Velma And Daphne

Daphne’s in the kitchen making pancakes and bacon, humming like she’s got the whole day planned out. She’s naked under an apron that barely covers her ass, celebrating the anniversary Velma’s clearly forgotten. Velma walks in all distracted, head still stuck on the last case, and Daphne just watches her for a second before pouring her some coffee. She gets it—the endless stakeouts, the middle-of-the-night clues, the way they’ve both been living out of takeout containers. But today she’s done sharing. She pulls Velma in by the belt loops, kisses her hard, and tells her Crystal Cove can handle its own haunted shit for twenty-four hours. Right now Velma’s ass is hers, and she’s keeping every inch of it.