#marble countertops and white countertops small space

[triciarkg]

Bathroom in Austin

[loolay]

Kitchen (Portland)

[yandere-daydreams]

file #3: the foot fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!nanami kento x reader (jjk)

length: 2.1k.

warning: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), foot jobs, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of kidnapping, unbalanced power dynamics, and cannot mention it enough: feet.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here.

Which was to say, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, not this physical location – the small kitchen of Nanami’s up-until-recently neglected apartment, back pressed against the rounded edge of a pristine marble countertop and hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles were beginning to turn white. That, you could explain in fifteen words or less: Psychotic Ex-Boyfriend Kidnaps Overly Trusting Partner To Roleplay Repressed Domestic Fantasies, with further elaboration possible if you ever got the chance to talk to anyone who wasn’t currently holding you hostage. That, as much as you hated it, was normal. You knew why you were here.

It was much less normal to have Nanami on one knee in front of you, head bowed and one of your feet sitting in the palm of his hand. You hadn’t decided whether it was good abnormal or bad abnormal, yet, but still – not normal.

It must’ve been a rough day. He always looked tired when he got home, but tonight, he seemed exhausted – blond hair in a state of styled disarray, tie gone and shirt already partially unbuttoned, the circles under his eyes just a shade darker than they had been that morning. There was a cut on his cheek, too, and a tear along the wrist of his sleeve. Usually, he would’ve tried to get you to fuss over the damage, to trade privileges like a few minutes of T.V. and the latest news about your friends and family and not being handcuffed to his bed whenever he couldn’t watch you himself for sex and domestic labor and the faux-reciprocation of his obsession, but you hadn’t been able to say anything, let alone do anything before he’d fallen into his current position at your feet, his cheek resting gingerly against the inside of your thigh and his pale face slightly pink. He hadn’t said anything, either. You were starting to think he never would.

Unable to find an explanation written on the back of his head, you turned your attention to yourself. You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner when he got home, because cooking meant he had to trust you with something more dangerous than a plastic spoon and you couldn’t go back to not being able to hold your own toothbrush, even if that meant having to trip over yourself to play housewife with your captor. You were dressed for housework, but that didn’t mean much. Nanami picked out all of your clothes, and he liked you in soft, pastel silk gowns and cutesy, garish vintage dresses. Your current dress was far from overly provocative – the neckline above your collarbones, the skirt falling to your knees. He’d seen you in it before, too, and never had this reaction.

The only new factor was your socks, but that would’ve been ridiculous. It was a new pair – a far cry from the thigh-highs and nylon stockings he usually bought for you. The material was thick and white and cottony, only ankle-high with ribbed hems and a lace trip. He was cupping the arch of your foot, his hand slotted in the tender space between the heel and the upper sole, and the plush fabric rubbed uncomfortably against your skin as he shifted his hold ever so slightly downward. More out of reflex than anything, you jerked back, your toes curling downward as you tried to weakly pull yourself out of his hold, and as if pulled out a trance, Nanami snapped up at you, tired eyes weary and lips slightly parted. Your eyes met his, and for a second, it was all you could do to stay still, to stay quiet, to not yell or scream or thrash until finally, Nanami’s weary expression broke into a slight grin, an airy laugh trickling past his lips as his stare fell back to your foot. “They’re… cute,” he started, slowly, nuzzling his cheek gingerly against your thigh. “I knew they would be, but—” A pause, a kiss to the tender patch just above your knee. “—you always manage to surprise me.”

You managed to smile shakily. “Sorry, Kento, I didn’t mean to distract you. Why don’t you sit somewhere a little more comfortable? I can start on—”

“In a minute.” Another hand was brought up and wrapped around your ankle, just above the lace trim of your sock. His forehead settled against your thigh as he lifted your foot gently and with an almost painful sort of delicacy, pressed the sole of your foot into the bulging tent in his pants that you’d been trying so hard to ignore. You felt his lazy grin press into your skin, and something cracked open in your chest.

This time, you couldn’t stifle your immediate reaction; lurching back, your hands finding the edge of the counter as you tried to pull away from him. It took nothing for him to keep you in place, though, and even worse – the ball of your heel pressed into his shaft as you tried to get away, rolling against his cock with a little too much force and drawing a low grunt from the base of Nanami’s throat. Instantly, you regretted moving at all. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Again.”

You fell silent. His head lulled forward, pressing into your thigh, and somehow, you managed to spit something out. “…I’m sorry, Kento?”

“Again, angel, please,” he muttered, his eyes falling shut. You didn’t move, but he didn’t need you to – his hips jutting forward, grinding stiltedly against the sole of your foot. Any vague illusion of wholesomeness was forgotten entirely as he fell onto his knees, unabashedly rutting against your leg with all the shame and all the pride of a stray animal, desperate for its twisted idea of affection. You made a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself, to focus on the white tiles of his kitchen (not quite dirty, but not as clean as they could be, either – you’d have to do the floors tomorrow), then the far wall (there was a layer of dust along the edge of the light switch fame – you could take care of that later on tonight), but it would’ve been impossible not to think about the wet, hot breath fanning over your thigh, the stiff cock throbbing against your foot. You thought would’ve gotten used to his—uh, his unwanted attention by now, gone numb to the feeling of his mouth on your neck and his fingers on your clit, but this was a type of fresh humiliation you weren’t familiar with, the kind of unthinkable debasement that made your face heat-up and your thought spiral down, down, down. When your paralysis persisted, Nanami grit his teeth, rocked your foot against the length of his cock without ever letting his hips stop moving – like he was trying to fuck a hole through your heel. It was a rough, jagged motion; almost clumsy, despite the fact that you’d never seen him so much as trip. It might’ve left you off-balance, if you hadn’t been holding onto the counter so tightly. You might’ve fallen, if you thought that you would be enough to make him stop.

You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to suck in a shuddering breath, but that was a mistake – showing any kind of weakness was a mistake. You felt one of his groping hands on your upper thigh, then your ass, finally finding the thin, flimsy material of your panties and pulling. There was no elegant way to strip you down, so he didn’t try to be elegant. There was a harsh tearing sound, the feeling of blunt nails scraping against unprotected skin, and then, scraps of ruined material were scattered on the floor at your feet, the skirt of your dress pushed up to your waist as he forced his face between your legs, mouth already open and tongue already lapping over your cunt.

It was a bad position; the distance too far, the angle too sharp, everything about strained and awkward and unnecessary, but Nanami didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care. His tongue ran over the length of your slit before he latched onto your clit and sucked. Instantly, it was too much – a strangled cry tearing past your lips as you buckled into yourself, your knees nearly giving out as another reverberating moan sent pangs of something sharp and electric stabbing into your core. Against your better judgement, your hands shot from the counter to his hair, your fingers soon knotted in a mess of blonde in a futile attempt to pry him away from you. He only melted into your hostile touch, one of his hands remaining on your ankle while the other found your hip, keeping you still and pliable as his attention dipped lower, the flat of his tongue pushing broad patterns into your entrance as the bridge of his nose ground lazily against your clit. “Love you,” he mumbled, his voice little more than a throaty, ragged murmur – almost too deep to be audible and constantly interrupted by the sound of your slick on his lips, on his tongue. You wished he wouldn’t talk. You wished he wouldn’t pretend to love you. You wished he wouldn’t force you to do the same. “You’re so—so pretty, and so perfect, and—”

A guttural moan cut him off, and his attention shifted, his head lulling back just far enough to stare up at you with eyes so soft and so tender, you could almost forget he was humping your leg like a bitch in heat. You were suddenly aware of your own distraught expression – all grit teeth and misty eyes, misery and pleasure flooding through your veins in tandem. You wanted to ask him not to look at you. You needed to ask him to stop, but—

You felt a frigid ache in your left wrist – the wrist he’d kept shackled to the bedpost for the first three weeks of your kidnapping. You tried to open your mouth, but your tongue was deathly dry, your throat stuffed with cotton, the feeling not entirely unsimilar to the residue left behind by the velvet gags he used to shove in your mouth when you didn’t want to lay there and let him break you. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything as he let out a final, primal groan – as you felt something thick and hot soak through the fabric of his dress pants and into your ridiculous, childish socks. He whined into your cunt, fingers burrowing into your waist as he dragged you that much closer to his mouth. His tongue fucked shallowly into your cunt, and a whine caught in your throat as your vision burnt white, as you came unwillingly on his tongue.

You couldn’t do it, anymore. With his hand still on your hip, his cum still searing into the sole of your foot, you collapsed. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground, and you hated him for it. You wished he’d let you crumble to the tile floor, wished he’d just watch and laugh as you curled into a ball and stayed there for the rest of the night, the rest of the week. You wished he’d—

Oh, god, you’d made yourself cry. Nanami let out a breathy chuckle as you sniffled and tried not to wail, kissing your tear-stained cheeks with a gentleness you couldn’t seem to link to the man who’d just cum to a pair of socks. “It’s alright, angel. You can let it out.” Another kiss, this one to your forehead. “Too much?”

You nodded, burying your face in his shoulder. You felt his arms wrap around you, keeping your body pressed into his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. There were a few seconds of quiet, unthinking solace before he lowered you onto your shared bed – a pair of shackles still hanging, unlocked and waiting, from the headboard. Immediately, you scrambled for the nearest pillow, burying your face in the plush material and sobbing openly. Nanami’s comfort came in the form of a wry grin, a pair of hands on your hips, turning you onto your stomach and starting on the buttons of your dress.

As he settled between your legs, his calloused fingertips skirting over your bare skin, you couldn’t help but wonder if the shackles had really been so bad.

[husbandhoshi]

[9:47 AM] *suggestive

the first thing you learn about seungcheol is that his towels are embroidered. csc, they read, in gold thread on absurdly plush bath towels.

(actually, the first thing you learned about him was that he's a good kisser. you learned this the hard way, outside the bar, after all your friends had gone home and it just was you, him, and his tongue in your mouth.)

as a rule, you try not to learn anything about your late night escapades, but, evidently, you have already failed.

it's easy to notice his bathroom looks much bigger than it did last night, now that all the lights are on. he has not one, but two, matching rugs, and the sconce lights make the marble countertop look like it's made of water. nestled in the corner is a little tray with all his cologne lined up end to end—armani, dior, chanel.

you pick up the silvery one on the end and smell the cap. (yes, this one. he was wearing this one last night, right in the space where his collarbone met the base of his neck. you had kissed him there, and he had asked you to go home with him. creed, aventus, it says.)

he even has the drunk elephant moisturizer, although it looks criminally underused. it sits among a small pile of skincare that looks like it costs twice your monthly paycheck, if you had worked overtime.

you have to remind yourself you're not here to snoop through rich people's bathrooms, as fun as that sounds.

seungcheol was a quick fuck (and a really good one at that), but you already feel like you've overstayed your welcome.

the plan—in and out. you hate the sticky, too-warm goodbyes, the small talk at the kitchen table, the unexpected rattle of a roommate coming home. worst of all, they never want you as badly in the morning as they did the night before.

but the plan has already gone to shit. you woke up practically spooning him and your little bathroom detour cost you ten minutes. and it's almost 10, which is what he has his two-hundred dollar alarm clock set to.

you shut the bathroom door as quietly as you can, hoping to make a quick getaway. but it's here, caught in the waxy overcast from the huge windows, where, for the first time in your life, you almost want to say fuck the plan.

"morning," seungcheol hums, propping himself up on the bed. you take one look at him, shirtless and sweats slung low, and you lose the plot entirely.

yesterday, when you had met, it looked like he was made in some kind of factory for hot men—starched white shirt rolled to the forearms, hair perfectly gelled, and a fat breitling watch hugging his wrist. and yet, as you watch him blow a cowlick out of his eyes, he seems even more attractive, which you would have never thought possible.

"someone's eager to get outta here," he says, enjoying the way you avoid his eyes. "don't tell me it was that bad for you."

you smile nervously. what you can remember about last night is that it was anything but bad. the whole thing makes your face feel hot—you are no prude, but he sure makes you feel like one.

"is that what it looks like?" you answer. you realize you can't find your shoes. you think he threw them somewhere last night, between the memory of his hand up your dress and yours in his hair. he kissed his way up your legs and you forgot you even had shoes to worry about.

"almost, if you weren't checking me out just now."

damn. guilty as charged. you can't help it. things feel too good to be true.

first, you learned you got fucked by a million dollar dick last night. now, instead of kicking you out like any other one night stand, he's acting decent, maybe even more than decent. and he has the tits of a god.

seungcheol sees your face wrench up in puritanical shame and he laughs.

"well, if you have time in your busy, busy schedule," he starts, with a grin that makes you dizzy. "i'm making breakfast. and i would love to eat it with you."

suddenly you don't know why you ever had a plan in the first place. you watch him attempt to wink at you from all the way across the room and you think getting to know him might not be such a bad thing after all. maybe things are too good to be true, but you're willing to find out.

needless to say, the second thing you learn about seungcheol is that he cannot cook.

the third? he's an even better kisser sober.

[elijahstwink]

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

[bobluvbot]

sweet nothing

pairing: remus lupin x f!reader  summary: you thrive in filling everyone’s cup. remus makes sure your cup gets filled too. wc: 2k cw: descriptions of food, eating a/n: written after a long writing break pls be nice heheh p.s. thank you for all the love for my sirius angst fic!!! i saw yalls comments and messages and appreciate them sm!! i don't have plans at the moment to write a sequel/pt. 2 sorry :'( someday when i get inspiration i probably will but for now it's a standalone <3

The pesto pizza was a big hit.

The news of the heatwave came a month early so it gave ample time for James to rein in the necessary house improvement tasks: yard weeding and tidying, adding small stone steps for the toddler, and ordering the inflatable slip and slide pool for the sweltering summer days. And he was adamant to do it all by hand, no magic, so he “could get the full experience”. Lily likens it to being married to a professional landscaper and contractor at once, thankful that her decision to go on a date with James Potter during seventh year continues to be a great lifelong investment. 

You can still recall Remus’ early morning grumbles when james calls him over for help. It came to a point where he’d beg you to pretend to be mad at the setup, reasoning that “ james is taking him away from his lovely pretty girl” when his best friend calls him at 6am to start the day mowing the lawn. 

James would roll his eyes at excuses falling off of Remus’ lips, but he’d sincerely take your concerns to heart. Lovingly, you’d wave Remus off and give him pecks on both freckled cheeks, encouraging him to go and learn how to tackle on house repairs so he’d be well prepared when it’s your turn to build a family home. 

This usually gets him going, Remus’ secret lover boy tendencies kicking in, but not without grumbling and frowns thrown haphazardly (easily treated with touching and kisses). 

Sirius was off travelling the world for most of the month, much to Remus’ dismay, as he was then promoted as the first-in-line friend in James’ contacts. He did however send over a fancy outdoor pizza oven in lieu of his absence, and it completed the space. 

On the days where you finish work early, you’d join Lily as she picks up her little boy from nursery and take a leisure walk around their quiet neighborhood, a babbling toddler in tow. Then you walk into the perfect setting: the gentle hum of the AC, sunrays reflecting on the white marble countertops, a nicely prepared spread of afternoon snacks for the three of you, and the floor to ceiling glass wall separating the living area from the backyard offering a glorious view of two sunkissed shirtless men doing hard manual labor. Lily nudges you, handing a bowl of pistachios. “A snack for the show.” You return her glance, eyes both twinkling with playful mischief. Maybe the summer days aren’t as bad as it seemed.

But then the first draining day of the heatwave hit. There were minor adjustments to be made still, like some scaffolding to be tidied and hedges to be trimmed, but the heat had a special way to beat down the morale of any living thing exposed to it for a while, and it finally hit James. Early on a Saturday morning, you decided to accompany a still groggy Remus on his usual Potter house renovation shift to make him feel a bit better that you were also losing sleep with him. To both your surprise, James comes from the garden to meet you, looking worn out but wears a proud grin. “It’s all done,” he claims, clapping his hands together and you see him holding the wooden culprit that magically finished hours of yard work in a few minutes. So much for no magic. 

“Get some sleep and come back in the afternoon for the party.” Remus grabs your hand and apparates back home in record time, before James gets a chance to recant his words. 

Completing a full 8 hour sleep cycle does wonders to the mind and soul. A well-rested Remus was filled with high spirits, doting on you as you both get ready for the party. He showers you with compliments the moment you step out of your closet, giving him a twirl. Once the bashfulness sets in, you run to him and try to nuzzle your heated cheeks on his chest, anywhere to escape his lovely sappy gaze. He sits on the bed so you can’t hide, and looks up at you like you hung up the moon. It was maddening.  

“You look stunning, my love,” he says, hands on the back of your knees, sliding up under the hem to meet the soft skin of your thighs and resting them even higher. It took immense strength not to buckle down and fall into him. You’d foreseen this response the moment you decided to wear that white babydoll dress, but actually going through it is a terrible nightmare. As much as the idea of bailing on the summer party and letting Remus do whatever he pleases with you in this dress sounds very appealing right now, you had promised Lily that you’ll help with the cooking and food, and ghosting your best friend for a dick appointment sounds very juvenile. So against your questionable judgment, you grab your boyfriend’s face, give him a chaste kiss, and murmur against his lips, “james and lily will kill us if we ditch.” 

Even though it was an intimate gathering of close friends to celebrate the finished yard, you forgot to account for the amount of kids, partners, and pets that your friends have accumulated since graduation. James had to transfigure the already long dinner table even longer and double the number of chairs to accommodate everyone. The slip and slide also was transfigured into an actual waterpark, complete with a lazy river that kids seemed to enjoy after going on the slides. 

While it was definitely chaotic, it didn’t feel suffocating like packed events usually make you feel. It’s likely because of the familiar faces wherever you look, the ease of conversation just flows. Remus was anchored to your side until he wasn’t, whisked away by both James and Sirius as they announce to everyone who’s listening how his valiant efforts in renovation has resulted in the beautiful yard they were in today. You giggle at the endearing sight of your boyfriend furiously flushing pink while his loud best friends continue to brag about him. It’s just how the marauders would be back in Hogwarts, with you watching their shenanigans from afar whilst nursing a terrible, terrible crush on Remus. Only difference now is that you get to take him home. 

You eventually get whisked away too, thankful that Lily came right on time as you were starting to melt in the heat. The inside of the home smells and feels like heaven, as the chilly air from the AC carries the scent of freshly prepared ingredients and whatever concoction Lily’s currently tending to in a pot. Careful not to disrupt the comfortable quiet, you give her a back hug, a silent thanks for fixing up everything you’ll be needing for the pizza you vowed to make, before getting to work. 

You’ve gone over the recipe and prep so many times that you could do this with eyes closed. The pesto sauce was freshly made a day prior, a delicious result of your raid in your aunt Molly’s garden and fridge. Before you knew it, the only thing left to do was place the pizza into the oven, to which Sirius was very happy to do so he could flex his expensive purchase. 

The chatter didn’t die off even when the dishes started rolling out of the kitchen, everyone now raving of how good Lily’s cooking have been, James not helping by proclaiming, “'m pretty sure my heart isn't the only thing she's stolen—she's got everyone's taste buds wrapped around her finger with her cooking too.” Making his wife flush pink and hit his arm playfully. 

When it was time for your dish, the stakes were quite high and you were feeling a bit nervous. At home, Remus practically inhales everything you make which provides you a good ego boost, knowing that you don’t need to be the best, as long as you don’t accidentally poison someone from your cooking. 

Soon enough, the scent of freshly baked pizza filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. You stand by the head of the table, hands deftly making slices enough for everyone, continuing to scan the crowd, ensuring that everyone is being taken care of.

"Here you go, aunt Effie,” you smile, handing her a generous slice. “Here’s a bunch for you, Fred, careful not to spill and please share with your brothers!" you try to say quickly, but only see a spur of red hair and small hands before they run back to the water slide. 

You soon get a groove going and start to move down the line of smiling guests and waiting plates. Too distracted that you jump a little when you feel a warm presence at your side. Without ever needing to look, you knew it was Remus, who’s now carrying a plate with a slice you don’t even remember handing him. 

Without a word, he picks up the steaming slice and brings it to your lips. You welcome the taste, finally understanding the praise everyone seems to be throwing at your wake. You make a mental note to thank your aunt for lending you her recipe. Remus has his free hand cupped near your chin, ready to catch any crumbs or drippings that might stain your pretty white dress. 

Butterflies in your stomach erupt and fight for space, your entire body vibrating with giddiness and affection for your lovely boyfriend. That distracted look in his eyes as he feeds you in between your efforts in feeding everyone makes the warm fuzzy feeling worse, because you know he’s doing this without much thought, like second nature. That it’s just common sense. That it just goes without saying that his love knows you, fills the needs you don’t even realize were there in the first place.

You wonder through the afternoon then early evening what you’ve done in your past life to receive this love. Maybe you saved a cat from a burning building, or watered a dying plant that had magical powers to heal serious illness, or stars aligning just right to have you exist in the same timeline as Remus. 

You find yourself buried in blankets and clad in a worn sweater, twenty something minutes in a romcom movie in the comforts of your tiny apartment. Remus slides in beside you with a bowl of steaming buttery popcorn and another can of your favorite sparkling water (which he hates with a passion). Your eyes drift to your opened one on the side table, now seeing that it’s almost empty, a few sips left. 

Remus snorts at an obscure joke one of the characters says in passing, and you snuggle up to him, maybe hugging his arm a little tighter than usual, afraid that a love this gentle can vanish between your fingers. He turns and recognizes the look on your face, returning the soft gaze. His free hand brushes a stray hair away, fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“Thank you,” you find yourself murmuring. “For taking care of me.”

You had this conversation long time ago when you first started dating. Having been in some relationships and situationships before Remus, you thought you’ve seen it all. Known the twists and turns, what to ask for and when to keep quiet, what you owe and don’t. But he comes and does things that drove your mind haywire, body screaming foreign! unknown! when he leaves sweet and short scribbles on post-its and sticks it to random places that you’re bound to see somehow, your favorite fruits magically appearing on the basket after finishing the last piece yesterday, being able to count on one hand times where you had to touch the wheel and drive. Its all natural, unprompted, again like second nature. as much as you hated to admit, you’re a control freak. but it's easier this way when you know what comes and goes, what happens and what doesn’t, what won’t happen if you don’t do anything to get it. being with Remus and knowing his love is a shock as it is a clean slate. to unlearn roughness and rigid and know to be soft and vulnerable. 

you’d thanked him. when he gave you a confuddled look, like he didn’t just make your heart grow two sizes bigger in one day. you then started enumerating things he did that made you feel appreciated and loved. you were expecting him to be happy that you see and celebrate his effort, any reaction honestly but a frown. “you don’t need to thank me for those things,” he had said, holding your hand and gently rubbing circles when he sensed that his reaction scared you. “That’s how I show my respect and care for you. ‘s nothing special, just what’s right.” You couldn’t stop the ugly sobs that came after that, when you realized that yes, this was the bare minimum of a healthy relationship, but you made space for less because that’s all you’ve ever gotten, even when you’d ask. 

This time however, maybe because its near midnight and you’re both worn out for the day, Remus lets you. “Always.”

[captain-hawks]

kita and dark red🤞🏼

shinsuke kita x reader

c: yakuza!kita, arranged marriage

In the months following your whirlwind betrothal to the Inarizaki clan’s kumicho, Shinsuke Kita, (at the behest of your scheming father) you’ve made little to no headway in figuring out much of anything about the calm, stoic man that’s soon to be your husband.

His interactions with you have been formal and brief, at best, and much to your surprise, you were even provided your own private quarters upon your arrival. He’s not so much as set foot past the boundary of the large wooden door that closes off your room, nor has he requested your presence in his bed.

And it’s this relentless air of mystery and disinterest that leaves you shifting awkwardly atop the countertop now, all too aware of the fact that it’s well past midnight and you’re sitting in his kitchen wearing nothing but a faded t-shirt, a spoonful of dry cereal suspended midair between the bowl and your lips.

You accompanied Kita to a formal dinner hours earlier—and were embarrassed to find how frustrated you became as the night went on and nearly every other man in attendance snuck a glance at the sight of you in the dress the oyabun himself had picked out for you. (Well, he’d had it delivered to your quarters by someone else.)

A dress that Kita himself said not a single word about, his gaze hardly bothering to find you for the entirety of the evening.

The white marble is cold against the back of your thighs as Kita approaches you now, still donning his slacks and a white button down shirt, though he’s since removed his tie and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

Eyes drifting from the bowl to your face, a small, rare smile that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen makes its way across his lips.

“Do ya often pillage the cabinets while everyone else is sleepin’?” he asks, and you swear you hear a hint of teasing in his tone, his voice slightly raspy in the late hour. 

“Am I not allowed?”

His eyes shine in the illumination of the pale yellow light hanging above the sink.

“Nah, ya certainly are. But one of the boys could bring it to yer room for ya.”

One of his hands comes to rest atop the counter, a respectful distance from your bare thigh, but you’re exceedingly aware of every centimeter of space all the same as warmth rapidly floods your gut.

“Maybe I like sitting up here and stuffing my face,” you counter with a playful shrug, just because you can. 

He tilts his head to the side, his steady gaze briefly flicking over your form before pointedly returning to your face.

“Hm,” is the only response he deigns to offer you, eyes not leaving yours as he reaches into the bowl and takes a piece of the cereal, placing it in his mouth. 

He’s quiet for a moment as he chews, and you make no effort to hide the way you watch his throat bob when he swallows. 

Slowly, he reaches out again, this time toward your face, and your heart slams against your ribcage as his hand—with a touch that’s far gentler than you ever could have imagined—cups the curve of your jaw.

“I like this color,” he comments, pressing his thumb against the dark red coating that you’ve yet to wipe from your mouth.

You blink, throat going dry as your toes curl, bare heels pressed firmly against the cabinet beneath you. 

He drags his thumb all the way across your bottom lip, and you can feel your lipstick smudge against your cheek as he swipes the digit well past the corner of your mouth in one fluid motion.

“It suits ya,” he murmurs softly, eyes drifting back to yours as he briefly runs his teeth over the tip of his thumb, the skin there now stained red as well. “Sleep well.”

You stay seated atop the counter long after the sound of the stairs creaking beneath his footsteps fades to silence.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Granted, this looks like a lovely 1877 second empire townhouse with a Mansard roof. It's in Minneapolis, MN, has 1bd, 1.5ba, and is listed for $1.2M + $1,029mo HOA (which really surprised me).

This is no ordinary townhouse. Walk through the cathedral-like doors and to the right is a small bar and wine rack.

And, to the left is this magnificent dining room under a dreamy carved wood pavilion with a painted ceiling.

But, that's not all. Check out the natural looking stone wall. And, the description says that it could possibly be an old tunnel that was sealed. (I would have to take a sledgehammer to it, then.)

Have you ever seen a fancier powder room? Fabric is on the wall in an assortment of carved frames with a mirror to match. The sink base is an intricately carved wood piece with a marble top. The faucet looks like a gold swan drinking from a large crystal bowl. Wow, I know I would chip that sink.

The casual living/family room features a brick wall with an arch and shelving. The rest of the room has lovely tall wainscoting and beamed wood ceilings. It also has stained glass upper windows.

The everyday dining room is right outside the kitchen.

Have you ever seen a kitchen like this? The wood countertops have flowers painted on them. Just noticed that's an Aga stove. (That size costs about $23K.)

The backsplashes over the stove and sink are detailed mosaics.

Even the little nook by the coffee bar has a mosaic backsplash.

The home is on 3 levels, so it's difficult to determine what floor this room is on. As you can see it's very elegant, very pink, with lovely white wainscoting, a magnificent fireplace and gold accents.

It looks comfortable and sunny, though. Love the chandelier, corbels and decals on the walls. (I'm not into tapestries, however.)

The owner commissioned a muralist to paint the stairwells. Note the fancy doors.

There's only 1 bd. and it has murals of the mountains of Japan, plus woven walls to make it look like a Minka, a traditional Japanese home.

Check out the entrance to the en-suite guarded by Fu Dogs.

The black granite tub has a big dragon head faucet. Wow, this is insane. Look at the floor and the wood walls.

Even the pattern in the shower looks like mountains.

Behind the doors there's a washer and dryer.

The sink vanity looks like an antique Japanese bureau and look at the private room for the black toilet.

You get 1 garage and 2 open spaces.

That's the Mississippi River across the street. It looks like there's a rooftop deck with sun rooms, too.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8-Grove-St-8B-Minneapolis-MN-55401/1913645_zpid/

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 19 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, abduction, mentions of blood/gore!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hello and welcome to part 19! We're closing in on the end very soon and it is making me a little sad! I haven't felt so attached to anything I've written before so its all so weird! I'm sure I'll write random blurbs about Vampire!Elvis in the future so he's not going anywhere😉 Hope you enjoy this next part!

A reminder, this is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story.

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here I hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think!

You paced aimlessly upstairs, trying to plot your escape out of there. Every scenario you came up with, ended up with you getting bit by one of these vampires luring in the house. The number of them in the house was unknown to you and that made it even more dangerous to try to escape. Your stomach growled and your head felt weak. You honestly don’t remember the last time you ate a meal. So much has been happening and you haven’t made time to take care of yourself. You peer out the window and see two men at the front gates. Getting through them would be tricky and almost impossible. You look down and see it would be a far fall from the second story and you’d probably break a bone making your escape an impossible one. The city lights illuminate in the background of the dark desert. You had to be a few miles away from the hotel and there wasn’t much foliage to hide behind if you made it that far. Vampire’s eyesight was perfect even from miles away, you knew you were going to get caught either way.

You curse under your breath and close the curtains again, making the bedroom pitch black. You turn on the lamp on the side table and sit on the bed, covering your face in your hands. Your mind wandered and missed Elvis more than anything right now. He was looking for you, you were sure of that. You just wished he could find you sooner. You look down at your bandaged wrists and see blood coming through the wrapping. The stinging still coursed through your arms and winced if you moved your wrists a certain way.

The clock on the wall ticked menacingly, reminding you that you’re running out of time sitting here. Your head continued to pound and the added nerves didn’t help anything. You had to eat something or you’d pass out. You were too afraid of that happening in a house with starved vampires. The possibility of there not being any food in the house made you ill at ease. Why would there be anyway? Usually, the food comes to them…

You had to go and look anyway. Hopefully, Raphael wasn’t downstairs and wouldn’t make you stay down there with him. You quietly make your way down the carpeted stairs, taking one step at a time. You were sure it was pointless being this quiet as they could probably hear your heart racing away. Peeking over the banister, you don’t see anyone in the living room and you let out a slow sigh of relief. 

You remain stealthy and try to not make any noise once you’re in the kitchen. The space was huge and the cold marble floors made you shiver as you carefully treaded on. There was hardly anything on the countertops other than a few small arrangements of white azaleas on the far ends of the counter. There was a butcher block of knives by the sink and various items of cooking utensils in a container next to them. 

You find a pantry closet and peek inside. It was dark and the air smelled musty. You open the door a bit further hoping the light will light up the pantry more. The first thing you find is a box of crackers. It doesn’t look like they’ve ever been opened, which is a good sign they haven’t been tampered with. You carefully rip the plastic wrap off of them, trying not to be too loud. 

“Surprised you left your dungeon,” a man’s voice says behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. 

You quickly turn your head to look at who it is and find yourself disgusted when you discover it’s Daniel. 

“What do you want,” you say through your teeth. 

“You really must work on your manners. That’s no way to talk to a man,” he grumbles. 

“Go fuck yourself. I don’t owe you anything and do not need to talk to you nicely. Not after everything you’ve done to me.” You spat. 

“There’s so much hatred inside you. You were never like this when you were with me,” he says smartly. 

“Trust me, I was. I just knew how to hide it better.”

He takes a few more steps closer to you in the kitchen. His eyes were still red and he looked gaunt. You scoff at his current state. He looked pathetic and weak. Nothing like how powerful Elvis looked. While he was a new vampire and one whose power was unparalleled, it still didn’t scare you. 

“So this is what you wanted? The entire time you wanted to serve someone like Raphael? Because that’s what you have done to yourself. There’s no free will with him.” You seethe. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” He grumbles. 

“No?! Try me. What was the purpose of being with me if you knew that all you wanted was to be a vampire? That doesn’t include me at all in that picture,” you yell quietly. 

He stays silent and looks at you with disgust. 

“You weren’t going to be in the picture. I was going to leave you,” he says low. 

You nod your head and try not to laugh. 

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Selfish bastard,” you mutter under your breath. 

“How did you find out? What they are?” You continue. 

“After some time of working for him, he told me. He said if I wanted to work for him, I’d have to handle the truth of what he is. He showed me his fangs and it scared me to death. But I pulled it together and tried to not let it freak me out. If it did, he said he’d compel me to forget and I didn’t want to,” he explains. His admission was surprising to you, the slightest amount of change that came into your lives freaked him out and he always deflected issues when you both were together. You were shocked you never noticed any strange behavior from him when he found out about Raphael. But then again, you two were never together and always working.

“What was your job with Raphael? Because you were gone all the time,” you ask annoyed. “Vampires don’t need ‘bouncers’ to protect them 24/7.” You say snarkily.

He takes a pause and starts explaining nervously, “I was the one bringing him… food whenever he wanted. That’s why I was never around.” He explains. 

“And how the hell does Raphael think he’s better than Elvis when he goes around doing that? He says Elvis has a control issue when in fact it’s him who has the problem. The only difference is he made you do his dirty work,” you say with disgust. 

Daniel stays quiet and clenches his jaw. 

“It wasn’t like that,” he says. 

“And you call me stupid. That’s exactly what it is,” you scoff. “But now what? What are you going to do now that he changed you?” You ask. 

“I uhh… I don’t know. Raphael hasn’t really explained anything to me yet,” he says timidly. 

You laugh at him, not surprised at all by Raphael’s actions. 

“Typical. I guess nothing has changed in the last fourteen years.” You mutter.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He snaps at you. 

“When Raphael bit Elvis in the army, he left him to figure out everything on his own. He went crazy because there was no one to guide him or knowledge of how to live with this newfound strength he possessed. I wouldn’t doubt you have the same fate,” you say. 

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” he grumbles. 

“Mhmm sure. Whatever gets you to sleep at night,” you say rolling your eyes at him and then realizing what you said. “Oh wait never mind...” you say smartly. 

He stares daggers at you, anger boiling off of him and he takes another step closer to you.

“Be honest with me, what do you see in Elvis? How could you possibly want him?” He asks.

You chuckle softly and shake your head at him, “That’s funny, Elvis asked me the same question in regards to you.” He looks at you annoyed and clenches his fist at his side. You continue, “But I’ve told you before, it’s none of your business. He takes better care of me than you ever could, that’s all you need to know,” you say coldly.

“You have to be lying. There’s no way that man would ever show a human any mercy,” he laughs at you.

“You don’t know Elvis! All you have heard about him are lies and rumors from either the newspapers or straight from Raphael’s blasphemous mouth,” you seethe, “How can you hate someone this much?!”

“The moment I knew he was fucking my fiancee! That’s when! I already didn’t like him, so it didn’t take much for me to push me over the edge. But when you told me what you let him do to you, I had never felt such rage. You were supposed to be my wife,” he growls.

“No! You already said you’d leave me once you were turned so you have no right to think you had a claim on me! You just became jealous of what you couldn’t have anymore. I didn’t want you anymore. It took me a while to come to terms with, but I can’t undo the past. We were not meant for each other,” you sneer. 

"All he ever does is lie to get his way darling. He might say he cares for you, but that can all be over in a blink of an eye," he snarls.

“You know nothing! Did you ever meet him before the night of the after party or was this hate you have for him based on only what Raphael told you?”

He shoots you a confused look and you sigh realizing he doesn’t remember any of it.

“He compelled you, the night of the afterparty we went to. I know you don’t remember obviously but I’ve always wondered… what made you lose your temper so bad? Do you remember any part of the night? I had never heard you yell like that…” you ask.

Daniel’s eyebrows furrow and he searches for answers.

“I don’t know… I’m sure it was because I knew things about him I had thought you did not know of… That entire night was such a blur… I remember what you wore and…I do remember watching how he would look at you from across the room. That hungry stare he had, the way he was practically drooling, taking in every last square inch of your body… that was enough to set me off. I guess in a way, I knew then he was having his way with you,” you say disgusted. 

You hum quietly to yourself and have to look away from him. The events of that night flood your mind and you can’t let him see your reddened cheeks.

“But now, you’ll have to live with the memories of him and that’s all. Raphael isn’t letting you out of his sight and won’t let you go back to him… guess you’ll be stuck with me after all,” he laughs menacingly. 

“You should probably get back upstairs. Unless you want me to tell Raphael his meal is waiting downstairs for him," he growls. 

You scoff at him and shake your head. 

“You don’t scare me. You’re the same pathetic excuse for a man that I met years ago. The only difference now is you have fangs.” You hiss at him. 

He gives you one last look of disgust and turns to leave you in the kitchen. You take a pack of crackers with you and throw the box in the pantry quickly. Before heading back upstairs, the glint of the stainless steel knife handles catches your eye. You had no idea how to hurt a vampire, but you knew they bled. That was part of the process of changing a human into one. You had to drink their blood to complete the process. If you could get close enough to Raphael and use on him… maybe you had a chance to run. Cause him to slow down in some way so he couldn’t hurt you as easily. You chose a shorter-bladed pairing knife and hoped it wouldn’t be as noticeable and would be easier to hide somewhere on you. 

*

Nibbling on the crackers you found, you watch as the clock’s minute hand inches closer and closer to six o'clock. You knew you had to get down there eventually or you were going to be dragged out by your ankles. You weren’t going to change clothes or anything. He didn’t deserve anything nice from you. You hid the knife under the mattress in the meantime just in case anyone decided to come in unexpectedly. You lift the mattress and take it out. You step in front of the mirror and slip the blade in your sleeve. The sleeves were already long on the sweater so it wouldn’t look out of place that your hands didn’t show very much when you walked. You test it out in the mirror and make sure you try to move as casually as possible. 

There was a sharp knock at the door and it makes you gasp. 

“What is it?” You ask, quickly glancing over at the clock to see it is a quarter til six. 

“Raphael wants you downstairs now. Don’t keep him waiting,” the voice says darkly. 

A chill runs through you and you know you have to go. This was the time to try and make your escape. It would haunt you if you didn’t even make the effort. It was a long shot, but it was worth the try. You prayed Elvis was coming. He has to find you or it might be too late…

You tread slowly down the stairs, gripping the knife handle firmly in your hand. The air felt thick and it felt like you could cut the tension clean with your knife. You struggled to breathe and every breath you took felt like poison going into your lungs. Every last instinct told you to run away from this man and not take another step. It wasn’t that simple and you wish there was another way. 

“Hello, honey. How are you this evening?” Raphael asks as you take the last few steps down the stairs. 

“Fine, thank you,” you say courtly, making your way to the couch he’s sitting on. 

“Please, take a seat with me. We should talk,” he advises, making a gesture to the spot next to him on the sofa. 

You hesitantly make your way to the sofa and leave space between the both of you. He was wearing a suit tonight and a red rose tucked into his jacket’s top left pocket.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” You ask carefully. 

“I was planning on giving you a proposition,” he says as his eyes look over you hungrily. He carefully pulls the rose from his pocket and hands it to you. It had thorns on it still and you handled it gently, making sure to not prick your skin and cause yourself to draw blood. You give him a forced smile and set the rose down on the small coffee table in front of you.

“Okay? In regards to what?” You prod. 

“Your future. You need to decide what you want.” He explains.

Your heart drops because you know what is coming. Anything he was going to offer you was going to be awful and you didn’t want to hear it.

“I-I’ve already told you what I want,” you say shakily.

“Yes but you see, that isn’t an option. So I’m giving you an alternate,” he continues.

“You can either work for me and do as I say or, I turn you and you live freely as you wish…” he says darkly.

You hold your breath, not liking anything that he’s said to you. Both options sounded terrible and seemed like your life would end either way. His gaze is intense and unwavering, piercing into your very soul; the thing he wants most.

“Work for you… as in getting you something to eat whenever you wanted or?…” you ask carefully.

He chuckles amused, “Mhmm… that will be one of your jobs… and anything else I desired…” his eyes trail down, taking in your body with his eyes. You feel repulsed, not wanting to be here another second next to him.

“How long would I have to decide?” You ask.

“Sooner the better my dear,” he says darkly.

You want to hurt him right here and now, but you have to be patient. 

Wait for the right moment.

You take a deep breath before speaking and soften your eyes when you look at him.

“I’d really appreciate… if you gave me a little more time. This is something I should give some thought to. You do understand, don’t you?” You say sweetly, cracking a soft smile. You boldly reach out to touch his knee, trying to get him to trust you and get him distracted. He quickly looks down at your hand on him, puzzled by your physicality. You quickly take your hand off and try to play it off as an accident.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep,” you say quickly.

He looks at you stunned, unable to say anything right away after your bold move.

You keep smiling at him, your eyes pleading for him to keep looking at you.

“No, not at all…You are fine. How much time do you need?” He asks softly.

“Maybe a day or two? Is that okay?”

“I don’t know-,” he says hesitantly.

“Please,” you interrupt, “give me some time. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll let you feed from me whenever you please, just give me more time,” you instigate, getting closer to him, and placing your hand back on his leg, a bit higher than before. Your thumb rubs soft circles there and you can feel him tense up. 

His eyes wander, looking at every inch of you and his breathing is beginning to hitch. You couldn’t let your nerves get the best of you. You had to act now or there would never be a tomorrow. He places his hand on top of yours and slowly lifts it up to his mouth.

“How about now? Can I take a bite?” He asks darkly, looking intensely into your eyes.

Your heart races and your head pounds away. You can’t control your breathing as you look back at Raphael. His eyes start to change in color and the monster inside him starts to gain full control.

“Yes,” you softly whisper. 

“Come closer. Sit down,” he says patting his leg softly. You clench your jaw, trying to not show the disgust you have. 

You carefully get up and sit down on his knee, displaying your wrist out in front of him. Your other arm drapes along his shoulder, making sure to not let him feel the cold blade of the knife.

“Go ahead,” you say with the most reassuring smile you can conjure. You couldn’t prepare yourself for the pain he would cause you again. The wrist you had reached out in front of him was not one he’d bit yet so he would have to open up another wound or bite on the mark Daniel left.  

He greedily grabs your wrist closer, taking a deep breath, and licking his bottom lip. He quickly unwraps the bandage on your wrist and squeezes your forearm tightly. You squirm a bit, the pressure making you uncomfortable, and not prepared for the agonizing pain. 

His fangs pierce your skin before you can look away and the pain shoots through your whole body like a lightning bolt. You close your eyes tight and let out a loud scream. His bite felt like he was about to take a chunk of your arm out. He wasn’t just drinking your blood, it seemed he was trying to mark you with the imprint of his fangs. Making it known that he bit you. You hear him start to gulp down your blood quickly, feeding much more than he did yesterday. The pain sears through you like a hot branding knife.

Your eyes shoot wide open and fear takes over every last thought. You feared that if he fed like this for much longer, his venom would enter your system, beginning your change. Your head pounded away and your vision began to blur. You grab onto the handle of the knife tighter in your other hand, knowing you have to act now or it’s going to be too late.                                                                                            

He takes a pause and takes his fang out of you, taking a look at your fragile and weak state. He grabs your face, making you look right in his dangerous eyes.

“Jesus, I don’t think I can ever get enough of you. You’re absolutely delicious,” he growls.

You whimper out in agony, not ready for him to take another bite. He lets go of your face and sinks his teeth in your fragile flesh once again and drinks more. Your body felt limp and your breathing was labored, you knew there was not much more time for you. 

You cry out again and feel the tears fall down your face. You knew it was time. You mustered every last ounce of strength you had left in your body and took a deep breath. In one fluid motion, you pierce the blade into his neck, forcing the knife to go as deep as it will go, and watch as blood seeps down his skin. He makes a loud gasp followed by a groan and lets go of your wrist. Still having a hold of the blade, you pull down on it as you get off of him and try to make your escape. He falls back onto the couch and groans loudly. 

Your legs can’t keep up with your thoughts and you stumble at every other step you take. Your vision was doubled and your head felt like it was going to burst open. You can see the front door, or at least you think that’s the front door, and hobble to it as quickly as you can. You fall and the cold marble floors make you feel paralyzed. Your blood smears on the floor and leaves a trail behind you. You had no more strength in your legs and could only crawl from here on out. The door seemed closer and you could taste freedom.

Suddenly, you feel a hand grab a fist full of your hair, and your body gets thrown against the banister of the stairs. You gasp as more pain radiates through you and through heavy eyes, you see Raphael walk toward you. You can see him pull the knife out of his neck and he grunts as he does so. The clank of the knife hits the floor and he kneels in front of you. His blood was still gushing down his neck and he looked like he was about to go on a rampage. His hand wraps around your neck and pushes you up against the railing.

“You fucking bitch! Did you think that was going to hurt me? For a second I thought I could trust you!” He yells, tightening the grip he has on your neck. You gasp for air and try to push his arm off of you but it's no use. You’re so weak you can barely keep your eyes open. He shakes you, making you look at his bloody red eyes.

“You’re going to clean this up. Guess I’m not giving you a choice anymore; I’m turning you now. Drink. Now.” Raphael commands, pushing your head to his neck.

The metallic smell of his blood filled your nose and it felt like you could vomit. You groan in protest and try one last failed attempt to get free from his grip. He doesn’t let you move and pushes your lips into his bleeding neck. You try to keep your lips shut, hoping none of his blood will be tasted.

You feel your body weaken and your eyes droop heavily, no longer being able to keep your body working properly. His fangs enter your neck with a crunch and the front door bursts open. Your body goes limp and your head hits the floor. The taste of blood hits your tongue and you try to spit it out. Through blurry vision, you see Elvis standing there in the doorway, eyes red and his face and hands covered in blood.

“El…” you weakly whimper, feeling your eyes close and your world start to go black around you.

*

Pain ached through your bones and you didn’t want to open your eyes. You were too afraid the pain would only get worse and be too much to bear. You hear a loud beeping coming from the side of you and you feel something covering over your nose and mouth. Moving your fingers, you felt rough sheets and a cold shiver ran through you.

Slowly, your eyes flutter and the bright luminescence of the overhead lights burn your eyes. You wince and slowly lift your hands to your face but cry out in pain. Cold hands grab your wrists and you scream, afraid it is Raphael who has you in his clutches. You thrash your hands and head, trying to get him off of you quickly. 

“Baby, baby it’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t move too much, you’re going to hurt yourself,” a man’s voice says. The southern twang in this man’s voice made your heart flutter in ways you couldn’t describe. 

“Baby, open your eyes. Please, let me see those beautiful eyes,” he pleads. 

You take a deep breath, hoping this was all a bad dream. Your eyes flutter open once again and try to adjust to the harsh lighting. 

You look up into gorgeous cerulean eyes, soft and loving. His black hair fell in small strands on his forehead and he looked at you like you were the only soul on earth. The glint of gold that hung around his neck sparkled even in this lighting.

Elvis.

God you missed him. He looked like an angel standing over you. Maybe you had died and gone to heaven. You had always thought he looked like an angel, too perfect to ever be real and living on this earth. Maybe, just maybe, he was your angel and was ready to guide you into the next life.

You raise your hand slowly up to his face, caressing his cool, sculpted cheek. You sigh when you feel he’s real and not some hallucination.

“El… you’re here,” you whimper.

He smiles at you, letting out a relieved sigh, and softly caresses your face. 

“Yes baby, I’m right here.” He coos. He hums pleased and kisses your forehead.

Your throat hurt when you tried to speak but you wanted to talk to Elvis. Ask him all these questions that were floating in your fuzzy head.

“El…w-what,” you hoarsely say and start to cough. You reach for your throat and feel it burning. It hurt like never before and then it hits you.

Did Raphael turn you?

You grab onto Elvis’ forearms tighter, fear encapsulating every fiber of your being. You try to clear your throat to try to speak again but it hurts too much. He calms you down, hushing you softly and tenderly.

“Shh, baby It’s alright. Don’t talk I know your throat hurts. It’s okay now, you’re safe,” he assures you.

It still didn’t answer your question. Were you turned? Was this what it felt like? The burning and the pain that you are dealing with right now?

Your eyes plead for more information from him. You needed answers.

The door swings open and you cry out, scared it was someone coming to hurt you. A woman in a nurse's uniform comes in with a clipboard and stops in her tracks when she sees Elvis hovering over you. He slowly stands up and straightens out his jacket.

“Not now. Come back later,” he instructs. Without blinking, she turns around and closes the door.

You look up at him and stare, watching the power radiate off of him so easily.

You wince as the pain in your neck increases and grab for his wrist. He looks down at you concerned and kneels down again next to you. You groan in pain and your eyes are full of panic. 

He calms you, rubbing his hand in your hair, pushing the loose strands out of your face.

“Shh honey stay calm. You’re alright. You lost a lot of blood, you almost died on me,” he says weakly, tears pooling in his eyes.

“You’ve been out for a few days honey. Your body was so weak. He nearly broke you…” he says through his teeth. You feel tears start to form in your eyes and the throbbing pain on your neck doesn’t cease to stop. Your fingertips lightly graze the bandage on your neck and look up at him with concern.

He closes his eyes like he’s in pain too, rubbing circles on your hand.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he did this to you. I should have protected you.” He says sorrowfully, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. Your heart pounds frantically, scared that your worries have come true. He turned you.

He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“He didn’t turn you. I got there just in time. I’ve never seen such horror… What he did to you… I’m just so glad I was able to stop him,” he says with a sigh.

“The way he bit you, caused a lot of damage. He bit too deep and it leaves a mark on the skin when a vampire does that. That’s why it hurts so much to speak. He was trying to mark you… as his…” he growls. Your tears fall freely and sigh in relief and pain.

You weren’t a vampire at least. But now you carried Raphael’s bite mark. Making it known that he bit you and to taunt Elvis about it forever. You’re heart sank, not only did the pain that wracked through your body hurt, but your heart ached for Elvis. This couldn’t have been easy on him seeing you in this condition and now have to deal with another man’s bite mark on the woman he believes is his Chosen.

You sniffle, wishing you could talk to him and ask him more but you felt so tired and knew it would only cause you more pain to try and speak. He wipes some of the tears away from your eyes and smiles at you.

“Don’t you worry about a thing baby. No one is going to hurt you now. Raphael is… taken care of.” He assures you, looking away momentarily. You were relieved to hear such words and it gave you a bit more ease to relax.

“Please, rest honey. I’m not leaving your side. When you feel well enough to travel, we’ll head home to Memphis okay?” He asks with a smile. You nod your head and feel your eyes grow heavy, no longer able to fight the need for rest. You feel him kiss your hand and you fall back into the peaceful arms of sleep.

*

*

*

Tagging:

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@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista @oldh0llyw0od @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

[sierra6x]

------@stingslikeabee queried: ❝  i do trust you.  you’ve earned that.  ❞

------SAFE HOUSES LITTERED the world. they weren't easy to spot if you didn't have the eye to see them, but they existed in common spaces, almost as sure a thing as breathing or the sun rising. he'd occupied this one for just a few days ... evident in how informal everything was. there were no pictures of loving family, friends, or pets littering the walls. it was clean in the sterile kind of way ... one that suggested leaving behind evidence could mean your life. operators were like park rangers here, insisting to leave it better than you found it with a foreboding or else tacked onto the end.

they very fact that he had given melissa this address, even if it was a safe house, was evidence in its own volumes that he'd trusted her, too.

a towel slung over his shoulder, dampening the clean white of his tee-shirt beneath. the faint scent of irish springs body soap and herbal essences shampoo suggested the shower he'd toweled off from maybe five minutes before her arrival, the towel itself pointed to the freshly maintained facial hair. he found such little time to care for himself these days. even something like a shower stocked with the bare bones was enough pampering to last another few months.

somewhere in the world he had his own home, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view to die for.

he hadn't been there in over two years.

" you come all this way just to tell me that? " it was a lot easier to shut people out than to let them in. in his many years in service of the sierra program, of the CIA through them, he'd kept more than enough people far, far away. he'd claim it was a lonely existence if he let himself feel those sorts of things. but in this day and age, especially now, he assumed everyone was out to kill him.

he didn't think melissa would turn on him like that.

he hoped she wouldn't.

but people were harder to read than he gave them credit for, and everyone had a price.

six tugged the towel from his arm and tossed it haphazardly onto the back of the couch as he passed. these sorts of places never had good windows - the trade-off of privacy for safety, so he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing them. just whoever might've seen her on the way here. and why was she here, anyway? he had a feeling. in the very pit of his stomach he had a feeling, especially if she came with those sorts of proclamations. he just hoped he was wrong.

there was an awful lot of hoping going on in this moment.

(he didn't know if he had the strength to rebuff her.)

he didn't know if he wanted to.

" or did you want to tell me something else? " all of his weight pressed into the hand on the faux-marble counter top of the island. it was a small place, the kitchen and living room were basically the same thing, but it had enough pride in itself to attempt to be fancy with things like fake marble countertops. with eyes like crystal-glass he studied her, careful not to let any emotion eke in (he was good at that), to give anything away in his body language (he was good at that, too). " 'm all ears, kid. "

[xogiada]

giada d'amiano.

(JORDANA BREWSTER, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER) Oh, is that GIADA D’AMIANO I heard the FORTY- ONE year old is INTUITIVE. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also MANIPULATIVE. Makes sense seeing how they are COUNCIL in THE SERPENTS gang. penned by ally

basics.

full name: giada rosalia d’amiano nickname(s): g, gia, ms. d’amiano face claim: jordana brewster age: 41 birthdate: may 4th star sign: taurus gender: cis woman pronouns: she/her sexuality: bisexual gang: the serpents, council  cover: boutique owner birthplace: milan, italy  current residence; new york, new york languages: english & italian theme song: gloria - laura  branigan

reflection.

face claim: jordana brewster. hair color: dark brown eye color: espresso brown height: 5’7 build: tall & slender, and loves her risotto alla milanese tattoos: tramp stamp from her rebellious teen years. small butterfly because her favorite aunt used to call her "piccolina farfalla" little butterfly in italian. scars: burn mark on her leg from boiling pasta

family.

mother: antonia d'amiano father: massimo d'amiano siblings: francesca d'amiano (35) tba d'amiano, tba d'amiano pets: tba

personality.

characteristics:  intuitive, clever, quick witted, savvy, manipulative, reticent, opportunistic, passionate, loyal, dramatic, particular, innovative, honest  fears:  small spaces and off the rack couture  hogwarts house: ravenclaw passions/hobbies: designing clothes specifically lingerie for her boutique, cooking her family’s secret recipes, entertaining, shopping, watching old hollywood films especially ones starring sophia loren, playing cards and smoking cigars, supporting ac milan football club, fashion week  drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: not opposed/ in moderation / cigarettes and cigars socially   colors: classic black and white, pops of red and jewel tones. aesthetics: cigar smoke and lipstick stains, having an ace up her sleeve, homemade vino, power suits, imported issues of vogue italia, stilettos tapping impatiently, family style dinners, fur lined dressing gowns, upping the ante, sketches and 100s scattered over marble countertops, sips of espresso, focaccia to finish off the last bits of sauce, 3AM strokes of genius, a spritz of dolce & gabana, mascara stained satin pillowcases, fashion week in milan.

biography.

Giada was just a child when her father uprooted his family from Milan, Italy to New York City to join her grandfather in the Serpents gang he would eventually become a council member of. Growing up, she was the principessa, and apple of her mafiosa father’s eye. Though she was surrounded by the family business, daddy’s little girl was always thought to be just that and young Giada was kept as in the dark as much as possible when it came to his dirty work, deemed by her father a man’s business.  It was a challenge that made his endeavors all the more intriguing to her. While her mother urged her to help her with Sunday dinner, Giada found herself sneaking off to play cards and smoke cigars with the neighborhood kids. She was sharp, intuitive, and business savvy taking after her father more than mother. Quickly, she learned the ways of the streets, and the higherary of the families. Eager to prove herself, Giada used her cleverness to hustle kids and make a pretty penny. Her efforts only disappointed her parents, and the more Giada was kept away the more she began to rebel, even falling for a boy from a rival family.  Naturally, it couldn’t work and by the time Giada was 17, she was shipped back to the motherland in hopes of straightening her out and keeping her away from the family business. She lived with her Zia Teresa outside of Milan learning the ways of the old country. Her zia taught her all the secrets behind the family recipes, how to sew, tend a garden, and above all else that the most important thing in this life is family.   After living in Italy for five years, Giada returned from the fashion capital not only with renewed sense of clarity, but with a degree in fashion merchandising. She and her siblings became incredibly close afterwards, and she is the first one to invite everyone over for Sunday dinner and a round of scopa. She found love and met a person who would later become her ex-fiance. In return, her father gifted her Moda Bella, not only as a reward for a job well done but also as another distraction in hopes she would be too busy with the boutique to concern herself with business dealings.  And for a while that’s exactly what Giada did; she kept her cards close and played the long game. For while there is a queen in the deck, one must be careful how they play it.  When the D’Amiano patriarch passed, she couldn’t help but jump at the chance to become a part of the serpents in her father's honor. She started off small, offering up her boutique as a stronghold in addition to 30 percent of the earnings and eventually working her way up the ranks, even becoming a leader for a few short years.  Now at 41, Giada has gambled away her chance at love and a family of her own to be dealt in at The Serpents table. She earned a spot as a council member with a hunger to keep the momentum going. She is willing to do just about anything to prove that she too can play with the big boys.

PINTEREST I SPOTIFY | WANTED CONNECTIONS

[vivlopez]

MEET VIVIANA LOPEZ

[ SOFIA CARSON,  30,  CIS WOMAN,  SHE/HER  ]  and  now  walking  on  the  red  carpet  is VIVIANA  LOPEZ,  we’re  honored  to  be  in  the  presents  of  a  world  class  FASHION DESIGNER.  they  say  that  they’re  the  embodiment  of  STRUT  by  CHEETAH GIRLS,  we  can’t  argue  with  that  one  !  rumor  has  it  that  they’re  FRIVOLOUS  and  PASSIONATE.  we often  hear  fans  online  compare  them  to THE LATEST ISSUE OF VOGUE, SKETCHES SCATTERED OVER MARBLE COUNTERTOP, ICE COFFEE IN A WINE GLASS, & JETTING TO FASHION WEEK IN MILIAN we  heard  that  there’s  this  one  thing  they  don’t  wish  anybody  to  know; SHE SLEPT WITH THE EDITOR OF VOGUE TO GET HER DESIGNS IN THE NEXT ISSUE,  let’s  hope  it’s  not  true  ! ]

❥ basics.

full name: viviana isobela lopez nickname(s):  viv, vivi, princesa age:   thirty  birthday: december twenty-second gender: ciswoman sexuality: bisexual  relationship status: single star sign: capricorn place of birth:  , colombia current residence:  london, england occupation:  fashion designer & creator of her own line languages:  english & spanish

❥ reflection.

looks like: sofia carson hair color: currently raven black eye color: deep brown height: five foot, four inches   body type: slender, but can’t live without her empanadas   tattoos: delicate, white butterfly on her ankle in honor of her late abuella piercings: ears    hair style: pin straight and long or tied back in a sleek bun with a deep side part to the right side

❥ family.

father: arturo lopez mother:  carolina lopez siblings: younger sister (planning to put in a wc for her) pets:  none atm

❥ personality.

characteristics:  passionate, loyal, frivolous, gaudy, dedicated, dramatic, particular, outgoing, innovative, blunt,  fears:  small spaces and off the rack couture  passions/hobbies: designing clothes especially luxurious gowns and lingerie, dancing salsa and cumbia, watching classic films especially ones starring rita moreno. drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: not opposed/ in moderation / cigarettes socially   colors: golds, jewel tones, deep purples, & black aesthetics: power suits with golden accents, imported issues of vogue, stilettos clacking, fur lined dressing gowns, sketches scattered over a marble countertop, sips of limoncello, a generous spritz of chanel no. 5, summers in amalfi, homemade vino, tear stained satin pillowcases, fashion week in milan.  character inspo: carolina herrara, hilary banks (fresh prince), charolette york (satc) blair waldorf (gossip girl), miranda priestly ish (the devil wears prada)

❥ biography.

tw: drug dealing implied

Viviana was just a child when her father uprooted his family from Barranquilla, Colombia to New York City to join her grandfather in the family business he would eventually run. Growing up, she was the princesa, and apple of her kingpin father’s eye. Though she was surrounded by the family business, daddy’s little girl was always thought to be just that and young Viviana was kept as in the dark as much as possible when it came to his dirty work, deemed by her father a man’s business. 

It was a challenge that made his endeavors all the more intriguing to her. While her mother urged her to help her with dinner, little Vivi found herself sneaking off to get into trouble with the neighborhood kids. She was sharp, intuitive, and business savvy taking after her father more than mother. Quickly, she learned the ways of the streets. Eager to prove herself, Viviana used her cleverness to hustle kids and make a pretty penny. Her efforts only disappointed her parents, and the more Viviana was kept away the more she began to rebel.

By the time Viviana was 16, she was shipped back to the motherland in hopes of straightening her out and keeping her away from the threats that came with being a kingpin’s daughter. She lived with her Tia Carmen outside of Barranquilla learning the ways of the old country. Her seamstress Tia taught her not only the secrets behind the family recipes, how to dance, tend a garden, but shared with her niece her craft. Viviana learned the ins and outs of clothing making. She was taught how to sew, take in a dress, lower a hem, and practiced countless hours with her aunt. 

After living in Colombia for five years, Viviana returned to New York City not only with renewed sense of clarity, but a hunger to pursue a degree in fashion merchandising. She was inspired by her Tia Carmen and all the sights and colors of her family’s homeland, determined to integrate its beauty into her designs. In return, her father gifted her a boutique in the heart of Manhattan, not only as a reward for a job well done but also as another distraction in hopes she would be too busy with the boutique to concern herself with business dealings. 

But Viviana not only wanted to just run a small shop, she wanted to make a name for herself. She wanted her designs to go international, and to dress the most famous names in the world. And so, Viviana started small, networking and collaborating with other people in the industry and getting her designs pictured on D list celebrities. She attended fashion events, trade shows, and workshops where she met editors, journalists, stylists, photographers, models, and influencers peddling her designs to anyone who would listen. 

One editor from Vogue (wanted connection), took a special liking towards her and Viviana seized the opportunity to use this person for their connections. A couple dates here, a couple nights together there and eventually she was being mentioned to dress some of the top celebrities. She was even offered a spread in Vogue as one of the industry's new up and coming talents to keep an eye on. 

Now at age 30, Viviana is continuing to find her way in the cut throat world of fashion, determined to keep the momentum going. Since her debut, she has opened other storefronts in some of the major fashion capitals ( Milian, London, and Paris) and is willing to do just about anything to prove that she too has what it takes to become one of fashion’s greatest icons.

pinterest | spotify | wanted connections

[ofcalloways]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

genevieve  lives  in  a  two  bedroom  flat  near  campus.  paid  for  by  her  parents,  her  apartment  takes  up  the  top  floor  of  a  small  but  stunning  building.  the  building  is  old,  built  as  the  university  was  growing,  and  while  the  historic  beauty  of  it  has  been  preserved  the  space  has  been  infused  with  modern  luxury.  the  entryway  features  italian  marble  floors  and  a  stunning  staircase,  and  two  floors  up  (  by  stairs  or  by  small  elevator  )  sits  genevieve’s  apartment . . .

full pinterest

though  the  stunning  historical  architecture  of  the  apartment  has  been  kept  painstakingly  intact,  the  space  has  been  treated  to  many  renewals  and  lots  of  upkeep  over  the  years.  it  was    already  a  high  end  space  geared  towards  the  wealthy  students  of  meraviglia  before  genevieve  ever  stepped  foot  in  it,  but  the  most  recent  work  on  it  was  done  by  her  team.  the  design  of  the  apartment  highlights  its  historic  charm  while  keeping  a  clean,  modern  feel.  think  large  windows  and  wood  floors  with  high  end  fixtures,  white  linen,  and  crisp  lines.  while  genevieve  didn’t  pick  out  a  single  piece  of  furniture  or  design  anything  herself,  everything  has  been  perfectly  tailored  to  her  style,  simple,  elegant,  and  expensive.  

the  upkeep  of  her  apartment  is  also  something  gen  doesn’t  play  a  big  role  in.  while  she  does  generally  keep  her  space  meticulously  tidy,  she  isn’t  someone  that’s  ever  done  her  own  laundry  or  taken  out  the  trash.  the  apartment  is  always  serenely  beautiful  and  impeccably  neat,  exactly  what  you  would  expect  her  space  to  be.  it  generally  smells  of  wood  sage  and  sea  salt  from  her  favourite  jo  malone  candle  mixed  with  a  floral  scent  from  the  flowers  that  are  regularly  refreshed  (again,  taken  care  of  by  someone  else,  genevieve  not  at  all  nurturing  enough  to  change  the  water  in  a  vase).  

her  kitchen  doesn’t  get  used  very  much,  but  it’s  stunning  nonetheless.  her  fridge  is  primarily  stocked  with  meals  from  a  chef  on  the  island  and  bottles  of  expensive  wine.  her  gorgeous,  gas,  unbelievably  expensive  stove  goes  almost  untouched,  as  she  prefers  to  simply  order  in  meals  rather  than  to  cook  —  because  really,  how  could  she  spare  the  time  for  that.  what  she  will  take  the  time  to  make  is  a  cocktail  (  she’s  never  been  the  kind  of  girl  to  go  for  a  vodka  cranberry  ),  everything  needed  to  make  the  perfect  martini  is  available  at  a  moment’s  notice.  she  will  often  use  her  kitchen  to  study,  the  marble  countertop  of  the  island  perfect  for  spreading  out  her  papers  and  books  when  her  desk  feels  too  small.  it’s  perfect,  given  that  she  really  prefers  studying  at  home  to  studying  in  public  where  anybody  can  see  how  hard  she  works  (  and  interrupt  her  ).  she  tends  to  alternate  between  her  bed,  her  desk,  her  counter,  and  on  occasion  a  bubble  bath  for  studying,  schoolwork,  and  planning.

the  apartment  has  one  and  a  half  baths.  the  powder  room  off  of  the  main  entry  way  is  stunning  enough,  beautiful  floral  wallpaper  and  expensive  fixtures  (  and  perfect  lighting  for  moody  mirror  selfies  when  gen  is  ever  hosting  ),  but  the  en  suite  is  truly  gorgeous.  featuring  an  enormous  tub,  bubble  baths  a  favourite  of  gen’s,  and  a  large  shower,  of  course  with  a  rainfall  showerhead  and  a  steam  setting.  essentially,  it’s  an  on  demand  spa  in  her  humble  abode.

the  living  room  rarely  looks  lived  in,  but  it’s  furnishings  are  plush  and  inviting.  incredibly  expensive  couches  upholstered  in  white  fabric  that  brings  a  brightness  to  the  space  and  contrast  the  dark  wood  of  the  coffee  table.  there  always  seems  to  be  a  new  selection  of  coffee  table  books  waiting  to  be  picked  through  by  any  guest,  always  featuring  some  form  of  incredibly  interesting  and  cool  subject  matter,  fashion  and  architecture  and  art  infused  into  her  space  in  the  most  unobtrusive  way.  the  space  also  features  a  gorgeous,  original  fireplace  with  a  large  mirror  resting  above  it.  gen,  not  one  to  watch  tv  often,  instead  has  a  projector  hidden  away  somewhere.  the  living  room  also  opens  up  to  a  small  terrace  which  adjoins  to  her  bedroom,  featuring  a  cafe  set  for  breakfasts  in  the  warm  italian  sun.

the  second  bedroom  in  the  apartment  has  been  converted  into  a  space  that  is  so  specific  to  genevieve  it’s  almost  sickening:  a  combination  walk  in  closet  and  office.  perhaps  it  seems  odd,  but  the  pairing  never  gave  her  pause.  to  genevieve  the  way  she  presents  herself  to  the  world  is  another  piece  of  her  work.  half  of  the  room  is  lined  with  bookshelves,  the  other  half  with  clothing,  shoes,  and  handbags.  if  you’re  lucky  enough  perhaps  you’ll  even  see  the  jewelry  collection  that’s  tucked  away,  filled  with  vintage  diamonds  and  pearls  that  have  been  passed  down  to  her.  

her  bedroom  is,  in  a  word,  luxurious.  in  the  center  of  the  room  sits  a  plush  king  sized  bed,  topped  with  silk  sheets  and  a  down  duvet.  on  her  bed  side  table  you  may  find  the  latest  issue  of  vogue  (  which  she  happily  reads  for  the  fashion  AND  the  articles,  a  girl  shouldn’t  have  to  choose  )  or  a  dense,  unflinchingly  complex  text  on  international  law  or  political  theory.  one  wall  features  large  windows  and  of  course  the  entry  to  the  balcony,  diaphanous  curtains  separating  her  from  the  world  while  greedily  allowing  the  light  into  the  space.  her  vanity  also  resides  in  her  bedroom,  gen  preferring  to  do  her  makeup  and  hair  there  rather  than  anywhere  else.  the  closet  in  the  bedroom  is  heartbreakingly  small,  owing  to  the  old  architecture  of  the  building,  in  it  mostly  nightwear  resides,  silky  nightgowns  and  pajamas  as  well  as  warm  cashmere  for  when  she  feels  cold.  while  her  bedroom  is  gorgeous,  it  perhaps  has  more  in  common  with  a  luxury  hotel  than  someone’s  home.  gen  keeps  little  of  anything  sentimental  in  the  space,  a  firm  believer  that  attachments  only  slow  one  down.  of  course,  there’s  also  the  fact  that  the  only  person  she’s  ever  truly  been  sentimental  about  is  her  brother,  and  reminders  of  him  burn  more  than  they  soothe.

[universitypenguin]

Hey Alice :) this is prob a weird question but what kind of car do you think Lloyd drives? We know he’s luxurious so I can see him in something sleek and sporty like an Audi or another European make car

Also how do you envision Lloyd’s house? Is he particular about his decor? Is he the type to be in to antiques or more modern pieces of furniture

I think Lloyd would drive something expensive, but also nondescript. I’m picturing a Mercedes-Benz sedan. It would probably be gray or black. I can see him in a few different models. If he was being conservative, he’d have bought a mid-priced model like a C 300. If he was in a spending mood when he bought the car, he’d have gone for the pricier S 580 4MATIC.

He likes the performance of German engineering and the powerful throttle of the motor. It’s an added bonus that in the D.C. metro, the car blends into the sea of other luxury vehicles. The reason he’d never consider a smaller, sporty model, like an Audi R8 or a BMW M4, is simple. You can’t fit a dead body in the trunk. He’s not planning to commit a crime, but proper preparation prevents poor performance. And when you need to move a dead body there’s no room for error.

Lloyd sticks with a roomy sedan that has plenty of space in the trunk. He keeps it stocked with a shovel and a large box of kitty litter. In the Virginia climate, those items don’t attract much notice. They’re snow storm essentials and he keeps them next to the emergency kit with blankets, water, jumper cables, and a tow chain. But a shovel and kitty litter is good for more than just getting traction in an ice storm, you know? 🫣

For his house, Lloyd lives across the Potomac from D.C. in Old Town Alexandria. He chose the house because it’s less than 30 minutes from the office and the charm of the cobblestone streets appeals to him.

The neighborhood he picks has a brick wall and wrought iron gate facing the street. To get to his house, you have to park in a lot down the street, and then walk down the block to the courtyard gate. The gate isn’t locked but it’s another layer of security - something that would slow down an attacker. Inside the gate is a cobblestone courtyard with Beech trees in the middle. There are five townhouses in the courtyard neighborhood, two on the right and two on the left, with another at the back.

Lloyd owns the inner property on the left side. He likes the location because he’s insulated from every possible angle. The gate protects the front and the courtyard access gives him a view of anyone approaching. Both sides are covered by the other row houses and the brick wall hiding the common area means no one can see much beyond the small gate. The large trees prevents overhead photos and the lack of a garage door further secures the location.

For decor, he paid a decorator to fix the place up. She went for a mix of antiques with modern touches, with a subtle nod towards costal styles in the color palette. The walls are a neutral white, to better showcase the eclectic artwork she chose for his home. She went with the traditional set of wingback chairs, a structured sectional sofa to anchor the room, and a jute rug in the living area. His coffee table is a simple design made of reclaimed elm wood and the end tables are mismatched. One table is made out of distressed gray wood and the other is polished brass.

The decorator gave him plants to tie it all together. He has a fig tree, a Japanese maple, and a ficus. There are potted plants in every room, and he loves how they liven up the place. Looking at them makes him feel like he’s at home. That’s in addition to the herb garden with mint, basil, chives, and tarragon, that she installed in his kitchen window. He has to admit, the herb garden is one of his favorite touches. He uses it almost every day.

The kitchen is thoroughly modern. It has a wide island down the middle and cabinets on both walls. The quartz countertops are durable and crafted to look like marble. Having lived in flats with marble counters in the past, Lloyd has no interest in getting the real thing. They’re too easily scarred. He has a farmhouse sink, with plenty of elbow room to peel potatoes and stack up dishes. On the end of the kitchen is his formal dining room with a table that, when extended, seats fifteen.

His bedroom has one of the best antique pieces in the house. The Italian Renaissance walnut headboard has hand carved Foliate Scrolls and a matching footboard. He has it restored and styles it with a green jacquard bedspread. The decorator finishes the look with antique tea tables for the nightstands, and places an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp in the corner. She installs a wall of floor-to-ceiling black out curtains to prevent the east facing windows from waking him up at dawn. On the windows themselves she adds bamboo shades to bring another texture to the space.

And despite his protests, the decorator puts more plants in the bedroom. Lloyd can’t help but leave them there even after she’s gone. They just… work. He’d never have put them there on his own but the morning sunshine makes the Christmas cactus bloom every three months and turns the climbing vine thing into the picture of health within days.

A year later, when it’s time to decorate the guest room and the sun porch, he re-hires the same woman. This time, he hands over his credit card and tells her to follow the same process she did the first time.

[jencsi]

Aftermath

August 2016

Dark purple balloons sway in the gentle breeze, tied down with silver ribbon to patio chairs, the metal fencing that surrounds the yard, random stakes placed throughout the yard. The garden is in full bloom, lavish shrubs, flowering pots, roses pink and red, towering wildflowers, daisies, echinacea, black eyed Susan’s, swaying along with the balloons, freshly cut grass, greenery around every corner, Barbara’s pride and joy. 

A long table sits under a small white canopy tent, purple cloth draped over it, matching the balloons. Here, wrapped gifts, colorful bags, donned with ribbons and bows are set down with care. Large boxes of pizza covered with cheese and dripping in grease occupy another table. At the final table rests a large rectangle layered cake with purple and pink frosting and two number one candles placed delicately on top. “Aunt Julie sit by me, Aunt Julie watch me jump in the pool, look at the new books I got from grandpa, wow sunglasses, just like yours! Cool!" Finn soaks up the party atmosphere with joy, happily catching Katie when she hugs her, turning her just in time to blow out the candles on her cake. Finn didn’t know what triggered it, but there it was, sudden, familiar and terrifying, the dull ache in her head, just above her left eye. She winced once and that motion triggered her nerves to shoot more pain to the same spot. Her stomach lurched in fear and panic, not today, please not today, she begged silently to her wounded body.  She muttered her curse words under her breath for the sake of Katie and her friends as she turned, marching back towards the house where her bag resided in the closet, yanking it by the strap in frustration, she dug around for her saving grace, the painkiller that would put it in its place, hopefully, the negative thought crept into her brain, for she spent half a dozen nights and days taking more than one of this horse tranquilizer type medications, only to be left with the same pain for hours on end. 

She struggled to unscrew the medicine bottle cap, hands shaking with rage and fear of the pain that lay ahead of her unless this magic pill stopped it in a reasonable amount of time to where she could still enjoy the party. 

She stumbled into the kitchen, barefoot on the polished wood floor, shoes lost in the chaos of the party, the hem of her dress swaying as she moved, it was a new dress she picked out specifically for this party, a floral pattern that made her feel clean and fresh like spring and summer should be rather than dark and dingy like the headaches made her feel and forced her to retreat to cool dark spaces alone like some recluse. 

In the kitchen, she ripped a piece of bread off the loaf on the counter, enough to quickly chew and swallow with some difficulty, before shakily reaching for a glass, filling it with water from the tap, popping the pill and chugging the water, the sooner it hit her bloodstream the better right? She tried to convince herself it was going to be fine but the ache persisted and seemed to grow in intensity with each passing second she wasted. 

She felt the bread and water churn unpleasantly in her stomach and she braces her hands on the marble countertop, breathe, just breathe, it’s gonna work, give it a chance. 

But a wave of nausea hits her hard and she stifles the urge to cry. Maybe more water? She was never drinking enough, that’s how she ended up in this situation half the time. But no, her brain taunts her, water can’t fix it, it’s all his fault. And the negative side of her mind is right after all, she wouldn’t be forced to take prescribed painkillers, be forced into constricting MRI’s a few times a year, relearn her entire existence one fumbled step at a time. He took so much from her and with each side effect that her body threw at her as a result of his violence, he continued to ruin days like today and rob her of the life she fought so hard to get back. 

She can feel her heart beating faster, sweat gathering on her forehead and neck as panic over the pain overwhelms her. 

“The girls are having a blast,” Barbara Russell’s voice floats from behind her as she enters the kitchen. “It’s cooling down so DB’s gonna set up a bonfire for them to make s’mores.”

Her words register but Finn feels a haze over her as she nods, trying to to turn around too quickly at the risk of throwing up. 

“Sounds great,” Finn mutters, her voice cracked with emotions, struggling to maintain composure and keep her insides from churning and spilling out onto the floor or counter. 

Barbara senses the sudden change in her mood and behavior and immediately rushes to her side properly. 

“What’s wrong?” She demands to know softly but stern.

“Nothing,” Finn tries to deter her but the ache in her head is pounding, she can’t let go of the counter, a flush overcomes her and she feels her knees buckle. 

But Barbara sees right through the facade, the way she’s tensing up in obvious pain and discomfort. It’s a headache, a bad one, one brought to fruition at the hands of someone else. Now it’s her turn to feel a rush of rage towards the man, the monster she corrects herself, responsible for this. Before she can make a move or think of what to do next, Russell enters the kitchen, laughing about Charlie telling Katie and her friends a ghost story. 

“What’s up?” he asks of the tension in the kitchen, his smile fading when he sees Finn holding on to the counter oddly and Barbara next to her looking worried.

“Headache,” Finn manages to choke out, pressing the palm of her hand to her forehead which is now hot to the touch and aching terribly. The spare bedroom she is forced into is dark, blackout curtains pulled across the windows, deflecting any sunlight from entering. It’s chilly, just like the rest of the house as the air conditioner hums, the gentle rattling of the vents on the wall seems ten times louder in the moment of agony, the light from the small lamp Barbara turns on by the bedside practically blinds her and she squints, the rest of her senses taking a beating as her head throbs. 

The motion of laying down overwhelms her and she doesn’t fight Barbara who turns down the covers to allow her to settle in bed. The sheets are cool and comforting against her body, her head landing softly on the pillow changes the feeling of her pain but doesn’t alleviate it.  She hears whispers above her, but the words are jumbled, and her brain can only process a few at a time "ice, no, heat, peppermint oil, that's too strong, remember last month?" Far from comforting her in the moment, Finn can hear them fussing over her care fading in and out of her laboring subconscious, the familiarity they have with her pain creates a feeling of embarrassment and heat flush to her cheeks.

She turns her head and presses her entire forehead into the cold pillow, begging for relief, a calming of the churning in her stomach, a break from the pain, from the odd flashes of light above her eyes, annoying her already overstimulated mind and body.

“Honey don’t do that,” Barbara scolds her suddenly, patting her back, making her turn back on her side causing her to protest with another soft cry, the shift causing more pain. 

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, creating more tension in her head which she knows is wrong to do but she can’t help the involuntary reaction in the moment. The light from the bedside lamp blinds her even with her eyes closed.

 The sense of something cold on her burning forehead a moment later brings a shock to her system but within seconds, the pain seems to melt away, a few aching throbs at a time. The battle isn’t over that easily she knows, but the intermittent moment of relief gives her a few seconds to collect her breathing and feel, for just a few seconds, normal, if that’s a possibility in her world now, an illusion, a dream. 

Tiny multi-colored stars twinkle in her lines of sight, grouped together in front of the black landscape of her eyelids. The distinct scent of smoke enters her olfactory range, along with a singular girlish shriek piercing her auditory system. She attempts to lift her immobilized arm, wanting to make sure all her limbs are still functioning in her moment of peril. Somehow, her hand makes contact with her face, she’s alive, numb, but still feeling. The cold on her forehead that brought her relief has gone lukewarm. A soft voice far away speaks unintelligibly, then she feels the lukewarm feeling fade, replaced once again by something icy cold. Lather, rinse, repeat.

An hour, or four, she didn’t know and wouldn’t know unless she opened her eyes, but that task seemed monumental. What started out as an explosive pounding in her skull has now lessened. The sensation of her hair being brushed back makes her sigh, a light tickling on the back of her neck makes her shiver under the covers.

The feel of someone or something warm beside her startles her out of her half-conscious, half-asleep state. More whispers and the sensation of warmth starts to move away from her. "Let her stay," Finn says weakly, all her strength zapped with just the simple act of checking to see that Katie had indeed abandoned her own birthday party in search of Finn, finding her and not leaving her side. Finn had missed S’mores and ghost stories and Uncle Charlie dancing silly. Just like she missed the picnic last month to Gig Harbor, the zoo, the fifth-grade graduation in May for her school, the amusement park, planting the garden with her mom and grandma, each time the same, Aunt Julie has a headache. Aunt Julie doesn't feel well. She'll be better soon, don't worry.

What a strange concept adults tried to emulate, don't worry. Worry was always there, Katie saw it in her grandparents faces and voices, her mother's looks and whispered conversations, her aunt Julie promising her everything would be okay more times than she could count.

"I'm not stupid!" Katie had yelled when she questioned Finn's whereabouts hours ago, ignoring the pleas of her family and seeking out her favorite person, the one she trusted the most, who listened to her and didn't dismiss her concerns as just childish or tell her she was too young to understand. She understood plenty. She understood pain, heartbreak, anger, watching Finn be hurt enough times, watching her grandpa fall apart, watching her mother and grandmother hover worriedly over everyone, she hated secrets and lies, being told its okay when it's not. Enough was enough, she decided, I'm grown up, if they won't tell me, I'll find out on my own! And with that headstrong guidance, she finds the nerve to ignore her mother and grandparents and seek Finn out, finding her locked away, crippled by another headache, something she dealt with too much lately. It makes sense, they all agree, watching Katie snuggle closer to Finn, they spend so much time together, they adore each other, she respects the hell out of her, she wants to be just like her, she had declared multiple times in her life thus far. A tall and dangerous order for an eleven-year-old, following in the footsteps of one Julie Finlay, but really, no one could blame her.

[chronically-peach]

Season’s Greetings

Andreil, rated G, 2.2k words

Andrew Minyard hated christmas.

He hated the incessant songs that followed him everywhere; loud and obnoxious droning on about Santa and snowmen that come to life with magic. He hated the movies, each with a sickeningly sweet happy ending. He hated the way people pretended to care about one another, plastering fake smiles on their faces for Christmas cards and office parties. Andrew hated Christmas but what he hated the most was shopping during the month of December.

He hated shopping at any point of the year but there was something especially heinous about being forced to enter a mall during the Christmas season. He hated crowds, especially crowds of people with no sense of personal space. It didn’t matter what pained expression Andrew painted on his face, no amount of furrowing his brows and clenching his jaw faltered the sea of people that engulfed him the moment he stepped foot into the concrete hell.

Christmas was never a happy time for Andrew. Growing up he quickly learned that Santa was nothing more than a lie. A promise of gifts to children who were well behaved and listened to their parents.He never decorated a tree or built a gingerbread house. He never went to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap or laid awake in anticipation on December 24th. For Andrew Christmas was simply an inconvenience he had to endure every year and nothing more. That was until Neil Josten barged into his life and fucked up everything he thought he knew about himself.

It was a normal day for the blonde when he first got the text that would lead him to the mall on that cold December afternoon. He was sitting in the window of his and Neil’s living-room, a smoke dangling loosely from his lips when he heard the sound of his phone dinging. Once. Twice. Then silence. He contemplated ignoring the notifications but fear crept into the back of his mind. He always told Neil to call him if he was in trouble but he wouldn’t put it past the younger boy to text him to say he had been abducted yet again.

Stretching his arms above his head Andrew slowly made his way to the kitchen, eyes glued to the phone placed screen down on the marble countertop. He hated the feeling of anxiety that made a home in his bones anytime Neil was away from him. He wanted to have faith in his boyfriend's abilities to keep himself alive but death followed the redhead like a magnet and that was something Andrew would never forget.

Picking up the phone he was met with two missed messages, both from Nicky. Relief spread through Andrew’s tense muscles and he went to put the phone back on the counter, messages left unread, when he noticed a blob of red in the corner of his screen. One of his cousin's messages was a picture. Curiosity got the better of him and he clicked on the notification, a picture of Neil and a stuffed fox flashing on screen.

His eyes were crinkled, small specs of blue barely visible through his long eyelashes. His teeth gleamed white against his tan skin and Andrew couldn’t help but swoon over his gorgeous boyfriend. He loved seeing Neil smile. He wished he could bottle it up and keep it on a chain around his neck for when the younger boy wasn’t around.

Cradled in Neil’s arms was a plush fox, its fur the same colour as his fiery curls. His boyfriend had become infatuated with the animal since starting at Palmetto, a small collection of fox memorabilia had accumulated in the apartment and Andrew pretended not to notice the redhead filling their shared space with the animal.

Under the picture was a single message:

Bookstore in Haywood mall. I made him leave it behind so you could give it to him for Christmas. If you don’t buy it for him I will ;)

Andrew cursed as he realized the real reason behind the picture. His cousin had been bothering him all month about celebrating Christmas with Neil. An old conversation flooded his mind as he roughly threw his phone onto the counter and made his way back to the open window.

“I’m just saying, neither of you ever celebrated Christmas. Wouldn’t it be nice to start a tradition for just the two of you?” Andrew gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, ignoring Nicky as best he could. “C’mon Andrew don’t you get tired of hating everything all the time. Surely there’s still a little part of you that wishes you could celebrate the way everyone else did growing up.” His cousin was right, the way he often was, though the blonde would never say it out loud. Ever since Neil entered his life he was aware of how little the younger boy had experienced growing up and it always left Andrew feeling hollow.

He didn’t care about his own missed memories but thinking of all the things his boyfriend missed out on growing up always left him feeling sick. “Just drop it Nicky or i’ll stab you and leave you on the side of the road to bleed out.” Andrew's voice was like venom and he almost felt bad for shutting his cousin down when he caught a glimpse of his sad eyes in his peripheral.

Nicky had dropped it and Andrew assumed his cousin had learned his lesson. He should’ve known better than that and he caught himself snickering at the absurdity of it all. A year ago he would’ve been on the phone with Nicky in a matter of seconds, threatening to gut him if he as much as thought of flirting with Neil but the blonde had calmed down a bit since then. Everyone on the team knew better than to mess with the redhead now, ever since he and Andrew started dating it was an unwritten rule: you didn’t touch Neil and you wouldn’t have to deal with Andrew's violent tendencies.

Lighting another smoke his mind drifted to the image of his boyfriend’s shining face. It pissed Andrew off how simple it was to make Neil smile sometimes. Never in a million years would he have thought of buying the younger boy a stuffed fox. To Andrew it was a stupid childrens toy, nothing more nothing less. He tried to understand what about it possibly could have sparked that level of joy in Neil but he kept coming up empty handed.

Running a rough hand through his hair Andrew tossed the remainder of his smoke out the window and stood up abruptly. He was going to get Neil that stupid fox even if he would rather die than entertain the idea of Christmas.

The drive to the mall wasn’t long but every mile had Andrews chest tightening more and more. His head pounded as he thought about the crowds of strangers that he would soon be faced with. He knew it would be impossible to dodge all of them, it was inevitable that the blonde would get jostled around by at least a few unfamiliar bodies. He expected after all these years that being touched by strangers would get easier but even the slightest brush against his arm when he wasn’t expecting it had the ability to turn him to stone. He had asked Bee about it during one of their sessions and she had told him exactly what he expected to hear: she couldn’t say for sure. Only he could figure that out for himself.

Pulling into the closest parking spot he could find Andrew slowly stepped out of the car. Frigid winter air hit him like a ton of bricks and he wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm as he trudged towards the mall. Families entered and exited the building, the sound of children's laughter radiated through Andrew’s head and he felt his headache worsen.

The first thing he noticed when he walked into the mall was the noise. A hundred conversations at once battling to be heard over Mariah Carey singing about all she wants for Christmas. It took every ounce of self control Andrew had to push further into the crowd, his eyes scanning for the bookstore Nicky had told him about. It dawned on him that he could have ordered the damn stuffed animal online. All he had to do was text his cousin to ask for the store’s name and he could have it shipped directly to the house, no contact necessary. But if Andrew was one thing it was stubborn and he refused to go home without a gift for his boyfriend.

It took ten minutes of wandering for the blonde to find the bookstore and another twenty minutes of searching to find the plush toy from Neil’s picture. He quickly grabbed the closest one to him and made his way to the cash. The line looped through the front half of the store and Andrew tensed at the realization that it would be at least another fifteen minutes before he made it to the front of the line. Pulling out his phone he took a picture of the stuffed toy and sent it to his cousin. It was a mere minute before he got a response.

I knew you would do it. You’re softer than you think Andrew Minyard.

Groaning Andrew shoved his phone back in his pocket, focusing his eyes on the backs of the couple in front of him. He was struggling not to notice the presence of someone behind him and he could feel a cold sweat coming on. As the line slowly shuffled forward, so did the blonde’s anxiety. By the time he got to the cash he could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

Throwing the fox onto the counter he tried to listen to the cashier’s questions about membership cards and gift receipts but he could feel his eyes turn cold as he looked up to glare at the teenager behind the counter. “It’s Visa.” he said, quickly flashing his card. She nodded quickly and finished the transaction, handing him his bag without another word.

The feeling of the December air felt like heaven as Andrew pushed his way out of the mall and rushed towards the Maserati. Tossing the bag into the passenger seat he bucked himself in and sped out of the parking lot, making a promise to himself to kill Nicky if the stupid fox didn’t make Neil smile like he had in the picture on Christmas morning.

Weeks flew by and every day Andrew contemplated giving his boyfriend his gift. He had ordered a gift bag on amazon and had it shipped to the house, one trip to the mall was enough for a lifetime he had decided. The red and green bag sat hidden in Andrews closet for weeks, taunting him every time he got dressed in the morning. He knew deep down that the redhead would be ecstatic about anything Andrew got him, he had said exactly that to the blonde countless times since they moved in together, but still he couldn’t shake the fear of rejection that settled in his bones as he fought to make it to Christmas day without throwing out the stuffed toy.

Finally the day came. It started like any other, Andrew awoke to the feeling of Neil slipping out of bed to go on his morning run and he pulled the blankets tighter around himself, desperate to escape the cold draft the younger boy had let in. He contemplated going back to sleep but every time he closed his eyes the image of a green and red gift bag invaded his mind until eventually Andrew threw the covers off himself and stomped to the closet, desperate to get it over with. He placed the bag on Neil’s bedside table and crawled back under the protection of his duvet. The redhead could open it when he got back from his run but until then Andrew would sleep.

It was an hour later when the blonde felt a cold hand brushing through his hair, gently bringing him to consciousness.

Neil sat on the edge of the bed, the gift bag sitting awkwardly in his lap as he waited for his boyfriend to fully wake up. “What’s with the bag?” he asked, taking Andrews hand in his. “It’s yours.” the older boy said, rolling his eyes. Neil’s eyes widened at that and he slowly began taking the tissue paper out of the bag, placing it on the floor beneath him. As he lifted the plush toy out of the bag he began to smile, happiness radiating off of him like warm rays of sun.

Andrew took a moment to take in the sight in front of him. He loved Neil so much it scared him. Moments like these left him feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable but he wouldn’t trade them for the world and he caught himself smirking back at the redhead above him.

“You got this for me? You seriously didn’t need to do that!” Neil’s voice was shaky and Andrew worried he had crossed a boundary when his boyfriend leaned down, stopping just above his face. “Yes or no?” he whispered and Andrew took the chance to capture Neil’s lips with his.

Pulling away he threw his arm across his eyes, too embarrassed to look Neil in the face. “It’s yours. Keep it or don’t.” he tried to keep his tone as annoyed as possible but the redhead could always see through him.

“Merry Christmas Drew. I love it.”