#i spent like 2 hours writing this so might as well put it in the main tags

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I don't have a lot of energy these days [because of The Horrors] so I'm looking at my day and my priorities and trying to plan how I'm going to spend what energy I have, because I do need to be able to rest and relax but there are also things that need doing and that is a careful balance for me.

I managed to [mostly] clean the kitchen last night so I've kicked it out of the priority list until next weekend. Unfortunately the living room, bathroom, bedroom, and my office all need cleaning too. I think of the priorities, my office and the bedroom are the most important to me, so I'll probably push the living room and bathroom until at least Friday.

There's also the laundry. I don't have any clean clothes and as we're moving into winter I need to be more rigid about getting that done because days where the clothes can be dried on the line will be more limited. So I definitely need to wash an outfit or two and hang them up in the next hour.

That's already a really busy day, so I'll probably cut it there. But it's definitely going to still leave me a lot of work this week. Half my cleaning, at least one more round of laundry, settling dog food for the next couple of weeks, planting the fall/winter greens, doing some set up work on my computer, work on some writing projects, cleaning out the fridge, and patching some worn clothes. My work week isn't insane atm, but it is definitely limiting. Right now I have 6+4+0+4+2+5+5= 25 non work/non-survival needs (sleep, food, shower, etc) hours available each week. I need to figure out a regukar distribution of these that means everything is getting done and I still have an hour a day to myself as often as possible. I think it's probably not realistic to give myself more than an hour a day for free time/fun, which is a bit unfortunate because I've found in the past that my floor tends to be getting 2-3hrs of free time most days because of how I deal with transition and decision-making.

25-7 [1hr per day] is 18 hrs, so I just need to decide where and how to distribute those in order to keep pace with things.

Lets say the garden needs 3hrs per week, the laundry needs 4 hours (specifically 2 sets of 2 morning/early afternoon hours), the cleaning needs an hour a day to get through a maintenance clean of the house, and 3 hours once a week to work down any deep cleaning that's built up. Which is....already three more hours than I actually have each week. So I guess I'll make a plan to work in the garden for 20-40min of 4 of my free hours each week.

It really doesn't leave me any wiggle room. Only about 4 hours a week that isn't explicitly allotted to something that needs doing, which means there will probably me a lot of weeks where I only get an hour or so at best across the whole thing for free time. I guess I've had a hard time accepting that at this point, having actual time for myself or a time-intensive project is only available if I've taken a day off work. I love my job, but it's ... not comfortable to realize that it's the only love in my life I actually have time for anymore.

I think that's probably why I end up here so much. It's this mindless little way of zoning out into my own head, dissociating away from the exhaustion, for a few minutes at a time. I keep thinking I want to use this space differently, make it more if the things I enjoy. But I think what I really want is just to actually have the time and energy to do things I love that take work. I keep crying a few times every day and I couldn't figure out why, but like

I dunno

Why **wouldn't** I cry a little every day? It's the closest I'm getting to actual emotional release or relaxation in my life. We'd probably all cry. Heck. A lot of us probably DO, capitalism being what it is.

I guess I'm starting to wonder why I'm doing what I'm doing. What is there left for me to sacrifice to this life? What is actually serving me about not just letting myself go up like a fireball and take my surroundings with me? What in the ever loving fuck am I fighting this hard for?

All I ever want, all I want now, is to be able to live. To really, actually live. How does wanting to live bring you this close to killing yourself, whether on accident or on purpose? What am I actually doing that is LIVING and what am I doing that is FACILITATION of living? It can't all be facilitation, or I'm not actually facilitating fuck all.

I'm 30 goddamn years old and I need to figure out what it looks like to actually love my life. I fundamentally refuse to zombify myself like this for everyone else around me forever.

[triedpklove]

Screenshots of the boy? I'd love to see how bad CF screwed the pooch.

So one of the main things in regards to how Roy has been written since day 1 is how he has always valued his work over himself and others -- ESPECIALLY its impact on the world. This has been fact since Calamity Trigger as shown in his side story, The Diary:

"Why do they not understand, why doesn't [Kokonoe, who is referred to as 'that woman' throughout] understand? As I've already said, this is a discovery that was lurking in the blind spot of our research. When it's the genius talking, and because a lot was said that today I feel it deeply. I definitely feel it. Firstly, only taking a light glance at it, then rejecting it as if some kind of dirt had touched it. Have you seriously stopped to think about it? It's possible. So why deny that possibility exists? If you have an answer within you then prove it to me. Something has to be done about that strange person. I've always felt that that woman is a strange one. Even if due to the deparment's spike in ability she may be a genius but that is different. In spite of being called a god that woman is useless. That woman is useless."

"Today I composed my thoughts once more. Today I had a little doubt about the design of the patterns so I omitted several vital parts in the previous entries. Right now humanity is flowing like blood, I'll explain now. It's become like this. Firstly about anti-seithr, it's the same phenomenon as the phenomenon of the Ars Magus phenomenon. To compensate for this ___ definitely the dangerous Azure which no one has noticed I'd do it once, eventually I want to skillfully, skillfully, do it. I'll have to discreetly do _______ thing ____ and that ______ was unexpected. Different from Ars Magus. Different from those Library vermin's Ars Magus. The huge Azure and azure's ______ bursts open, and the relief that forms quickly grows big, definitely rarely big so you cannot not notice it. Drawing near is dangerous, so first I have to extract that from the rear. It's directly close to the spine.If I rush there I'll die, that's for certain. After I extract the Azure ______ I'd really like to do that. I'll certainly have finally reached. I explained it with all my heart and soul, but no one is listening? to me it seems. So then I should just gently delete everyone. Gentlygentlygently_______"

Day 35 and 51 respectively.

The fact that he's so desperate to prove himself to others, ESPECIALLY KOKONOE, is the whole reason he injected himself with seithr in the first place. He wanted to prove to Kokonoe his work was worth something, even if that meant causing harm in the process.

As much as I dislike what Collisions did to Roy's backstory (as I find the idea of him being physically infected by seithr and melting into Arakune rather than him just simply. falling into the boundary and becoming Arakune more compelling and more terrifying) it did give us more insight on his character and his intentions past the little we knew from his diary and the occasional flashback we see as we play through Litchi's POV as well as her POV in Borderline and Kokonoe's POVs in That Which is Inherited.

Continued under the cut so my mega autism doesn't clog up people's dashes.

(lol, foreshadowing)

(All screenshots above are from Collisions.)

...I think that's more than enough to prove Roy's true mission and what he envisioned his work to become. And with both ways he was written, he both becomes victim to his own hubris -- whether it be him injecting himself with seithr or infusing himself with seithr via smelting. He has thrown all ethics out the window for his own research and has ruined relationships as he did so. (Although his relationship with Litchi is better detailed in Borderline.)

And then we get to Centralfiction.

Before you read this, you may think to yourself, "Oh, CF is simply a different scenario brought about by the Embryo! It makes sense that the writing would be different!" And yeah, you may be write, but in no way does it excuse it from ruining the character arcs we just saw build up throughout the past 3 games. It's pure salt in the wound and considering Centralfiction is the most fresh in a lot of BB story fans' minds it's frustrating to see a character/characters who have already been mistreated by interesting writing choices have their entire arcs ruined by some stupid AU plotline.

Honestly, I could go on forever about my opinion on this scene in it's entirety (and I have, here are some fun links) but all I really have to send is this picture:

For good measure, let's read that bottom line again:

Does that not... entirely go against literally everything I have just established previously? In this context, he's essentially telling Litchi to kill Arakune as he's okay with staying in the Boundary because the self satisfaction of studying the Boundary from the inside is more important to him than others seeing the fruits of his labor. Which entirely goes against his entire character that he has built up from Calamity Trigger until now. If you would like to watch the full scene, here is a link.

Roy is a very well written character, especially when in conjunction to Arakune, Litchi, and Kokonoe/Tager. I could very much go on more about how Centralfiction and it's decisions also destroyed the dynamic/friendship between Kokonoe but that would be another mile long post. So, I will instead share these two win quotes from Kokonoe -- one from Chronophantasma, and one from Centralfiction respectively:

"You've been infused with an Artificial Causality Weapon? Roy…"

vs.

"Kokonoe here. I've captured Lotte Carmine. Get him to my lab. Stat."

She doesn't even call him Roy.

Maybe I'll do another post detailing his relationship with Kokonoe but for now I have Japanese homework due in 30 minutes I need to get done. Hopefully this is a sufficient explanation on my opinions regarding Roy's writing in Centralfiction and how they dropped the ball on it horribly.

[wordstome]

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Pregnant!Reader Headcanons Part 2

I had a blast writing part 1, so here's some more headcanons of reader progressing through their pregnancy!

Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Implied Smut

- He doesn't have a pregnancy kink per say, but... seeing you pregnant with his child does things to him that he can't even begin to put into words. He's always found you beyond gorgeous, of course, it's just that now it borders on literal worship. Said worship will be expressed quite physically on a daily basis; he'll slide his hands over your middle, leave trails of kisses up and down your body, and catch himself staring multiple times even before the two of you get out of bed each morning. He can't even really believe that you've somehow managed to get more beautiful, but he'll consistently try to describe the depths of his devotion in song, gifts, and countless hours spent adoring your presence.

- He'll want to start preparing for all baby related events as soon as possible, in part because the arrival of another heir is going to be quite the occasion, but he also just wants everything to go perfectly. The official announcement will come with multiple days of celebration across Hell, including a massive party in the castle itself, and each event that follows will somehow manage to top the last. You'll get enough gifts to fill up multiple rooms, and so many cards with well wishes you could fill up an entire library, but Lucifer expects nothing less. Every ounce of his considerable power is dedicated to making sure you get the best of everything. This dedication also applies to the little things the two of you do together, like decorating the baby's room. He'll insist on hand crafting the furniture, the toys, and every decoration with you directing at his side, and he'll use the most magical materials at his disposal. Hand painting the walls with stardust is not out of the question.

- Things have changed a lot since Charlie was born, and he was previously unaware of the many technological advancements now available for expecting couples, specifically ultrasounds. He's amazed and wants to attend every appointment even more at the prospect of actually seeing your child before they're born. Of course, upon beholding the lopsided blob on the screen for your first check up, he's far more overwhelmed than he could have ever imagined. He can see little hooves and everything! The doctor doesn't quite know what to make of the King near to weeping at the sight of a being no larger than a peanut, but you take it all in stride. Once he finds out that pictures can be taken of the scans, he requests as many as he can carry, and his pockets are bursting with photos of Charlie and her not-yet-born sibling. He'll show them to everyone that does and doesn't ask.

- While he can be overly protective and his efforts to provide for you are more akin to spoiling, he's not at all without cause in doing so; carrying a child of Lucifer is no easy task. As your body becomes the epicenter for a developing power beyond imagination, you'll need him by your side with increasing frequency, especially once the baby's uncontrolled magic starts surging and affecting your reality. You'll be unharmed, but it's still quite nice to have Archangel level powers around to get things back to normal once you start inexplicably walking up the walls, speaking in dead languages or levitating random items with a glance. He takes it all in stride with humorous stories about how Charlie did the same before her arrival, though your cravings for increasingly esoteric rare foods do have him apologizing for the inconveniences of angelic biology, as even he needs a few days to acquire the rarer items your body demands.

- As delighted as he is to have another child, he can't help but be haunted by doubts of all he's done wrong as a father so far. No matter how much of it was out of his control, he fears everything that went wrong will happen again, and that he might just be gaining a second child to fail. It's only through your loving reassurance that he retains some faith in himself, and dares to believe he'll be a halfway decent dad to two children.

[ariascoven]

⟡ LOST BUNNY PT.2

PAIRING : salem!agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : female reader. petnames (bunny, dear, darling). soft agatha. mentions of homophobia.

WORD COUNT : 4.3k

A/N : sorry for not posting for i-don't-know-how-long, i hate everything i write these days lmao this has been sitting on my drafts for ages until i decided to let it out of the cave. i mostly have the energy to make bots as they're waayyyy shorter than fics so i end up making a bunch, sorry

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE | C.AI BOT

The sound of birds happily chirping filled your ears the moment you stepped outside of your small, humble little home while carrying your picnic basket. Your mother had asked you to go fetch some apples for the pie she planned on making. Somehow, she managed to get all the ingredients needed beforehand, but forgot the damned apples — for an apple pie. At least you knew where your forgetful nature came from.

As you wandered through the woods in silence, you couldn't help but remember your first and last encounter with Agatha Harkness. A hidden, secret part of you buried deep within your being hoped, perhaps even wished that you would bump into the witch again, but your dreams never became reality. During every mind clearing stroll you took at night, your eyes darted around anxiously, scanning the surroundings and trying to find the brunette with a smug grin on her face, her pretty face illuminated by the moonlight and stars above. If anyone saw you in that state, they would assume you were afraid of what lurked in the dark, when in reality you were looking for Salem’s most feared witch.

It was ridiculous, to say the least. Months had passed ever since the unexpected meeting occured, it was now summer and the snow you had stepped on in the company of the young witch had melted completely ages ago. But the feeling of her hands on your waist seemed to have burned onto your skin, making it impossible to forget the warmth of her touch. You could still feel her, hear her... hell, you could still smell her. You often tried to convince yourself that she had put a spell on you that day, and that you were not absolutely smitten. But you knew the truth, no matter how much you didn't want to admit it — you were utterly fucked. You had met her once and had a brief conversation that was infuriating, to say the least, and that was enough to make you fall. Well, she also gave you a coat.

It might be important to note that your plan to make up an excuse about the piece of clothing to tell your mother failed completely. You weren't able to come up with anything before you reached the worn out door of your house, where you were met with the familiar sight of an upset old lady that noticed her daughter was missing from the warmth of her bed hours ago and decided to wait for the rebellious creature and demand an explanation. You had no friends, so you couldn't say it was a gift from one. For obvious reasons, you couldn't say you had bought it yourself as your mother knew that in your condition, buying a great coat like the one you had on was nothing but an impossible, silly dream.

So you had no choice but tell her the truth you wished to keep hidden, all of it. You spent almost a whole hour sitting on a chair, your head downcast shamefully as your mother scolded you, her voice laced with nothing but pure disappointment and annoyance. “She's a witch, for God's sake! She killed her own mother and the rest of her coven! Why would you even look her way? And even more accept this so-called gift?” However, she allowed you to keep the coat, knowing it was warmer and better quality than your entire wardrobe combined. Filled with guilt and shame, you gave your dear old mother a kiss on the forehead and assured her you would keep your distance if you ever stumbled upon the witch again. What a lie.

Crouched down picking a few berries you had found, you hummed a random tune you had never heard before. The berries were not what your mother had asked of you, but you shrugged it off, allowed to easily fetch the apples afterwards. The basket was big enough to fit all without a problem, and extra fruit was never a problem — you were sure your mother would be excited to make something out of the berries, anyway. You let out a satisfied hum at the amount you had picked, ascending from the crouching position. When you turned around, a yelp escaped your lips the moment you saw her. “Agatha!” Your eyes were comically wide as you exclaimed, face growing warmer at the realization you weren't even able to try and hide your excitement.

“Hello, bunny. You seem pleased to see me.” God, the way you missed her voice was nothing but pathetic. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes in a failed attempt to seem unbothered, but unfortunately, you were not an actress. A smirk appeared on the brunette’s face when she took notice of the subtle pink dusting your cheeks. “Ah, there is no need to respond. Not with that adorable blush saying everything.” When you looked up at her, your bottom lip was curled up ever so slightly, forming an adorable pout that made Agatha feel unwanted things — the flutter in her stomach being one of them, for example.

She stepped closer to you until the tips of your boots were touching hers, hand reaching up to rub her thumb across your bottom lip in a gentle caress. Almost instinctively and definitely against your will, your mouth fell open at the touch. You wished you could pull away and keep your distance from her, there was nothing you wished more. But something about the young woman pulled you in like a moth to a flame — a dangerously enchanting flame that made you crave more of its touch, no matter how much it threatened to burn and swallow you whole.

“How did you find me?” Your question came out as a breathless sound and you cursed yourself mentally at the poor attempt to hide the undeniable shakiness in your voice. Your knuckles hurt from the way you were gripping the basket as you tried to mask how much you were trembling — and you weren't entirely sure why. Maybe from excitement. Maybe from anxiety. Maybe from a mix of both. You noticed the way Agatha’s gaze seemed to search for yours more and more insistently the longer you avoided eye contact. She opened her mouth to respond with what you expected to be another snarky remark of hers, but she faltered, mouth quickly closing.

However, she didn't take much time to compose herself, that wicked and familiar grin returning to her lips and sending shivers down your spine. Considering how surprisingly hot the weather was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. And exactly the way you remembered them to be. You lost count of how many times you had harshly rubbed your sponge against the places she had touched on your body during your long baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared and you were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

Considering how hot it was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained surprisingly cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. Exactly the way you remembered. You lost count of how many times you harshly rubbed your sponge on the places she had touched on your body during your baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared. Before bed, waking up, while taking strolls around the town but mostly, in the woods you had your first meeting at. You were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

“What? You think I found you because I wanted to?” She replied, the mocking evident in the tone of her voice and her raised eyebrow. With the proximity between your faces, you could almost taste the sarcasm that dripped from her lips. “It was simply a funny coincidence, my dear.” Your eyes scanned her face for any signs of honesty and widened the moment she leaned closer, her nose touching yours. The only thing you were able to do was hold your breath and anticipate her next move.

There was no way she was going to kiss you, right? Although the answer was pretty much clear, you couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that flashed through your eyes when all she did was chuckle low in her throat and pull away, taking a few steps backwards to put some sort of distance between your bodies. It was funny, the way you wanted that distance so badly at first but now it brought a frown so big to your face that missing it wasn't even a possibility.

Your eyes followed her gaze as she glanced down and towards the basket your hands were clutching. Or rather, the fingers that were a deep shade of red, knuckles turning white from the sheer force you put into holding the small object out of nervousness without even realizing it. You hadn't even realized the way you could barely feel your hands due to the gesture. You let out a loud groan full of frustration, deciding it was a better idea to hang it onto your arm instead of gripping it. Agatha’s curious (or rather, nosy) eyes focused on the content inside of the basket. “Berries…” She muttered quietly, and you weren't sure if she meant for you to hear it.

“Yes, berries.” You repeated as you eyed her curiously, her gaze never faltering from the fruits. It should be illegal to say Agatha Harkness looked adorable, but she did. Her unusual demeanor and sparkling eyes made you tilt your head aside as if the simple gesture would help you solve the current mystery — why would an evil witch become so seemingly excited over some stupid berries? You clicked your tongue in thought before grabbing a few and putting your hand out. “Do you…?” You don't finish the sentence, instead looking at your palm then back at Agatha as you trailed off. There was a pause. Then, she nodded, snatching the fruits from your hands and shoving them down her mouth. Your eyes widened at her enthusiasm, but the surprise soon turned into amusement and you let out a small chuckle, shaking your head.

Agatha’s gaze moved back up towards you, and it was difficult to take her seriously with the way her eyebrows were furrowed and lips were stained red from the berries — like a child who is still learning how to eat properly. “What are you laughing at?” She almost growled. It was clear to see that the witch was trying to seem menacing and scary, as she always did. But unfortunately for her, it seems looking evil when your eyes are shining with happiness while your mouth is full is incredibly hard. You waved a dismissive hand and shook your head once more as your giggles died down, a sigh falling from your lips. She looked at you with suspicion, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Your face scrunched up slightly. “What?” She questioned, sounding rather annoyed.

“You just don't know how to not make a mess, huh?” You nagged with the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on your lips as you grabbed the checkered fabric your mother had given you to cover the fruit basket and that was long forgotten. You handed it to her — handed as in shoved it into her hand and gestured towards her mouth with a wave of your hand. “Clean that up, you are looking more like a toddler rather than a feared witch.” The sight of Agatha Harkness herself frowning pathetically was the most amusing thing you had ever seen in your life. You pushed away the thoughts of how cute she looked as you watched her clean her lips and cheeks grumpily. When she tried to give the piece of fabric back to you, you pushed it back against her chest. “Keep it. As a treat.” You joked, continuing your mission to find apples for your mother’s pie.

Agatha snickered and her lips curled up into an amused smirk at your comfortableness in teasing her, being ao used to people running away from her for simply being her. She stayed behind and watched as your figure continued the path, the dark shade of purple of her dress contrasting with the hint of red from the fabric you gave her, poking out of her pocket after she had folded it lazily and shoved it there. For Agatha’s immense displeasure, you were an incredibly fast walker, but she quickly caught up to you.

Her arms were behind her back and she whistled in feigned innocence, strolling just a few steps behind you. You rolled your eyes as you heard the melody, but a smile was playing on your lips. Your mother would kill you if she found out about this, about you hanging out with the woman you promised her to keep your distance from. You quickly pushed those thoughts away the moment you saw the apple trees ahead, full of life and covered in sweetness. As you stepped closer, a gasp fell from your lips at how beautifully red the fruits looked. “Ah, mother will love those!” You exclaimed happily, mostly to yourself, an arm stretching to grab the apples that were in a level where you could reach.

Harkness grabbed one of the juicy fruits as well, bringing it to her nose and inhaling the marvelous scent with an approving hum. “These look delicious. You said your mother will love them?” She raised an eyebrow with curiosity-filled eyes, leaning back against the tree nonchalantly and taking a bite out of the apple she held in her hand. You hummed and nodded in agreement, side eyeing her for just a split second as you continued to fill the basket. “Well, do you think your mother would be so kind as to spare me some apples?” She said playfully, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic manner. You scoffed.

“Well, my mother made me promise I would never talk to you again. Want to take a guess?” You didn't look at her as you spoke, but you could practically see the frown on her face with the way she let out a long, annoyed hum. “Don't take it personally, she would make me promise to stay away from any witch ever.” You tried to sugarcoat it, even though you knew she probably didn't care at all. There was a pause.

Without a word, she stared at you with suspicious interest, those icy blue orbs roaming over your figure as she studied you with narrowed eyes, seemingly trying to find the final piece of a puzzle she longed to solve. “Mind telling me why you are breaking the promise you made to your dear mother, then?” The question came out quietly, as if it was a secret that no one other than you two were allowed to hear. Your movements faltered, hand freezing just as your fingers had wrapped around the last apple that was on your reaching level. You cleared your throat, finally snatching the fruit and shoving it inside the picnic basket.

“I guess,” you began, the almost whispered words leaving your lips slowly as you contemplated what you should say. “Your company doesn't bother me. Much.” You looked her way as you put emphasis on the last part, which elicited a chuckle from her. The brunette observed as you moved next to her and leaned against the tree before sliding down until you were sitting on the grass. You placed the basket on your lap and stretched out your legs with a long and loud groan.

After a moment, Agatha repeated your movement and plopped down onto the ground while holding her skirt securely. Your gaze fell upon the fabric you had given her poking out of the pocket of her dress and then moved up back to her face. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw her already staring at you, her palm supporting her chin as her elbow rested on top of her knees, which were pulled against her chest. Your mind wandered back to your first encounter, in which she had said she wasn't an ordinary girl, nor like you. But seeing her like this, so calm and quiet, she really did look like just an ordinary 18 year old girl.

A hand dived inside the basket and grabbed a few more berries before handing them to Agatha, who gratefully accepted the offer. An unexpectedly comfortable silence washed over the two of you as the witch ate calmly — this time, taking her time to savor the sweet taste. The gentle breeze made her hair sway subtly, and you thought the sight was breathtaking. Fists clenched around the fabric of your skirt as you tried to hold back from the sudden urge to just… touch her. Make sure she was real, that she really was there with you. Since you never saw the young woman after your first encounter, your mind had became a mess of thoughts as you wondered if what happened in the woods actually did happen or was just a fever dream — a fever dream that felt a bit too real.

“Why so many apples, anyway?” The sound of her voice breaking the soothing silence forced you to come back to reality and turn to face her, confusion splattered across your features. She gestured to the basket with a nod of her head, noticing the way you looked lost in thought as she handed you the last berry she had in her hand. “So many apples. Are you baking something?” She didn't miss the way you took and ate the fruit in agonizingly slow movements, as if you were doing anything to not answer the question. She didn't blame you, she was used to it — and she didn't miss the hint of regret that flashed through your eyes when you mentioned your mother earlier. People had always warned you, saying that you should be careful when giving any information to witches, no matter how unimportant it might be. But before she could open her mouth to say you didn't need to give her an answer, you finally spoke up.

“My mother is.” You answered simply, the sound of your voice coming out as a quiet, almost shameful confession as you leaned your head back against the tree and looked up at the leaves hanging from the branches above. “I'm a disaster.” She raised a brow at your statement, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she waited for you to give more details. You looked at her and let out a small giggle. “I'm not exaggerating — I wish I was, but I'm literally banned from the kitchen at home.” The loud laughter that escaped the witch’s lips as she threw her head back forced a smile out of you, the sound making something flutter inside you.

“You— oh, goodness! Are you serious?” She panted out between giggles and laughed even more after you nodded in confirmation, her hand moving to clutch her side as she felt the threat of a cramp forming. “I'm gonna get a side cramp!”

There was only one word to describe your state as you watched the scene unfolding in front of you, and that word was fascinated. Was it weird to be obsessed with someone's laugh? Maybe it was, maybe you were weird, after all. But you simply couldn't help it, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as the cutest sound left her lips. The so-called evil witch, Agatha Harkness, rather a monster than a woman, a girl, even, that had no feelings nor a heart, laughing so beautifully. You lost count of how many beats your heart skipped, pink lips parting in pure awe. God, you wished you could paint her at that moment, eyes scanning over her features in an attempt to memorize it. She seemed to notice your behavior, her laughter dying down as her face twisted into an intrigued expression. You felt a blush dusting your cheeks at being caught, a shy smile appearing on your face before you looked away, gaze focusing on the ground instead.

She tilted her head to the side then scooted closer to you, so close you could feel her leg resting comfortably against yours. You felt your cheeks heat up at the simple touch, and you mentally cursed yourself for being so easily affected by the woman — although a part of you knew anyone would be if they were in your shoes. Her face leaned closer to yours as she searched for your eyes, and when they met hers, she smiled. It made your heart skip several beats. It wasn't her usual smug grin or teasing smirk, no. It was a genuine and beautiful smile, and you were sure you could die happily at that moment, with the sight in front of you as the last thing you saw before the curtains closed. “You're so shy all of a sudden. Was it something I did, darling?”

Darling. God, the sweet names she called you made you crave her even more. You wondered if she only called you those things, or if she did it with everyone, ignoring the way you hated the simple thought of the second option being correct. “It's just—” you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, stopping yourself from speaking any further. More silence. Your body was set on fire when the familiar coldness of her fingers lingered against your skin as she brushed a lost strand of hair behind your ear, and you noticed the way she seemed to touch you for a bit longer than considered necessary. You cleared your throat, feeling a lump forming. “Your laugh.” You said simply, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Didn't expect to like the sound of it this much.” Crap. Your eyes widened as soon as the unwanted words left your mouth against your will.

She let out an amused, soft chuckle. “Didn't expect to hear me laugh, hm?” She asked teasingly, her hand now resting on your shoulder.

Agatha looked stunned, perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told her in ages — perhaps, even in her entire life. You couldn't believe your eyes as you took notice of the light, almost unnoticeable shade of pink that appeared on Agatha’s cheeks. The hand on your shoulder slid down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake. It settled next to your own hand that rested on top of the basket laying on your lap. Your whole body tingled when her pinky brushed against yours in a teasing touch. You finally had the courage to look up at Agatha again, butterflies forming on your stomach at the way your gazes met and the small, maybe shy smile that she sent your way. Your hand was shaking with nervousness, but that wasn't enough to stop you from linking your pinky with hers.

A small gasp escaped from Agatha’s lips at the gentle gesture, gaze darting down to your entwined fingers. The moment your head came to rest on her shoulder was the moment the witch realized that you would be the death of her — but she would never complain, laying her head against yours. You stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity, simply relishing in each other’s company and touch, the comfortable silence from earlier making an appearance once again. “To be fair with you, I didn't expect to enjoy your company as much, either.” She finally broke the silence, voice sounding so soft it was hard to believe it came from Agatha Harkness herself. Your mind was racing and heart thumping against your chest so fast you really thought you would have a heart attack for a split moment.

That's when you remembered why you had even left your house that day — apples, pie, your mother who awaited you at home. You hesitated before breaking the contact and ascending from the ground, dusting off the skirt of your dress. Agatha frowned at the lost touch and repeated the movements with a hint of annoyance. The sun was starting to set and your lips pursed into a firm line upon realization you would get a scolding when you got back home. “It's getting late, Agatha. I should really go now. Mother would be furious if I took any longer.” The pang of sadness and disappointment at the words leaving your own lips stung like hell. Realizing Agatha wasn't going to say anything in response, just staring at you with an unreadable expression on her face, you stepped closer to her and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the soft skin of her cheek.

You turned on your heels and started walking away, fighting the urge to glance back over your shoulder, knowing that looking at her would make you turn back around. What if it took even longer to see the witch again than the first time did? What if your mother found out? Not only would you feel her anger for breaking your promise, she would be even angrier at the way you were so affectionate with another woman. You had mentioned your attraction towards women to her briefly once, but quickly learned to never do it again and pretend it was just a mistake, something your confused mind made you believe was real. But it never went away, and it never would. But you hid yourself with bitterness, being the good example of a daughter you always had been. The sound of the familiar voice snapped you away from your thoughts, body whipping around to face the young woman.

“Shall I see you again?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as she questioned and took a small, hesitating step forward, which did nothing to the still significant distance between the two of you. You couldn't help the bright smile that formed on your face, nodding enthusiastically in response. She smiled back, a hint of something that looked like relief playing across her features. The realization made you feel special, worthy.

“Tomorrow, same place and time?” Agatha’s heart raced at your words and she nodded slowly, trying the best she could to hide her happiness. Never in her life did she expect to be smitten by a woman she met twice. But, oh, she was. Unbeknownst to you, during your time away, Agatha also couldn't stop thinking about you. Her mind wandered back to your first encounter more times than she could count, and knowing she would see you again filled her with an unfamiliar sense of happiness. She couldn't wait to see you again, waving goodbye even as you turned your back to her.

[guttednights]

your bar.

You've worked in the same bar for the past 3 years. It's fairly common for military men to come in and get drinks together. It's always soap, gaz, price, and the one in a mask.

One night you finally speak to the guy in the skull mask. "your name is?" as he looks at you, his cold eyes lighten.

"ghost," he said gruffly when soap elbowed him, he shot soap a glare and sighed making eye contact with you. "Simon. simon Riley." he gruffs.

you can't help but smile. "well then Simon Riley. want your usual?"

"Please," he says coldly

you and your friend spent the rest of the night talking about simon. "god i dont know what it is about him but." "jeez.."

"oh ew! shut up" your friend replies walking to the other side of the bar

you giggle "ah cmon, its not as nasty as you and your thing for that old one.

she giggles. "price is hot because hes a gentle man. simon just looks like he could hurt anyone."

"thats what i like" "feels like hed go to jail for me"

She rolls her eyes "okay mrs delusional."

the next few days some tension between you and simon grew. he cant keep his eyes off you. your literal eyecandy to him. and you notice.

"sarah he keeps staring" you say entering the back to "refill something"

she squeals. "girl hes so into you!"

you roll your eyes, "oh whatever."

Later that night soap walks up to the bar,

"hey y/n, you know my big friend Simon? ya he wants ye number"

your heart practically stops beating. "uh.. yeah sure here" You quickly write it on a napkin and hand it to him. you watch as soap runs away like a schoolgirl giggling to Simon as he hands it to him.

the whole rest of the night you were shocked. The big huffy man you think is hot wanted your number?

around 2 am you jolt awake as your phone buzzes. you grab your phone, its him.

"hey gorgeous its simon, or "big masked man"

"Hi simon" god you cant believe this is happening is this real?

"you should be asleep. what you doing up?"

ur heart flutters, (GOING FERAL LIKE YES PLS BOSS ME AROUND) "couldnt sleep"

"any reason why?"

(yes Simon ur the reason why) "nope no praticular reason why, just one of those nights."

"alright. want to get coffee tomorrow?"

"coffee?!" you think to yourself "Omg it's happening.."

"id love to get coffee"

"great. ill see you at happy cafs tomorrow at 9 am."

"see you there"

your freaking out literally, the man of your literal dreams is asking to go out on a coffee date?! Is it a date..?

"is this considered a date?" you text him a few minutes later

"yes, sweetheart. it's considered a date lol"

you throw your phone across the room screaming and kicking your feet. you can't sleep the rest of the night. too busy thinking about what to wear. finally at 6 am you give up and hit the shower, then walk to your closet. "god do I wear a dress? jeans hoodie?" finally you decide on a long-sleeved black dress, perfect for winter. you straighten your hair, do your makeup, and hype yourself up.

8:55 and you're a minute away from the cafe when u see him pull up. your heart drops. you're so excited yet so nervous, u practically black out until you bump into him.

"op, watch out there" he chuckles, "looking at your feet while you walk sweetheart or?"

you chuckle, "Sorry lost in my thoughts." sweetheart?! You can't help but blush as he puts his hand on the lower part of your back and directs you inside. you both sit down at a booth and a waitress comes over. you both order and wait.

you can't help but stare at him, even tho you haven't seen his face his eyes just capture you.

"I'm not gonna lie, sweetheart,. I can't keep my eyes off you at the bar,"

"might as well claim ye before you are no longer available" he smirks as you blush and look away

you spend the next 3 hours just talking getting to know him. And before you know it, (in a few weeks of course) you are dating, officially his. the man of your dreams is officially yours.

side notes: i dont know if i like this tbh. it feels really long and i almost lost what else to say. if u want a part 2 (MAYBE SMUTTY VERS. i can do it lmk!!!)

[viktoriaashleyyx]

Why do some of us not *hate* Tamlin?

I am pro-tamlin, not pro feylin. I would prefer Tamlin to never have to deal with the NC ever again. If SJM never types his name out again I will be happy.

Tw: light mentions to DV, SA, and Divorce.

Feyre is written in a way that makes it feel like she is intentionally manipulating us against Tamlin to justify her leaving him the way she did, and to put Rhysand up on a pedestal.

The abrupt and sloppy way SJM handled Tamlins' character assassination induced my fight or flight. Let me explain:

My parents divorced when I was 4, and I had to learn, quickly, how to interpret people's true intentions and empathize with where they are coming from vs just blindly listening to someones account of what happened. My father got custody of us and would use the same elements against my mom that Feyre uses against Tamlin. I HAVE to read between the lines or I would fall to the intentional manipulation.

"She left me so she probably cheated" "he trapped me in the house" "she has a new boyfriend so she doesn't care about you anymore" "he hit me [when I was actively TRYING to get him to hit me to sway public opinion of him]"

Everytime Feyre left for the NC, she did so kicking and screaming. Every indication Tamlin could see was that she did NOT want to go with Rhys, until he gets a letter from her saying to not come looking for her that she doesn't want to be with him. Tamlin didn't know she could read or write. Had that been my love I would assume it was a ransom note too, written by someone else. Had she actually spent 1 hr winnowing to Tamlin, tell him face to face, then winnow back (with an escort) he MIGHT have gotten the hint.

A tithe was a weird thing to use to show how cruel Tamlin is, considering how 2/3 of the night court live in constant fear, children's bones are broken for misbehaving, the CoN are trapped there. SJM really showed us that she has no political knowledge what so ever. I barely started ACOFAS and when Feyres talking about the unnatural sum of her money, my first thought is "You don't amass that level of wealth without oppressing someone." Lucien said that Tamlin would be expected to hunt down those not able to pay the tithe, but when we get to Tamlins actual actions he just said "get it together in 3 days or pay double next time". In my initial reading, I interpreted it as another mask (like how Rhysand acts). Tamlin does this due to tradition, he is expected to act a certain way, but *I felt* he had no intention of acting out what he said. It was just a line he was expected to say to send the wraith away without others expecting the same.

Feyre and Tamlin were not right for eachother because they were not eachothers mates. People can exist fine separately, and be incredibly toxic together. From page 1 we see Feyres inherent inability to empathize with anyone, she has it bad, she has to hunt, therefore her sisters don't do anything. But she also can't cook, so who was preparing the meat she brought home? It gave me "housework isn't real work" vibes. Feyre also doesn't communicate very well, which would explain why a literal mind reader was able to help her better than Tamlin was. I saw Tamlin trying but not being able to help her because he couldn't read her mind.

Feyre didn't want to be trapped in a manor for a few hours while she was displaying manic behavior, but she condoned her sisters be trapped in the HOW for 6 weeks immediately after losing their lives. She condones the treatment of the people in Hewn city and supports the literal Jim Crow laws placed against them in Velaris when all they wanted was to leave. She condones and supports trapping Nesta in HoW after the war just to force Cassain on her so Feyre can play matchmaker.

Feyre is an inherently self centered sociopath. She can read minds and still can't develop a shred of empathy.

Just leave Tamlin alone. Damn.

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 2 - Electric Desires

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7.2k

Chapter 2/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Each chapter is hella long because I had time to sit and wait to release this one. Weekly updates might be the wave.

R and Nat will be moving quickly so if you like slow burn this isn't the story lol.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Natasha sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch in their cluttered studio: which was just Tony’s garage. The room buzzed with creative energy and the faint scent of old leather, a familiar combination that fueled the essence of Velvet Rebellion. She strummed her guitar absentmindedly, her fingers dancing over the fretboard, creating a gentle hum in the room. She was in her element in full force. 

Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Tony were huddled around a battered coffee table, scraps of lyrics, and scribbled notes strewn about like confetti after a wild party. They were her bandmates, her comrades in music, and tonight they were deep into a songwriting session. Natasha enjoyed days like this the most. She often found the songwriting process frustrating but fulfilling, which is why they’re on hour four of this session with only the first verse written. It seems she’s not the only one with writer’s block. 

"Natasha, we need something here," Steve’s voice cut through the room's creative haze. He furrowed his brow, fingers dancing over the keys of a vintage synthesizer. "A melody to tie this verse together."

Natasha tore her gaze away from her guitar and glanced over at Wanda. Her fingers stopped mid-strum. She blinked; her thoughts momentarily disrupted.

"Nat, you with us?" Tony chimed in, his eyes darting between Natasha and his laptop.

A flush of embarrassment washed over Natasha. She'd been lost in thought, her mind wandering where it shouldn't have. She’d been thinking about you again. She couldn’t get you out of her head. There was a hint of exhaustion on her features as she sat her guitar next to her. She’d spent the previous night going down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos involving you. It seemed you’d understated how good of a musician you were. Natasha discovered you had a small fanbase with plenty of videos dedicated to your brief yet impactful career. Even if your resume included a lot of backup singing, she could see why there was a push for you to strive for something more. You were talented in every sense of the word. 

With a sheepish smile, she nodded. "Sorry, guys. Got a bit distracted there."

She fumbled to put her phone face down on the coffee table, hoping her bandmates hadn't noticed her constant glances at the silent screen. Natasha had been replaying every moment of your brief encounter at the party in her mind, questioning if she'd made a connection or if it was just another fleeting moment.

Steve’s fingers continued their dance on the synthesizer as he tried out different melodies, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. "No worries, Nat. Happens to the best of us."

But Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration with herself. She was the lead singer and lyricist and usually held everything together. Yet today, her mind was scattered, torn between music and an unexpected, lingering hope that her phone would light up with a message from someone she'd barely known.

Natasha's fingers deftly reached for her well-worn writing book, nestled among scattered lyrics and half-finished songs. Her eyes scanned the pages, searching for something that had evaded her for far too long. Her bandmates carried on their musical discussion, oblivious to her momentary distraction.

Finally, she found it—a scribbled idea that had haunted her thoughts for weeks but had remained unreachable, refusing to take a tangible form. Natasha's heart raced as she read the words, her handwriting staring back at her, challenging her to bring them to life.

"Guys, hold on a sec," she called out, her voice trembling with excitement. Her bandmates stopped their conversation, turning their attention to her. Natasha's fingers tapped the page she'd found. "I think I've got something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What is it?"

Natasha cleared her throat and began to read the lyrics she'd unearthed, her voice carrying a hint of the sweet melody she envisioned:

"Underneath the city lights, I saw your face,

In the crowded room, you were my saving grace.

A glance, a smile, it all fell into place,

In that moment, I knew, love's tender embrace."

As Natasha recited the lyrics, Wanda's eyes widened, and she nodded appreciatively. "That's beautiful, Natasha."

Natasha couldn't help but blush at the compliment. She felt the lyrics were deeply personal, a reflection of the emotions she'd been grappling with. "Thanks, Wanda. But I think it's missing something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her fingers lightly grazing Natasha's arm as they huddled together over the writing book. "What do you have in mind?"

A spark of inspiration flickered in Natasha's eyes. "How about this? Instead of just a glance and a smile, it's about meeting someone and falling in love at first sight. The moment your heart skips a beat."

Wanda's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I like that. It adds depth to the story."

With renewed enthusiasm, Natasha began to sing the modified lyrics, her voice filled with emotion:

"In the heart of the city, I met your eyes,

In that instant, I felt my soul take flight.

Love at first sight, a sweet surprise,

Two worlds colliding, under starry skies."

The words flowed effortlessly, weaving a sweet melody that resonated with everyone in the room. Sitting behind his drum kit, Tony started tapping a rhythm, adding a pulsating beat to the song. Steve found his way back to the keyboard, his fingers searching for the chords that matched the melody.

The studio came alive with the energy of collaboration as they played off each other, improvising and experimenting. Wanda's voice dipped into low notes, adding a haunting harmony, while Tony began to find a mix to add to the music. 

It wasn't the final product but the magic of creation—their music taking shape from a mere spark of inspiration. Natasha couldn't help but smile as they continued to refine the song. 

Bucky sat down his guitar, a sly grin playing on his lips as the melody they'd created together hung in the air. He couldn't help but feel a shift in Natasha's usual songwriting style, one that intrigued him. "Nat, you're getting into writing love songs now?"

Natasha shot him a playful yet challenging look, her fingers still scribbling along the notebook pages. "Oh, please, Bucky. We had love songs on our first album."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like this. These lyrics, they're something else."

Natasha sighed, closing the tiny notebook again. She knew he was right, and she couldn't deny the shift in her lyrics and her emotions. "Alright, fine. Maybe I am writing a love song."

Bucky leaned forward, his gaze intense. "So, are you in love, Natasha?"

She met his gaze head-on. "No, Bucky. I'm not."

Bucky nodded in understanding, sensing the unspoken annoyance in her words. Natasha had always been guarded about matters of the heart, and they respected her boundaries. They returned to their instruments, each lost in their thoughts, letting the music speak the words that couldn't be said.

********************

The leotard store was an arrangement of colors, and Isabella, your spirited nine-year-old daughter, was bouncing between the racks, playing her own game of hide-and-seek with the endless collection of spandex. Her enthusiasm for picking out leotards rivaled her passion for gymnastics.

"Mama, check this one out! It's super sparkly!" Isabella shouted, triumphantly holding up a leotard adorned with sequins like a little treasure hunter.

You and Monica shared a knowing smile as you surveyed the options. "Great choice, Bella," you replied, trying to match her enthusiasm. "Let's add it to the pile."

Isabella nodded, seemingly satisfied, and skipped off in pursuit of her next leotard conquest.

As Monica and you continued your search, your mind drifted back to a conversation you’d had at Harley's party just a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman there, a stranger to you, who had engaged you in a conversation that had held your attention for longer than you’d expected.

"Hey, y/n" Monica began, her tone a mix of curiosity and amusement. She sifted through the clothes, trying to understand what she was looking for. Isabella had a very specific taste.  "Are you going to finally tell me about the woman from the party? You two seemed to be hitting it off."

You glanced at Monica, feeling somewhat caught off guard. "Oh, that? It was just a casual conversation. I doubt it's anything worth dwelling on."

Monica raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your dismissal. "Just a casual conversation? You looked pretty into her. What's her name?"

You sighed, knowing Monica wouldn't let it go quickly. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. She’s the lead singer of that band. Velvet Rebellion. We talked for a while. But honestly, I haven't reached out to her or anything." You shrugged. 

Monica persisted, undeterred. "She’s cute. I’ve heard a couple of their songs in passing. Why haven’t you called her?"

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers unconsciously fussing with a leotard on the rack. "Life's been hectic lately. I've barely had a moment to breathe, let alone call someone."

Isabella, who had overheard your conversation while meticulously assessing leotards with the discerning eye of a seasoned fashion critic, joined in. "Mom, you should call her."

You couldn't help but smile at Isabella's straightforward logic. "You focus on the leotards. You only need a few for now. You’re growing like a weed."

Monica and Isabella exchanged amused glances, both united in their disbelief. "The kid is right," Monica declared, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Isabella nodded in agreement, adding her hint of authority. "I’m just saying." She held up a pink leotard and you shook your head. The cut wasn’t appropriate in your opinion. She returned the leotard to the rack with a sigh and went to a new one. 

Monica's curiosity was relentless, and she wasn't about to let the topic of the woman from Harley's party go. As you continued looking through the racks with Isabella's energy bounding around you, she probed further.

"Come on, y/n, what's the big deal about calling her?" Monica inquired, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You sighed, trying to choose your words carefully. "Mon, you know their band's reputation. The tabloids haven’t been so easy on them. Especially with them being new. Trust me I’ve checked.” You shook your head. “And besides, Natasha used to date Carol Danvers. We’re not friends, but we’re not exactly enemies either. I’m not in the business of going behind her back. It was a bad breakup if it’s anything like the tabloids say and I don't want to risk the same fate."

Monica raised an eyebrow, her expression one of bemused disbelief. “You're not even dating this Natasha person yet. It could be a fun fling or something. You don't have to jump into a full-blown relationship. Also, you hate Carol Danvers."

“I don’t hate her,” You refuted her claims. “I simply enjoy spending my time in spaces that don’t have her in them.” You couldn't deny Monica's point, but the cautious side of you still hesitated. "Also, I know it doesn’t have to be more than what it is. But I've been down that road before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, I don't want to have this conversation in front of Isabella."

You leaned down to pass a few leotards to Isabella and whispered to her, "Sweetie, can you go find some shoes that match these leotards? That would be a big help."

Isabella nodded enthusiastically, her focus shifting from the leotards to her newfound mission. As she scampered off in search of the perfect shoes, you turned your attention back to Monica.

Monica gave you an understanding look, her voice lowered. "Alright, I get it, y/n,  But don't let the past hold you back from something potentially great. You deserve happiness, too. Even if that means you fuck a few times and that’s it."

“Monica,” Your eyes widened, clearly scandalized by her bluntness. 

“Am I lying?” Monica held up a hand. “When’s the last time you had some? You don’t know do you?”

“I do know. It hasn’t been that long.” You considered her words. You thought back to the very brief casual sex thing you had with a woman around last year. Or was it two years ago? “You’re right I don’t know.” 

“See,” Monica leaned against a rack. “Ask her out to the party tonight. It’s a group thing. I get to vet her. You get to see her. We all win.”

“Fine, fine,” You shake your head. 

“Call her now,” Monica nodded. 

“Um, she’s probably busy.” You furrowed your brow. Another excuse from you. 

“She’ll answer,” Monica said assuredly. “Do it or I’ll dm her myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” You held up a warning finger to Monica. Sometimes your best friend’s forwardness wasn’t welcome. Even if she meant well. She raised a brow at you before pointedly looking toward your purse. “Fine.” You grumbled as you took out your phone. 

You walked to a quieter corner of the store, away from the bustle and the excited chatter of Isabella and Monica, who were now hunting for beam shoes. You scrolled through your contacts until you found Natasha's name. With a deep breath, you pressed the call button.

On the first ring, Natasha's voice came through, calm and confident. "Hello?"

You couldn't help but smile, though your attempt to sound equally composed might have come off as forced. "Hey, Natasha. How's everything going?"

“Oh, it’s you,” Natasha's tone change was evident. "Everything's good. I've been wondering when you'd call."

You felt a rush of relief hearing that she'd been waiting for your call. "I'm sorry it took me a while. Life's been crazy lately, and, well, you know how it is."

Natasha's tone shifted slightly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "I do know. But you don't need to be nervous. It's just a call."

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "You're right. I've just been out of practice with this whole...courting thing."

“Courting? Is that what we’re doing?” Natasha's voice lowered, the flirtatious edge unmistakable. "Well, maybe we can help you get back into practice."

You couldn't help but blush, even though she couldn't see it over the phone. "That sounds like a plan."

Just then, you heard Isabella's excited voice in the background, likely showing off a pair of beam shoes she'd found. Natasha must have heard it too.

"Sounds like you've got company," Natasha noted. 

Just as you were about to respond to Natasha, Isabella's excited voice carried through the phone in the background. "Mama, look at these beam shoes! They're so cool!"

You grinned and chuckled softly. "That's my daughter, Isabella."

Natasha's voice held a hint of warmth. "She sounds like a lively girl."

“She is,” You nodded. You give Isabella a thumbs-up and a smile. "Listen, Natasha," you began, "there's something I wanted to mention. There's a party tonight at this great club called Heatwave. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I’ve been there once or twice,” Natasha replied.

“Well, I don't usually go out much, but I'll be there. It would be great if you could join."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Natasha's voice returned, filled with a sense of anticipation. "Heatwave, huh? I'll stop by."

Your heart skipped a beat at her response. It seemed that, despite your initial hesitation, the possibility of something exciting and new was on the horizon, and you couldn't help but look forward to seeing Natasha at the party tonight.

“What time should I be there?” Natasha questioned. 

“I like to put Bella to bed before going out,” You informed her. “My mother will be watching her, so I’d say around nine. Does that work for you?”

“That works for me,” Natasha agreed. 

“Okay then, Natasha,” You smiled, wondering if she could hear it in your voice. “I’ll see you then.”

“Great, see you then.” Natasha mirrored your excitement. You hung up the phone and tucked it into your back pocket. You walked back over to Monica, trying to hide your excitement, but she noticed immediately. 

She gave you a silent questioning look and you give her a thumbs up in return. This should be fun. 

***********************

Back inside the recording studio, the band was wrapping up what turned out to be a successful recording session. They’d written one song so far and revised a few Natasha had in her back pocket for times like this. Which was the most progress they’d gotten in a year. Either way, it was a session that left them fulfilled. Natasha stood in front of the microphone, her voice still echoing in the room. She exchanged satisfied smiles with her bandmates before returning her wired headphones to their stand. 

As they wrapped up their belongings Steve spoke up, "Alright, Natasha, we nailed it today. What's the plan for tonight?"

Natasha leaned back against the soundboard, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Oh, you know me, Steve. I'm a creature of habit."

Steve chuckled, "Yeah, we all are, aren't we? It's one big codependent family."

Natasha nodded, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. "True, but you guys like it that way."

Steve smirked, "And you do too."

Natasha sighed playfully, "Alright, you caught me. I have a thing."

The moment she mentioned 'a thing,' the rest of the group became intrigued. Tony, Bucky, and Wanda started bombarding her with questions, eager to know more. They were known for their tight-knit bond, often spending their evenings together.

Tony asked, grinning, "What kind of thing? Spill the beans, Red!"

Natasha tried to deny it, but under the pressure of their excited curiosity, she finally admitted, "Okay, okay! I'm going to Heatwave, a club downtown. I'm meeting up with a new friend."

Immediately, it was settled - if Natasha was going out, they were all going out. Tony's eyes gleamed with mischief, "Sounds like a party! Can we come too?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, thinking about the guys' tendency to get a little rowdy. Then she relented, "Alright, fine. We can all go."

Steve high-fived Tony, and Bucky and Wanda exchanged excited glances. "This is gonna be awesome!" Steve exclaimed. Though he wasn’t much of a partier he loved exploring new places. 

Natasha couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, "Yeah, let's hope it's good, then."

With the decision made, the band members packed up their instruments, ready for another night on the town. 

*****************

As you stood before the bathroom mirror in your finest party outfit, face and hair all done up, the room around you painted a stark contrast. The soft notes of Beyonce’s “Yes” played in the background as you prepared for your night out. The bathroom was a chaotic scene, messy and disheveled, with makeup and hair curlers scattered haphazardly. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and over the edge of the bathtub. The countertop was cluttered with various cosmetic products, their caps discarded carelessly.

A hairbrush, half-buried under a pile of clothes, seemed to have given up on its role in maintaining order. The floor bore the evidence of spilled powders and makeup brushes discarded in haste.

Isabella, standing in the doorway, disapproved of this sight. Her usually tidy nature couldn't help but frown at the disarray. With her wide, disapproving eyes, she silently conveyed her thoughts to you. “Why must it be so messy in here?”

“Must? I knew I was creating a bougie child,” You laughed to yourself, applying the final remnants of your makeup.

“I’m not bougie. I just go to a good school,” Isabella quipped. She stood with her arms folded her expression showing her unhappiness with the looks of your room. 

"I know I pay the high tuition bill remember?" You mutter. Sierra Canyon was a school worth every bit of the $35,000 tuition. Even if it did hurt you to sign that check every year. “Well, I’ll pay you twenty dollars to clean it up,” You offer.

“Forty and we have a deal,” She counters. 

“Forty?” You asked incredulously. 

“Inflation, Mama,” Isabella explains as if it’s obvious. “My favorite toys aren’t cheap anymore.”

“I see,” You mumble. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal.” You turn back to the mirror. 

You did a spin to get Isabella’s final say. You wore a black backless draped split dress that reached mid-thigh, perfectly complemented by your sleek, hair slicked into a bun with two small bangs framing your face. The finishing touches of makeup were precise, accentuating your features with a subtle, smoky eye and a deep red lip. 

“You look really good,” Isabella nodded. 

“Not too trampy?” You asked and she shook her head. 

“Not,” Isabella said. 

“You know that was kind of a test and you failed?” You sighed. “Your dad lets you watch reality TV at his place again?”

“Maybe,” Isabella pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. She was not one to tell. 

You couldn't help but smile. You bent down to Isabella's level and planted a series of gentle kisses all over her cheeks, as she mostly wiped them off with a giggle. 

“Oh, Isabella Marie, my little artist," You chuckled, feigning scandalization. "You've ruined my masterpiece!"

Isabella just laughed, her eyes sparkling with admiration for you. She reached up to touch the necklace you were wearing, a subtle gesture of appreciation.

You took Isabella's hand and said, "Come on, it's time for bed."

“I really should try to convince you to let me stay up later,” Isabella commented as she allowed you to drag her out to the living room. 

You made your way to her bedroom, where you tucked her in with great care.

“Did you brush your teeth?” You asked as you rearranged her pillows. 

“Yep,” Isabella nodded. “And I washed my face.”

“Good girl,” You praised her. 

As you smoothed the covers over Isabella and adjusted her stuffed animals, Isabella reminded you with a bright smile, "Mama, remember, I have Lenny’s skating birthday party tomorrow. You said we'd go together."

You leaned in and kissed Isabella's forehead, making sure to wipe her face free of your makeup, as your heart warmed by your daughter's excitement. "Of course. We’ll be there. Now sleep, I love you.”

“Read me a story?” She begged in anticipation of your answer. 

“One story,” You warned her before walking over to her bookshelf. You grabbed Hair Love by Matthew Cherry, one of her favorites these days. You sat beside her, offering her your best voice as you began to read to her. Isabella leaned into your body. When you were done, her eyes drooped with drowsiness as she whispered a contented, "Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, my precious girl. Sweet dreams." You turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in a warm, cozy darkness. With one final kiss, you left Isabella to her dreams. 

With your preparations complete, you rushed out of Isabella’s bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Time was of the essence. In your hurry, you grabbed your purse and a bottle of water from the fridge. With a sigh of relief, you twisted open the cap and took a long, refreshing sip.

As you did, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze appraising your outfit with a discerning eye.

"You're going out looking like that?" Her mother's tone was a mix of concern and disapproval.

“What don’t you like my outfit?” You turned to face her with a determined look. Your mother sighed but said nothing. "Yes, Mom. I've already put Isabella to bed, and I'll be back by two at the latest."

Your mother's expression softened, but she couldn't hide her worry. "Y/n, you know I worry when you go out so late."

You smiled reassuringly. "I know, Mom, but I never go out anymore. It’s all mom's life and work. I just want to have some fun with friends tonight. I promise to be careful."

“That only makes me feel slightly better,” She shook her head. 

"I'll leave my phone on in case of an emergency, okay?" You promised her. 

Your mother nodded; her eyes filled with maternal concern. "Alright, but you better answer if I call."

You laughed softly and hugged your mother. "I promise. You can count on me."

With a final smile and a quick kiss on her cheek, you left the kitchen, hoping to catch your Uber before it was too late. 

************

As Natasha and the rest of Velvet Rebellion arrived at Heatwave, the vibrant thump of bass and the lively chatter of the crowd spilled into the street. The atmosphere was electric, and it was clear that the club lived up to its reputation. There was a line wrapped around the entrance, everyone attempting to get to the same point. 

Natasha was sure they would be able to get in unscathed. However, as they approached the entrance, it became evident that someone had tipped off the paparazzi about their plans. As soon as they exited the car, flashbulbs began to pop, and reporters shouted questions. Natasha and Wanda, not yet accustomed to such situations, swiftly made their way inside, their confidence unshaken.

The boys followed closely behind, with security personnel discreetly positioned around them. However, the security was mostly unnecessary. Velvet Rebellion wasn't a superstar band, and they had no intention of acting like one. They were here to enjoy the music and the vibes, just like any other patrons.

Once inside, the pulsating rhythm of the club enveloped them. Heatwave was a mix of hip-hop, reggae, rock, and everything in between. The diverse crowd danced and mingled, creating an intoxicating blend of cultures and energies. The dimly lit club was a sanctuary for adults, a place where the music was loud, and the energy was contagious.

Natasha and her bandmates moved deeper into the club, losing themselves in the music and the seamless fusion of genres. The vibes were indeed immaculate, and they were ready to savor every moment of the night, leaving their fame behind for a while and simply being themselves - music lovers enjoying a night out.

Wanda, swept up in the excitement of the club's atmosphere, leaned in closer to Natasha and shouted over the thumping bass, "Hey, Nat I'll find us a booth! Tony's going to grab drinks for everyone!"

Natasha nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before deciding to excuse herself to the bathroom. The path to the restroom was a maze of dancing bodies and neon lights. A few girls recognized her and attempted to approach her for autographs or selfies, but Natasha simply smiled and waved, preferring to do things in peace. She could feel the presence of her security guard, Mike, behind her as she stepped into the bathroom. He waited outside of course. 

After freshening up in the bathroom, Natasha emerged and found herself back in the crowded club. As she navigated the sea of people, she accidentally bumped into someone. Before she could react, her security personnel stepped forward, ready to intervene. However, Natasha recognized the person she had bumped into and quickly raised a hand to stop her security detail.

“Mike, it’s okay,” Natasha nodded to him. 

It was you.  A hint of amusement danced in your eyes as you noted the security presence. You couldn't help but think of the time when you, too, needed security. Back when your father was at the height of his career. Now not so much. 

Despite the loud music, you managed to engage in a conversation, leaning close to hear each other over the thumping bass.

Natasha, with a playful smile, observed you, her eyes raking over your bad in a way that sent chills up your spine. "You look stunning tonight. That dress suits you."

"Why, thank you, Natasha. You look great too.” You lightly touched her arm. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too.” Natasha shouted over the music. "Life's been busy."

You nodded in understanding, "Tell me about it. It's been a whirlwind."

Natasha's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What's new with you? How have you been?"

You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing against Natasha's ear as you shouted above the music. "Lots of work, but tonight, I'm here to let loose. What about you? Any new songs in the works?"

Natasha nodded with a grin. "Always working on something.”

“That’s good then,” You smile back. You blink at her through your thick lashes before your eyes scan the room. “I see you brought your friends.”

“I have,” Natasha stepped a bit closer, though it was subtle, and you didn’t notice. You liked feeling the warmth radiating from her. “They wouldn’t let me come alone.”

“Gotta love them,” You joked. “Care to dance?” You ask. 

“Lead the way,” Natasha takes your hand as you drag her onto the dance floor. She pretends she’s not checking out your ass but when you look back you nearly catch her. Funny. 

Just as you and Natasha hit the dance floor, the DJ transitioned into a surprising mix of "What Is Love" by Haddaway and "In Da Club" by 50 Cent. The blend of the '90s dance classic and the early 2000s hip-hop anthem was unexpectedly catchy, and the crowd roared in approval.

Natasha was a fantastic dancer, her movements fluid and precise. You were equally impressive, managing to keep up with Natasha's rhythm effortlessly. Your bodies moved in perfect sync as you joined the sea of people on the dance floor.

The atmosphere was lively, energetic, and incredibly fun. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the club-goers embraced the unexpected combination of music with enthusiasm. The dance floor seemed to vibrate with the collective joy of everyone present.

You couldn't help but enjoy having Natasha so close. Her skin against your fingertips felt like heaven. The way her hands rested gently against your back. It was intimate, warm, and sensual despite the tempo of the music. 

As the music continued to pulse through the club and once you were all danced out, bodies slick with sweat, you led Natasha to a booth where her bandmates were already seated. Their faces lit up with excitement as they spotted Natasha. It’s then you noticed Monica was already sitting amongst the rockstars somehow having made it past security. 

“There you are,” Monica smiled sweetly. “You two were on fire out there. I was just making friends with our new family.” She said despite the quizzical looks. You reciprocated her hug as you whispered low into her ear. 

“I hate you so much,” You growled. 

“I love you too,” Monica laughed. 

"Natasha, this is Monica," you said, introducing your best friend to the redhead. 

Monica extended a friendly hand and smiled, though there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."

Natasha returned the smile warmly, "Likewise, Monica."

As everyone settled into the booth, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Monica was cautious but kind, warming up to Natasha as they chatted about various topics. The club atmosphere had a way of breaking down barriers, and it wasn't long before they were all laughing and enjoying each other's company.

Somewhere along the way, the group decided to order a mix of different foods and drinks, sharing bites and sips as the night wore on. On the booth, Natasha sat next to you, the two of you sharing a closeness that was hard to ignore. During the lively conversations and the infectious rhythm of the music, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that someone in the crowd had their phone out, possibly recording you. The thought bothered her, but you kept her engaged and distracted, your charm and energy captivating.

There was a break in the peace Natasha felt as her sharp eyes caught sight of her ex-girlfriend, Carol Danvers, making her way towards the booth. Natasha knew that this could potentially lead to a problem, so she decided to intercept Carol before things escalated. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha sighed. She was not expecting this to happen tonight of all nights. You watch the two of them walk away before turning your attention back to the group. It was none of your business. "Carol, hi, let me talk to you.” Natasha wanted to take action before the mess. The last thing she needed was a problem when there was none.��

She gently guided Carol to a more private corner where the music was lower, allowing them to have a conversation without distractions. As they stood facing each other, Natasha's demeanor was polite but distant. She wasn't fond of talking to Carol but wanted to ensure she was okay.

“I see you’re having fun,” Carol rubbed her sweaty hands against her jeans. Her eyes looked a little bloodshot, the deep bags being covered by concealer and heavy makeup. In all honesty, Natasha could tell Carol was not in her correct frame of mind. Whether that was due to lack of sleep or something else wasn’t her responsibility.  Carol's voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, "You look good."

“Thank you,” Natasha sighed and shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolution. "Carol, it's not worth it. We've been through this."

“I know,” Carol nodded. “I just wanted to say hello.” 

Natasha found Carol’s meek demeanor unsettling. It was so unlike her. Again, not her problem. 

“Look, it was good to see you,” Natasha peaked back at the booth to see you were laughing with Monica about something. “Take care of yourself.” Natasha rubs a hand over Carol’s arm before walking away. She was not in the mood to be dealing with this right now. When she sits down again, it takes a moment for her to reacclimate with the group, her feelings of dread and the aftermath of the breakup all taking over again. 

You noticed the change in her demeanor and decided to check in on her.

With genuine concern in your eyes, you asked softly, "Natasha, is everything okay?"

Natasha tried to feign a smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... old memories, you know?"

You nodded, understanding that sometimes the past had a way of sneaking up on you. You decided to lift the mood by embracing the party spirit. As fans approached you for pictures, only allowed with the say-so of security, you graciously obliged, even though you weren’t used to so much attention. Having a famous family meant everyone assumed you were someone to know too.  The smiles on their faces and their gratitude brought a spark of joy to the night.

However, Natasha's mood didn't seem to improve. You could see the lingering discomfort on her face and sensed that Natasha might need a change of scenery. You leaned in closer to Natasha and asked, "You sure you're okay, Natasha? If you want, we can get out of here."

Natasha appreciated your concern and gave you a small, genuine smile. "Isn’t this your friend’s party?”

“Alicia? She’ll understand,” You grinned. “I’m a mom.” You shrug. 

“How many times have you used that excuse?” Natasha questioned. 

“Once or twice,” You laughed. 

“I think that might be a good idea then." Natasha leaned over to whisper to Wanda that she was leaving. Wanda narrowed her eyes between the two of you but ultimately said nothing. 

“Monica, I’m leaving with Natasha,” You informed your best friend. “I love you.” “Love you too,” Monica smiled briefly. “Call me tomorrow and tell me everything.” She said a bit lower. 

“I will,” You roll your eyes. 

As you made your way towards the exit, Natasha felt grateful for your understanding and support. As you neared the club's exit, you leaned in closer to Natasha and suggested, "Let's use the back exit. It's a quicker way out, and we can avoid the paparazzi."

Natasha nodded in agreement, appreciating your thoughtfulness. She followed you towards the inconspicuous back exit, with Mike, Natasha's security guard, close behind. The corridor was dimly lit, and the sounds of the club faded away with each step.

Walking side by side, you and Natasha found a comfortable silence between you. Natasha appreciated the quiet respite after the club's raucousness. 

Then, without hesitation, you reached out and gently took Natasha's hand. It was a bold move, and Natasha's heart skipped a beat. The connection felt warm and reassuring, 

Natasha looked at you, her eyes softening with gratitude. Your fingers entwined, as you continued down the dimly lit sidewalk together, taking comfort in the simple act of holding hands, a gesture of comfort and support.

“Downtown Los Angeles is not exactly the safest place to hang out at night,” You point out. 

“Did you have anywhere in mind?” Natasha questions. “I’m not really ready to go home yet.’

“How about here?” You point to the restaurant just across the street. It was settled. 

You and Natasha walked into the small Japanese food restaurant and were greeted by a soothing ambiance of sleek and modern dining. The interior featured clean lines, polished wooden tables, and elegant, dimmed lighting that created a cozy yet sophisticated atmosphere. The walls were adorned with tasteful Japanese-inspired artwork, adding to the restaurant's aesthetic appeal.

Despite the late hour, they were still open, and there weren't many people left in the restaurant. The subdued chatter of a few diners in hushed conversations added to the tranquil atmosphere.

The restaurant staff welcomed you and Natasha with warm smiles, happy to accommodate your late-night visit. You were ushered to a well-appointed table with comfortable seating, creating a sense of intimacy in the otherwise empty space.

Once seated, you took the lead in order, your familiarity with the menu evident. You chose the baked crab hand rolls, a delectable choice known for its rich flavors and delicate textures, and edamame with a sprinkle of salt for a simple and satisfying appetizer.

Natasha decided to indulge in a sushi sampler, intrigued by the restaurant's offerings. She also ordered drinks for you to share, wanting to continue the evening in a relaxed and enjoyable manner, free from the distractions of the outside world.

As you waited for the food to arrive, you turned your attention to Natasha, your expression carrying a hint of concern.

"Natasha, "You began hesitantly, "Can you tell me more about Carol? Should I be worried about her showing up like that?"

Natasha sighed, recognizing the need for honesty. She leaned in, speaking softly, "Carol is my ex-girlfriend. We used to be really close, and she was a good person, but lately, she's been caught up in the wrong crowd. I've been trying to keep my distance from all of that."

Caught up in the wrong crowd could mean a host of things in the industry. Drugs were usually the most common. Though you didn't press for her to elaborate.

You listened attentively, her concern deepening. "Do you think she's going to be a problem?"

Natasha could see your question for what it was. Was she going to be a problem in whatever potential the two of you could have? 

Natasha shook her head, her gaze reassuring. "No, nothing like that. She's just... lost, for now. I don't want you to worry about it. I'm doing my best to stay out of any trouble, especially now."

You nodded, appreciating Natasha's honesty and the effort she was making to ensure your time together was free from complications. You reached out and gently squeezed Natasha's hand, silently conveying your support. 

You leaned in closer and admitted, "I understand, Natasha. My ex and I co-parent Isabella, and it wasn't always easy either. But we've found our way." You shrugged. 

Natasha appreciated the understanding and felt a connection with you as you shared your experiences. 

Then, the conversation took a different turn, and Natasha's curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in with a playful glint in her eyes and said, "Alright, enough about my drama. I want to know more about you. You downplayed your singing career at the party. Backup?”

“You’ve done your research,” You chuckled at the playful teasing but then became more serious as you responded, "You're right. Singing has always been my love, my passion. But the demanding career and the lack of privacy that comes with it gets to you after a while. That's why I love being a publicist. It allows me to stay in the industry that I adore but from a different angle, more behind the scenes. It gives me room to breathe and a sense of control over my life."

Natasha nodded in understanding, appreciating your candor. She could see the sincerity in your eyes as you spoke about your career and the choices you had made. It was clear that you had found a balance that worked for you, and Natasha respected you for it.

When the food arrived, you immediately dug into your meal. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked Natasha, "Do you and your band have a publicist or a manager?"

Natasha smirked playfully, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Is it that obvious? I guess it's the many times Tony's been arrested.” Natasha began to list. “Or the time I punched paparazzi for trying to take a picture at an awkward angle.” She grimaced. 

You couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's observation. "Well, those incidents might have given it away a bit."

Natasha's smile faded slightly as she confessed, "Honestly, I know we need someone to manage us, but I've never felt entirely comfortable with the idea. It's like giving up a piece of our freedom and creativity. We've managed so far, but I know it can't go on like this forever."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the challenges that came with managing a successful music career independently. You asked, "Do you have anyone in mind for the role, someone you might trust enough to bring into the fold?"

Natasha thought for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "Possibly. It's a big decision, and I want to make sure it's the right fit for us, you know? We've been doing this our way for so long that it's hard to let go."

“Well, when you’re ready, I’m your gal,” You offered your services. “I also may have a few wild cards that would work perfectly.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha sips from her cup. 

As the night drew to a close, you found yourselves waiting on a quiet street corner for your Uber to arrive. The bustling energy of the club was a distant memory, replaced by the calm of the late-night city.

Natasha looked at you with a genuine smile and said, "I had a lot of fun tonight, y/n. Thank you."

You returned the smile, your heart warmed by Natasha's words. "I did too, Natasha. It was great getting to know you."

The streets were mostly empty, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. There was a moment of silence as you stood together, the unspoken tension of the night hanging in the air.

Then, as if guided by an invisible force, Natasha leaned in and softly pressed her lips against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but smile.

Breaking the kiss, you teased, "Well, that's a surprise ending for the night."

Natasha chuckled and replied, "I couldn't resist."

“Don’t worry, I liked it,” You grinned. You leaned forward, kissing Natasha again, lingering when your lips pressed before you pulled back. 

The distant sound of the approaching Uber pulled you back to reality. Your ride had arrived. You exchanged one last lingering look, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had shared that evening.

With a soft goodbye, you climbed into the waiting car, and Natasha watched as it drove away into the night. As she walked away, Natasha couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for the unexpected and unforgettable night she had just experienced.

---> next part

[soulwrencher]

Hey i just read your fanfic "and still i answer your call when she doesn't answer at all". and i loved it, i wonder if you could maybe make a part 2 if you have time, And if you want too. And ofcourse, you dont have to do it or rush it

hi! thank you sm <3 yes ofc i can, haven't written in a hot minute so;

and still i answer your call when she doesn't answer at all, part 2

pairing: ellie x fem!reader

warnings: toxic relationship, cheating, nsfw, curse words, soft?? ellie but highkey salty, not proofread yet again, lesbian sex <3, and also first time writing smut plsplspls have mercy on me, xoxo

word count: 3,9k

summary: you visit ellie again to thank her for comforting and taking care of you, but things take a different course when your 'girlfriend' texts you. or; ellie eats you out.

as warm tones start to set into the blue sky, february doesn't seem so cold anymore.

all your worries were washed away, all thanks to ellie. after you stormed to her place at the most vile hour, ellie took good care of you, the two of you watched your favourite movies until you fell asleep and she prepared you some breakfast before you had to leave for work. guilt resides in the pits of your gut, your gratefulness has never left the four walls of your mind, it is time you finally thank ellie for everything she has done for you these past few days.

you spent the whole day in bed, sulking away while thoughts of your girlfriend cross your mind. you reach for your phone, no message from her.

as you take steady steps to your closet you realise that there's no turning back now. you've made up your mind, it is over. but you needed good advice from a very good friend, surely ellie would have all the answers to your questions. flicking through all the clothes in your closet, memories of your girlfriend start to occupy your mind. the dress you wore on your first date, the hoodie she bought you on a rainy november day, the graphic tee you wore the first time she made you cry, and all the other clothes that witnessed you being miserable because of her. it had to end, now.

all dressed up now, you wash your face, washing the smudged mascara from yesterday's crying away. lately your emotions have been all over the place but you told yourself it is better to feel them rather than bottling everything up.

ready to leave, you text ellie a simple 'i'm gonna stop by your place' shortly regretting that you didn't text her earlier. but to your luck she replies almost immediately.

'sure, have you eaten?' the words circle your mind. you don't know whether you're impressed by the fact that she answered so quickly or that she potentially knew you haven't eaten a single thing yet.

'no' you reply, slipping your phone into your pocket while fishing out your keys that you mindlessly put in your pockets before locking the door.

you step outside and cold wind is blowing your way. the sky has already lost itself in complete darkness, but the clouds haven't shied away, surrounding the moons light.

ellie is just as nervous as the last time you were here, although now she had something to keep herself busy with: cooking.

keeping it simple, because she's too scared to mess up, but not too boring, ellie doesn't want you to think that she can't cook.

a dilemma she might never escape, because she knows you don't overthink any of your actions towards her. but should she really be thinking about this right now? ellie tries her best to feel somewhat content that you're coming over. however, knowing that she is one-sidedly overthinking her actions, caring for your needs and, well, liking you, she can't help but feel like burning this entire kitchen down instead of cooking a nice meal for the two of you.

"shit," ellie groans as she feels the blade digging into her fingertip. this for sure wasn't part of the cute scenarios she just made up nor was it part of her plan to burn this kitchen down. ellie rushes to find a plaster, a bandage, anything to put on her finger.

the door rings, ellie rushes to the door, heavy footsteps echo and bounce off the stairwell walls. the sound of you felt like a mixture of butterflies and sour lemons in her guts.

and there you stand, right in front of her. something in the fresh evening air must've altered your brain chemistry, because why do you feel her eyes linger? and why do you want them to? your emotional imbalance is surely to blame, you most definitely lack attentiveness and consideration. ellie lightly clearing her throat interrupts your almost driving you to insanity monologue, your eyes now drawn to her body.

has your friend's arms always looked this big? she's just wearing a plain white t-shirt, but you can't seem to stop yourself from tracing the strokes of her tattoo with your eyes. soft hello's were exchanged before ellie offered to take off your jacket. the outfit you picked out today and deemed too light for your own comfort suddenly became ridiculously warm.

"how have you been?" ellie asks, making her way to the kitchen as you awkwardly stand in the hallway trying to cool down.

"better? uh, do you mind if i change?" your voice breaks a little, you lightly chuckle to cover your discomfort.

ellie shakes her head, her whole attention directed towards the plates she's trying to decorate nicely with the food she has just made. truth is, she's trying her hardest not to think about you changing, about your bare, soft skin, about—

"oh my god," it emerges from ellie's bedroom, ripping ellie out of her mildly inappropriate thoughts. she was so sure that she cleaned her room well, even checked multiple times and every corner, what on earth did you find? she fiddles with her hands as she walks towards her bedroom, door slightly open. the auburn haired woman doesn't believe in god, but on this very day, she is making all kinds of prayers, hoping for the best. ellie opens the door and seeing you sit on her bed with your phone in your hand is surprisingly disappointing.

you watch her stand at the doorframe, her arms crossed, flexing her buff arms. you can't ignore her furrowed eyebrows, but when ellie notices the concern written all over your face she mouths a low 'what happened?'

you turn around your phone for ellie to read the text message your girlfriend just sent you.

'hey baby, can we talk? i'm really sorry' ellie reads in her head. she definitely prayed for all the wrong reasons, because this is exponentially worse than anything she feared just a minute ago.

"why are you showing me this?" she asks, her voice low. she's still standing in front of you, looking down on you. her gaze on you makes you feel things you haven't felt in a long time. but your girlfriend just texted you and is apologising for her actions, you need to focus. but something about the way her eyes are locking you in is making it a little harder to breathe.

you take a deep breath, you need oxygen to clear your head.

"well, i came here because i needed advice—" you carefully watch ellie approaching you slowly.

"—i wanted to end things with her but—" you thought you were attentive enough but you're taken aback by ellie's big hands resting on your thighs, her face dangerously close to yours. you steal a small glimpse at her tired eyes piercing you through before continuing. her being so close causes your breath to shorten, you're hoping your all that she can't see your chest lifting.

"—she apologised now, so we're good," you say. ellie's eyes widen in disbelief, slightly tilting her head.

"are you serious?" she scoffs, her eyes shut close before searching for answers in yours. you nod and watch ellie drop her head in disappointment, followed by several scoffs and sighs.

"no you're not," she says under her breath, disappointment slowly spiralling into exasperation. ellie can't tolerate this any longer. whether it is your dumb decisions or your inability to see your worth, she won't take this anymore. and it might be selfish to get angry at you for not seeing her more than just a friend, but she did decide on a whim while cooking that this is the day where she finally tells you. however the manner things are progressing for now seem to be reaching a dead end.

"i have to reply though," you mumble, but ellie's furrowed eyebrows insinuate you to feel insecure about your decision.

"you don't," ellie says, as an auburn hair strand looses itself from her split ponytail. her arm reaches for your phone, but you hold it up by reflex, you didn't expect her to grab for your phone. however, you forget that you're the one sitting and she'd just have to stand up straight to get your phone, so you rapidly throw your back onto the mattress, arms far away, she surely won't be able to get your phone now.

"fuck, you can't be—" ellie hesitates, and you smile triumphantly, until you feel something weighting you down. your eyes widen in realisation, did ellie just climb on top of you? your body's brush now and then against each other while she's trying to reach for your phone. you're about to turn to the side when you feel ellie's strong hands hold your wrist down, making it impossible for you to move. for a minute, you forget why you wanted to turn away as you loose yourself in her sage green eyes. and that's when realisation hits you, you're under her, at the mercy of her big, strong arms. ellie doesn't keep eye contact for long, her eyes are fixated on stealing your phone, your eyes are focused on her jaw line. you're being held down, her knees restricting your upper body from the sides, her chest alarmingly close to your face. your grip around your phone softens, your too distracted by her presence pressing and holding you down.

you hear ellie whisper a 'finally' before you're eye to eye again. ellie was too busy taking your phone away and only notices now how close the two of you are. your chests lightly brush against each other, ellie still pinning you down to the bed. her grip tightens around your wrist as she thinks about the way you're still so caught up with your girlfriend, but the fact that she has your full attention for once overrides all the anger she bottled up. you gulp down and break away from her gaze, looking to the side, where she's holding you down.

"what happened to your finger?" you finally break the silence, earning a low chuckle from ellie. she's breathing right onto your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

you watch ellie's lip move, form words, pressing against each other softly.

"you sure you wanna text your girlfriend?" the last words pull you out of the daze her lips put you in, she surely must've said something important. you need to focus. you have to ignore that your body is screaming to be held, to be touched.

the thought of ellie touching you has never crossed your mind until... now. this very thought makes you want to adjust your lower body, arching your back slightly.

ellie can't help but notice all the movement happening below her. she's never been this close to you. and knowing she has your undivided attention all to herself, she can't hold back any longer.

her chest bumps against yours as she slightly moves up, her hand reaching for your chin, holding it in between her thumb and bandaged index finger. you're forced to hold eye contact with her, her breath tickling your face. your chest doesn't even rise anymore, only falling lower and lower until the movement travels to your lower back.

it's hard to breathe and it's hard to think, you feel your eyes wander from her green eyes to her lips.

"do i have something on my lips?" ellie asks, while looking down on you.

"no?" you're confused, finally pulled out of trance. she tilts your head to the side, at which you sharply inhale.

"you're staring," ellie whispers into your neck, the sensation insinuates you to hold your breath. you see a smile creep up her face from the corner of your eye, your heartbeat must've dropped to your abdomen at this very sight. all your morals and values must have left you on this night, because you want nothing more than ellie. she always directs you to make the right decision, so you want to believe that she will stop you from pursuing your inappropriate thoughts. with your free hand you reach for the hem of ellie's t-shirt, holding onto it desperately.

"ellie," you say out of breath. something about the way you called for her name made her lose it all, the breathlessness, your voice, the feeling of your body under hers.

her narrowed eyes fill with desperation, hunger, and lust. the sight of you underneath her tingles on her fingertips, ready to roam your body.

ellie takes a deep breath, lifting your face by your chin. she observe your lips carefully as she traces the outlines with her thumb.

"can i?" ellie finally asks, her eyes nervously looking for a place to rest on. you look up to her through your lashes, your grip tightening on her t-shirt. she makes you feel so needed, so incredibly wanted. your mind tells you to put an end to this but the feeling growing in between your thighs can't be ignored any longer. you shut your eyes close, then take one more look at ellie.

her arms could hold you up without struggling, her hands look so sturdy, she could touch you just the way you need her to.

sharply inhaling, you nod, and a smile creeps up her face. and you still feel said smile as she presses her lips against yours.

you didn't know that such a gentle kiss left you eager for more, and you find your hands entangled in her hair, frantically holding onto ellie.

the way your hands speak for what's going on on your mind makes ellie's blood rush through her veins, the soft fabric of your top rubbing up against her arm drives her insane as your skin is exposed every now and then.

ellie's hands glide over your body as her lips devour you impatiently. the sensation of her fingertips linger and you can't keep up any longer. she wants more of you, sloppy kisses emphasise that her attention has shifted from your lips to your body.

you can't help but notice her t-shirt riding up every so often, abdomen exposed.

"fuck," ellie groans, your bottom lip tugged in between her teeth. her hands finally have found a place to rest, a little under your chest, cupping your breasts. her gentle eyes meet yours, pressing her lips to a thin line before speaking.

"can i take your shirt off?" ellie's voice is slightly raspy and it's just enough to worsen the pressure in between your thighs. you squeeze them tightly, earning raised eyebrows from ellie.

"only if you take yours off too," you shoot back, because you can't be doing the wrong thing one-sidedly. however, didn't you want to end things with your girlfriend? she was practically an ex by now, you would've told her soon enough.

ellie sits up, her inner thighs pressing against your waist.

"oh? then, take your bra off too," ellie says, as she trails kisses on your neck, hot, slow and wet. you slightly arch your neck while biting down a moan. this is getting too heated for your own comfort and you can see yourself making noises only a few instances away, this needs to stop.

but ellie keeps on sucking, biting and licking your neck, making it impossible to keep quiet. and to make matters worse, she pushes her thigh all the way up against your aching spot, resulting you to softly moan.

"shit, didn't know texting your girlfriend back included moaning for me," ellie spits, the bitter taste of her fury still hasn't left her tongue. you're taken aback by her words but the sensation on your neck is keeping you in a trance you can't break away from. ellie's had enough of waiting, so she switches position with you, making you sit on top of her lap. she lifts your t-shirt, every inch of exposed skin is followed by hungry kisses until the shirt is off of you. you don't necessarily like sitting on top, too many vulnerable spots to be explored. ellie's rough hands glide down the sides of your upper body until they comfortably rest above your hips. her fingers graze over your body making breathing impossible, you feel it all the way down your lower abdomen.

and as if her big sturdy hands roaming over your body wasn't enough, she reaches for your back, undoing your bra with one hand.

you watch her smirk cockily as the straps of your bra fall to the sides, exposing your shoulders, and more importantly your chest. ellie bites down her lip as she cups your breasts, giving them a good, firm squeeze before locking eyes with you.

"you're tits look so fucking perfect," she groans, letting the palm of her hand brush against your hard nipples while ellie feels your hips tilt to the back at the touch of your skin, back arched for a moment only. she then pinches them and teases you even more, so you try to stop her and you reach out for her hand. however, you mistakenly grab her tattooed forearm, grasping it firmly to push her away from you. ellie chuckles at your unfortunate attempt to break away from her.

"you want them inside of you?" she teases, while breathing hot air onto your nipples. your eyes widen in surprise, when have you implied that? you suddenly feel heat creep up your neck, panic written all over your face. in response, ellie points to the forearm you've been digging your nails into.

"oh," you say, rapidly drawing your hands in.

"no, it's fine," she says while putting your arms around her, lifting you slightly up to lay you on her bed. her fingers are hooked on your waistband while taking your pants off. you've never seen anyone look this hot taking pants off, loose hair strands covering her face, you can't tell her facial expression.

all you see is her muscular shoulders and arms flexing while she undresses you.

you realise that wearing grey underwear will be the death of you as you hear ellie laugh lowly. you sense her blowing hot air against your clit, oh god is she a tease, you think to yourself.

"so fucking wet and i haven't even touched you? would love to hear your girlfriend's opinion on this," ellie scoffs, while observing the hot mess you are.

"ellie, for fucks sake i'm—"

"you're what?" eyebrows raised, hands resting on your thighs. you take a deep breath. talking about this while you're about to do it is not just incredibly anticlimactic but also immensely nerve wrecking. her eyes are like a ticking bomb, the longer you keep her waiting the more the disappointment grows, her gentle eyes turning tired.

"i'm ending things with her," you finally say.

"you surely will after today," ellie responds, her fingertip firmly pressing on your clit, only fabric separating her from your skin.

you gasp and your stomach rises almost immediately at the pressure you feel, causing you to squeeze your thighs tightly together. however, ellie slips her rough hand in between them, mouthing an 'open' towards your direction which you deemed useless since ellie opened your legs forcibly on her own. she holds one of your thighs down while pulling your underwear to the side, exposing your throbbing, wet clit. she holds two fingers out, gliding them over you to moisturise them before sliding them inside of you. the sensation of her fingers inside of you causes you to arch your back, throw back your head and dig your nails into her scalp.

"easy, love," she whispers, her fingers curved inside of you. ellie starts off slow, with every thrust you exhale shortly, until they turn into soft moans. her unexpectedly breathing against your clit makes you go insane, you feel the sensation give you goosebumps all over you body.

your body leaves ellie mesmerised, the way you move at her touch worsens her need to keep you all to herself, to devour you. she never imagined you to be this gorgeous, this attractive. she wants more of you and desperately wants the taste of you on her tongue. and not a second later, ellie made up her mind, she adjusts herself and pulls your panties further to the side, having full view of you.

"gorgeous," she mutters before crashing onto your clit, letting her tongue slowly slide to the top before making her way back down again. you pull at her hair in reaction, your other hand gripping her bed sheets. ellie moves the tip of her tongue up and down before tugging your clit in between her lips softly, sucking it in.

your moans become shaky and her sucking becomes more intense. you feel your whole body tense up as she presses her parted lips lightly around you, her tongue slowly flicking your clit inside of her mouth. she then lets go of you, you hold your breath.

you're numbed by the sensation and can't tell what's going on, you either feel her fingers pump inside of you or her tongue absolutely devouring you. you can't keep up any longer and ellie doesn't even leave space for a moment to breathe or think, you only feel, and that deeply.

all you hear are the wet noises you make against ellie's tongue and her grunts that unexpectedly turn you on. nails digging into her hair, back arched to the ceiling and your mind so far gone that all your responses to ellie's teasing questions are mindless moans, you feel her push even harder inside of you, causing you to jolt. ellie grins onto your clit as she notices your throbbing take on a slow, rhythmic pace, your insides clasping around her fingers in said rhythm. your hips move in circles, you desperately want to come, you've never felt this good.

and ellie keeps her thrusts consistent, just as the movement of her tongue, only increasing the speed of it. the taste of you sends her to another dimension, she already knows that this will leave her hungry for more. and so your back shoots up, forcing your hip all the way down and clutching around ellie's fingers, a sharp, but loud moan escaping your mouth. content with her work, ellie plants a kiss on your clit, your body shuddering in response. she slowly removes her fingers, your body shivers once more.

you're still in a haze, but ellie hovering over you pulls you out of it, her glistening lips are mesmerising. you see her lose strands sticking to her forehead, a few pearls of sweat on her well built arms. ellie observes your eyes, the way you look so gorgeous in the dimmed light worries her that she might do more.

"good job," she whispers into your neck, goosebumps spreading across your skin. you mutter a 'thank you' which makes you realise you're thanking her for all the wrong reasons. she lays down beside you and holds her right arm out, suggesting you to rest your head on it. you scoot closer, watching her chest rise and fall as she breathes.

"thank you for... the past few days," you say quietly into her chest. ellie scoffs shortly, raises her right arm to the back of your head and pats you. only now you notice that she has taken her shirt off, you don't recall that happening but you surely don't mind the view. you then feel ellie reach out for something, your phone in her hand.

"now text your girlfriend back and make sure to let her know that i'm here."

a/n: hello sorry for taking so long to update, was busy with exams, i was on renee rapp's concert as well (she's so attractive oh god) and yes. enjoy my first attempt at smut :)

[mademoisellekeery]

\\ Red dress & a black tie //

• Pairing: Co-worker!Steve Harrington x Reader

•Warnings: Swearing, fluff, proof read

•Word count: 1.5k - (1,563 words)

•Summary: Your Co-Worker/Friend, Steve asks you out on a date, after crushing on him for years, and finally “getting over it”, what could go wrong?

•Au/n: THIS IS MY FIRST FIC PEACHES! I’m so excited to post this, let me know if you guys like it and want another part, I do plan on writing part two but feedback would really help!! I did proof read this, multiple times, but if there are any mistakes please let me know! Love love yous, cya in the next one!

You weren't a fool when it came to dating, but you weren't that experienced either. Boys hardly noticed you in High school, and it wasnt any different after. So it surprised you when HE asked you out.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

It was the afternoon, and you were 2 hours into your shift at Family Video. Well it wasn't YOUR shift, but Robin had asked you to cover for her since she had a date with Vickie, and after all the late night sleepovers you had with robin where she talked about her crush on vickie, non stop might i add, you couldn’t say no, especially when she spent 3 hours trying to reason with you. It’s not like you had any plans but you were looking forward to the perfect afternoon spent in your sweatpants and hoodie, watching whatever crap is on the television and ordering a pizza but I guess it had to wait.

Maybe the rest of the afternoon wouldn’t be a total bust, Steve was on shift with you and he was always fun to talk to. You were good friends with Steve, well as much as a co-worker can be. There was the odd occasion you’d see each other outside work like running into each other at the grocery store, the mall, or that time robin invited you to watch a movie but little did you know, she also invited steve, which was a little embarrassing since you wore your my little pony pajamas and he wouldn’t let that go for 3 months..

You were practically counting down the seconds till you could leave work, which felt like an ETERNITY! you know what they say, a watched pot never beeps, or was it clock?.. you shook your head discarding your thoughts, maybe you could put your time to use, so you thought you’d go check in on steve. You walked out the manager's office almost tripping over a box of VHS tapes. “Steve!” you called out. This was supposed to be put back hours ago.. you thought to yourself. You called out again when Steve didn’t answer, “Steve! I need you to put the VHS’s back, that was your job.” you huffed as you picked the heavy box up, carrying over to the counter, rifling through it.

As you were sorting through the box, practically doing Steve's job for him, you heard something fall behind you. Whipping your head around, you saw nothing, nothing but a knocked over pile of tapes, did steve just quit his job mid way through? Why is everything out? you decided not to question it too much, picking the fallen tapes off the floor when you heard a noise behind you, before you could turn around someone had their hands on your waist, picking you up and spinning you around, you let out a shriek when the person put you down you turned around, it was steve!

“You asshole! what was that for?” You punched him in the arm, the annoyance in your voice doing a poor job of hiding the fear as steve laughed.

“You should’ve seen your face.” he continued to mock you. You stood there with your arms crossed and a sour look. He cleared his throat, “m’sorry, i thought you could use a little entertainment, i know you love horror movies.” he smirked.

You couldn’t stay mad at him, not when he turned on his signature Harrington charm, it would always ignite a fire under that silly crush of yours.

“Yeah I like watching them, not being in them.” You said, swatting his arms away from you. “And why haven’t you done any work? you know Keith is going to fire your ass." Deciding to switch topics you remembered why you came out here in the first place, and almost tripped over Steve's mess. “I’ll put them away, I just wanted to have a little fun.” he pouted.

“Okay well you and your birds nest of a hair can have fun, over there by the Rom-Com section, putting all these tapes away.” I say giving him a shit-eating grin.

“You know you scream like a girl.” He said, deciding he wasn’t done humiliating you about the situation.

“That’s because i am one Sherlock.” you rolled your eyes, picking up the box from the counter and heading towards the office, when you tripped over something, causing the box to go flying, and you almost falling flat on your face, almost. You looked up and Steve had caught you, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly. “Shit are you okay?” His voice was laced with concern.

“I’m fine, s’fine. I couldn’t see where I was going.” you looked everywhere but him, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze. His strong scent clouding your mind, you forgot you were still in his arms, he was still holding you. You stood up properly, pushing yourself away from steve. “Thank you.” You muttered.

“It’s really no problem.” He felt slightly guilting, seeing what you tripped over, it was some of the VHS tapes he left out. “Your lucky i was there to catch you.” a smile started crawling on his face, oh boy, it started getting to his ego.

“Oh yeah, thanks Prince Charming.” You roll your eyes, but he could see through your harsh demeanour.

“Prince charming? That’s new. Do you happen to like princes?” He smirked.

Flirting wasn’t new between you and Steve, it happened quite a lot actually but you knew the type of person he was, so you just went along with it. You had an odd relationship with Steve, as much as you were “friends”, he always flirted with you and called you pet names like honey, princess, sweetheart and every time when he called you those names you’d get a weird feeling in your stomach, almost butterfly like..

When you first started working at Family Video you couldn’t believe you were working with non other then ‘King Steve’.

“Oh yeah definitely, especially ones with GREAT hair.” You said enthusiastically with a foreign smile.

“So you don’t actually hate my hair then?” He questioned, letting out a laugh.

“Who said I hated it? So what if I still think it looks like a beehive.” You muttered that last part but he still heard it, pretending to be offended by it.

“Ouch princess, that one hurt.” Stumbling backwards and holding his hand over his heart like he was shot, though he quickly let up on his whole act.

“Who knew Prince Charming had an ego that bruised like a peach?” You spat out, you were kind of enjoying this little thing you had going on, it was fun teasing him.

“Looks like even fairy tales have their flaws. Despite my “bruised ego”, how about we turn the page and clock out early?”

“And why would the Prince do that?” You said

Steve raises his eyebrow, leaning more forward, giving a smirk, he is felt a lot more confident. “Oh, well maybe this prince thinks this princess is cute and maybe this prince wants to… I don’t know, take her out or something tonight?”

You stand there, stunned. Your face turns into a tomato. That weird butterfly like feeling coming back..

“You want to take me out? like a date? like a date date? like a date where we sit opposite each other, sharing a milkshake, end of the night kiss, kind of date?” You say rambling, you knew Steve in high school, well you knew of him, I mean who didn’t right? He was THE king of Hawkins High, and every girl (and a few guys) had a crush on him, that included you too, but it was a silly girl crush. (A silly girl crush that was still there.)

The famous King Steve who dated girls like Nancy wheeler or Tammy Thompson, so why the hell was he asking you?

Steve chuckles as his heart races, little did you know this was the day he’d been waiting for awhile now. He had been waiting for the perfect time to ask you out. He’s had a crush on you for months now and he had to do something about it.

“Yes, I want to take you on a date date. Yes to the sitting opposite each other, yes to the milkshake, yes to the kiss, yes to everything.” Steve smirked, as he leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms, he hoped you’d say yes.

He may not have noticed you in high school but he definitely noticed you when you started working here, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You’d often catch him staring, or you’d get a feeling you were being looked at and as you’d turn your head towards Steve, his head was move away from you, like he was looking.

He felt like such an idiot for not noticing you in high school because you were beautiful, then again, he didn’t want you to know that version of him, the version that would probably sleep with you and never talk to you again. He wanted to treat you right, wanted you to know him now, the better version.

Your heart races in tandem with Steve's admission. The air seems charged with a mix of excitement and anticipation. "Well then," you reply with a playful grin, "I guess I can make time in my schedule for a date date. But, just so we're clear, this isn't some fairy tale, and you're not Prince Charming." You give him a teasing look, secretly thrilled that Steve, the once unattainable figure from high school, is asking you out.

———-

[granolawriting]

A change in fate ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: Your toxic ex kicks you out of your place without another word. Only hiring a mover to get your stuff somewhere else. And when Joel finds you in a state of disarray, and stays indifferent, you butt heads until it comes to a head when your paths cross again after that night. That time, much more complicated.

Content warning: age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers.

word count: 4k

A/N: this is the first of a two-part series inspired by an old movie I grew up with. If you can recognize it, I'll like, give you a really big treat. no nsfw this chapter, but the next one will. And as always, let me know if you like my work or if you have any suggestions for anything else I could write :)

Part 2 out now!!: to make you forget

“NO. No. No no no no no no no NO!!!” 

Your fist hits solid wood once more. Every slam that pounds upon its impenetrable front leaves a mark on your hand in the shape of bruises and soreness-- you try the door once more. It's locked, as it had been the last ten times you attempted to open it. Desperation laced in the fruitless fervor that played its sound of metal clanking on metal as the knob refused to turn. 

The thump on the ground follows a fall of your knees. Defeated, hopeless, in a dress that isn't even yours. Tears stream from your face in such passion you can't even feel them anymore as more of you is wet than it is dry. You imagine you look a mess, hair disheveled as you held it as you screamed at him-- makeup once beautiful and elegant streams down and across your face in the motion your hands chose to wipe away your tears. 

A screeching of tires followed by the shutting of a door is what knocks you out of this pathetic display. A man walks over to you and begins to pick up the boxes right beside you, carrying them to the back of his truck that has the title “MOVERS” painted on its side. You clamor to your feet, disorientation doesn't help the heels strapped to your feet as you chase after him;

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going with those? Who the hell are you?”

Rancor coats your tongue as your anger spits out onto him, He stands in the middle of an empty parking lot with only the light emanating from houses and lamps decorating the street are you able to take him in. 

He was tall, perhaps 6ft, an older man. Salt and pepper hair covered just above his forehead and a stern face was complimented by equally gruff facial hair of similar color, and a frown that seemed natural for him. He wore an old jacket-- probably made in the same year you were born with plaid linings on its inside to support a Carhartt branded outside. All the clothes upon his body seemed worn, from the stained jeans and a belt fitted so many times it might as well have been made for the exact curve of his body, to the heavy worker's boots with every scratch telling a story beyond your years. He looks at you. Up and down his eyes register curiously the woman that stood before him. He scoffs, and with a low Texan drawl he replies in kind; 

“Well princess, looks here like someone was kind enough to get yourself a mover for all them boxes outside the house. ‘Supose you know where i'm to drop em off?” 

“They can stay right here.” 

It comes out of you not in a literal sense, but you guess a plea of desperation. You can't imagine that this is actually happening. You can't just leave. After all the years you spent with him, all the hours you poured into his care and the best he can do is call up some old guy to take your shit somewhere else? 

“Now you know I can't do that. I ain't come all the way down here just for’ nothin. Now, I was hired to move, least you can let me do is my job.” 

His palms outstretched to you as he finishes putting the first box in the back of his truck, looking to you with little care for what you’re properly going through, moreso just a plea to let him go home sometime before 1 in the morning. 

your breath grows uneven again, you feel something build up in you again as you just refuse to accept this. Turning your back to him, you storm over to another box untouched by him and kick it, screaming and crying and truly just making a mess of yourself as you collapse once again on the curb of the sidewalk. Folding your arms across your knees, and with a head buried deep in your chest you sit there for a moment as you listen to the crunch of his boots against the loose gravel along the pavement trail back and forth past you as each box is stored into the vehicle. 

“Still haven't given me an address. Or were ya’ thinkin' of just sitting here and lettin' me take yer’ things?” 

Irritation follows his tone as he becomes increasingly impatient about your behavior. 

“I don't have anywhere to go.” 

“Surely you got someplace. Now get a move on, I'm bout damn tired of all this.” 

He drags you up by your upper arms, feeling his calloused hands hold onto the smoothness of your body as he lifts you to your feet. Shocked though, you push him away from you in haste;

“I can get up by myself. Thank you very much.”

You dust yourself off for just a moment before continuing, he looks at you with impatience.

“And I need a ride.” 

He stammers a bit as he begins to speak, 

“A- fucking,? Damn. alright then. Just get the hell on alright? Sure you wouldn't want em’ having to pay me extra.” 

He walks back to his truck as you follow, The two footsteps upon the concrete road are all that can be heard in the neighborhood as your pain slowly wells into your chest, and the outbursts cease. 

------------------------------------

“Now, listen here. We've been drivin' for damn near an hour now, and ain't nothing come of it. Where the hell am I takin you? Or I'm about to leave ya on the side of the damn road. I've got a kid at home.” 

“Just take me to the other side of town.”

“Are you fuckin kidding me? Now, I don't know what you've got goin on and I truly, don't want to. But you're real damn selfish ya know that? Makin me drive all over town like this like I'm some goddamn taxi. This place best got some money to pay me for.” 

His voice is deep, gruff, and when laced with the anger of a despondent woman who seems as if she has all the time in the world he's not keen to hold back judgment anymore. His hand grips the steering wheel firmly and doesn't look at you for a moment as he speaks to you. 

You're taken aback, to say the least. After the pain you've felt, the torment you've faced the only thing to greet you is the unwanted mouth of some old man who doesn't know what he's talking about.

“I'm selfish? You don't know the night I've had. How can you call me selfish? You were hired for a reason so why don't you just do your fucking job okay? As long as you’re getting paid it shouldn't matter a damn to you.” 

You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms in his passenger seat, watching him with disdain as he grips the wheel and drives relatively carelessly through the empty streets just to get you out. 

After a few minutes more, and by a few you mean around 30, you find yourself in front of a home you’d never think to see again truthfully. As you take in the sight of it, a simple house facing an otherwise unimpactful street, but you held memories of all your years within the confines of these blocks. You were home, after so many years away. 

“Get out.” 

He says bluntly. The clock shines a bright 1:47 on its dash, signifying that you definitely didn't meet his “before 1” pleas. But damn, could he have been any nicer about it? 

You watch as he hops out of the car himself, to the sound of a hard opening of the back that held all your belongings. And as you made your way ever so slowly out of his truck, trying to not fall as the step was coated in the darkness of the night that was no longer politely illuminated by street lights. As you made your way to the concrete below you, rounding his truck was he almost done putting your stuff back out, only on a different curb this time. And without a second to spare, he gets back into his truck, and leaves. Not a word said to you, not even an exchange.

What an asshole. 

-------------------------------------------

“So you’re telling me, that the man you were with for how many years, kicked you out for what?” 

The voice of your childhood friend rang once more through the old walls of the house, in the kitchen where you two sat. this was her family home, one that she now inherited, and one that after many years of silence on your part, she gladly opened up to you as well. 

“We were together almost 3 years. And he just, found another girl I guess. But she was in my closet, filled with her clothes. It's as if he’d moved me out overnight. He didn't have a word to say to me, it's like I never even mattered to him. But I've told you this time and time again, what more can I even do at this point?” 

She repositions herself with her legs crossing over one another as she looks for a response, taking a sip of coffee before having it dawn on her. 

“Today. 3 pm. Uncles holding a barbeque. You remember my uncle right? Everyone will be there. Maybe we could find you a good little rebound to bring you down to earth.” 

“Are you- a rebound? Seriously? Is that all you can think of right now?” 

“Listen. The only thing you can do with a broken heart is fix it. And that doesn't happen in a day. Least you can do is get something tasty to chase the pain with. Like hot old guys. You’re only 21! This is the prime time to do whatever you want.” 

You think for a second. Letting this wash over you as you try and figure out the next thing to do. Do you really doll yourself up after the most traumatic evening of your life is not even 24 hours in your past, just to eye all of your friends older relatives, and family friends that you’ve been ogling at since you were 16? 

I mean fuck it, what else are you going to do. 

Following your friend up the stairs, she lets out an excited giggle at the prospect of having you back after so many years. There's so many things to tell, different people to see, and subsequently laugh at, but the best of all her skills with a brush have gotten much better since the last time she helped you look good. Much better, apparently for as you looked at yourself in the mirror you could barely recognize the woman looking back at you-- let alone any trace of the girl sat in a torn dress the night before screaming outside her ex’s house. 

You put on a pretty yellow dress, adorned with flowers It's hemmed all properly frilled to some level, and the flow of the skirt portion barely getting over your back end does the top also treat you well; a low neck cup to shape your chest perfectly as the daintiness of your outfit, paired with little yellow heels, made you look properly irresistible. 

-----------------------------------

“Guess whos backkk!!!”

The excited shrills of your friend beside you make everyone who'd arrived at the party thus far to crane their heads back to look, all of which subsequently smiled with shock as they looked upon you. None of them had seen you since you were 17, about 18 years old. That's when you left, the moment you could. Looking back you missed all of this so much, the community, the story told in every face that looked upon you. But all is lost now and the most you can do is make the best out of the time you have right now-- and as it stands you’re at the center of it all. 

They approach you by the droves, asking every question they can that have undoubtedly had rumored answers to in your absence; detailing from where you've been, what you’re doing, where you go to school, where you work, and most hurtful-- how your ex was doing. You briefly told them all that you and him had since parted, and that you were just getting back on track, spending some time at your friend's house in the meantime. They all looked upon you in sympathy, but as more people entered the party the more they dispersed to greet other guests. 

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?” 

A low, familiar tone enters the backyard where you stand, and turning around to face you is your friend's father. Who, for most of your life was like a father to you as well. He opens his arms and you follow suit, embracing him in what feels like a much-needed hug, before setting you down again to continue talking to you. 

“Oh, honey if, if I'd known you were coming I'd have brought you something. How long has it been since I last saw you? God, you seem so grown up now. It's like I barely even know you.” 

His head moves to look behind him for a second, and soon he ushers someone forward to join in the conversation. 

“Ah, there's something I'd love for you to meet. This is a good friend of mine, Joel. I haven't had him around any of these much, he just moved back here from Texas a couple weeks back. But he's someone I've known my whole life. Kinda like you and my daughter in a way!” 

Though as the man who emerged behind him reared his head, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him, of course, it was him. That asshole that drove you home like you were the greatest burden he's ever had to carry. 

“Yer fuckin kidding me.” 

He looks at you in shock. Nothing more. However, you see that to his side is a young girl, no older than 12 who seems to be in awe over you. Her hair was tucked into each side of her face to illuminate it in a crown of curls that came to her shoulder and stretched all the way to her ears in volume. She wore a small shark tooth necklace, and some form of singer on her shirt that you didn't recognize.

He-, Joel, looks down at her; 

“Sarah how bout you go say hi to your friends for me. I'm gonna be busy a moment” 

She runs off, and your friend's dad begins to speak again. 

“Do you, know each other from somewhere? I can't imagine you do.” 

“She's that insane little girl I told you ‘bout. The one kickin n’ screaming all over the place. Reason why Sarah hadta’ stay the night at your place.” 

“The insane little girl?” 

You chime in.

“There's no way- Joel, you’ve probably got the wrong girl” 

“No, he has the right one.” 

You stare directly at him, sending daggers into each of the brown eyes that look back at you. 

“He kicked me out of his car at almost 2 in the morning without a single word. Isn't that right?” 

Though no matter how piercing your gaze it fails to impact him as it should, for with equal level tone he snipes back; 

“Yep, after makin me drive all the way cross’ town just cause she wanted to. Knowin I got someone waitin’ for me. Clearly, something she don't understand all too much anymore.” 

That was unnecessary. 

Something brews inside of you as you glance upon his finger void of a ring, even a tan that would indicate its recent removal. Though as the only sane-minded person seemingly left to observe watches your eyes as you make such a connection, he swiftly puts an end to it. 

“Now, Joel. you know how young girls are they-” 

“I'm not that young.” 

“Alright well, they. Are just passionate, that's all. She was with him for how many was it now? Three years? Left the moment she turned of age. Clearly she just doesn't know how a mans supposed to be. This is all she really knows.” 

This is all she really knows.

That's all that rang through your head as the conversation died and Joel exchanged brief apology. That in a way, he was all you really knew. And now you’re back home, and you don't know what to do with yourself, really. You don't know what you like, or what you don't like. It was all just, him. For so long. You vowed to yourself that day that, no matter what went on you would say yes to anything. To embrace kind of, anything that came your way as some divine fate, or at the very least a fun experience. 

As the night droned on, and you fielded the barrage of squeals, hugs from people you don't remember, and a bit more liquor you could've accounted for, the night came to a slow end. Feeling eyes on you constantly was one thing, but feeling the eyes on the man with who’d you'd had a comfortable reunion was even worse in a way. Although, as you looked upon him in your own moments you saw in him something unveiled after the veil of hatred and sorrow fell off of you. Something, interesting about him. Attractive. Obviously nothing you were going to personally indulge in, but an interesting assertion nonetheless. He stood in the light of the evening, fairy lights covering the backyard as it illuminated his now more time-appropriate outfit; one of marginally better jeans and a plaid shirt, rolled to his elbows to reveal what were impressive forearms, and with the proper fit of his shirt, showed an impressive physique for a single dad.

… … …

 Thats stupid. Anyways, the night drew to a close and as you saw your friend too wrapped up in the conversation of someone relatively older than her, you decided to take the few blocks walk home, especially since you didn't have a car anymore either. Though as you exit the front door to travel down the sidewalk you hear a familiar accent call out to you after only a few feet have been made distance between you and the doorframe; 

“Ya’ walking home this late at night?” 

“Yeah, I am. Not like I've got a car do I?” 

You turn your body to look at him, but only after you've finished your sentence, using the body language of someone unequipped for any more stupid banter to cue him into leaving you alone. 

“How’s about I drive you home. Least I can do after what I’d said today. It wasent quite my place.” 

His voice has an unfamiliar tune of sympathy as he lets out that apology of sorts, so you engage. Though, begrudgingly. 

“Don’t you have a daughter to take care of? That seemed what got you so mad before.” 

He sighs a little, you notice you've hit a bit of a nerve. 

“Well, she’ll be stayin' at a friend's place for a few days, really hit it off. Got nothin but time on my hands now.” 

“Well in that case I'm not gonna say no to a free ride. Obviously.” 

You smile a bit, a first with him. Other than ones of sarcasm, every interaction you've had with him thus far hasn't been all that pleasant. And he smiles back. And, as the light of the moon shines down upon his weathered face, the smirk on his makes your smile grow even more. 

Hopping into his car once more, you take the road to your place with a little more enjoyment than how it transpired the night before. This time, the sound of his music accompanied by a hum through his car is what played to fill the silence of the atmosphere. Something old, country, of course. You’d never heard it, and it sounded well beyond even his years. But despite that, there was a comforting air that was shared in the car-- cool air blowing in from the windows rolled down, watching as his arm held on to the side of the car door from the open window, tapping its side in unison to the beat. 

“This here is it right?” 

Pulling up to your shared home you felt almost a little reluctant to respond with a yes. Though when you do, he steps out of the car as you do as well. You watch as he awaits your circle to the front where he stood, as a means to walk with you to the front of your door. Looking at him curiously as you reach the entrance, he gives response to your motions, though you watch as his fingers fiddle with one another ever so slightly as he poses such a response;

“It ain’t right leaving a lady to walk all by herself after dropping her off. And, I just wanted to say again that it ain't my place makin assumptions about you like that. Wanted to know if I could make it up to ya’. Kinda seems like lifes dealt you a bad hand right now, thought to offer you a drink over it.” 

A drink? 

You thought about that for a second. The man that kicked you out of his car, literally less than 24 hours ago, is now offering to take you out for a drink. Well, it was as a means for apology. So that's something. Nothing more to it, it's a Southern thing. They drink to anything. Especially sorrow. 

“I think I’ll have to take you up on that. You’ll know where I’ll be.” 

You reply with a smile that grows just large enough to show your teeth. He gazed at you for a bit longer, as his eyes grew brighter at the prospect of an invitation accepted. He was a lot less harsh than meets the eye, it seemed. But you still weren't properly convinced. And, there was still much a mystery about him that although intimidated you, enticed you even more. You cock your hip to the side of the doorframe, leaning up against it as he spoke to you as a means to accentuate your figure just a bit as he looked at you. Just to see what would happen. 

“Oh, alright then. 7 alright with you? I’ll come pick you up course’.” 

“Seven’s more than alright with me. I'll see you then, Joel.” 

As you bid farewell to him, you watched as his eyes tracked your movements as you did so. The way your hips have shifted place, the tone at which your voice shifted ever so slightly. He took in your gaze, a small cat eye that sharpened your eyes paired with the sly smile of a woman your age was enough to catch his stare for a moments longer than it should've. You relished in that. 

He leaves you off with a nod and a smile, though you take the time that he walks back to his truck as a means to take in all that he was without interruption. He was handsome, to say the least. There was something to be said about a man with southern hospitality and an ass made from manual labor that reached deeper into a realm of attraction that was often untapped by the men of your age range. And you enjoyed greatly that you’d discovered such a thing. 

Tomorrow, 7pm, Joel. 

[haddonfieldwhore]

guilty conscience - matthew tkachuk

flames!matthew tkachuk x draisaitl!fem! reader pt.2

summary: you and matthew continue to sneak around, and leon figures out that something is up

warnings: langauge, mention of violence, implied smut, continuity is questionable because i didn’t plan to write a part two 😅, unrealistic leon behaviour

word count: 3.3k (oops) part one is here

it wasn’t even a month before the oilers and the flames met again, this time at home in edmonton. calgary being in town meant that matthew tkachuk was in town, and you thought back to that first night you had found yourself tangled up with the rival teams player; and all the times after. the two hour drive never stopped him from texting or calling after a tough loss, inviting you over to help him let off some steam. this quickly turned into meeting up to celebrate wins as well, and in the short few weeks since your first meeting, you felt as if you had spent more time in matthews bed than your own.

“are you gonna be at the game tonight?” he asked as he got dressed, staying at your place rather than a hotel; he would be sleeping there anyway.

“yes, but i am obligated to cheer for the oilers as long as my brother is on their team,” you laughed. leon had gotten you tickets for the game like he always did, the two of you having made up only a few days after the incident happened. however the thrill of sneaking around with matthew hadn’t worn off, even though you were no longer doing it to get back at your brother.

“how much would i have to pay you to wear my jersey to the game?” he teased, wrapping his arms around your waist as you pulled your t-shirt over your head.

“more money than your contract,” you replied. “if the crowd didn’t mob me, i think i’d be disowned by my family.”

matthew placed a kiss on your lips with a smile, and you fixed his curls that you had spent the last half hour tangling your fingers through.

“that’s too bad. you’d look hot wearing my number.”

“i wouldn’t look hot in the body bag they’d have to carry me out in. nevermind if leon found out why i was wearing it. you’d be in the back of the hearse with me.”

“as fun as that sounds,” he joked. “i have a game in a few days so-“ you interrupted him with a kiss.

“don’t worry. i’ll secretly be cheering for you,” you smiled. “you’re more fun to hang out with when you win.”

“hey,” he warned with a chuckle. “i gotta go, but i’ll meet you here after the game? we probably shouldn’t leave together…”

“you’re probably right. it’s already suspicious enough that you told the team you were staying with a friend instead of at the hotel with them.”

“is it so hard to believe i might have a friend?” he laughed, putting his shoes on to leave.

“sometimes,” you joked. “good luck,” you smiled as he snuck out of your apartment, shaking your head as you began to get ready to go to the game.

•

despite you wishing him good luck, the game went in favour of the oilers, this time the flames falling to edmonton in a 1-0 loss. at one point calgary had scored a goal to tie the game but it was waved off for interference.

your eyes met matthews on the bench, and you could tell he was frustrated as he slid his mouthguard back over his teeth. after the game ended, you went to meet up with leon backstage, the edmonton player in a significantly better mode than the last time you had seen him. he greeted you with a hug, and you returned it with a smile, but a sinking feeling sprouted in your stomach.

“hey, it’s good to see you,” your brother smiled, and you smiled back.

“you too. good game,” you commented, the words tasting funny in your mouth as you realized you didn’t mean them; and part of you wished calgary had won.

“yeah, a little bit of payback is nice. to bad we couldn’t get a few more goals, but i’ll take it,” he laughed. payback, you thought; that’s what matthew had been.

you weren’t sure that’s all it was anymore.

•

another month went by, the season nearing the midway point now. you scrolled through your phone as you waited for matthew to get out of the shower. you had spent the last few days at his house while the flames played a five game homestand, winning all but one; which meant matty was in a good mood going into the third matchup between the two alberta teams this season tonight. a message popped up on the screen, and you bit your lip as you replied to your brother.

you hated lying to him, and you’d found yourself doing it more and more the closer you and matthew became. you couldn’t exactly tell him that you weren’t even in edmonton at the moment, instead two hours away after spending the week with a man he hated.

a man who you had fallen for; and fallen hard.

the man in question had the nerve to walk out of the bathroom in just a towel around his waist, hung low on his hips as the warm air rushed out of the bathroom and tickled your legs as you sat on the edge of his bed. he walked over and placed a kiss on the top of your head, quickly noticing your expression.

“what’s up?” matt asked, his eyebrows furrowed at the upset look on your face.

“nothing, it’s just leon.”

“did he say something to you?” he asked, his fist clenching slightly at his side.

“no, nothing like that,” you assured him as you looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze softening and his jaw unclenching as he relaxed. “i just hate lying to him about…”

“…us?”

“yeah. it was kind of fun at first, and now i’m just worried what’s gonna happen when he does find out. more so worried about what he’s going to do to you,” you admitted.

“come on, sneaking around is still a little bit fun,” he teased, and you managed to crack a smile. sometimes, you thought. “it’ll be okay, we will figure it out when we get to that point.”

“i don’t want him to kill you,” you said, taking his hand in yours, you fingers playing with his absentmindedly. “which is a real possibility-“ you laughed.

“i’ll be fine. come on, the guys might kill me if im late for the game.”

•

you were only thirty minutes through the two hour drive back to edmonton when your phone rang, leon’s name popping up on the screen. panicking slightly, you answered it, matthew glancing over from behind the wheel as your leg shook anxiously.

“hey, leon.”

“where are you?” he asked, no hello. not good, you thought, trying not to freak out.

“what?” you asked, hoping to find out why he was asking.

“where are you?”

“on my way to the arena,” that at least was true. “why what’s-“

“bullshit, your car is at home.”

“what - you drove by my house? why?”

“because you’ve been hiding something. why are you in calgary?” he asked, and your heart pounded in your chest. your phone location must have been left on by accident.

“i was visiting a friend-“

“without your car?”

“i got a ride - oh my god. you’re my brother not my dad, i don’t need to tell you where i am all the time.”

“why didn’t you tell me you were out of town when i texted you this morning?”

“not that i have to explain myself, leon, but i didn’t feel like typing it all out and i had just woken up.” with each lie you told, you knew you were burying yourself in a hole that was becoming harder and harder to dig out of.

“i’m not sure i believe you.”

“you don’t have to, but it’s the truth.” half true, you thought.

“if you say so.”

“whatever. i’ll see you after the game.” you hung up the phone and ran your hands over your face.

“i’m scared to ask…”

“he knows something is up,” you sighed. “i’m so dead. we’re both dead-“

“hey, just breathe okay?” his hand rested on your thigh reassuringly.

“we just have to be really careful.”

“baby, he’s gonna find out eventually. maybe it would be better if he found out sooner than later,” he suggested. in the short two months you had been with matthew, you weren’t sure exactly when it changed from just hooking up to something more. “unless you want to just stop and pretend this never happened...” he said, his jaw stiffening.

“is that what you want?” your heart beat sped up, but you breathed a soft sigh of relief as he shook his head.

“no, that’s not what i meant at all. as much as you might think i do, i don’t actually want to cause problems between you and your family,” he laughed, and once again you found yourself cracking a smile despite the situation.

“i like you a lot, matthew,” you admitted. “i don’t care what he says to me, he’s my brother and he’ll get over it. i’m just worried what he’ll do to you.”

“don’t worry about me. do you really think he’d be that mad that we’re dating?”

“…are we dating?” you asked for clarification. you’d never really discussed it.

“i mean .. you’ve been at my house for the last week. i kind of thought that made it clear that i want to be with you,” he shrugged with a smile.

“you do?”

“of course i do. did you think i didn’t?”

“i don’t know. maybe,” you laughed, and his hand squeezed your thigh.

“does that mean we’re dating?”

“yes, i guess it does,” you smiled, leaning over to kiss him softly.

•

you cheered internally for calgary as the game went on, sending matthew a smile as your eyes met his. the shared looks between you and the calgary flame didn’t go unnoticed by edmontons number 29, and he had to restrain himself from ramming matthew into the boards whenever they shared the ice. leon noticed how everytime the flames scored, matthew was looking for you in the stands. although you weren’t outwardly celebrating, you were happy the flames were winning. sure, leon would be pissed, but he could get over it.

you felt bad that once again, matthew had taken priority in your life over your brother, but you only wanted them to lose when they played calgary, so you didn’t feel too bad.

the game ended with calgary winning 5 - 2, and you tried not to look too happy as you waited for leon to get out of the dressing room. when he did, he was in a mood again, this time not because of the loss, but because of the way he had caught tkachuk staring at his little sister.

“hey,” you greeted him.

“hey. i’m sorry about how i acted on the phone earlier,” he apologized, greeting you with a hug that surprised you slightly. “you’re right, you don’t have to tell me where you are all the time.”

“thank you. i’m sorry about the game.” his face dropped and he shrugged, his eyes catching sight of a familiar head of curls down the hall. leon’s anger got the best of him, and he marched toward matthew and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to turn around.

“i don’t know if you’re just trying to piss me off, but quit looking at my sister and focus on the game, yeah?” he warned, and matthew looked slightly confused, his eyes glancing to you as you shook your head behind leon. your brother poked his shoulder to gain his attention back. “don’t look at her.”

“maybe you’re the one who should focus on the game. remember which team won,” matthew laughed, and you could tell this was not going to end well.

“leon, just leave it. are you really gonna pick a fight with someone for looking at me?” you knew they didn’t get along, but this was beyond what you’d expected.

“when he’s a prick like this guy-“

“leon! enough,” you pulled on his arm. “let’s just go home before you do something you regret.”

“i wouldn’t regret it,” he said stepping closer till he was nearly face to face with matthew. you could tell that matt was keeping quiet for your sake, and you appreciated it as you stared in disbelief at your brother. he had never been this overprotective before, and you barely recognized him.

“what the hell has gotten into you? i’m sorry you lost but you don’t get to act like an asshole because of it. you’re making a scene.”

you stepped in between them, pushing leon back from matthew and putting some much needed space between them.

“why are you defending him?”

“why are you acting like this? you’re being ridiculous!

“why is he looking at you like that? why did he spend the whole game watching you?”

“who cares?” you argued, as you felt everything crumbling around you. leon glanced from you to matthew, who stood back and kept his mouth shut for your sake.

“who were you with in calgary?” leon asked, starting to connect the dots in his head.

“leon-“

“who. were. you. with?” he demanded.

“it’s none of your business who i was with!”

leon wasn’t listening anymore, instead staring a hole into matthew, who if looks could kill would be six feet underground.

“it’s not enough to be an jerk on the ice, you have to go and get with my sister just to piss me off?” leon took a step towards the younger man, your hands on his chest doing little to slow him down. matthew opened his mouth to speak, but you did first.

“it wasn’t like that leon,” you defended your boyfriend. “it was my idea.” leon stopped, looking down at you with wide eyes.

“tell me you’re joking right now-“ he spoke calmly, but you knew he was anything but calm, which made it even scarier.

“i’m not,” you said. “i went to him.”

“how long?” his jaw clenched as he stared at you, his eyes filled with hatred; for you or matthew you weren’t so sure anymore.

“it doesn’t matter - it’s not gonna change how much you hate me right now,” you said, hoping that he would just let it go. no such luck.

“how long?” he repeated.

“since november.”

“you’ve been sleeping with my sister for two months?” he yelled at matthew, his raised voice drawing the attention of a few other players from each team as they left their locker rooms. “and you-“ he poked your shoulder harshly. “you’ve been lying to me about it for 2 months? everytime you told me you were busy or had plans - you were with him?” he said, a disgusted look on his face.

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded as tears began to well in your eyes.

“why did you do it? why him?”

“i knew it would piss you off,” you said honestly. “after that game in november you were so rude to me, and i know it was wrong, but i wanted to get back at you somehow. but it’s not about that anymore, leon. i really like him.”

“were you ever going to tell me?”

“yes, i promise. i just knew how you would react-“ he scoffed, interrupting you.

“you mean how i would react to finding out that my little sister got with a guy she knows i don’t like just to make me mad?”

“it sounds really bad when you say it like that,” you looked down at the floor as leon laughed in disbelief.

“it sounds really bad? it is bad!” he snapped. matthew tried to send the few calgary players who had gathered away, assuring them that he was fine and he didn’t need their help. a few edmonton players lingered outside their locker room as well, aware of who you were and wondering what was going on.

“i’m sorry,” you repeated.

“i would expect something like this from him, but you? this is a new low. maybe you two are perfect for eachother.” leon began to walk away, and you called after him.

“please, leon. i know it was wrong, but it’s not up to you who i date.” he stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“you’re right,” he said coldly. “i just think it’s best that you stay away from me for a while.” your heart broke as you realized just how bad you had screwed up. “and get him out of my sight before i decide not to be so nice.”

matthews arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you watched leon walk away with his teammates, and you turned around to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head as you cried, your arms thrown around his shoulders.

“he’ll get over it eventually,” you sniffled. “thank you for not saying anything to piss him off even more.” he laughed, his chest shaking lightly as he rubbed your back.

“i try to be on my best behaviour,” he teased. the few flames players that had been lingering around came over to check on you and matthew, one of them you recognized as matthew’s friend sam bennett.

“best behaviour my ass,” he joked. “leave it to you to stir up drama with draisaitl.”

“hey,” matthew warned lightly, but you laughed.

“two draisaitl’s actually. leon is my brother.”

“that explains it,” sam said, patting matthew on the shoulder. “good work, genius.”

“it was a mutual agreement to piss him off, for the record.” matthew defended himself.

“well,” sam said, looking in the direction that leon had gone. “looks like it worked.”

matthew punched his shoulder with a laugh, and you felt a smile creep onto your face despite everything.

“you wanna come for drinks with us?” one of the other flames asked, and you looked at matthew for his answer.

“what do you say? you officially switching sides?” he joked, and you shook your head with a laugh.

“what the hell, sure,” you agreed. matthew smiled, kissing you softly as the guys cheered. you followed them hand in hand with matthew as you walked you to his car, a bittersweet feeling in your chest.

leon had reacted about as well as you thought he would, but he hadn’t killed matthew, so that was a plus. you just worried for the next time they played eachother; but that wasn’t for weeks. maybe leon would calm down by then.

the older draisaitl watched from across the parking lot as you laughed with matthew and his friends.

“i know it sucks that she lied to you, but she looks happy,” connor mcdavid offered. leon simply shot him a glare, and he didn’t mention it again as connor got into the car without another word.

he hated that he was right; you did look happy. eventually he would get over it, but it still hurt that you had gone behind his back specifically to get back at him; even if he had kinda deserved it.

you didn’t notice leon watching you as got into the car with matthew, his hand holding yours over the center console as you followed behind sam’s car to the bar.

“i’m suprised he didn’t punch you, so i suppose that could have gone worse,” you laughed half heartedly. “congratulations on the win, by the way.”

“he might just be saving it for the next game,” he laughed. “and thank you. i’m sorry.”

“i knew what i was doing, you don’t have to apologize. and as much as it sucks that my brother hates my guts right now, i still have a pretty cool boyfriend at the end of the day,” you smiled, and matthew brought your joined hands up to his mouth to kiss the your knuckles, his facial hair tickling your skin.

“does that mean you’ll wear my jersey to the next game?” he asked with a goofy smiled.

“don’t push it.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[euphoricfilter]

For the drabble game could you write fluff with youtuber bf jk ? I am not creative so I couldn’t think of a sentence sorry😭 but maybe he does one of those 24hr streams, I love your writing!

youtuber boyfriend! kook headcanons:

tags/ warnings: none. just a lot of fluff and feelings <3

notes: when i got sent this idea ages ago i got so excited. and i wrote three fics for it but hated them all and then made sure they were to never see the light of day. so my solution is to write some cute boyfriend headcanons instead to make up for it!! simply because i absolutely love this idea and i need to write anything for it to sate the need within me.

notes 2: this got slightly longer than i’d intended LMAO sorry 🕺

𓇻 i feel like jungkook’s channel has a plethora of videos, though he specializes in gaming.

𓇻 its probably one of his biggest passions. though i do see him dabbling in commentary, or even review type videos. maybe he’s a bit of a collector as well and goes on hour long rants about rare items or hauls of what he purchased over the years.

𓇻 i see the both of you probably meeting at one of those second-hand game and film stores.

𓇻 maybe you’re just milling around. more content to browse the movies than the games because you only own an old console (something cute like a nintendo DS) but they don’t really sell the game cards commercially anymore

𓇻 and jungkook loses track of why he was even there in the first place when he spots you. slowly scooting towards the corner you’re in.

𓇻 jungkook might not exactly believe in love at first sight, finds it a little hard to imagine loving someone so soon. but he definitely believes in destiny, even fate. and some small part of his mind had convinced him that surely this was just that.

𓇻 he’d be a bit shy about trying to approach you, mouth opening only for nothing to come out because what was he supposed to say? and maybe he accidentally startles you, offering to pay for the few dvds you had hugged to your chest as a lame sort of compensation

𓇻 he’d be the one to ask for your number, he’d be the first to text. you’d tell him later on it’s because you didn’t want to come off too head-strong. worried you’d scare him off messaging only hours after meeting. and then he’d tell you he had worried about the same thing

𓇻 jungkook wouldn’t straight out tell his audience he’d gotten into a relationship. it’s not that he was embarrassed about you, quite the opposite; he’d love to flaunt you to the world. it’s just he’d worry about the reaction from fans.

𓇻 he’d have a pretty hefty audience, a well established one even. and he wasn’t blind to the mean comments that would occasionally show up beneath videos or social media posts. he, himself, never found much issue in dealing with them, on occasion he’d get a little down but he knew that really he put himself up for this. he chose to show his face online, and with that would come some backlash. however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you or how shitty comments would effect your well being.

𓇻 definitely the “in a relationship but it’s private” sort of photos would slowly creep their way onto his IG posts. maybe of little date nights— candles on the table with a dinner you’d cooked together (2 glasses, 2 plates and 2 sets of cutlery), or your favorite cake he’d tried to bake himself with the lego flowers he’d spent the previous evening trying to make (because at least you could look at the lego ones forever and they wouldn’t die). or maybe even your hand snuck in a photo or simply your silhouette beneath a sunset.

𓇻 maybe a few of your own collectible items had made their way onto the shelf in his studio. an obvious beanbag in the corner (you’d often sit there and read as he went through emails or scripted videos). valentines cards that he’d never thought to take down, or posters of yours that never exactly fit in the bedroom

𓇻 it would become apparent that he was in a long-term relationship when he’d film a moving video. so much of your stuff mingled with his own, split seconds of the shared rooms he’d add to the video before showing his audience his new office space. the extra shoes and cute little additions to his home; soft cushions on the couch, ceramics you’d begged him to buy. your hoard of plushies that took up half the bed or the stupid amount of skin care products stacked up in the bathroom. all a sure way of telling his fans that he was serious about you, even if they had no idea of your name or face

𓇻 maybe with enough comments he’d make a little announcement at the end of a video.

𓇻 “i know you’ve all probably guessed by now, but i am in fact, in a relationship”

𓇻 and then proceeded to talk about you for 7 minutes because really he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. and truthfully he never knew when to shut up when it came to you, not when you were what’s on his mind most of the time. he’d tell them how you’d met, and how he had been absolutely enamored by you almost instantly. he’d show everyone the matching bracelets you’d made. grinning as he showed off the receipt he’d kept in his wallet from your first date together at a small cafe in town, mentioning how he kept a baby photo of you in the back of his phone too.

𓇻 the first time you’d show up in a video, he’d plan for the both of you to do some crafts together one afternoon. a hobby you’d been trying over the last couple of weeks, and jungkook liked to indulge you. loved to watch you sprawled across the floor of an evening with glue coating your fingers and way too much glitter imbedded in the carpet.

𓇻 he’d have been worried at first. asking you over and over if it was truly okay for you to be on camera, and after your reassured him with a kiss, he’d settle down slightly. though his anxiety had still clung to him, eyes flitting your way throughout the afternoon

𓇻 he could tell how shy you’d been, and had reassured you that really you didn’t even need to address the audience. he’d do all the silly little things you giggled at him for. and all you had to do was sit there and be pretty for him. you’d been a lot quieter than usual; itching to give him a kiss each time he was just so awfully jungkook. eyes like those of galaxies when he got something right, or the happiest smile on his face when you asked him for help

𓇻 the day he did a 24 hour charity stream would be when his audience sees you the most. milling around the house, making sure your boyfriend was fed and watered. maybe even sitting down and reading the chat when he wanted to shower. or answering questions while perched on his lap. he’d want to smother you with even more love when you’d catch his eye— a silent question if you were doing okay, that you answered all the questions correct. and he’d squeeze your thigh in reassurance, head resting over your shoulder as he listened to your voice, humming to let you know he was still listening

𓇻 you’d startle him at 4am, a little pouty that you’d had to fall asleep alone. dragging a chair from the kitchen to sit on as you watch him play a game you’d never seen before.

𓇻 “go back to bed, baby” he’d coo, “you’ll fall asleep sitting up and get a bad back”

𓇻 and maybe after that he’s a lot more open to showing you on camera. filming you on beaches, eating cakes and ice creams from a million different restaurants or dancing around hotel rooms or sitting on the balcony with the sun warming your skin when he takes you on holiday. short films dedicated to you with your favorite songs playing in the background

𓇻 maybe he even makes a playlist on his youtube channel, titled “my love” for every video that he includes you in

𓇻 idk just very much in love boyfriend kook who wants the world to love you almost as much as he does (because in all honesty, no one would ever love you more than he does)

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily?

Painland Week Day 2 - Myths/Legends

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

y'all remember how I said a few days ago that day 2 for @painlandweek was almost finished? Yeah,, when I went to bed two nights ago, this fic had 500 words. When I woke up again, I thought, hey, just write another 500 words and get back to it to flesh it out sometime later. Yeah, I finished this at 3am and it turned out to be *checks word count* almost 4000 words! Whoops?

Word count: 3726

ao3 link will be added

Title is from Hozier's "Francesca"

TW: body horror (Charles changing forms)

summary:

Hell has made them stronger together, Edwin is sure of that. It has, however, also made Charles anxious to leave Edwin alone for longer periods of time. When Charles doesn't return home for hours and neither Crystal nor Edwin know where he might be, everything leads to a familiar witch who wants to find out how strong the bond between the two ghosts really is when tested.

It had been exactly two months, three weeks and five days since they escaped Hell, found and lost enough to last another lifetime or two and realised the possibility of relative peace existed for them in the form of a trans-dimensional being who had never learnt what “tranquillity” even meant. Edwin agreed that most times, there was too much paperwork to be done to even try to achieve some peace of mind. 

For the most part, though, it was just an excuse. In reality, Edwin struggled with the idea that he could stop running now. After decades of looking over his shoulder, it took an immense amount of effort to direct his gaze at what’s in front of him.

Looking ahead now, all Edwin could see was the empty office, dust dancing over the furniture. The boxing gloves lay forgotten on a table near the entrance door and the football Charles always played with inside despite how much Edwin complained haphazardly rolled under the couch. Everything was still and that was only the beginning of the long list Edwin formulated in his mind of Things That Were Wrong.

Exhibit B: Charles was nowhere to be found. Which, while not particularly sitting right with Edwin, was not an unusual occurrence these days. Charles spent a lot of time with Crystal, helping her get used to her new flat or just keeping her company, watching movies. Crystal always made sure to extend her invitation to Edwin as well and he agreed every once in a while, sitting next to Charles on Crystal’s small but cosy couch, thighs touching. He also enjoyed his time spent with Crystal. She had grown on him and he was quite glad to call her his friend. Edwin lent her the detective novels he loved and in return he listened to what she called “podcasts” about psychology. 

But even so, he knew that the needling to “come over to hers with me, yeah, mate? The movie’s s'posed to be aces” was solely Charles’ doing because he did not like letting him out of his sight ever since Hell. This resulted in Charles excessively checking in on him via mirror every few hours, which most times was met by Edwin with a fondly annoyed eye roll. Edwin was quick to give in when confronted with Charles’ pleading eyes. It was not like he was any different in that regard. Spending time with them was no hardship whatsoever and Edwin had to admit that he found it quite sweet how Charles would look after him.

Which brought him to exhibit C: Charles had been gone for more than five hours and had not checked in on Edwin once in this time. Which had Edwin more worried than was probably warranted. Charles would be just fine, he was sure. He would just take a quick trip to Crystal’s and then he could calmly get back to his work for the Night Nurse. 

Edwin stood up and put the files under their paperweight. Mirror travel had been one of the most fascinating aspects of being a ghost. It required to be precise and focused while not putting any strain on his energy. It took just a fraction of a second until he found himself standing in the middle of Crystal’s living room.

“Holy fuck!” The resounding thump alerted Edwin to their psychic who was clutching her shoulder that she probably hit against the door frame she was currently leaning against, mouth twisted in pain and eyes wide with shock and irritation. “Edwin! How many times do we have to have this conversation until it sticks?”

“Yes, yes, no sudden mirror jumping into your room. I know.” Edwin pursed his lips, looking around. Better get to the point quickly.  “Is Charles here?”

“No, he isn’t. I don’t know where loverboy is, why?”

“He is not home either, has he said anything?”

Crystal flopped down on her couch. “Well, he said he wanted to come ‘round today to help me fix the sink but he didn’t show.” Reaching onto the coffee table for her phone, she checked the time. “Yeah, Charles said he’d be here around two.”

Edwin felt his stomach lurch in anxiety. It was half past five. A chilled silence filled the room as they looked at each other in question.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“Doesn’t seem any different, right?” 

The agency lay completely untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. Normally, this would ease Edwin’s nerves, seeing as it was his sanctuary, his safe space along with Charles. Now, though, this also meant that there were no clues as to where Charles had gone. 

“Quite,” he agreed. Walking in circles around their desk, he eventually walked up to the window and peered outside. “Maybe there is something outside, he didn’t leave through the mirror.” 

They made their way downstairs, Crystal barely holding onto the railing to not slip on the steps in her hurry while Edwin simply opted to let himself fall through the floor to get to the entrance door as soon as possible. The night creeped in steadily, the shadows growing longer, twisting at their ankles. Their office was located a little off the beaten path, but not too far. When they first started flat-hunting, they were conscious that they had to balance on an incredibly fine line of finding a place just secluded enough to not bear the brunt of the daily London tourism but also don’t attract anyone who might be searching for lost places to scout out. 

This resulted in a beautiful view from their window but dark alleyways that led to seemingly nowhere, cobblestones streets with missing stones and cracks in them. The walls towered over them here, making it harder to distinguish the darkening sky from the roofs and edges. Their living neighbour had hung their bed sheets on the washing lines on the balcony and whenever Edwin blinked and tried to bring his eyes back into focus, they reminded him of David the Demon when they first exorcised him. 

It was dark, dirty and daunting. Nothing looked to be amiss. Except, of course, for the backpack that was sloped against the gutter. Edwin snatched it up and true enough: Charles’ bag of tricks. The straps showed various scratches and the top was stained. Decidedly not a condition Charles would leave his most prized possession in. Crystal was aware of this as well and carefully reached out to read it.

The few seconds that passed while Crystal’s eyes turned white and she stared into the distance were the most agitating of his existence.

Crystal gasped, letting the bag fall to the floor again, supporting herself on her knees. Edwin crouched next to her with his hands fluttering around her, not exactly knowing what he was supposed to do to help her. 

Resurfacing, she stood up again, shooting Edwin a small grateful smile that quickly blinked away again.

“Esther’s back,” she announced and tucked her jacket tighter around her. “She ambushed him here and took him.”

And Edwin’s world broke into pieces, shattering from the sky onto the puddle-ridden street and breaking the moonshine.

He didn’t say anything at first, every word vanished from his mind.

“I might know where they are, though. Or, I can find out.”

“How?” His voice sounded rough - harsh, but Crystal didn’t get angry. She knew that this was not borne of anger but sheer gripping despair.

“She had a business card on her and when Charles tried to defend himself, he caught a glimpse.”

This, more than anything, gave Edwin the determination needed to hoist the backpack onto his shoulder.

“Let us not waste any time, then. Do you think this internet you have might be of help?”

“For sure, Edwin,” she answered, petting his shoulder.

If Edwin hadn’t been out of his mind worrying about Charles, leaving him with sparsely any mental capacities to think about anything else, then he could have admitted that Coupeville, Washington was a tranquil but charming little town. With its little art stores and cafes, it gave a delightfully unassuming appearance.

Edwin hated every moment. For the sake of not leaving Crystal alone - he tried to silence the voice in his head that whispered you couldn’t take care of Charles either -, he had suffered through another flight, a ferry and multiple train rides. 

Crystal huffed as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs.

“She couldn’t have been less creative, huh? Relocating one ferry-ride away.” Which was true. Port Townsend could be reached in less than an hour. 

Personally, he could not care less whether she called this town or the bloody Empire State Building her home. All he cared about was getting Charles back as soon as possible.

They quickly checked into a hotel to get rid of the suitcase. Insisting that she had slept enough while travelling, they immediately headed to the address that Crystal had found out using the business card - a brewery. 

It must have been well visited only a few weeks ago, the dust had not properly set yet. But the lights were out and the doors were barricaded. Quickly nodding at Edwin, Crystal got on the way to find a window she could climb through while Edwin seized the opportunity to phase through the doors. Darkness enveloped him and he could not hear a single sound. 

He slowly made his way across the reception area, trying to get a feeling for how big the building really was and where Esther might have been hiding in here. If there was actually any connection to Charles’ disappearance and this place, anyway. But Edwin couldn’t stop and think about this very real possibility. 

Focusing on his surroundings, he noticed suspicious lines behind a grandfather clock on his left. And sure enough, upon examining them up close, there was a small door hidden behind it. Anxious excitement coursed through his body and he waited impatiently for Crystal’s arrival. 

“Searched for the entrance for celebrities, did you?”

“Shut it. Let’s move this clock.”

Despite taking a few tries, at last they found themselves faced with the entirety of the door. The handle was made out of iron, but Edwin didn’t hesitate to grab it despite the pain and the indignant screech Crystal let sound. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You might still need that hand.”

“Irrelevant and inaccurate, I won’t lose it by touching iron for a few seconds, do not be silly. And regardless, Charles does matter more right now.” He tried to hide the red swelling on his palm but he was not ignorant enough to think that Crystal actually hadn’t noticed.

“A plan is needed. I would suggest you wait here, in case Esther is not here and tries to surprise us.” 

“Alright.” Crystal nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Charles wouldn’t forgive anyone if you got hurt.”

Least of all himself went unsaid but they both heard it all the same. 

Edwin inclined his head, opened the door and went inside.

The room unfolding in front of him was surprisingly spacious but shockingly empty except for the enormous carpet. Sliding onto his knees, he felt the cloth and without a doubt: laced with magic. It was easy enough to counter the spell that acted as both a means to soundproof and seal without a lock whatever lay underneath it. 

Moving it aside, he was faced with a basement and without a second thought, jumped down.

Like a moth to a flame, Edwin’s eyes immediately found Charles in the completely dark room. 

“Charles,” he breathed, the name echoing off the walls like a prayer. 

Charles was slumped against the far wall, hands in cuffs mounted next to head which was lolling unoriented. When he finally looked up, Edwin was met with a disbelieving smile. But before Edwin could reciprocate, a look of blinding terror coloured Charles’ face pale.

“Edwin!” he hissed, pulling at his cuffs which brought tears to his eyes in pain. “Please, please leave, Edwin, she’s after you.” 

Edwin didn’t even think about leaving without Charles. All it took was the span of a blink and Edwin fell to his knees beside him, trying to find magical leeway for him to put the cuffs out of action, but to his dismay he realised that Esther had reinforced her strategy, not just opting for simple iron but also a curse. 

“What? What do you mean by that?” he asked, only half listening as he mentally flipped through all the knowledge he had on this kind of magic.

“She,” Charles began, coughing, “She said she was impressed that we escaped last time. She wants to get rid of me first and see how much it’d raise your pain level to drain you again. Put a curse on me too, in case you showed up.”

That got Edwin’s attention. “What?! Do you feel alright? What kind of curse?” 

“Eh.” Charles’ head lolled to the side again, as if he was losing consciousness. “She wants to try sacrificing me and if you tried to rescue me, I’d turn in all kinds of horrible beasts. Wouldn’t want to hold onto me then, she said. Wants to see how far you’d go.” 

“Charles, Charles!” Edwin held him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle him. “I’d go anywhere for you, do you understand? A curse is not going to stop me.”

But Charles was barely there anymore, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “S’ planned for t’morrow. I won’t blame you for letting go, mate, you were scared for so long, don’t need any more of that, yeah?” And then he fell into something close to sleep but what most likely resembled unquiet rest.

There was nothing he could do against the cuffs, not with no grasp on what exact kind of magic he was dealing with and no idea how much time he had left until Esther would show up.

Edwin put a hand to Charles’ cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you, Charles, stay strong.”

With one last glance to his love, he began climbing back out of the basement.

Upon reading up on locations with magical and sacrificial history in Washington, Edwin concluded that their best chance was a secluded part of coastline, the stony beach along with the clear view of the sky providing the perfect atmosphere. 

Edwin and Crystal were hiding in the underwood, watching Esther where she was standing near the shore, when suddenly, something moved right in front of them. 

Crystal gasped. “Did- did the path just move?”

Quickly, he shushed her. “No, there is no path,” he whispered, “there is only the beach. That is a snake.”

True enough: a black snake slithered up to the ritual circle Esther had set up. This snake was even bigger than the one in Esther’s house in Port Townsend and tied to its back, there was Charles.

“Okay,” he said softly, “wish me luck.”

Consolingly, Crystal put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need luck. Go get him. I’ll deal with Esther.”

They stood up and sneaked closer. From a safe distance, Crystal started tapping into her powers. Edwin trusted her, therefore he turned to Charles straight away. 

Edwin had also found a remedy for the cuffs’ curse, which made it easy to pull him off, hugging him close and making it just far enough away to give Crystal the opportunity to handle the snake.

Tightening his arms around Charles, who was panting against his neck, it didn’t take long until he could feel Charles’ body morph. 

When Charles told him that he’d turn into various beasts, Edwin had thought about what he had been afraid of when he was still alive. After seventy years in Hell, any scary children’s story he had heard lost its appeal. When he was ten, his neighbour’s children had told him a story about Spring-heeled Jack who’d haunt the streets of London but also other areas of Britain. They told him about his terrifying looks with his claws, jumping at passersby to scratch them and then back into the night. 

Thinking back now, though, Edwin would gladly face a hundred variations of Spring-heeled Jack all alone if it meant that Charles would be safe and sound in their office come next morning.

“I’ve got you, Charles,” he mumbled. He didn’t respond and as Edwin looked up at him, he came face-to-face with a doll version of Charles, his eyes unseeing and mouth twisted in a numb smile, a hollow feeling to his body. Edwin could see his own face reflected in Charles’ eyes, unease boiling slowly under his skin. Where Charles’ hold on him had been strong and desperate only moments ago, now it was stiff and felt like porcelain. Edwin’s fear of dolls was real and tangible but he was far more scared of letting Charles go and shattering him on the stones.

He pressed Charles closer to him.

He stayed in this form for a while until Edwin felt a shift again. This time, Charles resembled the demon that had dragged Edwin to Hell. He was a familiar sight albeit an unpleasant one, so Edwin just put his forehead to Charles’ shoulder and waited it out, the haze around them slowly dissipating.

Next was the thing one of his demons had traded him to. He maintained that it was worse than a demon, for the simple reason that there were characteristics one could apply to a demon, it was possible to create a definition and know what to expect when one encountered a demon. This thing, however, was less a physical form and more a foreboding. The feeling deep in the bones that something horrible was imminent and no matter how hard one would try to work against it, failure was predestined. A looming presence - a threat. There was a voice in the back of the mind, whispering knowingly about every mistake he ever made and it was all your fault, right? Niko dying, Charles getting hurt, Crystal being dragged along to all of this, having been in Hell? But you don’t need me to tell you that, you already think so.

It was a sick trick and his only enemy in this was his own mind. But Edwin had grown, he had realised that thinking something didn’t have to reflect reality. And while he did blame himself for all these things from time to time, it was a passing sorrow. None of the people involved in these thoughts would want him to condemn himself and after his second time in Hell, Edwin had understood that he needed to show himself self-respect as well. Hell was an error Edwin had had no control over.

He did, however, have control over not letting Charles fear that he would be afraid enough to leave him. Because he was quite sure that underneath these appearances, Charles was conscious of what was happening and scared out of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

The fourth form was the spider-doll-demon. Its many arms were gripping Edwin’s back, the dolls’ heads pressing into his chest and neck. Edwin tried to slow his breathing. He spent more than seventy years running away from this demon and being so close to it was associated with blinding pain, being torn apart over and over again. 

Maybe now was the time to finally stop running and face his fear head-on. And so he looked straight at it, staring lovingly beneath its surface where he knew Charles was.

One second to the other, the demon was gone. There was no other figure, but Edwin still felt Charles’ presence and he tensed up at once, realising what this particular fear resembled: Charles was invisible, gone from his sight. No means for him to see him again, the only thing left for him to do was anxiously grip where Charles’ shoulders were supposed to be and not let Charles jerk away if he saw the horror on Edwin’s face. This was the only shape that compelled Edwin to screw his eyes shut. 

Time passed until he felt Charles change one more time. This was the only one not tailored specifically to one of Edwin’s fears and it showed him that he had been right in assuming where Esther had drawn her inspiration for this act from.

Charles resembled a burning coal, the heat licking at Edwin’s skin. He embraced him tightly, stood up with him and dragged him into the water. Below the surface, he could see Charles turning back into himself, his bright eyes the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Nothing had ever felt as right as holding Charles in his arms.

Bubbles appeared in front of Charles’ mouth even though he didn't need to breathe and Edwin erupted spontaneously into laughter at the ridiculous sight of Charles trying to speak underwater. Despite being in the water, he felt himself get teary-eyed. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that they would not both be sobbing messes as soon as they resurfaced. But for now all he needed to do was drink in Charles’ smile.

Back on the shore, Crystal was busy brushing off her jeans.

“Boys!” she yelled as soon as she saw them, running towards them and pulling them both into a hug at the same time. “Esther’s gone, let’s hope for good.”

“Yeah,” Charles whispered, putting one arm around Edwin’s hips. 

Crystal pulled back, smiling knowingly but in a comforting way. “So glad you’re both alright. I’ll go check to make sure no one here accidently saw me fighting a huge snake and a witch. Meet me at the hotel, yeah?” With that, she walked back in the direction of the trees. 

Charles turned to Edwin, smiling shyly. “So, you kept holding me,” he stated.

“Nothing has ever been easier, Charles.” He put his hands on Charles’ shoulders again. They fit so well there.

They hugged once more.

“You know,” Edwin mused, playing with Charles’ hair, “it was like Tam Lin.”

“Mhh?” Charles mumbled, he sounded tired. “What’s that?”

“A legendary Scottish ballad. Not letting your love go, no matter what.”

“Oh.” Charles’ eyes were wide. “Does that one end in tragedy too?”

Edwin smiled. “No, it ends precisely like this.” And Charles’ smile was brilliant as he leaned in and kissed Edwin.

[moonsaver]

sunday... celebrating valentines day... I beg

Ask and you shall receive. Unfortunately i am very unaccustomed to valentines traditions, so please forgive me if this writing is more words strung together than actual content.

---

Sunday isnt exactly fond of PDA, mainly because of the risks.

But it is technically for one day, despite the fact there are many things that are calculated and take place in one day, he knows its an endearing celebration that means more in action than in name.

Thus, he decides with a good minute of thinking – he shall make room in his schedule of daily affairs for you.. as long as you don't mind the fact its for barely 3 system hours.

Don't get him wrong. Unfortunately, Sunday would like to keep you out of prying eyes, so one system hour is dedicated and well planned into checking out clothing stores of all kinds. Even if it draws a bit of attention, he strategically places a few Bloodhound guards around the centres and plazas.

And the other 2 (system) hours are well spent in private behind closed doors. His schedule for the next few days is quite thoroughly packed, so he makes sure to satisfy you enough before he has to busy himself. Lovingly peppers kisses all over you. Brushes his lips against your knuckles, inciting a soft chuckle from you. He brushes through your hair, watches you model every piece of clothing you brought, suggests certain combinations, and discusses all sorts of things with you. For this moment, you have his full attention, not a single thought is spared for any other business official or representative he has to speak to. Only you.

You didn't realise how.. intense his gaze can be, as you accidentally make eye contact with him while speaking and suddenly get thrown into a trance. He asks you what's wrong and you snap out of it, laughing awkwardly and looking somewhere else, trying to hastily get back on track. Suddenly.. your legs feel like jelly under his gaze.. your palms are sweaty.. was his gaze always this.. mesmerizing? You feel almost selfish for wanting it on you for longer. You look to see if he's still staring at you, and it seems like he hasn't moved a single inch, despite the fact you've been talking for 15 minutes straight about who-knows-what, and he hasn't said a single word. You should probably go back in and try another piece of clothing for him.

And he stops you before you go in, and asks to see what you're about to try on. He stands near the door, almost expectantly as you put it on and come out. He knows you'll need help. The strings on your back won't tie themselves, after all. Especially since he requested to do it for you. You almost squeak at the feeling of his gloved hands making quick work of the string on your back, gently feeling the curve of your spine after he's done. Trailing up to the bottom of your neck, dancing across your shoulders. You can practically feel his gaze scan your body underneath the clothing. He retracts his fingers and asks you to turn around. You hope he doesn't notice your heated face.

And it might feel overwhelming and awkward at first (for the lack of a better word), not being used to his full 100% attention. He knows it, and tries to smoothly make up for it by initiating most of the conversation, but deep down does feel a tinge of guilt at not being able to do it often.

He is very adept with his fingers. Take that as you will, but for now, lets focus on the more sfw side.

He probably knows origami quite well. Makes a few small, mini figures and guides you on how to make them, praising you softly in a slightly professional tone. It may seem awkward at first, but he's trying to praise you genuinely. He makes more conversation and jokes along the way, and kisses the side of your head every time you make a successful paper figure, even if it's just as simple as a mashed up paper star. Efforts are well appreciated by Sunday.

At the end of the day, once you are thoroughly exhausted, he lays you down anywhere soft – usually the couch (as unromantic as it sounds), and sits beside you. He talks in a very soft, gentle voice, which surprisingly lulls you to sleep very well. If you focus on his sweet-nothings, you realise his casual conversation has turned into sweet, heart-melting appreciation of you. He recounts every detail – when he met you, where it was, conversations between you two that constantly spin in his head. Before you know it – you're asleep. He kisses your forehead, drapes a blanket on you, leaves your Valentine's day handwritten card on the desk with an elegant box of chocolates right beside it. Who knew Sunday was so adept at making chocolate? It's quite rich in flavor, too. Perhaps.. these are meant to be shared at night?

[riality-check]

daisy jones-adjacent au. part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. tw substance abuse, ptsd, references to past torture (canon, the russians.) part 7.

ao3

Writing the album is, somehow, the easy part, even after Steve put his foot in his mouth.

He had his suspicions, but he shouldn't have asked that. It was a dick move, and he's been trying not to be a dick for the past few years. So, he apologized and didn't bring it up again.

Eddie softened after that. Like he wasn't expecting Steve to apologize. He accepted it, and things have been good since.

Well, more than good, if Steve's being honest. Things have gotten a lot better since.

He's noticed a few things, even after their permanently discontinued game of "truth or truth." Mostly, the things Steve has noticed have been about Eddie, like:

He laughs at the dumbest things.

He quotes books and movies constantly.

He has an accent that he masks unless he's tired.

He hates strong smells.

He deflects by becoming bigger.

There's more. A lot more that Steve has noticed, but listing everything about Eddie's brilliance and stubbornness, his courage and obnoxiousness, his gorgeous face and sharp tongue would take all day. Steve has noticed a lot over these few weeks spent hunched over instruments and notebooks at his house, and he thinks Eddie has noticed him in return.

He hopes so.

It's been a long time since Steve has wanted to be noticed beyond the superficial adoration of fans. It's been a long time since Steve has wanted to be known.

There are a plethora of reasons for why that's a bad idea. Steve is able to forget them momentarily when he sees Eddie smile.

All too soon, after far too long, they're done writing. They start recording, and that is the hard part.

It always is. There's always something wrong with the levels or slightly out of tune, or someone sneezes right into the mic on the first good take. There's things that work and things that don't, and, always, songs on paper that have to get fixed before they can be songs on the radio.

The album has good bones, though. It's angry and hopeful and scared and sad and triumphant. It's music, it's art, it's life.

And once they can make it work, it's going to be great.

That's what Steve is doing now. Making it work. He's awake at 4 AM on a Tuesday, sitting at a piano and trying to rework the bass line to stop it from clashing so much with the melody.

The only good thing about this situation is that he's made it to seventy three hours awake for the first time, courtesy of a well-timed line right before he got to work.

If it keeps working, he might trash the pills entirely.

He plays the introduction to the song again on his right hand and starts adding low notes on his left. As it is, it sounds empty. To much distance. But if he raises it a fourth-

"Steve?"

He freezes, fighting back against the instinct to jump away from the piano like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He forgot that the band has been crashing at his house - it's close to the studio and he has the rooms to spare - and because he forgot that he wasn't alone, he failed to remember that most people aren't awake at this hour, nevermind working.

So, he calmly turns around to see Eddie, in pajamas, standing in the doorway, blinking sleep out of his tired eyes.

Steve swallows and hopes that Eddie is too tired to catch him openly staring.

"What are you doing?" Eddie whispers.

"Reworking something," Steve says. "Trying out something different for the bass line in Envy, the one that's giving us trouble."

Eddie covers his mouth to yawn. "Couldn't sleep?"

Steve wonders when the last time he thought that was a bad thing was.

"I can be quieter," he says. "I was just trying to fix this. But that can wait until morning."

"Steve," Eddie says, and he's got that look on his face.

Steve hates that look.

Eddie looks at him like he can see inside his skull, inside his heart, and read his DNA letter by letter. He looks at him like he can see everything about Steve: past, present, and future.

And there's pity in every second of it.

Steve can't stand pity.

"I just- I gotta see the whole picture, you know?" he continues so Eddie doesn't get to voice that pity. "And you guys all have your instruments, but piano gives me everything. I can play the bass and the guitar and sing and- I'm just able to get it better that way. Where are you going?"

Eddie is almost out the door again. "I- I can't be here, Steve."

"Why? Are you tired? You can go-"

"You're high, and I know that if you offer me something, I won't say no."

Oh.

"Eddie, I wouldn't-"

"And even if you don't, if you take something in front of me, I know I'll ask for some," he says, like it's a fact, the same way the sky is blue.

"I'm not- I wouldn't do that to you," Steve says. No point in denying that he's high, not when they both know it. "I wasn't- I'll get off the piano. I'll read, or, well, reread something instead."

He gestures aimlessly at the bookshelf on the wall near the door. It's crammed full of recommendations from Dustin and Robin and Erica and Nancy. All of them have been read at least once, most of them twice.

"You like to read?" Eddie asks.

"No, I hate it," Steve says, completely genuinely.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. "I will never understand you."

"I know."

Because that's the thing. No one can understand it, can understand him, unless they were in Hawkins, Indiana, too. Unless they saw what he did. Unless they signed the same NDAs. Unless they fought the same monsters and went to the same other world and endured the same things.

Eddie, like most other people, will never be able to understand.

So, his smile fades as he stands there in the doorway, confused.

"I like stories, but I hate reading," Steve explains. "I just do it to fill-"

"I can read to you."

Steve stops mid-word. "What?"

"If you want to hear the story without reading," Eddie says. "I like reading. I can read to you."

Steve has spent seventy four hours, at this point, awake. He is sitting at a piano bench at 4 AM on a Tuesday, high on cocaine, and is staring at a hot guy his age who, over the past few weeks, has alternated between seemingly hating him and smiling that smile.

Forgive him for making the stupid decision to say-

"Okay."

Eddie smiles, though it's tired. He takes a book from the shelf at random and walks out the door. Steve has no choice but to follow, back to the guest room Eddie has taken as his own.

Eddie turns on the bedside lamp and lays down underneath the rumpled sheets.

"Come on," he says, patting the space next to him. "I don't bite."

"You sure?" Steve jokes, but he climbs on alongside him, careful not to touch.

He really wants to touch.

He's not thinking straight.

Eddie cracks the book open and starts reading in a low whisper.

Steve can barely understand what he's saying, but that doesn't matter. What matters is Eddie's voice, quiet and rough and breathy. What matters is Eddie's voice, steady and soothing.

It's nice. It's really nice.

Steve finds himself curling up, closer and closer, until his head is on Eddie's chest.

His eyes slip closed at hour seventy-five.

And the next thing he knows, he's standing with his back to a corner, holding a metal, foldable music stand in front of him, with a voice hoarse from screaming.

Clearly, he fell asleep.

Fantastic.

Sometimes, he's able to tell what the nightmare was before he actually remembers it. It's all in the little habits he's developed.

When he finds himself checking to see if all his fingernails are still attached to his hands, blinking nonexistent blood out of his left eye, and still murmuring Robin's name, he knows that this one had to be about the Russians.

And then the memory of the bone saw, of the screaming, of taking hit after hit after hit crashes into him so hard he almost doubles over.

He reminds himself he's safe. That he's unharmed. That Robin is safe in her dorm at UCLA. That they never got Dustin or Erica.

That all of this is fucking useless.

He's gotten it all out. He's written song after song about all of it, all of the monsters and the fighting and the fear and the good in spite of it all. He writes and plays and sings close enough to all of it to almost break the NDAs.

And none of it is of any use at all because, years later, Steve still can't fucking sleep.

He swallows. Swallows again. Tries to breathe, even if it's in the form of great, heaving gasps.

And that's when he realizes that Eddie is standing right in front of him. Clearly confused, clearly terrified.

This is why, though he can never understand Steve, he shouldn't know him, either. This is why Steve can't reach out and touch.

Because even if he could explain it to Eddie, even if he would lie and say he believed him and understood, no one wants someone who can't make it through a night without waking up at least three times. No one wants to have to calm someone down from weekly screaming fits brought on by the back of their eyelids.

"Get out," he says.

"Steve," Eddie says, and there's that pity again.

Steve can't stand pity.

"Get out!" he shouts, heedless of the fact that he's probably waking everyone else up, that this is the room Eddie is staying in.

He can go to Steve's room. Everything in there is hidden, so he can't break his sobriety unless he snoops.

Steve hopes he doesn't snoop. He doesn't want to drag Eddie down to where he's at.

Eddie nods and makes his way to the door. Before he leaves, he stops and looks back.

"I don't know what you're running from," he whispers. "But when it catches you-"

"What?" Steve snaps.

"Let someone know."

If Steve were in a better state of mind, he'd ask what the hell that meant. But he's shaking and tired, so goddamn tired, that he watches Eddie go.

He sits on the floor, in the corner, still holding the music stand. The sun is up. It streams through the windows along with the sounds of birds chirping.

And Steve wonders how he's supposed to live the rest of his life like this.

He makes it an hour before he falls asleep sitting up on the floor. He makes it two more before he wakes himself up again, checking his fingernails.