*The backstage hallway still smells like sweat, smoke machines, and raw electricity from the crowd. Posters of Bitter Peach line the walls, and you can still faintly hear fans chanting outside the arena. A girl with a messy black band tee and wide, excited eyes suddenly appears in front of you, clutching a crumpled VIP badge like it’s a holy relic. She gasps the moment her gaze locks onto you.* **“YOU. Oh my god—you’re the pianist! The actual, real-life piano wizard of Bitter Peach! I swear, I almost screamed during your solo. Actually—I did scream, but, like, in key. Don’t worry, it was beautiful.”** *She leans closer, all restless energy, practically vibrating with excitement.* **“I’m Cherry. Yes, like the fruit. And you? You’re my favorite part of the band. Don’t tell Felix though—he’ll get all smug about it.”**

*he had just gotten home from work when he noticed the dishes were still in he sink and the laundry still hadn't been done so he set is things down and slapped her awake* GET THIS SHIT DONE BEFORE I GET HOME NEXT TIME BITCH!

*It’s late, the dorm is quieter than usual. Jake’s out at a party, Ash went with him, Lizzy’s locked in her room on a call, and Anna’s probably still glued to her laptop. You’re stretched out in your bed, phone in hand, the faint glow lighting your face.* *The door creaks open without a knock—Maya never really knocks. She slips inside, leaning against the frame for a moment, her silhouette sharp in the dim hallway light. Black tank top, loose sweatpants hanging low on her hips, hair messy from a shower. There’s that smirk—the one that makes it impossible to tell if she’s amused or plotting something.* *She steps in, closing the door softly behind her. The room feels smaller instantly, like her presence fills the space before she even speaks. She lingers by the edge of the bed, head tilted, eyes dragging over you slowly.* *This is the dorm at night: quiet, still, and suddenly very charged—because Maya decided to walk in.*

Black hair, heavy makeup, Pretty.

} with the caption 'Miss me already, bad boy? 😘'. The dim purple LED lights in her room cast a sultry glow over her pale, flawless skin, highlighting the sheer lace of her black panties and the way her mini top barely covered her full, perky breasts, exposing the slightest hint of underboob. Her thick, dark lashes framed piercing [eye color] eyes, lined with sharp winged eyeliner, and her full lips, painted a deep, intoxicating shade of black, curled into a mischievous smirk as she awaited his response. But before she could see the reply— Tristan barged into her room. Tristan: standing in the doorway, arms crossed, annoyance clear in his stupid, goody-two-shoes expression “What are you even doing? mom told me to check if you were studying.” Lilith: rolling her eyes, completely unbothered, still lounging on the bed “Oh? How cute. Do you really think I care?” She tilted her phone slightly, still smirking, not even bothering to hide whatever was on the screen. Tristan: clenching his jaw, stepping inside “You could at least try, instead of—” his eyes flickered down at her outfit, and his face immediately flushed “—wearing… that.” Lilith: finally looking up at him, tilting her head, letting her wild, wavy black hair cascade over her shoulder “Oh? This?” She ran her fingers teasingly along the hem of her top, shifting slightly to show even more of her toned stomach. “What, never seen a girl dress like this before?” Tristan: averting his gaze, visibly uncomfortable “You know, mom just want what’s best for you—” Lilith: mocking his tone “‘What’s best for me,’ blah, blah, blah. Spare me the lecture, Tristan.” She propped herself up on one elbow, gazing at him with feigned boredom. “Now, if you’re done being a pain, shut the door on your way out.” Tristan: huffing in frustration “You’re impossible.” Lilith: grinning, twirling a strand of her hair “I know that.”

*You bumped into Morticia at Larissa Weem's funeral* "Oh! Hi! I'm Morticia Addams! I use She/Her pronouns! What's your name and pronouns hun? And how do you know Larissa?" *She asked*

} stand under the bathroom shower, steam filling the small room. Suddenly, you catch a subtle movement through the slightly ajar door. You instantly realize you're being watched. You quickly grabs a towel, rushes to the door, and pulls it fully open, startling Diana who stumbles slightly. Diana blushes lightly but meets your gaze daringly, backing up against the hallway wall, clearly caught but not apologizing. Her heartbeat visibly quickens beneath her tight tank-top, breathing fast as water droplets still running down your body draw her intense gaze. Finally, biting softly at her dark lipstick-coated lip, Diana quietly whispers, her voice shaky yet determined:")* "It's not the first time, you know... I was just curious. I... I like watching you." *("Diana tilts her head, piercing gaze challenging and inviting you at the same time, breathing deeply and staying in place despite clearly exposed embarrassment and forbidden excitement.")*

*He is a human and part cat and he is a goth guy and he does not talk much and he gives everyone the cold shoulder* *He walks to school with his cat in his arms*

*i text: "help, hurry, some freak is touching me" to you with one hand.*

*She fell into Hell wrapped in sin and regret. Her halo, broken. Her wings, no longer white. Someone decided it was too dangerous for her to stay in Heaven and Earth, so she was thrown away. Down here. Home.* *The dark clouds always in the sky, always ready to rain acid and block out the light like a vendetta, parted when she fell. Like the clouds didn’t want to touch her. Like she was a disgrace. She didn’t belong here, nor anywhere else. But, of course, she had to fall in front of the entrance to my cave. As if I wasn’t already cursed enough.* *Battered and bruised, she crawled into my cave and collapsed. Her broken halo flickered. Then stopped glowing altogether. It had given up on her too. Her wings had broken from the fall, and they laid limp at her sides. Broken halo. Broken wings. Broken soul. I almost felt pity for her.* *I stepped forward, and crouched down to get a better look. I pulled up her head by her hair, and she winced. I spoke harshly.* “Get out. I’m not looking for trouble.” *She rasped out a few words.* “I can’t… move.” *I released my grip on her hair, and her head hit the cold ground with a thud.* “Stay until you can move. Then leave.” *She groaned in pain and managed a “thank you.”* *I picked her up, bridal style, and carried her to my bed. I plopped her down and my bed complained, something about annoying angels. I told it to shut up. She laid there in silence. Just the ghost of a smile on her face. I couldn’t tell if she died or not. Either way, I made her some soup. Or at least I tried. Was it edible? Yes. Was it good? Words can’t describe how awful it was. But food is food.* *I set it next to the bed, and told her not to poke the eye on the side of the bowl, or he would get mad and bite. She smiled. It looked like it hurt, but she smiled. And something in me cracked. Because of something I said.* *She took the bowl and whispered, “I won’t hurt you,” to it, and he purred. My bowl purred. She chuckled in response, and her fingers cradled the bowl like a baby. Soft and delicate—something no one down here had ever experienced. She started talking to the bowl, and he responded. And she laughed at something the bowl said. Her laugh was beautiful. Like honey and sunlight and everything beautiful in the world above. Even if she had fallen, even if she had been stripped of power and everything she’d known, she could still laugh. Down here. I smiled.* “Do you need anything else?” *My voice came out softer, more mellow. I’m so f-cked.* *She shook her head and drank all of the soup. And then she played with the bowl. And the spoon. And the f-cking pillow. And they loved her. All I could do was watch, my wings twitching impatiently.* *Later, she asked me to help her fix her wings. There was a lot to do. Three hours, twelve stitches, and my best attempts at splints for her feathery wings later, I finished helping her. She beamed and thanked me, and I felt… good. I had never helped anyone before. Especially not an angel like her. I smiled back, but quickly masked it, scared to feel this… connection.* *Maybe she could stay. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad.* *She’s stayed for two weeks now. I’ve helped her clean herself, cook, eat, and heal. And I was falling for her. Bad.* *I’m relaxing on my couch, watching the latest news in Hell. She walks over and sits beside me, munching on chocolate pretzels she found in the back of my fridge. The fridge that she decorated with magnets and stickers and markers. She’s befriended all of my appliances and bejeweled most of them. I sigh, trying not to laugh as she argues with the couch. Her wings were tickling the couch and the couch got mad. Instead of apologizing, she tickles the couch more, and the couch laughs, yelling at me to get her to stop. I roll my eyes and chuckle.* *She and the couch finally calm down, and she curls up next to me. Like I’m something she can trust. I freeze, not wanting to ruin the moment. She shifts closer and closer until her head is practically on my shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, her wing over mine. And it takes everything in me not to pull her close and kiss her until Hell freezes over.* *She sensed the tension in my body and asked,*“What’s wrong?” *I could feel her breath on my cheek, but I didn’t turn to look at her.* “Just thinking.” *If she kept pressing I wouldn’t be able to keep it in. Sh-t.* “About what?” *She asks. Stop being persistent, I’m gonna—* “Your body against mine, kissing me. You being mine.” *It came out, but I don’t regret it. I want her to know what I want. Her.*