#firstinline

send me a ✒ for a handwritten note from my muse to yours . accepting

Priest hadn’t been home in two days - nothing new in his line of work and the madame knew. By the time he unlocked the door to his apartment that night, things were a bit different inside - but Melissa had the decency to at least leave him a note, very obviously placed on top of his television to ensure he’d see it as soon as possible.

2019 is the year of execution. I planned my goals for the year and I’d like to share it with you.

• Getting graduated from my engineer school

• Producing my thesis about “In 2019, how to create content using social media in order to make your sales grow?”

• Producing my memory to be graduated

• Developing the digital strategy of my father’s company

• Growing our business and brand on Amazon FBA with my cousin

• Improving my taekwondo skills

• Dropping my weight down under 80kg

• Being grateful everyday

• Forgiving myself and others

• Helping other people to crush it 🔥

We weren’t supposed to discover this after being hollow for so long like a machine - but we ignored the warning flashing bright to feel again – a playlist for those brought back to life with a tender touch featuring Melissa (@stingslikeabee) & Priest (@firstinline)

send me📝 and my muse will reveal their thoughts about your muse . accepting

Their first impression: This kid who was oddly comfortable with the brothel but looked like they couldn’t wait to be somewhere else.

Their current impression: Someone who has saved me from myself more times I care to count and who I’d do the same for.

What they like the most about your muse: His loyalty - I know he will pick up the phone at 3am and come running if I call and it’s because he sees me - the woman, not the character. 

What they dislike the most about your muse: The fact he thinks himself so... Expandable? Replaceable? He doesn’t care if he lives or dies and this makes me want to kill him myself.

What your muse is for them ( Friend, lover, rival ecc.): He grounds me - he’s the real deal among so many illusions.

A general opinion of their relationship: We’ve gone through so much shit and yet we’re still breathing - it must mean something. I will never let him forget about this either.

send my muse an emoji and they will react to... . accepting 💤 : your muse coming on my muse’s bed during night & 💋‍ : your muse kissing mine on cheek

Melissa had always been a light sleeper – from a very early age with her father getting drunk and abusive at home to the constant fear surrounding her when she was passed along to the hands of the Don, there were very few moments where the woman felt she could truly rest at peace.

Now, being the proprietress of the Honey Bee Inn and with decent security around, she could sometimes enjoy more restoring hours of sleep – that and the fact that she worked herself to the point of exhaustion some of the nights, either extensively catering to difficult customers or to prevent unpleasant accidents from happening.

Last night had combined both – and she was blissfully ignorant of the noises outside and how the window unlocked easily under Priest’s skilled fingers. Given her unorthodox work schedule, it wasn’t rare to see the madame using sleep masks to block the eventual daylight from reaching her – and it worked in the Turk’s favor when he stepped foot inside her chambers and the additional light from outside went completely ignored by Melissa.

Priest closed the window after his entrance quietly, then removed his shoes and jacket; meanwhile, the woman breathed softly and rhythmically on the bed, clearly unconscious and unaware of the fact she was no longer alone. He then went around the bed, climbing on top of it opposite from Melissa and sliding under the covers, an arm going over her waist and lips to her cheeks, brushing against her skin in a soft caress.

“Good night, Mel,” he whispered into her ear and the woman stirred then – she stretched her limbs a bit and sensed the arm around, then the warmth of someone behind her – and she immediately moved on the bed, hands frantically removing the mask and blindly searching for her lamp to bring things to light.

“It’s me,” Priest said again and she instantly relaxed. That voice was familiar enough to be recognized even if she was drowsy from sleep, and her heart slowed down a bit – oh, right. He had mentioned he was going to be around that night.

…Which Melissa had assumed to be during work hours, of course. Since the Turk never showed up, she had merely presumed him busy with something else or a last minute job for Scarlet on TV, but apparently Priest was a man of his word.

“You said you were visiting last night,” she murmured, her voice still affected by the fact she wasn’t entirely awake. However, now she was assured of the identify of the second person in her bed, she merely shifted her position to lie down again, returning to the spot she had previously been in and placing his arm over her waist again.

“Technically it is still night – for you,” he replied from behind, his words tickling her neck with the warm air that left his lips with every word, “Go on, don’t waste your beauty sleep hours on me.”

“…You literally just woke me up, Shy,” she mumbled into the pillow – somehow, she knew he was smiling, even if she couldn’t see it. “You shut up and stop invading my room and I’ll sleep better.” The only fact that argued against her words was how comfortable she was on the bed, and how her head moved just enough so his fingers could dive into her messy tresses.

“Drama queen.”

“Fake priest.”

“Shhhh, just go to sleep… We can talk when you wake up again. Can’t have an ugly-looking queen.”

“I’ll fucking stab you in your sleep next time, Shy,” but ending her threat with a yawn didn’t help her cause, and the Turk just chuckled. Priest probably said something along the lines ‘yeah, sure Mel’, but it was really hard to focus on staying awake when his fingers twirled her hair softly and the digits of his other hand moved in soothing circles around her stomach.