#look at his hair. frizzy and frazzled.

[likesummerrainn]

[bloodmoonmuses]

come back to me | mark lee

summary: your boyfriend, mark, drunkenly recounts the day the two of you met. (mostly to prove to haechan and johnny that love does, in fact, exist. even in the most unlikely of places.)

genre: mark lee x reader, established relationship kinda... but, like, also a meet cute? young love and all that jazz lol

It’s cold outside, the beginnings of winter trickling in with bitter fervor, yet you’re warm. Or rather, being warmed by the illusion of heat that courses through your veins: liquid courage. Now on your second bottle of soju, your form feels pliant, watery even, as you sway in the wind of your friends’ joy. 

In a booth (the leather of which is crackling at the seams) that forms a sort of semi circle, sits you, Mark, Johnny and Haechan. The wooden table before you is littered in plastic shot “glasses” and fried chicken wings that have been picked clean, and the bar is quite lively despite it nearing one in the morning. You lie your head against Mark’s shoulder, lost in the feeling of his muscles tensing and relaxing repeatedly beneath it.

“You good?” Mark whispers to you, shimming slightly as if to jostle a response out of you.

The words that escape your mouth feel fuzzy on your tongue, staticky around the edges. “Never been better.”

For some reason, the night has taken a nostalgic turn, fueled by the alcohol in everyone’s system. Haechan and Johnny have been arguing about their love lives for the better part of an hour. It never fails to amuse you how much they like bickering simply for the sake of it. You tuned out about ten minutes ago when Haechan brought up Johnny’s commitment issues only to be met with a rebuttal about him using humor as a coping mechanism. Both comments clearly strike a nerve in the men respectively, deciding to psychoanalyze their exes in chronological order in an attempt to disprove the validity of one another's assertions. 

“I don’t like that we can’t make fun of Mark right now,” Johnny confesses when he’s finished talking about an ex who turned out to be a closeted sasaeng, turning his attention to you and Mark.

Haechan scrunches his nose, gazing upon you as well. “Look at you two… All cozied up- it’s disgusting.”

“Hey man,” Mark starts, “don’t blame me for the lack of love in your life.” You punctuate his declaration with a kiss on the cheek, giddy and lovey-dovey in your drunken state. “See?” 

Johnny pretends to gag.

“How’d you meet anyway?” Haechan asks, “-so I can avoid any scenario involving… that.”

“Mark hasn’t told you the story in, like, excruciating detail?” you scoff. “He’s told everyone.”

Haechan shakes his head. 

“Oh God, don’t get him started,” Johnny groans. Mark sits upright, effectively knocking your head off of his shoulder, ecstatic with the chance to relay the way you met each other in its sappy glory.

“Spring,” Mark starts. “I was seventeen, so I had just debuted a year before, and-”

The cherry blossoms. They were stunning, you remember. Glistening and quivering under the weight of all the raindrops that had accumulated on them. The sheen of puddles scattered on the roads and sidewalks... You took the bus to work, a little cafe job you worked while finishing up your requirements at the international school you attended, and during that time of year, those bus rides were some of the most peaceful times in your day to day life. 

You think back to your youth, bright eyes aged only seventeen years, and how the world then seemed filled to brim with possibility. One day in particular, a chilly one towards the end of spring, you remember watching Mark enter the bus, his boyishness evident in his untied shoelaces and clunkily carried guitar case. On his back was a spiderman backpack, you remember vividly, and his hair is frizzy from how light he’s bleached it. He comes off a bit frazzled as you watch him stumble into a seat, precariously balancing a flimsy pair of headphones on his head, and settle in it with his knees bent. 

Once he’s gathered his bearings, he takes off his backpack and retrieves a notebook and pen, placing it on his knees, and begins to write frantically- like if he doesn't put pen to paper in this exact nanosecond, the idea will leave and never return. In a world of sloth and languidness, you’re fascinated by his urgency. You take off your own headphones to hear how he sounds in the context of silence, it is seven in the morning after all, and it only draws you in further. The scratching of the pen against the paper, orchestrated by the humming that just barely escapes his lips lulling you into a state of hypnosis.

Periodically, he furrows his brows, tries out a different melody, then writes some more- over and over again, until the pattern becomes more fluid. More succinct. Like the beginnings of a fully fledged song. He’s smiling now, and you find yourself unknowingly mirroring his joy, the fuzziness of it spreading up your neck like a campfire consuming its kindling. You’re enraptured. 

You want to live inside his head. What a superpower to have; to breathe life into written language. And then suddenly, he’s stuffing his notebook into his backpack as quickly as he had taken it out. His stop must be coming up soon, you had thought to yourself. 

After putting his feet back on the ground, he gingerly places his palms against the bus window- as if to test its temperature. When deemed cool enough, he exhales against the glass, quickly etching a heart onto its foggy surface with a squeak. His fingers are calloused, that much you can tell even from across the bus, and he’s tired- if the bags under his eyes are any indication. Then, the bus crawls to a stop, and he stands. Again, you’re mirroring him instantly, body moving before your mind can catch up. It’s not your stop, yours is another three down, but you exit nonetheless, too enthralled by the boy in front of you to let him out of your sight.

You walk about a block, maintaining about a ten foot distance between the two of you, and watch him hobble down the sidewalk with his huge guitar case. He grunts occasionally, adjusting and readjusting his baggage when the weight becomes too much, humming all the while. Until, of course, he turns around, tearing the headphones off of his head, and asks, “Are you following me?!” in a frustrated huff. 

You stop in your tracks. Oh wait, you had thought, you are sorta following him. Well, the cafe is in this direction technically but-

“You’re not one of those people with a fansite, are you? Look, dude, I know we debuted last year, but I want a normal life just like-”

“I’m not a fan. I mean, not yet, I guess. Well- no. I was just… I’m not following you. Mostly.” you stammer. 

Mark scratches his head. “Then, what are you doing…?”

“You were writing a song on the bus,” you look at the ground, staring at your shoes in search of some solace, reprieve from the then stranger’s prying eyes. How did you think this would turn out any other way? “I thought maybe, you could… sing it. Like, out loud.”

Mark sighs. “Look, dude, I have practice and-”

“Right. I’m sorry for being weird, you just looked… Nevermind. Have a nice day- sorry to bother you.” You turn on your heels, in the complete opposite of the cafe you’re supposed to be going to, and make a break for it. As you trek up the hill, you shatter your reflection over and over again, the splashing of puddles beneath your feet the only sound tethering you to reality. 

“It’s not finished-” Mark starts, voice cutting through the rustling leaves and bustling city with piercing clarity.  You’re frozen, still facing away from the hypnotist behind you. “-but I could show you the idea. Because that’s what it is right now. Just an idea.”

You turn to face him. “Um. Sure. If that’s okay.”

Haechan interjects Mark’s storytelling, words warbling from his completion of a third bottle of soju for the night. “No way you actually sat down and played the song for-”

“Shh!” Johnny says, “This is the best part.”

“See, I knew you secretly loved this mushy-gushy stuff,” you say. 

Mark giggles. “So, like I was saying-”

You sit on a bench freckled cherry blossom petals and just-dried droplets of dew, knee bouncing nervously when Mark plops down beside you. Mark sets his guitar case down, flat in front of him, and opens it. Retrieving his notebook from his backpack once again, he places it on your lap, surprisingly enough. Wordlessly, he puts his guitar in his lap, throwing the strap over his neck and shoulders, and cranes his neck to re-familiarize himself with his feverishly scrawled ideas. Just before he strums the first note, he says, “Just an idea. Keep that in mind.”

Then he sings. A mix and hesitant laments of love lost, then found, yearning for the past, but hopeful for the future. But other words are not words at all. They’re more, like, messily sung runs. Like he’s sketching lightly, so he can erase later. He’s got a hook. He sings it three times, and the way his Adam's apple bobbles is now permanently etched in your mind. When he’s done, he opens his eyes slowly, assessing the damage done. He almost looks surprised that you’re still sitting there.

You whisper, voice whisked away in the gentle breeze, “I never asked your name.”

“Mark. Just Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, ‘Just Mark’.”

“What do you think? How do you feel?” Two entirely different questions, both of which hit your ear in a way that makes your stomach leap- or maybe it’s the gravelly timbre of his voice and unsure eyes.

“Good,” Mark’s eyes spur you on further, silently asking you to elaborate, “The song sounds good and I feel good.”

“Is that the only adjective you know? ‘Good’?”

“I know a lot of adjectives. I’m just… nervous. So, yeah.”

Mark grabs his notebook and returns it to his backpack, packing up his guitar as well. As he stands to leave, he turns and says, “Your name.”

“What?”

“You never told me your name.”

“_______,” you reply meekly.

“And your hand,” he urges, “give it to me.” You extend your arm and Mark delicately grasps your wrist. Then, Mark nervously scrawls his number on your palm, pen digging into your skin slightly. 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

“If you have any thoughts beyond it being ‘good’, gimme a call.” And just like that, he’s gone, running down the hill to make it to practice on time.

As Mark ends his retelling of events with a wistful hum, Haechan chortles. “Yeah. You two disgust me.”

[hellfireloserclub]

Oscar the grouch

Written for June's @steddiemicrofic

Prompt:stuff.Word count 483.Rating G

“Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat? Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?” Eddie sang as he danced around the living room, Oscar crying his eyes out in his arms.

Steve wasn't sure what it was he had walked into, or why his son was currently wailing at the top of his voice. But he was truly living up to his nickname of grouch.

Eddie looked frazzled and three seconds away from joining the frizzy haired tot in his breakdown. It was easy to forget that this was Eddie’s first time doing this whole parenting thing, he got on so well with Layla it was easy to forget that it was his first rodeo. Mostly Steve's husband ( it still sounded weird to say that) was taking it in his stride, one dirty diaper at a time.

But Oscar was every bit Eddie’s son, and the last few weeks of teething had shown that the kid had well and truly found his lungs.

Steve was still unnoticed as he watched from the doorway, take out bag still in hand.

Picking up the stuffed octopus from the sofa where it lay, Eddie waved it around pointing out all the accumulated nik naks lining the shelves of their busy and cluttered living space .

“Look at this trove. Treasures untold. How many wonders can one cavern hold?” Eddie sang, nearly knocking the Grammy off the mantle in his enthusiasm.

Not that it would matter if it broke. the other Grammy, one they shared, was currently being used as a doorstop in the recording studio, since Rincewind the cat had decided to start locking himself in there when they weren't looking. Stupid feline had almost written off Steve's stratocaster, and it had killed at least two of the fancy laptops.

Eddie was finally winning in his war with his mini self. Oscar had simmered to gulping air, bottom lip wobbling but no tears now fell down his freckled face. One chubby fist had twisted itself in Eddie's curls and the other was reaching for the shiny metal in his dad’s bottom lip.

Oscar really liked shiny things.

Eddie's wedding ring had been dropped down the toilet only the other week, it took Steve and Wayne ages to get it back out the pipe.

It now sat on a chain around Eddie's neck, safe from little fingers wanting to recreate Gollum's fate.

Sensing that he was on to a winner, Eddie got louder with his singing.

“I want to be where the people are-”

“That's a lie, you hate people.” Steve said as he made his presence known.

Both man and child's heads turned in unison. A smile cracking both faces.

“I like you.” Eddie said, walking over Oscar grabbing onto Steve as soon as he got near.

Eddie pressed a kiss into Steve's temple as he passed off their son.

“I'm not people, I'm your husband.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 77

Part 1 Part 76

He’s growing – Steve can feel it eating away at the pathways in his brain. He can almost feel the way the connections drop, making way from something else, something more. It’s like he wants Steve to be able to see the paths he’s carving out of his brain so he can.

They’re dark, and winding, and there’s nothing in there at all. Steve’s being hollowed out, for a holy purpose he can’t quite grasp, but he can feel it, coiled cold and hard in the back of his skull, waiting to give him his own divine prophecy. When the time’s right. 

But the time’s not right, and he’s lost in the tunnels of his mind, winding fast, fast, fast through corridors he doesn’t recognize. 

It’s like, double vision. He’s looking at Eddie sitting beside him, twirling his frizzy hair in front of his mouth, but it’s dark, too, and the tunnels are winding. Winding, and empty until they’re not.

It’s not until he sees the man that Steve wonders if he’s looking at something internal at all. Because there’s a man he doesn’t recognize walking inside them. He watches him stumble, he watches him fall. 

Steve doesn’t recognize the man. But, still. Something twists inside as he watches him collapse, He’s supposed to collapse. Steve knows, he can feel it.

But there’s still something pulling in his sternum. He can feel it, sometimes, when Eddie’s looking at him with big, sad eyes. He wants to wring the sadness straight out of him but can’t – he doesn’t know what’s wrong. 

“Something’s wrong.” he says, but he’s not sure if he means the man or the look in Eddie’s eyes, or the way he’s not sure where he is right now.

“What is it, honey?” 

The woman who says it looks frazzled from where she’s kneeling in front of him. He doesn’t know her, but she’s holding Will’s hand. He looks at Will, and his eyes match hers – both wide and worried and trained on him.

“There’s a man,” he says. There are vines circling the man’s wrists, legs, trailing up his neck. Steve rubs his own throat, esophagus convulsing in sympathy pain. And just for a second, there’s a flicker of that same man smiling down at him, settling something over his face, letting him breathe. 

“Where?” the woman asks, at the same moment Eddie asks, “who?” and reaches out his burning palm to clutch Steve’s knee. 

He turns back to Eddie. Eddie who’s touch burns straight through him, who he can feel pulling pulling pulling him in like he wants to incinerate him whole. Steve would let him. 

So, he ignores the woman’s question and focuses on the man. “I don’t know him,” Steve whispers. He’s not sure it’s true, he can still feel the way his warm hand had cradled Steve’s jaw as he breathed life back into him.

Eddie’s boring his gaze into him, like maybe he can scoop out the images and muddle through them on his own. “But he’s in trouble?” 

Steve nods.

The woman stands up with a grunt, hands braced on knees as hauls herself up. “I’ll try Hop again.”

The name twinges. “Hop, Hop, Hopper,” Steve murmurs, looking back down at Eddie’s hand on his knee like it’ll tell him what he’s thinking. Like it’ll make his brain work better.

“What about him?” Will asks quietly. He’s watching the woman pick up the phone, turning the numbers by rote. 

Steve doesn’t know Hopper, but there’s a man with a dirty name plate attached to his dirty chest that reads the same name. “The vines,” he starts, before stalling out, unsure of what to say. “They’ve– they’ve got him.”

Eddie sits up, squeezing Steve’s knee tight, the bite of his fingernails into burnt flesh aching. “Hopper’s who’s in trouble?”

He nods, and sits, watching Hopper struggle, watching Will and Eddie trade looks around him, watching the woman hang up the phone with a sigh.

“Where?” Eddie asks.

Steve doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, but it’s Eddie who’s asking, so he closes his eyes. He closes his eyes and focuses. “There’s dirt,” he says, “and vines, and—” 

There’s nothing else. No discernable features of the landscape he both can and cannot see, but he’s squinting into his own mind hard enough that the back of his skull starts aching like it’s splitting open and that’s when he feels it: a pull.

It’s coming from the back of his head, like a migraine, aching at the join between his neck and skull. He lets his head sway with it, then points with the sway.

He closes his eyes, focuses on the man, and lets the pull take him. 

It’s like walking through purgatory – following the lines in his mind. He’s going the right way, can feel it just as surely as he can feel Eddie’s burning hand on his elbow and Will’s burning fingers on his ankles.  

He doesn’t open his eyes, just walks, and walks, until there’s nowhere to walk anymore.

It’s not until he stops that the implications of the pull yanking him down sink in. He wants to drop to his knees and scrabble at the ground with his nails. But he’s down too deep, and time’s running out. 

He opens his eyes and looks down. There’s a rotten pumpkin under his shoe, foot turning it to mush. Beneath that, there’s dirt. Dirt and vines. Steve points down to it, and looks up to meet Eddie’s worried eyes.

“He’s running out of time,” Steve says, watching both Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, and the way the man’s fingers are still flexing on the vine around his throat, keeping it at bay. 

“He’s down there?” the woman asks, unhelpful in her hysteria. 

Steve watches the reality unfurl in Eddie’s eyes and then looks down at the dirt beneath his feet and watches the man struggle.

People flit around him like ants. He doesn’t pay it any mind. Will and Eddie are here, and everything else is just killing time.

Part 78

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

[hastyprovocateur]

Well-Suited To Your Taste- Sevika×Seamstress

1.6k words

Tl/dr: Sevika gets begrudgingly fitted for a suit upon Silco's instruction, taking a shine to the seamstress

Tw: bondage, fingering, spanking

Sevika rasped cigar smoke from her lips, the streets barely thrumming. She stood waiting for it to die before she entered the swish boutique. It was late evening and a little past closing. The neon board above the awning glowed; in fancy letters it read: "The Vestiarium~ For the Well-Heeled"

Sevika stared at the glass display, mannequins sporting sharp, expertly stitched outfits. Some of the best you could acquire in Zaun. Or so Silco attested about his choice of dressmakers. He instructed, rather requested, her to consult them for a new outfit for an upcoming caucus.

Silco's deputy wasn't one to indulge appearances or care for expensive attire. If anything, her simple clothes helped divert attention away from herself. An edge in a fist fight or ambush. But the gathering was more for formal talk. An arena her strongest suits lay far outside of.

She flicked the butt of the cigarette in the ground, swinging into the shop as a bell tinkled above. Immediately, she felt out of place. There was a time, she could only peer inside into places like these, shooed away eventually with sticks, her grimy fingerprints being promptly wiped.

But not tonight

"Ah, hi! We're closed- OW" Sevika heard a crashing sound from somewhere inside the dimly lit shopfront. She stood her ground, rolling her neck and waiting for the store owner. Instead, out popped a woman. Small, bespectacled and frazzled as she massaged the knee she banged on her way out.

"I'm sorry, ma'am... we're-" her words cut off her eyes travelled up Sevika's tall, burly frame, gulping "Oh... Lieutenant..." she adjusted her glasses "How can I be of assistance?" she asked timidly. Sevika gave her a once over.

Her wavy hair were loosely knotted at the base of her neck, frizzy strands framing her face. Her simple shirt and skirt were trimmed by green ribbon, feet strapped in cuffed, rounded flats. She couldn't be beyond a mere tailor or sales clerk.

"I'm looking for the owner"

"He-he left the store to me. Said his wife has the chills so he's taking care of her. I was in the back clearing up after closing time. But it's no biggie! I just live upstairs, actually... pretty sweet gig if you ask me. You need not fret, I'm his assistant so I'm sure I can get you sorted-"

"I'll come by later"

Sevika turned to leave but felt an audacious grip on her elbow, yanking her back swiftly. Eyes bewildered, she stared down at the seamstress in shock. The lady seemed to belatedly catch onto what she's done. She released her immediately, scooting back with her hands melded.

"I'm so terribly sorry... its just... I can't let such a... high-value customer like you just leave..." she tucked some loose hair behind her ear "I'm new and I really want to do right by this job... if you tell me what you need... I will do my best to deliver" she proferred.

Sevika eyed her warily, sighing "I need a suit... someone said this is the place for it"

"Yes, of course... the Vestiarium. The one stop shop for the well-heeled" she smiled, cocking her head "A suit you say... do you have a colour and design in mind? An outline or... maybe you've taken a shine to one of our client's garb?" she asked.

Sevika shrugged "I don't know... I've never taken note of such things before"

"That's perfectly fine... I'll work it out for you. Let me take a look..." she moved with sprightly grace, touching her shoulder and tracing her fingers down to her elbow, taking in her muscular waist and the dip of her spine. She lifted Sevika's cybernetic arm slightly, glancing past her shoulders.

"Broad shoulders... beautiful neck... strong arms... long legs... fitted... lots of curves... would you prefer a dramatic, voguish look or simple and old school?" she asked and Sevika raised a brow "Your pick, love. As long as it's not a lot, it matters zilch to me"

"Oh, dear... what an exciting journey for me" the dressmaker blushed, readjusting her glasses and muttering "Short-sleeved shirt... cotton-linen... stitched into a... waistcoat... low... three buttons across... a cape blazer... high waisted pants with a boot cut... pockets, pockets, pockets"

She stood on her tippy toes, fingers barely grazing over Sevika's choker "a tie... with a clip on jewel?" she whispered "Unless you don't like being tied down..." Sevika gazed down at the seamstress' face "Long as its not too tight" she smiled jauntily.

The woman jerked back, late to realize what she was doing once again. "Ah... let me fetch the fabrics I have in mind. I'll be right back" she rushed off to one of the backrooms, fetching some rolls of cloth. She propped them against a chair and wheeled in a mirror "So... I envisioned you in..."

Unrolling a metre from each roll one by one, "This cotton with vicuña" she draped it across Sevika's shoulder "Dark... smooth... chocolate... with cream stripes... it's breathable... stretchy... easy to work in... and it looks lovely with your skin tone" she gulped as Sevika stared at her.

"I'll pair this with a cotton-linen blend white shirt... There's midnight plum and pure black in this suit fabric too. I-if you don't like this I can do more navies and greys too... perhaps a claret..." she turned to step away but felt Sevika's arm wrap hold her by the waist, pulling her back in.

"Are you purposely being this sweet with me or is it just part of your hospitality?" she asked and the seamstress turned pink, holding the fabric across her face to hide it "I'm just... doing my job... ma'am." Sevika released her promptly, composing herself in front of the mirror.

"The brown'll do" she finally said and the assistant nodded "Good choice! Great choice! Now time for accessories..." she wrung her hands, bringing over a choice selection of ties, buttons and tie clasps. She held up two ties "umber or navy?" she asked and Sevika pointed to umber.

"Hmm..." she studied the display trays "I'm going to pick the brass buttons with the Zaunite sigil and the guilded tiger tie clasp with amber eyes... is that okay?" she proposed, holding up her choices and Sevika smiled a little "Playing mind reader... are we?"

The tailor separated all of Sevika's selections, looking up at her "I think I... now know what you like..." she simply said, carting all the stuff away except the mirror. She brought a wooden stool in, setting it down before Sevika and fetching a measuring tape, notepad and pencil.

"Forgive me if I struggle a bit... I usually have someone to help..." she tucked the pencil behind her ear and held the notepad between her teeth, standing up on the stool. She gestured with a hand for Sevika to straighten up and look in the mirror as she began measuring her.

She stretched the tape across her chest, almost tripping from the edge of the stool but felt Sevika's hands hold her waist, steadying her. Her ears turned red but she lowered her head, powering through.

The circumference of her neck, arm, bicep... she cast the tape behind Sevika, noting the width of her back and shoulders, sizing her waist and stomach. The smoke from her cigar... boozy notes on her shirt and the scent of sandalwood and leather enveloped her, their faces inches apart.

The assistant struggled to focus, pulling the pencil and jotting down the numbers in her notebook. She felt Sevika's gaze burning through her skin, watching her leisurely yet intensely. Hopping off the stool, the seamstress kneeled, fingers slightly shaky as she measured from her hip to ankle, knee to ankle.

She took a deep breath, doing the inseam and brushing Sevika's crotch. "S-sorry" her voice broke and she feared looking up as she circled her knee, thigh and hip, measuring from near her hem across the taint and up her butt. She felt Sevika's groin muscles flex and quickly set the tape down, scribbling in her notepad.

She felt her heartbeat quicken, the page blurring before her eyes.

"You okay down there...?" Sevika asked in her husky voice and the seamstress froze, nodding microscopically. She felt Sevika's rough, warm fingers curl under her chin and lift her face "Can't say you're the first woman to kneel breathlessly before me..." she whispered.

"I'm just... doing my job..." the assistant uttered as Sevika snaked behind her head, loosening her hair, hand resting heavily on her shoulder, staring at her heaving chest. Sevika gently slipped her glasses down her nose "How about we take the hospitality upstairs...? In that nice, little bedroom of yours..." she proposed.

*

*

*

"Aaaah!" the seamstress screamed, eyes rolling back as she gripping the bedpost from where her hands were tied to it with her own panties. She saw Sevika's hand curling around her wrists, pounding her between the legs with her knee, her big body weighing down on her.

"Damn your clothes" she sat up, ripping up her underskirt completely and shoving it inside her as she whimpered, soaking through it all. Sevika stared at her spread legs, dress bunched up under her with her blouse and sleeves ripped to expose her breasts, body undulating, butt squeezing and begging for her.

She smiled wickedly, smacking her cheeks hard till they turned red with finger marks, tears sprouted from the woman's eyes. Sevika curled her arm under her belly, rubbing her sensitive bud and forcing her fingers inside her, pushing the mess of cloth deeper as she returned to pounding.

The seamstress' moans grew louder, face pressing into the sheets as she picked the pace up, thrusts steady and hard. "Is this too much for you?" Sevika asked, pinching her clitoris and forcing another finger inside her. The tailor shook her head, arching her back more. Sevika seemed impressed despite herself, tilting the woman's face "You'll go far..." she kissed her drooling lips.

"I'll make sure your business...

never dries up"

***

[danosrosegarden]

Haiiiii!! I’m happy you got requests open again! I’ve been loving the angel Eddie series! Eli my beloved would you be willing to do something cute and fluffy about taking Eddie on a date. I don’t think he’s ever been to a zoo or an aquarium and I love those places. So tl:dr Eddie and Reader going on a date to the zoo and them just being excited and happy to show him something innocent and fun

Some Sweet Day - Edward Nashton x GN!Reader

Contains: minor descriptions of anxiety, but mostly fluff!

Note: thank you for the request, Savvy! Eddie deserves some fun fluff, doesn't he? :-)

Maybe it was a mistake, bringing him here. His cheeks were dusted with an anxious crimson, and his grassy eyes darted around as groups of people walked by. Their mindless chatter was bouncing around his brain in a cymbal crash crescendo, you were sure of it by the way he grabbed onto your hand and held tight.

"It'll be fun!" you'd told Edward as you handed him his ticket into the zoo. But now, you were wondering if this really was a good idea at all. You were determined to make the broken child inside of his soul smile today.

You started in the jungle. The ground was slicked with murky mist. The lush green trees appeared empty at first, until a monkey with fiery locks of orange fur swung from an obscured pocket of bushy leaves.

"Look, Eddie, he's showing off for us," you laughed as the monkey tumbled from branch to branch.

Edward offered you a small smile and nodded. "Silly," he mumbled.

The caves chirped with brown bats and smelled of old water. Edward held tight onto your hand as you stumbled through the darkness and listened to the bats flap about.

"I think bats are cute," you whispered to him.

"Me too, honey."

You were most excited for the aquarium. Edward noticed where you were leading him as you made your way down a flight of stairs.

"We're going to the aquarium?" he asked softly.

"We sure are." You grinned. "Why? Did you want to go somewhere else?"

"No," he answered. "You just seem extra excited."

You smiled brightly at him and squeezed his clammy hand. "The jellyfish are my favorite."

The longer you looked at the fish, the more amazed with nature you became. The streaks of popping color dancing around their smooth skin flowed so freely and gorgeously. The cloudy tangles of tentacles streaking down from the jellyfish, the gently pulsating gills of the wide-eyed sharks, the spots splattered on the flat tops of the stingrays...it all combined in a spectacle that made your heart grin.

"They're all so beautiful, Eddie."

"I think so, too, sweetheart."

"I wish I could take one home as a pet."

"A shark?!"

You laughed and then turned your head as the pitter-patter of tiny feet ran up beside you. A young girl with frizzy hair and thick glasses smiled up at you. She was missing multiple teeth and had a few shining silver ones in the back.

"Did you know sharks don't have bones?" she yelled at you. "I think sharks are the coolest things in the world. They live on every ocean in the whole planet! How awesome is that?!"

You giggled at the little girl's enthusiasm and nodded. "Huh, that's amazing! Did you know that there are about 500 species of sharks?"

She nodded furiously. "My favorite are great white sharks. A lot of people are scared of sharks, but more people die putting on their pants every year than by shark attacks! Did you know--"

A frazzled woman with a phone pressed against her shoulder and cheek ran up behind the girl and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Franny, for God's sake, how many times have I told you to stop running off?" The woman looked at you and Edward apologetically. "I'm so sorry. She hears the word 'shark' and goes running away in that direction."

Eddie shook his head. "No, it's no problem," he said. "She's a smart girl."

The mother looked down at a beaming Franny and gave Edward a small smile. "She is, isn't she?"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

By the time you left the zoo, the sun was wavering with the heat of the evening, leaking bright tangerine and coloring the clouds the same orange glow.

"Thanks for taking me here today," Edward said as you trudged through the packed parking lot. "It was fun."

"Honestly, Eddie, I was a little worried at first. I thought it might've been too peopley for you."

Edward chuckled softly and shook his head.

"I'm happy I went."

You studied his side profile for a moment as you made your way back to your car. The nervous, blood red rouge had long faded from his cheeks. And he was smiling. He ended the day smiling. That's really all you could've asked for; a happy day with your sweet guy. No matter where he went, no matter how fearful and daunting it seemed, all he really needed was you by his side. <3

[petersbaby]

HAHAHA I wrote this when I was half asleep PLEASE don’t make fun of it I will scream

Please - sub!billy x reader

Warnings: this is fucking crazy. I don’t know where this came from, but the idea of him being tied to a bed wouldn’t leave my thoughts. Good god. Uh, bondage/restraints, pain play, mommy kink (heavy usage), masochism maybe but not that bad, burning, smut (sex), cum talk (I love talking about cum), honestly it’s pure filth. PURE FILTH

A/N: let me know if this needs any more warnings I’m super tired and might’ve looked over something

-

“I love you like this. I wish the whole town could see this, that you’re not all big and bad. You’re just a pretty little boy who begs for what he wants.”

You look at his body intently, devouring it with your eyes, walking around the bed. Billy was restrained by all four limbs, wrists cuffed to the headboard and ankles tied tightly to the bedposts at the bottom. He doesn’t respond to your attempts to get a reaction out of him, he doesn’t deny it because it’s true.

“Hmm. Don’t wanna talk?”

He shakes his head ‘no’ quickly. He’s somehow already sweating, curls sticking to his face and neck, getting frizzy from the heat he emanated.

“I guess I’ll have to leave you alone, then…” you glance down at the ground, implying you’re going to turn around and abandon him, helpless.

“No, don’t. Please.” He whines, and you come back to his side.

“I know what you want, but you’re gonna have to be good to get it. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Fire shoots straight down to your core, setting it alight and it spreads rapidly. You almost lose your composure, having to mask how horny that made you, but you keep it together.

“Good boy.” You gently run your fingers across his forehead, pushing back the stray pieces of hair that were stuck to it.

You climb onto the bed, on top of the nude boy, still in all your clothes besides your shorts, which were already gone. Reaching to the side, you grab Billy’s pack of cigarettes and take one into your mouth. You light it, taking in a deep inhale and exhaling the smoke loudly.

“Hold this, baby.” You place it between his fingers, and he holds it, though he’s restrained.

You lean over, starting to do exactly what you wanted to do. You place the very first kiss onto his jawbone, near his earlobe. You’re horribly slow with the amount of progress you make, the ultimate goal to reach his cock.

You didn’t care, you knew he could wait, and you took lots of careful time licking and sucking on the salty, sensitive skin of his neck. Marks form all the way down the side of it, and he groans each time you bite down hard. The sound of his desperation was music to your ears, so you kept on going. You suck on the skin covering his collarbone, working all the way across it to the end.

“Everyone that looks at you is going to know you’re mine, that I own you.” You comment, pulling away and sitting up to admire the work you did with the bites and hickeys. They were already turning a dark purple color, and they were beautiful. You smell smoke and remember the cigarette you had lit, reaching over to take it from his fingers and taking a hit.

“Words, Billy. Hello?” You add.

“Yes- yeah, yeah. You own me, mhm. Can I hit that, please?” His eyes are fixated on the cigarette that sat between your lips.

“Yes, pet, here.”

You place it in his mouth and let him take a hit of it, pulling it away when he took the smoke in. He breathes out through his nose.

“Thank you.” He says softly.

“So polite, I love your manners. Sweet baby.”

You sit and just smoke, taking your leisurely time. You notice in his face that he’s staring at it, and at the cherry red burning end. He didn’t want to say it, but you weren’t a mind-reader, so you assumed he wanted more and brought it to his lips again. He just shakes his head.

“No? What is it, has your color changed?”

“No, no, it’s green.” He rushes out the words to assure you, “just… would you put that out… uh, fuck.” He gets frazzled trying to put it into words. You listen patiently, waiting.

“On me. Please. Burn me.” He finishes quickly.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.”

You knew he had kind of a thing for pain, but were hesitant about this. You didn’t want to hurt him, you really didn’t, but he asked you to. Of all the cigarettes you’ve smoked together- it was a habit you shared- he’s never said anything like that.

You hesitate for a moment, but figure he’s done it before to know he wants it. You take one last hit of the cigarette before pressing the tip of it down onto his chest, on his upper pec.

“Ah- shit,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He breathes.

You discard the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, coming back to look down at the damage, a perfect white circle with a bit of ash speckled around it. You blow the ash away, and place a kiss on top of the burn.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply mindlessly, not noticing the desperation in his face as he stares up at you.

He starts to shift a bit, enough that you can feel it.

“I need-“

“You need to wait.” You interrupt him, shutting him down.

You place kisses all across his torso, starting at his chest and making your way down to his abdomen. You feel his tight muscles constrict even tighter when you kiss over them, his sensitive body tensing up each time.

He’s still shifting, whining quietly every now and then, trying to be good and not buck his hips. You work your way down to his happy trail, a line of blonde hair starting at the bottom of his belly button. Continuing, you get right to where the bush of pubic hair starts to form, and stop there. He starts to whine louder, close to tears.

“Please.”

“Be patient, I’ve still got all my clothes on. That’s not very fair, is it?” You ask, tilting your head as you do.

“N-no.” He shakes his head.

You reach for the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it somewhere in the floor. His big, dumb eyes fall down to your chest. You make quick work of getting your bra off too, letting it fall away.

You feel him continue to stare at you, getting up off the bed to remove your panties. Now that you’re off of his lap, you can see how miserable he is. His cock is a darker shade of red, hard as a rock, leaking desperately from the tip and twitching on its own.

“Poor thing. Can’t do anything about that without your hands, huh? Do you need help?”

He nods, swallowing hard. When you finally get back on top of him, your warm, wet pussy makes direct contact with his erection.

“Ahh, oh god, oh my god.” He moans, and you start to rock a bit, grinding on his dick without letting it actually get in. Your slick covers it, the entire shaft, when you spread your pussy lips around it and continue the bringing motion.

The motion stimulated your clit wonderfully, you felt like you could just do this forever. Maybe you didn’t need penetration, this contact was something so good that you could cum from it already. He watches the place where your cunt is rutting against his boner, and can’t take any more.

“Put it in, please, I want to fuck you so bad. What do you want me to do? I’ll do it, I’ll do anything. Just please fucking put it in.”

You come to realize that tears are actively falling from the corners of his eyes. You decide to give in, in that moment, but wanted to push him just a little more, just for your sick enjoyment.

“Hmm. Okay, well, do you know my name?” You ask.

You see some cogs turning in his little head, trying to find the answer.

“Aww, so horny you can’t even remember my name.” You reach to caress his cheek, skin hot.

“It’s mommy.” You bend down to whisper in his ear.

“Please, mommy, please. Mommy, mommy, mommy. I need you, mommy, please,” he starts to ramble, and you give a satisfied smile.

You line it up and sink down onto him with no warning, and he cries out loud. Almost like a sob, it filled the air in the room. You sat all the way down on his cock and stayed that way for a moment, getting used to it. Soon, you start to move, riding his cock slowly.

“Oh, my god, mommy, thank you, fuck, it’s sososososo good-“ he rambles again, saying words just to say them. He can’t be quiet, moans loud and resonating, babbling incoherently, crying and mewling.

“Stop crying, I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean back down to kiss the tears off of his face.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

“I’m taking care of you. Aren’t I taking good care of you, hmm?”

“Yes, mommy’s taking such good care of me.”

“There you go, good boy.”

You increase your speed, now bouncing up and down on his cock. He watched your tits bounce with each movement, enamored. He wishes so bad that he could touch them, that he could touch any of you. Literally anything, he just wanted to feel your skin beneath his fingers.

You start to let out moans that mix harmoniously with his, riding him at just the right speed for you. The sight below you was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, your boy sweaty with wide eyes and blown out pupils, mouth hanging open and panting like a dog.

All the while covered in bruises and bite marks that you made.

For the first time tonight, you leaned down and kissed him. You finally let him kiss you, and he was over the moon. The feeling was electric, his lips on yours, and you try your best to actually kiss but end up just moaning into each other’s mouths. Having to pull away, you ride him like your life depended on it, and it felt like it did.

“Mmh, god, I’m so close.” You try to say but the words are all slurred together, and you keep your perfect pace until you’re clamping down on his cock and orgasming hard, letting it wash over your entire body and take over your senses.

You keep on riding, using him, his dick hitting your g-spot over and over again. It was almost too much, overkill, but not enough to stop. You couldn’t stop, so you didn’t. You continued bouncing your ass up and down on his cock, relishing in the feeling you get when he’s filling you up.

You hardly noticed the words being spoken. When you tune back in, it’s him just begging and begging you to give him permission.

“M-mommy I can’t, please.” He whines, unable to keep it in.

“Oh, go ahead, pretty boy. Fill me up, keep going til nothing’s left.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, and you feel him twitch inside of you before spilling. You start to slow down your pace, still continuing your movements until he started to shake and then you got off.

You immediately start spilling all over the bed below you, his hot cum leaking out. You’ll wash the sheets, just not now. You were just taking in the moment, silently appreciating it.

“Shit.” You remark, trying to get yourself together. Once you have, at least a little bit, you quickly tug on your panties and throw one of his big t-shirts on. You go to the foot of the bed first to untie his ankles, knowing that the knots you did were tight and possibly cutting off circulation.

He let out a sigh of relief at his freedom, then you grabbed a tiny key from the bedside table drawer. You move quickly to unlock the cuffs, one at a time until he’s soon completely unrestrained.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” You check in. You were tired, but not too tired to make sure he’s taken care of.

“I’m okay. Pants, please, and water.”

“Okay.”

You go to retrieve a pair of sweatpants and toss them over, then head to the kitchen and grab him a cold bottle of water. When you come back, he has a cigarette lit and is smoking it happily. You hand him the water and sit down next to where he lay.

You watch as he sort of returns to his normal self, and you wonder if he’s as exhausted as he is.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

You smile. “Yes.” And you snatch the cigarette out of his hand, stealing it.

It makes you look down at his chest, and you wonder out loud, “does that really turn you on?” as you trace the skin around the burn with you fingertips delicately.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “just feels good.”

“Well that’s something we’ll not do very often, sometimes, if you want, but not often. Can’t have scars all over this perfect body.” You compliment as your fingers wander and caress his bare torso.

He blushes, only slightly, smiling. “Stop it.”

“What? It is. I know it and you know it too.”

“That’s all you. You’re perfect.”

[silverstonesainz-archive]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

MASTERLIST

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; won't he? does he? 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 9.1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; explicit language, maybe suggestive? 100% not proofread

Sophie texted to reconfirm plans earlier in the day, a text he so eagerly returned only a second later. Yes. Pick you up at 5:55. 

He picks up flowers on the way to her— a bouquet of orange tulips. It sits in his passenger seat for the rest of the drive, sits while he waits for her outside his beat up truck. Daniel would’ve walked up, but Sophie reassures him that there was no need and that she would be down in a second. He’s leaned up against the front of his car, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his black t-shirt, anxiously waiting for Sophie to meet him at the bottom of the steps.

The soft click-clack of her shoes against the pavement pries his attention from the thread on his shirt. Her hair is frizzy, long brown locks falling over her shoulders as she adjusts the earring on her right ear. A brown purse is slung over her shoulder, Daniel sees it slowly begin to slide down her arm. Sophie is quick to catch it before it falls into the crease of her elbow, pausing at the bottom of the steps to pull the strap on her sandal. Daniel doesn’t notice anything else that moves about him. Not the way the leaves dance in the wind, nor the soft crackle of the grass beneath Sophie’s feet with every step she takes. He is enamored by the way she doesn’t skip a beat between her quick steps over to him and trying to pull her hair behind her. She is effortlessly beautiful, even in her frazzled state. He watches Sophie try to pull her hair back, strands falling out of her grip time and time again. He can see the frustration that begins to draw itself in her features, the way she huffs as she gives up, allowing her hair to fall to its natural state— a little messy and getting in her eyes. Daniel chuckles softly, gently reaching over to push the strands of hair over her face behind her ears, fingers combing their way down the length of her hair to push it back behind her shoulders. 

Sophie’s cheeks tint red, “Sorry. I’m a mess.” 

“You look beautiful Sophie.” 

She smiles, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. She extends her arm to shove him playfully, a soft shut up escaping her and making him laugh. Sophie shakes her head knowingly, eyes looking up at him. They stand there for a moment, the world seems to slow around them and the planned date seems to be but a fleeting memory yet to happen. But it’s only for a moment.

“Got everything?”

“Yup.” She nods. 

The formalities, the six inches apart after all things considered almost make him laugh, but he just smiles widely instead. It’s a first date all over again, like two middle schoolers unsure of what would be appropriate for a moment like this. He takes a step to his right, extending his left hand towards the passenger door. Orange tulips greet Sophie when Daniel opens her door for her, and he clocks the way her cheeks blush pink immediately. His heart beats loudly, thumps erratically, the air knocked out of his lungs when he sees the twinkle in her eye, the gratefulness in them. He just about melted at her feet. 

Pierre watches Max pace his room from the edge of his bed. If he had to guess, the man had been on his feet for the last three minutes. Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe, then weight on his heels as he turns to repeat the cycle. If Pierre is being completely honest, he was starting to freak out.

“Everything alright?” 

Max looks up at him, releasing his lip from his index finger and thumb, and straightening his posture. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

The bit of angst that resides in Max’s chest for the man in front of him begins to bubble, a bit of disbelief that Sophie could ever get with a man like him. He and Pierre are nothing alike, not even on the surface, so he truly cannot fathom that Sophie could or would ever have been with him. Max knows the type: rich, charming, perhaps an ego taller than him. He had never gotten along with a man like that, and he can’t ever imagine sweet sweet Sophie would either. 

But is there a comparison to be made between the two? Max contemplates the idea, stares at Pierre who turns his attention to his phone as it pings. Maybe they’re not as different as Max thinks. They’re both after the same girl, so how different could they really be?

Pierre tosses his phone on the bed, outstretching his hand towards the chair by the desk, and Max gladly takes his seat. “Is this about the contract? Because I don’t know how much my boss is willing to bargain but-”

“No.” He rubs his palms against his thighs, blowing out a breath through pursed lips, “I haven't even looked at the contract to be completely honest with you.” 

Pierre is perplexed. He leans back on his hands, the heels of his palms digging into the mattress of the hotel bed. “Did… did you need me to go over it with you?”

“It’s about Sophie.” 

“Sophie?” Max nods profusely and Pierre sighs, shaking his head. “Christ, what did she do?”

Max ignores his question, “What did you mean when you said that Sophie had a lot of personal issues going on?”

The tulips rest in her lap as he drives her back across town to his cozy little home by the beach. The car ride is loud with conversation bouncing back and forth between the two, the playlist Daniel had carefully crafted the night before long forgotten under aimless tête-à-tête. There’s still a bit of nerves that lies under both of them, heavily disguised in exaggerated laughter and a short game of this or that. If it weren’t for the plans Daniel had put together over the weekend, he would’ve kept on driving. He would’ve driven all over Kamari, all over Santorini just to hear her talk. He really would’ve, but Sophie gushes over her excitement over homemade pasta and promises him that he’d be impressed. 

Daniel’s home is small, but cozy. Upon entering, they are immediately greeted by his living room. TV to the right, and paintings scattered over the pale walls. There is an archway to the left, further into the house, and two doors on the right.

“It’s cute,” Sophie breathes, “Very… you.” 

Daniel chuckles, “Me? How so?”

Sophie shrugs as she takes a look around, anticipation making Daniel more anxious at each passing second. So much so he’d begun to analyze every inch of his home. He prayed silently he hadn’t left any dirty laundry or half empty takeout containers lying around. 

“The paintings,” Sophie points out, “And I don’t know the fact that you have a paint stained pillow on your couch also very much screams you.” 

Daniel’s honey eyes shoot towards his couch, a black pillow with a white streak of paint over the middle of it staring right back at him. He feels his cheeks grow hot, hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. Sophie giggles at his reaction, grinning widely while looking up at him. He could kiss her right then, but with a bit of restraint he clears his throat instead and extends his arm out in the direction of his kitchen.

“Pasta awaits us.” 

He sees the expression on Pierre’s face fall, before it contorts to one of confusion. His head is tilted slightly to the left, brows furrowed, bright blue eyes asking him if he was being fucking serious. Max holds the same stoic expression– yes, I’m fucking serious. 

“This isn’t something I can just talk about, Max. You should ask her.” 

“Yeah but you know her,” Pierre sees the way Max cringes at his statement, the truth in it a little too much for him, “She’d never tell.” 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to live with not knowing.” Pierre shrugs, standing from the edge of his bed. He feels Max’s eyes on his back, watching as he walks over to the other end of the room as he pretends to be interested in the contents of his luggage.

Pierre didn’t know what to make of Max’s presence in his room, or how to deal with the fact that the topic of conversation is a woman they’ve both had relations with in some form or another. And maybe Pierre from some years ago would’ve enjoyed watching the other man’s face pale at the truth, at the mere fact that he could be the father of Sophie’s little girl. But times have changed– he has changed. 

At least he thinks he has.

“What did you do to her,” Max pips from his seat, “Can you at least tell me that?”

The Frenchman has to chuckle at the boy’s persistence. The way he is willing to sit in the same room as him, just to hear a bit more about his past with a girl. 

“What does it matter to you Max? What do my issues with Sophie have to do with your relationship with her?” Pierre sighs in front of him, rubbing his temples with his middle and rings fingers. “If you need some sort of sick validation that you are a better man than me, then fine. You are.”

Max is surprised, head jerking back at the sudden proclamation, the admittance that he believes that Max is better than him. He’s a bit dumbstruck, throat suddenly tight. 

“I’m not looking for validation, I just… I have to know.” 

“Why Max?”

“I just want to understand. I want to know why she’s so closed off… even if I could just get a clue.” 

“Your guess is just as good as mine mate.” 

Pierre chuckles. He has to, there is no better response to the situation. The man can barely get a word in edgewise with the girl, Max has to know that. And yet, he’s here, asking him off a bit of advice, a bit of guidance. Truth be told, if there was anyone that was meant to be groveling for a morsel of Sophie’s headspace, it would’ve been Pierre on his knees and not Max.

The room falls silent again, neither of them sure of how to move forward with the conversation, and neither willing to let it rest just yet. Pierre trudges over to the other end of the room, over to the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. His room sits high on the twelfth floor, giving him the perfect view of the hotel beach littered with large sun umbrellas and white plastic beach chairs strewn across the sand, scattered haphazardly by patrons who wanted a better spot. The sun is halfway beneath the ocean, turning the sky orange. There are a few boats that litter the deep blue sea, he can’t help but feel a bit jealous of the people perched on them. What he’d do to be in the middle of the ocean at the moment, instead of this peculiarly tense situation.

The kitchen was set up about an hour earlier, all the ingredients organized on the counter, waiting to be held by them. An unopened bottle of wine sits on the other end of the counter, two wine glasses sitting by it. Daniel watches as Sophie makes her way around the room, fingertips gliding along the tiled countertop. He hears her soft humming, admires the way her hair sways as she turns her head every so often. She stops before the bag of flour, picking it up as she reads the packaging. 

“Hope the stuff I picked out is alright?” Daniel pips up behind her. She looks at him over her shoulder, offering a subtle nod before setting it back down. “Up to chef’s standards?”

She giggles softly. Daniel’s heart flutters. “Yes. Up to chef's standard.”

To say Daniel was impressed by Sophie’s skill, that this time she didn’t need to stop halfway through kneading dough, and managed to talk all the while. Pasta making was a bit tedious they agree, but there was always this sense of accomplishment after the fact. It just tastes better when it’s homemade, Sophie admits, shrugging as she sets her dough out to rest. Daniel pours two glasses of wine while Sophie tries to clean up the mess on his kitchen counter. He slips the wet rag from her grasp, replacing it with a half filled glass of red before taking over. 

Daniel uses little effort to clean the mess, mainly swiping pieces of dough and flour into the sink to deal with later. He drops the light blue washcloth into the sink with the mess, turning to face Sophie with his own glass in hand. Sophie bites down on the rim of her glass gently, Daniel spins it against his bottom lip. Neither of them know what to say, maybe both a little too afraid of what might come out. The man tries to wrack his brain, whipping through the memories of every conversation he’s had with Sophie. What does he say to her? What can he say to her? He wonders if Sophie is thinking the same as him, if she’s just as nervous to say the wrong thing, or to bring up something they’ve talked about before. So instead the wine does what it’s meant to do. It relaxes their muscles, it eases their anxieties. It makes the air a little bit easier to breathe. It coats Daniel’s tongue, drowns the butterflies that flutter in his gut and warms his skin. 

Sophie’s eyes dart to her left, and Daniel follows her gaze. Just above the dining table set for two is a painting. It’s an old one, something he had done when he was living in Florence once upon a time. Strokes of browns and tans come together to portray the structures in the city, vintage buildings with cracks for character. Silhouettes of people who walk by, unaware of a man who had immortalized them on a canvas. The sky is blue, cool and contrasting against the city painted below it. It’s a freeze frame of a memory, a memory of where he used to spend his days. Memories of a more hopeful Daniel.

“It’s the flea market,” Sophie pushes her body off the counter and walks over to inspect the picture closely. Daniel watches her from his place, body tracing her outline as she leans forward to stare at his work. “Right?”

Daniel hums in confirmation, lowering the glass from his lips and setting it on the kitchen counter. “Yeah. I went on a day it wasn’t up, wanted to capture the place without all the barking and bartering.” 

He sees Sophie nod. She says something, he sees the way her lips move, slow and delicate. Words tumble  past them softly he’s sure, but he doesn’t hear a single word, far too busy admiring the way her hair flies around her as she turns her head to look his way. Her eyes are wide with curiosity and lips puckered in thought. He wonders if she can see the way he stares at her, the probable twinkle in his eyes. He’s a little embarrassed of it, if he’s being honest. He makes no effort to hide his affections for her, the clear and obvious attraction he feels for her. It’s written all over his face.

“Daniel?”

His name sounds heavenly dripping from her lips. 

“Daniel?”

“Hm?”

“I asked if you still paint often?”

He clears his throat, looking down at the half empty wine glass he left sitting on the counters. “Uh yeah. I started up again recently.”

“We’re not very similar,” Max pips behind him, “Actually, we might be more different than we even realize.”

Pierre turns to look over at Max just in time to see the sad, subtle shrug of his shoulders.

“I dunno, we may be more similar than you think.” Pierre nearly laughs at the way Max’s face contorts, the clear discomfort on his features at the notion that he’d be even remotely similar to the man before him. He couldn’t be offended, it was just too funny. “C’mon mate, you don’t think that we’re similar at all? Sophie aside, we share a couple of decent qualities.” 

Max snorts, “Like what?”

Pierre leans against the glass, “Business minded, family oriented. Ambitious probably too.” 

“What makes you think I’m family oriented?” Just then, his phone buzzes on the desk, screen lighting up to reveal a photo of him, his sister, and her son perched on his lap. Max locks his screen quickly, and Pierre chuckles. “Fine. I didn’t peg you to be the family man, I mean considering the issues you had… have? With your own family.”

There isn’t a sense of malice in Max’s voice, not a tremor of spite that seems to drip from his tongue. He states it like a matter of fact. It is. Kind of. Pierre regrets even saying that to him like it was the most normal thing, because if Max knew any better he’d probably think that he was insane. Pierre bites down on his jaw, the tendon flexing each time he does, fighting the urge to yell in the man’s face. He didn’t know half of it, truly. Here he was, sitting in Pierre’s hotel room staring up at him like he didn’t say what he said, completely unassuming over the family Pierre had referenced beforehand. For the sake of Sophie– albeit, his own sanity– he wouldn’t bother to correct Max. 

“Well, problems that surely show how much I care about them.” He spits, crossing his arms over his chest. It sounds bitter. He is, but not towards Max. More so towards himself. “Not that it’s any of your concern.” 

“What I don’t get is why you’re chasing Sophie when you have a family to be worried about.” Max swings in his chair, left to right, moving by the ball of his feet. But then he pauses, the gears begin to work in his skull– Pierre can see them turn. Bright blue eyes perk up, moving up to meet Pierre’s, who stands tall with his shoulders back, rigid even. 

“Unless…”

“Recently? So you stopped?”

Daniel picks up his glass, walking over to the table. He pulls out her chair, nodding in encouragement for her to take a seat. And when she does, he slowly pushes her chair in before sitting across from her. 

“I did. I had to. It wasn’t making me the money like I thought it would, and I was pretty down on my luck after you left.” He chuckles, spinning the glass by its stem. “No one was too interested in buying the same five views I couldn’t stop painting.”

Always Florence. Always the same streets and its architecture, the same sunset, the same angles of the Ponte Vecchio, the view from his little apartment, and the girl he couldn’t seem to get out of his head. He was stuck in a cycle of unresolved tension, a feeling of bitterness that maybe his parents were right after all— that he’d never find satisfaction in the life he had initially led. And not to say he found it in hospitality and hotel management, but he’d like to think if it weren’t for the oddities that led him to manage the hotel grounds in Kamari in the first place, then he might’ve never seen Sophie again. At the very least, he can find satisfaction in that.

“So you came to Kamari…?” She raises her brow.

“Well, I worked at a hotel in Florence for a bit then got transferred up here to work management a couple of months ago.” He chuckles, “Don’t worry I wasn’t trying to follow you. We have the universe to blame for that. Or thank, depends how you look at the situation I guess.” 

Sophie hums, smiling into her glass. She downs the three, maybe four, drops of wine that sat in the bottom of her glass, rendering it empty. She sets it down with a soft thud, the glass bumping gently against the blue placemat. 

“Are you happy? With the way everything has turned out, how it’s all turned out to be… are you happy?”

Daniel stares at Sophie thoughtfully. Light brown eyes bore into her darker ones, pink lips spreading into a small smile. The joint of his index finger is perched between his partially open lips, almost as a way to hide his grin. But nothing could hide it, nothing could hide the way his heart feels and the way it translates onto his face. 

“You have no idea.” 

Sophie smiles. 

“How about you?” Daniel stares at the girl curiously, lips quirked up slightly in a lazy half smile. 

“Me?”

“Yeah. Are you happy?”

He sees the thoughtfulness on her face, the way she traces the rim of her now empty wine glass. He stands from the table to grab the bottle left on the counter, returning to fill her glass again. When he finally sits across her again– half empty bottle resting between them– does Sophie hum softly to pull his attention. 

“I’m on my way there.. I think. To being happy, I mean.” Sophie clarifies, fingers gripping the stem of the glass but making no effort to pick it up. 

“Any way I can help speed up the process?” 

Sophie blushes again, and Daniel grins right back at her. 

The silence is comfortable– something they’ve grown used to with each other. Comfortable silence, sometimes awkward, but always comfortable. Daniel does the thing again, the mental snapshots because it isn’t quite appropriate to pull out his phone to take a photo of the moment. Not yet. But he’d save the memory of her in front of him, the way the beige satin button up rests on her shoulders, the top two buttons undone, or how soft the warm kitchen light illuminates her skin. Click. He takes notes of the shadows and highlights, every dip and curve, every angle. He commits them to memory for when he finds the moment to put brush to canvas. 

They poke and prod at each other, moving past tangent after tangent. And as each conversation fizzles out, they find themselves in that same comfortably awkward silence. They move around each other in the kitchen, fleeting touches as they move past each other in the limited space. Sophie’s hands on his forearms, his on her waist. Always the quiet excuse me or behind you as they move past. Pasta is cut and boiled, sauce seasoned and stirred. It isn’t long until their masterpiece is twirled into mismatched plates, and their wine glasses topped off with the last of the first bottle of fancy hotel wine. 

Sophie’s cheeks are flushed, Daniel assumes it’s the bottle of red. He pops open a second one at her request.

“This is probably the best wine I’ve had in a while.” Her fork clinks against the plate, scrapes softly as she picks pasta up to her mouth. “God I love wine.” 

Daniel chuckles, taking a bite of his food. He moans softly, flavors picking at each individual taste bud. Fuck is it good, he’s blown away. “How long is a while?” 

“I’ve had wine a couple of times in the last couple of months, but really good wine?” Sophie pauses between bites, tongue darting out to lick the sauce from her lips. “Maybe two years?”

“Two?!”

“At Michael’s restaurant! That bottle of white was to die for, I’ll never forget that.” 

The memory plays between them. The single bottle they shared– no glasses, just fingers around the neck and mouths at the opening. Michael was disgruntled, half offended, half amused by the two of them. The wine had gone to their heads quickly, leaving Daniel’s friend to finish the pasta for them while they danced to the soft sizzle of garlic in the pan. 

Simpler times. Times they’d both prefer to return to if given the option. 

Daniel laughs, nodding his head. “Did you finish the bottle I sent you off with?”

“Oh god yeah, within the first week of getting here. It was a pretty rough move, the wine got me through it. And pasta, lots of it. Michael is a godsend, how is he?” 

“Good, I talk to him every now and again. I’m trying to get him to come down and cook in the restaurant at the hotel, but he’s pretty set on staying in Florence.” 

Sophie nods, taking another bite, another sip. They catch up on lost time in between laughter and bites of pasta. Between Sophie handing him a napkin for the bit of sauce on his chin and Daniel pouring her another glass, they dive into the details of the life they've led since parting ways. Daniel fills her in on the little work tidbits, Sophie fills him in on the shop. She’s reserved, he notices, with layers and layers of walls surrounding her. Every time he thinks he’s broken through to her, he’s stumped again. But she talks a lot, a lot more than Daniel ever expected her to. She talks a lot about the past, about the thirty-something hours they spent together in Florence. He smiles as she reminisces those moments, the same ones he could never get out of his head. He enjoys the rise and fall of her voice, the inflection of her tone, the soft roll of her tongue with every r sound. He could listen to her run in circles in a conversation with herself for all of eternity if she wanted him to. Daniel would gladly do it.  

“You’re my favorite memory,” Sophie admits softly, pushing her plate back and pulling her glass forward.

Daniel’s heart soars. “Out of the millions you’ve made on your journey here? I’m honored.” 

Her face falls somber, the smile no longer as broad, the flush on her cheeks dull. Her gaze falls onto her lap while she fiddles with her manicured fingers. Daniel struck a nerve, he wasn’t sure what to do. He calls her name, asks if everything is alright, and she nods. It’s half-convincing, subtle, with an even smaller smile than it was earlier. But she looks up at him again, brown eyes back on him that hold a kind of… a kind of guilt he’s not familiar with. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft, tiptoes around her as he tries to break through another wall he has stumbled across. 

“Nothing. It’s just nice being here with you Daniel. Like nothing has ever changed, except it has.” 

“Nothing wrong with a bit of change.” 

“Something’s a bit wrong with change. I feel stuck.” She lets out a humorless laugh, breathy, almost a scoff. “ I hate feeling stuck.” 

It’s the first time the silence that falls over them becomes unsettling. Daniel shifts in his seat, watches as Sophie inhales so deeply that her chest puffs out, blowing out a loud exhale through pursed lips. His fingers grip the seat of his chair, pulling it forward as he moves to be right next to her. Their knees touch. Daniel reaches out to take her hand into his own, squeezing softly. 

“You’re not stuck. You’re just… spending a little bit of time in this part of your adventure.”

The smile on her lips is unamused, the breath she exhales through her nose a half-effort chuckle at Daniel’s analogy. He almost wants to poke around more, pick at her brain and pull at the strings— completely unravel her. Sophie has always put herself miles away, even when standing right there, and for the first time Daniel feels her right there with him. But she’s much like a skittish cat: come too close and she’d just run away. 

And he couldn’t in the right mind, allow himself to watch her fall apart. 

Daniel hums softly, thumbs rubbing the back of her hands. “Where are you going next?”

“Huh?”

“The world is waiting, where are you going next?”

Sophie furrows her brows, shifting in her chair as she ponders the question. “I’m not-“

“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, next week, or next month. But you have plans, I know you do. Kamari was never it. You never said it, but I always knew it was never it for you.” Daniel squeezes her hands, “So… where are you going next?”

Sophie doesn’t have an answer. Daniel can’t tell if it’s nerves or genuine confusion. Her brows are no longer furrowed, but her eyes are blank. He doesn’t wait for a response, mind already floating to his next destination.

“I,” He picks the conversation back up, “I want to go to America next. I don’t think I’d live there but I want to visit a couple of places. I think it would be fun. A couple of tourists at the hotel, hell even some folks I’ve come across in Florence have told me that I’d enjoy it.” Daniel thinks about Yellowstone National Park, about giant Sequoia trees in all their glory. He wonders how he’d fare as a tourist in the bustling streets of Los Angeles or New York, or if he’d prefer the recluse of quieter states like Montana or Wyoming. The country is vast, waiting to be explored and he swore to himself he would go and do just that. 

Sophie’s fingers twitch in his hold, four fingers squeezing back. She smiles gratefully, “Where would you go first?”

“Los Angeles. Work my way east.” 

She nods, eyes falling to their hands in her lap. Daniel leans forward, elbows resting above his knees as he cranes his neck to get a better view of her face. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, dark eyes flicking up to him before she lifts her head. 

“Switzerland.” 

“Switzerland?” She hums a soft mhm. “Why?”

“Mick grew up there, talks about it all the time and… I don’t know, it sounds like a place w… I’d like a lot.” 

The soft ‘wuh’ sound. A cut off of a simple two letter word. A cut off of we. Daniel smiles, maybe his cheeks turn red he can’t really tell. He just nods long, thinking about Switzerland and how’d she look in the quiet of it all. How she’d look by old fashioned architecture and the expanse of grassy knolls and hills alike. 

“And Mick is…?”

Sophie smiles. “My best friend.”

“Just your best friend?” 

She raises her brow, he stifles a laugh. He’s only teasing. Sophie knows– she shakes her head. 

“Well,” Daniel sighs softly, “You’ll have to send me a postcard when you get there. Or get me a little magnet.” 

Sophie smiles, it’s real this time. She nods quietly, pushing her shoulders back as she pulls one of her hands from his grasp to grab her forgotten glass of wine. She rests her lips on the rim, Daniel can see the marks of pink sparkle that her lip gloss leaves. She hums softly, knocking the liquid back into her throat. Her chin is tilted upwards, neck elongated and throat shifting as she slowly drinks the drink. It’s only a couple of seconds, maybe three. But Daniel feels like he’s stared for much longer. 

“Do you sell this at the hotel?” She stares at her almost empty glass, swirling the liquid around before setting it down. Another shift in the conversation, she’s good at doing that.

Daniel shakes his head, “Not yet. These were just gifts from some vendors.”

“Bummer,” Her bottom lip juts out, “I’d buy a bottle to bring home.”

“Well, I think I might have a couple more bottles in my office. They were meant to be for some of the other managers but they took the white instead.” Daniel hums, releasing Sophie’s hands to take their empty plates to the sink. He doesn’t see her wide eyes that follow him around the room, the way she twirls the glass between her index finger and thumb. He hears her shift around the room behind him as he drops the plates to wash them, but doesn’t realize that she’s begun to help. Tossing used napkins in the bin, wiping down sauce that has dripped onto the hardwood table, and even finishing the last of her wine. 

Sophie bumps her hip against Daniel’s, motioning him to move over with the flick of chin as she washes dishes alongside him. He doesn’t turn her away, instead shifts a couple centimeters over so that their arms brush with every swirl of a sponge or swipe of a towel. She washes, he dries. He files all the rinse and dried dishes away in their cabinets and drawers, shutting the doors with a soft thud. While he sweeps the floor,  Sophie wipes down the counter one more time. And when all is said and done, and the kitchen is left looking untouched, they stop and rest against the counter. Daniel has the heel of his hands against the dark blue tile, elbows bent as he pushes himself back and forth. Sophie is next to him, just a bit of air that separates them. 

“I-“ “Um-“

They cut each other off, heads springing towards the other as they giggle. They stumble over silly apologies, encouraging the other to go ahead over and over until Sophie gives in. Daniel fakes a curtsey, rolling his arm in the air in a silly looking salutation, an over dramatic way of saying carry on.

“I don’t really want the night to end just yet.”

Daniel sees Sophie’s cheeks turn red, the way she bashfully averts her gaze to behind him before looking up at him expectantly. Maybe she half awaits a rejection, or maybe for him to laugh in her face. But she should know him a little better than that. She should know just how Daniel feels about her. 

“Well… I did say that I have a couple more bottles of wine in my office.” Daniel shrugs, pushing his body off the counter as he turns his body to face her, taking slow steps backwards. His skin burns as she stares, a glint of joy in her dark brown eyes as she follows his lead. Her steps are slow, calculated, one foot in front of the other with her head tilted just a bit, as if asking him what he’s up to. 

Daniel stops in the archway that leads to his living room, hands outstretched to hold onto either side of it, lips pressed into a thin line as he waits for Sophie to come in closer. His heart is thumping sporadically in his ribcage, he can hear it in his head. Excitement, it weaves its way through his blood stream, lights every nerve ending, he can feel himself coming alive. The closer she gets, the hotter the room becomes. 

“Daniel Ricciardo,” Her voice drops an octave, falling from her lips like sweet, sweet molasses. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

She stops just a couple inches from him, head tilted upwards towards him. There was enough space, but also too much. It takes every ounce of self control for him not to wrap himself around her, to smash his lips against hers, to taste the remnants of wine that sit on her tongue. God it takes all of him to not fall to his knees before her. 

Instead he scoffs, feigning offense and shock. “Sophie Rae, I would never.” 

Her lips are pushed into a pout, a bit of a scowl etched into the curve of her brows. It’s almost as if she’s sucking on a piece of  sour candy. He wants to laugh at her distaste over her own name, a name he adores so much. He doesn’t have the words to express to her how much it fits her, how it frames her essence so well. 

“I still don’t think it’s very fair you know my middle name and I don’t know yours.” Her arms cross over her chest, the tension between her brows very evident now. “And I still don’t know why you won’t tell me yours.” 

Daniel shrugs, “Adds to the mystery.” 

“Won’t you tell me?” 

God. Her eyes grow wide as she takes one step closer to him. He can smell her, the soft scent of freshly washed linen and just a hint of vanilla. That alone might convince him to tell her. But her eyes, god her eyes. There’s a plea behind them, an almost sinful glaze over them. He chokes on his breath, it’s stuck at the top of his throat. Just tell me, she coaxes, hands now clasped behind her back as she puts on this innocent facade. She has him right where she wants him, under this spell casted by a bat of her eyelashes. 

She has far too much power over him, Daniel admits to himself. And my god, does he love that she does.

“You’re trouble.” Daniel whispers. 

“So are you.” 

Daniel bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He releases the wall, stumbling back a bit as he runs his fingers through his curls. He does just about anything to distract from the obvious blush on his cheeks. “C’mon Sophie Rae, let’s go get more wine.” 

“Is that why Sophie is so mad at you?” 

It’s Max’s turn to pace, Pierre’s turn to sit rigid at the edge of his bed. The Frenchman has yet to speak up, to refute any of Max’s claims but he’s a bit stunned. He chooses to listen to the man’s thought process a bit before he decides to answer. 

“She knows about your family?”

Pierre feels ill. If he had eaten before this conversation, surely he would’ve thrown it up by now. He’s too stunned to speak, too in his own head to cut Max’s ramblings short. If Sophie didn’t hate him before, she would surely hate him now. 

“Are you trying to get with Sophie and she knows about your family?” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Well then spell it out for me. Make it uncomplicated.” 

“Christ, you’re annoying.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

Pierre grunts, fingers scraping his scalp softly, messing his already tousled hair. It’s complicated. The whole thing is complicated. He can barely explain it to his best friend, what more a man he barely knows. A man who has some kind of history with the girl in question. Max is annoying, fucks sake the whole situation was annoying. 

“I met Sophie in London two or so years ago.” Max pips, “I think I stared at her from across the bar for thirty minutes before finding the courage to make a move. But even then it wasn’t much, I just paid for her drinks. And then she came over and… well the rest is history. I met her one night and she was gone the next day. I kept this little note she left in her place, I keep it in my wallet actually.” 

Max pulls the brown leather wallet from his back pocket. The note is hidden behind his ID, and he has to pull out the card to pull the now yellowed hotel stationary. He hands it over to Pierre, who takes it with a bit of hesitation. But he unfolds it anyway, met with messy scribbles in black ink. 

“It’s silly but I don’t know, she’s the first girl I met that I felt like I could be myself with. I wasn’t worried about being annoying or a bit much. And for years I had gone chasing that feeling, looking for that same validation in my work and in other girls but… nothing can ever quite compare.” 

Pierre nods subtly, too busy focusing on her messy penmanship and the imagination of her hastily scribbling this down for Max. Envy, it’s a weed that begins to sprout on every inch of him. He wanted to crumple the damn note. He shouldn’t be so surprised anymore, he shouldn’t be as jealous as he is. He knows what he did to her, knows what might’ve been running through her mind as she sprinted out of his hotel room. He can only be mad at himself but god was he fucking jealous of Max. 

“You must get it Pierre,” Max’s voice is low, just barely above a whisper, “why I’m so dead set in trying to understand what has changed with her since I saw her last. You must know that the girl we see now, isn’t quite the girl we met before.”

He hands the note back to its owner. He watches as Max stares at the writing before folding it back up and putting it back in its place in his wallet. 

“I also met Sophie two years ago.” Pierre concedes, returning to his bed. He sits at the edge, palms rubbing against his linen pants. “I guess after you did maybe. It was for a friend’s wedding. We were part of the wedding party and…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t admit to Max that he cheated on his wife with Sophie, couldn’t admit that he was a scumbag, a man too acquainted with his selfishness for his own good. He could barely admit it to himself. Even if the cheating isn’t the whole picture, there was a bit more on the line, a bit more behind his intentions, it doesn’t change the fact that it was what it was: Pierre cheated. 

He shakes his head. “I hurt her. I did something stupid and I hurt her. Maybe I’m partially to blame for why she’s changed so much, or maybe there’s something more that you and I are not meant to know. But that’s all there is to it, that’s all you need to know. Okay?” 

Max feels bad. He didn’t think he could feel guilty in this situation, but he does. The pain, the obvious regret that laces each word that falls from Pierre’s lips, makes Max regret ever coming here for some sort of fishing expedition. 

“D-do you want to go down for a drink?” Max offers meekly, voice soft and a little shy. Truthfully, he was waiting for the Frenchman to sock him in the mouth. 

But Pierre just chuckles– dryly, maybe a little amused at their current situation. “You’re buying?” 

“First round is on me.” 

Daniel and Sophie stumble over quiet laughter, trying not to draw any attention to themselves in the quiet lobby of the hotel. Several couples stroll to or from the elevator, and two business men are sitting in the lobby on their phones. No one seems to mind the two or their poor attempt at being quiet. Daniel’s fingers are laced between Sophie’s, he isn’t sure when that happened but it feels nice. It feels right. He drags her across the room, the heels of her sandals clicking loudly against the floor. He shushes her playfully, and she giggles as she tugs playfully at his arm. They’re in their own little bubble, too lost in the other to notice the stares they get, the knowing smiles of the staff who know Daniel a little better than he realizes. 

“Wait here,” He plants her firmly by the door that reads Employees Only, “I’ll be quick.” 

Sophie nods, giving him a thumbs up and he smiles. Daniel only stares for a moment longer, soaks her up before he forces himself to turn and disappear to the backroom. 

She could blame the wine getting to her head a bit– admittedly she was a little more tipsy than she had shown. Sophie’s been floating for a lot longer than Daniel might think. So maybe the three glasses of wine were to blame for why she didn’t wait here like Daniel asked her too. 

She circles the lobby for a bit, switching between staring at her phone screen and looking up at the floor to make sure she wouldn’t walk into the wall. There are a couple of texts from Teddy, just photos of Ellie and some words of encouragement sprinkled here and there. Sophie holds down on the gray text bubble that reads ellie says it's okay to spend the night!, reacting with a thumbs down before slipping her phone back into her purse. She hums softly, admiring the artwork that decorate the hotel lobby, at the paintings on the walls and statues scattered here and there. Sophie wonders if Daniel had a hand in picking it, or maybe even creating it. She’ll have to ask him.

Sophie takes some steps backward, deciding to go back to her spot in case Daniel is already looking for her. One step, two steps, three steps– oof. She apologizes before she turns, tucking her messy hair behind her ear. She turns her body on her heel, only to utter another apology because she’s sure her hair whipped the person in the face when she turned, just to find the words stuck in her throat. 

The man has his phone pressed up to his ear, softly muttering that he has to go before hanging up whatever phone call he was on. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. Sophie nods, clearing her throat to let out a stammered yeah. “Are you looking for someone?” 

“N-no.” Sophie exhales, “I uh… no.” 

The silence is painfully awkward, painfully tense. Sophie should’ve walked away, she always has anyhow. But she’s stuck, sandals glued to the floor. She’s stuck staring at the man who towers over her, the shock on his face as he stares right back at her. He smells good, smells expensive, smells familiar. She should hate him for it. She has hated him for it. She does hate him for it.

But not then. Not while they stand more or less a foot apart, not while he stares at her and waits to see if she’ll sprint in the opposite direction. 

“Uh… how are you?”

Painfully awkward. Painfully tense. 

“I’m fine.” 

“How’s… how’s your dau-”

“She’s good. She’s great.” Her voice rises a little, more so out of nerves than anything else. Sophie takes in a sharp inhale, nodding her head like she’s wrapping up the conversation. “I should go.” 

“Sophie, can we talk? Please?” 

She frowns, brows tense and eyes squinting ever so slightly. “Now ‘s not a great time, Pierre.” 

“It doesn’t have to be now, it could be tomorrow, next week, anytime. Please, it’s important.” 

“If this is about Ellie then-”

“It’s about Rome. It’s about me being an idiot, and more importantly it’s me trying to apologize.” Pierre’s bright blue eyes shift from left to right, carefully picking apart at the way she reacts to his words, silently praying that she wouldn’t reject him one more time. “I know an apology won’t change anything that already happened, but I hope that at the very least it’ll change what happens between us moving forward.”

Sophie scoffs involuntarily. “There’s no ‘us’ to be moving forward with, Pierre.” 

He frowns, but nods. “Okay. But it doesn’t negate the fact that I want to apologize.”

“Why?” 

Sophie is almost afraid of his answer. She should’ve stayed put like Daniel asked her to. She should’ve walked away from Pierre. She should’ve, she should’ve, she should’ve. But she stays, anxiously waiting for what he has to say. 

“Don’t you wonder why?” Pierre asks softly, “Don’t you wonder why I did what I did, how I could do what I did?” He doesn’t wait for her answer, “Because I can tell you. I just want to explain. Explain and apologize. Then after that, if you still want nothing to do with me then at least we can say I tried.” 

Why should she give him another second? He’s never given her a good reason to. Except now he’s looking at her. He stares at her with those stupid blue eyes, pleading for her to give in. Now she hears the sincerity weaved into every word he tells her, and she believes him. He resembles nothing of the confident man she met in Rome, the cocky son of a bitch who was so sure of himself. Pierre looks like how he did the morning after the wedding, the softness on his face while he convinced her to stay with him for just a bit longer. He resembles the version of Pierre she so hopelessly allowed herself to wrap herself in. She wants to be mad at him, to say that it isn’t fair, that he can’t just look at her like that. But the words never make it past her lips. 

“Fine.” One word, one syllable. They’re both surprised, standing and staring with wide eyes.

“Really?”

Her subconscious doubts her. Really, Soph? “Yes. Just… come over.” 

“Are you sure?”

Are you sure, Soph? “Yeah. My place, at 11:30.” She looks around the lobby frantically, looking for Daniel. He’s nowhere to be seen, and for that she is relieved. “I have to go.” 

Pierre nods, a small, grateful smile on his lips. “Okay. Thank you Sophie, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She doesn’t bid him adieu, doesn’t offer him a smile, nothing. Sophie just turns and scurries back to the spot Daniel left her at. She doesn’t see the relief that washes over Pierre, tense shoulders dropping and that dopey smile that grows as he watches her walk away. She doesn’t catch the glimmer of hope that reflects in his bright blue eyes. 

She steps back into her spot just as Daniel exits, laughing into the room behind him as he waves goodbye. When he turns, he holds up a bottle of red in either hand, the biggest grin on his face. “Found it.” 

Sophie smiles– she wonders if it’s convincing. She wonders if Daniel can see the way her mind so frantically tries to forget the last five minutes. She tries to focus on Daniel, tries to engrave that smile in the back of her mind. Tries to let those honey brown eyes reel her in like they have all night. 

He stretches his right hand, thrusting one of the bottles towards her. Sophie raises a brow, “For me?” 

“You said you wanted a bottle.” 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have.” She’s flushed, pushing the bottle back towards him. Sophie must’ve been red as a beet at that point as she shoves him playfully. But Daniel catches her wrist, pulling her flush against him. The bottle is the only thing providing them with a bit of space, the only thing stopping the other from feeling how quickly their heart beats. 

“You’re being silly,” Daniel rolls his eyes playfully.

“Daniel.” “Sophie.”

She pouts, but he only shakes his head. He grabs her hand, pulling it up and wrapping her fingers around the neck of the fancy red wine. He squeezes for good measure, just to be sure she won’t drop it. 

“Danny, are you sure?”

“Yes. Now take the bottle.” 

Sophie sighs softly— grateful but reluctant. She takes the bottle, lowering it down to her side. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Daniel’s voice is soft, gentle, reassuring. They still stand close, practically chest to chest, Sophie’s chin tilted upwards so she has a better view of the man’s face. She sees the way his eyes flicker down to her lips before back up at her gaze. And again. And again. Anticipation builds up in Sophie’s gut, she feels it brewing and traveling down to the tips of her toes. She’s frozen in the moment, frozen under his gaze as she patiently waits for him to make a move. 

He smiles, oh his smile. It’s bright, it’s warm, it’s a piece of comfort that Sophie didn’t realize she had been missing. She feels his hand find its way to her waist, resting its warmth there. Her heart is in a frenzy, it’s screaming, begging for more. 

“Sphie Rae, you drive me crazy.” His smile grows, she didn’t know it was possible. 

Her cheeks feel hot, they ache with the way she fails to hide a smile. There they are, those honey brown eyes boring into her as they stare expectantly— patiently waiting to see if she’ll stay or go. It’s easy to get lost in them, easy to let them pull her in closer and closer until she can feel his hot breath against her face

Sophie breathes— in, out. In, out. 

Kiss me, she thinks, won’t you do it?

Won’t he?

Does he?

His hand leaves her waist to comb through the hair that frames her face, pulling it back and allowing his slender fingers to comb through her messy locks. He cups her face, palm against her cheek. Warm. She leans into him. 

Kiss me. Just do it. 

“You look like you want something.”

She bites down on her lip, inhaling sharply. “Maybe I do.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Hmm… Maybe.”

Her phone vibrates between them. Neither of them move, just stuck in the moment for a second longer before Daniel reluctantly lets her go so she can get to her cell in her purse. She takes the call, a soft sigh with her greeting.

“Hey sorry,” Teddy mumbles, “I think Ellie has a fever?”

Her head perks up, heart in her stomach. “Are you sure?” 

“She’s pretty warm, I can’t find your thermometer anywhere so I haven’t been able to check.” 

Daniel sees Sophie’s skin pale as she talks about something in a drawer by the front door before promising to be home. She hangs up promptly, eyes already apologizing before her mouth is able to form the words. But he just smiles, a little sad, but still reassuring that it’s okay.

“Home?”

“Yes please.”

The drive home is spent in the quiet, Daniel’s hand resting on Sophie’s thigh, thumb rubbing her skin comfortingly. He doesn’t poke or prod, he just holds her. It isn’t long until they are pulling up in front of Sophie’s home, engine quieting as he puts the car in park. 

Sophie turns in her chair to look at Daniel, who simply turns his head to look at her. She squeezes his hand on her lap. “Thank you for tonight Daniel. I had so much fun.” 

“Of course Sophie.” 

Quiet stares, quiet breathing. Sophie smiles, leaning over the partition while one hand comes up to hold his cheek, pulling his face in so she can plant a kiss against the stubble-sprinkled skin. 

“I’ll call you, okay?” 

She climbs out of the car. Daniel smiles.

“Promise?”

She looks back at him, grabbing the tulips that sat on the dash all night. She smiles, nodding. 

“Promise.” 

NOTE: the last time i updated was over a month ago oops. terribly sorry. im not sure if i'm even 100% happy with the execution of this chapter BUT it has what is needed to move forward. hope u liked this one. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. x

TAGLIST HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED if you want to be notified for updates, follow @carlosjpg and turn on notifications.

[latibvles]

Poet you have now unleashed a monster in me as well with the Mouse Hole crossovers. I’m dying to hear more about all of it but for right now, I need more details about Lena and Andrew Haldane. Idc if it takes the least realistic aus but I need them together

WE ARE SHAKING HANDS ANON, I LIKE THE LOOK OF THEM AND LENA DESERVES NICE THINGS. LIKE THE HANDSOME MARINE CAPTAIN WHO'S WAR ENDED JUST A LITTLE TOO EARLY JUST LIKE HERS. We are pulling from The Pacific School of Andrew Haldane Survives His Headshot which isn't the craziest leap to make. I am after all the person who looked at the 100th and said "you know what they need to do? Ride dragons." So... not the craziest thing to suggest. More of Lena & Andy under the cut.

So Lena is... very clearly not from Massachusetts, but you know who is?

Crank who she is very good friends with. And Jo, who she is also very good friends with.

And so Lena Connolly, post-war mechanic, is on her way up to New England, possibly to help Jo get her stuff from her parents' place to move in with Rosie. Or maybe she's just coming up to say hi to her two favorite people after a while of not seeing them. Both things are very Lena, because as we all know: she's a team player.

Maybe the car Lena's got right now isn't the most reliable thing, but it's all she's got for right now — and she's good at fixing them. It should be able to last her from Brooklyn to Boston: a mere four hours, right? Right?

Wrong. Maybe she hits a pothole too hard on the way up or something. But something is definitely knocked out of place and so she has to pull over to fix it. Sputtering exhaust, the poor thing's on its last legs.

Will that stop her from getting all up under the hood to try and fix the problem herself? No.

Will that also stop Andrew Haldane, who's finally coming home after being stuck in the Hospital Carousel for months, from asking his brother to pull over to see what's going on? Absolutely not. Doubly so because this person is half bent over under the hood of the car.

All of which to say — Andy Haldane meets Lena Connolly with a smudge of oil on her cheek, and her hands, frizzy-haired and huffy. Maybe he's making heart eyes about it. Shut up. Anyways she immediately goes on prattling in irritation about what's wrong and how she can't fix it before catching herself.

Robert offers to drive to the nearest telephone to call a tow company. Lena has, well, her stuff in the car so she doesn't want to leave it. Andy Haldane is now volunteering to wait on the side of the road with a complete stranger 98% because it's the right thing to do and 2% because she's pretty.

if I had a dollar for every blonde pacific man I paired with a ginger I'd have two whole dollars which isn't a lot but—

I think it starts as small talk really; curiosity about how she knows so much about cars, which leads into her being a mechanic, which lends itself to "I used to work on the big birds," and "Really?" and "Flight Engineer, 100th Bomb Group" and "Captain, Fifth Marines."

They don't dive into the nitty gritty details. Lena doesn't ask about that pink scar tissue on his temple and the hair that's shorter than the rest of it. Andy doesn't ask about how one of her fingers is just that much shorter than the others.

But he does make her laugh to take her mind off the tragedy that is her current mode of transportation (more like the lack of it). He does offer to take her wherever she's going (which is more like Robert doing it, because Andy isn't quite ready to be driving yet. But he'll gladly sit in that passenger's seat).

"Do you always offer rides to strangers down on their luck on the side of the road?" and "I feel like if I answer that you're gonna poke a hole in it no matter what I say."

Did I mention he likes making her laugh? Did I mention he's definitely got a crush?

They do get to Jo's, eventually, after Robert comes back and late afternoon is ebbing into early evening. Jo's frazzled and she does not recognize Strange Blonde Man with her at the door but Lena assures her that she'll get the full story later.

Lena also isn't shy when she likes somebody, so Andy does in fact get the New York number and not just the Boston one.

Which Andy calls, when she gets back to New York — her dad picks up first though, and she's giggling and apologizing half-heartedly over the phone.

It's a lot of phone calling and sometimes letter writing until Lena comes back up again. Because I can't escape the friends-to-lovers allegations. I also just think that Andy and Lena first kiss at Cape Cod? Sign me up, quite frankly.

I also think that calling someone at 2am because you can't sleep because you are Haunted™ is a look and by a look I mean the Andy/Lena look. Maybe he can't drive all the way to The Bronx but he'll definitely take the train when she's having a particularly hard time in the bleak midwinter.

My kink is couples who kind of have their shit together but are also just a really good team as well as lovers can we tell yet? Because they make a very good team. And Lena has fully committed herself to getting grease stains on that man's cheeks for years to come

[bellafragolina]

Emmet leans further against the window, watching the grassy hills full of rolling Wooloo tumble by. If he listens, he can almost hear their delighted baaing, a greet called to the train and its passengers. He waves, and almost swears he can see a Wooloo raise a hoof to him in return.

"It waved back!" Emmet tells his brother, chest puffed up.

"Maybe it thought you were its mother." Ingo replies, blowing steam off his cup of tea. Emmet's glower doesn't phase him, too warmed by the drink to suffer from the cold glare. "You look it, with your frizzy hair."

"I am Emmet!" Emmet snaps back, frantically patting the extra electric type static from his hair. "I look like you!"

"You do not." Ingo says, pointing to the window again. "You look like the Wooloo. Which is why they like you." More Wooloo roll along the fields, the same direction as the train, almost like they're chasing it. "Look at them, so distraught their mother is abandoning them."

Emmet kicks Ingo in the shin, causing him to sputter into his cup. "Now you look like a Slurpuff. We should catch you one before we go home." He tucks his legs up into the chair before Ingo can kick him back. "And I will catch a Wooloo, yup. To snuggle!"

Ingo grabs his shirt, and the two tussle until a frazzled conductor threatens to ban them from the trains entirely.

[charliem0rningstar]

From the desk of @one-coming-is-enough , Logos to the World, Prince of Peace, and Crown Regent of Hell:

(I'm His unofficial Metatron--given that I am the daughter of @the-metatron , this seems appropriate.)

Hi there! You're cordially invited to:

the throne room.

*Upon receiving this, you're there. It's instantaneous. You just look up and you're good.*

*It's got lavender ferns in big pots now. And couches, also lavender and very modern, floating. There is a shiny purple asymmetrical coffee table with a small purple fish dish containing wrapped butterscotch candies.

The rest is a lavender void filled with stars.

Jesus Himself reclines in an egg-shaped armchair, wearing a lavender double-breasted suit that pops against His dark skin. His long, frizzy hair is in a ponytail, and He wears a golden crown of thorns tipped with dangling ruby drops.*

"Charliiiiiie, what's shakin'?" Jesus doesn't get up, but waves at the egg-shaped chair across from Him. "The place is a little under construction just yet. Don't mind the stardust. Roscato?"

Two wineglasses appear on the table and fill with a bubbly red.

*she looks about a bit frazzled but blinks then sits across from him*

"I'm um I'm alright, I just didn't expect to be here just yet, annnnnnnnd you are?"

*she doesn't pick up the wine glass close to her*

[honeeslust]

Akaza | mine

*I got a little carried away. 👉🏾👈🏾

The night was so uncomfortably hot. I lay sprawled out on the swinging porch chair praying for even the gentlest breeze. I felt sticky as the dewy air clung to my skin and made my hair extra frizzy and itchy on my neck. I headed inside to look for a scarf, a hair tie, anything to get it off my neck. I went to my bedroom and picked up the first scarf I could find in my closet as I made my way back to the kitchen. My stomach tightened as a familiar static made the hair on my neck stand up. It was him.

Containing my excitement, I smiled to myself as I tucked all of my humidity-frazzled hair underneath the bandana. As I tied the knot, I glanced over at the shadowy corner of my living room. From the darkness, I met a distinct pair of glowing yellow eyes that stared back at me just before the rest of his form appeared. He crept from the shadows and walked into the kitchen.

‼️‼️🔞‼️NSFW‼️🔞‼️‼️

He stands on one side of the counter and crosses his arms over his chest and my eyes are instantly drawn to the thick veins splayed across his forearms. God Akaza was just so damn fine.

"So what do you have for me?" He asks. His brazen attitude always seemed like something he put on as a front but I didn't mind. It was so much fun to get under his skin.

"Damn, I can't get a hello?"

"Hello. Now let's see it." He says flashing a wicked half smile making me swelter even more than the muggy night air.

I glare at him waiting for him to change his smart-ass answer. Such a smart pretty mouth he has. He flinches under my gaze and rolls his eyes. "You can't just run up in my place and come at me with your attitude, I don't know who you were dealing with before. But it won't fly here."

"Fine, hello Y/N, what do you have for me?" He snaps in a slightly menacing tone. Mmm, such an attitude.

I wanted to smack the shit out of him but, after I thought about it. I decided I'd get under his skin this time. He just needs someone to take him down a notch.

My lips press together in a hard line, "Not much," I say walking over to a cabinet and retrieving a small box. I loosen the latch and pull a few sachets containing the herbs and seeds that he requested.

I reached out to hand him the little bags and his fingers brushed mine ever so slightly and he retreated instantly. I laughed to myself. Feeling a little daring, I decided to tempt him. The poor demon was wound so tight that I almost felt sorry for him.

The unbearable heat likely did nothing to help his foul mood though. His forehead was glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he stood just to the other side of my kitchen counter.

Hmm. "You seem a little nervous Akaza," I start.

He scoffs nodding in my direction and tucking the contents into his pocket. "You're kidding right?"

"Things are different between us now. I know you feel it. "

"Are they?" He glared at me and I couldn't decide on whether he was fucking with me or if he was playing along. Either way, I go with it.

"Yeah..." I say wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "...I needn't remind you how intense things got last time you were here." I shot him a knowing glare and waited. He shuffled his feet and leaned back against the wall behind him. He cocked his head to the side, posing like was unbothered.

"We cursed each other out, I might have called you a few names," only a few that I'd take back.

I lean over the counter and look up at him wondering what it's going to take to loosen him up again. As I smile up at him, waiting. His eyes burn into mine.

"I remember." He says it so blankly but something in his eyes latches itself to me and for the first time in forever, I feel like I'm on fire. Accepting his silent challenge, I make way my around to the other side of the counter to stand in front of him. I need to be closer. As much as I think I can read him, I can't make out why he's still holding back from me, but whatever it is, I'll figure it out.

I continue, "...What has been on my mind is the surely memorable exchange of tongue that took place after." I bat my lashes at him and tuck the corner of my lower lip under my teeth. He stands a little straighter and uncrosses his arms to lean on the counter behind him.

A tight crease forms over his brow and his jaw clenches holding in the words that he just can't quite bring himself to say. He settles with a sharp "I recall something like that happening."

I stepped closer to him and placed my fingertips on his broad chest. "So we've already crossed a line. This was only supposed to be a beneficial arrangement on both our parts..."

I slowly walked my fingers down his chest, observing the tight lines of his perfect physique. "...I give you names, scout resources..." I start a new trail on the outside of his wrist, immediately catching the way his body stiffens. "...and you get what you need, right?" I study his face, waiting for him to speak.

"You must be trying to tell me that you felt something" he spoke so calmly as he stood there looking into my eyes.

"Is it so wrong that I do?"

"No" his feigned attempt to appear unbothered starts to waver the closer I get to him. Still, his eyes were calling out to me. One minute I'm making him nervous and the next he's fucking with me. He's playing a fucking game with me.

"So then what is it you're waiting for? I don't see a reason why we shouldn't get to enjoy ourselves while we work together. You kiss me the way you did and then show up again acting like you're afraid to touch me again."

"I don-?" I press my finger to his lips, cutting him off. I realize now that playing nice only goes so far with him. He needs to know I'll win every FUCKING TIME.

—but something tells me that that is precisely what he wants.

"It's OK if I make you nervous baby. I like it. I enjoy it, even." I withdrew my finger from his lips and his eyes grew wide when he watched me bring that same finger to my mouth and taste it.

– And there it is! He swallows hard and tries to hide his reaction. The poor demon has been fighting like hell to keep his poker face but it's a battle he's losing. I lean into him, letting the softness of my body press against his rigid build. I reach down with a slow hand and gently drag my nails up the back of his arm, just barely grazing his skin.

"Just give in to what you know you want Akaza. No use denying it."

His hands clench into tight fists, likely from the slow trail of my fingers caressing his skin. "You know, there are a few things that give you away. Your body language is telling me so much right now, even if your lips aren't." I whisper to him, keeping him holding onto my every word.

I trace the thick veins along his forearm, following them up and over the outside of his elbow. I slide my hand over his thick bicep that I can't close my hand around. I gave his arm a soft squeeze and I bit down on my lip anxious for the moment that it would be his flesh that I sank my teeth into.

I go over his shoulders, lightly tracing the imperfections in my path while whispering to him. "See, all I have to do is..."

-- my hands slip down and explore his impeccable chest over his soft black cotton muscle-t. When I look him in the eye he breathes in a sharp breath of the heavy air that lingers between us. My hand moves down along the solid line of his sternum and then across his supple pecs. I intentionally graze his nipple with my palm and his body jolts as he can longer hide his gratification. This is too good.

"Ha, so you see, there's no point in denying this anymore. You want me just as much as I want you, don't you?" Akaza stands trembling in front of me. "I've only just touched you, and look at you."

He opens his mouth to speak again and the words catch in his throat when the weight of my body sinks against him. I always win. This will be no different. His bulge presses against my thigh. Who would've thought it could be this delicious to have an almighty demon wavering from something so gentle as the touch of a woman? The more I toy with him the more the other part of me begins to take hold.

"You're such a powerful creature, Akaza. But I wonder..." I nudge him just under his chin with my nose, and I inhale the sweet scent of blood that still lingered on his breath. I trace my finger down the hard line between his abs and he flinches like the charged energy between us has electrified my touch. I breathe him in, his scent, his aura, the raw power surging through his veins the way I know it would just before a fight. All of it makes me want to make him beg to have me.

"Aren't you bored?" I tease him further seeing the thick vein in his neck pulsing out of control and as beads of sweat roll down his skin.

His jaw tightens when I run my fingers over his abs again. Silently, I appreciate how his alabaster skin flows beautifully over all his tight muscles when he retracts slightly. I immediately close the distance, arching my back until my chest is pressed against him. His jagged breaths make his chest press even more against my own and the warmth from his mouth makes me clench blissfully between my legs.

He finally speaks. "So what exactly are you saying?"

I take his hands and place them on my hips. "What I'm saying is you're one of the most powerful demons I've come across, Akaza...But...." I reach for his face and tip his chin towards me. I let him feel the warmth of my mouth, holding my lips just inches from his, intentionally cutting my words as I ran my hand up the back of his neck and slid my fingers into his hair.

"...when you're here..." I sigh, brushing my lips against his chin. His hands slide over my ass and he gropes my fatty with greedy hands, still silently hanging on to my every word.

"...with me..."I twist my fingers further through his hair. Massaging his scalp, letting his hands roam my body. I tilt my head, brushing my nose over his.

"...You'll be mine!" The last syllables are just barely audible when I whisper them, moving closer to his lips. My eyes swing open and I linger for a moment, keeping his burning eyes held captive by my own. I exhale just slightly and in an instant,

— I close my hand around a fist full of his hair and tug hard making him groan. I lock my fingers in tight and bring him to his knees in front of me. "You're just too weak to admit it though, aren't you Akaza?"

My strength doesn't seem to surprise him, if anything, he's excited. His fists are clenched so tight that all the veins in his hands bulge under the skin. He looks every bit delectable as a sharp snarl violently shakes his body and tears its way out of his chest as he bears his fangs at me. I force his head back revealing the thick veins lining his arms and his neck. The ones on the side of his face pulse as he glares at me from below.

"I'm far from weak." he hisses.

"Oh you poor thing', you misunderstand me. What I'm saying is that with all that strength. All that skill. It must get boring, doesn't it? No one ever challenges you, do they?" His beautiful wide eyes glow at me triggering the first spasms to ripple throughout my body.

"Maybe you want someone to make you feel powerless." I pause, loosening the hold of the soft tendrils of his hair from my grasp as my body starts to vibrate. "I can do that for you, you just have to agree to be mine."

"And if I say yes..."

"It's not a matter of if you say yes. It's a matter of when." I smile wide while he sits on his knees panting.

"Maybe I'm not convinced you can handle me. Unless there's more to you than you let on" his golden eyes flashed with a feral intensity, seemingly begging me to show him what lies beneath.

"I tried being nice about it." I huff.

"I don't need nice." he hisses daring me with his eyes. "Show me."

"Fine," I say as I move to stand behind him and slowly bend over, making sure the top of his head rests neatly between my breasts. I slip my arms down over his and he tilts his head back. His eyes flicker with defiance and it draws the demon out of me. I untether myself from my humanity and give in to the violent spasms now radiating throughout my body. The change forces its way through me and before he can even acknowledge what's happening my nails become claws that pierce his skin making him wince.

"Ahhhhh'' he belts out a raspy whimper as I drag my claws up the side of his arms. His skin tears and fresh warm blood slicks my fingers making the blooming heat between my legs simmer. I palm the sides of his face smudging the thick liquid across his cheeks and the sight of him marred with the angry red trails of blood makes me shiver. I bare my elongated fangs at him and my tail slips over his neck, coiling tight in an instant.

"I'm done playing nice."

My tongue slithers out between my teeth and licks the dark liquid from my fingers and Akaza grimaces.

I take a step back and with a flick of my tail, I slam him hard to the ground, at once my body is hovering over his. I hiss and slick my tongue over the blood covering his face. "Go ahead and admit, you're bored out of your mind aren't you?."

His unexpected smile reaches his eyes and she shakes his head, "Oh look at you now, I knew you'd be worth the wait."

"You might not like that you get to see this side of me Akaza."

"Don't assume that. I like what I see so far." Akaza's hands grip onto my thighs and he pulls me down onto him. "If this is the power you have. Then I'll be weak! Only for you, I'll worship you. I will be yours." His fingers tighten and he pushes his bulge against me.

"Ah- ah- aah-," I say raising my hips and leaving him to strain in his pants without the feeling of my body on top of him. For the first time, there's a hint of desperation under the wild burning in his eyes. I lean over him and drag the sharp edge of my nail down his face.

"I've got to teach you a few things." I say tasting his blood off of my fingers once more and I swell with content. "First things first, You're only a plaything, I won't fuck you until you've earned it." Akaza gasps trying desperately to pull my body back down onto his." I claw the side of my neck and gather my blood on my fingertips.

"Open your mouth you poor little fucking demon boy." He pants wildly as he obeys, opening his mouth and eagerly trying to take my fingers into his mouth as I tease them around his lips.

"Say it!" I say lowering myself onto his stiff twitchy demon prick tucked so uncomfortably tight in his pants.

"You're my poor little slutty demon, right." His innocent honey-glazed eyes bore into my feral fiery orbs as he whispered the words I wanted to hear.

"Yes. I'm yours Mama."

I win.

I press my fingers into his mouth and he sucks, rolling his tongue around desperately. "Pathetic, aren't you?" I say snatching my fingers away and tasting them for myself.

He whimpers and my heart sings. " Yeah, that's exactly how I want you. So Akaza, shall we play?"

[thezoraprince]

A Frizzy Frazzled Mess - Bazz x reader

“sidon ( and bazz ) with a sweetheart whos having a bad hair day! i can just see the sweetheart stressed and annoyed cause their hair is being stupid and frizzy or something, maybe even on the verge of tears from frustration and sidon ( or bazz ) are just standing behind them, trying to keep it together and comfort them. they prolly see it as such a weird and foreign issue cause theyre BALD! BALD! BALD! 🧜🏻‍♂️👴🏻 MY EEYYYEEEESSSSS! 🔥👀🔥

have you ever seen that video of the little boy who drew his mom and it was kinda ass and the dad was laughing, the boy was sad, and the mom was trying not to laugh while telling her son he did a good job? thats what im seeing right now 💀 or that scene in megamind “ oh roxanne! youre hair looks... exciting.” - @millie-berra​

here’s Bazz!

(Sidon can be found here)

dreary, rainy days almost always mean frizzy hair 

and most days you can deal with it

but not today

no matter how much your brushed 

or how much spray or leave in conditioner you put in your hair

it was not getting any better

and let’s face it, you were frustrated

REALLY frustrated

Bazz returns home from work to you struggling 

“Y/n? Are you alright?”

and you turn around to look at him with the biggest frown on your face

“Your hair looks…?”

“Don’t even finish that thought, Bazz.”

he comes up behind you and give you the gentlest hug

“Hey… it’s alright. If it makes you feel any better, none of the Zoras would care what your hair looks like.”

“I know…”

“And besides… we don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. We can have a relaxing night in. How does that sound?”

and you smile

“I’d really like that.”

so you just roll with it

and Bazz makes you feel so much better about the situation

“Maybe tomorrow it will do what you want.”

[blamelessfish]

Silver Part Three

Previous // Next // Master List

The drive back to my apartment was uneventful, save for Alphus’ taste in music. It was some indie station, and between the music, it was advertising some kind of Woodstock reboot in July, in New York. I turned to Alphus. “Can we listen to something else?” I asked in a half-joking manner.

“What?” he asked.

“I just expected a centuries old construct to have a more refined music taste.” He laughed.

“Not all of us can get by on Mozart and mid 1950’s Jazz.”

“You leave Jazz Abroad out of this,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot in front of our unit. “It didn’t do anything to you.” He laughed, and we got out of the car. The smell hit me. Mrs.Kinnian from 3C was making her apple turnovers again. Alphus leaned on the roof of the car, my old Plymouth creaking under his bulk. 

“Smells like Mrs.K wants something from you again,” he said. I waved at Mrs.Kinnian through her window, returning the warm smile that she gave me.

“Why do you say that?”

“She and Mr.K don’t like apple turnovers. But you do.” I patted my stomach. I started towards her door.

“I might as well see what she wants then.”

“Silver, we’ve got our plate full.”

“And it’s about to be more full,” I said as I approached her door, across the hall from mine. “With apple turnovers.” I knocked on the door. Alphus sighed. “We’ll see what she wants and take some baked goods. That’s all.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Mrs.Kinnian opened the door. She was a tiny old lady, with frazzled white hair that blew up around her head like a frizzy halo, and glasses thick enough to stop bullets. The smell of cinnamon, apples, and chocolate blasted out the hall past her, and my stomach growled. She smiled at me.

“Well hello there silver,” she said, with the kind of affection that only a grandparent could give. Damn. I really was going to end up doing a favor for her, wasn’t I? She looked up at Alphus. “Hello, Martin,” she said, and smiled at him too.

“Hello, Dora,” he said, and I could hear that his resolve was weakening.

“Won’t you come inside for some baked goods and coffee?”

“Actually,” Alphus said, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder, “we just wanted to check in on you. We need to get to some other business we have.” 

“Oh you two can’t even take some of them off my hands?” She stepped aside, and her old, spoiled beagle wheezed his way over to me. I crouched and pet him.

“Unfortunately not,” Alphus said. “We’d have to take them to go.” The beagle, Mr.Whitmus, started licking my hands.

“Oh are you sure dear? I made those gooey fudge cookies you love, and you know they’re best warm.”

“Well, I- uh,” he hesitated, and I smiled, knowing we had him. “Okay,” he said. “Just a few minutes though.”

“Of course, dear,” she said. I stood up, and she led the both of us inside. On the walls of her entrance hall were pictures of her and Mr.Kinnian, a heavyset, kind man with dark skin and a bushy mustache. Her carpeting was plush, as was her furniture. She had a thick, orange and green floral couch, a padded rocking chair with purple cushions, and a gray loveseat. All of this around a dark wooden coffee table with an unsullied finish. The orange face of Garfield smiled at us from a set of four coasters set around a metal bowl full of multicolored stones that doubled as a candle holder. She shuffled off to the kitchen, and both Alphus and I took a seat on the couch. Alphus glanced at the T.V, which was playing a rerun of Jeopardy.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alphus hissed.

“What do you mean?” I asked, doing my best to sound innocent.

“We have other shit we have to do, and-”

“Are you sure that I can’t get the two of you any coffee?”

“I’m good, thank you,” Alphus said, doing his best to hide his irritation.

“Just some tea for me, please,” I said. “I’m sure that Martin would love a cup, he’s just being polite.”

“What the-”

“Oh, he should know better than to be polite in this household!” Dora laughed, cutting Alphus off. Alphus groaned, and rested his forehead in his hands.

“No sugar, please,” he said, defeated.

“I’ll take some,” I said. A few minutes passed quietly, Alphus occasionally muttering the trivia that contestants on Jeopardy missed under his breath. Eventually, Dora brought us each a plate with our baked goods of choice, and our tea.

“Won’t you have any?” Alphus asked.

“I already had some,” she said. We all made small talk for a little while, which helped to ease the tension that had been growing in my neck since I woke up that morning. Well, it was more of the night before, but that didn’t seem relevant. Mr.Whitmus climbed into my lap. He was a heavy boy, but incredibly soft. At some point, Alphus leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He didn’t need to sleep, but he still needed to enter a sort of trance to regain his energy, where he sort of stopped paying attention to the world around him. I’m still not quite sure how it all works. I’m not a flesh-smith. “Silver,” she finally said after I finished my tea. “I need to ask you a favor.” I looked up from Mr.Whitmus, who I had been showering with belly rubs.

“What’s the favor?”

“Well I,” she hesitated, glancing out the window behind me. “I don’t rightly know.” I raised an eyebrow, and leaned forward as much as I could with a thirty pound beagle in my lap. She leaned in as well. “I think it might’ve had to do with your kind of folk.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, unsure if she meant gay people or practitioners.

“Folks of a magical persuasion,” she whispered, as though we were sharing a conspiracy. Most of the people in our complex were clued in on the supernatural, having had a severe haunting a few years prior, and some of the residents themselves being inhuman beings.

“What did you see?”

“Well I saw it outside, last night,” she said, and looked out her window again. “It was tall, taller than a person, and nothing but skin or bone,” a chill ran up my spine, and Alphus snapped out of his trance, his eyes fixing on her with razor focus. She balked. “Maybe I didn’t see-” Alphus shook his head.

“Please continue,” he said, “it’s important.” She nodded.

“It was so fast, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at.” I stood up, Mr.Whitmus hopping to the ground. Why hadn’t my wards alerted me the moment a feaster entered the complex? “It ran into the woods there,” she said, and gestured to the patch of woods across from the apartment complex. That was bad. I knew that a few families had houses on the other side of the woods, not to mention the people living in the woods themselves. “What should I do?” Alphus paced to the window, looking outside.

“First, get inside as soon as the sun goes down. Stay there. It might be a good idea for Harold to stay home too.” I glanced around her living room. “Do you have anything that’s made of Silver? Genuine, authentic silver. Sterling will do, but the purer the better.”

“I have my mother’s old set,” she said, and walked to a cabinet with glass doors. She opened it, and took out the silverware set, which sat below what I assumed was a picture of her mother. She handed it to me. I took a piece out, and tried to run Arcane Energy through it. It didn’t work.

“This is perfect,” I said. I set some on the windowsill, touching the window.

“Put the silverware by each window, and on the internal lining of the door. Tell the others I said to do the same if they can.” I glanced outside again. It was still bright out, but the sun was slowly beginning to set. About three hours until dark. “I have something else I need to do tonight, but the silver will keep it out.”

“What should I do if it shows up again?”

“It won’t be able to get in, but if something happens and it does, my door will be unlocked. Lucille will be home. She can handle it.” She nodded. She was shaking, clearly afraid. I hugged her. “It’ll be okay,” I said. She nodded. “I have to go handle something else, and then I promise I’ll take care of this.”

“Okay.” I let her go, and walked towards her door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I left her apartment, and glanced at Alphus.

“Still think it can wait?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Why didn’t your wards pick up on an Outsider?”

“No idea,” I said, and opened our apartment. The smell of incense and old candles wafted out, mingling with the smell of Mrs.K’s baked goods. I paused. There was nothing else. Normally static washed over my skin when I walked inside, a side effect of my wards. Alphus bumped into me.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked.

“They’re fucking gone,” I said.

“What?”

“My wards, they’re gone.” Alphus swore in a language I didn’t understand, shoved me behind him, and drew his handgun. “Lucille,” I called, “is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” she called.

“Boxers or briefs?” Alphus asked.

“Boxer-Briefs,” she said. “Crunchy or creamy?”

“I prefer Hazelnut Spread,” I said. Alphus put the gun away. Lucille stepped out of the kitchen. She was frowning. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and a scar worked its way down the left side of her face, from just above her brow down to her throat.

“Why the interrogation?” she asked. Alphus and I stepped inside, and I closed the door.

“My wards are down,” I said. She blinked.

“How?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I’m taking a look around outside,” Alphus said. “Stay here.”

“Okay,” I said. Alphus left, looking more nervous than I had seen him in a long time.

“What happened?” Lucille asked.

“A lot,” I said. “I’ll tell you over dinner. What are we having?”

“I’m making shrimp fried rice,” she said. I nodded. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you a bowl.” 

“Thanks,” I said, and sat down in the living room by the front door. Where Dora’s furniture was pristine, practically untouched, ours was scavenged from yard sales and thrift shops. Our futon had been patched with various different types of cloth, and Alphus’ big chair leaked stuffing from the various holes he hadn’t been able to patch yet. He didn’t let anyone else touch it. Our coffee table had been torn up by Lucille’s cat, Boomstick, and the surface was cratered with cup rings. We’d spent most of our furnishing budget on the TV, which took up a good chunk of the wall opposite the futon, and Lucille’s PlayStation sat under it, with a few scattered games. Boomstick joined me, and I scratched behind the large orange cat’s ears. He purred like an engine, and flopped over on my lap. He batted at my hands as I reached for the remote, flipping on some nature documentary. I heard Lucille start cooking, and closed my eyes. After a few minutes, she was nudging me, holding out a bowl.

“Eat up,” she said. I took the fried rice and put it down, and she walked to the kitchen, coming back with her bowl, and a beer for each of us. I tapped my beer to hers, and she took a long drink from it. She had dark skin, and as a lycanthrope, her features were just on the human side of the uncanny valley. “So what happened?” she finally asked.

“Well, I got a call around 10 AM from Seattle’s finest,” I said. “They had a body they wanted me to look at, and a ritual.” I took a bite of the fried rice. It was divine, the fattiness and saltiness being exactly what I needed. 

“Was it something real?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “A little too real, actually,” I said. The door opened, and Alphus stepped in, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, sweet, fried rice,” he said, and walked to the kitchen.

“Find anything?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “Footprints look like a feaster, but that doesn’t explain the wards.” He left the kitchen, and walked to his chair with a beer and his food. “Thanks for dinner, Lucille.”

“Of course,” she said. “So the scene was a bit too real?” she asked.

“Yeah. So I called the C.O.D in, met the replacements.”

“We knew you would at some point. Can’t leave the post empty.” I nodded in agreement.

“Yeah.” I took another bite. “So, after that fun scene, I head to Marcilla’s because she had something for me. Come to find out one of her guys was killed-”

“The packs didn’t-”

“Have anything to do with it, I know,” I said, and waved my hand at her. I thought back on the scene, and my stomach twisted as I remembered the Arcane pollution. The taste of blood. The way the energy was alive. That skittering. Thing. “I know,” I said again. 

“That bad?”

“Yeah,” Alphus and I said at the same time. I shook my head with disgust. “Then I come home and find my wards are dead, and there’s a feaster running around.” I finished my rice, and got up. “I need to go start my Steel-Soul and God’s Tears.” I put my bowl in the sink, and leaned against the hallway wall, looking at her.

“Are you heading out again tonight?” Lucille asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “I have to appease a revenant.” She clicked her tongue sympathetically. 

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“I do.” She met my eyes, thinking for a moment.

“You know, I can’t close the Third Gate for you,”

“I know.” I crossed my arms.

“The pack and I could hunt that feaster down for you, though.” I thought for a moment. She and the rest of her pack were shifters, unaffected by the phases of the moon, so they wouldn’t be weakened by it starting to wane. Additionally, I’d be too busy to handle it that night. Finally, and most importantly, I knew that whatever I said, she would go hunt it anyways.

“Sure,” I eventually said. “It’s not like it can infect you. Just be careful.” She nodded, and it was clear that I had passed some kind of test.

“I always am.” I chuckled as I turned away from her, and made my way to my work room. I put my hand on the door, and sent a pulse of energy through it. The door slid open, and I sighed with relief. The room was almost as large as my apartment on its own. I stepped in, and the door closed behind me. I was met with the hum of Arcane Energy, and I glanced around at the runes. The extradimensional space was holding, the place seemingly unaffected by whatever had disabled my wards. I let out a sigh, and took in the smell of the herbs I grew there. I had shaped the extradimensional void into a vague facsimile of an antique study, complete with a perpetually  roaring fireplace and heavy bookshelves. My summoning circle was untouched, which I took as another good sign. The easiest way for Outsiders to intrude on a Practitioner's home was through the summoning circle. The only permanent etching was the circle itself, and the protective hieroglyphs around it. It was at the end of the room, in front of the fireplace. A plush chair sat in the circle, a small olive branch I offered to anything I summoned. If I called you, I’d do my damndest to make sure you were comfortable. In the spaces between bookshelves and cabinets, I had placed planters, growing various herbs and mushrooms that I needed for alchemy. Small orbs of light hung above them. Along the center of the room was a series of six burners, each with a clean flask. In the middle was a well, which tapped into somewhere in the Beyond to conjure water within it. I got to work. I was out of powdered Drake Bone for the Steel-Soul, so I had to make do with just the God’s Tears. It had the unfortunate scent of rotten straw. While the potion was simmering, I visited my cabinet again, grabbing my bag, and loading it with Silver Powder, Crushed Quartz, Golden Thread, a vial of Fool Moon water, and my silver dagger. The dagger was a gift from my teacher, keeper Durello. It was a Pugio, the word Custos etched on the blade, as a statement of office. I left my athame behind. I wouldn’t need to open any gates. I grabbed the staff I had been working on. A focus isn’t necessary for working with the Arcane, but it helps, especially when you have to do it quickly and dirty. I tend not to use one unless necessary, because it draws attention. This one was specifically made of Ash Wood, to help ground and redirect hostile energies. I had worked three copper rings, the metal of the First Gate, around the bottom, etched with protective runes, to capture and hold energies. I had wrapped the staff in strips of Birch for further protection, simply burning “shield” into each strip in various languages. It was coming along well, but I still needed to affix a head to it. I wasn’t sure if I would go with a band, an orb, or an animal head. I put it aside once I had wrapped the eight strips around it, one for each Gate. I decided that I would have the head made of obsidian, as its connection to the void made it ideal to absorb energies. I put it back in the cabinet, and bottled the potion. God’s Tears was used to numb pain and raise resilience. I only made one bottle, as potions would be useless for Alphus, then cleaned up and left. By then, two hours had passed.

“Welcome back,” Alphus said from his room. It was a cluttered sort of den, with various weapons that he had collected over the centuries. “I grabbed my sword, and loaded up on silver bullets.”

“Here’s hoping we won’t need them,” I said. 

“I’ll drink to that.” He got up, and pulled a long coat over himself. “Lucille went out with the pack already. What do we do if Mrs.K needs to get in and get protected?” I sighed. I’d forgotten about that.

“We could ask Alex.” I sighed, and nodded.

“I’ll do it, yeah.” I walked over to the phone, and dialed for Alex. It rang twice, and he picked up.

“Heya Silv, wassup?” I heard Beethoven bark in the background, recognizable even over the phone.

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah man. What do you need?”

“Can you watch the house tonight? Something took my wards down-”

“Jello or Pudding?”

“Ice cream,” I said, trying to mask my irritation.

“Sorry man, can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah. Anyways, my wards are down, and Mrs.K saw a feaster around.”

“Yeah, heard about that.”

“Yeah. I’m heading out to deal with a revenant, and Lucille won’t be home, so,”

“You need someone there if shit hits the fan. Yeah man, I can watch Mrs.K for yah.”

“Thanks man.”

“‘Course, dude.” There was a pause. “Did you say a revenant?”

“Yeah, long story.”

“Fuck man, I’m just glad I’m not you. I’ll be over in a few.” He hung up. After a few minutes, I heard him knocking on the door. I opened it. He was wearing a tanktop and cargo shorts, with flip flops. His entire body was covered in scars, from his work as an independent hunter. He had Beethoven with him, the ragged Great Dane pouncing on Alphus, who started showering him with attention.

“Thanks for doing this last minute. Mrs.K knows you, so this should be fine.”

“Yeah dude.” He looked past me, at Alphus. “Guns are still in your room, yeah?”

“Yeah. I got a new sig.”

“Oh sick, what model?”

“I got the P229, loaded with .357. Silver, of course.”

“Nice, nice,” Alex looked around. “Where’s Boomstick?”

“Probably hiding from Beethoven,” I said. “Listen, Alphus and I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“If you don’t check in in two days, I’m assuming you’re dead.” I knew he wasn’t joking. 

“I understand.” Alphus and I headed out. I glanced up at the night sky. A thick band of storm clouds was rolling in. I sighed.

“That’s foreboding.”

[dropsofjupitcr]

Smoke and brimstone swirled in the dank pit of Benji's hellish realm as the summoning sigils flared into lurid crimson light around him. With an aggrieved snarl, he felt the inexorable pull of dark magic wrenching him from his lair, the world warping sickeningly until he crashed into physical form.

Suddenly he stood in the center of what appeared to be a cozy living room, chest heaving as he reoriented himself. Benji raised one wickedly clawed hand to rake back his unruly mane of sable locks, revealing a pair of curved obsidian horns amidst the disheveled strands. His bronzed skin seemed to flicker with contained infernal energy, and what should have been a pair of regular human legs instead tapered into powerful, cloven haunches ending in wicked talons.

"Blood and ashes," the demon growled, voice like brimstone grinding over hot coals. "This had better be worth the trouble of—" His baleful amber glare swung towards the source of the pitiful summoning and landed on...a toddler. A tiny, cherub-faced human child stood frozen before him in a garish pink onesie, mouth comically agape as it clutched a battered stuffed dinosaur to its chest with one pudgy fist.

"The fuck..." Benji's growl petered off into stunned bewilderment as the child blinked those saucer-wide, tear-filled eyes at him a few times before unleashing an earth-shattering wail. Panic surged in the demon's aura as he automatically shrank down into a crouch, glancing wildly around for the summoner responsible. "Hey! Where are you then, you daft piece of—"

Just then, a frazzled looking human female with wild, frizzy hair sprinted through the entryway, halfway into a disheveled business suit and wrestling with a laptop bag. Her head whipped around and her eyes bugged at the terrifying sight of the horned demon looming over her screeching toddler. "Oh my god!" she cried, actually starting to back away in fear before seeming to catch herself. "Wait—I didn't want to sacrifice, I just needed an emergency sitter!"

"I am not a gods-damned nursemaid!" Benji roared, flexing his talons in outrage as infernal energy simmered over his skin. But the shrieking child was only getting more hysterical. Without warning, a stray plush tentacle arced through the air to smack Benji square in his runic-carved cheekbone. The woman seized the momentary distraction to barrel forward, scooping up her child and shushing the flailing little one quickly before sitting him back down. "I'll be back by six, I swear! Just don't eat or sacrifice him, okay?" And just like that, the outer door slammed and they were alone. Benji let out an aggrieved demonic groan, scrubbing his claws over his face while wondering whose contract he needed to violate to escape this fiendish torment.

based.

[fxckin-blackbeard]

ᒥ🎸ᒧ—         "3548, fleece pajamas, and Cuthulu, got it, love..." He spent a few moments stroking Killian's hair while he drifted to a morphine induced sleep. One last kiss placed on Killian's head before he leaves to get the things. Thankfully he had the ode to get in, because he didn't have any keys. He knows he locked the door on his rush out, that he remembers.

Walking up to the home, he notices something wrong right off the bat. The door he remembered locking was left open some, that wasn't right. He walks up to it and hears voices inside. He knew those voices, too. Knew them all too well. "Ben? Felix? What the fuck?!" Edward busts in to find the place in the midst of being ransacked by two buddies of Jack. They were somewhat roughed up and bloody, and Edward knew in that moment upon seeing them what had happened.

A struggle begins, but it's the tall, burly Edward that comes out on top over lanky Felix and old man Ben. And of course, the stool from the island was helpful in his beating the men, but he thought to use it which made him the real winner. The alarm had gone off, and just as he finishes wiping his own bloody nose cops come in. He's thankful among them is a familiar face in the policemen that arrested Jack twice, because he has to explain exactly what happened with two unconscious, beaten and bloodied men on the floor. The process takes hours, getting the information for all the reports was important, and new evidence for Killian's case was gathered.

After all that, he gathers the things he promised Killian. He'd be coming back in the following night to clean up the place for Killian's release from hospital. Until then, he leaves it as is. Decidedly, he would not be telling Killian the full story. He had healing up to worry about first.

He returns to the hospital room, placing down a duffle with all the items he promised. Thankfully Edward had shown up just after the two men got there. They only got to fuck up the living room and dinning room, Killian's bedroom was untouched. He looks a bit frazzled, hair frizzy and wild, dried blood on his upper lip, and an exhausted look in brown eyes. What a day it had been, he felt the urge to relax the best he knew how, but he shoved it aside to focus on Killian. "Killy?" He questions, looking over to the bed to see if the other was awake. It had been many hours since he left when Killian fell asleep.

His breathing calmed and he nodded slightly as Edward promised to be here for him and help him through this. When his things were brought up Killian frowned. "Could you find out what happened to my stuff I had on me? They must've atleast found my wallet if they knew where to find you, but my phone and house keys... If whoever attacked me took them..." Killian said with new worries bubbling up. If this was Jack's doing he was worried that his house might be trashed next.

"I'll be alright for awhile. Make sure my home is okay for me please? The security system code is 3548 to arm or disarm..." Killian took a deep breath feeling the drugs ready to knock him back out. "Bring me the cuddly pajamas, the soft fleece ones... maybe Cthulhu squish... mallow..." the influencer couldn't fight the drugs any longer and fell back asleep.