[ TXT: v ] : ok ?

he shouldn't be surprised to see violet standing on the other side of the door - the pale glow from the porchlight along with the moths that flickered and danced above her created a sort of halo. she looked unearthly, like a figment that had crawled out of some cobwebbed corner of his mind. sometimes noah wondered if she was real at all. and so he can't help but just stare for a moment, like he was trying to piece together exactly how fate had unraveled and led him here. he didn't deserve it. he was destructive, like a fucked up tornado that left nothing but rubble and ruin in its wake. really, it was only a matter of time before violet fell victim to it because he couldn't say no to the drugs and he damn sure couldn't say no to her. even now he closed the space between them as if he were in a sort of trance, palms cupping both sides of her face, pulling her to his lips and kissing her hazy and slow yet always with an edge of hunger. it aches to pull away, eyes dark and brooding as they look over her every feature as if it would somehow allow him a glimpse into her mind. "it's 3am you know -" his voice is warm yet rough with exhaustion, fingers absently brushing a fallen lock of hair back behind her ear as it drifted wild in the summer wind.

IT STARTLES CHRISTOPHER FROM SLEEP, the police pounding against the door. It startles the fuck out of Christopher from sleep, and out of the bed with a cheetah print robe and to the front door Christopher is within record time, peering out of the peephole with a revolver, locked and loaded, in hand. But it isn't the police pounding on the front door: it's Riley DeLuca, tattooed fists a goddamn SWAT officer with a battering ram slamming against the door. Shit, she's pissed, and he prays it's not at him, lest he incur the wrath of those small battering rams for hands. "God fucking damn it. Is this necessary?" He swings the door open — "get in here" — and grabs and pulls Riley by the hand into his apartment. "What the fuck is this about, huh? Bangin' on my door at four in the morning like you're the fuckin' feds?" Christopher sets the revolver, safety on, down onto the coffee table before collapsing onto the couch, breathing out. "This better be fuckin' good. God, I almost fuckin' shit myself, Riles." Which, well, wouldn't have been the first time.

she's glad she can't look her in the eye right now, because she thinks if she did, she might fucking explode. it takes all of her strength to release her lip just in time for a sharp thrust, one that makes her moan. "holy shit—"

       "Wait,  Riley—"       Cee surprises herself with the extension of a broad hand,  coarse digits catching around the slender length of the woman's wrist before she can think to stop herself.  At the realization of her own action,  Cee feels the immediate need to recoil  —pry her fingers from Riley's wrist,  let her go off into the night to do whatever the hell it was that women like Riley do in the dead of night,  away from prying eyes and bright headlights.  But she doesn't.  Not immediately.  She's locked in,  for a brief and strange moment,  furious lights sparking in the backs of her eyes  —before she remembers herself,  recognizes the potential transgression,  retracts her grip from Riley's wrist with a pounding heart and shudder caught in her chest.  She was a little buzzed,  but that wasn't any reason to stop Riley from leaving.  No reason but desperation.  Desperate.  Always so bloody desperate.      (  ... )        "I'm sorry."     She manages,  voice thick in her throat.  Her pale gaze flashes,  imploring the woman.    "I  —I'm just,  confused.  Can't I come with you?"

it’s not so much of a surprise to find morgan standing on his doorstep given that she sort of invited herself over for a ‘tour’. having people over gives tommy an necessary anxiety, but he supposes that not letting them over is much more suspicious. “welcome to my humble abode,” he greets her, allowing her to pass the threshold. with a groan, he says, “that sounded douchey.” it’s not like he has company over a lot, so a proper greeting doesn’t come easily to him. “let’s just start in the living room,” he suggests, picking somewhere relatively safe so that he can get a feel of her real intentions.