#famous places to eat los angeles

[honeyedmiller]

The Hills | Joel Miller

pairing: actor!joel x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: no outbreak!joel, joel miller au, use of marijuana (reader gets high and joel takes a hit), alcohol consumption, enemies to not-so-much-enemies, joel is on his freak shit in this one, smut (fingering, ass play, cum eating, rimming, unprotected piv, spitting, m & f oral receiving, consensual choking and breath play), reader is lowkey a brat but joel is also an ass, joel’s twitchy palm™, two (2) ass slaps, reader is described to be wearing a dress and heels, mentions of usage of cocaine (non-descriptive and it’s neither reader or joel using—just had to add the warning), no use of y/n. if there’s anything that i missed, please lmk.

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: drugs. sex. fame. joel miller—the very man you despise. something about hollywood or other. it all seems to become a blurred line when you get invited to an oscars after party at a house in the hills.

a/n: shoutout to @joelsgreys for keeping eyes on this for me, for beta’ing, for letting me rant about this continuously in our texts, etc etc. ily

Hollywood: the definition of glitz and glamor, celebrities galore, and wild parties.

Right?

Sort of.

You’d been to these afterparties before—chaos, laughter, and drunk or high celebrities every which way. The afterparties that showed the real side of Hollywood’s favorite people. The afterparties where secretive sex ensues in a hidden room tucked in the back of the mansion. The afterparties where people let loose, had fun, and celebrated their wins, or the wins of their friends.

That’s exactly why you were here. This particular multi-million dollar home was chalk-full of familiar famous faces that would get absolutely trashed without the public knowing a single thing about their rendezvous, celebrating each other’s wins.

It was like an unspoken rule amongst all the attendees: what happens at the after party, stays at the after party.

Tess Servopoulos, a well-known actress, was your best friend. She always invited you to the award shows when she could, and made sure you were invited to the afterparties. In this case, it was the after party for The Oscars, where her other best friend was celebrating his wins tonight, taking home three Oscars just hours prior.

And it’s funny, because to you, the devil wasn’t down in Georgia. He was in fucking Los Angeles, California, and his name is Joel Miller.

Arrogant, conceited, and a complete asshole as far as you were concerned. You’d never had a good interaction with the man, always seeming to have targeted hatred toward you for no particular reason.

So you hated him right back.

Because, honestly, who the fuck did he think he was?

You didn’t give two shits if he was an A-lister. Good for him. His arrogance and asshole-ish nature was enough to make you roll your eyes at the mere sight of him. He was one of those people that everybody seemed to absolutely adore, thinking he was doing everyone a solid favor just by being in their presence.

And you think, the fuck does it matter anyway? Your opinion of one man in a room full of elites is about as relevant as a speck of fucking dirt on the bottom of some Louboutins.

You inwardly sighed and drank from the champagne flute that was placed in your hand once you maneuvered your way into the house. Tess dragged you along to say hello to people you’ve met before, and introduced you to those you hadn’t. Most of them were fairly nice, some remembering you from previous parties or recognizing you in god-awful candid shots that paparazzi took of you when you were with Tess.

Tabloids were always a funny thing. There were multiple times where you’d see a photo of yourself in public with Tess, plastered in some stupid celebrity magazine claiming you were her ‘mystery lover.’ Or, there were the times where they’d call you a gold digger; someone who wanted fifteen minutes of fame and all the “luxuries” that came with being acquainted with a celebrity.

You always had a good laugh with Tess about them, and she’d tell you that one day she’d share the story behind you: a college roommate who was her total opposite, but it worked. You were there from the beginning—she’d get casted in parts for commercials, then extras for TV shows, and then bigger roles like a supporting character, and eventually the lead character in many blockbuster hits.

You were her biggest supporter, there for her through her wins and losses. She was truly your platonic soulmate, and you, hers.

You always plastered a smile on your face when making your rounds at these things. Got a little star-struck here and there, but you kept your cool. Celebrities are human beings, after all.

The party was in full swing, people plastered and laughing loudly over the thumping music. Sometimes you thought these parties got a little ridiculous, but you knew this was a rare occasion where these people—faces of the public, under a watchful eye of millions of adoring fans and the scrutinizing media—got the chance to loosen up and be their real selves.

You swirled the champagne around your flute, babysitting the same glass from when you first walked into this party. You leaned against a crisp white wall adorned with what you were sure were very expensive paintings, observing the crowd before you.

The familiarity that drifted through the room was almost unsettling for you. Friends with arms slung over each other’s shoulders, casual and comfortable conversation—and then there was you, who didn’t really know anyone but Tess. She didn’t want to leave your side, but she’d gotten pulled every which way for a conversation and you didn’t want to ride her coattail all night, so you told her you’d get yourself another drink, maybe.

And you were going to, but then the room felt a little too warm. So, naturally, you ventured down another long hallway adorned with paintings and expensive side tables with vases that held fresh flowers that probably cost more than you’d ever see in your lifetime.

Your heels clicked rhythmically against the marble flooring as you made your way to two French double doors that led out to a balcony that was unoccupied.

Perfect.

You opened the doors and sucked in a huge breath of air, admiring the lights gleaming throughout the whole of Los Angeles as far as you could see.

And then you wondered, with every house and apartment and business that was illuminated with a soft yellow light, what each individual occupying these spaces stories were.

People that weren’t famous. People that had regular nine-to-five jobs. People who were desperately trying to make ends meet. People like you, you think.

You loved Tess to death. You’d do anything and everything for her, but Hollywood was secretly a massive headache.

You sighed as you tore your eyes away from the soft lights, opening your clutch to find the joint you brought. Just something to take the edge off and ease the fucking nerves that started coursing through you, unwanted and untimely.

You fished the pre-roll and lighter out of your bag, flicking the lighter on in multiple attempts, but no avail.

You groaned as you kept trying, but the realization that your lighter was done for had swept over you quickly.

“Son of a bitch.” You mutter with a heavy sigh.

“Need a light?” A deep voice asked from behind. A familiar voice. A voice with Southern twang that supposedly charmed every person that was blessed to hear it. A voice you couldn’t fucking stand.

You look over your shoulder to see Joel Miller in the flesh, clad in a crisp white button-down with the top two buttons unbuttoned, exposing his tan chest. The shirt was tucked into some black slacks, accompanied by shiny black shoes.

You hated to admit that he looked good. Real good. But you wouldn’t ever dare to admit that out loud, even with a gun to your head.

“No.” You said, turning back around. His footsteps become closer, and you roll your eyes before you have to restrain yourself from physically shuddering at the proximity between you two.

“Stop bein’ a brat and jus’ take the goddamn light.” Joel rolls his eyes, and you turn to face him. He’s next to you now, leaning against the balcony while holding up a lighter.

You eye him conspicuously, and he looks annoyed as he flicks the lighter on and off. You grit your teeth before slotting the joint between your fingers, bringing it up to your lips.

He easily flicks his lighter on once more, bringing the flame to the end of the joint. The small flame illuminates the space between your bodies, and he looks good with the soft orange glow against his tan skin, you think.

The end of the joint crackles and you inhale deeply, turning your body toward the lights of the city once more.

You blow out the smoke slowly, tilting your head to the side. “Thanks,” You mutter.

“Hm,” He hums, “Would ya look at that. Not that hard to use your manners now, ain’t it?”

“Shut up, Joel. Christ.” You rub your forehead with your thumb, eyebrows pinching together. You came out here for some peace, not to be annoyed and antagonized by the very man you couldn’t stand.

“Hey, I jus’ did ya a favor. No need for that fuckin’ attitude of yours.”

“Jesus fuck, Joel, do you not have anything better to do? Shouldn’t you be fucking one of your whores by now or snorting coke in the bathroom with another beloved A-lister?” You roll your eyes and take another hit.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He took a step forward, broad body hard to ignore with the heat radiating off of him. Your eyes trail up his chest and to his face, which was contorted with pure anger.

“Who the fuck do you think you are talkin’ to me like that? You’re pissin’ off the wrong person, doll.” Joel’s voice is gruff, full of patience that was smaller than a piece of thread at this point.

“I don’t need to bow down to you just because you’re famous, asshole. You’re the one who’s had the problem with me from the beginning. I only reciprocate the energy I receive, so you can fuck all the way off with the superiority complex you think you have over me.”

“Why the fuck are you here anyway? Hollywood ain’t a place for naïve girls like you.” Joel quirks his harsh brow at you, like he’s challenging you.

Motherfucker.

“And who said I was naïve, cowboy? You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know that you’re annoyin’ and don’t fuckin’ belong here. God knows what Tess sees in you as a friend n’ why she keeps invitin’ you to these things.”

Your blood ran hot as you stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was set in a hard line, clenching his teeth every so often in pure annoyance as he looked at you with utter hatred and disgust.

“I may not belong in Hollywood, Miller, but at least my fucking morals are right and I don’t pull bitch moves like abandoning my friends when they need me the most.”

You were infuriated and quite frankly so fucking sick of this man berating you when he should be the last person on this green fucking Earth to talk. It was a low blow, your last comment to him, but what kind of a friend was he to choose a woman he was so pussywhipped over instead of being there for Tess when she was going through a rough time?

It broke your heart to see her so upset that Joel chose another woman he barely knew over her, icing her out when she’d been nothing but a good friend to him. She forgave him, of course, after he’d apologized to her months later.

She had a kinder heart than you would’ve at the situation. You don’t think you could ever forgive somebody for that.

You already thought Joel was an arrogant asshole before that even happened, but that situation was the last nail in the coffin to confirm that he’s exactly the person you thought he was.

“I apologized to her. We’re good now.” Joel’s harsh stare never wavered, but the annoyance in his tone did. He almost sounded…sad.

“Yeah. Whatever.” You roll your eyes, flicking the ash off of the end of the joint before taking another hit. Your mind was already starting to become hazy, and the proximity between you and Joel was starting to make your head spin.

Your gaze flickered up to his face once more, brown eyes still locked on you. You furrow your brows, but before you can speak, Joel plucks the joint from your fingers. He puts the filter up to his lips and deeply inhales, and you frown.

“Get your own recreational drugs, asshole.” You mutter, arms crossing over your chest. Joel’s eyes trail down to your chest before moving back up to yours. A small smirk evades his lips, and he blows the smoke into your face.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat.”

“Fuck you gonna do? Spank me for not thinking you’re all high and mighty and shit?” The frown is permanent on your face as you assess him, not realizing the impact that your words had on him.

His cock stirred in his slacks at the thought of that.

He stubs out the half-finished joint before handing it back to you. You tuck it away in your purse before looking at him again, carefully studying him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He’s got a knowing look on his face, and you have to force yourself to feign disgust.

Because, goddammit, you probably would. You’d probably be all over him if he wasn’t such a fucking asshole. The rage you’ve targeted toward him has made you see past his rugged looks and charm, the broadness of him and the veins that protrude from his hands to his forearms and—

You’ve wondered briefly what it’d be like to succumb to it. To be like every single other person who melts for him like lava seeping into the deepest cracks of the Earth. Untouchable. Destructive. And yet, a beautiful aftermath.

“Think I’ll take that as a yes.” His laugh rumbles from deep within his sturdy chest. For a moment he looks so carefree, so light and happy while he laughs. It might’ve been at your own expense, but for the slightest second, you saw through the harsh stares and the hateful demeanor.

“Fuck you, Miller.”

His mouth snapped shut and his harsh gaze settled on you again. His nostrils flared as he glared at you, a heat behind his eyes you’ve never seen before. His palm twitches at his side and he opens his mouth to say something argumentative, but closes it after a second.

Before you know it, he wraps his hand around your forearm, dragging you behind him.

You nearly trip over your heels as you try to keep up with him, wriggling in his strong grasp. He wouldn’t let up.

“Let go of me you asshole!” You seethe, but he pushes you into a room—tucked at the back of the mansion—secluded from everyone else. Oh.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You quickly realized you were in for it when he shut the door and locked it. Nerves buzzed in your veins and you inhaled a shaky breath.

He looked like he was some sort of predator stalking its prey with the way his eyes scanned your body as he moved around to the other side of the room.

“Real fuckin’ sick of your attitude.” He starts. You scoff at him and throw your arms up.

“Wouldn’t have to deal with it if you just left me the fuck alone in the first place.” You cross your arms over your chest once more, and Joel takes two large strides toward you before he’s standing so close that you can smell the whiskey and weed on his breath.

“N’ that’s the problem, darlin’, I can’t leave you alone. Been wanting to fuck that attitude right outta you since the first day we met.”

You swear your heart drops into your ass. “Wh-what?” Your eyes are wide as he walks forward, forcing you to move backwards until the backs of your knees hit the king-sized bed.

You didn’t even notice there was a bed in the room because the very man before you was insanely distracting.

“You heard me. You’re a brat, baby, n’ brats deserve to be punished.”

You swallow hard as a fire burns behind his eyes, mischievous and daring.

“Joel—”

“Turn around.”

You don’t even think twice before listening to his demand, turning around so you face the bed.

“Can’t hate me that much if you’re an obedient little thing for me, hm?” The amusement was oozing from his Southern drawl.

Your first instinct was to argue with him, but deep down you knew he was right. Maybe all the hatred you had for him had a little bit of desire sprinkled deep down in the depths of your core, unexplored and completely disregarded.

The thought of his hands on you excited you. You saw the way he touched women in the movies he was in. Regardless if it was just acting or not, you always ended up aroused after Tess would force you to watch any movie of his—especially the ones with erotica. She would tease you about not liking him, unknowing of the true abhorrence that stirred in your body. He was her best friend too, so you had to be cordial to him around her for her sake.

You tried to ignore him altogether, but where it got you now—pressed up against the bed as his large hands landed onto your body to tightly grip your hips—didn’t seem to pan out so well.

“Will you let me touch you?” His voice has a rough edge to it, the teasing long gone as he stares at your figure from behind.

“Yes.” You whisper.

He doesn’t say another word as his calloused hands slide around your thighs and to the front of your body. He presses himself against you, and the warmth he radiates off of his body alone makes you sigh.

He’s so sturdy and strong, just as you imagined him to be. You could feel his cock hardening against the plump of your ass, and you wiggle in the slightest to tease him.

He inhales sharply, one hand sliding underneath the hem of your dress while the other hand splayed out onto your stomach.

The skimpy panties you had on did a terrible job at keeping your arousal strictly within the confines of the lace fabric. The apex of your thighs was smeared with the neediness you refused to address, now completely on display for the man it was all for.

Joel’s hand skimmed your inner thighs, chuckling darkly as he traced the outline of your pussy with his thumb through the fabric.

You tried your hardest to hold back a moan, really. You fucking tried. As soon as the sound bubbled in your throat and glided past your lips, you could feel Joel’s smile in victory. He was always playing chess while you were playing checkers.

Well, check fucking mate for him.

“Didn’t know I got ya this excited, baby.” He grips the hem of your panties, sliding them down your legs. You step out of them and he immediately pockets them.

“You wouldn’t be the first.” You mumble, not wanting to feed into his already huge ego.

“Oh I’m sure I’m not,” He starts, breath hot on your neck. “Doesn’t mean I won’t ruin every other fuckin’ man for you. Bend over.”

You clench around nothing at his words, deciding that staying silent is better than digging yourself deeper into your own fucking grave.

You do as he says and bend over the bed, cheek resting against the soft silk sheets.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ make sure I’m all you think about after this. Fuck yourself with your fingers to flashbacks of tonight. Moanin’ my fuckin’ name all alone in your house, wishing I was there to take care of you instead. Fuckin’ brat.”

His words sound like a simultaneous threat and promise, but you just had to say something. You couldn’t let him completely have this without giving him some kind of shit.

“Oh please, I bet I’ll forget as soon as we walk out of this room. You’ve probably got a small dick anyway.”

And you know that isn’t true. He’s huge, and you know he’ll never let you forget about tonight.

A sharp sting blooms onto one of your asscheeks, the sound of him smacking your flesh reverberating off of the walls of the bedroom. You moan at the delicious pain.

“You n’ I both know that ain’t true, doll. Enough with that fuckin’ mouth of yours. Could put it to better use than talkin’ all that shit.”

His hands knead the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to get a good look at all of you. You almost feel embarrassed, but decide not to get into your head too much about it because all you want him to do is fucking touch you where you need him the most.

Your core was aching. You were almost ready to put your pride aside and fucking beg him to touch you. Almost.

You were about to give in when you heard him shuffle behind you, and you craned your neck to see Joel drop onto his knees behind you.

His eyes locked with yours as he gave you a smirk before leaning forward to bite your ass. You let out a small yelp, and his hand was quick to soothe the pain.

“Gonna fuckin’ set you right once n’ for all.”

And he brings a hand up to your core, sliding his middle and ring finger through your dripping folds. You whimper softly at the sensation, a small flood of relief coursing through your veins. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Your hips start to rock involuntarily, and Joel tsks at you.

“Greedy fuckin’ whore, aren’t ya? Patience is a virtue, baby.” He chides.

“Goddamnit Joel.” Your voice sounds breathy, even to your own surprise.

Suddenly, Joel slips his two fingers into you, and your hands fly out to grip the sheets beneath you. Your eyebrows furrow together and relish in the feeling of his thick fingers scissoring in and out of your aching cunt.

“So fuckin’ wet already. ‘F I woulda known I did this to ya…” He chuckles, working his fingers in and out of you expertly.

He leans forward and licks up your folds, swirling his tongue around your clit. You can’t help the strangled moan that leaves your mouth, and you can just feel Joel’s cocky ass smirk.

He continues lapping up your arousal, more dripping out around his fingers and down to his wrist. It'd been awhile since anyone touched you like this, so you presume you were extra turned on because of that reason.

You didn’t want to give all the credit to Joel.

His tongue slid up and he removed his fingers from you, replacing them with his tongue as he prodded it into your entrance and fucked you with it.

You were already a moaning mess, like you were on cloud nine with the way he was making you feel. He gripped both of your cheeks and spread them further for his own leisure, tongue dragging upward until it met your asshole.

“Holy fuck, Joel—” You choke out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he swirls his tongue around the tight ring. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and your pussy clenches around nothing.

Joel lowly moaned around you, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine.

You don’t know how long he’s doing this for—your mind is still hazy from the high you’ve been riding, pleasure wrapped around every single inch of your body. You lose track of time and immerse yourself in how he’s making you feel.

Joel pulls himself away from you, sliding both of his fingers back into you. This time, though, he teases your other hole with the tip of his pinky.

“You ever let anyone fuck this pretty ass of yours with their fingers?”

“Please.” Was all you could squeak out, because while you didn’t want to admit you never have, you were willing to give it a go. It was obvious he knew what he was doing, and if you didn’t like the way something felt, you’d just tell him.

He spits onto your asshole before grunting, “Relax.”

And you do. He slides his pinky into your puckered hole, and fuck you feel so full with him like this. He works his three fingers in and out of you slowly at first, each move calculated and precise.

He may’ve been an asshole, but he at least wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

He picks up the pace of his fingers after he’s sure you can handle it, and the feeling of pleasure seizes your body as you shake underneath him.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. You can feel your orgasm rapidly building building building, the coil wound so tight that your stomach constricts in plea of release.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Joel I’m gonna—oh fuck!”

And you’re literally gushing around his fingers. He prolongs your orgasm as long as he can. You think he’s saying things like there you go, that’s it, but you can hardly pay attention over the loud ringing in your ears as you try and come down from your Earth-shattering orgasm.

He slips his fingers out of you slowly, watching your body convulse sporadically from the aftermath of it all.

He grabs your body and flips you around so you’re laying at the edge of the bed. The fluorescent lights are blinding as you try and look at his face. You blink rapidly, chest heaving up and down as you try your damndest to find your bearings once more.

He’s unfastening the button on his slacks, and all you can hear is the rustle of the fabric and the thumping music outside of the locked door.

You wondered briefly if anyone—Tess, specifically—was looking for the two of you. You’d be mortified if she found you like this, but Joel was smart enough to lock the doors.

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even noticed he was pulling down his underwear, so when you looked back at him you gasped when you saw his stiff, aching length. Your hunch was correct—he was huge. His tip was red, smeared with precome and just begging to be taken care of.

If there was any time in your life to impress Joel Miller, now was your chance. You sit up on your knees and lower your head, looking up at him through your lashes, your mouth inches away from his tip.

The muscle in his jaw ticked furiously, brown eyes watching you meticulously. You gave him a small, cocky smirk before you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste. You use one hand to steady yourself onto the bed, and the other to wrap around his length as you start to pump him slowly.

He inhales sharply, holding back a groan as you undoubtedly start to please him.

You set a steady rhythm between your hand and mouth. The wet sounds are obscene and nearly pornographic. A part of you wishes this was being recorded so you’d have something to watch back when you needed to get yourself off.

Greed is a tragedy, and tragic you were in this moment.

Joel’s hand flies to the back of your head, cradling it as you remove your hand and slide your lips as far down his shaft as your mouth would allow. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and as much as you were salivating, you swallowed around him.

The tip of your nose barely made contact with the wiry hairs at the base of his cock, and Joel let out the most guttural groan you’d ever heard.

“Filthy fuckin’ mouth, baby. Goddamn. Knew it could be put to better use than you—ngh—spewin’ that fuckin’ attitude.”

You hum around him, bobbing your head up and down his length. His pants were getting more rapid and he was becoming more vocal, grunting fuck and filthy, filthy girl.

“Shit, yeah, just like that doll. Just. Like. That.” Joel’s voice is hoarse behind his clenched teeth. If you didn’t know any better, he’d probably shatter his teeth with how hard he was clenching them.

And you don’t let up. Not even after a string of curses spills past his lips, and definitely not after he groans so loudly that it vibrates through his whole body as ropes of his come spill down your throat.

You’re in overstimulation territory, and he’s falling apart at the seams.

He pulls your head off of his length as he tries to catch his breath, sweat beading at his temples.

“Fuckin’ christ.” He breathes, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you again.

“Didn’t know I would be so good at that now, did you?” You tease, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a snarl.

“Shut the fuck up.” He says, and you laugh. He grabs your hips suddenly, flipping you around once more so you’re on all fours for him again.

“‘M’keepin’ my promise. Gonna fuck that attitude straight outta your goddamn brain.” His tone is serious, and you’re beginning to think he really isn’t fucking around.

You hear him pump himself a few times and you think about the dangerous threshold you’re about to cross with him. Would you regret it after? Would he?

It was like you were both taking a bite of forbidden fruit, specially picked from the Garden of Eden.

Fuck it. There’s worse things you can do.

“You on any birth control?” He asks, and you nod.

“IUD.”

“Good.” He says before sliding the head of his cock through your folds. Your body jerks when it catches your clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

Without another word, Joel pushes into you and you stretch around him deliciously. It’s like your body was begging for him to be inside you at this point.

“Fuuuck.” Joel groans, gripping your hips so tightly they’d probably be bruised by tomorrow.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming, because he’s the biggest you’ve ever had and the sting won’t go away.

“Move, Joel.” You plead, and he smacks your ass once again, making you flutter around his cock.

“Fuck did I say about patience? Christ, woman.”

You shut your eyes as you feel him become fully erect inside you, and you’re seriously going to cry if he doesn’t move soon.

Almost as if he’d read your mind, he started to thrust his hips slowly. It didn’t take long for him to set a pace, though, and he was brutally pistoning in and out of you.

“Fucking…. hate… you.” You spit pathetically, holding onto the sheets for dear life. He laughs dryly behind you, mumbling a sure before going even harder.

Your moans were getting louder and louder, and you truthfully couldn’t give two fucks who heard you at this point.

Fucking let them hear.

“Better hush up now, whole house could probably hear you with how loud you’re bein’.” He scolded, and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t give a fuck,” You squeaked out, “Let them.”

“Attagirl,” His laugh was mischievous, pounding into you even faster than before. “Little fuckin’ whore loves takin’ this cock, hm?”

One of his hands moved up your body, causing chills down your spine and goosebumps to raise onto your skin.

His hand wrapped around your throat, and you moaned at the idea of getting choked out while he fucked you from behind.

One of your hands flew up to his, and he was half expecting you to yank it away. He was pleasantly surprised when you clamped your fingers down around his, silently urging him to squeeze.

And he did. You felt like you were fucking floating.

Joel didn’t let up, even when you felt the burning hot coil wind up in your core once again.

“Feel so fucking good– s–o so fucking— fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess. He pulls your body up so your back is facing his front, never letting his pace waver.

“Fucking you dumb on my cock, aren’t I? Listen to you, baby. Pathetic.” He laughs at you once again, but you don’t have any willpower to fight back. You just let it happen, because each thrust of his cock into you has your body turning into complete fucking mush.

“Close.” Is what you whisper, and Joel can feel your walls tightening around him. He chokes on a moan at the sensation, fingers tightening around your throat even more.

You can barely breathe, but you fucking love it. You love seeing stars cloud your vision like this. The heightened sensation of your orgasm comes crashing down over you, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you silently scream out.

Your body convulses continuously as you try to ride out your orgasm, but Joel’s hand leaves your throat and moves down to your clit to rub at it furiously.

You cry out his name, your hands frantic to find purchase to anything as you try and brace yourself.

It’s no use, though. Your body is limp and your soul fucking escaped from you long ago.

“Where do you want me?” The urgency in his voice is evident, but you’re in such a daze that you barely clock it.

“Inside me.” You manage, and he groans loudly before he lets go, filling you up with everything he has. His body slumps over yours, both of you trying so hard to pull yourselves back to reality.

He slides out of you and you both groan at the loss of being one.

You turn over on your back, once again blinded by the lights. Your eyes flutter close as you assess everything that partook the last—thirty? fourty? you don’t fucking know—minutes of your life.

Your body slowly floats back down to reality, and you peel your eyes open when you hear shuffling. Joel is on his knees again, spreading your legs to look at his handiwork. He looks up at you with that same devilish smirk, licking up his spend from your cunt before hovering over you.

He uses his thumb to coax your jaw open, spitting his spend into your mouth.

“Swallow.” He demands, and you do as he says. You open your mouth to show him you did, and a satisfied look washes over his features.

“Hope you feel me leakin’ out of you all goddamn night, sweetheart.”

You look at him incredulously, reality crashing down with the unwavering truth: you and Joel really fucked.

He was inches away from your face, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what it would be like if he kissed you. His lips looked so soft.

But that would make it too complicated. It would turn into a thing you didn’t need it to be, and you knew kissing him would make the probability of hating him into a fucking zero.

Get a grip.

But, you catch him. You catch his eyes flicker down to your lips, the same thing probably reeling in his mind, too.

Maybe one wouldn’t hurt.

No. You wouldn’t allow it for yourself. He can take his Southern charm and shove it up his ass.

You cleared your throat and moved to stand up. Your legs were shaky at first, but you found your grounding as you walked over to the mirror on the other side of the room.

You straightened out your appearance, making sure you didn’t have “I just got fucked” plastered across your forehead. Once you were satisfied, you turned around to see Joel sitting on the bed.

You nod at him once, “Joel,” and you’re unlocking the door to be rejoined by the thumping music and loud laughter, leaving him to stare at you as you walked away.

You made your way into the backyard, needing a breath of fresh air after everything that ensued.

“There you are! I was looking all over for you.” Tess pulls you into her side, giving your arm a playful squeeze as she holds you close.

“Yeah, I uh, went to smoke a J.” Which, yes, was of course partially true—but you’d probably never admit to her that you just got done getting your brains fucked out by Joel Miller.

She probably wouldn’t even believe you if you told her, anyway.

It didn’t need to become a thing, even if it was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

Sex you’d probably be having flashbacks about years down the line, just as Joel promised.

You groan inwardly, eyes drifting upward to casually scan the backyard. You caught a familiar pair already staring at you from across the way, and your whole body bloomed with aching heat once more.

Those brown eyes were accompanied with a sickening smirk, and two seconds later, a wink.

You knew no matter how hard you tried, and as much as you fucking despised him, it wouldn’t be easy to get him out of your head.

You were so fucked, you think.

The idea of admitting that you maybe didn’t hate him was unwarranted, but you knew deep down it was your reality. You really didn’t hate him.

And maybe, just maybe, these parties weren’t so bad after all.

tags: @ilovepedro @nostalxgic @punkshort @endlessthxxghts

-

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[gucciwins]

harry brings his girlfriend home to meet his family but it does not go as planned

word count: 5896

a/n: enjoy this story inspired by a lovely anon. happy reading, my sweet friends 💜

+

Y/N was nervous. 

She squeezed Harry’s hand, trying to ground herself, but it seemed to transport her to the first time they met at the diner down the street from her apartment. 

Going to university in Los Angeles wasn’t glamorous, not when she had endless bills to pay to keep a roof over her head. She had gone to Martha’s Cakes, a small diner ten minutes from her apartment that served the best hot chocolate. The food was good too but the hot chocolate is what she ordered each visit without fail. It’s a place she’d eat when Y/N had a bit of extra to spend on herself. Instead of buying herself new shoes, or another jelly cat bag charm (Otto, the sausage dog, went everywhere with her) she decided on eating a good meal that didn’t consist of ramen or buttered noodles. She came here when she needed a pick me up or simply wanted to have a nice conversation. It was a late Tuesday in the Spring. Where the sun took longer to come down, allowing her extra time at the bar to do assignments and chat with Antonio about the best produce sales. Y/N had her head down working on an essay due two weeks from now. It was based on one of Los Angeles buildings; it could be based on the oldest church to the Dodger Stadium. Y/N decided on the Avila Adobe residence. Known as the oldest standing residence in the City of Los Angeles. Olvera St. was a famous street and was filled with history. It was one of her favorite places to walk through. 

As she was looking through photos, taking notes of significant dates, a patron sat next to her. Y/N didn’t bother seeing who it was, simply scooting her scattered papers closer to her, tucking a few under her laptop. 

“It’s not bothering me.” A man spoke. 

It startled Y/N only because he had a deep British voice. It felt odd to be hearing in such an unknown area. 

“Darla would throw coffee on it if she saw I was bothering a customer.” 

“I said it’s okay.” 

Y/N laughs. “She would say it wasn’t.” 

It seems the man lets it drop as he has nothing to reply. Y/N keeps up with updating her notes as she hears the man order a stack of the lemon poppy pancakes. Those were her favorite, Y/N would get them when she was having a bad day because it would without a fail make her smile. Y/N worked in silence over the next half hour when she felt the need to step to the restroom. Y/N did not want to pack up. Usually she asks a staff member to watch her items, but the diner seemed to be a bit busier. She looked around and her eyes landed on the pancake guy who had his headphones on. She hated bothering people, but he looked kind enough. 

Y/N tapped next to his plate to get his attention. It worked because in seconds he slipped off his headphones and had turned his whole body to look at her. It gave her the chance to look at him fully for the first time. He had a buzz cut, and it looked really good. He had slight stubble, but what captured her attention were his bright jade eyes. It felt like he was staring deep into her soul.

“Do–uh–Would you please watch my stuff? I have to use the ladies’ room.”

“Course. Guard it with my life.” 

Y/N thanked him and hurried away. When she came back, the man had slightly shifted over, his eyes staring intently at the dark screen of her laptop. 

“Thank you,” she shot him a smile. Waking up her screen and getting back to her assignment, except she couldn’t get the man out of her head. 

The dimples were something she focused on when he smiled, telling her it was no problem. Then his green eyes were so beautiful she felt she had seen them before. Though she could swear she had never met him before. She did have a weird feeling she had seen him before. Once it hit eight o’clock, Y/N knew it was time to call it. Y/N had her rough draft ready and could continue tomorrow. For now, she’d walk home and take a bath to wash away today’s day. 

Y/N was packing up and could see the green-eyed gentleman was too. She would hate herself if she didn’t ask him where she knew him from, if she knew him. Y/N had her bag strapped on her shoulder and turned to him for the last time. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

He turned, as if he was waiting to hear from her. “Yes?” 

“How do I know you?” 

The man’s smile dropped. He looked confused, so she didn’t know him. 

“Don’t think we’ve met, until today, Y/N.”

Y/N’s frown deepens. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

He pointed to her bag. She looks down at the red stitching displaying her name. Well, now she looked dumb. Of course, he could read. “You look familiar to me. Sorry if that’s weird.”

The guy clears his throat, shaking his head. “I get that a lot.” 

That’s odd, Y/N thought. 

“I feel like I know you,” she tried one last time. 

“Promise we don’t know each other. I would remember someone as beautiful as you.” 

Y/N’s jaw dropped (not literally), but her face felt warm. Fuck, she was not expecting this turn of event. “Ha, uh. I want to say me too, but uh, there’s something familiar about you.” 

Harry chuckles as if he knows something she doesn’t. 

“Can I walk you out?” He asks. 

She nods. He leaves a large tip and follows her to the exit. Y/N ways to Sonia, who shoots her thumbs up, but Y/N has no idea why. Y/N and the man linger outside the door, waiting to see who makes the first move. 

“Well, uh, can I have your Instagram?” Y/N asks, not knowing if asking for his number was too forward. At least this way she could stalk him for a bit. 

“Oh, I don’t use that. I can give you my number,” he counters. 

Y/N perks up. “That works.” She hands him her phone where she watches his hands type in his phone number into her contacts. He hands her back her phone, and she looks at the newly added contact. 

Harry S. 

It seemed that’s all she needed for her to connect the dots. She lifts her head up and Harry has a flushed face. He didn’t look away from her, almost waiting to see what she’d say. 

Y/N not sure how to break the silence. “Harry Sanchez?” 

Harry laughs, and it’s all the confirmation Y/N needs. “More like Styles.” 

“Oh.” 

Did she fuck up her chances? She feels like she didn’t. She got his number. 

“What can I use your number for?” She asks, wanting to double check. He still wants her to have it.

“Hopefully for us to plan a date.” 

“Even after this,” she points between them as if to explain what they know just happened. 

“I’d like to see where it could go.” 

“Shit, uh. Well–I’m free Thursday.” Harry smirks, making her want to crawl in a hole because now she feels desperate. “I’m going to leave.”

Harry stops her by grabbing her hand. “I think Thursday is perfect. Are you up for a sunset dinner by the beach?” 

“Sounds perfect,” she promised him. 

“Good. Thursday it is.”

Now she is standing in front of his childhood home, about to meet his mother and older sister. Y/N had spoken to his mother, Anne, on the phone a few times, but his sister was always busy when Harry tried to pass her the phone. Harry promised her it would go well, but she feared the worst. Their story was genuine but to others could sound fabricated but come on, no one knows Martha’s cakes, it’s not even on Yelp. It’s a place once stumbled upon and then shares the magic with people in their life. 

Harry said he felt like coffee and walked for a while until he saw people walk out. The smell of coffee is what drew him in, but the pretty girl he sat next to had him stay for hours. It’s something he shared months down the line. Y/N and Harry had now been together for nine months. Because of her Master’s Y/N had no time to travel. Harry visited home often, but Y/N couldn’t drop everything she was doing to go with him. He understood, but she felt his family wouldn’t. Harry met her dad and twin brothers six months into dating because they lived down in San Diego, only a two-hour drive from them. While Harry’s family lived an ocean away and she refused for him to pay for her flight to London. On top of that, she had classes and exams to worry about that did not allow her to hop on a flight for a week. Thankfully, she made it through the winter semester and had a few weeks off from her internship before going back for her last semester. Y/N knew graduation was just around the corner, and thankfully, had little debt to pay off.

Harry held her tight as he led her up the steps. Y/N was walking slower, trying to prolong the introduction. In her mind, she hoped she was simply psyching herself out and that things actually went well with Harry’s family. That they accepted her because they could see how much she loved him. 

“You ready, Lovie?” Harry flashed her a dimpled grin.

Truthfully, she wanted to say no, but Y/N couldn’t do that to him. Not when he was bouncing with excitement. “Ready.” She confirmed. 

Harry gave two loud knocks and then opened the front door. Y/N stood behind him as he rushed to embrace his mother. Anne was a sweet woman, much shorter than Harry, but by the tight embrace she held Harry, Y/N could tell she was strong. 

Anne gave Harry two big kisses, one on each cheek, before turning her attention to Y/N. 

“Y/N!” Anne cheered. She said it with so much delight, it surprised Y/N. 

In a matter of seconds, someone tightly wrapped Y/N in a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Twist.” 

Anne waved her off. “Call me Anne, my dear.” 

“Anne,” Y/N repeated.

“Now come in and tell me all about the trip. Did he trick you into going to that fancy lounge where you get free food?” Y/N giggled because Harry indeed took her to a fancy lounge when he said he was taking her to get a smoothie. 

Y/N spared a smile at Harry, but it was quick to fall when Y/N met another pair of eyes in the kitchen, looking at her with an intense stare. It dropped quickly because her attention shifted to Harry. Y/N focused back on Anne, trying to brush off the moment as something she imagined. 

Y/N tried her best to ignore the pit forming in her stomach. There was no need to worry. Harry talked about wonderful things about his family. She was in safe hands. At least that’s what she kept reminding herself.

+

Y/N didn’t feel welcome. Anne was a gem, but Gemma was cold and looked bored whenever Y/N said a word. Y/N wondered if Harry picked up on it. He hadn’t said a word. Harry was home and had no time to deal with Y/N’s insecurities. She had to be reading into Gemma, not liking her. Harry spoke the world of his older sister. He said she was his best friend, someone whose opinion he valued. Fear struck her. If Gemma didn’t like her after this visit, she knew that as soon as she got on that plane to go home, Harry would be breaking up with her. At least she’d had several hours to cry about on the plane pathetically.  

“There’s no way she didn’t know who you were,” Gemma scoffed, unbelieving of their story. 

Harry brushed off her comment as if she said nothing. “Gem, I was bald.” 

“Your face didn’t change.”

Harry sighs, “no, but you did a double take when I showed up to your doorstep to show you.” 

Gemma frowns, knowing he was right. “Whatever, you were all over twitter.” 

Harry is beginning to pick up on his sister’s defense and knows to drop it but will be picking it up with her later. “Anyway. Sitting next to each other, she asked me to watch her stuff when she had to use the restroom.”

“To look you up,” Gemma coughs.

Y/N fidgets in her chair, wanting to be anywhere but here. Harry continues with his story. “She thanked me and went back to her work. Before she left, Y/N asked if we knew each other, but I told her we didn’t. I wouldn’t forget someone as beautiful as her.” 

“Charming,” Anne gloats. “My charming boy.” 

Harry finished the story, stating it was meant to be. He had loved spending the time in Los Angeles getting to see the city through Y/N’s eyes. It’s a city she’s been living in for a couple of years. There was a lot for her to share with him. Harry had taken a liking to her favorite coffee shop. It had a design resembling a greenhouse and filled with plants, mainly featuring dried lavender. Truthfully, he spent a lot of time there because it was Y/N’s preferred place to study because it never got busy. Y/N called it her hidden gem. 

“I’ve never been happier,” Harry shares. Y/N beams at his words but can’t help glancing at Gemma, who can’t help but look sick to her stomach at hearing this news.

Dinner passed dreadfully slowly. Y/N comments when she needs to but honestly hopes to disappear for the night soon, no longer wanting to burden Gemma with her presence. While Anne showed Y/N where she could freshen up, Harry stayed downstairs to share a nightcap with his sister. 

Anne comes back to join them, but Gemma bites her tongue until their mother bids them goodnight. Harry gives his mother a tight embrace, commenting on how much he missed her. Gemma was happy her younger brother was home. 

“Are you happy, Harry?” Gemma breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

Harry sighs, “never been happier.” 

Gemma frowns, because she believes him. “I-I-nevermind.” 

Harry frowns because Gemma is never someone to stop herself from saying what’s on her mind. “Hey,” he places his hand on top of hers. “It’s me. Your annoying younger brother, you can tell me anything.” 

She removes her hand from under his and places them on her lap. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

Harry sits back, surprised. “Sorry?”

“It’s clear she’s after something.” 

He’s having a hard time believing his sister. “Like what?”

“Your money.” 

“Is that all I’m good for?” He asks, baffled. 

“No. That’s why I’m telling you. She’s after one thing.” 

“How would you know?”

“Come on,” Gemma scoffs. “She goes to a prestigious school with a cost that no one could afford. It’s clear she wants you to pay for it.” 

“Gemma, I met her during her last year.”

“Debt doesn’t go away overnight,” she fights back. “She’ll get you to pay off her loans and leave you.”

Harry’s anger is overwhelming him. 

“You don’t even know her. Yet you say bad things about her.” It shuts Gemma up, and he uses that to his advantage and walks away.

“We saw the donation you made,” Gemma comments before he can make it up the stairs. 

He turns back, trying his best to swallow down his anger. “If you would have asked me, you would know it’s for the music program. I did that for several universities if you would have taken the time to do a bit more research. It grants them a scholarship, plus pays for room and board.” 

Gemma has no response. Harry is now standing in front of her and Gemma is nervous. She had never seen her brother this upset. 

“What I do with my money is my problem. If she wanted me to send her money for a new car, I would. If she wanted me to buy her a piece of land, I would do it in a blink of an eye. If Y/N asked me to give her every last dime in my account, I would do it without a second thought because I love her. I love her and she loves me. You know, five minutes is not enough to judge her. I do not have to tell you of her financial issues, but I will so you can go home tonight and sleep knowing how upset I am with you. Y/N received the presidential scholarship covering her tuition for the three years she was there. Y/N has applied to hundreds of scholarships to cover her book fees, and has to take on an unpaid internship while working 40 hours a week to cover her rent. Y/N has not accepted a single dime from me for her school because she has gotten this far without me. Y/N only lets me pay for her seven dollar coffee every other day. Y/N would rather give every last dollar to me if I needed it instead of keeping it for herself. Y/N still sends money to her twin brothers for new shoes, or new backpacks, because she loves her family.” 

Harry is near tears but keeps going. “I love Y/N. You might not, maybe you never will, but that girl has been the best thing to happen to me. I’ve never been more cared for and loved since she entered my life. So please, don’t bother coming back tomorrow or the rest of the week unless you have an apology for her.”

Y/N is grateful Harry’s room connects to the bathroom because, while she finished getting ready, she thought she would ask Harry for a cup of water and instead stumbled upon a conversation she shouldn’t have. Y/N tries her best to swallow her tears, but it’s no use. They’re more powerful than her. They stream down and Y/N decides to lie in bed, hoping by the time Harry comes in, she’s fast asleep. Y/N isn’t sure how much time has passed, but her tears have dried up and she’s as still as a rock when she hears Harry come in. She wants to tell him that she’s not worth defending if it means he’s messing up his relationship with his sister.

She hears him get ready for bed. Y/N knows he’s folding his clothes and placing them on the chair. He’s meticulous about his night-time routine. He crawls into bed next to her. Y/N tries her best to steal her breathing to make it seem like she’s sleeping, but Harry knows her too well. He scoots right behind her, his hand sliding over her hips and settling on her stomach, right by the scar she got on her eight birthday when she fell off her bike. Harry rubs the lifted skin, where she got four stitches. 

Y/N lets out a deep breath, working up the courage to say something, but her throat is closed. She relaxes against him. All her tears dried up. She is beginning to feel better now that she’s with him. A kiss to her temple has her heart slowing down. This is what it is to be protected. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N croaks out when she feels like enough time has passed. 

Harry pulls her tight against him. It fills her with ease. “How much did you hear?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I don’t want you to argue with your family.” 

“It’s only my sister,” he defends.

“She’s an important person in your life. You’ve always specified that.” 

Harry sighs. He leaves a kiss behind Y/N’s ear. “You are important to me, too.”

“You don’t need to be fighting. It’s not necessary.” 

“It is when she needs a wack to her head.” 

“Harry,” Y/N drags out. “I don’t want you burning bridges.”

Harry understood where she was coming from, but Y/N was not seeing how it affected him as well. “We’ll be fine. She’s my sister. We’ll talk in a few days. All this will be in the past.”

Y/N freezes, feeling as if someone dropped a cold bucket of water on her. If Harry believes everything will be alright with his sister, that means he sees himself forgiving her for what she said but also means he would be getting rid of the problem. Her. 

Harry was going to be breaking up with her. This started her tears to fall again, only this time she couldn’t keep quiet. They were pouring out of her at a quick rate. He was quick to sit up bringing Y/N with him.

“Hey, hey,” Harry cooed. “What happened? What did I do?”

“Y-y-you,” she stuttered. Nothing was coming out. 

He would not rush her. Instead, he shifted her to straddle his lap. Y/N tucked her head into his neck. Hary felt his neck dampen with tears. He pressed soft kisses to her hair, whispering “I love you,” hoping it would be enough to calm her. He snaked a hand under her night shirt softly running his nails up and down her back. Y/N curled in closer at the action. His sweet girl was feeling overwhelmed, and he felt awful because he wasn’t being helpful. 

Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were puffy and tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry still thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hands moved from her side up to his neck, she settled them on his cheek. She caressed his face, calming him down. He hadn’t realized how overwhelmed he was, but it’s clear Y/N could see what he needed even in her moments of sadness. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N voiced. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry frowned. No one had said anything about him leaving. He would never dream of walking away from her. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But Gemma–”

He cuts her off. “Gemma doesn’t know you like I do. She is looking out for me and I know she meant no harm, but she went about all this wrong. She decided to judge us, judge you before getting to know you.”

Y/N did no wrong. She was nothing Gemma accused her of. Y/N knew that, of course she did, but Y/N hoped to impress his family, not make them upset. 

“I know you, Lovie. My mum knows you. Mostly, you know yourself. Your character speaks for you and it has never been anything but kind and loving.”

Harry’s words slowly begin to mend her heart.

“I love you, Harry.” 

He connects his lips with hers in a loving kiss. “I love you so much.” 

Y/N falls asleep to Harry’s voice as he sings her to sleep. It’s a lullaby he says his mum would sing when he had a nightmare. While Y/N didn’t know how tomorrow would go, she was happy to have Harry at her side.

+

The morning passed slowly between the three of them. They shared stories with Anne, Harry, catching her up on his upcoming plans. Y/N talked about her looming graduation and told Anne about her thesis project. Anne promised to make the trip for her graduation, something Harry couldn’t stop gloating about how she was top of her class on her way to graduate summa cum laude. Y/N had stepped outside wanting to enjoy all the open land Anne had. The cats happily roamed around Y/N as she settled in the grass. Y/N thought of her dad at home and what he’d have to say about the situation. He’d probably tell her to run while she could, but Y/N knew Harry was her person. Y/N laid down, closed her eyes and took in all the surrounding noise. She heard birds chirping, a purring in the distance and the rush of the wind hitting the wind chimes. It was perfect. 

There was a loud band that had Y/N sitting up in a hurry. She looked back and realized it was the back door. Anne had stepped out, Y/N could see Harry in the kitchen, hands moving rapidly, and she knew he wasn’t alone. Anne sat not to Y/N, neither of them saying a word. 

“My daughter owes you an apology.” 

“Anne–” 

She stops Y/N. “No, I raised her better than that. I’m not sure when she got so protective, but it’s clearly not for the best. Harry is nearing 30 he doesn’t need his sister looking out for him. While I’m glad they have each other, this was unnecessary. It caused a lot of hurt that should have never existed.” 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to talk to her if you’re not comfortable.”

Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She dreaded talking to Gemma, but Y/N knew she’d feel worse if she went home and never talked this out with her. “I’m willing. I-I might need time to forgive her.” 

Anne squeezed Y/N’s hand. “That’s perfectly alright. Now tell me about these brothers of yours.” 

Y/N spent the rest of the evening with Anne, forgetting about her problems. It isn’t until Harry called them both in for dinner that they realized they spent hours outside. 

Harry greeted her with a kiss.

Dinner went off without a hitch, the three of them sharing all kinds of stories. Mostly Harry interrupting Anne to tell her a new story about Y/N he remembered. Harry that night promised he was alright with Gemma. He was feeling hurt. Assured her he loved her, but needed time to move past it. 

Y/N woke up early the next morning and decided to go on a walk along the river. Harry told her it felt never ending. They had walked it once every day, but today she went alone, letting Harry sleep in but also have that extra time with Anne. As Y/N walked, she thought of her brothers and how they would love to be throwing rocks in the river. Y/N was sure one of them would even fall in on accident. The weather would pique her dad’s interest. He was a sunshine man. She was sure the gloomy weather would be too much for him to handle. 

Two hours later, Y/N came back and was taken aback by Gemma’s presence on the front steps of the house, holding a thermal mug. 

“Hi,” Y/N greeted. 

“Morning, nice walk?” Gemma asked. 

Small talk. It was safe. “Mhm, Harry showed me the trail he liked to walk on.” 

“Mmm…coffee?” Gemma offered.

“Uh, I’m okay,” Y/N rejected.

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.” 

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words. 

“I’m sorry” are Gemma’s first words. “I’m sorry talking about you behind your back, even more sorry that you overheard.” Gemma looks sincere, and Y/N nods for her to continue. “I love Harry. He’s the best brother, and a person in general. He cares so much that I fear he’s gotten screwed over so much in life because he trusts with his heart and not his head.”

Y/N frowns, because that’s one of the things she loves most about Harry. How welcoming he is with his kind nature and how much love he spreads every day whether it’s through his music or holding the door open for a stranger. It all adds up to show that he’s a person full of love.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her. 

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.” 

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready. 

“I love Harry. I think we have a wonderful relationship.” Y/N knows Gemma might not want to hear this, but it is important he does. “Harry loves communication. I swear we’ve never had an argument that didn’t end in us making up. He gives me my space but makes sure to be near. I’m reminded of his love every second of every day, whether he’s with me or not. I’m not sure if I make him feel loved every minute, but I do my best to remind him in my actions and words. I’m big on writing notes. He’s received a few love letters. I’m sure he’d show you if you asked.” Gemma tries her best to hide her surprise, but it’s written all over her face. “I’ve only heard wonderful stories about you, Gemma. I’m sure they’re all true, but I know Harry thought we might become friends.” Y/N pauses. “Even if that doesn’t happen, I do want you to know I respect you. For however long I’m around, I know that I respect you, even if it might take some time for me to trust you.” 

Gemma has tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I never provided you with an opportunity. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I am really sorry. Meeting the family is always hard, and I fucking ruined it.” 

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.” 

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully. 

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.” 

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.” 

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. 

“Morning, pretty girl.” 

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.” 

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words. 

“I’m sorry” are Gemma’s first words. “I’m sorry talking about you behind your back, even more sorry that you overheard.” Gemma looks sincere, and Y/N nods for her to continue. “I love Harry. He’s the best brother, and a person in general. He cares so much that I fear he’s gotten screwed over so much in life because he trusts with his heart and not his head.”

Y/N frowns, because that’s one of the things she loves most about Harry. How welcoming he is with his kind nature and how much love he spreads every day whether it’s through his music or holding the door open for a stranger. It all adds up to show that he’s a person full of love.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her. 

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.” 

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready. 

“I love Harry. I think we have a wonderful relationship.” Y/N knows Gemma might not want to hear this, but it is important he does. “Harry loves communication. I swear we’ve never had an argument that didn’t end in us making up. He gives me my space but makes sure to be near. I’m reminded of his love every second of every day, whether he’s with me or not. I’m not sure if I make him feel loved every minute, but I do my best to remind him in my actions and words. I’m big on writing notes. He’s received a few love letters. I’m sure he’d show you if you asked.” Gemma tries her best to hide her surprise, but it’s written all over her face. “I’ve only heard wonderful stories about you, Gemma. I’m sure they’re all true, but I know Harry thought we might become friends.” Y/N pauses. “Even if that doesn’t happen, I do want you to know I respect you. For however long I’m around, I know that I respect you, even if it might take some time for me to trust you.” 

Gemma has tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I never provided you with an opportunity. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I am really sorry. Meeting the family is always hard, and I fucking ruined it.” 

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.” 

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully. 

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.” 

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.” 

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. 

“Morning, pretty girl.” 

“Hi, Harry. I love you.” 

Y/N knows he’s grinning. “I love you too. Even if you left me alone this morning.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she defends. “You always told me a morning walk here cleared your head.” 

“And did it?” 

“Mmm…like magic.” 

“Are you okay, Lovie?” Harry turns off the stove. He turns around, setting his hands on Y/N’s waist. His hair makes her laugh as she sees it sticking in different directions. 

“We talked. She apologized. Promise I’m okay. It still hurts, but I’ll try my best to forgive her for you.” 

Harry tuts his tongue. “No, honey.” Y/N tilts her head, confused. “You don’t have to do this for me.” 

“But she’s your–”

“She’s my sister, but that doesn’t mean you have to change how you feel about me. I promise I am with you. She made a mistake, and I’ll forgive her but at my own time. You take your time as well.”

Y/N feels overwhelmed all over again because she really did get lucky with Harry. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my love. So much more.” 

Harry gives her a kiss. A promise that everything will be alright.

+

thank you for reading my beautiful friends! let me know your favorite parts

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Starlet

Dieter Bravo x Co-Star x Wife Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: Your husband has a big movie premiere, sure he looks great, but his co-star looks even better. Warnings: PWP, threesome, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), lesbian fun, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, addiction talk, sober Dieter, Kit Kats, I wrote this for the bi girls. Words: 3,750

A/N: This has been a labor of love and horniness. You should all just automatically know I'm thanking @ohheypedrito for always being my sounding board. Also @magpiepills for sharing in my MFF joy. Shout out to "Kiss Me More" by Doja Cat & SZA.

Masterlist

___

Fancy hotel suites might just be the biggest perk of marrying a Hollywood superstar. Room service whenever you want, plush robes to relax in, a balcony view of Los Angeles’ glimmering lights, and a large plush bed perfect to fit two… or three bodies.

Sure, you could have stayed home and waited for the car service to bring Dieter home after the premiere, but when the studio offers a free hotel suite, you and Dieter happily accept. You love to get fucked by your husband in a new bed. 

You’ve just dove into your new book, laid out on the chaise lounge of the balcony, sunning yourself in the early evening Summer sun when your phone dings with its customary Dieter ding. 

He should be getting ready for the movie premiere; what does he need to tell you?

You unlock your phone to a pic of Dieter sadly pointing to a large brown stain on his crisp, light blue shirt. 

Baby, this just happened.  Did you pack a backup? Nope. Do you have anything of mine here? Just your old Rage Against The Machine shirt I was wearing earlier.  Sold. I’ll take it. I’ll send Julien up to grab it.  Go have him buy a shirt. It has holes...  Nope. Now that I thought of having your scent on me all night, I need to wear it. Spray it with that perfume you use… Fine. You win. Love you baby. xoxo

You wonder why his team of publicists, assistants, and agents let Dieter style himself… or why they never remember to pack him an extra shirt.

He’s the love of your life, your uber famous partner, deserving of all of the rekindled fame, now sober and in the best place he’s been, thanks in large amounts to your influence.

You walked into his life weeks after his divorce, a man lost with a floundering career. He was too dangerous to work with, too manic, too unreliable. Then, you came in and helped pick his life up, as a favor to your friend Chrissy, his tenacious agent. You’re never supposed to fall in love with a client, but Dieter was just too irresistibly charming. You fucked him in your office after his third session. All of that hard work and student debt that earned you a psychology degree ended up getting you a diamond on your left ring finger and a dream wedding full of Hollywood elites.

You spritz the faded black shirt with your signature perfume and fold it for Julien to expeditiously deliver back to your husband. The wild life of a celebrity wife…

___

Your phone is propped up against a crystal vase that probably costs more than your first car streaming the red carpet premiere and Q&A of Dieter’s newest movie. You chose to sit this gigantic blockbuster event out, but it doesn’t mean you can’t support him from the comfort of this five star hotel room.

Your heart skips when the camera pans to Dieter getting out of the car. There he is, your celluloid husband, clad in all black, wearing the holey t shirt he just fucked you in before leaving you this afternoon.

The barriered crowd goes wild when they spot him. He smiles that megawatt smile, his signature dimples pressing into his golden skin. He’s so fucking beautiful.

You’re so proud of Dieter, you can hardly believe your husband is the star of the biggest summer film, standing tall and handsome with flash bulbs sparking across his face. You’re enamored by him, even when he’s a tiny square being live-streamed through your phone.

He joins his co-stars for a quick interview, his famous charm and humor is on full display, the crowd, host and co stars all laugh at his jokes. He truly is the golden boy of the red carpet.

You wonder if anybody else notices how he reaches for the hand of Greta, the actress who plays his wife in the film, when he realizes she’s nervous, much the same way he grabs your hand when you get anxious, being dragged to Hollywood parties and random awards shows. He’s always so thoughtful.

The interviewer asks Greta what it was like to act along with Dieter and play his wife. She laughs and blushes, Dieter’s arm rubs up and down her back, cuddling her closer to his body as she explains how wonderful of a man he is, how she felt very lucky to star in a movie with him. 

She’s absolutely stunning in her form fitting gold dress, you’re watching all of this for your husband and yet Greta keeps stealing your attention, lean, elegant, and absolutely radiant. You think to yourself how badly you want to fuck her. 

Dieter and the crew wave to the crowd and cameras thanking everybody for attending the red carpet, you smile at the sight of his gold wedding band before shutting the app down and opening the room service menu. It’ll be two hours until you hear from him after the movie. Time for an episode of Dateline.

___

You’re in a post grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup coma, the cops have just solved the triple homicide in the sleepy New England town when your phone beeps with the Dieter ding. 

Movie’s out. have to deal with after party then back to u. Miss u like crazy xoxoix !! Hi! Have fun!  Did u watch the red carpet? I did. You looked fucking hot.  Ya? I actually liked the shirt, it made me think of this afternoon… Me too baby Greta looked amazing, I was almost watching her more than you. Don’t you think she looked good? Of course I did  I think she likes you… saw a video on Twitter that makes me really see the goddamn chemistry you wouldn’t shut up about during filming. She said i smelled good tonight I told her ur the one to thank She can smell me anytime she wants. 😮 baby... Tell me D, do you miss kissing her now that filming is over? I know how you look at her, I’ve seen the previews and press appearances. Go ahead and tell me, baby.  dunno about miss, but i did like kissing her What if I were to ask you to kiss her tonight… 😮 Oh? And film it for me.  ohhhhhhhhh I can do that for you baby Go find her then.  I’ll be waiting God baby I’m glad i married you Xoxo

The giddiness that courses through your body makes a big smile bloom across your face. You sit back against the soft cushions and imagine Dieter tucking his phone in his pocket and setting forth on his mission. Waiting for it is so hot.

___

The Dieter ding buzzes. You’ve never been this excited to pick your phone up.

Dieter Bravo Attachment: 1 Movie

Your hands are practically shaking when you touch the little bubble on your phone. There, in the freeze frame stands your husband and his beautiful co-star.

You hit play.

Greta smiles at the camera before she purrs out, “Hi, Dieter says this is for you.”

She’s so beautiful in the dim video, her silver eyeshadow glistens under the flash, her big blue eyes already look blown out with lust; you wish you were the one who was about to kiss her plush lips. If she’s willing to do this for him, you don’t doubt for a second how attracted she is to your husband. Dieter winks at the camera before turning to Greta, clutching his hand on her cheek and sealing his lips against hers. It’s… so fucking hot. You can hear the distant sound of laughter and conversation of the party goers just below the sounds of Dieter and Greta’s tongues tangling. You wish you could taste both of them, now you’re really regretting staying back. The camera grows more unsteady the deeper the kiss grows. He sucks her bottom lip, you can almost feel the slight tinge of pain, god you want to feel it. Dieter pulls away, and turns Greta’s face towards the camera. 

“You want to kiss my wife, Starlet?”

“I do,” she answers. 

Dieter lets out a low chuckle before winking at the camera and ending the recording. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re already soaked from that short video.

Dieter has been so good during his sober journey, being honest and forthright when he's tempted, allowing the help of counselors and his Narcotics Anonymous sponsor. You've stood by his side as he's made huge strides to conquer his addictions. His old vices are now replaced by a new vice... sex. You're so proud of him, you want to reward him... and yourself.

Jesus Christ D.  U like? Can’t stop thinking about u watching that video baby I like it… a lot. Fuck!  Greta wants to kiss me? Think she wants u more than she wants me... I’d like to meet her. I’d like you to meet her too baby Is she busy after the party? Seems like tonight would be a good night for us to meet. Maybe she wants to come back to our room?  If that’s what u want baby It’s what I want D. Okay baby 

___

The click of the keycard entering the lock alerts you to Dieter and Greta’s arrival. You rise from the couch, smoothing out the wrinkles of your simple blue dress. 

“Hi baby,” Dieter smiles, his eyes twinkling with adoration. 

Greta follows him in, she’s even more beautiful in real life. 

“Hi,” Greta smiles, her eyes spark with lust as she looks you up and down. “Nice to finally meet you.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, “you too.”

Dieter’s head bobbles back and forth, caught up in the chemistry that sparks between his wife and his co-star.

There is so much anxiety coursing through you but the sheer desire for Dieter and Greta easily obscures any second thoughts. 

He walks over to you, planting a searing kiss on your lips and wraps you in his strong arms. 

“I missed you baby,” he says before kissing you. He pulls away, his soft, brown eyes roam your face. “Are you sure about this?”

You glance at Greta, focusing on her soft pink lips. “Extremely.”

“Excellent. Now, come here, let me show you off to her,” he grabs your hand and leads you to the middle of the room. “Want to show you my girl, starlet, go ahead and take a seat.” 

Greta sits on the sofa, settling in her dazzling golden dress. You feel underdressed compared to her beautiful designer clothing and Dieter’s close to perfect look. No paparazzi in their right mind would want pictures of you in your pale blue dress, but the way Greta’s eyes roam your body and the way Dieter runs his hands up your back and grabs your ass, you feel like you just won an Oscar.

“See her tits?” Dieter wraps his arms around your torso, bringing his hands up to cup your breasts in his hands cupping around the silk of your dress. “They feel so fucking good in my hands, they’re so soft and bounce in my face so perfectly when she rides me. You want to see her tits starlet?” 

Greta nods.

He slips the straps of your dress down your arms exposing your breasts to the cool hotel air and Greta’s eyes. 

He pulls you against his body, grinding his crotch against you moving his hands back up to cup the weight of your breasts.

Greta watches, blue eyes wide as Dieter pinches and pulls at the peaks of your nipples. 

“Watch this starlet,” he lifts his hand and softly smacks one of your breasts, causing a moan to leave your lips, your body falls even harder against his body. “She fucking loves when I do this.”

His hands snake down your torso, pushing your dress to fall down and pool at your feet leaving you bare naked for Greta to see. 

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, as her eyes travel over your naked form. 

“Isn’t she magnificent, starlet?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Quite.”

Dieter walks forward, pushing you towards the couch Greta sits on, still looking just like she walked off the red carpet, perfectly put together like a goddess.

He stops at the marble coffee table, grabbing your leg and lifting it to perch on the top. 

His wide hand runs up your leg and pets your thigh.

“You like my wife?” his voice is low and rumbly against you. There's a bit of possessiveness to it.

“I do, she’s gorgeous.”

“She is. Isn’t she?” he says with pride.

His hand moves closer to your pussy, now dripping for him and your guest. “See, starlet, this is my pussy,” your body tenses as he dips a finger through your folds, “and she’s fucking soaked for me.” He brings his finger dripping with your wet to his lips and licks it, a moan leaves his lips when he tastes you. “Come here and taste her.”

Greta rises from the couch, walking over to stand next to Dieter. She's even more exquisite up close.

His hand returns to your pussy, petting and rubbing making you weak in the knees. 

“She’s so fucking wet for us, starlet.” 

You whimper at the sensation of the hard stone of his ring rubbing against your clit. He pulls his hand away, admiring the way your wetness stretches across his fingers.

His fingers are placed against Greta’s lips. She opens her mouth wide, accepting his drenched digits, Dieter groans as she licks your juices off of his skin. 

Just four hours ago, they were watching the premiere of their movie together while you watched a rerun of Dateline… now the three of you are locked in the beginning of a ménage à trois. Isn’t it funny how Hollywood works?

__

Conversation flows easily between the three of you. You love the way Greta teases Dieter, how she laughs at your jokes. She fits perfectly in to your married comfortability.

You’re naked atop Dieter's lap, Greta sits next to you, her hand rests on your thigh lightly petting it almost as an ever present reminder of what the three of you are here to do. You can’t believe how comfortable you are in this situation. 

“Shall we take this to the bed?” Greta offers as you and her share a glass of champagne. Dieter happily sips his Topo Chico, his eyes lit with mirth watching his wife and friend enjoy each other’s company. 

“I’d like that,” you say, turning to her and downing the rest of the glass of bubbly champagne.

“Great,” she smiles, standing up and slinking off her gold dress before laying on the bed and taking her panties off.

“She is… tenacious, isn’t she?” you muse as Dieter hugs you close and kisses your shoulder. 

“She is,” he chuckles.

“You ready?” he asks.

“I’m ready,” you get up from Dieter’s lap, he rises behind you before turning you to face him.

He holds your face in his hands, his brown eyes rounded with softness, an adoring grin on his face. “You really want to do this baby?”

You bark a laugh out. “Honey, she’s already naked in bed, of course I do.”

His eyes darken, his grin replaced with a searing smolder, the same smolder that drives millions of women and men crazy, “I love you.”

“I love you too, now let me eat her cunt while you watch.”

“Jesus, alright baby,” he grabs your hand, leading you to bed before removing his shirt and pants. He takes a seat on the chair by the window to observe.

Greta lays in front of you, splayed out amongst the white sheets, her skin looks so creamy and delectable. You climb over her, smelling the sweet scent of her perfume. She giggles when you knock your nose against hers, a giddy smile is shared between the two of you before locking lips. Kissing her is different from kissing Dieter, gentler, sweeter, softer. Her tongue is much smaller, her whimpers and breaths pitch higher. You lay your body against hers, fuck, she’s just as soft as you thought. Velvety smooth and sweet. Your breasts sit against hers, your soft and her soft resting against each other. Your pussy and hers radiate heat against one another when you angle your hips against hers. You kiss a line down to her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin… she faintly tastes of sugary coconut. You look over at Dieter while kissing, he winks before you stick your tongue out and lick one of her nipples. Delicious. 

God, her tits are perfect. Perky, a little pointy, pink nipples the same exact shade of cherry blossoms, your favorite flowers. Your tongue runs across the small valley between her breasts, sliding across each nipple and back. Sucking hard against each, latching your mouth around it before letting it go with a pop. She’s writhing on the bed from your mouth and hands, your self esteem rockets higher as she loses herself under your touch. 

Her smooth body runs along yours, her delicate hands grab at your skin, clawing and pressing the harder you suck her skin. 

You kiss a trail down her tight stomach, licking grabbing her long legs and spreading them wide to reveal her perfect, milky skin surrounding her pussy. She’s drenched, absolutely dripping with her arousal, you lick up the spilled wetness on the bed sheets before licking up to her pussy. Her bright blue eyes focus on your mouth as you envelop her cunt with it. Buttery smooth and soaked, you taste the familiar hint of coconut in her wetness. Perfect. 

Your tongue dashes against her clit, flattening and swirling, treating her like the glamorous Hollywood star she is by worshiping her beautiful body and cunt. Your tongue licks a line down her sweetness before darting into her sweet hole.

You feel the bed dip behind you, your heart explodes with the thrill of feeling Dieter’s broad body behind you, a large hand digs between your thighs, dipping two thick fingers into your cunt, opening you up for him. His thumb swishes across your clit, your tongue attempts to duplicate his movements against Greta’s pussy. He angles his digits perfectly, hitting that perfect sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to dive even further against Greta’s heat, trying to take every single drop of sweet nectar from her body. You cum all over Dieter’s hands, moaning and whimpering against Greta’s skin. 

Greta clenches around you, her hips grind against your mouth as you lick an orgasm out of her. Your arms reach up to grab her tits and knead them in your hands. 

“That’s my baby,” Dieter coos, pulling his hand from your pussy and slapping it against your ass, causing a loud moan to rumble against Greta's cunt.

He pulls your hips up, your bottom meets the rigid skin of his cock. He taps his thick member against your ass before spreading your legs, you bring two fingers to Greta’s leaking hole waiting for Dieter to take you so you can take her. His thick cock enters you, stretching you with that sweet sting you love to feel. Your fingers mirror his actions, slow pumps in and out of Greta, scissoring to stretch her like Dieter stretches you matching the rhythm of his movements.

His hand splays across your back, petting your spine as he starts slowly, languidly fucking you. The three of you dance to a sensual song, grunts and moan chorusing across the sound of your fingers and Dieter’s cock. It’s beautiful.

You happily suffocate against her pussy, licking through her folds and fucking her with your fingers while Dieter fills your slippery cunt. Your moans are muffled by her skin, Dieter’s grunts echo his thrusts. 

Your body is slick with sweat, face soaked in Greta’s arousal, your cunt clenches around your husband's cock, your tongue sits steady against Greta's pussy as Dieter fucks an orgasm out of you. He holds your shaking hips close as he tells you how good you're taking him, how much he loves watching you eat Greta's pussy.

“This is all–nyugh–for you baby,” he groans, as he pulls out, Greta catches you in her arms as your body falls without his support. “Roll over, roll over baby,” he hoarsely gasps as he strokes his cock. You move to lay on your back, Dieter pulls your legs wide open right before he paints your pussy with his thick white ropes.

Dieter rises off the bed on shaky legs, before flopping his naked body into the chair. “Go on starlet, clean my girl up.”

She moves quickly, like she can’t wait to taste the two of you, settling between your thighs, lifting your legs over her delicate shoulders, spreading you wide open for her mouth. Greta’s breathy moan against your cunt makes your back arch while her tongue cleans your cunt covered in Dieter’s seed. She dips a finger into your entrance, swirling it around your sensitive walls, her one finger is nothing compared to your husband’s thick cock but god, does her gentle touch drive you wild. Her mouth seals over your clit, kissing and sucking your swollen bundle of nerves. Her head rises and lowers with each pump of your hips into the air, dancing right along with you as your pussy rises to another crescendo of an orgasm. You turn your head to look at Dieter, naked with his legs spread wide, sitting like a king on a throne. He mouths “I love you,” out of the lips you crave to kiss as your body tightens and releases with another climax.

Greta brings her lips to yours, licking into your mouth leaving the intoxicating swirl of flavors of your wetness and Dieter’s cum against your tongue. She breathily chuckles at your long exhale before laying next to you, pushing her soft curves against you and hooking her leg over yours. 

Dieter walks over, naked and cocky, your superstar husband is in full effect even in the aftershock of your threesome. He kisses Greta’s cheek and whispers “thanks starlet” before leaning over, kissing your lips and cupping your cheek. “I love you baby,” he says, big brown eyes staring into yours. You return his smile before he turns towards the minibar and grabs a Kit Kat. Greta cuddles in closer to you on the bed, sometimes it’s good to have a movie star husband. 

[storiesforallfandoms]

when it’s wrong but it feels right ~ eminem

word count: 2452

request?: yes!

@noah1986​ “hi again! I didnt know i had to write the idea for the story sorry!

Can you do Eminem where the reader works for him like as his assistant or housekeeper and he doesnt't interact a lot with her but thinks shes pretty and then he falls in love💓

thank you🧡”

description: in which he falls for his housekeeper, but he doesn’t tell her because he knows it’s wrong

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (marshall is 50 reader is late 20s)

masterlist (one, two, three)

Marshall never wanted to become the stereotypical rich celebrity. Coming from nothing made him more determined to stay humble about his sudden celebrity status and wealth. But, with his dedication to his work and his constant need to be away from home, he realized that he needed someone to look after his house. At Hailie’s insistence, he looked into getting a housekeeper for the times when he wasn’t home or too busy to take care of the place.

After a long line of interviews they narrowed it down to one candidate: a young lady named (Y/N). She had plenty of housekeeping experience having grown up the daughter of a housekeeper for famous people, and then her first job being the housekeeper at a hotel in Los Angeles that tended to house celebrities. Hailie figured she would be the safest option as her past with working with celebrities meant that she knew how to keep things a secret and they could trust that she wouldn’t take anything from the house.

On her first day of work, Marshall was in his home studio working on a couple of beats for an artist on his record label. The soundproofing in his studio made him forget she was even there until he came out to get something to eat and saw her putting away the clean dishes from the sink. He said hello, but noticed a wire coming from her back pocket to her ears and realized she was listening to music while she worked. It made sense, but he didn’t want her to think she couldn’t play her music out loud if she wanted to. He may not completely like the music depending on what it was, but he wouldn’t stop her from playing it.

He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder to get her attention. She shrieked in response, spinning around and, in her state of panic, dropping the plate she was holding. It shattered on the floor, pieces of the broken glass scattering over the floor.

“Shit,” she swore, quickly yanking out her headphones and throwing them onto the counter. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you were even here. I didn’t hear you come up from the studio.”

“It’s okay. I probably could’ve announced my arrival in a better way,” Marshall responded.

He knelt down to start picking up the pieces of the broken plate, but (Y/N) quickly stopped him. “Don’t touch it with your bare hands. You’ll cut yourself. I’ll grab the broom and sweep it up.”

Marshall watched as she swept over the entire kitchen floor, making sure that not a single piece of the plate was left on the floor, before sweeping it into the pan and dumping the broken pieces into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’ll replace it, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marshall said. “It was just some cheap shit from Walmart that I’ve had for years. It probably would’ve broken if you washed it a little too hard.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I appreciate that. I promise I don’t often break things that belong to my employers. This is the first time I ever have, actually.”

“Well, you can’t exactly blame yourself. I startled you.”

“I shouldn’t have had my headphones in, but again, I forgot you were here.”

“You can play your music out loud, you know. I’m not going to stop you from doing that. I might judge a little bit depending on what type of shit you’re listening to, but I’ll try not to say it to your face too much.”

A small smirk crossed on her face. She unplugged the headphones from her phone and pressed play on the last song she had been listening to. The sound of Marshall’s voice filled the room. He realized it was a song from his most recent album. An amused smile tugged at his lips.

“I haven’t gotten to listen to the entire new album yet,” (Y/N) admitted. “I figured the best place to listen to it would be while I cleaned the house of the man who made it.”

“So you’re a fan.”

She shrugged. “Kind of. My dad always played your music when I was younger and we’d go for long drives. Mom hated it, but he just learned to play it when she wasn’t with us. I guess it just stuck with me ever since.”

They got to talking then. Hours passed and neither of them noticed. (Y/N) told Marshall about herself and her upbringing; her housekeeper mom who had brought her along to some of the higher status houses she cleaned, and her dad who was a well known mechanic in town. She told him that she wanted to be like her mom, so her first job as a teenager was housekeeping for a local hotel, which she ended up working for until she was hired by Marshall.

It wasn’t until the sun went down and the kitchen started to plunge into darkness that (Y/N) realized how much time had passed. A look of panic crossed her face. “Shit. It’s been hours and I haven’t done anything.”

“Hey, it’s fine. You can take the rest of the day off if you want. I’ll still pay you for the whole day and you can start fresh again tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

Marshall nodded. (Y/N) smiled and went to collect her things. “Thanks. I promise I won’t break any dishes tomorrow.”

Marshall chuckled and followed her to the door. They bid each other a goodnight and Marshall watched from the doorway as (Y/N) got into her car and drove off.

Marshall went back to his home studio to keep working, but found it hard to concentrate on what he was doing. His mind kept drifting back to his day with (Y/N). It had been such a long time since he spent hours just getting to know someone and not realizing the time. And it was a genuine conversation. He didn’t once feel like (Y/N) was viewing him like a celebrity. When she first told him she liked his music, he was worried about how things would go between them. Turns out, he didn’t have to worry.

But he also just kept thinking about her in general; the smooth, soothing sound of her voice, the dreamy look she got when she talked about her memories. In fact, just her beautiful face in general. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

It was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels. She worked for him, for a start. As his housekeeper, of all things. He didn’t want to be a rich cliché, and that especially extended to the “rich employer lusting over his young employee” bullshit. Which led to another big issue: her age. She was only a few years older than Hailie, and wasn’t quite Alaina’s age yet. She was quite literally young enough to be his daughter.

It was wrong, but fuck, he couldn’t help but want her.

So he started leaving whenever he came to work. Whether it was to go to work, into his own home studio, or just some excuse to go visit his daughters. Whatever the case, he had the least amount of interaction with (Y/N) as he possibly could. Which was hard when all he wanted to do was see her.

On one of (Y/N)’s off days, Marshall had decided to use the day to relax and catch up on some shows he had been watching. It was early in the day when he heard a knock at the door. Confused, he got up and went to answer. His heart dropped when he opened the door and found (Y/N) stood there.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you today. What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know I don’t really have any place to confront you about this, but it’s been bothering me and I need some answers.”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just busy,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Well, for one the look on your face right now says otherwise.” He looked away, which didn’t help his own argument. “And you told me the other day that you were going over to Hailie’s, but she came here looking for you shortly afterwards.”

Marshall wasn’t sure how to respond. He could’ve easily dismissed the claim and told her to go home. Like she said, she didn’t have any place to question his life. She was just his housekeeper after all, he didn’t owe her any explanation for his personal life.

But his heart wouldn’t let him. Looking at her stood there, concern on her face over the thought of potentially offending him, Marshall knew he couldn't just send her away. It was probably a bad idea, but he figured he couldn’t keep this secret anymore. In fact, it was probably better to tell her now so he could let her go and she could find a better employer.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She stepped into the house that had become almost more familiar than her own. Marshall led her back to his living room and gestured for her to sit down. She sat on one end of the couch while he sat on the other. They were closer than he had meant for them to be, but he didn’t want to change spots now, or ask her to do so.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said.

Marshall shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. Trust me, this issue is all me.”

He took a deep breath, hesitant at first, but decided to continue, “Since your first day, where we spent all that time talking and getting to know each other, I’ve found myself...thinking a lot...about you.”

(Y/N) looked at him blankly.

There’s no going back now.

“You are a very beautiful woman. I can’t deny that. But then talking to you on that day made me feel more like a person than I have in a while. I really enjoyed just talking for hours, and I would’ve liked to do that again. But...it’s wrong. I know that, and the last thing I’d want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. So, if knowing this changes your mind about wanting to work for me, I understand. I can find someone else, probably even help you find another job too.”

She still wasn’t speaking. She was still just looking at him, still with a blank look on her face. He wanted her to speak. He needed her to say something. Even if it was just to curse him out and call him some names. Any sort of reaction would’ve been better than this silent treatment.

She looked down at her lap and finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

The question took Marshall back. His body acted before his mind could even process the question; he nodded. In a flash, (Y/N) was leaning across the couch and pressing her lips against his. It was a shock for the both of them. Neither of them really knew how to react. (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she should keep it going, Marshall wasn’t sure if he should kiss back. It was awkward for a moment, until (Y/N) felt Marshall’s lips move against hers, followed by the both of them feeling an exploding feeling in their stomachs - like fireworks.

(Y/N) pulled away just as quickly as she kissed him, sitting back in the spot she had been moments before. They both looked at each other in shock, before mirroring smiled stretched across their faces.

“I really liked talking to you that day, too,” (Y/N) said. “At first, it was just this feeling of happiness that I was getting along so well with my new employer. But then you started leaving all the time or spending your time in the studio, and I felt myself becoming sad at the fact that I couldn’t see you. I knew that was a strange way to feel, but then I had this...” She trailed off, embarrassment written all over her face. Her sudden stop drew Marshall’s curiosity. She sighed and continued, “I had this dream about the two of us.”

Now she definitely had his curiosity.

“I realized that what I was feeling was more than just liking my employer,” she said. “And that realization, plus just generally feeling sad that I wasn’t getting to see you was enough to push me to come here today and confront you about it. I was worried it would go wrong considering I am just your employee and you’re not entitled to tell me stuff about your personal life if you don’t want to, but it was bugging me. I had to know why.”

“And now you know,” Marshall said.

She nodded. “Now I know.”

Silence fell over them for a moment. They didn’t make eye contact. There was a question lingering over them that they both knew had to be asked, but neither of them wanted to ask it.

(Y/N) soft voice broke the silence first, “Am I fired?”

Marshall shook his head. “I’m not going to fire you. That would look bad on your resume. But I do think it’s best for both of us if you start working somewhere else.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“I can’t date my staff. That’s just a shitty cliché I would never want to fall into.”

She perked up more at this. “Date?”

Marshall couldn’t help but smile. “That’s what two people who like each other do, isn’t it? They go on a date.”

The happiness radiating off of (Y/N) was contagious. She brightened up more at Marshall’s words. She almost looked like she was about to jump his bones right then and there, but he couldn’t let her. No matter how much he wanted her to, there was a matter that had to be dealt with first.

“I’ll help you find another place to work,” he told her. “Until then, we keep this relationship work based. The minute you have another job, I’ll take you out on the best date of your life.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” (Y/N) said. “Before we shake on it, can I kiss you one more time?”

“Only if you tell me about that dream you had.”

(Y/N) gasped and playfully hit Marshall’s shoulder. He chuckled and grabbed her hand as she was pulling away from him, tugging her towards him so he could kiss her again.

[melodymunson]

Kurt Kunkle x fem reader one shot- rock you like a hurricane

Word count: 3.9K

Ao3 link

shoutout to @steveslittlesunflower & @djoekeeryy for beta-reading my rough draft of this fic!

And thank you to my good friend and roleplay partner Dana for being my inspiration for writing some of this. She role plays Kurt Kunkle better than anyone else ever could! 💖

warnings: anal sex, rimjob, prostate massage, oral (male & female receiving), pegging, blowjob, eating pussy, rough sex p in v. Dark fic. Violence and harsh language. Knife kink.

As Kurt's #1 fan, you go out of your way to meet him and drive Spree with him. You go on to commit violent acts together and depravity. You show virgin Kurt the time of his life and he has all of his sexual firsts with you.

If you're not documenting yourself, it's simple; you just don't exist. -Kurt Kunkle's philosophy

When you met Kurt, you were at the Taco Stand in Los Angeles. His order was the same as yours, Taco truck's most famous burrito and Carnita asada fries. While waiting in line for your food at the truck, he told you about his online persona and account Kurtsworld96. Of course, you followed him. Although he claimed he was into doing porn and making adult content, you didn't believe him. Kurt was pretty good as a streamer, even if he seemed a little crazy. Part of his allure was his big brown eyes and his charisma. At first, he couldn't put his finger on it but he realized you were a comedian who did some shows at the Joke Box. The car he drove was pretty nice and you found out he did Spree as a career. You took him up on his offer of getting a ride. Soon after that, you exchanged numbers. The water bottles in his car were a decoy and he couldn't fool you. It was obvious he made them watertight with glue and made them airtight after injecting the water on the label so the customers would get poisoned. You told him you knew, and he simply laughed and agreed with you before telling you he wouldn't let you drink it, anyway. His live streams could be intense, but something about him always made you want to keep your eyes on the screen. One day, his streaming turned into doing live kills. Most of the comments ranged from "That can't be real" to "You are a total sociopath." You still didn't care, and you wanted him anyway, regardless. Soon after that, you gamed pretty often with him. It was a lot of fun. Sure, he sometimes made crude or weird comments about the game, but you just felt captivated by the way he talked and how he had such a way with words. "I'm gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you so hard." That is what he told you as you were gaming. It turned you on and you challenged him to prove it, so one day he promised he would…

The ride to your place from your work was great with Kurt, besides his awful taste in music. You made him change the station to rock and soon you got him into Ozzy and Buckcherry. Another person requested his Spree services, and you told Kurt it was fine. Once the guy got picked up, he almost immediately became a problem. He couldn't stop saying the most sexist and vile shit that was racist. Kurt had talked a bit with you about going after someone together and killing them. This guy was the type that deserved it. As he did his livestream, he drove to a very secluded part of the outskirts of LA and stopped the car. The pissed-off racist dude complained about being in the wrong place, but you and Kurt weren't listening even as his rant became a tirade about stupid crap. Not thinking twice about it, Kurt took the drill in his car and turned it on, drilling it through the guy's head. Taking out the knife you had, you stabbed him repeatedly. Dragging him out of the car, you threw his lifeless body into the woods. Now that you were all covered in blood together, you cleaned up as best you could with towels and went back to your place to shower.

Kurt always had his camera around filming everything around him. Now that you were at his place, his camera was still rolling but not a livestream. He promised to turn off the feature as long as he could film offline because you promised him the kinkiest shower ever. With the video camera running, you stepped into your shower with a clear shower curtain and started the water. There was so much blood everywhere. As you cleaned up, you washed each other's bodies. Seeing you like this made Kurt feel so lucky. It was the first time he ever showered with a woman. Watching porn and jerking off was all he had before he met you. Some of the adult films he watched helped him understand more about the female anatomy and giving pleasure. His day was about to get even better as you knelt in front of him and stroked his cock. He let out loud gasps as he figured out what you were about to do to him. The tip of his cock was flush and pink. Taking him into your mouth, you sucked on just the tip and tapped it against your tongue. Already you loved his taste and as you took more of him into your mouth, he held your hair back for you. The taste of his cock was becoming addicting as he called you his 'good girl' and looked down at you with lust and wonder in his eyes. It was his first blowjob, and he was so glad it was you giving it to him. Rocking his hips into your mouth, you swallowed more and more of him, taking him inch by delicious inch until you were swallowing his cock whole as you massaged his prostate. Occasionally you and Kurt would look over into the camera, him smiling, and you waving. The crescent-shaped marks you were leaving on his hips made him cry out even louder for you and your mouth.

"Fuck, baby girl. Gonna cum. Want to cum so bad in your mouth," he growled as his thrusts with his hips became more forceful. Having you take his cock to the back of your throat repeatedly drove him wild. You breathed through your nose as you let him fuck your face roughly.

Suddenly he came inside of your mouth as he pulled out a little, feeling his cock twitching. You happily swallowed all of it, then kissed up his body until your lips met in a deep and passionate tongue-tangling kiss.

"Now it's your turn to go down on me," you told him firmly. You wouldn't take no for an answer.

Kurt was more than eager to please as you pushed him down onto his knees and he spread your pussy lips. He put your leg over his shoulder and finger fucked you with perfect precision. As he listened to your pretty moans, he licked and sucked on your clit as he continuously fingered you.

"So fucking good Kurt. What a good boy you are," you praised him as you held onto the wall and looked into the camera with the biggest smile on your face.

"Tastes so good. I need your pussy."

Your taste drove him wild, and he was so addicted to your body, especially your pussy. The sounds of him sucking and licking you, combined with the pretty noises of pleasure you were making for him, practically made your legs shake with desire. Never did he have such a gorgeous woman to please and to give him pleasure. It was just something he didn't think was possible. With you, he felt like he had found the right person. Someone to understand his passion and his desire to kill and didn't judge him for it. You both had a taste for rough sex and being dominant but also submissive. He sucked your clit and ate you out like it was his last meal. He turned you around and pushed you up against the shower wall as he slapped your ass and spread your cheeks. He licked your pussy from behind and fingered your ass. Even as you came undone, he wouldn't stop getting you off and overstimulated you with his tongue. Your moans for him grew even louder. Before licking up your body, he tongued your ass and fingered it as he slapped your ass until it turned red, then met your lips in a forceful kiss. Tasting yourself from his lips as your mouths collided, you pulled him in close.

The next day after breakfast in bed you felt like you wanted to show him your true dominant side so you confessed to him about what you wanted.

"I want to fuck you, Kurt. You want to fuck me, Kurtie?"

"Yes please!"

"I want to fuck your ass," you admitted, sounding very sure of yourself.

He gulped slightly as he thought about the prospect of doing that with you.

"If you do that and I'm a good boy for you, will you let me fuck your pussy after?" He pleaded with big wide puppy dog eyes.

"Only if you are a good boy for me."

You finished up quickly with him in the shower and dried off, going right back to your bedroom and going into your drawers to find your strap-on. It was 9 inches and red. Kurt looked at the toy with awe in his eyes and got into position on the bed for you and you put it on for him. The camera stayed running and was put on a tripod. Later you planned to upload it to only fans.

"You are going to love my big cock, Kurt. Don't worry, I'll use lots of lube for you too."

There was no doubt you were rocking Kurt's world, and you knew he liked it dirty. Everything you did with your mouth to him was incredible. Kurt craved your mouth and had an oral fixation. Whether you were sucking on a lollipop or a popsicle, he always imagined it was your lips on his dick. Before you would claim his ass with your fake cock, you wanted to tease him and get him hard again by giving him more head- the head you knew he loved so much.

Putting your lips on the tip of his cock, you kissed it and licked the head, swirling your tongue around with eagerness. As you did this, Kurt gasped rather loudly. Your mouth was like magic to him and he was craving you so badly. Sucking even more of him into your mouth, you established a steady motion bobbing up and down. This drove him wild as he clenched the bed sheets beneath him. Once he hit the back of your throat, you gagged and he lifted his hips, bucking into your mouth. The act itself made you insatiable for him. Even if he didn't have your skills to compare to anyone else's, he knew you were a pro. The sucking sounds you made and the lewd gasps as you let him fill your throat with his hardness made him whimper for you. Tickling his balls and playing with them, you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking him like a pro. Drool and spit ran down your mouth and you came up for air.

"That's enough for now, Kurtie. I'm going to please your ass next. Get you ready for my toy."

"Yes, please."

Licking a stripe down his ass, you licked his ass at a steady pace, wanting him to feel your tongue so expertly. The way he was groaning let you know he was feeling good because of your tongue. After a couple of minutes of this and him moaning softly, you stopped just to tease him.

Once the toy got lubed up, you got closer to him on the bed and stroked his cock, massaging his prostate for him. He whimpered already from the contact and his ass muscles clenched in anticipation of finally feeling your big fake cock fuck his ass. As you got the lube on your fingers and inside of his tight hole, you rubbed it around, massaging him, making him gasp from the pure ecstasy and sensations of it all.

Lining up at his entrance, you gave his ass a slap which earned a cry of pleasure mixed with pain from him as he was face down, ass up for you.

"Hold on tight for me baby, it's going to be a wild ride," you promised him, sticking the tip of the fake cock into his ass. It gently slid into him and stretched him out. His ass took to your strap oh so well and you held onto his hips as you moved deeper and even deeper inside his tight hole. His face was now on the pillows, turned sideways as he let you have your way with him. Kurt wouldn't do this with anyone else- just with you because you were his special girl.

Once you adjusted inside his ass, you began pounding away and slapping his ass, too. Kurt looked into the mirror as you fucked his now wide and open gaping hole. As he took your cock, you cried out in pleasure from the feeling of fucking his tight ass hole.

"Please fuck me hard, miss," Kurt begged.

"Shut up Kurt. I will tell you what you are getting, and you will learn to like it."

Deciding he had earned a punishment for back talking, you slapped his ass again, even harder this time. Being dominant was your specialty, and this situation certainly called for it. His groans became even louder as you fucked him good and at a leisurely pace. Once you thought he had enough of the slightly slower pace, you picked up and went deeper into his ass, pounding him at full force.

"Fuck, miss I love it," he dared to utter and gasp in pleasure.

Since he had been a fairly well-behaved boy, you stroked his cock for him, wanting him to receive ultimate pleasure. His cock bounced as you rutted into him and already the tip was leaking pre-cum. Stopping, you admonished him before continuing.

"Call me mommy, Kurt."

"Yes, mommy. Please, Mommy," he begged you, looking at the wall, not daring to dare a glance at you without permission first.

"Yes, mommy what?"

"Yes, mommy, I need you."

You pounded into him again, showing no mercy and raking your fingernails down his back, your other hand slapping his ass as he took you to the hilt. Kurt was having the time of his life and you were glad to give it to him. Being a master mommy dom for Kurt was your specialty. As his cries got louder, your thrusts got even deeper.

It was becoming a little unbearable for him because he hadn't experienced such a good fuck like this before. The sensations were new and intense for him, but his groans let you know you were working his ass just right. The way you pounded his ass was filthy and his cock needed some relief from the tension and attention too because of how pent-up he was for you.

"So good, miss. Please more," he pleaded with you as he looked at you with doe-like eyes.

Giving into his desires, you caressed his cock and stroked it, getting him to full hardness. You needed to fuck him soon, and his cock was already dripping with pre-cum. The harness you were using gave you pleasure as well as the vibrating setting on it could be felt on your clit.

"Yeah, you like it rough huh, like getting pounded for once?" You chided him for being the ultimate dom.

Putting him in his place was just what he needed, and you were going to get him to ultimately submit to you. With more thrusts, you drove him closer to the verge. Kurt whined so prettily for you as you felt the vibration stimulate your clit and bring you over the edge as you stroked his cock.

Pulling out unexpectedly, you threw the strap to the side and flipped him over, and hovered over his cock, your wet folds eager to take him inside. Sinking onto his cock, you let out a satisfied sigh.

"Does that feel good, Kurt? Huh? You love my fake cock and also my tight pussy, right?" You admonished him as you cupped his jaw and rode him.

"Yes, mistress. Love it all. Just want to be fucked so good. I love your pussy," he whined as you pinned his hands down, taking full control of him.

Your breasts bounced as you rode him hard, loving that you were still in control and taking the reins. Kurt loved it too and wanted to have you do whatever you wanted to him. He would fully submit and gladly be what you needed him to be.

Reaching over onto the nightstand, you picked up a small pocket knife you had and revealed the silver and shiny blade. It was glistening under the light and Kurt gasped as he saw it. Before you had talked about having a knife, kink and you both agreed you would use a knife someday when the moment was right just to tease each other.

"You gonna use that one me?" He questioned with wide-blown eyes, his hands behind his head.

"I am just going to tease you with it, baby."

Taking the knife, you held it up against his chest in between his nipples. Sucking one of his nipples into your mouth, you mewled and whimpered as the knife blade gently pressed into his skin. It was cold, and he shivered in anticipation of what was to come next. You just let his cock rest inside you, cockwarming him as you held the knife in the same place and paid equal attention to both nipples. Kurt's groans increased as you moved the blade to his arm, running it along his skin lightly. You stopped at his hand.

"Let's make a blood pact," you suggested with a dark glint in your eyes.

Kurt just nodded at this. Cutting yourself first, you let the blood drip down onto his stomach and then cut his finger. Pressing your finger up against his, you made a pact at that moment. You would never give him up or abandon him and you knew he wouldn't leave you.

"To us. Together forever," you proudly proclaimed.

"Against all others," he responded with fascination in his tone.

You then sucked his finger and let him suck yours clean of the blood as you moved again on top of him riding his cock.

Taking some rope, you tied his hands to the bedpost and smiled into the camera. From all this stimulation, he was getting close to his release. That wouldn’t happen though until he made you cum for him. Your pleasure was so important and Kurt was willing and eager to please you in every way possible. Kissing him with bloody lips, you finger fucked yourself, inching your way closer to release. A tingling sensation inside of you and fullness was emerging.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna squirt!” You cried out as you grew closer to release.

Kurt just whined happily in response. Your fingers hit the right spot to drive you over the edge as you slammed into him, making the bed creak and headboards move.

“Yes, squirt for me,” he growled as he bucked his hips and watched you touch yourself.

Lewd and illicit moans escaped your lips as he groaned loudly, sounding so pretty for you as you rode his cock without mercy. The sounds you made caused his cock to twitch inside of you. Just then, you felt your release wash over you and you squirted for him, causing Kurt to moan.

“Fill me up, Kurt. Do it now. Fuck!” You gasped as you relentlessly fucked his brains out.

“That squirting was so hot,” he whimpered as he felt his cock leak pre-cum.

His thrusts were sloppy as he filled you up to the brim, coating your inner walls with his delicious seed. Collapsing on top of him in satisfaction, you caught your breaths as your hearts continued to race. You lay like that for a while, letting him rest inside of you.

From that moment on, you had the craziest sex together and fucked before and after every kill. Some people were innocent, others were scum bags. The urge to kill was all that mattered. Getting away with murder was glorious. Some people were run over, others were stabbed to death or shot. Some were even burned, and the evidence was easy to cover up- at least for a while. One of the most memorable kills meant a lot to you because it was your ex-boyfriend. That kill you dragged it out and made him suffer for as long as possible. There were so many tools and apparatus to use and you made good of them all. From using pliers and a screwdriver to nail guns and acid, you made him pay.

Once Kurt was caught and arrested, you planned to show up at his trial and be there for him as his biggest supporter. Despite your objections, he took all the credit for the killings. The trial declared him guilty on all counts of murder and they sentenced him to 10 years and 2 consecutive sentences. Once in prison, he wrote to you and called you every day. When he got a cell phone and snuck into prison, you sent him sexy nudes and he did the same for you. You visited him and had conjugal visitations. Even with the cameras on and people watching, you had the most mind-blowing sex ever. It was some of the best sex of your life. You even married him in prison. Once he got out, you knew he would make up for lost time. You eventually became a guard at the prison and got to see him every single day and fuck as often as possible. He was rough with you and you were the same way with him. The other inmates were probably jealous, but soon enough, you and Kurt escaped. Once out of prison, you established new identities and moved to another country to get a fresh new start. Until the killings started up again, that is. No matter what, you wouldn't let him go.

He had made a vow in prison he would no longer kill just anyone. Only the people who deserved it. Before he met you someone he had driven with spree a comedian Jesse confronted him. She tried to kill him, but he got away. It was a regret of his letting her get away, but he would move on. Newly established someplace safe with him, you promised each other you would stay together no matter what. To make things official, you had a small and private ceremony with Kurt streaming it for his followers. No one knew where the undisclosed location was, but it was a wondrous and beautiful event.

Neither of you needed extra income since you had streams and paid ones, making tons of sexy videos and live streams together. You used the dark web for your kills together and always wore masks to keep it discreet. When killing, you would keep your rings on a necklace to still show your love but not to give anything away to anyone who might recognize either of you. Leaving your families and old lives behind, you lived for each other. Having so many chances to kill and get away with it was the best. Only the most extreme crimes you saw fit to punish. The worst being cold-blooded murderers and molesters. Finding each victim carefully, you had them meet their demise. Kurt even became a hitman for hire. Eventually, though, you both stopped killing and settled down just living normal lives. Life went on pretty much normally, but you remembered fondly and would sometimes reminisce about old times. Never staying in any place too long, you traveled and just lived life one day at a time together.

soundtrack:

Crazy Bitch and Fuck It I Don't Care by Buckcherry

Rock you like a hurricane by the Scorpions

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

Hatefuck by Motionless In White

Crazy Town - Butterfly (Come to my lady)

Heathens by Halestorm

(You Drive Me) Crazy Britney Spears

Let's go crazy by Prince and the Revolution

Mad by Cassie Steele

Crazy Train and Diary of a Madman by Ozzy

THE TALKING HEADS - PSYCHO KILLER…

TEARS FOR FEARS - MAD WORLD…

PIXIES - WHERE IS MY MIND…

tag list @babygorewhore @inourtownofhawkins @corneliuswatkins @keeryatmosphere @jadeylovesmarvelxo @undead-supernova @ali-r3n @jozstankovich @mrprettywhenhecries @daisy-is-a-writer @stevesxyellowxsweater @harringtonfan4 @koskeepsake @munson-mjstan @impmunson @bimbobaggins69 @emsgoodthinkin @probablyin-bed @corrodedcorpses @ofhawkinsandvecna @lovelythoughtfulcupcake @xxbimbobunnyxx @loritate7311 @dananahenderson

[hollywoodstcr]

⊹₊  ⋆  (  michelle yeoh,  cis woman,  she/her,  60,  nicole kidman cc  )  i  think  victoria li elliot just  walked  by!  wow,  they  really  are  a michelle yeoh   lookalike!  they’ve  been  here  in  new  york  city  for  35 years,  and  seem  to  always  have  their emerald ring on them.  i  heard  they  made  their 250M  fortune as  an  actress,  and  are  often  associated  with  the lingering scent of expensive perfume, diamond rings adorning slender fingers, old wine corks & empty champagne flutes.  let’s  hope  the  world  doesn’t  find  out ( REDACTED ).

GENERAL DETAILS

full name:  victoria li elliot.

nickname(s): vi, vivi.

name meaning: victorious.

age: 60.

date of birth: september 13th.

place of birth: kuala lumpur, malaysia.

current location: manhattan.

ethnicity: chinese.

gender: cis woman.

pronouns: she/her.

sexual orientation: heterosexual.

romantic orientation: heteroromantic.

religion: buddhist.

occupation: actress.

education level: university graduate.

extracurricular: tba.

living arrangements: lives in a large penthouse in the upper east side’s carnegie hill neighborhood with her husband.

financial status: multi-millionaire; 250 million dollar net worth.

speaking voice and accent: malaysian accent.

spoken languages: english, malay, cantonese & mandarin.

voiceclaim: michelle yeoh.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

faceclaim: michelle yeoh.

hair color and style: long dark brown hair that reaches the middle of her back.

complexion: tba.

eye color: brown.

eyesight: 

height: 163cm.

weight: tba. 

body and build: slim, but toned.

tattoos: none.

piercings: double piercings on both ear lobes.

clothing style: classic & chic with a bit of an edge.

distinguishing characteristics: 

signature scent: tba.

HEALTH

mental disorder(s): anxiety. she suffered with postpartum depression after all of her pregnancies.

physical disorder(s): tba.

allergies: none.

sleeping habits: light sleeper.

eating habits: tba.

sociability: very social.

body temperature:  

addictions: she doesn’t think she has a problem, but she would be considered addicted to pills.

drug use: prescription painkillers; usually oxycodone or any others she can get her hands on.

alcohol use: regular drinker.

PERSONALITY

label(s): the hollywood icon.

positive traits: charismatic, clever, generous, loving.

negative traits: self-critical, secretive, aloof, meticulous.

likes: travel,

dislikes:  

fears:  

habits: 

goals and ambitions: 

astrology: virgo sun, gemini moon, scorpio rising.

personality type:  

moral alignment: chaotic neutral.

element: water.

primary vice: alcohol, sex & drugs.

primary virtue:  

weather: rain & thunder.

color: red.

music: kate bush, joni mitchell, blondie.

beverage: red wine.

food: laksa & murtabak.

animal: leopard.

season: fall.

RELATIONSHIPS

mother: tba.

father: tba.

significant other: richard elliot ( first name is just a placeholder until the wc gets filled! )

best friend: tba.

exes: tba.

sibling(s): three.

children: three; aged 21, 30 & 33.

extended family: tba.

pet(s): two dogs.

BACKSTORY

born in malaysia to chinese parents, victoria li spent the first 13 years of her life in kuala lumpur before moving to hong kong with her family, which is where she lived until the age of 18.

after graduating high school, she moved to the uk to study drama at university. her acting career began in london, before making the move to los angeles to pursue her hollywood dreams.

after hustling for several months in the city, she credits her big break to a very famous film director after meeting him by chance at a party. he gave her big break in a film that exceeded expectations at the box office and is now considered a cult classic.

a few months after moving to los angeles, she met the man who would eventually become her husband — he is also very famous in the film industry and the pair are considered hollywood’s power couple.

35 years later, victoria is a household name and one of the most prolific actresses in the world and has an incredibly impressive filmography that most actors could only ever dream of. she is the recipient of two oscars, six golden globes, two emmy awards and a BAFTA.

she has three children with her husband, whom she absolutely adores and dotes on. despite her incredibly busy career, she will always make time for her family.

her marriage isn’t as perfect as the world believes, and she’s currently having an affair with another man ( wanted connection )!

[theknightmarket]

"We all have our vices."

In which Actor is slightly too late for his cue. TW: drinking, smoking, cursing, blood, canon-referenced violence Pages: 26 - Words: 9,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The manor itself looked like any other house that belonged to a millionaire socialite. The driveway that meandered up the hill was only marred by your fresh tire tracks in the gravel, and the pristine courtyard looked as though it had barely finished being implemented. The single thing that gave away someone actually living there was the lights shining from the windows out into the darkness. It was also the only reason you knew where you were going; the moon was mostly covered by the clouds, but it was as though a barrier prevented any light from puncturing the sense of unease that swirled around the place.

You were no stranger to homes like this. Although, you were no friend to them either, and that left you reigning in your grimace as you cut the ignition and opened the door of your car. Nighttime air flooded in, assuming the shape you’d left behind, and you stopped just long enough for some of the other cop cars to park up beside yours. Normally, for a crime like this, the Los Angeles police department would spare one or two officers and a detective to bring up the rear, but this time was different, and the reason why was no secret. A famous actor was dead.

Mark I. Plier was dead.

And you and the rest of the people who accompanied you had been shipped off to find out why.

You marched to the front door while everyone else got themselves ready with their equipment. It didn’t take more than a second for the door to open once you’d knocked, but that was to be expected. Most people were on edge with a dead body in the same building as them, and the man who stood before you exemplified that perfectly.

“Please, come in, detective,” he said with a shaking voice, and he stood to the side to allow you in.

Shooting a glance around the foyer, you asked, “And you are?”

The room was spacious, wide enough for your team to file in with room to spare, presumably expensive, and held little clue as to what else was hidden in the manor. It was much like the courtyard, with all its fanciful decorations and statues that made you instantly dislike anyone you encountered – their house filled with chintz, undoubtably like the owner. 

“Benjamin Blackadder, detective, I was the one to—” The man coughed and looked away from you, “—I called it in.”

You redirected your attention to him in turn. Of course, a millionaire manor would be incomplete without a dutiful butler, because what self-respecting aristocrat could function otherwise. But you supposed you were being spiteful. The aristocrat was dead, and his employee had found the body. Sometimes you forgot that sensitivity was part of the job.

“Alright, Mr. Blackadder, can you direct me to him?”

“Of course, detective.”

He kept saying your title as though you were going to forget who you were, but you kept your mouth shut. With a nod of his head, he set off towards one of the staircases – because there were multiple staircases that you could see from where you were standing and you wanted to scoff at that but, again, sensitivity – and you made a motion for the rest of the team to stay behind and look around. Nothing could be ruled out yet, so getting as big a picture as possible early on was top priority, second only to actually seeing the body, of course. That was where you were headed, trailing behind Benjamin and trying to keep your mind off the frivolous décor scattered around.

On the first step, you prompted him, “Can you describe the events leading up to finding him?”

“Yes, well.” Although his sentence was barely begun, he trailed off, as if caught up in the memory. You didn’t push him, not yet. He seemed the fragile sort, and it wouldn’t do to lose your only witness this early on. He managed to pick himself back up after a second, saying, “The Master has not been well for the last few months. He hasn’t been eating, taking care of himself… I don’t think he’s been sleeping, but he’s locked himself in his bedroom for so long that I wouldn’t know for certain.”

“When was the last time you saw him in person?”

He paused at the turn of the stairs. “That would be… three days ago, detective.”

“Thank you. Please, continue.”

He walked as he talked, which was your favorite kind of talking. “I was understandably concerned this morning when I went to bring him some kind of breakfast – he never eats it, but I still take it to him, on the off chance that he is hungry, I wouldn’t want the only time he is willing to eat be the one time I don’t come, you see, and then he would stop eating indefinitely—”

You cut him off with a sharp, “Mr. Blackadder.” You might have been gentler, should have been gentler, but he looked like he was going to pass out if you didn’t stop him.

He looked bashfully to the ground. “Yes, detective, I apologize.”

It was at that moment that you reached the landing. The hallway itself was paved with a red carpet down the center, gold trimmed and clean. At certain points before the turning, you noticed tables with the same kind of flower set upon them. You passed them by, the bunched up, purple and pink petals that looked too big to fit comfortably into their vases, and you motioned for Benjamin to continue.

“I knocked on his bedroom door to let him know that I was there. I received no answer, like normal. However, this time, I noticed that the door had some give, and I was able to open it.” He took a deep breath in and then pushed it out again. “The second I saw him, I ran to the phone and, ah, you are aware of the rest.”

He was right, you did know the rest. It had been you he had called in a frantic state. He hadn’t introduced himself and the most you got out of him was the address before he hastily hung up, but that was enough for you to get to where you needed to be.

“Did you do anything after calling the police?”

“No, detective.”

With that, he stopped at a door a few rooms away from the next staircase. From his wide-eyed staring, you guessed that the body was inside and felt pity well up in your gut. He didn’t need to be there for the examination, and, from the paleness of his skin, it was probably better for his health that he wasn’t.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Blackadder. Please, go back to the front room. My team will ask you more questions if you are able to answer them, and I’ll begin the investigation.”

He left with a mutter of, “Of course, detective.” He kept his gaze directed steadfastly away from the room as he scuttled back to where you had come from, which left you alone, standing with your fingers wrapped around the brass handle.

You pushed it open with a huff. You never liked dealing with witnesses, especially when they were close to the victim. Whenever you were able, you tried to pass that duty over to another officer, even though you knew that it was part of your job to console people who were affected by the case. If you weren’t so good at the rest of your duties, you were sure you would have been written up by then, or worse.

Resolving to get this over and done with, you stepped into the room and were immediately greeted by the welcoming sight of a dead body face up on the sheets, stabbed directly through the heart with a steak knife, blood pooling around the midsection into the cloth below. 

At least identifying the cause of death wouldn’t be an issue. Sometimes Mark wondered if the void was a real place, or whether it was just where his mind put him while he dealt with his business, like a dream state or a fantasy world that he conjured up to process the fact that he was dead. Maybe it was some form of a purgatory, the storage for souls before they were drafted into whatever afterlife they deserved. Maybe that was all there was once the heart stopped beating and the lungs stopped breathing.

On any other occasion, the philosophical dilemmas stopped there, and he attended to the real reason he was there in the first place – obviously, he hadn’t plunged metal into his chest because a black box was the best environment for coming up with inane theories. However, despite him having been there for an hour or so already, everything was just the same as when he had appeared there.

Bleak and pointless.

“Hello?” he called out into the darkness. He was completely alone, not even an echo acting as company.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth twisted itself into a frown.

“The one time I don’t want to be here, and you’ve decided to keep me, have you?”

Again, no response.

Mark wasn’t a man known for his patience. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Anyone who had ever worked with him before had tales to tell of his arguments over scripts or costumes, and none of them recalled his inevitable, victorious, painstakingly smug smirk with affection. Trying to wait him out was like waiting for a river to change its direction – time consuming and utterly pointless. He acted much the same in this situation, but the only difference was that he was getting no reaction, and it was getting on his nerves.

“I can’t exactly fulfil our deal if I’m stuck here, now, can I?”

Mark felt his heart beat once in his chest, and then beat a second time. There was no clock in the void, just the vague feeling of something passing, whether it was time or air, he didn’t know, but he felt it sifting through his fingers. He couldn’t catch it, hold it still so that he could examine it, and that left him in the dark.

He didn’t like it.

“Fine, fine,” he spat, spite overtaking any idea of being nice to the thing that was keeping him there, “be that way. Throw a tantrum because of one little fight.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he glanced around. He’d never had to wait so long before. He didn’t know what else to do to pass the possibly-not-time, and boredom was something he couldn’t abide. Unconsciously, his fingers started tapping against the fabric of his robe, but not even the soft patter comforted him. 

“What a creative punishment.”

His final words drifting out into the darkness, he took one step, sighed, and then kept on walking, one foot at a time without a destination more complicated than ‘forward’.

As mentioned before, there was no clock in the void – no way to accurately measure the time, or how much of it Mark lost in his wanderings. Eventually, it became automatic, and everything moved much faster, and yet nothing changed. The river wasn’t changing, no matter how long he sat by it, and the darkness stayed as out of reach as it had been the first time he had found himself there. 

But hadn’t he been looking for that? A break. Just a break. From the stress of everything he had gained – and then, when he lost it all, from the strain of its absence. It was constant fear and confusion, and he had searched for a brief respite. An escape from life. And he had found it, hadn’t it? It wasn’t what he thought it would be, but he had found it and gorged himself on the peace and quiet.

He hadn’t asked for the loneliness.

Normally, it wasn’t so lonely in the void. It wasn’t human, he didn’t know exactly what it was, but a voice was there to comfort him and ask for his thoughts when no one else did. It wasn’t loud when it spoke to him, it showed up as a simple whisper next to his ear, as if something drawn from inside. It offered him ideas, which sometimes expanded on those he’d already kicked around and sometimes seemed to come from thin air. In times like those, he wondered what its true nature was, though he never got far before he was brought back to the matter at hand. 

He supposed that was why the silence had such an effect on him. The hush of the manor wasn’t so different to the hush of the void. It was carrying over from the life he was trying to take a break from, and, if something so simple as that could leak through, what else could? What demons would he face where he once thought himself safe? The motivations, the actions, the consequences. Nothing that he could fight on his own, and nothing he could flee from.

He'd have no other option.

And he wasn’t prepared to consider it yet.

So, Mark did the thing that he did best.

He served his friends up on a silver platter to the thing, pledging to follow through with the voice’s demands. It didn’t speak to him during that moment – that torturously, devastatingly lonely and long moment – but he knew what it wanted. He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t a stranger to the voice. It had tried to persuade him in the past, it had told him it would be better to have witnesses, but he always pushed it to the side and said he’d consider it. But who was he kidding? The only thing he had to consider was how long he’d try to hold out, and then how long the guilt would last before it turned to determination.

Those beats of regret were getting shorter and shorter. Humanity slipped away from him like the grains of sand in an hourglass. With every hour, he fell deeper and deeper and deeper into the darkness, coating himself with the stuff and clinging to it to blur lines and muddle edges. After long enough, he would forget he was ever above it.

And when the voice finally granted him freedom, took the reins off his bridle, he fell through the floor or shot through the ceiling, returned to the land of the living and that little bit more prepared to do what was necessary in the future – and slightly hazy on what could be deemed ‘necessary’. You’d seen many corpses in your line of work – it was literally in the job description – but you’d never been surprised. The only thing to make you raise an eyebrow had been a semi-failed double-suicide, only because you couldn’t work out the physics of it all. Your tolerance for, for lack of a better term, creepy shit was sky high after spending so long surrounded by dead bodies.

But never had you seen a dead body stop being so dead after all.

With your yelp of, “Oh, fuck off!” came your stumbling backwards, tripping over the edge of the rug, the one stained with the blood of the carcass that was sitting up straight on the bed that he’d died on. You caught yourself before you fell, eyes darting along the moving not-corpse, hands drawing up and away from the sheets, eyes blinking like a deer stepping into the sun for the first time or a man waking up from a hangover.

“Be quiet.” His voice was rough, sandpaper along a wooden board, splinters falling into his throat. Mark, the man whose death you had been sent to investigate, gripped the handle of the steak knife and pulled, sending forth a gush of crimson the same shade as his robe that may or may not have started that color.

Your shock morphed into survival instinct, keeping you rooted to the spot. “The hell do you mean be quiet!?”

“I mean—” His other hand, the one not holding the thing that had been jammed into his heart not three seconds ago, reached up to drag over his eyes, “—your yelling is giving me a headache.”

“You’re dead!”

He looked at you like you were the mad one. You. Not him. Not the animated corpse, who, apparently, thought being dead was overrated. “I’m obviously not.”

Getting over your momentary paralysis, you stormed over to the edge of the bed to grip Mark’s arm. He jutted forward when you tugged it further out, two fingers poised over where his pulse should have been.

Nothing.

“Ah, yes, that.” He wrenched his arm away from you. “It’s nothing.”

You blinked once, twice, a third time, just to make sure this wasn’t a dream you would wake up from in a cold sweat.

“Oh, okay then, I guess I’ll just be on my way.”

Despite your overly sarcastic tone, he didn’t pick up on it, or he was just that nonchalant about the situation you were in. Instead, he got to his feet and started towards you. “Very good, very good,” he muttered as he laid a hand on your shoulder blade to guide you firmly in the direction of the door. “Off you go. Thank you so much for visiting.”

The drip-drip-drip of his blood splattering against the floor made you duck away from him. Mark sent you a disapproving look, like a parent about to reprimand their child for not listening to their sound logic.

“That was sarcastic,” you said.

“Well, you wouldn’t mind explaining why you deserve to be here then?”

You stared at him in disbelief while he circled the walls, peering into closet and drawer alike for something not so bloodstained. He could feel your gaze burning on his back when he turned, and he could see it when he glanced over his shoulder.

You answered, as blunt as you could make your tone, “I’m a detective.”

A sound of victory escaped him as he pulled away from a rack with a robe similar to the one that he currently wore – he had company, albeit unwanted, and getting undressed in front of a stranger was too far, even in this state. He draped it over his arm before spinning on his heel to look at you.

“And that means what to me, exactly?”

“I’m investigating your death.”

How the dead managed to get on your nerves quicker than the living, you had no idea, but maybe Mark was just the exception, some kind of master at pissing people off, especially when he gestured up and down his body.

“I’m not dead.”

“You were.”

He hummed, with such a patronizing tone that you wanted him to go back to the way he was when you met. “Yes, past tense, thank you. I’m not dead anymore.”

“But you were.”

“Not anymore.”

“But you were.”

“Etcetera, etcetera.”

Your muscles tightened and your shoulders raised as he began waltzing towards you, and you moved back to a comfortable distance from where he deposited the robe on his bed, right beside the stain that was infesting deeper into the sheets. You just couldn’t understand how little he cared. That was the worst thing about this; he made it seem like this was completely normal, like he had done this hundreds of times before, like you were the one in the wrong for not adhering to etiquette that you should have known about.

The way that he stared at you like you were a bug he couldn’t be bothered to get rid of pulled your mouth into a grimace. 

“Who called you here?” he asked.

“Your butler, Benjamin Blackadder.”

“Right, well, you can inform him that I am perfectly healthy—” A drop of red ran like a tear from the corner of his mouth, “—and that there is no need to worry about my state.”

Your attention flitted between him wiping that blood away and the saturated spot on his chest. In response, noticing the evidence against his case, Mark stepped closer to you and tried again to escort you to the door at a much faster pace.

“Oh, and also tell him to call for Abe next time. It would make this whole mess easier on me.”

The latter part was said well under his breath, but that wasn’t the part you wanted to focus on anyway. No, you were more interested in his relationship to Abe. You knew who he was, and so you had an inkling as to why he would call on him. A detective like you meant an institution and that meant a formal investigation into his death – exactly what you believed he wanted to avoid – but Abe? He wasn’t a legal detective, he was, in reality, a private investigator, and a P.I like him was very good at keeping his mouth shut and palm open.

You, not so much.

Spinning around and pushing back a smirk at his huff, you responded, “No.”

“No?”

And even slower, this time, “No.”

Mark stopped completely still on the wooden floor so that, for a brief moment, you wondered if he was still breathing, but then his irises trailed up from your legs, to your torso, to your neck, to your face, stopping where you were forced to make eye contact.

“Okay, detective.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Let’s play a little game, if you’re so intent on staying put.”

He put one foot forward, posed just so, as if he were a statue on the edge of toppling over and crashing onto the ground.

“I give you a scenario, and you tell me what to do. Simple enough.”

Against your better judgement, you nodded, and you immediately regretted it when he shifted his weight onto that foot, closer to breaking apart.

“Perfect.” A cat’s grin spread over his mouth as he spoke, “As you keep telling me, I died. Skin gray, eyes glossy, rigor-mortis might have even set in, lucky me. But here’s the catch; I wake up. Not here, but I do wake up. In a dark place, no walls, no ceiling, no floor. The way I normally get out hasn’t shown up yet.”

The words fell out of his mouth, pulled from a script and dropped carefully, practiced, into the real world. Every sentence came with a step closer to you. Slow. Intentional. Not an inch away from where he meant to land, until you were face to face. His grin felt less like a cat and more like a tiger.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, arms folding behind his back.

The only response you were able to offer, the only one you were able to muster, was a firm, “I don’t understand.” You tried to keep the shakiness out of your voice but found you were only able to share it throughout your entire body.

“Come now, detective,” he purred, “you’re supposed to be good at finding the answer with minimal information.”

“You’re insane.”

“Is that your final answer?”

Half of you wanted to say that it was, but the other half of you was smarter than that, even if it was true. You paused to collect your thoughts, crossing your arms and hoping something would come to you. Riddles had never been your strong suit – especially when it was some pedantic or, worse, philosophical answer – but the look in Mark’s eye, that shimmer of curiosity for your response that swallowed some of the coldness, made you think this was more than a riddle.

So, after taking a deep breath to prepare yourself for the plunge, you said, “You wait.”

It was a test. Mark was testing you. You didn’t know what he had expected, but, apparently, your answer was not satisfactory.

“That’s it?” he scoffed, “I’m supposed to wait?”

“Yep.”

“Until what?”

Another breath. “Until whatever you expect to happen, happens.”

This time, he took a second to dwell on what you’d said. His gaze flickered downwards, searching for something that he didn’t seem to find.

“And what if it doesn’t?”

You were quicker on the draw now, having familiarized yourself with your ideas, and you responded, “You talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged, and you had to look away from the man in front of you; he looked almost at a loss for words. Maybe you were just bad at explaining, made it sound too simple, but you couldn’t help it. You continued to talk regardless of if it made sense to him. “Helps to stop you going mad from the environment you might be trapped in.”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“Help.” He was looking at you. You felt it, the crawl of his eyes towards your own. They were the windows to the soul, and you didn’t like the thought of him getting a front row seat to that. There was a foot between you, and you wanted to make it a mile, but your boots weighed you down and kept you under the water.

“What if I go mad?”

“Did you?”

“You tell me.”

Frantic knocking on the door made you flinch – a panic that made you miss Mark doing the same – and it took you a moment to remember where you were. A crime scene, or what used to be one, which technically still was one, that might have continued to be one, depending on what route you wanted to pursue.

“Detective?” The butler’s voice seemed to cut through the tension, giving you ample space to step back from Mark. “Is everything alright?”

He adopted that grin once more; it dove over his mouth like a wave, and he gestured to the door just as fluidly.

You didn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. You supposed it was natural for an actor to switch from one persona to the next. He had all but scared the living daylights out of you, intimidated you with a gaping wound in his chest like something crawled out of the grave, but there he was, smug and victorious in the little battle he’d forced you into.

“Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

You stomped over to the door, spite burning your footprints into the planks, and pulled at the handle to reveal Benjamin looking just as fearful as he did the first time you saw him. He was wringing a glove between his hands, the other of the pair sticking out of his pocket. He’d end up losing it like that.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Blackadder,” you said, opening the door wider so that the still-breathing master of the house was visible. “He’s not dead.”

You didn’t think he heard you, more concerned with sliding past you and rushing towards Mark. Not that you really cared. In fact, you preferred it over the dutiful house-servant stereotype he had seemingly perfected, and it allowed you to march out of the bedroom and down the hallway without any of that sappy ‘thank-god-you’re-alive’ nonsense. Normally, that was reserved for hospitals, but this was… a strange situation.

The only duty left on your plate, therefore, was figuring out how to tell your team that the corpse was distinctly no longer a corpse.  Or so you had thought. Upon arriving back at the station that day and informing the chief of police that Mark was alive and well, you oh-so-foolishly assumed that you could bypass the normal procedures. The most you expected to do was catalogue the incident on a sheet that would be stuffed into a file, which would then be stuffed into a cabinet, which would then be stuffed into a section of the archives never to be touched again. You were wrong. And not just a little bit wrong, you were wrong.

It took you two weeks to deal with the paperwork. Fourteen days, because your higher-ups, people who understood how anything worked, knew that a stab to the heart was a pretty surefire way to end up dead. You were sent running in circles, trying to justify what you had seen and what you were trying to tell them. If seeing a man rising from the dead hadn’t pushed you over the edge, convincing other people of it did the trick. 

That led you to where you were now; sitting at your desk, filling out paperwork, and cursing the name of your partner who was probably enjoying his day off on the beach with his family. You spent a lot of time in your office, more than you did at your apartment, but it was slowly morphing into a cage with the key held just out of your reach. 

It might have been bearable alone, and yet fate decided you needed to suffer more because the comments of your colleagues wormed their way into your brain and set up shop there. You’d made a mistake. You! What was the point of holing yourself up at your desk when you weren’t able to tell when someone was dead or not? Every moment you were in the hallway, you were subject to glances ranging from pitying to condescending to absolutely entertained. You’d become the village fool, and each scratch of the pen reminded you of your situation up until the very final flourish of your signature.

You let your chair take your weight, and, even though the wooden skeleton wasn’t the most comfortable thing, a tired form of bliss washed over you. You were done, and you could put the whole thing behind you. Soon, you’d be working on another murder and be able to forget everything. You hoped somebody died soon.

Somewhere, the finger of a monkey’s paw curled, and the shrill squeal of the office’s phone to pierced the silence.

You pushed your hands against your spine to hear it crack before lazily shuffling towards the source of the noise. Bringing the receiver to your ear, you ran your gaze across the skyline of the city between slits of the window’s blinds.

Seconds later, you wondered if the fall would be enough to kill you, or whether it would just be a mild inconvenience like everything else in your life.

Benjamin Blackadder, just the man you didn’t want to hear, filled you in on the situation that seemed painfully familiar to the one you were trying to escape from. He told you Mark was dead, but the idea had you stifling a laugh, not out of any amusement but out of hatred for dramatic irony.

All that escaped you was a groan.

You knew you had to go. He was calling the office phone, after all, so you had a job to do. And who was to say you couldn’t be wrong about this? If he was actually dead – as you hoped, however unsympathetically, he was – then it was just another day at the office, and refusing to attend to the investigation was a crime in and of itself.

Feeling the thud of your head against the wall, you said, “We’ll be right over.”

“Wait!”

Inches away from hanging up, you stopped and drew the receiver close again.

Benjamin hesitated for a second before continuing, “The master requested that I keep all contact with the public to a minimum, so- well, would it trouble you terribly to only bring yourself?”

Not only was he testing your patience, but he was also testing your loyalty to your job. There was no way in hell you would be allowed to go on your own – setting aside the fact that it was against policy, this was also a high-profile case that you were just caught completely screwing up. An actor, ‘dead’ for the second time, was not something to be taken lightly. There were a million and one reasons why you should have rejected the request, called in the rest of the department and issued a formal investigation from the city of Los Angeles.

“Not at all, sir.” 

Except you were also a spiteful bastard, so, with gritted teeth, you pulled the blinds fully shut and snatched your keys off the desk.

“I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

The actual drive only took half an hour, but you arrived exactly when you said you would only because you took the liberty of cursing out various concepts and colleagues for ten minutes. A lot of it was under your breath, a lot of it was directed at Mark, and a lot of it was done on the road outside the manor. If Benjamin wanted you to be happy about doing this, he should have offered to pay you.

Though, you supposed there was only one thing on his mind. Before you were even able to consider knocking, the front door was pulled open, and the butler himself was gesturing you inside.

“Thank you for coming out here so late, detective,” he said. 

You nodded in response, taking a moment to look him over. His speech was much more put together than it had been the last time you had seen him, but, other than that, he appeared very much the same. He was still decked out in his uniform, despite it being nearly eight o’clock at night, and his eyes flitted from you to the grounds to the staircase like a moth caught in a jar.

The door creaked as Benjamin closed it behind you. 

“He’s upstairs.”

You didn’t say anything after that, and, in fact, you didn’t need to; while you started in the direction of Mark’s room, he stayed behind with a firm stare locked onto the darkness outside. You supposed he was making sure you hadn’t brought anyone else with you. The guy seemed really keen on following his master’s orders.

You rolled your eyes at the thought, and, in a few moments of internally mocking the dynamic, you wound up in front of Mark’s door. You didn’t bother knocking, simply pushing the door open and letting it fall shut behind you.

Electric lights bathed the room in a glow too kind for the subject. The room hadn’t changed in the weeks passed, but what was more surprising was the position of Mark’s body, which was no more than a thread’s width away from where you had found him last time. The only difference was that there was no steak knife buried in his chest, though the cause of death wasn’t particularly a mystery. What you initially assumed were makeup stains was, as you realized when you got closer, the smudged remains of berries. Deadly nightshade, adding his dilated pupils into the mix of symptoms and the likelihood of him getting his hands on them.

For a brief moment, you wondered if you had actually been wrong. You wondered if you had been too pessimistic, too hasty in your reluctance. You wondered if Mark was actually dead.

Those thoughts were scrapped the moment focus welled in his eyes and a sharp intake of breath made you step back.

No, you were right. Why did you even bother to doubt yourself?

The second the two of you made eye contact, your annoyance transferred over to him, prompting a deep, world-weary groan. 

“Oh, come on!” he hissed into the air.

You reigned in your own bitterness, instead choosing to settle into the armchair until Benjamin came to collect you. After all, you were tired, and you wanted at least a minute of rest before you were sent back to the station – no doubt to repeat your poor excuse for a Sisyphean punishment and get laughed at by your colleagues again. Oh, you couldn’t wait.

Letting your eyelids drift closed, you listened to the sounds of Mark in the ensuite bathroom. You guessed that he was getting rid of the excess poison in his mouth, but you didn’t know what damage it could cause that was worth than the death he’d already undergone. Maybe it just tasted bad, you didn’t know because you didn’t exactly have a habit of killing yourself for fun. 

You opened one eye to glare at Mark as he emerged from the bathroom.

He was the first to speak, though, tone disgruntled and mouth warped into a grimace.

“You’re not Abe.”

“And I thought I was the detective here.”

“Very funny.”

A smirk dragged itself across your mouth. You thought you were.

The chair was oddly comfortable, pillows fluffed and blanket cushioning your head, and you found yourself nestling further into it while you stared Mark down across from you. He stood by the bed with his arms crossed, the picture of disapproval, but his opinion wasn’t one you valued at this moment.

“Why did you come?” he asked after a – blissful – second of silence.

“Mr. Blackadder called, asked me to check you out again.”

Why he called the police and not a doctor was beyond you. Why he called you in particular was even further beyond you.

“But you knew I was fine.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for an explanation.

You carded a hand through your hair. What you wouldn’t do for a nap right about now – but, no, you were here, wondering how someone could be so oblivious. “It’s not everyday someone obviously dead just decides not to be dead anymore,” you said with less spite that you wanted to translate.

“Isn’t it?”

The sheets rustled as Mark dropped himself into a sitting position, sudden enough that you barely caught his humorless smile before his back was turned to you.

“No. It isn’t,” you answered. “And I have no idea how you think it’s normal.”

With your comment hanging between you, the weight of your pack of cigarettes dragged your trench coat down, and, to alleviate that, you fished it out of the pocket you’d shoved it in.

You absentmindedly peeled back the cardboard and pulled one of the sticks out as you asked, “How many times so far?”

Despite being a blunt person by nature, it was as though your mouth refused to say the word ‘died’ outright. You barely managed to get the question out at all.

A moment of silence followed, making you wonder if you had gone too far. You had no reason to ask, so he had no reason to answer. It only made sense that he would keep it to yourself and some part of you wished he would, if only to save yourself from facing the truth about his situation.

“Thirty-seven.” Mark’s voice came out completely blank. “Not including tonight.”

Your wolf-whistle was followed by his quiet chuckle.

“Damn.” Any formality was out of the window by that time, and you felt it was the most appropriate reaction available to you. “Who did Benjamin call before?”

“He didn’t call anyone.” He huffed as he spread his hands back across the sheets. “He didn’t notice.”

The cigarette secured between your lips, you stopped with your hand poised to flick the top of your lighter. “Didn’t notice that the body of the master was rotting in his bed?”

A light scoff came out with sourness before he corrected, “I never rotted. My body’s intact, except for all the… leftover marks. I always come back after a few hours.”

“You didn’t before.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Without knowing what to say to that, you simply lit the end of the stick and watched down the bridge of your nose as orange consumed up the white. It was slow, left a trail of ash and glimmering embers in its wake, but it did the job.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I don’t know how you can stomach those.”

Your focus flickered back to Mark, who had twisted his torso around to watch you.

“You choose to kill yourself quickly,” you said, pocketing your lighter, “some people choose to do it slowly. Plus, it takes the edge off.”

And when your entire understanding of life and existence was under threat, you needed it. You needed something to distract you. You needed something that meant you didn’t have to consider the ramifications of reality and could continue on in ignorance like you had been for decades.

Watching you, Mark felt something stir in his heart. It was unfamiliar to him, and he had a hard time giving it a name, but the closest concept he could handle was a strange form of sympathy. He had never planned to share this experience with anyone, much less a stranger who was just doing their job. Roping you into everything was a mistake that he didn’t know how to correct. 

In any other situation, he would have assumed a certain role that he kept just for the people who found out things they shouldn’t have, the one he had almost ran through with you. He would pat their shoulder, talk them down from the edge, and brush them out of his life like dust on the floor – but you were different. Difficult. You weren’t panicking like he had expected you to. Of course, you were dazed, and the calm was no doubt a mask, but there you were, sitting in the chair in his room instead of one in an asylum’s waiting room.

He didn’t know what to do with you.

Mark’s attention floated to the floor, and yours followed in turn.

What were you supposed to do? Mark was going to keep killing himself, Benjamin was going to keep calling, and where did that leave you? Answering those calls? For how long? Until you gave up, quit, snapped, went the same way as Mark without the return ticket?

You opened your mouth to ask, but the thud of a fist against wood broke the silence first.

“Detective,” Benjamin’s voice seeped through the splinters, “have- have you come to a conclusion?”

Your legs felt stiff as you rose from the chair. Mark was facing the direction of the door, but the haziness that blanketed his eyes told you that he was looking anywhere else.

The butler looked just as frantic as before, but your patience had worn thin. A single press and it would cut like piano wire.

You left the door open and leaned against the frame. “You want the cause, the time, or my home number so you can call me the next time this happens at midnight?”

“What?”

Not a second later was Benjamin in the room, yourself having stepped to the side. It wasn’t your place to stop him fussing over Mark, nor was it the funnier option; there wasn’t any evidence that Mark had been dead, so he was quick to dance around him, tugging at his arms to check him over for possible injuries.

“Do you need me to write down Abe’s number again?” Mark asked with the tone of a disapproving parent. 

You laughed under your breath at the irony, taking the cigarette from your lips. A spray of smoke escaped through the gap before you replaced it, stepped out of the room, and let the door fall closed behind you. It wasn’t long until you were stepping through another door, landing you on the steps outside.

The stark contrast between the glamorous manor and the sprawling darkness had you relaxing your shoulders, or maybe that was the nicotine taking effect. Regardless, you felt better. Less stressed. Moon stifled by the clouds, you tried to retrace your steps back to your car. The crunch of the gravel beneath your boots was the only thing that grounded you to reality – the night was completely noiseless, the lights of the manor were fading away, and you were alone.

You stopped at the hood of the car, not getting in quite yet. An inhale of smoke. Exhale.

There wasn’t much you could do. At least, not at that moment.

Embers of light spat out from the end of the cigarette as it hit the concrete, dead on impact, while you slipped into the driver’s seat with a sigh. “You owe me fifteen cents for gas, you know.”

You hadn’t had enough time to get your hopes up before being called back in to the manor. This time, barely a week had passed, and Benjamin hadn’t gotten through all of his speech before you were grabbing your coat and keys and practically throwing yourself into your car. It had been right before you were set to clock out, too, which meant that you felt poking Mark’s cheek an annoying number of times was warranted.

Bruises littered his skin, reddish marks pooling like paint on a palette, with some areas swelled so much so that there might have been broken bones. You had a moment to inspect what was visible before a deep groan flooded out of him. You weren’t certain whether it was pain or annoyance, but you still stepped back to give him space.

“How’d you do this one?” you wondered aloud. The other two methods were easy to guess, but trying to inflict blunt force trauma was difficult without throwing yourself around the room. Mark had ended up where he always did, laid out on the edge of his bed, so either he had flawless aim or there was someone else involved.

He answered your question as he propped himself up, “I hired someone.”

Despite the evidence in front of you, that surprised you, and he appeared to pick up on that.

“I get killed,” he started to explain, “and they get a hefty sum of money and bragging rights that they killed an actor.”

“I think one of those is more persuasive than the other.”

You waited while he rearranged himself. Unlike the last times, the cause of death would heal on its own, no removal of knife or spitting of poison necessary, and that left him sitting in front of you as you stared him down.

Dragging a hand down his face, pulling with it a curl of hair, he muttered, “You didn’t have to come.”

He was right. You didn’t have to. It was pretty obvious by now that dying didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did others, and, as long as he was breathing by the time the sun came up, you’d be off the hook for investigating him. You always complained about it on the way over and felt drained when you stepped back out the front door. Everything pointed to you staying at the office, or, hell, going back to your apartment as you were supposed to do.

And yet, there you were, with your hands hooked into your pockets and a small, spiteful smile on your lips. Some part of you said it was just for Benjamin’s sake, but, while he had genuinely sounded on the brink of a heart-attack on the phone, you knew that wasn’t the biggest reason. Although, you also knew you would never admit the truth.

Instead, you started to stroll back to the armchair you had missed so much, saying, “But I get a hefty pay cheque worth a fifth of my rent and bragging rights that I saw a dead actor.”

You could practically hear Mark roll his eyes, but he still turned to face you once he had adjusted his arm back into its natural position. His silent wince brought you back to the matter at hand.

“So, you’ve been stabbed, poisoned, and beaten to death—” You sunk into the hold of the cushions, “—What’s next on your reverse bucket list?”

“I’m not doing this for fun.”

“Then what are you doing this for?”

He levelled you with a stare. “Personal reasons.”

You got the hint – touchy subject – and you put a hand up in a lazy form of surrender. 

Mark’s gaze drifted to the window next to you, the crimson curtains pulled shut to block out the moonlight. They hadn’t been opened in months, and the windows even longer since, granting the room a claustrophobic touch despite the minimal decoration. Smoke from a week ago still haunted the air.

It all felt like too much of a risk.

“Where’d your hitman run off to?” you asked, beckoning his attention once more.

“You don’t need to arrest him.”

“Well, technically, I do. Attempted murder is still a crime.”

His head lolled back, creaking like the old house itself, before he responded, “He’ll be long gone by now. He knows how to get out of tough situations with the police.”

Your eyebrows raised at that. It was awfully bold to admit that to a detective’s face – but, then again, what were you going to do? Both of you knew you weren’t going to report it, because then you’d have to admit to investigating the last ‘death’ as well. The very concept of drudging up the paperwork and filling out exactly the same things over and over again had given you pause when you’d returned to the office, and a moment’s hesitation was all you needed to forget that duty altogether. Nobody had gone with you, and Benjamin had contacted you directly, so what was the harm in keeping it to yourself? None, or so you’d convinced yourself as you started work on another case.

In theory, you supposed you were meant to be regretting that decision. In practice, you utterly despised paperwork.

You let Mark keep talking without interruption.

“I’ve used him before. The first couple times, I couldn’t stomach slitting my own throat, and I couldn’t tell Benjamin to do it, so I asked around. People thought it was a publicity stunt. It wasn’t, obviously, but it would have been a damn good one.” A dim laugh was quickly smothered by his hand. “Some responded just to see if it were real. The man I have now was one of the only ones to take it seriously.”

“There were others?”

“He’s good at getting out. The others weren’t.”

The business of paid murder wasn’t a forgiving one, as could be expected, and you’d heard of a lot of people willing to endure a lot of pain for not a lot of gain. They were dragged through the station and interrogated until they gave up every bit of information they had on other criminals, which was why it was a shock to hear the ease at which he found these people.

You laid an arm across the side of the chair, getting comfortable in the spot, as you asked, “If you used him at the start, why bring him back now?” 

“I thought going a different way…” he trailed off, his gaze following suit, before he swallowed and finished, “would change things.”

“No luck?”

Mark shrugged lightly, a simple motion that failed to disguise how much he cared. Whatever he tried to make different was important, and, while you wanted to comfort him, you couldn’t help if you didn’t know what it was. He didn’t seem keen to share.

Your eyes followed him as he rose from the edge of the bed and traipsed towards a drink cart that had been stashed against one of the walls. You might have been glad to see a new addition to the room had it not been decorated with bottles of alcohol.

With the whiskey decanter in one hand and a lowball glass in the other, he chuckled lowly. “We all have our vices.”

The packet of cigarettes seemed to get heavier.

But that wasn’t the problem – ignoring someone’s explicit reference to a crime was one thing, but partaking in one yourself? That was dangerous. In the depths of prohibition, getting caught with a drink in hand was the same as a blood-stained knife.

You stared at Mark, doubtful and hesitant, a look that he caught. In the space of a huff from him, he was holding another glass of whiskey, accompanied by ice, and walking in your direction.

Bolder and bolder.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

That was your policy, wasn’t it? Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Internally cursing yourself, you gripped the whiskey and brought it down to your chest, while Mark settled himself down at the chair near his vanity.

You hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in years, even before the new law was instated. There was something about the loss of control that made you turn up your nose whenever it was offered to you. You didn’t care about understanding the things around you – case in point, you were sitting with a possibly-immortal-possibly-dead actor and knew little more than his name and address – but when it came to yourself, your mind and body, you didn’t like losing that control.

You wondered why you took the whiskey from Mark even as you lifted it to your lips and took a sip. Harsh. Rich. Somewhat smoky. Condensation gathered on the outside of the glass.

“Do you normally drink after you die?”

“No. It makes healing the cuts harder.” The ice chinked as he swirled his lowball in one hand. “The first thirty-seven times were with a knife. The blunt-force trauma means that I don’t have to worry about my blood thinning.”

Back when he had first started, drinking was a habit he found hard to break. There was normally something in his system – wine, whiskey, one of the innumerable other bottles in the cellar – and that led to a messier cleanup than he liked. He had to change that, stop drinking until he was semi-healed, or else he’d get himself found out.

After that first night you were called in, Benjamin had locked away the knife block, so he couldn’t go that route even if he wanted to.

His thoughts flashed to his butler, and his mouth moved faster than his mind could keep up with.

“Benjamin doesn’t know I die.”

A second went by. Mark stared at the wall. You stared at Mark. 

“No?”

“He thinks I get close to the edge but manage to pull through, that, in his panic, he just misses my pulse when he checks and doesn’t realize that I’m still barely alive.” His words were speeding up, some molding together and forcing him to stop to breath. “He called a friend of mine the night you were first called and told him that I’d nearly died but that I would recover.”

“You friend doesn’t know either?” You sat forward in your seat, balancing your forearms on your thighs. The layers of your trench coat dripped down the frame.

“I tried to tell him once. He thought I was making a joke, and a distasteful one at that. I mean, who would believe me?” The fogginess of reminiscing faded as he drew his focus to you. In a more muted voice, he said, “I’m surprised you did.”

The moment was bordering on somber, but you found yourself wanting to bring it back. Talking was nice. The subject was obviously less desirable, but you didn’t want to push him into anything worse than the obvious.

You cracked a smile, meeting his eyes. “Well, you know, when someone comes back to life right in front of you, it takes a lot more effort to convince yourself it’s not real.”

Hoping that the joke didn’t fall flat was the most you could do at that moment, besides taking another sip of the whiskey. You weren’t natural ‘funny’ – most of what garnered a laugh was sarcasm at someone else’s expense – but the second that you see a small grin sketch itself across Mark’s mouth, you feel a hint of pride wash over you.

“So that’s what it is? Effort?” You were used to his bleak tone, even more to his annoyance, but amusement was something you preferred.

“Sure, I mean—” You shifted to sit up straighter, “—I work ten hours a day, more with overtime, I don’t have the time to care about this kind of stuff. You might somehow be immortal, but unless that magic trick is going to put my rent up, I’ll believe whatever you want me to believe.”

“You’re insane.”

This one was a laugh that the two of you shared, filling the air and dancing along the cracks of the plaster and diving into the wooden floorboards. In the dark of the night, it was warm, welcoming, a pleasant interlude to the dismal tragedy you had become involved in – like the clown shoved between Cassio and Desdemona.

Nevertheless, it was but an interlude, and the scene ended with a knock at the door. Perfect timing.

You started to suspect that Benjamin had a timer set to check up on you, but, nevertheless, you threw back the remainder of your whiskey and swept your coat out from under you.

“That’s my cue,” you said. You were tempted to tell him not to do anything stupid again, but you weren’t an idiot. “Same time next week?”

Mark rolled his eyes, putting up an image of being so offended by your comment, but you caught sight of his smile right before Benjamin bounded in, ready and willing to mother-hen him until he was sick of it.

What you did not catch, however, were Mark’s eyes trailing after you as you strode down the hallway, hands in your pockets and boots leaving vague prints on the rug. A poltergeist waltzing through the land of the living, the only evidence ash and the faint smell of smoke.

[*shoves this into your hands and runs off*-- No, but seriously, I came up with this idea so long ago, but it was just meant to be a little thing inspired by one line (that isn't even in this anymore), and now there is a 51 page script that is predicted to be 120 pages in total and so will definitely be going on ao3 at some point. But, y'know, what can you do? As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed]

[baileys-3]

NEW CHAPTER ONLINE on AO3 - Chapter 12

Sneak Peak under the Link

Yesterday evening they had planned to go on a medium-difficulty hike together, which usually takes three and a half hours. But with Kojo it will certainly take much longer, as the dog likes to take his time and insist on taking breaks. The tour is a circular route that Lucy found in one of her apps. Can you imagine that? There are apps for everything these days even for hiking tours. It took Lucy about two minutes to convince him that he too really needs an app like this. She had listed all the advantages of it f or him, some of which were really ridiculous. He had then pressed his phone into her hand and mumbled that she should just download it for him before he had to endure another long lecture.

Lucy hadn't missed the opportunity to send him the tour via a message link. This is why he ended up using the morning hours to click on the link and take a look at the trail and the corresponding photos. As he was someone who always woke up early, he had some extra time to play around with the app. Lucy had explained to him in detail that she did not want to be disturbed by her alarm clock on her day off just because he was an early riser and could not enjoy sleeping it. She definitely won't be leaving her apartment before 10 o'clock. After all, they had the whole day and didn't have to be home by lunchtime.

He has been sitting on his couch since 8:30 PM, scrolling through pictures of the hiking route. He admits that the pictures only increase his excitement, rather than dampening it.

The tour is a circular route that starts at Mulholland Dam. It leads along Lake Hollywood for a considerable distance (about 1.2 miles) before the ascent begins. The climb is long but not too strenuous. At the end, they will reach the so-called Wisdom Tree, which, according to the route planner, is a magical place. Especially at sunset. Well, that won't be the case today, because they will arrive there well before that. Then it's another 0.3 miles or so uphill before they reach the highest point. The Cahuenga Peak. This location is situated west of the famous Hollywood sign and is said to offer a breathtaking view of Los Angeles, according to the reviews.

It's a smooth descent except for a short stretch on a rocky dirt track, which is still quite manageable, but still offers a good view. After about 5.5 miles from the start, the trail leads to Lake Hollywood Park which has plenty of picnic tables. Lucy had offered to take care of the food since they plan on eating there upon arrival. After that, it is just about a mile to the car park. The final part of the route goes downhill towards the lake and then curves back along it.

Tim looks through his backpack again and checks that he has packed everything. His job is to take care of hydration with water bottles and bowls for Kojo. The route also has the advantage that it passes several water refill stations. He has also packed a blanket in case they decide to make a spontaneous stop and want to sit down. Which is very likely with Kojo. Other than that, he makes sure to pack some snacks for the dog in his bag.

He is tired of waiting any longer, so he ends up leaving his house too early, which will result in arriving too early at her place. He is counting down the minutes to finally see Lucy again. That's how things are with him now.

When Tim has parked his car near the building complex where Lucy lives, he briefly considers whether to leave Kojo in the car or take him with him. He decides in favor of the latter, as Lucy is certainly not ready yet and Kojo would then have to wait forever in the car. Besides, Tamara is not at home, so he can turn up at Lucy's front door with Kojo without any problems.

After a short while, he reaches Lucy's house and knocks on the door. She responds with "The door is open." When he opens it, Kojo rushes in without giving him a chance to stop him. It seems like Kojo is in a hurry to get to Lucy, and he can't blame him for that. He closes the door behind him.

"Why don't you lock your door? Anyone could just march in. That's completely unacceptable."

Her voice comes from one of the rooms. He thinks from her bathroom.

"I only unlocked the door a few minutes ago because I thought you'd be early ..." With that, the bathroom door opens, and Lucy steps into her living room, putting an earring through her ear at the same time. "... and I would probably be in the bathroom or something, unable to let you in. “And ..." she looks up at him, smirking after she has successfully secured her earring. "... clearly I was right."

[spookymultimedia]

Homesickness

After dropping out of college Cartman visits home after years of being away from it

I remember the morning I left for California. I was fresh out of highschool and had packed up all my things. I didn't tell anybody I was leaving, not even my Mom. The night before I left I had argued with her over something stupid. I called her a bitch and slammed my bedroom door. When I knew she was asleep I took my bags, stuffed them into my cheap minivan and hit the road. By 3 am I was out of Colorado. People called me, but it's dangerous to drive while on the phone, so naturally I ignored them all day long. I didn't call back either. They didn't matter. To my surprise Kyle had called me the most, but I didn't notice that for years. The last time I had seen him he had smacked me in the face and called me a fag after I tried to kiss him at a graduation party. I blocked his number. I left everything behind and didn't look back. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I had just stayed a little longer. I've lost so many years to LA. I wonder what Kyle had to say to me.

Los Angeles was massive. I was a small fish in a huge pond that had come to learn that the world didn't revolve around me. I came into the city with high ambitions. The plan was to get my business degree, get into the marketing industry and get rich and famous with my genius ideas. LA was nothing like home. It was nothing but hot pavement and smoke filled skies. The place smelled like piss. The classes were intense and full of rich students who came from parents who were agents or producers. Friendships didn't exist, only networking. No one spoke to you unless they wanted something from you. The weather was hot, it was like hell on earth.

The first year was lonely and frustrating. It felt like no one respected me. It turns out people didn't owe me anything. I had this rude awakening that I wasn't special, I was just like any other asshole trying to make it big. My confidence ran thin and nothing seemed to matter anymore. Business in LA was no place for a boy from a little mountain town in Colorado. I tried to persevere for one more year but my second Christmas there broke me.

There I was in my tiny little dorm room with the air conditioner on, eating a cold ham sandwich. Everyone else had family to visit while I had no one. I was watching TV when a Christmas commercial came on. There were four little boys building a snowman together and running inside to drink hot chocolate. The commercial was about Duracell batteries, somehow. The commercial reminded me of home. I lost all composure and started crying. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to see the big white mountains in the sky again. I wanted to feel the cold again. I wanted to see the stars over the trees again. I wished I hadn't left at all. I needed to go home. So I called Kenny's house phone. I was lucky he picked up. I explained everything to him and headed home.

Kenny picked me up from the Airport and drove me back into town. A sense of nostalgia washed over me, the town looked just the same as I had left it. There was a new building or house here and there but it was just as I remembered it.

“Do you think my Mom will be happy to see me?”

Kenny blinked at me and cocked his head.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did- don't you remember?”

“Remember what? What happened?? Take me to my house!”

“But- Eric. It's-.”

“What?”

Suddenly I spotted the street my house was on.

“ Pull over!” I pulled out my old house key and rushed out towards home.

Kenny pulled over and tried to run after me without slipping on the ice. Oh gosh the cold air felt heavenly. The mountains were right where I left them. It was so good to be back home. I unlocked the door and-

“Mom!!” I cried out

The house was empty.

“Mom?” I called out with less enthusiasm. I hadn't seen this place empty since I was a baby. It looked like how we found it when I was only 3 years old and my Mom had just moved in. The walls were empty, there was an imprint of where the couch should be, and where that big fat TV was, and-

“Oh Cartman! It's so nice you could visit! How was California?” Rang out a familiar voice. I turned to see Kyle's Mom.

“Did. . .did she move away?”

Her smile dropped, “Oh Eric hunny, didn't you get the- oh you don't know! We tried to call you.”

“About what?” I walked outside to talk to her. Kenny stood behind me with a sad look on his face.

She stepped forward and grabbed my hands.

“Eric, sweetie, your Mom died two weeks ago.”

I stared blankly at her as my stomach dropped. At first I didn't react. I repeated the words in my head to try and understand them but they still left me confused.

“She was missing for a couple of days, and when we tried to call her or knock on the door she wouldn't answer. The police picked the lock to her house and let me check on her.” Tears flooded her eyes.

“What happened?” I mumbled, bewildered.

“I don't know, I found her in bed and she was dead. I didn't see any drugs or anything that could have killed her. It's like she just died in her sleep.”

“Oh.” Was all that could come out of me. I felt completely numb at that moment. All the sunshine in me was gone. I came back here to be happy but everything I was coming back to wasn't there.

“Are you alri-”

“Oh well look who came back in town!” A voice squawked out from behind me. I turned around and regretted it. It was none other than Mr.Garrison. I couldn't believe he was still breathing. I wish he wasn't.

“Hello Mr.Garrison.” I mumbled

“How was California? Huh?”

“I dropped out.”

“Oh so you quit!?” He chuckled harshly. He leaned against his cane and cackled like a fucking hyena. I glared at him.

“Yes I quit ok!! I'm a fucking good for nothing quitter! Are you happy!!!”

“ I told you, you weren't cut out for California!! You really thought you were somethin’ huh? You just thought you could just pack up your things, go to Cali-fucking-fornia like all the other dumbass liberals and make your dreams come true!? Well guess what! The world doesn't revolve around you bigshot!!”

He stabbed his finger at my chest. I winced and growled.

“You ain't shit Eric Cartman. And you'll never amount to anythin. I was like you once you know, a hot shot. Serves me right for thinkin mountain town hicks like us can get famous. You're best bet at gettin on television is becoming a fat-ass r*tard*d

hoarder for everyone to point and laugh at.”

I shoved him to the ground and punched him.

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!” I screamed and hit at him hoping I'd knock his brains out.

I attempted to choke him out but Kenny ripped me away from him. He grinned at me as blood fell down his nose while Ms.Broflovski helped him up.

“Hit a nerve there didn't I?” He taunted and chuckled. I ran inside and ran back into the empty house. I took a moment to breathe before I sat down and stared around at the room quietly, trying to remember how the place had looked. I thought about the buzz of the TV and the cheap ass cakes I ate every day. I glanced at the kitchen. In my mind I remembered the smell of freshly baked cookies and bacon. It was weird, all my good memories about my Mom were about food. I would watch her cook so I could remember to do it on my own when she was too drunk to cook food for me. Well, when I put it that way it sounded sad, but the food was good. Was that it? Just food and treats. Was there anything else to our relationship? Everything else I felt about her was resentful.

I looked upstairs and walked up. I went into her room and looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. No suicide note. No drugs. No alcohol. Not a single thing that could have caused her to die. I hated the answer. It was just unsatisfying. She just died for no fucking reason. How lame is that!?? I glanced at the closet where I knew the sex toys were. I left the room before my brain could linger on the upsetting memories I had buried away. It was better not to think about it.

I walked to my room, it was empty. Those assholes gave away my childhood toys!! My Clyde frog! My mega men. My sock puppet. It was gone and all that was left was this empty shell of a room. I looked at my door, playing back the night I left. I remembered the last thing I said to her.

“Eric, are you sure you want to leave for college?? You could wait a little while, you're still young.”

“Stop trying to guilt me into staying at home with you!!”

“Don't raise your voice at me!”

“Then stop treating me like a fuckin baby!! You're so afraid of being by yourself it's fucking pathetic!!”

“Eric- please-”

“JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LITTLE BITCH!! I'LL DO WHATEVER I WANT!!” I slammed the door in her face and ignored her crying.

I'll never get to talk to her again.

She's dead and the last thing I did was call her a bitch and slammed a door at her face. God I'm an asshole.

I walked back to the living room in a tired daze,Kenny looked at me with those big hazel eyes of his. I fell to my knees and couldn't handle it all anymore. I curled up on the floor and choked out into tears. I sounded pathetic. I felt like I was a 10 year old kid crying and kicking on the floor because he didn't get what he wanted. I was 10 years old again, throwing a fit. I wanted to go back. I didn't do my childhood right. I want it back!! I want my Clyde frog!! I want my Terrance and Philip!! I want Chef!!! I want my Cheezy Poofs and my Snacky Cakes!!! I want my Swiss Colony Beef log and Christmases with presents and snow and food. I WANT MY MOM!! I fucking hated her but at the same time I wanted more than anything was crawl into her lap and cry until she hugged me and fixed everything.

But she didn't come back. She would never come back. I took it all for granted and now I was stuck here to face being an adult. I felt Kenny pull me into his arms and squeeze me tight. I hid my face in his shoulder and cried for an hour. I couldn't tell if I was grieving or tired. I felt like a tired little baby in need of a nap. So that's what I did. I fell asleep in Kenny's arms and dreamed about her. In my dreams she was making chocolate buttered waffles and everything was okay. I didn't want to wake up. But I would have to eventually.

[steven1123x]

Behind The Scenes - Chapter 9: A Night Out

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Steven, Greg, Rose, Luisa, Jasmine and his friends were all walking in Manhattan, it was their last night there. They were leaving for Deleware tomorrow morning.

They were all meeting Ameythest at Times Square so they could hang out together on their final day here. Steven, Lance Lucas, and Kyle were walking behind Greg, Rose, and their mothers It was eight in the evening and the buildings were lit up, making it look beautiful.

“It looks beautiful, doesn’t it Greg?” Greg looked at her lovingly and kissed her on the cheek.

“It does, but not as beautiful as my stunning warrior for an amazing wife.”

“So, this friend of yours, you’d known her for a long time?” Jasmine asked.

“Oh yeah, Ameythest and I had known each other way before I met Greg, her dad was a Quartz solider like her, and her mom works at a bakery. Her dad is actually in the U.S. Army now.

“Ohm cool!” Luisa said.

“Hey, mom?” Steven asked.

“Yeah?”

“Where is this place?”

“Oh, we’re almost there, we gotta cross the street and were here. this is the most famous Italian restaurant in all of New York City.”

Steven nodded. they crossed the street and they went inside the building. Rose went to get their reservation.

“Hi, we have a reservation, under the name. Amethyst.” Rose said. The woman smiled and looked it up.

“Oh, I see it, for eight thirty right?”

Rose nods her head. then they all sit in the seating area. Steven was talking with Lance, Lucas, and Kyle until Ameythest came.

Ameythest showed up a few minutes later, She wore a purple blouse and white jeans. Her hair was tied up in a bun with some strands sticking out.

“Hey, Ames!” Rose said, giving her friend a fist bump.

“Hey guys!”

Steven waved at her. Lance, Lucas, and Mikey went back to talking.

“Did you guys catch that new episode of Gorge Of The Jungle?” Steven asked. Talking about an episode they had seen last night in their hotel room.

“Yeah!”

They were called over and they were seated at a table.

Rose was looking over the menu.

“What are you going to eat, Steven?” She asked her son. Steven looks over the menu. He read the options and figured out what he wanted. “Can I get pepperoni pizza?” Rose smiled and put a hand on his head.

“Sure you can.” Steven smiled and just hugged her, Rose hugged him back.

“So, how was Pearl with you guys?” Amethyst asked. Rose sighed as she twirled her fork and put some spaghetti in her mouth.

“She’s still trying to get Steven to move in with her to Los Angeles” Greg nodded.

“Well, she shouldn’t do that! and, you were our leader, not her. She doesn’t make the decisions. She doesn’t have a child. Dude.” Amethyst said, eating her food.

“Ugh, I know! I keep telling her but it’s no use, it’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes!” Greg said, Rose sighed in agreement.

Later, they were walking around Times Square with Ameythest. “Hey, Steven. I saw that video you did a month ago,” she said, mentioning the song he did about if he was in the Crystal Gems. Steven smiles at that comment, he loved Ameythest as a little sister.

“Oh yeah! That video I’d made and my mom uploaded. It’s just a little thing that they wanted to keep and preserve.

Ameythest nods as they keep walking.

Steven, Rose, Greg, Steven's friends, and their mothers went back to the hotel to go to bed for the drive and flight back to Delaware.

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The next day, The valet brought Greg’s van around. Greg and Rose put their suitcases in the back, Steven crawled in the back and they all headed back to Delaware. Greg started driving the three-hour trip back home.

Three hours passed and they made it to Delaware, they drove to Dewey Beach, rock music blasting through the speakers as they did. Rose was now driving, Greg looked out the passenger side window at tourists and locals walking. Greg rolled down the window, letting the smell of the salty air and the sand hit their noses.

“It’s good to be back in Delaware, Let’s see if Pearl didn’t do anything to the house while we were gone,” Greg said.

“She left yesterday,” Rose said, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

“What, when?”

“Last night. She texted me before we were going to bed.” she saw the beach come up, Rose parked their van and all three of them stepped out. Steven stretched and they all went up the stairs, Rose got the house key and unlocked the door.

Rose and Greg put their bag in their room and started unpacking all their stuff. Steven walked to the wrap-around pouch walked on the railing and looked at all the people in the water and playing in the sand. He was too short now to lean on it, but he could look through the wooden bars.

A few minutes pass and Greg walks outside and sits on the wooden patio floor with his son, cross-legged. Steven saw Greg, he walked up to his father and sat in his lap.

“What’s up, bud?” he asked.

“I thought you and mom were unpacking?��

“We finished.”

“That fast?” he asked.

Greg nods. “Well, it was two days, little dude.” Greg smiles at him, Steven hugs his father.

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“YOU LIED TO ME!” Steven said. Rose jolted back a little bit, they were now home in Beverly Hills, Steven, and the other actors were done filming for “A Single Pale Rose” And Steven did not take it well after shooting for the episode.

It got so bad when they finished shooting. Steven returned home to Beverley Hills and locked himself in the music room. Greg was trying to calm him down but it wasn’t working.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!” Steven screamed back, he was red in the face, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. His dad was trying to calm him down but nothing was working.

“Steven—“

“SAVE IT, PINK!” Greg was silent the whole time. Steven didn’t know what to do at the moment. He couldn’t even look at the person who was his mother. Now, she was nothing to him. Steven clenched his shirt to where his gem was located, he glared at his mother ran upstairs, and slammed his bedroom door.

“Steven wait—“ Greg said, sighing. He hugs his wife while tears form in her eyes.

“He’ll come around eventually,” Greg told her. Rose nodded and exhaled.

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Rose jolted awake, her breathing was shaky and her hands shook. She doesn’t want to tell Steven that she is a different person and she has done horrible stuff to her friends and comrades in the past, but now, that was over and it was in the past. Greg rolled over and sat up.

“Rose?”

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A\N: Hi guys, I hope you guys like this chapter. I’m doing some parallels to Steven Universe and this AU I hope you guys enjoy this. (I did a cliffhanger so you’ll have to stay tuned on what happens next!) anyway… Bye, guys!

[joe9cool]

Here you go anon, hope you like it.

Sara , AnnSophie, and Ally Kendricks were blinded by all of the photographers and the fans' camera flashes. Despite Taylor and some of the Chiefs wags Sneaking into the restaurant before hand word had gotten out that the group was at the restaurant. So of course security needed to escort the Chargers ladies into the high end establishment that was shut down for the night.

Dressed to the nines in their Saturday night best the trio made their way into the restaurant. Immediately, Sara was pulled into a hug by Taylor.

The two were good acquainted, Sara mentioned being a fan when she was up and coming and Taylor sent her a PR package for the Lover album and then they passed by at Award shows, sharing a friendly chat and a rowdy night at an after party. However once it was revealed Taylor was seeing the Chiefs tight end the singer reached out to Sara about football and navigating being a WAG. Which Sara was flattered but confused by. Even though she loved Taylor and always had pleasant experiences with her, she never thought they'd become friends.

Once the girls were introduced to everyone on the Chiefs side (Brittany Mahomes, and Gracie Hunt)

Brittany gave off a over niceness, and Sara knew the rep that the QB's wife had given herself over the years. But the girls were not here to start drama or act like they were in high-school.They just wanted to have a good night over cocktails and dinner.

"Where are you guys sitting?" Taylor asked as she took a sip of her wine." Sara looked at AnnSophie and Ally, who shrugged. "Well Justin's older brother, his manager, and his friend from Eugene are arriving tomorrow, we are probably going to be in the crowd-"

"Absolutely not, I may not have been to too many football games, but they are insane. Travis and I insist you all join us in the suites." Taylor smiled and Brittany perked up. "Oh my god you guys should come out and pregame with us at Travis place! We can all get ready together!"

Sara smiled. "Thank you guys, but I have to meet my group before they come by."

The rest of the night everyone relaxed with a few glasses, and everyone had settled in like they were old friends, and the media outlets and fans were eating up every update, even the group photo they all took together.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

It was after the game, and Sara and the group immediately flew back to Los Angeles. While being in the suite with all of them was fun, it did get tiring trying not to sulk while everyone around you was celebrating.

Now home, she was messaging Taylor back and forth and made plans to hang out since Taylor wanted to meet her cats. "You guys are famous." She told Eugene and Nova.

The door opened, startling Sara. Justin walked inside and set his bag down. He was in tears. Slowly, she approached him. "Baby I'm so sorry."

"I'm tired, I just want to eat and go to bed." She nodded and began to take out the other night's leftovers. She began to heat them up. "We're all proud of you. Even Taylor said she was impressed with your play."

He shook his head. "You really think I care what she thinks?" He snapped. Sara backed off. So it was moody tonight. She picked at her food before putting it away.

Sara was ready for bed so she just went under the covers. After a while she felt Justin next to her, eventually pulling her to him. "I'm sorry." He muttered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"I know, baby." She turned to face him. Kissing him she muttered. "Things will get better I promise." He nodded and the dam broke. The tears falling "Oh baby." She gathered him in her arms and he was sobbing."

There were no words she could say that could reassure him. She knew that, but damn she could be there for him in whatever way possible.

Finally after a bit he fell asleep and Sara was about to doze off until her phone lit up on the nightstand next to her. She saw it was a message from Mitch.

He has his phone off, but please let him know we are so proud of him.

[inboundremblog]

South Pasadena, CA: A Gem for Comfortable Living

Credit: Image by Salaam Allah | Wikimedia Commons

Things You Need to Know About South Pasadena, CA

South Pasadena, CA, commonly abbreviated to S.P or South Pas, is a beautiful little city in the greater Los Angeles region known for its charm and quality of life.

Between Pasadena and Los Angeles, South Pasadena is a desirable place to live and a city that celebrates its rich history, excellent schools, and community warmth. This article will review some interesting facts about South Pasadena and why you would fall in love with it.

Rich Historical Heritage

South Pasadena is steeped in history, as confirmed by the well-maintained buildings and rich traditions observed for many years.

The city was officially associated in 1888 as one of Los Angeles County's oldest municipalities. This legacy can be seen in its captivating business and residential districts. Many of these buildings have been closely reconstructed; some are as tall and majestic as they once were.

Mission Street is historic and maintains its popularity as a center of century-old architecture. It has several shops, fashion outlets, and restaurants that contribute to the appeal of any good city.

The Meridian Iron Works Museum, located in a perfectly preserved 19th-century building, provides nearby residents and visitors with a view of the city’s industrial past.

Dedication to the Beauty of Nature and Sustainability

Among the beautiful things South Pasadena offers are the efforts to protect the city’s natural bonds. The city is proud of its growing, tree-lined streets and many parks. For example, let's consider Garfield Park.

It is one of the most famous parks in our community, and it is known for its plenty of green spaces, playgrounds, and picnic areas, where people can participate in various outdoor activities and community get-togethers.

Moreover, South Pasadena values its sustainable actions. The city has put numerous green projects into practice, such as town tree planting campaigns, water-possessed programs, and community gardens, which benefit not only the environment but also the lives of the residents.

Excellent Educational Opportunities

Quality education is a significant pull factor for families considering relocation to South Pasadena. The South Pasadena Unified School District is renowned for its fine traditions in education, which are testified by the best scores in state and national tests.

The schools here feature a top-notch academic curriculum backed by sophisticated technologies and many extracurricular activities that provide a healthy balance between studies and growth.

Vibrant Community Life

The local community in South Pasadena is interesting and diverse. Many activities are tailored to people of all ages and interests. The yearly July 4th Parade, which seems to be a most remarkable event, clearly depicts the community spirit and oneness.

Families, friends, and neighbors go out together to see fireworks and parades, eat delicious foods, and participate in festivities that will make unforgettable memories.

Additionally, the city features an attractive farmers' market that uplifts its agriculture and serves as a meeting place for residents to buy fresh food from the farmers themselves. A market like this proves how much the community values eco-friendly practices and healthy lifestyles.

Proximity to Major Attractions

Consisting of a quiet suburb, South Pasadena has a small-town atmosphere while also benefiting from its proximity to major big-city attractions in Southern California.

Downtown Los Angeles, whose cultural spaces include museums, theaters, and cultural centers, is only half an hour's drive away from us.

Safe and Inviting Atmosphere

Safety is a key factor in any community, and South Pasadena outperforms the other cities in the area regarding security.

The local police department is a critical stakeholder in the community through policies that aim to create an interface between residents and enforcement agencies, thus creating a safe environment for everyone.

A Particular Spot for Arts and Culture

South Pasadena has extraordinary cultural development; many different exhibitions, galleries, and festivals express art there. For instance, the South Pasadena Arts Crawl transforms the city into an arts district that comes to life with live local artists, musicians, and crafters.

Being part of the South Pasadena community offers a distinctive amalgamation of historical traditions, educational renown, natural beauty, and closeness to the life of big cities.

Being environmentally friendly, providing a safe environment, and supporting its cultural activity make this place a perfect location for those considering relocating to an area with tranquility and easy access to urban amenities. If you are drawn to its educational opportunities, community events, or small-town charm, South Pasadena is where people feel they want to live.

Architectural Diversity and Charm

A significant feature of South Pasadena is its rich architectural diversity, which contributes to the formation of a unique atmosphere that is very important for the spirit of a place. This area houses lovely Craftsman-style bungalows and extraordinary Victorian estates, demonstrating the city’s developmental history and the different tastes of its residents. These uniquely designed buildings not only help to make the cityscape attractive but also give residents the chance to choose from many different kinds of houses. All the neighborhoods of South Pasadena have a unique personality. This is true mainly by the design of the homes and the room layout, making it simple to feel at home even for someone who just moved there.

Improving Local Economy and Business Climate

Currently, South Pasadena is experiencing a healthy economy resulting from a vibrant local business climate conducive to small businesses and entrepreneurship growth.

The city, located near important business places like Downtown Los Angeles and Pasadena, also contributes to the economic prosperity of this area, offering many job and business development pursuits.

Local businesses also benefit from the presence of community-oriented policies and the community that supports shopping homes.

The business environment in South Pasadena encompasses Mission Street, full of unique boutiques and antique shops, as well as family-owned restaurants and cafes, which are one-of-a-kind and suitable for growth.

Accessibility and Transportation

Being well-connected and accessible, South Pasadena will likely attract commutes to Los Angeles and other cities. The Metro Gold Line light rail serves the city as a link between South Pasadena, Downtown Los Angeles, and the rest of San Gabriel Valley, giving commuters an easy and environmentally responsible way to use public transportation.

Find further information by visiting our website at https://southpasadenahomes.com/south-pasadena/.

[thereturnofsidsid03]

My Favourite Books ❤︎

In a growny-uppy way, so no Percy Jackson, John Green, Harry Potter, Mortal Instruments, Anna and the French Kiss, Hunger Games, Divergent, Goosebumps, The Clique etc.

The Girls by Emma Cline

"Emma Cline’s first novel, “The Girls” (Random House), is a song of innocence and experience—in ways that she has intended, and perhaps in ways that she has not. It’s a story of corruption and abuse, set in 1969, in which a bored and groundless California teen-ager joins a Manson-like cult, with bloody, Manson-like results."- James Wood for The New Yorker

I'm With the Band by Pamela Des Barres

"The stylish, exuberant, and remarkably sweet confession of one of the most famous groupies of the 1960s and 70s... Warm, witty, and sexy, this kiss-and-tell-all stands out as the perfect chronicle of one of rock 'n' roll's most thrilling eras."- Booktopia

Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann

"Valley of the Dolls is a zipper-ripper that has been called trashy, tawdry, glitzy, lusty, sordid and seamy — and that's just the beginning of its appeal. Susann was accused of "typing on a cash register," and Truman Capote called her "a truck driver in drag." She threw a drink at Johnny Carson, a punch at a critic and a chair at a wrestler, before jumping into the ring. All of it sold books."- Nancy Bachrach for NPR

Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton

"Glittering with wit and insight, heart and humor, Dolly Alderton’s unforgettable debut weaves together personal stories, satirical observations, a series of lists, recipes, and other vignettes that will strike a chord of recognition with women of every age—making you want to pick up the phone and tell your best friends all about it." - Goodreads

Black Swans by Eve Babitz

"She may be self-absorbed and occasionally insensitive, but to a certain extent, she is aware of her failings and brave enough to expose them to her reader wholesale along with her effervescent party commentary... Reading Eve Babitz is like eating cake for breakfast, like having a gossip over brunch with your best friend. Her short stories consider the pros and cons of black lacquered swimming pools, and let us peer into the dining room of the Bel Air Hotel where Babitz — tripping on LSD — and her boyfriend are so drunk they can barely stay in their seats. "- Lauren Sazaren for Los Angeles Review of Books

Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid

"Malibu Rising is a bloody great book. The kind of book you'll wish you could go back in time and experience for the first time all over again. It's got all the elements of a crackin' good novel - a page-turning plot, fully fleshed out, flawed, relatable characters, GOSSIP AND DRAMA, and little lessons you'll take with you long after you've read the final page." - Keryn Donnelly for Mamamia

Slow Days, Fast Company by Eve Babitz

"Imagine the incisive wit of Virginia Woolf mingling with the listlessness of Françoise Sagan—this is the work of Eve Babitz, an ingenue and poet. Her lyrical sensuality is both sexy and cerebral…this book sizzles with hedonistic abandon, sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll…it is the clarity of her language and her painterly style that cement her place in the pantheon of American literature." -Sarah Nasar,  British Airways High Life Magazine

I am certain that there is many I have forgotten but these are The Unforgettables.

[untilthenextencore]

Of Hopes & High Grace Pt. 1: Clearly: Up in the Canyons~...

~

~

Laurel Canyon, 1965~

Walking up the driveway into the house, from his tour around the grounds by the house's owner, Jimmy let his eyes scan the room. Turning left, he saw his date for the evening Jackie sitting in the pit - a sunken floor & seating area - chatting with one of their friends. He had come to the party with her that day. Jackie had been something of a regular or semi-regular presence in his life. They'd been on & off for a few months since working together both on her music, songs for others like Marianne Faithfull, or even his own attempts at solo work. Though the less said about that single, the better he figured now.

Turning right & taking a sip of his drink as he tried to clear that from his mind, he saw a bunch of kids dancing in the center of the living room. They weren't really kids, actually. Most looked about his age from what he could tell. They twisted & moved in front of large double glass doors that looked out on quite a view of the city below. The setting sun streamed in through the windows, starbursting over the dancing kids. One in particular caught his eye.

She was in a slim fitting sheath dress with a scoop neckline & a mottled shimmery watery blue & lagoon green print. The dress skimmed what he could surmise was a very alluring figure. Long dark hair flowing loose around her shoulders, tawny skin, a hint of cat's eye eyeliner framing two deep brown eyes. Full rosy cheeks. Even fuller berry rose lips. She laughed & clapped & spun about with an older male friend as the guitar in the song trilled.

Try as he might, Jimmy couldn't tear his eyes from her. She was lively. Spirited. Drop dead gorgeous. He simply had to get her name.

Nudging his host for the evening, he motioned to the dark sylph dressed in siren's blue & asked. "Who's she, mate?"

His host Tony turned to peer in her direction before smiling. "Ah, her? That's Mariella. She lives up here. Bought a house on Appian Way not too long ago. Made a few papers. Rather young for being a homeowner, she. Teenage homeowner. You know how papers eat that stuff up."

Jimmy nodded at that. He knew all too well. So she was a teenager, was she?

Tony explained further. "But she's more known for her music."

"Sings, does she?" Jimmy asked with a sip of his drink.

"Like an angel!" Tony nodded. "Though she sings mostly in Spanish. Mexican music & the like. Her father is a singer, too. A famous one in his field. Carlos Ignacio Alamilla. She sometimes used to tour with him. Now she goes between performances with him & her own local club gigs."

"I see..." Jimmy nodded, mulling over the many ways their similar lines of work might give him an in with her. "Mind introducing me then?"

To his surprise, Tony laughed.

"What's so funny?" Jimmy asked, half annoyed, half confused.

"Nothing. Except I feel I must warn you. You being new here & all you probably don't know. She's not too forthcoming with new people. Her father is extremely protective of her, with her being his only daughter. And even if you get past him, there's no promise you'll get anywhere with her. The running joke is that while most everyone's first word was "mama," hers was likely "no."

Jimmy snorted.

"It's true. Not to say she's mean. Just very careful in meeting new people. Wary even. Once you get to know her... If you get to know her... Once you get close... If you get close... You'll find she's a delight... Sweet girl... Just very shy I guess... Impossible not to love her, that one..."

"I see..." Jimmy breathed those words in a dragon's puff of cigarette smoke.

A delight...

Sweet girl...

Shy girl...

Indeed...

What's not to love?...

Jimmy contemplated everything he was told with another puff of his cigarette before asking it & announcing with a wry grin in yet another dragon's puff. "Well, now I have to meet her now don't I?"

"Alright." Tony drawled, placing a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. Don't say I didn't warn you. And don't be surprised if she's not as forthcoming with you. It takes her awhile to warm up." With that he led the way as he & Jimmy weaved their way through the crowd.

Each undulating body seemed to serve as a fluttering curtain. A momentary eclipse. All of it making it so as they neared Jimmy saw her move in sections. In snapshots. Rotoscope images that burned & swirled in his brain, searing themselves into the grey matter. Each fleeting glimpse only serving to intrigue & tantalize him more. The time it took for them to cross the few feet's distance they had to traverse, feeling like one long scene in slow motion. The music falling into silence. The silence cut only by the sound of his blood thumping in his temples. His heartbeat pounding like a drum of war.

Jimmy's mouth went suddenly dry. He swallowed hard. He could be wrong but he swore that lump he felt in his throat, if it wasn't his Adam's apple, might've been heart-shaped.

Just then, Tony's voice cut into his train of thought, slicing through the thumping silence. "Hey, Mariella."

Black hair fanned out as she whirled to face them cutting her dance short, before coming to rest framing her face as she turned.

Lovely face, Jimmy thought.

A look of confusion crossed her features before her eyes lit up in recognition. "Tony! There you are! I was wondering where you had gone off to!" She spoke in a bright voice colored with an indeterminate accent. "I knew you were here but I didn't see you. How are you?" She asked with a hug.

Perhaps, this would be easier than Tony said it would.

"Just fine, doll. And clearly you seem to be enjoying yourself too. Great mix of songs you brought this time as always!" Tony smiled & returned the hug warmly. "I've been looking for you too by the way. I have someone I want to introduce to you. He's a friend of mine."

"Oh?" She looked up at him with a curious pout.

"Mariella Alamilla may I introduce one of the latest English imports to hit our shores, A Mister James Patrick Page." Tony motioned to Jimmy, snickering at his own overly florid introduction.

She, Mariella, turned to face Jimmy, regarding him with the same curious pout. Indeed there was a touch of wariness edging those eyes as they scanned him guardedly. The young girl stayed close to Tony, anchoring herself to him amidst this stranger before her.

Now was the time.

Jimmy gave her his best disarming smile & extended a hand. "Pleasure to meet you. Call me Jimmy. And may I say you have a phenomenal taste in music. What's the name of the song if I may ask?"

"Pleasure's all mine I'm sure." Her voice was cool & soft as she placed her smaller hand in his lightly. Feathersoft. Fleeting, hesitant contact. None of that brightness & effusiveness that had been so evident in her chat with Tony. "And thank you. It's one of my favorites. It's called "El Boogie de la Guitarra" by Los Crazy Boys. Mexican Rock. Tony likes me to bring some music by artists he and the gang might not have heard of." She explained in a polite yet matter of fact tone.

Mariella had undergone a sudden transition. She went from alive & incandescent to hushed & removed. Her light still shone but now it flickered like a candle in a breeze. A light in the window of a tower, or at a high altar. Still burning. Still present. Still bright. Yet just out of reach. So near & yet so far.

So Tony was right after all! He WAS gonna have to work with this one. Interesting...

Bringing her hand to his lips he kissed the back, eliciting a jolt, soft gasp & the slight widening of eyes.

At least he could get some kind of reaction out of her. A delicious one at that.

Fighting a grin at the sight of her trying to reel in her reactions so & giving a soft curtsy in semi-formal / semi-playful response to his florid actions, he continued. "I hear from Tony you're in the music game too."

"Yes." She replied, still soft yet pointed. "I sing with my father at times & at other times do my own thing."

"Which is?..." Jimmy asked, maintaining his hold on her hand despite the momentary soft pull he felt. She attempted to retract her hand after the kiss, clearly expecting that to be it. Clearly, it wasn't though. And so her hand remained in his, his thumb rubbing the kiss-printed back as the rest of his hand swallowed hers whole & kept it there. Jimmy meanwhile did his best to distract her from this fact by adding. "Tony told me you sing Mexican music?"

"Yes." She nodded, swallowing hard herself. Clearly she was trying to ignore her nerves. Trying to ignore or quell the tremble in her hand that was locked in his. A fact he clearly reveled in. "I sing Mexicana with my older brother, father and his band. Banda. Boleros. Mariachi. That sort of thing. When on my own I sort of mix that with an indie kick. Maybe a little jazz. Maybe a little rock. Maybe something else. It all depends on my mood." Lifting her gaze from her hand in his & pinning him with a look that was at once both curious & cutting, she asked. "Do you sing too, Jimmy?"

He & Tony shared a knowing laugh. "Not really I'm afraid. I plan to stick to the guitar & maybe my art otherwise."

Tony nodded, explaining simply. "Jimmy went to art school before things really kicked off for him. He's now one of the most in demand session guitarists there is, doll!"

Jimmy did his best not to blush at the compliment. He didn't want to be too conspicuous. Though he had been content to remain silent up to this point, Jimmy saw that Tony's eyes had volleyed from Jimmy himself to Mariella and back like he were witness to the most captivating tennis match ever.

"Really now?" Jimmy heard the first lilt in her voice in what had been quite awhile. The light in her eyes flickered anew. The corner of her sweet mouth lifted as she asked. "That seems to be quite a frequent occurrence. Tell me, Mr. Page, do all you Englishmen flock to art school before you hit the music scene?"

Both he & Tony laughed again. "Boy if it don't seem like that sometimes, huh?" Tony nudged Jimmy, grazing him with an elbow to the ribs.

"Yeah it does. A lot of us sure seem to but it's not like a dead set rule or anything." Jimmy smiled as he met her gaze. His laughter crinkled eyes were met with a gaze that was still just as inscrutable as it was penetrating even as little flames of mirth danced in her eyes & in the corners of her soft, wry smile.

Where had he seen such a look before?

He couldn't put a finger on it.

Shaking out of that thought, he added with a soft pat to her hand, still locked in his, with his free one. "In any case I do hope I'll get the honor and pleasure to hear you sing while I'm here."

"Maybe you will." Tony smiled.

Though Jimmy's gaze hardly left Mariella, Jimmy could still catch the barest glimpse of him signaling to someone off to the side.

Another soft curtsy by the young lovely in the blue dress followed, recapturing Jimmy's full attention. "I hope you still find it such a pleasure afterwards if you do."

Jimmy was sure he'd indeed find her such a pleasure.

In more ways than one.

Just then Jimmy found his attentions pulled to his side as a certain familiar blonde, curled her way around him, linking arms with him.

It was Jackie.

"Jimmy..." She drawled, snapping her gum sharply. "Where've you been. I've been looking everywhere for you. And who's this?" He saw her eyes scan Mariella warily.

Mariella for her part barely flinched. Her features hardly changed. One eyebrow lifted in the barest perk as her head tilted slightly. "Nice to see you again, Jackie. How've you been? Haven't seen you since the last music show we did together. Hope you've been well." Her voice was as ever cool, controlled & polite. Where some would fight fire with fire, she clearly preferred to ice out the flames entirely. And rather aptly at that. Smooth.

"Oh hi, Jackie. Tony was just showing me around & introducing me to people." Jimmy explained as coolly as possible.

"I see..." She cast a nonplussed look his way before turning to regard the dusky brunette once more. "Ah, Marie-Ella..." Jackie cooed, breaking her name up in some sort of southern double name special like her own government name was. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you!" Her voice was super sweet as she laid it on as thick as honey. Though try as she might she still came off as something a little short of genuine in her apology & attempts to ingratiate.

Had she always been this cloying?, Jimmy thought.

"Long time no see indeed!" Jackie giggled. "How's the eighth grade? Or is it ninth now? It's been such a long time I just can't keep track."

It was then that Jimmy & Mariella's hold on each other broke.

Eighth grade?

Ninth?

What was that in terms of forms again?

Jimmy cast a stunned look at Mariella who just shrugged.

"Actually I'm in high school now, thanks for asking." She replied matter of factly. Calm. Cool. Collected. Sweet & smooth. "How's the school of life treating you, Jackie? Well, I hope." There went that soft yet inscrutable stare.

Jackie just scoffed & smacked her gum again. "Well enough thanks." Then tugging on Jimmy's arm, she announced. "Jimmy let's go. I have some people I want you to meet."

Before he could think to respond with more than a mere. "Wait, Jackie. Wait..." Mariella gave him a playful salute with two fingers to her temple.

"See you around then. Bye you two."

And with that, she & Tony disappeared into the crowd as Jackie pulled him away.

~

As ever this is forever under construction~!

Hope you guys enjoy~!

[mrscamillerowe]

CAMILLE ROWE U ALWAYS BE FAMOUS! Look to the last post of New york times Kittens. Is about Harry and Camille

I just looked it up and saw the New York Times article! Camille was spotted again at the Beachwood Cafe a few months ago as well. Harry singing about the cafe in one of his songs definitely popularized the place. Ultimately, she has very good taste so I would trust that it is nice. She gained more of a following when she was with Harry. I am personally a fan of his, but Camille and Harry have been separated for a long time now. Fine Line is a masterpiece though and my favorite album from him. She influenced him in many ways and they both share a love of art and eclectic music too. At the end of the day, I am just glad that people have stopped their hatred toward her. She is a very nice person to our knowledge. She seems like a joy to be around! If you want to read the article kittens I will link it below!

[princess-of-the-corner]

on fast food/restaurants: there's so much diversity in many areas (esp in more urban/populated cities) it's kind of wild when i stop to think about it. around where i grew up there's a Chinese bakery that's across the street from a taqueria that's down the street from a sandwich shop/cafe that sells bahn mi and pho and even further down there's a Filipino restaurant. that's also not counting fusion type food places that sell food that's a mix of a couple or many different cultures because the owners/chefs are of mixed race and they wanna share food from their mixed heritage. or specialty places like places that cater only to vegans/vegitarians.

even with fast food places there's like, places that are only in certain regions. i think they're expanding but an example is how in-and-out diners are only found in the west coast of the US. i think chain fast food places are more common in like, famous cities like NYC or Los Angeles because tourists = more people = more money. but also if you're really low on cash, eating from the McDonalds $1 menu for a few days is more appealing than spending a lot of money on groceries and going below your bank balance, esp when you have bills and whatnot.

Oh yeah there's defintely some regional fast food places because there are ones that I've only seen on road trips not local