#san francisco sounds: a place in time

[krispyweiss]

Two-part Documentary to Examine San Francisco, Counterculture

- “San Francisco Sounds: A Place in Time” airs Aug. 20 and 27 on MGM+

“In the early ’60s, San Francisco just seemed like a magical place.”

“There was just this nice little nexus of music and strange people.”

So begins the trailer for “San Francisco Sounds: A Place in Time,” a new documentary airing Aug. 20 and 27 on MGM+ and spotlighting the city and the musicians who emerged from it, including Janis Joplin, the Grateful Dead, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Sly & the Family Stone and Jefferson Airplane among others.

“I would like to go (see the Airplane at the Fillmore) if I could,” a young and smiling Bob Dylan says in an archival clip.

The film, based on contemporaneous footage and new interviews, is directed by Alison Ellwood and Anoosh Tertzakian, who previously worked on “Laurel Canyon: A Place in Time.”

Young Jerry Garcia sums up the ethos as the trailer ends.

“What we’re thinking about is a peaceful planet,” he says. “We’re not thinking about any kind of power, or revolution or war.”

8/7/23

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This?: Chapter 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

[androgynealienfemme]

"I was born thirty eight years ago and raised to be a nice Chinese girl. But nice Chinese girls don't grow up to be dykes and rebels. And I turned out to be both.

I grew up on silence. Though I was part of a large extended family, we ate in silence. There was no conversation or laughter, just the sound of soup spoons and chopsticks against rice bowls. I was not encouraged to talk, express emotions, or ask questions. I grew up with a heritage of silence.

I was a girl child, the first born in a traditional Chinese family, raised to be seen but not heard, raised to excel in school but not be curious, raised to be someone's wife but not to be a person of my own. When I was growing up in England, Hong Kong, and San Francisco, I read everything I could get my hands on, but none of the books spoke of my own experience. I started writing when I was eleven years old to fill the silence and to turn the years of rejection into affirmation.

You're probably wondering what the hell any of this h as to do with sex. The answer is- plenty. What I write is shaped by my history and experience as both a Chinese woman and as a lesbian.

Chinese is my first language. But I was fluent only in the words my parents deemed it necessary for me to know. I was certainly not taught the words for breast, cunt, ass, or orgasm. There were no words for sex; therefore, sex did not exist.

I came out as a lesbian when I was twenty-one, but I didn't start writing about sex until almost a decade later. Sure, I wrote love poems, but I never wrote about sex. I was, after all, a nice Chinese girl and we didn't''t talk about things like that. --

I have always loved women passionately. I love the way a femme moves across a dance floor, knowing all eyes are focused on her. I love the hard eye-to-eye look from another butch as she sizes me up as competition- or her next conquest. I love the fluid seduction in a femmes eyes. I love the long line of her neck, her delicate earlobes and soft lips, painted some shade of red or unpainted but deeply flushed from having been kissed long and hard. Many times. I love the curve of her breast, the hardness of her nipples, the softness of her stomach, the fullness of her ass, her legs with a faint covering of hair or long and sleek in black silk stockings. I love the strength of her in her thighs, the firmness of her biceps, the feel of her forearms as she takes me. I love the smell of her heat and the place of pleasure between her legs. I love her ankles and her delicate toes and her soft instep where I run my tongue until my teeth are gripping her Achilles tendon. I love the smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her, the sight of her. I love women passionately.

--

Some women do not attend my theater or literary events for fear of supporting my sexual politics. I have been accused of recruiting. Never mind that I have a long history of writing, community organizing, and activism. Now I am judged solely for my leather sexuality. It's never been easy being different, but I have always survived. I will continue to speak out, write truths, and make waves. My countryman Mao Zedong wrote, "Dare to struggle, dare to win." I say, dare to write. Dare to be different. And who says nice Chinese girls don't talk about sex?"

"Who Says we Don't Talk About Sex?" Kitty Tsui, The Persistent Desire, (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

[alisonwritesimagines]

Cramps ~Logan Howlett Imagine~

Summary: You have some bad cramps. Luckily your boyfriend is there for you.

Author's Note: As a girl who suffers from cramps, this is for the other girlies who suffer from cramps.

Part One | Part Two

Reader's Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

You gave Logan a key to your apartment in case he needed time away from Wade or if he wanted to see you. Though, you had already told him to move in with you already since he spent most nights with you. But today was no different than some days.

Logan walked in, expecting you to either be cleaning or grading papers. But instead, he found you in bed. Curled into a position that made you feel better as much as possible.

“You okay?” Logan asked you as he sat on the bed.

“My usual cramps. Was feeling them all day and wanted to die,” you whined.

“Do you have your heating pad?” Logan asked you.

“I rushed straight to the bed after I finished school,” you tell him.

“I got you. Give me one moment,” Logan told you.

He grabbed your electric heating pad and plugged it in before placing it over your stomach. He lied down next to you before turning on the TV for you.

“I got you. Did you eat?” Logan asked you.

“Not yet.”

“Want me to cook you something?” Logan asked.

“Yes please,” you nodded.

“I’m on it,” Logan said, kissing the top of your head. He got out of bed and headed to the kitchen to cook for the two of you.

He was grateful that in his universe, you would make him learn how to cook since you got busy with teaching sometimes. Now he was able to show off to you here.

Logan cooked the dinner before prepping the table a little.

“It looks nice,” you say out loud. He looked over to see you out of bed and standing by the doorway.

“Aren’t you supposed to be lying in bed?” He questioned.

“I’m feeling a little bit better now,” you tell him.

“Well luckily for you, dinner is ready,” Logan said as he gave you a quick kiss.

“Thank you for this. I’m sorry if I was a bother.”

“You can never annoy me. And besides, we’re friends with Wade. Nothing can ever annoy me as much as him.”

“True,” you giggled.

After dinner, you curled up to Logan as you both watched a movie together.

“You should move in with me already,” you tell him.

“You sure you want that?”

“Yes. You’d be closer to me and Laura. And you don’t have to give anymore excuses to come see me,” you tell him.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll move in.”

“And if you brush up a little on history, you can make a good history teacher. We both know Professor Xavier would like to have another teacher in the school.”

“I’ll think about it,” Logan said, kissing your forehead.

Logan picked you up from the couch before heading to the bedroom. He laid you on the bed before changing into something more comfortable before joining you.

"Summer vacation is coming up. Maybe we can do something fun?" You asked.

"Like what?"

"Well, maybe, you, me, and Laura can go to California? We can check out San Francisco or we can go to Disneyland?" You asked.

"Sounds like a plan. Whatever you want to do, we'll plan it," Logan said.

"Okay," you smiled before giving him a quick kiss.

You felt another cramp making you groan a little. Logan moved his hand under your shirt and over your stomach. He began to rub your stomach, making the cramp less painful. You smiled up at him and leaned your head on him.

"Thank you."

"I got you," Logan tells you, kissing your head again.

[dilf-docs]

hii i just read ur eddie x young reader. And i LOVE ITTTT

Can u please do something similar but with young neighbor reader? Where the reader moves in an apartment beside eddie . They meet each one day and they hit it off? (nsfw )

(Ignore this if u don’t like the idea or u can change it)

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: you're what people call a ray of sunshine, probably the most likeable person in the planet. so why is this hot idiot next door so mean to you?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (you know this blog lives by its name), smut, sunshine!reader x grumpy! eddie (cause his ass just got dumped lol), enemies to lovers (one-sided), kinda mean!eddie, porn with little to no plot, power goes out so they get freaky in the dark, use of pet names, p. in v. (unprotected) (use protection guys pls!!! unlike this dumbasses fucking raw in the dark), oral (m. receiving), creampie, no venom :(

word count: 4,069 words (it's almost midnight again, me thinks I've forever messed up my sleep schedule cause ain't no way inspo only grows as per my eyebags lol)

side note: got my first request on tumblr!! (insert scarlett johanson dancing in marriage story gif). i love looove the neighbours trope so much (hey! if i had a hot older neighbour i would be doing the most to interact with them, bet); hope this lives up to ur expectations even if i tweaked a few things! also, this happens after eddie gets dumped by anne and moves out of the house lol so he's angry, moppy, horny and dry. what if i make this a series tho, would you like that? requests are open!

You're what people call a ray of sunshine. Ever since you managed to talk, all that comes out of you is happiness: the first sound to come out of your mouth was a laugh, your first word was smile, you have Love as your second name, you made friends on real time record, the profession you chose was that of a patissier and the first ink to grace your skin was a little heart tattoo.

Okay, maybe you've made it your whole personality to be likeable. So what? It's not your fault you light up every place you go, that people love you effortlesly and that life seems to smile your way.

It's the way the cookie crumbles, a fitting phrase for a pastry chef like you. Your friends often joked about it: you, a sweet person, baking little sweet goods to make other's lives sweeter.

And you loved it: your life, your job, your family, friends, cat and little apartment in San Francisco.

There was just one thing missing: because no matter how sweet you made other's peoples worlds by existing, no one was there to make it for you.

Alright, you had enough love and just loved love for the sake of it. Sometimes, a tidbit of romance through your screen or through the couple-d lives of your friends sufficed such desire, but its a lie to say you haven't dreamed of your own.

So when Johanna, the girl who lives across you, comes rushing with the newest gossip: "hot new neighbour moving next door!", there's something that tells you it might be time.

"You have to see him" she emphasizes, "a total eye candy"

That ignites the curiosity inside you, and after some weeks hearing through your walls grunts next door and a constant shuffle of things originally packed in boxes, you find yourself knocking on his door, tray of cookies in your hands.

Yes, you did bake them for him. After all, your chocolate chip cookies are a killer! People do lines to get them at your aunt's cafeteria, just to taste the warm soft dough, the chocolate melting on their mouths. You do this for every other new neighbour that comes around, it's just how you are! But the cookie choice is totally intentional though.

The door flinges open, and for the very first time in years, you find yourself at loss for words; speechless.

The stranger before you is a face you'll never forget. Handsome, of course, but there is something alluring in his beauty, one you can't exactly name, but comes along in a pair of thick lips, brown warm eyes and ink sprinkled across strong arms. Your heart hammers in your chest, and it takes all in you to not drop the tray in your chest right here and now.

"Hey!" you find your voice again. Clearing your throat, you proceed. "You're our new neighbour, right? I'm y/n, I live next door. Thought you'd like something sweet to eat after all that effort" you push the tray to the front, "I made this myself!"

He just stares back, blinking. You think he may be confused by your random act, but it's quite normal to do so with newbies. You love welcoming acts!

The awkward stiffness he radiates doesn't deter you away, though. "This are for you" you insist, "or just take one, if you don't want them all..."

"I hate chocolate" he finally says, with such a scowl on his face, you'd think you killed his entire family.

Oh! He hates chocolate? Who hates chocolate?!

You suddenly feel small and stupid. Without much else to say, you don't know how to proceed. You have your way with words, but no one has ever rejected you in the cold open before. It's left you baffled.

Then, a light bulb goes on in your head.

"Wait, I know you!" he quirks an eyebrow. "You're that reporter from TV, Eddie Brock" you gush, "I love helping others, but what you do is amazing... you're, like on other level, giving a voice to those who don't have one"

You admired him; he was someone who was brave and cared.

"Not anymore" and then the door slams in your face.

It takes you a while to process there, standing in the eerie silence of the empty hall, that Eddie Brock may be the very first person in the world who doesn't like you.

In the end, you'd given the batch of cookies to the homeless people living around your building. Even if it made you feel good, the pang in your chest didn't go away. You simply couldn't forget about the incident (because of pride and embarrasment in equal parts), plus, the fact that he lived next door and you couldn't go on about your day without hearing him pace around his apartment, made the task of forgetting about it difficult.

So in the following days you've avoided him, which has been pretty easy so far, since he barely leaves his apartment and you're busy with work and stuff.

It's friday night, and with the next week's groceries in hand, you take the elevator. The door's about to close when it opens again. You can't believe it: after successfuly evading him for five days, Eddie Brock is trapped with you inside the reduced space; you shouldn't been lazy and taken the stairs instead.

"'Night" he mutters, and you swear you've gone deaf because you barely hear so. You don't know what to do, so you just stand there, clutching your tote bag a little too hard. It could be an accident: he's too drunk out of his mind and doesn't know it's you.

It's not like he's been so nice, but after his asshole-ish move last time you saw each other, you don't expect basic courtesy towards you either.

You get a whiff of his scent, mixed with traces of whiskey. It's unfair how intoxicating it feels―how it's got you wanting more of what isn't yours.

God knows it's been long enough since you've wanted a man this bad.

It's not until the elevator dings again that you realize you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Bye, pretty"

He casually exits out into your same floor never looking back, without realizing the effect his words have on you, hope slowly making its way through the creaks of your open heart.

Okay, maybe it's your fault for raising such high stakes based on two words and a silly little drunk interaction. Maybe you deserve it: because you've become a bit obsessed with the fact that Eddie hates you, but after yesterday, you've already traced a truce in your mind.

Even Johanna has told you to be cool about it. "It's time someone didn't like you" she joked, but you didn't find it funny. She insisted it's not important, but to you it is! How can he not like you? Maybe if he had a valid reason, you'd stop insisting, despite the let down. But he doesn't have one! And you've been nothing but kind! You think too much about it because it doesn't make any damn sense: you're loosing your mind and your friend just laughs.

The only reason you haven't talked to him again, is because work load has catched up to you.

But now you're here, out on the street, and the first person you see is him: on top of his bike, ready to go out.

"Nice!" you chirp. It may not be a top brand, but the black vehicle is as cool as its owner: the leather jacket, worn out jeans and beat up look is an insane combination that may or may not have you drooling.

"Huh?" he looks back at you, and you swear your cheeks reddened in embarrasment at his deadpan expresion.

"Nice bike, I mean" you nervously laugh, fiddling with a loose string of your sweater. "I love seeing them, but I don't think I'll ever ride one. I get scared too easily, you know?"

He puts his helmet on, "Alright"

Not even a thanks or an attempt of a small talk; what an idiot. Didn't he talk to you last time? Called you pretty? Why is he acting so curt right now?

"Hey, what is your pro-"

Your question doesn't get to be finished, because the engine roars and he's out of there, leaving you confused inside a cloud of smoke, the trail leaving with your last sparks of hope.

It's one of those nights where you just want to lay down and let sleep take control of your body. As soon as you get in your comfy pajamas and sink in the mattress, a noise erupts through the air. Startled, you raise on your feet, the slumber long gone.

Fuck. This hasn't been your week, has it?

The noise comes from outside, and you know who it is: the guy who lives in the corner, right next to the window; he who brings too many women home and plays his guitar a little too loud. It's late an he isn't getting the memo, clearly.

You swing your door open, ready to give him a piece of mind (and perhaps dump your accumulated stress from the week), until you realize you aren't the only one outside on the hall. It's Eddie, and he looks just as pissed as you do.

"Can't sleep?" he asks in a mocking tone, all while avoiding your eyes, rather focused on the common enemy's door.

"What do you think?" you reply, equaling his tone.

You both agree in silence, walking to his door. After some knocking, the guy opens his door: less thrilled when he sees Eddie and more complaint when he sees you.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll keep it down" and winks. The nerve of this guy. Even Eddie is frowning, surely annoyed at his lack of etiquette. "You can knock anytime, noise or not".

The door closes, but it's Brock who did it, not guitar guy. You're too tired to ask, and after picking what's left of your dignity around him, you decide it's best to walk back to your apartment.

"You know what's funny?" you stop your tracks, laughing, but it's devoid of amusement, "I lost my sleep".

He just stares back, and you're tired of the way conversations have to run by your side, for the very first time. You keep on walking, but as soon as your hand touches your doorknob, he speaks up:

"Goodnight" a small truce, you think. But you're not falling this time.

So you do the right think: walk inside without saying a word, and just like him, never looking back.

You wake up agitated in the middle of the night. It's raining: not just a normal rain but a huge storm. You look over at your alarm, noticing its characteristically red numbers are as pitch black as the sky above you. It's also thundering, and God, do you hate noises and thunder.

You jump again at another one cutting through the sky, and decide it's for the best to just stay awake until it's time to wake up. According to your phone, you have about three hours until morning rises. That's enough time to watch a movie or two. Even to pet your cat, which is laying next to your bed, clearly unbothered―unlike his owner.

But there's a problem: when you try to turn the switch, no lights go on. Your incredulous laugh ecos in the room.

Not only a storm, but also a fucking black out.

Scare slowly creeps up, and the shivers you feel are definitely not only because of the temperature drop.

So you grab your phone and head out, without clearly thinking and obviously in panic, because the first thing you do is knock on your neighbour's door.

Eddie's.

"Oh!" it takes a while for him to answer his door, but when he does, his phone's flashlight burns your eyes. "Sorry" he apologizes, and you don't know if it's for that or the fact he didn't answer; maybe for everything too, "didn't hear the knocking with all the thunder".

You say it's fine, that you're just checking to see if you're not the only one without light.

He flicks a nearby switch to no avail, "I'm afraid everyone in the whole building too"

Eddie probably notices your frightened state, the way you shiver like a lost puppy, and feels sorry.

"Wanna come inside?" he offers, hands inside his grey sweater's pockets.

For the very first time since you met him, he looks at you, but really looks at you: eyes roaming over your body, an all too familiar feeling painted across his brown orbs.

You realize a bit late what you're wearing: a teensy short and top, a set of pajamas that happens to be your most comfortable. Favorite too. Appropiate for this emergency meeting? Maybe not.

"You want me to?" you asked, confused. "I thought you hated me"

The only sound across the hall is the droplets of rain outside, some tapping in the window next to you and his apartment.

He looks rather embarrased, "I don't".

"Then you're just an idiot" you counter back, and he doesn't fight you about it.

"Fair" he says, "I can make some coffee?"

Maybe he's pretty convincing or you're a people pleaser, but as soon as he proposes, you're caving in just like that.

"Fine, but you better let me bring my cat"

Truth is, Muffin plays hard to get, but now he's resting in Eddie's lap―purring, as you two sip quietly on your coffee. Traitor.

"I used to have a cat" he says, cutting through the silence.

"Oh!" you leave your mug on his table, next to the candle; the only source of light in the room, "didn't think of you as a cat person".

"Tecnically, it belongs to my fiancée. Sorry, ex-fiancée" he makes a pause, "bet that cat doesn't miss me".

"I didn't know you had a, uh-" you're not sure how to proceed, so you trail off. Muffin jumps from Eddie's lap to the kitchen, lost in the dark.

"Yeah, I had a fiancée, cat, house, and job. Then I lost everything" he dry chuckles, humorlessly, "guess that's why I'm so bitter"

"I'm sorry" you say on the most sincere tone you can muster. Eddie wonders how can you be so kind and forgiving, especially after he's been nothing but an asshole to you.

"Doesn't mean I should've been a douchebag for no reason. You didn't deserve it" he apologizes, embarrased.

You stay in silence for some more time but then he says: "Not an excuse, but it's been real bad days"

The candlelight is so flickering, you don't know if he's seen your eyes, but by the way he gulps, you think he did.

"Maybe... I could offer a helping hand"

Why had you said that? Are you out of your mind? You barely know the guy, who, by the way, had been a jackass to you like, five minutes ago. But he's hot! And you love to help!

Jesus, talk about dignity and boundaries.

"Y-you would?" he stammers, but the way his hand travels to your lap reveals nothing but security.

He's not asking if you've gone insane or what exactly you mean by that: he's just asking if you would do it.

Would you help?

"Don't you know, Eddie?" your voice drops a sultry octave, "I love to help".

You lean close enough for him to smell the cinammon scent of your skin. Soon, he's leaning too, playing along even against his better judgment. It's too soon, but he's so drawn into you and can't resist it no more; ever since he met you.

His cock twitches in his pants, "help me, then"

It happens too fast, one second you're sipping on your coffee, looking like the most warm and softhearted person in the world and now you're on your knees, deep into his carpet, tugging at his belt with your teeth, a hunger he hasn't seen before in your eyes and filthy needy mouth.

Sex with Anne was sweet and normal. Vainilla. You smell like it too, but there's a difference: you have the appetite of a siren.

Using your hands, you remove the leather your teeth had beggin with, moving them to tug his ripped jeans down, pulling the zipper too in the process. You keep using your mouth, now to get rid of his boxers, where the outline is tight over his cock. Eddie finds himself so aroused to the point he feels hot, even if there's a storm outside and the candle barely provides warmth.

"You sure have a mouth" he mumbles in ecstasy, drunk in the sight of your glimmering lips, coated in saliva. He's dripping too: everywhere.

His cock bounces out, almost hitting you in the face.

"Look at you" you coo, "already dripping for me. What a pretty cock you've got, Mr. Brock"

Fuck, he's going to hell after this. But you can't corrupt what's already corrupted.

"Then you better show me what you mean"

You lick the tip, already leaking with precum. He tenses momentarily, and then stiffle a moan when you take his balls into your mouth, a similar sound coming from you. You suck lightly at them, running your tongue along the sensitive skin.

His hips buckle into your face, and you have to chuckle at the fact it's probably the first time he's ever has his dick sucked this good.

"Don't stop" he huffs.

You obey, tongue tracing along the underside of his cock until you're back at his tip. Eddie's still inside his drunk haze when he feels you taking all of him inside your mouth in one single movement.

"Fuck-!" he chokes out, the thunder outside shutting the vulgar sounds coming out of his plush lips. "Think you can take more?"

His large hand touches the back of your head and pushes it forward with force. His cock presses deeper into your throat, tip hitting the back of it. You feel yourself gag, but the wet spot that's starting to form in your panties says otherwise.

He twists your hair tightly, holding you in place as he fucks your throat with his cock. You feel tears, and Eddie thinks he's never had a prettier sight than you: glossy eyes, looking up to him as you take all his cock.

"I know you can, baby" he presses, "help me like you said you would, yeah?"

His fat cock is blocking your air supply, but the subtle motivation and praise in his eyes is enough to keep you going, thought your throat ends up bulging from the size of his cock, stretching out to accommodate his size.

You said you would help, right? And even if you always do it for the altruist reward, something about being used in such a vulgar and rough way has your chest and panties feeling warm.

Brock groans, body sweating and muscles tense. He yanks you up by your hair, chasing the orgasm like an animal, every movement feeling almost primal.

"Stay there" he feels it coming, "don't move".

You gurgle something, spit rushing down your chin and dripping onto your chest.

"It's almost over, sweetheart" his eyes roll back, head resting on the coach he'd barely used until now, where he's fucking you in the mouth, "I knew that filthy mouth of yours could take me"

You open your mouth wider, anticipating. Tension releases: and he's pounding out his orgasm in your throat, hips banging into your face. You swallow it all, even if you can't taste it since he was so deep in you. He pulls out, a string of spit connecting his tip with your lips.

"Thanks" his voice comes out rough, "you do know how to help those in need"

You wipe your chin with your hand, voice hoarse, "I suppose"

There's some silence afterwards, and now Eddie is cursing he doesn't know what else to say.

"Power is still out" he speaks, "we've got some hours left until the sun rises again"

"So what's your idea?" you giggle, "tell scary stories in the dark?"

You both laugh, but you stop and deadpan. "Please don't, I get scared very easily" and you pout those pretty lips of yours out. How can you be such an adorable but greedy girl? It's hard to believe you're the same person.

"Not that" he swallows thickly. Why is he doing this? Was a blowjob (a fantastic blowjob, by the way) by a young insatiable thing like you enough to make him go mad? "I want to help you too".

Before you protest, he's pulling you and sealing your lips with a hot kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth, playing with it. He pulls out, biting your lower lip.

"Eddie" you whine, "b-bed, now"

He's supposed to be older and smarter, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly? Following your orders immediately, your back bouncing on the soft mattress of his bed. As soon as you lay, his lips trail kisses down your throat.

"God, you smell so good" you giggle, "bet this pussy will taste as sweet, huh?"

His cold fingertips grace the fabric of your tiny shorts and the touch gives you goosebumps, "look at you" he tugs your panties, nudging at your cunt. "So soaked... is this for me, baby?"

"Yes, Eddie" the way you say his name is enough to make even the strongest man fold, his dick jolting in response. "Take it"

Both of you remove your clothes in such a hurry, you hope you haven't damaged your favorite pair of pajamas.

"Let me see her" he demands, so you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy.

When you kiss again, the underlying carnal desire is mutual, saliva connecting in a silver thread as you both gasp for aire. Your hands wander across his chest, fingers playing with his tensing muscles.

"I promise to reward her, okay?" he lines his cock up with your entrance, the fat tip nudging against you, sticky with precum.

You're desperate with anticipation, practically begging, "please do".

He pushes inside you fully, balls slaping against your sticky clit hard. He’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each thrust, making even the task of breathing painful and laborious.

Brock feels like he's ruined you, yet you look rather content. You've been used to giving; your kindness of a caretaker nature. You're used to giving your all and not receiving, so with every new thrust against you, his hips slamming, you know you'll never feel this pleasure again with anyone else, the delicious sense hitting you in waves that make you feel dizzy. So, in a way, he has ruined you.

"That desperate for me to fill you?" there's no answer, but the sound of rain and skin clapping against skin.

"Yes, give it to me” you sob, "Eddie, please!"

"Focus on taking it" he guides you. It may make him a pervert, but he isn't changing the sheets any time soon; they'll be covered in you and he'll smell them everytime he gets inside them. "I'm gonna cum"

You moan, lightly tugging at the strands of damp hazel hair. He chokes out a husky groan, heat pooling on his stomach.

Eddie's dick twitches inside you, cum filling your eager insides with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. Your pussy clenches, spasming, wrapping tighter around his length in a needy way, your high coming almost at the same time.

Both your breathes come out in ragged pants. He nuzzles against your neck, skins equally damped.

"Fuck"

As soon as those words leave his mouth, the power returns. You should go now, as this is the reason you stayed, but none of you make the move to leave.

"Stay?" he pleads, "It's still raining outside"

How can you say no to those brown puppy eyes? Does he think he can fuck you this good and then make you leave?

"Alright" you swear he smiles, and it's the prettiest smile you've seen in your life. Could you fall this easily in love? "But turn off the lights: I have work tomorrow and need some sleep"

"Whatever you say, baby" he nips at your lower lip, "you know I love to help"

[wizard-on-whales]

Devils Dance

(NSFW)

You're a violinist for the San Francisco Symphony, excited to work with your favorite band, but when you can't get a part right during rehearsals you hid away only to be found by the singer himself

Warnings: Smut, Unprotected sex, praising and degrading, semi-public, pet names

Word count: 2.6k

✭-----------------------------✭

Nothing had been going right today. First your alarm didn't go off on time which meant you were almost late for rehearsals, then when you finally got there you bumped into someone and they spilled their coffee all over you, and now you couldn't find your sheet music. You were digging through your violin case and folders, looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. You let out a silent groan, frustrating already starting to spill out of you even though it was only 10 AM. You leaned over to the second chair violinist and asked if she had an extra copy of the music and finally luck was on your side because she did. She handed it over and you set it on your stand, getting to work practicing the familiar tunes.

Although you were a huge Metallica fan and had spent the last several days practicing and studying the sheet music there was one part that you could not get right. And sitting here practicing it in front of the whole orchestra and your favorite band was not helping your already terrible day. Several times now the conductor has had to stop and restart the entire song because of your mistakes, and as it happened again you couldn't help the tears falling from your eyes. You wasted no time before running out of the room, the hot streams of frustration and embarrassment trailing down your cheeks. You found a corner to hide in, setting your violin down in front of you. You wanted to throw it, smash it to pieces, but you held back.

You brought your knees up to your chest, dropping your head into them as you cried. You were sure your spot as first chair violin would be ruined after this. Another sob left your body as you curled further into yourself, wanting nothing more than to go home. You didn't hear the footsteps approaching you as you wiped your runny makeup off of your face. The hand that was gently placed on your shoulder made you jump and turn. Standing there was none other than James Hetfield himself, the man you have had a massive crush on for years. Your cheeks heat up, your heart racing in your chest as you quickly try to compose yourself.

“You alright?” He asked kindly, picking your violin up off the floor and moving it so that he could sit next to you. He sits the stringed instrument on his lap, plucking the strings slightly as he awaits your answer.

“Yeah, just…just a bad day,” You stutter, trying to smooth out your now wrinkled skirt. You tried to think of something else to say but god he smelled good and it was the only thing you could think about. Just the size of him and the feeling of his shoulder pressed against yours made your brain go blank. He was not a small man that was for sure, his broad shoulders and chest strained against the tight button up he wore and you were convinced if he made one wrong move a button would fly off.

“I noticed that. You sound great though, that part you can't get down seems real tough so I don't blame you,” His words seem genuine as he looks over at you. His fingers continue to fiddle with your violin and just as he grabs a tuning peg, his instincts telling him to turn it, you panic. You grab his hand to make him stop and he quickly pulls it away, noticing your worry.

“Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking. They probably aren't like guitars are they,” He chuckles awkwardly, placing his hands off to his sides instead of the instrument.

“It's okay, same concept just a little harder,” You reassure him, your panic temporarily making you forget that you were upset.

“Play something,” He says, picking it up and handing it over to you. You stare at him in disbelief for a second before slowly taking the violin from him. You sit up a little straighter, positioning the instrument on your shoulder before taking the bow and placing it against the strings. You glance at him for a second and he gives you a nod. You take a breath before playing a song, deciding to play a version of Fade to Black that you composed yourself. It was a song you had prayed would be part of the album but unfortunately it wasn't. He watched intently as you played, a smile splayed across his features, and something else in his eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You tried to avoid his gaze as you played but it was hard, his eyes were intense, drawing you in with interest and beauty. As you finished playing the intro to the song you removed your violin from your shoulder and awkwardly set it back down on the floor next to you.

“That was great! We should have added it to the setlist. Are you a fan then?” His praises cause you to blush, not expecting him to be so sincere. And the smile on his face as he spoke made you want to trip and fall right into his arms.

“Yeah..I've been a huge fan for years. I had posters of you all over my walls when I was a teenager and in college,” You admit shyly to him, trying to laugh it off so he didn't think you were weird. He chuckles slightly, his gaze still burning a hole through you. You catch his eyes flick down towards your chest for just a second before looking back towards your face. His tongue swipes over his lips and you finally realize what that look behind his eyes is. You feel as if he could devour you with just one look, ripping your clothes off with his stare.

“Oh yeah? What type of posters? Just me or the whole band?” His voice seemed to have gotten deeper somehow. You wiped your sweaty palms against your skirt, looking away from him for a second, but his gaze didn't falter.

“Well..it was mostly just you. I had one above my bed that I loved,” You swore he could hear your heart beating against your chest with how fast it was pounding.

“Really? You ever touch yourself to it?” He asked the question so casually that it almost didn't register in your brain. Your voice gets caught in your throat as your face burns red. He smiles wider, your reaction telling him everything he needs to know.

“Did you look up at it with your legs spread wishing I was really there?” He comes closer, resting his hands on the floor on either side of your legs. You lean back a little as you feel his breath on your face, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“C'mon baby girl, use your words. Did you?” He leans further forward, causing you to lean away again. You were resting on your elbows, looking up at him at this point. You bit your lip slightly, unable to speak so you just nod your head thinking of all the times your fingers worked themselves against your sensitive parts, the image of him in your head. You had always imagined what it would be like, what he'd smell like, what he looked like under his clothes but you never imagined it would actually happen. Now you were laying underneath him, his lips grazing your neck, his cologne invading your nostrils.

“Yeah? Fuck yourself with your fingers trying to imagine they were my dick instead?” His voice was raspy and quiet in your ear. By now his body was resting fully against yours, pinning you to the floor. You could feel his boner pressed against your leg. His hand slid under the edge of your skirt making you shiver, his calloused fingers grazing the skin as they trailed up your leg.

“Someone might see us,” You whimper, glancing away from him and up and down the long, empty hallway you were in the middle of.

“You'd like that wouldn't you? Solid proof that you got to fuck me for real,” A moan slips out of your mouth just by his words alone. The feeling of his warm and heavy body pressing you to the cold, hard floor made you ache between your legs. His hand trails even further up your thigh reaching the band of your panties. His fingers slowly graze you through the fabric causing your hips to jerk.

“God you're already soaked princess, I can feel it through these little panties,” You bit your lip at the words he's whispering in your ear and the feeling of his fingers slowly rubbing you. His lips finally press against your neck making you let out a moan. He nips the skin gently, making sure to not leave any marks that would be visible. You moved your hands from the floor and placed them firmly against his chest, feeling his strong pecs through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You feel him smile against your neck as your hands wonder curiously over his chest, memorizing everything you can, hoping it isn't just a dream.

“I'm all yours, baby,” He whispers in your ear again while his finger slips your panties to the side to feel you further. You quietly whine, gripping his shirt as he slides one of his fingers into you. James hungrily connects his lips to yours, getting lost in the taste of you. His tongue pushes into your mouth, feeling every inch of you it can as it dances with yours. His finger slowly move in and out of your gummy walls, the wetness between your legs gradually increasing. He pulls his finger out, pushing two in, causing you to moan louder against his lips. You turn your head to the side, making his sloppy kisses stop.

“James please,” You cry out, his pace was painfully slow, making you beg for more. You didn't have to say anything else before he pulled his dripping fingers out of you and got to work on his belt. He unbuckled it, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. You brought your hands up to your chest and unbuttoned your coffee stained shirt, exposing your breasts to him. Lucky for him you had forgotten to put a bra on with the rush of the morning. A groan slips from him as he watches you squeeze the soft flesh. He pushes his jeans down just enough for his cock to slip out, holding the thing like a trophy in his hands. He gives you a smirk as he watches you drool over his size. You wanted to curse him for being right, all those times you stared up at that poster, your legs spread, wishing it was his dick in you instead of your fingers. Now it was actually happening and you were too drunk on the taste of him to be nervous. He pushed your legs further apart and situated himself between them, his tip grazing your entrance.

“You ready for all your dirty little fantasies to come true,” He grins with a whisper, his face dangerously close to yours. He grips your hips tightly as he drives himself into your wet walls. You throw your head back, wanting to scream in pleasure but only a quiet moan escapes.

“Gonna have to be quiet unless you want an audience,” James grunts into your ear before biting the skin. He jerks his hips, the size of him stretching you more than you had ever been, almost splitting you in two. You clutch his shoulders tightly, trying to hold on as he starts pounding into you. His body had you pinned down, making it hard to move but you couldn't care less. You grab the collar of his shirt, quickly unbuttoning the top buttons as he continues to thrust into you. His necklace falls out of his shirt, dangling in your face. You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer, connecting your lips with his exposed collarbone. He gladly lets you puppet him, groaning as you suck on the sensitive skin. He removes one of his hands from your hips before placing it above your head, supporting himself as he pushes deeper into your walls. You bite down harder, muffling your whines against his skin. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, your heels digging into the top of his ass.

“Mmmfuck.. Harder,” You moan, pulling him even closer. The cold metal from his necklace grazes against the exposed skin on your chest, making you shiver.

“I knew you'd be…fuck…dirty from the second I saw you,” He groans, pushing harder into you. His thrusts were deep enough you could feel him in your stomach. Everything in your body tingled, craving every bit of him.

“Thought you were being subtle, staring at me, but I knew this is what you wanted…wasn't it?” James leans down and kisses your breasts, biting your nipple harshly, making you squeal.

“Yeah…this is what..what I wanted,” James abruptly stops his movements and pulls out of you. You give him a puzzled look, having no time to react to him flipping you over with ease. He delivers a harsh smack against your ass, a moan slipping from your lips before he plunged himself into you again. Your hands grip at nothing against the floor as he pins your wrists together. His hips harshly smack against your ass, the sounds seeming to echo down the long empty hall. You weren't sure if you cared about anyone walking in on you anymore. He was right again, you'd like it if someone watched him fuck you like his life depended on it.

“Fucking hell,” He grits through his teeth. Your walls contract around him, drawing a groan from him. You could feel yourself getting close, the feeling of his thick cock, dragging against your tight walls at this angle was overwhelming. You didn't care if anyone heard your moans at this point, you were no longer holding back as his name spills from your mouth. Your sounds encourage him to push harder, his movements getting sloppy.

“I'm gonna cum,” You whine, the feeling washing over you, about to spill out. He grips you tighter, his cock twitching inside you.

“Yeah? Cum all over my cock, baby, do it,” His filthy words encourage you to let go. You swore it was the most intense orgasm you had ever had. You wanted to scream but nothing but a strangled whine came out. Your ears rang and your vision got blurry as you rode through your high, James hips still desperately snapping against your ass, chasing his own orgasm. His movements slowed as you felt his sticky cum coat your walls. He stayed inside you for a few seconds longer, pumping everything he could out of his cock before peeling himself out of you. Thick strands of his cum followed, getting on your legs and skirt, causing him to groan. He grabbed your panties that were only pushed to the side and snapped them back against your sensitive pussy, causing you to moan.

“They're probably looking for us,” James speaks, flipping you over onto your back. He keeps your legs wrapped around his waist, his eyes watching as his cum seeps out of you and soaks your panties.

“Mhmm.. probably,” You say quietly, your brain not able to think of much in your fucked out state. He grins at the sight of you, grabbing your arm and pulling a sharpie out of his pocket. He writes something on your arm before shoving the marker back into his pocket.

“Let's do this again sometime, yeah?” He leaves you with one last kiss, pinching your nipple, before shoving himself back into his pants and standing up, leaving you on the floor. You glance at your arm as he walks away, seeing his phone number sprawled across your forearm. You smile to yourself, wondering how the hell you got yourself into this situation, praying it wasn't just a dream.

✭-----------------------------✭

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 8 Part ½

masterpost

Black Bat got back to Gotham well before flying time. She took a shower to get the stinkyman stink out of her hair and apologetically took the green jacket to the wash. Cigarettes. Yuck! 

She joined the family for dinner. Damibat was there, face like thunder and clearly Not Talking to Alfred or Brucedad. Cass slid into her place and gave him a nod. He returned it. Very civil. We are professionals, Cain, you and I and no one else in this dump.

Cass hid a faint smile.

No Timibird. No Jaybird. Those were rarer birds to fly out to Wayne Manor, so she wasn’t too surprised. Just…

Cass readjusted her body language to be fine and normal. She didn’t need her flock family close for comfort. She was fine and normal! Yes, Stinkyman had said that she’d died. Yes. He said that.

(That fits with the pain of the electrical shock and the voltage necessary to short out bat computer, Cass’s Black Bat brain said sensibly.)

Cass hid a shudder.

But he’d also said that there may be no repercussions! As long as she left it alone and did not think about it. She had permission to pretend it didn’t happen. That was the best thing to try. She would eat her dinner and take her nap and then go flying.

Alfie served dinner. Cass caught herself playing with her fork, winding noodles into a secret pattern that might somehow make her feel better. 

“Is there something wrong with your pasta, Miss Cassandra?”

She looked up at him guiltily through her eyelashes and stopped playing with her food. Big sigh. 

“Will Master Timothy be returning to the manor tonight?” Alfie asked Brucedad.

Brucedad cleared his throat and put his spoon down for a moment. “I expect that he might spend the night with his friends in San Francisco,” he said.

Cass read the words beneath the words. Timbird was with the Young Justice friends. New plan. Not discussed. He’d been sent to Amity Park to investigate the laboratory where Cass had

(died. Where Cass had died.)

Been with Captain Marvel. And if he was out all day, it meant he’d found something.

Her heart jumped in her chest. She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to make sure that no one knew. 

Suspicious, Cass told herself sternly. Suspicious behavior. So she drizzled hot sauce on her pasta and ate a big mouthful.

Damibat copied her after a moment. 

Brucedad and Alfie did not wince, but they made their ‘white man thinks spice is scary’ faces. 

Cass quirked a smile. She put a lot more hot sauce. It was too much sauce. It turned the pasta red.

Brucedad made an unhappy sound and deliberately looked away from her plate. Haha. He was thinking: my stomach hurts just looking at that. Oh god, I'm old. Acid reflux. Heartburn. Acid reflux heartburn heartburn-

Bullying her batdad made her feel a little better. How could she be an undead abomination if she was, in fact, a naughty girl? Check and mate, existential horror. Cass finished her dinner and danced to her room on her toes, feeling the music from the last time she had performed on stage. She did a leap for the sheer joy of movement.

Everything still seemed better when she got up from her nap. Cass stretched on the floor beside her bed, and then flopped into a side saddle stretch to happily drink a bottle of green tea. She took it to the kitchen and into the machine for a wash and stole a peek into the fridge to see the after-flight snack. Protein balls! Chocolate and nuts? Cass stole one and fled to the batcave before anyone could see the crime.

Timbird was waiting in the cave on the big screen. He looked very tense. He and Batdad both looked at her when she came down the stairs.

Oh. There was a rock in her stomach. 

Cass beamed at them and flipped off the stairs to land in a gymnast stance behind Brucedad’s chair. “Hi, Timbird,” she said, acting normally. 

“Hi, Cass,” he said, sparing her a tired smile. “I was just telling Bruce how my trip out to Amity went.” She nodded, waiting for elaboration. Tense. “There were fresh tank tracks.” 

Oh. What. “What?” Cass repeated, because it was worth repeating. “Tanks?” She mimed her mind being blown.

“Yes, I figure that you would have noticed if they’d been there before.” Tim somehow seemed even unhappier. “The running theory is that someone was keeping an eye on the place and something about your trip out there alerted them.”

‘Machine. Electricity.’

“Extremely suspicious,” Cass said on rote. 

“Yes,” Batdad agreed gruffly. “There’s no legal justification for that kind of force being deployed in the continental United States and no record that we’ve found for it.”

“Definitely criminal.” Cass hovered for a moment. “Should I help?”

Timbird and Batdad exchanged glances. “I think that I would be best used in the cave tonight on research,” Batdad decided. “I’ll run comms while I’m here. Cass, can you and Robin handle things? There’s nothing in particular going on, aside from the weapons case. Robin has the information on that. We think that we’ve tracked the gang’s mechanic down.”

Cass gave a double thumbs up, more than a little relieved that she didn’t have to do anything related to Amity Park today. “Okay, I find mechanic and beat peace into them,” she said cheerfully. 

“You investigate and observe them,” Batdad repeated, faux-stern. Hint of smile. Naughty kid, tugging at my cape.

Cass nodded just as seriously. “Robin and I investigate, observe, beat until peaceful.” She smacked a fist into her palm.

Timbird snorted. “It sounds like a plan. I’m with YJ tonight, so I’ll log off.”

“Byebye birdie.” Cass waved on her way to the equipment lockers.

[dykesynthezoid]

I do think we’re getting at least some escalation of devil’s minion in s3 btw. And I don’t think that’s even me being hopeful or optimistic I think it’s literally just logical.

I’ve seen people say oh, but devil’s minion happens in QOTD, and s3 is TVL; and firstly, they’ve definitely made it sound like some elements of queen of the damned are going to be present in s3. Secondly, I suspect season 3 is going to end with the lead up to Lestat’s San Francisco concert. So the whole season will be both Lestat backstory + the set up for the events of QOTD. And devil’s minion happens, guess what, before Lestat’s San Francisco concert. It would almost not make sense to not at least touch on it while the other story beats are culminating up to that moment. Like, Daniel and Armand are already present in the story (where they aren’t in the book in the modern day storyline), why would you not continue their storylines to the next logical step?

Also, I think you have to consider just how many new characters and storylines QOTD introduces and how daunting that can be to absorb if you’re unfamiliar. Waiting to do anything with devil’s minion until season 4 means that’s just one more new storyline to have to inject into a narrative already very crowded with exposition. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to do that, and I suspect the writers are pretty aware of that.

And frankly like. What other storylines would Daniel and Armand be getting? Like how are either of their stories supposed to move forward without, y’know, each other? Are we supposed to expect all of season 3 just to be one big pause button on both their larger narratives? That seems very silly. Daniel at least has the journey of adjusting to vampirism, but Armand especially is like. His semi-redemption and character evolution comes from devil’s minion. That’s the only real next step for him.

And I mean. Look at Assad and Eric. I don’t think Rolin Jones could convince them to wait a whole other season for something to happen if he tried. I know, I know it’s easy to be like “oh but maybe it’s just actors being silly” but compare how open they’re being about it now and how much more tight lipped they were in between seasons one and two. It’s night and day. It is a very very different vibe. And apparently, Assad has been plenty excited about it this entire time, so he was actually somehow managing to keep his mouth shut before. But now maybe he doesn’t need to, because he knows season 3 will at least offer something in the way of that development.

I think it’s entirely possible we won’t necessarily see the full “culmination” of their relationship until season 4, but I do think season 3 will at least have development and escalating tensions that are undeniable. I think it’ll likely start out slow and ramp up as the season continues. I’m not going to panic if we don’t get much in the first few episodes or if it takes until episode five to see Daniel’s turning. That might be needed, honestly, in terms of giving Lestat his necessary focus. But I think more small pieces will begin to accumulate, will escalate to a place of higher tension by the mid season, and then the finale will include some type of reveal or emotional climax, setting things up going into season 4.

And you know what, it’s worth mentioning: things have happened faster on this show than I expected before! I did not expect Daniel to be turned at the end of season 2. I thought we probably had a whole other season to go before that happened. “Well they were afraid of cancellation” / “well Eric just wanted to be a vampire so badly” and will these things also not apply to season 3/Eric and Assad wanting devil’s minion?? Idk babes. I’m doing the math and it doesn’t seem that crazy to me

[jjoongstar]

𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖑 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖘

wc: 475 (tbh, idek what is this...)

from his recent live teehee;)

Seonghwa going on live, showing off his souvenirs that he got while on tour. some were even given by hongjoong and his stylist.

"this is San Francisco.... oh wait shit, no, its Seattle. sorry, hehe,"

laughing embarrassingly in front of the camera with his mistake bout the magnets in his hands. atinys sent laughing comments and teases him during the live. he kept on showing more of the magnets from different places he went, until,

"aahhhh~"

a familiar yet embarrassing sound emitted suddenly from behind the hotel walls. he looks straight into the camera. shocked? embarrassed? stunned? he took a second to scan around him, "is there a ghost in this hotel? I'm scared, " was all he could mutter. some atinys caught that sound and were asking bout it. Seonghwa's heart panicked a bit seeing those comments. deep down he knew what it was, where's coming from, who was involved, but he chose to cover it up by saying its just some female ghost whose haunting his hotel room and like him.

"this one was given by-"

"aaahhhh.....AAHHH JOONG AHH~"

Seonghwa has never ended a live so fast till that. without saying a single word he quickly grab his phone ending the live, closing all apps. and shut everything down. his face red in embarrassment. did atinys heard all that? please don't. he tried to convince himself. picking up the hotel's phone, he dialed the room next door. knowing the man behind the walls, he won't answer his own phone since he's busy.

the man finally stopped pounding from your behind when the phone rang. you sigh in relief when he went to pick it up. finally, after hours-

"YAHHH KIM HONGJOONG!! HAVE SOME SELF CONTROL!!"

hongjoong looks at you over his shoulder with a smirk and puts the phone on loud speaker.

"i was doing a live and atinys could hear y/n moaning, keep it down,"

you knew your voice was loud, but not this loud. you've never been so embarrassed in your whole life. not just knowing that Seonghwa heard you, but atinys too? your face was so flushed red, you hid your face in between the pillows near you.

"apologize to Seonghwa, sweetheart,", hongjoong handed you the phone.

you voice was muffled by the pillow, but Seonghwa could still hear you. he didn't mind much, cause he knew its not your fault. its the naked man who's holding out the phone to you.

"say your sorry sincerely to atinys too, baby.", hongjoong added while stroking pieces of hair out of the side of your face.

"Seonghwa, can you please tell atinys that I'm very sorry for the uhh....well...you know, that, and uhh DONT SAY IT ITS FROM ME!! just like....from next door-"

Seonghwa replied with a giggle. he can imagine so well your flustered expression, cause this wasn't the first time it happened.

dividers

[caitified]

OMG YAY ! i don’t see much content for azzi here it’s kind of sad💔 it’s my first time requesting but maybe azzi and reader used to date but broke up because reader went abroad for some time. so azzi starts dating paige after a while but reader comes back and azzi gets confused/conflicted🙏🙏

confused

azzi fudd x reader

warnings:none, but i didn’t read abroad when i first saw your request so sorry about that!

the last night of high school had a bittersweet magic, like the twilight of a long, perfect day. azzi leaned against your car, her eyes a warm blend of laughter and anticipation as she looked at you under the stars.

“we did it,” she said softly, her hand reaching for yours. “after all these years, we’re finally here.”

you squeezed her hand, the familiar warmth of her skin sending a rush through you. azzi had been your everything since middle school, the kind of love people wrote about. and even though she was going to uconn and you’d soon be on the other side of the country at stanford, there was something fierce and hopeful in both of you. you’d make this work—long distance, time zones, anything. you both promised.

but in the weeks that followed, distance crept in slowly, like shadows at dusk. phone calls turned shorter, text messages went unanswered longer, and instagram kept you updated more on her life than she did herself. it was paige who started appearing in those updates the most. paige, laughing with her. paige, meeting her after practices. paige, cheering her on from the stands. paige, who understood her world of basketball in a way you couldn’t.

months passed. your heart grew accustomed to the ache, hoping it would be worth it. until, finally, you’d had enough.

it was a late saturday night when you texted azzi, a small hope sparking that she’d call back. an hour went by. then two. you waited until her online status disappeared into nothing. the silence pressed against you, suffocating.

the breakup was long overdue, yet when it happened, it still felt sudden. you sent a simple message: i think we both deserve better than this. i love you, azzi, but i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay. maybe it’s time we let go.

she responded with a long, agonizing pause. and then, one final text: i understand. i’m so sorry.

for a long time after, it felt like your world had shrunk. but you focused on school, throwing yourself into new friendships and routines. azzi stayed in the background of your life, just out of sight. you saw the news when she and paige became official, saw their faces together across sports feeds, but by then, you were already halfway to moving on.

three years later, standing in the crowded arena in san francisco, you didn’t expect to see her. the golden state valkyries had just announced azzi’s draft, and the crowd buzzed with excitement as she jogged out, looking as stunning and determined as ever. seeing her was like a shot of adrenaline straight to your heart.

as she moved through the crowd after the event, signing autographs and hugging teammates, your eyes met hers. time seemed to freeze. she looked at you as though she was seeing a ghost, her face a mix of shock, wonder, and something else.

“hey,” you managed, stepping forward. “congratulations, azzi. you… you made it.”

azzi blinked, regaining her composure. “hey yourself,” she said, her voice soft. “i didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“i live here now,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “life happened.”

a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “yeah, i guess it does.” she glanced over her shoulder, where the crowd still buzzed, and then back at you. “do you have time to catch up? maybe coffee?”

a moment’s hesitation flickered within you. but then you nodded. “sure. coffee sounds good.”

the cafe was quiet, a small place nestled into the heart of the city, far enough from the hustle of the arena that it almost felt hidden. azzi had chosen a table in the corner, a place where the dim lighting and soft music blurred the line between memory and reality.

you sat across from her, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, catching glimpses of her across the table. time had changed her. she was leaner, sharper somehow, the softness of high school replaced by something refined. but there were hints of the girl you once knew—the curve of her smile, the way she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. little things that made your heart clench.

“so… stanford, huh?” she broke the silence, her voice careful, like she was stepping over broken glass.

“yeah. decided to go all in with the academics,” you replied, trying to keep things light. “and you… uconn and now golden state? i knew you’d make it big.”

she laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “it’s been a wild ride. sometimes i still don’t believe it.”

a silence settled between you two, one that felt almost comfortable. it was strange, sitting there with someone who once knew you better than anyone else, and yet now felt like a stranger.

“i saw you with paige,” you said, finally breaking the silence. you kept your tone steady, not accusing, just… curious.

she looked down, her hands wrapped around her cup. “yeah. we… got together after you and i broke up. she was there for me when i was struggling, you know? uconn was intense, and i didn’t know anyone. she made it feel like home.”

there was no bitterness in her voice, just honesty, and somehow that made it hurt less. you had seen it coming; even back in high school, there was something between azzi and paige that was easy and natural, something that used to make you feel like you were on the outside.

“i’m glad,” you said quietly. and you meant it, even if part of you wondered what might have happened if things had been different.

you talked about everything that night—your time at stanford, her life at uconn, the struggles, the triumphs. it was as if the years between you faded with each word, each laugh. and as the hours stretched on, that familiar warmth started creeping back in, like a flame rekindling.

when it was finally time to go, azzi walked you to your car. there was a soft breeze, and the night felt impossibly still.

“it was really good seeing you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. there was something in her eyes, something that made your heart race, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself that she had someone waiting for her.

“you too,” you replied, giving her a small smile. “congrats again, azzi. you’re really… amazing.”

she looked like she wanted to say something more, but she just nodded, stepping back as you got into your car. you watched her in the rearview mirror as you pulled away, her figure growing smaller until she disappeared from sight.

days turned into weeks, and despite your best efforts, azzi slipped back into your life. she’d text you every now and then, little messages that felt casual on the surface but carried weight in every word. saw something that reminded me of you, she’d write, or remember that time we got caught in the rain? each message was like a breadcrumb, pulling you back toward her.

one evening, you got a text from her. hey, got an extra ticket to the game tonight. want to come?

you hesitated, knowing it could open old wounds, but in the end, curiosity won. you arrived at the arena, slipping into your seat as the lights dimmed. the game was intense, and azzi was incredible—fast, focused, completely in her element. watching her, you felt that old pride swell up, a pride that only grew when she scored the game-winning shot.

afterward, she found you outside, her face still flushed from the game. “thanks for coming,” she said, her smile shy, almost like she was back in high school again.

“i wouldn’t have missed it,” you replied, feeling your heart race as she held your gaze a little too long.

that night, she drove you home. you could feel the tension in the car, thick and electric, the air filled with words unspoken. as she parked outside your place, you hesitated, hand on the door, before you turned back to her.

“this… this feels like old times, doesn’t it?” you asked softly.

she looked down, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “i didn’t realize how much i missed it. missed… you.”

your heart hammered in your chest, but you knew there was someone else, someone who had been there for her when you hadn’t. “azzi… what about paige?”

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “i know. it’s just… i don’t know what to do. paige has been amazing. she’s my best friend, and she’s… she’s everything i thought i wanted. but being around you… it’s different. it’s like i’m back where i belong.”

you reached out, gently taking her hand. “i don’t want to be the reason you hurt someone. but… i also can’t pretend that i don’t feel the same way.”

for a long time, she didn’t respond, her hand warm in yours, her gaze fixed on the street outside. when she finally looked at you, there was a hint of tears in her eyes. “i just need time,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“okay,” you replied softly. “take all the time you need.”

the weeks that followed were torturous. azzi would text, call, ask to meet up, and each time felt like a step closer and a step further away all at once. you knew she was struggling, caught between two lives, two loves, each one pulling her in a different direction. and as much as you wanted her, you didn’t want her to feel forced, didn’t want her to carry the guilt of hurting someone she cared about.

one evening, she showed up at your door unannounced, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. without a word, you stepped aside, letting her in.

“i ended things with paige,” she said, her voice hollow. “i told her the truth. that my heart wasn’t all hers. that part of me… was still with you.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. you took a step closer, reaching for her hand. “are you okay?” you asked, even though you knew the answer.

she shook her head, her shoulders trembling. “no. but i know this is right. i can’t keep pretending. you… you’re my past, but you’re also my future. and i need to be honest with myself.”

you pulled her into your arms, holding her as she clung to you, her body shaking with the weight of her decision. you knew she would need time to heal, that her heart would need to piece itself back together. but for now, you were here, together, ready to face whatever came next.

[mustainegf]

SUMMARY: James has a fantasy, involving you and his motorcycle….

𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 ¹⁹⁹⁹

I could hear the garage door closing and the sound of James motorcycle revving.

I jumped up and scampered my way to the garage to greet him. He's been working with the San Francisco symphony recently for a Metallica concert.

I open the door to the garage and step inside, my eyes landing on my handsome fiance. James took off his helmet and smiled at me "Hey, ba by." he said. 'Hi!" I squealed. "How was your ride?" I smiled, walking down the steps the greet him.

"It was alright, glad to be home with you though," he hummed, taking my waist as he pecked my lips.

I could already sense by his tone that he was in a needy mood and I reciprocated, cupping his cheek and smiling into the kiss before lightly pulling away.

"You know.." he began playfully, "I've been having this fantasy... allilll day..." he says lowly.

My heart skips a beat in anticipation.

"Ok... and what's that?" I purr curiously.

"Bending you over my bike..." he trails off. I laugh a little, stepping back a bit to let him close the garage door then moving back in front of him.

My hand goes to his crotch, giving it a gentle squeeze through his jeans. "And then what happens?" I tease.

"Then I fuck you..,' he growls, reaching around me to grab my ass and squeeze.

A rush of arousal passes through me and I bite my lip, feeling slightly lightheaded. 'Mhmm, and you've been thinking about this all day?" I ask teasingly.

His hand rubs my hip as he leans forward to speak in my ear "Ever since we talked on the phone today, I've been so hard from thinking about doing it," he groans, taking a step closer and pushing his erection against my thigh. I smile up at him and feel myself becoming wetter just from being this close to him.

"I'm all for it.." I whisper seductively.

He smiles devilishly, kissing my neck softly. "Come on then, bend over."

I giggle and do as he commands, facing towards his beautiful ride. He kisses my spine softly as he places his hands on either side of my hips, bending me down until my head is resting on the handlebars.

"Take your shirt off babe," he instructs, starting to unbuckle his belt. Without hesitation I raise my arms above my head and remove my top, letting it fall.

"Take your shirt off babe," he instructs, starting to unbuckle his belt. Without hesitation I raise my arms above my head and remove my top, letting it fall to the floor behind me.

"God, you look hot," he hums, quickly stripping out of his pants, leaving them in a pile on the ground. The feeling of his warm breath caressing my bare back makes me shiver a little.

James meanders down my body and tugs my pants down with a soft moan.

"Wearing your pretty lingerie just for me, baby?"

he asks huskily. "Of course," I respond dreamily.

"Such a good girl." he whispers.

He lifts one leg at a time and pulls my shoes off, placing them next to his pants and mine. Now completely naked except for my lingerie, James grabs my hips once again.

"See that? see how desperate I've been for you all day?" he groans, giving his cock a few lazy strokes. He is visibly throbbing and already leaking with pre-cum.

He reaches down and spreads my legs wider with his foot, pressing himself flush between my thighs. "Ooohhhhhh shit," he grunts, grinding harder into me. We both whimper in pleasure.

With the suddenness of a bear mauling its prey, he slams himself deep inside me in one thrust. I gasp loudly, clutching the handlebars tightly as a spike shoots through me.

He doesn't waste any time fucking me like an animal, using every inch of his length and spreading my juices everywhere.

James's dick feels amazing sliding easily in and out of my heat. "Look at you, so pretty, all fucked out already on my bike..."

he says in a voice full of lust. The sound of our skin slapping together echoes throughout the garage.

It sounds so dirty and erotic. I cry out loud whenever he hits a certain spot deep inside. James grunts a little when I try to push back against him but it only makes him pound me even harder.

I don't think there has ever been anything more intimate than making love on his bike. Something about the imagery of us, naked on his beautiful Harley Davidson gives me butterflies.

"So pretty... you and this fuckin' bike... so gorgeous."

"James... James!" I whine out, gripping at the leather of the seat.

"Fuck, you look so sexy on my bike..." James groans loudly, throwing his head back.

His balls slap my clit every time he bottoms out. My pussy is so wet and ready for his seed. "I'm gonna cum, James!" I yell, clinging to the bike for dear life.

"Cum all over my bike baby.." He moans right back at me, holding me by the waist tight and slamming deeper into me. I buck wildly against him, humping his shaft with everything I've got.

I cant stop myself or even get a thought in before I'm cumming, squirting over his cock and bike, the juices dripping down the glimmering silver metal.

That was enough to push James over and he lets out a growl, shooting rope after rope of thick semen into me. We pant heavily as we catch our breath.

After a few moments he begins pumping slowly in and out of me, enjoying the sensation of my pulsating walls squeezing his cock and milking every drop out.

James smirks playfully at me. "Gonna have to get some leather cleaner tomorrow," he chuckles softly.

I blush bright red, shaking my head in agreement. James removes his member gently from my drenched entrance. A small trail of cum drips down my leg, coating his bike seat with its warm sticky texture.

"You're such a mess... let's go clean up..." he murmurs sweetly, running his finger along my cheek.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

Double Life

Fluff and Angst (Dark theme)

Chapter 12

1735 Words 

(Company OC lives his everyday life, taking care of his business and ensuring everything runs smoothly. He has a soft spot for Mina, being his first recruit as the CEO. He also cares for trainees like Nayeon, who are as important as anyone else. Running a business is hard work, and sometimes you must get your hands dirty to ensure everything runs smoothly.)

After arriving from San Francisco, you went straight to work. Setting up an acting division within the company seemed easy, but recruiting talent was the most important part.

Luckily, the company executives took care of recruiting personnel and coaches while your main focus was on selecting actresses. 

While you look at some actress profiles, you get briefed on what you missed last week. IU mentions that rumors about the acting division have been circulating since someone, a well-known actress, visited the company. Officially, nothing hasn’t been confirmed, but you knew this was bound to happen. 

“We’ve been receiving many inquiries from trainees, asking if they can audition for a position in the new acting division.”

”Damn, what do you think? Should we open the recruitment to the trainees?”

”That’s up to you, sir. You mentioned you want to get some well-known actresses first, so maybe you should focus on that.”

”You’re right. Once we’re settled, we can think about expanding it to the rest.”

Also, while you were away, the trainee, Mina, stopped by. She mentioned that she wanted to see you.”

”Oh, okay. I’ll get in contact with her. Thanks Ji-eun.”

——

There is a knock at your door, and you see a silhouette, “It’s me, Mina.”

”Come in.”

Mina slowly opens the door and walks inside, “Good morning.”

”Good morning, Mina, how are you?”

”I’m okay. I didn’t know that you left abroad.”

”Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you. Did you need something?”

”No, I just haven’t seen you, so I came to stop by.” 

“Aww, that’s nice of you. Come and sit down.”

Mina takes a seat on the couch and stares at you. 

“How’s it going with your training?”

”It’s going well. I still have a hard time talking to all the girls, but I’ve gotten close to Momo and Sana.”

”That’s great. It's nice to see that you have someone to talk to.”

”They speak Japanese, so it’s easier for me. I just wish I didn’t get nervous.”

Don’t worry about it. People are naturally going to come to you based on your personality. You’re a really sweet girl.”

Mina’s ears get a bit red, and you find it kind of cute. You can’t help but see her as a younger sister, someone to protect.

”Oh, by the way, your parents sent you a package,” you say as you stand up and get the box that is on the other side of the room. 

“Oh, what is it?”

”All they told me was that you had to open it before it goes bad.”

Mina picks up the box and places it on the table. You hand her an envelope cutter and opens the box, “Aww, they sent me my favorite snacks.” She grabs one of the snacks and hands it to you, “Here, try it.” 

You try the bag of Skittles she gave you and share some with her. You can’t help but smile as you see her show her gummy smile. “Do I have something on my face?”

”No, it’s just that it’s nice to see you so happy.”

Mina’s ears turn red from your comment, “It’s just that these are my favorite, plus my parents sent them, so it makes it more special.”

”You’re right. Let's send something to them as well; what do you think?”

”Really?”

”Yeah. You don’t want to?”

”No, I do.”

”What do you want to send?”

”Umm, maybe some bread?”

”That sounds nice. Do you have an idea of where we should buy it?”

”Umm, there is a bakery that they used to take me to when I was little.”

”That’s nice. Let’s put in an order and have it delivered to them.”

”Are you really going to do it?”

”Yeah.”

Mina goes towards you and gives you a hug, “Thank you so much, Oppa.” It only takes a few minutes for her to realize what she did, and she steps back, face completely blushed, “I’m sorry, I just reacted without thinking.” 

“Don’t worry about it, it happens.” 

The two of you end up talking a bit more before Irene interrupts you two, “Sorry, I didn't know you had someone with you, sir; I’ll come back.”

”It’s okay, I was leaving anyway. Thanks, Oppa.” Mina waves goodbye and exits your office, leaving you and Irene to discuss important matters. 

———

You finish your evening run and go to the nearby cafe by the company building. Coming out of the cafe, you see one of the trainees standing in front of one of the gates that lead to the campus buildings. From afar, you can see they are pacing back and forth like they are waiting for something. You see a person cross the street and walk towards the trainee and wonder what’s going on. 

They seem to be talking to each other when you see the person, who seems to be an older man, grabs the trainee by the arm. The trainee struggles and tries to let go and yells, “Let me go!”

You exit the cafe and walk towards the street, trying to get an idea of what’s going on. As you walk closer, you see Im Nayeon, one of the transfer trainees from JYP. “She said to let her go” as you grab the man’s arm.

”This has nothing to do with you, so let me go!” shouts the older man.

”It does; I’m responsible for her, so I’m going to ask you to stop bothering her.” 

“Nayeon, tell that man that I’m not bothering you.”

You turn and see Nayeon frozen, unable to say a word.”

”Come on, sweetie, tell this man to not treat your father this way.”

”You… you’re not my dad.”

”Don’t be like that, Nayeon; of course, I’m your dad. I’m the one who raised you and your gold-digging mother.”

”Don’t call her that.”

”Well, she is a gold-digging whore. She’s been asking me for money and forcing me to support you.”

You can tell that Nayeon is getting upset by this whole situation and asks, “Nayeon, do you want this man here or not?”

Nayeon shakes her head, “No, I don’t want him here.”

”See, she told you to leave; now go before I call the police.”

”Fuck you, let me go. Nayeon! Listen to me; I’m going to get my money back, one way or another!” 

You grab the man’s arm and push him in between toward the sidewalk, “Go or else it’s going to go worse for you,” telling him in a serious voice. 

“Fuck! This doesn’t end here!”

Turning around, you say, “Nayeon, are you okay?” She doesn’t respond and is frozen from the encounter. You grab her hand, lead her to a private area, and sit on one of the benches, “What happened? Why did that man say he was your dad?”

”He… he’s not my actual dad but my mom’s ex-husband. He’s been harassing us ever since my mom broke up with him.”

”Did you try calling the police?”

”We did, but they wouldn’t do anything. He just wants us to pay back the money he spent on us.”

”What a douchebag.”

”It’s one of the reasons why I decided to join JYP; I thought I could earn some good money after debuting, but that hasn’t happened.”

”I’m sorry to hear that, but I've heard from your coaches that you’re one of the top trainees in the group.”

”How does that help me now? I was supposed to help my mom and get us away from that man.” Nayeon begins to cry, upset at her current situation.

”Everything is going to be okay,” you say as you try to comfort her. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me cry; I’m so embarrassed, especially since you’re the company's CEO.”

”There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” you say as you caress her head. It takes her a while to calm down, but after settling down, she asks, “Is there a way I can work part-time while still being a trainee? I just want to pay that man back so he can leave us alone.”

”You don’t have to do that; just focus on your training. I’ll try to contact your mom and see what we can do to ensure he doesn't bother you again. Nayeon agrees, knowing that she can’t do anything in her situation. Jeongyeon and Jihyo appear a few moments later after receiving a message from Nayeon earlier. 

You head back to your office and look for one of your family’s contacts, a friend who can help you in these situations.

”Hey, Don, It’s me. I have a bit of a situation going on.

”……”

”Let me send you the info.”

”……”

“Let’s make this as discreet as possible. I don’t want it causing problems anymore.”

————

Nayeon’s former step-father walks out of the gambling club after losing his month’s earnings. Defeated, he cuts through the alley, trying to return to his cramped apartment after getting kicked out of his house. ‘Fuck that gold-digging slut and her daughter, stealing my hard-earned money. Throwing me like some trash after supporting them for so long. 

Covered by the darkness comes out a figure, “Hey man, it’s been a while.”

”Do I know you?”

”No, but I know you.”

The former step-father is too late to realize and falls to the group. He only sees a vague silhouette of a figure standing before him in the dark alley, “Who are you?”

”No one, I’m just here to take care of someone who’s been causing trouble to my employer. They send their regards.”

There’s no response, only a man lying on the cold, dark floor in an unknown alley. 

Don takes out his phone, calls his employer, “It’s done,” and clicks it. 

The door of a black van opens, and multiple men step out and carry the man lying on the floor. They toss him inside and shut the door before leaving the alley like nothing happened. 

[starryschoolgirl]

Family & Fame

An attempt at a Elvis x Reader drabble

Summary -> In private Elvis was your loving husband and you were his doting wife, but in public Elvis was Elvis Presley, and you were just the wife. Unfortunately, sometimes that public dynamic would follow the two of you home, making way for arguments.

Warnings -> Jealousy, marital dissatisfaction, arguments, very cute and domestic 1st scene though, if you only want some pure fluff read that first scene it's adorable, denial of sex, yelling, swearing, flirty fans, circa 1956, Elvis' confusion leads to anger, Elvis is such a cutie I can't even be mad at him in this. Elvis is also a dad in this because I felt like it.

WC -> 3.5k

Request -> "i was wondering if you could write something with elvis x reader where there's a little marital dissatisfaction? just like a little drabble, doesn't even need to be over 100 words"

"You look handsome, now stop fussing"

Elvis leaned into your hand that cupped his cheek which was smooth from being freshly shaved.

"Now,"

You reached down for the comb on the hotel suite's bathroom counter, holding it casually between two fingers. While you smiled up at him your thumb stroked his cheekbone gently as you asked,

"Would ya hold still so I can fix that mess of hair?"

Elvis laughed softly and turned his cheek slightly to press his lips on your palm, smirking sweetly as he murmured against the skin,

"Sure thing Mama…"

With a smile you stilled his head by keeping your hold on his cheek, tapping it lightly you signaled for him to get lower, which he complied with as he bent his knees slightly, lowering himself to a height that you could see the top of his hair better.

As you neatly combed the gelled mess back into place you mumbled fondly,

"See what happens when a man fusses over his appearance? Just makes it worse, you men, so reckless with your hands…"

He asked testily with a smirk,

"And when a woman fusses over her appearance?"

You simply responded with one last perfecting swoop of the comb,

"Women don't fuss."

He drawled out a sarcastic, "Mhm…"

To which he was answered with a pointed, "Mhm."

After feeling pleased with your work you placed the comb down and smiled up at him, "Perfect", you said just before kissing his cheek.

You then turned to the long bathroom mirror that covered the entire length of the long marble countertops, leaning over it ever so slightly to rub at the skin around your lipstick, making sure it wasn't off-kilter in any way.

He smoothly stepped behind you, the front of his body pressed against the back of yours as his spine bent with yours, leaning over you onto the bathroom counter as you eyed him through the mirror. His arms wrapped around your waist and his chin fell to your shoulder as he stared back at you through the mirror.

His voice was low and gruff as he suggested,

"We don't really gotta go to this little gatherin' tonight now do we? Couldn't we just enjoy the rest of our time in San Francisco? We got about 10 more hours."

Elvis punctuated each sentence with a kiss to your neck, right in that spot he knew you were ticklish. You laughed softly and gently batted him away with a few swipes of your hand which in turn made him laugh.

You spoke while trying (and failing) to keep a serious face,

"Elvis, t-the mayor-"

Your laughing made it hard to put together a proper sentence.

"He's holding this soirée tonight in honor of you coming to- Ack..!"

Elvis laughed and said sarcastically before biting your ear,

"Oh, a soirée? I'm sorry little Ms. French I didn't know it was such a big deal"

You tried your best to continue through the giggle-fest Elvis could pull from you.

"Don't you w-wanna show them all that Southern charm you used to get me to marry you?"

Elvis growled playfully as his hands wrapped around your waist tightened and he picked you up from behind, evoking a squeal of surprise from you as he mumbled into your ear,

"Ya make it sound as if I schemed on you with those charms"

You laughed loudly as he held you up and responded,

"You did scheme on me! Made me think I was marrying a John Wayne cowboy type, just to find out you're a Harpo Marx clownish type, but instead of playing a harp you play a guitar"

He growled into your ear "Oh you little-" before ravaging your neck with playful kisses.

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted your fun, the both of you turning to see it soon opening after Elvis', "Come in Roberta"

As the door opened you smiled to see Roberta, the sweet old lady who'd been working for you and Elvis since a month or two after he released his first RCA record which brought in the money needed to have a personal nanny for yours and Elvis' daughter, sweet little Charlotte, who she was holding as she stood in the doorway.

Roberta smiled as she saw her two employers as in love as ever in each other's arms, the both of you looking like a million bucks in your outfits for tonight.

"Well kids, I just wanted to let the two of ya know Charlotte is all dressed and ready to go, and that the bellboy said the car's out front and ready.

She was much older so even though you and Elvis were adults, she still referred to the both of you as kids, because the two of you in life experience were like kittens compared to a sweet old cat like her.

You smiled and quickly made your way to take your daughter out of her nanny's arms, cooing over how darling she looked in her little dress and coat before saying with a smile, "Thank you, Roberta."

You looked back at Elvis as you bounced Charlotte in your arms, asking with a soft smile,

"Could you grab my purse over by the sink Honey?"

-----

Sometimes you forget how Elvis' emotions could flip like a switch.

One moment before walking into the big building as Elvis held Charlotte and nervously stared at the doors, you'd cup his cheeks gently and whisper reassuringly, "Hey, everybody here is here for you, to just be around you. You're the man of the evening, they're the ones who should be nervous right now, and I bet you they are"

And then the next, you're holding your sweet daughter in your arms while Elvis is holding some random girls (who you're sure are somebody's sweet daughters) in his arms as he's telling them what "overcomes" him to make him move on stage.

You could vomit, you really could, at the way they all put their hands mindlessly on his chest, and 'ooh' and 'ah' over him explaining what it was like for him to film his upcoming debut film "Love Me Tender"

You got along well with the mayor's wife and a few of San Francisco's socialites who were older women which meant they weren't here for Elvis they were here because their husbands who were close friends of the mayor were here. Due to their disinterest in Elvis, they were easy to make casual conversation with.

The younger women, however, were a different matter. Most of them clung to Elvis or waited their turn to do so. And as you watched from afar you were well aware you could go over there to claim what was yours, but you didn't feel the need to. The ring was on your finger, and his child was in your arms. Sure, he didn't often make eye contact with you through the night like he always used to, but that was just because he was surrounded by so many fans. Right?

Sometimes through the night, he'd shifted through the room to you, with a group of girls in his arms, only now it was a different set, and of course, the merry mayor following him closely, buttering up to America's icon. You shifted Charlotte to your hip as Elvis introduced you to the short, tubby man.

"This is my wife, and right there is our little girl, Charlotte."

The mayor tipped his head to baby Charlotte in your arms, "It's nice to meet you little miss, and," he then turned his head to you and held his hand out, "It's nice to meet you as well Mrs. Presley"

You laughed softly at the title and politely urged him to just call you by your first name.

The night went on like that, now and then a new important man would shuffle his way into the circle of girls that surrounded Elvis and the two of you would do introductions, eventually, Elvis had offered to hold Charlotte for you, and as he picked her up he smiled at her saying, "There's my little girl", making those big fish eyes that often entertained the little girl.

The women that surrounded him would coo at how sweet of a father he seemed to be. You only watched with an unimpressed look as one of the girls chimed in,

"She's blonde? I thought you said under that mop of shoe polish dyed hair was a light brown color, or are you just trying to fool me, Mr. Presley?"

The girl giggled and obnoxiously leaned her head against Elvis' shoulder and made a playful face at your daughter as she did so, clearly infatuated by the adorable baby, but not as much as she was with the man who had fathered the baby.

Elvis laughed softly at her jest, and responded simply,

"Well Hon, it's true that I have light brown hair now, but when I was a baby I had blond hair, it just turned brown as I got older, happens with a lotta babies"

The girl giggled once more and took an almost mournful sigh as she stared up at Elvis through her batting eyelashes (you were surprised she didn't fly away with how fast those things were flapping), and crawled her hand that rested on his chest a little higher as she spoke,

"I think I'd have to see that to believe it…"

Oh, brother.

You sighed softly at the ridiculousness of these girls, and the added ridiculousness of Elvis actually laughing and smiling along. He would get a little bit of nagging later. Thankfully you didn't have to stomach the situation too much longer as Charlotte began to cry. As Elvis tried to hush her and bounce her in his arms you smiled politely at the girls and made your way closer to Elvis.

As you took Charlotte from his arms you spoke softly,

"I think she's just a bit tired Elvis, I'll calm her in the car for a bit"

Elvis mumbled a soft 'Alright Hon', and caressed Charlotte's cheek gently with his index finger before leaning your way to kiss you. But, feeling as annoyed as you felt now, at the last second you'd turned your head, his lips landing on your cheek rather than your lips, his original target.

But he couldn't say anything as you'd already begun to walk off.

As soon as you slid into the backseat of the car, the driver asked where Elvis was. You explained that you and the little one were just resting up for a bit and that you weren't sure when Elvis would be through. Charlotte had calmed down and quite quickly fell asleep in your arms, the closing of her pretty little eyelids had marked the end of the party for you. You wouldn't leave your baby to sleep in the car alone, and you wouldn't force her to be awake for the rest of the party.

You didn't mind though as you felt all partied out yourself. As much as you hated to admit it, you don't think you ever could get used to seeing Elvis surrounded by girls and entertaining girls the way he'd been since his launch to fame.

You didn't think it was unfair of you to feel this way. It wasn't as if this was something planned when the two of you got together a few years ago. It was only recently that you'd had to start enduring Elvis Presley, the rock and roll heartthrob, and not just Elvis, the dorky boy who drove a truck and had a hard time putting together a neighborhood team to play football with him.

You closed your eyes with a sigh, resting a gentle hand upon your daughter's hair. You leaned your head against the car window, it was cold as the nights were beginning to have a little chill to them. The seasons were changing, and with them, so was Elvis.

Oh well, such is life.

-----

"…Just to the hotel Frank…"

You hummed softly at the familiar voice, pressing your head impossibly closer to the window as you tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Just as you had settled comfortably back into the window a warm weight in the form of a hand pulled your head elsewhere. You were too tired to care, so you let it, your head soon resting comfortably on familiar broad shoulders.

That voice spoke again, but it seemed that in your half-asleep state, his voice kept coming in and out.

"…took me awhile, but… sorry… gotta entertain the fans…"

You felt annoyed by the voice interrupting your slumber, but you tried your best to ignore it after letting out a disgruntled hum.

It felt as though only a minute had passed since you'd gotten peace again before you heard that familiar voice, your husband's voice, whisper as his hand gently kneaded your shoulder, only now it was coming from the other side.

As you opened your eyes you saw the soft lighting of the hotel's sign lights spilling into the open door of the car along with Elvis' figure outside the car. Now it seemed he was holding a sleeping Charlotte in one arm as his hand tried to soothe you awake.

"C'mon Honey, we gotta get some sleep 'fore the flight"

You hummed softly and after mumbling a 'thank you' to your driver you got out of the car with the help of Elvis' steadying hand which naturally shifted to your hip after you were standing upright.

Elvis unlocked the room and kissed your cheek, mumbling something about the baby and Roberta, you were too busy on a mission to get out of this uncomfortable dress and still miffed at him, to care to process what he was saying. Your mission was to get to the bathroom to get ready for bed, as you made your way there you stopped by your suitcase to grab a short silk nightgown and your robe.

As soon as you stepped into the hotel's bathroom, and Elvis disappeared off to who knows where you could finally let out a breath. You were exhausted but you couldn't go to sleep just yet in your state. You tiredly shuffled over to the sink and began to take apart your pretty party appearance piece by piece. The hair clips that tugged at your scalp now rested on the sink, and the makeup that caked your face now caked a rag.

You struggled to reach the zipper of your dress, and for a moment your body went limp and you debated just going to bed in it. With your head hung tiredly and your eyes closed, you could've fallen asleep standing there had a set of familiar hands not graced your bare shoulders. Elvis' voice close to your ear as he asked through a smirk,

"Ya need help?"

You opened your eyes and looked at him through the mirror, you finally got a good look at him, his hair had been fussed with, could've been from him carding his hands through it throughout the night, or from one of those girls carding their hands through it. You nodded with a sigh, upset with him, but definitely in need of assistance.

As his rough fingers glided along your bare back before working at the zipper, Elvis' lips quickly fell to your neck, placing soft little pecks along the skin. You stared at him through the mirror blankly, and shook your head as you mumbled,

"Not tonight Elvis, I'm too tired…"

He hummed softly as the sound of the undoing of the zipper and the feeling of the dress loosening around your body filled your tired senses.

"Who says ya gotta put in effort Honey? I can handle ya the way I always do,"

You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he murmured,

"I know how ya like it when you're tired…"

You sighed and tried pulling your neck away but his lips followed, and his hands began to explore you thoroughly as the only thing holding that dress on your body was his pressed so close against yours. You quickly stepped to the side, leaving him to shuffle forward as you were no longer there for him to lean his body against.

You kept a hand on your dress to hold it up on your body as he watched with furrowed brows.

"Elvis, I'm not in the mood for it tonight alright? We have a flight in a few hours, I want to get some sleep."

"Baby-"

Elvis reached his hand out to you but you took a step back and shook your head, a firm, "No, Elvis." leaving your lips as you walked to where you placed your nightwear with a hand still holding up your dress. Just as you began to head for the closed bathroom door he followed and asked,

"What's wrong Hon? W-what did I do to ya?"

His voice got louder as the confusion he felt was beginning to get him worked up,

"Seriously Baby, I took ya out to this nice party or fuckin' soirée or whatever pretentious bullshit you called it and this is the thanks I get?!"

You shoved him by the chest as you whisper-yelled, "You're gonna wake the baby..!"

Elvis scoffed as he took a step closer to you, practically caging you against the bathroom's door, his teeth were grit as he stared at you incredulously,

"You've been in a bad mood with me all night, seems like ya haven't even been listening… I told ya I was puttin' her with Roberta tonight! You would know if ya didn't have a stick shoved so far up your ass."

You stared up at him, feeling a pang of hurt at his words. He continued,

"Actin' like you're too good to talk to any of the fans. Spendin' all ya time schmoozin' with the rich old hags who don't give a rat's ass about me or my music"

You abruptly yelled back at him, staring daggers up at him through your teary eyes,

"That's why I was with those women Elvis! Because when I'm hanging out with them I don't gotta watch as they make goo-goo eyes at my fucking husband! I don't need to watch them paw and grab at the father of my child!!"

Elvis shook his head with a scoff and looked away from you, still keeping his hands pressed against the door, caging you in one spot. He mumbled something along the lines of "naggin' me like a jealous old wife…", a term that had only become a thing said in your arguments since Elvis' rise to fame.

You cupped his cheeks in your hand and pulled him to look at you, your voice shook as you affirmed,

"That's cause I am a jealous old wife Elvis… And had I known I would've turned out this way when I married you a few years ago… I…"

Your voice had dissipated before you could finish your sentence. You stared down at the tiled floor of the bathroom. Elvis was still wearing his shoes, whereas yours had been off the moment you stepped into the room. You could see the creases in the shoe of the foot that he was tapping nervously, and you could see the way your toes scrunched tensely.

The bathroom was quiet, and Elvis' voice which was once full of defense was now softened as he spoke quietly,

"Now, ya don't mean that Baby. You're just tired is all…"

He looked down at his shoes nervously and then at himself through the mirror on the other side of the bathroom. His hands that once caged you in landed ever so gently on your arms, his words came out through nervous stutters,

"You were right, we-we gotta catch a-a flight. Better head to bed,"

There he goes. When things get just a little too real, when the words are just a little too honest, and when reality is a little too close to crashing into the both of you, he expertly redirects it all for another time. Wanting to keep his schoolboy fantasy of having a little family of his own intact.

The little fantasy that he would whisper in your ear late at night in high school as the two of you squeezed into his twin-size bed, knowing if he talked at a normal volume the very thin walls of his house would give way to his voice waking his parents in the small room on the other side of the wall.

The little fantasy that he assured your Daddy would come to fruition if he got your parent's blessing. And it seemed so as you soon gave birth to sweet Charlotte, but just months after she was born you saw the first few strands of that fantasy being shot to hell as Elvis' talent had started being recognized.

And though it had only been maybe a year or two since then, you felt as though the boy you married straight out of high school was becoming a man you didn't recognize. And while you could keep the fantasy with Elvis going when the two of you were alone such as during the time you spent getting ready with him, it all crumbled bit by bit as his love affair with the fans and the public would disrupt his love affair with his wife. And he would let it.

So, I meant it when I said it was supposed to be a drabble, less than 100 words, short and sweet, as requested by a lovely anon. Don't know what happened...

[kryptonianheroao3]

Wenclair fanfic where Wednesday and Enid are together by the time they graduate. The plan is Enid is going to regularly commute from San Francisco to the Addams manor until one day, Wednesday and Enid can move in together in their own place.

Only on the day of graduation, Enid overhears a conversation between Wednesday and Morticia, or at least she thinks she does. It sounds like Wednesday is planning to break up with her after graduation as Enid lives too far away. Heartbroken, Enid tells Yoko who immediately tells Enid to grab her things from the dorm room and come with her to her family home in Transylvania.

When Wednesday returns to the dorm, she finds Enid’s side completely bare with no sign of Enid anywhere. With no response to her calls, Wednesday is left heartbroken in the dorm.

House key in hand.

Fast forward fifteen years, Wednesday is a successful author, practically living in isolation in the house she had bought for her and Enid. It’s even still decorated for them both, black walls with pink furniture. Pictures of them both from Nevermore hang on the walls. She never moved on from Enid, the Addams family curse still holding on to her.

Until one day, when Bianca, now Nevermore principle, invites Wednesday to the school for National Book Day for a QnA as a Nevermore Alumni who became a successful author. Begrudgingly, Wednesday accepts.

What she doesn’t expect is to see a recently divorced Enid at the school with her ten year old daughter.

[cellophaine]

Chapter V: BACKCOURT

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: Toxic family dynamic, toxic parents, mild abuse.

Author's Note: Woo this is a longer one (a little over 5k 😬). In this chapter, we dive deep into Reader's background to see how she became the way she is now. Art is not in this chapter much, but I promise he'll be back and his appearance will be delicious.

GIF Source: @/roranicuspond

2021. San Francisco.

4 AM. Two hours felt endless in your sleepless state. You sat up and, after a moment of contemplation, left the bed.

You settled on the couch with a glass of water and turned the TV on. Flipping through the channels, your eyes unfocused over the flashing images. A familiar face appeared for a brief second before vanishing. Your body went still, and your finger rested atop the forward button before reluctantly pressing backward. The image changed again, and Art's face filled your screen once more. His lips moved, but you didn't hear a thing. From the close-up, you could see the small changes in the face you had missed so much. His hair looked longer, and as he dipped his head slightly to hear the interviewer's question better, the movement pulled a strand of dirty blond out of the neat slicked back and drew it over his forehead. He looked much happier than you saw him last. You increased the volume to hear him better.

"I've been busy with the foundation. It's a lot of work, but I find it very fulfilling. I might be retired, but tennis is still an important part of my life, you know? And, of course, spending time with my family–"

The screen turned to black, leaving you to confront yourself. You stared at the empty screen, where Art was seconds ago, at your guilty conscience. After all that time, you were still stupefied at the mere sight of him. Your heart ached in your chest, and you felt a new kind of exhaustion taking over your body. Your loneliness crept along the edge of that guilt as you looked away from your own reflection. This empty apartment used to harbour the presence of another, but that was long gone. It took a while for this place to feel like it belonged to only you again.

A muffled sound of an incoming text came from the bedroom. You rose from the couch and went to retrieve it. The text was from your sister.

Call me when you can.

You opened her contact info and called. Two rings later, she picked up.

"Hey Soph. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. Isn't it early for you?"

"It is, but I wasn't sleeping anyway. What's up?"

There was a brief silence on her end. You had a feeling what her call was about before she said it.

"Dad called me. He asked about you, and if you were planning on coming home this Thanksgiving this year."

"And?"

You could hear your sister's soft sigh on the other end.

"He wants to follow up with you on his cut from your second book."

The Dollhouse was partly autobiographical. It took inspiration from your childhood, grew a solid root and allowed the fictional elements to take shape and become the story it was. It spent ten consecutive weeks as number one on the New York Times best sellers list, but the aftermath dulled the achievement. Your parents picked it up, and so did some people they knew, and for a while after that, they sent you texts doused in anger and emails with thinly veiled threats. Most of them came from your dad, all of them explicitly expressed indignation and wrath, and none of them received a response from you.

"He's not getting a penny. The Dollhouse was fictional."

"I told him that, but he wouldn't listen."

"He can take it up to my lawyer."

After a moment, you asked.

"Did mom say anything?"

Your sister fell silent again. Before the release of The Dollhouse, things were already strained between you and your mom, and after, the contact slowed until it ceased to exist. You hadn't talked in a few years, and to you, it was for the best.

2006. Your hometown.

Despite school ending on the 16th, you booked the train ticket home for the 22nd. The early train was quiet as most people in this cabin retreated to their own bubbles. Some read, some slept, and some listened to music with their earbuds. The nerves in your lower abdomen seized, and all of a sudden, the cookie Grace made two days ago became so sickeningly sweet that you had to put it back in the wrapper. You sighed as you looked out into the passing scenery. Home had always been a tough subject for you, and it involved complicated feelings that you couldn't put into words. How could you confide in someone that the idea of going home filled you with a sense of dread?

Standing in front of the door to your childhood home, you took a deep breath and straightened your posture. You rang the doorbell and listened for its muffled echo from the inside. You could see that the TV was on from the bay window with the curtain swept to the side. Your dad was in his usual seat, watching a game. After a moment, you rang again. You watched as your father took a sip of his beer and placed the bottle back on the small table before reclining further into the chair. You heard hurried footsteps making their way to you, and the door opened to reveal Sophie. She excitedly called out your name and pulled you into a tight hug.

"I'm so happy you're here! How was your trip?"

"It was fine. How are you doing?"

"Hanging in there."

Your sister looked relieved now that you were here.

"How are … Mom and Dad?"

You asked, and Sophie caught onto the underlying message.

"Mom is grumpy because Dad's not helping. She's stressed out about the Christmas dinner. She hasn't decided on what to make for dessert."

"Oh, no."

Usually, by this time of Christmas, she already had a detailed plan for the big family dinner on the 25th, from appetizers to desserts to finger food before the dinner started. She prided herself on the Christmas feast, which was hosted by your family every year.

"Yep. Also, the tree hasn't been decorated."

"It's… the 22nd."

"I know. That's why Mom has been in rare form the whole week."

You grimaced. Your sister ran her hands up and down your arms reassuringly.

"You've got this. I'll be here with you."

You nodded, and the two of you headed inside. You dragged your suitcase with you as Sophie announced your arrival, but you were only met with silence. You stopped at the door to the kitchen and took in the chaos. Not a lot of free counter space was spared from the various pots and pans and unfinished dishes. Your mom was standing with her back to you, chopping vegetables and dropping them into the big pot.

"Hi, Mom."

She didn't turn around to acknowledge you, but she addressed you as she took a break from the vegetables to stir a smaller pot.

"I thought your exams were done on the 13th?"

"They were, Mom."

"Then why didn't you come home earlier?"

"I had work."

"I highly doubt that they were so busy that they needed you there."

"But … they were. It's Christmas."

"Almost Christmas. I don't see why you couldn't come home earlier and help me with the housework."

The enunciation in her words was hard to miss. She went back to the cutting board, her movement more precise now, and riddled with more force.

"I booked the train as soon as I was able to."

"My life would have been so much easier if you were a little more thoughtful than that."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I–"

She finally turned to look at you.

"Why are you still standing there? Put your suitcase away before someone trips on it and help me."

Sophie gave you a look of sympathy. You obeyed your mother's dismissal and took your suitcase upstairs to your old bedroom. Your parents made you repaint and fill in the screw marks before you left, and now it had turned into a workspace of some sort. On one side, there was a computer setup with a wooden cabinet filled with files, paper and books. The other side was your bed, with a blue sheet covering the whole bed. You pulled it off and found your old bed sheet, just like how you left it a few months ago. You wheeled the suitcase over to the old dresser, your eyes roaming over the fine layer of dust on its surface. You lowered yourself to the bed, allowing yourself a moment of seclusion away from your parents. You wanted to lay down, to close your eyes, and to escape for a while. Being here for less than ten minutes had left you with a taste of dejection. It'd started to gather in your throat, but you didn't want it to win. You were stronger than this. So you swallowed it down and buried it deep, putting on a smile before heading downstairs to join Sophie and your mother.

Your effort and helping hand in the kitchen didn't improve your mom's mood. She complained about your hair, telling you how much it irritated her eyes and making you put it up with a hair tie. She was there to criticize the ratio of the marinade and the meat, the way you prepared the rolls of grilled beef, and the piping on the cupcakes. It was exhausting, but you kept the smile on your face and did as she said. About two hours later, the fridge was filled with food and prepared ingredients for Christmas day. You went to the washroom to catch a quick break from your mother's nagging and checked your phone. There was a missed call, along with a text from Art.

I hope your trip home was good :). I wanted to call to see how you were doing.

– I'm home now. Sorry I couldn't talk. Maybe later?

He responded within the minute.

Promise?

– Promise.

A short while after that, dinner was served. The preparation was paused for the day. During dinner, you told your parents about Stanford. Your dad was silent for the most part, only responding with a grumble here and there. Your mom, on the other hand, was very inquisitive in a way that made dread grow in the pit of your stomach.

"Did you know you could also take English here? At Lawrence?"

"Yes, I know, but the program is so much better in Stanford."

"So you're telling me Lawrence is not good enough for you? I went to Lawrence."

"I'm not saying that, Mom. At Stanford, the program is really detailed, and they have so much more to offer."

Your dad decided to chime in.

"It's a useless degree anyway. You were born and raised here with English as your first language."

"There's so much more than that, Dad."

He snorted.

"So much more of my money. It's a waste."

"I promised you I'll pay you back. Besides, your money is for the rent for my first year, not tuition."

If it wasn't for the scholarship, you would have never left this place.

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have a place to live."

Your father's friend from college owned the building, so you got the shared apartment at a much cheaper price. Your rent was covered by your dad since you didn't have a lot of money when you started college.

"No, I wouldn't have. I'm really grateful for your help."

"Thank you. Wasn't that so hard?"

Your sister tried to dissolve the tension in the air, and your parents went with it. The attention was taken off of your shoulders, and you were grateful for it.

/

You went to your sister's bedroom that night to catch up. You sat next to her on the bed while she lay down with her feet propped up against the wall. Grade 11 was proven to be dull and unexciting in the small town. The conversation eventually reared its head back to your parents.

"How do they treat you here?"

You asked, and Sophie sighed.

"They're not too awful most days."

She looked at you, and you could see the empathy in her eyes.

"I don't understand why they're so hard on you."

You shrugged, looking down at your socks.

"I do. Mom has said it so many times. I'm stubborn; I don't listen to them; I wasn't a good kid growing up …"

"So what? It doesn't mean they get to treat you like this."

"Maybe they do. They just want what's best for me."

"The way they show it is not okay. It shouldn't be like that."

A part of you wanted to agree. You wanted, so badly, to believe that you were a good person. Because a good person deserved good things. And if you were the person your parents had made you think you were, then you deserved nothing at all. You gave your sister a reassuring smile despite the doubt in your head.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. It's unfair."

You brushed it off.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault that they prefer you to me. One of us has to be the favourite."

Sophie gave you an incredulous look, and you shared a laugh. You missed this, talking to your sister about anything. She turned to the side, facing you, and braced herself on her elbow.

"So, tell me about Stanford."

By the arch of her eyebrow, you could tell the conversation was going in the direction you weren't exactly thrilled about.

"It's … good. The campus looks nice, but the course work is a lot."

She rolled her eyes.

"That's not what I'm talking about. Has anyone caught your eye yet?"

Your mind went to Art, and you felt a gentle warmth that felt like a ray of sunshine enveloped your heart. You looked away from your sister briefly before uttering one single word.

"No."

Sophie sat up, pushing into your space.

"I can see right through you. You're such a terrible liar."

You kept your lips sealed.

"Come on, tell me."

There truly was no way of denying Sophie's pleading eyes, so you ended up telling her about Art after a few moments of resistance. You watched her expression change as you wrapped up the story.

"Is he your boyfriend now?"

You realized you had never had that talk.

"We … haven't talked about that yet."

"You obviously like him. Why haven't you asked?"

You shrugged noncomittally.

"I don't know. I think a label is unnecessary."

"What if someone swoops in and takes him from you?"

Sophie snapped her fingers, demonstrating the snatching of Art. You held out a hand.

"Okay, first of all, he's not an object that anyone can take. He doesn't belong to me and vice versa. Second of all, if he is so easily … taken away like that, then he never really likes me to begin with, and I'll be better off without him."

It was an upsetting thought, allowing a tendril of doubt to slither in. Sophie shook her head.

"I don't understand you."

"I just feel like we're not there yet, you know? Whenever I'm with him, I feel … seen. There's no expectation that I have to meet. That's enough for me."

"He'd better appreciate you. You're amazing."

You hugged your sister. She had always seen the best in you despite the doubts you had. You weren't entirely sure you were this amazing person your sister seemed to think you were. Breaking away from the hug, you said.

"Speaking of Art, I promised that I would call him earlier."

"Call him here."

"No."

You shook your head vehemently.

"I want to hear his voice at the very least. You don't even have a picture of him."

"No."

You jumped down from her bed, your finger pressed call on his number. Sophie blocked the door while the phone rang. To your luck, Art picked up after the third ring.

"Hey. I thought you wouldn't call."

Your sister squealed, and you had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Who was that?"

You harshly whispered, asking Sophie to shut up. She enjoyed teasing you so much that she left an opening to the door. You slipped past her, but not before she sneaked the last words in.

"He sounds hot."

"Shush."

You held your phone against your chest as you went back to your room.

"Hey, sorry. That was my sister."

"Ahh. How many siblings do you have?"

"Just the one."

Art sounded sleepy on the other end.

"You sound tired."

"It's– uh … 2 AM here."

You remembered the time difference.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. It's only 11 PM where I am right now."

"That's okay. I like hearing your voice."

The honest confession sounded like a dream in the slow drawl of his words. Warmth dusted your cheeks, and at that moment, you wanted to ask Art to be exclusive with you. But it was a question better asked in person, you thought. So you held your tongue.

"I like hearing yours too."

His soft, drowsy sighs caressed your ear, and you couldn't contain your smile.

"But seriously, though, you should go to bed."

Art exhaled again, slow and languid, as if he didn't want the call to end. At last, he said with resignation.

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

"Later. Good night, Art."

/

The next two days went by so quickly, with even more preparations and decorations for the 25th. Christmas Day finally came, burdened with anticipation. Uncle Eddie arrived with his wife, and Aunt Donna came by herself. The day was long, but it went by smoothly, and you hoped that it would stay like this for the rest of your time here.

Dinner came, everyone settled down, and the twenty questions game began with your uncle leading it.

"How's Stanford?"

"It's good. I'm really enjoying it."

"What is it that you're studying again?"

"English."

Aunt Donna chimed in.

"Oh. Aren't we all speaking English? Why are you taking it?"

"It's so much more than that. I'm learning the history of American literature, how it'll be shaped, and the cultural intersectionality in liberal arts. Uhm, to name a few."

Your dad decided to weigh in with his opinion.

"In other words, fancy school for useless things."

Uncle Eddie picked up from where he left off.

"What do you want to do after school?"

"I want to be a published author."

Your dad sneered.

"Great, another jobless career."

You were taken aback by your dad's downright brash statement, but you maintained the pleasant attitude you'd practiced.

"It'll be hard, but I want to do it. Or give it a try, at least."

"Writing books is not going to pay your bills. When you fail, you're going to run back here and ask me for more money."

"I'm not there yet, so we shall see, huh?"

Your father fixed his angry gaze on you. His nostrils flared, and you knew you had really pissed him off.

"You went to Stanford for one semester, and you already think you can talk back to your own father? You've forgotten your place. You can be ignorant now, but you'll see that I'm right. You'll regret not studying something that's actually useful."

"I'm not talking back to you. I just want to say that it's my life, and I should be able to live it the way I want to. And I'm very grateful that you even gave me the money for rent."

Your mom cut in.

"Grateful? You sure don't show it. And who do you think gave you that life? I did. I gave birth to you. You wouldn't be here arguing with the very people who care about you if it wasn't for me."

You had heard this argument before. Your mother continued.

"The least you can do is listen to me and take my goddamn advice so you won't end up a useless brat."

Sophie's timid voice pulled at the tension.

"Can we just get back–"

But your mother didn't allow her to finish.

"Do you know how much you cost? How much did we spend on your tutors? Private dance and piano lessons so you would have at least some skills for your future self, just for you to skip classes?"

You tried to defend yourself.

"I was 11. I didn't ask for any of it."

Your mom pressed on.

"Everything we've done is for you. But you never showed us gratitude, not even a thank you. And now, you're off to California on the way to a useless job. You will fail, and when you do, don't come to me or your father, for support."

"I will not ask you."

Your quick remark came with the bitterness that could burst at any moment, and you weren't sure if you could contain it.

"I will not take responsibilities for your failure."

At that, you lost it. Your composure, your calmness, your pleasant attitude. All were sucked out of your body, and the only thing left inside was the aggravated animosity. Its rot was spreading through you like wildfire, and you unleashed your anger. Your voice was booming, reverberating through the dining room.

"I'm not asking you to. I've never asked for any of this!"

"Shut up!"

Your dad roared. You barely dodged the gravy boat he threw at you. The ceramic bowl hit your shoulder, splashing what was left of the gravy onto your arm. The sauce wasn't as hot as it was ten minutes ago, only left a dull burn on your skin, soaking through the holes in your sweater. You sat still, not daring to move, as your body became paralyzed by what had just happened. Your sister immediately got up, only to be shut down by your dad.

"Sit down, Sophie! It's what she gets for being disrespectful."

Your mom added.

"Eat your food, Sophie. Let her think about what she's done. She's ruined dinner. She just had to make everything about her."

Aunt Donna patted your hand where the gravy didn't reach, a patronizing tone dripped in her voice.

"We're just very concerned about your future, dear. No need to yell."

Your mom and dad's voices started to blend together as they continued.

"When you crawl back from California because your dream doesn't work out, don't expect a penny from us."

"How is it that you find our life so beneath you?"

You stared at your plate, willing your tears not to fall. The conversation around you continued in apprehension, with everyone ignoring you. Your sister grabbed your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But you didn't have the strength to squeeze back.

You half listened to your surroundings as everything your parents said kept regurgitating like a fire alarm that wouldn't stop screeching long after the fire was gone. Your body went numb, and exhaustion draped over you like a weighted blanket. You only stood up after the adults had left the dining room with their dishes on the table, understandably for you to clean up. Sophie helped you with the task.

"Are you okay? Does it burn?"

You shook your head.

"I'll be fine. It's not that bad."

"It doesn't look fine."

You stopped dead in your movement, and without looking at your sister, you said.

"Sophie. I just want to do the dishes, and then head upstairs. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"You don't deserve it."

But what if you did? You received exactly what you needed, a punishment that reminded you of the facts: you were worthless, and your future was bleak and aimless. You avoided answering Sophie, instead directing all of your attention to the dirty dishes.

/

Later on that evening, after your aunt and uncle had left, you headed to the living room, where your parents were, with an envelope in hand. You held it out to them.

"Here's my actual gift for you."

Your dad reached for it without a word. He opened and counted the bills. Your mom got up and retrieved a familiar notebook before settling down next to your dad.

"$1,227."

Your mom wrote the number into the accounting book. After setting it aside, she stared at you for a long time before finally breaking the silence.

"You embarrassed us today."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For … talking back, and disrespecting you in front of aunt Donna and uncle Eddie."

Your mom thought about it for a moment. You hated this feeling. You knew she knew that she had the advantage, and she was making this as painful as possible.

"Hm. Have you learned nothing?"

"No, I have–"

"Do you know remember what I told you in high school? About our method of discipline?"

"Yes, I do."

"Remind me again?"

You swallowed thickly.

"You said– you said you stopped hitting me because … I was old enough to know better."

"Right. But it seems like you haven't learned anything. You still don't know better. You've always done whatever you want, you don't care about anyone, not even your own parents. Who took care of you whenever you were sick, huh? Who worked tirelessly so that you could have a roof over your head, clothes on your body, food in your stomach? And this is how you repay us?"

Your head dipped in shame.

"I'm sorry. I will do better. What can I do to show you that?"

Your dad hadn't said a word, but the disapproving glare he gave you said everything you already knew.

"You always say that you're sorry but nothing has ever changed. Get out of my sight. You're making my eyes itch."

You retreated to your room, and a moment later, Sophie knocked on your door. Her comforting presence was much needed as you drew into yourself on the bed and tried your hardest not to cry.

"I can't stay here."

"I can ask Shelly–"

You shook your head.

"No, they'll know. I can't stay here. I don't want to. I want to leave."

Sophie slid in next to you and pulled you into her arms.

"Okay, okay. I'll take you to the train station tomorrow."

After putting your clothes back into the suitcase, you sat there in your childhood bedroom, not knowing what else to do. You felt hollow, as if your insides were carved and gutted empty, and you were left with only this shell of a body. The skin where the gravy touched didn't throb as much anymore, leaving only a dull pain. Your heart was aching as if someone had taken hold and crushed it in between their palm. You wanted this feeling to go away, to disappear, so you could forget about it, so it would stop hurting. Overcame with the thought of needing some comfort, you didn't stop to think twice as you reached for your phone and dialled Art's number. You needed to hear his voice, to be reminded of what would be waiting for you when the next semester started. The ring went on and on, and when you thought he wouldn't pick up, he did. You sat up straighter.

"Art. Hi. Merry … Christmas."

The background on his end was noisy. You could hear his name being called.

"Merry Christmas."

It seemed like you had called him at the wrong time.

"Are you … are you at a party?"

"It's not really a party, just a get-together at my house. Patrick is here, and we're drinking this thing that we stole from my dad's liquor cabinet …"

He trailed off as a hiccup filled in the gap.

"It's making my head spin a little, I'm not gonna lie."

"Oh. I'm glad you're having fun."

Your voice dropped, and Art caught onto it even in his inebriated state.

"Are you okay? You sound … sad."

You didn't even realize how obvious it was, so you cleared your throat and responded in a more cheerful tone.

"I'm okay."

Art called your name softly.

"You don't sound okay. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry for bothering you. Bye."

You hung up the phone. Seconds later, Art's call came by, and you watched as it rang and ended. Then, a text message came through.

I'm sorry, I'm a little tipsy to talk right now. I'll call you tomorrow.

You tucked your phone under the pillow, not wanting to look at it anymore. You tried to clear your head and think about something else. Still, your mind insisted on reliving the mistakes after mistakes you had made today. Exhaustion eventually took over, easing you into a fitful sleep.

/

You left without saying goodbye to your parents the next day. Sophie gave you a ride to the station, and by 5 PM, you were on the train back to Palo Alto. You received a call from Art. Just the sight of his name raised a storm of conflicting emotions in you, but the side that craved his affection overturned the other. You picked up after several rings.

"Hey. Sorry about last night. I didn't know my limit."

"That's okay. I shouldn't have called anyway."

"No, no, I'm glad you called. How was your Christmas?"

"It was fine. Are you preparing to go to the ski resort?"

You kept your voice level, hoping that you didn't give away anything like you did last night.

"Yep. We're heading there tomorrow."

The crackle of the announcement system broke out over your head, notifying you of your final stop. You were about to wish him a good trip, but Art spoke before you could get it out.

"Wait, where are you right now?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, but Art was determined to get it from you.

"Are you going back to Stanford?"

"Sorry, I have to go."

You ended the call. Almost immediately, Art's name appeared on the screen. You declined. Seconds later, he sent you a text.

Pick up. Please.

After shutting down his third call, you turned off your device. You went back to your apartment. It was empty. Your roommates wouldn't be here until school started, so you'd have the whole place to yourself. You felt an immense relief as you finally got to be alone, and you would be for at least another week. You didn't bother unpacking; instead, you headed for your room. After changing into something more comfortable, you crawled under the cover and pulled it to cover your head. Only then you allowed yourself to cry until you couldn't anymore, until the sobs that came out of you were reduced to soundless whimpers. Sleep came easier this time.

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[keeksandgigz]

thinking of eddie helping you braid your hair when you’re getting ready to spend the night

made this about eddie and witchy because i cannot stop thinking about them- this is also for the anon who said they can't stop reading it (thank u hehehe)

fluffy fluff below the cut, witchy being jealous and thinking of hexing his exes <3

He had to drag you into his apartment.

In a hilarious turn of events, due to some kind of San Francisco strike, all metro routes were suspended and there was no way you were going to walk in heeled boots all the way to Twin Peaks.

"Why call an Uber, baby? You can literally come upstairs at mine" Eddie says, watching you huff as you read over the e-mail about the strike.

"No Eddie you don't understand. I need to be home. I have a whole ritual! And silk pillowcases! Why can't you just drive me?" you whine, hoping he'll fold to your requests like he always does.

He grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a tender look.

"Because, my lovely witchy, metro routes being down means there will be absolute pandemonium in the streets. And I'm not trying to stay fifteen minutes stuck in downhill traffic" he laughs as you follow him around the store.

He's still working, you got off an hour before and after walking around the vintage stores for an hour there wasn't much else to do. It's just him in the record shop, working the closing shift. You follow him around trying to convince him to drive you back as he puts back the vinyls in the milk crates, folds band t- shirts, and rearranges patches in the display case.

"C'mon, witchy, just go up. I have Chinese takeout from last night or spaghetti if you wanna cook, I'll stop by the hair place across the block to get you a silk pillowcase. Promise" he says, leaning over the counter to kiss your forehead he opens up the cash till.

"But Ed-" you whine, you've never slept outside of your apartment before.

"No buts, I'm sorry witchy. Now get your cute butt out of here, I've got money out" he says, puckering his lips, ready for a kiss.

You lean over the counter and give him a quick kiss before he hands you the keys to his apartment.

"Don't forget to call Lorraine to get her to feed Circe!" he exclaims before you're out the door. You roll your eyes, of course you'll call Lorraine, your neighbor, if Lorraine existed.

But he doesn't have to know you can feed Circe with a snap of your finger whenever you forget to leave food out in the morning.

So you groan and you go through the backdoor of the store to reach the small, dingy courtyard of his apartment. Second floor, apartment 5C.

This building is so old it doesn't even have an elevator. You reach the door and open it, the rattle of keys falling over the counter is the only sound that can be heard, along with the clack of the short heels of your boots.

You take your shoes off and go through his fridge. Day- old Chinese takeout, a carton of eggs and milk. Three cans of Sierra Nevada, a half- drunk bottle of Coke Zero. You open his freezer.

Honey walnut shrimp and fried rice from Trader Joe's, a bottle of vodka, and a tub of ice cream from the last time you were craving it.

You roll your eyes and pick up the phone.

"Hey Ed, you have jack shit in your fridge. Can you stop by the Greek place down the block? I’ll have a gyro with chicken and falafel on the side” you request, hearing his groan at another chore he has to do post closing.

“Baby the Chinese food in the fridge is pretty good, it’s from the place we always go to” he’s not very convincing, but he’s tired and now lost count of the cash he was counting.

“‘kay i’ll put an online order for it so you just have to go pick it up, sound good?” you ignore him.

“Ugh fine but I better get, like, the biggest kiss in return.“ he groans, but it’s true. He is a weak, weak man when it comes to you. “Get me the pita wrap with lamb and fries, and lemme also get seasoned fries on the side. Thank you witchy, love you gotta go” he says, hanging up the phone.

So you order the food and then sneak in Eddie's bedroom to change into something comfortable. Getting rid of that fine line when clothes felt too much like clothes, the stitching pressing into your skin, the cuffs of your sweater feeling a bit too tight against your wrists, your jeans too tight on your legs.

So you venture in his closet and steal a pair of sweats and a ratty black t- shirt. One of his many. You go to the bathroom and notice there's no mirror. This dude.

So you tie your hair away from your face and use the nice face wash you got him- which you're sure he rarely uses- and wipe the makeup off your face. You go look for a clean towel, 'cause God knows you will not be wiping your face with the hand towel sitting on the rod on the wall.

After your face is clean you plop yourself on the couch and watch TV to pass the time.

Thirty- odd minutes later a rattling of keys startles you. Eddie walks through the door with his arms full of plastic bags. He places them on the counter.

"Hey witchy, I see you've made yourself at home?" he says, as you walk towards him and bury yourself in his arms. At least he smelled nice.

"Hmmm missed you, Ed" you mutter against the fabric of his t- shirt.

"You missed me?" you give a little nod, followed by a hum. His heart beats a bit faster, it's nice knowing you think of him when he's away.

"Aw, witchy. I missed you too, are you hungry?" he says, giving you a sweet kiss on the head as he detaches from your grip and reaches for the bag with the food, taking out the boxes.

"Also stopped by the hair place, got you that silk pillowcase and some shampoo and conditioner to keep here. Doubt you'll wanna use my three in one shit" he snickers, and you blush timidly. He's not sweet in the way that he'll kiss you in the middle of the street, but he is for sure sweet in the way he thinks about you an embarrassing amount of times a day.

"Thanks Ed, you didn't have to do that" you say, and he blushes, the boy tinges himself pink because you appreciate him.

"Y'know, anything for you" he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he brings the takeout boxes to the coffee table.

You follow him and plop down on the couch "I was watching 'Sex and the City' while you were gone" you explain, biting into your gyro.

"Was Samantha being her usual crazy self?" he doesn't even know who Samantha is, but he thinks it's funny to ask you every time. You giggle as he puts on a random show for you to watch.

After an episode Eddie stands up and stretches.

"I'm beat, I think it's time for bed" he says "c'mon, witchy"

You rise from the couch and follow him into the master bathroom.

“I have a toothbrush here for you, I kinda uh-“ from his tone you can tell he’s embarrassed “I got one for here the first time you came over, in case you ever, y’know, wanted to sleep over” he says sheepishly, while you wrap your arms around him.

He offers it to you, it’s pink. Your favorite color.

“Aw, Ed. You’re so sweet, thank you” you say and you swear you can see him blush as you place a delicate kiss on his warming cheek.

This slice of domesticity taken away from the mystic vibe of your apartment really makes you wonder. It makes you think about a normal life, with him.

The way he washes his face like a madman (without face wash), letting the water wet his bangs instead of pulling his hair back, the way he ties his hair up before brushing his teeth.

You take the toothbrush out of your mouth "Ah shtill don' undestand why you don' have a mirrah" you sputter, mouth full as you spit the toothpaste in the sink.

"Why I don't have a mirror? Previous tenant broke it and my asshole landlord still won't fix it" he says, taking off his shirt. Your eyes linger on the lines of his back a little too long, bordering the line between looking and staring.

So you turn around and you try to braid your hair without a mirror, but to no avail, every strand seems to be three different sizes.

You groan in frustration as Eddie approaches you.

"Lemme help, witchy" he says, standing behind you and tending an arm out for a hair tie.

He divides the hair into three strands. Your hair is so soft between his fingers.

He wishes he could stall so that he could caress it for longer, but an impatient yawn escapes your mouth as his hands deftly get to work. Over, under, over, under-

"Where did you learn to braid hair?" you ask, feeling the way he softly holds each strand, making sure he's not pulling at your scalp. You don't see him, but a smile forms around his tongue, peeking out of his lips in concentration. Over, under.

"I had girlfriends before you, witchy. They taught me to braid my own hair" he chuckles, as you try to tune out the word girlfriends. Under, over, under.

He can see a pout form on your lips, he smiles.

"Why'd you need to braid your hair?" you huff, thinking of going on a spiraling rampage and hexing every one of his exes. Over.

"Well" he begins "one time, an ex braided my hair and it came out super curly, so I wanted to try it myself. Turns out it needs to stay in the braid for a while for that to happen" he shrugs.

Under, over, tie.

"All done," he announces, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Thanks, Ed" you examine the braid, flinging it over your shoulder "looks really nice" you say, and give him a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He gets himself into bed. His bed is oddly comfortable and his sheets smell of laundry detergent.

"I might have been washing my sheets every other day in case you wanted to sleep over" he confesses, blushing, as he lifts his arm, opening the warmth of his chest to you.

"You" you give him a kiss "are literally" another kiss "the sweetest guy" another kiss "in the history of always" last kiss.

He gets flustered when you call him sweet, because under the hardening exterior of black chains and shirts with exploding heads and hooded skeletal figures, there's just a sweet guy who loves you and wants you to like him for being himself.

"Just want you to, you know, have a good experience with me" he says, caressing your head.

"You get an 11/10 Yelp rating, can't recommend to anyone, though. You seem to be preoccupied with a really cool girl, and it seems it's going to go on forever" you giggle, as he smiles and gives you a kiss.

"Go to sleep, cool girl. Goodnight, love you" he says, before turning off his lights.

"Goodnight, Ed" you say, turning over so he can spoon you.

"You have to say it back" he whispers in the quiet of the dark room.

"Right, sorry. I love you too, Ed" you correct yourself and close your eyes, falling into one of the best sleeps you've ever had in your life.

The morning after, Eddie wakes up to his landlord bringing in a new mirror, his hair extra curled and all his exes blocked on his social media. But he doesn't have to know about that last one.