“𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒛𝒂, 𝒗𝒐𝒊 𝒄𝒉'𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆—“ Snort. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥—. His dark head tilts slightly as he reaches down behind him to adjust the cushion at the small of his back. 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.

𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴—. Amber liquor burns beneath his tongue. A 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩—fingers wrapped around the short glass 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, lowering it away from his mouth. It’s 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙—the 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 still sharp and 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 against the back of his throat.

His thoughts turn to 𝐡𝐞𝐫. Slim and petite, ( 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗒, 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 );——her 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚 beliefs that frame nearly every bloody conversation between them. Near constant reminders that it’s important to ‘𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳—.’

...he 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 into his burbon.

❛——𝑯𝒆llo; 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. who wants to 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓 with the 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋? #LUCIFERRP ╱ ↺ for a DM. ♡ for a starter !