#floating shelf under counter light

[dayanaweber]

Single Wall Home Bar Mid-sized mountain style single-wall light wood floor wet bar photo with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, black cabinets, marble countertops, brown backsplash and wood backsplash

[littlexdeaths]

truths are revealed and lines are drawn…

older brother’s best friend eddie x fem reader

warnings: 18+ mdni, gareth is snarky, making out in inconvenient places, secret relationship, a sprinkle of spice, angst, blood and someone gets punched...

it’s a recipe for disaster masterlist

a/n: hi hello! it’s been a hot minute since i posted anything, so i’m actually very nervous to put this out. but i want to thank both @wonderlandwalker and @undead-supernova for looking this over and helping me fix a few things. i appreciate you both immensely. i hope you all enjoy this and thank you for always being so patient with me ilysm xx.

“since when did you start wearing lip gloss, dude?”

is the first thing out of gareth’s mouth when eddie walks back into the living room, the bowl of popcorn in his hands quickly forgotten as he pauses in the doorway. gareth is right, only it’s your lip gloss that’s smeared all over his mouth, the shimmery pink glitter now catching in the overhead light.

a fact neither of you had noticed until this very second, but if gareth’s shit eating grin is anything to go by, he’s all too aware of it.

it was incredibly risky when you pulled eddie into the pantry for a quick lip-lock session, knowing the entirety of the hellfire club and your brother were right within earshot. but that didn’t really matter in the heat of the moment because you hadn’t seen eddie in days—and you were on the brink of insanity.

the obnoxious hum of the microwave had drowned out your soft whimpers as he pinned your hips against the shelf, nearly knocking over a stack of canned goods in his haste. but you were just as frantic, if not more, tugging harshly on his unruly curls as you all but devoured him with your mouth.

“missed you,” you murmur, gasping softly when you feel his lips ghosting over that spot just below your ear.

his hum of agreement melts into a deep groan when your hands slide up and under his t-shirt, lightly dragging your nails across his abdomen.

“i missed you more,” he counters with a grin, eagerly capturing your lips again.

each press of his lips leaves you wanting more, more, more, your body completely pliable under his calloused hands.

the final ding of the timer is what forces you both apart, the sounds of your heavy breathing being quickly overtaken by the sudden burst of laughter floating up from underneath the door.

“we should get back,” you whisper, but it feels like your feet are glued to the floor.

“yeah, we really should,” he agrees.

but when he tilts your chin back up and presses his lips to yours, you’re all too eager to reciprocate.

“hey! where’s the damn popcorn?”

a shout from the other room bursts through the little bubble you’ve surrounded yourselves in, a grunt of annoyance slipping past his lips when he leans his forehead against yours. it takes him a full minute before he can turn away from you, but he keeps his fingers hooked in the loop of your jeans when he cracks the door open.

the warm light from the kitchen begins to spill into the closet, highlighting the curve of his broad shoulders and mussed curls. you have to physically restrain yourself from tugging him back in by the collar of his hellfire t-shirt.

“i’m workin’ on it!” eddie shouts, grabbing another packet of popcorn from the shelf beside him.

lord knows one bag wouldn’t be enough for everyone.

“can you grab some more mountain dew, too?” you hear dustin chime in, and you can see the flush of irritation creeping up his neck.

“mouse is already getting more from the garage!” sid retorts, and it’s followed by a light smacking sound which you can only assume is the brim of dustin’s hat being knocked off his head.

“bunch of greedy little gremlins,” eddie grumbles under his breath when he turns around to face you. “speaking of greedy…”

a look of mischief suddenly fills his eyes as he reels you back in, only stopping once your chest is flush against his own. he brushes his thumb over your glossy lips, a playful smirk stretching across his handsome face as he guides your head back.

“one more couldn’t hurt, right?”

it’s a damn miracle you made it out of that closet at all.

but now you’re frozen, a deer caught in the headlights as you sit opposite your brother in the living room. eddie’s eyes widen in alarm as they flick toward you, something that gareth doesn’t miss. 

“i’m not wearing lip gloss, dumbass,” eddie scoffs lightly, licking his lips before wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

“so, your spit is just pink and sparkly now, munson?” sid chimes in with a snort, but his amused expression begins to falter when his eyes wander over to you.

and suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

“no way…” sid scoffs, looking between the both of you with an expression that's a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “there’s no fucking way.”

it’s undeniable. sid would recognize that guilty look on your face a mile away. but you aren’t kids anymore, and this isn’t the same as when you stole one of his cassette tapes without asking.  

“really, eddie?” he seethes, whipping around to glare at his best friend. “my sister? my little fucking sister?!”

before anyone can react, sid is hopping over the back of the couch and making a beeline for eddie. a calculated shove has him stumbling backward, the bowl of popcorn crashing to the ground and spilling across the hardwood. you rush to your feet in an instant, ignoring the glare your brother throws over his shoulder.

“sid, man…come on, let’s just talk about this.” eddie pleads, raising his hands in surrender.

“talk about what? that you’ve been screwing my sister behind my back?” he hisses and his hands curl into fists at his sides, a pair of talons ready to strike. “or that you both have been lying to me about this for months?”

“we wanted to tell you,” you interject, attempting to put some distance between them but sid just shrugs you off.

“so, what is it then?” sid continues as though you had never spoken, shoving eddie back another step. “is it some weird fucking conquest for you? she’s my baby sister, eddie.”

“it’s…it’s not like that, man,” eddie insists, his eyes finding yours over sid’s shoulder. “i love—”

you hear the sickening crack before you see it, as sid’s fist collides directly with eddie’s nose. a deadly hush falls over the room when eddie slumps back against the wall, crimson droplets beginning to drip down his chin and soak into the worn cotton of his hellfire shirt.

“okay,” eddie mumbles, carefully wiping some blood away from his mouth. “guess i deserved that.”

“what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” your voice cracks as you push past him, putting yourself between the two males before your brother can cause any more damage. 

sid says nothing, just continues to glare at the two of you while you cup your hand over eddie’s nose in an attempt to slow the bleeding. you peer past your brother’s looming form and into the living room, where the startled eyes of the hellfire members greet you. 

“are you all just going to sit there and stare? or can someone get me a towel and some ice?” 

your harsh tone is what snaps them out of their joint stupor, and dustin hurries into the other room with a queasy looking jeff hot on his heels. 

“…so we aren’t finishing the campaign?” mike asks quietly. 

“fuck the campaign.” sid responds with a sneer, storming past you both and slamming the front door behind him without another word. 

“well…” eddie says after a moment, sliding down the wall until he hits the ground with a soft thud. “that went better than i expected.” 

“better?” you ask with an exasperated laugh. “how was that better, eddie?” 

but your boyfriend just peers up at you with a crooked grin, still devastatingly handsome despite the blood smeared across his upper lip. 

“sid didn’t kill me…that’s gotta count for something, right?” 

you let out a soft sigh before sinking to your knees, lightly bumping your forehead against his. 

“you’re an idiot,” you mumble fondly. 

“i love you, too,” he replies. 

series taglist: i desperately need to update this, so i will be in the process of doing that soon. but if you were previously on the list and want to remain on it or you’d like to be taken off, please let me know! <3

[sundays-sims]

C Y P R E S S . (early access, patreon)

Hi everyone!

My new Cypress bathroom set is finally here! The set contains 23 new meshes, including lot of vanity counter variations, without and without sinks, wall cabinets. You will also find a vanity stool, a bathtub, some really chunky marble door frames (perfect for wet rooms & showers), towel racks, a mirror with a really cute foggy swatch & wall lights. I also made a fake marble half wall, you can add it right behind the vanity counters & use it as a small shelf.

Please note that this set is NOT meant to be a kitchen counter set, all surfaces are made separately, they have different width to maximize customizability & are all functional as surfaces (not kitchen counters). You can place them easily and seamlessly by having the cheat "bb.moveobjects" enabled in game & ALT key.

I focused a lot on bigger pieces this month but used a lot of my other set's clutter objects for the previews. All the cc used in the pictures is mine, except the windows. The windows are from the Soho set, by Felixandre. In regards of my cc, I used a lot of clutter from my previous bathroom sets (Lombok, Amed, Isla, & Ungasan).

I hope you enjoy this set & happy simming! ♥

↓ details & download link under the cut ↓

DOWNLOAD LINK : [X] (patreon, early access)

SET DETAILS:

Vanity Cabinets (6 versions) - 24 swatches

Tall Cabinets (2 versions, open & close) - 24 swatches

Floating Vanity Desk - 24 swatches

Wall Cabinet - 8 swatches

Single Marble Arch (2 heights) - 5 swatches

Double Marble Arch (2 heights) - 5 swatches

Vanity Desk Stool - 10 swatches

Mirror - 6 swatches

Wall Light - 2 swatches

Bathtub - 16 swatches

Marble Half Walls - 3 swatches

Deco Towel & Bar - 14 swatches

Towel Rack Shelf - 2 swatches

Single Sink Vanity - 24 swatches

Double Sink Vanity - 24 swatches

** cypress will be released (free) on May 31st**

→ terms of use / TOU ← / / → instagram ←

S. xx

[p0orbaby]

blurb idea:

Alexia and R are in a fuck-buddy type of relationship and they find themselves at the same event: R Is sophisticated, clean, very elegant (long dress, heels, Red lips etc) and Alexia's sole purpose tonight Is to torture R with teasing.

Long story short they Hide in a closet and male out

-

The event is obnoxious in that high-end, art-and-canapés way.

Someone’s charity. Someone else’s gallery. People float around in suits and silk like they were born sipping champagne. You’re dressed to ruin someone—floor-length black satin, slit to the thigh, heels sharp enough to kill a man. You’ve already had three separate people ask if you model.

Oh, and you’ve clocked Alexia.

You wish you hadn’t.

She’s in a suit. Shirt open just enough to suggest something deeply unholy. Hair slicked back, smile soft and sharp and dangerous. She leans against a marble counter during the speeches like it’s a casual assassination, and every time you glance her way—which is often, too often—she’s already looking.

The kind of looking that should be illegal in formal wear.

You and Alexia are… not dating. Not officially. Not anything, really, except what you are in her bed. Or her car. Or that one time in the players’ tunnel after hours, when she pulled your skirt up and told you to be quiet.

You haven’t spoken since last weekend. You said it was fine. She said see you around. You meant it. You think she didn’t.

And now she’s here.

Watching you like she’s starving and you’re plated.

You try to play it cool—sip your drink, laugh at things people say, cross your legs slowly and pretend you don’t feel her stare sear down the side of your body. But she doesn’t let up. At one point, she walks past you deliberately slow, brushing fingers against your lower back like a whisper.

“Hi,” she murmurs, breath skating your skin. “You look—”

“Don’t.”

She grins. Keeps walking.

By the time dessert comes around, your blood is boiling. Your skin feels tight. You make the mistake of glancing her way again and she tilts her head, as if to say well?

You excuse yourself. Head down the hallway toward the coat check.

You don’t look back. You don’t have to.

She finds you.

Of course she does.

It’s a storage closet, of all things. Dim light. Coats, a mop, a shelf with extra glassware. The door clicks shut behind her. Her eyes drop immediately—to your lips, your chest, the way your dress clings to your hips.

“You’re unbearable,” you breathe, the moment thick with the taste of every almost and every undone button you’ve ever left in her wake.

“I’m not the one with the slit in my dress and no bra,” she says, stepping into your space. “You wore this for me.”

“I didn’t—”

She kisses you before you can finish.

It’s filthy. It’s urgent. It’s months of almost-dating and almost-loving and fucking-like-you-care crashing down in one hit.

Your back hits the wall. Her thigh slots between yours. Your hands claw at her lapels, her hair, her face—anything to ground you. Her mouth is hot and open and absolutely consuming you, tongue sliding against yours like she knows the taste already. Like she missed it.

“You’ve been looking at me all night,” she murmurs, trailing kisses down your throat. “You gonna lie about that too?”

You gasp as she licks just under your jaw. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

She lifts your thigh onto her hip, presses into you in a way that makes you keen. Your lipstick is smeared, your dress hiked up to indecent heights, and her hand is dangerously high under the silk.

“This isn’t—this doesn’t mean anything,” you pant.

Alexia looks up at you. Her smile is lazy. Knowing. Dangerous.

“Stop,” she says, biting your lip. “lying.”

And you let her ruin you in that tiny, dim closet—heels on, lips red, dignity somewhere between her mouth and the floor.

You’ll lie about it tomorrow. Again.

But tonight?

You moan her name like a confession.

[ms-snape]

Hi could you please write an imagine in which snaps and reader are together, reader grew up in a muggle house, didn’t go to a wizarding school therefore doesn’t know a whole lot about magic. Somehow they find out the other has powers and Snape takes it upon himself to teach her everything.

Title: Magic?

Warning: None

Words Count: 2000+

Masterlist

___

Severus Snape was a man who kept his life meticulously ordered—every detail tightly controlled, every secret well-guarded. His flat in Spinner’s End reflected that precision: shelves lined with books on obscure topics, an assortment of jars containing rare herbs and powders, and not a single item out of place. For years, his life had been predictable, secluded, and exactly as he preferred it.

Until Y/N.

She had appeared one rainy autumn afternoon, moving into the house near his with a clatter of boxes and the faint sound of her laughter through the place. He’d paid her no mind at first, assuming she was just another ordinary muggle passing through the neighborhood. But Y/N had a way of quietly insinuating herself into his life, her warmth and curiosity chipping away at the walls he had spent years constructing.

It started with small conversations, then turned into shared cups of tea on dreary afternoons. Severus found himself drawn to her despite his better judgment, captivated by her wit and her ability to see through his sharp exterior without fear. Before long, her presence became a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

But Severus Snape was no ordinary man, and secrets like his had a way of complicating even the simplest of relationships.

The first time Severus noticed something unusual about Y/N, it was during one of their many tea sessions. She had been recounting a frustrating encounter with a nosy coworker, her voice tinged with exasperation, when the sugar bowl on the table suddenly slid toward her without anyone touching it.

Severus froze, his sharp black eyes narrowing as he watched the bowl settle.

Y/N, however, seemed entirely unaware. She simply reached for the sugar and continued talking as if nothing had happened.

The incident lingered in Severus’s mind for days. It wasn’t an isolated occurrence. As their relationship deepened, he began to notice more of these oddities.

One evening, while she was cooking dinner, she muttered under her breath about needing a spoon. A drawer across the room creaked open, and a wooden spoon floated out, landing neatly on the counter. She had stared at it in confusion for a moment before shaking her head and muttering something about exhaustion.

Then there was the time they had gotten into a mild argument. The moment her voice rose, the lights flickered ominously, and a glass on the counter shattered. Y/N had apologized profusely, blaming her clumsiness, but Severus couldn’t ignore the growing evidence.

She was no ordinary muggle.

He debated telling her for weeks, but every time he tried, the words caught in his throat. How could he explain magic to someone who had lived her entire life unaware of its existence? More importantly, how could he tell her that she might possess magic of her own?

As he hesitated, Y/N’s curiosity began to grow. She wasn’t blind to his odd behaviors—the way he seemed to know things he shouldn’t, the strange ingredients she occasionally glimpsed in his kitchen, or the books with titles written in languages she couldn’t understand.

It all came to a head one fateful evening.

Severus had been in his study, absorbed in a particularly complex potion, when Y/N’s voice broke through his concentration.

“Severus, can I ask you something?”

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “What is it?”

She stepped into the room, holding a thick, leather-bound book in her hands. His heart sank as he recognized it immediately.

“Where did you get that?” he asked sharply.

“It was on the shelf,” she replied, her brow furrowed. “I was looking for something to read, and this caught my eye. But… Severus, what is this? It’s not just a book, is it?”

He rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. “Y/N,” he began, his voice measured, “that is not something you should have been reading.”

“Why not?” she pressed. “It’s not like I can understand half of it. But the parts I do understand…” She flipped the book open, pointing to a page filled with detailed instructions for a potion. “This talks about powdered unicorn horn and asphodel. These aren’t… normal things, are they?”

Severus stared at her, his mind racing. There was no more hiding it.

“No,” he said finally. “They are not.”

She waited, her expression a mixture of confusion and determination. “Then explain it to me. Please.”

And so he did.

Severus spent the next hour explaining everything—the wizarding world, Hogwarts, and his own role as a potions master. He spoke of magic and its many forms, carefully observing her reaction as he revealed the truth he had kept hidden for so long.

Y/N listened in stunned silence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. When he finished, she exhaled a shaky breath.

“So… you’re a wizard,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“And you’ve been hiding this from me the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“I was protecting you,” he said, his tone defensive. “The less you knew, the safer you were.”

She frowned, her gaze piercing. “Safe from what?”

“From the dangers of my world,” he replied. “Magic is not always a gift. It can be a burden—a dangerous one.”

Y/N shook her head, her expression softening. “Severus, I understand why you wanted to protect me. But don’t you think I deserve to know the truth? Especially if…” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“If what?” he prompted.

“If I’m part of it too,” she said quietly.

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

She looked down at her hands, twisting them nervously. “I’ve always had… strange things happen around me. Things I couldn’t explain. I thought I was just unlucky or clumsy, but… after what you’ve told me, I don’t know anymore.”

He studied her carefully, his mind racing. He had suspected as much, but hearing her say it aloud confirmed what he had been reluctant to admit.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, “it is possible that you are not a muggle.”

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he continued, “that you may be a witch.”

___

The morning light filtered softly through the windows of Severus’s flat, illuminating the scattered remnants of the night before: a few spell books left open on the table, a candle burned low in its holder, and a single white feather resting in the middle of the room. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, her brow furrowed in concentration as she waved a borrowed wand at the feather.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she muttered, her tone deliberate.

The feather trembled slightly but refused to lift. Instead, it skidded a few inches across the wooden floor.

“Again,” Severus instructed from his chair, his tone calm but firm.

Y/N sighed, gripping the wand tighter. “I’ve said it at least twenty times. Why isn’t it working?”

“Because,” he replied, “you’re trying to force it. Magic requires control, yes, but also intention. You cannot simply will it into being. You must feel it, allow it to flow.”

She groaned, letting her head drop forward in frustration. “This is harder than it looks.”

Severus set down the book he’d been thumbing through and moved to sit beside her on the floor. His presence was steadying, his dark eyes watching her with an intensity that made her heart race.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual edge, “no one masters magic overnight. Even the most talented witches and wizards stumble when they first begin.”

“But I can’t even levitate a feather,” she muttered, her tone tinged with disappointment.

“Progress is not measured by perfection,” he said, reaching out to gently tilt her chin so she was looking at him. “Every spell, no matter how small, is a step forward.”

She gave him a small, tentative smile, and he allowed himself a rare moment of softness, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Come,” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “Let’s try again.”

For the next hour, Y/N practiced under Severus’s watchful eye. Each attempt was met with either a subtle correction or a murmured word of encouragement. When she managed to lift the feather a few inches off the ground, she let out a triumphant laugh, her excitement lighting up the room.

“I did it!” she exclaimed, turning to Severus.

He allowed himself a small, approving smile. “Indeed, you did.”

Unable to contain her excitement, she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him off balance. He stiffened for a moment before relaxing, his hands resting awkwardly on her back.

“You’re a surprisingly affectionate student,” he remarked dryly, though the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

“And you’re a surprisingly patient teacher,” she shot back, grinning.

He shook his head, muttering something about “foolishness,” but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curving ever so slightly upward.

As the days turned into weeks, their lessons became a regular routine. Severus taught her simple spells first—lumos to light her wand, accio to summon objects, and even reparo to fix the various things she accidentally broke during her practice.

But not every lesson was smooth.

One rainy afternoon, Y/N was attempting to cast a cleaning charm on a spill she’d made. Instead of vanishing, the liquid exploded outward, splattering both her and Severus with tea.

She gasped, horrified. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, Severus!”

He stood there, dripping tea, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might be angry, but then he let out a deep sigh and flicked his wand, vanishing the mess in an instant.

“Perhaps,” he said, his tone dry, “we’ll revisit cleaning charms another day.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, and to her surprise, Severus’s lips twitched in response.

Despite her occasional missteps, Y/N’s progress was undeniable. With each successful spell, her confidence grew, and Severus found himself strangely proud of her determination.

One evening, as they practiced in the dim light of his study, Y/N managed to conjure a small stream of water from her wand. She let out a delighted laugh, her eyes sparkling as she turned to him.

“Did you see that?” she asked, beaming.

“I saw,” he replied, his voice quiet.

Her joy was infectious, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in and kissed him. It was a fleeting kiss, soft and full of gratitude, but it lingered between them like an unspoken promise.

When she pulled back, she looked at him nervously. “Was that okay?”

Severus’s dark eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought he might retreat behind his usual stoicism. But then he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek as he kissed her back—slowly, deliberately, as though he were committing the moment to memory.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re remarkable, Y/N.”

Her heart swelled, and she smiled, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face. “So are you, Severus.”

The weeks passed in a blur of lessons, laughter, and quiet moments shared between spells. Y/N still struggled at times—her wand sometimes sparked unpredictably, and her frustration would boil over when a spell refused to cooperate. But Severus was always there, steady and patient, guiding her with a firm but gentle hand.

One evening, as they sat together by the fire, Y/N leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you think I’ll ever be good at this?” she asked softly.

Severus placed a hand over hers, his touch warm and reassuring. “You already are.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” he said simply.

Y/N smiled, her doubts melting away under his steady gaze. For all his gruffness and guarded nature, Severus had a way of making her feel seen—truly seen.

And as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she realized that magic, for all its wonder and mystery, was nothing compared to the love they had found in each other.

[theastralsage]

Defying Gravity

❤︎ tags and content: evol play, oral, caleb x f!reader ❤︎ author note: reuploaded 🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

The aroma of simmering spices fills your apartment as you stir the pot on the stove, humming softly to your favorite tune. The evening is calm, the city lights casting a warm glow through your kitchen window.

A familiar series of knocks echoes from your front door—Caleb's signature rhythm. Your heart skips a beat, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Come in, it's open!" you call out, wiping your hands on a towel.

The door creaks open, and Caleb steps inside, his presence commanding as always. He shrugs off his jacket, revealing the silver necklace with the apple charm you gave him years ago, resting against his chest.

"Something smells amazing," he remarks, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You chuckle, turning back to the stove. "Just trying out a new recipe. Hope you're hungry."

He moves closer, the warmth of his body radiating as he stands beside you. "Starving," he murmurs, but the way his eyes trace over you suggests he's not just talking about the food.

As you reach for a spice jar on the top shelf, you find it just out of your grasp. Before you can stretch further, you feel a subtle shift in the air. The jar lifts gently off the shelf, floating down into your hand.

You glance at Caleb, who smirks, his fingers twitching slightly—a telltale sign of his gravity manipulation at work.

"Show-off," you tease, but your voice is breathier than you intended.

He steps closer, his chest brushing against your back, his breath warm against your ear. "Just making things easier for you," he murmurs, his hands settling on your hips.

The simmering tension lingers between you, but for now, you refocus on the meal, stirring the pot with a determined effort to steady your hands. Caleb doesn’t make it easy, though—his presence is a gravitational force of its own, pulling your awareness toward him even as you try to act normal.

“Alright, pilot boy, if you’re so ‘starving,’ set the table,” you say, tossing him a playful smirk.

He chuckles, stepping back just enough to let you breathe again, but there’s something in his gaze—something amused, something knowing. “Yes, ma’am,” he teases, rolling up his sleeves before moving to grab the plates.

As you finish plating the food, Caleb uncorks the bottle of wine you had chilling on the counter. You arch a brow as he pours two glasses, lifting one toward you with a smirk. “A little celebration? For what?” you ask, tilting your head.

He clinks his glass against yours with a lazy grin. “For new recipes and good company.”

You huff a laugh, but there’s warmth in your chest as you take a sip. The wine is smooth, just enough to start loosening the edges of your thoughts, making the already potent chemistry between you and Caleb feel even more electrified.

The conversation flows easily—old memories, inside jokes, teasing remarks that toe the line between playful and suggestive. He watches you with that signature smirk, light violet eyes gleaming whenever you get flustered under his attention.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last bites of dinner, Caleb leans back in his chair, stretching lazily, his gaze heavy on you. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to see you all domestic like this,” he muses, voice dipping into something lower, something indulgent.

You scoff, but your stomach flutters at the way he’s looking at you. “I can be domestic and still kick your ass, you know.”

He chuckles, swirling the wine in his glass before setting it down. “Oh, I believe it.” Then, leaning forward, elbows on the table, he tilts his head. “But I do wonder… do you always look this good when you cook?”

Your breath catches.

The air shifts again, and this time, you know it’s not just the wine.

You wet your lips, heartbeat thrumming faster. “Are you flirting with me, Colonel?”

His smirk deepens. “That depends,” he murmurs, voice smooth as silk. “Is it working?”

The heat in the room has nothing to do with the stove anymore.

You take another slow sip of your wine, eyes locked on Caleb over the rim of your glass. The warmth from the alcohol has settled deep in your veins, dulling the hesitation that might’ve held you back before. Your mind feels looser, freer—your body humming with a delicious awareness of him.

You set your glass down, tilting your head as you watch him, your own smirk playing at your lips. “You know, for all that confidence, I don’t see you making a move,” you muse, resting your chin in your hand. “What’s the matter, Colonel? Scared?”

Caleb’s brows lift slightly, but his smirk doesn’t waver. In fact, it deepens. “Oh, pipsqueak,” he drawls, his voice smooth like honey, but laced with something sharper, something dangerous. “You’re playing a risky game.”

You shift in your seat, leaning forward slightly, your hand trailing over the stem of your wine glass absentmindedly. “Am I?” you challenge, voice just a little too sweet. “Or are you just all talk?”

The moment the words leave your lips, his violet eyes darken, and the air between you tightens like a wire pulled taut. Caleb lets out a soft, amused huff, running his tongue over his teeth as he watches you with barely concealed intrigue.

“You really want to test me, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, though your pulse betrays you with how fast it’s beating. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

The scrape of Caleb’s chair against the floor is the only warning you get before he’s moving. One moment, he’s across the table—the next, he’s right in front of you, bracing his hands on either side of your seat, caging you in. The heat of him seeps into your skin, his scent—a mix of leather, something faintly smoky, and a hint of the wine—flooding your senses.

Your breath hitches, but you refuse to back down, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

Caleb’s smirk softens into something slower, something more deliberate. “Careful what you wish for, pipsqueak,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper against your lips. “I don’t do half-measures.”

Your fingers twitch against the table, aching to close the remaining space between you.

You meet his gaze, lips curling in challenge. “Then don’t hold back.”

Caleb’s smirk deepens, his violet gaze flickering with something dark and unreadable. Without another word, he takes your wrist, his grip firm but unhurried as he pulls you up from your seat. The wine glass clinks softly against the table as you abandon it, but you barely register the sound—your whole world narrows to the man leading you down the hall, his presence searing into your skin like a live wire.

The moment you cross the threshold into your room, Caleb moves.

You're barely aware of your back hitting the wall, breath catching as he cages you in with his body. His hands land on either side of your head, his heat overwhelming, his scent invading every breath.

"You like playing with fire, don’t you?" he murmurs, voice low, teasing, dangerous. His eyes trace the curve of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. "Thing is, pipsqueak…"

Your body suddenly feels weightless.

The realization hits you at the same time your feet leave the ground—Caleb’s Evol wraps around you, a phantom force pressing into your limbs, holding you effortlessly against the wall as if gravity itself had no claim on you anymore. Your hands instinctively reach for him, but they find only air, your body suspended, restrained, at his mercy.

A startled gasp escapes you, but the rush of heat curling low in your stomach betrays just how much you like this.

Caleb chuckles, dragging his fingers down your exposed throat, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way your pulse flutters under his touch. "You're not so bold now," he muses, his smirk widening. "That’s cute."

Your breath shudders, heat blooming across your skin as he trails his fingers lower, playing with the hem of your top.

“You had a lot to say back at the table,” he murmurs, voice like silk, pulling the fabric up inch by inch. "So tell me, pipsqueak—"

His lips brush your ear, his breath warm, teasing.

"Should I take my time with you? Or are you too impatient for that?"

Your pulse thrums beneath your skin, the weightlessness of your body amplifying every sensation. Suspended against the wall, your breath comes in shallow, heated gasps as Caleb’s fingers ghost up your sides, teasing, barely there. The smirk never leaves his lips, his violet gaze heavy with intent.

Your voice wavers, but you manage, “W-What are you gonna do to me?”

Caleb chuckles lowly, the sound rich and amused, yet dripping with promise. He leans in, his nose brushing along the curve of your jaw, making you shiver beneath his touch.

“I’ll show you,” he murmurs.

The moment hangs between you, electric, before his hands slip under the fabric of your shirt, gliding up your stomach, his touch setting fire to your skin. With agonizing slowness, he pushes the material up, his fingers dragging against you in a way that’s entirely deliberate, entirely teasing. His Evol keeps you aloft, completely at his mercy, and the realization sends another jolt of heat through your core.

One arm lifts your shirt over your head before he makes quick work of unclasping your bra, tossing it aside with a smirk. His gaze flickers over your exposed form, his pupils dilating as he drinks you in. You squirm, but there’s nowhere to go—his power holds you firmly in place, a reminder of just how easily he controls the space between you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles down your ribs before settling them on your hips. “Already breathless, and I haven’t even started.”

Your thighs clench, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. Caleb notices, of course he does, and his smirk turns downright sinful. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, peeling them down inch by inch until they fall to the floor, pooling around your ankles. Your panties follow, slow and torturous, leaving you utterly bare before him.

He steps back just enough to admire his work, his Evol keeping you suspended as he runs a hand through his tousled brunette hair. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth, reverent even. “And all mine.”

Before you can even process the words, he’s dropping to his knees.

The sight alone makes your breath hitch, but it’s the first brush of his lips against your inner thigh that sends a tremor through you. He takes his time, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, dragging his teeth ever so slightly, just enough to make you whimper.

Caleb groans, as if your reaction fuels him, and then—oh.

His mouth is on you.

The first flick of his tongue is slow, testing, before he delves in properly, devouring you like a man starved. The strength keeping you weightless wavers just slightly, like even his concentration is slipping, but it only makes the moment feel even more raw, more desperate.

He groans against you, the vibration sending white-hot pleasure straight through your core. His grip tightens around your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he drinks in every gasp, every shuddering moan, every delicious sound that falls from your lips.

You have no choice but to take it.

Caleb hums against your heat, the vibrations making your whole body jolt. His grip tightens against your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you—where he needs you. He’s still kneeling, still devouring you like he has all the time in the world, but there’s something shifting in his energy now. Something hungrier.

Then, without warning, his Evol pulses through the room.

A weightless sensation overtakes you again, but this time, it’s different. You’re being lifted, his power adjusting your position until your legs are slung over his shoulders, your body hovering just above him. His hands leave your thighs, and you realize—he’s not even holding you anymore. He doesn’t need to.

He leans back against the wall, exhaling like he’s pleased with himself, his violet gaze locked on you as he settles in. A slow, lazy smirk stretches across his lips, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.

Then he spreads his arms, completely relaxed, completely in control.

“Go on, pipsqueak,” he purrs, voice low, sultry, dripping with wicked amusement. “Ride my face.”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling between your legs at the sheer audacity of his words. Your mouth parts to say something—anything—but before you can, the pressure of his Evol shifts again, pulling you down, guiding you onto his waiting mouth.

Your gasp shatters through the room.

His tongue is relentless, moving against you with precision, with purpose. He tilts his head slightly, angling himself just right to drag his tongue over your most sensitive spot, flicking, circling, devouring. Your fingers grasp at nothing, searching for something to hold onto, but all you have is the weightless suspension of his power keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And Caleb?

Caleb is enjoying every second of it.

One of his hands drifts down his own body, slipping under the waistband of his pants, palming himself with a low, satisfied groan. The sound sends a shiver through you, your legs threatening to tremble around his head, but his power keeps you steady, keeps you moving.

He’s making you ride his face—without even touching you.

The way he moans against you, the way his hips roll up into his own hand, the way his violet eyes flicker up to watch your expression through the mess of his golden hair—it’s sinful. He’s lost in it, lost in the pleasure of pleasing you, lost in the taste of you, lost in the raw, electric tension that crackles between you both.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groans, breaking away just enough to rasp the words against your skin before diving back in.

Your whole body clenches, the pleasure overwhelming, the weightlessness making it all the more intense. He’s pushing you higher, pulling you deeper into the sensation, making sure you have nowhere to go except exactly where he wants to take you.

And the way he’s touching himself, the way he’s teasing his own release while dragging you closer to yours—

It’s utterly, devastatingly unfair.

And you love it.

Caleb’s grip on you—his Evol—tightens, keeping you suspended above him as his mouth works you over like a man possessed. The way he’s touching himself, the way his breath shudders against your skin every time he groans, it’s intoxicating.

His violet gaze flicks up, watching you from beneath thick lashes, pupils blown wide with need. He loves this. Loves seeing you helpless under his control, loves the way your body twitches when he sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue just right.

"Caleb—" your voice breaks on his name, a plea, a warning, a desperate cry for more.

His smirk is filthy against you. “More?” His voice is muffled, but the teasing lilt is undeniable. “I thought you wanted to take your time, pipsqueak.” His Evol tugs your hips, grinding you down against his mouth, dragging another sharp cry from your lips. “But you’re so needy now. What happened?”

Your head tilts back, mouth falling open as he devours you, his tongue rolling slow and deep, alternating between torturous licks and sharp, focused flicks. He wants you to fall apart, wants to unravel you piece by piece. And the worst part? He’s not even touching you with his hands anymore. They’re still wrapped around himself, stroking with lazy, deliberate motions, hips bucking ever so slightly as he moans against you.

That sound—that sound—sends you spiraling.

The sheer audacity of him, pleasuring himself while pleasuring you, basking in the taste of you like he’s getting off on it. Like he’s so incredibly into this that he doesn’t need anything else.

You claw at the air, searching for purchase, but there’s nothing—only the delicious weightlessness of his power keeping you exactly where he wants you. He owns this moment, owns you, and he knows it.

His pace quickens, his tongue working you with ruthless precision, his own hand pumping faster. His grip on you tightens, guiding your movements, making you rock against his face until you’re gasping, until you’re right on the edge, until all you can hear is the slick sounds of his mouth against you, his breathless groans vibrating against your core.

“Caleb—” your voice is strangled, desperate.

His Evol tugs—one last push, one last command—and you’re gone.

Your body seizes, the pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense you almost sob. Your back arches, your hands flying to your own body as if trying to ground yourself, but there’s nothing, just sensation, just him controlling every second of it.

Caleb groans deep in his throat, savoring every shudder, every clench of your body around nothing, every choked moan of his name. His hips jerk into his own grip, his pace turning frantic.

"Fuck, look at you," he rasps, his voice wrecked. "You’re so beautiful like this."

Then, with a final, guttural groan, he comes hard, his body tensing beneath you, his breath catching as he spills over his hand. His Evol flickers, tightening around you just slightly before releasing you, letting you sink down onto him, boneless and wrecked.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, of your bodies coming down from the high, of the soft hum of his power still lingering in the air.

As the haze of pleasure slowly lifts, you find yourself sinking onto Caleb’s lap, completely spent. His arms move instantly, catching you with ease, his Evol dissipating as he gathers you against his chest. His breathing is still uneven, his body still warm from exertion, but there’s something softer in his touch now—something careful, reverent.

“You good, pipsqueak?” His voice is lower now, husky but gentle, a quiet contrast to the raw dominance from moments before. One of his hands slides up your spine, fingers tracing soothing circles between your shoulder blades, grounding you. “I didn’t push too hard, did I?”

You hum against him, still too blissed out to form a proper sentence. Instead, you nuzzle into his neck, inhaling the faint, lingering scent of cologne and something so unmistakably Caleb—something safe.

His chuckle rumbles through you, the vibration making you smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He shifts slightly, his free hand reaching for a nearby throw blanket. In one fluid motion, he drapes it over you both, tucking you in like you’re something precious.

“Didn’t know you were such a cuddler,” you tease, your voice coming out softer than you expected.

Caleb scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “I just blew your mind, and that’s what you’re focusing on?”

You smirk, though you’re sure it’s lazy, content. “Mm. Maybe.”

His hand moves to your hair, his fingers combing through it in slow, rhythmic motions. “Well, don’t go telling everyone,” he murmurs, lips pressing the faintest kiss to your temple. “Can’t have people thinking I’m soft.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze, catching the slight glint of amusement in his violet eyes. “Oh, you’re definitely soft right now.” Your teasing glance flickers downward, and he groans dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You grin, pressing your forehead against his as a contented sigh slips from your lips. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I am.”

For a while, there’s nothing but the steady sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body against yours, the quiet way he holds you like he’s afraid to let go. It’s a stark contrast to the way he’d claimed you earlier, but somehow, this feels just as intense.

His fingers skim down your arm, tracing light patterns into your skin. “Let me stay the night,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly. But then he clears his throat, adding quickly, “Not because I don’t think I can make it home or anything—just, y’know… no rush.”

You bite back a smile, nestling closer. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t want  to leave.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers still playing with your hair. “Maybe.”

And with the way he’s holding you now, you think maybe you don’t want him to leave either.

[inkbybambi]

Hi! Can please get #56 with ghoap x reader for Spotify 100 blurb? I am curious to see what happens... >_<

hi darling! yes absolutely, thank you for the prompt!

it's all about confidence baby / she's making me nervous, she's making me nervous

a smirk paints simon's lips as he leisurely sips his whiskey. two fingers, love — he had asked when you offered him a drink.

you gave him three with a glittering smile and a wink.

johnny is a right mess, nervously fiddling with his glass that’s still untouched, salted rim of his top-shelf tequila enticing, but not enough to actually take it.

you pout when you walk by, ready to refill him, your own glass hidden under the table to take one with him, but it’s still as neat as when you first placed it in front of him.

you open your mouth to say something, but a call from the other end of the bar catches your attention. another quick look to johnny shows he’s no closer to taking his drink. you slink away, your own glass untouched.

the bar is decorated with flashes of silver and gold, glitter dusting the countertops to ring in the new year. but you were the most gorgeous creature there and soap can’t look away.

“it’s been an hour, mate,” gaz slurs as he comes to the bar, his third glass of the night already empty. “just ask ‘er out.”

simon snorts into his glass, far too amused for soap’s liking.

gaz tips his glass in your direction, and you visibly brighten. they are your favorite regulars, after all.

“another one already, pretty boy?” your voice floats over the music, teasing, paired with a lethal grin that makes soap weak in the knees. soap knows the pet name isn’t directed at him, but his face heats and he ducks his head. you wouldn’t be able to tell in the low light of the bar anyway, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

“johnny,” you whine, and he can’t ignore you when you sound so sad. he looks up, the pout on your face even worse as you eye his glass. “do you not like it? it’s your favorite.”

gaz has a fresh drink in hand but is pointedly not leaving. he knocks soap’s shoulder — wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it — so now everyone’s attention was on him. your eyes are extra sparkly under the lights, and soap decides it’s now or never.

“can ah take ye on a date?” he blurts out, blush hot on his cheeks, heart doubling over itself.

your answering smile is blinding, perching up on your toes enough to lean over the counter. your fingers are soft on his cheeks, if not a bit sticky from the drinks you’ve been pouring all night, but he doesn’t care when your lips press against his.

the kiss isn’t perfect, both of you too caught up in smiling to kiss proper, but you give him a cheeky bite to his bottom lip before pulling away, a promise for more later.

price comes to gather his boys, motioning to a billiards table that just opened up for them. he gives you a nod in acknowledgment, and you make sure they’re all topped up on their drinks before they amble away. soap finally gives in to do a shot with you, and price mutters christ under his breath when you pass soap the lime from between your teeth.

“we’ll see you at home, doll,” simon calls as soap drags him away, saying that he’ll beat gaz and price this time, for sure.

[multifamdomfan]

You Carry My Heart (and Also My Books)

---

Aziraphale’s announcement came at precisely 8:03 a.m., just as Crowley was about to take his second sip of coffee in the bookshop.

“I’ve read everything,” the angel said, with the kind of solemnity usually reserved for war declarations or realizing one has misplaced a rare first edition.

Crowley blinked. “Everything?”

“Every book in the shop. Every. Single. One.”

He looked dramatically at the shelves around them as if they had betrayed him personally. “Twice, in some cases.”

Crowley leaned back in his chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs. “Even that weird one you swore you’d never touch again because it had a typo on page seventeen?”

Aziraphale let out a sigh. “Yes. Even that one.”

That’s how they found themselves wandering into a sleepy little secondhand bookstore on a foggy Tuesday morning.

It was the kind of place that smelled like ink, wood polish, and stories. The shelves were tall and crooked, books stacked like precarious towers, and a sleepy cat blinked slowly from the front window, curled around a copy of The Bell Jar.

Aziraphale was glowing. He nearly floated across the room like a cherub in a renaissance painting, fingers brushing over spines, murmuring little delighted sounds under his breath.

Crowley trailed behind, hands in his coat pockets, already bracing himself. He had a vague suspicion that this was how mortal husbands felt in furniture stores—equal parts love-struck and doomed.

“Here,” Aziraphale said brightly, turning around with a small stack. “Just for now.”

Crowley held out his arms and received:

A Treasury of Obscure English Proverbs (with a ribbon bookmark)

A faded hardcover titled 17th Century Pickling Practices

And Murder at the Abbey: A Cozy Mystery

Crowley glanced down. “Bit of light reading, is it?”

Aziraphale was already wandering off, distracted by something with gilded pages. “Oh hush, you love it.”

Crowley groaned. “I do not.”

He did.

By the fourth stack, he had to actually adjust how he was carrying them—arms wrapped under the base, hugging them to his chest like an overburdened librarian. The books were taller than his chin now, and every time he blinked, he swore another one was mysteriously added.

“Angel, I swear to Satan, this is heavier than some of the souls I’ve ferried.”

Aziraphale peeked out from behind a shelf with a sheepish smile. “Oh, dear. You should’ve said something.”

He walked over and reached for the stack. “Let me carry a few—”

Crowley backed up.

“No,” he said, offended. “Absolutely not.”

Aziraphale blinked. “But—”

“These are yours, angel. That makes them sacred. What kind of demon would I be if I let you strain your arms with literature?”

“You were just complaining about how heavy they are.”

“That was theatrical complaining,” Crowley sniffed. “Part of the whole performance.”

Aziraphale tried not to laugh, failing miserably. “You’re ridiculous.”

Crowley leaned closer, balancing the mountain of books expertly. “Maybe. Do you want to know what else is ridiculous?”

He wiggled his eyebrows and Aziraphale swatted at him affectionately.

They spent another twenty minutes like that, Aziraphale wandering between aisles, occasionally reading a line out loud that made him chuckle, while Crowley grumbled (with increasing fondness) and followed behind him like a lanky, well-dressed mule.

Eventually, Aziraphale glanced at him as they approached the counter.

“Lunch?” he asked sweetly, eyes sparkling.

“I swear, angel, if you make me carry a lasagna and three more books—”

Aziraphale leaned in, brushing a kiss against Crowley’s cheek. “You can pick the place.”

Crowley paused. “...Fine. But I’m ordering two desserts and you’re not allowed to judge me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the books were rung up, Aziraphale gently slipped his hand into Crowley’s free one, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. Crowley glanced at him and softened.

He’d carry the weight of the world if Aziraphale asked him to.

Books were nothing.

---

Later that afternoon, Aziraphale curled up on the shop sofa with one of his new reads and a blanket over his lap. Crowley, lounging beside him with sunglasses slid low on his nose, peeked over the top of his own novel (Dinosaurs and Other Prehistoric Creatures: A Children’s Encyclopedia, which he claimed he was only reading ironically).

“Angel,” he said, nudging Aziraphale’s foot with his own.

“Hm?”

Crowley looked at him like he hung the stars. “Next time you run out of books… just tell me sooner.”

Aziraphale smiled into the pages. “Oh, my dear. But then I wouldn’t get to watch you carry the world for me.”

Crowley flushed.

But he didn’t argue.

---

[rosie-d0ll]

Under Her Spell

Inspired by my sessions with the lovely Miss Saphi @saphig-iawn, here’s a little piece I wrote about my experience with being tranced by her.

The Library seemed to go on forever.

I walked on bare feet, unhurried, through the massive shelves, each made of a luxurious, dark wood, and rising so high into the air they melted into shadow before I could see the tops.

Books floated around me, as if on butterfly’s wings, fluttering in the air and rearranging themselves around the shelves seemingly at random.

I didn’t quite remember why I was in The Library, but the lack of knowledge didn’t leave me panicked. A sound, low and soothing and ever-so-slightly mysterious, seemed to flow through the space around me like water, flooding my head with a pleasant weight that kept any anxiety, any unpleasantness, at bay, like the crackling of a hearth.

I nodded without knowing why, and continued walking, the floor carpeted in lush red. The hallway curved ahead of me, I could just see it, but before I could round the bend, I stopped.

A moment, tension in my fingers, a kiss of electric power, a thrum through my soul, haunting yet comforting, the pluck of a lyre, and a new book fluttered away from my left hand, green ribbon wrapped intricately around the dark leather cover.

I knew this one was special. It was a spellbook. I knew it represented safety, protection, a counter-spell to utilize should ever I have need of it.

It slotted itself nicely in a shelf, standing out easily among all the other covers, no more important than the rest but certainly much easier to find, and I smiled at it. If I focused, I could feel a green ribbon, stretching from my heart to that book, but every time I thought about it, the noise washed over me, and lulled me back into my slow walk.

It was soothing and comforting, walking and stopping, feeling the stitching winding its way around my hand, and the phantom hand of another, not so much ghost as a goddess, and a new book being made, just as beautiful and detailed as the last.

Petrification, transformation, abjuration, conjuration, the list went on, and the books kept flowing.

The Library was soon connected by green ribbons, creating lovely garlands to walk under and brush my hand across, feeling just as soft and shiny as they seemed.

In The Library, magic was real, and I was most certainly under its spell.

Eventually, a leather armchair appeared on the path, and I reluctantly knew it was time to go.

The tops of the shelves were already fading away, a calming white light hungrily consuming my precious books.

I settled in the chair, and the leather creaked comfortably beneath me. It didn’t feel much like a chair, it felt warm, safe, comfortable. I could swear I could feel a soft breathing pressing on my back, and a sensation of being held close that nearly brought tears of joy to my eye.

The sound became a soft whisper in my ear.

“Five.”

She said, and my head became lighter, the light slowly pulling away the leather books and green ribbons.

“Four.”

She said, and I felt myself rising, pulled by one last ribbon towards the sky.

“Three.”

She said, and the red carpet vanished from underfoot. I was sad to see it go, but knew I could return to it soon.

“Two.”

She said, and my limbs tingled like they were asleep. All of me tingled, like I was just about to wake up.

“One.”

She said, and then I did.

[cityof2morrow]

CDK: Company Props 001

Published: 9-26-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY Cubic Dynamics by John B. Cube and Marcel Dusims forged the future with furnishings that were minimalist in design and maximalist in erudite pretension. Generations later, the company continues to produce edge-of-cutting-edge designs. Use the Cubic Dynamics Kitbash (Simmons, 2023-2024) collection to set up corporate, exposition, and office environments. Envisioned as an add-on to the Cubic Dynamics set (EA/Maxis, archived at GOS), it features minimalist and retro-futuristic objects. Find more CC on this site under the #co2cdkseries tag. Read the Backstory and ‘Dev Notes’ HERE. Here are some essential COMPANY PROPS to help you decorate and organize your office – give it an authentic office look with shelves, signs, sculptures, trash cans, and “corporate-style” paintings. This compilation includes edited versions of the Modus/Loft sets from SG/Tolli (see compatibility note below).

DETAILS All EPs/SPs. §See Catalog for Pricing | See Buy/Build Mode You need the Company Expo (Mesh Pack) set (Simmons, 2024) for TXTRs to show properly in game. ALL files with “MESH” in their name are REQUIRED. You may need “move objects” and “grid on/off” cheats to place some objects to your liking. When placing partitions/floating shelves and tables/desks/counters on the same tile, place the partition/shelves first. I recommend using this set with Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023), which includes Numenor’s fix for OFB shelves (2006), for easier use overall. ITEMS Bookshelves/Shelf Frame (146-455 poly) Clock-Fire Alarm (717 poly) *PULSING LIGHT Counter Shelves (x6)/Shelf Frame (12-48 poly) – shift shelves as needed Door Frame Sign (60 poly) Loft/Modus Paintings (46-342 poly) Paintings 001-006 (12 poly) Sci-Fi Trashcans Small/Large (783 poly) – place indoors/outdoors via “move objects on” cheat Smart Board (1380 poly) Sculpture/Other Deco (2-466 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA COMPATIBILITY AVOID DUPLICATES: The #co2cdkseries includes edited versions – replacements - for items in the following CC sets: 4ESF (office 3, other 1/artroom, other 2/build), All4Sims/MaleorderBride (miskatonic library, office, postmodern office), CycloneSue (never ending/privacy windows), derMarcel (inx office), Katy76/PC-Sims (bank/cash point, court/law school sets, sim cola machine), Marilu (immobilien office), Murano (ador office), Reflex Sims (giacondo office), Retail Sims/HChangeri (simEx, sps store), Simgedoehns/Tolli (focus kitchen, loft office, modus office), ShinySims (modern windows), Shoukeir via Sims2Play(reverie office, step boxes/shelving), Spaik (sintesi study), Stylist Sims (offices 1,2, & 3, Toronto set), Tiggy027 (wall window frames 1-10), Wall Sims (holly architecture, Ibiza). *The goal is link the objects to the recolors/new functions in the #co2cdkseries without re-inventing the wheel! Credit to the original creators. CREDITS Thanks: EarlyPleasantview/EPV, Panda, Soloriya, ChocolateCitySim, HugeLunatic, Klaartje, Ocelotekatl, Whoward69, LoganSimmingWolf, Gayars, Ch4rmsing, Ranabluu, Gummilutt, Crisps&Kerosene, LordCrumps, PineappleForest. Sources: Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik). SEE CREDITS (ALT)

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 42 - Blushing

Characters: Thranduil x OC Words: 559

・❥・“…Are you blushing?” she asked, stunned.

The archives of the Woodland Realm were quiet that afternoon, lit only by shafts of golden light filtering through narrow windows high above. Dust floated like lazy snow in the air. Elenariel sat cross-legged on the floor between two ancient shelves, flipping through a book on herb-lore written in spidery Elvish she could barely read.

She was humming softly to herself.

Thranduil rounded the corner with his usual silent grace, though his brow was slightly furrowed either from annoyance or curiosity. With him, the line was often paper-thin.

“You’ve taken over my library,” he announced.

“It’s not yours,” she replied without looking up. “It belongs to the realm.”

“Which I rule,” he said flatly.

“Which doesn’t mean you own the books,” she said, licking her thumb and turning the page. “Besides, you wouldn’t even know where to find half of these unless someone else pulled them out for you.”

He took a long, regal breath - one of those “you’re trying my patience” breaths she had grown oddly fond of.

“Are you suggesting I am unfamiliar with my own collection?”

“I’m suggesting,” she said, glancing up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, “that you didn’t know this particular tome contains love poetry disguised as herbal classifications.”

Thranduil blinked.

“…What?”

She held up the page for him to see. “Take this one - ‘Moonbloom petals, when steeped at midnight, may elicit warmth in the chest and a flushed complexion when consumed in the presence of the beloved.’” She grinned. “That’s not a potion, that’s a flirtation with poor sentence structure.”

Thranduil moved closer, peering at the page with clear skepticism. “It’s medicinal.”

“It’s metaphorical,” she countered. “And half these entries are like that. Someone was either very bored or very in love.”

He was quiet a moment, gaze still on the page. Then, offhandedly: “And what does it say about nightshade root?”

Elenariel’s smile deepened as she flipped to the next page. Her eyes scanned the lines - then froze. Slowly, her lips parted.

“Oh,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked, just a touch too quickly.

She cleared her throat and read, voice full of poorly suppressed amusement:

“Nightshade root, when ground finely and mixed with wine, may cause the subject to speak truths they would otherwise conceal—particularly in the presence of someone they desire. It may also cause involuntary blushing.”

There was a silence. The kind that fills a room with potential.

Elenariel looked up.

Thranduil’s eyes were on the text but he wasn’t reading it. Not anymore.

A subtle color bloomed beneath the high sweep of his cheekbones.

Elenariel blinked. Then blinked again.

“…Are you blushing?” she asked, stunned.

“No,” he said instantly.

“You are!”

“I am not,” he said, turning away with unnatural speed. “It is warm in here.”

“It’s twenty degrees cooler than the throne room.”

“I was out in the sun earlier.”

“It’s shaded all day!”

“I am not blushing,” he snapped, straightening his robes with unnecessary force.

Elenariel clutched the book to her chest, lips trembling with the effort not to laugh.

“I’m keeping this book,” she said.

He didn’t respond. He was already walking away.

But just before he vanished around the shelf, she heard him mutter under his breath:

“…That page was clearly added by a fool with too much time and too little shame.”

She waited until he was gone before she whispered to the book, “Got him.”

[writersundersiege]

The New Girl in Town Pt 6

Rafe Cameron x F! Reader

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A/n: This one is another long one, and it took me so freaking long to edit, and honestly, I don’t know how I feel about this chapter. I will let you all be the judge. Should I keep doing this one this way or just do it based on whatever comes to mind?

The New Girl in Town - Masterlist

Summary: When Rafe comes to your rescue at the boneyard, what happens when things develop with him rapidly? But maybe things aren’t what you thought initially. Are the people of Outerbanks right about the boy you’re starting to feel so much care for?

MDNI 18+

Warnings: Storms, grief, death, insinuation of sexual themes, violence, weapons, swearing, drug use, and drug abuse, as well as some slight talks of addiction. Sexual themes: unprotected sex, smut, slight aftercare, soft! Rafe

That night, from two separate spots on the same property, two people couldn’t sleep comfortably.

You laid on the Druther’s, soft volume playing on Netflix from Sarah’s laptop; you could feel the waves slowly rock the boat, the double door slightly open, letting in the biting sea breezes that floated through the night while you sat and stared out the window of the ship that looks towards Tannyhill.

Sarah's sleeping frame on the couch across from yours. rises slowly up and down from breathing.

Looking back towards the vast house, you notice one dim light is on and immediately recognize it as the room one door down from Sarah, Rafe's room.

Earlier, he nearly slammed the door so hard to his room it shook the whole wall that connected his room to his sisters, and then a giant storm cloud of doubt swarms you.

From the second you stepped foot on the island, you’d heard about a boy named Rafe who was troubled and unbalanced. The first thing you heard about him was right before you met him while moving in.

The moving caravan stopped at a hardware store; you were buying a drink while your dad needed razors for the box cutters your mom had newly ordered to unpack.

You entered the smaller store, smelling of freshly cut wood and slight hits of cleaning oils, soft elevator-type music played.

Other than your father and you, there were workers, including a few boys your age and an older man standing at the register, but they were the only occupants of the store.

As you were browsing the refrigerator section, trying to decide what to get. Faintly, you could hear two boys in the other aisle talking, and they seemed rather upset.

Trying your best to mind your business, you round the corner, making your way towards the register where you can already make out your dad’s smiling face, leaning on the counter and looking back towards you.

In the last moments, you catch the boy stocking shelves, his messy brown hair falling in his eyes, saying, “Then after all that bullshit, dude, I go looking for her only to find her right underneath Rafe fucking Cameron.”

The redheaded boy, who sits on the floor, stocking shelves, listening to the boy next to him, shaking his head while continuing stacking, says, “is how it is out here, always has been, man. That isn’t the first girlfriend you’ll have stolen right from under your nose, nor will it be the last. Kooks take what they want.”

This makes you stop and step back, looking down at what appears to be outlet covers. Still, too enveloped in the things you don’t know but are curious about, you pretend to pick them up and be reading the back but listening to the boys.

Your dad stands at the front counter, watching you for a moment, frowning as you look at the light switch covers but shrugs, walking to a display shelf they had set up for electric hand tools that weren’t far from the front.

“Cameron and all the snobby rich kids on this island get what they want not because they deserve it but because they're crazy, and Rafe, man, I mean, he’s ruthless; he’s borderline psychotic, nah not borderline, he is psychotic I mean there are so my examples…”

He begins to trail off but immediately starts again: “One time, I watched him beat the hell out of a dude at a party who touched his truck by accident, mind you; the man was smiling back blood in his teeth, taunting the kid who wasn’t even fully conscious anymore till people pulled him off. I’ll never forget that, and the kid still has a huge scar on the side of his head from the fight.”

The messy-haired boy had been intensely listening the entire time, just like you so much, so you think it’s time to stop being intrusive and be on your way, considering not only are you eavesdropping, but you’re taking part in gossip that could be entirely subjective you don’t know any of these people and it’s best not to make a prior illusion of someone you’ve yet to meet.

The last thing you hear as you leave the aisle back turned but recognize it to be the brown-haired boy's voice saying, “It sucks. I thought she liked me; Cameron has everything: the perfect family, house, and life; no wonder she doesn’t want someone like me when someone like him even offers. I’m just some kid who grew up on The Cut, so whatever, I guess, keep moving forward, right?” the red-haired boy pats his back, saying, “Don’t worry, bro, we got you Pogues for Life.”

Eventually, you reach the register, quickly pay, and hurry out the doors; your dad catches up behind you, pointing back and saying, “You find a looker in there cause if you did and you're too shy, I could—“

You cut him off with a rupture of laughter that leaves him wide-eyed, saying, “No, please, we all saw your wingman capabilities were subpar at best a few months ago; ring a bell, cute waiter on the royal Caribbean cruise we took for Mom's birthday.”

Your dad stops walking with you, turning to face you, becoming mock-offended, throwing his hand to his chest. “You smite me (F/N). That was one slip-up, and frankly, don’t blame me for the strawberry daiquiris; they did all the talking that night.”

You shake your head, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t remember a glass of Strawberry and Rum saying to a fully grown man. Who was working; may I remind you. that if he didn’t already have a girlfriend and wanted a good one or just wanted a new one…I was single, and then leaving my freaking phone number on a napkin, nope, pretty sure it was you.”

You end poking him in the chest with a small laugh and kind eyes because it is a story to laugh about; he gives you a defeated look while pushing you both to walk back slowly. You don’t notice till halfway there your dad is relatively still, and his defeated look turns to regret or sorrow; “Dad.”

Right as you make it back to the caravan, your father looks up, eyes wide; he gently grabs your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands and placing a kiss on top of your head before pulling you in a vast Charlie-style bear hug, swinging you back and forth squeezing till you felt you couldn’t breathe but you laugh a hearty laugh.

Moments like these remind you of being a little girl and playing with your dad on the beach, collecting shells, and splashing and running along the water line. These moments made you feel free.

He sets you gently on the ground, saying as he’s hugging you, “This time is gonna be different, Peanut, I promise.” You hug him tighter, not precisely sure what he’s talking about, but getting an idea from the look of sorrow you saw shadow his face. You break apart, smiling at him and hopping in the car, driving to your new home.

And that’s when you finally saw him in the flesh; at first, you didn’t know who he was, but out of the group at Topper's playing basketball, he’s the one that immediately caught your eye.

When you saw him, you knew from that second he was not only gorgeous but so dangerous. he was playing ball with the boys, moderately sweaty but nowhere compared to the other two, who were nearly drenched, which showed his athleticism; he had hard lines in his eyebrows almost seeming to have a permanent frown on his face.

His hair, which was so sandy and dirty blond, reminded you of the beaches back home and their mix of yellow and brown sparkling slightly when the sun would glint on it, and it hung right in his eyes, causing him to have to move it out of his face.

When he finally took attention to your arrival, you knew he was looking; you could feel his piercing gaze laid on you like an ice cub was being set right on the back of your neck, but you always knew when all of them were looking wherever you went, you could feel them, but when you had Luca, that feeling didn’t matter. Then he’d gone missing, and he’s still lost.

Luca had been gone so long now with nothing but his necklace and a note; he was the one who made you grounded, but now you want to live cause what if you go missing tomorrow? Wouldn't you like to say you lived extraordinarily? Would you like to say you loved it greatly? that you had fought valiantly? 

Eventually, hearing a knock on the door, you opened it for the boys. You intentionally didn’t turn down your music, and watching them react to you was humorous but endearing.

Specifically, you watched Rafe and how his muscles flexed and unflexed under his shirt and his hair falling right in his eyes, making you want to walk over and push it out of the way for him. When you finally meet with his eyes, he asks you a question, and you smirk, seeing how much his eyes remind you of the sea, its depths, and darkness swirling around with the orbs of his irises.

You have never believed in love at first sight; it was an act of cinematic thrill, but you’d never really seen it or experienced it. Luca wasn’t your love at first sight. You had known and loved Luca your whole life, but you were eight years old when you knew you were in love with Luca, and from that day on, you loved him, and you loved him entirely.

He was your twin flame or soulmate in whatever sense it is. He helped to complete a part of you, but now, with him gone. You are changing and growing; what do you do when you’re sitting across from a man who’s standing and looking into you already like you hung the sun and the stars and for a reason unknown, you like it, you enjoy him, how he carries himself, the charm, the mystery, the coldness. Then, he also seems to show you the sincerity, gentleness, and fondness he has in him that he saves for unique events.

In a moment, you know one thing, and it is Rafe Cameron. He is going to be the death of you; from the moment he sat the dresser down in the room and looked around, softly taking in your space, you knew he was not what they say he is, whatever they make him out to be, it’s not truly him.

You’re going to understand who he truly is, and you have the same thoughts repeatedly as he jumps in for the clothes drives, goes on a drive with your dad, not losing it for you having to help Diana the other day and tonight picking you up from the Boneyard.

Rafe Cameron may be slightly self-absorbed and moody, but he cares much more than he can say or physically show.

As you come to from your thoughts, you realize you’ve been aimlessly staring at the ceiling of the boat at some point while being engrossed by the idea of a man you have yet to learn more about.

One last time, you glance at the windows, swearing to see the curtains slowly swaying as if someone had just walked away, and the light suddenly went out; with that, you turn your back to the window and fall asleep, letting the waves cradle you softly in your dreams.

————————————————————————

In the room now creeping with darkness, Rafe lies in his bed, staring at the door. He had been pacing his floors since he came back in from all the thinking of almost kissing you.

He was right there, and just like everything, Sarah had to get her nose right in it. He thinks back to earlier in the day when his sister had also tried to pull shit with him in front of you about Emma, which was a low blow, considering how many times Rafe has covered for her.

At one point, Rafe looked out to the boat, anchored at the end of their dock, looking to see if he saw any remnants of you sitting on the bow, looking out at the waves that are currently sparkling silver, with the light of the moon, beaming down onto it. 

When Rafe sees nothing but darkness, the pushing and pulling of the waves, and the boat rocking next to the dock, he walks away from the window, lies down and shuts off the light.

Still thinking about you, in many ways, especially how you felt pressed so close to his body, the warmth you emitted on the ride back to Tannyhill making him feel like he was wrapped in a blanket, his thoughts get muddled between his perverse and benevolent thoughts. Still, one’s he’s not willing to tell you just yet.

Rafe doesn’t sleep the rest of the night; he sees you every time he closes his eyes, which in turn makes his heart and mind pulse rapidly, causing Rafe to toss and turn all night, getting no sleep.

He finally succumbs to sleep after he sees the beginning of the orange and pink shades of the sunrise gleaming through his window, putting a smile on his face, comforting him enough to fall asleep thinking about the way you looked when you blushed at him, calling you beautiful.

————————————————————————

The next day, you stayed for brunch with the Cameron family, minus Rafe; he didn’t show up, and nobody was sure where he was, considering his door was closed and no one saw him. They asked Sarah to knock, and she returned, saying, “He’s still sleeping, I think.”

It was lovely getting to know your new friend and her family and learning about their dynamic.

Everyone sat laughing and talking when Sarah kicked your foot under the table, making you look up to her; she nodded towards the Druthers. You see a boy who’s jumping onto the boat; you shake your head, indicating you’ll cover for her as she slowly gets up, saying Excuse me quietly and making her way to the dock and down on the boat; no one pays mind to her leaving though you can faintly see her before suddenly Ward says to you.

“So (F/N) what made your family move from California to the Outerbanks?” you look up at nearly the whole family looking at you anticipatory; you clear your throat and take a sip of water. The easy answer is your dad’s surfing business wanting to expand.

The honest answer was a lot; though you never wanted to be home, it seems like you could never leave home; it was never-ending the cycle of you feeling Luca. Whenever you took a step out the door, you’d start to sob and turn right back around and go in again. Since coming to the Outerbanks, you’ve been out more than you have in the year since you got the call: “There was a storm. Luca and Cameron, they can’t find them, but they will”

That sentence rings through your head, making you feel like spiders are crawling in your stomach and creeping up to create intricate webs on your bones.

You smile the best you can, noticing Sarah walking back to the table, looking somewhat frustrated with her conversation, simply replying, “It was time for a change, and Dad wanted to expand.” before you can say anything.

Sarah plops down as if nothing happened and says, “Sorry, I forgot this on the boat. What did I miss?” she smiles and holds up her phone even though Sarah has had her phone the whole time looking at you before you can say anything Ward says “Just getting to know (F/N)” he smiles at you.

“What does your mother do again?” you go to answer, but Sarah says, “C’mon, Dad, let the girl eat!” he chuckles, and you say, “It’s alright, she’s a history teacher.”

You check your phone and see your reminder going off. “I’m so sorry to be so rude, but I just realized my mother needs me to help her today, so I have to go,” Sarah smirks at you, knowing exactly where you are off to

You exchange pleasantries, secretly reminding Sarah to text you later about the boat. She vehemently shakes her head, and you’re rushing through Tannyhill, bag in hand when suddenly, you run straight into a firm, broad chest.

Long, strong arms immediately wrapped around your waist to protect you from falling on your butt. The fresh woody and citrus notes seem to encircle your mind and body, and immediately after that, you go from tense to relaxed, your head resting with your ear against the chest of the person and your heart thumping rapidly. You smile, closing your eyes and saying, “Rafe.”

Rafe's arms tense around you, and you hear him huff out a breath, looking up into his cosmically blue irises; he’s already looking down with a slight smirk when he says, “What’s got you in such a rush, Angel?” his husky voice dancing through your ears.

Rafe is shocked to see that you’re still here, and he’s even more shocked you’re still allowing him to hold you in his arms like this.

Last night, the fact that you ran away with Sarah so fast when you almost kissed made him think you didn’t mean any of it and maybe you’d gotten drunk at that kegger.

Now, though, as he looks down, you rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him; you look so small to him, saying in your discernible melodic voice

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you. I’m off to help my parents.” Rafe grunts out a croaky sounding “Where sweetheart?” and hearing how he said it made you start to word vomit everything you can think on the spot.

“Dad wants to make new advertisements and asked me to accompany the ambassadors today for a photoshoot. I have an eye for that, at least by Charlie’s standards. Also, since it’s about being here and he wants me to take over eventually, I’m supposed to be in the commercialization like how dad used to, and I’m just nervous.” you giggle slightly, realizing if you kept babbling; he’d stand, and hold you while you did.

Noticing this, you went to step back, but his hand didn’t leave your waist. Your hands dropped to his, laying them gently over his hands.

You both look back and forth at each other for a moment, searching the other's eyes, not knowing what to do or what move to make. Rafe had the urge to drag you up the stairs to his room, throw you down on his bed, and kiss you on every expanse of skin exposed to the eyes he had roaming you.

You feel the look he gives you like an apex predator hunting small game, waiting for the moment it turns its head to check in the other direction before it pounces; in the few seconds you stand there, you can feel the way his fingertips dig into your side like he’s afraid you’ll vanish before him for some reason that feeling makes you pull towards him.

Both of you feel the pull between you like an invisible string slowly yanking until it creates the perfected knots; your faces are even closer, then you can feel his hot breath fanning across your cheeks

Rafe gives it one nudge, pulling your body closer so both of your chests meet, eyes still locked; he could feel every curve and angle of your body pressing perfectly against him; it left his skin tingling all over his body, touching you like this.

He also could feel how warm you were, like you’d been laying out in the sun tanning on the hottest day of summer, but it made the blood that usually runs cold with anticipation get warmer. He leaned down just a bit to ghost his lips over yours.

In the lightest voice he could muster, he asks, “Would you like an escort to this event, ma’am?” he watches the corners of your lips curl, making his stomach twist and turn and a smile creep on his face.

You say, lips almost brushing his back. “I can protect myself this time, big guy, but I appreciate the offer.” Before Rafe can register what you’re thinking, you’re leaning into his lips, placing such a chaste peck it left his lips feeling like hot coals had burned them.

The next thing he knows, he hears your melodic laughter bouncing off the walls as you skip towards his door and smile from ear to ear, just like the day you met. Rafe couldn’t move, shocked not only that you had already kissed him but also that he didn’t react to it.

He watched your back, knowing it was in your nature to vanish. The best part about you is that you bring all of this joy wherever you go, and when you’re gone, you take it with you, but the aftershock of your nature leaves ripples like waves in the ocean, which seems to be the constant reminder of you to Rafe.

Your (H/C) hair bounces from side to side, wisps flying backward toward him, almost calling him to follow where your footsteps take him.

Once you make it to the front door with it slightly ajar, the sun creating a halo, you look over your shoulder to Rafe, saying, “See you around, Reef.” you are out the door before he can respond.

Rafe takes a minute to readjust himself and rewind what just happened in his mind because he, for the first time in his life, doesn’t know what to do with you.

It seems like when you’re around, his mind appears to shut down while also going into overdrive. After a few minutes of contemplating, he turns to walk outside to his family and is met face to face with Sarah, who’s looking at him disgusted.

Immediately, Rafe looks at her with a scowl, saying, “Why are you looking at me like that?” Sarah scoffs at him and walks right past, saying nothing and stomping her way up the stairs.

This entire show of emotion makes Rafe roll his eyes, yelling at her up the stairwell, “Drop the fucking attitude, Sarah. You don’t need to be so god damn difficult always; speak, stop acting like a child.” with this, he hears her door slam shut making him stomp his way to the kitchen huffing about her ruining everything for him.

On the walls outside Tannyhill, after taking a leap of faith and kissing Rafe, you sat in your Jeep outside the home, looking up at the vast white building and thinking everything anyone says about him is wrong; he’s just a boy who wants to be loved.

Whenever you do something and turn back to see if he’s looking, his eyes never seem to leave. When you call, he comes. He is always saying what you feel you need to hear. These thought makes you giddy and send you to The Hut to meet your parents, feeling like you’re on a cloud, gracing your face with a brilliant smile and a new rhythm in your heart.

————————————————————————

The next day, Sarah and Rose came over to invite you and your mother to go and sit with The Mason family later that morning, and you both gladly obliged.

They were a kind, small family of just Mr. and Mrs. Mason; they also had a sweet little girl who was only six years old; her name was Ellie; when the mothers were talking, you and Sarah were sitting on the porch steps looking around at the damage Hurricane Agatha created neither of you talking just observing the surroundings every once and awhile Sarah would text presumably Topper on her phone.

At some point, Ellie comes up to you, tugging on your pants to get you to look down, and she asked you if you would walk around the yard with her; you looked to her mother, and she shook her head, waving her hand and saying it was fine so you kneeled next to the girl smiling holding her by the shoulders saying “I would love to go on a walk with you” she looks at you wide-eyed and whispering, “Do you think Sarah will come to?”

Sarah picked up her head, hearing this on the spot. She looked like she was in a world of her own before. Her eyes are soft but show such care as she says, “I would love to join your walk.” she puts her hand out for Ellie, and you all walk down the porch and around the yard, talking about princesses, her Barbie’s village, and her Elephant that’s been missing since the storm.

At some point, you’re sitting on the dock while Sarah and Ellie walk back and forth down it, and you see three figures emerge from the side of the house; two of the boys wave towards the mothers sitting on the porch, and one stands with a drink and sunglasses staring right at the dock which is so obviously Rafe.

You look away, somewhat nervous seeing him after the kiss; when you glance away, you spot what looks like a stuffed animal under wires and grass.

In a moment, you stand calling Sarah and Ellie, pointing and asking, “Did you take your elephant in that boat?” she shakes her head vehemently. This makes Sarah kneel, asking about her stuffed animal and then saying she’ll get it.

“Sarah, are you sure we don’t know if those wires are live?” she smiles and laughs, waving you off. “It’s fine (F/N). I doubt it, but I can be careful.” She starts to climb onto the plank, and you kneel, taking Ellie and wrapping your arm around her shoulder, taking a step back from the dock, rubbing the side of her shoulder gently.

Rafe talks with Topper and Kelce, eyes tracing from his sister being stupid to you. He can’t help but smirk and sip his drink, thinking about how good you look, being caring and especially caring towards a child. You seem to be protecting the little girl, which makes Rafe smirk deeper into his drink.

At this point, all the moms are yelling, and Rose has come down trying to coax Sarah. Then none, to Rafe's surprise, Sarah pretends to be shocked, which makes everyone except Rafe and you panic.

Topper yells, rushing forward, and the moms gasp; you have the little girl tight in your arm, eyes wide in shock, and Ellie screams, “Sarah!” starting to cry; you pull her head to your neck, gently shushing her, saying, “No, no, she’s okay, it’s okay,” he can hear the slight quiver your voice makes which makes him roll his eyes scowling at Sarah knowing she’s doing this purposefully.

Your head pops up at the sound of Sarah laughing. Like little Ellie in your arms, your horrified faces turn to small smirks at the show Sarah put on. He takes one more look at you, waiting to see if maybe you'd look back, but you don’t, so he turns to head to Tannyhill.

After all of this, your mother calls your name, holding her phone and shaking it, “(F/N) Crush Waves, we gotta go.” your eyes go wide, remembering that you’re meant to be going to promote at the Charleston convention center they were putting on a Surf and Water sports event your dad wanted to go and set up a booth for some networking of the new branch of The Hut.

Once Sarah is back by Ellie, you rush off, but not before you look back to where Rafe was standing before, seeing him disappearing around the corner, frowning but continuing your pace off and out with your mom.

————————————————————————

Sarah🎀🦋: Want to come to the church's beach cleanup? Save the sea animals and get sand between your toes. Plus, your lead singer is going 😏

You wake up the following day to this text from Sarah, making you laugh and immediately messaging back.

(F/N)🗺️🌏: Sure, you can always use a little sand and some Kelce in your life.

You immediately get ready wearing shorts and a cropped shirt that says St. Jeffersons Athletics, which used to be your brother's years ago. You brush your hair and teeth, throw on some mascara, walk over to Topper's house, and knock.

The door is swung open, and you are met face to face with Topper's mother smiling “(F/N). What a pleasure to see you; what brings you here?” You go to speak, but you see Topper's head pop up from behind his mom, saying, “Hey (F/N), come in, Mom, she’s coming to the church to clean up with us.” she moves, and you walk through the door.

Topper takes you up the stairs to his room; you walk in to see Kelce lounging back, playing video games; when his head turns and sees you, he jumps up, walks over to you, and wraps an arm around you. “how are you, girl?” you smile hugging tightly back before you both step back while letting go saying “Pretty good going as usual” you all make friendly conversation for a few minutes before heading off to the beach.

Topper left separately from you and Kelce on his boat to pick up Sarah while Kelce drove you to the spot, allowing conversation.

He showed you different places as you passed on the island while listening and car partying to music; at one point, he stopped at a house and said he’d be right back, and you presumed it was his house by the way he slammed the door.

When Kelce re-emerged from the house, he looked at you, smiling, holding a considerably large water bottle, shaking it in the air, hopping back in the car, and handing it to you.

Your face scrunches, and you lift the bottle to your eyes, inspecting it. “What is this exactly?” you ask questioningly; Kelce laughs at the look on your face. “Don't worry there, pretty girl, just some fuel for us for clean up; trust me, these things tend to be a little taxing.” With that, he pulled off from the house towards the beach.

When you got to the beach, you listened to the pastor talk a little before he sent you all off; most of the event, you spent with Wheezie and Kelce so as not to intrude on their time. Sarah did, although, come and ask how the surf event went, and you let her know only a few small league surfers showed up this time, but Dad's table ran well; he ran out of business cards to distribute.

Sarah also ranted to you about the attitude John B gave her and how he stole scuba and got fired, blaming Sarah, but she didn’t tell Ward. You frowned at the fact he stole, not seeing the reason he would need to return something you’re stealing; essentially, the boy lost a job over the air, but you shrugged, saying, “I don’t know, Sarah, he’s gone through a lot maybe give him a little slack, he’s alone now. he misses his dad and is trying to figure it out on his own.” she stares a moment kinda shaking her head and squinting her eyes.

She also asked if you could help her cover if Ward calls looking for her and says she’s staying with you, and you agree; after these conversations, Topper comes back to walk with Sarah a bit, leaving you to talk to Wheezie also at some point during the conversation Kelce had disappeared.

As you walk up and down cleaning the surf with Wheezie, you hear her scoff, watching Topper and her sister; you look at her, eyebrow arched, asking, “What is it, Wheez?”

She whips her head to you with a scowl. “Sarah is what it is? She has been sneaking around, and she’s not telling me anything, but I saw John B leave the boat the other day, and she’s been sleeping there; she’s just being weird.”

Wheezie continues walking with you, throwing trash she sees in bags and stomping her feet; this makes you slow a bit, and say to her, “I used to think the same thing about my brother until he covered for me one day when I really needed him to.”

You stop waiting for the girl to turn to you, and she does, getting ready to say something, but before she can, you smile, cutting her off. “You may not understand or like your sister's actions or decisions, but she’s the only sister you've got, and she’s always going to love and protect you no matter how mad you get. Just remember that.” she sits thinking for a moment, slowly shaking her head

When you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you stiffen slightly until you see the mystery liquid from earlier shoved in your face; you hear Kelce through a chuckle behind you, saying, “Need a fill-up.”

You grab the bottle, take a sip, and wince at its strength. You hand it back to Kelce, and he walks to Sarah and Topper, you and Wheezie not far behind, and has them take a drink. Wheezie grabs it, making your jaw drop, and you start laughing while Sarah asks Wheezie, “Since when did you start drinking?” She shrugs and smiles. “Today.” This makes Sarah scold Kelce.

You all giggle, and suddenly, the Pastor walks around the corner to ask how you’re all doing. Topper calls to him, “Looking great, sir, we’re,” Kelce adds, “clearing the stretch.” he hides the water bottle of alcohol while you and Sarah say simultaneously, “Just hydrating.”

Eventually, it is the end prayer, and you guys are heading out; you tell Kelce you will head back with Topper and Sarah to help her on mission ‘Ward doesn't need to know.’

Sarah will ride back to your house with you, so Ward thinks she’s there. So Tooper drives you back to Tannyhill, and when you see Rafe's bike out front, it makes your heart skip.

Suddenly, Wheezie is pushing past you and Sarah, fast walking on the dock back to the house; you both exchange a bemused look and follow her slowly into the house.

As you go upstairs, you can hear Wheezie getting sick, and you look to Sarah, who shakes her head, letting you know she’ll be good. You walk to Sarah’s room, peeking to see if Rafe is home, but his door is closed, so you go into Sarah’s room, choose a book from her bookshelf, and lie on her bed looking through it.

When Sarah comes back, she asks you to talk to Ward with her, so you make your way down to the porch; on the way there, you and Sarah can hear Ward scolding Rafe; you stand back while Sarah sneaks up to listen; you can hear little bits, but it just makes you look down at your shoes to keep yourself from feeling too much guilt intruding.

At one point, you catch Ward's voice becoming more stern than before. “You need to get it together, Rafe, or you can go live on the Cut.” You don’t hear a response, but you do listen to him raising his voice at him and repeating himself and scolding Rafe for laughing at him.

What makes your blood boil is when you hear him say to his son, “Now get out of here; I’m sick of looking at you.” They go back and forth until Rafe walks through the door. And he hears Sarah, and he looks at her with so much coldness, scoffing and turning.

When you both make eye contact, it’s like everything goes on pause; you go to say his name, but the rage and wounded look in his eyes overtake you; he shakes his head and continues walking; you follow slightly, saying, “Rafe-wait” and your heart dropped when he kept going straight out the door.

Turning back to Sarah when she called your name, a slightly confused look shakes her to the porch; you slowly and cautiously move towards the porch, now feeling somewhat different about the man on the other side.

When Rafe made it to his bike, he whispered a hard “fuck” and then got on his motorcycle off to Barry’s to try and make up for all of this.

————————————————————————

On the drive to your house, music plays in the background; you don’t say much as you get closer; you finally speak up, saying, “Does Ward always talk to Rafe like that?” Sarah looks at you, squinting slightly, almost like she doesn’t know why you care. “I know he may seem charming to you (F/N), but it’s an act. Rafe sees everything and anything as property, and the more you have, the better you are; he’s got problems.” She shakes her head, looking forward, and you park the Jeep in your driveway.

Sarah turns, grabbing you by the hand, looking into your eyes, an earnest look on her face. “I know you may like him (F/N), but I care for you, and I don’t want him to mess around with you as he does with everybody else.” you slowly shake your head and say, “We’ll have to see what time will do.” with that, you’re slipping your hand from hers and opening the door smiling your usual smile but with slight discomfort and disappointment shadowing you “Have fun with Top Sarah.” she starts to say “(F/N)—“ but you’ve already closed the Jeeps door and are disappearing into your house.

When you enter, your mom and dad see you come through the kitchen entryway to the stairs, your mother trying to stop you at the bottom. “Hey Peanut, how was the beach cleanup?” both your parents stair at you, expecting excitement as usual, but they’re met with your back, and you say, “Fine.” they let you continue up the stairs after you are gone from view your parents look at each other, and your mom says “I’ve got it.”

When your mom knocks on the door, you are lying on your bed holding the sea shell bracelet you and Luca made when you were eight.

He had gone and found all the shells, and your parents helped you both get the tools to glue hooks, and you made it a bracelet, then Luca insisted you keep it. Sometimes, you wish you could ask him what to do cause he was the only one who knew you.

You hear a knock and sit up to see your mom open the door; she comes to sit in your bed with you a moment before saying, “Honey, what’s going on?” you sit for a short time, and she sits next to you, rubbing circles in your upper back.

After a while, you speak up, “The people out here seem so mixed up, like that Ward Cameron mom today. I literally heard him say to his son’s face he is sick of looking at him who even says that to their child.”

You throw your head in your hand, shaking it. “Also, there is Sarah; don’t get me wrong, I like her, but she’s so judgmental of him.” Saying this makes you stand, turning to look at your mom. “This whole island does, Mom; he’s been so sweet; he reminds me so much of Luca.” this part makes you pause, looking wide-eyed at your mom, who looks back softly.

A long moment passed, and your mom stood walking to you, taking your shoulder in her hands, brushing a hair from your eyes, and gently saying, “My sweet girl, the world will sometimes turn the victim into a villain, but you, my girl are so bright do what you know best ride the waves let it take you where you know” she kisses your forehead and leaves you to think.

————————————————————————

A few hours later, Rafe’s at Topper's getting ready for the party; when he’s in Topper's room grabbing the coke from his bag, he sees you lying on your window seal, looking out towards the bit of the sea. You can see at the back edge of the house, and your windows open, you are singing along to “In My Mind’ by Lyn Lapid

Rafe sees the sadness in your eyes; even from this far, your brow is creased, which makes him want to come over and run his thumb to make your face rest; it is too pretty to look so sad.

He opens Topper’s window, hearing fully now your voice rings out, singing; he sits on the edge and watches as your voice carries through the window.

Your skin seems to have a soft glow on it from the lights of your room. Your hair was wet like you’d let it dry after jumping straight in the ocean, creating beachy waves, making it look layered in beautiful shades of (H/C).

He listens to the words in the song but in your tone, making it feel like it’s just for him; he hears you sing

“Oh, but darling, running ain't enough to escape from

The monsters in my brain

People say I'm quiet most of the time

If only you knew what goes on in my mind.”

At this point, he can’t help but lean out, calling to you, “Your voice is very angelic; it reminds me of something.” your head whips towards Rafe's face, beaming, “Hey, Rafe.” immediately, your face drops.

You say, trying not to be loud but just enough for him to hear you. “are you okay?” he shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t worry bout me, angel; say how you would like to come to the party tonight.” you nod your head immediately, making Rafe smirk as you close your window.

He watches you scurry around your room, getting ready and still smiling, hoping for something good.

————————————————————————

By the time you make it over to Topper's house, there are people everywhere, and you are bumping into someone everywhere you walk till you feel a warm hand grabbing yours; you meet the smiling face of Kelce with a drink in his other hand. “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming.” you smile back and move your face to his ear cause the music and people are so loud, saying to him, “I wasn’t, but someone asked me to come.”

This makes Kelce smile almost shyly, and he turns his head to your ear as he says, “Cmom, let’s get you a drink, and we’ll chill by the pool; it’s less crowded.” you shake your head, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Rafe but you don’t see anything over the number of people. It’s so crowded you kept getting pushed, so you’ll hope he looks for you soon.

You were by the pool sipping a Gin and Sprite, talking to Kelce and a girl named Myra when you heard people yelling, “Toppers on the roof.” you looked over, laughing, knowing this is exactly what your friends back home would do Kelce nudges you whispering “10 bucks he belly flops” This makes you laugh throwing your head back grabbing his arm to steady yourself

You look at him with seriousness, saying, “I’m not gonna bet on my friend's pain, but 20 bucks he gets Sarah out there with him, and she freaks out halfway down,” giving him an evil smile.

He laughs, throwing his arms around your shoulders and pulling you closer to his side. You wrap your arm around his waist while he says, “You know, I like how you think I think we’re gonna be real good friends.”

You laugh again, laying your head on his shoulder, saying, “We are friends, weirdo,” watching Sarah and Tooper jump from the roof, you both celebrating for them and laughing as he hands you a 20 since you called it.

From afar, Rafe could feel his chest constrict, and his blood started to boil. You and Kelce were looking way too cozy for his liking. He didn’t even know you’d made it here yet, that is, until you laughed at Kelce and ran off with the girl Myra he knew from being in school.

Rafe watches Kelce's eyes trace the other girl, not you smirking; he walks off into the party until he can sell the coke; he can’t get distracted.

He’s got to do that before he can talk to you and do the things he’s been thinking about.

————————————————————————

When you eventually see Rafe again, you walk up from behind with Myra beside you. You look at the table covered in drinks and money and some white powder. All of the girls are talking and staring at Rafe, and he’s charming; the one he sits next to is bumping knees with him, and he leans back all of a sudden like he’s relaxed. Topper walks by you looking pissed off; you try and say

“Hey, top you alr—“ but he walks past you, and Rafe notices him, bringing the girl’s attention to Topper; catching your eyes for a moment, you frown, looking from him to the enormous group of women to the powder and he continues catching your eyes every few seconds as he talks.

When you see Kelce making his way to you and Myra, you nod at him and slowly disappear into the house and push through the house until you make it to the front quickly; you make it to your home and slowly and quietly go upstairs, laying in the darkness of your room staring at your ceiling.

You thought about the act Rafe was putting on, and it makes you think back to the hardware store and all the comments about someone named Emma.

Was Rafe really what they made him out to be? Are you just another venture to conquer for him? These thoughts make your mind spin like a whirlpool getting out of control.

————————————————————————

After hours, you can still hear the music from Topper's house, but it’s gotten much quieter. You lay looking at the photos, missing home, your friends, and yours, and Lucas spots everything that reminds you of him.

Then, like a message from heaven, you hear the pit-pat of something hitting your window; you get up and peek out to see at the bottom, Rafe has little rocks from Topper's driveway and is tossing them at your window

When Rafe eventually sees your face appear in the window, he sighs in relief after he did that last sale and bumps with Topper; he had gotten up to go over to you, but you are already gone.

Kelce said he saw you go into the house, so Rafe checked everywhere; he even accidentally walked in on some couple doing it in Topper guest’s bathroom, having to do a slight double take to make sure your cute floral skirt you wore was nowhere in sight lucky for him it was not you.

You open the window, saying with a smile and harshly joking tone, “You’re gonna break my window there, Romeo.” he chuckles, looking at his feet, saying back while looking back to you, “Can I come in?” you shake your head motioning towards the front.

That’s where you meet at the door; you open it, and he can see the darkness casting shadows on your (E/C) eyes; you immediately grab his hand and drag him with soft feet up the stairs; he follows willingly, and you guide him to your room where the window his now closed along with the shades this makes his head tilt, but his head turns to you when he hears your quiet voice say “What was all that about Rafe.”

He stutters for a few seconds, but you stand patiently, waiting for a response before he sighs and says, “It was coke.” your eyes start to get comprehensive, but he rushes to you, taking you in his arms. You stiffen slightly and say, “It’s just a party fix, angel, not a regular thing. Plus, I was selling for a friend tonight.” you start relaxing, but he can feel you shiver slightly.

“Be careful doing that kinda stuff, Rafe; you could get hurt, or what if you get add—“Before you can finish, he cuts you off, taking a finger to your chin and lifting it so he can meet those gorgeous eyes looking back and forth between both of them mapping both of them out and how your face was twisted in worry and care.

Rafe smiles at the look, making a warmth spread throughout him, whispering as he gets closer, “Are you worried about me, angel?” you smile shyly, simply shaking your head, and that’s when Rafe leans down and captures your lips with his.

Slowly, you feel yourself nearly melting backward; you take a step back, dragging him with you, and he feels it too, the way your tiny fists curl into his shirt; he keeps on walking with you slowly, letting you guide him, lips barely breaking contact until, eventually, you make contact with the mattress at the back of your knees. You almost fall, but Rafe grabs your lower back, putting his arm out, gently laying you back, and caging you underneath him.

You both break the kiss, breathing heavily, staring at each other, almost shocked. Then Rafe feels your small hands come up to cup his cheeks, pulling him back down this time, you kissing harsher.

He feels the tip of your tongue brush his lips, and he opens his mouth, taking control and exploring the sweet taste of your mouth; he runs his tongue gently on the underside of yours, coaxing a small moan to ring through Rafe's ears.

You slowly run your hands up from his cheeks to his neck, splaying your fingers through his hair, feeling how each strand slides easily past your fingers.

He’s kissing down your jaw to your neck, hands trailing your sides until one ghosts the side of your breast and moving back down, you quickly grab his wrist, moving it right onto your left breast, putting your hand over his, moving his to grip the fat of your breast this makes Rafe moan and grind his hips down in between your legs setting off a small whimper feeling his hard length pressing your core he hums a gruff “Do you see what you do to me, princess.”

Suddenly, Rafe feels you pushing him back, and he quickly moves, thinking he’s gone too far, when all of a sudden, he’s staring at you, who’s wearing a smirk;

You remove your shirt, tossing it to the side; he eyes your breasts lying on your chest; they look so soft, and as your chest has made contact with the cold air of your room, your nipples perk slightly.

Rafe's eyes trail down, watching how your figure maps out from your chest to your stomach down to the swell of your hips and to your thighs still lying on the bed.

Rafe looks at your smile and your eyes. He then just quickly removes his shirt, dropping to his knees in front of you, kissing your knees up your thighs, whispering, “I didn’t believe there was any way you could get more beautiful, but you’re always proving me wrong, princess” you lean your head back enjoying the feeling of his lips pressing to your skin like a car heater getting warm after driving five minutes in the brisk winter air.

He makes it to the bottom hem of your sleep shorts with his lips looking up at you as his finger hooks into the waistband of the shorts. “Can I?” Saying nothing, you lift your hips, and he quickly tugs away your shorts, revealing your olive green laced bikini-cut panties.

Rafe takes a considerable breath laying his head face down on your thigh; he can feel his cock throbbing painfully below, leaking precum onto his boxers under the shorts he wore. he sighs once more, saying with his head still down, “I’ve wanted you so bad since I saw you, but I don’t want to fuck this up” you guide him to look at you.

“I want you, Rafe,” and with that, Rafe had his fingers hooked in your panties, pulling them down and kissing up and down your knees to your thighs; you sighed, relaxing back, feeling his lips and hands trail you when he hooks his hand under one of your knees; you quickly allow him to pull open legs and he lets out a breath saying

“Holy shit, you’re dripping wet, angel. I haven’t even touched you yet.” You whimper from the cold contact from the air but also his words when, all of a sudden, you can feel his hot breath right next to your core, and then you feel his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your soaking wet bud.

Rafe starts to slowly suck on your clit, one hand coming up to tease your hole, making circles around the opening. This sensation causes you to squirm, making him smirk a moment, saying, “You like it, princess?” you shake your head rapidly, stating, “Yes, yes, please more.” he immediately dives back in, unable to hold back, hearing you plead.

As he goes back in, he slowly slides a digit into your tight hole simultaneously while sucking your clit, feeling you immediately squeezing his finger tightly and pulling him in. he licks strips up and down your clit circling his tongue when he gets to the top.

He hears you making a hissing noise, so he stops moving his finger and looks up immediately, asking, “Does that hurt?” you shake your head, eyes closed, and head back. “so good, Rafe” you let out a pant making Rafe slowly add another finger moving them skillfully in and out of you which makes your back arch off the bed he pulls his head back lips glistening with your wetness “you taste so fucking sweet, but you look even better angel god damn your killing me” the hand that was fingering kept its pace. His other came down to trace the hard length in his shorts.

He kept his pace, looking at you and hand back to gripping any part of your body he could reach. He could feel your slight fluttering around his digits, and then your voice came in a small pant “I need to feel you, Rafe.” he wastes no time removing his fingers from you and reaching his hand to your mouth; you open and gladly swirl your tongue around his fingers, moaning.

Rafe lets out a groan, removing his finger and leaning down, grabbing your chin, kissing you hard, teeth and tongues clashing for dominance.

He feels your small hands tug on his shorts and say, “Please, Rafe,” which makes him chuckle at the whine you let out when you can’t pull them down.

Brushing a hair out of his eyes, he reaches into the waistband, untying his short's drawstring. He cups your cheek with a hand, looking into your eyes, and says, “Are you sure you want this? Cause once I have you, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

The way you answer him is by tugging his shorts down to his knees and letting them fall the rest of the way to the floor.

Then you fall back on your bed laughing, hands behind your head, body strewn on the messy sheets from your moving around; you are smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world.

Rafe smiles at you and climbs on top of you, slowly pumping his length; he’s smiling down at you. “You are something you know that right?” you smile, placing a kiss on the apple of his cheek. “says yo—“

Rafe doesn’t let you finish as he slowly presses his length into your opening, making your eyes blow out, and your mouth fall open; he brushes hair from your face, saying softly, “Shh angel, let me make you feel good.”

He moves his hips slightly at first. The feeling of your pussy pulling him in makes him groan and bury his head to your neck, sucking lightly on the skin, moaning at how much he feels you stretch.

You bring your hands to his back, nails dragging down the skin lightly, whispering in his ear, “Rafe.” this makes him rut his hips faster, feeling your legs shaking already, making him groan. “You like that, princess.”

“Yess,” you said breathlessly, gripping the back of his neck till it turned white under the pressure. He groans, feeling the way you tighten around him, and he lifts your leg to get a better angle, the other hand coming down to rub circles on your clit, laying close to hear the little breaths and whimpers you release.

When you connect your lips to his, you can’t help but release a moan at all the tension he seems to be pulling from your body; he smirks but starts to feel his balls tighten and hips stutter.

When he quickly leans back to pound into you, you bring your now free hands to grip and massage the flesh of your bare breasts. He moans, saying, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Angel.” his unsteady thrusts go faster. “God, you are so sexy.”

The pace he’s set has you whimpering and moaning loudly until you are nearly lifting your hips. He has to push you back into the bed. He's pressing so hard you know it will be bruised tomorrow.

At one point, he seems to brush the spot deep in you, sending a moan tumbling from your mouth with the words, “Gonna cum, Raf—“ but right as you are about to say it, your whining and cumming all over his dick.

The feeling of your pussy fluttering and pulsating on his cock makes him thrust one last time, letting out a throaty “Fuck yes, baby,” releasing his seed deep in you falling to hold himself over you catching his breath and leaving chaste kisses to your jaw, neck, and cheek.

He pulls out of you, and you can feel his cum leaking down your legs; he quickly walks to your en-suite bathroom, grabs a towel, and gets one side damp, walking back and cleaning you up, whispering sweet nothings about how your body is a dream and how beautiful you look even in the darkness.

Eventually, after you both clean, you crawl under your comforter, lifting it to him, who’s still standing on the side of your bed; he tosses the towel toward your laundry hamper, lifting the blanket and putting one arm under your head, you immediately curl into his chest.

You nuzzle your head, feeling his warmth and woody citrusy scent and rhythmic heartbeat. Rafe lays his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, feeling your even breaths and smelling the ocean breeze and coconut scent. Both of you falling into a comfortable sleep feeling warm and content.

————————————————————————

The following day, you woke to the side Rafe occupied the night before, empty but still slightly warm; you blinked the sleep from your eyes a few times to see a sticky note on your vanity mirror; you hopped out of your bed, pulling it off, reading.

Angel Girl,

Leaving you in bed like this is nearly killing me, but Topper made me promise to golf with him. Meet at the Marina later. I’ll take you out. Thank you for last night, Angel. You are a dream.

- Reef ❤️

You smile, reading it, and hear a knock and your dad call through the door. “You decent?” you call back to him, hurrying for clothes. “one sec,” throwing on shorts and an old school shirt from last night and kicking your panties under your bed. “Come in.”

Your dad walks in smiling, carrying what seems to be some folder. “Hey, peanut, you don’t look ready.” you tilt your head questioningly, and he chuckles. “Remember we’re meeting Mr. Orien for golf; he wants to talk the deal over a game.” your eyes widen, and you shake your head, running off to the closet. “Yeah, sorry, slept badly. Be down in five.” your dad nods his head, leaving the room, saying, “Don’t rush too much. You’ll give yourself a heart attack,” and closes your door.

Then, 15 minutes later, you were in the car with your dad on your way to the Island Club for the business meeting; when you got there, you spotted Topper's truck, but you knew it was unlikely for you to see Rafe till later

Nearly half an hour later, in the middle of you and your dad golfing, you are on the third hole, and you tell your dad you want to walk to the main clubhouse and grab a soda; he shakes his head, knowing you weren’t the biggest fan of golfing.

On your walk back, you are thinking about Rafe and how you hadn’t felt like you did last night in a long time. It has been a year since kissing someone, still holding out for Luca. Something was different about Rafe; he reminds you of Luca so much in so many ways but is so mysterious in others.

You’re broken from your stupor when there is commotion by some voices ahead of you; suddenly, you hear a distinguishing voice: “Hey, Rafe, Calm Down, man.” Then clear as day, you heard him scream, “Stay down bitch” You walk as quick as you can toward their voices coming into view; you watch as Rafe slams a golf club right next to the ground by someone who looks familiar.

You stand watching him as he yells at the boy on the ground; your heart shatters watching the man who was so gentle with you the night before going as far as to leave you a note to wake up to hurting someone and being so vulgar. You watch him crouch over the boy, and Topper turns to see you, making you hurry into the bush so that he can’t catch you.

Rafe finally diffused slightly but still taunted the boy, Tooper looking back to where you were standing, eyes trailing to you, giving you a look of pity and fear. Your back goes straight against the tree as you hear them running off, and you round the corner to see the boy rolling on the ground, trying to get back up.

You rush, and as you get closer, you see Pope nearly tripping over the sand, and you drop on your knees next to him, hands ghosting over his body, saying, “Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry. What can I do ?”

He groans and says, “It’s not your fault, but help up would be much appreciated.” you stick your hand out and pull him up and help lightly brush the sand from his body

You look down and help pick up what he had. Pope is still standing. “I’m sorry, Pope, I can’t believe the—“ he grabs the things in your hand, turning while saying, “Just go (F/N); you don’t need to be seen with a Pouge.” he turns, walking. “Pope—wait.” you try and catch up to him. He is gone before you can even try to say anything else.

Hanging your head, you go back to your dad; when you reach him, he sees the look on your face, and when you sit in the golf cart, not moving or talking, he walks up asking.

“What’s up, Peanut?” you shake your head, eyes scanning the grass for the boy you saw who you thought you had all wrong.

Your mind is racing a million miles thinking about last night and how you felt so connected with him, and then seeing how he treated Pope shocked you. It made you second guess everything you thought.

Maybe Rafe was precisely the person they said. Perhaps you’d be another girl on the notch of his belt. Then you think of the note and the boneyard incident. You were broken in your thought when Dad nudged you, letting you know it was time to return the cart and go home.

————————————————————————

As your dad drove you home, you laid your head against the window, listening to the music he let you put on, ‘Logical’ by Olivia Rodrigo, playing slowly as you watched the leaves creating patterns from sunlight casting through the windows and on the ground.

You could see slightly past a line of trees, all the people at the beach, the sun shining down. All of them are smiling, and all you can do is trace your finger along the window's glass back and forth, trying to keep yourself from thinking nothing stopped the tidal waves of things hitting you from all sides.

You thought about everything with Rafe and how everything around him felt genuine and solid. You could tell Rafe was dangerous when you met him but not aggressive, and these thoughts scare you. There are so many complex parts of him, but to see him letting out his rage on someone who you know didn’t deserve it any sense not like that.

Then you think about your night together, how he touched and held you all night. He was so gentle; this wasn’t your Rafe, not the one you know at least, and you don’t understand why things with you are different.

As the chorus plays, you sing along, head resting now on the window, looking forward just staring off, ‘If rain don’t pour, and sun don’t shine, then changing you is possible. No, love is never logical.’

Your dad's eyes had been flicking from the road to you when he finally spoke up, watching you wince, making him break. “Honey, you know you can talk to Dad, right? Does this have to do with that Rafe boy?” you wince again. He gives you a sad look, pulling to a parking lot that looks out at the beach, leaving the car on but turning to grab your hands, making you look at him.

The second you make contact with your dad's soft brown eyes, your entire heart drops, and you sob, falling into your dad's arms. “I’m so stupid, Dad. I don’t know why I keep making these choices.” He holds you in his arms, running his hand down the back of your head.

“Honey, does this have anything to do with me seeing Rafe and Topper pretty disheveled leaving the sandbar walkway?” you shake your head, looking up at him. “It’s so much more. I am so confused.” he puts his hand on your cheek, brushing tears away. “My sweet, beautiful girl, if he knows how much you are worth like I do, which I think he does, he’ll show you it.” you shake your head. “That’s just it, Dad; he does; he’s perfect with me; it's not exactly that, but there is a whole other side he hides from me. I don’t know,” you finish looking down, shaking your head.

Your dad chuckles, which makes your head whip up “(F/N); sometimes people are afraid if you see a certain part of them, it will make you run; maybe he just doesn’t want what the people of this island say about him to shape who he truly is; he’s just a boy who’s learning let him come to you sweetheart he will I’m sure and whatever he’s done, be calm, don’t lie, tell him what you know and ask him; let him explain see his reason sometimes you don’t always fully know what’s happening within someone or around them” your dad wipes the rest of your tears and turning back to drive you home.

———————————————————————-

When you get home, you lay in bed with Rafe's note lying next to you on your bed right next to the ring Luca had given you; stare at both and think, what would Luca say and think? Would he hate you for your choices? You think about Jason, who’s always given you the best advice, feeling he’s so far; now this isn’t something you can get help with over the phone; you think about Pope and if he’s okay, hoping he is.

You think of Rafe.

————————————————————————

Across the island, in his room, he is getting ready to meet you at Marina and take you out. Finally, he wants to sit down and talk and know more about you; he puts on one of his nice button-downs and jeans and grabs his phone while running a hand through his hair, setting his phone on the counter as he clicks the call button.

My Angel ❤️

As the phone rings, Rafe brushes his teeth; it keeps ringing as he washes his mouth out until, finally, the call goes to voice mail. Rafe sets down his toothbrush and shoots you a text

Rafe🪸: Hey Angel girl, I’m about ready; when do you want to meet?

Rafe waited for nearly an hour before he got a response back from you that had him stirring with anxiety

My Angel ❤️: Not feeling well. Raincheck?

You’d never sent him such a short response; this immediately had him Facetiming you; this time, you answered, and you were in your bed; he smiled when he saw your face.

That all changed when he saw; it looked like you’d been crying, making him say, “Hey, sweet girl, what’s happening? Are you okay?” you stare at him, almost looking shocked that he asked, then you shake your head like you’re snapping yourself out something making Rafe frown and tilt his head. After you just stared at him, he quietly said, “Baby girl.”

This made you snap out of the wait, and finally, you said, “I’ve just been getting sick today. My stomach is killing me, and I think I should stay home.” Rafe looks at you worried, and you shake your head, starting to say, “I’ll be fin—“

Before you can finish, he says, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes; hang tight.” you were trying to say, “Rafe, no, wait—, “ but he was already off the phone, and you went to text him that he didn’t need to come that you just needed to rest and sleep only to see a message.

Rafe 🪸: Don’t even try to say no, Angel. I said I’d be there, so I will see you in 20 minutes, stopping by the store. See you soon

📍location shared

You stared at your phone for so long, knowing what you saw happen to Pope was uncalled for and unnecessary, but the feeling you have for him is something you can’t help; he already fills many voids you think have been gaping in you for so long.

You are lying on your bed holding the note from this morning to your chest, phone in the other hand, staring at the bit of the horizon; you can see bits of orange cast glow over the houses and grass. You don’t even notice until after you've sent it.

My Angel❤️: Okay, thanks, Reef; see you soon 🪸❤️

You hope you’re not setting yourself up for something you know will end in tragedy. Then you think of what Dad told you, ask him, be calm, let him explain. As you lay in your bed, that’s what you'll wait to do.

All rights belong to the owners of Netflix and the Outer Banks. I do not own any characters except OC characters. The fiction is simply for fun. All copyrights belong to the original owners.

[bucketofindigo]

reworked the Bowlcut and Saltbaker fic and i'm posting it here until i can get all my works on ao3 or somewhere like that. i may even make it a place to put my puppetology posts.

working title for this particular series is:

"Cuphead: The Delicious Last Course (SugarBowl Edition)"

chapter 1/? | word count 2k | oc&canon | dark themes

It was a beautiful day in Inkwell Isle. The sun smiled down on the land and the town squares within, the flowers bloomed and sung quietly to themselves. Even the breeze felt like it was taking a cool, leisurely walk that day.

On the isle, Miss Chalice floated freely with the breeze. Gently disturbing the square while passing through holes in the cosmos, she was on the hunt for... something. A feeling of restlessness stirred in her little spirit, one she couldn't ignore, so she was eager to find... something. Whatever it was, she was hoping she'd find it in this corner of Inkwell she had never been.

The chalice passed by plenty of homesteads and a couple of establishments. She even found that Porkrind had a shop off in the corner, because naturally he did. However, what made her stop was the smell of baking sugar wafting through the square. She couldn't help but let her nose guide her until she was at the doorstep of a quaint little bakery wedged right in the middle of the square. It looked quiet but welcoming, although she couldn't help but be surprised by it. After all, she had no clue that there even was a bakery on the isle.

Deciding that this was worth exploring further, Miss Chalice wandered in quietly, slipping through the crack under the door and disturbing the chime ever so slightly. Then she had a good look around.

Inside, Chalice found a comfy rural scene; a few shelves against the fading walls held up all sorts of old jars and bottles, and the cabinet in the corner housed both cook books and baskets of fresh bread. Closer to the back, she could see two pastel green display cases that had pastries patiently waiting inside, as well as a cake stand proudly holding a cake ontop. The air in the whole place smelled sweet and delicious.

Behind the cases, she noticed a large man in chef's attire facing away from the door. He was humming cheerfully to himself, the faint squeaks on the chalkboard in front of him indicated he was writing on it. She could see his hat glistened a little in the soft light as his head bobbed in tandem with his movement. He also looked so pale from a distance, the only real spot of color on him was the scarf that looked to be tied firmly around his neck.

Miss Chalice drifted closer to these cases and towards the new person, who was a bit too lost in his work to notice anything unusual. Though he certainly did once he'd turned back to face the counter; upon noticing the ghost his humming paused. The chalice paused too as she suddenly had a better look at him. It revealed his hat looked so shiny because it was the top of a salt shaker - in fact, she could see now that he was indeed a huge glass salt shaker baker.

She could even call him a-

"Oh!" the salt shaker smiled down at her, and he put the chalk down on the chalkboard frame before addressing her properly. "Why, hello there, welcome to my bakery! You can call me Chef Saltbaker; what can I do for you?"

She giggled as she clasped her ghostly hands together and smiled up at him with a, "Hi there! Don't mind me, I'm just having a look."

"Well, feast your eyes then, little chalice!" he beamed and drummed his glass fingers against the top of the display with a crisp clacking sound. "I've got all sorts of gorgeous for-the-gaze goods in here. As you can see, some have lots of sugar, but between you and me? They all have at least a pinch of salt to them - you could call it my specialty!"

Chalice drifted up to the display case and pressed her face to the glass.

He was right; the wares he had on the shelves looked divine. Cakes with sweet buttercream frosting and plump red strawberries stood proudly on the bottom shelf, cookies from soft sugar to chocolate chip and everything in between laid on the top. There were fluffy croissants and round rolls, there were even colorful little macaroons in a sweet little bowl.

The sight of it all made the chalice's mouth water. If only it was actually watering in life, and not in spirit. Literally.

Slowly, she pulled herself away from the glass with a sad look on her face. The sight of it strung pity in the chef's chest.

"What's the matter, little miss chalice?" Saltbaker hummed, and the chalice looked up at him with big glossy eyes.

"It sure would be nice, sir," Miss Chalice sighed. "To taste these treats. I mean, I... Well..."

"Oh dear, I guess you can't exactly do that, can you?" he commented as he brought a hand to his cheek, then suddenly he snapped his fingers with a proud look. "Or wait a second, my friend... perhaps you can!"

The little spirit watched curiously while the chef bent down and reached into the display case.

"Let's see... which shelf did he put those cookies on again?" he muttered loudly to himself.

It took him a second or two, but soon Saltbaker held up a chocolate chip cookie that seemed to glitter between his fingers.

"Here we are!" he chuckled and he leaned over the counter to give her the cookie. "I knew we had a couple of these baked today. How lucky! Now, all you need to do is share it with someone and it should put you right back into your body. Then, you can come right back here and try as much as you'd like once that's settled!"

She stared at this cookie as though it was a miracle, and frankly it was. It was almost too good to be true, and she hoped it wasn't.

"... It... I can? It can really do that?!" she squeaked and practically snatched it from his hand in her excitement, to which the chef put his hands on his wide hips with a hearty belly laugh. She studied the glittering cookie in amazement for a second. "That's incredible! I should've been here a long time ago! So, this little dessert is going to bring me back to life, no strings attached?"

"Ah, well-" his voice faltered and his hand went up to the back of his head. "Not exactly, miss chalice. You see, it will bring you to life, but whoever eats it will have to go in your place. That's why it needs to be shared."

"Oh..." Chalice's excitement steadily replaced itself with confliction, and her eyes sunk to the floor. "That's... Gosh, I don't think I could put anyone through this. But I mean... oh dear, if only there was another way."

The chef had been giving her a sorry look as she lamented; it pained him so much to see someone so torn, and unable to eat the foods he made on top of it.

Yes, if only there was-...

Another way.

His face suddenly changed. It changed to a look of pure joy... with a side side of sinister, because suddenly he had an idea. It was more of an old dream coming back to him, but still it was an idea.

The chef's softhearted mind resisted to it a little at first, but then something in him figured, when was the opportunity ever going to present itself again? Surely it wouldn't hurt... not anyone important, anyway.

"Well," he smiled, leaning over the display counter as his jolliness quickly masked his shifted intentions. "There... is another way, Miss Chalice. A very special way that I'm going to need some help preparing for, but there is another way. You wouldn't even need to share the cookie."

"There... There is? There really is?" Chalice gazed up at him in awe, her excitement picking back up and her thoughts racing through her head as he nodded in response. "In that case... Wait, I've got an idea! There's this pair of cups I know; I could introduce you, and with this cookie, all three of us could help!"

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea!" he laughed as he clasped his hands together. "Yes, bring them here with that cookie in effect, and we can get to work on that special way... right away!"

"Goodness, I need to find them right away... I'll be back as soon as I can!" With that, she practically zipped out of the bakery. "Thank you so much, Mr. Saltbaker!"

"No need to add a mister to it, my little friend!" he laughed and hollered after her as she zoomed out of the bakery. "Just 'Chef' is fine by me!"

The door shut behind Miss Chalice with a loud ring, and Saltbaker chuckled to himself, taking a second to contemplate the lucky streak of luck that had just happened to him.

Then, after taking a careful glance around the bakery, he looked down at the display case with a smirk and loudly knocked three times against the top of it. A moment went by before the case shifted and slowly lifted from underneath by a hidden trapdoor.

A pair of violet eyes glowed from within the darkness of the hole, peering around the room with an angry leer. The eyes softened greatly as they looked up at Saltbaker, who regarded them with an even warmer smile than the one he'd been giving before. It was as if those eyes added pure lemon juice to the chef's sugar-water lips.

"Ahh," he said as he started to move the display further off the top of the trapdoor. "There you are, Bowlcut! Just in time, I need you here."

Saltbaker pushed the case out of the way and out slunk a tall, lanky green-and-white bowl. He had a large chip in his head, which had bread dough seeping slightly from it, and a large collar-like ring for a neck. He also wore an apron over warm-colored dressy casual, and all around he looked like the very model of a kitchen apprentice. Even with his white gloves and saddle shoes, though it was probably something to do with how tired and harsh his amethyst-colored eyes looked. That expression came especially strongly through the eyes; he had no mouth yet he looked like he had to shout.

The bowl, aptly named Bowlcut, gazed up at him with a tired yet loving expression. He squinted a little as the chef smiled like the sun at him. After shutting the trapdoor and moving the display back over it again, Saltbaker knelt down to take the bowl's hand into his own.

"Bowlcut, darling," he cooed, his voice low enough for the both of them to hear. "I'm sorry to disturb the bread resting, but listen. I have... wonderful news."

The bowl's head tilted a little and his gaze shifted suspiciously to the old mixer on the storage shelf behind him, making Saltbaker laugh heartily.

"You silly bowl," he chuckled as he patted the top of his hand. "No no, this is something different. You were right about tempting the astral cookies today; the stars have aligned... We're finally making a Wondertart."

Upon hearing that word, Bowlcut's eyes shot open wide and he tensed up his shoulders. He bobbed his head gently at him and put his hand overtop his, as if urging him to continue.

"It does mean what you think it means," the chef hummed, his face suddenly taking on a more devious look. "We're getting the ingredients. All of them. And the best part? We don't even need to get them ourselves; a few cups will bring them to us."

Bowlcut studied his expression for a second before his eyes looked towards the door, with one of them cocked in thought. His free hand tapped a finger over his cheek, and Saltbaker chuckled perhaps a bit too darkly than he meant to.

"Oh no no no, it won't be like that," he grinned, stroking a glass finger against his porcelain cheek. "It'll be far more convenient, actually. You see, a little chalice soul has wandered right into the bakery in need of our assistance. Not only that, she's bringing here a pair of cup boys to help. Based on what she said, I can only assume they're the same ones that bested... him. So... In short, we really never have to see him now for any of this. We'll have everything we need. Right here."

As he spoke, his finger slipped up and traced against the edge of Bowlcut's head, whose eyes watched them with a quiet dedication. He shuddered when it brushed against his chip.

"Sugar bowl," Saltbaker dropped his voice suddenly, snapping the bowl's attention back to the chef with a hot blush on his face. With it, his hand slid down to his cheek. The glow in the chef's eyes burned a honey-sweet yellow that made Bowlcut's heart pound. "Do you... remember when I told you about the tart? How I said that I wanted you to be the dish I made it in? I want that more than ever now; it would honor me deeply if you let me. You would elevate it to a plane higher than even I have dared to dream, darling... But more importantly, the taste."

His voice turned into a purr on the last word, and the bowl trembled in reverance. The glow in his eyes burned an intoxicatingly-sweet yellow, their hunger unparalleled to any living creature on the isle. God, how it made him remember all so vividly the last time this sort of thing unfolded.

Not that Bowlcut minded it... but the memory did cling to him like a forbidden perfume.

He stared into the glowing yellow orbs of his chef and made a nodding gesture, with the dough in his head visibly bobbing in tandem. It was almost as if to say that he himself was the honored one. Adding to that, he brought the back of his hand to where his mouth should've been.

It made a delighted grin crack along Saltbaker's glass face.

"Oh my bowl," he whispered, leaning in with a few gentle kisses peppered against his red-hot ceramic face. His free hand stroked against the back of the assistant's head as he pulled him in closer. "My sweet bowl... I wonder-."

They both froze suddenly when they heard the sound of the door swinging open with the ring of the bell. The chef's eyes immediately darkened back to their typical soft and glossiness, while the apprentice glaced over his shoulder with a disgruntled curiousity.

"Goodness, they're here," he whispered before putting a finger over Bowlcut's 'mouth'. "Wait here for a second for me, won't you honey pot? We'll talk more, later."

The bowl's violet eyes took on an upset pout, bringing a quiet chuckle to the salt shaker's lips.

"Boys-" Miss Chalice's voice came through more clearly than it had before as she addressed the boys. So from the sound of it, the cookie was a success! It gave the chef even more pride and confidence in that moment. "May I introduce you to..."

"It won't be long, I promise," he whispered with a chuckle to Bowlcut as he let go of him, and with that he got up to greet the cups with a jolly smile on his face and his hands on his hips.

"Chef Saltbaker! The greatest chef in the whole world!"

[kitchentrendsguide]

Creating a Coffee Station in Your Kitchen

For coffee lovers, a dedicated coffee station transforms the kitchen into a more organised and enjoyable space. Whether you prefer a quick espresso before work or a slow weekend pour-over, having everything in one place streamlines your routine while adding a stylish feature to your kitchen. A well-designed coffee station combines smart storage, practical appliance integration, and aesthetic touches to create the perfect caffeine hub.

Why a Dedicated Coffee Station?

A coffee station keeps everything you need—coffee beans, mugs, and brewing equipment—within easy reach. It reduces countertop clutter and makes your morning routine smoother. Instead of rummaging through cabinets or moving appliances around, a dedicated space ensures an efficient and enjoyable coffee-making experience.

Beyond its functionality, a coffee station is also a design feature. Whether a built-in nook or a simple countertop setup adds character to your kitchen while showcasing your love for coffee or tea.

Choosing the Perfect Location

Finding the perfect area for your coffee station depends on your kitchen layout and daily routine. Consider these placement ideas:

Built-In Cabinet Nook: A recessed area within cabinetry provides a streamlined look, keeping appliances and accessories neatly tucked away.

Corner Countertop Setup: Utilising an unused corner maximises space while ensuring easy access to your coffee essentials.

Freestanding Coffee Cart: A moveable cart offers flexibility, making it easy to reposition your station as needed.

Pantry Coffee Station: If space allows, converting a small section of your pantry into a coffee station keeps everything organised without taking up kitchen counter space.

Smart Storage Solutions

An organised coffee station is key to maintaining a tidy kitchen. Incorporate storage that suits your setup:

Pull-Out Drawers for Coffee Pods and Beans: Shallow drawers with dividers keep coffee capsules, ground coffee, and beans in order.

Floating Shelves for Mugs and Accessories: Open shelving provides easy access while adding a decorative element to your station.

Hidden Cabinet Storage: Keep less frequently used items, such as extra filters or speciality syrups, neatly behind closed doors.

Dedicated Drawer for Tea and Extras: If you enjoy tea, a separate section for tea bags, loose-leaf blends, and infusers keeps your station versatile.

Appliance Integration for a Seamless Look

A well-integrated coffee station ensures that appliances fit within the space without creating clutter. Consider:

Built-In Coffee Machines: Integrated espresso machines or plumbed-in coffee makers provide a seamless, high-end look.

Compact Coffee Makers: Opt for sleek, space-saving appliances that fit neatly within cabinetry or on countertops for smaller spaces.

Under-Cabinet Outlets: Electrical outlets within cabinets or near shelving are installed to keep power cords hidden and maintain a tidy appearance.

Milk Frother & Grinder Placement: Position your grinder and milk frother in a designated space to avoid unnecessary movement during coffee-making.

Designing for Style and Functionality

A coffee station should be both practical and visually appealing. Consider these styling tips:

Cohesive Colour Scheme: Match the station’s finishes with your kitchen design for a unified look. Dark wood and brass create a classic café feel, while minimalist white and glass keep things modern.

Decorative Canisters: To enhance the aesthetic, store sugar, coffee beans, and tea leaves in stylish, labelled canisters.

Accent Lighting: Under-shelf LED lighting adds warmth and highlights the coffee station as a feature in your kitchen.

Chalkboard or Menu Board: A small chalkboard listing coffee types or a framed café-style menu adds a fun, personal touch.

Creating a Clutter-Free Setup

Keeping your coffee station organised ensures it remains a convenient part of your kitchen:

Use Stackable Storage: Stackable coffee, tea, and accessories containers maximise space.

Rotate Seasonal Mugs: Store excess mugs elsewhere and rotate them seasonally to keep the station from feeling overcrowded.

Wipe Down Regularly: Coffee grounds and spills accumulate quickly—keep a small cloth or napkin nearby for easy clean-up.

Making Your Coffee Station Work for You

Every coffee drinker has different habits, so customising your station to suit your routine makes all the difference. If you prefer a quick morning brew, prioritise easy access to essentials. If you enjoy making speciality drinks, invest in storage for syrups, frothing tools, and different coffee-making methods.

For households with multiple coffee drinkers, a well-organised station ensures everyone finds what they need without disrupting the kitchen's flow.

The Perfect Addition to Any Kitchen

A dedicated coffee station is a simple yet impactful addition to any kitchen. By combining smart storage, integrated appliances, and stylish design, you can create a space that makes your coffee ritual more enjoyable while keeping your kitchen organised. Whether you opt for a built-in nook or a compact counter setup, the right design ensures a seamless blend of function and style.

FAQs

What’s the best way to keep a coffee station organised?

Use labelled canisters for beans and sugar, install drawer dividers for small accessories, and keep only the essentials on display to prevent clutter.

Can I create a coffee station in a small kitchen?

Yes, compact solutions like wall-mounted shelves, under-cabinet storage, or a slim rolling cart help create a functional station without taking up too much space.

Do I need plumbing for a built-in coffee machine?

Not necessarily. While plumbed-in machines offer convenience, non-plumbed models work just as well with a refillable water reservoir.

© K&I Kitchens

[esoteric-space]

The Loveland Pit Stop

The night of Christmas Eve had worn thin enough to see Christmas morning threatening on the horizon when I spotted the Loveland Pit Stop sign floating in the dark. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed with a peculiar frequency, a sound somewhere between electricity and insect wings. It was an unusual stop on a routine trip. The coffee from three states ago had worn off, leaving behind a metallic taste and a tremor in my hands. I looked around at the parking lot full of cars as I pumped gas into my car.

In the fogged windows of the convenience store, Christmas lights hung unevenly across the dusty frames, their strands drooping where the tape had surrendered to gravity. A few bulbs flickered reluctantly, their dull hues lingering just a moment too long before fading, while others stayed stubbornly dark, leaving gaps in the rhythm. The fog on the glass softened the glow into muted pastels, blending reds, greens, and blues into a lethargic kaleidoscope, as if the lights themselves bore the weight of the empty hours.

Mom's kitchen light would be on, even this early. She’d wake up before dawn to bake, the smell of sugar and cinnamon curling through the house like a warm embrace, spilling out into the frosty air when she opened the door to greet me. It was a ritual as constant as the seasons, her way of holding onto something in a world that kept changing. 

The pump clicked at $14.08. The automatic doors parted with a whisper.

Inside, the fluorescent lights took on a pallid hue, casting a stark glare over the scuffed grey linoleum floor, amplifying the wear on every surface. The store's air was thick, almost syrupy with the artificial pine scent of holiday air fresheners mixed with something older and sweeter, like decades of coffee spilled in places no one had looked. Shelves line the narrow aisles, their contents arranged in a haphazard attempt at abundance: bags of chips with crinkled, faded packaging lean against each other, off-brand candies sit under a faint sheen of dust, and energy drinks in mismatched rows add a pop of color to the otherwise muted display. A whirring cooler hums faintly from the back, where pre-made sandwiches and cartons of milk crowd under a dim light that flickers intermittently. 

I grabbed a basket, its metal edges cold and rough, and moved through the aisles to begin my routine: powdered donuts that Mom pretends to hate but always snags from my bag, a bottle of Advil to stave off the headache crawling steadily behind my eyes, and coffee to fill the hollow ache left by hours of highway monotony. My footsteps echoed oddly, the sound arriving a fraction too late as I moved through the store grabbing the items. 

As I reached for the coffee station at the back, a row of cheap Santa plush toys loomed on a nearby shelf, their beady plastic eyes locked on me as I stood in front of the coffee machine. The digital display didn’t greet me with the usual cheerful prompts for dark roast or decaf but instead cycled through an erratic cascade of random numbers, each flickering with unsettling speed. I tapped the screen once, then again, harder, but it didn’t respond, the numbers continuing their frantic, nonsensical dance. A faint hum came from the machine, a sound that seemed to rise and fall in uneven waves, as if the display itself were breathing.

Turning toward the counter to look for help, I paused as I noticed that the cash register sat unattended. I slowly walked to the front, the air near the register felt heavier, cooler somehow. I froze, my fingers curling tighter around the handle of the basket until the metal bit into my skin. My breath caught in my throat, the faintest puff of it visible in the suddenly cool air. The chair’s slow, almost deliberate sway pulled my gaze, each creak of its movement stretching the silence into something alive. The radio sputtered, a warped voice crooning half a line of a carol before dissolving into static that sounded like someone trying to whisper in my ear. The chair behind it, slightly askew, swayed just barely as if someone had vacated it a moment too soon.

My eyes drifted to the counter, where an abandoned name tag glimmered faintly under the flickering fluorescent lights. The letters blurred and twisted, rearranging themselves into shapes that looked familiar but meant nothing, like the remnants of a dream slipping through my fingers. My pulse thudded in my ears, louder than the soft hum of the cooler or the faint ticking of the coffee machine behind me. I took a step back, my sneakers catching on the sticky floor, the sound echoing loudly in the empty store. 

"Hello?" My voice fell flat, absorbed by the dense, peppermint-saturated air, leaving behind an unnatural stillness that prickled at the edges of my senses. No hum of the cooler or the faint ticking of the coffee machine.

From somewhere in the back came a faint, unsettling sound—a dry, deliberate scrape, like paper being torn one agonizing fiber at a time. The coffee machine sputtered and gurgled, breaking the silence in uneven, wet gasps. My eyes darted toward its polished stainless-steel surface, catching the faint shimmer of my reflection. It was there, but wrong. Its head tilted slightly, almost curiously, dark eyes narrowing with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The stare was unyielding, searching, as though it were peeling back layers I didn’t even know were there. Then, it smiled.

My chest tightened, and my breath hitched as I stumbled back, the basket slipping from my trembling hands. Powdered donuts rolled across the linoleum, leaving trails of sugar-white dust that seemed stark against the dingy floor. The reflection didn’t flinch as I did. It stopped smiling, leaning closer to the polished metal surface, its hand raising slowly as though reaching for me. My own hand twitched in response, drawn by an inexplicable pull toward the gesture.

Behind the reflection, something shifted. Other faces began to appear—versions of me, emerging one after the other, their features faint and fragmented, like sketches left unfinished. Their presence was a ripple, each one more translucent, more fractured than the last.

"Hello?" I said again, my voice thin and wavering. The word felt hollow, swallowed by the thick air pressing in around me.

The reflection’s lips moved silently, mouthing words I couldn’t hear. My heart hammered as I instinctively stepped closer, the movement automatic, detached from any conscious choice. It leaned in, its hand sliding down the coffee machine’s surface, leaving streaks in the condensation like tears trailing down glass.

Then its head snapped up, the motion sudden and sharp, locking its gaze onto mine. The air seemed to collapse, crushing and heavy, as the faces behind it stirred. One by one, they pressed their hands against the invisible walls of their prisons, their eyes wide with recognition—and terror. Their mouths opened, straining in silent screams that I couldn’t hear but could feel, reverberating like static deep in my chest. I wanted to scream too, to break the suffocating silence, but my voice stayed buried, trapped beneath the weight of a truth I couldn’t name.

I turned and ran toward the exit, but the automatic doors didn’t budge. Their glass panes remained sealed, fogging over as though something outside was breathing heavily against them. Panic surged as I banged against the doors, the dull thud of my fists swallowed by the dense air. I grabbed a magazine rack and swung it against the glass, desperation driving my arms. The rack clattered to the floor, its metal legs bending uselessly, but the doors didn’t even crack.

Gasping, I turned back to the coffee machine, my heart pounding in my ears. Its surface reflected only the dimly lit store now, empty and still, as if nothing had ever been wrong. But the silence wasn’t clean; it carried an edge, a tension strung tight like an invisible wire.

The radio crackled suddenly, the static from earlier flipping through fractured bursts of sound. Voices rose and fell, overlapping incoherently until they steadied, just for a moment. A smooth, familiar voice emerged mid-line, carrying a haunting resonance that prickled along my spine.

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

In that moment, the store stretched around me, aisles elongating into infinite corridors of fluorescent-lit limbo. My reflection watched with patient understanding as reality peeled away like old wallpaper, revealing the void beneath. The last thing I saw before the world inverted was my own face, watching from behind the glass, eyes filled with a horror I would soon learn to understand.

Then I was nothing. Not darkness - darkness requires eyes to perceive it. Not silence - silence needs ears to notice its weight. I became an absence, a space between thoughts in a mind that no longer existed. Perhaps I floated there for eons, or for the length of a single heartbeat. Perhaps I had always been there, would always be there, in that infinite moment between being and becoming. Time has no meaning here. Until it does. 

—

Reality flickered back like a fluorescent bulb catching current, starting with the soft whisper of automatic doors. And suddenly there I was, watching myself walk in with tired eyes and trembling hands, moving with hesitation. Christmas lights hung in the same uneven pattern, their strands drooping where tape had surrendered to gravity. The same burnt out bulbs. The fog on the windows softened their glow into the same muted pastels I remembered. The magazine rack I'd hurled at the glass lay undisturbed in its place, metal legs unbent, covers glossy under the fluorescent lights. The windows showed no sign of my desperate attempts to break them. It was as if none of it had happened.

Or perhaps it hadn't happened yet…

I looked toward the counter where I’d seen the abandoned name tag, the swaying chair. There had never been anyone there, I realized now—not tonight. Not any night. I watched myself scan the empty store, remembering how wrong everything felt in that first moment. My hands pressed against the cold surface of the coffee machine, desperate to warn, to prevent what was coming. But like all the others trapped here, I could only follow the script written in time itself. Powdered donuts, Advil, coffee.

I tilted my head, intrigued by the figure approaching, the way her movements carried the weight of something unresolved. I’d seen myself countless times in reflections, but this was different. It was me—my face, my body—alive and moving, untethered from the glass. A rush of fascination gripped me, a strange, giddy curiosity at seeing myself from this side. My breath caught as our eyes met, and for a moment, I simply stared, taking in the contours of a face I knew so intimately yet had never truly seen. I couldn’t help it—I smiled, a quiet, absurd acknowledgment of the moment. The ridiculousness of seeing myself, real and tangible, yet out of reach, tugged at the corners of my mouth like a private joke only I could understand.

The basket slipped, powdered donuts rolling across the linoleum, leaving trails of dust. I pressed closer to my side of the surface, my palm trailing against the cold, smooth barrier as I leaned in.

I watched as I took an involuntary step forward, my movement mirroring mine, both of us caught in the same gravitational pull I remembered all too well. Desperation tingled at the edges of my thoughts—I wanted to warn myself, to break through the glass with something louder than my helpless smile. But the absurdity of it lingered, that same hollow truth whispering that I’d already tried—and failed—before.

A whispered "Hello?" vibrated through the metal between us. I tried to speak, to warn, but my words dissolved into nothingness. When I dragged my fingers across the surface, they left trails in the condensation—proof that I existed here, in this impossible space behind the glass, where warm breath could still meet cold metal. I looked at how the droplets floated against an invisible barrier from my new perspective. Then I looked up sharply, meeting eyes that still held questions I now knew the answers to.

Behind me, countless versions of myself pressed against the boundaries of their reflections; their presence hummed like static electricity against my skin. Their horror, fascination, and acceptance rippled through me like emotions I had already felt or was yet to feel. The air grew thick as reality folded around me. The fluorescent lights above flickered in a rhythm that felt like language, shadows bending and twisting against the edges of the store. Soon, I would join the reflections again, another fragment in the endless choreography of fractured time.

I wondered if anything truly existed beyond these doors anymore. If somewhere, beyond this pocket of frozen time, Mom's kitchen light actually burned—its warm glow cutting through the predawn darkness like it always had, like it always should. If she was still waiting, moving between window and oven in an eternal rhythm, for a Christmas morning that would never quite reach dawn. If any morning still existed at all.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 8: Sensory Deprivation

(Disclaimer: neither of the characters in this story belong to me. Both Phantom and Bones are the property of Nathan Sharp/Give Heart Productions.)

(Trigger Warnings: implications of illegal business, implied chronic pain, mentions of death/dying, descriptions of water/floating, skin-flaying, exposed bones, blood, similarities to an out-of-body experience, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Out of habit, Bones cracked his knuckles as he wandered down the hall. 

He had no idea why he’d developed aforementioned habit; it wasn’t exactly uncommon for his joints to crack with enough volume that you’d expect them to start glowing in the dark. Then again, he’d had more than enough time to learn how to tune out those noises. Even when he found himself in areas that managed to be eerily quiet.

Like this one, for instance. 

A decent amount of time had passed since coworkers and customers alike had vacated the club. All the lights had been turned off. Now, had Bones still been fully alive, that would’ve caused problems (mainly him getting an excuse to fuck up someone else’s night due to tripping over the decor a few too many times). However, Bones was not fully alive. Death was strange—yes, it took a lot of things away, but for whatever reason, it also ended up having a few things to give. 

Not like that made it any better, mind you. 

Having supernaturally heightened senses didn’t make up for having fragmented memories, for having to operate under a nasty mixture of exhaustion and restlessness, for having to know that you’re part of the proof that something is fundamentally wrong with the world—

“Boooones,” a familiar voice called from elsewhere in the building. “While I always appreciate lurking for dramatic effect, I don’t have all night.” 

“. . .Yeah, because you’ve never taken your sweet damn time on things,” Bones snapped back, knowing that his terse tone wouldn’t hide how he’d flinched. 

“Touch’e, but that’s only when I know I can get away with it,” Phantom replied, sounding much closer than he actually was. “C’mon, you’re gonna want to see this.” 

Bones rolled his eyes, but still turned on his heel and started traipsing in the direction of the sound. “Sure I am.”

  Despite there still being a few good employers out there, any relationship between worker and boss would always be just a tad strange. Especially if the boss in question was an outer monstrosity in disguise.

While Bones didn’t exactly fear Phantom—as a revenant, Bones was typically one to be feared—he still knew better than to just let his guard down around him. He wasn’t about to try calling himself a saint, but seeing some of the things Phantom had done to “take care of business” made him a bit relieved that he couldn’t sleep anymore. Other times, Phantom’s eccentricities just got on his nerves.

Bones knew things could’ve been much, much worse. Yeah, it was a complete and total bitch to have hollow pain thriving inside him like a colony of parasites, but part of him still understood that he was making the best of his circumstances. 

Eventually, Bones found himself behind the bar counter, facing the huge cabinet that had been built into the entire fourth wall of this room. He paused, having to dig through the duffel bag of stuff he’d been instructed to bring tonight. It only took a few muttered profanities to convince said bag to let him fish out a silver key: its bow was adorned by a picture of a flower with an eyeball in the center of its petals.

Bones ran his fingers along the bottom of the center shelf, quickly finding a well-hidden hole that the key’s biting cuts fit perfectly into. A loud CLACK rang through the empty room as he turned the key to one side, prompting the cabinet to perform an amateur recreation of The Red Sea. The organized collection of bottles rattled on their shelves, but not a single one went shattering to the floor. 

Bones hovered in the familiar, freshly-revealed hollow doorway. It wasn’t imposing to him; he’d done this at least a hundred times by now. This hidden staircase was just so fucking steep. He knew for an absolute certainty that it would be impossible to run up or down it without tripping on one step and bashing your head against another. 

Dull pain flared around his ankles and raced up to his kneecaps. Bones ground his jaw, putting a deathgrip on the railway as he began descending. The halves of the cabinet reconnected behind him, but that didn’t leave him in total darkness. Colorful light flickered at the bottom of the stairs, casting shadows that danced similarly to those of a fire. They seemed to be trying to reach up along the steps. . .

Though he didn’t stop walking, Bones felt his hackles raise. They didn’t lower when he realized that soft music was slithering into the air. 

The club’s basement was in a state of functional chaos. Chests and crates that came in a plethora of sizes almost outlined the room, stacked on top of one another and pushed up against the walls. It always felt like there was a different amount each time Bones had to venture down here. (It also wasn’t one of Bones’ responsibilities to keep track of them all. He’d already learned the hard way that you couldn’t just open them.) 

He immediately discovered Phantom in the center of the room, his trademark claw-handled cane softly thudding against the floor as he paced around. . .something.

The unfamiliar object seemed to be eight feet long and four feet wide. It was coated in a silver finish, shaped similarly to a snake’s egg. The top half of it hung in the air, supported by simple hinges on either side. It glowed from the inside with that same color-shifting light. It was the source of the music, too. Bones’ instincts told him that those gentle notes were being produced by whatever was in there. Like a monster’s voice echoing from the bottom of a well. 

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Bones called, feeling his brow furrow as he loomed by the foot of the stairs. 

Phantom came to a halt on one side of the glowing object, turning his head to offer a cryptic smile. “I sent a message about having something in store for you earlier this week, didn’t I?”

“The novel-text you sent me was just rambling about how I needed to keep your clients in line because you’d be busy rearranging the reality in this part of the building,” Bones replied pointedly. 

Phantom clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “This is a sensory deprivation tank. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about them by now.”

“I have,” Bones argued, “but unless you’ve cooked up some weird plan to turn this place into a spa, I’m not sure why we suddenly need one.”

Phantom beckoned Bones to come closer. “I mean, what we calculated as your deathday is coming up.” His grin slightly widened to showcase how his teeth were slowly but surely becoming sharper. “And I’d be a real jackass if I didn’t get you a present, right?”

Bones scoffed as he wandered over, hoping his aggravation would mask his reluctance. He made sure to keep some distance from Phantom, standing by the opposite side of the tank. “Not like that would stop you from being a jackass every other day.”

“Meh, fair point,” Phantom confessed. “But don’t worry, I won’t say I told you so after you see how great this thing is.” He reached up to pat the tank’s lid as though it was the hood of some snazzy car. This helped Bones finally realize that the tank’s exterior wasn’t smooth. Rather, it was covered in symbols that looked like animalistic mouths and eyes. He couldn’t tell whether they’d been carved into or sculpted onto the original material.

Before he could stop himself, Bones peered at the tank’s interior.

His stomach immediately sank. 

The color wasn’t beaming from a light further inside. No, the tank’s liquid itself glimmered. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve assumed that a bunch of bathbombs had just dissolved in there (and that the combination of all their colors miraculously wasn’t reduced to some ugly shade of brown). 

The liquid also looked fresh,  clean. And while that wouldn’t be something to complain about. . .it meant that Bones could see the bottom of the tank. The longer he stared, the more the tank just seemed to keep going down, down, down into a gaping black pit. Even with how far away it appeared, it still looked so much larger than the tank itself. 

“Pretty sure these things are only supposed to hold ten inches of water,” he muttered, unable to take his eyes away from the hole. 

“First of all, the stuff in there isn’t water,” Phantom casually mentioned. “Second of all, that capacity is only the standard for the tanks that humans use.”

Bones’ neck gave a sickening cRiIiCk as he turned his head to stare at Phantom. “. . .If that stuff isn’t water, then what the fuck is it?”

Phantom shrugged. “Not important.”

“I’m inCLINED TO DISAGREE.” 

“There’s no hydrochloric acid in the elixir,” Phantom tried. At the way Bones snarled, he continued, “And even if there was, you know it wouldn’t kill you.” 

“That doesn’t mean it couldn’t hurt me in a way that might make my limbo even worse!”

“I never said anything about hurting.” Phantom sighed. “Look, as much as I’d love to infodump, I literally can’t tell you how I managed to whip it up. It’s just one of those types of knowledge that only certain species can process.”

“Oh, so you think calling me an idiot in a roundabout way is just gonna reassure me?!”

“Hey.” Phantom growled, a newly-forked tongue flicking out of his mouth. His voice seemed to grow, as the air now shook when he spoke. “It’s not my fault that so much shit doesn’t make sense. I didn’t write the rules for these kinds of things. I could’ve used the past few days and nights to get plenty of other shit done, but instead, I focused on building this because I wanted to try and help you out.” He took a single step forward, thin columns of smoke beginning to drift out of his eyes. “So don’t put any fucking words in my mouth, alright?”

Bones’ mouth opened and closed with nothing coming out. While the eye-vapor didn’t actually float near him, the smell still had quite a bite to it. Not to mention how it made his throat feel like sandpaper. He subconsciously straightened his back, though he was still stubborn enough to keep grimacing. He dipped his head for just a second or two to get the point across: Fine, I get it, you can stop emitting surreal dread now. 

Phantom responded with a short, low hum. The smoke stopped pouring as he blinked. “Anyway,” he pronounced. “There’s a reason sensory deprivation therapy is such a hot topic. Several reasons, in fact: at first, it was thought to just help with psychological problems. Now, it’s been proven to have plenty of physical benefits, too.” 

“Thanks for the reminder that I have a lot of problems in general,” Bones snorted. “But like you just said: that stuff applies to tanks made for humans. So what does that mean for this tank?”

“It means,” Phantom replied, exasperation seeping into his mischievous calm, “that this tank will work even better than the ones made for humans. Because I’ve designed it to give its user an experience that human bodies can’t handle.”

“It’s kinda impossible to list all the things humans can’t handle.” Bones glanced back down into the tank. The dark cavity at the bottom seemed to be stirring the liquid all around it. The odd, subtle movement almost resembled breathing. 

And yet. . .a voice in his rotten mind started begging him to touch the elixir, to dive into the tank headfirst. Another voice popped up, snidely quoting, This is my hole! It was made for me! (It made more sense than the vibes the tank was giving off, since manga was one of the few things that actually didn’t frustrate Bones these days.)

“What makes this experience so special?” Bones inquired before any vague euphemisms could barge their way into the strange compulsion.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself,” Phantom answered. “I’ve already given it a test run, but I’m pretty sure it can’t have the exact same effect on whoever else uses it.” 

“Wow. That’s not concerning at all. This sounds so damn promising,” Bones deadpanned. 

“Oh, c’mon! It’s functioning safely!” Phantom contended, slightly throwing up his arms. “Think, Bones: you’re my right-hand. Why would I want to hurt one of the most capable people on my payroll?” 

“Why are you obsessed with harvesting the souls of your contractors?” Bones retorted. “You pretty much never have a reason to do something, but that doesn’t exactly stop you.” 

“You’re just complimenting my work ethic, y’know,” Phantom smirked. 

Bones huffed an agitated sigh, feeling the bags under his eyes actively grow wider and darker. A splintery sensation stabbed into his brain (a tiny part of his skull had probably tried to cave in).  

Phantom tilted his head, taking a few steps closer. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Don’t you remember the voodoo dolls we started selling last year?”

“How could I forget?” Bones murmured, holding back a shudder at the images of Phantom’s body contorting in time with that first test doll. 

“Well, those have proven to be pretty good painkillers for you, right?”

“. . .Right,” Bones relented. 

Phantom nodded. “That’s what this tank is meant to be. Another type of painkiller for you.” By now, his demeanor had returned to its usual levels of smug and shit-eating. But Bones was quick to spot something else in Phantom’s eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t seem malevolent. “I’ve adjusted the tank’s settings; your session will only be fifteen minutes long. Plenty of time for you to see how you like it without feeling trapped. Just try it out, okay?”

Bones felt his lip start to bleed before he’d even began chewing it. He paced around the tank, inspecting every part of it that was in eyeshot. There was no lock on the top half, no hidden compartments anywhere. The only parts of it that didn’t look normal were its depth and that chasm. . .

Then again, Phantom was a chaos deity. Bones was the living dead. Normal wasn’t really an option for anything that involved either of them.

“Fine,” Bones eventually proclaimed. “But if this does end up doing something I don’t like—”

“There’s only so much you can do to me, and even that won’t stick,”  Phantom interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

As he spun his cane in his hands, his skin started burning from the inside. . .Well, it quickly ended up burning on the outside, too, since flames erupted from his eyes and mouth. The fire enveloped Phantom, then spent the next few seconds coiling around in the air. At least twenty eyes stared at Bones. Bones stared right back, folding his arms across his chest. Leave it to Phantom to go apeshit with dramatic exits. 

The monstrous display surged up through the ceiling, leaving an assortment of blisters to spread along the paint. Even after it completely vanished, that still didn’t stop Phantom from calling, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”  

And with that, Bones was suddenly alone in the club’s basement. His ears rang as he paced a few more laps around the tank, still searching for any threats. Or, his ears tried to ring, at least. That soft music crawled through the tank’s liquid and up into the air. He still had no idea what could be producing it, but he couldn’t deny how...grounding it felt. 

Having cameras down here would’ve just been a complete idiot-move on Phantom’s part. Still, Bones retreated to the darkest corner of the basement, dragging his duffel bag along. A couple minutes passed before he trudged back over, letting the tank’s glow stretch over him and the bleach-dye trunks he was now wearing. 

Bones stood before the tank, pursing his lips, giving it one more tense stare. When the tank failed to reveal itself to be a mimic or spontaneously combust, he carefully lowered himself to sit on the lower rim. He instinctively grit his teeth, bracing himself as his feet dropped into the elixir with a soft splash. 

He didn’t touch the bottom of the tank, obviously. The elixir seemed to softly churn around his legs. It felt. . .just like water. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot, either. Bones gave a few experimental kicks. Ripples were sent shivering throughout the tank, but that was pretty much it. It didn’t start boiling. No swarms of piranhas manifested. 

After a few more seconds, Bones finally barked a resounding, “Fuck it.” He reached up to grab hold of the tank’s top half, pulling it closed over him as he pushed himself off the rim. 

Due to no longer needing air in his lungs, Bones didn’t automatically float like a human would. Despite all the things he’d forgotten about his former life, the basic necessity of swimming clung to his mind like a stubborn leech. He stared down at the chasm so far beneath him. The chasm stared right back, not really contributing unless you counted whatever creature could potentially be lurking in its darkness.

The music got a bit louder, now that it was more contained, but it somehow didn’t bounce along the tank’s ceiling. 

Curiosity wormed its way into Bones’ paranoia. He swam a few laps around the tank’s perimeter, still testing, still waiting. The thought of circling like a shark made him feel a bit more secure, a bit more in control. 

Even so, he eventually got bored of it. 

If he wanted to see what this tank could actually do for him, then he’d have to stay relatively still.

So, Bones paddled into the center of the elixir. 

He maneuvered himself onto his back, letting his arms unfurl and reach toward nothing. 

He let his head roll back. And as he felt the elixir filter into his hair and creep around the corners of his face. . .he realized how the music felt solid. Tangible. 

As though it and the elixir’s ever-changing color were part of a living mass. 

Bones swallowed a lump in his throat. He’d sink if he stayed like this, but he wouldn’t drown. He could always just swim back up to the surface. 

His dry, sore eyes drifted shut as the elixir washed over his skin. He just barely felt the cool air disappear. 

But his vision didn’t turn black. He could still see the colors of the elixir.

As a matter of fact, he saw a blurry shape somewhere in the tank. 

Bones immediately wanted to panic, to start thrashing his way up to the surface. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was listen to the music and watch the shape as it got closer and clearer. . .

Bones’ mind didn’t turn blank when he realized that the shape was himself, that he was somehow looking down on his own body as it kept capsizing. At first, his anger and fear threatened to make his head explode (mainly to spite Phantom, since having to clean bits of brain and skull out of the tank would not be very fun). It felt like at least an hour had passed before confusion finally attempted to take center-stage. Though he saw his eyes refuse to open, he also saw himself grind his jaw, saw himself carefully wave his arms. 

Bones was still in control. He was just. . .having to watch. 

He expected his spine to take the drifting as an excuse to contort. He expected his lungs to shake with a chorus of awful snaps and pops. He expected his abdomen to start bloating like that of an actual drowning victim. 

Nothing like that happened.

The music wasn’t letting any of those things happen. 

The music didn’t give him a chance to start questioning what this meant.

The 

Music 

Was

The

Only

Thing

He

Could

Feel 

There was no pain or panic as the music actively crept into Bones’ head. It was lapping at his skull, oozing down his spine, spreading along his ribcage. 

The numbness was, miraculously enough, a good kind of numbness. 

Bones wanted to swim, to move along in time with the music’s notes. But the music told him that he needed to stay still right now, that things would be easier if he did. So, he obeyed.

The elixir must have wanted to obey the music, too. Because, right as Bones’ body got within five feet of the chasm. . .he stopped sinking. 

The thought of opening his eyes barely even occurred to him. He could still see himself. And even if he couldn’t, he was still listening to the music. As long as the music kept playing, nothing bad would happen. He was sure of that. 

The elixir began to churn, but Bones remained perfectly still. 

Thin lacerations began opening up on his skin. They started at his fingers, then proceeded to grow longer and longer. They stretched over his hands, up his arms, around his neck, over his face and chest. (This wasn’t really anything new, but for the very first time, there was no stinging sensation for Bones to wince or hiss at.)

The spreading cuts grew deeper and deeper, prompting Bones’ blood to begin seeping out and leaving misty trails in the elixir. It almost looked black against all the colors. It didn’t drift up to the surface. Instead, the blood glided around Bones like a school of tiny fish. 

Once the gashes managed to carve themselves over every square-inch of his body, now resembling a network of tree roots, Bones’ skin began to twitch. Almost like a hangnail, a corner of skin lifted away from the tip of Bones’ index finger. That particular strand became longer and wider as it continued peeling itself off in a spiral. This set off a chain reaction: more and more sections of flesh shivered as they detached. Blood was now spilling out in clouds that nearly hid the entire scene. 

But Bones could still see everything. 

Threads of skin started slithering off of his face. Even as his eyes were forced open due to their lids peeling away, his perspective didn’t change. 

The music was still keeping him company, so he didn’t start thrashing or screaming.

It took a little over five minutes for his skeleton and organs to be rendered bare. His blood continued circling around him in a lazy whirlpool, but his skin apparently had other ideas. One by one, the fleshy strands moved downward, wavering like eels as they vanished into the darkness of the chasm. 

Bones almost felt like he was asleep. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept.

Had his heart just twitched? Were his intestines shuffling? 

He couldn’t be sure, because as he kept staring, the gore slowly grew blurrier, fading in and out of eyeshot. . .

Far too quickly, the music came to a halt. The new silence only lasted for a second or two. Then, a low, buzzing alarm droned into Bones’ ears.  

A loud gasp tore its way from Bones’ throat as he sat up, kicking his legs and thrashing his arms. He blinked, watching as the tank’s lid drifted open above him with a soft, electronic hummmm.

Air collided against his skin, feeling cool considering how he was soaked in the elixir. 

Bones froze, immediately reaching up to touch his face and neck, craning his neck to look at his torso. All of his skin had returned to its rightful place. One top of that. . .he couldn’t see any bruises or scabs or leaking cuts. 

The pleasant numbness was gone. He scowled; a headache was just starting to blossom beneath the bridge of his nose. 

But it wasn’t on-par with a migraine. 

In fact, it was nearly overshadowed by how. . .clean Bones was now realizing he felt. 

He didn’t feel healthy (he was dead, after all), but the feeling of a hot shower and a deep-tissue massage combined. . .it was enveloping him.

Inside and out. 

Bones’ expression shifted so quickly he almost got whiplash. 

He stayed floating for another moment.

Then, he clambered onto the tank’s rim, heading for the basement stairs, not caring one bit how he was dripping and leaving wet footprints everywhere. 

He needed Phantom to show him how to adjust the tank’s settings. 

He needed to spend some more time in there. He needed to have another session—he needed to have at least one hour-long session per day. . .

@that-bat @sammys-magical-au @ineedallofthehugs @th3w00ds @captainrose35 @nwtbobsessedemo