward in their company. But, the missed opportunity burns nonetheless. 

An entirely unexpected fortuity is all but handed to him on a silver platter when he's asked to join Mr. Bell for a game of pool in the library. The older man pours him a generous glass of scotch before speaking. 

“I have a favour to ask you, Jake”. 

“I'm happy to help if can, sir,” Jake responds easily, though he can't help but find himself growing nervous by the prospect and any potential implications. He briefly envisions himself, ending up as muscle for hire, taking out an unsavoury business associate, his dreams of becoming an admiral slashed as he ends up on the wrong side of the wrong people. 

His anxieties are quickly replaced by absolute surprise at the words Mr. Bell speaks next, 

“I'd like for you to escort my daughter to the theatre this weekend,” there's an unexpected vulnerability as he continues, “My wife and I will be out of town, and since her engagement was called off she worries that people will talk-- you know how it is”.

In all honesty, Jake cannot say he does know how it is, but he can imagine. His aunt had been talking about some young woman of some kind of societal importance who had been jilted weeks before her wedding. He hadn't been paying attention at the time, far more interested in the apple pie he was eating and the football game on TV. From what he can recall rumours were running wild, but no one had the full story. He understands now that Bell's daughter must be the woman his aunt was talking about. Without knowing her, he had felt sorry for her. But pity is now replaced by deference. He finds himself more in awe of how she managed to walk the rooms this evening with her head held high, knowing what people must be whispering about her behind her back. He understands that a pastime and patronage she clearly enjoys has been jeopardized by the possibility of having to attend alone, but he worries that his presence, and lack of regard for certain expectations and niceties may hinder more than it helps. 

“I've never been to the theatre before, sir. I'm not sure I would be the best escort”. 

“Nonsense,” Mr. Bell stops him, “you're a good man. Dress well. Pick her up. Watch the play. Drive her home”. There's no room for argument or debate, and the truth is that despite the odd, and somewhat unfortunate circumstances Jake finds a selfish little part of himself chuffed by the opportunity to take the dreamy girl out for a night. 

“Come around six o’clock you can park your truck here, and ask Steven in the Garage for the keys to the Benz. I'm going to assume you can drive manual”. Jake easily accepts the new instructions, raising his glass in the sign of a toast before the two of them begin their billiards game as if no conversation had passed between them. 

Saturday comes around in what feels like the blink of an eye. Jake makes sure his slacks, blazer, and button-up are pressed and his shoes are polished ready for the night out. After some debate on what to wear, his choice is ultimately decided by the lack of options hanging in the closet of the guest bedroom at his aunt and uncle's house. He'd learned years ago not to visit without at least two sets of slacks and jackets, but had never considered that he might have an occasion to truly worry over the outfit he's putting on. He's eager to make a good impression, but worries he'll look like he's trying too hard; keenly aware that this evening he's not just representing himself. He will also be purporting to assume responsibility for the social reputation of a woman who has already been unfairly judged and derided.

He showers and combs his hair before slipping into charcoal grey pants and jacket. He fastens the cuffs of his white shirt with onyx cufflinks borrowed from his uncle. He's conservative with the application of his aftershave, conscious of the fact he's attending a society function, not a nightclub happy hour. He's certain either way that her opinion of him could not be swayed by a whiff of Tom Ford cologne. 

At the Bell residence, Jake retrieves the keys to the Mercedes. A stunning mid-century model painted in oxblood red, so perfectly polished he can see his reflection staring back at him. Keys in hand he rings the doorbell and waits patiently. Through the door, the faintest tip tap of high heels echoes in the grand foyer. The sound is followed shortly after by a  small clatter and a hardly muffled “shit!” Jake grins ear to ear, barely containing a laugh when the door swings open. 

“Lieutenant,” she greets.

“Jake,” he insists.

“Jake,” she corrects herself. 

“Shall we?”

She nods, shutting the door behind her, a small clutch purse in one hand. He offers his arm to her. If she notices him flexing she doesn't say anything, but his cheeks flush as he reminds himself he's not flirting with some tag chaser at The Hard Deck. Cheap come-ons are worth anything here. She won't end the night in his bed. This isn't even a date, it's a favour to her father. 

She ignores the gentlemanly offer of his arm, and all but skips down the stone steps towards the driveway leaving him to stare dumbfounded. 

“Let's go!” She calls to him, walking backwards to the waiting car.

She's dressed in a dress made of black velvet today. It flares out at her waist and ends at a conservative length. But her back is exposed and he tries to stop his eyes from tracing the plunging neckline. With stockings and her towering heels, she manages to make bourgeois sexy. 

“You look lovely. That's a nice dress” he tells her when he catches up. 

“Thank you,” she smiles, “it has pockets!” Her free hand immediately finds the hidden pouch to demonstrate. His smile graces his face, and his earlier anxieties about expectations and decorum quiet themselves as he watches her open the car door for herself quickly making herself comfortable. 

There's a casual air to her demeanour he hadn't expected. Their communication at the cocktail party earlier in the week had led him to believe that she was not as prim as the circumstances expected her to be. Her teasing tone and her eyes searching the room for more stimulating conversation told him she had been holding back, and putting up appearances. He had no reason to believe that tonight would be any different. 

A few minutes down the road she leans forward to turn on the radio, the local country station playing at a low volume. 

“Your dad must like me,” he attempts to joke. 

“I like you,” she says, her eyes looking out the passenger side window. 

“Well sure, what's not to like,” he smirks, “but your dad leant me a nineteen fifties Benz” 

“I leant you a nineteen sixties Benz,” her correction leaves him with his brows furrowed. 

“This is your car?” 

She doesn't turn her attention to him but responds, “Birthday gift”. 

He feels it, the achy routine gratitude. The compunction that comes from being forced to save face and feign grace; saying thank you for something you never asked for. There's a hollowness that accompanies the realization that this chunk of your life is not your own, and worse, wondering if you could do any better even if it were. Incidentally, he's familiar with a similar gut-churning shame. The weight of undeserved praise and misplaced guilt have often pulled at his ribs. He loses sleep each time they pin a medal on his chest; when the ends don't seem to justify the means, and he can't tip the scales enough in his favour to win a restful sleep at night. It's never enough. 

“It's a fantastic car,” he tells her honestly, “you have excellent taste”. 

“Thank you”. 

He hears his fears and scruples in her quiet sigh before the words escape her.  He knows the echo of apology in a simple thank you as well as he knows his name. Silence settles between them again. 

At the theatre, she stays seated in the car until he comes around and opens the door to offer his hand. With fluid, graceful movements she steps out of the vehicle and he passes the keys to a waiting valet. Jake matches her walking pace noting the way she slows as she makes her way closer to the entrance of the theatre. Her back straightens and she makes a concentrated effort to paint a smile. Gone is the easygoing woman he picked up; replaced by an edited version. He has no choice but to respect the way she's managed the transition with such poise. Her hand rests in the crook of his arm their footsteps falling in time. “What are we seeing this evening?” He asks her with genuine interest. 

“Much Ado About Nothing,” she tells him in a measured tone though he notices the sparkle in her eye, “it's a comedy”. 

“One of my favourite Shakespeare plays”. 

She smiles broadly, “And here I was thinking you were just an accomplished pilot”. 

He shrugs, “I accidentally joined the drama club in high school”. He's blessed with a surprisingly unrestrained burst of laughter. He laughs too. 

Massive wooden doors with ornate stained glass panels open into a grand foyer of floor-to-ceiling marble. Columns carved with care and precision line the walk to the grand staircase. Overhead a mural is painted on the smooth plaster. Pastel depictions of cherubs and florals surround the massive crystal chandeliers that light the hall. He feels out of place, the shoulders of his jacket suddenly feel too tight, and he wonders if anyone can tell he should have had it tailored. He breathes deeply determined to stop any ounce of his discomfort from showing as her hold on his bicep grows tighter the further into the crowd they move. 

As a pilot, he has to be good at evaluating scenarios and making decisions. He doesn't overthink it, he just does what feels right. He straightens his arm dropping her hand from the crook of his elbow and intertwines their fingers. If she's shocked by the adjustment she doesn't let it show. “Trust me?” He whispers. She nods her breath leaving her in laboured puffs, each one easier than the last as they glide through the room and towards the private box the Bells have reserved for generations. 

“Are you alright?” He dares to ask when they're on their own in the quiet of the balcony. 

She nods, releasing his hand in favour of taking her seat. “Yes, I apologize,” she tells him, “I saw my fiancés family-- it startled me more than I anticipated”.

He shrugs, “Nothing to apologize for. The only thing worse than running into your ex is running into your Ex’s mom”. 

A sliver of joy peaks through, the slightest spark of good humour returning to her eyes. No tears gather, but he can see the genuine sorrow fighting to make its way to the surface. He's happy to help her combat it. “What did he do anyway?” 

She scoffs, “As if you haven't heard to rumours”. 

“I've heard the rumours but I'd rather know the truth”. 

He watches as she studies him, seemingly determined to root out any dishonesty. He lets her weigh his worthiness and steels himself to the reality that while he may be far more well-intentioned than most people she knows, he's not a very good man. He's sure she knows that. He knows her eyes see straight through him. 

Her eyes avoid his as she speaks misplaced shame wraps around her like a shroud, “I found out from members of my mother's church group that he had called off the engagement. I was apparently one of the last people to know”. The statement lands heavy but she continues anyway, “I never truly got any explanation besides a list of my faults”. 

“He's an idiot,” Jake is quick to interject. He's certain she has her flaws, who doesn't? But the idea that a clever, witty, honest, thoughtful, and beautiful woman such as herself could fail to measure up to some arbitrary, antiquated or otherwise acceptable standards baffles him.

“Worst of all, I don't think I'm lacking in any capacity. I think, maybe, I was just too much for him. Too excitable. Too interested in the politics of business to keep my mouth shut--too outspoken to be his wife in any case”. 

What hurts more he wonders; going through hell to pull yourself up to snuff, or cutting away pieces of yourself to fit a mold. “Then maybe he wasn't meant to be your husband,” the advice comes easy and he prays he sounds like he's offering comfort. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, her hand reaching for his with a shaken reach. He's more than happy to provide the support. 

The room shifts when the lights dim. The crowd goes silent, and for a moment before the stage curtain raises Jake can swear he hears his heartbeat. There's an intimacy that demands to be felt, and it grows between them. Her hand resting just above his knee, his arm stretched across the back of her chair. It's casual and as comfortable as possible despite the layers of clothing he's afraid he's sweating through. He watches her more than he watches the play, turning away with a flinch each time she looks his way. Her laughter is infectious, and he leans in closer to hear it over the guffawing of the audience below. 

As the show continues, any cohesive thought running through his mind is halted as she begins to draw soft circles on his thigh with her thumb. The pattern is uneven and irregular enough that he manages to write the action off as mindless fidgeting. He doesn't dare to allow himself to believe that it could be an unceremoniously daring attempt at flirtation. In the short time he's known her, he has learned to consider her to be a person of deliberate and careful action. He doesn’t think she would trifle or toy with any kind of advance; insouciant or serious. 

The lights come up again, soft music filling the theatre as intermission begins. She's no longer touching him. Their private bubble seems to burst as the chatter of other patrons fills the space. The affinity they had built in the dark hangs suspended, waiting just beyond their reaches. Neither of them mentions it. 

“Should we go get a drink?” He extends the invitation half hoping it doesn't sound like he's making a pass at her, half praying that it does. He hedges his bets on her answer; prepared to sit in silence for the 30-minute break if that's what she wants. He's shocked when she says, “I thought you'd never ask”. 

Jewelry sparkles beneath the light of equally bejeweled chandeliers, and gilded sconces. The toes of polished shoes make Jake think he's never shined a show in his life. Years of keeping his uniforms in pristine condition don't compare to the easygoing luxury of brand-new Italian patent leather. An order of two scotches on ice (the lady’s choice) runs him the same as a round of drinks at The Hard Deck would. The scotch doesn't taste any better here than it does when Penny pours it back in San Diego, but he holds his tongue for the sake of appearances. It's odd, he'll admit, standing in a crowd not identified by his rank or achievements, and yet being judged for nothing more than a projected image of inherited class. Like an ant beneath a microscope; so small, and insignificant, but under such scrutiny from the giants around him. His confidence waivers and for the second time this evening he believes he was correct when he told Mr. Bell that he may not be up to the task of escort. 

She smells like vanilla, honey, and now whiskey as she leans into his side. Her hand slipping into his own again calls him to attention as her countenance shifts; cool and calculated. He lifts his chin, and scans the room, his empty glass abandoned at the bar. 

“Miss Bell!” An older woman calls as she approaches, her hands outstretched in an overly saccharine greeting. 

“Hello, Mrs Calhoun,” she manages through partially gritted teeth accepting the uncomfortable hug the woman forces upon her. 

“I wasn't expecting you tonight,” Mrs Calhoun says, no attention spared for Jake, her focus clearly set on weeding out some kind of scandalous revelations, or calaminious scuttle to pass along to her waiting group of equally interested gossips. Growing up in Texas, Jake was well aware of how quickly news moved traveled down the clothesline-- dirty laundry aired for the whole community to chatter about. But the idle talk his mama and the neighbours shared feels so innocent compared to the chronicles passed amongst the Houston elites at cocktail parties, and theatre intermissions it seems. 

“you've been so antisocial since the wedding was called off, i do hope you've been taking care of yourself”. 

“I've been busy,” she responds quickly to Mrs Calhoun’s jab, hesitating before adding, “your son seemed quite embarrassed by the whole affair, I thought it best to allow him some time to process”. 

Jake is clever enough to see the battle fought beneath the niceties, and silently cheers her unwillingness to allow Mrs Calhoun to embarrass or belittle her. “What a sweet girl, such a shame the two of you couldn't make things work. You probably still could, you're both young enough. If he saw you in a dress like this I'm sure he'd change his mind,” Mrs Calhoun coos, “such a flattering silhouette; very slimmin--”.

“Mrs Calhoun, have you met Lieutenant Seresin, my escort for this evening?” Jake steps easily into his role of soldier and defender, a curt yet polite nod conveys his ‘hello’. “Pleasure,” he lies. 

“A lieutenant? How interesting!” The woman says, her expression souring as she suddenly makes excuses to leave. 

She's across the room in a flash joining a flock of tittering ladies who are not subtle at all as they cast their gaze towards him and a lovely girl who is now hiding her face against his chest. Her giggles are muffled but he's glad to hear she hasn't been too shaken by the encounter.

 “They're all looking at us,” Jake thinks it's best to tell her. There's nothing worse than being blindsided. He expects her to take at least a half step away from him; to straighten herself back into the straight backed paper doll their audience came to see. Instead she moves closer looking up at him with wide eyes and long lashes, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. 

“Maybe we should give them something to look at…” she suggests, and his stomach drops, certain he's not hearing her correctly. 

“What do you have in mind, honey?” 

She answers with a kiss, and he’s happy to be the one to kiss her, but he’ll be damned if he doesn't a proper job of it. How ungentlemanly would he be to not be thorough in his work? What a disservice it would be to her if he did not take the opportunity to deepen the embrace, his find purchase on her hip, and in the back of her hair. By the starry-eyed look on her face when he pulls away he’s convinced he’s met the mark of the task; the shocked expressions from the Calhouns confirm his suspicions of her ex lacking any kind of rectitude or skill. 

The kiss wasn't long enough or anywhere near steamy enough to be considered anything close to vulgar. He knows the two of them will be the subject of several buzz lines in the community tomorrow, but he hopes it won't be anything implying promiscuity or untoward behaviour. Her cheek is warm beneath the pad of his tomb, and he's sure his cheeks are flushed. He tries not to become too giddy at the prospect of being promoted from escort to boyfriend for the evening. He's not naive enough to think this is anything more than one of those fake dating scenarios from the made-for-TV Christmas films his Mama has always enjoyed. It's a calculated and clever choice, and he's happy to oblige; to be a pawn in something bigger than any of his own wants or desires. He's used to it. He's made a career out of it. Lieutenant Seresin reporting for duty. 

A three-bell tone notifies everyone that it’s time to return to their seats. As the lights slowly dim once more her hand returns to the place it had taken on his thigh earlier in the night, any remaining tension in her shoulders released as she busies herself with tracing invisible shapes once again. In the darkness of the room, Jake’s face blushes as he tries not to shift too suddenly in his seat, her hand moving an inch or two higher up his leg. Long-manicured fingers move at a teasing pace until they find his belt buckle. He has no choice but to stop her, even though he’d prefer not to. His lips brush the shell of her ear as he captures her wrist in his hand, “Behave,” he whispers, managing to keep his warning somewhere between stern and playful. A soft gasp escapes her, her eyes glinting in the low light with a mischievous glee. Good God, he’d be hard-pressed to deny her anything looking at him like that. He releases her wrist, and she resumes her mission. 

He feels guilty; as if he’s corrupted her somehow, and he knows that feeling alone is a disservice to her. In the extraordinarily short time he’s known her he’s learned that she is headstrong and determined in the most brilliant ways. While she’s spent her life slipping in and out of different roles to ease the minds of those she’s been forced to associate with, she has done it all by choice. As exhausted as she must be, it’s a game she’s learned to play, and she’ll never allow herself to lose. He urges himself to consider that his role in her life may just be that of a buffer, a simple stand-in to offset the weight of the outside world. His penchant for cocksure, self-assured, over conference aside, he’s not dumb enough to truly think that he could be her freedom, but he’ll allow himself to sleep tonight with the belief that he could be happy being a conduit for it. 

She’s indescribably pretty looking up at him. Her skirt billows around her where she kneels between his thighs, her hair slightly tousled, and her lips glossy. He’s met his fair share of beautiful women. He’s lost count of the partners he brought home for a night. Most of their names he’s now forgotten, and he feels dreadfully sorry to them all because he knows this image before him now will be burned into his mind for a lifetime. He won’t forget Miss Bell, nor her elegance. He won’t ever fail to recall her smile, or he erudite quips. His breath stutters, and he thanks the Lord for the players on the stage making the audience laugh as he struggles to hold back a softened moan. 

The rest of the evening’s performance passes in a blur and they’re outside waiting for the valet to bring the car around before he knows it. She reapplies her lipstick with the help of a small compact mirror, and he swears his knees go weak at the sight. He tips the valet well for the speed with which he returns, and she gives a kind “thank you. Have a good night,” to the man as she ducks to slip into the passenger seat. 

“You should come inside,” she says as they pull through the gate outside her home. “I should?” 

“Mhm,” she hums. “And why is that?” he asks hoping he’s not pressing his luck. “Because I like you, Jake,” she says simply. He doesn’t need more convincing. 

Her bedroom is as warm, plush, and luxurious as he could have anticipated. Their clothes strewn across the floor leave a conspicuous trail from the door to her bed. The dress he'd been admiring her in all night must've cost a pretty penny but it's tossed aside with his pants and shirt that she'd made quick work of. 

He lets her have her fun perched, straddling his lap as hands and lips explore exposed bodies. He's careful about leaving his mark knowing his presence in this house tonight must be that of a ghost. Neither of them say it, but they both know this is a secret they'll keep forever. Jake pinches her hip when she nips particularly hard at his collarbone.

“Careful. That's property of the United States Navy, honey”.

 His warning doesn't dissuade her and she's convinced to leave another bite in the same place. He rolls them over, settling his weight between thighs. He leaves kiss stain bruises along her torso, taking his time to lap, suck, and soothe with the goal of hearing her sighs. 

He lowers himself to his belly kissing from her ankle to her knee as he pushes one of her legs then the other over his shoulders. “You don't have to--”.

“I want to,” he insists with a playful nip at her hip, but she still looks hesitant. “I won't if you don't want me to,” he assures her, beginning to pull away. 

“ I do!” She says quickly, “it's just my ex never--”

“He's an idiot,” he replies easily before diving in for a taste. He means it too. He has abandoned reason and found heaven. He's collapsed like a man starved before her. Only an absolute fool would balk at the opportunity to please a woman, especially one who looks so pretty with her head tilted back, her fingers tangled in his hair; a plea for more. How could he deny her? 

It's a year later when he's invited back to the theatre. His girlfriend’s had held proudly in his own as they both sidestep the conversations they do not wish to be a part of. “Miss Bell,” people still call out to her, and she obliges them with polite small talk, correcting them as they ask about her Lieutenant, she's proud of him and his recent promotion, ensuring that they are all aware of the correct honorific, but insisting they just call him Jake. It's who he'd prefer to be in her company; a truer version of himself. The Calhouns make themselves scarce, avoiding himself and Miss Bell like the plague, and neither of them has any complaints about that. 

Mindless catching up, and society-bound exchanges are far less painful with a companion. They take turns filling people in on their lives out in California, slipping inside jokes between the lines unbeknownst to the people around them. Little secrets just to keep the other entertained, the reward of a smile enough to pull them through the crowds. Neither of them relaxes completely until they've made it to the Bell’s private box. His hand moves to rest on her thigh by instinct at this point, he palm warm on her exposed skin. He loves her in this dress, emerald green, with an elegant slit up the skirt. She leans over to kiss him and he’s more than happy to indulge her. 

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

this man needs a home!

hello! this very friendly little stray orange boy in Houston TX needs somewhere to live that is not my house! I’m willing to drive within the texas triangle, or meet someone halfway. he is free to a good home and has had some basic vetting.

what’s his deal?

he’s about two, about ten pounds, and is freshly neutered, rabies vaxxed, and flea/tick/mite treated with revolution ii. he is a known community cat with no microchip, he will need a more thorough vetting and to be microchipped, but I’m currently unemployed and $200 is the max i can really spend on this man. happy to forward you his vet records, but my name and address are plastered all over them so i will not be posting them.

he’s extremely people-social and friendly (you can sling him around with one hand as he purrs up a storm) and im assuming cat social since I have seen him peaceably hanging out with other strays outside and he wants to be friends with my cat So Bad. he’s just orange.

why is he in my bathroom and why can’t he live there forever?

this cat has been the bane of my cat Mackintosh’s existence since we moved, because he wants to be friends So Bad i had to put up bird spikes on my windows and balcony to stop him from jumping up. he’s also been spraying on my front door. my cat’s solution to any stressor is throwing up. in the process of ruling out various tummy troubles, my vet and i agreed that this little orange man is a major stress trigger and if he came back (i have not seen him in months) i should scoop him up and rehome him. my cat wants him dead and there would never ever be a peaceful introduction or coexistence, unfortunately.

who else has been contacted?

BARC, Friends4Life, Houston Cares, Purrfect Cat, Animal Justice League, Adopt A Cat Texas, and Citizens for Animal Protection. I’m making my way through a list of tiny private Facebook rescues, but every major shelter in Houston is genuinely at capacity. we are going to try again at BARC next Sunday (9/15) during their open intake hours, since we tried last Sunday and they accepted exactly three cars. if the absolute worst comes to worst he will go back outside, since I’m not willing to put my existing cat through the severe anxiety of this man in her home for more than two weeks. however that is only a partial solution to “the sight of this cat makes my cat flip her shit and then throw up her next two meals”. hopefully it will stop him spraying on my front door though.

[xxsp3llb0undxx]

A Day To Remember

Jasper Hale x Fem!Reader [989+ Words]

Summary: Jasper takes his human mate back to his home state, Texas, for some time away from their families.

Disclaimer: Please do not repost my work to other sites or claim as your own, this is purely written from my imagination and from the help of the franchise. All rights of the main storyline goes to the writers and producers of Twilight.

WARNINGS: FLUFF // JASPER BEING A GENTLEMAN // USE OF Y/N // UNEDITED

Jasper hadn't been back to Texas in almost 200 years, not after everything that had happened. Not after what he had done. But it seemed he couldn't deny the request of his mate when she asked to see the state where he grew up, where he became the man she valued and loved. So he did just that.

Jasper had planned everything secretly, with the help of his sister Alice of course. Packing up the car with all the essential things Y/n might need before getting in the car and driving all the way across town to pick her up.

Driving cross-country wasn't the best thing in the world but Jasper was thankful he didn't need to sleep or eat, otherwise the journey would've taken longer. As Y/n slept peacefully in the passenger seat, Jasper held her hand ever so delicately, tracing soft patterns into her knuckles. To say he loved her would be an understatement, he was infatuated with her. The way her lips parted ever so slightly as she breathed, how her eyes would flutter every so often, the soft rosy pink tint across her cheeks. Jasper felt things for her on a whole other level, it was like he was consumed by her.

By the time they made it to the hotel Alice had booked for the pair, it was midday. The sun hiding away behind thick, grey clouds as rain pitter pattered against the windshield. Jasper gently shook Y/n, careful not to startle her. She opened her eyes, blinking a few times until her vision was no longer blurry. Looking up at Jasper, a small smile tugged at her lips almost instantly. She leaned over the centre console, pecking the blonde vampires lips ever so softly. Jasper let out a quiet hum of content, his hand trailing along the underside of her jaw as he pulled her closer, savouring the taste and feel of her lips before pulling away.

Jasper, being the gentleman he is, got out the car first, holding up his forefinger to Y/n as if telling her to stay there as he rounded the car and opened her door, holding out his hand for her to take. Y/n slipped her hand into Jasper's, slowly getting out the passenger side of the car as Jasper shut the door behind her. His arm wrapping around her waist as he lead her inside the hotel lobby. As they got their room situated, the bellhop took their luggage to bring it up for them, though Jasper insisted he could do it.

The following day, Jasper and Y/n headed out for a little sightseeing trip around Texas, starting in Houston. Jasper took Y/n out for breakfast, telling her all the stories about when he was a young lad running around this specific part of the city. After breakfast, they had gotten back into the car, driving all the way down to Orange County. Y/n was unbeknownst to anything Jasper had planned, the young girl just going along with everything he said or did.

After an hour or so, the car stopped outside Shangri La. A botanical garden and nature centre. The weather hadn't cleared up, still the same gloomy sky as yesterday but Y/n didn't mind, it meant less people being around and Jasper wouldn't get found out for being a vampire.

The pair walked throughout the gardens hand in hand, Y/n pointing out the array of flowers growing all around. Jasper just smiled, watching her ramble on about her favourite flowers with a smitten look on his face. God he loved her, how did he get so lucky. The blonde vampire had lead his mate to a more secluded area, the pond of the blue moon, sitting down on the wooden platform as they looked out at the deep blue water around them.

"It's beautiful.." Y/n breathed out, her voice soft as she spoke. Jasper hummed in return, his topaz eyes glued to her face. "It sure is." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Jasper gently cupped the side of her face, turning it so she could look at him. His thumb rubbing small circles into the skin of her cheek.

"I want to ask you something, something I've been dying to ask you from the moment I met you.." Y/n looked at Jasper in confusion, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side before she nodded her head, urging her mate to speak. Jasper let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, not like he had lungs that even worked, before he grabbed her hand and held it lightly in his own.

"I have loved you from the moment we met, I knew you were the one I wanted from the very first time I felt every ounce of your emotions swarm my head like a plague. You accepted every part of me, being a vampire, playing a part in a war that took thousands of lives.. you loved me even when I didn't believe I could be loved. I want to spend the rest of our lives together, whether you want to grow old or you would prefer to go through the change, I want to be there for it all. What I'm trying to say is.. will you marry me?"

Silence. Pure silence. Before Y/n threw her arms around Jasper's shoulders as she squealed in happiness. He could feel the joy radiating off her. The raw, unfiltered euphoria coursing through her like a wildfire. Her soft rants of "yes, one thousand times yes" falling from her lips as she hugged the vampire closer, clinging to him like a lifeline. Never in a hundred years has Jasper felt this content, this at peace within himself and it was all down to the girl wrapped tightly within his arms, like armour protecting her from anything and everything.

[rapeculturerealities]

Josseli Barnica Died in Texas After Waiting 40 Hours for Miscarriage Care — ProPublica

Josseli Barnica grieved the news as she lay in a Houston hospital bed on Sept. 3, 2021: The sibling she’d dreamt of giving her daughter would not survive this pregnancy.

The fetus was on the verge of coming out, its head pressed against her dilated cervix; she was 17 weeks pregnant and a miscarriage was “in progress,” doctors noted in hospital records. At that point, they should have offered to speed up the delivery or empty her uterus to stave off a deadly infection, more than a dozen medical experts told ProPublica.

But when Barnica’s husband rushed to her side from his job on a construction site, she relayed what she said the medical team had told her: “They had to wait until there was no heartbeat,” he told ProPublica in Spanish. “It would be a crime to give her an abortion.”

For 40 hours, the anguished 28-year-old mother prayed for doctors to help her get home to her daughter; all the while, her uterus remained exposed to bacteria.

Three days after she delivered, Barnica died of an infection.

[jqmalikhsgib]

quest

three

when emily received your phone call she knew immediately she had to inform jj. telling her everything. from where you’ve been this entire time to why you’re in jail.

jj was shocked and a bit pissed she kept this from her. she was close to you as well. but she understood why. she would not agree with you keeping your pregnancy away from hotch and constantly tell you that.

but now she had to tell the team. she knew she’d have to inform hotch first before they flew to houston texas and figure out why they’ve arrested you for a crime they know you could never commit.

jj sighs as she walks to hotches office and knocks. “come in.”

jj gives him a look and he knew they had a case.

“ill inform the team.”

“wait! this isn’t just some case hotch. it’s about yn.”

hotch heart starts to beat out of his chest. what could this be about? were you okay? where exactly were you this whole time? had you been alive? fuck! he hoped the last thing you remembered wasn’t him cheating. he couldn’t bare that.

“just—just tell me she’s alive jj?!”

“she’s alive.”

he breaths a sigh of relief.

“but she was arrested for murder charges last night. she’s currently in houston texas.”

“murder?! we know she didn’t do this!”

“yes! we know her well. but she was near the body, blood all over her clothes, and the weapon had her fingerprints on it. she looks good for the crime.”

“what do we know?!”

“we should get the team together and discuss. but first there’s something else you should know.”

“this is insane! yn won’t hurt a fly! how could they possibly believe she’s the killer?!” derek shakes his head.

“guys! we gotta focus. we all care about yn but she needs our help more than anything. penelope what have you found on the victim?”

“oh, yes sir. robert kelp. he’s the ceo of a dna company. he has helped many families find so many lost loved ones. he’s donated to plenty of charities to stop human trafficking and even helped sex workers get back on their feet if needed. oh. he was a very kind man. says he’s—oh, sir. it says that he started the business because long ago he’s fallen in love but was sent to afghanistan. his lover at the time let him know she was pregnant but lost the baby. when he got home he tried to find her. after years of searching he found out she ended her life through her father. she couldn’t take the lost of her baby.”

“could you find any records of the woman, baby girl?”

“um—i found her name. sarah wilson. but—”

“what is it?”

“there’s no death certificate. and—oh, god!”

“what? what is it p?”

“sarah jones. currently married to a darius y/l/n.”

“that’s—”

“holy shit!”

i love leaving you all in suspense!

anyway i got a person on my taglist for stone cold.

please let me know if you want to be added or unadded <3

taglist:

@ivebeenthearchersstuff

[alomahomecarethewoodlands]

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[carterahealth]

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[careworksblog]

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[gachagon]

This whole week I have been in my home with no AC at all and no way to cool off outside of a shitty fan and a spray bottle. If you're not in Texas then you probably don't know that a few days ago a hurricane came through and has left a vast majority of the city without power.

It's been very difficult and the power company (Centerpoint Energy) hasn't responded quick enough or with enough preparation to help everyone.

While this is happening, I've noticed a lot of non Texans saying things they said when the ice storm happened which is that Texas deserves it bc they "voted for this" and all I have to say is that it's an incredibly tone deaf and callous thing to say when the ppl most affected by this are black and Latino people who have been talking about the horrible gerrymandering and voting blocks for years now.

Gleefully tweeting about how you don't feel bad about Houston not having power or that you don't care that ppl are hot bc there's no power is absolutely not appropriate and not the right thing to say at this moment. It wasn't the right thing to say when people were freezing to death in their homes, and it's not the right thing to say now as many people may very well pass from heat exhaustion.

I don't understand why a lot of you people feel so giddy about making fun of ppl for potentially dying due to any number of natural disasters outside of their control. Have some fucking compassion and empathy and realize the people you're mocking aren't your enemies either, they're people exactly like you.

[morbidology]

15-year-old Karen Perez from Houston, Texas, had just recently celebrated her Quinceañera and had ambitions of one day working in a day care or animal shelter. She was kind and a good student who often spoke about her excitement of becoming a mother one day. “Her words were as soft as rose petals; she wouldn’t harm a fly,” recalled one of her friends.

On the 27th of May, 2016, however, Karen disappeared. After she was reported missing, a search party was assembled. Attending the search party was Karen’s 15-year-old boyfriend. As he and his father drove around searching, the teenage boy told his father to “just take him home because she is not alive…” His father immediately called the police.

Days later, members of the search party discovered Karen’s body in an abandoned building in the 1600 block of Avenue M, just across the street from South Houston High School. She had been strangled and then shoved into a cabinet under a sink.

Police immediately brought the boyfriend in for questioning and confiscated his phone as well as Karen’s phone. On his phone, police found text messages to Karen in which he demanded she skip school with him on the day she disappeared. When she said she couldn’t, he said he would kill her.

What investigators found on Karen's own cell pone was even more disturbing. She had captured the audio of her own murder. In the audio, her boyfriend was heard sexually assaulting Karen who exclaims “I don’t want to, I told you I don’t want to!” Afterwards, Karen was manually strangled by her boyfriend as she mumbled "I don’t want to die…“

The boyfriend was eventually identified as Jesus Campos Jr. He was convicted of Karen's murder and sentenced to life in prison.