#Sky Bistro

[goingplacesfarandnear]

Pursuit Collection Offers Feast for Senses and the Soul in Banff, Canada

Dining at Sky Bistro atop the Sulphur Mountain summit, reached by the Banff Gondola – an incomparable view matched by an incomparable culinary experience © Karen Rubin/goingplacesfarandnear.com By Karen Rubin, Travel Features Syndicate, goingplacesfarandnear.com On our first evening in Banff to sample Pursuit Collection’s tourism and hospitality services, we dine at Farm & Fire, one of Banff’s…

[skycotl-before-and-after]

Early in the season in beta, a cute bistro table perched precariously on a column that gave me Alice in Wonderland vibes, and a HUGE dark plant in what looks like a giant fountain or reflecting pool (not burnable as of yet). You can see a bit of missing texture on the rim of the column.

I feel like there’s a purpose in mind for the giant dark plant fountain, it’s just not there yet.

Beta. September 2, 2023.

Update November 27, 2023: the dark plant was obscured by clouds and the bistro table was removed, along with its column, shortly after we started testing. I thought maybe they’d reappear later as part of a season task, but sadly, that does not appear to be the case. Looks like they’re gone for good.

[percivalklossowskithefifth]

[frogstappen]

𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧, 𝐮𝐬

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 2.4k

max keeps up your friendly tradition at the us grand prix.

⚠️: friends with a little something more on the horizon. one teeny mention of throwing up in a sleeping bag. cutesy, fluffy, best pal max.

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ

The world is alive with a kick only found in Austin.

Cowboy hats and cowgirl boots; star-spangled everything and a roaring reception fit for rock ‘n roll stars. Bloodthirst donned in a bolo tie and winning smile.

You swipe through your camera roll, pinching each photo to read the gimmicky banners and count the bullhorn gestures. Giggling when you spot a grown man with a sign addressed to Lewis: I called in sick to watch you race.

Max glances over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

You turn your phone.

He squints at the screen, huffing a laugh, then scrolls through some more. “They love and hate with the same passion. It’s actually kind of scary.”

“I love it here.”

You push off the couch and wander over to the window.

The sky is a brilliant blue, dazzling even through the tinted glass. Striking Southern sunlight bounces off each motorhome in the paddock. The lot busies away, polos scurrying from building to building, VIP lanyards shielding their eyes from the sun to take it all in.

Max taps your shoulder with your phone and nods to the door. “C’mon. Time.”

He leads you outside, loosening his elbow to let you slip your arm through his. He turns heads and raises whispers – though none of it seems to bother him. It’s like he doesn’t even notice.

He’s already turning inward, already picturing the starting line behind his eyes. He’s thinking tactics and thinking strategies, making mental notes about turns twelve through fifteen; tire degradation and DRS and not saying fuck or shit or driving too close to the car marked 4.

His eyes lift only for a second. He frowns at some photographers up ahead and positions himself in front as you walk. His head ducks again, giving them little more than a winning shot of his Red Bull cap – and he takes your hand.

“Here,” he says, “We can dodge them.”

He cuts between ferns and life-size driver banners, speeding past crowded bistro sets. By the time they clock him – Was that Max Verstap–? – he’s already thin air.

Through one of the backdoors to the garages, Max pulls you down a darkened hallway.

You giggle, trying not to trip over his heels. Cooler, though not by much, you breathe a sigh of relief and rub the starry sunshine from your vision. When you pull your knuckles away from your eyes, you gasp.

Max halts.

“What?” he asks, twisting around. His hand stays locked in yours. “You okay?”

Your nose bumps against his shoulder as you crane to see properly through the sliver of an ajar door.

Behind a throng of serious faces in white shirts and headsets – a table. Three trophies, tall and slender, polished to perfection. Obnoxious, maybe a little – but glamorous and gleaming all the same.

And right in front of them –

“Are those the podium caps?”

Max studies your face for a moment. A smile threatens the corner of his lips, but he fights it down. He follows your eye to the three hats.

He nods. “Looks like it.”

“Denim, Max. That’s so cool.”

“Well, y’know,” he sniffs, giving your hand a light tug, “It is Austin.”

“I don’t have a denim one. Yet.”

He shoots you a look more steel than blue. You don’t have to speak Max Verstappen to know exactly what it means.

You’ve been collecting his race caps – the rare designs, anyway – for as long as he’s been in Formula One. At home, there’s a whole corner of your closet dedicated strictly to Pirelli.

His very first winners’ cap sits proudly on the tallest hook, all the way to the Canadian maple leaf design that made you squeal when he presented it to you.

He knows the ones you’d like, the second he sees them. Eight years’ worth of victories, turned into something even more meaningful.

Granted, there have been a little fewer than normal lately – but sometimes, you like to pretend he’s in that cockpit aiming for first at least in part to see the smile on your face when he fits the cap on your head.

Still. He stares you down.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” he says, walking on. “The car is shit, lately.”

“Language,” you hiss, grinning.

Max shakes his head. “I can still send you home, you know. The race hasn’t started yet.”

He’s only jesting – but annoying him is too much fun.

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that. I’m here for sympathy reasons, remember?”

He grunts in response.

Austin wasn’t meant to be on your list this year. It’s one of your favorite grands prix, that’s for sure, but you had planned to miss it this time around on account of the new guy you’d been seeing.

That is – until you called it quits last month.

It had only been a few months – three, if that – but the longer it went on, the more you noticed incompatibilities. Little things, like the way your schedules clashed, or the kinds of places you each liked to hang out.

He was a great guy, and he took it like a champ – which made the bruise sting a little…sharper.

Max let you wallow for three days. He spent a decent chunk of the month’s break after Singapore at your place; ordering you takeout and then refusing to let you pay, waking you up each morning to work out with him. You’d never admit it, but after a while, it got kinda fun.

Then, when it was time to get back to work, he invited you to Austin. You know being there will cheer you up, he said. And besides, I need my lucky charm.

So far – what with the denim Pirelli caps and the front-row qualifying result – he’s fast turning out to be right.

He pauses at the turn into the garage. “How are you, anyway? Feeling distracted?”

You smile, slumping against the wall opposite him. “Very. I forgot how hard this place goes.”

He nods, sipping from his bottle. He glances down the hall towards the echoes of photographers. “Sorry about the…” he waves a dismissive hand, “…Ever since Singapore, they…”

“You don’t think I’m used to it by now, three-time-world-champion?”

He curves his hand around the back of his neck, lips curling. “You wanna watch from the garage again, or upstairs?”

“Upstairs, please. I don’t need another 4D experience of you crashing.”

“Wasn’t exactly fun to me, either,” he says, nudging your arm. He lists directions, reminding you to stay behind the shrubbery to evade the cameras. He makes you swear you’ll text him once you’re seated.

“Do you want my pinkie, or is a blood oath more acceptable?”

“It’s a lot of different tracks, alright? Sometimes even I get lost.”

Your eyes narrow. Liar.

He smirks. “Okay, I don’t. But I also don’t stop to fucking stare at denim hats, so.”

“Go do your job, potty mouth. And drive safe.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean it, Max. Just – aim to finish in one piece.”

He pulls you in for a hug, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I’m aiming for a cap,” he says, and swings into the garage.

It’s Ferrari’s race from the opening lap. No other team gets a look-in.

Charles steals the lead from under Lando’s feet, propelling ahead with Carlos in tow to secure an easy one-two for the Prancing Horse. They hold fast the entire race and – though they are, in theory, two of your best friend’s current enemies – they nail it.

You know that, when you find each other later, Max will tell you the same. He’s never a sore loser when simply lovely racing is involved.

Fifty-six laps and five and a half kilometers later, you’re watching him on the podium.

Well. You’re watching your next collector’s item – on his head – on the podium.

Third place isn’t too shabby for a man perpetually fighting his machine – and even he looks relieved just to be up there. He glances down as the Monégasque national anthem plays, and tilts his head purposefully.

You grin up at him, eyebrows raised. I see it, you send telepathically. I’ve chosen its hook already.

Max is careful not to let it become too soaked during the champagne spraying. He ducks out of Charles’s path, aims his own at Carlos’s back. He’s the first to tip the bottle against his lips and drink, and the others quickly follow suit.

There’s probably a grilling waiting for him in the press tent. Was Norris’s five-second penalty just? How did the car feel during that battle? Do you see the rear-end of a McLaren when you close your eyes at night?

You take the opportunity while the paddock is still quiet to sneak back to his motorhome, falling back onto the double bed. There’s a flatscreen on the wall opposite you; a crystal vase of roses on the marble counter beneath.

Some days you have to remind yourself that, behind all the titles and trophies and treasure – he’s still the same kid who ate so much candy at your eighth birthday party that he threw up in his sleeping bag.

Behind all of it, he’s still Max. Your Max.

Says you can have a go at his racing simulator, then laughs while you fight with the controls. Says he’ll pick you up after a night out, then takes voice recordings of your drunken babbling to play back to your hungover self.

Says, He was a nice guy, but you’re going to be okay – and invites you to Austin to take your mind off it.

You’re watching some real estate show under eyes heavy with sleep when the motorhome door clicks open.

His shadow sways down the narrow trailer, and he materializes at the foot of the bed.

“Hello.”

You lift your head. “Hello, yourself.”

He takes your wrists and pulls you upright, scooping you in a strong hug. He’s soaked in sweat and champagne, race suit hanging from his hips, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway.

His hair is damp, cheeks flushed and heated. His stubble scrapes your skin. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and sighs.

“Thinking of moving to Mexico?” he murmurs into your shoulder, turning to look at the screen.

“The remote was on the other side of the room. I’m tired.”

“Me, too,” he says. He pulls back.

You take his jaw in your hands. “You did so good,” you whisper, thumbs smoothing the lines his balaclava has left behind. “That battle with Lando – I thought – maybe –”

He scoffs, lazy smirk pulling across his face. “Nah. Light work.”

It warrants the knock you deal his bicep.

Max laughs. “Oh,” he says, and reaches behind his back. From the waistband of his suit, he pulls a slightly dented, very drenched third-place cap. He straightens out the material. “Took it off as soon as we got backstage. Didn’t want my hair to make it all sweaty.”

You take it from his hands delicately, grinning from ear to ear as you tilt it in the light. “It’s so fucking cool, Max.”

He hums. “Here.”

He handles it with the same care you did, for the sole reason that it means this much to you – and Max knows it. With a gentle smile, eyes flitting from yours to your lips, he places the cap over your head and straightens it into place.

“There,” he steps back, “You just won third place at Circuit of the Americas.”

You giggle, turning to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. “Oh my God, I look so goofy.”

“No you don’t,” Max replies, standing behind your reflection. “You suit it better than I do.”

There’s a beat – a moment, stood against his chest, eyes locked and hearts aligned. You lean back on your heels, and he perches his chin soft on your head.

His hands find your shoulders. “I’m gonna jump in the shower,” he says. “Do you want to head back to the hotel now, or –?”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

“’kay,” he whispers. He lingers, still scanning the sight before him. Hands still on your body, squeezing in time with your hammering heartbeat.

Probably taking in the oddity of the entire thing, the same way you are. The two of you framed in the mirror, no closer than you spend most days, and somehow – the closest you’ve ever felt him.

Your Max. Who once caught wind that you had a crush on one of the kids in class, and teased you all summer long for it. Who once gatecrashed your horror movie night with Victoria; burst out of the closet in a Ghostface mask, screaming bloody murder.

It’s exactly the kind of feeling you’d text him for advice on. Hey, what do you think about this? I had butterflies today, standing next to this guy.

Exactly the kind of thing that he’d reply with, Does he know you cry at animated movies?

Does he know you say good morning to the birds?

Does he know you burn pancakes anytime you try to make them?

Yes, you’d send. And he doesn’t mind any of it.

Max takes the visor of your cap between his fingers and turns it. “This way for when you’re feeling fancy,” he says, laughing at his own joke the way he always does.

You breathe a relieved laugh of your own. “Sure,” you reply, shaking that feeling free. You turn, hands light on his forearms. Your gaze climbs from his chest to his eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into the oceanic home you’ve known since you were a kid. “I’m really glad I came. You, uh…I don’t know what I’d do without you, Max.”

He shrugs – never one to take a compliment without wrestling with it first. “’s not about me,” he replies, tapping your nose with his knuckle. He swallows, shifting between feet, before his chest fills with a deep breath. “Let me take you to dinner. As a thanks for coming, obviously.”

“You mean the hat isn’t my thanks?”

He shakes his head. “I can do better than a smelly denim hat.”

“I’ll bet you can, Verstappen.”

[toxicanonymity]

beach walks

7k, Joel x f!reader; surf instructor Billy x f!reader (Billy gifs)

night walks au A/N: Picks up right after beach walks prequel.

SUMMARY: Paths cross, and Joel can't let you go. WARNINGS: I8+ angst, infidelity adjacent if you squint, drugs, dubcon (drugs/location) p in v, somewhat possessive!joel, exhibitionism, homoerotic tension if you squint. cuck!billy but you also sit on his face.

Joel can't sleep. He stares at the ceiling and keeps drifting back to what he shouldn't have seen - you in the pool with Billy. Plus, he evisions you fucking on the beach, in the hotel, in that stupid shack. He's not happy about it, but you’re so damn hot. He can't help the way his body reacts. He keeps hearing that moan, fuck.

He figures out what helps him get back to sleep, and by the end of the night, he's used all the lotion in that little bottle. 

He wakes up for the last time around five. He showers and packs his bag. It's still dark when he goes for a walk on the beach. As the sky hints at sunrise, he stands with his fingers interlaced on the crown of his head and listens to the birds. He’s been doing his best, and it turns out his best sucks. On a sandbar, he finds a live starfish missing an arm and gently tosses it like a Frisbee back into the ocean. 

What is he doing? He could've left it all alone. 

He walks back to the hotel and gets a cup of coffee and a newspaper. He goes out on the cafe porch to read. There's a yoga class in view on the beach, and he looks to see if you're in it. Yeah, there you are. His stomach drops and his nostrils flare with a deep breath. You look great, but he can't see your ass. Right behind you, there's Billy. 

Why Billy? He's impossible to hate. At least he's also impossible to tame. No way it goes beyond this vacation. But if anyone can make him wanna change, it might be you. Joel used to think Billy had it made, but he's a lonely guy underneath it all.

—---you------

Four of you are eating breakfast at a table for six in the dining hall. You're sitting across from Billy.

“Can’t miss with Billy’s Bistro. Never burn the toast, never give ya salmonella . . .” 

“Salmonella?” Your friend Kari asks. “Was there an outbreak here?” 

Billy has a spoon in his mouth, but his eyes widen. He looks back and forth between all three of you as he slowly swallows his chia pudding, then says, “Explains the Groupon, doesn't it?” 

“Gross,” Kari pushes her plate away. 

Billy shrugs, then looks at you. “Billy’s bistro,” he mouths with a subtle sparkle in his eyes. His face softens, then comes to life when he looks behind you. 

“There he is,” Billy announces. 

You look back and do a double take. Your heart skips a beat, and your eyes widen. Joel gives you a nod of acknowledgement. 

He’s wearing swim trunks, and his thighs look massive. All of him does. Did the memories fade, or did he manage to put on 10 lbs of muscle in what, two months? His hair is longer – only an inch or so, but enough to curl. You can’t stop staring. Your face is cold and tingly.

“Have a seat, mate.” Billy uses his foot to push out the chair to his right, at the head of the table. He puts his hand on Joel's hulking trapezius as he sits down. 

“Joel Miller. This man is a legend,” Billy tells you.

You glance at your friends, and they're as shocked as you. They met Joel once, at the restaurant. 

“Taught me how to roll my first joint,” Billy says. “Now I can't even get’m to take a bong rip.” He turns to Joel. “That was some good shit ya brought, mate.”

“Yeah,” Joel says barely above a whisper, glancing at you.

“Hey Joel,” your friend Nahlah says. 

“Hey, Nahlah.” 

You had barely let him sit down to say hello at that restaurant. 

“So you know each other,” Billy concludes. “Brilliant! What a world.”

“Yeah, we know each other,” Joel subtly nods, looking at you. He looks tired.

“Do they know the new you?” Billy asks. 

“The new you?” you ask Joel. 

“Health nut.” Billy grabs Joel's arm, beaming. “Look at’m.” He turns his attention to Joel. “On the straight and narrow. Can't believe it.”   

“Really?” you ask Joel. 

Joel sighs and side-eyes Billy. “No. Just had to, kinda. . . get my life together for a minute.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Getting his life together meant dropping you? That’s where he went? Your face burns, and your nostrils flare. 

“Excuse me,” you tell the rest of them, and stand up with heat in your chest, determined not to make a scene.  

“Catch up later,” Billy says and reaches for you as you come around Joel’s chair. You lean in and he gives you a kiss on the cheek. You don't look back on your way out the door. 

—

You get down to the beach, take off your sandals, and walk, heading nowhere in particular. 

Soon enough, Joel is calling your name, jogging. You keep walking, but he catches up. He walks beside you in silence, between you and the ocean. You try to ignore the stride of his hulking form in your periphery. 

“Guess I don’t fit in your new life,” you mutter, then swallow the knot in your throat and put your shades on, even though it’s not sunny. You keep walking. 

“Yeah ya do, baby,” he reaches for your hand. The tenderness almost gets to you, but it’s out of nowhere. You just can’t. You cross your arms and slow your pace. 

“Guess I never did,” you mumble. 

“I’m sorry.” Joel looks at you. You keep looking down, taking slow, careful steps. 

“For what?” you ask, looking at the sand for an answer.

“Bein’ a fuckin’ idiot. Wrapped up in my own shit.” 

“What shit?” you ask. 

“I’ll tell ya everything, but–” 

“--But what?” 

“We’re supposed to head out in like (he looks at his watch) fuck. Like ten minutes.” 

You scoff. “Did something happen?”

“No—well, yeah.” He looks around then asks, “You okay?”

You don’t answer. 

“You looked happy,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder toward the dining hall. It sounds more like a question than an observation. Yeah, you were finally having a good time without him until he showed up. Now you’re confused, and mad at him for confusing you. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to face him and the water. “What happened? You couldn’t even text me?” 

The sky gets darker as thicker cloud cover creeps over the sun. “I should’ve,” Joel nods. 

You barely have the energy to walk. You sit down on the sand. He better tell you, right now, if there's any hope.

He swallows and looks down and away, then takes off his sunglasses and joins you on the sand.  “Got in my head,” he mumbles. “So many times, I was gonna. . .even walked to your door one night.” 

“.. .okay?” You wait for him to continue. 

“Thought ya might think I was lame, cause I wasn’t the same, I was. . .” 

“You were trying to get your life together,” you recite, genuinely trying to digest it for the first time. A tear falls out of your eye and you angrily wipe it away.

He shakes his head. “Never shoulda said it that way. I had somethin’ to take care of. Tell ya ‘bout it when we've got time” 

The lump is back in your throat, full force. He’s really gonna swoop in just long enough to make you sad, then leave you as confused as ever.

He looks dejected. “I know, I’m an idiot.” 

“So what do you want?” you ask. 

He looks at the sea for a moment. “To start over.” 

“Why?” you ask and wipe away more tears. Your voice becomes strained. “What do you regret?” 

“Nothin’, pumpkin. . . shit, I’m so bad at this.” He groans in frustration at himself. “And I know it, that’s why I. . .” he trails off and shakes his head. 

You glance at his eyes and curse yourself for a twinge of empathy.

He claws a handful of the dry sand between you into a little pile and mumbles, “You deserve better, always did.” He smoothes out the pile, then pivots to face more in your direction. “Look at me, pumpkin’. Please.” He reaches for your sunglasses. You pull back your head away and take them off yourself.  You turn and face him. He wipes his hand off on his shirt before brushing tears off your cheek with his thumb. “Only thing I regret is bein’ such a dick.” 

You begin to stand up, not wanting to feel him suddenly leave you again.  Once you’re standing, you cross your arms again. You dig the toes of one foot into the sand.  Joel’s hands gently engulf each of your elbows, and he gets as close as he can. You don’t pull away, but you don’t open up either. He hugs you anyway. 

God, his arms are huge. He holds you tight and breathes into your hair. He mutters, “Think about you all the time.” You let out a held breath, then his scent fills your lungs. A wave of affection threatens to break down your walls.

Your arms uncross on their own, and he hugs you with his body fully against yours. It feels like a warm mistake. It’s too late now. 

“Ya know, I would’ve done it with you,” you sniffle. “Whatever this lifestyle thing. . .” 

He whispers your name and hugs you tighter. He holds you for a minute, and you dab your eyes on his hulking shoulder. The weight of his arms is as soothing as his scent. This isn’t fixed, you tell yourself. You’re not going to pick up where you left off. If he invited you back to his room right now, you wouldn’t go. But somehow, you feel for him. You’ve never seen him anxious or vulnerable. He’s always been so sure of himself. So full of himself, but in a charming way.

You begin to pull away, still determined not to be the one who gets left. “Guess you’ve gotta go,” you mutter. 

He looks sad as he slowly drops his arms, running his hands down your back. “Talk when you’re home?”

You sigh and look at your feet. Your self-preservation instincts tell you to cut him off. Quit him while you can. While you have the upper hand. While he can’t hurt you worse than he has. “What can’t you say right now?”

“A lot,” he answers without missing a beat. He seems to glance at your neck, but you can’t be sure. 

You shake your head no. 

“Please. Then I’ll leave ya ‘lone if ya want.” His eyes shift away. Does he mean that? Your eyes cloud up again, and you put your glasses back on. 

“I dunno.” You walk back to the main building in silence and slip on your sandals on the way in.  Joel hugs you goodbye. It feels like he doesn’t want to let go, and you don’t want him to either. Your arms faintly itch as he walks away, and you brush off the sand.

—

After Joel leaves, your friends finish eating and emerge from the dining hall. 

“Where’s Billy?” you ask. 

“He has a lesson,” Nahlah says. 

-

You go back to your room and take a shower, trying to wash it all away, but Joel’s presence lingers, even as you turn off the water. You lie on your bed looking at the ceiling. Nahlah and Kari are on the other bed, watching ghost hunters on the free cable. 

“How was last night?” Kari asks. 

You sigh and mutter, “I need a nap.” 

“I bet you do,” Nahlah teases. 

You drift off, hoping everything will sort itself out while you dream. 

–

You sleep for hours and wake up alone, without the clarity you’d hoped for, except that you resent what Joel’s doing.  You’re already falling under his spell again, and you don’t like it.  It would be too easy for him to break your heart again. You know what could take your mind off it. 

-

You walk down to the shore, and Billy is finishing up a lesson. He sees you and nods toward the shack. You let yourself in and wait on the sofa, emo and increasingly horny. 

He comes through the door and takes off his long sleeves. He tousles his hair and stretches his neck with his hand on the tattoo. He takes a sip from a squeeze bottle, then asks, “You alright? What happened earlier?” 

“Nothing,” you rest your head in your left hand, with your elbow on the arm of the loveseat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Billy says, then looks at his watch and shifts gears. “Got fifteen minutes.” 

He joins you on the loveseat, then leans over you, pressing a kiss into your lips and pulling you closer. The kiss is loaded. You welcome his tongue, soothed by his touch, but your energy is gone. You’re practically catatonic compared to before. He kisses you for a few more seconds, then breaks away and asks, “You alright?” 

You nod and kiss him back, then reach for his shorts, cupping his semi-hard package. 

He breaks away and reads your eyes. “‘S’alright, love.” 

He pulls away entirely and slumps into the loveseat, using the opposite arm as a pillow. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and opens his arms. You lay face down on his warm, bare chest, beads of sea water transferring to your beach dress—through one of its crochet holes, a pierced nipple teases your skin.  

Billy holds you. You lie there, relaxed, one leg over his. A tear rolls out of your eye and onto his hot skin. “Shh,” He rubs your back for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling under you. His cock twitches against your thigh between his legs, and a shock of desire zaps through you. His hips lift slightly, just once, and your eyes flutter open. He sucks back his chin to look down at you, then his fingers lift your chin to look at him. You’re no longer crying at all. 

“There she is,” he murmurs, with his pupils widening before your eyes. He reads your eyes and glances at your lips. “Fucking gorgeous.” His face drifts toward yours, your neck extends, and his lips nudge your upper lip before your mouths come together. You prop yourself up with your forearm so neither of you has to strain your neck. The kiss starts languidly, then heats up and his hands come to your hips. As you kiss, his hips lift into you, and his cock hardens against your quad. As he licks into your mouth, you slowly grind on his thigh. He breaks away, searches your eyes, and whispers, “attagirl,” before claiming your lips again. With your limbs slotted together, you make out, grind, and quietly grunt.

For a while, your thoughts are gone, then Joel walks back into your head. You wonder how good he’d fuck you now, if he thinks it’s his last chance. Still moving on Billy’s thigh with your mouth half-connected with his, your breaths get heavy with desire. Would Joel be rough? Would he be tender? Would he be how he is so often–ravenous, but deliberate and appreciative of every inch of your body? You imagine his cock shoving into you and the way he’d sigh, yeah. 

Now you’re gushing wet, already about to cum. You break the kiss to moan, and Billy breathes, “Yeah, good girl.” He grinds against you and his hands move you on his bare thigh, now coated with your slick. “Fuck, that wet for me.” Not just for him, but, yeah, that wet. His cock has hardened against your hip. “Mmm,” he moans into your mouth as his lips take yours again. Joel’s a good kisser too. A little more forceful, but still smooth. You’re thinking about Joel being under you. Imagining the first time you were in Joel’s basement, when he pulled you into his lap so decisively. You’re on the edge of bliss, sliding on Billy’s thigh. You bite your lip, then moan. “Yeah,” Billy encourages you. 

When it’s clear you’re not quite there, Billy breathes, “Sit on me. C’mere.”

His mouth hangs slightly open, and his eyes are black with lust. You carefully lift your knee off the cushion between his legs, and the light touch of his hand helps you on top of him as he watches, spellbound. You lower yourself at just the right angle and moan at the first direct contact with the stiff shape in his shorts. Your eyelids are heavy. 

He lifts up the hem of your beach dress, and you take it off. He moans at the sight of your body. 

His lips remain slightly parted as his hips lift, grinding against you. He palms a breast, and you massage your other one. He begins to reach between you, fingertips sliding into his waistband, then looks behind you at the clock. “Sit on my face.” 

He scoots down to put his head flat on the cushion, and you rise off his shorts. He takes his cock out with a sigh and spits on his fingers as you knee walk forward. He spreads the spit on his cock and breathes vocally, eyes on your tits. You could swear you smell his precum. 

He unties your swimsuit bottom and lets half of it fall, leaving your slippery cunt bare. His palms on your ass bring you down, and his scruff drags against your inner thigh. His warm, humid breath envelopes your most sensitive place, then his lips make contact.

One hand leaves you to attend to his raging erection, and he grunts a short “mm” into your cunt at the relief. He laps at your entrance, licking upward, then latches onto the space just above that. He licks your clit, then sucks. He moans into the bundle of nerves, and your thighs tremble. He breaks away for short moments, breathing hot against your folds as he strokes his cock behind you. He eats you voraciously, and you whimper. He’s at just the right spot, doing just the right thing, and he keeps at it.

You brace your hands on the arm of the sofa and think about Joel looking up at you from between your legs. You take a deep breath and see stars. Your body twitches and you moan, riding your waves, with Billy moaning into your cunt. He gently laps at your entrance and strokes himself faster. As your climax wanes, you rise off his mouth, with Billy still stroking himself, not finished. He gathers slick from your folds, brings it to his cock, then pants pants, “How ‘bout another?” He begins to pull you back down.

“No,” you whisper, “that was perfect.” You allow him to keep you there, hovering over him. 

“Wanna ride?” His voice is shaky as he keeps pumping his cock behind you. 

“Not now,” you answer. 

He turns his head slightly, seals his lips on your thigh, and sucks. You reach down between your legs and grab hold of his damp, salty hair to pry him off. 

“Mmm,” he responds,“Yeah.” His strokes are heavier and so are his breaths. You experimentally tug at his hair again. He shudders, then paints his stomach in cum, with a warm squirt reaching your ass. 

He scoots out from under you and asks for the third time, “you alright?” 

You tie your swimsuit again and settle into the loveseat, face and chest still heated from your peak. “Yeah,” you nod. 

He fixes his swim trunks then prowls toward you to give you a gentle kiss and you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re tasty, love,” he murmurs, then pulls away. 

He puts on his rash guard, then points at you, “Aqua tonight.”  Right, his DJ thing. He gets off the loveseat and looks at the clock. “Before I forget,” He grabs his bag and unzips a front pocket that looks to be full of condoms and pill baggies. He turns his head to ask, “How many of ya?” 

“Three, I guess.” 

He rummages around, then holds up a little baggie with three pills. “Just a little X.” 

“Oh, I dunno if we’ll–” 

He shrugs. “Might try it.” He looks at the clock and mutters, “shit.”  

He presses the baggie into your palm and closes your hand. He holds up a few condoms and asks, “just in case?”. 

---Joel----

On the road, Tommy and Maria talk and listen to music. In the back seat, Joel looks out the window, or he wants to look out the window, but he looks at his reflection. He can’t shake the feeling of your warm tears wetting his shirt, or the image of you kissing Billy, or the glance at what he’s pretty sure was a hickey on your neck. He’d be surprised if it wasn’t after what he saw the night before. 

The further they get from the resort, the more Joel’s chest tightens. He takes out his phone to text you. He types, “I can’t leave you with him,” stares at it for a few seconds, then erases it. 

Who even is he anymore?  

Something clicks. 

At a stoplight, he says, “Stop at that gas station.” Tommy parks at a pump. They need gas anyway., “Open the hatch,”  Joel says. Tommy pops the trunk and gets out of the car to pump gas. Joel grabs his bag from the back and Tommy does a double take. 

“You goin’ back?” Tommy asks, not shocked. 

“Yeah.” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll find my way home.” 

“We can take ya back,” Tommy offers, nodding in the direction of the resort. 

“Nah,” Joel scratches the back of his neck. “Need the fresh air.”

He and Tommy share a brief, manly hug and pat on the back, then Joel walks off with his bag on one shoulder.

-

Joel’s coming for you. He might not have the right words, but he doesn’t need them. Never did. None of this was built on words. It was something unspoken under something physical and fierce. He pockets his phone and puts on his shades, walking with new resolve. There are things he wants to tell you, and some of them need words, but not all of them. The words can wait. They’ll come easier when you’re back where you belong. 

Two hours later, he’s back at the hotel. He smells his own sweat soaking through his shirt, and his phone’s about to overheat.

“Long time no see,” the receptionist says. 

“Yeah,” Joel mumbles without humor, then forces a smile. He gets a room, puts his things away, then heads out to find you. 

You’re not at the pool. You’re not in any of the common areas. 

He goes down to the beach, toward the surf lessons. 

-

Billy’s showing off for a customer. Joel sits in the sand and waits. He admires the way Billy moves in the water, resenting him at the same time. 

When Billy’s done, he walks up to Joel. Joel’s eyes fall on Billy’s swim trunks, then his mind goes to your hands, your mouth, your perfect cunt.  

Billy extends his hand, and pulls Joel up. He pats Joel’s arm, then lets him go. “Got some time if ya wanna catch a wave.” 

“Where is she?” Joel asks. 

“I dunno, mate. Prob’ly with her friends?” He motions for Joel to follow him to the shack. Years ago, Billy more or less offered Joel a handjob in that shack. Joel declined, and that was that. 

As they enter the shack, Billy unzips his quarter-zip long-sleeve top and pulls it off. He takes a sip of water, then wipes off his mouth. “So,” Billy starts. “What’s the story?” He turns up the water bottle again and it makes a high pitched sound as he sucks it. “Ex-lovers?” he asks with a smile. 

Joel’s jaw clenches. He takes a breath through his nose and calms himself. “Not ex.” 

Billy chokes on his water, then wipes his mouth again. “Does she know that?” 

Joel rakes his hand through his hair, at a loss. “That’s my girl,” he nods, heart pounding. 

“I don’t think she is, mate. Women aren’t property-” 

“-cut the crap, Billy.” Joel’s chest is heaving. 

Billy’s eyes fall to Joel’s right hand, which is flexing into a fist. 

“Hit me if it makes ya feel better,” Billy puts down the water bottle and braces himself in a welcoming stance. 

This fucker. No, Joel isn’t going to hit him. 

Joel forces himself to relax, puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight, shaking his head at the floor. 

Billy lunges toward him, light on his feet as if he’s gonna sucker punch Joel. It’s playful, but Joel drops his shoulder and tackles him to the floor before he can get in a jab. 

On the floor, Billy fights back, eyes wild, but Joel’s too strong. He pins him with his left forearm on his chest, straddling him. 

Billy grabs Joel’s left tricep. “Look at that,” he marvels. “Unbelievable.” 

Joel looks into the blue eyes staring up at him and wonders if you’ve had this POV. For a brief moment, he’s tempted to slide his forearm up to his neck. Billy looks at Joel’s right hand which opens and shuts in the air, stretching.  

“I can take it,” Billy urges. “C’mon, knock me around.” 

Billy’s enthusiasm takes the wind out of Joel’s sails and brings him back to reality. He releases his forearm and sits back on his knees, still bracketing Billy’s hips. Joel slowly stands with a groan, then helps Billy to his feet. 

—- Later at Aqua —--

Billy has given you the closest VIP table. You and your friends are sitting there with a drink. He points at you from his DJ booth, which is on a raised platform. All three of you hold up your drinks and smile at him. 

Kari and Nahlah have had their eyes on a couple of guys who are finally approaching. It's a group of three. You decline to dance, so the third guy sits down to have a drink with you instead, shouting over the music, “HOW LONG ARE YOU IN TOWN?” You look past the man, and Billy is laughing, looking down at his mixer board. After indulging the man for another minute or so, you excuse yourself to the restroom, hoping the man will take the hint and disappear in your absence.

On the way to the restroom, you pass a couple of dark rooms with hall windows and suspect people might be fucking in there. The half-pill you’ve taken isn’t doing anything, but you know better than to double it just yet. 

When you come out from the restroom, the guy is still at your table. You curse him under your breath and head outside for some fresh air.

-

You duck out a door that’s propped open. Smokers are milling about. A few partiers are comforting a crying friend. You walk just far enough to get some space from that scene and the artificial light. You lean against the brick wall to breathe. The tiniest droplets of sea water tingle merrily on your face. You open your mouth and can taste it in the air. You fill your lungs and savor the breath. A buzz hums from your skin.

Your dress has a slit on one side and is long enough that you can lift your knee and rest one foot on the wall behind you without exposing yourself—but that wouldn’t be the end of the world anyway. You watch palm leaves rustle in the ocean breeze and look at the sky. There are more stars here than at home. Maybe you should take a walk. 

You’re still gazing into the sky when you notice someone in a colorful shirt approaching. They flick their cigarette away and it sparks. You smile, and as they come into focus, they turn into Joel. 

Are you rolling that hard after half a pill? You’ve still got your wits about you, don’t you? You watched Joel leave this morning, and you’ve never seen him dressed like this. The colors vibe perfectly on his silk shirt, and a gold chain sparkles underneath. His curls are fluffier than earlier. 

He slowly approaches and wets his lips when he’s a few feet away. His eyes rove your body. When he’s close enough, he rests his hand on the brick wall to lean over you. He smells like cloves. He looks tired. He leans a little closer, and you look him in the eyes. 

“Thought you left,” you mutter.

He shakes his head, and continues to gaze into your eyes. “Couldn’t do it.” 

You run a hand up his chest, palm gliding across his shirt. His chest is strong, and the fabric is like cool shaving cream under your fingers. In the back of your mind, you still have so many questions, but you don’t ask them. Not now. 

“You can be mad at me,” his brows knit and he nods twice. ”I deserve that.”  His eyes lock on yours.  “But I'm not gonna let ya go.” 

Your nipples harden with a chill, and your lips part.  

His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, and you tilt your chin up. His eyes fall further, to your neck, and he inhales sharply through his nose. You turn your head the other way. Still braced on the wall, he nudges your chin so he can look at the bruising. You feel his heart rate quicken under your hand, and you slide your hand up to the cold sweat beading on his neck. 

His thumb brushes over the bruising. He brings his mouth and nose to the other side and grazes your sensitive skin with his nose. His tongue teases you and you shiver, then he plants his lips. He grunts softly as he marks you. His breath hits your wet skin as he lingers there to murmur, “Missed how ya taste.” 

He returns to the bruised side of your neck and licks the mark, tenderly, then harder. It’s sore, but you don’t react. For a moment, his lips lay plush and soft against your damaged skin. Then he opens his mouth wide. He scrapes his teeth, then plants his lips and sucks, and you try not to flinch but let out a little gasp. He tongues and sucks at it for almost five seconds before releasing you. 

He soothes the spot with the light touch of his lips, then kisses up your jaw, to your ear, where he murmurs, “What are you on, and how much?”

You tell him. 

“Should be fine,” he mutters to himself as he pulls his head back. 

“Why?”

He looks back and forth between your eyes. “Wanna make sure you remember.” 

You wet your lips and swallow. 

He’s close enough that his body heat enhances yours. His whole presence is a warm embrace. You half-heartedly try to conjure what you went through earlier—the hurt, the resolve not to let it happen again. You can’t find it under your affection, wonder, and empathy. Something tells you it’s going to be okay. 

He looks at your neck again. 

You open your mouth to apologize, but he cuts you off, “Shh.” He takes your hand and leads you back inside. 

-

It’s dark, minus the red and pink lights washing over the dance floor, which is crowded but not quite packed. He gets two soda waters from the bar, and you sit down in the VIP booth. He has his arm around you, caressing your shoulder. Soon, you have your legs in his lap, just happy to have him close. You reach into your dress for the small plastic baggie. Joel is watching the dance floor and idly stroking your leg as you pour the other piece of the pill into your hand. Some of it is powder by now. Joel’s eyes return just in time to see you put it on your tongue. 

He squeezes your chin to open your mouth, then, with the same hand, sticks two massive fingers between your lips to retrieve the pill. “You don’t need this,” he mutters, then sticks what remains of the pill in his mouth and takes a sip of water.  “What else ya got in there?” Joel feels you up through the fabric on and around your tits, and his eyebrows shoot up when his hand catches on something.

He shoves his hand down your dress and finds it tucked under your arm: a small, foil square. He turns it over and the clear backing reveals a glow-in-the-dark condom. He tosses it onto the table, then pulls you tighter against him. Your hip brushes a warm bulge in his soft black pants, and it twitches. These pants would be so easy to slip your hand into, you just know it. But before you can try, he brings his mouth to your ear. “C’mon, let’s dance.” 

-

On the dance floor, Joel stands behind you, and his heavy arms snake around your torso. He moves with you, with the music, and runs his palms over your dress. His dick hardens, and those silky pants leave nothing to the imagination as the vivid outline grinds against you. You lose yourself in his touch, in the soft rub of his cock, until you sense someone watching and glance toward the DJ booth. Billy smiles to himself and goes back to his mixing board. Joel shamelessly grabs your tit again. You’re already so wet for him.  In the corner of your eye, you see Billy still watching but pretend you don’t notice. 

“You’re so damn hot,” Joel growls right against your ear as he massages your breast and grinds against you with his arm crossing your body and one hand on your hip.  “Uggh,” he groans in arousal. He jostles behind you, adjusting his pants, then gathers the long skirt of your dress. He covers your ass with himself before the air has a chance to hit you. Then his hard, naked cock slides between your thighs. You gasp and look back. He kisses the side of your neck. You’re gushing all over him. Your thong is soaked through, and he’s sliding along your folds, hot and hard. He moans in your ear. His tip pushes the front of your dress out with every thrust through that warm, wet sleeve of your thighs against your cunt. 

Each pass of his tip makes you need him so bad. You turn your head back to say, “Let’s go somewhere.” 

“You want it?” he asks and slides out from your thighs, reaching down between you to put his dick away before letting your skirt down. 

You nod and begin to lead him to the restroom, but he firmly holds your elbow. You turn around and put your arms around his neck to plead, “Let’s go,” nodding toward the bathrooms. He grabs your ass and grinds against your front, raging hard.  He holds you close and you give up for the moment. 

He dips his head and noses your chin up. His lips brush a sore area, and you twitch. You slot your fingers into his curly locks, making him growl silently into your skin. "Joel," you sigh. "Let's go."

Either he doesn't hear you or pretends not to.  "Mmm," his hum vibrates into your skin. He pries his lips off your neck only to plant them on your mouth. Your tongues meet, and you need him, you really need him. Now. 

After a few seconds of bliss, you break the kiss to plead, "Let’s go." He reads your face and shakes his head no as a dim red light falls over you in passing. Your mouth falls open in protest. He grinds against you, letting his answer sink in. And in case there's any doubt, he brings his lips to your ear. "Gonna take it right here." 

He gathers the front of your dress. You swallow, stunned and throbbing in anticipation. 

He takes his cock out under your dress, then lifts one of your thighs, and you hook it around him. He keeps your raised knee against him. Your shoes are just the right height. He pulls your thong to the side and there’s no mistaking how wet and ready you are. Right away, he notches at your entrance. You tilt your hips. His fingers dig into your thigh and the plush of your ass. He plunges in with a grunt, pushing a gasp out of you as he divides your walls in what feels like slow motion. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back as his cock makes its place inside you. He holds you against himself, and your leg stays hiked up as he retreats, then begins to slide into you to the beat of the music. He brings his lips to your ear. “Ohh–good girl.”

You’d envisioned this every day since the last time and somehow forgot it was this good. He holds you close, his body flexing, expertly moving inside yours. You’ve missed this, you’ve really missed it. He grunts and moans into your hair, unrestrained. The music is loud enough. 

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he practically shouts, holding you by the ass and thigh as he fucks up into you. It’s a thrill being full of his cock in a sea of people. The song changes and you glance toward the DJ booth. Billy is looking right at you. Joel’s pace slows to match the new tempo. You melt into his arms with the perfect shape of his length dragging between your walls. Billy’s eyes smile, and he slowly nods. You catch him adjusting himself just below the DJ table which makes your walls twitch. You bite your lip. 

The grip of Joel’s fingers tightens, pressing firmly into your flesh. Billy’s hand is still below the mixing table when Joel turns your face back toward him and kisses you. Everything else fades away except his mouth on yours and his cock thrusting into you. The smooth slide of his tongue makes you twitch. His thrusts become sharper, deeper with the aid of his bruising grip, and your mouths break apart with labored breaths and moans. God, you’re wet, and only getting wetter. 

Joel searches your eyes as he thrusts into you. The lights wash over you again, and his pupils are wide. You gaze at each other, and you hold the back of his head, fingers tangling in his long curls as he slowly fucks you on the dance floor. There’s a glance from one or two dancers, but no one cares. 

You steal another glance at Billy, and he looks to be in a trance with his mouth hanging slightly open. He wets his lip and he closes his mouth, then runs his hand through his hair. You bury your face in Joel’s neck, and his familiar scent enhances everything. Pleasure is building more with each thrust of his cock making you whole. Nothing compares to this.

Joel grunts and sighs, and twitches. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs. Is he going to come like this? God, he’s sexy. He tilts his head down and noses your nose so your chin tilts up and he finds your lips again. He kisses you sloppily, loosely, breathing and grunting, and the way he fills you up— shit, he feels good. Are you going to come like this? 

“Don’t let me fall,” you plead. 

He stares at your lips and his mouth draws yours in. He bottoms out and stays deep, moving in short pulses, holding you so your front grinds against his. 

You break the kiss to sigh, “Fuck.” You whimper against his lips as it overtakes you in slow motion. You don’t hold back. The moan rips out of your chest as your body clenches around his. You pulse, and your body spasms. He holds you tighter. “Ohh,” you moan.

“Oh, baby,” He pants. Each thrust is sharp. “Oh, fuck,” he bottoms out and groans as he pulses powerfully.  “Ohhh.” He holds you still as you milk his cock. “Ohh, gg–unghhh.” When he’s nearly spent, an air horn sounds.  Joel groans, and you both look toward Billy. He nods and gives a low thumbs up as the last of Joel’s cum dribbles into you. Joel laughs into your hair, “I’m gonna kill’m.”  

Joel dips his knees to let his cock slide out. He lets your leg down, then your dress, and fixes his pants. He holds you for a whole song. His cum dribbles down your thigh, and you don't even wipe it with your dress. 

“Let's get outta here.” 

- 

You look for your friends, and they're still with the guys from earlier. Joel waits as you go over and say goodbye. When you return, he puts his arm around you as you walk outside.

Outside, he hugs you as you wait for an uber.  The night has dulled your anxiety, but it’s still there somewhere, and it reveals itself as you think about spending the night with him.

“I still don’t understand,” you whisper.

“I know, baby. Ya will. Promise.”

“Can you just answer one thing?”  He waits for your question.  “Who drives a black Mercedes?” 

You pull back to watch him react.

“Black Mercedes. . .” His brow furrows and he searches the pavement for an answer.

“The SUV you were in.” 

“Oh, pumpkin’,” his face softens.  “Just my lawyer, baby.” He kisses you on the forehead, which pauses your thoughts and weakens your eyes. 

Your phone buzzes with a call from Kari, but the call cuts off. Kari hasn’t texted, but in your messaging app, there’s a new group thread with three unread:

“come over to mine,” Billy had texted minutes ago. Then, “key’s under the cactus.”

Joel had already responded, “not tonight.” 

---

---

---

if you want the lore about the surf shack in didn't years ago here it is

I'm watching the comments and rbs for what people are excited about and what people want to see 👀

Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate your patience and support. Your love of night walks Joel and investment in these two makes me really happy. Love you guys 🖤

@silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading @rainstorms-library

[annasiims]

UPDATE

i moved all of my old builds to my patreon, you won’t find them in here anymore since i’ve deleted a bunch of things here in my blog!

Blue Sky Bistro

Luna Roja Nightclub

Vont Haunt Estate (Reno)

Newcrest Birthing Center

Pink Ballet Studio

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

The sandy stone patio outside The Hard Deck is quiet. 

Well, it’s quieter than it was inside. Rowdy Navymen and their rowdy friends a few too many draft beers deep jamming out with the jukebox on high, Penny overwhelmed by the amount of men in Uncle Sam beards and patriotic paper top-hats, peanut shells on the floor, ice clinking in whiskey glasses, fireworks going off every few minutes. 

It’s all a bit overwhelming for you, which is why you slid out and quietly settled in one of the metal bistro chairs, breathing in the sweet ocean and sulfuric air. It’s foggy outside from the fireworks, which are bursting into the night sky in fantastic sparks of yellow and pink and red and blue. 

Finally--you can take a deep breath, inflate your lungs, tune in with your daughter just beneath the taut skin of your swollen belly. She’s fluttering around like she always is when you’re finally still. Sometimes, you like to imagine that she’s mimicking you: taking a deep breath, tilting her head towards the sky, lashes fluttering as she watches the fireworks. 

Bradley is still sitting at the piano, playing a jaunty version of Born in the USA on the piano, a little tipsy and the kind of happy that makes his cheeks bright pink. The usual crowd is around him, much drunker and much blearier, sloshing their drinks and mussing each other’s faux beards. 

“Where’s that wife of mine?” Bradley asks suddenly--he scans the crowd around the piano and doesn’t find you in the sea of red, white, and blue. “Jake, did you scare her off?” 

“She wakes up to you every morning, Bradshaw,” Jake retorts, grinning. “How could I scare her off?” 

Bradley stills--everyone groans when the live music stops. 

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river!” Bradley says as everyone boo’s him. He stands up, stretches, glances around the bar again. He doesn't see you still. “Respect your countryman!” 

And then he’s fielding pats on the backs as he navigates the bar, heading for the patio doors. He’s sure you’re out there--you like to sneak away when you can get away with it to dip your toes in the water or sit in the patio chairs. 

He’s right--you’re right where he knew you would be: sitting in the patio chair, head tilted back as you watch the smoke drift across the star-dotted sky, shoes thrown aside and feet buried in the sand, eyes shining as you stroke your belly with both hands. 

“Hey, mama,” he greets softly. 

You turn, a soft smile on your face. All the noise of the bar fades whenever Rooster closes the door behind him, grinning at you something fierce.

“Hey, daddy,” you respond, face warm with love.  

He stalls right where he is, hands on the hips of his true-blue Levi’s. Pink sprouts across the exposed part of his chest, his Hawaiian shirt long unbuttoned after his fourth drink and second song on the piano. He just beholds you, a lip tucked between his teeth, his smile growing wider when you wrinkle your nose at him. 

“What?” You ask, but you have a feeling that you already know. 

“You’re a fucking vision,” he sighs, earnest and yearning. “How’d I land a bombshell like you?” 

“Trapped me,” you tease, gesturing to your bump. “Remember?” 

He grins, laughing. He starts to toe his Chuck Taylors off, peeling his socks off while you rest your cheek on your shoulder to gaze at him. 

“It’s quiet out here,” he says softly, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your neck. He peppers your sweet-smelling hair with a few kisses before tucking his nose into your neck. “Didn’t realize my ears were ringing in there.” 

You smile. 

“Poor baby,” you mutter mockingly, curling your fingers in his sandy locks. “You alright?”

“Respect your countryman,” Bradley insists softly, muffled from the silky skin of your neck. “And the father of your daughter.” 

He moves his hand to your belly and your daughter kicks softly, stretching and turning. You can feel his grin when it spreads across his face. He’s so delighted in the thought of becoming a father that his joy is genuinely palpable. You can feel it at all times like the sun on your cheeks or the wind in your hair. 

His hand is warm, covering the front of your rounded belly. Bradley sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut as he feels your daughter move inside of you, imagining what she’ll be like. 

But then a firework goes off--pops right beside the both of you. And you both feel it: your daughter jolting in your belly, startled. 

Before Bradley can respond, you’re laughing. Laughing a big and loud laugh with your mouth wide open and your eyes teary.

“Oh,” you giggle, grinning at Bradley. “Our poor baby!” 

Bradley, frowning good-naturedly, tuts and moves so he’s kneeling before you. You’re still fighting your laughter, biting your lip and stroking your belly. But Bradley’s tucking himself between your legs, moving your shirt up until the curve of your belly is exposed to the cool night air. 

“Poor thing,” Bradley said, pressing a few kisses to your skin. “S’okay, bird. Just some fireworks, huh? You’re gonna have to get used to ‘em, aren’t you? Fourth of July is…big in this family, to say the least.” 

You nod as if she can see you, combing your fingers through his hair as he peppers your belly in affection. You can almost see it now: Bradley holding your tiny daughter, pressing his nose into her little shoulder, making her shudder when his mustache tickles her delicate skin. 

“We’ll get her some headphones,” you tell him, biting a grin. “That oughta do the trick, huh?” Another firework pops and she jolts again, more than before. Your belly flutters, tenses. “She really doesn’t like those,” you tell Bradley, gasping softly. 

With his brows furrowed, Bradley peers over his shoulder at the small group of mens setting them off on the beach. 

“I’m gonna go give ‘em a piece of my mind,” he mutters. 

“Bradley,” you laugh. “What’re you gonna say? You’re scaring my unborn daughter?”

He pauses--glares at you. 

“And if that is what I’m gonna say?” 

Grinning, feeling like you’re about to burst with all this love for this goofy man on his knees before you, you shake your head. 

“Oh, boy, do I love you,” you say softly. “And so does our daughter.” 

He grins. 

“Our American girl,” he laughs. “Who doesn’t like fireworks.”

You hope, with everything in your heart, that she has his laugh. Big, loud, hearty. You want people to hear her laugh and know who her father is. Oh, that’s gotta be a Bradshaw. 

“She’ll learn,” you tell him, stroking your belly. “Her daddy’s a Navyman.” 

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 <𝟑

[harryssattelitestomper]

Thirty, flirty and thriving in Paris (Harry Styles)

Warnings: None?

Wordcount: 640

A/N: Please someone teach me how to write dialog.

Inspired by the pictures below 😍

As the first rays of the sun painted streaks of gold across the London skyline, I stirred from my slumber, excitement coursing through my veins. Today marked the beginning of our much-anticipated travel to Paris. "Morning, lovie" Harry said quetly into the early morning.

"Morning, we really need to get up and pack, love"

"Just five more minutes." He said as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him.

"Harry, you were the one who wanted to leave the packing until this morning." My voice hardly heard since I was pressed against Harry's chest. But he heard me clearly.

"I know." Harry groaned and got up from the bed, pulling me along with him.

With a sense of purpose, we rose from our bed, our movements still lazy as we packed our suitcases. Harry, with his tousled hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, folded his shirts with practiced precision, while I, like the messy person I am, threw most of my stuff into the suitcase.

The bedroom buzzed with anticipation as we made our final preparations. Amidst the hurry of making it in time, we still managed to steal moments of stolen glances and shared smiles, our love a silent melody that echoed in the midst of even the busiest of moments.

With our suitcases in tow, we ventured out into the front of our house, where an uber was waiting for us. Me and Harry made our way into the uber, sitting side my side. Me, still tired from the early wake-up, rested my head on Harry's shoulder (I may or may not have fallen asleep for the entirety of the ride to the airport).

At last, we arrived at the busy airport, the hum of departure lounges and the scent of jet fuel filling the air. With tickets in Harry's hand and hearts full of excitement, we boarded the flight to Paris.

As the plane soared into the boundless sky, London faded into the distance, replaced by the promise of adventure and romance that awaited us. And as we settled into our seats in first-class, Harry made me sleep again, knowing how cranky I get when I'm tired.

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

Upon our arrival in Paris, we were greeted by the enchanting sights and sounds of the city. The Eiffel Tower stood tall against the azure sky, its silhouette a beacon of romance that beckoned them forth.

After settling into their charming Parisian hotel, adorned with vintage accents and overlooking the Seine, we dropped our luggage off to our room and went straight out to explore the city's culinary delights. Our first stop was a small cafe nestled in a cobblestone alley, which was almost empty.

Seated at a cozy table for two, we chatted quietly, both of us still slightly tired, and ate some flaky pastries. We lingered over cups of rich coffee, lost in conversation and the simple pleasure of being together in a city alive with possibility.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, we finally ventured out into the bustling streets of Paris once more. Hand in hand, we strolled along the banks of the Seine, the river shimmering in the twilight like a ribbon of liquid silver.

Our evening ended in a candlelit dinner at a charming bistro tucked away in a hidden courtyard, where the air was alive with the melodies of street musicians and the scent of freshly bloomed flowers. Over glasses of velvety red wine and plates of delicious French cuisine, we laughed and shared stories.

And as we walked back to the hotel, beneath the twinkling stars, we knew that our adventure in Paris was just beginning - a journey of discovery, of love, and of the timeless magic that could only be found in the City of Love.

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

A/N: I'm begging for someone to teach me how to write dialog!!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

With Good Weather Brings Good Breedings (18+ Fic) 🐰🌸

Pairing: Poly!KiriBaku x Black!Bunny Girl!Reader

Synopsis: In which your spring cycle comes a little earlier than usual and you’re too afraid of your boyfriends–whom you’ve been dating for five months–thinking you’re weird instead of telling them about your cycle during mating season. However, during a picnic thrown especially for you, your two favorite pros are more aware than you realize and are more than happy to help you with your little problem.

Story Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS STAY TF AWAY), Poly Romance, AgedUp!Pro!Bakugou & Kiri (they’re in their late 20s), Black!Reader, Bunny Girl!Reader, Mating Cycle, In Heat, Dick Crazed, Public Sex/Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Foreplay, Nipple Play, Light Foot Fetish (Toe Sucking), Clit Stimulation, Overstimulation, Deepthroating, Biting/Nibbling, Hair/Ear Pulling, Tail Stroking, Spanking, Face Fucking, Light Hints of Dacryphilia, Degradation, Name Calling, Pet Names, Multiple Positions (Doggystyle, Full Nelson, Mating Press), Non-Protected PIV/Non-Safe Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Mentions of Breeding, Squirting, Creampies, Facials, Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Happy spring, y’all!! Decided to celebrate by giving y’all another smutty short fic. You’re welcome, enjoy & thank you tons for the love on my work so far. Stay safe out there cuz COVID ain’t over. Wear your mask!! -Jazz

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Read on AO3 here!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

CHAPTER ONE: GIRL TALK

You step out of the Uber you bought minutes ago after saying thank you to the driver and tipping him for his safe driving and comfortable leather seats.

As he drives away, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the clean, cool, sweet-smelling air, hints of the warm sun, and fresh grass shavings from the park behind you infiltrating your senses.

‘Finally,’ you think as you stare up at the clear, blue sky. Spring is here.

Well, not technically since it’s a week away, but it might as well be officially here with the gorgeous weather now settling in. Gone are the cold winter days and snow on the ground. Now, all you see are flowers blooming on trees, kids in the park, and people sitting outside of the bistro you stand in front of.

You decided to meet up with your friends for lunch, both of who work at different agencies than you. Still in your cute little office fit from today, you walk into the quaint little bistro. It is not as packed on the inside as it is on the outside, so you’re able to find your friends immediately. They sit at a round table near the window, already having their cocktails and appetizers ready.

Mina aka pro hero Pinkie waves from her spot next to Jirou aka pro hero Earwig. “Y/N!” she shouts even though you’re a few feet away. “Over here!” You can see that Mina is dressed for the occasion in a pink sundress and a cropped jean jacket.

You giggle at your friend’s cute antics as you walk over to the table, giving each of them a squeeze. “Thanks for meeting me,” you coo as you take a seat across from them.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Mina replies before giving you a whistle. “Damn, girl, you look cute! I’d kill to have my ass look that good in a skirt!”

“Please,” you scoff but flush at her compliment. You admit you wanted to look cute today for the weather, your lunch date, and two particular people at the agency you work at. You went for a nice sweater, some comfortable heels, and a pencil skirt with the fabric cut out in the back to let your little cotton tail breathe.

You sit across from your friends with your ears free from the elastic band you usually put them in at the top of your head, both of them drooping down due to your relaxed state. As an animal hybrid, specifically a rabbit/bunny hybrid, you do everything in your power to be as discreet and as safe with your “animal parts” as possible. That means ruining your clothes to let your tail stretch and tying back your ears to avoid them getting pulled on.

“Thank you, but you look good in anything,” you tell Mina. You glance at Jirou in her oversized sweater and jeans that hug her slim hips. “You both do.”

“I tried to get her to ditch the sweater,” Mina says, nudging Jiro who playfully glares at her. “But I did manage to get her in the jeans!”

“And I look damn good,” Jirou snickers as their waitress comes over. You order your own cocktail and main course before the waitress hustles away and you dig into one of the appetizer plates set before you. “So how was work?” Mina asks as Jirou sips on her whiskey smash. “Since you changed the time for us meeting up, I’m guessing it was busy.”

“Oh, man, was it,” you huff, feeling good to have some food in you now. And to be sitting. Despite being an office assistant for two years, you were on your feet all day: scanning; running from floor to floor delivering papers; answering calls; sitting in on a meeting that your boss organized to meet with another agency CEO in America, and taking tons of notes, etc. Your poor little feet were about to explode!

You couldn’t wait for lunch to come which finally arrived at 1 PM. Once it did, you announced your departure to your boss and you were out. All your boss told you was to enjoy it. He trusts you and likes your work ethic, determination, and hardworking personality (as he’s told you before). You’re the type to stay late when no one else will and help out with extra tasks. That’s why you get extra leeway, such as having a two-hour lunch instead of just one.

“I’m shocked those two idiots even let you outside when you dress like this,” Jirou comments, nodding at the way your skirt hugged your hips. Mina giggles as you flush, sipping your cocktail. “Maybe Kirishima,” she purrs, wiggling her brows at you. “But definitely not Bakugou. I’m sure he’d force some sweats with his name printed on your ass for you.”

At the mention of your coworkers and boyfriends, you feel yourself get hot under your cashmere sweater. You sip your cocktail, twirling your tongue around the straw as you do, and advert your gaze from your all-too-knowing friends. They knew those two idiots at you by the heart, but they also knew you had them wrapped around your finger.

You’ve been dating Bakugou Katsuki aka Ground Zero and Kirishima Ejirou aka Red Riot for five months now. You’ve known them for two years since you worked at the same agency, though in different departments. While you were usually in the office, they were out patrolling and fighting crime, but occasionally stopped by to pick up reports or sit in meetings. You called them your coworkers since you technically worked together.

At least that’s what Kiri always dubbed you whenever he’d see you down the hall or in the cafeteria. “Hey, coworker!” he’d greet you with that big ass, sweet grin on his handsome face. You found yourself looking forward to seeing that smile and hearing that nickname as time went on and you got to know him better.

You didn’t know what to make about Bakugou for the two years you knew of him. He always seemed so cold and snapped easily, so you did your best to keep your distance. However, you still gave him a ‘good morning’ every time you saw him in the elevators or a ‘good night’ when you left the agency for the night. He never gave you so much as a nod or a look that always rubbed you the wrong way. You thought at first that he didn’t like you, mostly because of you being a bunny girl.

You weren’t blessed with the strength and phenomenal thighs of the bunny hero Rumi, but you did have the ears and the tail. Which is why you were sure Bakugou disliked you. People often have a misconception when it comes to bunny hybrid people, especially bunny girls: they’re too hyper; too jittery; too horny. None of that was true, which is why when you saw an opening for Bakugou and Kiri’s agency, you took it.

You wanted to prove to everyone that you were more than capable of being a ‘normal’ human being and a professional worker. Bakugou seemed to notice that eventually because one day, out of the blue, he complimented you on the PowerPoint presentation you gave for a meeting he and Kiri sat in on. “Nice presentation,” he said in his raspy, grumbly tone, which you realized was just his voice. “You know your shit.”

You were shook, blinking at him in shock. But he wasn’t being sarcastic or playing with you. Those vermillion eyes, which usually made you nervous, said it all. “T-Thank you,” you stuttered out.

That was over a year ago. Since that day, you, Bakugou, and Kiri became close friends. You ate lunch together, texted each other, and they walked you to the bus stop after work until they began driving you home. The romantic feelings that developed between you three came on strong but slow, but when it hit you, it hit you hard.

It hit you real hard. You began feeling that warm zing whenever they touched you or feeling your heart race whenever they gave you a smile. You were more than happy to keep these feelings to yourself, but they weren’t. So one Saturday night, they treated you to dinner and game night at their place. Under some candlelight and your belly filled with some good ramen was when they each took your hand and stared you down across their kitchen table with their eyes like sunken treasure.

“We like you,” Kiri had said softly, his cheeks a pale red. “Not just as a friend. As more. We want to be more with you.” You were in shock. Here two of the most popular and sexiest heroes were confessing their romantic feelings for you. You. Out of every model, celebrity, or famous woman in the world.

“We want you to be a part of what we have,” Bakugou added, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. “So don’t say yes unless you’re sure, dummy, ‘cause that’ll piss me off.”

After picking your jaw up off the floor and smoothing down your ears that shot straight up in excitement, you gave them both a genuine, needy yes and had the pleasure of tasting both of their lips for the first time. Each of their kisses had your foot twitching to thumb against the floor and your cotton tail begging to be stroked, but you managed to play it off cool. You three ended the night with some Mario Kart, ice cream, and cuddling on their couch.

Since that night, it’s been no one but you three. The past five months have been nothing short of amazing for you. While your relationship is still under wraps since people like to talk, Bakugou still walks past your cubicle to check up on you and Kiri always makes sure you get off and on the bus safely by standing at the stop whenever you’re going to or from work. It feels good to have them protect you. Worry over you. Adore you.

And though the five months have been amazing, there is still one thing missing. The sex. And that’s what you invited your two closest friends to talk about.

You sit up straight in your seat, feeling somewhat confident now that the alcohol is in you. “So I called y’all out here for a reason,” you begin, folding your hands on the table. “I wanted us to talk about something that’s been bugging me.”

Mina and Jirou sit at attention immediately, eyes on you even when the food comes. “We’re all ears, boo,” Mina says as she begins to chomp down on her burger. “Shoot!”

You wriggle your fingers nervously, trying to come up with a way to start this right. “So,” you begin, clearing your throat, “you when certain animals go into cycles when the spring comes?”

“You mean in heat?” Jirou asks, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, Momo and I have a kitten that went through that last year before she got her neutered. Why?”

You flush, embarrassment blooming in your chest, until Mina giggles. “Y/N, we know you go through heat, silly girl! You’re a hybrid; a bunny hybrid at that. Of course, you go through mating cycles!”

“But that’s just the thing,” you groan, frustrated already. “I haven’t been in a relationship while in heat in years. I’m usually always alone, so it’s easy to just hook up with someone or just use my toys. But now, with me being with Kiri and Katsuki…” You trail off, shame lodged in your core.

You have yet to talk to Katsuki and Kiri about your little “spring cycle.” Due to spring being mating season for many animals (especially mammals) you, as a hybrid AND a mammal, get it big time. It happens every year around the first week of spring but then fades over time and gets easier to manage when summer begins to come. It’s sort of like a period cycle except there isn’t any blood, cramps, or bloating.

However, you do ovulate, have tender breasts and mood swings, and become overly sensitive in terms of your body. Especially your nipples and clit. I’m talking about going braless and avoiding any mentions of sex to avoid your pussy going into hyperdrive. But this only happens during the first week of spring, which is the hardest stage to manage your life in.

You get so unbelievably, annoyingly horny. You awaken for days in a sweat and your pussy wet from the nastiest dreams you could imagine. You’ve had to have several bathroom breaks at work to get a nut because you’re unable to focus. You can hardly sleep at night, haunted by fantasies of getting bent over and fucked into a trapezoid, leading to you walking around with dark circles under your eyes and no tolerance for people who ask if they can touch your tail.

No amount of toys or stimulation with your fingers will help you during this stage if your body doesn’t agree with how many times you make yourself cum. Lately, you’ve been searching for hookups to cure you of your urges, but last year after one of your one-night stands pulled on your ears, you decided to cut off all kinds of physical contact with anyone when you’re in heat.

Well, until Kiri and Bakugou came into the picture.

But after the first stage is done, you’re usually fine. Once that first week is up, the second week is the second stage, and though you’re still horny, the level goes from 100 to about 50. You’re finally able to focus on daily tasks. You can sleep better. Giving yourself one nut is enough for you.

But now that you have two amazing, loving, and sexy partners–two that aren’t just hookups or FWBs–you are more than reluctant to tell them about your cycle, let alone have them even see you during it. You’ve already felt the first few symptoms of your cycle beginning to take root: naughty daydreams of the three of you together, hands and mouths on you; your body growing hot when one of them touches you; your tail and ears twitching at their scents.

You don’t know if you can handle your cycle this time. Not with Kiri and Bakugou in the picture. You’ve thought about asking them for a break until the spring ends, but even thinking about asking that of them makes you sick.

“Well, girl, that’s a given!” Mina replies to you, snapping out of your thoughts. Jirou nods, her mouth full of her lunch. “I’m sure Kiri and Bakugou know about your cycles. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be dating you. I mean, they have to know from the sex, right?”

Your friends look at you expectantly. You advert your eyes, instead staring out the restaurant window at the park across the street. Mina gasps, making you cringe. “No way,” she says, shocked. “You haven’t had sex with them yet? Y/N, it’s been five months!”

You stir your straw around your cocktail glass, biting your lower lip. “W-Well, we wanted to take it slow,” you murmur. “I told them about my less-than-satisfying past when it comes to relationships and sex, so we agreed to wait and get to know each other more.”

And it’s true: Kiri and Bakugou were more than happy to put sex on the back burner in the five months you began dating. You’ve come close a few times–nights during heated makeout sessions on your couch, Bakugou’s hands on your ass, Kiri’s hands cupping your face as his lips move against yours. But you’ve never gotten each other’s clothes off. You don’t even know what their dicks look like…but fuck, do you want to know. You’ve never wanted anything more!

But because of your past relationships ending before they began due to most of your partners wanting you to be a bunny girl out of a porno, and hookups that barely left you satisfied, you decided to act against temptation. You brought your concerns to your men’s attention three months into your relationship at your place after a movie and Bakugou’s hands down your pants.

“I just think we should slow down,” you said softly, each of your hands in theirs. “I really like you both, and I just don’t wanna move too fast, y’know?”

“Of course, cutie,” Kiri had cooed, nuzzling his face into your cheek. “Whatever makes you comfortable. We’d never cross any line with you to make you feel pressured.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Bakugou added. “Just stop wearin’ these around me unless you wanna get fucked silly.” His hand slid across your jeans, his fingertips squeezing your asscheek.

You almost regretted saying anything that night. While you were incredibly happy with them without that kind of physical contact, you couldn’t deny that you wanted them all over you. You wanted them to touch you; kiss you; tease you; use you; fuck you in every position possible and then cover you in their cum. You wanted to be covered in their kisses and smell like their cologne, their scents imprinted on you like tattoos.

But how the fuck are you supposed to tell them that? Plus, with the rep bunny girls get anyway, you wouldn’t want them to think of you the way other men you’ve been with have: a sex-crazed slut. When you did finally have sex with your boyfriends, you wanted it to mean more than just getting a nut.

“Well, how is this gonna work when you’re in heat?” Jirou asks curiously. “Don’t you have to fuck someone as part of your natural cycle?”

You looked down at your food, pushing it around your plate with your fork. “Well…yeah,” you admit. “Hence my past hookups. Usually, I’m good with just myself to help me out, but as I’ve gotten older, my urges have gotten more intense. But it’s different with Kiri and Katsuki! I really care about them and I don’t wanna jeopardize our relationship because I’m horny.”

“Did you ever think about them caring about you so much that’d they help you regardless of the sex?” Mina asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You blink at her because no, you haven’t thought about that at all. Mina hums knowingly. “Knowing those two and how crazy they are about you, they’d do anything to make sure you’re comfortable, Y/N. So if they have to make you cum ten times to get you out of your cycle, then so be it!”

Though she’s probably right, you still feel that uncomfortable tug of anxiety in your tummy. How can they be so sure Kiri and Bakugou would be okay with this?

As if hearing your battling thoughts, Jirou reaches for your hand from across the table. “Just talk to them about it,” she says encouragingly. “That doesn’t hurt, right? Just bring it up the next time you see them and see what they say.”

That’ll be tomorrow since Kiri and Bakugou took off today for a break. “I’m sure you’re just freaking yourself out here, Y/N,” Mina says brightly. “Those morons would give anything to see you smile.” She smiles at you, winking. “Trust us.”

And though you smile back, you still feel those nervous butterflies fluttering about in your stomach.

This is gonna be a long spring.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Have you ever wished you could live in the It's a Small, Small World exhibit at Disney? Wanted to visit a Paris cafe, go on an Elephant safari, visit a Zen retreat, or stroll a Vegas Mall? Well, you can do all of that without even leaving home in this 2007 house in Liberty Lake, WA. 3bds, 3ba, $1.275. I truly admire the dedication & commitment to decor, art & theme. I would buy this house.

From the front door, enter the streets of Paris and enjoy brunch at a little bistro. Those must be the mountains of Montmartre in the distance. Note the lovely flowers sprouting from that rock.

In the living room, there's a life size weeping willow tree and mountains, but when I saw how they attached the branches to the ceiling, I was kind of disappointed in the execution.

Next, visit the kitchen pavilion. It looked a little Bavarian to me.

I imagine that the kitchen wasn't built this way, or that they at least put those fin things up there (why does it bother me that they're crooked?). Anyway, we must be in London, b/c there's a British phone booth on the fridge door.

Have dinner at the Vegas mall.

I'm sure they'll take the bed with them, but I love the sky canopy. I don't know what theme you'd call the primary bedroom. There's a lot going on.

The bedroom is so large, it has room for a double office in the corner.

It also has an outdoor terrace.

Even the en-suite has a little bit of everything.

I'm surprised that the closet isn't set up like a Paris boutique. Too narrow, I guess.

I didn't expect that you could actually see down into the kitchen from the upstairs mezzanine.

The 2nd level hall.

This bedroom is used for a home gym.

The secondary bedroom has a Zen retreat theme.

Another full bath. I don't like all the draping fabrics in the house.

Now, we're heading on down to the ground level.

The owner has a very extensive sewing room in what would be the rec room. Oh, look, the Washington's area taking tea in their parlor back there.

So, this large space would normally be a rec/game/family room area.

Very long, large deck runs the length of the house.

There's also a patio and a pavilion.

A brook on the property.

The large home is on a very big 14.09 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2581-S-Stateline-Rd-Liberty-Lake-WA-99019/82577478_zpid/

[george-weasleys-girl]

I think the idea of George introducing (y/n) to his parents is totally cute and I think your style off writing would rock that. Happy new year by the way! All the best for you and your stories :)

This is my first ever request. I had such fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: brief allusion to sex, one mention of alcohol

~•~

Meet the Weasleys

~•~

"Ugh, gross. Why are my palms so sweaty?" Y/N muttered to herself, grabbing a paper towel, to wipe the sweat from her hands. Her early morning boost of confidence was gone, leaving her pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other.

She tossed the used paper towel in the trash and looked out the window for the 982nd time. George would be here any minute to take her to have lunch with his parents at his childhood home. A place called the Burrow.

Never in her life had Y/N been so anxious about meeting someone's parents. George seemed confident that she'd "be a hit." But, she wasn't entirely convinced. What could she, a "muggle," offer to people who could perform magic, real magic, with the simple flick of a wand? She glanced over at the apple spice cake she'd baked for dessert and hoped it would be enough.

~•~

Four months earlier

George woke up with a craving for one of the chocolate filled croissants that Ginny had purchased from a muggle bakery for James' second birthday party. Luckily for him, he had the address, and it was his day off.

The Pie in the Sky Bakery wasn't too far from Diagon Alley, so George decided to walk and enjoy the warm summer morning. Whistling as he went, he just knew it was going to be a good day. And he was right.

He didn't notice Y/N at first, distracted by all the enticing baked goods.

"Can I help you?" Her voice floated over to him, soft and melodious.

George turned and nearly stumbled over his own feet. The owner of that sweet voice somehow managed to brighten the already sunny shop even more. He was mesmerized.

"I-uh, hi." George stuttered and gave a goofy wave before clearing his throat and starting again. "Do you have any chocolate filled croissants today?"

"Of course! They're right over here. How many would you like?" Y/N bounced to the far end of the counter while George followed, a big, dopey grin spread across his freckled face.

He paid for two croissants and an espresso. Then, rather than taking a stroll, as he originally intended, George sat down at one of the little bistro tables and spent the rest of the morning exchanging shy glances and flirty banter with the lovely lady behind the counter.

When he could no longer make excuses for lingering, George approached Y/N. "Could I interest you in dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yes! I'd love to have dinner with you!" She answered, her brilliant smile melting George's heart into a puddle.

~•~

Two months later, to Y/N's delighted surprise, George confessed he was a wizard. And today, for the first time ever, he was taking her home to meet his parents.

George was practically bouncing off the walls.

"Hey mate, try not to leave any George-shaped holes in anything," Fred joked.

"I'll try!" George yelled from his bedroom. "But, I can't make any promises."

Fred shook his head and chuckled. He hadn't seen his twin this elated since he came home from the bakery four months ago gushing over Y/N.

"Ok, how do I look? George asked, suddenly appearing in front of his brother.

"Like a crazed lunatic who just broke out of the asylum."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." George deadpanned.

"Seriously though," Fred continued, scrutinizing his brother. "You look great. It's just..."

"Just what?" George looked down at himself.

"You seem a tad nervous."

"Oh that," the younger twin responded. "Well, I am bringing a girl to meet mum and dad for the first time ever. And mum didn't fancy the last two girls you and Bill brought home."

"Georgie," Fred retorted. "The reason mum didn't like Lizzy is because she had a mohawk and tattoos. And as far as Fleur goes, once mum realized she wasn't after Bill for a quick fling, she warmed right up to her."

"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right." George agreed. "I'm just overthinking again."

Fred patted him on the back. "It'll all work ou--" Fred stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and putting his fingertips to his temples. "Wait! I'm getting a vision...I see...you and Y/N together...in a house...and..and, there's something else. Hold on, it's starting to come into focus...yes, that's it! Loads of ginger babies!"

Fred opened his eyes to see George standing with arms folded, his lips quirked up in amusement. "Are you done?" George asked.

"Yes, quite." Fred said, lifting his chin and sauntering away.

George snorted, wondering if Fred knew he was secretly eyeing a cute, little muggle flat halfway between his shop and Y/N's.

~•~

George arrived at Y/N's oozing his usual easy confidence. "Ready for this, my love?" He asked Y/N as they walked to his car.

Y/N took a deep breath, then smiled. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Don't worry, darling." George said, bending down and planting a kiss on her cheek before opening the car door for her. "They'll love you."

~•~

The closer they got to the Burrow, the faster Y/N's heart raced. George seemed to sense this, and reaching out, he clasped her trembling, sweaty hand in his warm, steady one.

Y/N sighed as a wave of calm rolled over her. A small smile crept across her face, and she began tracing little circles on his hand with her thumb. He squeezed her hand in return, as his own small smile made an appearance.

Neither one spoke the rest of the drive. There was no need. Everything that needed to be said was conveyed through that one simple gesture connecting them to one another.

~•~

Y/N didn't have time to marvel at the impossible higgley-piggleyness of the Burrow. As soon as she stepped out of the car, Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a hug. "Oh my goodness, look at you. Cute as a button! You know, George talks about you all the time. It's so good to finally meet you! He tells me..." Mrs. Weasley's non-stop chatter faded as she led Y/N into the house, leaving George and Arthur to collect the cake.

George released a long breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Relieved, son?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, actually." George admitted. "I was afraid she'd give Y/N the cold shoulder like she did to Fleur."

"Ah, you needn't have worried about that." Arthur began. "Bill sprung Fleur on us out of nowhere. We had no idea he was even dating anyone. But you've been talking about Y/N for months. Your mum has had time to get used to the idea. Not to mention," Mr. Weasley added with a chuckle. "She’s ecstatic that Y/N's a baker. Now she has someone to talk shop with."

The same dopey grin that had spread across George's face the day he met Y/N returned, and to Arthur's amusement, his son practically skipped into the house.

~•~

A wonderful lunch turned into an impromptu bake-a-thon with George bounding around the kitchen "helping" Y/N and Molly as they made one treat after another. His unrestrained joy was so sweet and infectious that neither of the women were upset when he accidentally put a cup of salt and a teaspoon of sugar into one of the batters, rather than the other way around.

Even Arthur, who generally stayed out of the kitchen whenever Molly was cooking, found himself pulled into the mélee by his giddy son. By the end of the day, they were all covered in flour, frosting, and a vast array of sprinkles, thanks to George and Arthur getting a bit too happy with decorating the colorful little confections.

~•~

"This ranks as one of the best days of my life," George commented as he and Y/N relaxed on the tiny balcony of her flat, sipping whiskey and nibbling on chocolate chip cookies.

"I have to agree, Georgie." Y/N concurred, using the nickname reserved only for her and Fred. "I can't believe I was so nervous. Your parents are wonderful."

George smiled and lifted her hand to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on her knuckles. Then, he turned his gaze to the moon. "It's getting late."

"It is." Y/N responded.

"I don't want to leave."

"You know my bed is always open to you." Y/N said with a cheeky grin.

"I know." George's eyes twinkled as he uttered the next words. "But, I mean, I don't want to leave ever again."

"I know, love. We never want to part at the end of the day." Y/N responded, still not quite catching on.

"Exactly." George said, jumping right to the heart of the matter. "Will you move in with me? I know it might seem too soon, and if you aren't ready, that's okay, we can w--"

Y/N ended his ramblings with a kiss that made him forget everything he'd ever learned for a few brief moments.

"Of course, I'll move in with you." Y/N said, once they pulled away.

"R-really?"

"Yes, really."

"Yes!" George exclaimed and fist-pumped the air. "This calls for a celebration," he said, picking her up bridal style and carrying her to the bedroom.

[e-dubbc11]

Ominous October Sky

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: couple of swear words, this one is a little dark, violent, description of wounds, but again…I gotta have a little fluff

Word Count: 2.6k-ish

Summary: No one threatens Billy or the woman he loves and they’re about to find out what happens when he’s pushed too far.

A/N: I had such a good time writing unhinged Billy in Under the Pale Moonlight, I decided to do it again. I hope it’s as good as I think it is, fingers crossed 🤞

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The chill in the autumn air could be felt down to your bones and the piercing wind gusts assaulted you from all directions as you walked through the park.

Fallen leaves from the trees crunched underneath your feet as you watched small children smile and laugh as they picked up brightly colored leaves to show their parents.

The steady wind swept the leaves up into small funnels and pushed them across the grassy hills and deposited them along the walking path.

The sky looked unsettling and ominous. You wanted to get home quickly before the darkness and the rain came. The low rumble of thunder was what prompted everyone to gather their belongings along with their children and head for the indoors.

Some of the kids cried because they were having too much fun and didn’t want to leave. They were just so innocent and pure which made you smile and you remembered what it was like to be that young, having fun playing in leaf piles at your childhood home.

With that warm smile, you whispered to yourself but directed it at the children. “Time to go inside, little ones, it’s going to get ugly later.”

The dark gray clouds in the distance were gloomy and dismal, the small patches of sunlight were shining brightly through the fluffy black clouds, like Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mind of whether she was going to let the sun shine or rain downpour on top of you.

A few rays from the sun touched down on the path in front of you before being engulfed by the smoky clouds above.

You took a moment to gaze up at the sky…the unwelcoming early evening October sky. It was getting darker earlier and earlier, you noticed.

The musty fragrance of dead leaves crept up to your nose as you raced faster toward home and the once dull roll of thunder that had been off in the distance was now a gentle boom overhead.

“Please, just wait until I get home.” You silently begged. “Please.”

Someone was looking out for you that day, because as soon as you walked through the revolving door and stepped out onto the lobby floor, the sky exploded with a vengeful crack and a jagged bolt of lightning split the sky right down the middle before sheets of rain pelted the sidewalk on the other side of that revolving door.

Massive raindrops trickled down off of the street lights, clobbering people’s umbrellas, their raincoats, and for the unprepared…their heads. Watching from the lobby doors, those people moved much faster. They ducked into shops and bistros, hoping the rain would die down enough for them to move again.

You were glad to be home.

After stepping off the elevator, you could hear the rain hammering incessantly against the roof. Typically, you didn’t really get thunderstorms in October and even though it was cool today, the past couple of days had been on the warmer side.

Maybe he came home before the rain too.

You unlocked and opened the door to the penthouse…it was blanketed in darkness.

“Billy?” You called out softly.

It was a long shot that he got home before you but you figured you’d try anyway.

No answer.

You thought about how it was strange that you didn’t hear from him at all today. He always called at some point during your work day to see how you were which made your heart swell. The smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth was hard to contain when you saw his name and picture light up the face of your phone.

You loved him…and he loved you, more than anything.

Pulling your phone out of your purse, you looked at it to see if he texted or called while you were walking home but there were no messages or missed calls which worried you but only a little. You knew Billy was very busy, always working, always in meetings but he ALWAYS found time to call or at least text during the day.

What could he be doing?

The only way you could warm up was by taking a shower, the chill inside your bones was finally gone, and you warmed your hands against the mug of hot tea in your hands but you still haven’t heard from Billy.

The clock on the wall said 8:00 PM.

You tried to call but it went right to his voicemail.

“Hey handsome, it’s me. I—uh, I’m just a little worried I haven’t heard from you today. Ok, that’s a lie, I’m a LOT worried I haven’t heard from you today. Please call me when you get this, please? I love you.”

You placed your phone down on the coffee table and tried to not let your mind wander but it was difficult not to. Was he hurt? Is he ok? Is he out in this rain?

“Please call me back, baby.” You thought to yourself.

The book you were reading couldn’t hold your interest. Between the menacing rain drumming against the roof and the windows and not hearing from Billy, you couldn’t concentrate and just kept reading the same paragraph over and over again. You tried a few times to get going but ultimately gave up and tossed the book aside.

You were confused, scared, and you started to feel cold again so you decided that maybe you would try and get some sleep. Drawing the blanket up to your chin, you tucked your knees into your chest and listened intently as the powerful wind and rain lulled you to sleep and wherever Billy was, you hoped he was safe.

He was always very quiet when he came home. Like a cat, he barely made any noise as he moved throughout the apartment. Billy wanted to rush at you, he wanted to pull you close and hold onto you tightly and say he was sorry for worrying you but he didn’t want to disturb your sleep. Instead, he sat down in his chair with a glass of bourbon, in the dark, listening to your gentle breathing.

Billy’s clothes were dirty, bloodstained, and soaking wet. Rain stuck in his eyelashes finally dripped onto his hand when he lowered it after taking a sip of his drink.

His once white undershirt stained a light red thanks to blood and rain and his raven colored hair tumbled into his eyes while drops of rain trickled onto the floor.

Those were the only noises he could hear …drip…drip…drip…drip…inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale

The bourbon was supposed to calm his nerves but he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking and he wouldn’t be able to hide from you that they were covered in blood.

“No one is taking you away from me.” He said, in barely more than a whisper.

Some of the blood was his but most of it was someone else’s. It was Carson Wolf’s blood.

Billy knew Wolf was a corrupt Homeland agent, just like he knew Rawlins was corrupt CIA. But unlike Wolf, Rawlins knew he couldn’t threaten Billy and get away with it. Billy didn’t need Rawlins’s money or connections, he built Anvil all by himself and turned him away when he wanted Billy to betray his best friend. Rawlins was lucky Frank didn’t take his other eye when he found out about that one.

No one was going to tell Billy Russo what to do, especially knowing what he would do to them if he tried.

But Carson Wolf was a cocky asshole, a Homeland Security official, highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and thought just because he was in a position of authority, Billy would do whatever he demanded him to do. But he was mistaken and didn’t think of the consequences to his threats.

Billy didn’t answer to anyone, he was the boss, he didn’t take any job that he didn’t want to and didn’t respond well to threats against him…or threats toward his girl.

“It would be a shame if something happened to that VERY pretty girlfriend of yours, Mr. Russo.” Wolf had said.

“All I want is for you and your team to leave the Senator unguarded for a minute and I won’t have to kill her. We can make anything look like an accident, these days.”

He really shouldn’t have said that.

It got dark quickly tonight thanks to the fast moving clouds so Billy waited patiently under the cover of those somber rain clouds for Wolf to come home.

That man was going to die in his own house tonight.

No one could hear him scream as Billy sliced his skin with his hidden blade. He knew all the places to cut that would cause him the most pain and cause him to bleed profusely before he finally stabbed Wolf multiple times in the chest and across his throat. He looked like a piece of butchered meat when Billy was finished with him.

Sure, Wolf held his own against Billy for a minute or two but in the end made several mistakes that ended in his demise and before he left, Billy cleaned his blade with Wolf’s pocket square from his suit jacket, dropped it onto his lifeless body and destroyed any evidence that he had been there.

Billy didn’t call you today because he left everything at Anvil, his phone, his car, even Frank didn’t know where he had gone.

And now he sat quietly in front of you, his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he could finally make out your silhouette, just thankful that you were ok and that you were safe. Billy never lost his composure after Wolf threatened your life or while he was torturing him.

“See, you should have known better than to threaten my girl. Do you know what it feels like to have your Achilles sliced open? Or how ‘bout the femoral artery? Because you’re gonna know and it’s gonna hurt…a lot.” Billy had said to him with an evil smile.

Billy Russo was a soldier, a scout sniper, highly skilled and trained to be a killer. His hands never faltered and were steady but after it was over, he allowed himself to feel scared, to think about what he would do if something were to happen to you, that’s when they started to shake.

The bourbon finally helped him calm down, his hands were less shaky and his heart rate had come down when you started to wake up.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you saw his silhouette in front of you as you sat up on the couch.

“Billy? What time is it?” You asked softly.

“It’s almost midnight, sweet girl.” He replied, happy to hear your voice.

Reaching for the lamp, you flicked it on. The site in front of you was like something out of a slasher movie, his hands stained with blood, along with his clothes, his hair was soaked from the rain and you could hear it dripping onto the floor.

You sat there for a moment, frozen with your hands covering your open mouth before speaking again and going to him.

“Oh my god! Billy? W-what happened?! Is that your blood?!” You asked with concern in your voice before rushing to the kitchen to retrieve some hand towels.

“Maybe a little…but it’s mostly his.” Said Billy, stoically.

Taking his glass from him, you placed it on the coffee table and started to dry his hands.

“His? Whose blood is it, Billy?” Your voice hitched and cracked as you asked him.

Billy gazed at you with his endless brown eyes, they looked like two shiny pieces of black glass. He had never felt more relieved, he had never felt love like this, and he had never been more in love with you than he was right now watching you care for him and comfort him.

“Whose blood is it, Billy?!! Answer me!” You said sternly.

“Wolf…It’s Carson Wolf’s blood.” He said gently.

You recognized that name, he worked for Homeland Security, and pictured his face in your mind. You remembered meeting him at a fundraiser that Billy brought you to and you also remembered how he sent shivers down your spine, obviously not in the good way. The man had a crooked smile, he put out an evil vibe, and eyed you all night long like you were a piece of meat.

The man gave you the creeps.

“He’s…dead?” You asked, shakily.

Billy clenched his fist and gnashed his teeth as he spoke again, and didn’t directly answer your question.

“I’m not gonna be who they want me to be, y/n! They’re not gonna tell me what to do and they need to know what happens to anyone who threatens me or anyone who threatens…you. Rawlins already knows…Wolf will NOT get another chance to do it again! I’ve never needed anyone, I don’t need their money, I don’t need anything from them but I…I need you.” He said.

You tried to comprehend what Billy just confessed to you. He killed him, he killed Carson Wolf. The threat he made against you was real and Billy made sure that threat was his last.

The spatters of blood on his face, the little red flecks that decorated his beard were everywhere, and there was a streak of red going across his cheek. All of it should have scared you, it should have made you think twice about what he had just done but it didn’t.

Billy didn’t scare you even though you knew what he was capable of and you tried to imagine the look Carson Wolf had in his eyes as he took his last breaths, realizing too late that he should have left you out of it and he should have done his own dirty work, but he would never get that chance. The senator was safe from Wolf, whatever it was he had planned for him. He was safe…for now.

“I’ll kill them all, baby…no one is taking you away from me. I love you.” Said Billy, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours.

As you towel dried his hair, his obsidian colored eyes silently told you how much he loved you, the way he did not want to break that gaze, and the way he brushed the soft skin of your cheek with such a gentle touch.

Those actions all relayed to you that Billy Russo was catastrophically in love with you and showed the world what he would do to the people who tried to take that love away, the love he craved, and the love that he deserved.

After rising to his feet, you led him to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Neither of you took your eyes off the other as you stripped off each other’s clothes, leaving them in a pile in the corner to be disposed of later.

There wasn’t anything left for you to say as the tears streamed down your cheeks, thankful he was alive, thankful he was home with you, and thinking that there was no way that you could ever repay him for what he had done for you.

But Billy didn’t want anything in return except to be loved by you.

He gave you a warm smile before kissing you once more. He pulled you flush to his chest, squeezed you tightly, and let the hot water splash against his back.

Glancing at your feet, you watched the blood from his body, and yours, wash down the shower drain…just like the rain outside washed away the dirt from the sidewalk.

You’ve never felt safer and you never would with anyone but him.

Billy’s beard tickled your lips as you kissed his cheek and whispered softly in his ear.

“I love you too, Billy.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @mrsbillyrusso @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @justaharlequin

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[theroyalsims]

SHANG SIMLA'S PRINCESS HANNA GOES ON LUNCH DATE WITH MUM

The beautiful Princess Hanna, who is currently in Brindleton for school, was spotted out about with her mum, former Empress Natalie.

The young royal, with bodyguard in tow, was seen shopping around Fashion Street, before having lunch at a trendy bistro. The mummy-daughter duo walked around a bit before stopping for a quick cup of coffee at a nearby café.

(Above: Princess Hanna was seen strolling across town with her mum and security detail. The young royal is currently in town to continue her studies.)

Natalie, who is born and raised in Brindleton, is extremely happy to spend some extra time with her daughter. Hanna, since her parents' history-making divorce has spent her school breaks and holidays with her mum either here in Brindleton or in their family chateau in Champs Les Sims. However, for most of the year, she lives with her father, Emperor Kenji at the Grand Palace in Shang Simla.

Princess Hanna has also been visited by her step-mum, Empress Alexandra (a.k.a our very own Princess Alice) and has even met The Queen, Prince Jacques, and Princess Ingrid when she and her mum were invited over for lunch at the Palace some time last week.

(Above: Princess Hanna and her mum enjoyed some quality bonding time around the city, shopping, chatting, and enjoying good food.)

The Princess will be heading home in a few weeks, and while she misses her family and friends - and her baby brothers, specially - she's reportedly grown fond of Brindleton, too. The Princess reportedly enjoys her relative anonymity her in Brindleton. A royal expert shares:

"While she's recognised here, too - that comes with being the daughter of an Emperor - it's not as intense as the attention she gets back at home. And the press, the media, has reportedly been requested by The Queen herself to back off and leave the young Princess alone to enjoy her studies here. That request, to a degree, has been respected."

(Above: Beauty clearly runs in the family! Natalie, Princess Hanna's mum, looked as youthful and stunning as ever!)

For their outing, Princess Hanna looked incredibly lovely in a red and black ensemble. People also couldn't help but comment at how she looks so much like her stunning mother, the seeming ageless former Empress. Despite letting go of her imperial titles, Natalie looked very much like royalty, what with her grace and elegant style. The mother-of-one wore a camel coat which she complemented with a tan luxury bag and nude sky-high heels.

We hope you'll enjoy the rest of your stay here in Brindleton, Princess Hanna! Here's hoping we'll be seeing more from you soon!

[volkswagonblues]

god i could ask every single q on that ask meme but for the sake of not sounding obsessed. 1, 4, and 11 for let the rock roll?

let the rock roll (Interview with the Vampire)

1. What is a piece of symbolism in your fic?

There's one small thread I amused myself by weaving in, and it's Armand's lowkey reoccurring fascination with blue skies and birds. I think it's one of the many tiny pieces of the original Devil's Minion short story I put in as easter eggs,

For context, the QOTD!Armand gets obsessed with modern technology and the story describes it this way:

“Anything with blue skies enthralled him. Then he must watch news programs, prime time series, documentaries, and finally every film, regardless of merit, ever taped.” (Queen of the Damned)

But for LTRR human!Armand, I liked the idea of the blue sky as a symbol for everything he was denied in his life: being forced to stay in the ship's hold as slave, being turned into a vampire and unable to see the sun for years, etc. And tied up with that image is some stuff about birds too--chap 1's turning scene has Daniel unlocking a rare Arun memory, where he's chasing some birds as a very small child. Birds represent freedom and home for Armand, but he himself doesn't know that. Something like that.

4. What's something you've researched but haven't incorporated into your fic?

OH MY GOD SO MUCH. Daniel's random backstory tidbit where he lived in Paris as young man, because the show really made it sounds like he's very familiar with the city. I wrote a really long conversation between Armand and Daniel that's basically a long bait and switch for 1970s Devils Minion (as in, the fan theory that Armand and Daniel were lovers for a decade before Armand wiped his memories).

Armand says, “It was the late seventies and you were in Paris. The summer of 1979, to be exact. You were sick of America and you thought that Europe would offer you something you lacked, so you joined the many young American artists and writers before you and bought a one-way ticket to Paris. Your money didn’t last as long as you thought, and work was slow. A friend of a friend got you a job as a switchboard operator at the local bureau of the New York Times, working the graveyard shift from 6 pm to 1 am. You didn’t mind. You liked arriving at the Right Bank building when everyone was leaving. You enjoyed being awake when the normal world was asleep. You read books and listened to your pocket radio playing jazz and old French songs you didn’t understand.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says. “I wrote about Paris in my book. That New York Times gig. I walked home every night because the Metro stopped running by that time. Got mugged twice."

"You didn't write about this night."

To be clear, 70s DM absolutely did not happen in LLTR. That would have been just WAY too much to unpack. But I just like 1970s Paris so I might recycle this whole thing for a sequel one day.

Also there's a ton of stuff about Renaissance Italy that I cut. I'm worried the fic has too much "Armand just monologuing about Venice while Daniel goes 'un-huh, and then what?' :)".

11. Is there anything important in your fic you think readers have missed/overlooked?

A lot of stuff about Daniel, I think. He is very fucked up about death. He's terrified of mortality, which I thought was THE defining character trait of the original QOTD Daniel. He's not joking when he keeps offering to turn Armand.

Related to that, he was also a truly terrible father, I think that part of his character is just not as interesting compared to the Armand/Daniel psychosexual mind games, but it's there. From the scraps of info we get about Alice in the show, I got the sense that Daniel's one of those terrible men who's great "when he's in the room"--he can pull off being romantic and charming (he scraps gum off Alice's shoe! He books the perfect table in the bistro!) but he's an addict to drugs and to success and the act inevitably collapses. But there's hope, becoming a vampire at 70 really reconfigures one's life priorities.

And lastly, I also cut the scene that explores this more, but the reason Daniel is like this is that he's repeating patterns of behaviour from his own parents. There's stuff about his Irish-Armenian background I wish I explored more. In 2 separate scenes, he thinks about his curly hair and his green eyes as the only good things his father and mother left him, which to him are just assets to better sell his body--so, that's fucked up!! Also, his father was definitely an alcoholic. The poison drips through....

[lootzest]

from a request from @sadsideart: how about Robert giving Rosalind a flower/flower bouquet but it's actually a message in flower language/symbolism

This was really fun to research - people really were out here sending complicated messages through floral arrangements. I tried Robert being a bit more subtle about things but it required a level of oblivousness from Rosalind that I couldn't get to work. Plus, the Luteces are forced to interact with a third party which is always fun.

(also @sadsideart, you could request something every single day and I'd be delighted!! this goes for you and anyone else - prompts very welcome!!)

Red Gardenias

“Would you object to stopping in at the florists?” Robert stroked his empty lapel. “Really this coat requires a buttonhole and there was nothing suitable at home.” Rosalind laughed. The idea that their home - overflowing with papers, laboratory equipment, and discarded experiments - was the sort of household in which a gentleman might pluck a bloom from an arrangement in the hallway on his way out the door, was absurd.

“If you insist.” 

The afternoon was so appealing that even Rosalind had agreed that being shut indoors with their research was a waste. The sun was bright over the rooftops, a pleasant breeze carrying the occasional cloud across a brilliant blue sky. It was, in short, a perfect day: all the more perfect considering that those rooftops were floating thousands of feet in the air and that she had put them there.

Even the poorly hidden stares from their fellow citizens could not spoil it. She had once scolded a newspaperman who referred to them as “reclusive”, but the Luteces did keep their own company enough that their presence on the street drew notice. Identical twins were notable enough but famous identical twins, responsible for the very streets they walked on - not to mention their impeccable sense of style - gave the citizens of Columbia plenty to stare at.

And, as Robert had said while Rosalind straightened his tie before they left, “Imagine how much more they would stare if they knew how we spent the morning.” He had wrapped his arms around her waist and taken his last opportunity to kiss her until they returned home.

Until then, they had to settle for being arm in arm, Rosalind occasionally holding his elbow a little more firmly, reminding him of her presence. She did not catch his eye because if she did so she was likely to grin and she did not grin in public. Robert meanwhile could glance down at her and assume the detached smile he often did; no one need know the cause.

They slowed as they approached the florists, buckets of flowers filling the pavement outside, their scents mingling to an overwhelming, though not unappealing, perfume. Robert stooped to inspect them, sliding his arm out from Rosalind’s, his fingers grazing the inside of her elbow as he did. He pulled one stem from the display and held it to his lapel.

“Your thoughts please.”

“Not with that tie.” Popular opinion said that always dressed identically, another oversimplification by Columbia’s press that Rosalind had derided over the breakfast table. They dressed to complement each other, the sash around her waist the same green silk as his tie.

“You’re right,” he said, replacing the flower.

“As always.” She turned from the flowers; this decision could not be rushed. His knuckles grazed hers. In return, she flexed her fingers against his. That would have to do.

Across the way, a young couple read a menu outside a bistro. The woman had her arm through the man’s, his hand resting on hers, her head leaning towards his shoulder. Rosalind’s teeth ground against each other like screeching brakes.

“Mr. Lutece!” Rosalind looked back to see who was speaking. “And Madame Lutece too. As one would expect, of course. An honour.” A man stood in the entrance of the shop, a green apron over his clothes.

“My sister and I could not resist such a fine day.” Robert raised the bloom he was assessing. “And I find myself in need of flowers.”

The florist looked at the flower and his eyes disappeared with his smile.

“Now I must say that that is a fascinating choice!” Robert was nonplussed - he looked to Rosalind for explanation but, on this rare occasion, she had none either.

“I thought it brought out–” but the man cut across him.

“Perhaps you are aware of the language of flowers?” The concept was not unfamiliar to either Lutece. In one world, Robert’s fellow students had regularly fallen foul of the messages they had inadvertently sent in bouquets to girls they were courting; in another, Rosalind witnessed those same girls sobbing in the common room over bunches of yellow roses.

“‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance’ and all that?” he offered. Rosalind’s foot tapped impatiently behind a bucket of hyacinths.

“Yes indeed - but this one is much more interesting. Whoever is to receive them - she’s a lucky woman indeed!”

Rosalind’s foot stopped tapping.

“Ah, you mistake –” Robert started but the florist continued, his eyes bright and blinded by his own enthusiasm for the subject.

“After all, Mr. Lutece, you are a very eligible man, no doubt you have your pick of young ladies…and your sister can’t expect to keep you all to herself.”

The stench of the mingled flowers caught in the back of Rosalind’s throat. Robert’s jovial tone dropped away.

“And what does this flower mean precisely?”

“That Mr. Lutece is a red gardenia - for secret love.” The florist had the audacity to wink at him. Rosalind had thought it was a rather pleasing plant until this moment when she realised it was the ugliest flower she had ever seen. The inner corners of her eyes prickled, no doubt from being next to all these awful flowers.

The back of Robert’s hand pressed against hers.

“And what would not secret love be?”

“Beg your pardon?” The florist’s smile faltered.

“If this love were not a secret?” Robert continued. Rosalind dared to look up at him. He still had his easy, relaxed expression but the sharp, serious eyes she usually saw looking back at her from the mirror.

“Well” –the man exhaled– “anything red. Roses, of course, but that’s rather old hat - a red camellia, that’s ‘you’re a flame in my heart’. Carnations are ‘deep love’, tulips, ‘passion’. And baby’s breath is ‘everlasting love.’”

“I shall take them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Put that together as a bouquet. All the most unsecret loves you have.”

“Robert,” murmured Rosalind.

“Who knew, dear sister, that one could say with flowers what one cannot say out loud?”

The florist, in his obliviousness, put together a terrific display. After all, he was the first in the city to know that Mr. Robert Lutece had a mysterious paramour and that was gossip one could dine out on. He presented the flowers to Robert for his approval.

“Almost as beautiful as the woman they are for.” Robert took them from the florist, who was already thinking of a shortlist of plausible recipients. “Perhaps my sister would assist me in carrying them home?” He looked deep into her eyes, blue like the skies she had put a city in, blue like his own, and handed her the bouquet.

“I shall keep an eye out for the lady who receives them,” said the florist.

“You won’t have to look hard, I’m sure.”

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the clouds they walked among. Rosalind had one arm around her brother’s, the other, holding her flowers. 

“People will think that these are for me.”

“Good. They are.”

“I mean that people will wonder who gave them to me.” Robert stopped and faced his not-twin. The street was quiet. He dared to stroke her cheek.

“Well. Your brother can’t expect to keep you all to himself.”

“I hope he might.”

[leftnotright]

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus. (Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

CHAPTER 7: ...ICARUS IS FLYING TOWARDS AN EARLY GRAVE

They were going to raid the Vindice. The ghoulish wardens of the Mafia. The boogeymen to Dons and freelance alike. 

The Vindice. The very name could stop a man in his tracks. 

Reborn should have known they were going into this without a plan.

“Repeat that for me, Ryohei,” Reborn asked, staring at the man who smiled unabashed. 

They were standing on the edge of a gravel and dirt road, vineyards all around the rolling hills, ripe with sweet grapes. In the distance, cradled between two crests, Reborn saw a building, a cellar door and bistro, with a handful of tourists wining and dining on the balcony.

“We,” Ryohei said, sounding so excited that Reborn nearly forgot what the man had spouted not moments ago. “Are you going to stage a fight and draw the Vindice to us. Then, when a portal—” Reborn blinked. “Opens up, we just push our way through and bam! Vindice raided!”

Reborn stared at Ryohei, an eyesore target in his sky blue, lime green, and lemon yellow print shirt. Then Reborn shrugged. 

They were going to raid the Vindice, a plan would just make them inflexible. 

“Very well,” Reborn agreed, and Ryohei stared bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright, an utterly live wire full of energy.

“Extreme! So, hit hard and make it a show! We wanna bring the Vindice before the police!” 

Reborn shot him without further prompt. 

Ryohei leapt to the side, eyes wide and alert. There had been fire in those bullets.

Far off in the bistro, Reborn could hear the crowd forming, shouting and chaos taking over that cellar door. They had an audience. A direct breach of Omerta.

Ryohei spun around and slammed his fist just short of Reborn’s shoulder, hands hot and alight with yellow and gold. He punched left, right, hard and fast. Reborn ducked and weaved, a fedora-donned blur.

Ryohei stepped forward, Reborn moved to meet him, gunmetal all but at melting point in his hands. Reborn dodged another one of those bone-breaking punches— but didn’t dodge the second, nor the shockwave that erupted from those fists.

Reborn gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the rattle in his chest, through the heat in his nose and throat. Ryohei grinned, utterly exhilarated, raring to go and ready to be alight with fire and Will. Reborn took a breath through his lips and tasted sunlight and wine.

He smelt dirt and rot.

The Vindice had come.

A spot, a portal, made of condensed shadow and night swirled into existence in that summertime vineyard, bountiful grape vines bowed away as if to hide. Chains, one and then two, lashed out and anchored into the soft earth. They pulled taut, links clinked and clanked. 

A gust of air cut through the vineyard, cold, wet and laced with the sour stench of weeping wounds and decay. 

A pair of hands reached through, clad in gloves, white and dotted in yellow. They clutched at the chains and dragged a body through. A head, then shoulders, covered in tattered and tarnished bandages—

Ryohei shoved his hand in that mummified face, “Scuse me! Pardon me! Extreme raid in progress!” 

Reborn gave a sharp laugh of shock before he saw Ryohei turn to look at him. Ryohei stood, one leg already in that writhing mass of darkness, and reached to Reborn, offering his hand, still alight with the last remnants of his Flame.

“Come on!” He urged, grinning with teeth and eyes so bright against the backdrop of the hellish portal.

Reborn reached out and grasped that searing hand, squeezing tight until he could feel every bone under sunkissed skin. Ryohei laughed and hauled Reborn up into the portal.

The ghoul gave a muffled scream into Ryohei’s smothering hand as Ryohei shoved his way through, the two men trampling over that bandaged body and into the halls of the Vindice.

“Sorry!” Ryohei called over their shoulders, and Reborn caught a glance of their doorman miserably rolling onto his belly.

Almost immediately, the two men came to a stop before a large iron and stone door. It looked hefty and solid, far heavier than Reborn could move—

Ryohei barrelled forward without pause, reeled his fist back and in a blaze of gold and sunlight smashed his fist into the door. It gave a boom that resounded through the room, and Reborn felt his eardrums flex under the force. A crack ripped up the centre of that door and Ryohei twisted and swung again, Flames crawling out from between his clenched fingers.

The door gave a great groan before Reborn threw his arms up and covered his face as rocks and gravel showered the entryway. He huffed and dusted himself off.

Ryohei stood in the empty doorway, his hands clenched at his sides with fire and light crawling up his arms. He let out a breath through his teeth, bared in a grin as the last of the dust settled and rocks scattered the floor. 

Ryohei took off and Reborn didn’t waste a moment to follow.

Reborn looked around as they ran through the maze of halls almost Roman in structure, tall, looming ceilings and stone pillars that towered so high they almost seemed to curve. It was dark, and damp, and reeked of rot and something he could only describe as centuries of condensed resentment. 

Reborn took it all in with lavish and glory. 

Reborn had raided the Vindice. Who the fuck did that?

He nearly crashed into Ryohei’s back as they came to a sharp stop, shoes kicking up water from the shallow puddles that pooled between the old bricks on the floor. Reborn looked around Ryohei to see two members of Vindice, floating like wraiths in their way, chains hanging from their hands and writhing like snakes.

“Hi!” Ryohei greeted and Reborn was utterly enthused. “Long time no see! It’s me, Ryohei, good to see you! You guys know where Bermuda is? There’s no, like, signs or anything around.”

Reborn scoffed hard enough to hurt his throat, and then stepped around Ryohei to join him at his side. “Yes, I would recommend a directory or at least plaques on the doors. Does wonders for efficiency.”

Ryohei beamed at Reborn, “See!”

The Vindice continued to look at the two men who stood before them. One turned their head to the ghoul beside them, “Could we—”

“No,” the second said and chains lashed forth.

“I think we’re getting through to them!” Ryohei cheered as they broke apart and dove from those chains. 

Reborn shot twice, the thought of holding back not even crossing his mind as the wraiths dashed toward them. He jumped and danced around the chains that snapped at his ankles and snatched at his waist, trying to bind him up and tie him down. 

A Vindice reached for Reborn and he spun around, gun out and ready and sent a Sun-laced bullet directly at the wraith’s chest. The ghoul dropped to the wet floor, bandages soaking in the brown, gritty water.

Reborn ran around the body and joined Ryohei as the man ducked and weaved the chains sent at him. Ryohei laughed, grabbed a chain and yanked the Vindice towards him. The wraith grunted as Ryohei’s Flaming fist caught him in the stomach, folding over the man’s arm — it almost looked like the wraith didn’t have bones, just a bundle of bandages shaped as a man.

Reborn raised his pistol and aimed for that top-hat-donned head— He whipped around and shot three times, deflecting the chains that had lashed out towards him.

The Vindice ghoul with soaking bandages lurched toward him, a bullet hole still blazing in his chest. 

“Oh yeah! The Vindice are kind of undead!” Ryohei called out over the sound of gunfire and metal clangs. 

“Excellent timing, Ryohei,” Reborn hummed, and continued to unload his pistol into his target, staggering them over and over as he backed into Ryohei. “So, what’s the plan? We can’t kill them.”

“Just gotta find Bermuda! Or Jaeger, he works too!” Ryohei answered simply.  

“You still haven’t told me who Bermuda is.”

“Who are you to speak his name—” Ryohei slammed his fist into the Vindice’s jaw and sent that bedraggled body careening into a pillar.

“Their Boss! He’s here somewhere, keep going!” 

“We’re trying to find the Vindice Boss?” Reborn asked as they took off down the winding halls again, leaving behind their assailants. 

“Yeah!” Ryohei nodded and they came to another door, locked shut.

Reborn raised his pistol and shot the lock, fire and Sun making the metal burn red hot and malleable as Ryohei barrelled into the door and bashed it open. The lock went skittering across the floor as the two men continued on their path.

“Stop where you are,” a Vindice rumbled, standing in their path, chains lying on the floor all around.

“You know where Bermuda’s office is!?” Ryohei called out, still running full speed.

“You will not go further—”

“So sorry, very busy, you understand,” Reborn chimed and shot at the ghoul’s head.

Ryohei leapt at the stumbling Vindice and slammed his fist down over their head. They hit the ground and bounced, and Reborn followed as Ryohei continued to rip and tear a path for them through those ominous halls. 

“Fuck,” Ryohei cursed as they reached the end of a route.

The wall was tall and solid, heavy with interlocking bricks of solid stone lashed with ancient chisel marks. The structure was reinforced by hefty metal bars and bolts the size of fists. A single brick alone looked like too much for one man to move, let alone break. 

Reborn heard the clank of chains behind them.

They were close. 

“Dead end,” Reborn frowned, gazing upon that towering wall. 

Then Reborn looked to Ryohei beside him. Reborn’s watch told him they had been running for over half an hour. Half an hour of sprinting, fighting and breathing that stagnant, chilled air. Ryohei looked ready for more.

“A dead end,” Reborn said again, “Since when had that stopped you, dear Ryohei?”

Ryohei turned his eyes upon Reborn, and in an instant, Reborn was flush with heat. Those eyes were aglow in the abyss, fire in the dark — like he was a flame incarnate, Ryohei blazed from the inside out. A solar flare wrapped in skin.

Then Ryohei grinned with teeth and cheeks, and like a match to gasoline, his Flames erupted .

“You’re right! Who cares about walls!?” 

Ryohei turned to face the imposing wall before them. Reborn could hear the clink and grind of chains from behind.

Ryohei bounced on the balls of his feet, his Flames rushed through his veins, a fire lit in his belly. He reeled his fist back, and with an almighty boom that impossible wall came crashing down.

“Extreme!” 

Reborn looked through the dust and debris, and for a moment he was blinded. For a moment, it was as if Ryohei had cracked open the walls of the Vindice and let in the Summer sun. 

Then Reborn’s eyes adjusted, and the scene came into focus. That searing light gave way to the figure atop the rubble of the walls of the Vindice, Ryohei alight and brilliant as his Flame lit the halls — and lit the legion of bodies bound in bandages.

“Sasagawa Ryohei,” a man, gnarled and slumped, said slowly. 

His voice was gravel and ash. His vocal cords longed for the comfort of grave dirt. 

“Hi Jaeger,” Ryohei greeted, “Have you seen Bermuda?”

“You will leave now,” Jaeger said, then turned his head in Reborn’s direction. “You and your fellow.”

Reborn smiled as he dusted himself off and joined Ryohei atop his pedestal of rubble and stone. 

“And after we came all this way? You even let us in yourself, so kind with that portal,” Reborn laid his hand on Ryohei’s shoulder and felt his palm burn. “Surely you can afford us a quick audience with your ‘Bermuda .’”

There was a ripple of discontent in that mass of bandage and rot. Reborn grinned further.

“You have no room to speak, boy,” Jaeger rumbled, “You do not even know why you are here. Blindly following.”

Reborn hummed down at the man and moved to rest his elbow on Ryohei’s shoulder, leaning his weight. Ryohei took it without complaint.

“He was going to raid the Vindice. No way was I not coming.” 

Ryohei let out a laugh and Jaeger’s shoulders raised in frustration. 

“Indeed,” a young, small voice said. 

Then the crowd split in a swift motion as all made way — For a child. An infant, no more than maybe three years old, floated through the divide. 

“Indeed, you’ve raided the Vindice, a neutral territory dedicated to upholding the law of the Mafia,” the child continued, unhurried as they made their way to the front. “You’ve also broken the sacred vow of Omerta. Two unforgivable transgressions, within minutes of each other.” 

Chains rose up from the crowd, tens of them clashing and thrashing and catching the light. Neither Reborn nor Ryohei moved. 

“All for what, Ryohei?” The child, Bermuda , asked.

“An Arcobaleno,” Reborn murmured to himself. 

He had never seen one in person before.

There was no noise. No telltale sound. No gracious warning. 

Just an absolute heat that drenched the room and scorched everyone inside. The puddles of murky water on the floor hissed away with a white noise sizzle, the stone walls creaked and cracked, the metal bars groaned. 

Reborn refused to remove his elbow, even as he felt his skin scald. He refused to look away. To miss this man made of sun and fire and glory. The Coming of Apollo in mortal flesh, donned in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. This Apollo, this Ryohei , let his Flames surge until Reborn could taste sunlight and cinder on his tongue.

“For what?” Ryohei repeated, and there was brimstone in his voice. “For what!?”

Reborn felt his collar go damp with sweat. The Vindice did not move.

“For the world as we know it!” Ryohei bellowed. “For the future we have left! For the day my nephew takes his first steps! I am here to see this through , Bermuda!”

Ryohei stormed forward, sandals clapping on the dry stone as he marched towards those Vindice figures. Reborn stood and watched, eyes wide and taking in everything without pause. He couldn’t look away; he couldn’t miss a thing.

“It has been months , Bermuda, and the Machine has not been built!” Ryohei continued, “The Tri-Ni-Sette has not been fixed! What are you doing with it!? With my family’s future!?”

Again, the Vindice was hit with a wave of oppressive heat and that stench of rot was thick in the air. Bermuda stood at the forefront and took the brunt, the pin on his hat began to warp. 

“This world will not end!” Ryohei roared, and his Flames were still growing , eating the air and all but clawing at those Flames of Night, burning the ends of those black cloaks and curling those feathered collars. “Not on my watch and I will be watching.”

Ryohei stood straight and his Flames soared high with him. He stood there and like a God of Prophecy and Light, he imposed his Will and branded it into the very walls of the Vindice’s halls.

“The Machine will be built!” Ryohei declared, eye to eye with Bermuda and just an arm’s reach away. “And I will be there to watch it happen! I will carry out my family’s final Will, and I will see it to the end!”

Fuck.

Reborn wanted to kiss him.

Bermuda’s pin plopped onto the stone, melted and mottled. 

“Fine,” he said, a short, bitter statement. “It’s more trouble than it’s worth to keep you out.”

Ryohei settled at those words and slowly, like a candle at the end of its wick, those Flames that scorched their air hushed away. He took a step back, sandals scuffing the floor. Then Ryohei grinned, put his hands on his hips, and let out a booming laugh.

“Hell yeah, no way were you keeping me out, not with Reborn here to help!” Ryohei agreed before he looked over his shoulder to look at Reborn. “Right!?”

Reborn walked towards that man, dressed in that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. The debris rocked under his shoes; bits of broken metal cracked as they cooled down. He reached Ryohei's side, and without hesitation, Ryohei threw his arm around Reborn’s shoulders. 

Reborn swallowed, his throat parched, his head dizzy. He took a breath and said, “Right.”

“Boss—” Jaeger started, but Bermuda waved him off.

“We weren’t making progress anyway,” he scolded and floated down to scoop up the remnants of his hat’s pin. “You should know, Sasagawa Ryohei, we’ve reached a roadblock. The instructions you gave us are…disorderly, to say the least.”

Ryohei’s smile went tight, his jaw clenched. 

Reborn watched from the corner of his eye.

Then Ryohei took a long breath, the kind that swelled in his belly and raised his shoulders. He let it out slowly. Reborn felt every moment of it, pressed so close to that searing side.

“Well,” Ryohei said finally, his grin still in place — even if just as an excuse to bare his teeth at the Vindice. “I know just the dude! We’ll need to convince him though, he’s a stubborn guy.”

Reborn stood straight, bright and eager beside this man of sunlight. Reborn was ready. Wings waxed and set and ready to follow this Sun over the next horizon, for the drama and stakes of their next mission. 

They had just successfully raided the Vindice . What could top that? Where would they go next? Pyramids and pagodas? Mountains and canyons, the depths of the Mariana Trench? What high hell and great chaos awaited them—

“Does anyone have Verde’s number? Or address?” Ryohei asked the room. “I think he’s working with a university’s funding right now, but I can’t remember which one.”

Reborn turned his head to face Ryohei, his expression utterly serene. 

“Verde?” Reborn repeated, hoping he had heard wrong. Hoping that that little green annoyance of a man hadn’t been mentioned. 

“Verde,” Ryohei nodded. Then his face lit up like sun through the clouds, realisation dawning upon him. “Reborn, my man, you know where Verde is, right!?”

Reborn thinned his lips.

“Why would I know where Verde is?” He asked, more than a little petty.

They were only on the tail end of their first adventure, and Ryohei was already talking about bringing in another man! The still dizzy part of Reborn’s mind lingered on the excited gasp of ‘my man’ and the way it made his skin feel like it was on fire.

Ryohei blinked at Reborn with those same eyes so full of unwavering faith and some kind of deep-rooted trust — like Reborn was somehow everything right and sure in Ryohei’s world, a God-given truth. 

“You do, don’t you?” 

Reborn stared at Ryohei.

“I do,” Reborn relented.

Ryohei beamed, “I knew it.”

Bermuda gave a short scoff and rose up to rest on Jaeger’s shoulder. 

“Then I will leave the footwork to you,” he said, then looked to the Vindice. “In the meantime, the rest of you, clean up this mess.”

A Vindice ghoul floated over and landed beside Bermuda and Jaeger. 

“Boss, can we talk about plaques on doors?”

Reborn glanced at Ryohei. They grinned.

☀

“Get in,” said a Vindice ghoul.

Ryohei smiled in thanks and walked into the office of Bermuda Von Veckenschtein, Reborn in tow.

Reborn looked around the office. Ancient and weathered, this office did not receive the care and upkeep of a ‘Don’s, but just by its contents, the room could easily rival that of Vongola. 

“Hi Bermuda!” Ryohei cheered as he sat himself down on an antique chair. 

Reborn sat in the one next to it, not convinced the upholstery wouldn’t give out from underneath him. Nonetheless, he reclined and raised his chin as Bermuda finally looked up, bandaged face riddled with irk. 

On his desk sat a damage report. Reborn looked directly at Bermuda and smiled. 

Bermuda sighed and pushed away the report.

“So,” Reborn began before either man or ghoul could speak. “I believe it's high time I’m filled in on some of the details, no?”

Reborn crossed one knee over the other and threaded his fingers together, looking between Bermuda and Ryohei. Bermuda frowned at Reborn and said nothing. 

“You have no room to speak, boy. You do not even know why you are here. Blindly following.”

Jaeger had said that to his face. Had called Reborn ‘boy’. ‘Little Icarus’ — Reborn was livid. He was in the dark, the fun was burning off — he wanted to bask in the light and seize this circumstance he found himself in.

Reborn knew this was going to be like pulling teeth. He had walked into something much bigger than he could have guessed by following Ryohei. The Vindice barely wanted Ryohei, a key player, here. Reborn would have to fight for his place at the table—

“Sure!” 

Reborn blinked. Bermuda's head snapped around.

“Sorry for skipping the details. Kinda got caught up in the rush,” Ryohei said and turned in his seat to see Reborn better. “So, we’re trying to save the world! There’s this thing called the Tri-Ni-Sette System that kind of powers the Earth. Like the gears inside a clock, or something. But it’s falling apart, like a rusty clock! So! I was sent to help the Vindice here make a Machine that’ll help make the world not explode! …Or stop turning. Or something — don’t really know what happens if the Tri-Ni-Sette breaks. Don’t wanna know, you know?”

Bermuda stared at Ryohei.

Reborn smiled.

“Why is the System failing?” Reborn asked, and Bermuda's hands clenched on his desk.

“Oh, so, the fuel being fed to the System was wrong. It was stripping it or something.”

“Fuel,” Reborn urged.

“Sky Flames,” Ryohei answered. “Strong Sky Flames.” 

Reborn turned his gaze to Bermuda. The Boss of the Vindice, the Head Warden of the Mafia — condensed down into the form of a child. Drained. Consumed. 

“The Arcobaleno.”

Bermuda frowned.

“ Retired Arcobaleno,” he corrected, “The chewed up leftovers of the men we used to be.” 

Ryohei smiled thinly at Bermuda, a kind of gentle grief lacing that expression. 

“Sky Flames are too light and rough for the System,” Ryohei said.

“Then what's left?” Reborn frowned. 

Bermuda sat back in his chair, booster cushions teetering under him. 

“The Simone,” he said, “The last of the Earth Flames.”

Reborn raised his eyebrows in interest and Ryohei leant forward. Reborn had never heard of ‘Earth Flames’ before. Yet another secret of the Mafia, hidden deep in the underbelly — which brought about the question: who was Ryohei, and how did he know? 

“How have you gone with contacting them?” Ryohei asked, hope laced in his tone. He was privy to the Vindice’s progress now, and he was going to know everything. 

Bermuda regarded Ryohei for a moment before reclining in his seat and said, “The Vindice have established a base on Simone Island, and have a dedicated guard protecting the Family.”

The Earth Flames had their own island . And island Reborn had never heard of . He had memorised every lateral line on the map years ago, nearly every naut of sea. And yet here Reborn sat, hearing the new utterance of ‘Simone Island’ like it was common.

Reborn glanced at Ryohei out of the corner of his eye. He could tell just by looking: Ryohei had been to Simone Island before.

Ryohei gave a sigh of relief. “At least we have that.”

Bermuda gave Ryohei a long, annoyed look. 

“So, can I see the Machine so far?” He asked.

Bermuda shook his head, “The Machine is at the Simone Base — but rest assured, you will see it once we relocate you. So you can ‘watch’ .”

“Relocate,” Reborn repeated, displeasure thick in his tone.

“Relocate,” Bermuda agreed, seeming pleased to have finally gotten under his skin.

“Relocate?” Ryohei asked, looking between the two men.

“You want to be closely involved in the Machine’s progress? Fine, I will allow it. The Vindice will provide you room and lodging within the Simone Base for the foreseeable future,” Bermuda told him. “It is easier for us if we have all the relevant pieces in the same place.”

Ryohei blinked and tilted his head. 

“I have an apartment.”

“Get rid of it,” Bermuda said. 

Reborn twitched. He thought of the vase of sunflowers and barley. He thought of the dining table with two chairs. He thought of the bed that smelt like herbs and sunshine. He thought of that window, aglow in the night, that called to him with its warm yellow.

“Sure,” Ryohei nodded. “I can be packed by tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

☀

Ryohei knelt in front of his closet and shoved away his collection of exactly two pairs of khaki shorts in a cardboard box. Socks, and underwear all suffered the same fate as he rushed about the apartment, stripping it bare. 

A vase, two placemats, his favourite mug and an assortment of what Ryohei had decided to be ‘good’ pillowcases were packed. His suitcase sat upright against the wall, two small boxes stacked next to it. 

His neighbours had agreed to take on his bulkier items. The bed to the couple fostering a teen. The dining table to the old lady looking for a replacement. They would come to take their share in the morning. Ryohei would leave the door unlocked.

Reborn watched all of this with dark eyes that followed him throughout the room.

Ryohei started taking down his Hawaiian shirts from their hangers, one at a time, and folded them up sloppily. 

Reborn spoke.

“So you’re leaving then.”

Ryohei looked at the man sitting on his bed, “Yeah? I mean, I need to be with the Machine.”

Reborn hummed lowly. Reborn didn’t look away. He didn’t want to — To let go of this man and this burning feeling he brought with him. To see this moment fizzle out, to see the sun set on this chapter of his story. Reborn wasn’t ready to see it end before it even truly began —

“An island so well hidden will be difficult to find,” Reborn said.

Ryohei smiled, “I’ll see you there.”

(Happy Birthday Reborn -- 13/10/23)